Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Two Birthdays

Halle turned twelve. Woohoo! She also recently got her hair cut. I asked her if she wanted me to cut it or if she wanted to go to a salon. "Well, Mom, even when we go get it cut, you always come home and have to fix it anyway, so you can just do it here."
See her necklace? It's her Young Women medallion. She gets to meet with the "OLDER GIRLS" at church now . Now that she's "OLDER". And not a little girl anymore. By whose standards, that's what I'd like to know. We're allowing her to wear a little bit of makeup, and thankfully she's not pushed the envelope on "little bit".

We have this horrid family tradition where the kids kids bash the birthday girl over the head with her gifts. Sounds fun, don't it? 

Hinckley also had a birthday. Fourteen years old and 59 1/2 " tall according to our pediatrician. Hinckley claims he was caught unaware by the measuring and had he been given sufficient warning, definitely would have been able to eke out another half inch. 


Paybacks

What does a fourteen year old wish for? Handsomeness? A dreamy smile? Eyelashes that just won't quit? Done.

And Delilah!


Wednesday, February 25, 2015

How to Break Up with Your Gynecologist (and other uncomfortable things)

I just don't know.

Oh wait what? You thought I'd have the answer? Sorry, I guess it does sound like a how-to post title, but I meant it as more of a thinking-out-loud-with-a-hopeless-sigh musing-type title. Because it's HARD, by golly, and I'm not sure why.

I'm an introvert. With a long list of things that make me "uncomfortable".
-confrontation
-thinking people don't like me
-phone calls (especially phone calls. I'm bad enough talking to people in person. Take away the visual cues and I'm hopeless.)
-talking to people (people I only sort of know, or am supposed to get to know. Hanging out with other parents at school functions? For example? The worst.)
-social gatherings (UGH)
-asking workers at a store where something is. I live in fear of asking the wrong person at Lowe's where the sandpaper is. "Well, that's not my department and I'm already assisting three people ahead of you but if you're determined to make me go out of my way for you and your sandpaper then fine, I can help. Later though, not right now. I am SO busy."
-going to my gynecologist

It hasn't always been this way. I used to not mind my yearly doctor exam. My first obstetrician/gynecologist was a little strange, but frankly, so was the whole experience, so it may not have been him. Then I had another doctor that I really liked. He was older and experienced and made me feel safe. I trusted his experience and gray hair and middle aged ladies that ran the front desk. He delivered my first baby. His gray hair made him a little too popular though, and I changed again, after growing tired of having to wait an hour+ for my appointments. My next doctors were part of a team of three. They were fine. Two I liked, one not so much. But I could choose who I saw so it wasn't a big deal. Then I had a little incident. I had some physical issues after my second baby and when I told them about my concerns, they were just swept aside. In (what I interpreted to be) a sorry-lady-that's-what-happens-get-over-it manner. Fortunately, in this particular practice, there were five midwives also. So I just decided to switch on over. And it was fantastic! What a change! Those lovely, sweet, kind-hearted ladies listened to me! And didn't rush me out! And asked probing questions and drew me out and acted like they cared about my answers. I was smitten. They had shorter fingers, it's true, but it was a small price to pay.

And then...now... since I'm done having babies, I've been moved back over to the male doctors. They're all new now. Younger. Busier. More important. You know. The doctor I saw yesterday for my yearly exam asked his questions so rapid fire he was biting off the ends of my response with his next question. If I had been experiencing "anymentalissuesanyanxietydepressiondarkthoughtsinabilitytocopewithlife?" I'd tell the 16 year old bagger at the grocery store before I'd tell him. This was actually the third time I've seen this doctor, during which times he has questioned me on 1) my decision to not get a flu shot 2) my choice of doctor for a surgery I had last year 3) my chosen method of birth control. And not a hey let's talk about your options way of questioning, but in a really you're doing THAT you poor misinformed woman? way.

So I'm at the height of frustration, and I am sooo ready to break up but I just can't seem to make myself. I've been putting it off for two years. I realize there's really not much to do. I don't have to call him. I don't have to talk to anyone and present my list of grievances. I'm not going to hurt anyone's feelings. No one will even notice I've gone. I just pick a different provider through my insurance and stop calling the old one. So easy. So passive. But still so uncomfortable. It makes my insides squirm and hurt. I'll have to find someone new. I'll have to acquaint myself with a new office and commute and receptionist. I'll no longer walk the halls that are so familiar to me after 13 years of anticipating and growing and dreaming about babies. Where I discussed symptoms and listened to heartbeats and wept when I saw tiny little feet and hands and spines and perfect little faces for the first time. Where we counted down days and discussed birth plans and dilation. I'll have to admit to myself that I just don't need an OB/Gyn or a midwife as a primary care provider anymore because I won't be bearing any more children.

Oh.

Yes. That is hard.










Sunday, January 11, 2015

A Little of the Kids and A Whole Lot of Nonsense

The week began with Ava's eye appointment. Delilah came along and the girls got to bond over the fascinating world of Daniel Tiger in the waiting room.

Do these kids look like their brains are being stimulated? It's educational tv. I pried the girls away from their grueling mental workout, we saw our ophthalmologist, got the good news that all looks fine and we'll see them in another six months. Too bad I didn't think to get her some new glasses last year when we had reached our out-of-pocket max.

Delilah and I tried out a new donut place that opened up nearby, Beyond Glaze. Yuck. Pretty bad. But Deli says yum.



(With manic eyes and a chocolatey muzzle.)

I've been actively working on NOT being a grouch during the pre-dinner/dinner hour. Some days I did okay. Some days I did really really bad. I have this thing where I can't stand it when my kids ask what's for dinner. Even if they're nice about it and not poised and ready to make gagging noises. Have I mentioned this before? I think I have. Anyway, I don't want it to push me over the edge, but it does, every time. I even practice, silently in my head. ("Stir fry! With mushrooms and peppers and spicy stuff!" she chirps perkily and enthusiastically and not at all huffily and aggressively.)

I bought a cute shirt at Walmart for $9. Then went back the next day and bought another one in a different color. There are three more colors I didn't buy and I'm absolutely regretting it. I'd show a picture but there isn't one on Walmart's website and I'm not wearing it right now and Delilah is asleep and my clothes are in her closet. 

And I cut my hair a bit. I've been wanting to update it for awhile as it's just long and blah these days. Color? Chop? I don't know, I'm just not feeling reckless or that I have the time to deal with redos if it doesn't turn out. But this???

I could do! So I shagged up my hair just a little with some layers and I have to say...I look exactly like Jennifer Garner now. That picture right up there? Me. Look, I'm wearing my favorite dress.

To go with my new hair, I painted my nails the bewitching color of "Mind Your Mittens" by Essie. It's kind of an inky gray/black. They look so fetching as they fly across the keyboard! I bought it last year and I don't use it much because dark colors don't wear well for long. But today? A desire to be cute just flew in the face of reason and dirty dishes!

Delilah is wearing Tart Deco, her go to color. It's all she wears. Not sure why she always picks the same color. Just cause she's precious, I guess.

I think I forgot to say that we saw the last Hobbit a couple weeks ago. Oh. my. gosh. I actually snorted out loud-- in a derisive manner-- in the theater. I don't think I've ever done that in a movie. I think it must be because no one was noticing my eye rolling. Darron was no help at all. He liked it. Hiss. 

Now, if there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I love chocolate covered cinnamon bears. It's because they are cinnamon bears covered in chocolate and that, my friends, is what's known as perfection. I became hooked many a year ago when I would make alarmingly frequent stops at the candy counter of the campus bookstore during my BYU days, in an attempt to stave off the feelings of insecurity, worry, and homesickness that might otherwise have dragged me to the depths of despair. Healthy coping mechanism? No, but effective, and also we don't judge 19 year olds. So these bears... they're heaven, couldn't be better. But then my husband goes to this candy shop that sells certain of it's candies only during the winter holiday months where he orders our yearly supply of toffee and discovers they have started making chocolate covered cinnamon bears and because he loves me so completely he buys me four! big! bags! La! I'm on my last bag--just had to take a break and go eat one to keep up my strength--and I tell you true, they are they better than BYU. And I'm unnaturally emotionally connected to my BYU candy so that's saying something. They're like the highest level of the third degree, if you know what I mean. It does not get better than these. 

Then of course there was the great excitement of Friday...(see previous post).

Tonight we had a meeting at church for all the kids going to youth camps and I have TWO. Kids going. To youth camps. Crazy things are happening. Of course the year I'm not going to Girls' Camp I finally have a daughter going...ah well. It's probably for the best. I think it will be great for her to be on her ownsome and make her way in a new situation. Oh, but she's just so little!

You know, if I wanted to I could probably go through this post and force some semblance of sense or order into it. But I don't want to.