December 5, 2013

Ice, Ice, Baby

By Steph

In 2009, this happened.  January 25, 2009 to be exact.  That was also my due date.  Since this gorgeous disaster caused us to lose electricity for more than a week, I’m thankful my daughter came two weeks early.  I think it’s pretty safe to say that I wouldn’t have handled a home birth well.

Yes, it was pretty.

Yes, it was pretty.

Imagine, if you will, having a newborn child and two other small children.  In an ice storm.  With no heat, no water, no electricity, and most definitely no sleep.  And No.Way.Out.

No way out. None.

No way out. None.

Let me just go ahead and admit that I can be a little high-strung.

I did not handle it well when the power went out.  Or the days after that when we camped out in my mother’s living room near her fireplace.  Or when I developed mastitis and thrush in my left breast and feeding my daughter felt like lighting myself on fire every two hours.

There was a lot of crying.

The baby cried some too.

According to the weather people, we are under a Winter Storm Warning.  I haven’t been that concerned, because I don’t have a newborn and we have our own fire now.

But then my husband went to the store to stock up, only to find out that some motherfuckers have bought all the Coca-Cola.

Now I’m panicking.  How does a store run out of Coke?  I don’t even think that is legal. 

Is this the apocalypse? 

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November 28, 2013

My Grandma’s Room

By Steph

pop-steph

When I was a little girl my grandma’s room was full of wonders.

On her bedside table, then as now, sat a small white lamp and a thick black bible, well-worn even then. How many uncountable times did my grandma sit on the side of that bed, slowly turning brittle pages, seeking comfort, or peace, or giving praise?

My grandma’s dresser was no dainty bit of vanity. Made of heavy wood with drawers down both sides and carved doors in the center, it was strong and beautiful and I swear, those doors called to me. To be allowed to sit before that chest and hold a lap full of silk, the faded ink of love letters, the glitter of glass beads, and all those memories, her memories, in my hands…

My grandpa’s wardrobe was taller, more imposing, less accessible. But when he swung wide the big double doors, even a child could see it was full of dreams. Medals of honor and badges of war – curious jewelry to a child – shared space with carefully rolled papers and a violin. His maps to castles in the air.

On my grandpa’s nightstand, then as now, sat a small white lamp and, nearby, a guitar. How many uncountable times did my grandpa sit on the side of that bed, strumming with nimble fingers, seeking comfort, or peace, or singing praise?

My grandma’s room is much the same, then as now. It’s in a new house and some things have changed. My grandma still sits on the side of that bed. She still has that old black bible. My grandpa sang his last song this year, and now I sit on the side of that bed, finding comfort, seeking peace, and, as I look to those carved double doors full of memories and dreams, I give praise.

161 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in thoughts

November 26, 2013

Remember what I said about strengths?

By Steph
source: freakingnews.com

source: freakingnews.com

Yeah. Well, it turns out, my strength (if I even have one, which at this point is questionable) is not hair. So just go ahead and ignore any advice I may have given in that regard.

I attempted a routine procedure tonight which I have done probably 500 times since I first turned my hair purple when I was a silly 14-year-old. It appears that now, 20 years later, I’m still pretty fucking silly.

It started out fine. I put on the gloves, mixed the solution, put it on my head. Then I read the instructions (I’ll admit, maybe that should’ve been the first step) and checked the time.

Then…I made coffee, watched the weather, re-watched that hilarious James Franco and Seth Rogan video, switched around two chairs in the living room, decided what to make for dinner, listened to an extensive recap of an X-box game courtesy of Thing 2, answered about a million questions from Thing 3…

And realized I had no freaking idea what time this shit was supposed to come off my head. Was it 5 that I started? But that would make rinse at 5:30 and it’s already 6:00, so maybe I started at 5:30 and rinse at 6:00? But maybe…was I supposed to rinse at 6:15?

I waited until 6:10 just in case. In hindsight, this was probably not the best decision I could’ve made.

I was hoping it wasn’t too bad, but the amount (not to mention color) of the hair that was FALLING OUT OF MY HEAD was a little worrisome.

Then I knew it was terrible when my husband saw me and said just two words. “Oh. God.”

I immediately went on the defensive. “I know what you’re thinking. But it’s not black.”

He said, “Are you being serious?”

I said, “I am trying to be optimistic!”

Between him and this Halloween hair, it’s making it hard to look on the bright side. But not impossible! Tomorrow I am getting a new hat.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in random bullshit, total chaos

November 24, 2013

Messy Bun: You’re Doing It Wrong

By Steph

I’ve noticed a lot of these so-called “messy bun tutorials” all over the internet and, frankly, you’re doing it wrong.

I don’t really get why a messy bun requires a tutorial, but I do understand that everyone has different strengths, so I’m going to help you out here.

Step 1: Don’t brush your hair. This is kind of an important step, as one of the main reasons for sporting a messy bun in the first place is to disguise your gnarly-ness.

bad hair day
Image courtesy of Bing images.

Step 2: Grab that tangled mess and pile it on your head. Wrap a ponytail holder or rubber band or a shoestring around it. Whatever’s handy. Kind of like this:

bun
Image courtesy of Bing images.

Messy? Check. Bun? Check. You are done.

You’re welcome.

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November 21, 2013

This isn’t a post. It’s just a long, shouty whine.

By Steph

I am so ANGRY.

I don’t even know how to convey the depth of my irritation here.

*deep breath*

So, you may know that I recently had to stop eating meat, so I wouldn’t die.

I did that.  I did good.  No bacon, no burgers, no ham, no steak, NO DELICIOUS FUCKING MEAT!!

Well.  Then I started getting sick when I drank milk.  So I switched to soy milk. (Soy milk is actually pretty good, but let’s not get distracted here, I’m still mad.)

Last week I got the flu vaccine.  And had a reaction.  Today I ate a cereal bar ( or possibly two) and had another fucking reaction.  Turns out?  Everyfuckingthing is made with GELATIN which is made from PIG SKIN (and/or COW BONES) which I AM FUCKING ALLERGIC TO.

Sorry about the shouting.  Like I said, I’m pissed.  All the things.  All the good, bad for you, tasty things are making me sick.

I just have one question, and I’m scared to hear the answer.  Does pie have gelatin in it?

Don’t answer that.

In apology for this angry pointless post, I give you a bunny driving a Barbie car.  Please forgive me, I’m just hungry.

Beep!  Beep!

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor