More Than You Ever Wanted To Know

My friend, Jim, sent me this meme and I thought some of you might be amused. Enjoy.

1. Middle name? I won't tell. It is somewhat obscure. It starts with a "J". If you can guess (no fair for those of you who already know) you will be awarded with the grand prize of a phone call from me in which I will sing my masterpiece, "Making Love Out Of Nothing at All" by the World's Greatest Cheesy Rock Band. How cool is that!

2. Were you named after anyone? Not that I am aware of....but it WAS the 70's.

3. Do you wish on stars? I've been known to. I miss the stars in rural Wisconsin. Even Iowa has too much "light pollution" where we live for the stars to be very visible.

4. When did you last cry? Last Saturday, while talking on the phone to somebody to whom I was trying to sell my practice. How professional, huh? I'm sure he'll be making me a juicy offer any day now. Sigh.

5. Do you like your handwriting? I actually have beautiful handwriting. I am quite particular about it. I share patients, and subsequently patient files, with my partner in practice (and with Hubby) and I can't stand to see their ugly handwriting on my otherwise attractive patient notes. I have such lovely handwriting (and I am wicked smart) that my quick, handwritten notes from class when I was in Chiropractic school were actually saleable.

6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Turkey.

7. What is your birth date? May of 1972!!!!! (I'm still holding out a few details). As I like to say, I celebrated my 5th annual 29th birthday this year. And I still get carded!

8. What is your most embarrassing CD? I'm sure there are many, but I can't think of them specifically. I'm pretty sure I got rid of Hootie and the Blowfish when we moved last time.

9. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with yourself? I would definitely want me for my Chiropractor. I think I'd be friends with myself but I'd sure get tired of hearing the same stories over and over again.

10. Are you a daredevil? I'm a wuss. I guess some people think my stance on birthing is quite daring, but I think braving the horrors of a hospital is daring, so it is all in the perspective..

11. Have you ever told someone a secret & regret that you did? Yes. I can't remember ever revealing someone else's secret, but I have regretted blabbing too much personal info about myself more than a few times..

12. Do looks matter? Let's face it: everyday life can be somewhat easier for the attractive. It's not right, but these biases exist. I was once young and tight assed. Now that my boobs droop and my backyard has grown, people aren't always quite so helpful. However, I am much more resourceful now. But I think being too attractive can also be a negative because those (ultra attractive) people can become lazy, bland, and just plain under-developed. So, you can't win. Be yourself and get over it. (But I am still struggling to lose those pesky "baby pounds".)

13. How do you release anger? I let it build up and then I either come here and vent or wait until my children suggest they don't want to eat dinner or wait their turn or whatever childish petulance they lay on me and I break down and scream at them. I know I do this because this is now the way Gabe deals with his anger (and he can't blog). When he gets mad he says "I am very! very! very! angry with you Mama!" And then he screams. Not so cute. One of the greatest gifts of parenting is the way your children once exposed to your own woeful inadequacies, will present them back to you in perfect mirror image.

14. Where is your second home? Right now, wherever Hubby is. In general, a quiet lake in Northern Wisconsin. But we don't get there much anymore, so maybe that will have to change. I am quite fond of a little island off the coast of the Yucatan peninsula. Sigh. I'd LOVE to own a second home there.

15. Do you know anyone who was ever missing? No.

16. What was your favorite toy as a child? Hmmm. I always coveted a Barbie Dream House, but was never even allowed Barbies ('cuz they promoted unrealistic expectations of womanhood. Yup, my parents were religious hippies). Most of my favorite playthings were books. Does my library card count? I spent entire days at the library all summer long as a kid.

17. Do you have a journal? Yes. As I mentioned recently, I have stacks of journals but each one only has 3-7 pages filled in. Sad. I have a few from my pre-teen and teen years that are quite painfully trite.

19. Favorite movies? A Room With a View, Pride and Prejudice (BBC version), Dirty Dancing, Pulp Fiction, Caddyshack, Old School, gosh...this could go on all day. I know I am forgetting a bunch of favorites.

20. What are your (acceptable)nicknames? Mar, Maja, Mama, Marathon (this one is only used by one person)

21. Would you bungee jump? Only if I were on The Amazing Race. (Please, please can I go? I'd be damned good at it and have better manners about foreign climes.)

22. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? I don't think I own a single pair of shoes which tie. I do hate to wear shoes you know. I just like to collect them. And then I take them off as soon as I get to wherever I am going.

23. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? I'm trying to lose weight right now people! Why must you ask me these questions? Right now I'm all about Dove Chocolate frozen ice cream nibbles. Vanilla with milk chocolate coating.

24. What size shoe do you wear? Seven. I am a shoe whore. Send me cute heels and I will be your friend forever.

25. What are your favorite colors? It depends on the context. For decorating my house I like taupe-y warm earthy colors. For dressing slim and elegant I like black and chocolate brown. For everyday "play" clothes that make me feel young and hip I like spring green and melon-y reds. Lately I've had a thing for robin's egg blue. I thought I'd never dress my girls in much pink but I love a sporty hot pink. They wear pinks about 50% of the time, which shocks me 'cuz I really like it.

26. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? A tendency to let my emotions win. Don't get me wrong, I think having emotions is a great and appropriate thing, I just have a tendency to let them get the better of me sometimes. This is getting better as I age.

27. Who do you miss most? Hubby. Lots of other people too, but Hubby wins the "Most Missed" award.

28. Do you want everyone you send this to send it back? Post on your own blog (if you are that cool), or make a comment

29. What color pants are you wearing? Black skirt with a white lotus flower on the bottom.

30. What are you listening to right now? The sound of Peevers blowing raspberries to herself and grunting while she destroys a magazine. Thank God we get so many useless catalogs in the mail. They keep Peeves busy for hours while I blog.

31. What was the last thing you ate? Some cherries and a piece of cheese I begged off my assistant.

32. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Olive Green (Lush. Verdant. Earthy.)

33. What is the weather like right now? It has been such a beautiful day! Blue skies, puffy clouds, temperature in the 70's and not even terrifically humid. Sure, right before I leave Iowa it tries to convince me that it is nice here. I hear it's like 99 degrees with 97% humidity in Atlanta today. Uggh.

34. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? My new realtor, Tammy, who called to let me know she has a family who is really really excited about viewing my house tomorrow morning! Cool!

35. What is the first thing that you notice about the opposite sex? Ummm... I don't know how to say this delicately, so I'll just say it: a cute ass.. I also always fall for charisma, but that takes a little longer to notice.

36. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Awww. So so much. I don't think he reads my blog though.

37. Favorite Drinks? Margarita, on the rocks, a little salt on the rim. A lovely pinot noir (especially when shared with a girl friend).

I like all this silly fancy schmancy "martinis" that are all the rage these days. They aren't really martinis but they taste lovely and really knock me on my ass to boot. I tried to make "green apple martinis" from a mix I bought at Target for a party I had a few months ago. When my guests arrived I got out the mix and the vodka I had bought especially for the occasion. And then I read the directions. Oh. Mix with warm water (to dissolve mix-y stuff) and Freeze. Huh. We tried to get it to dissolve without warm water. No way. So we mixed it up for later and I made Squirt Martinis ("squirtinis"). Which sucked. I still have a gallon of Apple Martini slush in my freezer. Who wants to come over?

39. Your hair color? It's supposed to be mostly reddish, but now I get all these fancy multi-tonal color jobs with high lights and lowlights in blonds and burgundies. It is very colorful and fun right when I get it done and then it fades out to a more pedestrian mix of tones, which ain't bad until it grows out into the scary roots I have showing right now. My next hair color appointment is a week from today and then it will be red and shiny again.

40. Your eye color? Brown. I think they are even a little orange. Does that sound freakish?

41. Do you wear contacts? Yes. And very carefully I might add. Last summer I developed an infection in my eye (from wearing contacts on an airplane they said) and ulcerated my cornea. Not only was it incredibly ugly and scary looking and exceedingly painful (give me childbirth over that nightmare anyday!) but the incident also occurred while I was at a seminar at very expensive hotel in New York City. So, while I had lots of opportunity to enjoy the Heavenly Bed, I also would rather have white hot pokers held to my eyeballs than endure the excruciating pain and torment that ensued. For weeks actually. The bills were outrageous. What with the hotel visit from a doctor on a weekend. In New York City. And the trips (2) to the Emergency Room. So, now I am quite religious about removing and cleaning my contacts. And I have permanent vision loss in that eye. How fun are contacts!?!

42. Favorite food? The Tandoori Shrimp Masala they used to make at India House in Davenport. Peter's Garlic Dip. Monkey Bread (another long story for another day). Creme Brule.

43. Last Movie You Watched? Troy. On HBO, with Anna, last night. It was lame.

44. Favorite Day of the Year? Christmas morning. It's twice as fun with your own kids.

45. Scary Movies or Happy Endings? Happy endings that aren't forced. I like unsettled endings a lot too. It's good to use your imagination..

46. Summer or winter? I guess I had better say summer since I am moving to the Southland any day now. Really, I prefer fall.

47. Hugs or kisses? I'll hug just about anybody and kiss most everyone on the cheek once we're pals. Overall, I'm a hugger.

48. What is Your Favorite Dessert? I already mentioned the Creme Brule didn't I?

49. Who is Most Likely to Respond? Bloggers.

50. Who is Least Likely to Respond? The rest of you lurkers.

51. Where Would You Want to Go on your Next Vacation? Wewere just watching the Tour de France and talking about how we should totally go to Paris sometime soon. Also talked about South America. Now Brian is working on a trip to South Africa through someone he has been coaching.

53. What's on your mouse pad? Packers football helmet and logo. It's Hubby's, but I like it .

54. What did you watch last night on TV? Troy. It sucked, remember. I tivo-ed INXS Rockstar, but I didn't watch it yet. That show has me sucked in good.

55. Favorite Smell(s)? My babies, Hubby. Thunderstorms. Leaves in the fall. Starbucks..

56. What's the furthest you've been away from home? India. It was far away geographically and in every other conceivable way.

57. What is your favorite quote?

"Outside of a dog,
Man's best friend is a book.
Inside of a dog
it is too dark to read"

-Groucho Marx

58. What else do you want your friends to know?

Please, haven't I been on this pulpit long enough?

Boober is an Old Lady

Boober is an Old Lady, originally uploaded by esserboo.

My golden retriever, Esste, is getting pretty old. She was 9 this spring.

She was our first baby, the "experiment" in whether we could hack it as parents. She turned out pretty great.

She is the sweetest and most gentle dog. She is amazing with the kids and can tolerate all kinds of love (hair yanking and dog mashing) and adoration (attempting to ride her and dress her) with nary a whimper of protest.

She is also a handy Hoover-helper with food related child messes, including vomit and excrement. (Too much information for some of you? I guess that you are not kid people or dog people if you didn't see that one coming.)

But now she mostly sleeps on the sofa and steers clear of the baby, as if to say: I know what that horrible thing is about. That thing wants to poke my eyes and chew on my ears and frankly, I'm too old for that shit. Maybe I'll check it out when it gets old enough to start doling out snacks when the Mama is distracted. This one has no food. Bah!

Then she usually looks at me inquiringly like: Are you done yet woman? No more children please. I am old and I don't see too well anymore. And then she wonders off to safer climes.

But she still sleeps at my feet every night and follows me from room to room, slumping on the softest available surface with a sigh as I scurry about.

I feel pretty guilty about her sometimes. She gets only the "left-over" love. She gets the attention and affection I have left after I have devoted my day to the kids, the laundry, the Hubby, the computer, and the practice (Not necessarily in that order.)

But never the less, I do love her and I worry that she will be gone before I know it. And before Peevers is big enough to play dress up with her.

So, a hearty shout out to my Esserboo Dog. I love you houndy!

Yet Further Proof That I Can Keep My Kids Safe From Bad Guys

After yesterday's diatribe on why I'm not scared of internet pervs...here's the evidence that I am a super astute mom.

I got 8 out of 10 in identifying scary serial killer guys versus computer dorks. Can you beat that? Thanks to Kris for the link.

A Blogging Discussion (A Rant)

Several blogs I read regularly are gearing up for Blogher conference this weekend. There has been some discussion of what we blog and how we blog and why we blog. And now I feel compelled to speak up (because I am normally so shy).

I began blogging because I am working on a project about empowering birth with a few friends long distance. They both have blogs and I decided that this would be a great place for me to get down my ideas and thoughts about the project and the articles and workshops and what not that will get the project really moving.

My blog began as a professional place with a little personal flair. And then I started writing every day. I could feel the words getting pent up inside of me as the stories and thoughts and ideas that usually are just jumbled about in my head are trying to escape and find expression. (Hubby is so grateful that he no longer has to hear every one of these painstakingly repetitious ideas as well.)

I have always *kept* a journal, in that I am always buying cute and colorful journals with every intention of actually maintaining a running narrative of my thoughts (blah dee blah). And now I am the proud owner of approximately 13 cute as pie little crafty journals each with about 4 handwritten pages. What a fantastic testament to my writing skills! About the only thing that actually moved me to get off my ass and write (in a journal) was being really pissed off, usually at poor beleaguered Hubby.

But blogging! Now that's a horse of a different colour! I've realized that I enjoy writing for an audience. It helps me find my voice. Sometimes I have to write about something that I have been pondering and twisting about in my mind for days and weeks on end. Sometimes I just get to recount an amusing anecdote from daily life that would otherwise be lost forever. Sometimes I write about birth stuff or other work stuff. Sometimes I don't have any specific agenda and then I end up writing a manifesto. The words pour from me. I have finally developed the writing habit I have always dreamed I had in me.

How do I blog? I blog in spurts while at home. I am forever interrupted by screaming children and meals and phone calls. And then I glance up at the clock and realize I must finish it NOW so I can take a shower and run off to work or wherever. I blog with a cup of coffee or a FUZE beverage (my latest low-cal try-to-trick-myself-into-thinking-I'm-having-a-treat drink).

But there remains one oft-visited issue to ponder in the blogosphere. This issue has been brought up in several blogs I read, especially the so called "mommyblogs". The issue is privacy and safety. Some bloggers write about their children but remove all identifying information including names and ages and would never ever post a photo of their child on-line. Others tell all, including their child's fullname and birthdate. I read a comment on a blog saying that parents who post personal information about their children are taking such a huge and irresponsible risk. There are those who think that this can invite the attention of not just diaper perverts, but also that of pedophiles and stalkers. Within this thinking, one should volunteer no information about your children (and definitely no photographs) that could in any way identify them.

Here's where I rest: I name names. I divulge ages and general birth data (but not the actual date). I (obviously, see below) post photos. This is my life. I live all aspects of my life by these principles. I do not expect the worst. I do not go to great lengths to protect against what I consider to be long-shot dangers.

Pedophiles normally go after children to whom they have access. They are not likely to cross the country in search for my small child. My children are not communicating with anyone via the internet, so they cannot develop relationships with online freakos. I think my children have a much greater chance of being stalked by someone who sees them playing in my yard or at the pool than by someone online who goes to great lengths to find them.

I choose not to post nude or semi-nude photos to keep obvious creepiness risk down, but really even if someone was *doing something* while looking at am online image of my child, how does that harm them? Is it gross and creepy? Yes. But not harmful. And frankly, quite unlikely.

The bottom line is, any child, anywhere, could become a target. I don't feel I am substantially increasing my risk. It is important to me to post photos that express my life. When my kids get older, old enough to understand what blogging is all about, I will see how they feel about being blogged about. I will even delete old archives if it seems appropriate. But somehow, I doubt it will come to that.

Dancing Queen

Click here to see my Peapod Girl

And Lo, She Rested

And Lo, She Rested, originally uploaded by esserboo.

After all that dancing, she needed a break.

It WAS the 70's After All

It WAS the 70's After All, originally uploaded by esserboo.

First of all, check out my mom's WIG!!!! Holy moly woman! She looks exactly like the glidy alien woman is Mars Attacks!

Next, note my suave big brother. I see a bit of big bro in Gabe all the time.

Next, check out my Dad's super cool 70's 'fro. (And small dog kissing him. That's Sugar)

Oh my God! I just noticed that my parents are wearing matching pinstripes! How could anyone not have known my dad is, well, GAY!!!! And the sofa is paisley!

Now, look at my own adorable pigtailed two year old self. Hot jumpsuit, aye?

So, the question is: Does Quin look like her mom a bit or what? (see below for photographic evidence)

This Blogger: Age 11 Months

This Blogger: Age 11 Months, originally uploaded by esserboo.

And here's about the cutest photo ever of me, just barely walking. Looking quite cute with chubby thighs and an ill fitting bikini. How come baby fat is so cute on babies and not so much on 33 year olds? Sigh.

The Trip To Pottersville

I just finished the new Harry Potter. I started late, because I didn't want to wait in the hour long line at Borders and didn't pick up the book until Monday night. On Tuesday I quickly skimmed the last 100 or so pages of Year 5, so I'd remember what the heck was going on. Then, when I was really really crabby on Wednesday, I decided to self-medicate with The Book.

So, even though I haven't read any book that wasn't work related in its entirety since May, I finished this one in 4 days. I have spent considerably less time on-line reading blogs and camping out at Mothering.com.

I have also had the advantage for the past day and a half of being a two adult household! Whooopee! I can continue to read while Hubby breaks up squabbles and makes PB & J sandwiches! Only blood or vomit could tear me from the saga of teenage Harry and his troubled doings.

So. Now I'm done. Back to the real world. I'm going to go hang out with my family. I am the Mama. But I really needed that little break: from reality, from single-mom duty, from my internet addictions, from hearing the word "Mama" 87 times in rapid succession. Color me refreshed. Thanks Harry (even though you made me cry)!

Oh yes! And Date Night tonight! Need I say more?

Why I Study Philosophy

I just need to know a few things:

Why is it that toys designed and purchased for a sibling are always WAY better than your own age-appropriate and interest-appropriate toys?

Why is it that shoes become anti-gravity to children's feet while in the car?

Why is it that kids always have a gargantuan poop right after you put a clean diaper on them, especially if they were just bathed and put in clean clothes?

Why is it that leftovers are universally rejected, even if it was a dinner that the kid had three portions of the night before?

Why is it that the kids entertainment industry on live TV think that there are no small children watching TV after 6 pm and exclusively show teenage soap opera shows and waaaay too adult death and destruction cartoons? (Is Dora asleep already?)

Why is it that NONE of the kid's movies/DVDs are ever findable in their actual clamshells/cases? Where did my DVDs go too? I really want to know!

Why is it that the child who will stand for 3 hours in the freezing cold sprinkler is reduced to a whimpering puddle of phlegm when forced to cleanse his filthy body in the nice temperate shower?

Why is it that children can hear the subtle sound of Mama sitting down on the sofa to watch just one Tivo'd show and must run into the room demanding attention, love, and hours of ongoing inane conversation?

Why is it that kids only drink two sips water at 3:00 am after begging for a drink of water for 20 minutes and sending you out servant-like to fetch it for them?

Why is it that the sound a child whining for something is egregiously more piercing and disturbing than the sound of screaming, crying, or even fingernails on chalkboard?

Why is it that the child who most needs a nap, resists it the most?

Why is it that a child can hear the siren call of a freezer door opening in the vicinity of a popsicle and come running, yet cannot hear you call his own name within two feet of his head ten times in a row?

Why is it that a child will get out of his very own bed to sit at the top of the stairs and call down to you that his sister has (gasp!) gotten out of her bed and then expect you to only chastise his errant sister?

Why is Mama's purse and Mama's change and Mama's Burt's Bees Lip Balm always preferable to a child's very own Hello Kitty Purse stuffed with Polly Pockets and old lip balm.

Why is it that even a 6 month old will scoff at your attempts to pass off an old defunct remote control as a reasonable exchange for the real remote control? (The buttons push the same baby girl!)

Why is it that the child who was "just a dream" for the babysitter all afternoon becomes a whirling dervish that screetches in a tone which exactly matches a mid-sized pterodactyl the moment her Mama returns home with her loving embrace?

Why is the most grotesquely annoying song on a child's kiddie music CD always the one they just looove the most and want to hear 97 times in a row?

Why is it that kids insist that they love to play with the huge bin of legos, but all they ever do is empty all 1097 teeny tiny foot twisting pieces on the floor, push three of them together, and then become distracted by the baby's teething ring and never come back to play. Ever. And then feign knowledge of removal of said 1097 pieces from storage and insist that helping you put them away "hurts their head"?

Why is it that kids would prefer (strategically) to spend their allotted 5 minutes in time-out to helping their hard working mother put all 1097 tiny pieces of legos back in the storage container?

Why is it that after all this, all they need to do is smile winsomely at me and say "Mama, you are my best friend in the whole world" and I completely forgive them their complex and twisted view of how things should work and I am ready to consider having another one. (Just kidding, Honey! No more.)

Come Sing and Dance With Me

I'm singing the happy song and dancing the happy dance today because tonight, my darling Hubby comes home!!!!

We will get three delightful days together as a family. It seems that it will likely be another month or two before we will all live together again, so each little weekend together seems like such a major homecoming.

I predict that the weekend will be occasional marred by child related shenanigans which will doubtlessly precipitate devolution into yelling and hiding (by the parents, I mean) under beds. But, I think we are so excited to be together that we will tolerate all our own family idiosyncracies better than usual.

Then, on Sunday night, Banana comes with her little Honey Girl and the fun will extend into the week. Banana will watch her Honey Girl and my Big Kids when I am at work, and I will have adult supervision at night.

To quote the Goddess of Things Fluffy and Trivial: It's a Good Thing.

Your Daily Quota of Knock Knock Jokes

Gabe's Favorite Joke:


G: Knock! Knock!

Me: (enthusiastically) Who's there?

G: Banana.

Me: Banana who?

G: Banana Banana.

G: Knock! Knock!

Me: (wearily) Who's there?

G: Banana.

(*pause*)

G: Mama! Mama! You've got to say "banana who?"

Me: Banana who?

G: Banana Banana.

G: Knock! Knock!

Me: (sigh) Who's there?

G: (excitedly) Orange!

Me: Orange who?

G: (triumphantly) Orange you glad I didn't say 'Banana' again! (insert maniacal laughter)


Quin's Favorite Joke:

Q: Mama! Knock! Knock!

Me: Who's there?

Q: Banana!

Me: Banana who?

Q: Orange! (insert maniacal laughter)


I think I like her version better.

You Clicked All the Way Over Here for This?!

After yesterday's post of epic proportions I have just this to say:

I am waaay crabby today.

You don't want the tedious details.

The End.

A Baby Story (But Not So Full of Doctors and All That)

Since my sweet Peeves will be 6 months old this week, I thought I would revisit the day of her birth. I wrote up this up for the Mothering forums. It is a bit of a professional/factual/stiff accounting. It is also very very long and detailed because I know how much I love reading all the gory details in birth (especially unassisted birth) stories. It is an important part of preparing emotionallly and spiritually for birth. So, you will be really getting in my "head space" so to speak. Enjoy.

My second (and final) unassisted birth story:

The week seemed to be stretching on endless as my secret due date was approaching. Because my previous two children had each been born a few days before their due dates, I anticipated that this child would be born sometime that week as well. I had frequent bouts of semi-intense contractions that were uncomfortable and annoying, I felt the baby’s head lower in my pelvis every day, and my upset stomach and gag reflex had heightened. Every night I would put the kids to bed with my husband and think, “Okay, everyone is asleep, I can go into labor tonight.” Often, I would experience contractions that woke me during the night and get restless, but I would wake every morning in disappointment knowing I was not likely to begin labor during my busy days.

I continued working three afternoons a week with patients asking constantly if it was hard to continue to adjust them while so pregnant and how I was doing. Being busy at work was actually some of my best times emotionally, when I would totally disconnect with my obsession with *when would “it” happen* and just live my normal life. I knew my obsession with second guessing every sign of impending labor was detrimental to my goal of intuitive labor. I knew how my educated mind could pull me away from “laborland”, that intuitive and almost meditative state of labor that was so critical to me during active labor. I knew that the days of prodromal labor I was experiencing were indeed part of my labor, but I was still struggling daily (hourly) with letting go of my constant thoughts and surrendering to my body’s wisdom.

The next day was a Saturday, and my husband had planned to leave me with the kids for several hours while he went to work on a major project for work. In the morning it was very snowy and blowy so he delayed leaving. I was struck with an intense need to get the whole house clean all at once while he was home to help with the kids. My (brilliant) husband sensed that something was going on with me, and decided to stay home all day as I continued to scrub floors and wash windows and fold laundry. I had been nesting for weeks, so I didn’t consider the day’s activities to be necessarily outside of the norm.

I also did some extensive reading on the motheringdotcom unassisted childbirth thread. I not only read a number of inspiring birth stories, but also a few links to threads debating the legitimacy and safety of UC principles and practice. This reading was just what my psyche needed. I felt empowered and validated on a deep and primal level. I knew everything was going to be okay and all I had to do was relax and wait.

We were up late, watching a movie and didn’t even start getting the kids ready for bed until 11:00 that night. The house was immaculate and I finally felt relaxed. My husband took the kids upstairs to bed and I was getting myself ready for bed in the bathroom when a bad smell made me throw up into the sink. That is also a common occurrence in pregnancy for me, so again I didn’t jump to any conclusions. I cleaned up the bathroom and crawled into my solo bed downstairs saying to myself, “Probably not tonight. Just get a good night’s sleep after all that work.” As I settled into my pillow configuration and got comfortable, a felt a slight *pop* or release from an unknown location. I had just enough time to think, “Weird, I wonder what THAT was?” and then I felt the unmistakable warmth of my water spreading. I jumped out of bed faster than I thought possible for that stage of pregnancy, worried about staining the new mattress. I noted that the fluid (now running down my legs) was clear and pulled off my underwear.

I immediately went upstairs where my husband was still reading to the kids and told him that my water had broken and I would like him to come back downstairs to adjust me (DH is also a Chiropractor) before he went to sleep. I settled back on the sofa with a pile of towels to distract myself with some mindless TV. I had no contractions or discomfort at all. After about 15 minutes my husband came back and asked if anything was happening. My other labors had always been well underway by the time my water broke, and then the flow was only a slight leak. This had been a good sized gush and when I got up from the sofa for my husband to check my spine, I gushed more. We giggled at the continuous stream of fluid and grabbed more towels. Every time I shifted positions the stream would start up again. Finally I got into a neutral position and my husband was able to quickly adjust me. Then he gave me a kiss and went off to bed with his cell phone in hand so I could call him rather that go all the way upstairs if I needed him. I settled down on my cushion of pillows to watch a cheesy movie and see what would happen next.

It was so strange to know that this baby would likely be born by sunrise, yet not be having any real “symptoms” of labor. I was having an occasional mild contraction, but nothing different that what had gone on for the past week or so. I considered going to bed but was too full of adrenalin and still leaking fluids. I got up to pee after about an hour and noticed a small clot of mucous and blood on my towel. When I went to the bathroom there was more bloody show but no real change in intensity of contractions. I did have some slight loose stool, which cheered me up, knowing that things were moving along normally. Periodically I would check my watch, noting the passage of time in a distracted and impatient way. My last birth had gone so quickly (just a little over an hour after waking with uncomfortable contractions) and this seemed so anticlimactic. The ramping up of contractions was so subtle and gradual that I really didn’t realize I was getting uncomfortable until I realized I was spending more time going to the bathroom *to relax* than watching TV. A little over two hours had passed. I decided to run a bath because I could still smell my vomit a little and I didn’t want to labor with that smell in my nose. The bath didn’t seem to help or hinder things, so I just matter of factly cleaned up and got back out, feeling a little refreshed. I continued to mostly sit on the toilet during contractions. I made a conscious decision to stop watching TV and to try to get into “laborland”.

At that point things suddenly got more serious. I lit a few candles in the bathroom and turned off all the lights in order to lessen the distractions of “the real world” invading my laborland. I was softly moaning during each contraction and visualizing a dark hole that I was sinking into more deeply with each surge. Between contractions I would get distracted thinking about whether I should wake up my husband and have a little moral support or if I would rather do it alone. We both had talked about a fantasy of my birthing completely alone during the night and him getting up in the morning to the surprise of the new baby. Suddenly, this didn’t sound so great to me. I was feeling restless and a little lonely and time was passing slowly. I decided that this decision was too distracting and that I should just wake him up so I could quit thinking about it. I went upstairs and woke him at about 2:20 am. I don’t know why I didn’t call him. I guess I didn’t want to freak him out.

Obviously, my instincts had been correct once again. As soon as my husband joined us in our small bathroom things picked up dramatically. I don’t know if I hadn’t fully surrendered to labor without the reassurance of his quiet presence (he knows very well by now that I need extreme quiet and stillness during labor) or if I had just innately timed the need for him to the exact moment labor kicked up the next notch, but I suspect his being there was critical for my complete release of control and thought.

I continued to moan through each contraction while sitting on the toilet. My husband made me a glass of weak Gatorade and checked my pelvis between contractions. He was mostly silent unless I expressed my frustration and discomfort. At one point I checked my watch (bad idea!) and was so disheartened to see that I had been laboring hard for well over an hour. I had experience such a quick and effortless birth with my daughter previously and just expected that this birth would be equally efficient. Instead I felt that I was wallowing in an every increasing sense of futility and intensity. I wished I knew how dilated I was and how much longer it would take. This seems silly in retrospect as I know that my cm of dilation wouldn’t really tell me anything more than what I already knew…that my body was doing its job…steadily and surely.

My mental state was slowly deteriorating as I grew exhausted from the steady and painful contractions. I continued to breathe through them and *maintained control*, but I was feeling increasingly out of control and panicky. I didn’t fear that anything was going wrong, but just a growing sense that I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was sitting on the toilet for 2 to 3 contractions and then standing for a few contractions while my husband applied light but steady downward pressure on my sacral bone. The standing position was slightly more painful but during those contractions I would sometimes feel a subtle but distinct shift of the baby and of my pelvis. This gave me the much needed confidence that *something* was happening and I was getting closer with every contraction. I began to get overheated and feel like I couldn’t catch my breath during the contractions. I was feeling desperate and at the end of my rope. I knew these feelings probably meant I was in transition, but I didn’t let myself label it consciously as such for fear I was wrong. I was trying so hard not to *think* about the process and tried to push away thoughts that identified or labeled what was happening.

I asked my husband to run a bath, hoping that something new would distract me from my desperation. As the water ran I knew there was no way I could sit down in a tub right then. I was so so hot. We had left the heat on overnight since we knew I would be awake and laboring, and now I couldn’t cool off. DH suggested I go to the kitchen for a minute (where there was no heater) to cool off. I moved to the kitchen and stationed myself in front of the (miraculously clean!) sink as another surge overtook me. This time I felt a little grunty and pushy. Not quite there but just on the cusp of *there*. It didn’t hurt but wasn’t quite right. Again I asked my husband to traction downward gently on my sacrum and again I felt a *shift* but this one was more significant. “That moved something” I said. DH said, “I know!” DH inquired how far down I thought the baby was positioned. I felt gently and discovered the head right at the tips of my fingers. “You should feel it!” I encouraged my husband. He gently felt and looked thrilled. As I waited between contractions, I felt the baby wriggling quite energetically. “Its okay baby,” I said aloud, “We’re almost there. This has been some crazy sh*t, but we’re gonna get you out right now!”

Suddenly I was totally pissed off! I read recently about the fetal ejection reflex and the characteristic accompanying surge of energy and emotion. Well my emotion was entirely of the angry and frustrated variety. I pushed with all my might during the next contraction, determined to get this “blessed event” over with! I felt the baby come down substantially, but as the contraction eased away the baby slowly shifted back up. “Is it closer?” asked DH. “You check,” I answered tersely. He felt carefully and announced I was making progress. I was still angry and doubly so that this baby would shift back upward between contractions. With the next contraction I pushed with all my might, even past the point when the contraction started to ebb a little. It was so close and I didn’t want it to. Go. Back. Up! Amazingly, just at the end of my strength, the head broke through. There was a seemingly endless pause as I waited for the next contraction. I was on my tip toes, trying to keep my pelvis open and squirming uncomfortably. DH was crouched on the floor and biting his tongue. The baby’s head was pretty purple and he was wanting to make sure everything was okay, but he wisely held his tongue and waited while the baby rotated its shoulders to line up properly for birth. At last the urge came again ( it was probably only a little over a minute…seemed longer) and she slid easily out and into her Papa’s hands. She did have a cord around her neck, but DH gently eased it off and turned her to check her gender. As he announced it was a girl, I remember thinking that I had forgotten to tell him that I wanted to discover the gender myself when I was ready. I was so relieved that the whole ordeal was over that I didn’t really care anyway. We immediately dubbed her Ribh Wallis, (pronounced Reeve; Gaelic pronunciations are a trip!) the name we had finally agreed upon after an extensive search for a Celtic girl’s name we both liked. She looks like a “Ribh”.

Most stories seem to end here, but I think a little third stage dialogue is important so others can recognize what un-managed third stage and post-natal periods look like. I was bleeding a bit and shaking a lot (although I wasn’t cold at all). I settled myself on a kitchen chair on another towel with Ribh in arms, wrapped in an old towel. She was very vernix-y and her color was excellent. She was breathing well, although with a slight raspy sound of fluid. I cleared her mouth and found no obstruction, so I let her work it out herself over the next hour or so. I held her while DH checked her neck (the area of the spine most frequently stressed during labor) and cleared the subluxation he found there. She still had not cried or even made any noise, but she began to open her eyes and peer at us. DH got the camera and I put her to my breast where she got to work immediately. The three of us just hung out in the soft light of the kitchen and talked a little about the birth. I asked my husband what he felt the second time he checked her head for descent. He said it felt no different than the first time but he wasn’t about to tell me that!

DH rolled up the kitchen rug (totally ruined) and got me a drink. As Ribh nursed I began to feel some uncomfortable low back labor-y pains. We checked the cord and found it to be white and cold so we decided to cut it so I could move about more freely in order to birth the placenta. I would estimate about an hour had passed since the birth. While DH held Ribh, I went to the bathroom and balanced a stainless steel bowl on the toilet. Then I squatted above it and gave a slight push and the placenta released neatly into the bowl. I examined it to be sure I hadn’t retained any portion and that it looked intact and healthy. Then I returned to tell DH that I was going to take a quick bath to warm up and wash off the sweat and blood on my legs. I had him bring the baby to me in the bath to gently wash some of the blood and mucous off her, but I left the vernix alone to nourish her skin. It was all gone except for pockets in the folds of her skin by that evening. Then I bundled up in comfy clothes (and a frozen sanitary pad) and wrapped Ribh in a clean towel and took her to bed with DH to snuggle and nurse while we talked softly about the birth.

About this time, my oldest child woke up upstairs and missed his papa and then his crying woke his little sister. I send DH up to bed with the “big kids” and I settled down to snuggle and babymoon with my newborn. I was tired but elated. I had no tears, no pain and I was able to experience such peace and harmony with my purpose as a mother. This is what birth is all about. I cried a bit in relief and happiness that my family is complete and whole and that we did it all on our terms. Such bliss!

Gurgle Gurgle Glub (Part II)

Uh oh is right!

So, this morning I discovered that the drain no longer holds water in the tub. Ooops.

In the process of wrangling it off and on last night I have injured its sealing capacity. Damn!

Tonight I will take it out again and mess with the assembly to see if I can repair it. Otherwise I will have to buy a whole new assembly and replace it (very carefully this time).

I am not a Mama Goddess. Sigh.

Perhaps that is why my trophy hasn't arrived.

Gurgle Gurgle Glub (Uh Oh)

Each new parent should be sent, in the mail, upon receipt of their first child, an instructional manual. This instruction manual would give them specific instructions, step by step, listing the tools needed for each task as well as when you can "do it yourself" and when to "seek professional help".

The title of this marriage saving book would be, Basic Plumbing: How To Fix All The Plumbing Problems Your Kid Is Bound To Make.

Seriously people, I have learned more about plumbing (self taught) in the past 5 years than I had ever thought possible and I learned it all by necessity. Because of my children.

My darling children have flushed paper, crayons, books, toys, and stuffed animals down the toilet. My children hide things in the garbage disposal. My friend once came into my bathroom in the dark late at night and used the toilet and flushed it and then heard the horrible gurgling and squelching noises of a (very expensive) cloth diaper going down the drain and into my septic system. My faucets leak due to children hanging from them like monkeys and stripping their gaskets. My jewelry gets played with and slips down the drain (Why were you playing with my rings in the bathtub, I ask them. I wash them Mama!). Huge quantities of food items, vomit, fecal matter and other nasties have been down not just my toilet, but every other drain of any kind in my house. (Who wants to sleep over?)

This is why, I repeat; Every parent should get a Basic Plumbing Instruction Book with their first child.

Last night I was exhausted from a long weekend of class and coming home to an exhausted Nonny who immediately tagged me "it" into full parental mode as she went to bed (At 6:30 pm). I was up late, and up again early each morning. On top of the killer schedule, we had to keep the house super clean for a showing this weekend (to no apparent avail).

After I put the kids to bed (late) last night, I came down to discover that during their evening bath, they had shredded a coloring book into the full bathtub. When they had opened the drain, all the little bits of shredded paper had gathered on the small parts of toys and hair and hair ties in the drain assembly and completely clogged the whole she-bang.

Now, I am no faint-hearted mother. I have born three children at home, two with no outside assistance whatsoever. I will not be daunted by a basic plumbing challenge. I have three children and I have read my plumbing instruction manual.

I first attempted the quick fix by McGyvering a clearing and poking tool with a chopstick and managed to get some basic drainage. I pulled the bigger gobs out of the drain assembly (It the kind where you cannot actually take the plug out ever, but can only screw the plug up or down. Ugh. Curses on drain engineers!) around the bulky plug head. There was still a very diminished flow capacity which I feared would lead to overflowing showers and the like.

I realized that I needed to use my pliers and wrench and I disassembled the entire drain unit. I removed copious gobs of hair, toys and more shredded paper. I went down to the basement to find my plumbers putty. I reassembled the drain. This entire procedure took no more than 15 minutes. It now flows like it hasn't since, well since we began living here and my children began putting things into the drain assembly.

I am a Mama Goddess!

Can I have my trophy now?

My Non-Lump

My Non-Lump, originally uploaded by esserboo.

Here she is...in all her squirming glory.

Let's Celebrate Her Graduation! (It's Either That or Cry!)

My Peevers in no longer a lump. Technically, she is an "infant" until she is 24 months old (silly-neh?) and depending on your criteria she could still be considered a newborn. But she is nearing the 6 month mark and in the past two weeks she has officially graduated from Lumpdom to Non-Lumpdom.

Any parent to a second or third child will tell you: Enjoy the Lump Phase. This should be a cardinal rule of parenting. Stressed out new parents should be reminded of this twice a week. Lumps are great! And here's why:

1. Lumps sleep more than they are awake. (Well, most do. Sorry, Anna. Mielle is exceptional!)

Non-Lumps only take two or three naps per day (if you are lucky) and cannot be depended upon to allow you to "work on the computer" while the big kids watch Dora.

2. Lumps smell good. They cannot sweat. They only drink breastmilk, so they have no nasty gas or poo.

Non-Lumps want to eat your frozen blueberries and then will have blueberry seeds and skins in their explosive poo four hours later! Once "real" food begins, watch out for toxic waste dumps.

3. Lumps stay where you put them.

Non-Lumps require that you leap up multiple times to rescue them from sliding off sofas, rolling off beds, and other attempts to bungee jump without proper restraints. You will often leap up to race into other rooms just because you "sense" trouble which may or may not be real. You become jumpy, like an old cat in a house full of toddlers.

4. Lumps don't need toys or dolls or really any accessories when you are out and about since your boobs are already with you and a diaper fits easily in the purse.

Non-Lumps require an entire diaper bag full of toys that rattle and squeak and crinkle, and changes of diapers, and clothing for blowouts, and teething tablets for crankiness, and two different slings depending on the occasion, and snacks for you and the child, and perhaps a rolly suitcase and a sherpa because damn that car seat is getting heavy and awkward to carry around!

5. Lumps snuggle.

Non-Lumps do semi-seated gymnastics and bite your shoulder off, while simultaneously headbutting you and giggling.

6. Lumps nurse quietly and calmly with just a little intermittent gasping during "the big letdown" to keep from drowning.

Non-Lumps sing the Star Spangled Banner in farsi while standing on their heads, attached to your nipple. You will not move for fear of those teeth they are working on latching down a bit too hard at just the wrong moment. Non-Lumps will also pull on and off your breast 67 times per feeding or within 3 minutes, whichever comes first.

7. Lumps cause everyone to smile at you admiringly when you are with them.

Non-Lumps cause you to be scowled at when you bring them to class (or nice restaurants) and they insist on continuing their burbling and fussing for fun.

8. Lumps fit nicely in their car seats and slings and stay there until you remove them.

Non-Lumps squirm or attempt to squirm out of every child containment device known to mankind. Non-Lumps can escape from a non-belted car seat, squirm across the room and change the TV remote with their teeth. Non-Lumps can kick you from the backseat of the car when worked up enough.

9. Lumps don't know they have hands.

Non-Lumps can rip up magazines, coloring-books, bills and even checks. Non-Lumps can rip out hands full of sibling hair. On purpose.


But, My little Non-Lump has just to look me in the eyes and grin, or light up at the sound of my voice, or squeal with delight at the sight of her big brother, and she is instantly not only forgiven for no longer being a sweet little lump, but celebrated for being the little person she has become.

Who Wants To See My New House?

I've been so busy studying, that I have had no time to post. And now I am off to sit in a classroom all weekend. Blech.

I will leave you with these photos of the house my husband put earnest money down on yesterday. We close in mid-August. I hope I will live there soon afterward.

Sleepy Babies and Other Adventures in the Night

How come for every night of relative peace, quiet, and actual slumber, you always get two or three filled with crazed child-monsters who crowd, kick, and pee on you?

Overall, I am a big fan of the Family Bed concept. We have used it with all three kids to all of our convenience and comfort. But the bottom line is: even with all the benefits of family bed-dom, they still wake you at night with needs.

Gabe's needs are frequently potty related. The kid wakes and whimpers and thrashes around fitfully until finally he wakes himself enough to realize that he needs to pee. He is too sleepy and pitiful to walk downstairs himself to find the bathroom in the dark and usually request that you not only wake-up from your well earned slumber but that you also carry him down the stairs and all but direct his urine for him. Then you must carry him back up the stairs and tuck him in...for the 3rd time that night. Even after peeing just before bed at 10:05 pm, and waking me to pee at 1:27 am, he still peed in my bed at 7:30 this morning. (But at least now all the bedding is clean. With everything on my plate, sometimes it takes a puddle of steaming urine to push sheets up above work clothes and underwear on my laundry list.) I don't know where the little camel stores all this excessive urine, but I hope his talent pays out someday. Also in Gabe's favor: he'd the one who likes to sleep in.

Quinlan on the other hand, while she doesn't wake as often as Gabe, has great need when the time comes. You can't just stumble down the stairs once or twice and call it a night. When she needs nighttime love, it usually involves copious itching (she has crazy allergies) or even; vomit patrol! Quinny's nighttime interruptions are usually followed by a soothing bath and dates with the washing machine in the basement. And I should note, it is amazing how, even in the dark, a vomiting child will always manage to vomit right on your head. So, you always need extensive clean up as well.

Quinlan also has an inbred nighttime talent for kicking, usually directed to the crotch. While I find it merely irritating, Brian finds this unbearable and now instinctively sleeps with his hands clutched around his balls. She doesn't wake up, be she sure can wake you up in a right smart hurry with a roundabout to the family jewels, I am told.

And come 7:00 am, Quin will be awake, whispering in my ear, "Hi Mama! I's hungry!" It doesn't matter if she went to bed at 9:00 or 12:00, she will be ready to rumble at 7:00 am. It also doesn't matter if you went to bed when the kids did or stumbled in at 2 in the morning after a night of kareoke stardom. Sometimes kareoke singing rockstar mamas have to drink coffee at 7 in the morning while trying to tune out Dora the Explorer in order to allow the other two children to sleep enough that they will not spontaneously combust into crabbiness. These rockstar mamas need mochas but are on weight watchers and must settle for very black coffee with a teaspoon of sugar. It makes them awake, but more crabby and less rockstar-like.

Ribh has no true nasty habits but she is a nursling. I couldn't honestly tell you how often she nurses in the night because thankfully, one of the awesome benefits of sleeping with your baby is based on the concept of sleep cycling. This means that she and I both rise to the top (wakeful part) of our sleep cycle at the same time. She rustles about a little, I roll over and hook her up, she nurses, and I fall back asleep within minutes. This also means that she doesn't cry or fuss or wake me from a deep sleep ever, the way the big kids can. I don't lose any quality sleep during her nursing and I never wake to worry or check on her. But she sleeps pressed against me like a leech and occasional reaches out to pinch my nipple in her sleep. Lovely.


And now, while Brian is gone and I am the single mama, the ultimate problem arises. This single mama has three children, but only two sides. Peevers obviously wins the snuggle lottery since she is the nursling. I put each of the other two to sleep in their own "nests" on the floor on either side of my bed and wait to see which will weasel up into my area during the night. By 6:30 am I typically have Peevers under my armpit, another pressed against my back and the third pinned at armslength to protect Peevers from her sibling's thrashing.

So, when Quin whispers, "Mama, I's want go downstairs and watch Dora now?" I don't even fight it. Time to get up! I've got blogging to do!

Ahoy Thar Me Hearties! Here's a Great Link!

As Gabe was prancing around the house, semi-naked but with a cape, sash and sword, he reminded me of a demented pirate.

This in turn, reminded me of the truest followers of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

So, apparently, my child is a born follower of the great creator and will someday lead us all.

Color me contented.

Why You Are Glad You Are Not Sitting Next to Me This Weekend: A Rant

I am studying this week.

I have to prepare for class this weekend. I am taking a class in Chiropractic Pediatrics and Obstetrics. The entire course is given over a three year period. There is a big test at the end that must be passed with moderate levels of competency in order to get the title that accompanies the program: Diplomate in Chiropractic Pediatrics.

I am in the first year. So far we have covered Pregnancy, Birth, and Evaluating the Neonate. Overall, these are areas of expertise with which I am very comfortable due to extensive first hand experience. I don't think I have learned everything there is to know by a long shot, but I also don't feel that I am learning anything I consider very valuable in this academic world.

In the birthing community, or any alternative health community, there seems to be so much talk about how a "new paradigm" about health is needed and the need to emphasize and rely upon the superiority of the systems intrinsic to the human body. In other words, "Nature Needs No Help, Only No Interference." But this appears to be just so much lip service, because the class work becomes 70-90% (western) memorization of "facts" and regurgitation of all the dire worst case scenarios and abnormalities.

Do you think midwives spend more time learning about what normal birth looks like or more time on what each emergency could be and how to freak the hell out. My midwife friend assures me that it is the latter. The same is true of the class I am taking. The pregnancy and birth portions have been all about awful things that might happen. (And the chiropractor wouldn't even be in the room anyway!) But the chiropractic student body, many of whom have never had children, are walking away with the impression that birth can be very dangerous and they had better have an OB ready to go with heroic measures or their child will likely die! With this background, it is little wonder that almost every woman who has had a C- section or another emergency measure can justify why it was "totally necessary" in her case. But all you have to do is look at the statistics to see that something is rotten in this scene. The fear is bred in every aspect of our education.

I know that comfortability and knowledge when dealing with the exceptions to the rules is an important part of providing health care. But I also see first hand that the time and emphasis given to these less typical situation is what leads us down the slippery slope of distrusting the body's ability to cope with crisis and relying on others expertise rather than looking inward to the amazing strength and knowledge of our bodies.

For example: In a threaded discussion question, we were asked what our recommendation would be to a parent who had brought in a 6 week old infant with a 102 degree fever. Our assigned textbook states that this child should be referred to the ER after being adjusted because it theorized that a child's immune system is less developed and that age and this fever could signal a more serious illness or infection. I imagine that the "break through moment" intended in this discussion is that we should actually adjust this child, thereby boosting the immune response, prior to sending them off to the ER doc in politically correct CYA fashion.

But this advice, while "safe" in the legal sense, astounds me!

Fever is the body's innate mechanism of dealing with pathogens. While a newborn's immune system is less well developed, how do we think it becomes the normal healthy immune system it needs to be? By being challenged and reacting normally.

I mean really, what are they going to do in the ER? Continue to fuss over this baby (when it should be snuggled in bed with its mama, nursing!), getting the parents further riled up, alarmed, stressed, and distrustful of their own instincts (which is all being transmitted to the baby energetically), and ultimately the ER personnel will likely either send them home with admonishions to "watch closely" for further developments or perhaps they will attempt to artificially lower the temperature with anti-inflammatory medication, thereby both thwarting the body's innate immune response and introducing nasty chemicals into this tiny little body. Uggh. And this is the safe thing we should recommend to our patients. I say: "No Way!"

No wonder we are a society which throws drugs (er...medications) at every little thing and no wonder we have problems trusting our own bodies and instincts when it comes to birth, food, health, whatever. Even those who are supposedly our "alternative" leaders are giving us the nice safe advice that they were taught to regurgitate in school. I've had it! This is such a waste of my time. I have so much to learn and instead I have to deal with more of this shiite.

I think I understand why this happens in so many well intentioned alternative health professions: chiropractic, midwifery, what have you. In order to justify, in educational circles, the stringency and validity of your education process, you must teach something quantifiable. In other words, in order for an educational process to be recognized in our western society as valid, as containing actual working information, it must have set parameters and hours of study and in essence, a bunch of stupid busy work, so that it will be accredited and valuable to the rest of the western world. Anyone dealing with homeschooling issues understands what I am talking about here, I'm sure.

So, the creator end up veering farther and farther away from their original intention and away from true organic learning, as they incorporate more and more western based tripe into their process. It's a fucked up vicious cycle and I am currently caught in the vortex.

So, off I go to memorize all the horrible disorders and diseases and their differential diagnosis so I can be recognized as an expert in my field even though these conditions are rare, often iatrogenically caused, and I could easily look them up if confronted with such a case in real life.

But here's what: I vow, here and today, that when I teach this and any other subject matter, I will be constantly striving to not spend disproportionate time regurgitating dire worst case scenario emergencies, but will instead let the educational process evolve organically with an emphasis on how we can change the world, instead of fit in.

My Moment of Glory

This weekend I am in Eau Claire at the always scintillating High School Reunion. I would regale you with stories of my classmates and photos of the amazing nights out, but it was pretty much like your own high school reunions. The scene is comprised of about five people you actually wanted to see again, another ten that are somewhat interesting to reminisce with, and another 50 or so drunken fools who you either don't remember or just plain don't want to remember.

Everybody seems to just fall into the cliques and groupings of high school and then the scene is fueled by alcohol...which doesn't really seem to add that much to everyone's personality despite firm beliefs to the contrary.

But then, toward the end of the night last night, something extraordinary happened.

I was given the opportunity to sing (kareoke) the World's Greatest Rock Ballad.

Apparently only 5 or 6 people felt drunk/confident enough to sing in front of (gasp) their high school peers. Therefore, if one wanted to try something new, one had every opportunity. While I was neither drunk (Just two glasses of wine at dinner 3 hours prior. I had to go home and nurse my Peevers) nor overly confident (I was singing a difficult and classic song I had never tried in public), I still took the bait.

For those of you who know me in real life: I am not overly shy when it comes to public performance. I generally love any captive audience, even drunken ones. However, what you may not know is that I do get nervous and uncertain and although I love kareoke, I am not so keen on singing something with a high potential to make me look foolish due to infamiliarity and high difficulty level. I consider myself far from an accomplished singer but my love of attention outweighs my fear of foolishness. Then, as I perused the song list, I saw the perfect song. The song which contains the best deep and yet cheesy song lyrics ever written as well as being a kickass '80's power ballad. So, I couldn't not go for it.

And so it went:

I know just how to whisper,
And I know just how to cry;
I know just where to find the answers;
And I know just how to lie.

Can you feel it yet, the building music, the grave solemnity:

And I know the roads to riches,
And I know the ways to fame;
I know all the rules
And then I know how to break 'em
And I always know the name of the game.
But I don't know how to leave you,
And I'll never let you fall;
And I don't know how you do it,
Making love out of nothing at all

And then finally...the big crescendo:


Every time I see you all the rays of the sun
Are streaming through the waves in your hair;
And every star in the sky is taking aim
At your eyes like a spotlight,
The beating of my heart is a drum, and it's lost
And it's looking for a rhythm like you.
You can take the darkness from the pit of the night
And turn into a beacon burning endlessly bright.
I've got to follow it, 'cause everything I know, well it's nothing till I give it to you.

The big finish! The crowd goes wild! Air Supply brings down the house!


Really, that moment encapsulates my remembrances of the world that was the '80s and my high school experience. Silly, overly dramatic, sometimes nonsensical, hormone driven, and just plain me being ultimately willing to be a total fool just to get the big moment of glory (even though 2/3 of the people there were either paying no attention or rolling their eyes at the moderate talent fame-whore I can be. Ahhhh. Like I care).

You should all now go to Napster or wherever and immediately download "Making Love Out of Nothing at All" by Air Supply. Imagine yourself pining away over some teenage boy to whom you talk on the phone for two hour every night with the phone cord stretched across the kitchen and into the closet while you parents plead with and threaten you for use of the phone. Remember the glorious earnestness of your dreams and desires and inarticulate longing to be exactly where you are today: grown up.

It's even better than we dreamed, isn't it. Take this journey down memory lane with me. You will thank me.

At Long Last, the Promised Post About Harry's

"What is this Harry's you are so hepped up about?" you might ask. Ahhhh..Harry's. Good times. Good times.

Harry's is a Farmer's Market/Grocery Store.

Brian first went to Harry's while visiting a friend of ours in Marietta last year. He returned from that trip, full of tales of how I would love Harry's, Harry's was so cool, yada babble babble. I didn't doubt that it would be a neat store, but I had lived in Madison and I had gone to the Madison Farmer's Market for years. And even now, I live in a town with a great natural foods store.

I mean, Harry's is a grocery store really. Big Deal. And then I went to Harry's myself.

You have no idea. Really. Even as you read this, just know that I cannot really do it justice. If you are ANY kind of a foody, this place is foody heaven.

It's really, really big. Like Walmart big. I am not exaggerating. We were there for well over an hour and I saw like, 1/3 of it. I could spend days just salivating in the isles. I asked Brian if he would buy me a tent and an air mattress so I could sleep over. There are entire isles devoted to individual ethnic foods. The bulk food area could serve for a great frisbee golf course. The dairy case holds an entire herd of cows! (Okay, I am exaggerating now.)

So, what all does Harry's carry? Every single gourmet or organic food known to man. For example: if you were hankerin' for a lovely balsamic vinegar, you would have the choice of approximately 150 gorgeously packaged top-o-the-line balsamic vinegars in every flavor and variation imaginable. Peanut butter, you say? How about 50-some gourmet all-natural varieties with interesting twists like cinnamon-sugar, honey, and white chocolate. White chocolate peanut butter. Quite tasty on an english muffin, if I do say so myself. Organic meats a plenty, of all kinds: check. Organic high end seafood galore: check. Sinfully delicious bakery and deli: check. Every ingredient you can think of: check, check, and check. In the produce section, there were about 20 kinds of fresh mushrooms. There were shitakes, and creminis, and oysters, and porcini, and truffles, and those soft velvety mushrooms in hot and sour soup, and morels. There were fresh morel mushrooms, people! At Harry's!

I have never been so moved by food in my entire life. I exclaimed over food. I gasped. I swooned. I oogled. I snatched. I named by name all my foody friends who would give their first born child to live within driving distance from such a shangra-la (and you know who you are). I blasphemed. I might even have had an orgasm. And then I cursed at Brian, who was too embarrassed to allow me to run out to the car and get my camera so I could take pictures of all the glorious food at Harry's.

It is that great. Really. And it is only a few blocks from The Big Chicken. What more could a girl ask for?

Nice Computer. Computer Friend.

Hellooo! Did y'all see what I did? I added links! Whooo hoo! I also figured out how to install a program that allows me to track my hits. So, for those of you out there who are lurking lurking lurking,...BUSTED! I know all about you!

Did I mention the part where I am a self-taught computer genius! And don't you forget it!

Peevers Loves Papa

Peevers Loves Papa, originally uploaded by esserboo.

On our way to the airport, we stopped and had margaritas and burritos. Peevers gave Papa a little extra love because we won't see him again for three whole weeks!

Today's Tableau of Woe

Today's Tableau of Woe, originally uploaded by esserboo.

This is a new trend in Gabe feeding himself. Note that he requires a new spoon (count'em: three spoons) for each yogurt container. Note the yogurt "art" spread across the entire table. Note that he went right to bed after my discovering this tableau (last night). Note that this trend better end real soon!

What I Learned About The Southland

Here's what I learned during my sojourn in The Land Of Plenty this past weekend:

Southerners Use Extreme Creative License While Naming Roads: First of all, the road are not laid out in any form of grid or even seemingly straight lines. The roads are exactly where the cattle or animals or wagons or whatever left a trail "back in the day" and none shall go elsewhere, to this very day. So to go somewhere say 15 miles away as the crow flies, one must switch roads approximately 7 times and cover about 37 miles. I kid you not.

And the roads are all named either almost exactly the same thing (Due West Highway, Due West Ackworth Highway, Due West Lane etc.) or, even more thrillingly, named different things entirely every couple hundred yards! We drove down a road yesterday that changed names four times as it went through a town and then changed names two more times after we left the county. I don't think there is a single road in the Atlanta Metro area that doesn't react to a county line without instantly attempting to assert a new identity by assuming a brand new name (Cobb County is for sluts...I shall heretofor be called: Loreta!). Interestingly, many times the changed name appears to be based on the largest town towards which said road leads, which seems logical. But, since every road goes two ways, it also leads away from its namesake and will then change names to the next biggest town as you cross the county line anyway. Confused yet? I think it may be a conspiracy by road namers and map makers. I bought three maps in three days. I need more.

Nobody Was Exaggerating When They Said It Was Damn Hot In The South: It was hot. And humid (this note is for you Northerners who are thinking: "Sure it's hot, but its not humid like up here."). Let me repeat: it is humid and hot. Yes, there was air conditioning pretty much anywhere, but try telling that to an eight year old subaru who doesn't like to sit runnning in the 97 degree heat just in order to keep a sleeping baby cool. Also, it is very embarrassing when you are looking at houses to have to go to the neighbors and beg for a jump 'cuz your battery died. Great first impression! "Hi, we're your new neighbors and we are dumbasses who left our car running in this heat!" Anyway, I didn't really like that house so much anyway.

Southerners Don't Think It's That Funny When You Joke About How We Beat Their Confederate Asses: Our realtor seemed to take these comments in stride (she will get paid you know) but our clever observances didn't seem to elicit the hilarity we were going for. Perhaps we should save this kind of talk for the next time there is a Packers vs Falcons showdown?

The Big Chicken Really Is Big But Barely Looks Like A Chicken: When getting directly in Marietta, all discussion of location is prefaced with regard to orientation from " The Big Chicken" (Y'all just gotta turn left at the Big Chicken and it's just down yonder on yer right). It even appears on maps. Needless to say, I was intrigued and impressed by the idea of this landmark. And now I have seen The Big Chicken. It is in fact about three stories high but is merely a three dimensional rudimentary chicken head with cartoon eyes that roll in circles and a beak which opens and closes. It is attached to KFC. That's it. It's hard to know where this legend began. Be afraid.

People Really Do Say "Fixin' To" and Other Southern Language: Plenty of people have little to no accent down south, but there is no escaping southern expressions and drawled out words. Our realtor insisted the we all had to try some "piaaaah" (pie). Frankly, I'm okay with "y'all" and even find a bit of southern lilt quite charming. However, I put my foot down at "fixin' to". If my children begin to utter such heathenish talk they will be sent to a summer in Canada/Northern Wisconsin where they will learn to say "aboot" and "you betcha, shure, shure" like their parents. And since they will likely be with their Grandpa, they will learn to say "dirty rotten sons of bitches" and "goddammit" with alacrity as well. Maybe "fixin' to" is not so bad after all.

I'm sure I have much more to learn about the Southland but since all we did all weekend was look at houses, I'm afraid we had little to no contact with the outside world. More on house hunting later. And photos too, I promise. Y'all come back, ya hear!

Did ya miss me?

I was gone soo soo long from my faithful readers and my lovely computer access. And now I must confess to the gravity of my addiction to this here blog: I got home after traveling all day and put the three kiddos in bed and crept back downstairs to check my comments and whatnot. And now I am posting before crawling back to bed because I. just. can't. stop. I swear, I will sleep much better if I just post a little something before I go to bed. Otherwise sometimes I actually lay (lie?) awake at night thinking of posts I want to write. (Now I will lie/lay awake trying to decide which form is the proper usage. Damn!)

This passionate relationship I am developing with my computer (computer, friend!) makes me think of how my sister-in-law calls my brother's computer "the little grey whore" because he stays up late into the night loving on the computer while his poor wife sleeps alone. Now she (the computer, not the SIL) is called the "little silver whore" I think, because he got an upgrade.

And I now have my "little flat screened compaq lover" who loves me while my hubby is far far away. Be afraid sweet hubby.