Random Photo Friday

She's Growing!

We had Miss P's 2 year appointment yesterday. (Yes, I know it's almost a month late... so sue me.) We have very exciting news.... are you ready???

Miss P is 24.5 pounds.

That's the 20th percentile on the American charts! When we came home from Vietnam, she wasn't even on the charts! This is big news. Exciting news! But not quite as surprising as the second measurement.

Miss P is also 34 inches tall - which puts her in the 75th percentile. When the husband heard the news, he asked Miss P if perhaps she wasn't actually Chinese and related to Yao Ming.

According to the P.A., Miss P is perfect in every way. But there is a small issue we'll be keeping an eye on over the next couple of years. Her lower eyelashes aren't growing 'out' as much as they should - they turn 'in' and, although it's not a problem yet, the lashes could eventually begin to brush against her eyeball and cause damage. If that happens, there's a simple surgery to correct the issue. I put this out there because it is evidently something not uncommon with Asian children so eye exams are very important at age 3 for our kiddos. And there ends my public service announcement for the evening!

Running: A Play by Play

This afternoon, I headed out for a 28 minute run (day 2 of week 8, c25k). I started with a 5 minute warm up walk, marveling in the gorgeous weather and the sunshine and the light breeze. Then I started the run.

27 minutes to go: This is great! What a gorgeous day! I feel fabulous!

24 minutes to go: Look at all of the neighbors enjoying this beautiful day! Hello neighbors!

20 minutes to go: Okay, I'm still feeling good. My legs are a little tired, but my breathing is even. I can do this!

18 minutes to go: It's easier to run on the treadmill when I have a tv in front of me. I miss watching NCIS. Mark Harmon is really hot.

15 minutes to go: What? Sorry... I'm still thinking about Mark Harmon...

12 minutes to go: I can do it. I've made it this far - I can do it!

10 minutes to go: Oh God, I can't do it.

7 minutes to go: Oh good, the neighbors are still outside. If I can just make it to their driveway, they can call the ambulance when I collapse.

5 minutes to go: Where in the %*$@# did that wind come from?

3 minutes to go: Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

1 minute to go: Why in the *&%@# do I always end up running the last part of my run on an uphill climb????

28 minutes completed: Ha! I knew I could do it!

A Reading Tip For My Friends

When you decide to settle in for a cozy night of reading, it's important to make preparations. You should have warm pajamas, fuzzy socks, and a heavy quilt (preferably one you made yourself). Your children should go to bed early, and your husband should be distracted by a basketball game.

But learn from my mistake:

If you choose to immerse yourself in a mystery set in wine country, make sure you have wine in the house. Otherwise you will find yourself abandoning the warm pajamas, fuzzy socks, and heavy quilt in favor of track pants and a sweatshirt so that you can make a trip to a local establishment for cabernet.

She's A Jukebox Hero

So Uncle Dave... I can actually take these sticks and hit things with them, and no one's going to yell at me??? Cool!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(The reflective emblem on Uncle Dave's hat doesn't do much for the shot, but I love the expression on Miss P's face! And the Tinkerbelle dress? That's courtesy of Cousin A.)

Three Quick Updates

1) Wally the Cat is settling in. Tonight, the husband was trying to convince him to come up the last two stairs to the main level of the house. Wally decided to entice the husband to rub his belly, so he rolled over... forgetting he was on the stairs and slipped down about 5 steps before catching himself. Oops. THAT was embarassing :)

2) Social security card update: Now that Miss P was readopted in January, she's eligible to receive a state birth certificate. (Don't even get me started on why we need a birth certificate stating that our Vietnamese daughter was born in our state...) Anywho, we zipped down to the office of vital records, waited around for 40 minutes, and charmed all the other waiters with our lovely rendition of the Itsy Bitsy Spider... over... and over... and over again. If anyone reading this was in the office of vital records on Wednesday at 11:30 a.m., I apologize profusely. But our mission was successful and we have the birth certificate. So, silly me - I assumed a state-issued birth certificate and a court-issued statement of adoption and legal name change, plus all of the Vietnamese adoption documents and translations would be enough to get Miss P a social security number. Ha! I thought wrong. I must also have a doctor's letter, on his letterhead, confirming that P's name is her name, her birthdate is her birthdate, and that we are her parents. Because, obviously, the pediatrician is the ultimate authority in these things.

In case you're not clear? I hate the social security office.

Now that I'm on the terrorist warning grid, I'll mention that I've got an appointment at the doctor's office on Wednesday and the condescending man at the SS office has assured me that we'll have Miss P's SSN a day later. We shall see. Because I'm ever-so-anxious to move beyond the SSN and get to the fun and excitement that will be the Certificate of Citizenship. Whoo!

3) The wind is whipping around like crazy at the moment. If you don't hear from me, it's because I've been blown away.

Another Picture

I thought this was funny...

Since Wally is microchipped, I received an email from the national registry with a picture of my cat, taken while he was at the shelter. Actually, Wally received the email - the official correspondence addressed to 'Wally the Cat'. Ha!

Introducing... Wally The Cat

This is an incredibly poor pic because I took it with my point and shoot camera, but you get the idea. This is our new family member, Wally the Cat!

The little ones and I picked N up from school and headed up to the humane society in the next county over (see my previous post for the reason for our 20 minute trek). I was thrilled to realize when we got there that this was a no-kill shelter, which meant I had no reason to feel guilty for not taking home every one of the cats. There were five rooms of cats, some in cages and some roaming around. The girls dutifully checked out every cat in the place... some of them twice. This little guy had two brothers and a sister and they were immediately the favorites, but we went back to each room one more time to make sure we had narrowed the choices down to our final four.

I was really surprised that there wasn't a major battle between A and N. I was dreading the moment when each fell in love with a different cat. As it turned out, both were absolutely sure a black kitten was what they wanted. Then they narrowed it down to two, and Wally ended up as the last cat standing. Also surprising is that fact that Wally isn't exactly a kitten. He and his siblings are 10 months old. There were younger kittens available but my girls wanted Wally so...

He's hiding under the couch in the basement at the moment. He's met Oscar, our 15 year old cat. Oscar wasn't impressed. He's met Stuart Little, the miniature poodle. Stuart growled, Wally hissed, and they went their separate ways. Evidently, they didn't find each other all that exciting either. I'll take better pics over the next few days. I also need to update you on the latest installment in P's social security card saga. Hopefully I'll have time tomorrow - right now, I need to go get a cat out from under a couch.

Here Kitty Kitty!

If the husband indulged me a tad more, I'd be the crazy cat lady in our neighborhood. I'd have 27 cats named after characters in my favorite books and I'd spend all day brushing cat hair off my clothes. However, the husband has a silly rule that states There Can Not Be More Pets Than People In The Household.

We're up to 5 people and down to 2 pets, since I had to put my Cleo kitty to sleep and the unfortunate Hamster Incident of Christmas 08, so the ratio seemed ripe for a new addition. N has been begging for a new pet, but we haven't been able to come up with something that was both acceptable to me (sorry Nicki - no rats in this house!) and not prone to kicking the bucket. I advocated for a new kitten, but the husband was not on board.

After a couple of months of serious resistance, however, the husband was ambushed at the Home Show by a corner booth set up by the local humane society. Several furry animal petting sessions and impressive groveling from all three daughters later, the husband conceded that a new kitten wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

I shifted into kitten shopping gear and made phone calls to the local shelters. Our main in-town shelter charges a modest $35 fee for cat adoption... and then railroads new pet owners into spending approximately $250 more in antibiotics and other vet bills before releasing the cat to its new home. Another in-town shelter evidently expects potential pet adopters to use magic to find their new furry family members, since they don't answer their phones and have the screwiest office hours known to man. Or beast. Heh.

Anywho, the humane society in the county next to ours is much more reasonable. For the low low price of $40, we can bring home a kitten that has all of its shots, has been microchipped, and has been spayed/neutered. When I asked the nice lady at the shelter (who actually answered the phone) how they could afford to place pets with such low fees, I was told that local vets donate their services in exchange for actually finding homes for pets, rather than impeding adoptions by imposing huge fees. Wow, what a novel concept! Maybe they should write a little note to our in-town shelter and provide a few tips, since our in-town shelter is actually planning to send animals to a neighboring state because it's overcrowded.

Anywho, since I've now written a novel and you really couldn't care less about my humane society saga, I'll close by telling you that our adoption application was approved and we're going tomorrow after school to choose a new kitten. If it's a girl, her name will be Darby. If it's a boy, we'll name him Wally. (girl name chosen by A, boy name chosen by N, people name restriction imposed by me - I refuse to name a cat Fluffy or somesuch)

We may not be able to bring him/her home tomorrow, but pictures will be posted once we do so you can ooooooo and ahhhhh over the cuddly cuteness.

Valentine's Day Menu

We're celebrating the Valentine's holiday this evening, since my parents may be coming down this weekend (dependent upon the state of the roads after this massive storm moves through the Midwest). We're going to grill some steaks, crack open a bottle of wine, and settle in for our favorite tv shows. Ahhhh, the romance!

The complete menu:

Salads with chunk blue cheese dressing
KC Strip Steaks, currently marinating in a balasamic vinagrette dressing
Loaded baked potatos
Corn on the cob

I don't have a dessert planned though, which seems a massive oversight during a holiday dedicated to chocolate. Any ideas?

Running Like I Was On Fire... Literally

I'm still zipping right along with the C25k running program. I'm on Week 6 and got up bright and early this morning to hit the gym before the husband had to go to work. As I was walking in, completely focused on my iPod buttons, a woman hollered out in passing, "The gym is on fire, but I think you can still work out."

Um. Ooooookay. I decided to pay a little more attention to my surroundings and by golly, the gym was on fire. Or at least, it was filled with smoke and a few of the patrons looked mildly concerned. But the treadmills still had power and no one had evacuated and I had gotten up awfully darn early... so I put my headphones back into my ears and commenced with the running.

After a few minutes of observing the gym and watching for visible flames, I determined that the smoke was coming from the lights. The gym personnel came to this same conclusion and plunged 1/2 of the gym into darkness by shutting down one of the power grids. However, the treadmills still worked. And the fire department hadn't arrived. So I kept running. Now THAT is dedication.

I Think I'm Alone Now

I'm massively behind in article writing for work. In fact, about 5 days behind. I managed to knock one out over the weekend, leaving 'the big one' for this morning. And it MUST get done. No excuses, no more whining - just hard work and getting it to the boss by noon. That's the plan. Yessiree, that's the plan.

The plan, however, never ever works with the girls zipping around the house, asking for juice, needing me to referee fights over doll strollers, and wanting me to change the tv channel. So I called daycare and begged them to take the girls on a Monday. I dropped N at school, A&P at daycare, grabbed a latte, and here I am. Not writing the article.

But I am all alone. In my house. With NO ONE else here. Except the dog and the cat, who aren't fighting or asking for juice or complaining about the television programming selections. It's storming outside, I'm curled up under a blanket, and Anthony Bourdain is on tv. Now if I could just get this darn article done in the next two hours and 26 minutes. Wish me luck.

Fundraiser For My Nephew

I've got this adorable 8 year old nephew with big ol' cornflower blue eyes, white blonde hair, and a brain that kicks my rear in head-to-head competitions. Seriously - the kid skipped a grade in school and is still bored enough to spend a significant amount of time in the principal's office because he's misbehavin'. Not that I'm condoning that. Oh no! But I do think it's funny as heck :)

Ahem. Anywho.

This adorable 8 year old nephew also happens to have Adrenoleukodystrophy (ALD). We are so lucky in that the disease is not active yet. He's monitored very closely, is involved in an ALD study, and has access to amazing doctors. His diet is strictly controlled (the theory is that restrictions on fat slow the progress of the disease) and so far, he's a normal 8 year old boy. Well, an incredibly smart, ornery, wiseacre 8 year old boy... but with no outward signs of the disease. Since ALD is typically fatal, we are incredibly grateful for that.

My brother-in-law and sister-in-law have done a fundraiser for the last couple of years, raising money for ALD research. The third annual event is coming up in May in Omaha - a motorcycle ride and after party with music and food and raffles. Since the idea of me on a motorcycle is enough to make anyone fall over laughing, I decided to help with the raffle portion of the event.

So - here's the pitch! If you can help by donating anything to the raffle - big or small! - please let me know. Or I'll be forced to dress in leather and find a motorcycle helmet... and no one wants that to happen. :)

The Boyfriend Who Dumped Me On Holidays Story

I didn't do a lot of dating in high school. Guys weren't lining up to take me to the movies by any means, but I wasn't Quasimoto either... I had a few dates here and there and even a boyfriend or two. But, the pickings are a little slim when you have 12 people in your graduating class, six are guys, and four you've known since you were five years old. Sure, I could have dated someone from another class, but I was related to quite a few of them by blood or by marriage and I wasn't quite desperate enough to date my Dad's cousin's wife's second cousin, twice removed. Although I may just be saying that because none of them asked me out... Most of my forays into the dating world were short-lived train wrecks with guys from neighboring schools, at least one of whom I met on one of those infamous speech contest weekends.

However, right as high school was ending and I was facing that endless summer before moving away to college, I met This Guy from another town. I can still remember the first time he talked to me. I was sitting on the floor of the front porch of a friend's house and he came sauntering up the sidewalk, walked up the steps, and sat down next to me. We talked for hours and when I finally went home, he called me and we talked for hours more. I was In. Love.

This Guy was sweet and romantic. I'd leave work in the early evenings and find a note on the seat of my car, telling me about his day and making plans for our night. If it was going to rain and I'd left my windows down (Hey - it was a small town. We rarely locked our cars... why roll the windows up?), I could guarantee that he had stopped by and rolled them up. We saw each other every day, and talked on the phone each night. He always held my hand and wasn't shy about letting everyone that we were together. This guy was handsome and popular and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he wanted to be my boyfriend.

It was a golden summer, but we were heading to different colleges at the end of August. Neither of us had the money for gas for road trips or for long distance phone calls, and that was a factor the first time he broke up with me, days before my 18th birthday. I was heartbroken. I sobbed. I begged him to take me back. He didn't, and that was that.

Until Christmas break. This Guy called me at home, the day after Christmas (significant, no?), and wanted to get together to talk. He'd missed me. By the time I went back to school after break, we were dating again and I was floating on air. Unfortunately, gravity kicked in fairly quickly. After a couple of weeks of phone calls and letters, I didn't hear from him. I managed a trip to his college, and he treated me more like a sister than a girlfriend. And on Valentine's Day? No flowers arrived at the dorm. No card arrived in the mail. And the phone didn't ring. When I finally gave in and called him, This Guy let me down gently once more and ended our relationship.

Despite my obvious resentment over the lack of presents, I can't help but think of This Guy with a little of the love I felt so many years ago. He was my first real boyfriend, the first one to make my heart race, and my first real broken heart. I'm still in contact with This Guy. His wife and I exchange holiday cards each year and we've watched each other's families grow in pictures. I'm assuming he manages to buy gifts for her birthdays, but I've never had the nerve to ask.

The Flu Has Attacked

So far, the stomach flu has attacked four of the five members of my household. Only the husband has escaped, but his stomach was feeling funky when he walked out the door this morning and I'm taking bets on how quickly he walks back in.

I'm not up to full speed yet, so no big blog post today. Although perhaps tomorrow I'll tell the boyfriend-who-dumped-me-on-holidays story, because a lot of you seemed to sympathize. Or you at least want to laugh at me and my pitiful dating attempts.