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Well, it's official.. even though my birthday, Mary Catherine's birthday and Thanksgiving are all still to come.. in the eyes of Starbucks, it's Christmas!
We had our first round of family coffee in red cups today. I didn't beg them for a cup of nothing but egg nog, but I just might do that later in the season. Egg nog. Nom. Nom.
In other news, we're spending our weekend doing absolutely not so much. It's meant a day of holding down the sofa as a family, watching all sorts of good stuff on the telly.
While Mary Catherine was away for half term, she made the jump from CBeebies to CBBC, a channel for older children. (odd that it took her a while to make that change when she'd switched from Playhouse Disney to the Hannah Montana ..erm, Disney Channel about eight months ago)
My whole reason for rambling at you about CBBC is that her favourite show on there is the Sarah Jane Adventures - a Dr Who spin-off. My child! Likes something to do with Dr Who! Just like her Dad! I think it's pretty interesting that she, who is mainly into Hannah Montana these days, likes a sci-fi show. I think Andrew believes there may be hope for her yet.
So we've watched a few episodes of the Sarah Jane Adventures that we'd previously recorded. Have you ever stopped to think just how incredibly cool it is that you can digitally record multiple television shows to watch whenever you please? I get a real laugh thinking about how, to my child, there's always been a way to pause live television. She's also been able to name a show and pretty much be able to watch it on demand (very much thanks to her parents who record things in advance).
Technology is cool. Here's quite possibly the nerdiest thing I've ever said .... I like being a geek.
Did you know that nearly 46,000 women are diagnosed with breast cancer each year in the UK? That breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer in the UK? Sadly, 1 in 9 women in the UK will develop breast cancer at some point in their lifetime and nearly 1,000 women die of breast cancer every month in the UK.
And it's not just fun for the ladies... Around 300 men are diagnosed with breast cancer every year in the UK as well. That's right - your Moobs are not immune.
Just in case you live on Mars.. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. We're having 'Pink Day' here at work today and I'm happy to be a part of the fundraising we're doing.
Even if that involves wearing a rather un-fetching hot pink t-shirt to work. In case you were wondering, no, I do not think that t-shirts and 'career wear' really go together.
For more information on how to love the heck out of your boobs (or someone else's!) check out Breakthrough Breastcancer's website here.
Ps - Yes, I know it's been forever since I blogged... sorry about that.
Well hello there internet!
My knee surgery went as planned and you'll be happy to know that I still have two legs and two relatively well working knees. I'm mostly off the pain medication, which is a good thing. Normally I'd take as much pharmaceutical fun as I could stand - but for some reason the drugs this time around really swept me off my feet.
Aaaaaand not in a good way.
This past weekend, we travelled north for Andrew's mom's 70th surprise birthday party. It was a very long car drive there and back and probably not the smartest or most comfortable thing to do two days after surgery... but it was very good fun and I'm so glad we went.
Mary Catherine's Harvest Festival went well. She was a very capable and well dressed stalk of waving corn. I was amazed at just how much food was donated to the Salvation Army. It was very touching to see all the classes bring overflowing baskets of food to the SA representatives.
I wore a pair of jogging bottoms to the Harvest Festival and when we were en route to school that morning, MC asked me why I was going to her school wearing my pajamas.
So much for being pleased I was attending at all!
Oh look! It's the 7th of October..
There's a picture of Mary Catherine in her new Halloween outfit that my mom and dad sent over for her. Halloween isn't for another 24 days.
My birthday is in 40 days and Mary Catherine's birthday is in 51 days.
Christmas is in 79 days. Just in case you were wondering. Why is this relevant to anything? Because I've just gotten up at 4:50am to get online and book our Christmas Eve appointment with Santa at Phipps! They started taking appointments at 12:01 EDT today.
I think getting up at 5am to book a visit with Santa 78 days in advance is the 00's equivalent of staying up until 2am putting together a Christmas toys. Anyway, I digress. If you live in Atlanta (or the surrounding villages and hamlets) and haven't ever been to see Santa at Phipps - well, you're missing out. Might I recommend that you book now? Those appointments go quickly. Tick Tock Tick Tock.
In other news, I'm having knee surgery today. Somehow I managed to tear my cartilage again in my 'bad knee'. I don't really recall the specific moment when it happened, which is odd. But I've seen the MRI results and vaguely smiled and nodded while the consultant pointed out what apparently is, yet again, another tear.
The good news is that I'm seeing the same surgeon that 'did me' four years ago for the same thing and I like him a lot. He's fun. Wait, I should say that he's fun and one of the top knee surgeons in Britain. But just so you know, in my opinion, fun counts for as much as anything.
Oh and I also like the private hospital I'm having surgery in .. It'll be day surgery so I'm not sure I'll have a butler as I did previously. I'm cool with that. Andrew, on the other hand, might miss the nice lady who brought him tea constantly while he waited on me last time!
(Yes, socialised healthcare and private healthcare can peacefully co-exist without the world exploding.. Radical concept, I know. Also - another post for another day!)
It's Jeans for Genes day.. Both Mary Catherine and I get to wear
mufti! It's gonna be a good day!Sent from my iPhone
Carl Sagan - 'A Glorious Dawn' ft Stephen Hawking (Cosmos Remixed)
Is this week over yet? No? Crap.
This morning I took Mary Catherine to school.. we got caught in some pretty bad traffic and ended up being late. I had to park away from our usual spot in another section of the village.
Mary Catherine loves to park there in the autumn as the walk is just about a mile and goes through some beautiful landscaped areas. The highlight of the walk is several horse chestnut trees which of course means.... conkers!
Being American, the concept of the conker is rather new to me and I've gotten more into them as Mary Catherine has gotten older and started collecting them. What are conkers? Read here.
This morning as we were walking and talking we found several conkers still in their spikey cases. We had the best time squidging them out by gently stepping on them and then running after the seed as it went flying along the pavement.
We probably spent a good five minutes doing that and even though we were already quite late for school - well, it was really worth it. A really nice bonding moment.
Happy autumn everyone!
I have a new book that I really must finish reading.. 'A Year in the Life of the Man Who Fell Asleep' by Greg Stekelman. Here's my favourite excerpt thus far..
January 15th
There are 275 tube stations and 12 tube lines in London. The network runs from Amersham in the west to Upminster in the east, from Watford in the north to Morden in the south. It used to extend all the way to Blake Hall, but no one ever used that station, and it withered away like a maimed limb.
There are 417 escalators on the tube, and all of them are broken, or so it seems. The deepest station on the network is Hampstead, which lies some 59 metres below ground level. This is ironic, since people who live in Hampstead are among the shallowest in London.
When the London Underground first introduced escalators in 1911,
there was great public outcry about safety issues. To reassure people, a man with a wooden leg – his name was Bumper Harris – was employed to travel the escalators and prove that they were safe. It is not known if Harris lost his leg in an escalator-related accident, but I think it is likely. After all, more people die each year on the escalators of the London Underground than are killed by handguns in America.
I have always had a love affair with the Underground. What is more musical than a garbled tannoy announcement? What is more dramatic than the sudden rush of hot air that precedes a train’s appearance on a platform? There is something magical about it. Even when you are going somewhere, you feel as though you may be going nowhere. And when you’re going nowhere, you sense that somehow you may still be moving in the right direction.
The Underground is safe to me. It is the safety of mildew and decay.
Sadly, I fear much of life: from milkmen to safety matches and Manila
envelopes. I inhabit a world of barely-contained fear. If a man looks at
me sidelong in the street or a woman laughs too loudly in a pub, I look away. The only safety lies at home. Home is safe. Home is where you hang your head. And the tube is almost my home…
That is the beauty of the tube. It allows me to travel while remaining
at home. I can travel across vast distances but maintain the illusion of remaining stationary. I sit down at Wood Green and watch the stations scroll by like television, and suddenly, without moving, I am elsewhere. Holloway Road! Green Park! Hammersmith! I have traversed London, and yet all I have done is sit down.
There is another reason I love the Tube. I love it for the dark spell it
casts over my fellow passengers. It affects everyone. It warps the mind. It deadens the senses. How can anyone behave normally when they are hurtling through tunnels below the surface of the world? Amid those deep, dank platforms unruly teenagers slouch in tracksuits and mutter into their hands. Sallow-faced young women stare at their reflections and dream of sunlight above. Businessmen read The Standard over each others’ shoulders. Secretaries smirk as they scan the daily gossip. The reception on a mobile phone dies away, as ringtones are replaced by prerecorded announcements. All signals fail.
Down there, we are trapped in lonely carriages and trapped between
stations. We are held hostage to the hiss of an opening door. The Underground belongs to anyone brave enough to use it.
via The Man Who Fell Asleep.
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