Thursday, January 19, 2006

You're not going to believe this

Lee and I have this wonderful litle screened in back porch.

That we never ever use.

So, this past weekend, Lee decided to put his foot down.

"We're going outside tonight, we're going to use that porch."

So we did, and we brought along a bottle of wine.

It was nice, we sat and we talked, and we drank. And then we drank.

Since it's been almost a full year since I've drank, I woke up and wanted to immediately kill the tiny baboon that was jumping on my brain. I felt horrible.
Of course, Isaac chose that day to scream as loud as he could.

I was crippled. Like Bea Arthur auditioning for a starring role in Baywatch, I knew I was way outta my league. I promised god never to do that again, if she would just take away the horrible ugh that was ontop of me.

So two days passed by, and I still felt dizzy when I stood up, or moved too fast. I was still sick, and even worse, my super sense of smell was back.

Before I found out I was pregnant, a whole new world was opened to me.

A world of new smells. And I hated it. I could smell everything. People's breath, even if they were a safe distance, the meat counter at the market was horrific, and the worst was public bathrooms. I soon found out I was pregnant, and this was just part of the package.

This past week, we got our new sofa in. And I could smell it.
For two days, I could smell it.

"I think my super sense of smell is back" I told Lee one night.
"Are you pregnant?" He asked me immediately, almost accusing me.
"No. No I can't be, the pill?" I told him.
" You were sick for all those days, and now your smell..." he trailed off.
"The pill" I reassured him, "and that damn bottle of wine last week"

But I started to wonder, and fret, and then full on worry.
I can't be pregnant again, I just can't.
Money and figures started to swarm and stack up in my head. We don't have another room in this house! How could we decorate a room for a girl and a boy?We'd have to buy another crib, a double stroller, not to mention it's probably a girl, knowing my luck....all the clothes. Think of all the clothes, because, people don't send you gifts for the second baby, especially not if you just hit them up 9 months earlier.

Oh my god, if I am pregnant, then I got pregnant in with Isaac. I vowed to act like a nun every December to come, and I continued to worry. We just can't do this now, what am I going to do?

I thought all night long. I imagined the phone call to my mom, I imagined the "thud" I would hear when she hit the ground. I imagined being all mantee-like and pregnant again trying to pick up Isaac. I imagined taking my maternity clothes out of the attic and having no dust to wipe off of them.
This just couldn't happen.

Not yet.

The next morning, I flew out of bed and got dressed.
And then laid back down and took a nap, I was exhausted. After all that imagining, I only got around 4 hours of sleep.
So then I woke up again, grabbed Isaac and ran to the drugstore.

I picked up a pregnancy test, nail polish, a card, and vitamins...nice array.
When I got home I set up shop in the bathroom. It was just 12 months earlier that I was doing the exact same thing in a bathroom in New Orleans.

Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into?

I took the test and this time, I had to wait four minutes. Four mintutes feels like four years when your waiting on something like this, only this time, I had something to distract me. My FOUR month old child, who was eating my hair and drooling down my shirt the entire time.

Ding! My phone told me it was time.
I put Isaac down so that I didn't drop him on the bathroom floor, (see, I'm a good mom) and walked in.

I said a quick..."It's not the end of the world if it's a yes, it's just a little early" pep talk, and I looked at the test.

Well, Jesus was an only child too, and he didn't turn out so bad.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

A girl can dream

I have the coolest, most amazing new phone.
And no one calls me except my mom and my boyfriend.
At least I know I have two fans, how lame is that?

No one calls anymore. They're all afraid to wake the baby.
But do you see this?
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and this...
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how about this?
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don't forget this...
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"Why can't you take his fingers out of his mouth?"

I can't. He's teething. Teething=putting anything you can get your hands on into your mouth"
I was checking my email earlier, and I caught him trying to eat the corner of my laptop.

It's insane really. And it's killing me. I feel like a week ago I popped him out.
I do.
But I remember every minute of it.
And he's so big already. I don't know where it came from.

I'm just waiting for him to ask for the keys to my car.
( that's never going to happen. He won't want to drive my car, I don't even want to drive my car)

So I was just joking before. I'm not so lame. I made a few friends here ( in Florida) and it was about time. I was about to start hanging out at the grocery store just to have some adult conversation. It takes a long time to make friends, I realize that. And I'm pretty sure they're normal, I don't think I'm joining any kind of cults, but seriously, even if I wouldn't be so bad. They have kids, and they are around my age. Two similarites? Good enough for me. As long as they're not huffing paint and drowning kittens, I'm happy. I'm really not hard to please these days.


Thanks to this,
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I have a terrible headache, I need about 11 tylenol and a full night of sleep.

We both know I'm going to get neither.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Once upon a time in a city called New Orleans...

I never actually grieved over Katrina. I was too busy being pregnant. I cried the first week and numbly watched CNN for a straight two weeks to follow, but I never let it hit me. I was too mad.
After going home and seeing the small portion that I saw, I feel like I can finally grieve. And I am, just in quiet. My friend sent me this, and I love it. I've read it every morning since she sent it to me, and I wanted to share it with you.


The following was written by Boysie Bollinger, a friend of ours who is the CEO of one of the state's largest shipyard operations, and a widely regarded civic leader. An Interesting look at the times of New Orleans.

There's not a working clock in this entire city. This morning I went on my walk and the big clock by St. Patrick's Church on Camp said it was 2:30; as I walked on, the Whitney clock said it was 11:15, and by the time I hit the French Quarter a clock there told me quite firmly that it was 6:00 o'clock.

I'm not really surprised at this - New Orleans has always had a problem with time.

Time is not linear here; this is a city where people live in two hundred year old houses, have wireless Internet and use 600-year-old recipes while singing 60's songs to their newborns.

Time is more of a mental game in New can pick the year you liked the best and stay in that year for the rest of your life here and no one says a thing. You can talk about your great great grandparents as if they were still alive and talk about your neighbors as if they were dead, and we all understand. Time marches to it's own drunk drummer here.

This morning as I walked into the Quarter on Chartres, a woman ran out of a cafe to greet me, "Hey dahlin" she yelled as she hugged me, "Where ya been?" I looked at her and realized it was one of the exotic dancers from one of the smaller establishments on Chartres; over the years I'd become friendly with several of the dancers as I would take my morning walk. We'd smile, wave, and exchange pleasantries. This morning I realized that even though I had said hello to this woman three times a week for four years, I didn't know her name. I smiled, hugged her back and told her how badly I felt that I never knew her name and she laughed "Dahlin, you know my name, it's Baby!" Time to laugh out loud.

Twenty minutes later as I walked up Royal from Esplanade on my way out of the Quarter, a dark sedan stopped in the street right by the Cathedral and all four doors opened at once. I was twittering with curiosity when the driver hopped out, ran to the other side and escorted a smiling former Ambassador (Lindy Boggs) out of the car. Before I could stop myself I'd yelled out, "Hey Lindy, good to see ya!" Mrs. Boggs, accustomed to such raffish behavior smiled and yelled out "Hey yourself" as she waved, laughed and headed to church, surely thinking it's time to pray for better manners for the likes of me.

We're dealing with a lot of time issues these days,
time to meet the insurance specialist,
time to call FEMA,
time to put out the refrigerator,
time to get a new refrigerator,
time to decide whether to stay in New Orleans or head elsewhere,
time to register the kids for school,
time to sell the house,
time to buy the house,
time to find a job,
time to leave a job,
time to figure out the rest of your life.

Could we maybe, while dealing with all those time issues, take a minute and remember? Remember that there was a time when all of this was different, there was a time when slaves were sold in the Napoleon House, a time when Mid-City was considered the country, a time when people staged sit ins downtown, a time when there was no McDonald's or Wendy's or even Popeye's, a time when the Quarter burned, a time when people spoke French or Spanish, a time when the Opera House was open, a time when this was all uninhabited, a time when your refrigerator worked, your house was whole, your neighborhood wasn't flooded and your city wasn't defined by a Hurricane.

More than any other city in this country, this is a city defined by the quality of the times people have had here. Maybe it's because it's a port city, maybe it's because of the food, maybe it's because of the heat, but this city remembers everyone who has ever lived, loved and laughed here. People visit us because they can feel the difference as soon as they get here, they can feel how time is honored here, in the time to craft our houses and the time to make a roux. They can feel that the city holds all of our memories, our joys, our sorrows and our triumphs. That any time spent in New Orleans is kept in the breath, air, water and sky of New Orleans.

What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas, but what happens in New Orleans changes the city and its people, minute-by-minute, day-by-day, year-by-year, so that we can't help but live in the past, present and future.

Time will tell what we will end up looking like, how strong the levees will be, how many houses will be repaired, but we will tell time how strong the people of New Orleans are, how deep our commitments to each other are, and that sometimes the best stories are the ones we write for ourselves.

Once upon a time in a city called New Orleans......


Ah, I'm exhausted. I've had so much fun the past two weeks. Christmas sprinkled with Hanukkah was great. We got so many cool gifts. Moving into a house right before a gift exchanging holiday, is the only way to go. That or get married, but that's a whole other story.

I've got a lot to say, but I can barely keep my eyes open ( that's not true, I want to go watch Madagascar, but I can't type and watch TV at the same time. However, I can chew gum and walk. I'm not a complete moron)
However, Lacey tagged me, and it's taken me forever to get around to it...So here goes....

"These are the rules of the game: The very first player chose a topic. In this case, the topic is FIVE WEIRD HABITS OF YOURS. You must then write a journal entry listing those weirdness you possess~as well as the rules of the game. Then, you select FIVE PEOPLE TO TAG and link their names/blogs in your entry. Go to their journals and leave a comment informing them they have been tagged by you and to read your journal to see in what way they have been nailed! Those five then MUST (note that I insist upon it!) write an entry listing their weird habits and tag an additional five people."

1. I have to shave my legs before going to bed everynight. If I wanted to lay in bed and feel hairy legs, then Lee and I would sleep in a Queen sized bed instead of a King.

2. I always think that someone is watching me. Either through the window, or a hidden camera. I think about it all the time, especially when I'm doing something embarrassing like picking my nose or fighting off a wedgie.

3. Sometimes the sight of mayo makes me gag, and almost throw up.

4. When I was little, my dad told me that you can't sleep in your bed with your feet facing towards the front door of your house. I have no idea why he had this superstition, but I still don't.

5. I'm scared of elevators because I once got stuck in an elevator with a couple of co-workers. Dennis Hopper connected a bomb to our elevator, and we would have died if Keanu Reeves hadn't rescued us. I thank god to this day that he was there. Ok, so maybe that isn't really my story, but I am scared of elevators. I blame Dennis Hopper. And Tara Reid of course.

( I'm supposed to tag someone else here to do this, but I'm too tired, so if you're reading this, do it. I know who you are. Do it. I'm serious, do it.)