A sign

A sign

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Basic Information: Things to do

So, I've decided to start writing little things that come up.  They aren't full page stories. But, they are funny and odd, and I like them.   I am calling this line of not so stories: "Basic Information". Here is the first of these. It's called Things to do

Miles and I went to dinner last night. He is in a research group for school.  This group has students, post docs, and the professor that leads it.  Whenever one of these people graduate or finish up with their Post doc, the whole group gets together for a dinner to say good bye.

Miles had never attended these dinners before.  Both because of his lack of funds and because of his disinterest in social gatherings (Turns out the professor pays. Miles missed out on SO MANY free dinners). We went to our first one a couple of weeks ago.  Miles knew the kid well and felt bad not going, and we were going to Ethiopian food...so it was really a no brainer. This is where we found out that it was free, and where the Ethiopian place in Rochester is.

Last night we went to an Italian place. It was good, it would have been better if I could have had red wine...but, fetuses are lightweights.

On our way home, or rather, about one second away from our house, Miles remembered that he was supposed to go back to the lab and shut off a reaction.  He gets overwhelmed with the idea of this and I can see him trying to talk himself out of going back.  This never works with Miles.  He would have ended up going back to lab no matter what.  Whether it be now or in two hours, when he can't get it out of his mind.  We go.

At the lab it takes about two seconds to get everything done that he wants to.  He is still frustrated with the fact that we had to come back when he remembers something. He is locking up the door and freezes.  He glances at me. He sighs. He puts one hand on the wall and his head down, visibly frustrated with something. He wants to do something else, but he also just wants to go home.  There is a battle taking place in his mind. He looks at me, closes his eyes, and says:

"Listen. Do you want a lambs wool sweater?"

Monday, January 27, 2014

My Dad Got a New Phone

My dad decided that he wanted a phone that he could talk to.  My brother shows off his phone's ability to write and send a text via the user speaking to the phone. (My brother demonstrated this by saying to his phone "Tell Becky that she's ugly." Shortly after I received a text message...*) My dad was jealous. Obviously.

Let me just say that I do not have a smartphone.  I probably will never get a smartphone. I am both old at heart and have a lot of issues with phones that aren't really humorous.  I'm bad at navigating phones and have considered buying one of those models that are advertised in the back of National Geographic, with giant numbers and "easy to understand symbols." My dad would have realized my lack of phone motor skills (or interest) if he ever looked at my phone. It's fanciest feature is the "slide technology" that allows me to text using a full keyboard...I know, I'm a big deal.

He did not realize this.  EVERY conversation we had revolved around phones. Things like what model he should get, the size of each model, who has each current model, those various people's reviews...other things I'm sure, I just stopped listening.

So he gets a phone.
 He is very excited.

"Bridesmaids" comes on TV.
I am very excited.

He reads the manual (yup, the book that comes with the phone. He read it.) He learns about all sorts of features this phone has. Including...turning the TV off (we hate him), he then couldn't figure out how to turn it back on (more hate). So we yelled at him.  He retreated to the other room.

I guess he learned that the bluetooth headset he has can control the "speak to the phone feature." He starts looking for the remote to the T.V. in the other room (my parents have 2,000 TVs). His phone apparently does not have a "find remote" app. He comes out of the room with a full telemarketer style headset on, phone in hand, searching for the remote (clearly we are talking about a master of technology). Finally locating the correct remote (they are all exactly the same except for one has red tape to indicate "living room remote") he begins his training in the art of Smartphone Mastery.

We ignore him.

I assume he mastered it. He can call his contacts by simply saying their name, he can text, turn the TV on and off, pretty much anything that he could have done with a button, now he can do by pushing a button, and then using his voice. Amazing.

I thought that he mastered it.  I was wrong.  I learned that he was wrong by being woken up at 6:30am to the sound of my dad, downstairs, almost yelling:




I hate smart phones. And my dad.
* My brother is an asshole.

Note:  Apparently my dad called (attempted to call)  a different farm location that morning. I don't know which one. All I remember is yelling, him repeating himself with more confusion and frustration with each demand, and me- crying into my pillow.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Giving Thanks and a Battered Grandmother

Miles and I walked into his Aunt's house on Thanksgiving.  We were super excited because today was the day we were announcing our pregnancy! We had made small photo books that had pictures of our wedding and the last page said

"The Next Photo is DUE June 2014...

It was amazing, and we couldn't wait to see everyone...and then we did.  Most notably, his Grandmother. We call her Zatta. I don't know why. Anyway, the woman had a black eye and scrapes all over her face.

Yup. Battered Grandma. 

I saw her, gasped and said 


She said "I was waiting for someone to notice."

Literally, a beaten face. EVERYONE NOTICED. She told me vaguely that she "fell" with no further detail. I was stunned, Miles' mom nudged me to hand out the books (she knew since I was 5 weeks, and I was 12 weeks at the time.  She was DYING to talk about it.) She kind of snapped me out of shock.  Miles' sister (who seems to always know what I am thinking) started laughing at my reaction, and I think stayed in the room only to watch me interact with her abused Grandmother.

So, I handed out the books.  I told everyone that they were just pictures from the wedding, and I figured they would appreciate having copies of their own.  So his Aunt and Grandmother are looking through them at the same time. It's like 5 pictures. The Aunt gets done first, gasps, puts the book down, hugs me, etc. Miles cousin wants to see what's going on, so she picks up the book.  (Zatta is still looking) His cousin gets done.  She gasps, and then asks me 

"So wait, How many weeks are you? When is your due date?"

Zatta is still reading. I say that I am 12 weeks(still reading) and that Dawn (Miles mom) has known since week 5 (still reading). Then Dawn pipes in and takes about how excited she is (still reading), 1st grandchild!! (still reading) 

Finally, She yells. 

Then she looks around and sees everyone smiling, with random hands on my stomach.

"Wait!? Everyone knew?!"

It was amazing. I've never seen so much obliviousness to what's going on around someone, so much confusion, and so many bruises on one face, all at once. 

She later told me that she though it was a boy because I was "carrying low"  (I wasn't showing).  When I left she came up to me, put her hand on my shoulder and said 


It was a great Thanksgiving.