Out for a drive with Rob and Scout:
Me (to Scout): I love you so much. I feel so full--I am in the car with two people I am completely in love with.
Rob: Scout and yourself?
Jack is TWO!
11 years ago
Showing posts with label Rob. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rob. Show all posts
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
What the hell is a yoga hug?
Tonight I went to yoga, while Rob stayed home and watched Scout via the video monitor. When I got home, he was in the kitchen.
"Give me a hug," I said, and he did.
After a few moments he broke away and narrowed his eyes.
"What was that for?" he asked suspiciously. "Was that a yoga hug?"
"Give me a hug," I said, and he did.
After a few moments he broke away and narrowed his eyes.
"What was that for?" he asked suspiciously. "Was that a yoga hug?"
Friday, September 3, 2010
The Meat Eater Makes a Joke
Rob and I are ordering food from Burma Superstar. Rob is perusing the menu online.
Rob: Ok, I'm ready. I guess I'll have the tofu with noodles and vegetables.
[I wait.]
Rob: Just kidding!
[He ordered the Burmese Style Curry with Lamb.]
Rob: Ok, I'm ready. I guess I'll have the tofu with noodles and vegetables.
[I wait.]
Rob: Just kidding!
[He ordered the Burmese Style Curry with Lamb.]
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Just Like Her Mother
Rob [hugging me]: You're short.
[Brief Pause]
Rob: Poor Scout.
Me: Why?
Rob: She's going to be a munchkin with an attitude problem.
[Brief Pause]
Rob: Poor Scout.
Me: Why?
Rob: She's going to be a munchkin with an attitude problem.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Instead of watching another episode of Glee...
It seems time to post to Deepish Thoughts once again. Actually, it seemed time to do that about...oh, every day for the past 4 months, but I've been a little bit busy with, you know, things.
Rob and I have now lived in San Francisco for almost 9 months--a gestation period--so our final verdict on this round of West Coast living should be delivered pretty soon. I am truly happy being here, especially now that we have welcomed a fat baby into our lives and can explore the city and surroundings with her. On her schedule. At her disposal. The other day we were walking down the street, Scout in the Ergo Baby Carrier, me skipping around trying to get her comfortable, holding her hands so they didn't get chilly, and singing some ridiculous song to distract her from the fact that she was basically trapped, once again. If I'd had some grapes I would have fed them to her while I gave her a back massage. She is so clearly in charge of this family.
Rob has been biking regularly, working up to getting in shape for the Marin Century, which is a 100-mile bike ride taking place in August. Encouraged by this, I have decided to train to be able to run 3 miles without collapsing or peeing in my pants. We'll see how it goes.
Scout is in training to continue resembling Robert Duvall, as she has lost most of her hair in what looks exactly like male pattern baldness. So we're all pretty busy.
The three of us had a speaking engagement last night, wherein we addressed a group of pregnant women and their partners at a childbirth class. We told them Scout's birth story and I think avoided terrifying them too much, mostly because I had asked Rob in advance to please not use the word "excruciating."
I don't want to overdo it on my first post in a while, and I hear Scout singing in her room, where she is supposed to be napping but apparently did not get that memo.
Rob and I have now lived in San Francisco for almost 9 months--a gestation period--so our final verdict on this round of West Coast living should be delivered pretty soon. I am truly happy being here, especially now that we have welcomed a fat baby into our lives and can explore the city and surroundings with her. On her schedule. At her disposal. The other day we were walking down the street, Scout in the Ergo Baby Carrier, me skipping around trying to get her comfortable, holding her hands so they didn't get chilly, and singing some ridiculous song to distract her from the fact that she was basically trapped, once again. If I'd had some grapes I would have fed them to her while I gave her a back massage. She is so clearly in charge of this family.
Rob has been biking regularly, working up to getting in shape for the Marin Century, which is a 100-mile bike ride taking place in August. Encouraged by this, I have decided to train to be able to run 3 miles without collapsing or peeing in my pants. We'll see how it goes.
Scout is in training to continue resembling Robert Duvall, as she has lost most of her hair in what looks exactly like male pattern baldness. So we're all pretty busy.
The three of us had a speaking engagement last night, wherein we addressed a group of pregnant women and their partners at a childbirth class. We told them Scout's birth story and I think avoided terrifying them too much, mostly because I had asked Rob in advance to please not use the word "excruciating."
I don't want to overdo it on my first post in a while, and I hear Scout singing in her room, where she is supposed to be napping but apparently did not get that memo.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Our little man
Everyone thinks Scout is a boy. Normally it's not people who know her, but people we see on the street and in stores. "He's so cute!" they say, and I just say thank you because I'm not really in the business of gender education. But it's become clear to me that you have to cover your daughter in pink if people are to recognize her for the dainty, feminine being that she is.
I had Scout dressed in an orange Moby wrap and a green hat one day, and a cream onesie another day. Apparently, this screams BOY. Even to Rob. The other night when she was crying, he said, "What's this about? We don't cry here, Mister." So, you see, the clothes can really fool you, even if you're her DAD.
I had Scout dressed in an orange Moby wrap and a green hat one day, and a cream onesie another day. Apparently, this screams BOY. Even to Rob. The other night when she was crying, he said, "What's this about? We don't cry here, Mister." So, you see, the clothes can really fool you, even if you're her DAD.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
A Perfect Match
Here's something that happens a lot: Rob gets compared to celebrities. He's been told he looks like Brett Favre, Richard Gere, Ben Affleck, John Corbett...recently his sister even told him he reminds her of Jim Carrey. Do any of those people even look alike? It doesn't matter--apparently Rob resembles them all.
Feeling left out, I scoured the web to find my celebrity lookalike, and the results are in.
I'm Danny Devito.
Feeling left out, I scoured the web to find my celebrity lookalike, and the results are in.
I'm Danny Devito.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
37 Weeks
Our baby education continues. 6 weeks of childbirth class culminated in me eating bunches of cookies while we listened to a couple talk about the birth of their adorable, massive-cheeked 5-week old AND in a horrific video of a woman with hemorrhoids the size of large grapes giving birth to twins in her bathroom, during which I did not eat cookies. We are heading to Breastfeeding class tonight and Parenting class on Saturday. Yes, Rob is attending the breastfeeding class. Yes, I suppose this might be one example of the ways in which I am slowly but steadily emasculating him. But these people are the experts and they recommend that partners attend class. What's a chubby girl to do?
We're also still reading, although I admit I have been way more into reading the stack of books my friend Mark sent me from his company than the stack of parenting books that continue to pile up around me. I just finished Men and Dogs, a novel by Katie Crouch that comes out next month. And I am currently reading a thriller by Michael Koryta called So Cold the River. That comes out in June. Both are recommended, even though I'm only halfway through the Koryta. I am driven to distraction by the book and would much rather curl up on the couch with its creepiness than read about ways to get my baby to sleep better. I realize I am likely making a mistake with this decision. Later, when I'm up all night with a crying baby, maybe I'll reread these books. Or maybe I'll just cry, too.
I'm still going to prenatal yoga, and feeling an almost desperate need for it at least twice a week. There's something so reassuring about sitting around with other front-heavy gals, talking about our situations. And some of these women are going through much tougher times than I: jobs lost, big moves ahead, abnormal sonograms, swollen ankles. It puts things in perspective and gives me a sense of community.
My latest addition to the pregnancy curriculum is Acupuncture. As I type this, I have four needles in my ear that are working on making my back feel better (I see you rolling your eyes, Mom.) I spent 90 minutes with the acupuncturist yesterday. She lectured me on staying warm--I told her I can't help it if my hands and feet are icicles, but she disagrees and says that, in fact, I can help it. When I asked her how, she said "STAY WARM." She then covered me with blankets, turned a bunch of heat lamps on me, stuck me with needles and let me take a nap. I now love her and am going back next week. Her plan is to use the needles to help make my contractions stronger, while reducing the pain I feel. (I see you rolling your eyes again, Mom.) Except instead of "help", she pronounced it "harp" so it took me a while to figure out what she was saying.
Ok, I guess this is enough boring information about the last few weeks of someone's pregnancy. See why I don't blog more often? I'm only thinking of you, people.
We're also still reading, although I admit I have been way more into reading the stack of books my friend Mark sent me from his company than the stack of parenting books that continue to pile up around me. I just finished Men and Dogs, a novel by Katie Crouch that comes out next month. And I am currently reading a thriller by Michael Koryta called So Cold the River. That comes out in June. Both are recommended, even though I'm only halfway through the Koryta. I am driven to distraction by the book and would much rather curl up on the couch with its creepiness than read about ways to get my baby to sleep better. I realize I am likely making a mistake with this decision. Later, when I'm up all night with a crying baby, maybe I'll reread these books. Or maybe I'll just cry, too.
I'm still going to prenatal yoga, and feeling an almost desperate need for it at least twice a week. There's something so reassuring about sitting around with other front-heavy gals, talking about our situations. And some of these women are going through much tougher times than I: jobs lost, big moves ahead, abnormal sonograms, swollen ankles. It puts things in perspective and gives me a sense of community.
My latest addition to the pregnancy curriculum is Acupuncture. As I type this, I have four needles in my ear that are working on making my back feel better (I see you rolling your eyes, Mom.) I spent 90 minutes with the acupuncturist yesterday. She lectured me on staying warm--I told her I can't help it if my hands and feet are icicles, but she disagrees and says that, in fact, I can help it. When I asked her how, she said "STAY WARM." She then covered me with blankets, turned a bunch of heat lamps on me, stuck me with needles and let me take a nap. I now love her and am going back next week. Her plan is to use the needles to help make my contractions stronger, while reducing the pain I feel. (I see you rolling your eyes again, Mom.) Except instead of "help", she pronounced it "harp" so it took me a while to figure out what she was saying.
Ok, I guess this is enough boring information about the last few weeks of someone's pregnancy. See why I don't blog more often? I'm only thinking of you, people.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Getting Closer
We bought a crib! This means the baby doesn't have to sleep in a drawer or in the bathtub. And it means that I've already ruined the punchline to this whole story. This is how you can tell I studied Journalism in college. I just can't bury the lead.
It was a momentous occasion...after several trips to actual furniture stores which housed actually new cribs, we decided to take a spin on Craigslist and see what we could find. At first I was overwhelmed--did I really want to take time out of my napping and Ben&Jerry's-eating schedule to go to people's homes and touch their used furniture? Though the answer was no, I forced myself to make one appointment in Alameda, which is across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco. Rob and I went there on Monday night and were met at the door by an adorable woman named Sue who started to hug me before realizing it would be a little weird. We shook hands.
The crib was in five pieces on the floor, and the house was very clean and nicely decorated, which mattered to me since we were potentially leaving with a mattress. In New York City, this would never happen: rampant bed bugs. The crib had previously been the property of a three-year-old who was only referred to as Naked Man. Naked Man made one appearance at the top of the stairs while we were examining the crib, and he really did live up to his nickname. But it was more comforting than if they'd referred to him as Bed Bug Man.
We made a quick and easy decision to take the crib, and talked with Naked Man's parents for a little bit longer. When we left, the woman did hug me.
Here are some photos of the crib, which Rob put together that evening, along with a photo of our glider, which I put together that evening, because I will not be outdone.
It was a momentous occasion...after several trips to actual furniture stores which housed actually new cribs, we decided to take a spin on Craigslist and see what we could find. At first I was overwhelmed--did I really want to take time out of my napping and Ben&Jerry's-eating schedule to go to people's homes and touch their used furniture? Though the answer was no, I forced myself to make one appointment in Alameda, which is across the Bay Bridge from San Francisco. Rob and I went there on Monday night and were met at the door by an adorable woman named Sue who started to hug me before realizing it would be a little weird. We shook hands.
The crib was in five pieces on the floor, and the house was very clean and nicely decorated, which mattered to me since we were potentially leaving with a mattress. In New York City, this would never happen: rampant bed bugs. The crib had previously been the property of a three-year-old who was only referred to as Naked Man. Naked Man made one appearance at the top of the stairs while we were examining the crib, and he really did live up to his nickname. But it was more comforting than if they'd referred to him as Bed Bug Man.
We made a quick and easy decision to take the crib, and talked with Naked Man's parents for a little bit longer. When we left, the woman did hug me.
Here are some photos of the crib, which Rob put together that evening, along with a photo of our glider, which I put together that evening, because I will not be outdone.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sweet
You know how they say girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice? I'm relatively certain that our baby is just made of sugar, since that's all I eat. When she arrives, I'm probably going to take a bite out of her if she smells like ice cream. Let's just hope the cravings have passed by then.
Rob and I spent the weekend in Tahoe: he skiied for a while each day, and I wandered around, reading by the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate, and debating whether to spend a fortune getting a manicure and pedicure at our hotel (what could one possibly do to make a pedicure worth $60 when I can get one for $15 in San Francisco? I opted to live with my unkempt hands and toes for at least a few more days.)
It was a beautiful and relaxing weekend, and we tried to wrap our heads around the fact that it was truly our last pre-baby vacation. There was lots of talk about when our daughter will start skiing (apparently, when she's three) and we watched all of the families with small children to see how it worked. I must say, there were many very polite kids on the mountain. A two-year-old boy saw me sitting in a chair as he got off the elevator and wanted to know if I needed him to hold the door for me. Another toddler was walking past me up the stairs and excused himself as we went by each other. Who were these tiny gentlemen, I wondered? And how do you get a kid who is so well-behaved? I want one.
Rob and I spent the weekend in Tahoe: he skiied for a while each day, and I wandered around, reading by the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate, and debating whether to spend a fortune getting a manicure and pedicure at our hotel (what could one possibly do to make a pedicure worth $60 when I can get one for $15 in San Francisco? I opted to live with my unkempt hands and toes for at least a few more days.)
It was a beautiful and relaxing weekend, and we tried to wrap our heads around the fact that it was truly our last pre-baby vacation. There was lots of talk about when our daughter will start skiing (apparently, when she's three) and we watched all of the families with small children to see how it worked. I must say, there were many very polite kids on the mountain. A two-year-old boy saw me sitting in a chair as he got off the elevator and wanted to know if I needed him to hold the door for me. Another toddler was walking past me up the stairs and excused himself as we went by each other. Who were these tiny gentlemen, I wondered? And how do you get a kid who is so well-behaved? I want one.
Monday, February 1, 2010
These are the people in your neighborhood
Liz and Rob-Stan have officially moved to San Francisco! Liz left my apartment on Friday morning, taking with her all of her weird bags and baskets full of clothes (whatever happened to suitcases?) and I was immediately devastated. She moved HALF A MILE away, but I was still all sad that she's not going to be around to drink tea and read on the couch with me, or download about our days while I eat chocolate ice cream for dinner.
So, because I missed her so much, I made her come over yesterday to help with Ellie's baby shower. Liz did all the decorations, making little phallic blue balloon bouquets, since Ellie and Eric are having a boy. It was a lovely shower with lots of fun gifts, some that Ellie might actually steal from the baby.
On Saturday, I went to Liz and Rob-Stan's new apartment with Rob and my Aunt Carolyn, who came to town to make cupcakes for the baby shower (and also to take a week-long painting class in the city.) It was completely empty and we sat on the floor, chatting, until my stomach started eating itself and I announced that we had to leave for lunch right then or the baby was going to stick a little fist through my belly button and try to grab Rigby's dog treats.
When we came back, several hours later, the movers had arrived and left, and seriously, the place looked amazing. I'll post some pictures soon. This means that my sister and I are living in the same city for the first time in 14 years. Some people take it for granted that their family members will always be close by. But since I've made the decision to hopscotch all around the country, it's not something I've ever been able to count on. And with the baby coming, I am feeling extra grateful to have my sister around, someone who I can call when I need a babysitter or just have some balloons that need blowing up.
So, because I missed her so much, I made her come over yesterday to help with Ellie's baby shower. Liz did all the decorations, making little phallic blue balloon bouquets, since Ellie and Eric are having a boy. It was a lovely shower with lots of fun gifts, some that Ellie might actually steal from the baby.
On Saturday, I went to Liz and Rob-Stan's new apartment with Rob and my Aunt Carolyn, who came to town to make cupcakes for the baby shower (and also to take a week-long painting class in the city.) It was completely empty and we sat on the floor, chatting, until my stomach started eating itself and I announced that we had to leave for lunch right then or the baby was going to stick a little fist through my belly button and try to grab Rigby's dog treats.
When we came back, several hours later, the movers had arrived and left, and seriously, the place looked amazing. I'll post some pictures soon. This means that my sister and I are living in the same city for the first time in 14 years. Some people take it for granted that their family members will always be close by. But since I've made the decision to hopscotch all around the country, it's not something I've ever been able to count on. And with the baby coming, I am feeling extra grateful to have my sister around, someone who I can call when I need a babysitter or just have some balloons that need blowing up.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
But I haven't managed to shower
Rob left on a business trip at 4:30 this morning. This happens sometimes, and normally does not phase me. But today, as soon as his alarm went off, my brain went into a bad, bad place. A planning place. A place that does not allow sleep to continue. So I got up and made cereal and read a childbirth book, while thoughts of everything I need to do in the coming days and weeks marched a panicked little parade through my mind.
This might be ok except I have childbirth class tonight for 3 hours, and I would really, really rather not pass out in the middle of it. I can just see the teacher dimming the lights to show us one of the highly educational films where some poor woman gives birth to a 4-lb placenta that looks like Jabba the Hut and when the lights go on, there I am in my comfy chair, eyes closed, sucking my thumb.*
I have been so tired lately, so it does not make me happy to bounce out of bed at ridiculous hours due to bouts of nervous energy. But I'm sure it is serving a purpose. A blog post! Evidently, it just requires NOT SLEEPING to get it all done. I'll keep this in mind when the baby comes.
*I don't actually suck my thumb. But the thing about the Jabba placenta is true--from last week's class.
This might be ok except I have childbirth class tonight for 3 hours, and I would really, really rather not pass out in the middle of it. I can just see the teacher dimming the lights to show us one of the highly educational films where some poor woman gives birth to a 4-lb placenta that looks like Jabba the Hut and when the lights go on, there I am in my comfy chair, eyes closed, sucking my thumb.*
I have been so tired lately, so it does not make me happy to bounce out of bed at ridiculous hours due to bouts of nervous energy. But I'm sure it is serving a purpose. A blog post! Evidently, it just requires NOT SLEEPING to get it all done. I'll keep this in mind when the baby comes.
*I don't actually suck my thumb. But the thing about the Jabba placenta is true--from last week's class.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Deepish Wednesday
Hi guys,
Sorry I'm bad at this blogging thing lately. It's not you, it's me. My mind and my days (not to mention my belly) are very full, and I keep hoping that somehow the blog will just populate itself with words--not just any words, but the words that really describe what's going on with me here in San Francisco, in my life of working at home and being 31 weeks pregnant. And waking up at least 4 times a night to pee, or because it's raining really loud. Or because, like last night, I really needed a bowl (ok, two bowls) of cereal. But it turns out that if I don't write this blog, no one does. So that's good to know.
I haven't really had any weird cravings during my pregnancy, with the exception of being completely obsessed with sugar. But that's not really weird, not anything fun like craving things that totally do not go together: chocolate and avocados, sausages and cottage cheese, black beans and strawberries. What lunatic would eat those things together? They sound gross.
Tonight as I was walking home from yoga, the air smelled exactly like cannoli. So for three blocks I obsessed over how much I wanted to eat cannoli. But we didn't have any cannoli at home. So I ate couscous. I never said it was an interesting story.
My sister has moved in with us, which is pretty amazing. She got a job in San Francisco at an ad agency, and swiftly left her life, dog and boyfriend in Los Angeles. Boyfriend Rob (you may know him as Stan) and dog Rigby are coming up in February and then we will all be one big happy family, although they will have their own house, because otherwise I think Rigby would eat our cats. Sometimes I think I would like to feed them to a dog, when they're screaming and running around at night because they spent their whole day sleeping, just waiting for their chance to torment us. But Liz and Rob appear to want their own place, and I have to respect that. Smokey and Emma will get a reprieve. For now. Rob's tactic when they're acting like animals is to throw balled up socks at them. When I get up in the morning, I am greeted by our long hallway filled with sock balls.
Among the things I wonder: how will the cats react to having a baby in the house? Will Rob throw sock balls at the baby when she wakes us up at night? Does my brain stop working correctly after a certain time of day...like, around now?
Sorry I'm bad at this blogging thing lately. It's not you, it's me. My mind and my days (not to mention my belly) are very full, and I keep hoping that somehow the blog will just populate itself with words--not just any words, but the words that really describe what's going on with me here in San Francisco, in my life of working at home and being 31 weeks pregnant. And waking up at least 4 times a night to pee, or because it's raining really loud. Or because, like last night, I really needed a bowl (ok, two bowls) of cereal. But it turns out that if I don't write this blog, no one does. So that's good to know.
I haven't really had any weird cravings during my pregnancy, with the exception of being completely obsessed with sugar. But that's not really weird, not anything fun like craving things that totally do not go together: chocolate and avocados, sausages and cottage cheese, black beans and strawberries. What lunatic would eat those things together? They sound gross.
Tonight as I was walking home from yoga, the air smelled exactly like cannoli. So for three blocks I obsessed over how much I wanted to eat cannoli. But we didn't have any cannoli at home. So I ate couscous. I never said it was an interesting story.
My sister has moved in with us, which is pretty amazing. She got a job in San Francisco at an ad agency, and swiftly left her life, dog and boyfriend in Los Angeles. Boyfriend Rob (you may know him as Stan) and dog Rigby are coming up in February and then we will all be one big happy family, although they will have their own house, because otherwise I think Rigby would eat our cats. Sometimes I think I would like to feed them to a dog, when they're screaming and running around at night because they spent their whole day sleeping, just waiting for their chance to torment us. But Liz and Rob appear to want their own place, and I have to respect that. Smokey and Emma will get a reprieve. For now. Rob's tactic when they're acting like animals is to throw balled up socks at them. When I get up in the morning, I am greeted by our long hallway filled with sock balls.
Among the things I wonder: how will the cats react to having a baby in the house? Will Rob throw sock balls at the baby when she wakes us up at night? Does my brain stop working correctly after a certain time of day...like, around now?
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
For the Love of Technology
Tonight I would like to devote the blog to my friend Technology. It's kind of fitting, being that it is technology that brings you the blog, and after all, if you didn't have this blog to read, what would you be doing with your time? Don't answer that.
But I know what you're thinking..."You said you were a hobbit! You don't even know how to turn on your TV." Well, things change sometimes. Through methodical trial and error, I did learn how to turn on the TV. And I can even get the DVD player to work, as long as I have a little time, and no one is looking at me.
This afternoon, Rob and I got in the car to drop some gifts off at the post office. But we didn't know where the post office was. So I Googled it on my phone and came up with several options--Google immediately returned them in the order of their proximity to my house. On the way, I realized I needed to drop my keys off with our catsitter, but I didn't know her address. So I searched for her business (again on Google, but this blog is not about Google, so I'm done mentioning them now), found her phone number and called her for the address. We put the coordinates into our car GPS and went there from UPS (we ended up at UPS because the post office lines were long and, according to Rob, the post office smelled like "ass.")
The catsitter lives in a neighborhood we don't know very well, and we remembered that we needed to get cat food. So I searched for pet supplies in the neighborhood and found a store a few blocks away. After that, we were hungry, so I logged into Zagat.com to find the best pizza places in the city. The winner was Little Star Pizza, which ended up being close to our house. I called to place the order, we drove there, and left with our dinner.
This is notably different from the last time I lived in San Francisco, when one late night in a cab, my friend Krista called 411 and asked the operator to "find a pizza place near my house." The operator hung up and Krista ate Spaghettios.
Thank you, Technology. I'm sorry for all the things I said about you.
But I know what you're thinking..."You said you were a hobbit! You don't even know how to turn on your TV." Well, things change sometimes. Through methodical trial and error, I did learn how to turn on the TV. And I can even get the DVD player to work, as long as I have a little time, and no one is looking at me.
This afternoon, Rob and I got in the car to drop some gifts off at the post office. But we didn't know where the post office was. So I Googled it on my phone and came up with several options--Google immediately returned them in the order of their proximity to my house. On the way, I realized I needed to drop my keys off with our catsitter, but I didn't know her address. So I searched for her business (again on Google, but this blog is not about Google, so I'm done mentioning them now), found her phone number and called her for the address. We put the coordinates into our car GPS and went there from UPS (we ended up at UPS because the post office lines were long and, according to Rob, the post office smelled like "ass.")
The catsitter lives in a neighborhood we don't know very well, and we remembered that we needed to get cat food. So I searched for pet supplies in the neighborhood and found a store a few blocks away. After that, we were hungry, so I logged into Zagat.com to find the best pizza places in the city. The winner was Little Star Pizza, which ended up being close to our house. I called to place the order, we drove there, and left with our dinner.
This is notably different from the last time I lived in San Francisco, when one late night in a cab, my friend Krista called 411 and asked the operator to "find a pizza place near my house." The operator hung up and Krista ate Spaghettios.
Thank you, Technology. I'm sorry for all the things I said about you.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Therapy
So far throughout my pregnancy, I've been feeling really good. Not one day of morning sickness, for which I feel so insanely lucky that part of me is sure this baby is going to be a devil of a toddler just to make up for it. It's a foregone conclusion that she'll be a terrible teenager--karma I no doubt deserve.
I've stayed pretty active, walking and doing yoga, and I'm eating well, if you don't count the occasional Trader Joe's corn dog that somehow finds its way into the microwave. Food on a stick--hard to resist.
But I do have one complaint and that is a chronic pain in my back. Every day by the afternoon there is a sharp, uncomfortable ache that becomes unbearable by the evening and only feels better when I finally lie down with my new best friend--a 5 foot bed pillow.
I should really get a massage and I know this is obvious, but I somehow have not yet scheduled that. Instead, I just fling myself to the ground and moan in pain while performing normal functions like preparing dinner or checking email.
Tonight, when Rob came home from work, he rubbed my back while I took a break from cooking.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said.
"Like, does it feel tight and bumpy?" I was sure there were knots like rocks up and down my shoulder blades.
"It feels whiny," he said.
I've stayed pretty active, walking and doing yoga, and I'm eating well, if you don't count the occasional Trader Joe's corn dog that somehow finds its way into the microwave. Food on a stick--hard to resist.
But I do have one complaint and that is a chronic pain in my back. Every day by the afternoon there is a sharp, uncomfortable ache that becomes unbearable by the evening and only feels better when I finally lie down with my new best friend--a 5 foot bed pillow.
I should really get a massage and I know this is obvious, but I somehow have not yet scheduled that. Instead, I just fling myself to the ground and moan in pain while performing normal functions like preparing dinner or checking email.
Tonight, when Rob came home from work, he rubbed my back while I took a break from cooking.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said.
"Like, does it feel tight and bumpy?" I was sure there were knots like rocks up and down my shoulder blades.
"It feels whiny," he said.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Visitors
My mom and my uncle Frank were in town this weekend, which was wonderful for many reasons, including getting to hear the story of how I was born with hair on my shoulders. "We're going to have a gorilla baby," Rob said. "She was more like a bear," my uncle said.
We went to a holiday party at a neighbor's house on Saturday night. My mother--the semi-retired kindergarten teacher--immediately found the playroom where all the kids were hanging out, and fell upon them and their toys. "This is Gideon," she told me when I peeked in. "And this is Max. We don't know this little girl's name, but I think she speaks French. Bonjour!" She handed me her wine, so that she could help Max figure out how to work the little electronic guitar he had presented her with. He lost interest in it soon after that and tried on the other kids' shoes instead.
Later, as we all sat on the couch in front of trays of shrimp and cocktail sausages, a three-year-old wandered up and started to bite little pieces of sausage and put them back in the tray. He then buried a shrimp in the cocktail sauce and proceeded to smear ketchup all over the crackers he was licking and placing back in their dish. He walked up to me with a little sausage in his hand and put it in my mouth. I was too surprised to protest, so I delicately removed it, thanked him, and wadded it up in a napkin. "I can't believe you let him do that," said my mother, who earlier that day had put a stevia leaf from Golden Gate Park into her own mouth. "Please don't eat the plants," I said at the time.
It seems that although there were plenty of adults present, and it was quite a nice party, I am preoccupied with thoughts of children these days, and it's their antics that stayed with me. "Our daughter will never be allowed to behave that way at a party," Rob said later of the sausage prince.
It was fun to have company in the house, and people to cook with. Frank and my mom made tilapia with peppers, onions and lime one evening, and we made squash soup and pizza for another meal. We went out for an Italian dinner in North Beach and a Vietnamese dinner at one of our favorite restaurants on the water, overlooking the Bay Bridge, so bright and accessible it looked like a Christmas decoration.
They brought gifts for the baby: a pair of overalls from Mom, a tie-dyed onesie from my Aunt Cathy, a set of 5--yes 5--colorful socks from Frank. And in thanks, the baby kicked for them. My mom sat next to me on the couch, her hand on my stomach before her cab arrived. "She's in there right now," she said. "Working on growing her shoulder hair."
We went to a holiday party at a neighbor's house on Saturday night. My mother--the semi-retired kindergarten teacher--immediately found the playroom where all the kids were hanging out, and fell upon them and their toys. "This is Gideon," she told me when I peeked in. "And this is Max. We don't know this little girl's name, but I think she speaks French. Bonjour!" She handed me her wine, so that she could help Max figure out how to work the little electronic guitar he had presented her with. He lost interest in it soon after that and tried on the other kids' shoes instead.
Later, as we all sat on the couch in front of trays of shrimp and cocktail sausages, a three-year-old wandered up and started to bite little pieces of sausage and put them back in the tray. He then buried a shrimp in the cocktail sauce and proceeded to smear ketchup all over the crackers he was licking and placing back in their dish. He walked up to me with a little sausage in his hand and put it in my mouth. I was too surprised to protest, so I delicately removed it, thanked him, and wadded it up in a napkin. "I can't believe you let him do that," said my mother, who earlier that day had put a stevia leaf from Golden Gate Park into her own mouth. "Please don't eat the plants," I said at the time.
It seems that although there were plenty of adults present, and it was quite a nice party, I am preoccupied with thoughts of children these days, and it's their antics that stayed with me. "Our daughter will never be allowed to behave that way at a party," Rob said later of the sausage prince.
It was fun to have company in the house, and people to cook with. Frank and my mom made tilapia with peppers, onions and lime one evening, and we made squash soup and pizza for another meal. We went out for an Italian dinner in North Beach and a Vietnamese dinner at one of our favorite restaurants on the water, overlooking the Bay Bridge, so bright and accessible it looked like a Christmas decoration.
They brought gifts for the baby: a pair of overalls from Mom, a tie-dyed onesie from my Aunt Cathy, a set of 5--yes 5--colorful socks from Frank. And in thanks, the baby kicked for them. My mom sat next to me on the couch, her hand on my stomach before her cab arrived. "She's in there right now," she said. "Working on growing her shoulder hair."
Monday, December 7, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Parenthood
Me: The baby is kicking! Here, put your hand on my stomach so you can feel it.
Rob: Stop bossing me around.
Rob: Stop bossing me around.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday Dispatch from the Home Front
We officially live in San Francisco, although I think both Rob and I still feel like we're on some sort of extended vacation. He went on a long bike ride yesterday, through the park and across Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin Headlands, where the view from the cliffs is city and ocean. It's hard to believe you're allowed to live somewhere so beautiful.
I stayed home and got my own exercise unpacking boxes, and we are very slowly making progress. We have now met the two other families who live in the building. We've been entertained by the observant 4-year-old Jackson, who called out from the back seat of his car yesterday to Rob, "You have two shirts on!"
"Three!" Rob said proudly, unzipping his fleece vest to display a t-shirt. Jackson was blown away. It's so easy to thrill kids; I myself was probably not suitably impressed when Rob dressed himself that morning.
I stayed home and got my own exercise unpacking boxes, and we are very slowly making progress. We have now met the two other families who live in the building. We've been entertained by the observant 4-year-old Jackson, who called out from the back seat of his car yesterday to Rob, "You have two shirts on!"
"Three!" Rob said proudly, unzipping his fleece vest to display a t-shirt. Jackson was blown away. It's so easy to thrill kids; I myself was probably not suitably impressed when Rob dressed himself that morning.
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