Pregnancy has been a challenge to me. To say the least. I always grew up listening to my mother remember how much she enjoyed being pregnant. She loved every single second of growing bigger, being sick, and being bed-ridden. I always thought that I too would love the experience. I mean, if a woman who was nauseous, gained 65 pounds with both of her pregnancies, was put on bed rest because of a slipped disk in her back (because of the 65 pounds, no doubt), had gestational diabetes (again 65 pounds), and with her second pregnancy developed cerebral palsy, which resulted in half of her face being paralyzed. PARALYZED. I mean, who has ever even heard of that?!? Even after all of these things, she loved it. Not just liked it, didn't think it was kinda cool but by the end was over it. No, she loooooved it. And she never got tired of it.
So, naturally, I thought I would love it. If a woman can go through all the things my mother did and still love it, I should too, right? Not. I now have the utmost respect for women who have many children, like the husband's gramma, who had 10. And the Duggar wife. You know, the "19 Kids and Counting" mom. I am barely making it through my one pregnancy, let alone 19. Who does that? Someone with a very high tolerance for all things pregnancy, that's who. I, on the other hand, have not enjoyed being pregnant. Which makes me feel like a bad mom. And technically, I'm not even a mom yet.
While I openly do not enjoy being pregnant (the poor husband can attest to my constant complaints and struggles) there has been one major plus to it. And no, it's not eating like a pig. I do that anyway, I don't need pregnancy to use as an excuse. The best part about it has been seeing the husband's reaction to everything. He has never been more supportive or understanding than the past 8 months, and it has given me a glimpse into what I can expect when the baby is finally born.
Today he walked in from work and saw the open box of Lucky Charms sitting next to my laptop and spread of materials I was working on. (In my defense, we don't buy sugary cereal, but I am teaching a St. Patrick's Day graphing lesson and am using the cereal for the math pieces.) He came up to me in the kitchen with a big smile on his face and asked "What did you have?!?" I sheepishly admitted that while I opened the box so I could prep for Friday and make a graph paper for the kids, I couldn't resist and had a bowl for myself. He just laughed, lovingly grabbed my belly, brought his face right up to the baby bump and said "Did you have Lucky Charms, Liam?" It was the sweetest moment.
And these heart-melting moments happen all the time with the husband. He tenderly rests his hand on my belly while we're in bed just to feel if baby is moving. Normally I hate when he wakes me up before the alarm, but on a few occasions since we've conceived, he has woken me up when he slides his hand over to feel the bump and see if he can get baby to move. I love being woken up that way. He refers to the baby as being "Team Daddy" and while I pretend to be upset at the thought that the baby might like the husband more than me, I am secretly falling more in love with the husband at the thought that he adores his son so much already. I know that we will make a great team once the baby is here. And so, pregnancy does have it's perks, thanks to my wonderful husband.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
You know those pregnancy hormones they talk about?...
They're real. Really real. But I didn't notice it at first. I soared through my first trimester and most of my second thinking that I was totally in control of my emotions. Those women who talk about being crabby and moody and mopey? Nope, not real. Definitely not real for me, at least. I thought of myself as being one of the lucky few who did not experience this hormonal side effect of pregnancy. After all, I felt like I deserved some sort of consolation.
I've experienced most of the symptoms that are pregnancy. Like being nauseous. Very nauseous. And those women and books who told me "Just wait 'til you hit 12 weeks. After 12 weeks you'll be fine. You won't be sick anymore and you'll feel great!" Liars. All of them liars. Because at 12 weeks I was still sick. And at 16 weeks? Still sick. And at 20 weeks? Yup, still sick. My kid must hate me already. Finally, the sickness subsided, mostly, around 24 weeks. But like I said, I felt deserving of not having raging hormones after all that being sick I had to put up with.
But apparently I was wrong. It all started innocently enough. The husband and I subscribe to netflix, so we get movies a few times a week. One of the movies we received was Hachi: A Dog's Tale. Let me back up a bit. Those who know me know that I am, in general, a typical woman. Meaning that I cry. I cry when I am upset, when I am frustrated, when I laugh and when I am angry. I especially cry during sad movies. I hate those movies that get me all teary, yet those suddenly become all-time favorites of mine and when I see them on tv I have to watch them. Like I Am Sam. That stupid movie gets me every time. And I hate it so much that when I see it listed on my guide, I have to watch it and cry my eyes out like I've never seen it before.
Anyway, this movie, Hachi came in the mail. Have you ever heard of this movie? It is described on IMDb as being "A drama based on the true story of a college professor's bond with the abandoned dog he takes into his home." Sounds sweet, right? Yes. Keep telling yourself that. And now is the point at which I am going to ruin the movie for those who have not seen it. You have been warned.
The movie starts when Richard Gere finds a lost puppy at the train station. He ends up keeping this puppy and loves this puppy as much as his kids. Maybe more, since he spends more time with the dog. This dog ends up being a smarty pants. He walks Gere to the train station every morning, walks home by himself, then meets him back at the train station at the same time every day right as Richard Gere is getting off the train.
Then one day, Hachi doesn't want to go with Gere to the train station. In fact, he tries to get Gere not to go to work that day. He tries not going with him to the train station. When that doesn't work, he runs after him and tries to get him to stay off the train by playing catch (a game, by the way, that Gere could never get Hachi to play). Gere doesn't understand and gets on the train anyway.
At this point in time, I am starting to get misty eyed. I know something bad is about to happen. Can't Gere see that Hachi is warning him!?! I was actually semi-shouting at the tv screen "Don't go! The train is going to crash and you're going to die if you get on it! Don't do it! Ugh, you are so stupid Gere! Men don't listen to anything!" (I was quite invested in the movie at this time.)
Turns out I was right. Kind of. Gere didn't die in a train crash, but he did have a heart attack at work and died that way. Just as good. Either way, Hachi was warning him and Gere didn't listen. I start to softly cry as it unfolds that Gere is dead. But the kicker is yet to come. Back at home, Hachi hears the whistle of the train and starts off to meet his best bud. But Gere never gets off the train. And Hachi just sits there and sits there. For hours this dog is just sitting at the train station in the snow, waiting for his best friend.
And then I lost it. I started sobbing. And I am talking full on sobs of anguish, tears pouring down my face, snot gushing out of my nose. No matter what else I thought of I couldn't get the picture of that dog just sitting there out of my mind. As I sit on the couch sobbing loudly the husband is staring at me in disbelief. He did not know what to do. I, in the meantime, am saying to him in between sobs "Turn (sob) it (sob) off! I can't (sob) watch (sob) this (sob) anymore!!!" That's when the husband starts laughing. Almost as uncontrollably as I am sobbing he is laughing at me asking "What is wrong with you?!" Then I realize how ridiculous it is that I am crying so hard over a stupid movie that I start laughing too. But then I remember the movie and I start sobbing again. I was simultaneously laughing and sobbing while still begging the husband to "Turn it off!" I could not stop sobbing or laughing. I had no way of controlling myself, no matter how ridiculous I knew it was.
Eventually I left the room, blew my nose and collected myself. And because the husband thinks he is hilarious, when I walked back in the movie was still playing. This time I demanded that he turn it off and confirmed that there was no way I was watching it. We mailed it back the next day. I have no idea how it ends, but there is no way I will ever watch that movie. Not ever. My kid is seriously messing with me. Or, as my husband says, he is "Team Daddy".
I've experienced most of the symptoms that are pregnancy. Like being nauseous. Very nauseous. And those women and books who told me "Just wait 'til you hit 12 weeks. After 12 weeks you'll be fine. You won't be sick anymore and you'll feel great!" Liars. All of them liars. Because at 12 weeks I was still sick. And at 16 weeks? Still sick. And at 20 weeks? Yup, still sick. My kid must hate me already. Finally, the sickness subsided, mostly, around 24 weeks. But like I said, I felt deserving of not having raging hormones after all that being sick I had to put up with.
But apparently I was wrong. It all started innocently enough. The husband and I subscribe to netflix, so we get movies a few times a week. One of the movies we received was Hachi: A Dog's Tale. Let me back up a bit. Those who know me know that I am, in general, a typical woman. Meaning that I cry. I cry when I am upset, when I am frustrated, when I laugh and when I am angry. I especially cry during sad movies. I hate those movies that get me all teary, yet those suddenly become all-time favorites of mine and when I see them on tv I have to watch them. Like I Am Sam. That stupid movie gets me every time. And I hate it so much that when I see it listed on my guide, I have to watch it and cry my eyes out like I've never seen it before.
Anyway, this movie, Hachi came in the mail. Have you ever heard of this movie? It is described on IMDb as being "A drama based on the true story of a college professor's bond with the abandoned dog he takes into his home." Sounds sweet, right? Yes. Keep telling yourself that. And now is the point at which I am going to ruin the movie for those who have not seen it. You have been warned.
The movie starts when Richard Gere finds a lost puppy at the train station. He ends up keeping this puppy and loves this puppy as much as his kids. Maybe more, since he spends more time with the dog. This dog ends up being a smarty pants. He walks Gere to the train station every morning, walks home by himself, then meets him back at the train station at the same time every day right as Richard Gere is getting off the train.
Then one day, Hachi doesn't want to go with Gere to the train station. In fact, he tries to get Gere not to go to work that day. He tries not going with him to the train station. When that doesn't work, he runs after him and tries to get him to stay off the train by playing catch (a game, by the way, that Gere could never get Hachi to play). Gere doesn't understand and gets on the train anyway.
At this point in time, I am starting to get misty eyed. I know something bad is about to happen. Can't Gere see that Hachi is warning him!?! I was actually semi-shouting at the tv screen "Don't go! The train is going to crash and you're going to die if you get on it! Don't do it! Ugh, you are so stupid Gere! Men don't listen to anything!" (I was quite invested in the movie at this time.)
Turns out I was right. Kind of. Gere didn't die in a train crash, but he did have a heart attack at work and died that way. Just as good. Either way, Hachi was warning him and Gere didn't listen. I start to softly cry as it unfolds that Gere is dead. But the kicker is yet to come. Back at home, Hachi hears the whistle of the train and starts off to meet his best bud. But Gere never gets off the train. And Hachi just sits there and sits there. For hours this dog is just sitting at the train station in the snow, waiting for his best friend.
And then I lost it. I started sobbing. And I am talking full on sobs of anguish, tears pouring down my face, snot gushing out of my nose. No matter what else I thought of I couldn't get the picture of that dog just sitting there out of my mind. As I sit on the couch sobbing loudly the husband is staring at me in disbelief. He did not know what to do. I, in the meantime, am saying to him in between sobs "Turn (sob) it (sob) off! I can't (sob) watch (sob) this (sob) anymore!!!" That's when the husband starts laughing. Almost as uncontrollably as I am sobbing he is laughing at me asking "What is wrong with you?!" Then I realize how ridiculous it is that I am crying so hard over a stupid movie that I start laughing too. But then I remember the movie and I start sobbing again. I was simultaneously laughing and sobbing while still begging the husband to "Turn it off!" I could not stop sobbing or laughing. I had no way of controlling myself, no matter how ridiculous I knew it was.
Eventually I left the room, blew my nose and collected myself. And because the husband thinks he is hilarious, when I walked back in the movie was still playing. This time I demanded that he turn it off and confirmed that there was no way I was watching it. We mailed it back the next day. I have no idea how it ends, but there is no way I will ever watch that movie. Not ever. My kid is seriously messing with me. Or, as my husband says, he is "Team Daddy".
Friday, February 25, 2011
New York, New York
As the husband and I quickly approach our 2 year anniversary, it reminded me of our 1 year anniversary. And, as I've mentioned before, the husband and I went to New York to celebrate our 1 year anniversary. Neither of us had ever been and I was dying to just go and walk around everywhere. (Living in southern Cali doesn't promote positive pedestrian atmospheres.) We had many activities planned like going to see Chicago on Broadway and seeing Ground Zero.
Before heading out I started getting pretty nervous. I of course blamed this on the husband. All the other trips I have ever been on I have been excited to go and then the husband starts asking questions. Did you remember to pack this? Did you book the tickets for Chicago? When does our flight take off? Seriously, it's like he can't do any of this himself and I am left stressing over the details.
I have many reservations about traveling. Sure I love the idea of traveling. the thought of going somewhere foreign and exotic always sounds so appealing. But then comes the planning and the worrying. First of all, the husband and I don't really travel by air too often. We make sure to go with the family to Arizona a few times in the summer, but using a plane to get us to the next destination is a little nerve-racking. The airport in general is a scary and unknown place for me. I always worry about getting there far enough in advance, but also worrying about not getting there too early. (Who wants to sit in the airport for longer than necessary?) Once you get there you have to find where to actually go. Are we supposed to check in at a kiosk? At a self-checkin station? Wait in line for the airport-checker-inner? And what are we supposed to do with our bags? Where do those puppies go? Then there's security where you have to almost completely undress and then re-dress. I'm not a big fan and the mere thought of going there gets my stomach all gurgly and topsy-turvy.
To make matters worse, the most recent air travel experience before New York was a disaster. We went to San Francisco shortly after we got engaged and decided to fly. (It's faster and less of a hassle because have you seen San Francisco? All those one-ways and no places to park?!) Also, the husband hates road trips, so flying seemed like a decent alternative. I have learned many important lessons from flying to San Fran.
#1 Most important thing to check on? What your luggage tags say. Because when they say Fort Lauderdal, Florida and you are going to San Francisco, California you have a problem. A big problem. Because, as it turns out, they send your bags to wherever those tags say. So our bag? Yep, ended up in Florida.
#2 When the airline tell you that you get up to $100 a day to replace your belongings and don't worry they will refund you as long as you have receipts, that doesn't include certain items. We had food and toiletries and face wash and my hair dryer in our bag. So when we went to the store, we bought things that we felt we needed, like breakfast foods so we didn't have to go out to eat every single meal. Guess what the airline said. No food items. But when did they tell us this? When we faxed in our receipts to get reimbursed. But not right away, mind you, weeks later.
#3 American Airlines does not list their phone numbers on their website. So how in the heck do they expect us to get a hold of them? Fax. or E-mail. And when they don't respond there's nothing we can do to get a phone number to talk to a real life human being.
#4 In short, I will never fly American Airlines again. I got back barely half of what I spent and a voucher for $100 to use on a subsequent plane ticket that expired in a year. Guess what we didn't do in that year? Travel.
So I was worried about New York posing some sort of awful experience as well. But as it turns out, I love this city and try on a regualr basis to convince the husband that we need to move there. He is not having it.
Here are some highlights from the trip:
Before heading out I started getting pretty nervous. I of course blamed this on the husband. All the other trips I have ever been on I have been excited to go and then the husband starts asking questions. Did you remember to pack this? Did you book the tickets for Chicago? When does our flight take off? Seriously, it's like he can't do any of this himself and I am left stressing over the details.
I have many reservations about traveling. Sure I love the idea of traveling. the thought of going somewhere foreign and exotic always sounds so appealing. But then comes the planning and the worrying. First of all, the husband and I don't really travel by air too often. We make sure to go with the family to Arizona a few times in the summer, but using a plane to get us to the next destination is a little nerve-racking. The airport in general is a scary and unknown place for me. I always worry about getting there far enough in advance, but also worrying about not getting there too early. (Who wants to sit in the airport for longer than necessary?) Once you get there you have to find where to actually go. Are we supposed to check in at a kiosk? At a self-checkin station? Wait in line for the airport-checker-inner? And what are we supposed to do with our bags? Where do those puppies go? Then there's security where you have to almost completely undress and then re-dress. I'm not a big fan and the mere thought of going there gets my stomach all gurgly and topsy-turvy.
To make matters worse, the most recent air travel experience before New York was a disaster. We went to San Francisco shortly after we got engaged and decided to fly. (It's faster and less of a hassle because have you seen San Francisco? All those one-ways and no places to park?!) Also, the husband hates road trips, so flying seemed like a decent alternative. I have learned many important lessons from flying to San Fran.
#1 Most important thing to check on? What your luggage tags say. Because when they say Fort Lauderdal, Florida and you are going to San Francisco, California you have a problem. A big problem. Because, as it turns out, they send your bags to wherever those tags say. So our bag? Yep, ended up in Florida.
#2 When the airline tell you that you get up to $100 a day to replace your belongings and don't worry they will refund you as long as you have receipts, that doesn't include certain items. We had food and toiletries and face wash and my hair dryer in our bag. So when we went to the store, we bought things that we felt we needed, like breakfast foods so we didn't have to go out to eat every single meal. Guess what the airline said. No food items. But when did they tell us this? When we faxed in our receipts to get reimbursed. But not right away, mind you, weeks later.
#3 American Airlines does not list their phone numbers on their website. So how in the heck do they expect us to get a hold of them? Fax. or E-mail. And when they don't respond there's nothing we can do to get a phone number to talk to a real life human being.
#4 In short, I will never fly American Airlines again. I got back barely half of what I spent and a voucher for $100 to use on a subsequent plane ticket that expired in a year. Guess what we didn't do in that year? Travel.
So I was worried about New York posing some sort of awful experience as well. But as it turns out, I love this city and try on a regualr basis to convince the husband that we need to move there. He is not having it.
Here are some highlights from the trip:
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Sweet Innocence
I know it's been quite a while since my last post, and for that I have a few reasons. Of which, work has kept me extremely busy this year, including trying constantly to find a full time teaching position as well as trying to expand my credential which means taking a really annoying and time consuming English course. Probably the most time consuming and exhausting reason is that I am pregnant. Yes, me, the lady that devoted an entire post to how I do not want a baby is pregnant. And I want the baby. And it wasn't an accident. And we are having a boy due May 7 (which means I am 7 months pregnant and counting down). It's a really exciting time, filled with 5+ months of morning sickness, lots of weight gain and jabs in the middle of the night resonating from within my belly.
Turns out, there is a lot that comes with being pregnant. Take for instance the amount of doctors visits a woman must attend, and the number of times she must go get blood drawn for one test or another. I have been to the lab to get no more than 6 blood samples and various other testing, like glucose and thyroid testing. Not to be outdone by the amount of pricks my arm has endured, since I found out I was pregnant, I have had to go to the doctors every 4 weeks. And recently my doctor informed me that since I am now 7 months they want to monitor my progression more closely and I must come in every 2 weeks. That is a lot of time spent in the doctor's office, not to mention a lot of co-pays. And I almost forgot the ultrasounds. Although there were only 3 of these, and I actually wish there were more ordered so I could see my lil guy.
Not only have I spent my time at my obgyn's office, I have spent time looking up baby articles and reading baby magazines and of course reading "What to Expect When You Are Expecting" My world has flipped upside down and now revolves around my unborn son and everything I need to do to prepare for his birth. I have registered, researched pediatricians and talked to every mom I encounter about what to expect during labor.
As my belly has grown and my sickness has subsided, I get many questions from other moms about how baby is progressing and even more questions from my students. Just the other day, a class of Kindergartners were ery excited that I was growing a baby in my belly and had question after question. Their cute little faces and curious eyes peered up at me while I confirmed. "Yes, I am growing a baby in my tummy."
Them: "Are you growing a baby boy or girl?"
Me: "I'm going to have a baby boy/"
Them: "What is his name?"
Me: "We are going to name him Liam."
Then, one knowledgeable little girl announces "Yea, and her baby is gonna come out her vagina!"
I blankly stare at the kids as a little boy quickly asks: "What's a china?"
All I wanted to do was laugh, but instead I replied "All right, we are going to read this story about the tooth fairy!"
The one thing I have learned working with such young children is they will tell you how it is and they aren't shy about it. Oh, the joys of children. I can't wait to hear what my son will say to his teachers.
Turns out, there is a lot that comes with being pregnant. Take for instance the amount of doctors visits a woman must attend, and the number of times she must go get blood drawn for one test or another. I have been to the lab to get no more than 6 blood samples and various other testing, like glucose and thyroid testing. Not to be outdone by the amount of pricks my arm has endured, since I found out I was pregnant, I have had to go to the doctors every 4 weeks. And recently my doctor informed me that since I am now 7 months they want to monitor my progression more closely and I must come in every 2 weeks. That is a lot of time spent in the doctor's office, not to mention a lot of co-pays. And I almost forgot the ultrasounds. Although there were only 3 of these, and I actually wish there were more ordered so I could see my lil guy.
Not only have I spent my time at my obgyn's office, I have spent time looking up baby articles and reading baby magazines and of course reading "What to Expect When You Are Expecting" My world has flipped upside down and now revolves around my unborn son and everything I need to do to prepare for his birth. I have registered, researched pediatricians and talked to every mom I encounter about what to expect during labor.
As my belly has grown and my sickness has subsided, I get many questions from other moms about how baby is progressing and even more questions from my students. Just the other day, a class of Kindergartners were ery excited that I was growing a baby in my belly and had question after question. Their cute little faces and curious eyes peered up at me while I confirmed. "Yes, I am growing a baby in my tummy."
Them: "Are you growing a baby boy or girl?"
Me: "I'm going to have a baby boy/"
Them: "What is his name?"
Me: "We are going to name him Liam."
Then, one knowledgeable little girl announces "Yea, and her baby is gonna come out her vagina!"
I blankly stare at the kids as a little boy quickly asks: "What's a china?"
All I wanted to do was laugh, but instead I replied "All right, we are going to read this story about the tooth fairy!"
The one thing I have learned working with such young children is they will tell you how it is and they aren't shy about it. Oh, the joys of children. I can't wait to hear what my son will say to his teachers.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Table for Two
The husband and I don't go out to eat very often. For a few reasons: 1. We like cooking together 2. Cooking at home saves money 3. We have a hard time deciding where to go 4. It seems to be hard to choose a healthy dish to eat when dining out (and the husband and I like to eat healthy) So, since we don't go out too often, it makes it fun and more exciting when we do decide to dine out. Funny things happen to us when we eat out, though. Funny things that make eating at certain places more memorable and bring a smile to my face when I think about it.
It is always a bit of a task trying to decide where to go to eat. We usually start by checking our gift cards to see where we can go eat for free (because really, who doesn't love a free meal?). If we find a gift card yo a restaurant that sounds appetizing, we then have to think about where it is located in realtion to the new home. (Because living here for a year does not mean that I remember where anything is besides the grocery stores.) Then we have to decide upon a time that we want to go. And really, even reading back over this it sounds ridiculous. As you can tell, we aren't a "fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants" couple. We like to plan and then execute.
A couple years ago, we got a gift card to Chili's. And a special occassion came up and we decided to go out to eat. It was a weekday and we went for an early dinner, so the place was on the empty side. Which doesn't bother me at all. That just means we get extra attention. The host was a guy, probably between 17 and 20. He was very nice and friendly.
Host - How many?
Husband - Two.
Host - Okay, right this way.
Husband - Thank you.
Host - So how are you guys today?
Husband - Good thank you.
Host - How is the weather outside? Nice?
Husband - Yes, actually not too hot but warm.
Host - Great. Here's your table and your waiter will be right with you.
He hands us our menus and walks away so we can get an idea of what we might want to order. We busied ourselves with trying to decide what to eat when our waiter came up.
Waiter - Hi, my name is John, I'll be your waiter for today.
At the sound of his voice, the husband and I looked up. And we were completely confused. The waiter looked like he was between 17 and 20, very nice and friendly. He was acting like he had never seen us before, but he looked so familiar.
Husband - Aren't you... the. same.... Aren't you the same guy who just... seated us?
Waiter - Yea. It was a joke.
Husband - Oh.
At this point, I completely lost it. I had to look away or I would have burst out loud laughing hysterically. I felt bad because this poor guy was completely embarrassed. I'm sure was bored and was just trying to spice up his work time by having a little fun. But it was entirely weird. And so funny. The husband and I still think back on this experience and still laugh about it. I don't know how we do it, but we always seem to attract the crazies.
It is always a bit of a task trying to decide where to go to eat. We usually start by checking our gift cards to see where we can go eat for free (because really, who doesn't love a free meal?). If we find a gift card yo a restaurant that sounds appetizing, we then have to think about where it is located in realtion to the new home. (Because living here for a year does not mean that I remember where anything is besides the grocery stores.) Then we have to decide upon a time that we want to go. And really, even reading back over this it sounds ridiculous. As you can tell, we aren't a "fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants" couple. We like to plan and then execute.
A couple years ago, we got a gift card to Chili's. And a special occassion came up and we decided to go out to eat. It was a weekday and we went for an early dinner, so the place was on the empty side. Which doesn't bother me at all. That just means we get extra attention. The host was a guy, probably between 17 and 20. He was very nice and friendly.
Host - How many?
Husband - Two.
Host - Okay, right this way.
Husband - Thank you.
Host - So how are you guys today?
Husband - Good thank you.
Host - How is the weather outside? Nice?
Husband - Yes, actually not too hot but warm.
Host - Great. Here's your table and your waiter will be right with you.
He hands us our menus and walks away so we can get an idea of what we might want to order. We busied ourselves with trying to decide what to eat when our waiter came up.
Waiter - Hi, my name is John, I'll be your waiter for today.
At the sound of his voice, the husband and I looked up. And we were completely confused. The waiter looked like he was between 17 and 20, very nice and friendly. He was acting like he had never seen us before, but he looked so familiar.
Husband - Aren't you... the. same.... Aren't you the same guy who just... seated us?
Waiter - Yea. It was a joke.
Husband - Oh.
At this point, I completely lost it. I had to look away or I would have burst out loud laughing hysterically. I felt bad because this poor guy was completely embarrassed. I'm sure was bored and was just trying to spice up his work time by having a little fun. But it was entirely weird. And so funny. The husband and I still think back on this experience and still laugh about it. I don't know how we do it, but we always seem to attract the crazies.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
A Complaint to My Neighbors
When the husband and I got engaged, the husband had it all planned out. He is very much a list person. One of those that makes a list for virtually everything and then checks it off as he completes his tasks. Although he did not have an actual list, I know that he had a virtual list in his mind of things that must happen in his life before other things were allowed to occur. For example, he made it a point to have a permanant, full time job in place before looking for a house to buy. Also, he bought a home before proposing to me so that when we got married I would be fully provided for. I love this aspect of my husband. He is a planner and for that reason we are able to live in a brand new neighborhood.
Part of the perks of being a brand-new-home-homeowner is that everything is new. The house, the appliances, the carpet, the grass outside and the pool. Did I mention the grass is new? Now, don't get me wrong, our neighborhood is mostly comprised of homes and not so much grass, but there are grassy areas for kids to frolic in and for dogs to sniff at. However, we have noticed a growing problem in our growing community.
Almost everyone who lives here owns a dog. While this is not necessarily a bad thing, it definitely has it's downsides. And for me, those downsides far outweigh the upsides. Which is why the husband and I don't own a dog. That, and we don't feel that we have enough room for a dog. The husband and I have noticed a few things about the said brand new grassy areas since the community dog population has grown. One of which is that the grass is now dying in more than a couple of areas around the neighborhood. I understand that dogs need to relieve themselves, but please for the love of everyone who wants to enjoy nice, brand new grass, vary the locations on which you allow your furry creatures to pee-pee. It's so sad that our green grass now has patchy dead areas.
We have not only noticed that dog owners are actively allowing their pets to kill our neighborhood grass, but we also find that a lot of those said dog owners refuse to pick up their dog droppings. Yes, their dog poo is all over our small grassy areas meant for everyone to enjoy. And instead of everyone being able to enjoy them, only the dogs who don't care that they are about to step in stinky masses dare to venture onto the grass. This problem has only grown in the past few months. More and more people find it perfectly acceptable to leave their dogs leavings behind. Without so much as a look back.
And then there are those who pick up their dog's poo, tie it up in a bag and then toss the bag into the bushes. This really confuses me. I for one, can completely relate to not wanting to pick up hot, steamy dog poo. (Another reason I don't particularly want a dog.) But what I cannot fathom is why anyone would pick up the poo and then throw it in the bushes. What is the point of this? If I ever see someone do this, I will personally ask them why that is better than leaving it in the first place. Now we have bags and dog poo and dying grass. All over our new neighborhood.
Part of the perks of being a brand-new-home-homeowner is that everything is new. The house, the appliances, the carpet, the grass outside and the pool. Did I mention the grass is new? Now, don't get me wrong, our neighborhood is mostly comprised of homes and not so much grass, but there are grassy areas for kids to frolic in and for dogs to sniff at. However, we have noticed a growing problem in our growing community.
Almost everyone who lives here owns a dog. While this is not necessarily a bad thing, it definitely has it's downsides. And for me, those downsides far outweigh the upsides. Which is why the husband and I don't own a dog. That, and we don't feel that we have enough room for a dog. The husband and I have noticed a few things about the said brand new grassy areas since the community dog population has grown. One of which is that the grass is now dying in more than a couple of areas around the neighborhood. I understand that dogs need to relieve themselves, but please for the love of everyone who wants to enjoy nice, brand new grass, vary the locations on which you allow your furry creatures to pee-pee. It's so sad that our green grass now has patchy dead areas.
We have not only noticed that dog owners are actively allowing their pets to kill our neighborhood grass, but we also find that a lot of those said dog owners refuse to pick up their dog droppings. Yes, their dog poo is all over our small grassy areas meant for everyone to enjoy. And instead of everyone being able to enjoy them, only the dogs who don't care that they are about to step in stinky masses dare to venture onto the grass. This problem has only grown in the past few months. More and more people find it perfectly acceptable to leave their dogs leavings behind. Without so much as a look back.
And then there are those who pick up their dog's poo, tie it up in a bag and then toss the bag into the bushes. This really confuses me. I for one, can completely relate to not wanting to pick up hot, steamy dog poo. (Another reason I don't particularly want a dog.) But what I cannot fathom is why anyone would pick up the poo and then throw it in the bushes. What is the point of this? If I ever see someone do this, I will personally ask them why that is better than leaving it in the first place. Now we have bags and dog poo and dying grass. All over our new neighborhood.
So, the association decided it would be a good idea to put in a bunch of these
all over the neighborhood. I for one think this is a fabulous idea. They not only have the little baggies that every dog owner needs in order to pick up the poo, but it also has a trash can attached so that they can then dispose of their dog waste in an actual trash can. But, this has not helped our issues. And apparently, other neighbors are tired of this phenomenon as well because on coming home one afternoon, the husband and I spotted this sign.
As you can see, there are two piles of dog poo on either side of the sign, and the sign itself has a doggie poo-poo bag attached to the side of it. What's worse is that directly across the small side street in our neighborhood is one of those trash-can-with-doggie-poo-bags-attached signs (pictured above... what does one call those things anyway?).
I loved this sign so much that everytime we drove by it I would ask the husband if he thought "Our Sign" was still there. Yes, I lovingly referred to it as "Our Sign" because I think it is that awesome and I secretly wish I had had the nerve to create such a masterpiece.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Spatulas and Spiders
Before the husband and I met, I didn't cook. At all. I had no desire and my mom would do it for me. Where was the need? It became apparent shortly after we started dating, however, that the husband wanted a wife that would cook. He loves cooking and thinking of new things to add to existing dishes or creating eniterly new dishes.
When I didn't instantly jump at the idea of being able to be in the kitchen, he was a little sneaky about getting me in there. He would casually ask me to stir this or that while he cut something else. This eventually turned into him giving me complete tasks that I could handle on my own. Like cooking pasta while he cooked the chicken and sauce.
Then one day he called and told me he had a surprise for me. I was excited, but no matter how much I pressed, he wouldn't tell me what it was. When I saw him later that day he handed me my present. Let me preface this by saying that I hate opening gifts in front of people. Not because I am selfless and don't like getting gift. I love presents. I love getting things that make me feel special. I hate opening gifts in front of an audience because I cannot hide my emotions. Whatever I am feeling is always plastered all over my face. There is never a question as to how I am feeling, all one has to do is look at my face and they will know instantly. I can only imagine what my face looked like as I opened my gift: a cookbook. And that was the beginning of the end.
I now am getting to the point where I like to cook. Sometimes. It does really help that the husband loves to cook and will always get in the kitchen with me. We cook side by side a few times a week. It's nice. The other day I was cooking and the husband was helping. We had just finished with the stir fry vegetables and chicken. As the husband was holding out the plate, I started to scoop until I stopped.
I started backing away as fast as I could without running and trying to spit out that there was something I was backing away from. I couldn't quite communicate what I saw because I was hyperventilating. The husband was a little freaked. He thought something was really wrong and was asking me what was wrong. He must have asked 10 times before I was able to answer. When I finally caught my breath I told him there was a spider that had dropped down from its web and was floating dangerously close to the food.
He couldn't see it at first because the spider was black. But when he finally did see it he grabbed the spatula I was holding in my hand to smash it against our counter. But before he did smash it he flipped it over and found the red hourglass. Yep. There was a black widow that tried to have dinner with us. I immediately grabbed disinfectant and cleaned the spatula and the counter. When thanking the husband for coming to my rescue I also asked that next time he not use our spatula to smash it.
And now I have a recipe to share. This has become one of the husband's and my favorite recipes. It is a chicken and vegetable pizza on whole wheat garlic and herb dough.
Ingredients: (The vegetables change every time we make it based on what we have. This time we included:)
2 Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts, cubed
1 Roma Tomato
Onion
2 Tablespoons Minced Garlic
2 Tablespoons Butter
8 oz. Provolone Cheese Shredded
Pizza Dough (We like the garlic and herb dough from Trader Joe's)
Broccoli
Fennel
Bell Pepper
Carrots
*The amounts of vegetables we use varies, but it is usually between 1/2 cup to 1 cup of each
Cut up vegetables of your choice. Set them aside and cook the cubed chicken. Set the chicken aside and saute the vegetables (all except tomato) in minced garlic and butter until they are cooked to your liking. The husband and I like them slightly crunchy. Add the chicken to the veggies for the last minute to add the butter and garlice flavor.
While the vegetables are sauteing, roll the pizza dough out to desired size and shape. Heat the oven to 350 and cook the dough for about 10 minutes.
Take the dough out and add the sauteed veggies and chicken. Be sure to spread the butter and garlic over the veggies on the dough as well.
Add the provolone cheese.
Top with tomatoes.
Bake for another 20-30 minutes, until the dough is slightly crispy on the edges and the cheese is bubbly. And enjoy!
When I didn't instantly jump at the idea of being able to be in the kitchen, he was a little sneaky about getting me in there. He would casually ask me to stir this or that while he cut something else. This eventually turned into him giving me complete tasks that I could handle on my own. Like cooking pasta while he cooked the chicken and sauce.
Then one day he called and told me he had a surprise for me. I was excited, but no matter how much I pressed, he wouldn't tell me what it was. When I saw him later that day he handed me my present. Let me preface this by saying that I hate opening gifts in front of people. Not because I am selfless and don't like getting gift. I love presents. I love getting things that make me feel special. I hate opening gifts in front of an audience because I cannot hide my emotions. Whatever I am feeling is always plastered all over my face. There is never a question as to how I am feeling, all one has to do is look at my face and they will know instantly. I can only imagine what my face looked like as I opened my gift: a cookbook. And that was the beginning of the end.
I now am getting to the point where I like to cook. Sometimes. It does really help that the husband loves to cook and will always get in the kitchen with me. We cook side by side a few times a week. It's nice. The other day I was cooking and the husband was helping. We had just finished with the stir fry vegetables and chicken. As the husband was holding out the plate, I started to scoop until I stopped.
I started backing away as fast as I could without running and trying to spit out that there was something I was backing away from. I couldn't quite communicate what I saw because I was hyperventilating. The husband was a little freaked. He thought something was really wrong and was asking me what was wrong. He must have asked 10 times before I was able to answer. When I finally caught my breath I told him there was a spider that had dropped down from its web and was floating dangerously close to the food.
He couldn't see it at first because the spider was black. But when he finally did see it he grabbed the spatula I was holding in my hand to smash it against our counter. But before he did smash it he flipped it over and found the red hourglass. Yep. There was a black widow that tried to have dinner with us. I immediately grabbed disinfectant and cleaned the spatula and the counter. When thanking the husband for coming to my rescue I also asked that next time he not use our spatula to smash it.
And now I have a recipe to share. This has become one of the husband's and my favorite recipes. It is a chicken and vegetable pizza on whole wheat garlic and herb dough.
Ingredients: (The vegetables change every time we make it based on what we have. This time we included:)
2 Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts, cubed
1 Roma Tomato
Onion
2 Tablespoons Minced Garlic
2 Tablespoons Butter
8 oz. Provolone Cheese Shredded
Pizza Dough (We like the garlic and herb dough from Trader Joe's)
Broccoli
Fennel
Bell Pepper
Carrots
*The amounts of vegetables we use varies, but it is usually between 1/2 cup to 1 cup of each
Cut up vegetables of your choice. Set them aside and cook the cubed chicken. Set the chicken aside and saute the vegetables (all except tomato) in minced garlic and butter until they are cooked to your liking. The husband and I like them slightly crunchy. Add the chicken to the veggies for the last minute to add the butter and garlice flavor.
While the vegetables are sauteing, roll the pizza dough out to desired size and shape. Heat the oven to 350 and cook the dough for about 10 minutes.
Take the dough out and add the sauteed veggies and chicken. Be sure to spread the butter and garlic over the veggies on the dough as well.
Add the provolone cheese.
Top with tomatoes.
Bake for another 20-30 minutes, until the dough is slightly crispy on the edges and the cheese is bubbly. And enjoy!
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