I heard this amazing essay read on NPR today. I wish I could remember the guys name, but unfortunately I tuned in late and tuned out early, so you will have to figure it out for yourself, if you are interested.
But the gist was about children. Your own children, namely. He asked the question, "What happened to my life, who took it and when can I have it back?" He askes this question when his son tells him he's lives a pathetically small life because he is happy about getting a "low impact" washer and dryer system. But he says it's true. He does live a small life. "What happened to the band I was going to form, or the second language I was going to be fluent in?"
And he realized the his sons had literally "stolen" his life. His sons had formed bands and rocked out, and gotten gigs, and they had been good! And his sons had learned a second languages, not just learned but become fluent!
And I thought about our child. My little girl, who at this point is infinite potential. All of those things I have wanted to do, start a band, travel the world, paint, create piles of pots at the ceramic studio; I won't be surprised if she does these things and more. In fact, she is going to do things I didn't even realize I want to do.
After hearing this essay I felt anger, and maybe a little sadness. Why let our kids have all the fun? What keeps us from doing the things we want to do? Is it them? Does their birth so throw us off our path as to keep us from accomplishing those things that would make us feel complete? But then I thought about Bronwen and the way her birth has changed the direction of my life.
It is not so drastic as all that. It's not as if I was heading one way and suddenly I have to make a 90 degree turn and now I am off in a totally different direction. No, it's more subtle than that. My life continues onward, ever open to the possibilities. Just now, she is part of the possibilities. She opens new roads, and clarifies road signs that may have been unclear before.
Her inifinite potential is my infinite potential and Dan's infinite potential and as a family that infinity increases. I look forward to watching her fullfil her dreams (which may concidentally also be mine!) and I look forward to the adventures we will have as a family; our little group exploring the world together.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday Hair
When it comes down to it, I am pretty lazy when it comes to my appearance. I wear makeup, when I feel like it, and when I am bored and have nothing else to do. I also wear it to work because I have to. But given a choice, I probably wouldn't wear makeup at all. Also, given a choice I would never brush my hair. I find the task tedious and annoying. My favorite haircut ever was my college buzz-cut, no washing, no maintenance, and best of all, no brushing!
Because of this desire to not brush, most weekends I do exactly that. I don't brush my hair. That means that when Sunday rolls around, I am left with what I have come to call my "Sunday Hair." Depending on the weather, the amount of sleep and the hairstyles I have been wearing over the weekend, "Sunday Hair" can be pretty rough. My mom used to call it my "rats nest" because as a child I hated to brush my hair as well (some things never change) and she would have to wrestle with my hair for hours to get the knots out.
This past sunday I had a particularly difficult and ratty "Sunday Hair." Unfortunately, I found out at the last minute that I was going to try on my wedding dress for the first time. So, I ran to the bathroom, and dumped two palms fulls of conditioner on to my head, and got the "good" brush and I started to tug, scrape, and tear at my hair until I could run my fingers easily through the strands and not knots were left.
I know that if I actually brushed daily, I wouldn't have to go through this sort of pain on every Sunday, but I don't like brushing! So, until I get my buzz-cut back again, "Sunday Hair" will remain a weekly tradition.
Because of this desire to not brush, most weekends I do exactly that. I don't brush my hair. That means that when Sunday rolls around, I am left with what I have come to call my "Sunday Hair." Depending on the weather, the amount of sleep and the hairstyles I have been wearing over the weekend, "Sunday Hair" can be pretty rough. My mom used to call it my "rats nest" because as a child I hated to brush my hair as well (some things never change) and she would have to wrestle with my hair for hours to get the knots out.
This past sunday I had a particularly difficult and ratty "Sunday Hair." Unfortunately, I found out at the last minute that I was going to try on my wedding dress for the first time. So, I ran to the bathroom, and dumped two palms fulls of conditioner on to my head, and got the "good" brush and I started to tug, scrape, and tear at my hair until I could run my fingers easily through the strands and not knots were left.
I know that if I actually brushed daily, I wouldn't have to go through this sort of pain on every Sunday, but I don't like brushing! So, until I get my buzz-cut back again, "Sunday Hair" will remain a weekly tradition.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
My Carbon Footprint
My carbon footprint is the size of a Sasquatch footprint. I go through Ziploc baggies faster than I go through toilet paper, or seltzers. Speaking of seltzers, I drink three cases of seltzer a week, that’s 36 cans to be recycled (or thrown in the trash when the recycling is too full and I am too lazy to ask to take it out), and that is not even counting the diet cokes, the beers and the bottles of wine. So what is a girl to do? Buy a keg of seltzer? Give up beverages that cannot be purchased in recycled containers like that weird water machine at the health food store to which you take your empty gallon containers and refill them for $1.50. Wait a second, you mean a water faucet? What a scam.
If only the seltzer man still delivered weekly, or the milk man? Maybe that is the problem. We no longer have the milk man who brings us our milk daily, picks up the old bottles and returns with new ones the next day. Or the Seltzer man, or the local farmer who gets me my eggs (when I pick them up in my own container) or the baker or butcher who cuts my meat fresh and gives it to me in butcher paper, not pre-packaged on a Styrofoam tray, over-wrapped with Saran wrap, date stamped and blasted with carbon monoxide to keep the meat from turning brown.
I feel bad that I actually don’t care enough to make any changes. I like the convenience and the disposability of my Ziploc bags. I buy them by the case from Costco. I hate that our family fills a large trash bag full almost every other day with trash, half of which I am sure I could compost or recycle or reuse. And the recycling thing, well, it’s just a pain. And I want there to be a clean, unspoiled world for our daughter to explore and discover. I think I am just going to have to make my contribution in another way. Maybe creating music, or gardening, or even raising a child to be socially, environmentally aware will be good enough. Or maybe it won’t but at least we will be happy trying.
If only the seltzer man still delivered weekly, or the milk man? Maybe that is the problem. We no longer have the milk man who brings us our milk daily, picks up the old bottles and returns with new ones the next day. Or the Seltzer man, or the local farmer who gets me my eggs (when I pick them up in my own container) or the baker or butcher who cuts my meat fresh and gives it to me in butcher paper, not pre-packaged on a Styrofoam tray, over-wrapped with Saran wrap, date stamped and blasted with carbon monoxide to keep the meat from turning brown.
I feel bad that I actually don’t care enough to make any changes. I like the convenience and the disposability of my Ziploc bags. I buy them by the case from Costco. I hate that our family fills a large trash bag full almost every other day with trash, half of which I am sure I could compost or recycle or reuse. And the recycling thing, well, it’s just a pain. And I want there to be a clean, unspoiled world for our daughter to explore and discover. I think I am just going to have to make my contribution in another way. Maybe creating music, or gardening, or even raising a child to be socially, environmentally aware will be good enough. Or maybe it won’t but at least we will be happy trying.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Milwaukee
I meant to post about my trip to Milwaukee while I was in Milwaukee, but you know how things go. After hours of teaching “Customer Delight” and Safety and Sanitation, a girl has got to do something else besides sit in front of a computer screen, trying to come up with something creative to say about a city she is not even going to get to see.
As far as Milwaukee goes, the airport was very nice. Much bigger than I expected, but recently updated, free WIFI and of course, filled with Starbucks. The Avis Rental Car lady was very nice and suggested that we eat at Knopps (a famous local frozen custard place which happened to be right down the street from the hotel), and we were upgraded for free to an SUV. I have no idea what it was, but the gas pedal was so light, I peeled out multiple times throughout the trip. I was traveling with a co-worker and I think I kind of started to freak her out. I am a good driver! This car was just touchy.
The hotel was a Marriott, so of course, it was really nice. I taught all day Tuesday, and Wednesday. On Wednesday, we went to Knopps and I see why they are famous. They make Vanilla and Chocolate frozen custard everyday, but they also rotate two specialty flavors into the mix daily. On this day, the specialty flavors were Burgundy Cherry and Turtle. I didn’t get to taste the cherry (although I saw people eating it and it was a gorgeous color of cherry red) but I did sample the turtle. It was vanilla frozen custard mixed (and when I say mixed, I mean perfectly swirled) with caramel, chocolate and whole pecans. I was incredibly fresh (made within the hour) and so, so good. I actually ended up with a heaping cone of chocolate in the end and that was also wonderful.
On Wednesday night we had dinner at Noodles and Company around 9 pm and headed off to bed. We planned on meeting at 6:45am to head to the airport. My co-worker said her flight was at 8am and I was sure mine was around 11:45am, so I would just have to sit around the airport.
At 6:45am, my dreams were interrupted by a light knocking on my door. At I leapt, naked directly from the bed to the closet (which was at least 10 feet away) I groggily came to the realization that I had overslept.
“Hold on a second,” I croaked towards the door.
I threw on some clothes, and opened the door.
“Sorry, I overslept.” I said. My co-worker came into the room and stood there as I hastily threw all my stuff into the suitcase (of course I hadn’t packed the night before, what and break my procrastination habit created in the early years of traveling with Krispy Kreme. Always pack the morning of…)
I had glanced at the clock in my naked leap to the closet and it had said exactly 6:45am. Fully packed, dressed and mossy-mouthed and bleary-eyed I looked at the clock on the way out of the door and it said 6:47. Damn, I’m good.
We got into the SUV and peeled out into the rainy grey morning. As we neared the airport, my co-worker pulled out her itinerary to confirm her flight information.
“Uh, Ellie? You’re going to kill me.”
“Why, what are you talking about?”
“I don’t know what happened. I really thought my flight was at 8am.”
“When is your flight?” I asked a little hesitantly, my un-showered body tensing.
“Um, 11:45am!”
There was nothing to do but laugh about it. We were pulling into the rental car return at this point so we figured we would just try to get out earlier. I went to my airline and she went to hers. It was then that I realized that I was also wrong about my flight. I wasn’t scheduled to leave until 1:45pm and at this point it was a little after 7am; and I was scheduled to arrive in Greensboro at 6:10, a full 11 hours from then. I spoke to the lady at the counter. She got me a 10am flight out of Milwaukee, but could do nothing about the flight from Cincinnati. So I sat in the Cincinnati airport for 5 hours until finally boarding my flight home to Greensboro.
As far as Milwaukee goes, the airport was very nice. Much bigger than I expected, but recently updated, free WIFI and of course, filled with Starbucks. The Avis Rental Car lady was very nice and suggested that we eat at Knopps (a famous local frozen custard place which happened to be right down the street from the hotel), and we were upgraded for free to an SUV. I have no idea what it was, but the gas pedal was so light, I peeled out multiple times throughout the trip. I was traveling with a co-worker and I think I kind of started to freak her out. I am a good driver! This car was just touchy.
The hotel was a Marriott, so of course, it was really nice. I taught all day Tuesday, and Wednesday. On Wednesday, we went to Knopps and I see why they are famous. They make Vanilla and Chocolate frozen custard everyday, but they also rotate two specialty flavors into the mix daily. On this day, the specialty flavors were Burgundy Cherry and Turtle. I didn’t get to taste the cherry (although I saw people eating it and it was a gorgeous color of cherry red) but I did sample the turtle. It was vanilla frozen custard mixed (and when I say mixed, I mean perfectly swirled) with caramel, chocolate and whole pecans. I was incredibly fresh (made within the hour) and so, so good. I actually ended up with a heaping cone of chocolate in the end and that was also wonderful.
On Wednesday night we had dinner at Noodles and Company around 9 pm and headed off to bed. We planned on meeting at 6:45am to head to the airport. My co-worker said her flight was at 8am and I was sure mine was around 11:45am, so I would just have to sit around the airport.
At 6:45am, my dreams were interrupted by a light knocking on my door. At I leapt, naked directly from the bed to the closet (which was at least 10 feet away) I groggily came to the realization that I had overslept.
“Hold on a second,” I croaked towards the door.
I threw on some clothes, and opened the door.
“Sorry, I overslept.” I said. My co-worker came into the room and stood there as I hastily threw all my stuff into the suitcase (of course I hadn’t packed the night before, what and break my procrastination habit created in the early years of traveling with Krispy Kreme. Always pack the morning of…)
I had glanced at the clock in my naked leap to the closet and it had said exactly 6:45am. Fully packed, dressed and mossy-mouthed and bleary-eyed I looked at the clock on the way out of the door and it said 6:47. Damn, I’m good.
We got into the SUV and peeled out into the rainy grey morning. As we neared the airport, my co-worker pulled out her itinerary to confirm her flight information.
“Uh, Ellie? You’re going to kill me.”
“Why, what are you talking about?”
“I don’t know what happened. I really thought my flight was at 8am.”
“When is your flight?” I asked a little hesitantly, my un-showered body tensing.
“Um, 11:45am!”
There was nothing to do but laugh about it. We were pulling into the rental car return at this point so we figured we would just try to get out earlier. I went to my airline and she went to hers. It was then that I realized that I was also wrong about my flight. I wasn’t scheduled to leave until 1:45pm and at this point it was a little after 7am; and I was scheduled to arrive in Greensboro at 6:10, a full 11 hours from then. I spoke to the lady at the counter. She got me a 10am flight out of Milwaukee, but could do nothing about the flight from Cincinnati. So I sat in the Cincinnati airport for 5 hours until finally boarding my flight home to Greensboro.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Cavin and the Camera
Our camera has broken. Which makes me very sad because it means that I am going to have to buy one now. And we have only had this one for less than one year. Dan's parents bought it for us when Bronwen was born. Well, at least it put in it's time, I have about a million Bronwen pictures saved on the computer.
Basically the only problem with the camera is that the screen on the back is broken. This would be a surmountable problem if there was a veiw finder on this camera, but there is not. So, I can point the camera at things and take pictures. I just can't tell what the picture is going to be until I download it. This should make for some fun blind shooting, but I would like to be able to make some descisions on what pictures I want to take as well.
I discovered that the broken screen was the only problem as I was downloading the pictures from Bronwen's birthday party on to the computer. As I was downloading I was surprised to see two little tiny videos on the list of files downloaded. "Did I take those?" I wondered to myself and was delighted to see a cheeky Mr Cavin smiling back at me in the second video. It was his conviction that it was just the screen that was broken and alas he was right, with a little video to prove it.
Basically the only problem with the camera is that the screen on the back is broken. This would be a surmountable problem if there was a veiw finder on this camera, but there is not. So, I can point the camera at things and take pictures. I just can't tell what the picture is going to be until I download it. This should make for some fun blind shooting, but I would like to be able to make some descisions on what pictures I want to take as well.
I discovered that the broken screen was the only problem as I was downloading the pictures from Bronwen's birthday party on to the computer. As I was downloading I was surprised to see two little tiny videos on the list of files downloaded. "Did I take those?" I wondered to myself and was delighted to see a cheeky Mr Cavin smiling back at me in the second video. It was his conviction that it was just the screen that was broken and alas he was right, with a little video to prove it.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Five Pounds of Curry
I have hired a personal trainer. I know, now I am some sort of 30-something, half-posh, middle class, hyphenated stereotype. But it is actually a really good thing. I have been trying, albeit half heartedly to regain my pre-baby body for about a year now, and the time had finally come. This new gym has come to town, and it is a really great place, with free kid care and a pool and all the other stuff I like. As I was signing up (I got an awesome deal through my work) I was suggestively sold a personal trainer package. My justification for paying all of that money was, “she’ll kick my butt into shape so I don’t have to.”
I met with Keisha last week for the first time and we did my measurements (don’t even ask me) and we started working out. I left her the first day thoroughly tired and sweaty, but happy and feeling good.
Yesterday I was scheduled to meet with her again at 1pm. ( I have paid for 25 sessions, and this was number 2.) I decided to eat lunch around 11am so as to be mostly digested by the time I got there. I decided to eat about five pounds of this delicious and spicy curry I had made along with a huge pile a brown rice; excessive, maybe, but healthy, right?
I met with Keisha 2 hours later and she proceeded to beat me to a bloody pulp. We started with stretches, crunches and back, then worked chest, back, shoulders, biceps, triceps then bicycled, hard for 4 minutes. Then we did it again (when I say we, I mean me!), chest back shoulders, biceps, triceps and then bicycled hard for 4 more minutes.
At this point, I was starting to taste that curry again, and it was not a comfortable feeling. I asked her how much more I had to do and she said one more circuit and I said,
“I’m going to throw up.”
Keisha looked a little concerned.
“What? Why?”
“I ate five pounds of curry for lunch. I don’t think that was very smart!”
She started laughing at me. “You probably shouldn’t do that next time.”
“Okay.” I moaned as I clutched aching head and rumbling stomach.
“Well, we’ll finish with abs then,” she said, and as I sighed in relief, sure my pain was over now, she completed the pummeling by making me do six sets of fifteen crunches (for the slow, that’s 90 crunches).
I stumbled out of the gym, flopped into my boiling hot car and proceeded to drive home. I actually have no idea how I made it, I passed out in my drive way and then finally made it into the house. I had to call into work and tell them I wasn’t going to make it in. What a loser.
I met with Keisha last week for the first time and we did my measurements (don’t even ask me) and we started working out. I left her the first day thoroughly tired and sweaty, but happy and feeling good.
Yesterday I was scheduled to meet with her again at 1pm. ( I have paid for 25 sessions, and this was number 2.) I decided to eat lunch around 11am so as to be mostly digested by the time I got there. I decided to eat about five pounds of this delicious and spicy curry I had made along with a huge pile a brown rice; excessive, maybe, but healthy, right?
I met with Keisha 2 hours later and she proceeded to beat me to a bloody pulp. We started with stretches, crunches and back, then worked chest, back, shoulders, biceps, triceps then bicycled, hard for 4 minutes. Then we did it again (when I say we, I mean me!), chest back shoulders, biceps, triceps and then bicycled hard for 4 more minutes.
At this point, I was starting to taste that curry again, and it was not a comfortable feeling. I asked her how much more I had to do and she said one more circuit and I said,
“I’m going to throw up.”
Keisha looked a little concerned.
“What? Why?”
“I ate five pounds of curry for lunch. I don’t think that was very smart!”
She started laughing at me. “You probably shouldn’t do that next time.”
“Okay.” I moaned as I clutched aching head and rumbling stomach.
“Well, we’ll finish with abs then,” she said, and as I sighed in relief, sure my pain was over now, she completed the pummeling by making me do six sets of fifteen crunches (for the slow, that’s 90 crunches).
I stumbled out of the gym, flopped into my boiling hot car and proceeded to drive home. I actually have no idea how I made it, I passed out in my drive way and then finally made it into the house. I had to call into work and tell them I wasn’t going to make it in. What a loser.
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