All Caps

— B finished up his swim lessons. He had 8 total. He was fine for the first three- mostly indifferent with some whimpering. He totally freaked out for the next three and literally cried during the whole 30 minute class each time. Then he was fine for the last two classes- back to mostly indifferent, but with more smiles and no whimpering. SO WEIRD.

— I had dinner with Stefanie a couple of weeks ago. She hasn’t quit blogging; she just hasn’t been blogging for a while. I feel like she’s going to make her comeback any day. NO PRESSURE, STEFANIE.

— H and I have both been in grumpy moods lately. One issue in our relationship is that if I’m grumpy, H just gets even grumpier. I’m not sure why, but that’s how it goes. So anyway, as you can imagine, it is not fun. However, tonight he did demonstrate, at my request, the Heisman pose for like the millionth time because I can never do it right. I always lift the wrong leg and hold my arms at the wrong angle. Maybe now I will remember how to do it. SHUT UP, IT IS NOT ODD THAT I TRY TO DO THE HEISMAN POSE ALL THE TIME.

— My niece posted a picture of me at the lakehouse in a swimsuit on Facebook. I tried to leave it on my wall, telling myself that I didn’t care how I looked. I lasted about 30 minutes before I deleted it from my wall. YOU WOULD HAVE GIVEN IN TOO.

— OK, that last one didn’t really deserve all caps, but I have a thing going on here. So speaking of my niece on Facebook, she keeps posting these emo song quotes about love, and I think it is kind of funny, but the other part of me is like, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE “DEEP” FEELINGS ABOUT BOYS, YOUNG LADY. Except that she’s 15, so I guess she is. Aaaaaa!

Frustration

I am finding a new doctors’ office.

When I was 6 weeks pregnant with B, I went to the doctors’ office and found that I had bronchitis. Doctor #1 prescribed me some pills, a nasal spray, and some cough syrup with codeine. I asked if he was sure I could take something with codeine in it, and he said, “Epidurals are ok for babies, and codeine isn’t as strong as an epidural, so I’m sure it’s fine.” I’m not a doctor, but I am pretty sure that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. So when I went to pick up the medications, I told the pharmacist I didn’t want the cough syrup, and the pharmacist told me that the nasal spray wasn’t safe for pregnant women either. Awesome.

After I had B, I went back to the same doctors’ office because I was having a lot of foot pain. I had to wait over an hour. Then the nurse weighed me and said, “You don’t look like you weigh that much.” Then I told her that I had just had a baby so that she could put it in my medical records, and she said, “We don’t need that for your records, but it explains your weight.” I am pretty sure the fact that I had a c-section is kind of important for my freaking medical record, and also WTF? Then Doctor #2 came to see me and said that I shouldn’t have made this appointment, I should have just asked for a referral to a foot doctor (not the official name). So maybe you should tell your appointment-maker-people that so that I didn’t wait for an hour and then get insulted for no reason.

On Friday I went to the same doctors’ office and saw Doctor #3 because I had an eye infection. I didn’t have to wait long, and the doctor was nice. The doctor said he was going to prescribe some antibiotic eye drops, and I asked him to send the prescription to the pharmacy next door. I walked next door to the pharmacy and asked if they had received my prescription yet, but they hadn’t. It had only been 90 seconds since I left the doctors’ office, so I didn’t worry about it. B and I wandered around and played with some toys for a few minutes. I went back to the pharmacist, and they still hadn’t received my prescription. It still had been only 5 minutes or so, so I decided to come back later when I didn’t have B with me.

I called back a few hours later, and the pharmacy had never received my prescription. At this time, the doctors’ office was closed. I called the two other pharmacies near my house and the doctors’ office, and neither had received a prescription for me. I called the urgent care affiliated with my doctors’ office, figuring they could access my records and send the prescription in for me. When I called urgent care, I got a message telling me to call back when they were open (they were open) or to press 1 to talk to a nurse. I pressed 1 and got sent to the hospital switchboard. I explained what had happened, and the operator insisted that the urgent care was open. I agreed that it was open but said that the phone system wasn’t working. The operator sent me back to the urgent care line. Again, I was transferred back to the hospital switchboard. This happened three times. Then I got super pissed off. H took over and after waiting on hold for a long time was able to talk to someone who could access my records. She said that the doctor had just written in my records that I had a bacterial eye infection, but he hadn’t actually written a prescription for anything.

The woman H was talking to said she would page the on-call doctor and have them write a prescription for me. She said if I didn’t hear back from anyone in 20-30 minutes that we should call urgent care again. I waited 45 minutes before I called urgent care again. After I got the freaking answering machine a couple of times, I was able to speak the receptionist. She said she would have a nurse call me back right away. ANOTHER 45 MINUTES LATER, I called urgent care again. I somehow managed to speak to the person H had spoken to earlier. She was shocked I hadn’t heard from anyone yet and told me that I should have called back a long time ago. As though I hadn’t been trying. Maybe if someone affiliated with this doctors’ office actually did something right just one time, I could have had my stupid eyedrops already.

Anyway, the lady said she would page the on-call doctor again. The on-call doctor finally called me back three hours after she was originally paged. She looked up my records and asked what she should prescribe me. I said antibiotic eyedrops. She asked what kind. SERIOUSLY? I said I didn’t know. She started listing eyedrops as though I know anything about antibiotic eyedrops. I was like just give me something that will get rid of my eye infection, lady.

She sent in the prescription, and when I went in to pick it up (it was 9:30 at night at this point), the pharmacist told me that the doctor I originally saw forgets to write prescriptions all the time.

So maybe if this office didn’t have three doctors that I don’t trust, a rude nurse, an unhelpful appointment-maker-person, an urgent care that doesn’t answer its phone or return phone calls, and an on-call doctor that doesn’t return pages while on call, I might consider going there again.

Don’t Mix

I have always liked swimming. I grew up with a swimming pool in my backyard, so my mom took my sister and I to swim lessons when we were infants. I could swim before I could walk. I was on the swim team for years, until I got to high school and being on the swim team meant I would have had to practice at 5 a.m. That was the end of that.

I want B to like swimming too. We have taken him to the pool a bunch of times, but at best, he is indifferent about being in the water. He loves to lie on his stomach in the bathtub and kick his legs, but get him in the pool, and he wants to cling to a parent and that’s about it.

We signed B up for swim lessons to help him get used to the water. I had grand dreams of him learning to love the pool. Yeah, that’s not happening. For the first three lessons, B tolerated the pool. He didn’t like it, and at the end of each lesson he would start begging to get out, but it was ok. Apparently the fourth lesson was the breaking point, and B spent the whole lesson crying. Today was the fifth lesson, and B stepped up his game. He spend the whole 30 minutes crying, with some extra screaming and tons of snot thrown in.

I understand that just because I like something doesn’t mean that B will like it. But who doesn’t like swimming?!

At least the teacher is a cute guy with some nice abs… I mean, pleasant young gentleman.

Youth Is Wasted On The Young

I turned 31 on Monday. 31! That number sounds weird to me.

H was telling everyone* on Monday that I was turning 29. I think that actually made people think I was much older than I was.

*We were staying at a “resort” in Alexandria, MN with a large group of people.

I’m not embarrassed about my age. I don’t feel old. It just surprises me that I’m in my 30s. I feel 25. I don’t feel like a homeowner, a wife, a mom, a person who has been practicing law for six years, a person with a freaking pension and a 401(k).

My company sponsored a business competition for students. We had these groups of kids standing around our lobby wearing their new suits, looking young and nervous. And I could not tell whether it was a high school competition or college competition. That is how old I am. (I found out later that it was a college competition.)

We have summer interns who are probably 19 years old, and they look like babies to me. I want to tell the boys with their shaggy bangs that they need haircuts.

I’m not old, right? I watch Tosh.0. I watch The Soup. I liked The Hangover. I have a blog. I know some songs by Lady Gaga. I’m on Facebook. I’ve heard of the show Jersey Shore. I take my kid to the zoo and am in bed by 11 p.m. on weekends. I drink about one or two beers a month. I remember the days before everyone had cell phones. Shoot. I am old.

Tears Required

The mention of movies that make you experience feelings reminded me of a recent post H had on Facebook. He listed “movies that are appropriate for men to cry at.” H’s list was Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, Finding Neverland, Up, and Million Dollar Baby.

His friends added The Natural, Field of Dreams, Brian’s Song, and Terms of Endearment.

Despite the fact that H thinks I am a robot, I would addRudy and My Girl.

What would you add?

Confessions

Inspired by Jen.

• My office has a floor to ceiling window that lets me see the hallway.  I wasn’t watching where I was going when I was walking down the hall, and I walked directly into the window.  I think a paralegal saw, but she didn’t say anything.
• I don’t buy expensive clothes because I’m not into it and because I spill.  A lot.
• The only reason I don’t have ads on my site is that I can’t figure out the html code.
• I can’t be friends with people who get overly dramatic and flip out at the slightest opportunity.  Or with people who need constant reassurance.
• I turn 31 on Monday.
• I’ve never had HBO, and I don’t even follow up on those shows when they’re out on DVD.
• So I’ve only seen parts of a few episodes of Sex and the City, and I’ve never seen The Sopranos.  Meh.
• I tried to like Mad Men, but after three episodes, I still didn’t like it, so I gave up.
• H recently accused me of avoiding things that would make me have feelings.  I will admit that I avoid things that would make me feel sad, depressed, or scared.  But I seek out things that make me laugh, so there.
• This discussion stemmed from the fact that I wouldn’t watch Million Dollar Baby because it’s too depressing, and I don’t want to go see Toy Story 3 because I’ve heard it’s made a lot of people cry.
• H and I were looking at pictures from a few years ago last night, and I could see how different I looked then.  It was disconcerting.
• H did not give B a bath for the entire 7 days I was in San Francisco.  In H’s defense, I wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t told me.
• I get annoyed by people who have complicated food restrictions, unless it’s for medical reasons.  If you’re allergic to gluten and nuts, do you really need to be vegan too?  What the hell do you eat?

Portrait of a Young Artist

A few years ago I mentioned a book I wrote in first or second grade about my family and their jobs. Guess what? I found the book at my mom’s house.

People and thier Jobs- I was in first or second grade, so give me a break on the spelling. I’m not sure why, but that is a drawing of my aunt on the cover.

Then there’s a title page that I didn’t take a picture of because it is boring. I would like to note that it was very thorough of me to include a title page though.

My Dad works for U.S. Sprint. It is a telephone company.
“Hello you have a complaint”
“Yes that sure is are gaurintee.”
This part is right. My dad did work for Sprint back when it was called U.S. Sprint. However, he was an HR person. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t talking to people about their complaints or saying “Yes, that sure is our guarantee.” This cracks me up.

My mom works for Linda hall library. It is a place where you get asignments.
“Yes sir!”
My mom worked part time at a local college library. She hunted down books and articles that grad students and professors requested. I guess that’s why I thought it was a place where you got assignments. I like that I have a picture of one woman saying to another woman, “Yes sir!”

My Aunt Wanda is a teacher. She teaches 2nd grade.
I think she actually taught first grade, but whatever. In real life, I never saw her wear a purple shirt and magenta pants.

My Uncle Marion is a farmer. He raises animals and crops.
Apparently I also thought he looked exactly like a scarecrow. While it’s true that my uncle had a hobby farm where he grew some crops, he was really a supervisor at a Goodyear tire plant. His plant made huge airplane tires. Maybe I didn’t want to draw pictures of tires.

When my sister grows up she will be: … a farmer, a mom, a person, a waitress, a adult, a man.
She is now both a person and an adult, but that’s about it from the list.
Oh, in the picture she’s saying, “Hi, Goerge!” because in preschool, she had a little boyfriend named George.

My Grandma Hougan is a House wife. My Grandpa Hougan is a dounout seller.
I must have run out of time to finish the book because there aren’t any more illustrations.
Anyway, I spelled my grandparents’ last name wrong, which is nice. And my grandfather was not a doughnut seller. He was a retired farmer. There was not even a doughnut store or bakery in the town where they lived. I don’t remember ever even seeing him eat a doughnut. And I have no idea why I thought “doughnut seller” was a profession in the first place. When I brought this book home from school, my mom could not stop laughing at this.

My Grandpa is a fisherman. My Aunt Wanita is a 3rd grade teacher.
My grandpa is not a fisherman, though I think he did have a lobster trap or two, just for fun. Does that count? Well, my aunt was definitely not a 3rd grade teacher. She is, and always has been, a social worker.

The End! Get out or I’ll kill you!
I think I thought it was cool to threaten people and then was embarrassed about it after I wrote it.

The End!

Heritage

I look like my dad.

I find myself using the same phrases as my mom.

I analyze the people around me the same way my dad does.

I have a lot of the same values as my mom.

I bottle up my feelings like my dad.

I chat with strangers the same way my mom does.

I try to be nice to everyone like my dad is.

I try to raise B the way my mom raised me.

Maybe I’m Not That Important

When I went to San Francisco, I had to leave H and B home for seven days and six nights.

B had been a big mama’s boy before I left. If I was in the house, B wanted to be with me. If I went to the bathroom, B followed me. If I went into another room to get a drink, B followed me. If I left the house without B, he sobbed.

I knew that H would take good care of B, but I worried that B would be miserable.

I was wrong. B was totally fine.

H said that B asked for me every day, but he survived just fine without me. I talked to him on the phone every day, which was cute. B’s not much of a conversationalist, but I asked him lots of questions, to which he answered “Yep.” (B says “yep” to pretty much all questions.) I quizzed him on the sounds animals make. These short conversations were surprisingly satisfying, for both of us, I think.

I’m not sure how else to make traveling easy for the parent. On my end, it helped that I had absolutely no time to even think about B while I was gone.

I don’t know how to make traveling easier for the kid either. I think the fact that B’s schedule stayed the same probably made my disappearance easier on him. I slept with a stuffed animal for a few nights and left it with him so that he could have something that smelled like me, but he totally didn’t care. I was worried that he was so young that six nights would seem like forever to him, but I think his lack of understanding of time made it seem like I wasn’t gone that long.

In the end, my theory is that toddlers are pretty adaptable and will survive just fine.

Here’s the part where you think I’m going to say that he was so excited when I came home. But really, he was like, “Yay, Mommy!” for maybe a minute and then he got over it. He is back to being a mama’s boy though.

City Girl

People, I am not well suited for San Francisco.

I am not bohemian.
I am not urban.
I can’t take the incessant traffic and honking noises.
I think wearing a short prom dress with high-tops is annoying, not edgy.
I want to punch people who wear huge glasses “ironically” in the face.
I don’t like very small living places.
I like being able to drive and park easily.
I’m not skinny, and I don’t wear skinny jeans.
I don’t have an iPhone, and I’m not a high-tech person (as demonstrated by the fact that I say things like “high-tech”).
I am cheap, and San Francisco is expensive.

One good thing about San Francisco is that I think it is one of the few cities in the U.S. where I feel average height a lot of the time, despite the fact that I’m 5’2″. Also, I like that it’s not dressy, so I can go around for a week without fixing or even drying my hair or wearing a single drop of makeup, and not feel self-conscious because no one else cares about their hair or makeup either. (To be honest, I barely wear any makeup anyway and don’t really feel self-conscious, but in San Francisco, this seems to be the norm.) Oh, I got to meet Abby and see my friend Double G, so those were good things too.

At this stage of my life, I have accepted that I am a Midwesterner, and I’m happy with that. The suburbs suit me well.