I am on Pinterest. I'm not sure I fully understand the concept, except that it's a virtual "vision board", but I have mixed feelings about it. For one thing, it's another time-suck. And if we spend all our time pinning various pictures to a virtual vision board, how much time are we spending trying to achieve those "dreams"?
I noticed that I mostly pin to my board entitled "OMG! Yum!" Those are the recipes I find that sound delicious and I hope to make. Unfortunately, I also noticed they are mostly desserts. If our pin boards are any indication, Pinterest can tell a lot about a person. For instance, mine clearly says "I love sugar!" I have virtually no pins on the boards entitled "Favorite Places and Spaces" (although that one was pre-made by the site for me, so perhaps I need to change it to "Places I'd Love to Visit" or something), "Products I Love" (also a pre-made one), and "Things to Read" (which I made but have not pinned any book ideas to it, because my Kindle Fire pretty much takes care of my book addiction).
I have the most pins on my food and craft pages, which is ironic, because I spend very little time cooking/baking or crafting. Maybe this is a sign - cook more, bake more, do more crafts? If we "listen" to our pin boards, we might actually learn something about ourselves. Perhaps we'll find out where our true passions lie and maybe just get brave enough to do something in the real world that relates to our pins. Like actually make a recipe, do a craft, travel to a "favorite place".
My husband has a real vision board. He actually cuts pictures out of magazines and pastes them to this big posterboard he keeps on the wall beside his bed. Some of the things on it are pictures of: an expensive guitar, a Harley, the kids, a roll of toilet paper that looks like money (?), hunting, fishing, his truck, a picture of a "kangaroo crossing" sign (he wants to go to Australia?), and a fancy wooden boat. Many of the pictures are of things he's already acquired or done - so maybe this whole "vision board" thing DOES work? If you dream it, you can have it?
At any rate, it's inspired me to think about things in a new way (using a days-of-the-week pill container to hold small amounts of spices for a camping trip), and it's made me want to get my house more organized, take more pictures, write more, and dream more. It's a nice little break in the day to check out what others are dreaming about, too.
I've already pinned dozens of recipes so today I'm going to try a few of them. Who knows? Sometimes all you need is something new and different.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Quirks.....
We all have quirks. I was reminded of this as I scarfed down grapes on my way home from work today. I had neglected to eat when my body said I was hungry, so I was beyond starving by the time I left, 45 minutes later than I had planned (hello, teacher's hours), so I was happily tossing back grapes when the unthinkable happened. I popped a grape into my mouth, only to be greeted by the woody stem that had not been properly removed from the lovely grape before it was deposited into a plastic container by my husband when he packed my lunch. I absolutely HATE the stems on grapes and prefer to have them removed (completely, mind you, not leaving behind that tiny stump) and have all my grapes, perfectly round (no brownish spots), firm (not mushy), washed and placed into a container so that I may enjoy them without the hassle of removing them from their stems. I know what you're thinking, "Bitch, your husband made your lunch, stop complaining!" but I relay this story to illustrate how this blog came to mind. My grape "thing" is a quirk, we all have them, and I am going to share some of mine, in the hopes that you will share some of yours and we'll all go through this life knowing we are not quite insane, but rather, "unique".
So. I hate walking down stairs. Walking UP stairs is fine, but walking DOWN stairs, for me, brings on a sort of inexplicable paranoia of falling or slipping to my untimely death. Ok, that might be a bit dramatic, but seriously, I have no idea why in the past few years I have developed this aversion to walking down stairs. Oh, and it's not carpeted stairs. Those are fine. It's any other type of stair - wood, cement, metal (gulp!), and God forbid it's those kind of stairs where the back is open. Yikes! Bleachers are even worse. I look like a total spaz when I walk down a set of bleachers. Maybe it's a defense mechanism I've developed in my "after 40" age group to prepare me for the "don't fall and break a hip" stage? I don't know. I just don't like walking down stairs.
I love pizza. But I eat it with a fork. I simply do not like touching my food with my hands, especially if it's "wet" food. Sure, I can eat chips and fruit and french fries with my hands. But anything that is drippy, greasy, wet or saucy I like to use a fork. Pizza qualifies on many levels. I mean, I'm not so crazy about it that I carry around a plastic fork (which, by the way, is totally inadequate for pizza). But my kids think it's weird.
I only like yogurt with something mixed in, but not granola because that's gross. More like walnuts and maybe bananas or strawberries. Eating yogurt plain is disgusting. And forget about Greek yogurt. That, to me, is the equivalent of drinking a carton of chunky, soured milk. ICK!
I constantly fidget with whatever is in my hand. I rub my thumbs along the edge of my cell phone which makes a horrific sound to the person on the other end of the call. I used to constantly twirl one of those "helicopter" toys with a stick and a propeller while I was on the phone or computer. The stick part had ridges in it and I liked how it felt in my hand. You know those textured stickers, books and bookmarks that have moving pictures on them depending on which way you angle them? That ridgy texture is awesome, too. I like to scratch it with my fingernails and listen to the noise it makes. If I don't have anything in my hands, I'll pick at my nails or rub my fingers together. Weird, huh?
I don't like the sound of swishy pants. You know, those athletic type pants with a water-resistant fabric that swish together when you walk? HATE THAT.
The other night my husband began to "wash" potatoes by putting a plug in the sink and filling it with water. The DIRTY sink! The sink that had not been properly scoured with Comet before filling it with water. The sink that contains the most germs in the entire house! I freaked. In fact, I got so upset that I grabbed all the potatoes out of the water, shoved him out of the way, and proceeded to scrub them each by hand, individually, then cut off all the "bad" parts before putting them in the oven. Yep, I really dislike food touching my dirty sink.
I LOVE the smell of freshly bleached towels and sheets. I don't care if bleach is a chemical and is maybe bad for you. To me, nothing is as sanitized and clean as when it's been washed in hot water and bleach. Mmmm...
You know how you have a "way" you drive out of your neighborhood? My husband and I take completely different routes. His explanation is that my way causes unexpected backups because I need to turn right and get stuck behind people going left. I think his way takes longer and is all baskasswards. We argue about this endlessly. I just have my "way" and driving to a familiar destination another way drives me nuts.
I confess - if I don't like a food, I never buy it for my family. On this list - asparagus (which I'm allergic to), radishes, beets, anything curry, certain cereals, certain types of bread, the list goes on. On the other hand, my own preferences have introduced my children to forbidden foods like Toaster Strudel and Lucky Charms. I admit my husband has changed our ways by introducing foods we've never tried before and at least I'm buying him his yucky Greek yogurt and brown mustard.
My bed is my sanctuary and I DO NOT LIKE my kids to sit on it, ever! If they lay down on my bed with school clothes on, I explode. Butts on my pillow are the ultimate sin. When I get in bed at night, I like to have near me: my phone, my Kindle, my computer (sometimes), and my fan. I've spent entire days in my bed and on weekends, I prefer to have my coffee and a pastry delivered to me there. Thanks goodness I have a nice husband who started that tradition. It's not an every weekend occurrence but it's sure nice when it happens!
I hate it when my husband attempts to "clean up" and moves my piles around. Yes, they look messy and cluttered, but I know where EVERYTHING is. I just don't want anyone to touch them until I get around to organizing them. Who cares if it takes three years? The other day, my husband said "where do you want me to relocate this pile for the next year?" I mean, it's not like I'm a hoarder. Though some days it looks like it.
When my kids were little, I'd let them help me "decorate" by putting window stickers on for the various seasons and holidays. They would stick them all in a clump and I'd rearrange them after they went to bed. Later, I realized it was better for me to just decorate when they were at school so it was all done when they came home and there was nothing left to "help" with. I'm big on matching so my kids grew up wearing matching socks (which might explain why they NEVER do now), matching outfits and, hopefully, a matching hair accessory or hat. If my bra and underwear match I feel "put together" all day, even though no one can see them. (For those of you who would like to make fun of me for this, I assure you, they rarely match!). I like things matched and, if possible, symmetrical. I've always marveled at another person's beautifully displayed objects d' art on their mantle or a shelf. Things I'd never think to put together or arrange just so because if there's a candlestick on one end, there must be one on the other. This is why I suck at decorating!
And, finally, one last quirk I'll share with you. I'm hopelessly in love with Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, which my body does not appreciate one bit. And when I do indulge in them, I have to eat them a certain way - peel off the outer chocolate coating and "unroll" the cake roll, licking the white frosting as I go. It always falls apart when I do this, and at some point I have to just shove the whole thing in my mouth, but I never fail to attempt to eat it this "perfect" way. When I see my husband or kids take a bit of the whole roll at once, I die a little inside.
Go ahead and laugh! I'm not afraid to share my quirks. Who's brave enough to share theirs?
So. I hate walking down stairs. Walking UP stairs is fine, but walking DOWN stairs, for me, brings on a sort of inexplicable paranoia of falling or slipping to my untimely death. Ok, that might be a bit dramatic, but seriously, I have no idea why in the past few years I have developed this aversion to walking down stairs. Oh, and it's not carpeted stairs. Those are fine. It's any other type of stair - wood, cement, metal (gulp!), and God forbid it's those kind of stairs where the back is open. Yikes! Bleachers are even worse. I look like a total spaz when I walk down a set of bleachers. Maybe it's a defense mechanism I've developed in my "after 40" age group to prepare me for the "don't fall and break a hip" stage? I don't know. I just don't like walking down stairs.
I love pizza. But I eat it with a fork. I simply do not like touching my food with my hands, especially if it's "wet" food. Sure, I can eat chips and fruit and french fries with my hands. But anything that is drippy, greasy, wet or saucy I like to use a fork. Pizza qualifies on many levels. I mean, I'm not so crazy about it that I carry around a plastic fork (which, by the way, is totally inadequate for pizza). But my kids think it's weird.
I only like yogurt with something mixed in, but not granola because that's gross. More like walnuts and maybe bananas or strawberries. Eating yogurt plain is disgusting. And forget about Greek yogurt. That, to me, is the equivalent of drinking a carton of chunky, soured milk. ICK!
I constantly fidget with whatever is in my hand. I rub my thumbs along the edge of my cell phone which makes a horrific sound to the person on the other end of the call. I used to constantly twirl one of those "helicopter" toys with a stick and a propeller while I was on the phone or computer. The stick part had ridges in it and I liked how it felt in my hand. You know those textured stickers, books and bookmarks that have moving pictures on them depending on which way you angle them? That ridgy texture is awesome, too. I like to scratch it with my fingernails and listen to the noise it makes. If I don't have anything in my hands, I'll pick at my nails or rub my fingers together. Weird, huh?
I don't like the sound of swishy pants. You know, those athletic type pants with a water-resistant fabric that swish together when you walk? HATE THAT.
The other night my husband began to "wash" potatoes by putting a plug in the sink and filling it with water. The DIRTY sink! The sink that had not been properly scoured with Comet before filling it with water. The sink that contains the most germs in the entire house! I freaked. In fact, I got so upset that I grabbed all the potatoes out of the water, shoved him out of the way, and proceeded to scrub them each by hand, individually, then cut off all the "bad" parts before putting them in the oven. Yep, I really dislike food touching my dirty sink.
I LOVE the smell of freshly bleached towels and sheets. I don't care if bleach is a chemical and is maybe bad for you. To me, nothing is as sanitized and clean as when it's been washed in hot water and bleach. Mmmm...
You know how you have a "way" you drive out of your neighborhood? My husband and I take completely different routes. His explanation is that my way causes unexpected backups because I need to turn right and get stuck behind people going left. I think his way takes longer and is all baskasswards. We argue about this endlessly. I just have my "way" and driving to a familiar destination another way drives me nuts.
I confess - if I don't like a food, I never buy it for my family. On this list - asparagus (which I'm allergic to), radishes, beets, anything curry, certain cereals, certain types of bread, the list goes on. On the other hand, my own preferences have introduced my children to forbidden foods like Toaster Strudel and Lucky Charms. I admit my husband has changed our ways by introducing foods we've never tried before and at least I'm buying him his yucky Greek yogurt and brown mustard.
My bed is my sanctuary and I DO NOT LIKE my kids to sit on it, ever! If they lay down on my bed with school clothes on, I explode. Butts on my pillow are the ultimate sin. When I get in bed at night, I like to have near me: my phone, my Kindle, my computer (sometimes), and my fan. I've spent entire days in my bed and on weekends, I prefer to have my coffee and a pastry delivered to me there. Thanks goodness I have a nice husband who started that tradition. It's not an every weekend occurrence but it's sure nice when it happens!
I hate it when my husband attempts to "clean up" and moves my piles around. Yes, they look messy and cluttered, but I know where EVERYTHING is. I just don't want anyone to touch them until I get around to organizing them. Who cares if it takes three years? The other day, my husband said "where do you want me to relocate this pile for the next year?" I mean, it's not like I'm a hoarder. Though some days it looks like it.
When my kids were little, I'd let them help me "decorate" by putting window stickers on for the various seasons and holidays. They would stick them all in a clump and I'd rearrange them after they went to bed. Later, I realized it was better for me to just decorate when they were at school so it was all done when they came home and there was nothing left to "help" with. I'm big on matching so my kids grew up wearing matching socks (which might explain why they NEVER do now), matching outfits and, hopefully, a matching hair accessory or hat. If my bra and underwear match I feel "put together" all day, even though no one can see them. (For those of you who would like to make fun of me for this, I assure you, they rarely match!). I like things matched and, if possible, symmetrical. I've always marveled at another person's beautifully displayed objects d' art on their mantle or a shelf. Things I'd never think to put together or arrange just so because if there's a candlestick on one end, there must be one on the other. This is why I suck at decorating!
And, finally, one last quirk I'll share with you. I'm hopelessly in love with Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, which my body does not appreciate one bit. And when I do indulge in them, I have to eat them a certain way - peel off the outer chocolate coating and "unroll" the cake roll, licking the white frosting as I go. It always falls apart when I do this, and at some point I have to just shove the whole thing in my mouth, but I never fail to attempt to eat it this "perfect" way. When I see my husband or kids take a bit of the whole roll at once, I die a little inside.
Go ahead and laugh! I'm not afraid to share my quirks. Who's brave enough to share theirs?
Thursday, February 9, 2012
What if the whole world took a nap?
It's a rainy, gray, drizzly kind of day. The kind of day where, if you didn't live in the Pacific Northwest, you'd put your plans on hold and stay home and put on fuzzy socks and curl up in your adorable window seat with color-coordinated pillows and read a novel whilst sipping a cup of tea. Whoa, got a little carried away there.
The point is, as much as I would like to just say "screw it" and curl up in my bed, which is just a few tantalizing feet away, and so warm and snuggly and inviting, I must forge on to a previously scheduled obligation. It's for work. I'm getting paid. So, I kinda have to go. Also, it's a training, so if I don't attend tonight, the last night in the series, I won't get credit for the WHOLE DARN THING. Which would totally suck considering the twelve hours of my life I'll never get back that I've already spent on this required training.
And that's just really lame. Because it's such a perfect day for a nap. Or a book. Or anything that involves comfortable sweats and fuzzy socks. Ok, so I compromised and changed out of my cute work clothes and into yoga pants. But I still have to go.
What if we just didn't "go"? What if we just all stayed home and did whatever our hearts desired and threw caution to the wind and said "be damned!" and other such phrases? What would happen?
Sigh. I'll never know. Because now I must leave my warm and comfortable home and venture out where the cold rain stabs at me and people drone on and on and I get no service on my cell phone so I can't even play Words With Friends to pass the time. (First World Problems...haha!).
But I really wish I could take a nap. And I don't even have a window seat with color-coordinated pillows. Here I go............
The point is, as much as I would like to just say "screw it" and curl up in my bed, which is just a few tantalizing feet away, and so warm and snuggly and inviting, I must forge on to a previously scheduled obligation. It's for work. I'm getting paid. So, I kinda have to go. Also, it's a training, so if I don't attend tonight, the last night in the series, I won't get credit for the WHOLE DARN THING. Which would totally suck considering the twelve hours of my life I'll never get back that I've already spent on this required training.
And that's just really lame. Because it's such a perfect day for a nap. Or a book. Or anything that involves comfortable sweats and fuzzy socks. Ok, so I compromised and changed out of my cute work clothes and into yoga pants. But I still have to go.
What if we just didn't "go"? What if we just all stayed home and did whatever our hearts desired and threw caution to the wind and said "be damned!" and other such phrases? What would happen?
Sigh. I'll never know. Because now I must leave my warm and comfortable home and venture out where the cold rain stabs at me and people drone on and on and I get no service on my cell phone so I can't even play Words With Friends to pass the time. (First World Problems...haha!).
But I really wish I could take a nap. And I don't even have a window seat with color-coordinated pillows. Here I go............
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Hand Therapy
I've been going to hand therapy. Yes, there is such a thing. My wrists have been hurting since the summer and I finally decided to do something about it. Turns out I have some type of tendon problem, likely caused by using a laptop. HUH? But when they explained it to me, it makes sense. If you're typing on a laptop, look at your hands right now. See how they're angled in and there's a little bend in your wrists? That's the problem. Over time, it can create some strain or sprain or something. Now, I know my family (and possibly some of my friends) would like to say I have "Facebook-itis" but the truth is........I have a TOUCH of Facebook-itis with a little blog-itis thrown in, followed by some email-itis and some research-itis. Either way, the "cure" at this point is hand therapy (and a new keyboard. Oh, plus the monitor is supposed to be at eye-level. So, yeah, pretty much a desktop computer. Lame.)
It's a bit sad to admit this, but it's not such a bad thing going to hand therapy. For one thing, it's twice a week. You get to sit the whole time (ahh, mommy break), and they start you out by putting your arms in these nice arm rests and applying this wonderfully warm heat through the use of giant heating pads. You just sit and rest and feel all warm and cozy and chat with the funny therapist. Then, they slather your wrists with goop and do some ultrasound treatment that is virtually painless. The bummer is when the therapist comes in and actually starts to work on the painful parts, which hurts a great deal. But she sometimes applies minty-smelling goop that is nice and cold. And then you do some stretches. Finally, she applies some stretchy tape that "massages" your tendons and reduces swelling, but looks completely ridiculous. And they want you to leave it on for 2-3 days. But after the first time you wash your hands and get the tape wet, it drives you nuts. And then it starts to itch a bit. And who really leaves it on 2-3 days (I'm just trying to leave it on overnight!).
Of course, I'd much rather just have wrists that don't hurt every time I turn a doorknob or drive my car. But it's getting a little better. And since I have a new job, I don't spend as much time on the computer. Which might also benefit my ass size. So, it's a good thing. Still, I'm hoping it doesn't take too many more weeks to get my wrists back in good working order. Because I'd really like to do yoga again and I have a private archery lesson coming up. But mostly just so I don't have a jolt of pain every time I pull the covers up or grate cheese. Still, it's been an interesting experience. And I've learned a lot about hands. For instance, did you know it takes three pounds of pressure just to pull your pants up? Who knew? So, here's my PSA - take good care of your hands/wrists. Practice safe computering!
It's a bit sad to admit this, but it's not such a bad thing going to hand therapy. For one thing, it's twice a week. You get to sit the whole time (ahh, mommy break), and they start you out by putting your arms in these nice arm rests and applying this wonderfully warm heat through the use of giant heating pads. You just sit and rest and feel all warm and cozy and chat with the funny therapist. Then, they slather your wrists with goop and do some ultrasound treatment that is virtually painless. The bummer is when the therapist comes in and actually starts to work on the painful parts, which hurts a great deal. But she sometimes applies minty-smelling goop that is nice and cold. And then you do some stretches. Finally, she applies some stretchy tape that "massages" your tendons and reduces swelling, but looks completely ridiculous. And they want you to leave it on for 2-3 days. But after the first time you wash your hands and get the tape wet, it drives you nuts. And then it starts to itch a bit. And who really leaves it on 2-3 days (I'm just trying to leave it on overnight!).
Of course, I'd much rather just have wrists that don't hurt every time I turn a doorknob or drive my car. But it's getting a little better. And since I have a new job, I don't spend as much time on the computer. Which might also benefit my ass size. So, it's a good thing. Still, I'm hoping it doesn't take too many more weeks to get my wrists back in good working order. Because I'd really like to do yoga again and I have a private archery lesson coming up. But mostly just so I don't have a jolt of pain every time I pull the covers up or grate cheese. Still, it's been an interesting experience. And I've learned a lot about hands. For instance, did you know it takes three pounds of pressure just to pull your pants up? Who knew? So, here's my PSA - take good care of your hands/wrists. Practice safe computering!
Monday, January 30, 2012
What's in a name?
I just spent a fabulous weekend with my mom, her sisters, my sisters and brother, my dad, and other relatives celebrating my mom's 70th birthday. We had a great time telling stories about our very large family. And the more we talked, the more names were thrown around and it was hard to tell who was who and keep track of everyone. So, I decided to make a little cheat sheet. Here goes:
I am named after my aunts Mary and Leah. The hyphen makes it all one name (and confuses the hell out of everyone...I get called "Mary", "Mary Lee", "Maralee"...and no one knows what a hyphen is. Hint: it's not an apostrophe!). Mary and Leah are my mom's sisters. There's also a Laurie. And a Butch, Bill and Todd, but those are brothers. My brother's name is Todd. But we call him Doug. I married a Doug once. That made things confusing, until I got divorced and remarried a guy named Jeff Moore. I also have a cousin named Geoff Moore. Spelled different, sounds the same. I have another cousin named Demi Moore. Not the actress. But she looks like the actress.
My niece is named Sydney and my cousin's daughter is named Sydney. Growing up my cousins Alison and Jenny were best buddies. Jenny named her daughter Allison. Jenny also has a daughter named Leah. Jenny's middle name is Leah. After her mom, Helen Leah. After her grandma, Florence Leah. Can you see where this is going? We like Leahs.
My dad's name is Bill and I have an uncle Bill. I have two Aunt Jackies. My cousin's name is Danny, after his dad, Danny, but we called him Charlie until one day he mysteriously became Danny again. He has a daughter named Danielle (Dani). My grandpa's name was Charles Franklin Patton. They called him "Doc" because he was a doctor. His son was named Charles Franklin Patton, Jr. We call him Butch. HIS son was named Charles Franklin Patton, III. He's called Chas. HIS son is named Chase, and I'm pretty sure it's also short for the CF Patton name. Plus, there's another cousin named Chase. I have an uncle Dirk and a cousin Dirk. My niece is named Florence after her dad's mom and my great-grandmother. But we call her Flower.
And if that's not different enough, we have all sorts of unique names in the family....Blaceton, Presley, Skyler, Ava, Lila, Jackson, Kaden, CheyAnn, Taya, Tabor, Trista. I can't even remember them all.......
What is in a name, that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet ~ Shakespeare
I am named after my aunts Mary and Leah. The hyphen makes it all one name (and confuses the hell out of everyone...I get called "Mary", "Mary Lee", "Maralee"...and no one knows what a hyphen is. Hint: it's not an apostrophe!). Mary and Leah are my mom's sisters. There's also a Laurie. And a Butch, Bill and Todd, but those are brothers. My brother's name is Todd. But we call him Doug. I married a Doug once. That made things confusing, until I got divorced and remarried a guy named Jeff Moore. I also have a cousin named Geoff Moore. Spelled different, sounds the same. I have another cousin named Demi Moore. Not the actress. But she looks like the actress.
My niece is named Sydney and my cousin's daughter is named Sydney. Growing up my cousins Alison and Jenny were best buddies. Jenny named her daughter Allison. Jenny also has a daughter named Leah. Jenny's middle name is Leah. After her mom, Helen Leah. After her grandma, Florence Leah. Can you see where this is going? We like Leahs.
My dad's name is Bill and I have an uncle Bill. I have two Aunt Jackies. My cousin's name is Danny, after his dad, Danny, but we called him Charlie until one day he mysteriously became Danny again. He has a daughter named Danielle (Dani). My grandpa's name was Charles Franklin Patton. They called him "Doc" because he was a doctor. His son was named Charles Franklin Patton, Jr. We call him Butch. HIS son was named Charles Franklin Patton, III. He's called Chas. HIS son is named Chase, and I'm pretty sure it's also short for the CF Patton name. Plus, there's another cousin named Chase. I have an uncle Dirk and a cousin Dirk. My niece is named Florence after her dad's mom and my great-grandmother. But we call her Flower.
And if that's not different enough, we have all sorts of unique names in the family....Blaceton, Presley, Skyler, Ava, Lila, Jackson, Kaden, CheyAnn, Taya, Tabor, Trista. I can't even remember them all.......
What is in a name, that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet ~ Shakespeare
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
The doctor will see you now....but only for one thing...
I went to the doctor for my annual physical the other day. Everything has been fine and I really didn't have anything to bring up, besides the fact that my wrists have been killing me for months. So, we discussed it, she asked me some questions, watched me move my wrists this way and that, said I should go to a nearby hand therapy clinic (which she gave me the name of) and we moved on. She even mentioned a certain type of splint I would likely need depending on the diagnosis, which she said she would defer to the clinic. That said, I went on my way, and made an appointment with the hand therapy clinic.
The clinic was very thorough, emailed me paperwork, checked my insurance coverage and called to say everything was set. Then, today, I got a call from the doctor's office. The message went something like this: the doctor said you were in for your physical so she didn't really have time to make a diagnosis of your wrist, so you'll need to come in for a separate visit for that. HUH? That was the ONLY thing we talked about at the appointment, separate from the regular exam. And, I don't know, I guess it just got under my skin. Because the real reason they were making a stink about it is so I would come in again, pay another co-pay, just for the doctor to do the exact same exam of my wrists she already did, tell me the same thing she already said, and refer me to the same clinic she already referred me to. My appointment is this week. I couldn't even get in to see the doctor before the appointment if I wanted to!
So, I called back. And waited 15 minutes on hold. When I finally talked to a person, she said the nurse who called me was "busy" and could call me back. I said I was calling HER back, and if she called ME back, then she'd just leave me the same message. So, I left a detailed message with the office clerk. Several hours later, I received another call from the nurse, again stating that the doctor "didn't remember" talking about my wrist and according to the chart notes, she only mentioned it in passing. I reminded her of the very detailed exam and conversation we had, and let her know I would not be coming back in just to pay another co-pay. She tried to reassure me by saying she "believed" me but would have to check with the doctor again. Believed me?
And I have not heard back. I'm sure it will all get worked out, the referral (which I don't even need for my insurance) will go through, I'll visit the clinic, and my wrist will get a splint or therapy or whatever it needs to get better. But the point is, what a total waste of time. First of all, I am SO sick of doctor's offices' policy of "one problem per visit". I get it - they don't want people coming in and whining about every little hangnail, but an annual exam, by it's very nature, is a chance to "catch up" on health issues that may have arisen since your last visit. The doctor ASKS you if there are any problems. So, if there are, they want you to schedule another appointment to discuss them? Crazy! We have to pay $15 every time we see the doctor (and with a family of six that's more often than you'd think). After that, our insurance only covers 80-90%, plus deductibles, so we shell out a pretty hefty sum to stay healthy.
Truth be told, my wrists have been killing me for months. Since the summer, actually. I figured it was some type of tendonitis and would go away on its own. But it hasn't. So, why did I wait so long to get them looked at? Because I figured I could just wait till my physical and deal with it then. Sure, they hurt and bugged me, some days worse than others, but, unlike strep throat or a sinus infection, I didn't think they needed immediate relief and figured I could save the co-pay. I simply can't afford to pay $15 plus 10-20% of the office visit for every little thing that bugs me. Preventative medicine be damned. Who can afford it?
And doctors wonder why we take to the internet to diagnose ourselves on WebMD (or worse). Easy answer - because it's free. We don't get charged $15 for each answer that pops up. And I don't need a doctor to tell me that my wrist needs to be seen by a specialist. I knew that all along. But modern medicine requires me to pay a co-pay, set aside half a day, and pay hundreds of dollars for my family doctor to give my wrists a half-hearted look and tell me what I already knew.
I knew I should have been a doctor.............. :)
The clinic was very thorough, emailed me paperwork, checked my insurance coverage and called to say everything was set. Then, today, I got a call from the doctor's office. The message went something like this: the doctor said you were in for your physical so she didn't really have time to make a diagnosis of your wrist, so you'll need to come in for a separate visit for that. HUH? That was the ONLY thing we talked about at the appointment, separate from the regular exam. And, I don't know, I guess it just got under my skin. Because the real reason they were making a stink about it is so I would come in again, pay another co-pay, just for the doctor to do the exact same exam of my wrists she already did, tell me the same thing she already said, and refer me to the same clinic she already referred me to. My appointment is this week. I couldn't even get in to see the doctor before the appointment if I wanted to!
So, I called back. And waited 15 minutes on hold. When I finally talked to a person, she said the nurse who called me was "busy" and could call me back. I said I was calling HER back, and if she called ME back, then she'd just leave me the same message. So, I left a detailed message with the office clerk. Several hours later, I received another call from the nurse, again stating that the doctor "didn't remember" talking about my wrist and according to the chart notes, she only mentioned it in passing. I reminded her of the very detailed exam and conversation we had, and let her know I would not be coming back in just to pay another co-pay. She tried to reassure me by saying she "believed" me but would have to check with the doctor again. Believed me?
And I have not heard back. I'm sure it will all get worked out, the referral (which I don't even need for my insurance) will go through, I'll visit the clinic, and my wrist will get a splint or therapy or whatever it needs to get better. But the point is, what a total waste of time. First of all, I am SO sick of doctor's offices' policy of "one problem per visit". I get it - they don't want people coming in and whining about every little hangnail, but an annual exam, by it's very nature, is a chance to "catch up" on health issues that may have arisen since your last visit. The doctor ASKS you if there are any problems. So, if there are, they want you to schedule another appointment to discuss them? Crazy! We have to pay $15 every time we see the doctor (and with a family of six that's more often than you'd think). After that, our insurance only covers 80-90%, plus deductibles, so we shell out a pretty hefty sum to stay healthy.
Truth be told, my wrists have been killing me for months. Since the summer, actually. I figured it was some type of tendonitis and would go away on its own. But it hasn't. So, why did I wait so long to get them looked at? Because I figured I could just wait till my physical and deal with it then. Sure, they hurt and bugged me, some days worse than others, but, unlike strep throat or a sinus infection, I didn't think they needed immediate relief and figured I could save the co-pay. I simply can't afford to pay $15 plus 10-20% of the office visit for every little thing that bugs me. Preventative medicine be damned. Who can afford it?
And doctors wonder why we take to the internet to diagnose ourselves on WebMD (or worse). Easy answer - because it's free. We don't get charged $15 for each answer that pops up. And I don't need a doctor to tell me that my wrist needs to be seen by a specialist. I knew that all along. But modern medicine requires me to pay a co-pay, set aside half a day, and pay hundreds of dollars for my family doctor to give my wrists a half-hearted look and tell me what I already knew.
I knew I should have been a doctor.............. :)
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The way we talk........
The other day the kids and I were talking and something came up about the way people talk. More specifically, words and/or phrases that almost represent different dialects in different parts of our country. Some examples:
* Is it a "purse" or a "pocketbook". I, personally, have always carried a "purse" while my Jersey-born best friend from senior year in high school, always had to grab her "pocketbook" before we headed out to the mall.
* Is it a "sofa" or a "couch"? Or, for those of you who live in a pretentious East coast town, a "davenport"? My family had a hideous "couch" for years, with a large floral print in various shades of red, yellow, brown and orange. I miss that atrocity.
* Do you go on "vacation" or "holiday"? HAHA! Just kidding. That was for all the Brits out there.
* In our house we drink "pop" but you might drink "soda". Same diff.
* Do you eat a "cookie" or a "biscuit"? Just kidding again! More Brit humor.
* I, personally, wear "pants" but some people wear "slacks".
* To me, a "sweater" is an article of clothing made out of some type of thick knit, cashmere, rayon, acrylic or wool, that has substance and a bit of fuzziness. It's is not a "sweatshirt" which is made of fleece and looks much more casual.
* I wear "shirts" but old people wear "blouses". Hee hee.
* Shoes are a whole 'nother ball game. I like to refer to mine by brand, as in "where are my Danskos?" or more randomly as in "my brown flats". However, if they have an impressive name, I'll toss that around. My "sparkly black TOMS" and such.
* Which brings me to the shoes you wear for athletic purposes (or not for athletic purposes but you enjoy looking like you actually break a sweat now and then). Are they "sneakers"? "Tennis shoes"? "Nikes" (or other brand)? I have always called them "tennis shoes" but realize as I get older how completely stupid that sounds since I have never played tennis except for that one time my ex-husband signed me up for tennis lessons in a local park where I flailed about and discovered I had zero aerobic capacity in my lungs and virtually no hand-eye coordination. But I don't wanna talk about it.
* In the eighties, we called them "stretch pants" or, even more fun, "stirrups". A few decades later, we've lost the stirrups and now have an array of "leggings" which are a tighter, less-structured version of "yoga pants" which translates to "fat pants". Let's be real. Once a woman has experienced pregnancy and it's array of stretchy, forgiving apparel, who ever wants to go back to jeans? In an attempt to cover up our laziness and prevent incessant stomach holding-in, the industry has created all manner of stretchy "workout" wear that doubles as acceptable fashion while sipping a latte or shopping for groceries. God bless them.
* We call it "butter" in our house, even if it's a spread "high in plant stenols" called Smart Balance. (Shh...we also use real butter!). Inexplicably, my mom still enjoys saying "oleo" from time to time.
* And, just for fun, I'll throw in a little Seattle humor. I've always, my entire life, referred to the watery substance that falls from the sky as "rain" but here in Seattle it's often referred to as "showers", "partial showers", "precipitation", "rain showers", "chance rain", "accumulation", "misting" and, my recent favorite to describe freezing rain, "a wintry mix".
You say tomato, I say to-MAH-to. Except I don't. And who really does? Oh yeah, the Brits. I love them!
* Is it a "purse" or a "pocketbook". I, personally, have always carried a "purse" while my Jersey-born best friend from senior year in high school, always had to grab her "pocketbook" before we headed out to the mall.
* Is it a "sofa" or a "couch"? Or, for those of you who live in a pretentious East coast town, a "davenport"? My family had a hideous "couch" for years, with a large floral print in various shades of red, yellow, brown and orange. I miss that atrocity.
* Do you go on "vacation" or "holiday"? HAHA! Just kidding. That was for all the Brits out there.
* In our house we drink "pop" but you might drink "soda". Same diff.
* Do you eat a "cookie" or a "biscuit"? Just kidding again! More Brit humor.
* I, personally, wear "pants" but some people wear "slacks".
* To me, a "sweater" is an article of clothing made out of some type of thick knit, cashmere, rayon, acrylic or wool, that has substance and a bit of fuzziness. It's is not a "sweatshirt" which is made of fleece and looks much more casual.
* I wear "shirts" but old people wear "blouses". Hee hee.
* Shoes are a whole 'nother ball game. I like to refer to mine by brand, as in "where are my Danskos?" or more randomly as in "my brown flats". However, if they have an impressive name, I'll toss that around. My "sparkly black TOMS" and such.
* Which brings me to the shoes you wear for athletic purposes (or not for athletic purposes but you enjoy looking like you actually break a sweat now and then). Are they "sneakers"? "Tennis shoes"? "Nikes" (or other brand)? I have always called them "tennis shoes" but realize as I get older how completely stupid that sounds since I have never played tennis except for that one time my ex-husband signed me up for tennis lessons in a local park where I flailed about and discovered I had zero aerobic capacity in my lungs and virtually no hand-eye coordination. But I don't wanna talk about it.
* In the eighties, we called them "stretch pants" or, even more fun, "stirrups". A few decades later, we've lost the stirrups and now have an array of "leggings" which are a tighter, less-structured version of "yoga pants" which translates to "fat pants". Let's be real. Once a woman has experienced pregnancy and it's array of stretchy, forgiving apparel, who ever wants to go back to jeans? In an attempt to cover up our laziness and prevent incessant stomach holding-in, the industry has created all manner of stretchy "workout" wear that doubles as acceptable fashion while sipping a latte or shopping for groceries. God bless them.
* We call it "butter" in our house, even if it's a spread "high in plant stenols" called Smart Balance. (Shh...we also use real butter!). Inexplicably, my mom still enjoys saying "oleo" from time to time.
* And, just for fun, I'll throw in a little Seattle humor. I've always, my entire life, referred to the watery substance that falls from the sky as "rain" but here in Seattle it's often referred to as "showers", "partial showers", "precipitation", "rain showers", "chance rain", "accumulation", "misting" and, my recent favorite to describe freezing rain, "a wintry mix".
You say tomato, I say to-MAH-to. Except I don't. And who really does? Oh yeah, the Brits. I love them!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Snow day pictures!
Icicle drop ~ photo creds to Arlie
Pretty girl in the snow!
Welcome to Narnia!
Snowy path through Narnia.....
Snow taste!
My pretty Hannah!
Warm hat and scarf for a snowy, cold day.
It's me!
Magnolia melting....
No birds.
Sock monkey hats!
Peeking.....
Mommy
Beautiful girl.....
Winter wonderland!
Love!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Snow day........
Snow Day
Sleeping late
Morning hush
Snow falls softly
Peaceful
House full of kids
Cinnamon rolls
Hot chocolate with marshmallow cream
Top Ramen
Wet boots
Cold hands
Melting into blankets and pillows
Movie watching
Night falls
Sleepy people
Full of snacks
Lazy day
Snow day
Sleeping late
Morning hush
Snow falls softly
Peaceful
House full of kids
Cinnamon rolls
Hot chocolate with marshmallow cream
Top Ramen
Wet boots
Cold hands
Melting into blankets and pillows
Movie watching
Night falls
Sleepy people
Full of snacks
Lazy day
Snow day
Saturday, January 14, 2012
In defense of the minivan.......
I know a few moms of young kids (Sydney, ahem) and a few moms-to-be who are still young and idealistic enough to say "I will NEVER drive a minivan!" We've all been there, we veteran minivan moms, back in the day when we had a cute body, a cute baby and a cute little car to drive around. Then came more kids. And let's face it, once you hit three kids, you NEED a minivan.
Why? you ask. Let me tell you a little story. Back in 1995, when I was nearly nine months pregnant with my second child, I was driving around a Honda Civic with no air conditioning. I loved that little car, and the gas mileage couldn't be beat, but I was very pregnant. It was summer. I was hot and cranky. I wanted a new car. Being proactive and a planner, I researched my options and VERY reluctantly decided on a minivan. It was all the rage. My friends had them. Why not join the club? Except I said I'd NEVER drive a minivan. So, to console myself, I bought a red one. Red means fast. Red means cool. Red means "look at me, I'm a mom in a minivan!" So much for planning.
But then.....I started to like that minivan. Plenty of room to buckle kids in and out of car seats, plenty of room for the arsenal of diaper bags, snacks, activities, extra blankets, stuffed animals and pacifiers that accompanied us on a long trip to.....the grocery store. Plenty of space in the back for the burgeoning grocery load that came along with my growing family. Plus, the seats folded down for that occasional trip to Home Depot for a large piece of plywood or Toys R Us for that big swingset for the backyard. Handy!
But the true beauty of the minivan is...........the road trip! We started to drive to Idaho a lot to visit family and there was plenty of space for all of our travel needs and then some. As the kids got older, camping trips were included. That van was packed to the gills with camping needs, kids' feet perched on sleeping bags, a cooler separating squabbling siblings. We even added a car-top carrier! Modern-day Beverly Hillbillies.
We still drive that red minivan, although it's on its last legs (wheels?). We upgraded to a brand-spankin' new minivan in 2007. That van has doubled as a bus, a camping vehicle, a hotel, and a truck. On long trips, there's nothing more peaceful than space between siblings and a DVD player. It has something like 843 cup holders and all manner of pockets and compartments in which to lose mittens and french fries. The seats fold down and stow away in the floor of the van. The back has a recessed compartment deep enough to hide a teenager crouching down, waiting to scare the bejeezus out of her unsuspecting siblings when they settle themselves in the back seat. The doors slide open and shut with the touch of a button and there's one on BOTH sides of the van (unlike our older van which has just one, manual sliding door. A neighbor child once stood on the side of the van with no door looking confused and asked how to get in the van. When I explained there was only one sliding door she looked at me disdainfully and said "Oh, you have one of those oldy-timey vans!").
With a minivan, we can cram eight kids, four days' worth of camping gear and three dogs into it's cavernous interior. We can haul six teenagers and two adults to a football game. We can put a movie on, flip a switch and have the kids don wireless headphones while we adults up front indulge in our favorite music or enjoy a conversation in complete peace. If it only came with one of those handy dividers like taxi cabs, we'd be set! The kids could beat each other senseless in the back seat and we'd be none the wiser in our soundproof booth up front.
Our minivan has a handy rack that can hold four bikes, a top that can support two kayaks, and a hitch that can pull our camper over hill and dale to various destinations. It's essentially our second home. I have stashed in the van both food and water, extra makeup, first aid kits, enough reusable grocery bags to last a lifetime, an arsenal of DVDs and CDs, sunscreen, a garbage bag for each row, extra gloves, napkins, an emergency kit, extra dog leashes, coupon books, flashlight, multipurpose tool, extra coats, beach towels and handiwipes. If needed, we could live in the minivan. For six hours. Give or take.
I normally drive the nice, newer minivan, but I occasionally find myself driving the old one. It's the same age as my high school junior. That van holds a lot of memories. Driving my newborns home from the hospital. The time my oldest got mad at me and threw her entire orange soda at me while I was driving (there are still stains on the ceiling). The time I slammed the van in park in the middle of traffic to rush around, yank the sliding door open and kill an ant that was threatening the life of my toddler (or at least it seemed so from the screams). The van that was so stuffed with crap on a trip across the mountains that one of the kids accidentally kicked out a Nintendo DS into a parking lot, never to be seen again. The van that suffered a broken headlight the first month we owned it (likely from someone backing into it in a parking lot) that has NEVER been fixed. That van saved my freezing ass more than once on a camping trip when I was so cold I thought I'd die and retreated to the relative warmth of the van (and it's inadequately long bench seats). I've spilled more coffee in that van than I care to mention. I've hauled so many kids on so many trips - to the beach, park, playground, vacations, school. I once drove that van away while my own daughter was putting her backpack in it, thinking she was already in the car!
The van was purchased when my oldest was just two and it became her first car. I don't even want to know what all went on in that van before she left for college, but I will say I've never seen a dirtier vehicle, nor found so many disgusting things in it (two month old Taco Bell anyone? It's just a little fuzzy). It smelled like a rotting corpse. My daughter consistently ran it out of gas and was involved in a four-car accident last Valentine's day. But the van is still going strong. Scars and all. It has a cracked engine head......so it could "die" at any given moment, but we rather enjoy limping it along until it craps out on the highway one day.
My point is this: if you have three or more children, get a minivan. For your own sanity. So they can bring friends along. So you can drive the carpool. Invest in an entertainment system. So, when you're hauling your offpsring along on a 300 mile road trip, you can enjoy the open road while they are glued to a DVD. It's peaceful. It's fun. It's roomy. Get over yourself. Just get a minivan.
Why? you ask. Let me tell you a little story. Back in 1995, when I was nearly nine months pregnant with my second child, I was driving around a Honda Civic with no air conditioning. I loved that little car, and the gas mileage couldn't be beat, but I was very pregnant. It was summer. I was hot and cranky. I wanted a new car. Being proactive and a planner, I researched my options and VERY reluctantly decided on a minivan. It was all the rage. My friends had them. Why not join the club? Except I said I'd NEVER drive a minivan. So, to console myself, I bought a red one. Red means fast. Red means cool. Red means "look at me, I'm a mom in a minivan!" So much for planning.
But then.....I started to like that minivan. Plenty of room to buckle kids in and out of car seats, plenty of room for the arsenal of diaper bags, snacks, activities, extra blankets, stuffed animals and pacifiers that accompanied us on a long trip to.....the grocery store. Plenty of space in the back for the burgeoning grocery load that came along with my growing family. Plus, the seats folded down for that occasional trip to Home Depot for a large piece of plywood or Toys R Us for that big swingset for the backyard. Handy!
But the true beauty of the minivan is...........the road trip! We started to drive to Idaho a lot to visit family and there was plenty of space for all of our travel needs and then some. As the kids got older, camping trips were included. That van was packed to the gills with camping needs, kids' feet perched on sleeping bags, a cooler separating squabbling siblings. We even added a car-top carrier! Modern-day Beverly Hillbillies.
We still drive that red minivan, although it's on its last legs (wheels?). We upgraded to a brand-spankin' new minivan in 2007. That van has doubled as a bus, a camping vehicle, a hotel, and a truck. On long trips, there's nothing more peaceful than space between siblings and a DVD player. It has something like 843 cup holders and all manner of pockets and compartments in which to lose mittens and french fries. The seats fold down and stow away in the floor of the van. The back has a recessed compartment deep enough to hide a teenager crouching down, waiting to scare the bejeezus out of her unsuspecting siblings when they settle themselves in the back seat. The doors slide open and shut with the touch of a button and there's one on BOTH sides of the van (unlike our older van which has just one, manual sliding door. A neighbor child once stood on the side of the van with no door looking confused and asked how to get in the van. When I explained there was only one sliding door she looked at me disdainfully and said "Oh, you have one of those oldy-timey vans!").
With a minivan, we can cram eight kids, four days' worth of camping gear and three dogs into it's cavernous interior. We can haul six teenagers and two adults to a football game. We can put a movie on, flip a switch and have the kids don wireless headphones while we adults up front indulge in our favorite music or enjoy a conversation in complete peace. If it only came with one of those handy dividers like taxi cabs, we'd be set! The kids could beat each other senseless in the back seat and we'd be none the wiser in our soundproof booth up front.
Our minivan has a handy rack that can hold four bikes, a top that can support two kayaks, and a hitch that can pull our camper over hill and dale to various destinations. It's essentially our second home. I have stashed in the van both food and water, extra makeup, first aid kits, enough reusable grocery bags to last a lifetime, an arsenal of DVDs and CDs, sunscreen, a garbage bag for each row, extra gloves, napkins, an emergency kit, extra dog leashes, coupon books, flashlight, multipurpose tool, extra coats, beach towels and handiwipes. If needed, we could live in the minivan. For six hours. Give or take.
I normally drive the nice, newer minivan, but I occasionally find myself driving the old one. It's the same age as my high school junior. That van holds a lot of memories. Driving my newborns home from the hospital. The time my oldest got mad at me and threw her entire orange soda at me while I was driving (there are still stains on the ceiling). The time I slammed the van in park in the middle of traffic to rush around, yank the sliding door open and kill an ant that was threatening the life of my toddler (or at least it seemed so from the screams). The van that was so stuffed with crap on a trip across the mountains that one of the kids accidentally kicked out a Nintendo DS into a parking lot, never to be seen again. The van that suffered a broken headlight the first month we owned it (likely from someone backing into it in a parking lot) that has NEVER been fixed. That van saved my freezing ass more than once on a camping trip when I was so cold I thought I'd die and retreated to the relative warmth of the van (and it's inadequately long bench seats). I've spilled more coffee in that van than I care to mention. I've hauled so many kids on so many trips - to the beach, park, playground, vacations, school. I once drove that van away while my own daughter was putting her backpack in it, thinking she was already in the car!
The van was purchased when my oldest was just two and it became her first car. I don't even want to know what all went on in that van before she left for college, but I will say I've never seen a dirtier vehicle, nor found so many disgusting things in it (two month old Taco Bell anyone? It's just a little fuzzy). It smelled like a rotting corpse. My daughter consistently ran it out of gas and was involved in a four-car accident last Valentine's day. But the van is still going strong. Scars and all. It has a cracked engine head......so it could "die" at any given moment, but we rather enjoy limping it along until it craps out on the highway one day.
My point is this: if you have three or more children, get a minivan. For your own sanity. So they can bring friends along. So you can drive the carpool. Invest in an entertainment system. So, when you're hauling your offpsring along on a 300 mile road trip, you can enjoy the open road while they are glued to a DVD. It's peaceful. It's fun. It's roomy. Get over yourself. Just get a minivan.
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