An ad for having kids

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Chris and I keep pondering kids and dogs, kids and dogs. Some days a dog wins and other days you find that an experience with a kid tips you over the edge towards wanting kids. Yes, we have been married 10 years, but that does not mean we do not hesitate to take that next step that we know will change everything.

So when I saw this great video by a father who took video from each day of his son’s first year of life, I was smitten. At first I thought, this video is 6 minutes there is no way I will watch it all, and then I did. Of course the music by Devochka helps the mood and thought process, because of course I imagined what it would be like if that little precious boy was mine. I love that this father interspersed all moments, the tears, screams, laughter, cuteness, crawling, and walking.

What a cool memory and reminder this little boy will have of his first year of life. He will get to look back and watch how he grew and changed. What if this father continues to video his son each day for his son’s entire childhood? His son might find it annoying, but it would definitely be cool to look back on.

Enjoy and Happy Friday!

Farting on an airplane?

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Come on, you know that either you are a victim of the airplane fart, or you were the one that wounded everyone. I have had this article saved in a blog draft for months now, and I just found it. I think at the time that I found this article I thought why would anyone want to read about farting on an airplane? Recently I was on a flight with Chris and while waiting for other passengers to board the plane we smelled the most horrifying body odor. I wanted to gag, or maybe I started to gag. I looked over at Chris and he looked ill. Eventually the passenger continued to walk to the back of the plane and we were saved.

The ironic part about the body odor is that the man who came to sit in the seat next to me leans over and says, “I am so sorry about my body odor. I have been camping in Mexico and I have not showered in days.” The thing was, he did not smell that bad. I will tell you, I might have horrible hearing and eyesight, but the one thing God gave me that fully functions is my nose. My smeller is attuned and always on high alert. This guy did not smell that bad. I told him so. I thought to myself, what amazing self-awareness to alert me. I appreciated his bluntness and if he was going to be so blunt I thought, why not respond in kind? So I lean over to him and say: “You do not stink at all, you missed the guy that has the bad body odor.” He smiled and said, “Oh, good. I felt bad that I might.”

Which leads me to the actual topic of this blog: Flatulence on an airplane. You will want to read this article I just shared. For a little tidbit, it starts out with: “Flying increases flatulence.” How many times have you thought, seriously who did that? The smells and odors that willingly escape and waft through the heavy, hot, and stuffy air seem to linger, and slowly kill our nose hairs. And, yet, we probably have all had a bad day, a bad airport lunch, or got stuck with a crazy, uncomfortable stomach while turbulence has imprisoned us to our seats thanks to the fasten seatbelt sign.

I am not going to lie. Chris has berated me for such misdemeanors. What can I say? Sometimes you cannot help it. Yes, I would rather be the guilty one, then the recipient.

Eternal Searcher

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I can find contentment in my life. I can appreciate what is right in front of me. Yet, I also find that I am always searching, voraciously for new information. I am a learner. I have often wondered what made me crave wanting to know and learn more. Over the weekend I finished reading: Poor Man’s Feast: A Love Story of Comfort, Desire, and the Art of Simple Cooking by Elissa Altman. It is a memoir about food and she often talks fondly about her father and how he helped shape her craving to want to learn more about food. As a child he would whisk her away to upscale restaurants while her mother would be off getting her hair and nails done.

This quote made me think about why we search in life. Altman is talking about her father’s mother leaving when he was young.

“Her leaving him at such a young age turned my father into an eternal searcher–always walking, always moving and hoping and looking for something he was never quite able to find, or to nail down.” page 219

It made me wonder do I do that? It has always been so hard for me to slow down. My days and sometimes nights are filled with work, which I love. Yet, I also squeeze in my hour run each day, and this weekday blog. It often means I crawl into bed and look over at Chris and say “Before we turn the lights out, can I just catch up with my Words with Friends game? It is the first moment I have had all day.” Then my eyes close and I am quickly off to la la land.

Do we all have a bit of wanting to be wanderers? Do we know when to stop or when enough is enough? Usually I know when I have hit my limit. It happened last week. I came home from work and essentially crawled into bed and fell right to sleep. Chris woke me up a few hours later, and I babbled nonsense to him as I woke from my nap. None of it made sense, and I think it showed just how exhausted I was from my ongoing, never-ending days.

Maybe being an eternal searcher is a good thing, as it means that you are always creatively looking freshly at the world. I would like to think that I am the eternal searcher, content with my life just as it is, but always grateful for that new idea and inspiration that comes as I pop into a boutique, finish that good book, have an aha moment during my run. What I can tell you is that the only way you will find me as a couch potato is if I cannot keep my eyes open and I have to (s)nap out of my long wandering ways.

Toilets, maps, and fizzy water

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Over 12 years ago, my sister took me on a trip to Italy to belated celebrate my college graduation. Neither of us spoke Italian, but it did not matter. All I needed to know (I know I am a simple one) is: “Where is the bathroom.” Or: “dove è la toilette.” At least that is what Google translate says is correct. We flew into Milan, took a train to Florence where we spent a few days, then off to Venice for the rest of our trip. Each city was so different from the others.

Venice

Venice

I loved the food, the people, the shops, the art. I am better at reading maps and navigating than I am speaking a language I do not know, or attempting to order food I want to eat (and not receiving something I do not want to eat). My sister would order our food and I would navigate the many streets and canals. Could we get to where we wanted to go, or would the street be flooded? Somehow splitting duties worked for us.

One of the things I found so comical about eating in restaurants on our trip was ordering water. You always had to tell the server, water with or without gas. I hated water with gas. Yes, water with gas. It must have been an Italian thing. I think my sister preferred water with gas, but me, not so much. If I remember correctly I convinced her to get water without gas because it would be less expensive.

Fast forward to a few months ago, and after all these years, I have become addicted to Perrier or San Pellegrino. Over the weekend someone told me about the Sodastream that turns water into bubbly water. The higher end model has glass bottles, the lower end model uses plastic bottles. Today at work someone told me that you can make sparkling water with a simple contraption called Fizz Gizz. I am trying to decide, do I continue to purchase bottled water, go fancy with a Sodastream, or go low maintenance with the Fizz Gizz? Or are there other potential options?

I am all set for the bathroom with my Sit or Squat app, Google maps helps me find my way, but now I need help with my fizzy addiction. Any sparkling water drinkers out there that can help teach me?

#wantbubbly

You must be 16 years or older

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Jump back in time to ten years ago. I am in an airport, preparing to board a plane. I do not remember which airport, but I know it was on the way back from my honeymoon. That tells you a bit of my age and state of mind. Legal to drive, legal to drink, relaxed, happy.

Chris goes up to the ticket counter to see if we can somehow get seats together in the emergency exit row. Due to his height, he always tries to secure emergency exit seats. He was not at all prepared for the comment that came next from the attendant at the check-in counter, who looks at me as I sit waiting with our luggage.

“Sir, your companion must be 16 years or older to sit in the exit row.” Shock. Confusion shows across Chris’ face. “My companion is my wife.” He points over to me. “She is definitely over 16 years old.” (And, no, I was not his child bride). At the time I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and a blue Patagonia winter cap. I have no idea why I was so overdressed, after all it was June. For some reason my outfit must have made the attendant think I was young. Chris comes back to where I was sitting, and has this grin on his face. I say to him, “Well, did you get your exit row seats just like you wanted?” He says back to me, “Yes, but the guy thought you were 16. I had to tell him that you were my wife, and that you were definitely old enough to handle an emergency exit.” Wow.

Yet, that same comment seems to follow me through life. Folks are shocked when they find out how old I really am. Or, they are shocked when they find out how many years of experience I had in the professional world. I suppose I should be grateful, because one day it might feel like the compliment of a lifetime.

“You must be 16 years or older to sit in the exit row.” Ha.