Last night I went out to get sushi. I ordered for both my husband and me. While waiting it for it to be prepared, I sat at the bar and ordered a glass of sake. I hadn’t had sake since way before my pregnancy and I really craved it.
I took a few sips and it tasted so much stronger than I remember it tasting pre-pregnancy. Back then it seemed like flavored water. This time around, it went right to my head. I felt a little light headed but I sipped and continued to watch tv.
On the tv were reports of the Oscar Pistorius case that’s been everywhere. Now, I don’t know if it was the sake or what, but something just didn’t make sense to me. I kept getting hung up on how he got to the bathroom without his prosthetics in the first place. I think the sake wouldn’t allow me to get any clarity on that piece of information.
Finally, the food arrived. I paid my sake bill and I zig zagged my way home. (I wasn’t that bad but it felt like it.) When I got home I told my husband how I had some sake and how it went straight to my head. Then we discussed the Pistorius case. He formally declared than something was fishy so at least I knew it wasn’t all about my sake consumption.
Just goes to show you, your body chemistry changes a lot during and after pregnancy. Things that normally wouldn’t have made a dent in my constitution pre-pregnancy were making me a little tipsy post-pregnancy. Luckily no matter what my alcohol consumption, when something is fishy, it’s just fishy.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Student and Teacher
In recent months I have had a lot of nostalgia for my brief time teaching. I assisted a former student with a literature paper (see Blog Entry “Prince of Denmark”) and one of my students came to New York for the first time in 6 years. He sent me an email on facebook asking if I remembered him, which I thought was very sweet.
I replied saying that, of course, I remembered him (I had friended him on facebook after all which meant I liked him). He told me of his plans to come to New York and that he wanted to see if we could meet up. I was thrilled because he was my favorite student in one class. He told me the dates he would be in the city and we put out tentative plans to meet for lunch.
As the days to his visit got closer, we put together a date and time to meet up. We decided lunch was still easier to do because he wanted to be a tourist and was planning to see downtown. I told him he could do that in between meeting me for lunch.
We decided to meet in front of the NY Stock Exchange. However, I didn’t know if he looked any different because it had been 6 years and he was 18 the last time I saw him. He did in fact look different but I still recognized him. We went to lunch and he told me that he’s now working for a company after getting his Master’s in Sociology. He told me about his thesis and what he had been up to in the past 6 years. I told him that shortly after teaching him I returned to work in the bank. I explained what I do and that I had recently had a baby.
He then told me that he was always very thankful that I forced him to stay in my class. I was teaching advanced conversation and he was very quiet but I could see from his expressions that he understood everything I was saying. His homework was the best of everyone in his class – always showing me that he grasped grammar than even native speakers didn’t always understand. The only problem was that he didn’t talk very much – a problem that I completely understood because I often found myself in the same situation. One day he approached me after class and asked me if he should go to a level lower. In order to do so, he would need my permission. I spoke frankly with him and said that he demonstrated excellent understanding of English grammar in his writing. He had no problem keeping up with my normally fast pace of speaking and seemed to understand the meaning of vocabulary I was using based on the context. I said that he seemed to me one of the best students in the class. I said I wouldn’t allow him to move to a lower level. I thought it best for him to stick with the class. I insisted that he had to make an effort to talk because it was in fact advanced conversation. I told him that I would call on him at least once in class if he didn’t volunteer to speak. I think this scared him so the next day he offered to give his opinion to a topic we were discussing.
The next few weeks he made even bigger leaps and bounds in his English because he became far more comfortable speaking. Aside from his slight accent and his natural tendency to speak in a quiet manner, he gave great presentations on topics assigned. He eased up when we played quick thinking games and generally seemed more relaxed in class. When he left the class, I was sad because he was such a thoughtful and respectful student. But I was happy he stayed in touch and it was very nice to see him, especially since he made the effort to see me. It was touching. I miss those connections and knowing that you are making a difference in another person’s life. I can’t say that I feel that influence in what I do now-a-days.
I replied saying that, of course, I remembered him (I had friended him on facebook after all which meant I liked him). He told me of his plans to come to New York and that he wanted to see if we could meet up. I was thrilled because he was my favorite student in one class. He told me the dates he would be in the city and we put out tentative plans to meet for lunch.
As the days to his visit got closer, we put together a date and time to meet up. We decided lunch was still easier to do because he wanted to be a tourist and was planning to see downtown. I told him he could do that in between meeting me for lunch.
We decided to meet in front of the NY Stock Exchange. However, I didn’t know if he looked any different because it had been 6 years and he was 18 the last time I saw him. He did in fact look different but I still recognized him. We went to lunch and he told me that he’s now working for a company after getting his Master’s in Sociology. He told me about his thesis and what he had been up to in the past 6 years. I told him that shortly after teaching him I returned to work in the bank. I explained what I do and that I had recently had a baby.
He then told me that he was always very thankful that I forced him to stay in my class. I was teaching advanced conversation and he was very quiet but I could see from his expressions that he understood everything I was saying. His homework was the best of everyone in his class – always showing me that he grasped grammar than even native speakers didn’t always understand. The only problem was that he didn’t talk very much – a problem that I completely understood because I often found myself in the same situation. One day he approached me after class and asked me if he should go to a level lower. In order to do so, he would need my permission. I spoke frankly with him and said that he demonstrated excellent understanding of English grammar in his writing. He had no problem keeping up with my normally fast pace of speaking and seemed to understand the meaning of vocabulary I was using based on the context. I said that he seemed to me one of the best students in the class. I said I wouldn’t allow him to move to a lower level. I thought it best for him to stick with the class. I insisted that he had to make an effort to talk because it was in fact advanced conversation. I told him that I would call on him at least once in class if he didn’t volunteer to speak. I think this scared him so the next day he offered to give his opinion to a topic we were discussing.
The next few weeks he made even bigger leaps and bounds in his English because he became far more comfortable speaking. Aside from his slight accent and his natural tendency to speak in a quiet manner, he gave great presentations on topics assigned. He eased up when we played quick thinking games and generally seemed more relaxed in class. When he left the class, I was sad because he was such a thoughtful and respectful student. But I was happy he stayed in touch and it was very nice to see him, especially since he made the effort to see me. It was touching. I miss those connections and knowing that you are making a difference in another person’s life. I can’t say that I feel that influence in what I do now-a-days.
Head of Hair
My little munchkin has a full head of hair. She’s had it since birth when she came out with a plenitude of black curls smushed against her scalp. The doctor even said “I see hair! And boy, it is a lot!”
I wasn’t surprised that she was born fully coifed because I know I had a lot hair when I was born. So I figured it would be the same for her. What has made me laugh is how everyone comments on how much hair she has. I always think to myself ‘but have you seen my head?’ because to me I see the correlation. But I guess I’m not that familiar with babies who didn’t have a lot of hair. My nieces were born with a lot of hair. I always figured it was an Italian thing to be born with helmet already intact.
In the early days of pregnancy I ate an orange almost every day. I’d get up, start making coffee or go and get some and then grab an orange. As my pregnancy progressed, I couldn’t tolerate any citrus or acid. It would give me the most intense heartburn and it was bizarre to me because I have hardly ever had heartburn in my life. As I mentioned this heartburn to people, almost everyone said that it was because the baby had a lot of hair. I honestly couldn’t see the connection. My doctor said the heartburn was due to the baby sitting on top of my stomach, which totally made sense to me.
The summer months passed where I couldn’t eat any ketchup on my hamburgers or lemonade to quench my thirst. Occasionally I would still eat those things and just remind myself of the consequences and remember to not complain since I had made the choice to eat those things.
So when my little cookie welcomed the world with the wealth of hair, I began to wonder if the folk wisdom of heartburn and a full head of hair wasn’t true. I am still quite doubtful especially since one of my good friends had the worst heartburn imaginable and her son was bald when he was born. Regardless, whenever we give her a bath, my favorite part of the ritual is drying and combing her messy hair. She’s like her mom in more ways than one when it comes to hair!
I wasn’t surprised that she was born fully coifed because I know I had a lot hair when I was born. So I figured it would be the same for her. What has made me laugh is how everyone comments on how much hair she has. I always think to myself ‘but have you seen my head?’ because to me I see the correlation. But I guess I’m not that familiar with babies who didn’t have a lot of hair. My nieces were born with a lot of hair. I always figured it was an Italian thing to be born with helmet already intact.
In the early days of pregnancy I ate an orange almost every day. I’d get up, start making coffee or go and get some and then grab an orange. As my pregnancy progressed, I couldn’t tolerate any citrus or acid. It would give me the most intense heartburn and it was bizarre to me because I have hardly ever had heartburn in my life. As I mentioned this heartburn to people, almost everyone said that it was because the baby had a lot of hair. I honestly couldn’t see the connection. My doctor said the heartburn was due to the baby sitting on top of my stomach, which totally made sense to me.
The summer months passed where I couldn’t eat any ketchup on my hamburgers or lemonade to quench my thirst. Occasionally I would still eat those things and just remind myself of the consequences and remember to not complain since I had made the choice to eat those things.
So when my little cookie welcomed the world with the wealth of hair, I began to wonder if the folk wisdom of heartburn and a full head of hair wasn’t true. I am still quite doubtful especially since one of my good friends had the worst heartburn imaginable and her son was bald when he was born. Regardless, whenever we give her a bath, my favorite part of the ritual is drying and combing her messy hair. She’s like her mom in more ways than one when it comes to hair!
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Bleach
Sadly I didn’t have the best relationship with my grandparents on either side. My maternal grandfather passed away when I was pretty young. I honestly can’t recall if I even met him. The other grandparents were weird to me and I remember as a child that I didn’t really like them. They were just there.
But what I do remember about my paternal grandmother is that she was a clean freak. Her house was spotless…it was really cleaner than spotless. I don’t want to say immaculate because that’s too cliché. The place smelled of newness and shined all over – almost like a diamond. It was that brilliant.
Not only was it the most impressively clean place ever, but my grandma smelled of bleach. There were times when she would tell my mom she was coming for a visit and I would freak out. I couldn’t stand the smell of her. She was so pungent and vomit producing in her bleach noxious aroma that I would pretend to be asleep to avoid having to hug or kiss her. When I had to say hello, her smell wore off on my skin and my clothes. I wouldn’t be able to get the scent off of me without taking a shower or bath and cleaning my clothes.
When I lived in France one of the first things I did was go to the grocery story. I decided to pick up some food staples and cleaning supplies so that I could do my share of cooking and cleaning in the apartment that I rented (I rented a big room from an older businesswoman). At the supermarket I picked up the French equivalent of an Italian word/product that I recalled my mom mentioning often when it came to cleaning. I felt proud of myself because I had now learned a new French word by way of my Italian that I could add to my dictionary.
When I got home and opened the product to clean the bathroom, the smell singed my nose hairs and made me want to retch. It was bleach. The same horrible, tear producing fumes that I associated with my grandmother were now in my super cool French bathroom! Ugh! Cough! Cough! Choke!
To this day I have issues with bleach. The other day my mom asked me for some to clean my floors and I told her she would have to ask my husband because I hate using bleach. When I was pregnant, the smell of bleach was one of the few things I could not tolerate (cigarette smoke being the other) without almost puking. Any memory of my grandmother is forever tinged in the smell of stinky sanitizing fluid.
What I pray for is that my daughter doesn’t have any similar pejorative memories of her grandparents like I did. Even if some of the things they do annoy me, I hope that they don’t forever plague her like the odor of bleach has done for me my whole life.
But what I do remember about my paternal grandmother is that she was a clean freak. Her house was spotless…it was really cleaner than spotless. I don’t want to say immaculate because that’s too cliché. The place smelled of newness and shined all over – almost like a diamond. It was that brilliant.
Not only was it the most impressively clean place ever, but my grandma smelled of bleach. There were times when she would tell my mom she was coming for a visit and I would freak out. I couldn’t stand the smell of her. She was so pungent and vomit producing in her bleach noxious aroma that I would pretend to be asleep to avoid having to hug or kiss her. When I had to say hello, her smell wore off on my skin and my clothes. I wouldn’t be able to get the scent off of me without taking a shower or bath and cleaning my clothes.
When I lived in France one of the first things I did was go to the grocery story. I decided to pick up some food staples and cleaning supplies so that I could do my share of cooking and cleaning in the apartment that I rented (I rented a big room from an older businesswoman). At the supermarket I picked up the French equivalent of an Italian word/product that I recalled my mom mentioning often when it came to cleaning. I felt proud of myself because I had now learned a new French word by way of my Italian that I could add to my dictionary.
When I got home and opened the product to clean the bathroom, the smell singed my nose hairs and made me want to retch. It was bleach. The same horrible, tear producing fumes that I associated with my grandmother were now in my super cool French bathroom! Ugh! Cough! Cough! Choke!
To this day I have issues with bleach. The other day my mom asked me for some to clean my floors and I told her she would have to ask my husband because I hate using bleach. When I was pregnant, the smell of bleach was one of the few things I could not tolerate (cigarette smoke being the other) without almost puking. Any memory of my grandmother is forever tinged in the smell of stinky sanitizing fluid.
What I pray for is that my daughter doesn’t have any similar pejorative memories of her grandparents like I did. Even if some of the things they do annoy me, I hope that they don’t forever plague her like the odor of bleach has done for me my whole life.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Welcome Aboard
I admit I watched ‘The Love Boat’ when I was younger. It was entirely cheesy and ridiculous but I wasn’t concerned with the weekly plots. What I enjoyed was the welcoming of the weekly passengers and the vistas of the cruise liner in the ocean or the shots of the locales where they docked.
The way the whole crew came out to the entrance and greeted everyone was my favorite part of the show. It made everyone feel accepted and happy to have chosen that cruise vacation. As I’ve grown older, despite how I feel about getting attention, I think it’s always important for people to welcome you when join a new team or start a new job. It makes you feel like a part of the gang and fosters teamwork and camaraderie.
In my new team, the ‘steward’ did reach out to me. But it was clear that he wanted to just get the beverages served. He didn’t so much care if I was comfortable in my cabin. The ‘captain’ didn’t make an appearance until day three even though I called to confirm my reservation and asked what I should pack for the trip. I haven’t yet figured out who the ‘cruise director’ is but my guess is that the’ steward’ holds that position as well.
What’s odd is that a few hours into my sail, the ‘captain’ did a public announcement for another passenger who joined the cruise. I have yet to get this public announcement. So it’s made it difficult for me to move from level to level and event without that introduction. I can’t really completely ‘relax’ on this cruise without that because I need to constantly present myself.
Now, I don’t have a problem introducing myself but I thought it would have been nice to have the ‘captain’ do that for me. Some parts of me even think that’s the ‘captain’s’ job but it’s debatable.
So lately I’ve been feeling like I can’t quite settle into this cruise because no one here is looking to meet or have fun. That’s fine. But now I don’t really want to hear any ‘lovey dovey’ stuff on this love boat either. I want everyone to keep their small talk to themselves. Perhaps they can even watch “The Love Boat” and learn a couple of pointers on how people should be treated when they go on the cruise also known as work.
The way the whole crew came out to the entrance and greeted everyone was my favorite part of the show. It made everyone feel accepted and happy to have chosen that cruise vacation. As I’ve grown older, despite how I feel about getting attention, I think it’s always important for people to welcome you when join a new team or start a new job. It makes you feel like a part of the gang and fosters teamwork and camaraderie.
In my new team, the ‘steward’ did reach out to me. But it was clear that he wanted to just get the beverages served. He didn’t so much care if I was comfortable in my cabin. The ‘captain’ didn’t make an appearance until day three even though I called to confirm my reservation and asked what I should pack for the trip. I haven’t yet figured out who the ‘cruise director’ is but my guess is that the’ steward’ holds that position as well.
What’s odd is that a few hours into my sail, the ‘captain’ did a public announcement for another passenger who joined the cruise. I have yet to get this public announcement. So it’s made it difficult for me to move from level to level and event without that introduction. I can’t really completely ‘relax’ on this cruise without that because I need to constantly present myself.
Now, I don’t have a problem introducing myself but I thought it would have been nice to have the ‘captain’ do that for me. Some parts of me even think that’s the ‘captain’s’ job but it’s debatable.
So lately I’ve been feeling like I can’t quite settle into this cruise because no one here is looking to meet or have fun. That’s fine. But now I don’t really want to hear any ‘lovey dovey’ stuff on this love boat either. I want everyone to keep their small talk to themselves. Perhaps they can even watch “The Love Boat” and learn a couple of pointers on how people should be treated when they go on the cruise also known as work.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Honest Abe
Along with Hollywood and the rest of the world, I have come to embrace and be interested by our 16th President Abraham Lincoln. Now don’t get me wrong, he’s always been one of our most interesting presidents so it’s not like this is a new discovery. Only my interest in him has been newfound.
I wanted to know more when I saw a statue of him outside of a museum near my house. I knew he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation and worked on the 13th amendment. I had read a book a number of years ago about the manhunt for John Wilkes Booth after he assassinated President Lincoln. The book was mostly about the tracking of JWB after the event and not much about Lincoln himself. As far as person, I had no idea what he was like. Luckily someone else in one of my book clubs was equally intrigued by Abe.
During the summer months we try to read a fun book so I suggested “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter” because it would be fun and maybe, just maybe, I’d learn something about Honest Abe. The book was quite clever and I won’t say much more than that about it because it would ruin the book. I did learn a few things about Abe that were later substantiated. He lost his mom at an early age, he didn’t have formal schooling and some other things (the obvious being that he was a vampire hunter – hehe).
It seemed as though the more I learned about him, the more I wanted to know. At the next book club the other Abe Lincoln fanatic and I decided to offer “Team of Rivals” as our next book. It didn’t happen for that month. As news of the movie “Lincoln” started to pervade our cultural awareness, we offered it up again as an option. This time we all agreed and I started to read this immense book.
I was daunted by the size of the book and thought I would dread reading it, but I quickly got through 200 pages in a few days. It took a bit to make additional progress as I was reading it around the holidays. But I kept trying to sneak in some time to get through a couple of pages. I really wanted to continue reading which is saying quite a lot about a tome!
I ended up seeing “Lincoln” the movie while reading the book which was very helpful because Daniel Day-Lewis so thoroughly embodies the 16th President. There are moments now when I think of Lincoln the president and all I see is Daniel Day-Lewis as Abe. I was touched by the movie and rushed to finish the book thereafter. It was quite amazing. I cried when I finished the book as I did with the movie. There were times while reading the book that I wished I had known or met Lincoln – he was just such a fascinating and intelligent man. I now understand why so many people, beside myself, are mesmerized by the Illinois lawyer who was born in a log cabin.
I wanted to know more when I saw a statue of him outside of a museum near my house. I knew he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation and worked on the 13th amendment. I had read a book a number of years ago about the manhunt for John Wilkes Booth after he assassinated President Lincoln. The book was mostly about the tracking of JWB after the event and not much about Lincoln himself. As far as person, I had no idea what he was like. Luckily someone else in one of my book clubs was equally intrigued by Abe.
During the summer months we try to read a fun book so I suggested “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter” because it would be fun and maybe, just maybe, I’d learn something about Honest Abe. The book was quite clever and I won’t say much more than that about it because it would ruin the book. I did learn a few things about Abe that were later substantiated. He lost his mom at an early age, he didn’t have formal schooling and some other things (the obvious being that he was a vampire hunter – hehe).
It seemed as though the more I learned about him, the more I wanted to know. At the next book club the other Abe Lincoln fanatic and I decided to offer “Team of Rivals” as our next book. It didn’t happen for that month. As news of the movie “Lincoln” started to pervade our cultural awareness, we offered it up again as an option. This time we all agreed and I started to read this immense book.
I was daunted by the size of the book and thought I would dread reading it, but I quickly got through 200 pages in a few days. It took a bit to make additional progress as I was reading it around the holidays. But I kept trying to sneak in some time to get through a couple of pages. I really wanted to continue reading which is saying quite a lot about a tome!
I ended up seeing “Lincoln” the movie while reading the book which was very helpful because Daniel Day-Lewis so thoroughly embodies the 16th President. There are moments now when I think of Lincoln the president and all I see is Daniel Day-Lewis as Abe. I was touched by the movie and rushed to finish the book thereafter. It was quite amazing. I cried when I finished the book as I did with the movie. There were times while reading the book that I wished I had known or met Lincoln – he was just such a fascinating and intelligent man. I now understand why so many people, beside myself, are mesmerized by the Illinois lawyer who was born in a log cabin.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
The Prince of Denmark
While I was on maternity leave, one of my students came to visit me and my daughter. In discussing what she was up to, she mentioned that she was taking a literature class. Of course this piqued my interest. I asked her what she was reading and what else was on the syllabus. She mentioned that she would have to read Hamlet and write a paper on it. I was hooked. I told her that I’d be glad to read her paper and help her out.
A few weeks later she took me up on my offer. She sent me a text asking me if she could send me a draft. I told her to send away as well as when it was due and what the assignment asked. She said she needed to write about what made Hamlet a complex character.
As I read her paper I was carried away into the world of the play. Although Hamlet is not my favorite Shakespeare play, I have read it enough to know it very well. I immediately recalled scenes and soliloquies as if I were reading the play right then. My student decided to propose that Hamlet goes crazy in the course of the play and that’s what makes him complex and vice versa. Regardless of my thoughts on that, I found her arguments very compelling.
I sent back my comments and grammar corrections along with specific lines and acts that she should look at and delve into. Mainly I told her to focus on building upon a comment she made about how Hamlet is a misogynist. She made a comment about Gertrude and brushed it off when it came to Ophelia. Additionally I told her to look at the scene where Hamlet stages a play and to use that as proof that he was conniving and methodical. She sketched that whole scene out and built on it tremendously. However I thought that if she spent more time on the paper and developed it further, she’d have an even greater case in proving he was crazy.
Her next draft came a few days later and I thought it was much improved. I would have given her an A minus for such a paper. I didn’t tell her that but I did see a lot of improvement from the first draft. I told her if she had more time to work on it, there were certain other things she could develop and flush out. Unfortunately she didn’t have more time.
She got a B+ from her teacher. She was happy-ish with the result. She thought it was a better paper based on my feedback and her changes. The reason she didn’t get a better grade was because her professor didn’t think that Hamlet was crazy. I told her that regardless of whether the professor believed it or not, she did an amazing job convincing the reader that he was a complex character who goes insane, which is the point of the paper. I thought she deserved better. I mentioned that grading is subjective and that one professor might give a paper a B+ where another teacher may give the same paper an A. It all depended on the luck of the drawer when it came to professors.
After that brief interlude with the Prince of Denmark, I wanted to revisit all my favorite Shakespeare plays. I haven’t done it yet but I always find something in them that I didn’t see before or an aspect that applies to contemporary life. I know the Bard is annoying or boring for most people but I find him to be chock full of great discussions points and amazing characters. Alas dear reader, I place the plays back on my shelf for the time being. Perhaps the next time I revisit Hamlet or Romeo or Julius Caesar, I will read them with my little munchkin.
A few weeks later she took me up on my offer. She sent me a text asking me if she could send me a draft. I told her to send away as well as when it was due and what the assignment asked. She said she needed to write about what made Hamlet a complex character.
As I read her paper I was carried away into the world of the play. Although Hamlet is not my favorite Shakespeare play, I have read it enough to know it very well. I immediately recalled scenes and soliloquies as if I were reading the play right then. My student decided to propose that Hamlet goes crazy in the course of the play and that’s what makes him complex and vice versa. Regardless of my thoughts on that, I found her arguments very compelling.
I sent back my comments and grammar corrections along with specific lines and acts that she should look at and delve into. Mainly I told her to focus on building upon a comment she made about how Hamlet is a misogynist. She made a comment about Gertrude and brushed it off when it came to Ophelia. Additionally I told her to look at the scene where Hamlet stages a play and to use that as proof that he was conniving and methodical. She sketched that whole scene out and built on it tremendously. However I thought that if she spent more time on the paper and developed it further, she’d have an even greater case in proving he was crazy.
Her next draft came a few days later and I thought it was much improved. I would have given her an A minus for such a paper. I didn’t tell her that but I did see a lot of improvement from the first draft. I told her if she had more time to work on it, there were certain other things she could develop and flush out. Unfortunately she didn’t have more time.
She got a B+ from her teacher. She was happy-ish with the result. She thought it was a better paper based on my feedback and her changes. The reason she didn’t get a better grade was because her professor didn’t think that Hamlet was crazy. I told her that regardless of whether the professor believed it or not, she did an amazing job convincing the reader that he was a complex character who goes insane, which is the point of the paper. I thought she deserved better. I mentioned that grading is subjective and that one professor might give a paper a B+ where another teacher may give the same paper an A. It all depended on the luck of the drawer when it came to professors.
After that brief interlude with the Prince of Denmark, I wanted to revisit all my favorite Shakespeare plays. I haven’t done it yet but I always find something in them that I didn’t see before or an aspect that applies to contemporary life. I know the Bard is annoying or boring for most people but I find him to be chock full of great discussions points and amazing characters. Alas dear reader, I place the plays back on my shelf for the time being. Perhaps the next time I revisit Hamlet or Romeo or Julius Caesar, I will read them with my little munchkin.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
The Doctor's Visit
My little munchkin had her 4 month checkup last week. It was
an interesting visit from the get-go. I was almost finished removing her footed
pajamas when she decided she needed to show me, and the doctor walking in, that
she wanted to turn over. The doctor saw this action and commented that she was
‘a little show off.’
After turning her over and getting her to stay on her back,
the pediatrician asked her how she was doing. She responded by showing the
doctor her foot. The doctor commented on how it was an exciting foot and that
it certainly provided a lot of entertainment for my daughter. From there the
doctor asked her how she was feeling; my daughter promptly presented her fist. The
doctor giggled and said “that is a lovely little hand”.
After the niceties were
done, the doctor proceeded to examine the internal organs around my baby’s
stomach by pressing her tummy. My daughter responded to this by putting her
hands behind her head and smiling at the doctor. The doctor said “This is my
favorite stage – 4 and 6 months”. My daughter continued hamming it up with the
doctor and the doctor said “I have a boyfriend for you.”
This prompted a long conversation because I suggested that
the doctor must have parents who want her to set their kids up with
matches. She said that actually they
didn’t do that but it would be a great service. Especially because she knows
the kids until they are 18 and she knows the families too. She ultimately got
to a point where she said you can tell a lot by a kid based on their parents.
She said my daughter was not high maintenance and was very happy. She suggested
that it’s because my husband and I aren’t ‘frequent fliers’ – meaning we don’t
go to her ever two minutes about stuff. The doctor said that there were some
parents that she saw every week. I could see that happening with some people
based on their personalities but I hope I am never like that.
I admit that my daughter’s interaction with her pediatrician
made me chuckle. She was so relaxed until she had to get her vaccinations. Very quickly thereafter though, she calmed
down. As we left the examination room, she smiled at the doctor again. She made
me very proud. I hope that she continues to be such a friendly and unflappable
little pumpkin.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
The Pirate
Recently my older, but smaller, dog had to have a growth on her paw removed. The vet thought it might be cancerous because it was growing at an alarming rate. As usual I was distraught by the idea of having to put my dog under anesthesia because with an older dog it is a very risky thing to do. Luckily she came out of the surgery as if nothing really happened.
The only indication that she had anything wrong with her was that she was dressed in a bootie on her one paw. This was mostly to keep her paw dry but also to keep her from licking her wound. Instead of putting the Elizabethan collar around her head (which we call the lampshade), we thought the bootie would serve the same purpose with less adjustments on her part. And we were right in that thinking because she walked the whole way home from the vet’s office without any complaint.
When she got home though, she moaned a bit. I think the walk home might have been too aggressive. Hearing her in pain made my heart sink. After giving her pain medication though, she eased off into a deep, recovering sleep.
The day after her surgery, she woke up bright and fluffy and pounced off of her bed as though nothing had happened the previous day. As she walked on the hardwood floor, there was a distinctive ‘tick, tick, tick’ whenever her bootie hit the floor. She had a slight limp due to the difference in spacing between her paw and the bootie. As she went to get her water and had her breakfast, the ticking noise accompanied her. My husband said that she sounded like a peg-legged pirate. Hence he decided to call her ‘the pirate’. Once he called her that to her face, she stared at him as if she were, in fact, the most menacing of pirates.
As the week progressed, we took her bootie off but that didn’t stop my husband from calling her ‘peg-leg’ or ‘pirate’. We thought her scar could use some airing out so we had to put the lampshade on her head to keep her from attacking her paw. Lampshades have a weird way of maximizing dogs’ eyes. Most dogs’ eyes take up their whole sockets (which is what makes them so cute and adorable). However, when a pooch has to wear a collar, it’s as though their eyes take up their whole head. It makes you pity them more. Luckily she didn’t mind having her little halo; she deals with it as best as she can. (Whereas my other dog purposely walks into walls in order to try to get the lampshade off her head.)
A week after the surgery, she had her stitches removed. The biopsy results came back and happily the growth was not cancerous. She just had a proliferation of collagen and connective tissues. As of today, her paw has healed over and you couldn’t tell she had a growth there. Regardless of this incident, she will always be our little pirate. Even if she’s no longer limping, she still stares at us with her menacing mug as if she wants us to walk the plank.
The only indication that she had anything wrong with her was that she was dressed in a bootie on her one paw. This was mostly to keep her paw dry but also to keep her from licking her wound. Instead of putting the Elizabethan collar around her head (which we call the lampshade), we thought the bootie would serve the same purpose with less adjustments on her part. And we were right in that thinking because she walked the whole way home from the vet’s office without any complaint.
When she got home though, she moaned a bit. I think the walk home might have been too aggressive. Hearing her in pain made my heart sink. After giving her pain medication though, she eased off into a deep, recovering sleep.
The day after her surgery, she woke up bright and fluffy and pounced off of her bed as though nothing had happened the previous day. As she walked on the hardwood floor, there was a distinctive ‘tick, tick, tick’ whenever her bootie hit the floor. She had a slight limp due to the difference in spacing between her paw and the bootie. As she went to get her water and had her breakfast, the ticking noise accompanied her. My husband said that she sounded like a peg-legged pirate. Hence he decided to call her ‘the pirate’. Once he called her that to her face, she stared at him as if she were, in fact, the most menacing of pirates.
As the week progressed, we took her bootie off but that didn’t stop my husband from calling her ‘peg-leg’ or ‘pirate’. We thought her scar could use some airing out so we had to put the lampshade on her head to keep her from attacking her paw. Lampshades have a weird way of maximizing dogs’ eyes. Most dogs’ eyes take up their whole sockets (which is what makes them so cute and adorable). However, when a pooch has to wear a collar, it’s as though their eyes take up their whole head. It makes you pity them more. Luckily she didn’t mind having her little halo; she deals with it as best as she can. (Whereas my other dog purposely walks into walls in order to try to get the lampshade off her head.)
A week after the surgery, she had her stitches removed. The biopsy results came back and happily the growth was not cancerous. She just had a proliferation of collagen and connective tissues. As of today, her paw has healed over and you couldn’t tell she had a growth there. Regardless of this incident, she will always be our little pirate. Even if she’s no longer limping, she still stares at us with her menacing mug as if she wants us to walk the plank.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Baked Goods
I was never good at chemistry. In fact it was my least favorite subject in high school. It was far too precise for my taste – measuring moles and ingredients just seemed so tedious to me. Hence, I don’t like to bake. I am far too free in my interpretations of recipes to be good at baking, which is why I LOVE bakeries and pastry purveyors. They make and provide for my insane sweet tooth much better than I ever could.
As far as cravings are concerned, I don’t recall too many while I was pregnant – some weird French delicacies were all I remember wanting. However once I gave birth I had an insane obsession with cookies but not just any cookies – cookies with walnuts in them. I still have no idea why I had this urge. I would go out on my walks with the baby in search of chocolate walnut cookies at a local bakery. Or I’d get Mexican Wedding cookies from another place (theirs had walnuts in them). I’d shovel the cookies into my gourd alone or accompanied with a glass of milk. I couldn’t get enough of them! It probably had something to do with the lack of sleep and the need to eat something quickly before the baby would wake up.
I thought about trying to bake them myself to curb my spending but I had other things to do –laundry, sleeping, walking the dogs. Now that I’m not as obsessed with them, I thought I’d give it another try. I bought all the ingredients and…they are sitting in my pantry unused. Maybe one day I will find the time to bake these darn walnut based cookies, but it isn’t happening anytime soon.
As far as cravings are concerned, I don’t recall too many while I was pregnant – some weird French delicacies were all I remember wanting. However once I gave birth I had an insane obsession with cookies but not just any cookies – cookies with walnuts in them. I still have no idea why I had this urge. I would go out on my walks with the baby in search of chocolate walnut cookies at a local bakery. Or I’d get Mexican Wedding cookies from another place (theirs had walnuts in them). I’d shovel the cookies into my gourd alone or accompanied with a glass of milk. I couldn’t get enough of them! It probably had something to do with the lack of sleep and the need to eat something quickly before the baby would wake up.
I thought about trying to bake them myself to curb my spending but I had other things to do –laundry, sleeping, walking the dogs. Now that I’m not as obsessed with them, I thought I’d give it another try. I bought all the ingredients and…they are sitting in my pantry unused. Maybe one day I will find the time to bake these darn walnut based cookies, but it isn’t happening anytime soon.
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