I love a good glass of wine. And when I say good, I don’t mean that in an I know what I’m talking about sort of way. No, unfortunately all those educational wine tours of the Napa Valley were wasted on my undiscriminating palate. I don’t know a wine with good aroma from a stinky glass of squished grapes. But when I find something I like, and can enjoy it in my thin-lipped, over-sized, free glass from Twomey?
So tonight, the baby is in bed, Alison is out swimming with her dad, and I am free to enjoy the bottle of White Merlot I finally found in stock. I just had to find my favorite wine glass first. Is it telling that boxes of baby food have taken over the cupboard where the wine glasses are kept, and I only just now noticed?
Category: Life in general
Categories
Little faces
We’re still not getting puppies, despite the fact that we visit them several times every day. And despite a certain 4-year-old’s promises that she’d pick up the poo if we let her have just one. She even offered up her fish, Alluah, as a sacrificial lamb. Unfortunately, I am the only one who remembers to feed Alluah and clean his bowl, so I’m highly doubting the longevity of any promises made about picking up real poop. Also? Alison thinks the puppies will continue to be this approximate size and cuteness, forever.
And cute they are. Just yesterday the little poopers started walking, exploring the world around them. It’s adorable how they scoot backwards and how their big round bellies are too heavy for their hind legs, causing a sprawl followed by a plop. This one even played with my fingers yesterday, complete with a little growl. Oh, puppies, puppies, puppies.
And Proud Mama, can’t forget her.
Since I’ve been hanging around our tenant’s house at all hours of the day, I’ve gotten some information about how Girly-girl (I’m not sure “Shelbi” fits, so she’s just Girly for now) and her pups ended up there. It seems that where she lived before, there were other dogs. One of them, a female, stole and killed five of Girly-girl’s pups. People? If there is anything that will win my heart faster than a fuzzy cute face and gentle demeanor, it is a sad story. My heart bleeds, I tell you, bleeds.
Categories
Uh-oh, people. UH. OH.
You all remember how Jeremy likes a deal, right? Well, anyone who knows Jeremy knows that, too. So when one of our tenants happened to end up in the possession of some items he thought we might like in exchange for part of this month’s rent, he asked Jeremy about them. My answer was, We need those like a hole in the head: NO. And so it was, and I forgot about it.
Then yesterday, Blythe and I took a stroll down to the mailbox and I was trying to think of something to do while we waited for Jeremy’s wacky cake to come out of the oven (more on that later). And then I remembered the items our tenant mentioned he had, and I thought, Hey, Blythe might like to see that.
Therein lies my mistake, invisible friends. Let me just pass around the collection plate first. Feel free to drop in a heart or two. Because those items are these:
And this:
Categories
Happy Birthday
My Wonderful Husband,
Remember our first vacation?
Yowza, do we look young. You were 25; I think I had just turned 21. You still had those braces!
Remember how we spent your 25th birthday? We had enchiladas, cake and ice cream at your mom and dad’s house. Today, on your 35th, it makes me laugh to know we’ll be doing the exact same thing.
I can recall every single one of your birthdays in vivid detail. The surprise party, the trips to Orlando and Las Vegas (and the infamous red dress!), the dinners, the big TV and special cake, the BBQ. I try so much to do something special that’s just for you. This year you said you didn’t want anything, and I’m trying to oblige. Instead, I am going to play our little word game, right here on the internet for all the world to see:
your integrity
your kindness
your generosity
your willingness to compromise
your dedication
your work ethic
your growth
you are an amazing dad
your hands
your ability to read my moods
your concentration
the way you learn from every day things
your eyes
the way your lips move when I’m upset and trying to tell you about it
because you love me more now than you did then
your patience
the way you listen
our late night talks
how you never criticise me
your pride
your charisma
your smile
your outrageous laugh
the fact that you never thought you’d end up with a “bookish” girl
you don’t bother me when my nose is in a book
you tell me I’m beautiful
you kiss me and mean it
you know when to hug me
you know when to leave me alone
you respect me for who I am
you think I’m strong… for a skinny girl
you do that pressure point thing for me when I get a migraine
it doesn’t bother you to spend so much time with my family
you teach me new things all the time
you don’t complain when things don’t get done
the way you used to make me tortillas and eggs, grilled cheese and tomato soup, and ramen noodles
you want to know my best friends
you do most of the work around the ranch, and never complain
you pick stuff up from the store when I call you at work
you don’t get irritated when I call you at work
you want to understand the things I care about
you have become an amazing communicator
your view from the rear
your willingness to apologize
you accept my apologies without hesitation
you put up with my crazy ideas
you work hard to trust, even if it doesn’t come naturally to you
your willingness to share your emotions and thoughts with me
you are so easy to please
the way you say you are a simple man
you will eat anything I put in front of you
you appreciate what we have
and your lucky number 53:
you are the only man I will ever want; the only one I will ever need
There are so many other things that make me love you… these are just a few!
Happy Birthday!
I love you every day,
Your Wife
June 1, 2008
One year ago today, I found myself in the emergency room of a city Hospital. Nothing had yet been done to stop the bleeding from my uterus. Fortunately, it was minimal as long as I stayed in a horizontal position. Jeremy sat me up every few hours so that he could pump my breast milk for Blythe. I was too weak to do it for myself, so he stayed by my side around the clock and learned more than he ever wanted to know about the intricacies of Breasts At Work. Our friends and family took turns making the hour drive to pick up the milk. I know it went through more than a few people’s minds to suggest that I cave in and let them feed Blythe formula. But I was determined, and they love me so they kept their opinions to themselves.
Eventually it was decided that it would be unsafe to try a D&C in the emergency room, as they would have done with most women who had retained particles of the placenta after birth. There was not a doctor on staff who had ever performed the procedure on a woman with a funny bicornuate uterus, which made the situation rather precarious. The obstetrician in charge of my case begged the staff to let us slip into the operating room between surgeries, so that I wouldn’t be waiting all day. Since it was typically a 20 minute procedure, tops, they let us go right in.
They prepped me and promised that they were administering medication that would be out of my system in a few short hours, so that I could continue to pump. Little did we know that I would end up pumped so full of stuff that my milk would be tainted for days. Four OB’s were going to be collaborating on the procedure, and one of them was going to be operating an ultrasound machine so that they could clearly see what they were doing. I told Jeremy I’d see him in half an hour, and that I loved him. As I was being wheeled away, I tried to be strong and not show him how terrified I was. But once he was out of my line of vision, I began to sob uncontrollably. Within minutes, though, I was completely unaware of anything but deep, dreamless sleep.
As Jeremy waited anxiously in the waiting room, watching the clock and expecting someone to come and tell him everything was alright, nothing at all was going right behind the OR doors. The OB’s were able to dislodge the piece of placenta from my uterine wall, but it had grown into the septum that separates the two lobes of my funny bicornuate uterus. As they dug it out, I began to bleed in earnest. I lost an entire liter of blood before they were able to stop the hemorrhage. Three hours later, Jeremy was a complete wreck when someone finally came out to tell him what had happened. They were able to save my life, they told him, and time would tell if they saved my uterus, but if I were to become pregnant again it would most likely kill me.
I spent two days in the intensive care unit, and another day in the mother-baby unit of the city Hospital. Jeremy had a little fold out chair next to my bed where he slept and spent his birthday. Any visitors were roped into pumping for me, and thus was the beginning of my breasts becoming completely de-sexualized. I think the only person we let slide was my dad, because that would just be weird. The day before I was released, Jeremy and my sister, Sheila, surprised me with a visit from Alison and Blythe.
After they left, I was overcome with so many emotions. I was grateful to the blood donors whose selfless gift gave me what I needed to live; indebted to the doctors and nurses who saved my life and took care of me; blown away by the sacrifices our family and friends made to take care of our kids. Most of all, I felt loved beyond measure by my husband, who faced countless worries as he waited, helpless, to know that I was going to be alright.
I know that life is sweet. Even as I battled months of painfully slow recovery made worse by post partum depression, I had a million things to be thankful for. This past year has been… the worst and the best I’ve ever known. But looking back I can say that I’ve come through a stronger, softer, gentler person who doesn’t take even a single moment for granted.