Curls

Prior to having Linus, I self-righteously declared:

 

I don't understand those women that are obsessed with their son's curls and won't cut their hair.

I'll never do that. I hate long hair on boys.

 

Linus was nearly 23 months old before he had his first haircut. When it was wet, his hair reached his shoulder blades. Now, it is curly, so it never looked nearly that long when dry. But still. Some days it looked like the hair of a ridiculous ragamuffin.

 

But some days... oh the perfection.

 

 

Angelic, beautiful, gorgeous, perfect. Colour me obsessed. And I dithered for months over what to do. I knew the time for a haircut was imminent, if not well-passed. I decided that I should cut it myself as I didn't trust anyone else to do it. I figured that I would be more angry if I let someone else ruin it than if I ruined it myself.

 

At any rate, I bought some nice hair-cutting scissors. Then I didn't do anything for another week or two. Then one lunch time- I did it.

 

 

I nearly cried. But I did it. A few snips across the back, made trickier by a massive cowlick across the nape of his neck and a teensy bit of trimming on the sides. I decided that keeping the curls in a bowl was crazy. So I put them in a ziplock bag. 

 

I've been pleased with how it turned out, but I'm still fearing future haircuts. I know I can't do it forever. Or can I? Are there any YouTube-based hair-cutting curricula?

 

Oh, and the day after I cut it, a woman referred to him as a "she". So much for the hair making him look like a girl.





Stages of Expat-dom

Every expat certainly hits several milestones in their journey. There are those firsts- firsts that let you know you're really not at home any more. And then they let you know that you're starting to consider this new place home. The two kinds of moments don't transition seamlessly from one kind to the other. They blend and overlap.

There's the first time you buy new toiletries and realize that you can't get your trusted deodorant/moisturiser/razor. There's the first time you need some new clothes and you want to cry because you can't wrap your head around the fact that you have to go up 2 sizes in England. (Not that you are actually bigger, but that doesn't matter to your irrational brain that is tied to the number of your American size.)

There's the time that you realized you looked right at a crosswalk, rather than left without even thinking about it. There are those times when you stumble over your words because your brain can't keep straight the American and British word choices. You can't figure out the right way to say it and then end up saying something that is a bizarre mix of the two that would make sense to neither an American or a Brit. Awesome!

There's the time your Mom asks is a phrase you used was British and your answer is "huh... well, if you didn't understand it, then it must be..." Then there's the time that you hear yourself say something and cringe. The other day, I had one of those moments. I was on the phone with someone and they asked if the number I had called from was the best number to reach me at. I heard myself reply, "Yes, it's my mobile". And not just mobile like I would normally say it (mo-bull). No, I said moBILE.

cringe

I heard it as it was coming out of my mouth. I even said "Oh my god. I can't believe I just said that. Who am I?" as soon as I said it. It was horrifying and hilarious. It was possibly my biggest milestone yet. I think I have to accept that my G'ma is right. I'm starting to sound a little bit British. (I'd always maintained that this was ridiculous and she's just going deaf.)

I'll tell you something, though. It's an expat milestone that has me surprisingly flustered. It demonstrates that I'm not fully entrenched in my new culture. I need new underwear. I've never bought underwear in England. There's no Target (my go-to underwear spot). The sizes are different. It's not that big a deal. I'm sure they have something at M&S that would be just fine, and yet... I'm dragging my feet. Perhaps I'm displaying my patriotism through my undergarments? Who knows.

What have your expat milestones been?

Did you experience any strange hang-ups that surprised you?

Cheerful Sunday

This week's Reason to Be Cheerful is a glimpse into some more of my crazy.

This morning, as I folded laundry, I made this face.

Oh so clean...

I explained to Ross, who was looking at me like I was crazy. That I love the way freshly laundered and tumble-dried men's shirts smell. Specifically undershirts. They smell manly and wonderful and I buried my nose in Ross' about 5 times before finally folding it. 

Fun fact: Despite the fact that we use completely different laundry detergent, Ross' shirts smell exactly the same as my dad's do.

Visions of Grocers

Yesterday I was visiting with some of my new mom friends (holla Jess, Suzy, and Clare!) and we were talking about the difference between customer service in the US and UK. I said that I'd love to train retail and restaurant workers on proper customer service. Waitstaff who never check on you or act put out if you want a refill of your water irritate me. The people who stand at the entrance of Next (a department store) drive me bonkers. I assume they are meant to be "greeters" a post I filled often when I worked in retail. In the US, this person cheerfully welcomes people to the store, informs them of any sales and encourages them to ask for help if it's needed. In the UK, however, it seems that this person is meant to awkwardly and pointlessly hover by the entrance. From time to time they may shyly make eye contact and tentatively smile. The very bold ones might mumble something about "Do you receive the catalogue?" as you walk past. It seems an utterly pointless thing to have a staff member do if they aren't actually going to do anything.  (Oops.  Are my crazies showing? I think so.)

At any rate, I was relating a story about when Ross and I were dating and he'd come visit me in Dallas.  My apartment was in walking distance to a Tom Thumb.

Not this one, but one a lot like it.

While I was at work, Ross would work from my apartment and often walk to the store and buy some food. Often times, he would actually cook dinner for me too. He's a keeper! Very early on, we went to the store together and all of the employees made eye contact and said "Hello".  Many asked how we were doing or wished us a nice day. Ross leaned over and whispered to me "Do you know them?" I laughed, confused why he was so bewildered.  After living in the UK for over 2 years now, I get it.  

After telling this story, one of my friends said that they loved that I call it a "grocery store". I paused, caught off-guard, never having thought to call it anything else. I asked what I should be calling it. She declared that I should never stop calling it that because it made her envision me shopping at a quaint little shop served by men in striped aprons, surrounded by fresh fruit and veg. I started to correct her, but she cheerfully insisted that I not ruin her illusion. There are some that are a bit like that. Central Market and Whole Foods are the best grocery stores known to man, even they don't quite fit that image. In my experience, American grocery stores and British supermarkets are pretty similar. 

I learned afterwards that someone in the UK would call it a "supermarket", though most often I find that people say the name of the actual store they are going to (Morrison's, Sainsbury, Tesco, Asda, etc.). Ross and I were discussing that "supermarket" is actually an American term, but it's not one that I would ever think of using in the sentence "I'm going to the supermarket later to pick up some bananas".  It strikes my ear strangely. Just, I'm sure, in the way that "grocery store" strikes the ears of my British friends. I don't find it strange to think of a store a supermarket, but to actually refer to it as one is another story. 

I think Clare is safe as I can't imagine calling it anything but a grocery store... If you need me I'll be spreading false images of the American grocery shopping.

Wait, what would a British person say instead of "I have to do the grocery shopping?" or "Tonight I'm shopping for groceries?"?
I just asked Ross and he wasn't able to offer any clarity...
Would it be something like "doing the weekly shop"?
I don't think I'll ever stop coming across these little fun idosyncracies! Isn't learning about a new culture fun!?

The Wall (Mommy-style)

I'd expected to be a bit frazzled and over-emotional in the wake of Linus' birth, but was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't the case.  I think in part because my recovery was so awesome, I felt really great in the early weeks.  I was sailing on new mommy adrenaline and Linus was pretty easy.  He slept a lot and only really cried when hungry.  I was able to get good chunks of sleep and was keeping up with the laundry and dishes.

Early days

Some of my mommy friends had talked about their husbands coming home and being unsure who to comfort first- their crying wife or crying baby.  I just couldn't relate.  I'd never really felt tearful or weepy.  I mean, sure, I'd been frequently tired and occasionally stressed, but overall I was doing really well.  I'm sure Ross' non-traditional schedule and amazing helpfulness helped.  There were a few times when he'd sense that I was nearing the end of my rope and would step in to give me some extra time.  (Sadly, because I'm breastfeeding a bit of extra time is the most he can give me as it always comes back to me/my boobs!)

But then this weekend.  Oh, this weekend!  In the last week or so, Ross and I both noticed that Linus seemed to have made some big strides developmentally.  He was a lot more smiling and interactive.  His personality was really starting to show and he was just SO FUN.  I'm fairly certain it was related that his sleep also went to hell.  He was eating frequently and doing little catnaps.  Up and down.  Up and down.  All. night. long.  Add to this the fact that Ross came down with a horrible cold that just wiped him flat out and you had one exhausted mom.  I was so tired.

Pouty face

I still didn't think it was that bad, until two nights ago when Linus woke up in the middle of the night after being asleep for only a very short while, I started to sob.  Not little misty tears.  Big, full out crying.  It just hit me all at once.  Something Ross had said earlier in the evening just kept looping through my mind.  He asked if I was ok to make my own omelette because he "didn't think he had anything left" to do it for me.  Now, he's not a jerk.  He was really, really sick.  But his words resonated in my exhausted brain.  I just kept thinking that it didn't matter if I had anything left to give or not, because I didn't have a choice.  I know I always have the choice to switch to formula to give myself a break, but I'm just not willing to do that.  Breastfeeding it really important to me.  I hate mommy-martyrs (or really martyrs of any kind) and that moment was the first time that I'd felt a martyr to it.  It was an awful feeling.  I felt the bed spin as I cried- like it had after parties in college when I'd had too much to drink.

Ross quickly snapped out of sleep and hugged me and asked what was wrong.  I was unable to answer him and just continued to sob.  He pleaded with me to talk to him.  I managed to get out "I'm just SO. TIRED."  He got out of bed and got Linus, comforting him and giving me a few minutes.  All in all, I think my little meltdown lasted less than 10 minutes.  I managed to pull myself together and feed Linus and put him back to sleep.  Ross stayed awake for awhile to rub my back and offer moral support.

We made it through the night and Ross gave us strict instructions to spend Monday sleeping as much as possible.  I wasn't to leave the house or try to accomplish anything.  I slept whenever Linus did and managed to crawl my way out of complete exhaustion.  By then end of the day I was back to my usual self.  Still tired, but in no danger of bursting into tears.

Then, Monday night, something magical happened.  I started Linus' bedtime routine at around 8:15PM.  I massaged him with coconut oil, put him in his PJs and nursed him.  Then I put him in his crib an swaddled him.  He started to fuss and I wasn't convinced that he'd go to sleep and prepared myself to have to go back in and try again.  I took the monitor into the lounge and within a few minutes he was asleep.  It was just after 9PM.  I went to bed at 10:30PM.  I woke up momentarily a few times during the night to tell Ross to roll over so that he'd stop snoring and probably out of habit, but was quickly back asleep.  Linus didn't wake up until 5AM!  He then had a diaper change, ate and was back asleep by 5:45.  He then slept until 9:15AM.  And so did I.

Happy boy

And it was glorious!
AMEN.

(I'm hoping that this is the start of something good, but also trying to remember that it might be a fluke.  Fingers crossed that it is a sign of things to come.)

When did your baby start sleeping through the night?
Did it happen all at once or gradually?
Did your baby ever cut you slack just when you really needed it?

Cheerful Sunday

A few nights ago I was making dinner.
I was preparing Jersey Royals and found the most awesome potato ever!

It made me almost irrationally happy.  I summoned Ross to view it with great excitement.  Luckily for me, he thought it was just as cool as I did.  We sure are dorks.

So our dorkiness and my love of heart shaped carbs is a great reason to be cheerful!

Packing for the Birth Centre: My Bag

I've read dozens of lists online of what you should bring with you to the hospital/birth centre.  I don't know about you, but I like to gather plenty of resources before deciding how to proceed.  I don't know why I do so much research on these things, because I generally end up doing what my gut instinct tells me anyway.  (It's just another one of my endearing quirks crazinesses.)  But as I've researched what to bring with me when we go to have our baby, I've seen some good ideas.  Most of the lists I've seen have been from an American perspective. The UK ones I've seen are mostly for a hospital setting.

So I thought I'd share what I'm packing to take with me to a Birth Centre in the UK.  I plan to have one bag for me, one diaper bag (or change bag, as they call them here) with stuff for the baby, and a food bag- so I'll break up the posts in that manner.  Plus, this bag is the only one I've packed so far :)

So here's what I'm taking with me:

My bag all packed

For during labor:

A large V necked maternity t-shirt, two sports bras, 2 pairs of slipper socks, and a massager

Hospitals in the UK don't give labouring mothers hospital gowns, so I've got a long-ish maternity T shirt to wear and be comfortable in.  I've got two sports bras so that I can have a dry one if I get out of the birth tub.  I'm not worried about modesty so much as containment.  Word is that your feet can get chilly, so I've got two pairs of fuzzy socks.  I figure the massager will come in handy to keep Ross' hands from getting too tired.

Post-labor:

a robe and slippers

They encourage at least an hour of skin to skin contact between mothers and babies as soon as the babies are delivered.  With this light, front-opening robe I can have a little warmth and modesty but still have great skin to skin time.  The little ballet slippers are a back up for the fuzzy socks.  They don't take any real space, so I figured they were worth throwing in.

Toiletries:

a bath towel, wash cloth, face wipes, make-up bag o' goodies, maxi pads, deodorant, and lotion

I'm sure I'll want to shower after our inital skin to skin and you are supposed to bring your own towel and a wash cloth.  I've also got face cleaner wipes for a quick clean up.  My make up bag contains:  shampoo, conditioner, face wash, face lotion, mirror, facial tissues, travel toothbrush and paste, bobby pins, several hair elastics, and lip balm.  I've also got a little sample-sized blush and mascara in case I feel like primping up a tiny bit for pictures, though I predict these will go unused.  The overnight maxi pads are a must for post-birth grossness.  Deodorant wouldn't fit in my bag o' goodies so it's loose and the lotion can be used during massage during labor.

Going home:

ballet flats, a zip-front hoodie, a nursing tank top, and sweatpants

I wanted clothes that would be comfy and utilitarian for going home.  The flats will be easy to slip on, the zip front hoodie and nursing tank top will provide easy access for breastfeeding, and the sweatpants are just plain comfy.  I've also got about 4 pairs of older underwear to wear either during or after labor.

In addition to the items pictured above, I also need to throw in my favorite blanket.  A friend recommended bringing a snuggly blanket for after the birth to be comfortable and cosy.  We'll also have an iPod to play music and our cameras for pictures and the requisite chargers.  Obviously, we'll have cell phones to make calls to spread the word after our son arrives.

Americans may be surprised about some of the things I'm bringing and some of the things I'm NOT bringing.  The reason I'm bringing some things (like maxi pads and towels) is that the NHS does not provide them.  At most hospitals in the US, so many things like these are provided.  Mothers are even encouraged to fill their bags with all sorts of freebies to take home.  In the end, insurance pays for all these "freebies", so I'd much rather wind up with a free baby than a bag of goodies!  As for things I'm not bringing, I don't need that much extra clothing or pjs because (unless something goes wrong and I need extra medical attention) I'll be leaving the Birth Centre to go home after no more than 8 hours.  This might sound crazy-early to American moms, but keep in mind that a home health visitor will be coming to our home to check on us the next day.  The quicker you can get a new baby out of a germy hospital the better, right?

So, what else do you think I should toss in my bag?

Do any of the things I'm taking with me surprise you?

Today I declare (a very small) victory

Last night, Ross and I went to the first of our 4 birthing classes.  It wasn't great.  It was lead by the head midwife from our area*, lasted an hour and a half and was scattered and not engaging.  We did learn the following helpful information:

(WARNING:  Gross bodily fluid talk ahead)

1.  When your waters (they use the plural here... weird, huh?) breaks, put on a pad for an hour, then call the hospital.  They hospital will want you to describe the color and odor of your waters and this is the best way to do it.  VERY HELPFUL TO KNOW!
2.  Squatting on a birthing ball during labor can open up your pelvis a LOT.  I think she said an additional 28%, but Ross and I thought this sounded made up or impossible.  GOOD TO KNOW!
3.  In the final weeks of pregnancy, don't lay back lounging on the couch.   Sit backwards on a chair instead, as this encourages the baby to get into optimal positioning.  USEFUL INFO!

I think that's about it, as far as new information goes.  Now if I'd been presenting the class** I would have presented things thusly:
1. Survey the audience:  Who here is having their first baby?  Who here is planning to have a natural birth/epidural/c-section?  Anyone having multiples?
2. Here are some helpful things you can do in the last weeks of your pregnancy to prepare for labor.  (Including #3 above).
3. What to expect when you actually do go into labor.  When should you call (including #1 above), how long should you stay at home before coming in, etc.  She covered information that I already knew about how long it takes to dialate and the stags of early labor that I'd include here.
4. What should you bring to the hospital with you?  What is provided by the hospital and what do you need to provide?  What do most women wear during labor? (Sounds silly, but this question did get asked and I think most women do wonder about it.)
5. What to expect next... later stages of labor, birth positions, etc.

That would take us up to about the same point, but see how I did it in a timeline order?  See how it was easy to follow and intuitive.  She how I am made calmer by things being presented in a way that walks me through what will probably actually happen, rather than just having things randomly thrown in amongst unrelated anecdotes?  I can't be the only one... Dear NHS, I'm available for consultation and training.  I have reasonable rates and am an excellent public speaker.  Kisses, Meg

At the end of the class, was the cherry on the cake.  We found out that the Breastfeeding and Active Birth Classes are separate from these 4 courses, and were told to sign up for them by calling 2 different area Children's Centres.  This was very important information to me.  Of course, it was disseminated by 3 different people all talking at once and saying different things.  So I had to go all "Loud, Bossy American" and request that they stop, slow down, and have one person say the relevant information clearly so everyone could make note.

Then, came the part of the evening that really riled me up.  They announced that husbands and partners were not welcome at the Active Birth Class.  Um, excuse me?!  The one thing that is, in my opinion, really important for Ross to know about and be able to help me with during labor and he's not allowed?!  What is this mickey mouse bullsquash!?  I was told that some women are "uncomfortable getting into different positions in front of other men".  I say those women need to suck it up or have their own special class for sissies.  I mean, you're going to be pushing a baby out of your vagina.  At some point, you've GOT to stop being precious about it.  I was told that I could teach my husband the things that I learned later on at home.  Great.  No one else seemed surprised or annoyed by this information, but I sure was.

This morning, I called the Toodle Hill Children's Centre (How great is that name?) to sign up for the Active Birth Class.  I spoke to a very nice lady and asked about whether husbands were allowed and explained what I'd been told last night.  I sortof, kindof, totallyonpurpose got her to agree with me that it was dumb (DUMB!) if they weren't allowed because they- ya know- need to know this stuff to help us during labor.  She said she'd check and call me back.  A while later she called back and let us know that men would, indeed, be allowed.  To which I declare "HA! Victory is mine!!"  Ok, perhaps the ladies last night were giving out bad info.  Or perhaps we'll get there on Jan. 27th and they'll tell us Ross can't come in.  But for now.  

HA!

*I'm sure she's an absolutely wonderful midwife who is great at delivering babies... just not so much with the teaching and giving presentations maybe...
**I also would have arranged the room entirely differently.  It was totally not conducive to a flowing/open conversation that they kept trying (and failing) to engender.  There were about 10 tables scattered around the room, each with 5 chairs.  Yep.  FIVE CHAIRS.  For a class entirely composed of expectant mothers and fathers.  Geniuses, I say.  Geniuses.  (FWIW, I would have gone with table arranged in a semi circle around the room so everyone could see each other and the leader.)

So that's my latest rant about how I'm crazy and could run things so much better than other people.  Do other people not get frustrated by/see the incompetence out there?  Or are they just more numb to it than I am?

Did you take birth classes?  Were they any good?

Bad Luck!

I've talked before about our fondness for game shows.  I've recently noticed something about quiz shows here in England.  Maybe it's just certain shows.  I can say I've noticed it on both Pointless and Eggheads as well as on the morning music quiz "Pop Master" on BBC Radio 2.

When a contestant gets an answer incorrect- even if their answer is the dumbest, most unlikely answer ever- the host will let them know that they are incorrect and then say "Oh... bad luck!"  It always strikes me as funny.  It isn't really bad luck to get the answer wrong.  Wait- that's not true.  Sometimes it is.  Like if the person was guessing between two options and chose the wrong one.

Maybe this is what they mean?

But for the most part "bad luck" just sounds like a strange response to me.  I mean, a quiz show is ostensibly about knowledge.  If you don't have the knowledge required, it isn't bad luck... it's just... bad.  Bad preparation?  Bad knowledge?  Maybe.  Bad answer!  Definitely!

It just strikes me as the host's (perhaps on order from the producer) attempt to coddle the offending player's feelings and ego.  Is this just another symptom of a society overly concerned with people not being made to feel bad about themselves?

I don't think that American quiz show hosts do this, but maybe I just didn't catch it.  Anybody out there know?

Making a fuss

Lately I've been feeling a little blue about the lack of fuss that my pregnancy has, and will, receive.  Don't get me wrong.  Ross makes me feel loved all the time.  My parents and other relatives are very excited about this baby.  There are friends of mine on Facebook that "like" every pregnancy-related status update or picture I post.  I know people care.  And I appreciate that.  I REALLY do.  I guess what I really mean is (and I fully accept that this is bratty)... I won't have a baby shower.  And that bums me out.


I know some people don't like when a fuss is made over them, but I maintain that- at certain times- everyone needs a good fuss makin'.  I think when people make a fuss over you, it reminds you how loved you are.  I talked about all the love that was shown to me (and Ross) by our friends in the lead up to our wedding and on the big day itself.  That love is one of the best feelings in the world.  It's a different feeling than the love that is on constant tap from your friends and family, even your husband.  It's a special outpouring of love.  Just for you.  For a special purpose.  To celebrate your birthday.  To celebrate your wedding.  To celebrate your pregnancy.


To minimize my brattiness, it's really not about the presents.  I mean they are really nice.  And I sure hope we get some.  Because, man, babies need a lot of stuff.  Stuff that's expensive.  (Ok, so it's partly about the presents...)  It's mostly about that fuss.  The people caring enough to throw you a party.  To send out invitations and make yummy food and ooh & aah as I unwrap tiny, adorable outfits and baby gear.  I'm sure I'd be having at least 2 showers if we were in the US- one from the ladies at church and one from my girl friends and probably even a 3rd from my office.  But we're not.  So I'm throwing a tiny pity party and then getting over it.

An interesting cultural difference between the UK and the US is that they don't do baby registries and the idea of baby showers is only just starting to be known here in England.  So, even if I had made lots of friends or if Ross' female relatives were still alive, I still wouldn't be having a shower.  Apparently it's similar for wedding showers.  And they call is a "Wedding List" rather than a registry.

I guess it makes sense as a cultural difference.  My American is showing with this desire for a fuss.  It's not really a British ideal, is it?  In the land of "Keep Calm and Carry On", it seems appropriate that they wouldn't focus on shouting "Hooray!" for things like we vulgar Yanks do.  The other day, we spoke to an older woman who is a cousin (of some sort, by marriage) of Ross'.  She said that they'd love to come "view" the baby after he arrives.  I think that's the extent of the fuss I'm getting.

Do you like to have a fuss made over you?
Did anyone else miss out on a fuss because you were far away from friends and family?
If so, how did you deal?

Meg's Rules for an Awesome Christmas Tree*

1.  Fake trees are a-ok.  Preferred even.  Unless they are some weird color.  Then they suck.

Our tree.

2. The only acceptable lights are small ones.  They can be either all white or multicolored.  I might be willing to negotiate on red and white lights, but don't push it.

3.  Pre-lit trees are for sissies.  Lights (and lots of them) must be carefully hand woven through each layer for maximum depth of light and sparkle.

small multi-colored lights

4.  "Themed" Trees are sick and wrong.  The theme of a Christmas tree should be Christmas.Trees should have ornaments in a variety of colors and shapes that are collected over the years.  Cheap filler ornaments can also be used in the early years of one's collection-building to bulk out your tree.

5.  The key to a good tree is sparkle.  This is achieved through step 3, combined with ornaments that catch the light via crystal, glitter, mirrors, or other means.

mirrors + glitter + lights = Christmas magic!

6.  Feel free to use non-traditional items as ornaments.  We've bought fun key chains on our recent vacations and are using them as tree decorations.  They are nice souvenirs and less expensive than fancy keepsake ornaments.

a key chain from Philadelphia

7.  Garland is an unnecessary distraction.  If you must use it, keep it classy.  No shiny foil stuff.

8.  Have ornaments that reflect your interests and personalities.  We've got Laurel & Hardy and pickles for Ross.  And I've got quite the collection of redbird ornaments.  This makes your tree uniquely yours!

vintage Laurel & Hardy ornaments

*This list is intended in the spirit of humour and poking fun at my own crazies.  They are my actual opinions but, while I reserve the right to judge you if you don't follow my rules, I understand that everyone has their own taste and style.

What are your rules for an awesome Christmas tree?

The Unborn... they grow up so fast...

So I've mentioned before my penchant for overly-dramatic emotional reactions for fun and profit husband-confusing.  I once possibly emotionally scarred a concession stand employee at a movie theatre by tearfully demanding to know if his question of "Diet or regular?" was an attempt to call me fat.  I pre-enacted a "drunken" bridesmaid speech that devolved into sobbing declarations that I would die alone in a house full of cats.  My shenanigans are funny to me.  And to the people that call me their friend.  And mostly to my husband, except for when I do too good a job and he worries that I might be serious- at which point I carry on for a few more nerve-wrenching seconds before declaring victory.  Victory!  Pass the Oscar, baby.  The best part about Ross is that usually he will play along.  We end up doing "bits" that make us laugh and devolve into the farthest reaches of silliness.  Sometimes we are able to reach glorious levels of comedy (of a dark nature) that catches the attention and WTF-ness of passers-by who happen to overhear us.

I've always reserved the right, as a woman, to ooh and aah over adorable baby clothing and accessories.  Before Ross and I even began trying, I would point out teensy things in windows and force him to agree with me that they were indeed "soooo cute".  One day (we might have already pulled the goalie, but possibly not) I pointed out something particularly squeee-worthy.  Ross just looked at it and said "I don't think it's the right size".  Because it is one of his bits to respond to my babywearcrazies by pointing out that said item would not fit me, I went on about how it was the cutest little outfit evar.  He said "We could go in and see if it comes in 'non-existant'".  I looked at him with hurt in my eyes and exclaimed that I didn't know how he could be so heartless.  Just because our baby was imaginary was no reason to claim she didn't exist!

**and scene**

Just the other day, the Manchester Christmas Market officially opened.  You guys know how we feel about the macaroons available at the Market, so we headed down to get our first snowballs of coconutty yum of the season.  I wondered allowed if the baby would like them- meaning if he'd do any dancing in my belly after I'd eaten them.  Ross replied that, "Uh, of course he will.  He's our son.  And he's awesome.  And why wouldn't he like THE BEST MACAROONS IN THE WORLD?!"  As we walked around I started to envision next year.  I thought about how we would bring our son with us and show him all the sights.  We would feel the cold fresh air on our cheeks and explore all the little booths full of delightful treasures.  I got really excited about all the fun things we could show our son.

The heart of the markets, in front of Manchester Town Hall

Ross pointed out that next year we could let him try a macaroon of his own.  My first thought was "NO!  He'll be too young for solid food".  Then I realized that at the end of November next year, our little baby will be almost 9 months old.  That's definitely old enough for bites of solid food.  This realization hit me like a ton of bricks.  I literally stopped in my tracks and cried out, "Why are you trying to make my baby grow up so fast!"

I think I was kidding.  You know... like those other times.  (But only sort of.)


Do you ever get freaked out by thinking ahead an realizing how fast time will fly?
Have you ever emotionally scarred a minimum wage service employee?
Does your significant other play along with your insanities?

Cheerful Sunday

You know how you* get lazy and stop blow drying your** hair and putting on make up sometimes?  You* figure your** hair looks good enough when you* sorta scrunch it and let it air dry.  Or wear it in a pony tail.  Or a messy bun.  And it does.  It looks ok.  You* put on your** face lotion, pencil in your** super-thin eyebrows (thanks Dad!), swipe on some blush and mascara and call it good enough.

You* could say it's because you're*** pregnant and so slippage like this is allowed, but in reality- you've**** rocked this look more often than not since you* got married and stopped working in a real office.

Then every once in awhile you* actually blow dry your** hair- maybe even run the straightener through it.  You* put on a full face of make up like you* used to everyday for work.

So yeah.  I actually put some effort in today and I was like "Oh look!  I look nice!  I like my hair!  It's pretty!"  That's a reason to be cheerful :)

*I
**my
***I'm
****I've

Meg and Ross and the Case of the Mockaroon

Ross LOVES macaroons.  No, not the trendy french cookies that are all over the wedding blogosphere.

Fancy Macaroons

It can also be spelled macaron.  They're supposed to be heavenly, but I've never actually tried one.

The ones made of shredded coconut.

Delicious fluffy bites of yum.

There's a Christmas market that sets up around Manchester town centre during the holiday season.  There are all these cute little wooden cottage stalls that sell crafty products and food.  It's really fun and crowded and cheerful feeling.

See- crowded!

(Personal photos)

See- cheerful!  I was dancing to the music of a band playing nearby.

(Personal photo)

One of the stalls sells "The World's Best Macaroons".  They ain't lyin'!  These things are huge and warm out of the oven.  They are light and fluffy and the best thing ever.  They are probably Ross' favourite thing about the Christmas season.

At any rate, he is generally on the hunt for competition to this self-proclaimed "World's Best" of his favourite treat.  There are plenty of crappy ones out there.  Ones that are sticky and hard or too dense.  Many are discounted on sight.

When we were recently in Boston though, we were wandering around the Quincy Market and stumbled across two contenders that merited tasting.  We opted to sample one of the stalls offerings as a pre-dinner snack.  It was very nice.  VERY nice.  Ross and I deemed it a fairly close 2nd in the "Best Macaroon in the World" competition.  

We decided that after we'd eaten dinner we would return to the market and try the other one.  We got very excited about the prospect of three strong contenders in this race.  That's normal, right?  Well we walked and explored the market and then found some place for dinner along the harbour.  It was a lovely night for a stroll.  

After we'd eaten, we headed back to the market, which seemed to still be hoping.  We walked inside and what did we see?

Why would they deprive a pregnant lady of a potentially

delicious macaroon comparing experience?!!?

The second bakery stall was already closed for the night.  Harumph!  It was very upsetting as you can see.  We were forced to go back to the first bakery stall where Ross obtained another macaroon.  I opted to go for a giant oatmeal chocolate chip cookie.  Mmmmm.

Well the next day, as we walked The Freedom Trail,

The Freedom Trail as it enters The North End.

(Personal Photo)

we entered Ross' own personal Mecca- The North End (aka Little Italy).  Before we left the area, Ross was planning our next trip to Boston which involves eating at every Italian restaurant in the vicinity.  We guessed it would take about a month.  We noticed lots of people with little white boxes, tied up with string.  We figured it was worth popping into this (apparently very) popular bakery.

As we looked at the offerings, what did we spy but a tray of pretty little white macaroons.  We asked for 4 macaroons and headed outside to eat them.  They felt light and fluffy... promising...  We each took a cookie and bit in.  And they were... not macaroons.  As Ross put it, "These don't taste like they've been anywhere near a coconut."  They were nice I guess.  They were sort of almond/marzipan tasting.  So disappointing!

Ross dubbed them "fake-aroons".  I (in my opinion) one-uped him by declaring that they were, in fact, MOCK-AROONS.  (Am I right?!  So much funnier... Ross still claims that "fakearoon" is better.)

Have you ever gone on a ridiculous quest for something?
Have you ever been thwarted by a baked good?
And most importantly, which is funnier "fakearoon" or "mockaroon"?

Mom hair part 2

Hey Guys...
Thanks for all the comments on the last post and for letting me know I'm not alone in my crazies!
So my dramatic chop didn't exactly happen.
I asked Hailey what she thought, explaining my state of waiver.  She decisively proclaimed that we'd trim about and inch and put in some more long layers.  I was sold.

Ross likes to call me Mrs. Flouncy Bounce when I'm fresh from the salon.

At that point, I hadn't actually told her I was pregnant yet.  (I actually lost enough weight during the first trimester that it's nearly impossible to tell if you don't know- unless of course, you are looking in my bra where I've managed to go from an E to an H in 15 weeks.)  I let her in on the news while she was cutting, which was strangely awkward.  I mean what do you say:  "Oh, by the way, I'm pregnant."?  That's what I went with.

As I was getting up from the chair, Hailey said something to me that cracked me up.  Especially given my post yesterday.  "Just so you know, if you come to me at any point in your pregnancy from here on out and tell me to chop your hair off, I'm going to say no, give you a trim, and send you on your way.  You'll thank me later."

Gotta love having a hairstylist you can trust!

Mom hair

I've needed a haircut fairly badly for awhile now.  I finally have an appointment for tomorrow.
For some reason, I tend to "save" having a haircut.  For example, I'm leaving to go on holidayvacation on Thursday- thus I'm having my haircut on Tuesday.  I guess my rationale is that I want to look nice for my trip.  Who knows?

I love having my hair cut.  Going to the salon is a woman ritual- the pampering, the idle chatter, the glossy fabulous hair.  It's soothing.  I consider it a treat.  Perhaps that is a reason for my "saving" behavior.  I do the same thing with gift cards.  I "save" them for something special- which means that they languish in my walletpurse for months.  My darling Ross is a different situation altogether.  He too puts off having haircuts, but not for the same reason.  He isn't delaying gratification.  No.  He is delaying sheer torture (at least according to him).  I've never seen such an intense and (don't tell him I said so) ridiculous fear.  He has to psyche himself up for a few weeks before he's able to actually have his hair cut.  His shoulders go up.  His neck tenses.  He goes quiet and humourless (shocking!).  He says that he's always hated having his hair cut and that he remembers screaming and throwing fits as a young boy.  I've decided that I'll be in charge of the children's haircuts :)

So back to my appointment tomorrow...  I've been wavering lately.  For the last few years, I've had pretty long hair (for me at least).  Over the course of my life, I've had every length of hair- from pixie cut to around the length it is now.

past my shoulders in Blackpool last month

I've been digging my longish hair for the last couple of years.  So part of me wants to keep it long.  Which would mean I'd get my fringebangs trimmed up and the layers neatened.  Boring, but nice.

But then... but then!  Perhaps it's some hormonal calling now that I'm pregnant, but I'm feeling myself drawn to a "mom" hairstyle.  A short, sassy bob?

Angled

Blunt

Or maybe something shorter, but less drastic?  I don't know.  I don't think I'll know until I talk to my hair dresser tomorrow.  I'll lay out my scattered thoughts and then get her professional opinion.  This is one of my favourite things about having a good and trusted hairstylist.  I don't have to make the decision on my own, I can get some valuable insight to ease my mind.  

Did you get a mom haircut while you were pregnant or after you had a baby?

Do you make your mind up before going to the salon or get input from your stylist?

Do you save up haircuts too?  Or is this just more of my crazies?

Waiting Game pt. 2 (a serious case of the crazies)

TMI series.  It was funny reading this back just before publishing... ah the craziness of trying to conceive...


written May 22, 2011


So I'm completely convinced that I'm pregnant.
But don't tell me.  I'm trying not to get my hopes up.

I'm in the dreaded 2 week wait.  What master of torture devised this timing structure?
Not long after I would have actually become pregnant my boobs went crazy.  Like in a way I've never known.  It wasn't soreness as much as sensitivity.  Particularly in the nipple area.  (Hey I told y'all this was part of the TMI series.)  It was driving me to distraction.

I've also been fairly emotional.  For no reason.  Like earlier today, I burst into tears because Ross said I looked pretty.  That's normal, right?

So basically- I'm making myself crazy.  If I am pregnant, I won't know for another 12 days or so.  And then all of my craziness will make sense.  But.  BUT!  What if I'm not pregnant?  Then I'll be super-sad.  And I'll be having weird symptoms for no reason.

When I told Ross this, he said to just assume I'm pregnant.  So I sort of am.  But I'm also bracing myself for disappointment.  (But I secretly don't think I will be.  Disappointed that is.)

Cause I really think I'm pregnant.
But keep it a secret from me.
I'm trying not to get my hopes up.

written May 24, 2011

So I'm still pretty sure I'm pregnant.  If not, I'm possibly insane.
It's amazing how many things are "symptoms" of pregnancy.
I'm pretty sure if you google anything physical (or even emotional) "+ pregnancy" you will find several results.
I think I might need a google ban...

written May 26, 2011


I'm half way through the two week wait.  I'm becoming riddled with doubt.  Sure I'm still having "symptoms", but what if it's all in my head?!  What if my period starts next week and I've just been crazy?
This is lame.  Lame.  LAME!

written May 27, 2011


So I hit a tipping point earlier today where I decided that- NOPE- I'm definitely no pregnant.  It lasted about 5 minutes.  I was absolutely positive for those 5 minutes and I was very sad.  Then I realized that I was being weirdly emotional, which then brought the doubt back.  Then I noticed that my boobs hurt, then I felt like crying.  Ok- I'm back on the doubt train.  Bleh.

written May 28, 2011


Yesterday I did some more crazy obsessive internet searching about early pregnancy symptoms.  I try not to buy into the craziness, but sometimes I just can't help it.  It actually ended up making me feel a bit better about the amount of my insanity.  I mean, sure I'm flipping out, but at least I'm not writing logs that include tidbits like this:
-slight pain in my left ovary area (possibly egg releasing?)
-twinge in my back
-I was lying in bed and my right leg fell asleep!  It didn't stop until I rolled on my side and went to sleep.  Weird!!
I'm obsessing, but I'm not tracking every tiny pain or strange feeling I'm having. I also haven't taken a pregnancy test yet.  I can't believe how many women take them ridiculously early!  Sure, it's taking all my willpower, but I haven't taken one yet.  That means I'm only a normal amount of insane, right? :)

written May 29, 2011


I was sure my period was starting last night.  A little bit of light spotting and I was ready to throw in the towel.  I figured it was only a matter of time.  It's now been 18 hours and there's no sign of any more friendly visit.  Bleh!  I'm holding it together pretty well, but the waiting is killing me.  I've always been this way about hating the "limbo" period of anything.  Not that I know many people who are good with it...  I keep telling myself that I'd be fine either way- as long as it was a definitive answer.  But Mother Nature don't play fair.  Have I mentioned- bleh!

written May 30, 2011


Still no sign of my period.  I had a killer migraine last night.  I haven't had one in ages.  It is so frustrating to try and maintain composure when you're waiting to find out.  I mean, I know I've done an amazing job of it so far, but I wanted y'all to know that this kind of grace doesn't come easy. :)  I'm trying not to read "symptoms" into everything and obsess, but I'm failing.  Not failing miserably, though, just failing.

written May 31, 2011


I'm not pregnant.  Hmph.

written June 1, 2011

Well this month has been a total roller coaster.  I can't say I was a fan.  As you can read- I went from being absotively sure that I was pregnant for a while.  I still think that something was different this month.  Perhaps I had a fertilized egg that didn't implant.  Who knows.  I'm vowing to be more sane next month.  I've been a little sad yesterday and today, but I'm ok.  It's only been 5 months of trying- and really only one month of non-passive trying.  Also, my husband is sweet and wonderful.

The end of the worlds longest and insane-ist post ever.

Fiddle faddle

So if you pay attention to the news at all- at least here in England- you know that there have been a spate of MPs who got in serious trouble for claiming things on their expenses that they shouldn't have.  It's been going on for quite a while, but there are still occasionally news stories about new developments.

These news stories tend to bring out my husband's crazies.  I've told you about a few of mine, but don't worry, Ross and I are a well-matched couple.  He's got his own crazies!

Every time a story related to these scandals comes on the radio, they very proper, well spoken, BBC news casters say a phrase that sets Ross' crazies into overdrive.  They'll say that an MP was accused/found guilty of/sentenced for "fiddling their expenses".

Fiddle away

This makes Ross' shoulders go up and his hackles go up.  He gets all ranty (and cute) and yells at the radio.  It drives him crazy that, in a serious news story, they use such casual slang.  He has a point that these MPs are not charged with "fiddling" anything.  As best as I can tell, they are charged with "false accounting".  Ross claims it's just a matter of time before the reporters are saying things like:

"He got done for fiddling and is now banged up."

"The bitch is in the chokey for fiddling."

I have to say, though it doesn't provoke my crazies like it does his, that he's right.  It makes me wonder why the hallowed BBC continues to use such slangy and ugly (and for that matter inaccurate) words in their reporting.

What do you think?  

Would that bother you, or is my husband just special?

Is there anything you hear in the media, that gets your crazies?

Sniff sniff

Ah-Choo!

I don't know if this product exists in America, but I never noticed it before moving here.   They are basically double sized tissues.  I have to say, I'm not a fan.  

I think it's because (gross info time) when I blow my nose, stuff comes out and I want to throw it away.  That feels wasteful because there is so much clean tissue left, but I'm not going to carry around a tissue half filled with snot- cause that's gross.  Duh!  

So, I already wasn't a fan of this product, but then they went and poked the bear that is my crazies* by putting out a new commercial:

Kleenex TV advert

So, the gist of the ad seems to be that they have a new package that will cause the tissues to be annoyingly easy to lose and hard to find.  Who is the ad genius who came up with that?!  Seriously.  Am I the only one that doesn't get this as a concept for an ad campaing.  "Kleenex:  We'll irritate you real good!"  

I swear, every time this ad comes on the TV my blood pressure goes up and I have to stop myself from yelling at the screen.  I have no idea why it gets under my skin so much.  I guess that's just my crazies for you.

What drives you needlessly crazy?

*I am fully aware that Kleenex doesn't know who I am or do anything to intentionally provoke me.  I'm being humorous  not delusional :)

The greatest word in the history of the world*

I'm spreading the gospel.

I love the word "y'all".  That might sound like an overstatement and perhaps it is.  I mean I'm not a total psycho about it, but come on.  Let's admit it.  It's awesome.  I guess it's my Texas upbringing that gives me such fondness for the word.  It is certainly the best way to indicate that one is speaking to a group of people.  

I've already got Ross using it and I'm not stopping there!  I want to turn y'all into a global phenomenon.

I've heard some southern transplants lament the fact that this gem has crept into their vocabularies.  Why!?  It's a lovely little word.  It get's the point across and it rolls right off the tongue.  Tell me what better word or phrase there is to take it's place?  The midwestern "youse guys"?  I think not.  "Everyone"?  Where's the charm in that?

Now this brings me to one final point about my beloved word.  It is y'all.  Y-apostrophe-A-L-L. It is NOT, under any circumstances "ya'll".  It seriously brings out a case of my crazies when I see it spelled this way.  Just think about it.   It is a contraction of the words "you" and "all".  The apostrophe takes the place of the "O" and "U".  It is pronounced exactly like it looks with the "y" flowing gently into the "all".  If it were "ya'll" it would be a contraction of what exactly?  "Ya" and "all"?  "Ya" isn't even a word.  And it would be pronounced with an awful and halting "ya" sound followed by a guttural "lllll".  Sick and wrong I say!  Sick and wrong!

So, dear readers, please strive to incorporate the word "y'all" into your daily vocabulary.  But only if you spell it correctly ;)

What is your favourite regional word?

My fav in Northern England so far is the use of "Ta" for "Thank you".  It sounds so friendly and sweet.

*Perhaps the slightest bit of an exaggeration.  But y'all don't blame me, right?