Archive | April, 2013

Random Sarah Through the Internet.

I am currently living this song, although I don’t look half this good.

Everyone has read this amazing email from Julia the Sorority Girl, right? Um, if you haven’t and you’re easily offended, let me just suggest that you avoid this. But if you enjoy a woman articulately spell out her expectations, then I would suggest you take a quick glance. I think about Julia often, yesterday in particular.

We have made the decision to room the two older boys together while we list and sell the house, leaving the baby in a room by himself. I am still unsure that this is the RIGHT decision, because everyone ends up getting shafted by the newbie kid and I’m all Well, THIS is a great way to start of resentment of a new sibling! but you know? We have no room. This is life. I guess.

So we spent a good amount of money on a loft/bunk bed that utilizes the boys’ existing beds (a twin over a full size) and we paid for the delivery and assembly because, HELLO, I’m eleventy frillion months pregnant.

Randomly, they called us mid-morning yesterday from outside of our home with the bed. That had not been scheduled or coordinated. And I offered to come home in just a mere hour to accept the delivery and facilitate the assembly, but they said this was an EXPRESS delivery and they’d be leaving town immediately. So we gave them access to our empty garage, where the bed still sits in boxes.

Agitated, I contacted Customer Service because, you know, STILL TOO PREGNANT TO ASSEMBLE A LOFT BED. I waited for a response, and then they responded. With a $50 store credit, if I choose to accept that gracious offering.

I basically looked like this.

“You bring this to me? To my table? THIS?”

And I thought, Man, I would hire Julia in a heartbeat to handle this for me right now.

I am just currently a level of tired that I didn’t believe was humanly possible. Just moving.. ANY movement, at all.. is just a herculean effort. One that brings a string of grunting and curse words because my belly? Is massive. I cannot sleep on my back because my vital organs fear collapse under the weight of my massive belly. Sleeping on my side is fine for about two hours at a stretch, but then my hips are all WTF, SARAH? and I have to adjust. I cry a lot at night.

I remember (vaguely) with Tony that I had the “nesting” phase about now, where I got a sudden break from the tired and was all LET’S DO ALL THE THINGS!, but.. I don’t think that’s happening this time around. The swelling? Is exhausting. Whereas the swollen feet were just a nighttime joy before, now I wake up with them swollen and by night, I can’t walk anymore. My fingers are swollen. MY GUMS ARE SWOLLEN. This child, man.

I am looking at another potential month of this. Which is fine. The end is in sight.

This is unrelated to anything, other than Bryan and I now spend several nights a week in bed by 9:00 and watching funny videos on YouTube. He showed me this one half-heartedly, thinking I wouldn’t find it funny, and then I almost wet my pants.

Lastly: Tony came to visit me in bed one evening (I had my feet up) and he was just giggly. I asked what he had been doing and he confessed that he was drawing. For his princess. Olivia. And I was all – cautiously – SAY WHAT NOW ABOUT THIS FLOOZY? and he admitted that Olivia was his princess and he was her prince.

(He drew her a ROCKET SHIP, for pete’s sake.)

I hissed at Bryan – who was supposed to be SUPERVISING THE CHILD, not allowing him to become betrothed through crayon – if he knew about this. Did he know about this Olivia child?

“Yeah, she’s the little blonde-headed girl,” he said, NONCHALANTLY.

“WHAT? Well.. is she cute?”

He looked at me blankly. “Yes, Sarah. She’s a total hottie AT FOUR YEARS OLD.”

That’s it. I’m just toast.

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The Summer Intern

I was involved with last summer’s intern cadre for our program because, well, I kind of like that stuff. I like inspiring young minds. Also, I like stealing their souls ideas. Also, there’s something to be said about hanging out with youngins at work. 1) It makes you remember youth and 2) it makes you kind of glad you’re old.

One of the interns was a lad who was a pilot. He came to us from a far off, foreign land called Raleigh, where he worked in an airport control tower. This lad loved to read. Man, like, seriously. He read text books for fun. He could recite business models to you off-the-cuff.

He exhausted me.

I knew that when he stepped in my office that I should stop whatever I was doing, because a thirty minute conversation would ensue. And he would sketch stuff out on my white board, theories like the Japanese theory of “wa” or the “green and clean” mantra about accountability and responsibility. And after he left, I’d exhale.

.. but I realized that I would go home and tell Bryan the exact same conversation.

A shuffling of office spaces landed us sitting in the same office, and I was nervous. I’d had the same office mate for years, and I dunno.. it’s just new to move, right? Have to relearn stuff? By this point, he had moved from his internship to a full-time position with us, although he had been accepted to a very selective rotational program up in the Northwest and was counting down his months left on the space side of things.

Discussing things like economics or World Wars or religion or conspiracy theories had never really been my thing at work. I’m always the first to say that I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to cash a paycheck. (That said, I like to like the people I work with and I do like them, for the most part.) But our conversations would just range from ANYTHING. From the holographic technology of Tupac at Coachella to the impact of economic embargoes on Germany, anything was fair game. (And typically illustrated on our white board.) We talked about Jack’s troubles in school, about Bryan’s company being bought out, about his life as well.

And sushi. My God, we talked about sushi.

When we moved to the new building, he was on a row behind me where we couldn’t see eachother. Didn’t matter; I could constantly throw half of a quote over my shoulder and he’d finish the rest. It wasn’t uncommon for me to mumble “Here I go, here I go, here I go again.. girl’s what’s my weakness?” and have him yell “MEN!”

So Monday was his last day. And because we’re both too emotional to be honest with goodbyes, I didn’t tell him how much I’d miss him, or how much I’d learned from him. I didn’t tell him that he’d made me realize how cynical I’d become, or how he reminded me that workplaces can totally be fun. I’m gonna miss him. A lot.

I’m not here to make friends, but it’s really cool when they accidentally happen.


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The Baby Brain, It Is Here.

Let me tell you about this thing they call Baby Brain.

Because it’s REAL, y’all.

On Saturday, post-soccer game (the Limes scored a goal this week! and one of them was an actual point for THEM instead of the other team!), Tony went with my mom and dad and Bryan went with me to test drive some minivans.

This is not something I wanted to do, mind you.

In fact, I cried when I realized that this pregnancy meant I could never drive a Fiat. So a minivan? Meant that I was officially Mom of Many.

Anyway, so we headed over to CarMax, determined to drive a couple of models and then we’d come back later to buy. We looked at a nice Honda Odyssey, a Nissan Quest, a Toyota Sienna, and a Chrysler Town & Country. Since we were familiar with the Honda and the Toyota vans, we decided to drive a Town & Country.


We drove a 2012 model that had been a fleet vehicle, and when he showed us a 2008 model that was $4k cheaper, we said we’d take it. And we high fived ourselves at being done with car shopping within a two hour window. Because we were! WE WERE DONE. We figured we still could hit Babies R Us for the travel system before we even picked Tony up and we’d have TWO things off of our “Before Vinnie Gets Here List”. Giddy with the Crossing Things Off the List High, we cleaned out the Saturn Vue and Bryan handed me the keys to our new van.

We got down the road when .. things started going south. First, there was an overwhelming burning smell. Which, hey! Could be the A/C hadn’t been run in a while! And then the brakes kinda .. failed. And the car got REALLY loud in 4th gear. And all of these things put me into serious Braxton Hicks and Bryan made me turn the car around and we took it right back.

CarMax, admittedly, was AMAZING about all of it. They were incredibly apologetic (to which we were like, Um, we’re the morons that DIDN’T DRIVE THE CAR BEFORE WE BOUGHT IT), and within an hour, we drove off in a 2012 Town & Country. (Bryan drove. I was still .. contracting.)

Every resident with a penis in my house is currently felled by the insane amounts of tree pollen we’re suffering from here in the south. Tony’s poor eyes are almost swollen shut entirely and his face swells from the reaction, and Bryan’s just a leaky mess.

This is Bryan.

I mean, damn. I’m sorry that you’re allergic, but MUST YOU BE SO LOUD? (Seriously, poor guy. He’s been miserable for awhile.)

Anyway, so I went to the grocery store alone so I could hear myself think for awhile no one else had to be troubled. I sped through the aisles, having done the meal planning and list-making for the week, and swiftly loaded approximately $200 worth of groceries onto the checkout belt. (We.. have not been grocery shopping in a LOOOONG time. Because I’m tired.) I plopped my wallet out on the check-writing thing, and I noticed that my “old” keys (the set to the Saturn Vue) were missing from my purse, and I got all sweaty and panicky. Not because I needed them, mind you, but because I started to freak out that I had lost something. I am OCD. I do not lose things.

I was small-talking the cashier and the bag boy and frantically trying to find my keys – which, again, I did not need as the van has a weird key – and the time came to swipe my credit card. I went to my purse to grab my wallet and .. it wasn’t there.

“Wait, stop,” I said. This is such a nightmare. Like, literally. It is literally a recurring nightmare that I suddenly don’t have something I vitally need and now I’ve inconvenienced someone and embarrassed myself. And before I could stop myself, I WAS CRYING IN KROGER.

“I don’t have my walllllleeeeettttt,” I sobbed. Because I am a terrible mother, who loses her keys and her wallet and probably a child.

Both the cashier and the bag boy – teenagers, at most – stopped and stared at me, not really sure how to proceed. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD THIS IS MY NIGHTMARE. And behind me, a slightly-less pregnant lady had emptied HER cart of $200 onto the belt as well.

Finally, the cashier said, “Ma’am, it’s okay. Also, your wallet is pink, right?”

My eyes flashed with hope, “YES! How did you know that?”

She pointed to it. On the check-writing thing. Where I HAD PUT IT.

(I still haven’t found my keys.)

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Still Pregnant.

Things I’ve been fantasizing about lately:

  • Shoes with laces
  • Sleeping on my stomach
  • Wearing clothes that don’t have an X in the sizing
  • Frozen sangria
  • Breathing with any regularity
  • Not having to take a nap after things like, I don’t know, putting on body lotion
  • Not getting the horrified looks when I say that, Not until June!
  • Not requiring a wardrobe change after sneezing

Thing that happened this week:

We moved into this fancy new building and it is amazing. I am such a hippie and I need natural light, and this building has windows EVERYWHERE and I often find myself staring out the window, feeling a peace that I haven’t felt at work in a long time.

Part of the move is that we have new everything. It’s a brand, spanking new office building, built with green environmentalist ideals, and new furniture that is top-of-the-line ergonomic.

The smell of new paint is everywhere. I really, really like that smell.

I went into my boss’s boss’s office, complete with new, responsibly-sustained cherry woods and faux-leather chairs for a chart review. It was a HORR-IF-IC week this week, and I admit that I maybe wasn’t graceful when I sat down.

The chair? FELL APART.

Like, the middle support beam BROKE THROUGH THE LEGS AND INTO THE FLOOR.

People that I didn’t even know were in the vicinity came rushing in to assist me, and while I wasn’t physically hurt, my pride took quite the beating.

Someone said, “Sarah, you can’t take this personally – there are people far larger than you on this program.”


But no one got my amazing reference.


In other news, I have no other news.

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Insert Woeful Cries of “MY BABY!” Here.

Tomorrow, I walk my five year old into the school in which I hope he will spend the next several years.

I have spent the last several months trying to focus on fetus-growing, and thereby ignoring the fact that while I am creating one life, the other I created about five years ago is needing to be registered for education. And there are moments when I figure that there’s just no way he’s ready (for example, yesterday, when driving in my car, he asked innocently, “Who’s car did we take from the house?”), there are times when I realize he’s just kind of treading water where he is right now.

So tomorrow he goes into an interview – as do we, albeit a separate interview – and I will try and sell how amazing my child is.

Momma MAY have gone overboard on Kindergarten worksheets.

Without a doubt, he will go into his interview and try and convince them that his parents are not QUITE as insane as his mother seems to be acting right now.

And yes, I know the whole interview thing sounds very hoity-toity and I KNOW THAT, I do, but this school. THIS SCHOOL, Y’ALL. 1) I went to this school. There are still some of the faculty teaching there from when I was a child. Because it is such a great environment. 2) It’s a school focused on the arts. And not just the performing arts, but also visual arts, photography, and even the behind the scenes artistry (set design, costuming, etc).

He already has a flare for the dramatic.

(Just to amp up the insanity factor: he has to bring a headshot and a “creative expression” with him that he can present. I KNOW HOW SILLY THIS SOUNDS.)

But I’m so excited for him. He’s been to this school several times through his childhood, and the vivid colors in the hallway and the insanely talented kids and the fact that Momma can point to where she went to school is all part of why we’re all excited.

Man, alive, though. My baby. Hitting the Big School.

I skipped kindergarten, so I for real believed myself to be too stupid to make this work. Bryan finally consented that MAYBE it was a misprint.

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