At the beginning of the school year, I was somehow roped into being on the social and sunshine committee, despite the fact that I never socialize and lack sunshine in my soul. (I kid, I kid.)
As part of that committee, another teacher and I are in charge of getting cards and gifts for staff members inflicted with various illnesses and ailments. Apparently this also extends to spouses, which is cool, I guess.
I made it a good 16 weeks or so doing absolutely nothing on this committee, but I received my first assignment today: obtain a card and a plant for a staff member whose husband has recently had surgery.
Armed with a budget of $40 and the school's debit card, I headed to the local grocery store in search of the perfect gift.
I failed to remember that I am the worst at picking out greeting cards. I agonized in the Hallmark section (so they knows we care) for a good fifteen minutes, trying to find a card that wasn't overly sappy or specific. When I finally found a sufficiently sweet yet generic card, I moved on to the floral section.
There I spent another ten minutes perusing the plants. Should I get a poinsettia? I'm pretty sure those are poisonous. And they're monstrous. It would take up so much space! What about this orchid? It's pretty, but a little more fragile looking. What if I destroy it in transit?
In the end, I decided on the most expensive plant in the store (I had to use up that budget somehow!). As I checked out, the cashier mentioned, "Oh, those plants are so pretty, but I never get them because I'm afraid I'm going to kill them."
Now I'm nervous. Remember that time I have Harsh Brown Thumbs of Death? I hope I don't kill the plant overnight. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Ro Sham Bo
One of my students, bless his heart, is a little socially inept. He prefers talking to adults rather than other students his age, and he often tries to engage me in conversation at inopportune moments. I try to be patient with him, but usually once a day or more I have to tell him he can't talk to me right now. Today during our snack time, he asked for a slice of my apple. Um, no. That's my food, sonny!
Moving on. Today we had an assembly so the junior choir could perform their Christmas concert for the school. As we were waiting for it to begin, some of my students began to play rock, paper, scissors (or, if you're from California, Ro-Sham-Bo). This student asked if I would play with him, and I declined, telling him to play with somebody else in the class. He furrowed his brow, pouted a little, and then proceeded to play rock, paper, scissors -- against himself. For about 20 minutes. Once the assembly started I had to keep telling him to keep his hands still.
Well, then. He gets points for resourcefulness, I guess?
Moving on. Today we had an assembly so the junior choir could perform their Christmas concert for the school. As we were waiting for it to begin, some of my students began to play rock, paper, scissors (or, if you're from California, Ro-Sham-Bo). This student asked if I would play with him, and I declined, telling him to play with somebody else in the class. He furrowed his brow, pouted a little, and then proceeded to play rock, paper, scissors -- against himself. For about 20 minutes. Once the assembly started I had to keep telling him to keep his hands still.
Well, then. He gets points for resourcefulness, I guess?
Saturday, November 23, 2013
A Christmas miracle
If Jacob and I weren't so cheap, I would definitely be ordering one of these right about now:
We're expecting a girl!
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Tootin' our horns
At work, I have the . . . privilege (and I don't even want to admit how many tries it took to spell that word correctly before finally asking Jacob) of teaching the fourth graders to play the recorder. I am sure you are all seething with jealousy right now. We teach recorders in fourth grade to help teach rhythm and hand-eye coordination and musicality, but also primarily so we can perform some songs at an assembly in the gym.
We're trying something new for our school program this year. Last year, we put on a small program for the third and fifth graders to attend that focused mainly on Utah history sprinkled with songs and recorder performances. It was also held sometime in April, I believe. This time? We're putting on The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, which the whole school will attend. And we only have one more full week to practice before the performance. And we really didn't even start practicing until a couple weeks ago.
So we've been cramming Christmas tunes and the words to The Grinch down the throats of our students. Let's be honest, I was veeeeery nervous about how the recorders would sound with the Christmas songs we planned when we first started. Let's just say that the sounds emitting from the instruments weren't even recognizable as melodies.
As I've been teaching each class, however, I've been extremely pleased with the progress of the students. Perhaps we may not perform the most beautiful version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" ever, but at least the students are hitting the right notes at the right time.
With one exception. My class.
My class is just not musically inclined, apparently. The other teachers in charge of the singing have commented that my class has the hardest time remembering the words and singing the right notes. I'm noticing the same pattern with recorders. Bless their hearts. Would it be terrible to suggest that they lip synch and just pretend to play the recorder without actually blowing into it? Yes? Darn.
But at the end of the day, my class has skill where it really counts -- academics. I just graded their benchmark tests, and the average grade for my class is 16 percent better than my class average for last year. SIXTEEN PERCENT! It's a Christmas miracle!
Yep, I'll keep my students, tone-deaf or no.
We're trying something new for our school program this year. Last year, we put on a small program for the third and fifth graders to attend that focused mainly on Utah history sprinkled with songs and recorder performances. It was also held sometime in April, I believe. This time? We're putting on The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, which the whole school will attend. And we only have one more full week to practice before the performance. And we really didn't even start practicing until a couple weeks ago.
So we've been cramming Christmas tunes and the words to The Grinch down the throats of our students. Let's be honest, I was veeeeery nervous about how the recorders would sound with the Christmas songs we planned when we first started. Let's just say that the sounds emitting from the instruments weren't even recognizable as melodies.
As I've been teaching each class, however, I've been extremely pleased with the progress of the students. Perhaps we may not perform the most beautiful version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" ever, but at least the students are hitting the right notes at the right time.
With one exception. My class.
My class is just not musically inclined, apparently. The other teachers in charge of the singing have commented that my class has the hardest time remembering the words and singing the right notes. I'm noticing the same pattern with recorders. Bless their hearts. Would it be terrible to suggest that they lip synch and just pretend to play the recorder without actually blowing into it? Yes? Darn.
But at the end of the day, my class has skill where it really counts -- academics. I just graded their benchmark tests, and the average grade for my class is 16 percent better than my class average for last year. SIXTEEN PERCENT! It's a Christmas miracle!
Yep, I'll keep my students, tone-deaf or no.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
"The difference between Target and Walmart is a bra."
Jennifer: Do you want to get me my book that's way over there? Indicates a book approximately six feet away from where we're sitting.
Jacob: Hmm, no. Maybe if it was only this far away. Stretches out arm as far as it will go, which, while impressive, is certainly not six feet.
Jennifer: Can't you use "Accio book"? How about "Wingardium leviosa" and just make the book float on over here?
Jacob: Uh . . .
Jennifer: Oh, why did I marry a Muggle?
Jacob: Hmm, no. Maybe if it was only this far away. Stretches out arm as far as it will go, which, while impressive, is certainly not six feet.
Jennifer: Can't you use "Accio book"? How about "Wingardium leviosa" and just make the book float on over here?
Jacob: Uh . . .
Jennifer: Oh, why did I marry a Muggle?
Saturday, November 2, 2013
One of three pregnancy posts you'll read on this blog
So, I suppose the title reveals the big news for those who may not have heard it already: our IVF cycle was a success and we're expecting a baby in April! We're thrilled but it still seems pretty unreal at the moment. Now that I'm in the second trimester, I'm allowing myself to get a little more excited.
That being said, I still very much remember the feelings of jealousy and bitterness I sometimes had while hearing or reading about other women's pregnancies. Even today, I stumbled across the Facebook page of someone I don't even know (creepy, much?), and when I noticed that every. single. update. was about her pregnancy, that resentment crept back. Which may be silly, now that I've joined the pregnant clan. Though I suppose once an infertile, always an infertile. I don't want to rub any salt in the wounds of women who may be infertile, recovering from a miscarriage, or even those who don't have the opportunity to have children yet. So I don't want to bring up the pregnancy too much, either here, on Facebook, or in real life.
At the same time, I want to document my pregnancy so I have it as a keepsake. Who knows how many more times I'll have the opportunity to be pregnant?
Enter www.theawkwardone.blogspot.com
This blog started out as an assignment for a technology class I took in college, so technically I suppose the random girls in my group could see it on their sidebar if they still look at it all these years later. Before we went "public" with our infertility, I made the blog private and wrote some angst-filled posts I didn't have the courage to publish here, as well as some rough drafts of how I intended to announce our infertility to the masses.
This morphed into documenting our IVF process in excruciating detail, and finally into writing about our pregnancy.
I'll be making this infertility/pregnancy blog public -- for the time being, at least -- so those who are interested can read up on all sorts of personal details and TMI (because I'm sure you care about my body changes and functions), while those who aren't have no fear of being bombarded with pregnancy news when they least expect it. If you do decide to read it, I recommend starting with the oldest posts first and working your way to the newer ones. If pregnancy posts make you want to vomit or you'd rather watch paint dry, I won't be offended -- my own dear husband hasn't even read it, even though I've invited him to do so.
The two exceptions to the "no pregnancy posts on this blog": I'll likely announce the gender here when we find out (hopefully just before Thanksgiving), and I'll probably post the birth story here as well. Once our baby arrives, I consider anything fair game for this blog. But I'll try not to be obnoxious.
That being said, I still very much remember the feelings of jealousy and bitterness I sometimes had while hearing or reading about other women's pregnancies. Even today, I stumbled across the Facebook page of someone I don't even know (creepy, much?), and when I noticed that every. single. update. was about her pregnancy, that resentment crept back. Which may be silly, now that I've joined the pregnant clan. Though I suppose once an infertile, always an infertile. I don't want to rub any salt in the wounds of women who may be infertile, recovering from a miscarriage, or even those who don't have the opportunity to have children yet. So I don't want to bring up the pregnancy too much, either here, on Facebook, or in real life.
At the same time, I want to document my pregnancy so I have it as a keepsake. Who knows how many more times I'll have the opportunity to be pregnant?
Enter www.theawkwardone.blogspot.com
This blog started out as an assignment for a technology class I took in college, so technically I suppose the random girls in my group could see it on their sidebar if they still look at it all these years later. Before we went "public" with our infertility, I made the blog private and wrote some angst-filled posts I didn't have the courage to publish here, as well as some rough drafts of how I intended to announce our infertility to the masses.
This morphed into documenting our IVF process in excruciating detail, and finally into writing about our pregnancy.
I'll be making this infertility/pregnancy blog public -- for the time being, at least -- so those who are interested can read up on all sorts of personal details and TMI (because I'm sure you care about my body changes and functions), while those who aren't have no fear of being bombarded with pregnancy news when they least expect it. If you do decide to read it, I recommend starting with the oldest posts first and working your way to the newer ones. If pregnancy posts make you want to vomit or you'd rather watch paint dry, I won't be offended -- my own dear husband hasn't even read it, even though I've invited him to do so.
The two exceptions to the "no pregnancy posts on this blog": I'll likely announce the gender here when we find out (hopefully just before Thanksgiving), and I'll probably post the birth story here as well. Once our baby arrives, I consider anything fair game for this blog. But I'll try not to be obnoxious.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
You're a good man, Charlie Brown
An actual email conversation:
Me: "So, the deal was still going on at Smith's . . . so I might have purchased three varieties of hot chocolate as well as a pumpkin. Hope that's cool with you. :D (I suppoooooooose I could return one if necessary.)"
Jacob: "You bought only 3 hot chocolates???? ;0 I was thinking you were going to buy more. Only one pumpkin? Did you get a GINORMOUS one? :) I guess you could have gotten two."
Well then, if you insist, I'll go out and spend all our dollars on more hot chocolate and pumpkins.
Why do I feel like most wives get opposite reactions to their shopping sprees?
Me: "So, the deal was still going on at Smith's . . . so I might have purchased three varieties of hot chocolate as well as a pumpkin. Hope that's cool with you. :D (I suppoooooooose I could return one if necessary.)"
Jacob: "You bought only 3 hot chocolates???? ;0 I was thinking you were going to buy more. Only one pumpkin? Did you get a GINORMOUS one? :) I guess you could have gotten two."
Well then, if you insist, I'll go out and spend all our dollars on more hot chocolate and pumpkins.
Why do I feel like most wives get opposite reactions to their shopping sprees?
Pity party
I don't think I'll ever become a contestant on a reality TV show. But if I did, I'd want to be on The Amazing Race. And I'd probably get eliminated on the first round.
You see, on Monday I watched this week's episode, which [SPOILER!] featured a team who met their untimely exit through a series of unfortunate events. They were the first team to depart, and immediately headed to the travel agency. They found a fantastic flight and requested tickets. However, the travel agent made a mistake and booked them for the following day. While correcting her error, another team swooped in and took the last seats on that flight. The travel agent found another route involving two plane changes that would get them to their destination in a somewhat timely manner.
But of course, things never turned out as planned on The Amazing Race. This team faced delayed planes due to mechanical difficulties, a missed connection, and even more plane delays. By the time they finally arrived at their destination, all of the other teams had checked in at the pit stop and they were eliminated.
How does this relate to me, you ask? Well, let me tell you a tale of utter sadness and despair.
My little sister is leaving on her mission in a few weeks, and her missionary farewell is this weekend. My sisters and I arranged to fly to California for the weekend after I got off work and started fall break.
Well, last night I tried checking in 24 hours before my flight was set to depart. It didn't let me. So I refreshed the page. Over and over. And then I noticed -- I didn't book my ticket for today -- I booked it for tomorrow!
So maybe I haven't been eliminated from a race around the world to win a million dollars. But you could say that I will most definitely be the last team to arrive. And let's just say that the team on The Amazing Race handled their defeat a lot more gracefully than I did. At least, I assume they didn't weep, wail, and gnash their teeth into their pillows until they fell asleep like I did.
Oh, the woe!
ETA: I should be boarding the plane right about now. In order to cope with the sorrow, I may or may not have purchased three varieties of Stephen's hot chocolate. Emotional drinking problem? Or just an inability to pass up a sale for the most delicious brand of hot chocolate ever? You be the judge.
You see, on Monday I watched this week's episode, which [SPOILER!] featured a team who met their untimely exit through a series of unfortunate events. They were the first team to depart, and immediately headed to the travel agency. They found a fantastic flight and requested tickets. However, the travel agent made a mistake and booked them for the following day. While correcting her error, another team swooped in and took the last seats on that flight. The travel agent found another route involving two plane changes that would get them to their destination in a somewhat timely manner.
But of course, things never turned out as planned on The Amazing Race. This team faced delayed planes due to mechanical difficulties, a missed connection, and even more plane delays. By the time they finally arrived at their destination, all of the other teams had checked in at the pit stop and they were eliminated.
How does this relate to me, you ask? Well, let me tell you a tale of utter sadness and despair.
My little sister is leaving on her mission in a few weeks, and her missionary farewell is this weekend. My sisters and I arranged to fly to California for the weekend after I got off work and started fall break.
Well, last night I tried checking in 24 hours before my flight was set to depart. It didn't let me. So I refreshed the page. Over and over. And then I noticed -- I didn't book my ticket for today -- I booked it for tomorrow!
So maybe I haven't been eliminated from a race around the world to win a million dollars. But you could say that I will most definitely be the last team to arrive. And let's just say that the team on The Amazing Race handled their defeat a lot more gracefully than I did. At least, I assume they didn't weep, wail, and gnash their teeth into their pillows until they fell asleep like I did.
Oh, the woe!
ETA: I should be boarding the plane right about now. In order to cope with the sorrow, I may or may not have purchased three varieties of Stephen's hot chocolate. Emotional drinking problem? Or just an inability to pass up a sale for the most delicious brand of hot chocolate ever? You be the judge.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
We're going to Candy Mountain
Yesterday for Social Studies my class read an article that included some legends regarding various mountains in Utah. One legend spoke of a tribe who chose to sacrifice a woman, Utahna, to the mountain god Timpanogos so he'd stop making it famine and such. While Utahna was hiking to the highest cliff to throw herself from, she ran into Red Eagle, a man from another tribe, who fell in love with her instantly and pretended to be Timpanogos so she wouldn't off herself. They married and lived happily until Red Eagle was attacked by a bear and Utahna figured out that her husband wasn't the godly specter he pretended to be. So she ended up plunging herself off a cliff anyway! And then Red Eagle pined away next to her body until he died, too.
Such a heartwarming story.
One of the comprehension questions that accompanied the article asked, "Why did Red Eagle pretend to be the mountain god Timpanogos?"
And this is what one of my boys wrote: "cause Red knew she was a hot one"
I'm still laughing.
Such a heartwarming story.
One of the comprehension questions that accompanied the article asked, "Why did Red Eagle pretend to be the mountain god Timpanogos?"
And this is what one of my boys wrote: "cause Red knew she was a hot one"
I'm still laughing.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
". . . I'm thinking about trying to shove them in a Pop Tarts box before wrapping."
Once upon a time I was perusing Pinterest, when I came across a recipe for a funnel cake. I logged that one away, for future reference.
And then today I was looking through my boards and thought to myself, "Self, I think you should make a funnel cake! You should make a funnel cake RIGHT NOW!"
So I proceeded to do so.
I halved the recipe, which said it made one cake, because the amount of ingredients made me sure it would feed a small family.
I should have fourthed it.
The funnel cake, which ended up being multiple separate lumps of crispy fried goodness rather than one cohesive confection, was larger than the size of my face. And while it was delicious, I've only been able to eat about half of it. The other half is staring at me from the plate, growing soggier by the minute, looking very forlorn. Alas, Jacob is working tonight and is thus unable to partake.
Too much birthday.
And then today I was looking through my boards and thought to myself, "Self, I think you should make a funnel cake! You should make a funnel cake RIGHT NOW!"
So I proceeded to do so.
I halved the recipe, which said it made one cake, because the amount of ingredients made me sure it would feed a small family.
I should have fourthed it.
The funnel cake, which ended up being multiple separate lumps of crispy fried goodness rather than one cohesive confection, was larger than the size of my face. And while it was delicious, I've only been able to eat about half of it. The other half is staring at me from the plate, growing soggier by the minute, looking very forlorn. Alas, Jacob is working tonight and is thus unable to partake.
Too much birthday.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Cheerleader! So-and-so! Whatsherface! THE UGLY ONE!!!
I've been holding off on writing this post for a bit because I didn't want to jinx myself, but here goes:
Four weeks into the school year, I love my class. And while I can't speak for all my students, I'm fairly sure they love me, too. Or at least I think they like me.
Now, of course it isn't all sunshine and roses. I have a couple students who have a hard time following the rules or staying focused and finishing their work. But I will take a couple students like that over a third of the class, like I had last year, any day!
Most of my students are adorable. And well behaved. And they turn in their work. It is fantastic. I was grading spelling tests today, and whenever I came to a new test I thought things like, "Oh, I just love _____!" One girl wrote in the margin of her test "Spelling tests rock" and "I hope I pass." Earlier this week, another girl turned in a homework page that she had written out on binder paper because she spilled water on the copy I gave her. And get this -- she even wrote out the word problems before answering them! And she wrote an explanation which included "I hope this is okay" at the top. Girl, please. You wrote out the word problems! And you turned in your homework! Of course it's okay!
I'm really enjoying the boys in my class, too. They have such fun personalities and for the most part seem eager to please.
I can't express enough how much happier this has made my life. I'm enjoying teaching! I can banter with my students! I don't feel this heavy sense of dread every Sunday night anymore!
Is that enough exclamation points for you? Really, I'm feeling very blessed this year. My class has two more students than I had last year, but it feels smaller because they're so much more manageable. After last year, I wasn't sure I wanted to come back to teaching. I'm so glad I came back to have a positive experience!
Four weeks into the school year, I love my class. And while I can't speak for all my students, I'm fairly sure they love me, too. Or at least I think they like me.
Now, of course it isn't all sunshine and roses. I have a couple students who have a hard time following the rules or staying focused and finishing their work. But I will take a couple students like that over a third of the class, like I had last year, any day!
Most of my students are adorable. And well behaved. And they turn in their work. It is fantastic. I was grading spelling tests today, and whenever I came to a new test I thought things like, "Oh, I just love _____!" One girl wrote in the margin of her test "Spelling tests rock" and "I hope I pass." Earlier this week, another girl turned in a homework page that she had written out on binder paper because she spilled water on the copy I gave her. And get this -- she even wrote out the word problems before answering them! And she wrote an explanation which included "I hope this is okay" at the top. Girl, please. You wrote out the word problems! And you turned in your homework! Of course it's okay!
I'm really enjoying the boys in my class, too. They have such fun personalities and for the most part seem eager to please.
I can't express enough how much happier this has made my life. I'm enjoying teaching! I can banter with my students! I don't feel this heavy sense of dread every Sunday night anymore!
Is that enough exclamation points for you? Really, I'm feeling very blessed this year. My class has two more students than I had last year, but it feels smaller because they're so much more manageable. After last year, I wasn't sure I wanted to come back to teaching. I'm so glad I came back to have a positive experience!
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Chillin' like a villain
Fall is in the air. And I'm SO EXCITED. Bring on the pumpkin patches, corn mazes, haunted houses, and autumn leaves!
Excerpts of conversations I've had with Jacob:
Trying to convince Jacob to buy candy corn: "But candy corns are the best corns of all!"
Perusing Stephen's Hot Chocolate's website to see what flavors are available: "Here's some ideas of what you can get me for Christmas. I want white chocolate, and hazelnut, and raspbs (raspberry). And if orange creme ever comes back, I want like FIVE of those."
. . . Okay, so maybe those are the only conversations regarding the changing seasons I can remember. Well, besides me declaring "we MUST go to a pumpkin patch!" just about every single day. What can I say? Fall is my favorite!
Excerpts of conversations I've had with Jacob:
Trying to convince Jacob to buy candy corn: "But candy corns are the best corns of all!"
Perusing Stephen's Hot Chocolate's website to see what flavors are available: "Here's some ideas of what you can get me for Christmas. I want white chocolate, and hazelnut, and raspbs (raspberry). And if orange creme ever comes back, I want like FIVE of those."
. . . Okay, so maybe those are the only conversations regarding the changing seasons I can remember. Well, besides me declaring "we MUST go to a pumpkin patch!" just about every single day. What can I say? Fall is my favorite!
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Oh, peaches. (Or The Lord of the Flies)
The last time we went grocery shopping, I decided we needed to up our fruit intake and we invested in many pounds worth of apples, grapes, and peaches. I rather enjoyed alternating between the varieties in my lunch each day. Alas, we weren't able to eat all of the fruit before it went bad, and sometime early last week, I ended up throwing the last two peaches away.
Later that afternoon, one of our neighbors asked us if we'd be interested in some peaches, as they had too many and were looking to get rid of some. Well, of course we were! Free foodstuffs? Delicious fruit? Count me in! And I was really quite sad about not having any more peaches, as the previous ones had gone the way of the dumpster.
I wasn't quite expecting a huge grocery sack full of peaches, but that's what we got. Hey, the more, the merrier. I immediately set out eating at least two a day because 1) they were delicious and 2) we had a TON of peaches. And I didn't want them to go bad again!
I meant to bring the leftovers to work last Friday, as I was sure Jacob and I wouldn't be able to polish them off in a timely manner. And let's be honest, I was doing all the work around these parts. I don't think Jacob ate a single peach. Way to not pull your weight, husband. :)
So Saturday rolled around, and I decided to have a peach with my lunch. But horror of horrors! Overnight the peaches had begun to rot, and what's more, when I opened the grocery sack, a swarm of fruit flies flew out! I immediately closed the bag in an attempt to trap the flies and took it out to the dumpster.
The damage had been done. Fruit flies were mingling in our kitchen as though it were a ward social. Rude.
Fortunately, I knew just what to do! I'm no stranger to the fruit fly. The semester I was engaged, the apartment I moved into was swarming with fruit flies, and I found a trick on the Internets to trap the flies.
I retrieved a bowl from the depths of the cupboards, splashed a little apple cider vinegar in the bottom, and then sealed it with plastic wrap. After securing the ends liberally with generic Scotch tape, I wielded a toothpick and poked multiple holes in the plastic wrap. The apple cider vinegar is supposed to seduce the flies into crawling through the holes in the plastic wrap, thereby trapping them until they either drown or die of natural causes. (The number one natural cause being that fruit flies have incredibly short life spans.)
After setting the trap, I settled down in a chair to wait. I wanted to see the fruits of my labor! Pretty quickly, flies began landing on the bowl and crawling around the plastic wrap. Oh yes, they were intrigued.
Mentally, I began cheering them on, much like a spectator at a football game. "Go for it! You can do it! No, you're going the wrong way!" And so forth.
It became apparent that while the fruit flies wanted to investigate the vinegar, the holes weren't large enough for them to crawl through. So I took my toothpick and made those holes a little bigger (scaring away the flies in the process, of course.) Once again, I waited and watched.
It turns out that fruit flies, like a watched pot, do not boil under investigation. Unlike a watched pot, they also don't crawl into death traps while being scrutinized. So I decided to make myself a sandwich and observe from a distance. Finally! I had captured some flies!
Then I noticed that one edge of the plastic wrap wasn't exactly taut, so I decided to secure it with more tape. And as I jostled the bowl, one of the flies flew back out of a hole.
Well, then. Trap fail.
I wielded my tape and taped up some of the larger holes, in an attempt to make it more traplike and less like a come-and-go-as-you-please buffet.
Eventually, I did tire of watching the flies, so I went my merry way, off to grade papers or plan lessons or such. But I did check on the trap from time to time, and I was pleased to notice the number of flies increasing.
Once Jacob woke up, I announced to him about my prowess. "I'm a mighty huntress . . . stalking my prey!" I declared, proudly. Jacob seemed a little more skeptical about the process, but he humored me.
Also: remember how I had to throw peaches away for the second time in a week that Saturday? That very evening, yet another neighbor came to our door, bearing yet another ginormous bag of peaches. Apparently I don't need to shop for peaches ever again, because I can rely on the kindness of others to supply my fruit needs.
Back to the flies. Over the next several days, I kept a close eye on my trap, counting how many flies were in there from time to time. Unfortunately, none of them were really dying. Also, the number was decreasing, so they were obviously escaping. I squished one of them when it crawled too close to the rim of the bowl, and I think Jacob squished another one some time later.
Today, as I was cooking dinner, I had several fruit flies buzzing around me. Well, that's not quite accurate -- fruit flies don't buzz. But they were flying, and it was annoying. Enough was enough. I beckoned Jacob and entreated him to do something about these flies.
He immediately started clapping the flies between his hands, effectively snuffing the life out of them in about .2 seconds. He continued this practice, and within ten minutes had gotten rid of the majority of them.
Final kill count:
Clever-somewhat-humane trap: 2
Brute force: 20+
Jacob wins again.
Later that afternoon, one of our neighbors asked us if we'd be interested in some peaches, as they had too many and were looking to get rid of some. Well, of course we were! Free foodstuffs? Delicious fruit? Count me in! And I was really quite sad about not having any more peaches, as the previous ones had gone the way of the dumpster.
I wasn't quite expecting a huge grocery sack full of peaches, but that's what we got. Hey, the more, the merrier. I immediately set out eating at least two a day because 1) they were delicious and 2) we had a TON of peaches. And I didn't want them to go bad again!
I meant to bring the leftovers to work last Friday, as I was sure Jacob and I wouldn't be able to polish them off in a timely manner. And let's be honest, I was doing all the work around these parts. I don't think Jacob ate a single peach. Way to not pull your weight, husband. :)
So Saturday rolled around, and I decided to have a peach with my lunch. But horror of horrors! Overnight the peaches had begun to rot, and what's more, when I opened the grocery sack, a swarm of fruit flies flew out! I immediately closed the bag in an attempt to trap the flies and took it out to the dumpster.
The damage had been done. Fruit flies were mingling in our kitchen as though it were a ward social. Rude.
Fortunately, I knew just what to do! I'm no stranger to the fruit fly. The semester I was engaged, the apartment I moved into was swarming with fruit flies, and I found a trick on the Internets to trap the flies.
I retrieved a bowl from the depths of the cupboards, splashed a little apple cider vinegar in the bottom, and then sealed it with plastic wrap. After securing the ends liberally with generic Scotch tape, I wielded a toothpick and poked multiple holes in the plastic wrap. The apple cider vinegar is supposed to seduce the flies into crawling through the holes in the plastic wrap, thereby trapping them until they either drown or die of natural causes. (The number one natural cause being that fruit flies have incredibly short life spans.)
After setting the trap, I settled down in a chair to wait. I wanted to see the fruits of my labor! Pretty quickly, flies began landing on the bowl and crawling around the plastic wrap. Oh yes, they were intrigued.
Mentally, I began cheering them on, much like a spectator at a football game. "Go for it! You can do it! No, you're going the wrong way!" And so forth.
It became apparent that while the fruit flies wanted to investigate the vinegar, the holes weren't large enough for them to crawl through. So I took my toothpick and made those holes a little bigger (scaring away the flies in the process, of course.) Once again, I waited and watched.
It turns out that fruit flies, like a watched pot, do not boil under investigation. Unlike a watched pot, they also don't crawl into death traps while being scrutinized. So I decided to make myself a sandwich and observe from a distance. Finally! I had captured some flies!
Then I noticed that one edge of the plastic wrap wasn't exactly taut, so I decided to secure it with more tape. And as I jostled the bowl, one of the flies flew back out of a hole.
Well, then. Trap fail.
I wielded my tape and taped up some of the larger holes, in an attempt to make it more traplike and less like a come-and-go-as-you-please buffet.
Eventually, I did tire of watching the flies, so I went my merry way, off to grade papers or plan lessons or such. But I did check on the trap from time to time, and I was pleased to notice the number of flies increasing.
Once Jacob woke up, I announced to him about my prowess. "I'm a mighty huntress . . . stalking my prey!" I declared, proudly. Jacob seemed a little more skeptical about the process, but he humored me.
Also: remember how I had to throw peaches away for the second time in a week that Saturday? That very evening, yet another neighbor came to our door, bearing yet another ginormous bag of peaches. Apparently I don't need to shop for peaches ever again, because I can rely on the kindness of others to supply my fruit needs.
Back to the flies. Over the next several days, I kept a close eye on my trap, counting how many flies were in there from time to time. Unfortunately, none of them were really dying. Also, the number was decreasing, so they were obviously escaping. I squished one of them when it crawled too close to the rim of the bowl, and I think Jacob squished another one some time later.
Today, as I was cooking dinner, I had several fruit flies buzzing around me. Well, that's not quite accurate -- fruit flies don't buzz. But they were flying, and it was annoying. Enough was enough. I beckoned Jacob and entreated him to do something about these flies.
He immediately started clapping the flies between his hands, effectively snuffing the life out of them in about .2 seconds. He continued this practice, and within ten minutes had gotten rid of the majority of them.
Final kill count:
Clever-somewhat-humane trap: 2
Brute force: 20+
Jacob wins again.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Geppetto: a review
Recently I had the urge to watch Geppetto, the timeless made-for-TV classic movie featuring the plot of Pinocchio from the toymaker's viewpoint. I don't even like Disney's version of Pinocchio, but I remembered enjoying Geppetto when I saw it for the first time as a kid, so I thought I'd give it a go. Happily, our library had it in stock, because I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be carried in our local Redbox. Nor did I want to spend a buck to watch it.
For some reason, Jacob declined the opportunity to watch it with me. And once I looked at the DVD case, I began to get a little nervous. Perhaps it wouldn't be as delightfully whimsical as I remembered. But I pressed forward, for nostalgia's sake.
It started off decently enough. It opened with a musical number where the admittedly obnoxious children are singing about all the toys they want, the parents are threatening to spank their children if they don't behave, and Geppetto (played by Drew Carey) is pouring out his soul, asking why the people who shouldn't have children, have children, when clearly he would be a better father than those parents. I feel you, Geppetto. Sing it, my brotha:
Now, Geppetto wants to be a dad so badly that he has created a wooden puppet named Pinocchio and pretends that it's his son. That's the difference between me and Geppetto. I like to think I'm a little less creepy. I mean, I did end up giving away the closest humanoid object I owned like two years ago (and I use the term "owned" loosely, since I kind of stole it from Cari Dahl). Have I mentioned Chester on this blog yet? Meet Chester:
Anyway, back to the movie. If you're familiar with the plot, you're well aware that the Blue Fairy brings Pinocchio to life and promises him that if he's good, he'll become a real boy. By which she means made of flesh and bone instead of birch and splinters.
Before long, Geppetto finds out that being a father isn't all it's cracked up to be. For you see, Pinocchio is kind of a brat. And a whiner pants. And he gets in a fight at school. AND he doesn't want to go into the family business! For Geppetto, that's the last straw. A toy that doesn't want to be a toymaker is no son of his!
So he asks the Blue Fairy to undo her magic. And thus commences an awkward dance number between toymaker and fairy. A dance number which, according to imdb.com, took EIGHT HOURS to film. When I read that (prior to watching the scene), I was expecting a grand choreographed number with dancing chimney sweeps or something. But no. Just a little ballroom-esque dancing to make the viewer uncomfortable.
After this, I stopped watching as intently as before. Pinocchio runs away, first to a marionette show and then to Pleasure Island, where Usher sings and the boys turn to donkeys. How, I'm not quite sure. The movie may have glossed over that plot point. And Geppetto decides to be a good father and track his missing puppet down.
Along the way, he runs into a town where all of the children are perfect. They're obedient and fantastic at spelling and cartwheel periodically. Geppetto discovers that a man in town creates this perfect children from a machine he invented. And this man just gives these children away! For free! Sign me up!
But then we come to the disturbing realization that this inventor popped out around eight children in an attempt to please Geppetto, who doesn't want these children, thankyouverymuch. He wants Pinocchio. Which begs the question: what happened to those eight children after Geppetto skipped town? Did they become homeless vagabonds, or did the inventor take them under his wing because they're so perfect? So many unanswered questions.
Geppetto finds Pinocchio, they get swallowed by a whale, and Pinocchio lies to make his nose grow so he can tickle the whale's uvula. Yadda yadda yadda. And magically, Pinocchio isn't a brat anymore because Geppetto has told him that he doesn't have to be a toymaker anymore, thanks to a little Blue Fairy intervention in the form of Wayne Brady. And (SPOILER ALERT) Pinocchio becomes a real boy! Hugs all around.
So there you have it. My take on the movie so you don't have to watch it. Did I enjoy the fluffy musical numbers? Sure. Did the theme of parenthood resonate within my soul? . . . Somewhat. I had a hard time accepting Pinocchio's behavior when he had only been alive for five minutes (isn't brattiness cultivated by poor parenting? Geppetto didn't even have a chance!). But I could relate to Geppetto's desire to have a child. Will I watch it again? Not for a long, long time. If ever. There's a reason this movie didn't come out on the big screen.
For some reason, Jacob declined the opportunity to watch it with me. And once I looked at the DVD case, I began to get a little nervous. Perhaps it wouldn't be as delightfully whimsical as I remembered. But I pressed forward, for nostalgia's sake.
It started off decently enough. It opened with a musical number where the admittedly obnoxious children are singing about all the toys they want, the parents are threatening to spank their children if they don't behave, and Geppetto (played by Drew Carey) is pouring out his soul, asking why the people who shouldn't have children, have children, when clearly he would be a better father than those parents. I feel you, Geppetto. Sing it, my brotha:
Now, Geppetto wants to be a dad so badly that he has created a wooden puppet named Pinocchio and pretends that it's his son. That's the difference between me and Geppetto. I like to think I'm a little less creepy. I mean, I did end up giving away the closest humanoid object I owned like two years ago (and I use the term "owned" loosely, since I kind of stole it from Cari Dahl). Have I mentioned Chester on this blog yet? Meet Chester:
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| Paper bag added to protect the innocent. Also, in case you didn't pick up on it, he's called CHESTer because he's half a chest. I know; I'm so clever. |
Before long, Geppetto finds out that being a father isn't all it's cracked up to be. For you see, Pinocchio is kind of a brat. And a whiner pants. And he gets in a fight at school. AND he doesn't want to go into the family business! For Geppetto, that's the last straw. A toy that doesn't want to be a toymaker is no son of his!
So he asks the Blue Fairy to undo her magic. And thus commences an awkward dance number between toymaker and fairy. A dance number which, according to imdb.com, took EIGHT HOURS to film. When I read that (prior to watching the scene), I was expecting a grand choreographed number with dancing chimney sweeps or something. But no. Just a little ballroom-esque dancing to make the viewer uncomfortable.
After this, I stopped watching as intently as before. Pinocchio runs away, first to a marionette show and then to Pleasure Island, where Usher sings and the boys turn to donkeys. How, I'm not quite sure. The movie may have glossed over that plot point. And Geppetto decides to be a good father and track his missing puppet down.
Along the way, he runs into a town where all of the children are perfect. They're obedient and fantastic at spelling and cartwheel periodically. Geppetto discovers that a man in town creates this perfect children from a machine he invented. And this man just gives these children away! For free! Sign me up!
But then we come to the disturbing realization that this inventor popped out around eight children in an attempt to please Geppetto, who doesn't want these children, thankyouverymuch. He wants Pinocchio. Which begs the question: what happened to those eight children after Geppetto skipped town? Did they become homeless vagabonds, or did the inventor take them under his wing because they're so perfect? So many unanswered questions.
Geppetto finds Pinocchio, they get swallowed by a whale, and Pinocchio lies to make his nose grow so he can tickle the whale's uvula. Yadda yadda yadda. And magically, Pinocchio isn't a brat anymore because Geppetto has told him that he doesn't have to be a toymaker anymore, thanks to a little Blue Fairy intervention in the form of Wayne Brady. And (SPOILER ALERT) Pinocchio becomes a real boy! Hugs all around.
So there you have it. My take on the movie so you don't have to watch it. Did I enjoy the fluffy musical numbers? Sure. Did the theme of parenthood resonate within my soul? . . . Somewhat. I had a hard time accepting Pinocchio's behavior when he had only been alive for five minutes (isn't brattiness cultivated by poor parenting? Geppetto didn't even have a chance!). But I could relate to Geppetto's desire to have a child. Will I watch it again? Not for a long, long time. If ever. There's a reason this movie didn't come out on the big screen.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
An email conversation.
Jennifer: I found this video on someone's blog and it made me shed a thousand tears. You should watch it. :)
Jacob: Do you want me to shed a thousand tears too??
Jennifer: I'll accept it if you only shed a hundred tears.
Jacob: Do you want me to shed a thousand tears too??
Jennifer: I'll accept it if you only shed a hundred tears.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening
Are you ready for a tale of sadness and utter woe? Grab a tissue -- this is a tearjerker.
This afternoon my sister Heather asked if I'd be interested in babysitting her daughter tonight. You guys. Kayla is The Most Adorable Niece in the World. Don't believe me? Here, have some pictures:
And how do I not have any more pictures of her? Allow me to steal one off of Heather's facebook. (Dear Heather: I hope you're okay with me posting pictures of you and your posterity here.)
So yes. Kayla. Most Adorable Niece in the World. Naturally, I jumped at the chance to babysit, because she is darling and I'm hoping to become her Favorite Aunt. I was going to need to leave around 5:45 to get to their apartment on time, and around 5:40 I started to get my belongings together.
A few minutes later, I realized that I couldn't find my keys. This is not an unusual occurrence, but I can usually find them in one of several places. After I'd checked those, I began to panic a little. I dumped out my purse. I checked under the couch cushions. I looked inside the refrigerator. I wandered through the apartment like a madman, never staying in one place more than five seconds, frantically looking for my keys.
I texted Heather that we may have a problem, and then at 5:54 I remembered that Jacob had asked me to return an item to the library, as it was due today. And the library closed at 6.
Fortunately, we live very close to the library -- it's literally a walk in the park to get there. But in this case, I didn't have time to walk.
I grabbed some shoes and socks and bolted out the door, hoping beyond hope that nobody would break in during its unlocked state. And then I ran across the park, my phone in one hand because I didn't want it to fall out of my pocket, the other arm across my chest because I didn't have time to change into a sports bra.
Did I mention that it was raining? Oh yes, it was raining. And there was lightning. And I learned that running outside at a sprint is very different from jogging leisurely on an elliptical, and before long I was huffing and puffing.
I returned the CD with maybe a minute and a half to spare, and then I ran back to the apartment in the same fashion as before, because at this point it was raining even harder and also because the door was still unlocked. My only condolence is that the rain masked my sweat. Or at least I like to think that.
As I sprinted toward my door, I happened to be spotted by our good friends and neighbors. They called to me, but I couldn't really hear them because I was breathing too loudly. How embarrassing. So, Katrina, if you had invited me over or something and then were totally offended because I snubbed you, that's why. Nothing personal, and I totally would have come over if I wasn't still worried about finding my keys.
WHICH ARE STILL MISSING. So not only did I miss out on babysitting my adorable niece, but now I have the unsettling feeling that my keys ended up in one of the several places we visited earlier while running errands. Or possibly locked in the car. Or in the Pit of Despair. It's anyone's guess, really.
Ten million points to the person who correctly guesses where my keys are. And while you're at it, would you mind also telling me where the remote control and tweezers are? My eyebrows are getting scary.
This afternoon my sister Heather asked if I'd be interested in babysitting her daughter tonight. You guys. Kayla is The Most Adorable Niece in the World. Don't believe me? Here, have some pictures:
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| First, we have a picture of her enjoying an Otter Pop. Truly her mother's daughter. |
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| And this was approximately two days before she learned how to crawl. |
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| Doesn't this make you just die? |
A few minutes later, I realized that I couldn't find my keys. This is not an unusual occurrence, but I can usually find them in one of several places. After I'd checked those, I began to panic a little. I dumped out my purse. I checked under the couch cushions. I looked inside the refrigerator. I wandered through the apartment like a madman, never staying in one place more than five seconds, frantically looking for my keys.
I texted Heather that we may have a problem, and then at 5:54 I remembered that Jacob had asked me to return an item to the library, as it was due today. And the library closed at 6.
Fortunately, we live very close to the library -- it's literally a walk in the park to get there. But in this case, I didn't have time to walk.
I grabbed some shoes and socks and bolted out the door, hoping beyond hope that nobody would break in during its unlocked state. And then I ran across the park, my phone in one hand because I didn't want it to fall out of my pocket, the other arm across my chest because I didn't have time to change into a sports bra.
Did I mention that it was raining? Oh yes, it was raining. And there was lightning. And I learned that running outside at a sprint is very different from jogging leisurely on an elliptical, and before long I was huffing and puffing.
I returned the CD with maybe a minute and a half to spare, and then I ran back to the apartment in the same fashion as before, because at this point it was raining even harder and also because the door was still unlocked. My only condolence is that the rain masked my sweat. Or at least I like to think that.
As I sprinted toward my door, I happened to be spotted by our good friends and neighbors. They called to me, but I couldn't really hear them because I was breathing too loudly. How embarrassing. So, Katrina, if you had invited me over or something and then were totally offended because I snubbed you, that's why. Nothing personal, and I totally would have come over if I wasn't still worried about finding my keys.
WHICH ARE STILL MISSING. So not only did I miss out on babysitting my adorable niece, but now I have the unsettling feeling that my keys ended up in one of the several places we visited earlier while running errands. Or possibly locked in the car. Or in the Pit of Despair. It's anyone's guess, really.
Ten million points to the person who correctly guesses where my keys are. And while you're at it, would you mind also telling me where the remote control and tweezers are? My eyebrows are getting scary.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
This just happened.
Not fifteen minutes ago, I made my way to the bathroom to relieve my bladder.
Not two seconds later, I hopped back into the hallway.
"Um, Jacob?" I queried in a strangely high-pitched voice. "There's something on the bath mat I think you need to take care of."
Jacob, man that he is, came over to investigate. He came to the same conclusion that there was, in fact, a pincer bug on the bath mat.
"Now Jennifer," he said, in a voice you might use to speak to small children. "All you need to do is pick up the bath mat and shake it in the toilet." He then demonstrated this by doing just that.
He presented the toilet to me with a flourish*.
"Oo, I don't want it looking at my bum," I whimpered.
Jacob seemed less than sympathetic and left me to my business.
Upon closer inspection, the bug appeared to be motionless, so I settled myself down and positioned myself so I could still keep an eye on the earwig.
All was well until the waters started to churn, so to speak. Suddenly, the bug started paddling its creepy little legs.
"Jacob! It's swimming!" I shrieked.
He made an unintelligible reply.
Then the pincer bug started to crawl up the side of the bowl.
"Jacob! It's crawling up the sides!" I screeched. Then, with even higher pitch and intensity, I wailed, "I don't want to be here anymore!"
"Then flush!" he replied.
Oh, yes. That.
Following his instructions, I rid the world of another monstrosity. You may thank me now.
*I may have taken some artistic license with the narrative, but the dialogue is 100% accurate. Well, maybe 98%. It's hard to remember each word for word.
Not two seconds later, I hopped back into the hallway.
"Um, Jacob?" I queried in a strangely high-pitched voice. "There's something on the bath mat I think you need to take care of."
Jacob, man that he is, came over to investigate. He came to the same conclusion that there was, in fact, a pincer bug on the bath mat.
"Now Jennifer," he said, in a voice you might use to speak to small children. "All you need to do is pick up the bath mat and shake it in the toilet." He then demonstrated this by doing just that.
He presented the toilet to me with a flourish*.
"Oo, I don't want it looking at my bum," I whimpered.
Jacob seemed less than sympathetic and left me to my business.
Upon closer inspection, the bug appeared to be motionless, so I settled myself down and positioned myself so I could still keep an eye on the earwig.
All was well until the waters started to churn, so to speak. Suddenly, the bug started paddling its creepy little legs.
"Jacob! It's swimming!" I shrieked.
He made an unintelligible reply.
Then the pincer bug started to crawl up the side of the bowl.
"Jacob! It's crawling up the sides!" I screeched. Then, with even higher pitch and intensity, I wailed, "I don't want to be here anymore!"
"Then flush!" he replied.
Oh, yes. That.
Following his instructions, I rid the world of another monstrosity. You may thank me now.
*I may have taken some artistic license with the narrative, but the dialogue is 100% accurate. Well, maybe 98%. It's hard to remember each word for word.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
"And here is another shot of my plaid man shorts."
Oh heeeey! How's it going, girlfriend? Long time, no see! What's that? You say I'm terrible at communicating with the outside world? Well, this may be true.
School starts two months from today and I've already been having first-day-of-school nightmares. It seems pretty far away still, but I'm sure the summer is going to fly by. So I'm determined to make the most of it. In between reading, playing Lego Harry Potter, and finally watching the last season of ALIAS (which Jacob finished, um, a year ago), here's what we've been up to:
But first, some backstory. (Is the suspense making your toes tingle?) My dear, darling, lovely mother joined something we daughters like to call "the gossip group" but what she calls "Sew What's New" years and years and years ago. Um, I mean, she just joined it years ago. She isn't that old.
The premise of Sew What's New is that a group of women took turns hosting a craft night each month. The ladies would get together and make a craft and partake of delicious treats. I took it for granted that everyone in the world had the exact same decorations, because whenever we went to our friends' houses, they had the same seasonal decor as us! As time went by, the craft portion of the evening was phased out and the women just got together to partake of delicious treats (which we always asked Mom to sneak back home to us) and gossip -- I mean, hold highly intellectual discussion.
Now, at the beginning of the year I was invited to join something very similar to "the gossip group." But of course, since we're young and hip, we call our gatherings "Pinterest parties." There's four of us in the group, and we take turns being in charge of the craft, the meal, and the dessert, all of which we find on Pinterest. And yes, we even have a schedule to determine who does what. That's how hard core we are.
Over the months we've made festive holiday decorations, wrapped yarn wreaths, and even sewed a skirt as our craft portion of the evening. Last Wednesday we painted wooden blocks to create a patriotic flag. You may marvel now:
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The next day, Jacob and I headed to the SCERA Shell Theatre in Orem for a showing of Tarzan. We brought our blankets and snacks and settled on the grass for a splendid show. Except for the part where we had to crane our necks every once in a while to see around the people in chairs in front of us, it was a delightful time.
I've come to the devastating realization that I'm starting to get a forehead wrinkle. I'm not even 25 yet! But I think I'm getting the crease because I'm constantly making faces like this:
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| I really ought to stop furrowing my brow like that. |
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| Immediately after taking this picture, I told Jacob "Okay, I'm getting embarrassed now." |
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| It's another Cougar first down! |
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| Big ol' bear hug. |
Thursday, June 6, 2013
"Name this singer." "Uh, Katy Perry?" "No, it's Justin Bieber."
It's the first day of summer vacation, and how have I spent the last forty-five minutes?
I've been looking at the teacher's edition of the math textbook and Pinterest to get ideas for teaching math next year.
Apparently I haven't been scared off from teaching altogether . . . yet. Which is good, because man, my class was rough. On to summer break and a fresh start in August!
I've been looking at the teacher's edition of the math textbook and Pinterest to get ideas for teaching math next year.
Apparently I haven't been scared off from teaching altogether . . . yet. Which is good, because man, my class was rough. On to summer break and a fresh start in August!
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Squishing up a baby bumblebee
Last night, I sent the following to Jacob in an email while he was at work:
"So, a couple hours ago I was chilling on the couch, checking out ye olde Facebook or something inconsequential like that, when I heard an ominous buzzing noise. I figured it was merely a fly, but the buzzing was louder than you might expect. Unless it was perhaps a horsefly. A moment later I glanced upward, and to my shock and horror a ginormous yellow jacket/bee (should I know the difference?) was hovering above me! I did the only rational thing: I grabbed my laptop, booked it to the smaller bedroom, and slammed the door behind me. After twenty minutes, I decided to be brave and venture into the rest of the apartment to see if it was still there or not. I checked each room and didn't see or hear anything, so I'm really hoping it flew out a window. If not, I may die a little in my sleep."
I ended up closing the kitchen and living room windows in an attempt to keep out the bee (as it turned out it was) before going to bed. This morning, Jacob called me while I was just waking up and requested, as usual, that I brush my teeth before he arrived home. (You'd think after nearly three and a half years of marriage he could overlook a little morning breath of death. Alas.) As I walked out toward the bathroom, I saw the bee flying around our living room window! Apparently it hadn't made a Houdini-esque escape after all.
I bravely approached the window, opened it halfway to encourage the bee to fly out, and then locked myself in the bathroom in a panic. I called Jacob back to inform him of the situation, and he instructed me to kill it with a fly swatter.
Yeah . . . like that was going to happen.
He came home shortly, and I handed him the fly swatter to do his thing. But at that point, the bee had flown between the two panes of glass. I suggested just closing the window to trap the bee and let it die slowly.
Jacob: Oh, you're okay letting the bee die slowly, but you're not okay killing it with a fly swatter?
Me: This way is more non-confrontational.
Jacob ended up closing the window the rest of the way, which encased the bee in fairly tight quarters. When I arrived home from work, the bee had fallen to the window sill and looked like it was nearly severed in two pieces. Perhaps trapping it was a little more gruesome than I'd expected.
At any rate, Jacob requested that I dispose of the carcass. I preferred letting the corpse stay on the window sill as a warning to all other potential intruders. (That, and I didn't want to touch it, even with an extension of the arm, such as a paper or fly swatter.)
So Jacob ended up taking care of that part, as well. Good man.
"So, a couple hours ago I was chilling on the couch, checking out ye olde Facebook or something inconsequential like that, when I heard an ominous buzzing noise. I figured it was merely a fly, but the buzzing was louder than you might expect. Unless it was perhaps a horsefly. A moment later I glanced upward, and to my shock and horror a ginormous yellow jacket/bee (should I know the difference?) was hovering above me! I did the only rational thing: I grabbed my laptop, booked it to the smaller bedroom, and slammed the door behind me. After twenty minutes, I decided to be brave and venture into the rest of the apartment to see if it was still there or not. I checked each room and didn't see or hear anything, so I'm really hoping it flew out a window. If not, I may die a little in my sleep."
I ended up closing the kitchen and living room windows in an attempt to keep out the bee (as it turned out it was) before going to bed. This morning, Jacob called me while I was just waking up and requested, as usual, that I brush my teeth before he arrived home. (You'd think after nearly three and a half years of marriage he could overlook a little morning breath of death. Alas.) As I walked out toward the bathroom, I saw the bee flying around our living room window! Apparently it hadn't made a Houdini-esque escape after all.
I bravely approached the window, opened it halfway to encourage the bee to fly out, and then locked myself in the bathroom in a panic. I called Jacob back to inform him of the situation, and he instructed me to kill it with a fly swatter.
Yeah . . . like that was going to happen.
He came home shortly, and I handed him the fly swatter to do his thing. But at that point, the bee had flown between the two panes of glass. I suggested just closing the window to trap the bee and let it die slowly.
Jacob: Oh, you're okay letting the bee die slowly, but you're not okay killing it with a fly swatter?
Me: This way is more non-confrontational.
Jacob ended up closing the window the rest of the way, which encased the bee in fairly tight quarters. When I arrived home from work, the bee had fallen to the window sill and looked like it was nearly severed in two pieces. Perhaps trapping it was a little more gruesome than I'd expected.
At any rate, Jacob requested that I dispose of the carcass. I preferred letting the corpse stay on the window sill as a warning to all other potential intruders. (That, and I didn't want to touch it, even with an extension of the arm, such as a paper or fly swatter.)
So Jacob ended up taking care of that part, as well. Good man.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Three days of school and counting.
I'm feeling very humble right now. Things seem to falling into place for us all of a sudden, as far as figuring out how we're going to pay for IVF this summer. Earlier this week, a former roommate told me she's been saving up her "allowance" to give to us once we need to pay for our cycle. In addition to contributing to the fund, a relative told me that she'll give us an interest-free loan to make up the difference between what we have and what we need to cover the expenses. And just now, a friend told me she wants to write us a check for $1,000. Add this to the eight individuals/families who have already contributed, and I am floored. And possibly a little weepy at the moment. Does this surprise anyone? (No, no it does not.)
Now, to completely shift gears (I earlier said I didn't want this to become an "infertility blog," and I seem to be failing), have a story!
A few months ago, Jacob and I bought what's called The Pass of All Passes. Basically this grants us free admission to water parks, various recreational centers, and some sporting events. We finally received our passes in the mail last weekend, and Tuesday we had the opportunity to attend a Real Salt Lake soccer game. (Note: Real is pronounced something like Ray-al*, which doesn't make much sense, but I suppose sounds better than Real [as opposed to Fake!] Salt Lake.)
Let's be honest, the idea of soccer has never really appealed much to me. Running back and forth with maaaybe a couple goals scored during the whole 90 minutes seemed a little, well, slow-paced. But hey! It was free, and it was time to spend with my husband, so off we went.
We certainly didn't want to pay for parking, so we were able to park at the City Hall and catch a shuttle to the stadium. (This detail is important; hang on to it.) We were super early, arriving even before the gates opened an hour before the game started.
Once we were inside the stadium, we noticed our seats were quite wet, as it had been raining earlier. Jacob tracked down some paper towels from the bathroom, and we wiped off our seats as best we could.
We enjoyed the warm ups and actually took photos of the two of us for the first time in months.
And then, right before the game started, it began to pour. POUR! We had a little umbrella, but we weren't supposed to put it above our heads while in our seats, because then it would block the view of the people behind us. We were getting drenched pretty quickly, so we decided to head up the stairs and crowd under an overhang, like half of the audience. The storm passed relatively quickly, but the damage was done -- we were quite wet. After fifteen minutes, we decided to head back to our seats, which -- surprise! -- were wet again. I fished the paper towels we had used earlier and we attempted to dry off our seats again. For some reason, they weren't quite as effective the second time. :)
So we sat down in fairly wet chairs and watched the first half of the game. Our team scored a goal in the first three minutes, and then didn't score again for the rest of the game. The whole first half, I was slowly drying off. After halftime, I was juuuust about getting warm, when it started to rain. Again.
It wasn't pouring this time, but the rain was coming down pretty steadily. I didn't want to leave our seats again, because heavens knows those paper towels wouldn't survive a third drying. So we opened the umbrella just over our legs, put our hoods up, and hoped for the best.
Well, the rain was relentless. And after 30 minutes of this, the rain had soaked through my jacket, shirt, and underthings. I was quite literally soaked to the skin and wasn't so much having fun anymore. Once it started to come down harder, we retreated to the overhang again. At this point, I was shivering and not even watching the game. Jacob put his arms around me in an attempt to warm me up, but this just pressed my wet clothes against me and made me colder, so it didn't help. We would've left earlier, but remember the shuttle? It wasn't going to leave again until the game was over. And had we walked back to our car, we probably would've arrived AFTER the shuttle dropped everyone else off. So we were stuck until the end.
And then, maybe three minutes before the game was over, the opposing team finally scored their first goal, thus tying the game. But there was no way in heaven I was staying for overtime, so we took our chances and discovered, to our relief, that the shuttle was waiting for us.
And while I told Jacob that I would never feel dry again, I suppose after a hot shower and snuggling into my pjs, all was right in the world again. Until Jacob discovered that his textbook, which had been in my purse, sustained some water damage. Which meant he spent the next thirty minutes with a hair dryer trying to dry out the pages while I tried not to fall asleep on the floor.
*Okay, I just found out that they use the Spanish pronunciation of Real, which I guess makes sense.
Now, to completely shift gears (I earlier said I didn't want this to become an "infertility blog," and I seem to be failing), have a story!
A few months ago, Jacob and I bought what's called The Pass of All Passes. Basically this grants us free admission to water parks, various recreational centers, and some sporting events. We finally received our passes in the mail last weekend, and Tuesday we had the opportunity to attend a Real Salt Lake soccer game. (Note: Real is pronounced something like Ray-al*, which doesn't make much sense, but I suppose sounds better than Real [as opposed to Fake!] Salt Lake.)
Let's be honest, the idea of soccer has never really appealed much to me. Running back and forth with maaaybe a couple goals scored during the whole 90 minutes seemed a little, well, slow-paced. But hey! It was free, and it was time to spend with my husband, so off we went.
We certainly didn't want to pay for parking, so we were able to park at the City Hall and catch a shuttle to the stadium. (This detail is important; hang on to it.) We were super early, arriving even before the gates opened an hour before the game started.
Once we were inside the stadium, we noticed our seats were quite wet, as it had been raining earlier. Jacob tracked down some paper towels from the bathroom, and we wiped off our seats as best we could.
We enjoyed the warm ups and actually took photos of the two of us for the first time in months.
 |
| Look at how dry we were. |
So we sat down in fairly wet chairs and watched the first half of the game. Our team scored a goal in the first three minutes, and then didn't score again for the rest of the game. The whole first half, I was slowly drying off. After halftime, I was juuuust about getting warm, when it started to rain. Again.
It wasn't pouring this time, but the rain was coming down pretty steadily. I didn't want to leave our seats again, because heavens knows those paper towels wouldn't survive a third drying. So we opened the umbrella just over our legs, put our hoods up, and hoped for the best.
Well, the rain was relentless. And after 30 minutes of this, the rain had soaked through my jacket, shirt, and underthings. I was quite literally soaked to the skin and wasn't so much having fun anymore. Once it started to come down harder, we retreated to the overhang again. At this point, I was shivering and not even watching the game. Jacob put his arms around me in an attempt to warm me up, but this just pressed my wet clothes against me and made me colder, so it didn't help. We would've left earlier, but remember the shuttle? It wasn't going to leave again until the game was over. And had we walked back to our car, we probably would've arrived AFTER the shuttle dropped everyone else off. So we were stuck until the end.
And then, maybe three minutes before the game was over, the opposing team finally scored their first goal, thus tying the game. But there was no way in heaven I was staying for overtime, so we took our chances and discovered, to our relief, that the shuttle was waiting for us.
And while I told Jacob that I would never feel dry again, I suppose after a hot shower and snuggling into my pjs, all was right in the world again. Until Jacob discovered that his textbook, which had been in my purse, sustained some water damage. Which meant he spent the next thirty minutes with a hair dryer trying to dry out the pages while I tried not to fall asleep on the floor.
*Okay, I just found out that they use the Spanish pronunciation of Real, which I guess makes sense.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Before we cut the fat ones down to size
A few odds and ends:
I have nine days of school left before summer vacation. NINE. And thanks to Memorial Day, I only have one Monday left! The last three days of school don't involve any instruction, plus we have an all-day field trip next week, and the two Fridays will involve minimal instruction as well, so it's really like I only have three full teaching days left. The end is so close I can taste it. However, this has the unfortunate side effect of me not wanting to do anything productive once the students leave at the end of the day. And the students don't really want to do much of anything, either. Alas.
* * *
Speaking of side effects, if anyone was taking bets on when I'd have my first hormonal breakdown after starting the pill again, and you guessed six days, you may collect your earnings. Last Friday I became extremely angry at Jacob because he suggested going to the gym and that meant I had to change into a sports bra. The audacity of it all! Then later that day, when I said we needed to go on more dates, Jacob asked what I wanted to do. I told him to guess, and when he guessed correctly (have a picnic and play badminton), I burst into tears.
Oh, the drama. It was like a flashback to our first year of marriage.
* * *
A few days ago, one of my students accidentally smashed two of his fingers in the classroom door right before lunch recess. It looked incredibly painful (and he was in tears), so I sent him to the office to get an ice pack. On the way back from lunch, I passed him in the hall and asked him if he was feeling okay.
Student: I'm fine. When I was in the office, two girls kissed me on the cheek five times!
Me: Oh my! Were you embarrassed?
Student: No. I liked it! . . . But don't tell my mom!
I had to walk away pretty fast after that so he wouldn't catch me laughing.
* * *
I've been telling Jacob for ages that he should read The Hunger Games series. We watched the movie when it came out, and he finally picked up the first book earlier this month. He whipped through them pretty steadily. I warned him that the last book wasn't my favorite, and I didn't really love the way it ended. He came home from work one morning and told me he finished the last book. I was still mostly asleep, but I do remember him lamenting that the ending was terrible because (SPOILER!) "everyone died" and "she ended up with the wrong guy!" Bahaha.
* * *
As of our latest paycheck and donations to the cause, we officially have enough money in our IVF fund to at least pay for the regular cycle, so it looks like we'll be moving forward with that this summer! We'd still like to get enough for the single cycle guarantee, so we're pulling some strings (and in Jacob's case, working a TON of overtime) in hopes that we'll be able to go that route. Again, if you'd like to contribute to the cause, we have a donation button on our blog! (And to those of you who have donated, a huge thank you, again! Your poem/babysitting services/foodstuffs will be forthcoming.)
I have nine days of school left before summer vacation. NINE. And thanks to Memorial Day, I only have one Monday left! The last three days of school don't involve any instruction, plus we have an all-day field trip next week, and the two Fridays will involve minimal instruction as well, so it's really like I only have three full teaching days left. The end is so close I can taste it. However, this has the unfortunate side effect of me not wanting to do anything productive once the students leave at the end of the day. And the students don't really want to do much of anything, either. Alas.
* * *
Speaking of side effects, if anyone was taking bets on when I'd have my first hormonal breakdown after starting the pill again, and you guessed six days, you may collect your earnings. Last Friday I became extremely angry at Jacob because he suggested going to the gym and that meant I had to change into a sports bra. The audacity of it all! Then later that day, when I said we needed to go on more dates, Jacob asked what I wanted to do. I told him to guess, and when he guessed correctly (have a picnic and play badminton), I burst into tears.
Oh, the drama. It was like a flashback to our first year of marriage.
* * *
A few days ago, one of my students accidentally smashed two of his fingers in the classroom door right before lunch recess. It looked incredibly painful (and he was in tears), so I sent him to the office to get an ice pack. On the way back from lunch, I passed him in the hall and asked him if he was feeling okay.
Student: I'm fine. When I was in the office, two girls kissed me on the cheek five times!
Me: Oh my! Were you embarrassed?
Student: No. I liked it! . . . But don't tell my mom!
I had to walk away pretty fast after that so he wouldn't catch me laughing.
* * *
I've been telling Jacob for ages that he should read The Hunger Games series. We watched the movie when it came out, and he finally picked up the first book earlier this month. He whipped through them pretty steadily. I warned him that the last book wasn't my favorite, and I didn't really love the way it ended. He came home from work one morning and told me he finished the last book. I was still mostly asleep, but I do remember him lamenting that the ending was terrible because (SPOILER!) "everyone died" and "she ended up with the wrong guy!" Bahaha.
* * *
As of our latest paycheck and donations to the cause, we officially have enough money in our IVF fund to at least pay for the regular cycle, so it looks like we'll be moving forward with that this summer! We'd still like to get enough for the single cycle guarantee, so we're pulling some strings (and in Jacob's case, working a TON of overtime) in hopes that we'll be able to go that route. Again, if you'd like to contribute to the cause, we have a donation button on our blog! (And to those of you who have donated, a huge thank you, again! Your poem/babysitting services/foodstuffs will be forthcoming.)
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Humble pie.
I took my first birth control pill in over two and a half years just minutes ago. On Mother's Day. When I was on the pill the first time, I was a hormonal, emotional mess. Right before I took it today, Jacob said, "Don't turn crazy this time." Immediately after swallowing, I pretended to burst into tears and began to wail loudly.
Sometimes you need a little humor to get through infertility. Especially on a day like today, when the world is celebrating mothers. I'm pleased to say that I shed fewer than ten tears today at church, opposed to last year when I shed about ten million. So, that's progress.
I am not a mother. Yet. We're still trying to gain the necessary funds to pay for IVF. Somebody in Arizona must've coordinated something, because in the last week we received checks from five family members contributing to the fund. It was quite unexpected and we were touched by their love and support.
If you'd like to help out, there's a button on the right side of the screen where you can contribute to our IVF fund. In return, you can expect our undying gratitude and possibly some baked goods or homemade ice cream or babysitting services or even a terrible poem dedicated in your name on my blog. (I'd go for the ice cream, myself, but maybe terrible poetry is more your thing. I did once write an ode to Blistex, to give you an idea of you could expect.)
My friend Kristin has offered to help me set up an online auction to raise money as well. In order for that to be successful, I'd need quite a few people to help contact companies for donations and spread the word. So if you'd prefer to help in that way, let me know!
Again, we thank you for all of the love and support that you have shown us these last few weeks. It isn't easy for me to ask for help (I once walked four miles to a stake center because I didn't want to inconvenience my neighbors by asking for a ride), but we do so appreciate the support we've been given.
Sometimes you need a little humor to get through infertility. Especially on a day like today, when the world is celebrating mothers. I'm pleased to say that I shed fewer than ten tears today at church, opposed to last year when I shed about ten million. So, that's progress.
I am not a mother. Yet. We're still trying to gain the necessary funds to pay for IVF. Somebody in Arizona must've coordinated something, because in the last week we received checks from five family members contributing to the fund. It was quite unexpected and we were touched by their love and support.
If you'd like to help out, there's a button on the right side of the screen where you can contribute to our IVF fund. In return, you can expect our undying gratitude and possibly some baked goods or homemade ice cream or babysitting services or even a terrible poem dedicated in your name on my blog. (I'd go for the ice cream, myself, but maybe terrible poetry is more your thing. I did once write an ode to Blistex, to give you an idea of you could expect.)
My friend Kristin has offered to help me set up an online auction to raise money as well. In order for that to be successful, I'd need quite a few people to help contact companies for donations and spread the word. So if you'd prefer to help in that way, let me know!
Again, we thank you for all of the love and support that you have shown us these last few weeks. It isn't easy for me to ask for help (I once walked four miles to a stake center because I didn't want to inconvenience my neighbors by asking for a ride), but we do so appreciate the support we've been given.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
"I think I need a Bandaid." "You're ALWAYS using up all our Bandaids."
After getting hired as a full time teacher, I noticed that my legs consistently had bruises about desk height. I had one particularly impressive bruise that lasted for a month that has just now started to fade. I figured that this was just one of the hazards of the job, and I wore those bruises as a badge of honor. But I'm starting to think my teenage klutziness just never really went away.
You see, in the last week, I've drawn blood even more times than usual.
Last Sunday I was grating a five pound block of cheese from Costco to store in the freezer before it had a chance to mold. Not ten minutes into the task (it took a looong time), I grated a chunk of my knuckle. We will not be inviting any company over for dinner (at least for any recipes involving cheddar), for fear of them ingesting some of my skin.
Then, a few days ago, I was slicing an apple for my lunch. People, there's a reason why you're told to cut away from your body. As I was removing the seeds, the oversized knife bit into my finger. More blood.
And just now, as I was standing up after putting some items away in our entertainment center, my knee crashed into the open cabinet door. With all the commotion I made, I'm pretty sure Jacob thought I was dying. Nope, just bleeding again, in two places this time. And now I'm sporting an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel, courtesy of my husband (who is a good soul for not laughing at my misfortune).
You see, in the last week, I've drawn blood even more times than usual.
Last Sunday I was grating a five pound block of cheese from Costco to store in the freezer before it had a chance to mold. Not ten minutes into the task (it took a looong time), I grated a chunk of my knuckle. We will not be inviting any company over for dinner (at least for any recipes involving cheddar), for fear of them ingesting some of my skin.
Then, a few days ago, I was slicing an apple for my lunch. People, there's a reason why you're told to cut away from your body. As I was removing the seeds, the oversized knife bit into my finger. More blood.
And just now, as I was standing up after putting some items away in our entertainment center, my knee crashed into the open cabinet door. With all the commotion I made, I'm pretty sure Jacob thought I was dying. Nope, just bleeding again, in two places this time. And now I'm sporting an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel, courtesy of my husband (who is a good soul for not laughing at my misfortune).
Friday, April 26, 2013
If wishes were fishes
First off, thanks to all those who sent me lovely comments and messages after the last post. I'm blessed to have such thoughtful friends!
Now, I'm not intending to make this an "infertility blog." I've been blogging since I was in high school, and while infertility is now a large part of my life, it doesn't define who we are.
That said, one more post on the subject. (This not to say that this will be the only post on the subject. But one more for now.)
I think mentally, I'm prepared for the hormones and the injections. But to pay off the procedure? Ouch.
You see, we'd like to complete the IVF cycle over the summer if possible, since daily appointments aren't exactly conducive to a teaching schedule. But we have to pay for it up front, first.
Today we found out that we qualify for something called a Single Cycle Guarantee. In essence, we would be able to complete a fresh and frozen cycle with a guarantee of a live baby or part of our money back. Sounds fantastic, right?
However, each case is reviewed by a board and placed into tiers based on likelihood of success. We were hoping to be Tier 1 -- the cheapest of the 5. Instead, we're Tier 2, meaning that if we decide to go with this option, it's going to cost just over $18,000 -- and that doesn't include the medications, which can run up to $3,000.
Yikes. Of course, we don't HAVE to go this route -- we can just pay for one fresh attempt ($10,150) and the medications and cross our fingers that it works. Because if not, we're out of the money.
Decisions, decisions.
After receiving this news, let's be honest, I was a bit downtrodden. There's no way we'll have $20,000 saved up in just a couple months. We might get close, but we'll probably be several thousand short. So we got to thinking about how we can acquire more money. These are some of our ideas, with varying degrees of plausibility and morality:
- Rob a bank. (Jacob wants to make this clear that this was NOT his idea.)
- Hold a bake sale/lemonade stand.
- Sell all of our personal belongings online.
- Sell our plasma.
- Enter all of the radio contests in an attempt to win cash prizes.
- Go on a game show in an attempt to win cash prizes.
- Go to Vegas and hit the slots.
- Play the lottery.
- Ask family and friends for donations.
- Panhandle on the corner of a busy intersection.
- Take out a loan through a credit union.
- Kidnap somebody and ask for a ransom. (This isn't Jacob's idea, either.)
Any other suggestions?
Now, I'm not intending to make this an "infertility blog." I've been blogging since I was in high school, and while infertility is now a large part of my life, it doesn't define who we are.
That said, one more post on the subject. (This not to say that this will be the only post on the subject. But one more for now.)
I think mentally, I'm prepared for the hormones and the injections. But to pay off the procedure? Ouch.
You see, we'd like to complete the IVF cycle over the summer if possible, since daily appointments aren't exactly conducive to a teaching schedule. But we have to pay for it up front, first.
Today we found out that we qualify for something called a Single Cycle Guarantee. In essence, we would be able to complete a fresh and frozen cycle with a guarantee of a live baby or part of our money back. Sounds fantastic, right?
However, each case is reviewed by a board and placed into tiers based on likelihood of success. We were hoping to be Tier 1 -- the cheapest of the 5. Instead, we're Tier 2, meaning that if we decide to go with this option, it's going to cost just over $18,000 -- and that doesn't include the medications, which can run up to $3,000.
Yikes. Of course, we don't HAVE to go this route -- we can just pay for one fresh attempt ($10,150) and the medications and cross our fingers that it works. Because if not, we're out of the money.
Decisions, decisions.
After receiving this news, let's be honest, I was a bit downtrodden. There's no way we'll have $20,000 saved up in just a couple months. We might get close, but we'll probably be several thousand short. So we got to thinking about how we can acquire more money. These are some of our ideas, with varying degrees of plausibility and morality:
- Rob a bank. (Jacob wants to make this clear that this was NOT his idea.)
- Hold a bake sale/lemonade stand.
- Sell all of our personal belongings online.
- Sell our plasma.
- Enter all of the radio contests in an attempt to win cash prizes.
- Go on a game show in an attempt to win cash prizes.
- Go to Vegas and hit the slots.
- Play the lottery.
- Ask family and friends for donations.
- Panhandle on the corner of a busy intersection.
- Take out a loan through a credit union.
- Kidnap somebody and ask for a ransom. (This isn't Jacob's idea, either.)
Any other suggestions?
Sunday, April 21, 2013
An announcement of sorts
Throughout my preteen and teenage years, I would look at the newly married couples I knew and expect them to announce a pregnancy shortly after their first anniversary. After all, that was the natural order of things: get married, wait a year to settle into married life, and then start popping out babies. And I admit, if an announcement wasn't forthcoming, I was a little judgmental of them for postponing children.
Oh, how wrong I was. Not only was it none of my business, but back then I didn't realize that certain circumstances might make achieving pregnancy difficult.
Clearly, we have not followed the pattern of giving birth during the second year of marriage. But not for lack of trying.
You see, today marks the start of National Infertility Awareness Week. And it only seems appropriate that we make you, reader, aware that we are dealing with infertility.
Shortly before our first anniversary, I stopped taking birth control. We expected it would take a few months at least, so when I didn't get pregnant right away we weren't too concerned. After seven or eight months I read Taking Charge of Your Fertility and started tracking my fertility signs to pinpoint ovulation.
Confirming that it wasn't a timing issue, I became more unsettled and more sure that something was wrong. April of last year I attended a Utah Infertility Awareness event, before even seeing a doctor about our lack of success. While there, I entered a raffle and won a free infertility consultation with a reproductive endocrinologist at the Utah Center for Reproductive Medicine.
We set up an appointment, met with the doctor, and had multiple tests performed on us. In the last year, we've given over a dozen samples of body fluids for testing, had a couple ultrasounds, taken eleven months' worth of supplements, tried a few rounds of medication, and underwent a somewhat invasive surgery in hopes that we might be blessed with a baby.
Not so.
And so, with our most recent appointments, we've decided to proceed with in-vitro fertilization (IVF), coupled with a procedure called ICSI.
To those uninitiated, this procedure will involve: a couple months of birth control (oh, the irony!); up to three subcutaneous (under-the-skin) injections a day for about two weeks to turn my body into an egg factory; retrieval of said eggs with yet another needle; fertilization of the eggs in the doctor's office; three to five days of waiting before transferring the healthiest embryos back to my body; and then eight weeks of intramuscular injections with the most terrifying needle of all. Oh, and it will cost about the same as our new (used) car.
Romantic.
Why are we revealing this in such a public manner?
1) To quell the asked (or unasked!) question of "when are you going to start having kids?"
2) To bring awareness to the struggles of infertile couples in general, in an attempt to reduce the stigma associated with infertility.
3) To let the other infertile couples who read this, whether they have made their situation public or not, that they are not alone in this trial. I have found comfort in reading accounts of other couples who have dealt with infertility. I've also found support with other women as I have opened up to friends and close family members about our situation. It's a terrible thing to deal with, but there is some comfort in knowing that not everyone is able to conceive with little effort.
So. What can you do to help? Aside from giving us an interest-free loan to help pay for IVF, read this article: Infertility Etiquette. If you don't know how to respond to the announcement that someone is dealing with infertility, this article gives some great suggestions on what NOT to say and what you can do to offer your support.
And to get some insight as to what it's like emotionally to deal with infertility, watch this video (overlook the twanginess of it and try not to dissolve in a puddle of tears):
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Lovely ladies.
Ever since Jacob and I watched Les Miserables at the beginning of the year, I've frequently listened to the music on Pandora. And by "frequently," I mean "up to six times a week for hours at a time." (Before this, I was on a Thoroughly Modern Millie kick. I go through phases.)
The other day we were doing the dishes together and I began to serenade him with some of my favorite Les Mis songs. After multiple instances of belting out a line followed by mumbling gibberish, I turned to him and said, "You'd think with how often I listen to these songs, I'd know the words a lot better."
Alas.
Which reminds me: When Eponine sings "Every word that he says is a dagger in me!" (which happens to be the line Jacob and I sing to each other most frequently, without any context), I can't help but imagine this:
The other day we were doing the dishes together and I began to serenade him with some of my favorite Les Mis songs. After multiple instances of belting out a line followed by mumbling gibberish, I turned to him and said, "You'd think with how often I listen to these songs, I'd know the words a lot better."
Alas.
Which reminds me: When Eponine sings "Every word that he says is a dagger in me!" (which happens to be the line Jacob and I sing to each other most frequently, without any context), I can't help but imagine this:
Teehee.
Friday, April 19, 2013
"Come, little chickens." -- Repeated three times by some mother to her kids
Yet another of my students' word problems, because they make me chuckle:
"Mrs. Erickson drank 3 kiloliters of water yesterday and 4 kiloliters of water today. How many kiloliters did Mrs. Erickson drink in all?"
(In case you're unfamiliar with metric measurement, a kiloliter is approximately 264 gallons.)
I'm pretty sure I would die of water intoxication if I consumed that much in two days, but no need to tell my student that. Instead I just wrote on her paper "I must be very well hydrated!" Very well hydrated, indeed.
In other news, my classroom now has a piano! My school had one they were going to surplus if nobody claimed it, so Jacob came over after school today to help me reorganize my room so I could fit the piano in it. (He's a good soul. It took us three hours to rearrange everything.) I'm excited to be able to practice again! The fourth grade might be putting on a musical for our program next year, and if that's the case I'm likely to be in charge of playing the music. Which means I'm going to want to start practicing . . . now.
"Mrs. Erickson drank 3 kiloliters of water yesterday and 4 kiloliters of water today. How many kiloliters did Mrs. Erickson drink in all?"
(In case you're unfamiliar with metric measurement, a kiloliter is approximately 264 gallons.)
I'm pretty sure I would die of water intoxication if I consumed that much in two days, but no need to tell my student that. Instead I just wrote on her paper "I must be very well hydrated!" Very well hydrated, indeed.
In other news, my classroom now has a piano! My school had one they were going to surplus if nobody claimed it, so Jacob came over after school today to help me reorganize my room so I could fit the piano in it. (He's a good soul. It took us three hours to rearrange everything.) I'm excited to be able to practice again! The fourth grade might be putting on a musical for our program next year, and if that's the case I'm likely to be in charge of playing the music. Which means I'm going to want to start practicing . . . now.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Math. All day every day.
A few months ago, the teachers at my school received an email encouraging them to sign up for time slots for the state-mandated end-of-year tests. Well, the testing seemed pretty far away at the time, so I took my sweet time in scheduling.
Rookie mistake.
The most desirable (i.e. latest in the year) time slots were snatched up like hot cakes, and I was given the leftovers. Not the biggest deal ever, perhaps, but it means that my students will begin testing a couple weeks earlier in the year than some of the other classes.
Obviously, this is my first year teaching, but this is also the first year our district has used this particular math program, so as teachers we've had to go back and fill in the gaps between last year's third grade curriculum and this year's fourth grade curriculum. And since we aren't familiar with the program, pacing has been a bit of an issue.
All of this boils down to me having only two and a half weeks before testing to teach two full units of math.
Have I mentioned that it usually takes me a month to teach a unit?
Operation: Teach Math Twice or More a Day or Maybe Just Until My Students' Brains Explode (TMToMaDoMJUMSBE -- pronounced Tum-tomato-ma-jum-sbe) goes into effect tomorrow.
Wish me luck.
Rookie mistake.
The most desirable (i.e. latest in the year) time slots were snatched up like hot cakes, and I was given the leftovers. Not the biggest deal ever, perhaps, but it means that my students will begin testing a couple weeks earlier in the year than some of the other classes.
Obviously, this is my first year teaching, but this is also the first year our district has used this particular math program, so as teachers we've had to go back and fill in the gaps between last year's third grade curriculum and this year's fourth grade curriculum. And since we aren't familiar with the program, pacing has been a bit of an issue.
All of this boils down to me having only two and a half weeks before testing to teach two full units of math.
Have I mentioned that it usually takes me a month to teach a unit?
Operation: Teach Math Twice or More a Day or Maybe Just Until My Students' Brains Explode (TMToMaDoMJUMSBE -- pronounced Tum-tomato-ma-jum-sbe) goes into effect tomorrow.
Wish me luck.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Oh hey.
Jacob has a paper due at midnight tonight. He's at work and he emailed me a copy to proofread before he submits it to his professor.
Um, let's just say my inner journalist may have came out a bit while I was editing*.
He may not ask me to correct anything for him ever again.
*This is not to say that his paper was terrible, by any means. But the nit-pickiness may have come on a little strongly. I still love you, Jacob!
Um, let's just say my inner journalist may have came out a bit while I was editing*.
He may not ask me to correct anything for him ever again.
*This is not to say that his paper was terrible, by any means. But the nit-pickiness may have come on a little strongly. I still love you, Jacob!
Monday, April 1, 2013
Ragamuffin.
For various reasons, one of which is for insurance purposes, we utilize University of Utah Health Care services. In case you live outside of Utah (or inside of Utah but under a rock), BYU and U of U are rival schools. It took some pride-swallowing for this BYU alumna to voluntarily visit a medical center associated with the U, but you do what you gotta do.
I had to get some blood work taken care of today, so I moseyed on over to the health center (assuming cars can mosey). When I arrived, I realized that I was wearing a BYU sweatshirt. And even had I removed the sweatshirt, I was wearing a BYU t-shirt underneath. A little awkward.
And to top it all off, my hair was still in the braid I put it in yesterday and consequently slept on.
Oh, I keep it classy.
I had to get some blood work taken care of today, so I moseyed on over to the health center (assuming cars can mosey). When I arrived, I realized that I was wearing a BYU sweatshirt. And even had I removed the sweatshirt, I was wearing a BYU t-shirt underneath. A little awkward.
And to top it all off, my hair was still in the braid I put it in yesterday and consequently slept on.
Oh, I keep it classy.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
They're different from us, which means they can't be trusted
It's no big secret that I'm not a gardener by any stretch of the imagination. As my sister Heather would say, I have "harsh brown thumbs of death."
Apparently my students haven't caught on to that yet. But this may not be entirely my fault.
You see, a few weeks before Christmas, one of my students gifted me an amaryllis bulb, which came with a pot and some potting soil. I washed my hands of planting the thing by "allowing" some students to do it for me. Similarly, I "allowed" my students to take turns watering it each day.
It started growing pretty quickly, much to the delight of all. And when Christmas break rolled around, I oh-so-generously permitted the girl who gave me the plant to take it home and care for it during the vacation.
After the break, it finally started to bloom -- the pinnacle event we all were waiting for.
And then our school had new carpet installed. And, well, the amaryllis met a tragic demise in the process of moving furniture out of the classroom -- you could say it made fast friends with the floor. The stalks broken, the flowers wilted, the plant never made a true recovery. It kept getting more and more sickly until I finally threw it away a week or so ago. Plus it was attracting bugs, so the dude needed to go.
Then, for Valentine's Day, a different student gave me three potted tulips. I watered it faithfully for the two whole days before the three-day weekend, hoping that it wouldn't shrivel up and die in the meantime. Well, when I came to school this morning, it definitely didn't look super healthy. But maybe it could make a comeback with a little extra water and TLC.
And then one of my students fell onto my desk (?) and crushed two of the three flowers. We'll see how long I keep this one around before introducing it so the circular file.
Apparently we can't have nice things in our room.
Apparently my students haven't caught on to that yet. But this may not be entirely my fault.
You see, a few weeks before Christmas, one of my students gifted me an amaryllis bulb, which came with a pot and some potting soil. I washed my hands of planting the thing by "allowing" some students to do it for me. Similarly, I "allowed" my students to take turns watering it each day.
It started growing pretty quickly, much to the delight of all. And when Christmas break rolled around, I oh-so-generously permitted the girl who gave me the plant to take it home and care for it during the vacation.
After the break, it finally started to bloom -- the pinnacle event we all were waiting for.
And then our school had new carpet installed. And, well, the amaryllis met a tragic demise in the process of moving furniture out of the classroom -- you could say it made fast friends with the floor. The stalks broken, the flowers wilted, the plant never made a true recovery. It kept getting more and more sickly until I finally threw it away a week or so ago. Plus it was attracting bugs, so the dude needed to go.
Then, for Valentine's Day, a different student gave me three potted tulips. I watered it faithfully for the two whole days before the three-day weekend, hoping that it wouldn't shrivel up and die in the meantime. Well, when I came to school this morning, it definitely didn't look super healthy. But maybe it could make a comeback with a little extra water and TLC.
And then one of my students fell onto my desk (?) and crushed two of the three flowers. We'll see how long I keep this one around before introducing it so the circular file.
Apparently we can't have nice things in our room.
Monday, February 18, 2013
But the children love the books!
So, the school year is more than halfway over. Hallelujah. I won't lie: it has been much harder than I thought it was going to be. The management has been the most difficult, as close to a third of my students can be considered "challenging." The other two-thirds of the class are delightful, but I feel like they're getting the shaft as far as education goes, since I've had to spend so much time on management. And grading failed math tests time after time really does wonders for my confidence.
We had a three day weekend, and I can't say I'm exactly chomping at the bit to go back to work tomorrow. So in an effort to remind myself of the good parts of teaching, allow me to share some of these tidbits:
-Each class has 45 minutes a week to spend in the computer lab. I usually have the students spend at least the first 20 minutes practicing their keyboarding skills. With the program our school uses, students need to type each exercise with 100% accuracy at 20 words per minute or faster before they can move on to the next one. Their speed is indicated by "'number' wpm." I'm not so sure my students know what wpm stands for, because at least three of my boys refer to it as "whomps." As in, "Whoa, I got 25 whomps!" As "whomps" is a word my siblings and I used to use quite frequently, back in the days when we watched Recess on Saturday morning cartoons, who am I to discourage its usage?
-A couple weeks ago I may have lectured my class on respect (a recurring theme, it seems), because they were being so rowdy and kept talking while I was teaching or when other students were contributing to the discussion. The next morning a cupcake mysteriously appeared on my desk, and no one fessed up to putting it there. Also, at recess a girl whipped out some yellow roses from her backpack and gave them to me. It was pretty adorable.
-Students can buy erasers and mechanical pencils and the like out of little vending machines at the front of the school. One girl spent over $30 on these items and promptly bestowed about ten pencils and pens upon me. What an honor!
-A girl related the following to me one day: "Yesterday I was happy because we got a new Yorkie! But today I'm sad because I forgot what he looks like."
-Another student told me "I want to be a teacher when I grow up, because you get all the good stuff at Valentine's Day and Christmas." Yes, be envious of the flowers and giant Hershey kisses and stuffed animals. A teacher needs to have some perks!
-We had pajama day on Friday. My students were pretty impressed with my Eeyore slippers. They may be close to a decade old and be reinforced with duct tape on the soles, but they're still going strong!
Okay, I'm feeling better about going to work again. Success!
We had a three day weekend, and I can't say I'm exactly chomping at the bit to go back to work tomorrow. So in an effort to remind myself of the good parts of teaching, allow me to share some of these tidbits:
-Each class has 45 minutes a week to spend in the computer lab. I usually have the students spend at least the first 20 minutes practicing their keyboarding skills. With the program our school uses, students need to type each exercise with 100% accuracy at 20 words per minute or faster before they can move on to the next one. Their speed is indicated by "'number' wpm." I'm not so sure my students know what wpm stands for, because at least three of my boys refer to it as "whomps." As in, "Whoa, I got 25 whomps!" As "whomps" is a word my siblings and I used to use quite frequently, back in the days when we watched Recess on Saturday morning cartoons, who am I to discourage its usage?
-A couple weeks ago I may have lectured my class on respect (a recurring theme, it seems), because they were being so rowdy and kept talking while I was teaching or when other students were contributing to the discussion. The next morning a cupcake mysteriously appeared on my desk, and no one fessed up to putting it there. Also, at recess a girl whipped out some yellow roses from her backpack and gave them to me. It was pretty adorable.
-Students can buy erasers and mechanical pencils and the like out of little vending machines at the front of the school. One girl spent over $30 on these items and promptly bestowed about ten pencils and pens upon me. What an honor!
-A girl related the following to me one day: "Yesterday I was happy because we got a new Yorkie! But today I'm sad because I forgot what he looks like."
-Another student told me "I want to be a teacher when I grow up, because you get all the good stuff at Valentine's Day and Christmas." Yes, be envious of the flowers and giant Hershey kisses and stuffed animals. A teacher needs to have some perks!
-We had pajama day on Friday. My students were pretty impressed with my Eeyore slippers. They may be close to a decade old and be reinforced with duct tape on the soles, but they're still going strong!
Okay, I'm feeling better about going to work again. Success!
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
"Don't worry, I have the immune system of a horse."
In preparation for the math benchmark test I'll be giving my students on Thursday, I'm writing a bunch of practice word problems for my class to solve together tomorrow. And let's be honest, the situations are starting to get a little ridiculous.
For example, in one problem Bon Qui Qui* collected 7,346 stamps, which she wants to divide equally among 7 binders.
1. Who collects that many stamps?
2. Who would even care about dividing them equally? If I had that many stamps, I would think "Let's just cram them all in the binders and hope I don't lose too many in the process."
In another problem, Shaniqua* has 532 rocks in her collection, and her sister Natasha* has 214 rocks. They combine their collections together. If they put 9 rocks each into a container, how many containers will they need for all of their rocks?
A. What parent would allow their children to collect over 700 rocks and keep them in their house without going insane?
B. What would the total cost of damages be after all these rocks get vacuumed/run through the washing machine/stepped on, requiring emergency care?
Better stamps and rocks than candy bars, right?
ETA: I just wrote a question that goes like this: Lakisha* had a jump rope that was 17 feet long. In a terrible accident, the jump rope was cut into 4-foot pieces. Draw a picture or diagram that illustrates the situation. . . . (etc.)
Is this just asking for trouble?
*Names have been changed, as I'm using student names in the problems and I don't want to somehow violate any privacy laws.
For example, in one problem Bon Qui Qui* collected 7,346 stamps, which she wants to divide equally among 7 binders.
1. Who collects that many stamps?
2. Who would even care about dividing them equally? If I had that many stamps, I would think "Let's just cram them all in the binders and hope I don't lose too many in the process."
In another problem, Shaniqua* has 532 rocks in her collection, and her sister Natasha* has 214 rocks. They combine their collections together. If they put 9 rocks each into a container, how many containers will they need for all of their rocks?
A. What parent would allow their children to collect over 700 rocks and keep them in their house without going insane?
B. What would the total cost of damages be after all these rocks get vacuumed/run through the washing machine/stepped on, requiring emergency care?
Better stamps and rocks than candy bars, right?
ETA: I just wrote a question that goes like this: Lakisha* had a jump rope that was 17 feet long. In a terrible accident, the jump rope was cut into 4-foot pieces. Draw a picture or diagram that illustrates the situation. . . . (etc.)
Is this just asking for trouble?
*Names have been changed, as I'm using student names in the problems and I don't want to somehow violate any privacy laws.
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