Monday, March 31, 2014

Monday Memoirs: That time I put my foot in my mouth



Not the first time, surely wasn't the last.

I was waiting for my friend Eli one Saturday night outside of his dorm. I was a bit tipsy (it was college, what do you want me to say?!) and I was sent over to the guys dorm to retrieve my friend's bottle of Smirnoff she had paid someone to buy her earlier that day.

A guy named Michael walked up to me and sat on the chewing gum covered bench beside me.  He was a real sweetheart, total hottie and had some serious muscle-age.

He was a biology major just like myself and we had a few classes, so we had talked a bit throughout the year about our lives.

He had a girlfriend back home, and from what he had said in the past about her, she wasn't very good to him. Cheating, lying, the whole shebang.

We had been small-talking the entire time, talking about the paper that we were supposed to write, the weather, that bozo over there who needed to pull his pants up off of his rear, you know, the usual.

Finally, I slurred out loud "so whennare you gonna dump that girl who treats you like sssshitt?"

He got really quiet, and looked down.

After a few moments, he looked up and said "uh, well, she died..."

DOUBLE TRIPLE SHIT.

He continues, saying "yeah, over Fall break, I went home and we were all playing a prank on someone. During it, she had a heart attack and died. No one, not even her parents, knew she had a heart condition..."

I just stammered for a minute or two, thinking "is this guy for real? Is this a line or is he serious?!"

I apologized profusely, probably way more than I should have.

I saw him a few more times that semester, but the last I heard he moved out to Colorado to climb trees or something from an Old Spice commercial.

I wish I could say "lesson learned..." but I still put my foot in my mouth all the time.




Thursday, March 27, 2014

Good Things

cake pop happiness

Awesome journal at Marshall's yesterday

Here are some good things that are making me happy...

--One--

  #BaseballIsBack

I'm only a few days away from the Red Sox playing their season opener in Baltimore on Monday.  As you may remember, I am a devoted Sox fan and can't wait for my bearded gentleman to get back in the game.  I'm not looking for a World Series this year, I'm just happy the game is back. 

Fever Pitch

Fever Pitch

--Two--
Kicking the Soda Habit


This marks my 115th attempt at giving soda the middle finger.
I have been really good all year, since I began and followed the No-Sugar diet plan with Lift back in January. I can honestly say that I feel so much better without it.
I still occasionally may have a sip or two, especially if that's all someone offers to drink, but I mainly drink coffee, tea and water now.  

--Three--the Honey with Ca$h Money

Want to score a $50 GC to Target?
If you follow me via Twitter and GFC, then consider yourself already having two entries.
But you must head over to my homegirl Holly's page first to enter. She's giving away two $50 e-gift cards.

If you're not following me on the various social channels, take a moment and click over to follow.  

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Letter to Milo: Dirty Kiss

Seriously, I love my little boy.
He is growing so much and these days...well, he really says the darndest things.
------
Dearest,

I had to share a quick story with you about what you recently said to me.  Currently, you are 28 months old and your vocabulary has finally exploded with all sorts of silly words and phrases.  You are an open book that can now be found in the 'humor' section of the library, right next to the 'adorable kiddos' aisle.

The other night, your father and I planned a date.  Your Grammy came over and as we were leaving, you sensed something was about to go wrong. You began panicking and crying, the types of sobs we haven't heard since your separation anxiety subsided about 5 months ago.

Grammy kept saying "But Mommy and Daddy are going on a date; you and I are going to stay here and play."

And what did you say? "I wanna go on a date toooooo..."

Cue the sad violin music.

We leave, despite the sobs and sorrow, only to find ourselves at the local Olive Garden.  If this restaurant chain is no longer around in the future when you read this, then I'll tell you a bit about it.

Olive Garden serves delicious Italian food.  My favorite is baked ziti that has cheese for days while your Father partakes in their stuffed portobello ravioli. When you place your order, a salad with dressing and garlic bread sticks are delivered to your table.

Yum, right? The bread sticks render you incapable of walking into a room without your breath preceding you.  Garlic breath takes on a whole new meaning.

So later that night, after we send your Grammy home and force you into your way-too-small Thomas & Friends pajamas, I was holding your hand while you were laying in your crib.

Right now, you ask us to hold your hand by saying "wock hand?"  Don't ask; I have no clue what "wock" means because you say "hold" very prominently and I know that's now what you are saying.

So while I'm sitting on the floor by your crib in the dark, "wocking" your hand, you sit up and ask for the millionth kiss in the last few minutes.

For the last few kisses, I have been holding my breath when I smooched you on the lips, but this time, I guess I just forgot.

You immediately threw your head back and said "yucky!"

I paused. "What's wrong buddy? What's yucky?"

"Ewwww-weee, mommy"

"What's ewww-weee, baby?"

"Dat was dirty kiss."

Whaaaaat?

"What do you mean baby? Did it stink?"

"Yes, peee--uuuuu!" *waving your hand back and forth in front of your nose*

Needless to say, I didn't eat the leftover bread stick the next day at work. I just tossed it because I'd much rather my sweet little boy not associate me with "dirty kisses."

**Letter To Milo is a series of post sent via email to Milo.  
Keith started an email address for him when we came home from the hospital after Milo was born, and we routinely email him funny stories or updates about his development.  
We hope, someday when he's older, he will enjoy these stories about his life.



Monday, March 24, 2014

Monday Memoirs: That time I birthed a baby

I've never written about Milo's birth on here, and that seems so odd to me because that's usually a go-to post for all family bloggers.  I didn't start this blog until he was a little over 1 year old, so I guess I've never really sat down and put it together.

Thankfully, though, I have been able to write most of this post with the help of my story written while I was still in the hospital.  The nurse had woke me up in the middle of the night to administer some sort of medicinal product, and I was left alone with a very tired and snoring husband and nothing on television.

I feverishly pulled out my pregnancy journal, shuffled my tired body over to the armchair in the dim lamp light and began feverishly writing what I could remember that had happened earlier that day.

Here, is my story. Or rather, Milo's.


Milo was due to make his appearance on November 8th, 2011, but on November 1st, I left work a bit early because I wasn't feeling well.

Earlier that morning, I had my 39 week appointment at the doctor's office.  The doctor was concerned that Milo would be too large at 40 weeks, so we had an ultrasound scheduled that morning.  Keith was there, and while we had hoped to see detail of our tiny bundle of joy in black and white blurbs, we had no luck. He was measuring 8lbs 3oz on screen, and the doctor checked me in the exam room.  

After leaving work early, I drove home and went to bed.  I woke up when Keith got home just a few hours later.  I was feeling much better and super guilty for leaving work early for nothing.

That night, after dinner, I was chatting with my mom on the phone when I felt a twinge in my back.  The feeling lasted a few seconds.  Then another one.  I didn't say anything to her, but when I ended the call I told Keith.  For the rest of the night, I was having contractions anywhere from 4 minutes apart to 15 minutes apart. Very inconsistent.

I tossed and turned all night. I was excited, frightened, elated, terrified.

I woke up around 5 am on November 2nd and decided to shower.  When Keith woke up at 6am, we made the twenty minute drive to the hospital.

We checked into the hospital at 7am and I answered a 15-million question survey with a nurse so they could hear all about my medical history.

Unfortunately, around 10:30am, the doctor decided to send me home because I was only dilated 2cm.  The worst part was that my mother had just arrived after a 3 hour drive.  We had called her when we got there that morning, and she had just made it into town.

By noon, we were back home where I could rest and wait until the contractions got stronger.  

By 3:45pm, I couldn't even nap. I was laying in bed by myself crying because all I wanted to do was sleep but it was impossible.

At 5pm, we drove back to the hospital, and the nurse at check-in knew I meant business. 

They got me into a room, and I was really not doing well.  The nurses kept trying to encourage me to take some pain medicine.  I refused, because pain medicine makes me vomit.  They kept saying "Oh no, this stuff is taken by pregnant women all the time and they do fine on it..." 

I obliged, and when the medicine hit my IV, I immediately felt hot and dizziness took over.  I couldn't open my eyes, because I was so dizzy. Keith was wearing a checkered shirt and each time I looked at it, it appeared to be dancing all on its own. I hated not being able to look at him!  My mother-in-law was applying cool washcloths to my forehead while my husband fanned me with a magazine. ALL.NIGHT.LONG. I can't believe they fanned me all night. 

For the next 4 hours, I was so sick. I was so sick that, at one point, someone ran out of the room because I began gagging.  I found out later that it was my brother-in-law and I still don't think he can look me straight in the eye to this day.

I don't remember when I got the epidural, but I was able to rest soundly once administered.

Sometime around 3:45am, Keith and I were the only two in the room.  He was sleeping on the chair while I was in the bed.  I woke up to the gushing feeling of my water breaking. 

I immediately sat up and said "KEITH!"

He looked at me, panic in his eyes, and I said "my water just broke!"

He called for the nurse and they found I was dilated to 7cm.  Finally, progress! 

Before I knew it, 6am had come.  The nurse said I was ready to start pushing.

The nurse schooled me on what to do, how long to push, breathe, etc.

Keith was a true champ and stood, no he STOOPED down to my level, the ENTIRE time.  He is 6'3" and it was so hard on his back to crouch down like that.

6am turned to 7am, but by 8am, I was exhausted.  My epidural had ran out a few hours ago, and I began doubting myself. I began thinking that my body wasn't made to deliver this baby, and I began telling them that I couldn't do it anymore.

I was exhausted.  I had given up.  I was still vomiting and Keith was still putting cool washrags on my forehead. It hurt so bad.  I was so afraid of the pain.

Another nurse came in and her and the other nurse gave me a pep talk.  They said he was so close...just another push and they would call the doctor.

And that's when I got my ass in gear and tried one more time.  

I think I overachieved my goal, because all of a sudden they were scrambling around, trying to get the doctor in there.  "Don't push until she gets her scrubs on!"  "Royal, I said DON'T PUSH..." 

I remember laughing a bit on the inside because isn't that always how it is in the movies?  

I could see the doctor panicking a bit, she was trying to get her scrubs on and kept looking over her shoulder at me. 

By the time she walked over a few seconds later, I gave two or three more pushes, and baby boy entered into the world at 8:21am.  

You know the next part. 

He began crying, which in turn made me cry.  I couldn't stop. He was really the most beautiful ray of light I had ever seen.  

They whisked him away to check out his vitals while I lay there sobbing like a crazy woman. 

The doctor then confessed that she had stayed an hour past her shift because she wanted to deliver little Milo.  She also said that if he hadn't been born by 8:30am, they would have give me a c-section.  But she kept telling me that I did beautifully and everything had worked out.

When Keith brought him back over a few minutes later, I looked at him again. Yep, still gorgeous.  And I remember thinking: here they are, the two most important men in my life, holding onto each other.









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