Sunday, June 29, 2008
Introducing...Overheard at Camp Redneck. My hope is that you'll laugh, you'll cry, you will shake your head in amazement. (See right.)
Unfortunately, it's seasonal.
Friday, June 27, 2008
I am trying to organize a guest list. The festivities will be held at an inflatable party place. You know, with those houses and castles and slides that are... you know...inflated? You know, where they jump and jump until they puke or pass out?
It's difficult to compose a guest list when Curt does not speak of anyone, K? Also, I'm not one of those moms who hangs out and yaks with the other breeders. I'm kind of going on guesses here since I only have 25 invitations to give out. If that weren't the case, I'd just invite the whole class and be done with it. I want the 25 I give out to be worthy invitations. You know, to those who have a damn good chance of actually coming.
Here's the thing: I am so scared no one with come. Is that weird? Am I worried because Curt is a late talker or because of my own insecurities? Is Warthog still looming in my psyche?
I also know nada about these gift bags I'm supposed to have for the guests. It will be boys and girls, ages 3-6. Please help!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Cowboy and I have been married for eight years. I thought I knew what he would do in just about any situation.
Then he goes and does something like this. For no good reason. I have to admit, it came as a surprise, a shock even.
Thanks, you big lug. This is the best thing you've ever given me. Ok, second best.
The love I have for my Coach purse is not right. But, honey, if lovin' you is wrong, I don't want to be right.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Ultrasound photos are important to me. The first ultrasound photo of Curt, or should I say, what would be Curt, was a first. I had several ultrasounds before, but this one actually had a beating heart. I was holding my breath, waiting for another round of "I'm so sorry's" when I saw the little flashing light and heard the rapid boom-boom-boom. Of course, I cried.
My journey started in 1994. "Boots" and I had been married for about 1.5 years, I was 28 and I was convinced it was time to get off the pill. Boots wasn't so sure. He said (and I will never forget this), "But, I want to be the baby!" This coming from a man who already had two children. Looking back, this probably wasn't a good sign, eh?
And, we did try. After a year or so, with no success, my doctor recommended a tubal x-ray (potential blockage). Gals, this ain't your normal x-ray. The pain was unbelievable; I've been through childbirth -- and it was still bad. We then decided to try Clomid, a low-dose fertility drug. It did work and I became pregnant right around my 30th birthday. But, it was not meant to be. The result was a blighted ovum, which is a fertilized egg which never develops. A D&C followed, which sucked, by the way.
By this time, my marriage was in severe trouble. I won't go into details, but let's just say we weren't moving in the same direction. (Time must heal all wounds, cause I could really, really blast him if I wanted.) Anyhoo, suffice it to say it was not a good idea to continue with this particular project.
In 1997, we divorced. I was 32. My divorce was final on my birthday.
In 1999, I met Cowboy. (Look in the archives for the beginning of that torrid story if you're interested.) In 2000, we married.
Within two years, I was back on Clomid. I knew time was running out. Again, I fell pregnant. I took the pregnancy test on July 2, 2001 and miscarried July 5. Devastating.
I'm now 36. I'm tired. I don't want (and can't afford) to resort to radical fertility treatments. I decide to make peace with this and move on. The following is a conversation (almost verbatim) I had with my mother that year:
MOM: You could adopt. You cousin's friend made this scrapbook about her and her husband's life. They went through an open adoption and had a baby in six months!
ME: Mother, if I were 10 years younger, I would consider that. But, I'm not. Plus, I feel like we take enough chances with our own genes. There are benefits of having no children. I could retire early!
And, eventually, I came to believe that.
Fast forward to December, 2003. I am very tired and very sleepy. I'm also late (which is not that uncommon). My friends at work tease me that I may be pregnant. "No way," I say. "God does not have a sick sense of humor."
Fast forward through ultrasounds every two weeks (advanced maternal age), a level II ultrasound and the two-hour glucose test. I passed every one.
July 22, 2004. I finally had my baby boy. I was 38. I can't believe he will be 4 next month. I love you, Curt.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Reading that was an ah-ha moment for me. That's how I feel, but had never been able to put my finger on it.
I had plenty of experience with kids. Ages 5 and up, that is. I had two stepchildren the first time around who were 5 and 8 when we married. Colter was 5 when Cowboy and I were hitched.
But, they knew the basics. How to use a spoon and, hey, they were potty trained! (Still wiped Colter after #2 a few times, though.)
Oh, yeah, and they could talk.
I didn't try to learn all those things, because I didn't know if I would ever need the knowledge, I suppose. I started trying for a baby at 28. Only after two husbands and 10 years and a lot of heartache did it finally happen.
But, that's another story...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I hear ev'ry mother say
The pursuit of happiness just seems a bore
And if you take more of those
you will get an overdose
No more running for the shelter
of a mother's little helper"
Rolling Stones, 1965
I returned to the OB/GYN last week and told her the anxiety medication was not working unless it was meant to *cause* anxiety. In that case, it was da bomb.
We discussed scheduling my upcoming 6-month mammogram follow-up, etc. As she was leaving, I asked if she was going to try something else for anxiety. She replied, "I could give you something like Xan*x to take when you really need something."
At that point, I fessed up. I told her my mother had a prescription for years and that she had given me a few in the past for my nerves. I told her I would take one-half and that it did help.
She wrote me a prescription. With refills. I must seem pretty batty.
Thankfully, Mick and Keith were referring to the prescription drug Nembutal, a popular drug at the time, and not Xan*x (at least according to Wikipedia, heh.)
Friday, June 13, 2008
It all started when we watched a film in class, "Animals of Africa." Surely you all remember the science and nature films. I digress. In one pivotal moment, the warthog appeared. Some boy in the class (I believe it was Kip) yelled out, "That looks like Jeanna!" That's all it took. Granted, I did little to help the situation by crying like a little girl. Oh wait, I was a little girl.
If you've ever been so lucky to have seen the warthog, he/she ain't pretty. Hence, the narrator of the film calling it "the ugliest animal known to man." It was quite a rotund animal. The name stuck like super glue.
All this leading to...I was a fat child. Not obese, but overweight. I will say, I was the cutest little girl. I mean, damn cute. But pudgy doesn't look as sweet at 5 as it did at 3.
My parents did what they thought was best. They did not want me to experience the trauma it is to be a fat teenager. I (and they) know now it was not the right approach.
I was put on a diet in the first grade. I never remember drinking regular Coke, it was Tab for me, baby. Imagine my joy when they came out with Diet Dr. Pepper. Diet Coke? Pure ecstasy!
The next three years were pretty rough. I was grounded, spanked, punished for eating and rewarded with money and praise for losing weight. I heard my grandmother (Honey, the light of my life) say, "Jeanna would just be perfect if she would lose weight." Gah.
I believe the worst ever was when I tried to grab my third roll (carb addict that I was...and still am) and my father took me from the table. We were at Honey's house, his mother's home. He took me into their bedroom with his high school yearbook in hand. He showed me pictures of the president of his class. She looked like "Pat" on Saturday Night Live. "Is this what you want to be?" he asked me. "She never had a date ALL THROUGH HIGH SCHOOL!"
So, I guess she was a loser even though she was class president. Okay.
In the sixth grade, I weighed 140 pounds and I was 5 feet tall. In eighth grade, I weighed 130 and I was 5 feet, 6 inches. It makes a difference. It makes all the difference, except in your head.
My body issues have continued to haunt me my entire life. I am now a size 8 (give or take, women, you know it can go from 6 to 10). I am not overweight at all. I am also not in the best shape, but I do tend to get lots of movement from chasing a 3-year-old around.
I have been through (in the past 20 years) anorexia, bulimia and diet pills. None of that is in effect today. Yet, my weight is more stable than it ever has been. Why is that? Too tired to eat? I wonder.
Friends who have been closest to me in the past always seemed to wonder why I was insecure. That is why. Period. It made me susceptible to the wrong boys who said the right things. (See above.)
I think I've finally let it go. I'm 42, y'all. I am a professional women who does a pretty damn good job at her job. I am a wife and mother. I have much more important things to worry about than love handles or back fat.
Screw you, Warthog.
PS I know it's a funky photo, but Bizzy told me I was chicken! So, I had to do it. For now, however, it's there and will continue to be there until I have something better. (Do you know how many really bad photos I've taken of myself? Do You?)
PPS I actually do have an upper lip. Who knew?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
You've heard about this "second-place ribbon" thing, but really don’t ever plan on getting one. Not a chance. Highly competitive, you keep one eye on the Best in Show prize and one on the rest of the pack, making sure you're always at least one paw ahead. You love your family and enjoy the company you keep, but you'd trade all of them in a heartbeat for a corner office and some meaty stock options. When you're not licking your professional coat, naked skydiving and triathlons keep you entertained. You idolize the top dog and will do so until you sniff out a way to take over the company and do a little "restructuring."
Ange's blog this morning listed the astrological signs. Bizzy and I are both Virgos. Except for the shy and pessimistic labels, it's pretty much on the mark for me. Um, especially the beautiful part. hehe. The strange part -- it reads quite similar to the above. Geez.
VIRGO - The Perfectionist (Aug 23 - Sept 22) Dominant In relationships. Conservative. Always wants the last word. Argumentative. Worries. Very smart. Dislikes noise and chaos. Eager. Hardworking. Loyal. Beautiful. Easy to talk to. Hard to please. Harsh. Practical and very fussy. Often shy. Pessimistic.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to peruse a particular consignment shop for the first time. I left with the following:
1 pair boy's Carter's pants
1 pair boy's Faded Glory jeans
1 pair boy's OshKosh pants
1 pair boy's Carhartt jeans
1 boy's Ralph Lauren t-shirt
1 boy's Ralph Lauren polo shirt
1 Rafella women's tank (black and cream...quite lovely)
1 women's GAP t-shirt
1 women's Old Navy polo shirt
1 St. John's Bay polo shirt
1 pair women's Banana Republic capris
...(most expensive purchase -- a whopping $5)
1 baby blue earring/bracelet set
TOTAL: $19.67 (including tax)
I think I'll go back.
(Insert smug grin here.)
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
The Lake folks have started to become like family. Cowboy was never really happy here; we are river rats. Well, we've found our family away from home. Just go with me on this one.
Curt loves, loves, loves the water. I mean, he loves the bathtub, OK? The lake suits him.
This might be Cowboy and his buddy
"turning up" the golf cart so that it runs really, really fast. Boys love their toys.
Does my camper decoration seem a little phallic? You be the judge.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Curt has started speaking in 2-word sentences! Ok, he's not what I would call a chatterbox just yet, but we are making great strides. He returned to his former SLP last week for the summer. She was amazed by his progress in the last six months.
Cowboy is down to the final "step" in the process of re-hiring at his old company. He already has 10 years service toward retirement, so this could be a good thing....with benefits.
This additional anxiety medication the Doc prescribed is in my office desk drawer, unused. It had the opposite effect intended. I thought my heart would jump out of my chest. IT WAS VERY, VERY BAD!
My boss returned today from a two-week vacation. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.
As hard as it is sometimes to handle "Lake World" with the wild little man, pictures like these are a reminder of how much he loves it there and what great memories he’ll have someday.