Hello World

It's only been two months since my last post, but it seems like so much has happened. (And in reality, it has.) I am always amazed by how quickly things can change. They say that life is like driving a car through the mountains. Sometimes you're on an upward spiral, and other times, you're coasting down hill.


At the moment, I don't think this would be an appropriate metaphor for my life. Right now, my husband and I are on a trampoline.


Do you know that point where you kind of hover in the air? You know... when you're not exactly sure if you're still on the way up or if you've already crested and falling down. That's where we are.


They say all changes happen for a reason, and in this state of unsteady economy, I can only grab on to my optimistic outlook for dear life. I wouldn't say we've had a hard ride, so far, but it hasn't all been rainbows and sunshine either. It's just been a ride.


I know this post probably doesn't make a lot of sense, and it also really lacks direction. But this is all I can give you today. I'll let you know tomorrow if its getting better. All I can say for now (and, Mom, you might want to turn away) is this:


Corporate America... you really suck.

Little Sister, Big Sister

I had a pretty crappy day today, and when this happens, I find myself letting my mind wander to far away (and long ago) places. I read an article about clowns today (somewhere on the internet), and it made me think of my sister.


My sister *loved* clowns. In the house I spent my early years in, my sister had a room full of clowns. I think she even had some form of clown wall paper at one point, but I can't be sure. (That actually might have been my room, but it would have been long before I was capable of making decorating decisions on my own... so I'll blame it on my mom.) Anyway, I do clearly recall the dozens of clown figurines she had.


They scared the be-gee-zus out of me.


It was really a horrible thing, too, because I always loved to have little mini-slumber parties in her room, and I would have to really psych myself up to be able to go to sleep. I could see all of these big noses and painted cheshire grins, and I could feel my tiny heart pounding as it attempted to leap out of my chest.


It probably didn't help any that my sister would sometimes goad my fear just a tiny bit. I'll give her credit - most of the time she told wonderful stories about houses made out of candy and princesses in far away lands. But sometimes... she would introduce me to her "pets".


We were both born with a curious kind of imagination, and she used hers to invent these "invisible animals" that slept above her bed. It would've been okay (probably) if she'd picked kindly animals like ponies or kittens, but no, she once told me that she had a pet spider... and that it was going to crawl on me...


While I slept.


Can you think of anything scarier to a seven year old girl? Scarier than an invisible spider that will crawl on you while you sleep?


I think not.


I think she told me these stories on the nights when she really wanted to sleep alone, but they never deterred me. I would lay there in the dark and listen to her breathe, praying that I would feel anything creepy or crawly.


And I don't know if she ever realized this or not, but the whole reason I was able to sleep was because I would always think to myself that she would protect me (from her invisible pets, ha!).


And she did.


Sometimes she still does.

The Best Laid Plans

Wonder of all wonders, my husband had a day off yesterday. It wasn't a sad little half-day, either (you know, when he has to go in for three hours and then come back home). No, he had an entire day to do whatever he pleased. We've actually been planning what we were going to do on this marvelous day off together for almost two weeks.

Thursday we finally decided that we would make a trip down to Florida to visit a few stores and, basically, spend the day wasting time and enjoying each other's company. We were very excited about our plans, and we actually spent half of the day before talking about all the nice things we were going to do.

Friday morning I woke up at nine a.m. (isn't it nice to sleep in?). D was still asleep, so I flipped through T.V. channels and watched a few episodes of "House". By eleven, I figured out that he wasn't going to wake up, and by noon, I figured out that our day wasn't going to go at all how we had planned it.

Finally, my sleepy husband wandered into the waking world, and he made some cute comment about possibly still going out of town (as if it still might happen). I humored him for the moment, and for my smiles and good nature, he made me lunch (a chicken salad sandwich and broccoli potato soup).

That alone was worth skipping the trip. It's always cute to watch him cook.

All in all, it was a wonderful day. We went and picked up dinner from a wonderful seafood restaurant, and we spent the afternoon watching movies. It wasn't what we had planned, but it seems like anytime we make plans recently they always get waylaid.

It always works out for the best though. I had a great day, and days like this are always what remind me that this is what I got married for.

I feel tall.

I went to the doctor's office today (again) to see if they could do something about this miserable Black Plague I've been toting around for nearly a week now, and when I stepped into the back of the office (you know, that place where they ask you to step on the scales and you close your eyes), the nurse kindly asked me (after laughing at me a little because I have an inner ear infection and my normal clumsiness + tilted equilibrium + moving scale = almost falling on my face) if they had ever measured my height.


I had to stop and think for a second (when was the last time I was measured?)... No... the last time was when I was fifteen and getting my learner's license (you know... when they make you stand up next to that roll of tape they've got on the wall... the one that makes you feel like you've just robbed a jiffy store).


So, I stepped over to this funky looking doo-dad, and she stretched (she was tiny) to move the bar down. Imagine my surprise when I stepped away, and she said "5'8'' ". All matter-of-fact-like.


I was in shock.


For years, I have believed that I was barely scraping 5'6''. I was so much in shock by her statement that I took off my shoes and made her measure me again.


Still 5'8''.


I don't even know what to say about this. I feel like a giant! When did this happen, and why didn't anyone tell me?


So now, my husband is gloating because he's always told me that he is 5'7'', and I never believed him (because he's always been a little bit shorter than me).


I can't believe he was right.


Now, I must decide what to do as an important member of society. Is there some kind of club I should join?

Clumsy, Clutzy Coughing Fits

I've been sick for four days. This is the dainty little sneezing with pretty cloth hankies either. This is a fire in my throat, and a cork in my nose. That's right people; I have strep throat. Again. I don't know why this particular ailment loves me so much, but I seem to contract it at least two times a year. And, it hangs onto my body like I'm the only thing with tonsils for a two hundred mile radius.


Most of my family doesn't even know that I'm sick, and this is because I turn into a complete introvert when I'm ill. I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to see people. I don't even want to listen to people. Everything. Hurts. I'm also kind of a whiner, and I realize it. So, the sound of my own voice becomes irritating.


However, I didn't write this post to whine about being sick. I wanted to tell all of you how badly sickness seems to amplify my normal clumsy nature.


You see, I've always known that I was a clumsy, clutzy person. From the moment I walked into my third grade classroom and stepped straight into a trashcan (and proceeded to get my foot stuck in said trashcan), I have known that I was doomed to bump and trip my way through life.


Really, its not that bad of a lot to have overall. I just have lots of bruises.


However, it seems that when I am sick this normal trippy, dippy nature is amplified to insurmountable heights. I proceeded to make this ten times worse today when I took an "Energy Now".


You see, I sell vitamins and natural remedies in my spare time (www.trivita.com/13564194). I like the natural products because they don't interfere with any other medication I might have to be on, and when I'm sick, I double up on my daily vitamins hoping the the extra vitamin C will help my body win the fight.


Well, another thing I don't do when I'm sick is clean. I stay in my bed as much as I can, and I try to keep myself hydrating and focusing on getting well. Today I decided that I had been in bed long enough and that my house needed to be cleaned (boy, was I right). So, I hobbled out of bed and coughed my way down the stairs to look at the damage.


I was nearly overwhelmed, but I pulled myself together and started working. After an hour or so, I was too tired to move. But, I had a secret remedy, and I wasn't afraid to use it! "Energy now" is a green tea, B-12, and other energy amplifiers supplement that gives you a nice natural boost without the drag later on. I love it, and I knew it would be perfect for today.


However, I didn't expect my wheezing and bumbling to get in the way. I tripped on my way into the kitchen. I bumped into the end of the couch and got a nice bruise. I slammed my head into the arm of the treadmill, and I slipped in the bathroom after cleaning the floor.


I think I've determined that its best for me to just admit defeat and crawl back in bed. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Party Planning

Well, I posted one thing today that I know will make my mother cry, so I had to post something else to make her laugh.

Last Saturday was my husband's birthday, and this year we decided to throw a little party at our house with both of our families in attendance. I don't know why, but "small" parties always seem like a good idea to me. I always think it'll be no big deal, (People. Food. What else could you need?) and then I wake up the day after and every muscle on my body hurts like I've been hit by a train.

How do I always manage to do this?

Really, it should be easy. After all, it wasn't completely my responsibility. Other people brought things. Other people help set up. Other people helped to clean up. Where does all this pain come in?

I'll tell you where - I inherited my mother's "stress" gene.

My brain says, "A simple party. That sounds nice."

To which my mind replies, "A party? Oh my God. We have to clean the house. We have to really, really clean the house. Cabinets need to be reorganized! Are all of my files in order?! They might LOOK through those! Right?! Right!"

So then, I spend a week neurotically cleaning my house, but by the time the party comes around, its gotten messy again because I can't be cleaning the drawers out in the bedroom and vacuuming the living room. (Because, obviously, you need to choose the obsessive small things over the normal, big ones.)

Then my brain says, "We'll grill. It'll be sooo simple. Give other people things to bring, and then I'll only have to do one thing!"

But my mind butts in with, "I know I was only going to bring the buns and hamburgers, but what about baked beans? Oh! And, potato salad! We can't have hamburgers without potato salad! Oh no, wait! Don't forget the wheat buns! Someone might want wheat buns. Oh... and a cake. I need to make a cake for my mother-in-law because its her birthday too, and she's making my husband's birthday cake so she'll need her own!"

This causes me to spend a whole day cooking - which also makes me revert back to cleaning because I am a very, very messy cook.

It turned out to be a wonderful party - really, it did. I was glad everyone got to come, and my grandparents even managed to make it out. I got to show off a piece of furniture that my husband built for me, and we got to spend a few hours talking to the people we love the most.

I had today off from work anyway, so I've taken it easy for the most part. Now, I'll be ready to start the day tomorrow, and my husband has a memorable birthday.

For my family reading this, I love you all, and thank you again for coming. Next time, we'll have it at Mom and Dad's! ;)

For My Future

I've been holding on to a journal my sister gave me in January for my birthday. I've been promising myself that I would keep it as a pregnancy diary whenever my husband and I conceived again. Well, we haven't gotten to that point yet, but I decided in a moment of sadness and clarity this past week that I didn't necessarily have to wait completely. This was my entry:

Dear Future Little Bear,

I stood at my sink peeling potatoes today and cried. It wasn't the first time. I'm sure it won't be the last, but I wanted you to know. I know there will be days when you're older, and you'll probably wonder if daddy and me really love you because that's what all children do.

I know these pregnancy journals are supposed to be filled with happy thoughts and well wishes, but I don't think that's very realistic. Everyone worries. Everyone has fears, so I wanted to prove to you that I am just as human as you are. But, I also wanted you to know that even through my doubts and questions I have always loved you - even before you were here.

Today marks the end of the beginning in our attempts to conceive you. It's been six months, and you're still not here. I didn't think it would take this long, and I know that's very naive of me. But, I am human. I don't think anyone thinks about conception until they're actually trying to conceive.

So, today made me sad because it means there is one more month that I have to wait to meet you. I will dry my eyes now, and I will keep trying until you are here. I just wanted you to know that on this day I already love you - even before you have begun your life on this earth.

Love,

The One Who Waits