99 degrees.
Perfect ballet weather.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Why moving bites the big one.
It has come to my attention that moving, like so many other stages of life, evoke a very specific pattern of emotions in people.
Stage 1: Denial - You know it's coming. The date is even set. But, despite that big red date you've circled on the calendar, you still find yourself saying things like, Oh, I have plenty of time. I don't really need to pack yet. This stage goes on the longest, and generally leads directly to Stage 3.
Stage 2: Bargaining - Once you realize that you do, in fact, have to move, you begin to put a few non-essentials in boxes. You get your Brownie points by packing up a few minor things, pat yourself on the back and call it a day. Still partially in the denial phase of things, bargaining leads to over confidence. I packed up the guest room, and it only took me 35 minutes! This isn't going to be so hard after all! When in the midsts of this phase, please note: it will be every bit as hard, and then some, as you imagined it. This is a totally false sense of security. You should just keep packing.
Stage 3: Anger - That date on the calendar keeps creeping closer. In fact, it is probably now just two to three days away, and you're suddenly realizing - for the first time, no doubt - that the time to start packing has long since passed. All that's really left to do is grab your crap and cram it somewhere. What? you think incredulously. How do I still have so much left to do? It is this phase that inevitably results in your underware - which you planned to have easily accessible - ends up packed away with that picture of some long lost relative in a box you meant to store in the garage for the next ten years. Good luck with that.
Stage 4: Random crap - Whew. You made it! After three days of subsisting on Red Bull and two hours of sleep, the movers are here. And by some miracle, your jittery hands are closing the last of the boxes. Or... so you think. As you go through the house, you suddenly discover all the left-overs. You know what I'm talking about: that one random hand towel, a mismatched pair of socks. Two sheets that were stuck in a closet you thought you cleaned out weeks ago. During this phase, you very seriously consider just chucking it all, because a) you've just discovered that you never really liked that particular hand towel anyway, and b) let's face it, it's not the Great Depression. There's a Walmart right down the street, and you can get two for a dollar on the way to your new house. Keep at least three extra empty boxes handy for this phase, or be prepared to replace a lot of random crap.
Stage 5: Readying - Congratulations! Your house is empty. Now, I'm not sure whether everyone has this compulsion, or if it's just me and my OCD. Once the house is empty, I personally have to make sure it's in show quality condition. I want to scrub everything to make sure that my dirt isn't passed on to the next owner. Mostly, because I find it disgusting to clean other people's dirt. Especially hair. Casey has a horrible habit of leaving his shavings on the counter and in the sink. By the way: Peanut, if you ever read this, it is really a horrible habit. Chicks don't dig it. If you're over the age of four, you should always be responsible for cleaning up whatever comes off/out of your own body. For reals. I'm currently carrying half his genetic code inside of me, but I HATE cleaning up my husband's hair, so you can imagine how I feel about stranger hair and stranger germs.
Stage 6: Grief and acceptance - You never really realized just how awesome your house is until today as you're about to drive away. Go ahead, take a few minutes to say goodbye. Maybe light a candle, if that happens to be one of the things you found in the Random Crap phase. Appreciate just how lucky you were to build your memories in that place. Then, get in the car, wipe your nose and know that what you're going to is something awesome, too.
Stage 7: Vow never, ever to move again. (Even though you probably will.)
Stage 1: Denial - You know it's coming. The date is even set. But, despite that big red date you've circled on the calendar, you still find yourself saying things like, Oh, I have plenty of time. I don't really need to pack yet. This stage goes on the longest, and generally leads directly to Stage 3.
Stage 2: Bargaining - Once you realize that you do, in fact, have to move, you begin to put a few non-essentials in boxes. You get your Brownie points by packing up a few minor things, pat yourself on the back and call it a day. Still partially in the denial phase of things, bargaining leads to over confidence. I packed up the guest room, and it only took me 35 minutes! This isn't going to be so hard after all! When in the midsts of this phase, please note: it will be every bit as hard, and then some, as you imagined it. This is a totally false sense of security. You should just keep packing.
Stage 3: Anger - That date on the calendar keeps creeping closer. In fact, it is probably now just two to three days away, and you're suddenly realizing - for the first time, no doubt - that the time to start packing has long since passed. All that's really left to do is grab your crap and cram it somewhere. What? you think incredulously. How do I still have so much left to do? It is this phase that inevitably results in your underware - which you planned to have easily accessible - ends up packed away with that picture of some long lost relative in a box you meant to store in the garage for the next ten years. Good luck with that.
Stage 4: Random crap - Whew. You made it! After three days of subsisting on Red Bull and two hours of sleep, the movers are here. And by some miracle, your jittery hands are closing the last of the boxes. Or... so you think. As you go through the house, you suddenly discover all the left-overs. You know what I'm talking about: that one random hand towel, a mismatched pair of socks. Two sheets that were stuck in a closet you thought you cleaned out weeks ago. During this phase, you very seriously consider just chucking it all, because a) you've just discovered that you never really liked that particular hand towel anyway, and b) let's face it, it's not the Great Depression. There's a Walmart right down the street, and you can get two for a dollar on the way to your new house. Keep at least three extra empty boxes handy for this phase, or be prepared to replace a lot of random crap.
Stage 5: Readying - Congratulations! Your house is empty. Now, I'm not sure whether everyone has this compulsion, or if it's just me and my OCD. Once the house is empty, I personally have to make sure it's in show quality condition. I want to scrub everything to make sure that my dirt isn't passed on to the next owner. Mostly, because I find it disgusting to clean other people's dirt. Especially hair. Casey has a horrible habit of leaving his shavings on the counter and in the sink. By the way: Peanut, if you ever read this, it is really a horrible habit. Chicks don't dig it. If you're over the age of four, you should always be responsible for cleaning up whatever comes off/out of your own body. For reals. I'm currently carrying half his genetic code inside of me, but I HATE cleaning up my husband's hair, so you can imagine how I feel about stranger hair and stranger germs.
Stage 6: Grief and acceptance - You never really realized just how awesome your house is until today as you're about to drive away. Go ahead, take a few minutes to say goodbye. Maybe light a candle, if that happens to be one of the things you found in the Random Crap phase. Appreciate just how lucky you were to build your memories in that place. Then, get in the car, wipe your nose and know that what you're going to is something awesome, too.
Stage 7: Vow never, ever to move again. (Even though you probably will.)
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
On heat, timing and boob sweat
Hey there!
No, no. Whatever you do, don't hug me. You'll probably have to wring yourself out afterward from the massive amounts of my pregnant lady "glow."
What's that? How am I managing the heat?
Well, let's see. It hasn't dropped below 100 degrees here in four days. I've pulled weeds and taken the two year old to the park and attended an outdoor reunion and packed boxes and prepared to move. Have I mentioned that it's June?
Sleep? Meh. What's that expression about sleeping when we're dead? That is assuming the heat doesn't kill me first.
I have a confession to make: All you people who have babies in July, August and September? Until about 7 months ago, I was convinced that you belonged in the nut house. I mean, really. Who wants to be dragging around a tiny human and all those extra hormones in the heat of mid-summer when you could cuddle up, enjoy a cup of coccoa, wear a sweater and have a baby in, say, March?
Just admit it: you suck at planning! It's okay, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Doesn't it feel better to say it outloud?
Some might say I'm getting my just desserts...
Hi, my name is Melissa, and I suck at planning.
Turns out, no one wants to be the size and have the energy of a beached whale during the hottest months of the year. Nobody thinks to themselves, hey, I really like walking around the zoo looking like I've been swimming! Or, gee, those two pools of sweat under my boobs are so refreshing, and make such a fashion statement!
Still...
I can't get over this giant bag of grateful I'm carrying around.
When you've prayed and hoped and longed and dreamed, it no longer matters what it takes to get them here. Whether it's barfing every day for months on end or, in my case, baking in the summer heat. However they get here, I can't bring myself to regret it or complain, because good Lord if it isn't absolutely and excruciatingly worth it.
When they're finally here, the timing no longer matters. It's always perfect.
No, no. Whatever you do, don't hug me. You'll probably have to wring yourself out afterward from the massive amounts of my pregnant lady "glow."
What's that? How am I managing the heat?
Sleep? Meh. What's that expression about sleeping when we're dead? That is assuming the heat doesn't kill me first.
I have a confession to make: All you people who have babies in July, August and September? Until about 7 months ago, I was convinced that you belonged in the nut house. I mean, really. Who wants to be dragging around a tiny human and all those extra hormones in the heat of mid-summer when you could cuddle up, enjoy a cup of coccoa, wear a sweater and have a baby in, say, March?
Just admit it: you suck at planning! It's okay, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Doesn't it feel better to say it outloud?
Some might say I'm getting my just desserts...
Hi, my name is Melissa, and I suck at planning.
Turns out, no one wants to be the size and have the energy of a beached whale during the hottest months of the year. Nobody thinks to themselves, hey, I really like walking around the zoo looking like I've been swimming! Or, gee, those two pools of sweat under my boobs are so refreshing, and make such a fashion statement!
Still...
I can't get over this giant bag of grateful I'm carrying around.
When you've prayed and hoped and longed and dreamed, it no longer matters what it takes to get them here. Whether it's barfing every day for months on end or, in my case, baking in the summer heat. However they get here, I can't bring myself to regret it or complain, because good Lord if it isn't absolutely and excruciatingly worth it.
When they're finally here, the timing no longer matters. It's always perfect.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
The one about how it's been a decade
If you had asked me, on graduating from high school, where I hoped to be in ten years, I would have told you something like this:
1. Teaching
2. Married
3. A mommy
4. Owner of a horse ranch
Okay, so with the exception of the horse ranch (which, thankfully, it turns out is something I'd really prefer not to have after all), I was pretty spot on.
It's difficult to look back and imagine the person I was the day I graduated high school. I am both completely different, and perfectly the same in so many ways.
A little wiser. A little less naiive. Definitely more seasoned. If you can believe it, I didn't even drink coffee until college, so clearly I've changed in some ways. But I'm also still me: driven, planner, a little OCD. Still pretty black and white when it comes to the things I believe are valuable, right and important.
But those are no longer the most important adjectives I would use to describe myself.
I had it right. Even at 18.
The most important adjectives are the ones I've already listed: Teacher, wife, mommy. These are the roles I treasure.
This weekend marks my ten year high school reunion. In six more months, I will have spent every one of those days over the last ten years with my husband.
Whatever anyone else says, I always felt like I dreamed big. Those adjectives I dreamed for myself always were the very best of who I was.
Ten years later, those roles are the very best of who I am. And somehow, miraculously, all my dreams have come true.
1. Teaching
2. Married
3. A mommy
4. Owner of a horse ranch
Okay, so with the exception of the horse ranch (which, thankfully, it turns out is something I'd really prefer not to have after all), I was pretty spot on.
It's difficult to look back and imagine the person I was the day I graduated high school. I am both completely different, and perfectly the same in so many ways.
 |
| The wall of seniors in Mr. Tonelli's room. (You kinda have to be a Columbine kid to get this one. As of three years ago, it's still there!) Can you spot me? |
A little wiser. A little less naiive. Definitely more seasoned. If you can believe it, I didn't even drink coffee until college, so clearly I've changed in some ways. But I'm also still me: driven, planner, a little OCD. Still pretty black and white when it comes to the things I believe are valuable, right and important.
But those are no longer the most important adjectives I would use to describe myself.
I had it right. Even at 18.
The most important adjectives are the ones I've already listed: Teacher, wife, mommy. These are the roles I treasure.
This weekend marks my ten year high school reunion. In six more months, I will have spent every one of those days over the last ten years with my husband.
Whatever anyone else says, I always felt like I dreamed big. Those adjectives I dreamed for myself always were the very best of who I was.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Thirty.
Thirty down.
Ten to go.
Holy crap.
Baby size: Cucumber. Or Squash, depending on who you ask (who makes up these things, anyway???)
15.2 to 16.7 inches
2.5-3.8 lbs
20 pounds gained - no additional weight since my last check up two weeks ago, but baby is still measuring fine.
70 days left.
I don't pee when I laugh or sneeze. I consider this a victory, because I feel like peeing all the time. There are not enough potty breaks in the world to ease my need to pee, which I don't remember from having Leah.
I mean, I know I peed a lot - I've got the photographic proof - but I remember feeling that sense of relief, even if it was only temporary. So, really what I'm saying is that Peanut has parked himself on my bladder. It must be comfy, like a soft, squishy pillow, cause I haven't not had to pee in like three days.
If you paid me seven million dollars, I still couldn't take care of my personal hygene issues. I'll spare you the details on that front, but if you've been pregnant, you know exactly where I'm talking about not being able to shave.
No heartburn.
No stretch marks (yet?).
No odd cravings.
Some sleep.
Mostly mello emotions, all impending major life events and solo-parenting considered.
Wedding rings on.
Tons and tons of movement.
No major medical maladies to speak of, save for the contractions which happen on a daily basis, and still no one seems to be concerned about.
Best moment of the week: Bringing Leah to bed with me in the middle of the night after she very, very sweetly asked if she could snuggle with me. Feeling her warm, cuddly body against mine, breath heavy with sleep, as Baby wiggled away between the two of us. My two little loves, safe and sound, and together.
Thirty? Sheer perfection.
The countdown has begun. And it's soooooo wonderful.
Ten to go.
Holy crap.
Baby size: Cucumber. Or Squash, depending on who you ask (who makes up these things, anyway???)
15.2 to 16.7 inches
2.5-3.8 lbs
20 pounds gained - no additional weight since my last check up two weeks ago, but baby is still measuring fine.
70 days left.
I don't pee when I laugh or sneeze. I consider this a victory, because I feel like peeing all the time. There are not enough potty breaks in the world to ease my need to pee, which I don't remember from having Leah.
I mean, I know I peed a lot - I've got the photographic proof - but I remember feeling that sense of relief, even if it was only temporary. So, really what I'm saying is that Peanut has parked himself on my bladder. It must be comfy, like a soft, squishy pillow, cause I haven't not had to pee in like three days.
If you paid me seven million dollars, I still couldn't take care of my personal hygene issues. I'll spare you the details on that front, but if you've been pregnant, you know exactly where I'm talking about not being able to shave.
No heartburn.
No stretch marks (yet?).
No odd cravings.
Some sleep.
Mostly mello emotions, all impending major life events and solo-parenting considered.
Wedding rings on.
Tons and tons of movement.
No major medical maladies to speak of, save for the contractions which happen on a daily basis, and still no one seems to be concerned about.
Best moment of the week: Bringing Leah to bed with me in the middle of the night after she very, very sweetly asked if she could snuggle with me. Feeling her warm, cuddly body against mine, breath heavy with sleep, as Baby wiggled away between the two of us. My two little loves, safe and sound, and together.
Thirty? Sheer perfection.
The countdown has begun. And it's soooooo wonderful.
Friday, June 22, 2012
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