6710 Grand

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