Metal Meredith

What should take 30 minutes now takes an hour and a half thanks to my super-sensitive sense of smell. Going grocery shopping was something that meant I got an hour away from my (wonderful) family to do my best to use every coupon I owned. However, now it all has changed.

The first time I went grocery shopping after getting hit with the inevitable morning sickness, I made Phil and Vivienne come with me. I spent a good amount of time unwrapping more lollipops and candy to keep my mouth busy so I wouldn’t gag the whole time. I did a lot of pointing gestures to Phil and closed mouth, clenched teeth speaking in order to get what I needed. As soon as we turned down the meat isle, I about lost it.

Phil asked me this morning to try and go to the store today. Vivienne is in a summer camp program this week, which gives me from 9am until 2pm to be on my own. Of course, during that time I do a lot of sleeping, lying on the sofa and staring at my computer (all the while concentrating on not being sick). This morning was no different.

I picked up Vivienne from camp and headed to Ukrops. I made it 15 minutes before realizing I needed to keep a close eye on the proximity of each trash can should an emergency arise. I am sure the other shoppers enjoyed my wretching down the isles. Such joy.

Finally, after stopping for a bathroom break for Vivienne, breaking up the produce shopping into 3 trips due to the sensory overload, and finally getting the last of the frozen foods, we made it to the cashier and out the door.

This is by far the hardest part, trying to do normal things only to have them take 3 times as long to complete.

Poor Poor Phil

Phil is looking for a new car. Not ‘new’ like new car smell and seats yet untainted by anyone’s butt cheeks, but ‘New to Him”. It isn’t to the point where a new car is necessary, but we really would be spoiled by having two cars that we both can drive and all 3 family members can ride in.

About a month ago, I told Phil that we should go ahead and look for a more reliable car than this one:

The truck has been good to us. It was a $1000 purchase that has far outlasted my lifespan prediction. Phil bought it to haul motorcycles like this one:

If nothing else, it was fun having everyone in town knowing Phil and his Nacho Cheese Truck. In fact, there have been many times that I can pick him out in a parking lot with no problems, tell someone exactly where to find us by looking for his car and Vivienne to watch for the “yellow truck’ to know when Daddy is home.

However, the truck leaks, the windshield wipers are working intermittently, the heat gave up a while ago and I am still unsure if it has a radio. So Phil and I started the great $1500 car search. He came up with a list of things he deemed important after checking out a few ads. He wanted something that was ‘kind of nice’ on the inside and I wanted something safe. Somewhere between then and now, my requirements stayed the same and Phil’s changed to be ‘something that has BMW on it’.

Now the price tag has increased from $1500 to $2500. The “reliable, safe car with a nice interior’ has morphed into ‘anything BMW (or something fun to drive.)”

If you happen to have a BMW sitting around without a home, please contact my poor husband who is in dire need of some manliness in the form of sexy Bavarian engineering.

PS. What we are trying to avoid is something like this:

I Hope My Mom Doesn’t Act Like This

I was at the Pediatrician’s office on Tuesday with Vivienne when this teeny little girl toddled right up and said hello. She was about a year old and had these little tiny earrings on. I was holding Vivienne who said “Ooooh, what pretty earrings!”

The grandmother of the girl heard this and said “Don’t you have your ears pierced?” and looked right at Vivienne. I smiled and said no. She then gave me a little lecture on how important it is to get done early because there is less risk of problems and complications. I nodded politely and smiled. I am not getting Vivienne’s ears pierced until she is old enough to take care of the piercings herself. The last thing I want to do is change a diaper and then wipe a new wound with alcohol while twisting the earring so the skin doesn’t stick to it. Good lord, I don’t even have my ears pierced anymore, so all of these facts I kept to myself. The grandmother gave me a sad look, as if to say “That poor poor baby girl. She will never be as pretty as my baby grandchild.”.

Next, she asked how old Vivienne was and then said “She still isn’t in diapers, is she?” Posing a question like this is like asking someone “Did you mean to get your hair cut like that?” There just isn’t a very good way to answer it and immediately puts me on the defensive.

“She is two. She is still in diapers. We just aren’t ready, yet,” I said, kicking myself for giving her even a tiny explanation. Right after, she started telling me that this was her 3rd grandchild and she hoped her last. She was supposed to retire last year and then this one came along. She thinks her daughter planned it this way. She is tired, she means dead tired. She should be relaxing and spoiling herself, not her children’s children. Honestly. And those strollers are heavy. She keeps the small ones in her trunk so she doesn’t have to deal with the big ones.

Then, like a pardon from the president, the door opened and they called Vivienne’s name to go into the exam room. We smiled and walked back. In the room, I thanked my lucky stars that Vivienne’s grandmothers aren’t forced to take care of her. Any time they spend with her is because they want to. I suppose I was brought up to think that any time spent with grandparents is bonus time. So one who doesn’t feel the same just threw me for a giant, spinning loop.

Just Ask My Mom

I am not sure why. Typically, these are just gifts from my parents. Not birthday or Christmas, but when gifts go beyond reason. I love getting presents. There just seems to be some sort of guilt that trails just behind them, where it gets close enough that I can smell it before it washes over me. Just when I get that first whiff, I start to unravel all the things I have done to deserve said gift and all the things that I have done or said to not. It is a battle within my head that cannot be won, just compartmentalized for later contemplation.

This month alone I have received so many gifts. Phil gave me a trip to London and to Amsterdam for our wedding anniversary, much of which was sponsored by other monetary gifts. My grandfather is funding the removal of a wall in the house; mom is making up for the rest. Dad just came down and gave some chairs to Phil for his new office; at least I didn�t have to feel too badly for that. But of course, then he stayed and bought us lunch.

I have many friends that have no problem dropping a few bucks here and there for a surprise gift. I often do the same. I am the person that will tell you there is no reason to reciprocate a gift from someone you don�t want to give something to. But if I was on the other end of the receiving, my gift conscience wouldn�t let me live with it. In fact, I quite enjoy giving gifts without the expectation of someone dropping money on me in return. I like the feeling it gives me to give them.

So why do I feel my chest start to get tighter every time mom throws down a credit card? I grew up with parents who had no problem paying for us to eat dinner out a lot, bought us new things all the time (my sister and I both got cars when we turned 16, I was lucky to be the younger one, as my car was new) and made sure we had most things we needed.

Maybe I am still not over the fact that I don�t think I was appreciative enough in my younger days when I was getting all these nice things. Lord knows I was more thankful than friends and my peers. I grew up in a school and neighborhood where everyone�s parents seemed to be coming into their own salaries. Many people my age were driving brand new cars and many of them were totaled or best up by the end of their first year. I wasn�t alone in having the nice car, but I was in my appreciation of it. I remember crying when I got it. I had no idea that I would be getting a brand new car. The GUILT!

My mom was telling me today that my inability to graciously accept a very generous gift is something that drives her nuts. But really, what is worse? My acceptance of every gift and always hoping for a little more or me feeling a little sick and a lot nervous watching the numbers on the cash register rise while purchasing some kid�s clothing?