Operation: Repopulation!

Pay no attention to the cleavage Mama Ging is sporting, as apparently the title of "Grandmama" is causing a slight mid-life crisis.

But I see the beautiful tint of Ging to the Little Man's hair in this picture. Could it be??? Another Ging in the family? If so, welcome, welcome, welcome to the club. Yes, assholes will tease you in elementary school, junior high, and potentially in high school. But just think, you're not some boring-ass brunette or blonde. Those are a dime a dozen. We're a dying breed. Walk with pride.

This message was paid for by a Ging. By no means does she harbor true ill thoughts of non-Gings. There's just got to be some pride somewhere for having zero ability to tan, the exciting game of connect-the-freckles, and the fact that we survived the Salem Witch Trials. No Gings were harmed in the making of this blogpost.

A Day To Myself: A Pair of Jeans and a Wife-Beater Tank

This time, I'm roommate-less and content. I'm kinda surprised. Usually I put up a little stink about having to feed myself/entertain myself/clean up after myself. But this time, I was going to make the best of it.

I woke up this morning with 3 minutes before my alarm went off. Why'd I set an alarm? I had things to do today. And that was before I knew I was going to be blown off by co-workers because they have sick children. Pssssh, what kind of parents are they??

But first, last night. I rolled into town past 9:30pm, and was praying for a parking spot. Somehow, the parking gods were totally with me.

I got off work at 5:01pm, and because of the turn of events for the day, was invited down to the Club to meet 'n greet the owner. Little did I know I'd be sitting with a one-of-a-kind woman who knew everyone, knew how to entertain, and knew how to connect people. I spent over 4 hours chatting with a small group of people, who any other time would never get to meet, but because I decided to take up the offer of a glass of wine with this woman, I'd be connecting with so many people. Needless to say, a fantastic 4 hours. I can't wait until next Friday as I'll go back and see how else I can be wow'd.

But today was going to be a good day. It was the inaugural Sustainable Living Fair in Downtown Norfolk. And I was excited.

And it didn't let me down too much. Except for this one guy. He continued to talk me into a corner about how the City should care about the environment of the children for their sake. He didn't like the way the City did business. And he demanded change. Umm, well buddy, if you don't like, why don't you move? And to tell him I was from Oregon, the Land of Yurts, Nancy's Yogurt, and Yogi Tea, had no bearing to him. It was like saying I liked to clip my toenails. No change. Whatever, buddy.

I talked composting. I talked vermiculture. I talked laundry detergents. I talked coffee snobbery. I talked how giving out flyers at a Hippie Fair is the most anti-hippie concept ever. That last one, they didn't get. Go figure.

And as much as the 30% off the entire store of Eddie Bauer, because of their 90th anniversary, was appealing...not a damn thing worked for me. Yes, pouty face.

But I've moved on. As y'all know, this July, the Ging & Family is galavanting off to England for 2 weeks, and I'm going to need a great pair of shoes for this trek. I made mention of the neglect that my Chaco's have received since being on this Coast, and the Sheriff didn't think sandals would be enough for this trip. So until then, I'll be PiperLime.com-ing my heart out until I find the perfect ergonomic shoe for this summer's travel.

And now I'm at home, waiting for my dinner to finish, taking a hiatus from attacking the laundry piles that exist on the bedroom floor. I'm also desperate for a dresser, but will instead be sorting through my clothes on the continual binge until my clothes fit into the 2 small, clear "set of drawers" a la Walmart (picked up last year, after my arrival). I guess it's enough to say that my motivation towards the Simplicity Movement has returned. Darn me and my never-ending hippie ways. But yes, you will find a razor in my shower. This hippie doesn't go without personal hygiene, thank you.

And what's a week without some Little Man action?

And the proud-aunt-who-won't-get-to-meet-the-Little-Man-until-June has to boast somewhere. And it's my blog, and I'll Little Man drop if I want to.

I'm still thinking this is some severe ab workout/yoga pose that he's touting.

Umm, excuse me Sheriff...but I think the parents are the ones that should be tired.

And Mama Ging claims that this is the Little Man's best salute to Uncle Wookie, minus the inability of the fingers to straighten. I'm thinking he's up for some White Supremacy action. Or maybe some protesting pesticide use in Mexico and Canada. Or that his soy macchiatto wasn't up to par.

Slacking Ashley, Party of One

I didn't run tonight. I just didn't feel like it. Yes, it's a piss poor excuse to not get out and log miles. But I totally have great excuses lined up. Ready?

First up, I have a headache. Yes, it's only slight, but a headache is a headache. And if wives can use headaches as an excuse to not have sex with their husbands, I can so use it to get out of running.

Secondly, I have 2 "blemishes" residing as next-pore neighbors (clever, right?) on my face. Oh, joy. Exactly what I want. To revert back to adolescence and be forced to date retards who drive minivans with side paneling. And no, I didn't actually do that. They had real vehicles. Like trucks. That we went muddin' in. Yes, muddin'. Driving around, wasting gas, spraying mud, and hopefully not hitting trees. Obviously I've seen the light and now drive as minimally as possible.

Thirdly, my foot could use another rest day. Since the picture-age of the potential hallux valgus, I'm no longer quizzical in whether I'm getting a bunion or not. I AM. And I know it. It's now a larger bump. It'll make my whimper at work when I'm up and moving for most of the day (so I totally look forward to accounting projects and more desk work). I'm just not moved yet to purchase one of those ri-DIC-ulous "toe-straightener-outter" foot braces. This is NOT Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion.

Fourthly, I'll totally hit up the gym tomorrow. Will I though? Well, it's a 50/50 shot. Mr. Wookie will definitely be out of town, and I'm not the biggest fan of going out to Snappers alone. There's just something about being seen as single, in a bar, with no one to talk to, that makes males think I'm something to entertain/talk to/annoy/try and talk home. No, no, no, and no. But back on topic, the gym does close at 9pm and I'm off at 5:30pm. Totally time to go treadmill/elliptical/Lance Armstrong-action it up.

Fifthly, my new magazine is totally calling my name. Yes, a lame excuse. I agree. But still, it's In Style with Anne Hathaway. And I need to go shopping for work clothes, so what's a better way to plan my attack on the mall for this weekend than research. There, you have it, it's reading for my education. Not vapid, shallow entertainment.

And how could I forget No. 6. I have an in-grown armpit hair. Yes. There. It's wonderful! But in all seriousness, it's pretty lame/retarded/not wanted/but thankfully not painful. It's about the size of a pea or a hazelnut. And I've tried squeezing the crap outta it, but to no avail. I definitely need my Mommy Monkey here. She picks everything. I swear, you have a scab somewhere...she'll vulture in and attack it until it's gone. Who cares if you're bleeding out 4 pints of blood afterwards. She got her target. Mission accomplished.

And yes, I've asked Mr. Wookie to pick my armpit. But I didn't tell him it was my armpit. Either way, he said 'no.' He's not into causing me pain. As cute as it is, I wouldn't call squeezing the daylights outta one hair follicle as pain. I'd say it's relief.

Oh, Beautiful...Sucky...Morning

First I wake up at 4:something by flailing in the middle of the night and knocking my phone off the side table. Then I proceed to wake up at 5:00am and 5:30am, until my alarm allows me the justification to get up at 6:00am.

So my sleep has been trumpled upon by big, wallowy sleep-deprived elephants. Superb.

Then I stroll downstairs, load up a bowl of Cheerios, but then smell the milk.

"Umm, Wook, is this still good?"

Sniff. Sniff-sniff. Sniiiiiiiiff. "Nope."

Shit. What the hell do I make for breakfast now?

Yes, we have eggs, and bacon, and pancakes, and everything that could constitute a nice weekend breakfast. But on a work day, I only allot time to eat cereal. Not to flip omelets with shrooms, peppers, olives, and cheese.

And now I'm here blogging about it, eating up more of my morning time. So while I should be getting out of the shower now and working on my hairs, instead I'm continuing my bitch-train this morning about how I couldn't have my Gold Standard and had to make oatmeal instead.

Hopefully I can get to the grocery store this evening, after my hairdid appt, but before Zumba to rectify this situation. I can't wait to see how else today will not go my way. Yay me.

Maybe getting shit on by a newborn isn't such a bad thing after all.

Words From The Sheriff: The Sheriff's Fireside Chats

"Not my 1st rodeo, folks. But all you greenhorns out there be careful with babies going commando." - Sheriff

Only my dad can mix parenting advice to sound like it's Mike Rowe voicing over Deadliest Catch. But let's not go there. That's still a sore subject in our family. Then again, thank goodness it wasn't my Time Bandit boys. Or the Hansens for Mommy McD's sake.

So yes, the Sheriff is a professional in the children category. What quantifies a "professional?" Well, he survived raising 1 boy (Brother) and 3 girls (this blogger, Middle Sister, and Baby Sister) through commando, diapers, sports, high school, and almost all of us through college. No suspensions, no fights, no graffiti, or dropping out. Just a fair share of sports, music recitals, and Nutcracker performances.

And let's not forget the Mama Ging. The woman packed a mean lunch. All the way until I graduated high school. Tried to teach me how to drive a manual transmission (but all I did was make Middle Sister and Baby Sister cry for their lives in the backseat). Don't worry, that issue has been rectified as I'm the proud owner of a stick-shift. And did my laundry too. Till I moved out to college. Now you know why my transition to adulthood has suffered. It's called "Awesome Parents Syndrome."

Check it.

We've Got a Mess on Aisle 9 - Woops

Along with the Little Man being on a boat-ton of antibiotics, he's developed a little diaper rash also. So they're letting the Little Man air it out.

So he did. Along with some bowel. And the Sheriff doesn't bat an eye. Professional.

Thank Goodness I Grew Up Baptist

I fail at this only-for-Lent Catholic business. So many rules, so little time frame to actually apply them.

I was on board to give up my clothes dryer for Lent. Some people give up iPods (lame), some give up alcohol (not as lame as an iPod, but still...no chance to agree to that one), I figured I'd at least go hippie and give up the huge drain on electricity. But then I failed to notice the giant heap of dirty clothes that was hidden beneath the bathroom sink and in the closet. In their respective clothes hampers/boxes, people. So that shit lasted for...umm...about 6 days and some change.

Some wanna-be Catholic I am.

So while I've only started on my first load of laundry, the whole no-using-the-dryer-for-Lent is out the window. Good thing the window isn't judging.

The Woes of Sports Bra Shopping

It started with Champion USA having an uber-awesome sale on their sports bras. Score. And because of the back-to-back weeks of the long runs reeking havoc on my skin because of some over-their-final-use date of old sports bras, I was desperate for new gear. If not for my sanity's sake, my skin's sake. Because chaffing burns. Like a bitch.

So thanks to ChampionUSA.com's fun little feature of "Bra Finder," they narrowed down which bras meet the "Maximum Support" and my lovely little size.

There's only 1 bra as an option, so I throw it into my shopping cart. Round it out with 2 different running capris to try and I've qualified for Free Shipping. Come to MAMA!!

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

But in severe anticipation of needing new bras before Sunday's 8 miles, we hit up the running store (Running, Etc.). Wook claims he was talked into new running shoes. Truth be, he'd been berated for wearing his sneakers for long past their death date. Turns out that we're meant to be together. We each use something until it's beyond an advisable state. Yay us.

Anyways, I was excited. SUPER excited. They had each Moving Comfort bra I contemplated purchasing earlier in the week via online, but was secretly hoping that Running, Etc. (the running store) would have them instead. SHWING! They did. So I start grabbing sizes, colors, and heading for the fitting rooms. Okay, well instead, I waited for forever for the 1 fitting room to become available. Small store, small needs.

I get in and start trying them on. Then there's the inevitable bounce test. Jump. Jump. Jump. Wiggle. Wiggle. Jump. Super jump. Obviously, if I'm going to be running, I need to make sure that I don't give myself a black eye, or crack someone's windshield while I'm crossing the street.

I'm not in love at all. The 2 bras that I was soooo sure would work out are failing miserable. No support. No support. Flail. Flop. Flubber. Thank goodness I didn't buy these online. Moving Comfort: FAIL. But there was 1. Just 1, that had potential. And it's new, therefore not online, otherwise I'd totally give you a picture. But it was too small in the boob-age compartment. So I go to the lady worker.

Worker: "Can I help you?"

Me: "Yes, I need this is a bigger size. I looked for it, but there isn't one."

Worker: "And what size are you looking for? I can check in the back."

Me: "A 32DD."

Worker: Choking on air.

Yes, lady, I realize I have some cans. Believe me, this is not the first time I've ever hit a roadblock in my bra shopping experience. Some call it a blessing, I call it life. Not that I'm jealous of those who don't even have to wear Band-Aids for a sports bra, but it'd be nice to have the little-rib'd-naturally-big-boob'd people represented. I think I'll look for that in my next politician.

So she calls the sister store that's in the town over.

Worker: "I need a bra check. Yes, it's Moving Comfort, (item number, color) 32DD."

Listen lady, no need to be embarrassed. They're not your boobs, they're mine. And that fact that I've taken up this little exercise known as running, knowing full-well the difficulty it will be strap down 2 nuclear weapons, means I've come to deal with it. I have boobs. And it's not like I paid for them, so there's no reason to whisper like I had Dr. 90210 fix me up.

Survey says: FAIL.

Then today, I check the mail. CHAMPION DELIVERY! CHAMPION DELIVERY!

First thing's first...strapping on the only chance Champion had of helping me out. And it had a great price tag of $24.99 (sale). But would that come back to haunt me?

Kicker: It's a racer back with a 3-hook rib strap. See. In other words, very hard to get the shoulder into the racer back, then get it down over the boobs, then lock 'n load in. I have to do rain dances just to get in and out of the bloody thing. Not sure about this one.

But what should Dillard's have, even though it has a pricey $62 tag. This baby...

Obviously, NOT me. That's more pigment than my whole family combined.

But now I'm disappointed because it says it's only a Medium Support sports bra. But we'll see. I did talk the Bra Lady to let me return it if things don't work out. Because really, who ever thought that bounce testing in a fitting room will ensure great results? Not this blogger.

So on the schedule for today. 8 miles. Broken into 2 halves, though. We're testing equipment out here, people. I don't want to be locked into 8 miles and hate my life because I have 2 black eyes and under-boob chaffing that looks like Gorbachev's head. Work with me, here. Please.

Little Man's Jail Break!

Pack your bags, Little Man, you're heading home to Hollywood. Okay, well it's actually known as Medford, but you're a little celebrity already.

Pack your sunglasses, because flashbulbs will pop when you roll into town.

So What Do Vegans Eat For Breakfast?

Just a note I pondered, while relaxing on the couch, getting ready to hit up the running store for new sports bras (there's this wonderful thing called under-boob chafing, and it's so great - I kid, but more on that later).

Man, I could use a killer omele... Nope. Omg, it's French Toast Sund... Nope. I'm dying for a bowl of Cheerios and cold cow's mil... Nope.

Thank goodness I eat animals. Because otherwise I'd starve. And speaking of starving, I may be roommate-less next weekend. But I'll save the surprise for then. You'll love it.

Holy Hallux Valgus?!?!

Calling Future Nurse Middle Sister, come in Future Nurse Middle Sister...

Take a look at my left toe (right side of the picture) - is it just me or is my toe moseying a bit too close to Toe #2?? Or is this pain I'm imagining? And if this is what your feet feel like, I'm so sorry! That's annoying twinge.

Yes, these are some ugly, veiny feet. Well for your information, you judgmental hooligans!, this picture was take post-Zumba. Thank you very much. What did you do last night? Hah!

I LOVE Technologically Able Men!

Thank you Collin, of the Futon & Breakfast clan of Corvallis, for your wisdom.

Enjoy a 1:00 minute video of the Little Man taking in his surroundings. And, yes, Mama Ging loves being a Grandma. You can hear it. ;)

Maybe Tomorrow Blogger Will Work

I meant to post an adorable video of the Little Man in action, but Blogger failed to upload it after 2 tries. And there's only so much I can do before I have to call it a night because I am a working body from Monday thru Friday. So maybe Blogger will work with me tomorrow.

So until then, a picture of the sleeping gentlemen. Ryan #2 and Ryan #3.

All of this Little Man lovin' is making me jealous.

Dear East Coast,

This is not working with my family's reproductive schedule. I'm not meeting the Little Man and probably won't until June because then it'll coincide with taking time off and traveling back to Oregon for Middle Sister's graduation. Then there's that whole taking 2-weeks off in July for England which somehow that kinda kills most of my time off. Boo.

So Baby Sister commented that once Little Man is home from the NICU, we should have a big family Skypefest. I agree. But I'm still working out how get the Brady Bunch boxes on my screen. Any ideas? Insight? And how cute do they look? I got my picture of Uncle Dane. Now just waiting on a picture of the happy parents.

Little Man and His Ladies

Since the Little Man is in the Eug(ene), Middle Sister headed down from Corvallis and Baby Sister moseyed down from Portland to meet up with the family that's there.

I'm thinking the orange shirt (Go Beavs!) in the background is Dane, Middle Sister's boyfriend. Umm, where's his picture with the Little Man?

And what the heck is the blue snake on the wall? Badger, badger, MUSHROOM!

I'm still missing a picture of the proud parents though. Umm, Blogger to Mama Ging, come in Mama Ging. Make it happen. Please.

And The Updates From The NICU Keep Coming!

Amber is a trooper and a champ. She is a little sore but up and moving wonderfully. Little Ryan had a spinal tap this morning to rule out an infection around his brain and also had a head ultra sounds to rule out anything there as the spinal fluid was a little pink, but per Dr. very normal for babies born naturally.

We are just praying that the tests come back normal and that he continues to proceed to health. He had his first 2 cc's of colostrum about 10 minutes ago and took it down like a champ. He really does look wonderful considering all he's having to deal with in his young life. Thank you all for your prayers, love, and support.

Ryan & Amber

Top 10 Things You Don't Want To Think On A 7-Mile Run

1. I have to poop.
2. I hope Wook's shin splints get better.
3. I really have to poop.
4. I wonder if Starbucks will care that I'm just using their bathroom.
5. I need new sports bras.
6. And I'd like some running capris.
7. I can't believe it's 50+ degrees today.
8. Oh, calves cramping up, rolling pants back down.
9. Running past the apartment w/ 3 miles left isn't good psychologically.
10. I really need new sports bras.

A Message From The Happy New Parents!

Via Facebook, but being passed along to those without the "friendship" to see...

"So we arrived safely in Eugene where little Ryan is being cared for in Sacred Heart's NICU, no offense to RVMC's NICU, but wow! He is in such a good place right now for what he needs. His oxygen supplement through his c-pap is down from 54% to 21% where is the same % as our atmosphere, he will most likely get rid of that device tomorrow they said. He is still on antibiotics to combat the infection in his lungs from the meconium and they will be running some additional tests tomorrow as well to see if anything else infection wise needs to be treated. Everyone got to hold him tonight including my parents and my Uncle Dave & Aunt Kay who live in Eugene. I'm told my sisters Tracy & Hayley will be down tomorrow from Corvallis and Portland with East Coast Ashley bloggin' this adventure on the world wide web. Please keep us in your prayers as we so much desire to show our little blessing to the world.

Ryan & Amber"

WE HAVE NEWS!!!!!! (w/ 2 Updates!)

Text from Mama Ging:

No details yet, but you'll be in the loop. Promise. Until then, YAY! The only boy in the family has successfully passed on his name. Next child = no gender stress.

********* Updated to Add ***********

Born at the hospital (due to some last minute judgment calls), this little guy was born at 8:07am PST, barely teetering the scales at 7lbs, 8 oz. No length yet.

Welcome to the family, little man. Name: Ryan Brent III. Birthday: Valentine's Day.

********* Update Continuation ***********

So Little Man is currently in the NICU while they're just monitoring his lungs. Apparently he had a bit of a meconium issue in womb. Usually no big issue. But when your the direct descendant from a man that has clogged up his fair share of toilets, both public and non, that's bound to be some super poop we're dealing with. So they're heading to Eugene since Medford's NICU is full (my idea was to kick out the fattiest baby to make room for Little Man. Mama Ging agrees. But apparently the hospital doesn't. Communists.).

And here's a picture of the gentlemen of the family. The 3 Ryans (The Sheriff, Brother, and Little Man). And this does NOT count Mr. Wookie, whose real name is Ryan also. Yes, we're looking into legally changing names to help with the family's confusion.

Will The Niec-Phew Be Cupid?

I woke up, checked my phone, had one text, and Oh shit, I have to go blog NOW!

"Hard labor has started, start praying please." -Brother, 7:03am EST.

Sooo....it could be 4 hours later. It could be 14 hours later. It could be tomorrow. But we'll see. Everybody with me now, "NIEC-PHEW, NIEC-PHEW, NIEC-PHEW!!!"

And what does everything think? Boy or girl? Pink or blue? Black or orange? (Okay, that last one was a fake. You should know the proper answer as BOTH!).

I'll keep you posted. Aunt Ashley '10 has commenced. Go Amber, Go!

And Happy Valentine's Day to all. Tell your family, friends, bookies, and pimps you love them. Or kick them in the balls/ovaries. Either way, enjoy it!

Verbal Vomit Of The Night

- I'm interested in shopping for 2 things at this moment: running socks and new sports bras. Both require a trip back to Running, Etc. (the local running-only store). But that would require a drive. And spending more money. And I'm already trying to enjoy the $100 I spent there last week in the form of new shoes. But that'll come when they're done being broken in and I can galavant around the gay district of Norfolk in my new shoes.

- Last night was great and frustrating, all in 30 minutes. I was scheduled off at 3:00pm, but didn't make it out of work until 4:45pm. But that's not where the Ging lost her lid. The irate moment came when I was 5 blocks from my apartment, but was stuck in 15-minute traffic because of the construction down the street. If only people would know how to merge, we wouldn't have this issue. I swear it's like rocket science to half these people. It took me 20 minutes of yelling at them that, "I just want to get drunk!" to park my car, huff home, change into jeans, and plop my ass on a Snappers barstool. Now, was that so much, people?

- The Sister in Law is still a parasitic-housing specimen.

- Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and I still haven't gotten a card. Part of me thinks, Why bother? I tell him I love him, why kill a tree, have someone else write something sappy, just to join the rest of the world in Hallmark's best idea ever to increase sales of paper products. But then I figure, I should tell him I love him via card after all, he cooks, he cleans, and he lets me steal the covers.

- I just saw that Blogger now has a way to have multiple pages for my blog. But then it reminds me that I still want to update my template, I want it to have Calibri as the font, and I want it to be a seamless transition. But I don't want to pay for it.

- Sometimes in the morning, it'll be considerably warmer upstairs than down. Which is fine with me. But then those mornings, all I want to do is eat breakfast in bed, dry my hair while in bed, and work from the upstairs of the Loft. Instead, I traipse through the cold to my car, to work, to my desk, and back again.

- I miss being unemployed some days. The days when you're just tired and want that extra sleep. Or the mornings where I have to be at work at 7am and Mr. Wookie doesn't have to be in until 11am. Or when I get the cleaning bug in the morning, but have to go to work instead.

- I don't miss the lackluster unemployment payments. Yes, it was nice getting paid to look for work. But it's nice getting paid much more for having an actual job.

- Now Mommy McD is having pregnancy dreams. Welcome to the club.

- I wish I lived in a place with a hot tub. Although I'd probably have perma-wrinkles and water-logged from all the time I'd spend in there.

- If not a hot tub, a fire place. There's just something about scorching the shit out of your skin because your circulation sucks because you're a female and Caveman evolution maintains that we're just uterus-es in need of our next inhabitant.

- Last Wednesday, I tried Zumba for the first time. It was...interesting. After getting over the fact that I look very stiff and awkward, I know now what it feels like to be the white girl at an all black school that didn't make the cheer squad. It's known as "White Girl Syndrome."

- I thought I had rhythm. I can dance at a club. I struggle at Zumba though. And there I was thinking I was hot shit because I listen to Erykah Badu, India.Aire, John Legend, Jill Scott, Corinne Bailey Rae, etc. Nope, just a white girl wishing I had more rhythm, but instead took ballet for over 10 years because it's what skinny, leggy girls do.

- Mommy McD could totally be a Zumba instructor.

- I think I'd make a better yoga instructor.

- The movie: Hurt Locker. Ehhh. Cute actors? Yes.

- It snowed a little last night. I didn't actually see it when it was on the ground this morning. I was busy coming up with breakfast ideas that didn't require milk because I got home from the bar last night dying for Frosted Mini Wheats. Therefore, milk's all gone.

- And I love 3-day weekends. Thus my not caring for staying almost 2 hours later on Friday to help someone out with a project. Had it been any other weekend, Peace Out Girl Scout! But instead, I get to pick my ass on Monday while many others work/attend school/having something requiring them to be productive that day. Not me. Muahahaha, not me.

So We've Heard From BabyWatch '10

Let's get to the details, people. We've lost the mucus plug. Or if you're Mama Ging, the "mucas plug." (Obviously, I didn't get spelling from her side of the family).

So...I've heard it can grow back/be recreated/re-plug up. But I'm hoping that I can sing, "Ahhh, tsss, push it...do do do do do" (Salt 'n Pepa) instead.

And yes, I say "we" because as a family we're excited to know whether we'll be teaching this Niec-phew to "Pull my finger." or "Pull my finger." We don't discriminate in this family.

I'll keep you posted! But now, it's my turn to labor: 4.5 miles around Norfolk.

Calling All Family Members...Come In All Family Members...

Anyone heard from Brother and Amber? I haven't. And Mama Ging and the Sheriff haven't heard from them since Monday, or so. Maybe Tuesday. Definitely not Wednesday, though.

Could it be?? Could they be amidst the "Final Countdown" (do do do do, do do do do do - sing this part, people)? Let me know, family. And if so, more good thoughts.

And if it's anything to you, I had another dream last night where I had a baby. It's weird, always. I've given birth to a red high-heel once, on the floor of a parking garage, with Mommy McD as my supportive "You can do it!" team, so she and I scoured the mall to swap a baby for the high-heel so I'd have something to show off. Yes, stealing children, I'm apparently above no morals.

There IS A Gym Fairy

This little announcement came via email from the Gym Fairy.

Why golly, what are you talking about? Did I get it? Did I get it?

I did, bitches, I did! So now I'm eating dinner and Googling frantically what shoes to wear. I've read horror stories of a torn meniscus because they worn running shoes. No, I like my meniscus in one piece! Or that they wore shoes with little padding and came out with bunions. Nooo, I don't WANT bunions!

So I sit, blog, stalk, worrying, eating, contemplating, but will probably at the end of my debate just where my 3rd-rung running shoes that are now demoted to yard work. So until Piperlime.com, or Dillard's, or Famous Footwear can produce something that's cute and doubly useful (I refuse to reserve a pair of shoes for just Zumba - besides, I may haaaaaate this anyways). So wish me luck. And my meniscus. And anti-bunion thoughts.

Happy Due Date! Now Where's That Castor Oil?

Yesterday, the Sheriff said they went to do a walk-a-thon to hopefully spur labor/progress/any sort of change possible. Maybe she'll take up WWE wrestling to coax labor to begin. Or maybe she'll start bribing him/her with an allowance at 5, and the ability to date at 10. You never know.

I just want to know: When's the Castor Oil?

I've heard it works. I've heard it tastes like ass. What's a better way to know than have someone else try it? It's called "delegation." Try it.

So in honor of today being her due date, but let's be honest: only 5% of offspring arrive with Jazz Hands on their due date. This blogger was early. Considering if I wasn't, I think my eye size would have necessitated alone a C-section. They were ginormo!

BACK ON TOPIC!

In honor of her due date...a questionnaire. All questions PG. Definitely a family program here. But still, some answers were killer. Now if only the offspring can be sure to have a sense of humor. This family won't allow it. Yes, I speak on behalf of the group.

The Facts:

Name according to the blog? 2.0 (This stands for Mama Ging being the first Mrs. of the family, and Amber is Mrs. 2.0).Years attached to the family? 2.5Current procreative status? bun in the oven burning. (hahahaha!)Planned or unplanned? I planned He got screwed. (Okay, maybe PG-13 for this answer).Any progress? contractions on feb 1Due Date? feb 10 (Happy Due Date Day!)
The Questions:
Average hours of sleep at night? 8Number of trips to the restroom per night?12 plus 2-3 snacksYour Braxton-Hicks contractions started when? a month agoIs the nursery complete? yes except for the crib bedding. mrs fields 1.0 is making the bedding. (Obviously side-lined at the moment.)Are you "over" being pregnant? How would you like to hold a crap in for 9 months. stupid question. (Just asking. Some people love being pregnant. Maybe they just never had boobs before.)When did this revelation occur? 2 months in.How many pregnancy tests do you take to confirm the news? 3

What’s your favorite food craving? whats not. Ryans is Applebees. Im so tired of that place. (Brother would be one for pregnancy cravings also).What food do you miss since becoming pregnant? the kind that does not give me heartburn.When’s the last time you saw your toes while standing up? 3 mosThoughts: Boy or Girl? It better hope it's a boy. I'm too strict for a girl.Was there ever a thought that it could have been twins? nightmare maybee.Do you think the niec-phew will beat Aunt Ashley’s birth weight of 8lbs, 6.5 ounces? It feels like that is the size of just it's head.What’s your craziest nesting moment? Ryan is nesting not me.When would be the least convenient time to go into labor? Valentines DayWhat about the most convenient time? Feb 1 would of been. I had money counting on thatWhat’s the best hand-me-down you’ve received? A 'pack and play' and a cribWhen did your "innie" belly button become an "outtie?"It's still flush.What’s your favorite piece of clothing to wear during your third trimester? More like what fits.How long did it take to decide on a homebirth? hospital $9,000, Homebirth $3,000 about 2 secounds.How many baby showers were thrown for you? going to be 1How much Beaver Gear have you accumulated for the new sprout? 6 outfits and one pair of socks. Not enough. (Good answer!)Did your feet change in size? Just think marshmellows.

And, yes, I realize blogging requires a dedicated amount of time. Therefore Facebook will be the main source of e-info on the Niec-phew. But that doesn't mean I can't re-post any pictures on my blog. Copyright, shmopyright.

And Then Life Goes And Plays By Its Own Rules!

So I debate writing this. I never like to get too open, too exposed, too revealing of my personal life. I've had a drink to calm down. A stiff drink. A your-cat-totally-just-got-ran-over-and-you're-waiting-for-Dr.-Kevorkian-to-arrive stiff drink.

Okay, it's been 2 drinks.

Today was a generic day. A boring day. Until my drive home from work.

The usual is to call a parent (remember, I alternate) and catch up with them. Yes, I'm very attached to my family. Yes, my parents are more like friends now than actual parents. So today was no different. I call the Sheriff to let him know that I've been approved for the 2-week family vacation to England this year. I was excited. Very excited.

But that excitement was squished. Like a cockroach. In New Orleans.

I hear an intercom system. It sounds like the Sheriff's at the airport. He's not. He's at the other place with intercom systems. We call it the "horse-pistol." You know if it as the hospital.

Well Mama Ging is back in the hospital. No, this hasn't been a regular activity. Her last admittance was about this time last year. Same thing. The surgery she had back in the day (like pre-Ging day; like before she knew she would could have anymore children, let alone 3 daughters to complete raid her wardrobe) was having complications. An amazing 26 years after the fact. So the hospital it was.

And imagine how I felt knowing that I was 2 connections away/12 hours of flight time last year. And NOW I have a job that I don't know if I can escape to visit the Giver Of The Ging Genes. But I'll try my best if I have to.

So now you know why I've had 2 cocktails the size of Mr. Wookie's skull. It's been rough. A slightly teary drive home from work. But I'm hopefully. Optimistic. So is Mr. Wookie.

Until then, please keep the good thoughts/chi/energy/positive belief in cows/upward karma coming my/Mama Ging's way. If not for my sanity, for my bar stock. Who knows how much I'll have to rely on to keep my sanity stable.

"The Deloreans" On The Chopping Block

Apparently I have Windows Movie Maker on my computer. And last night I took small clips of their act as I tried to not be too busy rockin' out to the 80's.

So indulge in Billy Idol while I try my hand at throwing together a montage of point-and-shoot-camera-style video in a dark music venue. But this might take awhile. TWSS.

A Friday From The Ordinary

I get home from work, grab a beer, and get moving onto the event of the night.

We're checking out The Deloreans. A bad-ass 80's cover band (obviously, with a name like that). They were the main attraction at the last Navy Ball, and I'm definitely on-board with seeing them again. AAAAAAAAAA-mazing. I'll try for video. But no promises. Sometimes I forget things. ;)

It's Thursday, Past 9pm, And I'm Tired. Party Animal.

- Can Pepto Bismal go stale? Because I swear I just cracked a tooth.

- They say women get better at running with age. I can agree with that. The last Summer Olympics Marathon (Female) Gold Medalist was 38. I can look forward to that. No, not the marathon part. The running part. I can't believe I just typed that.

- And regarding that little Half Marathon that I fooooooolishly signed up for in November. WHAT WAS I THINKING? Oh, 13.1 miles. It won't be that bad. Ya, because I have so much free time to spend galavanting around the gay district of Norfolk. How do people work and train for marathons, much less? I swear they've found a worm hole which produces more than 24 hours in a day. I, however, come home pooped, want to grab a cold beer and plop on the couch, but force myself to legging up because it's barely over freezing outside and I need to log miles.

- Question: Do you count "miles" on the elliptical as a.) miles tallied on your running shoes, and b.) miles logged for the year? I'm torn. Part of me thinks that, Yes, you worked out in the shoes, therefore the miles should be logged, so they can be appropriately replaced. But then again I'm torn. Elliptical-ing is NOT running. So why should the miles be falsely logged. Insight?

- We have another storm advisory for the area for this weekend. Oh great. Another weekend of, I swear if Ging posts another story about Cabin Fever I'm going to email my hand to her and make her slap herself. So it's your duty to convince the storm to go elsewhere. Rain's accepted though. Always accepted.

- So I invited Dr. Stacey Kevorkian to the "Graduation Kegger" that'll be had after Middle Sister's Commencement in June. A.) It's been forever since I've seen her. B.) We'll have a great time getting drunk with Baby Sister. I mean, parents, we'll be playing Backgammon. Responsibly. And C.) I'll even spot her $5 for the red SOLO cup so she's official.

- I broke my Cardinal Law last week. I felt ashamed. Very ashamed.

- My Cardinal Law is that I promised myself once I graduated college I could no longer go to the market in lounge/sleepwear. Until then, I had only done it twice. That's what she said. Both times were in my hometown. Both times with my good friend, Collin. And both times they were beer runs. At like 11pm. Because it's my hometown and there's not much to do.

- Why does running sometimes tear my stomach up? I mean, I can deal with the retarded amount of snot that my nose makes. But when my stomach is doing Triple Lutz's in preparation for Vancouver 2010, I just want to keel over. Enough, stomach. I'm training here. I don't need you cramping my style. Get it? Cramping...

- Every time I get a text, I swear it's THE announcement. You know...ACTIVE LABOR. We're down to the wire in terms of BabyGate 2010. Officially due February 10th, I was feeling like this week was looking lucky. After all, the Sister in Law has been at 3cms for 2 weeks. Well apparently I shouldn't go into fortune telling. Because we haven't been able to diagnose genitalia yet.

- So a couple weeks ago I mentioned that I was perusing new templates for this wonderful beauty of a blog. But then my computer goes all "must update new crap" and closes all my tabs. Bitch. And no, I didn't have them "Favorited." That's another FAIL.

- Os is wrong to keep a small container of fudge on my night stand? Last night I wanted chocolate. But not like a King's Size Kit Kat (which totally sounds good now, btw - oh wait, there's one of those in my drawer...SCORE!). I just wanted a little nibble. Something to fend off the tapeworm's attack. So I just take a half bite of fudge. No harm, no foul. Right?

- And saving the best for last: I start work tomorrow at 10am. I know, JEALOUS! Well, kinda. I was in at 7am this morning. But not a bad trade-off still. I'll be thinking of you. As I blog at 8am, enjoying coffee, eye boogies galore, knowing Mr. Wookie's been at work since 7am.

The UrbanDictionary.com Definition Game

The rules: Go to UrbanDictionary.com, type in your name, and hit "Enter."

Minus the fact that whoever entered my definition is retarded because they couldn't tell that they double-used "who" and wrote a triple negative. But other than that, it's dead on.

Now tag, you're it! Either post your answer as a comment or waste a blogpost on it. Or carrier pigeon. I don't care, just do it. "Do it! Do it now!" - Ah-nold in Predator.

Living As An Adult: FAIL

What does a tired Ging do after coming home from work, hitting the elliptical forwards-then-backwards-then-forwards again? Think of something creative, healthy, and delicious for dinner. If only I had the effort this evening. Instead, I'm barely surpassing cereal for dinner. Shorry. (And yes, I meant "Shorry").

So I dig into the pantry for this sad excuse for mac 'n cheese (Kraft vs. Mommy McD's mac 'n cheese = Mommy McD kicking Kraft straight in the balls. And not apologizing afterwards. And then spitting on their mama's grave. Twice.).

And because this blogger doesn't like "assholes and lips" (noun-age courtesy of Dr. Stacey Kevorkian) in her hot dogs, a standard is maintained. But I mean, if you like eating rectal muscles, by all means. I won't stop you. I'll just remind you that, "You're eating asshole. Mmmmm, so how's does that taste, really?"

Yesterday Didn't Have To Be A Snow Day

I got into the office this morning, roaring to go. I knew I had a lot on my schedule this week. And yesterday, being the one slow day in the mix was my day to plan out everything.

Well take 6 inches of snow, a shutdown city, and this blogger being cabin fever'd indoors, I could have borrowed Mr. Wookie's Jeep, complete with 4-wheel crawl, and made it into work to have a quiet day to myself.

But noooo...

I didn't know that I could do that. My boss almost even called me into the Downtown office (oh to be lucky enough to work at that location, but it's like a baby office so they don't need me) to help out there with the few that came in. OMG, I would have had something to do yesterday! Oh, and that little thing called "double pay." Oooooo, me likey.

So now she knows to call me when things like this happen.

And as much fun as it was to complete scour the Loft with Mr. Wookie, color coordinate my closet, organize my out-of-season wear, make more piles of stuff to donate, do and undo the umpteenth load of dishes, a day spent the way my Monday should have gone would have completely benefited this week.

Instead, I got to call last minute orders in for today. Yay, I love waiting until the last minute. But this time it wasn't me. It was nature. Bad Nature!

So now my lunch hour is almost over. My lunch was so-so. I forgot to pack bread for my sandwich, so I had a coworker who was running next door for a bagel pick me one up also. And this afternoon will be spent coordinating tomorrow. And enjoying another cup of coffee. Fuel is important, people. No one wants a napping Ging on the job.

Get The Sheriff A Birthday Beer!

The man in the middle of Dr. Stacey Kervorkian and Baby Sister is a one of a kind.

And today is his birthday. So maybe he'll take a day off from waking up at 4:15am, and Lance Armstrong-ing to the gym for his daily workout. Maybe Mama Ging will go out and get him coffee instead. And maybe Brother & Amber will make him chicken tacos for dinner. Just maybe...

I, instead, will wish him the happiest birthday via blogpost. A great day of another year happy, healthy, and looking good in Black and Orange. This year will be good.

Because without him, I don't look like anyone in the family. And that's just not right.

"You Have Reached The Voicemail Of Mrs. Wookie..."

...she's not available at the moment because the office is closed to the still lingering snow, ice, and disgustingly low temperatures that makes for fun morning commute.

I was nervous that I would be made to come in today. I mean, the second day of the Nor'Easter we were open (against my wishes - we did not need to be there). What makes today any different? But what I've learned: Don't ask questions when things benefit you. Just go with it. Stupid me and my redheaded thought process.