I send out all the wellness-related emails to my department. When we're running a program (like "Biggest Loser") that the whole county is participating in, those are sent out by me, too. There are approximately 2-3 emails a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but never more than 4. I also write the bi-monthly "Wellness Newsletter," which includes a quiz, with prizes to the winners. This is in addition to any prizes that are available to participants in the programs run by our healthcare providers. So not only are we giving good information related to wellness, there are opportunities to win prizes (the prizes that I give out are modest, like pens, or lunch boxes. I have some cool Kaiser-donated baseball caps, too. The other prizes are better, like Subway gift cards, bicycles, and even an iPad). Where's the bad in all this? There isn't any.
This morning I got the following message in my in-box.
To: Irene P.
From:
Subject: sick
Sick and tired of all the e mails when tring to do my job
With the blessing of my supervisor, I sent the following response:
Good morning, [Mr/Ms Anti-Proofreading],
Which emails are you referring to? If you are referring to Wellness Program emails, which are sent on my behalf via ------, please be aware that all messages are sent with the knowledge of the Department’s Wellness Manager, Xxx Xxxxx. These messages are sent out in accordance with the County’s wellness programs. Participation in wellness programs is voluntary. You are always free to delete any messages you consider excessive; however, you should understand that if you do so, you will be missing out on important information related to your health and wellness, as well as opportunities to win prizes.
If you have any other questions or comments regarding the wellness programs, you or your supervisor may contact Xxx Xxxxx at (213) 837-5309.
My supervisor thought my response was too nice; then I asked if I could Cc the person's Division Manager, the HR Manager (my supervisor's boss), and our Division Manager (my supervisor's boss's boss). Who's too nice now?
Monday, September 26, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Stay on target!
So, hey, I'd been talking about this with some friends of mine (don't worry, you shall remain nameless) for awhile now, and on Sunday, I got up and took the baby with me to... a Weight Watchers meeting.
I first did WW about 10 years ago, when I got my first County job. After I don't know how many years (I usually say "15" but how can that be accurate? Am I that old?) of working in retail, after one year having a desk job, I gained 20 pounds. All that running around (and fooling around, god retail was fun) at the bookstores (and parking a mile from work) had apparently kept me trim, in spite of the crazy eating habits I had in my late teens and early 20s (when I worked at Crown Books in the 90s, I used to have for lunch, depending on which city I was in: Backstop Pizza, a diet coke and Reese's peanut butter cups, or a grilled cheese sandwich from Ships if I was in Culver City; a hot dog from Malibu Mutt, a giant iced blended mocha from Coffee Bean, or - if I was really lucky, Patrick would bring me a sandwich from Bay Cities when I was in Malibu. When I worked at Rizzoli in Santa Monica and Beverly Hills, my meals were even worse! Let's just say ice cream played heavily in my decision-making). When I hit 30 and started working in an office, where people love to eat, I was helpless. My bosses at the time were both stress-inducing and lovers of food, and we would go to lunch, where we usually had incredibly fattening food, all the time. Now my office is full of incredibly generous people who love to bring food to share (donuts, pastries, etc.). So yeah, hello 20 pounds!
So 10 years ago, I realized that I had gained so I sucked it up and joined Weight Watchers. I needed help making healthier decisions, and I had a couple of friends (again: they-who-shall-not-be-named!) doing it, so it was fun and easier than I thought. Losing 20 pounds was pretty easy back then, though over time I did gain about half of it back.
Then I had a baby, and here I am, back at that highest number ever, not too happy about it. Maybe I could be more complacent about it except for the weekly swimming lessons I've been taking with JP. Getting into a swimsuit for the first time did not make me a happy camper (buying two pretty new swimsuits in a bigger size helped, though). I knew I had to do something, but for six months I put it off because I'm breastfeeding, and yes, I used that as an excuse even though it's really not. "I'm eating for the baby!" stopped sounding legitimate quite some time ago. So, after learning that a couple of other friends were doing it again, I decided it was time for me too.
I started Sunday, so this is my second day at work, tracking. They've changed the program a little but it's pretty simple. Yesterday my co-workers had a going away party for a guy who is transferring to another department, and though the food looked good (and I could've looked up the points plus amounts of all the items they had), I had planned out my lunch ahead of time and decided I'd better stick with it. My Subway sandwich, with just a little tweaking, works just fine for me (it makes it so much easier that WW has made all fruits and vegetables "0" points foods!). Later they had cheesecake, which was tempting until I actually saw it (a flat little cheesecake with tired looking fruit on top? No thanks!).
Tomorrow will be challenging, because it's someone's birthday, and we're going to a Mexican restaurant I've never been to. I was looking at the menu and my WW Pocket guide a few minutes ago, trying to figure out what I will eat. It all looks yummy, but I think maybe a couple chicken tacos and some black beans might work out, or maybe veggie fajitas and a chicken quesadilla... I don't know yet. I have options, though, so that feels good.
I first did WW about 10 years ago, when I got my first County job. After I don't know how many years (I usually say "15" but how can that be accurate? Am I that old?) of working in retail, after one year having a desk job, I gained 20 pounds. All that running around (and fooling around, god retail was fun) at the bookstores (and parking a mile from work) had apparently kept me trim, in spite of the crazy eating habits I had in my late teens and early 20s (when I worked at Crown Books in the 90s, I used to have for lunch, depending on which city I was in: Backstop Pizza, a diet coke and Reese's peanut butter cups, or a grilled cheese sandwich from Ships if I was in Culver City; a hot dog from Malibu Mutt, a giant iced blended mocha from Coffee Bean, or - if I was really lucky, Patrick would bring me a sandwich from Bay Cities when I was in Malibu. When I worked at Rizzoli in Santa Monica and Beverly Hills, my meals were even worse! Let's just say ice cream played heavily in my decision-making). When I hit 30 and started working in an office, where people love to eat, I was helpless. My bosses at the time were both stress-inducing and lovers of food, and we would go to lunch, where we usually had incredibly fattening food, all the time. Now my office is full of incredibly generous people who love to bring food to share (donuts, pastries, etc.). So yeah, hello 20 pounds!
So 10 years ago, I realized that I had gained so I sucked it up and joined Weight Watchers. I needed help making healthier decisions, and I had a couple of friends (again: they-who-shall-not-be-named!) doing it, so it was fun and easier than I thought. Losing 20 pounds was pretty easy back then, though over time I did gain about half of it back.
Then I had a baby, and here I am, back at that highest number ever, not too happy about it. Maybe I could be more complacent about it except for the weekly swimming lessons I've been taking with JP. Getting into a swimsuit for the first time did not make me a happy camper (buying two pretty new swimsuits in a bigger size helped, though). I knew I had to do something, but for six months I put it off because I'm breastfeeding, and yes, I used that as an excuse even though it's really not. "I'm eating for the baby!" stopped sounding legitimate quite some time ago. So, after learning that a couple of other friends were doing it again, I decided it was time for me too.
I started Sunday, so this is my second day at work, tracking. They've changed the program a little but it's pretty simple. Yesterday my co-workers had a going away party for a guy who is transferring to another department, and though the food looked good (and I could've looked up the points plus amounts of all the items they had), I had planned out my lunch ahead of time and decided I'd better stick with it. My Subway sandwich, with just a little tweaking, works just fine for me (it makes it so much easier that WW has made all fruits and vegetables "0" points foods!). Later they had cheesecake, which was tempting until I actually saw it (a flat little cheesecake with tired looking fruit on top? No thanks!).
Tomorrow will be challenging, because it's someone's birthday, and we're going to a Mexican restaurant I've never been to. I was looking at the menu and my WW Pocket guide a few minutes ago, trying to figure out what I will eat. It all looks yummy, but I think maybe a couple chicken tacos and some black beans might work out, or maybe veggie fajitas and a chicken quesadilla... I don't know yet. I have options, though, so that feels good.
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| Is it weird that when I read the words "stay on target," I hear the voice of that dude from Star Wars? |
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Swimming
This is a long story. I suggest you skim.
Swimming!
Last Saturday, I suited JP up in his swim diaper and Hawiaan-looking Izod swim trunks (bought on eBay!), squeezed myself into my bathing suit, and signed us up for an 8-week baby and me swimming class. Patrick has a friend at work who told us about it. She has a 15 month old baby and they've already done it once.
It was a weird morning - we had to get out of the house by 8 a.m. to register for the class, and while we were getting up and getting dressed, there was quite a bit of thunder. While walking to the car it started to rain, then it poured, and on the way to the pool, there was lightning and thunder too. It's only a 15 minute drive to the pool (during which the baby was fascinated by all the noises outside), and by the time we got there, the rain had stopped.
I put JP in the Ergo Baby carrier and we waited in line with all the other moms, there to sign their kids up for swim lessons or Jr Lifeguards or whatever. There was one woman in front of me with her mom, and a little girl. Man, that grandma was harsh. The woman and her mom were Hispanic, and the little girl, probably around 6 or 7, had sort of frizzy hair, pulled back into a ponytail. The hair around her face was kind of falling out of the elastic band, and it was a little messy. She looked like every other 6 year old, though, and it wasn't a big deal. Also, wasn't she about to go swimming? So who cares what her hair looked like? Grandma kept messing with her, even though the little girl asked her to leave her hair alone. Then, the little girl was standing by a big rack they had in the lobby, with all these local newspapers and magazines in it. I guess she put her foot on the bottom of it, and Grandma told her, "Don't climb on there! That thing could fall on you and cut your head open."
Okay, maybe it could. A cut-open head would be a very bad thing, and avoiding it by whatever means possible seems like a good idea to me, too. Fine. But the warning didn't suit the crime. I didn't see any indication that the little girl had plans on climbing on the rack. She was just placing her foot on the lowest rung. I don't know these people, maybe the little girl is accident prone... or maybe that grandma was just mean. I kept watching that lady and the little girl, and the way the mom didn't really do or say anything, even though the little girl got quieter and quieter (she had been talking animatedly to her mom about swimming when I first saw them) the longer we waited.
Anyway, when they finally opened the office, and it was our turn to sign up, I still hadn't seen Patrick's friend, but there were still 7 spots left in the class. The line was pretty short, but slow. When I was leaving, I saw her at the end of the line with her son, B. I didn't know for sure if it was her but she somehow recognized me. We made plans to meet up later.
I took JP home for a quick feeding (the class was supposed to start at 11, and by the time we registered, it was 9:15), and then at 10:30 we headed back. I had no idea how it was going to work, with the clothes and changing, and afterwards, getting wet and everything. I took the baby into the ladies' locker room, and set him down, surrounded by my diaper bag and a big towel, on the counter where the girls probably dry their hair, and took off the romper I'd dressed him in over his trunks. He wasn't as wiggly as he usually is (he was more interested in looking at himself in the mirror), and then I kept one hand on him and took off my own clothes, which were over my swimsuit. I need to bring a bigger bag next time, because cramming all that stuff in the diaper bag meant I couldn't reach anything I wanted easily. It wasn't ideal - but other than bringing him in in his car seat, there's no good way to do it that I could see.
Then I ignored the "shower before entering pool" sign and went out to the pool.
It's a giant, indoor pool. In fact, there might even be 2: I have no idea. Patrick's friend was already out there, with her little boy. She is skinnier than I am, and he is bigger than JP. The pool's website says the water is between 80-85 degrees. Maybe it is, but it sure felt colder. We got used to it fairly quickly, though.
The girl teaching the class was the same girl who registered us - she has a fruity name (literally fruity, I'm not being insulting). At the registration office, I thought she was kind of unprofessional but in the pool she was sweet. She was very young (in her early 20s), but she had a daughter of her own, maybe 3 or 4 years old, who was in the pool with her and who demonstrated for us. There were about 9 or 10 of us, some moms, some dads. JP wasn't the littlest - there was a little baby girl with her daddy who was probably 6 months. There was a two year old little girl who could totally swim - the mom kept throwing her in the water and she would splash across the pool. Patrick's friend and her baby kept close by - I was clearly nervous, I guess. B really seemed to like the water: he was very vocal, and splashed a lot.
We got started just by walking around the pool with our babies, letting them splash and touch the water. I had JP in a pretty tight grip. He was cool - he was looking around very intently (it was noisy in there! Besides us, there was a group of Jr Lifeguards in the other pool). Not super excited, but not freaked out, either. He went along with it all and didn't cry. I showed him how to kick his legs and he splashed the water a little. I kept his face high and he (of course!) never went under. After awhile, the teacher had us all get in a circle in the water, and we sang a couple of songs (Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and The Wheels on the Bus), and then she had us place the babies sitting on the edge of the pool, and we sang another little song (I forget the words) and on 1, 2, 3, we jumped them in the water. Again, he didn't get too excited. I was probably annoying the other moms and dads because I sounded excited: "Kick your legs, JP! Whee!!" Still, it was fun. It's only a half hour class but I'm so out of shape and fat, that when we got out, my legs were tired. So I guess it's good exercise for me, too.
The Jr Lifeguards got out around the same time we did. Patrick's friend was faster than I was getting into the changing room, and she was able to rinse off at a shower before the Jr Lifeguards. I was too slow, and I guess they all decided to wash their hair. I didn't want to wait around forever, so I got JP changed out of his wet trunks and swim diaper in the same place I'd gotten him ready. I hadn't even brought dry clothes (bra, panties) for myself, so I just pulled my clothes on over my wet bathing suit. My brother had come to watch the swimming, so I met him outside the pool. He followed us home, and watched TV while I rinsed JP and myself off in the shower. Then we went to lunch!
We go back again this Saturday. I ordered a bigger bathing suit for myself on Saturday night at Lands End (actually, I ordered two - one is a "tankini." It's my first 2 piece in about 35 years, so we'll see how that works out. It's all cute and ruffly: not me at all!). I had orignally planned on wearing a pair of shorts over my bathing suit but the pool rules don't allow any non-swim clothing. I ended up breaking the rules anyway by wearing a sports bra under my suit - I didn't want to flash anybody. I hope the new suits (or just one of them at least) arrive soon, and that they work better. Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and I hope JP gets used to it and acts like he's having more fun next time. We'll see.
Here's a screen shot from the video Dan took:
Swimming!
Last Saturday, I suited JP up in his swim diaper and Hawiaan-looking Izod swim trunks (bought on eBay!), squeezed myself into my bathing suit, and signed us up for an 8-week baby and me swimming class. Patrick has a friend at work who told us about it. She has a 15 month old baby and they've already done it once.
It was a weird morning - we had to get out of the house by 8 a.m. to register for the class, and while we were getting up and getting dressed, there was quite a bit of thunder. While walking to the car it started to rain, then it poured, and on the way to the pool, there was lightning and thunder too. It's only a 15 minute drive to the pool (during which the baby was fascinated by all the noises outside), and by the time we got there, the rain had stopped.
I put JP in the Ergo Baby carrier and we waited in line with all the other moms, there to sign their kids up for swim lessons or Jr Lifeguards or whatever. There was one woman in front of me with her mom, and a little girl. Man, that grandma was harsh. The woman and her mom were Hispanic, and the little girl, probably around 6 or 7, had sort of frizzy hair, pulled back into a ponytail. The hair around her face was kind of falling out of the elastic band, and it was a little messy. She looked like every other 6 year old, though, and it wasn't a big deal. Also, wasn't she about to go swimming? So who cares what her hair looked like? Grandma kept messing with her, even though the little girl asked her to leave her hair alone. Then, the little girl was standing by a big rack they had in the lobby, with all these local newspapers and magazines in it. I guess she put her foot on the bottom of it, and Grandma told her, "Don't climb on there! That thing could fall on you and cut your head open."
Okay, maybe it could. A cut-open head would be a very bad thing, and avoiding it by whatever means possible seems like a good idea to me, too. Fine. But the warning didn't suit the crime. I didn't see any indication that the little girl had plans on climbing on the rack. She was just placing her foot on the lowest rung. I don't know these people, maybe the little girl is accident prone... or maybe that grandma was just mean. I kept watching that lady and the little girl, and the way the mom didn't really do or say anything, even though the little girl got quieter and quieter (she had been talking animatedly to her mom about swimming when I first saw them) the longer we waited.
Anyway, when they finally opened the office, and it was our turn to sign up, I still hadn't seen Patrick's friend, but there were still 7 spots left in the class. The line was pretty short, but slow. When I was leaving, I saw her at the end of the line with her son, B. I didn't know for sure if it was her but she somehow recognized me. We made plans to meet up later.
I took JP home for a quick feeding (the class was supposed to start at 11, and by the time we registered, it was 9:15), and then at 10:30 we headed back. I had no idea how it was going to work, with the clothes and changing, and afterwards, getting wet and everything. I took the baby into the ladies' locker room, and set him down, surrounded by my diaper bag and a big towel, on the counter where the girls probably dry their hair, and took off the romper I'd dressed him in over his trunks. He wasn't as wiggly as he usually is (he was more interested in looking at himself in the mirror), and then I kept one hand on him and took off my own clothes, which were over my swimsuit. I need to bring a bigger bag next time, because cramming all that stuff in the diaper bag meant I couldn't reach anything I wanted easily. It wasn't ideal - but other than bringing him in in his car seat, there's no good way to do it that I could see.
Then I ignored the "shower before entering pool" sign and went out to the pool.
It's a giant, indoor pool. In fact, there might even be 2: I have no idea. Patrick's friend was already out there, with her little boy. She is skinnier than I am, and he is bigger than JP. The pool's website says the water is between 80-85 degrees. Maybe it is, but it sure felt colder. We got used to it fairly quickly, though.
The girl teaching the class was the same girl who registered us - she has a fruity name (literally fruity, I'm not being insulting). At the registration office, I thought she was kind of unprofessional but in the pool she was sweet. She was very young (in her early 20s), but she had a daughter of her own, maybe 3 or 4 years old, who was in the pool with her and who demonstrated for us. There were about 9 or 10 of us, some moms, some dads. JP wasn't the littlest - there was a little baby girl with her daddy who was probably 6 months. There was a two year old little girl who could totally swim - the mom kept throwing her in the water and she would splash across the pool. Patrick's friend and her baby kept close by - I was clearly nervous, I guess. B really seemed to like the water: he was very vocal, and splashed a lot.
We got started just by walking around the pool with our babies, letting them splash and touch the water. I had JP in a pretty tight grip. He was cool - he was looking around very intently (it was noisy in there! Besides us, there was a group of Jr Lifeguards in the other pool). Not super excited, but not freaked out, either. He went along with it all and didn't cry. I showed him how to kick his legs and he splashed the water a little. I kept his face high and he (of course!) never went under. After awhile, the teacher had us all get in a circle in the water, and we sang a couple of songs (Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and The Wheels on the Bus), and then she had us place the babies sitting on the edge of the pool, and we sang another little song (I forget the words) and on 1, 2, 3, we jumped them in the water. Again, he didn't get too excited. I was probably annoying the other moms and dads because I sounded excited: "Kick your legs, JP! Whee!!" Still, it was fun. It's only a half hour class but I'm so out of shape and fat, that when we got out, my legs were tired. So I guess it's good exercise for me, too.
The Jr Lifeguards got out around the same time we did. Patrick's friend was faster than I was getting into the changing room, and she was able to rinse off at a shower before the Jr Lifeguards. I was too slow, and I guess they all decided to wash their hair. I didn't want to wait around forever, so I got JP changed out of his wet trunks and swim diaper in the same place I'd gotten him ready. I hadn't even brought dry clothes (bra, panties) for myself, so I just pulled my clothes on over my wet bathing suit. My brother had come to watch the swimming, so I met him outside the pool. He followed us home, and watched TV while I rinsed JP and myself off in the shower. Then we went to lunch!
We go back again this Saturday. I ordered a bigger bathing suit for myself on Saturday night at Lands End (actually, I ordered two - one is a "tankini." It's my first 2 piece in about 35 years, so we'll see how that works out. It's all cute and ruffly: not me at all!). I had orignally planned on wearing a pair of shorts over my bathing suit but the pool rules don't allow any non-swim clothing. I ended up breaking the rules anyway by wearing a sports bra under my suit - I didn't want to flash anybody. I hope the new suits (or just one of them at least) arrive soon, and that they work better. Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and I hope JP gets used to it and acts like he's having more fun next time. We'll see.
Here's a screen shot from the video Dan took:
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| Poor quality photo hides my large ass, right? |
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Me and my annoying sign
The funky little break room that I use for pumping at work (NOT a designated lactation room... some departments have them; my department actually does have one... but not at this work location. I can't drive 27 miles round trip to use it four times a day) is also used by other employees for naps and whatnot (crap, I hate the word "whatnot," I can't believe I used it here!). When I can't get in this room, I can sometimes use a little private lunchroom in the office next door, but I prefer the funky break room (funky break! Hit it!) because it's next to the bathroom and I can wash my hands more easily. Also, the lock on the door to the lunch room is wonky, and it worries me that somebody might try to open the door ("Hey! What's wrong with this door... Oops! Hello there!"), even though I have permission to go in there, and the guy's secretary sees me every time I come around, so you'd think she would prevent anyone from barging in on me... but you never know, do you.
The funky break room has a sign on the door that you can flip back and forth between "occupied" and "unoccupied." Clearly this sign is there so that people on the outside can know if there's somebody IN THERE. Using it seems like common sense, right? Well, lately people have been not flipping the sign to "occupied," but I don't feel bad about that - if I walk in on your nap because you were too lazy/distracted/tired to flip the sign, hey, that's your own fault, sorry. HOWEVER, if the sign is flipped to "occupied" AND THERE'S NOBODY IN THERE, then I start to get annoyed, especially when this happens more than once a day. It's a big ol' waste of time.
It means that I have been knocking on the door when people are actually in there, which I'm sure is annoying to them... but if everybody just used the sign correctly there would be no question, right? It seems so obvious. And tedious.
I put this sign up this morning (on the inside of the room). I haven't been in there since; I'll keep you posted if it's been defaced or if anyone has written anything snarky on it. I'm not sure my co-workers are up to it, to be honest with you. If they can't be bothered to flip a little sign, whipping out a pen to write something in response seems like asking too much.
Gray hairs, puffy red face included for free. Enjoy!
The funky break room has a sign on the door that you can flip back and forth between "occupied" and "unoccupied." Clearly this sign is there so that people on the outside can know if there's somebody IN THERE. Using it seems like common sense, right? Well, lately people have been not flipping the sign to "occupied," but I don't feel bad about that - if I walk in on your nap because you were too lazy/distracted/tired to flip the sign, hey, that's your own fault, sorry. HOWEVER, if the sign is flipped to "occupied" AND THERE'S NOBODY IN THERE, then I start to get annoyed, especially when this happens more than once a day. It's a big ol' waste of time.
It means that I have been knocking on the door when people are actually in there, which I'm sure is annoying to them... but if everybody just used the sign correctly there would be no question, right? It seems so obvious. And tedious.
I put this sign up this morning (on the inside of the room). I haven't been in there since; I'll keep you posted if it's been defaced or if anyone has written anything snarky on it. I'm not sure my co-workers are up to it, to be honest with you. If they can't be bothered to flip a little sign, whipping out a pen to write something in response seems like asking too much.
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| Or else I will knock the door down on yo ass! |
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The incredible case of the mystery ingredient: ragweed.
After I had Exton and started breastfeeding him, the first six weeks or so were pretty brutal. We got lots of help from the Kaiser lactation consultants but I struggled. Somebody recently said to me, "Dude, it seems like you've had a lot of difficulty." Well, yeah. That comment made me think about what I'm doing, and how and why I'm doing it, but I'm not going to talk about that today. The point is, it was hard but I continued. It was important to me so I didn't give up.
This has not exactly been my approach to most things in the past. Still, I never (obviously) had a baby before, either, so I have a feeling lots of changes like this will occur in the future. Anyway, at the very beginning, it was recommended to me by the lactation consultant I saw at Kaiser that I start taking two supplements: one called More Milk Special Blend, and fenugreek. More Milk Special Blend is just what it says - a formulation of different herbs that are meant to stimulate milk production. Fenugreek is a single herb (it's also in More Milk Special Blend).
At around the six or seven week point, I was pretty stressed. I had a lot of pain and just couldn't get the baby to latch right when it was just me and him (at the Kaiser lactation office, he did it like a pro, but at home we were a mess). He wasn't scrawny and his pediatrician was OK with his weight but I was worried he wasn't getting enough to eat. And oh man, the pain. I kept reading "if it hurts something isn't right" but I didn't know what else I was supposed to do about it. I watched videos and called the La Leche League. I used the nipple cream*. I read my Womanly Art of Breastfeeding book. I emailed Dr. Newman (and "he" responded!). I kept trying. At the advice of a friend, I met with a private lactation consultant (her name was Ellen Steinberg, and she is amazing. I highly recommend her) and she got me all straightened out... but then right after meeting with her, there was the episode of the Stupid Abscess, and though we were now latching perfectly, I had another thing to deal with. The Stupid Abscess made me angry and I'm so glad that's over.
Anyway, all that to say is, through all of this, like a good girl, I continued taking fenugreek and More Milk Special Blend.
For the last three weeks or so, I've had a pretty bad rash all over my body. It's been sort of coming and going, but then on Saturday, it decided to hit my face. It's a red rash kind of like a faint sunburn, but itchy, and slightly raised. Even my eyebrows were itchy. After avoiding it (even though I was told it was safe to take), on Saturday night I finally took a Benadryl so I could get some sleep - so Patrick could get some sleep (I kept asking him to rub my back).
Then I started thinking about this rash, and how I've actually had problems with my skin for longer than 3 weeks: this has been ongoing since Ex's birth. I've just been dealing with it because I've had skin issues (eczema) and allergies my whole life - at first it didn't feel much different from that. But the face thing bothered me. It felt elevated. There was something else going on other than my usual allergies, or post-partum hormone weirdness.
What were the things that changed? Well, I had a baby. Other than that... OH - what about these herbal supplements? It seems so obvious, doesn't it? Well, what can I say? I'm slow.
Yesterday morning I called up the company that I get my More Milk Special Blend from (Motherlove), and to my surprise, a real person answered ("Hello, Motherlove!"). I wasn't expecting to get someone on the phone that quickly, and that one little thing impressed me so much. I talked to Judith, and she listened to me about my rash. Then we started talking about the ingredients in More Milk Special Blend. Well, one of them is blessed thistle. She identified blessed thistle as a member of the ragweed family.
Well, hey, you know what? I'm allergic to ragweed. And here I've been ingesting it, four times a day, for close to 7 months. No wonder I have a rash. No wonder I have the worst rash I've ever had!**
Judith and I decided that it would be OK for me to discontinue the More Milk Special Blend. I'm going to just take Goat's Rue (one of the ingredients in More Milk Special Blend; "the magic ingredient," as I've heard it called). I'm going to continue taking fenugreek, too. I was worried about quitting both because I have read that if you take these supplements and then stop suddenly, you can see a decrease in milk supply, and I really don't want to risk that.
I had a previously scheduled appointment with the dermatologist (to follow up on another issue I've been having), and I discussed with her my blessed thistle theory. She thought it sounded plausible, and agreed that stopping the More Milk Special Blend would probably clear up my rash in a couple days. God, I hope so.
* People with eczema are advised not to use lanolin products on the skin, as this can cause an outbreak. I just found this out yesterday from my dermatologist.
** The rash doesn't look as bad as you might think it does, from my description. But being itchy and red is no fun, especially when it's your face. Believe me. It kind of sucks. I mean, I'm already feeling fat, my hair is jacked up because the hair that fell out when Ex was three months old is now growing in, and all that baby hair around my hairline makes me look like a little monkey with a mullet; it's not a nice feeling. I can't really do anything about my hair (though I could about feeling fat!) so if I can help my skin out, I'll do it!
This has not exactly been my approach to most things in the past. Still, I never (obviously) had a baby before, either, so I have a feeling lots of changes like this will occur in the future. Anyway, at the very beginning, it was recommended to me by the lactation consultant I saw at Kaiser that I start taking two supplements: one called More Milk Special Blend, and fenugreek. More Milk Special Blend is just what it says - a formulation of different herbs that are meant to stimulate milk production. Fenugreek is a single herb (it's also in More Milk Special Blend).
At around the six or seven week point, I was pretty stressed. I had a lot of pain and just couldn't get the baby to latch right when it was just me and him (at the Kaiser lactation office, he did it like a pro, but at home we were a mess). He wasn't scrawny and his pediatrician was OK with his weight but I was worried he wasn't getting enough to eat. And oh man, the pain. I kept reading "if it hurts something isn't right" but I didn't know what else I was supposed to do about it. I watched videos and called the La Leche League. I used the nipple cream*. I read my Womanly Art of Breastfeeding book. I emailed Dr. Newman (and "he" responded!). I kept trying. At the advice of a friend, I met with a private lactation consultant (her name was Ellen Steinberg, and she is amazing. I highly recommend her) and she got me all straightened out... but then right after meeting with her, there was the episode of the Stupid Abscess, and though we were now latching perfectly, I had another thing to deal with. The Stupid Abscess made me angry and I'm so glad that's over.
Anyway, all that to say is, through all of this, like a good girl, I continued taking fenugreek and More Milk Special Blend.
For the last three weeks or so, I've had a pretty bad rash all over my body. It's been sort of coming and going, but then on Saturday, it decided to hit my face. It's a red rash kind of like a faint sunburn, but itchy, and slightly raised. Even my eyebrows were itchy. After avoiding it (even though I was told it was safe to take), on Saturday night I finally took a Benadryl so I could get some sleep - so Patrick could get some sleep (I kept asking him to rub my back).
Then I started thinking about this rash, and how I've actually had problems with my skin for longer than 3 weeks: this has been ongoing since Ex's birth. I've just been dealing with it because I've had skin issues (eczema) and allergies my whole life - at first it didn't feel much different from that. But the face thing bothered me. It felt elevated. There was something else going on other than my usual allergies, or post-partum hormone weirdness.
What were the things that changed? Well, I had a baby. Other than that... OH - what about these herbal supplements? It seems so obvious, doesn't it? Well, what can I say? I'm slow.
Yesterday morning I called up the company that I get my More Milk Special Blend from (Motherlove), and to my surprise, a real person answered ("Hello, Motherlove!"). I wasn't expecting to get someone on the phone that quickly, and that one little thing impressed me so much. I talked to Judith, and she listened to me about my rash. Then we started talking about the ingredients in More Milk Special Blend. Well, one of them is blessed thistle. She identified blessed thistle as a member of the ragweed family.
Well, hey, you know what? I'm allergic to ragweed. And here I've been ingesting it, four times a day, for close to 7 months. No wonder I have a rash. No wonder I have the worst rash I've ever had!**
Judith and I decided that it would be OK for me to discontinue the More Milk Special Blend. I'm going to just take Goat's Rue (one of the ingredients in More Milk Special Blend; "the magic ingredient," as I've heard it called). I'm going to continue taking fenugreek, too. I was worried about quitting both because I have read that if you take these supplements and then stop suddenly, you can see a decrease in milk supply, and I really don't want to risk that.
I had a previously scheduled appointment with the dermatologist (to follow up on another issue I've been having), and I discussed with her my blessed thistle theory. She thought it sounded plausible, and agreed that stopping the More Milk Special Blend would probably clear up my rash in a couple days. God, I hope so.
* People with eczema are advised not to use lanolin products on the skin, as this can cause an outbreak. I just found this out yesterday from my dermatologist.
** The rash doesn't look as bad as you might think it does, from my description. But being itchy and red is no fun, especially when it's your face. Believe me. It kind of sucks. I mean, I'm already feeling fat, my hair is jacked up because the hair that fell out when Ex was three months old is now growing in, and all that baby hair around my hairline makes me look like a little monkey with a mullet; it's not a nice feeling. I can't really do anything about my hair (though I could about feeling fat!) so if I can help my skin out, I'll do it!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
¡Despierta!
I'm so tired my co-workers had to show me how to operate the hot water knob on the water cooler for my oatmeal this morning.
And apparently I will read any story in the LA Times accompanied by a photograph of a kitty.
Example 1
Example 2
Or giant rodents. ¡Órale, capybara!*
Here's a quote from the story (which I actually read last week but have still been thinking about; is that weird? No, that's not weird. Seriously. Is it weird?):
*I never say "Órale" in real life, but I think I might try using it today. It seems to go perfectly with "capybara." "Capybara" makes me want to speak Spanish! (My parents never taught me any slang!)
And apparently I will read any story in the LA Times accompanied by a photograph of a kitty.
Example 1
Example 2
 |
| I'm no beaver, fool! |
Weird looking! Speak for yourself, Andy!The rodents — which can grow to the size of a large dog — aren't dangerous, "just weird-looking," [Fish and Game spokesman Andrew] Hughan said.
*I never say "Órale" in real life, but I think I might try using it today. It seems to go perfectly with "capybara." "Capybara" makes me want to speak Spanish! (My parents never taught me any slang!)
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The thing that's always on my mind: milk, and how much of it I have.
I'm staying up because my pumping at work has been pretty dismal - only 12 ounces today. I usually get at least 16. Yesterday was about the same, which is a bummer. I've had to get into my freezer stash, which at this point is only about a one-day supply (about 8, 4 ounce bottles). God forbid I am ever away from him for more than a couple of hours. Anyway, I last fed the baby at 8, so I want to stay up for a least a couple of hours before pumping.
I think my supply is all wacky because he's sleeping longer at night. For a few weeks he was sleeping until 12:30, but last week he started sleeping until 2. While I welcomed the extra sleep, I think it's messing me up. It could also be that he's been on solids for about a month now? I don't know. I have a bottle of Reglan, a prescription drug that can help increase my milk supply, but when I tried taking it before, I got a really big blockage that was horrible. And I think recovering from that messed up the milk supply too, so I am hesitating to use it. Instead I am continuing to take my fenugreek and More Milk Special Blend, and to drink an incredible amount of water. I also added a fifth pumping session today at work, which I hope not to have to keep up. It helped a little but I was still short.
So, the baby has been asleep for about an hour, and I'm staying up, watching Anthony Bourdain, waiting for it to be around 10:15 so I can try pumping.
The other thing going on is, my mom started chemotherapy again this week. She had a biopsy of the liver a couple of weeks ago, and her doctor ("Dr. McRobot," who gets less and less robotic as time goes by) thinks the lesion he's been keeping his eye on is cancerous. So, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to chemo we go. Well, she goes. The rest of us hold our breath and hope, and pray for the best. My mom took the news really well, so I don't know, maybe she was expecting the news. She's been doing great, starting to walk around with a cane instead of the walker, and getting stronger. Her hair has grown in but funnily enough, her eyebrows didn't. As usual, the doctor couldn't say how long he wants her to be getting the chemotherapy, but I guess that's how it works. Until she gets better, right?
Meanwhile, my little boy is crawling, playing up a storm, interested in everything under the sun (or within his little grasp), and quite possibly the cutest, smartest 7 month old you will ever meet. He's my favorite baby, ever.
Gotta go, it's almost time to make some milk. Bye for now.
I think my supply is all wacky because he's sleeping longer at night. For a few weeks he was sleeping until 12:30, but last week he started sleeping until 2. While I welcomed the extra sleep, I think it's messing me up. It could also be that he's been on solids for about a month now? I don't know. I have a bottle of Reglan, a prescription drug that can help increase my milk supply, but when I tried taking it before, I got a really big blockage that was horrible. And I think recovering from that messed up the milk supply too, so I am hesitating to use it. Instead I am continuing to take my fenugreek and More Milk Special Blend, and to drink an incredible amount of water. I also added a fifth pumping session today at work, which I hope not to have to keep up. It helped a little but I was still short.
So, the baby has been asleep for about an hour, and I'm staying up, watching Anthony Bourdain, waiting for it to be around 10:15 so I can try pumping.
The other thing going on is, my mom started chemotherapy again this week. She had a biopsy of the liver a couple of weeks ago, and her doctor ("Dr. McRobot," who gets less and less robotic as time goes by) thinks the lesion he's been keeping his eye on is cancerous. So, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to chemo we go. Well, she goes. The rest of us hold our breath and hope, and pray for the best. My mom took the news really well, so I don't know, maybe she was expecting the news. She's been doing great, starting to walk around with a cane instead of the walker, and getting stronger. Her hair has grown in but funnily enough, her eyebrows didn't. As usual, the doctor couldn't say how long he wants her to be getting the chemotherapy, but I guess that's how it works. Until she gets better, right?
Meanwhile, my little boy is crawling, playing up a storm, interested in everything under the sun (or within his little grasp), and quite possibly the cutest, smartest 7 month old you will ever meet. He's my favorite baby, ever.
Gotta go, it's almost time to make some milk. Bye for now.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Cleaning up...
This year, Patrick and I saved up and finally got some work done on the outside of our house. It's funny, we lived in our dumpy little house for 11 years without doing anything to it, but after having the baby, it seems that keeping our place clean, neat, and looking good is more important to us now.
We started off with new windows, and that made a huge difference. Our old vinyl windows were ugly, didn't lock (!), and weren't that great at keeping the outside noises or dust at bay. I really noticed this during the 3 a.m. feedings with Exton, when my neighbor and his Harley were roaring up and down the street. Since our plan is to one day remodel our house (possibly when the baby turns 5), and that remodel, as far as we can tell now, would take place at the back of our house, we went with replacement windows in the back, and new windows in the front.
After the windows were finished, we got the place restuccoed. My understanding of the terminology is sketchy, so don't ask me if we got a color coat only or if the stucco was actually redone. I have no idea what the difference is or if I've even just described two different processes. All I know is, it took us about two weeks to decide on the color. When we bought the house in 2000, it was grey. We painted it ourselves a boring, ugly beige color with white trim. Well, the white trim was already there, we just did the beige. We had what I liked to call "the ugliest house on the street." The new color is called "Southern Moss" (my brain always sings "southern moss" with a Neil Young accent), and it's a grayish green.
The stucco came out awesome, and combined with the new windows, my house suddenly looked about a thousand times better, even without the finishing touches (the trim). The painters wanted to wait a couple of weeks for the stucco to cure (or they needed time to fit us into their busy schedule) so we were stuck with raggedy trim for a bit longer than we wanted. When it came time for them to come finish, though, they were fast, efficient, and did a really good job. We chose white for the window and door trim and under the eaves, and a color I can't remember the name of (and I chose it!) for the fascia at the roof line. It's kind of a grayish brown that goes great with southern moss. We weren't sure about this design decision (most of the houses in our neighborhood have white up there) but we're so glad we did it. The house looks so neat and clean now.
Inspired by the clean lines, this weekend we decided to go through all the crap in the garage (Patrick has been known to tell the baby, "Some day son, this will all be yours"). It's not funny. Our garage was stuffed full of... junk. I found all sorts of stuff: audio equipment, computer parts, computer cables, my old Dell DJ, a really ugly Mikasa vase, all the handmade cards my friend Leigh sent me (some of which will be framed), random paperwork (my old box of files from before I got married, which included things like... my 1997 tax return, the receipt for the Yamaha flute I bought in 1991 for $600 [and sold in 1994 for $600], account information for my very closed checking accounts at Cal Fed and Security Pacific (very closed because those banks don't exist anymore!), insurance papers from when my dad was in a car accident in 1996, etc.) my band varsity letter, my award from the Marine Corps for "loyalty and excellence in performance" for being in the band (I would've preferred money or a scholarship but it was a cool award, presented in person by a full-on Marine), my High School diploma, my (very expired) passport, the DMV registration for Patrick's old car with a note on it from his dad, a postcard I sent to Patrick from New York while on a trip with my brother, my Crocker Bank teddy bear (Patrick made me keep it), and, oh, a whole bunch of things, most of which went into the trash after I handled them.
One thing that I decided to let go of was my acceptance letter, in 1997, to CalArts.
I didn't need to keep it, I knew it was okay to throw it away, but boy, tossing it felt... weird. I told Patrick I was going to do it, and he must not have been paying attention at first (he was doing all the really hard work of moving the large items and pulling down all the big plastic containers all this junk was shoved into) because he didn't really respond. Surprisingly, throwing it away made me really sad. I went into the garage where Patrick was wrangling a very long blue computer cable. He saw that I was crying a little, and I said, "Will you tell Ex that once upon a time his mommy was a good enough musician to have been accepted to CalArts?"
He said yes, and gave me a big hug, and then I was fine, and then we went back to work.
I mean, I don't know, it sounds a little dramatic, now, but it seemed like a big deal - and like throwing away that piece of paper was the right thing to do.
The funny thing is, I've always kind of wondered if EVERYBODY gets accepted to CalArts. I mean, I was pretty good, but my audition tape had just one good performance (a Bach sonata, I forget which one) and one crappy performance (Hindemith, which is surprising, because I love that piece and usually perform it well), and some other performance of a piece I don't even remember, and my in-person audition wasn't for the flute teacher (I met with Rachel Rudich for a pre-audition, and played for her "informally," but she wasn't there for my actual audition, for some reason), and I don't even remember what I played; maybe the Hindemith; the Bach was just too hard for a live performance, under pressure like that, back then.
I mean, I don't know, I've told people I was accepted to CalArts and most of the time they act like that's not a big deal, but since I didn't apply anywhere else, even not going there was a big deal to me.
Anyway, in related news...
I've been making up my mind about re-joining flute choir for the upcoming quarter, and I've decided that I'm not ready. My work day is too long; my commute is too far; Ex still feels too little and though he's sleeping mostly through the night, he does still wake up around 2 or 3 a.m., and sometimes I just can't go back to sleep (making me a zombie the next day). He's been hitting a lot of milestones lately and I don't want to miss any of that. I'm already away from him enough as it is.
A lot of people join flute choir with the same story: they haven't touched their flutes since high school or college, which is usually anywhere between 5 and 20 years. It's always fun to see those people improve and to watch them work hard and remember what it's like to play a million notes in a row or be (mostly) in tune with 12 other flutists. I've been out of high school for about 20 years, and I've never stopped playing for longer than a couple of weeks. I'll miss it, and I know they'll miss me, but I think staying home for another quarter is no big deal.
All this thinking about performing and playing made me have a weird dream last night (and made sleeping difficult) - I had a dream that City Garage decided to put on a musical, with a real orchestra, and I found out about it and that I hadn't been asked to be in it, and when I woke up from the dream at around 2 a.m., I felt as disappointed as I would have been if this had really happened. I know I'm giving something up - but I'm getting something too: time with my baby. That's more important to me right now.
We started off with new windows, and that made a huge difference. Our old vinyl windows were ugly, didn't lock (!), and weren't that great at keeping the outside noises or dust at bay. I really noticed this during the 3 a.m. feedings with Exton, when my neighbor and his Harley were roaring up and down the street. Since our plan is to one day remodel our house (possibly when the baby turns 5), and that remodel, as far as we can tell now, would take place at the back of our house, we went with replacement windows in the back, and new windows in the front.
After the windows were finished, we got the place restuccoed. My understanding of the terminology is sketchy, so don't ask me if we got a color coat only or if the stucco was actually redone. I have no idea what the difference is or if I've even just described two different processes. All I know is, it took us about two weeks to decide on the color. When we bought the house in 2000, it was grey. We painted it ourselves a boring, ugly beige color with white trim. Well, the white trim was already there, we just did the beige. We had what I liked to call "the ugliest house on the street." The new color is called "Southern Moss" (my brain always sings "southern moss" with a Neil Young accent), and it's a grayish green.
The stucco came out awesome, and combined with the new windows, my house suddenly looked about a thousand times better, even without the finishing touches (the trim). The painters wanted to wait a couple of weeks for the stucco to cure (or they needed time to fit us into their busy schedule) so we were stuck with raggedy trim for a bit longer than we wanted. When it came time for them to come finish, though, they were fast, efficient, and did a really good job. We chose white for the window and door trim and under the eaves, and a color I can't remember the name of (and I chose it!) for the fascia at the roof line. It's kind of a grayish brown that goes great with southern moss. We weren't sure about this design decision (most of the houses in our neighborhood have white up there) but we're so glad we did it. The house looks so neat and clean now.
Inspired by the clean lines, this weekend we decided to go through all the crap in the garage (Patrick has been known to tell the baby, "Some day son, this will all be yours"). It's not funny. Our garage was stuffed full of... junk. I found all sorts of stuff: audio equipment, computer parts, computer cables, my old Dell DJ, a really ugly Mikasa vase, all the handmade cards my friend Leigh sent me (some of which will be framed), random paperwork (my old box of files from before I got married, which included things like... my 1997 tax return, the receipt for the Yamaha flute I bought in 1991 for $600 [and sold in 1994 for $600], account information for my very closed checking accounts at Cal Fed and Security Pacific (very closed because those banks don't exist anymore!), insurance papers from when my dad was in a car accident in 1996, etc.) my band varsity letter, my award from the Marine Corps for "loyalty and excellence in performance" for being in the band (I would've preferred money or a scholarship but it was a cool award, presented in person by a full-on Marine), my High School diploma, my (very expired) passport, the DMV registration for Patrick's old car with a note on it from his dad, a postcard I sent to Patrick from New York while on a trip with my brother, my Crocker Bank teddy bear (Patrick made me keep it), and, oh, a whole bunch of things, most of which went into the trash after I handled them.
One thing that I decided to let go of was my acceptance letter, in 1997, to CalArts.
I didn't need to keep it, I knew it was okay to throw it away, but boy, tossing it felt... weird. I told Patrick I was going to do it, and he must not have been paying attention at first (he was doing all the really hard work of moving the large items and pulling down all the big plastic containers all this junk was shoved into) because he didn't really respond. Surprisingly, throwing it away made me really sad. I went into the garage where Patrick was wrangling a very long blue computer cable. He saw that I was crying a little, and I said, "Will you tell Ex that once upon a time his mommy was a good enough musician to have been accepted to CalArts?"
He said yes, and gave me a big hug, and then I was fine, and then we went back to work.
I mean, I don't know, it sounds a little dramatic, now, but it seemed like a big deal - and like throwing away that piece of paper was the right thing to do.
The funny thing is, I've always kind of wondered if EVERYBODY gets accepted to CalArts. I mean, I was pretty good, but my audition tape had just one good performance (a Bach sonata, I forget which one) and one crappy performance (Hindemith, which is surprising, because I love that piece and usually perform it well), and some other performance of a piece I don't even remember, and my in-person audition wasn't for the flute teacher (I met with Rachel Rudich for a pre-audition, and played for her "informally," but she wasn't there for my actual audition, for some reason), and I don't even remember what I played; maybe the Hindemith; the Bach was just too hard for a live performance, under pressure like that, back then.
I mean, I don't know, I've told people I was accepted to CalArts and most of the time they act like that's not a big deal, but since I didn't apply anywhere else, even not going there was a big deal to me.
Anyway, in related news...
I've been making up my mind about re-joining flute choir for the upcoming quarter, and I've decided that I'm not ready. My work day is too long; my commute is too far; Ex still feels too little and though he's sleeping mostly through the night, he does still wake up around 2 or 3 a.m., and sometimes I just can't go back to sleep (making me a zombie the next day). He's been hitting a lot of milestones lately and I don't want to miss any of that. I'm already away from him enough as it is.
A lot of people join flute choir with the same story: they haven't touched their flutes since high school or college, which is usually anywhere between 5 and 20 years. It's always fun to see those people improve and to watch them work hard and remember what it's like to play a million notes in a row or be (mostly) in tune with 12 other flutists. I've been out of high school for about 20 years, and I've never stopped playing for longer than a couple of weeks. I'll miss it, and I know they'll miss me, but I think staying home for another quarter is no big deal.
All this thinking about performing and playing made me have a weird dream last night (and made sleeping difficult) - I had a dream that City Garage decided to put on a musical, with a real orchestra, and I found out about it and that I hadn't been asked to be in it, and when I woke up from the dream at around 2 a.m., I felt as disappointed as I would have been if this had really happened. I know I'm giving something up - but I'm getting something too: time with my baby. That's more important to me right now.
Dream
I just woke up from a dream that City Garage was putting on a musical with a full-on orchestra and I wasn't asked to be in it. I woke up almost as bummed and disappointed as I would feel if this had actually happened.
Sent from my iPhone
Sent from my iPhone
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Yelp
The other day I wrote about my experience about a hair salon in my neighborhood on Yelp. I had been pretty excited to go to this place, and I went on one of the days before I returned to work, while Exton was at daycare. It was, I think, my first day out without him since he was born, and I was tired, missing him, and ready to feel pretty again.
The haircut (and color) worked out okay. The color (which was supposed to be "just" highlights) came out a little too all-over color but I liked it (it's been so long now that the top is growing back in... white). The only problem was the actual service. Here's my review on Yelp:
I thought about this for a while, and of course didn't "publish" this comment. I wondered if I should just ignore it or write back. It seemed silly, but I thought it was kind of weird that someone would use the "compliment" system to defend the salon. ("Compliments" can be printed alongside your review if you want. I do not want.) Today I wrote her back. See below.
Why would someone do that? I'm sure this person (now "blocked" from me on Yelp; I'm not stupid) is associated with the salon. I didn't write the review to "get" them - I wrote it because that woman who cut my hair could've done a better job at making me comfortable. She didn't. End of story. I hope.
The haircut (and color) worked out okay. The color (which was supposed to be "just" highlights) came out a little too all-over color but I liked it (it's been so long now that the top is growing back in... white). The only problem was the actual service. Here's my review on Yelp:
I did not want to write this review. My visit was some moths ago, and I held off on writing this because I thought I might like to go there and give them another shot.A couple of days ago I received a message on Yelp that I had gotten a "compliment" on one of my reviews. I clicked on it, and some person had written in, shocked that I had received sub par service. She was surprised, because she goes to this salon all the time and has never had the same sort of experience that I wrote about.
Because, I have to say, my cut and color was really good. But the service (by the owner, no less) was horrible. She spent the entire time she was doing my hair talking to someone else (someone from Aveda, I think, though I was never sure. I didn't feel bad about eavesdropping on their conversation as I had pretty much nothing else to do and no one to talk to). I was left alone with no explanation for quite a long time.
I realize that owners are busy people who have to conduct business when they can; however, I didn't request the owner when I made my appointment (I had had a great cut and experience there several months earlier by a young woman who no longer works there), and thought it was pretty unprofessional of her. I was very uncomfortable.
I love Aveda haircuts and products and my hair even grew out great from this cut (and the color still looks good), but I won't be going back. Times are too tough to put up with bad service, especially at the prices they charge.
Also... while I was sitting there, doing nothing, I happened to be checking out their Yelp reviews on my phone. The owner "caught" me doing that, and made a defensive comment about the "bad reviews," which I thought was weird.
I thought about this for a while, and of course didn't "publish" this comment. I wondered if I should just ignore it or write back. It seemed silly, but I thought it was kind of weird that someone would use the "compliment" system to defend the salon. ("Compliments" can be printed alongside your review if you want. I do not want.) Today I wrote her back. See below.
Hi, M***,Irene
I received your "compliment" on my review of [redacted] Salon, and want to remind you that everyone's experience is different. That day, for my appointment, my service was disappointing. Reviews are opinions, you don't have to agree with all of them.
Why would someone do that? I'm sure this person (now "blocked" from me on Yelp; I'm not stupid) is associated with the salon. I didn't write the review to "get" them - I wrote it because that woman who cut my hair could've done a better job at making me comfortable. She didn't. End of story. I hope.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Teething is happening for reals, now
For the last month and a half or so, the baby has been drooling and chewing on things. I thought this was "teething." Dude: this is so not teething.
On Friday of last week, he had his six month check up. He's doing great, gaining weight, hitting all the milestones. He continues to flirt with every nurse he meets (George Clooney, watch out!), and they continue to love it. His pediatrician checked his mouth and said only this: "Nope, no teeth!" He got shots and cried a little, but really, didn't put up any kind of fuss (in the past, they've let me hang out in the room so I could feed him immediately afterwards, but the nurse needed the room. I was a little apprehensive about leaving without feeding him, but he was fine. Patrick's work is closer to the doctor's office than home, and he works alone on Fridays, so we went there for awhile).
Saturday, we went to a beautiful wedding in Beverly Hills. My sister babysat JP, and said he was "perfect." Well, of course he was. This was an exciting moment for us - in six months, though we've gone to work and left him at daycare, we've never gone anywhere together without him. It was a fun day, but sooo hot, and you should know, being hot makes me very, very crabby. Still, the day was gorgeous, my friends were gorgeous, and the food was delicious. I pumped twice in the car, and it was no big deal.
Sunday, we visited with family in Chatsworth, and if I thought Beverly Hills was hot, well, Chatsworth was insane. But, the baby seemed fine. I slathered him with sunscreen and fed him in the car with the air conditioner on, and he got to meet my cousin's daughter's baby boy, who is a couple of months older, my aunts Josie and Esther, my uncle Jesse, and my cousins Sandra, Rachel, Sylvia, and Rudy. It was a long day, with a lot of driving, but he slept in the car during the drive and seemed fine.
On Monday, when I came home from work, Patrick was letting him play in the Pack & Play, and he seemed happy. When I picked him up, that kid was on fire. We took his temperature, and it was 101.something. I got very concerned, stripped him down to his diaper and fed him right away.
That helped matters a little but that fever, while within the "don't panic, mom" range (but just barely) freaked me out a little. I stayed up with him all night, but he was in a great mood, so it was no hardship (playing with my hot little baby or just holding him? Seriously, that's pretty much fine with me, except for the "hot" part). He slept great, and seemed okay, but since he was still hot at 4 a.m. when I got up to feed him, I decided to stay home with him and Patrick in the morning on Tuesday.
I stayed home until about 9 a.m., and at that time, his fever was down to about 99.something. I felt okay with going to work, so I left the two of them at home. At around 2 p.m., Patrick sent me a text that his temperature was normal, and the two of them were hanging out in the backyard, looking at the birds (we have a hawk! I'm calling her "Isabeau," of course).
I was glad he kicked that fever, which we were still thinking was related to him having a cold (we all have colds. Patrick is over his, mostly, but I am still, of course, coughing and blowing my nose all over the place), but I wasn't comfortable sending him so soon to daycare on Wednesday, so I stayed home with him.
The morning was nice - after Patrick went to work, we went back to sleep for about 3 hours. Have I mentioned that we've been co-sleeping with him? I love it. I love cuddling him, and the way his little hand always seems to find my collarbone or chin while he sleeps. When we have the bed to ourselves (sorry, Patrick!) we spread out a little but usually are touching somehow (sometimes his feet are on my chest!). It's really, really sweet. However, the rest of Wednesday, he was kind of miserable. He would fall asleep on my chest, but wake up crying. This kid doesn't cry like that, so it was really disturbing. I knew something was wrong but his temperature was fine, he seemed physically okay (we started solids a while ago, and this week we've been trying sweet potatoes. He likes it a lot; he's having no symptoms of an allergic reaction). I just made me sad. And tired. I fed him as much as he wanted, which was quite a lot, surprisingly, and tried to get him to sleep. He had playtime on the floor in the living room, where we worked a little on sitting up and playing with his big bucket of beads (he loves those big plastic beads! But even more, he loves the lid to the container!) and a red plastic cup Patrick gave him.
When Patrick came home, he seemed to be doing a little better, and this is when we figured out what's been going on: he's not sick, he's making teeth. And those teeth want OUT. I gave him a bath, cuddled him, and read him a story, and by 7:45 he was asleep. I, however, couldn't sleep. I got him bed with him and just tossed and turned. I felt bad that it took me so long to put two and two together. At 11 he was awake, crying again, so I did what I could do (feed him) and he went back to sleep. He seems to be back on an "every two hours" feeding schedule, but if that's what I can do to make him feel better, I'll do it.
When I left this morning, he and Patrick were snoozing away, not quite like he and I snooze away, but still, cozy. Patrick stayed home with him today, and last night got his "Sophie" giraffe, a teething ring that can go in the refrigerator, and one of those mesh feeding bags (filled frozen bananas) ready. We just didn't want to send him to daycare. I know, I know, I'm sure they know very well how to deal with a teething six-month old, and next time maybe we'll be more blase about it, but I'm telling you, since it took us so long to get a clue, I think we both feel guilty. He'll have fun with his papa today, and tomorrow with me. On Saturday we're getting up really early for a six hour drive to Santa Cruz for a family reunion, and I hope that goes okay. He'll get to meet my mother's family this time, and I hope they get to see how cheery and happy he really is.
My prediction? He'll have teeth by the time we get back on Sunday.
On Friday of last week, he had his six month check up. He's doing great, gaining weight, hitting all the milestones. He continues to flirt with every nurse he meets (George Clooney, watch out!), and they continue to love it. His pediatrician checked his mouth and said only this: "Nope, no teeth!" He got shots and cried a little, but really, didn't put up any kind of fuss (in the past, they've let me hang out in the room so I could feed him immediately afterwards, but the nurse needed the room. I was a little apprehensive about leaving without feeding him, but he was fine. Patrick's work is closer to the doctor's office than home, and he works alone on Fridays, so we went there for awhile).
Saturday, we went to a beautiful wedding in Beverly Hills. My sister babysat JP, and said he was "perfect." Well, of course he was. This was an exciting moment for us - in six months, though we've gone to work and left him at daycare, we've never gone anywhere together without him. It was a fun day, but sooo hot, and you should know, being hot makes me very, very crabby. Still, the day was gorgeous, my friends were gorgeous, and the food was delicious. I pumped twice in the car, and it was no big deal.
Sunday, we visited with family in Chatsworth, and if I thought Beverly Hills was hot, well, Chatsworth was insane. But, the baby seemed fine. I slathered him with sunscreen and fed him in the car with the air conditioner on, and he got to meet my cousin's daughter's baby boy, who is a couple of months older, my aunts Josie and Esther, my uncle Jesse, and my cousins Sandra, Rachel, Sylvia, and Rudy. It was a long day, with a lot of driving, but he slept in the car during the drive and seemed fine.
On Monday, when I came home from work, Patrick was letting him play in the Pack & Play, and he seemed happy. When I picked him up, that kid was on fire. We took his temperature, and it was 101.something. I got very concerned, stripped him down to his diaper and fed him right away.
That helped matters a little but that fever, while within the "don't panic, mom" range (but just barely) freaked me out a little. I stayed up with him all night, but he was in a great mood, so it was no hardship (playing with my hot little baby or just holding him? Seriously, that's pretty much fine with me, except for the "hot" part). He slept great, and seemed okay, but since he was still hot at 4 a.m. when I got up to feed him, I decided to stay home with him and Patrick in the morning on Tuesday.
I stayed home until about 9 a.m., and at that time, his fever was down to about 99.something. I felt okay with going to work, so I left the two of them at home. At around 2 p.m., Patrick sent me a text that his temperature was normal, and the two of them were hanging out in the backyard, looking at the birds (we have a hawk! I'm calling her "Isabeau," of course).
 |
| "Hello, mommy!" Is this the face of a kid with a fever? I ask you. |
I was glad he kicked that fever, which we were still thinking was related to him having a cold (we all have colds. Patrick is over his, mostly, but I am still, of course, coughing and blowing my nose all over the place), but I wasn't comfortable sending him so soon to daycare on Wednesday, so I stayed home with him.
The morning was nice - after Patrick went to work, we went back to sleep for about 3 hours. Have I mentioned that we've been co-sleeping with him? I love it. I love cuddling him, and the way his little hand always seems to find my collarbone or chin while he sleeps. When we have the bed to ourselves (sorry, Patrick!) we spread out a little but usually are touching somehow (sometimes his feet are on my chest!). It's really, really sweet. However, the rest of Wednesday, he was kind of miserable. He would fall asleep on my chest, but wake up crying. This kid doesn't cry like that, so it was really disturbing. I knew something was wrong but his temperature was fine, he seemed physically okay (we started solids a while ago, and this week we've been trying sweet potatoes. He likes it a lot; he's having no symptoms of an allergic reaction). I just made me sad. And tired. I fed him as much as he wanted, which was quite a lot, surprisingly, and tried to get him to sleep. He had playtime on the floor in the living room, where we worked a little on sitting up and playing with his big bucket of beads (he loves those big plastic beads! But even more, he loves the lid to the container!) and a red plastic cup Patrick gave him.
When Patrick came home, he seemed to be doing a little better, and this is when we figured out what's been going on: he's not sick, he's making teeth. And those teeth want OUT. I gave him a bath, cuddled him, and read him a story, and by 7:45 he was asleep. I, however, couldn't sleep. I got him bed with him and just tossed and turned. I felt bad that it took me so long to put two and two together. At 11 he was awake, crying again, so I did what I could do (feed him) and he went back to sleep. He seems to be back on an "every two hours" feeding schedule, but if that's what I can do to make him feel better, I'll do it.
When I left this morning, he and Patrick were snoozing away, not quite like he and I snooze away, but still, cozy. Patrick stayed home with him today, and last night got his "Sophie" giraffe, a teething ring that can go in the refrigerator, and one of those mesh feeding bags (filled frozen bananas) ready. We just didn't want to send him to daycare. I know, I know, I'm sure they know very well how to deal with a teething six-month old, and next time maybe we'll be more blase about it, but I'm telling you, since it took us so long to get a clue, I think we both feel guilty. He'll have fun with his papa today, and tomorrow with me. On Saturday we're getting up really early for a six hour drive to Santa Cruz for a family reunion, and I hope that goes okay. He'll get to meet my mother's family this time, and I hope they get to see how cheery and happy he really is.
My prediction? He'll have teeth by the time we get back on Sunday.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Woefully out of touch with my "heritage"
A friend of ours had a little baby about a month ago, and she has been observing "quarantena," a Mexican tradition I was unfamiliar with, but now kind of fascinated by (I've seen it spelled both "cuarantena" and with the qu-. I have no idea which, if either, is correct).
There were a few stories floating around (on NPR, in the NY Times) about a similar Asian tradition called "doing the month," and I'm starting to really get interested in this idea of isolating the new mom and her baby to protect them and ensure post-partum healing.
I didn't do this (I think we waited a couple of weeks to take the baby anywhere other than doctor visits after we brought him home, but I definitely went out with him, I just don't remember where) because I was unaware of this tradition (and maybe if I'd heard about this then I might've made fun of it, thinking it was "old fashioned"), but looking back, I can see how special that time was, how tired I was, how much healing I still had to do (and STILL have to do!), and how much I needed to get to know my little boy.
All that stuff happened, just not in a protected environment.
I like the idea of it.
Here's an article from Slate about post-partum traditions. And here's an article about other traditions, "cuarantena" amongst them.
As you can see, there's lots to read about!
In case some of you aren't aware, I'm Mexican. I know, I know, I skew "other," but because I don't speak Spanish (very well; or "at all," if you want to get really technical) or identify with my heritage, it's always been easy for people to think I'm from somewhere else (Tahiti!). I just wasn't raised in those traditions, and mostly, that's been OK for me. My parents brought me up just fine. We are who we are and I'm fine with that (except in the 10th grade, when my Spanish teacher - from SPAIN - sent me home from Spanish 101 with a very strange [to the ears of my family] and highly mockable accent). There are things that now, with a greater understanding of their value, I'd love to learn, but you know? I have all the time in the world. And I can share them with JP, too.
There were a few stories floating around (on NPR, in the NY Times) about a similar Asian tradition called "doing the month," and I'm starting to really get interested in this idea of isolating the new mom and her baby to protect them and ensure post-partum healing.
I didn't do this (I think we waited a couple of weeks to take the baby anywhere other than doctor visits after we brought him home, but I definitely went out with him, I just don't remember where) because I was unaware of this tradition (and maybe if I'd heard about this then I might've made fun of it, thinking it was "old fashioned"), but looking back, I can see how special that time was, how tired I was, how much healing I still had to do (and STILL have to do!), and how much I needed to get to know my little boy.
All that stuff happened, just not in a protected environment.
I like the idea of it.
Here's an article from Slate about post-partum traditions. And here's an article about other traditions, "cuarantena" amongst them.
As you can see, there's lots to read about!
In case some of you aren't aware, I'm Mexican. I know, I know, I skew "other," but because I don't speak Spanish (very well; or "at all," if you want to get really technical) or identify with my heritage, it's always been easy for people to think I'm from somewhere else (Tahiti!). I just wasn't raised in those traditions, and mostly, that's been OK for me. My parents brought me up just fine. We are who we are and I'm fine with that (except in the 10th grade, when my Spanish teacher - from SPAIN - sent me home from Spanish 101 with a very strange [to the ears of my family] and highly mockable accent). There are things that now, with a greater understanding of their value, I'd love to learn, but you know? I have all the time in the world. And I can share them with JP, too.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
The never ending adventures of a breastfeeding mother...
On Monday, I started feeling some pain in my left breast. It was sore. I remembered that over the weekend, Exton had seemed to be latching on much harder than usual. At the time I didn't really think about it much but on Monday, I realized he was probably doing this because I might have a plugged duct, and he wasn't getting as much milk as he's used to getting.
Plugged duct! Doesn't that sound like an issue you'd have in your bathroom? And not, um, your breast?
Then, while I was pumping at work, I noticed that I wasn't getting anywhere near as much milk from that breast as I normally do. This isn't the one that had the abscess; my left breast has always done twice as well as the other one. And now I'm only getting about an ounce of milk per session, which is really poor production (I usually get 3-4 ounces from the left side, and 1-2 on the right. Sometimes more on the right, never less on the left).
This comes on the heels of a conversation I had with Exton's daycare teacher, who suggested that we start sending more milk. I currently send him to daycare with five 4 ounce bottles. He almost never drinks the fifth one. But she thinks that he's still hungry (so give him the fifth bottle! But like I said, they never do). So on Thursday, I sent a couple of 5 ounce bottles, and three 4 ounce bottles. He didn't touch the fifth (4 ounce) bottle again. So I'm a little confused. He only got 2 extra ounces of milk that day. Then on Monday, Patrick tried the 5 ounce bottles and said that getting that extra ounce in him took awhile. I don't think he needs more milk. Also, the daycare thinks he's ready for solids, but I totally disagree. For one thing, I've been reading that he needs to be sitting up mostly unassisted. He's not. He's trying, he's getting there, but he's not sitting up yet. On her advice, though, I let Patrick give it a try while I was at work. He made Ex a teaspoon of rice cereal, mixed with an ounce of breastmilk, and let him taste it. He didn't seem to have any trouble swallowing (it was very, very watery) but boy he did not like the taste.
So in addition to trying to wrap my head around the idea that I now need to produce 20 ounces of milk a day (seriously, that's just not possible, not even on good days), the idea that we need to start solids is freaking me out a little.
Monday night I was still feeling sore, so when I went home, I used heat on my breast and that relieved some of the soreness. I stayed home with Patrick and Ex yesterday and continued the heat while nursing, and now I feel fine. But my supply is still low. I read this on kellymom.com:
Plugged ductand, I feel a little better about it, knowing that a decrease in production is normal, but I hate seeing a decrease. It really bothers me. It reminds me of the time period leading up to my abscess getting infected, and I hated that! I was just so miserable then.
Milk supply and pumping output from the affected breast may decrease temporarily. This is normal and extra nursing/pumping generally get things back to normal within a short time.
Occasionally a mom may express "strings" or grains of thickened milk or fatty-looking milk.
After a plugged duct or mastitis has resolved, it is common for the area to remain reddened or have a bruised feeling for a week or so afterwards.
I was emailing with a friend of mine who has a lot of experience/knowledge about breastfeeding, and she had good information for dealing with the duct. It feels so good to have people to talk to about this stuff! Being home with Exton all day yesterday really helped. I kept thanking him for "helping to make mommy feel better." The soreness was painful! Today I'm back at work, and I plan on pumping every two hours. It's harder to do; even my incredibly generous and understanding boss starts looking for me sometimes, but I need to take care of this.
I emailed Ex's pediatrician yesterday, and she confirmed that 16 ounces of breastmilk during the time he's in daycare is an adequate amount (actually, she said that I could send whatever amount of milk that I can pump easily; 16 ounces used to be easy!). She reminded me that when he starts solids, the amount of breastmilk he needs will decrease, but she also said that I could wait a couple of weeks.
I know what my issue is with solids, though, and I know why I'm dragging my feet. I'll probably write more about it when I get it figured out. I'm working it out in my head first, and I need a little time... and I want to get this production thing back to where it used to be. One issue at a time!
A note about kellymom.com: it's an awesome website put together by a lactation consultant. It has answered all my questions (and I have many). I think I visit the site daily. I feel so good about this site that today I ordered a t-shirt to support it.
If you are or you know a breastfeeding mom who doesn't already know about kellymom, please check it out. There is so much good information there, and it's a wonderful resource. Especially during those 3 a.m. feedings when you wonder if you're doing something wrong.
Song of the Day: Hello Hooray by Alice Cooper
On Patrick's advice, I downloaded a couple of albums (School's Out and Billion Dollar Babies). I haven't paid much attention yet to School's Out because I was kind of instantly sucked into Billion Dollar Babies (which is funny because I know "Billion Dollar Babies" was written about the success of "School's Out"). My favorite song right now is "Hello Hooray."
I mean, I'm not sure if this song was written ironically to go with the whole theme of the album, because you can listen to it that way, or you can just listen to it as a great song. I do love his sense of humor, and this song in particular is just so fun. "I feel so strong!"
And, the guy can sing, which I also never really thought about. He's doing his fair share of screaming, but there are moments when he sounds like a totally different person (I've been trying to confirm if that's even him singing on the song "Mary Ann" - when I first heard it I thought some Paul McCartney had somehow gotten on my iPod. I was all, HEY. HOW DID THIS PAUL MC CARTNEY GET ON MY IPOD?).
Anyway, there you go. "Hello Hooray" is the song of the day. Give it a listen.
Note: somebody told me that Alice was a conservative (and frankly, I don't really care) but according to Wikipedia, he doesn't believe in mixing rock and roll with his personal beliefs. This story (from Wikipedia) makes me so happy:
Although he originally tended to shy away from speaking publicly about his religious beliefs, Cooper has in recent years been quite vocal about his faith as a born-again Christian. He has avoided so called "celebrity Christianity" because, as Cooper states himself: "It's really easy to focus on Alice Cooper and not on Christ. I'm a rock singer. I'm nothing more than that. I'm not a philosopher. I consider myself low on the totem pole of knowledgeable Christians. So, don't look for answers from me."Having recently invoked Don Henley myself, I'm so glad to see that Alice and I are on the same page. For some reason this makes me very happy.
When asked by the British Sunday Times newspaper in 2001 how a shock-rocker could be a Christian, Cooper responded "Drinking beer is easy. Trashing your hotel room is easy. But being a Christian, that's a tough call. That's real rebellion!"
Throughout his career, Cooper's philosophy regarding politics is that politics should not be mixed with rock music. He has usually kept his political views to himself, and in 2010 said "I am extremely non-political. I go out of my way to be non-political. I'm probably the biggest moderate you know. When John Lennon and Harry Nilsson used to argue politics, I was sitting right in the middle of them, and I was the guy who was going 'I don't care.' When my parents would start talking politics, I would go in my room and put on The Rolling Stones or The Who on as long as I could to avoid politics. And I still feel that way." On occasion he has spoken out against musicians who promote or opine on politics, for example in the run-up to the 2004 presidential election, he told the Canadian Press that the then crop of rock stars campaigning for and touring on behalf of Democratic candidate John Kerry were committing "treason against rock n' roll." He also added that upon seeing the list of musicians who supported Kerry, "if I wasn't already a Bush supporter, I would have immediately switched. Linda Ronstadt? Don Henley? Geez, that's a good reason right there to vote for Bush."
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Spider-iffic. Yay.
This morning, after I got out of the shower, I sat down on the edge of the bathtub to put some lotion on my legs (this lotion: this stuff is genius good, I'm addicted to it), and I felt something on my leg. I wasn't wearing my glasses yet: I can find my legs just fine without them. I thought it was one of my own stupid errant hairs (postpartum alopecia sucks) that was tickling my leg, so I didn't think anything about it (I should've known better: this has happened to me before). But I kept feeling it, so finally I brushed it... and saw something black go flying across the bathroom.
It landed on the white shelf and I grabbed my glasses, and I saw that, of course, it was a spider.
A spider. A spider was on me. A spider was ON ME. I screeched (yeah, yeah, I screeched) something unintelligible, and I heard Patrick rushing over to the bathroom. He knocked on the door (he's so polite, but dude: I SCREECHED. You can COME IN), and then he came in. He saw the spider, then left to get something to capture it with. He came back with a little glass bowl and a piece of paper. While he was gone the little bugger moved but he found it and took it outside, declaring, "That's just a garden spider."
As far as spiders go, there's no "just" in describing them. And how's he such an expert on spiders? How did he know it wasn't a baby brown widow?
Anyway, later on, the baby was taking a nap with him, and I was doing the dishes, when I found another one in the sink. What the hell is up with all these water-loving spiders? I went to tell him, but JP was sprawled out on his chest so he couldn't get up, so.. I went to deal with it myself. I got another little glass bowl and the Babies R Us coupons we just got in the mail yesterday, and I got the sucker. I put another little glass bowl on top of the other one and left him on the counter. He's a smart spider: the ad is a picture of two babies against a bright green background, and the spider only sits on the brown parts in the photos of the babies (hair, eyeballs; nice). There was a touch and go moment when, right after I caught him, he appeared to have curled up and died, but nope, he's still kicking it in there. I'm waiting for Patrick to be able to escort him out into the yard. If he's a garden spider (IF) then that's where he belongs.
Two spiders in one day! And I think I made some kind of breakthrough here. Yeah. I think I did.
It landed on the white shelf and I grabbed my glasses, and I saw that, of course, it was a spider.
A spider. A spider was on me. A spider was ON ME. I screeched (yeah, yeah, I screeched) something unintelligible, and I heard Patrick rushing over to the bathroom. He knocked on the door (he's so polite, but dude: I SCREECHED. You can COME IN), and then he came in. He saw the spider, then left to get something to capture it with. He came back with a little glass bowl and a piece of paper. While he was gone the little bugger moved but he found it and took it outside, declaring, "That's just a garden spider."
As far as spiders go, there's no "just" in describing them. And how's he such an expert on spiders? How did he know it wasn't a baby brown widow?
Anyway, later on, the baby was taking a nap with him, and I was doing the dishes, when I found another one in the sink. What the hell is up with all these water-loving spiders? I went to tell him, but JP was sprawled out on his chest so he couldn't get up, so.. I went to deal with it myself. I got another little glass bowl and the Babies R Us coupons we just got in the mail yesterday, and I got the sucker. I put another little glass bowl on top of the other one and left him on the counter. He's a smart spider: the ad is a picture of two babies against a bright green background, and the spider only sits on the brown parts in the photos of the babies (hair, eyeballs; nice). There was a touch and go moment when, right after I caught him, he appeared to have curled up and died, but nope, he's still kicking it in there. I'm waiting for Patrick to be able to escort him out into the yard. If he's a garden spider (IF) then that's where he belongs.
Two spiders in one day! And I think I made some kind of breakthrough here. Yeah. I think I did.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
...any way the wind blows (crash!)... - Edited.
A friend on Facebook posted a video by Porkka Playboys of their cover of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, and it's pretty awesome. I love the drummer's tiny cymbals, and the soprano sax solo is note perfect. Thanks to them, I've had that song in my head a lot lately.
Exton likes us to sing to him, and I, for one, am willing to oblige. He was crying the other day while riding in his car seat in Patrick's car, and I successfully distracted him from whatever was upsetting him for about 30 minutes with every Neil Young song I could think of. Apparently he really likes the sound of my voice! "Old Man," "Southern Man," "Heart of Gold," and Patrick helped me out with the lyrics to "I Am a Child" were his favorites. Then we got started on the Creedence - we had a great time. Maybe lyrically, or thematically, these aren't appropriate songs to sing to a baby, but the style is exactly right. Neil's whiny voice (and my whiny voice, imitaing him) seems to be just what Ex's ear likes.
(Regarding the inappropriateness of these songs for an infant: I don't know. He hears mommy being loud and a little silly, and of course doesn't comprehend the words I'm saying. "I hear screaming and bullwhips cracking" means as much to him as "this little piggy went to the market" [which, by the way, he also loves]. One day we'll explain things to him. For now he hears music and words, I guess, as just sound. I mean, he's still learning English! For all he knows, I could be singing to him in Japanese.) -- I just spent about 20 minutes looking for a cover of "Heart of Gold" in Japanese. I know it's out there, I just need to do a longer search.
The other day I discovered that he also likes mommy's version of "Bohemian Rhapsody," so I've been singing that to him, a lot. The neighbors probably think I'm crazy. But I'm telling you, my 5 month old baby loves the way I sing all the falsetto notes. Those opening lyrics ("Mama! Just killed a man!") get his attention every time, and his eyes open up wide, and he smiles. That kid just loves listening to me sing!
He might be the only one, but I'll take it. One happy audience member is all I need.
Exton likes us to sing to him, and I, for one, am willing to oblige. He was crying the other day while riding in his car seat in Patrick's car, and I successfully distracted him from whatever was upsetting him for about 30 minutes with every Neil Young song I could think of. Apparently he really likes the sound of my voice! "Old Man," "Southern Man," "Heart of Gold," and Patrick helped me out with the lyrics to "I Am a Child" were his favorites. Then we got started on the Creedence - we had a great time. Maybe lyrically, or thematically, these aren't appropriate songs to sing to a baby, but the style is exactly right. Neil's whiny voice (and my whiny voice, imitaing him) seems to be just what Ex's ear likes.
(Regarding the inappropriateness of these songs for an infant: I don't know. He hears mommy being loud and a little silly, and of course doesn't comprehend the words I'm saying. "I hear screaming and bullwhips cracking" means as much to him as "this little piggy went to the market" [which, by the way, he also loves]. One day we'll explain things to him. For now he hears music and words, I guess, as just sound. I mean, he's still learning English! For all he knows, I could be singing to him in Japanese.) -- I just spent about 20 minutes looking for a cover of "Heart of Gold" in Japanese. I know it's out there, I just need to do a longer search.
The other day I discovered that he also likes mommy's version of "Bohemian Rhapsody," so I've been singing that to him, a lot. The neighbors probably think I'm crazy. But I'm telling you, my 5 month old baby loves the way I sing all the falsetto notes. Those opening lyrics ("Mama! Just killed a man!") get his attention every time, and his eyes open up wide, and he smiles. That kid just loves listening to me sing!
He might be the only one, but I'll take it. One happy audience member is all I need.
I'm annoyed
But it’s a long silly story and I’ll get over it.
Punchline: I got in the elevator with a co-worker a minute ago and she goes, “I think the damn cat peed in my purse.” And what do you know, the eau de cat pee has been in the office all morning! MYSTERY SOLVED!
Punchline: I got in the elevator with a co-worker a minute ago and she goes, “I think the damn cat peed in my purse.” And what do you know, the eau de cat pee has been in the office all morning! MYSTERY SOLVED!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Snug Tuck Pillow - Success!
It's been awhile, and I realized I didn't update you on the status of my Snug-Tuck Pillow order.
It finally arrived a couple of weeks ago - about 2 weeks later than I expected, yes, but finally here. I was eventually contacted by someone at the company by email, who let me know that the fabric I had chosen was out of stock - apparently that particular fabric was very popular. Would this information have been handy to have at the time I placed my order? Well, yes. Would an email with this information have been handy after I placed my order (and not two weeks later)? Yes.
However, as that stupid guy Richard Fish used to say on that stupid show Ally McBeal: "Bygones." Why? because it's a great product.
I love the pillow. Alternative fabric that's very similar to the original fabric I wanted was chosen, it was easy to put on the bed, it works exactly like the website says it will, and the baby is safe and secure on the bed at all times. We're even getting a new king-size bed soon, and I'm positive that the Snug-Tuck pillow I ordered will fit the new bed.
As soon as the new mattress arrives, I'll take a photo. Until then, thanks Snug-Tuck Pillow! It wasn't a flawless transaction, but the product itself is perfect.
It finally arrived a couple of weeks ago - about 2 weeks later than I expected, yes, but finally here. I was eventually contacted by someone at the company by email, who let me know that the fabric I had chosen was out of stock - apparently that particular fabric was very popular. Would this information have been handy to have at the time I placed my order? Well, yes. Would an email with this information have been handy after I placed my order (and not two weeks later)? Yes.
However, as that stupid guy Richard Fish used to say on that stupid show Ally McBeal: "Bygones." Why? because it's a great product.
I love the pillow. Alternative fabric that's very similar to the original fabric I wanted was chosen, it was easy to put on the bed, it works exactly like the website says it will, and the baby is safe and secure on the bed at all times. We're even getting a new king-size bed soon, and I'm positive that the Snug-Tuck pillow I ordered will fit the new bed.
As soon as the new mattress arrives, I'll take a photo. Until then, thanks Snug-Tuck Pillow! It wasn't a flawless transaction, but the product itself is perfect.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Overheard: actual conversation
Irene: Last night I had a dream about Dave Grohl.
Patrick: Really.
Irene: I was going to have his baby. He took me around and introduced me to his band and showed me his studio. You were mad but said I could stay with you but I said no, he's going to marry me, even though he's already married.
Patrick: Damn.
Irene: Then the next day I saw him with some other woman, saying all the same things.
Patrick: What a dick.
Irene: Yeah.
Later...
Irene: But don't worry, I didn't dream about the part where I actually GOT pregnant.
Patrick: Well, sure, he's like Jesus. Immaculate conception.
Patrick: Really.
Irene: I was going to have his baby. He took me around and introduced me to his band and showed me his studio. You were mad but said I could stay with you but I said no, he's going to marry me, even though he's already married.
Patrick: Damn.
Irene: Then the next day I saw him with some other woman, saying all the same things.
Patrick: What a dick.
Irene: Yeah.
Later...
Irene: But don't worry, I didn't dream about the part where I actually GOT pregnant.
Patrick: Well, sure, he's like Jesus. Immaculate conception.
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