March 30, 2007

Foto Friday

Since I’m suffering from Bloggorhea and can’t think of anything good to write, I’ll leave you with a few photos.

Drunk.  On my birthday.  Yep.  That would be me, standing on the right.  Not exactly the best photo.  I was quite sloshed.  More birthday photos here.

My little Doodlebug, having fun at our visit to the newly built playground at Mead Park.  More fun photos here.

I was having fun with fd’s Flickr toys.  Totally cool.  The above is my Murphy, in Warhol fashion.  You can find the flickr toys here.

Also, 5 Minutes for Mom is giving away a Dyson Slim Vacuum!  Actually, Dyson is giving it away, I think.  But I’ve wanted one of these for years.  YEARS!  I entered the contest, won’t you, too?  It’s worth it!

And, I’m at BlogHer today, come visit me here.  Read and comment, won’t you?

March 29, 2007

Getting BlogHer’ed Up

Elizabeth at Table For Five has recommended business cards to hand out at the BlogHer Conference this July.  Since I’ve been geared up, Blogher’ed up, since last July when I read about all the fun everyone had (I couldn’t attend), I was anxious to get my blogger business cards made.  I just read her post and ordered my cards (200 of them) five minutes ago.  Are they not beautiful?  Okay maybe not beautiful, but at least blogulous (fabulous)?  I probably only need a hundred of these babies, but the more you order the more you save!

Thanks Elizabeth, for the suggestion of 123print.com!!  They really do have several hundred different designs to choose from.

Now…if only it were July!

March 26, 2007

Another Year Older and None the Wiser

Saturday, March 17th, was my 28th birthday.  I still refuse to acknowledge the day and the number that goes along with it, but I’m getting over it.  I know I’m not “old” but I sure as hell feel like it.

Perhaps the ten (okay 10 3/4) year age difference between Doug and me, makes me think I’m thirty-eight or something.  Each day that he gets older; guess what?  So do I!  Unbelievable isn’t it?

Another theory about my reluctance to admit my age is that at twenty-eight years old (okay 27 3/4) my mother gave birth to me.  I am her first born.  I always thought that twenty-eight was “too old” to have a first child, especially in 1979, because that’s like close to thirty.  I know that today it’s okay (and wise) to wait several years before starting a family.  (Because it’s really hard work, this mothering business.)

I adore my mother because she’s always there when I need her and I often take that for granted.  She’s more than willing to babysit Dawson when I have to get away.  When I have an awful day, she’s the one who tells me to pray, get some sleep and have some chocolate.  She still calls to nag ask me if I’m brushing my teeth and praying the rosary.     

These little nutty things about her used to drive me crazy.  I realize now, she is the way she is, because she cares.  She’s a mother and she loves her children.  That’s what mothers do.  They love and protect their children no matter what age they are.   

I feared “turning into” my mother.  I often felt Mom was too old for her age.  She was born years too late.  She grew up on a farm, saves everything for “later” (and refuses to throw anything out because she might need it!) and she loves to collect antiques and do cross stitch. 

I thought these things made her ancient and I promised myself I’d have children young, so that I wouldn’t drive them crazy with my quirky ways and ideas that I’d acquire at the old age of twenty-eight.

I gave birth to Dawson at twenty-five.  Not exactly that “young” compared to my current age.  But yet I sulked about growing older and how time refuses to stand still for just a moment.  And then it hit me.  I was stressed out over this birthday because I thought I’d have two children by now.

Not to be taken the wrong way, because I love my little Doodlebug more than the sun and earth.  But I still feel like time is wasting away.  By the time I give Dawson a brother or sister they’ll be too many years apart to like each other.  They’ll fight like cat and dog, just like my brother and I did.  Nathan and I are four years apart and we didn’t like each other at all when we were kids.

Now that my old fertility troubles are back, I can’t seem to shake this feeling of inadequacy — reproductively speaking.  I’ve been pretending that it doesn’t bother me.  I’ve been telling others, and trying to convince myself, that I’m not ready for another baby.  Not now or ever.  And I’m lying — to my husband, my family and myself.

I’ve been hiding behind the excuse that I want to lose weight, eat healthier and be a thin and hip momma to Dawson.  While the whole health thing is a good excuse to have, I feel sad inside.  I see babies and I cry a few tears.  I read about the happiness of bloggers who are having baby number two and I feel a sliver of jealousy.  But I’m truly happy for these women because I often think to myself “They would be better at this than me, I wouldn’t be able to do it again.”  And, “What if I won’t love a second child as much as I love Dawson?”

But I know it’s not true.  I would be great with another child.  Dawson is loved and well taken care of and I’m truly lucky to have him.  And I’d be lucky to have another child. 

This is why I don’t buy the birth control crap my doctor is trying to sell me.  But yet he’s right, it’s only six months.  I’d need sixth months to get on track with my health.

So, I think this is why my age was bothering me.  And I’m over it.  Not completely, but 98% over it. 

Speaking of birthdays — my friend Amy was in town for mine and we got smashing drunk.  I have pictures (I know I told you this already) and I’m going to upload them tonight.  My camera is acting like a moron and I can’t get them up at this moment.

Thank you to everyone who has been supportive to me the last few weeks.  I know I’ve been missing in action for awhile.  I apologize for my scarce posting.  I adore and love you all.

March 19, 2007

Doctor My, Ovaries…

I had to delete my last post because my blog was acting absolutely bitchy when I tried to update my entry.  I wanted to tell you all about my ultrasound and the preliminary results.

When I got back to work after the appointment, I immediately called my husband.  Not because anything was horribly wrong, but because I needed to hear the voice of someone I love.

“I have a cyst on my left ovary the size of a strawberry.”

“Well, that’s not so bad…right?”

“Umm, something the size of a strawberry attached to something the size of a grain of sand, isn’t all that great.”

“So, now what?”

“Now it must pop on it’s own or they’ll go in an pop it for me.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I have no fucking idea.  But I’m tempted to ask them to take out the equipment and leave the playground.  I’m sick of this junk.”

(insane laughter) “Umm, so you’re mad, I get that vibe clearly.”

“Yeah.  I’m pissed off and I just wish these idiots would have looked at this a lot sooner.  I’m waiting for the final results and prognosis.”

“Okay, well, just know I love you and everything will be okay.”

Now if only I believed him, about the “being okay” part.  This sucks.  I haven’t had a cyst that large since high school.  Seems the old ovarian problems are back full force.  I’m going to bed now.  I’m too tired to think about this anymore.

Birthday blog post and pictures to come.  Stay tuned.

March 17, 2007

What My Mom Doesn’t Want You To Know

Hello Dear Loggers!  (Err, I mean bloggers!)

This is Dawson.  I just felt the need to hijack Mumma’s blog and tell you all how silly she is.  Did you know today is her twenty-eighth birthday?  That’s right.  My mumma was born on St. Patrick’s Day in 1979.  She’s not exactly an old fart, but she’s no longer a teenager!  She’s been having a few bad months, embracing the big 2-8.  In fact, she refuses to acknowledge her birthday this year.

Her friend Amy is in town so she’s been busy partying like it’s still 1999, while I’m stuck at Nonna and Poppa’s house.  Mumma says 1999 was a good year, back when she was twenty and “carefree”.  Twenty-eight isn’t that bad.  She can drive, which is a lot more than I can do.  I feel like a little drunk person, running and bumping into things with my 2 1/2 year old motorskills.  My mumma is still young!  She acts like her life is coming to an end!  This is not true!  Afterall, she’s got me, an adorable toddler full of spunk and energy.  I will keep her on her toes.  She’ll feel young and “carefree”.

Won’t you please tell her to suck it up and deal with it?  She’s got plenty of good years ahead of her.  Besides that, she’s driving Daddy and me crazy with all her whining about how’s she’s two years away from 30, and twelve years away from 40.  Enough already.  She’s got her health, she’s got great friends, my Daddy loves her, I love her, too.

I’m going to wish my mother a happy birthday and my present to her is NOT smearing birthday cake on the walls.  Now, if only I could get Poppa to hand me the phone.  What?  I promise I won’t call China, really!

Thanks for listening to me, blog world.  Only a few more years until I can read, write and type.

Love,

Dawson