The ERCP went fine yesterday. The urine sample I provided before the procedure was interesting. It was sort of a copper color. The GI doctor just looked at it and said, "Um, yeah. Your liver isn't very happy." I guess it's happy now. My pee is a normal shade of yellow, and my eyes aren't. So that's good news.
Today's adventure? Post-ERCP pancreatitis. I've given my pancreas (and it's friend The Pancreatic Duct) a new nickname: Panky. Panky had better shape up or it will meet the same fate as Mr. Gallbladder*.
If it weren't for My Reality, I would be thinking I was a raving, hypochondriac, unlucky nutjob. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for her, she's already traveled this road and has held my hand along the way.
I'll take this and any other pain (including labor pain!) over that gallstone-in-the-bile-duct pain. Today's issue is accompanied by endurable pain, endurable nausea and strict orders not to eat or drink anything. Good times. At least my weigh in on Tuesday should be a good one...
Thanks to everyone who has been checking on me!
* Not really, because I'm not sure you can just rip your pancreas out. Seems to me that there might be some nasty complications as a result.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Catastrophic Surgical Misadventure
Well, we are assuming that it's not that. But I liked the sound of it so much that I wrote it down immediately when my surgeon said it.
Here I am, live blogging from the bed in room #21 of the Emergency Department. You'd think I was developing some sort of crush on the surgeon that yanked my gallbladder out -- given that I tortured myself with steri strips in order to talk to him again, and now camped out in the ED fresh off a consult with him.
Yesterday afternoon my stomach/abdomen started hurting. I am PMSing and had just crammed a quarter of a bag of potato chips down my gullet, so I figured that was the problem. But it kept hurting all evening, which sucked. I took one of my 800mg Ibuprofens and was able to at least get to sleep.
When I woke up, it still hurt but not too badly. I still wasn't going to chance eating anything. By lunchtime, I was starving. To death. So I got a salad, and man was it good. Twenty minutes later, all hell broke loose.
The pain quickly went from "ow, that kinda hurts" to "holyfuckingshitohmygodsweetmamahelpme" accompanied with literally writhing around on the floor (the dirty, nasty carpeted floor of my office), sweating and moaning. It lasted about 10 minutes -- basically an eternity -- and then was gone. Poof! Like nothing ever happened. Except that I was completely soaked in sweat, shaking, panting, and chalk white.
My co-workers had already procured a wheelchair to take me to the ED (perk of working in a hospital), but I tried to tell them that I was okay now. Which I was. Only it didn't last long. A few minutes later, it started all over again. Gawd, it's awful pain.
Fast forward to now. I am lying on a bed, getting Dilaudid in an IV drip. I've just had my 4th cup of apple juice with contrast dye in it as preparation for the CT scan I've got in 20 minutes. Good times.
The good news is that my bloodwork just got back and since my liver enzymes are jacked up, it just about confirms what my surgeon suspected which is a stone in the bile duct. It snuck in there before they got my gallbladder out and has been just hanging around, waiting to torture me.
So I'll get the CT scan in a bit, it will show that nothing else major is wrong, and I'll have an endoscopy tomorrow to remove the stone. I moaned and pissed and whined about needed to go home and see my kids, so they are actually releasing me (pending good CT scan results) with instructions to come back at 9:30 tomorrow morning for the endoscopy.
I am SO over myself and these medical woes. But at least I got another idea for my ficticious band names list: Catastrophic Surgical Misadventure. Rock on! Get it? Rock... stone... in my bile duct... Okay, that's not funny. Give me a break, I'm high on pain meds right now, okay?
Here I am, live blogging from the bed in room #21 of the Emergency Department. You'd think I was developing some sort of crush on the surgeon that yanked my gallbladder out -- given that I tortured myself with steri strips in order to talk to him again, and now camped out in the ED fresh off a consult with him.
Yesterday afternoon my stomach/abdomen started hurting. I am PMSing and had just crammed a quarter of a bag of potato chips down my gullet, so I figured that was the problem. But it kept hurting all evening, which sucked. I took one of my 800mg Ibuprofens and was able to at least get to sleep.
When I woke up, it still hurt but not too badly. I still wasn't going to chance eating anything. By lunchtime, I was starving. To death. So I got a salad, and man was it good. Twenty minutes later, all hell broke loose.
The pain quickly went from "ow, that kinda hurts" to "holyfuckingshitohmygodsweetmamahelpme" accompanied with literally writhing around on the floor (the dirty, nasty carpeted floor of my office), sweating and moaning. It lasted about 10 minutes -- basically an eternity -- and then was gone. Poof! Like nothing ever happened. Except that I was completely soaked in sweat, shaking, panting, and chalk white.
My co-workers had already procured a wheelchair to take me to the ED (perk of working in a hospital), but I tried to tell them that I was okay now. Which I was. Only it didn't last long. A few minutes later, it started all over again. Gawd, it's awful pain.
Fast forward to now. I am lying on a bed, getting Dilaudid in an IV drip. I've just had my 4th cup of apple juice with contrast dye in it as preparation for the CT scan I've got in 20 minutes. Good times.
The good news is that my bloodwork just got back and since my liver enzymes are jacked up, it just about confirms what my surgeon suspected which is a stone in the bile duct. It snuck in there before they got my gallbladder out and has been just hanging around, waiting to torture me.
So I'll get the CT scan in a bit, it will show that nothing else major is wrong, and I'll have an endoscopy tomorrow to remove the stone. I moaned and pissed and whined about needed to go home and see my kids, so they are actually releasing me (pending good CT scan results) with instructions to come back at 9:30 tomorrow morning for the endoscopy.
I am SO over myself and these medical woes. But at least I got another idea for my ficticious band names list: Catastrophic Surgical Misadventure. Rock on! Get it? Rock... stone... in my bile duct... Okay, that's not funny. Give me a break, I'm high on pain meds right now, okay?
Thursday, July 9, 2009
So freaking funny
I have been a slacker on my daily posting. I'm sorry! I have lots to say, and will catch up. In the meantime, check out this outrageously hilarious video. You've probably all seen it already, but I can't stop laughing and gasping at technology/graphics today.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PHnRIn74Ag&NR=1
P.S. - How do I embed a youtube video with blogger?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PHnRIn74Ag&NR=1
P.S. - How do I embed a youtube video with blogger?
Monday, July 6, 2009
10 Things that Suck About Infertility
I initially thought about this topic and planned for it to be funny. I know there’s nothing funny about IF, but I still had hopes of it being lighthearted. Then I started jotting down my thoughts. And they weren’t funny at all. So I apologize for the somewhat morose tone of many of these, but it is what it is. They are also very specific to my IF journey, but I have to imagine you can relate to many of them anyway.
Here, my friends, are the top 10 things (in no particular order) that I think suck about infertility.
1) The Fear
Will this all just end up being a waste of time? Will it be a waste of money? Will it ruin my marriage? Will sex ever be fun again? Will I be childless? Will my husband leave me for someone who can give him children? What will happen at my monitoring appointment today? What is my E2? Will I sleep through the alarm and miss the exact time for my trigger shot? Will I ovulate before they get in there to retrieve the eggs? Will any eggs be mature? Will any eggs fertilize? Will any eggs make it through the first night? The second night? Will I POAS and see stark white? Will I always be angry – at fertiles, at the IF Gods, at myself? Will we be bankrupt, with nothing to show for it? What are other people saying about us? Will I ever be the one in the maternity clothes? Will I ever be able to repair the friendships that I’ve neglected? Will I ever feel good about myself again?
2) The Self-Loathing
I’m broken. I’m barren. I’m weak. I’m defective. I’m pathetic. I’m an embryo killer. I’m a baby killer. I have lazy ovaries. My uterus is useless. God must know I’m going to be a terrible mother and that’s why I’m infertile. I’m fat thanks to the IF weight gain. I’m not a real woman. I’m a whiner, why can’t I stop bitching about not having a baby? I’m sick of hearing my own self complain. I’m ugly on the inside – angry and jealous. I want everyone to pity me, yet I can’t stand the idea of being pitied. Basically, I just suck in every way.
3) The Money
I refuse to add up how much we’ve spent. I can’t stomach it. There are so many different places that we’ve hemmoraged cash, I’m not sure I could even remember them all… a basal body temperature thermometer, OPKs, REs, HSGs, acupuncture, copays, drugs, syringes, needles, suppositories, HPTs, fertility massages, BCPs, acupuncture, visualization CDs, books, herbal supplements, D&Cs, fertility yoga DVDs, bracelets. The list goes on and on. Other people get knocked up for free. They don’t spend tens of thousands of dollars trying to make a baby. They spend it on stuff like vacations and clothes and flower gardens and beach houses. Damn them.
4) The Loss of Control
I don’t get to decide when, or where, or how we make a baby. It’s decided for me, in the form a protocol from the RE. I never know what to expect when I show up for daily monitoring – I’ve taken my meds, I’ve visualized my follicles growing and my lining thickening, I’ve drowned myself in positive thoughts – but will it be enough? I can’t enjoy carefree planning with trips or vacations or social activities, these things are dictated by monitoring appointments and trigger shots and inseminations and egg retrievals and transfers. I cannot will this to happen. I can’t try really, really hard or practice or take a fancy shortcut to make this happen. I’ve worked my whole life to make good things happen, to try harder than the other people, so that I could get what I wanted. Infertility doesn’t work that way, and that sucks.
5) The Waiting
Waiting to see that elusive 2nd line on an OPK. Waiting two long weeks to see if that worked. Waiting the requisite amount of time (full of failures at home) to consult an RE. Waiting to finally call, but then not getting an appointment for 6 more weeks. Waiting for your consult. Waiting for your bloodwork results. Waiting for your HSG to be scheduled. Waiting for your protocol to be developed. Waiting for your cycle to start. Waiting for your meds to arrive. Waiting for your name to be called so you can get a camera shoved up your ladybits. Waiting for your E2 results. Waiting for the appointed trigger shot time. Waiting for the anesthesiologist to knock you out at the retrieval. Waiting to hear how many eggs they got. Waiting for the fertilization reports. Waiting for your transfer time. Waiting to pee after the transfer. Waiting to POAS. Waiting to see if a line appears. Waiting for your beta. Waiting to see if your beta doubles. Waiting for your sonogram. Waiting to miscarry. Waiting for your beta to drop to 0 so you can get on this God-awful rollercoaster and do it all over again. Waiting to tell people The Good News until you are sure it’s going to be okay, and then having it all turn to shit anyway. Waiting to see if you will ever, ever have a baby to bring home. Waiting to use that perfect name you picked out. Waiting to pull out that cute onesie that you stupidly bought during the first month of trying when you were sure it would be so easy.
6) The Exhaustion
I’m tired of trying to make a baby. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being pathetic. I’m tired of the waiting, the wishing, the hoping, the crushing disappointment, the heartbreak. I’m tired of crying at baby showers. I’m tired of sobbing after pregnancy announcements. I’m tired of doing the mental math to figure out how old my babies would be if I hadn’t miscarried. I’m tired of realizing that people who started trying after us now have 3 kids. I’m tired of waking up at 6am to get poked and prodded and have the blood sucked out of me. I’m tired of feeling like a bloated, drugged whale. I’m tired of waiting to make plans just in case. I’m tired of the lack of answers. I’m tired of other people’s optimism. I’m tired of the stupid shit people say to make you feel better. I’m just so, so tired – mentally and physically.
7) The Anger
I’m angry at my fertile friends. I’m angry at pregnant strangers. I’m angry at my body. I’m angry at my RE for not being a miracle worker. I’m angry at anyone who conceives an oops baby*. I’m angry at other people’s stupidity. I’m angry at the unfairness of it all. I’m angry about the wasted money. I’m angry about the delayed plans. I don’t care if God does know what’s best, I just wish it didn’t have to mean I’d have to struggle or have to miscarry. I’m angry at myself for letting this rule my life. I’m angry at myself for being such a huge failure.
8) The Pain
Without a doubt, it’s the emotional pain that hurts the most. The pain in my heart has left scars that are so big and so deep, not even a houseful of kids could take it away. But the physical pain can’t be denied either. It hurts to get a needle shoved in your arm day after day after day. The stim shots hurt. The trigger shot hurts. The PIO hurts, and it just keeps on giving since you have to do it for weeks on end. Clomid and Lupron and the rest of those vile, nasty devil drugs give me painful headaches. The HSG hurts, the dildo cam hurts, retrieval hurts, transfer hurts, D&Cs hurt. Watching your husband cry hurts. Watching your friends feel helpless hurts. Watching your sister live through the all too familiar angst of IF or miscarriage hurts. Seeing the disappointment on your Mom’s face hurts. Getting the “I’m so sorry” comments on your blog hurt (even though they aren’t supposed to). Crying until your eyes swell shut hurts. Realizing that everyone else at work knows your co-worker is pregnant except you (because they are too afraid to tell you) hurts. Hating yourself hurts.
9) The Loss of Dignity / Privacy
Sex isn’t between you and your husband anymore. It involves an entire medical team and that sucks. I can’t count how many different people have seen and/or shoved their hands and/or medical equipment up my private parts. I’ve been told specifically when to have sex with my husband. I have to sit in the waiting room while my husband jerks off into a cup. I have to take time off work (and provide an explanation) for monitoring, retrievals, transfers, and whatnot. As you are sitting in the RE’s waiting room for the first time, you are mortified because you might as well be wearing a sandwich board that reads, “WE HAVE UNPRODUCTIVE SEX. WE ARE BROKEN AND DEFECTIVE AND CAN’T MAKE BABIES.” Nevermind that everyone else in that room is in exactly the same boat as you, it doesn’t matter. You are sure you’re the biggest losers in the building. You have to pretend like it’s okay when you have no great answer for the incessant, “So, when are you two going to have some kids?” question. Your choices are to divulge all the personal details about your failed babymaking sessions or just grin and bear the pain silently. Maybe the only thing worse than the when-are-you-going-to-have-kids question is the one that occurs after you finally spill the beans about your infertility. That’s the “So, what’s wrong with you?” question. ‘Nuff said.
10) The Wondering
Did I cause this? Did I do too many drugs in high school? Did I lay my cell phone in my lap too many times and fry my ovaries? Am I eating too many cold foods? Did I stand too close to the microwave? Was it that glass of wine? Was it the fish? Was it my childhood vaccinations? Was it a drug my Mom took during her pregnancy? Will I ever get pregnant? What will it feel like? Will I miscarry? Will I have a healthy baby? Will my IF friends hate me when I get pregnant? Will a baby fill this gaping hole in my heart? Will my husband and I be able to withstand the financial and emotional war that we’ve been in for so many years? When will the pain, fear and loathing end? Ever?
I’m sure there are dozens more things that suck about it all. We weren’t dealing with MF issues. Although we were on the doorstep, we didn’t embark on the donor egg path. We didn’t get put through the adoption wringer. There are so many other facets to someone’s IF journey that I don’t even begin to touch on. But they all suck.
In another post at some point, I’ll tout the joys of The Silver Lining. Those joys aren’t quite as numerous as the shitty things, but there is actually some good to come out of the journey we’ve taken and it deserves to be explored. That’s another post for another day…
* - About this oops baby anger... it doesn't apply to everyone. There are many of you (and you know who you are -- Farah, Artblog, Mrs. LaLa, S, BuggsMomma) that I am thrilled for. Basically all IFs are excluded from this one. Just wanted to be clear...
Here, my friends, are the top 10 things (in no particular order) that I think suck about infertility.
1) The Fear
Will this all just end up being a waste of time? Will it be a waste of money? Will it ruin my marriage? Will sex ever be fun again? Will I be childless? Will my husband leave me for someone who can give him children? What will happen at my monitoring appointment today? What is my E2? Will I sleep through the alarm and miss the exact time for my trigger shot? Will I ovulate before they get in there to retrieve the eggs? Will any eggs be mature? Will any eggs fertilize? Will any eggs make it through the first night? The second night? Will I POAS and see stark white? Will I always be angry – at fertiles, at the IF Gods, at myself? Will we be bankrupt, with nothing to show for it? What are other people saying about us? Will I ever be the one in the maternity clothes? Will I ever be able to repair the friendships that I’ve neglected? Will I ever feel good about myself again?
2) The Self-Loathing
I’m broken. I’m barren. I’m weak. I’m defective. I’m pathetic. I’m an embryo killer. I’m a baby killer. I have lazy ovaries. My uterus is useless. God must know I’m going to be a terrible mother and that’s why I’m infertile. I’m fat thanks to the IF weight gain. I’m not a real woman. I’m a whiner, why can’t I stop bitching about not having a baby? I’m sick of hearing my own self complain. I’m ugly on the inside – angry and jealous. I want everyone to pity me, yet I can’t stand the idea of being pitied. Basically, I just suck in every way.
3) The Money
I refuse to add up how much we’ve spent. I can’t stomach it. There are so many different places that we’ve hemmoraged cash, I’m not sure I could even remember them all… a basal body temperature thermometer, OPKs, REs, HSGs, acupuncture, copays, drugs, syringes, needles, suppositories, HPTs, fertility massages, BCPs, acupuncture, visualization CDs, books, herbal supplements, D&Cs, fertility yoga DVDs, bracelets. The list goes on and on. Other people get knocked up for free. They don’t spend tens of thousands of dollars trying to make a baby. They spend it on stuff like vacations and clothes and flower gardens and beach houses. Damn them.
4) The Loss of Control
I don’t get to decide when, or where, or how we make a baby. It’s decided for me, in the form a protocol from the RE. I never know what to expect when I show up for daily monitoring – I’ve taken my meds, I’ve visualized my follicles growing and my lining thickening, I’ve drowned myself in positive thoughts – but will it be enough? I can’t enjoy carefree planning with trips or vacations or social activities, these things are dictated by monitoring appointments and trigger shots and inseminations and egg retrievals and transfers. I cannot will this to happen. I can’t try really, really hard or practice or take a fancy shortcut to make this happen. I’ve worked my whole life to make good things happen, to try harder than the other people, so that I could get what I wanted. Infertility doesn’t work that way, and that sucks.
5) The Waiting
Waiting to see that elusive 2nd line on an OPK. Waiting two long weeks to see if that worked. Waiting the requisite amount of time (full of failures at home) to consult an RE. Waiting to finally call, but then not getting an appointment for 6 more weeks. Waiting for your consult. Waiting for your bloodwork results. Waiting for your HSG to be scheduled. Waiting for your protocol to be developed. Waiting for your cycle to start. Waiting for your meds to arrive. Waiting for your name to be called so you can get a camera shoved up your ladybits. Waiting for your E2 results. Waiting for the appointed trigger shot time. Waiting for the anesthesiologist to knock you out at the retrieval. Waiting to hear how many eggs they got. Waiting for the fertilization reports. Waiting for your transfer time. Waiting to pee after the transfer. Waiting to POAS. Waiting to see if a line appears. Waiting for your beta. Waiting to see if your beta doubles. Waiting for your sonogram. Waiting to miscarry. Waiting for your beta to drop to 0 so you can get on this God-awful rollercoaster and do it all over again. Waiting to tell people The Good News until you are sure it’s going to be okay, and then having it all turn to shit anyway. Waiting to see if you will ever, ever have a baby to bring home. Waiting to use that perfect name you picked out. Waiting to pull out that cute onesie that you stupidly bought during the first month of trying when you were sure it would be so easy.
6) The Exhaustion
I’m tired of trying to make a baby. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being pathetic. I’m tired of the waiting, the wishing, the hoping, the crushing disappointment, the heartbreak. I’m tired of crying at baby showers. I’m tired of sobbing after pregnancy announcements. I’m tired of doing the mental math to figure out how old my babies would be if I hadn’t miscarried. I’m tired of realizing that people who started trying after us now have 3 kids. I’m tired of waking up at 6am to get poked and prodded and have the blood sucked out of me. I’m tired of feeling like a bloated, drugged whale. I’m tired of waiting to make plans just in case. I’m tired of the lack of answers. I’m tired of other people’s optimism. I’m tired of the stupid shit people say to make you feel better. I’m just so, so tired – mentally and physically.
7) The Anger
I’m angry at my fertile friends. I’m angry at pregnant strangers. I’m angry at my body. I’m angry at my RE for not being a miracle worker. I’m angry at anyone who conceives an oops baby*. I’m angry at other people’s stupidity. I’m angry at the unfairness of it all. I’m angry about the wasted money. I’m angry about the delayed plans. I don’t care if God does know what’s best, I just wish it didn’t have to mean I’d have to struggle or have to miscarry. I’m angry at myself for letting this rule my life. I’m angry at myself for being such a huge failure.
8) The Pain
Without a doubt, it’s the emotional pain that hurts the most. The pain in my heart has left scars that are so big and so deep, not even a houseful of kids could take it away. But the physical pain can’t be denied either. It hurts to get a needle shoved in your arm day after day after day. The stim shots hurt. The trigger shot hurts. The PIO hurts, and it just keeps on giving since you have to do it for weeks on end. Clomid and Lupron and the rest of those vile, nasty devil drugs give me painful headaches. The HSG hurts, the dildo cam hurts, retrieval hurts, transfer hurts, D&Cs hurt. Watching your husband cry hurts. Watching your friends feel helpless hurts. Watching your sister live through the all too familiar angst of IF or miscarriage hurts. Seeing the disappointment on your Mom’s face hurts. Getting the “I’m so sorry” comments on your blog hurt (even though they aren’t supposed to). Crying until your eyes swell shut hurts. Realizing that everyone else at work knows your co-worker is pregnant except you (because they are too afraid to tell you) hurts. Hating yourself hurts.
9) The Loss of Dignity / Privacy
Sex isn’t between you and your husband anymore. It involves an entire medical team and that sucks. I can’t count how many different people have seen and/or shoved their hands and/or medical equipment up my private parts. I’ve been told specifically when to have sex with my husband. I have to sit in the waiting room while my husband jerks off into a cup. I have to take time off work (and provide an explanation) for monitoring, retrievals, transfers, and whatnot. As you are sitting in the RE’s waiting room for the first time, you are mortified because you might as well be wearing a sandwich board that reads, “WE HAVE UNPRODUCTIVE SEX. WE ARE BROKEN AND DEFECTIVE AND CAN’T MAKE BABIES.” Nevermind that everyone else in that room is in exactly the same boat as you, it doesn’t matter. You are sure you’re the biggest losers in the building. You have to pretend like it’s okay when you have no great answer for the incessant, “So, when are you two going to have some kids?” question. Your choices are to divulge all the personal details about your failed babymaking sessions or just grin and bear the pain silently. Maybe the only thing worse than the when-are-you-going-to-have-kids question is the one that occurs after you finally spill the beans about your infertility. That’s the “So, what’s wrong with you?” question. ‘Nuff said.
10) The Wondering
Did I cause this? Did I do too many drugs in high school? Did I lay my cell phone in my lap too many times and fry my ovaries? Am I eating too many cold foods? Did I stand too close to the microwave? Was it that glass of wine? Was it the fish? Was it my childhood vaccinations? Was it a drug my Mom took during her pregnancy? Will I ever get pregnant? What will it feel like? Will I miscarry? Will I have a healthy baby? Will my IF friends hate me when I get pregnant? Will a baby fill this gaping hole in my heart? Will my husband and I be able to withstand the financial and emotional war that we’ve been in for so many years? When will the pain, fear and loathing end? Ever?
I’m sure there are dozens more things that suck about it all. We weren’t dealing with MF issues. Although we were on the doorstep, we didn’t embark on the donor egg path. We didn’t get put through the adoption wringer. There are so many other facets to someone’s IF journey that I don’t even begin to touch on. But they all suck.
In another post at some point, I’ll tout the joys of The Silver Lining. Those joys aren’t quite as numerous as the shitty things, but there is actually some good to come out of the journey we’ve taken and it deserves to be explored. That’s another post for another day…
* - About this oops baby anger... it doesn't apply to everyone. There are many of you (and you know who you are -- Farah, Artblog, Mrs. LaLa, S, BuggsMomma) that I am thrilled for. Basically all IFs are excluded from this one. Just wanted to be clear...
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Gee, sorry about that, Lorelei
Okay, another change to the posting schedule. I don't have my shit together to finish the Simple Pleasures post that was supposed to be for today. Therefore, a cop-out. The "Leah understands" meme:
Leah understands the frustration of women who would rather scrub floors than shop for clothes.
What? No, no, I really don't. I'm not all that wild about shopping but I would DEFINITELY prefer it to scrubbing floors. Um, hello?
Leah understands God-given talents are different for everyone .
Yes, and I'm still waiting to see just what mine are!
Leah understands the needs of the working class and works hard to find people the right house at the right price.
No, I don't. Unless they want to buy my house, I don't give a rat's ass what they need.
Leah understands the desires of potential buyers and can help transform a home into an attractive space for potential buyers.
What's with all the real estate agents named Leah?
Leah understands the value of quality customer service .
Yes, I do. Especially when *I* am the customer.
Leah understands the need for education, instruction, entertainment and options.
Especially the part about entertainment.
Leah understands suddenly that the knife is a thing deep inside Lorelei.
Weird.
Leah understands the Los Angeles market, as well as the intricacies involved with relocating and buying a home.
I've never been to LA, and never plan to. But clearly my name suggests that I should have gone into real estate, eh?
Leah understands that immunity only applies to the competition and not elsewhere.
Screw the competition, I want immunity. Wait, I want SERENITY. NOW!
Leah understands that this loan is for the weekend only.
Those are some shitty payment terms, remind me not to borrow from you again, jerkoff.
Leah understands the glass and the torch.
Both are very important when heading off to a date with an ogre.
Leah understands the importance of lifestyle change.
Especially in your 20s.
Leah understands that women's subordination to men is, under most circumstances, a fact of life.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Leah understands people go through many obstacles in life which may bring some to the feelings of helplessness.
Um, hello infertility!
Leah understands that, and works really hard to find jeans that are flattering for everyone that comes in her store.
I own 1 pair of jeans because I have a figure like a fat 14 year old boy, so I don't recommend taking any jean fashion advice from me at all.
Leah understands how lucky she is to have sole access to this fine horse.
Ah yes, Kevin loves it when I refer to him as This Fine Horse. Although he usually perfers The Stallion.
Leah understands that events are more than just cheese & cracker platters with streamers.
Yes, they are opportunities for uncomfortable clothing and mind-numbing conversation. Good times!
Leah understands to some extent what the hippies were about back then but mostly she just thinks they look really cool.
No, I actually don't. I'm more the Pottery.Barn type, not the Hippie type.
Leah understands she has multiple identities, each of them important.
Multiple personalities? No doubt.
Leah understands the special needs of the dancing community.
Ha! Have you seen Elaine dance on Seinfeld? That's the type of dancing community where I'd fit in.
Leah understands only too well, not everything always goes to plan.
You can say that again. About 1,001 times.
If you haven't done it (which nearly everyone in the blogsphere has because I'm 729 years late to this particular meme), try it out. Google your name with understands.
Have fun!
Leah understands the frustration of women who would rather scrub floors than shop for clothes.
What? No, no, I really don't. I'm not all that wild about shopping but I would DEFINITELY prefer it to scrubbing floors. Um, hello?
Leah understands God-given talents are different for everyone .
Yes, and I'm still waiting to see just what mine are!
Leah understands the needs of the working class and works hard to find people the right house at the right price.
No, I don't. Unless they want to buy my house, I don't give a rat's ass what they need.
Leah understands the desires of potential buyers and can help transform a home into an attractive space for potential buyers.
What's with all the real estate agents named Leah?
Leah understands the value of quality customer service .
Yes, I do. Especially when *I* am the customer.
Leah understands the need for education, instruction, entertainment and options.
Especially the part about entertainment.
Leah understands suddenly that the knife is a thing deep inside Lorelei.
Weird.
Leah understands the Los Angeles market, as well as the intricacies involved with relocating and buying a home.
I've never been to LA, and never plan to. But clearly my name suggests that I should have gone into real estate, eh?
Leah understands that immunity only applies to the competition and not elsewhere.
Screw the competition, I want immunity. Wait, I want SERENITY. NOW!
Leah understands that this loan is for the weekend only.
Those are some shitty payment terms, remind me not to borrow from you again, jerkoff.
Leah understands the glass and the torch.
Both are very important when heading off to a date with an ogre.
Leah understands the importance of lifestyle change.
Especially in your 20s.
Leah understands that women's subordination to men is, under most circumstances, a fact of life.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Leah understands people go through many obstacles in life which may bring some to the feelings of helplessness.
Um, hello infertility!
Leah understands that, and works really hard to find jeans that are flattering for everyone that comes in her store.
I own 1 pair of jeans because I have a figure like a fat 14 year old boy, so I don't recommend taking any jean fashion advice from me at all.
Leah understands how lucky she is to have sole access to this fine horse.
Ah yes, Kevin loves it when I refer to him as This Fine Horse. Although he usually perfers The Stallion.
Leah understands that events are more than just cheese & cracker platters with streamers.
Yes, they are opportunities for uncomfortable clothing and mind-numbing conversation. Good times!
Leah understands to some extent what the hippies were about back then but mostly she just thinks they look really cool.
No, I actually don't. I'm more the Pottery.Barn type, not the Hippie type.
Leah understands she has multiple identities, each of them important.
Multiple personalities? No doubt.
Leah understands the special needs of the dancing community.
Ha! Have you seen Elaine dance on Seinfeld? That's the type of dancing community where I'd fit in.
Leah understands only too well, not everything always goes to plan.
You can say that again. About 1,001 times.
If you haven't done it (which nearly everyone in the blogsphere has because I'm 729 years late to this particular meme), try it out. Google your name with understands.
Have fun!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Show and Tell
My 15 year old niece had arthroscopic knee surgery on the same day that I had my gallbladder removed. On one of her first outings after the surgery, they came over to our house so we could compare battle wounds. Because she's 15, and a great kid, I wanted to give her something to brighten her day. I made a candy bouquet. I saw a couple of them online, but couldn't find one I liked that would deliver in this area. So I made my own. And here it is:
If you look closely, you'll see 18 different kinds of candy nestled in there. Yum!
Lastly, here is the happy recipient:
BTW, that's a cell phone shoved into the top of her ace bandage. I think that's hilarious!Book Review: The Double Daring Book for Girls
I love this book. Seriously. I loved the first book, and I love this one just as much. Maybe more. These wildly talented ladies have written a slew of books. All of them are great, but my favorites are the two Daring Books for Girls.How can you not like a book that tells you how to dye your hair with Kool-Aid, how to make a lava lamp, how to perform a Japanese Tea Ceremony, what the meaning of courage is, how to catch a fish, how to run a magazine, how to be a private eye, how to become President of the United States, all about the Underground Railroad, how to dance the Cotton-Eyed Joe, how to shoot pool, how to say no (and how to say yes), and -- for pete's sake -- how to run away and join the circus. And that's less than 10% of the topics in the book. The information in here is terribly important, it is positively invaluable lore and instruction. I'm not kidding. Go buy one. Before you even read the rest of this review, just go buy one.
I challenge anyone to pick up this book and tell me that they made it through reading the Table of Contents without smiling, reminiscing, and also being intrigued. It's a seemingly random collection of really neat stuff that you find you are thrilled someone had the time, energy and brains to actually document. It's the stuff that's told around the campfires, discussed over dinner tables, and taught over sidewalk chalk in the driveway.
I tried to decide which was my favorite topic in the book. I narrowed it down to two of them, but it's a little like cheating since both of them are actually collections of things. One of them is "Practical Life" (pg. 253). It's subtopics are: sew a hem, sew on a button, sharpen dull scissors, plunge a toilet, stop an overflowing toilet, unseal a sealed envelope, put out a kitchen fire, fix a clogged drain, hang a picture, and get ink off your skin. The other topic is "Miscellanea" (pg. 273), and it's subtopics are: popcorn on the stove, the five longest rivers in the world, the dance moves to the YMCA song, homespun wisdom for stopping the hiccups, hang a spoon on your nose, make a wineglass sing, tin-can telephones, read a topo map and compass, whistle through a blade of grass, hide a treasure in a book, and the words to "Auld Lang Syne". Now tell me you aren't grinning, and nodding your head while you think, "Yeah, yeah!" People, just go buy this book.
When I agreed to write this review, I was told that I'd need to pick one of the activities and then blog about it. The only problem with that was that I couldn't decide which one to do! Luckily, Megan's age (4, going on 5) eliminated a few of them since she can't be trusted yet with paint (How to Paint a Room, pg. 201), hot wax (Paper Cup Candles, pg. 26 and Batik, pg. 99), wire cutters (Electric Buzzer Game, pg. 174) , concrete (Stepping Stones, pg. 189), a saw (How to Build a Raft, pg. 207), and knives (Whittling, pg. 240).
Megan and I actually enjoyed 5 different activies over the course of 3 days, but we decided to document one in particular for this review. It was in the "Fun Things to Do with Paper" chapter, item #5. Marbled Paper. Essentially you squirt shaving cream onto a cookie sheet, smooth it out, sprinkle paint on top, swirl the paint around, lay paper down on top, scrape off the paper, and let it dry. It was basically that easy, and we really had a blast! Here are some more specifics...
These are the ingredients we used:
- white paper
- a piece of cardboard for scraping
- shaving cream (foam, not gel)
- paint
- 2 crappy old cookie sheets
- a plastic fork
- a table covered in wax paper
- straws (not pictured)
- a smoothing tool (not pictured)
First, we squirted shaving cream on the cookie sheets and smoothed it out with our hands.
Without a doubt, Megan's favorite part of this activity was playing around with the shaving cream. In fact, as you'll see in later pictures, it all sort of degenerated into just finger painting with shaving cream by the end. But we still had a blast.
Then we used a smoothing tool (which is a fancy name for my thing-a-ma-bobber that scrapes off stonewear) and made the surface of the shaving cream as smooth as possible.
Next, Megan took paint (she initially used pink, purple, and red) and dabbed it on the shaving cream. We used regular ol' drinking straws to get the paint out of the bottles and sort of dropped it on the surface of the cream. Then she took the plastic fork and swirled the paint around to make designs.
When she was done swirling, we put a piece of white paper down on the surface and smoothed it out as we lightly pressed it into the paint/shaving cream. Then we carefully picked the paper up, scraped off the excess shaving cream, and viola!
We were suprised at how exact a translation there was between the pattern in the shaving cream and how it transferred to the paper. I was thinking it would be a little more abstract, but it wasn't. It was almost like putting it into a copy machine.
Next, Megan added a few more colors to her existing shaving cream (green, brown, and yellow).
After that, she continued to mix up the shaving cream until it was a discolored, semi-disgusting mess. Again, it translated directly onto the paper as a bit of a train wreck. But she loved it.
Here are her finished products:
Then, while she painted every body part she had access to with shaving cream, I started on my cookie sheet. I went for a nice, calming, ocean color theme (green and blue). I tried to get all subtle with the first pass:
And here's the result. Booooooooring!
So then I added more green, more blue, another color blue, and some purple:
Which produced a lovely piece of paper (if I do say so myself):
I mixed up the shaving cream a little more, but didn't add any paint:
And I got something in the middle of boring and cool. Here are my finished products:
Then it was time to play! Here she's scraping extra shaving cream off a piece of paper for fun:
And now we're just getting messy...
When it was all over, here is the mess that was left:
Not bad at all to clean up, and tons of fun.
When it was all over, here is the mess that was left:
Not bad at all to clean up, and tons of fun.
We cut up our favorite parts of the paper, laminated them, and have turned them into bookmarks. Horray for Christmas and Mother's Day presents for the Grandparents!
Here's a snippet of the bookmark I kept for myself:
It really was incredibly easy and made some neato paper. I even tried what the book suggested and ran the pieces of paper under water, just to test the theory that the color wouldn't run. And it didn't! So it truly transferred the paint into the fiber of the paper I guess (as opposed to regular paint just resting on top).
Now, I am supposed to challenge you guys to try it out. If you are game, check it out. Let me know if you need more information about how to do it. Should you accept this challenge, tell me and I'll post a link to your blog.
Oh, and by the way... GO BUY THIS BOOK! You will love it.
Coming Soon!
I've got my review of The Double Daring Book for Girls all ready to go. But I can't get the %#^&* camera to cooperate. We got a new camera. Need I say more? Actually, we got a new camera that came with fabulous directions. Then Liam snatched the directions (presumably to take off into a corner and chew/drool on them) and we haven't seen them since.
Anyway, I'm fairly certain that I need a cable which seems to be buried under the pile of CRAP in our office (ggggrrrrrrrrrrrr), and as soon as I find it, you will get the review with some fabulouso pictures of the project that Megan and I did.
BTW, I also plan to do my regularly scheduled post for today. So how about THAT, party people? I'm talkin' THREE posts in one day. Madness, I tell you. Madness.
Anyway, I'm fairly certain that I need a cable which seems to be buried under the pile of CRAP in our office (ggggrrrrrrrrrrrr), and as soon as I find it, you will get the review with some fabulouso pictures of the project that Megan and I did.
BTW, I also plan to do my regularly scheduled post for today. So how about THAT, party people? I'm talkin' THREE posts in one day. Madness, I tell you. Madness.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
E's Interview Questions - Part 1
About 638 years aso, E was interviewed. Then she asked if anyone wanted to be interviewed, and I said, "Yes! I do!" Apparently what I really meant was, "Yes, please take the time to think up interview questions, then send them to me so that I can rudely ignore them for many months! Whee!!" I am an ass. But that's for a different post.
Anyway, the interview had 6 questions and since I'm subjecting you all to my daily posting madness, I've decided to stretch the answers out over multiple posts. So, without further adeu, here is question #1:
1) If you could live anywhere in the world besides where you live now, where would it be and why? What would your house be like there?
Assuming that the economy and cost of living weren't a factor, I would live on Kauai in Hawaii. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Our house would be medium-sized and would sit on a hill with a gorgeous view. There would be a nice, big yard carved out for the kids to play in. We'd have a pool with a waterfall. The entire back of the house (that faced the gorgeous view) would be made entirely of sliding glass panels. That way we could open them up (by sliding them into pockets in the wall) and enjoy the fresh Hawaiian breeze whenever we wanted. We'd have an outside shower, an outside family room, and a mack-daddy outdoor kitchen on our mack-daddy patio.
If not Kauai, I'd also settle for St. John, USVI. All the same house desires apply.
If not Hawaii or the Virgin Islands, then I'd pick San Francisco. I had a magical trip there years ago that could never be replicated, but I could come damn close if I moved there. Unfortunately, I have an irrational fear that all of California is going to crack off into the ocean and sink so I can't live there. No disrespect to my lovely friends who live in CA, and trust me that I completely understand why someone would run screaming from the Northeast corner of the US as well. :-)
If reality needs to be considered, then the answer is probably Cary, NC. Neither Kevin nor I have ever lived there, but we both really want to. If the housing market will ever pick back up, we'd consider the move. But how could I leave my TOOTPU ladies? (The only acceptable solution will be if I move close to JJ, that would help the ensuing depression.)
How about you? Where would you live and why?
P.S. - For anyone as anal as me, you might notice that today's post was supposed to be a book review. But the project that Megan and I tried to accomplish from the book was thwarted by a very short, drooling, snot fountain who trashed everything that he could get his hands on today. So we had to abandon the project until tomorrow when Kevin can entertain said destructo-boy while Megan and I undertake the project again.
Anyway, the interview had 6 questions and since I'm subjecting you all to my daily posting madness, I've decided to stretch the answers out over multiple posts. So, without further adeu, here is question #1:
1) If you could live anywhere in the world besides where you live now, where would it be and why? What would your house be like there?
Assuming that the economy and cost of living weren't a factor, I would live on Kauai in Hawaii. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Our house would be medium-sized and would sit on a hill with a gorgeous view. There would be a nice, big yard carved out for the kids to play in. We'd have a pool with a waterfall. The entire back of the house (that faced the gorgeous view) would be made entirely of sliding glass panels. That way we could open them up (by sliding them into pockets in the wall) and enjoy the fresh Hawaiian breeze whenever we wanted. We'd have an outside shower, an outside family room, and a mack-daddy outdoor kitchen on our mack-daddy patio.
If not Kauai, I'd also settle for St. John, USVI. All the same house desires apply.
If not Hawaii or the Virgin Islands, then I'd pick San Francisco. I had a magical trip there years ago that could never be replicated, but I could come damn close if I moved there. Unfortunately, I have an irrational fear that all of California is going to crack off into the ocean and sink so I can't live there. No disrespect to my lovely friends who live in CA, and trust me that I completely understand why someone would run screaming from the Northeast corner of the US as well. :-)
If reality needs to be considered, then the answer is probably Cary, NC. Neither Kevin nor I have ever lived there, but we both really want to. If the housing market will ever pick back up, we'd consider the move. But how could I leave my TOOTPU ladies? (The only acceptable solution will be if I move close to JJ, that would help the ensuing depression.)
How about you? Where would you live and why?
P.S. - For anyone as anal as me, you might notice that today's post was supposed to be a book review. But the project that Megan and I tried to accomplish from the book was thwarted by a very short, drooling, snot fountain who trashed everything that he could get his hands on today. So we had to abandon the project until tomorrow when Kevin can entertain said destructo-boy while Megan and I undertake the project again.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
This is the picture...
...I've been dreaming of taking since we started talking about having children. The one of my husband and 2 kids at the beach.
(I know it's supposed to be "wordless" Wednesday, but I don't think I'm capable of being wordless. Sorry!)
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