Sum-it-up Sunday

I started to write this post yesterday but Nyquil kicked in and I had to close the laptop before I published anything that referenced my weight or vices.

Last week was special. Let's do a recap of last week's top 3 newsworthy events both outside of my life and in my life, shall we?

Top 3 Newsworthy Events That Have LITTLE To Do With Me

Chavril
Oh my Canada. Nickleback's Chad Kroeger and Lucifer's Avril Lavigne are engaged to be married. I am already scared of their offspring, although I don't have an enormous amount of faith that they'll even make it down the aisle no less procreate. My friend "G" ruined a potentially good night's sleep when he posted this nasty little mashup on the Facebooks:

Its eyes follow you wherever you go.

You were mistakin', Akin!
One good way to help your opponent beat you in a race for the Senate is to proclaim that a woman's uterus can prevent pregnancy from taking place if she is a victim of a "legitimate" rape. Missouri's GOP Senate candidate Todd Akin did just that last week, and it's such an ordeal in the news that I'm sick of hearing about it...and I'm annoyed at myself for posting this but it was newsworthy so what the hey. This kind of reminds me of the time Tom Cruise spouted some nonsense about not "believing in" postpartum depression (because apparently PPD is playing in the same field as the Easter Bunny), but people still watch his movies so I'm sure Akin will still get a handful of votes. I understand where what Akin said could fire a lot of people up, and I'm terrified for him that he said what he said too. But I can't stand to hear people call him terrible names or threaten his life. Come on, people. He's certainly not the first politician to be terribly misinformed and say something ludicrous. When the time comes for the election we can all send our messages then. It's going to be obvious that people don't align with his special beliefs when he loses by a record setting margin. I hate political crap. I hate its face right off. It's hard to muster any desire to vote when you don't stand completely by anyone in the race.

"Flubbita flubbita flubbita"

There goes Honey Boo Boo
She started out as a pint-sized spitfire on TLC's Toddlers & Tiaras, and now Honey Boo Boo has gotten her own spinoff show, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, so we can educate ourselves on the background of this backwoods little baby girl. Who is Honey Boo Boo? I am not sure anyone really cares. This poor girl and her admittedly redneck family are going to be on TV just long enough to earn quasi local celebrity status and screw poor innocent Honey Boo Boo up for life, as if she wasn't already going to be jacked for life from the pageants her parents put her through. I want to adopt all of those poor pageant kids, hide them in my house, and never make them put flippers in their mouths ever, ever again. Just my 'pinion, y'all.

I'm sorry, honey

Top 3 Newsworthy Events That Have EVERYTHING To Do With Me

Hannah has tooth
She's approaching the young age of 5 months but it is pure fact that her bottom front left tooth is making it's debut already. My mom said my siblings and I were early teethers so I am not sure if that's a hereditary trait but there's no doubt that it's coming up. She's been drooly, chew-crazy, and a scoshe tempermental, but I avoided assuming it was teething-related because apparently everyone thinks their babies are teething early. However, you can feel this thing. It's fo realz. I had a dream the other night that her teeth were coming through on the bottom so clearly I have the magical power to make my dreams come to fruition. Now if only I could dream that she doesn't have the start of a mullet going...

Business in the front, Baby Party Time in the back

My mom planned a pool party so it could rain
It's the "Great Drought of 2012" and my mom decided to plan a party at her neighborhood pool so our family could get together, swim and eat. Hannah is fighting a cold and so am I so neither of us got in the water, but it wouldn't have mattered if we were healthy anyway because the pool kept being evacuated due to thunder. We all ate and spent about two hours hanging on the patio together before the skies opened up and dumped buckets of water all over us. It has probably rained three times since May. We had a lot of fun being together anyway.

Wouldn't want to get wet at a pool party

My immune system proves once again that it is pointless
Hannah keeps bringing home the gift of illness from daycare, and since my immune system is a collection of malfunctioning organs, I get to enjoy every sickness she brings home. She started to snot up around Wednesday last week, so I got to watch her feel crappy for a few days knowing it was my turn next. The germs took over by Friday. And today the germs spread to Jason. I think Benson the Fatty Lump Dog might even have it, but his nose always leaks and he's old and crotchety all the time so it's hard to tell. All an illness has to do is reside in someone who glances in my general direction and I'm sick within seconds. It's going to be a long few years while Hannah attends the petri dish of daycare.

Hannah Bear, my little sicklet

Celebrate sanity!

My mom informed me yesterday that it has been four weeks since I've had a bad relapse with PPD/PPA. That makes me want to do herkies! I have felt pretty "normal" these past few weeks. Some highs, some lows. But all that is just standard stuff to me. I don't feel as scared of dipping way down anymore. I've worked my way off a few meds and I am hoping to be able to lose another one in the not-so-distant future. There is a good chance that I will never be able to get off some of the medicine, but I'd like to get rid of the one that makes me have muscle spasms. However, I am not complaining...things are really looking up for me!

Warning burps

What? Puke? Me?

Spit happens, right? Most certainly with my baby. She spits up so much we go through anywhere from 2-3 outfits and 4-5 burp cloths a day. The daycare workers have each individually expressed concern, but our pediatrician is unfazed. She even launched a load of puke all over the pediatrician's table and the doctor didn't flinch. Hannah's still gaining plenty of weight, so apparently it's nothing to be worried about.

If there was a "best part" about this, the best part would be that before she hoovers she offers up what Jason and I call a warning burp. This little belch is your two second warning that a barf is about to ensue and you can either protect yourself or prepare to get soaked. I want to say it's cute, but that's an odd way to describe a pre-vomit alarm. Hopefully her throat-flapper-thing comes in soon so she can stop upchucking her formula (stuff's expensive, amIright?) but I have to say I might actually miss the warning burps.

Wishes to start off the weekend



It's Friiiiday, beoches! Holler.
This post has a soundtrack. Click here.

Alright, here we go:

• I wish my name was Mud because I think Mud Rutherford has a nice ring.
• I wish I owned a throat punch monkey (a monkey that I can tell to throat punch people when they're actin' a fool).
• I wish No Doubt never would have written the song Hey Baby.
• I wish I liked to run.
• I wish I could complete a sent
• I wish politicians couldn't lie.
• I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I had a girl who looked good I would call her...
• I wish people would proofread their writing.
• I wish I had a boat. And an ocean. And 80 degree weather.
• I wish Tim Daggett would narrate my life.
• I wish I could still sit down in front of a dollhouse and make new worlds happen.
• I wish my dog could talk.
• I wish I could turn into a mermaid when I hit the water. Except the shower. That could get dangerous.
• I wish Rosie O'Donnell had a mute button.
• I wish I could afford to dress like my true fashion sense tells me to.
• I wish I had the patience to practice my guitar.
• I wish I had a fish named Barnacle.
• I wish I could erase mental illness.
• I wish I knew how to cook really well. I'm only good at eating.
• I wish I had the ability to allow kids to bypass the puberty years because those are the worst.
• I wish I knew what Freud was thinking.
• I wish I would have appreciated my figure more when I was in high school instead of always envying someone else's.
• I wish I lived on a vineyard.
• I wish life had a pause button so I could have slowed a few days down.
• I wish I didn't sweat when I was nervous.
• I wish I could apologize to anyone I picked on when I was a young asshole.
• I wish I knew why yawns are contagious.
• I wish guns were never invented.
• I wish I had a British accent and the ability to speak French.
• I wish it all made sense. But it's probably more fun that it doesn't.

(Miles: 6/365)

It goes straight to my arms

I found out I was flabby two summers ago by way of a jumbotron in front of approximately 40,000 screaming people at a baseball game. I was minding my own beer in the nosebleeds sharing an armrest with an over-caffeinated kid recklessly waving a foam finger. Finger Kid was flailing his foam in the air, talking about his initiative to get on the jumbotron. I was skeptical. But then - - - the moment came. I was jolted out of my ballgame daydream by a sudden surge of chaos in my section. Within a matter of seconds I realized what was going on, looked from the jumbotron to Finger Kid, and said "KID! You're ON!" He screamed. I screamed. We all screamed. Foam was flying. Beer was splooshing. And there I was...waving and waving and waving and...AAAAHHHH! Right there, as my arm flab flapped and slapped back-and-forth in the breeze of the nosebleeds, I saw what nobody had mustered up the courage to tell me since the woman in the Chinese restaurant in 1999 (that story in moments). My arms were fat. And I found out on a jumbotron in front of an entire crowd comprised of 40,000 of my closest peers. What's worse was that it wasn't just my arms. Apparently Jason hadn't been putting my jeans in the dryer for the prior six months.

The other time I found out I was under-tall (OK, overweight) was in 1999 as my parents and I sat down to enjoy what was intended to be a peaceful meal of kung pao chicken and fried rice. While we waited for our food, a woman approached our table and started to run her gums about the fact that she was a hairdresser for Vidal Sassoon. She wanted to do my hair. She thought I could be a hair model. She said I had a nice face. "But," she said, "you cannot be full body model. You arm too fat."

That happened.

Bada-ba-ba-blaaaaaah

This time around I don't need a jumbotron or honest stranger to tell me I'm out of shape. And I'm not looking for a single person to tell me I look fine the way I am. It's not about a look. It's about a feeling. I feel poofy. And I'm tired of it.

Here's the problem:
I love food. I hate exercising. I'm not alone, I know. I'm committed to not feeling guilty about that regardless of how many people have convinced me I'm a minority on Facebook. (Side tangent: You know what's weird? People don't post about healthy eating on Facebook - just exercise. I can't recall the last time I saw a posted picture of steamed carrots or saw a post from someone bragging, "I just ate an entire head of lettuce like an apple!" Doesn't happen.)

I'm trying my best, though. I joined a gym. I try to go to it. The evil prank is that my gym shares a parking lot with my favorite ice cream joint. So every time I pull in it's either a left turn to sweat or a right turn to sweets. What torture.

I'm also the person who drives around the gym lot looking for the closest parking spot as if I'm trying my hardest not to burn calories walking in. And I wear Budweiser shirts while I work out.

I've lost weight before though. After the jumbotron and before the pregnancy I set out on a goal to lose 23 lbs. because we had a 23 lb. turkey for Thanksgiving and when I strained to lift it I realized that I was straining to lift that same amount of weight on my own body each day and I'd be better off without it. Plus my arms were fat. So, I joined Weight Watchers, started sweating more, and stopped having liquid dinners, and the pounds melted off my body like butter (which is a terrible analogy for weight loss).

I joined Weight Watchers again and I am going to do what I can to shed the baby bump sans baby. In order to maintain interest, I have to do weird things, so Jason suggested that he and I share a mutual goal of trying to achieve 365 miles of cardio in a year via treadmill, elliptical, etc. This quest started for me on 8/19 (the day after Jason's birthday) and so far I've notched 4 miles, putting me ahead of schedule. It helps me to be accountable to others with my goals, so you might see me track my progress randomly at the bottom of future blog posts. I will not bore you with too many posts about my exercise, but occasionally I might post an update about my progress in shedding my latest turkey and toning up my guns.

(Miles: 4/365)

Happy birthday, hubs!

It's Jason's birthday! I am no longer married to a younger man. Jason's parents came in town to stay last night and we had a nice day shopping today. Now my dear hubster is up in Hannah's room reading her a book and putting her down to bed. He is my best buddy and the love of my life. I'm lucky to call him mine. Here's to Jason!

sweet buddies

Peek!

The chair.

The chair.

I remember trying to pick out the perfect chair. My pregnant belly and I waddled all over the metropolitan area in search of the absolute best chair for all of the nursing I was going to be doing in Hannah's room once she was born. I scoured the Internet for advice...fully upholstered vs. exposed wood, nursing stool vs. ottoman, colors, brands, retailers, price...etc. Yes, I even made a comparative spreadsheet. That's how I do it.

Jason and I finally landed on one as we spent an entire afternoon sitting, testing, propping up our feet. This chocolate-colored beauty hailed from Babies 'R' Us, and naturally the coupon I had helped sway our vote in favor of this chair. I loved this chair because it represented a happy place where my baby and I would spend some of our most sacred time together.

When Hannah came, this was our place where we spent hours upon hours nursing for the first two weeks that she was home. But then, as my postpartum issues arose and I could no longer breastfeed, the time spent in this chair stopped. The chair was empty, and I started to resent it.

I had a hard time even looking at the chair when I went into Hannah's room. What a waste. There it sat, a cold reminder of lost bonding between me and my baby. I wanted to sell it on craigslist. I had no use for it.

Until recently...

At four-and-a-half months old, Hannah is getting to an age where she is starting to benefit from a bedtime routine. She is also getting to the age where she can be as tired as ever but she still fusses in denial when we lay her down for the night. Enter the chair's new purpose.

This chair is the designated place for bonding with Hannah as we get her ready to sleep for the night. Daddy sits in the chair and reads to his baby. Mommy sits in the chair, rocks, and sings her angel to sleep. What a beautiful thing.

As strange as it sounds, my "relationship" with this chair made me think about how interesting life can be sometimes. Our expectations of what something or someone should represent exists solely in our minds. Perception changes even when a person or object doesn't because that potential was there all along, we just didn't realize it.

It may feel odd that I'm getting overly deep about something as simple as a chair, but it makes sense to me, because sometimes the most amazing realizations about life come when we least expect it...when we make the effort to sit still, let time stop, and take it all in.

Postpartum center progress

Last Friday 8/10 my mom and I took the first step toward getting a postpartum psychiatric center created in St. Louis. My mom set up a meeting for us with someone in patient relations at Mercy Hospital. I feel pretty optimistic about it. The woman we met with was very receptive to what we were saying and agreed that there was certainly a real need for something like this in St. Louis. She said the timing couldn't be better for us to bring this to Mercy because in January 2013 they are adding to their mother and baby care services by adding on to their facility and opening 31 new suites with the "ideal birthing environment." Our suggestion to continue providing much-needed services to women during the postpartum phase came at the right time. She also mentioned that they were looking to improve their current psychiatric facility by separating the women and men, which I thought was a good idea. She is meeting with an executive director, chairman of behavioral health, and the chairman of OBGYN in the next two weeks and intends to get back to us to let us know the results of those meetings. We sent her a follow up email this morning to thank her for her time last Friday and she responded in less than 2 minutes.

Prayers and crossed fingers, please!

please, please, please

The one thing Janet Jackson and I have in common

"This is a story about control"

...(besides the occasional wardrobe malfunction) is our desire to have control.

Control of what happens to me. Control of how people treat me. Control of how I react to both.

I talk a lot on my blog about my fight with postpartum depression as a means of trying to make sense of what happened to me. It was the ultimate experience with loss of control. I never meant to scare anyone into thinking they are going to have PPD. Sure, it happened to me, but part of the reason I was so shocked by it was because I have half a million friends who have had babies and never spoke a word to me about suffering from PPD. I think education is critical in prevention. You don't wear a seat belt because you are unaware of the reality that you might get into a car accident. But at the same time, you don't quit driving because of that same reality. You create an attack plan (wear a seat belt, designate a sober driver, refrain from texting for the love of God) and you continue on as planned (driving). My intention with sharing my story and advice is to increase awareness about something that people are typically ashamed to talk about, because that shame is what prevents many people from getting the appropriate help. Without the appropriate help, it takes longer to heal. Not healing sucks worse than admitting you are a human being in need of help.

Admitting I am human (i.e. vulnerable, imperfect, a sinner, a mistake-maker, a jerk sometimes) is also difficult for a prideful girl like me who likes to have control of everything. I don't care what anyone says...we all care what people think about us. In fact, when people say "I don't care what anyone thinks about me" my reaction is always "Only someone who wants people to think they don't care would put effort into convincing people they don't care...thus meaning that they really care more so than someone who wouldn't think to say it!" (I realize that's a lengthy reaction, but it only takes me two seconds to think that in my brain.)

I want peace in my life. It's impossible to have peace when I am also trying to control things. On the long list of things to control is what people think about me. I have a pretty peaceful personality, and of course I want people to think highly of me. It can be frustrating when I find out they don't. Sometimes it's because of something I've done, and other times it's just because they simply don't like the cut of my jib. When I've done something to cause someone not to like me, I always try to confront them about it. If an apology is in order, I'll give it a shot, clear my conscience, and then the ball is in their court to accept it or not. It can suck when someone doesn't forgive you, but it sucks less when you know you've done everything you can to make it right. If someone just flat out doesn't like me, doesn't accept my apology, or has offended me for any reason, it hurts but I believe it's in my court to try to forgive them and move on. I am admittedly not great at forgiveness. I am not alone in that. I think a lot of people are very unforgiving, and I think it all comes back to the desire to have control and the fact that we don't have it. It takes a lot to make me mad, but when it happens it also takes a lot to earn my trust back. Unfortunately, I've learned that the only person that ultimately hurts is me.

When you don't forgive someone, you may think that you're controlling the situation, when instead you are giving the other person control of your feelings. As a Christian, I am called to forgive whether I want to or not. It can take some time, and God knows it's not going to be easy. In fact, the entire reason he sent his son to walk among us was so that our sins would be forgiven. To die for forgiveness...talk about extreme! Fortunately I don't have to die for forgiveness, I just have to have faith for it. That can be so tricky.

I found a really great article that discusses how Christians are called to forgive. Click here to read it. I'm not there yet, but I am going to make a commitment to working very hard on this. Nobody has control over my peace but me.

For always: A poem for my sweet Hannah girl

for always my baby

Sometimes I use the "Notes" app in my iPhone to jot down concepts, song ideas, poems, etc. I forgot I had written this poem for my little lady baby a couple of months ago and it made me happy tonight to stumble upon it.

"For always"

I will grow you

And show you the land

Create paper forests

Make mountains of sand

Hold you so closely

Let go of your hand

Cry with your cries

See the world through your eyes

I will protect you

And catch all your tears

Scare off all the ghosts

Put to rest all your fears

Savor the seconds

And cherish the years

Laugh when you're odd

Introduce you to God

I will defend you

Pretend I am young

Teach you to make

Your own words to the song

Let you be curious

Correct when you're wrong

I'll love you like crazy

For always my baby

At any given moment...

I'm not a trememendously quote-y girl, but the Mother to Mother org posted this on Facebook today and it spoke to me.



True dat.



Trying new things

Hannah tried a few new things this week.

First, we tried cereal. Want to know how that went? I will let this picture do the talking:

No me gusta!

Not sure how we're going to break her into cereal. We gave her about 3 spoonfuls and after it all wound up on her bib we called it quits and stuck a bottle in her mouth. I'm not sure I can hold it against her though. The cereal looked pretty lousy. It was just plain old Gerber rice cereal. No puffs. No marshmallows. No cocoa. We mixed it in with her formula and it was all watery and nasty looking. I asked Jason when we were going to try it again and he said we're not. That's going to be pretty awkward when she's going on dates (when she's 30, of course) and she has to tell her suitor that she still hasn't made it past the bottle.

Another new thing she discovered just today was her love of cartoons. We noticed recently that her head turns toward the TV when it's on, so today I decided to see how she'd react if I purposefully set her down in front of a kids' show. It went a bit like this:

Hannah Bear

All she's missing is a cold one and her lounge would be complete

As soon as the Care Bears hit the screen she didn't budge. Not a peep for about 12 minutes until she started talking at the TV. I'm pretty sure she felt she and the bears were on the same wave length. She was in a trance.

Speaking of trying new things, I went ahead and took a spinning class at the gym tonight. Holy crap. I can see why people drop major lbs by taking those classes. Unfortunately I won't be seeing any results on the scale from tonight's effort because, well, I went ahead and had McDonald's right after my workout. Oops.

Bloomberg knows breast?

Oh no! Bloomberg says this is BAD!

Read this Time article and then let's talk about it.

OK, ready? Here we go:

Encouraging breastfeeding is perfectly fine. Excellent governmental meddling, NYC Mayor Bloomberg. However, his campaign asks maternity hospitals to ban formula feeding of newborn infants unless medically indicated and restrict access to formula for hospital staff by locking it up and reporting its distribution to the NYC Health department.

As someone who had wanted to breastfeed, I understand the many benefits of nursing your baby both from a health and baby-to-mother bond perspective. I was able to nurse my baby girl for about 2 weeks before my postpartum health issues stole that capability away from me. I felt a terrible amount of guilt because I had heard all of the breastfeeding advocates praise nursing as a superior method.

I see it very differently now. Yes, there are great benefits to breastfeeding and there is a piece of me that regrets that I wasn't able to do that. However, I am incredibly grateful for the existence of formula, not only because it was my only option, but also because there are some pretty great perks of formula feeding too. Formula feeding allowed me to share the responsibility of feeding with my spouse and other family members during a time when I needed a lot of support. My baby has been progressing perfectly. Flourishing, in fact.

These bans and restrictions Mayor Bloomberg is proposing insinuate that formula feeding is bad. Just because breastfeeding may have some benefits that formula feeding does not, it does not make formula feeding bad. That would be like Bloomberg's campaign to fight obesity only allowing grocery stores to make the 95% lean ground beef easily accessible and if you want to purchase anything less lean you have to stand in line at the butcher's counter, explain to the butcher why you want the fattier meat, and then wait as the butcher records the sale so it can be reported to the NYC Health department. Shameful fatty meat eaters. Big waste of the butcher's time.

I know plenty of women who wanted to formula feed without a personal medical need to do so. They did so because they wanted to and it was their right to do so. Nobody (particularly a man who has never breastfed) should make them feel like they aren't making a good choice. Nunyer biz-nass, Bloomberg!

Random rant about road ragers and other vehicular abominations

First, let’s get it out in the open and admit that we all think we’re better drivers than one another. There, that felt good. You think you’re a better driver than I am. I think I’m pretty bad-ass behind the wheel. Am I perfect? Nope. I’ve dinged some inanimate objects. I’ve got a delusion that I’m not getting anywhere on the highway unless I’m passing other cars. But, my record is pretty clean. I got in one little fender bender back in ‘99 because I slid on some ice right into the back of a woman who refused to get out of the car while it was being towed away and somehow got my number and called me after the incident to tell me I ruined her life and she needed a ride to work. I got one little speeding ticket in ‘04 while accelerating uphill because the speed limit was set so low that I think it was intended for bicyclists and my car would have slid backwards down the hill had I not exceeded the speed limit. And I got one little running-a-red-light ticket courtesy of those ridiculous traffic light cameras (and like a chump I paid it before it was revealed that apparently you don’t have to pay those tickets).

So now that I’ve disclosed my stats and you are convinced I’m an authority on this subject, I’d like to continue on by saying that driving is a subject upon which we all think we are an expert. We all feel very passionately about driving. It brings out our inherent competitive nature. We are road warriors, fighting traffic and the enemies in other cars so we can get to our very important destinations spending as little time in transit as possible. And we all have opinions about other people’s driving and peculiar vehicular antics. Nobody asked, but here are mine:

Gesture Monsters

We all see them in our rearview mirrors and, sadly, sometimes we are them. A Gesture Monster is the person you may have accidentally (or intentionally) cut off and when you subsequently peer in your rearview mirror you witness a unique little hand, arm and face spectacle. You’ll see them flailing their arms about like a crack puppet, screaming profanities at you as if you could hear them (although it’s usually pretty easy to make out what they’re saying). When I’m faced with Gesture Monsters I simply mock them exaggeratedly and laugh, which only burns them up more.  Gesture Monsters are the biggest cowards on the road because they are sealed up in the protection of their car so they feel that they can securely create a scene and escape to a safe side road seconds later. My question is: Would you walk behind someone in the mall and do that? Nope. If I walked in front of you at a grocery store and I wasn’t walking the pace you’d prefer I walk, would you stand behind me, flailing your arms and cursing my despicable walking ways? If we had a near-collision while turning a corner at work would you make honking noises in my face and tell me to learn how to walk? If you don’t have the guts to be a Gesture Monster outside of your car, stop acting like one inside your car. It makes you look ugly and it makes me feel sorry for you.

Gesture Monster

In-Transit Lesson Teachers

These nerdy authorities on driving like to stray from their beeswax and force everyone else to follow the rules of the road. Commonly found going the e.x.a.c.t. speed limit in the left lane on the highway, these Dons of Driving like to take a stand against those of us who are willing to take a little chance with speed by refusing to get over to a slower lane when a line of cars forms behind them. I’m not encouraging people to speed by any means, but if someone wants to do so I think it’s their business. How do I know that they’re not bleeding out their knees and on their way to the hospital? Don’t try to teach other drivers a lesson by imposing speed compliance. Unless you have a badge to declare otherwise, it’s not your job. Citizen’s arrest is impossible at 70 mph. You’re just going to bring out the Gesture Monsters.

Exhibit A

Leave It to Weaver

Ahh, Speed Weavers. These little treats on wheels are often found with decals that read lightspeed across their back window and more tint than a fresh set of BluBlockers (which admittedly aren’t that heavily tinted but I wanted to reference BluBlockers). They speed in and out of the tight spaces between cars as if they’re going somewhere special. I like to envision Speed Weavers as gnarly adventure-seekers, ridin’ down the river rapids in a souped-up douche canoe. My husband and I had a neat experience with an S-Weaver last week. Dude was weaving all over the highway at top speeds like a bat out of hades and just so happened to take our exit, and – lo and behold – got stuck at the same red light that my husband and I did. His window was rolled down, so I carpe diemed. I rolled down my window, gave him the thumbs-up and said, “Excuse me, guy! All that maneuvering you did back there…it got you to the stop light FIRST!”  Speed Weavers, don’t worry about getting nowhere first, because something tells me you’re going to be going there a lot.

Well done, weaver!

Cig Flickers

Hey smokers, guess what? Those cigarettes you so frivolously fling from your window while driving? Those don’t actually go up in a poof of smoke and disappear when they leave your grubby digits. Nope! They hit the ground and they stay there. Or, worse, they hit my windshield on the highway. I’m not telling you not to smoke. It’s truly your prerogative if you want to off yourself slowly one tobaccy stick at a time. Not my business. What is my business is the earth and air we share and the fact that you are essentially dropping little tiny litter bombs all over, and those add up to create a nasty pile of sick cigarette litter clusters on every corner of the nation. I’m sick of watching people carelessly flick their smokes all over the street. Keep an ashtray in your car. I promise you it won’t ruin the smell in there.

Oh don't worry, they'll pick themselves up

Truck Anatomy

We get it. You’re manly. But there is truly no need for you to decorate the back of your pickup with a set of guy parts. In case people are unfamiliar with this vision of unsolicited studliness, here’s an image I personally took from my phone:

It's a boy!

A pair of truck twins are about as cool as those stickers that show a Calvin cartoon relieving himself on [insert competitor truck brand, politician, etc. here]. Do us all a favor by neutering your vehicle and tossing those puppies into the nearest crick.

Spot Stealers

My blinker was on and we both know it. Don’t swoop in on the parking spot I was waiting for someone to leave and act like you saw it first. My favorite example of a confrontation illustrating this situation was when my mom’s spot got stolen (during the holiday season, no less). My mom waited for the thief to get out of her car, rolled down her window, and said, “Why? I want to know why you stole my spot.” She replied that my mom took too long to claim the spot. Right. Essentially, the woman had nothing. She was a spot stealer and she will always be a spot stealer. Evil and always first in the store. Good job, jerk.

You're gonna have to move along

You So Texty

In case you were curious, you are NOT good at texting and driving at the same time. Nobody is. Unless you have four arms and extra eyes, it’s impossible to keep your hands at 10 & 2 (or 11 & 3 – whatever they recommend nowadays) and look both up and down while you’re urgently sending “LOL” to your BFF.  Your eyes belong on the road so that you don’t hit me. And if you do hit me and I find out it’s because you were texting, I’m going to show you my angry face. You won’t like my angry face.

You're right...whatever you have to say has got to be more important than my life

To conclude my rant, here’s a little poem I wrote on the topic several years ago.

“Road warriors”

Isn’t it weird how it works?

My car coasts along but the road’s filled with jerks

And I’m not sure which way I should swerve

Road warriors corner me median to curb

They’re racing and making a scene

From my driveway to work and each place in between

Would these foes turn to friends face-to-face?

Refrain from aggression in a wide-open place?

I think they like the security of knowing

They can do what they want and I’ll just keep on going

I’ve been flipped off, called names less than sweet

Honked at, flashed, tailed, nearly run off the street

And I’m presuming that my only crime

Was my lack of awareness that they weren’t on time

Sweet Hannah Sophia is 4 months old today!

Our angel face is 4 months old today. She is so beautiful. See for yourself:

Nothing in the world compares to witnessing her growth. Seeing her discover the world. Watching her progress into a little personality-filled, loving, happy baby. What a gift I've been given. I love her so much.

She had her pediatrician visit the other day, and her stats are fantastic. She is 13 lbs. 15.5 oz which puts her in the 62 percentile. And...drum roll...her height rang in at 25.5", which is in the 92 percentile! Tall girl! Didn't get it from her Mutherford, that's for sure.

Ten things I thought about today, in no significant order

1. My baby's cheeks are plump and take kisses well.
2. Traffic does, in fact, move slower when I stress about it because that's just how karma works.
3. I need to surrender to the fact that my feet grew during pregnancy and stop trying to wear old size 7 heels to work.
4. For someone who claims to be anxious, I sure do enjoy a lot of highly caffeinated coffee in the morning.
5. My husband is a very hard worker.
6. Tired is not a good look for me.
7. I enjoy the relationships I have in my life right now. They are positive and healthy.
8. Hormones may have been the boss of me for the past few months, but I am genuinely believing now that I'm the president of Mutherworld and I will move beyond that time in my life.
9. Sometimes I forget I have a dog at home, and that's not OK.
10. I might not be willing to give up entertaining the idea of having more babies someday. It's too soon to make any bold statements about the subject, but I'm just not going to take it off the table without a solid fight. 

Bed time.