New

We finally bit the bullet and got a new car. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. After much debate that occurred over a period of months, we settled on a 2009 Forester. Once that monumental decision was behind us, Jim spent a fair amount of time on the phone and interweb, pitting two competing dealers against each other. The salesmen tried every trick in the book, but in the end I feel like we won. We got the car for less than $1000 over invoice, including the $400 “dealer fee.” We didn’t pay a delivery fee, and they gave us a discount card that allows us to get the first oil change and every subsequent 4th oil change for free for the life of the car. Not bad considering the Forester was voted Motor Trend’s SUV of the year and was recently ranked the #1 small SUV by Consumer Reports.

We sold my car in a day on craigslist. Apparently used Subarus (even those that are 10+ years old) are a hot commodity in these parts.

I was a bit freaked out to drive the new car at first, but it has grown on me. The best part about it is the extra room. We don’t have to worry about smacking Max’s head on the top of the car when we’re trying to maneuver him into his carseat, and we can actually put the umbrella stroller and all the groceries in the trunk AT THE SAME TIME. Once we procure a wire screen we’ll be able to entertain the idea of toting the dogs and Max around simultaneously, something that was previously impossible, since the dogs are wont to bounce from one end of the car to another like furry ping pong balls.

Clockwork

StoryCorps on NPR makes me cry EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. It doesn’t matter if the story is happy, or sad, or funny. Same reaction. Every time.  I wonder what is going to be like for Max to grow up with a mom who is so easily moved to tears. Though I’m sure he’ll get to the point where he just rolls his eyes and thinks “There she goes again,” just like his dad does.

Back

There have been many factors contributing to my radio silence as of late. We traveled to Florida for Thanksgiving and Albuquerque for Christmas, and there was a lot of hectic working, shopping, living, etc. in between. Oh, and sickness. Max brought a cold home to the family in early December, and while he and Jim managed to recover fairly quickly, I did not. Or rather, I DID recover to some degree, and then took a steep downward turn when the cold mutated into a sinus infection and bronchitis. I went to urgent care before Christmas after the coughing rendered me essentially voiceless, but the doctor thought I should wait things out for a while sans antibiotics. So I loaded up on cough syrup with codeine and night and tried to tough it out, but finally lost patience earlier this week and returned to my regular nurse practitioner to get a script for amoxicillin. So now in addition to all the unattractive hacking and snorting I’m sick to my stomach, but I’m hoping to take a turn for the better soon.

The good news is that while I’ve been whiling away the hours with tissues clutched firmly in hand, Max has been transforming by leaps and bounds. He finally mastered the army crawl shortly before we left for New Mexico, and has started pulling himself up and generally running amok with much glee. He has been saying “mama” and “dada” on a somewhat regular basis for a while, and had almost mastered “dog” and “cat” before he recently developed a fascination with the term “dat.” We’re not sure if it’s a dog/cat hybrid (since our pets are the objects that seem to inspire the most enthusiasm and insistent pointing), if he’s saying “that,” or if it’s just nonsensical babble.  Either way, we’re pretty amused. I overhead a conversation between Max and Jim yesterday that went something like this:

“Dat?”
“That’s a LIGHT.”
“Dat.”
“LIGHT. La-la-la-LIGHT”
“Dat.”
“LLLLLLLLLLLIIIIGGGHHT. It’s a LIGHT, little man.”
“Dat.”
“Well OK, then it’s a dat light.”

In other news, despite the faltering economy 2009 is shaping up to be a year of big purchases for us. It’s time to replace my car, and we’re in the market for a new television so we can retire our antiquated, monstrous beast of a TV. We’re also hoping to make our living room more child friendly and rethink the bookshelf situation in the office. This all means lots of comparison shopping and a lot of searching to find furniture that meets our aesthetic requirements AND budget. Not an easy task.

Sandwiched between all the “to do’s” I’m still trying to find time for creative pursuits and reading my way through a stack of books I have in the queue. There never seems to be enough time for everything I want to accomplish.

Anywho, here’s a montage of images from our recent travels, holiday celebrations, first haircut travails, and developmental milestones.

E-I-E-I oh REALLY?

One of the sessions at our recent company retreat was led by a psychologist who teaches firms how to improve their internal communications through Jungian typing. In the weeks leading up to the seminar we all had to take the Myers-Briggs assessment. I have been typed before and have always been an INFJ. The letters represent different personality aspects, but the pertinent letter to this discussion is the first one—the “I”. It stands for “introvert”. No surprise there.

So imagine my shock when I opened the sealed envelope (our test results were kept secret until a pivotal point in the seminar) and discovered that I tested as an ENFJ. The results were presented on a continuum, so I could see that I was just barely in “E” territory. But still, an “E”? Ridiculous! How dare some stupid test try and tell me that I’m extroverted, even a little bit!

I was outraged.

My coworker (who scored solidly in the “I” range) started giving me a hard time because I was so annoyed. And it was kind of funny, that such a dumb thing like that would set me off. I guess I have always always imagined myself as the brooding, observant, artistic type who always has her nose in a book. And while that is true to some extent, if I’m willing to be open-minded about things I suppose I have become more social in the last few years. More open, less internal. Don’t get me wrong—you will never find me chatting up strangers at a party. But I do manage to put myself out there more than I used to.

Still. An “E”? I happen to love people who are extroverted because it’s less work to be around them. They tend to be of the energetic, get-things-done variety, and I appreciate that. But I just don’t see myself in that category.

It felt like a good time to take advantage of the fact that Jim and I work together. During a break I stalked over to him and yelled “I’m an ‘E’!” pointing furiously at the manilla envelope. He was amused. It turns out that he is an INTP. So . . . pretty much my polar opposite. I grabbed his report and he started to read mine. The descriptions were very thorough, and I have to admit it felt a bit like we were getting away with something: free marriage counseling. “So THAT’S why you drive me crazy sometimes,” I muttered, reviewing our “P” vs. “J” scores.

I’m still coming to terms with my E-ness. I have to believe I will never venture into deep “E” territory, but I guess I’m willing to admit—if not embrace—the fact that I have more social skills than I’ve given myself credit for in the past.

And now I’m extra curious to see how Max’s personality develops. I’ve always assumed that any child of ours would have be introverted, but who knows? I also thought he’d end up with brown eyes and I was wrong about that. Is it possible for an “I” and an “I”-leaning “E” to have an “E”? At the moment the little man is pretty quiet and dreamy. He’s quick to laugh, but will also spend a good chunk of time concentrating on a single toy or intently studying a book. So I think “I” is a safe bet. Not that I’m biased. Ahem.

Closure

I went back to my OB again on Friday (my 9th appointment in 8 weeks) and I’m beyond pleased to report that I am finally whole. At my previous appointment she had suggested taping the wound shut to see if it would close on its own. I was all for such an experiment because I’d had just about enough of the gauze routine (as had Nurse Jim). And the plan actually worked. All hail the miraculous powers of adhesive!

Leaving the doctor’s office without having to make another appointment felt completely surreal. I almost started crying with relief, but decided that would be overly dramatic. So I pulled it together and merrily pushed Max’s stroller out to the parking lot, practically skipping with elation.

I can’t properly express how fantastic it is to no longer be a patient. Because before the seroma there was the pregnancy. And before that there was two and a half years of infertility treatments. So I could stand a little vacation from doctors. Not that they aren’t great and all, but seriously. Enough already.

No grace under pressure

After a series of minor mishaps over the Thanksgiving weekend, it has become clear to me that I perform very poorly under pressure. I used to think I had a decent head of my shoulders, but apparently that is no longer the case. Now the best I can manage in a crisis is jumping up and down and yelling for help. And now for the trail of evidence:

STRIKE ONE
When we pulled into my parents’ garage after a relatively uneventful trip from Denver (aside from the cage-match-quality dog wrestling that Banjo & Rooster engaged in for no less than 2 hours of the drive) I breathed a big sigh of relief. I’m not big on road trips to begin with, and sitting for 7 hours in my present “condition” is less than comfortable. We said our hellos and dragged some of us stuff into the house and then returned to the garage to get the rest of our gear. That’s when I noticed that the garage was full of smoke. It occurred to me that the car might actually be on fire.

At that point I started yelling for help. I didn’t open the garage door or anything that might actually make sense. I just started yelling. Help quickly appeared and my dad (who is always cool in times of trouble) raised the garage door while Jim started to investigate. I was still standing several yards away, jumping up and down and yelling “I think it’s on fire! I think it’s on fire!”

As it turns out, it wasn’t. We didn’t discover the root of the problem until the following day (a leaky oil pump) but it clearly wasn’t a fire, and I clearly overreacted.

STRIKE TWO
I was just starting to calm down after the false fire alarm when we had another brush with disaster. After eating dinner and some delicious pie, I let Banjo out into my parents’ backyard. It didn’t occur to me that he was unfamiliar with their sliding glass door. So unfamiliar, that when he came sprinting back to the house, he didn’t bother to stop. He plowed smack into the door, nose first. I saw the whole thing and I was convinced he’d done irreparable harm, like maybe smashed his nose or neck or who knows what else.

So I started yelling. And jumping up and down. And insisting that Jim pick Banjo up and check for missing/broken parts. Meanwhile Banjo had stopped yelping and seemed to be just fine. But I still spent the next few hours watching him closely for signs of concussion and lamenting the fact that I had failed to pull the screen door shut in front of the glass so he could have avoided such a cruel fate.

STRIKE THREE
I’ve always been a little afraid of pressure cookers. Despite their wonderful quick-cooking abilities, they seem menacing with their tight seals and their loud steam and their cautionary warnings about cooling them down properly before opening. In fact, I had been bugging my mom to replace her pressure cooker for a couple of years because it was a bit leaky and that doesn’t work well with the whole “pressure” concept.

She ignored me, of course. She seems to have a sentimental attachment to pots and pans. Anyway, when she threw some potatoes into the aged cooker while we were making Thanksgiving dinner, for once I only had a mild sense of dread. I figured it’s worked before, it will work again. That is, until 15 minutes later when the pot started spewing hot water uncontrollably and making a horrible noise. That’s when I pulled out my favorite trick. I started jumping up and down and yelling for help. Do you see a common thread here? I could have reached over and turned off the stove but instead I stood there screaming “Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!” as my mom calming grabbed a pot holder and moved the bubbling mess over to a burner that wasn’t in use.

Needless to say the pot was hastily retired and I had the final proof that I’m completely worthless in a crisis situation. Three strikes, I’m OUT!

How can this be? I was a lifeguard in high school. I saved kids from drowning on a few of different occasions. And when I was in college I stopped at the scene of a messy car accident and helped out with some basic first aid. What has become of me? What’s going to happen if a few years from now our kid falls and breaks his arm? Am I just going to stand there and yell? I really need to get a grip. Maybe I should have Jim create some mock emergencies so I can practice my reactions. Because I’m starting to feel seriously pathetic.

Whew!

My dad’s tests all went well. The bone scan showed that there are no additional spots of cancer, and the ones that are there have shrunk a bit. The CAT scan was clear. They’re not sure why the PSA number went up a bit, but it basically means that he still has cancer. And since we’ve already been told (on numerous occasions) that his advanced prostate cancer is pretty much incurable, that part wasn’t a surprise. It’s just the keeping-it-under-control part that the doctors are trying to focus on now. So they’re going to try a new medication that is supposed to keep the PSA in check. Fingers tightly crossed.

Nervous

My dad’s PSA level went up two points, so he and my mom headed back down to MD Anderson this week to have all his tests redone. We’ll find out the results tomorrow. If they tell him he needs another round of chemo (which would be his third) it will be quite a blow.

All I can do now is keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best. I hate feeling so helpless.