November 16, 2009
by marfmom
3 Comments

Tips 'N' Tricks: RG Maternity

Starting when I began to wear maternity clothes, I’ve been keeping a list of items and tricks that have been really helpful to me as a mother with a chronic health condition, although some of these are certainly applicable to all moms. From time to time I’ll write reviews on the items (tips) or offer up suggestions of ways I’ve adjusted doing things (tricks) to make being a mom easier on my body.

All of the products are ones I purchased myself, unless otherwise specified.

Having a 37” inseam and trying to find reasonably priced pants is not an easy task, but it’s particularly hard when you’re pregnant. I don’t know why, but most of the stores I usually shop only carry 34” maternity inseams, as if tall women don’t ever get pregnant. Go figure. So, I was very excited when I came across RG Maternity.

Being a family-owned store, the selection is small but changes every few months and the deals can’t be beat. I purchased a pair of dark bootcut jeans with a versatile panel, gray dress pants with a full panel, and a red rouched top. Having a disproportionately small upper torso, I welcomed the long shirt because it gave me the illusion of being more equally proportioned. I also personally prefer the full belly panel. I carried high and the versatile panel kept slipping later in my pregnancy, but the full panel fit smoothly and kept my pants up well.

RG’s customer service is excellent! When I emailed questions I got a response right away, and was emailed when new items became available. Shipping only takes 1-2 days. The only thing that complicates returns is that you must email the company for authorization for a return before mailing back the item, and you have two weeks to do it. I cut it reeeaaalllly close when trying to exchange my dress pants for a different size. I’m a wee bit of a procrastinator.

Overall, great small business and if I ever have another baby I’d use them again!

Below is a picture of me wearing the gray dress pants.
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November 13, 2009
by marfmom
4 Comments

Flashback Friday

I’m trying out Flashback Friday via Texan Mama’s blog. Participants re-post an old blog entry. I’m re-posting “Stress Test: Dressed to Impress.”

Today I got to look like an alien. Or maybe an astronaut. I’m not really sure which, but either way you should be Totally Jealous!

A few weeks ago, my cardiologist told me I needed to get a stress test done, to see if it’s my heart that’s causing me to be short of breath, or if it’s my lungs, or if I’m just a complete crazy person (my choice of words, not his). “We’ll even do it on the brand new, high-tech machine!” he said. His excitement was palpable. [I started to type I’m not so nerdy that I get thrilled over a piece of medical equipment, but then I remembered how I’d gotten the same look in my eyes when our band director let me be the first to try out our high school’s new vibraphone. Guilty as charged.]

Anyway, I don’t know if any of you have ever had a stress test, but I think it got its name from how much it stresses you out ahead of time to know you’re getting one. Seriously, in all the medical tests and procedures that I’ve had, this is the first one I remember signing a consent form for that read in Big Bold Font: YOU MIGHT HAVE A HEART ATTACK AND/OR DIE. Typing this out now it’s actually pretty funny, but this afternoon it was vagually unsettling.

First, I had a quick echocardiogram to get a baseline reading for how well my heart is functioning. Unlike my normal echos though, I had 13 stickers placed all over my chest and belly, upon which 13 leads were placed, which all went into a box that sat on a belt, which went around my waist (got all that?). Because I would need to rush back from the treadmill to the bed for a 2nd echo, I couldn’t wear my robe normally, so the tech tied it around me toga style. Then I got a fancy blood pressure cuff that had a speaker attached to it so that the tech could hear my heart beat. And after that came the “ET” oxygen sensor (you know, the one that goes around your finger and glows red like ET?). The crowning glory? The oxygen mask. Only problem is, I have a ridgeless nose, so none of the masks would fit me without creating leaks. This meant that instead of a mask, I had to have a series of hard plastic tubing in my mouth and a clothespin-like cover over my nose. The tubing was rather heavy, so it protruded from my bottom lip…making me look a bit like a chimpanzee. And did I mention I was so busy with Menininho this morning and trying to get out the door that I forgot to brush my hair?

Ladies and Gents: I’m bringing sexy back.

Last to do before starting the test was for me to tell the tech the maximum amount of activity I could do without being winded. Their chart left something to be desired. I mean, is social dancing really easier than pushing a lawn mower? And is carrying a small child up a flight of stairs more difficult than lifting 60 pounds? Have I ever actually pushed a lawn mower?

Finally she started the treadmill. I ended up having to hold the oxygen contraption in my mouth with one hand and hold on to the handlebar of the treadmill in the other as I walked faster and faster. I’ll spare you the details of how it felt to keep going till it felt “very, very hard” (#17 on a scale of 20, in case you were wondering). When I couldn’t go anymore, I signaled to the tech to stop the treadmill, then stumbled back onto the bed for my 2nd echo. I finished out the round of exams with some quick pulmonary function tests and the promise that if I’m a good girl, maybe I can come back in a few weeks for more (dare I hope?!).

November 12, 2009
by marfmom
18 Comments

Piece of Cake

I think I was 9 that summer. My parents bought a fake hammock (you know, one of those that comes on a stand) for our front porch and I was content to spend hours on it reading. My 7-year-old brother was content to cause trouble, and on this particular day did so by tossing me out of the hammock and onto the concrete porch.

I was hurt, but not so hurt that I couldn’t run and wake my parents from their nap. “Matthew pushed me out of the haaaaaamock!” I cried. “You have to PUNISH him!” My father opened up one eye and surveyed my brother and me. “I’m going to need some time to think of a punishment to fit this crime, “ he said, then dismissed us to await his decision.

Really, this was genius. It bought my parents more time to sleep, it placated me, and my brother spent several hours squirming with mental anguish over what our dad was going to do to him. Eventually my parents got up, we did some chores and got ready to go to the pool. Still, no punishment. My brother was getting so panicked that Mom insisted Dad mete out the consequence.

At this point in the story you might think that the punishment was the worry over the punishment, but you’d be wrong. My father, an artist, was more creative than that. With my mother, baby sister, and I waiting by the van to leave, he instructed my brother to stand in the middle of the front lawn.

My grandfather lived nearby in an assisted-living community. Each week the local grocery store would drop off their too-old-to-be-sold baked goods for the seniors, and Grampa Pai would bring us a batch. Most of the food was totally inedible, and this week was no exception: Grampa had delivered us a stale, robin’s egg blue cake. It was this cake that my father took outside to my brother.

Before you could blink, Dad had smeared Matt with blue icing and yellow cake head to toe!

My father laid a towel down in the van for Matthew to sit on, then made him shower in the POOL SHOWERS, you know, the ones with spiders in the corner and that smell vaguely of chlorine and pee? The HORROR! For my 9-year-old self, there could be no better punishment for my dastardly brother.

Now, I realize there are some parents who would cry foul over this. They would say punishments should be more related to the misbehavior and that fear is unnecessary and cruel, and they’d probably be right. But you know what? Matt never pushed me out of the hammock again, we all had a good laugh after the fact (him included), and now that Dad is gone, this is one of our fondest memories. It always makes us laugh, and I respect his creativity in parenting.

I was so excited to see my prompt (#1) posted at Mama Kat’s for this week’s Writers Workshop! And then I realized the story I created the prompt around doesn’t actually fit the prompt, because it’s about my brother being punished and not me. But whatever. I’m taking artistic license. If you can’t do that when it’s your own prompt, when can you, right?