About 30 minutes ago, I posted a super friendly generic version of my new year's eve post. But since this is the last post I will have in 2012, and I have been fairly nice in all of the rest of them, let me get real in this one.
My one huge wish for 2013 is to become a mom. I want the whole shebang. I want to be pregnant, I want to decorate a nursery and bicker lightly with Ian over the final details of baby names. I want to bawl my eyes out when I hear my baby's heartbeat for the first time, when I see the first ultrasound, when I find out the gender. I even want the hours of grueling labor because that will mean that I HAVE DONE IT. I am a mom, I have done what millions of women before me have done.
I was going through old schoolwork of mine that my mum kept for me and I found my kindergarten stats sheet. Listed under "what I want to be when I grow up?" A mom. (Actually mine says "my mum" but you get the point). So for at least 19 years of my life, this is what I have wanted. That's 19 years of solid dedication to this wish.
What I don't want is useless advice or "funny" anecdotes. What is useless advice you ask? Well let me enlighten you. I don't want to be told that it would take me a while (trust me, no one realizes this more than me), or that I will get pregnant when I stop trying to get pregnant. I don't want to continuously hear about how easy it was for you to get pregnant or how it was a total oops moment, hahahaha! I am happy for those who get pregnant quickly, I really am! There are just a few people on my social media who like to throw it in my face all the time. I hate that. And don't get me wrong. I love people's updates about their pregnancies and their babies. I really do. It's a super exciting time in your life, you're growing a baby! It's when it's multiple times (read 5 or more) a day that it starts to grate on my nerves. Or when they say "If you're not a parent, you don't know what true love is." I hate that saying, I really do. I truly love my husband. Unconditionally. For better or worse.
But the biggest thing I do NOT want to hear from anyone EVER again? "In my personal opinion, because I have been there, I would wait. You never regret waiting." I am sure I don't, but I will never regret having my child either. And I haven't had anyone who is actually in my situation say that to me. My situation is as follows: I am in my mid twenties, I have been married to my high school sweetheart for four years, and we dated for three years before that. That is seven years with the same man. I have a great job that I love doing, and my husband has an awesome job that could support both of us should I decide to be a stay at home mom (which is what both Ian and I want). We both have running vehicles, even if they aren't brand new or gorgeous. Neither of us owes any debt on either of our cars. We own our home, which is not a dump, and we live in a safe and quiet neighborhood that would be great to raise kids in. We are both in stellar health, and the most addictive substance that has me in its vices is Wild Cherry Pepsi. I know, I know, I should attend a Sodaholics Anonymous meeting or something, right?
I don't mean to offend the kind and supportive people in my life at all. And if you're reading this and thinking "I have never-!" Then you probably haven't and this isn't for you. This is for the people who have ever made me feel like I am not a real woman because I am not a mom yet, or that I am doing something wrong if I am not pregnant yet. This is for anyone who has ever uttered the words "Even if you're never a mom..." to me. Don't even go there. Don't put that negativity on me. I don't need it.
And for those of you who read this whole thing and don't think I am the scum of the earth, thank you. Thank you for understanding that sometimes I need to be able to rant about things that upset me.
Now after I get off of work, I am going to go home, get into pjs and park my butt on my couch with a book and season five of Bones. I am not a party girl or even a regular drinker. It's a big deal that I am even contemplating staying up until midnight, and I will do that on my terms. My terms include captain america sleep pants, a doctor who nightshirt, fuzzy socks, and my TARDIS blanket.
Happy New Years my lovely readers!!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
I haven't forgotten you, my lovelies...
I hope everyone had a happy Christmas! I sure did. There was a small drama bloop on the sunday morning before christmas where I ended up in tears because people should be more considerate of the difficulties of other people...but I am not going there because I don't want to end up upset again.
Ian, the furbabies and I were very blessed to be into our new house (if not settled all the way) by Christmas. We had taken down the tree at the apartment, and never put it back up, nor did we put up any Christmas decorations, but it was festive nonetheless. We began the day by watching the Queen's christmas message and ended it with the Doctor Who christmas special, and in between was full of little naps, presents, and food! Lots of food!
This is just a short little blip of a post to let you know I am still here and alive, but busy with unpacking and organizing and getting ready for the new year. I hope to post a new year's eve blog of monday, so fingers crossed that I get time!
TTFN! Tata for now!
Ian, the furbabies and I were very blessed to be into our new house (if not settled all the way) by Christmas. We had taken down the tree at the apartment, and never put it back up, nor did we put up any Christmas decorations, but it was festive nonetheless. We began the day by watching the Queen's christmas message and ended it with the Doctor Who christmas special, and in between was full of little naps, presents, and food! Lots of food!
This is just a short little blip of a post to let you know I am still here and alive, but busy with unpacking and organizing and getting ready for the new year. I hope to post a new year's eve blog of monday, so fingers crossed that I get time!
TTFN! Tata for now!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
My tooth has left the union and an equally ridiculous story of oral surgery
When I was 16, I made the trek back to Dodge City to attend my wisdom tooth removal surgery. Unfortunate events occurred (read: stomach flu) and, in fear of me throwing up on my surgeon, my surgery was canceled. This did not appear to be a huge deal because over the next few years, all four of my wisdom teeth grew in miraculously straight and it appeared to be a sign from God that I should never have oral surgery again. More on that in a minute.
Over the past week, my lower right wisdom tooth has been aching a little. Now you need to understand that I am very OCD when it comes to the health of my mouth and teeth. You don't go through surgery and four years of braces and expect to come through without a little PTSD. I brush my teeth twice a day, every day and on days my teeth feel a little grimy, three times a day. I floss, I use mouthwash. I inspect my teeth for possible cavities often. I am very very careful with my teeth. So to have a sore mouth caused by a tooth is a major freak out moment for me. The first day I inspected it, it looked like my gums were a little swollen back there, so I lightly massaged them with my brush a few times that day and for the following day. It got a little better, so I stopped worrying about it. Then yesterday, I woke up with the whole right side of my face lightly swollen and I was again worried. This time when I looked in my mouth, the impossible appeared to have happened. My gums are not swollen, my wisdom tooth is receding! And it's receding crookedly, pushing the side of it into my jawline and cheek. On my lunch break yesterday I called a dental office and asked if this was, indeed, possible. Apparently it is because wisdom teeth are wicked little creatures with minds of their own. So now I have to go get all my wisdom teeth thoroughly examined and quite possibly removed. And if the crazy tooth doesn't come up back up, that will require oral surgery. Which I HATE. And here's why.
When I was preparing to get braces, Dr Ackerman realized that my mouth (much like the rest of my body) was tiny. Too small, in fact, to fit all the teeth that were growing in. So I had to set an appointment to have two bottom teeth removed and two top teeth removed. That would have been no big deal, but my top teeth were indignant. They stood their ground and refused to move, stating "we are too cool to leave this mouth." In normal person speak, this means that the roots of my teeth were actually hooked into my sinus and to merely pull them would resort in more surgeries than needed because then they would need to repair my sinus region. It was ultimately decided that I would need to have surgery to remove these teeth, no big deal, right? Wrong. I was terrified of surgery. What if I never woke up? Nonetheless, mum's final word was law in our house, and she said my teeth were being removed surgically.
The day of the surgery, I got to skip school (yay!) and on the way to the clinic, I asked mum if we could go to the library and sonic afterwards. She kind of did this little half laugh, and said sure, if I felt up to it after the surgery. I took this as a yes, because why wouldn't I feel like it?
Skipping all the boring details of signing in and getting to the good stuff, they hooked me up to all the tubes and a nurse took a nasty looking long needle and inserted it into my IV and asked me to count backwards from 10. The last number I remember was 9, so that was probably a sign of the future issues I had.
I am assuming (and would not like to hear otherwise) that the surgery itself went fine. It was the waking me afterwards that caused problems. As in, I wouldn't wake up. They went out and got my mum, and from what I am told, it even took her some time to get me conscious.
The first thing I remember was the clouds on the ceiling, with the cowboys and indians chasing each other. I tried to tell my mum about them, but there was so much gauze in my mouth, and it just kind of hung upen and wouldn't close and the drugs were definitely prohibiting any real human speak. Also I might mention there were no cowboys or indians on the ceiling. Or clouds. I am pretty sure it was just a plain white ceiling when I was put under and I seriously doubted they painted all of that in the hour I was down for the count.
Me: Mum, look, the cowboys are chasing the indians in the sky
Mum: umm...un huh, sweetie, you need to wake up. Can you open your eyes a little more?
Me: No, my eyes are fine. Do you see the cowboys?
Mum: That's nice, honey. Now we are going to get you home, okay? I have to leave for a second. I am going to get the car. I will be right back. (my drug addled brain did not recognize this sentence as actual words so I had no idea what my mum was doing)
Me: But the indians! And the clouds!
At this point, my mother had left the room to pull the van around to the side of the building so that I didn't freak out the rest of the patients in the waiting room with my crazy mouth face. The two nice male dental assistants helped me walk (read: basically carried me) to the side door, where my mother was waiting. Unfortunately for them, they also had a supplies van waiting there as well, and I couldn't see my mum's van at first, so I freaked out on them as much as a ninety pound pre-teen girl could freak out on two physically fit mid twenties men. I was sure they were kidnapping me for ransom and I just couldn't allow that. My mum hurried over to calm me down and with a little bit of struggle, we got me safely loaded into the waiting vehicle and on my way home.
Everything was fine until we passed the library.
Me: Mum! Where are you going? The library, you said, I feel fine!
Mum: No, Angie, you don't. You don't make any sense, your entire face is swollen and you can't even walk on your own. We are just going home.
Me: But you said! You said, you said you said you said..." (This was like a whine sob word mix)
Mum: No.
And again, mum's final word was law, so I shut up except for some halfhearted sniffles. She did, however, take me to Sonic and get me a sprite and also a chocolate shake with fries so I could mush them around in my mouth. Later we would find out that they gave me too much anethesia for my weight, which is why I was so unfunctional and hard to wake up, but the whole experience traumatized me.
And this has been the long winded reason why I do NOT want to have another surgery, yet I am afraid I will have to. Stupid teeth.
Over the past week, my lower right wisdom tooth has been aching a little. Now you need to understand that I am very OCD when it comes to the health of my mouth and teeth. You don't go through surgery and four years of braces and expect to come through without a little PTSD. I brush my teeth twice a day, every day and on days my teeth feel a little grimy, three times a day. I floss, I use mouthwash. I inspect my teeth for possible cavities often. I am very very careful with my teeth. So to have a sore mouth caused by a tooth is a major freak out moment for me. The first day I inspected it, it looked like my gums were a little swollen back there, so I lightly massaged them with my brush a few times that day and for the following day. It got a little better, so I stopped worrying about it. Then yesterday, I woke up with the whole right side of my face lightly swollen and I was again worried. This time when I looked in my mouth, the impossible appeared to have happened. My gums are not swollen, my wisdom tooth is receding! And it's receding crookedly, pushing the side of it into my jawline and cheek. On my lunch break yesterday I called a dental office and asked if this was, indeed, possible. Apparently it is because wisdom teeth are wicked little creatures with minds of their own. So now I have to go get all my wisdom teeth thoroughly examined and quite possibly removed. And if the crazy tooth doesn't come up back up, that will require oral surgery. Which I HATE. And here's why.
When I was preparing to get braces, Dr Ackerman realized that my mouth (much like the rest of my body) was tiny. Too small, in fact, to fit all the teeth that were growing in. So I had to set an appointment to have two bottom teeth removed and two top teeth removed. That would have been no big deal, but my top teeth were indignant. They stood their ground and refused to move, stating "we are too cool to leave this mouth." In normal person speak, this means that the roots of my teeth were actually hooked into my sinus and to merely pull them would resort in more surgeries than needed because then they would need to repair my sinus region. It was ultimately decided that I would need to have surgery to remove these teeth, no big deal, right? Wrong. I was terrified of surgery. What if I never woke up? Nonetheless, mum's final word was law in our house, and she said my teeth were being removed surgically.
The day of the surgery, I got to skip school (yay!) and on the way to the clinic, I asked mum if we could go to the library and sonic afterwards. She kind of did this little half laugh, and said sure, if I felt up to it after the surgery. I took this as a yes, because why wouldn't I feel like it?
Skipping all the boring details of signing in and getting to the good stuff, they hooked me up to all the tubes and a nurse took a nasty looking long needle and inserted it into my IV and asked me to count backwards from 10. The last number I remember was 9, so that was probably a sign of the future issues I had.
I am assuming (and would not like to hear otherwise) that the surgery itself went fine. It was the waking me afterwards that caused problems. As in, I wouldn't wake up. They went out and got my mum, and from what I am told, it even took her some time to get me conscious.
The first thing I remember was the clouds on the ceiling, with the cowboys and indians chasing each other. I tried to tell my mum about them, but there was so much gauze in my mouth, and it just kind of hung upen and wouldn't close and the drugs were definitely prohibiting any real human speak. Also I might mention there were no cowboys or indians on the ceiling. Or clouds. I am pretty sure it was just a plain white ceiling when I was put under and I seriously doubted they painted all of that in the hour I was down for the count.
Me: Mum, look, the cowboys are chasing the indians in the sky
Mum: umm...un huh, sweetie, you need to wake up. Can you open your eyes a little more?
Me: No, my eyes are fine. Do you see the cowboys?
Mum: That's nice, honey. Now we are going to get you home, okay? I have to leave for a second. I am going to get the car. I will be right back. (my drug addled brain did not recognize this sentence as actual words so I had no idea what my mum was doing)
Me: But the indians! And the clouds!
At this point, my mother had left the room to pull the van around to the side of the building so that I didn't freak out the rest of the patients in the waiting room with my crazy mouth face. The two nice male dental assistants helped me walk (read: basically carried me) to the side door, where my mother was waiting. Unfortunately for them, they also had a supplies van waiting there as well, and I couldn't see my mum's van at first, so I freaked out on them as much as a ninety pound pre-teen girl could freak out on two physically fit mid twenties men. I was sure they were kidnapping me for ransom and I just couldn't allow that. My mum hurried over to calm me down and with a little bit of struggle, we got me safely loaded into the waiting vehicle and on my way home.
Everything was fine until we passed the library.
Me: Mum! Where are you going? The library, you said, I feel fine!
Mum: No, Angie, you don't. You don't make any sense, your entire face is swollen and you can't even walk on your own. We are just going home.
Me: But you said! You said, you said you said you said..." (This was like a whine sob word mix)
Mum: No.
And again, mum's final word was law, so I shut up except for some halfhearted sniffles. She did, however, take me to Sonic and get me a sprite and also a chocolate shake with fries so I could mush them around in my mouth. Later we would find out that they gave me too much anethesia for my weight, which is why I was so unfunctional and hard to wake up, but the whole experience traumatized me.
And this has been the long winded reason why I do NOT want to have another surgery, yet I am afraid I will have to. Stupid teeth.
Friday, December 7, 2012
My mother is a thief of joy- The tale of a poor sick girl.
Sorry I haven't posted in a bit! Ian and I have just purchased a home, and it's requiring a bit of TLC, plus packing, and getting ready for Christmas, I just haven't had time to breathe. Then yesterday, I had an evil stomach bug and so I laid on the couch and read and moaned of how I was on my deathbed, but no one would take of me. This, of course, was a complete lie as Ian was a very good caretaker but it reminded me of a conversation I had with my mum on the phone a week ago.
She called for some odd and random reason (read: Taylor's christmas box so no details will be provided here) and then I teased her about being a negligent mother for not remembering his birthday.
Mum: I know! I know! All my children tell me I am a terrible mother. I'm the worst. Over it. Moving on.
Me: Well, not the worst...but you know...you haven't exactly been attentive to my needs lately.
Mum: What do you mean?
Me: I didn't want to mention it, bbuutt for, like, the past four years, you haven't been at my beck and call when I was sick...
Mum: ...oh Lord...
Me: (continuing on throughout mum's mumblings) ...and so I haven't had anyone to bring me orange juice and cold rags for my head or make me couch nests to lay in and read, sleep, and watch Harry Potter...
Mum:...might I mention that you're married...
Me:...and so I really don't think that I have been getting as well as quickly as I used to.
Mum: Does Ian not take care of you?
Me: He does, but that's besides the point. You're my mum. You're supposed to take of me forever, especially when I am sick.
Mum: This entire conversation has taken a turn for the ridiculous.
Me: You just wait. I am probably going to be ill soon, and you won't take care of me.
Mum: You're right. Because your husband will and you're being a child.
Me: *blows raspberry in her ear*
AND what would you know, I was sick yesterday, and Ian did take care of me. But I had to make my own couch nest, and I didn't get to watch any Harry Potter, there was no orange juice or cold rags for my head. Not that I was that sick, just a little tummy bug probably caused my dinner the night before, and I have already packed away my Harry Potter movies to be moved over to the new house. I am also not a huge fan of orange juice. But this is all besides the point. The point is when I am sick, I need a certain routine followed, and I don't care that I am in my mid-twenties, if I don't feel well, my body thinks its five again. And when you're five, you need your mum.
And also probably some "Soft Kitty."
She called for some odd and random reason (read: Taylor's christmas box so no details will be provided here) and then I teased her about being a negligent mother for not remembering his birthday.
Mum: I know! I know! All my children tell me I am a terrible mother. I'm the worst. Over it. Moving on.
Me: Well, not the worst...but you know...you haven't exactly been attentive to my needs lately.
Mum: What do you mean?
Me: I didn't want to mention it, bbuutt for, like, the past four years, you haven't been at my beck and call when I was sick...
Mum: ...oh Lord...
Me: (continuing on throughout mum's mumblings) ...and so I haven't had anyone to bring me orange juice and cold rags for my head or make me couch nests to lay in and read, sleep, and watch Harry Potter...
Mum:...might I mention that you're married...
Me:...and so I really don't think that I have been getting as well as quickly as I used to.
Mum: Does Ian not take care of you?
Me: He does, but that's besides the point. You're my mum. You're supposed to take of me forever, especially when I am sick.
Mum: This entire conversation has taken a turn for the ridiculous.
Me: You just wait. I am probably going to be ill soon, and you won't take care of me.
Mum: You're right. Because your husband will and you're being a child.
Me: *blows raspberry in her ear*
AND what would you know, I was sick yesterday, and Ian did take care of me. But I had to make my own couch nest, and I didn't get to watch any Harry Potter, there was no orange juice or cold rags for my head. Not that I was that sick, just a little tummy bug probably caused my dinner the night before, and I have already packed away my Harry Potter movies to be moved over to the new house. I am also not a huge fan of orange juice. But this is all besides the point. The point is when I am sick, I need a certain routine followed, and I don't care that I am in my mid-twenties, if I don't feel well, my body thinks its five again. And when you're five, you need your mum.
And also probably some "Soft Kitty."
Monday, November 26, 2012
"Presents! Everywhere!"
Ian and I have put up our christmas tree on Thanksgiving night every year since we got married. I don't participate in Black Friday, so I don't have to go to bed early and he does, but he just pulls an allnighter, so it's the perfect time to put it up. We don't have to worry about how late we are up, and we watch a christmas movie, we get into PJs, I usually drink hot cocoa and it's the "Ross Christmas Tree Ceremony." It's one of my very favorite nights throughout the whole year.
This year, however, was different. This year we have two kittens who are in the destruction to everything stage. I was a little worried about this, but they seem to respond fairly well to disciplinary action, so I tried not to dwell on it too much. BIG MISTAKE.
1. Getting the tree out of the holiday closet: I walk to the library, open door. Kittens with supersonic hearing hear the door open. They come running. They both shoot into holiday closet and immediately disappear among boxes. I pull tree out and drag it to the living room, then go back to get kittens out of holiday closet. They aren't there. I search everywhere, get irritated, decide to lock them in there to teach them a lesson. I walk back to the living room to find christmas tree container moving. The kittens managed to crawl into the one container I was pulling out anyway. Get kittens out of box, and shoo them away. Ian distracts them with shiny stuff.
2. Assembling the christmas tree: I do my super important job of putting the tree base into the perfect position while Ian pulls the heavier part of the tree out and places it into said base. So far, so good, kittens still distracting with shiny stuff. I pull out the second part of the christmas tree. For some reason unknown to man, this action attracts kittens. Now intrigued, they run full force into the bottom part of the already assembled tree and scoot it out of perfect position. I distract them with a ball of yarn (yes this is cliche, but it totally works on my kittens) and they are sufficiently distracted. We manage to get the rest of the tree put up with relative ease.
3. Lighting the christmas tree: We do have a pre-strung christmas tree, but the order in which the lights connect to each other have absolutely no rhyme or reason and I tossed the instructions three years ago (because who really needs them??) so we just plug them together randoming until all the lights are on. As soon as the first set of lights came on, they had the kittens' attention again. Doctor tried to gnaw on a light only to burn his tongue, Olive just sat and stare wide-eyed for about 30 second and then went batpoop crazy and tried to destroy the tree. The problem was that now that the lights were on, there was no way to distract them from the tree, and we needed the lights on to tell when they were all connected properly. We slid the cats away, we lightly swatted them, I tried holding them while Ian desperately attempted to get everything connected. We finally decided to let them lay near, but not touch, the tree. It seemed to work best. I only had to swat their paws a couple times a piece before they realized they could look but not touch.
4. Decorating the christmas tree: This is when all hell broke loose. Most of our ornaments are plastic anyway, thank the Lord, so it was mostly chasing down cats with ornaments in tow, or to replace the ornaments they swatted off. Ian used mean voice on them and they kept the swatting to a minimum a.k.a. when Ian wasn't looking only. This part took the longest as it normally does, but it was ungodly long this time because of all the interference from the two cat demons from hell.
5. Finishing the rest of the house decorations: piece of cake. Kittens liked the tree, didn't give two hoots about anything else.
After the tree was assembled, everything calmed down, cats lost interest, we forgot that they were unholy creatures sent to torment us during the Christmas season. Until Saturday. Saturday night Ian took me on a spontaneous late night Palace movie date night, and all was well. Ian had decided to put my presents under the tree already to taunt my with their wrappedupness and I was NOT appreciating it. I just wanted to rip them apart and have them already.
When we got back from the movies, Ian was dallying behind in his car messing with something so I was the first into the house. As soon as I flipped on the hallway light, I saw two flashes, white and black, shoot into the library. Immediately suspicious I hurried to the living room, knowing that Olive and Doctor only willingly went into their room if they were hungry, thirsty, or about to be in huge trouble. In this case, I was absolutely sure they were about to be in trouble. Once I turned on the light to the living room, I saw that they had apparently played some form of "present hockey" or soccer or basketball. SOMETHING. My presents (wrapped as much as I could see) were EVERYWHERE.
Me: PRESENTS! EVERYWHERE! OH, IT IS CHRISTMAS! (doctor who quote)
Ian: What do you mean, presents everywhere?
Me: My presents are all over! Maybe some are opened!
Ian: Don't you lay a single finger on any of those presents or I will send them all back! Don't move a muscle.
I was immediately shunned to the closest room (the laundry room) to sit and wait for Ian to inspect all the presents for any damage. Satisfied there were none, he let me out and went into the library with the kittens. I heard a lot of mean voice (no raised volume, just harsher tone). Then he came out of the room with a kitten in each arm, both looking sheepish. We spent the rest of the night curled up on the couch, watching "How I Met Your Mother" and cuddling with the apparently apologetic, suddenly cuddly kittens.
This year, however, was different. This year we have two kittens who are in the destruction to everything stage. I was a little worried about this, but they seem to respond fairly well to disciplinary action, so I tried not to dwell on it too much. BIG MISTAKE.
1. Getting the tree out of the holiday closet: I walk to the library, open door. Kittens with supersonic hearing hear the door open. They come running. They both shoot into holiday closet and immediately disappear among boxes. I pull tree out and drag it to the living room, then go back to get kittens out of holiday closet. They aren't there. I search everywhere, get irritated, decide to lock them in there to teach them a lesson. I walk back to the living room to find christmas tree container moving. The kittens managed to crawl into the one container I was pulling out anyway. Get kittens out of box, and shoo them away. Ian distracts them with shiny stuff.
2. Assembling the christmas tree: I do my super important job of putting the tree base into the perfect position while Ian pulls the heavier part of the tree out and places it into said base. So far, so good, kittens still distracting with shiny stuff. I pull out the second part of the christmas tree. For some reason unknown to man, this action attracts kittens. Now intrigued, they run full force into the bottom part of the already assembled tree and scoot it out of perfect position. I distract them with a ball of yarn (yes this is cliche, but it totally works on my kittens) and they are sufficiently distracted. We manage to get the rest of the tree put up with relative ease.
3. Lighting the christmas tree: We do have a pre-strung christmas tree, but the order in which the lights connect to each other have absolutely no rhyme or reason and I tossed the instructions three years ago (because who really needs them??) so we just plug them together randoming until all the lights are on. As soon as the first set of lights came on, they had the kittens' attention again. Doctor tried to gnaw on a light only to burn his tongue, Olive just sat and stare wide-eyed for about 30 second and then went batpoop crazy and tried to destroy the tree. The problem was that now that the lights were on, there was no way to distract them from the tree, and we needed the lights on to tell when they were all connected properly. We slid the cats away, we lightly swatted them, I tried holding them while Ian desperately attempted to get everything connected. We finally decided to let them lay near, but not touch, the tree. It seemed to work best. I only had to swat their paws a couple times a piece before they realized they could look but not touch.
4. Decorating the christmas tree: This is when all hell broke loose. Most of our ornaments are plastic anyway, thank the Lord, so it was mostly chasing down cats with ornaments in tow, or to replace the ornaments they swatted off. Ian used mean voice on them and they kept the swatting to a minimum a.k.a. when Ian wasn't looking only. This part took the longest as it normally does, but it was ungodly long this time because of all the interference from the two cat demons from hell.
5. Finishing the rest of the house decorations: piece of cake. Kittens liked the tree, didn't give two hoots about anything else.
After the tree was assembled, everything calmed down, cats lost interest, we forgot that they were unholy creatures sent to torment us during the Christmas season. Until Saturday. Saturday night Ian took me on a spontaneous late night Palace movie date night, and all was well. Ian had decided to put my presents under the tree already to taunt my with their wrappedupness and I was NOT appreciating it. I just wanted to rip them apart and have them already.
When we got back from the movies, Ian was dallying behind in his car messing with something so I was the first into the house. As soon as I flipped on the hallway light, I saw two flashes, white and black, shoot into the library. Immediately suspicious I hurried to the living room, knowing that Olive and Doctor only willingly went into their room if they were hungry, thirsty, or about to be in huge trouble. In this case, I was absolutely sure they were about to be in trouble. Once I turned on the light to the living room, I saw that they had apparently played some form of "present hockey" or soccer or basketball. SOMETHING. My presents (wrapped as much as I could see) were EVERYWHERE.
Me: PRESENTS! EVERYWHERE! OH, IT IS CHRISTMAS! (doctor who quote)
Ian: What do you mean, presents everywhere?
Me: My presents are all over! Maybe some are opened!
Ian: Don't you lay a single finger on any of those presents or I will send them all back! Don't move a muscle.
I was immediately shunned to the closest room (the laundry room) to sit and wait for Ian to inspect all the presents for any damage. Satisfied there were none, he let me out and went into the library with the kittens. I heard a lot of mean voice (no raised volume, just harsher tone). Then he came out of the room with a kitten in each arm, both looking sheepish. We spent the rest of the night curled up on the couch, watching "How I Met Your Mother" and cuddling with the apparently apologetic, suddenly cuddly kittens.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Happy Turkey Day of the food and the giving of thanks!
I am not sure how busy I will be tomorrow because it is the day before Thanksgiving and the banks are closed for the holiday, so I might be slammed with faxes, phone calls, and cases, but I really don't want to leave you hanging. So here is my thanksgiving post.
I am thankful all year round, but Thanksgiving really reminds me how thankful I am for so many things.
My marriage: I am thankful that God had a man for me that was silly, fun, and a planner. Whereas I tend to dive into things headfirst, consequences be damned, Ian takes a step back and thinks "Where do I want to be a year/five years from now? How with this particular action affect that future? What are the pros/cons?" I will admit that there are times when I do not feel thankful for this because it really cuts back on my spontaneity, but they're few and far between. I love that I get to spend the rest of my life with this man and that he will make every effort to ensure his family is provided for at all times.
My furbabies: This year, Ian and I rescued both Doctor and Olive from starvation and watery death, respectively. I have had pets in the past, but this is the first time that they felt like our pets as opposed to my pets and I really think that made all the difference. They are so adorable, and though there are times when they drive me up the wall, I wouldn't trade them for all the cute baby animals in the world. They have their own little personalities that complement our own perfectly and I love the feeling of being needed and unconditionally loved. Also watching Ian with our cats has instilled me reassurance that he will be so great with children. If he can be so tender and loving, yet firm on obeying rules with CATS, he will do a kick butt job with our own little humans.
My family: I will say that there has been at least one time this year that every single one of my family members have made me want to scream until I was blue in the face and move somewhere that no one could reach me. I think when you know someone for as long as we've known each other, and when you're as close as our family is, it is impossible not to make each other mad at least once a year. There's just too much that we all know about each other, and such differing opinions on things that it's inevitable. But all that aside, at the end of the day, there is very little I wouldn't do for my family, and I hope that they feel the same.
My friends: I am truly blessed with great friends, whether they are new friends or very long term friends, I haven't found myself wanting for a listening ear when I need it. Especially my best friend, Deloris. She has heard more rants and sadness from me this year than even most of my family. Outside of Ian, she is my go to for any venting of any problems I have and again, outside of Ian, she is usually the first to hear any big news or happiness I have to express as well. I am pretty sure the only reason God made sure she was born to a different family was because I don't think my mum could handle us 24/7 from birth. As it was, she basically handled us 24/7 a good deal of our lives anyway, other with my other best friend Sarah. We were always up to shenanigans to make my mum turn grey.
My faith: I am not the type to punch you in the face with my religion, but I am also not afraid to tell you if I think you're missing out either. Because my God is so full of love and so ready to welcome you into his loving arms. I know I am using the word love a lot, but God and love are pretty synonymous in my book. I fell away in my late teens and early twenties, but I am so glad I came back. I am glad that through the reading of the word I realized that Church and individual people can claim to be messengers of God and can lead you astray with their two facedness. And I am also glad to have met good and godly people in our new church that are shining examples of God's love and not judmental bigots on a soapbox about how amazing their life is and curse curse curse the sinners! They actively want to reach new people and bring them to Christ. It's an actual desire of theirs, and you can tell the difference.
These are just a few things I am thankful for, the big things. My life is so well taken care of, between my husband's love and care, my best friends, my family and my God. I don't think there is a blog post long enough to encompass how thankful I am for the life God has given me. Even though there are trials and heartbreaks, I have always come back from all of them stronger.
Happy Thanksgiving, my dear readers.
I am thankful all year round, but Thanksgiving really reminds me how thankful I am for so many things.
My marriage: I am thankful that God had a man for me that was silly, fun, and a planner. Whereas I tend to dive into things headfirst, consequences be damned, Ian takes a step back and thinks "Where do I want to be a year/five years from now? How with this particular action affect that future? What are the pros/cons?" I will admit that there are times when I do not feel thankful for this because it really cuts back on my spontaneity, but they're few and far between. I love that I get to spend the rest of my life with this man and that he will make every effort to ensure his family is provided for at all times.
My furbabies: This year, Ian and I rescued both Doctor and Olive from starvation and watery death, respectively. I have had pets in the past, but this is the first time that they felt like our pets as opposed to my pets and I really think that made all the difference. They are so adorable, and though there are times when they drive me up the wall, I wouldn't trade them for all the cute baby animals in the world. They have their own little personalities that complement our own perfectly and I love the feeling of being needed and unconditionally loved. Also watching Ian with our cats has instilled me reassurance that he will be so great with children. If he can be so tender and loving, yet firm on obeying rules with CATS, he will do a kick butt job with our own little humans.
My family: I will say that there has been at least one time this year that every single one of my family members have made me want to scream until I was blue in the face and move somewhere that no one could reach me. I think when you know someone for as long as we've known each other, and when you're as close as our family is, it is impossible not to make each other mad at least once a year. There's just too much that we all know about each other, and such differing opinions on things that it's inevitable. But all that aside, at the end of the day, there is very little I wouldn't do for my family, and I hope that they feel the same.
My friends: I am truly blessed with great friends, whether they are new friends or very long term friends, I haven't found myself wanting for a listening ear when I need it. Especially my best friend, Deloris. She has heard more rants and sadness from me this year than even most of my family. Outside of Ian, she is my go to for any venting of any problems I have and again, outside of Ian, she is usually the first to hear any big news or happiness I have to express as well. I am pretty sure the only reason God made sure she was born to a different family was because I don't think my mum could handle us 24/7 from birth. As it was, she basically handled us 24/7 a good deal of our lives anyway, other with my other best friend Sarah. We were always up to shenanigans to make my mum turn grey.
My faith: I am not the type to punch you in the face with my religion, but I am also not afraid to tell you if I think you're missing out either. Because my God is so full of love and so ready to welcome you into his loving arms. I know I am using the word love a lot, but God and love are pretty synonymous in my book. I fell away in my late teens and early twenties, but I am so glad I came back. I am glad that through the reading of the word I realized that Church and individual people can claim to be messengers of God and can lead you astray with their two facedness. And I am also glad to have met good and godly people in our new church that are shining examples of God's love and not judmental bigots on a soapbox about how amazing their life is and curse curse curse the sinners! They actively want to reach new people and bring them to Christ. It's an actual desire of theirs, and you can tell the difference.
These are just a few things I am thankful for, the big things. My life is so well taken care of, between my husband's love and care, my best friends, my family and my God. I don't think there is a blog post long enough to encompass how thankful I am for the life God has given me. Even though there are trials and heartbreaks, I have always come back from all of them stronger.
Happy Thanksgiving, my dear readers.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Soundbytes from the Weekend.
"We aren't playing bitey biterson right now, we are playing sleepy sleeperson."
"Oh look, your backseat. The place all my tupperware goes to die."
"Ian, I tangled your stupid paracord rope around my wrist and can't get it off."
"Hold on, I'll help you in a second."
"Good, but try to take it off all sexy like so I don't feel like such a moron."
"Okay, look. There really isn't a 'sexy' way to remove a rope that you've successfully tangled around your wrist, sorry. I'm just going to have to pull it off, and it might hurt."
"I can hear it now! 'Listen up boys, it's a fight for the finish! I don't care if you have to take a chainsaw to that egg to get in, you just get in!' Haha!"
"Ian, come look at my Ross budget proposal for 2013."
"You have a budget proposal? What just happened to calling it your budget plan? No wait. I like this better. It makes me feel important, like a senator or a president. Maybe a lawyer."
"Okay...?"
"My name is Ian Ross and I approve this budget."
"Introverts unite!"
"....in separate houses, maybe..."
"Can you bring a pie this Sunday?"
"Maaaaayyyybbbeeee..."
"Please?"
"Depends on how bad you want it."
"I don't want it. I just don't want to make it....what do you want?!"
"Your soul. Nom nom nom."
"I just don't think it's fair you own all the properties on that entire corner of the board plus the TARDIS/railroad. It's like you have a monopoly on that section."
"Well, they don't call the game Monopoly for no reason."
"Oh look, your backseat. The place all my tupperware goes to die."
"Ian, I tangled your stupid paracord rope around my wrist and can't get it off."
"Hold on, I'll help you in a second."
"Good, but try to take it off all sexy like so I don't feel like such a moron."
"Okay, look. There really isn't a 'sexy' way to remove a rope that you've successfully tangled around your wrist, sorry. I'm just going to have to pull it off, and it might hurt."
"I can hear it now! 'Listen up boys, it's a fight for the finish! I don't care if you have to take a chainsaw to that egg to get in, you just get in!' Haha!"
"Ian, come look at my Ross budget proposal for 2013."
"You have a budget proposal? What just happened to calling it your budget plan? No wait. I like this better. It makes me feel important, like a senator or a president. Maybe a lawyer."
"Okay...?"
"My name is Ian Ross and I approve this budget."
"Introverts unite!"
"....in separate houses, maybe..."
"Can you bring a pie this Sunday?"
"Maaaaayyyybbbeeee..."
"Please?"
"Depends on how bad you want it."
"I don't want it. I just don't want to make it....what do you want?!"
"Your soul. Nom nom nom."
"I just don't think it's fair you own all the properties on that entire corner of the board plus the TARDIS/railroad. It's like you have a monopoly on that section."
"Well, they don't call the game Monopoly for no reason."
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Invtrovert: The Explanation of Me.
2. Psychology . a person characterized by concern primarily with his or her own thoughts and feelings (opposed to extrovert).
Things that stress me out:
Most people wouldn't know it to see it, but I am actually an introvert. I covet my alone time. People exhaust me. Yes, I am still talkative and happy and bouncy around my family and friends, but I try to limit my people time to a minimum. Contrary to the above definition, I am not actually a shy person, but I don't really feel the need to meet new people or have them weigh in their opinion on something I am interested in either.
Friends of mine, please look back on our long history (or not so long, in some cases). Have there not been times when I don't come along with you to some event or party that you want to attend? Even when you beg? Have there been times when I have canceled on you? Or maybe there have been times when we have gone days, weeks, months without talking. There are exactly three of you (and you know who you are) who know that this is typical behavior for me. That I am not trying to be hateful, nor am I trying to ruin our friendship or pull back. I am just being me.
Things I like to do:
*Read a book
*Play with my kittens
*Go for a walk with one or two people I am close to
*Play a board game with my husband
*Hang out with my family
*Have dance parties by myself (yes, this is does happen)
*Take a long bath and read
*Read/learn about generational poverty (it's actually a very interesting topic!)
*Read/learn about generational poverty (it's actually a very interesting topic!)
Things that stress me out:
*Big pushy crowds
*Loud, obnoxious people
*Parties where I don't know at least the majority of the people
*Change
*People who don't respect personal boundaries
I realized early into high school that being an introvert can also be harmful if you're not careful to make sure you socialize. I got really involved in youth group, I signed up for clubs, I went and hung out with my best friends. Potential employers like to see that you are not a loner, that you can interact well others, and I wasn't good at that at all. So yes, I do my have my loud, talkative moments, and yes I am very charismatic in the workplace. That's because I am a go-getter, and until I am a published author living off of my books, I need to have the best possible job I can. And yes, I do go home most evenings emotionally exhausted because being something I am not drains me.
The worst thing you can do is try and change me. I will resent you and pull further back, you will resent me pulling back and the relationship will crumble. There is nothing wrong with, I don't need to be "fixed." I just need to be understood and this post is coming from a place of frustration with people who don't understand why I prefer my own company or my husband's company to theirs. My priorities are not the same as others, and the sooner everyone can realize that and accept that, the better off and happier we will all be.
I've always liked the time before dawn because there's no one around to remind me who I'm supposed to be, so it easier to remember who I am.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Fears: Irrational or Not, I have 'em.
I would not classify myself as an easily scared person. Easily startled, yes, especially when I am concentrating, but not easily scared. That said, I do have fears. And some of them are fairly irrational, but I still have them.
Dancing murderous clothes in my closet: Okay, just so you know, this was also the very first fear I can ever remember having and I was a very, very young child when it developed. I remember looking at my closet, which was open (what kind of mother allows her young impressionable child to leave her closet open at night?!) and thinking, My clothes look like they're dancing. Why are they dancing? They are probably dancing in celebration. People dance when they're happy and they wear clothes so that's probably where the clothes learn it from. But why would the clothes be happy? And why in the middle of the night? (which was probably only 10, but that was certainly the middle of the night for me) Then it struck me. Only bad things come out at night. Clothes moving in celebration in the middle of the night was because they were bad. They were probably murderous. They were going to murder me unless I hid in a very tight ball underneath my covers so they couldn't see me. Which is what I did every night for as long as I remembered my murderous, dancing closet clothes, which wasn't very long. To be fair, I don't still think my clothes can murder me, and the dancing clothes thing was probably either my imagination or a poorly placed vent. Still. I wasn't taking any chances. However, the residual fear remained and to this day I still absolutely cannot sleep with my closet door open.
Spiders: Does this one really need explained? They be nasty.
Being stuck in a basement during very cold weather: This one comes from Beauty and the Beast, and also a small bout of claustophobia I have thanks to a brief moment of being stuck in a dryer when I was 4. Don't worry, the dryer was off, and I am still alive. I hate the cold anyway, but being cold and stuck somewhere I can't get out of will make me completely lose my cool. I can not do it. This fear has stretched to anything that it can be small and dark and possible to get trapped in, so this one has also stuck with me.
The gambling boogeyman from Nightmare Before Christmas: I really don't see any need to justify this one, because Tim Burton does a really good job at being creepy. Though it is probably irrational that I refuse to gamble because casinos freak me out. Thanks Tim Burton, now I can't fulfill my dream of being drunk and broke at a casino. You just ruin everything.
The weird kid eating creature from animal planet: I don't know if they still have this show, but when I was a kid in the late nineties and early 2000s, there was a show on the animal planet called something like "Real or Fake" or something else along those lines. I loved that show, and the public library had it on VHS (oh yes, VHS guys, I was a cool kid) and I would rent them and watch it. Until the day I rented one about the infant eating black night creature from Africa. I don't remember what its real name was, but supposedly it was this four foot creature that could walk either on two legs or fours, had beady red eyes, sharp dagger teeth and stole babies and kids out of their homes and ate them. To my mid-twenties mind, I now realize this was a big fat "FAKE!" but to my seven year old mind, it was NOT. I hated being out after dark, and if mum wanted me to take the trash out and it was dark out, I ran all the way to our detached garage and ran all the way back, because when you're a kid, you know that bad things obviously can't get you if you run super fast. Now I don't still have this particular fear, but I am still weird about the dark. If you can't tell from my first fear, the dark hasn't treated me well.
Drowning: No fun story, I just got caugh underneath a floating pool thing when I was little, and felt like I wasn't ever getting out and was going to die.
Having my feet exposed while I am covered in a blanket, especially while I am sleeping: When I was eleven or twelve, I read a book about the missionary David Livingstone, and when he went to some crazy third world country, there was a night when he didn't completely cover his feet and rats bit the crap out of the bottom of them. Also, in scary movies, people can totally be pulled out of bed by exposed feet. Nope. Not doing it. Yes this fear still remains today. Laugh at me all you want, but when your feet get eaten by feet eating rats, see who is laughing then. Yeah.
Centipedes: I refuse to believe that these things are more scared of me than I am of them, because this is my number one biggest fear. When I was in sixth grade, I went to a baptist bible church camp and when I was taking a shower, a centipede dropped from the ceiling and that kind of freaked me out, but I am not a "eww bugs! so scared!" type of person, so I kicked it with my flip flop really hard. Then I looked up. The ceiling of my shower was CRAWLING WITH THEM. They had a serious infestation. I got out, got dressed super fast, and went screaming to my cabin leader, who went and confirmed the nastiness and they got a bug person out there the same day. But I still walked all the way across campus to use the other ladie's restroom after that.
There you go. Have a laugh on me. I realize I am ridiculous.
**UPDATE**
My dear friend Seth reminded me of a super irrational fear I had when I was a child that he remembered and I didn't until he mentioned it. So without further ado...
Feet falling off if I wore socks to bed: This fear is largely do to my grandpa who, in an attempt to get me to take my socks off for bed and throw them in the dirty clothes hamper, would tell me that if I wore socks to bed, my feet couldn't breath and would suffocate and fall off. This is was a very short lived fear because once I started having science class, I realized that your feet don't "breathe" separately from the rest of your body.
Dancing murderous clothes in my closet: Okay, just so you know, this was also the very first fear I can ever remember having and I was a very, very young child when it developed. I remember looking at my closet, which was open (what kind of mother allows her young impressionable child to leave her closet open at night?!) and thinking, My clothes look like they're dancing. Why are they dancing? They are probably dancing in celebration. People dance when they're happy and they wear clothes so that's probably where the clothes learn it from. But why would the clothes be happy? And why in the middle of the night? (which was probably only 10, but that was certainly the middle of the night for me) Then it struck me. Only bad things come out at night. Clothes moving in celebration in the middle of the night was because they were bad. They were probably murderous. They were going to murder me unless I hid in a very tight ball underneath my covers so they couldn't see me. Which is what I did every night for as long as I remembered my murderous, dancing closet clothes, which wasn't very long. To be fair, I don't still think my clothes can murder me, and the dancing clothes thing was probably either my imagination or a poorly placed vent. Still. I wasn't taking any chances. However, the residual fear remained and to this day I still absolutely cannot sleep with my closet door open.
Spiders: Does this one really need explained? They be nasty.
Being stuck in a basement during very cold weather: This one comes from Beauty and the Beast, and also a small bout of claustophobia I have thanks to a brief moment of being stuck in a dryer when I was 4. Don't worry, the dryer was off, and I am still alive. I hate the cold anyway, but being cold and stuck somewhere I can't get out of will make me completely lose my cool. I can not do it. This fear has stretched to anything that it can be small and dark and possible to get trapped in, so this one has also stuck with me.
The gambling boogeyman from Nightmare Before Christmas: I really don't see any need to justify this one, because Tim Burton does a really good job at being creepy. Though it is probably irrational that I refuse to gamble because casinos freak me out. Thanks Tim Burton, now I can't fulfill my dream of being drunk and broke at a casino. You just ruin everything.
The weird kid eating creature from animal planet: I don't know if they still have this show, but when I was a kid in the late nineties and early 2000s, there was a show on the animal planet called something like "Real or Fake" or something else along those lines. I loved that show, and the public library had it on VHS (oh yes, VHS guys, I was a cool kid) and I would rent them and watch it. Until the day I rented one about the infant eating black night creature from Africa. I don't remember what its real name was, but supposedly it was this four foot creature that could walk either on two legs or fours, had beady red eyes, sharp dagger teeth and stole babies and kids out of their homes and ate them. To my mid-twenties mind, I now realize this was a big fat "FAKE!" but to my seven year old mind, it was NOT. I hated being out after dark, and if mum wanted me to take the trash out and it was dark out, I ran all the way to our detached garage and ran all the way back, because when you're a kid, you know that bad things obviously can't get you if you run super fast. Now I don't still have this particular fear, but I am still weird about the dark. If you can't tell from my first fear, the dark hasn't treated me well.
Drowning: No fun story, I just got caugh underneath a floating pool thing when I was little, and felt like I wasn't ever getting out and was going to die.
Having my feet exposed while I am covered in a blanket, especially while I am sleeping: When I was eleven or twelve, I read a book about the missionary David Livingstone, and when he went to some crazy third world country, there was a night when he didn't completely cover his feet and rats bit the crap out of the bottom of them. Also, in scary movies, people can totally be pulled out of bed by exposed feet. Nope. Not doing it. Yes this fear still remains today. Laugh at me all you want, but when your feet get eaten by feet eating rats, see who is laughing then. Yeah.
Centipedes: I refuse to believe that these things are more scared of me than I am of them, because this is my number one biggest fear. When I was in sixth grade, I went to a baptist bible church camp and when I was taking a shower, a centipede dropped from the ceiling and that kind of freaked me out, but I am not a "eww bugs! so scared!" type of person, so I kicked it with my flip flop really hard. Then I looked up. The ceiling of my shower was CRAWLING WITH THEM. They had a serious infestation. I got out, got dressed super fast, and went screaming to my cabin leader, who went and confirmed the nastiness and they got a bug person out there the same day. But I still walked all the way across campus to use the other ladie's restroom after that.
There you go. Have a laugh on me. I realize I am ridiculous.
**UPDATE**
My dear friend Seth reminded me of a super irrational fear I had when I was a child that he remembered and I didn't until he mentioned it. So without further ado...
Feet falling off if I wore socks to bed: This fear is largely do to my grandpa who, in an attempt to get me to take my socks off for bed and throw them in the dirty clothes hamper, would tell me that if I wore socks to bed, my feet couldn't breath and would suffocate and fall off. This is was a very short lived fear because once I started having science class, I realized that your feet don't "breathe" separately from the rest of your body.
Friday, November 9, 2012
To comic con or not to comic con: The sad story of a dejected nerd
I know that my previous post probably led you to believe that this post would be about my terrifying rule as the eldest sibling in my home, but surprise! I am living up to my randomness and will be proceeding with a completely different story in which a husband breaks his wife's heart into a million pieces. I am afraid if I don't document it now, I won't remember it accurately enough to give it justice later. Also let me preface this with information that Ian and I are attempting to creat a spawn of our own to raise.
So around three weeks ago, my husband and I were shopping with my in laws for my halloween costume at the various thrift stores in town. I had decided to go as a female version of the 11th doctor from Doctor Who. If you haven't watched Doctor Who, and haven't the slightest idea what I am talking about, WATCH IT! It's amazing! *nerdgasm* We visited four different stores before I had assembled the perfect costume (I'll post pictures later) and I was on a shopping high. While on my nerdy shopping/halloween/whovian high, I realized that not once in the past four years of begging had my husband and I gone to comic con. It is my ulitmate nerd dream to go. Just being in the same building as Steven Moffat, Matt Smith, Nathan Fillion, and Joss Whedon...words cannot describe what my reaction would be. Probably a heart attack at having too much awesome in one space.
Back on track...I turned to my husband for the umpteenth time in our marriage and asked once more to PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE go to comic con this year. His answer was no. Again.
Me: But Ian! I have a costume this time and I could cosplay and I won't buy anymore books for myself all year if I can go, please please please!
Ian: Ang, if all goes according to plan, and quickly, you will be like a thousand months pregnant this summer, which is when comic con is, if you don't remember.
Me: A thousand months pregnant isn't even possible and I don't see how being pregnant should prevent me from going. I have this awesome costume--
Ian: (interrupting me) If you're pregnant you can't even fit into your awesome costume. Also, you can't handle large crowds of people now with just you, I am sure if you were pregnant you might explode. On top of that, no one will let you on a plane if you are that pregnant.
Me: We could drive...
Ian: Absolutely not. I am not getting anywhere near a vehicle with a pregnant version of you. The unpregnant version of you in the car is almost too much already.
Me: You make me sad. You want to destroy my happiness.
Ian: No, I want to keep my sanity and prevent any murders that would land you in prison.
Me: Can we go post baby?
Ian: *long drawn out, probably unnecessary sigh* Sure, we can go post baby. Can we talk about something else instead?
Me: Sure...like what we will dress our baby up in for comic con 2014??
Ian: *facepalm*
And that is the sorta of sad story of a nerd having her dreams of going to comic con 2013 crushed by her husband who just doesn't understand.
Well, he does, as he is just as nerdy as I am, but he is also a lot more reasonable and can plan into the future better than I can. Where I wouldn't connect the fact that we are trying to get pregnant now with the fact that I could end up being pregnant this summer and thus unable to travel, he can. Which makes him perfect for me, because I probably would have done way crazier and way more stupid things by this point in my life if it wasn't for him being there to tell me to stop being crazy and stupid.
I love my husband.
So around three weeks ago, my husband and I were shopping with my in laws for my halloween costume at the various thrift stores in town. I had decided to go as a female version of the 11th doctor from Doctor Who. If you haven't watched Doctor Who, and haven't the slightest idea what I am talking about, WATCH IT! It's amazing! *nerdgasm* We visited four different stores before I had assembled the perfect costume (I'll post pictures later) and I was on a shopping high. While on my nerdy shopping/halloween/whovian high, I realized that not once in the past four years of begging had my husband and I gone to comic con. It is my ulitmate nerd dream to go. Just being in the same building as Steven Moffat, Matt Smith, Nathan Fillion, and Joss Whedon...words cannot describe what my reaction would be. Probably a heart attack at having too much awesome in one space.
Back on track...I turned to my husband for the umpteenth time in our marriage and asked once more to PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE go to comic con this year. His answer was no. Again.
Me: But Ian! I have a costume this time and I could cosplay and I won't buy anymore books for myself all year if I can go, please please please!
Ian: Ang, if all goes according to plan, and quickly, you will be like a thousand months pregnant this summer, which is when comic con is, if you don't remember.
Me: A thousand months pregnant isn't even possible and I don't see how being pregnant should prevent me from going. I have this awesome costume--
Ian: (interrupting me) If you're pregnant you can't even fit into your awesome costume. Also, you can't handle large crowds of people now with just you, I am sure if you were pregnant you might explode. On top of that, no one will let you on a plane if you are that pregnant.
Me: We could drive...
Ian: Absolutely not. I am not getting anywhere near a vehicle with a pregnant version of you. The unpregnant version of you in the car is almost too much already.
Me: You make me sad. You want to destroy my happiness.
Ian: No, I want to keep my sanity and prevent any murders that would land you in prison.
Me: Can we go post baby?
Ian: *long drawn out, probably unnecessary sigh* Sure, we can go post baby. Can we talk about something else instead?
Me: Sure...like what we will dress our baby up in for comic con 2014??
Ian: *facepalm*
And that is the sorta of sad story of a nerd having her dreams of going to comic con 2013 crushed by her husband who just doesn't understand.
Well, he does, as he is just as nerdy as I am, but he is also a lot more reasonable and can plan into the future better than I can. Where I wouldn't connect the fact that we are trying to get pregnant now with the fact that I could end up being pregnant this summer and thus unable to travel, he can. Which makes him perfect for me, because I probably would have done way crazier and way more stupid things by this point in my life if it wasn't for him being there to tell me to stop being crazy and stupid.
I love my husband.
Disclaimer: I am a terrifying sibling.
I may or may not post again today, but I should probably get this disclaimer out of the way first.
You will read a lot of stories about sisterly pranks I pulled on my siblings here. If you have spoken to my parents at all, they have most likely informed you that I was a well behaved, well adjusted respectful child. This is a bold faced lie, but they don't realize that. Only my siblings can truly tell you the awful things I am capable of thinking up and acting out. I was the dictator of the siblinghood, all obeyed me or suffered. Believe it or not, the suffering and obeying was split pretty 50/50 most of the time. Until my siblings grew up to gigantic versions of themselves, I ruled the land. Once they realized that they were all about a foot taller than me and several pounds heavier, the scales swiftly tilted in their favor, but you won't hear many stories about that, as I tend to block those sorts of unpleasants thoughts out of my brain forever.
Don't misunderstand me, however. I would like to think I am a fairly amazing sibling now. I try to be helpful and loving. I also try to make sure all my siblings know I love them to death, but this is mostly in part to the fact that the small demon living inside of me probably got tired of my small frame and moved elsewhere.
So there you have it. My disclaimer about how truly terrible I was as a child. Mum. Dad. Don't let this sway your opinion of me. I was still every bit as amazing as you have yourselves tricked into believing.
You will read a lot of stories about sisterly pranks I pulled on my siblings here. If you have spoken to my parents at all, they have most likely informed you that I was a well behaved, well adjusted respectful child. This is a bold faced lie, but they don't realize that. Only my siblings can truly tell you the awful things I am capable of thinking up and acting out. I was the dictator of the siblinghood, all obeyed me or suffered. Believe it or not, the suffering and obeying was split pretty 50/50 most of the time. Until my siblings grew up to gigantic versions of themselves, I ruled the land. Once they realized that they were all about a foot taller than me and several pounds heavier, the scales swiftly tilted in their favor, but you won't hear many stories about that, as I tend to block those sorts of unpleasants thoughts out of my brain forever.
Don't misunderstand me, however. I would like to think I am a fairly amazing sibling now. I try to be helpful and loving. I also try to make sure all my siblings know I love them to death, but this is mostly in part to the fact that the small demon living inside of me probably got tired of my small frame and moved elsewhere.
So there you have it. My disclaimer about how truly terrible I was as a child. Mum. Dad. Don't let this sway your opinion of me. I was still every bit as amazing as you have yourselves tricked into believing.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Once upon a time, I started existing.
Once upon a time, in a fairly boring place during a very cold month, a woman was super pregnant. Like "get this demon spawn out of me, she is way overdue and won't make up her mind about being born" kind of pregnant. To say she was anxiously awaiting the arrival of her precious baby girl was a severe understatement.
That woman was my mother. Little did she know she was giving birth to the single most awesome person she would ever know. Me.
My birth could say a lot about me. For instance, I am super indecisive. Mum went into early labor a week before I decided to make my appearance. That's another thing. Making something amazing takes time. You can't rush it. The more time I "baked", the better I got. Based off of my relationship with my mum now, if we had a conversation pre-birth about me being born, I can see it going a lot like this.
Mum: Please just be born. That'd be great.
Me: NO! You can't make me!
Mum: Well, actually, I can. I can ask to be induced.
Me: You wouldn't....
Mum: Try me.
Me: You are a thief of joy. A public menace. You are most definitely not my favorite anymore.
Mum: Psshht! (with a vulgar british hand gesture)
But my indecisiveness didn't stop with my birth. I am also indecisive about which book I would like to spend my hard earned book allowance on, or do I like those heels in black or red better, should I start a blog or just continue to write extremely long facebook posts that no one probably reads anyway?
But alas, a decision must always be made, this book over that one, the heels in black because I can wear them with more that way, a firm nudging from facebook friends to start a blog, and an insistent mother who is obsessed with the idea that I must be born. So she went to the hospital one last time...
....Aaaannd then I was born. Little did the world know that a true wonder was being born. The baby girl who had just exited her mother's birthing canal was full of sass, wit and a love of knowledge. This girl would grow up to fall in love with Doctor Who, words, The World of Harry Potter, the smell of books, and a silly boy with a penchant for building traps and obstacle courses, and pulling of pranks too elaborate to handle.
I thought the proper way to kick off my blog was much the same I was born. With fanfare and my mother's birthing canal. Enjoy.
P.S. not all my posts will be this random. But I can't write an awesome post right off the bat and set myself up for failure later on down the line, now can I?
That woman was my mother. Little did she know she was giving birth to the single most awesome person she would ever know. Me.
My birth could say a lot about me. For instance, I am super indecisive. Mum went into early labor a week before I decided to make my appearance. That's another thing. Making something amazing takes time. You can't rush it. The more time I "baked", the better I got. Based off of my relationship with my mum now, if we had a conversation pre-birth about me being born, I can see it going a lot like this.
Mum: Please just be born. That'd be great.
Me: NO! You can't make me!
Mum: Well, actually, I can. I can ask to be induced.
Me: You wouldn't....
Mum: Try me.
Me: You are a thief of joy. A public menace. You are most definitely not my favorite anymore.
Mum: Psshht! (with a vulgar british hand gesture)
But my indecisiveness didn't stop with my birth. I am also indecisive about which book I would like to spend my hard earned book allowance on, or do I like those heels in black or red better, should I start a blog or just continue to write extremely long facebook posts that no one probably reads anyway?
But alas, a decision must always be made, this book over that one, the heels in black because I can wear them with more that way, a firm nudging from facebook friends to start a blog, and an insistent mother who is obsessed with the idea that I must be born. So she went to the hospital one last time...
....Aaaannd then I was born. Little did the world know that a true wonder was being born. The baby girl who had just exited her mother's birthing canal was full of sass, wit and a love of knowledge. This girl would grow up to fall in love with Doctor Who, words, The World of Harry Potter, the smell of books, and a silly boy with a penchant for building traps and obstacle courses, and pulling of pranks too elaborate to handle.
I thought the proper way to kick off my blog was much the same I was born. With fanfare and my mother's birthing canal. Enjoy.
P.S. not all my posts will be this random. But I can't write an awesome post right off the bat and set myself up for failure later on down the line, now can I?
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