All right ladies, hubby says enough is enough. No more shopping sprees til I get rid of some stuff around the house. So here's your one and only chance to score big. Deeply deeply discounted in anticipation of this weekend's outlet sales . . .
Friday, February 25, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
marmalade and cheese
It was a Thursday in December, 1982. I was six years old. My mother, younger brother, and I had flown from India on Sat. I imagine that not being able to start me at school for four whole days must have killed my father. Because you know, a day without knowledge is a total waste of everyone's time. (I think this was the same reasoning that had my parents sending us to school from our death beds all throughout childhood. In high school, I'd sometimes fake a sick note and go find a corner desk at the library to catch a few z's and avoid infecting my classmates. In the 2nd grade, I was given rare permission to miss the last few days of the school year because my cousins were visiting from South Carolina and we were all going to Disneyland. We ended up postponing the trip by a day or two, and I had to go to school anyway. I tried to fake a deep deep, almost dead, sleep when my parents tried to wake me up that morning. In my mind, the plan was perfect; they couldn't send me to school if they couldn't wake me up, right? Somewhat shockingly, it didn't work. Although my parents wondered if I had some sort of sleep condition, they sent me to school while they pondered the possibility.)
The first day is mostly a haze. But I remember that the teacher assigned a girl in the class named Julie to hang out with me and help out as needed. My dad will probably still remember that "nice Julie from your class." I just remember that she used to sit next me those first few weeks and pinch me, and I didn't know how to tell anyone that she was doing it. (I also remember seeing lice crawling around in her hair in the 2nd grade, but that's a different story).
That first afternoon, I unwittingly followed the class to the cafeteria without the bagged lunch my parents had sent me to school with. My father, as unfamiliar with the American school system as I was, had also given me a dollar in quarters to buy milk. At the end of the line, with a tray of food in my hand, I had no choice but to hand over my quarters, one at a time, until they took them all. Speaking no English, it was some time before I managed to convince a teacher that I needed to go back to the classroom to get my marmalade and cheese sandwich. Returning the school lunch was easy. Getting my dollar back was impossible. Trying to explain to my dad that night how my milk had cost a whole dollar was even harder.
My English skills developed rapidly, so it wasn't long before I mastered the art of buying milk in a school cafeteria. Actually, by the end of the school year, I was regularly getting my name on the board for talking in class. But assimiltion to an American way of life too much longer, mostly due to my parents having no clue. I wondered for a long time why no one wanted to switch lunches with me, but to this day, my parents think that orange marmalade and American cheese is a perfectly acceptable combinaiton for a sandwich. In the winter, they sent me to school in a Sesame Street raincoat (all right for a first grader, but oh the shame for a 6th grader! But they saw no reason to buy a new raincoat when that one still fit and wasn't completely ripped to pieces). In the summer, they would sometimes find cute little dresses on sale at the local KMart, and goodness, they looked adorable with my white knee high tube socks and tennis shoes. By the second grade, my eyesight was so terrible that I needed glasses to see more than 2 inches in front of me. Luckily for me, my father specialized in picking out thick old-lady frames. My mother refused to let me cut my hair, so by the time I was in 3rd grade, it probably reached down to the middle of my back. My mother would oil and braid it into two long braids, a style that was very popular among third graders in the 80s, I'm sure. Once, as a surprising splurge, they saw a lovely pearl necklace that they thought would look just perfect on their 8-year-old daughter.
At school, it was a wonder that I had any friends at all. At home, I fought with my parents constantly, rebelling against their traditional Indian regime. It seems now that my entire childhood was a balancing act with me never quite getting it right. I think about those moments now, and I often wonder what it must have been like for my parents, traveling across the Atlantic, leaving their friends and families behind. Watching their children slowly slip away from them to a world they've never quite understood. I struggled to assimilate, to adapt and fit in. They've struggled all their lives to desperately hold on to the things they know and miss. To this day, they live in an Indian microcosm, and very little of what my brothers and I do fit just right in that world they've built in their heads. And I'll be the first to admit that I've pushed my parents' comfort zone to the limits, from traveling alone through South America to marrying a white guy. I'm not close to my parents, but when I think about this, I feel a little sad for them. When they came to the United States, I think they had this idea that they would be able to provide a better life for us but within their own familiar boundaries. I wonder if they constantly feel a little lost and in an effort to compensate, they hold on a little more desperately to what they know.
This post is linked up with the memoir prompt over at The Red Dress Club. This week's prompt was to write about a memory from childhood and explore what it means to us.
Monday, February 21, 2011
all about boobs
As a strong nursing advocate, I've been following with interest the recent breastfeeding news. If you're not as current with the boob news as I am, the IRS recently stated that costs associated with breastfeeding count as medical expenses and could be deducted on your taxes. What does this mean? Actually not a whole lot, I guess. Basically, it means that I can use my pre-tax FSA savings to buy pumping equipment. And, if I'm itemizing deductions on my taxes, I can list my pump, its parts, that hands free bra I bought so that I can keep typing and pump at the same time, bags for freezing, etc. For me, and for many others, this will probably make little difference in the grand scheme of things. I already bought my pump last year, so I can't retroactively use my FSA. And I don't usually have enough medical expenses to itemize.
But I've watched with pride as this and other pro-nursing tidbits have surfaced in the news these last few weeks. In early February, a guard at the Smithsonian asked a woman to nurse her baby in the bathroom rather than on a museum bench. The poor lady went into the bathroom only to find no chairs available so then came back out to continue nursing. She was again confronted by the guard who told her to sit on a toilet seat to nurse! In response, hundreds of women staged a "nurse-in" at the museum. It turns out that there's actually a federal law that permits women to breastfeed anywhere on federal property so the guard was way out of line. The museum apologized. It's totally appalling and the thought of a 100 women sitting on museum benches baring their boobs totally filled me with awe. I've never thought of myself as a bra-burning feminist or anything (who has the energy these days) but a mom being told to go sit on a toilet seat and nurse her baby is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a long time. Not long ago, a friend was telling me that she was visiting a company for a meeting and ran across a lady pumping in the bathroom because her workplace had no other place for her pump. Hearing about these things piss me off, and if the government wants to do anything to make things better for working mothers who nurse, I'm all for it.
Michelle Obama recently made breastfeeding awareness a part of her Move On! campaign, as studies have shown strong correlations between nursing and the prevention of obesity in both children and their mothers. The American Academy of Pediatrics strongly encourages nursing for the first 6 months of a child's life whenever possible. And the World Health Organization actually encourages it for the child's first 2 years (yah, so not happening here)! The health benefits of nursing are uncontested. So whenever I read about anything that makes nursing easier or about anyone that promotes it, I'm ecstatic. Who wouldn't be, right?
Well, guess who? Your friend and mine, Ms. Family Values herself, Sarah Palin. OMG, what the hell is this lady's problem. And what's frustrating is that anytime I read these news stories, there are a ton of haters in the comments. So clearly, she's not the only idiot out there. It's gotten to the point where I need to stop reading comments because they just make me so angry.
I don't get it, how does it hurt someone to have the government come out and say, hey, you should breastfeed if you're able and we're going to help in whatever small way we can. Because the thing is, breastfeeding is so HARD, and everyone bit of help is appreciated as far as I'm concerned. Recently I read a statistic that said that more than 75% of women start off trying to breastfeed, only about 40% are still at it at 6 months. The reason for this is that it's oh yah, did I mention that it's HELLA HARD? If I hadn't had the support of every single nurse at my hospital, several awesome lactation consultants, and my husband, I would have been tempted to quit too. I know for a fact that my hospital was particularly BF-friendly, and many are not.
To this day, no other aspect of being a mother has had me in more tears than nursing. When we first brought Diya home, she didn't latch properly (common among newborns). It's not like I knew any better than she did, so nursing was a frustrating task for both of us to say the least. She didn't suck well, so my milk didn't come in as quickly, so then I was trying to pump and feed her at the same time. So this is essentially how the first few weeks went. She wasn't gaining weight so her pediatrician wanted us to feed her every 2 hours night and day. Gregg and I were up feeding her every 2 hours. After she ate, I'd try to pump to clean myself out (so that my body would know to produce more milk). There were days in the beginning when I didn't have enough to feed her and had to give her formula. Not that there's anything wrong with that. The first 6 weeks of breastfeeding, our bodies change rapidly, I've since learned. But back then, those 2-3 days of formula felt like I was failing as a mother, because OMG, I couldn't even feed my kid. And then of course they tell you not to give your newborn bottles because they quickly learn to prefer that over the boob (it's much less work for the baby). So most experts will tell you to wait 3-4 weeks before introducing the bottle. But our kid had lost so much weight that they were considering hospitalizing her. So, still feeling like a failure but realizing that I needed to think about more than just myself, I pumped and we gave her bottled breast milk. And when she still seemed hungry but my body hadn't caught up yet to her appetite, we gave her those bottles of formula.
Everything settled down within a week or two. Diya learned to eat. I learned how to help her. It wasn't long before I had more milk than I knew what to do with, and I couldn't hear a baby crying without leaking all over myself. My point though is that those weeks were pretty hellish, and not just because we were waking up every 2 hours. I read these annoying comments hating on the IRS rule because "breastfeeding is free and natural, and what do you need expensive pumps for" and it pisses me off.
And now, months later, we've come to another crossroads with nursing. Now, the kid only wants the bottle because she's started drinking from them most of the time at daycare. And I struggle to keep up with her, pumping constantly at work. Nursing sessions these days again end up with both of us screaming and crying, as I once again start irrationally feeling like a failure as a mother (you know, losing out to a bottle and all). If I didn't have the flexibility to pump as needed at work, there'd be no way I could keep this up. My goal is still to transition her at one year from breast milk directly to whole milk (without using formula in between). But nothing about nursing has ever been easy, not for me, and not for most women that I know. A friend of mine often says that nursing is one of those things that she's worked so hard at but something that she'll never truly be appreciated for. I think she has it exactly right. And you know what, if the IRS and Michelle Obama want to come around and acknowledge that what we do is important and hard and offer to help in whatever small way they can, then I don't see a problem with that.
But I've watched with pride as this and other pro-nursing tidbits have surfaced in the news these last few weeks. In early February, a guard at the Smithsonian asked a woman to nurse her baby in the bathroom rather than on a museum bench. The poor lady went into the bathroom only to find no chairs available so then came back out to continue nursing. She was again confronted by the guard who told her to sit on a toilet seat to nurse! In response, hundreds of women staged a "nurse-in" at the museum. It turns out that there's actually a federal law that permits women to breastfeed anywhere on federal property so the guard was way out of line. The museum apologized. It's totally appalling and the thought of a 100 women sitting on museum benches baring their boobs totally filled me with awe. I've never thought of myself as a bra-burning feminist or anything (who has the energy these days) but a mom being told to go sit on a toilet seat and nurse her baby is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a long time. Not long ago, a friend was telling me that she was visiting a company for a meeting and ran across a lady pumping in the bathroom because her workplace had no other place for her pump. Hearing about these things piss me off, and if the government wants to do anything to make things better for working mothers who nurse, I'm all for it.
Michelle Obama recently made breastfeeding awareness a part of her Move On! campaign, as studies have shown strong correlations between nursing and the prevention of obesity in both children and their mothers. The American Academy of Pediatrics strongly encourages nursing for the first 6 months of a child's life whenever possible. And the World Health Organization actually encourages it for the child's first 2 years (yah, so not happening here)! The health benefits of nursing are uncontested. So whenever I read about anything that makes nursing easier or about anyone that promotes it, I'm ecstatic. Who wouldn't be, right?
Well, guess who? Your friend and mine, Ms. Family Values herself, Sarah Palin. OMG, what the hell is this lady's problem. And what's frustrating is that anytime I read these news stories, there are a ton of haters in the comments. So clearly, she's not the only idiot out there. It's gotten to the point where I need to stop reading comments because they just make me so angry.
I don't get it, how does it hurt someone to have the government come out and say, hey, you should breastfeed if you're able and we're going to help in whatever small way we can. Because the thing is, breastfeeding is so HARD, and everyone bit of help is appreciated as far as I'm concerned. Recently I read a statistic that said that more than 75% of women start off trying to breastfeed, only about 40% are still at it at 6 months. The reason for this is that it's oh yah, did I mention that it's HELLA HARD? If I hadn't had the support of every single nurse at my hospital, several awesome lactation consultants, and my husband, I would have been tempted to quit too. I know for a fact that my hospital was particularly BF-friendly, and many are not.
To this day, no other aspect of being a mother has had me in more tears than nursing. When we first brought Diya home, she didn't latch properly (common among newborns). It's not like I knew any better than she did, so nursing was a frustrating task for both of us to say the least. She didn't suck well, so my milk didn't come in as quickly, so then I was trying to pump and feed her at the same time. So this is essentially how the first few weeks went. She wasn't gaining weight so her pediatrician wanted us to feed her every 2 hours night and day. Gregg and I were up feeding her every 2 hours. After she ate, I'd try to pump to clean myself out (so that my body would know to produce more milk). There were days in the beginning when I didn't have enough to feed her and had to give her formula. Not that there's anything wrong with that. The first 6 weeks of breastfeeding, our bodies change rapidly, I've since learned. But back then, those 2-3 days of formula felt like I was failing as a mother, because OMG, I couldn't even feed my kid. And then of course they tell you not to give your newborn bottles because they quickly learn to prefer that over the boob (it's much less work for the baby). So most experts will tell you to wait 3-4 weeks before introducing the bottle. But our kid had lost so much weight that they were considering hospitalizing her. So, still feeling like a failure but realizing that I needed to think about more than just myself, I pumped and we gave her bottled breast milk. And when she still seemed hungry but my body hadn't caught up yet to her appetite, we gave her those bottles of formula.
Everything settled down within a week or two. Diya learned to eat. I learned how to help her. It wasn't long before I had more milk than I knew what to do with, and I couldn't hear a baby crying without leaking all over myself. My point though is that those weeks were pretty hellish, and not just because we were waking up every 2 hours. I read these annoying comments hating on the IRS rule because "breastfeeding is free and natural, and what do you need expensive pumps for" and it pisses me off.
And now, months later, we've come to another crossroads with nursing. Now, the kid only wants the bottle because she's started drinking from them most of the time at daycare. And I struggle to keep up with her, pumping constantly at work. Nursing sessions these days again end up with both of us screaming and crying, as I once again start irrationally feeling like a failure as a mother (you know, losing out to a bottle and all). If I didn't have the flexibility to pump as needed at work, there'd be no way I could keep this up. My goal is still to transition her at one year from breast milk directly to whole milk (without using formula in between). But nothing about nursing has ever been easy, not for me, and not for most women that I know. A friend of mine often says that nursing is one of those things that she's worked so hard at but something that she'll never truly be appreciated for. I think she has it exactly right. And you know what, if the IRS and Michelle Obama want to come around and acknowledge that what we do is important and hard and offer to help in whatever small way they can, then I don't see a problem with that.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Changes
I know, I know, it's been a dead month here on the blog. I've been trying to get back into it, but as always, once I've gotten out of blogging-mode, it's hard for me to get back in. Where do I start? Should I tell you about that time (yesterday) when I spilled almost 3 ounces of precious breast milk all over my pants and then couldn't leave my office for an hour because it looked like I had peed my pants? And then proceed to vent about how much I hate pumping and how challenging it's been since coming back to work? Or should I just stick with some lovely poop stories? Or go happy for a change and tell you about a great dinner party hosted by the lovely Miss (soon to be miss-us!) Errin? Too many decisions these last few weeks! And with work mounting up and me being nowhere close to meeting my end-of-the-month deadline, I've been taking the easy way out. The silent, no-news-is-good-news, approach.
And to make matters worse, today's post will tell you about none of those things. Or really much of anything at all. There really has been A LOT going on, and I will share, I promise. But today, I decided to log on just to tease you a bit and trick you into coming back next week. Because I'm still super behind and these stupid disability decisions aren't writing themselves, and believe me, I've tried everything (begging them, ignoring them, everything short of actually writing them, and so far, no dice).
But I promise (well, by promise, I mean hope) that March will be a much more active blogging month. I'm also trying a couple of new things out. First, I discovered this site called the red dress club. It's a blog for writers. Each week, they put out two prompts, one fiction and one non-fiction. Anyone interested can respond to the prompt with a short piece, post it on their own blog, and link to it on the red dress blog. I guess the points are to inspire writing and for everyone to give and receive constructive criticism. Once upon a time, I used to write a lot of fiction, so I thought I'd give this a go. You'll start seeing these prompted writing pieces on Tues and Fridays until I get bored or lazy. Feel free to ignore or constructively cricitize as you wish. The one huge advantage to you guys is that I think they usually have word limits so you won't be stuck reading through a lot of mindless dribble to determine if I even have a point.
Back when I used to write short stories and crap like that, I used to shy away from any kind of online communities. Because what if I were to come up with my Pulitzer Prize winner online and then some one steals it from me? It was just too big of a risk to take. I decided to keep my writing to myself thank you and just not even put anyone in the position of wanting to plagiarize. But over the last 10 years or so, I've realized there's an even more effective way to keep plagiarism at bay, just not write anything period. That's actually worked well for me for a long time, so this whole red dress thing is more of an experiment than anything else.
Also, I'm starting a new blog. Actually Gregg and I started it together, but I think he's really on there in name only. I've been thinking for a while of doing something that's focused on just Diya. Not that this blog one won't continue to be hogged by her also, but I was thinking a little less cuss-word laden. Something I might actually want to show her when she gets older, and she won't be embarrassed by. I know a lot of people do scrap books and photo albums, but I'm not so great at that sort of stuff. A blog on the other hand, come on, I'm so great at keeping those up! Also, I wanted something for her that the whole family could look at without having to share mine. Although I'm fine with most family members checking my site out, there are definitely some people (not mentioning names, but they might end in 'rents) that I don't need knowing the ins and outs of my life.
And to make matters worse, today's post will tell you about none of those things. Or really much of anything at all. There really has been A LOT going on, and I will share, I promise. But today, I decided to log on just to tease you a bit and trick you into coming back next week. Because I'm still super behind and these stupid disability decisions aren't writing themselves, and believe me, I've tried everything (begging them, ignoring them, everything short of actually writing them, and so far, no dice).
But I promise (well, by promise, I mean hope) that March will be a much more active blogging month. I'm also trying a couple of new things out. First, I discovered this site called the red dress club. It's a blog for writers. Each week, they put out two prompts, one fiction and one non-fiction. Anyone interested can respond to the prompt with a short piece, post it on their own blog, and link to it on the red dress blog. I guess the points are to inspire writing and for everyone to give and receive constructive criticism. Once upon a time, I used to write a lot of fiction, so I thought I'd give this a go. You'll start seeing these prompted writing pieces on Tues and Fridays until I get bored or lazy. Feel free to ignore or constructively cricitize as you wish. The one huge advantage to you guys is that I think they usually have word limits so you won't be stuck reading through a lot of mindless dribble to determine if I even have a point.
Back when I used to write short stories and crap like that, I used to shy away from any kind of online communities. Because what if I were to come up with my Pulitzer Prize winner online and then some one steals it from me? It was just too big of a risk to take. I decided to keep my writing to myself thank you and just not even put anyone in the position of wanting to plagiarize. But over the last 10 years or so, I've realized there's an even more effective way to keep plagiarism at bay, just not write anything period. That's actually worked well for me for a long time, so this whole red dress thing is more of an experiment than anything else.
Also, I'm starting a new blog. Actually Gregg and I started it together, but I think he's really on there in name only. I've been thinking for a while of doing something that's focused on just Diya. Not that this blog one won't continue to be hogged by her also, but I was thinking a little less cuss-word laden. Something I might actually want to show her when she gets older, and she won't be embarrassed by. I know a lot of people do scrap books and photo albums, but I'm not so great at that sort of stuff. A blog on the other hand, come on, I'm so great at keeping those up! Also, I wanted something for her that the whole family could look at without having to share mine. Although I'm fine with most family members checking my site out, there are definitely some people (not mentioning names, but they might end in 'rents) that I don't need knowing the ins and outs of my life.
So . . . if you're a close friend or family member, you'll soon be receiving an invite to Boogers and Poop. Doesn't it already just sing family-friendly to you? It'll mostly be filled with pictures and videos of the kid, maybe some amusing anectodes every once in a while. If you're into that sort of thing, awesome. If you prefer to keep hearing in excruciating detail about the dog urinating all over our floor, stick around here. If you want an invite to the Boogers and Poop blog but don't get one in the next week or so, hit me up and I'll consider giving you one (I'm not above accepting bribes, so . . . ). You can leave a comment here, message me on FB, email me, call me, text me, the possibilites are endless. If you get an invite and don't want one, maybe you could let me know? I won't hold it against you, I promise. It's just that I think there might be a limit on how many people can be invited, and oh my god, I know way more than a 100 people that are just dying to check it out.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Early morning conversation between a couple with a teething infant, up from 11:45pm - 2am
6 am. The alarm on my side goes off. It's G's alarm clock as we have yet to find mine after the move. Music comes on blaring.
Me: OMG, how do I turn the volume down on this thing?
G: I don't know.
Me: Dude, what do you mean, you don't know? It's your clock.
G: I don't know, babe.
Me: Well, I want to snooze but I don't want it to leave it on this loud.*
G: My phone is going off at 6:30, you can get up then.
Me: Eh, I don't know, I'd rather not sleep that long. I'd rather just find the volume. Or maybe I should just get up.
(sound of snoring)
Me (fumbling for the volume, my voice getting high pitched and excited): Come on, there's got to be a volume thing somewhere.
The dog: getting up and moving away from the side of my bed in case I decide to throw something.
G (stumbling awake and looking over): Well, you got it snoozing now. Are you trying to snooze?
Me: OMG!! Dang it, that's what I've been telling you. I want to snooze but need to turn down the volume.
G: It's the knob on the top right, along the side.
Me: I don't feel it. What the heck did you think I was asking you anyway?
G (slowly, as if telling a small child): Top. Right. Your right.
Me (a good 3 minutes later): Oh, here it is. Which way turns it down? **
G: I think if you roll it away from you.
Me: Honestly, what did you think I was asking you? ***
G: I don't know.
Me: So then why not just say you have no idea what I'm talking about?
One minute later.
Me: All right, I'm up anway, I'm hopping in the shower.
Mia still cowering in the corner in case she's in trouble. The kid, probably hearing my voice, tossing and turning in the next room.
*Yes, I'm sure that I was EXACTLY this coherent at 6 in the morning. Why would you doubt me?
**Every alarm clock is different, how am I supposed to know how each one works??
***Ok I admit that I have a slight problem letting things go.
Me: OMG, how do I turn the volume down on this thing?
G: I don't know.
Me: Dude, what do you mean, you don't know? It's your clock.
G: I don't know, babe.
Me: Well, I want to snooze but I don't want it to leave it on this loud.*
G: My phone is going off at 6:30, you can get up then.
Me: Eh, I don't know, I'd rather not sleep that long. I'd rather just find the volume. Or maybe I should just get up.
(sound of snoring)
Me (fumbling for the volume, my voice getting high pitched and excited): Come on, there's got to be a volume thing somewhere.
The dog: getting up and moving away from the side of my bed in case I decide to throw something.
G (stumbling awake and looking over): Well, you got it snoozing now. Are you trying to snooze?
Me: OMG!! Dang it, that's what I've been telling you. I want to snooze but need to turn down the volume.
G: It's the knob on the top right, along the side.
Me: I don't feel it. What the heck did you think I was asking you anyway?
G (slowly, as if telling a small child): Top. Right. Your right.
Me (a good 3 minutes later): Oh, here it is. Which way turns it down? **
G: I think if you roll it away from you.
Me: Honestly, what did you think I was asking you? ***
G: I don't know.
Me: So then why not just say you have no idea what I'm talking about?
One minute later.
Me: All right, I'm up anway, I'm hopping in the shower.
Mia still cowering in the corner in case she's in trouble. The kid, probably hearing my voice, tossing and turning in the next room.
*Yes, I'm sure that I was EXACTLY this coherent at 6 in the morning. Why would you doubt me?
**Every alarm clock is different, how am I supposed to know how each one works??
***Ok I admit that I have a slight problem letting things go.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
What do i have to do to get some dog toys around here?
A few weeks ago, I was feeling bad because it seemed like every day, the UPS man would come and the package would be yet another delivery for the baby. What can I say, G likes to buy and these days, he’s been excited to have someone new to buy for. Whether it was clothing, a new toy that was highly rated on Amazon, or more gear that we kept hearing that no baby should have to live without (I mean, come on, we don’t want to be reading her memoirs one day about how deprived her childhood was without that exersaucer), it’s seemed like we were once again becoming a daily stop on the UPS route. We were, of course, already friends with our old UPS guy in Hollister but we wanted to make sure we got to know our new one also.
Anyway, I felt bad because every time we had a delivery, Mia would rush to the door to try to attack the UPS guy (waking the baby up in the chaos, of course) and then sniff around the package to make sure it wasn’t a bomb or something. I started to wonder if Mia ever felt left out because you know, I always like to imagine that our dogs notice these kinds of things. So I decided to order the dogs this treat/toy box that I saw online at Costco. Basically, it was a big bin that came with a bunch of dog toys and treats. I placed the order and then repeatedly told Mia that one day soon, it would be HER turn to get something from the UPS guy.
A few days later, I happened to be mentioning this to her in front of Gregg who asked what I had ordered. I told him and he paused for a second before admitting that he had ordered THE EXACT SAME THING from Cost-Co a few days before I did. HA, so now we were expecting two big bins of toys for the dogs. It’s a good thing Cost-co has a liberal return policy. If you think it's cool/sad/trippy that G and I are now buying the same things online without talking to each other, it's really not that big of a deal. If I buy anything from Cost-co, there's a fairly good chance that my husband has already seen and ordered it. You should see our Christmas presents to each other -- there's almost always overlap on the Cost-co items. I shop there for him because I know how much he loves it. He shops there for me because well, he loves it there and it's like his second home.
So G’s order arrived early, and when I opened it, I found – rather than a big bin of toys and treats – a little bin with nothing inside it. Needless to say, Mia was not impressed. They sent us the wrong item! G emailed Cost-co who, it turned out, had the right order, but their vendor had shipped the wrong item. We thought about canceling his order altogether but decided to wait until mine came. They told him he could keep the small bin for his inconvenience.
So then MY ORDER, I saw online, was being directed to Hollister and not our new address. I also contacted Cost-co, who again, it turned out, had it right, but the company selling the product had messed that up too. Awesome. So they called the vendor who assured them that they would re-route UPS. Except that they didn’t. And I didn’t notice that until a couple of days later, the day the item was expected to arrive and I saw that it was out for delivery to our old address. I again called Cost-co (I swear if I go over my daytime minutes because of them, I’m sending them the bill) who couldn’t re-route it anymore obviously. I asked if they could just not deliver it and take it back to their facility in Salinas, since G works near there and could just pick it up. They said fine, but that it wouldn’t be available for pick-up until the next day.
That seemed to the best we could do, so I said that’d be ok. But then I remembered after I hung up that G wasn’t going to work for 2 more weeks since he’s staying home with Diya until we start her in day care. After another half hour call to Cost-co where we accomplished nothing, we decided that the best we could hope for was that they could just deliver it to our old address after all, and I figured we could get it from our tenants. This was all on Thurs of last week and I was heading down to Hollister on Fri morning anyway to pick up some stuff and go to a doctor's appt. Of course, they had to make it all difficult though because they then said it was too late to deliver the package that day so they wouldn’t be able to come back until Fri. Meaning with my luck, I’d probably miss them because they’d show up after I went down. Awesome. I figured the most likely end to this scenario would be that we’d have to report the product lost and re-order the darn thing. And hopefully, in the meantime, G’s re-order would show up anyway. Or Fri morning, when I went down to Hollister, if it wasn’t already there, I’d just call UPS and refuse delivery (Cost-co wouldn’t let me cancel the order on the phone because they said it was too late and suggested that refusing delivery would be my easiest option for canceling). Ugh.
That evening, G stopped by our old place on his way home from work to pick up a few things (we still had a bunch of firewood and outdoor plants at the old place, hence the frequent trips), and guess what he found there. Doh. There it was, my package, the right one even!
All good now, right? You’d think so anyway. We canceled G’s order and figured that would be the end of it. Except if he was canceling, they wanted the small bin back.
And then on Mon, G emailed me at work saying, "WTF, look what just came addressed to you"
A small bin with no toys!! OMG, do they think we’re looking to start a collection or something? How hard can it be to get this right?
Anyway, if anyone is looking to acquire a small bone-shaped bin for your dog toys or treats, let me know. We seem to have a few extra, especially since Gregg – peeved about the whole thing – had already emailed Cost-co saying he couldn’t return his item as he had already donated it to a local animal shelter.
The delivery did serve its purpose though in that Mia was pretty ecstatic about it. Tucker and Bandit liked the treats but could care less about the toys. As an added bonus, guess who else liked the delivery:
Yup, that's my kid ignoring her own toys to chew on a dog toy instead.
I think Mia realized early on that she was getting gypped of her full delivery:
What I love about about these shots is how oblivious Diya is to Mia's begging and how gentle Mia was through out even though she desperately wanted this toy and this toy only (never mind that she had an entire bin filled with toys that were almost exactly like it). 
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
first day!
Yesterday was my first day back at work and to say that it was eventful would be an understatement.
For starters, I was no where near ready. Definitely not mentally ready but not physically either. I hadn't really thought about the logistics of pumping milk at work, when to get up in the morning, how to get Diya up, etc. So last night was spent with me freaking out looking for bottles to pump into, a cooler to put pumped milk into, and a system for making it all work smoothly. This morning, I got up early to get ready first and then woke Diya to nurse her before I left. The liners we had finally decided to use for pumping had been in the baby's room so we couldn't get them last night after she had gone to bed. So while I nursed this morning, Gregg dug them out of her closet and showed me how it all worked. He's of course techy about this as well as everything else, so where I might have just chosen to go with straight bottles, he had to go and find these fancy liners that go directly into the freezer or something like that. But they didn't fit into the little cooler we had pulled out and of course the whole thing just got me frustrated as I always do, so I couldn't let the moment pass without a little mini meltdown.
Then I couldn't find any non-maternity shoes. Seeing as how I haven't worn anything but sweats, flip flops and occasional sneakers for over 6 months, I had packed away my regular shoes months ago and they had somehow gotten lost in the move. Diya proceeded to spit up all over my dry clean only work pants. I couldn't find a coat because we hadn't unpacked that box yet. The whole morning was a chaotic nightmare. Looking at it now, the whole thing probably actually made leaving a bit easier than it might have been. I was just too frazzled to freak out over leaving my baby.
Then, as I was walking out, I remembered that we had been planning on picking up Gregg's car this morning. On Fri, we had dropped it off at the shop for routine maintenance and hadn't had time to go pick it up on Sat. So we had planned to go this morning as the auto shop was on my way to work. It sounded like a great plan on Sat but became just one more thing to add to the craziness of yesterday morning. So THEN, we quickly loaded up the kid and headed over. I hung out for a few minutes more at the mechanic talking to Diya in the backseat while G ran into get the car. Everything seemed fine, he transferred the kid into his car, and I continued onto work.
Except that it turned out that he didn't have the house keys. We hadn't thought to grab them on our way out since I was driving my car. And he had taken out the house keys when he gave his car key to the mechanic. He said he realized this after he got back to the house and then frantically started texting, calling, and emailing me that he was heading back to my work to get my key. Even that would have been ok (though sounds like he had a lot of fun driving back and forth in traffic) if I hadn't spent the first hour and a half at work walking around chatting it up with everyone. Not really intentionally, just everyone wanted to say hi. And even though I had already emailed our director about me coming back, they STILL hadn't really sorted out the whole office situation so I didn't know exactly where to go anyway. I plopped my stuff down, including my phone and didn't hear it ringing like a million times because I was no where near it. They had also disabled my computer access so I couldn't log on and see his frantic emails. Finally, our director found me chilling in my co-worker's office catching up. THAT was fun. Turns out that G finally called my work after circling around for 15 minutes. Actually he called my number at work but my desk has since been given to a new attorney they hired who apparently didn't know know what to do when he asked for me. He then called the receptionist, somehow our director picked up the phone, then wandered the hallways looking for me. I love it when my boss's boss has to scour the hallway looking for me because I'm not at my desk actually working.
Less than half hour later, my boss came looking for me, and I was pumping with the door shut. So clearly I had a productive morning and both my bosses know it.
G had an even better morning than I did though because he came home to both a big poop from Diya and an even bigger poop from Bandit ALL OVER THE LIVING ROOM. She had taken the dump and probably fallen on it and then eventually managed to scramble up and make her way over to the office. The signs of all her movement were pretty evident from the poop marks all over the floor. Not only that, she had managed to drop her monster turd right in the middle of the room where the other two dogs couldn't not walk all over it. So he spent the rest of the day alternatively watching our girl and cleaning the entire house. Apparently the poop stuck in the little nooks and crannies of the hardwood (is that the grout? I have no idea) were especially fun to clean up. I'm fairly certain that I've now managed to prevent any of you from visiting me ever again, but would it help if I mentioned that the pumpkin spice candles may have managed to mask the stink nicely?
When he was telling me, I couldn't help being glad that it wasn't me in his shoes. Last week, I would have been. AND later, when he texted me to say that our kid wasn't sleeping for longer than 45 minute stretches, I was headed out to lunch with my co-workers. LUNCH! With actual people. At a real restaurant. So guess who lucked out? Yes, I replied, that's her typical MO these days.
I was convinced for most of the day that I was coming out ahead for the day. Until I came home and he told me how Diya had actually fed herself all day (held her own bottle and fed herself!!!). She also pulled the little toy hanging off her bouncer for the first time to start the music. By the time I came home, it was after 5:30 and she was up for only another hour and a half before bedtime. She was cranky and tired, but didn't even really want me to rock her much to fall asleep, just crashed the moment I laid her down. And suddenly I'm not actually sure who lucked out yesterday.
For starters, I was no where near ready. Definitely not mentally ready but not physically either. I hadn't really thought about the logistics of pumping milk at work, when to get up in the morning, how to get Diya up, etc. So last night was spent with me freaking out looking for bottles to pump into, a cooler to put pumped milk into, and a system for making it all work smoothly. This morning, I got up early to get ready first and then woke Diya to nurse her before I left. The liners we had finally decided to use for pumping had been in the baby's room so we couldn't get them last night after she had gone to bed. So while I nursed this morning, Gregg dug them out of her closet and showed me how it all worked. He's of course techy about this as well as everything else, so where I might have just chosen to go with straight bottles, he had to go and find these fancy liners that go directly into the freezer or something like that. But they didn't fit into the little cooler we had pulled out and of course the whole thing just got me frustrated as I always do, so I couldn't let the moment pass without a little mini meltdown.
Then I couldn't find any non-maternity shoes. Seeing as how I haven't worn anything but sweats, flip flops and occasional sneakers for over 6 months, I had packed away my regular shoes months ago and they had somehow gotten lost in the move. Diya proceeded to spit up all over my dry clean only work pants. I couldn't find a coat because we hadn't unpacked that box yet. The whole morning was a chaotic nightmare. Looking at it now, the whole thing probably actually made leaving a bit easier than it might have been. I was just too frazzled to freak out over leaving my baby.
Then, as I was walking out, I remembered that we had been planning on picking up Gregg's car this morning. On Fri, we had dropped it off at the shop for routine maintenance and hadn't had time to go pick it up on Sat. So we had planned to go this morning as the auto shop was on my way to work. It sounded like a great plan on Sat but became just one more thing to add to the craziness of yesterday morning. So THEN, we quickly loaded up the kid and headed over. I hung out for a few minutes more at the mechanic talking to Diya in the backseat while G ran into get the car. Everything seemed fine, he transferred the kid into his car, and I continued onto work.
Except that it turned out that he didn't have the house keys. We hadn't thought to grab them on our way out since I was driving my car. And he had taken out the house keys when he gave his car key to the mechanic. He said he realized this after he got back to the house and then frantically started texting, calling, and emailing me that he was heading back to my work to get my key. Even that would have been ok (though sounds like he had a lot of fun driving back and forth in traffic) if I hadn't spent the first hour and a half at work walking around chatting it up with everyone. Not really intentionally, just everyone wanted to say hi. And even though I had already emailed our director about me coming back, they STILL hadn't really sorted out the whole office situation so I didn't know exactly where to go anyway. I plopped my stuff down, including my phone and didn't hear it ringing like a million times because I was no where near it. They had also disabled my computer access so I couldn't log on and see his frantic emails. Finally, our director found me chilling in my co-worker's office catching up. THAT was fun. Turns out that G finally called my work after circling around for 15 minutes. Actually he called my number at work but my desk has since been given to a new attorney they hired who apparently didn't know know what to do when he asked for me. He then called the receptionist, somehow our director picked up the phone, then wandered the hallways looking for me. I love it when my boss's boss has to scour the hallway looking for me because I'm not at my desk actually working.
Less than half hour later, my boss came looking for me, and I was pumping with the door shut. So clearly I had a productive morning and both my bosses know it.
G had an even better morning than I did though because he came home to both a big poop from Diya and an even bigger poop from Bandit ALL OVER THE LIVING ROOM. She had taken the dump and probably fallen on it and then eventually managed to scramble up and make her way over to the office. The signs of all her movement were pretty evident from the poop marks all over the floor. Not only that, she had managed to drop her monster turd right in the middle of the room where the other two dogs couldn't not walk all over it. So he spent the rest of the day alternatively watching our girl and cleaning the entire house. Apparently the poop stuck in the little nooks and crannies of the hardwood (is that the grout? I have no idea) were especially fun to clean up. I'm fairly certain that I've now managed to prevent any of you from visiting me ever again, but would it help if I mentioned that the pumpkin spice candles may have managed to mask the stink nicely?
When he was telling me, I couldn't help being glad that it wasn't me in his shoes. Last week, I would have been. AND later, when he texted me to say that our kid wasn't sleeping for longer than 45 minute stretches, I was headed out to lunch with my co-workers. LUNCH! With actual people. At a real restaurant. So guess who lucked out? Yes, I replied, that's her typical MO these days.
I was convinced for most of the day that I was coming out ahead for the day. Until I came home and he told me how Diya had actually fed herself all day (held her own bottle and fed herself!!!). She also pulled the little toy hanging off her bouncer for the first time to start the music. By the time I came home, it was after 5:30 and she was up for only another hour and a half before bedtime. She was cranky and tired, but didn't even really want me to rock her much to fall asleep, just crashed the moment I laid her down. And suddenly I'm not actually sure who lucked out yesterday.
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