| Greed: | Very Low | |
| Gluttony: | Medium | |
| Wrath: | Very Low | |
| Sloth: | Medium | |
| Envy: | Medium | |
| Lust: | Very Low | |
| Pride: | Medium |
Discover Your Sins - Click Here
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Here you go, Jennifer.
Discover Your Sins - Click Here
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Laundry: This feels like a confession.
Last night, I decided I needed to tackle the laundry splashed about our home. I have this bad habit of washing clothes, drying them, and then lying them flat so they won't wrinkle...but never HANGING or FOLDING them and putting them away. I have no idea why I am this way. Ok, that is sort of a lie. I know precisely why I am this way. Reason #1 is because my family was this way growing up. We had a clothesline, and we'd bring clothes in from the line in a basket and set them in the living room. It took lots of nagging from our parents to put them in our rooms. Forget putting them in the closet. Reason #2 is that I am lazy. I feel like as long as the clothes are clean, I've done the laundry. The whole hanging and folding business is so TEDIOUS.
The irony in this is that I love an organized closet. My clothes are mostly hung up, and I have them arranged by season, style, and color. In addition, pants are separate from skirts, which are separate from shirts, and so on. And, if I am feeling particularly OCD, I hang the casual clothes in one spot and the work clothes in another. Nothing makes me feel like all is right with the world as much as a clean and orderly closet. GETTING my clothes into the closet in the first place is where I run into the trouble.
Anyhow. Last night I entered the house after a LONG day at work. On my way in from the garage, I noted the load of clean clothes that had been removed from the dryer and hung over its door, so as to avoid wrinkles. I came inside and my skin started to feel a little too tight as I noticed the pile of Darrick's work clothes carelessly tossed onto a chair in the den. I turned into the great room and saw more of his clothes on top of the table by the stairs. Twitching, I peeked into the dining room, where I was saddened to see that the load of clean clothes from 2 days ago was still stacked atop the table. I'm not sure what I thought would have happened to those clothes? Self-hanging? Spontaneous combustion? My husband hanging them?...
Nearing a nervous breakdown, I headed upstairs, where there were 2 laundry baskets in our room. One was half-full of dirty clothes, and the other was stacked 8 feet high - - - ok, 2 feet high - - - from, what was it? 2 weeks ago? 5? I'd lost track. And I was about to lose my mind as I peeked into the closet and noticed that my side consisted of about 19 items of clothing, none of which fit me after having a baby, and then Darrick's side which was also near empty. Time to bite the bullet and get the clothes put away.
I gathered the hangers from our closet and stacked them atop the clean clothes in the basket, lugging the whole thing down the stairs. I then went back up the stairs into Luca's room to fetch her empty hangers. Armed with so many hangers I could have melted down the plastic and built Luca a jungle gym from scratch, I started trying to sort the clothes. There are not a lot of places in our house to do this without risking either wrinkles or, more likely, dog hair on the clean items. So I moved 2 dining chairs into the great room to hang the clothes over. I wanted to sort them before hanging them, but turns out I would need to own a 14,000 square foot home in order to have the space to do that with all the freaking laundry we had waiting to be hung. Seriously, it was the Mount Kilimanjaro of the laundry world.
So...one HOUR and FORTY FIVE MINUTES later, I had sorted and hung and folded and matched up all the shits and pants and pajamas and socks we owned, and my only task was to put them away. I started with my clothes, taking care to arrange them in the closet in the correct places and color order. Next, I took Darrick's clothes up. On my way back down for Luca's stuff, I loaded up the dirty clothes on the floor and put them in one of the now empty hampers. I noticed a few clean things I had missed, so I grabbed them and, after putting Luca's things away, I hung the last items. Finally, Darrick helped me grab those last hung items, some towels, and the loose items such as socks and undies, and we took them upstairs.
Now it was TWO HOURS since I'd started this little undertaking of mine. I felt calm. Clean. Orderly. So I happily took the towels to the hall linen closet and returned to the bedroom in time to notice the hung items were missing. "Curious", I thought. I peeked into the closet, and right there, staring me in the face and MOCKING me, were 6 itmes of clothing. My items. My items, out of order. Certainly, those pants did not belong SMACK in the middle of the t-shirt section. Certainly, the red shirt could not POSSIBLY be mistaken for blue. Certainly.
This is where my head imploded, and my brains came out and splattered Darrick's shirt, and then for a moment I had to consider whether said shirt now belonged in the 'white shirt' section or in the 'red shirt' section. I settled for pink. Which, for the record, comes after red but before peach and salmon.
The irony in this is that I love an organized closet. My clothes are mostly hung up, and I have them arranged by season, style, and color. In addition, pants are separate from skirts, which are separate from shirts, and so on. And, if I am feeling particularly OCD, I hang the casual clothes in one spot and the work clothes in another. Nothing makes me feel like all is right with the world as much as a clean and orderly closet. GETTING my clothes into the closet in the first place is where I run into the trouble.
Anyhow. Last night I entered the house after a LONG day at work. On my way in from the garage, I noted the load of clean clothes that had been removed from the dryer and hung over its door, so as to avoid wrinkles. I came inside and my skin started to feel a little too tight as I noticed the pile of Darrick's work clothes carelessly tossed onto a chair in the den. I turned into the great room and saw more of his clothes on top of the table by the stairs. Twitching, I peeked into the dining room, where I was saddened to see that the load of clean clothes from 2 days ago was still stacked atop the table. I'm not sure what I thought would have happened to those clothes? Self-hanging? Spontaneous combustion? My husband hanging them?...
Nearing a nervous breakdown, I headed upstairs, where there were 2 laundry baskets in our room. One was half-full of dirty clothes, and the other was stacked 8 feet high - - - ok, 2 feet high - - - from, what was it? 2 weeks ago? 5? I'd lost track. And I was about to lose my mind as I peeked into the closet and noticed that my side consisted of about 19 items of clothing, none of which fit me after having a baby, and then Darrick's side which was also near empty. Time to bite the bullet and get the clothes put away.
I gathered the hangers from our closet and stacked them atop the clean clothes in the basket, lugging the whole thing down the stairs. I then went back up the stairs into Luca's room to fetch her empty hangers. Armed with so many hangers I could have melted down the plastic and built Luca a jungle gym from scratch, I started trying to sort the clothes. There are not a lot of places in our house to do this without risking either wrinkles or, more likely, dog hair on the clean items. So I moved 2 dining chairs into the great room to hang the clothes over. I wanted to sort them before hanging them, but turns out I would need to own a 14,000 square foot home in order to have the space to do that with all the freaking laundry we had waiting to be hung. Seriously, it was the Mount Kilimanjaro of the laundry world.
So...one HOUR and FORTY FIVE MINUTES later, I had sorted and hung and folded and matched up all the shits and pants and pajamas and socks we owned, and my only task was to put them away. I started with my clothes, taking care to arrange them in the closet in the correct places and color order. Next, I took Darrick's clothes up. On my way back down for Luca's stuff, I loaded up the dirty clothes on the floor and put them in one of the now empty hampers. I noticed a few clean things I had missed, so I grabbed them and, after putting Luca's things away, I hung the last items. Finally, Darrick helped me grab those last hung items, some towels, and the loose items such as socks and undies, and we took them upstairs.
Now it was TWO HOURS since I'd started this little undertaking of mine. I felt calm. Clean. Orderly. So I happily took the towels to the hall linen closet and returned to the bedroom in time to notice the hung items were missing. "Curious", I thought. I peeked into the closet, and right there, staring me in the face and MOCKING me, were 6 itmes of clothing. My items. My items, out of order. Certainly, those pants did not belong SMACK in the middle of the t-shirt section. Certainly, the red shirt could not POSSIBLY be mistaken for blue. Certainly.
This is where my head imploded, and my brains came out and splattered Darrick's shirt, and then for a moment I had to consider whether said shirt now belonged in the 'white shirt' section or in the 'red shirt' section. I settled for pink. Which, for the record, comes after red but before peach and salmon.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Weekend Irony.
I went to a conference to do a presentation on Saturday. It was for NOW, the National Organization for Women. If you're not familiar with NOW, you can see their website here. And if you're too lazy to read, here's what the stand for in a nutshell:
"The National Organization for Women (NOW) is the largest organization of feminist activists in the United States. NOW has 500,000 contributing members and 550 chapters in all 50 states and the District of Columbia.
Since its founding in 1966, NOW's goal has been to take action to bring about equality for all women. NOW works to eliminate discrimination and harassment in the workplace, schools, the justice system, and all other sectors of society; secure abortion, birth control and reproductive rights for all women; end all forms of violence against women; eradicate racism, sexism and homophobia; and promote equality and justice in our society."
So, I get the the hotel where the conference is being held, and notice a lot of motorcycles parked outside. There were people gearing up for rides, people sitting around talking, trailers parked by show bikes, etc. Throughout the conference, I could hear the bikes and music from the room I was in on the second floor. I felt a tiny but like Rocky Point was right outside and I was trapped in a meeting. But I digress.
So, I get to the end of the day, and I'm walking out to my car. As I exit the building, there's this guy on his bike sitting in the front entrance. And, playing from his bike is this:
Irony.
"The National Organization for Women (NOW) is the largest organization of feminist activists in the United States. NOW has 500,000 contributing members and 550 chapters in all 50 states and the District of Columbia.
Since its founding in 1966, NOW's goal has been to take action to bring about equality for all women. NOW works to eliminate discrimination and harassment in the workplace, schools, the justice system, and all other sectors of society; secure abortion, birth control and reproductive rights for all women; end all forms of violence against women; eradicate racism, sexism and homophobia; and promote equality and justice in our society."
So, I get the the hotel where the conference is being held, and notice a lot of motorcycles parked outside. There were people gearing up for rides, people sitting around talking, trailers parked by show bikes, etc. Throughout the conference, I could hear the bikes and music from the room I was in on the second floor. I felt a tiny but like Rocky Point was right outside and I was trapped in a meeting. But I digress.
So, I get to the end of the day, and I'm walking out to my car. As I exit the building, there's this guy on his bike sitting in the front entrance. And, playing from his bike is this:
Irony.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Thursday 13, Version 3.0
This week's 13 is dedicated 13 things I wish I was good at but am not.
1. Dancing. I am your classic white girl with no rhythm. I do the 'white girl shuffle'. YOU know the one...it involves some alternating knee bends, some hips swivels, and a little lasso action above the head. But...at least I'm having fun!
2. Hiding my emotions. I know I suck at this because people ALWAYS know when I am mad or sad. I may think I am hiding it well, and then, without fail, my boss will be all "What's that face about?" right in the middle of a staff meeting, and I know I am busted.
3. Making decisions. If you ever want to go out to eat with me, just name the place. Don't ask ME to pick the place, or we won't be eating until sometime the next week. I'm this way with everything. It drives Darrick SO crazy. When we were in childbirth classes while I was pregnant, they gave us a sliding scale question about pain medication in labor. One end of the scale was "I will use medication without a doubt.", and the other end was "I will not use medication no matter what." We were each supposed to answer separately about what decision we envisioned, and then see how well our answers meshed. His check mark for me was in the "I will labor without medication as long as I am comfortable, but will use medication when the pain gets intense." My check mark was next to "I am undecided." Needless to say, he was not shocked to see my answer and I was made fun of for weeks for it.
4. Singing. I used to have a really good voice. And then puberty hit and I took up smoking. So long, good voice.
5. Public speaking. I am getting better at this since my job involves a lot of presentations and public speaking events. But, from time to time, I still get nerves and my voice starts shaking and I sound like I am going to cry.
6. Telling people the truth when it's not what they want to hear. I will be the first person to tell you if there is spinach in your teeth, but I may not ever tell you if that thing you said to me that one time really did hurt my feelings.
7. Saying no. I have a really hard time telling people no, whether it's family, my boss, my friends....pretty much everyone but my husband! ;)
8. Cooking. I like to cook sometimes. I really enjoy baking more. I just wish I was a better cook. I need a bigger repertoire.
9. Skiing. The one time I tried, I ended up coming down the mountain in a plastic toboggan pulled by ski patrol. You can read about it
here.
10. Remembering movie quotes. Lyrics to songs I have down. But I have never been a movie-quote-rememberer. I'm always the chick who people quote movies to and I stare blankly at them and blink slowly.
11. Standing up for myself. This kind of goes with 'saying no', and kind of does not (see where the indecisiveness plays into my life?). I have a hard time defending myself against attacks...instead I shut down and/or internalize and take things personally even if I should not.
12. Sports. Whatever. Stupid athletic jerk heads.
13. Chemistry. I have come to the conclusion I will never be good at chemistry, which sucks because I secretly would kind of like to become a nurse midwife, but without being able to pass chemistry, it's never going to happen.
What do YOU wish you were good at?
View more Thursday Thirteen participants here:
http://technorati.com/tag/thursday+thirteen
1. Dancing. I am your classic white girl with no rhythm. I do the 'white girl shuffle'. YOU know the one...it involves some alternating knee bends, some hips swivels, and a little lasso action above the head. But...at least I'm having fun!
2. Hiding my emotions. I know I suck at this because people ALWAYS know when I am mad or sad. I may think I am hiding it well, and then, without fail, my boss will be all "What's that face about?" right in the middle of a staff meeting, and I know I am busted.
3. Making decisions. If you ever want to go out to eat with me, just name the place. Don't ask ME to pick the place, or we won't be eating until sometime the next week. I'm this way with everything. It drives Darrick SO crazy. When we were in childbirth classes while I was pregnant, they gave us a sliding scale question about pain medication in labor. One end of the scale was "I will use medication without a doubt.", and the other end was "I will not use medication no matter what." We were each supposed to answer separately about what decision we envisioned, and then see how well our answers meshed. His check mark for me was in the "I will labor without medication as long as I am comfortable, but will use medication when the pain gets intense." My check mark was next to "I am undecided." Needless to say, he was not shocked to see my answer and I was made fun of for weeks for it.
4. Singing. I used to have a really good voice. And then puberty hit and I took up smoking. So long, good voice.
5. Public speaking. I am getting better at this since my job involves a lot of presentations and public speaking events. But, from time to time, I still get nerves and my voice starts shaking and I sound like I am going to cry.
6. Telling people the truth when it's not what they want to hear. I will be the first person to tell you if there is spinach in your teeth, but I may not ever tell you if that thing you said to me that one time really did hurt my feelings.
7. Saying no. I have a really hard time telling people no, whether it's family, my boss, my friends....pretty much everyone but my husband! ;)
8. Cooking. I like to cook sometimes. I really enjoy baking more. I just wish I was a better cook. I need a bigger repertoire.
9. Skiing. The one time I tried, I ended up coming down the mountain in a plastic toboggan pulled by ski patrol. You can read about it
here.
10. Remembering movie quotes. Lyrics to songs I have down. But I have never been a movie-quote-rememberer. I'm always the chick who people quote movies to and I stare blankly at them and blink slowly.
11. Standing up for myself. This kind of goes with 'saying no', and kind of does not (see where the indecisiveness plays into my life?). I have a hard time defending myself against attacks...instead I shut down and/or internalize and take things personally even if I should not.
12. Sports. Whatever. Stupid athletic jerk heads.
13. Chemistry. I have come to the conclusion I will never be good at chemistry, which sucks because I secretly would kind of like to become a nurse midwife, but without being able to pass chemistry, it's never going to happen.
What do YOU wish you were good at?
View more Thursday Thirteen participants here:
http://technorati.com/tag/thursday+thirteen
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
No, you cannot have my midwife's name.
I'm going to lay this out here: this post is not for the humorless, easily embarassed, or my brothers.
Luca was delivered by midwife, and I love that woman. She's warm, funny, kind, personable, calm...everything you could want in a medical professional. She works at my OB's office, so I continue to go to her for all the 'girly' stuff we chicks go to Drs for. After I had Luca, we talked about birth control, and she suggested the Mirena IUD. An IUD (unlike a UTI, MERE!) is a small device - this one is plastic - that is inserted in the uterus. It prevents pregnancy through hormones, blocking eggs from implanting, and gypsy magic. Ok, I made up the gypsy magic. It's great for women who have had one successful pregnancy at least, no ectopic pregnancies, and are monogomous. Added bonuses: low hormone dose, no pills to forget, it can stay in place up to 5 years, and the potential of pregnancy is less than 1%. So, I had it inserted last summer when Luca was about 2 months old. So far, so good.
Until last weekend. All the sudden, I started having pains in my lower abdomen. The pains felt like they were in my uterus and were pretty constant. One of the things Mirena users are told is to see your Dr if you have pain in that area, so I did. I went in to see my midwife today. She asked me a series of questions, then did the old jab and jolt routine. The prognosis: I'm ok. Mostly.
You see, as my midwife explained, we post-baby women are a confused and forlorn bunch in the s-e-x department. During pregnancy, your baby takes over your body and soul. The baby is born, and your body is totally different and, usually, kinda not hot. If you breastfeed, your boobs are for the baby. You feel at once like a goddess who created beautiful, perfect life and like a 4th grade science fair experiment gone horribly awry. So, often after giving birth new moms complain of pain during sex, and really it's not physical pain as in something medically being wrong. It's more like psychological 'please god let him finish soon so I can catch up on old episodes of America's Next Top Model on You Tube before the baby wakes up from naptime' pain.
Her remedy: invest in a nice detachable showerhead, and when it's time to 'do him' (her phrasing, not mine), take a shower first. Just you, your detachable showerhead, and a little steam. Once you're *ahem* "done", you'll be relaxed and ready to 'do him'.
I kid you not. This was the advice from my midwife. Now, I know some would be offended by this sort of advice. I am not some. I found this to be both the most honest and the most hilarious conversation I have EVER had in a Dr's office.
Moms, you can thank me later.
Luca was delivered by midwife, and I love that woman. She's warm, funny, kind, personable, calm...everything you could want in a medical professional. She works at my OB's office, so I continue to go to her for all the 'girly' stuff we chicks go to Drs for. After I had Luca, we talked about birth control, and she suggested the Mirena IUD. An IUD (unlike a UTI, MERE!) is a small device - this one is plastic - that is inserted in the uterus. It prevents pregnancy through hormones, blocking eggs from implanting, and gypsy magic. Ok, I made up the gypsy magic. It's great for women who have had one successful pregnancy at least, no ectopic pregnancies, and are monogomous. Added bonuses: low hormone dose, no pills to forget, it can stay in place up to 5 years, and the potential of pregnancy is less than 1%. So, I had it inserted last summer when Luca was about 2 months old. So far, so good.
Until last weekend. All the sudden, I started having pains in my lower abdomen. The pains felt like they were in my uterus and were pretty constant. One of the things Mirena users are told is to see your Dr if you have pain in that area, so I did. I went in to see my midwife today. She asked me a series of questions, then did the old jab and jolt routine. The prognosis: I'm ok. Mostly.
You see, as my midwife explained, we post-baby women are a confused and forlorn bunch in the s-e-x department. During pregnancy, your baby takes over your body and soul. The baby is born, and your body is totally different and, usually, kinda not hot. If you breastfeed, your boobs are for the baby. You feel at once like a goddess who created beautiful, perfect life and like a 4th grade science fair experiment gone horribly awry. So, often after giving birth new moms complain of pain during sex, and really it's not physical pain as in something medically being wrong. It's more like psychological 'please god let him finish soon so I can catch up on old episodes of America's Next Top Model on You Tube before the baby wakes up from naptime' pain.
Her remedy: invest in a nice detachable showerhead, and when it's time to 'do him' (her phrasing, not mine), take a shower first. Just you, your detachable showerhead, and a little steam. Once you're *ahem* "done", you'll be relaxed and ready to 'do him'.
I kid you not. This was the advice from my midwife. Now, I know some would be offended by this sort of advice. I am not some. I found this to be both the most honest and the most hilarious conversation I have EVER had in a Dr's office.
Moms, you can thank me later.
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