As usual, time change snuck up on me. It always does. When I was growing up we leapt forward in late April and fell back in early October. Now that we leap forward in mid-March and fall back in early November is feels like daylight saving time is endless and there isn't enough time between the two time shifts.
Let me just make this perfectly plain: I hate daylight saving time. I hate jumping forward, I hate that it's light so late in high summer, I hate falling back.
Why, you ask? How could I possibly hate more sunshine in the summer or an extra hour of sleep in the fall?
Well, I'll tell you. The extra hours of light in the summer time make it difficult to get the kids to go to bed. I can even remember as a kid not being able to sleep because it was so light out when I went to bed. It also means that things that must take place after dark, fireworks for example, start that much later. 10 pm for the fireworks show? My kids'll be in high school before they ever see one. It's so far after bedtime that I can't even begin to keep them up that late. Not to mention that it's 11 pm when the cul-de-sac in front of my house turns into downtown Beirut on the Fourth.
In the fall, you'd think that the extra hour of sleep would come in handy. And indeed, it can. But the children already get up around 6:30 am. When we hit fall time change, they hit the floor no later than 5:30 am and will. not. go back to sleep. There is not enough coffee in the world to deal with that.
The adjustment itself is enough to drive a saint to guzzle booze. Liam was one salty little kid yesterday. Arguments all day over the smallest of things. Time spent in his room. Crying. Tantrums. Rudeness and sass at every turn.
Jamie was like a limp dishrag by bedtime last night. Sleeping late in the morning meant the loss of his morning nap. His afternoon nap was a farce and I can't be sure how much sleep he actually got. He slept late again this morning which, again, meant the loss of his morning nap. When it came time for afternoon nap I asked him if was ready and he got up and ran to the stairs. Talk about amazing - when was the last time you saw a 1 year old running toward nap time?
There is no real need for this time shift we go through twice a year. Maybe, once upon a time, it was helpful to farmers. But that isn't the case anymore and it would be really great if we could move along into the 21st century and drop this ridiculous farce.
Who's with me? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Monday, March 15, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
'Splain This To Me
Allow me to set the scene:
I was driving home from dropping Liam off at daycare this morning. I stopped at a stop sign and a gray haired geezer in a BMW pulled out in front of me. Worry not, he had right of way, I'm not complaining about that. As I proceeded from my stop sign I caught sight of the license plate on the car.
If you can't read that it reads "6 STENTS" (and you can click the picture to get a bigger version). Is this really something that you need to immortalize on your license plate? Is he so proud of his ill health that he needs all the world to know about it?
I keep trying to imagine a circumstance in which this would be worthy of the purchase of a vanity plate. Is he perhaps a surgeon? But surely if he's a surgeon that installs stents he's done more than six. If he's only done six, doesn't that reflect badly on his skills? So, again, why put it on a vanity plate?
I have to say, I don't get it. It sure did provide my morning dose of surrealism.
I was driving home from dropping Liam off at daycare this morning. I stopped at a stop sign and a gray haired geezer in a BMW pulled out in front of me. Worry not, he had right of way, I'm not complaining about that. As I proceeded from my stop sign I caught sight of the license plate on the car.
If you can't read that it reads "6 STENTS" (and you can click the picture to get a bigger version). Is this really something that you need to immortalize on your license plate? Is he so proud of his ill health that he needs all the world to know about it?
I keep trying to imagine a circumstance in which this would be worthy of the purchase of a vanity plate. Is he perhaps a surgeon? But surely if he's a surgeon that installs stents he's done more than six. If he's only done six, doesn't that reflect badly on his skills? So, again, why put it on a vanity plate?
I have to say, I don't get it. It sure did provide my morning dose of surrealism.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I Think I Can
Remember way back a few months ago I talked about how I was going to lose all this weight and that I was on the wagon and how I was gonna be all skinny by summer?
Well. Temptation came, tapped me on the shoulder, and gave me a hand down from the wagon. Meanwhile, whoever was driving that jalopy kicked it into high gear and drove off down the road at breakneck speed leaving me in the dust with my good friend Temptation.
So here it is two months down the road and I'm right back where I started. I had lost about 4 pounds at one point but that's all right back where it was. I disgust myself. I can't stand the way I look, I can't stand the way my clothes fit, and I'm dreading the arrival of summer and the advent of skimpier clothes.
I have drawn the line in the sand. This is it.
Yesterday I flagged down that speeding wagon and hauled every last pound of my flesh back up onto it. I started a food journal in an effort to find a way to be accountable for the things I choose to eat. That is also the reason I chose to put all of this on the blog. I feel like I have to shame myself through public humiliation into making the right decisions because sheer willpower alone isn't cutting it.
Yesterday and today have been OK. I've made some not so great choices about snacks. I've eaten a bit more than I should between meals. But, on the plus side, I've had nothing but water to drink and lots of it and I've made better choices about my meals.
One of my biggest hurdles is snacking after the kids go to bed. I tend to sit in front of the TV trying to wind down for the day and I have a really bad habit of eating in front of the TV. So whenever I sit down at night I want to snack and keep on snacking. I'm really trying to focus my willpower on halting that behavior. Last night I had a little bit while watching TV but significantly less than I've done in days past. I'm hoping to clamp down on my impulses and get better.
When the snow disappears, I'm going to start walking with the baby. Liam is in daycare three days a week so that gives me time to walk without having to drag him with me and then I can squeeze some time in on the weekend, too.
It's going to be hard work. I know it is. But I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of looking like this. I'm tired of feeling the way I do - tired, heartburn, aches and pains in my knees. It's got to stop and I have to drop 30 pounds.
So it starts here.
Well. Temptation came, tapped me on the shoulder, and gave me a hand down from the wagon. Meanwhile, whoever was driving that jalopy kicked it into high gear and drove off down the road at breakneck speed leaving me in the dust with my good friend Temptation.
So here it is two months down the road and I'm right back where I started. I had lost about 4 pounds at one point but that's all right back where it was. I disgust myself. I can't stand the way I look, I can't stand the way my clothes fit, and I'm dreading the arrival of summer and the advent of skimpier clothes.
I have drawn the line in the sand. This is it.
Yesterday I flagged down that speeding wagon and hauled every last pound of my flesh back up onto it. I started a food journal in an effort to find a way to be accountable for the things I choose to eat. That is also the reason I chose to put all of this on the blog. I feel like I have to shame myself through public humiliation into making the right decisions because sheer willpower alone isn't cutting it.
Yesterday and today have been OK. I've made some not so great choices about snacks. I've eaten a bit more than I should between meals. But, on the plus side, I've had nothing but water to drink and lots of it and I've made better choices about my meals.
One of my biggest hurdles is snacking after the kids go to bed. I tend to sit in front of the TV trying to wind down for the day and I have a really bad habit of eating in front of the TV. So whenever I sit down at night I want to snack and keep on snacking. I'm really trying to focus my willpower on halting that behavior. Last night I had a little bit while watching TV but significantly less than I've done in days past. I'm hoping to clamp down on my impulses and get better.
When the snow disappears, I'm going to start walking with the baby. Liam is in daycare three days a week so that gives me time to walk without having to drag him with me and then I can squeeze some time in on the weekend, too.
It's going to be hard work. I know it is. But I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of looking like this. I'm tired of feeling the way I do - tired, heartburn, aches and pains in my knees. It's got to stop and I have to drop 30 pounds.
So it starts here.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Birthday Repast
Pasta Rustica (garnered from a Williams-Sonoma catalog)
2 tbs olive oil
1 yellow onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
3/4 lb chicken or turkey sausage, casings removed
1 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried oregano
1/4 tsp hot red pepper flakes
1 can (28 oz) tomatoes in puree, tomatoes coarsely chopped, puree reserved
Salt, to taste
1 lb penne pasta
1 1/4 cups ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded fontina or mozzarella
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
In a Dutch oven over medium heat, warm oil. Add onion and cook until golden, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook, stirring, for 1 min. Add sausage and cook, breaking it up into bite size pieces, until no longer pink, about 6 minutes. Stir in basil, oregano and red pepper flakes. Add tomatoes with puree and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened, 10-12 minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly oil baking dish. Bring large pot of water to boil over high heat, salt the water, add pasta, stir well and cook until barely al dente, 10-12 minutes. Drain well. In LARGE bowl, toss pasta with sauce, ricotta, and fontina. Spread in prepared baking dish and sprinkle with Parmigiano-Reggiano. Bake until cheeses are melted and tips of pasta are crusty, about 30 minutes. Let stand 5 minutes. Serve hot. Serves 6-8.
I use a can of crushed tomatoes and it works just fine. Also, I never measure the spices, just toss in until it looks good. :)
2 tbs olive oil
1 yellow onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
3/4 lb chicken or turkey sausage, casings removed
1 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried oregano
1/4 tsp hot red pepper flakes
1 can (28 oz) tomatoes in puree, tomatoes coarsely chopped, puree reserved
Salt, to taste
1 lb penne pasta
1 1/4 cups ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded fontina or mozzarella
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
In a Dutch oven over medium heat, warm oil. Add onion and cook until golden, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook, stirring, for 1 min. Add sausage and cook, breaking it up into bite size pieces, until no longer pink, about 6 minutes. Stir in basil, oregano and red pepper flakes. Add tomatoes with puree and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened, 10-12 minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly oil baking dish. Bring large pot of water to boil over high heat, salt the water, add pasta, stir well and cook until barely al dente, 10-12 minutes. Drain well. In LARGE bowl, toss pasta with sauce, ricotta, and fontina. Spread in prepared baking dish and sprinkle with Parmigiano-Reggiano. Bake until cheeses are melted and tips of pasta are crusty, about 30 minutes. Let stand 5 minutes. Serve hot. Serves 6-8.
I use a can of crushed tomatoes and it works just fine. Also, I never measure the spices, just toss in until it looks good. :)
Birthday Fun For One and All
Yesterday we indulged in birthday fun for Jamie. My parents came into town for the weekend to celebrate with us so we started off the day with a trip to the Carnegie Museum. Um, Holy Crowded Building, Batman. We've had nice weather the last few days and that hitherto unknown deity referred to as Yellow Orb has been gracing us with his presence. I figured everyone would be outside doing something. Apparently not. They were all in Oakland at the Museum.
But, no matter, we still had fun. We saw the dinosaurs (always a popular destination) and looked at the Hall of Wildlife. We saw the special exhibit on whales and checked out the gem and mineral hall. As always, people watching in these situations is a hoot. We saw cute little kids, sullen teenagers spending their time texting (why exactly are you at a museum again?) and then we saw something I couldn't quite explain. A family had rented one of the double wide museum strollers. On one side was a little girl about 4 years old. On the other was her big (and I mean, ahem, big) brother of about 8. Now, why did you need the stroller in the first place? And even if the 4 year old required it, the 8 year old did not. Get up and use your damn legs! You might benefit from it, kid. Did the parents really need to be pushing 100 pounds worth of kids around the museum?
After we came home we got ready for Jamie's party. Scot's parents came over to celebrate with us so it was a small gathering. I made a very yummy recipe called "Pasta Rustica" for dinner (which I will post separately later) although Jamie had macaroni and cheese with pears. Then it came time to open gifts.
This went about as well as you would expect.
Gift #2 was this tractor from Scot's sister. Jamie immediately fell in love with it. He refused to pay any attention to anything else from there on out. Scot and I had to open all the rest of his gifts. Once we got them out of the packaging he consented to play with them but he kept returning to that tractor. He loves it.
Liam is also in love with everything Jamie got. As it was with Christmas, so it is with the birthday. Liam is into Jamie's new things to the point where Jamie can't even play with them because Liam is hogging everything. It's driving me completely insane.
Then it came time for the traditional smashing of the cake. I made cupcakes for him because I was pressed for time and it gave him a small portion of his own to destroy. It took him a few minutes to get the idea but once he did, he was all over that chocolate cake like white on rice.
He had a great time and so did everyone else. The house, in particular the kitchen, is now trashed and I've got to get off my dead duff and do something about it. However, it was a much more successful first birthday than Liam's (who got seriously ill the night of his party) and now it's back to normal life. If anyone can tell me what that is, I'd appreciate it. ;)
But, no matter, we still had fun. We saw the dinosaurs (always a popular destination) and looked at the Hall of Wildlife. We saw the special exhibit on whales and checked out the gem and mineral hall. As always, people watching in these situations is a hoot. We saw cute little kids, sullen teenagers spending their time texting (why exactly are you at a museum again?) and then we saw something I couldn't quite explain. A family had rented one of the double wide museum strollers. On one side was a little girl about 4 years old. On the other was her big (and I mean, ahem, big) brother of about 8. Now, why did you need the stroller in the first place? And even if the 4 year old required it, the 8 year old did not. Get up and use your damn legs! You might benefit from it, kid. Did the parents really need to be pushing 100 pounds worth of kids around the museum?
By the way, this is still what happens when you point a camera at Liam.
After we came home we got ready for Jamie's party. Scot's parents came over to celebrate with us so it was a small gathering. I made a very yummy recipe called "Pasta Rustica" for dinner (which I will post separately later) although Jamie had macaroni and cheese with pears. Then it came time to open gifts.
This went about as well as you would expect.
Gift #2 was this tractor from Scot's sister. Jamie immediately fell in love with it. He refused to pay any attention to anything else from there on out. Scot and I had to open all the rest of his gifts. Once we got them out of the packaging he consented to play with them but he kept returning to that tractor. He loves it.
Liam is also in love with everything Jamie got. As it was with Christmas, so it is with the birthday. Liam is into Jamie's new things to the point where Jamie can't even play with them because Liam is hogging everything. It's driving me completely insane.
Then it came time for the traditional smashing of the cake. I made cupcakes for him because I was pressed for time and it gave him a small portion of his own to destroy. It took him a few minutes to get the idea but once he did, he was all over that chocolate cake like white on rice.
He had a great time and so did everyone else. The house, in particular the kitchen, is now trashed and I've got to get off my dead duff and do something about it. However, it was a much more successful first birthday than Liam's (who got seriously ill the night of his party) and now it's back to normal life. If anyone can tell me what that is, I'd appreciate it. ;)
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Happy Birthday, Jamie!
We're having a celebration on Saturday so for today, I'm just going to share a look back at the last year.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A Trip Down Memory Lane
One year ago today I was waking up on a typical Tuesday morning. Liam needed to have breakfast and get ready for daycare. I needed to pry open my eyelids enough to get dressed and brush my teeth so that I could drop him off.
What was not typical was two things: I was heavily pregnant and Scot had a doctor's appointment that morning for surgical follow up on his wrist.
I had two weeks until my due date. I was huge and uncomfortable and growing more so by the day. When pregnant women say that the last few weeks of pregnancy suck they mean it. In my case, I *really* meant it. My whole pregnancy and been crappy and hard and as I neared the end I wanted nothing more than for my useless and endless contractions to actually DO something. Everything in my life had become a challenge at that point and Scot was largely out of commission because of his surgery. His wrist and arm were in a cast and he was sporting the most fabulous yellow foam wedge on the arm as well.
Since he wasn't allowed to drive I had to take him to see his doctor that morning. We were expecting them to remove the pins in his arm and for him to feel a lot better and gain more use of his hand/wrist/arm. We were, in fact, counting on it. We had been told at the time of surgery that this would be what would happen.
So, when Dr. Sadist the orthopedist walked into the room and announced it was too soon to remove the pins we were both unhappy. When he looked Scot full in the face and told him to "just deal" with the pain he was in without the benefit of narcotic painkillers we both got angry. Word to the wise - never anger a heavily pregnant woman.
After a tense exchange, Dr. Sadist agreed to prescribe pain medication for the two weeks until Scot's pins came out. This, of course, was all we wanted in the first place despite the fact that Dr. Sadist acted as though we were looking to score Oxy on the street. *eyeroll* He upset me so much with his attitude and the misinformation over pin removal that I sat in the room with Scot and cried while they recasted his arm. It's a long story but I was looking forward to the end of being the only functional adult in the house and because I was so huge and uncomfortable (read: in constant pain) this was A Big Deal.
We left the office with an appointment in two weeks time to remove Scot's pins and a really paltry prescription for Vicodin. Scot was pissed. I was pissed. We walked out of the building and drove straight to Scot's GP so that he could talk to them. They were willing to take care of him and understood that I was damn near incapacitated myself.
It was a long and stressful morning for me. I spent a lot of time in the car which only ever aggravated the contraction situation. The afternoon was a bit more calm and I headed off to pick up Liam at daycare in the late afternoon.
My contractions rematerialized in the car as they always did.
When I got home with Liam they kept going which they never did.
Hmmm.
I left Liam hanging out with Scot and I went upstairs to time contractions and try to figure out what was happening. Two hours later they hadn't quit but they hadn't patterned either. They also were not exactly painful. Uncomfortable, yes. Painful? Not really. You would think that I would know labor when I saw it since I'd been through it before but I was flummoxed. While Scot got dinner for Liam and then called his Mom to have her come help put Liam to bed (Scot was unable to do bath time) I put a call into my doctor. She said to time it for another hour and if it didn't quit to come into the hospital.
It was a good thing my mother-in-law was already at our house because an hour later they hadn't quit and we had to go in. By the time we got there they were getting closer together and starting to become painful.
When I got all checked in and the doctor gave me the once over we got the word that I would be staying. Dr. Sadist had done his sadistic worst and stressed me into labor. The baby was on the way!
I got to have my epidural early so my labor was smooth and comfortable. Magee was incredibly busy that night (I got the last free L&D room) so it was just as well it was smooth sailing for me. But, around 5:50 am on March 4th, I was ready to push. At 6:05 am, Jamie was born.
One year ago today I woke up expecting my day to be normal. I woke up expecting to slog my way through at least two more weeks of pregnancy. One year ago, I ended my day by holding my newborn son.
Happy Birthday, Jamie. I love you.
What was not typical was two things: I was heavily pregnant and Scot had a doctor's appointment that morning for surgical follow up on his wrist.
I had two weeks until my due date. I was huge and uncomfortable and growing more so by the day. When pregnant women say that the last few weeks of pregnancy suck they mean it. In my case, I *really* meant it. My whole pregnancy and been crappy and hard and as I neared the end I wanted nothing more than for my useless and endless contractions to actually DO something. Everything in my life had become a challenge at that point and Scot was largely out of commission because of his surgery. His wrist and arm were in a cast and he was sporting the most fabulous yellow foam wedge on the arm as well.
Since he wasn't allowed to drive I had to take him to see his doctor that morning. We were expecting them to remove the pins in his arm and for him to feel a lot better and gain more use of his hand/wrist/arm. We were, in fact, counting on it. We had been told at the time of surgery that this would be what would happen.
So, when Dr. Sadist the orthopedist walked into the room and announced it was too soon to remove the pins we were both unhappy. When he looked Scot full in the face and told him to "just deal" with the pain he was in without the benefit of narcotic painkillers we both got angry. Word to the wise - never anger a heavily pregnant woman.
After a tense exchange, Dr. Sadist agreed to prescribe pain medication for the two weeks until Scot's pins came out. This, of course, was all we wanted in the first place despite the fact that Dr. Sadist acted as though we were looking to score Oxy on the street. *eyeroll* He upset me so much with his attitude and the misinformation over pin removal that I sat in the room with Scot and cried while they recasted his arm. It's a long story but I was looking forward to the end of being the only functional adult in the house and because I was so huge and uncomfortable (read: in constant pain) this was A Big Deal.
We left the office with an appointment in two weeks time to remove Scot's pins and a really paltry prescription for Vicodin. Scot was pissed. I was pissed. We walked out of the building and drove straight to Scot's GP so that he could talk to them. They were willing to take care of him and understood that I was damn near incapacitated myself.
It was a long and stressful morning for me. I spent a lot of time in the car which only ever aggravated the contraction situation. The afternoon was a bit more calm and I headed off to pick up Liam at daycare in the late afternoon.
My contractions rematerialized in the car as they always did.
When I got home with Liam they kept going which they never did.
Hmmm.
I left Liam hanging out with Scot and I went upstairs to time contractions and try to figure out what was happening. Two hours later they hadn't quit but they hadn't patterned either. They also were not exactly painful. Uncomfortable, yes. Painful? Not really. You would think that I would know labor when I saw it since I'd been through it before but I was flummoxed. While Scot got dinner for Liam and then called his Mom to have her come help put Liam to bed (Scot was unable to do bath time) I put a call into my doctor. She said to time it for another hour and if it didn't quit to come into the hospital.
It was a good thing my mother-in-law was already at our house because an hour later they hadn't quit and we had to go in. By the time we got there they were getting closer together and starting to become painful.
When I got all checked in and the doctor gave me the once over we got the word that I would be staying. Dr. Sadist had done his sadistic worst and stressed me into labor. The baby was on the way!
I got to have my epidural early so my labor was smooth and comfortable. Magee was incredibly busy that night (I got the last free L&D room) so it was just as well it was smooth sailing for me. But, around 5:50 am on March 4th, I was ready to push. At 6:05 am, Jamie was born.
One year ago today I woke up expecting my day to be normal. I woke up expecting to slog my way through at least two more weeks of pregnancy. One year ago, I ended my day by holding my newborn son.
Happy Birthday, Jamie. I love you.
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