Sparky, referring to the request for no sour cream on his Grilled Stuffed Chicken Burrito:
"I don't like creamy, white substances. They make me gag."
TaterTot's response:
"Me too."
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Further Delays Expected...
Still working on the Vegas pics post, Blogger is being a dick and only letting me upload once every four to five hours. It will most likely go up sometime next week. I didn’t take as many pics as I thought I would and had difficulty picking which ones told the story of my trip. I tried, but had trouble writing a post describing my experience and was hoping to just let the pictures do it for me. You’ll have to let me know if they leave you satisfied or wanting more. Actually, that is a good way to sum up my Vegas Vacation; it left me satisfied AND wanting more. I’m a walking contradiction.
In the meantime, I am off work tomorrow and spending the day rummage sale-ing at the parental units All Tiny Town Garage Sales with my bestest pal. Mom and I are even putting a sale on at her house this weekend and have so much “stuff” to sell its ridiculous (what were we thinking?) We will see how the TaterTot reacts when someone pulls up in a Lexus and tries to barter my $50 sweater from the marked price of 75¢ to a quarter. I may have to oil up and throw the bitch down. My humor has been noticeably absent all week and my patience is thin.
In the meantime, I am off work tomorrow and spending the day rummage sale-ing at the parental units All Tiny Town Garage Sales with my bestest pal. Mom and I are even putting a sale on at her house this weekend and have so much “stuff” to sell its ridiculous (what were we thinking?) We will see how the TaterTot reacts when someone pulls up in a Lexus and tries to barter my $50 sweater from the marked price of 75¢ to a quarter. I may have to oil up and throw the bitch down. My humor has been noticeably absent all week and my patience is thin.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
"I Went to Las Vegas and All I Got Was Sticky"
More Notable Quotes :
“I’ve got your syrup”
“Mr. Smarty McSmarterson”
“You need the chicken to lay the eggs”
(water then sprays out of my mouth, all over the table)
“I’m sick of my own cleavage at this point”
“Monkey…monkey…MONKEY…”
“I’m feeling full of spunk today”
“Blugglugglugglugglugglugglugg”
"Truth or Dare?"
"Truth"
"Well that's no fun, I already know everything about you"
"Truth or Dare?"
"Truth"
"Well that's no fun, I already know everything about you"
(that's what she thinks)
Okay, I guess you had to be there.
Pics are coming, Blogger is slow uploading today.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Please Stand by for this Service Announcment...
Vegas was fun.
Regularly scheduled blogging to resume momentarily.
Regularly scheduled blogging to resume momentarily.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted...
If you are looking the Tots, we may be found here...
or here...
or here...
or here...
or here...
hoping NOT to be found here...
No promises, but I will try to post some pics from Sin City.
Remember, what happens in Vegas gets posted on the Internet for all to see.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Our Summer in 50 Words & 20 Pics
Baseball, beaches, fireworks, four-wheelin’, parades, picnics, carnivals, bumper cars, zoo, gardens, pools, hot tubs, concerts in the park, s’mores, American Girl store, reunions, purple hair, feeding ducks, sandboxes, old friends, minnow catchin’, bows-n-arrows, bulls eyes, BB-guns, paddle boats, parks, luau’s, carriage rides, climbing trees, Windy City, campfires, family and friends.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
And I Heard the Angels Sing Hallelujah
Isaac pee'd in the potty TWO times yesterday.
Once for Sally (daycare) and once for Mommy.
And I thought it would never happen.
Once for Sally (daycare) and once for Mommy.
And I thought it would never happen.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
A Day to Celebrate Life: 9/11
It was a slow morning at home. Jeff took the girls to school as I drove to the city for my NST. The baby was due in just a couple of weeks and my blood pressure was creeping up with each appointment. My OB had taken me off work and I was scheduled for bi-weekly Non-Stress Tests until my due date. Jeff was always willing to go to my appointments with me, but for some reason I told him it wasn’t necessary this time; the appointments were long and boring and I would just see him later. I arrived and was quickly led in to the room of Lazy Boy recliners, each occupied by a round-bellied mommy reading the latest scandal reported by People. The rhythmic sound of echoing heartbeats filled the room as I was strapped up and settled in. All was good, my little one passed his test yet again and I headed to the front desk to confirm my next date and time. Just as I turned, reminder card in hand, the nurse came out to the waiting room and asked me to come back in. The doctor saw something that concerned her on my test and wanted to talk to me. Dr. Jeanie told me she noticed, after a more careful review, that my little one was having slight heartbeat decelerations after each contraction. They weren’t dramatic but could be a reason for concern. She called in a colleague for a consultation and they agreed; I should be induced and have this baby today. Today? The instructed me to head next door to the hospital, they would call ahead so Labor & Delivery would be ready when I arrived. I left the clinic and walked next door in a daze; all alone, nothing but my car keys in hand.
Instinctually I arrived at the department where my mother works, at the same hospital. She was in meeting but I managed to get her attention. I think she could tell something was wrong by the look on my face. I told her they were inducing me right away because the baby was having decelerations and I was alone. My numbness wore off and the fear was finally given a voice as tears pour down my face. Thankfully Mom took charge, as mothers often do. She excused herself from the meeting and led me to her office where we called Jeff. Very calmly she told him she would take me to L&D and instructed him to get a bag together and drive carefully to the hospital. As she made a few more calls to my step-dad and sister (who was to be our videographer) I could tell her 20 years of being a nurse in the NICU were beginning to remind her of what could be. Her voice began to quiver.
We arrived and were quickly put in a room, hooked to the monitor, history given and IV inserted. As they began the Pitocin I informed them of my last labor and delivery using the same contraction inducing drug. Less than three hours from the insertion of an IV, my daughter Emily was in my arms. It all happened so quickly there was no time for my epidural or any other kind of drug to ease the burning sensation between my legs (to this day we have to watch her birth video in mute). I was determined not to let that happen again and convinced the nurses and the anesthesiologist to give me my epidural right away. Then the waiting began. It wasn’t long before the room was filled with my husband, my mother and my sister with the occasional visits from nurses and doctors checking my progress. As the contractions grew in strength, my baby’s heartbeat continued to drop. It seemed to help when I lay on my right side, so I spent the next several hours with my back to the TV, staring at the accordion door that hid the birthing equipment from view until it was needed. I didn’t mind. My family was having a hard time finding anything on TV that didn’t mark the two-year anniversary of death and devastation as I lay on my side in anticipation of life and eyes opening to their first vision of light.
It was dinner time by now and Dr. Jeannie came in to check me again. The baby’s decelerations were getting dangerously low and if I wasn’t ready to begin pushing we would need to seriously consider an emergency cesarean. No, I said. I can do this, please don’t strap me to a table and cut me open. My hopes sank as she told me I was only dilated to eight. She said there was something she would try before we went into surgery. Dr. Jeanie inserted a balloon into my uterus that she filled with saline to alleviate the pressure the contractions were putting on my baby. Within a few more minutes I was dilated to nine. Only one to go and I could start pushing. At this point to my astonishment, Dr. Jeannie quickly put me in the stirrups, inserted her hand into me and told me to begin pushing. As I pushed, she used her fingers to manually stretch my cervix. We would push our way to ten together. With my husband by my side, my mom seated in corner and my sister with video camera in hand the top of our baby’s head made its first appearance. Suddenly I heard Dr. Jeanie exclaim, “Ah ha…that’s what was giving us all the problems.” She told me to stop pushing as she cut the umbilical cord that was so tightly wrapped around his neck she had trouble getting the clamps on it. With the next push, our son was born. As he lay on my chest, the tears once again came.
Thank you Mom for being the level head when I needed it, for being my mom.
Thank you Stephie for sharing with me (and taping) one of the most wonderful moments of my life.
Thank you Dr. Jeanie for working so hard to allow me to have the birth I wanted.
Thank you Jeff for helping me to create, with love, the most precious boy I have ever known.
Happy 3rd Birthday Isaac David, my SugarLips.
Instinctually I arrived at the department where my mother works, at the same hospital. She was in meeting but I managed to get her attention. I think she could tell something was wrong by the look on my face. I told her they were inducing me right away because the baby was having decelerations and I was alone. My numbness wore off and the fear was finally given a voice as tears pour down my face. Thankfully Mom took charge, as mothers often do. She excused herself from the meeting and led me to her office where we called Jeff. Very calmly she told him she would take me to L&D and instructed him to get a bag together and drive carefully to the hospital. As she made a few more calls to my step-dad and sister (who was to be our videographer) I could tell her 20 years of being a nurse in the NICU were beginning to remind her of what could be. Her voice began to quiver.
We arrived and were quickly put in a room, hooked to the monitor, history given and IV inserted. As they began the Pitocin I informed them of my last labor and delivery using the same contraction inducing drug. Less than three hours from the insertion of an IV, my daughter Emily was in my arms. It all happened so quickly there was no time for my epidural or any other kind of drug to ease the burning sensation between my legs (to this day we have to watch her birth video in mute). I was determined not to let that happen again and convinced the nurses and the anesthesiologist to give me my epidural right away. Then the waiting began. It wasn’t long before the room was filled with my husband, my mother and my sister with the occasional visits from nurses and doctors checking my progress. As the contractions grew in strength, my baby’s heartbeat continued to drop. It seemed to help when I lay on my right side, so I spent the next several hours with my back to the TV, staring at the accordion door that hid the birthing equipment from view until it was needed. I didn’t mind. My family was having a hard time finding anything on TV that didn’t mark the two-year anniversary of death and devastation as I lay on my side in anticipation of life and eyes opening to their first vision of light.
It was dinner time by now and Dr. Jeannie came in to check me again. The baby’s decelerations were getting dangerously low and if I wasn’t ready to begin pushing we would need to seriously consider an emergency cesarean. No, I said. I can do this, please don’t strap me to a table and cut me open. My hopes sank as she told me I was only dilated to eight. She said there was something she would try before we went into surgery. Dr. Jeanie inserted a balloon into my uterus that she filled with saline to alleviate the pressure the contractions were putting on my baby. Within a few more minutes I was dilated to nine. Only one to go and I could start pushing. At this point to my astonishment, Dr. Jeannie quickly put me in the stirrups, inserted her hand into me and told me to begin pushing. As I pushed, she used her fingers to manually stretch my cervix. We would push our way to ten together. With my husband by my side, my mom seated in corner and my sister with video camera in hand the top of our baby’s head made its first appearance. Suddenly I heard Dr. Jeanie exclaim, “Ah ha…that’s what was giving us all the problems.” She told me to stop pushing as she cut the umbilical cord that was so tightly wrapped around his neck she had trouble getting the clamps on it. With the next push, our son was born. As he lay on my chest, the tears once again came.
Thank you Mom for being the level head when I needed it, for being my mom.
Thank you Stephie for sharing with me (and taping) one of the most wonderful moments of my life.
Thank you Dr. Jeanie for working so hard to allow me to have the birth I wanted.
Thank you Jeff for helping me to create, with love, the most precious boy I have ever known.
Happy 3rd Birthday Isaac David, my SugarLips.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Overheard in the Halls...
On the way to lunch today, Grammy Pammy starts complaining, “I’ve got that darn Grease song stuck in my head.” Being a bit of a Grease aficionado, I ask which one; you know me, I’ll sing along. She can’t remember the name of it, but says it goes like this (singing):
“I’ve got shoes…they’re multiply-n’…and I’m losin’ control….”
"Shoes? Huh? Did you just say shoes?", I ask in disbelief.
“CHILLS PAM…He’s got CHILLS!”
“Really?” she asks. “I always thought it was shoes.”
I ask her what about Danny Zuko seeing the virginal Sandy in a pair of painted on hot-pants would beseech him to sing “I’ve got shoes”?
And why would they be multiply-n’?
“I’ve got shoes…they’re multiply-n’…and I’m losin’ control….”
"Shoes? Huh? Did you just say shoes?", I ask in disbelief.
“CHILLS PAM…He’s got CHILLS!”
“Really?” she asks. “I always thought it was shoes.”
I ask her what about Danny Zuko seeing the virginal Sandy in a pair of painted on hot-pants would beseech him to sing “I’ve got shoes”?
And why would they be multiply-n’?
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Tit for Tat
After reading Bombadee’s post today, I did some quick research and thinking on breasts. This post is not intended to support or oppose breastfeeding; I will leave that argument to those who feel insecure in their own choice or those who feel they have the right to tell others what to do or those who simply enjoy an argument, which seems to be the motivation for most of the literature I read on the subject. I am not educated enough to submit myself to debate on breastfeeding.
This is some of the information I found on the female human breast:
“The term breast, also known by the Latin mamma in anatomy, refers to the upper ventral region of an animal's torso, particularly that of mammals, including human beings. In addition, the breasts are parts of a female mammal's body which contain the organs that secrete milk used to feed infants.
The function of the mammary glands in female breasts is to nurture the young by producing milk, which is secreted by the nipples during lactation. However, zoologists point out that no female mammal other than the human has breasts of comparable size when not lactating and that humans are the only primate that have permanently swollen breasts. This suggests that the external form of the breasts is connected to factors other than lactation alone.
The mammary glands that secrete the milk from the breasts actually make up a relatively small fraction of the overall breast tissue. It is commonly assumed by biologists that the real evolutionary purpose of women having breasts is to attract the male of the species; that, in other words, breasts are sexually dimorphic, or secondary sex characteristics. One theory is based around the fact that, unlike nearly all other primates, human females do not display clear, physical signs of ovulation.
This could have plausibly resulted in human males evolving to respond to more subtle signs of ovulation. During ovulation, the increased estrogen present in the female body results in a slight swelling of the breasts, which then males could have evolved to find attractive. In response, there would be evolutionary pressures that would favor females with more swollen breasts who would, in a manner of speaking, appear to males to be the most likely to be ovulating.
Some zoologists (notably Desmond Morris) believe that the shape of female breasts evolved as a frontal counterpart to that of the buttocks, the reason being that whilst other primates mate in the typical doggy-style position, humans are more likely to successfully copulate mating face on. A secondary sexual characteristic on a woman's chest would have encouraged this in more primitive incarnations of the human race, and a face on encounter would have helped found a relationship between partners beyond merely a sexual one.”
I followed the links on Bombadee’s post this morning (could you have any more links, by the way?) and one comment, found on another site, stuck with me:
“And the sexualization of the twin sites that sustain life sickens me.”
Sickens her? Seriously? My question, breastfeeding aside, is this: aren’t our breasts a part of our sexual selves? Sometimes I wonder when I read such comments if the author considers her breasts as sexually significant as her elbow (no elbow fetish comments, please). Am I reading all of these sites wrong, misunderstanding my fellow women? By no means do I look at myself or my breasts as sexual objects for the sole purpose of male arousal. I’m more selfish than that. Helen Reddy spoke for all of us when she sang “I am woman watch me grow/See me standing toe to toe”. Toe to toe; equal. What I don’t understand is why breastfeeding or feminism is sometimes paid for by the total de-sexualization of my breasts. It shouldn’t be wrong for me to say that my breasts are an erogenous zone, they play a significant role in my and my partners sex life.
Rabbi Schmuley’s comments and advice were ignorant. His comparison of breastfeeding your child to adultery was simply assinine. Calling a breast a “scintillating piece of flesh” didn’t piss me off as much as it made me laugh. But when it comes down to it, this is one of those times that I want to have it all. I want mutual love and respect, I want equality, I want the choice of whether or not to breastfeed, I want to be an intelligent and able and strong and compassionate and respected and loving and sexual being.
I especially want my breasts to look good in the new tops and dresses I bought for my trip to Vegas (in 15 days). I’m not going to, and should have to, apologize for that. It shouldn’t make me any less of a mother or feminist or any more of a woman. Truth be told, it just makes me vain.
This is some of the information I found on the female human breast:
“The term breast, also known by the Latin mamma in anatomy, refers to the upper ventral region of an animal's torso, particularly that of mammals, including human beings. In addition, the breasts are parts of a female mammal's body which contain the organs that secrete milk used to feed infants.
The function of the mammary glands in female breasts is to nurture the young by producing milk, which is secreted by the nipples during lactation. However, zoologists point out that no female mammal other than the human has breasts of comparable size when not lactating and that humans are the only primate that have permanently swollen breasts. This suggests that the external form of the breasts is connected to factors other than lactation alone.
The mammary glands that secrete the milk from the breasts actually make up a relatively small fraction of the overall breast tissue. It is commonly assumed by biologists that the real evolutionary purpose of women having breasts is to attract the male of the species; that, in other words, breasts are sexually dimorphic, or secondary sex characteristics. One theory is based around the fact that, unlike nearly all other primates, human females do not display clear, physical signs of ovulation.
This could have plausibly resulted in human males evolving to respond to more subtle signs of ovulation. During ovulation, the increased estrogen present in the female body results in a slight swelling of the breasts, which then males could have evolved to find attractive. In response, there would be evolutionary pressures that would favor females with more swollen breasts who would, in a manner of speaking, appear to males to be the most likely to be ovulating.
Some zoologists (notably Desmond Morris) believe that the shape of female breasts evolved as a frontal counterpart to that of the buttocks, the reason being that whilst other primates mate in the typical doggy-style position, humans are more likely to successfully copulate mating face on. A secondary sexual characteristic on a woman's chest would have encouraged this in more primitive incarnations of the human race, and a face on encounter would have helped found a relationship between partners beyond merely a sexual one.”
I followed the links on Bombadee’s post this morning (could you have any more links, by the way?) and one comment, found on another site, stuck with me:
“And the sexualization of the twin sites that sustain life sickens me.”
Sickens her? Seriously? My question, breastfeeding aside, is this: aren’t our breasts a part of our sexual selves? Sometimes I wonder when I read such comments if the author considers her breasts as sexually significant as her elbow (no elbow fetish comments, please). Am I reading all of these sites wrong, misunderstanding my fellow women? By no means do I look at myself or my breasts as sexual objects for the sole purpose of male arousal. I’m more selfish than that. Helen Reddy spoke for all of us when she sang “I am woman watch me grow/See me standing toe to toe”. Toe to toe; equal. What I don’t understand is why breastfeeding or feminism is sometimes paid for by the total de-sexualization of my breasts. It shouldn’t be wrong for me to say that my breasts are an erogenous zone, they play a significant role in my and my partners sex life.
Rabbi Schmuley’s comments and advice were ignorant. His comparison of breastfeeding your child to adultery was simply assinine. Calling a breast a “scintillating piece of flesh” didn’t piss me off as much as it made me laugh. But when it comes down to it, this is one of those times that I want to have it all. I want mutual love and respect, I want equality, I want the choice of whether or not to breastfeed, I want to be an intelligent and able and strong and compassionate and respected and loving and sexual being.
I especially want my breasts to look good in the new tops and dresses I bought for my trip to Vegas (in 15 days). I’m not going to, and should have to, apologize for that. It shouldn’t make me any less of a mother or feminist or any more of a woman. Truth be told, it just makes me vain.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Rest in Peace, Crocodile Man
1962-2006 “I believe that education is all about being excited about something. Seeing passion and enthusiasm helps push an educational message.”
“I have no fear of losing my life - if I have to save a koala or a crocodile or a kangaroo or a snake, mate, I will save it.”
“When I talk to the camera, mate, it's not like I'm talking to the camera, I'm talking to you because I want to whip you around and plunk you right there with me.”
“Where I live if someone gives you a hug it's from the heart.”
“Yeah, I'm a thrill seeker, but crikey, education's the most important thing.”
“These Hitlers use the camouflage of science to make money out of animals... So whenever they murder our animals and call it sustainable use, I'll fight it. Since when has killing a wild animal, eating it or wearing it, ever saved a species? There are people who butt out their cigarettes in gorilla-paw ashtrays, with wastepaper baskets that were once elephant feet, who have ivory ornaments… who wear cheetah fur. Don't buy these things! Then there'll be no market and the animals won't be killed. We have domesticated livestock raised for consumption and perfectly good fake leather and fur, so why must we kill wild animals to satisfy the macabre taste of some rich person?”
“Every cent we earn from Crocodile Hunter goes straight back into conservation. Every single cent.”
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