Stacy and Shawn: Hey, Kezie! You got a giftcard from Grandma and Grandpa yesterday. If you want, we will take that money, and the money that we got for Christmas, and go buy a Wii. We could get some games, and you could play them.
Kezie: No, I don't think I would like that very much.
Stacy and Shawn: *flabbergasted silence*
Seriously. We offered her a Wii and she said no. And, for the record, her gift card was ten dollars. Apparently she has big plans for that money that involve My Little Pony, and not video games.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Ow.
When Ivy was born, I got over my fear of needles. I had my blood drawn so many times that it got boring. There were so many bruises in the normal blood-drawing places that they had to get creative, and if felt like needles had poked me pretty much everywhere
Ever since then, I have thought about going to "donate" plasma. You know those centers where they suck out a bunch of blood, pull out the plasma, put the rest of your blood back, and then give you thirty bucks. Yesterday I took the plunge and went in.
You know you live in a college town when the plasma center is booked two weeks in advance. I got to stew about having huge needles in my arm for a whole two weeks before actually going and having it done. Then I got to wait another two and a half hours at the center. I was asked the same questions by three different people--does anyone change their answers on the third time? After two hours, do some people go, "Oh, you know what? I did take illegal drugs intravenously last week. I'd plum forgot."
Finally they got me into a donation chair, where they completely discounted my right arm as a possibility for insertion of their huge needle. My left arm was all right, but the vein is deep. First they told me that insertion may not go well, and then they handed me over to a newbie for the procedure. It didn't go well.
The blood left my arm just fine. I sat there for five minutes, ignoring the Simpsons marathon on the TV and reading my book. Then the blood started returning to my arm, and it started to hurt. I flagged someone down, and she dug the needle deeper into my arm, then left. By then the senior person on the floor had noticed that something wasn't going right, and came over. The way the needle was inserted, the blood couldn't get back into my arm. She couldn't pull out and re-insert the needle, and she couldn't adjust it without taking it out. She called over her co-senior person on the floor, and they spent five minutes apologizing to me and discussing what they were going to do.
In plasma donation, the blood is supposed to be returned to you. This is why you can donate twice a week. If they didn't return to blood to me, I wouldn't be able to donate for another eight weeks. They acted like this was a big deal, though at this point I wasn't sure I really cared. They decided that my other arm had a big enough vein for the slightly-smaller-than-huge needle that they could use just to return my blood to me, so they switched to that arm. They couldn't use that nice big vein where people usually draw blood, but had to use that smaller one on the inside of the arm--the one that hurts. I remember that well from my hospital stay and the creative phlebotomy that occurred there. So they unhooked me, and then re-attached a bunch of tubes, and then put a needle in my other arm, and turned on the machine that gave me back my blood. I noticed that they didn't leave me alone at all this time; whether to check that I was all right, or to keep up friendly conversation so that I wouldn't feel inclined to sue, I am not sure.
Once my fluids were back where they belonged, the very nice employee who was keeping an eye on me strapped ice packs to my arms, and got me a bottle of water and a granola bar (special treatment!). I could not, of course eat the granola bar, as I had ice packs strapped to the inside of my elbows, but the gesture was nice. I then had an escort to the cash machine and then the door, and was told that next time I should be sure to ask for one of the trainers, and things would go much more smoothly.
As I sit here and type with sore arms, do I think I'll go again? I spent three hours reading, in a place where no one called me Mom, and people brought me food and drinks, and I left with thirty bucks. You bet I will go again. The soreness is nearly gone, there is no bruising, and a normal donation will be a piece of cake after this one. As an added bonus; the more of this stuff I run into, the more sure I am that I want to pursue this medical career track I've switched to. I can totally handle it.
Update: there is bruising. Rather a lot of it, actually. But seeing as I had to remove the band-aids before I knew it was there, I'm still going to say that it's not so bad.
Ever since then, I have thought about going to "donate" plasma. You know those centers where they suck out a bunch of blood, pull out the plasma, put the rest of your blood back, and then give you thirty bucks. Yesterday I took the plunge and went in.
You know you live in a college town when the plasma center is booked two weeks in advance. I got to stew about having huge needles in my arm for a whole two weeks before actually going and having it done. Then I got to wait another two and a half hours at the center. I was asked the same questions by three different people--does anyone change their answers on the third time? After two hours, do some people go, "Oh, you know what? I did take illegal drugs intravenously last week. I'd plum forgot."
Finally they got me into a donation chair, where they completely discounted my right arm as a possibility for insertion of their huge needle. My left arm was all right, but the vein is deep. First they told me that insertion may not go well, and then they handed me over to a newbie for the procedure. It didn't go well.
The blood left my arm just fine. I sat there for five minutes, ignoring the Simpsons marathon on the TV and reading my book. Then the blood started returning to my arm, and it started to hurt. I flagged someone down, and she dug the needle deeper into my arm, then left. By then the senior person on the floor had noticed that something wasn't going right, and came over. The way the needle was inserted, the blood couldn't get back into my arm. She couldn't pull out and re-insert the needle, and she couldn't adjust it without taking it out. She called over her co-senior person on the floor, and they spent five minutes apologizing to me and discussing what they were going to do.
In plasma donation, the blood is supposed to be returned to you. This is why you can donate twice a week. If they didn't return to blood to me, I wouldn't be able to donate for another eight weeks. They acted like this was a big deal, though at this point I wasn't sure I really cared. They decided that my other arm had a big enough vein for the slightly-smaller-than-huge needle that they could use just to return my blood to me, so they switched to that arm. They couldn't use that nice big vein where people usually draw blood, but had to use that smaller one on the inside of the arm--the one that hurts. I remember that well from my hospital stay and the creative phlebotomy that occurred there. So they unhooked me, and then re-attached a bunch of tubes, and then put a needle in my other arm, and turned on the machine that gave me back my blood. I noticed that they didn't leave me alone at all this time; whether to check that I was all right, or to keep up friendly conversation so that I wouldn't feel inclined to sue, I am not sure.
Once my fluids were back where they belonged, the very nice employee who was keeping an eye on me strapped ice packs to my arms, and got me a bottle of water and a granola bar (special treatment!). I could not, of course eat the granola bar, as I had ice packs strapped to the inside of my elbows, but the gesture was nice. I then had an escort to the cash machine and then the door, and was told that next time I should be sure to ask for one of the trainers, and things would go much more smoothly.
As I sit here and type with sore arms, do I think I'll go again? I spent three hours reading, in a place where no one called me Mom, and people brought me food and drinks, and I left with thirty bucks. You bet I will go again. The soreness is nearly gone, there is no bruising, and a normal donation will be a piece of cake after this one. As an added bonus; the more of this stuff I run into, the more sure I am that I want to pursue this medical career track I've switched to. I can totally handle it.
Update: there is bruising. Rather a lot of it, actually. But seeing as I had to remove the band-aids before I knew it was there, I'm still going to say that it's not so bad.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Halloween
I have found another thing to like about living in Orem. This neighborhood loves Halloween, and trick or treating was a lot of fun for the girls.
My little hula girl and my little witch. Not a scary witch. A nice one. Who spent most of the night without her hat because it kept falling off.
Kezie got to wear her costume to school, and spent the day eating treats and playing games. Those were the days
Almost every house on the street had decorations beyond the traditional jack-o-lanterns. There were fog machines and creepy noises everywhere. One house had set up tables and chairs and was serving nachos, hot dogs, and cider. The three houses across the street had become elaborate cemeteries, complete with lit torches, a coffin that opened and closed, and this impressive display:
The pictures don't do the ghost in the window justice. It glowed and floated around the room. I have no idea how they did that.
The night was sometimes a little bit too spooky for Ivy, who sometimes wouldn't go up to the creepier houses without me at her side. She loved saying, "Trick or treat!" and decided that it was worth it. Kezie did just fine, and seemed to enjoy the scary--but not too scary--atmosphere.
Trick or treating was one of my favorite things as a kid, and I am so glad that my girls get to have the experience.
My little hula girl and my little witch. Not a scary witch. A nice one. Who spent most of the night without her hat because it kept falling off.
Kezie got to wear her costume to school, and spent the day eating treats and playing games. Those were the daysAlmost every house on the street had decorations beyond the traditional jack-o-lanterns. There were fog machines and creepy noises everywhere. One house had set up tables and chairs and was serving nachos, hot dogs, and cider. The three houses across the street had become elaborate cemeteries, complete with lit torches, a coffin that opened and closed, and this impressive display:
The pictures don't do the ghost in the window justice. It glowed and floated around the room. I have no idea how they did that.The night was sometimes a little bit too spooky for Ivy, who sometimes wouldn't go up to the creepier houses without me at her side. She loved saying, "Trick or treat!" and decided that it was worth it. Kezie did just fine, and seemed to enjoy the scary--but not too scary--atmosphere.
Trick or treating was one of my favorite things as a kid, and I am so glad that my girls get to have the experience.
Friday, September 23, 2011
It never ceases to surprise me when I find myself in the middle of a real conversation with my five-year-old. I'll ask a question, or she will, and the other will respond, and two minutes later I realize that not only is my little girl very curious, she is also quite bright and getting very grown-up.
Tonight, she was telling me a story about a dragonfly that she found with a friend, and I said something in the voice of the dragonfly. I expected her to react to the silliness of a talking dragonfly, but instead, she stopped, thought a moment about what I'd said, and than smiled. "That's funny."
Tonight, she was telling me a story about a dragonfly that she found with a friend, and I said something in the voice of the dragonfly. I expected her to react to the silliness of a talking dragonfly, but instead, she stopped, thought a moment about what I'd said, and than smiled. "That's funny."
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
It was no secret to anyone that I was not excited to move to Orem. I liked where I was in Ogden, I liked my house, I liked my neighbors and friends, my support network, and the walkability. I liked my favorite restaurants and stores, and the proximity to my family. I was not happy about leaving.
I have found that for me, the key to liking a new place when I move there, is to find a few things about it that I love, and that I can't find elsewhere. So, the things I have discovered about Orem that I love:
The fruit stands. Kezie goes to Cherry Hill Elementary, so named because this area used to have fruit trees galore. While I haven't run into any cherries yet, there are little peach and apple and pear orchards tucked away into a lot of the local neighborhoods, and there is often a stand outside where the family sells the fruit by the box. The price is good, the quality is good, the service is friendly, and you can actually watch people picking the fruit that you are about to eat. I have a half bushel of pears on my table right now, ripening and waiting to be canned in a couple of days.
The library. The Orem City library rocks. The selection is good. They have entire seasons of TV shoes, past and present, which you can rent for a dollar or two. They have sheet music, and ebooks, and nice employees, and a book drop that you can use even when the library is open, so you don't have to drag two kids out of the car and into the building just to return a book. Plus, if I want something that they don't have, Orem residents can also use the Provo library for free.
The BYU creamery. This tiny little grocery store has excellent prices on milk (and BYU brownies) and actually has decent prices on a lot of other things, too, including deli chicken and corn dogs. Plus, they have an in-house ice cream shop. And, in the corner, there is a picture of beard-growing contest winners from the 1950s. Methinks there is a rebel in the store management.
Provo Canyon. It makes the drive to my in-laws much shorter, and more pleasant. It's pretty. Last time we drove through it, we saw a goat riding in the back of a pickup truck, ears flapping in the wind. What's not to love?
There. Four things so far. After four months in Utah County, I think I am finally convinced that I'll enjoy spending the next five years here.
I have found that for me, the key to liking a new place when I move there, is to find a few things about it that I love, and that I can't find elsewhere. So, the things I have discovered about Orem that I love:
The fruit stands. Kezie goes to Cherry Hill Elementary, so named because this area used to have fruit trees galore. While I haven't run into any cherries yet, there are little peach and apple and pear orchards tucked away into a lot of the local neighborhoods, and there is often a stand outside where the family sells the fruit by the box. The price is good, the quality is good, the service is friendly, and you can actually watch people picking the fruit that you are about to eat. I have a half bushel of pears on my table right now, ripening and waiting to be canned in a couple of days.
The library. The Orem City library rocks. The selection is good. They have entire seasons of TV shoes, past and present, which you can rent for a dollar or two. They have sheet music, and ebooks, and nice employees, and a book drop that you can use even when the library is open, so you don't have to drag two kids out of the car and into the building just to return a book. Plus, if I want something that they don't have, Orem residents can also use the Provo library for free.
The BYU creamery. This tiny little grocery store has excellent prices on milk (and BYU brownies) and actually has decent prices on a lot of other things, too, including deli chicken and corn dogs. Plus, they have an in-house ice cream shop. And, in the corner, there is a picture of beard-growing contest winners from the 1950s. Methinks there is a rebel in the store management.
Provo Canyon. It makes the drive to my in-laws much shorter, and more pleasant. It's pretty. Last time we drove through it, we saw a goat riding in the back of a pickup truck, ears flapping in the wind. What's not to love?
There. Four things so far. After four months in Utah County, I think I am finally convinced that I'll enjoy spending the next five years here.
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