How To Look Like You Know What You're Doing On Twitter

Pin It

(This is the second installment in my new series Sometimes on Wednesdays I Like To Talk About Blogging.  Except I'm not actually talking about blogging this time.)(LASH ME WITH NOODLES) 

(Part 1, This Is Me, Taking Back All Of That Stuff I Said About Twitter, can be found here.)

(Oh, and if you're on Twitter, feel free to leave your twitter name in the comments so we can all follow each other.)

If you decide to Tweet...

So you've decided to tweet, you have an account, and you understand the basics (put an "@" before someone's twitter name to talk directly to them, put a "d " before someone's twitter name to send them a private (direct) message, and start your tweet with "RT" to re-post something someone else has already said.).  

Now what?

First, upload a picture
There is nothing worse than talking back and forth with the Evil Faceless Bluebird icon.  I'm sure you are a very nice person underneath your pastel birdy mask, but HOW DO WE KNOW?  You could be a serial killer or a robot.  Make yourself seem more like a person and less like a spam-bot by uploading a profile picture so that others have a smiling face to remember you by, instead of the default twitter bluebird pic. And make sure your twitter handle is something that makes sense in conjunction with your blog name/handle, and is something easy to remember, not just 42TWEETIE9388.

Follow a bunch of people
If the point of Twitter is to network and connect with other bloggers (and your mileage may vary on that point), then you need people to connect WITH, including brand spanking new bloggers who you'd like to get to know.

Not sure who to follow?  Find someone you like on Twitter, and check out who THEY follow.  Some of them have whole lists of people you can follow, like "funny bloggers" or "clever tweeps."

Oh, and by the way - you don't have to know someone to follow them. If someone is on Twitter and they're not protecting their tweets from non-approved followers, then they expect (and often even hope) that people will follow them and respond to their tweets.

Use hashtags when appropriate
If you're tweeting about a particular topic, you can include a hashtag (#) to make sure your tweet is seen by people who share your interests and who might be searching for related items.

For example, when I tweet a giveaway, I include the hashtag #giveaway, and subsequently, any Twitter user who searches for "giveaway" will see my tweet. You don't have to use hashtags every time (I rarely do), but when it's appropriate, using a hashtag will make sure interested eyes see your tweets. You can also use hashtags to find people who are interested in the same things you are (like #LOST or #ROLLERBLADING or #HORRIBLEWAYSTODIE) and follow them. 

Hashtags are also used in Twitter "parties" - where scads of people "meet" at a particular time to tweet about a particular subject, using a specific hashtag.  I tried my first party last night, and frankly, it was sort of like a bad high school flashback - the room was full of people I didn't know, nobody talked to me, and I had no idea what to say to get invested in the conversation. AWKWARD.  (But I probably need to try it again once or twice before calling it.)


Do As I Say, Not As I Do...

I may or may not have broken each and every one of these guidelines at various points in my very short Twitter career.  And some of them I still ignore. Sue me.

Don't use Twitter exclusively to spam people with your personal links
I made this mistake at first, only jumping on Twitter to post links to my latest post or links to my giveaways, and the result was a collective yawn. Nobody cared. 

It's like walking into a stranger's living room and announcing that you'd like to read them a little something from your blog. If you're a virtual stranger, the reception will probably be extremely awkward silence and/or the twitter equivalent of a police escort - UNFOLLOW. But if your followers see you now and then, if they're used to seeing your smiling face, used to seeing you participate, have seen a few thoughtful/useful/silly tweets from you in the past - well then sure, they might take a look at your blog link.

Be sure to occasionally RT other people's tweets, and to tweet other people's blog content
If you are using Twitter solely to self-promote, people catch on pretty quick.  Twitter is a community, so contribute to the community as a whole and not just to yourself - by retweeting items you think are of value. 

Try not to monopolize the conversation...
(...she said, blushing.) Sometimes I get on twitter and my friends are there, and I start jabbering away, tweety-tweet-tweet.  I forget that not everyone who follows me wants to see The Sue Show complete with 500 Tweets O' Nonsense, all in a 60 second period, so that it is impossible to see anything else in their tweet stream. I may be chortling to myself on my end of the keyboard, but other people - maybe not so much.

Sometimes those conversations are best taken to DM (direct message - a way to privately tweet back and forth).  I also try to remember to use a DM when all I have to say in my reply is something that doesn't really stand alone as a tweet, like "thanks!"

(Oh, and by the way, you can only Direct Message people who are following you. Try not to be offended if you find out they aren't. Sometimes they don't even realize they aren't following you, especially if you've just been chatting.) 

Some people frown on using Twitter as a chat room
Not ME, but Some People. Those folks would probably also tell you to TRY not to tweet something in pieces - first 140 characters of your thought, next 140 characters of your thought.  They feel each thought/tweet should be stand-alone and separate, so that someone doesn't have to scroll back through the entire conversation to understand what you're talking about. Personally? I think These People should probably relax.

Keep in mind that it isn't email
People don't always read every tweet sent in their direction, and people don't respond to every tweet.  YOU don’t have to read every tweet. If I tweet at someone and they don't respond, I just assume they're not online.  Or they're online but otherwise occupied. No biggie. If I really need to talk to them, I send them an email.  Twitter isn't like with blogs, where there is all of this assumed reciprocal commenting obligation. Jump on Twitter when you feel like it, and jump OFF Twitter when you feel like it. No need to say "Good night Twitter."  Although many of us (yes, that includes me) just CANNOT HELP OURSELVES. See?

Lastly...
No one asked me to write this, no one paid me to write this. Twitter is my shiny new toy, so I feel like bringing it out for Show and Tell, even though I'm still learning to use it.  That said, I don't particularly care if you use Twitter or not (other than being happy to have new tweeps). Use Twitter, don't use Twitter - that's your deal - so please, no comments about whether or not I've convinced you.  I'm not trying to convince you.  I'm writing this mostly because I wish someone would've pulled ME aside a few months ago, and really explained Twitter to me back when I was all Scoffity McScofferson.

I often hear people explain Twitter by saying it's for giving status updates that are too short for your blog, and sure, that's a possible use, but that is NOT THE POINT OF TWITTER.  Twitter is a great networking tool. People talk on Twitter.  People plan things on Twitter.  People get introduced to each other on Twitter. It's starting to heavily influence what goes on in the blog world - it's even starting to replace comments (someone posts a link to their post, people on Twitter read it and they respond ON TWITTER).

Put simply, I'll quote Gigamom: "If you're not tweeting, you're missing half the conversation."  Whether or not you care about that? Is totally up to you.

OK more experienced Twitter friends - what did I leave out?  

PS:  Don't forget to leave your Twitter name in the comments, if you have one, so that I (and others) can follow you.  Mine is @suelikestoblog
PPS:  My blogroll is temporarily down but will be up again in a few days, all re-jiggered-like.

SUBSCRIBE

I Think Fernando Is Back

Pin It

(The Hubs and I make pretty cute babies, I know. Weird genetic fluke.)

I love this picture. He's so adorable and pink and delicious in that picture, but that is not my favorite thing about it.

My favorite thing about this picture is that it's a PICTURE and that he is MUTE.

(BLESSED BLESSED SILENCE.)

Remember how after he was born he would scream and scream and scream and scream?

Yes.

Well.

APPARENTLY THAT WAS NOT A PHASE.

Here is what I get to listen to ALL. DAY. LONG:

He makes this noise CONSTANTLY.

He is not hungry.

He is not tired.

He is not wet.

There are no tears in his eyes.

He is just EXTREMELY FOND of hearing his own voice.

OH, bonus! Here's one with growling:

(And for the record, after quite a bit of growling and fussing and acting like he was starving to death he would not eat ONE BIT OF HIS FOOD, but instead decided that the thought of eating was DISGUSTING TO HIM, IT WAS DISGUSTING, HOW DARE YOU ATTEMPT TO FEED FERNANDO GREEN BEANS?!! I DEMAND APPLESAUCE! Squawk squawk peevish squawk!)

I'm starting to think he is... ...a little bit spoiled.

I blame this ENTIRELY on the children, because I can't put him down for even a second without one of the kids swooping in to rescue him from his hellish life of Playing On A Blanket With A Toy.

What I say: "Don't pick him up. He's changed, fed and happy - let him play."

What Megan hears: "The baby will die of a broken heart unless I pick him up in 3.5 seconds."

What I say: "GUYS. FOR THE LOVE. Leave him be. He's content. He needs to practice sitting. DO NOT PICK HIM UP."

What Emma hears: "Pick up your brother and play rocketship with him. HURRY before he is completely traumatized by all of the sitting."

What I say: "I want to get the noises the baby is making on tape, EVERYONE LEAVE HIM ALONE for a second so I can get him in his natural state."

What Jake hears: "Surely five seconds is far too long for a baby to be left to his own devices. I MUST PROVIDE HIM WITH ENTERTAINMENT IMMEDIATELY."

And what is the result? A baby who is COMPLETELY INCAPABLE of entertaining himself for even ten second increments.

The baby is kind of a little con artist already, which makes me wonder what exactly we are in for in over the next few years.

"What, you want me to play by myself down here? Seriously?"

"What if I make the sad face? Will someone pick me up if I make the sad face? No?"

"Oh, FINE, I ADMIT IT, I'm HAPPY."

(heaven help us)

PS: (Don't even get me started on his nightly 3AM social hour. After he's eaten and back in his crib, he likes to stay up for a good 45 minutes, yelling joyfully and squealing. "HELLOOO? MOTHER?? I'M JUST CHECKING IN TO SEE IF YOU ARE HAVING A GOOD EVENING? HELLOOO? FATHER? FATHER? PERHAPS IT IS TIME FOR SOME BABY NINJA WRESTLING? YES? NO? HELLOOO?")

PPS: Did I mention that this Friday's giveaway, among other things, will include tickets to A CERTAIN EVENT that some of you might want to attend, with the intials C. B. and C.?  Did I mention that?  BECAUSE IT WILL. Wheeee!

PPPS: My friend Kristina is doing something pretty awesome this month. Go check it out.

SUBSCRIBE

Farewell Sweet Maiden

Pin It One thing I like to ponder is my own death. I have very specific ideas about how to achieve the funeral of my dreams. In our religion we're supposed to have these funerals that are uplifting, focusing on the fact that we'll be together again someday and making sure everyone knows all about that good news, leaving everyone feeling good.

And I know other people want their friends and family to have a big party, celebrating their life. That's so nice, I think.

But I don't want that. I want everyone to cry over me, a LOT. Because I'm DEAD. I'm FREAKING DEAD. I mean, come on. Party on your own time, this is my FUNERAL we're talking about. Show some respect, and by respect I mean, show everyone how you just cannot picture the world without my bright shining light of awesome lightness and how it will pain you to go on for even ONE MORE SECOND. Geez.

Unfortunately, when I tell my husband my final wishes, his response is usually to roll his eyes or laugh at me, or start muttering some more, so I thought I should post my final requests in a more public forum so that if I kick the bucket anytime soon he will have no choice but to obey my wishes. Accordingly, here are my FINAL WISHES:

1. I would like to give the eulogy, via a pre-recorded video. I think that would be really touching. Believe me, nobody will be more broken up over my death than me, you know? I can really lend it that air of gravitas and reverence, what with all of the incoherent sobbing I will do on the video. And also it might really freak a lot of people out which amuses me.

2. If that won't work because I die before I get around to making the video, I would like either my brother Mark or my sister Diana to give the eulogy, mostly because I'm pretty sure they would both fall apart and start crying on stage, which is always good for getting the audience going. Diana would probably get REALLY upset and fall into unflattering snorfle type crying (such is the sisterly love we share) which would be ugly but also super touching. Alternatively, my sister Wendy is an actress AND also kind of a wuss, and my sister-in-law Holly is an ultra-dependable public cryer.

3. If they give the eulogy, I'm at least WRITING IT. I mean gosh. How else will they know how to narrarate the powerpoint presentation I put together with highlights of my life? Besides, I've already spent a lot of time writing the dang thing.

4. I would also like to give the musical number, because hey, how touching would that be, having the dead girl sing at her own funeral. Not a dry eye in the house, that's how touching. I'm thinking I could sing something subtle and understated like My Immortal by Evanescence or Fantine's Death from Les Mis, something like that.

5. If I am in a bad accident, and there is some question about whether or not I am brain dead, I say leave the machines on. Because you never know. I might come back.

6. But if I do appear to be pretty much deadish, please give someone my organs. And then, after they have my organs, please send them a little picture of me to keep on a shelf somewhere, so that when they wake up in the night and look around with their donated eyeballs, they'll see me staring RIGHT at them, kind of like I'm haunting them, but in a nice way. Like that.

7. I hope my husband will remarry quickly. He's an affectionate sort and he would get far too melancholy without someone around to hug him a lot, plus the children would need a mother. Therefore, I think he should marry an old spinster type - someone completely unattractive but with a sweet spirit. If that won't work, he should at least (as I've mentioned before) not marry anyone younger than 25, or smaller than a size eight. (Seriously hon, a 19 year old might be hot, but she'd be REALLY annoying. She'd probably make faces at you if you decided to bake and eat a can of cinnamon rolls at ten o'clock on a Sunday night. ME? I don't judge. In fact, I care so much about your feelings that you can always count on me to sacrifice and eat them WITH you. I'm a giver.)

I think that's it. That's all I can think of right now at least. How about you?

SUBSCRIBE

This Is Me, Taking Back All Of That Stuff I Said About Twitter

Pin It (This is part of a new series I'm doing called Sometimes on Wednesdays I Like To Talk About Blogging.)

I was dragged into Twitter kicking and screaming.  KICKING AND SCREAMING, y'all.

(When I'm kicking and screaming I'm from Texas.)

I protested that it was a waste of time.

I was already doing too much online.

And besides it was {{stage whisper}} - Just Kind Of Dumb.

I emailed back and forth with a fellow Twitter hater, saying "it's nothing more than name dropping and virtual social climbing."  "140 characters of insipid nothing."

Ahem.

After about a month-and-a-half of ACTIVE participation I now have to admit that I was wrong.

Not just wrong, but OH SO VERY WRONG.

(Somewhere out in internet land Azucar is smirking, because SHE TOLD ME SO.)

I'm here to tell you that if you are trying to grow a platform because you're an aspiring author or life coach or a singer or dinosaur trainer or WHATEVER, or (probably far more likely) if you're a blogger who is serious about blogging and growing your readership - you might want to check into Twitter.

(If you're above things like traffic and readership then feel free to happily ignore me.)


Here is why you need Twitter...

Twitter is a great way to get to know other bloggers
This is the beauty of Twitter - you get a chance to talk to folks who are not already in your blogging circle (and who might not even be on your radar), and it can help you to get better acquainted with bloggers who you already know and love. I'd never read Natalie or Loralee until I met them on Twitter (tragic oversights in both cases), but now they are both must reads.  I read Kristy's blog for years, but had never had an actual conversation with her until I found her on Twitter and we bonded over babies and blog conferences. And where else can I have random conversations with Finslippy about easter candy and hero worship?



Twitter can help drive traffic to your blog
After only a month or two of active participation, Twitter is now my fourth highest source of blog traffic.  Kind of remarkable when you consider that I've been blogging since 2007.

Of course, you won't get traffic if you just sign up and lurk around.  You have to actually SAY STUFF and TALK TO PEOPLE and you have to have followers - because followers are the people who will click on the bright shiny links you post and who might share those links with others.

So how do you get followers?

WHY I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

Here are a few tried and true methods (and by tried and true I mean that over the ginormous period of time I've been on Twitter these methods appear to be working well enough):

• Friend of a Friend: People notice when someone they follow has a fun conversation with you.  Of course, since they aren't following you yet, they can only see half of the conversation.  Sometimes they'll take the leap and decide to follow you so that they can read the whole thing. (Twitter is eavesdropping HEAVEN.)

• Retweets: If you post a link to your fantastically clever blog post, one of your tweeps (twitter friends) might retweet it (basically reposting it for THEIR followers).  If some of those folks find it useful/funny/interesting, they might follow you.

• Introducing Yourself: You can have a conversation with someone you don't know.  If they enjoy the conversation, they might follow you.

• The Power of Suggestion: On Follow Friday (#ff) your existing tweeps might suggest that others follow you. 

• Following: If you follow someone, they just might follow you back. Or they might not.  Don't be offended either way, some people (AHEM) are just a little scattered and forgetful. 

The end result is that more people have a chance to get to know you, and to get to know your writing and your blog.  All good stuff.

Twitter gives you access to information you won't get anywhere else
Twitter is all about information - whether it's information you read on a link someone tweets, or information gained just by BEING IN THE ROOM when people are busy planning/plotting/organizing/befriending.


A few things to keep in mind:

YES, Twitter can be a massive waste of time
Just like blogging, Twitter CAN BE a massive time suck. You have to find a balance that works for you. I tend to keep a twitter window open while I'm working in the mornings, and will tweet sporadically throughout the morning - especially if someone like Beck or Stephanie is online. But when I'm done working, I usually try to TURN OFF THE LAPTOP and leave Twitter (and blogging) behind until my kids are in bed.

Twitter can be confusing at first
You log on and look around and think - um, what in the what what?  Nobody you know is automatically there.  It's just a list of strangers saying really bizarre things.



That's why you have to find people to follow. 

Then Twitter looks more like this:



There are lots of free applications that can help you to make sense of what's going on. 

I like HootSuite. There's a column on the left where I can see what all of the people who I follow are saying, a column in the middle where I can see what people are saying to or about ME, and a third column for private (direct) messages 'specially for me.   



So there you have it.

Mea culpa Twitter.

Please to forgive.

Next week, unless I forget/get too tired/run off and join the circus, I'll post my suggestions for how to get started on Twitter without making a fool of yourself (LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES, PEOPLE. LEARN FROM MY MISTAKES).

Now get out there and tweet your brains out.

You can find me on Twitter at @suelikestoblog, overusing capital letters and emoticons.

SUBSCRIBE

I Have a Confession To Make

Pin It You guys.

I tried the HCG diet.

(I KNOW, I know, I know.  "Crash dieting never works."  "You have to make lifestyle changes."  "Moderation in all things."  I KNOW.  You don't have to tell me.)

But if I'm going to have to meet a bunch of people in February, I would prefer to be - not in the largest pants size I've ever owned.  That would be my preference.

If you haven't heard of the HCG diet before, it is basically - complete insanity.  Basically, you starve yourself  and you take HCG hormone shots, you can't use lotion or oily make-up or cook anything that would require you to even momentarily touch something fatty, and you - I don't know - spin around three times in the dark and whisper "please make me beautiful" until it all works together to make you lose weight. (Or else, as I suspect, it's just the fact that you are STARVING YOURSELF that is effective and the rest is all complete BS.)

You can't exercise, which means my running program went on a temporary hiatus.  The official reason for this has something to do with burning calories from the "wrong" fat stores, but really, I think it is because they know you would KEEL OVER AND DIE, and they don't want to be responsible for it.

The diet has phases - Phase 1, where you eat like a crazed hippopotamus for two days (this is called "Fat Loading" and it was my Very Favorite Phase); Phase 2, where you eat 500 calories per day for 23 or 43 days, depending upon how clinically insane your doctor is; Phase 3, which they call "Stabilization" and where you basically eat no carbs; and Phase 4, the maintenance phase, where you ease in a few carbs, gain everything back, and start all over again.

(Listen.  I know how crazy it sounds. I have read billions of nutrition/diet/fitness/healthy lifestyle books. I am very good about READING about how to get and stay fit, just not so good at the actual implementation. I know all about how crash dieting effects your metabolism, your muscle mass, etc., etc., etc.  I know about all of it.  I'm not fat because I don't understand these things.  But desperate people do desperate things.   And after viewing Certain Christmas Pictures That Have Been DESTROYED, DESTROYED, DESTROYED, I would say that desperate just about sums it up for me.)

I started reading The Literature (from back in the 1950s - so - Highly Credible), and it sounded vaguely convincing, if you squinted and really WANTED it to be convincing and were willing to ignore all of the other things you knew about nutrition, fitness and metabolism.  And I know a lot of people who have done this diet, who have done WELL on this diet - people who are NOT actually clinically insane, but rather rational, intelligent people.  So I thought - what do I have to lose (besides, as it turns out, large clumps of my hair)? 

I tried it.  For the two fat loading days, and then for eight days of starvation.

The Pros:

• I lost 14 pounds in 8 days. (I suspect 80% of that loss is water, since I look not a smidgeon different.)
• My carb and sugar cravings are completely gone.
• I am completely off the sauce (Diet Dr. Pepper)
• I wasn't hungry, strangely enough.

The Cons:

• The aforementioned hair loss
• Overwhelming fatigue
• Skin like an alligator
• The inability to form complete sentences
• Migraines and vomiting (A HA!)
• Lost work time (due to staring at my computer wondering what the little buttons with letters on them were for)
• Irritability (if by irritability you mean completely losing my nut twenty times each day) (my children LOVED this diet)

Yesterday I started blacking out, so - as of yesterday, I switched to a sensible low carb plan that will allow me to - not starve. OH, SWEET FOOD. SWEET EGGS AND SALAD AND CHICKEN.  SWEET NOT DYING OF STARVATION. SWEET BRAIN CLARITY.

So now here I am, 14 pounds lighter but still having vertigo today.  I'm going to jump back into my running / weights program tomorrow (or as soon as the constant dizziness goes away).

And THAT is My HCG story.

Please folks, don't try this at home.

(Do I win for the craziest crash diet story ever?)

Just Be Grateful I Didn't Post My Attempt At A Heartwarming Retelling of The Little Match Girl

Pin It I'm still very serious about this coat project.

(Two whole days later and I'm still committed. Impressive. Let us pause while I pat myself on the back.)

As of 11:31 PM, we're up to 62 confirmed coats. WOOT!

(Hmmm.... I think you might have to be attempting 'ironically dorky' in order to make WOOT work. I am not exactly the ironic type, more of the actual type.)

(But still. Woot!)

If you're still on the fence about dropping the cash, just think - for around twenty bucks you can walk past the bell ringers this Christmas feeling fairly virtuous. It's a bargain my friends.

Think about what you waste twenty bucks on every week of your life:

• Random crap at Target that you never intended to buy (it is impossible to leave Target without spending $100 - I think this may be a law of nature)
• Food you will never actually eat from Costco, because it was on sale (twenty years later you will open your pantry and wonder why you thought you needed a case of trail mix) (answer: you probably didn't)
• Cafe Rio. Again.
• Doughnuts (just me?)

I'll put the rest of the coat drive info (including the shipping address) at the end of this post, so those who are sick of hearing about it (because they have no SOUL) can skip it.

But I'll leave you with this - one of my friends has been involved in refugee service projects before. One of the families they worked with only had ONE coat. And the four kids TOOK TURNS wearing it.

THEY TOOK TURNS.

Ack.

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

Last week Fernando and I took a little trip to Primary Children's hospital so they could strap him to a table, insert an IV and catheter and scan his kidney function for 45 minutes. They had to try three different catheters before finding one that would work. So - insert catheter, withdraw catheter, insert, withdraw, insert, withdraw.

Fernando was not medicated during this procedure.

Fernando was NOT pleased.

The picture above was taken with my crappy flip cell phone camera and therefore does not allow you to see the tears rolling down his cheeks, or the "WHY, WHY, WHY would you betray me like this mother" look he kept shooting me. It was awful.

Possibly I fell apart and leaked tears all over his chubby, little baby hands for the entire 45 minute procedure. Possibly.

Later in the day, after a related test and one rather jaw dropping diaper explosion, we met with his specialist, who said that he's completely fine. His kidneys are swollen but it should clear up on its own - no surgery or medication needed. It was fantastic news.

Fernando would like to acknowledge all of the people who sent us well wishes and prayers and love (he refers to them as his vampire groupies, vain little thing) by sharing one of the gigantic smiles he just started handing out this week, but you know how those vampires are - afraid of bright lights. (Or is it mirrors that vampires are afraid of? Vampires confuse me.)

He went from moderately agreeable to completely freaked out in the space of four flashes.








Ah, well... Maybe he'll be ready for the paparazzi another day.

(Fernando promises NOTHING.)

He's been on Prevacid for a couple of weeks now, and the change in him is amazing. He still has reflux, but he's no longer in constant pain. He smiles and he coos and is generally pretty delightful. He sleeps like a two month old (as he should), but we are enjoying him so much. He is the sweetest, dearest little baby.

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

Oh, hey! Look, we're talking about coats again!

(You've been biting your fingernails in anticipation, right?)














(Look at this cool graphic TJ made! Thanks TJ!)

If you'd like to get involved, just start spreading the word. Talk about it on your blog, or on Facebook, or Twitter, or whatever works for you. If you end up blogging about it, let me know. Eventually I may compile a list of the links and post it here so that people can check out what other folks are doing.

The shipping/drop-off address for donations is:

Gayane Manukyan
Att: 100 Coats for Kids Project
Refugee Center at AAU
1588 South Major Street
Salt Lake City, Utah 84115

If you end up sending a coat, please let me know when/how many so we can keep track of our progress and so I can keep our contacts at the Refugee Services Office and AAU updated.

If you're local, and you want to donate coats but don't want to ship them, you can drop them off at the center, or you can email me, and I'll come pick them up. (Door to door service, people. Door to door. Just think - you can see me in all of my multi-chinned, non-Photoshopped glory. LUCKY, LUCKY YOU.)

This whole thing keeps making me think of A Little Princess, of the two hungry, freezing children in the attic, and of the Indian gentleman who secretly brings them warm clothing and food.

Not that we're doing anything huge. It's a small thing - an easy thing. We probably feel more virtuous for doing this kind of stuff than we really should.

In the book, Sara says, "Somehow, something always happens just before things get to the very worst. It is as if Magic did it."

And I guess that's the lucky thing for us - now and then, we get to be part of the magic.

Now go forth and get your coat mojo on.



PS: Tracy - you won! I'll email the gift card to you this morning.

I'm Small I Know, But Wherever I Go....*

Pin It I owe you a post about Fernando's recent trip to the hospital (he's completely fine) and about the the utter pointlessness of showering at this point in my life, and I will get around to that ANY SECOND NOW, but before I do, I have to post this...

I'm working on a winter service project with a few of my book club friends.

(I know some of your eyes just glazed over right there, but I have no choice but to post about it, since I keep blathering on to my friends about how I'm going to "get the blogging community involved.")

(As an aside - there is nothing that makes me feel like more of a dork than mentioning my blog to non-bloggers. Sure, they all nod and smile supportively, but I'm pretty sure they're secretly wondering when I'm going to publish my English-to-Klingon translation of the Monty Python and the Holy Grail soundtrack.)

(It probably doesn't help that I say things like "blogging community.")

Anyway, BLOGGING COMMUNITY, we're collecting new (or very gently used), warm coats and clothing for refugee children who live here in Salt Lake City. The kids in question came to SLC from war torn areas in Africa and Asia. Most of them have never experienced snow and have nothing appropriate to wear. The refugee specialist we've been working with says they are still desperately in need of warm children's clothing for this season. It's already November, so we're going to have to do this thing QUICKLY.

I'm collecting clothing locally (the old fashioned way - walking around handing out flyers and pestering friends and neighbors) - but I also wanted to start a virtual clothing drive.

The idea is pretty basic: You purchase new infant/toddler/child/teen size coats and/or warm clothing online and ship your items directly to the refugee center. Once you've purchased your items, come back here (to this post or any other) and let me know what you donated so we can keep track of how close we're getting to the goal. (You can email me if you're feeling shy.)

My goal is to wrangle 100 new coats and/or warm winter outfits. (Gloves and boots are always good too.)

The shipping address is:

Gayane Manukyan
Att: 100 Coats for Kids Project
Refugee Center at AAU
1588 South Major Street
Salt Lake City, Utah 84115

In order to help spread the word about the clothing drive, I'm giving away a $25 gift card to Amazon.com. To enter the giveaway, just leave a comment.

I'm also going to do one of those obnoxious things where you get additional entries if you blog or tweet or facebook about it. (Those tweet/blog/facebook type giveaways always sort of make me want to punch myself in the face, but I figure this is for the good of humanity.)

(Or at least the rag-tag little portion of humanity currently shivering on the playground over at Rose Park Elementary.)

So please, please - submit this post to the social media gods at facebook or twitter or Digg or kirtsy or wherever you happen to currently do your social media worshipping.

(For those of you concerned that this is self-promotional and I will benefit in some way from the traffic - 1) I don't have ads, and 2) I'm sure that if by some miracle my blog ever became anything close to popular, I would promptly take an eight month blogging break and lose all of my readers.) (It's what I do.)

If anyone else would like to get involved - locally or virtually - please email me or leave your info in the comments. The more people we can get involved, the better.

The giveaway ends Thursday night at midnight MT. Thanks for spreading the word.

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

I've gotten a few tips for buying cheap coats online, if you're looking to contribute but are low on funds (aren't we all!):

• Jen pointed out that coats are on sale (50% off) online at Old Navy right now.
• Tiffany contributed a 30% off coupon that can be used at Old Navy and Gap: http://gap.m.delivery.net/w/webView?cid=16269496540&mid=1854136713&pid=786400&vid=13665&ee=dGlmZmluZWVAaG90bWFpbC5jb20_&si=&mv=H&bv=H&oc=H&sc=&k=1kW_69
• Candice left a comment saying that Walmart is having a 97 cent shipping sale
• Janell found some good deals on eBay
• DeNae mentioned that Walmart had some reversible coats for $13 and fleece jackets for $7!

A few good deals:

• Buy a coat
• Buy a coat
• Buy a coat
• Buyacoatbuyacoatbuyacoatbuyacoat

If you have any tips to add, please let me know!


* The title is a reference to a children's primary (sunday school) song - "Give Said the Little Stream" - which contains the line, "I'm small I know, but wherever I go, the fields grows greener still." (Thanks for the correction on the lyrics, guys.)

I AM STILL PREGNANT!

Pin It I haven't been slacking and holding out on you, I've just been gestating for a very, very long time.

In fact, I'm getting ready to live-blog the birth any second now!

...
...

Alright, FINE.

I am not still pregnant.

I am actually de-pregnant. I have been de-pregnatized.

See?


(I have also been heavily Photoshopped. In real life I do not actually glow, and I have an additional chin.)

(Or two.)

The baby made his appearance on 09-09-09 - NOT on the 14th as I'd been promised.

Since I was not quite finished with my maternity leave preparations I was quite put out.

(I highly intend to write a strongly worded letter.)

At about 2:00 in the morning on the 9th I woke up out of a dead sleep. Usually when I wake up from a dead sleep it's either due to a) imaginary spider bites, or b) imaginary noises in the house, but on this occasion it was imaginary contractions. At least I was fairly sure they were probably imaginary. I mean - on the one hand there was freakishly painful pain every seven minutes or so. On the other hand - blood clot.

My husband was groggily convinced that I was just being dramatic. This is probably why he went along with me, when after about an hour-and-a-half, still feeling certain this would all be a false alarm, I decided to drive myself to the hospital. I told him that I would call him if it turned out to be real labor, which I doubted it was, because a) it's me we're talking about here, and b) I was giving birth on the 14th, and it wasn't the 14th yet, dammit.

At 4:00 AM I arrived at the hospital. At 4:30AM the nurses established that I was having actual, non-imaginary contractions. At 4:45 they finally believed my "story" (about labor = danger/exploding uterus) and called my doctor, who flipped out and scheduled a 6AM c-section.

I called my husband, feeling slightly hysterical. “Come down here now! They’re operating in an hour. AN HOUR! Call Karen, she’ll watch the kids until my mom can get there!”

He told me not to worry – he would be there in twenty minutes – twenty-five tops. I wept, feeling sure my husband was going to miss the birth of his fourth child. THE TRAGEDY.

Of course, then I pictured my immaculate neighbor seeing the condition of our kitchen floor and called my husband back. “Wait! Don’t call Karen! Do the dishes first, then call Karen. And sweep the floor under the table. And wipe off the table. Do that and THEN call Karen.” I figured if he missed the first part of the operation, no big deal. After all, you’ve seen one c-section, you’ve seen ‘em all. Small price to pay.

I texted him seven times with various instructions – all related to making sure he cleaned the house before calling Karen. I was texting him about wiping down the outside of the fridge when he walked in the door. He swears he “picked up a little” before Karen got there. (I am sure he is lying.)

Our baby boy was born at 6:07 AM on 9-9-09.

Internet, I give you...

FERNANDO THE BREASTMILK VAMPIRE!


Fernando likes to NURSE. He likes to nurse, and nurse, and nurse. Also? He likes to nurse. His sole mission in life is to chew off my left nipple. I feel like my brain juices have all melted and been sucked right out of my milk ducts. (That spot on the front of my t-shirt? That's not breastmilk, it's what was left of my frontal lobe.)

(Man, I hate breastfeeding. The La Leche League folks can suck on it.)

("It" meaning - something that is not my nipple. That's already being utilized.)

(I wonder how many times I can say nipple in this post? Nipple, nipple, NIPPLE.)

(Am I making you uncomfortable?)

(Let's talk about something else, shall we?)

In honor of having the baby, I am having a GIVEAWAY! I am giving away:

A Fussy Six Week Old Who Is
Suffering from Reflux and a Double Ear Infection!

(To enter this giveaway, simply leave a comment letting me know how soon you could get here.) (I'm really tired.)

I MEAN - WHO COULD RESIST THAT FACE??!

AND THE SCREAMING?!?

THE CONSTANT, CONSTANT, SCREAMING.

...
...

O.k., FINE.

I am not giving him away. I would never in a million BILLION years give him away.

...
...


I'd SELL him.

...
...


OK, FINE, I won't sell him either. The children would revolt. They sort of like him. He has them under his vampire mind control, obviously. See that satisfied little smile? That's the smile of a baby vampire who is plotting to destroy his evil human overlords.



I am trying very hard to recapture normal - to get back into some semblance of a routine. But this baby does not recognize routine, he spits upon our routine, he POOPS upon our routine. Routines are for mortals, not breastmilk vampires, he says.

He is a very sweet, dear baby when he is not feeling horrible. He's had a really rough start here on planet earth. He celebrated his two week old anniversary by coming down with a cold, double ear infection, and a nasty case of reflux. He's been in so much pain - for weeks, if he was awake, he was crying. His little baby voice is hoarse from stomach acid washing up and down his throat. (Ever heard a newborn with laryngitis? It's the most pathetic sound in the world.)



When he isn't in pain, he is an above average baby in every way - sweet and round and adorable and wonderful and ours. And of course, he is our last baby, so everything he does has special significance - sure, we are up walking the floor with him, but we are doing it for the Last Time, with our Last Baby Ever. Somehow that makes it all a little easier. It's amazing how much love you can feel for someone you've known so briefly.

He has the same medical issues his sister just had surgery for (the condition runs in sibling groups) and has a test scheduled for next week at Primary Children's Hospital. We're hoping to hear his condition is less severe than his sister's, and that he'll grow out of it with no surgery necessary. We'd appreciate your thoughts and if you are so inclined, your prayers. My little one could use a very large break.

I was hoping for a more clever ending for this post, but alas, the baby is crying so I must sign off.

(Somehow that seems fitting.)

Off I go.

PS: Please ignore that creaking noise you may hear as you read this post. My blogging chops are a bit rusty.

The Mysterious Case of the Continually Evolving Due Date

Pin It NO BABY YET. I REPEAT: NO BABY YET.

Some people were confused about how I could be twelve weeks along in February, and yet STILL BE PREGNANT IN SEPTEMBER. Well. That is certainly VERY easy to explain.

This is possible because I am a moron.


January 2009

I call my old OB's office.

Me: "I took a pregnancy test and it says I'm pregnant."
Nurse: "When was your last menstrual period?"
Me: "December 2nd?"
Nurse: "Are you guessing?"
Me: "Kind of."

We settle on a due date of September 10th. I tell her what the OB said after my last c-section - that my uterus was shot and that I should take steps to make sure I NEVER GET PREGNANT AGAIN. She leaves a message for the doctor, who reads his old notes on the chart and calls me back. We have a ten minute conversation all about DANGER and RISK and TAKING PRECAUTIONS. I am officially scared to death.


February 12, 2009

We discover our insurance no longer covers the old OB, and I reluctantly find a new one.

NEW, COMPLETELY CAVALIER NOT-TAKING-ME-SERIOUSLY OB: "Sometimes when we're performing c-sections we see a paper thin uterine scar and get a little freaked out. But we really don't know very much medically about how much stress the uterus can actually take. The uterus is an amazing thing. You'll probably be fine."

Me: "Uhhhh....."

OB: "Listen, we'll keep an eye on things. If we start seeing signs of tearing or rupture, we'll take the baby a little early - in August or possibly July."


February 24, 2009

Me: "I'm twelve weeks now."
Husband: "Nine weeks."
Me: "No - I think I got pregnant on December 13th. That makes me..."
Husband: "That would make you ten weeks."
Me: "Ten-and-a-half. That's practically twelve."
Husband: "Is this because you want to tell people, and you think you aren't allowed to tell people until the first trimester is over?"
Me: Yes. "NO."


April, 2009

At a party, talking pregnancy with a friend who is due in September:

Friend: "When is this baby coming?"
Me: "I'm not sure. Maybe August. Or July. It sort of depends." I ramble on for a few minutes about possible complications and early babies.
Friend: "But what's your official due date?"
Me: Huh. When IS my due date? Surely this knowledge was in my brain at some point in time. "August 20th?"

Later on that night, I realize this is NOT actually my due date but the date of the Project Runway premiere.

(HEY, IT WAS AN IMPORTANT DAY.)


April 2009, again

Ultrasound tech: "So according to what we can see on the ultrasound, your corrected due date is actually September 28th."
Me, grumbling: "Yeah, like THAT's accurate."


June 2009

My friends throw me a baby shower. Because as they all know, I'm due ANY DAY NOW. The baby could come at ANY SECOND. In JULY. Or maybe in AUGUST. Or maybe on September 10th. Or the 28th. Or maybe NEXT YEAR. NOBODY KNOWS.


July 2009

The OB tells me everything looks fine so far, and barring any problems we'll plan on a September 14th c-section.

Me: "Like what kind of problems? Because last night I bent over and I felt tearing and I was looking at wikipedia and I wondered - "
OB: "You didn't rupture."
Me: "Right, but - "
OB: "Severe pain. Severe uterine pain and bleeding. Call us if there is SEVERE UTERINE PAIN AND BLEEDING."


August 2009:

I have somehow gotten September 10th stuck in my head. Approximately twenty people ask me when I am due. I tell all of them September 10th.


August 2009, Again:

I get in an argument with my husband about my c-section date.

He insists it is September 14th.

I insist it is the 10th, after all, "I should know, I mean, it's MY body getting cut open. Geez."

He gets out the calendar and I slink away in defeat.


August 2009, Some More:

I am having contractions. In all of my previous conversations with the OB, she has emphasized that I should NOT worry about uterine rupture because we really only need to worry if I start having contractions.

I call her office in a dither, all "RUPTURE - RUPTURE WILL ROBINSON." She tells me to lie down and drink a glass of water and the contractions will probably stop.

They do.

(It is very anti-climactic.)


September 2009:

I realize that for all of my complaining ("I HAVE BEEN PREGNANT FOR FORTY-SEVEN WEEKS" and "PLEASE JUST GET IT OUT OF ME" and "MY STOMACH IS BREAKING OFF") I am now too busy with work and the kids' activities to have this baby.

I ask my OB if we can move it back to September 28th again because I have three user manuals to finish before I can possibly afford to take a few days off to have the baby. The 14th is just not going to work for me.

Shockingly, she does not go along with this.

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

So there you have it. September 14th. D-Day.

I am actually looking into outsourcing the birthing process to my husband. He gets paid time off from work, so it would make way more sense for him to just go ahead and have the baby.

(I'll keep you posted on how that works out for me.)

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

PS: I didn't forget about the Thanksgiving Point giveaway - I just never bothered to announce who won. I did pick a winner and deliver the tickets last month though - they went to Debbie, who commented at 10:11 PM.

What's the Deal: Thanksgiving Point, Utah: It Was Hot, And Then It Was Hot Some More

Pin It Remember when I said I wasn't going to do any giveaways on my blog?

I LIED, I LIED, I'M A FILTHY FILTHY LIAR.

(Now that we've gotten that out of the way...)

Thanksgiving Point mistakenly invited me and my kids to come enjoy their various attractions for FREE (and then gave me some stuff to give away to you guys) and I immediately caved.

I say mistakenly because as it turned out, the TP people only invited me because they thought I was the woman behind this blog (which I founded, but turned over to other bloggers a few months back and can no longer take credit for), but once they realized their mistake they couldn't exactly uninvite me, so I was IN, BABY. WHEEE!!!!

We were really looking forward to it, mostly because I sort of forgot that the marketing directors, despite being very lovely people, did not actually have the power to turn off the sun or make it Not-July.

We started the tour off in the main gardens, where the kids ran down a big hill over and over again while we bloggers stood around eyeing each other suspiciously. I didn't know a single one of them, so I did that thing where you sort of join the nearest circle and nod your head and laugh in the appropriate places until someone acknowledges you.

Blogger A, talking about the recent BlogHer conference and why she didn't attend: "If I could get a sponsor to pay a thousand bucks to send me, well sure, THEN I'd go."

Me: "If I could get a sponsor to pay a thousand bucks to send me I'd PRETEND to go and keep all of the money for snack cheese."

Thanksgiving Point Marketing Directors: {scratching my name off the future potential sponsorship list}

I will be honest. (Are we supposed to be honest? I'm not sure. I forgot to ask.) Going to the gardens in the middle of the summer is not really the smartest thing in the world to do when you are seven and one-half months pregnant. (WHICH I AM.) We love to go to the gardens in the spring during the tulip festival, but during the summer? With the hot hot hot hot hot sun blazing down upon us? OY.

OY, I SAY.

I will say that the kids were having a blast, mostly because they ARE NOT PREGNANT.

Or FAT.

(See? See the joy? She's fine by the way - the surgery went great and she's all better.)


A little while later we had a nice catered lunch in a shady spot where I met my friend Kalli (who I invited to come along with me before I realized that we weren't TECHNICALLY supposed to invite other bloggers to come with us, but it was TOO LATE, TOO LATE I ALREADY DID IT, NO TAKE-BACKS, and so the PR people had to let her come too).

After lunch they invited us to walk up a winding concrete path toward a water play area for the children, and so we did, sweating buckets all the way but looking forward to the cool, crisp water that would surely be waiting for us at the end of our journey. When we got there the water was TURNED OFF, IT WAS OFF, OH SWEET HEAVEN OUR BRAINS ARE MELTING and so we sat in the shade and poured water from the drinking fountain on our heads and waited for the trolley. Kalli and I talked while the kids scavenged around the dry water feature looking for signs of moisture.

I saw Jane from Seagull Fountain there lying on the grass with her children, and for a moment I was concerned, thinking maybe they had all succumbed to the heat, but they were just resting. PHEW. IMAGINE THE HEADLINES.

NOAH'S ARK DURING A DROUGHT


ME, BACK ON THE TROLLEY, CONTEMPLATING THE SWEET RELEASE OF DEATH


Next up was the farm. They have a working farm there and it's something my kids and I have visited ever since we moved here back in 2004. They have all sorts of animals to pet and feed, ponies to ride, wagon rides, fun exhibits to play on, classes you can take - this is one of my favorite parts of Thanksgiving Point. They kids all got a free pony ride, to wit:

RIDING A HORSE IN A CIRCLE - WHEEEEE!


RIDING A HORSE IN A CIRCLE WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED:


RIDING A HORSE IN A CIRCLE AFTER MAJOR SURGERY:


FEELING UP A COW:


STEALING YOUR MOM'S CAMERA AND TAKING PICTURES OF A BABY CHICKEN OR POSSIBLY DUCK OR OTHER POULTRY TYPE ITEM:


KALLI AND HER CHUNK OF CUTENESS, ON A WAGON RIDE, MELTING EVER SO GRACIOUSLY IN THE NUCLEAR SUN:


Poor Kalli. By this point in the tour I was mostly not making sense, rambling incoherently about "LIQUEFYING BRAIN PARTS" and "OH MY BLISTERING ANKLES" and she nicely patted me and said, "Let's go find you a popsicle." And so we did.

After that we hit up the dino museum and the junior paleontology lab, another attraction my kids and I visit a couple times a year. It was a big hit with the kids AND the moms, and not just because of the air conditioning.

See?

DIGGING FOR FOSSILS, BUT "BY JOVE, I THINK I FOUND A BABY!"


MY SON, ILLEGALLY CROUCHING ON EXHIBIT FOLLOWED BY ILLEGALLY LEAPING OFF OF EXHIBIT FOLLOWED BY MOTHER SOMEWHAT UNENTHUSIASTICALLY SAYING "STOP THAT" FOLLOWED BY MORE ILLEGAL CROUCHING


THE EVER POPULAR PLAYING IN MUD EXHIBIT


After the dino museum Kalli left, possibly because if she had to hear me say something about how hot I was even ONE MORE TIME she was going to grab a fossil and shove it in my left eyeball.

This freed me up to make more uncomfortable conversation with other bloggers who were strangely preoccupied with talking about blogging. Incessantly. Blog, blog, blog, blog, sponsor, sponsor, blog, blog, twitter, blog. I realize it was all we really had in common but still.

Blogger A: "I haven't met you yet. I'm ________ from ___________. What's your blog?

Me: Navel Gazing.

Blogger B: WHAT?

Me: (mumbling) Navel Gazing? At its finest?

Blogger A: But your nametag says Borrowed Light.

Me: Yes, well - that's my blog address.

Blogger B (look of horror) Your blog name doesn't match your URL?

And then they would back away quickly, as though I had tuberculosis or the plague or a really low technorati score.

Next we went to a very fun (air conditioned) cooking class, where the kids frosted cupcakes and made chocolate decorations. They gave each of the kids a bag of goodies with aprons and personalized magnets and candy and gift certificates.

We were invited to a nice dinner at the restaurant there, but the kids and I were all exhausted and decided to call it a day. They handed me a gift basket full of fudge and taffy and gift certificates and (WHAT ELSE) BLOG GIVEAWAY ITEMS, which, to be perfectly honest, I was tempted to keep, or at least make up a name for myself and enter my own giveaway and award myself the prize (LUCKY LUCKY WINNER) but I figure the blog police will come and get me if I do that, so instead I will do the right thing and give them away.

Plllbtttt.

I'm giving away the following stuff, courtesy of Thanksgiving Point(see, it's a real giveaway, you can tell by the way I centered it and made it purple):

Four tickets to the Seriously (I'm Not Kidding About This) Fun and Awesome Dinosaur Museum

AND

Four tickets to the Totally Wholesome and Entertaining Farm Country

AND

Four tickets to the Children's Discovery Garden Where The Fountains Will Be Working By Monday And If Not Then Yes, Probably You Will Die Of Heat Stroke On Your Way Back Out Of The Park But That Cannot Be Helped Because One Must Suffer For Nature

AND

Four tickets to the Thanksgiving Point Gardens on the Surface of the Sun

THAT'S SIXTEEN TICKETS.

I debated giving them away to sixteen different people but decided to give all sixteen tickets to one lucky winner. Just leave a comment and you'll be entered to win ALL SIXTEEN TICKETS.

SIXTEEN.
TICKETS.
ALL FOR YOU.
And I'll throw in ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, just for the heck of it.
(That is a lie. I will not throw in one hundred dollars. But you can PRETEND like I'm going to give you one hundred dollars. That's practically the same thing.)
I'm sure by now the marketing people are reading this post and muttering things about my black, black, ungrateful heart, and plotting to send my name and url to all of the other PR people in the valley with a note that says DO NOT INVITE HER, so I will close with a picture of this:


See that? That's JOY right there. You can't purchase joy like that.

WAIT. WAIT! ACTUALLY YOU CAN! YOU CAN PURCHASE IT FOR $3.50 per ticket (or whatever it is they charge). WHAT A BARGAIN.

Seriously, they loved every bit of the day, and I was really happy that we got the chance to go enjoy all of that free fun. The marketing people were awesome and friendly and tried their best to make sure we were all having a great time.

Thanks for mistakenly inviting me, Thanksgiving Point people. (I am highly in favor of mistakes that benefit me personally.) (Attention all PR people: I am also the blogger behind CJane, TAMN, NieNie and Dooce. So if you have any opportunities for those folks, by all means, SEND THEM MY WAY.)

You have until TOMORROW AT MIDNIGHT to enter the giveaway. TOMORROW AT MIDNIGHT. DO NOT SQUANDER THIS ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY.

On another note, I'm actually planning to start blogging again on a (somewhat) regular basis. I even have posts all thought up, with titles like:

"Why Won't My Husband Eat My Chicken?" (not a euphemism)

and

"Ways In Which My OB and I Continue To Aggravate Each Other"

and

"What My Husband Thinks of the Book The Five Love Languages Which I Bought In An Effort To Change Our Love Language To Something Other Than Cracking Jokes At Each Other's Expense And Calling Each Other Dork A Lot, So That Hopefully He Will Not Run Off To Tahiti With Some Non-Seven Months Pregnant Woman Who Fills His Love Tank" (also not a euphemism)

(Actual suggestion from book: "Go to the city park and rent bicycles. Ride until you are tired, then sit and watch the ducks. When you are tired of the quacking, roll on to the rose garden. Learn each other's favorite color of rose and why. If the bikes are too much, take turns pulling each other in a little red wagon." I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. Despite this suggestion, which caused my husband to snort so loudly he almost had a brain aneurysm, the book had some valid points. Note to husband: SERIOUSLY, IT DID. ALSO, YOU LOOK QUITE SHARP TODAY*)

*This makes sense if you have read the book.

So long, farewell, I am off to crouch in front of the air conditioning vent.

Related Posts:

• Veteran's Memorial Park, West Jordan, UT
• Children's Gateway Discover Museum, SLC, UT

In Which I Attempt To Thank People For Throwing Me A Baby Shower, But Mostly End Up Rambling a Lot

Pin It My seven year old, who I call Sarah on the blog (but who is not really named Sarah, so it seems silly to keep calling her Sarah, because what am I - Pioneer Woman, that I should be important enough to have stalkers? Please. And yet the completely paranoid part of my brain is convinced that if I were to utter her Actual Name dangerous predators would descend from the blogging sky, search the town for children with a similar name and spirit her away to the Land of Stolen Blog Children - so I guess I shouldn't tempt fate and should just continue to call her Sarah), has to have surgery next week.

I would tell you all about it except that Sarah is a little embarrassed about the whole thing, and would rather that I not go around spouting her diagnosis all over my blog. (I'm feeling a little guilty now for my semi-hysterical and very specific Facebook updates, except that I know she will thank me when people drop by afterwards with things made out of chocolate (which I'm assuming they will, because seriously, what is the point of even HAVING surgery if it doesn't result in chocolate)). (For the mother.) So I won't get into the details of the surgery, but I'll tell you that she'll be in the hospital for a few days, a problem will be fixed, and her surgeons are excellent. The surgery is invasive but relatively safe, so I've decided to pretend she's getting her tonsils out or maybe having some hair implants, something fairly benign like that.

(In other words, I forbid anyone from expressing the words "I'm sorry," "I'll pray for you," or anything else that sounds even vaguely compassionate in the comments, because a) people who are going to be FINE, JUST FINE, TOTALLY FINE, don't need compassion and b) concerned comments would imply that there is cause for concern, and there isn't, no there ISN'T - LA LA LA LA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU.)

(However, comments like "SUE - your pet monkey is ADORABLE" would be very much appreciated, per usual.)


(This is Sarah taking a pre-surgery class at Primary Children's hospital - a class designed to help the kids work through their fears about what will happen on surgery day.)

Sarah is imaginative and smart, and the combo means that she is an expert worst-medical-case-scenario brewer-upper (she probably gets this from her father). She packed a bag for the hospital the other day, and when she solemnly showed me the carefully packed suitcase with her favorite chapter books and favorite stuffed animal and a note she wanted me to give her little sister on surgery day my heart went crackety-crack. My poor sweet, sensitive little girl. Oh how much I love her.

The baby is still in my stomach, cooking away. I know this because he kicks the living hell out of me all night long. Last night I don't know what was going on in there - soccer drills or something - but I stopped being amused after about fifty-seven straight minutes of it.

On Saturday morning some neighborhood friends threw me a mostly-surprise baby shower. I say mostly-surprise because one of the women in my neighborhood dropped off a gift for me about a week ago, with a note that said, "sorry I couldn't make the shower," which was my cue to badger the living daylights out of my husband - who was throwing it? when was it? where was it? would he warn me in advance so I could get my roots done ? who was throwing it again? - but he wouldn't crack.

I was so touched by the shower. Not just that someone threw one for me, or because I was grateful for the stuff - but the who/what/when/where/why of it all. Throwing a shower for someone is like publicly declaring your friendship for someone, like publicly saying, "OK, yes, I admit to being her friend." That's sort of awesome, especially if you really adore the people who threw you the shower. (And now the women who threw the shower are thinking, oh, CRAP, I didn't realize THAT was what it meant. I just wanted her to get some stuff. HA-HA-HA - sorry girls, IT IS TOO LATE, THERE IS NO RETURNING FROM THIS.)

COMMENCE TANGENT:

This neighborhood is FULL of women I really like - including many who I really want to get to know better, but never quite get around to getting to know - partly because we are all busy, and partly because I am a dork.

Sometimes we'll have a girls night out or I'll be at book club and I'll end up sitting by someone who I know casually but not very well, and I end up thinking I LOVE HER, and I HAVE TO GET TO KNOW HER BETTER but then I do absolutely nothing about it, mostly because I have no idea what to do. I'm horrible on the phone, the most awkward dork in the universe, and the idea of making a phone call without having a SPECIFIC PURPOSE for making the phone call absolutely horrifies me.

(I can't imagine what people say when they call people for no reason - just to chat. How do you do that? What do you say? Do you make up a reason? I suppose if I answered the phone once in a while I would have a better idea of how that works.)

/End Tangent

Oh. Wait.

RECOMMENCE TANGENT:

I have to say something about book club. I've been in a book club for the last four years and I love the other women in the group. We talk about books, we talk about life, we eat, we talk about books and life some more. The women in the group are wonderful, and every single time I leave book club thinking, OH MY GOSH, I LOVE HER (but I end up thinking it about twelve women at once, which is fairly overwhelming).

I have to remind myself before it starts not to talk too much, because I tend to get all overly excited and blurty and almost anxious. Sometimes I write little reminder notes on my hands, things like "don't talk so much," and "it is rude to interrupt people even if you are excited about what they are saying." (That one is long - I have to write that one on my arm or stomach.) (Although frankly, writing it on my stomach makes it more of a problem as far as reminders go, what with it not being visible).

Anyway, between book club and girls night out and the outlawed-by-our-bishop bunko group (long, strange story), there is a circle of women who I interact with more frequently, who I admire and respect and enjoy, but I STILL don't call them on a regular basis, other than to arrange for my kids to play with their kids. Sometimes if we're already on the phone I'll get really brave and ask a question about something non-kid related and we'll end up talking.

I'll get off the phone on this post-phone-talking high because I ACTUALLY TALKED ON THE PHONE, and then I eventually realize the other woman was trying ever-so-graciously to get off the phone for at least the last ten minutes, and I did not notice because I do not speak ever-so-gracious and because I kept having to tell her one more thing, and one more thing, and oh, wait, ONE MORE THING, and then I feel like a moron and swear off the phone FOREVER. Again.

/End Tangent

On Saturday night I went out and bought thank you cards and a little thank you gift for the women who organized the shower and carefully filled out the cards, but I still haven't delivered them. I don't want them thinking I'm some kind of overly eager dork who was counting the minutes until she could express her (possibly inappropriate amount of) gratitude, but rather a cool, cool cucumber of a normal-type friend who was just the right amount of socially acceptable grateful without being a total freak about it.

(Except one of them reads my blog, so the jig is probably up anyway.)

(So maybe I should just go deliver those cards.)

(Yeah, I'm leaving now.)

I'm Not Quitting My Blog, I'm Just Sparing You Posts Like This One

Pin It Despite the long periods of blog silence, things are actually quite normal over here at hypochondria central. Would you like to hear about it?

And would you like to hear about it in run-on-sentence form with no discernible punctuation?

WELL OF COURSE YOU WOULD.

First of all, you should know that every other week or so I wake up at night feeling a sharp stabbing pain in the front of my calf, kind of like a really ticked off hornet is messing with me. I always reach down to brush it away, then realize there's nothing there, then start to say "SON OF A -," then I realize the pain is gone, and then I go back to sleep.

I keep meaning to talk it over with the doctor, but whenever I go to see her I completely forget to mention it, so distracted am I by our regular monthly discussion/game of "so when exactly do you think my uterus might rupture?"

Her standard response is some variation on "there's really no way of knowing if it will, or when it will, but let me know if you have sudden sharp uterine pain," and then I ask her to quantify what she means by pain, exactly. The sharp pain I sometimes get when I sneeze, is that a rupture? Or when the baby kicks an internal organ really hard and I have pain, is that a rupture? Or when I feel this sharp stabbing pain in my leg, is THAT a rupture? And could she possibly give me her cell phone number so that I can call her late at night when I feel a pain that might be a rupture?

By the time we finish having this discussion, she is usually giving me this look (this look like, who referred you to my practice again?) and I've completely forgotten about the leg thing because I'm busy rocking back and forth on the exam table imagining my own death.

Most likely the pain in my leg is from a (non-imaginary) blood clot, and probably I will die. (Farewell, internet.) The good news is that I'm so forgetful lately that most days I don't remember my impending death and life proceeds quite normally.

The first real day of summer vacation for the kids was Monday. I've been busy reading things like Last Child in the Woods and Free Range Kids (which I LOVED and made my book club pick this month), and I'm determined to make sure my kids spend their summer out exploring NATURE, dagnabbit. We have a perfectly good gully across the street with a stream in it, and a park down the road with a stream in it, and mountains five minutes from our doorstep, so in theory we are all set. Now all I need is a non-pregnant friend to con into taking them on all of these nature adventures while I lie on the couch.

Yesterday I took the kids swimming at a completely fantastic pool down the road (complete with water slides, a lazy river, play structures, and water shallow enough to keep my non-swimmers from drowning). They loved it, and I loved it too - as long as I stayed in the water. Since I am not one of those adorable little pocket-sized pregnant women with a cute baby bump, I don't look pregnant - I just look incredibly fat.

I'm fighting the urge to iron a patch onto my swimsuit, something about baby on board, something that will make it obvious to everyone that YES, I'm fat, but at least some of it is virtuous baby-related fat (as opposed to my regular slothful, doughnut-related fat). It turns out that all this time I thought it was obvious I was pregnant, what with my shirts stretched against my baby belly, but a few of my real life friends had no idea because apparently that's JUST WHAT I USUALLY LOOK LIKE. Egads.

By the way, thanks so much to everyone who so sweetly and generously offered to send me baby and maternity stuff after my last post. Hormonal as I am, I sniffled my way through most of those comments. Whoever says blogging friends aren't real friends - well, the maternity shirt on my back is here to tell you otherwise.