maarmie's musings (live from Scotland!)

2011-10-20T04:22:00.004-04:00

Four months into my weight loss regime, I figured it might be good to say a word or two about my adventures in shedding pounds.

After C* moved out of the house and I started having serious money issues that could have resulted in me having to pull Elliot out of daycare and quit my job, I went through a period of nightly crying that seemed more important than eating at the time. During this time, I lost quite a bit of weight, but it didn't stay off for long.

After my financial situation improved, I started eating again. And eating, and eating and eating. Mountains of fish and chips every night, mass quantities of jellybeans and cakes. Chinese, burgers. Any food that was as bad for my heart as it was for my waistline and you can bet I was eating it - and not in moderation.

It didn't help that I got two care packages of junk food from the United States that I ate as if it were some kind of eating competition and Big Al was hot on my tail to finish the last Cheez It in record time. Those care packages didn't even last a month, but, even after they were well and truly gone, I was still eating.

I look back and see that this eating was some kind of medication for my loneliness. On most days, the only adult contact I had was with my bosses and coworkers. The few friends I have are married with families and always so busy, busy, busy. I rarely see them, so, night after night, it's just me and the TV after Elliot goes to bed. It was comfort for me, I suppose, to at least have that food there with me. And it tasted damn good, too.

But I couldn't let it go on forever.

When I couldn't squeeze into my size 16 work trousers anymore (American 12), I decided to change my lifestyle and my habits and stop feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my misery by wallowing in lard. After all, I'm much happier out of my marriage than I was in it, and I have a beautiful daughter of whom I am really proud. The rest can be worked on, right?

TO BE CONTINUED

HM

2011-10-17T04:18:00.004-04:00

I met HM on the same dating website on which I met CF. He's from Holland and lives a couple hours' drive north of here in the middle of nowhere managing a failing bespoke furniture company and rooming with his ex-girlfriend of 17 years, the only girlfriend he's ever had.

I wasn't physically attracted to him in the slightest, but I liked the company and he wasn't bad to talk to. A bit too on the spiritual side for me, though, he believed he could feel the energy of the trees and on and on and on. When we would get together, he always wanted to get out of Inverness and into the countryside - which would've been nice except I was quite a bit overweight and always tired on my days off from Elliot. The biggest thing we had in common was our love of food, and we would get massive orders of takeaway pizza, fish and chips, Chinese or burgers for dinner whenever he'd come to Inverness.

The best things about him were that he was very tall (at least 6'5") and that he never wanted to live with a girlfriend again. Ever. Weekends were enough for him in the future, he said, and I couldn't have agreed more. Though it seemed we had a lot of things in common, I just didn't feel anything for him and I seriously couldn't get over his Schwarzenegger-ish voice and my total lack of physical attraction.

We kissed once, though he always tried for more, and, in the end, I stressed "just friends" which didn't stop him from trying. I didn't want to deal with the constant pressure tactics, so I told him I didn't want to keep in touch.

No more dating for me just now.

CF

2011-10-11T04:20:00.005-04:00

What can I say about CF except that I want my time back? All of it.

It started off well enough: an interesting profile and long e-mails that were thoughtfully and intelligently written - everything spelled correctly, excellent grammar.

Then we talked on the phone.

And talked. And talked. And talked. About four or five hours at a time. We clicked. It was good! But he wasn't asking to meet me in person, even after weeks of long talks. So I asked to meet him, and we set a day.

A few days before we met, he went on a date with another girl from the same dating website. He acted like he might or might not go to this informal pub meeting with her and her friends. But I could tell. He was going.

We talked two days later. I didn't ask for any details, but he was pretty forthcoming. Two nights before we were to meet, though, he came clean. He had spent the night at her house that night. He liked her, and he wanted to see her again.

Instant change of expectpectations completed, and I decided to meet him anyway. After so many hours on the phone, I thought it would be silly not to. He showed up that night and was cuter than his profile pic and polite enough, but, beyond that, there was nothing there. I'm guessing he wasn't into me or was too into that other girl because he didn't really seem like he wanted to be there, and there wasn't the same chemistry in person as there was on the phone. He didn't show much of a personality, just kind of sat there like a lump waiting to go home. And that's what he did.

The only time we talked on the phone after that night was when he unfriended me on Facebook after I got mad at him for friending a married friend of mine because he liked her boobs. I told him not to be creepy towards my friends, and we had an argument on the phone that ended badly.

Eventually, he friended me again (wow, aren't I lucky?) and he comments on my updates now and again. He's got a girlfriend he met on Facebook now who lives hundreds of miles away. They will get married one day. I'm quite certain of it.

Next: HM

Update: Two days after I wrote this post, CF got engaged to his girlfriend.

DW

2011-03-19T03:56:00.004-04:00

I met DW at a party at my friends' house. We spoke only brief introductions before more people arrived, but I thought he was cute and I wanted to talk to him more. Unfortunately, his boss cornered him before I had a chance to get back around and talked shop with him the rest of the time he was there. When I looked for him again, he was gone.

DW turned out to be one of my friend's colleagues, and we hatched a plan to invite him round for the new year celebration so we would have another chance to talk. My friend told me a bit about DW, though, and what I learned probably should have steered me clear to begin with. The stats:

39 years old

History professor

Ph.D.

Published author

(here's where it gets tricky)
Never had a girlfriend

Very close with his mother

When he couldn't make it for new year, friend gave DW my number. He phoned the next day, all excited to meet up. A week later, we met for coffee. He was full of odd questions and revelations, and you could tell he had not done the dating thing much. One of his first questions was to ask how I react when I am angry. Okaaaaaay. Weird. Then he went on to tell me he had not dated much and that he's a selfish asshole - his words.

Unfortunately, he was sometimes awkward, moody, touchy and strained. Even more unfortunately, I loved talking to him - when he wasn't being awkward, moody, touchy or strained. What an interesting person who is obviously well-read and is into great music and can talk about anything. I mean anything.

Such a shame.

Because
he
is
indeed
a
selfish
asshole.

Well, maybe not really. He just obviously was never that into me. Because at the end of the second meeting a week later, he declared that weekdays are out and that he could only meet on Saturdays and only for coffee and only for an hour. He said he had feelings for some girl who didn't even know he was alive and that he'd need to get over that before he could even think about anything - or anyone - else. Plus, he's just plain busy.

Since those two meetings in January, he has phoned me a few times. We had nice chats, a half-hour in length each. At the end of each chat, he would make vague noises about meeting for coffee on Saturday or soon. But it never happened. After all, he's a very important person with a very demanding job and gets interviews with the BBC when he gives a lecture and all. And when he's not going to see this friend in a play or going to visit that person in London, he is just so enmeshed in his teaching and his planning and his researching and his writing that he simply can't be expected to remember that poor, old me even exists.

So. To recap. Met in January. Went out for two coffees in January. A few phone calls in February and March. A couple of texts in March. Have not heard from him at all in at least two months.

My exciting love life.

Next: CF

I should write the fucking sequel

2011-03-15T07:00:00.006-04:00

I’ve amassed a fair amount of information on this side of the Atlantic now, and I think it’s fair to conclude that, on two continents…and counting, it seems he’s just never going to be that into me.

It’s been exactly one year and one month since C* moved out of the house and exactly one month since I have been legally allowed to file for a divorce in Scotland, and I have recently found myself getting kinda lonely. In my recent quest for some fresh male companionship, I created a profile on plentyoffish.com and have been proactive, as they say, in finding male friendships in other ways.

When you jump in the ocean headfirst, you take the risk of landing on a big pile of jagged rocks, but I don’t really know how to do things any other way and have never been one to sit on the sidelines waiting for something to come along. Perhaps if I did, I would have longer-lasting success. In any event, either I am doing something horribly wrong or three out of four guys are so repulsed by me that they can’t even bring themselves to have an ongoing conversation with me or to, gasp!, hang out. No pressure. No drama.

In an attempt to unburden my burdened psyche, I will be spilling the beans on my unfruitful adventures. I want feedback.

Missing mojo

2011-02-08T11:43:00.009-05:00

I came on here looking for photos of myself to steal for the dating web sites I recently joined and, instead, found 300-odd spam comments to delete. I swear, you don't come on here in forever and this is what you get! Oh, and when you have an anonymous blog, you're not going to find many photos of yourself, are you? Not really interested in putting the pregnancy/birth photos of myself on a dating site, either. Might scare a few guys off.

Dating web site, you say, maarmie? Are you sure that's wise? I mean, you DID meet your husband on the Internets, and you don't want to go down that road again, do you?

NO!

Not looking for marriage, folks, and not really into committed relationships, either. I'm basically looking to make male friends for some fun and/or flirting. This (single) mommy needs to get out of the house more when baby's away. I've been chatting with a few nice fellows for the past week or so. We shall see. We shall see.

Elliot's third birthday comes on Friday. She's at daddy's house for her birthday this year. This makes me very happy as I am not interested in throwing her a birthday party this year. For the last two years, I have hosted parties, and, while it was nice celebrating her birthday with our closest friends here, it was a lot of effort that I don't feel like expending this year.

Since she can't yet read, I guess it's safe to talk about her gifts. This year, I got her a bicycle

complete with basket for the front and sparkly things you attach to the spokes - and a Playmobil family camper as well as a couple of DVDs. Seems pretty over the top as far as birthdays go - especially considering that, for my 10th birthday, my dad got me a 10-speed bicycle and I had to pay for half of it myself! But I tend to spoil her with gifts. Trying to make up for giving her a broken family and all.

I was reading back over old posts today, and I realized how much I miss writing. More frustrating than my lack of a creative outlet is that when I HAVE written lately, I feel like that spark, that thing that made my writing once interesting, has dulled or has been extinguished altogether.

I know writing is something that needs to be constantly practiced or else the shiny edges tarnish. Can I get it back? What is missing from my life that helped feed my talent?

My writing seemed so monochromatic with all my talk of Elliot, Elliot, Elliot. I always feel, lately, like my life is just so uninteresting.

Clever girl

2011-02-08T05:37:00.002-05:00

After watching a DVD of PJ Harvey in concert:

Elliot: Mummy, I like PJ Harvey. She's a clever girl!

I believe in yesterday

2010-06-22T05:26:00.003-04:00

Things are getting so much better all the time.

Elliot and I have settled into a fantastic routine of day care/work, fun activities either alone together or with friends and plenty of picnics in the back garden while the weather is decent. I love spending time with her, and I love being a single mother.

The veggie seeds I planted in the yard have sprouted into lovely plants these past few months, and I'm already enjoying two types of lettuce and enough radishes to choke a horse. Still waiting on tomatoes, peas, courgettes and brussels sprouts to make an appearance and looking forward to growing even more produce next year.

I had a fabulous chat with my brother the other night that turned into a huge conversation that lasted until 3 am. I had not been awake that late in ages, and I paid for it dearly the next day, a full day of work and mommy duty. So tired! But it means everything to me that we get along so well and have enough to talk about to fill a five-hour time slot.

The parents are another matter, entirely. But I'll not bore you with that.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but it seems my creativity and writing flair have just gone right out the window. Seems my brain has ceased to function as well as it once did, or maybe I'm just boring now. Possibly, though, I just have other things to focus on right now and am woefully out of practice where writing is concerned. It doesn't help that I am completely out of touch with anything going on in the world as I seem to watch mostly American sitcom reruns on TV.

A recent election here brought the conservatives into power, and I don't really know what that means. I 'm sure I could write all kind of scathing/sarcastic/angry things about the people who are now in charge and what they plan on doing to this country, but I just don't know enough about it all. I couldn't vote, so I purposely didn't learn anything about anyone or their policies. Shame on me.

Oil in the Gulf: bad.

That's the extent of my knowledge about current events. I will try to do better in the future.

In the meantime, let's come together, right now, over me.

When pigs fly?

2010-05-11T06:47:00.003-04:00

I seem to be out of the dark woods now and am simply treading water while crocodiles wait lazily on the riverbank licking their chops and hoping I get a cramp.

Tax credits came through almost a month ago, and child care is all paid up. Unfortunately, even with tax credits, I am bringing in just barely enough to pay all my monthly bills and buy groceries. I seriously need a better job, and I need it now.

I registered with an employment agency that reiterated what I already knew: I will not be finding a job in my field in this godforsaken backwater of a town. I might get some slightly higher paid, full-time secretarial job if I'm lucky. That's if I'm really lucky. Because there are hundreds of other skilled and educated people out there who are un- or underemployed and applying for the same jobs I am.

Seems to me that if I want good employment I'm going to need to move south, at least as far south as Edinburgh. I'll probably be looking into doing that in 9 months at the earliest and three years at the latest. Doing it sooner rather than later would obviously put me in a better financial position earlier. Doing it later has its advantages as well as Elliot would be in school full time, thus making the childcare burden a little less burdensome.

I'm still battling an on again/off again depression and these horrible voices in my head that tell me I don't deserve love, a good relationship/marriage, a family or friends who care about me. Some part of me feels that I'm continually having to pay for some past misdeeds by being continually mistreated and screwed over by those I care most about. But maybe everyone is in the same boat as I am in some way, shape or form. Maybe everyone has important relationships that aren't the way they want them to be, important people in their lives who don't give them the consideration they feel they deserve. A crappy boss? Mouthy kids? Friends who disappear? A family that abandons them in their time of need?

Do people suck, or are my expectations simply too high?

I don't think I'm going to make it

2010-03-23T11:22:00.004-04:00

I've been on my own with Elliot for only a month-and-a-half, and I don't think I'm going to make it. Public assistance isn't being very cooperative, and I'm actually beyond broke. Luckily, the daycare Elliot goes to has agreed to let me slide on the actual paying part of the deal for now. I applied for public assistance nearly two months ago and...nothing.

C* and I had a joint claim for what are called child tax credits and working tax credits. The working tax credits have a separate part for child care, and, if you qualify, the government pays up to 80 percent of the child care bill. C* and I were getting this together, but, when he moved out, I had to cancel that claim and file individually. Since C* was a UK national, there was no problem with claiming these benefits together. But, since I'm not, the government is deciding to take its sweet time with processing my claim.

A full four weeks after submitting my initial application, I received two more forms and a request for my passport as proof that I am not subject to immigration control. I sent these in three weeks ago and not a word. I phone the office every week asking for an update and get the same spiel: We are working on your claim which may require additional checks, blah, blah, blah.

Any idiot can look at my passport and see that I'm not subject to immigration control in five seconds. Why has it taken nearly two months? To add insult to injury, my council tax and housing benefit can't be processed until the award letter for tax credits is produced. It's a neverending circle of despair.

I'm down to my last bit of money, and I owe day care three weeks' payment. My monthly pay covers just the rent and just barely. The rest of the bills are being paid using child support money at this point, and there's very little left over for food.

I know I need help, but I don't know who I can ask. C* has said he can do no more for me. I don't know how long I can stay here on my own with Elliot. I don't know what to do. I need monetary help from my family, but I don't feel like I can ask. No one - except for my grandmother who said we could come live with her - has offered any kind of help, and I think everyone knows what kind of situation I'm in. Does anyone care?

Is it really a scarf?

2010-01-20T16:27:00.003-05:00

My good friend, Jane, started teaching me how to knit today using the big needles and thick wool she bought me for Christmas. I did a few rows for a scarf but must have dropped something somewhere along the line because a huge hole opened up in the middle of what little I had already created. Unravel. Start over. My wrists totally hurt!

Good news! I am going on a mini vacation this weekend - without baby. Three nights and four days in a suburb of Glasgow without Elliot. Bad news: I will miss her. This is the first time I will be away from her (besides a day at work) and I'm sure I will be imagining all sorts of horrible things happening to her every day that I'm away. It will be so great to hang out with my friend and sleep all I want and relax and do what I want without a screaming toddler hanging onto my leg, though. I've been needing this for so long.

Here I am (but they don't care)

2010-01-13T09:01:00.012-05:00

I'm still working at TK Maxx part time and reading a bunch and spending lots of time with my daughter but I'm not doing anything else.

Christmas was OK (not great or even good - chalk it up to circumstance) but I spent WAY, WAY too much on Elliot. In the end, I set aside six of the gifts to give to her on her birthday in February. I have been eating WAY, WAY too much as well and have gained back some of the weight I lost when I started my job and began walking almost two hours on working days. It is the coldest winter since I've been here - lots of snow and ice now - and I can't even walk around outside without the threat of tumbling down these days.

Elliot is talking more and more and more and is getting more and more sweet and lovely and conscientious. Her afternoon naps are slowly becoming a thing of the past. Here's hoping she decides to potty train real soon. I've got a plastic toilet ready and waiting for her. I could look at this photo for days:

To the Maxx

2009-09-07T16:04:00.006-04:00

Three to four days a week, I will be putting on my uniform for work: black pants, black shoes, a white shirt and a tan sweater vest.

It seems I graduated from high school and university and got a decade of experience in the communications field to be a checkout girl at TK Maxx. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to have a job. They are hard to come by these days. Employers have their pick, and my fabulous bosses at TK Maxx didn't have to take a chance on an overqualified American whose visa expires in a month and who has a baby and can only work when her husband is home. Lots of people applied for the positions, and they picked me and a few others.

On the bright side: a 10 percent discount and not having to put my daughter in child care. That's got to be worth something, right?

18 months old today

2009-08-11T14:00:00.008-04:00

A friend and I were going to take our daughters to Nairn Beach today and have lunch at a cafe afterward, but the weather was nasty. The boys came back from a two-day camping trip this morning and shared photos and stories - mostly stories about the midges that make camping in Scotland a nightmare.

Elliot is 18 months old today. While she might be a little behind on her verbal abilities (she can say about 15 recognizable words - do animal sounds count? rowwwwwrrrrrr!), she's forging ahead where her motor skills are concerned. She loves to run and climb and kick and throw and is proving to be quite a handful as well. She wants to do what she wants to do, and if you tell her no, she does it anyway. If you physically remove her from what she wants, she screams and puts on quite a show. I was told that's how I was when I was young. Bullheaded. Willful. Strong minded.

I'm still looking for a job. The latest round of applications have all been sent to the local hospital, the biggst employer in town. We'll see...

Cymru

2009-08-05T10:11:00.005-04:00

Wales was pretty cool. The language might seem weird and all, though, with its many consonants and not very many vowels in any given word and all the double consonants and unlikely consonant combinations. Exactly how does one pronounce bwrdd, anyway?

The four of us and C*'s mother stayed in a three-bedroom caravan for a week on the grounds of a golf and country club in Llanrhystud (pronounced lan RYE sted) near Aberystwyth. The town in which we stayed contained a small grocery, a gas station, a post office and a pub, all we needed for a quiet vacation in the country. We toured Aberystwyth, went to a local beach, walked in the woods, swam and played a bit of tennis. C* and The Boy brought their bikes and went on some rides. Best of all, though, were the sheep. There were millions of them.

Millions.

And millions.

Everywhere.

Dotting every field.

Wales is nothing BUT fields!

So many that it made Scotland seem sheepless.

I'm talking a major amount of sheepage.

And all I wanted to do - really wanted to do - the whole trip was to pet a sheep. Just one. Just walk over to it and pet it. One of the cute little sheep. Not a big one. Not an ugly one. Not one with a black crust of shit matted under its tail. A nice, clean, white, smallish, cute one. Only once during the whole trip did I ever get anywhere near in petting range of a sheep - and that wasn't until we were back in England. But the sheep, they don't like people much. And they ran, and they ran.

No sheepies for maarmie.

Bwah!

Elliot really liked the caravan and the toys that granny brought her. Ruben liked the chocolate and cakes every day and made a few temporary friends at the caravan park. I liked the few times that C* and I got out alone together to play tennis or a few games of billiards down th'Black Lion.

The drive back home took a few days because we stopped for a couple of nights at C*'s friend's house near Carlisle. We drove a bit through the Lake District on the way. Beautiful, beautiful.

I didn't get many photos, unfortunately. It was all over in a blur. Here's the best of what I got:

One of the lakes in the Lake District. We had a picnic dinner here.

C* and his mate and our kids in a sheep pasture near Carlisle.

Most of the gang. Missing two mothers and two more kids.

Only the coolest bus I have ever seen. Near the caravan park in Wales.

Elliot braving the rough terrain on a steep and treacherous hike in Wales.

Kids on stone. Lake District.

Elliot running free on the grounds of a stone circle, Lake District.

Crops

2009-07-13T12:41:00.003-04:00

We've had a bit of warm weather lately, up in the mid 70s! I've been cursing what I have come to see as hot weather, but a run of cooler weather and rain put me off my bitching and moaning. Better to have it a bit hot and sunny than cold and rainy.

The sunshine has been good for our veggies. We're growing courgettes (zucchini), broccoli, little gem lettuce, carrots, peas, beans and rocket. I made a rocket salad to go with our dinner last night, and it was delicious. Here's a photo of our little patch of heaven:

Life in the UK!

2009-06-30T08:58:00.003-04:00

I read the chapters, and I studied the material for hours and hours and hours and hours. I worried and worried. And studied and studied. And, yesterday, I passed my Life in the UK test. Woo!

There were six of us there to take the test: four white women - including myself - a man from India and another man from Iran. The test was 24 questions long, and we had 45 minutes to complete it. I was done in 4 - and that included checking it over three times! Easy peasy macaroni cheesy. I studied so much for nothing, and, as usual, worried so much for even less. That was the easiest test I ever took in my life.

Am I really that different?

2009-06-27T09:30:00.006-04:00

I was just reading over some old blog posts, and I'm shocked at how different my life is and how different I have become over the last two years. Used to be that I would write semi-interesting and somewhat funny posts about anything...nothing...and now? I go to play group, bake cheese scones and write about my baby.

Gone are the posts about adventures. Gone is so much of the spontenaity and vitriol. Where has my sense of outrage gone? It's still there, inside me, isn't it? Just kind of pushed to the back as I concentrate more on what's in front of me than on things I cannot see? Is it?

Now I feel so old. So boring. So deflated and hollow. Maybe things that annoyed or outraged me in the past just don't carry the same weight now that I am a mother. Maybe I can see there are more important things in life than some asshole in Minnesota who yelled at me or some dickhead in Tallahassee who couldn't fuck? Really, what was I fighting for?

Was I more interesting then? Am I more myself now? Do I have a better perspective on life? Or am I just in a holding pattern? Has my brain turned to mush? My creativity sapped? Am I more empty - or am I very, very full?

Not a nut girl?

2009-06-27T08:08:00.004-04:00

I got my first rejection letter today from a job for which I applied and interviewed. I'm not too broken up about not getting the job, a six-hour-a-week gig selling nuts and candy out of a not-quite-a-stall-but-not-quite-a-store in the mall. But I really, really need some work.

The way the minimum wage works over here is ridiculous and pretty much makes it attractive for employers to practice age discrimination as often as possible. The minimum wage here is dependent on the worker's age. People 22 and older get £5.35 an hour; people 18 to 21 get £4.45; and people 16 to 18 get £3.30. If you are younger than 16, employers can pay you whatever the fuck they feel like, because there IS no minimum wage for that age category. Considering people are allowed to work if they are 14 or older, that leaves a lot of kids open and vulnerable to the whims of greedy employers.

The only reason I can think of for this tiered minimum wage is that the government wants to discourage youngsters from dropping out of school at 16 and maybe wants to encourage traditional college-aged kids to go to university instead of settling for some really low-paying job. Dunno, but I'm quite sure the nut kiosk is wanting to hire a younger worker that will be forced to accept one to two pounds less per hour of identical work.

Bogus.

Yesterday, I had a two-hour activity marathon that counted as an interview at a fabulous baby store at which I have often shopped. Seven contenders showed up for the first of two sessions where we did activites and exercises that assessed our personalities and how we acted as part of a team. I showed up dreading it, but it was actually very fun - and the manager was right: It lets them actually SEE what the applicants are like. As usual, I was very gregarious, maybe too much so. Not sure if that's what they are looking for, but time will tell.

The only thing I know for sure at this moment is that I am not a nut girl, and, for that, I am very grateful.

Edinburgh

2009-06-16T17:13:00.014-04:00

I have to start this post by saying that my recent vacation near Edinburgh was both more fun than and not as fun as I thought it would be. We didn't see as many sights as I thought we would (plans to go to an aquarium, the Edinburgh Zoo and a festival in Edinburgh all crashed and burned due to tiredness, poor planning, lack of time or crappy weather), but Elliot and I grew closer than ever and it was neat to see how a different environment taught me things about Elliot and her capabilities that I either wasn't aware of or hadn't been appreciating.

A friend of mine here in Inverness - one who happens to be an American from Seattle - was going to be staying at her husband's parents' home in a suburb of Edinburgh (South Queensferry) for nine days while her husband was on a field trip for school. She knew I desperately needed to get away for a while and invited me along with her 2 1/2-week-old daughter. I was happy to be going but kind of knew it wouldn't be all that exciting what with a newborn and very tired mother in the mix, and I was nervous that Elliot wouldn't settle in the new environment.

I almost pulled out of the trip at the last second. I texted my friend saying that I was thinking of not going even as she was on her way to my house to get me. But I ended up going in the end, and you know what? I was right. Overall, it was a massively tiring hassle. But I'm glad I went. Here's why.

Halfway down, we stopped at The Taybank, a pub known for its many varieties of hash. Not the Amsterdam type, mind you, but the corned beef variety.

The Taybank had a lovely menu, outdoor seating and a fabulous beer garden with a good view, the nicest beer garden I've seen since I've lived here.

After sharing a delicious meal of some kind of seaweed-stuffed chicken breast, roasted potatoes and summer veggies, Elliot and I walked across the road to the beer garden and visited with another family. Unafraid of dogs, unfortunately, Elliot chased after the family's pet and made a new temporary friend.

When we got to our temporary home in South Queensferry, I saw that I'd have my week cut out for me as far as the house is concerned. There hadn't been a small child in that house for decades, and there was stuff everywhere. Pins, scissors, all manner of books and CDs, knick knacks, stacks of papers, all within easy grasp of a very curious 15-month-old. To her credit, though, Elliot didn't mess with much of their stuff. I was beyond shocked that she wasn't constantly digging through all the things she could have potentially destroyed while we were there. I was also shocked by how well she adjusted to her temporary sleeping quarters, a travel cot next to a single bed in a small bedroom I shared with her for the week.

She's used to a very dark room, however, so I blocked out the light by covering the windows with black garbage bags. Oh, and I had to let her sleep in the bed with me a few of the nights. Oh, and she screamed and screamed most nights when I put her to bed. And when I put her down for her midday nap. But she was pretty good. I guess.

The three adults and two kids went for a nice walk the next day in this really wooded area near Linlithgow. It was really beautiful, and I wanted to go back the next weekend. Sadly, we never got back there. I'd like to, someday. Elliot would, too.

My friend's husband left us for his field trip, and, while he was gone, my friend holed up in one room of the house with her baby and barely came out. I remember those days, when you're up every two or three hours feeding, burping and changing baby and you feel like you've been hit by a truck. While I could sympathize, it didn't make us being largely on our own in a small town any easier.

I suppose I could have taken a bus to god-knows-where or figured out the train to Edinburgh, but I didn't want to go on my own. So, Elliot and I took walks and played in the backyard. One of our first walks was to the old part of town, the town's city centre boasting not much more than a few shops, a few restaurants, a store and a pub. But the water was there, and Elliot liked the view. This rail bridge connects North Queensferry and South Queensferry.

Here's Elliot showing off her new hat.

And here's her beautiful smile.

I eventually made my way to Edinburgh a couple of times, the first time with my friend to meet up with a friend of hers for coffee and the second time just with Elliot. The first time was fun. Elliot likes making new friends in any coffee shop I go to, and I let her walk around on the sidewalks near the coffee shop. So! Many! People! To! Make! Friends! With! This photo is in the coffee shop. As you can see, she's nearly always eating.

When Elliot and I went to Edinburgh on our own, I returned to the park C* and I went to the first time I ever came to Scotland - before marriage, before baby, before all the complications of life had a chance to set in. C* and I had ice cream then, and I bought an ice cream this time for Elliot and me to share. Elliot had a lot of ice cream and sweets on this trip, a huge departure from her very very low-sugar diet. I figured a little indulgence on vacation would do no harm.

Elliot is a great traveling companion, and I can tell she loved having new things to see and do. She had a lot of smiles that week and quite a few first-time experiences. I feel she grew as a person in more ways than one on that trip - or maybe I just saw her in a whole new light. There are many more new experiences to come for us, my daughter and me. My little bebo, my little love.

Vacation?

2009-05-28T15:01:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow morning, I'm off for 8 days to Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, with Elliot, a friend and her newborn. Is it going to be much of a vacation? Elliot will undoubtedly be unseltted most of the time we are there, and my friend is craving a lot of help with her newborn. This vacation is gonna suck. I can feel it.

Homesick

2009-05-25T05:08:00.003-04:00

I've been really homesick lately, and I don't know what to do about it. There's no money with which to travel, and noone in my family is going to be coming here anytime soon.

I've been trying to get in touch with my parents. I write e-mails and don't hear back for ages. When I do hear back, it's only a one- or two-sentence reply, and they haven't called since Christmas. I've been calling them over the last few days, but there's never any answer, and they don't call back. I guess I'm good and truly well an orphan now.

Readers might say that I haven't spoken very highly about my parents on this blog, so why would I be so upset at not hearing from them. Well, the answer is simple. I speak on here out of frustration, a desperate thwarted longing to have the kind of relationship with my parents that I have never - and likely will never - have. Instead, I continually feel rejected, like they don't think I'm good enough or don't want to waste their time talking to me, don't want to hear when things aren't going well, don't want to be burdened by a daughter who needs emotional support when things aren't working out as planned.

I love and need my parents just like anyone else. But what's a girl to do when her parents don't seem to love or need her in return? I don't know what else I can do. I don't know what I did in the past to cause this. I don't know who I could have been to have made things turn out any different.

Depression sucks

2009-05-19T14:15:00.005-04:00

I probably shouldn't have stopped taking my meds months ago, because now I'm in the middle of a serious bout of depression. It was all I could do this afternoon to take Elliot to the park so she wouldn't be cooped up in the house all day. It's not helping that I seem to have some sort of illness that, combined with immense stress, has given me a perma headache and made my stomach all queasy.

My visa expires in October, and I am on the verge of applying for indefinite leave to remain, a status that would allow me to stay indefinitely whether I apply for citizenship or not. The stress of the past couple of years combined with recent depression combined with recent and not-so-recent not getting along with my husband is causing me to pause and figure out if I want to take this next step or just go back to Florida, daughter in tow.

I love my husband, but both of us can be hard to live with. I think he's harder to live with than I am, though, but perhaps that belief is what makes me hard to live with. Also, my attitude towards his son has been appalling at best. I don't know what to do to be a good stepmother. I don't know how to act. I don't know how to get closer to my husband's son while getting rid of my jealousy over always feeling like the odd man out when my husband and his son are together. I don't know how I can fit into their lives, but, more than that, how to become my husband's best friend and how to make it so that we will finally show each other the respect we each are due. I feel like my husband has built a wall around him and that I'm on a trampoline on the outside always jumping, jumping, jumping.

I hate the constant nitpicking, the constant feeling that I'm living with someone who resents me, the constant wanting of more time alone with my husband - more attention and more love. Life seems to hold little joy for us right now. It's just one day after another of going to work, taking care of baby, trying to keep the house in some semblance of order and trying to keep the bank account out of overdraft.

Don't we all want more? Is it around the corner? Do we have to live through the bad to get to the good? Or is this all there is?

Tired

2009-05-17T05:40:00.000-04:00

So, so tired of so many things.

They never listen

2009-05-14T07:51:00.004-04:00

May 12 was my birthday. On that day, my best friend here in Scotland, an American from Seattle, gave birth to her first child, a daughter she has given six names, the first one being Neve. Having known this woman for at least the past three months, I have coached her on what to expect during the last month or so of pregnancy, what to expect during birth and what to expect during the first six months of her daughter's babyhood. Sadly, I have expounded at length and dwelled mainly on the negative bits, partly to try and prepare her for the hell that is to be her life and party to unload my own trauma from sleepless nights past.

Three words: They never listen.

Labor was going to be breeze for her, she said. After all, she had learned some breathing techniques and was prepared to resort to meditation lest things get too painful. After heartily guffawing at her pathetic pain coping strategies, I warned her sternly that breathing would not help. Meditation would not work. I told her to prepare for hours upon hours of searing pain that would make her beg for death. I warned her.

Three words: They never listen.

So she's in the hospital on May 11 with contractions. She's had some bleeding and, later, her mucus plug let loose. Contractions, contractions, contractions. Waiting, waiting, waiting. At only one centimeter dilated, she was begging for every drug under the sun and took up the midwives on the offers of injections and pills, all to little avail. Where was her breathing? Where was the meditation? Maybe she meant "mediCation?"

One edpidural and several hours later, she was stuck at seven centimeters and had to have an emergency C-section. The two are healthy and happy now, if a bit sleep deprived. Complaining of the past couple of sleepless nights and the ensuing fatigue, I told my friend that's just a little taste of the coming attraction. Already, she doesn't believe me. I can see it in her eyes.

Three words: They never listen.

She will soon see.

April baby photo

2009-05-05T18:17:00.006-04:00

She loves to play chase, peekaboo and throw the ball. She spends her time listening to stories and looking at the pictures, cuddling her stuffed animals and talking on any phone she can get her pudgy little hands on. And she's a sucker for running around outside and visiting with anyone and everyone in random coffee shops.

Wouldn't you visit with as many people as you could, too, if everyone simply adored you? This broad's got it all.

Even smart women can be so very dumb

2009-04-19T14:48:00.006-04:00

I just got finished reading this 600-page monstrosity of a book about Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre, a tome about their upbringings, the social climates in which they lived and the historical events and political shifts that shaped their lives and relationships both with each other and with other "contingent" loves.

Beauvoir, one of the brightest female minds of her time, fancied herself an independent woman, a bohemian feminist who would not be tethered by the demands of a conventional marriage or children. During her lifetime, she managed a 50-year relationship with JPS, undoubtedly the one great love of her life. In the beginning, they both enjoyed their unconventional "marriage" by taking on many different lovers and following their careers and interests with passion. In the end, Sartre was a nasty, ugly old fuck surrounded by girls barely out of their teens who wanted him for his fame and money while Beauvoir sat fearfully and tearfully by, old and alone and terrified that she would lose her place as Queen of the Heap.

During their time together, Beauvoir seemed constantly on the prowl, ready to sabotage any tryst that became too serious for her taste, so eager was she to maintain her position in Sartre's life. How is this any different than the most fearful and tearful traditional wife who keeps finding phone numbers in her husband's jacket pocket after supposed late nights at the office?

Now they are both dead, and their memoirs are all that's left to speak about their feelings toward the other. Beauvoir's memoirs brim with her longing for Sartre. His memoirs barely speak of her at all.

Well, look at the bright side of things. At least she got to be at his beck and call for 50 years and to write and edit a good deal of his work while he sat drunk and stinking and was out fucking other women and buying them apartments, that is until he went blind and his diabetes and heart problems crippled him to the point that someone had to care for him 24 hours a day. That someone was Beauvoir.

Oh, those great loves...

February update

2009-02-07T15:09:00.006-05:00

Months go by and I don't write a thing, I know, but I honestly feel, most times, that I have nothing to say. Elliot this. Elliot that. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Elliot will be a year old on Wednesday. I'm having a little party and inviting my Invernesian friends for some food, spirits and cake. Just a low-key event to celebrate one whole year of somehow managing to keep my spawn alive, safe and - gasp! - even happy.

Since my last post, Elliot has had her first fever and her second cold, cut her first teeth (late bloomer like momma) and started standing on her own as well as walking around and around every room while hanging onto whatever furniture happens to be along the way. She has also somehow managed to start getting out of her sleeping bag when I put her down for a nap. When she goes into her cot, the bag is zipped and snapped, but when I go up to get her from her nap, the bag is unsnapped but still zipped and is either on top of or underneath her. A regular baby Houdini!

In other news: C* and I have been going to relationship counseling every week for the past couple of months. Our relationship hit rock bottom a couple weeks before Christmas but is enjoying somewhat of a Renaissance at the moment. Will we make it? Will we crumble? Which is harder: marriage or motherhood? I'd have to say marriage - by far. Motherhood? A piece of cake compared.

Yay Obama. Boo Israel. Yay Guantanamo closing. Boo economy. Yay equal pay law. Boo Limbaugh (as always). Boo Chicago politics. Boo bank bailouts. Boo! Boo! Boo!

I'm eating my words for Christmas dinner

2008-12-24T10:46:00.003-05:00

I'm having to take back all the nasty things I said about my parents in the previous two posts after receiving a cute little "1st Christmas" card for her with a $100 check tucked inside, a very sweet gesture. OK? I said something nice! I take it back! All that stuff I said! OK?

I took that $100 check and the other Christmas cash Elliot got and opened a bank account for her yesterday. The child's savings account came with a change sorter/paper money bank so little Elliot can save her money to add to the account. I plan on teaching her that she's got to work for money and that she's got to save for the things she wants. I don't want her to grow up not knowing how to be responsible with money and how to care for the things she owns by working for them and buying them herself.

But enough about that! Merry Christmas!

Ho ho hum

2008-12-18T09:22:00.004-05:00

So much spending and effort has been put into this whole Christmas thing already, and I doubt the day itself will actually match all the hype.

I just get more and more mad every time I think about my parents not getting Elliot anything for Christmas, especially since gifts keep rolling in for her from Chris' family and friends. Nothing at all from my family for her, and, in fact, not one Christmas card from anyone in my family except my parents.

They say Christmas is about giving, not receiving, but - screw that! I don't want to feel like I'm thinking of and appreciating the special people in my life and not being remembered and appreciated in return.

A happy little Christmas "fuck you!"

2008-12-14T03:40:00.011-05:00

The tree is assembled. The decorations are hung. The presents are stacking up. It's almost Christmas, my favorite holiday of the year - behind Thanksgiving.

The greeting cards are rolling in as well. Yesterday, I received the obligatory card from my parents and opened it anticipating the yearly $200 check, the only way they have shown any sort of kindness or giving since I turned 18 and their poor substitute for any actual love or good feelings.

No check. Just a generic card signed with love from dad and mom that not only contained no check but made no mention of Elliot at all. No check for us. Nothing for Elliot. You know, their granddaughter? The one they've never met? The one they were supposed to meet this summer but now aren't going to meet because they cancelled their trip and didn't tell me but told my brother who then told me?

So. To recap: no check for maarmie. No gift for or even mention of Elliot.

I called my brother yesterday to see if he got a check. To find out if this "no check" thing is universal and not just a happy little Christmas "fuck you" from them to me. I left a message and haven't heard back.

I know I've mentioned before that the annual check is pretty meaningless to me, and, don't get me wrong, I don't really care about its absence. What I DO care about is that they can't even see past their greed enough to send their new granddaughter a stupid little trinket for her first goddamn Christmas! They so totally suck.

Update: My brother didn't get a check, either. He guesses they're too strapped for cash right now. Too strapped that they couldn't get their granddaughter a stuffed animal for her first Christmas, I suppose, but not strapped enough to forgo that gambling vacation for my dad's birthday. Bloody hell!

Facebook pretty much sucks

2008-11-29T09:15:00.003-05:00

I've spent the last month ignoring my dear old friend Blogspot in favor of the new and shiny Facebook only to discover that Facebook is only as good as your strongest "friend" on it.

Obligatory post

2008-11-12T05:10:00.002-05:00

It's been awhile, and friends are starting to complain about my lack of posts. There's not much to say other than that I've been cheating on Blogspot with Facebook, entertaining one mother-in-law for the past week (not easy), trying in vain to keep a clean house, playing with an adorable baby and, most recently, stressing about buying a new winter coat.

Being from Florida, I didn't have to worry about winter coats growing up. During my stint in New York City, I bought my first real winter coat on holiday in Montreal. That thing kept me warm through New York City winter, sledding in Rochester and playing in feet and feet of snow in Montana. It even kept me warmish last winter in Inverness. Sadly, this supercoat was recently felled by mold that set up home in our bedroom closet, mold that also claimed the life of my shoe organizer. C* and I bought a dehumidifier for the closet this past weekend and are lamenting the fact that we don't have any radiators upstairs to keep dampness at bay.

So.......yesterday I bought a winter coat at Next while C* sat with baby at Starbucks. I bought the first thing that fit and seemed like it would be warm because, really, I have no idea what the hell to do. Got it home and modelled it for hubby who told me it looked c-h-e-a-p. I've got to admit it now - it does. And it's not even that warm. So, today, back it goes. I will try again.

Nothing else going on. Just getting ready for baby's first Christmas. I've already gotten her three books: The Way Back Home by Oliver Jeffers, The Snow Queen retold by Lucy M. George, and The Smelly Sprout by Allan Plenderleith. I've also recently gotten her Emily Brown and the Thing by Cressida Cowell. These books are a bit advanced for Elliot right now, but the illustrations are to die for.

Autumnal blues

2008-09-25T09:43:00.007-04:00

Summer has pretty well faded here, and it's cold, cold, cold at night and during the early morning. I was walking Elliot around the islands the other morning, and the stroller told me it was in the upper 40s. I don't know whether our tomatoes, all 30 or so of them, are going to ripen or if they're just going to remain there, green and hard on the vine.

Our blackberries have ripened and we've gone picking by the canal, and I made a delicious apple/blackberry crumble the other day. Once the last berry has been picked from our vines, we're going to rip out the lot of them and lay more paving stones to fashion some sort of all-American patio and grilling area right outside the back door for next summer, all two weeks of it.

Elliot is doing fine. She's not sitting on her own or crawling yet, but she's eating like a trooper and is a happy little sprite. No signs of any teeth yet, either, but if it goes near her it ends up in her mouth. She likes the taste of books, magazines and newspapers the best.

C* has graduated from nursing school and is now a staff nurse at the local psychiatric hospital. Hopefully, this will eliminate some of the money worries we've been having since I moved here. With me not working and with C* having been a student until now, C* has been getting further and further in debt and I've had to use all my savings in the states to pay off debts there. I still owe a bunch in student loans, though, and have enough money to cover a dozen or so months of loan payments.

I'm depressed.

Depressed? No.

Not really D-E-P-R-E-S-S-E-D as such. Just down. Down? Lonely? Yes. Lonely. My life is all about baby and has been for the last eight months. I haven't worked. I haven't played tennis. I haven't done volunteer work. I haven't made friends. It's hard to make friends here. I reach out. I try. But it hasn't worked. Have I just come across the wrong women? I don't know, but it feels like excluding me has made them happy for whatever reason, and my experiences have reaffirmed for me that cliques exist outside of high school.

Sigh!

I need some mental stimulation. I need to have fun. I need to pursue an interest outside of baby. But doing any of that requires me to a) have money to spend in the pursuit of fun and b) allow some stranger to come in and be alone with my baby! C*'s work schedule is so random that it's hard to plan anything around when he'll likely be home on any given day, and, of course, when he does have time off, I'm wanting to spend it with him...and with Elliot.

How do I balance all this? How do I trust someone enough to leave my precious Elliot in their care? I fear that level of trust just doesn't exist.

In other news, David Foster Wallace died. The coward hung himself. Oh, and, even though I would still desperately like to see Ralph Nader claim the White House someday, I voted for Obama. You should, too.

Update (finally)

2008-08-10T05:18:00.009-04:00

We've been so busy the past month, setting up a new home and spending a lot of money in the process. But we now have a house full of furniture and kitchen appliances and we are all comfortable and relatively happy.

The four of us spent a week in Great Malvern, England, last month visiting the in-laws. They all met Elliot for the first time, and, of course, were entranced by her. Who wouldn't be?

While we were there, we asked C*'s brother and sister-in-law to be Elliot's godparents, and they wholeheartedly accepted. That's a huge weight off my shoulders, because I've been thinking more and more about my own death since Elliot came into this world and I've been obsessing ever since about who would care for her if something happened to the both of us.

On the Elliot front: She can roll from her back to her front but not the other way around, so I've been spending a lot of time rolling her back over when she's had enough tummytime. She's eating lots of solid foods now (mostly veggies; she doesn't seem to like apples or bananas too much) and scaling back on the formula. Soon to come are dairy foods and meat. I'm always super excited when she finds a new food she loves and sits there with her maw gaping open like a baby bird for more, more, more!

She is able to put more weight on her legs for longer, but standing is still a long way off. Sitting will come within a couple of months, I'm sure, and noone will be happier than me when that happens.

I've taken her swimming two Saturdays in a row now. The first time, she just sat there, suspended in the water by me, unmoving. This last time, she was kicking her feet like mad. I think she's a waterbaby for sure.

Everyone says she looks just like her mommy

2008-06-10T07:15:00.002-04:00

In print once again

2008-05-31T13:24:00.003-04:00

The Courier printed my letter yesterday. The original letter can be found in the previous post. As you can see, the editor chopped to a third its original length. What? They couldn't give me a half a page? Cretins!

It feels good to be in print again, I must admit. I miss being a journalist sometimes, but it's such hard, thankless work I don't think I'd ever actually attempt it again.

Being a reporter sapped all my strength every day and took quite an emotional toll after a while. Given that I view newspapers as vehicles to keep those who would harm others on the straight and narrow and that I view reporters as watchdogs against bad people who take advantage of those less fortunate/powerful, etc., I got really wrapped up in "exposing the bad guy" and hoping that the exposure would in some way bring justice. It never did, though, and I ended up feeling like I was writing all those articles and creating all those enemies for no reason at all.

Sucks to be on the sidelines all the time, writing about lives that other people were actually living as well. I hope, now, that I will get on and do lots of things that are newsworthy. Maybe someone will end up wanting to write about my life, instead.

By the way, I have only gotten one e-mail so far from someone who hates littering as much as I do. Hopefully that one can turn into several or many.

Littering is for losers

2008-05-27T10:00:00.004-04:00

The subject of littering has been hotly debated in the Inverness Courier lately. There's tons of litter on the ground here, and, where others are just whining, I decided I wanted to be the one to do something about it. So I sent this letter to the Courier in the hopes of getting it printed and reacted to. Here's hoping.

--------------------

Sir,

Letter writer Stephen Connah (Battle against litter is everyone's responsibility, published 25 April 2008) is on the money regarding litter in the beautiful city of Inverness.

An American expatriate, I moved to Inverness in October 2007. Since then, I have become increasingly alarmed at the sheer volume of litter in the streets and on the sidewalks in and around the city centre and in other parts of the city. It's mostly children and teens who do the dropping, too - candy and crisp wrappers and fast food bags, cups and containers - and they do it without a second thought. More than once, I have wanted to shout at a youngster to pick up his or her garbage. But it's not just Invernesian youth I want to shout at: it's parents, too. Are parents teaching their children to put their rubbish where it belongs? I'd wager that, in too many instances, the answer is no. At Whin Park the other week, for example, a young boy and girl were eating crisps and playing near some slides. Both children dropped the empty crisp bags behind a slide when they were done. Their parents, of course, looked the other way.

My daughter is only three months old but will be taught from the time she can understand my words that littering just isn't okay. In many parts of the United States, too, littering is such a thing of the past. Where is this garbage dump attitude coming from? Is it a continuation of the "give everything to me now and I'll throw it all away in two minutes but I'm not worried because there will be more tomorrow" attitude that many people, not just youngsters, have these days? As global warming is showing us, Mother Nature isn't always so forgiving.

Keeping Inverness clean is everyone's responsibility. It's up to individuals to not litter, of course, but parents and teachers can increase littering awareness among youngsters. Fines for littering and strict enforcement of littering laws can be a deterrent to litterers, too, as can good old-fashioned peer pressure. If youngsters and adults alike would spread the message to their littering friends that littering is for losers - and if fellow citizens would stand up against littering when they catch someone in the act - the city might just get a little greener.

I'm willing to put these words into action by organizing litter clean-up days for volunteers, but I need the help of others. If you want to lend a hand - or if you're a parent or teacher who wants to educate your children or students about the importance of a clean environment by asking them to roll up their sleeves as well - write me at xxxxxx@hotmail.com. It's the least we can do for a city that continually gives us so much natural beauty.

Best present ever

2008-05-22T11:07:00.012-04:00

C* received the best present ever yesterday, a present so dandy that, if said present had been in my possession, I would never have parted with it. Ever. What is this present, you ask? And who was so selfless to just give it away?

The "who" is quite complicated. The mother of C*'s son has an older daughter with another man. Through the mother, C* is friends with this other man who gives C* gifts every year for his birthday, usually a bottle of quality single malt whiskey he pinches from his job. This year, though, C* got the stolen whiskey AND a toy, a doll, to be more precise, wrapped in a bag upon which this message is written:

It says:
(I found this and thought of you. I added the badge myself)
(This bag does not contain a big box of reds. It contains a police officer who will act as your conscience) Destroy power, not people! Fuck the fucking Olympics! Free Tibet and Darfur NOW!

Chop up, bury or burn
-----------------------------------
Here's a photo of Elliot holding the bobby doll, likely a one-of-a-kind doll hand crocheted by some granny long ago for an adoring grandchild. In a 1984ish kinda way, there's a pin attached to the doll that says "Do not question authority."

Appropriately, Elliot is cuddling the doll while giving the camera the finger. She flips a bird so often that I bet she's doing it intentionally. That's one less thing I need to teach her!

Yesterday, the doll was C*'s. Today, I gave it to Elliot, who has already marked it all over with her saliva. I saw in her eyes that she thinks it's the best doll ever, too. Great minds think alike.

14 weeks

2008-05-19T09:47:00.004-04:00

Feb. 10, 2 pm

2008-05-17T16:20:00.009-04:00

The following post was cobbled together from memory, from fragments previously written and saved and from e-mails sent to friends. Please excuse the clumsy writing. It's been a while, and I'm out of practice.

C* and I had this birthing thing all planned out. I had read the books, gone to the classes. I knew what to expect, what to pack, what to wear, what to bring.

Comfy jammies. Check. Two CD cases filled with music. Check. A deck of cards. Check. Snacks. Yep. All in a bag in the corner of the birthing room along with a TENS machine, a newborn diaper and baby's first onesie and socks. This birth thing was going to be a piece of cake, I thought. C* and I were going to play games and pig and rock out during the 12 or so hours I was expecting to be in labor.

Wrong. Wrong. Double wrong.

After nearly a week of contractions that led nowhere, the midwives did their blood pressure and baby heart rate checks and I was taken to the labor suite at 2 pm on Sunday, February 10, a mere 10 hours before Elliot's original due date. My cervix was only 2 cm dilated, but the doctor was determined to break my water, determined that I would give birth within 24 hours.

I had previously been told that I had excess locum (amniotic fluid) because of the gestational diabetes, so much so that the baby's head had failed to engage in my pelvis because she was literally floating in my uterus.

Doctor: OK. Here I go.

maarmie inhales and exhales deeply about a million times to get the full effect of the gas and air, the main pain management method she had chosen for the delivery. What a joke.

Doctor reaches through maarmie's cervix and uses a sterile plastic hook to tear through the amniotic sac.

maarmie: Puff puff puff puff puff puff puff puff

Guuuuuuuuusssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

More liquid poured out of me than I ever thought imaginable. The midwife had to change my bed several times and mop the floor more times than that in an attempt manage the flow of the gallons of fluid that poured out of me. I was disgusted and confused. I had no idea it would all be this........wet.

During the initial gush, when the effects of the gas and air were at their peak, I had a vision. I remember thinking that I all of a sudden realized what was REALLY going on. I remember thinking that I had figured out that this was some kind of plot cooked up by C*, the midwife and the doctor, that, in reality, I was on my deathbed, that I was dying and that my soul was going to be exiting the world to make way for the baby's soul to enter it, that the liquid draining from my body was my life force and that I was being sacrificed so the baby could be born. I remember being horrified that I had been tricked so easily, that C* had tricked me so easily, but I wasn't upset about giving my life up for my daughter's.

I asked C* about it when the doctor and midwife left the room, though, and made him promise several times that what I was envisioning wasn't really happening.

After my uterus had drained a while, I was told to get upright and walk around for a bit in the hopes that the baby's head would push down on my cervix and get the dilation ball rolling. After more than an hour, it was obvious my body was going to need additional help, so the midwife hooked me up to an IV filled with oxytocin. Nine hours later, the contractions were coming and I was puffing on the gas and air like crazy, but, again, the contractions hadn't been strong enough to get me past 3 cm. Just when we were thinking I'd need an emergency C section, my cervix popped open all the way, and we were in business once again.

About labor: If women knew what labor was REALLY like before they went into it, I'm firmly convinced they'd never get pregnant in the first place. Perhaps mine was worse because of the several failed inductions, five days of internal exams, on and off contractions and general psychological mind-fuck, but labor, as I remember it, was a nightmare at the time.

Just like they tell you, contractions are like a wave. You know it's coming, because it builds and builds and you can feel it's getting ready to plateau and then it's excrutiating and then a bit more excrutiating and you don't think you'll survive it and you're yelling and then it tapers off and disappears. Then you have about a minute break until you can feel the next one building. Just when you think it's never going to end, on and on and on with no headway, you get the worst contractions of all, ones that make every cell in your body pray for death. During these contractions, you have no choice but to push. That's all your body wants to do and you find yourself having these horribly painful contractions WHILE your body is also pushing this huge object out your vagina. Contractions and burning, that is all you feel. All the while you've got people standing over you telling you what to do, to push your chin into your chest, grab under your thighs with your legs bent in the air and push, push, push. One push is bad enough, but each contraction makes you push at least three times. After the second time, you just want to die.

I never cursed during the third stage of labor, just yelled "I can't! I can't!" over and over - for about an hour. Of course C* was standing to my left side cheering me on telling me how good I was doing and I was just looking at him like "Whatever! I'm not doing good! Leave me alone!" I never said that to him of course (even though I wanted to) and he told me later that he knew what I was thinking because it was written all over my face. But once the head was out, the body quickly and easily followed as did the placenta, the largest the midwife said she had ever seen. Enter Elliot at 2:34 am on Feb. 11 after exactly 40 weeks of pregnancy and a little more than 12 hours of labor.

All the waiting, all the fear, all the pain. It was all worth it, in the end, for my wonderful Elliot. Everything in my past - the guys I thought I loved, the jobs and careers I thought I wanted, the possessions I thought I needed - are nothing, mean nothing, compared to my lovely baby girl, my precious Boppy, my beautiful Bopbop. Until I married C* and became a mommy, I wondered why my life felt so empty. Now I know. Thank you, C*. Thank you, Elliot. You have both made my life so full.

And she's not even a teenager yet

2008-04-25T08:46:00.008-04:00

When Elliot is cranky and/or doesn't get what she wants IMMEDIATELY and/or is being sooooo mistreated by being made to actually lie in her crib, she has taken to enjoying a little face gouging. Yes, I'm being literal. She actually claws at her own face with her own little pugdy hands in fitful, rageful acts of self harm.

Because of this, and because she likes to take a swing or two in our direction occasionally, we try to keep her fingernails short. But, even though we use teeny tiny baby nail clippers, she usually comes away from the ordeal with one or two bloody stumps where fingers once were.

The claw marks have healed now, but no one would tell us how beautiful our baby is if they saw her from certain angles when her hair is arranged a certain way. You see, our baby is experiencing a bit of hair loss, making her look like a geriatric resident of Comboverville:

Combine that with formula drool, tiny, beady, tired eyes and yellow scaly cradle cap on her head and eyebrows and you've got a baby who looks something like this. Isn't she delightful?

Baby in love

2008-04-05T13:15:00.004-04:00

She can stare in her cotside mirror for hours, chattering away and batting at her reflection with the little, spastic arm that sometimes jerkily punches her square in the face. Captured in this photo is the ever-fabulous Elliot and the object of her affection.

She smiles!

2008-03-27T16:42:00.004-04:00

Our sensitive and drop-dead serious little one has been perfecting the art of crying ever since the day after she was born. But, about a week or so ago, she has begun to deliberately smile.

I read that from about six weeks, babies start to socially smile and that the smiling grows more frequent with age. I hope that's true and that the crying lessens in frequency and strength as well because it's starting to do my head in - especially when she's just been fed, burped, changed, cuddled and held this way and that way and that other way and jiggled and lain down and picked up and put down again and propped up and shown a toy and given a pacifier and she's still crying and we have no idea on earth what the fuck to do.

No, really, I can't stop

2008-03-16T12:24:00.004-04:00

Am I really one of those mothers who takes photos of her child every day and forces them on unsuspecting victims? This photo was taken yesterday on our way back from a waterfall we didn't get to see because the walkway to it was closed. Notice how she's registering her displeasure.

The many faces of baby

2008-03-09T13:44:00.007-04:00

I can't really write about Elliot's personality at this time or funny things she has said and/or done because, as far as I can tell, she hasn't yet revealed a personality to me and she definitely hasn't said anything or done much more than sleep, shit and cry.

Since I can't write about much more than how many ounces of formula/breastmilk she drinks on an average day, how many times she has peed and pooed today, how great she smells or how I love to hold her, I'll just post some of the hundreds of photos I've taken recently. Isn't she precious?

Maybe we should have named her Precious Cookiepants like I suggested? Click on individual photos for greater detail.

Sleepy baby:

Stretching baby:

Sweet baby:

Waking baby:

Hungry baby:

Precious baby:

Sceptical baby:

Silly baby:

Baby possessed:

Confused baby:

Cute baby:

P.S. I keep meaning to finish the final blog entry about my hospital stay and Elliot's birth, but I can't seem to find the time (go figure!) and my deteriorated writing skills aren't doing justice to the experience of childbirth.

Introducing Elliot Grace Smith

2008-02-28T13:16:00.002-05:00

I tried

2008-02-28T09:24:00.002-05:00

Bureaucrat: Registration office

maarmie: Hi. I gave birth three weeks ago on Monday. My husband and I are having a hard time coming up with a name for our baby, and I was wondering if you give any extensions on that three-week time limit.

B: It depends. How long do you think you'll need to come up with a name.

m: Um. I really don't know.

B: Well, we can offer an extension but only a couple of days. It would have to be a good reason to give an extension.

m: Isn't not having a name a good reason?

B: No. Not really.

m: Oh. OK. Thanks.

Feb. 8, 10 p.m.

2008-02-22T10:25:00.003-05:00

Thought I would have a day off but didn't. Had a tablet at about 9:45 a.m. Kept me in serious contractions all day that dilated me 2 cm and caused fluid to leak. Waters still not broken. Registrar did a sweep of the membranes but I freaked out, so she didn't do everything she had wanted to. Very painful. I'm sitting on my bed in the six-bed room, curtains pulled. Need privacy.

Scott Walker documentary on TV. Never heard of him, but he seems like a dark, tortured, twisted individual who takes himself way too seriously while having lots of fun. Talk about an outlet for your demons.

Hope that contractions continue even though they hurt. They're going to hook me up to oxytocin tomorrow and most likely break my waters.

Feb. 7, 4 p.m.

2008-02-22T10:22:00.002-05:00

Thought I was in labor at 10:30 p.m. last night. Contractions off the Richter Scale - then nothing. Gave me inducement this morning. Stronger contractions today than yesterday, but cervix still posterior and closed. I hate internal examinations and contractions and walking the halls of this dingy hospital to keep upright and moving. When will it end? All around me, women are having their babies. My body is cooperating only to the extent that I don't get a second inducement on any given day. I am 39 weeks plus 3 days and in the owie zone.

Feb. 6, 6 a.m.

2008-02-22T10:19:00.003-05:00

Midwife came in at 6 a.m. doing more temperatures, blood pressure, fetal heart monitoring then did internal examination before putting the (inducing) tablet in. Breakfast of Rice Krispies and dry wheat roll. C* having breakfast now. Registrar bugging me about medical cards and passport/visa. Hm. Twinges in uterus like period cramps. "That's something, anyway," says midwife.

1:15 p.m.

Not giving me a second dose of the hormone. Contractions small but pretty regular with pain in back. See how it progresses. Hopefully, I'm underway.

Feb. 5, 9:45 p.m.

2008-02-22T10:15:00.002-05:00

Bed 22 at Raigmore Hospital in Ward 10. It's a full house. C* just left 10 minutes ago. I'm scared. It's hot. Midwife has done fetal monitor and taken urine and blood pressure. Just changed channel from whale dissection on TV. Couldn't stand watching them pull out intestines. C* beat me at three games of backgammon before he left. Now I'm trying to entertain myself. I'll eat and watch TV.

Proud mama

2008-02-20T12:32:00.001-05:00

Taken when you were nine days old

On the sixth day, she brought forth new life

2008-02-17T13:13:00.006-05:00

The 12 days I just spent in the hospital had its ups and downs. The biggest "up" was that I got to go home with her:

But, before I could do that, I had to pay the price: five days of medically-generated on-and-off contractions, a 12-hour labor that was painful beyond belief and almost ended in a caesarian section and an incredible amount of sleep deprivation both before and, especially, after, the birth.

Miss no-name-as-of-yet baby had a rough and fitful first night at home last night. I'm assuming her tantrums were due to the strange surroundings she's found herself in as of late. After all, she was warm and cozy in my womb her entire life but was a week ago cruelly squeezed into this harsh world, bound by clothing, made to feel hunger and feed on her own, thrust into an incubator blindfolded under blue lights

and has now been brought into the entirely alien environment that is our home. I'm hoping her mood will level off with a bit of consistency.

I'll write more about the days leading up to the birth and the birth itself in future posts. I'm tired just now, though, and will leave you tonight with this photo I call "Love Feeding Love":

Ooh baby, baby

2008-02-05T04:56:00.000-05:00

I check into the hospital tonight, and labor will be induced around 6 a.m. tomorrow. I am terrified on so many levels. What will the pain be like? What if something goes wrong? What if something bad happens to the baby? To me? What if I need an emergency C-section?

Beyond all the labor stuff, there's also the fear surrounding the baby itself. Will I be a good mother? Will I enjoy being a mother? Or will I quickly come to realize that I never should have had a child? That this is all some horrible mistake?

C* and I talked about all these things last night, me in tears for hours. All in all, what I was most sad about last night is that C* and I never got to have a traditional relationship. We haven't really had any significant time alone together. We haven't been able to travel, to go out and have fun. Overall, our relationship has been filled with really stressful situations that would tax even veteran couples. I'm constantly amazed that we're still together at all.

But together we are. And, soon, we will be three.

Too cute

2008-02-01T08:38:00.000-05:00

The Boy: Are you positive the baby is a girl?

maarmie: No.

The Boy: So it could still be a boy?

maarmie: Yes.

The Boy: Well, what if the baby is born bald? Then how will you know if it's a boy or a girl?

maarmie: You don't tell if it's a boy or a girl by how much hair it has.

The Boy: How do you tell?

C*: What's the difference between boys and girls?

The Boy: Girls have long hair?

Names, names, names

2008-01-30T09:52:00.000-05:00

How does anyone come up with a name for their child? I mean, this decision is going to likely stick with the kid for its whole life. I believe it will influence how the child is perceived and who the child ultimately becomes. That belief in mind, this is a huge decision to be made, and quick. We have to pick a name within three weeks of the baby's birth.

Because we've been told by two different ultrasound technicians that it's a girl, we've only really talked about girl names. For a long time, we were stuck on the name Hunter - after Hunter S. Thompson, the gonzo journalist who loved drugs and guns and died by making a new hole in his head with a bullet. Hm.....perhaps not the best start to give a kid?

Still, we love everything written by the guy, and we love the name. Loved the name? The charm is kind of wearing off. So, we've come up with a few more, some liked by both of us, some just by me.

Caitlin (both)
Camden (me)
Bronwyn (both)
Hunter (both)
Keegan (me)
Ainsley (me)
Bryn (me)
Dylan (both)
Rhys (me)
Elliot/Eliot (both)
Nieve (both)

Personally, I'd like to go with Caitlin Elliot Hunter Dylan Smith. Then, she can go by any of several kick-ass names, the one she favors the most. Is it considered child abuse to give a child so many?

We don't need no water

2008-01-30T08:50:00.001-05:00

Click on any photo to get a better look

Last weekend, C*, The Boy and I tried to get some snowy mountain views on Cairngorm Mountain, but - because of the temperate winter weather this year - flooding closed the main road to the peak forcing us to turn back toward home.

In Inverness, the Ness River near our apartment has also seen some flooding. The islands, where C* and I like to walk and where Woody used to roam as well, have been closed for days. Once, the islands looked like this:

walking paths lit at night and dotted with benches and trash cans, just like a regular park. As far as I can tell, this is the main place people who live around here go to walk their dogs and to get some fresh air with their families or some exercise. Many of the walking paths are underwater right now, however, making the area look like this:

The banks of the river are spilling over as well, a somewhat regular occurrence, according to C*.

Perhaps the city should do something about this? Nah! City officials would rather spend a quarter of a million pounds on a 12-minute firework display in the middle of January than to, say, do anything that will actually benefit the city in any way.

That being said, here are a few other views near our home. This first one is the foot bridge we walk over to get to the grocery store. The cables that hold it in place are massive, but it still bounces up and down when a few people are crossing it at once. I have felt nauseous crossing this bridge more than once.

Here's a modern-day castle situated on a hill overlooking Inverness. I think the courthouse and police station are housed here. After every celebration in town, the whole side of this hill is littered with beer cans and alcohol bottles. People here litter like it's going out of style. Wait. It already did. A long time ago.

Here's the view looking toward the bridge that crosses through the center of town. See the snow-capped mountains in the far background? Nice.

And here's THE number one hotspot in Inverness, that business on the right with the lovely golden arches. Oddly enough (but not really) most of the litter you see on the streets and sidewalks is in the form of cups and wrappers from this shithole, the only business that regularly gets vandalized. Still, business here is always brisk. What can I say? They want their food, and they want it fast.

Mama mia!

2008-01-19T14:45:00.000-05:00

As promised to a few of my friends, here's an updated photo of my big, fat gut. This is me at 36 1/2 weeks pregnant:

As you can see, it's not the cute little rounded baby hut it was just five short weeks ago. It has, instead, morphed into this watermelon-shaped, stretch-marked burden that is hard for me to haul around. If I don't start labor on my own in 2 1/2 weeks, I will be induced sometime between February 4 and 11, my 40th week. I thought I was beginning the slow descent into labor hell last night when my back started aching and my belly tightened for hours, but no deal. It's getting close, though. And I'm terrified.

Woody - 1997-2008

2008-01-16T03:35:00.000-05:00

Woody was put to sleep last night after some kind of horrible internal rupture left him in severe shock and needing surgery that the vet on duty at midnight last night said he probably wouldn't make it through. I had terrible nightmares about Woody all night last night, and I'm not going to write any more about this now. Maybe some other time. Maybe never.

Rest in peace, Woody. You were a sweet dog.

First snow day

2008-01-11T10:40:00.000-05:00

I put Woody in the back garden yesterday for some fresh air. When I went to retrieve him a couple of hours later, I was met with the first real snow of the winter.

It has snowed plenty elsewhere in the highlands this year, especially in higher elevations, but it hadn't yet snowed this much so near to the middle of town. The flakes were huge and fluffy and melted upon impact with the ground.

This first winter in north Scotland hasn't been at all as cold as I thought it would be. Sure there are days I never make it outside because I don't feel like putting on all the clothes necessary to keep me comfortable. But I thought the weather would be absolutely unbearable no matter what clothes I wore. I've experienced colder weather in New York State. Which is odd considering we're as north as mid to north Canada. I guess the Gulf Stream is at work, even in Inverness?

I never thought I'd say this

2008-01-09T10:27:00.000-05:00

If Hillary is the Democratic nominee for the next president, I will not be voting for her. I always thought I'd vote for a liberal-leaning female no matter who it was. But Hillary? I'll pass.

I cast my absentee ballot for Kucinich, but it seems he's not going to be getting anywhere in this election. No one I vote for ever does.

On the horizon

2008-01-05T06:04:00.000-05:00

I haven't been writing for a while because I haven't had anything to say, really, and we've had The Boy for the past week straight. The Boy got a Wii from his mom and her side of the family for Christmas, so we've been doing a lot of messing around on that. It has, at least, saved us from playing Monopoly twice a day like we've been doing in the past, but we've hardly touched the board games we got The Boy for Christmas. Board games. How old fashioned!

I'm getting my hair cut for the first time in six months today in preparation for the arrival of the little one. I'm thinking I won't have much time to do much of anything soon, so I'm trying to get myself in order as much as I can while I can. I'm going to be at the hospital three times a week until the baby comes taking prenatal and labor classes and going for a weekly scan to see how big this big bundle of joy is getting. The maternity nurse I've been dealing with already seems to think she'll be 8.5 to 9 pounds at birth. Lucky me.

C* and I have been acquiring all the things we need for the baby over the past few weeks. We've got a stroller, two car seats, clothing through 4 years of age (bought secondhand but in really great shape from a newspaper ad for £50), blankets, a baby sleeping bag, thermometers (body, room and bath), a baby bath, towels, washcloths, hooded robes, toys, hats, scratch mitts, socks, coats, shoes, breast pump, feeding bras, nursing pillow and changing mat. Whew! All that's really left to buy are all the lotions, wipes, creams and powders and a box to store it all in as well as a nightie, socks and a bathrobe for me to wear at the hospital.

Yes, the hospital.

It's looming on the near horizon. I'm 35 weeks pregnant come Monday. That means I could be delivering in as little as two weeks and as many as seven. Time to get my suitcase in order and figure out my delivery plan. I'm already thinking I won't be getting an epidural, that I can handle it without. We'll see when the first really strong contractions kick in. But this is the only baby I plan on having, and I want to remember, really remember, everything.

'Tis the season

2007-12-19T08:46:00.000-05:00

C* and The Boy finished decorating the house for Christmas last weekend. They walked to the islands near our house and cut some holly branches from trees for the making of wreaths, C*'s first-ever attempt at wreath-making. The Boy and I both agree that C* definitely has what it takes to make money this way. The wreaths turned out better than I ever expected.

This one's on the outside of the front door:

And this one's on a wall in the living room:

The mantel of our (unfortunately) nonworking fireplace holds our Christmas cards:

And the artificial tree C* put up two weekends ago has piles of presents surrounding it:

Since The Boy doesn't read my blog, I can spill the beans about what Santa brought him this year: art supplies and board games. Since C* reads my blog, though, I can't say what he got. With a cap on spending set at £20, my choices were limited.

But Christmas isn't about what you give, I suppose. It's about the feelings behind the giving.

RADIOHEAD!

2007-12-16T12:15:00.001-05:00

Radiohead is playing a concert at Glasgow Green next June. If infants get in free, it will be Hunter's first concert and my first in a very long time.

31 1/2 weeks and counting

2007-12-12T14:52:00.000-05:00

I loves me some animules

2007-12-04T17:14:00.000-05:00

Since the sun was out for the first time in more than a month Sunday, C*, The Boy and I went to the Black Isle Wildlife Park near Inverness for some animal fun. They had meercats, deer, wallabies, all kinds of ducks and birds - including owls, pigs, snakes, zebras, etc. Here are some photos, taken by my significant other.

Meercats:

A face only a mother could love:

The cutest rat I've ever seen:

His underdeveloped front legs are the cutest!

Deer are bigger than I thought:

Millions of ducks quacking for food around my legs:

Just chilling:

This big guy kept his distance:

Don't they have enough money?

2007-12-04T12:43:00.001-05:00

Stumbling upon this ad for watches featuring George Clooney pushed me to write this post letting Americans know that plenty of actors and actresses who are famous in the U.S. jump at the chance to be in advertisements on this side of the ocean.

A few notable examples include Antonio Banderas for Marks & Spencer department store, Uma Thurman for some Lancome perfume and Nicole Kidman pushing some kind of brain-boosting video game.

I don't recall big stars like these pedalling products in the U.S. What gives?

Proof that there can exist a whole nation of people...

2007-12-04T12:32:00.000-05:00

who need to go out and get themselves a fucking life:

From The Guardian, Dec. 1, 2007

The British teacher was freed after spending several days in jail for allowing one of her students, a child named Muhammad, name a teddy bear Muhammad - a crime in Muslim countries.

Blech!

2007-11-29T15:51:00.000-05:00

Snot is oozing from my left nostril as I type this post. I've had this nasty cold for a couple of weeks now. Sneezing, runny nose, coughing. A total pain in the ass combined with late pregnancy blahs (I'm 30 weeks pregnant on Monday) that involve lower back pain, a sharp pain in my abdomen, constant peeing (mostly in my underwear), constipation and the staving off of the growth of stretch marks on the underside of my large melonious belly.

Baby girl has been kicking up a storm, too, mostly while I'm TRYING to sleep at night. During the day, she's quiet as a church mouse except for a few kicks after I eat lunch.

But as soon as I settle into bed, roll onto my left side and manage to drift off - bam! - there she goes walloping the inside of my gut. The movements, aside from being more than a little weird, are hugely comforting for me, but, as time trickles on, I get more and more scared about the labor part of this whole scenario. It's gonna happen, and it's gonna soon. Nothing I can do about it. This kid has to come out, and there's only two ways she can make her appearance. Neither one of these ways appeals to me, but I prefer to give birth vaginally, if possible. And I'm going to try and do it without a spinal block, too.

I have an appointment with the diabetes lady next week and another scan in a few weeks. I have been assured the little one is of average size considering her gestational age, so I'm not worrying about the obstetrician having to induce labor early. Still, that leaves 10 weeks at most until my body is ripped in half.

When are men going to take over this gruesome task?

Christmas plans

2007-11-29T15:45:00.000-05:00

C* and I decided to sit our happy asses home over Christmas this year. The Boy will be at his mother's house, and we aren't going to be making the trip to C*'s mom's house in south England. We agreed on a £20 cap on spending on each other as well. I thought about making an overwhelmingly thoughtful homemade gift, but then I remembered that I'm largely uncreative and unskilled in the way of crafts.

Any suggestions?

I got a Thanksgiving - and some snow - after all!

2007-11-22T12:28:00.001-05:00

C* surprised me by doing a little shopping today so we could have a small, quiet Thanksgiving meal at home. On the menu is turkey, turkey gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes, green vegetables and Yorkshire pudding. Those of you who don't know what Yorkshire pudding is should really read the Wikipedia link. It's not dessert. It's bread.

Today marks the first white Thanksgiving I've ever had. On the way home from work, tiny pellets of icy snow were bouncing off the windshield and onto the pavement. The show lasted only five minutes or so, but it counts. I walked to Tesco earlier to pick up stuff for gravy and for lunches this weekend, and it was coooooold. Made my eyes AND my nose run! It's nice experience a season other than the perpetual summer that Florida has to offer, but milder temperatures are definitely more to my liking.

No pumpkin pie for maarmie

2007-11-21T11:39:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is my first Thanksgiving away from the United States. I won't be having any turkey (except a turkey sandwich for lunch), no potatoes, no stuffing and no pumpkin pie. C* and I printed out a recipe for pumpkin pie earlier then set out to find the ingredients. It's not so easy to find canned pumpkin over here, it seems. And there's no Publix around to just buy a premade one.

I guess I'll just have to suffer.

On another subject: Just because I've written about a few things that go on in Scotland or in the United Kingdom that I view as negative, that doesn't mean that I, in any way, regret moving here. Not for an instant. I am infinitely glad I moved here, and I am even more happy than that that I am with my sweetie.

I'm really very happy. Shocking, isn't it?

First day of work

2007-11-16T04:38:00.000-05:00

Today is my first day at work in Scotland. I go in for an unbelievably difficult two or three hours today to get the lowdown from the woman whose last day it is and to meet the woman who will be my supervisor for the next month.

I got the job courtesy of a temp agency I signed up with. Today's wages will go toward the payment of a £20 background check since the work I'll be doing is in the medical field. I guess it's required. I guess in the next month I'll get to find out about the wild world of being a secretary. I'm less than excited, but, hey, it's a paycheck, however small.

Update to come after today's shift.

Update:

The 2.5 hours went about as I thought they would: a brief introduction to my duties. The atmosphere in the cubicle-ridden office is about the same as in either the British or American versions of "The Office": everyone sitting there doing menial, mind-numbing tasks while waiting for the sandwich van to pull in at noon or for the day to mercifully end.

It turns out I'm not going to be a secretary. I'm going to be a secretary to a secretary to the boss of all the head nurses in the highlands. Secretaries of secretaries get to print out e-mails with attachments, make copies, arrange meetings, do filing, open mail and complete other soul-ripping tasks. I'm glad this post is for one month only. I just left one life-draining job, and I'm not about to take up another one so goddamn soon.

Guy Fawkes celebration

2007-11-15T12:31:00.000-05:00

These photos are from the bonfire and fireworks display in Rosemarkie celebrating Guy Fawkes Night (Bonfire Night), November 5.

Guy Fawkes didn't like Protestants, so he devised a plot to blow up the House of Parliament, and, with it, Protestant rule under King James I of England.

I'm not sure if this night is meant to celebrate the plot (unlikely) or to celebrate Guy Fawkes' subsequent capture and hanging. All I know is that when we tried to leave early to avoid the rush of departing traffic, an angry mob of Scottish people cried, "Halt, ye unbelievers!" and chased us with torches and clubs all the way back to our car.

UK v. US - round three

2007-11-15T12:10:00.000-05:00

Banking. Why do the British have to make it such a fucking hassle?

From my limited experience, you go into a bank in the United States, wait to talk to an accounts person, fill out paperwork, hand over money, show ID, and, voila, you have just opened a checking or savings account.

Over here, they can't make things that simple.

This week, I've checked out four local banks having branches on the high street (the main street downtown). At the first bank I tried, the Royal Bank of Scotland (or RBS), the lady told me I needed a water bill with my name and current address as proof of my new address. Goodness knows I have tons of other kinds of mail to prove I live where I do, but that's not good enough. I need a utility bill. Bah! Even if I had one, the only account they'd let me open would be the most basic one - one that doesn't even come with a debit card! Can you believe that?

I worked my entire adult life to build up my credit score in the states (and can proudly boast a score of 826) and I move here only to be treated like a financial leper. What's worse is the banking people tell me they can't check my financial history in the United States. I have to start fresh.

The second bank I went to, Clydesdale Bank, told me I'd have to apply and, after my history is checked, they decide which account I can have. The third bank, Lloyds TSB, told me I could just come in and open an account. When I tried to do this, I was told I'd need an appointment, which I made for the next morning. When I showed up, I was told that I'd need employment (and a minimum of £500 being direct-deposited into my account each month) to qualify for even the most basic current account. Since I'm not yet gainfully employed (though I DO start a month-long temp job doing secretarial work for the National Health Service tomorrow), I would only qualify for some kind of what they call a "cash account." Again, no debit card. I can only deposit money and withdraw it from an ATM.

The fourth bank, and the one I have decided to go with, required me to fill out an application and mail it to some office in Leeds. Where the fuck is Leeds, anyway? I went into the branch to see if I could drop the application off there and was told I'd have to mail it. Even though that was my only question, the guy still felt the need to ask, "How long have you lived here?"

Jesus Christ, dude! None of your business how long I've lived here, how long I'm planning on living here (a favorite question) or why I live here! As long as I am legally allowed to be here and I want to put money in an account in your bank, what the fuck is your problem?

The downside at the bank I chose (and the downside at all the banks here considering my lowly status) is that I don't get any kind of overdraft services and I can't make deposits using a teller at a branch. Apparently, they have drop boxes and ATMs in which low-class people like me can make deposits. But at least, if I'm approved, I get a goddamn debit card.

These people are starting to piss me off.

UK v. US - round two

2007-11-13T07:47:00.000-05:00

Gas prices. They suck over here. People in the U.S. freak out when the price gets much more than $3 a gallon. Well, try $8 a gallon, folks. You heard me right. Eight dollars. A gallon.

It's not that a barrel of oil costs so much more over here. It's that the British government adores taxing the fuck out of its people. Cigarettes are $12 a pack. There's a monthly fee that has to be paid for the privilege of having a television in one's home that pays to keep the BBC on the air. Sales tax comes to just over 17 percent. I shudder to think what percentage is taken out of paychecks.

Where does all this money go?

Are the schools world class? NO!

Are the roads perfectly maintained? NOT ON YOUR LIFE!

Are there plenty of city amenities available to residents and the public? NOT!

People are disgruntled, to be sure, as evidenced by the many newspaper articles wondering where the price of a liter of gas will come to rest. But people aren't fighting it.

Do the British feel as powerless against their government as Americans feel against their own?

Sick. Bleh!

2007-11-07T23:30:00.000-05:00

I seem to be developing some sort of chest cold. My chest feels all raw and yucky. I hope I'm not in for a long winter of illness.

The Guardian, Nov. 3

2007-11-04T06:38:00.001-05:00

Click on the photo to read the caption. It's good to be surrounded by people who hate the president and vice-president as much as I do.

UK v. US - round one

2007-11-04T05:09:00.000-05:00

In the United Kingdom, officials who have weapons can actually be found guilty when they slaughter innocent people. Take the case of the Brazilian man thought to be a terrorist who took part in the London subway bombings. This week, the cops were found guilty unlike those monsters who beat and suffocated a child at a Florida boot camp.

Unfortunately, the cops in the London case don't face any criminal charges or punishments on the job. Instead, the police force is facing a paltry $2.1 million fine for shooting an innocent man in the head seven times on a crowded subway and killing him.

Oops! "Sorry" should be good enough, right?

I call that "murder," however, and I call what the boot camp guards did "murder" as well. Only those creeps aren't likely ever going to be held liable for what they did in any way, shape or form.

It seems like a trend in the United States. Might makes right. Except when the person exercising his or her might isn't a cop and, especially, when that person is black.

Welcome home

2007-11-02T11:18:00.000-04:00

I might not have a job anymore, but there are plenty of things for me to do right now.

The first thing I did was get a library card and put some books on hold at the library. Then I went to see about opening a bank account. I handed over my passport this morning to get a provisional driver's license and have an appointment in three weeks to see about getting a national insurance number so employers will easily know that I'm eligible to work.

The day I got here, I went to my new doctor's office, and I have an appointment Tuesday with a midwife. I've already applied for six jobs (most of them are retail or hotel work but one is in the local office of a member of parliament) and hope something comes through soon. Momma needs a paycheck!

C* has been lovely and welcoming. The day I got here, there were flowers and balloons with streamers in every room. The day after I got here, the card above arrived for me in the mail. How thoughtful can he be?

I already feel more at home here than I ever did in the United States. Is it something about the environment? The attitude? The people? I'm hoping to figure it out and to make some interesting observations and post them here along the way.

maarmie on location in Scotland

2007-11-01T15:28:00.000-04:00

I'm here. I'm happy. I'm applying for jobs and getting my life together. This move just might be the best thing I've ever done.

$75 worth of bad publicity

2007-10-21T09:03:00.000-04:00

My blood sugar level rose to unprecedented levels the other day, and I speed-walked to the library in record time to burn off some of the anger brought on by the crappy sales ethic of Josh Redmond, the guy who sold me on SOUTHERN GROUP INC. in south Florida - for all my shipping needs.

Here's what happened: When Josh initially quoted me the $860 fee for shipping my 11 measly boxes door to door from Tallahassee to Inverness, it was the lowest rate I had gotten thus far - even though the rate was based on a 100-square-feet minimum and I was shipping a mere 30 square feet of cargo.

I jumped on the deal making sure to pay careful attention to the "exclusion list" in big print in the body of the quote document. Said "exclusion list" includes documentation fees, palletizing fees, extra fees for having to haul the boxes more than a certain amount from your door to the nearest location the truck can be parked, etc. About 10 exclusions in all.

Having read horror stories on the Internet about moving companies that quote one fee then tack on a myriad of additional charges after they've got their grubby hands on all your shit, I took special care to go over this "exclusion list" item by item with Josh. I didn't want this happening to me.

Josh assured me that none of the items - except possibly port security charges - would apply to my shipment. I was satisfied and filled out the credit card authorization form and the inventory list and sent them back to Josh in an e-mail reiterating what he had said about the quote being the exact rate I was to pay - except possibly port security charges. Though Josh had offered to put this in writing on his end, and though I said OK, I never got said e-mail, and I never got a reply to mine asking him to confirm this agreement.

Red flag, anyone?

That day, I received two quotes lower than what SOUTHERN GROUP INC. was offering, but I didn't cancel with them because they seemed to know what they were doing. Little did I know that was going to be the last I was going to hear from Josh except for when he tried to fuck me with the final bill.

So, a couple of days after e-mailing back the required documents, I'm waiting for the bill of lading to come via fax to give to the driver who would be hauling my shit to Miami. The day before the driver was to come, I still hadn't gotten said bill of lading. After eight or so phone calls to SOUTHERN GROUP, INC., I finally got my bill of lading, a couple of hours after I was told it would be immediately sent. The word "immediately" doesn't mean jack shit to SOUTHERN GROUP, INC., as you will see shortly.

OK. The Federal Express freight guy is super nice. He takes the information off my bill of lading and puts my boxes on his truck. I learn all about his pregnant wife and his young daughter in the process. Hurdle one jumped. My stuff was on its way.

After that, I was waiting for information on the company overseas that would be receiving my stuff. Name? Phone number? Not too much to ask. I requested this information twice from SOUTHERN GROUP, INC. Twice, I was told by someone named Jay that this information would be e-mailed to me. It is now weeks later, and I have yet to receive this e-mail.

Of course I took it upon myself to call Omega Shipping in Miami, the company that actually owns the ships that will be carrying my cargo. The lovely woman who answered the phone there was prompt, kind and courteous, I might add. She confirmed they received my 11 boxes, that they were currently being loaded onto the ship and that Eurousa was the company handling my shipment in the UK. She even gave me their phone number. Now was that so hard?

So, all that was left was to wait for the final invoice to be e-mailed to me so I could authorize payment on my credit card, after which I would supposedly be receiving all the information about the ship (vessel number, docking day and time, etc.) The final invoice came on Friday, the only time since sending my credit card number that I have heard from Josh, and it was $170 more than what he had initially quoted.

Fury.

Instant fury.

This final invoice included two items from the "exclusion list" that I was told didn't apply to my shipment: a $95 documentation fee and a $75 palletizing fee. WHAT?!

I e-mailed Josh back immediately asking why these charges were added to my invoice considering he told me they wouldn't apply. I even forwarded him the e-mail I sent him on October 2, the one I sent trying to confirm everything we had discussed:

----------------------

Josh,

Good to hear that my shipment is on schedule. I had called Omega, and they verified that all 11 boxes were on board. Regarding the price, I was quoted $860.00 plus $120 for insurance and was told those would be the only charges. You told me that yourself on the phone. What are these documentation and pallet fees?

----------------------

AND:

---------------------

This was sent to you by me on October 2 to confirm what we talked about. You did not reply:

Josh,

Please confirm that the $860.00 USD quote includes all fees, charges for door-to-door service of my shipment except the port security charge you say could be added. Please also confirm that this rate includes $1,000 of insurance on my shipment. I have not added any additional insurance. Attached is the contact form and the CC authorization form. I will e-mail you a list of boxes/items/values first thing in the morning. Thank you so much for your help.

----------------------

I didn’t get a response that day. The next morning, I called SOUTHERN GROUP INC. to talk to the little weasel who chose to hide behind e-mail and seemed to be running when I dared to call him out. Josh was on another call, I was told, and, after waiting for about five minutes on hold, I talked at length to the guy who had answered the phone. I told him my problem, and he assured me that Josh would call me back.

"No he won't," I told him. "Josh never calls me back."

He swore, though, that he, personally, would see to it that Josh call me.

Three hours later, Josh still hadn't called. I called my husband to complain and to take him up on his offer to call the little scumbag.

C* called, and it was Josh who answered the phone. C* talked to him about my issues, and Josh denied ever telling me that items on the "exclusion list" wouldn't apply to my shipment. He said, however, that he would talk to his supervisor and take off the $95 documentation fee and would call me in the next few minutes. Those were his words. In a few minutes.

HA!

One hour later, I asked C* to call again. Josh answered again and said he would be calling me immediately. Tick tock.

Then, I get another fucking e-mail:

-----------------------

Dear Ms. Blakley,

I do apologize about the delay in getting back to you. Unfortunately I have been in and out of the office for the past week assisting on local shipment we have going out.

In regards to your concerns we do not include any documentation or pallet charges in our cost.

This was clearly mention in all of our exclusion and was not specified in the included items on your rate.

We have to pay these charges out to the steamship line therefore we have to bill the customer. There are many unforeseen issues with shipping overseas therefore we have to keep an exclusions list just like any other company.

The balance of $1150 will still stand at this time.

Please let us know if you have any further questions.

Thank you

---------------------------

By this time I was seeing red.

On the phone to C* again, reading the e-mail and asking him to talk to Josh's supervisor. While he was on the phone talking to a Mr. Levins and accusing Josh of saying what he had to say to get my business and then scamming me later, I got a wild hair up my ass to call the supervisor myself. He called me back when he was done talking to C*, and I let him have it. I told him the whole story, and all he could say was that Josh was one of his best employees and that the "exclusion list" is written in large print on the invoice. I told him I knew all about the damn list but that Josh had told me blah blah blah.

Long story somewhat shorter, he took the documentation fee off the cost, leaving me stuck with only $75 in extra charges. Since I knew my only other option was to pay the entire cost quoted (within three days or face additional "surcharges" - how convenient) I happily chose this option.

They better hope I don't stumble upon any message boards having to do with moving companies, though, because I have more than $75 worth of venom to spew about their shitty service.

The last supper

2007-10-14T18:31:00.001-04:00

The family came up here this weekend to see me one last time before I fly off into the wild blue yonder. I was stressing about it Saturday to C*, worried that my dad would use this meeting as one last chance to get a few digs in before I leave.

The end of Saturday evening would have been easier for me had that been the case. But, yet again, the 'rents had to make things as hard as possible on me by being...nice.

They exclaimed over the wedding photo album and the photos of Scotland I brought along to share. They asked thoughtful questions about my near future. They all said how good I looked. It all left me wondering why things couldn't have been this way all along, why they waited until I was get ready to move to another country to finally treat me like a human being.

Following years of mental and physical inactivity following the death of my grandfather, my gradmother looks old, sad and frail. Her hair is grayer than ever, she seems shorter than ever and she looks sadder than ever. That's the last time I'll ever see her, I'm sure.

Though we were extremely close when I was a child, we have had a falling out in recent years, and I don't really have any feelings about this meeting being our last or about the reality that my daughter will never meet her great-grandmother.

My brother and sister-in-law were great. For once, my brother was the butt of all the jokes, and he took it quite well. After losing more than 200 pounds, he is obsessed with healthy weight maintenance, exercise, nutrition and body fat percentages. As my brother is wont to do, he talked on and on about the topic, and we took this as an opportunity to roll our eyes, point out his phychological weaknesses and laugh our stupid laughs. I joined in with glee, finally knowing how it felt to be on the other side of the punch lines. I'm not saying I'm proud of how I acted, but it was interesting all the same.

But bro knows we think he's the biggest genius we'll ever meet in our lifetimes, so at least he's got that to cling to even as we insinuate, with smiles on our faces, that he'll one day end up in a padded cell somewhere bound by a straightjacket.

Love you, bro!

I was hoping dad and stepmom would break open their wallets for more than dinner, but it wasn't destined to be. No cash for only daughter and soon-to-be granddaughter. maarmie sad.

When brother and sister-in-law dropped me back at my place this morning after brunch, I couldn't help but cry. My brother is the only person in my family who has meant anything significant to me for such a long time, and it will be ages before I see him again. At least I leave seeing that he has become such a different and better person on so many levels and that he has (albeit obsessively) decided to take his good health into his own hands.

Food won't be killing him anytime soon, and that makes it so much easier for me to float away.

It's definitely a girl!

2007-10-05T10:57:00.000-04:00

This photo of the baby is an update at 17 weeks. Hasn't she grown a lot? I am now at 21 weeks and counting, and I leave for Scotland on October 29.

My car is fixed. My visa is in hand. My furniture is sold. My resignation is tendered. My boxes are packed and ship out today. My diabetes is under control with diet and exercise. My credit cards are quickly getting paid. My remaining doctor appointments are made. My medication is filled. My suitcase is packed. I have checked out of my job even though my body is still, technically, here.

Even though the temperature is in the 30s during the day in Scotland right now, I cannot, cannot wait to leave.

Life sucks

2007-09-18T10:00:00.000-04:00

To top off all my pains, I just found out this morning that I'm diabetic. I'm going to be paying a visit to a diabetes clinic here where, my OB says, they will likely put me on insulin shots. My glucose levels were high in a one-hour test AND a three-hour test, and I will likely have diabetes even after I give birth.

Something to look forward to...

Replivaland

2007-09-10T21:20:00.000-04:00

Just what I needed. Yet ANOTHER horse pill to take each and every godforsaken morning. And I get to pay $40 a month for the honors! Lucky me...

Leaving on a jet plane

2007-09-10T18:26:00.000-04:00

I got my visa.

Goodbye Tallahassee. Goodbye Florida. Goodbye USA. On October 29, I fly.

But first:

There are doctor appointments after doctor appointments.

I found out today not only am I anemic but my blood sugar is also high. So I have to take these prescription pills for the anemia and take some kind of THREE-HOUR test for the blood sugar. I already sat at the stupid blood people's office for almost two hours last week to take this first test! ARGH!

AND I HATE NEEDLES! DOUBLE ARGH!!!!!!!

AND: I have to get my car fixed.

A car accident last week resulted in $2,000 worth of damage to the front end of my car. I was going straight on a two-lane road, and the guy bolted out in front of me from a stop sign on my left. Smash!

So the guy, it turns out, is 32 years old, lives with his mom, is driving his mom's van on his mom's insurance and, you guessed it, doesn't have a job. The cop named him as the violator and said he could either issue a citation right then and go straight through insurance or we could self report giving him a chance to talk to mom and see about paying out of pocket instead of going through insurance.

I let him pick choice number two, to be nice.

Harumph!

Day of accident: I left work early to meet my insurance agent at a body shop and get damage estimates number one and two. Then, I went to see my OB to get an ultrasound and make sure the little one is OK. That's when I learned the baby is most likely a GIRL! Yippee! Everything checked out OK.

Day two: I left work early AGAIN to get damage estimate number three at a body shop of the guy's choosing.

Day three: I left work early YET AGAIN to meet the guy at a McDonald's to give him paper copies of the three estimates. I showed up on time and was sitting inside with said estimates in a folder. The guy showed up 20 minutes late, circled the restaurant twice...and left.

Day four: I arrived at work early to call the guy's insurance company and make a claim.

Day four afternoon: The guy called to see if we could meet later that day for me to give him the estimates. I told him no. He asked if we could meet the next day. I told him that I called his insurance company. He told me he showed up at the restaurant. I said, "I know you did. I watched you circle the building twice and leave."

Jesus. This is why I hate people so very much sometimes.

Our baby

2007-08-17T19:58:00.000-04:00

On Monday, I will be 16 weeks pregnant. The night sweats stopped weeks ago, and the all-day nausea is a thing of the past. I still throw up first thing in the morning, but I'll take that any day over constant fatigue and waking up hot and drenched all night. Oh, wait. I wake up all night, now, anyway...to pee.

Here's a photo of our baby taken at 11 weeks. In 4 more weeks, I'll be having another scan and will likely post a photo update.

Test results are in

2007-08-05T10:18:00.000-04:00

I anxiously returned the nurse's call Wednesday. She had the results from the blood test that would show if I have a genetic link to Downs. Negative. Bonus!

That result - combined with the result of an ultrasound that showed a normal amount of space at the back of the baby's neck/head - makes the chances that the baby will have Downs the same as any other woman, regardless of age, 1 in 10,000 said the nurse.

At 20 weeks, there will be a second ultrasound. At that time, the specialist will check all the baby's organs and brain and look for signs of spina bifida.

I continue to be nauseous and have been letting my friends in on the secret that pregnancy sucks. I am convinced that any woman who says she in any way enjoys pregnancy is a big, fat fucking liar who is saying what she thinks she needs to say to be a good pre-mom. But it's all bullshit. Pregnancy is a big ball of shit - especially when your husband is 5,000 miles away.

C* is compiling all the documents he needs to submit for the visa. Once I get them, I will apply. I'll probably know by the end of August if I'm going to be allowed to move to the UK or not. We haven't really talked about what we would do if I'm denied a visa. Yet another thing I don't even want to think about.

You can start a new life, but you can't erase the old

2007-07-29T07:31:00.000-04:00

I just awoke from what feels like a long dream where I'm working at Wendy's again. I'm there, toasting buns and cooking bacon before the doors are opened. The other two people who helped me with the opening have taken a break and are eating in the dining room. I haven't taken a break, because there's too much to be done. I'm standing next to a new employee. He's this 16-year-old who's working the grill. I'm asking him why the bacon pans he's made are filled with grease. I tell him the bacon is supposed to be drained. He apologizes. He calls me ma'am. He's kissing my ass.

I am panning some bacon that's piled up on the grill. The buns I'm putting in the toasting machine are getting stuck and burned. At a lull, I go out to the dining room and let the other two women know that I haven't had a break. They say that's not right and tell me to go on break. The dream shifts.

Now I'm sitting on the curb in the parking lot of a local mall. An old Tallahassee friend who drifted into the Land of Lost Friends is there. She's smoking, something she never did in my waking life. We're talking, but I don't remember what we're saying. Small talk, most likely. Then, one of her friends comes up, and they start talking. The dream shifts.

I'm at the home of Schmutzie and The Palinode. It's weird, because they look nothing like I ever thought they would look (and I know roughly what they look like). She has dark hair straight to her shoulders and choppy bangs. He has a full head of light brown hair. They are hipsters, to be sure. And they have two kids. I am amazed at this, because, in all the time I've read their blogs, they've never mentioned kids. And in two weeks of staying at their house, I've never seen said kids. Finally, I spot a couple of family photos. The girl child looks just like a younger version of mom. The boy child, a younger version of dad. It's all very strange.

I wake up, and here's C* next to me. He's still sound asleep, and he should be. At 2 a.m., I woke up with him wandering around the apartment. He couldn't sleep.

C* goes home today, and I will be left here alone and pregnant and wondering when the fuck I'll ever see him again. I'm hoping to apply for my visa in two weeks (to start at the end of October), and I'm terrified that I'll be rejected. Then what? I don't want to have a baby on my own, and I'm horrified at the prospect of not seeing my new husband for a much longer period of time than I'm already planning.

But I suppose there's no use worrying. I just have to wait and see.

The Wedding

2007-07-26T17:53:00.000-04:00

Day 5 of married life. I can't say things feel much different than they did before. It's still all kind of surreal.

Here's where we got married:

It's the home of my friend, Michael, and it makes a wonderful setting for any party, especially one following a wedding. Outside, there are two acres of fruit trees. Inside, it's like a museum filled with Asian sculptures and furniture. All of my friends, co-workers and bosses were mightily impressed. My sister-in-law thought the house belonged in a magazine.

This was my bouquet:

It was pretty much wilted and destroyed not even two hours after the ceremony. I left it at Michael's house. It's in the garbage or maybe even the dump by now. I guess I'm supposed to save the bouquet, but I'm getting rid of just about everything I own for the move, and I don't need a bunch of dead flowers weighing me down. Does that make me unsentimental? A cur?

The above is a photo of the bride and the groom. I like this photo because half of my face and most of my body are concealed. I don't think I looked very good that day, and I always think I look fat now.

We had a potluck reception. It turned out great, too, because we ended up with a huge table full of delicious food without having to pay a huge catering bill or slave over an oven for days and days. The night before, C* and I cut up some veggies for a veggie tray. The day of, I whipped up an artichoke dip and something called cowboy caviar (a dip with black eyed peas, a variety of veggies, etc), put out some bread and chips and trays of olives, pickles and banana peppers and we were set. No one drank the cheap beer we bought, so we returned it to the store the next day and got our money back.

The following is a sweet photo of C* and I after the ceremony. We stood in front of everyone for what felt like forever so everyone could snap photos. It was quite embarrassing. I didn't quite know what to do with myself.

And here's a photo of the whole clan. My brother and sis-in-law are on the left, then my dad, then C*, then me, my stepmom and C*'s brother:

First ultrasound

2007-07-24T18:10:00.000-04:00

My first ultrasound was scheduled for Monday. Before the doctor's visit, I stood puking over my bathroom sink. I'm nauseous every day, but I hadn't vomited in days and I chalked this up to nerves. I'm already huge, and I was fearing twins or more. Plus, I hadn't yet seen what was actually inside there, and I was afraid it was some huge misshapen monster-like creature, already fully grown and sporting head-to-toe fur.

I was wrong.

There's a little baby in there. About 4 centimeters long, the ultrasound lady said. I saw them clearly: the head, the body, the two arms waving and the two legs kicking as if he or she were doing the backstroke. It was all at once amazing and terrifying. It's our baby. And we heard the heartbeat. Nice and strong. About 175 beats per minute. That's all we know about the health of it for now.

I have an appointment with a genetic specialist next Monday who will begin a round of bloodlettings to see if there's a high(er) risk for certain genetic diseases. This is another part of it all that terrifies me. I don't want to obsess, and for the most part I don't. But sometimes I have these strange doubts, these strange, horrible feelings that I could never produce anything healthy.

But I know I shouldn't think that way. It's just the negative part of my brain gaining the upper hand.

Yawn!

2007-07-22T14:49:00.000-04:00

I'm tired, and I've just woken up from a nap. C* and I had breakfast with my brother and sister-in-law and are now getting ready to take his brother bowling. So I'll just give a tiny update from yesterday. I'm a married woman now, and here is a copy of The Big Words that were spoken at 7 p.m. yesterday as thunder and lightning and a dark sky threatened to cut our brief ceremony even shorter.

Glenna:

When two people are at one
in their innermost hearts
they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze
And when two people understand each other
in their innermost hearts
their words are sweet and strong
like the fragrance of orchids.

(pause)

C* and maarmie, you may now exchange vows.

C*:

I promise to give you, maarmie, the best of myself
and to ask of you no more than you can give.

I promise to respect you as your own person
and to realize that your interests, desires, and needs
are no less important than my own.

I promise to keep myself open to you,
to share with you my thoughts, my feelings, and my dreams.

And I promise to grow along with you,
to face, together, life's changes and to love you through good and bad.

I will laugh with you in times of joy and comfort you in times of sorrow
I will share in your triumphs and support you as you strive to achieve
I will listen to you with compassion and understanding
and speak to you with encouragement
To you, maarmie, I will forever remain faithful.

(C* puts ring on maarmie's finger.)

With this ring, I thee wed.

maarmie:

I promise to give you, C*, the best of myself
and to ask of you no more than you can give.

I promise to respect you as your own person
and to realize that your interests, desires, and needs
are no less important than my own.

I promise to keep myself open to you,
to share with you my thoughts, my feelings, and my dreams.

And I promise to grow along with you,
to face, together, life's changes and to love you through good and bad.

I will laugh with you in times of joy and comfort you in times of sorrow
I will share in your triumphs and support you as you strive to achieve
I will listen to you with compassion and understanding
and speak to you with encouragement
To you, C*, I will forever remain faithful.

(maarmie puts ring on C*'s finger.)

With this ring, I thee wed.

Glenna:

I, by virtue of authority vested under the laws of the State of Florida, now pronounce you husband and wife.

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other.
Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you.
May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead and through all the years.
May happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth.

You may kiss.

I now present Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Wedding march

2007-07-20T22:11:00.000-04:00

In about 21 hours, I will be a married woman.

The rings are bought, the vows are written, the veggies are chopped, the dress is pressed and the flowers and candles are picked out. All that's left is to make a couple of dips, pick up the cake and assemble some food trays. What a relief tomorrow night will be when the vows have been read, the people have all eaten and the hoopla will be over. I'm looking forward to just settling in at my apartment with C* and watching a movie or something.

It's like we've been a married couple for years already. And that's not a bad thing at all, I must say.

10 weeks and counting

2007-07-16T12:49:00.000-04:00

I had my first prenatal appointment at my OB/GYN's office this morning, then I gave blood to see if I carry the cystic fibrosis gene.

Because I am so old and decrepit, I am also being referred to a genetic specialist who will scare me into doing all kinds of tests to see if my baby is at risk of spina bifida, Down Syndrome and other horrible genetic diseases that would make me run out and have an abortion if I thought there was a serious chance my baby would have them.

And because I am so hugely fat (I weight 201!), I will be tested for my susceptibility to gestational disbetes. Lucky for me, my blood sugar has always been on the low side.

Sigh!

I have my first exam and ultrasound a week from today. I'm excited, but nervous. I've been told that, considering my size at 10 weeks, twins are a possibility. I told C* about this and he was ecstatic. Get it all over with at once, he said. "What makes you think I want more than one child?" I asked him. Argh!

At this moment, C* is in a plane hurtling over over the Atlantic Ocean. I can't wait to see him.

Interesting observation

2007-07-13T09:03:00.000-04:00

It's interesting how a wedding can bring out the worst in people you thought were your friends, how some kind of fucked up issue in their own heads can stop them from being happy for you for even a minute.

But like one of my coworkers says, most people don't give a damn about anyone. Just be glad for the people in your life who do.

Numb-ers

2007-07-10T08:31:00.000-04:00

11 - I will be married in 11 days.
8 - I am eight weeks pregnant.
2 - This is the second day I have gone without a cigarette.
24 - The number of hours I have had a headache.
6 - C* will be here in six days.
14 - C* will be here for two weeks.
40 - The approximate number of guests attending the wedding.
2 - The number of out-of-town friends who are making the journey.
5 - The number of family members who are coming.
1 - The number of family members I actually WANT to be there.

Only 11 days to go, and we still need to write our vows, finalize what we're going to wear, get the marriage license, buy some rings, finalize decorations (we still need flowers) and find out what everyone is planning on bringing for the potluck reception. We need to remember to pick up the cake, get some ice and make and bring some food. In the meantime, we need to entertain C*'s brother (coming in the day after C*) and make time for the beach. And not just any beach. Destin.

I won't let C* and his brother leave without a day-long trip to Destin, only the most beautiful beach in Florida. The water is clear as clear can be, and swimmers regularly spot dolphins and stingrays gliding through the surf. The sand is white and fine. And it's the perfect time to go, especially considering I own a big beach umbrella that will shade me from the misery that is a Florida summer.

This is the best I can do?

2007-07-02T09:04:00.001-04:00

Mingle squared gave my blog an R rating.

Mingle²

I think I can do much better than that.

2007-07-02T09:04:00.000-04:00