A Birthday Post

What better reason to resurrect a blog than Phoebe Jean Hambleton?  Folks have inquired about our baby's startling escape from my uterus, so here's the tale from the beginning:

Background - It was Saturday, June 28th at 10:00 PM.  I was 30 weeks, 6 days pregnant (out of 40 weeks, if you need some context).  I was wearing my gray-striped t-shirt.

And I was sitting in this exact seat - eastern-most at the dining room table, typing on the laptop, sitting on the red cushion - when I thought, "I sure do have to pee, as usual."  This was no normal pee sesh, however.  It was a li'l red.

I came out of the bathroom, saw Hamb, and said, "Don't panic, but I'm bleeding.  I'm going to call the doctor and they'll tell me to come in, but it's probably nothing."  He did panic a bit, especially when I started leaking like a failed water balloon.  Drew tossed three baby books in a bag, escorted our dog to the Toyota Matrix, and we moseyed down to the Group Health Birthing Center on Capitol Hill.  (Question for Hamb: Why did we take the Matrix?  Why not our spanking new Subaru Outback?)

Sweet nurses and doctors started poking around and confirmed our concerns that yes, in fact, my water had broken. Dr. Something explained, "Our goal is to keep you pregnant as long as you can be up until 34 weeks, at which time we'll induce you to avoid the infection risks.  Until then, you'll be on bed rest here."  (It should be noted that at this point, I felt zero pain and zero contractions.)  "However, if you end up going into labor some time this week, we'll transport you to UW or Overlake where their NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) is better prepared for babies under 32 weeks," she elaborated.

At this point, Hamb drove home to transfer our dog to in-laws Ben and BSands and pick up 3-week bed-rest essentials like my body pillow, phone charger, and current book club book.

The body pillow was useless.  My contractions started right as Hamb returned to the hospital.

The Group Health doctors injected me with a steroid to develop the baby's lungs and something else to temporarily slow my contractions.  Then a few EMTs rolled me into an ambulance and swept me OVER the LAKE to Overlake Hospital while Hamb drove closely behind.  It was a pleasant trip.  No contractions, just stories of the drunks the EMTs had been dealing with.

---Note: I had to confer with Hamb about these next details.  Apparently I fell asleep.  Who knew?--- Once I arrived at the hospital, a nurse named Christina helped me get settled in and updated my stats on the white board in the room.  My goal for the day: "Stay pregnant!"

I did not achieve that goal.

The contractions started returning around sunrise, so the doctors started pumping me with magnesium.  Supposedly this has several benefits, one of which is that the magnesium replaces some of the calcium in your muscles so contractions can't be as forceful.  (Weird.  Science is weird.)  Around this time, Nurse Christina (who was delightful during our few interactions) was replaced by Nurse Christine (the world's best nurse), a sassy version of Ann Perkins who at one point told my dad that though she couldn't examine his knee, she could examine his vagina.  Haha!  Hahaha!

Around 9:00, our families start showing up.  Drew's parents came in and were lovely.  My parents and Grandma DoDo came in and were lovely.  The NICU doctor came in and explained what I can expect from a nine-week-early baby.  The ultrasound technician came in and examined the unborn baby (whose heart was beating healthily and diaphragm was hiccuping enthusiastically).  Christine taught me some coping strategies we would have learned if I could have gone to the last 6 classes of our 7-class birthing series.

All was well!  We were happy!  Even through the hot-flashy fuzz of the magnesium!

Then shit starts getting real.  The contractions start being painful and frequent.  We give up on the dream of giving baby another shot of lung-helping steroids.  At 10:45ish I kick out my family.  At 11:15ish I have a conversation with Christine about drugs.  At 11:55ish I'm being wheelchaired to the delivery room (and told there is no time for drugs) as Christine wrangles the necessary doctors and nurses.  At 12:07, I push out a baby.  I see she's pink, I hear her cry, and someone said, "It's a girl!  She's a girl!"

The rest runs together, but I know that Hamb followed our daughter to the NICU while I got cleaned up.  Our parents came in to celebrate with us, and at some point Hamb came back to tell me that our girl was 3 pounds, 5 ounces of breathing, cone-headed Hambleton.

We told our parents to go to lunch and that when they returned, we'd have picked out a name.  We knew the middle name Jean - we each have a grandmother named Jean - and it took us about eight seconds to agree that of the names on our short list, Phoebe was the best fit.

So that, interested parties, is how Phoebe Jean Hambleton was born.  I'll post Phoebe updates here (along with other sentiments, probably about blueberries) to keep Phoebe phans happy.

Bird Year

In 2013, I intend to identify at least one hundred species of birds.  When I bring it up, most people are like, "Isn't that really easy?  Aren't there like three hundred species in just Seattle?"  I have three responses:
1. I don't know how easy it will be.  I've never done it, goof.
2. There are lots and lots of species in Seattle, but that doesn't mean it's simple to track down the rascals.
3. I don't just have to see these birds.  I have to identify them.

I keep the bird list on my phone.  Every weekend, I add new species.  Here's my unscientific, not-exactly-in-order List of Birds I've Seen and Identified (Sometimes With Help) in 2013 Thus Far:
1. Harrier
2. Snow goose
3. Bald eagle
4. Short-eared owl
5. Western meadowlark
6. Hooded merganser (picture of a happy h. merg. couple on the right)
7. Bufflehead
8. American wigeon
9. Eurasian wigeon
10. Northern shoveler
11. Mallard
12. Double-crested cormorant
13. American robin
14. Killdeer
15. Good ol' American crow
16. Common goldeneye
17. Coots, coots, coots
18. Dark-eyed junco
19. Northern flicker (Pic of one of these guys on the left... imagine it hammering annoyingly on our metal chimney cover. One did that this morning.  Silly dummies.)
20. Chestnut-backed chickadee
21. Ruby-crowned kinglet
22. Pine siskin
23. Stellar's jay
24. European starling (ewwww)
25. Spotted towhee
26. Varied thrush
27. Anna's hummingbird
28. Black-capped chickadee
29. Great blue heron
30. Red-tailed hawk
31. Barrow's goldeneye
32. Red-breasted nuthatch
33. Wee flock o' bushtits! (See that li'l posse on the right? Those are bushtits! Their sweet, pure souls contrast their giggle-worthy name.)
34. House finch
35. Bewick's wren
36. Common merganser
37. American goldfinch

Boldies = birds new to my life list
Italies = birds I really, really love

Get ready for some serious 2013 bird tales, friends.  And if I finally see the Swainson's Thrush instead of just hearing it, get ready to sip some champagne with me!

The Year of Nothing Big

The past half a decade, I've been earning degrees, getting hitched, buying houses, paying vet bills, and so on.  It's been busy.  So last year, husb and I were like, "Let's not do anything in 2012."  Do nothing we did.

This made time for reading.

My favorite book of 2012 wasn't the best written, wasn't the most exciting, and wasn't the most respectful of my wholesome spirit.  None of that mattered when you have characters like Tyrion Freaking Lannister.  This  little man exemplified all that is perfect about Game of Thrones - characters who are cruel and loveable, beautiful and confused, courageous and doomed.  Also, ale.

I started book one over the summer.  House, pets, and spouses were neglected until I finish the fourth in the series.  I held out on investing in book five because it's hardback and we're not the Gates family, but a few handy connections and pdf conversions made it possible for me to finish book five last month.  These characters and their stories have consumed my every thought.  (Exaggeration.  Not every thought.  But seriously, if I spoke about direwolves every time they popped in my mind, I would lose friends.  Good friends.  Friends who put up with my deep and eternal Harry Potter love.)

I'm not a fantasy weirdo and dragons don't do it for me, but man oh man, Thrones has consumed me.  Print a character tree, a map of Westoros, and get your literate butt reading.

2013 in your face

Guess what I'm going to do in 2013.  No guesses?  You're so silent.

I'm going to blog.

Living in the 'burbs

Second, Shoreline boasts Shoreview Park.  So! Many! Shores! Around here!  To be honest, I never saw the view of the shore, but I did see a few mini-waterfalls and a hidden lake aptly named Hidden Lake.  Plus, tennis courts.  Get under my feet on a warmer day, tennis courts.  I'll spend many a spring day fluffing around this place, and perhaps we are more patient next time, we'll see the shockingly boring Kingfisher actually do a little fishing.

We moved to Shoreline, a suburb of Seattle, for these reasons:
1. We could afford a solid house here.
2. We could afford a yard here.
3. It's a delightful little place.

Number three was confirmed during Drew and Kelly Have the Day Off and Drive Around and Discover Many Awesome Parks Day.  Others call it "Sunday, March 4th" or "Today".

First, we accidentally moseyed into the Richmond Beach Saltwater Park.  I want you to imagine a perfect Northwest beach: salty driftwood, miscellaneous waterfowl, dogs.  There you have it.  Of course, similar elements can be found in "the city", but their loveliness is diminished by the crowds of crazies and ban on pups.  Richmond Beach was dogtastic, and our (currently blind in one eye) dog was even able to trot leash-free into the agua.  That's what's up.

Kingfisher Friend

Third... psych, we didn't get to a third because we had to shop for groceries.  But no matter, both parks today rivaled my fav Seattle park, Carkeek, and these were just ones we stumbled across.  Who knew our affordable, new community would also be an awesome, new community?

My History with Live Rodents

Rodent Experience #1:

Until 2006, I believed rodents only lived on farms and in dingy New York apartments. Abey Cat debunked that myth with the thoughtful prezzy of a live mouse.  One lovely summer afternoon, he strutted through our open door, rodent in mouth.  He interpreted my scream as, "Oh, obviously Kelly wants this in her room," and he trotted upstairs to liberate the rodent there.

Who could help me?  My first thought was my favorite lesbian, but she didn't answer the phone.  My next thought was my favorite former-country-dweller, Lynn.  She did answer the phone.  Then she came over and we ransacked my room, to no avail.  (This was our first time hanging out in a non-group setting, and we became great pals.  Almost exactly five years later, she officiated my wedding.)

We never found the mouse.




Rodent Experience #2:

Second verse, same(ish) as the first.  It was July 2010, and this time I didn't have to call Lynn because we were roomies.  In fact, we were in the living room sobering up from a Happy Hour On Alki Beach buzz when we heard a strange noise at the front door.  "Dumb Abe," I thought as I opened the door to let him in.  False.  It was actually "Dumb Kelly." The croak was coming from the terrified mouse in Abe's mouth, not Abe himself.  Just like four years before, Abe ran into my room and freed the mouse.  Egggh.

Once again, Lynn was my hero.  She chased the mouse from room to room, trying to kill it with a Catholic Bible (our heaviest book... don't take it personally, Pope) until it holed up in the heater.  Since Drew was on his way over, he agreed to pick up mouse traps.  Lynn set them, and Drew and I barricaded my bedroom while we slept on the living room futon.  Harper's kennel cough, the lumpy futon mattress, and our deep, deep fear made it the worst night's sleep of our lives.

In the morning, the mouse was dead in the trap.  Lynn dealt with it.



Rodent Experience #3:

Six months later, I was living with Drew, and we had another rodent.  This time Abe had nothing to do with it.  We arrived home after being away for Christmas, and the animals were acting suspicious.  Harper barked in the middle of the night.  Abey skitted around the floor like a useless hunter.  Then, I saw it - a mouse home (sans mouse) in a box of panty liners.

So. Gross.

We set traps around the house.  The rodent has not been found.



Rodent Experience #4:

Last week, I was driving home from work when Drew called.  "Kel, are you almost home?" he asked in an unsettling voice.  I said yes, I was five blocks away, and what was wrong?  I thought someone had died.  He whispered, "There is a noise in the bathroom.  I think we have... a mouse."

I walked in confident that he was being paranoid, but my first step in the bathroom revealed a scratching noise.  We thought it came from a drawer.  Drew set traps, and we dashed off to a Thai restaurant to enjoy spring rolls while we waited for the rodent to be snapped to death.

We arrived home to empty traps.  We dehydrated ourselves so that we would not have to use the restroom.  In the middle of the night, we awoke to noisy scratching and clunking.  Fear. Fear. Fear.

Come morning, the traps were still empty.  Our midnight Fright Conversation resulted in a plan that involved giant garbage bags, the drawer thing, and our backyard.  On my morning run to Safeway for said garbage bags, I used their bathroom.  I returned, we enacted the plan, and we found nothing.

That rodent is probably the same rascal involved in Rodent Experience #5.



Rodent Experience #5:

Three hours ago, I heard a familiar scratching.  I boldly walked into the bathroom and kicked the stupid drawers, but the noise continued.  What was this?  It was coming from INSIDE THE WALLS.   Motherf'er.

Drew was at work and Lynn was in California, so I called the neighbors.  I said, "Za, there is noise in my bathroom, and I need you to hear it."  She strolled on over and gently told me, "Umm... that sounds like a rat building a nest."  Since Za is (a) very brave and (b) vaccinated for rabies due to a raccoon incident last year, she took charge.

First, we locked Abe in the bathroom hoping he'd catch the damn thing.  He was pathetic, so we freed him.  Second, we duct taped the crap out of holes under the kitchen sink in case the bastard tried to escape there.  Third, Za courageously vacuumed near the tiny hole behind the toilet to scare it while I stood behind her with an empty box telling myself that I would be strong enough to trap it if it ran by.  Last, we taped up the "vacuum hole" and listened.  Silence.

I have vacuumed every half hour since then just to freak it out.  Move out, rodent!  You're not welcome!  I have called our landlords and they will come get you if you don't leave on your own!

The rodent is still unaccounted before, but at least it's quiet.


I hope this is where my Rodent History ends forever and ever.  We are moving to Shoreline in a couple weeks.  Mice and rats have a reputation to keep, and I'm pretty sure they would never allow themselves to live in the suburbs.


At least it's not dinosaurs.

Christmas Movies

In December, I watch Love Actually and Sleepless in Seattle two to three times a week.  Once I invest in White Christmas, Home Alone (one AND two, perhaps?), and It's a Wonderful Life, I will only leave the house to replenish my hot chocolate and wrapping paper supply.

Also, we bought a house.  Booyaaaa.

What You Don't See In My Paycheck

I am the teacher, so I can force my students to tell me their favorite baby animal.  Last week, I did.  One of my students, an English Language Learner, asked me, "What's the word for a baby camel?"  I answered, "I don't know.  I think 'baby camel'."

I was wrong.  It's a calf.  He was right.  They're adorable.  Here are pictures:

If the "name your favorite baby animal" game was a contest, that student would have won.  What can I ask them that tops this?

Life Things

You know how I know I'm adult?  I almost went to Fred Meyer to buy files.  Files!  (I also had an ulterior motive to invest in fancy apples.  Drew once harassed me about the cost of my favorite apples [Sweet Tango, Pink Lady, Granny Smith, in that order], but now he's gone and married me and there's nothing he can do about my expensive tastes.)  Instead, I will ransack our stinky office/guest room/cat lair and use old ones.  You could call me Frugal Kelly... Frugal Kelly Except for the Apples.

This file mania stems from three situations, two major and one minor.

Major #1: We are going to leave redfin.com and explore the real world of houses.  Living the American Dream will go well with our love for Settlers of Catan.  OMG capitalism.  Anyway, paperwork like "whoa."

Major #2: I officially changed my name today.  The process was made easier by the social security lady who was also born on good ol' April 16th.  You know how when you share a birthday with a stranger, suddenly you're friends?  Yep, we're getting tattoos together tomorrow and then making a tape to be on the next season of Amazing Race.  Anyway, paperwork like "kind of whoa."

Minor #1: Harper Dog murdered our comforter.  It's a relief that the comforter was filled with down rather than grenades or wolverines or volatile sacks of poison, but it still made a mess.  Dust busting our bedroom (because our vacuum cleaner broke the day we received that dust buster... we were destined to hunch while removing grime) sent us into a cleaning frenzy.  Thus, the tossing out of 3-year-old bills.  Get out of here, 3-year-old bills.  (Do NOT get out of here, 3-year-old Bills.  Most of us can agree that non-crying three-year-olds are adorable, and ones named Bill? The vision is a fluffy dream.)

What's next?  Putting away the rest of the wedding prezzies?  Haaaaa.

A silly bird.

Double-crested Cormorants love Hammersley Inlet, the fjord my parents live above. I watch them waggle their wings like the barely evolved rascals they are.

Drew tells me they hold out their wings like football players saying, "Appreciate my masculinity!" because they never acquired whatever it is that allows most birds to dry off.  He's probably right.  However, I choose to think that they do it to entertain me.  I hold binoculars to my eyes like a weirdo to entertain them.  The Cormorants and I have an unspoken agreement to amuse one another.

Nature is considerate of my need to giggle.

Hamb and I got hitched four weeks ago.

Our wedding was so much fun I puked.

The ceremony with a pal's fancy iPhone touch on it.

A shot of the handsome, married, Hamblecouple.

Happy bride, happy parents.

An owl named Pigwidgeon could have delivered this.

I went to Harry Potter land for my bachelorette party. Oh yeah, I totally outbacheloretted you. There, I received the poem below and several tasks that I failed. (Don't judge me. It's hard to order butterbeer in Parseltongue....)

KJDub, the girl who lived,
Many missions you will be gived.

All these tasks you must complete
Or Harpy Walden, Voldy will eat.

You will be given tasks one at a time.
None involve coronas and lime.

Don't look for owls. Florida is too hot.
Task by text is what you've got.

Blimey! Each task will be hard.
Always be vigilant, be on your guard.

Strange people may approach you.
You must complete those tasks too.

After completing the tasks you'll be ready to wed,
And be ready for hippogriff-style in the marriage bed.

Like Harry Potter, you can rely on your friends.
They'll be with you until the end.

We hope you succeed. We hope you don't flunk.
Because once you succeed, we can get crunk!