tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91038971330396436702024-03-05T09:15:31.021-05:00My Life as a StingrayThe Life, Times and Incoherent Ramblings of a Serial ThinkerRhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-1750154498026943092012-02-06T16:08:00.003-05:002012-02-11T19:42:59.944-05:00I started this post a week ago...It's quiet right now.<br /><br />Munch is asleep in her swing and there is Banana Bread is baking.<br /><br />Banana Bread, incidentally, is not a pet name for my cat or anything. It's actual banana bread. I felt that I should clarify, since I make a habit of calling my daughter various food items. I'm pretty sure she things her name is Sweet Potato Pie. Poor thing will get quite a shock next Thanksgiving.<br /><br />I love my life. I really do. But occasionally I look at my life and the quiet domesticity of it all, and can't help but compare it to that of my peers.<br /><br />When most of my fellow '05 grads were graduating with their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BA's</span>, I was walking down the aisle.<br /><br />When they began starting careers, I started trying to conceive and became a mother.<br /><br />I never had the experience of going away to college. I never had that in between stage somewhere between teenager and full-blown adulthood.<br /><br />That was initially a complete disappointment, by the way. In the fall before college, I was geared up to apply to Liberty University in Virginia. I had plans of scarves and hot coffee and football games in the fall, living in a dorm, being on my own, albeit slightly hidden in the safety of being at school. Not quite the same as the real world, I hear.<br /><br />Anyway<br /><br />I was all set to go, right up until my mother broke the news that it simply wasn't affordable. I didn't qualify for Bright Futures, and while I had a few scholarships, they weren't going to cover four years at a private university. That might have been surmountable, but then my father was deployed, leaving my mother, sister and I behind, and leaving me with a great sense of responsibility to them. Moving to Virginia just wasn't in the cards.<br /><br />So I went to the local community college, got a job and started life. Met my husband. Nagged him into marrying me. Finally go my AA. Had a baby. Not the way I expected it to go. Not the way the lives of so many friends went.<br /><br />I sometimes<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You don't get to know what I sometimes, because at this point, Munch woke up and nursed, then proceeded to giggle and play and be all-around charming until I snapped out of wishing for anything but the life I've been given. Because really, how could you not love this:</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94puoAOc1iuaqyK1nGgVcNpQQxQBz-aEKi6_Bbc8orWLSvkZPn7F6PzWdnY8UU9cxPfJN8FfvagPndXf8qTv5Uz3ootcQEFJiqDcYXYZb7QIz3h1zs3FSHq4MuNg_v0Rc0CDpY_2WUFwS/s1600/DSC_0118c.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94puoAOc1iuaqyK1nGgVcNpQQxQBz-aEKi6_Bbc8orWLSvkZPn7F6PzWdnY8UU9cxPfJN8FfvagPndXf8qTv5Uz3ootcQEFJiqDcYXYZb7QIz3h1zs3FSHq4MuNg_v0Rc0CDpY_2WUFwS/s200/DSC_0118c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708042870365162834" border="0" /></a>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-86033639038610684372011-12-31T23:46:00.003-05:002012-01-01T00:02:52.568-05:00ResolutionsI always get all tingly at the start of a new year. It's so fresh and clean, no mistakes in it, no ANYTHING in it, just blank newness waiting to be mucked about it.<br /><br />I know that's rubbish.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">And also I've been watching a lot of Doctor Who, which explains the British phraseology. Seriously, if I had a British accent, I'd shut up even less than I already do.</span><br /><br />Anyway, like I said, I know the whole idea of the new year being fresh and shiny and new is utter rubbish, because really, there's nothing special about tomorrow. It's just another day. But somehow it's so full of opportunities and choices to be made or not made or unmade or remade. It's just so darn EXCITING.<br /><br />I am a resolution maker, and this year I have <del>three</del> four resolutions for my brand new, shiny year:<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Organize</span>. This sounds dumb, but we live in 1200 sq feet, and until the economy turns around, we're going nowhere fast. It's time to take this hodge podge of a house and turn it into a well-mannered, organized home.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Get Healthy</span> - I'm little, but I am nowhere near as healthy as I wish I was. Starting tomorrow, I'm exercising, feeding my family more whole foods and no more eating cereal that changes the color of my milk. I may even start to buy <span style="font-style: italic;">*gasp</span>* 2% instead of whole. The end goal here is to run a 5K next December.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Read. </span>In 2010, I read 100 books. <span style="font-weight: bold;">100. </span>I didn't set myself a reading goal last year and I read precisely five books. Or so. So this year, I'm cutting the goal in quarters, because I have doula training and work and a BABY. So, in 2012, I'm reading 25 books. At least. And only seven of them can be Harry Potter.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">It's funny because there are seven Harry Potter books.</span><br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Word. </span>As in "The Word". My relationship with God fell to the wayside when I became a mother, but if I want to raise up this little girl in the way that she should go, I need to make sure I am on the way that I should go. I miss reading the Bible every night. I miss the closeness I had with God.<br /><br />So there it is. Organze. Fit. Read. Word.<br /><br />OFRW.<br /><br />Or WORF, if you prefer.<br /><br />Actually, I do.<br /><br />WORF: New Years 2012Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-84706067041209109492011-12-14T18:59:00.001-05:002011-12-14T19:01:12.089-05:00Bird Sillouette Wall Art *DIY*When Paul and I looked into decorating Munch's room, I made a discovery.<br /><br />Baby stuff is effing expensive.<br /><br />It really is. Early on, I fell in love with the <a href="http://www.bananafishinc.com/prodpg.php?product_id=1185">Bananafish Love Birds</a> set. I love the birds and the leaves and the OMGITSSOCUTE of it all. Unfortunately, $179 on a fitted sheet, a dust ruffle, a bumper and a quilt makes my heart want to explode out of my chest. So, instead of biting the bullet, realizing that EVERYONE spends ridiculous amounts on baby bedding and purchasing the set, I settled on a pink, green and brown color scheme and that was that. We were even gifted a very cute bedding set from one of my class parents that matches the scheme perfectly:<br /><a href="http://bedzine.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Alli-Taylor-Circle-Time-Pink-Bedding-Collection.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 220px;" src="http://bedzine.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Alli-Taylor-Circle-Time-Pink-Bedding-Collection.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I sort of detest this picture. It's way cuter in person. Still, as cute as the bedding is, I kept going back to that darn Bananafish. Something about the little birds and leaves and muted colors just speaks to my heart. So, instead of breaking the bank, I said "Well, maybe just the wall art. That's compromising, right?" Plus, look how cute it is:<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41oaZCyzjeL.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 500px; height: 252px;" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41oaZCyzjeL.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>And then. Oh, and then. Did I mention that this piece retails on Amazon for <span style="font-weight: bold;">$64</span>?!<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>Just let that sink in. I'll wait.<br /><br />Once I recovered from my sticker shock induced coma, I grabbed Paul and the two of us marches ourselves down to Hobby Lobby. I love Hobby Lobby. My entire wedding was from their shelves.<br /><br />Now, my version is a great deal simpler, but you could easily add whatever flowers/leaves/vining/color you wanted. You could even make the pieces fabric covered with a little bit of fabric and a stapler. It's really not tough stuff.<br /><br />Here's what you'll need:<a href="http://i962.photobucket.com/albums/ae109/cherrybud2/107_0059.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 348px; height: 260px;" src="http://i962.photobucket.com/albums/ae109/cherrybud2/107_0059.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a href="http://i962.photobucket.com/albums/ae109/cherrybud2/107_0071.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 234px;" src="http://i962.photobucket.com/albums/ae109/cherrybud2/107_0071.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />- Two 8x10 Canvases (I found a 2-pack at HL for $3.50)<br />- Two sheets of 8.5x11 Scrapbooking paper (I got four in case I messed up, but they only run about $.44 apeice)<br />- Ribbon (This is optional, depending on how you want to mount your art<br />- Mod Podge ( I used the matte finish, and it turned out well)<br />- Spongy craft brush<br />- Bird Template (I used <a href="http://www.bystephanielynn.com/2009/12/little-birdie-once-told-menever-waste.html">this one</a> from <a href="http://www.bystephanielynn.com/">Under the Table and Dreaming</a>)<br /><br />This is seriously the easiest project I've ever done. You don't even have to print out the bird template. Just bring the picture up on your computer screen, zoom to the size you want it, and trace it onto printer paper. Cut that out and VOILA! insta-stencil.<br /><br />Obviously, the first thing you're going to do is trace your birdie stencil onto the back, and I repeat, the BACK of your pieces of scrapbook paper. Don't do it on the front. The Back. Otherwise, you end up with pencil marks on your cute new bird.<br /><br />Cut those out. I assume you know how to use scissors. Just be careful going around the rounded edges. It's easy to not round enough and end up with jaggedy edges. Not cute.<br /><br />Note: Remember to trace your birdies so they are facing opposite directions. I almost made that exact mistake before I stopped and said "Wait...what?"<br /><br />Now for the fun part. Using your spongy brush (I used the little one), apply Mod Podge to both the canvas and the back of your bird. I found that just a single layer on one or the other just doesn't cut it. Carefully position your bird and smooth out the air bubbles. I found that no matter what I did, I had a few air bubbles. I'm only fake crafty, so I'm not really sure how to remedy the situation, but they seemed to calm down a lot after I put on the sealing coat of Mod Podge and let them dry.<br /><br />Let the Mod Podge dry for about 15 minutes, then put on a thin layer over the entire canvas, including the birdie. This will (Apparently) help seal the piece so you don't end up with a little birdie peeling off in a few months.<br /><br />So, after all that, you should end up with something resembling....THIS<a href="http://i962.photobucket.com/albums/ae109/cherrybud2/107_0076.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 454px; height: 340px;" src="http://i962.photobucket.com/albums/ae109/cherrybud2/107_0076.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>My little birds aren't perfectly even, and I opted to go a LOT simpler than the original wall art, but I'm pleased with how they turned out. I don't even think I'll hang them with the ribbon. I like the simplicity of just mounting them on the walls.<br /><br />If you wanted to do extra pieces, it would be super easy to just add them into the above instructions. If you wanted a fabric background, I would suggest using cotton and applique-ing, rather than Mod Podge, although I hear they make a type that works well for cloth, so have at it.<br /><br />When we get her dresser/changing table in, these little cuties will hang above it. Soon and very soon.Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-52162965829123253892011-12-10T09:22:00.003-05:002011-12-10T09:35:29.536-05:00Cosleeping, the story of how we became "those" peopleWe cosleep. Munch sleeps next to our bed in a bassinet, and, in a month or so when she is too big, we will be taking the side off her crib and moving it into our room as a cosleeper bed.<br /><br />I was always the first person to say that my child would be in her own bed just as soon as possible. I really was super judgey about parents who kept their children with them in bed past the six week mark, and I swore up and down that it would never happen in my family.<br /><br />And then.<br /><br />Munch came along and my boobs became the proverbial milkshake parlor. In the beginning, she slept next to our bed in a swing. At three weeks, like any good American, Kids-need-to-learn-to-be-independent parent, I moved her into her own bed in her room. She slept fine, but now I was getting up in the middle of the night, every two hours, walking into her room to nurse her, then rocking her back to sleep, a process that sometimes took the better part of an hour and left me in frustrated tears.<br /><br />Finally, after a night of fruitless attempts at putting her back to sleep, I simply brought her back to bed with us. I nursed her on my side for a bit, then both of us snuggled into each other and fell asleep. I was astonished at how easy it became to keep homegirl asleep when she was with me. The arrangement worked so well that she stayed. BAM, we were suddenly not just a cosleeping family but a GASP, bed-sharing family. And when we were given a bassinet so that her sweaty little self didn't have to plastered against me all night (seriously. Munch is the sweatiest kid on the planet.), she stayed longer. It's just so darn easy to pull her into bed with me, nurse her and put her back (or not). I get way more sleep, and she sleeps great. Its also such a comfort for me when the Hubs is working late to just pull Munch into bed with me and go to sleep together.<br /><br />She's four months old now, and there's not really an end in sight for our cosleeping adventures. When she's night-weaned, perhaps. Or maybe not.Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-66614565403486535132011-10-07T20:48:00.004-04:002011-10-07T21:18:48.860-04:00It's a Problem<div style="text-align: center;">It's Friday.<br /><br />My girl is asleep upstairs and, because she has recently started sleeping through the night (knock on wood and thank the Lord), I have until 5:30 tomorrow morning to work on my novel, get laundry done, catch up on some rest.<br /><br />But no.<br /><br />It's Friday.<br /><br />Which means I am busy with three things. One thing, really.</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVaI3BCydalpIdfqPGvTiDoh0ImcJF9EmwdSVWj5nxGsKyQ2tr5R8gHR5K3aeZJ1FaUr5QlFL-xEmpWKi8qsJ2tH-hPO9uGKXn8pkvq8_XglXNMDSW5jskdHtqdTMDo6mUrNLBEqw-Hl-/s1600/107_0187.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVaI3BCydalpIdfqPGvTiDoh0ImcJF9EmwdSVWj5nxGsKyQ2tr5R8gHR5K3aeZJ1FaUr5QlFL-xEmpWKi8qsJ2tH-hPO9uGKXn8pkvq8_XglXNMDSW5jskdHtqdTMDo6mUrNLBEqw-Hl-/s320/107_0187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660918804377434882" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">These<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">We cloth diaper Miss Alice's sweet little bum, and I love it, I truly do. The one problem is that Cloth Diapering can quickly become an obsession. I spend countless hours on cloth diapering websites and online stores, drooling over new prints and products that I want.<br /><br />Our stash is pretty economical. We have Alice covered until she's 18 pounds or so, a</span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">ll for under $300. We'll probably spend a little under $100 more, and she'll be set for the rest of her diapering years. We don't NEED more diapers.<br /><br />But look at those things. How could you not want more? And they're so cute that I want one to match every outfit she owns, and that can get a bit expensive.<br /><br />So here I am, on Friday, entering contests.<br /><br />You'd be amazed the things people give away on the Internet. To me, Friday means three things.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theclothdiaperwhisperer.com/2011/10/fluff-friday-151.html">Fluff Friday </a><br />(this week is two itti bitti tutto's, normally over $20 apiece)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.thirstiesbaby.com/blog/category/thirsties-thursday-giveaways/">Thirsty Thursday</a><br />(Two Duo Diaper in Snaps. WANT WANT WANT)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.clothdiaperblog.com/feed-your-stash-friday-enter-to-win-2-happy-heiny-one-size-pocket-diapers-ends-10-12-11/#comment-322964">Feed Your Stash Friday</a><br />(two Happy Heiney's. I don't even know if I like that brand, but hey, free is free.)<br /><br />When I'm feeling super ambitious, I'll visit the cloth diaper round-up and just go nuts entering giveaways. I keep a Twitter account solely for the ability to earn extra entries by tweeting. I blow up people's newsfeeds on Friday, liking this post and that, posting status updates about various giveaways.<br /><br />I've never actually won a giveaway. But it's happening. One of these days, it'll happen. The statistics say so.<br /><br />Besides, how cute is this:<br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmrR2uRznMOhT92Lk2PbxRkAJHewkbIsc0iuGnaj6FkQ6iYClC4sqG-mC15lym-P-xmQcWKx1l66bXTqqfrdYxwRoNz_y-AWF3KyXd3MHdwHJI6iNXC4yYc7tdQyrT9WrJHnOXWfi7SZU/s1600/IMAG0016.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmrR2uRznMOhT92Lk2PbxRkAJHewkbIsc0iuGnaj6FkQ6iYClC4sqG-mC15lym-P-xmQcWKx1l66bXTqqfrdYxwRoNz_y-AWF3KyXd3MHdwHJI6iNXC4yYc7tdQyrT9WrJHnOXWfi7SZU/s320/IMAG0016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660924198190273522" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></span></span></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-40855101150186559672011-10-01T21:49:00.005-04:002011-10-01T22:19:36.736-04:00UnnecesareanI said in my last post that I still have a lot of anger and grief about my sweet girl being born via C-section.<br /><br />I still do.<br /><br />I'm not obsessing over it the way I was, having trouble even picking up my girl because I couldn't stop hurting and crying over her method of birth. No, I'm not there anymore. I'm enjoying being a mommy, enjoying my life. But every once in awhile, I still look at the way she was born and just want to cry over it.<br /><br />Sometimes I do. But not always.<br /><br />Even though I don't cry every time, I do tell myself, every time,<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Never Again."</span><br /><br />Our next birth will be a home birth, barring an absolute emergency. I will not willingly put myself back in the hands of an OB who refuses to even consider a vaginal breech delivery. I will certainly not put myself back with a group that checked the position of my child FIVE TIMES by five different doctors and still missed that my child was breech. The thing I have come to realize is that obstetrics is moving away from vaginal delivery. And I don't think that's a bad thing. I'm getting to the point where I believe that every OB should have a 100% cesarean rate and that vaginal birth is no place for a doctor, especially not doctors that are so afraid of litigation that they cut for something as simple as a frank breech baby.<br /><br />On a side note, the reactions I got to the word "breech" were incredibly varied. Anyone who gave birth within the last ten years looked at me with horror and said "Oh no! That's so scary!" Anyone who had given birth before that time said "Oh, my daughter/niece/son/nephew was breech and they had no problem delivering him/her. I wonder why they wouldn't let you try it normally."<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />Our cesarean went "well", meaning my baby was healthy, I was healthy, and my recovery, physically, was easy. Everyone tells me that I should be grateful, because all that matters is that I have a healthy baby.<br /><br />But no one will listen to the fact that, emotionally, it was horrendous.<br /><br />I feel like I was given no options, simply told that, because I hadn't given birth before, I <span style="font-weight: bold;">couldn't</span> deliver her vaginally. That my body, designed by an Almighty Creator, <span style="font-weight: bold;">could not</span> fulfill one of its basic purposes and give birth.<br /><br />I feel like I was robbed of a normal birth because the doctor was unwilling or unable or to scared to help me, and because a cesarean is, for the doctor, so much easier. I feel like my doctor took the cowards way out.<br /><br />I lost control of my contractions toward the end, because I saw no point in working with them and working through them anymore, if they were just going to cut her out of me. Where I had been calm, if in pain, but focused and in control, I was now terrified and in pain, unfocused and out of control.<br /><br />I felt like a complete failure because I had worked so hard to prepare for her birth, only to have it ripped away from me by a doctor who would not do their job.<br /><br />I felt completely out of control of the actual delivery. I didn't actively push my child into the world, she was removed from me, like something unwanted.<br /><br />I didn't get the first precious minutes of her life. Instead, I spent those being sewn up, while she was taken from her mother and into a room to be examined.<br /><br />My feelings were discounted by every single person I spoke to after the surgery, including my doctor. Each person made me feel that I was weak, failing in my emotional response the way I had during my delivery. That I was ungrateful for my healthy baby girl.<br /><br />Like I said, Never Again.Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-27891983458749419162011-09-20T22:03:00.006-04:002011-09-20T22:40:56.165-04:0030 BEFORE 30 - Have a BabyDone and done!<br /><br />I didn't update at all during my pregnancy, mostly because life got hectic. I lost a job, found a job, started my novel in earnest, interviewed pediatricians, bought cloth diapers. It's been an exciting few months. But I'd say its been worth it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD0rRWJeGc5B6Lfq6P5U-AbUDlCJQR5ciEMpW9x8PaohHi3aOXymrlngn9OGtGhB7ZJ4PqJ1ajbELpBo5H_LL9RjZnvdQSiOc24h1Mb-BL9sz-NHNxoak1fBDfeYU9ZbffmAnpXPwlXN8/s1600/107_0158.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD0rRWJeGc5B6Lfq6P5U-AbUDlCJQR5ciEMpW9x8PaohHi3aOXymrlngn9OGtGhB7ZJ4PqJ1ajbELpBo5H_LL9RjZnvdQSiOc24h1Mb-BL9sz-NHNxoak1fBDfeYU9ZbffmAnpXPwlXN8/s320/107_0158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654631101550999442" border="0" /></a>She's about a week old here, still in possesion of her gray eyes and newborn hair. The hair has since fallen out, to be replaced with hair that is her daddy's dark color though not, at this point, quite the same texture or amount. I'm sure that will come, to the bane of my future attempts at taming it. Her eyes have gone from gray to a very determined blue, again, just like her daddy, much to his dismay. He was hoping for brown, like mommy :)<br /><br />My girl was born the day before her due date, via c-section. I still feel a jolt of anger and grief when I write that. She wasn't supposed to be born via C-section. I labored without drugs for nine hours before my delivery OB announced that, while I was dilating beautifully and my girl had dropped, she was breech, and breech delivery is something my OB does not "allow". I could have disputed it, and perhaps should have, but a woman in labor does not make good split-second decisions, and I let them cut me. I have a lot of regrets about that, which I may go over in another post. This post isn't about my regrets. It's about my perfect little success.<br /><br />C-sections are odd things. I couldn't feel any pain, just tugging, which I found out later was **GROSS WARNING** the doctors removing my "guts" as my brother in law put it and placing them on my chest. Sick in the extreme. I had morphine in my spinal, which made me a little woozy, but I distinctly remember the moment she was "born". The doctor asked me if I was ready, and upon my emphatic "YES", I heard my little girl cry. I wish I'd been able to have a "right to the chest" moment, but when your arms are stretched out to your sides and the lower half of your body is numb and cut open, they don't exactly want to hand you your baby. They cleaned her up, and I did get to meet her before they took her off to the nursery for vitals.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphPUxv7lY0JoFsTT1tylkoxmQ_FBkaBkWa1lz8DJDks7UktLnXKRSL88twkpO9tv71dQGu-BU39RZUyvQMtvFLEj9O01vsX9w1X1W4mQ0wsQhEUiQvjmLdX8CAb98ne6vk3P96HpZ9eq_/s1600/107_0111.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjphPUxv7lY0JoFsTT1tylkoxmQ_FBkaBkWa1lz8DJDks7UktLnXKRSL88twkpO9tv71dQGu-BU39RZUyvQMtvFLEj9O01vsX9w1X1W4mQ0wsQhEUiQvjmLdX8CAb98ne6vk3P96HpZ9eq_/s320/107_0111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654631094012844738" border="0" /></a>They brought her to me within 15 minutes of my being post-op, and she was nursing within ten minutes of being with me. I will say that, other than the fact that I ended up with an "unnecesaerean", the hospital was very good about respecting my wishes. This picture is from the second day, probably less than 18 hours post op. Notice the lack of anything connected to me. I did everything I could to get off IV fluids and then GO HOME as soon as possible. We ended up going home 38 hours post-op. Less than two days. That's less than most vaginal deliveries. Take that, medical system<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigYLtRQN6Pk5erzPYQhfYoeZcTLSVQYvlYD5Dd7cLkzQYBfaOGRqMY-5qfv6_i4RdZdaBkb57tE_v5OjsK9upia0WPJPQoNU_DnErJSDZksj9jw-d4OpiwT4Tf6LZIoihA0hCpdit6o43F/s1600/262557_2304572094374_1251396432_2825127_1053790_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigYLtRQN6Pk5erzPYQhfYoeZcTLSVQYvlYD5Dd7cLkzQYBfaOGRqMY-5qfv6_i4RdZdaBkb57tE_v5OjsK9upia0WPJPQoNU_DnErJSDZksj9jw-d4OpiwT4Tf6LZIoihA0hCpdit6o43F/s320/262557_2304572094374_1251396432_2825127_1053790_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654628691840966658" border="0" /></a><br />Our first family picture:<br /><div id="recover"><span id="spellcheckMessage"></span></div><textarea style="display: none;" name="postBody" rows="17" cols="47" id="textarea" wrap="soft" tabindex="5" dir="ltr"></textarea><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Mw9K_363G79IIAQT9mRv0oIL76InIrAl4PRtCtOf4WhF_QN9yk0jh2lPmDrZXXBOcgB3aCOG99VoT58ExQnYlSMj8HAVJM1AJ2Uuc9J2QIBJeUUjLIuhRqsq5QpFfMvbqlbOSJzZKCxI/s1600/300742_2304572534385_1251396432_2825130_733730_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Mw9K_363G79IIAQT9mRv0oIL76InIrAl4PRtCtOf4WhF_QN9yk0jh2lPmDrZXXBOcgB3aCOG99VoT58ExQnYlSMj8HAVJM1AJ2Uuc9J2QIBJeUUjLIuhRqsq5QpFfMvbqlbOSJzZKCxI/s320/300742_2304572534385_1251396432_2825130_733730_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654628848166949890" border="0" /></a>My girl is a month old now, becoming more and more alert, trying to hold her head up, still nursing like a champ. We are cloth diapering, something I'll cover in another post, but its going so well. I love being a mommy, but more importantly, I love being <span style="font-style: italic;">her</span> mommy.Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-14910043781030173442011-01-10T14:03:00.002-05:002011-01-10T14:10:30.474-05:00Green Olive<div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 425px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 319px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://ourstorkgotlost.files.wordpress.com/2008/09/olive1.jpg" />That's my baby: A green olive. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">On December 2, I took a ridiculously early pregnancy test and was shocked to see the faintest of all faint positives. Paul wasn't even sure he could see a line, and I spent the rest of the day in "pregnant or not" limbo. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">The next morning returned a darker positive, the third morning, a definite positive, and the following day, a digital readout of "Pregnant" on a digital test.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">So today I am officially nine weeks knocked up. It's the first morning in about five weeks I haven't woken up wanting to vomit, which is a plus, and I was finally able to stomach the delectable smell of Chef-Boy-R-Dee, which I love with all my heart. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">It's a short post today, but I promise (maybe) to be better about posting, now that I actually have soemthing to post about. </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">OIh, heavens. I just became that woman who thinks she has nothing interesting to say unless it pertains to motherhood.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Saints preserve us.</div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-42423077807439690602010-12-09T20:48:00.003-05:002010-12-09T21:00:26.769-05:00It isn't that I don't love you<div style="text-align: center;">I've just been so very busy, you see.<br /><br />Working.<br /><br />And writing the novel that's going to make me the next JK Rowling (AHAHAHAHA!! if only)<br /><br />And Christmasing. I don't actually have a tree yet. We're supposed to get one this weekend because my parents gave us forty smakaroos. We spent it on groceries, but we're still buying a forty dollar tree. It's pretty much the same thing.<br /><br />Christmas is in interesting thing when you're a young married couple. You've moved out, so you aren't the kids anymore, and the kids or sort of the focus of the whole Christmas season. And Jesus. I'll get to him in a minute. But for now, kids. We aren't the kids anymore, so the whole magic of that aspect is missing now.<br /><br />Example: My sister and I used to sleep in the same bedroom on Christmas Eve and watch Christmas movies (Annabelle's Wish? The best/worse/best/worse Christmas movie on the planet. It's about a cow who turns into a reindeer. Seriously. Also, it's important to note that I just spelled "reindeer" as "raighndeer" The spell check suggested that I really meant "Straightener". Mercy). I usually fell asleep mid-Grinch, but still. It was a Yuletide slumber party once a year. Also, we always got brand new PJ's. Last year we tried that, and at nine, we both looked at each other and said "Yea, I had to work today. I'm going to bed." We didn't even sleep in the same room. She slept in her old bedroom and I slept in mine with my husband.<br /><br />Childhood = gone forever.<br /><br />I feel like this problem of missing magic could all be solved by having our own children, because really, kids get the joy and magic of Christmas. But while we are neither kids nor parents, we're stuck in Holiday limbo.<br /><br />On the bright side, my Mommy still fills my stocking on Christmas Eve, although last year she did it while I was still awake and sitting on the couch. I watched her do it. Seriously Mom, how am I supposed to believe in Santa Claus if you do stuff like that. You're killing the Virginia in me, that's what. I told her that, too. Her response was that she was tired and wanted to go to bed. Apparently tricking us into thinking a fat man leaves presents every year was easier when we went to bed at seven thirty. I say her excuses find no sympathy from me.<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-65110510868473436022010-11-30T15:21:00.002-05:002010-11-30T15:23:50.555-05:00NeverTell a mother or a nanny of an ADHD child that it is ridiculous to medicate a child. <div><br /></div><div>The next time someone informs me as such, I'm going to direct them to my charge at homework time when he has skipped meds.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I am going to kick them in the shins.</div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-74499716296433203242010-11-23T11:36:00.005-05:002010-11-23T11:45:47.708-05:00Here's the thing.<div style="text-align: center;">Here's the thing.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I love Harry Potter.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">LOVE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">When I finish reading one of the books, I am overwhelmed by this sadness that just clings for days because I have to come back to reality and realize that the world isn't real.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's incredibly healthy of me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm very well-adjusted.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Anyway, with the seventh movie now half out (it was amazing, by the way), I am overcome with emotion at the fact that, after this July, it will be over. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">OVER.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I can reread the books, and I will, but they will say the same things they always have.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The beauty of the HP universe is that it is so vast and there are so many stories waiting to be told in it. She has hinted at possible doing a few more, and to that I say PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The point of all this is that a dog jumped at me today.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Stay with me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A dog jumped at me today and left a gash on my forehead about a quarter inch long. When I had the bleeding under control, I took a look in the mirror and OMGITSLIGHTNINGBOLTSHAPED.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Vaguely. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I can only hope against all hope that it scars.</div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-91160376365446239332010-11-17T17:07:00.002-05:002010-11-17T17:14:13.312-05:00NaNoWriMo: A sad, sad update<div style="text-align: center;">I lack something.<br /><br />The common folk call it "stick-to-it-ivness"<br /><br />I call it that too, but I like to say "the common folk"<br /><br />I really do have none. My husband and I never did finish The Love Dare, I didn't finish the RIPV Challenge in October, I've never finished a Nest book challenge. Look at my "100 books in 2010" list. I'm at 96 and completely stalled out. And now, it's looking like NaNoWriMo will be the next thing tossed into my "Yea, I was going to do that once" basket.<br /><br />I have a good reason though.<br /><br />I started off strong.<br /><br />I wrote well.<br /><br />Then I realized...<br /><br />I detest the characters I wrote.<br /><br />DETEST.<br /><br />As in hate with an almighty passion.<br /><br />I very nearly just had her throw herself off a cliff because she's so darn annoying.<br /><br />So I have scrapped that story. But I refuse to give up!<br /><br />In a burst of determination, I went back to the drawing board and started over with an entirely new idea. It's going well, but I'm only about 500 words in, so we'll see.<br /><br />Things That Bother Me About Harry Potter #2: How have Fred and George never been called in to a disciplinary hearing about underage magic outside school? Haven't they been developing Puking Pastilles and whatnot for ages?<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-70703728958455398752010-11-15T13:23:00.002-05:002010-11-15T13:28:01.809-05:00Things That Always Bugged Me About Harry Potter<div style="text-align: center;">#1.<br /><br />"If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my - my teddy bear into a dirty great spider because I broke his toy broomstick."<br /><br />This seems like a rather advanced piece of transfiguration for a five year old, which Fred would have been at the time, especially considering he wouldn't have had a wand at the time.<br /><br />Although, it's possible that he didn't do it strictly on purpose. It isn't unheard of in the Harry Potter universe for young children to do things on accident when they are angry or scared.<br /><br />Also, I would like you to take this moment to appreciate how very much I love this series, because oly true love is able to care so much about something so ridiculously irrelevant.<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-88545898735992205522010-11-02T18:32:00.001-04:002010-11-02T18:32:47.127-04:00I voted today...<div style="text-align: center;">did you?<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-16490480446172523702010-11-01T10:24:00.003-04:002010-11-01T12:16:04.673-04:00NaNoWriMo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQoNlhTvW3kzqwFbbFIPAo3uyHhH7ba-Go4Cb5bJi3Aoqi4w7AOxc4Z2Mk7FXqjjbeRBvoXe9ZB5CU61Ybo56sEFrIFOSUmhzRvkUQ7w-gX0yZ9f-fH_b69obNCLBwIjvMUaqsOGjIaqsf/s1600/nanowrimo_participant_07_120x240.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQoNlhTvW3kzqwFbbFIPAo3uyHhH7ba-Go4Cb5bJi3Aoqi4w7AOxc4Z2Mk7FXqjjbeRBvoXe9ZB5CU61Ybo56sEFrIFOSUmhzRvkUQ7w-gX0yZ9f-fH_b69obNCLBwIjvMUaqsOGjIaqsf/s320/nanowrimo_participant_07_120x240.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534587164968127426" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">As I have mentioned, I am an aspiring writer, which basically means that I like to write, but don't have the wherewithal to actually finish anything so it can be published. I'm also incredibly critical, and can't manage to get through a few pages of prose without going back and hyper-editing everything.<br /><br />The buck stops here, darn it.<br /><br />For the month of November, despite the fact that I have never completed an internet challenge ever, I am participating in National Novel Writer's Month. The challenge, basically, is to write a 50,000 page novel in a one-month time-span. They make a point of informing you that what you produce will probably be beautiful, lovable crap, because instead of editing and trashing, you are supposed to just throw criticism to the wind and write with nary a thought to commas splices and plot holes.<br /><br />I'm nervous, because you actually have to submit your novel, which means that people are going to <span style="font-style: italic;">read</span> it, which is something I have never allowed. Ever. My husband, who I love with all my hart, has never read a word that I have written. Except when he was cleaning our bedroom and found my old journal from eleventh and twelfth grade. He read that. And laughed at me. Out of love, I'm sure.<br /><br />The point is, I'm writing a novel. I'm doing it, and you can't stop me.<br /><br /><br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-72844177813802454762010-10-23T23:23:00.003-04:002010-10-23T23:28:31.176-04:00It's Late<div style="text-align: center;">It's late, so please note the following:<br /><br />I just got home from a concert where my father drank his weight in cranberry and vodka, then begged for a burrito on the way home. I love my family.<br /><br />I have been thoroughly berated for referring to my ovaries as "broken". So I retract that statement. My ovaries are lazy and have the collective work ethic of a paraplegic sloth.<br /><br />I am a wig-dying failure. I will never be a Cosplay genius. Also, if you know how to dye a polyester wig, please enlighten me. It mostly still looks blond, only with maybe a disease whose symptoms include sickly purple streaks.<br /><br />MY laundry is not done and I am ignoring its pleas for washing. I have a blog to update here.<br /><br />My nails are super pretty. I would take a picture, but I haven't a camera. Please take note of this and add it to your Christmas shopping list<br /><br />Gone with the Wind = awesome book. Slow read.<br /><br />The end.<br /><br />Love ya.<br /><br />Good night.<br /><br />and Good luck.<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-16986907688706892572010-09-27T14:42:00.002-04:002010-09-27T15:01:25.156-04:00Discovery<div style="text-align: center;">SPOILER ALERT: All seven Harry Potter novels<br /><br />I am a nanny. During the day, it is just me and the littlest kiddo, who is 15 months. In the afternoons, I get her brother, T, who, despite his <a href="http://rpfyl.blogspot.com/2010/02/can-i-just-say.html">lack of Robin Hood knowledge</a>, is a generally good kid. I've gently coaxed him this year into almost enjoying reading, and had the pleasure of introducing him to the (life-changing? spectacular? mind-blowing?) Harry Potter novels.<br /><br />It is an amazing thing to watch, in him, the same process I went through when I was first discovering the books. He hasn't seen the movies. He doesn't know about Snape killing Dumbledore, about Voldemort coming back, about Umbridge and her detestable faux-sweetness, about the epic battles that make up the last three books. I sincerely hope no one spoils it for him.<br /><br />He is most of the way through the third book, and is still where we all were, thinking Sirius Black a murderer, not knowing about the Time-Turner or that Lupin is a werewolf, certainly not realizing Scabber's true identity. Voldemort is still, at this point, a bad guy in the distance, his return not even a possibility on the horizon. T is busy coming up with theories, most of the dead wrong, but who's theories weren't dead wrong at this point?<br /><br />I am loving his shock at each new revelation, his loyalties toward certain characters, and his predictions of what is to come.<br /><br />Potter for President, that's what.<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-84960541472604247472010-09-22T13:49:00.003-04:002010-09-22T13:49:56.227-04:00Because I need something else to waste my time...<div style="text-align: center;">www.fabric.com<br /><br />Your welcome.<br /><br />Excuse me, I need to go sew something.</div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-89144651629430000452010-09-20T10:17:00.003-04:002010-09-20T10:24:37.653-04:00Shuggling<div style="text-align: center;">I am an aspiring writer.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">And by "aspiring" I mean that, while the baby I take care of sleeps and I am supposed to be doing laundry, I plug in my portable hard drive and type.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">It's a glamorous life.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Anyway, one of the <del>tribulations</del> joys of writing is that the characters and such don't always do as you tell them. Take Levi, for instance. He is my protagonist, and one of my favorite characters. His story is supposed to be written in the third person, but he will insist on telling it himself. I have finally given in, and in the process of going back over the last 15 or so pages and switching the "him"s to "me"s, I came across this sentence:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"He bent and began shuggling my papers into a pile"</span><br /><br />"Shuggling"? What on earth is "shuggling"? Did I mean juggling? shrugging? Was I trying to be presumptions and make up a word? What does it mean?<br /><br />I can only assume that I meant "shuffling", which makes sense, and that my finger slipped over to the G by mistake.<br /><br />The moral of this story, children, is always proofread your work. If you don't, you may find that you've shuggled it all up.<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-24544204204815653642010-09-16T13:51:00.002-04:002010-09-16T13:54:31.310-04:00Mockingjay - Midpoint<div style="text-align: center;">I'm only three chapters into Mockingjay, and Katniss...<br /><br />Oh Wait.<br /><br />Spoilers.<br /><br />Sorry.<br /><br />Anyway. Katniss is driving me INSANE.<br /><br />"I'm emotional and sad and my response is to be useless and ungrateful to everyone around me!"<br /><br />Unacceptable, Katniss. Get your s**t together.<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-1565751305202271752010-09-15T10:03:00.001-04:002010-09-15T10:08:10.353-04:00Dogs<div style="text-align: center;">I don't like Dogs.<br /><br />Actually, that's not true. I like little dogs. Sweet, fluffy, lick-your-face-with-their-tiny-tongues dogs. Those are sweet, and hardly count as dogs. More like canine-esque kitty-kats mixed with a bit of gerbil. Big dogs, on the other hand, make me break out in emotional and mental hives. This is incredibly inconvenient, because I am apparently a dog-whisperer. I have never met a big dog that didn't think I was just the most amazing, wonderful thing it had ever met and proceed to ignore everyone else in the room until I had petted and loved on it. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I work as a nanny in a home with a Pit Bull and a Chocolate Lab that I detest. To say that I hate these dogs is an understatement akin to saying that Hitler was a painter with some anger issues. They are my own personal Marley. They jump, they drool, they steal the baby's toys (and eat them), and they wait until right after I put the baby down to find something offensive in the street that must be immediately barked at. My hatred, which I do all I can to project toward these animals, has absolutely no affect whatsoever on the drooling, obnoxious love they insist upon showing me. I suppose I could find greater meaning in this, something about how dogs love unconditionally, blah, blah, blah. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">But I won't. If I did, I would have to admit that she does, in fact, have redeeming features, which, while it may or may not be true, I refuse to do.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I like cats quite a bit, although I wish I could get through a bowl of cereal without a furry face in mine asking "You gonna finish that milk?" To which I sulkily reply "Apparently not"</div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-66219033456457435202010-09-15T09:47:00.005-04:002010-10-08T15:16:33.532-04:00A Story<div style="text-align: center;">I'm going to tell you a story.<br /><br />When I was little, my sister and I used to go to my grandparents ranch/hay farm/house in the summertime. Not every summertime, but a fair few.<br /><br />Anyways, usually my cousins, who were fantastic, would join us, and a fun time would be had by all.<br /><br />During these trips, if there were no adults accompanying us to ruin the fun, my cousins and I would get to sleep in the "Little House", which was a small one-room cabin that stands on the property. We aren't sure how it got there. All we know is that the Little House, with it's circa-1985 electric blankets, dodgy plumbing and rattling, boggart infested heater, has always been there, and being able to sleep in it was the epitome of grown-upedness, second only to being allowed to sleep in the 1985 Winnebago.<br /><br />This particular trip, for whatever reason, we had been allowed access to the Little House, and my cousins and I were having a super-groovy dance party. We had all watched "Stepmom" that morning, and we were now obsessed with the song "Ain't no Mountain".<br /><br />Somewhere during this party, we thought jumping on the bed would be a good idea.<br /><br />After all, this is childhood. Jumping on the bed is ALWAYS a good idea.<br /><br />How very wrong we were.<br /><br />About ten minutes into our jumping extravaganza, there was a jarring thud, a horrific breaking sound, and the bed became about six inches shorter on the top right hand side.<br /><br />OMG<br /><br />Upon further inspection, it was discovered that we had put the bed <span style="font-style: italic;">through the floor</span> of the Little House.<br /><br />OMGOMGOMG<br /><br />Children break many things.<br /><br />Toys<br /><br />Books<br /><br />Electronics<br /><br />Bones<br /><br />But never, in my entire 12 years on the planet, had I managed to do permanent damage to an actual structure.<br /><br />As the eldest, it fell to me to approach my grandmother, most wonderful woman on the planet, and explain to her that I had broken the Little House. I don't know why I didn't finagle my younger cousins into doing it. Or my sister. Maybe I tried, and they, like intelligent people, said "No Way, Jose"<br /><br />I don't remember what happened the rest of that day.<br /><br />I do know that we slept on couches in the big house that night.<br /><br />The end.<br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-78100174587691236342010-09-14T13:25:00.002-04:002010-09-14T13:38:10.787-04:00TV is BACK!!<div style="text-align: center;">I am not a big TV watcher. I don't judge those who are (Just kidding, I totally do.), I just don't have the emotional wherewithal to commit to watching a show for an entire season.<br /><br />However.<br /><br />Oh, however.<br /><br />There are two (actually three, but I don't get Comedy Central, so one of them doesn't count) shows that I have been countig down too since last May. And next week, they are totally back.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0J95ikiFY4piSGnrzp-_p1qLfufe28fYva5iMfmhGZvkrEM7BpCAKGgtLwTwO4-MAm4YuTZi88aLWTK478y8udIcL4XwWsCwifkEOgj_qc0DTzXP48wn6p8o5zbkVBMF-geDVcNRx49ch/s1600/big+bang+theory+pic.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 279px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0J95ikiFY4piSGnrzp-_p1qLfufe28fYva5iMfmhGZvkrEM7BpCAKGgtLwTwO4-MAm4YuTZi88aLWTK478y8udIcL4XwWsCwifkEOgj_qc0DTzXP48wn6p8o5zbkVBMF-geDVcNRx49ch/s1600/big+bang+theory+pic.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Big Bang Theory has moved itself to Thursdays, which means I can't watch it with my husband, but so much the better. Who needs boys, anyway?<br />Oh, Sheldon, how I've missed you and your anti-social ways.<br /><br />More importantly,<br /><br />GLEE!!!<br /><br /><a href="http://gleefan.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/glee-cast.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 343px; height: 228px;" src="http://gleefan.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/glee-cast.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Tuesday nights<br /><br />Oh, Happy Day<br /><br />Mr. Shuster is back to save the day<br /><br />And also Puck, with whom I am in love<br /><br />Also, I didn't mean for that last part to rhyme.<br /><br />The point is, my life is about to become a bit more reclusive on Tuesday and Thursday nights, so don't call me.<br /><br />I mean, you can, but I won't answer unless its a commercial, and as soon as the show is back, you are getting hung up on.<br /><br />I still love you, you know.<br /><br />You always hurt the one you love.<br /><br /><br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-30163157769067564152010-09-12T16:27:00.006-04:002010-09-12T16:43:31.782-04:00Jules<div style="text-align: center;">I love this girl:<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs140.snc1/5968_101705786509300_100000096375014_51269_5908611_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs140.snc1/5968_101705786509300_100000096375014_51269_5908611_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />She is my best friend<br /><br />She was my bridesmaid<br /><br /><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs167.snc1/6260_525519794042_208102110_31602933_1610561_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 243px; height: 340px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs167.snc1/6260_525519794042_208102110_31602933_1610561_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />She is my movie date and my silliness partner, and she puts up with me being utterly ridiculous, all the time.<br /><br />She didn't smack me when I asked her if I could sing Ave Maria at her wedding, even though she is neither engaged nor Catholic.<br /><br />She sits next to me in church and laughs with me when the pastor says he's going to go "mug" people.<br /><br />She even came to Kohls with me once and picked out my husbands tie because I didn't want to go alone.<br /><br />She's super.<br /><br />And I love her.<br /><br /><br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9103897133039643670.post-65639518367750754862010-09-10T07:09:00.004-04:002010-09-10T12:19:03.382-04:00BOOK REVIEW: The Road<div style="text-align: center;">My first RIP V review! YAY<br /><br /><a href="http://www.yooglimusic.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/the_road.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 283px;" src="http://www.yooglimusic.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/the_road.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br />The Road.<br /><br />Post-apocalyptic.<br /><br />Pulitzer Prize.<br /><br />Viggo Mortenson.<br /><br />Wait. Strike that last one. He's only in the movie.<br /><br />This was my first foray into the world of Pulitzer Prize-winners, a genre that always brings to mind stuffy men in monocles, smoking pipes and saying things like "Good show!" and "Right-O Old Chap"<br /><br />I'm really not sure what that says about me.<br /><br />The Road is about as far from that image as I think it is possible to be. Except maybe Christopher Moore. But I think we all know he's not winning a Pulitzer anytime soon.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />The Road.<br /><br />I had a hard time, at first, deciding whether or not I was enjoying the book. On the one hand, it is dark and depressing and there is so little humor or happiness in it. It's very gray reading, if that makes any sense.<br /><br />On the other, the love between the father and son, the struggle to continue living and surviving, the pure effort that each day brings, is so incredibly palpable that this book is almost impossible to put down.<br /><br />As with any post-apocalyptic novel, there is the occasional step into man's inhumanity to man, but it never becomes the whole story. The cannibalism, theft and murder that some of the world has descended into is only ever a step along the journey, the trouble of one day before moving onto the next. I appreciated this in the book. I also appreciated that nothing was solved. This was not a story about fixing a broken world or rebuilding one society from the ashes of another. It was the story of one man wandering the world with one boy, trying not to make a new life, but to survive the old one for as long as they can.<br /><br />I wouldn't call this "Pleasure Reading", necessarily. I didn't really enjoy it in the traditional way that one enjoys a book, and to say that I enjoyed a book that contains so much darkness and unhappiness would sound almost like sacrilege anyway.<br /><br />The best I can say about The Road is that, while not really an "enjoyable" book, it is a good book. Maybe even a great one.<br /><br />Highly recommended as a one-time read.<br /><br /><br /></div>Rhyannon Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07674233141285993708noreply@blogger.com4