Thursday, July 30, 2009
Not For Too Long
I realized today as I stood at the bus stop with my Princess and Fatty that certain moments will not last for too much longer. As I stood waiting for the bus, Princess grabbed my thigh and hugged it tight, her small hands circling my leg. She's so small now, I thought. Soon she won't be able to do that anymore, hugging my thigh as she''ll be too big for it. And the thought made me sad. I must live in this moment, drink it in because in a blink it will be gone.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
R.I.P.
We've lived in Costa Rica for 3 years and in that time span, have owned 3 dogs. I don't know many dog owners who have gone through as many dogs in that time period as we have.
I just finished reading the book Marley and Me by John Grogan. It was such a good book, surprisingly because it was about a dog. It really hit home too, because it reminded me of our last dog, our beloved Clifford who, like the dog in the story, was a lab and a bit on the rambunctious side.
Clifford was half Labrador retriever, half cocker spaniel and he came to us by chance. We had not long before lost our dog Snoopy and pining for another pet to fill the gap. I came across an ad in the paper. A women who rescues dogs, was giving away 6 month old puppy. He was free... and he was a lab, hubby's favorite kind of dog. We jumped at the chance to take our new puppy home. Our first meeting with Cliff left us a bit apprehensive. He was wild and would not stop jumping and nipping. Scared the crap out of Princess, 9 months at the time, who had come along with us to pick up our new pet.
He was so wild but at the same time he was just breath-takinly beautiful. Shiny black fur and fluffy all over. Eyes that pierced right through you. We loved him from the start. We vowed, well I vowed, I would take good care of him. Keeping my fingers crossed that he would be in our family for years to come.
Clifford fit right in with our kids and our lifestyle. The kids loved him, especially Princess, whose first real word was "Kiff" (Cliff). He was already potty trained. And he was so full of energy and spirit.
He was great with the kids and was great with us (even when he got in trouble for chewing up a few of Princess's favorite toys). We knew he would require alot of exercise and thanked our lucky stars for our big yard, the perfect place for him to run around in. Barring the the fact that the first night, as we were binging him home, he wanted to jump out of the car, he adjusted well to us.
After a while though, poor Clifford was left behind as our schedules got jam packed and left little time to play with him... and he was a playful dog. Not long after Clifford's arrival, Fatty was added to the mix and hubby started a new job outside the home. His days got a bit lonely and I could tell he was dying for more interaction.
He took to escaping. He found new ways to get out ... jumping the wall that borders our property, finding a hole in the neighbors fence, sneaking out while the gate was open as a car came or left. And a few times, he even spent the night away from home. No one knows where he slept on those nights. His escapes became more frequent and so hubby and I decided to allow him to sleep inside so as to keep him home more. Everyone loved Clifford. He was our pride and joy. We wanted to keep him safe.
Then one day everything changed. It was a Saturday morning in May. Hubby came into our bedroom crying. Cliff was dead! It was surreal. I was sad, but I didn't shed a tear, not right away. It was unreal. I just did not believe it. He was 2 months shy of being 2 and had only been with us a little less than a year and a half.
I felt like we were the worse dog owners in the world. Three dogs in 3 years, something was wrong with us. Why couldn't we keep a pet? When we first moved to Costa Rica, my father in law got Boobie a dog as a welcoming present. We could finally have a pet, and hubby wanted one so badly. We had a home and a yard.... two big criterias for pet ownership in my book and apparently in father in law's book as well.
I didn't have much say in the matter as my father in law had made up his mind that Boobie deserved, needed even, a dog of his own. I was reluctant, at first. I didn't want a pet. I had grown up with so many pets and loved them, but for some reason, I just did not want the responsibility of taking care of a dog.
When father in law brought Scooby home, I was not happy. Not at first. First off, hubby decided to put him in our spare bedroom, empty at the time, soon to be Princess's nursery. I did not want a dog in my house. The first night was wretched as Scooby pretty much cried for it's entirety.
But as he got older, he gradually took up residence in our attached carport/open garage/porch. He was love-able and followed hubby everywhere. He had settled into our lives. I began to fear for his safety though, when he started leaving the property all on his own, disappearing for hours, sometimes a whole day.
One day he was hit, and hurt by a car. I freaked. We tried everything to keep him on the property; after all what dog wouldn't love a yard like ours? But he was not happy staying home and so took to freely wandering the streets.
One afternoon as I went to the end of our private way to wait for Boobie to get off the bus from school, a neighbor approached me to inform me that our dog, Scooby, was lying dead in the front of his gate, just a few feet from me. He had seen his dead body in the road, hit by a car and had moved his body, a huge favor and a very humane thing for him to do.
As I write this now I am tearing up. I hadn't cried so hard in years as the day I saw Scooby lying dead. It hit me so hard; my overwhelming grief surprised me because he was just a dog, but he was family and he was dead.
Father in law buried him and that night hubby and I told Boobie what happened. He cried. Hubby cried. That night, I was restless. I cried so hard, my back ached. In all my pregnant months, it was the worst time I had sleeping.
We eventually moved on. Father in law quickly 'replaced' Scooby with an almost identical dog we named Snoopy. While I wasn't ready for another dog, there was no deterring my father in law. He felt Boobie deserved, needed even, another dog and so he went out and bought one.
Snoopy wasn't with us for long before he too started doing the same thing... escaping and wandering the streets. Then one day he left the property and never came back home. Hubby was in Boston and was deeply sad because he barely got to spend any time at all with Scooby. He was also fairly convinced that Snoopy had been 'dog-napped".
While both Scooby and Snoopy were small dogs, little Doberman Pinchers, I was aching for a bigger dog, like the ones I had grown up with. Clifford was perfect. Not too big and not too small. He was the pet we were looking for and at just the right time too. And he was so loyal, especially to hubby and protective of our family.
I envisioned him growing old with us. Being there as my kids grew up. Maybe even one day having kids of his own. Now, he's gone. Like Scooby, buried at the bottom of our yard, down the sloped hill where the property almost meets the running creak.
I am almost to the point where I am like "please, no more pets." We couldn't even keep the 2 turtles father in law had bought for Boobie. On one chance day, as they were sunning on a chair in the driveway, Scooby saw fit to eat them.
I just get sick thinking about what will happen to our next pet. They don't seem to survive in our home for very long. And I can't help but wonder, if they had stayed where they were before coming into our home, if they would still be alive today?
I get attached and then they die; my heart still breaks over Cliff and some days when I think back to him being here, I get depressed. I still have not come to terms with him being gone. I don't think hubby has either. While on the beach this past weekend, hubby thought he saw Clifford, a dog that looked so much like him he actually called out to the dog, "Cliff, Cliff", as if he had come back from the dead and was living a life of leisure on the beach.
Do I want another pet, another dog? I'm not sure. But I think for now, my heart needs to heal before I can open it up to another. I am still grieving the three we lost, and that we loved so dearly. RIP Clifford, Snoopy and Scooby. You are all missed.
I just finished reading the book Marley and Me by John Grogan. It was such a good book, surprisingly because it was about a dog. It really hit home too, because it reminded me of our last dog, our beloved Clifford who, like the dog in the story, was a lab and a bit on the rambunctious side.
Clifford was half Labrador retriever, half cocker spaniel and he came to us by chance. We had not long before lost our dog Snoopy and pining for another pet to fill the gap. I came across an ad in the paper. A women who rescues dogs, was giving away 6 month old puppy. He was free... and he was a lab, hubby's favorite kind of dog. We jumped at the chance to take our new puppy home. Our first meeting with Cliff left us a bit apprehensive. He was wild and would not stop jumping and nipping. Scared the crap out of Princess, 9 months at the time, who had come along with us to pick up our new pet.
He was so wild but at the same time he was just breath-takinly beautiful. Shiny black fur and fluffy all over. Eyes that pierced right through you. We loved him from the start. We vowed, well I vowed, I would take good care of him. Keeping my fingers crossed that he would be in our family for years to come.
Clifford fit right in with our kids and our lifestyle. The kids loved him, especially Princess, whose first real word was "Kiff" (Cliff). He was already potty trained. And he was so full of energy and spirit.
He was great with the kids and was great with us (even when he got in trouble for chewing up a few of Princess's favorite toys). We knew he would require alot of exercise and thanked our lucky stars for our big yard, the perfect place for him to run around in. Barring the the fact that the first night, as we were binging him home, he wanted to jump out of the car, he adjusted well to us.
After a while though, poor Clifford was left behind as our schedules got jam packed and left little time to play with him... and he was a playful dog. Not long after Clifford's arrival, Fatty was added to the mix and hubby started a new job outside the home. His days got a bit lonely and I could tell he was dying for more interaction.
He took to escaping. He found new ways to get out ... jumping the wall that borders our property, finding a hole in the neighbors fence, sneaking out while the gate was open as a car came or left. And a few times, he even spent the night away from home. No one knows where he slept on those nights. His escapes became more frequent and so hubby and I decided to allow him to sleep inside so as to keep him home more. Everyone loved Clifford. He was our pride and joy. We wanted to keep him safe.
Then one day everything changed. It was a Saturday morning in May. Hubby came into our bedroom crying. Cliff was dead! It was surreal. I was sad, but I didn't shed a tear, not right away. It was unreal. I just did not believe it. He was 2 months shy of being 2 and had only been with us a little less than a year and a half.
I felt like we were the worse dog owners in the world. Three dogs in 3 years, something was wrong with us. Why couldn't we keep a pet? When we first moved to Costa Rica, my father in law got Boobie a dog as a welcoming present. We could finally have a pet, and hubby wanted one so badly. We had a home and a yard.... two big criterias for pet ownership in my book and apparently in father in law's book as well.
I didn't have much say in the matter as my father in law had made up his mind that Boobie deserved, needed even, a dog of his own. I was reluctant, at first. I didn't want a pet. I had grown up with so many pets and loved them, but for some reason, I just did not want the responsibility of taking care of a dog.
When father in law brought Scooby home, I was not happy. Not at first. First off, hubby decided to put him in our spare bedroom, empty at the time, soon to be Princess's nursery. I did not want a dog in my house. The first night was wretched as Scooby pretty much cried for it's entirety.
But as he got older, he gradually took up residence in our attached carport/open garage/porch. He was love-able and followed hubby everywhere. He had settled into our lives. I began to fear for his safety though, when he started leaving the property all on his own, disappearing for hours, sometimes a whole day.
One day he was hit, and hurt by a car. I freaked. We tried everything to keep him on the property; after all what dog wouldn't love a yard like ours? But he was not happy staying home and so took to freely wandering the streets.
One afternoon as I went to the end of our private way to wait for Boobie to get off the bus from school, a neighbor approached me to inform me that our dog, Scooby, was lying dead in the front of his gate, just a few feet from me. He had seen his dead body in the road, hit by a car and had moved his body, a huge favor and a very humane thing for him to do.
As I write this now I am tearing up. I hadn't cried so hard in years as the day I saw Scooby lying dead. It hit me so hard; my overwhelming grief surprised me because he was just a dog, but he was family and he was dead.
Father in law buried him and that night hubby and I told Boobie what happened. He cried. Hubby cried. That night, I was restless. I cried so hard, my back ached. In all my pregnant months, it was the worst time I had sleeping.
We eventually moved on. Father in law quickly 'replaced' Scooby with an almost identical dog we named Snoopy. While I wasn't ready for another dog, there was no deterring my father in law. He felt Boobie deserved, needed even, another dog and so he went out and bought one.
Snoopy wasn't with us for long before he too started doing the same thing... escaping and wandering the streets. Then one day he left the property and never came back home. Hubby was in Boston and was deeply sad because he barely got to spend any time at all with Scooby. He was also fairly convinced that Snoopy had been 'dog-napped".
While both Scooby and Snoopy were small dogs, little Doberman Pinchers, I was aching for a bigger dog, like the ones I had grown up with. Clifford was perfect. Not too big and not too small. He was the pet we were looking for and at just the right time too. And he was so loyal, especially to hubby and protective of our family.
I envisioned him growing old with us. Being there as my kids grew up. Maybe even one day having kids of his own. Now, he's gone. Like Scooby, buried at the bottom of our yard, down the sloped hill where the property almost meets the running creak.
I am almost to the point where I am like "please, no more pets." We couldn't even keep the 2 turtles father in law had bought for Boobie. On one chance day, as they were sunning on a chair in the driveway, Scooby saw fit to eat them.
I just get sick thinking about what will happen to our next pet. They don't seem to survive in our home for very long. And I can't help but wonder, if they had stayed where they were before coming into our home, if they would still be alive today?
I get attached and then they die; my heart still breaks over Cliff and some days when I think back to him being here, I get depressed. I still have not come to terms with him being gone. I don't think hubby has either. While on the beach this past weekend, hubby thought he saw Clifford, a dog that looked so much like him he actually called out to the dog, "Cliff, Cliff", as if he had come back from the dead and was living a life of leisure on the beach.
Do I want another pet, another dog? I'm not sure. But I think for now, my heart needs to heal before I can open it up to another. I am still grieving the three we lost, and that we loved so dearly. RIP Clifford, Snoopy and Scooby. You are all missed.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Saggy Boobs, Anyone?
I knew the day would come when I would no longer be a breastfeeding mama. I just didn't think it would come so soon. And even though I daydreamed about it, longed for the days when my baby would no longer be attached to my breast nor need me for nourishment, I was not quite ready to give up that bond between me and my baby, not to mention the other perks that came with breastfeeding. When the day finally came, and so abruptly, It left me sad and nostalgic.
I loved the way my boobs looked when I was breastfeeding. Full and firm, perky even. Not huge, but nice. Even when my they were so engorged I felt as if the weight of them would crush me and I would pass out from the pain, I loved the look of my sudden bountiful chest. I had a nice bosom, breast that could be the envy of another woman. I was in love with the new me. But as soon as the bounty came, it left.
I was not prepared to look at my chest in the mirror and face reality. What stared back at me was what looked like two deflated balloons, almost as flat as pancakes, and saggy as a 90 year old woman's boobs. And oh so tiny! I was in despair. My boobs had failed me. They morphed into old man boobs. These were not the boobs I had just months before, they weren't even the boobs I had years before kids, my original boobs. And I had no hope of those breasts ever returning.
How was I so unfortunate in acquiring the boobs I had now. How was I left with such a catastrophe. Why was I not among the lucky few women whose boobs get bigger and STAY bigger after breastfeeding. Hubby's cousin went from a full C cup after she stopped breastfeeding her son at 10 weeks to a full D cup. Ok, so she also went up a couple of sizes too, but she had a bigger chest. Not deflated, shrunken ones. How come I could still retain my pregnancy gut, massive thighs AND wide ass, but not my boobs. The only part of me that barely fit in my 2 piece swimsuit was my chest... too flat even to fill out the A cup top.... feeling like a fat tub of lard as I walked the beach among women whose bodies were toned and thin and had ample chests to boot.
If I were a really vain person with money to spare and no qualms about altering my body, I would get my ass quickly to the nearest plastic surgeon and order him (or her) to insert plastic water balloon type balls into my chest (silicone or saline), as big as my frame would allow for me to look 'natural'. And while the doc was at it, might as well throw in some lipo too.
I guess praying won't help. Those are requests too trivial and better left unasked. There are more serious things going on in the world to pray for. Bigger boobs aren't on the list of those things.
So should I just be happy with what I have left then? A mere fraction of what I had before and even less still of what I had while pregnant and breastfeeding. I guess I will have to live with the fact that I will never fully fill out any top.
Not that I am sulking too much. Back in high school, my big chested friends use to envy me. Yes!!! I know, me. The flat chested, um, I mean small chested girl. They admired the fact that I could go bra-less and not have my boobies flapping around like a ball in a stoking. They wished they could wear the halter tops and backless shirts I bravely wore that had become trademark to my wardrobe.
They told me how much of a hassle big boobs could be... the difficulty in finding bras or tops to fit perfectly... not to mention back pain (not that I wanted boobs so big they would hurt). But even that didn't faze me; my dream was to one day have bigger boobs. I swore as I got older, they would eventually get bigger. I just had to wait. And so I did. Well, 3 kids later at the age of 28, I am still waiting. I guess I should give up hope. Not even pregnancy could answer my prayers. And breastfeeding didn't help... if anything, it actually made matter worse (not that I would trade bigger boobs for what my breast could accomplish by breastfeeding 3 kids). And I'll be damned if I let some doctor place plastic balls filled with foreign liquid in my chest. That is better left for the more adventurous. After all, my body is my temple and I would be too afraid to do to it what would be necessary for a breast implant.
So I will just look at the glass as half full or at my breasts as half full, not flat or half empty. After all, I can always go back to wearing, without fear, backless tops and halters again (just as soon as I get rid of this mommy gut though).
I loved the way my boobs looked when I was breastfeeding. Full and firm, perky even. Not huge, but nice. Even when my they were so engorged I felt as if the weight of them would crush me and I would pass out from the pain, I loved the look of my sudden bountiful chest. I had a nice bosom, breast that could be the envy of another woman. I was in love with the new me. But as soon as the bounty came, it left.
I was not prepared to look at my chest in the mirror and face reality. What stared back at me was what looked like two deflated balloons, almost as flat as pancakes, and saggy as a 90 year old woman's boobs. And oh so tiny! I was in despair. My boobs had failed me. They morphed into old man boobs. These were not the boobs I had just months before, they weren't even the boobs I had years before kids, my original boobs. And I had no hope of those breasts ever returning.
How was I so unfortunate in acquiring the boobs I had now. How was I left with such a catastrophe. Why was I not among the lucky few women whose boobs get bigger and STAY bigger after breastfeeding. Hubby's cousin went from a full C cup after she stopped breastfeeding her son at 10 weeks to a full D cup. Ok, so she also went up a couple of sizes too, but she had a bigger chest. Not deflated, shrunken ones. How come I could still retain my pregnancy gut, massive thighs AND wide ass, but not my boobs. The only part of me that barely fit in my 2 piece swimsuit was my chest... too flat even to fill out the A cup top.... feeling like a fat tub of lard as I walked the beach among women whose bodies were toned and thin and had ample chests to boot.
If I were a really vain person with money to spare and no qualms about altering my body, I would get my ass quickly to the nearest plastic surgeon and order him (or her) to insert plastic water balloon type balls into my chest (silicone or saline), as big as my frame would allow for me to look 'natural'. And while the doc was at it, might as well throw in some lipo too.
I guess praying won't help. Those are requests too trivial and better left unasked. There are more serious things going on in the world to pray for. Bigger boobs aren't on the list of those things.
So should I just be happy with what I have left then? A mere fraction of what I had before and even less still of what I had while pregnant and breastfeeding. I guess I will have to live with the fact that I will never fully fill out any top.
Not that I am sulking too much. Back in high school, my big chested friends use to envy me. Yes!!! I know, me. The flat chested, um, I mean small chested girl. They admired the fact that I could go bra-less and not have my boobies flapping around like a ball in a stoking. They wished they could wear the halter tops and backless shirts I bravely wore that had become trademark to my wardrobe.
They told me how much of a hassle big boobs could be... the difficulty in finding bras or tops to fit perfectly... not to mention back pain (not that I wanted boobs so big they would hurt). But even that didn't faze me; my dream was to one day have bigger boobs. I swore as I got older, they would eventually get bigger. I just had to wait. And so I did. Well, 3 kids later at the age of 28, I am still waiting. I guess I should give up hope. Not even pregnancy could answer my prayers. And breastfeeding didn't help... if anything, it actually made matter worse (not that I would trade bigger boobs for what my breast could accomplish by breastfeeding 3 kids). And I'll be damned if I let some doctor place plastic balls filled with foreign liquid in my chest. That is better left for the more adventurous. After all, my body is my temple and I would be too afraid to do to it what would be necessary for a breast implant.
So I will just look at the glass as half full or at my breasts as half full, not flat or half empty. After all, I can always go back to wearing, without fear, backless tops and halters again (just as soon as I get rid of this mommy gut though).
Let's Go To The Beach!
Arriving at the hotel
Horses on the beach
Playa Conchal
Riding along the shore
Breathtaking views on the mountain side
I don't care how long we go on vacation for... one day, 2 days, a whole week or month. Vacation is vacation no matter how you slice it.
We decided to take a quick trip to the beach, a little family getaway right before Boobie was to begin school again. A last minute escape to soothe the tired muscles and relax the weary bones and quell unhappy voices. After much (2 days) planning and indecision, we decided on Guanacaste, where some of the most beautiful beaches in Costa Rica are. It would be a long trip, but it was a trip worth taking, if only for one night.
We left late Saturday morning (Hubby was bringing a work friend along for the trip... a guy who has lived in Costa Rica 5 long years and had never made it to the beach once. At the age of 25, he had not been to the beach since he was 19).
Six and a half hours later, stopping for lunch in Miramar, we arrived in Guanacaste in Playa Conchal. Luck of the draw I guess, as we never really confirmed WHERE we would actually vacation. There are so many beaches in Guanacaste, you just have to take your pick. While searching for a place to stay (nothing fancy as our trip would only last an overnight), we had to drive through the ocean, literally. High tide had brought the sea rushing up onto the shore, to a part of the beach used as a road for vehicles. The only way to cross was through it and I was terrified. Our little car just did not seem up to the task. I just couldn't believe that people did that on a daily basis... but to our surprise it wasn't daily. High tide like that only happened once every three months and what are the odds that it happened on that very day we were there? We crossed and made it through effortlessly only to have to turn back around and cross the water again. But it was such a rush, it was the highlight of the trip.
We quickly found a nice little hotel to call our home away from home. At just around $68 for the night it offered everything we needed to feel comfortable. It was a small suite with a kitchenette, a refrigerator, a small living area with a futon couch and a dining table with 4 chairs. It had two decent sized bedrooms with 4 beds, one with two full size beds, the other, a bit smaller, with one full and one very small twin. That room was shared between Boobie and hubby's friend. The room also had Cable tv, ac, ceiling fans, a pool and it was a short 3 minute walk to the beach and all the restaurants. Not a bad price and more than modest, in my opinion.
The heat hit us like bricks. Guanacaste is known for it's hot weather, and it did not disapoint. The kids and I took a quick dip in the pool first thing, while hubby and his friend decided to take a stroll along the beach and check out our new surroundings. It was after 5 and we didn't want to waste a minute of our short vacation.
It was a small beach community... modest in it's set-up and littered with tourists, many of whom took advantage of the various beach activities available to them, like 4-wheeling or riding horses along the shore. There weren't a lot of restaurants to choose from, but the ones there had a variety of dishes and prices for every budget. The kids and I settled on an Ausatralian/outback themed restaurant for dinner while hubby and his friend chose a more Tico style place to dine.
Our Sunday and last day was spent on the beach. Breathtaking in one word, in all it's unspoiled beauty. I was in awe at nature at it's best. Photo's cannot do it justice, as only the human eye first hand can appreciate such a scenery. We enjoyed ourselves as we frolicked in the ocean, waves so strong they pushed and pulled you every which way and terrified my kids. The sand was tiny little sea shells, hence the name 'Playa Conchal', which means sea shell beach.
Though the trip was short, I think we were able to soak up all that the getaway had to offer. Even though we were all a little sick, the beach rejuvenated our beings and lifted our spirits. We were ready to come back home, ready to face our lives again. The short break gave us the energy we needed and satisfied my craving for a vacation. And even though traveling with kids can be stressful, it really wasn't. We all had fun, even the long car ride was an adventure.
Vacations Up
It's a beautiful sunny Costa Rican morning. Blue Skies stretch as far as the eye can see, the sun streaming, full force, through every window. A slight wind rustling the trees. It' s a picturesque day, a new day and the end of school break.
Boobie took his first steps back to school this morning and I marked the dayby jumping back into my old routine. Up at 6, getting lunch and his bag packed at 6:30. Setting the house back in order. The days of sleeping 'till 8 are over, except for weekends of course. As we settle back into the 'grind', we all look forward to the next break.
I have to say this break was fun. We packed quiet a few activites in the 3 weeks he was off from school. The Children's Museum, swim lessons (that turned into him joining the swim team with practice now 3 times a week), a day at the amusement park, a sleepover, a movie day, even a trip to the library. Honestly though, there really wasn't enough time to do everything I had planned. But I guess that is what weekends are for. And with his cousin still here on vacation for another month, we'll try and do as much as we can on weekends.
I had just as much fun on this break as the kids. Moms love vacation... well, at least I do. The stress of morning chaos, getting up at dawn, having to follow a rigid schedule, school work and homework, dealing with teachers and projects and all the stress of life can wear a parent down. So when our kids get a break, so do we. Plus, it's always fun to get away for a bit and leave life behind, if only for a few hours.
I hope Boobie has a great day at school and that he finds it easy getting back to his scholarly duties. And with the school year just about over (just 4 more months) , I look forward to the end in November.
Boobie took his first steps back to school this morning and I marked the dayby jumping back into my old routine. Up at 6, getting lunch and his bag packed at 6:30. Setting the house back in order. The days of sleeping 'till 8 are over, except for weekends of course. As we settle back into the 'grind', we all look forward to the next break.
I have to say this break was fun. We packed quiet a few activites in the 3 weeks he was off from school. The Children's Museum, swim lessons (that turned into him joining the swim team with practice now 3 times a week), a day at the amusement park, a sleepover, a movie day, even a trip to the library. Honestly though, there really wasn't enough time to do everything I had planned. But I guess that is what weekends are for. And with his cousin still here on vacation for another month, we'll try and do as much as we can on weekends.
I had just as much fun on this break as the kids. Moms love vacation... well, at least I do. The stress of morning chaos, getting up at dawn, having to follow a rigid schedule, school work and homework, dealing with teachers and projects and all the stress of life can wear a parent down. So when our kids get a break, so do we. Plus, it's always fun to get away for a bit and leave life behind, if only for a few hours.
I hope Boobie has a great day at school and that he finds it easy getting back to his scholarly duties. And with the school year just about over (just 4 more months) , I look forward to the end in November.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sigh Of Relief
I just about shit my pants the other day when my period refused to show up on time, since for the past couple of months it had be showing up like clockwork. Never one to be regular with my menstrual cycle, I was thrilled, after having Fatty, to find that every month, at the same time without fail, my period came barging through the door to say a quick hello.
As disappointed as I was to have a period while still breastfeeding, it was definitely a welcome sight each and every month. It made me certain of one of many things... I was NOT pregnant!
So imagine my surprise when July rolled around and my period (Mrs. P) was a no show on her expected date of arrival.
Day 15 came and went. Since my period was a day late last month and arrived on the 16th, I wasn't too worried. But then day 16 came and went and still Mrs. P had not shown up. I figured I could wait another day... I would stay cool and not sweat. Day 17 and still no period. Yeah, I started to freak just around this time, but I still managed to remain calm and said not one peep to hubby (although I alluded to it somewhat).
To make matters worse, Fatty still refused to drink milk from my breast, though he would drink it if it was pumped into a bottle. But the fear that his 'strike' had something to do with me being pregnant was making me paranoid. I remember the last time my period was late. I was greeted nine months later with a 6 pound bundle of joy.
As my mind wandered to the 'what if's', my heart ached with the thoughts of yet another baby. I tried to keep my cool and look to the positives.
Three babies in 3 years, all under 4 would certainly break me, but I knew it would not kill me. I thought of how I could make a bad situation turn around and work for me. And I prayed I would never have to find out what I would do IF I were to find myself pregnant again and in the same boat I was in not so long ago.
The 18th rolled around and I have to say I was never happier to see blood like I was that day. The night before I kind of knew Mrs. P had finally decided to show up, albeit late and had me almost on the verge of a panic attack.
When other women complain about their periods, I relish in mine. I actually look forward to that time of the month. I don't get as crampy as most (though the absence of THAT feeling left me scared this time around). And I rarely ever complain about my period. Though a hassle, it's one I am willing to put up with for the 3 days Mr.s P comes for a visit. Bulky pads aside, I feel no different while on my period than on any other day.
The arrival of my period also made me realize one thing, finally clearing up lingering doubt I've had for some time; I do not want any more children. As much as I love kids and love being a mom, I am certain that I am done. Just the thought of morning sickness and pregnancy in itself makes me want to run screaming. Not to mention labor. I thank God I went through what I went through, minimal compared to other women. I have 3 very beautiful and healthy children. But I am done. And I hope God feels the same way.
So welcome Mrs. P. Come back for a visit real soon, lets say a month from now. I'll be waiting impatiently for your return. Au revoir, until we meet again.
As disappointed as I was to have a period while still breastfeeding, it was definitely a welcome sight each and every month. It made me certain of one of many things... I was NOT pregnant!
So imagine my surprise when July rolled around and my period (Mrs. P) was a no show on her expected date of arrival.
Day 15 came and went. Since my period was a day late last month and arrived on the 16th, I wasn't too worried. But then day 16 came and went and still Mrs. P had not shown up. I figured I could wait another day... I would stay cool and not sweat. Day 17 and still no period. Yeah, I started to freak just around this time, but I still managed to remain calm and said not one peep to hubby (although I alluded to it somewhat).
To make matters worse, Fatty still refused to drink milk from my breast, though he would drink it if it was pumped into a bottle. But the fear that his 'strike' had something to do with me being pregnant was making me paranoid. I remember the last time my period was late. I was greeted nine months later with a 6 pound bundle of joy.
As my mind wandered to the 'what if's', my heart ached with the thoughts of yet another baby. I tried to keep my cool and look to the positives.
Three babies in 3 years, all under 4 would certainly break me, but I knew it would not kill me. I thought of how I could make a bad situation turn around and work for me. And I prayed I would never have to find out what I would do IF I were to find myself pregnant again and in the same boat I was in not so long ago.
The 18th rolled around and I have to say I was never happier to see blood like I was that day. The night before I kind of knew Mrs. P had finally decided to show up, albeit late and had me almost on the verge of a panic attack.
When other women complain about their periods, I relish in mine. I actually look forward to that time of the month. I don't get as crampy as most (though the absence of THAT feeling left me scared this time around). And I rarely ever complain about my period. Though a hassle, it's one I am willing to put up with for the 3 days Mr.s P comes for a visit. Bulky pads aside, I feel no different while on my period than on any other day.
The arrival of my period also made me realize one thing, finally clearing up lingering doubt I've had for some time; I do not want any more children. As much as I love kids and love being a mom, I am certain that I am done. Just the thought of morning sickness and pregnancy in itself makes me want to run screaming. Not to mention labor. I thank God I went through what I went through, minimal compared to other women. I have 3 very beautiful and healthy children. But I am done. And I hope God feels the same way.
So welcome Mrs. P. Come back for a visit real soon, lets say a month from now. I'll be waiting impatiently for your return. Au revoir, until we meet again.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Don't Be A Quitter!
So swim classes started today and boy was it NOT what I expected.
The class was good. And the instructor was AWESOME. Not only does he speak English, but he is really great with kids. Proven many times over when he was dealing with my troublesome son.
Ok, so Boobie has been looking forward to swim classes for a while now. The last time he took lessons was at the age of 7, so he has not taken a class in a long time. He's been been swimming a few times every opportunity he gets, but I notice with him, that when it comes to certain things, if he doesn't keep at it, he easily forgets the skills he gained. He learned so much in his first couple of classes and I figured that if I don't want him regressing too much, it is time for him to continue moving forward.
I decided to sign him up at the pool in the center of town. My original plans were to keep him at the kiddie pool where he originally took lessons, but they were booked up. I initially wanted him to do the two week vacation course but since the instructor wouldn't be available next week, I was only able to sign him up for a one week session. I figured if he still wants to take lessons after this week, I can sign him up on Saturdays when he goes back to school. Luckily, it was roughly around $13 dollars cheaper for a week long session, so hooray for that.
At the start of his class, he was doing fine then, just about half way through the lesson, he decided he didn't want to do it anymore. He got out the pool and announced he wanted to go home. I guess I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was but I couldn't understand why he would take that attitude. Yes, it was the first day and it was exhausting, but he loves to swim so I was not expecting him to act like that.
It's just like him, though, to want to quit when something doesn't go his way or gets too hard for him. And I understand that feeling. But like his instructor said, life isn't like that. You can't always quit when it gets too tough. And I need him to understand that and learn to move forward even when he feels like giving up. Compared to his cousin, who also signed up for the week long course, he wa acting like a 'big baby'.
I just hope tomorrow's lesson goes better. I just need him to be proud of his efforts and not be so quick to quit.
The class was good. And the instructor was AWESOME. Not only does he speak English, but he is really great with kids. Proven many times over when he was dealing with my troublesome son.
Ok, so Boobie has been looking forward to swim classes for a while now. The last time he took lessons was at the age of 7, so he has not taken a class in a long time. He's been been swimming a few times every opportunity he gets, but I notice with him, that when it comes to certain things, if he doesn't keep at it, he easily forgets the skills he gained. He learned so much in his first couple of classes and I figured that if I don't want him regressing too much, it is time for him to continue moving forward.
I decided to sign him up at the pool in the center of town. My original plans were to keep him at the kiddie pool where he originally took lessons, but they were booked up. I initially wanted him to do the two week vacation course but since the instructor wouldn't be available next week, I was only able to sign him up for a one week session. I figured if he still wants to take lessons after this week, I can sign him up on Saturdays when he goes back to school. Luckily, it was roughly around $13 dollars cheaper for a week long session, so hooray for that.
At the start of his class, he was doing fine then, just about half way through the lesson, he decided he didn't want to do it anymore. He got out the pool and announced he wanted to go home. I guess I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was but I couldn't understand why he would take that attitude. Yes, it was the first day and it was exhausting, but he loves to swim so I was not expecting him to act like that.
It's just like him, though, to want to quit when something doesn't go his way or gets too hard for him. And I understand that feeling. But like his instructor said, life isn't like that. You can't always quit when it gets too tough. And I need him to understand that and learn to move forward even when he feels like giving up. Compared to his cousin, who also signed up for the week long course, he wa acting like a 'big baby'.
I just hope tomorrow's lesson goes better. I just need him to be proud of his efforts and not be so quick to quit.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
No More Boobies
Day 6 and counting.... fatty has not touched my breast milk. I am saddened by this state of affairs. While I have heard of babies self weaning, I don't think they tend to do that at 9 and a half months. I think even further, that they don't just stop cold turkey, with nary a warning as to why.
On Tuesday, July 7 he went with out breastfeeding. I choked it up to him teething (and yes he is). But then the next day and then the next day and then the next day, still he refused to feed. I was starting to think something was wrong with him. But he was drinking and eating fine. So was it my breast milk? Did he just decide he was tired of my milk and wanted it no more. I was not ready, mentally nor physically, to give up on breastfeeding so soon. After all, I had my goal in mind. I wanted to reach the one year mark and then go from there... see how long he would take the boob. After all, I did it with Princess and I was pregnant at this stage of the game. And she still went 14 months on my milk until she weaned herself completely. But before the age of one, she was still a hardy nurser. And I had to start slowly weaning her myself. So why now, has my fatty weaned himself?
My friend mentioned that I could be pregnant and he sensed it and now wants nothing to do with me, er, my milk. But as I think that highly unlikely (actually hoping and praying that that is not the case), I have moved on to other theories.
Could he really just be getting to be a big boy now and just wants to stop with the 'baby' milk? Has my milk gone sour (just kidding, but I wonder if the taste has changed)? Was it something I ate and now he is scared to ever breastfeed again?
I have tried him countless times and in different positions and he fights me off; he refuses now to even open his mouth where as before he would take the boob but bite it. I miss the days of him blissfully breastfeeding. I get depressed thinking of it. How could he wean so soon. And not like a normal baby would by dropping a feeding here and there, not all at once. Weaning slowly would have been easier on my boobs too.
All night he went without a drop of my milk. That day, I put him down for a nap, went to the store and when I came back and tried to breastfeed, he just refused it. And kept doing so since. And those first 2 days were a nightmare. My boobs swelled up like two huge balloons, yet I felt as if 2 rocks had been placed right on my chest. My back hurt, to bend over hurt, to lift my arms hurt. Even pumping hurt (resorting to hand pumping as I have no breast pump). I finally hand expressed some milk while taking a hot shower and using the water to help alleviate the bulk. It worked and the next day my boobs felt better. I did it again the following night and then that following day I expressed a sizable amount of breast milk in a bottle, hopeful that if Fatty wouldn't take my boob, he would at least drink the milk.
I was wrong. He refused the milk as he had the breast. He was done with it. And now my mind races as to find some sort of explanation that does not involve 'pregnancy'.
While I fear I might 'dry' up and lose my milk supply before Fatty decides to start breastfeeding again, I have been attempting weakly to keep my supply up by hand expressing occasionally.
All the questions I had finally led me to google, where I looked up reasons why an almost 10 month old baby would self wean and came across a term that I had scarcely heard before. 'Strike". My baby was most likely on a strike , not self weaning as I initially thought. And since Princess had never been on strike before I never thought to consider it a possibility. I didn't even know babies could strike, yet alone strike against breastmilk, their comfort and most important food supply.
I often tell people Boobie weaned himself, but as it is unlikely a 4 month old would do such a thing, now it seems he was on strike and I only helped his strike along by offering formula . My milk was gone and it was too late. I don't want the same thing to happen with Fatty.
So I have concluded that Fatty's reluctance to breastfeed is one of two things: I am either pregnant or he is on strike... hoping and crossing my fingers its' the latter. I just hope his strike ends before my milk says "bye bye" for good. As for the former being a possible explanation for Fatty's refusal to drink my milk, I must wait and see what happens at the end of this coming week, when my period is due. And so the wait begins.
On Tuesday, July 7 he went with out breastfeeding. I choked it up to him teething (and yes he is). But then the next day and then the next day and then the next day, still he refused to feed. I was starting to think something was wrong with him. But he was drinking and eating fine. So was it my breast milk? Did he just decide he was tired of my milk and wanted it no more. I was not ready, mentally nor physically, to give up on breastfeeding so soon. After all, I had my goal in mind. I wanted to reach the one year mark and then go from there... see how long he would take the boob. After all, I did it with Princess and I was pregnant at this stage of the game. And she still went 14 months on my milk until she weaned herself completely. But before the age of one, she was still a hardy nurser. And I had to start slowly weaning her myself. So why now, has my fatty weaned himself?
My friend mentioned that I could be pregnant and he sensed it and now wants nothing to do with me, er, my milk. But as I think that highly unlikely (actually hoping and praying that that is not the case), I have moved on to other theories.
Could he really just be getting to be a big boy now and just wants to stop with the 'baby' milk? Has my milk gone sour (just kidding, but I wonder if the taste has changed)? Was it something I ate and now he is scared to ever breastfeed again?
I have tried him countless times and in different positions and he fights me off; he refuses now to even open his mouth where as before he would take the boob but bite it. I miss the days of him blissfully breastfeeding. I get depressed thinking of it. How could he wean so soon. And not like a normal baby would by dropping a feeding here and there, not all at once. Weaning slowly would have been easier on my boobs too.
All night he went without a drop of my milk. That day, I put him down for a nap, went to the store and when I came back and tried to breastfeed, he just refused it. And kept doing so since. And those first 2 days were a nightmare. My boobs swelled up like two huge balloons, yet I felt as if 2 rocks had been placed right on my chest. My back hurt, to bend over hurt, to lift my arms hurt. Even pumping hurt (resorting to hand pumping as I have no breast pump). I finally hand expressed some milk while taking a hot shower and using the water to help alleviate the bulk. It worked and the next day my boobs felt better. I did it again the following night and then that following day I expressed a sizable amount of breast milk in a bottle, hopeful that if Fatty wouldn't take my boob, he would at least drink the milk.
I was wrong. He refused the milk as he had the breast. He was done with it. And now my mind races as to find some sort of explanation that does not involve 'pregnancy'.
While I fear I might 'dry' up and lose my milk supply before Fatty decides to start breastfeeding again, I have been attempting weakly to keep my supply up by hand expressing occasionally.
All the questions I had finally led me to google, where I looked up reasons why an almost 10 month old baby would self wean and came across a term that I had scarcely heard before. 'Strike". My baby was most likely on a strike , not self weaning as I initially thought. And since Princess had never been on strike before I never thought to consider it a possibility. I didn't even know babies could strike, yet alone strike against breastmilk, their comfort and most important food supply.
I often tell people Boobie weaned himself, but as it is unlikely a 4 month old would do such a thing, now it seems he was on strike and I only helped his strike along by offering formula . My milk was gone and it was too late. I don't want the same thing to happen with Fatty.
So I have concluded that Fatty's reluctance to breastfeed is one of two things: I am either pregnant or he is on strike... hoping and crossing my fingers its' the latter. I just hope his strike ends before my milk says "bye bye" for good. As for the former being a possible explanation for Fatty's refusal to drink my milk, I must wait and see what happens at the end of this coming week, when my period is due. And so the wait begins.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Techno World
What would the world come to if we weren't able to search the world wide web? I am almost certain it would cease to spin on it's very axis or at least slow down a bit.
So I had no internet for 2 days and a half. At first I thought I would lose my mind. The time I needed it the most (as always is the case with something you always have until it's gone) was the time it decided to stop working. I was a little peeved at the company because they were supposed to send someone on Saturday and he never showed (why call, get directions, say you are on your way and then not show up at all). After calming down a bit, I figured having no internet for a day or two wouldn't kill me. Thankfully, I of have a life I can go on living. But it sucked all the same.
I remember life without internet. I was fine. I lived. I spent most of my time in my room listening to music on the RADIO (not an ipod or even a cd player), reading (actual books not magazines) and hanging with friends. It wasn't so bad. Things were a bit slower, but you still got things done. I spent my first 2 years of high school without email. I didn't even know how to navigate the web, much less set up an account.
In school, computer class was more about learning how to write and save files, create new documents and do simple projects using computer tools. We did not learn how to search a web engine or grab and post images off the web into folders.
I remember the first computer we got. It was bought mainly for my sister so she could do her homework more efficiently. I think I was still in middle school. It was one of those small, white, bulky, early ones. All it had were the basics plus a few games, like space invaders, family feud and win lose draw. I LOVED that computer and spent a lot of time on it. I sure did know how to occupy my time on that machine without the aid of the internet.
So why now, do I find it boring being on the computer if I can't log on to cyber space? The most I do on the computer now without internet access is, download pictures from my camera, view pictures and maybe play a game or 4 of solitaire. Thats' it! Ninety-nine percent of the time, if I am on the computer, I am on the internet. Shame, shame, shame.
Lucky for me though, I am a simple net user. I don't go much for all the hip new sites like mypsace and facebook. I don't twit; I don't even know what the hell Twitter is. I might get on utube once in a while. But I stick to the tried and true, for the most part. I have one or 2 message boards I frequent and that is where the bulk of my time is spent, besides my recent obsession with blogging. Don't get me wrong. I am all over the internet. My favorites list has grown quite long, with some of the sites I like to visit now and then. Like Craigslist, MTV, of course my yahoo email account and a few others. They give me my daily fix.
Technology, I feel, snuck up on us in a big way. There was the time when hardly anyone had a computer in their home. Now almost everyone not only has a computer but also has internet as well. And if they don't, there are a million places to go, besides the library, to get it.
I often times wonder, what would these cyber junkies do, people whose lives ARE the internet, if there was to be no more cyber space. They lived once without it right? I assume they would survive... as with any addiction, there would be a withdrawl period. But eventually it would seep out of their system and they would find something else to occupy their time.
It's like the cell phone craze now-a- days. There was a time when people actually had a private conversation in the privacy of their own home on a home phone (if they had one). There was a time when, if something happened you wanted to share with someone, you had to wait until you saw that someone in person or got home to give them a call. Now, most people would just DIE if they went ONE day without a cell phone. Why wait the dreadful 10 minutes to get home and make a call when they can do it right in the here and now? No, we are in the 'do it now' world and so a simple call to say " I'll be home in 5 minutes" must be made while on the bus or the train because waiting the actual 5 minutes to get home to say "I'm home" would be too much. They would literally implode. Honestly.
I don't begrudge anyone their techno gadgets, but what a world we live in. The "fast paced, need it now, have to tell them right away" mind set that makes internet and cell phones and ipods and every other high tech invention a necessity. Which in reality, they really have become. No one can deny they do serve their purposes... after all, cell phones come in handy in an emergency. And how would we become such informed citizens of the world without the internet?
I have actually said a few times that I could not live without my internet. But really, is that true? I had lived 15 or so years without it. It didn't really become a big part of my life until after Boobie was born and I wasn't that into the internet until past the age of 20. It became essential for school, but I rarely spent much time on the computer to become fascinated with all it had to offer. Then one day that all changed. My first foray into the cyber world led me to a few sites that ultimately led me to a mesage board and then I was hooked.
There were times I went without internet and got used to life as is, but once I got sucked back in, there was hardly any tunring back.
Granted I use the net for other, more important, things. I use it to stay in touch with my family. Being so far away from them, using the internet to stay connected has become essential. I use it to get imformation when my kids are sick (err on the side of caution as there is a mountain high of information out there, some useful, some not). I use it to share pictures of my kids with my family, who don't have the priveledge of getting to see my kids grow up (thank man for the digital camera). It definitly unites us. And information, like the birth of a baby or death of a relative or just everyday events, are passe along so much quicker with the internet.
It's not to say I am technologically obssessed, especially with my internet. But life just seems so much easier with the web. So while I feel I could live without internet, I feel like a big chunk of my life would now be missing.
So I had no internet for 2 days and a half. At first I thought I would lose my mind. The time I needed it the most (as always is the case with something you always have until it's gone) was the time it decided to stop working. I was a little peeved at the company because they were supposed to send someone on Saturday and he never showed (why call, get directions, say you are on your way and then not show up at all). After calming down a bit, I figured having no internet for a day or two wouldn't kill me. Thankfully, I of have a life I can go on living. But it sucked all the same.
I remember life without internet. I was fine. I lived. I spent most of my time in my room listening to music on the RADIO (not an ipod or even a cd player), reading (actual books not magazines) and hanging with friends. It wasn't so bad. Things were a bit slower, but you still got things done. I spent my first 2 years of high school without email. I didn't even know how to navigate the web, much less set up an account.
In school, computer class was more about learning how to write and save files, create new documents and do simple projects using computer tools. We did not learn how to search a web engine or grab and post images off the web into folders.
I remember the first computer we got. It was bought mainly for my sister so she could do her homework more efficiently. I think I was still in middle school. It was one of those small, white, bulky, early ones. All it had were the basics plus a few games, like space invaders, family feud and win lose draw. I LOVED that computer and spent a lot of time on it. I sure did know how to occupy my time on that machine without the aid of the internet.
So why now, do I find it boring being on the computer if I can't log on to cyber space? The most I do on the computer now without internet access is, download pictures from my camera, view pictures and maybe play a game or 4 of solitaire. Thats' it! Ninety-nine percent of the time, if I am on the computer, I am on the internet. Shame, shame, shame.
Lucky for me though, I am a simple net user. I don't go much for all the hip new sites like mypsace and facebook. I don't twit; I don't even know what the hell Twitter is. I might get on utube once in a while. But I stick to the tried and true, for the most part. I have one or 2 message boards I frequent and that is where the bulk of my time is spent, besides my recent obsession with blogging. Don't get me wrong. I am all over the internet. My favorites list has grown quite long, with some of the sites I like to visit now and then. Like Craigslist, MTV, of course my yahoo email account and a few others. They give me my daily fix.
Technology, I feel, snuck up on us in a big way. There was the time when hardly anyone had a computer in their home. Now almost everyone not only has a computer but also has internet as well. And if they don't, there are a million places to go, besides the library, to get it.
I often times wonder, what would these cyber junkies do, people whose lives ARE the internet, if there was to be no more cyber space. They lived once without it right? I assume they would survive... as with any addiction, there would be a withdrawl period. But eventually it would seep out of their system and they would find something else to occupy their time.
It's like the cell phone craze now-a- days. There was a time when people actually had a private conversation in the privacy of their own home on a home phone (if they had one). There was a time when, if something happened you wanted to share with someone, you had to wait until you saw that someone in person or got home to give them a call. Now, most people would just DIE if they went ONE day without a cell phone. Why wait the dreadful 10 minutes to get home and make a call when they can do it right in the here and now? No, we are in the 'do it now' world and so a simple call to say " I'll be home in 5 minutes" must be made while on the bus or the train because waiting the actual 5 minutes to get home to say "I'm home" would be too much. They would literally implode. Honestly.
I don't begrudge anyone their techno gadgets, but what a world we live in. The "fast paced, need it now, have to tell them right away" mind set that makes internet and cell phones and ipods and every other high tech invention a necessity. Which in reality, they really have become. No one can deny they do serve their purposes... after all, cell phones come in handy in an emergency. And how would we become such informed citizens of the world without the internet?
I have actually said a few times that I could not live without my internet. But really, is that true? I had lived 15 or so years without it. It didn't really become a big part of my life until after Boobie was born and I wasn't that into the internet until past the age of 20. It became essential for school, but I rarely spent much time on the computer to become fascinated with all it had to offer. Then one day that all changed. My first foray into the cyber world led me to a few sites that ultimately led me to a mesage board and then I was hooked.
There were times I went without internet and got used to life as is, but once I got sucked back in, there was hardly any tunring back.
Granted I use the net for other, more important, things. I use it to stay in touch with my family. Being so far away from them, using the internet to stay connected has become essential. I use it to get imformation when my kids are sick (err on the side of caution as there is a mountain high of information out there, some useful, some not). I use it to share pictures of my kids with my family, who don't have the priveledge of getting to see my kids grow up (thank man for the digital camera). It definitly unites us. And information, like the birth of a baby or death of a relative or just everyday events, are passe along so much quicker with the internet.
It's not to say I am technologically obssessed, especially with my internet. But life just seems so much easier with the web. So while I feel I could live without internet, I feel like a big chunk of my life would now be missing.
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