American Girl

She waits another week to fall apart...

If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace. ~ Thomas Paine

Not much to blog about, and not much time to do it in anyway, but I just have to share the latest entry in the silly T-shirt contest that Ryan and I have going on:

 

 

Hee Hee.    Forgive my bad photography.  I don't have  time  enough patience to fuss with it.

 

Today is a special day because it marks the start of my second trimester.  Woohoo!  One down, two to go!  At the rate I'm going, this shirt will fit me for about 20 more minutes.  (If I don't eat anything during that time.)  (Which is pretty much impossible)

 

Hope you all had a great weekend.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:21 | link | comments (11) |

If you are offended by Care Bear abuse and/or ghost stories, you should probably just stop reading now and move onto someone else's blog.  You've been warned.

 

Yesterday was just one of those days where everything goes wrong.  Mostly because I was in a bad mood and refused to see any good in the world.  We had plans to go over to my sister in law's house, where Ryan was going to cook dinner on the grill and we were going to do our Memorial Day stuff with the kids.  Fun, right?  Then we got a call that Ryan's brother was in a car accident.  So, Ryan took off for the ER to get him, and I went over to my sister in law's house alone, where we would improvise and order pizza as she and I are not grillers.

 

Now if anyone was in a worse mood than me, it was my sister in law.  She is the master of faking it though, because she has three kids and no other choice.  We were sitting outside watching the kids play when she accidently sat down on Cheer Bear.  For the uniformed, Cheer Bear is the pink Care Bear with a rainbow on his belly.  He is very aptly named, so when she sat down on him, he said "It's ME!  Cheer Bear!  With a smile just for YOU!".  (Really, it's a talking toy)  So she reached behind her and pulled the bear onto her lap, and as we were talking about something, Cheer Bear interupted with "Hug Me if you're my best friend." and I saw something flash behind those gentle, loving eyes.  This woman, who in all the years I've known her, has maybe raised her voice twice, who is the best, most patient, loving and gentle mom on the planet - the woman who makes her kids "sick" bags when they have viruses, by drawing flowers and hearts on plastic lined paper bags for them to throw up in, was about to snap.  She looked at that pink bear with an amount of disgust and rage that would make the mosh pit of a "Rage Against the Machine" concert look like may pole dance.  So when poor Cheer Bear blurted out "A cheer-rific day is heading your way!!" she punched him dead in the face. 

 

I don't want to get too graphic, but things didn't end well for poor Cheer Bear:

 

We, on the other hand, were striken with a case of the giggles that literally had our stomachs hurting.  We were wiping away our tears when Ryan and his brother arrived.  And you know, once you have the giggles, it's just really really hard to be serious about anything. 

 

Now, I would really feel sorry for Ryan's brother, except that he wasn't wearing his seat belt.  While that's enough to have Ryan tormenting him all evening, what gets me is that he was dopey enough to admit that he wasn't wearing it to his safety patrol of an older brother.  If you're going to drive without your seat belt, in Manhattan no less, you should at least have the common sense to lie and say you did.  So he has his arm in a sling, due to a broken collarbone, and this lump on his forehead that would make Frankenstein's monster feel self conscious.  This is significant, because he is by far the most vain of the three brothers, and I know it's killing him.  So when he got there, S and I tried, really tried, for about 2.5 seconds to put on our best sympathetic faces. 

 

So when my nephew came over and stared, and then asked what happened to his face, Ryan said "That's what happens to you when you don't wear your seat belt".   My nephew thought about that a minute, wrinkled his nose, and said "I wouldn't want that to happen to MY face." and skipped off.  There was no sympathy after that.  We spent the rest of the night insisting that his lump was getting bigger, and more blue by the minute.  (And honestly, it was.  I think it even has it's own heartbeat)

 

Much, much later we were sitting inside, still talking about his monstrous lump.  I asked him why he didn't lie and say he had his seat belt on, and he didn't have an answer, but expressed much regret about it.  I told him the story of the accident I was in years ago, when I was young and stupid.  It happened right in front of a firestation, and it seemed like the moment the car stopped spinning, someone was pounding on my window to see if I was ok.  Still, I totally lied to that guy and everyone after and said I had my seat belt on and had just taken it off.  No one questioned it, even as I picked little bits of windshield glass out of my hair.

 

My mistake was that my sister in law, being one of the people I lied to about it, remembered that story.  So there was much discussion of my dishonesty, and about how my brother Brian would have kicked my ass if he'd known the truth.  I insisted that Brian would have been much nicer about it than Ryan was being to his brother, and they all insisted that I was wrong.  She told me that I never would have lived it down, and now that the secret was out, I would probably be subjected to all sorts of abuse.  As she spoke, I got up to put away a package of cookies so I would stop eating them.  When I opened the cabinet a giant canister of Scooby Doo sprinkles flew out and landed right on my head.

So she said "See?  I told you so."    Believe whatever you want, but everyone in that room knew what made them fall.  Hello, Brian.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 11:34 | link | comments (8) |

Motime is so very quiet lately.  I depend on you people to entertain me, so entertain me, darn it!

 

Ryan just left to pick up my niece for Daddy and Me night.  He looked adorable, all freshly showered and even wearing a shirt that didn't have a single F, D, N or Y on it.  Amazing.  I hope that my niece recognizes this effort.  When I commented on it, he joked that he didn't have a choice.  True, I've been living in his shirts these days.  So comfortable.  I figure if I have to to carry our baby for nine months, then somehow manage to get him or her outside of me, he can share shirts.  Fair is fair.

 

We have officially decided on names.  A boy name and a girl name. We're officially not telling what those names are, so you'll just have to be surprised.  We're also not going to peek and find out the sex, so again, you'll just have to be surprised.

 

I wonder if we'll all still be blogging together in December?  I wonder if anyone new will come along too?  December feels very, very far away.  All of my favorites, and you know who you are, better stick around.  The ones that haven't, I miss you.

 

While I was searching for a poem for Memorial Day, I found one that I hated.  It ended like this:

Then he heareth the lovers laughing pass,
and the soldier asks once more:
"Are these not the voices of them that love,
That love--and remember me?"
"Not so, my hero," the lovers say,
"We are those that remember not;
For the spring has come and the earth has smiled,
And the dead must be forgot."
Then the soldier spake from the deep dark grave:
"I am content."

 

The dead must not be forgot.  Made me sad.  I suppose I should mention that that snippet of poetry is by an unknown author.  Wouldn't want to not give him credit.  I guess.

 

I sometimes wonder what's harder, dying or living?  Without knowing (and no one really does) what happens when you die, it's impossible to say, but I still wonder.  When someone dies you think a lot of things that start like this "I wonder what he would say..." or "I wonder what would have happened..."  You basically spend a lot of time thinking about what things might be like if they weren't as they are.  But tonight is one of those exceptions, because I know with certainty that my brother would be with his daughter at Daddy and Me night right now, and he's not.  There's two ways you can go with that.  You can think about how cool it is that you have the ability to know exactly what he would be doing, and you can wrap yourself up in that bubble wrap of pretending that all is right with the world, just for a few hours, or you can curl up into the fetal position and sob really hard, from your gut, and focus on everything you've lost.

 

I'm somewhere between those two. 

 

Hence this choppy, non-sensical post.  Just airing it out.  Getting out my mental scale - fetal position, or ordering pizza?  Sobbing all night long, or calling an old friend who never fails to make me laugh?  I can't decide which one will leave me feeling better in the morning.  All of the above?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 19:02 | link | comments (11) |

Thursday Poetry
In honor of Memorial Day

 

Fallen Patriots
by David Lawson

"Taps" drifting over carved marble stones. Tiny flags standing in smart ranks like an honor guard We come this day to remember those who fell The youthful and the seasoned alike

Volunteer or conscripted, doesn’t matter which Most did not a hero’s medal gain Yet all were patriots for what they did They went; they served and they died

Some realized glory, others saw their duty clear Yet, not all dreamed a patriot’s dream Or really understood their country’s call But all knew well of fear and death

How shall we remember them? By bugle strain or tear stained cheek? Or by their bones that feed the grassy roots? No! By the free air and soil they bought for us At the highest price of all

But these are not alone They have brothers and sisters that do not sleep beneath the stones Who also went and served And stand now and remember

Young man, do not scoff at this remembrance Rather, accept their gift. They have given you the freedom to scoff if you want But refrain and remember instead

And as you do, stand a little straighter Turn your eyes to that banner fluttering yonder On which they once gazed and still do And sing the anthem loud, For the courageous and strong have sung it before you And were not timid in it.

Now , as you go from this hallowed place Do not forget them that lie here Or those that lie in places far distant While their lives were lost, Their gift of freedom lingers still.

 

"Reflections"
Art Print by Lee Teter:

 

 

And, a story:

From the Other Side

At first there was no place for us to go until someone put up that "Black Granite Wall."    Now, everyday and night, my Brothers and my Sisters wait to see the many people from places afar file in front of this "Wall."    Many stopping briefly and many for hours and some that come on a regular basis.    It was hard at first, not that it's gotten any easier, but it seems that many of the attitudes towards that Vietnam war we were involved in have changed.    I can only pray that the ones on the other side have learn something, and more "Walls" as this one, needn't be built.

Several members of my unit, and many that I did not recognize, have called me to The Wall by touching my name engraved upon it.    The tears aren't necessary, but are hard even for me to hold back.    Don't feel guilty for not being with me, my Brothers.    This was my destiny as it is yours, to be on that side of The Wall.    Touch The Wall, my Brothers, so that we can share in the memories that we had.    I have learn to put the bad memories aside and remember only the pleasant times that we had together.    Tell our other Brothers out there to come and visit me, not to say Good- bye but to say Hello and be together again . . . even for a short time . . . and to ease that pain of loss that we all still share.

Today, an irresistible and loving call summons me to The Wall.    As I approach, I can see an elderly lady ... and as I get closer, I recognize her---It's Momma! As much as I have looked forward to this day, I have also dreaded it, because I didn't know what reaction I would have.

Next to her, I suddenly see my wife and immediately think how hard it must have been for her to come to this place, and my mind floods with the pleasant memories of 30 years past.    There's a young man in a military uniform standing with his arm around her---My God!---he has to be my son!    Look at him trying to be the man without a tear in his eye.    I yearn to tell him how proud I am, seeing him standing tall, straight and proud in his uniform.

Momma comes closer and touches The Wall, and I feel the soft and gentle touch I had not felt in so many years.    Dad has crossed to this side of The Wall, and through our touch, I try to convey to her that Dad is doing fine and is no longer suffering or feeling pain.    I see my wife's courage building as she sees Momma touch The Wall and she approaches and lays her hand on my waiting hand.    All the emotions, feelings and memories of three decades past flash between our touch and I tell her that . . . it's all right . . . carry on with your life and don't worry about me . . . . I can see as I look into her eyes that she hears and a big burden has been lifted from her on wings of understanding.

I watch as they lay flowers and other memories of my past.    My lucky charm that was taken from me and sent to her by my CO . . . a tattered and worn teddy bear that I can barely remember having as I grew up as a child . . . and several medals that I had earned and were presented to my wife.    One is the Combat Infantry Badge that I am very proud of, and I notice that my son is also wearing this medal.    I had earned mine in the jungles of Vietnam and he had probably earned his in the deserts of Iraq.

I can tell that they are preparing to leave, and I try to take a mental picture of them together, because I don't know when I will see them again.    I wouldn't blame them if they were not to return, and can only thank them that I was not forgotten.    My wife and Momma near The Wall for one final touch, and so many years of indecision, fear and sorrow are let go.    As they turn to leave, I feel my tears that had not flowed for so many years, form as if dew drops on the other side of The Wall.

They slowly move away with only a glance over their shoulders.    My son suddenly stops and slowly returns.    He stands straight and proud in front of me and snaps a salute.    Something draws him near The Wall and he puts his hand upon etched stone and touches my tears that had formed as dew drops on the face of The Wall . . . and I can tell that he senses my presence and the pride and love I have for him.    He falls to his knees and the tears flow from his eyes and I try my best to reassure him that it's all right, and the tears do not make him any less of a man.    As he moves back wiping the tears from his eyes, he silently mouths, "God Bless you, Dad . . . ."

God Bless, YOU, Son . . . we WILL meet someday, but in the meanwhile, go on your way . . there is no hurry . . . there is no hurry at all.

As I see them walk off in the distance, I yell out to THEM and EVERYONE there today, as loud as I can: THANK YOU FOR REMEMBERING..........THANK YOU ALL FOR REMEMBERING. . . . and as others on this side of The Wall join in, I notice that the U.S. Flag, Old Glory, that so proudly flies in front of us everyday, is flapping and standing proudly straight out in the wind from our gathering numbers this day. . . and we shout again, and . . . again . . . . . . and again . . .

THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!

THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!

THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!

THANKS FOR REMEMBERING!

Written by:
APVNV Pat (Beanie) Camunes
D/4/31 196th Lt. Inf. Bde
Tay Ninh 12/66-4/67 Tam Ky 4/67-12/67

 

Happy Memorial Day, everyone.  Be safe.

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 11:14 | link | comments (1) |

For DJGroovySlug:

 

Banana Bread

 

6 TBS (3/4 stick) of unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 very, very ripe (brown) bananas
1 and 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup chopped walnuts

 

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Grease a 9x5 inch loaf pan and set it aside.

 

Beat the fruit flies off of your bananas (LOL!) then peel them, put them in a bowl, and mash them with a fork.  Set aside.

 

Cream the butter and sugar with an electric mixer until light and fluffy, about one minute.  Beat in the eggs and vanilla until smooth.  Stir in the mashed bananas.

 

In a seperate bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, and salt.  Fold the dry ingredients into the batter until just blended.  Stir in the nuts.  (Note: I use more nuts, and I don't chop them.  Just depends on what you like)

 

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan.  Bake until the bread is nicely browned and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, about one hour.  Cool the pan on a rack for five minutes before gently turning the bread onto the rack.  Continue cooling to room temperature before slicing.  (Note:  NO WAY!  Eat it while it's hot.  )

 

Here, a visual:

 

 

Yummy, I promise!

posted by: AmericanGirl at 23:49 | link | comments (4) |

Ryan has a date tomorrow night with someone who's cuter and smaller than I am.  My niece asked him to attend a "Daddy and Me" function with her.  He's kind of blown away with the enormity of it all, and she just thinks it's cool.  Like any first date, he's wondering what to wear and what to say, and she's wondering if he'll take her out for ice cream afterward.  I wonder when we lose that ability to just see a good thing for what it is, a good thing, into reading all sorts of other drama into it.

 

In honor of Memorial Day we'll be tree decorating again.  Last year we put a message in a bottle and released it into the ocean, and while it just couldn't have gone better, this little girl thinks it flopped.  Why?  Because her dad didn't get the letter.  This year, we have a simpler plan.  We'll put our messages in helium balloons and send them off to Heaven.  Brilliance.  Keeping it light.  I'm just not feeling it this year.  Not feeling what?  I'm not sure.   Maybe it's part numbness, part acceptance, part defense mechanism.  It's probably a good thing.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 19:30 | link | comments (6) |

I've become addicted to banana bread.  I suppose there could be worse things, right?  I love the way it smells when it's baking, which is significant, because it has to bake for an hour.  Even the Fed Ex man complimented me on my yummy smelling house today.  It's become a daily ritual - which is really sad, because one shouldn't need to bake an entire loaf if bread each day.  I can't help myself.  The biggest problem is keeping the bananas from being eaten when they're yellow.  They don't sell them brown.  You have to work hard to achieve the perfect stage of rotted banana, but it's oh so worth it.

 

And, a confession.  My dishwasher has been recalled.  More specifically:

 

Hazard: An electrical defect within the dishwashers’ wash motor wiring poses a risk of the motor overheating and possibly catching fire.

Remedy: Consumers with one of these dishwashers should immediately stop using it, disconnect the electric supply by shutting off the fuse or circuit breaker controlling it, and inform all users of the dishwasher not to use it due to the risk of fire. Consumers should call Whirlpool to determine if their dishwasher is included in this recall. If it is included, Whirlpool Corporation will schedule a free in-home repair.

So I called, and do you know when my in-home repair is scheduled?  June 3rd!  I can't be without my dishwasher for that long!  What do they expect me to do?  Wash the dishes by hand?  {Shudder}  Eat out all the time?  What about my banana bread?  It makes for dirty dishes, you know.

So, back to my confession.  That part about informing all the users of the dishwasher... I haven't quite done that yet.  And since the only other user of said dishwasher happens to be a firefighter, he probably won't be too happy about it.  I just keep saying to myself "Ok, this is the last load of dishes.  After this, I'll shut off the fuse and wait."  But then of course, as it's running, I find a glass that was left on the table, and before you know it, I'm loading the thing up again.  Now I feel guilty.  With my luck, the house will burn down, they'll trace it back to the dishwasher, then they'll find out that I already scheduled in-home repair for it, and...it'll just be bad.

Soooo, if anyone happens to read this, who happens to be a firefighter and/or a user of my dishwasher...I love you.   And I PROMISE, this is the last load.  Really.  Until June 3rd, I'm swearing off the dishwasher.  I suppose we could resort to paper plates.

 

Whew.  I feel as though a weight's been lifted.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 00:10 | link | comments (7) |

I'm feeling blue. 

 

I'm finding that everything is amplified during pregnancy, and it's unfortunate that this includes mood swings.  I had a wonderful weekend. Ryan had both days off and it was just nice.  I woke up feeling fine and now, a few hours later, I feel like crawling back into bed.  Just for nothing.  Well, maybe not nothing.  Maybe a series of phone calls that seperately wouldn't have amounted to much, but all in a row just triggered some stuff.  We're so weird,  us humans.  Sometimes I think about the world that I'm bringing a child into and it makes me really, really sad.  I know that there's plenty of good, particularly here, in the little bubble that is our immediate world, but I seem to be unable to focus on the good at the moment.  Not when the bad is so overwhelmingly bad.  Sometimes we can fool ourselves into happiness with the good, but the bad, it's there.  It lingers and hangs overhead, and sometimes it just drips down.  This is one of those times.  It'll pass, I know, and I'll wonder what the heck I was even thinking about.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 16:41 | link | comments (5) |

According to this very scientific chunk of the web, our child has:

 

A 13.6% chance of having blue eyes

A 13.6% chance of having green eyes

and

A 72.7% chance of having brown eyes

 

Um, that doesn't even equal 100%.  But it was still interesting.

 

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 00:21 | link | comments (9) |

Everything that I ever thought about a day at the spa was wrong, wrong, wrong.  Everyone should go, right now, to get rubbed by strangers.  It would be the start of world peace, I tell  you.  It was wonderful!  So wonderful that I'm willing to admit I was completely wrong.  So wonderful that I wanted to take the girl home with me.  Really.  I was like that guy at the strip club who thinks that if he's really charming, the stripper will fall in love and go home with him.  It was so wonderful that I'm going back, and taking Ryan with me next time.  He's way more charming than I am.    I just have to wait until I'm out of my first trimester.  I can't get a clear answer on when that is exactly, but according to the spa, it's 12 weeks.  That's about 2 days away! Though really, if it's a TRImester, shouldn't it be more like 13.3 weeks?  I'm getting off subject.  Go to the spa.  Be charming, and if you can get the girl to go home with you, come back and tell me ALL about it.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 16:10 | link | comments (3) |

I just have one question for you.  How cool is my milk?:

 

That's right. Captain America.  And wait, there's more:

Yes, it's blue.  I'm not much of a milk drinker, but I am a sucker for a gimmick.  It's vanilla flavored milk.  Yum!  Who can resist Captain America?   It says right on the bottle that he fights against all evil that threaten the freedom which we hold dear.  How could I not support a cause like that?  And besides, it's BLUE!

 

Ok, tomorrow is spa day, so I won't be here.  I'll be off getting rubbed by strangers all day.  I know that after reading this entry, you're feeling all empty inside, wondering how you'll possibly get through the day without my very inspiring blog.  You'll have to be strong, my friends.  I'll be back on Thursday. 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 23:39 | link | comments (7) |

I'm not in Brooklyn.  Mostly because Ryan begged me not to go by myself.  Meeting people there - very capable non-pregnant people, did nothing to sway him.  This launches a discussion - or at least a thought process, that he wouldn't have stopped me if it were just me.  Is the sudden overprotectiveness during pregnancy due to the fact that they think you'll be unable to defend yourself while in such a delicate condition, or because they love the baby more than you?  (Irrational pregnancy fear #7,325 - There are so many of them!)  The truth is, I've been afraid of Metrotech since I worked in banking years ago, and he knows that.  The real truth is, I probably wanted him to talk me out of it in the first place.  Girls are weird.  In the absence of playing hookie, I shall waste time by blogging.  A not so silent protest.

 

Irrational pregnancy fear #7,326 - The "Best Odds Diet".  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  There's this famous book called "What to Expect When You're Expecting".  It's like the bible of pregnancy, or so I'm told.  So I figure I have to read it.  The pregnant people on the message board I read for giggles quote from it all the time.  A valuable resource, right?  So I was reading it yesterday, and I got to the part about the diet, which is named because in theory, following it gives your baby the best odds for a healthy life.  (You can sense the guilt that's built into the name, right?)

 

The diet basically consists of leafy green vegetables, lean broiled chicken breast, something called "Power-Packed Oatmeal" (They provide the recipe) and skim milk.  There's a little more to it, but not much.  Just as I was thinking "They CAN'T be serious", I see a little parapgraph titled "Best Odds Cheating".  So whew - of course they don't expect you to follow this insane diet, right?  Not when you're actually craving unmentionables?

 

And I quote:

"The Best-Odds Diet recognizes that all of us slip up-Really need to slip up- Every once in a while.  To eliminate guilt, the diet allows for cheating.  So once a week give in to something that is not quite perfect but not totally terrible:  a bagel, some bread, or pancakes made with refined flour; frozen yogurt or ice milk made with sugar; a bran or whole grain muffin made with sugar or honey.  Once a month, treat yourself to something terribly wicked:  a slice of cake or pie; an ice-cream sundae; a candy bar.  And don't cheat at all if you find that you can't stop once you get started."

 

Are they kidding??  Having some bread is "cheating"??  A whole grain muffin?  I've decided that this book is not actually a pregnancy guide, but propaganda.  It's birth control.  Either that or, maybe my poor baby is doomed, and I'm "terribly wicked". 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:55 | link | comments (9) |

Moonglow asked if I have a cat.  Well, I don't - but a cat has me.  We call him Smoke:

Cute, yes?  He comes by every morning for a snack and a tickle behind his ears.  He has the "I'm a poor little starving stray kitty" look down perfectly.  He comes to the back door and stares at me with a really sad look until I get up and give him some Tender Vittles.  Then he goes back to what must be his real home.  He's too pretty and clean to be a real stray, I think.  But then, he has no collar, and he eats heartily every morning, so I pretend I am his owner.  You know, without the fuss of having to vacuum up cat hair all the time.

 

Ok, revenge, revenge, revenge.  You guys are good at it, right?  Yesterday my brother tricked me into eating a vomit flavored jelly bean.  For serious.  Vomit flavored!!  Damn that Harry Potter - why?  WHY??  Why is there a need for such a vile thing??  Even worse, he didn't even have the guts to do it himself.  He set up my sweet little innocent nephew, who offered three normal jelly beans before the vomit one which, by the way, is by FAR the most disgusting thing I have ever put in my mouth.  Ever.  (They also come in "booger" flavor, which Ryan says is "interesting".)  No amount of brushing your teeth can fully rid you of the memory of anything vomit flavored that isn't even your own vomit.  Ok, I can't talk about it anymore, but he will pay.  Dearly.

 

I wouldn't feel like I was being fair if I didn't mention that this is National Emergency Services Week.  Woo!  Tomorrow there's a competition in Brooklyn for EMT's and Paramedics and I really, really want to blow off work and go watch, but there's this nagging presentation I have to do on Friday, and I'm already taking Wednesday off.  I need to invent an excuse to go and look at some ads in Brooklyn.  I think there might be some trees blocking them or something.  I better investigate.   I don't think I mentioned that Ryan's little brother is currently enrolled in the EMS Academy.  I have no doubt that he will soon be an outstanding EMT, and then an outstanding Paramedic, and eventually, an outstanding Firefighter.  Which is good, because I was just thinking that I needed someone else to worry about.  (The line forms to the left.)  This further proves the theory that firefighting is actually a gene that runs in families.  There's just no other explaination.

 

Ok, one more word about Survivor - YAY!!!!!!! 

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 16:17 | link | comments (8) |

It's just one of those days. 

 

I took a vitamin, without fully thinking it through, and didn't wash it down with enough water, and now it's stuck.  Not quite up, not quite down - somewhere behind my collarbone.  It's not cutting off my air supply or anything (obviously) but it's there and it's very annoying.  Not nice.

 

Evil sister in law screamed at me this morning.  It seems I've violated some sacred vow concerning child custody by telling my niece that I would take her shopping today, on the day she's with her mom.  I just didn't think about it.  The girl is practically an adult, she makes her own social schedule, for the most part.  Is that bad?  I can only see her on my brother's time?  Ugh.  It's just not even worth complaining about, in all of it's ridiculousness.  "Stop interfering in my marriage." says the crazy woman.  The crazy woman who, when I got married, signed the card "Congratulations!  You've finally managed to marry your brother."  Yipes.  Ok, I'm done.  Really.

 

I have an overwhelmingly strong and sudden desire to learn how to surf.  Right now.  Why didn't I ever learn how to surf?  f you don't know how, and you're not pregnant, you should learn now, before it's too late.

 

And here's the most troublesome thing:  I have a craving for something so horrid, it just can't be healthy.  I thought it was just a passing thing, but it's not passing.  My mom says that cravings are your body's way of making sure you get all the nutrients you need, so you should always give into them.  Then again, she also says that I shouldn't put my arms over my head, because that makes the umbilical cord wrap around the baby's neck.  I'm not telling you what it is, because you'll just think I'm gross, and my fragile ego couldn't handle that.

 

Have a good weekend, everyone.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 18:08 | link | comments (16) |

Visual for IML

 

Cat Emotions:

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 17:19 | link | comments (4) |

I didn't have a chance to post Thursday poetry yesterday.  And really, it feels so unimportant, so you should just skip it and read the post below it instead, which contains the important stuff.  Still, the birthday mentioned in this poem is only two days off from mine, so I can't resist it.  She just might be my favorite poet.

On Being Born The Same Exact Day Of The Same Exact Year As Boy George
by Denise Duhamel

 

We must have clamored for the same mother, hurried for
the same womb.
I know it now as I read that my birthday is his.
Since the first time I saw his picture, I sensed something—
and with a fierce bonding and animosity
began following his career.

Look where I am and look where he is!
There is a book documenting his every haircut
while all my image-building attempts go unnoticed, even
by my friends.
I'm too wimpy to just dye my curls red
or get them straightened. I, sickeningly moral,

talked about chemicals when I should have been
hanging out with George's pal, Marilyn.
He would have set me right:
Stop your whining and put on this feather tuxedo. Look,
do you want to be famous or not?

In the latest articles, Boy George is claiming he's not
really happy. Hmm, I think, just like me.
When he comes to New York and stays in hotels in
Gramercy Park
maybe he feels a pull to the Lower East Side ,
wanders towards places where I am, but not knowing me,
doesn't know why.

One interviewer asks if he wishes he were a woman.
Aha! I read on with passion: and a poet?—I bet you'd like
that—
You wouldn't have to sing anymore, do those tiring tours.
George, we could switch. You could come live at my place,
have some privacy, regain your sense of self.

So I begin my letter. Dear Boy George,
Do you ever sit and wonder what's gone wrong?
If there's been some initial mistake?
Well, don't be alarmed, but there
has been.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:07 | link | comments |

For the record, I'm home and not anywhere near that massive collapse on the West Side Highway.

 

I just have to say this.  We were in the car, when my boss got a call that said I should call my mother.   She called the office and is looking for me.  Oh crap, right?  So I turned on my cell phone to find thirteen messages - half of which were snarky messages such as "Where are you?" and "Why do you even have a cell phone?"  Brothers.  Sheesh.  So, after some initial panic, I get in touch with my mom.  Cancer free.  My mom is cancer free!!!!!!  Wahooo!!

 

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 22:39 | link | comments (9) |

I've had all kinds of different things to post about, but not enough time or energy to post them.  So know I'm going to jam them all into one (too long) post.  I tend to be verbose.  I shall try to be succint.

 

I really thought I had this morning sickness thing kicked, until the other day I had the displeasure of driving around a client who had dog breath.  Stunk up the whole car.  I tried the old "Mint?  Gum?  Please?" route, but he just said "No thanks."  People of the world, never EVER refuse a breath mint!  I thought everyone knew that.  No one offers you a breath mint out of the goodness of their hearts.  They're trying to tell you something.  Listen  carefully.  Particularly if the person offering is a pregnant person with a queasy stomach.  Please.

 

He's not my client.  I only took him for this ride because my coworker is serving jury duty.  I know that he's only faking this model citizen crap to get out of doing the rides with Dog Breath.  I know this because I found out that I have to drive around with him again tomorrow, because jury duty is still going strong, and before I even had a chance to groan about it, he said "Thank God, cause that guy smells like ass."  He's lucky I like him.  This time my boss will be coming along.  Maybe we can find an Alpo restaurant for lunch.  Sadly, I'm doomed.  Driving around with Dog Breath, closed windows, in the rain, through midtown Manhattan is going to be more than I can bear.  Perhaps you need to be from New York to appreciate why this is such a dismal situation for a girl from Long Island.  Girls from Long Island don't drive in Manhattan.  It's against the law.  With any luck, we'll crash early on, and I can spend the rest of the day in a nice, clean smelling hospital.

 

Ryan told me that the secret to driving in Manhattan is to just pay attention to the front end of your car, and don't worry about what's going on behind you.  This works, he says, because everyone else is going to be doing the same thing.  What does he know?  When he drives in Manhattan, he's in a fire truck.  I suppose that theory works out well for him.

 

Ok, new subject.  My neice is going to the prom.  The prom!  When my brother told me, I urged him to share how that makes him feel.  He doesn't think it's a big deal.  This is because he's never been a sixteen year old girl going to the prom.  Last night she came by and asked me if I would go dress shopping with her.  As we watched The Amazing Race, I showed her the pictures from my prom, and then she said "Maybe I'll just ask my mom to come dress shopping with me."  LOL!  I assured her that my dress and gigantic hair were perfectly stylish at the time.  Again, maybe you have to be from New York, circa 1990, to appreciate what my prom pictures might have looked like.

 

Am I the only one who was bawling at the end of The Amazing Race last night?  Whew.  Am I the only one that wishes mildly bad things on Rob and Amber, whose final straw was actually planning and carrying out their wedding on TV?  I'll bet ten billion dollars that Amber ends up on "A Baby Story" within the next two years.  Media whores.

 

By the way, that show makes me cry too.  Every single time.

 

I got my very first Mother's Day gift ever, and it consists of a trip to a very fancy day spa.  I have issues with this.  I represent the .001% of the population who's just not into getting a professional massage.  I think it's weird to pay someone to rub you.  I don't understand, for the life of me, why none of you people do.  When I think about it too hard, it doesn't put any of you in a very good light.  Ryan is fully aware of my issues, but was hopeless to stop this running train, as all of the boys chipped in and presented the gift to all the moms (Mine, Ryan's, two sisters in law) and he didn't want me to feel left out.  It will be fun to hang out with the girls, and bless their hearts, they didn't include Anna, but still, I'm squeamish.  While trying not to laugh, Ryan assures me that I can "just say no" to anything I'm uncomfortable with.

 

My babysitting stint has ended, and for all of my mock complaining, I was so sad in in my quiet house for a couple of days.  While it was nice to be able to fall asleep without keeping one eye and one ear open, I missed them - the craziness, the fun, the mess, the constant viewings of "Lucy Must be Traded, Charlie Brown" - I missed it all.  This is beyond silly, as the kids haven't gone anywhere.  They're right around the corner.   But I'm not in control anymore.  Perhaps I have power trip issues.

 

The other night I did go out for a drive, to clear my head, as I often do.  I had removed the soundtrack to "The Little Mermaid 2" and was ready for some un-kid friendly tunes.  I didn't have Blink 182 and settled for Green Day.  In an epiphany, I realized that I wasn't missing the kids, they weren't gone.  I was missing their father.  I was sad about all that he's missing out on, and I feel unworthy of the value that is placed on my being able to share with them the things that he should be able to share with them.  I'm sad that he won't ever know my baby, and my baby won't know him, and I'm sad about the senseless reasons that he's not here for it all.  Not fair.  Then the CD was playing:

 

"And I think it's alright
That I do what I like
'cause that's the way I wanna live.
It's how I give
And I'm still giving."

 

If you believe in spirits, or signs, or anything at all, it was just one of those perfect moments where I felt like it wasn't just random luck that this song played at that moment.  It was the tousling of my hair and the sideways grin and the "Come on, I need you to be there for my kids, so you have to be strong..." and I swear I could feel him.  The song continues:

"Gotta make a plan
Gotta do what's right
Can't run around in circles
If you wanna build a life
But I don't wanna make a plan
for a day far away
While I'm young and while I'm able
All I wanna do is...."

 

Fill in the blank.

 

Consider yourself all caught up. 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 16:32 | link | comments (7) |

This morning we heard our baby's heartbeat.  Wow.  Wow Wow Wowowowowowowow.  There's really no other word that fits other than  "Wowowowowowowow".  SO cool.  There's a person inside me!

 

I learned that I've lost six pounds in a month.  What a diet plan!  So if I'm losing weight, why do I suddenly have no waist?  Why do I want to spend all of my days in nice, elastic yoga pants?  The weight is just being distributed in other places, I think.  Eh.  Whatever.  You hear a tiny little heartbeat, sounding like a herd of horses, and it renders you willing to sacrifice anything, including your girlish figure, for that little life.  {Sigh} 

 

My babysitting event is almost coming to a close.  It's been quite an adventure.  An adventure filled with conversations like the one I had with my nephew, who's about to turn four (how did THAT happen??) this morning:

 

"I have good news, and bad news."

 

"Ok.  What's the good news?"

 

"Um...nothing."

 

"Oooookay, what's the bad news?"

 

"Ariel went to look for human treasure, and now she's stuck in the toilet."

 

Yeah, it's been a blast.  You'll remember this sweet little boy from such posts as "STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!":

 

 

Well, the day after the infamous bear was recovered, I found a new sign, stuck to my bedroom door:

 

 

When I asked him what this one said, he said "It says I love you".      Soon after, his sister slugged him for getting into her very best "My Little Pony" stickers.

 

And all that pretty much sums up why posting has been light these days.  I'm so behind on my blog reading, I may never catch up.  Miss you guys.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 16:43 | link | comments (12) |

Thursday Poetry

 

Only Cherries
by Kenneth Patchen

 

They don't want me around
Said I couldn't have no cherries
Or watch them pick cherries
Or even stand near the table
Where one of those Kulter-Kookie-Klucks
With the big fat-legged smile
Was fixing to pop a nice red cherry
In on top of his gold spoon
You know I don't like those people
Who act as if a cherry
Was something they'd personally thought up

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 21:32 | link | comments |

Today is International Firefighter's Day!

 

 

What better way to salute the firefighters of the world than with cool pictures?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's actually required by law that you hug a firefighter today. Ok, I made that up.  But you should do it anyway.  Or, if you're the less demonstrative type, you could just say "Thanks".

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:46 | link | comments (5) |

 Look who's home!

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:50 | link | comments (4) |

So, I have one of those "What would you do?" type situations.  Particularly for the men, but really anyone.

 

On Friday I took the kids to the firehouse for a visit.  My nephew brought along this little stuffed bear that he's especially fond of some of the time.  (He's very fickle at the ripe old age of almost four)  At some point the bear was handed off to Ryan, who stuck it in his back pocket.

 

Now there's this girl who walks by the firehouse every day on her way to/from school. So she's in high school - let's assume she's about 16 or so.  She has a history of being a bit of a pain in the ass around there.  As much as they try to be polite yet distant, she typically tries to figure out some obnoxious thing to do to get their attention if she can.  Usually she's with a couple of friends, and it's just somewhat of a game to her/them, I guess. 

 

So on this day, Ryan was out by the open bay door and she saw the bear in his back pocket and grabbed it.  He tried to peacefully get it back, explained it was his nephew's bear, etc...but she thought it was a fun game, which is pretty typical of her.  She would pass it back and fourth between her friends, at one point she put it under her shirt, and then she ran, probably hoping he would chase her, which he didn't do. 

 

So now the bear is gone.    This has been the source of much angst, for both the little guy and the big guy.  But really, what could he have done differently?  Like he said, it's not like he could have wrestled her for it.  (Which is probably exactly what she wanted him to do)  Now, if I were there at the time, I totally would have kicked her ass. LOL   But I was inside and unaware, and I can just picure the FDNY scandal that would ensue if Ryan so much as invaded her personal space, so we're stuck.

 

So the question is, should we let it go and let my nephew be sad?  Every couple of hours he sighs and says "I sure miss my bear" and it's breaking my heart.  There's an excellent chance that the subject will come up this afternoon when this girl walks by again.  Would it be bad of Ryan to threaten her?  How about having a faux police presence?  (Which could be arranged, and would probably scare the crap out of her, but of course it's totally inapropriate, even if she deserves it and could benefit from a scare like that.)  It's important to be politically correct, I suppose, but at the same time I wonder what lesson we're teaching the kids here - all of them.  Do I need to go down there and beat on her?     

 

So, what would you do?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 16:57 | link | comments (18) |

See my pregnancy ticker?  It says nine weeks and one day.  Nine weeks!!  I've been told the morning all day random sickness peaks at 9 weeks, then tapers off and goes away.  This means that I'm over the hump.  Six more days, and I'll be 1/4 of the way through.  Four more weeks and I'll enter the second trimester.  Woohoo!

 

If it weren't for being so sick and exhausted all the time, the first trimester would be awesome.  Your belly is still flat and you have fantastic boobs.  Alas, I suppose it's all about balance.  I hear the second trimester is by far the best.  We'll see.

 

I was reading this book that my doctor gave me called "Preparing for a Healthy Pregnancy".  It has a list, titled "Your responsibilities" that is alarming.  For example:

 

Share with your partner your ideas and worries about how pregnancy is affecting the both of you, because everyone has some feelings of doubt.

Allow yourself and your partner to adjust to both negative and positive feelings about this pregnancy; Besides your partner, you may want someone else you can share all of your feelings with who won't laugh or judge you.

You may have some feelings from time to time of not being able to cope.  This can happen almost anytime during pregnancy.

Pregnancy may seem like a more stressful time of feeling all sorts of emotions; You may be happy and sad without any good reason.

 

Ok, that one is very true. 

 

They really should have two seperate books.  One to read when you feel like hearing nice things, like "It's a good time to take  a nap" and one to read when you're feeling low, which will advise you to find someone who won't laugh or judge you.  Yikes!  I'm sad for pregnant people who have to seek out someone like that.  I'm even more sad for the person who dares to laugh at a pregnant person.  We're a force to be reckoned with. 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:54 | link | comments (4) |

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