20 years: a love story.

Twenty years ago today, I did something that would effectively lay out the road map for my life.

Without this single event, literally (yes, LITERALLY) nothing about my life would be the same.

Twenty years ago today, I visited the University of Minnesota, Morris.

Today is Indigenous Peoples Day. Growing up in South Dakota, it was considered a holiday - no school for me and no work for my mom (a state employee).  Indigenous Peoples Day is not a federal holiday, so it's up to the state whether to call it a holiday. Minnesota certainly acknowledges the day, but does not consider it a holiday. 

That's how my mom and I ended up using our day off to make the college in the middle-of-nowhere Minnesota. It was the perfect day to visit so I didn't have to miss school (nerd alert: I hated missing school) and the college was in fully swing so I could see everything in action.

I really had no interest in UMM. I had toured Gustavus Adolphus in St Peter, and I thought it was great. (Thinking back to that, I cannot remember why I thought that except that the cafeteria seemed to have a respectable amount of options.) I was going to go there, so really, why bother?

My only college visits had been to two private schools - Gustavus and Concordia. I only toured Gustavus probably because I liked the fancy name and because my parents said we could make a weekend out of it and go to the Spam Museum as well. (Air-tight reasons.) Concordia had not impressed me because of a.) the curfew (I didn't have a curfew in high school; why should I have one on college?) and b.) no boys allowed in girls' dorms. I know what you're thinking - but it's because my high school best friend was a boy named Bob and where was he supposed to sleep when he came to visit? We had sleepovers at my house in high school, for cripes sake. (The most chaste sleepovers you can ever imagine. That dear friend Bob has been married to Luke for nearly 15 years now.)

A note about the private schools: they were/are run by churches. What I didn't realize was, at the time, church was mandatory. I was already a reluctant churchgoer (my parents made me go, UGHHH) and was looking forward to the freedom to not go. My parents almost certainly caught this piece of information. That, along with the restrictive curfew and old-fashioned girl/boy rules, would have been a major glitch in my college experience, and my parents knew it. You're supposed to go to college and have MORE freedom than you did while you lived with your parents, not LESS.

That could be why my parents really thought I should at least visit UMM. UMM was a rare breed at the time: a public liberal arts school. It checked the boxes: liberal arts, small-ish, located in a different state than my family (love you guys). This one just wasn't private. I'm not sure how they heard of UMM or what they knew about it that I didn't, but they definitely knew something.

So we went. Typical eldest daughter; I wanted to make my parents happy. 

But the joke was on me. The second I set foot on that campus, I knew I was going to college here. I have no other way to explain it than an immediate and deep sense of belonging. It was true love.

I couldn't tell you a single other thing about that day. I'm sure the admissions person was very nice, and I'm sure the student tour guide did an excellent job. All I knew is this was the place for me.

Later on, it would hit me that UMM was the complete opposite of the other places I'd visited. Not only were there no rules about boys visiting girls rooms, but the dorm floors were actually co-ed. My neighbors on either side of my freshman dorm room were dudes. No curfew. Friends/family visiting from off-campus didn't have to register anywhere. 

Best of all? People were different. 

At these other colleges, I saw a lot of blondes wearing polos and khakis. Or jeans with the sparkly butts. Basically, they looked like my high school. At UMM, I saw everyone. From fairy wings as everyday clothing to boys with long hair (GASP) to waist-length vintage leather jackets, I saw outfits and looks that I would absolutely never ever see in my hometown. 

So many of the people I saw looked different than me. It was wonderful. It was also immediately clear to me (the fairy wings were the major tip-off) you could be your unapologetic self here. That's precisely the university I wanted/needed to attend.

It was probably a mystical combination of these amazing traits that materialized to give me that feeling of home, that feeling of fuzzy goodness, the feeling of "I don't need to go any farther; where do I sign?" I don't believe in love at first sight, but this? This was love at first footstep.

As for my life trajectory, here's how that goes:

meet James -> graduate UMM with BAs in English and Art History (all you people with "you can't get a job with an English and/or Art History degree" people can shove it) -> move to Sioux Falls post-graduation because he's there-ish -> get a job in a library -> whoops I accidentally found my career -> marry James -> move to Luverne so James and I can commute from a middle ground -> start a Masters program in library science -> get the library director position in Rock County -> finish my Masters -> have Phineas -> make amazing friends in Rock County -> have Robin -> continue on in my dream job.

Without that visit to UMM - none of that.

My children owe their very lives to that institution. Honestly, my parents probably owe UMM a debt of gratitude as well. It wasn't until fairly recently I rescinded my ban on having children. I only did it because James would be the other half of the team, if if you've met that guy, you know he's made to be a dad. I have never seen my parents happier than when they are with their grandkids, and they probably wouldn't have gotten any if I had not met James at UMM.

It's true that tons of people meet their significant others at college and their children also owe their lives to whatever place that is. What is stands out to me is that not only did I find someone who wanted to hang out with me for the foreseeable future, UMM also blazed the trail for my career - a roundabout trail, but a trail nonetheless. How many of us actually find our dream jobs? BIG thank you for that, UMM.

Here's the first picture that exists of me as a UMM student:

Move-in day 2005. Look at those tiny babies.
I have a nine-year-old post about move-in day here:
https://callagator.blogspot.com/2015/10/flashback-move-in-day-at-umm.html

And here's one of the last:

A million things in between are missing: the band and jazz band concerts, late nights at the newspaper, the dorms (good, bad, ugly) hours of research papers, my first boyfriend, my second (and last) boyfriend, zombie proms, working at the local coffee shop, the best classes (a tie between Women in Art and Literature of the Shoah), the worst classes (I'm looking right at you, Stars and the Universe - the old bait and switch giving a fun-sounding name to a terrible class),  my and my friend's crappy radio show, house parties, some tough life lessons, and some of the best friends I'll ever have. 

Happy anniversary, UMM. It's been 20 years since we met, but I love you like it was just yesterday.

being Minnesotan in the Sioux Falls metro area

In our local newspaper (The Star Herald) last week, a columnist for The Star Tribune (for the uninitiated, that is the newspaper out of Minneapolis/St. Paul) who covers "greater Minnesota" (aka, anywhere that's not the Twin Cities metro) wrote an article about whether or not Rock County - where I live - feels Minnesotan. We are so close to the South Dakota state border, and we are now officially considered part of the Sioux Falls, SD metro area. 

I wrote a letter to the editor about my feelings on the matter, and it was indeed published in the July 31 edition of the paper! Here is the extended and less-newspaper-friendly version. 

First, I invite you to read the original article by Karen Tolkkinen. I'll put her text in a nice teal color so as not to be confused with mine.

You can't blame South Dakota for wanting a little bit of Minnesota.

I mean, who wouldn't?

We've got the Minnesota Twins, way more lakes, the biggest ball of twine – and a governor who doesn't brag about killing the family dog.

So our neighbor to the west has reached over, real slow and careful like, and slung its arm around Rock County. Our Rock County, the southwest corner of our state, home of Blue Mounds State Park and Luverne.

As reported by Sioux Falls Business, Rock County is now considered part of the Sioux Falls, S.D. Metropolitan Statistical Area.

What it means is the U.S. Office of Management and Budget has determined that based on 2020 census data, Sioux Falls, population 202,000, and Rock County, population 10,000 (or just about), are married.

Well, the government doesn't actually say "married." The US Census Bureau says the two have a "high degree of economic and social integration." At the minimum, that sounds like a serious relationship.
 
Feeling somewhat attached to all parts of our state, including those in the furthest corners, I felt I had to reach out to Luverne Mayor Pat Baustian. Was Rock County's relationship with South Dakota stronger than its connection to Minnesota? Does Rock County feel Minnesotan? I felt way more anxious about this than I should have.

It was a reassuring conversation.

"My cable TV channel was selected for the sole reason that I get WCCO news," he said. "As the mayor of Luverne, you have to be connected to your state. That holds true with a lot of residents. They want to hear the Twin Cities metro. They have family up there, kids up there. I don't subscribe to the Argus Leader. I subscribe to the Star Tribune. We are a WCCO, Twins, Vikings, Wild family."

True, I-90 connects Rock County to Sioux Falls, and true, people from Luverne work there and shop there and yes, well, their cell phones might have a 605 area code if they bought them in Sioux Falls, and sure, it's possible that some Minnesota kids attend school in South Dakota if such a school is closer.

Also true that some he knows from Rock County have moved to South Dakota because they prefer the politics and the lack of an income tax.

But the reverse of at least some of those things is also true. Baustian knows people who have moved to Minnesota from South Dakota because they found lower property taxes or they like the politics better in Minnesota. South Dakotans also work in Rock County. And he sees lots of South Dakota license plates near the new seven-mile bike trail around Luverne that connects to the State Park.

I-90, he said, is truly a two-way street. And that street can work to Rock County's advantage, as Minnesota doesn't charge sales tax on groceries, unlike South Dakota.

Baustian is a convincing salesman for Luverne. He says he persuaded an acquaintance to move there after selling his house in Sioux Falls by encouraging him to come and look around, and by talking up the way the community passes multi-million dollar bond referendums with 65-70% support to build new schools and a performing art center.

"That's because the grandparents of kids that go to that school live in Luverne — they want good things for their grandkids," he said. "We have a strong belief in a strong education system. So we have a lot of families that come here for that."

By the time he was done talking, I was shaking my head over why anybody in their right mind would rather live in Sioux Falls than Luverne. Who knows? Give it a decade. Maybe Sioux Falls will fall within the Luverne Metropolitan Statistical Area.

And here is what I have to say:

I will say without hesitation that Rock County feels absolutely Minnesotan. 

Tolkkinen spoke with mayor Pat Baustian, who mentioned people who have moved from Minnesota from South Dakota for a number of reasons. I am one of those people. I grew up in South Dakota,  less than an hour from the Minnesota state border. However, my family almost never went to Minnesota. In my mind, it remained a mystical land of lakes and Prince.

I went to college at the University of Minnesota, Morris. I moved to Minneapolis about six months after graduation and stayed there for a year and a half. That was the first part of my Minnesota life, and let me tell you, I was pretty sad to leave it behind when I moved to Sioux Falls to be closer to James.

Fast forward two years. James and I were living in Sioux Falls and about to get married. I worked at the library in Sioux Falls; he worked at the school in Ellsworth, Minnesota. Where could we live that was about halfway in between? Luverne, of course!

Our first house. I had to dig WAY back into
the depths of Facebook for this.

Check that caption - I was thrilled to be able
to call myself a Minnesotan after a too-long absence.

(It should be noted James brought up a few options within the South Dakota borders, like Brandon, but I firmly shut him down. If we’re leaving the “city,” I will not accept anything less than for my status as a Minnesotan to be reinstated.)

Eleven years later, we are still in Luverne and have never looked back. We have careers here that we love, wonderful friends, the home of our dreams, and the strongest sense of community we could have imagined.

On top of that, Luverne is always improving. Every time you turn around, something new is in the works. I can’t begin to count everything that has happened since James and I first moved here. Luverne was already a great place to live back then; now it’s even better. And can you really beat living in a place with a state park in your backyard?

My South Dakota friends had two camps when I told them I was moving to Minnesota. Camp 1: “Think of the income tax.” I have no complaints about paying taxes, especially when I see all the incredible things my taxes are doing. Camp 2: “TAKE ME WITH YOU.” A great subsection of Camp 2 also said, “Sioux Falls/Brookings is basically Minnesota anyway – why can’t we just move the border over a little bit?”

So really, I think South Dakota has Minnesota envy. I know I did. One of the first things I had Minnesota envy over was the loon license plates. You know - the critical habitat ones. The second I moved to Minnesota, I got those plates for my car. It still gives me an extra jolt of happiness to see them.

Mayor Pat talked about South Dakotans moving to Minnesota for closer alignment with the state politics. That's absolutely true for me. It's a great feeling to be proud of the work your senators are doing. And your governor. And your lieutenant governor. And (most of) your representatives. 

We are all familiar with South Dakota's governor (see above: killing the family dog). I knew who one of the senators was, but couldn't remember if the second senator was the representative or if the representative was the second senator. I had no idea who the lieutenant governor was. I also have no idea what's going on in Pierre. Like Mayor Pat said, that's not what matters to us - it's what's going on in the St. Paul that means something.

Continuing down the politics rabbit hole (now I'm riled), take a look at this map from CNN (current as of July 29, 2024) that shows the status of abortion legality:

Here's another map from from the Center for Reproductive Rights (updated in real time, screenshot taken yesterday, July 30 2024) showing where abortion access is in danger:

Who's hanging strong in there?

Minnesota.

(And Illinois, Michigan, Kansas, Ohio, I see you. Team Midwest.)

But Iowa's coloration in the top chart is a little misleading - Iowa bans abortion after six weeks. At six weeks, one often doesn't know they are pregnant. So while the map says it's legal, it's barely legal and severely restricted.

South Dakota has a total ban with no exception for rape or incest.

Minnesota is coded as having "expanded access" in the second map. That means Minnesota has codified state-level reproductive rights and protected abortion providers and access to clinics. Minnesota is a place to receive care not just for Minnesotans, but from people from the surrounding states who can't access that same care at home. Our lieutenant governor Peggy Flanagan a few days ago, "If you're afraid, come to Minnesota. We've got you."

Clearly, this is an important issue for me, but I think we can move on now to something that is also close to my heart.

Libraries!

Minnesota libraries are phenomenal. Every library in the state (who chooses to - there are a few who opt out, but they are lame and are doing themselves a disservice) is a part of one of twelve regional systems. The Rock County Community Library is part of the Plum Creek system, as are 25 other libraries in the southwest part of the state. We can request books from all of these libraries, and these libraries can request books from us. Not only that - we can request books from any library in the state. I love to tell people about that when I’m giving tours of the library: what you see on the shelves is a tiny portion of what you can access. It’s so great.

I’m not well-versed in the operations of libraries in other states, but I do know about South Dakota, as my first library job was there. South Dakota has some great libraries, but no regional systems like their neighbor to the east. 

And lest we forget:

None of this is to say South Dakota is a bad place - it isn't. My favorite place on earth is in South Dakota: Lake Poinsett, the place with my happiest memories. James and I got married in Brookings, home to my favorite restaurant of all time: Nick's Hamburgers. South Dakota has the Badlands and the Black Hills. Tons of my family and friends live in South Dakota. My parents and grandparents and a few of my great grandparents are from South Dakota. I will always be from South Dakota, but now I'm kind of from Minnesota as well. 

The one thing I can't get on board with Minnesota on is duck duck gray duck. It's duck duck goose, you guys. Honestly.

Signed – a former South Dakotan who is proud to be a Minnesotan

PS – I will admit I do have a 605 area code – but that’s just because I got it when I was 18 and I’m too attached to get a new number. 

Gen Z and millennial fashion battle.

You know how you get suggestions for articles to read when you open up your internet browser? Well, the other day, Google "suggested" I read this article from The New York Times containing advice from Gen Z to millennials (my generation) on how to dress.

To Google, I say: fuck off.

Of course I read the article.

It's called "Millennials Don't Know What to Wear. Gen Z Has Thoughts."

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/01/style/millennial-style-gen-z-trends.html

I was aware of some of these things. I knew skinny jeans and the side part are out, and I recently learned the French tuck (where you tuck just the front of your top into your pants) is no longer fashionable. This article taught me my ankle booties are out, too. And probably my hats (there's a line between just-ride-wide brim and too wide.) And crossbody bags. And no-show socks. Gen Z wants to see your socks.

Here I am committing a multitude of fashion sins: a side part, a French
tuck, skinny jeans, and ankle boots. I'm not sorry.

What is more baffling to me is not necessarily what is out, but what is IN. In this article, Gen Z suggested these looks:

feathers (seriously)

crew socks (think dads in shorts on vacation)

crop tops everywhere

wide-leg jeans (been there, done that)

pointy-toe boots (see above)

cargo pants

turtlenecks (noooooooooo)

And the most offensive of all: low rise jeans.

The article said, "Not too low - a seven or eight inch rise."

Uh, no.

My jeans must be 11 inches or higher.

I'M NEVER GOING BACK.

We millennials have already lived through the horrors of low-rise jeans: the constant muffin top no matter how much you weigh, always having to hold up your pants when you bend down because your butt would 100% be hanging out if you didn't, making sure your shirts were long enough so you didn't have a plumber crack when you sat down... it was awful. 

Look at my teeny tiny brother and me circa 2007. This is a pair of horrendously low-rise jeans.
I have three shirts on and you can see my skin is still visible, belt be damned.

Another example of low-rise jeans, but from the front. Look at that ridiculously short fly. Low-rise jeans also had the world's tiniest pockets. It was practically criminal.

I am not ashamed to admit I had to ask Google where Gen Z shops, and it turns out when they're not thrift shopping, they shop in the same exact places I shopped when I was their age: American Eagle, Forever 21, H&M. I visited their websites and saw that ALL THREE of them are still offering not only skinny jeans, but high-rise jeans. 

The one thing I do agree with Gen Z fashion-wise is thrift shopping. They are recycling a lot of weird 25-year-old clothes that I probably wore when they were new, but that's cool for them. I don't know a lot of people who are going to fight them for it.

Here's the moral of this story: Gen Z, millennials don't give a shit what you think of how we dress. We're going to hang onto our ankle boots and crossbody bags as long as we feel like. 

We also don't really care what you're wearing, except the true feeling of being elderly enough that fashions from our youth have come back to haunt us. We see the butterfly clips and bucket hats returning and shudder.

No matter what you are wearing at any given time, there's someone out there you thinks you look stupid. But there's also someone out there who thinks you look spectacular. And you know what? In 10 or so years, everything any of us is wearing today will look stupid. 

We're all in this together.

RIP uterus.

Pregnancy and birth are not for the faint of heart.

Women are sold this image of pregnancy and birth as this beautiful thing where we are goddesses on a cloud and every second is nothing but magical. The reality is much different - pregnancy and birth are gritty and dangerous and not glamourous in the least.

Before actually giving birth, I spent very little time imagining how it would actually go. That was partially out of fear and partially because of my combination good luck and good health in which nothing at all had really gone wrong for me at that point (medically or really even life-wise at all). Why would pregnancy and giving birth be any different?

LOL said the universe.

I have been pregnant three times, and all three times have been complicated. In all three cases, I felt like I was failing my babies - my body wasn't giving them what they needed to fully thrive.

pregnancy #1

• Having never been pregnant before, I didn't know what to expect when it came to pregnancy symptoms. I felt terrible until well into my second trimester. For those who have not experienced it, the first months of pregnancy feel like the worst hangover you've ever had, but without the fun that typically precedes a hangover - and this hangover lasts for four months. 
• I developed gestational high blood pressure (bordering on preeclampsia). Among other things, I was under strict instruction to go to the ER immediately if I had a bad headache that would not go away. I have had migraines for years, so this was a tough call. I had a particularly painful migraine at the end of February, so I called my doctor, who told me to go to the maternity ER. I was there for hours, getting serious pain meds through an IV. Much to my relief, I got to go home (I had been threatened with bedrest) and even went to work the next day.
• That was the weekend, and that Monday, I went to an appointment with the high-risk obstetrician. He had read about what happened with my headache and told me he was admitting me to the hospital. "I can't believe they let you go home," he said. I cried.

delivery #1

• I sat in the hospital for three days before they decided to induce at 35 weeks and 5 days. I found out later I was at risk of having a stroke.
• My epidural failed. 
• James was a great cheerleader. He told me I was a goddess and me having a baby was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. He didn't even pass out.
• Birth was the most painful thing I have ever experienced (and hopefully will ever experience). It felt like my body was being ripped apart. I truly didn't think I was going to make it out alive. I knew millions of women had done this before me and millions would after me, but in the moment, it really felt like I was going to die. 
• Turns out I didn't die. Tiny baby Phineas was born and whisked to the NICU immediately.

So smol.

the aftermath #1

• After delivery, my blood pressure was still high enough I needed to be put on magnesium to prevent seizures. I was not allowed to get out of bed for 24 hours. 
• Phineas had been taken directly to the NICU, so I didn't get to meet him until after that 24 hours had passed.
• Since he was born before 36 weeks, Phineas automatically got a stay in the NICU. He was a "lazy eater" and stayed there for a month.
• Guess what happened about a week after I delivered? That's right: COVID shutdown. My parents, James's mom, and our friends Nate and Taylor got to meet Phineas, but then the NICU closed to all non-parents. And THEN only one parent could be in the NICU at any given time. It was a lonely month of NICU visits where James and I would just pass each other in the parking lot.
• When Phineas finally got to come home, the COVID shutdown was going strong. We were essentially trapped in our house. Friends would come over and look at Phineas through our front windows as we held him up like Simba. James taught school from home while I went back to work to navigate a newly-restricted library. All while being terrified this new disease would kill our tiny vulnerable baby.
• Recovery from a vaginal delivery is a BITCH. One point for C-sections.
• I have had dreams and flashbacks about being back in the hospital having Phineas. I just recently learned this is PTSD.
• Once we were far enough past this time to joke about it, we said, "At least if we have another baby, it HAS to go better than this!" Famous last words.

pregnancy #2

• I accidentally got pregnant when I began a new medication for migraine prevention that made my birth control less effective. Could've used a heads up about that.
• At eight weeks, I miscarried what would have been a little girl. 

aftermath #2

• This will really get to me out of the blue sometimes. Like when I'm having kind of a rough day and see a mom with a daughter and remember I'm never going to have that. 

pregnancy #3

• The pregnancy symptoms were fast and furious. This time, with a three-year-old running around, the level of tired I felt was indescribable.
• After becoming pregnant, I had to stop taking my migraine preventative medication, so I had frequent migraines throughout the pregnancy. 
• Having firmly entered the realm of "geriatric pregnancy" and having been through two challenging pregnancy experiences before, this pregnancy made me edgy. We did the recommended genetic testing, finding out early on our baby was not likely to have any chromosomal disorders.
• Later ultrasounds revealed this baby to have a two-vessel umbilical cord (instead of the usual three) and a low-lying placenta. The two-vessel cord was no big deal on its own, but had it been paired with other abnormalities in the ultrasound, it could have been. If it did not resolve itself, the low-lying placenta would mean a C-section so the baby and I would not bleed to death.
  
• I had to have multiple in-depth ultrasounds because the baby's heart was never fully visible. This was nerve-wracking, but it ended up being perfectly fine.
• While I managed to avoid preeclampsia, I did get hit with gestational elevated glucose (bordering on gestational diabetes). I changed my diet and faithfully poked my finger to test my blood sugar four times a day, every day. I was devastated by this, but the doctors told me it's basically a roll of the dice. You can be super healthy and still wind up with it.
• Because I'd been so close to preeclampsia before, my doctor determined I would be induced at 37 weeks. 

delivery #2

• I went in for the induction, downright terrified my epidural would fail once more. James was an excellent advocate, making sure I got the epidural as soon as possible and alerting the anesthesiologist when I began to feel my legs again. James identified a bend in the line that was the source of the problem, allowing the drugs to flow and me to numb up once again.
• A tornado siren went off after I was induced, so all the laboring mothers were wheeled out of their rooms and into the hallway. My team and I ended up having to go into one of the operating rooms for shelter. Thankfully, it didn't last long, and we were given the all-clear.
• After many hours post-induction, the process was not forging ahead like it should. The baby stopped descending, and his heart rate and breathing got a bit spotty at times. The nurses (OB nurses are saints, in case you didn't know) had me contorting into all sorts of shapes to try and get the baby to move, but it didn't work. The ridiculous thing is that I could not move my legs, so it was up to James and the nurses to hoist them around for me. It was the weirdest feeling.
• I started the induction process at 7am October 3. By 1am October 4, no further progress had been made, and the baby's heart rate and breathing were getting dangerously low. The doctor told me we would have to do an emergency C-section. I cried.
• I was wheeled into the operating room and given a heavy dose of anesthesia - not enough to put me under, but enough to make me super sick. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Was I really here? Was this actually happening? The last thing I remember is seeing James hold a baby up to my face.

Shortly before I lost consciousness.

• I woke up hours later to find myself alone in a recovery room. A nurse quickly arrived to tell me the baby was fine, but I had needed an emergency hysterectomy. "Really?!" I said, wondering if she was talking to the right person.
• Here's what happened. After the baby (whom we named Robin) was delivered, the doctors could not stop the abdominal hemorrhaging. I had been immediately put on higher pain meds before being put under completely, explaining my lack of memory. Once they lifted my uterus out of my body, they realized what happened: my uterus had ruptured. There was a gigantic hole in the back. Robin's arm had gotten stuck in that hole, which is why he wasn't descending like he should have. To save me from bleeding to death, the only real option was a hysterectomy. Poor James had to give the consent for the hysterectomy, because (according to the doctors) I was "too high on ketamine" to really understand what was happening. (When they asked me if a hysterectomy would be ok, I apparently said, "Yeah, that would be great!" which I would have said anyway, ketamine or not.)
• After I had woken up a bit, I talked to the surgeons. When an OB doctor needs to do an emergency hysterectomy, they summon the on-call doctor because apparently this is a two-surgeon job. They were both thrilled - yes, thrilled - to have worked on my uterus. You see, my uterus had no business rupturing. I had no previous C-sections and no uterine fibroids, both of which are known to cause ruptures because they weaken the uterine wall. They had no idea why my perfectly intact uterus would rupture. Neither had ever seen this before, and one of the doctors had been an OB for over 40 years. The odds of this happening were 1 in 20,000. One of the doctors even gave me his cell phone number in case anything else happened. That's probably not normal.

the aftermath #3

• A recovery from a C-section is no joke - and recovery from a hysterectomy on top of that is REALLY no joke. Ten weeks of absolutely no lifting anything heavier than Robin. That's basically everything. I also felt like I'd been hit by a truck - I had even needed a blood transfusion.
• Because of my hysterectomy, I had to have a whole bunch of follow-ups with my OB. She told me to take recovery very seriously. She said, "I'm not trying to scare you, but if you bust your stitches, your intestines will fall out your vagina." That's what she said when she was NOT trying to scare me?!
  
• If this had to happen to anyone, I'm glad it was me. James and I knew we were done having children, so I certainly had no use for it any more. I feel like I've hit the gynecological jackpot. No periods, first of all - I've already had my period for 20 years, and I probably got out of 20 more years of it. No pap smears, since my cervix went with my uterus. No risk of uterine or cervical cancer. And no risk whatsoever of pregnancy without the hassle of birth control pills, an IUD, etcetera. The only downside is when my pants don't fit, I can't blame my period any more. Now I'm just chubby.
• When nosy acquaintances or strangers ask me when I'm having a third child, I can make them very uncomfortable very quickly by telling them I had an emergency hysterectomy. That shuts them right up. 

takeaways

• The doctors are great, but the OB nurses are the real VIPs. They are with you every step of the way. Anything you need, they are on it. They're the ones who make sure you get pain meds when you need them; they're the ones bringing you warm blankets; they're the ones who hold your legs when you're pushing; they're the ones telling you that you're amazing and you can do this thing. When I had Phineas, I have no idea who the doctor was who delivered him. She showed up at the last minute to catch him. But my lead nurse's name was Taylor. 
• Along those same lines - for the love of Dolly Parton, be nice to your nurses. Both times in labor and delivery, our nurses told us each shift was fighting over who got to take care of us because we were nice to them. Apparently that's kind of rare. I just wanted to win labor by being agreeable, and I guess I did.
• Labor and delivery (and then recovery) is the only time you're going to be treated like the goddamn queen you are, so you'd better enjoy it. It almost makes the pain and suffering worthwhile. 
• These experiences taught me I have weirdly high pain tolerance. After Phineas was born, I had a hematoma that I didn't know about. (I was going to say "TMI alert," but this entire blog post is a TMI, so why bother now?) My doctor poked it and she said, "Does that hurt?" I said, "Ehh." She said, "Every other patient I've had with one of these would have passed out if I had done that."
  
• Both of my children's deliveries almost ended in my demise, so I've got a powerful card in my pocket - but I need to remember to save that for the big things. "I don't want to take out the garbage." "I ALMOST DIED FOR YOU."

It took me until I was 32 years old to decide that yes, I would give motherhood a try. Four years and two children later, my body said, "Ehhh, enough of that." And now I'm short a few organs.

It was my uterus who did the heavy lifting, and it was my uterus who bore the brunt of the damage. To my uterus, I say: thank you for your service. There are two little boys who literally owe you their lives.

In a nutshell, my body wasn't at all cut out for pregnancy. If I had been around and attempting to give birth before modern medicine, giving birth to Phineas would have killed me off - and if I had, by some miracle, made it through that, I absolutely wouldn't have lived through Robin's birth. I will have health complications for the rest of my life from these two: high blood pressure and am now 50% more likely to develop diabetes than I was pre-Robin. I also have a gnarly scar where my second child and my uterus were removed from my body. (Fun fact: Phineas respects me a lot more now that I have that scar.)

No, being pregnant and giving birth is not for the weak. That's why the women have to do it.

(If you would like to see a photo of my shredded uterus, do let me know. I have one that I'm happy to share with you. I'm not going to post it here because it's pretty rough and will not be appreciated by those who are not into the blood-and-guts side of things. But if you are, you'll appreciate the photo. It's wild. The surgeons were so excited about the rarity of the situation they took a picture of it - it reminds me of a fisherman holding up a prize walleye.)

Die Hard: is it a Christmas movie?

Until last night, I had never seen Die Hard. 

It’s been around since 1988, so I knew the important things about it:

• Bruce Willis says “yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker.” Everyone knows that.

• It gave us the gift of Alan Rickman. Bless you, Die Hard.

• John McClane is the good guy and Hans Gruber is the bad guy.

• Hans Gruber falls off a tower.

• John McClane probably lives because there are a bajillion sequels.

• People seem to be divided over whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie.

I am not a big fan of action movies, but I was really excited to finally watch Die Hard. It’s a pillar of American cinema, after all. My dad has said to me (more than once) that he failed as a parent because I moved out of his house before watching Die Hard. And then still didn’t watch it for another 18 years.

I actually really liked Die Hard. Going in blind (except knowing the very general way in which it ends) was really fun. I didn’t know Bruce Willis had his shoes off the whole time, and there were plenty of truly hilarious one-liners. There were lots of surprise 80s celebrity sightings - Carl Winslow from Family Matters, the jerk principal (“mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns”) from The Breakfast Club, and a couple of passing faces from The Goonies. It was great.

To the question at hand: is Die Hard a Christmas movie?

My initial reaction is to say yes. It is set at Christmas time, and there are elements of Christmas that are present in the plot (“now I have a machine gun, ho ho ho”). Question answered.

But then, while up during the wee hours of the morning with seven-week-old-Robin, I thought more about it. This is when I do my best thinking: when you’re sleep deprived enough to be on the edge of delirium but you’re not there yet so your thoughts are just flexible enough but not fully off the charts. 

Anyway, I got to thinking about what makes every other Christmas movie a Christmas movie. My personal favorites are the likes of Christmas Vacation, Home Alone I and II, The Muppet Christmas Carol, A Christmas Story, and Mickey’s Christmas Carol. 

They all take place at Christmas.

Die Hard does that.

They all have happy endings.

Unless you’re Hans Gruber, Die Hard does that.

Christmas is a central part of the plot - almost like another character.

Hmm. Nope. Die Hard could be set at any time of the year.

I would not watch any of these Christmas movies any other time of the year.

No, I would not. But I would not have a problem watching Die Hard in July.

So I can’t in good conscience lump Die Hard in with all your run-of-the mill Christmas movies. It is, but it isn’t. I have a rule that Christmas movies should only be watched during December, and then they can fuck right off. But I would not apply that to Die Hard. I would also not have a problem watching it as a Christmas movie.

So I feel I can’t give a good answer to the “Christmas movie or not” debate. 

What do you think?

life’s pause button.

I am at a conference in the cities this weekend, and I brought Robin with me. During a break, he and I had just settled in for some really good snuggles, but we only had about ten minutes before I was due at a meeting. I REALLY wanted to keep on snuggling. 

I thought, not for the first time, how amazing it would be if life had a pause button.

Truly, I have given this a ton of thought. I want a pause button, a rewind button, and a fast-forward button.

I have thought about it so much I actually have rules.

PAUSE

When you hit pause, there is a time limit of just a couple of hours at a time. Time pauses only for you and whoever you link to - I’m not sure how the linking will work, but it’s like teleporting in Harry Potter. You can’t do anything illegal when you pause time, or even slightly nefarious - you can’t even touch other people. It’s designed to do nothing but allow you and your loved ones more innocent joy - sneak in more snuggles with your baby or spend a few more hours at a museum on vacation or make your day at the lake last a little longer. 

REWIND

Rewind could take you a little further. Rewind is meant to fix little stupid shit that nags at you your entire life, or to do something small you wish you had been able to. An example: my mom once put one of her senior pictures on top of my laundry basket when I was a kid - I was ten or so. I thought it was an accident, so I put it back on her dresser. Later on, she sadly said something like “I see you didn’t want that picture of me.” I was MORTIFIED that I had made her feel bad. Typing this out now makes my stomach churn. I told her about this a few years ago, and she has no memory of it, THANK GOD. But I do and would absolutely undo it if I could, even though it was a stupid misunderstanding. So that’s the intent of rewind. It’s for getting a day to talk to my grandpa Harvey - he had a stroke and lost his ability to speak when I was six. It’s for just saying “yes” right away when I was offered the library director job in Luverne instead of “Can I think about it?” (Why did I say that? I knew I was going to take it. I was excited; just scared. What a jerk.) It’s not for going back in time and writing Beatles songs before they could write them, or for going back and making bets on sports when you know the actual outcome from the future (remember how wrong that went in Back to the Future 2?). But maybe it could be for going back in time and killing Hitler before he could become Hitler. Jury’s out.

FAST FORWARD 

Finally, fast-forward. Fast-forward, like pause, is also for the short-term. While I often think about how great my life will be when I am no longer responsible for wiping anyone’s butt but my own, I know I don’t actually want to skip over this part of my life. As much as I get so freaking sick about hearing about washing machines and robot vacuums (looking at you, Phineas), I will also miss the sweet hugs and kisses that come along with that (also looking at you, Phineas). Fast forward is for the real shitty stuff that does nothing at all for anyone - those long hours in the middle of the night when Robin is screaming his head off. When anyone has the stomach flu. Could have used fast forward when I was about to jump out of my skin nervously waiting for labor to start with Robin. 

I must reiterate these remote-like functions can only be used for unequivocal good. They can’t be used for selfish gains (well, fast forwarding through pain and suffering doesn’t seem that selfish), just absolute and unobjectionable good. 

Unlike pause, which effects only you, fast-forward and rewind will have to take the rest of the world along with you. Obviously this is all way above my pay grade; I’m just the ideas guy.

While we’re dreaming, let’s dream big and add in channel-changing as teleportation. How awesome would that be?!

OH! And a closed captioning button for when it’s too noisy and I can’t hear someone, and a volume button (or, let’s be real, a mute button) for my children, and I guess life might just need a whole damn remote control.

the world's okayest mom.

(editor's note: this particular post is very stream-of-consciousness, meaning it's not particularly polished. Mostly because I'm only fueled by caffeine and little to no sleep. I told James the other day I could hear his aura and it sounded like soft string music. I was stone cold sober but hadn't slept the night before. Consider yourself warned.)

You know those mugs that say "world's okayest mom"?

That's me.

No, really.

I have completely accepted it.

Like - I love my kids, and I'm 99% sure I would jump in between them and a starving grizzly bear. But sometimes I would give anything for them to be quiet and leave me alone for a few hours.

I knew from a very young age motherhood wasn't my calling. Baby dolls weren't my jam, and neither was playing house. I preferred Barbie: she had careers and friends and amazing clothes. 

Babysitting was not my thing, either. I'd do it occasionally for neighbors or cousins, but these kids were talking and most definitely potty-trained. The first diaper I ever changed was my son Phineas's. I was almost 33 years old. (I tend to shock people with that one, and it cracks me up.)

Nobody expected me to have kids. I mean, nobody. It seriously was the "her?" running joke from Arrested Development.

"Calla's having a baby? Are you sure it's the right Calla? Is it on PURPOSE?"

(yes, it was on purpose.)

Phineas had me pegged right away.

Maybe that's an oldest child thing. As a fellow firstborn, I think we're pretty good at spotting the people who don't have a clue what they're doing. Look at that face. Phineas knew I was totally in over my head.

And I was. I had held just a couple of babies in my entire life, and I was so scared to hold Phineas. I was scared of Phineas in general. He was five weeks early, so he had all sorts of tubes and monitors and I was sure I was going to break him. (spoiler alert: I didn't.) 

The poor firstborns. They're the guinea pigs. Their idiot first-time parents are just throwing (metaphorical) things at them to see what sticks. 

Honestly, that's what we're doing with our second-born, Robin, as well. It's been too long and we've had too much sleep deprivation to really remember what we did the first time. Except I know I'm not scared of Robin.

(But maybe I should be. That kid PUNCHED A HOLE through the back of my uterus so big I had an emergency hysterectomy and almost bled to death. So I'd better keep my eye on him.)

Robin is only a month old, so we're in the trenches here. I feel like I can do only the bare minimum for both of my kids, leaving me at just "ok" status. I can half-play with Phineas because I need to use the other arm to hold Robin, or I have to hold Robin's bottle with my chin so I can help Phineas zip his coat. I feel like I'm not even a very decent cat mom right now - they all like to snuggle and since I'm always holding a baby, their snuggle time has really diminished. Poor things!

Where was I going with this?

THIS IS MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.

I wander off, physically and/or mentally, and don't know why I am there.

Back to how I'm the okayest mom.

Do you have a daily non-negotiable? Something that you HAVE to do each day to make you feel like a human? For some people, it's having their daily cup of coffee. For my mom, it's her daily can of Dr. Pepper. For me, it's taking a shower every day. Even if I'm not going to leave the house, I have to take a shower every day and put on clean clothes - I might just be changing into a new pair of pajamas, but this small act gives me just enough to not spiral into a deep depression. 

Taking that shower, though, requires me leaving Robin alone for approximately five minutes. He could be dead asleep when I leave to get in the shower, but he is always - ALWAYS - screaming when I get out. 

Bro - I gave up a ton for you. I sacrificed my body (remember that uterus?), my social life, a bit of my sanity, and who knows what else for you. I cannot and will not give up this one small thing that makes me feel like a human person each day.

And if that makes me selfish, so be it. Another mark in the "okayest mom" column.

Did you know dads are widely considered the more "fun" parent because - and this is a scientific fact, not just me being a dick - men's brains mature more slowly than women's? Therefore, their brains are more childlike and can more easily slip into the "play" state. When I heard this, it was like DUHHHH. Phineas definitely prefers James to me when it comes to playing pretend, which is absolutely great with me. I really don't enjoy playing pretend - I think my imagination may have died out on me quite some time ago. But being imaginative is not the same as being creative, and I'll be damned if I'm not creative.

I felt bad about not enjoying playing pretend with Phineas - treasure every moment, right? But now with two kids when my time is especially limited, I am giving myself permission to not treasure every moment. I will absolutely fake it til I make it with the kids, but I don't have to do that to myself. That doesn't make me a shitty mom. It makes me the okayest mom. 

I'll never win any awards for "world's best mom;" I can't do any of the "traditional" mom stuff. I can't bake anything from scratch, I can't sew, I can't cook, I won't be the head of the PTA or whatever else parents these days are expected to do. I'm not the worst mother, either - fortunately for me and unfortunately for others, there's a long way to go before worst mother.

What I can do is adventure. I can read books. I can teach my kids about the world around them. I can learn alongside with them. I can teach them how to be good people and how to admit when you're wrong. I am full of interesting but predominantly useless facts I can pass onto them. I am not good at drawing or painting but I would like to do it alongside with them all the same. I will tell myself that I won't embarrass them because I can't possibly be embarrassing but I will completely humiliate them somehow without even knowing it. And I can love them. 

I think all that stuff makes me a pretty ok mom.

And I'm ok with that.

PS - you know how Robin exploded my uterus? I have a picture. It's disgusting and awesome and I will totally share it with you if you ask.