Monday, June 30, 2008
Roommate Reunion (a few of us anyway...)
Kiki's parents were kind enough to take a detour in their trip and let her and sweet little Parker have breakfast with me, Logan, Kasidee and Bentlee. It was fun, even though when I got to work I realized I was still starving because I think between the three of us talking and feeding/chasing the babies none of us really ate much. What cute kids we have!
Friday, June 13, 2008
For Your Information - My Baby Will Not Turn One on Sunday
This time last year on a Friday morning I drug myself to work. I had gotten home from the hospital around 1:30 a.m. vowing I would not step foot back in that hospital until I could barely walk. I sat at my desk "working" with my eyes closed waiting for the vise that had a hold of my insides to release so I could start working again. I did this as discreetly and professionally as I could manage, however at 9:30 one of my co-workers suggested I go home. I think they were less concerned with the lack of actual work taking place than the thought of what might happen should I stay there too long.
The nurse at the hospital had told Dave the night before not to bring me back in until I was "hanging off the furniture". He didn't go on the mountain that day with the rest of the crew and when he came home for lunch he learned what "hanging off the furniture" meant because that is how he found me. I told him to go back to work insisting I was not ready to go back (I believe you are all aware how stubborn I am?). I think I lasted 10 minutes after he left before I decided I couldn't take it anymore and drove myself to the hospital.
I met my doctor in the parking lot and he asked me what was going on. I think his question had a lot to do with the fact that I had hit my "barely walking" goal by this time. As best as I could in the middle of another guts-in-a-vise-grip episode, I told him I didn't know what was happening but it hurt like hell.
Five hours and an magical epidural later Logan David Veater made his grand entrance, complete with a vacuum attached to his head. They put him on my stomach and I stuck one finger out and poked his arm. That is how I greeted my first child into the world - I poked him. If I had been paying attention I'm sure I would have looked up to see Dave, two nurses, and the doctor glancing at each other with eyes that would have undoubtedly said "did she just POKE that baby?" Dave probably just shrugged his shoulders - poor guy. What explanation could he give for a poke? I didn't have a clue in hell what I was doing that day, and I still don't. I think the most notable fact here however, is that that same person who poked her child has also managed to keep him alive for 11 months, 4 weeks, and 1 day.
Fast forward those 11 months, 4 weeks, and 1 day. I am at a different desk but I am at work again with the same thing on my mind as I did that Friday nearly a year ago. The birth of that little fart. Was it really that long ago? I can remember it perfectly. Every. Little. Moment.
Thankfully for you, I have left out the majority of those moments, as they were not all precious or pretty.
Why am I crying? Why have I turned into that blubbering mom who tells this story and cries and says things like "Was it really that long ago?" Am I really that person? When we moved Dave was a little saddened by the fact that that house had been the only house Logan had known and so many "firsts" had happened there. Not me. I was ready for our new adventure. But now, a month later I turn into the sentimental one deep in denial of the upcoming doomsday? To this point I have been a little sad with each milestone that has come and gone but this one, this one has really got me. One year old? No, nope, not going to happen.
No one asked me if he could turn one.
No one told me I would cry as I made his party invitations.
No one told me the first year would go as fast as the first week.
I need more time. On Sunday my baby will no longer be considered an "infant", he will be a "toddler". Hold the phone. I am not ready for the T word. No one asked me if he could be classified as a toddler. I don't care if he does "toddle" all around the house and the yard and basically anywhere you'll let him - he is NOT a toddler.
So, as a final thought I will leave you with a warning:
My child will remain 11 months, 4 weeks and 1 day old until further notice.
If you dare to contradict this statement in my presence, you best have some Kleenex. If you dare to call him the "T word" you will most likely be toddling around yourself after I am done with you. And yes, that was a threat.
The only thing that may get you in worse shape than committing one of those two sins is suggesting it is time for another one. Hello? Do you KNOW Logan?
The nurse at the hospital had told Dave the night before not to bring me back in until I was "hanging off the furniture". He didn't go on the mountain that day with the rest of the crew and when he came home for lunch he learned what "hanging off the furniture" meant because that is how he found me. I told him to go back to work insisting I was not ready to go back (I believe you are all aware how stubborn I am?). I think I lasted 10 minutes after he left before I decided I couldn't take it anymore and drove myself to the hospital.
I met my doctor in the parking lot and he asked me what was going on. I think his question had a lot to do with the fact that I had hit my "barely walking" goal by this time. As best as I could in the middle of another guts-in-a-vise-grip episode, I told him I didn't know what was happening but it hurt like hell.
Five hours and an magical epidural later Logan David Veater made his grand entrance, complete with a vacuum attached to his head. They put him on my stomach and I stuck one finger out and poked his arm. That is how I greeted my first child into the world - I poked him. If I had been paying attention I'm sure I would have looked up to see Dave, two nurses, and the doctor glancing at each other with eyes that would have undoubtedly said "did she just POKE that baby?" Dave probably just shrugged his shoulders - poor guy. What explanation could he give for a poke? I didn't have a clue in hell what I was doing that day, and I still don't. I think the most notable fact here however, is that that same person who poked her child has also managed to keep him alive for 11 months, 4 weeks, and 1 day.
Fast forward those 11 months, 4 weeks, and 1 day. I am at a different desk but I am at work again with the same thing on my mind as I did that Friday nearly a year ago. The birth of that little fart. Was it really that long ago? I can remember it perfectly. Every. Little. Moment.
Thankfully for you, I have left out the majority of those moments, as they were not all precious or pretty.
Why am I crying? Why have I turned into that blubbering mom who tells this story and cries and says things like "Was it really that long ago?" Am I really that person? When we moved Dave was a little saddened by the fact that that house had been the only house Logan had known and so many "firsts" had happened there. Not me. I was ready for our new adventure. But now, a month later I turn into the sentimental one deep in denial of the upcoming doomsday? To this point I have been a little sad with each milestone that has come and gone but this one, this one has really got me. One year old? No, nope, not going to happen.
No one asked me if he could turn one.
No one told me I would cry as I made his party invitations.
No one told me the first year would go as fast as the first week.
I need more time. On Sunday my baby will no longer be considered an "infant", he will be a "toddler". Hold the phone. I am not ready for the T word. No one asked me if he could be classified as a toddler. I don't care if he does "toddle" all around the house and the yard and basically anywhere you'll let him - he is NOT a toddler.
So, as a final thought I will leave you with a warning:
My child will remain 11 months, 4 weeks and 1 day old until further notice.
If you dare to contradict this statement in my presence, you best have some Kleenex. If you dare to call him the "T word" you will most likely be toddling around yourself after I am done with you. And yes, that was a threat.
The only thing that may get you in worse shape than committing one of those two sins is suggesting it is time for another one. Hello? Do you KNOW Logan?
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Kitchen Before/After
Ok, here are the before and after pictures of the kitchen...
Before.... The old view from the living room, complete tile going way too far into the living room. This is after we took down the upper cabinets so it looks worse (slightly) than it would with those still intact.
The old cabinets/countertops/sink. blech. 
Before.... The old view from the living room, complete tile going way too far into the living room. This is after we took down the upper cabinets so it looks worse (slightly) than it would with those still intact.
The new view from the living room. We ripped out all the tile and extended the carpet out to the hallway and added laminate wood floor to the kitchen.
The old cabinets/countertops/sink. blech.
The new cabinets/countertops/sink. That's my baby, the big single-bowl sink. I love it because I can set a 9x13 casserole dish down inside to soak or wash a cookie sheet without splashing water everywhere. Oh the little pleasures in life!
The other side, I don't have a before picture of it. We painted the kitchen too while we were at it. Eventually we want to add a tall pantry cabinet to the other side of the fridge...
So... looks pretty nice huh! Dave worked so hard on it and I think it is beautiful! Thanks babe!
And here's a picture of Logan from a few months ago - his first time to a park with mom and dad for a picnic.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)