RAMBLINGS ON A TUESDAY

back in their heyday :(

It's been a while since I rambled.

The weather has been beautiful here.  Sunny and high 70's-80's.  I lehrv it.  So on my lunch breaks, I break out the ol' FiveFingers and hit the trails behind our plant.  There's a lush arboretum filled with ponds, wooded paths, and nature at its very best.  So I take full advantage.  But as I noticed the other day, my FiveFingers are running a little ragged.  To be honest, I'm surprised they've even lasted this long.  So I'm scouting around for new running shoes.  I'm all about minimalist footwear... I'd go barefoot everywhere, if I could.  FiveFingers are the next best thing.  So I'm trying to decide between Vibram FiveFingers and RunAmocs.  I'm sure I'll go with the FiveFingers, purely for shock value :)  There's nothing more exhilarating to me than watching someone do a double- (or triple, or quadruple) take on my uber-weird toe shoes.  Score.

Shopping for shoes... it's like opening Pandora's Shoebox.  Not even for me, necessarily.  My heart just does a flip when I see itty-bitty shoes.  For itty-bitty people like Solchop.  And I swear, she started it.  This chick loves shoes.  LOVES them.  She's always picking up shoes (hers, mine, anyone's) and sitting down to try and put them on.  It's pretty freaking adorable.  I assume it's my maternal instincts, then, that compel me to shop for shoes for her.  But seriously, take a gander at these moccasins and tell me Sol doesn't need these...



She also loves hats.  She's constantly picking up loose hats (I know, it sounds like there's rubbish strewn about our entire residence) and dipping her head down so that I can put them on her head.  My grandma got her this little Hello Kitty hat, and that's one of her faves.  I myself am not really one for licensed apparel, but if Sol likes it.. hey, more power to her.  She loves accessorizing.  And if you're wondering if she ever toddles around the front yard on a warm summer afternoon, wearing nothing but her birthday suit and a hat... yes, yes she does.

So one of my favorite places to go for lunch is (are you ready?) the local hospital.  They have the most delicious pita chips I've ever tasted.  And in my opinion, their per-pound salad bar pricing is pretty stellar, so I'm all about truckin on over to the hospital and grabbing a few ounces of Mediterranean fabulosity.  The other day, on my way back from the hospital, I was behind this really cool car that was reverberating with the frequencies of something slightly resembling music.  I could feel it in my car, I'm sure the other cars nearby could feel it, and frankly I was angry that I was stuck driving behind this moron in a Hot Lips Olds, skatin' on Dayton rims, thumping himself right into the "oh-you're-irritating" section of the minds of everyone within a quarter-mile.  We pulled up to a stoplight, and
just when I was mumbling some choice words under my breath, dreading the next 30 seconds of sitting there behind his subwoofer-on-wheels, the vibrations stopped.   This guy turned his music off at the stoplight!  I love when people surprise me.  Thank you, Mr. Hot Lips, for allowing me to sit at the stoplight in peace.

But not everyone turns their music off when the car is stopped.  My sister called me yesterday after work.  First thing she said: "Hey, can you hear this?"  I listened closely... and heard someone belting out some unknown tune at the very tip-top of his lungs.  She was stopped at a stoplight next to with a man who was so happy with life in general that he was singing.  Delightfully loud and lovely.  Says me to sister, "What is he singing?"  Says she to me, "I don't know what song it is; it's very monotone with zero melody, but it's something about a perfect life."  Cheers to you and your perfect life, sir.  You are the epitome of Guts and Glory in an S10. 

Sisters are great.  Sisters make your day by calling you with random things like that.  Sisters are certainly something to celebrate, and today especially I'm celebrating my sister Amanda.  28 years ago today, the world became a little brighter because of a bubbly little redhead named Amanda Jane :)  A loving daughter, a loyal sister, a wonderful aunt, a very dear friend, and arguably the world's greatest movie-quote-knower EVER, my sister Amanda is one of the most amazing people I will ever know.  After putting up with years of sharing a room with her bratty little sister, or being attacked with a constant, "You gonna eat that?" she still loves me.  I tip my dark brown bowler hat to you, Amanda.  (and in case you're wondering, we're putting on a magic show in the following photo. yes, we are very talented, and we wear many hats. pun intended.)

Happy birthday, AJ!

SAVOR MY SOL

My days and weeks are flying by.  Seriously, 9- or 10-hour workdays fly by in what seems like 45 minutes. Monday happens, and then all of a sudden it's Friday afternoon and I can't remember what happened this week.  I can't remember if Sol did anything fun on Tuesday, and I can't remember what we ate for dinner last night.  At work today I got a peek at the large desk calendar that's been buried under mounds of work, and I saw that I was still looking at February.  When did it become March?  And as I started marking off each consumed day in March (with a pink highlighter, BECAUSE I CAN), I realized it was March 22.  Honestly, I could've just waited a week and flipped straight to the April page. 


The time is going by too quickly and I feel like I'm not really experiencing anything.  We do our daily routine: I go to work while she spends 80% of her waking time with strangers, and we come home and eat and bathe and go to bed.  And the next day is the same.  All of a sudden I find myself looking at photos from when we went to visit Santa at the mall, and there I am, but I'm holding this chubby-cheeked child... whom I barely recognize.

Why am I taking someone else's daughter to meet Santa?

Oh wait, that child belongs to me. 

And then I look at the picture of the little lady I took to daycare this morning.  

That child belongs to me too.

The child in the picture above (you know, the one clutching the pink bunny) has has a rough few weeks.  She survived the Bubonic Plague of the Bierlein Household in early March, she's left one daycare, tried 3 more... all the while with a runny nose and a constant cough.  She's been sick and thrown into new situations.  And while she's trying to adjust, things don't always fall into place so easily.  And I get that.  My heart breaks as I see her struggling.  I see my 1-year-old child trying to establish a normal routine in the midst of new people, new colors and noises and sounds, trying to take naps in a new place.  Trying to eat sweet potatoes and peas at daycare while all the other kids are eating green eggs and turkey sausages in honor of St. Patrick.

In the midst of all that turbulence, Sol and I both take comfort in one thing: the unyielding, unshakable, interminable bond that connects us as mother and daughter.  I am hers, and she is mine.  I knew it from the moment I saw a positive pregnancy test, from the moment I felt the flutter of a tiny human in my expanding belly.  I knew it as I held my child for the first time, terrified, just seconds after she took her first breath.  A mother's love for her child is absolutely indescribable, and to see Sol upset is like taking a knife to the heart.  So in these days of instability all I can do is love her.

We spend quiet nights on the couch, just the two of us.  After a year of refusing to snuggle with me, she's finally taken comfort in sitting on my lap, clutching her pink bunny, laying her head on my chest and feeling the rhythm of the heart that beats for her.  I talk to my sleepy Sol about how incredible she is, and I tell her of the grand plans I envision for her.  I tell her how much I love her; and after sending up a silent prayer of thanks for the miracle in my arms, I thank her for the life she's given me.  I thank her for every frustrating 3am wake-up that helps me learn patience.  I thank her for every snort/chuckle hybrid that escapes her mouth and makes my soul do a somersault.  I thank her for showing me that perfect love is not only possible but necessary.

Before I know it, I've talked her to sleep and she's snoring softly on my chest, her eyelashes laid delicately atop her resting eyes.  Her chubby hand is still gripped tightly around the soft pink bunny that's clearly become her source of security in a world of uncertainty.  Just when my mind starts to wander and I think, 'If I had chosen a different route...'  her tiny snores snatch my attention and I fall in love all over again.  In moments like these, I get to savor my Sol.

SATURDAY NIGHT SANS FEVER

Last week was hell.  I hate being sick.  And while I try to be as brave and tough as I possibly can, there are some days (or weeks) where you just need to throw in the sweat-soaked towel and chalk it up as a loss.  Very few people understand the trials and tribulations facing a single mother... much less a single mother who's knocking on death's doorstep.

Being a single working mother is hard.
Being a single working mother to a sick/healthy/sick/healthy child is harder.
Being a single working mother who's nauseous and exhausted while trying to juggle a sick/healthy/sick/healthy child is impossible.

Really, it's impossible.  It can't be done.

You can imagine my delight when the clock finally struck 5 on Friday afternoon.  The longest week of my life was officially over.  On to the weekend: free of fevers, free of vomit, free of work, free of short nights and early mornings, free of emails or text messages from people who just don't understand how hard that week was, how physically/mentally/emotionally draining that week was.

On Friday, the whiteboard in my office (which usually boasts something inspiring, or fun tic-tac-toe games, or a list of things I have to get done that day) there was nothing but white space and 5 bold words.  All day long.

Yes, I'm glad last week is over.  And this past weekend was a wonderful weekend.  Wonderful and relaxing... with a few work-related errands to run on Saturday, but who's counting?

Blue Eyes and I were in dire need of a date night.  We were unable to find a sitter, but decided to give date night a go anyway.  Once we found out that we weren't going to procure a babysitter for the evening, we  hopped on downtown, cheeky baby in tow. 

Note: we had only one baby that weekend; had we found ourselves with two babies, we would probably have stayed in for the evening.  We were in dire need of an enjoyable evening; we were not looking for a night of lunacy (which is precisely what happens when you try to dine out on a Saturday night with two 1-year-olds... it just doesn't work).

So we went to Bell's Brewery (which has both a restaurant/bar as well as a general store at which you can purchase homebrew supplies), and Sol watched in amazement as Mr. Blue Eyes carefully selected and mashed the most delicious roasted barley... so we can brew our own Vanilla Java Porter.

Oh yeah, have I mentioned that he's into homebrewing?  A blue-eyed man after my own heart.

So after making our final purchase at the brew store, we traversed over to the restaurant side of things and, in doing so, I went straight to victual heaven.  Let's just set aside the fact that I indulged in one of the best chocolatey porters EVER... Bell's is home to many a vegetarian entree, and I was all too excited to try their BBQ tofu wrap.  That was one lucky flour tortilla: wrapped around juicy, marinated tofu with an avocado cream spread, Muenster cheese, Porter BBQ sauce, and cole slaw.  Mmmmm mmm mmm.

Blue Eyes got himself a little brisket meal... which is fine.  Whatever.  Nuff said about that.

We sat all cozy in the warm upper level, where people would coo and wave at the puffy-cheeked baby who sat at our table, shoveling chubby handfuls of Cheerios in her mouth and flinging sweet potatoes across the floor as she "fed herself." 

On our uber-romantic date night (enter dry sarcastic laughter here), a nice young staff member from Bell's came over around 8:30pm, and politely stated that "it was getting to be that time," because Bell's doesn't really care to have minors in there past 8pm (half-hour extension if said minor is a baby with cheeks that just won't quit).  It was time for Sol to leave anyway... she'd had enough of the restaurant scene.

So we packed up and went home on that Saturday night: bodies healthy, bellies sufficiently stuffed, beer-snob palates satisfied with the libations of the local brewery, and backseat filled with one sleepy Sol and several pounds of roasted barley.

And no evening would really be complete without a bedtime tickle attack on Solchop by Mr. Blue Eyes.  Warning: the following video will make your heart swoon.

Ah, date night.

THE SOUNDTRACK OF A DYING BLOGGER

Well, it happened.  Everyone I know has been sick in the last week.  This past weekend, Sol and I made our way up to Frankenmuth to work at an auction (fundraiser for this summer's mission trip to Guatemala).  We left our friends here in southwest Michigan... and, as it turns out, for good reason.  They all became violently ill with a nasty stomach flu. 

And while I was sorry they were sick, I thought --> Sol and I certainly can't afford to be sick... glad we're all the way on the other side of the state.

... [do you see where this is going?]

As it turns out, that nasty flu was more widespread than I thought.  It took my sister Amanda down on Monday.  Sol was sick on Tuesday, which [oh yes] means Melanie couldn't go to work.  Mama Mel went back to work Wednesday, feeling invincible, feeling on top of the world.

... [seriously, do you see where this is going?]

So there I was yesterday afternoon, sitting at my desk, diligently working and listening to Lou Monte radio on Pandora (think peppy Olive Garden songs), when all of a sudden that little twinge of nausea came creeping up my throat.  I leaned my head back and repeated to myself, "This is not happening."  And with that mantra, I scared that little twinge away.  And I continued working. 

Then that same nausea surfaced again, but this time it had grown to be 50x larger, and it was no longer a twinge of nausea... it was a typhoon wave of nausea that kept crashing into my esophagus, each crash making the sound "omg-this-is-the-end-I-am-going-to-die-and-I-can't-even-move."  Then the peppy Olive Garden songs quit playing on Pandora, and so began the soundtrack of Melanie's slow and painful death.  I sat there in my office, suffering the 2013 version of the Bubonic Plague, my face turning an odd shade of gray/green, as my computer blared "Torna a Surriento" at me (click HERE to listen, or use the video below). 

**I think the first peak of nausea hit around 1:20... the second hit around 2:26... **

Nothing makes you want to crawl into a hole and die more than terribly obnoxious Italian opera from which you can't escape due to paralysis by stomach flu.  If that's not a recognized medical diagnosis, ladies and gentlemen, I'll eat my socks.

I went home early from work yesterday

and spent the duration of the evening dying on the bathroom floor.

I did not go into work today. 

THE ONE WHERE MELANIE COMES BACK TO LIFE

Okay, okay, okay.  After far too many phone calls/emails/texts saying, "Heeelllooooo... where are the new blogs?"  I'm back.

I've been in a rut.  A residual rut from my last uber-depressing post, The One Where Melanie Screws It All Up.  I've been crazy-mega-busy at work, and amidst all the shopping for Christmas gifts and groceries, I've been trying to find a store that will sell me 2 or 3 extra hours in a day, but alas, I return empty-handed every time.

And every night is one of those "wake-up-every-night-at-2-3-and-4-am-because-you-think-of-something-else-you-have-to-do" nights.  And Sol gets sick - conveniently enough, when I'm literally the only person from my department in the office that week, so I literally can't call in or work from home.  And at the end of the most non-stellar day possible, I get fabulous emails with not-so-fabulous words from a not-so-fabulous person *cough*deadbeatdad*coughcough*.  And then I go home to a wailing child with a temperature of 102, who refuses to sleep longer than an hour at a time.  And I don't know what she wants or how to help her, and I end up crumpled up on the floor next to my crumpled bath towel from that morning, pulling my hair out and sobbing in frustration, which (surprise, surprise) doesn't make Sol stop crying.  And I just want to have a real conversation with another human being.  I want to sit on my couch with another adult and have random pointless conversation and talk about things that happened to me that day.  I want to tell someone about the funny license plate I saw, or the food that someone brought in and it smelled gooooood, which was surprising, because it was chicken.  I want to ask them if my hair looks better like {this} or like {this}.  And I want to do all this while donning sweatpants and a sweatshirt I acquired while working at a pumpkin farm.  But alas,  it's 11:47pm and I'm silent, alone in the kitchen, busy making a dessert for the office potluck tomorrow, and I'm still in my sweater, jeans, and boots that I've been wearing for 16 hours straight.  I've turned my phone off because I just don't want to talk to anyone.  And I don't even have time to eat, much less write anything for my #$%^ blog.  And I'm hungry because I haven't had a bite to eat all day, but at this point I'm so tired that I just need to cover the dessert and go to sleep. My world is killing me, and I'm exhausted.  Mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted.  I am worn down with life.

And then something happened this morning.  I woke up at 5am and stayed awake.  I watched a couple episodes of Full House while lying in bed.  And I took a shower and got everything ready for the day (including the dessert I slaved over).  And I went up the stairs to put on my watch, and I heard "ba! ba! ba!" from the tiny bedroom next to mine.  And I ducked into that little room and I saw the chubbiest-cheeked little face peeking at me over the railing of the crib.  And as I walked into the room, that little face broke into the biggest smile I've ever seen.  And she reached out to me with her ever-growing arms.  I whisked her out of her crib and held her close to me.  And she removed her pacifier and offered it to me, and I pretended to bite the end of it, and she ROARED with laughter because she thinks that's the funniest thing that's EVER happened.  And her hair was sticking up five ways from Sunday, and she pushed herself away from my chest and studied my face with her ever-curious fingers.  And it was like she was reaching straight into my chest and tugging on my heart.  And at that moment, I felt patience.  And peace.  And love.

She makes me feel complete, and on mornings like this, she makes me feel a little less alone.  She makes me hate the daily grind a little less, and love my life a little more.  And she makes me realize that I need to stop dropping to the floor in fits of frustration and despair, because she sees me.  She sees that I'm sad.  She sees that I'm lonely.  And while I know with every thread of my being that she is NOT the reason for my sadness, she doesn't know that.  I don't ever want her to think she's an inconvenience, or that my life would be better without her, or that she's the reason for the tears that so often find their way down my cheeks.  She doesn't make me sad; she brings me back to life when the world seems to be killing me.

So that was a bunch of rambling, but the point is, I'm back.  I'm writing.  And I will continue to write.  I very seriously considered never writing another blog ever again, but that's one of the dumbest ideas I've ever had. Stay tuned; I have much to say after 2 weeks of silence.

{random side note: maybe I should've named this post "The One Where Melanie Overuses the Word 'And' "}

On a brighter note, check out my office!  Holy festive, batman.
Imagine trying THIS at my old job.  In ya face.

FOR WHICH I'M GRATEFUL

Life is so good.  I hope you're surrounding yourself with some fabulous things today.

In the middle of all your running around today (because isn't that what T-Day has become?), take a moment to look around and realize just how greatly blessed you are.  If you have family that drives you bananas, just nod, smile, and say thank you for the family members who are there to share today with you.  Even if you have a gross, smelly turkey plopped on the table in front of you, just say thank you for the abundance of food at your disposal.  We all have a million things to be thankful for, even if that's a little hard to remember on certain days...  And we should practice the art of giving thanks all year round,  not just in November.

That said, here I go: 66 things I'm thankful for, in no particular order.

1. chubby-cheeked ladies with rattails and potbellies who make my heart go *boom* when they look at me and smile
2. a family who loves my daughter as much as they love me (actually, I think it's a little more than me, but who's counting?)
3. bald nieces with mile-long eyelashes whose giggles make me swoon
4. Sol's godmothers
5. uncles who hold Sol in the air like they're reenacting a scene from Lion King
6. chocolatey brown dogs who give good hugs like it's their job
7. good friends who I stay in contact with, regardless of how far away we live
8. blue-eyed babies who wear camouflage and melt your heart
9. Vanilla Java Porter
10. MY JOB
11. my old job (hear me out), which makes me that much more thankful for my current job.
12. sunrises over marshes on foggy mornings
13. men who wear vests and/or fedoras
14. dark, quiet nights that force me to think about the good things in life
15. bass players with full-blown Jesus beards
16. Macbooks
17. iPhones
18. Honda Accords
19. St. Michael Lutheran Church
20. barefoot drummers who wear wolf shirts and drink pink martinis with salted rims
21. FiveFingers
22. candles that make my home smell like confectionery heaven
23. frozen yogurt
24. hitting all green lights when I'm late for work
25. having a job that doesn't really care when I'm late for work
26. good daycare 
27. Dr. Sheldon Cooper
28. episodes of Friends to which I know every word, but still make me roar with laughter
29. my Nikon
30. Dunder Mifflin (The Office)
31. Tofurky
32. the four seasons (nature, not music)
33. stellar meat alternative products from Morningstar Farms
34. glasses with thick black frames
35. Mumford and all his sons
36. Tofurky
37. shopping trips in Ann Arbor
38. Bierleins who live in SW Michigan :)
39. Kalamazoo Beer Exchange
40. microbrews
41. Biggby coffee
42. Target
43. wi-fi
44. hairdressers named Kristin who turn your hair blue (on purpose)
45. Silk soymilk
46. Pinterest.  PERIOD.
47. Twilight Woods for men (handsoap for shizzle)
48. the word "Word."
49. vegetarian hippies at farmers markets
50. my BOB.  helping me make sure *this* stays a 10 (ha. haha.)
51. Facebook... yes, seriously.
52. running trails
53. pacifiers
54. Downy Unstopables
55. Modern Family
56. forgiveness
57. shopping malls
58. Toms
59. a job in which I can speak Spanish
60. Pandora
61. AE jeans
62. watches
63. Ninja blenders
64. imagination
65. Max Ehrmann's Desiderata
66. The Nutcracker

And after I wrote this, I checked out my Thanksgiving list from 2010 - which is slightly embarrassing, yet shockingly similar.  Give it a read if you have time.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  Leave a comment with something you're thankful for :)

THE ONE WHERE MELANIE SCREWS IT ALL UP

If my life were Friends, and this week were an episode, this week's title would be "The One Where Melanie Screws It All Up."  Sure, it could be worse, but it could certainly be better.  It was one of those weeks where nothing goes smoothly.

One of those weeks where you have to find backup daycare.  One of those weeks where the kitchen sink backs up and your dishwasher spits gross dishwater out onto the floor.  One of those weeks where you try to make mac & cheese in the crockpot, and you even shop in the fancy cheese section of the grocery store, and you spend hours slaving over the stove, only to screw it up by adding so many spices that everyone at the potluck says, "oh, did you put mustard in this?" instead of commenting on the brie and apple-smoked gruyere.  One of those weeks where you screw two people out of a Shutterfly deal because you forget your laptop charger at work.  One of those weeks where you make a vegan chocolate cake in the crockpot, using Splenda instead of sugar and olive oil instead of vegetable oil, and [oh yes] it ends up tasting just as disgusting as it sounds.  One of those weeks where there are TWO funerals you wish you could go to, but you just can't.  One of those weeks where you come into work to an onslaught of emails and phone calls regarding a crisis that will shut down the plant, and for which you're solely responsible, and there are meetings set up for next week to discuss the "issue" ("issue" meaning you), and you end up having to write an explanatory email to all the top managers in the company.  One of those weeks where you singlehandedly dissolve a great relationship with one of the best friends you've had in a long time, all over some stupid mishap.  Just one of those weeks.

If there's a magic potion that turns me into Wonder Woman, or if I can buy a week's worth of "everything goes right" on Amazon, please - someone - let me know.  I could use a week of things going smoothly.  To all the people who expected mac and cheese but instead got mac and mustard, I'm sorry.  To the gals who lost out on the Shutterfly deal they wanted, I'm sorry.  To my friends who expected me to show up at their dads' funerals, I'm sorry.  To my colleagues whose jobs got 1,000x harder today because we ran out of 1-gallon bottles, I'm sorry.  To the friend I alienated (you know who you are), I'm sorry.

I guess you don't always realize how every little action will affect someone else until your actions already have affected others.  Until you serve macaroni and mustard to a bunch of coworkers.  Maybe no one noticed the overwhelming mustard flavor.  Maybe your good friend doesn't care that you haven't spoken all week.  Maybe a crock of gross chocolate cake is better than no cake at all.  Maybe just chalk this week up as a loss and move on.  Maybe just wake up and try again tomorrow.  Maybe next week will be better.

FIVE GOOD THINGS FRIDAY

 

Five Good Things...

Good Thing #1:

A flexible job that works around me.  The Sol child is sick today, and had to be picked up early from daycare.  Thankfully I'm able to work from home this afternoon, no questions asked.  So Sol and I are colleagues this afternoon, changing the world one kilo of oregano at a time . Rah rah rah.

Good Thing #2:

The following clip from Wednesday's episode of Modern Family.  It's a rewind-and-watch-over-again-at-least-15-times-and-laugh-out-loud-every-time kind of clip.  Trust me, you'll love it.

Good Thing #3:

A baby who laughs so hard at me patting my leg that it makes her snort.

Good Thing #4:

My new Kindle Paperwhite, courtesy of one of my suppliers (woot woot!).  And the first book I bought on it?  A Gift of Wings, by my own dear friend Stephanie Stamm.  It's right up there with the Twilight series, and it was written by my friend.  If you like Twilight (and maybe even if you like 50 Shades), READ THIS BOOK (you can buy an e-book here).  I know Stephanie personally, and I'm incredibly proud of her - what a tremendous accomplishment!

Good Thing #5:

The occasional 8:45pm bedtime.  Yeah, you heard me.  8:45.  I was apparently too tired last night to stay up until 9:00.  Something is clearly whipping the energy out of me. 

...and one good song

(one of my faves)



YOU SNEAKY VEGAN! OR 'WHAT DID THE COCOA SAY TO THE CHILI?'

What do all these things have in common?

Easy.  They make chili.

Today we had a Chili Cook-off at work.  Employees were asked to prepare and submit a pot of chili for the cook-off.  Then at lunchtime, all employees could pay $6 for as much chili as they wanted (all proceeds went to our Charitable Activities Team).  Each chili pot was anonymous, marked only with a number, so each employee could vote for the best-tasting chili.  Fun, right?

An email went out yesterday afternoon saying that they needed more food for the fundraiser.  I thought - What the heck?  I'll make a pot of chili.  Vegetarian chili.  And I'll put vegetarian "meat" in it and no one will ever know.  Muahahahahha.

So I did.  But I had no igredients for chili.  So yesterday evening played out as follows:

5:00: Melanie is out of work.
5:27: Melanie picks Sol up from daycare.
5:30: Melanie is home.  Melanie runs inside, sets Sol down, runs to grab a coat and some grocery bags.
5:35: Melanie is out the door again.  Melanie puts Sol in the car.
5:36: Melanie's neighbor asks, "Hey, didn't you just get home?"  Melanie says, "Yep, but I'm off to the grocery store now."  Neighbor says, "Yeah, I've been home all afternoon doing laundry.  Gosh, I try to get it done before my wife gets home from work, but it's just so much.  The two of us go through so much laundry.  I just feel like there's not enough time in the day for all this laundry.  Between work and all the things to do around the house, I don't know how my wife and I get it all done."  Melanie cocks her head and thinks, Really, dude?  Is the irony here completely lost on you?  Melanie says, "Yeah, that sounds really tough.  Have a good night."
7:00: Melanie arrives home after completing her grocery shopping.  Melanie, with a sinister vegan smile, prepares a 5-qt batch of vegan chili, in between stepping over Sol on the floor, picking Sol up, setting Sol down, feeding Sol in her high chair, etc.
8:30-9:00: Melanie bathes Sol, feeds Sol, reads to Sol, and takes Sol upstairs to put her to bed.
9:01: Melanie sees herself in the mirror for the first time.  Melanie is still wearing her work clothes, her boots, and her ID badge, while sporting an apron and a baby on the hip.  Ugh.  This is what a mom looks like.
9:15: Melanie is back in the kitchen, finishing the chili.
10:00: Melanie is making cornbread now.
10:47: Exactly 5 hours and 17 minutes after arriving home from work, Melanie sits down.  And falls fast asleep.

But today my hard work paid off.  I didn't win the contest but people thought my chili was daaaaang good.  There were 10 entries, 2 of which were vegetarian (yes, 2) - and the only persons who knew which chilis were meatless were myself and the other veggie chef.  Go us!

My favorite part was sitting down with a group of people who were sampling all the chilis and casting their votes for the best chili.  I had grabbed a big bowl of vegetarian chili, but no one had taken note of which pot I took it from.  When they saw I had chili, they asked why I was eating it, because didn't it have meat in it?  And I told them, "Nope.  I took the vegetarian chili.  Yeah, there are two vegetarian chilis.  And I'm not telling you which ones they are."  Welllll, THAT threw a whole new twist on the cook-off.  Now everyone was more interested in trying to figure out which chili had the fake meat, and which chili had the real meat.

No one could tell the difference.  NO ONE.  Just sayin'.

My chili was rockin', too.  What started out as an attempt at chili turned into more of a "let's-see-what-we-have-in-the-cupboard-and-try-to-incorporate-that-into-this-soup-and-put-some-cumin-in-there-and-call-it-chili."  Aside from the usual chili ingredients, some of the more random things I threw in there: Bell's Expedition Stout, a quinoa/squash puree, sweet potatoes, allspice, cinnamon, and cocoa.  Yeeeeep.  And it was fabulous.

Between the crazy chili and my uber-popular cornbread (which is the absolute best cornbread you will ever try in your whole entire life), it was a good day, culinarily speaking.

PATIENCE: NOT MY STRONG SUIT

First things first: TODAY IS MiniMon's DUE DATE!!!

Well, it happened.  I had my turn at false labor.  I was having contractions all Thursday night, couldn't sleep, and ended up calling my doctor at 3am.  He told me to take some Tylenol, take a warm bath, and check back in the morning.  So after drawing myself a nice warm bath and trying to doze in it (using a rolled-up towel as a pillow), I realized I would probably drown myself before anything productive happened.  So I got out, went back to bed, caught maybe an hour of sleep, and headed to work.  Contractions continued all day until I saw my doctor at 3pm.  After an uneventful non-stress test (monitoring both Baby B's heartbeat and my contractions), they sent me home.  So here I sit, Monday morning, after an entirely unsuccessful weekend of long walks and spicy food, waiting for Baby to signal that he/she is ready to join the outside world. 

This weekend I realized for the very first time that I'm waiting IMPATIENTLY.  Had you asked me six months, three months, or even just one month ago, I would've told you that I wanted Baby B to arrive late because I just wasn't ready in any respect.  It goes without saying that my pregnancy wasn't all rainbows and sunshine.  However, I can't deny that with time, prayer, love and support from my family, I felt less hopeless and more excited about the baby that was coming into the world.  Looking through the journal I kept during my pregnancy, I see too many early entries about feeling alone, sad, and hopeless.  However, things start to look a little brighter after I broke the news to my family.  The following entry, for example, was written after I had told both of my sisters about Baby B:

August 7, 2011:  Dear Baby, I wonder what you look like.  I wonder what color your hair will be, and what color your eyes will be.  My Baby :) I'm sorry I've been so sad.

It was pointless that I ever felt so sad about something so amazing.  Expecting a baby is never a curse; it is always a blessing for SOMEONE.   Today I couldn't be happier that I was able to get past the sadness and find the joy in my pregnancy. 

And here I am, on my due date, and I can't wait to meet my little monster!  I can't wait to kiss Baby's nose and have Baby's perfect little hand wrapped around my finger.  I can't wait to watch my little one sleep, or to hear him or her cry for the very first time.  Above all, I can't wait for the moment when the doctor places Baby B. on my chest for the first time.  I can't even imagine what that will feel like.  It's surreal to have lived every day of the past nine months, both waking and sleeping, with this little human living right there inside my belly.  And although I've probably felt every possible emotion about my baby throughout this pregnancy, I feel nothing but elation and excitement now.  I love this baby more than I ever thought was humanly possible.  You can come on out whenever, Baby - there are plenty of people who can't wait to meet you!

"PREGNANCY IS MAGICAL" AND OTHER TALL TALES

If I’ve learned anything over the past 8 months, it's this: don’t believe everything you hear. People will tell you anything. People lie.  Arm yourselves with knowledge, dear ones! Don’t believe it all!  Below are some pearls of wisdom: 7 nasty lies (and 1 beautiful truth).
1) “Pregnancy is magical.”
Pregnancy is not all that magical. Pregnancy is a period of time where your physical body is conquered by some [seemingly unnatural] external force and transformed into something from a Michelin commercial. Parts are growing, sometimes painfully, often uncomfortably, and there’s nothing you can do about it. There's swelling and stretching. It didn't look like magic when I hobbled around with the sciatica of an 89-year-old man. The only thing magical in pregnancy is the hallucinogenic dream that haunts a mother-to-be every night. No doubt about it, each nightly REM cycle for me is like experiencing Woodstock. Pure magic. And a little spooky.
2) “Prenatal vitamins will make you feel fabulous.”
While this is partly true (if you’re into growing monstrous claw-like fingernails), one teeny capsule of folic acid made me feel as though I’d been drinking Four Loko for two days straight. *shudder*
3) “Everyone loves a pregnant girl.”
Nope. Not even close. While many people will “ooh” and “ahh” over your belly and ask you borderline-inappropriate questions about how the pregnancy is going, others will glance at your left hand (looking for a ring) and then walk away. People are far more excited about conventional/long-awaited pregnancies. Not to mention, people don't always think so highly of the newest employee at work who's also conveniently sporting a baby bump. Walking through my department, I could practically hear the emails going around: "Why on earth would they hire a pregnant girl?" "Why would you even accept a job if you're going on maternity leave immediately after starting?" Being the new girl at work is hard. Being the new (and pregnant!) girl at work is 100x harder.
4) “Every pregnant woman is radiant and glowing.”
Nope. My skin got spotty, and my hair got darker, coarser, and far less manageable. As much as you try, you’ll never convince me that it was fun when I had to start using a rubber band to hold the fly shut on my pants. That interim period where no one else can really tell you’re pregnant yet, but you’re looking awfully well-fed around the midsection? Not great. Suddenly it looks like your hands have been replaced by inflated latex gloves, and you can’t fit a shoe on your foot to save your life. True story: at my job, an employee must enter a 6-digit code and place his or her hand on a scanner to enter the building (and no, I don’t work at the Pentagon). My hands have recently become so swollen in the mornings that my handprint doesn’t register with the security system. Until they're able to re-scan my giant Hamburger Helper hands, security has to let me into the building every morning.
5) “It’s tempting and easy to eat for two.”
Whaaaaat? I’ve always had a very healthy appetite… just ask my sister Amanda, who I bombarded with “Are you gonna eat that?” for the first 20 years of my life. I was always excited about pregnancy, because it seemed like a free pass to eat whatever you want and not worry about what other people thought. However, I was sick for the first half of my pregnancy; and during the second half, MiniMon was occupying so much space in my belly that I was full almost instantly after beginning a meal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve put on my fair share of weight, and I do eat. I’m not at all implying that I’m a skinny-mini mama-to-be. But I’m certainly not capable of eating for two. I wish I were.
6) “Pregnancy means pickles and ice cream.”
Who decided that? I’m not sure that I ate one pickle during my entire pregnancy. Maybe I did, but if so, I don’t remember it. I certainly didn’t crave them. And ice cream? Not a chance. For the first half, creamy/sweet was not a desirable combination (flu-like symptoms, people!). As I recall, there was one unfortunate instance where a coworker caught me standing in front of the gelato freezer at Meijer, crying uncontrollably (epitome of “crazy preggo?”). Other than that, I haven’t craved ice cream. As a matter of fact, I don’t even own an ice cream scoop.  If I craved anything, it was pizza, pasta, Mexican food, and Coca-Cola straight from the fountain.  Yummm. Heaven.
7) "Sure, you're exhausted for the first little bit, but then you get to enjoy those bursts of energy!" 
Sorry, what? I didn't hear you. I was sleeping. In #7's defense, yes, I was exhausted for the first half. But I was exhausted for the next few months. And guess what? I'm still exhausted. I think back to a year ago, when I was able to stay up till 4 and get up to be at work by 9 (and be productive!). Now it's lights out by 9, wake up at 4 to use the bathroom, and back to bed until 6:30. My crazy wild life. No, I unfortunately never experienced those bursts of energy. I won't even eat soup, for fear that I may pass out facedown in the bowl and drown. Zzzzzzz.

1) "Pregnancy changes you."
Okay, there's absolutely no denying this one. Mentally, physically, emotionally... once you've experienced a pregnancy you will never be the same person. Whether planned or unplanned, whether joyous or tragic, whether it ends in parenting, adoption, miscarriage, or abortion: YOU WILL BE CHANGED. You suddenly consider things you never would have considered before. You suddenly enjoy things you never enjoyed before. You find yourself wandering the baby department at Target when you're bored. You start buying baby carrots and tiny bananas "just because they're cute." Soon you won't be able to think about anything but what color Baby's hair or eyes will be. You won't be able to concentrate on anything without wondering what his/her cry sounds like. As hard as you try, you'll never be able to remember exactly how life was before you were creating another life. You will be consumed by the pregnancy. It will take over your whole being. Not only will it supersize your hands and feet, it will supersize your soul. No longer are you living for yourself. You're living for the life inside you. Your heart is keeping time with the tiny heart that beats deep within you. There seems to be nothing natural about it, and yet it IS the most natural thing in the world. Congratulations, you're a mom.

WHY CAN'T IT BE LIKE THE RAPTOR?

The countdown is on.  26 days until D-day.  Yep, I'm terrified.  But not in the way I used to be.  I'm terrified of labor.  There's no turning back.  Although I pray about 37 times per day, asking God to somehow get me a surrogate to do the whole "labor & delivery" part for me, something tells me that I'm going to have to end up doing it myself.  DAMN.

People at work are starting to talk about the fact that I'm (very clearly) pregnant. It's actually been pleasant, for the most part.  People are asking me when I'm due, pulling out their phones to show me pictures of the joy-bundles in their lives, holding doors for me, commenting on the fact that I'm still wearing heels every day (yay for me!).

The other day, I walked into the kitchenette at work and two men were in there, working on the water filtration system.  The older one (maybe 60?) asked when I was due.  Turns out his daughter is due the same day as me.  The younger one (40-ish?), covered in tattoos, pulled his head out of the plumbing nightmare under the sink and told me all about his son.  Pretty soon, both men were emotionally conveying their thoughts on the miracle of childbirth, asking if I had a birthplan, baring their souls on the ups and downs of parenting... It was unsolicited advice to be sure, and quite unexpected, but nonetheless brought a smile to my face.

And then there are the others. 

My supervisor, for example, asked me what reason she should give when I'm gone for a few weeks.  Do I want her to tell them that I'm on maternity leave?  Confused, I responded, "Yes, I... would hope you tell them that I've had my baby and I'm on maternity leave."  Not sure what else she expected me to say... Maybe that I'm in rehab?  Nice.  The pregnant girl is in rehab.  Nothing like making a name for myself.

My all-time favorite: the lady who smells like old books.  She had never once spoken to me (though we work in the same department).  She and I were alone in the kitchenette.  She slid up to me and asked, "So... are you going to apply for WIC?"  Nothing else, not "I see you're having a baby, congratulations!" or "Are you by any chance worried about your financial future?"  Like I said, we had never had a conversation prior to that.  She didn't know my name, she certainly didn't know my story, and yet here she was, asking me if I was going to apply for government assistance. I was totally shocked by this, and responded with a simple, "Uhhh... I hadn't really thought about it."  While I appreciate the fact that our government offers assistance to those who need it (and to those who don't), and while I understand that those systems are in place for a reason, I just don't feel like I exude an "I need welfare" aura.  Nor do I think that sort of question is appropriate to ask a total stranger.  Just saying.  "Old Books Lady" and I haven't spoken since.

Then there are the people (both men AND women) who tell me their horror stories of labor/delivery.  And every time I hear the word episiotomy, I throw up just a little bit (if you don't know what an episiotomy is, I strongly urge you NOT to look it up...).  I wish labor were like a roller coaster.  I remember the first time I went on the Raptor at Cedar Point.  I was terrified, but everyone I was with had already ridden it.  They all went on and on about how it can be scary, but once the ride begins, it's amazing.  And they were absolutely right - the Raptor rocks.  Labor, on the other hand... no one tells me it's as cool as the Raptor.  From what I hear, it's scary and gross, and you leak, and you tear things, and this can go on for FORTY EIGHT HOURS.  And apparently crossing your legs doesn't help.  There's no Raptor-ness.  They say it's unpleasant the entire time.

So that's what I have to look forward to.  A possible 48-hour stretch of leaking, tearing, and utter grossness.  You know, if it were possible, I'd pay $50 to make it a Raptor-like experience.

But something tells me that no matter how much I pay, it won't be any better for me than it's been for women over the last 5,000 years.  Though everyone tells me how painful and unpleasant the labor/delivery experience is, they all end their sagas with the same thing: once it's over, and you're holding that tiny little person in your arms, you forget all about the labor.  I guess I can safely say that I will probably NOT enjoy the labor (and yes, I shudder every time I say that word), but there's nothing I anticipate more than meeting the little person who's been growing with me over the last 8 months.  And THEN the roller coaster starts.