I Love a Kiwi

Paulo Coelho

2009-06-24T16:40:07Z

Paulo Coelho is the author of one of my favorite books, "The Alchemist", and friend to Doctor Arash who tried to save Neda in Iran. Neda died in his arms. To read the urgency in Paulo and Arash's email communications is incredibly surreal. I sit here in my safe office, and the most troubling thing on my mind is the pile of laundry at home. Half a world away, people die trying to demonstrate for freedoms that seem so simple here. I realize my observation about how lucky we are in the States to be free isn't unique. But doesn't a blog post like Paulo's reach out to us in a way that traditional news reports are lacking? The emotion, concern, and worry between friends for each other's safety is heartbreaking.

What can I do besides pray for something as cliche as world peace?

Bladder Control

2009-06-15T17:43:59Z

For the last few months I've been getting up once, sometimes twice during the night for a trip to the loo to relieve myself. But over the last week these evening trips have had a greater sense of urgency. Sometimes I wake myself up from another crazy dream where I pee in unusual and inappropriate places. These dreams can be so realistic that in my drowziness I find myself checking the bed to make sure it isn't wet! This is very strange for me fair internet, since an older and much wiser friend used to always say to us younger gals that, "you shouldn't hold it!" after comments about our ability to carry on for days without going for a wiz. This makes me wonder if I'll ever be able to hold it again. Just last week my Kiwi made me laugh, and I could barely contain myself if you know what I mean. So this morning I told him about this latest loss of normal body function. "Maybe we should lay down a plastic sheet? Worst comes to worst I can round up some bubble wrap from work", he replied. I totally agree.

Crib

2009-06-11T22:31:05Z

Earlier this week I made a special trip to Cincinnati with the intentions of buying a crib found on Craigs List. The seller made a point of restating obvious "rules" over our email negotiations when a person enters into such an agreement: they only accepted cash, would leave the ad on Craigs List until it was officially sold, and only wanted to schedule an appointment with me if my intentions were good. Not to mention our meeting time must coincide with her husband's availability, since I was a stranger n' all. At that point I thought, "Hey I'm GOING to your house which, after all, IS a strange house to little old ME and I don't need my husband to play chaperone. Let's not just point the finger at my possible weirdness, lady - I'm not the Craigs List virgin like YOU." But, because she was so pedantic about her regulations, I figured the crib must be in spic-n-span condition, AND it came with a mattress. Judging from the pictures and her asking price, this was a super score in my opinion.

And it is an excellent crib and mattress, which you'd think is brand new by the looks of them both. So I'm happy. I was also happy to see her by-the-book application of the Super Nanny's time out technique on her super cute little girls. Of course you know I commented with a giggle on what I had just witnessed. "The Super Nanny would be so impressed with you right now," was my response. To which she replied, "Honey, my best advice is consistency, consistency, consistency."

Indeed.

Strawberries

2009-06-10T12:50:53Z

What is it about some childhood memories that make you remember events on a much larger scale? I used to be able to find strawberries as big as my fist when I went picking as a little girl with my parents. Philly used to have strawberry picking contests when he was a lad to see who could pick the biggest football-sized strawberry in New Zealand. So, for years I've been wanting to recreate this memory. June would roll around, picking season would pass and I would think, another opportunity to gather bushels full in minutes -- ka-poof.

Enter Saturday. Strange that it took a half hour to find a pick-your-own farm in Kentucky. This also holds true for apple season. Using up valuable farmland in Kentucky for apple orchards and strawberry patches are aparantely a gigantic waste of real estate - where would the horsies stay? When we found Goose Creek Berries in my little country town I think I heard a choir of angels singing. And, oh!, the beautiful bushel of berries that a man collected and was paying for! All of my dreams were about to come true. Sure, his berries were about the size of my pinky toe, but there was too much emotion running through me about making fresh strawberry jam to really think about that. His picking style was probably incorrect. He needed better training, that was obvious.

"I'll be right back!" I said to the lovely owners. I needed to go home and get my camera! The experience that I've been waiting for 10 years to finally check off my to-do list needed to be documented, my friends. And my outfit wasn't appropriate. I needed my strawberry picking hat, sneakers, sunscreen, bottled water...

So I raced through the house, gathering my gear, and was headed back to my strawberry patch in a flash. It wasn't until I was 15 minutes down the road when I discovered that I forgot my beloved camera. Should I turn around? What a dilemma, this pregnancy brain has almost got me to the point where I need to develop some sort of remembering system. I mean, I have got to stop loosing my blackberry at the airport, and forgetting essentials at the grocery store like tonic water for my Kiwi. So not taking pictures became my little punishment for months of the "sorry I forgot" excuses I've been dishing out.

Flash forward to my picking experience. "Are you finding any?" the very helpful owner asked. I must have been looking awfully confused, with my one hand on my hip and the other scratching my head in the middle of their strawberry patch. He explained that I was in the wrong section, since that variety comes earlier in the season and directed me to a better locale. But really I was learning that my timing was a few weeks off. The berries were terribly effected by all the rain we've been having. Every time I thought I saw a glimmer of red, something stopped me from picking it. Like worms or being overly ripe. And it's not for lack of trying, for goodness sake I crawled around that patch on hands and knees as though I was training for combat! ME, an almost 6 month pregnant silly girl. It was 90+ degrees, I was sweaty, and stinky, and dirty when finally I had two buckets full of pinky toe sized strawberries. Three hours later. THANK GOD. I commited to return next year with the owners, but my timing would be better for sure.

Tomorrow I would make jam. Pectin free! That should be easier, right?

Craving a Five Guys Burger

2009-06-04T13:55:58Z

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Bambino's Lesson from Sally O

2009-06-01T16:31:13Z

There's been a bit of activity these days from the squirt... I imagine the wee Bambino is paying close attention to the SNL reruns I've been watching lately. "Excuse me I'm here for the audition. Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Bambino Thompson. I'm proud to say I'm five months old and not one of those babies that's afraid to hide their age unlike some other fetuses. And I like to shimmy, kick, stretch, and kick! I'm five months! Five months in utero!"

Video Camera

2009-05-30T17:22:31Z

Unless a person wears this device on their hip, than opportunities like these are lost to the translation of a camera phone. Brutus was a stitch, sniffing our new car seat that we found for a steal on Craigs List. He was totally fascinated by it, sniffed every nook and cranny, licked and drooled all over it, and found some extra pieces that might be good enough to chew at a later date. At one point his whole head was buried in the seat, I thought he was trying to figure a way to sit in it himself!

Bambino

2009-05-30T15:01:35Z

This week I am about five and a half months pregnant. Twenty-two weeks, to be exact. I've had two ultrasounds, the first of which doctor's were concerned about the possibility of my having a Bicornuate Uterus, to which I thought "Aren't things that are shaped like hearts a good thing?" Of course I was told not to worry, but after they provided a synopsis of this birth defect to my Kiwi and I you know my mind went a-wanderin'. What if the placenta attaches to a weaker spot on my uterus? I'll probably be prescribed bed rest, cool!! What if the baby is breech? I'll need a c-section, thereby avoiding the need to push a melon out of my whoo-ha. Awesome! Is Bicornuate Uterus more serious than the analysis from my twisted imagination? Sure is. There are varying degrees of severity, but something told me that I was only a little weird. Plus I'm not really capable of panic or anxiety... that little magic pill I've been taking for years keeps me on the level.

My second ultrasound needed to be taken at the hospital where the super duper special equipment was located to figure out what's doing with my innards. My Kiwi came with me to this appointment, and boy was it fun! Earlier that week Philly felt the baby squirm around which he was thrilled over, so seeing the Bambino perform the wiggle and jiggle routine its been practicing, to my knowledge, for a few months was amazing. Aside from noticing that our baby's alien-esque features are taking after the Thompson's, certainly not MY side of the family, we were given positive news. Not much to worry about with regards to the heart-shaped uterus thing. I might go into preterm labor, but who isn't told that with their first pregnancy? And Philly even managed to network with the doctor who knew his boss. Talk about killing a dozen birds with one stone. At one point I had to break it up between the good'ole doc and my husband... "Can we talk about my baby now and not the next poker night?"

Other observations over the last several months have included the following:

If you don't think you'll enjoy the Indian food, don't eat it. Unless you feel like throwing up for the next 48 hours.
Honey Nut Cheerios is an excellent source of nutrients for breakfast, lunch and dinner. So are sour patch kids, oatmeal, pickles, yogurt, macaroni and cheese, peanut M&M's, and cheese puffs.
Picking out gender-neutral clothing is sweet n'all, but can't I just go with my instincts and buy boy stuff? Choosing to not find out the sex of our baby will be the best surprise ever, but the Retail Powers That Be make it difficult for us consumers.
Brutus will not take a back seat to the Bambino. He is just as much our baby as the human kind, I don't care what you say. And something tells me he knows that his mummy is going through some changes. He's been following me around a lot, which is making me extra attached to him. We love him to bits and bits, and can't wait to video the Bambino and Brutie's first meeting. Brutie, we promise that you can still sleep on our bed for 4am cuddles, I'll still make you fresh cut-out cookies, and we'll still take you for rides on the boat.
Sure, you can ask me if I've picked out baby names. But we're keeping that a secret too. One time we spilled the beans and told our boy name to someone who didn't know the importance of it, and my Kiwi had to stop me from cutting their tongues out with the swiss army knife I keep in my back pocket.
Don't be alarmed if I occasionally drink a glass of wine or coffee, or eat chocolate, or continue to take my magic pill, or slap a stranger that rubs my belly, or sip from my Kiwi's gin and tonic, or forget to take my prenatal vitamin. My hearing aid senses when it needs to be turned to the mute position, and lady like training is only observed when I agree with you.

Here Kitty Kitty

2009-05-20T00:24:07Z

Brutie doesn't typically chase after birds, or squirrels, or chipmunks, or leaves, or anything that moves for that matter... oh, with the exception of a potential canine friend when he thinks his mummy and daddy aren't looking. Oh and he does chase after the UPS truck and mail man, but that's for my protection! Can you imagine what an intruder a very loud UPS truck looks like from a little dogs perspective? And that mail man is ferocious, with his package delivery prowling. Come to think of it, I have documented my boy chasing after deer until the wee hours of the morning on this here site. Well today, my friends, Brutie carried out the ultimate cliche doggie activity. Today he chased a poor wee kitty cat up a tree. Hours later, I don't think Señor Pantalones Gatito has figured a way out of his predicament. Do I dare check to see if tree house construction is in progress up there?

While I was playing with my camera, I captured some of the beauty in our own backyard.

Brutie's BFF

2009-05-18T19:11:37Z

My puppy has a best friend, and his name is Winston. Winston's house is totally rad. They're allowed to eat and drink until they hurl, surf porn on the internet, and have the best squeakie toys this side of Kentucky. Sometimes Brutie misses his friend so much he runs away from home to Winston's. I've actually seen him head butt their front door - his version of "knocking" to get Winston's attention for some play time. They've gotten close, you see, because Phil and I have done a bit of traveling this year and Brutie almost always stays at Winston's. Now, I'm afraid, Winston might be more awesome than me. I think I'm ok with that, since my neighbors look after our boy so lovingly.