Friday, November 25, 2005

Bad, Stupid, Good, Disturbing

Bad: I am at work. I was supposed to have the day off, but I am here, trying to prevent a project from becoming a complete failure. It's not looking good.

Stupid: I have been assigned cranberries for Thanksgiving, which is taking place tomorrow in our family. I don't like cranberry salads, but I said OK anyway. I'm actually bringing a cranberry-wild rice stuffing, but now I have the horrible sinking feeling that someone else is already bringing a wild rice dish. Crap.

Good: It is snowing, a very sparkly, fluffy, Christmassy snow. I am including this in the "good" column even though I would much prefer to be enjoying this from my living room, in my pajamas, while drinking hot cocoa. Labeling it "good" involves a complete denial of the fact that even when I do get to go home, I'll be stuck in awful traffic while people try to remember how the whole driving in snow thing works. Asshats. Wait, what was I saying? Pretty snow. Right.

A Little Disturbing: Wednesday night at the bus stop, I endured a 10-minute tirade from one of my fellow transit riders. Apparently, she's quite upset about the date of her b-day (she never actually used the word "birthday," but I assumed that's what she meant.)

Crazy Bus Woman: Just guess! Guess what day my b-day is! Just think what the worst possible b-day I could have would be!

My brain: If you answer her, maybe she won't kill you!
Me: Um, is it near Christmas?

CBW: NO! Why would Christmas be a bad b-day!? Why does everyone always say that!?

My brain: You angered her! Fight or flight? Fight or flight?
Me: I don't kno-

CBW: Just use your brain! Hello? What would be the worst possible b-day?

My brain: I so don't want to play this game anymore.
Me: I really don't know.

CBW: 9-11! There! See!? I have the worst possible b-day. What could be worse than that?

My brain: Today. Today is the worst possible day. Run away, run away!
Me: You're right, that's horrible. Oh, shoot, there's my bus!

Monday, November 21, 2005

Where The Devil Are My Slippers?

My Fair Lady has the worst last line ever. Of any movie. Bar none. "Where the devil are my slippers?" Seriously!? That's all 'Enry 'Iggins has to say to Eliza? And she's seriously gonna stand there and not retort? She's willing to throw all her hard-earned self-respect down the drain without any kind of explanation or apology from him?

I have never read Pygmalion. Thanks to my friend Google, however, I have just skimmed the ending, and found this:

This being the state of human affairs, what is Eliza fairly sure to do when she is placed between Freddy and Higgins? Will she look forward to a lifetime of fetching Higgins's slippers or to a lifetime of Freddy fetching hers? There can be no doubt about the answer. Unless Freddy is biologically repulsive to her, and Higgins biologically attractive to a degree that overwhelms all her other instincts, she will, if she marries either of them, marry Freddy.

And that is just what Eliza did.

So THERE, Hollywood! George Bernard Shaw got it. But you thought it would be more romantic if she ended up with Higgins. Well, THANK YOU VERY MUCH for RUINING the ENTIRE movie. Hmph.

My husband thinks that I take this a little too seriously. In my personal belief system, however, it is not possible to take a musical too seriously.

Up next, the dream sequence in Oklahoma! How awful is that!?

Wednesday, November 16, 2005


Someone in Kansas, whom I've never met, is going to name her unborn child "Raisin" if it's a girl. That, my friends, is how freaking cool DH and I are. Strangers want to be like us. They want to name their children after our child. Thank you very much, good night.

(Kansas Lady is friends with the mother of another toddler in Raisin's classroom at daycare. This mom, evidently, thinks Raisin looks like she could be the offspring of Kansas Lady, and was therefore telling Kansas Lady about the cute little girl at daycare, Raisin, blah blah. KL decided she loooooovvvveeeedddd the name so much that she wants to steal it. And a naming fad is born, people. Watch for all kinds of little Raisins on the next Social Security popular names report.)

I think it's awesome. DH thinks it's a little creepy.

Friday, November 11, 2005

At least we're well-matched...

Am smart. Turned off comments for ALL posts without realizing it. Have fixed it now. Am sorry. :)

If you had been at the Grape household this week, you might have witnessed the following scene:

Raisin is playing on the floor with her Noah's ark from Fisher Price. She is taking the animals out one by one and handing them to me. I am attempting to turn it into a counting lesson, about which she could care less.

Grape: Oh, thank you! It's a giraffe -- one giraffe! ... Oh, look, here's a zebra. One giraffe, and one zebra. ... Hey, another giraffe! That's two votes giraffe, and one vote zebra. First person voted off of "Survivor: Noah's ark" -- giraffe!

DH: You are such a dork.

Grape: Whatever, it was funny. ... Oh, thanks, Raisin -- a toucan! ... Another toucan, that's two toucans!

DH: Would that be a fourcan?

Grape: Who's a dork!?

So, cast your votes ... of the lame jokes above, which is the lamest!?

Monday, November 07, 2005


*Updated because somehow I turned off the comments and because some of it was too poorly written even for me.*

I am going off The Pill (because if you capitalize it, everybody knows that you're talking about THAT pill, right?). I wouldn't say we are officially trying to get pregnant, but we are getting close -- close enough that I don't want to pay $90 for a 3-month supply of pills. {Politely saves rant about prescription drugs and insurance companies for another time and place.}

Being this close has me thinking a lot about my pregnancy with Raisin -- what went well (almost everything)? What would I change (almost nothing, except it'd be great to gain less weight)? Will I go back to the same midwife practice (I think so)? That kind of thing.

I was very very very very blessed the first time around. From conception to delivery, we only had one major scare. And now that I have discovered the blogosphere and all the scary stories out there, it doesn't even seem that major anymore. However, I come from a long line of worriers, and I just wouldn't be me if I weren't thinking about it again now as I contemplate another go-round.

It started after our first ultrasound, so it must've been at about 20 weeks. The OB who reviewed the ultrasound results was concerned about one of Raisin's measurements. An approximation of the ensuing conversation with the midwife (not-my-favorite midwife, because of a decided lack of what I like to call "personality" and "compassion" -- she was, thankfully, not on call when Raisin was born):

Midwife: So, it looks like the baby has a prominent renal pelvis on the right side.

DH/Grape: {blank stares}

Midwife: See, this {indicates black spot amid many indistinguishable spots} is her kidney. And this is the renal pelvis.

Grape: {trying to be calm and not freak-the-flying-freak out} So, what does that mean?

Midwife: Well, you'll have to make an appointment at the perinatal clinic for a level-two ultrasound. Here's the clinic number and a bunch of other useless information, blah blah blah nothing about the BABY who is suffering from a prominent something-or-another RIGHT NOW in my uterus!!!!!!!!

Grape: OK, but what does that mean for the baby? {gives up and just freaks right out anyway}

Midwife: I can't really say.

And I left it at that.*

I went home and consulted Dr. Google right away. That was a GREAT idea. A prominent renal pelvis (Google tells me that's a tube that connects the kidney to the bladder. If it's too big, stuff can go the wrong way and cause infections) in a 20-week fetus can mean:
1. Absolutely nothing, because they measured wrong.
2. That the dumb thing is just growing fast, and will be normal by birth.
3. That the dumb thing is just growing fast, and will be normal by age 1.
4. That the dumb thing grew too fast, but can be corrected by surgery after birth if necessary.
5. DOWN SYNDROME!!!!!!!!

Yeah. Would it be redundant to point out the FREAKING OUT that was done at this point?

Now, to spare you all any further suspense, in Raisin's case, it turned out to be #2. We found this out to the tune of an additional level-one ultrasound and 2 level-twos with a perinatologist (who, by the way, was the opposite of not-my-favorite midwife, and who is my HERO). These are the sentences he uttered in order to be come Dr. Hero:

"Well, it is a little on the big side right now, but I don't think it's reason to be concerned."

"I see no indication that your baby has Down Syndrome."

"I just took part in a study at the Mayo Clinic about the correlation between this measurement and actual problems after birth. Come see me again at about 34 weeks; according to my study we can't tell anything positive until that point anyway."

And, of course, when we went back at 34 weeks the measurement was in the normal range, and Raisin has never suffered any kind of urinary tract issue. And they all lived happily ever after.

*This is the crucial part of the narrative to me. I don't think I was a passive patient -- I educated myself about pregnancy before and during my own. I asked questions. I tried to keep up-to-date with what was going on in my body and in the midwife practice. But when we hit our little mini-crisis, I let the midwife shuffle me out of the office without any answers.

I got the answers later; I'm OK with that. I got good care from those midwives, so I'm not apprehensive about trusting them again. And I believe that she probably had good reasons for NOT answering my question -- she just should have told me what the reason was. My guess is that as a nurse-midwife, not an MD, she felt she might be treading on iffy legal ground.

I just wish I had asked. I wish I didn't have to guess now. And I'd like, this time around, not to let go of questions to which I feel I deserve an answer.