tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18949143853412200172023-11-16T06:28:33.288-06:00Living With Laughter: Memoirs of a Family JourneyStaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-58071493755727981092013-08-12T17:39:00.001-05:002013-08-12T17:39:52.259-05:00Total Recall ... of medical mishaps<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">S</span></b>o, I was recalling some pretty whacky medical moments in my life after talking to a friend about something she's dealing with. As usual, I try to make someone feel better and laugh a bit by sharing a few of my own moments of "not so fun" mishaps, when suddenly I realize - I really do have some shit luck sometimes. LOL!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>W</b></span>hile, I certainly could NOT laugh at these back then, I can't help but crack up laughing now. The stuff I have endured... ugh... some people would totally think I was just randomly making it all up just for laughs. Truth is.... I'm not. LOL!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>S</b></span>o, I figure I'd share, because I know a lot of people who could use a laugh, and hey... if I can't laugh at myself, then I might as well just call it quits!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>S</b></span>o, in no particular order, here we go....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>F</b></span>irst up, mastitis and thrust - at the same time. Now, if you don't know what either one is, you might want to employ a trustworthy search engine at this time. Basically, it's two of many issues a breastfeeding Mom has to contend with from time to time. If you are or were a breastfeeding Momma and didn't have the joy of dealing with either of these, congratulations to you!! I wouldn't wish it on anyone but the worst human being in the world. LOL! I had this happen to me for the first time in my life when Autumn was an infant, and I was breastfeeding her. I had no idea, at that time, that I could even get thrush on my boobs, but apparently you can. So, to say the least, I was fairly miserable having itchy nipples that hurt to touch. It took about a week for both to completely heal up. During that week, I debated on chopping off my own breasts for relief. Thank goodness I didn't go through with it though, because I've grown rather fond of my ladies over time. :D</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>T</b></span>hen there was the time I got pink eye in not one eye, but both eyes. Yep.... both eyes. I'm highly susceptible to conjunctivitis, and back when my ex and I were married, he caught it after having allergy issues from cleaning out his grandmother's dusty old attic. Getting pink eye in both eyes is bad enough, because it means you can't see....at all. But I went two steps beyond to complete and total misery. I was 7 months pregnant with my first child AND I was dealing with my first ever hemorrhoid. *They didn't teach me this stuff in sex education class when I was a kid!!* So, I was big and pregnant, blind, and my butt hurt. Yeah.... not a fun time at all. To make it worse? My doctor prescribed me a bacitracin eye drop. Apparently, I'm allergic to mycin based drugs. So what did my eyes do? They started hemorrhaging. Imagine the horror of the ER staff that saw a blind, very pregnant, woman walking in with bleeding eyes? Fortunately, they were able to stop the damage fast enough and after a thorough examination with an opthamologist, it was determined that I did not suffer enough damage to need new corneas. *SHEW* That was a close call!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A</b></span>fter I gave birth to my first son, life seemed to somewhat return to normal for me. Of course, that was after I endured a student doctor who had never birthed a child before, and was overseeing me, cut my whoo-haa to help me give birth.... but he forgot to numb me first, and I still ripped my cervix and walked funny for three weeks after. (Don't worry ladies.... I "accidentally" kicked him in the head when he cut me as a reaction to the pain - he saw stars as a result!) But then I got to go on another health adventure! I did the most American (woman) thing ever, and I shaved my armpits. No big deal, right? After I shaved, I put on deodorant. Again, no big deal! Oh,except that the deodorant blocked my sweat glands, causing them to become infected, and requiring me to get each one lanced and drained. Do you know how many sweat glands there are under the armpit? Me neither... but apparently, it' way more than ONE.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>S</b></span>o, off to the doctor I go, which required a visit to the hospital to complete the process. I ended up being given pain medication to cope with the intense pain I'd feed later. Ah... the wonderful Vicodin pill. My first encounter with it was not pretty. I already knew, from my laboring experience with my first child, that pain medications made me loopier than most normal people. I'm super sensitive to medications, and usually need nearly a child's dosage to be OK. Demerol made me turn green and throw up my toes. So that stuff is on my evil list. They gave me a Vicodin pill, and within 20 minutes, I was walking down the hallway of the hospital, hospital gown flapping open in the back, and wandering around totally lost. I was eventually found in the parking lot, apparently trying to make my way home. Of course, once the meds wore off, I was stuck for about a week being totally unable to put my arms down due to massive pain. So yeah... I was like one of those referees who was showing the other team made a goal. LOL!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>F</b></span>ast forward to a time when I was going through postpartum depression. What a wonderful part of motherhood. The thrashing of hormones that wreck havoc in your body and throw you into pits of despair and gloom, then make you cry over the dumbest things. The doctor I went to, to find out if I was loony or what, decided to try me out on a new drug (new back then). I can't remember the name of the stuff now, but I bet if I heard it's name again in the future, my brain would do an emergency roll-a-dex referral and scream at me "F*** NO! STAY AWAY FROM THAT ONE!!!". Anyway, so I took this pill that my doctor advised me to take, and I laid down to take a nap, hopeful that I would feel like the happy me again. Instead, I was awoken to a feeling like someone punched me in the face, and then I was smiling. No.... not because I was happy, but because my face was having muscle spasms and I was being forced into a smile. Of course, at the time, I was living with my Mom, as we were getting the place we were going to move into ready. My Mom was on the phone at the time, and I said, "Something is wrong." She thought I was kidding, of course, because I had a stupid grin on my face. But then she saw tears and realized I was stuck looking like I was imitating the Joker from Batman! It was a horrifying humor! LOL! And while it was only an annoyance at the time, it did hurt somewhat because my muscles were straining so hard. But then it got scary when the muscles in my throat started to react too, and it was closing off my airway. Fortunately, by this time, the ambulance was already on the way. They got to me just in time for my airway to totally constrict. They got me on a vent, started me on saline, and when I got to the hospital, they gave me my very first shot of Valium. After a while, my muscles relaxed and things went back to normal, except that I was a loopy idiot again from pain meds. Once more, I was getting up out of my bed, dragging my IV machine behind me, with my butt flapping in the wind out of the back of my nightgown, and I was waving at the kind nurses, saying, "Thank you!! I love you!! I'm going home now!!" LOL!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>N</b></span>eedless to say, those pills found the trash can rather quickly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>G</b></span>oing back to my 2009 entries, you can read how much fun I had in Chapter 3. After the whole birth of my daughter, come the healing process. I was in the hospital for five days, totally unable to feel my legs because of the mega doses of numbing medication I received. Something they don't really explain to you before surgeries, is that when you are put under, your entire digestive system goes to sleep too. When you wake up, your system wakes up too, which means lots and lots of uncomfortable gas! So, to help me cope with the discomfort, the nurse flipped me over onto my abdomen with pillows tucked under my belly, pushing my bottom up into the air to help... *ahem* ... things move along. :) Problem is that I was in a Catholic hospital. In Catholic hospitals, they have nuns...who like to go around blessing new Mommies and babies. So there I was in this compromising position, with one of those blasted hospital gowns, that open at the back (what is it with me and these gowns?) and I hear a knock at the door. I yell, "Hold on!" as I quickly try to cover myself up (easier said than done), when this little nun walks in and is greeted by my butt sticking up in the air. LOL! Of course, she quickly turns her head, and says, "Oh my! I am so sorry! I will come back later!". I assume she thought I said, "COME IN!" instead of "HOLD ON!" and that's why she come in. Well, regardless, she never did come back and bless me. LOL!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A</b></span>nd then there was that time that I was suffering through my second pregnancy in a very hot summer with no air conditioning, which meant the unpleasant excessive sweating and chafing. I was so uncomfortable, that I decided I was desperate for relief, and went on a search for pain numbing medication. That's when I found Oragel, and thought it would be a great idea to apply it to the raw area of my booty crack. :) Let's just say, this would not end up being the first time that my husband witnessed me running through the house yelling about my ass being ON FIRE, without bottoms on, and feverishly looking for a fan to hover over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>T</b></span>he second time I was sent frantically looking for a fan to hover over was when I experienced my very first, lovely, yeast infection. God of Love... I would never wish that on even my enemy! It was horrible! I bought the well known brand of itchy cootchy medication, and applied it as instructed, only to be sent running, bare bottomed, throughout my home screaming that my lady parts were on fire! Never again.... never never....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I</b></span> have many more medical mishaps to share, but for now, I will break here to give your stomach a break from all the laughing. :)</span>StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-24136529225992426492013-02-22T23:03:00.004-06:002013-10-05T16:04:40.337-05:00Whew! That was a close call!!<span style="background-color: ; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">Well, my "no car wreck" streak was broken tonight after a little old man pulled right out in front of me while I was doing down Broad Street doing about 45, on my way back home from picking up Autumn from dance class. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;" />
<span style="background-color: ; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">He was crossing at a intersection break and I saw him on the left getting ready to pull out. I was the only car in two lanes, and I was in the right lane. I knew right away that he was going to go past the left lane and into the right lane because most people do. So I had two choices, I could swerve to the left and risk slamming into the back left end of his giant SUV, or I could chance it and drive up onto the sidewalk for a while and maybe avoid him. Defensive driving skills kicked in. I drove up onto the sidewalk, and I skimmed right by him, just barely grazing him (we exchanged minor amounts of paint and he closed my side mirror LOL). As this was happening, I was point at him and yelling something (which I am not proud of) at him. I was soooo peeved. I really wasn't sure what kind of damage I had. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;" />
<span style="background-color: ; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">I hopped out of the car, immediately checked to make sure the kids were OK, then did a walk around and was stunned to see absolutely no damage at all. *HIGH FIVE TO ME!!!* The poor guy was so shaken up. First he thought he wrecked into a cop. I calmed him down on that. Then he realized I had children in the car with me, and he got upset again. Again, I calmed him down, and then apologized for yelling at him (which I now realize he had no idea I was even yelling at him because he was in his car, and I was in mine... Thank God!! LOL! I would have felt even 100 times worse for cursing at him if he'd have heard me!). He was so so upset and apologetic. He said, "I didn't even see you until we hit. I am so sorry! You did an amazing job at defensive driving young lady! You saved both of us and our cars! I mean, really good decision there!" I said, "Thanks. I've had enough wrecks by now that I can actually see what's going to happen now and find the best route to cause the least amount of damage." LOL! He calmed down once I chatted with him a few moments to reassure him I was OK, the kids were fine, and my car was alright. I do need an alignment as it knocked it out of alignment pretty good. And since I needed new tie rod ends anyway, we just bought the parts and tomorrow James will replace those parts and then go get it aligned. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: ; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;" />
<span style="background-color: ; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">Whew... that was a freakin' close call. Oh, and to make it even weirder and more lucky... The last wreck I had was over ten years ago, and it was on my dad's birthday. Today is my Mom's birthday. LOL! And I wrecked right in front of a church, and I stopped just short of a big bell that was on top of the church sign, encased in brick. I was about 20 feet from hitting it. I managed to hit no poles, no people, no mailboxes, and no signs, and all the while, I had only two tires on the street and the other two on the sidewalk. :-O I, literally, was playing bumper cars with the guy. Later I felt even worse for him when he said, with a sigh, "I guess my wife is right. I guess I'm getting to old to drive anymore." Oh... man, talk about making me feel even worse for having yelled at him (even if he couldn't hear me). :( But at least, in the end, we were all OK and got to drive home to tell the tale. In the midst of all of it, Nate braced for impact and Autumn actually took off her seat belt and slid to the opposite side of the car to avoid being crushed by the car hitting because it looked like it was going to hit on her side. I fussed at her for taking off the seat belt at first, but looking at it from her point of view, I can understand what she was thinking now. She was just thinking fast and trying to stay alive. LOL! Everything in the backseat was in her lap on the right side of the car by the time I come to a stop. LOL</span><br />
<br style="background-color: ; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;" />
<span style="background-color: ; color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">Later, when we got home, Autumn broke out into tears because she accidentally dropped and broke the soap stone jewelry box I gave to her. So I had to take a time out to comfort her and tell her we could glue it back together with E6000 glue. Then she tripped and fell off the end of my bed when she went to get up to get a snack. Poor girl is having a rough day. :( So she's cuddled in my bed and eating kitkats now. Nate actually apologized to me for cursing because when we were about to hit, I heard him exclaim "Holy sh**!!!" LOL! It scared him, I think. Both kids said I was drivin' like a race car driver when I was avoiding the wreck. Haha... so yeah... that was my evening so far!!!</span>StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-38016381186656336402012-12-19T21:09:00.000-06:002012-12-19T21:09:01.267-06:00Deadly Spaghetti<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnVKaXbAKpClQf38NU3-WqMXs-5oXTRcUGVh-2Kn6YfMCCBeB4VF3fcPq15b7lwr4O8sKlzlJEPsmXW5XWlR3dNVsmw5EX7Hv8tN_35cNRQQKKhCJkyyb6XHXm96CaZzCBlIGqh-O01yf/s1600/flying-spaghetti-monster.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnVKaXbAKpClQf38NU3-WqMXs-5oXTRcUGVh-2Kn6YfMCCBeB4VF3fcPq15b7lwr4O8sKlzlJEPsmXW5XWlR3dNVsmw5EX7Hv8tN_35cNRQQKKhCJkyyb6XHXm96CaZzCBlIGqh-O01yf/s1600/flying-spaghetti-monster.gif" /></a></div>
Earlier today, I got hungry. So I decided I would have some cottage cheese, lettuce, and pears. I knew I had some canned pears somewhere in the pantry, but had to do a little digging. As most know, we live in an RV. That means little bits of space crammed full with lots of stuff. The pantry opens two ways. One side opens through the kitchen, and the opposite side opens from the living area (right over our bed). Fortunately, nothing falls out, unless I open the door and things have been stacked wonky. Yes, this happens, because I have children.<br /><br />Going back to last week.... we had a Christmas party for an organization I...well...organize. At this party, we had spaghetti. It was the most delicious spaghetti I'd had in a very long time. The host of the party gave me a container of the spaghetti sauce she had prepared along with a full bag of uncooked spaghetti noodles. I brought them home, and the next day (for lunch) I had spaghetti. I opened the package, left it on the counter after cooking some, and figured that someone else would probably want some too since my family kept asking what I was eating and what smelled so good.<br /><br />What I didn't know is that my son decided that just putting the opened package of noodles on top of the stacks of cans would be A-OK. Well, it wasn't.<br /><br />Back to the story.... I open the pantry side that is over our bed and my husband already knows to take cover because sometimes cans will fall down. What we didn't expect was the package of spaghetti noodles to be tilted back towards the opening of the door and get hit with a barrage of spaghetti noodles.<br /><br />I was helpless as the nearly full bag of noodle spilled continuously onto my husband's head, stabbing him with it's pointy little pasta straws in the back of the head, shoulders, and even some going down his back and into his butt-crack.<br /><br />Of course, I erupt into complaints and gripes over the ignorance and lazy effort of putting up an opened package of noodles and just laying them on top of cans without consideration to them spilling everywhere. Once I was done complaining, I realized I hadn't asked my poor husband if he was injured or not.<br /><br />"Honey? Are you alright?"<br /><br />"Yeah. I'm fine. Just got some spaghetti stuck in my beard and butt crack. That's all."<br /><br />I couldn't help it. I broke up laughing and had tears rolling down my face.<br /><br />"Can you imagine the ER trip for that one? 'Sir, how did you lose an eye again?' ... 'I was attacked by spaghetti noodles. It was a trap. My wife went for pears and the noodles were launched.' .... (Nurse) 'We need a room on the psych ward prepared. We've got a real loon on our hands here!'"<br /><br />Needless to say, the noodles have been safely packed away, but we're still finding noodle pieces in the bed here and there. *sigh*StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-21882058400658816522012-12-08T18:34:00.000-06:002012-12-08T18:34:34.070-06:00Killer Tomatoes! AHHHH!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheQD51Q22DTLW3UC2if9PS5LQvYumKdAjfpO-xrC-YrgizYCvSdj7X4hciAMCUg4V0thmue98ssCnfHUazOU2KXfvBllUnt5FXAdpldq2qIqhu_NiNs_tkWSuj0jGLIXIS4i_vT7hDyCA/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjheQD51Q22DTLW3UC2if9PS5LQvYumKdAjfpO-xrC-YrgizYCvSdj7X4hciAMCUg4V0thmue98ssCnfHUazOU2KXfvBllUnt5FXAdpldq2qIqhu_NiNs_tkWSuj0jGLIXIS4i_vT7hDyCA/s1600/5.jpg" /></a></div>
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I didn't think I scared easy, but I guess as I've gotten older, I do! Earlier today, my sweet neighbor, Madonna (not the pop star) sent a bucket of tomatoes over to me. She grows them organically but so many of them grow that she can't eat them all herself. So I will boil them, mash them, put them in a stew (hah... did ya catch the Lord of the Rings reference there?) and happily eat them. Moving along... today the husband had to work a half day. After work, he agreed to go help his best friend to work on his car. I had planned to go to a meeting of some friends, but the car was important, and his friend has been there for us several times in the past. So I agreed to skip this meeting so my husband could go help him out. He was gone for the majority of the day, but we checked in with one another a couple of times to say hi and I love you. We're sappy like that. Well, as my son is holding the bucket for me to look at, I pick up one odd looking tomato that has a gaping hole in the side. As I turn to look it over, my phone rings.</div>
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Now, I have a certain ring tone for frequent callers. My husband's ringtone is Kate Miller-Heidke's "Politics in Space" because the men sing a short line in there that says, "pretty much" and it's a phrase my husband says frequently. So the song makes me giggle when I hear it and think of it. Naturally, it deserved to become a ringtone. However, when the phone first rings, it's a guitar strumming noise accompanied with a clap of the tamborine and a drum, So it *can* startle you if you're not prepared. So you can imagine that when I went to examine the freaky looking tomato a little better, and my phone (which was sitting *right next to my hand*) went off, I screamed, threw the tomato and immediately my son broke out into hysterical fits of laughter. Then he proceeded to hold the tomato and give it a voice while making it "walk" across my bed... saying, "Arrgg... I'm going to EAT you!" </div>
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Meanie... It's not nice to make fun of Mom. LOL!</div>
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<br />StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-48578389350704904022012-12-07T23:30:00.000-06:002012-12-07T23:58:47.938-06:00I was abducted by reality!<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">W</span></b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">ell, I had all but forgotten about this blog when I finally realized that I honestly have far too much to talk about, so much in fact that Facebook can't handle me, and my friends keep missing out of the good stuff. So here I am again, but this time... the stories will be more recent, with a splash of the funny things I recall and experienced over time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">W</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">ithout further ado.... a few bits that happened between yesterday and today.<br /><br />__________________________________________________________________<br /><br />I don't like to cook, and I don't hate to cook either. It is a mood thing, entirely. If the mood strikes, I will be up at 3am baking or cooking something that takes me 4 or 5 hours to make - just because I'm weird like that. Other times, I decide I'm tired of what we've been eating for dinner for the past two months and it's time for the menu to get a little flare. (Literally sometimes...)<br /><br />Last night we had hamburgers. We like sweet potatoes, and so I thought, hmm.. I need to make sweet potato fries. So I looked up recipes and found one that did pretty good with simple directions. (By the way... I figured out that there is zero difference between a sweet potato and a yam... except one is how the Northerners say it, and one is how the Southerners say it - Americans that is.) So, I proceed to chop my taters up into quarter inch lengths and then placed them into ice cold water for 15 minutes. I heated up my oil, and while I normally bake everything, I decided this time I'd try fried. Big mistake....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The first spoon full of taters I pulled from the water (and drained/dabbed with a paper towel) were apparently TOO cold. The second they hit the oil, the oil sprung to life in a violent rolling, bubbling mess. I cook on open flame. You can kind of figure what happened next. But I'll describe it anyway.....<br /><br />*I jump back... *<br /><br />"OHHHH!!! CRAP!!! FIRE!!! FIRE!! HONEY... THE STOVE IS ON FIRE!! GET THE EXTINGUISHER!!"<br /><br />*Picks up pot holder and beats the stove like if I wave something around at the fire, it'll get scared and go away.*</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">*Husband scrambles around the corner. By this time the fire went out*<br /><br />"Flipping crackers on a stick!!! That was crazy! I almost burned my eyebrows off. I think my arm hairs are...." *sniffs arm* "yep... I singed my arm hairs.. gah.. that stinks!"<br /><br />*House fills with smoke*<br /><br />Hubby: "Does this mean dinner is done now?"<br /><br />Me: *Gives evil eye*<br /><br />So... yeah.. I won't be making sweet potato fries like THAT anymore. LOL! However, I did finish the batch and everyone loved them. Oh, and no damage was done from the small stove fire, so that was even better.<br /><br />While my cooking adventure, today, went well - it was while I was cooking that I overheard my 13 yr old son, Nathaniel, chatting with a friend over voice chat in a game he was playing. It went like this...<br /><br />Nate: "Ok, is 7pm tomorrow good for you? We'll make the run through there then, if you want."<br /><br />Friend: "Yeah man.. sounds good. OK, I've gotta go. I gotta go kick an elf. See ya."<br /><br />Nate: "OK man..." *moment of silence...* "Wait... what? What did you say? Hey? You still there?"<br /><br />Meanwhile I am still listening and at that moment I poked my head around the corner..<br /><br />"Did he say he was going to kick an elf?"<br /><br />Nate: "I don't think he really said that, but it sounded like it. I wonder what the elf did to deserve getting kicked for?"<br /><br />LOL!! We'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what his friend really said, I suppose. In the mean time, let's hope no elves were harmed. LOL!<br /><br />Until next time.....</span>StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-62566189827917411272009-09-15T08:20:00.003-05:002012-12-07T23:56:45.529-06:00Chapter Three: Labor & Delivery<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he setting:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> It's a Tuesday in October, and I'm now 3 days past my due date, feeling huge and uncomfortable. I was sleeping somewhat peacefully until a sharp pain took over my body and drove me into sudden consciousness. I sat straight up in bed, grabbed my enormously round belly and simultaneously let out a yelp and while somehow</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: georgia;"> managing to suck in a full breath of air to hold through the wave of pain. I grabbed my husband's arm and gently shook him to consciousness.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he dialogue:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (Panting and heaving in the most unattractive way) “Oh boy! It's time! My labor has started and it hurts.” (Grasping the sheets for the next wave to hit me).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: (Slowly coming to life and realizing what's going on.) “Ok, let's get you dressed and we'll go in. Just try to take in deep breaths and slowly breath out.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> We're both, by now, out of bed and I've hobbled to the restroom to “check things out”...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (From the bat hroom...) “Oww...WOW...OWWOWOWWW! God! That hurt!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “Are you OK in there? Do you need me to come in and help you?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (By now, I've gone potty and noticed a lot of really unpleasant looking brown stuff that resembled brown jelly on the toilet paper.) “Oh boy, this doesn't look good. I've never seen this stuff before. What is this? I need to go in. I need pants. Get my pants!” (I'm now panting even harder and waddling like I've inserted a tampon in the wrong place)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “I've got your pants. Do you need help getting them on?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “No. I can do it, I think.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> I proceed to take the pants from him and wedge myself into a stance kind of position against the wall. I lifted one leg shortly after my last contraction had ended, and quickly squirmed into them. As I began to lift the other leg, the next contraction hit me and I froze in place while the pain gripped me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “I'm going to have this kid here if I don't get these pants on! I do not want the fire department coming in to find me positioned against the wall with my pants half on and a baby hanging out of me! I need help!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “OK .. babe. Hold onto me.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> After some heaving and groaning, I finally get my pants on and we're out the door and in the car. He's always so level headed and keeps his cool. I swear, the end of the world could be taking place and he'd be just as calm about it as ever. The hospital is about 40 minutes away, and he's doing just slightly over the speed limit by this time, while I am reclined in the passenger seat with my right leg hanging out the window and the left leg sprawled up on the dash. Hey, you do what you have to! Folks we are passing by aren't sure if they are witnessing a porno scene taking place besides them, or what. But we definitely were getting some interesting looks from our fellow travelers. Eventually we are within minutes of the hospital and I can see it off in the distance. I spot a McDonalds even closer by and the wisdom of my mother popped into my head. “Stephanie, it's important to eat. Forget what the doctors tell you. You need to eat to keep your strength for the labor and birth. So remember to eat something BEFORE you go in!” Ah, yes. She was right. I had never felt more hungry in my life than right after the moment I gave birth to my first son, Justin. I recall briefly kissing him and greeting him into the world, and then something about ham on rye to the passing nurse. As this thought processed through my mind, my mouth seemed to simultaneously uttered a breathless “Food!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Food.....McDonald's....stop there. I need to eat. Anything....I don't care.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “Are you sure? You're hungry? Now!?” (Looking at me as though I've lost my mind.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Yes! I won't get to eat again for a day or two. I need something now! Get me something, please!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> My husband parks the car in the parking lot, and I'm still reclined with my right leg hanging out of the window, my huge belly working up and down as I pant like a dog, and my left leg still propped up on the dashboard of my car. By this time, I'm not even paying attention to who's staring at me and wondering what the heck I'm doing. Meanwhile, my wonderful husband is inside McDonald's testing out the theory of “fast food”. Surprisingly, when you mention something about your wife being in the parking lot in full labor, and you need a McBurger STAT – they really do become a fast food establishment. Within minutes my husband was back in the car with a breakfast sandwich and hash brown. I managed to eat every last bite and from then we continued onto the hospital.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “Do you want me to drop you at the ER entrance? I have to park the car, but I can drop you there so they can get you started and I will be in shortly.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “NO! Stay with me. I need to walk anyways. This hurts so bad and I need to walk.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> So we circle the parking garage and find a nice, convenient parking spot. By this time, I am no longer patient, and ready to hurl myself out of the car door to begin jogging small circles while he parks. But, I manage to stay within the confines of the moving vehicle until it come to a full stop, and then repositioned myself enough to stand up out of the car and while my husband was getting my bag from the trunk. The moment I stood up, contractions really got down to business, and I leaned against the car just breathing through the waves, imagining I was trying to blow a candle out that was 20 feet away. I'm sure I looked more like I was trying to blow a building down though and a few veins in my neck were bulging as well making me look like I was about to either have an alien burst out of me at any moment, or The Hulk was really a woman in a bad disguise. Either way, it wasn't a pretty scene.<br />
<br />
As we began our walk to the labor ward through the parking garage, I would walk five steps, stop, grab a pole, try to fold it in half with my super human (imaginary) strength or reach for my unsuspecting husband's hand, depending on whichever I felt like taking my pain out on. Then I'd begin waddling my pregnant self again to the entrance way with a few huffs and puffs in between steps. It seemed like about 20 minutes of this pattern before I finally approached the entry of the building. By this time I knew I had to be at least dialated to a 7 or close to it. I remember the information desk lady saying something to me, but I ignored her as my sights set in on the elevator that promptly took me to the Labor & Delivery flood. I was already registered there and ready to go, so I was in no mood to grunt my intentions to her. So I headed up the elevator to labor and delivery. Upon arrival to the nurses desk, I was met with speculation.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: -Pant- -Pant- “I'm in labor. This baby is coming. OooOoOOHHH!!!!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: (Nasal sort of speech) “Hmm, ok, well have a seat in this wheelchair and we'll take you to the examination room in a moment.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (Nearing a growl) “No...you don't understand. It hurts! This baby is coming! OOOOOHHHHHAaaaaarrrrggghhh”</span> ("ye' matey" might have been appropriate to add in, but I wasn't feelin' it at that moment,)<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “Ok, I understand. Let's go back there now and get you in a gown. The doctor will come check your progress.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> The nurse wheels me into the room where I am directed to the bathroom to change out of my clothing and into a paper dress. It almost defeats the purpose of covering up, it's so thin. But I didn't really care at the time, and so I was off to hop and waddle uncomfortably out of my clothing. If she only knew what a feat it was for me to simply get my pants on, and now she wants me to put on a gown? This was a job for my husband, again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (Whining) “Honeeeeyyyy, I need help. I can't get my pants off again.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “Ok baby.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> It takes us about five minutes to get me out of my clothing and into the gown, where I was soon resting UNcomfortably in the bed. The first nurse walks in now and brings a bag for my clothing to go into. She decides to be helpful and goes over to pick up my clothing. Her body freezes for a moment while inspecting my undergarments.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “Did you just take off this panties? Are these yours?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Yeah. They sure aren't my husband's!” (Wondering why she'd ask if they were mine, as if some other woman wondered into my room and just stripped off her panties and threw them onto my stuff?)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “Oh goodness. You're not going anywhere today. I'm going to prep you a room immediately and get a doctor in here. I will be right back.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Wait...what? Hey!” (Watching the nurse hurry out of the room, and quickly my glance shifts to my husband. Perhaps that brown jelly stuff WAS actually important! I just thought maybe the baby sneezed or something. So much strange stuff comes from that end during the last part of a pregnancy, you almost just stop trying to figure out what "that" was!)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> Within moments an entire nursing staff and a doctor were in my room to check me out. Soon the fetal monitor was around my belly, and I was able to hear that wonderful little tempo that indicated life inside my body, thriving and wiggling to get out into the world. As the buzzing of staff around me took place, my husband was calmly seated beside me, stroking my hair and keeping me focused on a happy and healthy delivery. I admit, I was more than a little nervous by this time. Something about meconium was mentioned to me and my baby being in distress and it was announced that I had arrived to the hospital dilated to a full 7cm. Supposedly, it wouldn't be long now.<br />
<br />
Eventually I was whisked away into my labor room, where for the next several hours, I labored and awaited the arrival of my beautiful little girl. I finally hit a full 10cm around 9pm at night and began my pushing. An hour passed by, and my progress was small, and tiring. After talking the doctors into one more hour of pushing, having my husband sit behind me and press downwards on my abdomen while I bore down with all of my might - still, my stubborn child simply would not come out!<br />
<br />
After many hours of labor, I was finally at an end, realizing that she was just simply too stuck to arrive the way nature had intended. By this time, it was now 11:30 at night and the doctors were set in their minds that a cesarean section was imminent. I protested, but eventually had to come to terms with the fact that she was not going to budge, and she was in great distress by now. So in a blur of staff and white coats, I was prepped and rushed into the operating room for a cesarean section delivery. As all things in my life, this had become complicated and my body refused to cooperate with the combination of sedatives I was being given to numb me up for the procedure. The end resulted in me being put to sleep for her arrival.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he setting:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> My husband kissed me on the forehead and squeezed my hand in a reassuring way, and told me he'd be right outside. The staff wouldn't allow him to remain inside while I was under, as he was considered only moral support with his presence. The nurse above my head leaned inwards for me to better see her and began giving me instructions.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he dialogue:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “When I place this mask over your face, I want you to take ten deep, slow breaths. Ready?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> The mask is placed over my face, and I begin breathing deeply. Soon I am feeling a bit drowsy and giddy feeling, and then very heavy. The room begins to blur and spin, and the nurse sounds as if I were listening to a tape recorder playing on super slow motion. She even begins to become a double vision as I can feel my eyes crossing in attempt to focus on her. I briefly recall thinking to myself, "Wow, so this is what I missed out on by not doing drugs!" My husband is still holding my hand, speaking words of encouragement to me, and the mask is removed from my face.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “You will now feel my hands pressing on your throat.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: Somehow I still had the presence of mind to say... “Ok..wait..why would I feel..........”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> And that is the last thing I remember before waking up to the sound of a crying baby. As the white room slowly come back into focus, I turned my head to the left, instinctively towards the sound of my baby girl, who was obviously quite upset about the change in her environment. I'd never heard such a strong cry come from a newborn, and it sent a rush of emotions through my body. Before I had a chance to attempt to speak, a doctor come into slightly fuzzed view and smiled at me warmly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Doctor: “Congratulations, Mom! You have a <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> big, and healthy baby girl! She weighed a whopping nine pounds and thirteen ounces!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Oh my God! She was HOW big? The midwife told me she would be around seven and a half pounds! Wait! Did you said SHE? It's a girl? REALLY!?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> By this time, the shock of actually having a girl had set in and I was over come with joy and happy tears. Twice before, I had been told via ultrasound that my baby would be a girl. Both times, they were surprisingly born with a twig and two berries between their legs. Both times, the babies went home in something girlie, with their feminine name written in sharpie marker on the bottom of their diaper bag, which was also all girlie. Fortunately, for my two sons, I had boy names picked out as back ups.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> Before I had a chance to lay eyes on the little beauty, she was whisked away for her bath, and testing. The nurses carefully carried our cone-head shaped daughter, screaming her little lungs out, down the hallway past my husband. Once I had calmed down a bit, I faded back into a sleep. When I awoke, I was in a white room with curtains around me, and my husband was sitting to my left, holding a Styrofoam cup of ice chips in his hand, ready for me to consume. The first thing I did was whisper “water”, to which he lovingly placed a few chips of ice into my mouth. Slowly I become aware of my surroundings, and was soon after transferred to my private room.<br />
<br />
When I finally held my baby girl, the name "Alexandria" that had been previously decided on for her was immediately changed to "Autumn". It was a beautiful fall day outside, and her presence just made the day that more beautiful. It was only fitting then to name her after my favorite time of the year. The next several hours were spent mostly sleeping or breastfeeding my baby girl. During the entire time my husband was with us, he was snapping photos of our every moment in the first day of Mommy and baby. But sometimes mishaps take place even with the best intentions. My husband inadvertently caught a few pictures of my boob hanging out and neither of us caught it at print. So he had bragged about his new baby girl at work with photos of me holding our daughter with my boob hanging out from under my hospital gown. *sigh* I guess that'd explain why I got so much more money as "gifts" from his co-workers that time around!<br />
<br />
The day after delivery proved to be a<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> real treat</span> as far as experiences go.</span>StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-23417355238492584142009-09-15T08:16:00.008-05:002009-09-15T09:42:48.958-05:00Chapter Two: Pregnancy Mishaps<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">A</span>s most mother's know, pregnancy can bring some of the most uncomfortable feelings, ailments, and situations imaginable. For me, all of the above took place. The oddly shaped maternity clothing and the awkward OBGYN doctor appointments are always good for a laugh. When I hit my fifth month of pregnancy, I began to need the pregnancy undergarments and special maternity pants. There's a downside to those pregnancy underwear though. As the woman's belly grows bigger and rounder, <a name='more'></a>she eventually looses visual contact with her nether regions. Soon, the task of putting on her undergarments becomes less of a concern, and more of a one man circus act. Simply a sneeze, a cough, an unexpected kick to the bladder can all lead to frequent changing of undergarments, and after you've gone through four or five pair on a bad day, you simply do not care about if they're on backwards or not.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">I</span> had my appointment coming up that day, and as most women do out of habit, I decided to bath before going in, and being extra sure to wash down below deck, so that things were presentable to my inspector. After all, if he's going to be staring at it, I might as well be courteous enough to make sure there's no left over bits of toilet paper clinging to anything. So, I took my bath and proceeded to dress in my “Mommy clothes”.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he setting:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> Later that evening I arrive to my appointment and not long after my arrival, I am called back to give a urine sample. This is nothing out of the ordinary. So I head off to the restroom to do my thing, and successfully provide a sample. As I am attempting to reapply my undergarment to their proper positions, I realize something is not quiet right. I grab at my waistband and tug it outwards to see what the matter is and notice, the crotch portion of the undergarment is actually on my right waist.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he dialogue:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “What the..? How in the world was I able to fit these on sideways?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> I put the toilet seat down and sit down on it, then begin to sob. (Remember, us pregnant women are emotional!)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Oh my God! I'm so big now that my underwear can fit on me any direction and I don't even notice!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> I wiped my tears with a bit of toilet paper and then it hit me. The humor in it. Maternity underwear are so stretchy that no matter what direction you put them on, they fit! So why not just put a crotch pad area on all sides of the panties? It's not as if it matters anymore. And then I begin to laugh hysterically at myself.</span> I guess it could be worse right? I could have put my bra on backwards and it still felt like it fit fine.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Great. Not only do I have pants that have a pouch in the front for my gut, but now my panties don't even feel weird when I have them on sideways. Welcome to Motherhood!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> By this time, I am crying from laughing at the whole thought process that has gone through my head and there's a knock at the door.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “Are you ok in there? Do you need some assistance?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (Still laughing uncontrollably) “No.. No.. I'm ok.... I just realized that I've been wearing my preggo panties on sideways all day and feel a little stupid about it. But now I'm just … ..I'll be ok.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: (Now laughing on the other side of the door) “Ok.. I'll be waiting out here when you're ready.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> I get my undergarments on the proper way, as if it makes a difference, and proceed to wash my hands and return to the scene of hysterical laughter on the other side of the door. The two nurses are standing there just laughing, and I'm laughing with them. Soon, we're all wiping tears from our eye over something so completely stupid, but somehow it just consumed us with laughter.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> Eventually we calm down, and I get myself undressed and into the gown. My doctor is a very kind older man, who works with his wife and his daughter as his nurses. It's a family run practice and I honestly had never felt more at ease than I was while under these wonderful people's care. His daughter was one of my favorites to encounter, as she had a quirky sense of humor like me. So when she come in to do the initial check up, I thought to go ahead and ask my questions now about some things I was curious about.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “So I have some questions, when you have time. It's just a couple of things I was thinking about with this pregnancy.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “OK, shoot!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Well, when I go into this new hospital, do they have the policy that I have to be given an enema before delivery? I'd really rather not have to go through that.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “Oh, no. Very few hospitals really even do that anymore. We definitely don't. So no worries there.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Oh good. OK. Hmmm, I forgot my other question. Shoot.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “No problem. You'll remember it. I'll be right back. I need to get the gloves from the other room real quick.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “OK, I'll try to see if I can remember what I wanted to ask then while you're gone.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> She leaves the room and I sit in the quiet room thinking through my brain about that nagging question that I had and then lost in the clutter of my mind. Suddenly, the question hits me. I'm now armed and ready! The nurse comes back in.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “I remembered what I wanted to ask you now! Do you shave down there?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> She stops in her tracks and turns towards me, then smiles.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “Well, I do trim, but really I like to keep a little lawn down there for looks”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> I instantly blush and nearly choke on my own spit while trying to quickly state I didn't me HER personally!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “That's not at all... uh.. I meant.. me! Not you! Oh my God...”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> She starts laughing at my reaction, and pats me on the arm to reassure me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Nurse: “I knew what you meant. It was just too easy!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> We both cracked up laughing and for the rest of the appointment, I had chuckles bursting out of me just rethinking the experiences. I learned a few things that day. Number one, pregnancy panties aren't picky about how they are worn. Number two, always be sure to insert “me” into a question when inquiring if someone will do something to you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> The fun didn't end there though. Around seven months into my pregnancy, I developed a bit of a heat rash. It was summer after all, in Texas, and we did not have central air, but instead just a window unit at that time. So it would get rather warm in the middle of the night. Warm bodies have one way of cooling off. So naturally, I began to sweat all over, including places I had never really put much thought into sweating. I awoke in the middle of the night very uncomfortable and with the crack of my rear end feeling like someone had lit a match and stuffed it between my buttocks! I was in dire need of relief of the pain. As if having a small person playing soccer with my bladder wasn't uncomfortable enough, now my rear end was on fire. So I waddled over to my medicine cabinet and began rooting around for a cure.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he setting:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;"> I'm in the bathroom, the lights turned on with the door closed to prevent my husband from being woken up. He's got to work in the morning, and I try not to wake him if I absolutely don't have to. I spot some oral numbing gel and a little light bulb goes off in my head. “If that numbs the cuts in your mouth, then it should work perfectly to spread a little on the area that hurts and numb it right up enough for me to go back to sleep!” Brilliant! I eagerly grab the oral gel and squirt a generous amount onto my finger. I drop my trousers and assume the position (which is not easy to do with a large seven month pregnancy belly before you). Reaching around me carefully, I spread a small amount on the affected area. I pause for a moment to prepare for a slight stinging sensation, and feel it beginning to do just as I had expected. What happened next was beyond my expectations, and entirely ridiculous. The slight stinging progressively turned into a more intense burn, and then a downright agonizing, searing pain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Ow... Ow.. OW! Crap!!! OH MY GOD!!! OW OW OW WOWOWWWW! &@%^ that burns!”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;"> I frantically grab a wad of toilet paper and begin futilely wiping at the region I applied the gel to. It only serves to aggravate it more and cause me to hop around in a half bent over position while hold my right buttocks with one hand and waving at the area with the other to produce wind, as if it might cool things off a bit back there. By this time, I realize my hand waving around is simply not producing enough wind to alleviate the condition. So I turn and open the bathroom door to try and and straddle walk my way to the fan in the bedroom. I get tangled up in my pants that are around my ankles and somehow manage to kick them off of my feet. So at this point, I am now bare bottomed and hobbling through my house, repeating “Ow ow ow” in a whispered tone while searching for the fan in the dark bedroom. I turn the fan on, and aim it at the right height, and bend over in front of the fan, so that it can quickly cool my rear end. It works! As I am bent over, holding my buttocks apart for maximized coverage of the cooling air, the light flips on in the room and my husband is looking at me with confusion on his face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he dialogue:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “What are you doing?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Cooling my but off. It's burning. Go back to sleep.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “Wha.....Uh...How did you burn your but?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “I didn't really burn it. It was heat rash and hurting me. So I figured that if I put numbing oral gel on the raw area, it'd numb it up enough to not hurt anymore and I could go back to sleep. But instead it just started burning worse and now I'm trying to cool it off with the fan.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “You put what on your but? Oh baby...” (His head is now hanging down and he's smiling to himself and trying to not laugh).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: “Quit laughing at me! It's not funny!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: “You're standing bare butt spread in front of the fan because you put numbing gel on your but crack and it's burning now. Yeah....it's funny.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (Smirks and lets a chuckle out) “Ok, you have a point.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">And we both laughed, while I winced in pain and waited for the burning sensation to subside. For the record though, eventually, it did numb up. So, I was right, but it come at a price.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">With all the fun of pregnancy...It wasn't long before the big day was upon us.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span>StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-57332010471400616432009-09-15T07:48:00.003-05:002009-09-15T09:42:35.948-05:00Chapter One: The Journey Begins<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he beginning of my family's journey began with my wedding day. February 29th, 2000 was the day of our first encounter with humor at the wrong moment as a family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">he Setting:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">It was a cool Tuesday afternoon. I was nervously buttoning up my floral dress, and my soon-to-be husband was coming home from work. My soon-to-be <a name='more'></a>mother in law was holding our infant son in her lap, while I frantically dressed and put on my make-up. He arrived home, and we all headed off to the local courthouse to finally elope. We arrived at the court house, both of us slightly nervous and excited. The judge came in, and as we gathered ourselves to become serious for the moment and totally dedicated to each other, I smiled to myself while thinking quietly, "Wouldn't this just be the moment I feel like breaking into a hysterical laughter? Come on Steph! You can keep a straight face through this. Don't laugh!" As I listened to a blur of serious, dedicated sounding words pass from the judge's lips to my husband, and my husband began to speak, I shifted my focus to his beautiful eyes. I then felt a sense of calmness come over me, as I heard his sincerity pour from his mouth. Then it was my turn. The judge began speaking for me to repeat. Something in me took over. It happened....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he dialogue:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">Judge: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Repeat after me. I, Stephanie, take you to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: (Taking a deep breath, feeling my cheeks flush and my pulse begin to quicken) </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I, Stephanie, take you to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for richer... </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">What did I just let slip out of my mouth? Of course he knows I don't mean it. Money has never meant anything to me, but it was the fact that I just let it pop out and why? Because, I involuntarily attempted to alleviate the tension of the moment by tossing in something not so serious. By this time, my own fumble had turned into me smiling like a fool and breaking up into laughter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: (Looks at me, smiles, and then sighs). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">I cannot recall if I ever finished those vows or not, but I'm sure I was urged to by the judge. To this day, I cannot answer why I repeated the word “richer” for any other reason than to break the serious mood and bring that spark of laughter into my life that I have so depended on to lift me up. My husband didn't turn on heels and walk away at that moment, and it was then that I knew that he truly was ready to accept me for me, badly timed humorous outbursts and all. Not too many days had passed after our matrimonial event took place, that we had received our marriage certificate in the mail. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">he Setting:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">It was a warmer day than when we had married, by now being in early March. With my son on my hip, I walked out to the mailbox to do the routine check. I spotted the marriage certificate and eagerly walked back into my home, placing my son in his swing while I opened the letter to inspect. Seeing it on paper was just too surreal for me, considering how in love I was with this man, who was finally my husband. While I ogled the paper, I spotted something that caught me by surprise. It was the wedding date.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span>he dialogue:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">I pick up the phone and dial my husband's work. A few transfers and rings later, and I hear his wonderful voice on the other end.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hello, love.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hi honey! Our marriage certificate come in today, but I noticed something about the date of our marriage.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">What's that?</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Did you notice that we got married on leap day? Do you know what this means?</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">I don't have to remember our anniversary but once ever four years?</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">Silence takes over the phone line for a few moments...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">We'll be in our sixties before we celebrate our tenth official anniversary! I can see it now, we'll be old and gray by then. I'll probably be in a wheelchair, and you'll be pushing me down the shore of a beach trying to remember who I am and why you're pushing me around, as I smile about finally reaching ten official years of marriage with you! Isn't that just...wait, you're only going to remember every four years?</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">My husband: (Laughing by now at my realization to his reply.) </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">We'll, did you think I didn't have this all planned out? You know my memory. I have to have an advantage here."</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">Me: </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Oh...I see how it is. You tricked me into a leap day wedding so you could escape the annual duties! Clever!</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> (Laughing now at his playful deviousness..)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">From here the conversation trailed off and I continued about my day, thinking about all the possibilities a leap day anniversary could bring for each turn. If anything, it entitles us to just let it all hang out, metaphorically speaking that is) and just have more fun than we would on a regular annual anniversary. The more I thought about it, the more I felt as though it perfectly fit into my whimsical life of strange accidents that just seemed to work to my advantage. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: georgia;">As time passed on, eventually another bundle of joy popped into our lives. As you have probably already gathered, the cart did come before the horse as we had our son, Nathaniel, before we had a chance to be married. Now, I was expecting my daughter, Autumn. In between all of that time, there had been much change, drama, and </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">“</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">life</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">”</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> that took place, and I was just eagerly awaiting the arrival of this precious baby to further complete my unusual little family.</span>StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1894914385341220017.post-74985412345379302342009-09-15T07:31:00.004-05:002009-09-15T09:41:56.126-05:00Introduction to the Journey<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">M</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">y life, like most other's of this world, has been a wild, upside-down, mess of emotional roller coasters. Ranging from joy to fear to anger to love. Toss in mistakes, and you will have a small part of who I am as well as many people of this wonderfully complicated planet. Many times I've felt like a toddler learning to walk and tripping over everything including <a name='more'></a></span><b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"></span></b><span style="font-family: georgia;">the thin air, while I was trying to find my path in life. Some of my mistakes have been great, while others are simply that of an inexperienced soul. With all that I've been through so far, in my young years yet, I've found that the key to surviving it all is pure and simple. All you need is the ability to find humor in all things good, bad, miraculous, disastrous, and all the range of emotions in between.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">F</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">rom a very young age, I learned that laughter was indeed the best medicine. My father always found ways to make me laugh, or encourage me to laugh through the pain, sorrow, disappointment, anger, and all the other feelings we, as humans, sometimes involuntarily delve into. Although there are appropriate moments to laugh and to not laugh, it almost seemed as if my father had no boundaries and guided me into a soul saving release of laughing my way through anything. I can honestly say, without humor, I'm not so sure I'd be “OK” today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">his memoir has long since been coming, and at the urge of my family and friends, who often heard of my family mishaps and personal hysterical mishaps and adventures, I've given in and decided to amuse the rest of society. Besides, if your not laughing with me, then I just look like a crazy lady laughing all by myself. I've been there before, it's kind of awkward feeling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 180%; font-weight: bold;">T</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">he stories I share with you, they are all part of me and who I am. Some will be descriptive of some unpleasant experiences that led to an amusing or happy result, and some are just told to give more of a sense of who I am. In all that you will read though, I doubt you will be unable to relate even if only once. After all, no one is perfect! During my story telling, often, you will enter a scene setting, where I will describe to you the surroundings and story leading up to the moment. I'll then follow with a bit of dialogue to bring the moment to life for you. So sit back, and enjoy a few laughs and smiles.</span>StaticNomadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03460433688167669167noreply@blogger.com0