Changed?

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I think becoming a mom has changed me. 

And I don't mean just the clothes-are-always-covered-in-spit-up kind of change.
Or the I-only-wear-mascara-on-special-occasions kind of change.
Or not even the 4-hours-of-sleep-now-sounds-like-a-lot kind of change.

You see, late one night while feeding the baby in our old green chair, I started thinking about what it might be like to go skydiving.  I mean really, skydiving?!?  This has never even been an option to me.  I wouldn't say I'm scared of heights, but I am terrified of falling.  I hate falling-type roller coasters (okay so that means all of them).  I hate turbulent flights.  I even kind of hate elevators.  So skydiving?  Skydiving has never even been a thought.

But something got me thinking that maybe it would be really cool.  Life changing maybe?  And I think someone told me once that it doesn't even really feel like you are falling at all?  I got really excited thinking about it, even though not in a million years could I ever talk Kyle into doing it with me.

And then I remembered a story I recently heard about an old woman who waited her whole life to go skydiving and it ended tragically.

Maybe I'm not so changed after all.

Oops

I broke our waffle iron.

I broke it trying to waffle my cheese & pastrami sandwich.

It's okay though, it was totally worth it.

Fail

I have been diagnosed a failure.

A failure of glucose.

Technically it's my pancreas or something that is the failure in this situation, but when I inquired of my test results and the response was "You failed" I took it personally.  I mean how the heck is that supposed to make me feel, anyway?  I started bawling, is what happened.

 

And then I got really angry.

I don't really know why I reacted this way; gestational diabetes is not the end of the world.  It's nothing I could have prevented.  And it's treatable.  I can manage it just fine and after the baby gets here, I can go back to loving on carbs all I want!  I know it will be okay but I was devastated anyway.  (Pregnancy hormones much?)  My initial reaction was feeling like I had done something terrible to my child.  Or that I could have done something to prevent this.  I'm ashamed and frustrated and I don't really want to talk about it.  But here I am, talking about it. 

I think doctors need to rephrase how they give test results because there was something in the phrase "You failed" that triggered a maternal downward spiral of depression and anger. 

Allow me to illustrate my stream of consciousness:

I failed my glucose test. 

I have gestational diabetes. 

I am no longer invincible. 

Anything can go wrong. 

Oh my gosh the baby hasn't moved in 30 minutes. 

Is something wrong?

Did I have too many carbs?

Have I put her at risk?
Am I going into labor?

I've already failed at motherhood!

My child hates me!

I'm a failure!

Failure!

Failure!

{Insert tears}

...

Now I do not share this story for sympathy or to receive a plethora of it-will-be-okay's.  I share this story so I can laugh at my own overdramatization of the situation and also to vent my frustration.  And maybe whine every now and then for the next two months. (What else is new, right?)

So feel free to respond with some "That sucks!" or "I'm a failure too!" 
But I don't want sympathy.
I do not want good cheer.
I do not want "hope for the future." 
I want you to be angry with me. 
I want you to pout with me.

And then hide all the pasta and cookies for the next 10.5 weeks. 

Deal?

{i love you guys}

I Need a Twelve Step Program

The joy of being married is that you suddenly have someone watching you 24 hours a day who can point out the strange and annoying things you do.  Because we are with each other pretty much all the time, Kyle notices things about me that I did not ever notice before.

Case in point: I start a lot of projects simultaneously.

Most of which I have yet to finish.

You guys, I think I'm driving him nuts.  Well, okay I know I'm driving him nuts, because he told me so.  I can tell you this because I've realized that he is right (don't tell him I said so!)

And now I am driving me nuts too. 

Pretty much I need to finish some projects. 

Now.

Of course when he first pointed this out, I denied it profusely and justified every 50% complete project.  (I need more supplies!  I need more time!  I'm a multitasker!  It's just how I roll!)

But now that I've had some time to think about it, I am here to hang my head in public shame and come clean about my problem.

My Unfinished Projects:

1. Baby Quilt: needs to be backed and bound

2. Floor Lamp: I need wayyy more coffee filters and another 3 days of hot gluing.  Also, I may need to paint the lamp base (I'm still somewhat undecided on this factor)

3. The Gallery Wall: I have three frames that still have paint on the glass (I just need to scrape it off) that also need pictures inside. And I must finally correct the slightly off-balance issue.

4. $5 Bookshelf: Still sitting in the garage waiting for a good sanding and a clever paint job.

5. Nursery Dresser: It WAS finished once, but then I decided to mess with the knobs.  Now I need to finish the knobs.

6. The Chair:  Uh... the piping has been pinned on this chair for over a year even though all it needs is a little hot glue.

7. Paper wall flower: Needs paint and a home

8. Birdhouse: The first paint job was all wrong and now it needs a new one

This list does not include all the projects I've not officially started but are hanging in the balance, waiting for a makeover: painting a corner shelf, sewing up throw pillows, slip covers here and there, refinishing bedroom furniture......)

Hi, my name is Kourtney and I have project ADD.

Anyone else suffer from this?

A Desperate Plea

I like to write.

I like to type.

I like to use big words sparingly.

But most of all, I like to use the right word at the right time.

Which, if we're using logic here, means that I do not like to use the wrong word at the wrong time.

In fact, I loathe it.

People in Utah sometimes have a peculiar way of speaking.

That's all fine by me, but please please please for the love of Merriam-Webster do not translate this peculiar way of speaking into writing.

Classic Example:

CORRECT:  "Dresser for sale"

INCORRECT: "Dresser for sell"

Every time I see "sell" used for "sale" I cringe and cry little tears of anger.

When perusing the classifieds (as I do on a near daily basis), I come across this grammatical travesty time and time again.  Is it snobbish of me to not want to buy something from someone who can't properly use "sale" in their ad?

Call me a snob.

But it drives me crazy.

Love & Loathing

image from my brother's bar

I have to do that thing again. 

That thing that I loathe but I do a lot anyway. 

I'm getting on a plane.

I've been sweatin' about it for the last week or so.

To make it *that much* better, there is a storm coming this afternoon.

sigh.

To ease my unreasonable stress, I focus on what lies ahead: four days in Denver working the (wholesale) Denver Gift Show.  It is seriously so much fun.  I love our customers! I love the (wholesale) shopping!

And most of all, I look forward to My Brother's Bar.

Every time I hear someone is going to Denver, I tell them they must go to My Brother's Bar for a Ralphie JCB (translation: buffalo burger with jalapeno cream cheese).  Also, the onion rings.

It's not a fancy place and the only menus are printed on the walls.

It's dark and old-timey and from the exterior, you wouldn't even know what it is because there are no signs!  But that's part of the charm.  When you go to My Brother's Bar you feel like you're one of the cool insiders who knows what's up.  (Or maybe that is just me)

But more than anything, you go for the Ralphie JCB.  I'm drooling just thinking about it.

It's the thought of that deliciously packaged burger that will keep me sane during my 90 minute flight...

Paperclip Dreams

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I remember when I was very little I thought it would be so cool to be a waitress or a secretary.  Lucky for me, I have been both.  I don't know why I thought those jobs would be so fun, but after working as an executive secretary for 3 years now, I think I can see why I am a good fit as a secretary:

1. I love love love office supplies.  I have a weakness for office supply stores and may get a little too excited about a fresh pack of Post-it notes.
2. I love the smell of freshly copied paper.  I think it smells like cucumbers.  And I love that it's so warm right out of the copier.
3. I like to organize and color-code stuff.  Kyle teases me because I have a graph, spreadsheet, or color key for just about everything.
4. I love to type and I hope someday to exceed 120 wpm.  What an aspiration, I know.
5. I can figure out pretty much anything, thanks to my friend Google.  (My coworker once asked me how to Google and was very excited to learn that he could Google his own name.)
6. I never have to work on weekends.

So what if being a secretary isn't so glamorous?  There is a family legend that my sister (when very young) once mentioned she wanted to be a whale when she grew up.  So... I guess it could be worse.

And on this day I tried to be positive

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I recognize that I am equal parts female, emotional, and pregnant and that this can create quite an unpleasant combination.  I imagine it to be something like the vinegar and baking soda volcanoes you might have made for science class: a slow eruption that smells kind of funny.

As a result, I might have been a little cranky the last few days.  Perhaps a little irritable.  Maybe with some excessive sarcasm for good measure.  I mean, it's all well-intentioned, of course, but probably doesn't make for fine companionship. (Sorry, Kyle)

So today I'm dedicating this post to things that are cool.  Things that I love.  Things that rock my world.  You know, the simple pleasure in life.

1.  First and foremost: Marshmallow Mateys.  I think Kyle bought these for himself, but after the ice cream debacle, I don't think there is any food off limits anymore.  What's yours is mine, baby!  At any rate, Marshmallow Mateys totally rocked my morning.

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2.  Maternity skirts.  After recently ripping a non-maternity skirt, I am ever more grateful for the fact that I have three well-fitting knit maternity skirts to rotate through on a weekly basis.  You see, I work in a place where I have to wear a skirt (or dress) and nylons (or tights) every single day.  I pretty much enjoy a bifurcated garment one day a week: Saturday.  Which is good because I only have one pair of pants that even fit me now.  (hello, I need a shopping spree)

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3.  Maternity leggings.  Now that I've put holes in every pair of nylons I own, I pretty much wear maternity leggings and boots every day.  They're basically tights anyway.

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4.  Eggs.  The news just had a special about how eggs are even healthier than they were 10 years ago: less cholesterol and more vitamin D!  This is especially good for a girl like me who eats 1-4 eggs on a daily basis.

5.  Teenagers.  I know, weird right?  I get to hang out with the young women at church a couple of times a week and they always prove to be a bright place in my dimly lit world of sarcastic gloom.  It doesn't matter how cranky I may be or how gross I might look, they always shower me with compliments and giddy wonderfulness!  Ah, to be 13 again...

6.  This guy.  (You know I couldn't make a list like this without putting him on here!)  Kyle never ceases to make me laugh, even when I'd rather be cranky.  He is the coolest, I sure love him, he definitely rocks my world, and while he may not be simple, he is always a pleasure to be around.

I could go on, but everything else I can think of is food related and I already write so much about food it is becoming an embarrassment.  Just think: pickles, mustard, olives, and frozen yogurt.  You get the idea. 

So what makes you happy?

A Confession

Ok I'm just going to come out and say it: I am not a pet person.

Before you go all Sarah Mclachlan on me, I assure you, I have tried.

Exhibit A: Dog

My earliest pet memory was Chester the border collie.  I was about 4 years old when my parents broke the news that Chester had to go live a better, philanthropic life with a blind sheep herder.  Years later I discovered there was, in fact, no blind sheep herder.  Chester went to the humane society.  Although, in my mom's defense, she still claims "Well, he certainly could have been adopted by a blind sheep herder!!" 

(love you, mom)

Exhibit B: Cats

We later adopted brother and sister calico kittens (aptly named Callie and Cocoa).  These were the best pets ever because they never came inside.  They were outdoor cats (is that even allowed anymore?) and we would put food out for them every morning and they'd hang around the house and fight with raccoons.  Sometimes my sisters and I would sneak the cats indoors just to see if we could fit our doll clothes on them.  They loooooved playing dress up!

Exhibit C: Lizard

As a tender-hearted third grader, I volunteered to take home my school science project: the anole lizard.  I did love Kirby, even though he may have lost a tail here or there and fed on crickets that terrorized my room at night.  Eventually he had a tragic death (old age?) and I cried.

Exhibit D: Dog Part II

My parents went to Europe and I was left in the care of my older sisters.  So, what did we do?  Adopt a dog!  Kaci the puppy turned into Kaci the horse-dog and proceeded to destroy everything in our house: Christmas ornaments, furniture, laundry, etc.  One day my mom gave up and returned Kaci to the humane society.  No one noticed for three days.

Exhibit E: Rabbit

My college roommate decided one day that we needed a pet.  So we went pet shopping and decided to come home with a tiny rabbit we named Bella.  The rabbit was small, but not for long.  And you know, "people" say you can house train rabbits but I just don't believe it.  That rabbit pooped on everything!  Turns out our landlord (the roommates dad, of all people) was not pleased with the rabbit in our house so an ex-boyfriend offered to babysit her until I moved out.  I never retrieved the rabbit.  I hear she grew to epic proportions.

So you see, I've not had very much luck with pets.  I can't relate to Kyle's treasured stories of his childhood dog, and I didn't cry at the end of Marley & Me.  And while I desperately love my sister's Yorkie with all my heart and think a Westie would be adorable, I know myself and my weaknesses.  I am just not a good pet person. 

On the plus side, we do have a down comforter that sheds tons of tiny goose feathers that make us feel more like pet owners.  And I'm okay with that.  The comforter doesn't bark, eat obnoxious crickets, or poop all over everything.

My Knight in Cotton Armour

Ok so now that everyone knows I'm pregnant, I can tell you my moments of shame without incurring judgment.  Right?  Because its always the crazy hormones that make you nuts.  Right?  Right.

So the other night we were laying in bed watching The Office (hello, best show ever!) when something Pam Beasley said reminded me that my wonderful darling grandparents (thank you Grandparents!) sent us a Christmas card with a monetary gift card.  You know, like one of those Visa kinds that's everywhere you want to be?  Yeah, well I left the gift card in the Christmas card and left the Christmas card on the Christmas card holder and last week I told Kyle he could dispose of all the Christmas cards.  And the gift card was still inside!!  Because really, like Kyle would know that I had left the gift card in there.  Poor guy.

I instantly burst into tears as Kyle said he would get me another gift card and then I screamed something about how it wasn't the same and cried myself to shame.  While I had a temporary mental breakdown, my nearly-perfect man of a husband actually went outside in his underwear and slippers and dug through the garbage until he found.... the gift card.  Trash day is today and the card (and what's left of my sanity) had been spared, thanks to my knight in cotton armour.

I don't know what I did to deserve such a patient and awesome guy who would suffer bitter cold and kitchen garbage for me... but I tell you what, he's gonna be my baby's daddy and I am really quite pleased about that.

Don't Try This at Home

This is just an example of what can happen when you lose your mind.

For Christmas, a lady at work gave me this litle bundle of spices that you are supposed to boil in water to make your whole house smell wonderful and delicious.  And believe me, it smelled wonderful.  Also, delicious.  I loved it. 

So, while home the other day, I decided to boil it up.

It boiled and boiled and my whole house smelled like pure happiness.

And then it kinda smelled like burning.

And then I looked in the pot to discover that all of the water had boiled out, and the little cheesecloth sack had effectually melted to my very best pot! 

What was I thinking?!?!

Needless to say, the whole house then smelled bad.

But I am pleased to report that after an hour of scrubbing, I finally got all the melted fibers off the bottom of my pan.

This rivals, but maybe does not surpass, that one time that I put the plastic milk cap on a still-hot burner while making macaroni and cheese....  Or that other time that I left a dozen eggs on the stove and turned on the wrong burner....  Or the other time that I put a glass baking dish on the stove and turned on the wrong burner...(twice)

Probably I should not be allowed to operate the stove.

Plastics melt, egg cartons catch on fire, and glass baking dishes burst into tiny little pieces.

Probably I Didn't Get The Memo

I got on the bus this morning, traveled 45 minutes to work, walked a block in below freezing temperatures, and then realized the offices were closed.  All of them!  I had no work!  I had a holiday and I didn't know it!!  How sad is that??  To make it even more sad, I had no bus to get on to get back home.  So I called my Kyle, took the train as far as it would go, and he picked me up and took me back to my bus stop to get my car.

Basically I spent 2 hours on public transportation this morning.  For nothing.

But I did laugh.

So with my new day off I played handyman.  I possibly fixed the paint sprayer, attempted to fix the garage door opener (hello, home warranty!), painted a darling old table, rearranged furniture and removed a ceiling fan.  And then made another batch of fresh squeezed orange juice because, hello! Have you ever tried it?  I'm addicted.  It's frothy and sweet and nothing like store bought orange juice (I may never go back).

So cheers to paid holidays! And frothy orange juice!

Of Windows & Dreams

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One of my favorite things to do at night is look into people's windows as we're driving by their houses. I like to see how they've decorated, the color of their walls, what they're watching on TV, or in the case of our neighbor, gawk at their oversize black-lit aquarium that takes up the entire front room. (It casts a purple glow all over their front porch and lawn)

You can learn so much by peering into someones windows, but don't you think?

And this is probably the reason why I make sure all our windows are securely covered the moment the sun goes down.  You know, there are weirdos like me out there that like to look inside.

On a completely unrelated note, I had the most glorious of dreams last night. I slept better than I have in weeks! I woke up refreshed and happy! Can you even guess what dream brought such peace and rightness to my early morning?

Well, I shall tell you.

I dreamed all night long that I was wandering the aisles of a giant warehouse/thrift store that had the most wonderful old things I ever could imagine! I even had one of those giant roller pallets that they have at Costco and it was loaded with cool old lamps and dressers and a tiny porcelain tea set from Venice. I even came across the best collection of milk glass salt and pepper shakers and was trying hard to decide which set to buy.  The very best part about it all was that there was no one else shopping but me and my dad. *sigh* If only it hadn't been a dream...  those table lamps would be perfect in my family room.

Ungraceful Mess

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The fact that I could hardly get my car out of the driveway should have been a sign that today might have been a very good day to wear boots. Instead, I picked a pair of heels and trudged to my bus stop of glory only to get out and "run" for the bus in thigh-deep snow drifts. At that point I also realized that today would have been a good day to wear tights or leggings instead of the obligatory nylons. Let me tell you, I was an ungraceful mess this morning and my feet are still wet.

Here's hoping the sun comes out long enough to melt my car from it's snow cave so I can actually get home later today.

But isn't commuting so great?

With Reckless Ambition!

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Something terribly strange happened today. I got the craziest whim to cut my bangs. So do you know what I did? I snatched up some scissors and chopped them off with reckless ambition! Just like that! Snip snip and hello Heidi Klum! Okay, so maybe not so much. But at any rate she was my inspiration and so far, I am not regretting it!  Long live split [end] decisions! Let's hear it for not thinking before you act! Bring on the scissors!

I better stop while I'm ahead or I may just chop off my layers while I'm at it.  There's something funny going on here...

Keep Your Pants On

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I have spent the better part of forever looking for my two favorite pairs of dark denim jeans.  This was especially baffling unto me because really, how do you lose a pair of pants?!?  It's not like I go around taking my clothes off in random places or something.  (Really, I don't).  And it's not like a pair of sunglasses that can easily be dropped into a public toilet or left in someone's car.  These are pants, people!  Pants!  How on earth did I lose my pants?

Giving up all hope of ever finding them, I was consigned to live solely on my second favorite, but not so dark and classy jeans.  And then I did something unimaginable: I cleaned my sewing room.

My sewing room is something of a Bermuda triangle.  That which goes in, may never come out.

But it was there that I found my pants, both pairs, rolled up together and perched on top of a shelf.  Whyever did I put them there in the first place?  Why were they together?  What was I thinking?

A similar experience happened also with the glass cleaner.  Only I told Kyle we must have used it all and he spent months looking for it before breaking down and buying another bottle.  But then I found the glass cleaner, tucked neatly away in one of the shelves in my sewing room.

Clearly I'm not using my sewing room enough.  Or, alternatively, I do not keep my sewing room tidy enough. 

...

So this leads me to wonder, are my glasses buried somewhere deep in the depths of fabric remnants and spools of thread?  Because I haven't seen them in months.

Happy Birthday to Me. And Them.

I am officially twenty six years old.  Twenty six seems so.... anticlimatic.  Twenty five was a nice round number: a quarter of a century.  I really liked twenty five. 

But now I'm only two years away from my "golden birthday" and I suppose something magical should happen on that day and therefore, I look forward to being twenty eight. 

However, the mark of my birthday means that I am exactly:

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Three years older than Hilary Duff

Fifty years younger than Bridget Bardot

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Sixteen years younger than Naomi Watts

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Sixteen years older than Frankie Jonas

So happy birthday to my celebrity birthday sharers!  Hopefully you also got to have a delicious ice cream cake.  And, if you were really lucky, maybe you also got to go to the circus.

The Unfriendly Thoroughfare

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The road has not been very kind to me these days.  Last week I got chased down and spit on by a man on a motorcycle who proceeded to shout obscenities at me for miles.  But isn't it one of the most offensive things to be spit on?  I do think so. 

Then yesterday a man in a Jeep and army fatigues flipped me off and shouted unmentionables out his window after he cut me off and nearly knocked me off the freeway. 

And then I got stuck in the world's worst traffic jam late at night, just an exit away from home.  Apparently some bimbo was driving the wrong way on the freeway and hit a police car.  I thought for sure the jam was construction related which caused feelings of hatred for the Utah Department of Transportation, but those hateful feelings were quickly ameliorated once I saw the fifteen police cars and the two smashed up sedans.  How can you hate someone who has been in an accident?  Even if she is a bimbo. 

Even riding the bus hasn't been working out so great these days.  You see, someone has decided to cancel my bus stop and now the buses are all irregular and moody and by the time my bus finally arrives, there are 75 angry businessmen and myself standing on a street corner cursing silently (and some not so silently) the Utah Transit Authority.  But at least on the bus I can sleep.  And I'm safe from the motorcycle meanies, bimbos, etcetera.

I sense that God is testing my patience and love for idiotic strangers and moody bus schedules.  I would fear my test scores should not be very high except, except not once I did retaliate with shouting words of hate.  I did not strike back with saliva.  Neither did I concede to use my own token finger in a moment of weakness.  So actually, I think I did pretty good.  But if the road could please behave for awhile, I would really appreciate it. 

I'm starting to hate driving.

"His Capa Was Detated!"

Kyle reminds me on a near-daily basis that I've been demoted to a 3 out of 10 driver because I got two speeding tickets in 9 months.

Whatever.

So I opted to "attend" online traffic school where I log in my 3 hours by reading attempting-to-be-entertaining traffic material and answer a follow-up quiz question.  When I'm done, the ticket will be off my record. 

Never been to online traffic school?  Well, allow me to share with you one of my favorite lessons:

"Rear-ending a large vehicle...can be a fatal mistake...When the vehicle passes under the trailer, the upper torso of the driver and passengers hit the bumper at close to full speed while the rest of their bodies travel with the vehicle under the trailer.  The result: decapitation.  This isn't the Middle Ages, so avoid a gruesome death and allow plenty of space between you and the semi-truck in front of you."

Who said traffic school couldn't be fun?

 "Wham! His capa is detated from his head!"

~the great Michael Scott

(please tell me you also love The Office)

(and that I'm not the only one who's had to suffer through traffic school)

(more than once)

For Forever

photo by me

I don't know.  Is it the hormones talking?  But I'm just a little crafted out.  I think I have overdosed on creativity.  Maybe it's the five hundred crafty design blogs I subscribe to that have short-circuited the artsy parts of my brain.  Or maybe it's the fact that I've been simultaneously working on one too many projects this week.  Whatever it is, all I want to do is take a nap.  In the sunshine.  On my lawn. 

For the rest of my life.