FREE THING (too late, it's over!)

-------------------IMPORTANT UPDATE: The hat has found a forever home!---------------------


I forgot to mention that I was going to Utah for Christmas. Now I'm back. Lots of blogging to follow, including pictures from the trip AND my blog stats from last year, AND quite possibly a recap of 2012, AND also photos of the gifts I crocheted as Christmas presents but FIRST- does anyone have a large head?

This was my first attempt at Annie's hat and the "adult" size turned out wayyy too big (I used this pattern). It's just kind of cupping my head in this picture - I didn't have to stretch it at all. Sorta bonnety, and there's no way I'm unraveling the whole thing to salvage $2 worth of yarn. Took me like a day to make it. I'm pawning it off, is what I'm saying. Email me at jjensen zero two four at gmail dot com if you're interestedTHAT'S RIGHT!! You don't have to comment! You don't have to pin it! You don't have to post this to Facebook or even tweet about it or nail my blog adress to a telephone pole! Just send me an email if you're interested.

Shipping and handling included! Would make a lovely belated Christmas gift for your large-headed friend!!

She Sees You When She's Sleeping

Ding Dong Merrily On High!

Pantsdemonium

[In case you haven’t been hearing about the Mormon Women Wearing Pants to Church Day hullabaloo, here’s a link that summarizes the entire thing perfectly. There are a ton of other discussions out there on the topic, but start with that one first.]


WHY I AM TEMPTED TO WEAR PANTS TO CHURCH THIS SUNDAY:

• First and foremost, I wish women had a greater presence in the Church. There’s a whole host of ways women could increase in visibility with absolutely no doctrinal changes whatsoever - see some good suggestions here. (It’s interesting to note that one of the proposed changes on that list came to pass last General Conference when the mission age for women was reduced from 21 to 19.) Again, these are policy and cultural changes only.

• There is nothing doctrinal even remotely suggesting that women can only adequately worship in a skirt or dress. It’s purely the result of culture.

• A Mormon chapel is the only place on earth where a denim jumper is considered more appropriate than a pantsuit. Personally, I own at least three pairs of pants that are dressier than half of my skirts.

• There’s a woman in my ward who wears nice slacks each week. I honestly don’t know the reason, but I suspect it’s related to her health. Social taboo means that week after week, she will be the ONLY one dressed differently. I bet she’d appreciate it if one week she showed up and she wasn’t the only one dressed in slacks.

• I sit in front of 16-year-old teens during the second hour and I constantly fidget with my skirt, wondering if I’m flashing a little bit of white.

• It’s freaking COLD in the chapel.

• What year is this, again?

WHY I PROBABLY WON’T WEAR PANTS TO CHURCH THIS SUNDAY:

• People might see it as a personal offense, or worse, an attack against the Church, and I can’t explain my above reasons to every single person in the ward. (Then again, can’t they “choose” not to be offended by it, just like all the times I’ve chosen not to be offended by political statements snuck into testimonies, racist and homophobic comments made in Relief Society, and parents who do not clean up their kids’ nasty Cheerio messes?)

• I don’t want people to read anything more into my intentions than what I’ve outlined above.

• I can’t think of a single way to frame the inevitable discussion with my Sunday School students in a manner that wouldn’t result in phone calls from parents.

• I see the significance in pants, specifically, as a feminist symbol, but I really don’t think that wearing pants to church is an effective way to change attitudes, especially now that the issue has become so divisive. (You should read some of the vitriol from the opposition. All hell has broken loose over this.)

All that being said, wearing purple, a color associated with the feminist movement, has been suggested as an alternative to the controversial pants-wearing. I’ll probably do that instead, as a subtler and less schismatic display of solidarity.

That's all.

Potato Tacos

I know, I know, sounds weird, get over it. My friend and I were discussing our ultimate comfort foods and she threw out "potato tacos." My face looked like yours, until she described them.

We've had them twice this week.


You will need:

Mashed potatoes (we use yellow; they make the best mash.)

Corn tortillas

Chopped cabbage

Lime wedges

Hot sauce (optional)

Toothpicks for pinning tacos flat

Oil for frying

Heat oil over medium or a little less. You don't need much, maybe a half-inch? Microwave tortillas for 30 seconds or so - otherwise they'll tear when you fold them. Spoon on some potato mixture (not too much or else you'll be sad that you can't fit as much cabbage in later).

Fold over and pin with toothpick. 

Fry for a minute or so on each side, until goldeny. BE CAREFUL AND KEEP FLOUR A FIRE EXTINGUISHER A WELL-FITTING LID NEARBY. Hot oil is terrifying.

Remove toothpick, fill with cabbage, squeeze a shload of lime juice on there, add a few drops of hot sauce, and NOM!!!

The Good Old Days, Episode IV

See also:
Episode I
Episode II
Episode III
Episode V

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Our birth stories. Jake, the first, was NINE POUNDS and took his sweet time – 20 hours of hard labor for my poor, tiny mom. My parents insist that right after Corinne was born she stopped crying, lifted her head, and took a good long look around the room. Annie wasn't breathing, and since she was born in a German hospital my terrified parents couldn’t discern what the doctors and nurses were yelling about. And I came squirting out unexpectedly. As the story goes, the doctor leapt across the room and caught me by an ankle before I hit the ground. That story comes from a father who is prone to great exaggeration, so believe half of it (maybe less).

How Annie and I used to catch garter snakes and store them out in the garage in an old toaster oven.

That time Annie accidentally decapitated one of the toaster snakes. She was trying to make it slither by stooping over, gripping the head, and dragging in a snakey motion as she walked. Then she stepped on its tail. The end.

MOHAMMAD. We were both five and our dads worked together. Mohammad’s mom was learning English, so my mom helped out by watching their demon son while she attended class. He was the most toxic, feral, hellborn child I have ever encountered in my life. He antagonized me relentlessly; mimicking, undermining, pulling hair. He tortured the kitten that his parents gave him. One night, when his family had us over for dinner, I was playing with one of his older sister’s Popples and in a jealous fit Mohammad tore it out of my grip. I tried to hold on, but when he’d finally wrested it from me all that was left in my hands was a dismembered Popple ear. No one had noticed, so I stashed it in my pocket and when all the rest of the kids thundered off to dinner, I hung back, glanced left, glanced right, then stuffed the ear back into the hole and scampered away.

That time Jake lost a salamander in the house. A week later it scared the life out of my mom when it came crawling out from under the piano, completely covered in dust bunnies.

How I thought that football players in a huddle were praying.

How we used to gauge our ages by where we’d lived at the time (I still do, and I’m sure my siblings do too. Instead of saying, “When I was 10,” I say, “In Virginia….”). Anyway, we were once teasing 6 year old Annie about something silly she’d done a year before and she replied defensively, “That was in Kansas!” [translation: “It’s been forever, let it go already!”] but immediately continued on in dawning realization, “This IS Kansas!”

That time I was glinting my new watch off the face of a long-suffering fellow Pizza Hut customer. I didn’t realize what it was like on his end, blinding light in his eyes and all. After what must have been several minutes of me staring intensely at the guy and wriggling my wrist in an attempt to individually circle all of his facial features, my brother Jake noticed what was going on and grabbed my arm to stop me.

That time there was a volcanic eruption. My dad called my mom in a panic from work, telling her that Mt. Spurr 80 miles west of Anchorage had erupted and that the entire city would be covered in ash within hours. Our garage was full of boxes, so we frantically worked to rearrange it all so that the vehicles could fit inside (I used “we” loosely there). Over the next couple of days the entire city became blanketed in a half-inch of ash that lingered for months. My sisters and I would play “school” in the street by drawing out assignments in the silt with our index fingers – NERDS! (Here’s a link to more information about the eruption.)

That time I got blown across the schoolyard in Alaska. People never believe this story but I promise it’s true. My parka caught a gust and became a sail. I had to duck and roll to avoid the rapidly approaching fence. I was scared to go outside for a year.

That time A) I was 14, B) my parents were out of the country, C) Corinne was away for the night with friends, and D) a hospital an hour away called to say that Annie was there and to please have an adult call for more details. I had an emotional breakdown on the spot. Corinne didn’t have a cell and hadn’t left me a number where I could reach her. My parents were in the bowels of the Costa Rican rainforest. After a few minutes of reverse dry heaving I had the sudden inspired thought to check CallWave, an online messaging service from back when teenagers being on the internet tied up phone lines and caused dads to be very angry. My parents paid like 5 bucks a month and people could leave a message instead of just getting a busy signal. It just so happened that CallWave started us on a free trial upgrade to caller ID that exact same day, and that Corinne had called from her friend’s cell as they drove away from the house, and that I had happened to be online when she called, so I had a number where I could reach my sister. Turns out Annie’s horse had taken a tumble and she’d hit her (helmeted) head on a rock. The concussion wasn’t severe, but enough that Corinne and I had to take turns waking her up every hour during the night to make sure she wasn’t… I don’t know, dead? Unconscious? My favorite part of this story comes from Annie’s friend’s version of the events. After the fall, Annie insisted that she was okay, but just to be safe she led her horse back to the trailer instead of riding. She was acting strange, though, and her friend knew something was definitely wrong when Annie stopped her horse to pull some half-buried, broken, garbage sunglasses out of the sandy path. “Are these yours?” Annie asked. “They’re not mine…are they yours?” Lucia replied apprehensively. Annie looked distraught as she struggled to remember, then defeatedly replied, “I don’t know.”

How my mom is the most caring, patient mom on earth except in the following five situations: when nail clippers are borrowed and not returned to their rightful place, when in close proximity to a Gum Chewer, when dress-ups are left on the floor, when her face is being touched, when asked how long to microwave a food item.

'Tis the Season!

My house is Chrismassed! Or should I say, one corner of my house. I'm not big on holiday decorations. They take up too much space the rest of the year.

Oh wait, what's that? There, at the top of the bookshelf?

MORE FREE CHRISTMAS PRINTABLES, from my computer to yours. Happy December!

 (Download here.)

(Download here.)

Semi-related, this happened OH YES I DID:

Holiday Weekend

• Thanksgiving! We celebrated with my aunt and uncle and my cousin (and his family) at his in-law's house in Scottsdale, along with about twenty other people, half of which we'd never met before. We sat with a Navajo man and his family, and he told us this awesome story about his conversion to the gospel that involved a summer away from the reservation working on a potato farm in Driggs, Idaho, being introduced to the LDS church, then returning home and going on a 4-day spiritual quest in the mountains to find out for himself if the church was true. Fascinating. (The fact that I was eating dinner with a Native American, and that therefore my Thanksgiving was more legit than yours, was not lost on me in the moment.)

• It was my birthday yesterday! I don't care what everyone else says, I love birthdays. We slept in, ate pancakes, saw a movie (Lincoln; more on that next), ate lunch at my favorite restaurant, decorated for Christmas, opened presents, and had fondue at home for dinner to celebrate the conclusion of my 27th year. 

Postino (Central). You should go there.

• Apparently I have worse luck at movie theaters than most people, and Lincoln was no exception. We sat in the far back; a woman in the very front row pulled her phone out about once every fifteen minutes and held it up for the entire theater to see. I was too far away to yell at her, but I did get to join the rest of the audience in yelling at the old man who loudly ANSWERED HIS PHONE during a critical moment in the film. That's not even all - some beefcake teenager in a tank top sat right next to Jon and had a 150 minute long conversation with the movie. Jon asked him to kindly stop shaking his leg partway through, as it was causing THE ENTIRE ROW to bounce. A woman nearby tuberculosis-coughed every thirty seconds, and the guy directly to my left smelled like beef jerky. I say it every time but this time I might be serious - I AM DONE WITH MOVIE THEATERS (and any places with people, in general).

• At church I spent a few minutes chit-chatting with a girl that I thought maybe I could be friends with. Then I asked her what her son's name is: Diesel. I pointed her out to Jon as we pulled out of the parking lot and he recognized her husband as "that dude that said, 'If you don't vote for Mitt Romney, I don't know how you can consider yourself Mormon' during Elder's Quorum." So much for potential new friends!

• My angry, itchy red welts have browned and hardened into ugly, itchy scales. So hot right now.

Text within Context

PENNY GOT INTO THE GARBAGE!!! First time EVER. Little dummy. Jon sent me a text detailing her uncharacteristic, wild binge on used Kleenex and Q-tips and her subsequent shame, and concluded it with, "Clearly we are not feeding her enough mucous or ear wax."

Stuff I Distinctly Remember Saying During the Operation

"Are you feeding the wires in now?"
"Owwww." [coupla times]
"Last time I had a burn mark near my incision, what was that from?"
"Is it in my heart?"
"And that's abnormal?"
"Am I asking too many questions?"
"Yes!! I really really wanted to but I didn't know if I was allowed." [When Frank invited me to turn my head and watch the screen.]
"Are you going to burn??"
"You're for sure going to burn??"
"Are you feeding the burner in right now?"
"Put me to the moon, Frank." [When the doctor replied yes to my previous question.]
"Owwwww." [couple more times.]
"They burned my heart!!!!!!!!!!!!!" [To Jon, as they wheeled me out of the operating room.]

--------------------------------------------------------------

I'm sure there was a lot more, since I found an entire texted conversation I had with my friend Amber directly after the procedure that I had no recollection of until yesterday afternoon. And since this is the last I plan to write on the topic, my doctor is Dr. Michael Zawaneh at Arizona Arrhythmia Consultants in Scottsdale, and he's the best doctor ever, and he fixed my heart, and I highly recommend him for all of your cardiac ablation and electrophysiology needs.

kthxbai

--------------------------------------------
See also:
Part 1 of ?
Part 2 of ?
Part 3 of ?
Part 4 of ?
Part 5 of FIVE!!!
Hearpdate
The last post about my heart (I promise this time)

Hearpdate

I still feel great. Yesterday was a little eventful though; we were at my aunt and uncle’s house and as soon as I sat down at the table for lunch after proclaiming how amazing I felt (considering), I started to feel weird. Lightheaded, dizzy, shaky. My cousin’s daughter asked me to pass the salt and I fumbled it. After a few minutes of trying to act normal, I left the table to go lay on the couch and I got all cold and clammy. No nausea, though, just this weird out-of-body feeling. We scrammed out of there not too long after, and as soon as we got home Jon checked my hospital discharge papers which informed us to notify the doctor on-call immediately if I felt any lightheadedness or dizziness. I called, and it was miraculously MY doctor that was on-call, and since he’s the best and most attentive doctor EVERRR he told us to meet him at the ER to personally check me out. As in, he left the clinic and drove across town to meet us at the hospital that was closest to our apartment. Everything was totally fine; he even gave me another ultrasound and tested my blood to be sure, and everything looks great. I had food poisoning last Sunday and between that and my procedure I haven’t had much of an appetite – I’m blaming it all on lack of food. Whatever it was, it wasn’t related to my heart. And the best news is that since I met my out-of-pocket maximum last week, the ER trip was FREEEEEEEEEE. He kept apologizing for calling me to the hospital, and said, “It’s because you’re so young. I can’t take a young person’s health lightly. If you were 95, though, I probably would have told you to just go to sleep.” Oh yeah, and during the ultrasound right after my procedure (I forgot to mention this in my other post), he kept commenting on my healthy young heart and said, “Most of the hearts we see in here are all dilated and floppy.” HAHAHahaHAhHAHahHAhHahHAhhaAAaaaa

Also, my welts are less itchy but more awful-looking than ever:

Also, we had a little 13 year old girl walk/feed Penny on Thursday during the procedure, and she sent me a text afterward that said, “Hi! I got back from feeding and taking Penny out about 5 minutes ago. She did amazing! Hope the surgery went well!” and it was the most adorable thing ever, and now whenever Penny takes a dump Jon announces, “She did amazing!”

Just one more heart post after this and then I'm done.

-------------------------
See also:
Part 1 of ?
Part 2 of ?
Part 3 of ?
Part 4 of ?
Part 5 of FIVE!!!
Stuff I Distinctly Remember Saying During the Operation
The last post about my heart (I promise this time)

Sacking the Tach: Part 5 of FIVE!!!

I'm cured!!! NIGHT AND DAY from last time. They were able to cause a short-lived tach attack almost immediately, and after some trial and error figured out an exact sequence of steps to take to bring one on. Something about “tickling” it in a certain place with their mapping wires, bringing my heart rate to a certain range of beats per minute artificially, elevating it to 360 beats per minute for only a second or two, then my natural arrhythmia would always take over. This was repeated for four hours while they mapped out my heart to find out the exact origins. At one point, my arrhythmia took over for an HOUR and they couldn’t get it to stop (huge change from last time, when they couldn’t start one at all!!) Frank went out and told Jon that if it didn’t stop soon, they would have to electrically cardiovert me (CLEAR!), but they didn’t end up needing to, and the doctor seemed annoyed when Jon told him Frank had even mentioned it. Poor Jon sat out there with eyes like silver dollars after that. Frank's announcement, combined with the fact that someone in another operating room had died and he witnessed the family’s grief, and he had a sort of nerve-racking time out in the waiting room.

The doctor ultimately found three points of origin for my arrhythmia – a larger one in my lower right atrium and two smaller ones in my upper left atrium – none of which were where he had previously anticipated. The three areas communicated to each other in a figure-8-like circuit, and he said the whole operating staff collectively groaned when they realized what they were dealing with; this sort of point of origin tends to move around on them as they burn, going away but then cropping up in a different spot, which is exactly what happened with mine. After chasing and burning the hell out of the larger spot, they were no longer able to bring on an attack and called it a success. Having your heart cauterized internally feels almost exactly like how you’d imagine, PS. Super uncomfortable (like extreme heartburn, go figure) despite the fact that Frank administered a delightful cocktail of Fentanyl and Versed as soon as it became certain they were definitely going to ablate.

My right atrium!

The cluster of red dots at the bottom are where they burned.

I feel GREAT. Even immediately afterward, I couldn’t believe the difference in how I felt compared to last time, and I don’t just mean my spirits (I was sort of devastated when the first surgery failed). My groin was sore, but didn’t throb and give me deadleg like it did last time – apparently last time they had to puncture three times and this time they got it right on the first attempt, so I’m sure that explains that. When the nurse helped me to stand for the first time, I got right up and shuffled around with barely any discomfort. Last time I almost passed out. The doctor was concerned that I’d have lots of heart pain, considering the amount of burning they did, but I haven’t felt anything. Still, he kept me for several more hours for observation and gave me an ultrasound to check on the swelling. My only complaint, really, has been the allergic reaction I had to the defibrillator pads.

I have another welt the same size on my chest. I slept pretty much all day today, but it’s hard to tell if that had more to do with the procedure yesterday or the copious amounts of Benadryl I’ve been taking to keep the itching at bay.

Anyway, c'est fini. Yay modern medicine!!!!

--------------------------------------
See also:
Part 1 of ?
Part 2 of ?
Part 3 of ?
Part 4 of ?
Hearpdate
Stuff I Distinctly Remember Saying During the Operation
The last post about my heart (I promise this time)

Why Grammar Is Important

It's the difference between, "I'm so glad you're ok. WOW! Scary! Heavenly Father was watching out for you," and...well...this:

 



Chazdidee

This just made my day. Apparently these friends searched for the best (worst) authentic Utah baby names then made this video based on their findings. The outfits, the hair that keeps getting bigger and bigger, the shout-out to Rexburg....hilarious perfection. Wish I'd thought of it.

o hai

If you’re keeping track, I should be in the hospital today. But I’m not. It got rescheduled for Thursday, which was the second reschedule, and I’m sure you can imagine how I felt about it all. The first time it was, “OMG I am so sorry, I just realized the equipment isn’t even going to be in the hospital that day!!” and the second time it was, “OMGOMGOMG I am soooooo sorry, I just realized the doctor isn’t even going to be in town that day!!!!” and I was like, o__O

Anyway, so there’s that. Can we talk about Ada’s costume???

(Corinne et al. were spared the worse effects of hurricane Sandy and are in the lit portion of Manhattan. Don’t go swimming in the sewer water, guys.)

In conclusion, I changed my blog for the holidays. I’m not saying for “Christmas” because I’m a stickler about NO CHRISTMAS BEFORE THANKSGIVING, but fair isle isn’t necessarily limited to Christmas, right? It can apply to the entire holiday season? Regardless, I made the header, and I couldn’t wait, so it’s up, and if you’re one of those people who never ventures outside of Google Reader you *probably* are going to want to make an exception for this.

kthxbai