It’s amazing how close lie the emotions of triumph and despair when one is a homeowner. A problem asserts itself, and you think, holy CRAP, what should we do about this? How much is this gonna cost us?
Whether it be water pouring from our kitchen ceiling, eventually fixed with an 88-cent overflow valve (once we diagnosed the problem), or waking one morning to a 57-degree house in the dead of winter … It’s exciting business.
That’s what happened Sunday morning. We got this huge electrical bill, you see, and I said to Matt, ‘we could really save some money by getting a programmable thermostat. Or at least one I could read (digitally).’ So he went out and got the very best Lowe’s had to offer, and installed it himself Saturday night. His big mistake was in handing me the booklet after installation, and saying, ‘here – you program it.’ I wasn’t super clear on what sort of system we had, and fed the thermostat the wrong information. So we had no heat from about 6 p.m. to noon the next day.
Hence some Sunday morning panic: ‘What’s wrong? What should we do? How much will this cost us?’ until the combined Maisel brain trust of Matt and his dad figured out the type-of-system dealio.
As I result, I’m all the more grateful for a warm house. And a home improvement-savvy husband. I shudder to think what a home would be like if it were solely up to me to do everything.
Oh, wait, that’s right – I’d be renting. :) But I’d sure be missing out on all the fun.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
clocking out
We're shifting places in the office as of this weekend. The building is contracting folks to come in and repaint and recarpet, and while we're packing up anyway, our features department is moving to a new area. Which is cool. Maybe we won't do so much freezing to death as we do (at all times of year) in our current corner.
This morning, in preparation for the move, my boss took down the wall clock that usually hangs just outside my direct line of sight. It is driving me NUTS to look up there and see that blank wall when I want to know what time it is. It doesn't matter that the time is displayed at the bottom corner of my computer screen, as well as on my desk phone. I am USED to seeing it on the wall, darnit! -- and in a non-digital form! Nothing else will do.
It's amazing, the little things that can drive me nuts.
This morning, in preparation for the move, my boss took down the wall clock that usually hangs just outside my direct line of sight. It is driving me NUTS to look up there and see that blank wall when I want to know what time it is. It doesn't matter that the time is displayed at the bottom corner of my computer screen, as well as on my desk phone. I am USED to seeing it on the wall, darnit! -- and in a non-digital form! Nothing else will do.
It's amazing, the little things that can drive me nuts.
career aspirations
The other day at school, Lizzy's teacher asked the class what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Lizzy's answer? A princess.
I decided (why, I don't know) to point out, when she told us that, that you're either born a princess, or you have to marry a prince.
"Like I did!" I said, wiggling my eyebrows at Matt.
Which prompted him to charge out of the room in search of somewhere to vomit.
Lizzy's answer? A princess.
I decided (why, I don't know) to point out, when she told us that, that you're either born a princess, or you have to marry a prince.
"Like I did!" I said, wiggling my eyebrows at Matt.
Which prompted him to charge out of the room in search of somewhere to vomit.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
parental dilemmas
Lizzy is really getting into the 'proud to be big enough to know stuff' swing of things. She has totally bought into this line we've been feeding her that she's really smart. :) (and, for those who read that recent study, we are also taking pains to praise her for TRYING HARD, as well...)
Sometimes, when she proudly explains to me how something works, she's, well, wrong. And then I'm faced with the dilemma: Do I correct her, thereby pulling the rug out from under her? Or do I let her go along with her happy little story? As you might imagine, I try to evaluate how important it is that she know the 'right' thing regarding X subject. If she's got some facts confused regarding the 'five senses,' which her class just learned about last week, for instance, I'm happy to correct her on how that all works. (on a five-year-old level, of course.) But if it's not a big deal, I don't want to come across as one of those annoying know-it-all types, even with my young daughter.
Last night produced a couple of those moments that I wasn't quite sure what to do with.
In one, Lizzy was over messing with her train table, which was really cool -- until now, she has required one of us (who am I kidding? That's code for 'Matt,' in this case) to set up a functional track for her to zoom those trains around on. But last night, she wanted to set it up on her own. I asked her a couple of times if she wanted help -- she sounded a little frustrated -- but she said no.
A little while later, she called me over to give me a tour of the newly laid track. "That's a dead end," she said of one bit of track that did indeed end rather abruptly. "This part is ... well, this is where the train goes if it wants to look at pretty lights. See? This here is a pole with decorations (actually a lamppost, with balls meant to be lights), and these trees are kinda pretty. It's kind of like Christmas lights."
I love how she can't quite get the track to fit together, so she finds a reason for it NOT to be fitting together. Cute.
(I didn't correct her on that one, if you're wondering. It's not MY train!)
A little while later, Matt and Lizzy came downstairs while I was trying to sneak in an e.r. episode during a Lizzy bath. I was 10 minutes or less to the finish, and I was determined to see it out. Hoping Matt would take her into the other room and interest her in something. (hey! I should've asked her to give Matt the 'train tour.' Drat! Missed opportunity there.) So -- Lizzy was lying next to me on the couch for a Very Special Moment in which Pratt (for those of you who still follow this show) is telling a doc who used to administer lethal injections in a prison that 'maybe you were meant to save that boy from drowning. Maybe that is more important than these 17 men you say you killed.' Lizzy says, "Is he right?" And, "Mommy, why is that guy getting a shot?"
I was struck a bit dumb. She said, "If you don't know, that's okay." I said, "Well, it's just that's it's complicated, sweetheart." "Oh, okay," she said. And she was okay with that.
Sometimes, we parents get lucky. :)
For anyone who caught that episode: I did anticipate at least one hookup toward the end of the show, and gave up on seeing it to its finish. Bah. Suicide/capital punishment, I can fake my way through. Adults being intimate? Not yet, my friends. I am not touching that one yet.
Sometimes, when she proudly explains to me how something works, she's, well, wrong. And then I'm faced with the dilemma: Do I correct her, thereby pulling the rug out from under her? Or do I let her go along with her happy little story? As you might imagine, I try to evaluate how important it is that she know the 'right' thing regarding X subject. If she's got some facts confused regarding the 'five senses,' which her class just learned about last week, for instance, I'm happy to correct her on how that all works. (on a five-year-old level, of course.) But if it's not a big deal, I don't want to come across as one of those annoying know-it-all types, even with my young daughter.
Last night produced a couple of those moments that I wasn't quite sure what to do with.
In one, Lizzy was over messing with her train table, which was really cool -- until now, she has required one of us (who am I kidding? That's code for 'Matt,' in this case) to set up a functional track for her to zoom those trains around on. But last night, she wanted to set it up on her own. I asked her a couple of times if she wanted help -- she sounded a little frustrated -- but she said no.
A little while later, she called me over to give me a tour of the newly laid track. "That's a dead end," she said of one bit of track that did indeed end rather abruptly. "This part is ... well, this is where the train goes if it wants to look at pretty lights. See? This here is a pole with decorations (actually a lamppost, with balls meant to be lights), and these trees are kinda pretty. It's kind of like Christmas lights."
I love how she can't quite get the track to fit together, so she finds a reason for it NOT to be fitting together. Cute.
(I didn't correct her on that one, if you're wondering. It's not MY train!)
A little while later, Matt and Lizzy came downstairs while I was trying to sneak in an e.r. episode during a Lizzy bath. I was 10 minutes or less to the finish, and I was determined to see it out. Hoping Matt would take her into the other room and interest her in something. (hey! I should've asked her to give Matt the 'train tour.' Drat! Missed opportunity there.) So -- Lizzy was lying next to me on the couch for a Very Special Moment in which Pratt (for those of you who still follow this show) is telling a doc who used to administer lethal injections in a prison that 'maybe you were meant to save that boy from drowning. Maybe that is more important than these 17 men you say you killed.' Lizzy says, "Is he right?" And, "Mommy, why is that guy getting a shot?"
I was struck a bit dumb. She said, "If you don't know, that's okay." I said, "Well, it's just that's it's complicated, sweetheart." "Oh, okay," she said. And she was okay with that.
Sometimes, we parents get lucky. :)
For anyone who caught that episode: I did anticipate at least one hookup toward the end of the show, and gave up on seeing it to its finish. Bah. Suicide/capital punishment, I can fake my way through. Adults being intimate? Not yet, my friends. I am not touching that one yet.
Friday, January 18, 2008
geography
I'm excited about something my brother told me a couple of nights ago. Excited by what might happen, anyway ... he's currently an electrical engineer in San Francisco. He and his family have lived in that area for ... I'm going to get this wrong, but I'm going to guess about 10 years. Maybe more! Time does fly, doesn't it.
He's considering a job change. I have to say, my brother is a very, very bright guy. He's an Eagle Scout. He was awarded 'Engineering student of the year' the three times he was eligible in college. He scored higher than I did on the AP English test in our respective senior years in high school, and I'm a journalist! Don't think that doesn't still sting. Simply put, he's good at ... everything. And if any shortcomings do exist, he is driven to make up for them with a relentless -- some might say insane -- competitive spirit. And yet, he's still a nice and (am I right on this, Molly?) pretty humble guy, really. The kind of guy I'd want to be friends with, if he weren't already my brother. Overall, I'm really lucky I came first. He would've been an impossible act to follow.
So he's being head-hunted -- I think that term applies here -- by some cushy work-from-home operation. Consulting, or something. The real kicker is, his home can be ANYWHERE. So he and the fam are considering pulling up stakes and heading back north, to Washington state. Spokane, to be more specific.
As I say, none of this is a done deal yet. But I've been thinking about how great it would be, for them and (I must say it) for me. They'd be very near Molly's (my sis-in-law's) parents, which would be fun for them and for their girls. They'd be in the area where Molly grew up, and within a couple of hours of our hometown and college town. Better yet, they'd give me an excuse to vacation in eastern Washington!
I cannot express enough my incredible shock at the fact that I really meant that last sentence. I simply cannot. Perhaps those lucky few of you (Israel? Schuyler? my old friends, obviously?) who have been through eastern Washington can imagine. But ever since my parents moved to Anchorage a few years ago, I've felt a slight regret -- I did say slight! -- that there's nothing compelling enough to pull me back there with regularity. Nothing that can trump familial obligations to fly to San Francisco and Anchorage now and then, anyway. I still have close relatives on the west side of the state, but there are many friends on the east side whom I am sad to never have an excuse to see. I've been counting on my 20th high school reunion to do the trick in 2009, but after that ... a visit seemed mighty unlikely.
And now that Ben and Molly might be moving back, well, it's just perfect. I hear a whisper that my parents might be returning to the Lower 48 within a year or so, as well! It's unclear exactly where to, but if I were laying a bet, I'd put it solidly somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.
Of course, then I'll regret the fact that I don't have a nice, solid reason to visit Alaska again.
Let's face it -- I'm just not capable of being satisfied.
He's considering a job change. I have to say, my brother is a very, very bright guy. He's an Eagle Scout. He was awarded 'Engineering student of the year' the three times he was eligible in college. He scored higher than I did on the AP English test in our respective senior years in high school, and I'm a journalist! Don't think that doesn't still sting. Simply put, he's good at ... everything. And if any shortcomings do exist, he is driven to make up for them with a relentless -- some might say insane -- competitive spirit. And yet, he's still a nice and (am I right on this, Molly?) pretty humble guy, really. The kind of guy I'd want to be friends with, if he weren't already my brother. Overall, I'm really lucky I came first. He would've been an impossible act to follow.
So he's being head-hunted -- I think that term applies here -- by some cushy work-from-home operation. Consulting, or something. The real kicker is, his home can be ANYWHERE. So he and the fam are considering pulling up stakes and heading back north, to Washington state. Spokane, to be more specific.
As I say, none of this is a done deal yet. But I've been thinking about how great it would be, for them and (I must say it) for me. They'd be very near Molly's (my sis-in-law's) parents, which would be fun for them and for their girls. They'd be in the area where Molly grew up, and within a couple of hours of our hometown and college town. Better yet, they'd give me an excuse to vacation in eastern Washington!
I cannot express enough my incredible shock at the fact that I really meant that last sentence. I simply cannot. Perhaps those lucky few of you (Israel? Schuyler? my old friends, obviously?) who have been through eastern Washington can imagine. But ever since my parents moved to Anchorage a few years ago, I've felt a slight regret -- I did say slight! -- that there's nothing compelling enough to pull me back there with regularity. Nothing that can trump familial obligations to fly to San Francisco and Anchorage now and then, anyway. I still have close relatives on the west side of the state, but there are many friends on the east side whom I am sad to never have an excuse to see. I've been counting on my 20th high school reunion to do the trick in 2009, but after that ... a visit seemed mighty unlikely.
And now that Ben and Molly might be moving back, well, it's just perfect. I hear a whisper that my parents might be returning to the Lower 48 within a year or so, as well! It's unclear exactly where to, but if I were laying a bet, I'd put it solidly somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.
Of course, then I'll regret the fact that I don't have a nice, solid reason to visit Alaska again.
Let's face it -- I'm just not capable of being satisfied.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Ford Focus vs. semi on 66
With all the commuting we do, and the daily four-lane merge from onramp on far right to carpool lane in far left, I suppose I knew this day would come. The day I can no longer say that 'I've never been in an accident while driving that wasn't in reverse gear.'
And I'm somewhat glad it happened with a big truck, and a foul-mouthed, heavily tattooed truck driver, not some entitled lawyer driving a Lexus.
We now have a fairly sizable dent in the car's back left region. Where Lizzy sits, which is a little scary, but aside from a surprised "Ow!" from her when metal ground on ... whatever our car panel is made of, and some impatience with us sitting by the side of the road, waiting for the police officer, Lizzy's fine. As are we all. (we didn't call the police officer, Dad. The trucker did. You trained me better than that.)
The scenario went as well as it possibly could have, as Matt pointed out. When the policeman did arrive, he was very kind, he didn't issue me a ticket (whew!), and he reassured us that any damage to the guy's truck was very minimal. "I'd be surprised if they filed a claim at all," he said.
So I suppose the dent in my pride, which was probably long overdue, is the only lasting scar -- and, of course, the Focus. Which we're probably too cheap to repair. I suppose some wear and tear* is expected on a car that now has 102,000 miles. Still less than half what I achieved on the first car I owned, but this one IS American-made. :)
Still -- when crunching into a huge truck's wheel, and shortly afterward hearing, "Do you always drive like a @$$hole?" is your first non-family interaction of the day, it might count as a bad beginning.
Thank goodness my capable husband got out and handled all that, even though he was the passenger. The last thing I want to do on my way to work is be cussed out by a trucker in a teardrop tattoo, even if I did inconvenience him quite a lot.
* (I'm oddly embarrassed to admit to any car damage, for fear that it will disappoint my friends, the Cassons, who sold us the car a few years ago. I can't decide if that's silly or not.)
And I'm somewhat glad it happened with a big truck, and a foul-mouthed, heavily tattooed truck driver, not some entitled lawyer driving a Lexus.
We now have a fairly sizable dent in the car's back left region. Where Lizzy sits, which is a little scary, but aside from a surprised "Ow!" from her when metal ground on ... whatever our car panel is made of, and some impatience with us sitting by the side of the road, waiting for the police officer, Lizzy's fine. As are we all. (we didn't call the police officer, Dad. The trucker did. You trained me better than that.)
The scenario went as well as it possibly could have, as Matt pointed out. When the policeman did arrive, he was very kind, he didn't issue me a ticket (whew!), and he reassured us that any damage to the guy's truck was very minimal. "I'd be surprised if they filed a claim at all," he said.
So I suppose the dent in my pride, which was probably long overdue, is the only lasting scar -- and, of course, the Focus. Which we're probably too cheap to repair. I suppose some wear and tear* is expected on a car that now has 102,000 miles. Still less than half what I achieved on the first car I owned, but this one IS American-made. :)
Still -- when crunching into a huge truck's wheel, and shortly afterward hearing, "Do you always drive like a @$$hole?" is your first non-family interaction of the day, it might count as a bad beginning.
Thank goodness my capable husband got out and handled all that, even though he was the passenger. The last thing I want to do on my way to work is be cussed out by a trucker in a teardrop tattoo, even if I did inconvenience him quite a lot.
* (I'm oddly embarrassed to admit to any car damage, for fear that it will disappoint my friends, the Cassons, who sold us the car a few years ago. I can't decide if that's silly or not.)
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
dropoff
This morning, when I dropped Lizzy off at kindergarten, she went into the bathroom while I signed her in. The one-sided conversation at the kids' craft table grabbed my ear.
"Tatooine is a desert planet," explained Jimmy very earnestly to the girl next to him, Maggie, whom you could tell didn't give a darn. "It's where Luke was a young boy. It's also where ... is from." (fill in the blank with some sci-fi creature I can't remember the name of.)
Maggie gave him a sideways roll of the eyes, and continued carving up her paper snowflake.
I ducked into the bathroom and said, "Lizzy! You were right! Jimmy's in there talking about Star Wars already."
"TOLD ya," she said. Before finishing up and showing the assembled girls the Snow White horse she brought today, a Christmas present from her grandpa Maisel.
"Does EVERY princess have her own horse?" asked Ms. Maria, the head teacher.
"Well, not every one. But most of them," Lizzy answered. "But I only have four."
This is where I fled the room in embarrassment at my child's riches. Hey -- let the record show that I personally bought her only ONE of those. I think.
How DID I suffer through my childhood with the paltry number of toys allotted me (only TWO Barbie horses) ... and an incomplete set of Star Wars movies in existence, come to think of it!
How far we have come. Or not. :)
"Tatooine is a desert planet," explained Jimmy very earnestly to the girl next to him, Maggie, whom you could tell didn't give a darn. "It's where Luke was a young boy. It's also where ... is from." (fill in the blank with some sci-fi creature I can't remember the name of.)
Maggie gave him a sideways roll of the eyes, and continued carving up her paper snowflake.
I ducked into the bathroom and said, "Lizzy! You were right! Jimmy's in there talking about Star Wars already."
"TOLD ya," she said. Before finishing up and showing the assembled girls the Snow White horse she brought today, a Christmas present from her grandpa Maisel.
"Does EVERY princess have her own horse?" asked Ms. Maria, the head teacher.
"Well, not every one. But most of them," Lizzy answered. "But I only have four."
This is where I fled the room in embarrassment at my child's riches. Hey -- let the record show that I personally bought her only ONE of those. I think.
How DID I suffer through my childhood with the paltry number of toys allotted me (only TWO Barbie horses) ... and an incomplete set of Star Wars movies in existence, come to think of it!
How far we have come. Or not. :)
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
darned George Lucas -- re "part III"
I spent a good bit of late yesterday evening trying to explain whether Anakin Skywalker is “good” or “bad,” if he indeed did kill Queen Amidala (Palpatine tells him he did; and he did choke her. Nothing like a little domestic violence on a full-term pregnant woman!), and that you could not in fact determine the “good” or “bad” guys merely by the color of their light sabers.
However, we probably did her some inter-gender service by exposing her to it, believe it or not. “Now I can play with the boys on the playground!” she exclaimed brightly.
Oh, goodie.
However, we probably did her some inter-gender service by exposing her to it, believe it or not. “Now I can play with the boys on the playground!” she exclaimed brightly.
Oh, goodie.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
13 weeks and one day
I'm going to boldly declare myself a first-trimester survivor, even if I technically have a few days left. Woo! It's not a time I will reflect back on fondly. I'm not sure many mothers do.
I went to my first Birth Care Center appointment today in Old Town Alex, VA. I was amused to note that it's probably two blocks down from the karaoke bar where Matt and I first met. Heh.
It seemed ... serviceable. Probably. The birth center in Bethesda, where Lizzy was born, has closed, and I'm rather bummed about it. On one hand, it took some effort to get to for those monthly, then twice-monthly, then weekly, appointments. On the other hand ... it's no short trip from Metro Center to King Street on the blue line train. It doesn't seem right that the process of having a kid should use up so much of my precious sick leave that I'll soon need to take care of the kid after he/she is born. But so it is. At least I don't personally ever seem to get sick (knock on wood) ...
I got the usual lecture about needing to exercise ("you're preparing for a physically exhausting experience!" Yeah. I kinda remember), and was asked a lot of questions about stuff I should remember, but don't. Hey -- I prefer to forget about those visits to the gynecologist as fast as possible. The woman said, brightly, "Oh! Kaiser lets you check your test results online! It's really cool." I said, "Yeah. They're the same folks who told me they didn't know about the pregnancy test I just took, but I definitely had a bladder infection. Which wasn't true."
Ayyy, Kaiser.
There are a few differences between this place and the old birth center, as I suppose should be expected. One is that I need to hire a birth assistant and bring her along when the happy time comes. Huh? Then what do I need YOU people for? That one was puzzling. Also, they give new mothers the boot within three or four hours of giving birth. Which I'm fine with, but last time, with Lizzy, the other folks insisted that I spend the night because I didn't seem well enough to send home. (I was having a hard time standing up without passing out) Hm.
The good news is, they prodded my abdomen and all seemed well, and they found a heartbeat, and that's always good news. I got a kick out of hearing the little one's beat-beat-beat and my b-e-a-t layered against each other. It's cool to have proof every once in awhile that my efforts aren't for nothing.
The genetic testing options are giving me pause this time around. Last time, I was 30 years old, and felt fine with my odds. This time ... at 36, I'm not so certain that I should assume that all is 'normal.' But if it's not normal, should I find out? (what am I gonna do differently?) I missed my window to get some neck fold or other measured. That's supposed to be pretty reliable. The next possibility is a blood test, and I wasn't trying to be snarky, but I honestly really couldn't understand the point when they were explaining it to me.
It goes something like this: The blood tests can detect possible abnormalities. But for those in whose tests abnormalities are indeed detected, at least NINETY-FIVE PERCENT of those folks are just fine. Well, great! So what I can do with that information is, worry a whole lot, and then go get an amniocentesis. Which I have to tell you, I never EVER want to have. Big ol' needle into my belly ... Didn't look like fun when it happened to the Rats of NIMH (Lizzy's movie du jour in the car this morning). I'm not looking for excuses to have one.
I guess I've rattled on enough now. It's quittin' time, and I successfully wasted the last 10 or 15 minutes of potentially productive work time. :)
Oh, one more beautiful moment from the visit: We were taking a wee tour of the place -- takes about 90 seconds to absorb the two birth rooms, the family/waiting room and the kitchen -- and the woman mentioned that some parents like to have their kids 'involved in the labor process.' I said, Wow! I think that would profoundly freak out my daughter. The woman said, Well, moms know best! I thought, not if they think it's a good idea to have their kids watch them being in intense pain ... These are all people pushing out kids without pain relief. And they want their kids to watch.
Whoa.
I went to my first Birth Care Center appointment today in Old Town Alex, VA. I was amused to note that it's probably two blocks down from the karaoke bar where Matt and I first met. Heh.
It seemed ... serviceable. Probably. The birth center in Bethesda, where Lizzy was born, has closed, and I'm rather bummed about it. On one hand, it took some effort to get to for those monthly, then twice-monthly, then weekly, appointments. On the other hand ... it's no short trip from Metro Center to King Street on the blue line train. It doesn't seem right that the process of having a kid should use up so much of my precious sick leave that I'll soon need to take care of the kid after he/she is born. But so it is. At least I don't personally ever seem to get sick (knock on wood) ...
I got the usual lecture about needing to exercise ("you're preparing for a physically exhausting experience!" Yeah. I kinda remember), and was asked a lot of questions about stuff I should remember, but don't. Hey -- I prefer to forget about those visits to the gynecologist as fast as possible. The woman said, brightly, "Oh! Kaiser lets you check your test results online! It's really cool." I said, "Yeah. They're the same folks who told me they didn't know about the pregnancy test I just took, but I definitely had a bladder infection. Which wasn't true."
Ayyy, Kaiser.
There are a few differences between this place and the old birth center, as I suppose should be expected. One is that I need to hire a birth assistant and bring her along when the happy time comes. Huh? Then what do I need YOU people for? That one was puzzling. Also, they give new mothers the boot within three or four hours of giving birth. Which I'm fine with, but last time, with Lizzy, the other folks insisted that I spend the night because I didn't seem well enough to send home. (I was having a hard time standing up without passing out) Hm.
The good news is, they prodded my abdomen and all seemed well, and they found a heartbeat, and that's always good news. I got a kick out of hearing the little one's beat-beat-beat and my b-e-a-t layered against each other. It's cool to have proof every once in awhile that my efforts aren't for nothing.
The genetic testing options are giving me pause this time around. Last time, I was 30 years old, and felt fine with my odds. This time ... at 36, I'm not so certain that I should assume that all is 'normal.' But if it's not normal, should I find out? (what am I gonna do differently?) I missed my window to get some neck fold or other measured. That's supposed to be pretty reliable. The next possibility is a blood test, and I wasn't trying to be snarky, but I honestly really couldn't understand the point when they were explaining it to me.
It goes something like this: The blood tests can detect possible abnormalities. But for those in whose tests abnormalities are indeed detected, at least NINETY-FIVE PERCENT of those folks are just fine. Well, great! So what I can do with that information is, worry a whole lot, and then go get an amniocentesis. Which I have to tell you, I never EVER want to have. Big ol' needle into my belly ... Didn't look like fun when it happened to the Rats of NIMH (Lizzy's movie du jour in the car this morning). I'm not looking for excuses to have one.
I guess I've rattled on enough now. It's quittin' time, and I successfully wasted the last 10 or 15 minutes of potentially productive work time. :)
Oh, one more beautiful moment from the visit: We were taking a wee tour of the place -- takes about 90 seconds to absorb the two birth rooms, the family/waiting room and the kitchen -- and the woman mentioned that some parents like to have their kids 'involved in the labor process.' I said, Wow! I think that would profoundly freak out my daughter. The woman said, Well, moms know best! I thought, not if they think it's a good idea to have their kids watch them being in intense pain ... These are all people pushing out kids without pain relief. And they want their kids to watch.
Whoa.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
indulgence
This is a new high/low: A Starbucks has opened in my office building. There's been one on the same block for years, but this one does not require me to actually venture outside. A trip there does entail a slightly complicated maneuvering through Filene's Basement (dangerous! many clothing and shoe-type temptations!) and the bowels of the building, to emerge safe and sound in the Marriott lobby, at the back of which is our spanking new vendor of temptation.
If only coffee sounded good to me. I'm still waiting for that desire to return.
If only coffee sounded good to me. I'm still waiting for that desire to return.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
new acquisition
My brave little long-lived phone cracked yesterday, and its end was clearly near.
I was horrified at first, but quickly sniffed an opportunity. New phone! New technology!
Handing me technology is such a waste, though. I don't maximize it at all. I mean, most of these things are now Bluetooth-compatible. I will simply never walk around in public with one of those headpieces, looking like a Borg who's talking to myself. That's all there is to it.
But I just can't bring myself to buy a phone these days that's JUST a phone. Why not get some goodies, while you're at it?
At first, I was mightily seduced by this phone. And it's even called Chocolate! Not that I'm the world's biggest chocolate fan. But still. (unless it's Cadbury's from England. Huge exception.)
After much agonizing, a little advice from Monkey Boy and a lot of encouragement from the hubby, I got this phone. As I purchased it, the lady who was helping me told me that all the employees in the store have the same model. Well, then ...
(view at left is phone when opened to QWERTY keyboard and big screen option)
I got the bright orange (as opposed to silver, or a really muted green-gray) just to be wacky. So now I have Kermit the (i)Pod, and Pumpkin the Phone.
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