Mental health

Almost my whole life I have wanted to be a mother when I grew up. (except when I wanted to be an actress. Which I still do. It could happen.)
Only, I had no idea what I was really in for as a mother at home with my baby all day.

Anyone who knows me knows that I like to be with people. What I mean by that is, I loath being alone. When Cory walks into the other room I start to breath heavy and my hands get all sweaty. "Whereareyougoing? Whatareyoudoing? CanIcome?"
So why did I think I could handle being alone with a tiny squishy person who can't converse all day every day for the rest of my life? Why didn't anyone warn me so that I could mentally prepare for the loneliness??

Obviously I'm being dramatic. And really, there is nothing I would rather be doing than watching my baby grow. It's just that it took being alone all the time for me to realize that I accidentally don't have any hobbies. And anyway, what fun is crafting or cooking or knitting ALONE?

Take pity on me, world!

So this is what I need: someone make a spreadsheet (I mean, I could do that, but I'm giving others the opportunity to serve, see?) of everyone I know and all the hours of the day that Cory isn't here, then rotate each of those people so that I'm never alone for a minute of the day! It's for my mental health!!

High maintenance

I have a high maintenance baby. I know what you're thinking. "Poor confused new mother. All babies need to be fed, changed, burped, loved, cared for 24/7."
Yeah, yeah. But I'm on to you, other moms. I know the secret. I'm in church, endlessly trying to keep my baby from touching other people's faces/phones/hair, ripping all the pages out of the hymn book, or walking right off my lap to face plant on the floor. And just over there is a baby, weeks younger than mine, sitting quietly on a lap, turning the pages of a board book.
Whaaat? They come like that? Did my request form get lost in the mail? Because I specifically remember checking the box, "Easy to please."

So I think I can confidently say that the best day of my life so far was when A learned to get herself where she wanted to go, without the aide of any big people.
It took her longer than it does for most babies. It wasn't until she was about 9 months old that she could go from the sitting to the crawling position, make her way over to an enticing piece of trash, and sit back down on her bum again to safely examine her treasure. (The effect of living so near grandparents. Her bum rarely graced the floor for the majority of her early life.)

You guys. I can sit her in front of an overturned basket of toys, walk away, sit somewhere within sight, and...not hold her. All it takes is the occasional smile and wave to reassure her that I'm giving her my full attention. (I'm not)

Because these are my baby's favorite things:
being carried/walked
attention
eating all of the food

So, that blissful coexistence lasts until she hears the fridge open. Really, I'm shocked that my baby isn't 50 pounds.

I have thoughts

I am a mom. I have thoughts. I like to write.

The logical conclusion is that I put my thoughts into coherent written content and post them on the interwebs, right? Because I have dreams of being publicly lauded for my mommy and also just general human-related genius. Doesn't everybody?

this title is longer than the post it titles

Humidity. Gross.

onward and upward

A hundred years ago people thought that by now we’d have rocket shoes, flying cars, and freezers that told you when your meat went bad. While none of those things have actually come to fruition, we do have loads of other awesome things that people driving in horses and buggies never would have been able to imagine. I’m all for invention and innovation. But there is one supposed inevitability that I will find very difficult to accept. Digital books. We’re already half way there. What with the iPod/iPad and their e-book explosion, thousands of dollars have already been spent on pixels where they would have been spent on paper and ink. I understand that it’s more convenient, often cheaper, and it consolidates accessories, but I’m not convinced that it’s worth it. There is no computer program that can recreate the smell of a brand new book (or a fifty year old one), no computer graphic that can duplicate the satisfaction of turning a page, no replacement for a shelf full of beloved paper backs. I can’t imagine a day where home libraries are a thing of the past, replaced by a paper thin piece of technology housed on the kitchen counter. Say what you will about convenience, I’ll take the feel of a stiff new book in my hands any day. Kindle may steal the hearts of readers around the world, but as for me, I’m going to dream of a future with hover boards, vacations to the moon, and shelves full of paper backs.

in brief...

The shortest correspondence in recorded history was between Victor Hugo and his publisher, Hurst & Blackett. In 1862 Hugo was on vacation when his novel Les Miserables was published. Inquiring as to the success of his book, Hugo sent a telegraph to his publisher consisting of, “?” to which they replied, “!” Who knew a man of such verbosity (his novel is over 1200 pages) was capable of expressing so much with so little.

saw it coming

I watch a lot of movies. I read about movies. I study movies. You would think I wouldn’t be so easily taken in by their formulaic, predictable plots. I have often been surprised when, while watching a movie for the first time, my sister leans over to me twenty minutes into it and whispers the oh-so-obvious “reveal” that will take the next hour and a half to unfold. Admittedly, often these movie endings are anything but formulaic, but there are, nevertheless, so many people like my sister, who see it coming all along. But not me. I’m always shocked. I had no idea he was dead the whole time! How could I have predicted it was his twin all along? Wait, seriously? They’re the ghosts? You meet no end of people who will eagerly tell you the moment, twenty-two minutes in, when they figured out that the entire 19th-century community was walled inside a present day forest. But we don’t watch movies to discover the secret, to learn how the hero will eventually come out on top, or how the seemingly impossible scenario will resolve itself; we watch movies for the experience. For the magical experience of living in another life, in another world for 120 minutes or so. Even if you figured out that he had multiple personality disorder in the first half of the movie, it’s still a great movie! Because of the story, the feeling, the characters, the colors. And that’s why I think I’m taken in every time. I believe so faithfully in the colorful world the director presents to me. Yes, the narrator told us it wasn’t a love story in the beginning. He basically told us she was going to lead him on and break his heart in true heartless girl fashion. But at the end, I was outraged and hurt right along with the antagonist. I knew it was coming, but I had just spent the last hour and a half feeling his feelings until I was as shocked as he was at the end. Every time I give myself over so fully to the fictional world, that every new revelation is had by me right along with the characters in the film. But, whether you knew the son was dressed up in his dead mother’s clothes the whole time or not, it’s the experience that matters. And that’s why we watch movies over and over again. The ending doesn’t change and all the actions leading up to the ending are always the same. But that doesn’t make it any less magical.

Seriously though, was there anyone who honestly predicted Luke Skywalker’s parentage??*

*Besides my dad. Who says he had already written that story. George Lucas just had the budget to make it into a million dollar movie before he could. Some people have all the luck. And all the cash.

Dear Texas

It’s hot. And humid. Remember when the AC broke in the house? I hated you a little bit that night. But you wooed me back with your amazing Mexican food and enormous pizza. Why can’t you grow normal grass? It’s so deceiving in its delicious green-ness. But then I come closer and see that it’s just a bunch of weedy, prickly tufts covering the hard ground and home to thousands of tiny fire ants and lots of frightening little spiders. Everything is bigger here, and maybe also louder. In every tree or bush there is a chainsaw bug (or five?) sawing away at something. I have never heard such loud insects. (By the way, apparently they’re called cicadas, not chainsaw bugs. Although I think it’s a much more apt name.) I love your rain. Especially when I’m inside and I hear it pounding on the roof. It comes down so hard only for a few minutes, then it’s gone. But my favorite thing about you is your sky. You have the most beautiful sunsets. And clouds! If I could paint, I would paint your clouds. I feel like I could do it. Maybe because they already look painted on the sky up there. Except for that they move so unusually fast. You’re at your most beautiful, Texas, at about 6pm and a little overcast. When there are breaks in the massive dark clouds and the sun breaks through just the tiniest bit, shooting sunrays down. That’s when I think about how glad I am to be here.

identity crisis

In 1962 one man had a brilliant, albeit short-lived, idea. Martin K. Speckter decided that there needed to be the option for a combination exclamation point and question mark—an exclarotive, an exclamaquest. This advertisement man thought the surprised rhetorical question “Who wouldn’t love these prices?!” could look way cooler. Thus, the interrobang was born. And promptly died. Interrogatio being Latin for “a rhetorical question,” and “bang” the printer’s slang for exclamation point. Throughout the ‘60s and early ‘70s, the interrobang key was included in many typewriters. Like the new kid at school, the interrobang had a brief period of popularity in the ‘60s, even appearing in some dictionaries. However, this really awesome punctuation mark was never officially accepted into the Punctuation Club. Although it is no longer used, it can still be found in MicrosoftWord in several fonts, including Calibri. In fact, open up a Word document right now, type in ALT 8253, and you’ll have a rare glimpse of the punctuation mark that didn’t impress.

all I want is a little work at work

7:30 I hit snooze on my alarm clock. 7:35 I hit snooze on my alarm clock. 7:40 I seriously consider hitting snooze on my alarm clock, but eventually talk myself into getting out of bed. 8:58 I arrive at work to the sound of crickets—inside, of course. 9:07 I have already started up my computer and read through all of the emails sent since the end of the day yesterday, three times each. 9:07 I have run out of things to do. 9:08 I open up my firefox browser to the NewTek webpage and stare at it for a while, scrolling up and down every few seconds, trying to look busy. 9:11 I read through every single one of my (153) junk emails. 9:21 I think about the eternity between me and lunch while staring blankly at the computer screen. 9:22 I organize the six windows on my desktop so that they overlap each other in a seemingly random and naturally esthetic way. 9:24 I pull up My Documents and open up a document or two, switching between them and scrolling up and down as if they hold something of interest to me. 9:26 I take a long drink from my water bottle. 9:26 and a half. Seriously‽

I really enjoy editing. If only I could do it more often. In my capacity as editing intern. But instead, I have spent hours on the Chicago Manual of Style website, learned a lot of new words, and written a lot of non-NewTek and wholly Sharlie-related things. Never before has eight hours seemed so long than when I have to spend about five and a half of them desperately trying to look busy. For you see, I am positioned in my office so that at least four people (and every person that walks into our department) have a perfect view of my computer screen from their desks. That’s really not conducive to my time wasting efforts. So, in order to look like I am working on something important, I will impart some of my newly acquired knowledge to you.

Have you ever wondered why we put the period inside quotation marks at the end of a quote (for example, “sushi makes me puke.”)? …Or am I the only one that wonders these things? Well, back in the first days of the printing press, the period and the comma were the smallest bits of raised metal, putting them in danger of being broken or bent when used. And if they were put outside the quotation mark (for example, “sushi makes me puke”.) they would most certainly break. Thus, they have been placed safely within the ending quotation marks. And that’s the reason we do it today. Fascinating, huh? Good conversation material for a party.

didn't you want to improve your vocabulary today?

Lugubrious (adj): mournful, dismal, or gloomy, especially in an affected, exaggerated, or unrelieved manner.

Synecdoche (noun): a figure of speech in which a part is used for the whole (as in “hand” for “sailor”), the whole for a part “as “cutthroat” for “assassin”), the specific for the general (as “thief” for “pickpocket”), or the material for the thing made from it (as “steel” for “sword”).

Prevaricate (verb): to speak falsely or misleadingly; deliberately mistake or create an incorrect impression; lie.

Punctilious (adj): strict or exact in the observance of the formalities or amenities of conduct or actions.

Ameliorate (verb): to make or become better, more bearable, or more satisfactory; improve.

Esoteric (adj): understood by or meant for only the select few who have special knowledge or interest; belonging to the select few; private; secret; confidential.

Harbinger (noun): herald; anything that foreshadows a future event; omen; sign.

everything is bigger in texas

Uhhh, seriously.

http://www.makli.com/big-lou-s-pizza-san-antonio-005317/

I ate one of those with the help of six people. And when I say we ate it, I mean we ate some of it. After ringing plates full of grease from our slices. Totally worth it. Thanks, Lou.

it's almost biblical

Remember “Mulan?” Remember that adorable little lucky cricket? Remember looking at an actual cricket and thinking, “man, that guy’s cute!” No, you don’t. Because they’re gross. And Disney lies.

Texas has a serious problem. It is completely overrun with giant crickets. And apparently, it’s not the first time. (http://www.usatoday.com/weather/news/2007-07-26-cricket-invasion_N.htm.) Following Tropical Storm Alex (he turned out to be too wimpy to qualify for Hurricane status), the ground in Texas is now much softer this summer, attracting thousands of crickets to lay their eggs early and pester the world. If only they would stay outside, they might be more bearable. I thought it was charming the first day I walked into work and was serenaded by an orchestra of crickets all morning. Then I saw one run by my desk and under the chair right next to me. Sick. The charm was gone. Then I began to realize (how had I missed it before??) that dead crickets littered every corner of the building. Live ones huddled in door jambs. Their song echoed in the bathrooms. Visions of Jiminy Cricket in his dapper vest and top hat vanished. It only got worse after that, as my foot narrowly avoided being scuttled over at Whataburger and the stench of their piled carcasses assaulted me outside the movie theater. I dread the day that I lose focus while making my way across a parking lot-turned-obstacle coarse and accidentally crunch one underfoot. That will not be a good day.

Dear World

I really need to teach you something. So you can teach your children and your friends and your enemies and especially anyone who is ever going to write anything ever. There is something called the Serial Comma. You know this comma, world, I know you do. But for some inexplicable reason, some have chosen to ignore it, some deny its existence, and some make fun of it behind its back. Besides being rude, that is also incorrect. So, let me (re)introduce you to my friend Serial Comma.

“The flag is red, white, and blue.”

Notice the two commas. That second one is my good friend, Serial. And, unless you are British or a journalist, the rule is to include it. It’s the RULE. Don’t believe me? Read for yourself.

http://www.protrainco.com/essays/serial-comma.htm

And from the ever tactful and often hilarious CMOS Q&A: http://www.chicagomanualofstyle.org/CMS_FAQ/Commas/Commas36.html

Do it. Or else you might end up looking really ridiculous, like the author who wrote this book dedication, “To my parents, Mother Teresa and the Pope.” That’s embarrassing.

what are the odds?

When it rains in Texas, by george it pours. Though the rain comes down in torrents, storms don’t usually last more than a few minutes. NewTek is housed inside a very industrial looking building with a roof that is made out of some kind of material so that when it rains, when you’re in the building it sounds like you live inside a drum. It’s actually kind of cool. One day one of these storms came down at about noon. I’m inside at work. No big deal. Until. I feel a tap on the top of my head. I looked behind me to see if Paula or Lindsay decided to use a rather rude way of getting my attention. Negative. I turned back around and immediately felt another tap. Then I look up and realized—I was being rained on. Apparently, my desk has been positioned directly beneath one of the few rips in the ceiling of this football field-sized building. Seriously? And whenever there’s a torrential downpour, I’m going to feel it. Is this just a coincidence? Or are my co-workers ducking behind their screens and laughing into their hands while I go through Chinese torture? I don’t usually have really terrible luck. Maybe this is some kind of office initiation. Good joke, guys. Initiated.

nobody's home upstairs

my desire to do anything school related gone. gone. gone.
problem.
finals are almost. almost. almost. here.

list of things I should have been doing for the last hour:
Italian essay
Movie review assignment
Asian Humanities study guide

list of things I have done in the last hour:
checked my email/facebook one thousand times
listened to the "Where The Wild Things Are" soundtrack three times
looked up the Greek alphabet on wikipedia
translated one paragraph of Italian
made a peanut butter and honey sandwich
talked about China with my neighbor
successfully distracted my studying partners from doing their homework
watched a movie trailer with Miley Cryus in it
and learned the word bisque

problem.

word of the day

You know what? Joy. That's what.

"Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms--to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way." --Viktor Frankl
"It is this spiritual freedom--which cannot be taken away--that makes life meaningful and purposeful." --Viktor Frankl
"There must be more to happiness than everything going right in your life."
"In your life there have to be challenges. They will either bring you closer to God and therefore make you stronger, or they can destroy you. But you make the decision of which road you take." --Elder F. Enzio Busche
"Life wasn't meant to be endured, but enjoyed." --Elder Henry B. Eyring

I know my path. I know my goal. I know the end of this story. I'm on the winning team. And I know what my reward will be. With this knowledge, how can I be anything but joyful?

i'll leave the window open

Ignore the fact that this very idea was just made into a TV show, because I thought of it first--have you ever wished that you could see your life exactly six months or a year in the future? I have. I do. School. China. Work. Humanities. Italian. Boys. Decisions are hard. It would be so much easier if I could just see in the future what I haven't yet decided in my present. Follow?

Six months. Will I have a better handle on my life then? Will I have more things figured out? Will I be that much more grown up? I wish there was a grown up meter. No, I don't. Then my immaturity could be proven, not just conjectured at and laughed about. But really, will I be six months smarter six months from now? I don't feel any more grown up than I was in April. Sometimes I think I'll grow up later. When I'm married, then I'll be more mature. But that's wrong. I need to be mature now. I need to grow up now.

Ok, six months is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Heck, 21 years is nothing in the grand scheme of things. So, since 21 years is kind of significant to my limited human perspective, I'm just going to apply that logic to the next six months. They seem pretty important to me. And they are, aren't they? They could shape the rest of my life. Tomorrow could shape the rest of my life.

Is it worth it? Is it worth the missing and the leaving and the making up for it later?
But how can I pass it up? How can I pass up the memories and the life experience and the adventure?

And anyway, life is going by too fast. I'm getting older. I'm getting older! I'm not really ok with that. I won't always be able to do these kinds of things. But can I do these kinds of things now? Can I really? No, no, no. I can do anything I want. I just have to pay the price. Literally and otherwise. I could do it if I really wanted. but do I really want?




what I really want is for Peter Pan to show up at my window.

take another little peice of my heart

Here's something that blows my mind--when you think you know something (about yourself, about someone else, about life...), then you come to realize you were 100% wrong. I'm not usually a stubborn or head strong person, but there a few things that require much coercion to make me change my opinion. Before tonight, one of those things was my keen dislike of Jelly Bellys.


Our kind (but sadly ignorant) neighbors gave us a 64 oz. jar of Jelly Bellys as a thanks for checking their mail for a week. Little did they know that we are the kind of family that generally turns up our noses at Jelly Bellys, except to eat the occasional Tutti Frutti, Black Licorice, or French Vanilla. Well, Fate couldn't stand by and watch a perfectly good thousand-or-so Jelly Bellys go to waste, so Fate sent us my two good friends. One who hails from the very birthplace of the Jelly Belly--Fairfield, CA. We sat at the counter talking, while the two of them blissfully grabbed hand fulls of beans. I was finally convinced to taste a caramel corn. ...And I liked it. Then I got more adventurous and had a Peanut Butter, Chocolate Pudding, French Vanilla, Very Cherry, Red Apple, Buttered Popcorn, Cream Soda... Soon I was grabbing into the jar and giggling joyfully with the rest of them.

My dislike turned quickly into obsession. Soon I was cruising the internet looking for more information on the delightful little candies. I came upon a website dedicated to creating Jelly Belly recipes. The only thing better than a Jelly Belly--four Jelly Bellys put together to create Rocky Road. Or hot chocolate or strawberry milkshake, PB&J sandwich, chocolate dipped strawberry, breakfast. So basically, I found virtual heaven.

But those Fairfield geniuses didn't just stop after they had created some fruity hits. They created a world. A world of flavor. Which includes....a line of Cold Stone Creamery flavors.


In the ever applicable words of Brian Regan, "Can life get any better? I submite that it can-not."

all in a day's work

Today I conquered two giants. To you they may seem like simple everyday actions, but to me, my day's feats were the equivalent of running a marathon, climbing a mountain, or figuring out that blasted rubix cube.

First, I faced a giant and probably poisonous spider. My first thought went something like "ahhhhhhhhhhhhshoot", quickly followed by, "who am I going to get to kill this monster?" Then I remembered the only other person in the house was probably in a (doctor prescribed) drug-induced slumber at the moment. So it was just me and the beasty. After taking a step back and a much needed breather, I formulated a genuis plan. Which, miraculously, ended in the spider rushing through the u-bend, where he no doubt met and became BFF with Moaning Myrtle. This is only the second spider I have ever killed, and it was definitely the biggest. I'm very proud.

My second triumph may seem even more trivial, but to me it signified a rite a passage. It wasn't so much a David and Goliath victory, but more of a life changing realization. As I was making myself a delicious breakfast burrito I hit the egg against the side and pulled it apart like it was nobody's business. No thought of yolk explosion or fear of egg shell disaster. Without even realizing it, my egg cracking fear has slowly but surely faded. And today was the day it all became clear to me. By no means can I do any of your fancy crack-with-one-hand business; just the regular two-handed-crack is victory enough for me.

What a good day.