tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57866229967236599342024-03-12T15:44:14.940-07:00Shades of GrayShades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-25347523794710270382013-11-20T20:25:00.001-08:002013-11-20T20:26:37.885-08:00Update on Life, Tumors, Moose Mating Rituals, Airport Insanity, Chemo Sucks and Beacons of LightOh my, its been a year since I've written you (almost). Wow. Trust me when I tell you, I'm talking to you in my head all of the time and I have the best of intentions to write.<br />
<br />
So much has been going and I think it has finally reach such a capacity that I feel compelled to sit down and catch up with words on a page. (I spent half an hour breaking in to an old filing cabinet on Tuesday night to dig out my collection of letter writing stationary if that helps put the word 'compelled' in context for you).<br />
<br />
<b>Quick Update on Life in General - It ain't bad.</b><br />
<br />
The past year has been pretty amazing. We moved into what we call "our forever home" on the side of a wooded mountaintop over looking the valley of Park City. On Saturday, sixteen inches of snow fell. In September there were moose mating in our back yard. You can see the stars almost every night.<br />
<br />
Emerson started a new school and can now spell her name, count to 16 and identify the entire alphabet. I hate to brag (kind of) but to be honest, she works hard and she practices these things because she loves to learn. She deserves the credit. Her favorite toys this week are some of my left-over yarn and a blanket we break out when winter arrives - a child's imagination is truly boundless when given free reign to ramble wild.<br />
<br />
I have started a new job within my company. As a result of that and some other significant professional changes I am actually loving what I am doing.... (just process that, those of you who have known me for longer than five minutes). I am re-learning how to play the piano and how to nap. (more on me later)<br />
<br />
Hunter has grown his hair out long again and has taken up occasional running. In my humble opinion, mountain living looks damn good on him. He lives and dies by ski season and the snowfall totals in Big and Little Cottonwood. He has seen Phish seven times this year and is learning John Fahey's Christmas album on the guitar I gave him for for our 10th anniversary.<br />
<br />
<b>More About Me (and Squishy)!</b><br />
<br />
For so long, I have truly felt as though I haven't had enough writing fodder to justify an entry here. (Wait until you see the length of this one!) I mean, there's really only so much you can say about moose mating, though trust me, I was so tempted. However, there are a few things I'd love to send out to the masses. <br />
<br />
Last May, after years of inexplicable knee pain, we discovered that I have a tumor in my knee. Turns out, the tumor is the result of a condition called P.V.N.S. (I really can't ever remember what that stands for) PVNS occurs in 1 in 2 Million People. It is a condition that causes chronic tumor growth in the lubricating fluids and tissues of your joints. The tumors will eventually eat away the joint. While you would think the ultimate solution here would be joint replacement, the tumors can actually come back and attach themselves to artificial joints as well. SO.... your best option is to get a really phenomenal oncological orthopedic surgeon and hope that s/he is awesome enough to remove the tumor and then it's gone for many years or forever... Which is exactly what I did... Because, I mean, <i>less than 5% </i>of these <i>1 in 2 million people</i> who have this barrel of monkeys shows any signs of tumor regrowth at their 1 year MRI check. Well fast forward to five months post op (Sept/Oct)- guess who is seriously working the hell out of these odds. (And I, of course, live in a state with no lottery). So my tumor is back, this one is actually larger than the first one and I have named it Squishy. Why not?<br />
<br />
So given Squishy's vehement perseverance and the fact that my leg is still recovering from the first surgery, I have started a three month round of chemotherapy in an effort to:<br />
<br />
1) Keep the tumor from getting bigger between now and when my leg can handle another operation<br />
2) Try to shrink the tumor so we have a better chance of removing 100% of it and preventing it's return<br />
3) Kill. the. tumor. <br />
4) Any combination of or variation on the above. <br />
<br />
This "brand of chemo" is specifically targeted to patients with Leukemia. It is a daily treatment that, in theory, can be sustained indefinitely. This drug is traditionally well tolerated with minimal side effects. I don't really have anything to compare it to but I can honestly say, Chemo. Sucks.<br />
<br />
I started the treatments the week of Halloween. The only way I know to effectively communicate my level of exhaustion to you is to tell you that I did not dress up, hand out candy or carve a pumpkin. We did take Emerson trick-or-treating. (and for what it's worth, we did carve a pumpkin sometime last week, it got smelly with a quickness but hey, pumpkins were carved, people) Point being, so, so, so very tired.<br />
<br />
At the start of week two, I had to make an impromptu trip to NC to kick off my new position at work. One of the caveats with this medicine is that it causes you to retain everything to you put in your body. The only way to combat that is to practically eliminate your sodium intake. I'm eating less than 500 milligrams of sodium a day. Stop what you are doing and go to your fridge or pantry. Look at the sodium content of anything in there. Weep with me.<br />
<br />
The first thing I do when I get to North Carolina (besides drive past a Bo-Jangles, wailing, and immediately pick up a medium black dark roast from Cup-a-Joe - because coffee doesn't have sodium and God is still good) is head to my Grandmama's house for Sunday dinner. God bless my Grandmother and her southern cooking. That house smelled so damn good I practically melted standing in the threshold of the front door. Sadly, her idea of low sodium cooking, along with every other Southern Grandmother worth her salt (ha. ha.), is to simply not add extra salt from the shaker to the vegetables that have been put up and cooked with country ham and cooked in chicken stock and butter (but Grandmama totally did skip the salt shaker, just for me). I ate the salad greens and naked roast beef that she made just incase I couldn't eat her world famous chicken cordon bleu and was instead, fulfilled by catching up with family that I haven't seen in over a year. There is always, always, a beacon of light near by when the darkness starts to settle. The trick is having the will power to open your eyes.<br />
<br />
I was able to spend one glorious night with one of my oldest and best and for several beautiful moments we felt like we were 22 years old, not 32 and the stress and responsibility that comes with that extra decade floated away like smoke drifting into oblivion from the front porch on an autumn night. When she dropped me off at my hotel, she outfitted me with no-sodium oats, pumpkin butter, fruit, protein bars and all natural pumpkin macaroons (so I could cheat without really cheating) because this is what best friends do. Again... that beautiful, shining light. So, armed with low-sodium love, I was left to engage the brand new dynamics of a ten-year seasoned career.<br />
<br />
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I think I have been back to the corporate office, where I cut my teeth (and contemplated a vein a time or two), twice in 5 years - it is always a bizarre mixture of gratitude to see familiar faces and the twitchiness that comes with visiting a place you have separated yourself from. Much like going to a dysfunctional family reunion (I would imagine). <br />
<br />
I walked in the front door to the office and was greeting by the warm, smiling face of our delightful, deeply southern, receptionist. She glows with joy upon seeing me and exclaims "JULIE, GOOD MORNIN'! I'M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!!! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER BABY?!?!?!"<br />
...... ..... ..... ......?<br />
<br />
"HEY!!!! I'M SO GLAD TO SEE <i>YOU!!!!</i> NOT IN THE NEXT 10 MONTHS, I CAN GUARANTEE THAT!!!!"<br />
<br />
(*SIDE NOTE - I now live in the land of perpetual procreation. Generally speaking, people in Utah are underwhelmed by your ability to reproduce and quite frankly, I suspect, are secretly hoping that you won't continue to add to our seemingly infinite sea of toddlers...I forget The South's deep desire to see their women happily married and producing rolely-poley offspring to continue on our treasured lineage)<br />
<br />
So starts my day. Within the first 2 hours of my prodigal return, I kid you not, I was asked if I was pregnant again yet or when I planned to be pregnant again no less than 7 times. These people have never met the one magnificent child I do have. Most of them probably don't even know her name. I'm a little befuddled as to why that is the default question and not "Hey, how's Utah" or "So, excited about your new job?" of "How 'bout them Red Sox?". I don't understand. I finally found an empty office in which to hide as I started to fade from what I would soon learn was the beginning of a very unpleasant reaction to Chemotherapy. As I was wilting, a friendly faced popped-in, took one look at me and said "are you okay, you don't look so good?' I explained that I was feeling very tired to which she responded (you guessed it) "oh wow, are you pregnant?". <br />
<br />
Seriously?<br />
<br />
So at this point I, drag myself and my newly developed pregnancy complex to the break room where I reunite with all of the IT guys. As I bid them farewell, fresh cup of coffee in hand, I hear them whispering "dude, how cool is it that she's still super hot?!?!". Complex averted. I love you, IT guys. <br />
<br />
As the week progressed so did my exhaustion. By Wednesday I was listening to a chorus of "wow, you look awful" and "what's the name of that cartoon dog with the humongous bags under his eyes? You look like him".... (Hi Complex. Back so soon?)<br />
<br />
By Thursday morning my eyes were swelling, my skin was hurting and my feet were itching. By the time I woke up on Friday to catch my flight, the fun was in full swing. I looked like I had been stung by a bee and was covered in a full body rash. You should google chemo rash. Weep with me.<br />
<br />
Given that it was 6:00 in the morning and my only means of transportation was the hotel shuttle, I consoled myself by deciding to travel in my pajamas and to buy some benedryl at the very first airport convenience store I could find.<br />
<br />
I breezed through security with blessed efficiency (after all, when one is wearing pajamas there is much less to maneuver) and saw, the <i>true</i> american utopia gleaming in front of me... a huge store marked OVER THE COUNTER PHARMACY. HALLELUJAH!<br />
<br />
(Side note - you would <i>think</i> benedryl would be such a necessity that it would be passed out by flight attendants on airplanes along with peanuts. People get twitchy when the travel, they get hives, they're surrounded by allergens (see peanuts) and recycled contaminated air. There are children who need to be drugged, and adults who need to be drugged. Benedryl can help with all of these things. Guess what. They don't sell benedryl in the airport. I shit you not.)<br />
<br />
So, it turns out, after much desperate searching the woman at the OVER THE COUNTER PHARMACY store had some topical benedryl-gel stuff which I bought out of sheer desperation, knowing that it would be no help so ever. Before she agreed to sell it to me, however, she eyed my pitiful swollen, flaming, itchiness and made me swear to her that I would not drink the topical gel. How's that for context?<br />
<br />
I made my way to the gate and checked in for my flight. The gate agent looked at me in horror and asked if I was okay, to which I responded, "You know, I could really use some benedryl... I'm having a mild reaction to some medication I'm taking. Do you know where I can find some?"<br />
<br />
Oops.<br />
<br />
Turns out the words "reaction to medication" are in the sacred text of TAA Officers under "Emergency Situation". She, despite my extreme protestations, insisted on shoving me into a seat as far away from any human being as one can get in an airport and calling the airport police.... who called the airport medic team.... who called the Rex Hospital EMS.... who came flying down the jet way in an ambulance, lights, siren, the whole she-bang. I was gently informed (from a safe distance) that I was going to miss my flight but that I would be re-booked somehow. I gently responded in-kind by reminding her that all I wanted was a little, tiny, over the counter, benedryl capsule. She looked at me with tremendous pity. I resigned myself to the onslaught of uniforms. Blood pressure, O2 Stats, temperature, death release form, etc. etc. The EMS medic finally opened his medicalcase and says ... wait for it... "Oh no, I only have one capsule left in here, I'm sorry but that will have to get you through (now that I won't be home for another 8 hours... thanks for that. I make a mental note to re-nig on my promise to not drink the gel if things get too bad.)<br />
<br />
I finally made it home 12 hours after my day began and drove straight to the acute care clinic where I was given steroids, PRESCRIPTION BENEDRYL (WOOT!) and thrush medication. That's right, I forgot to mention that little gem. Thrush! Woot!<br />
<br />
Over the course of the following week the rash subsided for the most part, the thrush seems to come and go and I've had a few other surprises not really appropriate for public consumption. All in all, I'm half way through my third week and am grateful for each day that I seem to adjust a little more to my "new normal". I've learned the hard way that caffeine and chemo don't mix. Wine and chemo are SUCH A VERY BAD IDEA and not to make plans after 4:00 pm.<br />
<br />
So I'm hoping Squishy is getting the message loud and clear and is feeling as uncomfortable as I am. I'm trying to embrace modern medicine as a welcome necessity because I think that railing against it keeps it from doing what it needs to do. I think a team mentality verses and adversarial mentality towards the chemo helps. We do have the same goal, after all. I'm forgiving myself for letting some things go and I'm learning to being gentle with myself emotionally, mentally and physically. I'm trying to be better about asking for help when I need it. I'm trying to take pride in the positive aspects of this new healthy lifestyle - like clear pee that doesn't smell like fresh roasted Sumatra.... what a novelty that is! (Beacon of light, baby!)<br />
<br />
So that's the latest. The reality is, I <i>don't</i> have cancer. I know it could be be <i>so</i> much worse and is for so many. This is livable. It is a massive pain in the ass, it pisses me off, it is, at a minimum, extremely inconvenient and uncomfortable - but it is livable. <br />
<br />
I will try to keep you posted on this bizarre road that I'm on so that you can either laugh or cry with me. I'm hoping we'll do some of both together.<br />
<br />
Love and hugs and processed foods and cheesy, salty goodness to all!<br />
<br />
Julie<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-3719679296664516052013-01-17T00:46:00.000-08:002013-01-17T07:47:41.062-08:00Waking up EXACTLY where I don't want to be - the perfect place at the perfect time - for Dylan, Jake, Ann Marie, their Families, Aurora and Newton P. D., et. al., infinity.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I woke up at about 5:30 AM with time to kill in
my LasVegas hotel room. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I swore off of cable TV news and morning shows long ago, primarily in an effort to triage the influx of hysteria into my already
overstimulated psyche. As an
alternative, I listen to an internet music provider or my hometown NPR Station,
2,200 miles and currently 3 time zones away.
Over my $34 dollar pair of poached eggs, english muffin and liter of
coffee (that’s right, it was 34 dollars, I prefer my eggs poached and I’m going
for the full liter with not a drop to spare- you read all of that right – Vegas.)
the BBC so eloquently provided the soothing white noise that can only be
provided by a British radio news anchor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of a sudden, the voice on the airwave was no longer British,
she was American. The voice belonged to Nicole Hockley, the mother of Jake and Dylan
Hockley of Newtown, CT and she was telling the story of her boys. Jake is 8
years old and was a student of Sandy Hook Elementary. He can't sleep at night because he keeps asking when the shooting is going to happen again and no one can really answer him. His little brother Dylan was 6 years old before he
was found shot to pieces, what was left of him was cradled lovingly in his teacher’s
arms, surrounded by other children hidden in a school supply closet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that was hard to read, I’m sorry. It was hard to type. It was even harder to stop the gut wrenching
sobs that had me doubled over out of nowhere this morning as I was eating my breakfast,
watching the Nevada sunrise over the mountains on the outskirts of Sin City. Listening to Nicole, a primal surge of simple
shared, human pain just wrenched me out of nowhere and I found myself sobbing with
a level of emotion that I have not experienced in recent memory. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As
deeply as I felt the impact of what happened in that small town several weeks
ago, as much as I thought I had talked through and processed my feelings and
reactions and emotions, with friends, family and the rest of the nation, I was
completely unprepared for this innate emotional response to hearing a mother
tell the story of her two sons and their teacher, Anne Marie Murphy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s possible that I would have had the same reaction in the
sanctuary of my own home in Salt Lake City, (not-so-arguably the nation’s
strongest advocate for unlimited access to unlimited weapon ownership). It’s also possible that I would have had the
same reaction on a business trip in, say, Chicago (I believe the Nation’s
leader in gun related violence and homicide), which is where I was the Monday
after the Newtown shooting. I will forever remember sitting in my Chicago hotel room, breaking my self-imposed cable
news ban, tuned in with rapt attention to CNN’s broadcast of the interfaith service
held in Newtown. I will never forget listening to the local Newtown Rabbi chant, hauntingly, beautifully in a language that I don't understand a song of mourning so poignant that it seemed to be a cry from God himself. But I wasn't home and I wasn't somewhere else - I was here, in Las Vegas listening to Nicole. <br />
<br />
I pulled myself together, pushed aside my breakfast, put on my brand
new logoed shirt, specifically designed for the SHOT Show, opted for the pencil
eyeliner in lieu of liquid, given the circumstances, and went down 22 floors to
face somewhere around 70 THOUSAND of America’s most enthusiastic weapons enthusiasts. There is no possible way for me to convey
to you in words the level of inner conflict and self-loathing that I was trying
to process between those 22 floors. When
I came down an additional escalator and had a bird’s-eye-view of a sea of human
beings being guided by cocktail waitresses holding huge bright orange signs in
the shapes of rifle scopes and targets, only those unfortunates who have
experienced the joy that is a panic attack will be able to somewhat relate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
BUT HERE’S THE THING!
I spent my day in a section of the show that is exclusively targeted to active duty law enforcement and active duty
military. 8 hours, not one comment on gun
rights. Not one mention of politics, speeches,
reactions, NRA, President Obama, liberalism, conservatism, or the Second Amendment.
THOUSANDS of individuals; not a word. This,
as the NRA is literally across the hall, simultaneously launching an epic,
internationally covered, public relations response to President Obama’s call
for weapons reform. Not one peep. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I outfitted hundreds patrolmen, squadrons, S.W.A.T, and Medics
all day long with ballistics protection, soft body armor, hard body armor, tourniquet
casings, and emergency response kits with
the hopes of keeping them alive and giving them better tools to help them keep
their brothers alive. Brothers…. Brothers…
There are Jake and Dylan again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent 30 minutes talking to two adorable twenty-something
police officers from Aurora, CO about a piece of $50.00 gear that their
departments couldn't afford to provide. Without thinking, I jumped on
the geography of Aurora, given its proximity to UT, before I realized what I
was doing. These guys did not want to
talk about the fact that they were form Aurora.
They just needed better functioning gear. They just wanted to do their jobs. They just wanted to <i>not</i> be from Aurora.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In Julie’s dream world, the one where its totally cool for me to refer to myself in the 3rd person, I have a pet donkey
and live in a 200 year old colonial home on the coast with an unlimited supply
of Sumatra coffee, and farm acres of lavender, there are no guns and every
decision that we make as human beings, states, and nations is motivated by the
furthering peace and love. Sadly, Hunter can't stand it when I refer to myself in the 3rd person, I don’t think donkeys like cold
weather and we just bought a 5 year old house in Park City where the altitude doesn't even let you grow so much as an onion.
Guns exist and so does snow and new construction. I understand and accept these things, and
this is not meant to be my proposal to impose my brilliant liberal solution to
this problem. I don’t use this blog much
lately, much to my chagrin, but its name is fortuitous. This is where I ultimately go find myself – a safe
place to wrestle with these Shades of Gray.
In my heart, I know I will never own a gun. That is a conscious, well-thought
out, highly discussed and considered decision that we have come to together as
a family for a variety of legitimate reasons that apply to us as an individual unit. Does that mean you shouldn't undergo the same
analysis and be allowed come to a different conclusion?
No, not really – to a point… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found myself about every hour or so throughout today drifting
off with thoughts of Dylan. And then a
young man would walk up to me and ask me very politely to direct him towards a
piece of equipment that will better his chances of staying alive while he
devotes his energy, time and life to keeping the next six year old little boy
and his teacher from ending up in pieces – to keeping all of us from ending up
a 30 second sound bite in a never ending news cycle of decimated carnage. And while I’m trying to be engaging and jovial
and informative… while I’m slipping this young man from Aurora (who would
rather be anyone than “that young man from Aurora”) a “sample” from the
booth display that I know will give him better, quicker, more reliable access to
the comparatively tiny little magazines in his standard issue Beretta, the NRA
is across the hall arming anyone and everyone as fast as they possibly
can with bigger guns and more ammo. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to sleep tonight hoping that today, I advised someone
in Military/Law Enforcement towards a piece of equipment strong or efficient
enough to stand up against the pin that was pulled out of the grenade across
the hall by the NRA. We have, under the
same roof, orchestrated heaven for the misunderstood loaners, riled up and teetering
on the edge, looking for a deal to purchase via private transaction semi-automatic
weapons <i>and</i> at the same time consolidated resources
for the heroes who will stand in the line of fire while working to get that same weapon off of the street so that it doesn't do what it was designed to do - kill someone. These guys shop gear, not because its cool but so they can realize their goal of seeing
their son graduate from high school. I
have to imagine that a few of those guys were thinking about Dylan today too. And Jake.
And Nicole. And Anne Marie. And next time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More Information on the Hockley Family’s outreach can be
found here: here:<a href="http://www.sandyhookpromise.org/">http://www.sandyhookpromise.org/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="line-height: 16.5pt; margin-bottom: 13.45pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 13.45pt;">
“<strong><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">I Promise</span></strong><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">to honor the 26 lives lost at Sandy Hook
Elementary School. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 16.5pt; margin: 13.45pt 0in;">
<strong><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">I
Promise</span></strong><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">to do
everything I can to encourage and support common sense solutions that make my
community and our country safer from similar acts of violence.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-6110378561359047842012-03-29T22:55:00.002-07:002012-03-30T07:59:26.686-07:00Amendment One - Work with me through this one.<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"> am an unapologetic social liberal BUT… I am doing my best temper that fact for the purposes of a hopefully diverse audience so that I might appeal to you all. However, at the same time, I realize that this is not entirely realistic. That said, let's see if we can marry our perspectives for a moment and see if we can find a common ground because this is important. I believe in the rights of all men and all women of all races, all colors and all creeds to live their lives as they choose. I believe in the rights of all people to be free to live and to love in the purest capacity they they possibly can. I believe that this freedom to pursue a truth of spirit and of soul… that this is the ultimate goal for all of humanity - to be true to our most honest selves. Many people believe in a more rigid, prescribed code that interprets this ethos differently. It would be hypocritical for me to condemn those whose beliefs and moral codes are in opposition to mine or to try to force my world view upon them given my previous statement. While I don't personally subscribe to an interpretation of ethics that can be boiled down to a simple right and wrong or sin and righteousness, I acknowledge that that perspective exists and I know that this chasm is great and my words are more than likely not powerful enough to bridge such a vast divide.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">So this is who I am. These are my values. They are set in stone for me and I can not imagine a scenario in this life that could possibly change them. There is little chance, no matter who you are or how long I've known you or what life experiences we have shared that they are exactly the same as yours. Here's the thing; THAT'S OKAY. I have this belief structure and it is so important to me that I feel a soul-wrenching obligation to live a life and to raise a child who, God willing, will share and reflect these things that I hold sacred. I fully expect and respect your right and responsibility to do the same. Perhaps, with patience and open hearts and love we will fortify intelligent discussion and rational arguments that will allow us to grow together to be an increasingly self-realized people. So this is our mantle and we wear it every single day of our lives. We do this because it is important, it is critical and it is who we are. I acknowledge all of this. What I don't acknowledge and what I hope will give you pause, is a need for political legislation to affirm my belief structure.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">This afternoon, I spoke to a dear friend whom I love deeply. This friend is about as conservative as conservative gets. I typically dance on pin heads to avoid political discourse with this friend because we are so very diametrically opposed. Going out on a limb, I said, "I hope you will vote against Amendment One" (for those of you reading not in NC, this is a very high profile amendment that will eliminate rights of same-sex partners and all civil unions). I braced myself. This friend responded with something to the effect of the following "You know, this country was founded by the most brilliant minds that have ever existed and the constitution that they created, founded on Christian values of course, is the most amazing document every created. It is perfection. I embrace the Founding Father's ideals and I believe that they were Christian men founding a nation on Christian values and they did a damn good job of it. I am sick to death of politicians trying to corrupt something that is so inherently pure." </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Politically, this friend and I could not have less in common and that's okay. We agree to disagree, we have lively debate and we respect each other as intellectuals and human beings. He lives up to his responsibility to live his life according to his beliefs and I try to do the same. He will likely be voting <b>against</b> Amendment One. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Here's my point: I believe in the rights of human beings to love and to live in the best way they they can and advocate for those rights given any opportunity. From my perspective, God knows this world needs all of the love it can stand, so I will do everything in my power to raise my daughter, who will grow up in an essentially theocratic state which is as conservative as it gets, to respect and hopefully share those same values; That's really all can do but I don't need legislation to tell me that's right for me; I know it in my heart and in my soul. I don't need legislation to make me feel more secure about my beliefs and I can honestly tell you, no legislation is going to make me feel less secure or doubt what my heart tells me to be true. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">If you are opposed to same-sex couples sharing the rights of couples who have a traditional marriage, that's obviously where your world view has taken you and its unlikely that any statistic or scenario that I could throw at you is going to change that. Its also your personal belief and not mine. Obviously that's fine and its your responsibility to live accordingly, to raise your children accordingly, and to make sure that your actions and your contributions to our society reflect that belief structure. I champion your right to do so. It is your God given right to exercise your freedoms in this way. Utilizing this freedom to further restrict the freedoms of others, however is incredibly counter-intuitive. Trying legislate morality and legislate belief structures is a basic cry of insecurity and frankly, hysteria. We have so many crosses to bear as human beings. There are so many people who suffer from hate and abuse and neglect - lets focus on building each other up instead of wasting our time with personal insecurities to break each other down. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">All I ask is that you think about your own responsibility to be accountable for your own morality before you cop-out in an attempt to legislate it for those who dissent. Minds and hearts will not change. People will continue to live their lives as they see fit and when its all said and done all that will have been accomplished is an excess of unnecessary red tape, state legal fees, and an era of divisiveness with less and less hope of resolution and reconciliation. Less love. More hate. Please think before you vote for Amendment One. As a parting note - if you can't get over the gay marriage things, here are a few other points to ponder: </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
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</div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-29117450287406603892011-11-10T16:27:00.000-08:002011-11-10T16:27:57.748-08:00Turns out my latte is not pregnant. Whew!So, I'm back on the road and true to form adventure and hilarity are keeping me company on what would otherwise be a very lonely trek across the United States. I'm used to the security circus. Enough loops through the hoops and you get the hang of the monkey dance. Belt off, liquids appropriately sized, shoes off, hole in sock... cold, dirty floor, don't think about it... just keep moving. I have even procured the mother of all carry-ons. This thing is a BEAST. Its a roller bag that converts into a back pack. It fits under the seat, in the overhead and down the aisle and I'm pretty sure I can get at least 3 days of travel out of it...maybe more. It has pockets for kindle, ipod, cell phone, passport, chap stick. It even has a detachable clear bag for the infamous 3oz liquids. To describe my relationship with this bag as a love affair is an understatement. To seal the deal... FLIGHT ATTENDANTS drool over this bag. I. Love. This. Bag. So, yes, I have no qualms about zipping up to the "professional traveler" line and yes, I'm that jerk who looks at you with total disdain if you forget to take your change out of your pocket. I am that person. All that said, I experienced a whole new level of violation and intrusion from the FAA today. <br />
<br />
My typical routine leaves me 30 minutes for security, 10 minutes for starbucks, 5 minutes for bathroom, 5 minutes to make absolutely sure I'm in the right place and 10 minutes to breathe before getting on the plane. This morning, my routine was perfectly executed. I had just wrapped up my 10 minutes of breathing time and was beginning the boarding process when I was stopped by an absolutely ridiculous FAA agent wearing goggles and what looked like a chemistry set strapped to her back. Let me tell you something.... An FAA agent who looks like she's moonlighting with the CDC is NOT something you want to see ambling toward you as you're about to board an aircraft. This rogue lab tech approached me, pulled me out of line, and proceeded to- brace yourself- proceeded to give my triple skinny latte a pregnancy test. Not kidding. She whipped a little test strip out of her science kit, hovered it over my coffee, "tested the vapors" and then we waited for the results. Fortunately, for all of us, my coffee was not pregnant.<br />
<br />
Really, FAA? You didn't violate me enough when I came in? You have to continue to harass me after I have run your gambit and jumped through all of your ridiculous hoops with flawless execution? Its bad enough that every time I go to the airport I have to leave a half of a pot of coffee on the counter and wait the dark and dreaded 30 minutes before I can throw myself at the mercy of the corporate machine and wait for them to feed my addiction; now I have to worry about not only the proverbial levels of toxicity in my cup-a-corporate but the literal levels of toxicity as well? Can't you just hang out behind the line and test the vapors as they come out of the drip? Lord knows, they could use an extra body back there. <br />
<br />
Once we determined that my latte was only harming my soul (and wallet) and was not an agent of death and destruction. I was allowed to board the plane and am now in lovely Minneapolis. What a great and underrated city! Thanks to a shout out on facebook, I was directed to a truly phenomenal local brew pub and enjoyed some exceptional craft brew as well as a moderately life changing almond butternut squash bisque and the best sweet potato fries I have ever had. I'm staying in the heart of Minneapolis right next to a tiny little coffee shop called Dunn Brother's coffee located in the basement of a stone building built in 1887. Granted, I walked 4 blocks out of the way in the absolutely FREEZING Minnesota night air to procure this lovely Americano but in the end, I realized that the theme of today penance. Penance for subsisting on soulless caffeine. <br />
<br />
The good news is, I'm pretty sure I'm square with the house. Cheers to you!Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-11841990785473938332011-09-22T09:52:00.000-07:002011-09-22T10:00:22.209-07:00An Appeal to the Angels of our Better Nature - A blog on the Defense of Marriage ActThe planets have officially aligned. Its Friday afternoon, work was light, Emerson requested a late afternoon nap, and we are having a very rare Salt Lake rain shower that is seriously whetting our whistle for the impending Autumn here in the Wasatch front. What a truly magnificent start to the weekend... and I'm about to launch into something very ... uncomfortable.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>This week, in particular, I've been thinking a lot about people. And culture. I've been extremely disturbed by recent political developments in my home state of North Carolina this week. NC passed legislation that brings the state that much closer to passing the Defense of Marriage Act, which, as I'm sure you know, specifically defines marriage as an institution between exclusively one man and one woman. As I'm sure you also know, this legislation aims to bar many of our neighbors, friends and loved ones from legally entering into the one of the most basic and true expressions of human love and partnership: Marriage - which is ideally a loving partnership of two consenting adults who want to spend their lives together loving and growing in unity (and all of the institutional benefits (and drawbacks as the case may be)) that go along with it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>While, I fear that my feelings on this issue are so impassioned that I will not be able to adequately articulate them on the page, I need to throw this out. I've struggled with whether or not this blog is a waste of time and breath but someone was kind enough to point out to me yesterday that even if it falls on deaf ears, we have a responsibility to check in and be present when we feel things are going off course. So I write this if for no other reason then, I feel I have a responsibility as a mother, an advocate, and a member of the human race to do so. <br />
<br />
The way I see this, the issue breaks down into three pieces - legality, religiosity, morality. Let's ease into this: <br />
<br />
<b>Legality</b></div><div>In its most basic essence, a marriage certificate issued by the State, is binding legal contract between two individuals. The contract is not signed or sanctioned by the church any more any other legal document - a birth certificate, death certificate, or for that matter, a state tax return. I find it interesting that the symbol of our justice system is a blind fold. When it comes to basic contractual law, on which I am admittedly no expert, morality, religious doctrine, sex, or social status, play no roll. I'd love to expound on this point but the truth is, from a purely technical perspective, its pretty simplistic. Questions of personal religion and personal ethics have no place in a legal contract issued by a non-theocratic state and to introduce them corrupts the very necessary black and white (gasp!) protection and responsibility that a contract is designed to provide.</div><div><br />
Now the hard stuff: <br />
<b>Religiosity</b><br />
As much as we'd like to say the bible is clear on homosexuality, the truth is - its really not. As I am so passionate about this issue, I've spent a lot of time researching this. Yes, there are two Old Testament passages about homosexuality being unclean: one in Corinthians I 6: 9-10 and one in Leviticus. The Corinthians passage simultaneously calls out idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, drunkards, slanderers, and swindlers <i>in addition to homosexuals</i>. Last time I checked idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, drunkards, slanderers and swindlers can all still get married, bless their poor spouses... I'll be honest while I haven't encountered any male prostitutes, I can name pretty much someone in every other category that is legally married in the eyes of the state. The Leviticus passage (20: 13) simply calls for a man who lies with a man to be put to death. I ask with a mild attempt at hyperbole, "while we're at, it where do you draw the line at your literal interpretation of the scripture?" </div><div><br />
</div><div>In the new testament, Paul also mentions the sin of homosexuality in his letter to the Romans. I could go into the context of Paul's letter to the Romans and explain my understanding of how the politics, audience and circumstance of the time in which he was writing shaped his message, but that's another blog. The real point is, Jesus Christ, in whom most of the people driving this legislation profess their faith, never mentions the issue of homosexuality in his teachings. Ever. Not one time. He does, however, have quite a bit to say about loving one another, and about treating each other with fairness, and kindness, and humility. In fact, he built his ministry on these teachings. He talks about <i>all of humanity</i> being equal in the eyes of God from the lowliest among us to the most fortunate - the lowliest, in fact, being <i>more</i> favorable in the eyes of God. He talks about forgiveness and not casting stones. He gives us one of the most simple and one of the most <i>challenging</i> directives ever issued to human kind- Love thy neighbor. </div><div><br />
I understand that faith and religion are very personal things and there are probably no two people on the planet who have the exact same interpretation of their faith. I understand that people believe what they believe and I respect that very much. What I don't respect is when others try to force their personal interpretation of what is holy and what is not upon the general population. What I view as an abomination is people who use faith and religion as a weapon to create hate, to create an "other", and to punish their fellow man. <br />
<br />
<b>Morality: </b><br />
There's a fine line between religiosity and morality. When I say morality I am specifically referring to the argument that homosexuality is a "choice" or that it can be "cured" like a disease. To be honest, I don't really understand how this argument is the slightest bit relevant. I quite frankly view it as a cop-out and a distraction that people hide behind so that they don't have to address more difficult questions. I disagree with these perceptions of homosexuality (as does science) but I also always come back to the question of "does it matter?" In a free society, whether an individual chooses to share their life and love with someone of the same sex or of a different sex should not make them more or less entitled to the same rights as every other citizen in the United States. <br />
<br />
So there's my 2 cents, my soap box if you want to call it that. I know that it might not line up with the ideals of 100% of my readership, but I hope you will respect my need to speak out on an issue that is incredibly important to me and I hope that you will take the time to consider a different perspective on this divisive issue that, in one way or another, effects our human conscience. Whenever I think about this issue, I always hear the below quotation from one of history's most admirable leaders spoken in another time but a time also wrought with difficult questions of unity and freedom and equality:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px;">"I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stre[t]ching from every battle-field, and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 19px;">~Abraham Lincoln</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">We've done it before and I hope as a nation we can again find the strength and courage to appeal to the better angels of our nature.</span></span></div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-24935422048234289562011-09-08T07:30:00.000-07:002011-09-08T07:30:14.812-07:00Beannacht<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #ebede7;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was fortunate enough to encounter this blessing/poem last night which, as I understand it, is an old Celtic blessing that has been revised by John O'Donohue (whom I had not heard of until this poem). Regardless, I found it to be incredibly beautiful and was moved by its simple rhythm, emphasis on natural strength and beauty and the sense of stillness and peace that it seems to communicate. I hope you enjoy!</span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Beannacht</span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">("Blessing")</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On the day when<br />
the weight deadens<br />
on your shoulders<br />
and you stumble,<br />
may the clay dance<br />
to balance you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And when your eyes<br />
freeze behind<br />
the grey window<br />
and the ghost of loss<br />
gets in to you,<br />
may a flock of colours,<br />
indigo, red, green,<br />
and azure blue<br />
come to awaken in you<br />
a meadow of delight.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When the canvas frays<br />
in the currach of thought<br />
and a stain of ocean<br />
blackens beneath you,<br />
may there come across the waters<br />
a path of yellow moonlight<br />
to bring you safely home.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May the nourishment of the earth be yours,<br />
may the clarity of light be yours,<br />
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,<br />
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.<br />
And so may a slow<br />
wind work these words<br />
of love around you,<br />
an invisible cloak<br />
to mind your life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
~ John O'Donohue ~</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(<em>Echoes of Memory</em>)</span></div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-57269007716047344272011-09-03T22:55:00.000-07:002011-09-03T22:57:00.417-07:00This life... so far... THE ESSENTAILSSo, I seriously wrote the best blog the other day. It was my "come back blog" if you will. It was an ode to Emerson's 15 month birthday (so it was several weeks ago), but it wasn't really about Emerson, it was a list of things I've learned about myself over the past 15 months. I wrote it on a flight to somewhere. I'm sure it was to the East Coast, as that's where I've spent most of my summer and it was a rather lengthy and well thought out blog, which requires several hours of uninterrupted focus which, lets face it, is only available when I'm encapsulated in a vessel with no child, vacuum (yeah I don't really spend that much time with the vacuum), or Internet connection (read: work email). So I wrote it and then I wanted to spend some time editing it and then my hard drive crashed in an epic sort of way… and now its gone. Frankly, I hadn't planned to recreate it but… look what I did: <br />
<br />
1. You are the sum of the parts that are formed when you're not paying attention<br />
This parenting thing, man - seriously, its no joke. I find myself saying, sometimes apologetically, the following words "I'm doing the best I can, there's really no instruction manual for this". What I'm finding though, is that the most important aspect of parenting is not so much your cumulative approach to discipline, or what you allow your child to watch on TV, or whether you breastfeed for x number of month/years or whether or not you let your child "cry it out" or "co-sleep". Its what you do on a lazy Saturday morning. Its how you shape your family dinners. Its bed time stories, lullabies and goodnight kisses. Its going for a walk around the block when you don't have the energy for the orchestrated play date (I'm so bad at play dates) . Where am I going with this? I have come to realize I can analyze and second guess those big picture parenting decisions and read all of the books that I want to, but where I am really driving home my hopes and expectations for my daughter and for my family is during the times when I'm not necessarily thinking about it. It really is the little things, not the big things, that set the tone of this life - that define our value structure. I'm not saying I have figured this out or that I have answers, in fact, I'm saying that I haven't and that I don't - BUT…. what I do know for a fact is that a 9 a.m. pajama dance party to the Allman Brothers and Van Morrison laced with maple syrup, black coffee, and bare feet is as important, if not more so than how we approach any of these other big picture parenting decisions. Granted, it can't be all fun all the time - obviously. Sometimes the little things are the things that you let go, its an argument with your partner or spouse that you pass on because in the scheme of life, it really doesn't matter. Its making the decision to pass on that extra hour of work even though you really need to put it in. Sometimes, its the decision to put in for the extra hour for the sake of sanity. Its declaring, "today is going to be a movie day because I just don't have it in me for anything else". It's dragging yourself out of bed to volunteer when you all you want to do is stay in pajamas and have breakfast. The point is, for what its worth, there's truly not much in the life that can't be fixed by banana pancakes, good music, and fresh air. The point is, this world can be overwhelming and can absolutely bleed you dry and if I can raise a loving human being who is grounded enough to value the simplicity of a Saturday morning, well then… its a small thing, but I'll count it as a win.<br />
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2. Plugging In.<br />
I mentioned volunteering. Obviously, the week of Emerson's birth is burned into my brain. One of the things that happened that week was the gulf oil spill and several coincidental subsequent local oil spills in local parks and wild life refuges. It was a very emotional time for me as you might imagine, and bringing a new human into this world that seemed to be drowning in the residue of assault left me feeling this massive sense of responsibility. Here I was, in my rocking chair, shielded by lullabies, warm and comfortable with more food and clothing for my healthy child than I knew what to do with. For the first time in my life I felt the true meaning and frankly the true weight of being "blessed". That feeling was heavy because it came with the weight of fortune in the face of the people around me who were hungry, cold, sick, suffering. I felt a sense of obligation that I have never before felt in my life. It was so overwhelming it was almost paralyzing. Since then, I have become a regular volunteer at a local food pantry. Its a very small thing (on my behalf - the pantry itself is a PHENOMENAL resource). I try to volunteer every other Saturday morning for a few hours. To be frank, I started volunteering here as a response to this new found sense of obligation. Since then, the pantry has become a service to me. The Saturday mornings that I drag myself out of bed and into the shower instead of lazing around and having breakfast with my family are painful… until I get there. What I have found is that I get as much out of those Saturday mornings behind the line of the pantry as anyone on the other side of the counter. I am a part of my community. I am a part of this world. I am better for it, my perspective changes, my world view is altered, I am grounded. I am a better person and a better mother when I plug in to my community. What's crazy is, it has very little to do with having or not having or volunteering and charity - its all about plugging in and experiencing the world around you in the best way that you can. <br />
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3. Be true to who you are, not who you think you should be<br />
This is probably the most difficult. It seems like the moment you announce that you are pregnant you become public property. Suddenly strangers on the street feel perfectly justified in telling you what you should and should not do for the health of yourself and the health of your baby. There is a never ending stream of spoken and unspoken judgement that doesn't appear to end once the child is born. Example: How much weight you gain, whether or not you advocate natural child birth, breast feeding, length of maternity leave, decisions about child care, baby food, discipline, potty training… it. is. un. believable. I have decided the following: Almost every mother you will ever encounter is doing the absolute best that she can. Support her. I made the decisions that I felt were the best for me, my family, and my baby and I feel good about them. I have to remind myself of that somewhat regularly though, not just for peace of mind, but to keep myself from slipping down the proverbial rabbit hole as it were. For example, I chose to maintain a job that has me traveling away from home about 50% of the time. This is can be incredibly difficult for me and for my family BUT - this job also allows me to work from home and keep a flexible schedule. I also (yeah, I'm going to say it) enjoy travel. That does not make me a bad mother (I say that more for me than for you). The truth is, I need a change of scenery sometimes. I need 4 hours on an airplane to read a book or write. I need 3 hours in a car to listen to guilty pleasure music, get lost, and take pictures of fields of wild flowers or pretty barns… because this is who I am. Its tough, because who I am doesn't always jive with what is ideal for my family but I feel like if I chip away at these things, I'm not jiving with my family anyway. These things are difficult to balance and I'm still figuring it out myself but one thing I do know is that I'm a better mother, wife, and person when I'm being honest with myself… and that's the best I can do.<br />
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4. Love Yourself -<br />
Sense a little conflict in #3? Yeah, balance isn't easy or intuitive. I'm a work in progress and I'm more ok with that now that I ever have been. There are so many things I wish I was better about - I wish I did more exciting things with Emerson, I feel like we should spend more time going to parks and the pool and the zoo. I wish I made more time for exercise. I wish I had more self discipline. I wish I could stay up later. I wish I could for once in my freaking life beat Hunter and scrabble… The list… is… long… The truth is, Emerson and I have fun dancing and walking around the block. I'm exercising more now than I ever have in my life. I've made a lot of progress with the self discipline thing and you know what, indulgence is a part of life. I get up a 5 a.m. so that's something and, well, Hunter has it coming. Its like the little voice in my head that is always nagging me has been given a megaphone. I read this great book though called "My Stroke of Insight" which explains that voice in a very physiological way. It also explains how that voice is controllable and that its presence is component of the left hemisphere of our brains and that we voluntarily let it into our thoughts or make the choice to quiet it. Since reading this book, I've gotten much better and telling that little voice to stuff it and choosing to focus more on my progress and achievements instead. Its a daily battle, but its at least its an active battle and not a passive assault. <br />
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5. Frustration - <br />
My hesitation in publishing this the first time was, I don't want to this to read "preachy". Like I've got it all figured out. I wish I could communicate how far from the truth that is. I see, in an abstract way what seems to be workable for my family and what doesn't but implementing it and remembering it every day is another matter entirely. I find myself more and more frustrated as this journey continues and I'm trying to figure out why. Is it just because I'm tired? Is it because its impossible to be all things to all people all the time? Is it because I don't make enough time for myself? Is it because I don't make enough time for my family? Is it because I sleep too much? Don't eat well enough? Do we have too many pets (trust me, with 2 dogs and a cat, you think these things!). Another dynamic is that I spend A LOT of time in my head, working from home tends to make you excessively introspective. I was bouncing this off of an incredible friend who knows me inside and out earlier tonight and his response was simple. "Write". Duh. This has always been my outlet, my forum, and my connection and without it… well… that's a big void. So here I am. I've recycled the lost blog as true to form as I can get it. A "state of things" if you will. So I hope this will be a jumping off point. Winter is just around the corner here in Salt Lake City and a beach combing southerner trying to navigate 3 feet of snow is always good fodder if nothing else. Thanks for your ear, for your time, and for your support. That said…<br />
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6. You - <br />
if you're reading this, any sanity that I've found in the past 17 months is attributed in no small part to you… my friends, my family, and even my network of people who I haven't seen in years but have shared kindness, experience, and encouragement. Its true, it takes a village and in this day in age, its a big, scattered, hodgepodge village, but a village all the same. Thank you.Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-46293467707091524992010-08-19T07:35:00.000-07:002010-08-19T07:35:15.142-07:00Mother Daughter Bonding Time - (or "Oh lord, help me... when does your father get back!?!?!?")I know I have so neglected Shades lately. My goal was to keep this from morphing into a mommy blog by creating a separate blog for our daughter, Emerson, elsewhere. However, I have discovered, for the first time in my life, compartmentalizing is no longer an option. I'm not saying every post will be adventures in motherhood - but its without a doubt the most all encompassing role I have ever held so you're just going to have to grip the handlebars and work with me on this completely insane course onto which my life has veered.<br />
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Hunter and I have spent the past four months positively desperate to get Em into a routine and now that we're there, we both looked at each other last night, exasperated and agreed that having every single moment of your day budgeted just completely sucks. Now, I will admit we do have about 4 or 6 moments that are not scheduled or consumed. We use these moments to close our eyes and catch our breath or lean up against a wall and take a 30 second nap. We occasionally splurge and try to get through 15 minutes of The History Channel's<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_791739974"> </a><i><a href="http://www.history.com/shows/pawn-stars">Pawn Stars</a></i> (the only TV show we have the mental capacity for these days) and I do try to get in a few pages of reading before losing consciousness at the end of the day. Just in case you're wondering - I'm re-reading the Harry Potter series. Yep, that's right. I'm pretty sure this is the 4th time I will be reading the entire series. Harry Potter is comfort food in the Best household. Pure-T Comfort Food (Though I will say, <u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ghostwritten-David-Mitchell/dp/0375724508">Ghost Written</a></u> by David Mitchell may have to intercede between <u>The Prisoner of Azkaban</u> and <u>The Goblet of Fire</u>). <br />
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Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. This has been the most amazing and magical four months of my life. Every single day this beautiful little girl does something new that just takes my breath away. She makes a new connection, she gets her hand eye coordination controlled enough to reach out and pet Bodhi, her giggle gets a little more defined, she wraps her little arms around my neck and squeezes with a soft little 'coo' in my ear.... and I will tell you, each of these tiny little milestones leaves me just completely breathless and fighting the urge to go out and buy a celebratory red velvet cake (we celebrate with red velvet in this house - we cope with chocolate in any form).<br />
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Last week, Hunter took a much deserved mini-vacation; (Don't worry - my turn is coming... oh yes... one day) a road trip with his friend Jon with the ultimate destination of Telluride, CO for a two day Phish concert. I was kind of excited about kicking back and just relaxing with Emerson. I scoped out all of the parks I wanted to visit, I got a good bottle of wine before he left, I went to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for a few recipes that I've been wanting to try. I figured I could knock the recipes out during her 3:00 nap, take a stroll to the park before bed time and then spend my evenings after putting her down kicking back on the patio with a glass of wine, catching up on long over due phone calls. It'll be fun! <br />
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(Every time that overly enthusiastic, excessively perky voice in my head exclaims "It'll be fun!" I really should just go get in bed and hide under the covers. Why haven't I learned this? It's my inner voice for crying out loud?!?!)<br />
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Let me just break it down for you like this. The minute Hunter walked out the door - the child started teething. At least I think she's teething? She's producing about 2.5 gallons of drool a day and gnawing on her fist like a fried drumstick from<a href="http://www.mamadips.com/"> Mama Dip's Country Restaurant</a>. (Has anyone else noticed how food oriented this blog is?) Maybe its not teething and is some sort of new personality quirk. If so... we'll love her anyway. So as soon as Hunt walks out the door Em begins to teethe which made her usually sunny disposition a little ... shall we say... cloudy? Stormy? Torrential? Gale Force? Category Five-God Save us All-Hurricane? Okay, she wasn't <i><b>THAT</b></i> bad but she was less than beaming. She also decided that she was completely done with the 3:00 nap that she has taken every single day of her life. (That blessed nap that allows me 45 minutes to transition from work to mama with just enough grace to pass muster. Good bye grace! There goes those recipes I wanted to try.... fortunately I had enough bread to get me through these tenuous four days with sandwiches. <i>*Glances sideways at spoiling tomatoes*</i>)<br />
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Around this time, the dishwasher also quit. Well, it didn't so much quit as it flooded the kitchen. At first I thought it might have just been Emerson's drool, but after further inspection, it was definitely coming from the dishwasher. I know this because you can turn the dishwasher off and the encroaching river of water would stop. You can't, however, turn Emerson off and make her encroaching river of drool stop. We would later find that we somehow burned a hole completely through the base of the dishwasher's tub. How did that happen? You've got me.... I'm mystified. (By the way there goes my evenings with a glass of wine and a phone call - its hard to talk on the phone and wash dishes at the same time and that's about all I had the energy for at this point.)<br />
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So - screaming, teething, sleepless child... CHECK! General need for a snorkel... CHECK!! Broken coffee maker... CHECK!!! <br />
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"WAIT!?!? WHAT'S THIS??? BROKEN COFFEE MAKER!??!?! NO!," you exclaim. "Surely you jest!," you cry out. "Not the coffee maker!!!!!!! Anything but the coffee maker!!!!," you wail. (You don't mind if I dictate your end of this conversation do you?)<br />
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Yes, the coffee maker just added insult to injury. It didn't just break, it would take two agonizing hours to brew 4 of the 12 cups of water I put in the hopper. Like a slow, cruel, torturous taunt of coffee that came out the consistency of what I can only imagine would be equivalent to these tar balls we hear so much about.<br />
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<b>Woe. Is. Me.</b><br />
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PS: As a post script, I should let you know... I survived and Emerson won't remember it. Hunter returned home to an exhausted but functional family, a new dishwasher should be installed by the end of this week (meanwhile we've switched to disposable EVERYTHING because WE'RE THAT LAZY) and my savior of all things caffeinated walked me through a do-it-yourself emergency maintenance on the coffee maker that, all told, was truly the crux of my survival... live to fight another day my friends!Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-69877608339246785292010-06-18T19:30:00.000-07:002010-06-19T08:44:37.770-07:00AwakeningHey there! First of all, welcome to any new readers who stumbled up on Shades of Gray via <a href="http://casualkitchen.blogspot.com/">Casual Kitchen</a> and <a href="http://cheaphealthygood.blogspot.com/">Cheap Healthy Good</a>. My <a href="http://juliesshadesofgray.blogspot.com/2010/03/breaking-cycle-raising-daughter-with.html">blog on breaking the cycle</a> and raising a daughter with a healthy body image is definitely one of the most intimate and poignant pieces I have written in a long time and it moves me deeply to see that it resonates with so many others. It sounds like more and more people are working diligently towards adjusting their mentality on this issue. My hope is that if we stay committed, we can be a generation of healthy women raising a generation of healthy daughters, emotionally and physically. Thank you for sharing your stories and struggles with me, you <i>are</i> beautiful and thank you for stopping by. <br />
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There has been so much on my mind these past few weeks since Emerson was born that I need a few days alone with a coffee pot and a keyboard to make sense out of it all. Unfortunately, those days are a little more difficult to come by lately. Most days, by 3:00 p.m. Em and I have both grown a little weary of the rattles and bells so we load up in the car and take off for a driving exploration of Salt Lake City. We put on some Iron and Wine, Em finally succumbs to a nap that has been waiting in the wings for hours and I drive aimlessly, acquainting myself with the hills of Deseret and writing blogs in my head.<br />
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I have found since having Emerson that my tolerance for <i>Cable News</i> has gone from minuscule to non-existent and yet I spend hours, upon hours picking and choosing my way through the New York Times on my blackberry in the dark of night and wee hours of the morning... kind of the equivalent of poking one toe at a time into the water until you think you can handle the temperature. Its been a completely new experience to have the combination of immobility (while nursing Em) and seemingly endless amounts of time, darkness and silence with which to digest this world in which I have actively chosen to raise a daughter. However, at the same time, cradled in the safety of our rocking chair, shielded by our lullabies, the madness of this very same, often broken world seems so very removed and far away. <br />
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It started with the oil spill. I believe Emerson was born on day 5 of the spill. I'll be honest, we had other things on our mind and had no concept of the magnitude. Who did? When we came home, while we fiercely cradled our own little tiny, fragile miracle in our arms, the news in Salt Lake was consumed locally by the tragic and brutal death of a 4 year old little boy. I couldn't handle it. I was forcibly banned from all news outlets for several days. Then, the oil wasn't going away and the Dow dropped below 10,000 for the first time since February. Then the oil was getting worse. Then.... facebook changed its privacy settings. Facebook changed its privacy settings and the world stopped and wrote about it. This was when I started to tune back in. My "blog in my head", as I was tooling around the grocery store to kill time with a sleeping baby, consisted of:<br />
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(abridged), "Hey! DISCRETION!!!!!!!! If you're not comfortable with your parents, grandparents, teachers, or bosses reading it, don't send it out into the ether. Put some clothes on, expand your vocabulary, and if you must talk about last Saturday's debauchery, either pick up the phone or, if that's too much human contact for you, send an email to your 20 closest friends." I was irritated and I don't think it was hormones.<br />
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So, my frustration with facebook's privacy policy dominating the news cycle during a period that seems to be of "Darling, you were born on day 5 of the worst man-made disaster our planet has ever known significance" got me thinking (though, yes, I was following the story on facebook... privately): At some point we must come out of the bubble. To really seal the deal, there was an oil spill of 500+ barrels about 2 miles from my home that has poisoned every natural water source in my immediate vicinity (you might not have heard about it, but that's over 25,000 gallons of oil in my little creeks and rivers). For lack of better terminology, the chickens have come home to roost.<br />
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The pelicans and geese are dying, people hurt children, families fear about putting food on their tables and this morning, the state that I now call home, paid 5 individuals to <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/17/us/17death.html?scp=2&sq=Utah&st=cse">shoot a man to death </a>for crimes committed over a quarter of a century ago. <br />
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Here we go again, what do we do. Do we pace the nursery, wringing our hands? Do we talk over coffee about how distraught we are about the fact that our babies might never sit for hours in the tidal pools of southern shores watching the tide magically bury their little legs with sand? Do we sleep even less; agonizing over injustices, terrified in quiet places of our minds of faceless, invincible enemies? Yeah, a little. I don't know. What else is there?<br />
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I think step one is to pop the bubble and keep singing but stop hiding behind the lullabies... try to find a way to balance functionality and awareness? Autonomy and activism? <br />
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It's a process.... it will take some time, at least for me at this juncture in my life. That said, I think I can start by opening my eyes, talking... educating... writing... initiating a dialog and amongst us, maybe we can change something, do something. I'll be honest, I truly believe that <i>together, </i>you and I, the two of us, <b><i><u>WE</u> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">really can change the perspective from </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">passively reactive</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"> to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">passionately proactive</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">.</span></i></b>, and if nothing else modify the generation that we are raising to simply be better than... to be greater than.... <br />
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All that said, let's start by opening our eyes, then our minds, then our mouths, then our hearts. One day at a time.<br />
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So very much love,<br />
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JulieShades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-39034278799488368572010-06-01T08:30:00.000-07:002010-06-01T08:46:37.296-07:00Ladies and Gentlemen: Miss Emerson Gray BestOh my dear god in heaven, where do I begin!?!?! I have SO much to say and so little time with which to say it!<br />
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So, I gave birth. I guess I could start there. <br />
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Emerson Gray Best was born on April 25, 2010 at 11:42 p.m. after 18 hours of labor, 13 of which were UNMEDICATED which was NOT BY CHOICE, ACCIDENTAL AND UNINTENTIONAL. When it was all said and done, however, the epidural did eventually arrive and her actual delivery was probably the best experience of my life. After a day that was wrought some stressful and fearful moments... and... well... pain... lots and lots of pain. When it came time to her actual delivery, we were all very relaxed, excited, and having a great time. In fact, Emerson was literally laughed into this world. I can't think of a better way to enter this mad mad world than coming into a room full of warm, sincere, laughter.<br />
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Of course, she is beautiful and perfect and amazing. She has reddish/blonde hair (My mother calls it '<i>golden'</i>)... truth be told, it is the color of a wheat field at sunset - seriously... it is. She has the fairest skin I have ever seen on a child and her eyes have decided on deep, deep blue. She turns us both into little puddles of melted love every time she does this little 'coo' thing after she sneezes, her favorite thing so far is a toss up between dancing with her daddy and playing with her hands, and the other day, when I accidentally almost cut her little finger off trying to clip her nails, I had to resist an urge, the likes of which I have never experienced, to punitively throw myself down the stairs.<br />
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Emerson's first 72 hours were spent being monitored closely in the nursery while she recovered from an extreme case of hypoglycemia and being monitored for other possible issues such as polycythemia (an excess of red blood cells), and a possible infection. It was the most intense, emotional, terrifying 72 hours of my life but ultimately she turned it all around. Because of the rocky start, it has taken us a very long time (over a month) to recover her birth weight, but we finally turned that corner last week and she's back up to 7 lbs 5 oz. Of all of the <a href="http://juliesshadesofgray.blogspot.com/2010/03/breaking-cycle-raising-daughter-with.html">weight issues</a> I was concerned about dealing with, I didn't expect to a) have to deal with them immediately upon birth and b) have the to attack the challenge of helping my daughter GAIN weight. That is just so not how we do things where I come from. <br />
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In these first five weeks we have had lots of visitors and more to come and while it can sometimes be a little stressful packing 5-6 people, two dogs, and a cat into a sleepless house with out a true guest room, the joy of being able to share her with our loved ones is so very great. I mean, really, its hard to get the full effect if you're not cuddling up to her, breathing her in, and covering that little fold in her neck with kisses while she nuzzles up and sticks her tongue out at you. Just sayin'.<br />
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So this is my gushy, I have the most magical daughter on the planet blog. Don't get me wrong... there have been so very many challenges that would have made for some incredibly entertaining, a little more sardonic fodder and I'm sure there will be more to come. Spending 5 weeks of your life forcibly homebound and topless (and NOT in a fun, 'I've been drinking tequila' sort of way) with the most psychotic sleep schedule known to man makes for some good reading material. It has taken me 5 weeks to get through this blog, so i don't know when I will write again, but I hope to make it a little more frequent. I feel like in July, when I return to work, there will hopefully be time for me to resume regular posts. However, for now, I will leave you with this cherubic face and I am going to go cuddle up and take a nap with my sweet baby girl.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/TAUmPu4acdI/AAAAAAAAEaY/G-KQ_evgDhk/s1600/IMG00110-20100531-1519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/TAUmPu4acdI/AAAAAAAAEaY/G-KQ_evgDhk/s320/IMG00110-20100531-1519.jpg" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/TAUrT62MY2I/AAAAAAAAEas/APYRFStie2c/s1600/Em+Carseat+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/TAUrT62MY2I/AAAAAAAAEas/APYRFStie2c/s320/Em+Carseat+2.jpg" /></a></div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-51388113316434741502010-04-23T09:32:00.000-07:002010-04-23T09:42:20.466-07:00A Final Post Before the Big Day - Maximum CapacitySo..... the gestation continues. I thought I would check in with everyone once more before the big day. We have an induction scheduled on Tuesday and have a busy weekend of sleeping as much as humanly possible, going to movies, and eating warm meals outside of the confines of our home planned so its possible that I won't get a chance to check in with you again until after we're officially *gulp* parents.<br />
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Let me tell you, the sheer anticipation of the past two weeks from the moment the doctor announced "You're technically considered full term, you can have that baby any time now!" has been.... man, I don't even know if there are words.... torture doesn't cover it. I distinctly remember a few days ago being plopped in a heap on the couch, staring at the wall, brooding silently, trying to communicate via telepathy with this child to convince her to be born (<i>without</i> sounding like Mommy Dearest). I looked up and realized that Hunter was staring at me as though I were some sort of agitated fatally venomous snake (you know, one of those snakes that has swallowed a moderate sized mammal and has a massive bulge 8 times the size of its head half way down the length of his body). So I took this moment to try to explain to him what I was feeling....<br />
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"Imagine if.... you knew you had to take your board exams.... and you had been studying for the better part of the year..... and they were going to come and get you to take the test<i> on any day at any moment</i> but you<i> didn't know when</i>. So you just keep studying, because you want to be prepared, but at the same time, you know you need to relax, but at the same time, you know its going to be perfect hell and you want to get it over with so that you can move of with your life and enjoy what comes next, so you just end up being pissed off and crazy..... Only its worse than that."<br />
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I personally thought that was a truly brilliant analogy, but I'm pretty sure he glazed over half way through and didn't hear the whole thing. He does that a lot these days..... I can't say I blame him.<br />
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So yeah, we've really just been doing a lot of sitting around and waiting, trying to distract ourselves from the fact that we're waiting. I've been trying out all of the old wives tales and have been through two boxes of Raspberry Leaf Tea and an entire bottle of Primrose Oil. I've <s>walked</s> waddled an average of 2-3 miles a day... I'm not going to lie, on Sunday I even jumped up and down for a few minutes. According to my dr. all systems are a go, the only hold up is the baby. Imagine, Hunter and Julie would have a stubborn child who is determined to do things in her own right, in her own time, on her own terms. Wow, when you put it like that... I guess I can wait a few more days and sit back and be proud that our daughter is already well schooled on digging her heels in.<br />
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I will leave you with a few pics and thank you for all of your excitement, enthusiasm, and well wishes. We will be in touch with as many people as we can between the 27th (induction) and 28th (b-day!).... (unless, of course, she decides to make her debut over the weekend.... but I'm over holding my breath... no really... I am. Seriously.) So much love to each and everyone of you!<br />
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Below are some pics of the nursery, me at maximum capacity and the cat (Sidha) trying to help me by attempting to hatch this baby.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIOVlxsnI/AAAAAAAAESU/uiKzMt-cwFs/s1600/Final+Countdown+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIOVlxsnI/AAAAAAAAESU/uiKzMt-cwFs/s320/Final+Countdown+001.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIOVlxsnI/AAAAAAAAESU/uiKzMt-cwFs/s1600/Final+Countdown+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIMQ46zmI/AAAAAAAAESM/fx9jYzgmwwA/s1600/Final+Countdown+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIMQ46zmI/AAAAAAAAESM/fx9jYzgmwwA/s320/Final+Countdown+002.jpg" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIU0mhl7I/AAAAAAAAESc/MgsLZ3EtAzU/s1600/Final+Countdown+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIU0mhl7I/AAAAAAAAESc/MgsLZ3EtAzU/s320/Final+Countdown+004.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIaraeeUI/AAAAAAAAESk/3DqEEp1ga2I/s1600/Final+Countdown+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HIaraeeUI/AAAAAAAAESk/3DqEEp1ga2I/s320/Final+Countdown+007.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HId6gMHWI/AAAAAAAAESs/GA7yiVAuMww/s1600/Final+Countdown+013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S9HId6gMHWI/AAAAAAAAESs/GA7yiVAuMww/s320/Final+Countdown+013.jpg" /></a></div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-50512125354053401812010-04-06T09:51:00.000-07:002010-04-06T09:51:39.566-07:00Tick-Tock, Tick-TockSorry its been a while since my last post. I've been very busy basking in the absence of my flesh-eating-virus. That's right, ladies and gentleman.... rash free for a week! You just have no idea. I will never take for granted having functional skin again. For a while there, we were contemplating having to raise our daughter in a leper colony... it was traumatic... but we survived. In order to overcome the rash, however, I ended up having to take a low-dose round of steroids. You will recall, that BEFORE the rash and steroids my darling bambina kicked so aggressively that she dislocated my rib (on more than one occasion) and earned the name "Bone-crusher Moon-pie Best". (In my opinion, 'Bone Crusher' is a great compliment to 'Moon Pie' and should keep her out of any trouble on the playground). So, I will admit, now that she's been subjected to a two week round of Prednisone, I have some concerns about birthing a female version of The Hulk and having to open a separate savings account for anger management classes (and/or bail) in addition to college tuition. I guess we'll see!<br />
<br />
In other Moon Pie news, we had an ultrasound a two weeks ago in order to get a more accurate idea of how she's been fairing with the GD Dilemma (for those of you just tuning in, 'GD Dilemma' is code for the diagnosis of Gestational Diabetes). There are two main concerns with GD: 1) That we'll end up with what is fondly referred to as a 'mega-baby' (as you can imagine, this makes for a complicated and less than fun delivery (and a bit of a complex as well, I would imagine)) 2) Blood flow will be inadequate to give her what she needs (obviously, decidedly uncool). Both of these have been pretty stressful concerns as you might imagine. The latter we check twice a week, and we're all good on that front. Now, after our most recent ultrasound, she looks like she's right on track in the size department as well.... Somewhere between 5 and 6 lbs with 4-ish weeks to go. I'll take it!<br />
<br />
So, for those of you who have been concerned about the multitude of maladies that have made up trimester 3, (*KNOCK ON WOOD*) things are looking up and I'm enjoying the last week or two before the bell rings for the next round.<br />
<br />
As far as preparations are concerned, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Now that I'm not writhing in discomfort for the first time in two months, I'm really just kind of hanging out and waiting. Waiting, anticipation, baited breath, patience, holding my horses.... not so much my thing. Not really my forte. I have other strengths. To put it kindly, waiting makes me a little irritable and unpleasant (of course, being nine months pregnant probably makes me a little irritable and unpleasant as well) But WAITING.... oh, waiting makes me very very Type-A.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
So here's how it goes, I'm a little limited when it comes to being able to do things like, mount shelving, install window shades or pull mutant weeds from the back yard. In fact, I have found that I am most effective at the following:<br />
1) incessant list making:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Lists of things to get done before Moon Pie arrives (please see above reference to shelving, shades and weeds... because the baby is going to care about the weeds) </li>
<li>Lists of things we forgot to get in preparation of Moon Pie's arrival (WE DON'T HAVE BABY NAIL CLIPPERS! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO!?!?!) </li>
<li>Lists of things that I need to take with me to the hospital (Chapstick - do NOT forget chapstick ... because I'm sure there's a major shortage of Chapstick at the hospital) </li>
<li>Lists of things that I want knock out before my mom arrives: (get hair highlighted, touch-up nail polish, get a new tube of lipstick and clean out linen closet....) </li>
<li>Lists of things we can do when Hunter's parent's arrive (.... um .... play with the baby? this list needs help) </li>
<li>Lists of foods that I plan to eat post delivery (Pie Pizza, Banburry Cross sour cream/sour cream chocolate iced donuts, Hunter's mashed potatoes, Mama's banana pudding, a chai latte with extra chai, a cherry mochaccinno, omg... wine... I almost forgot wine.... and... ) ... I'm willing to delay the post-pregnancy shape up a week or two to celebrate being diabetes free... though watch me end up in a damn sugar coma... </li>
</ul> You get the idea. You can see how, with the exception of the last, glorious list, this could make one maybe a twinge loopy. Especially since I've not really been in much of a position to accomplish anything on any of these lists (okay, that's not entirely true - I did mount shelving and clean the linen closet this weekend). </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">2) Incessant laundry</span><br />
<br />
Y'all, I have found true catharsis in laundry. It started with the flesh eating virus when I went on a mission to drench everything we touched in bleach at least every 24 hours and never really let up. I have found that laundry is a completely manageable chore in my condition, as all I have to do is waddle around the house with arm fulls of clothes and deposit them from point 'A' to point 'B' with a pit stop on the couch in front of the Food Network for a brief stint of folding..... <i>and the best part<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">..... </span></i>how awesome is it going to be to come back from the hospital to all clean clothes/sheets/towels/anything else made of fabric? How long do you think that will last? 2... maybe 3 hours?? What a grand 2-3 hours, though! No, the point is, it makes me feel productive as I've felt pretty useless of late.<br />
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(Just in case you've grown weary, here comes a rant.... continue on at your own peril)<br />
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Now, in reading this, I'm sure some of you are thinking.... "Nesting". Let me tell you a little something about "Nesting." Maybe its just me, but when someone accuses me of being afflicted by "the nesting instinct", the only overwhelming instinct I have is to punch them in the nose. I don't know <i>why</i> it makes me so incredibly hostile.... but it does. Here's the thing... when you're days away from embarking on the biggest, most significant, most anticipated, most terrifying and wonderful event of your life thus far, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be organized and prepared.<i> Also</i>, what better way to take your mind off of things than to scrub your floors with a toothbrush (if you're in to that sort of thing - I prefer the less extreme version: fold laundry in front of Food Network). <i>Also</i>, after having been extremely restricted due to sheer girth for the past several months, anyone would start go a little stir crazy and let me tell you, the public does not appreciate you going out on the town to blow off some steam in your 9th month of pregnancy! At this point the world pretty much sees you as a grenade with a loose, dangling clip and does not appreciate the potential that you might explode in their presence. So, you say "Cute.... she's got the nesting instinct!" (*twitch*) I say "just stand back, she's uncomfortable, nervous, and bored out of her skull.... someone slide her some earth-friendly, all purpose cleanser and offer her a donut".</div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-51626908074041525402010-03-21T16:34:00.000-07:002010-03-21T16:34:39.129-07:00Breaking the Cycle - Raising a Daughter With A Healthy Self-ImageOne of the bloggers I have recently started following, <a href="http://www.netfamilynews.org/">Anne Collier of Net Family News</a>, distributed a link to an article from slate.com <a href="http://addressing%20a%20%22sexting%22%20case/">addressing a "sexting" case </a>in which a couple of 15 year old girls were caught having sent provocative pictures of themselves via text message and a group of boys were forwarding them to each other's phones. The issue was not so much that teens are experimenting with sexual exploitation - we all went to high school - but that the judge in the case was threatening to convict the girls of child pornography which would technically classify them as sex offenders. I thought it was an interesting article and found it unsettling on a multiple levels. Two days later, I encountered another instance involving the distribution of provocative photographs, this one a bit closer to home, involving an acquaintance. So, I'm now looking at this from the perspective of a woman, of a woman who has always struggled with body image issues, of a woman approaching thirty, of a woman whose body has become a completely amazing and foreign enigma, and ... what really kept me up last night.... of the mother of a daughter. <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I'm all about free speech and free love. I think the human body is a beautiful thing and I am far, far, far from prudish. HOWEVER, I'm pretty upset over this. I spent most of yesterday thinking about this in the context of how do we keep our daughter from exclusively linking her self worth with her body - from measuring her value by the numbers on the scale or by her bra size, or by her pants size while still instilling a well-rounded sense of confidence? How do I keep her from instinctively using her body as a tool to get attention and affection verses her mind, her heart or her spirit? In the moment, upset and not knowing what else to do, I had a long conversation with Moon Pie in which I told her over and over and over again how amazing and wonderful and beautiful she is. With out much else to go on, I figured I'd start there. I have no idea what she looks like, I don't really care... beauty is relative and simply, I guess its never too early to start building her self confidence... but surely there's more I can do. <br />
<br />
Then I started thinking about myself and my own struggles as a woman with body image issues. I would tell you, this moment, right now, without flinching, that I have never been "skinny" a day in my life. I will look you straight in the face and tell you this, knowing full well that I have about eight pairs of size 2 and size 4 pants in my closet that I was wearing three years ago that I can't bring myself to throw away. Three years ago I was still <i>desperately</i> trying to lose weight obsessed with 'just 10 more pounds'. I could bore you with all of the dysfunctional things that I have done over the course of my life in an effort to make myself thin but none of them are unique, you've heard them all and seen them all, we've all seen the after school specials, body image demons are nothing if not cliche in today's society. Honestly, it hasn't been until right now, with the third trimester of pregnancy, that I have really come to understand my body and see it as a whole verses a waist vs. hips ratio and something that is "almost there". Honestly, I have gained more weight with pregnancy than I had planned but I am also doing everything in my power to have a healthy baby so, much to my surprise, I'm really not bothered by the number on the scale. The two things I am looking forward to over the course of the next 12 months is a renewed commitment to exercise to develop a strong body (verses being able to see my hip bones jutting out when I lay down while dealing with dull, thinning hair) and implementing the nutritional information I have adapted with the gestational diabetes into a lifelong, healthy, dietary plan. That sets me on the right path and I feel good about the head space I am in right now with regards to my own self-image.... ironically, probably better than I have ever felt in my life. But what about our daughter?<br />
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It's no secret that my side of the family is not setting any metabolism records and its also no secret that Hunter's side of the family does not have the most healthy dietary regimen. This could make for a very unhealthy combination and a life-long struggle. Not to mention the fact that with the development of gestational diabetes both she and I are now 60% more likely to develop type II diabetes later in life. I fear that we're potentially starting behind the eight ball when it comes to body image issues. So, my goal is to find some magical way of reinforcing a healthy life style without making it about size. I know this means that, as a mother,<i> I</i> can't be crash dieting or complaining about how I look and feel and that I also can not micromanage everything that she puts into her mouth or her level of physical activity. My hope is, that with the proper environment, she will make healthy decisions of her own volition and that we (<i>yes, darling, I know you're reading this and that means you too)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">will set a very strong example.</span></i><br />
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My other concern and challenge as the mother of a daughter is to keep her from having a skewed perception of the value of her physique - a.k.a. sending provocative pictures to freshman boys to get attention, love, or affection. I remember high school. Trying to keep sex from being a focal point at that time in a person's life is laughable but if we can just keep it in a healthy context and keep it from becoming consuming then I think we will have succeeded. Hunter and I both agree that the importance of having a well informed child very much outweighs the awkwardness that this education can occasionally bring. However, in addition, if we can somehow, magically, teach well-rounded intimacy that is not exclusively physical, maybe... just maybe.... she'll fall in love with a guy who reads Neruda to her on their second date instead of the guy who keeps eying her entirely too short skirt.<br />
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Looking back on my own struggles, seeing the women that I know and love struggle all of these years and living in a society that is completely addicted to and obsessed with an unobtainable image of the perfect female form at any cost just breaks my heart. As I write this, I think about the women that I know today who seem <i>truly happy</i> and they are intelligent, creative, quick-witted, talented and stylish. They are women who love to read books and write journals and knit and cook and run and do yoga. They are single, engaged, in relationships, and married. Every single one of them are absolutely gorgeous, elegant and classy. Every one of them tend to be fully clothed when they leave the house and I doubt if any of them of them looks like a Maxim cover when she steps out of the shower. I have no earthly idea how much any of them weigh because we rarely discuss it and these confident, well-rounded, exquisite, happy women are the ones that I hope will help me to raise a daughter who is confident, well-rounded, exquisite and happy herself. Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-12909677298006171662010-03-19T15:22:00.000-07:002010-03-19T16:25:17.750-07:00**Quaranteen!!** or ' A Flaming Deluge of Itch'I'll be honest, I've had some concerns about this turning into a 'mommy blog'. That was not what I originally set out to do and mommy blogs have become so trendy and cliche lately that I really cringe when I think about falling into that category. However, the reality is, I'm becoming a mother very (<i>VERY</i>) soon and lets face it, its the most significant thing I've ever been through, ever done, ever been a part of... its a bit consuming. Also, it just so happens I got pregnant as soon as I started this blog, so maybe I'm railing against destiny. At the end of the day - do I really care? Nah, not so much really. Plus- these days I don't really have to worry, because instead of a mommy blog this has become a database of maladies, an encyclopedia of heath-related catastrophes, a hysterical screed on sickness - and well.... slightly pathetic. Now that I've acknowledged that, that's right, I'll own it, <i>let me tell you about this rash</i>! No seriously... this rash is blog worthy... this rash is <i><u>epic</u></i>. (You know you so wanted to kick off your weekend reading about my rash!)<br />
<br />
So if you will recall about two weeks ago I was bemoaning yet another cold and was wailing about how much I missed the simple act of breathing. Truth be told, as far as colds go, this one was definitely less significant than most. No sore throat, aches, cough, etc... it only lasted a week.... in the scheme of colds, I can handle it. So, after the cold wanned and life returned to normal, as per usual, my darling Dr. Best started complaining of the sniffles. "Great, another sympathetic illness. Why can't he just let me be pregnant and miserable without stealing all of my ailments after I have exhausted them?" I think to myself. "Go chug your nyquil and leave me over here to pout with my herbal tea." (I blame moments like this on hormones). So a few days go by and I start to itch. Then I start to itch more. Then more body parts start to itch... the itching is increasing in both intensity and surface area... what... the... hell. At first we were thinking allergic reaction, then we talk to the doctor and she says -"nope, pregnancy rash... its common, it sucks, it will go away someday. Sorry, my dear!" (Believe it or not, I do take strange comfort in the fact that it takes a whole hell of a lot to get my doctor worked up. I find it inexplicably comforting when she crosses her legs, tilts her head, smiles genuinely and says "yeah, I hate that for you, but you're going to have to just deal.." So pregnancy rash it is! More to file away when moon pie and I are at odds over curfew.<br />
<br />
.... and then Hunter starts to itch. <br />
<br />
"NO! NO! NO! NO! YOU CAN NOT HAVE MY RASH. ITS A<i> PREGNANCY</i> RASH, YOU DO NOT GET TO STEAL MY <i>PREGNANCY RASH</i>!" (again with the hormones.) He pulls up his shirt and there it is.... damn if the love of my life doesn't have a pregnancy rash. So we immediately started sleuthing for the source because, let's face it, if Hunter <i>did</i> have a pregnancy rash - we have bigger issues than territorial tiffs over disease. We checked the animals for fleas, washed the sheets, inventoried all of our soaps, detergents, etc... nothing stood out. Then it dawned on us - we both had that cold..... holy crap..... THE RASH IS VIRAL. WE HAVE A FLESH EATING VIRAL RASH. Just for fun, Hunter went to the doctor and confirmed this hypothesis yesterday.<br />
<br />
So, between us, we're taking 3-4 oatmeal baths a day, we've been through 4 tubes of Gold Bond cream, and an entire container of Sarna lotion. We went out Wednesday night and had to come home early because my legs spontaneously combusted into a <i>flaming deluge of itch</i> and so since then we've essentially spent our evenings in the bed slathering lotion, trying not to touch anything, and fantasizing about amputating various body parts and sleeping about 3 hours a night...<i>and NOT in a fun and kinky sort of way! </i> I just took the first benadryl that I have taken in 12 years. Last time I took it I didn't sleep for days and ended up hallucinating. Of course, I was also in a very different place in my life about 12 years ago, so I could have that entire experience out of context. Fortunately, I just ended up in a spherical, drooling mass of slightly-less-itchy exhaustion today... I'm fine with that.<br />
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So - there is our epic tale of the flaming flesh-eating viral rash. I have to say, this has been one instance where misery does love company. Though I hate that he's uncomfortable, its been nice being able to hole up with Hunter knowing he can relate to and share my agony. If nothing else, we've been able to effectively entertain each other!<br />
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In a brief baby update, looks like Moon Pie is getting as anxious as I am about moving on to the next phase. Our little girl is a getting little ahead in terms of size so as of today, we've got less than 4 weeks or so and then we can start talking about getting this party started. I learned this exciting bit of news on Tuesday and almost as if on cue, I started with the braxton-hicks contractions (fake contractions or 'practice contractions') on Wed. General consensus is that this is an indicator we've got a month or so left. That puts us at the week of April 13th, which really and truly seems like tomorrow to me. At this point, there's really no telling... I do know, the next couple of weeks should be pretty interesting! I will continue to keep you posted.<br />
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Hope all is well with you. I know back east you're having some serious spring weather. Its snowing right now but they're calling for 64 degrees and sunshine this weekend. Maybe I'll go sun my rash! :)<br />
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Lots of love!<br />
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JulieShades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-31906205611826309842010-03-08T14:58:00.000-08:002010-03-08T14:58:28.516-08:00Nothing exciting... a cold, a dislocated rib and a broken dishwasher... just your average weekend.Y'all are going to have to forgive me. I've been a little all over the map lately. We can blame that on the hormones, the absence of sugar, or whatever, I don't really care what we blame it on... pick an excuse I have plenty!!!!!!! The end of last week was one for the books, for sure. I ended up completely overcome with *A-N-O-T-H-E-R* massive cold. Honestly, with the exception of maybe 4 or 5 days I've been sick since day one of my 3rd trimester. I so wanted to be one of those women who just totally Zen's out and just "loves being pregnant." I was all good for trimesters 1&2. Then I became one of those pregnant women who starts every sentence with "you're not going to believe what this child has done to me now." Oh-well. At least we know that I'm not all of a sudden going to decide to birth an entire herd of children. Back to my cold. This was the sort of cold where your body pretty much feels okay except for the fact that you might as well not have a nose. There are no sniffles or sore throat or cough, just a complete absence of one of two very critical breathing options. My sinuses were completely sealed shut. Occasionally, one of my nostrils would just start dripping liquid but because my face is scaly and raw and numb, this was difficult to predict and catch. We're really talking about a total absence of grace here. Because my nose just up and quit my face, there was no sniffing or blowing, just this delightful spontaneous dripping and desperate clamoring for a Kleenex/paper towel/roll of toilet paper/sleeve/whatever. <br />
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The most predominant effect of this phenomenon was to piss me off and make me whiny. Then came the rib situation. I'm sure most of you have heard me mumbling in protest about my child's foot in my ribs and how uncomfortable said foot placement could be. Also on Wednesday, this discomfort morphed from a consistent annoyance into full on <b>chronic agony</b>. I asked our birthing instructor for advice and she told me to go hang from some monkey bars.... Really? Monkey Bars? I was so scouting out playgrounds for monkey bars. I was hanging on door frames, I was hanging on Hunter... whatever, I was game. It didn't work. Thursday, I asked my Dr. about it. She laughed at me and said "tell her to move!". Cute. So finally, I did what no pregnant woman should ever do.... I <i>Googled</i> 'how to remove baby's foot from my ribs'. LOW AND BEHOLD the first 10 things that came up involved physical therapy. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">**long pause** </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Duh. </b></div><br />
So by Friday morning, I had not slept since Tuesday and I was confined from the bed until pain became so unbearable that had to pace around the house trying to re-adjust my torso. I called the physical therapist who had helped me with some S.I. joint issues earlier in my pregnancy who specializes in women's therapy and pregnancy. This woman, Ashely Nelson, is a goddess, a saint, and my personal hero. I made an emergency appointment to see her Friday afternoon, walked into her office, she looked at me and immediately said "Wow, um, yeah - I'd imagine that hurts, you've got a dislocated rib sticking out of your back.".<br />
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My darling little girl dislodged a rib. God love her.... from what I understand, that's not super easy to do! She's either really really tall or really really strong.... or both. So with some serious manipulation (Ashley), banging (Ashley), cussing (Me) and praying (Me), Ashley and I got my rib back in place and tapped up. If nothing else, our efforts did clear my sinuses for a few minutes!!! So I kick started my weekend bruised as hell from our efforts to re-align my rib, but you know what, I'll take a little bruising over chronic agony ANY DAY.<br />
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Also, while all of this was happening our dishwasher stopped cleaning our dishes. Ordinarily this wouldn't bother me all that much but a dear friend reminded me that I would soon be doing lots of dishes and sterilizing lots of...well... everything. Even so, this has really been a minor irritant of late (in comparison...) until today when I started calling around to have the thing fixed. I called Sears a total of 3 times and had Hunter call once all in an effort to try and understand our two payment options. First of all, out of all four phone calls none of our customer service reps spoke English as a primary language. That's totally fine, unless I am asking open-ended questions that require a legitimate dialogue. To the best of my understanding there were two payment options, both of which made me feel like I was signing up for some sort of seriously creepy life insurance. Something inside of me kept saying - "<i>if you sign up for this appointment, you might still have unsterilized baby bottles there's a possibility that they will completely drain your 401-K.... red flag... red flag</i>." Neither plan allowed me to get a new dishwasher if I changed my mind. Seriously? How can you tell me 'No' if I want a new dishwasher!?!?! How does that even work? I'm pregnant. I'm incapable of making a decision or committing to what shoes I want to wear today. I need legitimate options. I NEED to be able to change my mind!<br />
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An hour later, I actually found the manual for the dishwasher. I called the Maytag company. This time, instead of being transferred over seas, I spent literally (by this point yes - I really am timing) 25 minutes trying playing 20 questions with a computerized voice. Trying to read off your phone number with no nose to anon-human is just really really challenging. "Dide.. One.. Dide- etc. etc. (should be 919)" and then with all of the yes or no questions I'm eventually screaming "Doh!!!!" into the phone thinking, under different circumstances, I'm sure this would be comical. Finally, the computer gave up on me and put me on the phone with Taylor, a sweetheart with a southern drawl. I gotta tell you, Taylor was no real help but just hearing his live, human, southern voice really made my day. Taylor inadvertently reminded me that we were given a 1 year home warranty when we purchased our house and that our dishwasher is covered!!!! I was so elated by this news that I didn't even care that I had wasted the last 3 hours of my day. <br />
<br />
SO if we're keeping pace:<br />
While the size of my baby looks great and she doesn't qualify a 'monster baby' in physique, I have taken to referring to her as 'monster baby' because, well, the child dislocated my freaking rib! (Hunter gets very upset when I refer to our sweet daughter as monster. Hunter, however, has never had a dislocated anything. <i>Yet</i>...) However, I have found the best Physical Therapist in the whole wide world so its all good. <br />
<br />
Round 17 of the never-ending-head-cold seems to be wanning. I've been almost able to breathe out of my left nostril for going on 17 hours now. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. <br />
<br />
Thanks to a very cool Realtor and sweet Taylor from Maytag, our dishwasher should be fixed for the more than reasonable price of $60.00. No one was injured in the scheduling of this service.<br />
<br />
Nursery is almost finished (pics this week!) and we should be able to start working on the yard in the next week or two (its our first honest to goodness yard, I'm excited). <br />
<br />
Spring is coming and sometime in the next 5-7 weeks, so is Moon Pie. <br />
<br />
Life. Is. Good.Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-54528717992609383232010-03-03T15:52:00.000-08:002010-03-03T15:55:14.695-08:00A little rant, A little common courtesy, A little more rant.<div class="MsoNormal">Okay – I will be the first to admit, I’ve been a little intense lately. That said; it’s a controlled intensity. I was able to keep myself from laying on the horn and screaming at the lady driving in a way that made Ms. Daisy look like Mario Andretti through the cancer center on my way to pick Hunter up from work. I have enough presence of mind to realize, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it’s a cancer center</i>. The only people who get to cause scenes here are the ones with cancer. Get a hold of yourself… and a hold of myself was gotten! See! Controlled intensity! Beautiful!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">HOWEVER! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HOW-ev..errrr</i>…. When it came to the guy “walking his dog”. Okay, screw it; you can’t call what he was doing “walking his dog”. I need to rephrase: When it came to the guy “passive aggressively trying to communicate reverse psychology via telepathy to his mongrel of a canine in an effort to maintain a pathetic delusion of evolved human-being/companion animal dominance and <u>FAILING</u> TO THE DETRIMENT OF … WELL … AT A MINIMUM, <u>ME</u>”…. Yes, when it comes to THAT GUY…. I kind of lost my patience.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Allow me to expound. (Like you have a choice at this juncture). I mentioned Monday that we (I) have a renewed commitment to making our yard a pleasant space that will, one day, hopefully, be somewhat child friendly. (I think the term frequently being whispered behind my back when referring to this latest crusade is actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘nesting’.</i>) We (I) have decided that step one in this process is to transition the primary function of our yard being an unsanitary sewage pit for our two golden retrievers, Dharma and Bodhi. No more stench of ammonia wafting up in the hot dry summer sun as we sit on our patio table and no more monthly expeditions in hazmat suits to remove all of the piles of poo. Two 60-80 lb dogs produce a lot of poo. It’s gross. God love ‘em. Also, something we learned the hard way, when there is no humidity and no rain, dog poo doesn’t just break down and “fertilize” like it does down south. No, it petrifies instead. If it’s winter, it freezes and then petrifies. SO my solution to this is 3-4 short walks of a block or 2 or 3 or more (depending on how much time we have and how shy Bodhi is about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">going</i> on a tandem leash with Dharma at his side - I’m finding he’s pretty shy). Operation no-poo (I’ll come up with a better name when I’m not so pissed off) started today. I’m finding I’m digging this new endeavor because it also forces me to take a break, stretch my legs, and get a breath of fresh air. I’m down with it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To set the scene, I have to tell you we live in what is often referred to as a “mixed use” neighborhood and a “walkable community.” It’s a neighborhood with an urban feel to it. While it is primarily historic/residential homes a lot of these old buildings have been turned into art galleries, coffee shops, café’s, bakeries, laundromats, grocery stores, ski shops, you name it, interspersed with the houses on every block. It’s laid out in a way that really encourages social living, getting out and walking, lots of sidewalks and bike lanes, etc. etc. It’s also INCREDIBLY dog friendly. Dogs are almost required to live here. It’s nothing for me to see a little old lady with her yippy, white, fluff ball strolling down the aisle in the produce section of the neighborhood grocery store or chilling in her purse in a near-by restaurant. </div><div class="MsoNormal">For the most part, I find dog owners are pretty conscientious. Most dog owners are in the same boat we are, the lots are very small in this part of town and in order to keep your yard from being flagged by the CDC, you have to walk your dogs often. We all make sure we bag the business and toss accordingly. We have understood off leash areas – for example; the cemetery one block up. Not technically off leash, but if you are conscientious about your dog’s behavior, personality and when you go, its all good. Also,…. Drum roll please… theres <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THE DOG PARK </i>in the middle of the neighborhood – even though it’s not fenced in… which is kind of strange for a dog park in the middle of an urban neighborhood…. FINALLY if your dog really needs to get some energy out of its system there is a dog friendly hiking trail at the edge of the neighborhood that goes for about 5 miles through the woods AND INCLUDES A CREEK FOR ADDITIONAL DOG DELIGHT!!!! What more could you ask for? So the rules are, bag your business and keep your dog on a leash unless you are in one of the understood leash optional areas.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, I am willing to grant exception to this decree. For example, our neighbor’s dog, Beau is really and truly the reincarnated soul of some heavenly saint sent down to provide dignified, well mannered, love and companionship to his family. Beau is perfect. Beau does not require a leash. I will be the FIRST to tell you with absolute certainty… my dogs are nothing like Beau. Dharma is a somewhat unpredictable, neurotic, psychologically faulty, spaz. She has three modes: Hide, eat, run. She doesn’t have an aggressive bone in her body and is beta to a fault, but she’s stubborn and when she’s walking, she really just wants to run, hide, or both. Therefore, I don’t let her off of the leash. Bodhi, on the other hand is a huge, bumbling, blond, exhibition of love. Really. He’s three dimensional love. He loves everything and everybody and has so much love that he can’t control himself. When he encounters something new he just showers it with and explosion love and kisses and… well urine. Shockingly, some folks find this trait annoying. Therefore, I don’t let him off of the leash. At the end of the day, both of my dogs are pretty well behaved, well trained, and listen fairly well. However, you never know when you’re going to encounter another aggressive dog or someone running a stop sign, or whatever. Because I love my dogs, I don’t let them off of the leash.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">(Below is Bodhi. He's experiencing explosive euphoria because his all time favorite person in the world, our neighbor, Ron, is telling him good morning through the fence. This state of extreme, full bodied bliss is pretty much perpetual)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S47x1lTGqGI/AAAAAAAAENU/LRia5S7FBsM/s1600-h/Bodhi+and+Ron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S47x1lTGqGI/AAAAAAAAENU/LRia5S7FBsM/s320/Bodhi+and+Ron.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S47zFCfFUsI/AAAAAAAAENc/n_hGut_MA6s/s1600-h/Dharma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S47zFCfFUsI/AAAAAAAAENc/n_hGut_MA6s/s320/Dharma.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Above is Dharma. She's hiding from the voices. We've been able to determine that the voices only stop when she's fed, therefore, if she's not hiding, she's stalking the kitchen.)</div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">So I’m waddling down the sidewalk, minding my own business, trying desperately to talk Bodhi into getting over his bathroom shyness when I see dude walking down the street in front of me about 15 feet behind his little black Scotty/Yorkie/thingy, which is not on a leash. It was a super cute little dog, lots of energy, I’m guessing a puppy. I wave to the guy and slow down to give him time to call his dog back and leash her up. He does nothing. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nothing</i>. I stop. Little dog runs over to us and starts bouncing and trying to play. Dharma wants no part of this and starts trying to hide and Bodhi can’t contain himself and starts trying to wrestle with the dog. I’m now in the middle of a pack of 3 dogs going in three different directions all in various stages of insanity and I’m 7 months pregnant. Needless to say, I held that leash for about 30 seconds before I was over powered by the chaos of 150 pounds worth of dog and let them all go. Now, keep in mind it’s also about 5:30 in the afternoon. We’re at an intersection. This is just uncool. So I look at the guy, who is now strolling towards me (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">strolling</i>) causally calling his dog “Cricket.”, and I say “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SERIOUSLY</i>!?!?!? Man, this is uncool”. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">AREN’T YOU PROUD OF ME!?!?! I DIDN’T USE A SINGLE CUSS WORD! THAT IS A SERIOUSLY LOW KEY EXPRESSION OF FRUSTRATION!!!!!!!! So the guy… says… NOTHING. Not. A. Word. Not, ‘OH MY GOD I’M SORRY!’ Not, ‘Are you okay?!?’ Not, ‘my dog is out of control and I’m a pathetic human being with no respect for my fellow man’. Not, ‘lady why don’t you just roll your pregnant butt out of here’. Nothing. He just ignores me, keeps casually strolling towards me passively stating his dog’s name, “Cricket.”. I’ve got news for you; Cricket had left the reservation by this point. Cricket was flying so high she didn’t hear anything but a thousand euphoric trumpets blasting ‘freedom’ in her little puppy dog ears. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I decide to take a different approach. Maybe the guy is embarrassed at his obvious impotence when it comes to his dog. I say “ha ha… I’ve been there… she’s actually a really cute dog.” Still nothing. I’ve given up that the guy is ever going to get control of his dog and mine are sensing that I’m really not happy and are starting to calm down and dial back into what’s going on with me. I gather up their leash, they calm down, we start walking. Effing Cricket starts following. She follows us to the end of the block, she bolts across the intersection, she’s yard hopping, she’s out of this stratosphere! The guy starts strolling in her general direction causally calling her name like it’s just no big deal, he’s yet to acknowledge me or our obviously unpleasant predicament, he’s just strolling and I can’t stand it anymore. I just can’t. So I turn around and say, “I hate to state the obvious here, but you obviously have zero control over your dog and therefore have absolutely no business walking her off leash. Not only is it dangerous for her to be playing in 5:00 traffic, but its unbelievable rude and inconsiderate and I really really don’t appreciate being put in this situation while I’m walking my dogs minding my own damn business”. You guessed it. He said nothing. I stormed off in a huff, put Dharma and Bodhi back in the house, and came out on the front porch with my hands on my hips to glare at him with my most humiliating glare while he spent the next 15 minutes following his insane little monster around my block. He finally turned around and left her, which she finally realized and followed in his general direction. Nothing like some passive aggressive reverse psychology to really show your little dog who’s boss. Way to handle the situation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I just don’t understand people sometimes. In my world, and I like this little world, you go out of your way to be kind and conscientious. You cross the street to help someone struggling; you don’t look the other way. You are accountable for your actions and claim responsibility if you have caused discomfort to another person. This could be as simple as accidentally bumping someone with your grocery cart or almost causing a pregnant woman to land flat on her face amidst a pile of insane dogs. Anyway, you get the point, no need for me to get all high and mighty. Just remember, you have nothing lost by making an extra effort to interact with your fellow man. Worst case scenario is they ignore you and you’re no worse off than you would have been if you had ignored them. I think it’s easy to get out of the habit if physical interaction and common courtesy when it’s so much easier to text, tweet, email, or chat. I love all of these functions, but let’s face it, they are a little soulless and I always say, there is nothing in this world like hearing the sound of your sweet voice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On that happy note, I must get ready to go to birthing class. And I'd also like to end by saying... Screw you, Cricket's Owner! And your little dog too!!! HA!</div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-64379021656191012712010-03-01T10:35:00.000-08:002010-03-01T12:52:18.161-08:00The weekend, progress and pregnancy portraits!<div>Greetings! I hope y'all had truly exceptional weekends! However, let's face it... not every weekend can be truly exceptional, so if your weekend wasn't exceptional, I hope it was, at the very least, pleasant. I was able to effectively pull myself out of my funk on Friday. I appreciate you're letting me vent... it helped tremendously! In addition to unloading into the ether, I spoke with my doctor who cleared up a little bit of confusion and I went back and read this: <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">"</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px; font-family:Trebuchet, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">The biggest lesson I have learned from the first phase of this experience.... you can not predict, plan, schedule, or manage this experience. As you might imagine, this is a MASSIVE revelation for me... but amazing all the same. For the first time in my life I truly have almost no control of my body, my mind, my emotions, my reactions, or my needs and wants and I can honestly say, I have never been happier. I have never been more relaxed and I have never been so excited to be surprised each and every single day. I'd say so far, this is an amazing introduction to our grandest adventure yet."</span></i></span> from an entry I wrote in October, when I unveiled the big news <a href="http://juliesshadesofgray.blogspot.com/2009/10/our-greatest-adventure.html">(Our Greatest Adventure)</a>. Needless to say, I found that little paragraph to be pretty profound, given the state I was in at the end of last week. In addition, every Thursday I get to go have a non-stress test on Moon Pie. I say "I 'get' to go have..." because a non-stress test consists of me kicking back in a seriously cushy recliner in a private room in the hospital, closing my eyes and listening to Moon Pie's heart beat for about45 minutes. I have to say - there is absolutely nothing in this world more relaxing or soothing than that sound. So by this point I'm pretty much at the "okay, high drama - so you can't have cake.... listen to that beautiful heartbeat, take your medicine, eat a salad and get over yourself,"state. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, having effectively gotten over myself, I decided to be a little more proactive in finding outlets to keep myself securely away from the downward spiral. I find cooking to be incredibly cathartic, so Friday night, I cooked dinner twice. One very very healthy dinner of lemon roast chicken, a baked sweet potato and a salad (that would be for yours truly) and one very unhealthy dinner of fried country-style steak, mashed potatoes and biscuits for Hunter. I highly recommend kicking off your weekend by frying something while dancing around the kitchen to Elton John and Neil Young. Trust me. Just do it.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>SLC Trib & My Two Cents & Shutter Island</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday marked day one my subscription to the S<a href="http://www.sltrib.com/">alt Lake Tribune</a>. We spent the morning under the covers with coffee and books and the news paper. I subscribed to the Tribune on Thursday after writing my last blog, mainly to give myself a little more writing fodder. I had heard that the SLC legislature is, essentially, off the grid insane and it sounded like it would be a great source for commentary. Turns out, its true... I just need to get a little more organized before I can share with you HOW insane politics actually are out here. I also thought it would be a good way for me (and Hunter by force... i mean by proxy) to become a little more immersed in the goings on/culture of our new home. Well, all I can say is, from an entertainment perspective, the SLC Trib does not disappoint. From a news/culture perspective... I'ma little disturbed... but that brings us full circle to writing fodder... so I guess mission accomplished? Anyway, I laughed and yelled at the paper until almost noon when we went to see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1130884/">Shutter Island</a>. (It was okay - different from what I was expecting and slightly less than what I'm used to from Scorsese. It was more like a watered down Kubrick in my opinion.... but I'm far from a movie critic and it certainly didn't suck. I highly encourage you to form your own opinion on these things). </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Spring Fever</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday, spring fever officially hit. Hunter had to work so decided I would rake the back yard. No, we did not rake the back yard in the fall... we waited until spring. My rational for this was that the leaves would rot, fertilize, and moisten our completely miserable and pathetic back yard. Obviously, this is something that I made up to help me sleep at night, but it sounds good, doesn't it? Let me tell you how cute I looked out there trying to keep from just rolling down the hill in what were essentially mismatched pajamas wrestling with a rake and a coffee mug while trying to keep my shirt pulled down over my ever- expanding belly. Super cute. The problem with the above (aside from the fact that I pulled my back and can barely walk today) is that its a slippery slope (both literally and figuratively). Since raking, I have called and set up an appointment to have these two god-awful trees our our back yard hacked as much as humanly possible without cutting them down and I'm hoping that the people coming to do that will bring Edward Scissor Hands with them. We have these 6 rose bushes in our front yard that look like something out of a Tim Burton movie only Sans-Johnny Depp. (For those of you who aren't getting the reference, Johnny Depp kinda completes Tim Burton. Without him, he's often more just scary and deranged - like my rose bushes). I'm also working on getting together with a landscaper this week for some <i>very minor suggestions</i> (I do not need to be implementing a massive landscaping project and birthing a baby at the same time. I do not need to be implementing a massive landscaping project and birthing a baby at the same time... Repeat.) Its our first yard.... we have a serious, serious learning curve and unfortunately not too terribly much to start with. I just need to remember to be patient. If anyone sees me circling the parking lot at Lowes eyeing a pallet of mulch, please just stop me.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Socialization</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Last but not least I went to a knitting class yesterday at <a href="http://www.blazing-needles.com/">Blazing Needles</a>. This place is seriously awesome and they are teaching me how to make <a href="http://www.cocoknits.com/knit/garments/accessories/prairieboots.html">these</a>!!!! I'm so super pumped. So, I got out of the house, got to be around people, I even broke down and had a couple of thin mints (dude, they were in my face for 3 whole hours!)</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Conclusion</b></div><div><br /></div><div>All in all it was a much needed, very positive weekend. I feel like I made a lot of personal progress just by accomplishing little things. I think we're all pretty exhausted and are planning a low key week. However, mental health context, it was definitely worth it. It very much helped me put everything back in perspective. I have 7 more weeks (or less) to enjoy this once in life time experience so I'm going to relax and enjoy my weekly 45 minute heart beat concerto, I'm going to enjoy the 15 minutes every night when Hunter reads Moon Pie a story and then bends down to listen to her heartbeat and gets a tiny little punch in the ear. I'm going to enjoy playing guess that protruding body part (so far we've identified head, foot, fist, elbow, knee, bum) and I'm going to remember that this is a truly magical and beautiful experience every single day. On that note, I have included some portraits below. Since some of you are far away and some of you haven't had a chance to really experience this first hand with me, these were taken at our place last weekend by a dear friend and ski-buddy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pictures</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKcDbIIqI/AAAAAAAAENE/8FUCAb-ptBc/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-23.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKcDbIIqI/AAAAAAAAENE/8FUCAb-ptBc/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-23.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443737526655787682" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKHiyMZII/AAAAAAAAEM8/J2EhFOM19oU/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-15.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKHiyMZII/AAAAAAAAEM8/J2EhFOM19oU/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-15.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443737174296781954" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKHBLtqTI/AAAAAAAAEM0/nS3e4EDmPjs/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-14.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKHBLtqTI/AAAAAAAAEM0/nS3e4EDmPjs/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443737165277014322" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKGthnokI/AAAAAAAAEMs/KOVSkJQwlpo/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-13.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKGthnokI/AAAAAAAAEMs/KOVSkJQwlpo/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-13.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443737160000184898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKGLV9YKI/AAAAAAAAEMk/-yi0DHpxMrE/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-12.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wKGLV9YKI/AAAAAAAAEMk/-yi0DHpxMrE/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-12.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443737150824472738" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJr2jHZJI/AAAAAAAAEMc/JbhFmbC7ScY/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-11.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJr2jHZJI/AAAAAAAAEMc/JbhFmbC7ScY/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736698565911698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJro4s4HI/AAAAAAAAEMU/baf2y-rJ2bY/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJro4s4HI/AAAAAAAAEMU/baf2y-rJ2bY/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-10.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736694898352242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJrVS4CHI/AAAAAAAAEMM/ho_-_U8Pmmc/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJrVS4CHI/AAAAAAAAEMM/ho_-_U8Pmmc/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736689639426162" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJq-cF3XI/AAAAAAAAEME/2JSDRKMGnD0/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJq-cF3XI/AAAAAAAAEME/2JSDRKMGnD0/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736683504065906" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJqtHHX8I/AAAAAAAAEL8/aFo-K-DDgNs/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJqtHHX8I/AAAAAAAAEL8/aFo-K-DDgNs/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736678852681666" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJOoTr6wI/AAAAAAAAEL0/sm-jZA3LJ44/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJOoTr6wI/AAAAAAAAEL0/sm-jZA3LJ44/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736196526893826" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJOdIntMI/AAAAAAAAELs/mLyPMQPljDY/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJOdIntMI/AAAAAAAAELs/mLyPMQPljDY/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736193527690434" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJOBcsqPI/AAAAAAAAELk/0SCcnsr0qFo/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-3+(1).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJOBcsqPI/AAAAAAAAELk/0SCcnsr0qFo/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-3+(1).jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736186095708402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJNqB7OoI/AAAAAAAAELc/MT2B0wj2iOM/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJNqB7OoI/AAAAAAAAELc/MT2B0wj2iOM/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736179809401474" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJND0eS-I/AAAAAAAAELU/j0Z1JAbOQaA/s1600-h/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_b3nEAANXLx8/S4wJND0eS-I/AAAAAAAAELU/j0Z1JAbOQaA/s320/5x7+julie+and+hunter+Feb2010-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443736169552432098" /></a>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-49584774923365207902010-02-25T07:35:00.000-08:002010-02-25T10:20:24.030-08:00A Darker Shade of GrayNot to state the obvious, but the title of this blog is "Shades of Gray." The purpose of this blog is stated as "my effort to make sense out of a world that think's its black and white but never can be... etc. etc." - an exploration of space in-between, if you will. <div><br /></div><div>In general, my posts lean towards the positive, the comical, the sentimental, and occasionally the lightly sardonic. However, let's face it. I wouldn't have a blog called "Shades of Gray" if I didn't occasionally go through periods in my life that were a bit darker (otherwise this blog would be titled <i>Sunshine and Puppies</i>). In the past, this has been a significant issue for me (us). There have been periods where depression has had a rather severe impact on my life, my health and the lives of my loved ones. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think we all have periods of darkness and periods of light. The goal, which is easier for some than others, is to <i>keep the darkness from suffocating and the light from blinding</i>. For me, it has been almost two years since I've really struggled with depression in a way that has left me feeling, in hindsight, terrified. Its been a gradual process, painstakingly gradual really, but over the years, with maturity, love, support and a little perspective, I've (we've) managed to get a decent handle on my emotions or brain chemistry, or whatever you want to call it. </div><div><br /></div><div>(side note on the 'us' and the 'we' above - I have an incredible spouse/partner who has been with me through every single up and down as though he were experiencing them himself... He has done so with a level of patience, understanding, unwavering clarity, and devotion that defies comprehension. Without him.. well, there is no 'without him'.) </div><div><div><br /></div><div>One of the key components in this delicate balance between light and dark has been to recognize the path that you're on, acknowledge it and find some diversions to keep you from going too far down the path and getting lost. One of those outlets for me is and has always been writing. Its undoubtedly a form of therapy - an anonymous ear whose soul purpose is to listen while I talk myself into making sense again. All this said, I'm using you as an outlet and a diversion today... its been a rough couple of weeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, I mentioned above, we feel like we have a better handle on my depression than ever before. I think we understand it better, we have more coping mechanisms and we're better equipped to deal with the blah days. For me, this was a critical component in our decision to go ahead and have a child. Don't get me wrong, its not like the thought process was "hey, I'll never be sad again, lets have a baby and live happily ever after." It was more "I am confident that I am emotionally equipped and stable enough to be responsible for the emotional health and well being of another person forever - wow... holy crap that's huge." With that realization, I knew that there would be new emotional challenges on a level of which I was incapable of even beginning to comprehend. She's not even here yet and I'm getting a taste of that dynamic. </div><div><br /></div><div>Gestational Diabetes (yes - I'm back to the GD Dilemma), in the scheme of life and pregnancy, is really NOT A HUGE DEAL. Its not. I'm not just saying that. I know this and tell myself this hundreds of times a day, I could be dealing with issues so very much more significant and severe. At the end of the day I have phenomenal medical care, this baby is being monitored twice a week and all of the odds say everything will be absolutely fine. The problem is, I have been tasked with the responsibility of monitoring this <i>dilemma </i> and keeping it in check and I am starting to feel like I have been given a completely impossible, truly insurmountable task. Not a good feeling under any circumstances - but really not a good feeling when the well being of your own helpless child is involved. </div><div><br /></div><div>When your boss gives you a completely impossible, truly insurmountable task, chances are you start muttering obscenities, call your friends/family, vent about what an unreasonable<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (-insert your favorite derogatory name here) </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size: medium;">he/she is, suck it up, do your best, and at the end of the day it works out. Other than elevated blood pressure, loss of sleep, and perhaps an unexpected deficit in the liquor cabinet, no harm, no foul. </span> When its your unborn child, however</i>.... well for one thing, you can't go near the liquor cabinet. You feel like its life and death, there's no one to blame, there's no one to call names and no one who can really step in and help you own it. Maybe its just because I tend to be a little type-A and can be a little extreme but at the end of the day its like having a gun pointed at your child and you either pass or fail. </div><div><br /></div><div>Okay - that is a bit extreme, no one is going to die here, but let me explain the analogy. I am maintaining an unbelievably restricted diet. I pour over nutrition facts, I keep a calculator in the kitchen, I keep a timer in my pocket, I have a color coded spreadsheet that would blow your mind. I analyse every drop of sustenance that I put into my mouth trying to find the balance between getting enough sustenance for the two of us and keeping my blood sugar low enough to keep her healthy. Every meal feels like a gamble. One hour after each meal I prick my finger, take my glucose levels, hold my breath and for the past two and a half weeks, 75 percent of the time, I have failed. I can not tell you how much stress and anxiety I have developed as a result of this insanity. Now, my logical mind says - you're eating a perfect diet and your blood sugar is still high, its not your fault. I finally came to terms with that this week, threw up my hands, acknowledged that I had done everything I could have done, and went on a low dose of medication. My doctor assured me it was safe for the baby, its only 8 weeks, it will lower my stress and anxiety (which is also good for the baby) its the right thing to do... not... my... fault. This morning I woke up and realized that I was in ketosis. For those of you who did not spend part of the last decade on the Atkins diet, that essentially means (in terms of pregnancy) I'm not getting enough sustenance. I'm eating what I'm supposed to be eating, my blood sugar is still high, and now, I'm essentially starving... all at the same time.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I have a call into the doctor. I have my second weekly appointment this afternoon with an RN to make sure Moon Pie's heart rate, etc. are perfect. I know we will find a good solution for what I now refer to exclusively and not-so-affectionately as the <i>GD Dilemma</i>. I know, 8 weeks from now this will all seem like a distant memory and a whole lot of stress over nothing. Right now though, it just feels all consuming. </div><div><br /></div><div>The point of all of this (if you're still with me, that is) is I just needed to vent.... to vent and vent and vent. I need to unload and not be consumed. I need to drop this burden off in the ether, take a hot shower, and go spend an hour in a local book store, treat myself to an exceptional cup of decaf (they do exist, you just have to really seek them out) and keep myself from diving down the rabbit hole.</div><div><br /></div><div>I do, however, want to end on a slightly more positive note. So we had birthing class again last night. Hunter will be at a conference for the last session of class and won't be able to attend. We were trying to figure out what was on the syllabus for that class and whether or not he would miss the tour of the hospital. All of a sudden his eyes got as big as saucers and he got this panicked look on his face and said "<i>Is there a test that night!?!?!? Am I going to miss a test?!?!".</i> As if they're not going to let us birth the baby if we fail birthing class??? You'd have to know Hunter to really appreciate how hysterical this actually was. If you do know my brilliant, over achieving, uber competitive, professional test-taking, geneticist husband, you will understand why I started cackling and almost fell out of my chair. I'm pretty sure he gets to audit this one. Hope you enjoyed the chuckle and thank you for listening. I'm going to go eat a half a banana with a 1/2 a tablespoon of some all natural peanut butter for a total of 15 carbs, take a super hot shower and point myself in the direction of that book store. </div><div><br /></div><div>So very much love.</div></div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-32273129220862019462010-02-18T07:26:00.000-08:002010-02-18T09:27:45.410-08:00Birthing Class Part I (**Warning some content and language may be slightly graphic - but absolutely nothing compared to the real thing**)Me again! This is 3 days in a row.... can you believe it? It's because I'm sleep deprived and oxygen deprived and therefore feel the need to prattle on endlessly into the ether. The cold is better but I'm pretty sure its stagnated. I'm not "balled-up-in-a-helpless-whining mass" sick, but I'm maintaining "just sick enough to be pissed off about it". You know, where you're still going through tissues like a bulimic goes through gummy bears on a road trip, where you just know that the next time you blow your nose you're going to end up with a hernia (which is a very disconcerting sensation when pregnant, let me tell you) and you wake up every morning and the first though in your head is "oh crap, did I accidentally swallow the cat in my sleep last night?" Point is - I'm going to live.<div><br /></div><div>In other super exciting news, Hunter and I went to the first in a series of 6 birthing classes last night. You would think that, to a certain extent, birthing would be intuitive. I don't know, I've never done it before. However, after staring at numerous 3-D, life sized models of the different stages involved in this oh-so-pleasant process and five or six re-enactments <i>with props -</i> some things might be better left with a smidge of mystique surrounding them. Don't get me wrong.... I'm all about prepping for what I'm sure will be the most amazing and beautiful and spectacular and magnificent and oh-my-god-traumatic experience of my life. I'm pumped we're taking this class, I've just recently decided that some things you just really can't truly prepare for - no matter how many times you see the creepy baby doll with the plastic head and the 360 degree arms and legs shoved through the birth canal and fake pelvis. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our instructor is 'a character' to say the least. She has a very dry (slightly disturbing) sense of humor (she's have to though, wouldn't she?). More often than not, it seems like Hunter and I are the only ones who get her jokes, which is in itself entertaining. I think she really zeroed in on that - or the fact that Hunter had this look of catastrophic mortification plastered on his face through much of the class to the extent that I was becoming concerned that his face would get stuck like that. She kept glancing our way and occasionally asking things like, "are you okay", "you should have some candy", "do you need a break", and "are you still breathing?". At one point, about 15 minutes into this demonstration, the creepy doll made its 3rd rotation in an effort to squeeze through the fake pelvis. Hunt was looking particularly squeamish and frankly, somewhat panicked. He leaned over to me and in a slightly insane whisper said, "Oh My God, just get the f***er out!". To which I replied in a not-so-hushed-voice, "Hunter!!!! Don't call the baby a f***er!". To which he replied, "I wasn't calling OUR baby a f***er! I was calling the freaky doll a f***er!" At which point I shook my head and thought... "This really is going to be our greatest adventure".</div><div><br /></div><div>So birthing class was at the very least, entertaining. We will have the same instructor for our breast feeding class, which I have almost conned Hunter into taking with me (because he is an awesome husband who is very secure in his masculinity).... (and because the instructor bribed him with chocolate and he'll do damn near anything for chocolate).</div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time.... enjoy the rest of your week!</div><div><br /></div><div>Love, </div><div><br /></div><div>Julie </div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-79441064114912753232010-02-17T13:14:00.000-08:002010-02-17T13:15:56.047-08:00My Arm Chair 2 Cents (Because I'm such an expert on winter sports.... or winter... for that matter.. um... yeah)<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black">Okay, so yesterday I mentioned that I haven’t exactly been feeling 100% lately.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Okay, so I moaned and groaned and threw myself an all out pity party.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Whatever.)<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>The point is, I’ve been feeling “a little punk”, as my Grandmother Glasgow used to say, for a week and a half now.Because I’ve been feeling “a little punk”, and Hunter has been feeling sympathetically “punk”, we have found ourselves glued to the couch since last Friday taking in every single moment of the 2010 Winter Olympics.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black"><o:p>As a child, I always watched the winter Olympics.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Actually, that’s not entirely true… my mother and I used to watch the opening ceremony and the figure skating.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As any of my aunts or uncles will tell you, my mother’s entire family is genetically required to tune in to every major pop-culture event.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As much as I rail against this aspect of my DNA – it has been bred into me to a certain extent as well, though I try very hard to keep it on the periphery.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You know, manage my outbreaks with the visits to<a href="http://people.com/">People.com</a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>so as to only have one or two outbreaks a year (Golden Globes, Oscars, the occasional fund raiser sponsored by George Clooney) So, as a child, I watched the opening ceremonies because they were essentially like the Super Bowl half-time show minus the football, Budweiser commercials, steroids, and Janet Jackson’s left nip…well you know) and we watched the figure skating because, well, let’s face it Dorothy Hamilll and Scott Hamilton were the 80’s precursor to Dancing With the Stars….<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And to carry that analogy further – weren’t Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding the 90’s precursor to Survivor???<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(For the record I do not watch either of these shows)<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I digress…<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>So I was madly in love with Scott Hamilton (and still kind of am) and was going to name my daughter Katarina, after Katarina Witt.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was.(Nope, not disclosing any proprietary info here – I outgrew the ‘Katarina’ thing around ’89 and Moon Pie’s name is quintessentially American).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hunter never really watched the Olympics before this year, so this is our first full on exposure to the wonderful world of legitimate athleticism.</o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have to say – we’re sucked in.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Part of our motivation for tuning in this year is, it’s an armchair way for us to get involved in the SLC Culture.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As you might have noticed, we’re both very excited about finding new ways to immerse ourselves in our new world.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hunter is very much into skiing and I’ve been delving into all sorts of literature, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>about SLC history, politics, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>etc.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The cool thing about the Olympics is that, not only are most of the sports accessible to us out here, but most of the athletes have some sort of ties to our area.So, when it comes to all of the ski events, the snowboarding, the figure skating (<i>of course</i>) and even the speed skating we’re hanging on every moment.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That said, I need to raise some questions about a few things. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><b>Biathlon:</b><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>So, let me get this straight.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You strap sticks to your feet, grab some poles, stuff a large shotgun behind your head and start sprinting through the snow.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You sprint until you’re so exhausted you <i>can’t see straight</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and then you throw yourself on the ground, grab your gun,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>fire a weapon</i>, stuff your gun back behind your head and start sprinting on sticks through the snow again.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I have an open mind.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I do but does this seem… at best: antiquated and at worst… dare I say: silly???<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I don’t mean to judge… there’s obvious skill involved here – I’m just a little confused as to how this became such a legitimate combo.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It just seems like the pickles and ice cream of the Olympics – The Julia Roberts/Lyle Lovett of the Olympics – the Elton John/Lady Gaga of the Olympics (okay, so I watched 5 little teensy minutes of this year’s Grammy’s….<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(I was flipping… it was on…)) Its the pairing that just kind of leaves the rest of the world shrugging their shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="msolistparagraph" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: -.25in"><span style="color:black"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> <b><span style="color:black">Curling</span></b><span style="color:black">:<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Okay – Seriously?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This has to be a joke.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ll admit;<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I’m judging here.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Are there even enough people in the world who are into curling to justify it being an Olympic sport?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I mean, I seriously wonder, if I decided tomorrow I wanted to get into curling (ain’t happenin’) – I bet there’d be a spot open for the 2014 games on Friday.So, my understanding is (and I’ve researched this): one person gets down on all fours, essentially, and shoves a rock (literally – a hunk of granite) across a sheet of ice and a group of other people wearing bowling shoes hustle in front of the rock sweeping a path ahead of said rock in the hopes that it will land in a circle and maybe bump the other team’s rock out of the way in the process.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The group of people with the brooms really and truly look like part of the Queen’s Court from Alice In Wonderland, I feel like they should be dressed like playing cards.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To me, this ‘sport’ is some sort of bizarre cross between bumper cars, life-sized pin ball and… um… spring cleaning?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I know I sound negative here, but really, I fail to see the skill/athletic prowess required to push a rock and then sweep a path.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I watched curling for about 45 minutes today… trying… so… hard….<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To get it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I don’t get it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ll move on now.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To you curler’s out there – please forgive the offense – and if you can help me make sense of this absurd phenomenon, please, reach out to me and I’ll give you my undivided attention.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I promise, I always welcome a little more logic in my universe.</span></span></span></p> <p class="msolistparagraph" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: -.25in"><span style="color:black"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="msolistparagraph" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><b><span style="color:black">Figure Skating Scoring</span></b><span style="color:black">:<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I’m not going to spend too much time one this one, but I’ve noticed a trend in this year’s figure skating scoring – that it’s completely arbitrary.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I mean, you can skate a decent run and make a mediocre score, you can fall on your face and be scored into 2<sup>nd</sup><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>place….<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All I’m saying is Scott Hamilton is a commentator and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>he</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>seems both confused and annoyed and that is<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>not</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>okay with me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="msolistparagraph" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><b><span style="color:black"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="msolistparagraph" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><b><span style="color:black">Conditions</span></b><span style="color:black">:<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I know nothing about snow sports and the way that different types of snow affect your performance.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m still getting acquainted with snow period, so I’m staying out of that.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I mean, I understand that you can’t control the weather (unless you’re a member of The Cauldron), but if you’re having a tough time with the outdoor sports, you’d think you’d go to great lengths to make sure the<i>indoor</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>sports (like speed skating) are in line.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>When the ice on your indoor rink looks like the ice covering alley behind my garage… really?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black">So there you have it – my armchair 2 cents on the Olympics.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Again, sincere apologies to any gun-toting cross-country skiers, rock path sweepers, figure skating judges or Canadian Zamboni drivers I might have offended in the writing of this blog.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black">Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just realized that Dr.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Best failed to tape last night’s Olympics (HELLO!?!MEN’S FIGURE SKATING SHORT PROGRAM AND SNOWBOARDING!?!?!).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I have a scathing phone call to make and a remote control to permanently commandeer.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mutiny of the DVR! WHOO HOO!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-89008947209780138762010-02-16T11:53:00.000-08:002010-02-16T12:50:51.438-08:00Mother-Cold-To-End-All-Colds, Weekend Ski Widow, The G. D. and A General Absence of Perk<p class="MsoNormal">You’ll notice <a href="http://juliesshadesofgray.blogspot.com/2010/02/feb-7th-2010-this-is-coming-to-you-from.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><b>my last post</b></span></a> is backdated a little over a week. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That’s because by the time I got off of the plane I was literally on the verge of collapse from both exhaustion and what was soon to morph into ‘the mother-cold-to-end-all-colds’.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It started Monday, 9 days ago with a sore throat so horrendous that I finally broke down and started popping Tylenol.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This cold, this ‘mother-cold-to-end-all-colds’ and has since taken on every single manifestation that a cold can possibly manifest.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s hopped around from my throat, to sinuses, to my nose, to my chest, back to my throat, to my nose, last night, I woke up and my eyes were crusted shut, I mean really… I haven’t had a voice for three days, I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ve</span> spent at least 4 days (if not 5) on the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Oh yes, and it’s also hopped to my husband, bless his heart… Speaking of... allow me to digress for just a moment… </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>So – it would be super easy for me to say, “well, if you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hadn</span>’t spent all day Saturday playing in the snow maybe you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">wouldn</span>’t have gotten sick,” but the truth is, that would sound catty and I would be nagging and – well – I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ve</span> already said it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(I was in a mood).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Truth is, for the most part, I’m totally fine with becoming a weekend window to Hunter’s new found obsession – Skiing. I’m super thrilled that he’s embraced the local past time and is spending so much time outdoors getting fresh air, hanging out with new people and developing a new skill.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Notice I said skill – not hobby. The thing about Hunter is that he’s incapable of having a causal hobby like say knitting is for me … <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>where ½ way through I decide I’m pretty much over that red sweater I spent the last 6 months on, so whatever, maybe I’ll pick it up after I finish this book.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No, Hunter <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">doesn</span>’t do causal.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After his 5<sup><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">th</span></sup> weekend out, he came home and announced that he had conquered the green and moved up to a few blue runs with some success.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He followed this by saying “if I keep going like this I’ll know how to ski pretty soon”.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was then that I realized he had been infected.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>His drive had taken over and there was nothing I could do about it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Still I said, “you just told me that you skied some blue runs today – <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">doesn</span>’t that pretty much mean you know how to ski?” – wait for it – there we go – insert incredulous look here. “No,” he says, “I mean the goal is to ski blacks.” As if everyone knows this.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Though it was pointless, I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">couldn</span>’t stop myself “actually, I think for most people learning how to ski, the goal is to successfully get down the hill without significantly injuring yourself and if you can do so vertically its like a double score.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it was too late.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I could see the visions of two black diamonds dancing in his head.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yes, I’ll admit – I’m a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">smidge</span> jealous, having to sit this winter out, but its also very exciting.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Plus, at least its a seasonal obsession.</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In other news… as a follow up to <a href="http://juliesshadesofgray.blogspot.com/2010/01/ahhh-sugar-sugar.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><b><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Ahhhh</span> Sugar Sugar</b></span></a> I did get a diagnosis of gestational diabetes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So far, well, I mean… I’m not going to sugar coat it (tee <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">hee</span>) it sucks.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What pregnant woman wants to be on a strict diet of lean meats & veggies with occasional splurge of whole grains and fruits when pregnant????<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I mean – my favorite past time is watching food network and baking.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">ve</span> been indulging in fresh cherries with yogurt as “desert” at night and that just got nixed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m also set for weekly D<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">r</span>. visits and weekly ultrasounds from now until d-day.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>At least we’ll fill up our ultrasound <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">dvd</span> and will be well acquainted with little moon pie when she arrives.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Speaking of, upon finding out the diagnosis my dad suggested that we might want to consider a new nick-name. Poor child probably is not going to end up with her daddy's metabolisim.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Truth is, ‘mother-cold-to-end-all-colds’ and diabetes aside, all signs point to a very healthy baby and a slightly inconvenienced mama so I really have no complaints.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If there’s one thing this experience has taught me, it is that with the proper motivation, any amount of self restraint and accomplishment is possible, so 9 more weeks of salads and turkey bacon are really not a problem – as long as someone hooks up some<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"> </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><a href="http://www.tuliebakery.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><b>Tulie</b></span></a></span><a href="http://www.tuliebakery.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"><b>’s</b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#660000;"> </span>upon my arrival home.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Seriously. I mean it about the Tulie's. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-91760710499578705722010-02-15T07:05:00.000-08:002010-02-15T07:09:50.329-08:00Gratitude, Love, and Things to Come<p class="MsoNormal">Feb 7th, 2010</p><p class="MsoNormal">This is coming to you from about 3,000 feet over Paduka <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Kentucky</st1:place></st1:state>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ve been so excited to get this written, I really just could not wait until I created some sort of zen space at home, so you’re getting me on about 4 hours of sleep at around 3,000 feet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If it weren’t for the absolute tool sitting next to me, this would actually be a great Zen space (yeah that’s right, buddy – go ahead, keep taking up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">my </i>personal space and reading over my shoulder… yes, I’m writing about you; because of your complete deficit of manners, you will live on in blogosphere infamy.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Okay – now that we’ve solved <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">that</i> problem, we can move on.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So, I’m flying home from my last trip for the next 8 months.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>8 months off of the road.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I haven’t done that in 4 years!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">so</i> much to process and I couldn’t sleep last night despite the fact that I also couldn’t keep my eyes open.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My thoughts were just cranked up to a hard boil; exited, and wild.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m coming home from my last visit with friends and family before the baby is born, my last trip home for almost a year, a reunion with a lifetime of friends and a truly perfect weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m warning you, this is going to be a super sappy one.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Forgive me, but I warned you!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">More than anything, I am just so completely swept away by the amount of pure love surrounding me and this little girl who none of us have even met yet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Two of the most amazing women on this earth hosted what has got to be the most special baby shower ever given yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The thoughtfulness that was put into this event was nothing short of an absolute homage to love and friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As I’m typing this, I’m realizing that I am having a very hard time verbalizing how much it meant to me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>‘Thank you’ will never adequately express my gratitude, but rest assured, this child will be born knowing that her aunts will always be two of the most powerfully important and positive forces in her life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The other thing that astounded me this weekend is what an amazing and beautifully eclectic group of loved ones I have in my life and how undeniably fortunate I am to have collected such a beautiful and warm patchwork of friends.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I spent my Saturday with three generations of simply gorgeous matrilineal family…<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Friends from a childhood that was so pure and innocent that, as we tooled around town singing at the top of our lungs on a bicycle built for two, we were incapable of dreaming that we’d be so blessed to share in a day like yesterday almost 20 years later.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I wish for a childhood filled with moments like those that we shared accompanied by a friend that special for our daughters.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There were friends that have been brought to me through Hunter and who never fail to bring laughter and joy.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There were friends who are a shining beacon and often my life raft between the hours of nine to five and Monday through Friday week after week after week.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My entire god-family was there, who will always be and have always been one of the most special and dynamic influences in my life - as any family should be.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For those who were unable to make it, please know that you are loved and were missed but you were definitely there in spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I just can not tell you how excited I am to be able to share each and everyone one of you with our daughter and I wish I could tell you how much you all mean to me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Okay, I’m finished gushing now and I promise I will try to make my next few blogs will be a little less overboard sentimental as Hunter and I start settling in to a life that no longer involves suitcases (or things like buttons and lace up shoes). </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m looking forward to staying in touch with you next week and appreciate your sticking with me through what has obviously been a sappy couple of weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But hey – at least my hormonal psychoses have all been stupidly blissful and radiating positivity!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I could be pulling a Linda Blair for the next 3 months!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Don’t you know Hunter has his fingers crossed that this maintains every single moment of every single day!)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So much love to all and have a magnificent week!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Xoxo, </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julie</p>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-56360701751252520932010-01-31T16:38:00.000-08:002010-01-31T16:45:03.630-08:00"Ahhh... Sugar Sugar"<p class="MsoNormal">Happy Sunday!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Well, the weekend didn’t exactly pan out the way I had envisioned on Friday morning.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If you recall, I was counting on a quiet Saturday with a pot of half-caf – which should have been enough juice to get me through a rather entertaining blog (actually it would have been enough juice to get me through Tuesday, but who’s counting).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That, of course, all changed when the phone rang mid-day on Friday and I was informed that I would need to be at the hospital at 8:00 on Saturday morning for a second round of glucose testing.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Turns out my levels were a teensy bit high on the first test so… Saturday morning it is. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Please do not eat or drink after midnight tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No food.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No liquid.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No, you cannot have coffee. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No, not even decaf.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>No, not even if you drink it black.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You also can’t use any lipstick, Chap Stick, or lip gloss.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You can’t brush your teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You can’t have any water.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Also… please refrain from exercise tomorrow morning.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“WHAT ?!?!?! YOU EXPECT ME TO LUG MY PREGNANT BODY OUT OF BED AT THE CRACK OF DAWN ON A SATURDAY, COMPLETELY DEPRIVE MYSELF OF SUSTENANCE, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><u>AND</u></i></b> REFRAIN FROM A 5 MILE JOG?!?!?!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now you’re just being unreasonable.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, while my loving and supportive spouse took this opportunity to get in a quick half day of skiing (more on this next time), I sucked it up, sacrificed my morning workout (tee hee) and stumbled into the hospital clinic without a stitch of lipstick.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(I promise you, like any good southern lady, my mother would have straight-up failed this test and opted to live her life as a diabetic rather than abide by this no lipstick requirement).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For those of you not familiar with a glucose test (I wasn't, until I became an expert this week), it is a test (in this circumstance) to see if you might have gestational diabetes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That sounds pretty disconcerting, but from what I understand, it’s not a huge deal.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It might mean a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">huge baby, </i>but isn’t really the end of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For the actual test, you go in, they draw your blood, they make you chug this really super sweet, disgusting juice stuff (remember that nasty generic fruit punch that they used to serve at church for the kids? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Imagine that only with quadruple the amount of sugar), they take your blood, you hang out an hour, they take your blood, you hang out another hour, they take your blood, you hang out another hour, they take your blood.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>One of the enigmas of being Julie is that despite the amounts of caffeine (and once upon a time in a land far far away – nicotine) that I have consumed in my life (we’re talking fuel for a medium-sized country) I have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">extremely</i> low blood pressure.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now that I’ve been completely toxin free for almost a year now, I have discovered that there is only one vein in my entire body that has blood actively pumping through it… and even that one has a tendency to take naps when under too much stress. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Being as how this was my second test this week, counting failed draws, we’re looking at about 10 blood draws in 4 days.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As you can imagine, by 11:30 yesterday – this vein was officially on strike until there was, at a minimum, the promise of a doughnut in the very near future.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All in all, we survived.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The baby, bless her heart, got the sugar rush of a lifetime, as you might imagine, so that was pretty entertaining, I can’t even imagine the calisthenics that were taking place as I sat there cleaning out email for three hours, it was nothing short of impressive.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m not going to lie – I know that this might be my last weekend of carbs and sugar for the next 3 months and I’ve taken full advantage of it and so has DHB in his always supportive and sympathetic way. ;)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I get the results back tomorrow so I will definitely keep you posted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Until tomorrow, have a lovely time wrapping up your weekend and I’ll be in touch!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So very much love, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Julie</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-81199935460031635132010-01-29T05:00:00.000-08:002010-01-29T09:32:56.075-08:00Pardon My ZenI've got to get this blogging situation under control. There was a time in my life where I would write something every single day. I found it to be tremendously cathartic. Looking back, however, it was a time in my life when I tremendously needed catharsis. Maybe that's the key? I just can't believe I haven't blogged since before the holidays. <div><br /></div><div>I'm just not entirely sure what is happening to my time. I also think pregnancy is a time that really encourages hibernation. It really is an time to intuitively fold inward and be still; not only physically but also mentally and emotionally. I'm finding it a time focused on dreams of the future and reflections on the past. Its as though I'm looking at the entire timeline of my life in the midst of a shift in paradigm and all of the colors, which were once chaotic and overwhelming, have transformed and are now suddenly crystalline and beautiful. Don't get me wrong, its not as though I think we're going to have this baby and life will be nothing but bliss for the rest of our days - but I do have an inexplicable feeling of peace and clarity that I've really never known before. As if, for the first time, I am truly standing exactly where I am meant to be.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, all that said, I'll try to be a little more vocal about the goings on here in SLC. Our holidays were quiet. It was our first time in the history of our lives staying at home together and not traveling, which was both wonderful and very strange. I will admit, there were aspects that I missed. Hunter's grandfather's fried chicken on Christmas eve and his family's house decorated to the hilt. I missed the perpetual laughter and inside jokes that I share with my brother because everyone else is too distracted to get it. I also missed the long car ride with DHB where we listen to an incredibly eclectic mix music and somehow end up with a conversation that flows without breaks for hours upon hours about whatever in the world comes to mind. But after the year that we have, we needed the rest. We spent most of the holiday in our pajamas, going to bed early and sleeping late. I cooked an absurd amount of food for two people and we walked around exploring a snow-covered Salt Lake City. </div><div> </div><div>It's amazing to me how quickly time is flying by now. The holidays truly feel like they were an eternity ago. It was a sunny day here yesterday and I will admit, it kicked off a twinge of spring fever. I'm sure we're in for at least one more good snow here, but all in-all-its been a much more mild winter than I was expecting and seems to be tapering off more and more every day. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I just wanted to write a brief note to say hello and remind you that we're still here. I think I may make some half-caf coffee tomorrow morning, which means I'll aim for blogging something a little more lighter and entertaining. I'm sure I can pull something together on DHB's new athletic endeavors or maybe the 'Best Belly Button Watch of 2010'.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until then, have a magnificent Friday night. Make a point to go outside for at least a minute or two and take in this absolutely gorgeous full moon!</div><div><br /></div><div>So very much love, </div><div><br /></div><div>Julie </div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5786622996723659934.post-23826632718868317712009-12-21T19:22:00.000-08:002009-12-21T20:47:01.610-08:00Wishing you a Hydrated Holiday!Happy Yule, everyone... and a belated Happy Hanukkah and an early Merry Christmas (I love that we are all such a beautiful collage of dynamic souls).<div><br /></div><div>So - its officially, officially winter here in Utah and I learn something new every single day. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hunter says that one of the side effects of this little adventure we've embarked upon is my tendency to fixate... I was prone to fixating before, but I'm pretty sure we're at a new level. To be honest, I don't think that its so much a side effect of being pregnant as it is the hormones have aligned and brought out what is a dormant and inevitable Glasgow trait. My fixations range from the weather, to food network (my DVR is 98% full because <i>'OH MY GOD PAULA DEAN IS COOKING MACARONI AND CHEESE IN A CROCK POT, I SHOULD DO THAT ONE DAY!'</i>), to that rather bizarre waitresses we had last night. </div><div><br /></div><div>I will admit (getting back to the winter in Utah thing) I have been checking and announcing the temperature, wind chill, and how it compares to the temperature in the North Pole every 15 minutes like clockwork for about 3 weeks now (I mean, there's a link on the blackberry weather channel application to see the weather at the North Pole every time you check the temperature.... how can you pass that up??). But seriously - there was an entire week there where it practically didn't make it to 20 degrees. If you're factoring in the wind chill, which I mean, who doesn't - we're talking consistently -12, night after night. All I can say about -12 degrees is, man... that's cold.... who wouldn't fixate???</div><div><br /></div><div>One such evening, Hunter and I decided we'd head out for a little Salt Lake City winter adventure. I grew up listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas tapes incessantly. My mother was just in love with the Mo-Tab Christmas music (I can say Mo-Tab now because I'm a local, and yes, it makes me feel super cool). We have met some dear and wonderful friends here, who offered to try and help us get in to see the choir's Christmas concert. The concert was sold out, but our friend knew of a possibility to get will-call tickets and offered to meet us out there and give it a shot. The same wonderful city who beautifully coordinated and executed a tremendously successful winter Olympics thought it would be a great idea to schedule the Mo-Tab Christmas Concert and a Utah Jazz (professional basketball) game across the street from each other at the same time on the same night. We live exactly 4 miles/8 straight blocks from Temple Square, where the concert was being held. It took us over an hour to drive those 4 miles.... the concert was starting. As for our friends, she was standing outside waiting for us with two cups hot apple cider and he was looking for a parking space. About 45 minutes later we found a parking garage about 2 miles from the temple and started walking. I checked the temperature... -9. At the North Pole it was only -5. Eat your heart out Santa. About a mile and half into our trek to the concert our friend called. The tickets were sold out. He was still looking for a parking space. My cider was cold. We turned around and went to Wendy's instead. I guess I'll have to ask mom if I can borrow her tape... but next year - we have a game plan.... oh yes... there is a game plan.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other fun fact that I am quickly learning about Salt Lake City - is that it is next to impossible to keep any sort of vegetation alive unless you are 110% committed. This means, ladies and gentlemen, that our Christmas tree is seriously dead. I mean dead. You see (and its taken me 6 months to resign myself to this fact) if you are trying to keep any sort of plant (or animal for that matter) alive you must water it every single blessed day out here. None of this 'every other week, okay fine - twice a week, omg, really... every other day???' business. No. Every. Day. Well, guess which delightfully round, disjointed pelvis, pregnant southern transplant did not get down on the floor and crawl around under the tree to water it every day. The good news is, at night, when its lit up, you can't even tell its dead... unless of course, it goes up in flames... then I suppose it will be rather obvious. So far, I've killed everything in our yard, a beautiful orchid and an unkillable house plant. I know its unkillable, because I had one in NC that I left in my car in July in 120 degreess and when I pulled it out it was a shriveled black skeleton... three separate times.... and it still lived. Same plant, here in Utah... Dead. (yes, I am having a child... what?) So I am ready to resign myself to this arid climate and my new year's resolution will be to keep my plants, my pets and my family hydrated every day, for better or worse, cross my heart.... </div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you're all warm and relaxed and looking forward to a long weekend filled with love and laughter. Know that we are missing you and thinking of you every single day and that you are in our hearts and thoughts throughout the holidays and beyond. </div><div><br /></div><div>So very much love, </div><div><br /></div><div>JEGB</div>Shades of Grayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13226840379306157025noreply@blogger.com3