First Thoughts on Our Daughter

**Apparently I didn’t post this and it was sitting in my drafts folder.  Not sure it was really done, but I’m posting it anyway.**

Hearing “It’s a girl” yesterday just threw me for a loop.  Although my first thought was that my baby was a girl, I had convinced myself that we were having a boy because we didn’t like any boy names.  (Though after careful consideration, we have chosen our boy name-Christian-but that won’t apply for awhile if ever).  Finding out that we would have a daughter brought me so much joy and knowing that this baby growing inside me is a little girl just makes the whole experience seem more real.

Mother’s and daughters often have interesting relationships, and my only fear is that when my daughter is 16 she’ll scream at me the way I once screamed to my Mother in a fit of hormones and rage.  It’s not that I didn’t love my mother, I did, there is just some sort of crazy relationship that we had that seemed to feed off of estrogen.  I pray that I don’t allow history to repeat itself and that my daughter and I can have a relationship where we only raise our voices to cheer for the Colts.  (because what child of mine would like the Eagles?)  I pray that my daughter can trust me with anything and I vow to always keep an open mind when she asks me questions that scare me to death.

Book Review: I Know This Much is True

I Know this Much is True: Wally Lamb  4 1/2 stars…maybe 5 but I’m not feeling generous this AM.

I usually avoid Oprah’s Book Club like the plague.  First of all (gasp!) I don’t care for Oprah, and while I appreciate that she gets the masses reading, I just don’t feel confident in her picks.  I’m probably being unfair, again, not feeling generous this morning.

I Know This Much is True is definitely an exception to my rule of thinking Oprah sucks at books.   Although very long, the book was definitely a smooth read and I felt compelled to knock out at least 100 pages a day (oh what will I do once I have the baby?!)  I’ll start with my criticism to get it out of the way so we can focus on the goodness of this book.  My two criticisms are as follows:  Wally Lamb is wordy to a fault, but it doesn’t distract from the story.  Also, the ending was terribly predictable…I didn’t read 900 pages to go “oh yeah, that’s pretty much how I saw that going”.  Having said that, the story along the way was fantastic.

The protagonist is Dominick Birdsey, one half of a set of very different twins.  His brother Thomas is a schizophrenic and the book basically chronicles that dichotomy between the inseparable nature of twins and Dominick’s insatiable desire to separate from his “weaker” brother.  The story flashes back between the twins’ youth, teen years and the present day when they are in their early 40’s.  This book has love, sex, confusion, politics; the whole gamut.  Dominick has continually struggled with who he is: raised by his subservient mother and abusive stepfather, he has always wondered where he came from and who he really is.  He felt so different from his sweeter, gentler, weaker brother that he tried so hard to be the strong one; and that strength often turned into anger that alienated those around him.  In his quest to find himself he discovers a memoir written by his Grandfather and he submerses himself in understanding all that made his Grandfather tick, and how those ticks affected Dominick’s upbringing by his mother.

I definitely suggest this book to people who enjoy reading about the inner frustrations of a man who isn’t sure who he really is because he isn’t sure where he came from, but I wouldn’t recommend this book if you’re more into your standard, easy read novel.

This might be my worst book review ever, but the reality is, I hate telling people too much about a story-I think those who know me know that I have fairly decent taste in books and that if I liked it, there’s a good chance it’s worth reading.  (I’ve gotten worse lately-if I don’t like the book at all after 100 pages, it goes back to the library. There are just too many good books out there to waste on a crappy one)

A Moment of Psychosis

My life is simply consumed by my pregnancy.  It’s so funny how this tiny being inside me is already a constant presence in my life.  While I thought I felt the baby move, I must not have because I never felt it again, but I should start to feel him/her moving in the next couple of weeks.  Despite being sick all the time, there is no reason my life should revolve around the baby yet.  Shouldn’t I be selfish and enjoy the next 5 months of alone time that I have?  I already know the answer to this-from the minute I knew there was a human being growing inside me, I ceased to be just Kate.  I’m responsible for the life of this innocent creature that I have yet to meet.  Every breath I take affects this child and every bite of food I put in my mouth leaches into the belly of my tiny baby.

I feel obsessed.  I feel like my only thoughts are about this baby and if I’m doing the right things now to have a healthy child and if once the baby is born, I’ll do all the right things to sustain this healthy child.  It’s terrifying people, terrifying.  I know that I’m not the first person to go through this, but I admit I feel so alone at times.  The thoughts that race through my head just scare me-how can I do this?  The messiest person on the planet; the person who has no routine in her life whatsoever?  How can I keep a child healthy and safe when I usually drive at least 10 miles over the speed limit with one hand on the wheel?  How can I pay for this child to go to college when I’m still paying off my student loan?  What if my child doesn’t want to go to school?  What if my child doesn’t really have the aptitude to go to school-will I be disappointed that my child isn’t cerebral or will I be proud of him/her no matter what?  In an effort to get myself excited about the baby, I started looking at décor for the nursery.  But I don’t really care about that stuff-I just care that everything is going to be ok.  I don’t know how you Moms do it…how you can sleep at night and not worry that something is going to happen to your baby, your 6 year old, your 20 year old; I just don’t know how to handle it and it scares me to death.

Book Review: Never Let Me Go

Never Let Me Go: Kazuo Ishigaro

This book got great reviews on Amazon, Good Reads and was the feature book in Time Magazine. Just like my friend Sarah though, I was highly underwhelmed by this book. The book just sort of…was. I was reading it and for most of the time it seemed like the author was trying to keep this big secret from me and I had to keep reading to understand what the heck was going on in the book. I’ve always found that to be a bit of a dirty trick; cryptic writing just hides that fact that you don’t have a better way to spin the tale you wish to spin.

This book is touted as a coming-of-age-missing-childhood kind of story. However, after slogging through the first 100 pages or so, it turns out this book is sort of a sci-fi, conspiracy story; falling painfully short of 1984, Brave New World, and the movie The Island. It’s sort of a strange conglomerate of all of these stories told from the point of view of the not terribly loveable Kathy H. and her experiences at Hailsham, which is essentially a boarding school for gifted art students (or so you think). The two people closest to her are Ruth and Tommy and the reader basically slowly reads through the intricacies of their late teen years as they leave Hailsham and venture off into the world. Only their world is very different from the world we live in.
Here’s the deal; I’ll tell anyone who wants to know the total plot of this story, but I won’t put a spoiler in this post. The moral of the story is, this book is stupid and I read a review where someone said it seemed like a meeting occured with the author. “Hey Kazuo, we need you to churn out another book, it doesn’t matter if it sucks” And this is that book.

I might be curious enough to watch the movie, mostly since I lay in bed all the time.

Secret Secret; I’ve Got a Secret

One thing that I’ve learned about myself over the years is that I am terrible at keeping secrets. It’s not that you can’t trust me with your private information; I’m good at keeping OTHER peoples’ secrets. My own secrets; I can’t shut my trap. So without further adieu, the secret sharing shall commence.

Mircea and I are expecting our first child at the end of October. That means I’m a little over 8 weeks along, so I’ve got a long way to go. I’d like to ask everyone to pray for me and our sweet baby Iggy as we go through this interesting time in our lives. I’ve been riddled with illness; “morning” sickness is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. How about 24/7-feel like crap-feel like you drank more booze than can fit in your gullet- wanting to gouge your eyes out-sickness? That’s where I am. It’s been very difficult for me because a.) I’m a total wuss, and b.) I just started a new job and it’s been difficult for me to even sit at my desk, let alone lead my team through our daily challenges.

I’m so afraid of jinxing this pregnancy because I can’t keep my yapper shut; however, the God I believe in doesn’t punish people for flapping their gums ahead of the customary second trimester start. I’m not sure I’ll live until then! I never thought that I could be both anorexic and bulimic and still chunky, and yet, I’ve succeeded at this. I never thought my childhood love of instant mashed potatoes would ease me into the fact that it’s the ONLY food I can keep down at this point; and even that’s not a guarantee. I talked a big game about wanting to have a family, and I’m overjoyed to be expecting a little Iggy, but in my wildest dreams, I’d never be this sick while experiencing the miracle of life. I can’t even wait to experience the miracle of childbirth!

I want to caveat all my whining with a very simple sentiment. I love this baby more than I’ve ever loved anything my entire life. I recognize that there are so many people in the world who would love to be bent over a toilet hurling their guts out if it meant that they could have a baby. That isn’t lost on me at all. All the sickness momentarily melted away when I saw my tiny prune sized baby on the sonogram monitor last week and I realized the magnitude of what is actually occurring in my body. I can only pray that the sickness goes away and I can enjoy this special bonding time that only a mother is lucky enough to experience.
I want to end with a sentiment that one of my brand new co-workers shared with me when I sent out an email explaining that their fearless leader was once again working from home. It was one of the nicest things I’ve ever read and brings hormonal tears to my eyes every time I think about it.

“Sorry for the morning sickness but remember, a mother feels joy with every kick, knowing she’s never alone.”

Man, I can’t wait to feel those kicks.

Laying in a Pool of Melted Chocolates

The Face of Valentine's Day

This year Valentine’s Day really got my mind spinning. The majority of my Facebook friends were on two separate poles; those who seemed depressed for Singles Awareness Day and those who seemed hell bent on proving their value through sharing about how their mate showered them with gifts. As someone who sits squarely in the middle of these two camps, I was at a loss over the hysterics that people go into for a “holiday” that is really just a nice excuse to say “love you” to your friends and family.

So the first camp of people are the depressed folks. Now it’s one thing to be depressed if your spouse died or something of that nature, but if you’re simply depressed because you don’t have a significant other at that moment to share long strands of spaghetti with and nuzzle meatballs too, you’re just being silly. It’s one day people, one damned day that originated as a religious holiday honoring St Valentine. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t see much religion yesterday. The message I want to convey to the “single and lonely” crowd is that you aren’t alone. Most of you have great friends and family that surround you and while you might not have a significant other, it doesn’t change your self-worth. You are loved. You are an important person on this planet of ours and even if you don’t have a box of chocolates to prove it, you must believe me. Because if you’re reading this, likely, you’re pretty important to me, and your definitely terribly important to someone else. So I’m your Valentine, and you’re mine. Lucky you.  Don’t give anyone the satisfaction of making you feel inferior.

And to those people who seem hell bent on proving that they are loved; come off it. There’s one thing to have a nice little post like “aww, my sweetie surprised me with roses” or “he went to Jared!” but five status updates a day about how your lover loves you so much that you must be the most important person on the planet are simply a little sad. It’s like those people who have the testicles hanging off the back of their truck; if you have to wear them on the outside, maybe you’re not terribly secure in the relationship to start with. And maybe you’re super happy that you’re no longer in Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, but just because you (and I for that matter) have a mate, doesn’t mean that we somehow have these great lives and that we live in this perfect world. A relationship should be defined by the people in it, and love cannot be measured by the size of a gift. We are all falling into that trap when we feel let down by our grocery store flowers or gaze longingly at a ring that probably put someone knee deep in debt to purchase. Love isn’t measured that way damnit! I measure the love I have for Mircea (and other friends and family) but the amount of attention I pay to them. Others measure it differently…and I guess, though it sickens me to say it, maybe some people do measure it by the goods and services they receive from those who love them. But I don’t want to accept that, it’s just childish.

Before I piss anyone off too royally, I do want to say that I think Valentine’s Day for kids is a spectacular thing and there is something so fun about passing out Valentines to your friends at school, or surprising your friends with flowers sent to their desk. It’s the whole “placing your self- worth on the size of your bouquet, carat of jewelry, or amount of ice cream you drowned your sorrows in” persona that I can’t stand. Also, people that simply want to celebrate and don’t tie their self worth to it; you are also living in a grounded reality. I’m not saying ignore it, I’m saying “meter it”. I’m also not trying to call anyone out in particular. Out of 200+ Facebook friends, about 50 people were feeling severely affected by Valentine’s Day…so I think most of my friends “get it” about what that day (and sweetest day, and other love based Hallmark holidays) means. It’s nice to take a moment and tell your friends, family or partner that you love each other. But I don’t need a holiday to do it. Or a gift.  And that doesn’t make me better than anyone either, just slightly more reasonable.  Today.

Book Review: Room

I just finished the book Room, by Emma Donoghue about an hour ago.  My mind is still reeling over the story told from five year old Jack’s perspective.  Jack’s entire world is an 11×11 room with his Ma.  They sleep there, eat there, run “track” there and live what Jack considers a full existence within the cork covered walls.  He watches TV on an ancient set, where he learns about “The Outside”; a world of make believe where Dora and Barney and Animal Planet live.  The only negative thoughts he has are about Old Nick, the man who comes into Room at night and creaks Bed at night with Ma.  Old Nick abducted Ma when she was a 19 year old student and is held captive like the true stories of Elisabeth Fritzl and Jaycee Dugard.

If you’ve read my reviews before, you know I’ll never tell anyone anything that isn’t on the dust jacket, so I will simply say that the book is incredibly moving and poignant.  It’s written so well and we truly understand Jack and his simplified perspective of the world around him.  His Ma is a complicated character as well, and we understand how fiercely she loves her child and how blessed she feels to have him with her in Room.

Room really was an amazing book and I was so engaged in the story that I read it over the course of just a few evenings.  It’s a fairly quick read, but it will make your head spin a bit, especially at the beginning as you learn to live in a world where there’s just one of a very limited number of things.  Duvet, Melty Spoon, Door, Skylight; these are the world according to Jack, and his is a beautiful, heartbreaking world.  But isn’t ours too?

Pets and Gender: Where Are the Crazy Cat Men?

To answer your question Kat, they are on the Internet.  And there aren’t many of them, but the ones out there are N.U.T.S.!

I’ve been called a crazy cat lady before.  It would have hurt my feelings but I realized that I wasn’t a complete and total loser even though I had three cats.  I mean, I was after all, actively dating at the time, so it can be assumed that I wasn’t completely repulsive to the opposite sex despite my furry companions.

Crazy cat men are a different story.  When I met my husband he had a cat and I was confused by this.  Very few men have a cat without having a woman living with them.  (You heard me Tony).  I don’t understand why this is, since cats are very little maintenance depending on your tolerance for an ammonia smell, and they are quite cuddly.  They can also scare off women you aren’t interested in-you can say “oh, you thought I was into you?  Sorry, I’m into cats” and they’ll pretty much leave you alone after that.  Without divulging who told me this story, I will say that I know someone who dated a man who purred at her.  WTF?  I don’t know what his deal was, but apparently he was quite the crazy cat man.

As I alluded to at the beginning of this post, the crazy cat men are mostly all over the Internet.  Dennis Avner turned himself into a cat. Seriously, lip bifurcation and all.  Terrifying.  I’m not sure what kind of dates he’s getting, but I’m guessing it takes someone who is into a scratchy tongue .  Ew.  Most of the blogs I’ve found about men owning cats are focused around two things: 1.) writing articles from their evil cat’s point of view and 2.) proclaiming to the masses that they are not homosexual.  I also found a website called Men and Cats which glorifies (and rightly so) the ownership of cats by, well, men.  Including John Lennon (Love!)  Darby Conley has a great comic called Get Fuzzy, t hat has made me laugh out loud more than I ever imagined.  On a side note, there is also quite a bit of web traffic for Men Without Cats, a little shout out to our friends to the North, of men proud to NOT own cats.  Whatever floats your boat.

For those who like loosely based facts, I’ve created this awesome* table for you.

Moral of the story: You can find just about anything on the internet AND can write about 450 on just about any topic you can think of.

*so awesome in fact that I forgot to take out Microsoft Word’s correction of last names.  Awesome!!

America’s War on Snow-We’re Losing

Although last year was fairly snowy on the East Coast,  it does seem like we’re fighting a war on snow this year. Before parts of the country can recover from the last snow storm, they are being pelted by the white fluffy stuff and all hell breaks loose once again. I could take a serious route with this, discussing how ridiculous expensive snow preparation and removal is costing our already indebted states and cities, or how a bunch of naysayers are wonking about saying “Global warming my ass”. But this is all too serious for me at this point (and you would all be bored to tears) so I think I’ll go with a new title for this post: America’s War on Snow: We’re Winning!

We’re winning because so many of us are getting free, paid days off of work. Ok, it might be cold outside and we might have to shovel some snow, but damn, we’re earning that hot chocolate with more than a little splash of Bailey’s in it, aren’t we? We’re catching up on day time television too, which is clearly expanding our intelligence. I can’t buh-lieve that Steve Wilkos has his own show. And to think, I thought he was just a burly guy with no heart. And Lingo-have we discussed how freakin’ awesome this show is, mostly because so many of the people on it are so dumb? I’m pretty sure a lot of people are also winning this war on snow by being cooped up in their house with their loved ones. Let’s just say I’m betting on a baby boom in the late September/early October time frame. And no, not in the Ighian household.

Since I don’t want to drag this out too long I want to end with what I feel is the best part of all this snow. New snow-tastic vocabulary. We’ve created an entire language based on the levels of snow. Even though “thundersnow” has existed for a long time, words like “snowpocalypse” are relatively new. And awesome. Here are some of my favorites: Icetastrophe, snowmageddon, snowpocamageddon, snowurricane, snowcano, and the one I made up “snowtastic”. In fact, snow might just replace Smurf as the best prefix ever.

The Writer’s Block Posts

Apparently the best way to get over writer’s block is to get pelted with a bunch of HORRIBLE ideas for blog posts. For shame people, for shame. Actually while trying to avoid writing about these ideas I thought of several good ones which are currently in work (as of last night). But I decided that it would be kind of fun (hopefully) to write about the topics presented to me. I’m pretty sure these aren’t going to be the funniest posts you’ve ever read, or the most informational. But hopefully if you suggested the idea I gave it the justice it so deserved. I will write the posts in the order they were suggested, and from my 10 second Google search, I think I’m going to have a good time with the last one on bathroom fixtures.