I can not remember if I took my medicine this morning. I always roll out of bed and take it before I do anything else…that way I know I did it. This morning I was in a sleep and Irritation-induced haze, and I cannot remember. I can’t take it now because if I already took it, that would be bad. 40mg of Adderall running through me would probably not be a good thing. I was irritated because I was awakened an hour before the time necessary to take the kids to school. I was then informed that I said “just last night” that I need about an hour in the morning to wake up before I’m ready for humanity, so this person thought they should get me up early. I growled something back at them, and then heard them mumble as they walked down the hall, “Maybe I should’ve gotten you up earlier”. At the time that was not funny. Now I see how this person, this wonderful, giving, awesome human being, could only be my kid. I’m not a morning person. (reason #742 why we don’t have a dog) Our home has a warm side and a cool side. The cool side is where I sleep. The warm side is where I work. If only I could remember that when I get up. Every morning I get dressed on the cool side. Sweats, tank top, sweatshirt, socks, slippers. I then go down and across the hall where I proceed to take off slippers, socks, sweatshirt, and then eventually go change into my capri yoga pants. Why does this happen? Why can’t I remember? The temperature difference is significant. Probably a 5-8 degree difference. Crazy. I half-cleaned my office yesterday. (Maybe that sounds like I didn’t try or I did a bad job…I did a good job, I’m only half finished) I listen to a teleconference every Tuesday and Thursday for work, and while that was playing yesterday I started to clean my office. I cleaned off a shelf, moved books from one bookshelf to the other, moved work stuff to the closer bookshelf, cleaned out a bunch of drawers and filled them with things that would be useful rather than things that don’t have a place, and cleaned out my favorite chair (which contained three sweaters, a robe, a long-sleeved shirt, two sweatshirts, several pairs of socks, my old slippers, my newer slippers, and some Reese’s peanut butter ‘big cups’-which have yet to be eaten, even though I squealed when I found them). Did I mention that my office is warm? Today I must finish, otherwise my progress will be unnoticeable very soon. Is “synced” a word? It doesn’t sound right. I ask because I was going to mention that the last song I bought on iTunes was one that my son already bought on iTunes, and that if I had just synced my phone with the old computer, I would have had it for free. But I didn’t know if synced was a word, and I don’t want to sound like an idiot, so maybe I won’t mention it. You know how a word can sound right or wrong, and you just can’t tell. You could google it, but that’s a lot of work (no it’s not, I’m just that lazy today), so you ask the five people who read your blog, and most likely none of them will answer, but you’re going to forget about it now anyway because you asked the question, so it will be out of your mind. I thought about live-blogging what I found in my desk when I cleaned it out today, but that would be dull for you. There are some pretty interesting things in/on here though. Maybe I’ll do a “Cliffs Notes” version. Is it Cliffs Notes, or Cliff Notes? I always say it with the “s”. I think that’s right. Again…Google is hard. Who is Cliff? Why do we care about his notes? (They did help me out in high school, though) *ashamed* CONFESSION: American Literature…there was a book I didn’t read. I’ll say I did, because whomever this Cliff person is, he takes good notes…but I didn’t read it. Got a “B” on the paper I had to write. I read chunks of the book, because I needed some references that came out of the book (so it would seem as though I read it). It was one of those books that they say “everybody should read this book because it’s such a classic piece of American Literature”, but I still never read it. I should have just read the book…I’m pretty paranoid about certain things so, in order to not get caught using Cliffs Notes (I’ve decided I like the “s”), I read so much of the book that, in the end, it would’ve just made sense to read the whole book. Too bad they didn’t have audio books back then. I would have totally read every book in high school if there were audio versions. (If there were, don’t tell me…but I don’t think there were.) I started a sentence up there somewhere with “but”…I apologize. I mean, I do what I want, but I do know the rules, and that was an unnecessary thing to do. If I weren’t so lazy today, I’d go fix it. Instead, I’ll just type out all these words about it, which will take up more time, but then you’ll know that I know that I was wrong. More importantly, I’ll know that you know that I know I was wrong. Jessup bought me a donut this morning…isn’t he sweet? I think the Sleepytime tea most of us drank last night actually helped. Also…Jessup is in a musical this weekend, and I’m so excited! Bye Bye Birdie!!! YAY! Can you imagine how many cassette tapes it would have taken for an audio book? Maybe it’s not as many as I think, but you’d at least have had to have one of those case thing-y’s for it. How fun would that have been to haul around? You’d need a boom box to listen to the tapes, those giant head phones that they had back then (which have made some kind of strange, rapid reappearance, and it really only makes people look like they’re wearing earmuffs), a case of cassettes to listen to…and then a cell phone that was so big it had to go inside a briefcase…you’re hands would be full all the time. (I know there were Walkman’s back then…) Should I have put those two “ly” words together? Meh, I do what I want. I’m thirsty. That is all.
Here we are again…Friday. I lost my voice yesterday. It’s back just enough for me to go to work today…which is good because work is ALL talking. I was really nervous about it. My medicine for this “condition” is blue. Blue medicine. I thought that was weird. If blue had a flavor, and it’s the flavor of this medicine, then blue is not tasty. Wouldn’t it be cool if colors had flavors? Of course, how would you eat a color? I guess you could eat a crayon. But those all taste the same and that’s not a good taste. I know this from experience. Not recent experience. Of course, if it were recent, I wouldn’t tell you, but it’s not. Trust me. (I’m not a politician, so you can trust me) Maybe, if all crayons taste the same, then all colors taste the same. I would be disappointed if that were the case. If they didn’t, then Orange, Green, and Purple would have to taste like a combination of the others, right? Orange couldn’t taste like oranges…it would have to be more like Strawberry-Banana, right? Green would be a Blueberry-Lemon, and Purple would be Blue-Raspberry. But…oh, forget it. This could go on for days. Do they still make blue m&m’s? I don’t know, I don’t eat m&m’s. I know that they all taste the same…people tell me about it and tease me every time I say I don’t eat red m&m’s. I don’t. Even though they all taste the same, I’m still not going to eat the red ones. I just don’t know if they still make blue. I miss the light brown ones. Did blue replace them? That would make sense. (None of this does, but that would) My email on my phone doesn’t work. This irritates me. I updated, and now things aren’t working properly. I have 174 emails to read. I don’t like reading email on the computer. I can’t think of what else isn’t working properly, but something else I use all the time isn’t working. You’d think I’d know…oh well. Cheetos make a twisted puff cheeto now. Every time I look at them, I think of a corkscrew. That makes me think of wine. I don’t think Cheetos and wine would go together. Would you eat them with red or white? Either way, probably not tasty. My son turned 17 on Wednesday. WOW! 17. hmmm. That doesn’t make me feel old, but my daughter is about to turn 14…and that makes me feel very old. Is it because she’s the baby? Is it because I loved being pregnant and I haven’t gotten to experience that for nearly 14 years? Maybe. *shrugs* 14 and 17… Do you ever find yourself not breathing? The other day, I took a breath, and it felt like I’d been holding my breath. Like that was the first one in a long time. It’s probably just me. Anyway, I’m still breathing. I think it would be terrible if someone were licking you and then you sneezed right in their face. (That just happened between the cats) He was giving her a bath and she sneezed (rather violently) in his face. He just sort of stared at her. Then she left and he took her warm spot in my Grandmother’s chair. Cats are weird. I wish I understood them, and knew what they were saying to each other. It’s a very strange dynamic. If I go by just what I see, then he’s very domineering to her and she might actually classify as abused. Maybe she’s just overly submissive. I don’t know. OH! I remember what else isn’t working on my phone. My video camera isn’t working properly. I have found that it takes the video, but it doesn’t look like it is, and there’s no way to stop it except to exit. I have a few pieces of Jessup’s orchestra concert now…but I don’t have any full videos. I haven’t been able to find help for it, so I guess I just deal with it. Also…my camera crashes. I open it and then it closes by itself, or it closes when I hit the button to take that crucial picture. (Like any picture I take is really crucial…you’ve probably seen some of them so you know, it’s not life or death) That is all.
I awoke at 5am on Saturday, October 14, 1995.
I was sore. I was more tired when I got up than I was when I went to bed just a few hours before. We had plans to go to the San Diego Wild Animal Park that day, and, while I was excited to go, I was dreading it. I was well over 40 weeks pregnant. We went to the Park. We walked as much as possible. We rode the train/tram where we had to, and every time I needed to. We left at around 5pm. We made it home safely and Barry was tired, so he went to bed early.
I finally laid down to try to sleep at midnight. (I’ve never been much of a sleeper) 17 minutes later I was up again. It was 12:17am on Sunday morning. I was FINALLY in labor. I’d been awake for 19 hours already.
A day went by. Still in labor. No baby.
ANOTHER day went by. Still in labor. Still no baby.
I had called the (naval) hospital multiple times, and they wouldn’t even see me until the contractions were three minutes apart. They’d been five minutes apart for
two solid days EVER!. I still hadn’t slept. It was around 3am Tuesday (don’t skip over that like it doesn’t mean anything…IT. WAS. TUESDAY.) morning when they finally got to 3 minutes. We went to the hospital. It was one of the few times I’d ever gone anywhere in San Diego that was 24 minutes away, and it took us 24 minutes (ok…less…Barry was driving) to get there.
Side note: We had to take my mom’s car because I could sort-of fall into it (but someone had to push me the rest of the way into it, and then someone had to pull me out of it. Sometimes that was a stranger at the grocery store-most of the time, by then, it was Barry). I hadn’t been able to get into our Tracker for months. The last time I drove it was my last day of teaching preschool. I’d managed to get into it fine, but when I tried to get out, I couldn’t. I was stuck behind the wheel. I finally ended up having to scooch little bits at a time to get off my seat, turn myself over, wriggle my way between the two front seats and then crawl over the back seat where I flopped like a fish when I landed in the back. I then opened the door and rolled out. If I had scooched out the door, I would’ve landed on my bum in my driveway. I couldn’t turn to get my feet under myself. Where I lived, it could have been hours before someone found me sprawled out on the ground like a beached whale. By then I would’ve been so hungry that I would have eaten whomever tried to help me. I chose the safer route for everyone.
Around 8:30am, they gave me an epidural.
Around 9:30am it kicked in and I passed out.
At 9:43am they made me wake up because it was time for me to become a Mommy.
Jessup Burton Schuler came into this world at 10:17am on Tuesday, October 17, 1995. (AT 10:17 ON 10/17)
I’d been awake for 77 hours and 15 minutes.
I’d been in labor for 58 hours.
He was a perfect 7 lb. 14 oz. baby boy. 21 inches long.
He weighs a little more now, and he’s definitely taller, but he’s still my perfect gift from God. There’s never been a day when he hasn’t been worth every second!
Happy birthday, Jessup! I love you so much!
I cannot believe how two screwed up people like your dad and me have been so blessed to raise such a fine young man. You are a fantastic, kind, honest, true, thoughtful young man, and I’m more proud of you than I could ever say. You know where you stand, you’re strong and unwavering in your beliefs, and you’re a gentleman. (It’s kind of like you came out of the 50’s) It’s been a pleasure to know you, and to be able to help guide you through childhood. I know, beyond shadow of a doubt, that my father would have loved to have known you and would have been proud of the man you’re becoming. I’m proud that you carry his name, and I have no doubt that you will wear it with integrity throughout your life. You remind me of him often. You have his quick wit, his love for laughter, ability to take time and get it right, and his sense of self. You know who you are and you’re not going to change with the seasons. You’re very strong in your faith, and you’re determined to do the right thing. Every time. I’m excited to see where life takes you and what plans God has in store for you. I’m so proud to be your Mom.
So…that’s the story. I’m grateful for a great story, but even more grateful for a great son!
(P.S. His due date was September 20)
This is the 13th Brain Dump I’ve done…although I think it’s only the 13th with no extra to the title…so it’s technically not the 13th, but it is. So if it just says “Brain Dump Friday”, then it’s number 13, but if there’s anything added to it, like “blah blah blah Edition”, then it’s not the 13th. I have more argyle socks than I have polka dot socks. Does this mean I actually like argyle more than polka dots? GASP! NO! It just means that there are less polka dot socks to choose from. Or that I’m pickier with dots than I am with other styles. I can’t like argyle more because then I’d have to re-do my mixer, and that would be so much work. Can you imagine argyle-ing a mixer? That would be really hard. I could do it. I just don’t want to. My small wallet matches my mixer. I wonder if I can find socks to match it. Then I’d have “baking socks”. I dreamt about what’s going to be happening on Saturday night. It went well. I hope that’s a good sign. I was reminded this week that no matter how well you think you know your kids, you don’t. Not necessarily in a bad way. But for every thing that they tell you, there’s a lot more under the surface. They really are capable of showing you only what they want to show you. (Which means they just turned out like you-scary!) There’s this whole life they live inside their heads, just like we do, where they aren’t who you think they are. Where they are scared, or angry, or hurt, and there’s nothing you can do about it unless they tell you, and if they choose not to tell you, then you are left feeling helpless. You are left standing…begging to help them. They may or may not let you help them, and it scares you because you wonder, if they are so young and already broken in some way, is it your fault? Is it something you did? Didn’t do? Did you ignore or miss something? Are you doing something that you aren’t even aware of? The older they get the scarier it is…IMO. I really struggled with this on Wednesday. It was a bad, bad day. I have a brand new label maker (inherited) and no batteries to make it run. I can only imagine all the fun I might have with a label maker…and yet it just sits. Waiting for batteries. This blog had 23 views on my busiest day. Considering no one reads this nonsense, that’s pretty good. It means that 23 people accidentally stumbled upon this blog. They probably looked around and found all the cobwebs that gather here when it’s not Friday, and bailed. I should write more. I have a couple things I’ve been wanting to write about, but between the hysterical sobbing on Wednesday, and the migraine I’ve been fighting since then, not to mention the busy-ness of life, I haven’t done it yet. Right this minute, I can’t even remember what it was I wanted to write about. I thought about live-blogging cleaning out my desk, but that would probably ensure that I don’t ever have 23 readers again. If you saw my calendar for this past week, you’d probably pass out. Speaking of passing out, I may not survive November 3rd. I’m just giving you fair warning so that you can enjoy these brain dumps while they last. November 2nd may be the last one. Why does “dreamt” sound like it has a “P” in it, but it doesn’t? I’ve said it lots of different ways, and every time I hear a “P”. I’m sorry you had to sit through this…That is all.
Well, mostly from my phone. Whatever
That’s right, folks! From my phone. I love a guy with an accent. I don’t mean I LOVE a guy with an accent. I mean that, back when I was meeting guys, I loved it when they happened to have an accent. Not that I was ever meeting guys…well, some, not a lot…oh forget it. British. Southern. Australian. Not French. I don’t like French. All French guys sound like Joey from Friends to me. Not that I know a lot of French guys. Or any. But if I see one, like in a movie, they sound like Joey. My favorite artist is Jackson Pollack. My favorite painting is Starry Night. That’s from Van Gogh.(You should know this, but I wanted you to know that I know this) I would like to have a pool. I think I would like it in my basement. And a boat. When Barry and I were dating, and right after we got married, we talked about buying a boat and living on it. I wish we had done that. It would have been hard to have a kid on a boat. But there would have been water. I love water. French people aren’t bad. I just want to throw that out there. They’re nice. Well, the two that I met when I was in Europe. They were nice. I just don’t care for the accent. I’m not McGuyver. In case you thought I was. I’m not. According to Foursquare, I’ve been in my basement working out for six days. Good for me! I keep forgetting to check into places. I ate a carton of yogurt today. You should be amazed because I don’t like yogurt. Unless it’s AE Cherry Vanilla. And it was. It was even yummy. And I didn’t gag on it like I thought I would. I know…gross. Sorry. I went to a Bible Study Thursday night and it was all about joy, and not grumbling. My first thought was, “meh…I don’t wanna learn this…waaaaah!”. It hasn’t really stopped me, but I’m so much more aware of it now. I moan and groan a lot. I don’t know if that’s necessarily grumbling. I started using my favorite bag again. Polka dots. I knew you’d never ever guess, so I just told you. You’re welcome. I love it. It’s a discontinued pattern from Thirty-One called Mod Dot. (I’m trying so hard right now not to grumble at the thought that they don’t make my favorite pattern anymore…) Bacon. I’m sleepy. That is all.