Coupons.  I love them!  Geez…I’m old.  I get seriously disappointed when there are no coupons in the Sunday paper.

I even have an accordion style coupon organizer.  Gasp! Okay, so you probably saw that coming.  But, at least they’re not color coded right?

I usually get coupons out of the Sunday paper and online coupon sites, Coupons.com and Coolsavings.com.  I also check out the Kroger circular to see what’s on sale.  My favorite store is Kroger because they double coupons up to 60 cents (thanks mom for the helpful hint!).  Oh, and its the only grocery store other than Wal-Mart in our small town.

It has become sort of a game to see how much I can save each week at the grocery store.  Kind of like the highest score on a video game.  Man that sounds lame.  Sort of like the lame thing someone married to a computer nerd might say.

My best “score” so far is a total savings of $49.95.  Sweet!  Yeah, I can feel the gray hairs popping up and the wrinkles multiplying as I clip and file my coupons.  But hey, with all the money I’m saving I can get plastic surgery, right?

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.  Don’t we all?  I’m getting ready to leave my daughter with a babysitter, and go back to work part-time.  I know tons of other mommies have done it and I know I will survive.  But none the less, it seems to creep into my thoughts more and more.

My lovely distracted brain and I started Wednesday morning this way:

We have a High Efficiency (HE) washer and dryer that I love!  However, you must be able to follow simple directions to use them.  There is a neatly labeled container for detergent, bleach and softener.

Well, I dumped laundry detergent into the softener receptacle.  I guess its like putting cereal in the fridge and milk in the pantry.  I called Ben to see if he thought it would totally mess up the washer to run it that way or what.  He thought it would be fine, but then he decided I should try and get some of it out.

Me:  “With what?  I’m not siphoning detergent out of the washing machine.”

Ben: “Well I think you should get some of it out.”

Me:  “I know you siphoned gas with YOUR MOUTH out of the lawn mower, and NO I’m not doing that.”

At some point during the conversation, I made the executive decision to try and remove the little tray with the detergent/bleach/softener containers.  That’s when the stupid container came flying out of the washer and concentrated Gain exploded all over the floor, walls, and in Lucy’s bowl.  It looked like the washing machine had vomited.  The floors are still sticky.

Oh and by the way.  Since when is there HE fabric softener and now HE BLEACH?  What!?  The softener I already happen to buy now has a new label: “Safe for HE washing machines.”  Huh?  Last year when we bought the HE washer/dryer combo the only warning the guy at Sears gave us was “Don’t use none of that regular detergent.  It will really mess up your machine.”

Okay.  Got that part.  But please tell me my regular, “poor efficiency” softener and bleach has not royally screwed up my washing machine.  It seems perfectly happy.  The clothes are clean and it’s not making any funky noises.

So I wonder.  Marketing ploy?  The bleach does seem a bit easier to pour into the tiny hole; it’s thicker and thus much less “splashy.”  Anyways, who thought it was a good idea to try and poor bleach in a quarter size hole (that also happens to be even with my eyes).  Total design flaw.  I guess that’s what Chlorox is hoping I’ll think.

Well, I still love my washer and dryer.  Although its much more enjoyable to use them when I’m mentally prepared.  I almost forget!  I poured detergent in the wrong hole again.  Today.  Here’s to smoother washing next week.

The election yesterday was incredible for numerous reasons. First, there were record numbers of people who voted. Especially young people (18-29 year olds). Maybe we can beat the apathy wrap. And hey the person I voted for actually won, which is kinda nice (been waiting 8 years for that!).

The most remarkable part of this election is the fact that the United States of America was able to put aside its past, and vote for the most qualified candidate without regarding his race. I’ll have to admit I did not anticipate this happening for a long time. My pessimistic view is probably colored by the fact I live in the deep south where racism is still an ugly undercurrent of society. For once I’m glad I was wrong.

I agree with David Gergen, senior CNN analyst, Harvard professor, and presidential advisor, who said “That when one group advances in this country, we all advance.”

Martin Luther King, Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech, given August 28, 1963, has always given me goosebumps. This excerpt sums up what America achieved yesterday turning his dream into reality.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Mary James was born exactly 45 years to the day of this speech. It’s incredible to think that she won’t grow up in a United States that hasn’t had a black man for President. I can’t wait to tell her how her mom and dad voted for Barack Obama, had their Obama sign stolen four times (the perks of living in a red state), and finally how we all sat at her grandparents’ house anxiously awaiting the results of this historic election.

I hope in my lifetime we will have a qualified woman for President of the United States. Hmmm….Mary James Murray for 2044?

I want a rug in front of the door the dogs go in and out of to collect dirt. Sounds easy enough, right? WRONG! I can’t really remember how many rugs we have gone through in the past year. I think we’re on number 5 since this summer. I would attribute this munching of cloth to stress from our new baby, but alas it was going on long before she arrived. I keep meaning to spray bitter apple or some such nasty conconction to deter the doggies from chewing on said rugs. Needless to say I haven’t.

My guess to the chewer is Lucy…but I could be wrong. I can’t prove it, I’m not there when it occurs to discipline them, so it really doesn’t matter. The only good thing is that all the rugs come from Wal-Mart or Big Lots (I LOVE BIG LOTS!). However, they’ve already chewed up $50 worth of rugs.

This week I got a another $10 rug. There are already bite marks on the edges and a hole in the middle. I’ve decided to leave it. Tacky, yes, but I’ve given up. At least for this week. I think I’ll try to find bitter apple at the grocery store today…if I remember.

Obama sign officially stolen. And it was the “good one” that said Obama-Biden. Good thing we have a back-up sign. Actually, it’s sad we have a back-up sign. Ben seems to think we are just are stirring up the fire, but I stubbornly refuse to give up MY right to express MY views in MY front yard. Heck, I’ll make my own sign if they steal this sign too. Stupid conservative thieves.

So, I’m sitting in a hotel in Atlanta watching Mary James sleep while Ben is doing techy stuff for the Intellectbase conference.  When we first arrived last night, I had a little freak out.  What was I thinking bringing a 6 week old baby to a hotel?

Everything in sight was a nasty source of germs.  The floor, tv remote, chair, lamps, not to mention the comforter.  Have you seen those blacklight studies on shows like 60 minutes?  Totally revolting.  I never touch hotel comforters.  I almost packed the Chlorox wipes, but decided not to as I figured I was just being too obsessive about germs and cleanliness.

Now don’t get me wrong I don’t normally obsess about bacteria, viruses, mold, mildew, dust mites, fungus, dirt…  My house is clean, but I live with 2 dogs and 3 cats, so I admit there is more fuzz and dirt than in a pet-free home.  But its OUR germs and OUR funk!  Not thousands of strange peoples’ grime.  Can you imagine the DNA in this room?  Hair, skin cells, saliva, other bodily fluids…I think I’ll stop now.

Now that I had suddenly become a germaphobe, I was afraid Mary James would sense all the gross things out to get her in our room and become unhappy.  My mom even warned me that even the best babies don’t always do great traveling, especially sleeping in a new place.  Maybe because they know deep down of the nastiness.  They’re not screaming because its not home, they’re screaming “Unclean! Unclean!”

To alleviate some of the “not home” qualities of the hotel room, we brought the Pack and Play to use as her crib.  Off and on the for the past two weeks, Mary James has been eating at 10 pm, going to sleep at 11:30pm and waking up at 5am (yes I know this amount of sleep is an insane blessing for a 6 week old baby– please don’t scream).  I didn’t know what to expect last night, and was quite pessimistic especially after my revelation of hotel rooms.

Despite the crazy worries of her mother, Mary James nursed at 11pm, was asleep by midnight, AND she slept until 5 am.  MIRACULOUS!  Seriously.  I woke up every hour, listening for her, worried about her first night in a new place.  Needless to say she slept better than I did, and man am I thrilled.

No, I’m not expecting a repeat performance tonight.  I won’t lie, it would be great.  But hey, she’s only 6 weeks old, even if she is the best little girl in the whole wide world!

NOTE: I thought I had already published this before Mary James was born.  Hmm…  Oh well. Here goes.

Ben and I are now a two Buick family.  Yes, I have given him crap about driving his Le Sabre since he got it.  Much to his irritation, I used to point out the drivers of other Le Sabres on the interstate.  Let’s just say there are very few people driving Buicks under age 50 or maybe even 60.  Now don’t get me wrong, I know Buicks are very reliable, well built cars and I must admit his Le Sabre does ride like a Cadillac…its like butter.  Ben suggested I was being a little shallow, and possibly even immature by not thinking the Buick was “cool” enough.  I’ve never been one to fit into the “it” crowd or to hang out with the “popular” people (whatever that means now).  I get along with everybody, but I’ve always been little too weird for them.  But really, even weirdos think a Buick Le Sabre is for the older crowd.

Well, as I am now with child (one who is set to arrive anytime now) I needed a vehicle with a back seat.  I was driving a Ford F-150, named Flossie, whom I love.  Seeing as the baby cannot safely ride in the single cab, and the other option is the bed (no I’m not that redneck), we desperately needed anything with a backseat.  My parents purchased my grandmother’s Buick Century as a backup car awhile ago, and generously suggested we trade them my truck for the Century.  As I was saddened by the idea of giving up my truck, this was truly a blessing.  Ben and I got a safe car for the baby to travel in, and I can still drive my truck if I need her!  I am more than grateful for the Buick, but have to admit it’s quite funny that I’m now driving a Buick.  You know what they say about karma…

So, now that I have been driving a Buick on a regular basis I have made some observations.

(1) People give you wide berth in the parking lot

I guess they assume I am a older individual with possibly less than sharp senses.  Or maybe they just see I’m a woman … sexist pigs!

(2) Other drivers assume you are driving too slowly.  Or nobody told me that Buick now means:

Please, please tailgate me as dangerously close as possible

On the road in front of our neighborhood, the speed limit is 30 mph.  Admittedly, I rarely drive this exact speed, it’s closer to 35-40 mph (as do most regulars on this road).  However, I’ve noticed that even when I’m going 40 people ride my bumper like I’m towing them.  I at first thought I was just being sensitive, but it happens repeatedly.  So being the mature adult I am, I slow down to 30 mph or sometimes even 25 mph if I’m having a particularly pissy day.  This probably reinforces the idea that all Buicks are driven by old people, but hey it makes me feel better.  Yes, Ben, I can feel you shaking your head.

Two days after my last blog post, Time Bomb, about waiting for the arrival of my sweet daughter, I went into labor 2 weeks early!  I had finally managed to get a hair appointment that week, as I had played phone tag for like a week with my stylist.  The appointment was on Thursday, so I told Ben semi-jokingly that she would come Wednesday night.  Little did I know…

Well, I woke up Wednesday night/Thursday 3 AM and felt like my stomach hurt, and I didn’t feel quite right.  I had been waking up randomly in the middle of the night for a few weeks, so this wasn’t really unusual.  I laid on the couch, and stumbled around the house until around 4.  I then woke Ben up (after the third try) to tell him I thought I was having contractions — the word “contractions” was like a splash of cold water, he woke up super fast (I must remember this!).  So, we started timing these “contractions.”  Low and behold, they were 2-3 minutes apart…hmm…we both thought they were supposed to start like 15, 10 or even 5 minutes apart, NOT jump to 2-3 minutes??  As I wasn’t convinced I was in labor (and the last thing I wanted to do was go to the hospital to be sent home) — we each took a shower, I finished packing the hospital bag, while Ben cleaned the cat litter, and fed the dogs (who couldn’t figure out why in the heck we were up).  By this point, I couldn’t walk or talk during the contractions, and I was pretty convinced this was the real deal.  I also thought, “Man if this is false labor than I don’t want to feel the real thing!”

When I arrived at the hospital, I was 4 cm dilated and 90 % effaced, I think it was around 5:30 AM.  They put in the IV catheter, and drew blood.  The IV wouldn’t work properly at first and the blood they drew clotted…ah the joys of being in the medical field.  I should have never told them I’m a veterinarian.  There seems to be a curse if you are in a health profession, and are having any medical issue/procedure — things usually don’t go smoothly — not necessarily bad, but just not smooth.  I kept a positive attitude, as nurses are much more helpful if you’re nice (heck I’m more helpful if people are nice!).

I came back from the bathroom, and the anesthesiologist was there to do the epidural around 9 AM.  I was most nervous for the epidural, and I don’t do well without a plan or forewarning.  So, I burst into tears and kept telling Ben I knew I wanted an epidural, but I wanted to talk through it first (hmm someone has problems with lack of control).  The super kind doctor said he would go set up for another surgery, and be back in 15 minutes.

Well, the anesthiologist returned, and he placed the epidural.  It took him 2 attempts and he kept apologizing and saying if you weren’t a veterinarian this would have worked the first time — I told him I understood.  He also thanked me for not being a 300 pound, hysteric, 17 year old…hmm, sounds like an interesting story.  By the time the epidural was in place, I was 6-7 cm dilated!  They started me on a drip of Pitocin around 10 or 10:30 AM, as my contractions had slowed down to every 3-4 min.

My Ob/Gyn came in around 11ish, and I was between 8-9 cm dilated, so he broke my water.  Five minutes later he checked me again and I was fully dilated!  He said “We’re ready!”  And I was all, “What?  Really?  You mean to have a baby?” (my body to my brain: “Uh no Erin to have a toad, HELLO what have we been working on for the past 8 hours!)  Talk about a flood of emotions…I was going to meet my daughter soon!!

I started to push, and was very determined to work hard, and get her out in less than the average 2 hours for a first time labor.  This was my job, the finish line of a 9 month marathon, and I meant to sprint to the  end and give it everything I had.  I mean she was definitely ready to meet the world, and I was so ready to meet her!!    I think the epidural was turned down because I could feel her crowning, and the so-called “Ring of Fire.”  I also had the urge to push which was a very different sensation…it’s incredible how your body knows what to do…God is beyond incredible.

I pushed for 15-20 minutes, and she was born at 11:55 AM.  According to Ben, as there was very little audio in my brain’s recording of the birth, I didn’t scream or yell during the delivery, in fact I didn’t even talk  - very strange for me – guess my brain told my mouth it needed to conserve energy.

I remember looking down in complete awe as Mary James was born…this is the wonderful little baby girl who was inside me.  They immediately placed her on my belly and I was in love and shock.  Ben and I looked through our joyful tears at our wonderful daughter.  I kept kissing her little head and telling her we loved her SO much, and we were SO happy she was here.  I knew the love my parents had for me then…it was overwhelming.  My heart felt like it was going to burst…I didn’t want them to even take her for her aftercare.  I just wanted to hold her, and stare into her beautiful eyes and caress her little feet, her hands, her hair, her ears.  I wanted to drink her in.

Words just don’t do my emotions justice, I know it sounds trite, but its true.  I can’t express the pure love and elation I felt.  All in all, giving birth to Mary James was the most incredible experience in my entire life.  And you know the best part?  I get to watch her grow up, and love her for the rest of my life!

So, at my 36 week doctor’s appointment I found out my cervix was 2 cm dilated and 50% effaced.  The doc said I was a little early, but nothing to worry about.  Last week, at my 37 week appointment I had progressed to 3 cm dilated and 75% effaced.  Doc said that at the longest he would guess is 2 weeks, but that I might deliver before my next appointment in a week.  WOW!  Ben and I were so excited (we still are!) to find out that I was making progress and we might be meeting our little girl soon!

The doctor called Saturday to remind me to bring the cord blood retrieval system to the hospital when I go into labor, as we are banking Mary James’ cord blood, and he said “Since you might deliver at anytime now…”  I don’t know why, but that little statement hit me (and Ben) like a ton of bricks, in that pleasant sort of getting-smacked-in-the-head-with-concrete kinda way.  I guess hearing your doctor say that the time for baby is imminent, makes it super real.

I of course went into cleaning and preparing overdrive, trying to get all the “to-dos” finished (some that we had put off since we moved a year ago).  Ben has been beyond understanding and patient with a perfectionistic person who is now also nesting–he is truly my best friend and the best husband in the world!

The nervousness and excitement I’m feeling is comparable to how I felt after finishing a huge final in vet school or taking Boards…well, with more happiness….sort of like the biggest Christmas morning you can imagine when you were a child plus a healthy dose of anxiety.  As Ben put it, “Well babe, this is the biggest final of our life…we’re going to be parents.”

All of our sweet family has been calling to check and see how I’m feeling, and check if I think today might be the day.  Not to mention I awaken everyday wondering is this going to be the day?  I seriously feel like a ticking time bomb.  Also, Ben’s family is having a big family reunion on Labor Day, so the obvious day for Mary James to make her debut is of course Labor Day.  I’ve always been told growing up, that there are two things in life that never happen when its convenient for everyone: Birth and Death.

Well, as I know Mary James’ will arrive when she is good and ready, I just need to stop fretting and chillax (as Ben would say).  Hmm…but the cleaning supplies are calling my name…stupid nesting instinct!

So last week as McKenzie was spraying urine in the fireplace, Bentley spent his nights eating/destroying random things in the house.  He is almost 4.5 years old and is definitely old enough to know better.

It started with the complete destruction of a grocery paper bag.  Now this bag had not had any food items in it, it actually came inside the newspaper.  None the less, Bentley destroyed it and scattered the teeny pieces across the living room.

As the baby is set to arrive pretty soon, I was looking through my book from our pregnancy class as a refresher.  I left it open to the page with a list of what to pack for the hospital and stupidly left it on the couch.  You can so guess what happened next…  I came downstairs the next morning to find the book on the floor with the corner edge chewed to bits and a portion of the middle of the book torn out completely.

Speaking of chomping on books, that reminds me… Ben and I took a Bible study class called Disciple for around 32 weeks this year.  I had left my Bible with my study book on the kitchen table — not out of the ordinary, there are often books on the kitchen table.  So, you can imagine my horification to find my study book had been eaten to the halfway point (thank goodness we had already made it that far!).  And the worst part…Bentley had chewed the back cover of the Bible (which was leather) and eaten the book of Revelations.  My classmates thought it was fairly funny and someone even joke that we could always say Bentley had a Revelation. Ha.  Although, it seems like it should be some kind of sin when your dog eats your Bible — though something tells me my dog is not the solitary case in the world.

Back to Bentley’s follies last week. So, my parents came over to eat dinner with us and for desert I made brownies so we could have brownies and ice cream.  I remember thinking at some point I was going to put the brownies in a tupperware container to ward off any inquiring furballs.  Key word here is thinking NOT doing.  So, the next morning Ben is all — ” Did you put the brownies in a different container last night because there are no brownies in the pan?”  Hmm…”No.”  I then hear Ben telling Bentley what a bad, bad dog he is.  Yup, you know the answer, he ate the 1/2 pan of brownies left.  And not only did he eat the brownies, but he removed the aluminum foil without crumpling it, moved the knife out of the way, and cleaned the plate so it looked like it had been in the dishwasher.  Needless to say he did not get any dog food that day — much better for his stomach to just process the crap that was there without adding to it.  Amazingly, no massive vomiting or diarrhea occurred (unlike the time he ate half of Ben’s birthday cake when he was a puppy).

You may wonder how we know that Bentley is the one destroying and eating.  Well, actually it’s quite easy because he tattles on himself, actually both of the dogs do.  If you go to the site of the destruction and ask with a disappointed tone “Who did this?” the guilty party will usually either turn their head away or in Lucy’s case she usually lays in the floor.  If Bentley has done something really bad, he will hide upstairs or wherever we are not…that is NEVER a good sign.  This is rather funny considering that we don’t hit the dogs.  We verbally tell them in a scary, deep tone what “Bad, bad dogs they are” while pointing at them and shaking our heads.  Not effective in all dogs, but works great for Golden Retrievers whose goal in life is to please you.  Poor Lucy always thinks she’s in trouble whenever you lower or raise your voice at anything (the TV, the cats, etc.)

So far this week, no major destruction has occurred, however, I did catch Bentley trying to get turkey off a plate on the counter.  I guess some things will never change.