I'll be honest -- in the past 10 or so years, I haven't read books for pleasure (other than Harry Potter) because I've been perpetually swamped with assigned school reading. But now that I have graduated, I simply have no excuses. My nose has been itching to get into a good book.
I have always loved to read, I really do. I was that kid who went into her room and read for HOURS. A regular bookworm. My heart was captured by literature; I became part of the stories I read. It was an escape from reality.
So, I've decided it's time to renew that passion.
Last Saturday, Dill, Bubby and I headed to our local library. I'd been wanting to read These Is My Words by Nancy Turner for quite some time. I took it home and started reading it as soon as I walked through my front door.
I could NOT put it down. There I was, my childhood self, so deep within the pages of that book my house could have caught fire and I wouldn't have known it.
The book is about Sarah Agnes Prine, a pioneer woman in the Arizona territories in the late 1800's. The book is a journal, written from her perspective. I couldn't help but become attached to this woman from the start. I cried when she lost loved ones and rejoiced when she found happiness. I felt like I was right there with her, riding wagons and shooting Indians. Sarah and me -- we're like *this*.
If you like historical fiction, do yourself a favor and read this gem. It's perfectly clean, but it can be gruesomely violent at times. And oh, the love story ... it's worlds better than Twilight. Your heart will melt.
Next read: Eat Pray Love, by Elizabeth Gilbert.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Done with the first trimester!
It's a great feeling to finally be able to say that. This has been a weird pregnancy. General nausea, but not much vomiting ... very different from my last pregnancy. But the headaches. Oh, the headaches. They can stop any time now. Please.
I thought about posting a "belly picture," and then I thought again. I'm not really showing yet. I don't want to bore you with a picture of me attempting to show you a "belly." It's pointless.
I made some Spanish rice last night for dinner. I invented this recipe, so feel free to add to it or take away what you want. It's super-easy -- throw everything into a Crock Pot and voila! You have a delicious side dish. And it smells heavenly when it cooks.
Easy Crock Pot Spanish Rice
I thought about posting a "belly picture," and then I thought again. I'm not really showing yet. I don't want to bore you with a picture of me attempting to show you a "belly." It's pointless.
I made some Spanish rice last night for dinner. I invented this recipe, so feel free to add to it or take away what you want. It's super-easy -- throw everything into a Crock Pot and voila! You have a delicious side dish. And it smells heavenly when it cooks.
Easy Crock Pot Spanish Rice
2 c rice, uncooked
2 c chicken broth
8 oz diced tomatoes with juice
½ c dried onions (or 1 onion, finely chopped)
1 ½ tsp garlic powder
2 tsp chili powder
1 tsp Cholula hot sauce (or any other kind) -- you can add more if you want it spicier!
Combine in Crock Pot. Cook on high for 3-4 hours, or on low for 6-8 hours. Stir periodically.
Serves 8 - 10.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Lights out.
Do you have a super power? Most moms do. I have a few.
One: I can pee on command. Two: I possess an internal clock, so I am always aware of how much time has elapsed (helpful when working in news). Three: I have an abnormally large mouth, so I take really big bites of food and consequentially, I eat quickly. Meaning, I can consume an entire Hot 'n Spicy McChicken Sandwich in less than two minutes. It disgusts my mother. But, I never worry about my food getting cold!
My fourth power could be viewed as a weakness, but sometimes, it comes in handy. I am a very light sleeper.
So at 4:45 this morning when the electricity suddenly went out, I woke up immediately, infuriated.
See, we live in Arizona. And here, even though it is September 10, it is still 100 degrees or more outside during the day. Which means, at 4:45 a.m., it's about 90 degrees. And when the air conditioning turns off, you know right away. Especially if you're a light sleeper, like me.
So, as soon as the power died, I awoke with a start. The stagnant air around me was already warming up. I looked around. Our usually glowing alarm clock was black. The night light in Bubby's room? Dead.
Silence.
I nudged Dill. "The power went out," I muttered. He jumped up frantically, thinking he'd overslept. He fetched his phone, sighed with relief, and set its alarm for 5:15. And then, as if nothing happened, he dozed back to sleep.
I, on the other hand, could NOT go back to sleep. Unlike Dill, who prefers to feel like he's in his mother's womb when sleeping, I need to be cold in order to drift into Dreamland. Not only must the room temperature be 79 degrees at the very warmest, I also need a fan blowing on high speed. If I am hot, or even warm, I am uncomfortable. My feet start to swell. I sweat. I toss. I turn. I DO NOT SLEEP.
So, when the power goes out in the middle of the night (which has happened about four times this summer), I get really, really pissed off.
After trying desperately to return to sleep, I decided to figure out what was going on. I stumbled through the darkness to my computer desk, where I keep my bills. Fetched the one from SRP, grabbed my phone out of my purse, and used it as a light source to find the power company's phone number.
Called the number. Ring. "Hello, you've reached SRP, blah blah blah. Report an outage: press 1."
I obeyed.
"We are currently aware of the outage in the Mesa area. Power will be restored around 6:45 a.m. We apologize for the inconvenience."
If you thought I was pissed off before, well, let's just say I was really pissed after hearing that message. TWO MORE HOURS. I started imagining my food spoiling in the refrigerator and I wanted to personally kick the woman on the automated message in the face. It's hot, it's 4:49 a.m., and I, the exhausted pregnant lady, want to be sleeping. And she's merely "sorry for the inconvenience."
Well, lady, how inconvenient would it be if you DIDN'T HAVE A FACE????
And then, I heard it: Bubby stirring. In her crib. Poor thing inherited my light sleeper super power.
Next thing I know, I've got Bubby in the bed with me, Dill snoozing away, and I am still not sleeping. And now, it's even hotter, because Bubby is pretty much like a portable space-heater.
Five-fifteen rolled around, the house still dark as ever. Dill's alarm went off and he roamed the apartment, in search of light. He returned with a lit candle, a flickering beacon bobbing through the room and into the bathroom. Poor guy got ready for work by candlelight. Just like a pioneer, don'tcha know.
For the next 45 minutes, Bubby proceeded to grab my boobs, tickle me, sing songs, fake snore, sit up, roll over, ask "Where's Daddy?" and do just about everything BUT go back to sleep. I couldn't blame her, though. It was already about 90 degrees inside our apartment, and Bubby can't sleep when it's hot, either. Plus, Daddy appeared to be having fun with a pretty light in the next room.
Curse you, SRP!
And then, at 6:00, as if on cue, the fan turned started turning again.
Praise His holy name.
I put Bubbers back in her crib and went to sleep, comfortable in my cold wind tunnel. We didn't wake up until 3 hours later.
I learned two things from last night's electric-less adventure. One: A back-up generator would be really nice to have in the future and two: It would have sucked to be a pioneer.
One: I can pee on command. Two: I possess an internal clock, so I am always aware of how much time has elapsed (helpful when working in news). Three: I have an abnormally large mouth, so I take really big bites of food and consequentially, I eat quickly. Meaning, I can consume an entire Hot 'n Spicy McChicken Sandwich in less than two minutes. It disgusts my mother. But, I never worry about my food getting cold!
My fourth power could be viewed as a weakness, but sometimes, it comes in handy. I am a very light sleeper.
So at 4:45 this morning when the electricity suddenly went out, I woke up immediately, infuriated.
See, we live in Arizona. And here, even though it is September 10, it is still 100 degrees or more outside during the day. Which means, at 4:45 a.m., it's about 90 degrees. And when the air conditioning turns off, you know right away. Especially if you're a light sleeper, like me.
So, as soon as the power died, I awoke with a start. The stagnant air around me was already warming up. I looked around. Our usually glowing alarm clock was black. The night light in Bubby's room? Dead.
Silence.
I nudged Dill. "The power went out," I muttered. He jumped up frantically, thinking he'd overslept. He fetched his phone, sighed with relief, and set its alarm for 5:15. And then, as if nothing happened, he dozed back to sleep.
I, on the other hand, could NOT go back to sleep. Unlike Dill, who prefers to feel like he's in his mother's womb when sleeping, I need to be cold in order to drift into Dreamland. Not only must the room temperature be 79 degrees at the very warmest, I also need a fan blowing on high speed. If I am hot, or even warm, I am uncomfortable. My feet start to swell. I sweat. I toss. I turn. I DO NOT SLEEP.
So, when the power goes out in the middle of the night (which has happened about four times this summer), I get really, really pissed off.
After trying desperately to return to sleep, I decided to figure out what was going on. I stumbled through the darkness to my computer desk, where I keep my bills. Fetched the one from SRP, grabbed my phone out of my purse, and used it as a light source to find the power company's phone number.
Called the number. Ring. "Hello, you've reached SRP, blah blah blah. Report an outage: press 1."
I obeyed.
"We are currently aware of the outage in the Mesa area. Power will be restored around 6:45 a.m. We apologize for the inconvenience."
If you thought I was pissed off before, well, let's just say I was really pissed after hearing that message. TWO MORE HOURS. I started imagining my food spoiling in the refrigerator and I wanted to personally kick the woman on the automated message in the face. It's hot, it's 4:49 a.m., and I, the exhausted pregnant lady, want to be sleeping. And she's merely "sorry for the inconvenience."
Well, lady, how inconvenient would it be if you DIDN'T HAVE A FACE????
And then, I heard it: Bubby stirring. In her crib. Poor thing inherited my light sleeper super power.
Next thing I know, I've got Bubby in the bed with me, Dill snoozing away, and I am still not sleeping. And now, it's even hotter, because Bubby is pretty much like a portable space-heater.
Five-fifteen rolled around, the house still dark as ever. Dill's alarm went off and he roamed the apartment, in search of light. He returned with a lit candle, a flickering beacon bobbing through the room and into the bathroom. Poor guy got ready for work by candlelight. Just like a pioneer, don'tcha know.
For the next 45 minutes, Bubby proceeded to grab my boobs, tickle me, sing songs, fake snore, sit up, roll over, ask "Where's Daddy?" and do just about everything BUT go back to sleep. I couldn't blame her, though. It was already about 90 degrees inside our apartment, and Bubby can't sleep when it's hot, either. Plus, Daddy appeared to be having fun with a pretty light in the next room.
Curse you, SRP!
And then, at 6:00, as if on cue, the fan turned started turning again.
Praise His holy name.
I put Bubbers back in her crib and went to sleep, comfortable in my cold wind tunnel. We didn't wake up until 3 hours later.
I learned two things from last night's electric-less adventure. One: A back-up generator would be really nice to have in the future and two: It would have sucked to be a pioneer.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Mom the Intern learns about fruit.
Boy, nectarines are sure similar to peaches. I wonder what makes them different?
And then, I decided to Google away and this is what I learned:
NECTARINES are just BALD PEACHES.
That's right. That red fruit that grocery stores are marketing as something extra special are really just peaches with defective follicles!
In fact, the article I found says, "There are no nectarine trees, only peach trees with a genetic mutation." Upon reading this, I was a little scandalized! But, I continued to read on and discovered some more interesting facts about nectarines. Apparently, the fuzz found on peaches is what makes them softer to bite. Nectarines are harder and have a little zing to them because they have no hair. They also bruise more easily than peaches because the peach fuzz acts as a protectant.
I wonder if this concept translates to human flesh?
Also, some people think nectarines are a cross between a plum and a peach, since they have a similar skins. But NO. That is incorrect. If you've been thinking that all along, you've been misinformed. Change your way of thinking, pronto.
Ok, so this might not be much of a revelation to most of you. It's probably common knowledge and most of you are going, "You didn't know that? What is WRONG with you?" And that's OK. Because you know what? I'm from Arizona, where fruit really doesn't grow. That's why I thought pineapple grew on a palm tree until just a few years ago, when Dill told me it's more like a bush (When I challenged this notion, he confirmed he'd been to the Dole plantation in Hawaii and saw it for himself. I was ashamed).
Apparently, the public education system failed me.
For those of you who were also shortchanged and never learned about nectarines (or even pineapples) ... now you know! Go spread the word.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Ad nauseum.
Man, pregnancy is kicking my trash. I really hate to complain, because I know so many people who'd give their arms and legs and all their worldly possessions to have children. And I hurt for them. It's truly unfair sometimes, the people who do get to be parents and the people who don't. It's one of the first things I'm going to discuss with God when I get to the other side.
But I digress. It's no secret that pregnancy is usually hard (I say "usually" to account for those lucky chicks who have easy pregnancies). And I've been a good sport so far. I've tried to be extra-grateful for the good days and have kept my complaints to a minimum. And I am willing to acknowledge that overall, this time around hasn't been nearly as bad as my first pregnancy.
But still: I hate throwing up! And who doesn't? Who could possibly enjoy such a disgusting, painful act of nature? Seriously, can you imagine someone out there who's like, "Oh man, I just looooooove when my burning stomach acid is randomly forced upward through my esophagus and out my mouth, causing my eyes and nose to run and my body to convulse violently. LOVE it." Or, "I really can't get enough of the taste of bile! Mmmm-hmmmm! I'll have some on top of my pancakes, please."
Sorry if I just sent you to the toilet over that. I think I could have been a little less graphic. But now, you get the point. NO ONE LIKES PUKING! Although, I must admit, I usually feel better afterward.
So, today I am 10 weeks, 3 days pregnant. Considering that most pregnancies are 40 weeks long, that means I'm over 25% completed with the pregnancy! That's worth celebration, I think.
I'm not going to bother posting a belly picture because it's pretty much the same as last week. How about I post them on the odd-numbered weeks for a while? I think that's what I'll do. And you'll just have to be happy about it.
Dill got a new job with a new company (we'll just say he's definitely working for Corporate America, which is fine by me) so we're in between insurance at the moment (knock on wood). Soon, I should be able to enroll in a health plan and get a doctor. I am so excited to have the first appointment, and nervous, too. I just need to hear that little whoosh-whoosh heartbeat and I'll feel much better.
But I digress. It's no secret that pregnancy is usually hard (I say "usually" to account for those lucky chicks who have easy pregnancies). And I've been a good sport so far. I've tried to be extra-grateful for the good days and have kept my complaints to a minimum. And I am willing to acknowledge that overall, this time around hasn't been nearly as bad as my first pregnancy.
But still: I hate throwing up! And who doesn't? Who could possibly enjoy such a disgusting, painful act of nature? Seriously, can you imagine someone out there who's like, "Oh man, I just looooooove when my burning stomach acid is randomly forced upward through my esophagus and out my mouth, causing my eyes and nose to run and my body to convulse violently. LOVE it." Or, "I really can't get enough of the taste of bile! Mmmm-hmmmm! I'll have some on top of my pancakes, please."
Sorry if I just sent you to the toilet over that. I think I could have been a little less graphic. But now, you get the point. NO ONE LIKES PUKING! Although, I must admit, I usually feel better afterward.
So, today I am 10 weeks, 3 days pregnant. Considering that most pregnancies are 40 weeks long, that means I'm over 25% completed with the pregnancy! That's worth celebration, I think.
I'm not going to bother posting a belly picture because it's pretty much the same as last week. How about I post them on the odd-numbered weeks for a while? I think that's what I'll do. And you'll just have to be happy about it.
Dill got a new job with a new company (we'll just say he's definitely working for Corporate America, which is fine by me) so we're in between insurance at the moment (knock on wood). Soon, I should be able to enroll in a health plan and get a doctor. I am so excited to have the first appointment, and nervous, too. I just need to hear that little whoosh-whoosh heartbeat and I'll feel much better.
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