6710 Grand

I had a meeting with a donor this week and she mentioned how glad she was that her work from home husband finally got some office space away from the house.  I mentioned this to my boss yesterday and he sympathized.  His wife would hate it if he were home and underfoot all the time. I am amazed by this.  These aren't unhappily married couples.  I've seen both pairs together and they're quite happy.  But every morning that Nick is home and I'm headed off to work, he practically begs me to call in sick.  And trust me I'd REALLY love to!  I love my job.  I REALLY love my job.  I work long hours and take it home at night and on weekends and that's just fine with me.  I obsess over my work in the middle of the night--it's what keeps me up much more than worrying about, well, anything else really.  It's a great job and I wouldn't trade it for any other (maybe a promotion or a raise would be nice but even without them, I'm perfectly happy).  But I wou

It was December 2002.  I’d been invited to go on a cruise with my then boyfriend (now husband) and his family for Christmas.  I was booked on a flight from Kanas City to Denver and then on to San Diego.  I was still afraid of flying but the excitement of the trip was outweighing my fears.  Also, I hadn't seen Nick in more than three months and had just spent the better part of the last year working out like a fiend and dropping 27 pounds.  In addition, I’d been spending my mornings in the tanning booth so I was a nice golden brown (I know—it’s really just skin damage but I was young and stupid.).  Yes, I looked GOOD!  I’d planned my airport attire very carefully, wanting to walk off the plane that evening in such a way as to completely turn the heads of every man but most especially, Nick.  I wore a shockingly short tan skirt, black ¾ sleeve turtleneck (a slim cut) and my knee high black boots (my hooker boots—yes).  My hair was piled high on top of my head and put great effor

I got a pedicure yesterday (ok, so I was trying to induce labor--it didn't work) so my feet are now pretty and swollen as opposed to just swollen.  I've always found feet to be pretty disgusting.  Just ask my friend Amy who was forever putting her feet on me when we were younger just to annoy me, or my dad who was always trying to find a way to put his foot in my ear (long story).  Feet=gross!  Pedicures are actually hard for me to sit through but that's mostly because my feet are really ticklish.  It's generally a pleasant process interspersed with moments of absolute torture. This week I'm working my way through yet another Max Lucado book, Grace  where he's talking about how good deeds don't get us into Heaven and salvation was paid for by Jesus and a debt we owed but He didn't (same old stuff, different book but always worth hearing).  The part I read this morning told a story of a women who was driving along when suddenly a frozen turkey landed on

I was so hoping to be posting the details of my weekend labor.  Not so much.  I keep telling myself that it's only 39 weeks.  I'm not overdue.  But I FEEL overdue.  I feel like I should be heading to the hospital any day now. We tried every trick in the book--spicy food, lots of walking, even a bumpy hayride at the peach orchard yesterday.  Nothing.  Today, more walking and more spicy food.  When I went in for my weekly appointment this afternoon I was fully expecting SOMETHING to happen.  Another centimeter (already at 3) more effacement (just 60%) my water breaking during the exam--ANYTHING to tell me that today is the day. Nothing. Well, maybe tomorrow.  I have a pedicure planned to help things along.  Keep your fingers (and toes and anything else you can) crossed!

Jane Austen was someone that my high school creative writing teacher told me that I would love.  He was right.  While I can't say that I've read all of her books, I've read quite a few.   Sense and Sensibility is my favorite.  I loved the movie when it came out and loved the book even more. Nick loves a good period film and generally all things British.  We've watched every Simon Pegg movie (and I really love Hot Fuzz ), Iron Lady , The Queen and dozens of others.  I suggested watching my favorite Austen movie earlier this week.  After World's End  last weekend, I could stand for some intelligent film.  I wasn't surprised that he enjoyed it.  After all, it did star Hugh Grant, whom Nick often refers to as "charmingly befuddled".  Indeed he was in this movie.  Now that he's see this movie, I dared to suggest Pride and Prejudice  last night.  But, not to push my luck too far, I also said that 2 Guns  was also an option (a nice, violent, guy movie

My brother-in-law recently cut his hair.  You might not think that's saying much but until a few days ago, when describing Dan to just about anyone, I would have said that he looks like every picture I've ever seen of Jesus.  Full beard, long (very long) flowing brown hair, blue eyes and tall.  Dan is the only 6'7 person I know where his height isn't necessarily the first thing you notice about him...but then again, he is THE only 6'7 person I know. Dan is one of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet.  It's no surprise that our girls get more excited to see Uncle Danny than they do their own father.  Let's face it--Dad's lots of fun, but Uncle Danny is much more funner.  He does cool things like surf and ride a skate board (Dad can do these things too, but they always seem to forget that).  Uncle Danny has a dog.  We all remember what a disaster it was when WE had a dog.  Uncle Danny (and Aunt Meagan too) buys them really cool presents like mar

I have a friend and former coworker named Sheldon.  He reminds me of my grandmother's old boyfriend, Ed (how many people can say THAT!) mostly because they look the same.  He also reminds me a lot of my dad.  That's for the often predictable yet rarely anticipated sarcasm.  I'd say that Sheldon is interesting, but that's just not doing him justice.  Working with Sheldon was NEVER dull.  He'd say things that would have you doubled over laughing in one breath and things that would make you wonder how he's not yet been fired in the next. Once we became Facebook friends, the real fun started. It was a lovely day so I post about the weather. Me:  Sitting outside enjoying the mid 70's. Sheldon:  I didn't know you were in your 70's. I'm eating my daily hard boiled eggs and am having trouble peeling them. Me:  I hate it when my eggs don't peel. Sheldon:  I didn't know you were ovulating. Our dog chewed on EVERYTHING so I post. Me:  W

"Why are you reading that?"  Nick asks, looking at my book. I frown.  His question is completely ridiculous.  "It's about coffee.  Why wouldn't I read it?" Now, this isn't Howard Schultze and his building of the Starbucks empire, it's Cleo Coyle's Coffeehouse Mystery series.  THIS is my kind of book!  Not at all the dreaded Twilight series or that horrible Husband's Secret .  Don't get me wrong, it's not winning any literary prizes but it combines two of my great loves--coffee and reading.  GREAT!  Sign me up!  I'm working my way through the series via my library and am on book 8, I think:   Espresso Shot.  The only troubling thing really is that the series's main character, Claire Cosi, seems to find her way into a disturbingly high number of murders.  She's the owner of a coffeehouse (a very famous one in the book--no idea if it's a real-life reference) and yet somehow murder seems to follow her around.  It'

We've been watching old home movies--the girls call them the Ivy and Iris movies.  It's been fun seeing them when they were babies and thinking how we'll get to do all of this again.  We've found absolute treasures mixed in with the holiday and vacation memories. "Dad, do you want to play throw the catch?"--Ivy "Oh WAH TAH!" --Iris  Don't ask me what that means, but she used to say it all the time. An adorable exchange between Ivy and Nick about Great Grandma Olson's trip to Heaven. We look at them when they were 1 and 2 and 4 and think how it feels like yesterday that they did these cute things.  And yet still it seems like long ago... Just this morning, Iris saw my bottle of Tums (a.k.a. pregnant candy for those of you who know) and asked if I had "heart broken".  t was a moment for the camera certainly and reminded me that we really need to take more Ivy and Iris movies...and watch them much more often before these days

Nick and I took the girls to Red Robin for dinner last night.  We had to drive about 45 minutes to get there but it was worth it.  Long gone are the days when we go once or twice a week.  It's been nearly a year since we've been.  As we left the restaurant, I was suddenly reminded of a looming crisis.  We were out of coffee.  I had used up the last of it that morning, having every intention of going to the store on my lunch break (what's a lunch break?). Fortunately, the crisis was easily averted with a stop off at Shoprite on the way home.  Shoprite is currently my favorite grocery store--they have expectant mother parking.  Finding decent decaf is a challenge here so I often settle for mediocre.  But when it comes to coffee cream, there's really only one suitable option:  Coffee Mate.  Perusing the cream options I nearly picked up creme brulee.  But then, I saw it!  The delicious, aromatic, creamy Peppermint Mocha (cue angelic singing).  This was a sign!  A true sig

The world seems to be falling apart.  I can't keep all of these international conflicts straight.  Palestine and Israel (an old fight); Ukraine and Russia (I think?); Iraq and Isis (not sure who exactly that last one is); and last but not least, looters and the city of Ferguson, MO.  What a mess. And none of it really makes sense to me.  I can't imagine hating anyone so much that I want to eliminate an entire race of people.  I can't imagine thinking that destroying a city will somehow bring justice to a young man who has gone home to God.  But that's just me.  I know I don't understand it all.  Someone somewhere thinks these fights are worth it.  I have to say that I don't.  Killing other people never feels like the right answer for me. For all of the extremists who hate Americans, I'd really love to sit down and have a chat over a cup of coffee (or tea if you prefer) and try to really understand why you think I'm so awful.  I'd really like to k

Years ago, when I was living in Kansas, I fell in love with the library.  Every week I went and checked out as many books as I could carry.  Sometimes I finished them, sometimes not.  I found the cooking section, the writing section, the Christian living section and of course worked my way through the fiction.  Among the many treasures I found a book called A Writer's Book of Days.   It's a book of writing prompts--one for each day.  I loved it so much I found the book at a bookstore and bought it.  I've had it ever since and have gone through periods of time where I faithfully write a page per day.  Today's prompt was to write about a scent.  The idea is to grab the first image that comes to you and just write without thinking too much.  Eventually, what you want to say will turn up on the page. The first image I had was very distinct. About a year after I had move to California, I'd been laid off of my horrible job and was working as a temp at a medical research

At least I hope it is.  I have just three weeks to go until baby Olson arrives (assuming she's on time) and I can not wait!  On the one hand, I'm very excited to hold my baby and finally give her a name.  I can't wait to snuggle her and love her and put her in all of the adorable clothes we have.  Take a million pictures, introduce her to the world and celebrate her first set of holidays.  All that stuff. On the other hand, I really just want my body back!  It's so true what they say--you forget all of this stuff after babies are born.  I had vaguely remembered how much I dreaded nights.  The waking every three or four hours to go to the bathroom.  How much it hurts getting in and out of bed.  How much I miss sleeping on my back and just how many pillows I require to even lie down at all.  It sounds counter intuitive but I really want to have this baby so I can get some rest! I miss my morning runs!  I never really thought I would.  I've been walking but even th

I'm reading this book, the Husband's Secret .  The jacket cover was so compelling!  A woman finds a letter addressed to her from her husband that she is to read in the event of his death...but he's still alive! Somehow, this letter affects not only her, but two other women that she barely knows.  Wow!  What a premise!  I have to read this! Um, no. Sadly, these characters are completely unsympathetic.  I don't like the woman who's daughter was murdered 20 years before.  I don't like the woman who's husband has left her because he's fallen in love with her cousin.  I don't mind the woman who found the letter but I don't really care about her either.  The only person I can identify with and feel defensive towards is the daughter-in-law.  She's a career woman who has a wonderful opportunity that will move her and her family from Australia to New York.  Her mother-in-law is angry because she's taking the grandson away.  Sorry, lady, I don&

My dad’s 58 th birthday is coming up.  I had to sit and think about how old my dad will be because in my mind, he’s always about 35.  (Grandma is 42 and I’m just now 26).  But whether he’s 35 or 58 or 110, I have to say I have the coolest dad ever.  I mean, like EVER.  And not just that he’s a great dad (‘cause he is).  But my dad is REALLY cool.  Growing up, dad was always into music.  He was a drummer and had always had an eclectic musical taste.  He was a station flipper when we were in the car but liked a lot of different stuff.  I remember browsing through his CD’s for some of the stuff that my friends and I were listening to.  He had Pearl Jam and Stone Temple Pilots before I did.  He had Enya before Enya was cool.  The best present I ever got my dad was tickets to see Stomp.  I remember walking from my dorm room in college down to the Fox Theater to buy the tickets for Christmas.  My older brother and I decided to go in on the gift and as I carried them home, I couldn’

I was meeting with a prospective donor yesterday and after we had discussed our work business, the conversation turned casual.  My colleague who'd come along with me is engaged.  I'm clearly quite pregnant.  We chatted about such matters and  he revealed that he'd had two failed marriages, one of which resulted in a teenage son.  His son, he said, was getting ready to go off to college.  This man's advice to his son was that no matter what you may think you're feeling, you will NOT discuss getting married to anyone until you're at least 26 and you've lived together for two years. We shared a laugh and my colleague said that she'd spend enough time with her fiance (they'd dated for more than five years) to be sure that this would work out.  While I respect the opinions of both of them, I could not help but disagree.  Nick and I didn't live together before we got married.  And we never fight.  Both of my companions were shocked at this news.  Our

I was reading this chapter of the Bible tonight, working my way through the book.  It starts out with this guy and his wife, Ananias and Sapphira.  They have this farm or some kind of land that they are to sell and give the money to Peter.  They do this but don't give him all of the money.  It seems to be one of those Adam and Eve type situations except that this time, it's him that does the sinning and her that says "yeah, sure I agree with that". Well, somehow, Peter finds out about this and just goes off on the guy.  He accuses him of lying not to Peter but to God.  What a horrible thing to do!  Don't lie to God!  Everyone knows better than that.  Well, when Ananias hears this, he falls down and dies!  Then Peter lays into Sapphira, accusing her of the same thing and promising her the same fate.  Then she falls down and dies! Wow!  Don't cross God!  Other people hear about this and are freaking out!  They don't dare lie to God and presumably, are sp

A couple of years ago our computer crashed.  We had a few moments of panic because ALL of the pictures of our kids were on that computer.  Thankfully it was recoverable but the computer was toast.  Since that happened, we've been determined to diversify our photo portfolio.  As we were looking through a thousand or so pictures of our babies we saw the last nearly eight years scroll by, one scene at a time.  We saw our first Christmas after we got married.  We saw Chicago and remembered all of the places we took Ivy when she was just weeks old.  We saw Nick's first class of flight students and the last day we saw Jean-Claude.  We saw Iris grow from the baby she was to the little girl she is.  We saw the family trips and the moves from state to state.  We watched are lives go by and even though it feels like a flash, we're so excited to do it all over again with the next baby.  She'll start her life here but who knows where we'll be in another eight years?  That

Nick and I have been talking about taking an adventure.  Nothing too exciting—we are about to have a baby.  We thought maybe a cruise would be fun and that the girls would like it.  It’s easier than going to China and if we do it right, no one needs a passport.  As we dream up the ideal vacation, I could not help but be reminded of our first (and only) cruise.  It was the fall of 2002 and Nick’s parents were taking their family, including Grandma Olson on a cruise to Mexico over Christmas.  There was room for me so I was invited to share Grandma’s stateroom.  All I had to do was get to San Diego.  No problem!  There are so many great things about a cruise but perhaps my favorite was the food.  It was all-inclusive so you really could eat anything at any time.  My first experience with the lunch buffet was a gorge-fest which I can at least partially blame on the insane diet I had been on for the past several months which helped me to lose 27 pounds (who on EARTH is bikini ready in

Every weekday morning I get up early to spend some always appreciated "me time" with myself and a little time with God.  I kick myself out of bed and into my gym clothes.  Come downstairs where my coffee is waiting, pour a cup and pull out my bag of projects.  I read a bit of my Bible, a short devotion, spend a little time praying and then get down to writing.  My writing practice sessions come from a book I'd found in the library in Kansas City when I lived there.  It has prompts for every day writing practice.  The idea is that you find the date, write the prompt at the top of a page and then just start writing for however long you planned to write.  For me, I try to get in a page every day.  The prompts are sometimes simple ("Write about the moon") and sometimes are things I just don't get ("Write of something done in a small moment" huh?).  But I give it my best 4am effort.  Sometimes it's great.  Sometimes it's awful.  Whatever the cas

I've done something stupid.  With just five weeks to go in my pregnancy, I should not be watching documentaries on birth.  I just shouldn't.  But I did.  It's bad enough that I get scared by my doctor, ultrasound technician, flabotomist and anyone else providing some type of treatment for my prenatal care.  I don't need to be scared by Rikki Lake and a bunch of granola midwives on a farm. Because I'm old and fat, I'm at greater risk of all sorts of things:  cromosomal defects, spina bifida, premature birth, misscarriage, a too large baby, a too small baby and a whole bunch of other scary stuff.  Good thing hospitals are there to intervene if I need it.  Whew!  Then I watch this movie and it tells me that just delivering in the hospital can put me at greater risk for unnecessary induction, c-section, a lethargic baby, being strapped to an IV, pitocin (NASTY stuff) and best of all, these things could kill me.  STAY AWAY from hospitals.  Have that baby at home.

In the summer of 2008, Ivy was not quite 2 and Iris was due in about four months.  My brother Andrew was graduating from the 8 th grade and I was headed to St. Louis to attend the ceremony.  Nick and I had just spend the weekend moving from one apartment in Phoenix to another.  His parents had driven in from San Diego to help.  After a very difficult night’s sleep, Ivy and I headed to the airport quite early in the morning.  So early, that I decided it was more practical to keep her in her pajamas and change her at the airport once we were through security.  I was always nervous flying with a purchased ticket, which we hadn’t done often since Nick left Southwest for Mesa. We made it in plenty of time and once through security, Ivy and I headed for the changing station.  She’d pooped!  Great!  A steady one poop per day kid, I was glad to have that out of the way early.  I cleaned her up and changed her clothes.  We were both in good spirits and ready to take on a day of travel.  A

Everyone wants to know if we've picked a name for our new baby yet.  We haven't.  But even if we had, we're not telling.  It's hard picking out someone's name.  They'll carry it for the rest of their life.  I remember all of the teasing I got about my name when I was young and it still grates on me when the occasional immature idiot sings Rockin' Robin when they  meet me.  Kids are cruel and will find something to make fun of with any name.  Adults have absolutely no excuse. So when Nick and I settled on names for our first two children we kept them to ourselves.  It wasn't that we thought we might change our minds but more that we didn't want to see the reaction on people's faces when we told them.  Even if they insist they won't react--they do.  The non-reaction is a reaction. Now, everyone assumes that we'll pick a name that starts with "I" or some kind of flower or plant.  The truth is that we didn't plan any type of

I've been reading (well, listening to actually) this book called Never Eat Alone  which is all about relationship building and networking.  Overall, it's pretty interesting, but yesterday I came across a section in which the author referred to fundraisers as having the "unenviable job" of asking people to willingly part with their hard earned money.  He gave the impression that he thought fundraisers had a job that no one in their right mind would want to do and thank goodness some poor souls were willing to take it because he sure wasn't about too.  Sales was much easier. I have to say, I took exception.  A LOT of people envy my job!  I mean, not mine specifically but the ability to say, everyday, that what you do is helping people.  Sure everyone in my office can do that (even the non-fundraising staff--but really, everyone is a fundraiser) but it spoke to the common misconception that fundraising (we in the field call it development) is all about going to par

Even though this is our third child, it's the first time Nick and I have really ever set up a nursery.  I have to say it was a lot of fun.  Ivy was born into a 1 bedroom apartment--we carved out a corner of the room and that was her room (of course, her stuff took up more space than the both of ours combined so really, she gave us a generous portion of the bedroom and slept wherever she felt like it).  We moved three more times before she had a room of her own and even then, she still slept most nights in her car seat. We moved into a three bedroom apartment when Iris was on her way but had to make one of those rooms a den of sorts, and Ivy was still using the crib when she arrived so once again, the new baby had a corner of a room and slept in her car seat.  Six months later, in our first house, she was upgraded to the pack and play. This time around, we're still re-purposing another room but it's much more "on purpose".  We have one of those useless rooms--a

I know what you're thinking.  After my multiple rants more than five years ago about Twilight, why have I continued to torture myself.  The short answer is, I don't know.  I honestly don't know.  But it popped up in my Netflix queue and I couldn't stop it in time.  That's an excuse of course.  IT only made it IN to my Netflix queue because I put it there. The truth is, the movies aren't that bad. They're not that good, but they're not that bad.  The movies escape the bad narrative.  They escape the wretched praise of life in Phoenix.  However, the one thing they can't escape is the dreadfulness that is Bella Swan.  Ick.  UGH!  I just don't understand what these two boys (and they really are boys) see in her.  Why on earth are they risking their lives to save her?  And why oh why is everyone trying to kill her?  She's not that pretty and there's really nothing spectacular about her.  If I were her, I'd save everyone the trouble and j

Doctors are everywhere.  At least they seem to be when you’re pregnant.  Complete strangers are suddenly giving me advice on how I should be behaving.  “You know you’ll have to stop running soon.” “Pregnant women really shouldn't wear heels like that.” “Don’t you think you should stop drinking coffee?” People, please.  That last one is just ridiculous.  No, I don’t think I should stop drinking coffee and you don’t want me to do that either.  It’s a shock to me that total strangers feel that it’s OK to say these things to me.  My childless brother once gave me tips on how to deal with morning sickness but he at least knows me and is married to a midwife.  The others really have no excuse.  Even if they are doctors, they’re not MY doctor.  MY doctor, by the way, is thrilled that I’m still running 3 miles a day at 24 weeks.  The nurses in my doctors office always complement me on my shoes as I take them off to stand on the devilish scale (every ounce helps).  They

Yesterday Nick and I were talking about feeling guilty for not spending more time with our kids—particularly the fact that neither of us stay home and Ivy and Iris have gone to daycare more or less since infancy.  Nick and I both had brief stints at being a stay-at-home parent when Ivy was young and we both knew without a doubt that it wasn't the life for either of us.  I think he feels the guilt more than I do since he’s gone for days at a time and I’m home every night (more or less), but the girls have a hand in that as well.  They’re VERY good at giving him the puppy eyes and sulking around when he’d rather do something for himself or (GASP!) spend time with me than play with them.  I've had the occasional snide remark sent my way about how selfish I am for working or even how unfortunate I am for not being able to financially manage staying home with my kids.  I do my best not to engage or simply state that I am a better mom when I can go to work every day.  But it’s r

I love my birthday.  No, I mean really.  Like a five year old at Chuck E. Cheese.  It’s my favorite day of the entire year, second only to Christmas.  I LOVE IT!  It’s one day that’s only about me.  I get to be selfish.  I get to expect people to focus on ME.  When people forget my birthday, I get a little upset.  My husband, poor soul, learned this the hard way.  When we were dating, he forgot my birthday twice.  He had some lame excuse the first year, like being in intensive care at the hospital for mono.  And the second year, he thought having Lasik surgery and being in lots of pain was a good enough reason to let the day pass.  (Please!)  But by the third year, he finally understood and sneaked out of his room while serving in the Navy’s Officer Candidate School to use the phone to call me on my birthday.  (Yes, it was breaking a military rule and he took a big risk, but it was MY BIRTHDAY!) After that, it became the Robin Olson Birthday Extravaganza!  No longer a day but

I would never call myself a control freak.   Many who know me might disagree, but I’m not someone who HAS to have control.   It’s more that I think SOMEONE should have control and when no one seems to, I’m happy to step in and assume the role.   For example, I once noticed my husband struggling to cook dinner in the kitchen.   Clearly, he did NOT have control, so I helped him out by taking over.   There’s nothing wrong with that, right?   Now, he clearly DOES have control when he’s using the bar-be-que and I’m happy to stay out of it.   He’s definitely in control when it comes to mopping floors and I can easily stay out of that too.   I’m NOT a control freak.   I AM, however, an absolute freak when it comes to my coffee (big shock, I know).   One of the many things I’m very picky about are those little two inch wide sleeves that slide onto the end of, say, a cup at Starbucks that keep your hand from getting too hot when carrying your cup o’ joe (or in my case, a venti, decaf, non-

I love my car.  I love it so much that when I first had a car I named him Craig.  Craig has been reincarnated three times since we first started driving together.  He was first a Hyundai Excel.  After that body died, he was reincarnated into the body of a Saturn.  After that, he had a brief stint as a Toyota Avalon before finally becoming the Corolla that he is now.  As much as I love Craig, I HATE dealing with my car.  It’s something I think most women feel—certainty that we’re getting ripped off just because we’re women and presumably don’t know any better.  I did get ripped off (almost) once with my first car.  I took it to the place my dad told me to  for a safety inspection and came out with a bill for far more than I’d ever had at one time in my meager college student checking account.  They listed item after item that needed to be fixed in order to pass inspection.  I left, telling them not to do anything until I talked to my dad.  He took one look at the estimate and knew I wa