NOT an Excuse.

At some point during my early teenage years, my parents arrived home with a new Ford Explorer. I loved that car the very instant I saw it in the driveway. Maybe because it was green, I don't know. All I know is, I thought it was perfect. I am sure I had seen one before, but I simply had no opinion on the car, whatsoever. But now? Now it was my favorite! The very next day, I rode in it with my mother to run errands. At our first stop, what did we park aside? Another Ford Explorer. I couldn't believe my eyes. What were the odds!? Slowly, as we drove around that day, I started to see them everywhere. They were literally EVERYWHERE. This almost disappointed me, here I was, thinking we had something, new and special and amazing, but, really, it was everywhere. I just hadn't noticed it. In one instant. One experience. One moment. I had sensationalized the most insignificant, common vehicle to every grace our roads (at that time), all because my parents simply brought it home to our driveway.


This. This is what the media is doing every single day. They are choosing to draw our attention to certain things, phrase them in certain ways, all to sensationalize something that is likely extremely trivial and mundane. Because, who wants to see and hear about the boring, everyday Explorer?


I am marginally disappointed with the Olympics media coverage, but gargantuanly disappointed with the "lay persons" response to it.  Most of these announcers and reporters are tried and true. They are good people, with good hearts. I challenge any one of us to get on air and speak constantly and interestingly while remaining 100% PC. It's not possible. You will slip. You will phrase something incorrectly. You WILL offend someone. We can all find slip ups, things to be offended about, Explorer's...if that's where we've turned our attention. I absolutely don't want to downplay real issues that exist in our society, but I also find it extremely exhausting that we are trying to find Rosa Parks at every single bus stop. The way history tells it, she actively pursued civil rights. This was her passion. She chose to be involved in multiple organizations and movements. She searched for the right moment and seized the opportunity to change a societal norm, in a fantastic and necessary way.  These are athletes. And sports announcers. Not societal revolutionaries.


As you may (or may not) have noticed, it is actually less frequent than you'd expect for the team captain of each sport to be the most decorated athlete. It is hard to concentrate, train day in and day out, be guided by your passion and drive in a sport, while also being a motivational speaker and exemplary human. As an elite athlete myself, I remember constantly being reminded by our coaches not to wear our warm ups or any team apparel when going out to the bars (which was also adamantly discouraged from doing, and that any belligerent behavior, no matter our apparel is not condoned nor tolerated in any capacity.) We were reminded regularly that, though we may not want the attention, we will get it. That it's our responsibility to represent the most upstanding and morally correct human behavior at all times. My high school coach held me back from Senior Nationals one Summer, because, though I did not have one single sip of alcohol, I was guilty by association. I followed my friends, I didn't speak up, I did not behave at the level appropriate for an "athlete of my caliber" as they say. I'm not sure I have ever been so heart broken, one of the toughest lessons I have ever learned, and I'm not sure I ever completely agreed with the severity of that punishment. But I had to suck it up and learn that, as Uncle Ben so famously taught us, "with great power comes great responsibility". And, just as Peter Parker made a few mistakes before he knew what to do with himself. And, at moments, was angry with the "gift" he'd been given and the responsibility that landed on his shoulders. He too, had to learn to deal with his mistakes. Wouldn't you rather do this privately, and not under the scrutiny of all the world?

Ryan Lochte, being a 12-time Olympic medalist, SHOULD be more responsible, and make better choices, and be aware of what he is saying on National television. We ALL know that, I know that he has been taught this, time and again. He's not a child, he SHOULD have known better. But, as many people do, he made a mistake. There are so many comments out there with disgruntled people, about how Lochte's behavior overshadowed* other Olympic gold medalists time to shine. This didn't need to happen. We all could have let the Rio law enforcement and the Olympic committee handle it. We could have just let Gabby Douglas choose to salute the flag however she wished. We could have enjoyed amazing athletes, men, women, black, white, brown and watched them perform feats never to be seen again without suddenly turning our focus to sexist and racist comments. Somehow. Social media made one of my favorite things in the world to experience and watch, into a torturous, "he said, she said" gossip, speculation fest. I simply want to enjoy what's left of the Olympics. I would love to recount the amazing moments, and try to quit rehashing the questionable ones. I would love to identify the great things that people said and did, not the slip ups. The poor choices. The regrettable moments of a bunch of superstars who know they are in the lime-light (didn't ask for it) but still struggle to stay on that rigid moral path, that apparently ALL the rest of America has no problem following.



(OK, maybe sometimes we like a little bit of the lime-light: I was the IU record-holder of most NCAA All-American Honors at one point (with 13). Record hold in the 100 fly briefly, as well. Ahh. The good ol' days.)

By the way, if you ask the athletes, there is no such thing media "overshadowing". With a few exceptions, these people are simply trying to be the best within themselves. The Olympic dream is not to be on TV, but to be THE BEST at something. Competitors of this caliber are not proving things to you, they are proving things to themselves. They are reaping the rewards of decades of self-control as well as intensely hard focus and training.  As the first American female to win gold in wrestling, Helen Maroulis, says: “I didn’t come here to win a gold medal for the media attention, I didn’t come here to win a gold medal in order to find something within myself or some peace within myself. I found that self-worth before I stepped on the mat. I think that’s why I won the gold medal."

So please. For just one moment forget you had ever been presented with that Explorer. Relax. Marvel. Enjoy watching the phenomenal capabilities of the human body, and try to let the less than perfect moments that exist in all of nature take a back seat.

Nobody Told Me.

I am insanely sick and tired of these posts I regularly see about pregnancy, breast-feeding, birth, and child-rearing with the title and or implication, "nobody told me". Somebody told you. Even Baby Center is pretty darn accurate with their warnings of pregnancy discomforts, breast-feeding difficulties and behavioral issues. It's everywhere. Mother's are talking about them every, single day. We are surrounded with people telling you. I have told you.

The instant that egg implants, you will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever feel the same again. Ever. Never ever. Done. Life as you know it. Your body as you know it. All of it, gone. You are now different. From henceforth. You will feel varying degrees of nausea. You may or may not vomit. Daily. Or multiple times a day. There is no "morning sickness", it's all day sickness, or afternoon sickness, or maybe no sickness at all. You may have once loved coffee, or licorice, or celery, or pizza, but now, maybe you don't. Or maybe now you love it so much you could eat it everyday, all day. Maybe you need to eat every 10 minutes to not feel sick, or maybe just a drop of water makes you so queasy you hate to even be in the same room as a sink. Everything smells. And by everything smells, I mean both, pungently and bad. You might lose 10 lbs in 5 weeks or gain 10 lbs in 2. Your breasts will get large and tender. Your clothes will not fit.

At some point, or multiple points, or all throughout, you will be constipated. Then, at some point your sphincter won't work as well as it used to. And by sphincter, I mean all of them. Your anal sphincter, your lower esophageal sphincter, and your urinary sphincter. Poop will come out when you don't want it to, acid will come up when you don't want it to, and you will wet your pants. Some of these problems go away soon after birth. Some of them don't. You will get bloated. With gas. With water. With baby. Laying down may become difficult, or even impossible. Sitting will become uncomfortable. Standing will become uncomfortable. YOU will be uncomfortable. Your back will hurt. Your legs will hurt. Your lady parts will hurt, and swell, and produce different kinds of discharge and who knows what else...I don't look, it scares me. You might develop hemorrhoids, and if you don't, there's a good chance you will during labor and birth.

Your skin, hair and nails will change. In the first trimester, you may become an oily teenager again, and breakout everywhere. Some women get an itchy rash. Some have dark spots develop on their face (sometimes these never go away). Some will get stretch marks, and not just on your stomach. Mine appeared on my behind, thighs and calves. Your hair will eventually fill out, your nails grow strong and beautifully, and just when they are at their best, the baby is born. Breastfeeding may help you hold on to some of these perks for a short time, but inevitably, by 4 months, hair is falling out by the clump.

The hormones will make you emotional. Not just weepy. But tired. And angry. Bitter. Happy. Sad. Confused. Insane. Like literally, mental breakdown, wondering if you should be institutionalized nuts. You will have headaches. Your lips might be dry, your mouth dry. You will be so sick of peeing, and so unsatisfied each time, that you will wish for a permanent catheter. There will be moments of very odd pelvic, uterine and belly pain that you will be certain is very bad...but it's usually gas, or your ligaments stretching from the growing baby, or your bladder rebeling and cramping from the pressure, or just that constipation again, or a Braxton Hicks contraction. Damn, these things are uncomfortable! Or am I in labor. You will always wonder. Am I in labor. Whether you are 20 weeks or 40 weeks, labor is always a concern.

You will feel the baby move, and it will be the most reassuring feeling in the entire world. It will make you smile even amidst one of those horrid cry-fests of self-pity, discomfort, and "I don't know why the f*%# I am crying, but I am and I needed to". It will hurt sometimes, especially if they settle on the ribs or the bladder, but that pain is the best of all. You will wonder what the baby looks like, and hope it gets only your good features, and only your spouses good features. You will contemplate a name. By 35 weeks on, you will obsess. All you can do is think about baby, and wish they were born. Partly because you are dying to meet them, and partly because the pregnancy discomfort is approaching its all time high. Everyday drags. The last 5 weeks of pregnancy are THE LONGEST. You will cry nightly, or daily, at the end. You will become bitter at any comments, but most especially, the "you're still pregnant?" one. You could rip that person's eyes out, and shove them....well, you get it.

You might waddle. You might not be able to bend over. Or squat. Or jump. Or walk. Or fit into your shoes. You will get sick of pulling up your pants and pulling down your shirt. You will develop symptoms I haven't listed, because, well, there are too many symptoms to mention! Restless legs. Vision changes. Taste changes. Sleep changes. How did I forget to directly mention sleep. Your dreams are bizarre. Your sleep restless. In the end, sleep is nearly impossible due to discomfort, indigestion, urination, you name it. Until that baby is born, you will have forgotten what it is like to truly sleep. And even if it is for only an hour and fifteen minutes, sleep after birth is wonderful.

Nobody told you about your labor, because it can go only about one billion different ways. There is no way to truly prepare for labor. You don't know what position your baby will decide to land in, there at the end. You don't know how your cervix will behave. How much pain you can tolerate. How long labor will be. How hard you have to push. Some people hardly make it to the hospital, others push for 4 hours only to end up with a cesarean. You might scream in labor. Poop. Vomit. Shake violently. Give up. Push harder. Get an epidural. Have the baby in a tub. Some babies tolerate labor no problem, and others poop, then choke on it and get whisked to the NICU. But somebody mentioned all of these things at some point. Just like pregnancy, you heard all the symptoms, you just never experienced them yourself, in your exact combination.

Somebody told you that breastfeeding is hard. That your nipples will crack. That the baby might not latch well. That your supply might suck or be so copious it nearly drowns the child at each feeding. Someone told you that you will leak in public, on your bed, in your clothes. That you will feel like nothing but a cow for the first few weeks. Or months. That you will cry. A lot. Like every night. And maybe even more. You were warned that if you strictly breastfed for months, the baby might not take a bottle. I never advertise that I "like" breastfeeding. I don't feel clean, ever. It is so convenient, and healthy, and cheap though. If you bottle feed, you may need to switch multiple formulas, until one settles with baby. Even if you breastfeed you need to eat the right foods. If you're too stressed you won't let down. If you don't drink enough you won't produce enough. If you're gone from baby too long, your breasts will hurt and you will become more and more anxious.

Somebody told you all of these things and more. Don't even get me started on what you have already been told about newborns and their sleep habits, and temperaments, and crying. They make you watch a video in the hospital about babies crying and how to deal with it (not by shaking them). It's what they do. Maybe what nobody told you is, that it doesn't matter what ANYONE tells you. Motherhood is an experience. A unique to each and every individual experience. Motherhood is the same for no one. Your combination of physical and emotional symptoms are 100% your own. If anyone thinks they can tell you what to expect, they have never been a mother them self. I don't think I have EVER spoken to a first time mother who said, "That was amazing and everything went just as planned!" But I have spoken to all sorts of mothers who say, "Whoa. That was amazing." No matter how things go, there is a moment, where you are nothing but proud at what you created. Where you feel on top of the world. Like superwoman. And that is what it's all about.

So quit whining that no one told you about it. Embrace the experience, move on, grow and love that baby with all your heart. Because, there simply is, nothing else like it.

Gender: Two ways about it.

In my extremely limited pregnancy experience, I have found there are simply two types of people. The type that really, passionately cares about gender, and generally feels that a "mixed" family is optimal, in fact, the ONLY way to to have a family. Or, the type that simply does not care, will not only, "make do" with what they have, but, perhaps even enjoy it! I whole-heartedly feel I am of the latter camp. How I came to this conclusion is simple. People, without hesitation, very much feel it is OK to voice their hopes, projections, ideals, theories and opinions on gender to any visibly pregnant woman. Especially one that already has a kid. And MOST especially one that already has MORE than one kid of the SAME gender {gasp}.

As I had one. Then two. Then three. Then four boys. I have gotten years, and years of: "maybe this is your girl!" "Going for that girl?" "Don't give up, you will have a girl someday." Always, assuming I want a girl. Maybe I had one and didn't want it, so I gave it up for adoption!? I mean, that sounds totally asinine and insane, and likely not common in America, anyway, but it's happened. Historically, it happened a lot in certain parts of the world. I never knew what to say to these speculations and comments. "You get what you get." That's really the only valid response. Otherwise, I would have to launch into a whole explanation about how I am the happiest mom in the world. And another little boy would make my world a whole person happier! They are cute, and healthy, and stinky, and lovable. So, no, I just don't care about gender. I can't.

As this discussion became more and more commonplace among my mother friends, I found that it didn't really matter what combination of children you have, you still get comments. If you have one of each, you get things such as, "You're so lucky, one of each." "Two and done." And even questioning comments when pregnant with a third, like, "Having a third? But you already have one of each." The nerve!!! Can you believe that woman? Selfishly having a third child when she already has America's dream family!!? That's just greedy. Unbelievable. As if it's ok and completely understandable to have a Duggar-size family if you have 11 girls, and are going for a boy. But heaven forbid you have one of each child and go for a third. Just because. Because what!? You wanted 3 kids!? Who WANTS 3 kids if you can get away with only 2?

Then, the opposite blows my mind. The people that might have stopped at 2 or 3 kids, but did go on to have another, purely "going for" the opposite gender. I guess we all have our reasons. I'm not really sure what my reason is for having 5 kids, beyond that I love them. They are healthy. I'm young. I love my husband. We seem to have the means, the personalities, the patience, the support. Procreation is necessary for our society to continue. Maybe having 5 kids is selfish, taking up more space then my genome is allotted. Maybe it isn't. All I know, is that I love kids of all kinds, and genders, and persuasions. A family is what you make it. Every child has their own unique personality, and gender does not change this. So who cares!?

Yes, I am having a girl after four boys. No, the fact that she is a girl is not the answer to all my hopes and wishes, and dreams. Yes, simply having a 5th child made me the happiest woman on earth. Yes, I am ecstatic and have already bought too many clothes. If she happens to be the last, it's not because she was a girl, but because that is the point at which our family became complete. I guess, what I am saying is, 1. stop intruding with weird, unsolicited opinions on gender, 2. You get what you get and 3. Just love whatever combo that is.

Haters gonna hate.

I've spent so much money on disposable cameras. I have more photo albums than I know what to do with, sprinkled about the house. I have stacks of boxes filled with photograph memorabilia. I have the negatives filed away by date, along with the doubles from years worth of 4x6 prints. I always spent the extra $1 and made double prints. I did this so that I could share the photos. That's right, I SHARED the photos I obsessively, compulsively took with my disposable cameras with my friends and family, and anyone who I thought might enjoy the candid shot I caught of them. I shared photos long before Facebook. I was obsessed to the point of severe anxiety about capturing memorable moments long before smart phones.

I got a fancy, manual camera for Christmas my Freshman year of college. I took a photography class. I shoved a camera in Matt's hands constantly, insisting he take the picture (since he always seemed to get the better shot.) When I got a free moment, I would go through these picture and work on a scrapbook. Here, I could paste ticket stubs and write words to go with these times in my life that I never, ever wanted to forget. I have an entire, antique dresser from my childhood filled with different stickers, cardstock, glue, pens, paints, various newspaper clippings, old greeting cards, and other essential components to a great scrapbook. Matt would love for me to get rid of these things. Not going to happen. I still, fully intend to complete these books, someday. This desk, though...nothing has been added. At least, not in the last 6 years. I have not had to purchase a disposable camera, since college, really. I no longer scrapbook. Yet, I have managed to capture every image, thought, funny moment, and valuable memory in the past few years better than ever before. How?

Digital cameras, laptops, cell phones, smart phones, and most specifically, the iPhone. These wonderful devices have changed my life. For the better. I no longer attend a wedding, worrying how I will carry my camera around, winding up the flash, hoping the shot turns out as intended. I don't spend time driving to the pharmacy dropping off and then back to pick up my prints. Then organizing them, mailing them to people, cataloging them. I truly believe I have regained years of life just from the sheer amount of stress and time reduction that smart phones have provided me.

I hear and read constant shaming of people for time spent on their phones, Facebook, Instagram, all social media. Making statements, like, "be present". As if, there is no way to be present or enjoy the little things in life if you are photographing and sharing them. If this is the case, then I have never been present, or able to experience "the moment". Which, is partly true, when I think about my state of mind back when technology and the digital age was not so prevalent...I was anxious. Stressed. Constantly, thinking about how I was going to take a picture, remember this party, revisit that concert.

I have never been more connected to my friends and family. I have never kept a more up-to-date scrapbook than this very blog. I have never retained more vivid memories, than in the past 5 years. It makes me happy. It makes me love, and value, and enjoy even the simplest walks, meals, moments. Capturing an image of a cute facial expression, awesome outfit, perfect day was not possible before...unless you hauled your clunky camera with you everywhere. I truly feel that I appreciate life, and everything it has to offer, even more now that I am constantly connected to the world.

This technological age is something I hoped for and dreamed of as a youngster. It suits me. My children and family know that I will take photos. My boys understand to just let it happen, then go on their merry way. My siblings make fun of me, constantly. Yet, if I come unarmed with a camera, they are disappointed. They appreciate my neurosis, as they too, now have memories captured that would have slipped away from consciousness so easily. Only to be rehashed if, by some chance, a thought, image, word, moment, smell, triggered that old memory and brought it back to mind.

Perhaps, for some, these devices are a distraction from, instead of an enhancement to life. I'm also, not trying to imply that I have never been posting an Instagram photo, while my children were in the pool or at the park playing. Sure, I ignore them for a moment. But, before phones, did every mother watch, care for, provide for their every child's need at every moment? They never chatted with friends while park or poolside? Read a book? Watched a Soap? Did a crossword? Flipped through a magazine? I don't use my phone during meals. I try not to use it while socializing with friends, but will when everyone else takes a moment for "phone time". Ok, sometimes I kickstart "phone time" but others follow!

All I am trying to say, is that I love my iPhone. I love Instagram. I love Facebook. I love blogging. I love texting; especially, fun, hilarious group texts with close friends. I love flipping through the many images I've captured of the life that I love, at any given moment. While on call one night, a fellow doctor walked behind me and saw what I was flipping through on Instagram, and exclaimed, "Are you looking at your own pictures!?" Umm, duh! Of course I am. There are no pictures I'd rather see than my own pictures of everything I love in life. I am going to continue to photograph, quote, write about, and post the many phenomenal, hilarious, sad, ironic, mundane, beautiful moments in my life. This life I only get to live once. You may think I am totes magotes cray cray. That I am neglecting someone, or something. That I am missing out on life because my nose is plastered in my phone. I think I am making the most of every minute, and enjoying life to its very tip-top fullest.
#hatersgonnahate

Things that may cause me to lose it.

I get cabin fever, really easily.  The recent sub-zero temps, the Holidays, the many days off (which I will not complain about) have forced me to be inside my home, with all 4 children, a lot more than usual.  So, add the cabin fever to my naturally short temper (or lack of patience as I like to call it) and my slightly elevated anxiety level at baseline, and you get insanity.  Or really close it it, anyway.

Door slamming. What is it with this fascination of doors!?  Just leave them open. Now, I understand why I find shoes wedged above the top hinge when I get home from work; they never stop opening, then closing, then opening, then closing. And opening.  Closing. One wants it open, one wants it closed.  Eventually it turns into a fight.  Soon the crying/screeching starts (we'll get to that one: squealing).  After one begins the domino-like effect of a toddler melt down, the door motions become more rapid. Finally, it turns into slamming.  Then, inevitably, a finger gets smashed. Now, I'm pissed. Because, during this entire, 45 second process, I have been trying to get them to stop by yelling from where ever I am throughout the house, likely changing a diaper or nursing a baby, and now, they expect comfort for their smashed finger.  After deliberately ignoring my requests turned demands to halt all door touching completely, as well as, forewarning them of the high risk for finger injury long before their actions became violent, they want my sympathy!?  Seriously guys. Not a hard concept. Don't touch the doors.  I have since purchased foam door stops.

Asking for food. It NEVER ceases.  I walk in the door from work, and the first thing I get is, "Mommy!" from 3 adorable, smiling boys.  Then, in nearly the same breath, I get, "Can I have a snack?" I have an ongoing joke with Kerry, our nanny, where I ask her why she doesn't feed my children all day.  Because that's what they would lead me to believe! If I even venture within 3 feet of a kitchen entrance, George hears it.  He comes running and begs for a "'nack" or  "hone" (drink).  That child will be incredible at "boxing out" during basketball games because that is the maneuver he uses in an attempt to keep me headed in the direction of the refrigerator.  They will literally get up from the dining room table, where they are eating lunch to come into the kitchen to ask me for more food, with half their meal still on the plate. Kitchen's closed.  That's right.  The kitchen is closed.  I don't even want to talk about our grocery bill to feed 4 growing boys in their teen years.

Emptying drawers, cabinets, boxes, baskets.  If you fill it, they will come...and empty it. And sprinkle the items throughout the house. Put some pieces in their mouth. Or ears. Especially lotion.  George really likes to eat lotion.  Curtis just screams and starts crying when he gets caught.  Oh, I'm sorry, I hurt your feelings by telling you not to do something for the 600th time, yet you've continued to do it!? And I'm the bad guy? If I have to try to fit all the Tupperware in the cabinet one more time today, it's all going in the trash.  Which would be tragic...because then what would they carry around the house begging me to fill with more cereal. Or Goldfish. Or popcorn. Or raisins. Or peanuts? Left to their own devices, I am fairly certain George and Curtis could have every single item from every single drawer in the entire house, which is 49, yeah, I counted, out and on the floor (or in their mouth, ears or nose) in less than 2 hours.  Brock will, on occasion, contribute to the debauchery if the toddlers have discovered something worth the risk of punishment.

Jumping on Furniture.  Though, I am certain little girls do this also, I just cannot believe it is to the same extreme as boys.  All furniture is subject to become a fort, or a bridge or, a house, or heaven forbid, a "bouncy house".  The bouncy house is constructed via destruction.  Every pillow, cushion and blanket in the vicinity is removed and placed beside the couch to allow for optimal soft landing area.  Let the jumping commence.  They jump off the arm, off the back, off the adjacent chair, off the cushions, off the back of their brother...all with little to no regard as to where they are landing.  After all, the entire room is pretty much a soft, cushioned surface.  Right?  RIGHT!?  As with the doors, this inevitably results in an injury and some more crying, screeching, squealing.  And again, I don't feel bad for them, as I ALWAYS give fair warning.  *Knock on wood* we have yet to require stitches or casts...but it's coming.  Ohh, it is coming.  Look out brothers; Monster Mitch will be a toddler someday.

Asking for dessert, drinks.  This may seem similar to the previous food comment, and it is, but I'm going to be a bit more specific here.  When it's meal time, there are 3 children's plates to be filled, 3 drinks to get, and 3 kids to arrange at the table.  Unfortunately, I was only provided 2 arms at my conception, so I cannot possibly do all of this simultaneously.  No sooner have I set their plate on the table, then someone asks, "can I have a drink?"  When have I EVER not provided you with a drink!?  It's coming.  You probably even saw me pouring the milk into the sippy cups.  I just don't get it, and I am kind of beginning to wonder if you are "special".  Then, when the meal is finished, the inquiries about dessert start coming.  "We don't get dessert with every meal."  "Dessert is a special treat."  "Everyone has to be finished with dinner before we get dessert." "Your mommy is a fatty, and will almost 100% of the time have something for dessert, because she wants it too, so you NEVER have to ask!" Ok, I don't say the last one...but they should have figured that out by now, am I right?

Asking who was on the phone, text, etc.  Brock is the biggest perpetrator when it comes to this behavior.  He must know who is on the phone, every single time I say even one word on it.  He also interrupts approximately 98.4% of adult conversations. Really, he never stops talking. Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom. We've gotten to a point where we mutually do not listen to one another. Because, as you all probably know, I never stop talking either.  He obsesses.  In fact, I spoke with Annora one evening about our plans for the Visitation trivia night, involving only adults, for about 20 minutes.  It was a long conversation. We talked about a lot of different things. I got off the phone and "Who was that mom?"  Nora.  "What did she say?"  A lot of things, Brock, none of which had anything to do with you, and I am not repeating them.  4 days later, "Mom, what did you and Nora talk about, I just want to know."  AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! (Ripping my hair out. Seriously, I think I am having chest pain, just re-writing this story is upsetting me.) Moving on...

Repetition. If its funny once we have to do it over, and over and over, until it's no fun for anyone anymore.  They will kind of continue to fake laugh, but it's lost its original flair. Don't force it, it's ok to laugh at something only one time.  Just enjoy the moment.  After all, I can only trip you while running across the room, or throw you onto the bed or couch, so many times before we all end up at the Emergency room.  Oh, and don't forget, if one child laughs, then EVERY child must get the same treatment. It's 3 for 1 in this house, at all times.

I mean, they just get into shit. Everywhere I turn.  Just stop. STOP.  I don't get it. An ash tray.  Old drinks.  The trash.  The recycling.  The dirt.  Rocks.  Sticks.  Q-tips.  Napkins. George will blindly reach onto the counter and grab or stick his hand into anything.  He is our first child to burn his fingers on a hot pot, boiling water on the stove.  I have to make sure cutting boards with knives on them are far out of reach. They speak too loud. They squeal. Or scream. Or screech. Or whine.  Oh my god, the whining.  It's unbelievable.  They can turn a "thank you" into a whine!!! Guess I shouldn't even be mad...that's amazing.  George wanders into the basement and climbs onto the bar stools, where he becomes "stuck".  He gets stuck in Mitch's Exersaucer.  He gets stuck in the Pack 'n Play (which frequently becomes a mini bouncy house or ball pit).  Therefore, at any given time, you can here George crying due to his self-afflicted positional handicaps.

This list could go on, and on, and on, but Curtis has just woken up from his nap and decided that George needs to be up as well.  Thanks.  So my now, already not long enough break in the day from the terrorist two toddlers, has been cut short.  Back to the grind...they are already asking for food.

It's not cute.

My condition is no longer "cute".  I'm not sure that is every was, but I'll give you weeks 24-30.  In the beginning, I am too tired to care, it's not visibly obvious to anyone that I am pregnant, and I feel no need to broadcast it, so I am generally left alone.  Then the bump starts to appear.  I start to feel better.  Normalish, almost, well, not quite, but tolerable.  So I happily oblige strangers and colleagues alike with a smile and response to their pregnancy related questions.  But now, as I approach the end, and it has become completely, undeniably, grotesquely obvious that I am hugely pregnant, I cannot avoid the incessant questions, smiles, comments of sympathy, stares.

It's my fourth pregnancy, and unless I am accompanied by my three boys, everyone is shocked to hear this.  They don't even perceive how bored I am with their unoriginal questions.  I honestly don't know what's worse, though.  Someone who just keeps looking at me and smiling at my "precious cargo", or the tactless person that races me and my cart in the Costco parking lot so they can catch up to me to ask me when I'm due.  Seriously!?  You don't know me, likely have never seen me, likely never will again.  Why MUST you be sure to bring my giant belly deformity to attention.  I mean, pregnancy is technically a medical condition which requires, close and regular follow-up.  No one sprints up to the person with an obvious left-sided deficit from a recent stroke to ask about their medical condition.  It is actually considered rude and socially unacceptable to stare at people with gross, physical deformities (and I don't mean gross like disgusting, I mean gross like in the pathological diagnosis sense).  Just because the creation and bearing of children is generally regarded as a purely happy phenomenon, doesn't mean you can assume anything.  It's not a happy experience for everyone.  There are a million different circumstances in which people are pregnant, and it should be their experience to have, and not be required to be shared with every person who thinks it's adorable.

It's not cute. My clothes hardly cover by belly, my pants constantly falling down, and I only have about 3 things that are comfy to wear.  When you get up from your seat and insist I sit, I will reject you.  Sitting is no longer comfortable. Standing isn't either.  Nor is sleeping.  I am giant.  Just let me be.  Don't tell me I "need to eat to feed the baby."  I birth huge, healthy children, I weigh over 200lbs, I don't think eating is a concern.  And as you tell me I need to sit, and eat, you then ask me when I am due, and are shocked that I still have 7 weeks to go...and inevitably the twin topic is broached.  No, it's one fetus.  It will be 10 pounds.  A lot of people have two 5 pounders as twins AND, as stated above, I am not naturally a "small" person anyhow.

Most recently though, I have had a new late pregnancy experience.  When I am in public with my 3 boys, it has become routine for people to bluntly ask, "is this one a girl!?"  Originally, I would just fake smile, shrug my shoulders and say, "we don't know".  I still do this mostly, but one time, someone caught me so off-guard, and I was so flustered  that I just said "no".  As in "No, I don't know", but I just didn't have time to finish my complete thought before she gave me such the look of pity.  As if having a 4th boy would be a tragedy.  It truly pissed me off.  I mean, what a bizarre reaction!  You people all go from looking at me and smiling at my miracle, to feeling sorry for me because it might be a 4th boy?  I have since said "no" to a few other strangers, and gotten quite the range of reactions, but none of them have been congratulatory.  One woman told me she has 9 sisters and no brothers and "that you have to stop trying at some point".  As if assuming I am just going to keep birthing children until I "get" a girl.  It's an extremely interesting social experiment.  A good friend of mine is expecting her 4th boy, after years of fertility issues, heart break, thousands of dollars spent on procedures to help her conceive these wonderful boys.  Do you think she feels sorry for herself because all of these amazing miracles, that for a fleeting moment she thought might be impossible, turned out to all be the same sex?  And if this one does turn out to be a girl, and I don't have another, will everyone assume that's because "Mission: produce an O'Laughlin female" is complete?

To be clear, if I specifically talk to you about my pregnancy, often, you are free to discuss it with me all you want.  You can even smile at me if you like...though, if you know me, you won't do it.  I don't even mind when my family and friends touch my belly.  This baby will be part of their lives too, eventually.  As for you strangers, you will never meet 4.O, so don't worry about it.  In my defense, I have never looked at another pregnant woman and smiled while pregnant.  And almost no other pregnant woman has looked at me and smiled.  We all have a mutual understanding.  We all feel one another's pain.  We see that it's not cute.  We are all just trying to distract ourselves until that wonderful little bundle finally arrives.  Then, I will be happy again.  I will smile at strangers.  I will let them marvel at my beautiful miracle.  Because, a newborn, my friends, is not only cute, but stinking adorable!

An example of how "not cute" my current condition is (photo concept and composition compliments of Brock.)

Lines.

Did you know that the closer you stand to the person in front of you, the faster the line will progress!?  It works even better if you are sure to breath heavily down the neck of the person ahead of you.  And if you huff and sigh a little.  Maybe pace back and forth, frequently switching the weight from one hip to the other, then it will really pick up the pace of the line.  Make sure you take a tiny step forward with every tiny step of your predecessor.  Because there is NO WAY that person is inching forward and becoming uncomfortably close to the person in front of them in order to get away from you.  No, no, no.  They have just caught on to your genius plan.  They've realized that the person at the register's ability to take care of the customer, is, in fact, completely related to the space between each line waiter.  They have discovered your secret. They see that, oh my gosh! The line is suddenly progressing faster than ever, just because they have violated the natural limit most humans have regarding their personal space.

Yup, I said it.  People have an area surrounding them, called: PERSONAL SPACE.  There seems to be an unspoken rule as to the proper amount of personal space one requires.  This memo seems to have reached the world, far, and wide.  But YOU missed it. You and few other inattentive, unobservant, self-serving a-holes, have managed to completely disregard what is so natural and comfortable for EVERYONE else.  In case, like to most things, you were totally oblivious to the paragraph above, I will spell it out for you; I was being sarcastic. Not facetious, as that would imply that I was being silly, whimsical, joking.  But sarcastic, as in, you are an idiot.  Thanks for making my Panera experience, unnecessarily awful. Oh, and if you didn't pick up on that either; I'm not really thanking you.  I'm pissed.

  

Routine.

I despise routines. I have spent my life trying to avoid routines like the plague.  I think the reason I regularly (or I mean sporadically) showed up to swim practice late was in defiance of the daily 4pm start time, for weeks on end, month after month, year after year, with no breaks in between.  In fact, I continue to randomly show up late to work for the very same reasons.  Some mornings I hit the snooze seven times, other mornings I jump up.  I probably switch the time setting for the alarm every other night, depending on if I think I am going to take a long shower in the morning vs. a short one vs. none.  Or if I think I will use the Keurig or stop at Starbucks.  Or if I am going to eat breakfast at home or just grab a Nutri-grain bar for the road.  Lately, I have discovered that many people consider me to be somewhat "flakey" due to this behavior.  I just think I am spontaneous, and willing to do, what so many others aren't...what I want {within reason}.

More often than not, though, I find myself extremely bothered by "routine" people.  People who claim to be "A-types".  Just because you wake up at the same time everyday, brush your teeth before you get dressed, not after, everyday, eat a banana every morning, must have things arranged in a certain order, etc, does not necessarily make you an "A-type".  It kind of just makes you boring.  Sorry.  And it makes me concerned that you are not living life as fully as you could. Go to Happy Hour with friends when asked! So what if you planned to work out, and then eat a salad, and watch your tv show, tomorrow is another day. And, oftentimes, it ruins my fun, because there are not enough whimsical people out there to randomly join me at a moment's notice.  I think that's why I get along so well with my family, and I include my cousins in this.  There must be some genetic factor for spontaneity (or I guess you could argue it's environment as we are all raised by moms raised by the same mom). Or maybe we are all just loony.  But I can often rely on my cousins, as well as my sisters, to join in on some last minute adventure or fun.

I also think this non-routine trait of mine, is why I can do what I do...which is a lot.  I don't get caught up in the routines of daily life.  If the boys go 5 days without a bath, so be it.  Unless they smell, look greasy or visibly covered in food and/or dirt, who cares. They don't.  Some days they are in bed by 8, and others, it's nearly 10pm and they're still romping around the house.  I can roll with the punches and it doesn't rock my boat.  I rarely expect things to go as planned, and am mostly surprised if they do. For instance, right now, it is nearly midnight, on a weeknight.  George will probably be waking up to eat any minute.  Why am I still up?  Because I feel like blogging. So I am.

But I was taught some core values.  If I commit to something, I will be there, or do it, or find someone to do it for me. If someone else depends on my punctuality, I will try my very very best to be there, on time, and if I am running late, I don't expect to be waited on, and am willing to accept the repercussions. 

Interestingly though, I find I am drawn to 2 types of friends.  People who are either, spontaneous to the point of being reckless and somewhat rude because of their lack of consideration for other's time and belongings OR people who are extremely routine and somewhat rude because of their lack of flexibility when things don't happen exactly when or how they expected.  I guess I need my people that I can call, 5 minutes before a movie starts, who will gladly join me, despite missing the previews and perhaps the opening credits.  And I need my people that hold me accountable to my frequent boasts and somewhat ridiculous claims.

Though, I must admit, as contrary to my openingg statement as it might sound, I have only recently (in the past coupe years, probably soon after Brock was born) come to terms with the fact that this is who I am. You know that grass is always greener thing? I used to think I would love to work out everyday. I would love to have a job that has the same hours on the same days of the week all year long. And I would always daydream that someday, my life would be "in order". Well, here I am, nearly 30 years old and no where NEAR any semblance of a routine. Never been further from it, actually. And I am loving it. Now I look forward to a life of increased chaos. I reflect on the jobs or situations I have been in that were extremely routine, and it drove me nuts. I am crazy to think that is the lifestyle I would want. So, I have embraced my spontaneous side, I love my randomness, and I wish for others to loosen up every once in a while to experience the freedom, that is doing what you want, when you want, and how you want to do it {again, within reason}.

The whole "birth experience" thing.

Whenever I read articles, status updates, comments about home or natural births, I get annoyed. I get annoyed for so very many reasons, but it just dawned on me, that mostly, I just get annoyed because of the tone. Now, mind you, I am speaking in generalities. Most people who have had, or plan to have, or advocate for home births behave as though it is the ONLY way to give birth and have an amazing, magical, wonderful experience. They act as though any hospital birth, especially one where you get an IV, and epidural, and have an OB/Gyn instead of a midwife, robs you of the miracle that is bringing another life into this world.

So, now it's my turn. I laughed and smiled and joked through my last two deliveries. In fact, I had such a wonderful time delivering Curtis, that I was looking forward to the delivery of George. My husband was by my side the entire time, and with the epidural, I could comfortably hang out with him. We took pictures. We talked. We discussed the possible middle names of our soon to be child. I napped. The jovial nurses periodically came in to make sure I didn't need anything, then they left the room. I bonded with every one of my delivery nurses, and think fondly about them always. I look forward to seeing them again, and they all visited me in my post-partum room because we had such a great experience together. I relaxed and enjoyed my brand new baby laying on my belly as the doctor repaired any tears, because I didn't feel them. I sat back as others took care of me. I shared the experience with my husband, yet, my entire family was just a hallway away to come see the newest addition just hours. They got to feel like they were part of the whole process.

And yes, after both Curtis and George, I said to myself, that could easily have been done at home, less then 7 hours of labor, less than 3 pushes and their out, no hemorrhaging...you don't need an MD or DO for that, but it didn't ruin the birth for her to be there. I love, and text, and email, and visit my OB/Gyn. Who says you can't bond with your doctor? Only midwives are personable? Only midwives listen and are interested in your life?

I am not really sure why I am required to be in pain, and to sit in a bath tub, and to clean up my own house after giving birth in it, in order to love my delivery or to have the healthiest baby possible. Brock was born with the apgars of 9 & 10 (as high as you can get, never seen a doctor give a 10 at one minute.) Curtis 9 & 9. George 8 & 9 (he was really purple and had a knotted cord around his neck...which wouldn't be any different at home.) My boys were and are, healthy as a horse. No colic. No allergies. No hospitalizations. Two ear infections, total, ever, from the 3 of them at this point. They gain weight and grow like it's their job. They are extremely happy kids. And people want me to feel as though I stole something from them by having in a hospital, with pain medication? And took something from myself, as a woman?

Surviving 9 months of pregnancy is the hard part. That is where a woman is made. Not the one, short day that ends it all. The only thing important about that day is a concluding it with a healthy mom and a healthy baby. Period. Happiness, joy in the experience, that is a far second. You cannot convince me otherwise. Because a sick baby or mom? No matter how smooth, and according to plan the birth went, means for a miserable delivery experience.

You notice I don't mention Brock's delivery, this is because I can't lump it into the other 2, as it was completely different. And it is why a hospital is necessary. My water broke, and I wasn't in labor. I was also Group B strep positive, meaning I required antibiotics. I get to the hospital, get my antibiotics and 8 hours later, still nothing. Not in labor. Not dilated. Had I waited around at home for this thing to get rolling, my 27 hour labor would have been no less than 48, and certainly, Brock's apgars would not be 9 & 10. I required nearly every intervention in the books, just barely short of a cesarean. I pushed for almost 3 hours. Thank god for that epidural. After 24 hours of labor, I had the energy to push for 3 hours. And with all of that hulabaloo, and medical intervention, I still look back at November 23rd, 2008 as the HAPPIEST day of my life. Why would I change even a minute of it? I got Brock.

So, finally, let me say something that the home/natural birth fanatics rarely, if ever, say; to each their own. Every woman has a birth style or plan, and they are all, for the most part, reasonable. So let her choose. I wouldn't change a thing. And I hope to have a 3rd delivery someday, as wonderful as my previous two. You cannot look at these pictures, and not tell me it is one of the most touching, beautiful moments you have ever witnessed.

Elevators

I spent the last month in a 7 floor hospital where home base was located on "Ground" and most of my patients were located on the 5th floor. And, I was 30-34 weeks pregnant, so you can guess how much stair climbing I did...

...therefore, I got to use the elevators. A lot. And it got really irritating. I found it really hard not to glare at the people who got on the elevator for 1 floor (unless they were hauling something.) Them doing this made the elevator stop not only once, but TWO TIMES before I got to my floor. Just for one person. Sometimes, I am willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, because I have been guilty of taking the elevator for one floor when I am in a new building and I don't know the location of the stairs, but these were the employee elevators. You had to have a badge to even access them. Therefore, these people know where the stairs are located. I would like to add, that during my entire month there, I NEVER once took the elevator for one floor.

Really, the one floor thing should have been what annoyed me most, but it's not. What really got my goat, were the people who would enter a packed elevator, on the GROUND floor, therefore, everyone is getting off as there is nowhere else to go, before a single person exited the hot, stuffy, crowded box. Really? I mean really? It just makes no sense. None whatsoever. I just don't think it can even be blamed on surrounding unawareness. I think to myself, this must be the most self-absorbed, rude, couldn't give 2 craps about anyone kind of person ever. They just made the unloading process difficult and awkward for EVERYBODY. And this happened, not on a daily basis, but probably every other time I exited those elevators. Yes, there are that many people that do this. Again, I am not saying I have never over-eagerly stepped toward an elevator to load as soon as it opened, but when I then look up to see 8 people leaving, I step back and let them unload. I don't just shove my way onto the the thing. I don't get it, I just don't get it. The one floor trip takers are easily explained. LAZY. These people? There is no category for them.

Lastly, being pregnant, I am double in size, always hot, and extra sensitive to smells. Add all that to my already existent propensity toward anxiety in crowded places and you won't blame me for getting a little annoyed when the already at capacity elevator opens and everyone says, come on in there is room for one more. There is not room for one more. They can wait. There are 2 other elevators that are most likely close by. And if they get on, then someone will have to be touching me. And I am too far to the back to just get off and wait for the next elevator or just take the stairs for the rest of my trip.

So, in conclusion, I am really happy I work in a 3 floor hospital, where I really only use 2 of the floors, therefore, rarely needing an elevator. If I had to do that for 3 years, I most surely would lose at least 10 of sanity later in life. It also, reinforces to me why I love living in Kansas City. There are so few situations where I have to deal with elevators, or buses, or crowds of any sort. I guess I am not cut out for big city livin'. I like my space, personal and otherwise.

Pregnancy myths.

Just like I don't believe in "nesting", I do not believe in "cravings". For the entire first trimester, even if you don't have the full on 24/7 nausea, or vomiting, I am guessing everyone has a touch of a loss of appetite. Therefore, when nothing sounds good, you sit and file through every possible food that you would ever be willing to eat until you stumble upon something that sounds reasonable. And once you find that one, or two items, it's the only thing you CAN eat. It's not that you craved it. It's the only thing that works. Therefore, it seems to the outsider that you are having a so-called "craving" because you insist on eating these one, or two random dishes, and nothing else.

Perhaps you are relieved from this predicament during the 2nd trimester. At which point, you are so excited you can finally eat again, that you begin wanting all the things you couldn't eat before. Slightly appearing as though you crave them.

Then the 3rd trimester rolls around. Now baby is shoving up on your stomach. The indigestion and reflux is in full swing, and again, nothing sounds good. Perhaps your appetite is gone again. Repeat cycle from trimester one.

Therefore, just because I insisted on going to Village Inn last night, for the first time in at least 5, if not 6 years, because I felt like breakfast food for dinner, and perhaps a slice of French Silk pie, does not mean I was "craving" it. It simply means, that's the only thing that sounded edible at that moment.

OPINIONS

Opinions really bother me. It's true.

How can "opinions" be a pet peeve? Shouldn't it just be certain opinions? Not ALL opinions? And how can I say this, being as I am one of the more opinionated people you know? These may be just a couple of the questions running through your mind after reading the opening sentence. Allow me to clarify.

Mostly, I cannot stand unsolicited opinions. No matter the topic. If I did not ask for your thoughts, I don't want to hear them. Let me share a few "for instances" that are completely made up; if they bear any resemblance to real conversations or situations we have had, it is purely coincidence. For instance, let's say we are at the dinner table, and someone mentions that they love honey mustard. This statement is completely acceptable, as it is a fact when put in that form. That person, does, in fact, love honey mustard.

Now, had they said, "honey mustard is the best condiment" we have a problem. They have changed their comment into an opinion. It is absolutely debatable whether honey mustard is the best condiment. This situation can take many turns, some for the worse, some for the better. My hope is that, (A) I will either avoid the discussion by simply giving no response. Or, (B) I will take the bait, reply with my rebuttal, we will go on to have an intellectual conversation on the pluses and minuses of the many different uses of honey mustard, and settle on the fact that the original conversator prefers honey mustard to most condiments and that I just like salt. Agree to disagree.

But things rarely, I mean RARELY, happen like that. On most days, despite common beliefs about my personality, I generally hope for situation (A). Especially if I have an extremely differing opinion, and know discussion will be futile. (The ONLY reason I EVER purposefully engage in a pointless argument, is for my own educational purposes, if I feel my competitor might be well versed on the topic. Ok, as I re-read that, I realized, that isn't the only reason I might do that...after all, I am antagonistic by nature. Sometimes, if the person's beliefs, thoughts, opinions are extremely ridiculous or radical, I do it for my own entertainment.) So, I ignore the comment. But more often than not, I don't get my desired result of concluding the conversation. Instead, the person did not get the affirmation they had hoped for, so they go on and add, "Don't you agree?" Can I just say "no"? I mean, I can, and I do, but then I get, "Oh, really, then what condiment do you like better?" "Why?" And there it is. I am forced into a discussion. It's a downhill spiral.

I will never get out of the conversation now. I am trapped. I honestly begin to panic. Because this is another huge misconception about opinions...people feel, if they ASK you your opinion, and you politely share it, then that ok's them to give you theirs. NO. YOU asked my THOUGHTS, I did NOT ask you yours.

Which leads me into another situation, "fishing questions". Do you ever have those moments, when someone comes up to you and straight up asks your opinion about something, but you know it's because their true motive is to share theirs? For example, when I was obviously pregnant, so many woman approached me and asked some question or another about my pregnancy. Instead of speaking my initial thought, which is, "I don't really feel like talking about this right now", I would politely answer. This apparently means I have given the go ahead for the woman to tell me all about her pregnancies, deliveries, children, etc. You try to do the right thing, and it just blows up in your face.

Then there are the time when I take option (B). Usually, you can predict when option (B) is a bad choice, simply by the person's tone, demeanor or personality. But sometimes, you misjudge, and you find out that this person has an EXTREME opinion. Fact: ALL extreme opinions bother me. By extreme, I mean, the person absolutely, 100% believes this to be true and that there is NO way anyone's differing opinion could be right, ok, or possible. By the very nature of "opinions" this cannot happen. An opinion, is never a fact. You can use facts to support your opinion, but it will never make it absolutely the right answer. And I do not mind discussions with open-minded well informed people, but these kinds of people just don't form extreme opinions, and rarely feel the need to force their thoughts upon others. If you approach me with an extreme opinion, whether I agree with your stance or not, I will very nearly always play devil's advocate.

So, yes. I pretty much have an opinion on everything...even opinions! And I will share my opinions, if asked. And I will ask for opinions when curious. And that should be that.

Toilet Paper

Public bathrooms are gross. Everything is automatic these days (which is a whole 'nother pet-peeve post) because nobody wants to touch anything. Ideally, the bathroom is relatively unused, and has just been cleaned. It's like winning the lottery when you walk in and the seat is up, the smell of bleach lingers, and there is a tinge of blue to the water. But most of the time you walk in to see the usual; an overly air-freshened restroom, with obviously used toilets evidenced by some hair on the seat or skid mark in the bowl and no sign of recent maintenence. So, you try to contact as few surfaces as possible. You squat, relatively unbalanced because you're in heels, your thighs begin to burn and you reach with one hand to the one, un-automatic device in every bathroom: the toilet paper. As you reach for this toilet paper, you are hoping for the well-oiled wheel, where a nice, long perfectly lengthed strip of paper pulls off the reel in one swoop. Done. But more often than not, that is not the case. You pull on the paper, and a half square tears. You change your technique, and this time you get nearly 2 whole sheets, but then the reel really gets stuck. So you now have to manualy turn the roll, inch by inch, then tear, then roll, then tear until finally you are either A.) satisfied that you can minimally absorb all that is required to be comfortable or B.) in so much pain from doing a 3 minute squat you don't care anymore. You flush with your shoe. Wash your hands, and leave. Any satisfaction you may have obtained from relieving your bladder (or otherwise) has been robbed. By the toilet paper.

Speed Bumps or Humps or whatever you want to call them.

Though I took a photo with a sign for a speed bump in the background, I actually cringe when I see these signs. There are speed limits for a reason. I realize that people do not always adhere to these speed limits, but that is why it is so extremely important to teach your children street safety, and keep your pets on leashes. I will not disagree that there are certain situations for which speed bumps are useful. In front of schools, or in parking lots. These are the ONLY places I feel placement of a speed or traffic deterring device is necessary.

I am not a speeder. Perhaps, as the "rebellious" teenager that I was, I had my lead foot moments, but now, I could probably be described as a "grandma-driver". Why should I be punished, have to slow to 15 mph, spill the contents of whatever I am transporting, and destroy the shocks of my vehicle because a few people like to speed? All of my parents' generation managed to survive a bump-free childhood in Prairie Village, Brookside and surrounding areas. Houses still manage to sell for reasonable prices. And yes, pets still get out unleashed, and get hit by cars, but I have seen a dog hit a car going less than 15mph, yes, I said the dog hit the car.

What really got me going on this issue, is not that they are trying to put them in on my street, but because they recently placed 2 speed humps on a 30 mph thru street (which I use, nearly daily). I now feel helpless and that there is no end to this madness. Soon there will not be a single street with a speed limit of 30mph or under without humps! And, I fear the day it goes on a 35mph main road - it's going to happen.

I feel this attitude of always looking outward for a solution to a problem, instead of inward, is crippling. Don't buy a house in a busy area if you can't deal with the situation. Teach your kid to look both ways, twice, before crossing a street. Don't speed.

Gum-smacking

While sitting in a waiting room, such as, oh I don't know, let's say, for an OB appointment, everyone sits quietly. They whisper, read magazines, text or do other things on their phone, etc. Ninety-eight percent of people are aware and courteous of their surroundings. They "patiently" (I guess that's why we're called patients...) await their name getting called, and that's that. MOST of the time.

Well, this was not the case recently. As Matt and I sat, behaving as good waiting room guests do, a lady came in and sat behind us. I have heard gum-smacking in my lifetime, but NEVER any to this degree. The peaceful quietness, coupled with the anxiousness that accompanies any type of appointment (for me anyway hair, dentist, you name it, I'm anxious) made this chomping the most irritating, piercing, awful, disgusting sound I have ever heard in my entire life. I have never come so close to randomly asking a complete stranger to quit doing something annoying.

And not to mention, this begs the question, how has this gone on for 40+ years? We are not talking about a teenager, this was a full grown woman. Your parents were fine with you chewing gum in that manner? And even if they were, your friends were fine with it? And even if they were, all your boyfriends, significant others, husband[s] were/are fine with it? Have you truly not been around a single classmate, roommate, teacher, sibling, co-worker, or person on a routine basis that had the fortitude to simply tell you to stop? And, if you did encounter such person, you just completely ignored their suggestion??

I am just really confused. I am all for being your own person, but it shouldn't harm others in the process.

What's Luck Got to do With It?

I severely dislike and disagree with the statement, "I am so lucky to be married to my best friend."

You are not "lucky" to have married your best friend. You SHOULD marry your best friend, and this SHOULD be a conscious decision, not some kind of lottery. If any of you are not married to your best friend, then quick, get out of that relationship! I feel this so strongly, that I kind of assumed that your significant other, spouse, etc. was removed from the "best friend" running. It's not even a fair game if they are included in the options, is it? Thus making me dislike this statement even more...how degrading to even put your spouse in that category.

If you are having a hard time following, let's take it back a step farther. How does one define the term "best friend"? Simply stated, by the online dictionary: n. the one friend who is closest to you. But I polled a few people, and replies ranged from:

• The person you not only spend most of your time with but you enjoy that time.
• Someone you call often, but never out of obligation (or rarely).
• The one person who knows you best (and still likes you).
• The first person you think to call when something interesting/funny/tragic happens.
• #2 on your speed dial (#1 being Voicemail, duh).
• You would never hesitate to bail them out and expect nothing in return & vice versa.

I don't know about you and your relationship, but this definitely describes my spouse, and then some. Sure, there are others that touch these statements, but no one, except Matt, encompasses them all. And FOR SURE no one but Matt surpasses them.

My whole point is, give yourself some credit. Luck didn't have anything to do with your current relationship. Own up to your decisions, and stand proud. Flat out say, I love that I married my favorite person in the whole world, I made the right decision.

Paper or Plastic?

I REALLY cannot stand it when you go to the grocery store, and the bagger puts your 4 (maybe I'd give ya 5) plastic bags worth of groceries into 9 sacks. Nine!? Seriously, does the bread really require its own bag? Does the $2.99 fleece throw need its own? Does the 4lb sack of sugar? Nope. In fact, I am certain those 3 items could have all been placed into one and it would be niether too full nor too heavy. And I'm going to be honest, I don't mind if my well packaged, vacuum shut meats touch my sealed bags of Dole lettuce. Really, I don't. I am quite confident there will be no cross contamination in that situation.

Yes, the solution here is for me to supply my own wonderful little "green" cloth bags, but lets get serious. I can hardly remember the 6 items I went to the store for, let alone a bag to transport them back home.

Dishes.

I think all dishes should be made of really good quality glass. I have decided this because I hate that plastic and metal get microscopic scratches in them after each wash. It pains me to wash certain items, I honestly cringe as I do it. My once beautifully clear set of bottles is now murky looking. I want them to appear new and well taken care of for their entire life. My new Iced Tea maker pitcher...same deal. My nice Nambe silver platter...scratches! And if I use a very fine, soft towel, it doesn't do the trick, food residue it left on the dishes.

Newly Realized Pet Peeve: Advertising

"Caramel & Nuts go together like fresh bread and a warm memory"

Last weekend, while I vigorously studying at Panera, I just so happened to read the little advertisement they have placed atop every table. The above quote is what I read. And I have one question, does anyone really have a "warm memory" involving "fresh bread"?

Maybe I am wrong, maybe I am the only person with a childhood deprived of fresh bread so wonderful it created a warm memory. But, I just don't think I am. Who came up with that, and thought, Ahh, millions of people will completely connect with this statement and purchase a caramel-nut roll! Genius.