spherical frictionless chicken
In physics, complex problems are often “solved” by oversimplification. The closest reference I can find for the phrase DJ and I use as shorthand is a joke from The Big Bang Theory:
There was a farmer and his chickens stopped laying eggs. He called in a physicist to help. After a few days the physicist came back and said, “Good news, I know how to solve the problem, but only for a spherical chicken in a vacuum.”
(Somewhat related: I am still angry about learning the Ideal Gas Law only to find out that it’s not actually true. Spherical frictionless chicken.)
I never intended to make a birth plan, because when do things ever go according to plan? Still, I have a list of wants and wishes just like anyone else. Recently I realized I can oversimplify this process. I can make a plan for the unlikely case where everything goes perfectly. Spherical frictionless chicken.
I’ve begun to work out my return-to-work plan with my boss. I work for a big company, it’s good to start early. I also want them to know I’m very interested in returning to work, and so far my boss is very supportive of my overplanning. The HR paperwork asks for dates. I won’t know the exact dates until I go on leave and don’t know some important childcare variables. For now, spherical frictionless chicken.
My sister contacted me last week. It’s complicated, but despite my efforts to assume the worst she gave me good reasons to try again. I feel stupidly like a jilted ex, saying that this time things will be better. Although I do hope things will be better. I’m still afraid of what could happen if I’m wrong, but the known variables say things have changed. Plan for the unlikely case everything goes perfectly, accept the unknowns. Spherical frictionless chicken.
if you can wait and not be tired by waiting
Everyone says that the first trimester is for exhaustion and digestive woes. Everyone says that, but not until you’re already pregnant. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention. The first wave of teeth-aching tiredness was a complete surprise. I’ve been asleep for the better part of two months. My thirtieth birthday came and went, celebrated with a party full of friends and a nap. It’s starting to lift, but it’s a rare day I’m awake past 9:30.
That could be complaining but in this case is not. This baby was unlikely, although planned as much as you can plan an unlikely baby. In February I registered for the Chicago marathon to keep myself occupied. I ran like that was the goal, because it might have been the one I met. It won’t be. We were so lucky. The ultrasound tech illuminated one thing after another, paused to comment on something that shouldn’t have worked and did. Then there was the heartbeat. Later, sticking the ultrasound printout to the refrigerator, I realized they’d spelled my name wrong.
Before I turned thirty I renewed my driver’s license. The man taking the photos was on his own schedule, and he frowned at his first attempt. You’re not going to like that. Smile more. Put your chin down. Think about something happy. I thought about that heartbeat. The resulting photo is one of the best ever taken of me.
Around eight weeks my mom said something I interpreted as “you’re getting chubby.” (Not her words at all, the interpretation was unfair.) I moped through my day feeling unattractive. The next night I stopped at the grocery store looking for pickled ginger, and in the Asian foods aisle a nice man flirted with me. That doesn’t happen often, I am a special combination of shy and standoffish. Still, this maybe-chubby babyhouse enjoyed the attention.
Not that I’m lacking for attention. DJ has transitioned perfectly from “you look the same, but nice rack” to “I see it, but just in the baby area.” He’s indulged my watermelon addiction and taken on most of the chores while I slept the summer away. I’m glad my kid will have him as a dad. He’s going to be great at it.
I always thought I would take weekly photos, but I haven’t yet. I don’t like myself in pictures unless Kim (or apparently the DMV guy) takes them. I don’t want a picture of the way I look right now, I want one of how I feel. Excited and terrified and happy that none of my pants fit. So, hello again. Maybe this thing is that thing.
/If, Rudyard Kipling
someone to love
Best one.
Shortest one.
Newest one.
Scheduled to arrive during blizzard season 2012.
mille bourne
Believe it or not, I’m on track for my thousand miles. I’ve run 390.3 so far, which is right about where I should be. It’s been mostly uneventful.
Last Saturday I ran/jogged along a new-to-me trail for 11 miles, under leafy trees and hazy blue sky. Right now the weather in/near Chicago is perfect for running if you can avoid the storms. A few days ago I met up with Kid A intending to run, but we ended up mostly walking and talking. Then ordered pizza, so: fail.
photos :: 365
I know I’ve been taking my sweet time showing off these shiny shiny dressers and the new bed. The room just hasn’t come together yet, so how about a close crop with the wagging back end of a happy corgi?
Somber front end. Stop doing that and plaaay wiiiiith meeeee.
Here’s a corner of the new bed. The headboard. It’s finally put together and we’re actually sleeping on it, but there’s a catch. We’re waiting for our new king size mattress, and meanwhile our old queen mattress is surrounded by a moat of plywood and upholstery. So, more close angles.
I got the itch to throw stuff away while moving furniture, and ended up pitching my collected works of Martha Stewart. I’ve been telling myself to stop being such a hoarder, that it’s better to rip out the things I love than to keep six linear feet of magazines just in case. I’m working on it, but at least I’m lighter by a few years of back issues.
DJ brought these home as I was working in our mini garden. I have a black thumb, my garden won’t yield this many flowers all summer.
This is also an acceptable way to drink Fresca. I’m on a Fresca bender right now. Also, my sad beat-up running feet. Earned them.
May 25th was an excellent day. Every year my job has an awards ceremony, and this year I was nominated for the first time. I won! I’m a sucker, I love that my job gave me a trophy. I haven’t earned a trophy since 4-H. Or maybe band. Oh man, and now this one is for science. What. A. Nerd.
photo :: 365
Sky blue sky.
Every so often my mom will ask what those green things are on top of the fridge. Balls, I tell her. Balls! This is still funny to me, and I’m almost thirty.
DJ and I went to Atlanta to see one of his friends get married. It was a really beautiful wedding with just the right amount of crying. I left my camera at the hotel for the wedding because I feel rude taking pictures if I haven’t been given permission. The ceremony was late afternoon, so we spent some time wandering Atlanta neighborhoods during the day. My internet-retired friend Lass sent us to Poncey-Highland where I found this sign. Along with a perfect cappucino, orange blossom gelato, and some antique stores. At the end of the trip this was the only picture. I know.
We came home to a very excited Ignatius J. Reilly, who had spent the weekend giving my mom puppydog eyes for treats. I think he’s better behaved for her than for anyone else.
Fresca in a wine glass.
Inevitable. I do not eventually put my things away.
Bristles.
photo :: 365
Greenery! It really did feel like a long winter. Right around the beginning of May I started drinking Fresca out of our balloon wine glasses. With ice. DJ thinks it’s really weird, and if not for the ice I think he’d be pretty worried about my lunchtime drinking habits.
Rainy off and on. Or was this a day when the sprinklers were out? That’s what I get for waiting two weeks between shot and upload.
Circles. As part of the bed building project I bought a 50 yard spool of gray grosgrain ribbon. This is what’s left over.
This thing was that thing.
Another repeat. On purpose. I love how the color is so different.
The bed project is part of a whole lot of furniture moving and changing. It’s taken so much longer than I thought it would. I underestimated every part of the process, but I liked the way the process looked. Everything here is waiting to be moved. Our in-transition mattress on the floor is low enough for a snuggly corgi to find his way between his sleeping people and pass out belly-up. Yes, that is the picture to take. But I haven’t found a way yet.
p.s. I’m ok now. Thank you. Nothing is different, but I’m ok.
photo :: 365
Silver leaf remains. I procrastinated on throwing away the spent papers because I liked them. This is how a hoarding problem happens, I suppose.
That dog. Always looking worried and suspicious, curling up in small spaces. You’d think we beat him. We definitely do not beat him. He may have been avoiding a snuggle here, though.
More tulips. If Trader Joe’s keeps selling them I will be forced to keep buying them. No peonies yet. I keep waiting.
I’ve been reading A Game of Thrones. DJ was re-reading the books while we were on vacation, preparing to watch the HBO series. Giving my vacation reading the side-eye (Water for Elephants, Quarantine, Middlesex, and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo) he insisted I would not be interested, that they were Boy Books. Well, he was wrong. I like things about political intrigue, dragons, zombies, pet wolves and escapist scenery.
Wine from our travels, stacked in a guest bedroom bookshelf. Part of the reason why we’re out of space for books. In a time-passes kind of way I’m shocked that we’ve already enjoyed some of our special occasion bottles. Bad news, promotions, new jobs, one anniversary. I do like seeing shelves stacked with future special occasions.
That’s a photo of a very young DJ with his paternal grandmother. I never had the chance to meet her, but by all accounts she just adored DJ. And who wouldn’t.
Short dog blog. He has such a wonderful velvety head. (The spam comments I will have to moderate…)
photo :: 365
Corgicopter view. I’ve heard people say that dogs don’t really smile, but come on. That is a dog smile, right?
Taking pictures of your shoes is pretty self-absorbed. But these shoes fall under two of my life categories: Shiny Things and I Do Not Put My Things Away. Also, I’m fairly self-absorbed.
A while ago I decided to make some minor bad decisions before I turned thirty. The weekend disco nail is one. For a minute I thought about calling it my Nail of Sadness and terrifying my friends and (remaining) family – but no. It’s just for fun and easily removed with acetone. In the mug, lemon green tea. Good stuff. Not as good as hot chocolate, but good.
I want to stain it black.
You guys, we’re building a bed! From lumber and prayers, apparently.
Bed. Some assembly required.
I think the technical term for this is nightstandscape.
In a half hour this will be dinner.
