The Fish Pond

Two Inches

What would you do if you found out that there was a way to correct a problem, a physical problem you have with your body that isn't just a cosmetic issue, but pertains to your quality of life? Would you do it, even if it was incredibly painful? And risky? Would you do it? And knowing what you do about yourself right now, would you have trusted your teenage self with making the right decision for you?

These are questions that have been weighing heavily on my mind this past week two weeks.

As those of you who know me in real life know, I am Short. Note the capital S. Really short. Like, not much taller standing up than sitting down short. I'm 4'10" tall, technically qualifying me as a Little Person, though I do not have dwarfism and have never considered myself as LP. I certainly identify with some of the challenges they face every day, and I've been ridiculed and treated poorly because of my height. Most of it is merely annoying rather than destructive, but there was a time in my life when I was first working when people wouldn't take me seriously because my height combined with my youthful appearance gave the impression people were dealing with a twelve year old, rather than someone older, and certainly they never believed me when I was in a position of authority.

My height has, once or twice, been an issue of safety. When I was pregnant with Trout, I couldn't drive from about five months on, because my belly was too big for me to safely get behind the wheel and still reach the pedals, and at the time I had a car without airbags. It was miserable to have to be schlepped around every single place I had to go. I couldn't just run out to the store. I couldn't get to my doctor appointments. I didn't really feel like I could go anywhere at all for fun, because I felt so guilty having to ask people to drive me around for the things I HAD to do.

We wised up when I was pregnant with Little Man, and with the purchase of pedal extenders I was able to continue to drive throughout my pregnancy, though I was still closer to the wheel than would have been safe had I had an airbag in the car (it was a stick-shift jeep, no less). Getting those showed me what a crazy thing it had been that I was driving for so long without them, so we kept them until we got rid of that car. It's not so much an issue now with next-generation airbags and cars with available adjustable pedals built in, and I fit in my Toyota just fine, but those pedal extenders were a life-saver back then.

All this has been on my mind because of this article from the Washington Post, about a 13 year old girl with dwarfism who decided to have surgery to lengthen her legs. This wasn't an option for me, as it wasn't available back when I was young. I often said, still sometimes say, that I would give anything to have at least two inches, just two little precious inches, to get me to five feet, the land where I wouldn't have to have even petite length pants hemmed, where I could reach things from the top shelves in the grocery store without having to ask someone, where I can sit back the recommended ten to twelve inches from the airbag. Where finding clothes that fit would be simple, and wouldn't sometimes require a trip to the children's section. Where my feet will be able to touch the floor when I sit, instead of dangling two inches above the floor, so I self-consciously tuck them under me, destroying my knees in the process. Where I can ditch my stools that I have all over the house so that I can reach the things I need to get to. The article talks about lengthening legs up to sixteen total inches for some people. That would make me a giant!

Now, at this point in my life, I wouldn't have the surgery. I like how I am. I also think that we all face challenges in this life, and this really isn't a bad one to face. I can't say I would have made the same decision when I was 13, however, or 15 or 17 or even 27. Because I wouldn't have made the decision based on what was right for ME, but rather more about being convenient to other people, or what other people thought of me. I have always prided myself on my independence and self-sufficiency, and I never want to be thought of as a burden or as someone who makes other people uncomfortable. My younger self would have been much more concerned with what other people think, driven by "fitting in" rather than being different in any way. Now, as I approach 40, I'm secure in my own skin, in my own height. I don't care what others think; it is not necessary for me to subscribe to what others think I should be in order for me to be valuable. I hope that I am setting an example for my children, who are likely to be shorter than average, and certainly Sunny who is well on her way to being as short as I am, that it is better to change the way people think than it is to change yourself to fit the average. I particularly like the quote from the article from Sylvia Boorstein:

"There are only two responses to every challenge -- balanced acceptance or embittered resistance. Acceptance is freedom. Resistance is suffering. We all know this."

Even if my feet do dangle when I sit.

----------------------------------------

New post up at DC Metro Moms about my quest to find that elusive thing called sleep.

Incident at the Liquor Store

Last night I stopped at a liquor/wine/beer store near my inlaws place in Hagertown to buy a couple bottles of wine. When I got to the counter with my selections, the clerk, who I'd guess was in his fifties, asked for my id.

I smirked a bit as I handed it to him. He looked at it closely, then as his eyes zeroed in on my year of birth they widened, and he said "1970?!? Holy Shit!" and then looked worried as though I might be offended or something, though whether he thought I'd be offended about being mistaken for younger or his use of colorful language, I don't know.

I just chuckled as I said, "Yeah, I'm a LOT older than I look," and went home to drink wine with my babyfaced husband.

Klutzes Anonymous, Redux

Years ago when we had the water leak in the basement and were trying to figure out where it was coming from, we tore up a couple of boards on our deck. Of course, it turned out the water wasn't coming from outside the house, but rather a cracked pipe inside, but we left the biggest of the boards torn up. We are lazy that way. We recognized that the deck needs to be replaced anyway. We educated all the kids about the hole, and even though it is in a bad location at the top of our steps in front of the gate, no one ever had a problem with it.

About, oh, three? months ago, we got a quote to have the deck redecked, and in the course of doing whatever he did to create his estimate, the guy put the board back in the spot, but of course didn't nail it back down. So since then we've had this loose board that the kids would occasionally step on or loosen slightly, but nobody ever fell through, I guess because they are so light and quick. So we left it like that, and I half hoped that the bear or racoons would fall in, and I also felt it was a cool booby trap in case someone tried to come up on our deck in the dead of night to break into our house - we'd at least hear them coming from all the swearing when they fell in.

BigDaddyFish wasn't feeling well last night, so he didn't take our trash or recycling to the curb last night. This morning he was running late, so he missed the trash truck, but recycling only comes once a week so we wanted to get our bins out. I grabbed a full, wet, dripping bin and headed down the stairs, BDF right behind me with a pile of wet cardboard boxes. We came back up the stairs, me in front and BDF behind me. I am neither light nor quick nor accustomed to carrying trash/recycling down the stairs, and my propensity for klutzy behavior is well documented. Down I went, arms a flailing, landing of course with my left shin hard up against the diagonal edge of the solid part of the deck, catching myself with the middle of my right forearm against the railing. Fortunately, the railing held. Unfortunately, it didn't give very much. BDF told me not to move, but I was pissed and embarrassed, so I yanked my leg out of the deck, shrieking through my closed mouth where I was biting my lip to keep from embarrassing myself even further, and limped to a chair.

The pictures above were taken about an hour later. BDF pulled the board back up so that people can see where they have to step so they don't fall in. I'm calling a guy today who gave me a good estimate to re-deck the deck. I'll take a picture later of my leg later - right now it's just a faint mottled purple under my whiter-than-pale skin and slightly swollen, but I can tell by how fraking much it hurts that it's going to be spectacular.

Make me feel better. What klutzy thing have you done recently?

-----------------------------------

I was lucky enough to be one of the featured BlogHer blogs on the ivillage home page over the weekend with this post. Someone else even linked to me from their forum. Thank you, whoever you are, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. It's like that a lot around here.

In the Interest of Full Disclosure

...my birthday didn't completely suck. I DID get to go out to dinner with BigDaddyFish, without kids. I had a babysitter so I didn't have to drag the monsters darling children with me to Target, which would have made it a deeper circle of hell than it already was. The kids made me pictures while we were out to dinner, and Sunny's picture of a birthday cake with lots of candles was obviously that without interpretation. I got 2 emails from my friends Fish-Flopper, who I've know forever, and hokgardner, who I've met here online because of our blogs, and who had a not-the-best birthday herself last week. And the whole experience gave the meat for a post whose framework I've had in my head for years. So not entirely bad. And oh, yeah, it wasn't pinkeye like I thought so we just have to figure out what Nemo's allergic to.

That said, it wasn't a great day. Probably the second worst birthday I've had yet. But! On the next day, there was spice cake:

Or maybe it's the surface of the moon. I wish I had put a couple of lego guys on there before I took a picture, instead of doing this to it:

mmmm, buttercream.

Did I tell you we have baby fish? We decided we weren't going to go into the business of breeding fish again when we got these, but rather just let nature take its course. But we have 2 hearty buggers who hid out in the plants and survived and are now big enough to roam the tank. One day I'll have a camera with a good macro setting on it, but in the absence of that, how about gratuitous baby cuteness?

Nemo loves his shee-shees!

With Apologies to Judith Viorst

I went to bed at 12am and the baby woke me up at one to nurse and BigDaddyFish still wasn't in bed because he was having an existential crisis and I had to talk him out of it and we didn't go to sleep until 2:30 and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I didn't get to sleep in like I wanted and the baby woke me up by poking me in the eye and when it stopped hurting and I could open it I discovered his eyelids were pink and puffy and swollen. The doctor couldn't get him in until 2:15 and my babysitter didn't come until 3 and I had to take all 4 kids with me.

I think I'll run away from home.

The girls came into our bed and were loud, loud, LOUD and it made my ears bleed. The baby sat on my head and jumped and it hurt. BigDaddyFish asked me why I didn't go down and get breakfast for everyone while he took a shower. I gave him "The Look." And not the good one, either.

As BDF was leaving the house I asked if there was any way he could leave a little early so that we could go out to dinner before Deadliest Catch and he looked at me blankly and I said "You know, for my birthday?" because obviously everyone forgot and I was certain I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast Nemo dumped all of his cereal and milk in his lap and on the floor. Little Man asked for cinnamon toast so I made cinnamon toast and he shouted at me "You BURNED it in the middle! It's dark! This is NOT the WAY to MAKE CINNAMON TOAST! YOU RUINED IT! I AM NOT GOING TO EAT IT! I AM GOING TO THROW IT!" without even tasting it and the toast wasn't even burned. I had to get in his face and tell him he could not talk to me that way even IF the toast was burned which it wasn't and it was my birthday and everyone forgot and my feelings were hurt and I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Trout ate all the chocolate pudding. Little Man ate all his cinnamon toast and then ate all the marshmallows and made Sunny scream because she wanted marshmallows but he gave Nemo a marshmallow and he put it in his hair and got all sticky. I had to bake my own birthday cake. The next day.

At the doctor's office everyone climbed on everything and lifted up the venetian blinds and kicked each other and would NOT. STOP. TALKING. And of course we got the doctor who never talks above a whisper and I could barely hear her. She said Nemo doesn't have pinkeye, he's having an allergic reaction. I had to put Trout in the corner and Little Man on the exam table on the opposite side of the room and Sunny in the chair and Nemo had to stand up. She sent his prescription to Target via the internet. No one got a dinosaur but Nemo.

I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I dropped the kids off with the babysitter and I went to Target and they didn't have the prescription and they asked me to wait for 20 minutes while they checked the voice mail so I went and did my shopping and came back. They still didn't have the prescription so I called the doctor's office and they put me on hold for 15 minutes while they looked for the prescription and they talked to the pharmacist and then hung up and didn't even apologize to me. The pharmacist asked if I could wait for 20 minutes. I said in 20 minutes I was running away from home.

After the 30 minute trip to Target that took 2 hours I went to my bedroom to listen to my iPod and fold laundry and my iPod was dead. The kids were yelling and I didn't want to go downstairs to plug it in so I folded laundry in pseudo-silence while Trout listened to Daughtry too loud and Sunny and Little Man fought and the baby woke up and cried and the babysitter tried to contain it all.

I took a shower at 5:30. I cut myself shaving my legs. My hair wouldn't cooperate and I had nothing to wear. I said I'm having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day but no one was there to hear me.

At dinner there was iceberg lettuce in my salad. I hate iceberg lettuce. There was Sportscenter on the big screen and I hate Sportscenter. There wasn't enough alcohol in my margarita and I couldn't finish my chili and didn't get dessert.

The kids were still awake when we got home and they were supposed to be asleep and they got up eleventy million times and Nemo wouldn't nurse to sleep. There was no "After the Catch" after Deadliest Catch and the season is over. There was a thunderstorm and a noise on the deck that sounded like the bear. I told BDF that I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. He said some days are like that.

Even on your birthday.

---------------------------

Confused? Go here and get my most favoritest children's book ever.

The Perfect Bathing Suit

When I was in high school, my boyfriend at the time told me on more than one occasion that I would look good in a string bikini. I weighed 85 pounds (and before you freak about my apparent eating disorder, I am only 4'10" tall and was extremely healthy, AND could eat anything I wanted and not gain an ounce - I pay for that now every single day since I never developed healthy habits because I didn't need to), but I wasn't too skinny, and I had a pretty decent rack.

One year my BFFs (identical twins) and I went to Nags Head with my family, and I decided I needed a new bathing suit to wear. Remembering what my boyfriend had been telling me, I picked up a gorgeous navy blue and black string bikini to try on so I could see if I was comfortable enough to pull it off. I put on the suit over my underwear, and since we were the only people in the store, I left the fitting room to show my girlfriends and see what they thought. I stood outside the room and turned this way and that, so that they could see and judge from all angles, and I hear the voice behind me say "Perfect. You should get it."

I whirled around with my heart in my throat only to see five guys, mostly attractive, standing right behind me with huge grins on their faces. I shrieked a little and dashed back into the fitting room, mortified that I had been seen with a string bikini on top of my cotton granny panties proclaiming the day of the week.

But I bought the bikini, and proudly wore it for more than a decade. My boyfriend and those guys were right, my mortification notwithstanding. I did look good.

Then I had kids. Four big babies in seven years, four pregnancies, four c-sections. They took their toll on my body.

My bikini days are over.

Given the size H boobs, the flabby pooch around my middle that the OB says will only go away through the plastic surgery I won't have, the stretch marks and the cellulite, it's a wonder I even venture out in public in a bathing suit at all. That's where my not-so-secret weapon comes in: Land's End. If they don't have a swimsuit that fits you and flatters whatever your shape is, I'd be shocked. I have graduated from the bikini to the little black dress swimsuit. And that's okay.

It's still the perfect bathing suit.

And if I'm successful in my campaign to lose weight and get more fit (maybe with the help of this site)? They have lots of other cool looking suits, and I'll get a new perfect suit.

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by BOCA. Write a post sometime this weekend talking about your bathing suit and then send the link to Parent Bloggers Network, and you could win prizes! See here for details.

The Journey of 24,901.55 Miles (or 40,075.16 km for my Canadian Friends) Begins With a Single Revolution of a Pedal

My grandfather was probably the most physically fit person I have ever met, at least until the cancer got him. He worked out every day, even until the bitter end, although the definition of "worked out" changed over time depending on what he was capable of doing. When I was a teenager, he would have been in his fifties and early sixties. At that time he ran every day, rain or shine, and then would work out with hand weights or swim or golf or play softball or something else, depending on the weather and what his schedule would permit, as he was still working at that time and also volunteering a huge amount of time as a national judge for an olympic sport (that will remain nameless, as it is esoteric enough that naming it will automatically out me to anyone associated with it).

And he always had his exercise bike.

As the population of his neighborhood deteriorated and it became downright dangerous for him to run, he switched over to riding his exercise bike. It was an ancient thing, with a fan instead of a front wheel and a little knob to turn to increase the resistance. It had no fancy gadgets, just a simple odometer, and it had poles that went back and forth like cross-country skis instead of handlebars. He had a setup in his basement with an old tv and vcr, and he would put travel videos on and ride his bike. He biked to the National Parks and train rides across Canada and sailing across the south pacific. He toured Italy, France, Greece, Peru. He rode and rode and rode, and he took his bike with him when he and my grandmother moved to the retirement community where they spent their last years.

We kids loved to climb on that bike, to play on it and turn it around - we probably put a couple hundred miles just messing with the damn thing. Never one to discourage fitness, he never yelled at us for it, and sometimes he would get on with us on his lap and he would work the arms while we pedalled, or vice versa.

About two years before he died, my grandfather turned over mile 24,902. He had ridden his bike around the Earth at the equator. It was one of his proudest accomplishments. His retirement community came and took his picture, and put an article about his achievement in their little newsletter.

One of the saddest experiences of my life was when, after his first couple of hospitalizations for the cancer, he kept talking about getting on his bike and riding. When he could no longer get on the bike without pain, he still talked about riding it, about doing what he had to do to recover so he could ride his bike again. It broke my heart every time he brought it up.

For the last couple of weeks, my body has been crying out for some exercise. My abs screamed at me to do a crunch or two, or at least roll around in plank position on my exercise ball. I'd huff and puff going up one of the three flights of stairs in my house. My arms have ached to have some weights flung around lifted and lowered slowly. It was an odd feeling for me, once I've never experienced.

I once asked my grandfather why he worked out all the time, as that legacy hadn't been passed down to my mother, or to me. I've always hated all forms of physical activity except sex, and you can't really do that for hours every day (unless you're Sting). My PE credits in HS came from marching band, in college from a semester each of swimming, aerobics, ballet, and bowling. My grandfather told me that since he'd grown up on a farm, he ran everywhere, and he played sports in college because it was fun. After college he stopped working out for a while, but one day he climbed the stairs and his lungs were burning, and he hated how that felt. He swore then and there that he would never stop exercising, and he stayed true to that promise.

Friday, I decided I had to respond to my body somehow, and I climbed up on this thing:

Obviously it's not my grandfather's bike. That was donated to his retirement community for use in their exercise room. I sometimes wonder how many more miles have been added to it. This bike was bought by my husband a couple of years ago and brought home where it has sat, accumulating maybe 10 miles total, and half of those are from the kids playing with it. He thought that spending $$$$ would make him more likely to use it. I told him what I thought of that idea, but he bought it anyway. I hate when I'm right sometimes.

I didn't have great expectations of what I would do - it's been ages since I worked out in any way. But I got on it and figured I'd do ten or fifteen minutes, gently, just doing what I felt like my body could handle. I've had some type of injury in my right foot/ankle and my left knee has been grinding when I go up and down stairs, so I didn't want to push too hard and make it worse. (yes, I know I need to do something about those. I don't have a doctor right now, and haven't wanted to do the research to find a new one)

First I did ten minutes. Then fifteen. I have a thing for round numbers, so then I wanted to push for an even number of miles. Then calories. By then it was 20 minutes. I was sweating and my butt hurt. I kept pushing. I did a full 30 minutes plus 5 minute cooldown. It wasn't a major deal. I went a whopping 4.4 miles. I burned something like 120 calories. I didn't drink any water because I hadn't planned on doing anything that might actually be considered a workout, so I was thirsty. Turns out my butt is so big I chapped it from riding. That night my legs ached beyond reason; I had to take tylenol and a hot shower to get to sleep.

Today I did it again, and I went a little further in the same time, burned a handfull more calories. I wore different clothes and didn't chap my ass. I wore shoes. This time my legs ached, felt like they would fall off seven minutes in. But I pushed on for the full 30 minutes.

I don't know that I'm bound for an equatorial ride, but it feels good to move. I think my grandfather would approve.

Love Thursday - A Few of My Favorite Things

In honor of Love Thursday, which I haven't participated in before, I give you a few of my favorite things (cue Julie Andrews):

This is my favorite mug, bought from an artisan who comes to the Maryland Christmas Show every year. I have a number of pieces of his work, several mugs and chowder bowls and dessert bowls and a sugar bowl, but this is by far my favorite. It is a large mug, and I can go away after making tea and come back an hour later and my tea will still be warm, and frankly the perfect temperature.

 

These were my cravings at the grocery store yesterday (no, I'm not pregnant. If I were, there's an ob that has some explaining to do about my tubal). I've already eaten 2 of the oranges and 1 of the pickles, and I ate only one of the doughnuts and there are only 2 left in the box. Must be the gnomes who live around here.

All of my children have worn this paddington bear-ish coat. It has a hood, too, and it makes me smile every single time I put it on Nemo. It will be hard to hand this down when Nemo outgrows it, but I want it to make someone else smile as much as it has me.

 

This is my sink. We had the original sink replaced when we had the water leak fixed. It is big and deep and I can wash anything in it, from roasting pans to canning pots to babies. It's not always shiny, it frequently is filled with dishes, but it's one of the things I'm going to miss the most, I think, when we leave this house.

My back deck. It is great for having dinner outside in the spring through fall. If you walk over to the edge of it right now, this is what you see:

In the spring and summer when the leaves are on the trees you can't see the lake, but every fall it reappears when the trees shed their leaves.

There are a lot of things I love about this house, a lot of things I'll miss once we move. Did I mention we're house hunting? That we're trying to find a place to move into so that we can fix this place up and sell it, because we'll get a helluva lot more money for it if we are not in it? Expect to hear a lot more about that in the near future. It is my single biggest stressor right now, and I'm trying to embrace the stress because it means that I can get the baby out of my bed and snuggle with my husband again from time to time sometime in the near future. But, man, what a pain in the asterisk this is.

What are the things that you love, small, simple things that brighten your day in some way?

100th Post

In honor of my 100th post, here are 100 things about me:

1. My favorite color is blue.
2. I am a zodiac weirdo, with a birthday on the cusp of cancer/leo.
3. I have a birthmark under my left arm.
4. I converted to Catholicism when I was 19.
5. By the time I was 23, I had stopped practicing.
6. I started again when Little Man was born.
7. Being at home drives me crazy most of the time, but it is the right thing for our family at this time.
8. That doesn't make it any easier to actually do it.
9. I am a slob.  I hate to clean.
10. I start hobbies and never stick with them, but instead just end up collecting all the crap to do them with.
11. I love to read.
12. Consequently, I have an English degree.
13. I finished my 5 year teaching degree in four years.
14. While working over 30 hours a week for most of it.
15. I have a 2-year associates degree, and I lived at home while earning it.
16. I transfered to a 4-year school to finish my English/teaching degree, and drove home almost every weekend to work.
17. I was a Camp Fire Girl.
18. I took ballet for 10 years.
19. I always took care of my toys because I wanted them to keep looking like they just came out of the box.
20. I just said "No firing cannons at the computer."
21. The comment my parents received most about me growing up was "Fishy is not working up to her potential."
22. I got detention only once in my life.
23. For yelling at the guy who sat behind me for pulling my hair.
24. In seventh grade math class.
25. His name was Kenny Campbell.
26. He went on to play the bagpipes.
27. Really well.
28. I can play clarinet and saxophone.
29. Averagely.  Which isn't a word.
30. I cannot for the life of me make a sound come out of a flute.
31. I hate the recorder.  I cannot make myself think of it as an actual instrument.
32. Little Man has a blue recorder.
33. My favorite food is pasta.
34. I miss my mom more now that I have kids than I ever did the first 10 years after her death.
35. I think Sunny looks just like her, with lighter hair.
36. I hate shopping for clothes because nothing ever fits me quite right.
37. I have never broken a bone.
38. I have gone ice skating in a car.  I don't recommend it.
39. In the ensuing accident, the sliding part was actually kinda fun.
40. The abrupt stop at the end wasn't.
41. I had back spasms for a week and could barely move.
42. My first job was in a children's shoe store.
43. I once fit shoes for a child who was being nursed by his/her mother.
44. It grossed me out.
45. Frankly, despite my feelings about breastfeeding, that same thing would probably gross me out today - just stop feeding the kid if it's time to get the shoes.
46. The kid was over 2 years old.
47. I was in marching band.
48. I had a few paid playing gigs in college and for a few years after.
49. I met my husband because his best friend played in one of those paying gigs with me.
50. I dated the friend first.
51. Somehow the friend doesn't hate us for that.  I don't quite understand this, but we are grateful.
52. He reads this website.
53. I love Christmas music.
54. I hate that my husband doesn't like the holidays.
55. Any of them.
56. I tend to be a "skin of the teeth" "seat of my pants" kinda girl.
57. That said, I am rather risk averse.
58. I hate flying.
59. Petrified of it.  Really.
60. Was before 9-11.
61. Still am now, but I get more understanding about it.
62. I am glad that my father lives several states away right now.
63. He will be coming back in a month.  I am not glad about that.
64. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
65. I would make a great lawyer, I think, and I would like it, but I don't want to go to law school.
66. I am lonely a lot of the time.
67. I don't like many members of my family.  If we weren't related, we wouldn't be friends.
68. I love the Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash flavor that is out now for the holidays.
69. NASCAR is my guilty pleasure.
70. My favorite driver is Mark Martin.
71. I love having fresh cut flowers around.
72. I am a terrible gardener - a total black thumb.
73. I rarely have flowers around because I can't justify the expense of buying them.
74. I am sometimes jealous that my husband makes the kind of money he does without having finished his degree when I busted my ass to finish mine quickly and it will never be a big money earner.
75. If I had a million dollars I'd buy a 6 bedroom house near my husband's job and a brand new minivan and save the rest for college expenses.
76. Right now I have a favorite among my kids.
77. I won't say who it is.  I hope none of them ever figure out who it is.
78. I feel terrible about this.
79. I was the favorite among the grandchildren in my family growing up and I hated it.
80. I try my hardest to treat my kids equally.
81. I know I fail sometimes.
82. I think I'm a rotten mother most of the time.
83. I let my kids watch too much tv and I don't do enough activities with them.
84. I lack the patience.
85. Plus I find it boring.
86. But I don't find the kids boring.
87. On the contrary, there's never a dull moment around here.
88. I do read to them, a lot, and I am proud that they all love books.
89. I'd like to claim credit for that, but think it's probably just their natures.
90. I like to go camping, but I hate the bug bites I always get.
91. I can't have any caffeine due to my heart condition, and I miss having coffee.  (decaf still has too much caffeine)
92. My husband had longer hair than I did when we got married.
93. My hair was down to the middle of my back.
94. I miss his long hair - it was sexy.
95. I was a metal head in high school.
96. I was deaf for 2 days after seeing AC/DC in concert.
97. I lost my virginity when I was 13.  Voluntarily.  Just to get it over with.
98. That was much too young.
99. I pray every day that my kids don't repeat that mistake.
100. Despite the complaints, I recognize I have a damn good life, and I'm grateful.

So there you have it - more and less than you ever wanted to know.  100 posts later, I'm still just as boring as ever.

About Last Night...

Sorry, the skeevy guy will have to wait, because my physiology needs an ass-kicking.

I know I've scrawled a bit here before about a heart condition I have.  It is fairly benign as far as heart conditions go, more of an annoyance than a threat most of the time.  It is called paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia, or PSVT for short.  As you can see from the link, it's basically a rapid heartbeat for no apparent reason that comes on randomly, although it can be associated with stress or fatigue.  Along with it I tend to have a fast normal sinus rhythm, around 115 or so, so I take medication to keep it down to a dull roar, around 85 bpm or so.  I also avoid caffeine (don't have any except chocolate), cold medicines, and anything else that is a nervous system stimulant.  Most of the time, when I have what I call an episode, it lasts for at most a few minutes, maybe a few seconds.  It is fairly exhausting when they happen, but really not a big deal anymore (they were a big deal when they first happened as they scared the piss out of me and I was misdiagnosed as having panic attacks for a long time - it took years to get a proper diagnosis).

Which brings us to last night.  BigDaddyFish didn't get home from work 2 nights ago til midnight, and I went to bed last night around 11 ish or so, about normal for me.  I was TIRED.  I woke up around 1 am, in a full PSVT episode - heart racing and pounding, dizzy and lightheaded.  I quickly tried to bear down and push like a bowel movement (or pushing a baby out, for that matter) to get it to stop, but it didn't work.  I asked BDF to bring me a glass of ice water; most of the time chugging a glass of ice water is enough to make it stop.  (What that actually does is make your heart skip a beat, which then lets the heart reset itself and resume a normal rhythm.  It is the same effect that the medicines they give you in the hospital do - but in the hospital, it stops your heart for about a second.  Which.  Feels.  Like.  A.  Lifetime.  if you ever need it done - you're conscious when it happens.)  That didn't work.  I started to get a litle panicky, because although for me I could sit there all night like that (unpleasant, but doable), I had no idea what effect it would have on the baby.  And the baby wasn't moving.  Part of the dizziness is caused by the heart beating too fast to allow the chambers to fill up properly, so a slight amount of decreased oxygen is normal, and I didn't know if the baby was getting enough.  Me getting panicky caused BDF to get mad at me (like that helps), and I will spare the details but it caused a huge fight, all the while my heart is trying to leave my chest.  Fun!

BDF also got mad because he "couldn't figure out how I was snoring and making those damn noises at the same time."  Apparently I was trying to bear down to convert the episode while I was still asleep.  Good to know that my body was trying to take care of me even as it was malfunctioning.  BDF thought I was faking being asleep, though.  He kept asking questions, and I kept telling him "I DON'T KNOW - I WAS ASLEEP!!"  I guess I finally convinced him after I repeated myself 80 thousand times.

Finally, around 2 am as I was preparing to go to the ER, I gave the old ice water one more chance, and because I threatened my goofy heart with the ER, it worked.  I then drank some juice, and within 10 minutes Guppy was moving around like his normal active self.  So I went back to bed, since I already knew I had an appointment with the OB this morning.

BigDaddyFish apologized.

I had my old-fart test today, and the baby and I are just fine.  The OB said if I have another PSVT episode that lasts for around 3 hours, call the cardiologist.  He'll just say talk to the OB.  If it happens again, I'll make them call each other and fight it out, while I figure out how to make the baby come out.

My section is going to be scheduled the week of November 13, due to Little Man's issues at birth.  While the particular OB I saw today wasn't thrilled (and actually thinks I'm crazy) because he is worried about me going into labor and he doesn't want me to, he agreed to do the section on my terms.  Which is good, cause I'm pushy that way. 

So now we just wait.

And as a total non-sequitur, McDonald's just gave me a spoon --- to eat my salad.  With grilled chicken.  BigDaddyFish says I should cut slits in it to make a spork.