Sunday, November 16, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Fraught and Faddish
Other possible titles included "Expecting and Elegant," "Teeming and Trendy," "Enciente and Exclusive," and "With Child and With It." And then there was the original title, "Shagged and Chic," but I thought my international audience might be offended.
I'm almost six months pregnant and hadn't bought any maternity clothes. Sure, I was pregnant before, but that was during the summer time, and the floral sundresses aren't cutting it. No maternity clothes severely limited my wardrobe, seeing as my belly is very maternal. And its all happened over the course of two or three weeks. I've watched my midsection expand hourly.
Which pretty much left me with the jeans that I bought to celebrate my postpartum "skinny" body, oversized sweatshirts, and Tyler's basketball shorts.
These items are just fine for walking Lu in the park, but I felt a little underdressed at the BYU Fall Faculty seminar next to the woman wearing black sequins in my jeans and sweatshirt. So I finally trekked to Motherhood Maternity for more professional clothes. I mean, it's hard enough to maintain a professional relationship when I'm only a few years older than the majority of my students, and I'm even younger than them in some cases. And, not to mention, I sit on the table when I teach. I needed the classy clothes.
The adventure began with a trip to Trolley Square. I talked big about how we were just going to one store, Talmage. And did I mention the electric train there? And the elevators? And Talmage, did you know there's a taffy shop in Trolley Square? And, as I would later find out, Motherhood Maternity closed two years ago at Trolley Square, so we will have to go to another store? And it will be on the other side of the valley?
Parenting: 0; Maddening Circumstances that Are Deathnails in Raising a Toddler: 1.
So we continued to The Fashion Place mall ("The" is essential when naming it, as I have learned from radio DJ Chunga's rants on 101.9 The End. It's like when your elders ask how things are at The BYU.). There is a Motherhood Maternity at The Fashion Place. There are also 2,698 kiosks that seem to have quadrupled both in number and aggressiveness since I last went shopping at The Fashion Place mall. I was accosted by cell phone vendors, spinny kaleidoscope sellers, and three generically foreign men racing helicopters and flippy remote controlled cars around their display. One man offered Talmage a chance to drive the car while the other guy tried to sell me the car. "Maybe Santa could bring it," he said. "Santa's a little poor this year," I said. "But your boy really seems to like it," he said. "I really like trips to Hawaii," I said, "but I've got a feeling Santa's not bringing me that, either." "I'll tell you what," he said. "Your boy likes it so much, I'll give it to you for thirty dollars." Without mentioning that I had no idea how much it originally cost, I said, "I'm really not going to buy it." "Fine," he said. "Then your child needs to stop playing with it so someone who is going to buy it can have a turn."
Talmage and I made it to the maternity store. I came prepared with the usual. Puzzles. Coloring books. Regular books. But, of course, none of these compared to the grumpy foreign men and their remote controlled cars outside who had just invited us not to play with their toys. I could have just left, but after I had spent a full two hours getting to this store, I was going to try on every last article of clothing in the store, SO HELP ME. I spent a little more than was planned and ended up with these three dresses, a variety of dressy to casual tops, and some brown dress pants:
Tyler and I spend a good deal of time talking about, worrying about, and obsessing over money, so I was a little worried to discuss the new wardrobe with him. "I spent a lot of money today," I told him. "How much?" he asked. I had been shooting for two hundred dollars and I was much closer to three, so I answered in a meek voice, "Three hundred dollars?"
"OH." he said. "I wasn't going to flip out unless it was over a thousand."
ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS? YOU MEAN THAT'S AN OPTION?!?! I've only been clothes shopping for myself two times in our six year marriage (and the other time was when I was pregnant before) so CLEARLY I have not been taking advantage of this opportunity.
I'm almost six months pregnant and hadn't bought any maternity clothes. Sure, I was pregnant before, but that was during the summer time, and the floral sundresses aren't cutting it. No maternity clothes severely limited my wardrobe, seeing as my belly is very maternal. And its all happened over the course of two or three weeks. I've watched my midsection expand hourly.
Which pretty much left me with the jeans that I bought to celebrate my postpartum "skinny" body, oversized sweatshirts, and Tyler's basketball shorts.
These items are just fine for walking Lu in the park, but I felt a little underdressed at the BYU Fall Faculty seminar next to the woman wearing black sequins in my jeans and sweatshirt. So I finally trekked to Motherhood Maternity for more professional clothes. I mean, it's hard enough to maintain a professional relationship when I'm only a few years older than the majority of my students, and I'm even younger than them in some cases. And, not to mention, I sit on the table when I teach. I needed the classy clothes.
The adventure began with a trip to Trolley Square. I talked big about how we were just going to one store, Talmage. And did I mention the electric train there? And the elevators? And Talmage, did you know there's a taffy shop in Trolley Square? And, as I would later find out, Motherhood Maternity closed two years ago at Trolley Square, so we will have to go to another store? And it will be on the other side of the valley?
Parenting: 0; Maddening Circumstances that Are Deathnails in Raising a Toddler: 1.
So we continued to The Fashion Place mall ("The" is essential when naming it, as I have learned from radio DJ Chunga's rants on 101.9 The End. It's like when your elders ask how things are at The BYU.). There is a Motherhood Maternity at The Fashion Place. There are also 2,698 kiosks that seem to have quadrupled both in number and aggressiveness since I last went shopping at The Fashion Place mall. I was accosted by cell phone vendors, spinny kaleidoscope sellers, and three generically foreign men racing helicopters and flippy remote controlled cars around their display. One man offered Talmage a chance to drive the car while the other guy tried to sell me the car. "Maybe Santa could bring it," he said. "Santa's a little poor this year," I said. "But your boy really seems to like it," he said. "I really like trips to Hawaii," I said, "but I've got a feeling Santa's not bringing me that, either." "I'll tell you what," he said. "Your boy likes it so much, I'll give it to you for thirty dollars." Without mentioning that I had no idea how much it originally cost, I said, "I'm really not going to buy it." "Fine," he said. "Then your child needs to stop playing with it so someone who is going to buy it can have a turn."
Talmage and I made it to the maternity store. I came prepared with the usual. Puzzles. Coloring books. Regular books. But, of course, none of these compared to the grumpy foreign men and their remote controlled cars outside who had just invited us not to play with their toys. I could have just left, but after I had spent a full two hours getting to this store, I was going to try on every last article of clothing in the store, SO HELP ME. I spent a little more than was planned and ended up with these three dresses, a variety of dressy to casual tops, and some brown dress pants:
Tyler and I spend a good deal of time talking about, worrying about, and obsessing over money, so I was a little worried to discuss the new wardrobe with him. "I spent a lot of money today," I told him. "How much?" he asked. I had been shooting for two hundred dollars and I was much closer to three, so I answered in a meek voice, "Three hundred dollars?"
"OH." he said. "I wasn't going to flip out unless it was over a thousand."
ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS? YOU MEAN THAT'S AN OPTION?!?! I've only been clothes shopping for myself two times in our six year marriage (and the other time was when I was pregnant before) so CLEARLY I have not been taking advantage of this opportunity.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Why I'm Still A Little Bit Five Years Old
It doesn't matter where I am in the house or what time of day it is, when I hear the garbage truck come, I still sprint to the window to watch my trash being dumped.
Satisfying.
Satisfying.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
A Lion Among Men
So, due to the full life and three courses I've taken a little break from reading. I guess what I'm really saying is that I've taken a break from having a break. Which I don't really like. So I was probably biased in favor of this book because I was excited enough about it that I pushed off being more responsible in order to read.
AND I still got all my grading done.
I was excited about this book because Maguire's earlier book Wicked makes it in the top five of my favorite books I've read in the last couple years. What else would be on that list? Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. Big Rock Candy Mountain by Wallace Stegner. To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee. These is My Words by Nancy Turner. But Wicked is one book I've been hesitant to recommend to people because there's plenty of material in it that I can see might be offensive. I didn't want to recommend it, because I wouldn't want anyone to feel they shouldn't be offended if they are. I think being offended is a valid reaction.
Anyway, A Lion Among Men is the third book in the Wicked Years, as Maguire has dubbed his series. One reason I love this series is because I am fascinated by the world that Maguire has created, complete with complex political and economic situations and fascinating creatures. I feel the same fascination with Tolkein's Lord of the Rings series. Maguire hasn't invented a new language, but still.
I haven't enjoyed the second or third installment of the series as much as I enjoyed Wicked. But I enjoyed this book enough. Each of the books is a philosophical study of some subject. Wicked is a study of evil; Son of a Witch is a study of identity. A Lion Among Men seems to be a study of fate. The Cowardly Lion is a character who, through his inaction and efforts to just go with the flow, is slighted at every turn and feels a victim of life's circumstances. It isn't until he decides (at the end of the book) to really begin acting--to stop waiting for people to love and accept him and to instead love and accept others--that the narrative hints at a change.
Maguire begins his book quoting Goethe (or at least a quotation attributed to Goethe):
The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves as well. All sorts of things occur to help on that would never otherwise have occured. A stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen accidents, meetings and material assistance that no one could have dreamed would come their way. Whatever you can do or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now.
I've heard this quote before and I've thought about this theme a lot in my life, so the thesis of the book wasn't life-changing, but I enjoyed hearing it from Maguire's point of view. Maybe that's why I enjoyed Wicked more than this; Maguire gave me more to consider in Wicked than I had considered before. Perhaps that's why I enjoy some books more than others. Hmmm . . . something to think about.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Where I Was When
C. 1984: The Paulsen family brought home the Apple II, our first home computer. This was important because I could then play killer games like Lemonade Stand and Lode Runner most of my childhood, enabling me to be part of the generation that can multitask and figure out Microsoft Excel with no prior instruction.
January 28, 1986: I was in Mrs. Bush's first grade class. We had studied about how we were the space generation and I set a goal that lasted at least 24 hours to be an astronaut. The television was rolled in on its rickety cart and 30 six-year-olds watched as the shuttle magically rose from the ground and we waited for the rocket to fall off the shuttle, as Mrs. Bush assured us would happen. But the rocket didn't fall off. And the shuttle stopped rising. It fell into a big cloud of smoke and Mrs. Bush shut off the TV, informing us with tears in her eyes that we were moving on to more mundane educational tasks.
November 9, 1989: Mrs. Harward's fifth grade class. Again, a rickety TV stand--probably the same one from first grade--was wheeled in. Mrs. Harward attempted in 15 minutes to summarize the Cold War and the civic importance of the Berlin Wall falling down. We watched it for at least an hour, and I remember thinking that everything seemed dark and noisy and dirty.
C. 1994: Teachers in junior high were excited about the Information Super Highway and that you could read a book located in France for your research in Utah. Can you even imagine the research possibilities? (Now I just ban the internet from my student's academic research. So much for the research dream.) But the World Wide Web really became exciting when I opened my first email account, shelleyfanclub@hotmail.com. In honor of my best friend Shelley, OF COURSE. That night I wandered into a chat room for the first and last time. I spent three hours talking to someone in Australia. That was also my first introduction to the incredible time sucker the Internet can be.
October 3, 1995: This time the TV was mounted in the classroom. I was in Mr. Stokoe's history class my sophomore year of high school, and we stopped education to watch O.J. Simpson's acquittal. The boys were very vocal and had apparently strong opinions on the case, but I just wondered why this was so important.
September 11, 2001. I was on my mission. We had just come home for lunch and I answered the phone when Elder Yazzi, the District Leader's companion called me. He told me to sit down. He told me that the Twin Towers were gone, that the White House was gone, that the Pentagon was gone and that 2 million Americans were dead. Maybe more alarming and indicative of the removed-from-the-world and a little bit fanatical state you get in on your mission, it wasn't until Elder Yazzi told me that missionary work was on hold that I really started to grasp the magnitude of the situation. I had been tracting in negative forty degree weather, for heaven's sake. Nothing stopped missionary work. My companion and I spent the rest of the day in our apartment, looking up scriptures about the Apocalypse.
November 4, 2008. I was teaching Tuesday night, and my stalwart students were a little distracted. One of my students gave us an update every twenty minutes on which presidential candidate had won which state, and at the end of the evening (near 10:00) three students received the text "Obama won." I was exhausted when I got home, but Tyler and I watched the news together for another hour.
While I didn't vote for Barrack Obama (I didn't really like McCain, but Obama's health care plan kind of freaks me out) I am overwhelmed at what a historic juncture this is. In my Writing and Rhetoric class we watch Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech and I am always amazed at how recent the civil rights movement was. I am proud and a little amazed that the American populace was ready to judge someone "not on the color of their skin, but on the content of their character."
January 28, 1986: I was in Mrs. Bush's first grade class. We had studied about how we were the space generation and I set a goal that lasted at least 24 hours to be an astronaut. The television was rolled in on its rickety cart and 30 six-year-olds watched as the shuttle magically rose from the ground and we waited for the rocket to fall off the shuttle, as Mrs. Bush assured us would happen. But the rocket didn't fall off. And the shuttle stopped rising. It fell into a big cloud of smoke and Mrs. Bush shut off the TV, informing us with tears in her eyes that we were moving on to more mundane educational tasks.
November 9, 1989: Mrs. Harward's fifth grade class. Again, a rickety TV stand--probably the same one from first grade--was wheeled in. Mrs. Harward attempted in 15 minutes to summarize the Cold War and the civic importance of the Berlin Wall falling down. We watched it for at least an hour, and I remember thinking that everything seemed dark and noisy and dirty.
C. 1994: Teachers in junior high were excited about the Information Super Highway and that you could read a book located in France for your research in Utah. Can you even imagine the research possibilities? (Now I just ban the internet from my student's academic research. So much for the research dream.) But the World Wide Web really became exciting when I opened my first email account, shelleyfanclub@hotmail.com. In honor of my best friend Shelley, OF COURSE. That night I wandered into a chat room for the first and last time. I spent three hours talking to someone in Australia. That was also my first introduction to the incredible time sucker the Internet can be.
October 3, 1995: This time the TV was mounted in the classroom. I was in Mr. Stokoe's history class my sophomore year of high school, and we stopped education to watch O.J. Simpson's acquittal. The boys were very vocal and had apparently strong opinions on the case, but I just wondered why this was so important.
September 11, 2001. I was on my mission. We had just come home for lunch and I answered the phone when Elder Yazzi, the District Leader's companion called me. He told me to sit down. He told me that the Twin Towers were gone, that the White House was gone, that the Pentagon was gone and that 2 million Americans were dead. Maybe more alarming and indicative of the removed-from-the-world and a little bit fanatical state you get in on your mission, it wasn't until Elder Yazzi told me that missionary work was on hold that I really started to grasp the magnitude of the situation. I had been tracting in negative forty degree weather, for heaven's sake. Nothing stopped missionary work. My companion and I spent the rest of the day in our apartment, looking up scriptures about the Apocalypse.
November 4, 2008. I was teaching Tuesday night, and my stalwart students were a little distracted. One of my students gave us an update every twenty minutes on which presidential candidate had won which state, and at the end of the evening (near 10:00) three students received the text "Obama won." I was exhausted when I got home, but Tyler and I watched the news together for another hour.
While I didn't vote for Barrack Obama (I didn't really like McCain, but Obama's health care plan kind of freaks me out) I am overwhelmed at what a historic juncture this is. In my Writing and Rhetoric class we watch Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech and I am always amazed at how recent the civil rights movement was. I am proud and a little amazed that the American populace was ready to judge someone "not on the color of their skin, but on the content of their character."
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Happy Holidays to You and Yours
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This morning Talmage and I got up, found all our snow gear, went for a wintery walk, made snow angels and the beginnings of a snowman, warmed up with hot chocolate (or freezing cold chocolate in Talmage's case--he likes freezing cold things) and did a puzzle. And then we listened to Abba. Cause nothing says welcome to the new season like Dancing Queen.
All in all it's been a pretty good day to be a mother.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
Cloverfield
**I felt our title needed an explanation so I'm editing Tyler's post. This is our reenactment of the movie Cloverfield, incidentally the movie we watched for Halloween. Basically there was a scary monster who attacked and everyone was very afraid. And then everyone died. The end.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
In Tribute to Lu's Enduring Patience (Poor Girl Doesn't Know There's Another One Coming in Four Months)
My favorite part is when she periodically glares at me to say, "You remember when you brought me home and promised to take care of me? And I promised to be your loyal and faithful companion no matter what your beliefs were or what decisions you decided to make? WELL THIS CHILD WASN'T PART OF THAT DEAL."
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
I'd Like to Credit This Moment to Hanes Boxer Briefs, Size XS
"How did Talmage do with his new underwear last night?"
"Perfect. He went four times."
"What a big boy. I'm so proud of him."
"We even went together once."
"You what?"
"We both went in the toilet. At the same time. It was going happen at some time in his life. Somebody had to teach him."
"Boys are different than girls."
"The fundamental problem, though, is that I'm so much taller than him."
"No, the fundamental problem is that you are 28 years old."
"Perfect. He went four times."
"What a big boy. I'm so proud of him."
"We even went together once."
"You what?"
"We both went in the toilet. At the same time. It was going happen at some time in his life. Somebody had to teach him."
"Boys are different than girls."
"The fundamental problem, though, is that I'm so much taller than him."
"No, the fundamental problem is that you are 28 years old."
Monday, October 20, 2008
To Make My Freshman Roommates Proud (Feuz, I'm Writing in Your General Direction)
Talmage's new favorite word is actually. He uses it independent of proper context. Like, "I want some candy, actually."
Which I'm pretty sure is how I use it. And I say it with a strong Utah accent. Because my name is Laura "Actually, I'm from Salt Lake" Paulsen (Howe).
Which I'm pretty sure is how I use it. And I say it with a strong Utah accent. Because my name is Laura "Actually, I'm from Salt Lake" Paulsen (Howe).
Saturday, October 18, 2008
The Play by Play of Events Leading Up To and Surrounding September 24, 2005
I was going to do this for Talmage's birthday, but, you know, life happened full of details that I can't remember right now and I'm a good month late. But with the current state of pregnancy I'm in right now, I'm worried I'm going to forget my experience of labor with Talmage, so I thought I'd document it in celebration of the three year and roughly one month anniversary of his birth.
Credit and props to Dooce, maybe the most intelligent and witty woman in Salt Lake, for the format of this entry. (The writing teacher in me also feels compelled to tell you that she lifted it from someone else, and rather than link you to the original source, I'm just sending you to Dooce's site. Scandalous.) I fully admit to not being the most intelligent and witty woman in Salt Lake, so I apologize if this is not that intelligent or funny. History, people. I'm documenting it for history.
September 9. 37 weeks pregnant. My doctor (heretofore knows as The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara) tells me that I'm dialated to about a 4 and that I'm 60% effaced. She also tells me that this isn't necessarily anything to get excited about and that it could be several more weeks before the baby is ready to come. I of course ignore that last part and plan on having my boy the next day.
September 10. While continuing to tell everyone that I'm still not sure about the name, I buy and paint wooden blocks spelling T-A-L-M-A-G-E. Because while I'm not sure about it, that is clearly the most important part of getting ready for a baby. The Pottery Barn style letters on the wall.
September 11. I have dinner at my mom's house. She asks me if my Master's thesis is written. (It's not, by the way.)
September 12-22. Mom continues to ask if my Master's thesis is written.
September 23 about noon. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara tells me at my 39 week appointment that my body is very ready to have a baby. I thought that's what she told me two weeks earlier. But I have Group B Strep, a problem that can be cleared up easily with a round of penicillin, and so maybe I should go home and talk to my husband about when I want to have a baby. I say, "Leave my husband out of it. I want to have a baby right now." She calls the hospital and they are full, so she tells me to go home and wait for them to call me.
September 23, 1:00 pm. I call my mother and tell her "I'M GOING TO HAVE A BABY TODAY!" She responds, "Sounds like you have a couple of hours. Maybe you should get your thesis written." I passively aggressively ignore her and her misplaced faith in my ability to write roughly 120 pages in two hours and instead clean the fridge.
September 23, 4:00 pm. Fridge is clean. Still waiting for the hospital to call.
September 23, 4:05 pm. I decide that maybe if I stare at the phone it will ring faster.
September 23, 4:06 pm. I intensify the staring.
September 23, 6:00 pm. We take Lu on her last walk as the most cherished member of our family. We get Cafe Rio to go. Still waiting for that phone call.
September 23, 11:00 pm. Still no call.
September 24, 3:00 am. The hospital calls with a bed for me. I tell them I'll be there in 15 minutes. I have a momentary crisis, because I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to wear my LDS underwear to the hospital, so I instead shimmy a lacy black lingerie-style thong up over my pregnant thighs and hitch it up under my swollen and stretch-marked belly.
3:20 am. I arrive at the hospital and they direct me to a room. I change into a hospital gown.
3:24 am. The nurse arrives to hook me up. She spots my lingerie in the corner and very courageously stays composed. I'm sure a career with angry pregnant and soon to not be pregnant women who spend much of the time screeching in pain will do that to you.
4:00 am. They start me on a penicillin drip and hook me up to pitocen.
4:01 am. I ask the nurse if my eyes should be itching and and my lips should be swelling.
4:02 am. The nurse turns down the penicillin.
5:00 am. I feel the first contractions. Kind of a tightening. I decide other women are whiners.
8:00 am. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara shows up to deliver the baby. She is in green scrubs, with navy pumps and a full strand of freshwater pearls. She decides I'm ready and breaks my water.
8:05 am. I came fully planning on an epidural (really, do I need to know what the pioneers experienced when I was born with a full complement of painkillers available?) but the nurse assures me I should wait until I really feel something. Tyler leaves to go get breakfast and I figure I'll wait until he gets back.
8:06 am. The first real contraction hits. I feel something.
8:20 am. How long can it take Tyler to throw down a bowl of Cheerios? I'm ready for a nice breakfast of a stick in the mouth with a side of morphine.
8:40 am. If Tyler isn't back in 5 minutes, not only am I getting an epidural without him, but I am also refusing to change any diapers. For any of our kids. Ever.
8:43 am. Tyler returns. I immediately send him to get the anesthesiologist.
8:53 am. The anesthesiologist enters and begins to analyze my state. On a scale of one to ten I tell him I feel like an eight.
8:54 am. I vomit all over the room. It's a pretty convincing eight.
8:57 am. The epidural is in. I decide drugs are the most glorious invention of mankind. I'm ready for more. Any propositions to ammend the constitution and legalize marajuana? I'm ready to sign.
9:30 am. Tyler and I decide to watch a movie. We pick Top Gun.
11:30 am. Top Gun isn't as good as you remember.
2:00 pm. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara comes in and tells me I'm at a 10 and ready to go. The nurse turns down my epidural so I can feel the contractions to push against.
2:30 pm. I'm sure Tyler could give you more details from this part. I elected not to have a mirror so I could skip over these details. I'm sure you'd like to as well.
3:00 pm (ish). I push Talmage out. He is 8 lbs. 3 oz. and 22 inches long.
3:03 pm. Tyler has taken roughly 163 pictures.
Credit and props to Dooce, maybe the most intelligent and witty woman in Salt Lake, for the format of this entry. (The writing teacher in me also feels compelled to tell you that she lifted it from someone else, and rather than link you to the original source, I'm just sending you to Dooce's site. Scandalous.) I fully admit to not being the most intelligent and witty woman in Salt Lake, so I apologize if this is not that intelligent or funny. History, people. I'm documenting it for history.
September 9. 37 weeks pregnant. My doctor (heretofore knows as The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara) tells me that I'm dialated to about a 4 and that I'm 60% effaced. She also tells me that this isn't necessarily anything to get excited about and that it could be several more weeks before the baby is ready to come. I of course ignore that last part and plan on having my boy the next day.
September 10. While continuing to tell everyone that I'm still not sure about the name, I buy and paint wooden blocks spelling T-A-L-M-A-G-E. Because while I'm not sure about it, that is clearly the most important part of getting ready for a baby. The Pottery Barn style letters on the wall.
September 11. I have dinner at my mom's house. She asks me if my Master's thesis is written. (It's not, by the way.)
September 12-22. Mom continues to ask if my Master's thesis is written.
September 23 about noon. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara tells me at my 39 week appointment that my body is very ready to have a baby. I thought that's what she told me two weeks earlier. But I have Group B Strep, a problem that can be cleared up easily with a round of penicillin, and so maybe I should go home and talk to my husband about when I want to have a baby. I say, "Leave my husband out of it. I want to have a baby right now." She calls the hospital and they are full, so she tells me to go home and wait for them to call me.
September 23, 1:00 pm. I call my mother and tell her "I'M GOING TO HAVE A BABY TODAY!" She responds, "Sounds like you have a couple of hours. Maybe you should get your thesis written." I passively aggressively ignore her and her misplaced faith in my ability to write roughly 120 pages in two hours and instead clean the fridge.
September 23, 4:00 pm. Fridge is clean. Still waiting for the hospital to call.
September 23, 4:05 pm. I decide that maybe if I stare at the phone it will ring faster.
September 23, 4:06 pm. I intensify the staring.
September 23, 6:00 pm. We take Lu on her last walk as the most cherished member of our family. We get Cafe Rio to go. Still waiting for that phone call.
September 23, 11:00 pm. Still no call.
September 24, 3:00 am. The hospital calls with a bed for me. I tell them I'll be there in 15 minutes. I have a momentary crisis, because I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to wear my LDS underwear to the hospital, so I instead shimmy a lacy black lingerie-style thong up over my pregnant thighs and hitch it up under my swollen and stretch-marked belly.
3:20 am. I arrive at the hospital and they direct me to a room. I change into a hospital gown.
3:24 am. The nurse arrives to hook me up. She spots my lingerie in the corner and very courageously stays composed. I'm sure a career with angry pregnant and soon to not be pregnant women who spend much of the time screeching in pain will do that to you.
4:00 am. They start me on a penicillin drip and hook me up to pitocen.
4:01 am. I ask the nurse if my eyes should be itching and and my lips should be swelling.
4:02 am. The nurse turns down the penicillin.
5:00 am. I feel the first contractions. Kind of a tightening. I decide other women are whiners.
8:00 am. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara shows up to deliver the baby. She is in green scrubs, with navy pumps and a full strand of freshwater pearls. She decides I'm ready and breaks my water.
8:05 am. I came fully planning on an epidural (really, do I need to know what the pioneers experienced when I was born with a full complement of painkillers available?) but the nurse assures me I should wait until I really feel something. Tyler leaves to go get breakfast and I figure I'll wait until he gets back.
8:06 am. The first real contraction hits. I feel something.
8:20 am. How long can it take Tyler to throw down a bowl of Cheerios? I'm ready for a nice breakfast of a stick in the mouth with a side of morphine.
8:40 am. If Tyler isn't back in 5 minutes, not only am I getting an epidural without him, but I am also refusing to change any diapers. For any of our kids. Ever.
8:43 am. Tyler returns. I immediately send him to get the anesthesiologist.
8:53 am. The anesthesiologist enters and begins to analyze my state. On a scale of one to ten I tell him I feel like an eight.
8:54 am. I vomit all over the room. It's a pretty convincing eight.
8:57 am. The epidural is in. I decide drugs are the most glorious invention of mankind. I'm ready for more. Any propositions to ammend the constitution and legalize marajuana? I'm ready to sign.
9:30 am. Tyler and I decide to watch a movie. We pick Top Gun.
11:30 am. Top Gun isn't as good as you remember.
2:00 pm. The Classiest 75 Year Old Woman Alive, Excepting Maybe My Grandma Sara comes in and tells me I'm at a 10 and ready to go. The nurse turns down my epidural so I can feel the contractions to push against.
2:30 pm. I'm sure Tyler could give you more details from this part. I elected not to have a mirror so I could skip over these details. I'm sure you'd like to as well.
3:00 pm (ish). I push Talmage out. He is 8 lbs. 3 oz. and 22 inches long.
3:03 pm. Tyler has taken roughly 163 pictures.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Please Find Me!
Alma 45:18-19
And when Alma had done this he departed out of the land of Zarahemla, as if to go into the land of Melek. And it came to pass that he was never heard of more; as to his death or burial we know not of. Behold, this we know, that he was a righteous man; and the saying went abroad in the church that he was taken up by the Spirit, or buried by the hand of the Lord, even as Moses. But behold, the scriptures saith the Lord took Moses unto himself; and we suppose that he has also received Alma in the spirit, unto himself; therefore, for this cause we know nothing concerning his death and burial.
I feel it is very important that I keep myself from being too righteous, so I never run the risk of having the search and rescue decide I was taken unto the Lord while I'm really wandering aimlessly in the woods.
Poor Alma!
And when Alma had done this he departed out of the land of Zarahemla, as if to go into the land of Melek. And it came to pass that he was never heard of more; as to his death or burial we know not of. Behold, this we know, that he was a righteous man; and the saying went abroad in the church that he was taken up by the Spirit, or buried by the hand of the Lord, even as Moses. But behold, the scriptures saith the Lord took Moses unto himself; and we suppose that he has also received Alma in the spirit, unto himself; therefore, for this cause we know nothing concerning his death and burial.
I feel it is very important that I keep myself from being too righteous, so I never run the risk of having the search and rescue decide I was taken unto the Lord while I'm really wandering aimlessly in the woods.
Poor Alma!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Nine Things I Am Irrationally Vain About
1. My fingers. I have very pretty fingers. Long and lean. I could have been a hand model and made millions.
2. My nailbeds. Totally different than my fingers. When I got a manicure before Homecoming senior year the manicurist told me I'd never need acrylics. And she's right. My nailbeds are beautiful.
3. My salads. I make a killer salad. I'm so obnoxiously proud of this that when someone complimented me about the last salad I made (with yellow peppers instead of red peppers so that combined with the tomatoes the color palette would be aesthetically pleasing and with an array of artfully spread avocados) I said, "Oh this? This isn't even a fancy salad."
4. How big my child is. Talmage is above average. He just dropped from 95th percentile of children to 90th percentile, and I have to say I was a little disappointed. This is a change from when I was panicked that I would have monstrously large children. I was also panicked about having weird looking children because little sister told me my kids were going to be interesting looking because Tyler and I look nothing alike. In your face, Guggy. Talmage is blindingly attractive. And you're going to have children with big heads.
5. How small my feet are. Granted, they're a size 7, but have you ever heard of a woman who's 5'9" with only size 7 feet? I didn't think so.
6. The bibliography at the end of my thesis. It's nine pages long. When I was writing my thesis I used to have a little personal celebration involving Alexander the Grape candies each time I bumped to a new page. It's very pretty.
7. My knowledge of 60s and 70s music. This was my only selling point with guys in high school and college. I was never the cool girl who could play a game of pick-up basketball or throw a football with alarming accuracy. But I knew all about Keith Moon's death from elephant tranquilizers and that all of the Eagles members majored in music in college. And that was COOL. (Didn't get me too far with Tyler since he didn't care about this knowledge in the slightest. Good thing I had more than a working familiarity with Billy Joel.)
8. My ability to pound candy. I can eat a large size bag of Starbursts in one sitting without breaking a sweat.
9. My hair. It's long and thick and fine and, well, maybe that's not irrational. I have GREAT hair.
2. My nailbeds. Totally different than my fingers. When I got a manicure before Homecoming senior year the manicurist told me I'd never need acrylics. And she's right. My nailbeds are beautiful.
3. My salads. I make a killer salad. I'm so obnoxiously proud of this that when someone complimented me about the last salad I made (with yellow peppers instead of red peppers so that combined with the tomatoes the color palette would be aesthetically pleasing and with an array of artfully spread avocados) I said, "Oh this? This isn't even a fancy salad."
4. How big my child is. Talmage is above average. He just dropped from 95th percentile of children to 90th percentile, and I have to say I was a little disappointed. This is a change from when I was panicked that I would have monstrously large children. I was also panicked about having weird looking children because little sister told me my kids were going to be interesting looking because Tyler and I look nothing alike. In your face, Guggy. Talmage is blindingly attractive. And you're going to have children with big heads.
5. How small my feet are. Granted, they're a size 7, but have you ever heard of a woman who's 5'9" with only size 7 feet? I didn't think so.
6. The bibliography at the end of my thesis. It's nine pages long. When I was writing my thesis I used to have a little personal celebration involving Alexander the Grape candies each time I bumped to a new page. It's very pretty.
7. My knowledge of 60s and 70s music. This was my only selling point with guys in high school and college. I was never the cool girl who could play a game of pick-up basketball or throw a football with alarming accuracy. But I knew all about Keith Moon's death from elephant tranquilizers and that all of the Eagles members majored in music in college. And that was COOL. (Didn't get me too far with Tyler since he didn't care about this knowledge in the slightest. Good thing I had more than a working familiarity with Billy Joel.)
8. My ability to pound candy. I can eat a large size bag of Starbursts in one sitting without breaking a sweat.
9. My hair. It's long and thick and fine and, well, maybe that's not irrational. I have GREAT hair.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Talmage the Biker
This video is a contribution from Talmage's great uncle Kevin--and I do mean "great!"
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
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