Cleaning Up the Mess - The Peanut Butter Bailout

Daily Kos recently quoted Nancy Pelosi regarding the current job ahead of Congress, hashing out the plan to bail out the financial industry:

We sent a message to Wall Street - the party is over.

Kos' response:

Sure, the party is over. But we weren't invited to the party, yet we're the ones left cleaning up the mess and paying for the house they burned down.

Gosh, this really reminds me of something. I might even be able to make an analogy. You see, I have a huge mess in my life that needs cleaning up. I didn't make it... in fact, I have spoken repeatedly about the need for caution on the issue, yet this big mess happened. And apparently, if I want anything done, I will have to clean it up.

I should tell you first that we like our unhydrogenated peanut butter. It tastes great, but it takes more work because it doesn't have those hydrogenating agents in it. Therefor, the oil separates out and rises to the top of the container. When you first open a jar, you need to carefully and persistently mix in all of the the oil into the heavy, sticky butter, a potentially messy process. It is possible if not likely to get oil all down the sides of the jar and surrounding table if you are not extremely careful. Not a job for for the young, careless, or faint of heart.

My husband has a genetic inability to see how any minute amount of sticky or oily substance, if not attended to, will spread to other formerly pristine surfaces. I don't have a toddler, but I do have sticky fingerprints on the back on my chair. So given the potential for oily messes regarding the peanut butter, I have a taken to premixing the jars just so my husband doesn't have to. I avoid feeling resentful about this; it's just what I do for my own sanity, to avoid running into oily boobie traps. The same way I wash off oily jars. No guilt trips. It's just what I do.

So this latest jar, it's big, it's new. I bought it thinking it was a bigger, yet cheaper-brand jar, a possible substitute for the even more expensively organic peanut butter we've been indulging in. The jar was so big that it had nearly an inch of oil standing just under the lid. On this one occasion, I fell down on the job to to regulate the mixing in of the oil on this non-standard loan, I mean, purchase. (You can see where this is going.)

So late last week (yes, last week), Mr. Sweetie hit one of those days when he was trying to grab his breakfast while running late for work. His standard pb toast construction was slowed down because the current jar of pb was empty. He grabbed the bigger jar lurking in the cabinet. It was, of course, difficult to open. Without pause, he hugged it to his chest, wrenched it open, and then took it to the kitchen table (on the other side of the room) to spread on his toast. At some point, he took it back over to the cabinet. At some MUCH later time, he nearly slipped on the floor. (I have to presume this because it would be unusual for him to *see* something spilled on the floor.)

And then he realized that --oh shit-- he had spilled peanut butter oil on the floor. He cleaned up as best he could because -- remember -- he was late to work at this point. But he did spare a moment to come into the bedroom and warn me to be careful in the kitchen because - he was really, really sorry, but he had spilled peanut butter oil and it was really slippery.

I groaned and tried to go back to sleep. The oil wasn't going anywhere, so why ruin the rest of my perfectly good sleep cycle? I successfully slept through the alarm a a few more hours while ignoring this impending reality.

By the time I was ready to face the kitchen to see how bad it really was, armed with a roll of paper towels and some grease cleaner, I was still unprepared to see the sight of peanut butter oil spilled across *most* of the kitchen floor. I started laying down towels to soak up the remaining oil. Some there, some more there, and over there, and OMG I was standing in some! And over there... there were even traces in the hallway.

Yes, Mr Sweetie had unwittingly tracked it to the sink, to the table, past the fridge, back and forth across most of the linoleum, with grace notes down the hall and into the bedroom. There is about 50+ square feet of floor involved in the kitchen alone.

Shocked and discouraged, I practically papered the floor with towels and half-heartedly stepped on them to start the soaking process. Those would be the stop-gap measures.

And of course, we were supposed to leave to go out of town for the weekend within 4-6 hours. I barely had time to finish preparing and packing much less crouch at the floor for hours while pregnant... that was my rationale. I didn't have the heart to tackle this task while trying to get ready to leave, although it meant we'd have to deal with it when we got back.

So the towels would have to cover the floor all weekend... and there they remain. We got back home last night, looked at the kitchen, sighed, and put down a few more towels. See, we've been stepping on the towels because any floor uncovered is still shining with the oil slick.

And I'm *still* trying to face this huge cleanup.

I'm thinking I need to find my stool to sit on because squatting on the floor for periods of time while pregnant would be uncomfortable and potentially hazardous. (Don't fall into the oil!) I'm thinking I should use the cleaner before even attempting to mop. I shudder to even think of adding water to that mix. I'm thinking that I'm hungry already and don't have time to deal with this... as I tiptoe across the towels to get my direly needed waffles and orange juice to Feed Teh Baby.

It's daunting. Can you tell it's daunting? I am trying to steel myself to take care of it already, but OMG where to start??? It's huge.

I'm trying to not point fingers. Yes, Mr. Sweetie did it, but this is way beyond the normal careless "oops" situation; it was the perfect storm of bad circumstances, and I don't want to make him feel any worse about it than he already does. Really I don't. I have made my own huge mistakes, and he cleans up nasty messes for me all the time. Like the soup I forgot to throw away before we left for the weekend... *ahem*

But still, I am not entrusting the floor cleanup to my husband, the person who cannot see juice spilled on the floor, the person who in fact doubted the number of towels on the floor.

"Why are there towels over there? It's not over there is it?"

Oh, yes. Oh yes, it unfortunately is.

So it'll be me wiping and scrubbing. Maybe after breakfast...


Okay, so this is not really a perfect analogy to the Wall Street crisis. In our case, the person responsible for the peanut butter oil fiasco is not overseeing the bail out/cleanup. It's not the end of the world, really. It's not a permanent situation that will forever change our lives. Our kitchen won't collapse without a bailout from the local cleaning service, although the mess did bring a halt to food preparations. (Who can cook when our steps are squeaking? Eek! eek!) Meanwhile, I can postpone the reckoning by writing a post about my frustrations, analyzing how we got to this point. I guess that part would ring true, though, what with everyone on Wall Street and in Congress staggering around in shock trying to come to terms with the financial situation. Maybe there is more of an analogy but my pregnant brain has been distracted yet again.

So true, the oil spill in our kitchen is not really on the scale of a national disaster. I do think, though, that I will be implementing a few small changes. Such as sticking to hydrogenated peanut butter from here on out. Must regulate the ratio of oily food containers to potential scale of disaster. On this, I think we can agree.

The Simple Woman's Daybook 092508

The Simple Woman's Daybook, a daily journal, aka a feature of The Simple Woman blog.

I ran across this very excellent idea from the blogger, High Desert Home, last month, and have been wanting to try it out for a while. Happy Thursday!



For Today...Thursday, September 25th, 2008

Outside my Window...cloudy skies and stirring, strong breezes.

Towards a daily rhythm...doing some light yoga to keep myself limber and strong and just plain *awake*!

I am thinking...about lesson plan ideas for my students.

I am thankful for...a warm house and sleeping cats and chatty emails from friends.

From the kitchen...orange juice and melted cheese on multi-grain bread sounds good to me.

I am wearing...comfy grey maternity leggings and a dark, three-quarters length maternity top with a blue and lavender pinstripe. Chicer than some of my non-maternity wear!

I am reading...Brazelton's Touchpoints - Milestones in Your Child's Emotional and Behavioral Development and finishing When the Tide Rises, sci-fi from David Drake.

I am creating...yet more squares for a colorful bed quilt, and a lesson plan for next week.

I am hoping...that I can go for my Masters in a few years. And that the tent is not hopelessly ruined by being stored damp (after the last rainy dance weekend).

I am hearing...the far-off sounds of interstate traffic and the closer sounds of a tree rubbing against the gutter, little grey birds scolding each other, and my wind chimes dancing in the breeze.

I am going to breathe deeply...and appreciate the life growing inside me. Hi, baby!

Around the house...the kitchen is a mess.

Bring beauty to my home...by sweeping the wood floors. Ahhh.

One of my favorite things...creating something with my hands, shaping a lesson plan.

A Few Plans For The Rest Of The Week...I need to air out the tent and pack for a dance weekend, most likely in the rain! I need to write up a list of questions to ask the OB at my next appointment. I need to call around to local handymen for help with the new kitchen.

Here is a picture thought I am sharing with you...


---

IKEAified!

So, I'd heard about this place from my far-off internet friends. Camelot! I mean, Ikea!

Some dreamland of inexpensive, well-designed home decor, both heaven and bane of decorators on the cheap. Heaven, because you can find the best cool home stuff for modest cash outlay, and the bane because there are so many good things, it's hard to get away without more than you planned on. Ir-re-sist-able! LIke a Swedish Target with better furniture. Or something.

I heard people speak with glee and satisfaction of putting together that new orange couch or finding the perfect thingie to organize or round out the room. You'd think it was the holy grail of "the rug that pulls the whole room together."

This remained a curiosity, though, because there are no Ikea stores in my area. None, nada, zilch. We finally got a few Trader Joe's last year, and oh, happy day! But no Ikea. Okay, I can deal.


Flash forward to this Summer when we decided we had to replace/expand kitchen cabinets and countertops this year. (Must. Renovate. Before. Baby. Comes.)* And somehow in the last 5 or 6 years, the price for replacing kitchen cabinets has skyrocketed. I have an old cost estimate I worked up in the Dark Ages. $800 dollars, people. Today's prices? About $5000. *gak* Worse, I frankly hated the stuff I was now seeing at H0me Dep0t and L0wes.

*We currently have a mere 8 cabinets and 2 small countertop spaces. Renovation would at least double that.

The neighborhood listserv gave me all kinds of ideas. Many people suggested custom-built, which, as we know, is doable, but (probably) not in our better budget. But! A couple people raved about their Ikea experience. I thought, wait, you mean Ikea does kitchen cabinets too????? It took that many question marks because I had that big light bulb over my head. I lit up with the idea that Ikea was going to save us from over-priced bad design (or even over-priced good design).

I did a g0ogle search, and found that the nearest Ikea was either in DC or Atlanta, or maybe Cincinnati. Never fear, we could also order cabinets online. I poked about on the website and it was definitely worth looking into. However, we have this thing called We-need-to-see-it-in-person-to-satisfy-quality-standards-and-design-ideas. Conveniently enough, we were supposed to go to Virginia for a work/social event. What's another few hours to DC? We could do this thing AND visit the Ikea. My husband was on board with this plan, so that's what happened.

This happened to be the Hurricane Ike weekend wherein gas prices shot up way past $4/gallon, and the weather was all hot and icky, AND I was a little stressed about preparing for the work thing. But luckily, at the last minute, I found my old kitchen floor plan and notes buried in the office (under "current" house projects - ha!), and my husband drove the whole way.

Thus it was that we did our work thing Saturday, woke up Sunday morning, visited some more, then headed up I-95 to Woodbridge. Thanks to those online maps, I even knew which exit to use to get to the mall (which, by the way, appears to cover a solid two miles of acreage).

Me in my current condition, I also had to eat every couple of hours. Never fear, I told my husband, I heard they have a cafe too.

I have to admit, I felt a little shiver of excitement as we pulled into the parking garage. "Oo! oo! Ikea!" And again when we entered the store. "Look, honey! They have a loading dock!" We tried to not look like hicks visiting the big city for the first time, but it's hard to remain cool when faced with such an iconic giant.

We deliberately did not follow the crowd, pausing frequently to get our bearings. I had warned my husband that it was known as a place to get lost. But first, we had to eat. We followed the sound of clinking dinnerware past the kids' play area to the cafeteria. I was chagrined to notice they had few vegetarian options, and amused to notice that they had the desserts on display first thing in line. But we opted for penne pasta with marinara sauce and either salad or mixed vegetables, and that turned out to be the perfect lunch.

During lunch, we reviewed the paperwork I had brought with me: One kitchen floor plan to scale and some cabinet piece counts. We also reviewed strategy. There would be a lot to look at, but our priority was to hash out some ideas of kitchen design based on what they had, and still have time left to drive all the way home that night, 5+ hours.

So after lunch and a quick bathroom break (Oo, look! A mother's room!) , we started in on the cabinetry.

Right in the front of the kitchen area was the cutest little 3-D model kitchen. The walls of the doll-house, I mean, model, were gridded with measurements and the floor was littered with wooden scale models of cabinet and appliances that you would rearrange to your satisfaction. The wee wall cabinets even had magnets that would make them cling to the sides of the model. It was so darling, I immediately wanted to play with it, but we were quickly distracted by a walls worth of models of all the door finishes. But first, I had to pry my husband away from the appliances! Yes, they have dishwashers, too.

I had already narrowed down our preferences via the internet, and we zeroed in on our top two choices, asking questions and taking notes. Mr. Sweetie was in his element, looking things over with a sharp eye and analyzing data. He took their estimated price for a 10-ft kitchen space and extrapolated what our space would cost... coming up with something very doable! Okay, then!

We quickly decided that the white old-fashioned look was both more to our preference and more economical than the one wood version that would go with our existing paneling, and within minutes, reassured ourselves that this would make sense for both our stylistic ideals and our budget.

I was surprised to realize how much I liked the wooden counter tops. That might tie in to all that existing wood in the rest of the room, and they looked great with our fav cabinets. My husband then spent some time asking about the difference between Corian stone and marble countertops, even though we had soon figured out that the Corian would run 5 times as much as the wood or laminate. The prices looked similar until I noticed that the wood was priced by the piece lengths and the Corian was priced by square foot. Sneaky!

Then I was entranced by a display that had all the cabinet widths displayed in sequence: 12", 15", 18", 24", 30", 36"... So many combinations of shelves or pull out drawers, my head was spinning. What I really wanted, I declared, was a brochure that had all options and prices and pictures together, so that I wouldn't drive myself crazy trying to write down every single available option. I found one product list and started checking my cabinet dimensions against the catalogue while the Mister started browsing amongst the drawer inserts. (I really like the wooden one. Yes, honey, but we have one already.)

Then Mr. Sweetie wandered off himself and found the sample kitchen for our favorite cabinet... Oooo!



This was bliss indeed. We wandered about that corner in a happy daze, absorbing the feel of the design, and gazing about as if we were living there. For a while, we ping-ponged around, opening cabinets and exploring, and saying, oo, I like that! How about *that* cabinet feature?

I finally started to focus and correlate the display in front of us with the catalogue, and cross-checking against our floor plan. It was then we discovered that the display showed all of the mid-to-large widths.

They looked fantastic, but since our kitchen space is rather restricted, our options were also limited. No fancy glass doors for us, alas, because they were only available in widths that did not fit in our space! A big bummer to adjust to that reality. As a consolation, I started taking pictures of the info tags and pieces that *would* fit in our kitchen plan.

It felt really important to be able to bring home the vision of what we wanted, so I was glad that nobody fussed at us for taking pictures. [insert pictures here] We also realized that we had enough ceiling height to put in the taller cabinets, making more use of the space we have, so at least that was a nice surprise.

After we had exhausted ourselves of all practical and feel-good activities, we realized we had been there almost two hours, and time well-spent indeed! We decided that we'd give ourselves only another 30-40 minutes to scan the *rest* of the store to see what was there was to see. There was actually a path with traffic flow arrows on it, but since the kitchen was near the end of the route, we were far from the starting point. We decided to continue in a clockwise direction, not realizing that we'd be walking against the rest of the customer traffic! D'oh! Call us nonconformists.

We walked through the rest of the kitchens and into bedrooms and into living rooms, offices, et al, skimming through the entire place.

Now, this was interesting. I did not expect my husband to be ultimately enamored of Ikea in the same way I heard my friends talk about it. But gradually, we both became really delighted with the place. Especially after trying out multiple chairs, we did find a living room reading chair/recliner that we both loved. This place was *so cool*, we agreed. We both noticed that the designs were not so overblown as to overpower our living space. Everything seemed sleek and modest rather than lavish and oversized. It must be a European thing, I concluded... and we like it! Living in a modest space, we were delighted to find furniture that would actually fit!

I was starting to get tired, but we rushed through the children's section long enough to note a few pieces of furniture for future reference. Not enough attention to really wander at that point. (Oo, look at that cute (and inexpensive) crib! And those darling little wall lamps! I want green kiddie chair!)

And then when we were leaving, Mr. Sweetie asked about getting the recliner. Um, can we get it into the car within half and hour, because I am fading fast... Can it even *fit* in our little car? No energy to contemplate, so we left the store tired but glowing, stopping only to eat some bento box sushi at one of the surrounding strip/clump malls. The food did us good, and we got back on the road by 5 p.m.

Of course, later, we were kicking ourselves for not attempting to get the box into the car, because the shipping charges would kill us. It really was a great recliner. It is. Maybe if we go up to haul the cabinets home, we can stuff the chair in the U-Haul as well.

And if we get the recliner, maybe we could get the matching chair and thereby have an even better excuse to get rid of the ugly 70s brown metal tubing chairs that I've had forever? Hmmm. And maybe a new couch someday? Oh, the possibilities!

Yup, it's official. We've been Ikeaified. And we *like* it.

Yay, posting!

Okay, so I have been very lax about writing in the last month. I write everything in my head... I think about posts, and maybe even type a few fragments... and then I sigh and try to think of what I should eat next. This pregnancy is shrinking my attention span to the size of a large gnat, it is. Even accomplishing small things during each day is an accomplishment. A load of laundry? Okay! Got dressed before noon? Yay! Took out the trash? Oo, I cooked something, even. So actually posting has been an uphill battle. I can barely bring myself to bother about things I'm supposed to worry about. Must be the endorphins? Whateverrr.

However, finslippy recently had an excellent post on writing and the creative process. Keeping the doing alive. Or something. Don't rely on me to tell you all about it. Anyway, it's been a nice kick-start, a bony finger prodding me in the butt, saying pisst! Hey! Don't you have things to write? Yeah, I do.

A small quote from Mizz Finslippy excerpted from that same post:

It's a miracle that I get anything done, I'm so busy giving myself a hard time.
But everyone does this. This is how the mind works to stop you from writing. Creating is scary, and your brain wants you to run from scary things. For some reason it forgets about the rewards that come from risk.

Go read it. There's more good stuff and I can't just quote the whole thing.

Here's to every small accomplishment and keeping "the doing" alive. Yay, posting!

Day-Week-Month-Year Planning

I just got my new day planner-slash-date book in the mail. I have been waiting long enough, I think. I started bugging my usual source back in June because it uses an academic calender, and I run out of calendar days at the end of July.

I've looked and looked for other versions, but this one fits me precisely. Each month has a two-page spread of days, and each week has a two-page spread of days, upon which each day is divided into 12 hours, with room for a summary, and two areas for projects and primary objectives. There's even a condensed Forward Planning Calendar for the upcoming year. Dude, this calender is awesome. And portable.

I have happily used Payne's Time Management System for years, and having experienced this calender, I can't go back to somebody else's inferior version.

This year, my source dried up. I bugged them several times, left my name and number to be notified when the new ones arrived, I begged them to nag the people who order new stock, to no avail. So when I called them two days into August (last chance!), and they still had not arrived, I tracked down the manufacturer online and *ordered* one for myself from Virginia. It was a drastic step because usually I am all for supporting local businesses, but c'mon! It was August and I had run out of days. Did they think everyone takes August off?

So I have this new one that just arrived. I haven't started writing in it yet, although I have been filling up the condensed planner in back. It says things like: Olympics Start 08/08/08 and Bush's Last Day 01/20/09, and Valentina Lisitsa concert in Nov. Also things like Mammogram at 10:40 (canceled) and M&S's wedding extravaganza, Ted's house concert, and Don't Forget to Pick Blueberries This Month. Plus, oh yeah, all the gigs I've got coming up in the next 4 months, circled in florescent pencil.

I don't know what's holding me back from entering all my information onto the fresh, clean pages. Maybe I have invested so much in my condensed version that it's daunting to transfer the whole thing to the full sized calendar. Maybe that's it. Back when I had a January to January datebook, it was always a chore to transfer all the birthdays from one to the other, and I'd invariably miss a few. Now it's not just a fresh year, it's a backlog.

Well, get to it, missy. Time's not going to wait for you and the longer you wait, the more tiresome it will be.

I will be relieved when it's done, I know. I love filling in and scheduling. When I was in college, I'd spend hours picking over the offerings and requirements in the next semester's new course catalogue, and construct a schedule of clarity and beauty. I had my main coursework plotted out over *years*. The charts were something to behold. My academic advisor was *very* impressed, but it was just the way I worked. Had to get it down on paper.

I still like the visuals. I can scan across a page and ask myself if I am over-extending myself by piling up appointments and sessions and gigs. I like spacing them out so that the pages look balanced. Orange for gigs, yellow for tutoring or teaching. Birthdays and special occasions up top. Arrows to account for time spent commuting. Do I already have a lot of things packed into one day or one month? If it looks balanced, I think my life is more balanced too.

I think the satisfaction of the day planner also comes from being a concrete reminder of my decisions. Once I make a decision and put it on the schedule, it's practically done. No more (reliving the) stress over whether I should do this or that. I took the gig in mid September, but not the one in early January. Done! Nice and neat on the page. No more debating or hand-wringing. And if something gets rescheduled or deleted, I cross it out or, if that's too messy, stritch a little white-out across the box. Begone! Out of sight, out of schedule; no time to waste on regrets and what-ifs.

You know how the world tumbles around in ones head? Well, the way it does in mine, anyway. I enjoy taking the different colored blocks and blobs that tumble aboout, pluck them out the air, and arrange them so they make sense. That's my day planner, a conceptual arrangement. That's my NEW day planner, put into use. Yay!

Wiggling & Whooshing

Well, it's been quite the whirlwind week here.

First, we had our wedding anniversary, or at least saw it go by. We have already reached that "old" married state where we don't need to make a huge deal out of it.

I always feel guilty for not doing the things I used to do early on. Things like make homemade cards and poems and make special meals and plot cool gifts. I have total stage fright about it now... it's never as perfect as I think it should be, so I freeze up and don't get anything done. Okay, that's not always true, but it's one area that my perfectionism is still creating unnecessary havoc in my life. Yes, it sucks. I try to be nice to myself and do stuff instead of indulging in guilt. My husband is also sometimes lax in this department, but he doesn't usually suffer the same amount of guilt that I do. I take that back. We both tend toward social neglect.

In any case, there are things we appreciate about each other more than the ability to choose the perfect gift at the perfect time. We used to eat out at the fancy organic Italian restaurant we ate at for our rehearsal dinner, but they have been not that great in recent years (hard to find enough things on the menu that we are really enthused about for that price), and in addition, I have been feeling a little wonky in the evenings due to that *other* situation. Yes, it does make it hard to eat food. Okay, enough of that little guilt-ridden interlude.

What I like about us, though, is that we have a mutual sense of what makes for a good time, so gifts are optional. He always successfully surprises and delights me, regardless. This year, it was a cute necklace. I ordered him a "Scratch Fury" T-shirt that has been back-ordered for a while since a certain person was at a comics con and hasn't got his orders out... hellooooo, Scott? *ahem*
(Edited to add that while telling DH about this post, he started cackling out loud at the mention of the T-shirt. Apparently, this is the first time I have slipped up and actually said what I had ordered rather than merely hinting at it. Yeah, he's psyched.)

So what constitutes a fun anniversary for us? Lots of fun, boring-to-everyone-else stuff.

Went to the library. I found parenting books and recent fiction and he found a new stash of science fiction. We both run off to our respective sections and reconnoiter to share what we've found. We are both big readers, so yeah, this is fun for us. Ditto on cruising used bookstores, but this time it was the library.

We also did a little clothes shopping to find some new work shirts and pants for him. Sometimes I find the perfect shirt for him, and other times, I need his input as to which color he'd prefer. We zig-zagged through the store and collected some things to try on, then I got to join the small crowd of wives outside the dressing room to give advice and opinions to the men inside. First time I recall doing that in a crowd! Myself and another woman were amused by how some guys needed that extra opinion of confidence in their choices. I watched an older woman hand her husband shirt after shirt, and I mused both about how sometimes men don't like to shop for clothes, and how they sometimes need a nudge to get stuff that actually looks good on them.

Mr. Sweetie ended up with three shirts that looked especially great on him, but no pants. It looked as if all similarly sized men had already picked the selection clean.

Then, although we hadn't planned on any kind of grand dinner out, we decided to go by a little deli in our area for a late lunch. The meal itself was not exceptional, but it gave me the opportunity to audition quiche as a food I can tolerate, and discovered melon again -- melon! Oo, that I can eat, too. It also gave him an opportunity to be gallant and give me the rest of *his* melon. As he likes to say, I have "Food Priority." He is surprisingly non-resentful of this, and in fact came up with the term.

And then we made a little grocery shopping run on the way home.

In between, we had some quality conversation reflecting on how we and our relationship have solidified over the last several years.

Over the years, we've gone from thinking of "me" to "us," then edging back to "me," then refinding the "us." Somehow we've helped each other be more solid, mature adults, who can then be more effective in the relationship. It's as in dancing: we hold ourselves up, connected but not dragging, so that our overall frame is stronger. Pretty darn cool, I say.

For me, the best part of the day was simply being together. It sounds so simple. I love our doing things together, even if it's as mundane as reading together on the couch or running to the hardware store. See? Old married people. No glitz required.



Then the rest of the week, oh my gosh. It was one medical appointment after another, with dancing (play) and calling (work) around the edges, and lots of targeted sharing. And I asked myself last night... and this was all in one week?


Herein starts the pregnancy-heavy part of the post.

So the nurse appointment was lots of paperwork and an interview wherein we discussed the paperwork. We had some questions answered as well. For instance, yes, it is possible to be feeling round-ligament pain this early. Ow. So I still get the occasional pain, but at least I know it's nothing dire.

After that, we had an hour of genetic counseling, which was quite interesting and informative. One friend asked me why we were having that done, and I said, duh, I'm over 40! Also, it's available. Mainly, we're doing screening to rule out certain things now so that (hopefully) I can avoid more invasive procedures later such as amnio. A friend had wisely pointed out to me that if they were able to screen for certain conditions and drop one's risk level to *below* the added miscarriage risk from amnio, the odds became pretty clear. I can't explain that well, but I am all for the early screening for any scrap of information we can gain.

As part of the screening, I had several vials of blood drawn and an ultrasound to measure this and that. This was an unexpected pleasure. I am far enough along that they went straight for the belly instead of approaching vaginally.

"Aw, the baby is all curled up in there," the technician cooed. "This may take a while, though," she added. She couldn't get a good angle to get the measurements she needed at first. I was confused.... "Can you make the baby move, you mean?" I asked. "I wish! We'll just wait for the baby to change positions." Change positions??!!! You mean... Oh my god, it's flipping onto it's back! We were totally unprepared to see the kidlet arch its back and wiggle around. Wiggle! It was magical. I was enchanted. Afterwards, they told us that although we wouldn't get the blood test results for another week that the measurements alone looked very good thus far, so whoo-hoo! for that.

You know I had to send my mother some jpgs. She was also charmed. Gosh, the technology certainly allowed for a lot more detail than in her day, she said.

Then we drove drove drove so I could call a dance for a huge, happy crowd that night. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, being nervous about the medical appointments, so I was a leetle more tired than usual, fortified by a big brownie, protein snacks and lots of hydrating fluids. When I got there, I discovered a big-name caller was in attendance, just to add to the stress level. But the band was great to work with and the dancers were enthusiastic. I worked hard, everyone had a good time, and then I conked out in exhaustion. They are already trying to rebook me to come back, which I will be happy to do as long as it's before the new year when the schedule becomes a little chancy.


A couple days later, we came in again to see an actual doctor this time, the first of several. The practice we've chosen has a whole slew of doctors with every kind of maternal-fetal-medicine specialty you could imagine, so if something *were* to go wrong with my pregnancy, they'd be all over it. Luckily for me, I am considered "low-risk" (crossing fingers) despite my "advanced maternal age." The doctor apologized for even having to put it that way, because obviously, a healthy 40-something like not especially old. She herself had her children in that age range.

We had a fun time talking things over with her, and we felt good about the information and advice received. She anticipates I will have a "normal" pregnancy, although of course, they check frequently for any potential problems that might develop. I'm still at higher risk for gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia, etc.

The highlight of that visit was hearing the whoosh-whoosh of baby-heartbeat on the doppler stethoscope. "Yup, I agree with the ultrasound that you've got a baby in there!" the doctor remarked.

The low point was the rather brusque pelvic exam. Um, a little more lubrication and a little less haste would make it sooo much easier for me to cooperate. I'm just going to have to be upfront with all the doctors about that from now on. That and about the use of the automatic blood pressure cuff which I find extremely painful. It's kind of hard to get an accurate BP reading when I'm in pain and my fingers are going numb, yes?


Another thing I've done this week is go new clothes shopping, as I've started growing out of my jeans and camisoles, and the need was becoming dire. As best I can tell, I've gone up a full cup size already and and am getting ready to spill up one further. My favorite find was a "body slimming" garment that hugs both breasts and belly so there is less uncomfortable jiggling going on while dancing or walking.


So you can tell how the week has been going... relentless. Kinda like this post. (heehee) Have I worn you out yet? And that's not including a dance and a birthday party and a collegial gathering and ....
But OH my gosh, so much good stuff!! Heartbeat! And wiggling! And time spent with my Sweetie, even if much of it is spent sitting in waiting rooms.

Now we'll breathe a little easier for a while and try to plot what I'll eat when I can eat. The nausea is supposed to go away soon, right? I said, Riiight?!

Glimmers and Glue

"You turn me right round, baby, right round/
like a record, baby, right, right, round, round"

These are my thoughts. This is my typing on pregnancy hormones. It sucks, this brain shrinkage. No patience at all. I got some brain-mutterings for you, that's all.

So this is my post, such as it is.
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What is the glue that attracts friends and keeps them together?

I've been thinking about this more recently what with the who-liked-me-who-didn't stories of BlogHer and with my own recent visits with friends. It's interesting to muse over which friends stick around through all sorts of years and changes and which ones drift away.

Then there was a debate on a forum I follow, how two people bonded over waiting for children to be matched, how one person changed to special needs for her second child without telling the other (who is still waiting), and now the other doesn't want to be friends any more even though their first daughters are friends.

I was surprised that all the sympathy was with the first person saying Wah, she doesn't want to accept my apology and be friends any more, and how many people were saying that if the other were a "true" friend that she would get over all it already. I wanted to say that a "true" friend should have told the other woman *before* she was matched and that now she's being pretty insensitive to the fact that obviously the other woman is not ready to "get over it" and needs time alone with her pain. Jeez. but i digress.

This whole "true" friend got me thinking. What is the glue that keep friends together or crumbles up and falls apart?

Granted, I think some bonds are more fragile to begin with. Maybe you are friends out of proximity and convenience. Sharing a job location, neighborhood, interest, or activity leads to a deeper association, or at least more conversation. But there's no guarantee that the friendship will survive when one of you gets another job, moves away or decides to spend more time doing other things.

Same thing when you form bonds when you are a youngling. Maybe it's based on common outlook or the need to hang out with someone, preferably someone you can talk to and have fun with. Or maybe you each have insecurities or a wild sense of humor or an outsider status that needs that other person. Or maybe someone is a friend of a friend and it's just fun to hang out all together. Group bonding is also pretty cool.

The particular weakness of youth relationships lies in our tendency to change and grow up. You and your friends may or may not change in the same direction. It can be distressing, but it's inevitable that some differences will arise. A little respect and caring can go a long way, but it can't make up for major cracks and divisions.

An even greater threat to the glue is lack of interest in keeping in contact when you are out of convenient range. Again, I've been lucky that some old friends have enjoyed corresponding (this was before email, yo!), and/or visiting/calling, at least enough to keep up with each others lives. Now with email and things like mytwitterspacefacebook, it becomes even easier. But some friends can not bring themselves, for whatever reason, to keep up with a correspondence. Or others who do correspond, but only in a compulsive, shallow way (okay, sometimes that still works!). Or sometime a correspondence will die out despite the best of intentions. It's work to keep up with far-flung people, maybe too much work. A sense of flexibility and forgiveness helps. Do we all really need to always relate the same way forever? Either way, some friendships survive and others die out.

Friendships may dissolve because it's only after you get to know someone better that you realize you don't actually like them very much, or more distressingly, that they are really no friend at all. Oy, I have had a few of those, both with and without drama. Or perhaps an otherwise wonderful friend fails to come through during a stressful time and the disappointment and hurt is enough to kill it off. I've had at least one of those. And maybe like the other woman in the forum, one might need some time away for self-protective reasons, to deal with the rest of ones life.

Oh, are all these reasons that friendships fall apart? There are other reasons why the glue still holds.

Maybe the friendship survives because you have a little glimmer of fondness that transcends the inconvenience factor. I've been lucky to have had friends that persist through years of changes. The kind of friends who it's still wonderful to talk to and share with after months or years of little contact.

Maybe the friend has that mysterious spark that makes you giggle or makes you think, or gives you solace in a cold world. Maybe they offer you a breath of fresh air, the smile that lifts your heart, the mutual interest that recommends books and goes with you to make sure you really leave after you break up with your boyfriend. Or who spends all afternoon helping you shop for wedding dress fabric, who says, "I know it!" when you complain, who shares ideas and dreams and even pain, and tells you your creations are wonderful and to keep doing more of that thing you love!

Here's where I get all ethereal and sweeping with emotion, I suppose. I will try to not get all Rogers and Hammerstein on you.

As in any relationship, sometimes it's the small things that keep you going, that keep the friendship tended whether in the early mid or late stages, and even when you are too busy to even email for a while, it's still wonderful to hear from that person. Of course, some friends are hothouse flowers, needing gobs of attention and care, and others can survive dry spells and pop out again when it rains. Either way, we must, almost by evolutionary default, find the people who match up with us, who match glimmers and maintenance levels within acceptable tolerances. We find, as one friend likes to say "our people." The people who love and appreciate us. It goes without saying that this is a two-way street, sometimes a four-lane highway!

Glimmer, glimmer. I see glimmers. Friendly glimmers. At whatever stage of relationship, it's all good. " 'Cause I'm (uh-uh) stuck on you."