6710 Grand

Most people who know me now wouldn't believe it, but when I was in the 8th grade, I had a mouth like the inside of a trashcan--a really dirty trashcan. Like, the kind I use to dispose of my kitty litter. Naughty naughty. Today, I can't even think a curse word. But what's a curse word anyway? Words are offensive because people are offended by them, not the other way around. So, I've made up my own that are perfectly acceptable to shout, no matter who is within hearing distance. For example: Fruit! Schneikes! Schnoodle! I've been known to say things like "What the schmee?" and when I'm particularly amazed, "Schnoodle my doodle!" I remember a few years ago, I was doing something and got frustrated and shouted out "Oh fruit!" My mother didn't seem too pleased. "Stop saying that!" she said. When I first met Amy, her word of choice was crumb. One day, her mom told us that it didn't matter what word we substituted, we me...

Ivy's finally down. It took an hour of rocking and back patting but she's finally asleep in her bed. Now I can get into mine. Nick has been asleep for an hour now. It's almost 2am. I've brushed my teeth, washed my face and put on my night shirt. I slide silently beneath the covers and lay my head down. With my eyes closed, I listen for Nick's breathing. That's one. I listen for Ivy's. I'm listening... listening... I don't hear it. Maybe I'm breathing too loudly. I hold my breath and listen. Listening... I still can't hear it. 'This is stupid,' I tell myself. 'She's fine.' But I still don't hear it. I'll hate myself if I find her lifeless in the morning. I get out of bed. It's completely dark, but I know exactly where she is. I lean my head down, less than an inch above hers and listen. The faint hiss is there and her breath is warm on my cheek. I slide back into bed. Now I can sleep. It's now 5am. I wake up...

The question I keep getting, am I going to let Ivy eat meat, is no big shock to me. The answer, no I'm not going to feed her meat, seems to be a shock to people who ask. Once the shock wears off, I get this question: "Well, you're going to have Thanksgiving turkey, right?" Again, the answer is no. I'm not going to preach on the merits of vegetarianism. Nick and I are both at the point where eating meat makes us physically sick--not because we're so nauseated by the idea of eating dead cows or soup made with what's left over after boiling a chicken, but because our bodies are no longer able to process the enzymes present in meat. Trust me, it's not pretty. So, our precious little Ivy will be raised on a veg diet, including Thanksgiving. So, then, what's on our menu? Oh, let me share! We'll be having the standard mashed potatoes. In the place of turkey gravy, I'm making a veggie version from vegetable broth. I have my mom's recipie for t...

Yes, that’s right—I’m back in my size 2. Ok, so I’ve never been a size 2, but that’s beside the point. I’m in my real clothes again! After only ten days post pregnancy, my jeans fit—sort of. They’re on and they’re buttoned and zipped. I can sit, stand, and do anything else I want in them. That’s all that matters. I still have a bit of a jelly belly, but now that I can work out again, I don’t think it will hang around. Ivy has had a busy three weeks of life. She’s met both sets of grandparents, been a tourist in downtown Chicago, and been on her first airplane ride. What an ordeal it is to get through airport security with a baby! I’m not sure I could do it alone. It was just a short jaunt to St. Louis and back, so we decided not to check any bags. MISTAKE! We were then carrying two roller bags, my purse, Ivy’s diaper bag, the stroller, the car seat and our coats. The smart thing to do would have been to check as much as possible. Now we know. Since Ivy is so little and does not yet hav...

I’ve survived the first week—actually, the first ten days. So far, this mom thing is a piece of cake. Maybe I have an exceptionally good baby. Little Ivy sleeps at four hour increments at night, waking only once for a short feeding and then it’s back to bed for all of us. It doesn’t make sense to me for Nick to get up with her. He can’t feed her (not yet anyway) so why should we both be awake? He’s the one who has to go to work the next day, so I take on all of the nightly responsibilities. Labor was easier than I thought too. After nine hours of pitocin induced contractions, I caved and asked for an epidural. Three hours later, I pushed for half an hour and out she came. The worst part of giving birth was the stupid blood pressure monitor! Mine was high, so they took my vitals every fifteen minutes. That sucker clamped onto my arm so tight I thought it would pop off! Hospitals are horrible places. This was the first time I’d ever been admitted to a hospital. Sure, I’d been to the emer...

Yes, that’s right, someone out there thinks I can write! Ha ha! Fooled them! No, really. My obsession with nutrition is paying off. After sending numerous versions out to numerous magazines, The San Diego Family Magazine is publishing my article on cardiovascular fitness. Whoo hoo! I’m expecting it to show up in the November issue. If it doesn’t make it there, the January issue is all about health and fitness, so it should be in that one. Either way, I don’t care. I think they’re paying me for it and I’m expecting all of about $5. (Do I have to declare that on my taxes?) So, if anyone out there in America’s Finest City is reading my crap, the SDFM is a free publication, available in most grocery stores. Enjoy!

I didn’t become a vegetarian until a little over two years ago. I used to think it would be absolutely impossible for me to do—I’m in love with chicken! Can’t give that up. No way. Well, clearly, I did give it up (although so many non-vegetarians say things to me like “you eat chicken, right? Chicken’s a vegetable.” Um, no.). I often encounter someone that is unaware of my food lifestyle and after the initial shock wears off, they want to know if I miss meat. The answer is a resounding no. I hardly notice it at all. I won’t go into why I don’t eat meat (not now anyway). There are different types of vegetarians. I am what is known as a lacto-ovo vegetarian—I eat eggs and diary but nothing that used to crawl, swim, walk or fly. No chicken, no cow, no pig, no lamb, no fish. (Nick and I went to a restaurant today that basically wanted to know how you want your beef cooked, but did include two of what they called “Meatless sandwiches”. They included fried fish and baked fish....

I was jittery on opening night. This could be the moment to make or break us. How we did tonight would determine the success or failure of our plan to cure boredom. I didn’t expect to wipe it out in one night, but a disaster on our first night would mean we’d wasted our time. At least that’s what I thought. Crazy Angie was not so pessimistic. She was jubilantly sweeping the floor. “I think I’ve finally got this down, Robin. Take a look at all of my piles!” She was so proud, I hated to burst her bubble. “That’s great, Angie. Now, if you can sweep them together into one big pile, we can put them in the trash.” She frowned. “Why would I do that? If I got rid of the dirt, I’d have nothing to sweep up tomorrow.” She went on sweeping. I decided not to respond. I didn’t want to ruin her good mood. Nick seemed equally in good spirits. Why shouldn’t he be? It wasn’t his business on the line. “Stop worrying. We’ll be fine,” he said. “I hope so. I just keep thinking no one will come. I mean, we c...

No, not the baby. Sorry. Fall! Whoo hoo! I have missed the fall. The day after Labor Day, traditionally the end of summer, brought fall to Chicago. Maybe this will be enough to alleviate some of my dislike for my new home. Maybe... It's been raining and chilly--even a few tornado warnings today. Our leaves aren't changing yet but I know it's only a matter of time.

Nick and I like to spend time sitting at Barnes and Noble, sipping coffee and reading books we wish we had the spare cash to buy. I came across one on Wednesday that WILL be my next book purchase. It's called 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die . I'm always hesitant to try a new author, mostly because I'm afraid I'll hate the way he/she writes and will feel like I've wasted valuable reading time when I could have been reading something worthwhile like The Great Gatsby or Moby Dick. I will try a new author if one is recommended to me by someone I trust (which happens all the time) and I'm always glad to have found a good contemporary read. That's how I found Nicholas Sparks and Isabelle Allende. I suppose I just don't trust my own judgement when it comes to new authors. I've often found myself at the library, craving a new story and just unsure of where to look. Generally, I end up finding a classic--can't go wrong there. But even the classics...

Last Friday, I attended the ten-year high school reunion of Central Visual and Performing Arts High School's Class of 1996. What a blast! It's really a fluke that I even got to go. The reunion committee couldn't find me. They were looking locally and under my maiden name. They didn't find Amy, my best friend, either. She was local, but now a Smith, and therefore a little tough to find. A friend of ours just happened to be at an event that used the same photographer that I used for my wedding. The photographer posted the photos on his website. When my friend went looking for her own photos, she found mine. Not many Schleichers around, so when she saw that name, she must have recognized me. There I was, in all my wedded bliss. We'd been emailing ever since. The reunion committee found her, I guess, and she found me. Isn't it funny how things like that happen... It was more fun than I'd thought to see everyone and hear about their lives and familie...

About three or four months into my vegetarian lifestyle, Nick and I went to my grandmother’s house for a family gathering. Just about everything served had meat in it. No big deal. We were new at this and a lot of people simply weren’t aware of it. I was sitting with one of my aunts and my older brother, eating when my aunt took notice of the lack of meat on my plate. When I told her I was a vegetarian, she said, “You can’t do that.” My brother laughed. “Don’t tell my sister she can’t do something.” He’s right. It only makes me more determined. I am my own person and no one knows me better than me. A close second is my husband, followed shortly by my mother. I suspect that she doesn’t like me at times, but at least she knows me. Isn’t that true of all mothers? I also don’t think she’s worried that I won’t love my children or that I won’t be able to cope with labor or motherhood. She knows how tough I am. She knows that I won’t let anything get in my way. (Mom, if you’re shaking your he...

My alarm went of at 3:00 in the morning. I jumped out of bed and smacked Tweety on the head to shut him up. I crawled to the bathroom and stepped on the scale. 152 pounds. Almost there. It was December 11, 2003. I had five days to loose those last two pounds. I was going on a cruise to Mexico with my boyfriend, Nick and his family for Christmas. I’d never been on a cruise or to Mexico and it would be my first Christmas that I wasn’t spending with my parents, but it had motivated me to get off my butt and into the gym. I was certainly not bikini ready in December. I’d gained about 30 pounds since college and had lost 28 of it in the last several months by prying myself out of bed at the butt crack of dawn and limiting myself to an insanely restrictive diet—but it was working. I ate 1000 calories a day and burned 1000 calories on the elliptical every morning. My apartment complex had a 24-hour gym and I usually had it to myself in the mornings. Sometimes I’d run into a Europ...

This is my favorite photo of Nick and me. His brother, Danny took it at the beach on Thanksgiving Day in 2001. I was living in Kansas then. I miss the West. I miss the beach and the smell of the ocean. My high school creative writing teacher would be laughing if he read this now. I once wrote a poem about how much I hated the ocean. I miss the palm trees and the seagulls (though we do have seagulls in Chicago). I miss the mountains and the dry dessert and the purple sunsets. There's a kind of romance about going West that I think only American's can feel (unless there's some other country out there with a frontier history like ours). Coming back to the Midwest feels like a step back--like tucking my tail between my legs and retreating. That's not what happened, of course, but that's how it feels--suffocating and heavy. I am not a Chicagolander. I am not a Midwesterner anymore. I may not be a Californian but I am definitely a Westerner.

Pregnancy requires a lot of tests. First one to find out if your pregnant. Then another to find out if the first one you took was accurate (sometimes a third to confirm the second). Next is a blood test to confirm the previous two or three you took. Yep, you're pregnant. Ok. Now the real testing begins. Vial after vial of blood is sucked out of your arm which will be tested for everything from anemia to HIV. A few weeks later, more blood to test for a barage of genetic tests--this one you have to agree to take. Finally, comes the fun part--the ultrasound. I was 13 weeks pregnant when I had my first. By this time, I was still looking like myself. I had a bit of a tummy, but not much. I had, however, experienced the frequent running to the bathroom every half a glass of water. I wasn't holding my liquids well. So, the doctor telling me to drink a litre of water within an hour of my ultrasound was a bit frightening. But, I managed it. The test itself was exciting. ...

Our new apartment in Chicago is quite different than any I've ever lived in before. It has lots of windows with very wide windowsills. The cats are big fans of those windows. They remind me of my grandfather with their ability to simply look out the window for hours. We live on the first floor, which is where I've been fortunate to live for the past three apartments. Wildlife in Chicago, and the Midwest in general, is quite different than in San Diego. In San Diego, the only things I remember in abundance were the snails and the seagulls. We have neither of those here. What we do have are squirells, robins, and bunnies. They're crawling all over our lawns and are therefore highly visible when anyone or any cat looks out a groundfloor window. My desk sits just in front of one of these windows. We have blinds that cover the windows, but of course, that doesn't stop the cats from trying to get as close to the glass as possible. It's a bit noisy, listening to them try t...

I'm trying to add a picture. Is this working? Whoo hoo! It worked. This is Nick and me at Disneyland about two years ago. I think it's the Alice In Wonderland ride or something.

That's what I need! That's it! That will make my desk more compelling. Sure. That's what I tell myself. This isn't new. And it's not my unique problem. All writers face this, I'm told. Sure, when we're young and full of ideas, nothing can keep us from the solitude of our minds and the privacy of our journals. But now, as an adult, faced with more time that I want to have, I have nothing to say and no desire to write it down. I want to have written, not to do the actual writing. I used to dream about what it would be like to stay home and do the cooking and cleaning and have all of this time for my writing. Now, since I've stopped working, I HATE IT! I'm bored most of the day, hoping that something interesting will be on the Food Network or that my old faithful, re-runs of Law and Order will be on USA or TNT. Most of the time, they don't disappoint me. I have hours of time in which I could be writing. I have a part-time work-from-home job that...

I've been married just about a year and a half. I know I've said it before, but it's truly the best thing in the world. I recommend marriage to anyone who's found someone as fabulous for them as my husband is for me. In our early newlywed days, people were always asking us how we liked being married, and when they heard how wonderful things were, they were quick to rain on our proverbial parade. "That won't last." "I remember those days." "The first year is like that." Well, I'm here to say that if the first year is the hardest, then the rest is smoothe sailing. The second year is so far, better than the first. We're still deleriously happy. Much happier now than even a few months ago--we're having a baby. To put it bluntly, our lives are completely different now than they were when we got married. Nick is in an entirely different career now (airplanes and not books) and I'm not doing much work at all. Our Chicago...

The last time I drove across the country, I had company--Nick and my kitties, Jean-Claude and Oberon. This time, it was just me and the cats. Moving to Chicago has been an adventure. So many changes! As I packed up my car on my final Friday afternoon, I felt horribly lonely as I closed the door to my apartment for the last time. Nick should have been there with me. But he was already hard at work making our new life better for me when I got there. He hated the idea of me driving all of that way by myself. Not only was I a girl (and therefore unable to ward off strange men and all other forms of danger) but I was ten weeks pregnant (surprise!). Not to worry, I told him. I have the attack cats to protect me. I'll be fine. After all, I'd survived this move before, not to mention a whole other host of life experiences including car accidents, flat tires, dead batteries, getting lost in unfamiliar places, assault, unwanted sexual advances, dog bites, mosquito bites, bee stings--what...