About 5 weeks before my due date, I decided that if the baby came early that would be just fine. Glorious even. I mean, do they really need to "cook" for 40 whole weeks? My theory was confirmed when we went to our 36 week sonogram and the baby was measuring at 40 weeks. Well, at least his head was, and isn't that the most important part both in the delivery and in respect to the health of the fetus? They told us he was about 7 pounds at that time. I didn't quite hyperventilate as Joe asked the doctor how big was he going to be and she responded, "Oh, 12 or 13 pounds." Note to doctors: Giant baby jokes are not very funny at 36 weeks.
The days trickled by and I kept gaining weight. I didn't quite break the 200 pound mark, but I flirted with it. Pretty soon, I was approaching that 40 week mark. At about week 39, I decided to start to try to walk. Walking can induce labor. So can pineapple, so I ate a bunch of that. The walking was not a simple feat. I made it around a block. It was painful the whole way. My left hip felt like I'd walked 10 miles on an uneven road. I decided to just wait it out. I didn't think it would be much longer. I had been dilated at 4 cm for 2 weeks. Surely, that was a sign.
It was not.
Friday, July 27, 2012. That was my due date.
On Thursday, July 26th, I felt miserable and work was especially trying. I decided to let Joe work for me on Friday. My 40 week OB appointment was at 3:00 pm and I was planning to rest up a bit. I had been sleeping on the couch for weeks and never for more than 4 or 5 hours at a time most nights. Joe left for work a little after 8:00. I was awake, but not up and going at that time. I got up around 8:30 and went to the bathroom. As I was leaning forward to get up, I felt my water break.
I thought.
Maybe.
Probably.
So, I Googled it. God bless them internets.
I sent Joe a text
I'm not entirely sure my water didn't just break.
His response
How can you not know?
My response
I've never done this before!
So, I called the OB office. They said to head to the hospital. So, I called my mom.
Joe and I got to the hospital around 10:00 am.
On Friday, July 27, 2012.
The nurses were waiting for me. I was ushered to a delivery room on my due date. It was confirmed that I was in labor. On my due date.
Weird.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Hospital Trip #1
I am and always have been a poor drinker. Not in the ways of alcohol, but in the ways of 8 glasses a day. Yesterday, I felt a little woozy first thing at work. I took my pulse and it was 120. I drank some water and felt somewhat better. However, my brain seemed a bit scrambled and I still felt a little wacko. Well, a little more than normal, so I went home after half a day.
At about 4:15 I decided to be a responsible adult and checked with my doctor who promptly told me to go have it checked at the emergency room. I suppose I should have anticipated that response, but it caught me off guard. So, as soon as he got home, Joe took me to the hospital. It was the first time I had ever gone to the emergency room. They took me up to labor and delivery in the most uncomfortable wheelchair known to man.
They put me in a triage room behind curtain #1 and hooked me up to about 57 machines. The Wee Baby Seamus did not appreciate the fetal monitor belt thing and began to kick up a storm. They got us both nominally comfortable and then we waited. As we waited, we had a bit of entertainment from the patient behind curtain #2.
She explained that she did not know her due date because she wasn't sure of her last period. She was sure it was over before she'd gotten out of jail. She was having contractions about every 3 minutes and we got to hear some cussing. We also learned that she was on baby #6 and that the baby's daddy had cheated on her but he was the last dude she'd had sex with. She was mad because the nurses and doctors couldn't tell her what her exact due date was and she might be at 6 months or she might be at nine months. She also wouldn't commit to a doctor's appointment in a week because she might not be able to make it.
Not long after the monitors got strapped to me, the med student came and added a heart monitor and listened to my heart a bit. Then the resident came and told me they were gonna give me fluids. I got my first IV.
They then hosed the first bag into me in about 4 seconds. At about 8 seconds, I had to pee. Shocking. I am pretty sure the dude carrying the pizza down the hall saw more of me than I had ever thought to share with a dude carrying a pizza down a hall.
Shortly after the nurse got me repositioned so they could again monitor Seamus and myself, the resident came in and asked if had felt or was aware of the contractions I had been having. I informed her that I was not aware.
So, I got to experience a speculum. That was definitely not on my to-do list yesterday. About halfway through that fun, Joe informed me that "There's a party in your crotch." Giggling while having a vaginal exam was also not on the list.
They fed me some cheese and grapes and started another bag of fluids before deciding that everything was completely fine. They told me to increase my liquid intake and I did get one major restriction. No more caffeine. That will really improve my mood here for the third trimester.
Things I Learned:
Wheelchairs are not built for short people.
Hospital gowns are pretty pointless.
You feel 18 gauge needles go into your arm.
Annoying roommates get you $5 gift certificates for food.
Humor is lost on doctors.
At about 4:15 I decided to be a responsible adult and checked with my doctor who promptly told me to go have it checked at the emergency room. I suppose I should have anticipated that response, but it caught me off guard. So, as soon as he got home, Joe took me to the hospital. It was the first time I had ever gone to the emergency room. They took me up to labor and delivery in the most uncomfortable wheelchair known to man.
They put me in a triage room behind curtain #1 and hooked me up to about 57 machines. The Wee Baby Seamus did not appreciate the fetal monitor belt thing and began to kick up a storm. They got us both nominally comfortable and then we waited. As we waited, we had a bit of entertainment from the patient behind curtain #2.
She explained that she did not know her due date because she wasn't sure of her last period. She was sure it was over before she'd gotten out of jail. She was having contractions about every 3 minutes and we got to hear some cussing. We also learned that she was on baby #6 and that the baby's daddy had cheated on her but he was the last dude she'd had sex with. She was mad because the nurses and doctors couldn't tell her what her exact due date was and she might be at 6 months or she might be at nine months. She also wouldn't commit to a doctor's appointment in a week because she might not be able to make it.
Not long after the monitors got strapped to me, the med student came and added a heart monitor and listened to my heart a bit. Then the resident came and told me they were gonna give me fluids. I got my first IV.
 |
| My first IV. |
They then hosed the first bag into me in about 4 seconds. At about 8 seconds, I had to pee. Shocking. I am pretty sure the dude carrying the pizza down the hall saw more of me than I had ever thought to share with a dude carrying a pizza down a hall.
Shortly after the nurse got me repositioned so they could again monitor Seamus and myself, the resident came in and asked if had felt or was aware of the contractions I had been having. I informed her that I was not aware.
So, I got to experience a speculum. That was definitely not on my to-do list yesterday. About halfway through that fun, Joe informed me that "There's a party in your crotch." Giggling while having a vaginal exam was also not on the list.
They fed me some cheese and grapes and started another bag of fluids before deciding that everything was completely fine. They told me to increase my liquid intake and I did get one major restriction. No more caffeine. That will really improve my mood here for the third trimester.
Things I Learned:
Wheelchairs are not built for short people.
Hospital gowns are pretty pointless.
You feel 18 gauge needles go into your arm.
Annoying roommates get you $5 gift certificates for food.
Humor is lost on doctors.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Pregnancy is Soooooo Weird - Part Two
The good.
1. Big Boobs/Cleavage.
I have them. Need I say more.
2. Comfy Clothes.
Everything I can fit into is either a t-shirt knit or has an elastic waistband. It is very much like wearing pajamas all day every day. I refuse to spend hundreds of dollars on "maternity" clothes when t-shirt dresses and leggings look better anyway!
3. Food!
Everything is delicious. Not that I have ever had any trouble finding something to eat... However, even the most blah food is hitting the spot. And that spot seems to need hitting about every 2 or 3 hours.
4. Attention.
I never really thought of myself as an attention-whore. It is nice to be intriguing. And, what's more intriguing than pregnancy. Ok, a lot of stuff is more intriguing than pregnancy, but it seems to be working for me.
The Bad.
1. Big boobs/Cleavage.
I have them. I am no longer comfortable when not wearing a bra. My bra stabs me.
2. Drugs are Bad, Mmmkay.
I can't take anything good. I am not supposed to have excess (or really any) caffeine which really limits my Mt. Dew intake. After I have my one singular cup of coffee in the morning, I then have to pee approximately ninety-seven times before noon.
I can take Tylenol when I have a headache. When I have a migraine, I can take Tylenol. Yippee (sarcasm). For a cold, I can take Sudafed. I choose to sleep. A lot. The Benadryll helps.
3. Sleep.
A lot of it seems required. Bedtime used to be 11:30 or midnight. Bedtime is now any time after dinner. I do try to wait until at least 8:00pm to crash so that I don't wake up at 5:00am. Also, I haven't slept through the night since before I even knew I was knocked up. Currently, I am up at least twice every night. That is the minimum. I am not sure what my record is yet. Five times, six?
4. The Gas.
Joe is not amused.
5. Stamina.
I have little to none. This is really hampering my spring gardening, housework, shopping, and baby preparations. I seem to find the energy to cook, however.
The Just Plain Odd.
1. Stalkers.
I have a few people who come to see me just to see what I look like with a "baby bump."
2. Kicks.
The Wee Baby Seamus kicks me. It feels weird. It is especially weird when he manages to make my bladder Zing. Sometimes it is more of a clawing from the inside feeling. You have all seen the horror movies where something (usually an alien) is inside someone. You can see it pushing around just under the skin. I now know what that feels like.
1. Big Boobs/Cleavage.
I have them. Need I say more.
2. Comfy Clothes.
Everything I can fit into is either a t-shirt knit or has an elastic waistband. It is very much like wearing pajamas all day every day. I refuse to spend hundreds of dollars on "maternity" clothes when t-shirt dresses and leggings look better anyway!
 |
| Muumuus are hot, right? |
3. Food!
Everything is delicious. Not that I have ever had any trouble finding something to eat... However, even the most blah food is hitting the spot. And that spot seems to need hitting about every 2 or 3 hours.
 |
| A typical meal. |
4. Attention.
I never really thought of myself as an attention-whore. It is nice to be intriguing. And, what's more intriguing than pregnancy. Ok, a lot of stuff is more intriguing than pregnancy, but it seems to be working for me.
The Bad.
1. Big boobs/Cleavage.
I have them. I am no longer comfortable when not wearing a bra. My bra stabs me.
2. Drugs are Bad, Mmmkay.
I can't take anything good. I am not supposed to have excess (or really any) caffeine which really limits my Mt. Dew intake. After I have my one singular cup of coffee in the morning, I then have to pee approximately ninety-seven times before noon.
I can take Tylenol when I have a headache. When I have a migraine, I can take Tylenol. Yippee (sarcasm). For a cold, I can take Sudafed. I choose to sleep. A lot. The Benadryll helps.
3. Sleep.
A lot of it seems required. Bedtime used to be 11:30 or midnight. Bedtime is now any time after dinner. I do try to wait until at least 8:00pm to crash so that I don't wake up at 5:00am. Also, I haven't slept through the night since before I even knew I was knocked up. Currently, I am up at least twice every night. That is the minimum. I am not sure what my record is yet. Five times, six?
4. The Gas.
Joe is not amused.
5. Stamina.
I have little to none. This is really hampering my spring gardening, housework, shopping, and baby preparations. I seem to find the energy to cook, however.
The Just Plain Odd.
1. Stalkers.
I have a few people who come to see me just to see what I look like with a "baby bump."
2. Kicks.
The Wee Baby Seamus kicks me. It feels weird. It is especially weird when he manages to make my bladder Zing. Sometimes it is more of a clawing from the inside feeling. You have all seen the horror movies where something (usually an alien) is inside someone. You can see it pushing around just under the skin. I now know what that feels like.
 |
| Aww! |
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Define "Dollop"
Right this minute, I have a meatloaf in the oven. It was mixed up according to directions from Grandma Lois.
She is an amazing meatloaf chef. In fact, it may be my favorite meal she makes. Forget her Thanksgiving turkey or the epic mushroom feast she lays on us in the spring. Her meatloaf is legendary. And, she told me how to make it the last time I had it at her house. I have since made it a couple of times. It is nowhere near her version. That is because she really has no idea how she makes it. No she is neither senile nor in the grips of Alzheimer's. She cooks in the "dollop" method.
What in the name of Mel Brooks is a dollop you ask?
Well, that depends on the recipe...
I called her once to verify and clarify how to make apple salad dressing and to get the proper ingredients and amounts. It went something like this.
Karen: "Hey, Grandma! I am trying to make apple salad. What the heck goes in the dressing besides peanut butter and Miracle Whip?"
Grandma: "Sugar and sometimes a little milk."
Karen: "Ok, I have the sugar in it, but it looks weird. How much of each should I use?"
Grandma: "Oh, a dollop of Miracle Whip and a dollop of peanut butter."
Karen: "Oh, ok. So...equal amounts?"
Grandma: "Oh, no!"
Karen: "Ok, so how much?"
Grandma: "No more than a tablespoon or so of peanut butter and about a half cup or more of Miracle Whip."
You can see where the confusion comes in.
The apple salad dressing was a bit wonky-looking, but it tasted fine.
The meatloaf I baked was edible and quite tasty, yet I can't seem to get anywhere near her meatloaf. I must make the trip to rural Avon and study the technique. Not that it will help. I swear she knows magic or spells or has a secret ingredient she slips in when no one is looking. I suppose it could be the 70 plus years of experience she has. My paltry 20 years of cooking experience pales against her skill.
And don't get me started on her coleslaw. Epic, I tell you!
 |
| Grandma Lois |
What in the name of Mel Brooks is a dollop you ask?
Well, that depends on the recipe...
I called her once to verify and clarify how to make apple salad dressing and to get the proper ingredients and amounts. It went something like this.
Karen: "Hey, Grandma! I am trying to make apple salad. What the heck goes in the dressing besides peanut butter and Miracle Whip?"
Grandma: "Sugar and sometimes a little milk."
Karen: "Ok, I have the sugar in it, but it looks weird. How much of each should I use?"
Grandma: "Oh, a dollop of Miracle Whip and a dollop of peanut butter."
Karen: "Oh, ok. So...equal amounts?"
Grandma: "Oh, no!"
Karen: "Ok, so how much?"
Grandma: "No more than a tablespoon or so of peanut butter and about a half cup or more of Miracle Whip."
You can see where the confusion comes in.
The apple salad dressing was a bit wonky-looking, but it tasted fine.
The meatloaf I baked was edible and quite tasty, yet I can't seem to get anywhere near her meatloaf. I must make the trip to rural Avon and study the technique. Not that it will help. I swear she knows magic or spells or has a secret ingredient she slips in when no one is looking. I suppose it could be the 70 plus years of experience she has. My paltry 20 years of cooking experience pales against her skill.
And don't get me started on her coleslaw. Epic, I tell you!
Farm Life (1 of many)
Growing up on a farm provides ample opportunity for strange experiences.
I have helped butcher chickens. I chased them down after they stopped flopping.
I have helped sort and move cattle. They stop if you scream in terror, but then they start running again.
I remember one time, my dad dangled me by my ankles over a culvert to see if it was blocked. Good times.
I have baled hay. It is amongst the dirtiest most uncomfortable hard work one can do.
I have bottle-fed baby sheep, baby cows, and baby kittens. This isn't as fun as it sounds.
I have been bucked off a horse. Cricket was its name.
I have killed a snake with a hoe. Nightmares.
I can bait my own hook and take my own fish off a hook. Cleaning them is another story.
I have caught frogs bare-handed. They are quite slimy.
I know how to pick up a psychotic kitten without injury. By the scruff of the neck.
I also know how to pick up a kitten and nearly lose a hand. While kitten is distracted by a threatening dog.
I know what it feels like to be shocked by an electric fence. It hurts and I scream.
I have broken an amniotic sac to let the calf inside breath its first breath. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever had on my hand.
I have "preg-checked" a heifer. Glove to the shoulder.
These are just a few of the wonderful experiences that one can have growing up on a farm. Ask me about any of them. I have more details on almost all of them. Maybe I will even write about them in more detail, but you get the general idea of the craziness that is everyday farm life.
I have helped butcher chickens. I chased them down after they stopped flopping.
I have helped sort and move cattle. They stop if you scream in terror, but then they start running again.
I remember one time, my dad dangled me by my ankles over a culvert to see if it was blocked. Good times.
I have baled hay. It is amongst the dirtiest most uncomfortable hard work one can do.
I have bottle-fed baby sheep, baby cows, and baby kittens. This isn't as fun as it sounds.
I have been bucked off a horse. Cricket was its name.
I have killed a snake with a hoe. Nightmares.
I can bait my own hook and take my own fish off a hook. Cleaning them is another story.
I have caught frogs bare-handed. They are quite slimy.
I know how to pick up a psychotic kitten without injury. By the scruff of the neck.
I also know how to pick up a kitten and nearly lose a hand. While kitten is distracted by a threatening dog.
I know what it feels like to be shocked by an electric fence. It hurts and I scream.
I have broken an amniotic sac to let the calf inside breath its first breath. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever had on my hand.
I have "preg-checked" a heifer. Glove to the shoulder.
These are just a few of the wonderful experiences that one can have growing up on a farm. Ask me about any of them. I have more details on almost all of them. Maybe I will even write about them in more detail, but you get the general idea of the craziness that is everyday farm life.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Pregnancy is Soooooo Weird
As I have mentioned in my title, pregnancy is so weird. First of all, the fact that you can't tell for quite some time that you are pregnant has always seemed crazy to me. It's my body. I live in it. I should be able to tell when there is a new resident.
I had no real idea that I was pregnant until that little plus mark appeared before my very eyes. I had no morning sickness and my boobs usually got tender around that "time of the month."
**Disclaimer: If you are not comfortable with boob talk, you should just leave this blog now. It is only the beginning.
Since I have the disclaimer out of the way, the second weird thing I have noticed about pregnancy is all of the changes that happen to the pregnant body. Like, immediately. I was aware that there were a lot of major changes heading my way when that plus sign flashed onto the pee-stick. Heck, some had snuck in on me under the disguise of PMS. I was not aware how many crazy things would be kick-started by the tidal wave of hormones flooding my system.
You may have noticed that there have not been many blog posts for quite some time. Yeah. It seems you need to be awake to type. Weird. Also, I actually do put some thought into these silly posts. Again, thinking (logically) requires one to be awake.
I find myself in the relatively blissful second trimester. Apparently, this is the "good" trimester. You know, the one in which I won't be too tired. The one in which I won't feel nauseous. The one in which I will have a tiny amount of extra energy with which I will apparently clean, knit booties, and shop for tiny clothes. Oh, and BIG clothes.
I have officially declared that my pants no longer fit. The public announcement that my bras no longer fit was lost in the haze of the first trimester. The second announcement that my bras no longer fit was also lost in that same haze. Yes, folks, that's right. I no longer have the boobs of an Olsen twin. I never really thought I would have bigger jugs. I never really wanted them. I now have them. I now want them to go the hell away. And here's where the sharing will go over the top for some. I really hate that I have "underboob" now. I also hate that even my new "C" cup seems restricting and binding. I refuse to even attempt to fill a "D." Ok, that wasn't too horrible. Trust me, I've read other's blogs. That was nothing.
I will say I have been lucky. I haven't had any morning sickness to speak of. I haven't had any since I switched from the prenatal vitamins to the chewable children's gummi vitamins. (By the way, those gummi vitamins are fricking delicious.) I have only gained about 6 pounds...so far.
I haven't been especially hungry. I can't say I've turned down many meals. I really haven't had any strange cravings. I eat weird stuff on a normal, non-pregnant day.
We find out what the little sucker is on March 5th.
We haven't settled on any names. Feel free to make suggestions. I will feel free to ignore those suggestions and laugh in your face.
If you are reading this, I probably wouldn't have a problem with you checking out the bump. By the way, it is starting to be a bump. But, can you have everyone else in the world keep from molesting my belly for the next 5 months.
Other random weird pregnancy things in list form
doula
trans-vaginal sonogram
natural birth
...And those are just the ones that I am not ashamed to write out for you.
I had no real idea that I was pregnant until that little plus mark appeared before my very eyes. I had no morning sickness and my boobs usually got tender around that "time of the month."
**Disclaimer: If you are not comfortable with boob talk, you should just leave this blog now. It is only the beginning.
Since I have the disclaimer out of the way, the second weird thing I have noticed about pregnancy is all of the changes that happen to the pregnant body. Like, immediately. I was aware that there were a lot of major changes heading my way when that plus sign flashed onto the pee-stick. Heck, some had snuck in on me under the disguise of PMS. I was not aware how many crazy things would be kick-started by the tidal wave of hormones flooding my system.
You may have noticed that there have not been many blog posts for quite some time. Yeah. It seems you need to be awake to type. Weird. Also, I actually do put some thought into these silly posts. Again, thinking (logically) requires one to be awake.
I find myself in the relatively blissful second trimester. Apparently, this is the "good" trimester. You know, the one in which I won't be too tired. The one in which I won't feel nauseous. The one in which I will have a tiny amount of extra energy with which I will apparently clean, knit booties, and shop for tiny clothes. Oh, and BIG clothes.
I have officially declared that my pants no longer fit. The public announcement that my bras no longer fit was lost in the haze of the first trimester. The second announcement that my bras no longer fit was also lost in that same haze. Yes, folks, that's right. I no longer have the boobs of an Olsen twin. I never really thought I would have bigger jugs. I never really wanted them. I now have them. I now want them to go the hell away. And here's where the sharing will go over the top for some. I really hate that I have "underboob" now. I also hate that even my new "C" cup seems restricting and binding. I refuse to even attempt to fill a "D." Ok, that wasn't too horrible. Trust me, I've read other's blogs. That was nothing.
 |
| Accurate representation of how I feel. |
I will say I have been lucky. I haven't had any morning sickness to speak of. I haven't had any since I switched from the prenatal vitamins to the chewable children's gummi vitamins. (By the way, those gummi vitamins are fricking delicious.) I have only gained about 6 pounds...so far.
I haven't been especially hungry. I can't say I've turned down many meals. I really haven't had any strange cravings. I eat weird stuff on a normal, non-pregnant day.
We find out what the little sucker is on March 5th.
We haven't settled on any names. Feel free to make suggestions. I will feel free to ignore those suggestions and laugh in your face.
If you are reading this, I probably wouldn't have a problem with you checking out the bump. By the way, it is starting to be a bump. But, can you have everyone else in the world keep from molesting my belly for the next 5 months.
Other random weird pregnancy things in list form
doula
trans-vaginal sonogram
natural birth
...And those are just the ones that I am not ashamed to write out for you.
Friday, December 9, 2011
The Most Sophisticated Thing I've Ever Peed On...
...came back positive.
That's right folks, I am knocked up.
As I am writing this, I have only told a handful of people.
I didn't even tell Joe I was taking the test. I just walked out and said, "I have news." He handled that very well even if I didn't.
I have seen an actual professional doctor and received confirmation that I am indeed "with child." I am due on July 27th. And, Mc-Kill-Z, you can rest easy for a while...they only saw one baby.
 |
| Disclaimer: Not me or my actual test. |
That's right folks, I am knocked up.
As I am writing this, I have only told a handful of people.
I didn't even tell Joe I was taking the test. I just walked out and said, "I have news." He handled that very well even if I didn't.
 |
| Disclaimer: Not Joe. |
 |
| Note: 1 baby, 3 poses. Not 3 babies. Breathe, Mc-Kill-Z! |
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Life and Times of a Farmer's Daughter - Part Two
Also, I am not a redhead. It's just weird. These were probably the first awkward photos of me, but be assured that they were not the last.
Apparently, I have always taken interesting photos.
See if you can spot the theme in these next few...
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| Neenie's Toy Ottomon |
 |
| The Always Popular Fry Daddy box |
 |
| With Seth, my cousin, in a random crate. |
Can you see the theme? I think that my whole family thought, "Hey, Karen is small. Let's shove her in a box!"
I have only posted a small sampling of the "Karen Shoved in Something" photos.
Apparently, I became a source of entertainment for my family at a young age.
 |
| Perched Upon a Jagged Boulder...Yay? |
Nice picture, right? Notice the puffy eyes. And yet, an adorable smile. Don't let it fool you. I was miserable. Mom tells me that I cried the whole way to have this picture taken. I continued to cry once plopped upon that rock. I can't imagine why I would be miserable. Dragged into the middle of nowhere to be placed unceremoniously on a jagged boulder under glaring sunlight in clothes that only a deranged 1950's logger would put upon her child. No reason to be miserable. None at all.
Why do I have an adorable grin on my face? Apparently I am susceptible to bribes.
All Mom had to do to induce me to break into smiles was dangle a bag of M&M's from her hand. What can I say? It was chocolate.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The Life and Times of a Farmer's Daughter - Part One
 |
| I am born. |
Within days of being born, I had already driven my mother to tears and beyond. The grandparents were called in to calm someone. Whether it was Mom or me, I'm not sure. I just liked the sound of my own voice. Also, I liked my mom. No one else would do.
 | |
| Sexy glasses, Mom. I won't mention the...is it a housedress?... |
There are several stories that still get told on a regular basis at family functions about my early oratory performances.
For their anniversary, my parents decided to have dinner out. They left me in the care of my Uncle David. I was approximately one week old. He was approximately 12 years old. I tended to cry at that age. A lot. He was not aware. As the tale goes, when Mom and Dad got back from their dinner both David and I were bawling. I think it scarred him for life.
Apparently, I have always had the power to bring others to tears.
Later that summer, Mom and Dad decided to go fishing one afternoon at my grandparent's pond. They left me at the house with Grandma Lois and poor Uncle David. Grandma and David were watching a lovely television program. I was having none of that. Television rots your brains. I knew it even then. Every time they would turn up the volume, I would turn up my own.
Apparently, I have always been stubborn.
I remember none of this.
The earliest memories I do have are strange and have a dreamlike quality. In fact, I am quite certain that I am actually mistaking some memories for the dreams they actually were.
Did I just blow your mind?
Well, if your brains haven't exploded. Good. Keep reading.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Go, Pack, Go!
I grew up watching sports on TV. My father was a bit of a television dictator. Basketball, baseball, football, golf, women's softball, drag races, tennis. We watched it all.
Sometimes we watched more than one game at a time flipping back and forth every few minutes. This happened at a greater rate during March Madness, the Olympics, and on Sunday. Apparently, Sunday is the unofficial official day for the most boring sports on TV.
Since escaping the grip Dad had on the remote control in my childhood home, I have avoided a great majority of sports. I still watch quite a bit of the Olympics when they roll around. I watched some rugby once. That was interesting. I like the vocabulary. Scrum.
I also watch football. NFL football. Green Bay Packer football!
Yes, I am a Packer fan. No I am not a Bears fan. Get over it.
Most people are fans due to their geography. People who live near Chicago default to being Bears fans. People who live in Indiana are Colts fans. I am not that simple.
I will admit that before I knew any better I liked Jim McMahon. He wore sweet sunglasses.
Sometimes we watched more than one game at a time flipping back and forth every few minutes. This happened at a greater rate during March Madness, the Olympics, and on Sunday. Apparently, Sunday is the unofficial official day for the most boring sports on TV.
 |
| Painful. |
 |
| Kill me now. |
I also watch football. NFL football. Green Bay Packer football!
Yes, I am a Packer fan. No I am not a Bears fan. Get over it.
Most people are fans due to their geography. People who live near Chicago default to being Bears fans. People who live in Indiana are Colts fans. I am not that simple.
I will admit that before I knew any better I liked Jim McMahon. He wore sweet sunglasses.
 |
| See |
When I was about nine years old, our family was going on vacation to Door County, Wisconsin. Because I was nine-ish and my brother was seven-ish, my parents decided to make the drive in two parts. This plan gave us time to make a lot of fun stops. Dad wanted to see Lambeau Field.
 |
| It is green. |
As we drove into the parking lot, Dad exclaimed, "Ray Nitschke just waved at me!" Adam and I were confused. Was this a good thing? What was a Nitschke?
Obviously, something was up.
Obviously, we were going to find out what that something was.
We parked and followed the crowd across the street to the practice field. Dad thought that they might be having a scrimmage. How cool would that have been!
What was actually happened was even cooler!
It was...
MEET AND PHOTOGRAPH THE PACKERS DAY!!!
So, we met the Packers. And we had pictures taken with the Packers. Wouldn't this be a great place to put those pictures... Mom... wouldn't it? She says they are somewhere.
My stories of the day will have to suffice.
As I said above, I was nine-ish. I remember the highlights.
This was not the Packers of Aaron Rodgers. This was not the Packers of Brett Favre. I can't tell you one name of one player that was there that day. I do remember waiting in a short line to get a young quarterback's autograph. When we got to the front of the line, he scooped me up and plopped me on his shoulder. Dad promptly asked if he wanted help with the other one. He set me down before Mom even thought to snap the picture.
Later, across the field, we came upon a player sitting with his legs out in a V. Even sitting, he was about four feet tall. He had his head down while he wrote his autograph for the kid ahead of us. Dad told Adam and I to jump on him and tackle him. I am sure my eyes about popped out of my head. I got his autograph despite the terror running over me in waves.
After we got our fill of pictures and autographs, we went to the Packer Hall of Fame and Gift Shop. I got some sweet sunglasses.
 |
| Like these, only dorkier. |
I remember a few details of the rest of the vacation. There was water. There were seagulls. We ate cheese curds.
Geography didn't cut it for me. I needed to meet my team.
I have not faltered from that day. They were not a great team then. They were not a good team then. I was still a fan.
Now, they are the defending Superbowl Champions. So, that's nice. I knew they would do it. I know they will do it again.
I now know who Ray Nitschke is. I now know that he was actually waving at me that day.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Roller Derby 101
It is hard to explain roller derby. The rules, while simple in theory, are hard to communicate in a simple manner. People who have played the sport for months and even years are fuzzy on all the nuances of the rules.
It is even harder to explain why I love playing roller derby. It is hard to describe the agonizing fun of a really intense hit. It is difficult to put into words how good it feels to pick yourself up off the floor for the twelfth time in one jam only to trip over your own feet in exhaustion and have to get back up all over again. People think you are crazy when you tell them that you love to take the big hits just to hear the crowd gasp in horror.
When I tell someone I play roller derby, I get a lot of similar responses. Most people have a dazed look of horror on their face as they say, "...But, you are so little."
First of all, I am only one inch shorter than the national average of 5'4". Second of all, being small makes me a small target. When you add in speed and agility, you get a hard-to-hit target.
The next question I usually get is, “What made you want to play roller derby?”
I seem to have a little more trouble explaining why I wanted to play roller derby. My immediate gut reaction is, “Who wouldn’t?” Apparently, a large majority of the population would not. I guess I am just weird.
By the way, I love being weird. Normal is boring. Weird is fun. Normal is tired. Weird is unpredictable.
“Well, how did you get involved with roller derby, Smartass?”
I saw a flyer.
I went to try-outs.
I skated.
I made the league.
It wasn’t hard.
Practices can be hard. It is the good kind of hard. It still isn’t any harder than high school volleyball practice. In fact, I think it is easier. They made me run in every volleyball practice. I only have to run about 3 times a month at roller derby practice. I hate running. I like skating. It makes sense that I would enjoy roller derby practice more than I ever enjoyed volleyball practice.
I guess that I wanted something fun to do where I would get to meet interesting people. Some find book clubs. Some take a cooking class. I started playing roller derby.
I doubt very much that you could find the kind of friendship I have found in derby in a book club or cooking class. I think that what derby offers is a rare thing. Aspects of it remind me of a lot of things I have been involved with in the past. Like a church I attended in my youth, it is a broad community with common values. Like the sorority I belonged to in college, it is a group run by women, governed by women, and set up by women with all the craziness that that entails. Yet, it suits me more than both of these ever did.
To the skeptics. I have a few questions for you.
Do you think it is crazy because women are playing a contact sport? No one seems to think football players are crazy. Women can be strong, too. In a lot of ways, these women I have come to know are stronger than any man I have ever known. Not only do they play this grueling sport, but they also work multiple jobs, take care of their families, run businesses, go to school, and so many other things.
Do you think it is stupid because we are not all young and thin and gorgeous? Not all women are young, thin, and gorgeous. The world just can't seem to figure that out. Roller derby makes me feel young. It makes me feel invincible. Plus, bruises are sexy.
Do you think it is a waste of time and money? A lot of things that people enjoy seem like a waste of time and money.
I pay less to play roller derby than most people pay for a gym membership. Our league is a not-for-profit organization. All of our bout and event proceeds are given to charities.
It isn't always fun and games. We have had broken ankles, a blown out knee, broken ribs, bruised tailbones, gashes in faces, and endless contusions and sore muscles. We have had conflicts and we will have more. Some have been minor and some have been major.
What makes roller derby great is that we are all determined to do whatever it takes to keep playing the sport that we love with integrity and a sense of family.
I feel blessed to have roller derby in my life.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
My Demon Children
Joe and I are not very traditional. See Serious Relationships - Part VI for clarification.
We got married on September 1, 2009.
We moved into our new house on October 31, 2009.
We got these guys on November 1, 2009.
Sam is the black male demon on the left. Charlie is the fawn female demon on the right. Yes, my demon children are pugdogs! I know you are all very jealous that I have such wonderful and adorable children. If you are lucky, I just may call on you to watch them someday. They are not allowed to have chocolate, raisins, or garlic. They do enjoy a tasty marshmallow, pork rinds, and anything else you may happen to drop on the floor in their vicinity.
You may think calling them my children is weird. Good! I don't really call them my children. Neither do I treat them like children.
These are their Christmas jam-jams.
I know, I know. I just said I didn't treat them like children. And, I didn't do this. Joe did. He actually sewed and embroidered them both hooded fleece jammies.
If you watch them for us, you may need to know a bit about them.
They are pretty idiotic. Until you don't expect them to be. Also, if food is involved, their IQ's seem to rise.
Sam is special. Very special.
Sam will never stop eating. Example 1: We take them with us to my parents when we visit for Christmas. The first year we took them, Mom claimed that she had doggie/childproofed the kitchen and we could let them loose instead of kenneling them while we visited her sister's family. When we returned from Family Dinner, Sam and Charlie were very thirsty. We walked them and they drank all the kitties water. We brought them in and refilled their empty water bowl which they promptly drank. I looked down at Sam and noticed that he was pear-shaped. He was so fat that he couldn't scratch his own ear. Searching around a bit, we found out that he had been eating out of the bag of Dog Chow that was on the porch for the whole time we had been at Aunt Tracy's. Four hours of gorging will make one fat pug. He did barf. The next morning. For Joe. Outside, thank goodness.
They clear their tiny nasal passage by snorting forcefully. Usually when they have their nose near your bare leg or unsuspecting face. You get used to it.
They will try to make out with you. Charlie is especially adept at getting a quick French kiss just when you least expect it. It is only really disturbing when her tongue touches yours. You may feel the need to shower immediately following her well-meaning but unwanted smooch. She has not yet learned that "No!" means no.
They like to watch anyone (usually me) cook.
Sometimes I drop stuff. They don't mind.
Joe keeps asking when we can get a real dog. His definition of a real dog...
or...
I like my toy dogs. They are entertaining and don't eat much (if monitored). They have a ton of personality. They love me. And, perhaps best of all, their poop is small.
Sam is the black male demon on the left. Charlie is the fawn female demon on the right. Yes, my demon children are pugdogs! I know you are all very jealous that I have such wonderful and adorable children. If you are lucky, I just may call on you to watch them someday. They are not allowed to have chocolate, raisins, or garlic. They do enjoy a tasty marshmallow, pork rinds, and anything else you may happen to drop on the floor in their vicinity.
You may think calling them my children is weird. Good! I don't really call them my children. Neither do I treat them like children.
I know, I know. I just said I didn't treat them like children. And, I didn't do this. Joe did. He actually sewed and embroidered them both hooded fleece jammies.
If you watch them for us, you may need to know a bit about them.
They are pretty idiotic. Until you don't expect them to be. Also, if food is involved, their IQ's seem to rise.
Sam will never stop eating. Example 1: We take them with us to my parents when we visit for Christmas. The first year we took them, Mom claimed that she had doggie/childproofed the kitchen and we could let them loose instead of kenneling them while we visited her sister's family. When we returned from Family Dinner, Sam and Charlie were very thirsty. We walked them and they drank all the kitties water. We brought them in and refilled their empty water bowl which they promptly drank. I looked down at Sam and noticed that he was pear-shaped. He was so fat that he couldn't scratch his own ear. Searching around a bit, we found out that he had been eating out of the bag of Dog Chow that was on the porch for the whole time we had been at Aunt Tracy's. Four hours of gorging will make one fat pug. He did barf. The next morning. For Joe. Outside, thank goodness.
They clear their tiny nasal passage by snorting forcefully. Usually when they have their nose near your bare leg or unsuspecting face. You get used to it.
They will try to make out with you. Charlie is especially adept at getting a quick French kiss just when you least expect it. It is only really disturbing when her tongue touches yours. You may feel the need to shower immediately following her well-meaning but unwanted smooch. She has not yet learned that "No!" means no.
Sometimes I drop stuff. They don't mind.
Joe keeps asking when we can get a real dog. His definition of a real dog...
I like my toy dogs. They are entertaining and don't eat much (if monitored). They have a ton of personality. They love me. And, perhaps best of all, their poop is small.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Serious Relationships - Part VII
Let's review once again. I have a Hetero-Lifemate, Leslie. I pet her when she is frustrated. It does not please her.
After my first bout eva!
I have a husband, Joe. He is nice. He likes cereal. A lot.
...and he wears Malcom X glasses.
You may think that two Serious Relationships would be enough for any sane person. Most people are lucky to be able to maintain one. Well, I am extremely blessed and gifted and most likely not entirely sane. And, I have a third (and final) Serious Relationship to tell you about.
I play roller derby. I will tell you about that in the near future. What you need to know now is that in roller derby there is a Serious Relationship status called a derby wife. In a nutshell, a derby wife is the skater you are closest to and who has your back in any situation. If your eyes are rolling right now, it's all right. Mine rolled, too.
When I first started playing a little over a year ago, I thought the derby wife thing was very silly. It can be. It can also be a lot of fun and very rewarding.
As I have just mentioned above, I was not a big fan of the derby wife system when I first learned of it. My mind was changed for me on two trips to the St. Louis area.
The first derby bout our league played in was in St. Charles, Missouri. I can't remember now if I had even started skating or if I was still waiting for my gear to arrive. Either way, I wanted to see a bout. Yeah, I signed up for roller derby without actually ever seeing a real live bout. I had seen Whip It, so shuddup! I especially wanted to see our skaters bout. I didn't know too many of the girls, so I decided to ride in the RV with a group of them. I figured close quarters would force me to befriend one or two. That isn't exactly what happened on the RV. That, however, is a whole other story.
We got to our hotel and promptly found out that it was extremely overbooked. The strongest theory for what happened was that a disgruntled recently let go employee deleted the booking for the league. I had booked through the glorious internet and had a room with two double beds. Most of the girls were quickly doubling up and I offered to share my room with Mc-Kill-Z. Leslie, my infamous Hetero-Lifemate, was joining me, but I knew she'd be cool with an extra roomie. Since Leslie was driving in from the Hill, we had transportation and promptly headed to T.G.I. Friday's. Mmm...
We had a blast eating mass quantities of greasy food and then headed to the event center for Live All-girl Roller Derby Action!
At the bout, Mc-Kill-Z, Leslie, and I sat and rooted together. Our girls played well for their first bout, but were defeated. However, no one was injured, hurt, or dead. To me, that is a successful bout. In addition, I think everyone who played in that bout learned more in 60 minutes than they could have learned in 6 months of skating. A small price to pay for such a large quantity of knowledge.
After the bout, we went to the requisite After-party. While being serenaded by the impeccable karaoke stylings of Pixie Whiplash and Kiote among others, I experienced the dancing skills of my future derby wife for the first time.
This move is "Jazz Hands."
The next day we played Set on the RV for most of the ride home. Set is a fun game that is supposed to work your brains. Apparently, MENSA approves of its challenges.
That road trip laid the foundation for the derby wooing I was about to receive.
A few weeks later, ARRG was having a bout. ARRG stands for the Arch Rival RollerGirls. Our head coach, Pro-Agonist, was a skater for their league before she helped our league get started. I wanted to see real roller derby! At least, roller derby with skaters that had been playing for more than a few months. A big bonus to having a real bout to see was that is was conveniently located about 15 minutes from Leslie's apartment.
St. Louis is about 3 hours of very boring driving from where I live. Mc-Kill-Z got along with Leslie at the first bout, so I invited her along. She accepted. Yay!
When we got to Leslie's apartment, we had some time before we had to leave for the bout. Leslie's eyes lit up when we agreed to watch New Moon. I should have known I was in trouble at this point. We didn't really watch the movie as much as make comments on who was the better choice for Bella, Edward or Jacob. I apologize that I even know any of this information. Mc-Kill-Z and I were unable to make Leslie see that Jacob was obviously the better and more attractive of the two young men vying for Bella's love. After you finish retching, wipe your mouth and rest assured that this will be the end of Twilight-talk for a while.
At the bout, Mc-Kill-Z and I were riveted on the action and pretty much neglected Leslie. She had PBR so she was not too cranky. After purchasing Smashinistas T-shirts, we all headed back to the apartment for after-derby drinks. Mmm...drinks...
The wine flowed. A whole bottle of it. I know. Derby girls are supposed to be hard-core. You can pretend I said the Jack Daniels or the Wild Turkey flowed if it makes you feel better. Truthfully, that is more often the case when we don't have a three hour drive to make the next day. But, I digress.
It was at this time that Mc-Kill-Z started to explain the derby wife status to Leslie. She went on to inform her that she knew I didn't really care for the rigamarole of the practice but she wouldn't let that deter her. She was wooing me.
After that weekend, we were derby wives.
Ready to bout in Bloomington. I may have puked at half-time.
It is a bit sickening. In the good way.
Brawlberries vs. Polka-bots After-party
We try to protect each other on the court and off. Sometimes I forget about the whole "protect your wife" thing and knock her down. It isn't spousal abuse; it's roller derby. Plus, it's funny when she cusses.
See.
We entertain each other immensely. She is especially entertaining when she is wearing her "Pissypants."
I believe you will remember that she has awesome dance skills from the photo above.
The blades often come out, also.
I bring her donuts and silly things I make. She is a donut junky.
...and she likes cupcakes.
If you find the right one, having a derby wife is tons of fun.
Side Note: Derby marriage is not necessarily monogamous. Some skaters have small or large harems of wives. Mc-Kill-Z and I have pledged monogamy. However, we share a mistress. It just can't be any kind of normal with me.
Perhaps there will be a Serious Relationships - Part VIII.
I have a husband, Joe. He is nice. He likes cereal. A lot.
You may think that two Serious Relationships would be enough for any sane person. Most people are lucky to be able to maintain one. Well, I am extremely blessed and gifted and most likely not entirely sane. And, I have a third (and final) Serious Relationship to tell you about.
I play roller derby. I will tell you about that in the near future. What you need to know now is that in roller derby there is a Serious Relationship status called a derby wife. In a nutshell, a derby wife is the skater you are closest to and who has your back in any situation. If your eyes are rolling right now, it's all right. Mine rolled, too.
When I first started playing a little over a year ago, I thought the derby wife thing was very silly. It can be. It can also be a lot of fun and very rewarding.
As I have just mentioned above, I was not a big fan of the derby wife system when I first learned of it. My mind was changed for me on two trips to the St. Louis area.
The first derby bout our league played in was in St. Charles, Missouri. I can't remember now if I had even started skating or if I was still waiting for my gear to arrive. Either way, I wanted to see a bout. Yeah, I signed up for roller derby without actually ever seeing a real live bout. I had seen Whip It, so shuddup! I especially wanted to see our skaters bout. I didn't know too many of the girls, so I decided to ride in the RV with a group of them. I figured close quarters would force me to befriend one or two. That isn't exactly what happened on the RV. That, however, is a whole other story.
We got to our hotel and promptly found out that it was extremely overbooked. The strongest theory for what happened was that a disgruntled recently let go employee deleted the booking for the league. I had booked through the glorious internet and had a room with two double beds. Most of the girls were quickly doubling up and I offered to share my room with Mc-Kill-Z. Leslie, my infamous Hetero-Lifemate, was joining me, but I knew she'd be cool with an extra roomie. Since Leslie was driving in from the Hill, we had transportation and promptly headed to T.G.I. Friday's. Mmm...
We had a blast eating mass quantities of greasy food and then headed to the event center for Live All-girl Roller Derby Action!
At the bout, Mc-Kill-Z, Leslie, and I sat and rooted together. Our girls played well for their first bout, but were defeated. However, no one was injured, hurt, or dead. To me, that is a successful bout. In addition, I think everyone who played in that bout learned more in 60 minutes than they could have learned in 6 months of skating. A small price to pay for such a large quantity of knowledge.
After the bout, we went to the requisite After-party. While being serenaded by the impeccable karaoke stylings of Pixie Whiplash and Kiote among others, I experienced the dancing skills of my future derby wife for the first time.
The next day we played Set on the RV for most of the ride home. Set is a fun game that is supposed to work your brains. Apparently, MENSA approves of its challenges.
That road trip laid the foundation for the derby wooing I was about to receive.
A few weeks later, ARRG was having a bout. ARRG stands for the Arch Rival RollerGirls. Our head coach, Pro-Agonist, was a skater for their league before she helped our league get started. I wanted to see real roller derby! At least, roller derby with skaters that had been playing for more than a few months. A big bonus to having a real bout to see was that is was conveniently located about 15 minutes from Leslie's apartment.
St. Louis is about 3 hours of very boring driving from where I live. Mc-Kill-Z got along with Leslie at the first bout, so I invited her along. She accepted. Yay!
When we got to Leslie's apartment, we had some time before we had to leave for the bout. Leslie's eyes lit up when we agreed to watch New Moon. I should have known I was in trouble at this point. We didn't really watch the movie as much as make comments on who was the better choice for Bella, Edward or Jacob. I apologize that I even know any of this information. Mc-Kill-Z and I were unable to make Leslie see that Jacob was obviously the better and more attractive of the two young men vying for Bella's love. After you finish retching, wipe your mouth and rest assured that this will be the end of Twilight-talk for a while.
At the bout, Mc-Kill-Z and I were riveted on the action and pretty much neglected Leslie. She had PBR so she was not too cranky. After purchasing Smashinistas T-shirts, we all headed back to the apartment for after-derby drinks. Mmm...drinks...
The wine flowed. A whole bottle of it. I know. Derby girls are supposed to be hard-core. You can pretend I said the Jack Daniels or the Wild Turkey flowed if it makes you feel better. Truthfully, that is more often the case when we don't have a three hour drive to make the next day. But, I digress.
It was at this time that Mc-Kill-Z started to explain the derby wife status to Leslie. She went on to inform her that she knew I didn't really care for the rigamarole of the practice but she wouldn't let that deter her. She was wooing me.
After that weekend, we were derby wives.
It is a bit sickening. In the good way.
We try to protect each other on the court and off. Sometimes I forget about the whole "protect your wife" thing and knock her down. It isn't spousal abuse; it's roller derby. Plus, it's funny when she cusses.
We entertain each other immensely. She is especially entertaining when she is wearing her "Pissypants."
I believe you will remember that she has awesome dance skills from the photo above.
I bring her donuts and silly things I make. She is a donut junky.
If you find the right one, having a derby wife is tons of fun.
Side Note: Derby marriage is not necessarily monogamous. Some skaters have small or large harems of wives. Mc-Kill-Z and I have pledged monogamy. However, we share a mistress. It just can't be any kind of normal with me.
Perhaps there will be a Serious Relationships - Part VIII.
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