Hope

I have a question.

When does hope turn into foolishness?

You know what I mean, don't you? There's all this grey area between having hope for a better tomorrow & just letting things go on too long. Where does the distinction lie?

And if you see it, but there is no solution, then what? Where do you take it?

Mostly I just sit back like a fool, knowing I've been "hoping" too long, and wait for something to save me.

My Soap Box, or: Yes, I'm a fanatic, but you should still listen to me.

I'm doing it again, and I know it's annoying, but I simply can't claim to be ME without saying what's on my mind. Sitting back and not stating where I'm coming from doesn't feel right to me, so I'm sorry to say this, but if I annoy some of you, I just don't care. This does not mean I don't love you, it just means that I have to stay true to me. Necessary disclosure statement:

I am going to talk about childbirth. It's going to be blunt and, of course, completely from my point of view. I will include my sources, when necessary, but otherwise you can assume everything I'm saying here is of my own opinion and of my own experience/observations. I welcome an open discussion here on my blog, but I do ask that it stays respectful, as people tend to get catty when discussing such a hot subject. Everyone is different, every baby is different, and I want to make this very clear: EVERYONE MUST CHOOSE FOR THEMSELVES what is the best course of action for THEM. (I don't claim to be a medical professional of any kind, but what I have to say still has merit.)

*whew* With that out of the way, are you ready?

With the birth of my best friend's baby right around the corner, I find myself with too much to say to her. I have learned from past experiences with other friends (who no longer speak to me), so I am choosing not to harass this friend with my wealth of knowledge and experience about childbirth. It turns out people don't love it when I get preachy. (Weird, I know.) Still, I have been reminded of how important this issue is and can't quite seem to keep it to myself. If even just one person benefits from the things I've learned, it will have been worth it, right?

Now, we have this other friend who had extremely positive experiences with her two c-sections. This happens for some people, and to them I am 98% happy for their good fortune and only 2% resentful that they escaped the pain I experienced. (I never claimed to be a saint.) This, I think, is the exception not the rule. As I've mentioned before, if you want advice about natural, textbook childbirth, you ought not ask me. I don't know a thing about "average" or "natural" birthing. In a perfect world I would be the kind of person who can push a baby out of my woman-zone without screaming and begging for pain meds, but that's just not this universe, so there's no use wishing. I hate pain, needles make me queasy, and the sight of blood ties my stomach up in knots. I believe medication was brought to us/discovered by the grace of God, in order to make our lives a little bit easier. I don't think there's a single thing wrong with taking advantage of this advance in civilization.

Here's where I sound like a hypocrite: I believe that at this point, civilization is taking it a bit too far. We have a lot of faith in modern technology & medical advancements, which we should, but it seems to me doctors are taking full advantage of that faith to make their jobs easier (& make more money). Of course they aren't all doing this, but it's happening at an alarming rate, and all three of my OB/GYNs have pushed me to rush the birthing process. At this point there are FAR too many c-sections, an increasing number of them not medically necessary. What constitutes "medically necessary" isn't really for me to say, but I can guarantee the doctor's vacation in Cabo - which happens to fall on your due date - doesn't qualify. I'm not making that up, I have had SEVERAL friends tell me their c-section was scheduled based on their doctors' holiday vacation. This makes me SICK.

This is where you say to me, "But you don't understand! I am MISERABLE! My baby is HUGE!"  And I would say to you, I DO understand. I understand as well as a person can. The final months of my pregnancies have consisted of partial bed-rest because of constant contractions and back labor. I am not exaggerating when I say my pregnant body is as big as an apartment building, mostly due to retaining water & being a grand total of five feet zero inches tall. My babies are active, I always have serious morning all-day sickness and constant migraines. I am not ignorant to the desperation you may be feeling, and I feel for you, I really do.

See? That's me on the right.

Without medical professionals, all three of my children would have died during delivery (for more on this, see Max's First Year). Actually, without medical intervention, I would have died during my second son's delivery. I am eternally grateful for their capabilities, but not everyone needs this intervention. Too many people are receiving unwanted intervention, and the mothers and fathers aren't to blame. After 35 weeks of miserable pregnancy, they are in no position to be making important decisions. In addition to their "pregnancy insanity" (as I like to call it), their doctors are deceiving them with fancy statements like, "We could safely deliver at 36 weeks," and, "You are measuring two weeks ahead of your due date!" Even going as far as claiming to know how many pounds your baby will be and changing the baby's due date (which is only an estimation anyway). Do you know how many times I was told I would have an 8- or 9-lb baby? Three times. Do you know how many 8-lb babies I had? None. Between retaining water & genetics, I simply measure BIG. Why doctors are still saying things like this is completely beyond me.

Something to keep in mind: Your OB/GYN does not care for your baby ONE SINGLE DAY after he/she is born. Not even one. He shows up for about one minute to check your stitches (if you have any) and you never see him again. He gets a report of something like "yep, baby lived," and he gets to go home. He gets paid either way, but quite honestly he gets paid more if he cuts you open and pulls your baby out. He (or she, obviously) has to work many, many more hours if he waits for your baby to come in its own time, and in the end gets paid less for it.

So what does your doctor say if you ask him about the risks of induction and/or c-section? He says that it's a bit longer of a recovery time, you get a couple of extra days in the hospital, and that delivering early is totally do-able because of the current technology.

What doesn't he tell you? That induction (the use of Pitocin to induce labor) doubles your chance of emergency c-section. This is because induction involves breaking your water, and once that happens, time is ticking. There's no turning back, and ready or not, your baby is coming out. What happens if you can't push baby out fast enough? You are left with no choice but to undergo a c-section (believe me, you don't want your baby in there when you run out of amniotic fluid). Remember how I told you that some people have uneventful c-sections and recover quickly? Exception. Not rule.

What else doesn't he tell you? That you won't be able to laugh, cough, sneeze, or sit up for days or even weeks after the c-section is performed without excruciating pain. He doesn't tell you about the middle of the night when your baby is screaming and you can't even sit up to nurse him. He doesn't tell you about trying to get out of bed to take your pain medication or feed the baby, or even just go to the bathroom.

You get the point. I am ranting, I know, and I'm sorry. But the c-section rate is sitting at 32.8%! (source) That's obscene!

The iCan website states:

About Cesareans: When a cesarean is medically necessary, it can be a lifesaving technique for both mother and baby, and worth the risks involved.  Potential risks to babies from cesareans include: low birth weight, prematurity, respiratory problems, and lacerations.  Potential risks to women include: hemorrhage, infection, hysterectomy, surgical mistakes, re-hospitalization, dangerous placental abnormalities in future pregnancies, unexplained stillbirth in future pregnancies and increased percentage of maternal death. http://ican-online.org/ican-white-papers

This sums up what I'm trying to say. Yes, sometimes a c-section is necessary. But I am begging you, for the sake of yourself and your newborn, resist the urge to rush this process.

Only your baby knows when he is ready to breathe our air.

My Max, born (via c sec) 5 weeks early. 2 long, scary weeks in NICU.

Let's talk about link-ups.

It was recommended to me a few weeks back that I ought to get involved with yeah write. I had no idea what this was, so I just jumped right in and tried it out. Within MINUTES of the announcement that yeah write voting was open, I had triple the comments I have ever had on a blog post. And everyone was so sweet! It turns out every one of the people who link up reads every other post, too! They read, thoughtfully comment, and follow my blog. It's been so much fun! And the writing... oh, the writing. I can't even tell you how impressed and intimidated I am by these writers! I've found so many incredibly interesting, tear-jerking, hilarious blogs to read through yeah write! I plan to keep linking up and meeting new people, and I just wanted to let you all know about it so you can too. It's a beautiful community of caring people who dish out support and encouragement. In addition, everyone gets five votes for their favorite posts and in the end there are winners. Love!

I also wanted to mention the link-up I've posted (above) for this week. It's the one year blogoversary of Momalog & Mama Wants This, and they are hosting a similar link-up party. You add a link on their site to your favorite blog post ever (which is really hard to decide, btw!) and at the end they will draw a couple of winners for awesome prizes. Check it out and add your fav post of all time. These are really awesome women, and what a great way to celebrate one year! For this particular link-up I've chosen to post a scary, embarrassing post I wrote when I first started Way Too Much Aubrey, back in July of 2010. I chose this post, titled Checked In, because it is the most honest thing I have ever written. It is a journal entry I wrote while checked in to an in-patient psych ward, while dealing with serious post partum depression after the birth of my third son. I have come a long way since then, and I am proud of the place I began because of the place I am now and the progress I've made in between. You can check it out here if you'd like: Checked-In. (It's a series of posts, so in order to read it all you'll need to click through to the next post.)

There you have it! Linking up is my new favorite way to spend my "free" time, and I thought these sites deserved a big shout-out from Way Too Much Aubrey! 

Random acts of kindness

My dad left a comment on my last post that got me thinking. His comment said (along with other things), " It's easy to list what must go. It's harder to figure out what to do about them." I was thinking today about how he was right, it IS easy to make a list of things that bring me down. So I started making a mental list of things that bring me up... and it was a much shorter list.

I finally came to the conclusion that the most important thing on my "good" list is Random Acts of Kindness. Everything I thought to put on my list fell under this category.

A few months ago, during a fitting room shift, a woman came out of the restroom and I smiled at her, as I do with everyone as they leave the restroom or fitting room. I have no idea who she was, but she stopped and said to me, "That was the prettiest smile just now! The way you turned your head and smiled was just gorgeous." Then she walked away. That woman will NEVER know how much she helped me by saying that out loud. It's just a little thing, but it was huge to me. I struggle with self-image anyway, but I especially haven't felt pretty lately, and even less so when I'm in uniform. I am treated with disrespect so often that I was completely floored by this woman's simple, kind observation. And honestly, I think of that woman's statement every single time I smile at someone, and it makes me smile a little wider. Because I feel like that smile is pretty.

I think things like that about people all the time. "Wow, her hair is so beautiful," or, "She looks amazing in that dress," "She's got gorgeous eyes!" etc., etc. Why can't we say these things aloud? Why do we keep those things to ourselves and save the negative thoughts for others to hear?

Even just something small, like cleaning up the garbage instead of leaving it on the movie theater floor for a stranger to clean up... that stranger will never know it was there to begin with, but her shift will go a little bit better with one less piece of trash to pick up that wasn't hers.

One random act of kindness at a time. That's how.

Things That Must Go

So, after my whining this week about how much my week sucked, I was hit with a bunch more bad news, including the fact that some of my teeth are probably not salvageable. That's right, I'm going to be toothless by the time I'm 35. (Dentures are sexy, right @jlweinberg?) Instead of dwelling on that, I've got a Things That Must Go post for you! Lucky you! Every morning on my favorite radio station they do a "Things That Must Go" segment. I rarely have an opportunity to listen to it anymore, but it's always one of my favorites.

Things That Must Go (according to me):

Whoever chooses the songs we play at work. Someone up at corporate apparently has had multiple affairs, because o-m-g these songs are messed up. I would post a list, but they are songs no one with any access to the 21st century has ever heard before. EVERY SINGLE SONG played in our store is 100% about having an affair or being the other woman. Not just strong undertones... they just come right out and say it. To whoever chooses the music at work... can we say relationship issues? Perhaps you should get some counseling instead of torturing us with your depressing playlist.

Credit

The return of the '90s we seem to be having. Don't tell me you haven't noticed it... we're talking about ridiculously bright colors, those awful plastic sunglasses, etc. Two days ago an otherwise good-looking teenage guy was trying on shirts in the fitting room. He turned around and said, "The tag got caught on my rat-tail!"  Rat tail?! Is this guy kidding me???? How did he not get the memo that the rat-tail looks just like... well... a tail? Today I saw a woman wearing a fanny pack. A FANNY PACK, people! She wasn't even kiddin' around, either. I looked at her crazy, and she looked back like there wasn't any kind of strange time-warp thing happening or anything.

And you aren't even ready for the worst part. Last Monday I was minding my own business, not even suspecting that the '80s were lurking around the corner, when BAM I ran right into two teenage boys sporting full-on, permed-in-the-back mullets. They had FRESHLY CUT mullets, and they aren't even old enough to have had that haircut SINCE the 1980's. These poor children were BORN in the '90's!

It looked EXACTLY LIKE THIS, folks: 

Except, they were white kids, with no cute dimple.

There is no excuse for this, ladies and gentlemen. We must educate the next generation!

Next on the list? Clogs. Clogs were never good-looking, and they aren't now. Just stop it, people, you're hurting my eyes.


People who glare when I try to smile at their kids. I'm not some side-of-the-road creep trying to lure them into my windowless van with candy, I'm just the nice lady who works in the fitting room. I enjoy seeing children, as I've left mine at home to go to this minimum-wage job. Smiling and waving at your kids as they pass by is one of my only joys. Why on earth does this upset you so much? When people are nice to my kids in public, it makes me happy! I don't get it.

Leaving a voice mail without leaving any helpful information about why you have called MUST go. Everyone you call has caller ID! Checking to see who called is easy; checking a voice mail is a giant pain in the butt. If I go through the effort to listen to your VM, it should at least give me more information than the notification my phone already gave me saying you called. If you don't feel like telling me why you called, hang up before the voice mail kicks in and I'll call you back.

Grown men in Cookie Monster t-shirts. What on earth?

(Unfortunately this is another one relating to work... I know you're all sick of hearing about The Hole, but I spend 30 hours of my week there, so you'll just need to get used to it.) :)

I find it absolutely maddening when people come along, find an empty (sometimes not even empty!) cart and assume they can just take off with it. The fact that you were too lazy to get a cart on your way in gives you the right to take one from someone who made the effort to start with? It's parked in the fitting room cart parking "lot"! Obviously someone is coming back for it.

Rick Santorum. That's all I'm going to say. He must go.

Grown men who find it entertaining to scare people. Dear coworker, Jumping out and scaring the crap out of someone is not actually as cool as you think. You are the only one who finds it funny.

People who pin/tweet pictures of puppies and cats. Why do you do that? Granted, I am not an animal person, and I have no animals. But people, they ALL LOOK THE SAME. Why on earth do you need to pin 600 different puppies?!

*whew* Thanks for letting me vent, friends. I needed that!!!

What have you noticed lately that MUST GO?

Current musical obsession

Some days I don't feel like talking, just listening. This is my most recent musical obsession, brought to us by my brother Jon. He always finds music I love before I do.

The original song:


Walk off the Earth cover, which my family has now listened to about seven million times:


Ingrid Michaelson (one of my all-time favorites!) cover, which according to Asher is "way better than all the other ones":


Enjoy.

Ah, the Joys of Parenting

Just when I decide to adore and cherish every last moment I have with my little boy, he turns into a full-blown two-year-old.

...Going on twenty-five.

Yesterday morning when Max came in my room (ten minutes before my alarm), he said, "Get up, Mom. Get out your bed." I said, "No, Mommy's sleepy." You know what he said? He walked away from me saying, "I don't wuv you, Mommy. I don't wuv you." Then, just for good measure, as he left the room he added, "I don't."

This morning? Same child: "You best friend, Mama."

Every single time I hold one of my three kids (or hug Husband), both of the other children come running up, climbing on me and fighting over who gets to "hold Mom". It was cute for a while, but quite honestly, I am exhausted and these kids are getting really big! They're all elbows and knees now; I'm covered in bruises from this sibling rivalry, and I am not exaggerating when I say this happens EVERY time I attempt to hold one of my children. Someone always ends up crying.

No matter what I do, I can't convince Husband to quit playing the "my mommy" game with Max. How do we play? Well, I sit in the middle of the two of them while they each try to gain possession of Mommy, continually saying, "This is my mommy," "No, she's my mommy," back and forth. I could just scream (and usually do). (This does not help the issue we discussed above.)

To make it all extra fun? No one is cleaning the house, Max has decided his new bedtime is Midnight, and Joshua has been awake puking his guts out for the last four nights. I have absolutely no idea why he's been throwing up, and he's perfectly well again each morning.

I haven't had a bit of sleep. Why am I awake writing this now instead of sleeping? Because Max has taken over my bed, Josh has taken over my couch, and there's no where else to sleep.


Linking up with Yeah Write again this week... even though I can hardly remember my own name! ;)

Sums it up, right there.

credit

Husband: "Honey, even if you and I don't work out, you have at least sixteen more years of trolling ahead of you. Max is going to troll you his whole life."

He's right, and Husband's face is so proud.

Me: "Do you really think I'm dumb enough to believe that even if we DIDN'T work out, YOU wouldn't troll me forever?"

Husband (huge grin): "That's true. No matter who you were with, or who I was with, I would send you something offensive in the mail once a year. I'd tell the girl I was with 'This is just part of my trolling. If you don't like it GTFO.'"

Me, rolling my eyes: "I know. Why do you think I'm still here? If I'm going to be trolled either way, I might as well not have to see you with another woman while I'm at it."

Husband is completely satisfied with that reasoning. "Yeah!"

Ah, marriage. A dream come true.

Today

So there you are, mostly through with your Friday shift, and you're thinking of all the things you'll do when you get home. Your nails are all festive and you bought a cute new tank to wear to the St Patrick's Day party you're going to after work. About the time you start counting down the minutes until you get to clock out for the weekend, your boss is in dire need of someone to cover a closing shift. You agree because you missed a day earlier in the week, and you figure you really need the money. After all, you're not even sure if what's in the account now will cover the rent check you already wrote.

"Sure, I'll stay 'till ten." At 4:00 that doesn't sound so bad.

But you forgot it's Friday, which means it's Rich Bitch day at work, so you'll be dealing with attractive, rich women all evening who think they're better than you.

After a few hours of their rude treatment of you, you are starting to get fed up. At this point you've got a short fuse no matter who comes walking into the fitting room. You almost yell, "Do I look like your maid?" at the woman who says on her way out of the fitting room, "You'll need to go in there and pick up my number. I can't pick it up because of my nails." Mid-way through a work day this woman is shopping and can't be bothered to pick up something she dropped. And her teenage daughter? Yep, she just follows along behind, dumping some clothes on her way past the invisible fitting room attendant. Why couldn't her daughter pick up the number she dropped? Well because she grew up watching her rich mother use her artificial fingernails as an excuse to be lazy and rude.

At one point your boss implies that your job is soooooo easy and you almost lose your shit, but you can make it through this shift. It's fine.

By the time you've counted down the very last minutes of your nine-hour shift and it's time to clock out, you're so sick of the little kid who has been ringing the bicycle bell in the toy department for twenty-five minutes that you can't get out of the building fast enough. As soon as your foot hits the gas pedal, you remember. Your son is completely out of almond milk, and seeing as he's allergic to everything else on the planet and refuses to sleep without his almond milk, it looks like you'll be taking a trip to the grocery store before you go home.

Picking up the phone, you call your husband to vent. "Honey, I'm so tired," he says. "Hurry home, I miss you. And could you pick up some Perrier while you're at the store?"

Your feet are killing you and you're cursing whoever decided to put milk at the BACK of every single grocery store on the planet, but you can make it through this last little errand before you collapse, you'll be fine. You're just being a baby; people work 9-hour shifts all the time!

Your cashier decides to take a phone call from her kids the moment you reach the front of the line. That's fine because really you don't want to talk to anyone.

Except the woman who bags your groceries is just standing there staring at you. You muster that last polite smile of the evening, and she says cheerily, "Hi!" You don't respond, so she says, "Is it a boy or a girl?" You realize her eyes are on your stomach and say, "Sorry?" She says, "Oh, sorry," and looks away. Instead of saying something you want to say, your cheeks burn and you awkwardly grab your groceries and rush out of the store before you cry.

You turn the key in the car door and realize you forgot Husband's Perrier. You remember the last time you forgot to pick up his drink and he said you never think about him. But there's no way in hell you're going back in that store, so you just get in the car.

You hardly notice the red light because you're burning with anger and embarrassment, and all those days you knew you should be working out but you were so damn tired... You realize the tears should be falling by now, but they aren't because you're stone cold at the age of twenty-seven. You wonder if you even remember the last time you cried? You've felt like crying every day for years, but real tears? Maybe you're not capable of crying anymore...

When you get in the house Husband doesn't understand why you're upset. You don't want to re-live the experience, so you just tell him it's been a long day and you're tired. He's tired too because he's been up since the day before, and don't worry honey I don't need the Perrier, and I couldn't put the baby to bed because his bed was wet.

Wait... so you waited for me to come home and change his sheets?

You remind yourself Husband worked an 8-hour shift last night and hasn't been to bed since. Then they see you. They're so happy you're home, and they're yelling "Mommy! You're home!" and hugging your legs. This is the first you've felt OK all day and you happily tell the 2yo that you brought him almond milk. He lights up, "You brought me some milk? I want some! Get me some milk, Mom!" Finally, you've done something right.

The almond milk comes out in chunks. You check the expiration date. It should be fine, but it has definitely gone bad. The 2yo is staring at you, asking for his milk. The entire reason for going to the store, and you can't even give him the damn milk.

The tears finally fall. Your family is staring at you, wondering what the hell just happened here, and all you can do is cry harder. Until the hyper-aware 6yo starts to cry. And you have to explain to him that sometimes life just gets to be too much, but at least you have each other.

And the tears prove you're still human after all.

Running out of time

I love my sleep more than most people. Ok, more than some people. But seriously, I could sleep 23 hrs every day and not feel like I wasted my life. You might as well make my headstone now, because this is what it should say. 

where i found this

My love of sleep is by far the most difficult part about parenting for me. (Perhaps it is for everyone? IDK.) In addition to all the fun of the whole newborn-stage thing, I was blessed with three children who naturally despise sleep. Whenever people say, "My cleverly-named-child was sleeping through the night at two weeks," I get stabby.

Because of my love of sleep and my kids' hatred of sleep, I've spent many, many nights fighting for every last moment I could trick them into giving me. Lately I'm realizing just how little time I have left with my little ones. Don't get me wrong, they're still young, but Josh is already halfway to eighteen. Asher is a little grown-up in a kid's body, and Max is two-and-a-half going on middle-age.

Quite honestly when I was pregnant with Asher I thought it would make me feel better about missing my little Josh baby if I had another little baby around. I legitimately thought that I was just missing the fact that he was a baby, so having another baby would solve that problem, right? So wrong. Second baby isn't the same person as first baby. I missed baby JOSH, and no matter how cute or fun (or awful) baby Asher was, it didn't make me feel even a tiny bit better about my baby Josh growing up. (Same is true for third baby, although at least I expected it that time.) 

Max is only two. But he speaks in complete, proper sentences. He is completely on his own program. If Max doesn't want something to happen, there is absolutely, positively no way to make it happen. If Max DOES want something, it is absolute. It will happen. He will get it. Right now he wants ME. The point is that my time is running out.

credit

This (above) was cross-stitched and hung on the wall of our (laundry room?) when I was growing up. It made me teary even as a kid when I read it, but now I might as well get out the tissues just thinking about it.

Lately I've been losing a little more sleep. I've gone lax on bedtime and have broken my No Kids in Mommy's Bed rule about a thousand times the last few weeks. I'm tired all the time and my fuse is extra short, but I just can't help myself. When that little voice says, "But my want lay with you, Mama," I simply must hug him a little tighter and a little longer. 

Because they aren't kidding... babies really don't keep.

For better or worse, it is finished.

9 months after I started the process, I finally submitted the manuscript for What I Wish* to a self-publishing company. Don't remember what that is? Here's a reminder.

(*I have changed the name to Less to Regret, as What I Wish is already so widely used. There were already TONS of books with that name.)

I want to thank EVERYONE who sent me something to include in the book. I can't tell you how much I think it adds to the book to have many voices, not just one. I've written this essentially for my own nieces, but Create Space gives me not only the option of printing off copies for my own use, but they also list the eBook on Amazon for sale. Maybe someone else could benefit from this book as well? Who knows!

Now I just wait for them to send me a proof, then order copies if I like it! :)

In addition to finishing Less to Regret, I've also been writing a couple of test articles for a local newspaper. If they like them I'll be able to be one of their freelance writers! Wish me luck!

A few of my favorite things: What's in my makeup bag

What's in My (small budget) Makeup Bag

e.l.f. face primer. ($6) I haven't been able to buy this for quite some time (due to the dumb mailman refusing to bring things to my house), and I can hardly believe what a difference it makes. My face misses it!

Clinique Acne Solutions foundation. ($26) We've discussed my acne problem before. In case you don't recall, this is the "before" picture.

Yep. That's really a picture of me, Sept 2011.

This is what my face looked like when I finally decided to splurge for the "grown-up" makeup. I took a little trip to Sephora, where a makeup artist suggested Clinique Acne Solutions makeup to me. I can't even describe to you how much better my face was within just days of switching foundations. (Before this I was using a regular CoverGirl foundation). Not only has it cleared up my skin, it matches my face way better AND I never need concealer. A single tube lasted me from September until February.  LOVE.

Maybelline Volum' Express Colossal mascara ($6) & Maybelline Volum' Express Falsies mascara ($7). Whatever you do, don't buy the waterproof. Accidentally picked up the wrong package, and they are NOT kidding about long-wearing. I absolutely adore the regular kind.

e.l.f. liquid eyeliner. I buy this in packs of 3 at work for $2.99, but you can buy them online or at Target and KMart for $1 each. I used to pay $10 for L'Oreal but seriously love e.l.f. eyeliner just as much, and you cannot beat the price. I have it in Black, Brown, Midnight, Silver & Plum. I'm dying to try Coffee, but haven't found it in stores yet.

Mary Kay Velocity shimmer powder. I don't even know if this exists anymore. My online search only turned up eBay, so I assume that means it isn't currently being sold via Mary Kay. The point is that I've used this for LITERALLY YEARS and haven't run out. The pot is about the circumference of a penny, about an inch tall, and using it every day I haven't run out of this stuff. It's incredible. (Thanks Nat!)

Rihanna fragrance (free) sample from Macy's. When I went to purchase my second bottle of Clinique foundation at Macy's, the salesperson told me to go get a free sample of fragrance from the fragrance counter. My kids weren't with us, so Husband and I decided why not? The girl gave me a little tube of perfume that I've been using for weeks now, and I LOVE it. I especially love that it fits in my makeup bag without taking up much space at all! No need to buy a bottle of it, because I'll get bored with this scent by the time I use it up and want something new. Right before we went there I read this fascinating article (unfortunately I didn't save the link! dang it!) about how fragrances work, and it really changed my opinion about perfume. Most important thing I learned about it is that you should NEVER buy perfume based on the first spray. The fragrance changes over time, like music notes, unfolding a different scent after several hours.

Baby wipes. It sounds weird, but baby wipes are my makeup remover of choice. I don't use them on my whole face, just as an eye makeup remover, but they are perfect for that & I buy them anyway for Max, so it's super convenient and cheaper than makeup remover wipes!

That's it for now! What's in your makeup bag?

I'm un-medicated & doctors can't be trusted.

We've talked about it before. Aubrey without her ADD/depression meds is like pissing off Medusa just to see what she might do with all those snakes on her head. This time my only excuse for not having the medication I need is that I haven't had a car or the time to go pick up the prescription. The ADD med I'm on is a controlled substance, which means that in Utah you can't get it filled electronically. What this means for me: I have to drive twenty miles to pick up the actual paper prescription, which they won't even write until I have RUN OUT of meds, and then take it to a pharmacy to be filled. Not a big deal, except that Husband and I operate with just one car. By the time I get off work at 5pm, the office is already closed.

Anyway! All that is just back story. The point is that I have been without medication for about two weeks now, so I'm a walking, mostly-asleep-at-all-times, irritable zombie. My poor family is wondering what happened to Mom and who replaced her with this yelling, weeping, sleeping thing?

So there I was, reading to the kids from their picture encyclopedia (they love it but can't really read all the words yet), aware that Max was quietly playing next to my bed. After a minute I start to wonder, What is he doing down there? He's being too quiet... So I ask him what he's doing.

"I put the green ball up with my boogers!" he announces. He seems proud, but something's not quite right, so I look up his nose. Sure enough there's a little red (not green) ball shoved up his nostril. I panic, because I've seen House - I know what can happen when kids put things up their noses! - and I try to fish it out with a long fingernail. It wedges in there a little further.

Um, no.

I stop trying to get it out, plug his left nostril and tell him to blow his nose. He blows several times, nothing happens. While I'm searching for a flashlight to shine up there, the little red ball disappears from view. Now I don't know if he's successfully blown it out of his nose, or if he's shoved it (or sniffed it) up into his brain.

What do I do? I call my mom, of course.

photo credit

She says what I expected to hear (but needed to hear from her anyway): There's probably nothing that can be done except taking him in. We decide not to go all the way to his regular pediatrician in SLC in the interest of time and gas and decide on urgent care.

I tell the front desk woman that my son stuck something up his nose. I make it very clear that IT MIGHT NOT EVEN BE UP THERE ANYMORE. But it might. She's very friendly, and so is the assistant girl (she was probably not an RN but I don't know), so I figure they're going to be caring and helpful. Well, THEY were. But the problem with doctors is that they see blood and guts ALL THE TIME. When it comes to pain, they cannot be trusted! (Not the horror-flick-doctors-turn-you-into-Frankenstein kind of mistrust, the simpler kind.) The doc came in to the room with an incredibly long tube attached to a syringe (think Epidural length) and tells me to pin down my son so she can stick it up his nose. She doesn't slow down to even THINK about the fact that I might be mistaken about something actually being up there, and she doesn't ask me a single question.

My baby is screaming and huge alligator tears are running down his cheeks. He's hysterical, this woman has a mile-long tube up his nose, and blood is starting to spill out his nostrils. THIS IS NOT HOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO GO.

The point is that the tube has a balloon in it, so she inflates the balloon inside his nose and pulls it out, theoretically pulling the ball out with it. Nothing comes out except the tube/balloon and lots of blood. She says, "You're sure it was this nostril?" I then, for the FIRST TIME am able to tell her, "I'm not even sure it's up there AT ALL."

"Oh. Well let's just try one more time," she says, shoving a tube/balloon BACK up my 2yo's nose.

This is breaking my heart and I'm beyond angry that she didn't ask me anything up front. For God sake she could have shined a flashlight up there before she started probing him with sharp objects! Only AFTER she made him bleed TWICE, in BOTH NOSTRILS, did she finally stop and say, "What was it he put up there anyway?"

Is she kidding me? NOW she wants to know what it was? After she's practically PROBED HIS BRAIN?!

The point is that doctors see such horrific things all the time, they have lost the ability to be gentle. This is the root of my fear of doctors/needles/anyone who administers such things. And, thanks to my inability to watch my 2yo every second of every day (and the doctors' inability to even pick up a damn flashlight), now he's going to have the same fear. Long story short, there's nothing up there. I think. It's impossible to be sure. 

Hyperbole. Definition: Aubrey.

Sitting on a couch with my big brother Jon and my teenage niece. Jon brings up this website on his MacBook: Hyperbole and a Half.

He starts telling me how much he loves it, and my niece Ashlie says, "What's a hyperbole?" (she said "hyper bowl") 

Jon corrected her pronunciation, "High-per-bo-lee," he said. Then we both said at the same time, "It means AUBREY."

Poor Ashlie didn't understand, and she looked at us crazy, waiting for an explanation. (Which is probably what you've got going on right now, reading this.)  Jon went on to explain that "hyperbole" is defined as "obvious and intentional exaggeration".  Dictionary.com explains it further with: an extravagant statement or figure of speech not intendedto be taken literally, as “to wait an eternity.” To sum up, I have spent my entire life speaking in hyperbole, to the point of becoming a joke to my own family. :)

Being someone who appreciates taking things too far, I find it entertaining to mock those around me who speak in exaggerated terms. (Hyperbole loves company.) Monday morning at work, my friend Katie was going off about how the song "Pumped Up Kicks" by Foster the People is a messed up song because it encourages children to take guns to school and shoot their classmates. 

I told her she was being a bit ridiculous. I told her not to worry about it. I told her I've never even noticed that the song was about that at ALL. 

Has anyone else heard of the recent school shooting in Ohio? 

Seriously, though, think of how your favorite song affected you IN HIGH SCHOOL. As an adult music affects you, but not the same way as it did at fifteen. I jotted down a few songs that really changed me or hit me emotionally throughout junior high and high school. (Here we go, showing my age. Deep breath.)

I remember crying on the bathroom floor as a thirteen year old girl madly in love with a guy too old for me. I thought I would suffocate and die because I couldn't have him. I listened to Sarah McLachlan "I Don't Know How to Let You Go" for hours and hours and cried the ugly kind of cry.

Do I dare admit that the "Baby One More Time" video on The Box is the first time I remember feeling sexually charged by music?

Other songs that seemed to speak FOR me, in no particular order: 


Flyleaf, "All Around Me"
Emme Rossum, "Slow Me Down" (<--after having kids)
Ben Folds, "The Luckiest" (<--falling in love with Husband)
Death Cab for Cutie, "Follow You Into the Dark"
Seven Mary Three, "Lucky"
Everything AFI, especially the "December Underground" album
Tiger Army, "Incorporeal"
Bad Religion, "Sorrow"
Pink, "Fun House" (<--going through separation)
Spice Girls, "Wannabe"  (<--as a teenager, when my friends were MOST important in my life - If you aren't cool with my BFFs, we can't be together!)
Billy Joel, "My Life"  (<--again, teenager, although it was "before my time")

There are so many, but I won't bore you with the details of my emo teenagehood. The point is that music hits us and feels like an explanation of our SOUL, like someone UNDERSTANDS us. It's not just a song that we like, it defines us, especially as a teen.

I don't know that the song had a thing to do with that shooting... it was just an interesting correlation between that comment and the event, which made me start thinking about how music affects us. All I'm saying is that the affects of music on young hearts/minds are stronger than we think.


What music spoke to you?