For the first time, I'm feeling quite 7 1/2 months pregnant.
We had a very busy weekend. A late drive to Anderson, an early drive to Fort Wayne, and a late drive home; a wedding and reception with dancing; an un-air-conditioned church service; and an afternoon spent swimming, followed by a freak noodle water-cannon accident and near-drowning (on my part) was all enough to make me feel utterly exhausted. Add in that Helen has discovered that she can press on my ribs and my bladder, AND kick my kidneys all at the same time, and you'll understand why I'm not wanting to do more than lay around, watching movies today. Knowing that the air outside is humid and almost 90 and that we're expecting/hoping for storms isn't giving me any incentive to leave the apartment. Blah.
EDIT: I take it back. There is something that I want to do besides lay around, watching movies. I want to eat ice-cream, which is very much not allowed. Dangit.
Showing posts with label complaints. Show all posts
Showing posts with label complaints. Show all posts
Monday, July 02, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Visits with Vampires
Yesterday had much more going for it than discovering creepy-crawlies on my living room ceiling. I woke up early after a 12 hour fast to have 3 hours of blood work done.
Oh, that makes it sound so dreadful. The day got off to a really nice start with my walk to the hospital. It's a little over a mile from here, just up The Lake. The air was cool, the sun was shining, and the walk didn't involve any hills and relatively few regulated intersections. I got to the hospital right at 9:00, only to discover that the lab had never received the orders from my doctor. The nice lady at the outpatient center went ahead and got me checked in while they contacted the doctor in Madison and got the orders refaxed. In all, the blood work only got started an hour and a half late. Frankly, that seemed like an eternity to sit around a hospital lobby for someone who (admittedly) eats when bored.
They did eventually get around to starting the blood work. I'm still more than a little proud of how I handled it. I'm the girl who nearly passed out last time she had an immunization. When I had my wisdom teeth out, I had to be sedated to be sedated, just because the sight of the needle made my pulse race like crazy. The first time my OB ordered blood work, the poor lady working in the lab had to focus every bit as much on keeping me upright and awake as she did on drawing the blood. This time around, however, I was a trooper. Really. Four separate draws, four separate times being poked in the arm with a scary needle-like device, four times staring REALLY hard at that, "How to Scrub Your Hands" poster over the lab sink. One of the technicians told me that she could tell it was my first baby because I still flinched every time they stuck me. Apparently, pregnancy involves a lot of needles. (Adoption begins to look promising....) But I stayed awake.
This being a blood glucose test, I had to drink the gross glucola drink, then wait an hour...then another hour...then another hour. In between tests, I just hung out in the lobby and read about cowboys and evil Mormon posses (really).
Last night, we had french toast with plenty of maple syrup for dinner, just out of perversity. It was a last hurrah, of sorts.
So, this morning, my doctor's office called with the results. Gestational diabetes it is. I'm going to have to do some adjusting of my cooking parameters--oh pasta! oh cookies!--but my husband is being completely sweet about it. He says he's been thinking of going low-carb for a while, but didn't want to make me feel like I had to give up my baked goods, too. The doctor has done that for him, now, and we're going to be eating much more thoughtfully and (hopefully) healthily. We'll probably end up looking like we're eating a sort of primal diet, but you CANNOT make either of us say that that's what it we're doing.
Oh, that makes it sound so dreadful. The day got off to a really nice start with my walk to the hospital. It's a little over a mile from here, just up The Lake. The air was cool, the sun was shining, and the walk didn't involve any hills and relatively few regulated intersections. I got to the hospital right at 9:00, only to discover that the lab had never received the orders from my doctor. The nice lady at the outpatient center went ahead and got me checked in while they contacted the doctor in Madison and got the orders refaxed. In all, the blood work only got started an hour and a half late. Frankly, that seemed like an eternity to sit around a hospital lobby for someone who (admittedly) eats when bored.
They did eventually get around to starting the blood work. I'm still more than a little proud of how I handled it. I'm the girl who nearly passed out last time she had an immunization. When I had my wisdom teeth out, I had to be sedated to be sedated, just because the sight of the needle made my pulse race like crazy. The first time my OB ordered blood work, the poor lady working in the lab had to focus every bit as much on keeping me upright and awake as she did on drawing the blood. This time around, however, I was a trooper. Really. Four separate draws, four separate times being poked in the arm with a scary needle-like device, four times staring REALLY hard at that, "How to Scrub Your Hands" poster over the lab sink. One of the technicians told me that she could tell it was my first baby because I still flinched every time they stuck me. Apparently, pregnancy involves a lot of needles. (Adoption begins to look promising....) But I stayed awake.
This being a blood glucose test, I had to drink the gross glucola drink, then wait an hour...then another hour...then another hour. In between tests, I just hung out in the lobby and read about cowboys and evil Mormon posses (really).
Last night, we had french toast with plenty of maple syrup for dinner, just out of perversity. It was a last hurrah, of sorts.
So, this morning, my doctor's office called with the results. Gestational diabetes it is. I'm going to have to do some adjusting of my cooking parameters--oh pasta! oh cookies!--but my husband is being completely sweet about it. He says he's been thinking of going low-carb for a while, but didn't want to make me feel like I had to give up my baked goods, too. The doctor has done that for him, now, and we're going to be eating much more thoughtfully and (hopefully) healthily. We'll probably end up looking like we're eating a sort of primal diet, but you CANNOT make either of us say that that's what it we're doing.
Friday, November 04, 2011
Bits and Pieces
1) Spelling:The grandmother takes some time every day to read through one or the other of Prita's books, spelling and sounding out all the English words. Often, this starts with a barked, "You: come!", followed by her making space on the couch for me to come coach her through the longer words and those that make no phonetic sense. Prita generally just hangs out next to us while this is going on, taking a moment to snatch the book out of her grandmothers' hands every so often, and crying--nay, screaming--when she realizes that she doesn't have all the books in the house in her pile. Two-year olds. Sheesh.
As a result of all of this reading-practice, Prita has started spelling things on her own. It goes something like this:
Me: What's this a picture of?
Prita: D-O-E dog!
Me: D-O-G, but yeah! Good job! Now, what's this?
Prita: G-O-E girl!
Me: Girl is right...
Prita: E-O-E ellyphant!!!!!!!!!
Me: . . . .
She gets the first letter right most of the time, although sometimes she only recognizes letters that come later in the words. Like, she always spells fox "X-O-E." She also makes up letters, as in, "SNA-O-E" snake!"
2) The Three-Egg Diet: My very own soon-to-be-patented miracle plan. See, you just go work for a family that eats lots of hard-boiled egg whites, but never the yolks. These folks should also feel a little bad about wasting any food and be very anxious to see that everything gets eaten and that nothing goes to waste. Let it be known that you don't hate the yolks, in general. Before you know it, you will have an eighty-year-old Indian woman practically force-feeding you three plain hard boiled egg yolks every day. And don't you dare try to sneak one into the trash or the garbage disposal; you're being watched too carefully for such high-jinks. While you will often feel like vomiting halfway through the second yolk (don't do it), this diet will do wonders for your skin and hair. If you can manage to have the same eighty-year-old spoon-feeding you the skins off of the top of a pot of boiled milk, all the better.
3) "Healthy. Healthy Food." Speaking of food and controlling Indian grandmothers, the last week, I had my lunch prepared for me. Generally, the grandmother will pull a box of rice and a few leftover curries out of the fridge and leave me to it. Well, leave me to it as she hovers somewhere over my right shoulder, telling me to take more and looking really confused when I don't. This week, however, she plated my food for me. Monday, it wasn't too bad. They were running short on leftovers, so we both got reasonable portions. (Of course, she did "encourage" me to eat two very soft apples as a snack later in the day. Gross.) Tuesday, she made my lunch the same was she normally makes hers: two curries mixed in a bowl, topped with a couple handfuls of chickpeas, fresh diced onions, and a sprinkling of lemon juice. Nothing earth-shattering, but edible. After that was finished, she made up a bowl of yogurt and rice for me. As I was standing in the kitchen finishing that, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with very careful diction: "This. Healthy. Healthy food. Yogurt. Dal curry. Healthy." Thursday was the worst. We had, apparently, left all concern about healthy food behind, as she completely filled my full-sized dinner plate, half with white rice, half with some spiced rice pilaf-y dish. Mounded. Spilling over the sides. Rice. And then, she gave me more rice so that I would have enough for with my after-lunch yogurt.
4) More Indian TV: Despite my employeress' strictures regarding any TV viewing while her daughter is around, the grandmother continues her soap opera habit. At least naps have been reinstated, so Prita and I can retreat to the bedroom while Granny vegges out. However, her favorite show starts approximately 20 minutes before nap time begins, so I still get to see some of it. And--oh my goodness--it is indescribable. That won't stop me from trying. Imagine a show that seems to be entirely built around 4 characters: (1) the screaming damsel in distress, either standing slump-shouldered and sobbing or laying on the bed or floor, sobbing; (2) the fleshy-cheeked villain whose entire M.O. seems to be to taunt said damsel in the most annoying voice imaginable while bobbing his head smugly; (3) some random crazy-eyed man dressed all in white who is constantly carrying around a bloody knife or machete; and (4) a thicker, tougher, older woman who always seems to be coming to the damsel's rescue, sometimes with the assistance of the crazy man, sometimes without. Now imagine all of this presented in a highly repetitious manner, with exceedingly overwrought background music and quick, zooming camera moves. I really feel like I'm not missing much, not understanding the dialogue. The visuals are story enough.
As a result of all of this reading-practice, Prita has started spelling things on her own. It goes something like this:
Me: What's this a picture of?
Prita: D-O-E dog!
Me: D-O-G, but yeah! Good job! Now, what's this?
Prita: G-O-E girl!
Me: Girl is right...
Prita: E-O-E ellyphant!!!!!!!!!
Me: . . . .
She gets the first letter right most of the time, although sometimes she only recognizes letters that come later in the words. Like, she always spells fox "X-O-E." She also makes up letters, as in, "SNA-O-E" snake!"
2) The Three-Egg Diet: My very own soon-to-be-patented miracle plan. See, you just go work for a family that eats lots of hard-boiled egg whites, but never the yolks. These folks should also feel a little bad about wasting any food and be very anxious to see that everything gets eaten and that nothing goes to waste. Let it be known that you don't hate the yolks, in general. Before you know it, you will have an eighty-year-old Indian woman practically force-feeding you three plain hard boiled egg yolks every day. And don't you dare try to sneak one into the trash or the garbage disposal; you're being watched too carefully for such high-jinks. While you will often feel like vomiting halfway through the second yolk (don't do it), this diet will do wonders for your skin and hair. If you can manage to have the same eighty-year-old spoon-feeding you the skins off of the top of a pot of boiled milk, all the better.
3) "Healthy. Healthy Food." Speaking of food and controlling Indian grandmothers, the last week, I had my lunch prepared for me. Generally, the grandmother will pull a box of rice and a few leftover curries out of the fridge and leave me to it. Well, leave me to it as she hovers somewhere over my right shoulder, telling me to take more and looking really confused when I don't. This week, however, she plated my food for me. Monday, it wasn't too bad. They were running short on leftovers, so we both got reasonable portions. (Of course, she did "encourage" me to eat two very soft apples as a snack later in the day. Gross.) Tuesday, she made my lunch the same was she normally makes hers: two curries mixed in a bowl, topped with a couple handfuls of chickpeas, fresh diced onions, and a sprinkling of lemon juice. Nothing earth-shattering, but edible. After that was finished, she made up a bowl of yogurt and rice for me. As I was standing in the kitchen finishing that, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with very careful diction: "This. Healthy. Healthy food. Yogurt. Dal curry. Healthy." Thursday was the worst. We had, apparently, left all concern about healthy food behind, as she completely filled my full-sized dinner plate, half with white rice, half with some spiced rice pilaf-y dish. Mounded. Spilling over the sides. Rice. And then, she gave me more rice so that I would have enough for with my after-lunch yogurt.
4) More Indian TV: Despite my employeress' strictures regarding any TV viewing while her daughter is around, the grandmother continues her soap opera habit. At least naps have been reinstated, so Prita and I can retreat to the bedroom while Granny vegges out. However, her favorite show starts approximately 20 minutes before nap time begins, so I still get to see some of it. And--oh my goodness--it is indescribable. That won't stop me from trying. Imagine a show that seems to be entirely built around 4 characters: (1) the screaming damsel in distress, either standing slump-shouldered and sobbing or laying on the bed or floor, sobbing; (2) the fleshy-cheeked villain whose entire M.O. seems to be to taunt said damsel in the most annoying voice imaginable while bobbing his head smugly; (3) some random crazy-eyed man dressed all in white who is constantly carrying around a bloody knife or machete; and (4) a thicker, tougher, older woman who always seems to be coming to the damsel's rescue, sometimes with the assistance of the crazy man, sometimes without. Now imagine all of this presented in a highly repetitious manner, with exceedingly overwrought background music and quick, zooming camera moves. I really feel like I'm not missing much, not understanding the dialogue. The visuals are story enough.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Gah.
I don't normally like to post pure complaints without at least a little sense of humor...but can we just forget today ever happened?
Prita's parents are in the process of getting her to sleep alone--instead of sprawled on top of her mother--and part of their strategy is skip naps so that she's so tired she'll sleep anywhere, anyhow. This works really well for a parent who works full time and doesn't have to deal with a nap-less two-year-old. I really felt very sorry for the poor little thing. By 1:30, she was begging me for a nap. "Sleepy time now? Sleepy time now? Pleeeeease?" I was under orders, however.
You can imagine how well this went. By 3:00, the child was a total basketcase. Everything caused tantrums and crying. Each time I would pick something up from the floor, be it a length of yarn, trash, or a book, she would start screaming for it and would not calm down until I handed it to her. As soon as the random object was in her hands, however, it would be forgotten. She cried because she wanted a bath. When I gave her a bath, she cried because she didn't like it. When I tried to put her anklets back on after her bath, it was as if I was torturing her. She went from sobbing like her heart was breaking to arching her back and screaming to running to her grandma to tattle on me. I'm still not sure why that last one resulted in Granny coming in to yell at me. I'm still confused.
Better still, the time that would usually be devoted to her nap--the best hour and a half of my day--was spent scrubbing the drip pans of their electric range. I'm not sure this had ever been done before, but Granny decided that today was the day and I was the girl to get it done.
Tomorrow starts at 7:00 a.m. God grant me patience. Please.
Prita's parents are in the process of getting her to sleep alone--instead of sprawled on top of her mother--and part of their strategy is skip naps so that she's so tired she'll sleep anywhere, anyhow. This works really well for a parent who works full time and doesn't have to deal with a nap-less two-year-old. I really felt very sorry for the poor little thing. By 1:30, she was begging me for a nap. "Sleepy time now? Sleepy time now? Pleeeeease?" I was under orders, however.
You can imagine how well this went. By 3:00, the child was a total basketcase. Everything caused tantrums and crying. Each time I would pick something up from the floor, be it a length of yarn, trash, or a book, she would start screaming for it and would not calm down until I handed it to her. As soon as the random object was in her hands, however, it would be forgotten. She cried because she wanted a bath. When I gave her a bath, she cried because she didn't like it. When I tried to put her anklets back on after her bath, it was as if I was torturing her. She went from sobbing like her heart was breaking to arching her back and screaming to running to her grandma to tattle on me. I'm still not sure why that last one resulted in Granny coming in to yell at me. I'm still confused.
Better still, the time that would usually be devoted to her nap--the best hour and a half of my day--was spent scrubbing the drip pans of their electric range. I'm not sure this had ever been done before, but Granny decided that today was the day and I was the girl to get it done.
Tomorrow starts at 7:00 a.m. God grant me patience. Please.
Friday, September 16, 2011
On Vacation
Evan and I are spending the weekend in Fort Wayne, so don't expect much from me for the next few days.
We have all sorts of plans. Tonight, we're having dinner at Buca di Beppo in Indianapolis with my Caston aunt, uncle, and cousins, and also with Grandfather Dear. My Grandmother Dear is ditching us to go hang out with her church ladies. The ostensible reason for the party is that my birthday was earlier this month, Evan's birthday is later this month, and Jonathan never got his birthday party back in April. Really, it's just an excuse for us to visit the family and eat way too much pasta. I'm okay with that.
Just a brief update on the nanny front: yesterday was good, even though it started off with me crying in front of my employer. I was overly tired and had a racking cough and no voice and the combination of the three just suddenly overwhelmed me. I tried to make sure that she knew that I was not crying because I hate my job. And I was not crying because I can't communicate effectively with either Granny or Prita, despite the fact that the tears started rolling just as I started talking about that. She was understandably freaked out, and I got a call later from her husband, making sure everything was okay and that I am really comfortable with the position. The answer, of course, was "Yes. It's only been three days. Any problems we have now will only improve with a little time. Stop worrying. There's nothing wrong here..." etc.
Otherwise, the day was good. We spent a total of 5 hours outside, walking. We walked to the Social Security office so that I could drop off the paperwork to get my name changed with the government. Later, we took a route that just happened to lead right through the nearest Starbucks. Talk about fortuitous. Incidentally, I finally discovered just why Granny wants us to get out of the apartment so often: she uses the time to watch her Indian soap operas. Really. Watch the full 5 minutes, I dare you. The full episode I got to see yesterday was even better.
We have all sorts of plans. Tonight, we're having dinner at Buca di Beppo in Indianapolis with my Caston aunt, uncle, and cousins, and also with Grandfather Dear. My Grandmother Dear is ditching us to go hang out with her church ladies. The ostensible reason for the party is that my birthday was earlier this month, Evan's birthday is later this month, and Jonathan never got his birthday party back in April. Really, it's just an excuse for us to visit the family and eat way too much pasta. I'm okay with that.
Just a brief update on the nanny front: yesterday was good, even though it started off with me crying in front of my employer. I was overly tired and had a racking cough and no voice and the combination of the three just suddenly overwhelmed me. I tried to make sure that she knew that I was not crying because I hate my job. And I was not crying because I can't communicate effectively with either Granny or Prita, despite the fact that the tears started rolling just as I started talking about that. She was understandably freaked out, and I got a call later from her husband, making sure everything was okay and that I am really comfortable with the position. The answer, of course, was "Yes. It's only been three days. Any problems we have now will only improve with a little time. Stop worrying. There's nothing wrong here..." etc.
Otherwise, the day was good. We spent a total of 5 hours outside, walking. We walked to the Social Security office so that I could drop off the paperwork to get my name changed with the government. Later, we took a route that just happened to lead right through the nearest Starbucks. Talk about fortuitous. Incidentally, I finally discovered just why Granny wants us to get out of the apartment so often: she uses the time to watch her Indian soap operas. Really. Watch the full 5 minutes, I dare you. The full episode I got to see yesterday was even better.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
"Walk walk walk walk walk"
Today started off much worse than yesterday, and by "much worse" I mean a whole half-hour earlier. That's right, ladies and gents, I woke up at 5:45 AM and was out of the house by 6:15. At that hour, life is not worth living. In fact, I'm pretty sure I wasn't alive, but rather undead.
Anyway, my zombified form made it to the bus stop on time. The ride went quickly and there were no hiccups or wrong turns. I was even the last one on the bus for the final 4 stops before my destination....Which must be why the driver decided to stop for coffee, 1 mile from my stop and 5 minutes before I was supposed to be there. The look on my face when he said he was stopping to grab some coffee must have been something to see, because he immediately changed his mind and got back behind the wheel, and I made it to work on time.
Granny* offered me breakfast, which in this case involved curried green beans, mystery orange curry, rice, and chapatis. It was all delicious, but my poor, cossetted stomach was not prepared for that onslaught at 7:00 AM. Note to self: buy granola bars. We had essentially the same meal for lunch, minus the chapatis and plus a boatload of homemade yogurt. At one point in the not-so-distant past, I deluded myself into thinking I would be happy eating Indian food all the time. I was so naive.
Prita and I were kicked out of the apartment around 9:00 and told--very forcefully--to "walk walk walk walk walk!" We walk-walk-walked for almost an hour, coming back just in time for the power to go out as we walked up to the apartment. Granny was trying to get lunch started and could not figure out why the rice-cooker wasn't working. Try explaining "power outage" without any common words. After I went around pointing to all the non-functioning appliances saying "power: off" and making a chopping motion with my hand, she caught on. The outage only lasted about 20 minutes, though, and the day got back on track.
After Prita's lunch, we were kicked out of the apartment again with another vigorous "walk walk walk walk walk!" Prita was asleep within minutes, but I couldn't make myself turn around and go back to the apartment. I made a tour of the neighborhood, wishing I had brought my book along on the journey. Finally, after 45 minutes of fairly aimless wandering, I gave up and went back, hoping to get some reading in while Prita finished her nap. She woke up as soon as we walked in the front door. Back upstairs, I laid down with her and she was nearly asleep again when Granny walked in, yelling for me to come eat lunch. At that point, Prita gave up on sleep for the remainder of the day and became her usual, hellion-like self.
Other highlights include peeling a basket-full of onions, being chastised (I think) for letting Prita watch me play Angry Birds to get her to sit still for 5 minutes, and seeing a dead body carried out of another apartment while out walking. Good times, all.
Overall, despite some mishaps, it was a much better day than yesterday. Tomorrow should be better yet: it's the last day I work this week AND I don't have to be there until 8:00.
*I should note that in referring to the grandmother as "Granny" I'm not being disrespectful or flippant. (That's reserved for the actual content of my comments.) Rather "Granny" is how the family refers to her, when speaking English. I haven't the foggiest notion what else to call her. Although, she knows to call me "Brittany." Amazing.
Anyway, my zombified form made it to the bus stop on time. The ride went quickly and there were no hiccups or wrong turns. I was even the last one on the bus for the final 4 stops before my destination....Which must be why the driver decided to stop for coffee, 1 mile from my stop and 5 minutes before I was supposed to be there. The look on my face when he said he was stopping to grab some coffee must have been something to see, because he immediately changed his mind and got back behind the wheel, and I made it to work on time.
Granny* offered me breakfast, which in this case involved curried green beans, mystery orange curry, rice, and chapatis. It was all delicious, but my poor, cossetted stomach was not prepared for that onslaught at 7:00 AM. Note to self: buy granola bars. We had essentially the same meal for lunch, minus the chapatis and plus a boatload of homemade yogurt. At one point in the not-so-distant past, I deluded myself into thinking I would be happy eating Indian food all the time. I was so naive.
Prita and I were kicked out of the apartment around 9:00 and told--very forcefully--to "walk walk walk walk walk!" We walk-walk-walked for almost an hour, coming back just in time for the power to go out as we walked up to the apartment. Granny was trying to get lunch started and could not figure out why the rice-cooker wasn't working. Try explaining "power outage" without any common words. After I went around pointing to all the non-functioning appliances saying "power: off" and making a chopping motion with my hand, she caught on. The outage only lasted about 20 minutes, though, and the day got back on track.
After Prita's lunch, we were kicked out of the apartment again with another vigorous "walk walk walk walk walk!" Prita was asleep within minutes, but I couldn't make myself turn around and go back to the apartment. I made a tour of the neighborhood, wishing I had brought my book along on the journey. Finally, after 45 minutes of fairly aimless wandering, I gave up and went back, hoping to get some reading in while Prita finished her nap. She woke up as soon as we walked in the front door. Back upstairs, I laid down with her and she was nearly asleep again when Granny walked in, yelling for me to come eat lunch. At that point, Prita gave up on sleep for the remainder of the day and became her usual, hellion-like self.
Other highlights include peeling a basket-full of onions, being chastised (I think) for letting Prita watch me play Angry Birds to get her to sit still for 5 minutes, and seeing a dead body carried out of another apartment while out walking. Good times, all.
Overall, despite some mishaps, it was a much better day than yesterday. Tomorrow should be better yet: it's the last day I work this week AND I don't have to be there until 8:00.
*I should note that in referring to the grandmother as "Granny" I'm not being disrespectful or flippant. (That's reserved for the actual content of my comments.) Rather "Granny" is how the family refers to her, when speaking English. I haven't the foggiest notion what else to call her. Although, she knows to call me "Brittany." Amazing.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
First Day
Ha. Haha. Hahahaha. Hahahahahahahahahaha....
Sorry. Crazed laughter over.
So, I started my new job this morning. I am nannying 40ish hours a week, taking care of a two-year old girl, only child of a young Indian couple. Those 40 hours began at 7:30 this morning. (Rather, they were supposed to. More on that in a moment.)
My wonderful husband got up early to walk me to the bus stop. It was a lovely morning, if a little cool, and he made that walk much more enjoyable. I got on my #14 bus and was on my way. Until the driver missed a turn, drove a couple miles out of the way, circled back around to get back on her route, and made me twenty minutes late for my first day of work.
Thank goodness the people for whom I'm working are very understanding and flexible. I called them and they told me not to worry about anything and just get there ASAP. When I got to the apartment, the husband was at work and the wife was ready to walk out the door, leaving me alone with their daughter and their eighty-year-old grandmother. Did I not mention her before? She lives with them. And she speaks no English.
The little girl--I'll just call her "Prita"--is a squirrel. She doesn't sit down to eat; she runs back and forth and you have to reach out at just the right time to get the food into her mouth. At least today, the grandmother did most of this. She would cajole her for 5-10 minutes (at least, I'm assuming it was cajoling...it sounded like it, but I really have no idea what she was saying) and finally Prita would back up against the far wall, lower her head like a bull, and charge. About the time she pulled even with the grandmother, she (the granny) would force a handful of food into her (Prita's) mouth.
Prita spent much of the day reciting her ABCs to me, or having me write them out one at a time on her Magnadoodle. Prita doesn't actually converse in English--she talks mainly in whatever Indian language the family uses--but she knows a number of English words that she can shout out. She especially likes cats and I cannot number the times she yelled, "C is for KITTY!!!!!"
Prita is on a set schedule of meals and naps, although her mother was out the door before I could ask what time the nap was set for. It took granny and I several tries at gesturing and trying to find mutually-comprehensible words before I could find out from her that Prita goes to bed at 2:00. Well, come 1:00, granny scooped her up, beckoned for me to follow, and carried Prita off to her (granny's) room. She set Prita in the middle of the bed, laid down on one side, and gestured for me to lay down on the other. Uh...come again? I have no problem cuddling with a child who needs to be coaxed into sleep, but cuddling with a child and an 80 year-old woman who I've never met before and with whom I can't really communicate? Weird. I tried it anyway, but Prita was having none of this napping business. We gave up and let her run around for awhile. Several tries at putting her to bed were unsuccessful, so I let granny know that I was going to take Prita out for a walk in the stroller, to see if that would get her to sleep. Don't ask how I got that across, but I did somehow. Granny was also able to tell me to make sure Prita was wearing shoes and to keep the sun out of her face. Bethany and Granny: 1, Language-Gap: 0. That walk was the best part of the day. That that's despite my congested state which made the entire endeavor completely exhausting.
Anyway, Prita never did get a nap, but she did get increasingly moody and clumsy with every passing minute. By the time her mother got home around 6:00, she was mood-swinging like a manic-depressive and running into walls, but she would NOT sleep.
There are so many more quirks in this job, most of them will just have to wait.
Sorry. Crazed laughter over.
So, I started my new job this morning. I am nannying 40ish hours a week, taking care of a two-year old girl, only child of a young Indian couple. Those 40 hours began at 7:30 this morning. (Rather, they were supposed to. More on that in a moment.)
My wonderful husband got up early to walk me to the bus stop. It was a lovely morning, if a little cool, and he made that walk much more enjoyable. I got on my #14 bus and was on my way. Until the driver missed a turn, drove a couple miles out of the way, circled back around to get back on her route, and made me twenty minutes late for my first day of work.
Thank goodness the people for whom I'm working are very understanding and flexible. I called them and they told me not to worry about anything and just get there ASAP. When I got to the apartment, the husband was at work and the wife was ready to walk out the door, leaving me alone with their daughter and their eighty-year-old grandmother. Did I not mention her before? She lives with them. And she speaks no English.
The little girl--I'll just call her "Prita"--is a squirrel. She doesn't sit down to eat; she runs back and forth and you have to reach out at just the right time to get the food into her mouth. At least today, the grandmother did most of this. She would cajole her for 5-10 minutes (at least, I'm assuming it was cajoling...it sounded like it, but I really have no idea what she was saying) and finally Prita would back up against the far wall, lower her head like a bull, and charge. About the time she pulled even with the grandmother, she (the granny) would force a handful of food into her (Prita's) mouth.
Prita spent much of the day reciting her ABCs to me, or having me write them out one at a time on her Magnadoodle. Prita doesn't actually converse in English--she talks mainly in whatever Indian language the family uses--but she knows a number of English words that she can shout out. She especially likes cats and I cannot number the times she yelled, "C is for KITTY!!!!!"
Prita is on a set schedule of meals and naps, although her mother was out the door before I could ask what time the nap was set for. It took granny and I several tries at gesturing and trying to find mutually-comprehensible words before I could find out from her that Prita goes to bed at 2:00. Well, come 1:00, granny scooped her up, beckoned for me to follow, and carried Prita off to her (granny's) room. She set Prita in the middle of the bed, laid down on one side, and gestured for me to lay down on the other. Uh...come again? I have no problem cuddling with a child who needs to be coaxed into sleep, but cuddling with a child and an 80 year-old woman who I've never met before and with whom I can't really communicate? Weird. I tried it anyway, but Prita was having none of this napping business. We gave up and let her run around for awhile. Several tries at putting her to bed were unsuccessful, so I let granny know that I was going to take Prita out for a walk in the stroller, to see if that would get her to sleep. Don't ask how I got that across, but I did somehow. Granny was also able to tell me to make sure Prita was wearing shoes and to keep the sun out of her face. Bethany and Granny: 1, Language-Gap: 0. That walk was the best part of the day. That that's despite my congested state which made the entire endeavor completely exhausting.
Anyway, Prita never did get a nap, but she did get increasingly moody and clumsy with every passing minute. By the time her mother got home around 6:00, she was mood-swinging like a manic-depressive and running into walls, but she would NOT sleep.
There are so many more quirks in this job, most of them will just have to wait.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The Busy Weekend
We attended a family wedding up in Green Bay yesterday. On the way out of town, after the reception, we took a detour past Lambeau Field because, apparently, not doing so would be like going to Rome and skipping St. Peter's. I took a photo with my phone as we drove past, in the dark, and sent it to Patrick, who is now above responding to messages from his sister. That is to say, I don't know that he ever got it. (Did you, Patch? We went five minutes out of our way, just to get that picture. Some appreciation is warranted.)
Rather than drive back to Madison that night, we stayed with Evan's folks in Plymouth, and drove from there to Sussex for church this morning. First, I just have to say how thankful I am that we are able to attend church at Peace. Pr. Bender is great and the people there (not even counting the Gehlbachs, my adopted family) have been really welcoming and kind. The following should in no way be taken as a reflection on that church or the gifts we receive there each week. But there are no adequate words to describe how much I miss Redeemer and my church family. Seriously, I cried like a baby through the first two services away from Redeemer. The third week, Evan's parents were along and I managed to keep myself in check. This week, I didn't cry at the service, but ended up weeping my way through "Lord, Thee I Love With All My Heart" at the church picnic. I probably would have cried through "O Lord We Praise Thee", but I was too distracted by the pace at which the organist was playing it--MUCH slower than Kantor Reuning-- and thought of my brothers straining to sing it faster. At one point, I looked up toward the chancel to make a face at one of them, but of course none of them were there. And at the church picnic, I had a perfectly good time and sat with Susan and Katie and made faces at Alia when I should have been paying attention to Pr. Suelflow....But it was almost disorienting to look out at a park pavilion full of church people and not see Osbuns or Lagemanns or Ridleys or anyone else I know.
But just so you know, I'm not complaining. Just reflecting.
We left before the church picnic was quite through to drive back to Madison in time to get ready for a Supply Chain Management center party. That sounds unbelievably awful, but it was a seriously good party, in the most sophisticated, grown-up way. Like Evan said as we walked back to our car afterwards, it was the sort of party that makes you feel like an adult. It had smart people, really good food, a nice selection of drinks, and it was held in a beautiful home, perfect for entertaining.
Tomorrow is my last day of freedom before I settle down and start working for my keep again. I have a whole list of things to get done--cleaning, laundry, picking up a bus pass--but I have this premonition that I will actually spend the whole day watching movies on Netflix. But I really don't know where that thought came from.
Rather than drive back to Madison that night, we stayed with Evan's folks in Plymouth, and drove from there to Sussex for church this morning. First, I just have to say how thankful I am that we are able to attend church at Peace. Pr. Bender is great and the people there (not even counting the Gehlbachs, my adopted family) have been really welcoming and kind. The following should in no way be taken as a reflection on that church or the gifts we receive there each week. But there are no adequate words to describe how much I miss Redeemer and my church family. Seriously, I cried like a baby through the first two services away from Redeemer. The third week, Evan's parents were along and I managed to keep myself in check. This week, I didn't cry at the service, but ended up weeping my way through "Lord, Thee I Love With All My Heart" at the church picnic. I probably would have cried through "O Lord We Praise Thee", but I was too distracted by the pace at which the organist was playing it--MUCH slower than Kantor Reuning-- and thought of my brothers straining to sing it faster. At one point, I looked up toward the chancel to make a face at one of them, but of course none of them were there. And at the church picnic, I had a perfectly good time and sat with Susan and Katie and made faces at Alia when I should have been paying attention to Pr. Suelflow....But it was almost disorienting to look out at a park pavilion full of church people and not see Osbuns or Lagemanns or Ridleys or anyone else I know.
But just so you know, I'm not complaining. Just reflecting.
We left before the church picnic was quite through to drive back to Madison in time to get ready for a Supply Chain Management center party. That sounds unbelievably awful, but it was a seriously good party, in the most sophisticated, grown-up way. Like Evan said as we walked back to our car afterwards, it was the sort of party that makes you feel like an adult. It had smart people, really good food, a nice selection of drinks, and it was held in a beautiful home, perfect for entertaining.
Tomorrow is my last day of freedom before I settle down and start working for my keep again. I have a whole list of things to get done--cleaning, laundry, picking up a bus pass--but I have this premonition that I will actually spend the whole day watching movies on Netflix. But I really don't know where that thought came from.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
Thank You Notes
I love thank you notes. I love picking them out, I love writing them, I love receiving them. For the most part, I have had a lot of fun doing the thank yous for our wedding gifts. Evan and I turned on some music, sat down, and knocked over half of them out one evening last week.
When I woke up this morning, I decided to use my day at home, alone, to get the rest of them done.
Did you know you can have thank-you-note-writer's-block? I sat down, picked out the first name, picked up the pen and...nothing came out except. "Thank you." What else to say? This normally comes so easily. Today, though, nothing. It took me two hours to get nine notes written. Then they sat in a little pile, mocking me and egging me on. By the time Evan got home at 2:00, I had been at it for 5 hours straight and only gotten 30-some notes written (which means my rate had improved, but not enough) and my hands were cramping.
My reward was that we ran to the post office to get more stamps and stopped at Starbucks for pumpkin spice lattes on the way home. And everything was better, because I was out in the sunshine holding yummy coffee with one hand and my husband's hand with the other.
Tomorrow's tasks: finishing the notes for which I was missing addresses, calling a piano tuner, and getting a bus pass. If any of those should produce blog-worthy results, an update will follow.
When I woke up this morning, I decided to use my day at home, alone, to get the rest of them done.
Did you know you can have thank-you-note-writer's-block? I sat down, picked out the first name, picked up the pen and...nothing came out except. "Thank you." What else to say? This normally comes so easily. Today, though, nothing. It took me two hours to get nine notes written. Then they sat in a little pile, mocking me and egging me on. By the time Evan got home at 2:00, I had been at it for 5 hours straight and only gotten 30-some notes written (which means my rate had improved, but not enough) and my hands were cramping.
My reward was that we ran to the post office to get more stamps and stopped at Starbucks for pumpkin spice lattes on the way home. And everything was better, because I was out in the sunshine holding yummy coffee with one hand and my husband's hand with the other.
Tomorrow's tasks: finishing the notes for which I was missing addresses, calling a piano tuner, and getting a bus pass. If any of those should produce blog-worthy results, an update will follow.
Monday, September 05, 2011
People Watching
My dear sister-in-law likes to talk about car-spotting. Well, cars are great and all, but I really don't know enough about them to appreciate the hobby, so I just play my own version: clothing-disaster-spotting.
There is, very possibly, no better place to enjoy this pastime than a county fair. Oh. My. Goodness. I'm not about to pick on the legitimate fair people in their boots and flannels, or even the country people in last decade's Walmart bargains. Oh, no. Why descend to petty, income-based mockery when there are targets aplenty?
Take, for instance, the woman walking around with the bottom of her t-shirt tucked up under the edge of her bra. That encounter had the potential to be scarring, except that she had the waist of her pants pulled up to the bottom of her rib cage. That just took it from indecent to inconceivable.
Being newly arrived in Wisconsin, I was delighted to see the men walking around in camouflage Packers jerseys. Really? This isn't Minnesota; there's no need to hide your loyalty. There was a whole display of Packers-themed 4-H homegoods projects, for crying out loud.
Also, a fair classic, was the "skunk" hair phenomenon. Dark hair, light roots; light hair, dark roots; light hair, dark tips; dark hair, light tips, etc.
But, oh. You simply have not LIVED until you have seen the glow-in-the-dark tie-dye t-shirt stand advertising sized L through XXXXXL.
There is, very possibly, no better place to enjoy this pastime than a county fair. Oh. My. Goodness. I'm not about to pick on the legitimate fair people in their boots and flannels, or even the country people in last decade's Walmart bargains. Oh, no. Why descend to petty, income-based mockery when there are targets aplenty?
Take, for instance, the woman walking around with the bottom of her t-shirt tucked up under the edge of her bra. That encounter had the potential to be scarring, except that she had the waist of her pants pulled up to the bottom of her rib cage. That just took it from indecent to inconceivable.
Being newly arrived in Wisconsin, I was delighted to see the men walking around in camouflage Packers jerseys. Really? This isn't Minnesota; there's no need to hide your loyalty. There was a whole display of Packers-themed 4-H homegoods projects, for crying out loud.
Also, a fair classic, was the "skunk" hair phenomenon. Dark hair, light roots; light hair, dark roots; light hair, dark tips; dark hair, light tips, etc.
But, oh. You simply have not LIVED until you have seen the glow-in-the-dark tie-dye t-shirt stand advertising sized L through XXXXXL.
Friday, September 02, 2011
Hair Woes
Ahhh, the perennial topic of complaint.
So, it's like this: I let my hair grow out for the wedding and it is now a little longer than shoulder-length. I would say that this is the length where it starts going flat, but I'm not really sure there is a length where it doesn't do that. The upside to my hair right now is that I can leave it down or put it up and either way it looks semi-presentable. I can finally get a good french braid in, and it's been years since I was able to do that.
The downside to my hair right now is that it goes flat and ratty very quickly. I feel like I can't go anywhere without a hairbrush and I'm not comfortable unless it is pulled back somehow, thus camouflaging its tendency to go lank.
The problem is, I'm not sure how much a shorter cut will help. It could, very possibly, remove the things I like about my hair (being able to put it back) but leave all the things I don't like (flat crabbiness).
I would seriously consider just CHOPPING IT ALL OFF and going the pixie cut route, but I know for sure that my husband would not appreciate that. :o)
So, it's like this: I let my hair grow out for the wedding and it is now a little longer than shoulder-length. I would say that this is the length where it starts going flat, but I'm not really sure there is a length where it doesn't do that. The upside to my hair right now is that I can leave it down or put it up and either way it looks semi-presentable. I can finally get a good french braid in, and it's been years since I was able to do that.
The downside to my hair right now is that it goes flat and ratty very quickly. I feel like I can't go anywhere without a hairbrush and I'm not comfortable unless it is pulled back somehow, thus camouflaging its tendency to go lank.
The problem is, I'm not sure how much a shorter cut will help. It could, very possibly, remove the things I like about my hair (being able to put it back) but leave all the things I don't like (flat crabbiness).
I would seriously consider just CHOPPING IT ALL OFF and going the pixie cut route, but I know for sure that my husband would not appreciate that. :o)
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