25 random things about me

I wrote this for Facebook, but it's such a work of art, I thought I'd post it here, too. Sorry for being totally redundant if you've already read it there. 

1. I truly believe that most things, even painful things, work out for the best. 2. I have aspirations to become a professional novelist, even though I fear that I don't have good enough ideas or the skill to succeed. 3. I'm a natural introvert, but my job, sister, and husband help me to be extremely social. 4. Sometimes, I get absolutely CRAZY and must organize a drawer or cabinet (and sometimes I go mental and do both). 5. I love a reading a really good book. 6. I have a hard time napping, even when totally exhausted. 7. I like to believe that most people have the best intentions. 8. Ants freak me out. If I have to clean them up, I have to shower immediately afterward or suffer that "itchy" feeling all day. 9. Crafty things are good in theory, but I'm way too lazy to do all that. 10. I worry that I won't be good at feeding my child because I lack the cooking gene. 11. Listening to the rain fall outside is one of my favorite sounds. 12. Bob Vila and I have a little in common; I'm kind of handy around the house. 13. My house is my sanctuary. 14. I hate packing and unpacking, but love to travel. LOVE it. 15. A little thrill goes up my spine when I play slot machines. Ooooo...pretty colors. Fun sounds! 16. My husband is the most random, wonderful person. I'm very lucky to have him. 17. There's a wind tunnel effect through my backyard. When it's windy, the noise makes me shudder and cringe. 18. I talk to my mom and sister on the phone daily. This earned me the title, "Cell Phone Girl" from my hubby. 19. I always thought I'd move out of Southern California, but here I am. I can't imagine moving away from our families. 20. Cats are a crucial element to my mental health. 21. Disneyland is my happy place. I just wish it was a little less crowded. 22. I recently connected with several high school friends, some here on Facebook, and it has been one of the greatest experiences. 23. When I was young, I picked every grain of sand off my towel at the beach. I'm still kind of persnickety now. My husband calls me fussy. 24. Conflict freaks me out. I'm a pacifist, sometimes to a fault. 25. A few of my favorite things: candles, hot chocolate, the smell of campfire, animals, spa days, my own bed.

Worst night's sleep EVER.

For the past few months, I've had some slight insomnia.  I can fall asleep on the couch during the day and nap like a child (something I have never been able to do), but when it comes to actually going to sleep at night, it takes awhile.  So last night, I was going through my nightly ritual to aid me in falling asleep: reading quietly while Keith slumbered peacefully next to me.  This worked, and I fell asleep around 11:10.

I awoke at midnight to the sound of what I imagine to be a 1920s machine gun. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!  As my weakening abdominal muscles rustily pulled me up, I was certain that I would have to call 911 for some hapless soul who had been mowed down in our usually tranquil suburb. I rushed to the window, looking for signs of a speak-easy or Bonnie and Clyde when I heard Keith's voice from behind me. "Firecrackers," he pronounced drowsily.  

My heartbeat returning to a somewhat normal pace, I crawled back into bed and willed myself to go back to the REM sleep from which I had been mercilessly torn.  Enter Cleo.

Let me first explain that we have two very different cats.  In coloring, they are nearly the same because they are litter-mates, born of the same parents.  Both are black with white "tuxedo" elements, such as bibs, tummies, and paws.  They also both tend to run from large groups of strangers.  This is where the similarity ends.  Tony, our boy, is huge, weighing in at roughly 14 pounds, while Cleo, our girl, is a petite 8.  He tends to meow only when he is hungry or wants something (like cuddles), whereas she yowls all day and night just to hear her own voice.  They even differ in the way they give love.

Tony has always been what I've called a "Gumby-cat"; he allows you to put him into nearly any position and stays there purring.  His zaftig 15 pounds aside, this makes for a comfortable cat and human, resulting in happy symbiosis.  We are quite convinced that Cleo, on the other hand, dips her feet into buckets of concrete before pouncing us.  Each step she takes on our bodies feels like a sumo wrestler on stilts has invaded our bed.  I have tried time and time again to make her more like that Gumby-cat, but the more I try to position her, the stiffer she becomes.  I have learned that it's easier to just let her find a comfortable place to lie down, no matter how long this takes.

Last night, it took a good long while.  Cleo, ever the persnickety one, decided that she wanted to be as near to my head as possible.  She traipsed around, pointy paws landing on my skull, chest, and abdomen, trying to find a spot that would be sufficient for her needs.  When she finally settled on one, her body completely covered my nose and mouth (hardly a good situation for me). As I pried her off of my head, two totally over-reactive thoughts occurred to me: 

1. Do I have a brain tumor? (No kidding! Scientists have found that cats and dogs often sniff at the site of a malignant tumor, finding it long before symptoms present)
2. What if my cat suffocates my baby by trying to "cuddle" with her?

Eeeek! Neither of these thoughts acted as the sheep jumping over the fence that I desperately needed in the night.  I tossed and turned, fending Cleo off of me and wondering if I was going crazy.  Certainly this small cat could not be coming back for more as I tossed her unceremoniously off the bed, right?  Wrong. Here she was, over and over, crowding at my hair with her itchy whiskers, pummeling my neck with those cement paws, nuzzling me again and again! 

Here is what I would say if she could understand English:

Oh Cleo. I love you more than you could ever know. I adore your idiosyncrasies: your sweet fuzzy mustache (see the picture), your adorable singing in the morning, and even those unbelievably hard paws.  But please, I implore you, come cuddle in an appropriate place quickly and without trying to kill me. Please.

I even tried to reason with her at one point, but it only served to awaken Keith, who loudly pronounced, "Huh-tum!" (I'm not sure what that means, but I think it can be translated into the speech above.) So I returned to the repeated flinging of this small, albeit muscular, cat to the end of the bed and she continued to return to me.  Finally, I caved. I needed sleep. We had been at this for nearly two hours. I picked her up and looked her in the eyes. We needed to have what my colleagues affectionately call a "Come to Jesus" meeting.  At this point, I was stern and undeniably in charge.  She met my eyes and knew I meant business.  I hurled her to the end of the bed for the last time and I heard as her heavy paws thumped the carpet below.

Now, one would think that this was a victory.  Yay!  I have earned sleep at last!  But rather than relish my win, I just lay there feeling guilty.  My poor kitty just wanted to cuddle her mom and here I was banishing her to the cold floor.  

Eventually, I did fall asleep again and after four hours of uninterrupted rest, I awakened to that damned cat snoozing on my head, paws entangled in my hair.  Sheesh.

The Wonders of Womanhood, part V

Laziness

I'm still sitting after hours of doing this all day. Albeit I did work on the Galapagos/Ecuador photo album for about three hours today, but that was also done sitting on my ass.

I know I need to get motivated. I understand that there are people waiting for me over at Keith's parents' house. My brain is logical and comprehends the fact that showers are enjoyable occurrences (especially for clean-freaks like me), but showers are followed by the inevitable: at least 30 minutes of "getting ready" activities, such as slathering on massive amounts of lotion (pregnant women have horrifically dry skin), blow drying hair, putting on makeup, dressing, etc. I look forward to none of this.

Which brings me to my next point; I have often wished for one of those machines they had on The Jetsons. Do you remember that old school Hanna-Barbera cartoon? (By the way, don't Google this to find photos and think that you're going to get squeaky-clean nostalgia. I just saw some pretty sick stuff looking for a photo to post here. Consider me grossed-out.) Anyway, toon porn aside, Daughter Judy used to get ready in the morning by stepping into this awesome machine which would do everything for her in about 10 seconds. She'd step out on the other end and be magically transformed. That sounds like a great invention right now. I can only imagine how wonderful it will sound when I actually have a baby, too.

So what's my excuse right now? I have a hundred (I worked heinous hours last week, have to get up at least three times a night to pee, this is the only time I have to relax during the week...), but overall, I'm thinking that kicking thing inside of me is probably the best one.

the Wonders of Womanhood, part IV

Fatigue

Too...tired...to...write.

The Wonders of Womanhood, part III

Clumsiness

First off, let me start by saying that my friends and family will tell anyone who listens that I am one of the clumsiest people in the human race. I once hurt myself by stabbing my face with a hanger while putting clothes away and most of my broken bones were without good reason. For me to talk about a higher level of clumsiness, it has to be fairly significant.

Fortunately, my clumsiness seems limited to fluids for the time being. In fact, it allowed me to spill four beverages in one week. The first two were pretty tame: water glasses knocked over at my bedside—a common mistake for normal, non-pregnant people I’m sure. The second two, however, were absolutely grandiose. We’re STILL cleaning up from them. Here they are in all of their gloriousness.

Spill #1: Fruit Punch Slider

To make drinking the vast amount of water I need more palatable, I purchased several boxes of Crystal Light individual packets. During this action-packed lunch, I proceeded to mix my drink and take one sip before sweeping the glass three feet into the air. As the red liquid floated gracefully in the air (this was one of those slow-motion moments), I cringed and accepted my fate. Thank GOD I had a fellow teacher whose wife is two months more pregnant than I am in the room. He was more than happy to help me to sop up the mess and didn’t even laugh. This is a man who completely understands.

Spill #2: Diet Pepsi Explosion

This second event was even more dramatic and inexplicable than the first. I went out to get one soda—ONE soda—from the garage. As I took the five short steps over our tile entryway from the garage door to our family room carpet, the mutinous Diet Pepsi slipped from my hand and, much like a cat, landed squarely on its “feet”. Here’s where the feline analogy ends. While a cat lands on his or her feet and is saved from a quick and certain death, my Pepsi was not so lucky. Apparently, a can explodes on impact.

I think it would still behoove us to call CSI crew to help us find the extent of the damage. Soda splashed up both front doors, into the plantation shutters in the foyer, over the banisters and stairs, up all neighboring walls, and into the family room carpet. In addition, my clothing needed immediate laundering. After some choice expletives, my husband calmly provided the same service, fetching multiple rags and, without condescending or laughing, helped me clean up the massive mess.

The Wonders of Womanhood, part II

Memory Loss

Also known as "pregnancy brain", this symptom caused me to lock myself out of my classroom yesterday.

Allow me to explain. Upon reaching my room after a meeting, the custodian kindly held my door open for me after vacuuming. I gathered my things and left, realizing that he had already locked my door. Great! Thanks, Francisco, my heart sang gratefully as I traipsed out the door toward my car, ever so appreciative that I did not have to juggle keys and my belongings this evening.

Skip forward to this morning while I stood at said door and rummaged fruitlessly for my keys as the realization dawned on me. I locked myself out and left my keys in my room. Ugh. This is so inconvenient. No matter. I'll simply find Francisco and have him let me in. That most certainly worked, but my keys were nowhere to be seen. I tossed my desk and then room for my keys for 10 minutes to no avail. Shit! I thought. I probably left them in my other coat. Crap! The Superintendent is visiting today and the staff is stressed and I have to go bother the office staff with borrowing keys today? Not good. Add more stressing and looking for an additional five minutes. Then, after giving up and typing a few emails, my keys appeared (magically) underneath my sleeve. NO. I'm not kidding. This, folks, is pregnancy brain. Welcome to my own personal brand of hell.

The Wonders of Womanhood, part I

Ahh...it's about that time. In my pregnancy, which (I'm told) has been quite mild, I have had few hormonal "episodes"--psychotic outbursts, crying fits, etc. However, I feel that as a woman, it is my right and, frankly, duty to share a couple of the finer points now that I'm halfway through this rite of passage. Henceforth, I shall share some of these awesome pregnancy symptoms in this blog (in no particular order of greatness).

GO CHARGERS!!!

We're inviting people over to watch the game.  Let's hope it's a game worth watching...

UPDATE: Yes, it was quite a game worth watching. The first quarter saw the Chargers ahead 17-14, but the second quarter was just the opposite. My mom, sister, and I all had tiny heart attacks as we watched and commiserated via cell phones and text messages.  

Finally, thanks to the heroics of Mr. Darren Sproales and Mr. Mike Scifres, we were able to scrape a tie in by the end of the fourth quarter.  In OT, we bypassed the usual field goal and scored a full-on TD to make the score 23-17.  Phew! The Chargers are headed to Pittsburgh now for the divisional round of the playoffs!  WOOO HOOO!!!  

Crap...lots and lots of crap (part deux)

So...we have to make room for a baby's nursery and move our guest room.  In addition, we're embarking on some minor construction with a new closet in our master bedroom.  This means that our crap needs to be sifted and organized.  Part of me is terrified, while the other part is elated.  Help mommy.  Help.