Island Life, subsection: Road Rants. It took less than a month of owning this car for me to put some nice dents and scratches on it. (Parking garage, thankfully, not another car!) It's not that I'm unaccustomed to driving on this side of the road, it's just that I'm not used to roads and corners that are so freaking narrow. Seriously, I've been up and down streets that could barely fit my car on them, and I'm told they're two-way streets. Lance Armstrong couldn't get through there, and you're telling me there could be someone coming at me around the corner? Sheesh.
Oh, and I got my first parking ticket yesterday, while dropping Gigi off at nursery. Argh. There's 50 bucks I can't spend on groceries or bug spray.
Monday, October 09, 2006
The Vampire Chronicles, update: Gigi hasn't been bitten at school so far this month. Grandparents, you may relax. For now.
btw, when it comes to teeth of her own, Gigi has about four left to sprout. They're causing her considerable grumpiness, but at least she can say, "teeth ouchy" now, instead of leaving us to guess what's wrong.
btw, when it comes to teeth of her own, Gigi has about four left to sprout. They're causing her considerable grumpiness, but at least she can say, "teeth ouchy" now, instead of leaving us to guess what's wrong.
Five years ago, I was in Hawaii. You see, Friday was Our Anniversary. Five years later, we have one adorable kid, another on the way, a house in suburbia with a monster mortgage, and after two freezing winters in Baltic Europe we get to spend the next three years living on an island which has never seen temperatures recorded below 44 degrees. So life is pretty good.
But you see, celebrating our nuptials seems to be fraught with hazards for us. Five years ago, I was in Hawaii - three days after the wedding. Why three days? Because the airlines wouldn't board us the morning after. The tickets were in my married name, and I hadn't brought the marriage certificate with us because hey, that's an important piece of paper, wouldn't want to lose that - so we gave it to our best man for safekeeping. It was less than a month after a particularly horrific episode that made the airlines very skittish about boarding *anyone*, so of course the bleary-eyed couple with new jewelry, tickets to Hawaii in the names of Mr and Mrs, and just shy of having rice falling out of our hair? We were clearly not bona fide honeymooners, we must have been up to no good, we must have wanted to hijack the plane to Cuba or something.
Today's adventure in Attempting to Celebrate Our Wedded Bliss was on a more modest scale. We both took the day off from work to catch a matinee movie while Gigi was at day care. We haven't been to the movies in three months, at least. No Clerks 2, no Wicker Man, no Snakes on a Plane, none of that for us, nosiree. But this weekend, The Departed came to our island. And it was our anniversary. So we had lunch at a little cafe in town, went to the even littler theatre, and settled into our seats for a few hours of escapism. The reviews had been good, I'm okay with giving my money to Martin Scorcese, and let's see how well Matt Damon's Southie accent has held up since Good Will Hunting.
Our story starts out well enough. Despite the size of the theatre and screen leaving you with the expectation that you're going to hear "Ladies and gentlemen,this is your captain speaking, today's cruising altitude should be..." it was a decent place. And the lady at the concession stand gave me free candy when she saw the size of my belly. And Jack Nicholson's character is as loathsome as he oughta be, and Leo D reminds us all that he really can act (forget the sinky boat thing, go see Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet. You're welcome.) And wow, it's a cool story and Martin Scorcese really is a brilliant director, and we're just at the denouement when blurWHIRRblurrrrr Hey, what's wrong with the picture? BLURRRRRwhirrrBlurwhirrrWhapWhapWhapWhap
I kid you not. Ten minutes shy of the end of the best movie I've seen so far this year, and the projector eats it. And they can't fix it in time for us to catch the end before picking up Gigi.
This being an island of under 100,000 full-time residents, we don't get too many movies in the theatre with a shelf life of over one week. Which means The Departed will likely live up to its name as of Thursday. So Hubby and I have three days left to either persuade the manager to hold this movie over so we can use our consolation freebie coupons without missing two workdays, or we wait several months until video.
One advantage Baltic Europe had over this place: instantaneous bootleg DVDs.
Happy Anniversary to us.
But you see, celebrating our nuptials seems to be fraught with hazards for us. Five years ago, I was in Hawaii - three days after the wedding. Why three days? Because the airlines wouldn't board us the morning after. The tickets were in my married name, and I hadn't brought the marriage certificate with us because hey, that's an important piece of paper, wouldn't want to lose that - so we gave it to our best man for safekeeping. It was less than a month after a particularly horrific episode that made the airlines very skittish about boarding *anyone*, so of course the bleary-eyed couple with new jewelry, tickets to Hawaii in the names of Mr and Mrs, and just shy of having rice falling out of our hair? We were clearly not bona fide honeymooners, we must have been up to no good, we must have wanted to hijack the plane to Cuba or something.
Today's adventure in Attempting to Celebrate Our Wedded Bliss was on a more modest scale. We both took the day off from work to catch a matinee movie while Gigi was at day care. We haven't been to the movies in three months, at least. No Clerks 2, no Wicker Man, no Snakes on a Plane, none of that for us, nosiree. But this weekend, The Departed came to our island. And it was our anniversary. So we had lunch at a little cafe in town, went to the even littler theatre, and settled into our seats for a few hours of escapism. The reviews had been good, I'm okay with giving my money to Martin Scorcese, and let's see how well Matt Damon's Southie accent has held up since Good Will Hunting.
Our story starts out well enough. Despite the size of the theatre and screen leaving you with the expectation that you're going to hear "Ladies and gentlemen,this is your captain speaking, today's cruising altitude should be..." it was a decent place. And the lady at the concession stand gave me free candy when she saw the size of my belly. And Jack Nicholson's character is as loathsome as he oughta be, and Leo D reminds us all that he really can act (forget the sinky boat thing, go see Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet. You're welcome.) And wow, it's a cool story and Martin Scorcese really is a brilliant director, and we're just at the denouement when blurWHIRRblurrrrr Hey, what's wrong with the picture? BLURRRRRwhirrrBlurwhirrrWhapWhapWhapWhap
I kid you not. Ten minutes shy of the end of the best movie I've seen so far this year, and the projector eats it. And they can't fix it in time for us to catch the end before picking up Gigi.
This being an island of under 100,000 full-time residents, we don't get too many movies in the theatre with a shelf life of over one week. Which means The Departed will likely live up to its name as of Thursday. So Hubby and I have three days left to either persuade the manager to hold this movie over so we can use our consolation freebie coupons without missing two workdays, or we wait several months until video.
One advantage Baltic Europe had over this place: instantaneous bootleg DVDs.
Happy Anniversary to us.
First, my apologies to all non-grandparent readers: It's time for another gratuitous installment of Cute Things Gigi Does. Believe it or not, this kid is going to be two years old in another couple of weeks. For the most part, she is still the sweet, good-natured, turbo-cute little darling we all know her to be (or, as I put it, "the kind of kid who tricks you into having more.") But the twos are sneaking in there. In between minor outbursts, though, she sings Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, the alphabet song, and crawls on Daddy's lap to demand his reenactment of the Wheels on the Bus Going Round and Round. When we drive past my workplace to take her to school, she recognizes the building and shouts, "Mommy Office!!!" She can say "please" and "thank you" with minimal prompting, and shouts, "Go [Mommy's baseball team]!" any time she sees someone on TV wearing a number and breaking a sweat.
I could go on and on, but I don't know how many of you keep insulin shots handy.
I could go on and on, but I don't know how many of you keep insulin shots handy.
Doctor Updates: New ultrasound exam last week shows that we are 95% certainly expecting a bouncing baby boy. Daddy says don't go crazy with the blue shopping, we'll only know for certain on B-day. (This is life with a Red Sox fan, people.) The exam also estimated Baby's weight at 5 lbs 7 oz - just one ounce shy of what Gigi was when she was born (two weeks late...it's in the archives...) Based on the calendar, I'm supposed to be at 33 weeks, but based on the measurements done during the ultrasound, the tech calculated 35 weeks. Huh?
You see, I'm counting on this kid to be reasonably close to the November 20 due date. I'm stopping work as of the 10th; my mom arrives on the 13th; kiddo can show up anytime after that, I figure. Well, the sonogram tech said, "November 9." NOT FUNNY. Of course, if Big Sis was two weeks late...
Ah, forget it. We all know that the concept of due date is severely fungible. As long as my water doesn't break at the office, I'll be cool.
I see the doc again this Thursday. We'll probably talk about my weight, and I will complain about the sciatica that has developed in the past week. There's nothing like shooting pains in your hip when you're already moving like Jabba the Hutt. Ugh!
You see, I'm counting on this kid to be reasonably close to the November 20 due date. I'm stopping work as of the 10th; my mom arrives on the 13th; kiddo can show up anytime after that, I figure. Well, the sonogram tech said, "November 9." NOT FUNNY. Of course, if Big Sis was two weeks late...
Ah, forget it. We all know that the concept of due date is severely fungible. As long as my water doesn't break at the office, I'll be cool.
I see the doc again this Thursday. We'll probably talk about my weight, and I will complain about the sciatica that has developed in the past week. There's nothing like shooting pains in your hip when you're already moving like Jabba the Hutt. Ugh!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
In today's edition of Really Great News: Gigi is going to have another cousin! My other brother Darrell and his wife, parents of The Nephew on My Side of the Family, announced to us yesterday that they are gearing up for their second. Part of me wants to cry Copycats, and the rest of me is saying the more the merrier, bring 'em on.
Okay, there is a very minor insignificant downside to this: one more birthday to keep track of. I admittedly stink at tracking birthdays. It's on my list of Things To Do When I Have Control of My Life: make one of those perpetual birthday calendars so I don't neglect friends and family on major events. I actually did make one at one point, but then lost it in the move to Europe four years ago. I keep hoping it will turn up so I don't have to start over from scratch, but...
Yeah, I know: LAME.
But I'm going to be an auntie again! Whoo hoo!!!
Okay, there is a very minor insignificant downside to this: one more birthday to keep track of. I admittedly stink at tracking birthdays. It's on my list of Things To Do When I Have Control of My Life: make one of those perpetual birthday calendars so I don't neglect friends and family on major events. I actually did make one at one point, but then lost it in the move to Europe four years ago. I keep hoping it will turn up so I don't have to start over from scratch, but...
Yeah, I know: LAME.
But I'm going to be an auntie again! Whoo hoo!!!
Network issues. I actually composed that last post sometime last week, but for some reason Precious didn't feel like talking to the rest of the house. It's all better now, and we even have more computers set up (YAY STUFF!!!) so I'm never at a loss for blogging access and space. Time, oh boy, that's another story.
Status Report: My blood test results were quite satisfactory. The Glucose Tolerance was normal, so I don't have to go through the 12" extended dance mix version, hallelujah. My thyroid, a perpetual issue, is within normal ranges.
Okay, so I'm anemic. That didn't really come as a shock to me, considering that I've been walking around like death microwaved for several weeks now. So the doctor recommended some nice cheap iron supplements that seem to be bringing me back to life. But let's face it, I'm two months away from Due Date, I'm working full-time outside the home, wrangling a nearly-two-year-old, and unpacking from an international move. I'm entitled to be just a bit groggy.
But at least my boss is a good family person who doesn't think that 12 hour days are the norm. Longtime PS readers will recall that my last contract involved a supervisor who had no life outside of work and did not comprehend those who did. (Many of those posts were removed from the archive on advice of counsel, who still wants me to shut this thing down. Sorry, Dad, ain't gonna happen.) Anyway, as I was saying, this boss doesn't expect people to prove their worth by the amount of time spent at their desks. Praise Buddha, I think I might actually get along with this team.
Okay, so I'm anemic. That didn't really come as a shock to me, considering that I've been walking around like death microwaved for several weeks now. So the doctor recommended some nice cheap iron supplements that seem to be bringing me back to life. But let's face it, I'm two months away from Due Date, I'm working full-time outside the home, wrangling a nearly-two-year-old, and unpacking from an international move. I'm entitled to be just a bit groggy.
But at least my boss is a good family person who doesn't think that 12 hour days are the norm. Longtime PS readers will recall that my last contract involved a supervisor who had no life outside of work and did not comprehend those who did. (Many of those posts were removed from the archive on advice of counsel, who still wants me to shut this thing down. Sorry, Dad, ain't gonna happen.) Anyway, as I was saying, this boss doesn't expect people to prove their worth by the amount of time spent at their desks. Praise Buddha, I think I might actually get along with this team.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Some people are seeing good news in this headline. I see it as one more way that women get screwed by getting on the Mommy Track: nine months - or longer, if you're nursing - of compulsory teetotalling.
Mind you, I got this link from a friend who I spent a week in France with during Month Five of Waiting for Gigi. And if you think I spent all that time in Paris, having three-hour, thousand-dollar lunches for four without wine, you're nuts. And Gigi is just fine, thank you very much. The only reason I'm drinking less during this pregnancy is that hubby is on a very successful low-carb diet, and ice cream is more socially acceptable for me than wine or margaritas.
Mind you, I got this link from a friend who I spent a week in France with during Month Five of Waiting for Gigi. And if you think I spent all that time in Paris, having three-hour, thousand-dollar lunches for four without wine, you're nuts. And Gigi is just fine, thank you very much. The only reason I'm drinking less during this pregnancy is that hubby is on a very successful low-carb diet, and ice cream is more socially acceptable for me than wine or margaritas.
Oh, the humanity! The first major casualty of unpacking has occured. The moving company guy said, "I picked it up and the pot just slid right out." Um, maybe you should have picked up the carafe separately from the coffeemaker, guy. Thanks to my own klutziness at home several months ago, when I whacked the little coffeemaker's carafe into the fridge, I now have a grand total of two drip coffeemakers with no pots.
Well, at least the frothing pitcher for the cappucino maker is stainless steel. Whimper.
Well, at least the frothing pitcher for the cappucino maker is stainless steel. Whimper.
Working Mom Conundrum du Jour: What do you do when another kid bites your kid at daycare?
Lucky us, the little creep didn't break skin, but Gigi had to spend some time with ice on her hand, and when I came to pick her up there were still tooth marks visible. The ladies at daycare handled it pretty well, I think: they told me up front what had happened, how they treated Gigi, and what consequences the offender faced for the rest of the day. I felt somewhat reassured. But am I being too calm about this?
After all, at the place Gigi went when we were still on the mainland, they had a "three strikes and you're out" policy for biters. Here, they tell me, they spoke to the parents about it, and Mommy and Daddy Dracula say that yes, he has a problem at home too and they're working on it. Very well, but can he play on the other side of the room from Gigi until you get some results?
Okay, I know: toddlers can play rough. Some of them bite. Even Gigi has attempted to take a chomp out of me and Daddy on occasion when the teething is getting to her. It's a phase, kids go through it and get on with life.
So am I being a cool, reasonable person; or, am I risking a ticket from the Bad Mommy Police because I didn't rise up righteous and take out a restraining order on Gigi's classmate?
In the immortal words of N.W.A.: [very very bad word] Tha Police. I'm sticking with cool and reasonable. Until Gigi shows up with another set of Baby Marv Albert's impressions.
Lucky us, the little creep didn't break skin, but Gigi had to spend some time with ice on her hand, and when I came to pick her up there were still tooth marks visible. The ladies at daycare handled it pretty well, I think: they told me up front what had happened, how they treated Gigi, and what consequences the offender faced for the rest of the day. I felt somewhat reassured. But am I being too calm about this?
After all, at the place Gigi went when we were still on the mainland, they had a "three strikes and you're out" policy for biters. Here, they tell me, they spoke to the parents about it, and Mommy and Daddy Dracula say that yes, he has a problem at home too and they're working on it. Very well, but can he play on the other side of the room from Gigi until you get some results?
Okay, I know: toddlers can play rough. Some of them bite. Even Gigi has attempted to take a chomp out of me and Daddy on occasion when the teething is getting to her. It's a phase, kids go through it and get on with life.
So am I being a cool, reasonable person; or, am I risking a ticket from the Bad Mommy Police because I didn't rise up righteous and take out a restraining order on Gigi's classmate?
In the immortal words of N.W.A.: [very very bad word] Tha Police. I'm sticking with cool and reasonable. Until Gigi shows up with another set of Baby Marv Albert's impressions.
STUUUUUFFFFFF!!!!
Oh frabjous day, callou, callay, I chortle in my joy.
Our stuff has been delivered (which is, in part, why I have been off-line for a week). That's the good news. The bad news is that NOW we look like we got hit by a hurricane. Boxes, boxes, everywhere. The movers unpacked a lot, which is nice, but we seem to be running out of places to put things. Or I seem to run out of energy after unloading two boxes. I occasionally stop to catch my breath, and ask myself, "How the heck did I pull this off last time I moved house in my third trimester?" The answer comes back, a resounding "MOM." Oh yeah. And since today is her birthday, this post is a shout-out to her.
My husband, who shares a birthday with my mom (proof positive that astrology is a heap of crap!), suggested that we stop unpacking so that Mom would have something to do when she comes to visit. It wouldn't be a bad idea, except that Mom isn't coming here until November. The only thing worse than living without your stuff is living up to your keister in boxes of your stuff. No way.
Oh frabjous day, callou, callay, I chortle in my joy.
Our stuff has been delivered (which is, in part, why I have been off-line for a week). That's the good news. The bad news is that NOW we look like we got hit by a hurricane. Boxes, boxes, everywhere. The movers unpacked a lot, which is nice, but we seem to be running out of places to put things. Or I seem to run out of energy after unloading two boxes. I occasionally stop to catch my breath, and ask myself, "How the heck did I pull this off last time I moved house in my third trimester?" The answer comes back, a resounding "MOM." Oh yeah. And since today is her birthday, this post is a shout-out to her.
My husband, who shares a birthday with my mom (proof positive that astrology is a heap of crap!), suggested that we stop unpacking so that Mom would have something to do when she comes to visit. It wouldn't be a bad idea, except that Mom isn't coming here until November. The only thing worse than living without your stuff is living up to your keister in boxes of your stuff. No way.
Friday, September 08, 2006
So that stuff of ours that was supposed to arrive last Sunday? The good news is that it arrived. The bad news is that it hasn't been delivered yet. The trucking company is booked up till Wednesday, assuming that their operations aren't hampered by some seriously yucky weather heading our way in the next few days. So we may be facing a threat of cabin fever, unless we can score a deck of cards in the next 24 hours.
Again: I know, I have a limited right to complain, considering that I live on a very nice island in a very safe house (albeit inundated with ants). But I am facing the prospect of a weekend indoors with a teething toddler, brown- and blackouts, and mucho canned goods. Oh, and a rabid football fan who may not be able to watch his games on opening weekend.
I wonder if it's too late to evacuate.
Again: I know, I have a limited right to complain, considering that I live on a very nice island in a very safe house (albeit inundated with ants). But I am facing the prospect of a weekend indoors with a teething toddler, brown- and blackouts, and mucho canned goods. Oh, and a rabid football fan who may not be able to watch his games on opening weekend.
I wonder if it's too late to evacuate.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
If Samuel L. Jackson lived here, his neighbors would know him instantly, because they'd constantly hear, "Enough is ENOUGH! I have had it with these [very bad word] ANTS in this [very bad word] house!!!"
As it is, even Stevie Wonder wouldn't mistake me for Sam Jackson, but a similar outburst regarding the local wildlife is constantly on the tip of my tongue. The only thing that holds me back is the presence of a toddler who is an increasingly precocious mimic.
The tree frogs aren't so bad; they're really only out after sundown. They are heard more than seen, which means that sleeping with the windows open isn't really an option.
But the ants, oh the [very bad word] ants.
Islanders will tell you that it's actually not a hygiene issue: they come in whether your home is immaculate or slovenly. No, oddly enough, it's all about water: when it's too dry, they come inside looking for it; when it's too wet, they come in to get away from it. Today, in the middle of a three-day weekend, we're having nice steady showers all day. So the half of my paycheck that isn't going to day care is going towards bug spray.
It's not that they're big nasty destructive beasts. It's just that they are omnipresent. And persistent. I'm going to go all Mad-Eye Moody and start bellowing about "Constant Vigilance!!!" storming around the house with a can of bug spray and towels, shooing my daughter away from spots I've just treated and looking for the next vulnerability.
I realize that people in big sweaty cities with roaches the size of circus ponies are not going to feel sorry for me. And in the grand scheme of things, I am a ridiculously fortunate person. But even the most hardcore Buddhist monk would, after a week in this place, start roaming the house with a can of Raid swearing that if it's got more than four legs and ain't paying rent, it's [very bad word] toast.
As it is, even Stevie Wonder wouldn't mistake me for Sam Jackson, but a similar outburst regarding the local wildlife is constantly on the tip of my tongue. The only thing that holds me back is the presence of a toddler who is an increasingly precocious mimic.
The tree frogs aren't so bad; they're really only out after sundown. They are heard more than seen, which means that sleeping with the windows open isn't really an option.
But the ants, oh the [very bad word] ants.
Islanders will tell you that it's actually not a hygiene issue: they come in whether your home is immaculate or slovenly. No, oddly enough, it's all about water: when it's too dry, they come inside looking for it; when it's too wet, they come in to get away from it. Today, in the middle of a three-day weekend, we're having nice steady showers all day. So the half of my paycheck that isn't going to day care is going towards bug spray.
It's not that they're big nasty destructive beasts. It's just that they are omnipresent. And persistent. I'm going to go all Mad-Eye Moody and start bellowing about "Constant Vigilance!!!" storming around the house with a can of bug spray and towels, shooing my daughter away from spots I've just treated and looking for the next vulnerability.
I realize that people in big sweaty cities with roaches the size of circus ponies are not going to feel sorry for me. And in the grand scheme of things, I am a ridiculously fortunate person. But even the most hardcore Buddhist monk would, after a week in this place, start roaming the house with a can of Raid swearing that if it's got more than four legs and ain't paying rent, it's [very bad word] toast.
In theory, our stuff arrives today. That is, the boat that is supposedly carrying our household effects from the mainland is supposed to arrive today. (In keeping with the Ineffable One's well-documented sense of humor, once again we get a shipment in the middle of a holiday weekend...) So on Tuesday we'll find out whether our stuff is truly here, and if so, when will it actually be delivered to our home.
The last time I went through this (i.e., having to deal with unpacking a household of stuff while in my last trimester) two years ago, I was fortunate in two things: one, I was on leave, so I wasn't expected to function at the office after a marathon session of Finding Places For Stuff; two, I wasn't wrangling a toddler at the same time.
So if you check back here in another week and I haven't updated, please don't assume I've fallen off the planet; chances are I'll just be in another one of my periodic comas.
The last time I went through this (i.e., having to deal with unpacking a household of stuff while in my last trimester) two years ago, I was fortunate in two things: one, I was on leave, so I wasn't expected to function at the office after a marathon session of Finding Places For Stuff; two, I wasn't wrangling a toddler at the same time.
So if you check back here in another week and I haven't updated, please don't assume I've fallen off the planet; chances are I'll just be in another one of my periodic comas.
Friday, September 01, 2006
A few notes on Island Life, for those of you who may be wondering what else I do with my time besides going to the office, teaching my daughter not to eat puzzle pieces, and whining about when the rest of our stuff is going to get here...
Everything here is ridiculously expensive. The company gives us a cost-of-living adjustment to my paycheck, but let's put this in perspective: pretty much everything has to be imported. Hence, a bag of potato chips: over six bucks (U.S.) You would think seafood wouldn't be too much - not the lobsters from New England, but the local stuff, right? Wrong. Think about it: you want to run a fishing boat, you need fuel. Double your overhead costs right there.
My scariest encounter yet was at the grocery store, where I did a double-take at a prominently advertised "SPECIAL!" At first glance, I thought the sign said 2/$5.99. Hmmm, pretty good price, eh? I looked closer, and there was a carton of ice cream, some foofy European brand, two liters, for...$25.99.
Are you people kidding me? 26 bucks for a carton of ice cream?!?!?
I mean, speaking as a pregnant woman who, if she has a boy, would be well suited to name her kid Ben or Jerry, even I have limits on what I'm willing to spend on ice cream.
At that price, I wouldn't know whether to eat it or put it in my friggin' gas tank.
Everything here is ridiculously expensive. The company gives us a cost-of-living adjustment to my paycheck, but let's put this in perspective: pretty much everything has to be imported. Hence, a bag of potato chips: over six bucks (U.S.) You would think seafood wouldn't be too much - not the lobsters from New England, but the local stuff, right? Wrong. Think about it: you want to run a fishing boat, you need fuel. Double your overhead costs right there.
My scariest encounter yet was at the grocery store, where I did a double-take at a prominently advertised "SPECIAL!" At first glance, I thought the sign said 2/$5.99. Hmmm, pretty good price, eh? I looked closer, and there was a carton of ice cream, some foofy European brand, two liters, for...$25.99.
Are you people kidding me? 26 bucks for a carton of ice cream?!?!?
I mean, speaking as a pregnant woman who, if she has a boy, would be well suited to name her kid Ben or Jerry, even I have limits on what I'm willing to spend on ice cream.
At that price, I wouldn't know whether to eat it or put it in my friggin' gas tank.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Two bits of goodness today: first, the dreaded Glucose Tolerance Test is over, and wasn't nearly so bad as my previous run-in; second, we got our car!!!!!!
My first GTT, back in the Baltics, was a miserable, several-hour ordeal which involved me puking up a bunch of the stuff I'd been attempting to choke down. Seriously, when I gagged on the liquid form, they just gave me the bag of powder to eat. It felt like half a kilo. I looked like Al Pacino's stunt double from Scarface.
This time around, they gave me what looked like a small pop bottle, said I had five minutes to drink it, and they'd draw my blood in an hour. So I glugged down this stuff, which had the look and feel of slightly flat complimentary airline orange soda, and waited. I know, sounds kind of harmless, but imagine chugging a 12-oz bottle of Jolt cola on an empty stomach, and then not being allowed to eat or drink anything else but water for the next 60 minutes.
So I was a bit nauseated, and bored, and slightly light-headed, but on the whole I prefer the Island version of this test.
The car! The car! We got our car today. It's a Mazda 3 hatchback and it's a shade of blue that doesn't quite match what we expected. But it runs, it has carseat latches (which many models sold here don't have, oddly enough), the A/C works, and it's ours. Yippee! No more driving the company car (and being paranoid about denting or scratching or failing to fully account for every meter driven). This weekend, we'll probably take it to the beach.
My first GTT, back in the Baltics, was a miserable, several-hour ordeal which involved me puking up a bunch of the stuff I'd been attempting to choke down. Seriously, when I gagged on the liquid form, they just gave me the bag of powder to eat. It felt like half a kilo. I looked like Al Pacino's stunt double from Scarface.
This time around, they gave me what looked like a small pop bottle, said I had five minutes to drink it, and they'd draw my blood in an hour. So I glugged down this stuff, which had the look and feel of slightly flat complimentary airline orange soda, and waited. I know, sounds kind of harmless, but imagine chugging a 12-oz bottle of Jolt cola on an empty stomach, and then not being allowed to eat or drink anything else but water for the next 60 minutes.
So I was a bit nauseated, and bored, and slightly light-headed, but on the whole I prefer the Island version of this test.
The car! The car! We got our car today. It's a Mazda 3 hatchback and it's a shade of blue that doesn't quite match what we expected. But it runs, it has carseat latches (which many models sold here don't have, oddly enough), the A/C works, and it's ours. Yippee! No more driving the company car (and being paranoid about denting or scratching or failing to fully account for every meter driven). This weekend, we'll probably take it to the beach.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Today was my first visit to my new island OB/GYN. Baby's heartbeat is steady in the 140s, my weight is fine, and overall things look pretty good at 27 weeks. Deep sigh of relief.
The bad news is that next week I have to have a Glucose Tolerance Test. Longtime PS readers will recall (and the rest of you can look in up in the 2004 archives) that my first experience with one of these things, back in the Baltics, was less than pleasant. It was several hours long, involved attempting to ingest what felt like a kilo of pure glucose powder, and felt much like a sleep deprivation experiment conducted by refugees from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
My new OB, bless her heart, took it very well when I groaned about the prospect of another GTT. She also described the regimen I would face here: drink 50 g of glucose solution, then have a quick blood test after one hour. That's it. The contrast is tremendous: like the difference between visiting your pre-Renaissance barber and seeing Marcus Welby, MD. So I'm still not thrilled about having this test, but at least I'm dreading it a lot less.
The bad news is that next week I have to have a Glucose Tolerance Test. Longtime PS readers will recall (and the rest of you can look in up in the 2004 archives) that my first experience with one of these things, back in the Baltics, was less than pleasant. It was several hours long, involved attempting to ingest what felt like a kilo of pure glucose powder, and felt much like a sleep deprivation experiment conducted by refugees from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
My new OB, bless her heart, took it very well when I groaned about the prospect of another GTT. She also described the regimen I would face here: drink 50 g of glucose solution, then have a quick blood test after one hour. That's it. The contrast is tremendous: like the difference between visiting your pre-Renaissance barber and seeing Marcus Welby, MD. So I'm still not thrilled about having this test, but at least I'm dreading it a lot less.
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