What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

I like to think Randy would cringe with pride

On Tuesday, August 26, my actual, non-Frema name was released in hardcover for the first time. Simultaneously, my pre-pubescent ode to Randy Wooten was immortalized forever.

Sarah Brown's literary masterpiece is now available to the masses, and the list of contributors is pretty effing cool. I'm supposed to receive a free copy in the mail, but I'm tempted to run out and buy one for everybody I know. Including dear Randy Wooten, because that's just good manners.

Anyway, even though the poem is terrible, even though 'lil Frema will never realize the consequences of putting her tragedy to paper, EVEN THOUGH I WAS TEN FREAKING YEARS OLD, I am insanely proud that my writing is a part of this book. The widget will be available in my sidebar for a bit, even though it clutters my template and I would much rather feature a smaller version of the cover picture and include the link that way. Just like my Parents widget. Except that I didn't actually create my Parents widget. Anyone care to help a sister out?

So, um, buy my book! And if you see Randy, tell him I said hi.

"The Moist Maker" sounds much tastier than a calzone

Blasted food and its effect on second-trimester gestating women! The drama continues.

(Though not with Subway. I finally figured out the solution to my sub-versus-wrap dilemma. Double meat! Genius! AND DELICIOUS.)

The farther along I get in this pregnancy, the hungrier I get, at least for the first part of the day. If you don't believe me, let me tell you that today's lunch included a Weight Watchers Smart Ones calzone, an apple, banana, pear, and a roast beef sandwich. God help me, I PACKED A ROAST BEEF SANDWICH AS A MID-MORNING SNACK. With cheese, even! The sandwich was gone before ten, and that's only because I had a nine o'clock meeting. Restraint and Self-Control, see you in February 2009.

Anyway, by eleven I was fishing around the company freezer to retrieve my calzone, but it wasn't until I had unwrapped it that I realized it wasn't my calzone at all, but one of those Hot Pocket things that Jim Gaffigan used to poke fun at, and a feeling of shame washed over me as I compared myself to the professor in Friends who shamelessly stole Ross's post-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich and only ate half before throwing the rest away. I imagined the owner of the Hot Pocket lamenting the loss of his high-calorie treat much like Ross did, releasing a gutteral "My Hot Pocket?!" cry loud enough to send every pigeon in the Indianapolis area off in search of less tortured pastures.

But now that it was opened, what could I do but eat it, write a note of apology, and carry on with my life? So I stuck the Pocket in the microwave, taped a note to the freezer offering my smaller-but-healthier Smart Ones calzone in return, and waited three minutes for the dinger to go off.

Turns out my packing the sandwich wasn't just a piggy move after all, because the Hot Pocket smelled absolutely terrible and inspired a gag reflex so horrendous that I tossed the whole damn thing in the trash. I almost ripped up the note and went for my Smart Ones, but the guilt of eliminating somebody's lunch entirely was reason enough to hold back. I quizzed a few of my coworkers to see if they were the owners of the offending Pocket, but nobody was, though I did learn the IT director is quite fond of them, so I'll check out that lead later this afternoon.

When revealing my plight to one of the director's colleagues, she was sympathetic. "Now, you don't have a lunch," she said.

I just nodded. Nobody has to know about my sandwich but me.

P.S. House info is coming! The inspection is scheduled for three o'clock tomorrow, and I'm allowed to take pictures, so I'll try to relate that tale sometime this weekend. In the meantime, might I placate you with shots of my eight-month-old? She really is the cutest.

No, my daddy doesn't spike my bottle with Starbucks, why do you ask?

My mother, a sandwich stealer? Heavens to Betsy!

If my uterus weren't already occupied, I would totally have baby fever

Meet my new nephew, Danny Jr., born August 18, 2008, at 5:28 p.m., weighing eight pounds and five ounces and measuring between 20 and 21 inches long.

Isn't he beautiful? The marks on his face are from the forceps, but Danny won't suffer any permanent damage. The nurse almost did, though, after telling Samantha, "At least you didn't have a c-section." Like a third-degree laceration is anything to write home about.

 

Mom and baby are doing just fine. I talked to Samantha yesterday, and she said, "He's so wonderful, I can't believe we get to take him home."

 

Of course, Dan is smitten with his namesake. See how much they look alike, already.

There's our Brooke! Much love, friend, for sharing the photos.

 

I've got Friday off so my little family can meet him. It can't come fast enough.

-------

P.S. We have a house! Visit my Parents blog for details. Pictures of the dreaded cabinets soon to follow.

I'm a little ashamed

...because here's what I bought for lunch today. For myself.

Let me explain.

It started out innocently enough yesterday when I went to Subway for lunch, as I've been apt to do on days when our cupboard is bare. Usually I order a six-inch turkey sub on wheat bread with American cheese, tomatoes, and mustard, and I was about to order that yesterday when a sign caught my eye. It said that any six-incher could be turned into a salad or a wrap. And since I wasn't really in the mood for a whole lot of bread, I went with the wrap. And it was delicious.

But the wrap was not enough. Even after a bag of chips, even after a chocolate-chip cookie. I still wanted more.

So when I went back for lunch today, I contemplated getting TWO turkey wraps. I reasoned I could eat one now and one later on in the day so Luke wouldn't feel pressured to make dinner as soon as I got home. But then two of my coworkers lined up behind me, and if there were two turkey wraps attached to my order, it would be obvious that both of the sandwiches were for me. And since it's NOT obvious to everyone that I'm 14 weeks pregnant (it's not a secret, but it's not main-stream information for those who don't know me), I did what any starving, gestating woman would do.

I got a turkey and a roast beef. With two different kinds of chips. Fooled them all, I have! I thought, and ran the hell out of there.

Until I got back to the lab and realized that NOW I had to worry about somebody passing my very-public cubicle and noticing the two Subway sacks on my desk. Plus, I was mentally cursing myself out for not ordering any liquidy condiment for the roast beef, because Subway's beef tastes awfully dry without at least a little bit of mustard. Too late now.

So far I've eaten one full wrap--half the turkey and half the roast beef--and I've finished one bag of chips. I'm not starving anymore but still hungry enough that there's a good chance there will be nothing left to store in the company break room for tomorrow.

I have a good excuse, though, right? Doesn't every woman start her second trimester with a desire for two lunches?

Also, to document that my pooching uterus still looks more like it's holding beer and pizza than my beautiful, surprise second child, here I am at 14 weeks. In the john. Again. Some things never change.

ALERT, ALERT: An update to add that everything is gone except the second half of the roast beef, which is now sitting in the fridge and will probably never be eaten because OH MY GOD, DRY. Then I went and grabbed an ice cream sandwich from the vending machine and so help me, God, it was delicious. Good thing I'm out of cash or my boss would have to roll me to my car, Violet-style.

This is not for you

When I first started blogging in 2004, I didn't have a set list of goals or a long-term plan. I didn't know about revenue streams or the Long Tail or Technorati. I blogged because writing has always been important to who I am, and publishing online was the best way to do that at the time.

And four years later, it still is. Though the medium is different from handwriting a journal, the result is still the same: putting my thoughts into words and making sense of what I feel. Working through complicated emotions to get to a better place. Not all of my entries are like that, of course, but each time my fingers are brave enough to verbalize the tangents in my mind, there is always a sense of clarity. And I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful to have a comfortable way to express myself. And I'm thankful to have found friends through this Web site who like to read about me and my family and want to see us succeed.

But I'm not writing this blog for you.

I got to thinking about this because of a comment thread on a blog I've been following for years. Julie from a little pregnant always talks frankly about her struggles with infertility, child-rearing, and growing her family. Not even two weeks ago she gave birth to her second son, and on Sunday she shared with the Internet her decision to stop nursing her baby. A brave move, to be sure, because as we veteran blog readers all know, just about every breastfeeding discussion turns into a heated debate filled with catch phrases like "breast is best," and "I had formula and I turned out fine," and nursing advocates post facts about the substandardness of formula, and at least one formula feeder refers to members of La Leche League as Nazis (which is definitely one of the most insulting things I've ever heard. SO inappropriate), and it's always the same argument over and over and over until the blogger closes comments and everyone takes a cold shower. You know, because they're all heated up.

Anyway, as usual, the comments started out innocent enough: women sharing their nursing stories, both positive and negative, and then commenter #120 (if you check it out, remember that author names appear below their comments) tells Julie to "suck it up" because she herself "kept at it and it got better." Of course, readers jump out of the woodwork to defend Julie, #120 comes back to explain her position, and yet another person (#173 on this entry) laments over everyone's inability to respectfully disagree with Julie's "position." She said:

I agree with the decision not to nurse, but I don't agree with the notion that nobody is allowed to disagree on a public blog on the very public internet. Isn't sharing a ideas part of why people write on the internet? If they couldn't handle disagreement, they'd just talk to their best friends. To me, it lessens the value of the blog if everyone acts like a rabid dog, needing to defend the author, every time someone states an opinion that isn't popular here.

A few more popped up like that, and it really bugged me, but I couldn't verbalize why. It IS a public forum, right? Most bloggers DO appreciate comments, right? So they should be strong enough to let presumpious remarks roll off their backs, right?

Um, no.

I don't where people got the idea that a blog entry about someone's life is just as open to criticism as a newspaper article or research paper. Not all topics are deserving of the same type of scrutiny. For example, in this case, Julie blogged about why she plans to discontinue nursing. She talked about why it wasn't working for her, how she tried to rectify the situation, and why she ultimately decided to let it go. She acknowledges that breastmilk is the nutritionally superior food source, and she doesn't try to make formula sound better than it is. She just says that bottle feeding is the choice that allows her to hold onto the most of her sanity.

She's not writing an op-ed for the American Academy of Pediatrics. She's not trying to turn the tide against nursing. She's just talking about her life. On her personal Web site, a site that's not supposed to serve as a be-all, end-all source of information. So when people disagree with her, they're not disagreeing with facts. They're disagreeing with her life. They voiced confusion over Julie's reasons for quitting and disappointment in her choice, neither of which were up for public debate.

And that's what pisses me off. Oftentimes people get so caught up in taking a stand for their cause they forget there's a human being on the other end of the computer, reading words that were no doubt meant to shame and hurt and judge, words that'll be ignored for that very reason. How many women continued breastfeeding because somebody called them a fuck-up or a terrible mother? Whatever happened to "You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar"?

But this isn't about breastfeeding.

I read enough blogs that it's not uncommon for someone to post a sentiment I don't agree with. One of my favorite reads recently talked about how she thought she might have been pregnant with a surprise third child, and how if she had been pregnant, she would have considered having an abortion. Talk about hitting close to home! I'm pregnant with a surprise baby, and abortion was never an option for me. It was sad to think about that being an option for her.

But you know what? Despite my strong feelings, I stayed out of her comments section. Not only did she not ask for my opinion, my opinion didn't matter. She was obviously in pain about possibly having to make the decision in the first place; nothing except "Take good care" would have been the slightest bit helpful. Plus, I deeply respect this woman as a writer and a mother, and if part of the reason I enjoy her blog is because of her wit, then I'm going to assume she's an educated person who can manage her own life. And if she's not? It's not my place to tell her what to do, especially since there's nothing I can do to help her. If she was pregnant and she did have the baby, it's not like I could pinch-hit for a midnight feeding or baby-sit her older kids or even bring dinner.

(Unless it was spinach dip. But I digress.)

It's been said a thousand times before, but I like to think of visiting another blog as visiting another person's home. If I wouldn't say it in someone's home--better yet, to their face!--I won't say it on their blog. That's not to say I always keep opinions to myself, but it's important to remember what it is you're commenting on. If my opinion has the potential to hurt someone's feelings, I don't say it. It's just good manners. And manners have a place on the Internet, too.

One of the best blog taglines I've seen is from Erika of Effected: "More for my benefit than yours." Mainly because it's so true. I love writing this blog, and I love the community that's been fostered here, but I don't owe anyone anything. I'm not (nor do I try to be) everything to all people. I never promised to make every "right" choice or promote a certain agenda. I'm here to have fun, document details and thought processes that might otherwise get swept away, and gain new persective as I review what I've written over the years.

I'm also here for your mom, but I'll let her explain that one.

[end rant] 

In case you couldn't tell, I got a haircut, too

You don't mind an entry chock full of pictures, do you? Good. Because I am very tired and these images are the only reason I was motivated to post tonight.

Last week, Luke, Kara, and I spent four days up north visiting family, prompted by the fact that my new brother-in-law, Jason, was on a two-week leave from duty in Iraq, and not only did I have to miss his and Ryan's wedding (remember my Saint Joe scare?), he was deployed before Kara was born, so he still hadn't met his niece. We wasted no time getting them properly introduced.

Uncle Jason was happy to see Kara, though he admitted at one point, "I don't know what to do with her!" Here they are both looking to my mom for further instruction.

For our four nights away from home, we spent the first and last one at Luke's parents house and the middle two with Samantha and Dan. My sister is just over a week away from her due date, which just so happens to fall on the anniversary of her wedding. Little Danny Junior's arrival is eagerly anticipated by all.

(Here would be a great place to include Samantha's picture, except that I didn't take any. Bad big sister!)

Here's Luke reading to Kara one of the mornings we stayed with Samantha and Dan. I'm including it because Kara munching on her bunny's ear--the one that has helped her recover from a rough sleep patch these last couple of months--is way adorable, and it showcases one of her very favorite books: Gossie and Gertie, which is actually part of a Gossie-and-friends-type series. MY favorite is the one about BooBoo because it talks about burps, and what could be cuter then a story about a gosling who burps?

 

On Saturday morning, our little family stole away for a couple of hours and drove to Navy Pier. It was Kara's first time seeing Lake Michigan, and Luke and I had a blast strolling her down the boardwalk and giving her a view of the water. The Pier is one of my favorite Chicago landmarks, so it was probably natural that I felt a ping of sadness over not living closer and being able to see it any old time we wanted. Staying in Indianapolis is the best option for us right now, but part of me holds out for the chance of someday making the move to northwest Indiana, where the grass is green and the commuter trains are pretty.

Later that afternoon I attended a surprise baby shower for Molly (I know she'll be sharing pictures soon) (hint, hint, Molly), and while I was gone Luke and Kara hung out with my mom, who was ecstatic over having so much time with her granddaughter. There are some especially cute pictures over at Parents, where Kara's reading Grandma's face Helen Keller style and Grandma's teaching Kara this "so big!" move that she absolutely loved.

(Notice Kara's travel chair? It's a Chicco Caddy Hook-On Chair we can use at places where a high chair isn't available. It was thirty-five bucks and works like a charm, though Kara did cling to me for dear life the first couple of times she was in there.)

Kara likes the hustle and bustle of Chicago, but she also enjoys the quiet calm we experience when we visit Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe. Also, Grandpa provides adequate lap space for naps.

The next day, before we headed out of town, we stopped to visit Molly and Jack. They were both excited to see Kara, because Molly has baby girl fever and Jack still gets a kick out of Kara's "Oopsie" video. I think they had a good time with each other, though Jack was not thrilled with Kara's tendency to drool on his toys.

Jack's like, "What are you doing with my bus, woman?" and Kara's like, "Boat?"

I don't know why innocent pictures like this make me want to joke about a future pairing, but they do, except then I get weirded out contemplating my baby daughter's potential love matches. Forgive me, Jack.

Molly and I juggling small children and fetuses (feti?) in utero. Neither of us expected to get knocked up with surprise babies this year, but who does? And anyway, there's nobody I'd rather freak out with.

-------

Now, the random stuff.

My Hoosier Momma shirt turned out to be too small, so my embarassment over wearing it can wait until next year. Maybe we'll just save it for bedtime.

It looks like the top three venue choices for BlogHer 2009 are Portland, Philadelphia, and St. Louis. I voted for St. Louis because it's closest in proximity to Indianapolis, but I would be way stoked to visit Philly again. I went there with Luke in 2004 to visit his best friend. We visited Old City and Valley Forge and took a ghost tour and all of it was awesome. Luke is actually encouraging me to sign up next year and even suggested that the four of us (!) could go together and turn part of the trip into a mini family vacation. I am so all over that; I really did have a great time last year. My only hang-up is my purpose for attending: my personal blog is often left to collect dust, so ads are definitely not a part of my near future, and sometimes it's difficult to keep up on the one I get paid for. Am I looking for larger readership? More freelance work? Or simply network (Amalah, for the love of God, PLEASE SAY YOU'RE GOING IN '09) and have a good time? Is that good enough?

I suppose it doesn't really matter. Luke's on board with my going, and I bring in enough money from blogging that attending a conference like this would be totally worth it. Count me in.

This week has been great to me, baby-wise. I entered my thirteenth week and experienced an energy surge that didn't come until closer to week eighteen with Kara, and my work unveiled a new maternity leave policy, effective immediately, that pays six weeks at one-hundred-percent salary. Words can't express the impact this will have on my life, but I make the attempt over at Parents.

On the housing front: Luke, Kara, and I will visit three more houses on Indy's south side. Wish us luck.

Lastly, Kara is just nine days away from turning eight months old and making the cutest "mamadadababa" babbles you've ever heard in your life. On Monday morning, Luke will take her in for her first professional photo shoot. I didn't realize how bummed I'd be over not being able to join them, but I'm already leaving early that day for an ob/gyn appointment, and things are too busy for me to take off the whole day. Where did the time go? When did my sweet baby girl go from this:

To this?

Hell if I know, but damn if she isn't the most beautiful person I've ever met.