tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85869904013506533772024-03-04T21:26:45.903-08:00Plentiful Thoughts of MiscellanyHolly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-1862337880922422822013-04-05T21:20:00.000-07:002013-04-05T21:20:33.557-07:00Adventures in DIY Personal ProductsSome fun facts I've learned off of Facebook memes recently:<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #4c1130;">Parabens are chemicals that serve as preservatives in antiperspirants, cosmetics, & sun lotions. 99% of breast cancer tissue contained this everyday chemical. Scientific research has shown that most breast cancers develop in the upper-outer quadrant of the breast. And it just so happens that area is closest to the lymph nodes exposed to antiperspirants.</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><b>26 seconds is all it takes for the chemicals in your personal care products to enter your bloodstream.</b></span><br />
<br />
These facts look much more dramatic in their original meme form, but as I'm not into copyright infringement, I won't post them here. But suffice to say that the Internet in general, and Facebook in particular, is full of factoids like this, depending on where you look.<br />
<br />
The more I learn, the more I really want to venture into making my own personal care products, as <a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/2013/01/ten-things-for-2013.html" target="_blank">I vowed to do</a> sometime back around the beginning of the year. (Of course, I also vowed to start blogging more, and we can all see how well that has turned out so far...)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhjds2X7dZItM8iFd22_Tg4MZkoR1GOGlNnxJFBa05rB6z58unigUUphJeJH5hVQTgDY_9HjHtlpEQ2H4lVfPHlBNJZCCgM9hV5EVTuRjF3WiAwKbHBeBxhRpR15OcykRh5PVAPZBp6vD/s1600/CIMG0992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhjds2X7dZItM8iFd22_Tg4MZkoR1GOGlNnxJFBa05rB6z58unigUUphJeJH5hVQTgDY_9HjHtlpEQ2H4lVfPHlBNJZCCgM9hV5EVTuRjF3WiAwKbHBeBxhRpR15OcykRh5PVAPZBp6vD/s320/CIMG0992.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Why yes, that bottle of baby wash does, in fact, have a mustache.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I actually have made a few things though! I made Little Bug some baby wash using a recipe from Heather Dessinger's <a href="http://www.mommypotamus.com/lp/order-diy-beauty-ebook/" target="_blank">DIY Organic Beauty Recipes</a>. I love how it smells (so clean, with just a hint of sweet orange), and it literally leaves his skin squeaky clean. I only wash his hair about once per week anyway, unless it gets food or something gross in it, and I use the wash on his skin once every two or three days, depending on whether or not he needs it (most of the time a good soak gets any accumulated dirt off just fine). The only real adjustment we've had to make to our bath routine is that I have to be extra careful when I rinse it out of his hair, as it's not "tear free" as the Aveeno baby wash we used to use.<br />
<br />
I've made myself face wash and toner, also from <a href="http://www.mommypotamus.com/lp/order-diy-beauty-ebook/" target="_blank">DIY Organic Beauty Recipes</a>. Both make my face feel clean and balanced and wonderful. Next on the list is her recipe for tooth powder, which I will make once my current tube of Tom's of Maine runs out. And then deodorant; I am planning to try <a href="http://dotalanecdotes.blogspot.com/2013/03/homemade-deodorant-that-works-better.html" target="_blank">a recipe posted by the lovely and talented Mrs. H</a>.<br />
<br />
Some time ago, I actually made up a batch of <a href="http://dotalanecdotes.blogspot.com/2012/06/cloth-diaper-detergent-yeah-were-cheap.html" target="_blank">homemade laundry detergent</a>, and I haven't looked back since. I use it for everything and it seems to work wonderfully.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrkyEdXzUjV14c49MNdDiDIae_jqjhY45Zaii0vwuJO7ucxIrD2nMtCfJrxWP4uqCV3HJbsn-V0PCObJPWDk1yc8S3Bn0uGHMrb-rpBcfIyN8w6hY_n3FWAydwi3XpCHZLNA4GOABl0Pc/s1600/CIMG0993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrkyEdXzUjV14c49MNdDiDIae_jqjhY45Zaii0vwuJO7ucxIrD2nMtCfJrxWP4uqCV3HJbsn-V0PCObJPWDk1yc8S3Bn0uGHMrb-rpBcfIyN8w6hY_n3FWAydwi3XpCHZLNA4GOABl0Pc/s320/CIMG0993.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Soap, soap, soap, soap...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And this desire to make my own is slowly spilling over into all kinds of other areas too. A few weeks ago I started a bottle of <a href="http://www.beanilla.com/blog/homemade-vanilla-extract" target="_blank">vanilla extract</a>. And after seeing a few other memes up on Facebook and reading <a href="http://wakeup-world.com/2012/10/15/16-foods-thatll-re-grow-from-kitchen-scraps/" target="_blank">this article</a>, I now have a glass on my windowsill with green onion root tips in it, which I'm hoping will grow into new plants. I have some other plans floating around in my head; I'll just have to see where this takes me!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilScUnq6PgbrgtlD-7HMfZL-iFHP03iqQxhdCPMOl2ua7L8CAllja6anU_uJG8PXz5kT5BOnRKFBHJdtBxadcLLZqepWHvKQA1Lf-AX1aU6MALK5pqJGRCnXj7RHH8BuYsW5cXGaNey6im/s1600/CIMG1027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilScUnq6PgbrgtlD-7HMfZL-iFHP03iqQxhdCPMOl2ua7L8CAllja6anU_uJG8PXz5kT5BOnRKFBHJdtBxadcLLZqepWHvKQA1Lf-AX1aU6MALK5pqJGRCnXj7RHH8BuYsW5cXGaNey6im/s320/CIMG1027.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Obligatory cute picture of Little Bug.</i></td></tr>
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<br />Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-72437804962843086402013-03-07T20:22:00.000-08:002013-03-07T20:22:02.569-08:00Lovely spam, wonderful spam!<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(In case you don't get the reference, the title of this post comes from a Monty Python song.)</span><br />
<br />
Email spam, that is. I will be happy if Little Bug never ever learns that the word "spam" applies to anything else in the world. 'Cause even before I was vegetarian, I thought spam was nasty.<br />
<br />
Anyway.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, when I go to empty out the spam folder in my various email accounts, I actually open the messages. You know, just for funsies. And I can't help but wonder why con artists or scammers or whoever it is sending this crap out even bothers. I mean, does anyone actually fall for this crap?<br />
<br />
Like this one:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>This is to inform you that your E-mail Address has WON you the sum of 1,000,000.00GPB (One Million Pound Sterling) from the Chevrolet Award Promo 2013.The Draw No:1593.make a contact and collect your winning fund immediately, Fill the Information below:</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<hr style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;" />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="message" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>Chevrolet Award Promo </b><302@ms2.kntech.com.tw></span></td><td align="right"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><span class="recipient"><div class="replyto">
Reply-To: chevrolet_clams2013@hotmail.com</div>
</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><table border="0" cellpadding="12" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="font-size: 13px;"><span>1. Full Name:<br />2. Full Address:<br />3. Valid Phone Mobile Number:<br /><br />Contact Email: chevrolet_clams2013@hotmail.<wbr></wbr>com<br />Mr. Gore William<br />Chevrolet Company Department,<br />E-mail: chevrolet_clams2013@hotmail.<wbr></wbr>com</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</blockquote>
Because yes, I'm going to believe I somehow won "one million pound sterling" from a contest I never entered. A contest for which the contact email is a hotmail account. Come on, you can do better than that. No one uses hotmail these days.<br />
<br />
Or this one:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>Delivery Update</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<hr style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;" />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="message" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>Courier Company </b><per.lindahl@ias-intl.org></span></td><td align="right"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><span class="recipient"><div class="replyto">
Reply-To: sdcservice@yahoo.cn</div>
</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><table border="0" cellpadding="12" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="font-size: 13px;"><span>Pending Delivery Alert!<br /><br />This is a reminder that Your packet is already on the transit point (Rome). It has been on hold awaiting pickup since December 28th,2012. You are expected to call or<br /><br />email us with a confirmation of the exact recipient address.<br /><br />Recipient Postal Details required are stated below;<br /><br />FULL NAME:<br />ADDRESS :<br />TELEPHONE NUMBER :<br /><br />From our database,it shows your package is coming in with a high priority delivery (highly classified package),so you should attend to this case promptly. You have to<br /><br />Confirm if you wish to come to ROME for pickup of your package or if you want us to deliver to you in your location.<br /><br />For more info, call us on: <a href="tel:%2B39%20328%20879%206421" style="color: #1155cc; text-decoration: none;" value="+393288796421">+39 328 879 6421</a>, Note this is a highly valuable delivery and so, you must attend to all messages promptly.<br /><br />Looking forward to a prompt response from you.<br /><br />Sergio Marchionne.<br />(Delivery Agent)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</blockquote>
Because, obviously, I am such an up-and-comer in the world that I regularly receive mysterious courier packages delivered to me in foreign countries I have never even visited before. Calling this foreign telephone number sounds like a fabulous idea! What could go wrong?<br />
<br />
Some of the other things in my junk mail folder just confuse me. Like this one:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>This Stock Is Trading UP</b></span><br /></td></tr>
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<hr style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;" />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="message" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>Arabella Brooks </b><olafart@b-g-s.com></span></td><td align="right"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><span class="recipient">To: holly.scudero@gmail.com</span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><table border="0" cellpadding="12" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="font-size: 13px;"><span>The next Winner!!! Breakout on the horizon!<br /><br />Trading Date: Mar, 4<br />Name: Gold & GemStone Mining, Inc<br />Sym: G G_S_M<br />Last Trade: $.017<br />Long Term Target: 0.30<br /><br />It is heating up before the close, could be explosive!!! The Alarm is still sounding!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</blockquote>
I've received four separate emails within the last few days containing basically this same information. I don't trade stock. If I did, I wouldn't act on mysterious tips that come from bizarre email addresses. And why did they capitalize the words "winner" and "alarm?" Don't these people know that I am not a fan of capitalizing random words for no reason? And that comma after "close" should really be a semicolon. Even if I were inclined to buy your stock, the lack of proper English language usage would cause me to turn away.<br />
<br />
And what about this one?<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>Hello Dear</b></span><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<hr style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;" />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="message" style="color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span><b>Faridah Mohamad </b><faridmamod@suomi24.fi></span></td><td align="right"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><span class="recipient"></span></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="2"><table border="0" cellpadding="12" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="font-size: 13px;"><span><br /><br /><br />--<br />Hi Dear<br />My name is Miss Faridah I saw your profile today on the Internet friendship<br />site and decided to write to you to know if we can become friends. I hope to<br />hear from you soon so that I can send you more details about myself including<br />my photo. you can write me here (<a href="mailto:faridmamod@yahoo.com" style="color: #1155cc; text-decoration: none;">faridmamod@yahoo.com</a>)<br />Yours Sincerely<br />Faridah<br />--</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</blockquote>
All I can really say here is WTF? (No, seriously, imagine me saying this as the acronym, not as the words it stands for. Trying to clean up my language here; I do have a 13-month-old, after all.) Well, Miss Faridah, I don't think I'm comfortable with you calling me "dear." And I'm sure as <strike>hell</strike> heck not going to be sending you a picture of me. Internet friendship site? What does that even mean? No. No, we cannot become friends. The end.Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-21886738506940592092013-02-20T20:24:00.001-08:002013-02-20T20:24:49.440-08:00StartersThis is a thing that I know: most of my best writing is done in my head, usually late at night, when I am in no position to grant the words any kind of permanence. <br />
<br />
Many a middle-of-the-night nursing session has been spent lost in thought, composing blog posts in my head. But since getting out of bed after Little Bug is done in order to record those thoughts on the computer (or even plain old-fashioned paper) is completely out of the question, those posts remain in my head. And let me tell you, I can write sentences that sound amazing in my head sometimes, but if I don't write them down right away, they're lost forever. Oh, sure, I can try to re-create these wonderful compositions later on, but they never come out nearly as intelligent-sounding or funny or thoughtful or <i>whatever</i> the next day. So I give up, delete the document, and go on with my life.<br />
<br />
Except sometimes those ideas continue to float around in my brain. The only way to banish them completely is to write them down, but since I can no longer do justice to those ideas... well, the idea for this post was born.<br />
<br />
For your entertainment, I present a sprinkling of ideas, a smattering of topics and stories I have wanted to work into blog posts in the past, but that never made it out of my head and into written form.<br />
<br />
There was that time when I wanted to write a series of open-ended letters, mostly to people who piss me off. <i>Dear guys who wear sunglasses with white plastic frames: I am going to assume now that you are probably a douche-bag.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnO0-aAHUB1-ziVLDes0rNdhCsSHy286yXx48EbRi1oll2pDfQAzVSORcPBss3Bf26fYlbabMg9QW2S3X3ZsEMYSPpfs9NMrly3ONk3ywMFCvxMrCx_3ttSLfcfyuC_ho4_Gz9xleZigbZ/s1600/2012-10-15+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnO0-aAHUB1-ziVLDes0rNdhCsSHy286yXx48EbRi1oll2pDfQAzVSORcPBss3Bf26fYlbabMg9QW2S3X3ZsEMYSPpfs9NMrly3ONk3ywMFCvxMrCx_3ttSLfcfyuC_ho4_Gz9xleZigbZ/s320/2012-10-15+%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Dear owner of this car: </i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><i>Just so you know, vehicular modifications are not an effective </i></i></div>
<i>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>method of compensating for deficiencies in other areas of your life.</i></div>
</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i>
Or that time when a good friend and I possibly kinda freaked out the other mamas at a baby playdate by using the topic of postpartum depression as a segueway into a discussion about placenta encapsulation. Although I think the (less diplomatic) phrase used was "And then I ate my placenta."<br />
(I think this may have happened on more than one occasion, actually.)<br />
<br />
There was the time I started a list of all of the Facebook status updates that I never used because they probably would have offended someone.<br />
<br />
Or the time I started a list of all of the types of posts on Facebook that I don't read. (Example: If I have to click on a picture to read a long story, then no.)<br />
<br />
Or the diatribe of why, when it comes to giving birth, I would probably be a nightmare hospital patient. A nightmare for the hospital, that is. Nope, barring valid medical reasons, any future babies I have will probably be birthed at home just like Little Bug.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MZD1ElLdV_eTlfXLmtscae8QuiUY00UY85-gS7t5JGJv83Oet-7tHQDQOz-lvpkUGtt5isV6Ux7nwrgy8FnVlwxNbSzD8eOnJKgI_trno4pDZOEXgMcRHQt0JRS5M02eqHrC6oxZCO61/s1600/2013-02-14+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MZD1ElLdV_eTlfXLmtscae8QuiUY00UY85-gS7t5JGJv83Oet-7tHQDQOz-lvpkUGtt5isV6Ux7nwrgy8FnVlwxNbSzD8eOnJKgI_trno4pDZOEXgMcRHQt0JRS5M02eqHrC6oxZCO61/s320/2013-02-14+(5).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Or there was the time I was talking with another mama at an indoor play place, and she commented that her toddler had an iPad, but followed that comment with a self-deprecating request not to judge her, and I said I don't judge anyone, since parenting is hard work. Except I did, I totally judged her in my head. Call me Judgy McJudgerson.<br />
<br />
Maybe an account of trying to take a "sick day" with a toddler in the house. No extra sleep to be found there. Or ever.Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-56562148905085652082013-02-14T19:32:00.001-08:002013-02-14T19:32:59.033-08:00One Year Old: A Slightly Belated UpdateSomehow, an entire year slipped away from me and now my Little Bug is a year old!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lw9Km5Zo07HToAS0SVXp4IsEFzxNibJ-yz-CsZudgKLmKrGSokHUEhgAXy25goT8XugLpRqvNvZAZr7EZIzUF5Yniv1fM4QxyWV426O9mfLva92zfHox1ZAN6dFfEwFBjXQN5HZsDSkr/s1600/2013-02-14+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lw9Km5Zo07HToAS0SVXp4IsEFzxNibJ-yz-CsZudgKLmKrGSokHUEhgAXy25goT8XugLpRqvNvZAZr7EZIzUF5Yniv1fM4QxyWV426O9mfLva92zfHox1ZAN6dFfEwFBjXQN5HZsDSkr/s320/2013-02-14+(3).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Walking tall!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Or, he is a year and almost two weeks. So much for that resolution to blog more often.<br />
<br />
Little Bug started walking a month or so ago, and now hardly needs my help at all, although he likes holding my hand when he's tired or sometimes when we're in an unfamiliar environment. And he needs me to go up and down stairs, sometimes. I had to go buy him some real shoes recently, since I'd probably be considered a bad parent if I let him walk around outside barefoot or just in his socks. Not to mention the fact that his socks would all get filthy. (But at least he'll wear socks now. We went through a phase where he loved pulling his socks off. Heck, he loved pulling everyone's socks off. My socks, the socks of other babies...)<br />
<br />
His newest skill is clapping his hands, and he spent the entire day today walking around clapping and grinning. And of course, I was grinning all day too, because what mama doesn't delight in her child's enthusiasm for the world? I also taught him to high-five a few days ago, a skill he proudly showed off for his daddy at the video teleconference earlier this week.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1uoI8ybD3_xxLKMZrNyJpkUEQZS4vKOfQbUkJ4uRFLVkZxfP1-D3RWNufZe_C7w0Xemoi6irNSZdm3nNh0612xOTKYEgr4oRNomZFX2ggex3aU419_Z_gPZfVkJfnT8nnCVfq3HIpZur/s1600/2013-02-14+(8).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1uoI8ybD3_xxLKMZrNyJpkUEQZS4vKOfQbUkJ4uRFLVkZxfP1-D3RWNufZe_C7w0Xemoi6irNSZdm3nNh0612xOTKYEgr4oRNomZFX2ggex3aU419_Z_gPZfVkJfnT8nnCVfq3HIpZur/s320/2013-02-14+(8).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Clap your hands!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Sometime in his eighth month, Little Bug really took a good interest in food. We didn't really do much with purees, mostly because he didn't like them but also because the "traditional" method of introducing solids just didn't sit right with me. I pretty much always have and still do just feed him directly from whatever I'm eating myself (with exceptions sometimes; if I'm eating junk, I make him something healthy). To start off, I'd mash it up a little with a fork or cut it into tiny pieces, but nowadays he's pretty good at mashing things with his gums (and chewing with his seven teeth) so I can offer bigger chunks that allow him to figure out eating for himself. Yep, spices and salt and all, and none of this one-new-food-at-a-time-with-several-days-between nonsense for us. Little Bug so far loves pretty much everything, although his distinct favorites are bananas, raisins, green beans, carrots, brussels sprouts, beans, and egg yolks (hard boiled). He also loves bread, and cheese, and I started offering peanut butter on occasion shortly before he turned one (my one concession to neurotic food schedules), and he loves that too (just like his daddy).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg5_3nC56Z1ZaWDG56fdAePupPl0emqeSYviraMqh4U7jvA91KavRWnpg4yhMkp4m8zJETJ0WQ6qz8Cqi34C-GYuAEGG8EV1DUBJY58CZWEAhY8RWQYRdAJpm3N3jCWhCmxwmh_rM9FLxu/s1600/2013-02-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg5_3nC56Z1ZaWDG56fdAePupPl0emqeSYviraMqh4U7jvA91KavRWnpg4yhMkp4m8zJETJ0WQ6qz8Cqi34C-GYuAEGG8EV1DUBJY58CZWEAhY8RWQYRdAJpm3N3jCWhCmxwmh_rM9FLxu/s320/2013-02-10.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Banana attack!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I have no idea how much he weighs right now, or how tall he is, because I was too lazy to schedule his first birthday well baby checkup on time and I couldn't get an appointment until March. Suffice to say he's a big boy, and carrying him around should eventually give me some nicely toned arms.<br />
<br />
He does still love being worn in the Ergo, although it won't be long before I won't be able to carry him that way in the front; already he's getting too tall that he barely fits under my chin! He loves being worn on my back too though, and my sister is going to gift me with a backpack-style carrier that will make hiking easier.<br />
<br />
Little Bug has a plethora of toys. He loves balls and his stacking cups and anything with wheels, and he loves bringing me books to read. (He doesn't always stay put for the entire book, but whatever.) He loves the little wheeled cart his grandpa (my dad) got him for the holidays, and he loves his set of IKEA little pots and pans. <br />
<br />
And he's finally, <i>finally</i> getting past the stage of "everything in the mouth." That's not to say that Little Bug doesn't still put things in his mouth, because he does, but he doesn't put <i>everything</i> there anymore. We can go walking outside and I can let him pick up leaves and twigs and know that he might just look at them and then put them down, although he does still try to eat them sometimes too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOvtZ8l2OrdPWhhplMD64nN_vN4rRD908CPDKQNuLFhj-wYuPMwR3F89bNXKKI0x69GpqtSNuTbTnrMdFFM3gKUpKbITInfy2ExEKSp3398pc63RzPMuzLw4vNlALd7YbVjOsIjPFn6uV/s1600/2013-02-07+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOvtZ8l2OrdPWhhplMD64nN_vN4rRD908CPDKQNuLFhj-wYuPMwR3F89bNXKKI0x69GpqtSNuTbTnrMdFFM3gKUpKbITInfy2ExEKSp3398pc63RzPMuzLw4vNlALd7YbVjOsIjPFn6uV/s320/2013-02-07+(3).JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
So all in all, our son is growing up. He makes me smile, and sometimes my heart swells so much with love that I don't know how I could possibly love him any more (but there are always more reasons to love him), and every day brings new things. How could I have ever thought my life was complete before I had my Little Bug? All that's missing now is my beloved D, and hopefully we only have a few months left before he comes home to us.Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-29543531461417654242013-01-14T21:16:00.002-08:002013-01-14T21:16:46.455-08:00Wish you were here!There are so many things that I wish D could see right now. So many little things, so many precious moments that make my heart swell with joy. (Not trying to make you feel bad, honey, I swear!) Raising a baby is one of the most joyful endeavors I've ever embarked upon, and there are no end to the things that make me smile.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6DPCHRonIykSN7kqHtmAXio0TA-D2tF0quGS739WtMuoujN-cm4zK82YzXhpv7QsXNiNm0uWoiW5GabpNOlXSj4g3xIcuH1721sPZsI624pKzh2qbYUqEXVHZo8cKjBOAWNzgr27JVFq/s1600/2013-01-12+(7).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6DPCHRonIykSN7kqHtmAXio0TA-D2tF0quGS739WtMuoujN-cm4zK82YzXhpv7QsXNiNm0uWoiW5GabpNOlXSj4g3xIcuH1721sPZsI624pKzh2qbYUqEXVHZo8cKjBOAWNzgr27JVFq/s320/2013-01-12+(7).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I love this picture, even if Little Bug's eyes<br />are closed.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Sometimes I think I should be taking more videos of Little Bug during these long months of deployment. And then I remember that I don't have a video camera, and my regular camera doesn't seem to take videos, and even if I did have a good reliable way of taking videos, it wouldn't really work anyway. I can't even easily take pictures anymore; most of them have a little hand reaching intently toward the lens. And more than half of them are blurry anyway. I swear, Little Bug never stops moving. He's a very busy boy.<br />
<br />
So since I don't have videos, I'll instead try to paint a picture with words.<br />
<br />
~*~*~*~<br />
Little toothy grins. As of now, Little Bug has two teeth on the bottom and three on the top, and I think a fourth might be on its way in up there. (Hard to get a good look though...) He has the cutest little smile, with all of his little teeth, and I love the way they flash when he laughs.<br />
~*~*~*~<br />
I still haven't succeeded in teaching Little Bug the sign for "milk," which I use interchangeably with "nurse." I'm hoping that eventually he will start signing when he wants a snack, rather than coming over and pulling my shirt down, since that's not exactly okay to do out in public. Within the last few days, though, he's started telling me he wants to nurse by grabbing the nursing pillow and doing his best to fling it at me. (He's not strong enough to actually throw it, but that doesn't stop him from trying!) I love how he knows what the pillow's for!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oj-heq9A3iwqWWTRnzrd4G4t8XskIGaehDh1v48JQC5oiPPRMYdux9XWf57nlZ-PnDJPKyET4noYA_qfIjBsXMTYpZzcOtMR-cCDuplyuJNtkeucCS3Ft4sr0VmSkiyGAlLgNgH4dxSC/s1600/2012-12-25+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-oj-heq9A3iwqWWTRnzrd4G4t8XskIGaehDh1v48JQC5oiPPRMYdux9XWf57nlZ-PnDJPKyET4noYA_qfIjBsXMTYpZzcOtMR-cCDuplyuJNtkeucCS3Ft4sr0VmSkiyGAlLgNgH4dxSC/s320/2012-12-25+(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Buddies! ...kinda...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
~*~*~*~<br />
He has, however, approximated a sign for "bath." Every night, Little Bug has a bath at 1800, and woe be to me if I'm not ready on the dot. I've been trying to teach him the sign for "bath" for awhile now, and he seems to have modified the one I'm using into something of his own creation!<br />
~*~*~*~<br />
Blowing raspberries. Little Bug loves blowing raspberries at me, and he loves it when I blow them right back. Sometimes we wander around the store while shopping, Little Bug strapped to my chest in the Ergo, blowing raspberries back and forth.<br />
~*~*~*~<br />
First steps. He's getting better every day! He can walk all over the place so long as he's got something to hold on to, and can easily make it across the room on his own. I think he'd make it farther if he didn't get so excited about his abilities though; he just wants to go, go, go, as fast as possible, and then he ends up going too fast and falls over. Chubby legs, unsteady steps... heartwarming and amazing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipioADQuviEx-S2eAori4-9VFbqQ_vdcaQUg5DaxxrOgx1KPBL_dvtY-C1GtBZ4FxpWxP6fMEQd7LNyNC20oQFepqsM-E6yVoAQZDoEZlsL_fUDArkSGozdQf7Re7TG4GSj0W4fTUE26ZL/s1600/2013-01-08+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipioADQuviEx-S2eAori4-9VFbqQ_vdcaQUg5DaxxrOgx1KPBL_dvtY-C1GtBZ4FxpWxP6fMEQd7LNyNC20oQFepqsM-E6yVoAQZDoEZlsL_fUDArkSGozdQf7Re7TG4GSj0W4fTUE26ZL/s320/2013-01-08+(1).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dino pajamas!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
~*~*~*~<br />
Bananas are one of Little Bug's favorite foods. Bananas, blueberries, and sweet potatoes. And when we share a banana, I usually let him take his own bites. Which is a comical sight to behold, as he won't bite down until he's stuffed as much banana in as will fit. A Tremendous Mouthful of banana, as it were. And then he looks at me and mashes it with his gums and some dribbles down his chin. Sometimes he ends up spitting some out, if it's more than he can swallow on his own, but more often than not he gets it all down and then comes back, grinning, for more.Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-15667780132079176102013-01-05T21:31:00.000-08:002013-01-05T21:31:56.971-08:00Ten Things for 2013Pretty sure I'm not the only one who feels weird typing "2013." It's hard to believe that it's a new year already; didn't the last one just start?<br />
<br />
Anyway, stealing an idea from the <a href="http://dotalanecdotes.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">wondrous Mrs. H</a> here; last year, she posted a list of<a href="http://dotalanecdotes.blogspot.com/2012/01/twelve-new-things-2012.html" target="_blank"> twelve specific things she wanted to accomplish in 2012</a>. I'm not quite that ambitious, so I'm only going with ten things for this year.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTo6brKKkGPxmawCLUjbA5SOtUiVY2-gGsValk3cEqf-gnvu85frke23PIPdFCpWrd4ZgtyaH-gH6FediSgpkYuc9oysfSVoaJPks-7mpz3R_U_ZwFc32mDI7ybl_hG_wdPbriUBcSWTQH/s1600/CIMG0778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTo6brKKkGPxmawCLUjbA5SOtUiVY2-gGsValk3cEqf-gnvu85frke23PIPdFCpWrd4ZgtyaH-gH6FediSgpkYuc9oysfSVoaJPks-7mpz3R_U_ZwFc32mDI7ybl_hG_wdPbriUBcSWTQH/s320/CIMG0778.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Little Bug's first time at the top of Cowles Mountain in San Diego.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, without further ado:<br />
<br />
<h3>
Ten New Things for 2013</h3>
<br />
1. Blog more. I know, I know, I've been terribly neglectful of my little blog here. But that's about to change! Well, maybe. Clearly, the Internet needs more of my opinions. So I'm going to try to post something once a week, but you probably shouldn't get your hopes up too high.<br />
<br />
2. Exercise more. I used to be a total fitness nerd, but for the past eleven months I've been using Little Bug for a convenient excuse not to. Don't get me wrong here; running around after a baby means I rarely stop moving, and we go for a walk of some sort pretty much every day, but I've decided it's time to get in better shape again. That picture above of us at the top of San Diego's tallest "mountain?" I was pathetically winded the entire hike. Time to change that. (And I won't lie; I want to look good for my honey when he gets home from deployment!) So, inspired by <a href="http://mamabirth.blogspot.com/2012/12/losing-baby-weight-how-to-do-it-even.html" target="_blank">a recent post by Mama Birth</a>, here are my rules: at least 20 minutes per day, six days per week, Sundays are free. If all I do is walk, it must be at least 30 minutes. And walks totally don't count if they involve Starbucks. Ideally, I will be doing more strenuous things than walking (hiking, weight training), but so long as I'm active, then I'm happy.<br />
<br />
3. Create "In Case of Emergency" binder. Stealing this idea from my friend Noël, shared on one of her many lovely blogs. It's hard to go against the conventional wisdom of DON'T EVER WRITE DOWN YOUR PASSWORDS EVER OR THEY'LL GET STOLEN AND THEN YOU'LL BE SORRY, but it's harder to argue with her logic of keeping control of your own information. So this year, hopefully sooner rather than later, I'm going to<a href="https://ihaveapencil.wordpress.com/2012/12/03/adventures-in-robberies-and-how-to-enjoy-them/" target="_blank"> create an "In Case of Emergency" binder</a> and then buy a bigger fireproof safe to store it in (since my current safe is entirely too small to store anything useful in). Go read her post if you want more details on this wonderful idea.<br />
<br />
4. Make some of my own "beauty" products. Any by that, I really mean just things like body wash and face wash. I recently picked up (figuratively speaking) a copy of the new ebook <a href="http://www.mommypotamus.com/lp/order-diy-beauty-ebook/" target="_blank">DIY Organic Beauty Recipes</a>, written by Heather Dessinger of <a href="http://www.mommypotamus.com/" target="_blank">The Mommypotamus</a>. I've perused it a little, and I'm especially interested in making some new baby wash for Little Bug and dabbling in things like tooth powder. <br />
<br />
5. Start Little Bug's baby scrapbook. That's right, he's coming up on his first birthday and I haven't started any kind of baby book for him yet. (This may qualify me as a "bad" mommy by some standards.) My intention has been to create a scrapbook for him covering at least the first ten years of his life, full of mostly pictures because I'm not sentimental enough to add things like locks of hair. Time to go on Shutterfly and create some scrapbook pages and get this party started.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfA8lSXvUaKWz7EemzOSNkqVcKZOCNzagtQGNf3JClI9OyrBr2UbBdX_hfAjrImMtSigfXJTi6BqPqVpkmG3j0Qh3wblbz_3bCMBbd2ngURgaaMb4B0Z7Lcms_Uaa60ArSDmhlV3RHx0G/s1600/2012-12-30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfA8lSXvUaKWz7EemzOSNkqVcKZOCNzagtQGNf3JClI9OyrBr2UbBdX_hfAjrImMtSigfXJTi6BqPqVpkmG3j0Qh3wblbz_3bCMBbd2ngURgaaMb4B0Z7Lcms_Uaa60ArSDmhlV3RHx0G/s320/2012-12-30.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Little Bug is always trying new things.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
6. Knit a few pairs of baby socks. I haven't completed a single knitting project since Little Bug was born. Honestly, while I miss knitting sometimes, it's kind of at the bottom of my priority list of things to do during nap time. So I'm thinking that I'll try to get back into the swing of things with small projects. Thus, my aspiration to knit some baby socks. Little projects = sense of accomplishment. Plus, I LOVE HIS FEET! The only way they could possibly be cuter would be if they were clad in homemade socks.<br />
<br />
7. Make jelly. Late last summer, a good friend and I dabbled in learning how to can stuff; we made jams and pumpkin butter and had all kinds of fun, and I have a small stockpile of interesting things in my cupboard that I refuse to open until D returns home from deployment. My primary resource is the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Food-Jars-Preserving-Batches-Year-Round/dp/0762441437/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1357448984&sr=8-1&keywords=food+in+jars" target="_blank">Food in Jars by Marisa McClellan</a>. Next on my list of recipes to try: jelly. There are a couple of jelly recipes that start with juice of some sort, which is always accessible.<br />
<br />
8. Renovate my personal file system. Inspired by <a href="http://dotalanecdotes.blogspot.com/2013/01/2013-ideas-for-new-year.html" target="_blank">Mrs. H's goal to organize her finances</a>, I've decided my paper filing system needs an overhaul. I frequently pull documents to shred (I keep everything for thirteen months, except tax-related documents which are retained for five years), but so much has changed in the last few years that my folders are kind of in shambles. I have folders for things I no longer have, extra folders crammed into places where they don't really belong, and a need to create new folders for some things life has recently thrown our way. I will purge documents and folders, relabel things, and reorganize until I'm happy with my "important papers" box again.<br />
<br />
9. Participate in Vegan MoFo. Once upon a time, I dreamed of starting a blog purely so that I could participate in the <a href="http://www.veganmofo.com/" target="_blank">Vegan Month of Food</a>. Well, I have a blog, so this year I will finally do it. What is Vegan MoFo? As the website says, "The idea is to write as much as you can all month, about vegan food." Goodness knows I'm not actually completely vegan (and I probably never will be), but I do eat vegan a lot. So this October, it's on!<br />
<br />
10. Participate in NaNoWriMo. I've tried to get myself to write during <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank">National Novel Writing Month</a> twice in the past two years, but never lasted longer than a few days. If you've never heard of NaNoWriMo before, the idea is to write an entire novel during the thirty days of November, at least 50,000 words in length. I shall try again this year, and hopefully I shall be victorious!Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-45619312959201106242012-11-27T20:35:00.001-08:002012-11-27T20:35:36.919-08:00Unrelated musings<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-jBt3SNG-HuNRFlSfLIudCaXatbOp-O6xHi9D6leMApov8SLhPEtu02HGhpkLQPbC_6csMp6h-82vIy_Y5prY8mZQWzTqDO-LGqUJEbg0XJsp3vDpnxkE8lOdrEBCBA1MTqYKQlPf2bB/s1600/2012-11-10+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-jBt3SNG-HuNRFlSfLIudCaXatbOp-O6xHi9D6leMApov8SLhPEtu02HGhpkLQPbC_6csMp6h-82vIy_Y5prY8mZQWzTqDO-LGqUJEbg0XJsp3vDpnxkE8lOdrEBCBA1MTqYKQlPf2bB/s320/2012-11-10+(3).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>He's coming for you.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I. Crybaby<br />
<br />
There are currently five things that I know of that consistently make Little Bug cry:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>My cough. This one is most potent at night; if he's asleep, no matter how deeply, my cough almost always wakes him up crying. During the day, he only cries when I cough if he's in need of a nap.</li>
<li>The vacuum cleaner. Well, if I'm wearing Little Bug, he'll usually fall asleep by the time I'm done with the apartment. If I'm not wearing him, the vacuum makes him cry.</li>
<li>A certain friend's laugh. It took us awhile to pinpoint this, but my friend and I eventually figured out that something about her laugh seems to startle him, and he cries. When this happens, I work hard not to laugh at him.</li>
<li>Packing tape. When I'm using clear plastic packing tape for any reason, the sound of it usually makes Little Bug cry.</li>
<li>A certain friend (of Little Bug's) cries. For some reason, when this one friend of his cries, Little Bug's empathy kicks in and he starts crying too. But only for this one friend. Other babies cry, and he totally doesn't care.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
II. Unmentionables</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes, I get tempted to start another blog. But an anonymous blog, one that no one would know was written by me. Then I could write about pretty much anything.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You see, there are a few topics that I would very much like to blog about, but for whatever reason I just <i>can't</i>. Like the family member/friend/random acquaintance/etc. who makes me frustrated/pissed off/etc. and I want to talk about here, but I'm afraid they'll see it and think I don't like them or are talking behind their back when really all I want to do is VENT because I can't actually change things and it doesn't mean I don't otherwise like the person in question I'm just VENTING. Or various topics related to babies or parenting that I have strong views on but my strong views don't necessarily agree with the societal norm and I don't want to talk about it here because my family/in-laws/friends don't even know I do/don't and I simply am not prepared to open that can of worms yet with them even though for some reason I'd otherwise be okay with discussing my views with strangers I don't know.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yeah. That sort of thing. Maybe some day I'll become brave enough to blog about some of those things openly. Maybe someday, but not today.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
III. Telemarketers</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today, I received a call from some sort of telemarketer who asked for "the person who owns this number." I was silent for a moment, and then asked if she had a name. She said no, just the number. I asked what she wanted (without providing my name), and she started off into a speech, providing me a company name (financial something or other) and saying they had collected numbers "from my area," at which point I interrupted and asked where she thought I lived. (Because my area code totally doesn't match my current location... one of the joys of being a Navy wife, I suppose.) She couldn't tell me, which means she probably didn't know. I interrupted again and said I was not interested in whatever she was selling. She said she wasn't "selling" anything, and requested that I listen to what she had to say before saying I wasn't interested. I interrupted again and asked to be put on their "do not call" list. I listened long enough to hear her say she would, and then I hung up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ugh. Telemarketers get worse all the time, and that's two minutes lost forever, wasted on a BS call with someone who didn't even have my name, just my phone number. How irritating.</div>
Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-7141434594087786512012-11-23T19:58:00.001-08:002012-11-23T19:58:43.018-08:00A month of gratitudeI don't do "Black Friday." Never have. Hopefully never will. I don't think any "deal" is good enough to face the madness at the stores. Plus, my idealistic side is not into supporting the big stores, although my practical side freely admits that I will end up buying some of my holiday presents at them.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk16L5NLR_9Gh3juwF_mXHmb8KkL6sMCw7mJQLoVhcaOM9BE0Gw6fF5Ao-D621FfbHazNbMWtRGAxmZUGOpQMslBsZvvRqu77TrJKEYM2LXQnfNmgzJxD-Tldmp6nBoTPVegSSWQG_0eGE/s1600/2012-11-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk16L5NLR_9Gh3juwF_mXHmb8KkL6sMCw7mJQLoVhcaOM9BE0Gw6fF5Ao-D621FfbHazNbMWtRGAxmZUGOpQMslBsZvvRqu77TrJKEYM2LXQnfNmgzJxD-Tldmp6nBoTPVegSSWQG_0eGE/s320/2012-11-23.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>For what it's worth, my morning tea latte did *not* come<br />from Starbucks today. Although I do drink a lot of Starbucks.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to get to celebrate Thanksgiving in the company of two good friends and their families. I contributed a lentil shepherd's pie and a pumpkin pie; other dishes included sweet potatoes, potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, and an amazing pecan pie. I have a bunch of leftovers, which Little Bug and I will continue feasting on for at least a few days. Good food, great conversation, and fun times; D may be away, and I may be unwilling to travel during the holidays, but thanks to a good support network I still had a fabulous holiday.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppZ7Qz7pVDrLFXJ9tIK8OBfnG3uMKjBlRYNx1b4gZSYCMvoaX23DYkT1VhgjmVk1Y1B2zG5-vokCGqE3nUkpVQTGl-ac1mfa__9ZIu7FvYWFxgKpzHJztVVT1O4GiK4G4qcCgT7Nry4Tq/s1600/2012-11-22+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppZ7Qz7pVDrLFXJ9tIK8OBfnG3uMKjBlRYNx1b4gZSYCMvoaX23DYkT1VhgjmVk1Y1B2zG5-vokCGqE3nUkpVQTGl-ac1mfa__9ZIu7FvYWFxgKpzHJztVVT1O4GiK4G4qcCgT7Nry4Tq/s320/2012-11-22+(2).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Little Bug enjoys his first Thanksgiving feast!<br />It's difficult to get a picture these days that isn't a little bit blurry...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Over the course of November so far, I've been watching as my friends post daily about what they're thankful for. In that spirit, here is a list of thirty things I am thankful for.<br />
<br />
1. My wonderful husband, D. As<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acvIVA9-FMQ" target="_blank"> that song</a> goes, "Lucky I'm in love with my best friend..."<br />
<br />
2. My Little Bug, my little sunshine baby. I am so blessed to have such an amazing son who is helping me to rediscover the wonders of life.<br />
<br />
3. While we're working on those essentials, I'm thankful for the rest of my family, those I'm related to by blood or marriage. It's nice to have so many people to care about, and who care about us.<br />
<br />
4. Friends, both near and far. Friends that I've collected over the course of my life thus far and in all of the places I've lived.<br />
<br />
5. I'm thankful D has a secure job that enables me stay home to care for Little Bug. I'm also thankful D & I are both on the same page financially, and that money is very rarely an issue of contention between us.<br />
<br />
6. I may not have to work, but I'm thankful for being a book reviewer and for my various freelance editing gigs. The little bit of extra money certainly doesn't hurt!<br />
<br />
7. Of course, I'm very grateful for my little fuzzy monster, Freddy.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitI15XLP9Og4PcY0h4eZrM3HwKuSNZSu8E-zrA0SfS7O0vs_VK1Hyq7krhBAdZGvxBat0bcQa2Jmurx9CPJ6vKLFbVfnf46EBOx0ScYltXBAXsx9kMFo-3GkfNVcasxThkaQpkV2poDerO/s1600/2012-11-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitI15XLP9Og4PcY0h4eZrM3HwKuSNZSu8E-zrA0SfS7O0vs_VK1Hyq7krhBAdZGvxBat0bcQa2Jmurx9CPJ6vKLFbVfnf46EBOx0ScYltXBAXsx9kMFo-3GkfNVcasxThkaQpkV2poDerO/s320/2012-11-21.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Freddy watches Little Bug suspiciously.<br />Maybe one day they'll be friends...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
8. My ability to cook. Being able to make healthy, delicious food for my family is a joyful thing.<br />
<br />
9. Certain convenience foods. I try to cook fresh whenever possible, but on busy days (like Thanksgiving!), it's nice to be able to substitute gravy mix for my usual homemade mushroom gravy and still be satisfied with my meal.<br />
<br />
10. Certain appliances. I love my slow cooker, and yesterday my immersion blender made pumpkin pie filling into a breezy process.<br />
<br />
11. Books. I may not get to read as much as I used to before having a baby, but I still love to read. I am also thankful for my library, and the fact that it only takes me ten minutes to walk there.<br />
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12. Music. I love to sing, and I sing to my Little Bug every day!<br />
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13. Pie. Because, honestly, who doesn't love pie?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YywkXeTfMjK5BsAzA3_FdrZfA-xXrzUif8NISF21qt_91Xyci8XCdqky-XqSk4zbxBtz-5Wu6ywjn9O890tFuMTq4noZa5_uxpYEq7mFsr8bAO0NQGSE69tM-o5RfpLOI5TZ539GhKUF/s1600/Photo0329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YywkXeTfMjK5BsAzA3_FdrZfA-xXrzUif8NISF21qt_91Xyci8XCdqky-XqSk4zbxBtz-5Wu6ywjn9O890tFuMTq4noZa5_uxpYEq7mFsr8bAO0NQGSE69tM-o5RfpLOI5TZ539GhKUF/s320/Photo0329.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A crappy cell phone picture of my pumpkin pie. And then I ate it.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
14. Tea. My tea drinking habits have definitely changed over the last year; I can't remember the last time I finished a cup of tea at home without having to re-heat it at least once, and at least half the time I'm drinking <a href="http://www.earthmamaangelbaby.com/breastfeeding-support/milkmaid-tea.html" target="_blank">lactation tea</a>, but that's okay. I still love my morning tea!<br />
<br />
15. CSAs. I may not currently be a member of a CSA (because with D gone, I simply cannot eat the contents of an entire box by myself), but I am incredibly thankful that <a href="http://sanfranciscobookreview.com/2012/10/fresh-from-the-farm/" target="_blank">community-supported agriculture programs</a> exist. Gives me hope for the future of our food system.<br />
<br />
16. <a href="http://www.twosentinels.org/" target="_blank">Two Sentinels Camp</a>, my other home, even though it's been a few years since I've been able to volunteer there. This place, and the other people who run it, played a major role in shaping the person I am today. Someday, I will be back, I promise. "Two Sentinels will be my home; makes no difference how far away I roam..."<br />
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17. The Internet. Enough said.<br />
<br />
18. My health. I'm glad I am relatively fit and healthy, that I have the physical strength and endurance necessary to keep up with my growing boy.<br />
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19. I'm thankful that I had such a <a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/2012/03/birth-story.html" target="_blank">positive birth experienc</a>e, in a time and place where so many women cannot truthfully say the same.<br />
<br />
20. I'm also thankful I've had the courage to <a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/2012/10/going-against-norm.html" target="_blank">follow my instincts</a> when it comes to parenting. Raising a child is the hardest thing I've ever undertaken, but also the most rewarding!<br />
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21. Text messages. Seriously. Ease of communication is a wonderful thing.<br />
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22. Skype and video teleconferencing on base. I may be separated from D physically at the moment, but at least I get to see his face in real time every now and then!<br />
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23. The forthcoming arrival of the last book of The Wheel of Time, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/A-Memory-Light-Wheel-Time/dp/0765325950/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1353728814&sr=8-1&keywords=memory+of+light" target="_blank">A Memory of Light</a>. Closure is coming, my friends!<br />
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24. Board games. And card games. And dice games. And role-playing games. Yes, I'm that kind of nerd.<br />
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25. Freedom of speech. I listen to the news every day, and I'm always finding new reasons to value the fact that we have the fundamental right to say pretty much anything.<br />
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26. <a href="http://www.npr.org/" target="_blank">NPR</a>. Balanced news coverage is a wonderful thing, and I learn new things all the time from all of the other wonderful programming here.<br />
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27. Home. I've always had a roof over my head, and I've never lived anywhere where I ever felt unsafe. Well, our first apartment in Sacramento could be debatable.<br />
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28. Our planet. Sometimes I start thinking about the miracles of science and nature that have all conspired to create this world we inhabit, and then my head starts to hurt. <br />
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29. Chocolate. Enough said. Oh wait, I'm also thankful that I started liking chocolate again once Little Bug was born. Otherwise, that could have been one of life's little tragedies.<br />
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30. My beloved country. I am unbelievably blessed to have been born in this nation. Sure, America has its faults, but I wouldn't want to live anywhere in the world but here.Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-10772396226208957672012-11-20T17:39:00.001-08:002012-11-20T17:40:28.381-08:00Applesauce BBQ SauceWhen I said I was going to find or create recipes to <a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/2012/10/what-to-do-with-jarred-baby-food.html" target="_blank">use my surplus of jarred baby food</a>, Little Bug laughed at me.<br />
<br />
Well, try this on for size: BBQ sauce made with applesauce.<br />
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Seriously. Give it a try. Tangy and sweet. Mmmmm.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3B4EGjtso4GUCC5gyxOd0lumCQVnvguryzYCURH3RS-bdx9Y45kfeTQ2MbZXhZyzOzLV6OAlX2U4Ykio2tD-iLVP2abtqrkZAoiokdkVzVrHXjyFrXNFoT8Ly54dSwZR1booQmFS0j-Au/s1600/CIMG0723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3B4EGjtso4GUCC5gyxOd0lumCQVnvguryzYCURH3RS-bdx9Y45kfeTQ2MbZXhZyzOzLV6OAlX2U4Ykio2tD-iLVP2abtqrkZAoiokdkVzVrHXjyFrXNFoT8Ly54dSwZR1booQmFS0j-Au/s320/CIMG0723.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/crispy-barbequed-tofu-slices/" target="_blank">Crispy Barbequed Tofu Slices</a> with my sauce!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="goog_402827186"></span><span id="goog_402827187"></span><br />
<h3>
Applesauce BBQ Sauce</h3>
inspired by <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/applesauce-barbeque-sauce/" target="_blank">this recipe on allrecipes.com</a><br />
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1 c applesauce (2 [4-oz.] jars apples/applesauce baby food)<br />
1/2 c ketchup<br />
1/2 c brown sugar<br />
1/4 c lemon juice<br />
1/4 tsp salt<br />
1/4 tsp pepper<br />
1/2 tsp paprika<br />
1/2 tsp garlic powder<br />
1/2 tsp cinnamon<br />
1/4 tsp onion powder<br />
<br />
Combine all ingredients in a pot over medium heat. Bring to a boil. Cover (or use a splatter screen; you don't want to get hit with this!) and let boil a few minutes, stirring regularly. Remove from heat and let cool completely (it will thicken). Makes 1 1/2 - 2 cups.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5-CyVP49aE6Xcfs5goq1P1gmMJctWkU9WK4x-NoXyMFdO-DLFh5nQj_nhuxxP33u4IwtVn_Q-CFeL-wiROX0BihXX2tAXYFsPZy7rbKHXn-RMK_x4H2kbPwwRYtn5AFFVrC8SRnRBceL/s1600/CIMG0716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5-CyVP49aE6Xcfs5goq1P1gmMJctWkU9WK4x-NoXyMFdO-DLFh5nQj_nhuxxP33u4IwtVn_Q-CFeL-wiROX0BihXX2tAXYFsPZy7rbKHXn-RMK_x4H2kbPwwRYtn5AFFVrC8SRnRBceL/s320/CIMG0716.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ingredients!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhx9Tzsiy3h7xyZtazSKFV10ipTd13vWfnIFFnZ0hTmXFKhhbM5hw4h5ETnVPiSQXjncbTYtXT7Rm0M2OK4V5JusFtD2pcEPjF8IhZ3jqZS2y20cUslqXh5jVeQRvUbsOlze0eQhcnNxo/s1600/CIMG0717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhx9Tzsiy3h7xyZtazSKFV10ipTd13vWfnIFFnZ0hTmXFKhhbM5hw4h5ETnVPiSQXjncbTYtXT7Rm0M2OK4V5JusFtD2pcEPjF8IhZ3jqZS2y20cUslqXh5jVeQRvUbsOlze0eQhcnNxo/s320/CIMG0717.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...yum?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHKnb0NSY_Phkk-hPPNnLSOqSRGSwkm0L-Thh0xEK2O61YNHJIdOCnjc5NtdBfSvBEwM4wTDo3q9ve2A7kJZMo9ZQoC9rqeHY4MLL-Tt83qCagcPZnAKywqMgoaWqpn88UI8ZqIT39x9Z/s1600/CIMG0718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHKnb0NSY_Phkk-hPPNnLSOqSRGSwkm0L-Thh0xEK2O61YNHJIdOCnjc5NtdBfSvBEwM4wTDo3q9ve2A7kJZMo9ZQoC9rqeHY4MLL-Tt83qCagcPZnAKywqMgoaWqpn88UI8ZqIT39x9Z/s320/CIMG0718.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how Little Bug helps when I cook.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdX2pa4s8-T-jU-7JOKNZLCWpV0fbIvhYD1VYfTTxjFBVUD28IW0EflguAWga9ghUkNCwjmAcC9fDboSLI2bqn1UgavIj5Q-zGWxX3rjdNK0W-YRn6cRErg8mfAbBXP4664LgemNB1cQ5_/s1600/CIMG0720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdX2pa4s8-T-jU-7JOKNZLCWpV0fbIvhYD1VYfTTxjFBVUD28IW0EflguAWga9ghUkNCwjmAcC9fDboSLI2bqn1UgavIj5Q-zGWxX3rjdNK0W-YRn6cRErg8mfAbBXP4664LgemNB1cQ5_/s320/CIMG0720.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I totally suck at taking pictures of food. But here's the finished product!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-41861190565071243602012-11-13T09:48:00.000-08:002012-11-13T09:48:54.314-08:00Introducing the Post-Deployment Bucket List!Quickie post here.<br />
<br />
Eight months is a long time to be separated from my honey. And seeing as my primary method of coping is to keep busy (but not too busy; don't want to burn myself out), there are a lot of things Little Bug and I are doing for the first time that we'd like to experience again as a complete family. <br />
<br />
I know I won't be able to remember everything on my own, so I'm starting a list! Here on my blog, where I can add to it as Little Bug and I hit the town and find new things to share. I'm calling it the "<a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/p/post-deployment-bucket-list.html" target="_blank">Post-Deployment Bucket List</a>," and I'll keep updating it over the duration of D's deployment. Go check it out, if you feel so inclined! There is now a link at the top of the page.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT-blu6pSQSKzgCvYxp1ZPKjGQ5WLo8emEHjm_cZFM65gwO-kGm_DgSU6Xyq_4oV6EE0IFDlgNcYFU5WIe6H6fjRjQxyt5Q_ry9iQetQ7lOkX12iWcOefbPO5r_OiEI4knY7UNom-Iy6L/s1600/2012-11-09+(6).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT-blu6pSQSKzgCvYxp1ZPKjGQ5WLo8emEHjm_cZFM65gwO-kGm_DgSU6Xyq_4oV6EE0IFDlgNcYFU5WIe6H6fjRjQxyt5Q_ry9iQetQ7lOkX12iWcOefbPO5r_OiEI4knY7UNom-Iy6L/s320/2012-11-09+(6).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Little Bug at the San Diego Botanic Garden, where we recently visited <br />with some friends. So many new things to see!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-18068940391458997892012-10-31T20:35:00.001-07:002012-10-31T20:35:59.106-07:00What to do with jarred baby food?Until recently, I had never bought commercial baby food for Little Bug. In all honesty, he doesn't really even like finely pureed foods. I think it's a texture issue; he has a hard time swallowing purees. In order to get him to eat the organic applesauce that his grandma lovingly made just for him, I usually ended up mixing it in with some of my breakfast oatmeal. (And then he loved it!) <br />
<br />
Actually, thus far the solid food adventure could primarily be classified as <a href="http://www.letyourbabiesfeedthemselves.com/" target="_blank">baby-led weaning</a>. The main idea here, which seems so obvious and intuitive to me, is that babies don't really need purees. Once babies are ready for solids, they can handle actual adult people food. They can manipulate it within their mouths to make it swallowable, and will gag and spit it out if they try to swallow too much at once; in this way, they quickly learn their limits and how to, well, <i>eat</i>. (Note too that gagging and choking are not the same thing.) And better yet, they are quite capable of feeding it to themselves, thank you very much. <br />
<br />
This is another area where I found it a little difficult to go against the grain. At first, anyway. After spending my entire lifetime watching babies receive their first foods from those cute little jars, it felt a bit weird to be taking a different route. (The one exception to this was my sister, who made baby food from scratch... she helped to normalize the idea that baby food doesn't have to be bland or tasteless or contain only a single ingredient. But she still started with purees.)<br />
<br />
So we eased in slowly. I honestly couldn't tell you what Little Bug's first food was; I don't remember. But we started with soft things that I knew he could easily mash up with his gums. Banana. Avocado. Cooked carrots or peas that I smooshed just a little between my fingers before offering to him. Steamed zucchini, lentils, beans. And always in small enough pieces that he could swallow without choking on, just in case he didn't manage to thoroughly gum them first.<br />
<br />
And now? When we split a banana every morning--and by split, I mean he eats maybe a third of it--he takes a tremendous mouthful, stuffing as much in there as will fit. He used to end up spitting out half when he did this, but now he just works it around and slowly swallows until it's all gone, and then eagerly comes back for more. (Sometimes he gets worried that I will eat it all before he gets seconds!) I will offer a piece of veggie to him on the palm of my hand, and he will carefully pick it up and cram it into his mouth. When we go to the farmers' market, I offer him whole berries to nom. Out at breakfast the other day with my dad and his lady friend, we gave him little bits of plain pancake to feast on. Fortunately, the nice people at IHOP didn't mind that he made a giant mess; honestly, who could get annoyed with that cute little face?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKW5w9lKIG6p0lfEjXVwUOGxvCDRXbN2g6s3iAl143dAFVZ-IBROi7I_48lkKs4nYKxHe6GTnEIybUhHrGln3FJW7Nu2Y0Bmd7Th_ssE8Er1fN6Wl0tpj4wyg24gHCmvTjk57cHhOl79DU/s1600/IMG_2458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKW5w9lKIG6p0lfEjXVwUOGxvCDRXbN2g6s3iAl143dAFVZ-IBROi7I_48lkKs4nYKxHe6GTnEIybUhHrGln3FJW7Nu2Y0Bmd7Th_ssE8Er1fN6Wl0tpj4wyg24gHCmvTjk57cHhOl79DU/s320/IMG_2458.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
So that's where we are now. The only purees he eats are things that are naturally pureed: applesauce, mashed potatoes, pumpkin puree from the pumpkin I roasted the other day. And none of which are finely pureed; lumps make life more exciting. He'll consent to being fed with a spoon occasionally, but he really prefers to feed himself, and he doesn't really like food that contains no lumps.<br />
<br />
And then I signed up for WIC. In case you are unaware, WIC is a government program that provides pregnant women and the parents of young children (up to age five) with vouchers for healthy foods. The primary qualification has to do with income, and a surprising amount of military families can qualify. Among other useful things, we get vouchers that pay for about sixty jars of baby food per month. <i>Per month.</i> I wish I could instead get more money to spend on fresh produce and whole grains, since that's what he actually eats. But I'm not one to turn down essentially free food, so now I have a ton of jarred baby food in my cupboard.<br />
<br />
I tried feeding him one jar. He thought it was okay, but seemed much more excited when we switched to something more, erm, substantial. So instead, I'm going to try to think of more creative things to do with all of those tiny jars of pureed fruits and veggies. Add to pasta sauces or soups? Maybe. I bet I could toss part of a banana in my Magic Bullet along with the contents of a fruit jar and some almond milk (or, more likely, soymilk, since I get a ton of that from WIC too) and make a smoothie. Applesauce is applesauce, which I can mix into my oatmeal (and then share with Little Bug) or use to replace the oil in recipes for baked goods. Bananas can replace eggs, or just be made into banana bread. "Winter squash" could surely be turned into pumpkin bread, or maybe... pumpkin pie? Pumpkin risotto? (Of course, I have a bunch of pumpkin puree in my freezer, but bear with me here.) I have a vegan brownie recipe somewhere that calls for prune puree. (Seriously.)<br />
<br />
We'll see. If I come up with anything exceptionally creative, I'll be sure to write about it here. Until then, I guess I'd best devote a shelf of my cupboard to my increasing supply of baby food!Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-3319863157198498992012-10-16T19:27:00.001-07:002012-10-16T21:10:42.229-07:00Baby Noms<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoTVhXlaIjd62HpxyZW6eANbhuseHmFQFrB7vXtT8D4aA4NXpWpawntmpJpM9xz34Hdnfn921AdAgvbx1vRyj6OdadTmF_SZX9lXQIMohKnZzoDvgJmI9kFD9k3wTcqMk_V_r0Td24sEOL/s1600/2012-101-16+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoTVhXlaIjd62HpxyZW6eANbhuseHmFQFrB7vXtT8D4aA4NXpWpawntmpJpM9xz34Hdnfn921AdAgvbx1vRyj6OdadTmF_SZX9lXQIMohKnZzoDvgJmI9kFD9k3wTcqMk_V_r0Td24sEOL/s320/2012-101-16+(2).jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Om nom broccoli</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Inspired by a recent post at the blog <a href="http://inshortstories.blogspot.com/2012/10/monday-munch-write-list.html" target="_blank">In Short, Stories</a>, as well as a suggestion by the talented <a href="http://dotalanecdotes.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mrs. H</a>, I decided to keep an ongoing list of everything that Little Bug has licked, bit, slobbered on, or otherwise nommed today. Just for funsies.<br />
<br />
And it's quite a list. Little Bug spends most of his waking hours putting various things in his mouth, like most babies his age I suppose. And if he can't put it in his mouth, he puts his mouth on it! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8NWLZRm9ZXmsEabaqTYvUbfGfnrqKcfthLAiL_AG1d1OVu1_0cVzyecaPVe7lJJUcFYXePEkpv-BdB9ccKpXBSxB6KoJDhmUj8HPnb-qnnVM1h5BwkN2k6mcg95nKlMsSQ5oYbTG5lrX/s1600/2012-10-16+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8NWLZRm9ZXmsEabaqTYvUbfGfnrqKcfthLAiL_AG1d1OVu1_0cVzyecaPVe7lJJUcFYXePEkpv-BdB9ccKpXBSxB6KoJDhmUj8HPnb-qnnVM1h5BwkN2k6mcg95nKlMsSQ5oYbTG5lrX/s320/2012-10-16+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Quesadilla triangles for grabby little hands</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Here's as complete of a list as I could manage. For the record, many of these things were taken away as soon as I realized he had gotten hold of them.<br />
<br />
my pillow<br />
cell phone<br />
nightstand<br />
computer mouse<br />
(clean) cloth diaper prefold<br />
banana<br />
daddy doll<br />
the straps of my Ergo baby carrier<br />
ballpoint pen<br />
<a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/107687235/nursing-necklace-teething-ring-neckalce" target="_blank">my teething necklace</a><br />
Swiss chard, cooked with onions, garlic, and an egg<br />
cheese quesadilla<br />
box of markers<br />
<i>WaveWinds</i> magazine<br />
various parts of me, including: fingers, toes, ear, shoulder, his milk source, leg, etc.<br />
(closed) tube of baby sunscreen<br />
the couch<br />
various toys<br />
cloth napkin<br />
various books, including: <i>But Not the Hippopotamus</i>, <i>A Little Sip of Chicken Soup for the Soul</i>,<br />
<i> Outside Over There</i>, <i>Global Babies</i>, & <i>Halloween ABC</i><br />
his own fingers & toes<br />
today's junk mail<br />
dinnertime vegetable medley: carrots, broccoli, green beans, summer squash<br />
my water cup<br />
his water cup<br />
car keys<br />
washing machine<br />
bath tub<br />
wash clothHolly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-38639050488375285432012-10-05T09:09:00.000-07:002012-10-05T09:09:20.276-07:00Going against the normI've noticed it's not uncommon for parents to try to do things differently, "better," the second (or third) time around.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>"My first baby was induced a week before her due date, I got an epidural because I couldn't handle labor, and we almost had to get a c-section. This time, I hired a midwife so I can give birth at home."</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>"We used disposable diapers last time; no one ever told me cloth was so much cheaper and easier!"</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>"We used a cry-it-out approach with our first, but I've read so much since then... This time, we'll be using a gentler approach."</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I think it's easier to try something new, something less "mainstream," when your first experience was a bad one. You have time and conviction on your side. What I don't hear many people talk about is how hard it is to buck tradition with your first. When you don't have bad memories, complications, regrets, or even vague doubts on your side, it can be hard to deal with others who don't understand why you're not just doing things the "normal" way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We chose to have our son at home, and I firmly believe that the only reason we didn't get more grief ahead of time was because we didn't really tell anyone. Afterwards, most of the responses we got were positive. Some people called me a rock star for having a baby without drugs at home, omg, while others congratulated me on sticking to my convictions. Interestingly, most of the negative responses I got were from medical professionals; the pediatrician I took Little Bug to for his three-day checkup seemed unable to comprehend why I would voluntarily give birth at home, while the one I saw a week later took less issue with the birth itself than with the fact that I didn't transfer to a hospital afterwards. When I went to the emergency room to get my Rhogam shot (this was the easiest way, since I had stopped seeing an OB months ago), the triage nurse looked at me like I was crazy and asked, "But it wasn't planned that way, right?" My stock response became <i>I had a very fast labor,</i> providing an explanation without any further information, neither confirming or denying my reasons or lack thereof. Amazing how quickly I learned to give vague answers and let people draw their own conclusions.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Even before the birth, my "alternative" ideals came up against opposition. I knew long before I got pregnant in the first place that I wanted to go natural; no epidural for me. It didn't take long for me to stop vocalizing that idea to others. "Oh, everybody says that the first time around," well-meaning but condescending women would tell me. "Trust me, you'll want the epidural." I knew what I wanted, and I truly believed I could give birth with out medication. But against that kind of all-knowing negativity, with no experience on my side, what am I supposed to say? End result was that I softened my stance a little, even while knowing the truth on the inside. I was at least going to try, I said, and even that was met with a nasty little smile. "Just you wait," they said. I was strong enough to ignore those comments, and smart enough to stop openly verbalizing my ideas without first feeling out my audience.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But in retrospect, there's something very sad about being uncomfortable talking about things without first knowing that my thoughts would be well-received.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's so easy to have doubts, even if in your heart you believe you're doing the right thing. I did not have a single ultrasound during my pregnancy. Not one. They are so commonplace nowadays that many women get one at every appointment. My insurance didn't cover them unless they were "medically necessary," and the OB I was seeing early on volunteered to "make up" a reason if I wanted one! So many people don't realize that, in many cases, an ultrasound isn't necessary. They are a relatively recent technology, and women have been growing babies for most of human history without them. One of my books told me that for the baby in the womb, undergoing an ultrasound is similar to being in a subway tunnel; the decibel level of what the baby hears is that high. I also read that there really haven't been any long-term studies on the fetal effects of ultrasound. (Don't ask me where I read these tidbits. I read a lot of books and web articles and blogs during my pregnancy.) I knew that I didn't want an ultrasound, although I would have willingly undergone one had my midwife thought it necessary. (Interestingly enough, at one point she did. My fundal height didn't seem to match the estimated due date, and she was thinking we might have it wrong. My appointment was for the day after I ended up going into labor.) And yet, even with all I knew, all I had read, I still doubted myself, deeply and frequently. What if there was something wrong? What if my baby was malformed? What if there was some disorder that could be detected through an ultrasound? Some days, I felt like I was trying to reassure myself that I had made the right decision. When everyone is asking how the ultrasounds looked, asking me to post pictures on my Facebook page or posting their own, when I didn't know a single person who <i>didn't</i> get an ultrasound themselves during their pregnancy, it was easy to doubt myself. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Of course, everything turned out fine. Ten fingers and ten toes, no problems whatsoever, a picture of health. But that doesn't mean I didn't doubt myself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When it comes to dealing with these subjects that I worry will garner negative responses from others, I find there are three main ways I talk about them. The first is to not talk about them at all. I didn't talk about my decision to have a home birth with many. I (wisely) didn't mention to any of Little Bug's pediatricians that we were co-sleeping. Sometimes not talking is a good decision (it's not worth the lecture from the doctors), but sometimes I feel like my reticence is contributing to the problem.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes I give vague answers, like my stock response about having a fast labor, and let others think what they will. When the pediatrician asked if he got the vitamin K drops at birth, my response was that the baby got "everything he needed" at birth from my midwife. (Again, not worth the lecture.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And sometimes, more frequently than I'd like, I try to blow things off. So many people seem to think that babies need to be fit conveniently around their own schedule that heaven forbid we inconvenience ourselves for them. Cloth diapers? So much cheaper than disposables, and when they're nursing they're so very easy to wash! Babywearing? Much more convenient than lugging around a stroller! Baby-led weaning? I've no time for pureeing foods, and letting him feed himself is much easier than bothering with a spoon. Co-sleeping? I get more sleep when he's right next to me; it's so much easier to get him back to sleep after he nurses when I don't have to put him back in a crib! I have a friend who practices elimination communication (which we dabble in), and the only time I've seen her publicly mention it on Facebook was with the caveat that it saved on diapers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Why do we do this? Because we don't want to get lectured by the "professionals." Because parenting issues are already so polarizing and we don't want to be drawn into arguments. Because our family might not approve. Because we have doubts about our own decisions. Because it's not what "everyone else" does. Lots of reasons, I guess. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I, for one, would love to be able to have more honest, open conversations about the choices I've made and the things I do for my baby. And yet, there are so many topics I am simply uncomfortable discussing, even if I know I'm making the right choices for me and mine. I can only hope that as I get more parenting experience under my belt, I will become more confident in my decisions and more willing to discuss these things with others. Otherwise, how will some of these things become more acceptable in the mainstream?</div>
Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-75240689781675534362012-09-30T21:27:00.000-07:002012-09-30T21:27:27.104-07:00Week in Review: Sept. 23-29, 2012San Diego continues to be gross and hot, weather-wise, although it's getting cooler at night; I actually had to pull a second blanket up the last few nights to keep me warm! Now if only Little Bug would consent to keeping a blanket tucked around him too, then perhaps he wouldn't wake up as often. Ah well. Fall will come for real one of these days. I'll just keep telling myself that.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Q86xM2bHa_oqN0N-QMzb_LivTSp8WiO4NHoKEw8I6KrHiQ30UFqcwL4tXB0K4fTdNYkwM0ILPdTzdz-NP7ySr-tFe-fJ8N6ZVi5PQKAFI1MPL5x53CgBQC6vNMH4ZoEQQ9rmU4aIcea1/s1600/2012-09-29+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Q86xM2bHa_oqN0N-QMzb_LivTSp8WiO4NHoKEw8I6KrHiQ30UFqcwL4tXB0K4fTdNYkwM0ILPdTzdz-NP7ySr-tFe-fJ8N6ZVi5PQKAFI1MPL5x53CgBQC6vNMH4ZoEQQ9rmU4aIcea1/s320/2012-09-29+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At Cabrillo National Monument</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h4>
What I'm Reading</h4>
<h3>
<a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/parenting/should-parents-be-disappointed-when-they-want-a-girl-and-get-a-boy/article4557616/">Should parents be disappointed when they want a girl and get a boy?</a></h3>
<h3>
The Globe and Mail</h3>
"Many mothers and fathers hardly realize that they have gender hopes – until the sex of their child is revealed and they learn that they were harbouring expectations all along. While not an official diagnosis, “gender disappointment,” a private feeling of shock and dejection, washes over some parents when they envision life with a boy or a girl, only to birth a child of the opposite sex."<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://mothering.com/all-things-mothering/mothering/motherhood/hey-stay-home-moms-what-have-you-been-doing-all-day" target="_blank">Hey, Stay Home Moms (and Dads) - What Have You Been Doing All Day?</a></h3>
<h3>
mothering.com</h3>
"Considered dinner choices. Decided to use up the leftover roast in a potpie rather than open the just-bought ingredients. Elbow deep in piecrust prep, I realized the baby was too quiet. Looked around the corner to find her eating a stick of butter. Washed my hands, scooped her up and got smeared by butter and her leaking diaper."<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://jennifermargulis.net/blog/2012/09/12-reasons-why-the-aap-is-right-and-you-should-circumcise-your-infant-son/" target="_blank">12 Reasons Why the AAP is Right and You Should Circumcise Your Infant Son</a></h3>
<h3>
Jennifer Margulis: Sticking My Neck Out</h3>
"8. You plan to dye his hair black and buy him green contact lenses to match Daddy’s so you want his penis to match Daddy’s too."<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
<a href="http://www.conscienceparenting.com/2012/09/28/the-booger/" target="_blank">The Booger</a></h3>
<h3>
Conscience Parenting</h3>
"But as soon as I swoop in he freaks out like I am about to murder a kitten. If I am in public, people look at me. And then I’m all…<br /><i>I don’t need to get it. It is just a booger.</i>"<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<h4>
What I've Been Eating</h4>
</div>
<div>
Barley and Pepper Chili (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Everything-Vegan-Cookbook-Series/dp/1440502161/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1349065251&sr=8-2&keywords=everything+vegan" target="_blank">The Everything Vegan Cookbook</a> by Jolinda Hackett)<br />
<a href="http://cookforgood.squarespace.com/recipe/homemade-no-knead-good-whisk-bread-part-1.html" target="_blank">Good Whisk Bread</a> (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wildly-Affordable-Organic-Fabulous-Planet--All/dp/073821468X" target="_blank">Wildly Affordable Organic</a> by Linda Watson)<br />
<a href="http://thisbountifulbackyard.com/2012/08/29/cantaloupe-jam/" target="_blank">Cantaloupe Jam</a> (<a href="http://www.foodinjars.com/the-cookbook/" target="_blank">Food in Jars</a> by Marisa McClellan)<br />
<a href="http://vegweb.com/recipes/fragrant-eggplant" target="_blank">Fragrant Eggplant</a> (vegweb.com)<br />
Shortbread Cookies (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Betty-Crocker-Cookbook-Recipes-Crockers/dp/0470906022/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1349065388&sr=8-1&keywords=betty+crocker" target="_blank">Betty Crocker Cookbook</a>)</div>
<div>
<br />
<br /></div>
Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-14407065821059118812012-09-28T19:55:00.000-07:002012-09-28T19:55:35.213-07:00Dealing with the First DeploymentWe're coming up on a month now since D left on his first deployment; we were told it would be an eight-month deployment, but there's always the chance that it might get extended. (I hope not!) Little Bug and I are adapting well enough, although for whatever reason his daddy's departure messed his sleep "schedule" up. Has *not* wanted to go to bed for the past few weeks, but that's slowly getting better.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Thought I'd pontificate on some of the methods we're using to deal with the separation.<br />
<br />
<b>Phone calls.</b> These don't happen very often, and are completely unpredictable when they do. Still, hearing D's voice always brightens my day, and when I put him on speakerphone, Little Bug's face inevitably lights up in a big ol' smile.<br />
<br />
<b>Email.</b> These help me more than they help Bug, but they are invaluable to me; they are my primary form of communication with my husband while he's on deployment. I email almost every day, although he's so busy that he doesn't always get to respond in kind; I also know there will be periods when I may go days or maybe even weeks without hearing from him. That's going to suck.<br />
<br />
<b>Care packages.</b> How else is a good wife to show her love for her man except by sending him goodies, specifically food? And anything else he specifically requests too, of course! I know D doesn't have much space for personal belongings on the ship, so it's actually best (in my opinion) to send mostly consumables. The postal service's flat rate boxes are definitely the best way to go. These are always free at the nearest post office; you only pay for shipping, and sending the largest to a military address is less than $15. It's worth noting that if you call USPS to order supplies, you can request a special kit for military families, which comes with boxes and tape and labels and such and is completely FREE, delivered to your door. You have to call in for this kit though; the number is 1-800-610-8734. It's also worth noting that when you send packages to deployed service members, you have to fill out a customs form. They're a bit of a pain, but between the person I talked to at the post office and <a href="http://www.skipcares.org/228/care-packages/customs-form/" target="_blank">this website with a picture tutorial</a>, I managed okay. <br />
<br />
<b>Videos.</b> Before D left, he recorded a bunch of pictures of himself reading poems for me to show Little Bug. The original idea was for them to be a bedtime thing, but Bug isn't always interested in sitting still and watching a video when he's tired, so I often just show them whenever I have my computer on and he's willing to sit (relatively) still for a few minutes. He loves these! There's also a program called <a href="http://www.unitedthroughreading.org/" target="_blank">United Through Reading</a> which allows sailors to record videos of themselves reading stories while on deployment, which then get mailed back to the families at home as a DVD. I learned about this through my FRG and promptly told D, who is (hopefully) trying to find out how he can get involved!<br />
<br />
<b>Photo book.</b> I ordered a photo book from <a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/" target="_blank">Shutterfly</a> that is filled with pictures of Little Bug and D together. We look through it almost every day, although some days Bug's hands are just too grabby and I don't want him to rip the pages. There is a program through the <a href="http://uso.rocketlifeproduction.com/" target="_blank">USO that allows you to send free photo books</a> (from a different company) to any military address too; perfect to send a little something to someone stationed abroad or on a ship somewhere!<br />
<br />
<b>Daddy Doll.</b> I also ordered a <a href="https://www.daddydolls.com/" target="_blank">Daddy Doll</a> for Little Bug to cuddle, since he can't cuddle with his daddy for real. It's basically a good quality stuffed doll featuring a full-length photo of his daddy. There are a wide variety of options as far as size and customization go, and you can even get a voice recorder to put in it. Little Bug loves his!<br />
<br />
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<br />
If you think about it, we're already almost 1/8 of the way through this deployment and managing just fine. Yes, it sucks, but we'll be okay. D and I have been together for nearly eight years; we're strong enough to last for an eight-month separation.Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-6683106282893718732012-09-23T06:34:00.000-07:002012-09-23T06:34:39.813-07:00Week in Review: Sept 16-22, 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Perhaps the reason why I don't post on here very often is because I spend what little "free" time I do have reading. I do read a lot of review books for San Francisco Book Review, and I read the reviews of others as I copy edit them. I read the stories of others as I edit them for freelance projects.<br />
<br />
And I read articles online. Lots of articles online.<br />
<br />
In my defense, reading stuff on the computer is one of the ways I get my sanity back after Little Bug is asleep at night, as I lie in bed next to him, as he sometimes remains attached to me because he fell asleep while nursing.<br />
<br />
And, of course, there are some nights when I don't read at all, because it took hours for the little guy to fall asleep. (Had one of those last weekend. I blame a combination of teething and still adjusting to his daddy's deployment.)<br />
<br />
When I'm not reading, I'm probably cooking. Or trying to, anyway. I don't want to start living on processed foods while D is gone, but it is pretty difficult to cook with a seven-and-a-half-month-old who would much rather play with (and on) mommy than with his toys.<br />
<br />
Anyway. In an effort to actually post things more often, here are some of the things I've been up to this week.<br />
<br />
<h4>
What I'm Reading</h4>
<h3>
<a href="http://mothering.com/all-things-mothering/mothering/motherhood/it-takes-a-villiage" target="_blank">It Takes a Village</a> </h3>
<h3>
mothering.com</h3>
"Some days are harder than others. Some days all I have accomplished is my children being fed and watered and diapers are changed. And, some days, that is a feat in itself. Those days are hard, because you feel like you are the only one who is struggling…you are the only one who sometimes feels that you signed up for way too much and you just aren’t cut out for this job. You wonder if you will ever get a peaceful shower again, or a full nights sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about the days before these little beauties were in your life. You kick yourself for ever taking for granted sleeping in until 8, or being able to sit down for dinner, or watch whatever the hell you want to on TV."<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://birthingbeautifulideas.com/?p=5562" target="_blank">Eight Months Old: Sleepless in Columbus</a> </h3>
<h3>
Birthing Beautiful Ideas</h3>
"You nurse a lot and you eat some solid foods (Baby Mum Mums and avocado and pumpkin are you favorites) and you don’t seem sick and your teeth might be coming in and you are certainly going through some growth and development spurts and you seem generally happy but I’m so worn out. Sometimes you seem worn out too."<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://mothering.com/peggyomara/vaccines/vaccine-exemptions-under-attack" target="_blank">Vaccine Exemptions Under Attack</a> </h3>
<h3>
mothering.com</h3>
"The US has a century old tradition of accepting conscientious objection to medical procedures and all medical associations support, in principle, the doctrine of informed consent. Informed consent specifically states that one must not be coerced into making a decision and that one may decline a treatment or procedure. Further, the right to decline a treatment is not contingent on the effectiveness of that treatment. Does our tradition of informed consent not apply to vaccines?"<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2198918/As-plans-cut-epidurals-cause-furore-JENNI-MURRAY-says--Get-real-girls-Pain-childbirth.html">As plans to cut down on epidurals cause a furore, JENNI MURRAY says... Get real, girls! Pain is part of childbirth</a> </h3>
<h3>
Daily Mail</h3>
"We’ve learned to feel shame about our bodies and about sex — and nothing requires a woman to open up the part of her that is meant to be so private like delivering a baby. We’ve learned to hand responsibility for our health to doctors, rather than trust our instincts."<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://www.thehealthyhomeeconomist.com/harvard-study-confirms-lowered-iq-in-children-exposed-to-fluoride/" target="_blank">Harvard Study Confirms Lower IQ in Children Exposed to Flouride</a> </h3>
<h3>
the Healthy Home Economist</h3>
"The strong evidence that fluoride negatively impacts children’s neurological development and actually lowers their IQ just keeps growing and growing."<br />
<br />
<br />
<h4>
What I'm Eating</h4>
<a href="http://happyherbivore.com/2009/08/green-bean-casserole/" target="_blank">Skillet Green Bean Casserole</a> (from happyherbivore.com)<br />
Tofu Ratatouille (from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-Vegetarian-Slow-Cooker-Recipes/dp/0778801047/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347896779&sr=8-1&keywords=125+best+vegetarian+slow+cooker+recipes" target="_blank">125 Best Vegetarian Slow Cooker Recipes</a>)<br />
Savory Black-Eyed Peas (from <a href="http://rareseeds.com/OurBooks" target="_blank">The Baker Creek Vegan Cookbook</a>)Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-22403438894458542422012-09-21T20:56:00.003-07:002012-09-21T20:56:51.068-07:00Endless snugglesHaving a baby has taught me that there is no end to the amount of times I can fall in love. Seriously. I know it sounds corny, but every time I think I can't possibly love my son more than I already do, he does something that just makes my heart swell up a little more.<br />
<br />
There are times, many times, every day, that I just want to cuddle him close and snuggle him endlessly.<br />
<br />
Like when he's fallen asleep while nursing, and I shift positions slightly and he raises one little hand as if to say, "Whoa, hold up there."<br />
<br />
Or when he wakes up first thing in the morning, and upon making eye contact with me his face brightens up with one of his bright sunshine smiles.<br />
<br />
When he's asleep in one of my baby carriers, strapped to my chest, and leans his head back as if he were looking at me even though he's still asleep.<br />
<br />
When he wakes up and, after that smile, proceeds to roll over onto his tummy, crawl furiously towards me, and then try to dive into my rib cage.<br />
<br />
When I go to give him a kiss and am greeted not by his cheek, as I was expecting, but instead by his tongue.<br />
<br />
When I'm lying on the floor and he crawls over and props himself up on my chest so that he can try to nom my nose.<br />
<br />
When we're in the car and he's gently talking to whichever toy I've given him to entertain himself with, and over the faint sounds of NPR I can hear him saying "Oh... ah... eh... ah."<br />
<br />
When I offer him a bite of whatever I'm eating, and he rolls it around his mouth before pronouncing it good by saying "ahhm... ahhm..." and reaching out for more.<br />
<br />
When he's unhappy and fussing but quiets down immediately as soon as I start singing.<br />
<br />
When he's taking a bath and delighting in the way the water splashes as he kicks his little feet.<br />
<br />
When I offer him a new or different toy, and he takes it, examines it for a moment, and then slowly brings it up to his expectantly open mouth.<br />
<br />
When I get something cold to drink, and he greedily licks the condensation off the side of the glass.<br />
<br />
When I kiss the side of his neck or the bottoms of his feet and am rewarded with a giggle.<br />
<br />
When he falls asleep clutching my arm as though it were the softest stuffed animal in the world.<br />
<br />
When I show him a video of his daddy reading to him, and his face absolutely lights up.<br />
<br />
Endless snuggles. *sigh*<br />
<br />
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<br />Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-17259365395031066372012-09-14T20:04:00.001-07:002012-09-14T20:04:31.540-07:00Getting over my own birth fears<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
If you know me know, if you've heard me
ramble excitedly about how positive and empowering my experience was
in giving birth to my son, you might find this next statement
surprising.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The idea of having a baby used to scare
me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And not just the part about raising the
baby either. Nope, the idea of growing said baby in my belly was
pretty scary too. What if I screwed it up somehow? And actually
giving birth? Completely terrifying.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For many years, I told people I didn't
want kids. At the time, I actually believed it, hiding fervently
behind my rebellious teen bravado. Who wants kids? I want to stay
young forever!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And for awhile, after admitting that
raising children wouldn't necessarily be all bad, I would say that I
wanted to adopt someday. There are so many unwanted children in the
world; why have my own when I could love one of them?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then I got married. And while we
didn't actively discuss having children for the first few years of
our relationship, the topic inevitably came up. And guess what? He
wanted kids of his own. And guess what else? Somehow, the idea of
having babies, my own babies, with this man, the love of my live, was
acceptable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That doesn't mean it wasn't scary. The
worst part was the idea of labor and childbirth. And having grown up
with glossy media images of women screaming in pain, endless
complications, and “typical” hospital births effectively managed
by detached unfeeling doctors, the fact that I was scared isn't
really surprising.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In all honesty, I didn't really allow
myself to think about it much until I was actually pregnant myself.
I quit taking my birth control pills at the end of 2010 and, not
surprisingly, I discovered I was pregnant in the summer of 2011. As
the reality set in, my mind wanted to panic, but I wouldn't let it.
Pregnancy itself, I could handle. I've never smoked cigarettes, I
immediately stopped my sporadic alcohol consumption, and I was
already the picture of health due to a whole-foods (and vegetarian)
diet and love of personal fitness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And labor and birth? The first step in
overcoming an irrational fear like mine was education. So I started
reading.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And you know what? The more I read,
the more comfortable I got with the idea. I read about pain, about
natural (non-drug) methods of handling it, of the effects of an
epidural on both mama and baby. I read about my options of where to
birth: hospital, home, birth center. I read about differences in
care between midwives and OBGYNs. I read about potential
complications. I read about the “cascade” of interventions so
commonly experienced in hospital settings. I read about prenatal
nutrition and the benefits of continued exercise. I read about
delayed cord clamping versus cord blood banking. I read about the
potential risks of ultrasounds that nobody tells you about, and I
read that even the American Congress of Obstetricians and
Gynecologists only recommends them if medically indicated, and not as
a routine procedure. I read about gestational diabetes. I read
about circumcision. I read about being Rh negative and the use of
Rhogam. I read about all of this and much, much, much more.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I read books; among others, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ina-Mays-Guide-Childbirth-Gaskin/dp/0553381156/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347678155&sr=8-1&keywords=ina+may%27s+guide+to+childbirth" target="_blank">Ina May'sGuide to Childbirth</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Birthing-Better-Way-Childbirth-Nonfiction/dp/1574412981/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1347678187&sr=1-1&keywords=birthing+a+better+way" target="_blank">Birthing a Better Way</a> were indescribably
helpful to me. I read blogs; <a href="http://birthwithoutfearblog.com/" target="_blank">Birth Without Fear</a> and <a href="http://mamabirth.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mama Birth</a>
helped me to believe that my body could do this. I watched movies;
there's a reason that anybody and everybody who is interested in
natural childbirth has seen <a href="http://www.thebusinessofbeingborn.com/" target="_blank">The Business of Being Born</a>. I talked to
people: my mama, my sister, my midwife, my friends.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And honestly, all of the reading I did
was much more educational than the birth class I took, the one that
was offered for free on the military base at Great Lakes. In that
class, D and I were the only couple that had hired a midwife, the
only couple that didn't plan on birthing in a hospital. I think one
other woman said she didn't want pain medication (I think there were
six or seven other couples taking the class with us), and one said
she'd “see how long she could handle it.” One was planning a
c-section (for a good reason; I think she had placenta previa). We
were the only vegetarians, the only ones who knew what a doula was,
the only ones who knew the names of the most commonly-used drugs for
induction, the only ones who knew that a cesarean section
necessitated cutting through seven layers of tissue, the only ones
who knew that getting an epidural required getting a catheter too. I
think we were the only ones made uncomfortable by the idea of
continuous fetal monitoring requiring an electrode screwed into the
scalp of my baby. We were definitely the only ones who realized that
the care of a midwife is actually substantially less expensive than
the traditional hospital birth route; the teacher was rather
condescending when she implied that we hadn't thought through the
financial ramifications of our decision, and D and I definitely did
not appreciate that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And in the end, here is what I
realized.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Labor and birth are different for every
woman. They are not something to be feared.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Be comfortable in your environment. If
you are scared or uncomfortable, if you can't relax, your body will
know it and labor will likely take longer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You will feel contractions. They will
likely be uncomfortable at the least, painful at the worst.
Remember, though, that unless your contractions are artificially
augmented with Pitocin or another induction drug, these contractions
are caused by your body. They have a purpose, and you can handle
them. Your body won't throw anything at you that you aren't capable
of handling.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Your cervix will efface (thin out) and
dilate (open up). This may take hours or it may take days. It will
take however long your body needs it to take.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Your body will tell you when to push.
When you feel that urge, follow it. Don't try to hold back, and
likewise don't try to push if your body isn't telling you to.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don't over-think the process of birth.
Let the rational part of your mind step back. Your body knows what
it's doing; let it happen!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Above all, believe in your own ability
to birth. Your body was made to do this! Birth is normal. Birth is
natural.</div>
Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-22001726975441956142012-07-29T21:01:00.000-07:002012-08-03T20:20:25.681-07:00On copy editing<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxj0mNNCg5zsNyjD8MojUuLNo6ufHIaRzknG8VpZiuv1DyzxpdW8o1r48wE3GlNTTajjnetOYj_aDtBeLr0AWntesPY4JwcVej3sgJsz-BIeE95g0U6XqicOVwF2Xe_BKLg0o9gF7BfWKj/s1600/Photo0177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxj0mNNCg5zsNyjD8MojUuLNo6ufHIaRzknG8VpZiuv1DyzxpdW8o1r48wE3GlNTTajjnetOYj_aDtBeLr0AWntesPY4JwcVej3sgJsz-BIeE95g0U6XqicOVwF2Xe_BKLg0o9gF7BfWKj/s320/Photo0177.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>An unrelated picture of my cat.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lately, I have been doing some
freelance work as a copy editor. [Unrelated Note: D and I were
talking recently about the origins of the phrase “freelance.” He
was mostly right. See <a href="http://www.freelanceadvisor.co.uk/lifestyle-and-timeout/what-is-the-origin-of-the-word-freelance/" target="_blank">here</a>.] I'm not a content editor; instead, I
really only care about the basic tenets of language: grammar,
punctuation, spelling. I point out when the author has used the
wrong word (since vs. because, there/their/they're, etc.), I delete
unnecessary commas, I fix words so that verb tenses are consistent
throughout.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I add in semicolons where appropriate.
My senior year high school English teacher made the point that using
semicolons—correctly—makes you look smarter. And it's true,
especially since most people don't know how. Add this to the list of
important facts to know about me: I am a big fan of the semicolon.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In reality, most of these issues should
have already been caught by the book's normal editor. But sometimes
simple errors are overlooked; having a fresh pair of eyes look the
material over can mean the difference between writing “bowl of pea
soup” instead of “bowel of pea soup.” (Yes, I did see the
latter in a published book once. It was a<a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/2011/12/self-published-books-are-not-my-best.html" target="_blank"> self-published book</a>, but
still.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So here's something that's been sort of
bugging me lately. I read a lot of blog posts. I used to be
addicted to food blogs. (I still am, to a lesser extent.) Now,
after the arrival of Little Bug, I spend a lot of time reading blogs
about babies. I read about parenting issues, breastfeeding, politics
related to parenting and reproductive rights, pregnancy, and birth
stories. (<a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/2012/03/birth-story.html" target="_blank">Read mine here!</a>) I read reviews of parenting and/or
pregnancy books, editorials on the “mommy wars,” and the
arguments for and against controversial topics like vaccinations or
circumcision.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I read a lot. When I have time to,
anyway; most of my reading is done in the hour or so at night after
Little Bug has gone to sleep and before I decide to join him in
slumber.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And you know what really gets to me
about some of these blogs I read? The fact that many of them
obviously haven't been edited beyond the spelling/grammar check that
comes built into every word processing program.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yes, yes, I know—this should not be a
big issue. And it isn't. Run-on sentences and incorrectly used
words don't take away from the overall message, so long as I can
still understand what the writer is trying to say. But they do
distract me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Back when I was in high school, my mama
and I would sometimes take a red pen to notices received in the mail,
or even the newspaper, and correct any errors we could find in
spelling, punctuation, and grammar. (My mama, when she gets to
talking about this to others, fondly points out that my favorite
thing to edit was the principal's bulletin from the school
newsletters.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sometimes I'll be reading a blog post
and get a similar urge. I want to print some of these posts out and
take my red pen to them. Not because I don't respect what the author
has to say. Not because I don't understand the post. Simply because
bad grammar and punctuation bother me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So this is just food for thought, I
suppose. If you have a blog, you might consider taking a second look
at what you write before you post it. Read it over again, keeping an
eye out for rogue commas or simple misspellings that your word
processor might have overlooked. It might not make a noticeable
difference, but I believe it will reflect better on you as a writer.</div>Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-31193834899346010762012-07-09T09:50:00.000-07:002012-07-09T09:50:46.545-07:00Rant: Customer service, part one.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;">When did companies stop caring about
good customer service?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It seems like in the past few months, D
and I have dealt with a surprising number of companies that just
don't seem to understand the concept of good customer service. My
biggest complaint by far has been that the representatives we speak
with say they'll follow up with us but then never do. When did it
become okay to not return phone calls?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>I. PODS</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I first moved from California to
Illinois, back in May of 2011, I used <a href="https://www.pods.com/" target="_blank">PODS</a> to transport our household
belongings. It seemed like the best option at the time. I had to
remove all of our stuff from our house, as we had tenants moving in
immediately after I left, and I didn't yet have an apartment in
Illinois for our stuff to be sent to.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My experience was great. It was a
little pricey, but the box was dropped off at my house on time,
picked up once I had it filled, and then delivered to our apartment
in Illinois within three days of my move-in. Overall, I was very
happy with the service PODS provided.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So when it came time to move to San
Diego, again without a dwelling lined up ahead of time, it seemed
only natural that we go back to PODS again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Next time we move, I'll be going with a
different moving company.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To start off, due to a minor
misunderstanding with the paperwork, we did not receive our container
until two days after we were supposed to. (Keep in mind that we only
had two weeks total to get our belongings packed and on their way
before we, too, were on our way.) Consequently, we had to request
that they leave the box there an extra day before pick up; they
basically wanted to drop it off one day and pick it up a little over
a day later.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After arriving in San Diego and
securing a new apartment, we had to wait over a week for our
belongings to show up. Our container showed up on a Monday morning,
thankfully after D was home from base for the day. Since this was a
military move, we had paid extra for PODS to weigh the container,
both empty before it was dropped off in Illinois and full before it
was delivered to us in San Diego. Thankfully, D thought to ask about
the weight ticket before we started unloading; the driver had NOT, in
fact, had it weighed, and we had to wait an hour for him to go
perform this task.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our belongings were unloaded without a
hitch, by the heroic efforts of D and with a little help from some
friends of ours who had moved to California about a month or so
before we did.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The issue with the full weight ticket
brought up another question: why had we not received an empty weight
ticket? Because PODS had not weighed the container in Illinois
either, of course! Mind you, this was our first “real” military
move together, and the military WOULD NOT reimburse us for the costs
of the do-it-yourself move without these weight tickets. D put a
call in to PODS to try to rectify this situation. After several
calls on his part (because no one bothered to call him back), he
found someone who would get a weight ticket put together, and would
scan and email it to us. After a few more follow-up calls, D
actually received this email.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The weight ticket we received had the
date it was made, rather than the date we had received the container.
It also was from San Diego, rather than our point of origin in
Illinois.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thankfully, this did not seem to be a
problem for the Navy. (Maybe they didn't notice?) We sent it in
anyway, since we were running out of time to get our paperwork
together, and they came back asking for a different contract but with
no questions regarding the weight tickets.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Next time we move, I think we'll try
one of PODS' competitors.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVS9KAbQ_Abn-SmDSdzVNjHbTxLxBct5QHQ3wpXc68VMjEcMuqg6OvdKYSYgmUHXk8gWzL0EliGnf0G5MSbsFCck0eA_Z9w18r-GCXIw3_pzD3joKkX3PiGr_B7xQXEAHX9zyMZOvKM2i/s1600/2012-06-29+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVS9KAbQ_Abn-SmDSdzVNjHbTxLxBct5QHQ3wpXc68VMjEcMuqg6OvdKYSYgmUHXk8gWzL0EliGnf0G5MSbsFCck0eA_Z9w18r-GCXIw3_pzD3joKkX3PiGr_B7xQXEAHX9zyMZOvKM2i/s320/2012-06-29+(5).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Say what?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>II. Carmax</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In April, after we had received verbal
orders for our move but before D had hard copies in his hand, we
decided it was time to purchase a new car. Our POS Volvo, bought at
a car auction shortly after I arrived in Illinois, had served us
well, but there was simply no way it would be able to handle a drive
across the country.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As with PODS, D and I had previously
had a good experience with buying a car from<a href="http://www.carmax.com/" target="_blank"> Carmax</a>. We bought a VW
Golf from the Carmax dealership in Roseville, California, a number of
years ago. (This car is currently living out a quiet retirement in
the possession of one of my besties back up in the Bay Area.) The
car worked great; we had no major problems with it so long as D
continued to perform the routine maintenance on it. We financed it
through Carmax (probably for too high of an interest rate) and paid
it off on schedule.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we thought it seemed like a good
idea to look to Carmax for our next purchase. After all, we wanted
something reliable that could handle our road trip. Something roomy,
since we would be traveling with a baby and a cat. And, my biggest
caveat, something with a manual transmission; I hate driving
automatic, and after a year of the Volvo with its automatic
transmission, I was ready to get back to stick.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Beyond that, I pretty much left the
decision to D; after all, he is an ASE master technician, and he
certainly knows cars better than I ever want to. He settled on a
small SUV, a Mazda Tribute, which we had shipped to the Carmax in
Kenosha, Wisconsin. The purchase went off without a hitch. It took
a little longer than I might have liked, but we eventually headed
home sans Volvo in our shiny new Mazda.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A little under a month later, on the
<a href="http://plentifulthoughtsofmiscellany.blogspot.com/2012/05/road-trip-diary-day-1.html" target="_blank">first day of our road trip</a>, the power window regulator went out. For
the rest of the trip, I was unable to roll my window down (unless I
wanted it all the way down), and we had folded maps jammed into the
window frame to keep it closed. After getting settled into our
apartment in San Diego, I contacted the <a href="http://www.carmax.com/enus/locations/california-used-kearny-mesa-7653.html" target="_blank">Carmax in Kearny Mesa</a> to see
about repairs. Naturally, they wouldn't accept my husband's
diagnosis of the problem; I had to first take the car in for them to
figure it out on their own. (I don't blame them for this. They
didn't know D probably knows more about cars than whatever poor tech
they assigned to the task.) After a few hours of waiting, the
service manager announced that, shockingly, was indeed the power
window regulator that was out. No, they did not have the part in
stock. It would arrive later that afternoon or on the next business
day. Yes, someone would call me once it arrived to schedule a
follow-up appointment.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
About a week later, after no follow-up
call was received, I called back on my own. I was informed that the
part had arrived a few days ago. No explanation was offered for why
no one had called me. I made the appointment and the part was
installed with no further problems. To Carmax's credit, they
accepted my explanation of the part being covered under the 30 Day
Limited Warranty without question, and they did not try to charge me
for any of it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But this was only one of the problems
we had with Carmax. The other concerned the license plate and
vehicle registration. When we were originally discussing the
purchase with our sales representative, it had been determined that
we would transfer the plates from our Volvo to the Mazda. Then for
whatever reason, after the paperwork was printed out but before we
signed, that decision was changed: we would be receiving new license
plates for the Mazda, and would be refunded the $25 transfer fee at
some point in the near future. The representative wrote a note on
the contract, we were given the old license plates for posterity, and
we were told that once Carmax received the new plates they would be
sent to us via FedEx.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Fast forward to a week before we left
Illinois. No new plates had been received yet, so I called Carmax to
find out what was going on. I was told that someone would “look
into it,” and that I would receive a follow-up call shortly. Two
days later, after no such call was received, I called again. After
looking through the paperwork, the representative I spoke with
announced that paperwork had been filed with the DMV for a transfer
after all. Instead of new plates, Carmax was waiting on new
registration stickers, which would be sent to us upon receipt. I was
told to put the plates from the Volvo on the car for the time being.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We still had heard nothing by our move,
and so I had to call again. Again I was told someone would “look
into it,” and again no one bothered to call me back. My next call
netted me a new set of temporary license plates, as it had apparently
become unclear what paperwork had actually been submitted to the DMV.
After a few more days without a return phone call, I had truly had
enough. When I called back the next time, I requested a manager, who
was thankfully able to get something done. Within three days, I had
new plates for the Mazda, with registration stickers to match.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course, the registration we received
was completely blank except for the license plate number.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One more phone call, directly to the
manager this time (she had given me her extension), and I eventually
learned that this was what the DMV sent when they were behind on
paperwork. Still, D and I were reasonably sure the Navy would not
accept this explanation when we went to get our window decals to
access base. The manager agreed to try to send us something to help
our cause. The scanned forms we received a few days later thankfully
were sufficient for D to get permanent access to base.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We bought this car in early April.
Three months later, I still have not received an updated registration
paper. I suppose I should call again to ask about that...</div>Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-49736869031368868682012-06-07T20:29:00.000-07:002012-06-07T20:29:27.004-07:00Nighttime Nursing<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That first night after you were born, I
hardly slept at all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiObXvbgFne1CnMf9w1vWHAsfoPX2abefE5gh7kekEmSM6QuCqYkX0Ya7-7uQoMTiffimyfnrNCvRzUBMj7wI4nbCcd7afZUcz1BCLEAKXLiw4RS-l1-ca_t9qbYL79MTp69VL4u9TlLdig/s1600/2012-02-03+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiObXvbgFne1CnMf9w1vWHAsfoPX2abefE5gh7kekEmSM6QuCqYkX0Ya7-7uQoMTiffimyfnrNCvRzUBMj7wI4nbCcd7afZUcz1BCLEAKXLiw4RS-l1-ca_t9qbYL79MTp69VL4u9TlLdig/s320/2012-02-03+(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I certainly needed the sleep. Up all
night in labor, and then without a wink of sleep all day after, I was
surely exhausted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And yet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You were so new. New to yourself, new
to me. I was so happy just to have you here in my arms and out of my
belly that I wanted nothing more than to just hold you for hours and
hours. And that is exactly what I did. I have hazy, sleepy memories
of spending the better part of that night cuddling you to my chest,
watching in wonder as you dreamed baby dreams while nestled upon my
bosom. I drifted off a few times, soothed by the white noise D had
softly playing for you, but for most of that night I was content to
just watch you sleep.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But then the sleep deprivation started
to add up. I struggled to align my own need for sleep with the
simple fact that a newborn baby has a tiny belly which requires
frequent filling. After a few days, I felt like a zombie. An hour
of sleep here, two or three there. I had foolishly thought that
waking frequently to use the bathroom during my last few months of
pregnancy had prepared me somewhat for sleepless nights with a tiny
baby.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Was I ever wrong.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I began to dread waking up to your
hungry sounds, even as I tried desperately to soothe your needs
before you could wake your daddy. I hated having to turn on the
light, but we were both so new at nursing that our joint efforts
couldn't result in a successful latch if I couldn't see what I was
doing. I dreaded having to drag myself out of bed to arrange my
pillows and seat you in my lap. (We hadn't yet discovered the joys
of co-sleeping, and even if we had, we were nowhere close to any
success with side-lying nursing.)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No matter how many naps I took during
the day, with earplugs to ensure I didn't wake at your every noise
while your Gamma took care of you, I was still simply exhausted. I
was used to more sleep than this. I rejoiced every time you slept
for more than a few hours straight, but most of the time your
“schedule” was like clockwork. If I checked the time after you
finished nursing, you would inevitably be awake again in precisely
two hours.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Worse yet were the nights when my
supply was inadequate, as my body struggled to figure out exactly how
much you needed. I remember feeling something very near to despair
one night when you went from one side to the other, back and forth
for a few hours straight. Would this ever end? Were you getting
enough? It wasn't depression, because I know what that feels like.
But sometimes extreme sleep deprivation can feel very similar.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And what was that about nursing not
being painful? As this most sensitive part of my body adjusted to a
use it had always been intended for but never actually known before,
I was in agony. Every latch was torture, and at times I had to grit
my teeth through the duration of a nursing session, reminding myself
that I was nourishing you and that it would get easier. That's what
everyone told me anyway. It will get easier. I knew your latch was
good, the doctors said you weren't tongue-tied; I just needed to get
used to it, to toughen up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But I pressed on. It never occurred to
me to stop, to try something else. This was best for you, and if it
was providing you with what you needed, then I would keep on keeping
on. But oh, how it hurt sometimes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTOY8lkD6zLHgfx9DD6gnBujk_3rQbSp77uQ8P7HsaSQ51ulFSSrSIKycruXI_frRP0myGl4Gku209LRACnB3i8HAjQiALURhIse7eFuXFPx46k-BHZxXer2U9OTLXfVdX1B9iYruduV6/s1600/Photo0327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTOY8lkD6zLHgfx9DD6gnBujk_3rQbSp77uQ8P7HsaSQ51ulFSSrSIKycruXI_frRP0myGl4Gku209LRACnB3i8HAjQiALURhIse7eFuXFPx46k-BHZxXer2U9OTLXfVdX1B9iYruduV6/s320/Photo0327.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And yet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Somewhere along the way, without me
even noticing, I stopped dreading those nighttime nursing sessions.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Somewhere along the way, my body
adjusted itself to your sleep schedule. I found that so long as I
got a cumulative six hours or more of sleep, I could function during
the day. I was tired still, but I no longer felt like a zombie.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Somewhere along the way, the pain
subsided. It faded to discomfort while you nursed. Then it was just
discomfort as you latched on. Somehow, without me even really
noticing, it stopped feeling bad at all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And now, now that you sleep for longer
stretches at night and only (usually) wake a few times to nurse, now
that you've developed a real schedule of sorts, now that I've figured
out that I need to just go to bed when you do even if it's at 7 or 8
at night, now I treasure these quiet moments together.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love the sleepy hungry sounds you
make, and I love knowing that I can (usually) wake up before you do.
I love that, given the opportunity, you'll nurse without waking up at
all. I love being able to feed you, knowing that you'll stop once
sated and contentedly roll onto your back and sleep the rest of the
night through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love the feeling of your silky hair
on my arm, as I curl myself around you at night. I love the gentle
sounds of your sleeping breath, somehow so different from your waking
breath. I love how after every time you nurse, I back away a little
to ensure that you have adequate breathing space and, without fail,
you will have scooted right back next to me by the time I next
awaken.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love how, even in sleep, your little
hands seek out something to hold onto. I love that I can offer you
my hand, and your little fingers will gently curl around it, further
anchoring you to the safety and security that you find in me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love the way you smell, milky and
sweet and wholly you.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love everything about you. And no
matter how hard it was at first, I know I wouldn't change any of it.
Like the pain of labor, the difficulty of those first few weeks pales
in comparison to the pure joy I feel now.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcInTQDzrTch43zknx11LtAnQnx42kc_UYv5S-WP-pDTb7ZUd0wec17CS9X7X0FTBpZQCu9rI2U3Kr5lta3t-C-FTqkapWwj65umxerJI2AqYQqthrPGh25k9Tq6tW0LEgx-8sp1AZURD/s1600/Photo0395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcInTQDzrTch43zknx11LtAnQnx42kc_UYv5S-WP-pDTb7ZUd0wec17CS9X7X0FTBpZQCu9rI2U3Kr5lta3t-C-FTqkapWwj65umxerJI2AqYQqthrPGh25k9Tq6tW0LEgx-8sp1AZURD/s320/Photo0395.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-32242207740275706492012-05-25T15:25:00.000-07:002012-07-09T09:19:59.912-07:00Rant: Voice-activated phone systems.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Apparently it's been five years since
the last time I chose to “opt out” of receiving “prescreened
offers of credit.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuDkE5aHYWGKa4KmmHgsq82QobzJkNdJX7ouCqvFbg7y5m2bz34LrMKnW-rL4YjfAvrwNzaFIZNBbmeSKWAVn_vq_saDbaqb0ZX79PcQZeKsZ-Br-HE0ExIavaNjtKi-X65aIdyzUIPb5/s1600/Photo0030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuDkE5aHYWGKa4KmmHgsq82QobzJkNdJX7ouCqvFbg7y5m2bz34LrMKnW-rL4YjfAvrwNzaFIZNBbmeSKWAVn_vq_saDbaqb0ZX79PcQZeKsZ-Br-HE0ExIavaNjtKi-X65aIdyzUIPb5/s320/Photo0030.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today I received two such offers at my
new apartment in San Diego, forwarded from my old address in
Illinois. (Good to know that my mail forwarding request is fully in
effect!) After grumbling about wasting my time for a few minutes, I
decided to call the provided toll-free number to remove my name from
the list.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cue voice-activated automated phone
menu.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It understood me for the first few
bits. It got down my address with no problems, and was able to
discern from my zip code that I do, in fact, live in San Diego,
California. But it had some big problems with my name.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Voice-Activated Phone System: Please
provide your last name, by speaking it first and then spelling. For
example, if your last name was “Smith,” you would say “Smith, S
M I T H.”<br />
Me: (Says last name, then spells it.
Not going to put my last name here, but if you don't know it, it
starts with an 'S' and is rather Italian.)<br />
VAPS: I heard (repeats last name a
little differently than I said it, and inserts an 'I' into the middle
of it.) If this is correct, say “Yes.”<br />
Me: No.<br />
VAPS: Okay. Let's try again.
(Repeats initial last name instruction.)<br />
Me: (Says last name, then spells it.)<br />
VAPS: I'm sorry, I don't think I heard
you correctly. (Repeats initial last name instruction.)<br />
Me: (Keeping, my frustration
contained, says last name, then spells it.)<br />
VAPS: I heard, Guerrero. G U E R R E
R O. If this is correct, say “Yes.”<br />
Me: NO!</blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sigh. I hate those things.
Ultimately, it had me leave a message (I think), presumably to be
interpreted by an actual human. Will the human be smarter than the
machine? Have I successfully opted out from future prescreened
offers of credit?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Probably not. But should I decide I
want a second credit card or to refinance my mortgage at historically
low rates, I shall presumably have plenty of opportunities to do so!</div>Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-2608658307819178232012-05-19T07:33:00.000-07:002012-05-19T07:33:50.906-07:00Road Trip Diary: Day 5<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>The Navy is moving us from Waukegan,
Illinois, to San Diego, California; driving across the country with a
three-month-old baby and a cat who's afraid of the world is quite an
adventure!</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7soV1LzmOZc0jyVM5z8q8waB-2oitzPUu4duOH5G97lEE5aypdi_2ej1UahoDE1I24vDez_d3Q4jjSPq60gb2kzT953nu9fAOXrLOyDoFgTzuTPbbiGlfmCLvgS1aJQ5LNOh14fHbhnYF/s1600/map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7soV1LzmOZc0jyVM5z8q8waB-2oitzPUu4duOH5G97lEE5aypdi_2ej1UahoDE1I24vDez_d3Q4jjSPq60gb2kzT953nu9fAOXrLOyDoFgTzuTPbbiGlfmCLvgS1aJQ5LNOh14fHbhnYF/s1600/map.png" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>NOTE: I had pictures to put up here. But I'm a procrastinator and didn't get around to posting this until more than a week after arriving in San Diego, and during that time my cell phone (where the pictures were stored) died. Before I had transferred the pictures off of it. So sad, too bad, no pictures.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
By the time Day 5 of our trip came
along, all four of us were tired. D was tired of driving, I was
tired of trying to keep Little Bug quiet and happy. Little Bug was
tired of sitting in a car seat with nothing particularly exciting to
look at, and Freddy was tired of his current lot in life.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so it was with weary bodies and
spirits that we settled into our SUV for the final day of our road
trip.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The day started out with discovering
the only two negative aspects of the Falcon Ridge Hotel, as far as I
could ascertain. First, the shower drained slowly. Really slowly.
Like, by the end of my five minute shower (babies necessitate
developing the ability to cleanse oneself with great haste), I was
standing in two inches of water. Not really a big deal in the grand
scheme of things though.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Second, their “complimentary hot
breakfast” didn't start until 0630. Which also wasn't really a big
deal, except all of the other places we had stayed started breakfast
at 0600. Additionally, Little Bug was still firmly in an
Illinois-state-of-mind; he woke up at about 0430. Of course, waking
up that early wasn't much of a stretch for us either. But even after
both D and I had showered, an hour still remained until breakfast
began.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we faced a dilemma. To wait for
free breakfast, which would surely be the best one of the trip so
far? Or to just get on the road?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We opted to continue on our way,
picking up breakfast from McDonald's (gasp!) along the way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We pulled up to the drive-through
ordering apparatus. D placed our order with the fast food worker.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
D: I'd like two egg-and-cheese
McMuffins. No meat.<br />
FFW: Do you want anything else?<br />
D: No, just two egg-and-cheese
McMuffins. No meat.<br />
FFW: (incredulous) You don't want the
Canadian bacon?!?</blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
D's response was not exactly kind. But
then, we were on the final leg of our trip and very tired of it all.
Plus, he doesn't really have much patience in the first place for
idiots.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our final day of driving was thankfully
uneventful. We continued to stop every hour or two, both for our
sake and for Little Bug's. Freddy continued to hide under the
passenger seat. An hour or so out, we realized that neither of us
had really been paying attention to license plates, so we gave up on
that game. (Final count: 32 states, 3 Canadian provinces, and a US
Government plate. Not bad.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We drove the rest of the way across
Nevada, through Las Vegas (where we only encountered a little bit of
traffic). And finally we entered California. Blessed, wonderful
California. The end was in sight!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, after a few more hours of
driving, anyway. We both eagerly drank up the signs showing
decreasing distances between our present location and San Diego. And
finally, around 1330, we arrived at the Naval Station there!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing
(haha) from there. Our initial hopes of staying in the Navy Lodge
for a few nights were dashed when they asked for Freddy's vaccination
records, which were stored with the rest of his paperwork in the POD.
The motel we finally ended up getting a room at, the Vagabond Inn,
was expensive and smelled faintly of stale cigarettes. We had a hard
time finding the hotels in the first place, and it was only thanks to
some friends of ours who had already relocated to San Diego that we
were able to locate a place to stay at all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But once we were in our room, with
Freddy hiding under the blankets on the bed (where we had been
expressly told NOT to let him go), D was free to seek out an
apartment for us, hopefully one where we could move in within a day
or two. I had a television to watch, and wi-fi, and a list of
restaurants that would deliver food to us in our room. And Little
Bug had a bed to sleep on next to his mama; he was still living in a
different time zone, and fell asleep early.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But getting settled into San Diego?
That's clearly a story for another day.</div>Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-14087380511234847282012-05-15T08:38:00.002-07:002012-05-15T08:38:56.501-07:00Road Trip Diary: Day 4<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>The Navy is moving us from Waukegan,
Illinois, to San Diego, California; driving across the country with a
three-month-old baby and a cat who's afraid of the world is quite an
adventure!</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Without a doubt, Utah is the coolest
state we passed through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It helps that we had a prior good
impression; in February of 2011, D and I traveled to Utah by train
for an extended weekend of nerdiness. The landscapes were beautiful,
people were uncommonly nice, AND the waiter at Denny's gave us free
hot chocolate when we were waiting for our ride. Free hot chocolate,
especially on a cold snowy morning, is definitely worth a gold star
in my book.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As we drove along I-70, we couldn't
help but wonder (admiringly, of course) at the names of some of the
exits we passed. Goblin Valley State Park? Black Dragon and Ghost
Rock? (Those two were scenic “view areas.”) Temple Mountain
Road? Clearly, whoever had come up with these names was a kindred
spirit of sorts.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiud2rwuDQVJFnbkwQSXDfMqJEvwUrRBC3ma_X-aPXbKvdqC5Ci_RE-d4vn9PXzpyF1_SKZueU9Ma6OHy6uQb3IVwZpPrg_DWtnEpvl-9Tbi1ePjNN3AFQ8cZdYevXxEvuyX4ezxyxLs_8p/s1600/2012-05-10_Green_River,_Utah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiud2rwuDQVJFnbkwQSXDfMqJEvwUrRBC3ma_X-aPXbKvdqC5Ci_RE-d4vn9PXzpyF1_SKZueU9Ma6OHy6uQb3IVwZpPrg_DWtnEpvl-9Tbi1ePjNN3AFQ8cZdYevXxEvuyX4ezxyxLs_8p/s320/2012-05-10_Green_River,_Utah.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Green River, Utah</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
By all accounts, our drive on Day 4 was
relatively uneventful. The vast majority of the day was spent
driving through Utah. We passed through Green River, where we
stopped for gas and refreshments. The other thing we needed at this
point was diapers. I normally use cloth diapers for Little Bug but,
seeing as how I normally need to wash them every other day, this did
not seem like a wise choice for a five-day road trip. Instead, we
opted for disposables for our journey; I'm not a fan, but in the war
of practicality and eco-friendliness, practicality won here.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The gas station we stopped at first
only had diapers for babies much larger than Little Bug. So we drove
across the street to the local competition, where an entire busload
of Asian tourists were milling about. D had to wait in a long line
to use the bathroom, while Little Bug and I got out of the car,
leaving the windows cracked for Freddy, and slowly wandered around
the parking lot. Some of the tourists were taking pictures of the
large gasoline tanker truck, which was mildly puzzling to me. D
finally reemerged from the mini-mart. No diapers here either, but he
did get me a breakfast BelVita! If you've never had one before,
they're basically breakfast cookies. I ate tons of them during my
early breastfeeding days, since they provided easy extra calories
that were relatively healthy (for a processed food).
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After Utah, we passed briefly through
Arizona. Seriously briefly. It took less than twenty minutes to
drive through the upper left corner of the state.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPHFL41jRXWiD6G5WQ3SqaiQeY1Z_ucnsEG_NCjY4QbNsEDEH8p-FgQVcsuxFWxKA11DAB3Y0Waaj7G_9uRrtFpSOIZb2cu50wCMe4YOFtxFRQBBom1badP-WI-rRtBKI1NOcRbzM1eLX/s1600/2012-05-10_(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPHFL41jRXWiD6G5WQ3SqaiQeY1Z_ucnsEG_NCjY4QbNsEDEH8p-FgQVcsuxFWxKA11DAB3Y0Waaj7G_9uRrtFpSOIZb2cu50wCMe4YOFtxFRQBBom1badP-WI-rRtBKI1NOcRbzM1eLX/s320/2012-05-10_(2).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Spit bubbles!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then we were in Nevada. The first
“big” city we came to was Mesquite. The first exit had a Best
Western (super expensive) and a hotel/casino, which was cheap but
seemed rather dubious to us nonetheless. The second exit hosted a
few more hotel/casinos, and a classy little joint called the Falcon
Ridge Hotel, where we got a room for the night. It was definitely
the nicest hotel we stayed at during the entire trip, and it was also
the least expensive. While we waited for check-in time, we got a
very early dinner at a drive-through Mexican place; D and I both had
cheese enchiladas, which were delicious, along with rice and beans.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our room was very comfortable, with all
of the usual amenities: tv, fridge, microwave, two beds, a nice
bathroom. They even had nice toiletries; the soap smelled wonderful!
As usual, we went to bed fairly early, tired after a long day of
driving while dealing with an unhappy cat and a small baby who
doesn't understand why he can't just sit in my lap all day anymore.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5ZVL9YqZULYBvBLDuNcDIPDHGaIsyLqN3ZifbUPhBSjRayRsE4vu2yRvaVijIxpSOc6vs-F_Vfsoat5Bbgbg6rNPpZKnQQUzIOUq7cNeJrTIW9WnXBJupRYctp4Cp9kELgO1ycI8cd0x/s1600/2012-05-10_(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5ZVL9YqZULYBvBLDuNcDIPDHGaIsyLqN3ZifbUPhBSjRayRsE4vu2yRvaVijIxpSOc6vs-F_Vfsoat5Bbgbg6rNPpZKnQQUzIOUq7cNeJrTIW9WnXBJupRYctp4Cp9kELgO1ycI8cd0x/s320/2012-05-10_(1).jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We saw nine new states for the license
plate game this day, as well as two more Canadian provinces:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Arizona Florida Idaho</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Illinois North Carolina Oregon</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pennsylvania Virginia Wyoming</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Alberta Quebec</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The journey would continue on Day 5.</div>Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586990401350653377.post-66876923588508788512012-05-11T19:53:00.000-07:002012-05-11T19:53:55.066-07:00Road Trip Diary: Day 3<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>The Navy is moving us from Waukegan,
Illinois, to San Diego, California; driving across the country with a
three-month-old baby and a cat who's afraid of the world is quite an
adventure!</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmRavZsgai3qibIVALLjexMhNcAPJnZEmCSFnDGqUjrlEQTObxfg1wNlZ6sK4VjBiPNC4zOpL9BMoFqN0K5UekIUv5LG16K06y_U5lnr8DDi5OMUJAXE24-aqmg3EsoXYnY0rR1fsoZc1/s1600/2012-05-09+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmRavZsgai3qibIVALLjexMhNcAPJnZEmCSFnDGqUjrlEQTObxfg1wNlZ6sK4VjBiPNC4zOpL9BMoFqN0K5UekIUv5LG16K06y_U5lnr8DDi5OMUJAXE24-aqmg3EsoXYnY0rR1fsoZc1/s320/2012-05-09+(3).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Look at those eyes!! Perfectly content in Daddy's arms.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One thing I forgot to mention about
Colorado: thus far on our trip, my primary impression of the state
was that it smelled like manure.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Seriously. We drove past several CAFOs
(concentrated animal feeding operations... essentially industrial cow
farms) on Day 2, and the air was ripe with the smell of their feces.
The combination of nasty smells plus lack of suitable hotels means
that Colorado and I were not off to a good start.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When we left our hotel at around 0630
on the morning of Day 3, we were immediately hit with the smell of
manure. Again. There was no way around it; we just hoped that we'd
get past the CAFOs soon and on to fresher air.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Unfortunately, driving through Denver
did little to improve our shaky relationship with the Centennial
State. The morning commute traffic was awful, and as we slowly
inched through the busy city Little Bug woke up and demanded to be
nursed. No quiet grumbles this time; instead, Little Bug woke up
wailing, hungry, wanting food, starving, DYING!
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Soothing a baby this far gone into a
fuss fit is a challenge but, thankfully, I managed. AND we made it
out of Denver in one piece. Bonus points for us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpB0qhyWDqaUP4J13Uktk59ZJ5bG-CINBhr952tpv3hfSZP-RhUxvHzFYplCoDAp2zCI1qzPVCOB5fwDnaw7mO56gUU-eRwE7VAufsuIIGbMx8dugG05vMdQK1ulKR-sIUPaAk8Azhgkl/s1600/2012-05-09+%252811%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpB0qhyWDqaUP4J13Uktk59ZJ5bG-CINBhr952tpv3hfSZP-RhUxvHzFYplCoDAp2zCI1qzPVCOB5fwDnaw7mO56gUU-eRwE7VAufsuIIGbMx8dugG05vMdQK1ulKR-sIUPaAk8Azhgkl/s320/2012-05-09+%252811%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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D and I continued to be unimpressed by
this state until we reached the Rocky Mountains. By this time, we
finally started to appreciate the beautiful sights this state had to
offer. Gorgeous mountain peaks! Amazing rock formations! Vibrant
colors! It was a feast for the eyes, and D and I (and even Freddy)
gladly partook in it.</div>
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We stopped for gas somewhere shortly
after we started ascending, expecting that fuel and refreshments
would be hard to come by once we got further into the mountains. D
picked up some cookies and trail mix for us. (I loved that he found
trail mix that had dried blueberries and apples in it, but was
confused at why the makers felt the need to add high fructose corn
syrup. Because dried fruit isn't sweet enough on its own? At least
it was delicious!)</div>
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As we continued, we found that, in
fact, there was plenty of civilization to be found throughout the
mountain pass! Nearly every exit boasted gas stations and mini
marts, restaurants and ski lodges. (Duh... skiing... of course there
would be plenty of places to stop!) The most well-populated stop was
in the town of Vail, Colorado, where the elevation was 8150 feet.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hMf2RsrcvYjP0Y3pInyLoBqpN5RWQQiaTHNPraOYXXcv0mY7U8ay2zsmgJp4XGYN1n7FZBfKTWOrY4n5TVZNKX5v1lkg7H0kai0hJ7b_BKUb2dD3n_zRnTlkAB3NjO2GMY0UTzEynpk6/s1600/2012-05-09+(14)+Vail,+CO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hMf2RsrcvYjP0Y3pInyLoBqpN5RWQQiaTHNPraOYXXcv0mY7U8ay2zsmgJp4XGYN1n7FZBfKTWOrY4n5TVZNKX5v1lkg7H0kai0hJ7b_BKUb2dD3n_zRnTlkAB3NjO2GMY0UTzEynpk6/s320/2012-05-09+(14)+Vail,+CO.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The view passing through Vail, Colorado.</i></td></tr>
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Also up in the mountains, D & I
pulled out our digital camera for the first time this trip. (Delayed
apologies for low-quality camera phone pictures...) We let Little
Bug breathe in the clear, fresh mountain air and marveled at the
amazing views before us. I had vague aspirations of getting someone
to take a family photo for us, but never really got a good
opportunity to.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVNTZCxN6FCP6HWINc0lCxpZc3JZ34FhUV9jr_gBvuvo8igWDmpnowmGcW5IEVIKS6-MvpXJp3TgcQgkVUJKF7VSehbp9oyXA3SrVYD-utAYcxazoN-CIFOMOTTqgYMi3GrwLjFITw117/s1600/2012-05-09+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVNTZCxN6FCP6HWINc0lCxpZc3JZ34FhUV9jr_gBvuvo8igWDmpnowmGcW5IEVIKS6-MvpXJp3TgcQgkVUJKF7VSehbp9oyXA3SrVYD-utAYcxazoN-CIFOMOTTqgYMi3GrwLjFITw117/s320/2012-05-09+(5).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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After the Rockies, the drive was much
better. The landscape was more interesting, there was no more manure
smell, and we made good progress. And yet, driving through the
mountains is significantly more taxing than traveling regular country
highways, so we decided to end earlier than usual that day. We ended
up stopping in the town of Fruita, Colorado, that night, relatively
close to the Utah border. The Super 8 we stayed in here had one
GIANT bed, which was a nice change from the night before! D happily
spent some time swimming laps in the indoor pool, while Little Bug
and I enjoyed just cuddling together.</div>
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One interesting thing about driving
across the country is that Little Bug isn't adjusting to time zone
changes the way D and I are trying to. So we were in Mountain Time
by the time we got to Fruita, but Little Bug was still on his
sleeping schedule from Illinois; thus, he was ready to pass out for
the night at 1900 (2000 back in IL). I figure I'll work on
acclimating him to Pacific Time after we're settled into San Diego.</div>
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D and I are also getting better at
keeping Little Bug happy during the day. Rolling down a window
slightly makes for a fabulous white noise that helps him to sleep,
and we're resigned to the fact that we rarely can go for more than
two hours without having to stop and nurse. We're actually more
likely to stop every hour, whether it's a bathroom break for one of
us or a stop for snacks and drinks from a mini-mart or a stop
specifically to let Little Bug nurse. It makes the trip take a
little longer, but it's a worthy investment of our time if it keeps
him from having full-on fits. He (thankfully) mostly sleeps during
the drives, although he usually doesn't get into a nice deep sleep.
And the most invaluable toy we brought along? A little penguin
rattle that D bought from Babies 'R' Us. Little Bug finds it almost
mesmerizing at times, and sometimes simply holding it in his line of
vision will help him drift off to sleep. And when he's starting to
fidget, I shake it at him and say “Yay! Penguin rattle!” For
some reason, this usually works to quiet him down.
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We're managing.</div>
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Disappointing results in the license
plate game for Day 3. We only saw six new states, plus an official
US Government plate.</div>
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Kansas Massachusetts Montana</div>
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Nevada New York Washington</div>
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The adventure would continue on Day 4.</div>Holly Scuderohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11952942010714094175noreply@blogger.com1