Mel over at Stirrup Queens (if you don't read her already, you should totally check her out!), posted an interesting question today:
How have you changed in the last two years? If you’ve been blogging for at least two years, post a link to your nearest blog post to two years ago today.
This made me take a look back and realize that 2 years ago, this morning, I peed on the HPT that shockingly turned from one line to two, and subsequently into the 17 month old dervish who keeps me hopping.
I had no idea the ride (literally, in fact, on the day of her birth) I was in for, and despite my whining and moaning about certain things, I'm so happy to be aboard (though at times it's just by my finger tips!
Showing posts with label living in the past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living in the past. Show all posts
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
A Year Ago...
On the morning of December 15th, 2009 I shakily handed DH a freshly peed upon pregnancy test and asked "Does this say what I think it says..." At which point he looked at it, and asked me back, "What is it supposed to look like?" And thus began the adventure which lasted 7 1/2 months instead of 9.
(In looking for posts on my thoughts following that day, I found this quote from the Jan. 21st post regarding my first OB office visit. "I'm not sure I want to drive forty-five minutes to an hour to a hospital when I'm in labor." Oh the irony! But my instincts were right - I DIDN'T want to drive that long while in labor. Good thing it was only like 30-35 minutes instead, right?)
One thing I have to admit, the extra drugs from that cycle - Menopur, Bravelle, and Lupron - are still sitting on the bottom shelf of my refrigerator. I COULDN'T get rid of them while I was pregnant. First, because of the awful thought that it might not last and then I would have them for another cycle, saving us $. And later, because, well, superstition kicked in. If I got rid of them, something bad might happen. Same goes for all the extra supplies from that and previous cycles. They are still sitting, along with a half-filled sharps container, in our bathroom closet. It's like a junkies dream supply cache. I know eventually I will have to toss them all, or, better yet, pass the supplies along to someone who can use them, but I'm not ready just yet. (Of course, the question remains whether we are going to go for number two or not, and if so, whether sooner or later; so....they might be sticking around for a while longer. Unless, you know, we just relax. Hah.)
I'm not usually a reflective person - just not my style - but this fall and early-winter have found me thinking more than usual about the prior year. Where I was in a cycle, what drugs I was on. The ups and downs were more so than any other year we had been trying. The fall started with, after so many failed cycles, finally getting a positive. But, whoops, it didn't advance past the first beta. Then a different chemical cocktail with which to convince my body to produce eggs in the multiples. Which it failed spectacularly to do, canceling the cycle. (We were at Lowe's when we got that call. I was skulking in the aisles around the bathroom since DH was, ahem, using the facilities, and made the snap decision without him to not undertake one more certain to be negative IUI.) Which brings us back to the first sentence of this post.
BUT even on the worst days I know I would do it all over again. Every shot, every blood draw (even the ones at 7AM on a Saturday or Sunday morning), every invasive procedure, and each and every failed cycle. She's worth it.
(In looking for posts on my thoughts following that day, I found this quote from the Jan. 21st post regarding my first OB office visit. "I'm not sure I want to drive forty-five minutes to an hour to a hospital when I'm in labor." Oh the irony! But my instincts were right - I DIDN'T want to drive that long while in labor. Good thing it was only like 30-35 minutes instead, right?)
One thing I have to admit, the extra drugs from that cycle - Menopur, Bravelle, and Lupron - are still sitting on the bottom shelf of my refrigerator. I COULDN'T get rid of them while I was pregnant. First, because of the awful thought that it might not last and then I would have them for another cycle, saving us $. And later, because, well, superstition kicked in. If I got rid of them, something bad might happen. Same goes for all the extra supplies from that and previous cycles. They are still sitting, along with a half-filled sharps container, in our bathroom closet. It's like a junkies dream supply cache. I know eventually I will have to toss them all, or, better yet, pass the supplies along to someone who can use them, but I'm not ready just yet. (Of course, the question remains whether we are going to go for number two or not, and if so, whether sooner or later; so....they might be sticking around for a while longer. Unless, you know, we just relax. Hah.)
I'm not usually a reflective person - just not my style - but this fall and early-winter have found me thinking more than usual about the prior year. Where I was in a cycle, what drugs I was on. The ups and downs were more so than any other year we had been trying. The fall started with, after so many failed cycles, finally getting a positive. But, whoops, it didn't advance past the first beta. Then a different chemical cocktail with which to convince my body to produce eggs in the multiples. Which it failed spectacularly to do, canceling the cycle. (We were at Lowe's when we got that call. I was skulking in the aisles around the bathroom since DH was, ahem, using the facilities, and made the snap decision without him to not undertake one more certain to be negative IUI.) Which brings us back to the first sentence of this post.
BUT even on the worst days I know I would do it all over again. Every shot, every blood draw (even the ones at 7AM on a Saturday or Sunday morning), every invasive procedure, and each and every failed cycle. She's worth it.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Like sands through the hourglass...
Fifteen years ago this evening: I was sweating myself silly sitting in a plastic folding chair in the middle of a football field under the lingering rays of the afternoon sun. I was wearing a red, sleeveless, scooped neck, knee length, lined cotton sheath dress (still hanging in my closet, what?!, it's a classic) under a blue nylon robe, while wearing a matching blue hat with a square cardboard top, and topped with a button around which was wrapped the blue and gold tassel indicating I had managed to get myself through high school. (Sixteen years ago I was wearing a wool blend band uniform doing the same thing. I think the uniform was cooler.)
Also, fifteen years ago this evening: OJ Simpson was driving through the streets of LA in a white bronco with a police escort. We all know how that turned out.
That's one heck of a way to remember your high school graduation date.
Also, fifteen years ago this evening: OJ Simpson was driving through the streets of LA in a white bronco with a police escort. We all know how that turned out.
That's one heck of a way to remember your high school graduation date.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Grace
You may be aware that I am not a graceful person. Given the chance to trip, run into something or otherwise chance injuring myself, the odds are good that I will do so.
(And now you are wondering how I manage to ski downhill without finding every slick spot and tree, aren't you? That's okay, I wonder that myself.)
This weekend I did something related to yard work for the first time. Something I had not been allowed to do growing up, but had always wanted to do. Furthermore, something I had expected DH to do as part of his outside duties but which he had not done for longer than I would have liked.
It's not cutting the grass. I've done that both on my parents yard with their now dearly departed old Snapper (I loved that lawnmower) and with a self-propelled push mower on our yard. DH stays on top of that job pretty well using the riding mower we bought after DH took over mowing the yard. (Go figure.)
But it was something involving a power tool.
A power tool I had taken the initiative to purchase a few years back when the issue of the particular duty first raised its head.
(Has there been enough build up? I could drag it out further if you really wanted me to...)
Uncle! My arm has been twisted enough.
I used a electric hedge clipper for the first time ever. And wow, what a rush! What was taking me roughly FOREVER to accomplish with a pair of hedge shears, took approximately .005 seconds with the power tool.
Sure the job wasn't as perfect, but what did I care? The bushes look okay from the street which is what really counts, and I was playing instead of working. (Lest I make it sound like there were a lot of bushes to take care of, there weren't. Only six total and I did four one day and 2 the next. There are more to face in the fall when they aren't blooming and the bee's and wasps aren't partying hearty with the flowers.) Even more amazing, I had so much fun with the clippers that I DID NOT EVEN MIND CLEANING UP THE CLIPPINGS.
That's in all caps because it is a BIG DEAL. As a kid it fell to me to do the clean up as my parents trimmed the bushes and I loathed it. Most likely it was one of the main reasons I hated yard work growing up. But facing cleanup as part of the job, when I got to participate in the fun, that wasn't so bad. Even, dare I say it, somewhat satisfying.
I even managed to not injure myself while using said tool. So there's one element of grace. The other was the realization that using the electric clipper and then cleaning up my own mess was pretty adult of me - even if no one else recognized it, I felt it. And it felt pretty great.
(And now you are wondering how I manage to ski downhill without finding every slick spot and tree, aren't you? That's okay, I wonder that myself.)
This weekend I did something related to yard work for the first time. Something I had not been allowed to do growing up, but had always wanted to do. Furthermore, something I had expected DH to do as part of his outside duties but which he had not done for longer than I would have liked.
It's not cutting the grass. I've done that both on my parents yard with their now dearly departed old Snapper (I loved that lawnmower) and with a self-propelled push mower on our yard. DH stays on top of that job pretty well using the riding mower we bought after DH took over mowing the yard. (Go figure.)
But it was something involving a power tool.
A power tool I had taken the initiative to purchase a few years back when the issue of the particular duty first raised its head.
(Has there been enough build up? I could drag it out further if you really wanted me to...)
Uncle! My arm has been twisted enough.
I used a electric hedge clipper for the first time ever. And wow, what a rush! What was taking me roughly FOREVER to accomplish with a pair of hedge shears, took approximately .005 seconds with the power tool.
Sure the job wasn't as perfect, but what did I care? The bushes look okay from the street which is what really counts, and I was playing instead of working. (Lest I make it sound like there were a lot of bushes to take care of, there weren't. Only six total and I did four one day and 2 the next. There are more to face in the fall when they aren't blooming and the bee's and wasps aren't partying hearty with the flowers.) Even more amazing, I had so much fun with the clippers that I DID NOT EVEN MIND CLEANING UP THE CLIPPINGS.
That's in all caps because it is a BIG DEAL. As a kid it fell to me to do the clean up as my parents trimmed the bushes and I loathed it. Most likely it was one of the main reasons I hated yard work growing up. But facing cleanup as part of the job, when I got to participate in the fun, that wasn't so bad. Even, dare I say it, somewhat satisfying.
I even managed to not injure myself while using said tool. So there's one element of grace. The other was the realization that using the electric clipper and then cleaning up my own mess was pretty adult of me - even if no one else recognized it, I felt it. And it felt pretty great.
Friday, January 9, 2009
10 Year Retrospective...
10 years ago: I was dating a guy who I know would only be in town for as long as his JAG class lasted. This was the last of my string of relationships which always seemed to collapse after 3 months. Nice guy, but even if he hadn't left town the relationship wouldn't have lasted much longer - Irish-Catholic yankees and protestant southerners don't actually have that much in common. Google-stalking him recently I found he's doing exactly what he had told me he wanted to do after finishing his time in the military and it's not a life I wanted.
9.5 years ago: I met DH. His best-friend's then-wife picked me up at a social held by the local young professionals organization. I thought she was hitting on me, and DH didn't realize that we had never met before that night until a week or two later. At the same time I was semi-dating one of the younger local college professors and hoping to really date a number of men without getting serious - thanks to the professors' plane getting delayed at La Guardia I was at the social alone, and my goal of dating lots of men and having fun was soon to be short-lived.
9 years ago: I knew I was going to marry DH, and despite using 2 forms of birth control I was terrified of getting pregnant. (Ironic that, given how things have turned out.)
8.75 years ago: I got the cliche of "why buy the cow when he's getting the milk for free" from my mother who had just learned that I had "broken" a pledge to her to not have pre-marital sex. (I say if I can't remember such a thing and know I'm going to marry the guy, and despite the timing he's still my first, what's the big deal?) I also purchased my first new/used car, and changed jobs from one I tolerated to one I absolutely loved.
8 years ago: DH surprised me with a New Years Eve proposal and with a ring he had designed for me after carefully listening to my likes and dislikes (wanted something that wouldn't get caught on pockets or anything else, thus not a fan of solitares). The ring also incorporates the diamond originally purchased by his great-great-great grandfather for his wife.
7.25 years ago: I was deep in wedding plans. And freaked out by 9/11.
7 years ago: Still hip-deep in wedding plans, and writing thank you notes for the gifts that had already started to arrive at the multiple engagement parties and showers scheduled by friends and family.
6.75 years ago: DH and I got married with lots of fanfare from both sides. (Have we really been married for almost 7 years?!) Big church, big reception, and don't get me started on the confetti. Probably the first time many of my family members and their friends heard me curse. Let's just say there was so much confetti in the air, that with the photographers light, it was like being in a white-out blizzard and I couldn't see where I was in relation to the step-down I knew was coming at the end of the walkway. I left a trail of confetti from the limo to our room for the night, and then still left a good pile on the floor of our room and in my dress.
6 years ago: DH's house was sold and the contents were mostly in storage. My townhouse had been packed up and 1/2 the contents were in storage, the other half accompanied us to the first apartment I'd ever had the misfortune to live in, in a town I knew very little about as DH started a new job after finishing his Master's degree, and I tried to find a job while in the midst of depression (self-diagnosed looking back at my actions, or lack there of) and having a house built. Oh, and I also left the first job I'd ever loved behind when we moved.
6.25 years ago: I was "let-go" for the first time thanks to some office politics I still don't understand. We moved out of the apartment and into a townhouse we purchased and decided to renovate while living in, and still awaiting completion of our house.
6 years ago: Our house was almost complete and I was trying to get things like window treatments measured and ordered so we would have them for installation shortly after we moved in.
5.75 years ago: We finally moved into our new house, on our 2 year wedding anniversary. Happy anniversary, here's your present - a new home! All of our accumulated stuff was moved into the house: 3 storage units and a townhouse were emptied into two floors and a basement.
5.5 years ago: I reentered the workforce as a temp with a longer-term position for one of the (many) local time-share properties in the HR department. What a way to dispel any thoughts I had once had that HR would be right for me. Also the place where I firmed up my "people are stupid" theory. We also spent most weekends of this year working on a huge damn retaining wall project. Sure, we saved a ton of money, but it almost cost our marriage.
4 years ago: I started at my current job after realizing (a) I didn't like HR, & (b) even if I had liked my position, they weren't going to give me enough of a raise to convince me to stay there. This is the longest I've ever been with the same job. (The part-time retail job I had during school vacations doesn't count.)
3.25 years ago: DH and I decided it was time to stop my birth control at the end of the year so we could start trying to add children to the family.
2 years ago: We were officially trying! Oh, and we bought a condo as a 2nd home.
2.5 years ago: We started looking for fabric for curtains for our bedroom. The realization struck that things weren't going so well on the starting a family front. It's hard to get pregnant when you don't have a period.
1 year ago: We decided on one fabric for our bedroom. It was discontinued so the remaining amount was purchased and resided under the craft/3rd bed room bed.
.5 year ago: We decided on the 2nd fabric for our bedroom and both went to the seamstress to be made into curtains, shams and a duvet cover. We picked out a fabric & reupholsterer for our family room couch, and DH finished the bookshelves/niche cabinets that he'd been working on for a couple of years. Nesting much? We also started the first of five (to date) IUI cycles. Around this time DH also changed jobs and decided the new commute meant he needed a new car with better gas mileage, so we became a 3 car family.
Current: I painted our hall bath, our new curtains are hung, the reupholstered couch is in position, and hey, we're still not pregnant after 2 years. But hopeful given the heartburn I've had off and on since Saturday (if it's a side effect of the prometrium this is the first time I've experienced it). It's worse after meals not featuring dairy products, ergo I'm eating lots of cheese based products and drinking more milk than usual.
Whew. I can't believe it's coming up on ten years since DH and I met. And yet, we've done and gone through so much in those ten years, sometimes it's felt like a lifetime.
(I promise, the next post WILL be shorter.)
9.5 years ago: I met DH. His best-friend's then-wife picked me up at a social held by the local young professionals organization. I thought she was hitting on me, and DH didn't realize that we had never met before that night until a week or two later. At the same time I was semi-dating one of the younger local college professors and hoping to really date a number of men without getting serious - thanks to the professors' plane getting delayed at La Guardia I was at the social alone, and my goal of dating lots of men and having fun was soon to be short-lived.
9 years ago: I knew I was going to marry DH, and despite using 2 forms of birth control I was terrified of getting pregnant. (Ironic that, given how things have turned out.)
8.75 years ago: I got the cliche of "why buy the cow when he's getting the milk for free" from my mother who had just learned that I had "broken" a pledge to her to not have pre-marital sex. (I say if I can't remember such a thing and know I'm going to marry the guy, and despite the timing he's still my first, what's the big deal?) I also purchased my first new/used car, and changed jobs from one I tolerated to one I absolutely loved.
8 years ago: DH surprised me with a New Years Eve proposal and with a ring he had designed for me after carefully listening to my likes and dislikes (wanted something that wouldn't get caught on pockets or anything else, thus not a fan of solitares). The ring also incorporates the diamond originally purchased by his great-great-great grandfather for his wife.
7.25 years ago: I was deep in wedding plans. And freaked out by 9/11.
7 years ago: Still hip-deep in wedding plans, and writing thank you notes for the gifts that had already started to arrive at the multiple engagement parties and showers scheduled by friends and family.
6.75 years ago: DH and I got married with lots of fanfare from both sides. (Have we really been married for almost 7 years?!) Big church, big reception, and don't get me started on the confetti. Probably the first time many of my family members and their friends heard me curse. Let's just say there was so much confetti in the air, that with the photographers light, it was like being in a white-out blizzard and I couldn't see where I was in relation to the step-down I knew was coming at the end of the walkway. I left a trail of confetti from the limo to our room for the night, and then still left a good pile on the floor of our room and in my dress.
6 years ago: DH's house was sold and the contents were mostly in storage. My townhouse had been packed up and 1/2 the contents were in storage, the other half accompanied us to the first apartment I'd ever had the misfortune to live in, in a town I knew very little about as DH started a new job after finishing his Master's degree, and I tried to find a job while in the midst of depression (self-diagnosed looking back at my actions, or lack there of) and having a house built. Oh, and I also left the first job I'd ever loved behind when we moved.
6.25 years ago: I was "let-go" for the first time thanks to some office politics I still don't understand. We moved out of the apartment and into a townhouse we purchased and decided to renovate while living in, and still awaiting completion of our house.
6 years ago: Our house was almost complete and I was trying to get things like window treatments measured and ordered so we would have them for installation shortly after we moved in.
5.75 years ago: We finally moved into our new house, on our 2 year wedding anniversary. Happy anniversary, here's your present - a new home! All of our accumulated stuff was moved into the house: 3 storage units and a townhouse were emptied into two floors and a basement.
5.5 years ago: I reentered the workforce as a temp with a longer-term position for one of the (many) local time-share properties in the HR department. What a way to dispel any thoughts I had once had that HR would be right for me. Also the place where I firmed up my "people are stupid" theory. We also spent most weekends of this year working on a huge damn retaining wall project. Sure, we saved a ton of money, but it almost cost our marriage.
4 years ago: I started at my current job after realizing (a) I didn't like HR, & (b) even if I had liked my position, they weren't going to give me enough of a raise to convince me to stay there. This is the longest I've ever been with the same job. (The part-time retail job I had during school vacations doesn't count.)
3.25 years ago: DH and I decided it was time to stop my birth control at the end of the year so we could start trying to add children to the family.
2 years ago: We were officially trying! Oh, and we bought a condo as a 2nd home.
2.5 years ago: We started looking for fabric for curtains for our bedroom. The realization struck that things weren't going so well on the starting a family front. It's hard to get pregnant when you don't have a period.
1 year ago: We decided on one fabric for our bedroom. It was discontinued so the remaining amount was purchased and resided under the craft/3rd bed room bed.
.5 year ago: We decided on the 2nd fabric for our bedroom and both went to the seamstress to be made into curtains, shams and a duvet cover. We picked out a fabric & reupholsterer for our family room couch, and DH finished the bookshelves/niche cabinets that he'd been working on for a couple of years. Nesting much? We also started the first of five (to date) IUI cycles. Around this time DH also changed jobs and decided the new commute meant he needed a new car with better gas mileage, so we became a 3 car family.
Current: I painted our hall bath, our new curtains are hung, the reupholstered couch is in position, and hey, we're still not pregnant after 2 years. But hopeful given the heartburn I've had off and on since Saturday (if it's a side effect of the prometrium this is the first time I've experienced it). It's worse after meals not featuring dairy products, ergo I'm eating lots of cheese based products and drinking more milk than usual.
Whew. I can't believe it's coming up on ten years since DH and I met. And yet, we've done and gone through so much in those ten years, sometimes it's felt like a lifetime.
(I promise, the next post WILL be shorter.)
Friday, January 25, 2008
Just Because...
One of my 2 cousins on my mother's side of the family is getting married the first weekend in May. On the beach, in (BFE, 2 hours south of Tallahassee) Florida. His fiance is a real sweetheart, and I have offered the use of my veil/headpiece if she is interested in using it.
She asked if I had any pictures of it or a description. I have to admit, I had only the foggiest memories of what it looked like: my dress and shoes I can still draw in detail, but the headpiece - very vague. So I asked my parents (where the dress and veil are hanging out in the closet with my mom's wedding dress) to take a couple pictures. Well, in addition to the pictures of the headpiece, they sent a few from our wedding day which illustrate how it(they?) looked in my hair.
And just because I have them right here, I thought I would share one with you.
DH and I after the ceremony but before the reception.
She asked if I had any pictures of it or a description. I have to admit, I had only the foggiest memories of what it looked like: my dress and shoes I can still draw in detail, but the headpiece - very vague. So I asked my parents (where the dress and veil are hanging out in the closet with my mom's wedding dress) to take a couple pictures. Well, in addition to the pictures of the headpiece, they sent a few from our wedding day which illustrate how it(they?) looked in my hair.
And just because I have them right here, I thought I would share one with you.
DH and I after the ceremony but before the reception. At this point, I really needed to have a drink, eat some food, and to take a long nap. It had been a long day already and the party was just getting started. Thank goodness I had this big, strong, handsome (behind that black dot) guy to help me get through it, and everything else that has come our way!
Friday, January 4, 2008
Oh Yeah, Happy New Year and All That
Not much to report here. (Except for terrible run-on sentences and too many parenthesis to count.) DH has been nursing a cold for the past week, calling the doc on Wed's to get a Rx for a Z-Pack (please don't ask me to spell the actual medication, because it's so not going to happen) which doesn't seem to have kicked in yet as he has woken up the past couple nights with a hacking cough at 3 AM. Of course, 2 nights ago the smoke detector battery helped with the wake up (does anyone know why the batteries only die at night?), so that's kinda been sucky for him, especially with having taken this week off.
We spent New Years Eve very quietly, DH played a computer game he received for Christmas (Hellgate: London - he is really enjoying it!) I read a couple books, we watched a movie (I can't remember which one, so it must not have been too good) and caught the last 5 minutes of the New Years Eve specials before toasting with a glass each of sparkling wine we both like (I can't stand champagne, which is really strange, but that's the way it is) and headed to bed shortly after midnight. We didn't even kiss at midnight because DH was sick (we have an agreement for the sick person to let the other know when s/he feels healthy enough to not pass germs and until that time we don't kiss on the lips).
Our New Years Eve seven years ago was much different. Unbeknownst to me, but knownst to almost everyone else, over the fall DH had worked very hard to design an engagement ring I would like. The center diamond has been passed down in his family from his great-grandfather (DH is the 4th in the line with the same name), and so he could have just had that set in a solitaire and called it done. But he had listened when I said I didn't like solitaires (I think they can be beautiful, but I was afraid I would catch one on something and would lose the diamond), and had been very subtle about asking my opinion on different stone cuts, that sort of thing. And he had asked my parents for my hand since I had told him that was important to them. On the day he went to see them, the power was out for some reason and so they all sat there in the dark gloom of an unlit room, which didn't do much to make him less nervous about doing what he was doing.
Back to New Years Eve: DH had made arrangements for us to spend New Years Eve up at Wintergreen; and one of the other members of Ski Patrol had generously offered their condo for our use(I found this out after the fact - all I knew at the time was that DH had gotten the condo) because DH had told them his plans. Of course, I was totally clueless (even after his father made some fairly obvious (to DH) comments which should have tipped me off over Christmas), and was just looking forward to spending the time with him up at Wintergreen and enjoying New Years Eve.
His original plan was to propose at midnight, but DH was so nervous that he almost forgot the ring when we were packing to leave, so he changed his mind and decided to propose after we had gotten dressed for our 9PM dinner / party reservations but before we went to the restaurant. Not knowing what was going on, I felt like we were running late and a little stressed over an issue I had no control over (can you believe the person who hemmed my dress didn't hem the lining shorter than the outside fabric? gah!) and was rushing to put on my coat and hat, etc. in prep for going out to the car, and honestly I wasn't really paying too much attention to what DH was doing. Next thing I know he's down on one knee, and I'm standing there in my hat and scarf! At that time I was still a little immature, so instead of immediately saying yes, I said no first, in an attempt to be funny because I didn't know what else to do to lighten the moment. (You know those things that you really desperately wish you could undo? That's at the top of my list! ) Then I said, yes, of course, and a huge cheesy smile spread across my face that took a couple of weeks to come off. And the issue with my dress didn't matter any more. Then we went to dinner (where they had lost our reservation, but it didn't matter in the glow of euphoria I was feeling) and partied and showed off my ring to everyone on Ski Patrol (who obviously also knew what was going on).
Since I don't have a picture here with me at work, I'll describe it as best I can...there are three diamonds, the center one is round (and is the family diamond described above) and it is flanked on either side by a teardrop diamond with the round part slightly tucked under the center diamond. It looks like a flower with only 2 petals remaining. Sort of like this <)()(> *which is a very bad approximation*. The settings are fairly low profile, but the two side diamonds ramp up slightly towards the center diamond, so it slides into pockets and gloves without too much wiggling. I couldn't have asked for or designed a more perfect engagement ring. Or a more perfect husband (well to be honest, he's not perfect [and neither am I], but you know what I mean).
So that was my best New Years Eve ever, and it totally makes up for low-key celebrations like we had this year.
**Today DH is going to have the swimmers checked so please continue your crossed fingers and good thoughts in that direction.**
We spent New Years Eve very quietly, DH played a computer game he received for Christmas (Hellgate: London - he is really enjoying it!) I read a couple books, we watched a movie (I can't remember which one, so it must not have been too good) and caught the last 5 minutes of the New Years Eve specials before toasting with a glass each of sparkling wine we both like (I can't stand champagne, which is really strange, but that's the way it is) and headed to bed shortly after midnight. We didn't even kiss at midnight because DH was sick (we have an agreement for the sick person to let the other know when s/he feels healthy enough to not pass germs and until that time we don't kiss on the lips).
Our New Years Eve seven years ago was much different. Unbeknownst to me, but knownst to almost everyone else, over the fall DH had worked very hard to design an engagement ring I would like. The center diamond has been passed down in his family from his great-grandfather (DH is the 4th in the line with the same name), and so he could have just had that set in a solitaire and called it done. But he had listened when I said I didn't like solitaires (I think they can be beautiful, but I was afraid I would catch one on something and would lose the diamond), and had been very subtle about asking my opinion on different stone cuts, that sort of thing. And he had asked my parents for my hand since I had told him that was important to them. On the day he went to see them, the power was out for some reason and so they all sat there in the dark gloom of an unlit room, which didn't do much to make him less nervous about doing what he was doing.
Back to New Years Eve: DH had made arrangements for us to spend New Years Eve up at Wintergreen; and one of the other members of Ski Patrol had generously offered their condo for our use(I found this out after the fact - all I knew at the time was that DH had gotten the condo) because DH had told them his plans. Of course, I was totally clueless (even after his father made some fairly obvious (to DH) comments which should have tipped me off over Christmas), and was just looking forward to spending the time with him up at Wintergreen and enjoying New Years Eve.
His original plan was to propose at midnight, but DH was so nervous that he almost forgot the ring when we were packing to leave, so he changed his mind and decided to propose after we had gotten dressed for our 9PM dinner / party reservations but before we went to the restaurant. Not knowing what was going on, I felt like we were running late and a little stressed over an issue I had no control over (can you believe the person who hemmed my dress didn't hem the lining shorter than the outside fabric? gah!) and was rushing to put on my coat and hat, etc. in prep for going out to the car, and honestly I wasn't really paying too much attention to what DH was doing. Next thing I know he's down on one knee, and I'm standing there in my hat and scarf! At that time I was still a little immature, so instead of immediately saying yes, I said no first, in an attempt to be funny because I didn't know what else to do to lighten the moment. (You know those things that you really desperately wish you could undo? That's at the top of my list! ) Then I said, yes, of course, and a huge cheesy smile spread across my face that took a couple of weeks to come off. And the issue with my dress didn't matter any more. Then we went to dinner (where they had lost our reservation, but it didn't matter in the glow of euphoria I was feeling) and partied and showed off my ring to everyone on Ski Patrol (who obviously also knew what was going on).
Since I don't have a picture here with me at work, I'll describe it as best I can...there are three diamonds, the center one is round (and is the family diamond described above) and it is flanked on either side by a teardrop diamond with the round part slightly tucked under the center diamond. It looks like a flower with only 2 petals remaining. Sort of like this <)()(> *which is a very bad approximation*. The settings are fairly low profile, but the two side diamonds ramp up slightly towards the center diamond, so it slides into pockets and gloves without too much wiggling. I couldn't have asked for or designed a more perfect engagement ring. Or a more perfect husband (well to be honest, he's not perfect [and neither am I], but you know what I mean).
So that was my best New Years Eve ever, and it totally makes up for low-key celebrations like we had this year.
**Today DH is going to have the swimmers checked so please continue your crossed fingers and good thoughts in that direction.**
Thursday, September 13, 2007
La La La La...
We've recently had a change in weather from hellishly hot and too muggy to breathe to relatively cooler and less muggy (I did say relatively). Unfortunately for me it has only made me want to seek out the closest hammock or chaise lounge and lay supine enjoying the breeze.
One of the apparent side effects is that my brain has shut down and refuses to have anything of significance cross it. Except for the similarities of yesterday and today's weather to that fateful day six years ago.
Belatedly, I want to share my memories of September 11th, 2001.
I was working at a private boarding school out in the middle of the Virginia countryside, the windows were open in our non-air conditioned office and my boss came in asking if what she had heard on the radio was true; the DJ she was listening to was known for extreme jokes. The radio in our office was not on at the time so I went to CNN.com and up came the unspeakable - a smoking tower in the middle of New York City. From that point on things get blurry. My DH (then fiance) was at grad-school, in class, and I dialed his cell phone multiple times until he finally picked up (what's going on, why do you keep calling...). Ironically he was in a class on steel structures.
Mid-morning the kids had a break and I took it upon myself to go to the canteen (a room with soda-machines and a TV which was available to the students during breaks) and ask that the television not be turned on during the break, there had been a national tragedy and that I was sure the school president would call an assembly. I knew that the two students already there were trustworthy kids, one the son of a staff member, the other his girlfriend, and would respect my request. I remember walking across the campus from my office to the canteen, a breeze flapping the skirt of the jumper I was wearing, leaves on the 100 year old trees rustling overhead, the sun shining down, and puffy clouds in a serene blue sky, and thinking that the world had just changed, and that the weather should be reflecting the events of the day. I don't remember walking back to my office, but I can tell you the names of the two kids who were in the canteen and see them and the canteen clearly.
Sure enough, the president called an assembly to share the events of the day. One student ran out upset (her father was a firefighter and she had recently lost her mother), other students were allowed to call family members who worked in New York City. Several trained counselors were called in to be available to any students who needed or wanted help. The rest of the day is a haze; an attempt to keep things normal when nothing seemed right. With students from Europe and Asia and from across the country, there was no way everyone could be sent home early. I don't believe any of our students or faculty/staff lost close family members, but the mood of the school was a reflection of the world outside.
But mostly what I remember is the blue, blue sky and the perfect pre-fall weather.
It would have been a beautiful day to fly cross-country.
Flying in and out of Newark a month later, the airport train had a clear view of the NYC skyline and visible smoke from the still smoldering buildings, but that remains a story for another day.
One of the apparent side effects is that my brain has shut down and refuses to have anything of significance cross it. Except for the similarities of yesterday and today's weather to that fateful day six years ago.
Belatedly, I want to share my memories of September 11th, 2001.
I was working at a private boarding school out in the middle of the Virginia countryside, the windows were open in our non-air conditioned office and my boss came in asking if what she had heard on the radio was true; the DJ she was listening to was known for extreme jokes. The radio in our office was not on at the time so I went to CNN.com and up came the unspeakable - a smoking tower in the middle of New York City. From that point on things get blurry. My DH (then fiance) was at grad-school, in class, and I dialed his cell phone multiple times until he finally picked up (what's going on, why do you keep calling...). Ironically he was in a class on steel structures.
Mid-morning the kids had a break and I took it upon myself to go to the canteen (a room with soda-machines and a TV which was available to the students during breaks) and ask that the television not be turned on during the break, there had been a national tragedy and that I was sure the school president would call an assembly. I knew that the two students already there were trustworthy kids, one the son of a staff member, the other his girlfriend, and would respect my request. I remember walking across the campus from my office to the canteen, a breeze flapping the skirt of the jumper I was wearing, leaves on the 100 year old trees rustling overhead, the sun shining down, and puffy clouds in a serene blue sky, and thinking that the world had just changed, and that the weather should be reflecting the events of the day. I don't remember walking back to my office, but I can tell you the names of the two kids who were in the canteen and see them and the canteen clearly.
Sure enough, the president called an assembly to share the events of the day. One student ran out upset (her father was a firefighter and she had recently lost her mother), other students were allowed to call family members who worked in New York City. Several trained counselors were called in to be available to any students who needed or wanted help. The rest of the day is a haze; an attempt to keep things normal when nothing seemed right. With students from Europe and Asia and from across the country, there was no way everyone could be sent home early. I don't believe any of our students or faculty/staff lost close family members, but the mood of the school was a reflection of the world outside.
But mostly what I remember is the blue, blue sky and the perfect pre-fall weather.
It would have been a beautiful day to fly cross-country.
Flying in and out of Newark a month later, the airport train had a clear view of the NYC skyline and visible smoke from the still smoldering buildings, but that remains a story for another day.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Cars, Cars, Everywhere are Cars...
Recently I have come across a couple of posts which mention the authors first vehicles. Crazy Aunt Purl had a VW Fox, and Frema (in her gig over at Parents.com) mentioned her Chevy Cavalier. Neither vehicle was apparently long for this world.
My first vehicle was a Toyota Corolla sedan, and I think it's still being driven around my hometown. My father still reports the occasional sighting. It is fairly easy to identify, especially from the driver's side, where the rear passenger door stands out due to a poor paint job from the factory, which was not fully corrected by the dealership when it was first discovered. That and the strange mud brown paint color. Not red, not brown, but somewhere in between. Mostly I tried not to describe the color, and when I had to select a color for some reason (parking applications, etc.) flipped a coin to decide if I was going to check red or brown.
It was not new when I got it. It was the true old-lady car, driven only to the grocery store once a week (or less) for the last couple years before it came into my hands. How do I know this? It was my grandmother's car. She bought it new in 1980, with no dealer-installed options. It wouldn't have had heat if it hadn't come standard with it from the factory. To my grandmother, a car was a mode of transportation only. It was not a statement about her in any way, shape or form. Except maybe that she was cheap, and that she smoked. When I started driving it in 1993 or so, it had less than 10,000 miles on the odometer.
My dad borrowed the car from his mother to teach me how to drive. I'm not quite sure, but maybe he had planned that I would get the car all along. I started driving it off and on after I got my license, it "lived" at my grandmother's apartment and every so often I could "borrow" it. My Senior year of High School I signed up for an AP class which started early (before the regular class schedule), and it gave me a valid excuse to drive the car almost exclusively, with my grandmother having it on the occasional weekend. At this point she really wasn't physically up to driving, she didn't have the strength to turn the steering wheel (no power steering upgrade, remember) so it was more of a token thing for her to have it available.
The cigarette smoke odor eventually cleared and at some point I installed a radio/tape player and speakers. Funny for something which was so important back then I can't remember when exactly I made the upgrade but it must have been in the fall of my Senior year because I remember listening to the radio on those early mornings driving in on the interstate and on the late evenings coming back from playing in the band at football games. Also, my grandmother moved into a nursing home and the car transferred into my parents name (maybe this happened, and then I could put in the stereo?).
After my Freshman year at college it came to school with me off and on so I could get back and forth and to internships and such. One year in the week between Freshman move in (which I came back early for, along with the fun of hanging out with my friends without any work hanging over our heads) and the start of classes, a friend and I drove the forty or so miles to the closest amusement park - and I got that little engine that could running with traffic at 80MPH on I-95. Chug, chug, chug.
My junior year of college I was driving home for Thanksgiving when the oil level kept dropping. Thinking I was smart(but knowing that I was tempting fate, and really, really not wanting to have to wait for my parents to come and pick me up from school), I just kept pouring in oil and hoping that I would make it home before something bad happened (apart from losing the oil cap at a service station I had stopped at dozens of times before on trips back and forth and having to catch a ride over to the auto parts store with the attendant - I am so naive I'm not sure how I've lived this long without getting into some serious trouble).
I got within 15 miles of home when the oil light came on for good, and I heard a bad noise. Maybe you know it, it's a clunk, a metallic grinding, a noise that the engine has never made before. Luckily I had my cell phone (the Motorola flip phone weighing 1/2 a pound, and measuring 3"x6"x4" when closed!) with me...and it was charged up; so no scary interstate walking for help for me or scary people stopping and offering "help", just my first ride in a tow truck, thanks to AAA. The end result was a thrown connecting rod when the family mechanic at the garage started it up for the last time. Enter discussions on whether to replace the engine or get a new (used) vehicle. Decision made by my father - a used engine found by the mechanic. The car was mine again, with many threats and warnings about what to do if the oil light ever came on. Lesson learned.
Fast forward a couple of years. I've graduated from college and have a real job. The little Corolla and it's (new)used engine are still running just fine, but I'm ready to no longer be sticking to vinyl seats without a/c in the summer. My living expenses are stable and I've got some extra money each month, so I decided to look for another vehicle and sell the little car that could just keep on going. That car search is a story in itself, so I won't go into that now. Maybe later. The Corolla ended up going to a girl who was a junior at the same High School from which I had graduated (and driven the car to those early morning classes) , so the little car that could was, in a sense, returning to it's old stomping grounds.
I would guess that it is now considered a classic - and nowadays I'm really missing the gas mileage of that little four cylinder engine and lightweight body. But I'm hopeful that it is still helping some other teen satisfy that need for the open road and their own set of wheels as it did for me all those years ago. Live long little Corolla, live long.
***I wish I had some really good stories about the car, but I don't. No make out sessions in the back seat steaming up the windows, or drunken driving for this good girl. The front window got smashed in one time by a drunken frat boy while it was parked at my grandmothers, but I wasn't there, so it's not really that exciting a story. I had a couple of minor fender benders, one included straddling a narrow concrete median while attempting to avoid someone who pulled into my lane without seeing my car, another my inattention to the fact that the person ahead of me in the right hand turn lane had not actually kept going into the street onto which we were attempting to turn, but no full out accidents to report. It was dependable transportation, and in no way exciting enough to incite additional excitement.
What was your first car, do you miss it and/or do you have any interesting stories in which the car plays a integral part?
My first vehicle was a Toyota Corolla sedan, and I think it's still being driven around my hometown. My father still reports the occasional sighting. It is fairly easy to identify, especially from the driver's side, where the rear passenger door stands out due to a poor paint job from the factory, which was not fully corrected by the dealership when it was first discovered. That and the strange mud brown paint color. Not red, not brown, but somewhere in between. Mostly I tried not to describe the color, and when I had to select a color for some reason (parking applications, etc.) flipped a coin to decide if I was going to check red or brown.
It was not new when I got it. It was the true old-lady car, driven only to the grocery store once a week (or less) for the last couple years before it came into my hands. How do I know this? It was my grandmother's car. She bought it new in 1980, with no dealer-installed options. It wouldn't have had heat if it hadn't come standard with it from the factory. To my grandmother, a car was a mode of transportation only. It was not a statement about her in any way, shape or form. Except maybe that she was cheap, and that she smoked. When I started driving it in 1993 or so, it had less than 10,000 miles on the odometer.
My dad borrowed the car from his mother to teach me how to drive. I'm not quite sure, but maybe he had planned that I would get the car all along. I started driving it off and on after I got my license, it "lived" at my grandmother's apartment and every so often I could "borrow" it. My Senior year of High School I signed up for an AP class which started early (before the regular class schedule), and it gave me a valid excuse to drive the car almost exclusively, with my grandmother having it on the occasional weekend. At this point she really wasn't physically up to driving, she didn't have the strength to turn the steering wheel (no power steering upgrade, remember) so it was more of a token thing for her to have it available.
The cigarette smoke odor eventually cleared and at some point I installed a radio/tape player and speakers. Funny for something which was so important back then I can't remember when exactly I made the upgrade but it must have been in the fall of my Senior year because I remember listening to the radio on those early mornings driving in on the interstate and on the late evenings coming back from playing in the band at football games. Also, my grandmother moved into a nursing home and the car transferred into my parents name (maybe this happened, and then I could put in the stereo?).
After my Freshman year at college it came to school with me off and on so I could get back and forth and to internships and such. One year in the week between Freshman move in (which I came back early for, along with the fun of hanging out with my friends without any work hanging over our heads) and the start of classes, a friend and I drove the forty or so miles to the closest amusement park - and I got that little engine that could running with traffic at 80MPH on I-95. Chug, chug, chug.
My junior year of college I was driving home for Thanksgiving when the oil level kept dropping. Thinking I was smart(but knowing that I was tempting fate, and really, really not wanting to have to wait for my parents to come and pick me up from school), I just kept pouring in oil and hoping that I would make it home before something bad happened (apart from losing the oil cap at a service station I had stopped at dozens of times before on trips back and forth and having to catch a ride over to the auto parts store with the attendant - I am so naive I'm not sure how I've lived this long without getting into some serious trouble).
I got within 15 miles of home when the oil light came on for good, and I heard a bad noise. Maybe you know it, it's a clunk, a metallic grinding, a noise that the engine has never made before. Luckily I had my cell phone (the Motorola flip phone weighing 1/2 a pound, and measuring 3"x6"x4" when closed!) with me...and it was charged up; so no scary interstate walking for help for me or scary people stopping and offering "help", just my first ride in a tow truck, thanks to AAA. The end result was a thrown connecting rod when the family mechanic at the garage started it up for the last time. Enter discussions on whether to replace the engine or get a new (used) vehicle. Decision made by my father - a used engine found by the mechanic. The car was mine again, with many threats and warnings about what to do if the oil light ever came on. Lesson learned.
Fast forward a couple of years. I've graduated from college and have a real job. The little Corolla and it's (new)used engine are still running just fine, but I'm ready to no longer be sticking to vinyl seats without a/c in the summer. My living expenses are stable and I've got some extra money each month, so I decided to look for another vehicle and sell the little car that could just keep on going. That car search is a story in itself, so I won't go into that now. Maybe later. The Corolla ended up going to a girl who was a junior at the same High School from which I had graduated (and driven the car to those early morning classes) , so the little car that could was, in a sense, returning to it's old stomping grounds.
I would guess that it is now considered a classic - and nowadays I'm really missing the gas mileage of that little four cylinder engine and lightweight body. But I'm hopeful that it is still helping some other teen satisfy that need for the open road and their own set of wheels as it did for me all those years ago. Live long little Corolla, live long.
***I wish I had some really good stories about the car, but I don't. No make out sessions in the back seat steaming up the windows, or drunken driving for this good girl. The front window got smashed in one time by a drunken frat boy while it was parked at my grandmothers, but I wasn't there, so it's not really that exciting a story. I had a couple of minor fender benders, one included straddling a narrow concrete median while attempting to avoid someone who pulled into my lane without seeing my car, another my inattention to the fact that the person ahead of me in the right hand turn lane had not actually kept going into the street onto which we were attempting to turn, but no full out accidents to report. It was dependable transportation, and in no way exciting enough to incite additional excitement.
What was your first car, do you miss it and/or do you have any interesting stories in which the car plays a integral part?
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