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.”
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Me Me Me Me, Too!
Inspired by (and blatantly plagiarized from) Bombadee.
A Johari Window is a metaphorical tool intented to help people better understand their interpersonal communication and relationships.
A Nohari Window is the inversion of the Johari window, and is a collection of negative personality traits instead of positive.
Plus it's a fun way to get the people that read your blog and even some that don't to comment on your personality. So without further ado let the judging begin! No really it'll be fun. You don't even have to give your name, just enter "Anonymous" so I can spend the next several days trying to figure out who called me a callous, insensitive, mature extrovert. Then we will oil up and throw down...cause them there's fightin' words, beeyatch!
Here is my Johari Window and my Nohari Window.
(Don't cheat and look at how I described myself first.)
Make one for yourself, post your link and I'll return the favor!
A Johari Window is a metaphorical tool intented to help people better understand their interpersonal communication and relationships.
A Nohari Window is the inversion of the Johari window, and is a collection of negative personality traits instead of positive.
Plus it's a fun way to get the people that read your blog and even some that don't to comment on your personality. So without further ado let the judging begin! No really it'll be fun. You don't even have to give your name, just enter "Anonymous" so I can spend the next several days trying to figure out who called me a callous, insensitive, mature extrovert. Then we will oil up and throw down...cause them there's fightin' words, beeyatch!
Here is my Johari Window and my Nohari Window.
(Don't cheat and look at how I described myself first.)
Make one for yourself, post your link and I'll return the favor!
Monday, August 28, 2006
Spready-Open-Thingy
Sorry I’ve been so absent lately, I’ve been studying for a certification my employer is requiring me to obtain. Good news is that I passed the first of two exams I need for the certification last Friday so I thought I would take a few days off from non-stop studying and post. Here is a story I’ve been meaning to share for a few weeks now:
Warning: To my good pal Dan...you will want to stop reading at this point.
My daughter Doody is 11 1/2 years old and knee deep in the waters of puberty. My mother never had detailed discussions with me when I was going through these changes and I always said when I had daughters I would be very open and up front with them. Rather than talk about things that happened to her body after the fact, I would have ongoing conversations beforehand to prepare her and give her a sense of comfort. Reassure her all girls go through these changes; it is a normal and exciting time in her life. My Doody is quite small compared to other girls in her sixth grade class, but has recently reached the point where a bra is necessary under fitted, knit tops. Jeff and I have never been modest around our kids when it comes to nudity; they are visually aware of the differences between males and females. We have always made it a point to teach the proper names for body parts; no tweeters, boobies, ding-a-lings or so forth…we have vaginas, breasts and penises at the House of Tot. About a year and a half ago, Doody and I began reading some educational books on puberty. I was surprised when I began looking how hard it was to find material that didn’t go from your period to sex in just a few short pages. While I have always answered her questions with honest straightforwardness, I didn’t feel it was necessary to go from bras, cramps and tampons to orgasms, condoms and fellatio in one sitting. There is mention of eggs (after all they do discuss the menstrual cycle) and the clitoris is in the “parts” section but nothing I found to be overtly sexual. If any of you are looking, here are some great titles I did find that we slowly read together chapter by chapter:
The Period Book, Updated Edition: Everything You Don't Want to Ask (But Need to Know) by Karen Gravelle
Period.: A Girl's Guide to Menstruation With a Parents Guide
by JoAnn Loulan, Bonnie Worthen
Growing Up: It's a Girl Thing (It's a Girl Thing)
by Mavis Jukes
Just a few warnings of things that may occur as you and your daughter are having these discussions:
One of the chapters in The Period Book is focused on the physical parts to our bodies. Vagina, labia minora and majora, etc. It had an illustrated drawing and then a short paragraph describing each part. We get to the clitoris paragraph where it describes it as a “button like piece flesh” used for the “female’s pleasure during sex.” At the end of each chapter I would always ask, “What questions do you have about what we just read?” Be prepared for “What is that button thing used for again?”
Tampons can be scary. Think back to the first time you thought of putting something “up there”. Doody and I were talking about how to put a tampon in when she wondered how she could practice, without actually putting one in. (That’s my girl…I’ve always stressed the importance of practicing) We figured out if you hold your hand in a clenched fist, your daughter can practice the basics of tampon insertion over and over again.
One book talked about how if you have a little brother you can easily tell what a boy’s private parts look like because they are on the outside of his body. Girls parts are on more on the inside, so it suggested using a hand mirror and taking a look at yourself. A few hours after we read this, Doody was in the bathroom taking her shower when I heard the door open and “Psst…Mom…can you come here a minute?” I walked in the bathroom and as she shut the door, I noticed she had a mirror in her hand. She asked, “I’m having trouble doing the mirror thing, can you help me?” It took every ounce of bravery and acting ability I had in me to exude ease and comfort as my daughter lay on the floor spread eagle with me squatted down holding a mirror between her legs as she went down the list, “Now that’s my ‘this’ and that’s my ‘that’…” I’m so glad she was comfortable enough to ask me, but truth be told, I wanted to run to China.
Now that she is past her pre-pubescence and anxiously awaiting the any-time-now arrival of her period I thought I would introduce her to the dreaded “annual exam”. Not have an exam of course, but go with me to mine. When I was a teenager, the thought of going to a gynecologist was the most frightening and sickening thing ever, especially if the doctor was a man. I want my daughters to feel comfortable at their doctor’s office and not look at such appointments as something sinister, creepy or sexual in nature. My date was a couple of weeks ago, so I took the day off work and she joined me for my appointment and a day of shopping…some girl time. On the way to the clinic I tell her what is going to happen; weight, questions, blood pressure, heart and lungs, breast exam and finally the pelvic exam. We discussed the tools the gynecologist would use, how he would use them, why he was using them and I told her in my opinion what it felt like. Now don’t misunderstand me, she didn’t get front row seats behind the doctor’s shoulder. There was a sheet covering my legs and I asked if she would be more comfortable sitting in the chairs at my side or to stand up by my head. She said she was fine in the chairs and curiously watched everything with an appropriate PG rated view. Back in the car on the way to shopping, I asked Doody if anything was scary for her. Her response? “Just the spready-open thingy.” How right she is.
Warning: To my good pal Dan...you will want to stop reading at this point.
My daughter Doody is 11 1/2 years old and knee deep in the waters of puberty. My mother never had detailed discussions with me when I was going through these changes and I always said when I had daughters I would be very open and up front with them. Rather than talk about things that happened to her body after the fact, I would have ongoing conversations beforehand to prepare her and give her a sense of comfort. Reassure her all girls go through these changes; it is a normal and exciting time in her life. My Doody is quite small compared to other girls in her sixth grade class, but has recently reached the point where a bra is necessary under fitted, knit tops. Jeff and I have never been modest around our kids when it comes to nudity; they are visually aware of the differences between males and females. We have always made it a point to teach the proper names for body parts; no tweeters, boobies, ding-a-lings or so forth…we have vaginas, breasts and penises at the House of Tot. About a year and a half ago, Doody and I began reading some educational books on puberty. I was surprised when I began looking how hard it was to find material that didn’t go from your period to sex in just a few short pages. While I have always answered her questions with honest straightforwardness, I didn’t feel it was necessary to go from bras, cramps and tampons to orgasms, condoms and fellatio in one sitting. There is mention of eggs (after all they do discuss the menstrual cycle) and the clitoris is in the “parts” section but nothing I found to be overtly sexual. If any of you are looking, here are some great titles I did find that we slowly read together chapter by chapter:
The Period Book, Updated Edition: Everything You Don't Want to Ask (But Need to Know) by Karen Gravelle
Period.: A Girl's Guide to Menstruation With a Parents Guide
by JoAnn Loulan, Bonnie Worthen
Growing Up: It's a Girl Thing (It's a Girl Thing)
by Mavis Jukes
Just a few warnings of things that may occur as you and your daughter are having these discussions:
One of the chapters in The Period Book is focused on the physical parts to our bodies. Vagina, labia minora and majora, etc. It had an illustrated drawing and then a short paragraph describing each part. We get to the clitoris paragraph where it describes it as a “button like piece flesh” used for the “female’s pleasure during sex.” At the end of each chapter I would always ask, “What questions do you have about what we just read?” Be prepared for “What is that button thing used for again?”
Tampons can be scary. Think back to the first time you thought of putting something “up there”. Doody and I were talking about how to put a tampon in when she wondered how she could practice, without actually putting one in. (That’s my girl…I’ve always stressed the importance of practicing) We figured out if you hold your hand in a clenched fist, your daughter can practice the basics of tampon insertion over and over again.
One book talked about how if you have a little brother you can easily tell what a boy’s private parts look like because they are on the outside of his body. Girls parts are on more on the inside, so it suggested using a hand mirror and taking a look at yourself. A few hours after we read this, Doody was in the bathroom taking her shower when I heard the door open and “Psst…Mom…can you come here a minute?” I walked in the bathroom and as she shut the door, I noticed she had a mirror in her hand. She asked, “I’m having trouble doing the mirror thing, can you help me?” It took every ounce of bravery and acting ability I had in me to exude ease and comfort as my daughter lay on the floor spread eagle with me squatted down holding a mirror between her legs as she went down the list, “Now that’s my ‘this’ and that’s my ‘that’…” I’m so glad she was comfortable enough to ask me, but truth be told, I wanted to run to China.
Now that she is past her pre-pubescence and anxiously awaiting the any-time-now arrival of her period I thought I would introduce her to the dreaded “annual exam”. Not have an exam of course, but go with me to mine. When I was a teenager, the thought of going to a gynecologist was the most frightening and sickening thing ever, especially if the doctor was a man. I want my daughters to feel comfortable at their doctor’s office and not look at such appointments as something sinister, creepy or sexual in nature. My date was a couple of weeks ago, so I took the day off work and she joined me for my appointment and a day of shopping…some girl time. On the way to the clinic I tell her what is going to happen; weight, questions, blood pressure, heart and lungs, breast exam and finally the pelvic exam. We discussed the tools the gynecologist would use, how he would use them, why he was using them and I told her in my opinion what it felt like. Now don’t misunderstand me, she didn’t get front row seats behind the doctor’s shoulder. There was a sheet covering my legs and I asked if she would be more comfortable sitting in the chairs at my side or to stand up by my head. She said she was fine in the chairs and curiously watched everything with an appropriate PG rated view. Back in the car on the way to shopping, I asked Doody if anything was scary for her. Her response? “Just the spready-open thingy.” How right she is.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Thought Consolidation and Transfer
Where have I been? Busy. How’s my mood been? Rather pissy to be honest.
Kids: This week alone I have, between my two girls, five soccer practices over four nights. Look for me to have some “free time” in November. Baseball just ended three weeks ago; that didn’t feel like much of a break. It’s not so much that I mind it really; it just makes me feel very “scheduled” if that makes any sense. My life lacks spontaneity, and I miss it sometimes. My son, who turns three on September 11th, is still no where close to being potty trained and it sucks. I’m sick of diapers. I know “they” say that if your kids not ready, you’re not supposed to push the idea but…you know…I’m ready to push. I’m not one to sit back and patiently wait for him to come running to me one day declaring “I’ve decided to use the potty.” It was not his decision that he was ready to stop drinking out of a bottle, it was not his decision he was ready to move from the crib to a bed, he did not spontaneously start talking or counting or being polite. Jeff and I, as his parents, decided he was ready. We taught him these things. Why should potty training be any different? (Yeah, I know I’m dreaming here.)
Weekends: Are Crazy. I’m not complaining that people like me and invite me to stuff, but damn…I need a weekend off and simply do not have one for a very long time. What would I do with a weekend off? Most likely call everyone I know to see if they want to do something.
Money, Money, Money: We are really trying to save up some cash for our Vegas trip (in just a few weeks now) and don’t have what we wish we would have at this point. Gas prices have totally kicked our asses this summer, tripling what was our weekly fuel spending four months ago. Jeff and I finally went through our bank statements, it had been about two months since our last accounting, and found $348 worth of debit card charges we never recorded in our checkbook register. That seriously sucked and took up some of the funds we thought were set aside for vacation.
My Body: Stressing me out. My period has been all over the place for months now and for some reason I don’t understand I’ve been feeling really…no I mean REALLY crabby during “my time” for the past three months which is historically not like me. I haven’t lost the weight I wanted to lose before my trip and that has disappointed me. I had an appointment to get an ugly stepmother mole removed from my face and had to cancel due to the fact that it would have taken away funds from Vegas to pay for it, so that sucks too.
Work: I have to take a certification exam by December 29th or I lose my job. I’ve been studying my ass off for weeks (explaining my infrequent blog posting) and thought I was ready. I was taking practice tests on teaching software I have and was consistently getting 94%’s. Well, today I went online to take some practice exams from another source and have literally flunked them all. Not one site, four. Flunked. It costs over $300 just to take the exams and if I don’t pass them, work will not pay me back meaning I’m out that money. The pressure is horrible and I am not someone who does well on tests. On top of that, I have some coworkers who constantly make comments like “Why haven’t you taken that yet”…. “It’s not that hard”… “The longer you wait, the more pressure you’ll have”…. “What are you waiting for”. As if the pressure of possibly being out a large amount of money, having to retake the tests and/or losing my job wasn’t pressure enough. Thanks for the encouragement guys!
Family: My step-father disagreed with my Sister Sara’s decision to move to Arizona over a year ago and has refused to talk to her ever since. Refused to acknowledge her presence, even when she stood two feet away from him or sat at the same table with him (Christmas and Sister Stephanie’s college graduation were stained by this), refused to accept the Christmas gift she bought him (putting it in her car, unopened, when she wasn’t looking), etc. I mean, it has been a huge and horrible strain on the family for sometime now. My mother always sums it up with “I can control how he feels or what he does” which has always been her way to deal with his inexcusable behavior. Sara was unexpectedly home over the weekend when Lisa’s aunt passed away and she had to come back for the funeral. It was great seeing her; it’s funny how you forget how much you miss someone until you see them. Out of the blue, without a word to anyone my stepfather decides that Sara is worth talking to again. He literally just started talking to her as if nothing had happened over the past year. No one asked why, no apologies were offered, just called her up and asked her to do something with him as if he had talked with her yesterday. Now most people might think this is good news but for some reason it just pissed me off to no end. No one in the family will say a word to him about it, afraid to make him mad and change the fact that he “likes” her again…but damn…shouldn’t he be accountable for putting us all through such grief? Shouldn’t he at least say, “I’m sorry”?
Friends: Sometimes your differences with friends can be great and sometimes they can be uncomfortable. I’ve had some uncomfortable situations lately, mostly kept to myself. A blog I read recently reminded me that if we “focus on the differences or assign them too high a value, (we)'d probably have no friends.” But then went on to say, “On the other hand, if (we) ignore the differences, it isn't an honest relationship and (we)'ve lost an important opportunity to either learn and change my viewpoint or teach and change theirs.” Sometimes I wonder if my friendships could survive such honesty. My guess is some would and some wouldn't.
So there it is, thanks for listening.
Kids: This week alone I have, between my two girls, five soccer practices over four nights. Look for me to have some “free time” in November. Baseball just ended three weeks ago; that didn’t feel like much of a break. It’s not so much that I mind it really; it just makes me feel very “scheduled” if that makes any sense. My life lacks spontaneity, and I miss it sometimes. My son, who turns three on September 11th, is still no where close to being potty trained and it sucks. I’m sick of diapers. I know “they” say that if your kids not ready, you’re not supposed to push the idea but…you know…I’m ready to push. I’m not one to sit back and patiently wait for him to come running to me one day declaring “I’ve decided to use the potty.” It was not his decision that he was ready to stop drinking out of a bottle, it was not his decision he was ready to move from the crib to a bed, he did not spontaneously start talking or counting or being polite. Jeff and I, as his parents, decided he was ready. We taught him these things. Why should potty training be any different? (Yeah, I know I’m dreaming here.)
Weekends: Are Crazy. I’m not complaining that people like me and invite me to stuff, but damn…I need a weekend off and simply do not have one for a very long time. What would I do with a weekend off? Most likely call everyone I know to see if they want to do something.
Money, Money, Money: We are really trying to save up some cash for our Vegas trip (in just a few weeks now) and don’t have what we wish we would have at this point. Gas prices have totally kicked our asses this summer, tripling what was our weekly fuel spending four months ago. Jeff and I finally went through our bank statements, it had been about two months since our last accounting, and found $348 worth of debit card charges we never recorded in our checkbook register. That seriously sucked and took up some of the funds we thought were set aside for vacation.
My Body: Stressing me out. My period has been all over the place for months now and for some reason I don’t understand I’ve been feeling really…no I mean REALLY crabby during “my time” for the past three months which is historically not like me. I haven’t lost the weight I wanted to lose before my trip and that has disappointed me. I had an appointment to get an ugly stepmother mole removed from my face and had to cancel due to the fact that it would have taken away funds from Vegas to pay for it, so that sucks too.
Work: I have to take a certification exam by December 29th or I lose my job. I’ve been studying my ass off for weeks (explaining my infrequent blog posting) and thought I was ready. I was taking practice tests on teaching software I have and was consistently getting 94%’s. Well, today I went online to take some practice exams from another source and have literally flunked them all. Not one site, four. Flunked. It costs over $300 just to take the exams and if I don’t pass them, work will not pay me back meaning I’m out that money. The pressure is horrible and I am not someone who does well on tests. On top of that, I have some coworkers who constantly make comments like “Why haven’t you taken that yet”…. “It’s not that hard”… “The longer you wait, the more pressure you’ll have”…. “What are you waiting for”. As if the pressure of possibly being out a large amount of money, having to retake the tests and/or losing my job wasn’t pressure enough. Thanks for the encouragement guys!
Family: My step-father disagreed with my Sister Sara’s decision to move to Arizona over a year ago and has refused to talk to her ever since. Refused to acknowledge her presence, even when she stood two feet away from him or sat at the same table with him (Christmas and Sister Stephanie’s college graduation were stained by this), refused to accept the Christmas gift she bought him (putting it in her car, unopened, when she wasn’t looking), etc. I mean, it has been a huge and horrible strain on the family for sometime now. My mother always sums it up with “I can control how he feels or what he does” which has always been her way to deal with his inexcusable behavior. Sara was unexpectedly home over the weekend when Lisa’s aunt passed away and she had to come back for the funeral. It was great seeing her; it’s funny how you forget how much you miss someone until you see them. Out of the blue, without a word to anyone my stepfather decides that Sara is worth talking to again. He literally just started talking to her as if nothing had happened over the past year. No one asked why, no apologies were offered, just called her up and asked her to do something with him as if he had talked with her yesterday. Now most people might think this is good news but for some reason it just pissed me off to no end. No one in the family will say a word to him about it, afraid to make him mad and change the fact that he “likes” her again…but damn…shouldn’t he be accountable for putting us all through such grief? Shouldn’t he at least say, “I’m sorry”?
Friends: Sometimes your differences with friends can be great and sometimes they can be uncomfortable. I’ve had some uncomfortable situations lately, mostly kept to myself. A blog I read recently reminded me that if we “focus on the differences or assign them too high a value, (we)'d probably have no friends.” But then went on to say, “On the other hand, if (we) ignore the differences, it isn't an honest relationship and (we)'ve lost an important opportunity to either learn and change my viewpoint or teach and change theirs.” Sometimes I wonder if my friendships could survive such honesty. My guess is some would and some wouldn't.
So there it is, thanks for listening.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Recently Found in the Filter Between my Brain and Mouth
- “If you hate it here so much, leave.”
- “I don’t like her very much.”
- “She should have told you to shove it up your ass, I would have.”
- “Declaring your communication to be great doesn’t make it great.”
- “Children learn by example…what do you think you’re teaching yours?”
- “I found you more interesting when you were miserable.”
- “Rubbing my back for a half hour doesn’t turn me on, it puts me to sleep.”
- “You’re an idiot and should be fired.”
- "If you can't afford to feed the children you already have, why are you having more?"
- Three “F*ck You’s” and two “God Dammit All To Hell’s”
Friday, August 11, 2006
Monday, August 07, 2006
You Make Me Feel Like Dancin'....
Just a few examples on why you should never take your camera to a gathering where dancing is on the agenda.
My kid sister apparently likes to lead with her butt, Bombadee is all about the arms and hip action while I make strange facial expressions and am under the unfortunate impression I should perform "the robot" in public.
My kid sister apparently likes to lead with her butt, Bombadee is all about the arms and hip action while I make strange facial expressions and am under the unfortunate impression I should perform "the robot" in public.
Friday, August 04, 2006
And Your Little Dog, Too!
“Awesome”, exclaimed Mimi, as Miss Gulch flew across the stage ten feet in the air on her bicycle, having been caught in the throws of a Kansas twister. A few moments later she reappeared as the Wicked Witch of the West, “to satisfy an itch, flying on her broomstick, thumbing for a hitch. Oh what happened then was rich”. Children everywhere were leaned forward, barely hanging on to the edge of theirs seats eager to be just a few inches closer to the magic, mesmerized by the costumes, music, lights and fog. Adults could be seen mouthing the words not only to the familiar songs but also to the dialogue, carved into memory since they were first introduced to the enchanting world of Oz. A place where you “get up at twelve and start to work at one, take an hour for lunch and then at two we're done!”
The girls and I traveled with Oo-Ma last night to Timber Lake Playhouse to see “The Wizard of Oz” performed on stage. It was simply divine. A wonderful and small log cabin-esque theatre surrounded by trees, sitting on the charming Timber Lake. You would expect a resort playhouse of this size and obscurity to put on a production that looked like something you would have seen in grade school, with mommy-made costumes and crackling, untrained voices. To my surprise, it was a very professional staging complete with hidden microphones, suspension system (for the witch and flying monkeys, of course), lightening, melting witches, fantastic singing and dancing, explosions that had everyone jumping in their chairs…
Simply put, it was a brilliant evening.
I was ecstatic to see their 2007 Summer Season to include The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Dracula and Irving Berlins White Christmas. I can’t wait.
The girls and I traveled with Oo-Ma last night to Timber Lake Playhouse to see “The Wizard of Oz” performed on stage. It was simply divine. A wonderful and small log cabin-esque theatre surrounded by trees, sitting on the charming Timber Lake. You would expect a resort playhouse of this size and obscurity to put on a production that looked like something you would have seen in grade school, with mommy-made costumes and crackling, untrained voices. To my surprise, it was a very professional staging complete with hidden microphones, suspension system (for the witch and flying monkeys, of course), lightening, melting witches, fantastic singing and dancing, explosions that had everyone jumping in their chairs…
Simply put, it was a brilliant evening.
I was ecstatic to see their 2007 Summer Season to include The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Dracula and Irving Berlins White Christmas. I can’t wait.
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