The picture

There's, like, a baby in there.

Tweets

All the tweets I wish I could be sending during the first trimester...

3/7/11: After barely choking down dry cherios this am, I ate an entire panini for lunch without rushing to the bathroom. Go ahead and try to ruin my day now because IT'S NOT POSSIBLE after this victory.

3/8/11: I think I have to name this baby Giovani, because all I want to eat is pizza, chicken parma, and pasta with marinara sauce.

3/12/11: After not running a 4 mile race, eating two bagels and doing the exhausting errand of driving through the ATM, I took a nap. Then ate nachos. Very productive day.

3/13/11: Items not on grocery list that ended up in cart: mint choco chip ice cream, frozen pizza, cheetos & marshmallow fluff.

3/17/11: Is it too early for an empanada? (It's 9:45 a.m. On St. Patrick's Day.)

3/18/11: Had to unfollow @eatthisnotthat because preggo me eats EVERYTHING they say not to.

3/20/11: Baby's name officially changed from Giovani to Julio. Puked on tomato sauce last week, but have eaten tacos/ nachos/ quesadilla or just corn chips every day since.




3/31/11: 11 weeks today. They say the nauseousness only lasts the first trimester. So only 7 more days, right? RIGHT!?!?!?!

4/4/11 Had to unbutton my jeans at the dinner table. Dang.

4/5/11: Dear Body: It would really, really mean a lot to me if I wear my own clothes just 3 more days, so I could say I didn't need maternity wear the entire first trimester. It's vain, I know. But please.

4/6/11: Wishful thinking, and really bad math. There's still weeks left of this trimester. Dang it. Pass the nachos.

My first weekend "out"

(April 18)

This was kinda my first weekend "out" about the pregnancy. Well, I guess not totally -- I told my siblings and aunts when I saw them a few weeks ago, and a few friends have known when I've hung out with them.

But this was my first weekend telling a bunch of people I wasn't close with, talking about it openly, and, well, frankly, taking advantage of every bit of sympathy and help I could get.

I was helping a friend on a cool project and it took me out of town. I spent the weekend with people I'd likely never see again, or who under no conceivable way could spread the word of my pregnancy back to work before I could (tomorrow, I hope, I can get some time to break the news. At this point, it's ridiculous.). So I felt no reservations coming clean when at lunch the first day, the three I was with ordered salads -- two of them vegan -- and I ordered stuffed grilled cheese (complete with thick Texas toast, two kinds of cheese, fried onions and avocado) and french fries. Or when, in a hot room, I moved the chair I was sitting in next to an open doorway for more air and someone joked (but not really) that we were going to get busted for breaking firecode and I said flatly, "let me deal with the firemen if they get here. I'm pregnant, I'm hot, and I'm hungry. And I'm not moving" (but I smiled afterwards). Or when I unabashedly just skipped out on planned group activities because I felt like napping instead.

I liked it. It was kind of nice. It was all, "I'm not really going to do something I don't want to do, and I don't care if I'm using this baby as an excuse. I'm using it."

I think I could get used to that part.

Welcome to the Club

(April 5, 2011)

We had a tragedy in the family this weekend. When I heard about it on Saturday night, I was sad. I was disappointed. I felt awful for David and Lauren.

But I went on with my evening plans.

I woke Sunday morning and laid in bed for a while, thinking. Still the peripheral, "that's such a shame," but with an added element of "what can I do?" So when Mike groggily rolled over and asked what I had planned for the day, I had a lot: I was going to grocery shop not just for dinner tonight but for several days worth for Lauren (and Barb, who was coming down to stay for the week with her). I was going to make a big meal that could be dropped off at their house tonight, and prep Monday night's dinner for them. Maybe I'd make a pie if I had time.

And that's exactly how I spent my day, sitting when I could, but letting the exhaustion of doing something distract me. I focused on the check list.

We packed up the groceries, pulled the sausage and meatballs off the stove, and headed over. I was naively unprepared.

I walked in, not yet "showing," but definitely bigger than my pre-pregnancy self. I hugged Lauren. Then I embraced her. Then I clung to her, like I've never done before.

What washed over me was an unexpected flood of sorrow, grief, relief, guilt, fear and so much more. It was like hitting a wall, or a wall hitting me. It was an electric shock. I couldn't breath.

It was my first true realization: I am a member of this club now.

I couldn't sleep Sunday night. I blamed it on the exhaustion. On the fact that every muscle in my body ached (hey, trips to two different malls, grocery shopping for two families, a formal-attire party with lots of small talk, and a day in the kitchen is a lot in a weekend for a woman in her first trimester). I went to work on Monday and went through the motions. I felt numb. I left "early" at 5:30 p.m., and sat through an hour and a half of Cherry Blossom traffic.

At 15th and E, in front of the Hotel Washington, and about 35 minutes into the drive, I began to cry. By 15th and Pennsylvania, it was a good thing the traffic was barely crawling, because I couldn't see anything through the streaming tears. By the time I finally got home, they were body-shaking, out-loud, hide-my-head-in-a-pillow, sobs.

I am a member of this club, now. And I am scared to death.

Will it ever be about more than complaining?

(March 24)

So, there's going to be a time when I'm writing about -- thinking about -- onesies and nursery decor and maternity clothe shopping and snuggly soft things.

Right?

I mean, I wrote that as a declarative sentence, but I think I really mean it as a question. Because right now I am still solely and singly obsessed with food.

No, no, that's not true. I'm also obsessed with sleeping. I can't wait to get to bed every night. And I abhor waking up. I've started planning weekends around napping. I dream of falling asleep right here at my desk.

At least, I hope I'm dreaming, because it's possible this drool is real.

After bragging to Terry last night that I was eating really well (as in, copious amounts of food, although none of them particularly healthy, but HEY! I took and kept down a pre-natal vitamin the past two days, so that's something, right?) and only felt mildly hung over, I go and barf again this morning. No warning, no saliva down the back of the throat, just holy shit I hope I can get to the toilet before this come out of my mouth.

In other words, I'm not glowing.

Oh, and as an added bonus, the weekly email I get from a pregnancy site that tells you what's going on with the baby and that I usually look forward to brought the lovely news that not only is my uterus the size of a grapefruit right now (sexy and svelte, no?), but it compared the baby to a kumquat.

Those are downright fighting words. Who are you calling a kumquat? Do you know what a kumquat is? I didn't, I had to look it up on wikipedia (they could have just said it was the size of an olive, sheesh), but "kumquat" immediately congers to mind thoughts of hairy Lockness monster type monsters. 

Where are the cute onesies and soft and cuddly things in a kumquat?

Like there's something else to blog about

(March 15)

Mike called me out for not-posting last night, and I'm sure Joe is about to post up here any day doing the same (that's mighty presumptuous of me.). But what else can I even pretend is going on right now to blog about?

I work, and then I come home and impersonate a zombie.

I don't like the idea of blogging about work, even less so here at this job than at my old one. I tried to figure that reasoning last night, and I think it might come down to this being an agency job -- I have several different clients, and the work we do for them is never promoted as OUR work. We're just the ghost behind the client. So even when I do something really cool or really funny, it's like it's not my story to tell. At least at my old job, there was only one company, I was publicly a part of that company, and anything that I did in the communications realm we wanted to get out there.

Now it just seems like a violation of sorts.

So I work, work, work, then I come home and scrape up the energy to fix myself dinner (to clarify so that doesn't sound like a dig on Mike -- he, unfortunately for him, is left to fend for himself for dinner. What actually sounds appetizing on any given night to eat varies, so I generally end up going to the grocery store on my way home. The settled upon food -- I won't go so far as to say meal -- is always very carb-heavy, so he doesn't join in. He actually asked me this morning on my way out the door what I wanted to eat for dinner and I looked at him like he had three heads. That's 10 hours away! How am I supposed to know!?!).

After eating and washing up from dinner, I sit on the couch like a pro. Occasionally I can put a load of laundry in. But it's generally too much energy to do the laundry and fold the laundry on the same day.

Well, then, hot damn, it's 9:15 p.m. and I'm about to start drooling right there on the couch, so I crawl into bed. The great news there is that I fall asleep like a champ. The bad news is, I also wake up 8 times in the middle of the night like one, too.

Sunday was a particularly great example of my zombie-like behavior. I woke, took a walk (yay, Spring!!! And, quiet frankly, I'm sorry David and Lauren, but I ADORE daylight saving time. You two keep tweeting like it's the devil out to get us, and I have to disagree.), and drove down to Old Town to get myself a Cosi bagel because a Cosi bagel was all I wanted. Not the Dunkin' Donuts I passed, or the two grocery stores, or the Whole Foods, or the Breugers... Just the Cosi.

You can imagine how exhausting all that was, so I needed an hour on the couch. I scraped up the resolve to hit the grocery store, and then, well, that deserved the next 7 hours on the couch. During which time the rest of my nutrition for the day consisted of a half a bag of Cheetos and an ice cream sundae. Yup, that was my dinner.

And since watching two of my all time favorite movies (Legally Blonde AND Ocean's 11!!) took so much attention... it was off to bed at 9 p.m.

This, people, is why I'm not blogging. 

Beige

(Really, March 6)

I hope you all aren't getting mad at me now. I'm not posting because, really, people, what could I possibly post about except the fact that I'm pregnant?

Not only because it's HUGE, but because every fiber of my being is focused on it. The things I'm doing -- laying on the couch, puking -- aren't exactly things I can talk to you all about yet. I had a bit of minor major freakout yesterday morning after the doctor's appointment. Not because of what happened at the appointment per say, but because I started to think about all this stuff that I hadn't been thinking about or planning before... was this the right doctor for me? What about the hospital? Should I change my doctor if I don't like the hospital? How do I know about the hospital before I have a doctor? Should the doctor be downtown or close to home? But if the doctor is downtown, the hospital will be downtown and will that be difficult to get to when it's time?!?! WHAT THE HELL HAVE I BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST TWO WEEK'S THAT I'VE KNOWN I WAS PREGNANT?!?!?!?!

The answer to that, of course, was that the first week I knew I was pregnant I mourned my dog. We took this new piece of mind-blowing information, put it in a box, and buried it in the corner.

Then, the second week I knew I was pregnant, I spent the entire week thinking about -- or trying not to think about -- food. What could I eat, what couldn't I eat, what should I eat, why couldn't I keep what I was eating down, and holy hell, all I want are complex carbohydrates and SALT.

(Oh, one more thought this week: I really wish I could have been tweeting. Yes, they would have all been snarky and sarcastic, but for example, right now -- "So far on today's menu? 3/4 of a box of Cheese Its. That's how I roll.")

Yes, you read that correctly. Cheese Its. Almost an entire box. And it's 2:32 p.m. I'm quite positive I will be done the box before the night is over.

I have also eaten this week: french fries every day, three sleeves of a box of Saltines, Tostitos, Honey Nut Cherios, and a grilled cheese sandwich. Notice anything there? BEIGE. My entire week has been brought to you by the color beige and the number 7 weeks.

It's disgusting to think about. I'm already planning my post-baby-pop-out workouts.

Oh! Good news though, is that I found this:

Ginger Beer. I've been on the look out for it since realizing that Ginger Ale, doesn't really have any ginger. But foreign ginger "beer" (non alcoholic, no worries) does. I had ginger beer for the first time at Vi's wedding, where someone brought Australian ginger beer. This one was at Harris Teeter and is from Jamaica. 26 grams of real ginger root per bottle. And it's fizzy and carbonated, and I can't tell you why fizzy and carbonated are soooo much desired. It just, is.

Thank heavens.

The power of the mind

Another update written and saved before posting... writing on March 4...

It's amazing what the power of the mind can do. Specifically, what just thinking about something, particularly somethings that I usually eat in HUGE quantities, can turn your stomach. A physical reaction to the thought of eggs... or hummus... or nuts... it's unreal.

Also, so that you all know, the past two days have been brought to you by the color beige, as in Saltines, baked lays, Ginger Ale, and bread.

Please don't kick me out of the primal club, just stick with me another 8 months.

Morning Sickness

By now, I have posted about being pregnant. I'm sure I posted about how thrilled I am, what a surprise, oh what a blessing, blah, blah, blah crap.

It is 8:20 a.m. on Wednesday, March 3rd, you see, and I haven't actually written that post yet. Nor am I going to publish this post for at least another month. But in order to be true to you, my dear friends, I feel I need to write this post now. Surely (oh, God, PLEASE, please for all your goodness, PLEASE) I won't feel the same way in a month, and therefore won't do this post justice, just thinking back on how I feel today.

Because I feel like shit.

It is by far the most over-used statement in these early weeks of pregnancy, but I'll say it again anyway: morning sickness is in no way confined to the morning. It is all day, feeling like you're going to barf, being nauseated by the mere mention of your previously favorite foods. Feeling hung-over, that's what it's like. Only you didn't have fun last night -- you crawled into bed at 9:00 p.m. and were drooling a waterfall before 9:01. When I can get up the nerve to eat, all I want are fried, salty foods. Like french fries or potato chips. Really, really crispy french fries.

This, coming from someone who has been primal for a year. I haven't had as many complex carbohydrates in the past year combined as I have eaten in the past three days. Monday and Tuesday for lunch,  I ate two snack bags of Baked Lays. Then french fries for dinner.

This morning, on the way to work, I stopped at the grocery store and bought a box of Saltines. I am almost through one entire sleeve -- of course, with the crackers on my desk, with a napkin on top to hide the evidence. I also bought a BIG bag of Baked Lays, and I expect that to be my lunch.

And talk about work. You try to concentrate on meetings when all you can think about is how awful you feel. How that person next to you really doesn't need to wear that much cologne. How you'd arm wrestle for that cup of coffee across the table from you, but, no, you can't have it.

Caffeine and alcohol have been interesting in these short few weeks. So far the alcohol thing hasn't bothered me -- makes sense, really. When you wake up hung over, do you want to reach for a glass of wine?

But, goodness, what I wouldn't do for a Diet Coke. A tall, cold, Diet Coke.

Instead, I'll stick to my decaffeinated, non-herbal, non-sweetened tea, thank you very much. Can't you just see me glowing?

Forget working out, at least right now. I've walked a few mornings, and I'm trying to keep up doing my squat routine once a week, and work my biceps and back muscles at least once a week. But a walk on the treadmill at 3.2 speed for 2 miles isn't going to burn off all these damn french fries. Bye-bye, too, my days of chin ups and pull ups.

So, yes, I am complaining. This nausea will go away, and the happiness will return, and I won't even remember these days when I feel the baby kick for the first time. Which is why I'm archiving this post today, because I do want you, my dear friends, to know that this sucks.

I Have a Really, Really Good Excuse This Time

Did you wait for me? I know I didn’t ask you to, but I’m wondering if you did anyway. My “second incarnation as a blogger,” as Mr. J.B. put it, was fairly short lived. But I have a really, really good excuse as to why.

I’m pregnant.

Close your mouth, sit down, take a deep breath. I know. It’s pretty hard for me to fathom myself.

This was not expected to say the least. Not “tried” for, because that stopped years ago when it became apparent we were not to be, well, parents. This wasn’t even a possibility on the radar screen.

I started a new job, I was (am) incredibly stressed, and yet, there ya go.

I myself am still in the “shock and awe” phase, although slowly evolving into the actual believing phase (more on that in a minute), and knowing that I’ll rapidly be in the “holy shit, I have so much to do!” phase very, very soon.

I have, despite the lack of evidence so far on this blog, actually been blogging. I just haven’t been hitting the “publish” button. Over the next several days I’ll publish posts from the past month, although I’m fairly certain those of you with weak stomachs might not want to read them. Because my stomach has been weakest of all, and I can summarize the posts thus: “I got sick. A lot. Yet was obsessed with food. A lot. And then I got sick some more.”




Even if you have a strong stomach, you may want to take a pass. I told a friend earlier this week and his reaction was, "Oh, great. Now every status update on Facebook is going to be about gross bodily things. Please. Don't." 


I'll try to refrain. But, this is my blog after all. So, you gotta deal with it here.

The pregnancy discovery happened, of all places, in Las Vegas. It was when I was there with Mike and my brother, and although we went out on Thursday night and had a blast, Friday my late period was nagging on me. You people all know I’m punctual. Well, all of me is punctual.

“What the heck,” I thought. “I’ll take a test, it’ll come back negative, and I can enjoy the rest of the weekend without another thought. Surely it’s just the stress and long hours and lack of sleep that’s disrupting my schedule.”

I walked to the Walgreens at the Venetian, purchased a two-pack (thinking the entire time, “what a waste. I have to pay for two when all I want is one.”), and went into the Grand Canal shops to find a restroom. I didn’t want the evidence in the hotel room, after all, when I knew it’d be negative.

So I took the test. I played Words with Friends, checked Twitter, wasn’t overly stressed. Until I looked at the stick.

Pregnant

“No. Fucking. Way.”

I grabbed the bottled of water in my bag, gulped it down entirely, and peed again, praising the smart packaging companies for putting two in a box because surely, surely, this one was faulty.

It wasn’t.

I contemplated going back to Walgreens for another two-pack, but, shit, Mike was going to start making me cut back on my spending, like, immediately when he hears this news.

Speaking of Mike, he was in the Venetian also, in a poker tournament, and doing quite well. By the time I composed myself enough to leave the restroom, he had actually left the tournament on a break, to run over to the room at the Mirage to change. He thought he’d play up until he ran out of chips, and that might mean he met my brother and I late for dinner.

When I arrived at the room, Mike was rushing about to make it back to the Venetian tourney, and I stopped him. Told him there was some news that might change the way the evening went, and I presented, The Stick. Both of them.

His actions the rest of the night are a blur, and he’ll have to describe them in more detail, but they involved him going back to the Venetian to lose his chips, instead winning a boatload in 10 minutes, coming back to the room to meet me and my brother, dinner (yes, we told Terry. Kinda obvious when I’m not drinking, ya think?), then all of us went back to the tournament where he just couldn’t pay attention, or, apparently, lose. He actually ended up staying in until they paused the tournament for the night and restarted it again the next day.

I pretty much spent the rest of the evening sick to my stomach, and not because of pregnancy symptoms. Of course there was joy and relief and praising and happiness. But there was also that shock and awe that I mentioned, the fear, the worry, and the utter I’m-completely-out-of-my-league-ness.

I wish I could say the rest of the weekend was spent in joy and baby clothes shopping, but our good news was quickly overshadowed by bad – Goldie was dying. To say I knew it would happen is much, much too strong. But my belief in the universe needing to make room for the new, my utter conviction that the ending of a life and the beginning of a life are connected, meant that I wasn’t surprised when Kristy called on Saturday morning. He gives, and He takes away.

Goldie’s death meant the pregnancy was almost the elephant in the room for the next week. Neither Mike nor I could process both events happening together.

But nature continued it’s course, and soon we were forced to put aside our grief and focus on this new life. Yes, for beautiful, moving, faith-filled and loving reasons. That, and, because the puking started.

So, you see, what could I blog about? I work 10-12 hours a day, plus commuting time. I arrive home and I am a mound of uselessness, just overcome with exhaustion. I don’t like the idea of posting about work, and then, I’m pregnant. What else, really, could I post about?

Keep reading to see – there aren’t many, and they aren’t Pulitzer-deserving. But the posts over the next few days are how the first 14 weeks of my pregnancy progressed.

Welcome to my third incarnation as a blogger. A freakin' mommy blogger. 

Charlie Brown

Saturday was a super-special day.

After hearing so many incredible stories about Kristin's horse, Charlie Brown, we finally got to meet him. I must say, he lived up to the hype.

Mike, Kristin, Robert and I drove out to the barn in Maryland, interrupting Charlie's breakfast and his social hour with the other horses. But he was most gracious in letting us bring him in and groom him, showing off his first trick of the day -- the "I won't move even if I'm not on any kind of lead and everyone walks away unless Kristin tells me to" trick.

Kristin took him into the arena to show us even more tricks, like turning in a circle while crossing his legs, and I kept wanting to shout and clap and cheer, but, you know, horses and loud noises, not so much.

Here's Kristin, in her glory, although also in absolutely awful pictures (see, that's how excited I was):

And the barn didn't just sport horses, but sheep, too! And not just sheep... sheep guarding dogs! I mean, come on, could they get any cuter?

 

Back in DC, we took part in a whole other part of barning ... or, farming. (Melissa, stop reading.)

Super-jealous of Robert's 1/8th of a cow purchase, all grass-feed and frozen in individual cuts. I mean, yum.

Finished off with dinner with David and Lauren and it was a pretty successful day.

Happy Post

Here's my happy post for the morning. My college friend and fellow Cabinet member was on NBC's Minute to Win It the past two weeks with his father.

Anthony is the kind of person who brings joy where ever he goes. He has no reserve, no hesitation, and does everything 100%. Last week, my sister was posting on Facebook about how much fun she was having watching this show, without realizing I knew the competitor.

Just WATCH this 3 minute segment. Look how he goes off on tangents, talks to the crowd, doesn't let Guy rush him at all into whatever task is at hand. Guy, at one point, bends over in half, laughing so hard.

Quiet

Thank you, everyone. For your emails, texts, cards, flowers, donations, and warm thoughts that I can feel from afar. In the house, it's just so... quiet.

I went to sleep on Sunday night before Mike got home from Vegas -- took a three hour nap before going to pick him up from his late arrival home -- and I had to put music on because there was no breathing in the room. Doing my workouts in the morning, no one pestering me for a scratch when I bend down to stretch. No wagging tail waiting at the door.

I've just spent some of this evening cleaning up her things around the house, putting her beds in the trash, and packing up her bowls. (Sadie, Zoey and Luci are about to benefit from a lot of treats.)

Not sure that I like the quiet so much.

(Returning tomorrow! Happy posts!)

Good Bye

I bring sad news tonight, and I write this with tears in my eyes. Goldie died yesterday. We knew it was coming, but in the end, it was all so, so fast.

Our good friends Kristy and Bobby were caring for Goldie while we went to Las Vegas with Terry. They said she was normal on Friday, and Friday night, eating, going for a walk, following her and their dogs around the house. Then when they woke up Saturday morning, she had walked out of their bedroom at some point during the night and laid down on a bed in the living room. With a few exceptions, she pretty much stayed there.

Kristy called and said the best way to describe it was "lethargic." She wasn't crying, she wasn't whining, she wasn't breathing hard. But she also wasn't eating, wouldn't take treats, and stayed laying in the living room, no matter where Kristy or the other dogs were.

Mike and I were scheduled to fly home on an evening flight on Sunday, getting in at 1 a.m. Monday morning. I changed my flight to a red eye on Saturday (my flight was on reward points, so it was an even exchange to get an earlier flight; it wouldn't have been to change Mike's flight). Because of the connection, I left at 12:30 a.m. on Sunday morning from Las Vegas, and arrived at DCA at 11:30 a.m. Bobby and Kristy picked me up, with Goldie.

She was, shocking. She could barely move. The tumor was huge, and heavy. She wasn't wagging her tail.

I contemplated driving straight to the vet, to euthanize her, but ultimately decided to take her home, and see how she was in an hour or two. See if she could last until Mike got home.

After only two hours, it was clear she was moving over the edge. The tumor was continuing to grow -- or it could have just been fluid, or blood building up. Her breathing was becoming difficult. I told her it was time, that I was going to call David to help me take her to the vet. I told her goodbye.

You all know me. You know I don't typically speak in spiritual terms. But this -- death -- I have so many beliefs that I need to hold dear in order to get me through. And one of them is that when someone is dying from sickness, you need to let them go. They want to hold on, they want to know you are taken care of. They want to know you are okay.

And, yes, she's a dog. But I believe she needed permission to go. I told her it was time, that she didn't need to fight anymore. A few minutes later, she took her last breath.

It was short, and quiet. She had a few spasms as the breath let out, but I don't think she was in pain. I think she was scared and confused, but I know she felt love. From Kristy, Bobby and their pups, to being home with me.

I'm grateful to the two of them, and to David and Lauren, who came over immediately after she died and helped me get her to the vet.

We're incredibly sad, and heartbroken. She was a good pup, and she gave us her all. We're missing her terribly.

Emergency Exit

By now, many of you have seen the updates on Facebook, so know the basic outline of this story. But here is all the glorious detail.

This was on the first leg of our trip to Las Vegas to meet up with my brother, Terry. It was a 6:35 p.m. flight out of DCA, landing in Chicago. Or, the plan was to land in Chicago.

You could tell immediately upon takeoff that there was an issue. There was a lot of drag, and then you could hear the wheels just churning and churning. We were kind of wavering.

They had turned the lights off before takeoff, and just about one minute after liftoff, they turned them on, the flight attendants were up, and walking towards each other (smallish plane, one attendant in the back one in the front – it was a four seater in each row plane) and talking.

The female flight attendant comes back to the exit row, squats down and says, “Ok, folks, I need to know. Are ready and able to open those doors when I tell you? I need to know right now. If you are at all uncomfortable, tell me now.”

That’s scary shit right there.

We said yes. I was in the window, and Mike and I immediately switched seats so he was by the door. There were two women in the other two seats, and one was a bit shellshocked at the request. The flight attendant switched her out with another guy.

We re-routed to Dulles, and along the way, the female flight attendant came back several times, talking to us, gauging our continued resolve. The male flight attendant went on the intercom and went through how to take the crash position (bend forward, wrap your arms around your legs), and asked everyone to read the safety booklet. In the exit row we went through opening the door, and what command she would shout to tell us to open it (not to open while the plane was still moving, as soon as it stopped, if she shouted the command to “unbuckle your seat belts,” we were to open the doors and start evacuating).

Dulles is only 45 minutes by car, so we were out there in no time. But we had just taken off, so we were above the allowed landing weight. And, I imagine, they were getting the runway and airspace ready.

While we circled to burn off fuel, they finally got the landing gear down and, as far as the pilot could tell, locked.

It was a guess, after all. The flight attendants were really good, and really open. She said that she wasn’t particularly “scared” for the landing, but that the process could be frightening. That was when she said that if the gear gave out, we could end up in a belly flop. She said she’d been through one before, and the worst part is the noise of it. She said it would be really loud, and just medal scraping. But, the closer we got to starting decent, the more relaxed her and the other flight attendant became. They – and the pilot – seemed to believe the gear would hold.

As we did start the decent, you could see the airport. The runway we were approaching was empty of planes, but there were about a dozen fire trucks and a half dozen more ambulances, clustered in three spots along the runway – where we’d touch down, in the middle, and where we were expected to stop. It was not reassuring to see all the flashing lights as we came down.

I’m no expert in landing, but I’ve been on a number of flights. When you land, they put the back down first, then the nose. We did that, also, last night. It was the back landing gear that was the trouble maker, and my perception is that we came in at a much stronger angle – back down and nose up. We also rode on the back for what seemed like a long time – 30 seconds? 45? Before he put the nose down.

The wheels wobbled. It didn’t feel good, but it was never an out-of-control feeling. My guess – and I’d love to ask a pilot this -- is that he wanted to ride the back wheels because if they gave out, he could pick back up off the ground. He didn’t deploy the air flaps during those 30 or 45 seconds, he didn’t put on the brakes, and he didn’t stop the engine. It was as if he was ready to lift off again.

But then the nose came down, air flaps up, and brakes. We rode for a while, I imagine so that they didn’t have to put the brakes on hard, and when we were slow enough, the rescue vehicles caught up and rode along side of us.

It was, not fun. 

But, I'm in Vegas now! We're hoping that the whole experience -- and the not crashing part -- is a sign of good luck for the trip. But that didn't exactly play out last night....

It's... Complicated

Thanks, Joe, for the kick in the rear to post. I have been lack in posting. Ok, more than lack. Totally and utterly absent.

I have had a month... really, six weeks... like none I have every had. I don't know that I have ever felt so busy and overwhelmed and utterly out of time to do anything, including last year when I went to 18 cities across the country in under 30 days. I have not read my Feedly, kept up with Twitter, slept enough, or, for Pete's sake, plucked my freakin' eyebrows in six weeks.

It's a difficult thing, blogging about work. Because it's so out there for everyone to see. Including current, past and future employers, clients and colleagues. Even if I don't mean to complain, or boast, or reveal some client confidentiality, the potential is so high.

Let's just say that working for an agency with multiple clients, so many personalities, not enough hands, processes I don't understand (because I don't have the institutional knowledge), and workstyles different from my own is... exhausting.

And it's two different types of exhausting. There's the physically exhausting, like yesterday, when I arrived at the office at 7:45 a.m. and left at 9:15 p.m., only to be back in at 7:45 a.m. again today. It was work, work, work, work, all hands on deck -- because there were only a few of us, with others traveling. I came home, slept, and got up to do it all over again.

But there is also the mentally exhausting. (Here's where I don't want anything to be misinterpreted.) Go into any thriving company that has been around for a long time, has incredible talent that has been loyal for years, and yet has expanded with new talent over the past year because the firm has been lucky enough to continue to accept clients, and, there's roadbumps. There's the old way and the new way and neither is necessarily better, and it all depends on who happens to be the most senior person in the office on any given day on what direction you're given. There's the optimistic "we're going to set a system to run more smoothly" with the realistic, "this shit needs to get done, and get done now."

I have been awed by the creativity, commitment to client services, and general goodness of the people. I have laughed at going from a place where there were four, relatively quiet people working, to a place where the water cooler talk never ceases. I have gone from being the top of the pyramid in my office, with the bosses over 1,000 miles away, to... not. I used to have pretty set hours, which I chose myself. Now I cancel happy hours and don't get home to make Mike dinner because I never know when I'll be able to leave.

And I hope none of that sounds complaining. It's just... different. I am tired, that's no doubt. I'm also learning tons, and feel like this is a tremendous opportunity.

I'll aim to be better about posting. First, though, I need to actually DO something other than work to actually blog about...

Do Nothing for Two Minutes

As a follow-up to my last blog, maybe we should all try this website, Do Nothing for Two Minutes.

I failed, but that's no surprise.

Pause

I'm stealing borrowing the name of today's post from a far-away friend, whom I've only seen once in the past, oh, five years?, and keep up with mostly through comments on Facebook statuses. Somehow in all of that, I still feel a connection in our lives. See, technology can't be all bad.

She recently started a blog, aptly named Pause, as a New Year's resolution to do just that in her life.

I'm envious of that. Pause is something I most certainly have not been doing since January 1.

Just look at the last post date of this blog. Over a week. I haven't taken pause to organize my thoughts, update my friends, enjoy some moments to myself, or even be happy in my new job.

Instead, I have been frantic. I have been overloaded. I have been weighed down by new things. I have felt the burden of an unrealistic "to do" list that will never be fully accomplished. I have felt guilty about this. I have let myself believe that every single day I am letting others down by not doing enough or being enough or accomplishing enough. 

Even the dog. Those big brown eyes, so used to having my in the house all day every day... I couldn't take it any more an hired a dog walker. (I love how we I think I can alleviate guilt by throwing money at it.)

It was a rough two weeks settling into the new job. I wasn't mentally prepared to be going into an office every day (I kept thinking about the mess at home, or the things to take to the dry cleaners, or the projects half started). I also walked into a perfect storm of sorts where the other account managers happened to be on travel, and lots of crazy stuff happened with the clients, and there I was, dealing with it best I could on my own. Everything was flying around me, and I just couldn't feel like I was settled and under control.

This week has been significantly better, and yesterday -- last night in particular -- I tried to take my friend's inspiration and pause. (If you count sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and Modern Family pause, which I totally do.)

I finally got into an office space that I can start making my own, my peers are back, everything got done last week and I wasn't fired for any of it. The dog is getting her exercise, I'm getting my mind back to preparing the house (dinners, cleaning, shopping, errands) for being done on weekends, and, best of all, the sun is staying out just a little bit longer every day.

I'm embarrassed (not the right word... frustrated? disappointed in myself?) at how much I let the franticness of the past two weeks get to me -- really, really get to me, deep inside. But maybe with the reminder of a new blog on my reader, I can remember to pause, too.

The Learning Curve

The learning curve is a funny thing, isn't it?

I don't intend to be so unimaginative as to quote a dictionary definition, but that's mainly because it's really, really complicated (who knew?), and trying to figure out the original and evolving meanings of the phrase "learning curve" in order to appropriately follow through with this metaphor as it formed in my mind would probably take me until lunch.

Instead, I'll just tell you what I mean.

I'm not starting this job in an entry-level position. Far from it. I'm being hired for my base of knowledge, skill, and experiences. Things I already know and have already done.

And, sure, I know there's going to be a lot to learn with any new job, like the clients and budgets.

But there is so much more to learn, and that part is exhausting. Even if you throw in other "gimmies" like how to work the copy machine and where they keep the FedEx materials (still don't know that answer, by the way) or whether you hit "9" before you dial a number to get an outside line.

People expect you to ask those questions. You don't feel embarrassed to ask them, and they feel helpful for providing the guidance.

So what about who to "Cc" on an e-mail? How do you ask that? And did you know that the answer changes depending on whom you ask? Are people freakishly insistent on naming files a certain way, and that if you put a date in the title along with "v2" that throws off the way they scan for what they're looking for? Are there words the boss likes and (really, really) doesn't like in copy? If you've been asked to do something, but a bunch of other people collaborate, who, exactly, is the one that sends the (don't you dare use the word "final") version to the client?

Those are all more difficult to decipher.

I had a great first week last week here, and felt like I learned a ton. But the entire above examples of hard-to-learn things happened... yesterday. In, like, an hour. Plus a few more.

I'm not upset or even embarrassed or think anyone (other than me) left the day yesterday thinking, "That Maureen really screwed up today..." But I did get home with my head exploding full of newly learned nuances of the office, and dread of what additional ones I still don't know -- until I make more mistakes.

I'm the new girl, which I haven't been for over eight years. And I was hired to step in and pick up all the clients and tasks and responsibilities of someone who is leaving after eight years at this firm.

So excuse any incorrect usage in me saying that I feel like my learning curve just got awfully steep.

****

Bonus, if you didn't see this on Twitter of FB, an incredible "mock case study" of how a PR firm could handle planning a little girl's birthday party. It's totally worth the watch. (thanks, Joe)

Getting Noticed

When I went to New York City with Mike in December, we met with my brother Frank for lunch. He asked how my business was going, and I told him that, honestly, I needed to come up with a better business plan than, "shit falls in my lap," because so far, that's been working out pretty well for me.

And I was optimistic about 2011. I had one (albeit small) client lined up for work during the first quarter, with that work likely continuing throughout the year. Several projects bidded out that were pretty promising. I was going to give it until the end of March until I really made any decisions, and see how much revenue I could pull in during that time.

So when a client that I did work for in October called with an immediate need for someone to help out while one of their VPs transitioned to another job, I was there.

When I went in Tuesday morning, I didn't expect a full-time job offer a mere two-hours into the first day I was "helping out."

But I got one.

And I accepted it.

I'm floored. When I picked back up writing this blog, after being laid off from a place I had given my heart and soul to, I didn't know what was going to happen. And quite frankly, I didn't know what I wanted to happen.


Creating the business was an incredibly rewarding experience for me. I needed it. I needed to do something after the layoff. Needed to prove something, mostly to myself. But I was demoralized, and I didn't know any other way to deal with it but to work harder and longer more creatively and with more passion than ever before.

It was like when my first boyfriend at college broke up with me, and instead of sitting in my dorm room lamenting the relationship, I put on black pants way too tight, took some vodka shots with my roommates, and went dancing.

When he heard about it the next day (because in college, you only date within your circle of friends, right?), he approached me and told me that he couldn't believe I "got over" him so fast. He wanted me to be sad, to beg him to take me back, to not be able to see how I could ever have a boyfriend as good as him.

Even if I felt those things at the time, the only way I could deal with it was dress cuter, flirt more, accept invitations, and, without saying it, make so very clear that I could do better, and deserved more.

So even though I'm not sure most people at my old organization even remember my name, I needed to prove I wasn't defined by them.

And wouldn't you know it, while I was working harder, keeping up with contacts, and learning new skills, someone else noticed.

Just like I told Frank, this fell into my lap. But I worked really, really hard to make sure I knew the right people, was in the right place, and did the quality work in order to make that happen.

P.S. It's Goddard Claussen Public Affairs, an issue advocacy and public affairs firm. I'll be working in client relations, juggling multiple clients and making their needs happen. More tomorrow (or Tuesday) on the job specifics, when the formal announcement is made.

P.P.S. I'm happy. I'm really, really happy.

The Cookie Extraveganza

New Year's Day had us up early enough to be the very first customers at the local Starbucks of the New Year. Literally. We stood outside the door and waited for them to unlock it.

Mike, Rob, Kristin, Goldie and I piled into the SUV and began the trek to McKeesport. Because of the weather forecast, the Winter Classic hockey game was moved from it's original 1 p.m. start time to an 8 p.m. start time. That meant my plans for a fancy-smancy dinner were blown to pieces.

Upon our McKeesport arrival, Mike and Robert decided to do some defensive eating before the cookie making. Since there are only fast food restaurants in McKeesport, we ended up at KFC. Where I promptly dared the two of them to try a double-down.

They decided to split just one.

Robert wasn't really amused by this suggestion.

It was so disgusting that this was as much of it that the two of them combined could not eat.

On to happier things. The cookie making was a huge success. I already showed you how prepared for us Heather was, what with aprons and recipes. We got to work as soon as we arrived, and, well, I think these pictures can show you how much fun we had -- and how many cookies we ate -- more than I can.

Making the PB Ritz sandwiches, ready for chocolate dipping.

She's a born cookie-maker!

Dipping the PB Ritz sandwiches. It took serious technique.

Mmmmm. Chocolate, AND wine.

This system was set up for the Raspberry Jam Thumbprints. Heather weighs a small amount of dough, rolls it into a ball, dips it in egg wash, rolls it in coconut, places it on a pan, pushes her thumb into it to make a hole and fills that hole with jam.

After baking.

Heather and coooookies.

Kristin rolling out the sugar cookie dough.

More peanut butter Ritz sandwiches.

Do you know how hard it was not to just devour them all. Oh, wait, I did.

The Raspberry Jam Thumbprint assembly line.

Mike putting the left over melted chocolate to good use.

Peanut butter blossoms with candy centers.

Sugar cookie icing.

We were nearly comatose by this point, and we only made 4 different types of cookies. Heather makes over 12 different types at a time, and does that for 4 straight days during the holidays.

A bit more Crayola than Christmas.

Sugar Coma

I am in a sugar coma.

And while that is a horrible excuse, it is the true one. There must be something to what Rob says about how if you eat (or don't eat) a certain way for a long time, you become physically ill eating it.

As in, yesterday, I ate more flour and sugar than I consume in over a month total.

And yet I ate it. And now I'm in a sugar coma.

I will post a full low-down of the cookie making tomorrow, I promise. Until then, you can see these photos on Facebook. And the post will be significantly enhanced after getting Kristin's pics from the day, also.

Until then, I'm going to stare blankly at the TV until I pass out.

I Wasn't Kidding

Big Deal

This is a Big Deal.

No sooner had I hit "publish" on that last post, and the cookie-maker sends me this picture.

She's ready for us. Game on.

Happy New Year's!

Happy New Year!!!

Packed in the car right now with the Keelings, Mike, and the pooch, headed to Pittsburgh. The Winter Classic is today, and Mike and Robert are going to the game. Kristin and I are along for the ride. We had planned to drive up early New Year's Day, get the boys to the 1 p.m. game, then all go out in the newly renovated Shadyside area and this really cool looking restaurant tonight, all dressed up and decked out.

On a cookie euphoria Christmas night, Kristin and Barb came up with the idea that Kristin and I would go to the cookie-maker's house and get our own, private, Western Pennsylvania cookie-making lesson while the boys were at the game.

Kristin, to put it mildly, is ecstatic about the cookie-making.

Then mother nature went and put a crimp in our plans, and the forecast is 50 degrees and raining in Pittsburgh today, so the game has been moved to an 8 p.m. start time. This really only disappoints me, as it means no fancy dress and dinner.

Otherwise, cookie-making is still on, with Mike and Robert going to McKeesport with us.

I haven't been able to quite explain to Kristin the Big Deal that this is -- the whole, opting to go visiting in McKeesport and flattering the cookie-maker with the highest compliment ever, that we want to learn her cookies. She still thinks we're putting them out, and has been trying to insist on bringing ingredients and gifts and other bribes.

She has no idea.

Others have been invited over to the cookie-maker's house because it is such a Big Deal that we are all arriving. It is such a Big Deal that last night, the cookie-maker sent me this photo, of the party favors she has made for us -- printed up recipes of all the cookies we'll be making.

I fully expect that by the time the boys leave for the game, Kristin and I will be in a sugar-induced coma, ready for bed.