Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Spring Blogaction 2012
As you may have noticed, I've been quiet for over a week. Nothing specific going on, just too busy to compile my thoughts. So, why not declare this my Spring Break, a "Blogcation", if you will.
What happens at Blogcation, STAYS at Blogcation.... hahahahahhaaha. The joke being it's so UNinteresting that no one would want to hear about it.
This is my busy season until the end of April. I'll be below decks hashing out miracles left and right. I'll try to post along the way and keep the whining to a minimum. If you don't see anything, don't worry I haven't left.
What happens at Blogcation, STAYS at Blogcation.... hahahahahhaaha. The joke being it's so UNinteresting that no one would want to hear about it.
This is my busy season until the end of April. I'll be below decks hashing out miracles left and right. I'll try to post along the way and keep the whining to a minimum. If you don't see anything, don't worry I haven't left.
Friday, March 02, 2012
Friday Fragments - March 2, 2012
Today my baby girl turns 24! Everyone help me wish her a very happy birthday!
It just doesn't seem possible than *I* could have 24 years of anything under my belt, definitely not motherhood. And yet, here it is, my oldest child has gained another year of adulthood. How can she already be twentyfour years old????
You'll have to excuse me as I devote an entire post to her, but she IS the single biggest life altering event that has ever happened to me. Graduations, jobs, finances have all impacted my life, but my daughter is the one whose arrival completely turned my world upside-down and inside-out. The sacrifices were huge, but oh so very worth it. Like any parent can tell you, the arrival of your first child shatters any and all illusions you may ever have had about your future.
24 years ago I was in labor and would be for nearly the entire day. She was due 9 days prior... mmmhmmmm think back about how long ago February 22 was, and yes it was leap year too. We joke that her late arrival was because she needed to sleep in, a condition that plagues her to this day. And oh no, she couldn't be born in the morning. This child was born at 10:22pm.
March 2, 1988 was the day that the women's final for figure skating was on TV. I had already visited the hospital the night before, walking the halls to progress the labor and sent home. By morning when labor was even and regular I was hellbent on watching the skating through to the end. I sat in my rocking chair, rocking violently through the contractions. An impatient husband paced back and forth, certain he and my mother would be delivering a baby right there in our apartment. Ha! This little girl had no intention of making an appearance any time soon.
But we didn't know that.
Sitting in labor and delivery, slowly progressing through a textbook labor, hitting every stage, other mothers came and went. A faint cry could be heard down the hall as babies made their way into the world. But not mine. Nope. She was still waiting to make a grand entrance.
By late evening I was the only one left on the floor. The staff out of boredom began placing penny bets - boy or girl, over/under 9 pounds, before or after midnight. My modesty gave way to exhaustion and I would whip the covers off my sweaty body. Finally delivery was full on ready to go. My mom got to see Amanda crown, commenting on the mass of hair on her tiny head. I'm still not so sure I wanted my mother staring at my nether regions, but she was delighted to be the first person other than the doctor to see her first grandchild and at that point I didn't give a damn. I am not nearly as curious and will wait until a swaddled baby is placed in my arms to meet my grandchildren.
I still remember her distinct cry, one I could pick out from the rest of the squawking babies with my eyes closed.
Everything after that blurs. The trip back to the apartment, the flurry of visitors including the UPS man, a first smile, moving back to Missouri, crawling, walking, talking, and before you know it a first birthday.
Time flies so fast. I don't remember each of her birthdays exactly, but several stand out in my memory. Her second birthday was the day her terrible two's started. I swear she woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day and it lasted two years straight. Pictures capture the various parties through the years. There were big celebrations and little ones. Sleepovers were common and seemed to keep the masses happy.
I'm not really sure what the celebration will be this year, but it will happen. It always does, because, dammit, birthdays are important.
Happy Birthday Amanda!
It just doesn't seem possible than *I* could have 24 years of anything under my belt, definitely not motherhood. And yet, here it is, my oldest child has gained another year of adulthood. How can she already be twentyfour years old????
You'll have to excuse me as I devote an entire post to her, but she IS the single biggest life altering event that has ever happened to me. Graduations, jobs, finances have all impacted my life, but my daughter is the one whose arrival completely turned my world upside-down and inside-out. The sacrifices were huge, but oh so very worth it. Like any parent can tell you, the arrival of your first child shatters any and all illusions you may ever have had about your future.
24 years ago I was in labor and would be for nearly the entire day. She was due 9 days prior... mmmhmmmm think back about how long ago February 22 was, and yes it was leap year too. We joke that her late arrival was because she needed to sleep in, a condition that plagues her to this day. And oh no, she couldn't be born in the morning. This child was born at 10:22pm.
March 2, 1988 was the day that the women's final for figure skating was on TV. I had already visited the hospital the night before, walking the halls to progress the labor and sent home. By morning when labor was even and regular I was hellbent on watching the skating through to the end. I sat in my rocking chair, rocking violently through the contractions. An impatient husband paced back and forth, certain he and my mother would be delivering a baby right there in our apartment. Ha! This little girl had no intention of making an appearance any time soon.
But we didn't know that.
Sitting in labor and delivery, slowly progressing through a textbook labor, hitting every stage, other mothers came and went. A faint cry could be heard down the hall as babies made their way into the world. But not mine. Nope. She was still waiting to make a grand entrance.
By late evening I was the only one left on the floor. The staff out of boredom began placing penny bets - boy or girl, over/under 9 pounds, before or after midnight. My modesty gave way to exhaustion and I would whip the covers off my sweaty body. Finally delivery was full on ready to go. My mom got to see Amanda crown, commenting on the mass of hair on her tiny head. I'm still not so sure I wanted my mother staring at my nether regions, but she was delighted to be the first person other than the doctor to see her first grandchild and at that point I didn't give a damn. I am not nearly as curious and will wait until a swaddled baby is placed in my arms to meet my grandchildren.
I still remember her distinct cry, one I could pick out from the rest of the squawking babies with my eyes closed.
Everything after that blurs. The trip back to the apartment, the flurry of visitors including the UPS man, a first smile, moving back to Missouri, crawling, walking, talking, and before you know it a first birthday.
Time flies so fast. I don't remember each of her birthdays exactly, but several stand out in my memory. Her second birthday was the day her terrible two's started. I swear she woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day and it lasted two years straight. Pictures capture the various parties through the years. There were big celebrations and little ones. Sleepovers were common and seemed to keep the masses happy.
I'm not really sure what the celebration will be this year, but it will happen. It always does, because, dammit, birthdays are important.
Happy Birthday Amanda!
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Sad Over Davy
I think I remember someone saying something about being "old" when your teen icons start to die off. Okay, I'm not quite there yet, but my first crush, Davy Jones died yesterday. Granted I was only a preschooler when I fell for the quirky guy with a British accent, but it doesn't erase the devastation.
That Davy died wasn't enough, but talking to coworkers a generational rift came to the surface. "WHO?"
Well shit.
Once I said "The Monkees" realization dawned upon them and they shared my sadness. Further discussion ensued and it was clear that to a younger crowd "Davy Jones" inspires immediate thoughts of SpongeBob. That defined the line between us and them, the young and the not-so-young.
A Facebook battle came about as one coworker tried to use this to define ethnic or cultural differences since I wasn't nearly as distraught over Whitney passing. Maybe there could be some truth to that, but let's compare apples to apples, okay?
Whitney has only been in my life since I was a young adult. While I loved her voice, I never wanted to kiss her or tried to see how my name would look if we got married and I took her last name. I didn't have a crush on her. I just liked her music. A lot. Davy has been with me since I was a wee tot. I'm sure I kissed the TV set when he was on and he IS the reason I love men with Brittish accents. I have an emotional attachment to the man, and I am truly sad he's gone.
I'm in mourning.
So if you'll excuse me, I'll be busy listening to Daydream Believer, Last Train to Clarksville, and one of my all-time favorite songs, the theme to the Monkees. And I will listen to them over and over bawling my eyes out because Davy is gone, never able to give me that one kiss and a toothy smile in person. Anyone who mentions SpongeBob in my year of mourning will find a square sponge promptly shoved up their ass, damn youngsters.
Farewell Davy, I loved you.
That Davy died wasn't enough, but talking to coworkers a generational rift came to the surface. "WHO?"
Well shit.
Once I said "The Monkees" realization dawned upon them and they shared my sadness. Further discussion ensued and it was clear that to a younger crowd "Davy Jones" inspires immediate thoughts of SpongeBob. That defined the line between us and them, the young and the not-so-young.
A Facebook battle came about as one coworker tried to use this to define ethnic or cultural differences since I wasn't nearly as distraught over Whitney passing. Maybe there could be some truth to that, but let's compare apples to apples, okay?
Whitney has only been in my life since I was a young adult. While I loved her voice, I never wanted to kiss her or tried to see how my name would look if we got married and I took her last name. I didn't have a crush on her. I just liked her music. A lot. Davy has been with me since I was a wee tot. I'm sure I kissed the TV set when he was on and he IS the reason I love men with Brittish accents. I have an emotional attachment to the man, and I am truly sad he's gone.
I'm in mourning.
So if you'll excuse me, I'll be busy listening to Daydream Believer, Last Train to Clarksville, and one of my all-time favorite songs, the theme to the Monkees. And I will listen to them over and over bawling my eyes out because Davy is gone, never able to give me that one kiss and a toothy smile in person. Anyone who mentions SpongeBob in my year of mourning will find a square sponge promptly shoved up their ass, damn youngsters.
Farewell Davy, I loved you.
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