Good News

Since I posted a prayer request for our little girl, I thought you might want to hear how our cardiology appointment went. They did another fetal echo to look at her heart (just a fancy ultrasound). After far too long on a very uncomfortable table, 77 images, and some waiting, we found out that her heart is doing very well. The doctor explained that fetal echo technology really isn't advanced enough to be able to accurately diagnosis the problems we are investigating. If her aortic arch is indeed on the right, versus the left, side of her body, that's not something to be concerned about. Apparently 5-10% of the population has a right-sided aortic arch. The fact that the two arteries leaving the heart may be connected is also not something to be concerned about for now. She should be able to undergo a normal delivery and do the usual cuddling and breastfeeding. As she goes off for her bath, the cardiologist will come to the nursery and do an echo (much easier to see the arteries when my belly, uterus and placenta are not in the way). If indeed the arteries are connected, she would need surgery to place something in there to separate them. This would be a one-time fix. Not sure if this would be done immediately or a little later. He didn't seem inclined to explain the "what if" scenario, mostly I think because he's not sure there's even a connection there. We are feeling really blessed right now. God is amazing. Even if she needs surgery, I'm certain that His hands are capable of carrying her during that as well. Thank you for all your concern and prayers.

A Politically Incorrect Video

Owen's preschool had their first performance last week. I've attached a video if you're a grandparent, and therefore want to gobble up three minutes of little kids singing off key (I loved it). My favorite parts: Owen being the only one who refused to wear his headband, the way they all confirm the number of fingers they are supposed to be holding up by looking at each other, the moment when the boy to Owen's left tickles Owen in the face with his feather, and the very end when Owen thinks he's supposed to mimic the music teacher's motions.

The title of this blog, however, is not related to Owen's cuteness in the video. It's the fact that Owen's preschool is not on the same page with the PC crowd. Virginia schools now teach children about the First Americans--not the Native Americans (because they were not in fact native) or the Indians (because that's some confused European's label for the people he met). Funny that they even chose to sing two songs that repeatedly use the word Indian. This didn't particularly offend me, but I'd be curious to know if First Americans(?) would be bothered. And what do they think about Thanksgiving anyways? I love the whole yummy food, give thanks part of the holiday, and generally think the story we learned in elementary school must be a load of crap, but what about their take on it? Anybody have any insight to share?

You need to get a jobby job

All three of you that read this blog already know this, but I've accepted a job here in Norfolk. I know, we've always said we weren't staying, but it just happened. During the job search, a fellowship position opened up here, and I got it. With all the years of explaining what residency means, I have now entered a whole new level of complexity. I feel this is best explained by compairing my position to those on the completely asinine TV medical dramas.

For our first 4 years in Norfolk, I was a medical student. These rarely show up on TV, but one did play a significant role on ER as one of Abby's suitors. I don't know his name, but he was on for a few shows, wound up asking her out, and caused a little inner-turmoil as she had to decide between him or Luca. At the end of my time as a med student, I had to decide what kind of doctor I wanted to be. I chose emergency medicine. At graduation, I officially became a doctor (this simply refers to a degree).

The next year, I was an intern(aka 1st year resident). This equals Meredith, Izzy, et al on the first year of Grey's Anatomy. That year is spent doing a lot of scut work, taking orders from more senior residents, and all the while trying to learn as much as fast as possible so as not to kill anybody (which is a distinct possibility).

For the next two years until residency is over, I'm a resident. This equals Meredith, Izzy, et al now. More responsibility and more leeway to kill patients (still very possible).

Here is where it gets really complicated. I am approaching the end of my residency. Up till now, I have been riding the coat tails of my attendings, working under what is dubbed a provisional license. This pretty much means my attendings are responsible for all my bad decisions. They can chew me out at their liberty, of course. However, at the end of this year (June), I will have my own license to practice medicine. I call my own shots. I'm responsible for my own mistakes. After residency, most residents go on to get a job in a community hospital, without residents, just patients. They are attending physicians.

I, on the other hand, have elected to become a fellow. I still have completed residency, I still am responsible for my own mistakes, but I've also decided to spend more time learning. The only fellow I can think of on TV was Elliot on scrubs. She took an endocrinology fellowship after residency, but then got fired and came back to Sacred Heart. My fellowship is in emergency ultrasound. I won't go into that too much. I've already written more in this blog than I ever have before. I hope that clears things up.

Note: I do not know who I am compared to the characters on House, MD. The best I can tell, those guys are internal medicine physicians, but they do a strange amount of surgery too. And I can't figure out where they are in their training. I assume the ones not named House are residents, but their job is way too cushy for that.

Poop!

Yay for poop in the potty!!! We've had a great few weeks of peeing in the potty, but until today I was spending a moment of each day swishing poop out of underwear into the potty. Fun, I know. But today the poop did not get deposited in the underwear, causing my son to come walking out of his room like a cowboy who's been on the range all day. We were getting desperate for this milestone, so he got two cars out of this one, Mater and Sally. Hopefully, this will again be the beginning of lots of good times on the potty.

Big spoon

Last night I led my 9th grade girls small group. We are discussing purity over the next few weeks, and the discussion last night included a brief mention of spooning. This led one of the girls to question my current ability to spoon (due to my ginormous belly), to which I indignantly replied, "I can still be the front spoon!" As I was sharing this story with Will afterwards, he declared, "You mean the little spoon. I'm the big spoon, you're the little spoon." I immediately assumed this was my husband being argumentative, and that he had just made up these phrases. He insisted that he had not. So we did what we always do...we looked it up on the internet.

www.urbandictionary.com
1. big spoon votes: 141 up, 8 down
in spooning, the big spoon is the person in the back
Men are usually the big spoon.

Oops.

Our baby girl

I'm sitting here at my computer, trying to be productive. Meanwhile, I'm being attacked from the inside by little arms and legs. It's wonderful. Which leads me to this post. Please pray for our little girl. We have learned in the past few weeks that she has a heart defect. In the simplest terms, two of the vessels that leave her heart are connected to each other, and her aortic arch is on the right (instead of the left) side of her body. The heart itself appears to be fine and working as it should. We do not know what this will mean for her in the future. It could be that she will need surgery after she is born. We have an appointment with a pediatric cardiologist in December to learn more.

We appreciate your prayers during this time, though I insist that this is not a time for worry. God has shown me over and over again that He is my comfortor, provider, and lover of my soul. I have always clung to Philippians 4:6-7 in times of struggle and therefore feel a peace that transcends understanding. Our pastor shared in church today that the most repeated command in the Bible is to not fear. God knows our tendencies and knows that they lead to nothing but further anxiety. So please pray for continued peace and trust in Him.

"I CAN do it!"

These were the words that Owen declared today after he successfully peed in the potty. For those of you who have been following this journey, you know that this is HUGE. Granted, he peed in his underwear (and subsequently on the floor) twice today too (before and after potty success), but who gives a crap. For months we have been going through the same steps (every month or so with breaks inbetween): Owen drinks a lot, holds his pee as long as possible, agrees to sit on the potty for a little while, then starts crying and declaring that his belly hurts. He then asks to have a diaper put on. Well today I decided we were going to try to get past this last stage. Hence, the potty in the middle of the living room. I'll spare you the details, but I will say that it was quite the mental battle. But the moment he made his proud declaration and smiled that amazing smile, it was all worth it.

Owen wanted me to take the next picture. This is the Lightning McQueen car that has been perched on our bathroom cabinet for months, neatly packaged, waiting for Owen to pee in the potty just once in order to be claimed. He didn't put the car down until we made him sit it beside his bed at naptime. That was a hard-earned prize. Please pray that this is the beginning of many more potty adventures.

Obligatory Halloween Photos

No, he is not dressed up as a farmer. For those of you who do not live in my toddler-infused world, this is Bob the Builder. He felt very insecure about his hat, so he insisted on holding it on in the pictures. The rest of the time, his daddy carried it or wore it. My favorite part of trick-or-treating this year was the neighbor (who doesn't have any kids yet) who held out the giant bucket of candy, somehow thinking that letting a 3 year old pick his own candy was a good idea. Pan right to find mommy running up the sidewalk to stop cute little boy from cleaning out naive neighbor.
This is Owen's best friend, Evie--as you can tell by the delighted smile on his face. We stopped by our church's Harvest Festival just so he could say hi. By the way, can I just say that part of me is a little dubious over the label "harvest festival?" It's on Halloween. We're not fooling anyone.
And last, but not least, Owen enjoying the fruits of his labor. Nevermind that these "fruits" were made by Mike & Ike (thought you might appreciate that Uncle Daniel) and probably don't contain an ounce of fruit.

Unexpected Giddiness

I have no desire to be controversial or polorizing right now, but sitting here with my laptop in front of my t.v., there's no way I can refrain from blogging. This is amazing. We are part of an unbelievable moment in U.S. history. I don't care what party you support, how can you not feel proud to be part of a country that has made huge advancements in overcoming racism? Maybe I'm just getting older, but this election has been so exciting to me. I actually felt a little giddy as I voted today. Not because I had any expectations about how the vote would turn out. I think my enthusiasm stems from the fact that so many people are invested in this election. Even the middle school girls that I lead have been excited about the candidates and wanting to talk about politics. Today has been a very cool experience.

Owen's Birthday

While on our two week sabatical, Owen had his third birthday. We had a wonderful time hanging out with family at my parents' house. Owen was a bit overwhelmed by the number of presents, but he certainly enjoyed playing with new toys and getting lots of hugs from the people who don't get to see him enough. And who can complain about cake and ice cream?

And at the end of the party, inspired by Will's newly-aquired golf clubs, the boys had to go outside and get in a little man-time.

Boston

Since so much has happened over the past few weeks, I'm going to try and split this into a few different blogs. After New York we spent four days with two of our very best friends, Holly and Justin, in Boston. One of our adventures included cooking live lobsters (it is New England after all). Here is one of the live ones. I believe he's the one who tried to crawl away. Being lobster-cooking virgins, the three of us left it up to Will to "take care of them." He has now decided to never do that again. He's okay with putting knives in living people, not so much through lobsters apparently.

Another fun part of our trip was comparing bellies. You see, Holly and I are two weeks apart in our pregnancies. This also makes for much to share in regards to indigestion, hormones, and eating.

And of course no trip would be complete without a day in the city. We wandered around, checking out crazy city people (i.e. lady in kelly green hose and shoes), eating at Mike's Pastry, admiring the harbor and Boston Commons. It was wonderful, not just the city, but the time with dear friends. I miss them already.

Eating Our Way Through New York

For those of you who don't know, we were in New York for three days this week. Is it just me, or do you tend to never tell anyone about the fun that you had on vacation, even though people always ask, "How was your vacation?" Is it because we don't think people really want to hear about our fun? Or because we don't have the time or desire to share our itinerary with every person who asks? Not sure. But I want to share, so if you don't want to hear about my fun, feel free to move on to checking your email or getting sucked into youtube.

We arrived at JFK on Saturday night. Getting to our hotel in Manhattan involved a tram, a bus, a subway ride, and a walk of several blocks. This took two hours. Will carried both giant bags. He was not excited. I love my husband.

To sum up our trip...it was all about the food. We love to eat good food. The only plans I had made for our trip were see one Broadway show and eat. The first food destination occurred on Sunday at lunch: Juniors. We had brisket with au jus, potato pancakes, and applesauce, finished off with Junior's famous devil food cheesecake. Mmmm. This filled our bellies for the one planned non-eating event, watching Avenue Q. By the way, despite the fact that this show has puppets, do NOT take your children to see it. You might be a little taken aback when you have to explain the birds and bees afterwards due to some puppet indiscretions. The second food destination...Mandoo Bar. Yummy Korean food. Unfortunately, the taxi we caught to get there was not in fact the Cash Cab. Boo. On Monday we did the Greenwich Village Food Tour. Of course we sampled NY style pizza, but also canoli, cheese, risotto, olive oil, salami, and gelato. Later that day, dinner took the prize for most memorable waiter. We couldn't finish all of our food and had no ability to take leftovers with us. The waiter came by and proceeded to have this conversation with Will:

Waiter: You need a box?
Will: No thank you.
Waiter (with puzzled expression): You not finished?
Will: Oh no, I'm done.
Waiter (with suspicious look): Something wrong with food? You not like?

I can't say that we've ever been grilled by a server before. I thought for a second that we were going to have to force the rest of that food down so as to avoid some serious social blunder. But he seemed to understand us not having a refrigerator and let us go. But the last and most memorable eating event occured on Tuesday. We rushed uptown around 11:30, desperate to squeeze in a trip to one of the best sushi restaurants in Manhattan before leaving for the airport at 1:30. We get there right after they open for lunch, feeling underdressed and a little sweaty. The menu is sparse, there are no helpful explanations or pictures of different types of sushi. Willl is afraid that at any moment the chef might come crashing out of the kitchen and accuse me of insulting his skills as a sushi master because I am dipping my eel roll in soy sauce. But it is by far the best sushi that Will has ever had, so the stress was worth it. AND, I got to use one of those crazy fancy toilets. If you have not experienced the $5000 toilet with multiple buttons, heated seat, sprayers and driers, I recommend you find one ASAP. Incredibly entertaining. But don't worry, we didn't just eat. We walked ourselves silly getting to all of these restaurants. And we spent time lounging in Central Park, walking by the river in Battery Park, and visiting the World Trade Center site. It was fantastic. I'd go every year if I could.

The Chick Problem

Will is finishing a string of night shifts tonight, which means I watched a few movies during the past few days after putting Owen to bed. It just so happens that two of them were chick flicks. And after watching the second one tonight, I had the same fleeting thought that occured after the first one....something along the lines of, "I wish Will would do that." And immediately after the thought, I became aggitated with myself. Because I know that these movies are not REAL! And then I felt compelled to send out a message to all of the women who might be reading this: chick flicks are porn for women. I didn't invent this idea. One of my good friends and I have discussed this before. But it is so true. These movies do not present men in a realistic fashion. Yet we watch them and yearn to have the same things said to or happen to us. Don't get me wrong, my husband is a wonderful man. God has blessed me with an exceptional marriage. But Will does not write me love poems, light candles all around our house, confess his feelings for me to strangers in eloquent ways, and rush towards me across a room to kiss me with supreme gusto. I watch these films, and part of me becomes unsatisfied with the amazing relationship that I have with my husband. This is not Will's fault. However, I'm sure there have been times in my life when I've ended up going to him in tears to tell him that I need him to be more romantic, most likely because I recently received some false notion from Hollywood of what defines love.

I Corinthians 4-7: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Nowhere in there does it say anything about flowers, candles, gifts, grand romantic guestures, or waxing eloquent. My husband loves me in ways that I can't describe. And ways that the Lord already put on paper for me in the above verse. Yet I find myself yearning for what the world defines as love. Silly me.

Angry Baby

I thought the vomiting had ended. It had been about nine days since the last unfortunate episode. However, Wednesday morning I was brushing my teeth, and as I went to spit out my toothpaste, I got more than I was expecting. Owen was right outside the bathroom. He walked to the doorway and asked suspiciously, "What are you doing, Mommy?" I told him I was sick, and he declared, "I'm going to shut the door, so I won't be scared." When I came out out he asked if I was still sick. I explained that I was fine, but that sometimes when mommies have babies in their bellies, it makes them throw up. His next question was the kicker..."Is the baby still angry?" This led to discussion of the fact that the baby isn't angry with me, it's just the way God made pregnancy. Thus Owen's next associative declaration..."God is in my belly." I know this sounds strange, but lately he asked where Jesus lives and my answer was "our hearts." He knows that the baby is in Mommy's "belly." Bellies and hearts aren't very far apart, so you can see how this might confuse a two-year old. Big questions for such an early age. We'll be discussing politics next month.

Television

Owen loves watching television. As his mother, I'm doing my best to keep this under control. I'm one of those moms who is super grateful that he will indeed sit down and watch something when I'm desperate for half an hour to get something done, but try very hard to limit this obsession. So we have an arrangement...one tv show in the morning, one after nap (God bless the people who invented tivo). Which leads to my story. Saturday morning Owen awoke early, ate breakfast, and watched Thomas the Tank Engine. Will got up soon thereafter, so I took the opportunity to go upstairs and shower. As I was walking around upstairs, getting ready to go shopping, I heard Will and Owen discussing watching tv, so I called down to remind Owen that he had already watched his morning program. He then said, "Hey Daddy, how 'bout when Mommy goes shopping, we can watch a tivo show. That's a good idea." Hilarious. I don't think he was trying to be deceptive. It's not like he tried to whisper it. But he's learning to work the system. Of course, when I got home, he immediately said with a big smile, "Mommy, I watched Bob the Builder!"

Work on the House

We're having a little work done at our house. Nothing huge, just a couple of ceilings being replaced. Apparently the former homeowners thought that if you have a giant hole in your plaster ceiling, the best way to repair that is to throw quarter-inch plywood over the whole shebang and roll it down with some textured paint. Seriously. The comment from one of the workers was, "I've been doing this for a long time, and I've never seen anything like this." I'd love to have a chat with the do-it-yourselfers who used to live here. Find out if they were doing drugs at the time. But anyways...Owen loves having people working in the house. He would sit and watch them for hours if we let him (and probably run and get his "tools" to help). Today after we arrived home from the grocery store, I ran upstairs to put some clothes in the wash. I came back downstairs to discover that Owen had gone out on the deck where the guys were eating lunch. They had given him a cookie. He was happily showing them his Thomas book. He looked at me and said, "Mom, why don't you go back inside." This brought hardy laughter from the workers. One declared, "He wants to hang out with the guys, Mom." My son cracks me up.

She-she poo-poo

One of my best friends uses the above phrase occasionally. Being able to understand context clues, I have come to interpret her use of it to mean what us country folks might call high falutin'. So for some reason, I was thinking about this tonight and wondered, who originated this phrase? I assume my friend didn't make it up all by herself (though her family does have a history of making up words ;-) To the internet I ran. Isn't it amazing what you can learn on the internet?! And so I found a website started by a Ms. Taylor Sparks, which contained this heading: "What is She-She/Poo-Poo Time™ ? She-She, is for women, grown women, only. Poo-Poo, is all about Rest, Relaxation and Replenishment." You might note that she has trademarked this phrase. Amazing. I also noticed that many of the uses of the phrase on blogs and other websites seemed to use it the same way my friend does. So how did that happen? Apparently she didn't intend it to have this definition. However, I couldn't find an actual definition anywhere else. Not even urbandictionary.com. Do any of you have any information about this phrase? You might be thinking that I have way too much time on my hands, but cut me some slack. I was an English major. Stuff like this fascinates me.

My Awesome Husband

For the past month or so I've been the worst housekeeper ever. The nausea has left me wanting to do absolutely nothing, so I considered it an accomplishment to plan meals, go to the grocery store, and do the laundry--all while keeping Owen alive. Everything else was left to the dust mites. My sweet husband has not complained once. You may think to yourself, of course he shouldn't complain. But this is a man who works ridiculous hours. Who also has to work on research projects and personal statements and attend crazy conferences where he has to participate in a super-nerdy form of Jeopardy. The pinnacle of my appreciation for him came yesterday though. I realized that at some point he had scrubbed both of the toilets in the house. I made a point to tell him how much I appreciated that, and he told me that he was worried I would become nauseous and have the situation made worse by bad smells from the toilet. Maybe some of you are reading that and thinking, "gross," but my heart was warmed.

Cards

My family visited this past weekend. Unfortunately, I'm terrible about taking pictures, so there are no photos to post with this entry. However, we had a great time. Owen was in heaven. He loves when we have visitors. He particularly likes suckering anyone and everyone into constantly building garages with him. The sweetest line came at the end though. He looked at me and said, "Mommy, they're trying to leave me, and I want them to stay." Nearly choked up this weepy pregnant lady.

I must say the highlight for me though was the many rounds of cards. We taught my little sis Kellie to play Crap and Spades. Very fun, even though she consistently beat us at Crap. I can't tell you how many fond memories I have of sitting around a table playing cards with my family. A summer Sunday afternoon, after eating lunch together and swimming in the pool. Vacations at the beach in the dead of winter (you can only swim in the indoor pool for so long). Random, lazy evenings. One memory stands out the most in my mind. My parents took my best friend and I to the movies. I pitched a fit about something. I was far too old for such behavior, and I'm sure I was acting like a total brat. My dad yelled at me. For those of you who don't know, my dad is NOT a shouter. For all I know, I may have even warped this memory a little. He probably just used a really firm voice. Either way, I decided to sulk. As soon as we got home I stormed off to my room (best friend in tow) and shut my door. It wasn't long before my soft-hearted dad was knocking at the door. All he said was, "You wanna play some cards?" And that was all it took. I couldn't be mad at him. I'm sure I subconsciously knew I deserved whatever he said. And there was no way I was going to turn down the chance to play Spades. So take note. If we're ever together and I'm sulking, just get out a deck of cards.

Poop

It's amazing how much poop you can tolerate as a parent. Poop on your hands, poop on shoes, poop anywhere and everywhere. Tonight we went out for a little dinner, Italian ice, and time at the very cool church playground. It was while on this very cool playground equipment that Owen declared, "I pooped." At the time, I was paused at the top of a slide, encouraging him to follow me down. He had already pooped today (and is usually a one poop a day kind of guy), so I assumed that he really meant that he pooted. So I calmly explained, "It's okay to poot on the slide." So he follows me down, gleeful all the way. We both climb back up the steps, and I encourage him to race me down the parallel slides, to which to replies, "I pooped again." This time I decide to actually take a peek down the back of the diaper, and lo and behold, there is some poop in there. Unfortunately, I didn't take the time to think my next action through. I encouraged him to go down the slide. Bad, bad idea. Poop no longer contained in the diaper. Or in the shorts even. Poop now dripping onto the shoes. Poop on the mulch. Gotta love it.

I'm a pregnant cry-baby

I must admit that I'm not infrequently moved to the point of crying. Fortunately for me, I don't have any tearducts, so most people can be left safely in the dark during these moments. If you asked me a question, I'd be in trouble, because my throat nearly closes up from the effort of not audibly sobbing. Praise music in church, movies, sweet moments with my family, you name it. Pregnancy seems to have ratcheted this up a notch. So I thought I'd share my latest throat-blocking moment with you if you're interested. http://www.snopes.com/photos/animals/christian.asp
You might laugh at me for crying during this, but remember, it's the fetus' fault.

Nothing Much

I don't have anything in particular to say. It's been a long time since I've posted, so I thought it was due. It seems the summer sends lots of blogs into hiatus. Hard to feel motivated to type when there is so much else happening I suppose. For my part, I'd like to blame it on nausea. I haven't felt motivated to do much other than lay on the couch and watch movies. Yesterday Owen wanted me to play with him on the floor. I told him I needed to lay down for a little while because my belly hurt. When Will got home, he immediately told him that my belly hurt, because there's a baby in there. So funny. No idea why he connected the two. I've never given him an explanation for this recurring "belly hurt." Smart kid. Not so smart on the specifics of pregnancy though, since he keeps declaring he has a baby in his belly, despite our efforts to teach him otherwise. A few weeks ago, he seemed to concede, but then told us he had a baby in his leg instead. By the way, in case you don't know already, I'm pregnant. Here we are going on about diapers and nausea, never actually stating the fact. If you haven't heard this news in person, I'm sorry. We love so many people, who are spread out all over the place, and I just haven't had the energy to personally contact everyone I would like to, so please don't be mad.

Diaper Debate

As a new little one slowly nears and we become a little more environment conscious, the question of what kind of diapers to use has arisen. Mind you, Owen is still in some sort of diaper and is fighting hard to stay that way. He will tell us that he needs to pee-pee, but that usually just means, "I pee-pee'd a little and I want you to pay attention to me and not whatever you are doing so I can control my world just a little more." Selfish.

It would be much easier if it were just a question of Pampers vs. Huggies. Consumer reports does a pretty good job of telling us which is the best, and a little time and experience fills in those gaps. Unfortunately, there is no such offering for cloth vs. disposable diapers. There are a smattering of sites on the internet preaching one view or the other. Most of the cloth sites are in some way linked to the cloth diaper industry or environmental groups. They yell, "All the studies saying disposables are about equal to cloth in the end are funded by the diaper industry and we hate them...and George Bush too!" You don't really find any sites that are the opposite, but I'm sure they are out there.

All that said, the cloth diaper backers have yet to present me with good science to prove to me that I should be a cloth diaper lover. In fact, the only compelling evidence that I've found is from a great friend of ours. Her rhetoric sounds about the same, but it at least comes from somebody I know and trust. On the other hand, there are studies out there that break down the environmental impact on both sides of the fence, generally by independent research firms. I'm sure a little cash comes there way from somebody else, but I also understand that that is the way research gets done in this world, whether it's about drugs or business or diapers.

At this point, I think Christy is slightly on the cloth side. I'm on the disposable side all the way. I'm really on the "Christy needs to birth a potty-trained baby" side, but that's like voting for Nader.

So what do you think?

Cloth

Disposable

Pick one. I expect your answer under my door by Friday.

My Architect

Is that not the cutest little boy ever? He's participating in his latest favorite activity...building. Mostly he's content to build quietly, constructing castles, garages, and rockets, but occasionally, he wants a building companion. As you can see, this fine structure is a garage (since there is a pickup truck parked inside). It is I who insists on making them look like castles, with columns and triangles perched on top. I had done just that when Owen decided he didn't like my triangle or the fact that I put a ramp on the other side, so he removed them. It is usually when he starts removing my additions that I decide to quietly bow out of the building process, so I slunk away to the couch to read my book. He immediately stops building and says in the sweetest voice ever, "Mommy, build with me." As I pick up book to read, I calmly explain that it's not much fun to play if he always takes apart the parts that I build. Then I hear, "See, isn't that nice?" I look up to find my triangle back on top, the ramp in place, and my little boy smiling the most endearing smile. How can you resist after that? So back on the floor I went.

What about dining out, any way to get paid for that?

I enjoy eating in restaurants way too much. It's not that I don't like to cook, because I do. There's just something about going somewhere to eat that makes me ridiculously happy. We live on a budget and this is the one line item that requires real self-control on my part. I usually plan to eat out once a week when making the menu, and I have to admit that I actually think about that event several days in advance. I muse about where I would like to eat and what I would order. The day of, I actually get excited about going--even if it's just Chick fil A. My mother and father-in-law visited this weekend, and I must say that their love of going out makes me love them even more. We went to a dim sum restaurant yesterday and our favorite bakery/deli today. So incredibly yummy. It's not that I need to get paid for watching movies and eating--we're not desperate for cash. It would just make me feel better about my habits if they produced something other than couch-butt and fry-thighs.

Can You Get Paid to Watch Movies?

I love watching movies. I like to blame it on my parents owning a video store at one time, but in reality, I think it's genetic. At least that's what I'm telling myself. Somehow I managed to marry a fantastic husband, who unfortunately does not share my passion for film. So, alas, I wait for a rotation that involves far too many night shifts and go crazy. I have watched a ridiculous number of movies in the last few weeks. As best I can recall, I have seen: An Unfinished Life, Because I Said So, Becoming Jane, We Are Marshall, Knocked Up, Chicken Little, Monster-in-law, Fargo, Enchanted, and A History of Violence. I tried to get through Away From Her but it was just too darn depressing. And so many more movies that I want to watch! The list just keeps growing. So if you've seen any great ones lately, please share. Oh, and the list above isn't a recommendation list. Loved some, hated others. If you haven't seen An Unfinished Life, you should give it a try; it was my favorite.

I Love My Neighborhood

I must say that this picture isn't exactly the quality camerawork I usually aim for, but it's tough getting a good shot of your friends while they eat. We had our favorite neighbors over tonight for dinner. I love our neighborhood. I love that these wonderful people live within 100 yards of our front door. I love that I can knock on Rikki's door pretty much any afternoon, be welcomed in, given a glass of Dr. Pepper or sweet tea, and just talk while our kids play on the floor. I love that we have watched Steve & Lisa's daughter grow from an infant into this wonderful little girl who enthralls our son. I love that we can all gather around a table and share life together. It doesn't matter that none of the food was ready at the same time, or that the table was some sad fold-up without a table cloth, or that my bathroom was dirty, or that I had cilantro butter on the front of my shirt. We enjoyed a beautiful day, we ate good food, we laughed. I feel truly blessed.

Sobbing

I finished A Thousand Splendid Suns today. I sobbed. If you're not familiar, it's a novel that focuses on the war-torn lives of two women in Afghanistan. It was heart-wrenching, eye-opening, enveloping. I highly recommend it--if you can handle that sort of thing. I'd love to know what you thought if you've read it.

Gas

If you're feeling a little grouchy about gas prices, you might want to read this:
http://www.slate.com/id/2191491/?GT1=38001
I thought it was a pretty refreshing way to look at the situation.

Kayaking

For our eighth wedding anniversary I convinced Will that we needed to try something new. So I signed us up for a kayak tour in Virginia Beach. So fun! As you can see, I had a little problem getting my kayak under the ridiculously low foot bridge, but I didn't fall in or knock myself out, so that's alright. Will managed to glide right under. I was quite envious. I'm pretty sure he even used the picture of my struggle to garner some laughs in a lecture today.

Risotto Rocks

For all of you Hell's Kitchen fans who fear that making risotto will result in an angry British man cursing loudly in your face, I'm here to say, it's not that scary. Will and I made Garden Risotto tonight for dinner, and it was yummy. Though I must warn you that it is quite time consuming. As I was on my 18th minute of constant stirring (about 25 total--I had to pass the baton to Will) I declared that I wasn't going to be making any more risotto. However, after tasting it, I had a change of heart. It was even healthy (I threw in a little extra parm...don't want to be a crazy health nut or anything). Oh, and I tackled chocolate souffles the other day, despite my fears (from watching Top Chef) that they would suck. Also very tasty. So don't let those crazy food shows scare you.

A Little Bit of Knowledge

Twice this past weekend I was around the bug that loves to appear in spring. You know the one, looks like a ginormous mosquito. So I decided to do a little research and learned that it is called a crane fly. I love wikipedia.

"In appearance crane flies seem long and gangly, with very long legs, and a long slender abdomen. The wings are often held out when at rest, making the large halteres (balancers) easily visible. Unlike mosquitos crane flies are weak and poor fliers with a tendency to "wobble" in unpredictable patterns during flight, and they can be caught without much effort. However, it is very easy to accidentally break off their delicate legs when catching them, even without direct contact. This may help them to evade the birds who pursue them as prey."

So be kind to our long-legged friends. They don't bite or suck your blood. If you see a mosquito however, be sure to kill it. Even if it's on your two year old son's head, and whacking it will make him cry.

Potty Training Addendum

In light of yesterday's post, I had to share Owen's funny comment of the day. A friend was watching him this morning who was unsure of his potty abilities, so she asked him, "Do you use the potty?" To which he replied, "That's my penis. It doesn't work."

Can't we all just wear diapers?

Potty training sucks. I have a two and a half year old boy who thinks so too. He dislikes it so much that he would rather wear a twenty pound diaper than pee in the potty. He'd rather go without Yogos and super cool Nemo stickers. He'd rather denounce being a "big boy" and pee all over the floor. I've tried it all: "feel cold" diapers, bribery (the aforementioned Yogos and stickers), nudity, playing in warm water, peeing on cheerios, videos. And then there's the latest idea--pouring warm water down his chest. I consider myself a pretty logical person. Normally, I would hear an idea like that and think, huh? Won't that just result in water going all over the bathroom floor? But I am so absolutely desperate that I didn't even think about things like cause and effect. I think I would have poured a bucket of orange juice on his head if I thought that would get him to pee in the toilet. But it didn't. It just got water all over the bathroom floor. So I'm resigning. We're all going to wear diapers from now on. Admit it. It would be nice to not have to stop what you're doing and just go. Think of how fast your car trips could be. See you in the diaper aisle.

Confession

I know that some of you are going to have trouble believing this, but I really think the world should know. It's nothing bad, or wrong. It's just me, and that's what this blog is about...

I'm a dork. It's not like I just realized this. No, I've known for quite a while. It was really solidified during my 3rd year of med school when one of the 4th year students I was working with made the obvious but rarely vocalized statement, "We wouldn't be here right now if we weren't dorks." Hmmm, so obvious it's almost earth shattering. I don't think my wife realized it though until the past couple years. Now there is little doubt. Here's why:

I spend time every day staring at, petting, testing, loving my aquarium. I scour the internet trying to learn more and find the most state-of-the-art equipment to take the box of water to the next level. I yearn for the acceptance of other reef-dorks. I've even posted my tank information on reef-dork forums for others to see and hopefully praise. (http://reefcentral.com/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=1377099 )

I long for my little aquarium to be "tank-of-the-month" one day.

It's a sickness. I'm ashamed.

Know Your Trains

By the way, I forgot to give you my favorite quote from Owen today. We were playing with his new train this morning. It has an engine and two boxcars. He gave me one of the boxcars to move along the track, while he used the engine. As I moved my boxcar up the hill I said, "Chugga-chugga chugga-chugga, choo-choo!" Owen look at me as if I were a small, confused child, and said "No, no mommy. It doesn't have a choo-choo" while pointing at the engine's...I don't know what it's called...you know, the part where the steam comes out. I couldn't help but laugh. He was right, my boxcar should not be making a "choo-choo" sound. So I returned to pushing my little boxcar, this time humbly saying "chugga-chugga."

Good Times

Saturday was a fantastic day. I wasn't so sure that would be the case when Owen decided to wake up at 6:45 am (since he usually gets up around 8:00). However, I took the opportunity to head out to a huge neighborhood yard sale in Va Beach. Upon arriving I discovered the one and only thing I was hoping to find at the yard sale, for a stinking dollar. How awesome is that. Then Owen discovered that most houses had toys, so he proceeded to plop himself down in the midst at each new stop and stake claim. There is nothing like spending $4 and bringing home a box full of cool toys (all trucks, cars, and trains of course).

But the most exciting part of the day came Saturday night, when we took Owen to his first baseball game. Perfect weather, ice cream in little plastic baseball caps, Norfolk Tides in the lead...probably more exciting for Will and I than for Owen. But that's okay. He'll grow to love it if he has any of his daddy's genes. The funniest moment by far was when the guy behind us (and numerous others throughout the stadium) yelled "BOO!," and Owen decided that he needed to join in with a resounding "MOO!"

ARMs rock

As a former loan officer, I just want to take a moment to counter all of that crazy propaganda I keep hearing on the radio about how Adjustable Rate Mortgages are of the devil. Will and I have a 2-year ARM, and I just want everyone to know that our mortgage payment is going down as of June 1st. Praise be to God. That is the beauty of the ARM. Yes, some ARMs are awful loan products, and you should never use them. But others are totally appropriate and smart choices for certain home owners. So if you're in the market for a loan, don't close your minds to the adjustable end of the spectrum. You need to investigate all of your options. And feel free to hit me up for advice. Makes me feel useful.

The Fridge

I need to take a poll. It's about the fridge. The situation is this...we remodeled our kitchen two years ago and bought a black dishwasher and microwave to match our black and stainless steel oven. Our fridge is almond and was working great, so we just left it. A couple of weeks ago the ice maker decided to start dripping, creating an ice glacier in our ice bin. This happened three years ago and we had to replace it (while it was under warranty). So here comes the question...do we replace it again at the cost of $150 (the fridge is only 6 years old) or buy a black and stainless steel one to match our other appliances (at least $600). My real question is whether you think a potential buyer would be turned off by the mismatched appliances. Since we're only going to be here for another 14 months, I can live with the current fridge quite happily as long as the drip is fixed. I just want to make wise financial decisions and not continue investing more and more money in the house, knowing the market will not support selling at a price that will give us a worthwhile return. Thanks for your opinion.

Life as Usual

So we're back to life as usual. It's been an eventful three weeks. We went on vacation (built snowman, didn't die on skiis), had visitors (Amanda & Daniel), Will went to Chicago (for work), I went to Trinity (visited family). So now we're trying to get back into the routine of normal life. My mind is currently rebelling against that concept. I don't want to be responsible. Not interested in making dinner, washing dishes, doing laundry. But I'm sure I'll get used to the idea soon enough. I actually went to the grocery store and cooked a real meal last night (poached salmon--which was my first time poaching) and it wasn't such a bad time. But enough of that. Thought you might want to see some pictures from our blogging hiatus, so here you go.

And since they clearly thought it was funny to play with my camera while I wasn't paying attention, I want to make sure everyone shares in my laughter...

Well, I'm not dead

This is the position in which I spent much of vacation. This is me in stick form, sprawled out on a snow-covered mountain in varying degrees of consciousness. Notice all appendages still attached and in relatively normal alignment, though notably hypothermic.

New Hampshire, the magic kingdom

I must say, I don't understand all those crazy Yanks who say, "I hate snow. It's fun for one day and then after that, it's just dirty slush." Whatever. I'd like to banish them to a world without snow. Deep down, they'd hate it. I've spent my whole life in the south with the yearly threat of a half centimeter of accumulation that sends the whole world to the grocery store to pick up extra milk and bread (for milk sandwiches). Of course, that snow doesn't happen and I'm left with only disappointment.
But New Hampshire isn't like that. In March, they say it's gonna snow, and it snows. They say it's gonna be sunny, and it snows a little, and then the sun comes out. It's like extended Christmas. Where else in the world can Owen build an imaginary girlfriend to make out with? (I'm sure that picture wasn't posed) Where else can people hurdle themselves down a mountain with one or two boards strapped to their feet for at least 5 months out of the year? Sure, there are a lot of places like that...and their awesome.

God's Provision

In my Bible study, we are learning about the different names God is given in his Word. The last one that we studied was Jehovah-jireh, which translates "The Lord will provide." Not provide like, "ooh, I sure would love to have an i-phone," but more like "I need you to work in my life right now before I scream or cry or succumb to staring mindlessly at the television all day." And the first thing that popped into my mind to share with my Bible study was how God has always provided me with amazing friendships, no matter where I go. I have been blessed to be surrounded by incredible women in Chapel Hill, Winston-Salem, Santa Cruz, Norfolk, and I'm sure many cities to come. The three ladies with me above are some of my dearest friends here in Norfolk. Marybeth, Joanna, and Christianne have all blessed me in countless ways. If you don't have people like that in your life, I encourage you to make yourself vulnerable and allow God to shower them on you. It's not easy making friends. It brings out all of your insecurities. You stress about whether you're cool enough, whether they think what you said was stupid or lame, whether they'll ever want to hang out with you again because that story you just told was not nearly as funny as you thought it was. Who cares? Make a fool of yourself. It's totally worth it. Trust me.

Life or Death

My sister, Amanda, is an elementary school teacher and recommended the young adult novel, The Giver, so I read it earlier this week. Wonderful book. I don't care how old you are, you need to read this if you haven't. What led me to the blog though is the ending. I'm not going to give it away, but I will say that you could interpret it as a happy or sad ending. The author is very ambiguous. This reminded me of another ambiguous ending--Tim McGraw's song, Don't Take the Girl. If you've known Will and I long enough, you probably know that we have a ten year disagreement regarding this song. And now I want your opinion. Since I want you to be a well-informed jury, you'll find the lyrics below.

Don't Take The Girl

Johnny's daddy was taking him fishin', when he was eight years old. A little girl came through the front gate holdin' a fishing pole. His dad looked down and smiled, said we can't leave her behind. Son, I know you don't want her to go, but someday you'll change your mind. And Johnny said, take Jimmy Johnson, take Tommy Thompson, take my best friend Bo. Take anybody that you want as long as she don't go. Take any boy in the world. Daddy, please don't take the girl.

Same old boy, same sweet girl, ten years down the road. He held her tight and kissed her lips in front of the picture show. Stranger came and pulled a gun, grabbed her by the arm, said if you do what I tell you to, there won't be any harm. And Johnny said, take my money, take my wallet, take my credit cards. Here's the watch that my grandpa gave me. Here's the key to my car. Mister, give it a whirl. But please don't take the girl.

Same old boy, same sweet girl, five years down the road. There's going to be a little one, and she says it's time to go. Doctor says the baby's fine, but you'll have to leave. 'Cause his momma's fading fast, and Johnny hit his knees, and there he prayed, Take the very breath you gave me. Take the heart from my chest. I'll gladly take her place if you'll let me make this my last request. Take me out of this world. God, please don't take the girl.

Johnny's daddy was taking him fishin', when he was eight years old.

I'm not going to tell you who's on which side, no bias allowed. Does the girl die? No pressure, just know that one of us is going to be mad at you.

Questionable Ethics

I'm having a lot of thoughts right now about money. Maybe it's because our church is going through a series on giving. Or because I've picked up a book called Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger. Or because I just watched Sicko. Or because God just has something to tell me right now. I just got a regular update letter from Global Aid Network (one of the ministries we support) which left me standing in my kitchen, crying. I get these letters every month, and they always touch me in some way. But this time my heart just broke. I'm standing there munching away on my chips and salsa, reading about orphans staying out of school to harvest potatoes (getting a pitance of their labor to eat) and subsisting on nothing but these potatoes and bread. And suddenly it all seemed ridiculous. How can we have so much, and they have so little? We're not more worthy than them. I know that God has a plan, but I have to consider that maybe part of that plan includes me giving up a good chunk of my "so much." I have of course had these thoughts before, but I usually manage to let the regularities of my day wash over these thoughts, drowning them in the back of my mind. So I thought this time I'd write it down. Our culture tells us that we deserve all this stuff, that, in fact, we NEED it; that the world isn't fair, and that's just the way it is. But I'm a Christian. Jesus tells me something different. Why is it so hard to override this crazy culture and listen to Him? I don't have all the answers. But I want to make a difference.

Pork Fat

For those who don't know, this is Charlie, our other child. He was our only child for four years. Unfortunately, for him, he was given the back seat a little over two years ago. Less petting, less walking, less brushing, less bathing, less playing. We're bad parents, I know. But apparently I decided to make up for all that neglect today by leaving a cup full of pork fat on the kitchen counter. Why would you have a cup full of pork fat on the counter, Christy, you say? I decided to try my hand at making North Carolina style BBQ the other day (the best kind of BBQ). This makes an obscene amount of fat. Said fat gets skimmed off the top of the leftover juices, and then you make yummy sauce (we'll pretend that I got all of the fat and that the BBQ did NOT in fact have 10000 calories in it). Of course this fat is very hot and not something you should pour down your drain, so I left it on the counter to cool. Being the procrastinator that I am, three days later I am still successfully ignoring the cup of fat. But not my dog. He's just biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to steal that puppy off the counter and gobble down a whole stinking cup of fat. And that time was tonight, while the family was away for dinner. So let's all pray that giant amounts of fat do not harm 75 pound dogs, because, despite our behavior for the past two years, we really do love him very much.

Cookies with Sprinkles

On Valentine's Day, Owen and I had Christianne & Evie over for lunch. Christianne, being the creative mom that she is, brought the ingredients to make and decorate heart shaped cookies. This was a tremendous success--Owen is still talking about "cookies with sprinkles." This particular picture amuses me because you are witnessing Owen in his role as The Enforcer. Evie had just been told by her mommy to stop swiping the icing off her cookie, and Owen is none too happy about her disobedience--thus the finger wagging. He turned into The Screamer about 2 minutes later, when I took the second half of his cookie away before he ate his weight in sugar.

My Valentine

So in light of today's date, I'd like to share with you 14 things that I love about my husband. Some big, some small. One a little PG-13, so stop reading if you're single or blush easily.

1. His sense of humor
2. The way he plays with our son
3. His laugh--when he's really laughing
4. The fact that he knows the words to nearly every song
5. He's fun to hang out with
6. He really cares about his work
7. He's a thinker
8. He loves Jesus
9. He's my handyman
10. His honesty
11. He's a wonderful travel companion
12. The way he says hello and goodbye
13. He's not materialistic
14. He's a great lover

Tagging

Okay, so I'm new to this whole blogger thing. Apparently, there is something called "being tagged." Your blogger friends, who have been subjected to said tagging by one of their blogger friends, pass it on to you...like a virus. Is this the chain letter of the blogging world? Am I going to receive 7 years of bad luck if I don't follow through on this tagging? Doubtful. However, I have been tagged by a new friend, Amy, whom I happen to like very much. So I'm going to follow through with my assignment, though I don't believe I'm going to try to strong-arm others into doing so (hopefully she won't reject me in my disobedience). But if you'd like to participate on your blog, feel free. It goes something like this. Pick up the nearest book. Turn to page 123. Transcribe the 5th, 6th, and 7th sentences on the page. So here goes:

"You have corn of your own growing; I have to buy every grain. Do what I will, I must spend three roubles every week for bread alone. I come home and find the bread all used up, and I have to fork out another rouble and a half."

This is from Walk in the Light and Twenty-three Tales by Leo Tolstoy. Not sure what these sentences are all about...I'm only on page 87. But probably some ridiculously poor Russian dude who is about to be jailed unjustly, cheated out of his rightful earnings, or left by his wife, only to find true meaning in it all through his relationship with God. I'm on tale #3 and that seems to be the pattern so far. If you are wondering why I'm reading heavy Russian fiction in my spare time, I blame the Tab book club. If you are as in love with reading as I am, I suggest you take on a book club yourself. Incredibly rewarding. If, however, you are more like my husband, I'd just recommend that you try picking up a book, say, every four years or so.

We are the body of Christ

One of my dearest friends is struggling right now, and my heart breaks for her. I am praying dilligently. Please join me. See her story at http://www.thepagespage.com/chrisblog/.

Counting Blueberries

I love waffles with blueberries. Which is why I had them for breakfast the other day. However, as I was happily consuming said waffles, I realized that I was counting my blueberries. I was also estimating the number of bites left in my waffle. This led to blueberries being evenly divided and consumed. For example, 5 bites left + 10 blueberries = 2 blueberries per bite. This wasn't something I sat and mulled over. I just did it. I do similar things with lots of my food. For instance, if I am eating a stew with beef, potatoes and carrots, I prefer to have each bite contain one piece of each...even if that means my bite is too big and I look like a squirrel storing food in my cheeks for a minute. Why is this? I think I have a little OCD. Actually, I think we all have a little OCD. Will adamantly disagrees. He swears that he does nothing like that. So here's the question...what about all of you? Am I the only one counting my blueberries? Or do you do something equally OCD but in a different capacity? I want to know. I need to feel that I have company in my weirdness.

It's cold, you better dry your hair!

Oh, we've heard it all before. It's winter and I don't have any more time in the morning to dry my hair than I did in the summer, and, in fact, if I decided to run out to my car butt naked right out of the shower, I'd be alright. It's not the cold that makes us sick, nor does it make us more susceptible to being sick. It's being shut up inside when it's cold outside with all you sick people that makes us sick. So if you don't want to get sick this winter, go outside. Get away from the sick people.
I really haven't spent a lot of time pondering all of this. On the other hand, I have noticed that I've been seeing a lot more sick people lately. Not just numbers wise, but more severe illness as well. That is great for my numbers. The higher-ups are counting. But I can't help but realize that winter is bad for the old or sickly. I'm happy to help grandma feel a little bit better when a cold is ailing her, but I hate telling a family that grandma is going to the ICU and at best will likely never be the same. The worst part of my job is the moment right after telling bad news.
So be sure to spend a little time with loved ones, even if it's inside, where all the germs are. And if your loved ones are outside and it's a little chilly, feel free to forego drying your hair.

Settlers of Catan

Do you think there is a support group for those addicted to Settlers of Catan? It's so bad that I play online now. I'm truly a dork. For those of you unfamiliar with the greatest game ever, it looks something like the first board in the picture above (I couldn't find a picture of a lone Settlers board). The problem is that you have to have at least three people to play. So despite the fact that Will and I are both avid fans, we have to recruit others to play (or play online). So consider this your call from the big leagues. We want you. We don't care if you've never played. We're willing to teach. Join us in our addiction. You'll be cool if you do it.

Trucks

Owen has this book called My First Truck Book. He loves it. Wants to read it every stinking day. He can point out tankers, back hoes, car carriers, etc. Well you can imagine his excitement when we woke up to the sound of a major truck in our neighbor's yard two days ago. We open the curtains and there behold a crane! It's like Christmas all over again.

Comments

I have to say that I become ridiculously excited when people comment. Does that suggest that I am totally self-absorbed? Possibly. But without fail, every time I check our blog, I fervently hope that there will be a new little number beside the Comment line underneath the post. So if you wish to make me happy, please comment to your heart's content. If you wish to teach me a lesson about humility and that my thoughts do not need to be validated by others, feel free to continue in your silent reading of our blog.

I'm not a Supermodel

I blame my sister Amanda for my addiction to America's Next Top Model. And now I'm hooked. I can't help but Tivo season after season of Tyra's bad acting. In light of my love of this show, and the dismal choices available with a writer's strike, I decided to give Make Me a Supermodel a try. On the very first episode Katy (girl at left) was asked by one of the judges if she "would rather be in another industry where she is accepted for her weight measurements." Excuse me? Did I really just type that? And we wonder why teenage girls have so many body image issues? Never mind the teenagers, what about women of all ages. I don't know anyone who isn't unhappy with her body in some way. Here this stunning girl is being told her thighs are "unacceptable," and of course I'm led to think..."what about my thighs?" Why do we do this to ourselves? I am the woman that God made me to be. I'm not saying that I couldn't stop eating sweets, only drink water, and eat salads every day for lunch. But how do we find a healthy balance in this crazy world of ours? Do I need to cut shows like this out of my life? Pluck out my eyes? I don't know. What do you think?