Safety of pictures online

I saw a post on Cheeky Sweetie's blog recently that really got me thinking. For some reason the Bing search engine is bringing up a photo of her daughter when searched by some pretty appalling search terms. MamaSpohr has been finding photos of her darling Maddie as advertisements on various sites. And it makes me wonder, how will I even know if someone is using my photos? I've always heard that if you post anything online it becomes public, and you have no control over it. Clearly that is true.

I always thought people were at heart ethical people. I may love a photo I see online (some of the bloggers out there are phenomenal photographers!) but I never try to save it. Not even so I can go back and look at it, I'd never even consider posting it as my own! So I always think other people are going to behave the same way I do. Sadly, that's not true.

I'm new to this blogging thing, and I have no doubt I'll make some mistakes. I don't know all the rules, and so I apologize if I break them. In life, no matter what context, some rules are pretty clear. What's mine is mine, and what's yours is yours, and we can share, but only if we both agree on it.

Cheeky Sweetie made a good point - is having your photos online more dangerous than taking your child to the park. That same pervert (though more likely a different one), may be sitting at the park. Or the grocery store. I don't keep my daughter out of view of the world, so should I keep her out of view online too? How much am I protecting her? The idea of perverts looking for images and finding my daughter makes me shudder. But is it dangerous?

What it comes down to is determining risk. I'm an auditor, so this is not an unfamiliar concept. Is it an acceptable risk? I don't have my address up, and while I do have location, it's the closest big city. And while I don't like the idea, if a perverted old man is looking at pictures of my daughter for his pleasure A) he could have found them anyways, and B) if I don't know, it's not really hurting me. Don't get me wrong, the problem with Bing NEEDS to be fixed. But I can't prevent/fix everything that could ever possibly happen.

So, I don't like it, but it's an acceptable risk. I registered for sitemeter, so I can see if anything usual starts coming up. Though since my blog is pretty small I figure I'm not likely to run into anything. I'll post some pictures, as it suits my blog postings, though I'll be very cautious. I'm not a fantastic photographer like many of the bloggers out there, but I still love taking pictures of my little one!

Another day older

Birthdays are weird. When you're little, they mean everything. When you're older, you still want to feel special, but all in all it's another day.

Today is my birthday. I've been shouting it from the rooftops. I tweeted, I put it up on SparkPeople, you name it. All in an attempt to feel love and attention on my birthday. Desperate, huh? Yeah, I know. Yet I couldn't stop myself. Which is a shame, because it didn't work. Nothing on twitter, only one kind spark person.

Now I know why people say birthdays are depressing. I finally get it.

So, now to see if I can forget that it's supposed to be my birthday, and focus on having fun with my little girl. It's just her and I today, so it really IS like every other day, but at least I don't have work distracting me. When she gets up from her nap, she can have my undivided attention!

Totally Ticks Me Off Tuesday

Late Pizza Delivery!

So, when Pizza Hut gives me a delivery estimate, I usually don't expect them to stick to it. I expect my delivery within 30 minutes of that time though.

The other night (Thursday, actually), my husband was out of town, so I ordered pasta and chicken from Pizza hut for my daughter and I. I ordered at 5:42, hoping to get it by 6:30. The delivery estimate was 6:17. 6:17 came and went. 6:30 came and went. At 6:45 I put my daughter in her high chair and gave her cereal for dinner. I then called Pizza Hut.

I'm not sure what I expected - but I got no apologies, just an explanation that it was coming out of the oven and would be at my door within 15 minutes.

7:33. That's when they finally showed up. Almost 2 hours after I ordered. The delivery guy saw my daughter playing and started talking to her, about how she was going to get pizza and all that. I looked him square in the eye and said "Her dinner time was over a long time ago. She thought she was getting chicken, but it just didn't show up in time".

I then proceeded to give him a full tip. After all, it wasn't his fault they forgot my order.

My Beautiful Flower Girl

My beautiful little charmer worked the crowd, did a wonderful walk, and even cut loose on the dance floor! She was a hit, and the bride and groom had a perfect wedding.

I worry for nothing.

The big day

Saturday is the big day for my brother-in-law and his fiancee. The big wedding. And it's going to be big. She is going to be stunning. She always looks good, but brides have that something special. I'm so happy for them. I don't have a sister, we've both married into the same family, and I hope someday we can be friends.

I'm very nervous about it. I don't do well in crowds. And it's going to be crowded. The bride has a lot of friends, and they have a huge bridal party, including her sister-in-law, who is her matron of honor. My husband is the best man. My daughter is the flower girl. So I'll be alone in a crowd where I don't really know anyone. Because the people I know and am responsible for will be busy.

It's my job to make sure we have the tux. And the flower girl dress. And the aforementioned shoes. To keep everything together and get them ready for the big day. But then I don't know what I'll do with myself. I'm more worried about this wedding than I was my own! I don't want to be the one who messes something up, or has a cranky child, that takes away from the joy of the event. The best present anyone gave me, was not telling me of any problems that happened leading up to the wedding. They just fixed them. Which was particularly nice because I had a person who added herself to the bridal party. She wasn't supposed to be there, so that made things awkward, and took a bunch of re-arranging. And I feel bad for my matron of honor, because with the other girl in a different dress, the wrong person looks like she was in that special spot.

Sadly, while my wedding day was wonderful, pictures of the event make me cry. I look terrible, and all the pictures are very posed, like formal prom posed, which just isn't flattering. I know the bride won't feel that way about her photos, and I am so, so happy. Those pictures will be in houses forever, and she should feel good everytime she sees them.

As nervous as I am, I'm trying to just be happy for them. I'm not a part of the wedding. Technically I'm there as a guest, to observe their joy. Though I'll do anything I can to help it go smoothly, which with all her friends, she doesn't need one more person poking her nose in.

We have SUCCESS!

Tada!!!!



I know, to you it just looks like a cute pair of shoes. To me it's much, much more.

You see, one month ago, Bubbles wore a size 1 shoe. My brother in law is getting married this weekend. Bubbles is a flower girl. The other flower girl (a five year old) is wearing silver shoes. So I went on the hunt for silver shoes. I found a pair of size 2 silver shoes on clearance at Babies R Us. Score! I figured since she wasn't in size 2 yet, and had just moved up from size 0, that a 2 was reasonable.

Fast forward to the day she turned 15 months. One week and one day before the wedding. And her size 2 shoes fit. The next day, Saturday, exactly one week before the wedding, I couldn't get them on her feet. Even her size 2 sneakers were a tight fit, and wound up cutting her heels. So Sunday I was off, on the search for size 3 silver shoes. 1 Payless, 2 Targets, and 3 Babies R Us later, no silver shoes. Each place had some - in a size 2.

Now the panic sets in. What is Bubbles going to wear for the wedding? I hopped online and started searching for infant silver shoes. Most results didn't actually have them available. And then I was at Zappos. I thought I had tried there before with no luck, but I must not have. Because they had a bunch! All more expensive than any other shoes we've bought her, some 5 times as much, but they had them. Although I had some concern, because size 3 is supposed to be 6-9 months. Not 15. But, one expensive pair of shoes and expedited shipping later, and I can start breathing again, because they fit!

Now to make sure the dress still fits!

"Free-Range" parenting

Many moons ago I saw part of a Dr. Phil episode on extreme parenting. In it he talked to two different mothers, one with a "free range" approach, and the other a "helicopter" mom. The first let her (I think 9 year old) son take the subway and bus alone, the latter sat outside her daughter's friends house to keep an eye on her. The difference was startling, and my initial reaction was "they're both nuts!".

It made me think though. And I found myself looking for more information. I saw a clip where Dr. Phil talked to the boy who rode the subway. He wanted to do it. He wanted to show he could. And he rode it with his family enough to feel safe. So it made me keep thinking about the concept. And thinking about my own daughter.

My daughter is 15 months. Helicopter parenting is the only way to go, at least in public. She doesn't have a concept of what is safe and what isn't. I'm teaching her not to go into the street, but I don't know that it's going to take. And I know that Lenore Skenazy (the free-range mom) wouldn't fault me keeping a close eye on a toddler. In our own home I've protected against the biggest safety concerns (like a fall down the stairs), and I let my daughter spend a lot of time on her own. Exploring her surroundings. As she learned to walk, I let her fall. And I reassured her that she was okay when she got back up. On cement I try to catch her when she's going head first, so people outside our home are under the impression I never let her fall. It doesn't help that if she's within arms reach I tend to reach out without thought - so I do catch her even if she only stubbles. I let them judge. I'm confident in my decisions regarding my child falling.

When Bubbles gets older, I'm not sure what I'll do. I like the concept of allowing children to do what they are capable of. To let them show maturity and responsibility. When I was in elementary school I was in a very unsafe neighborhood. It was so gang ridden that I had an out of district transfer for school. My parents tried to protect me (and were successful). When I was preparing to go into Junior High we found out I couldn't continue on an out of district transfer, so my parents moved. We wound up in a neighborhood that was really nice. Most of the people had money - they owned their houses, had nice cars, didn't really want for much. My schools were good, people got into ivy league easily with a little work (not me, I was a dance person). It was safe. So I did walk. I walked to and from school - 2 miles, without a care in the world. I looked out for things around me, obeyed the traffic signals, and felt independent. I still called my mom when I got home to let her know I was safe. Then I'd go looking for my brother who liked to wander in the canyons. I started babysitting a 6-month old and 4 year old, alone, at 12. My mom was always a phone call away if I needed her, but I did it myself. I was ready

I like the idea of trust (particularly with teens), until they've shown reason to not be trusted. Then expect more oversight. I don't know how Bubbles will progress, at what age she'll be ready to do what. The idea of sending her alone on a subway gives me a panic attack, but then again, so does the idea of me riding a subway alone. I want her to be strong, independent, and able to trust in her own abilities. I'm just not sure how to get past my own insecurities. And again, kids are all different. I don't know who Bubbles will be at 5, 9 or 13.

Totally Ticks Me Off Tuesdays

Totally Ticks Me Off Tuesdays

Midwest Mommy hosts this weekly exchange. I totally wanted to join in! Sometimes it's so nice to see you're not the only one getting ticked off at this stuff!

One Uppers!

I know a few people, but one in particular, who no matter what you say he has something better or worse. If he asks how many pictures you've taken and you tell him, the response is "that's nothing, my sister has....". Or even, wow - this dish is spicy - is met with "That's not spicy. Mine is spicy." You think something your kid did was cute, well, his niece did it better, and at 5 months younger. You can never have a bad day, because his is worse, and you can never have a good day, because his is better. Makes me never want to open my mouth!

Now to see if I can get McLinky to work - it's my first try!

How things evolve with a hungry baby

Something I didn't know going into motherhood:

The type of bib you need changes! Those cute little matching fabric bibs that go with the outfit - fabulous for a drooly baby or a bottlefed baby. Move forward to a solid food baby and they work okay, so long as you don't mind them getting all stained and you have a semi neat baby. Move forward to a toddler feeding themselves - it's a whole different ball game!

My biggest problem is eating out. When you don't have that try there to catch everything. So I went to Toys R Us and bought this huge bib that is essentially a smock. It's wipeable, so you don't have to worry about things absorbing and needing washing. It completely covers my daughters clothes, and has a pocket to catch whatever she drops. It totally rocks!

Now, people do laugh at me from time to time with how covered she is. But you know what? I don't care, because it keeps her neat!

I lose things

I lose things. It's sort of what I do. I have a real talent for it.

The safest way to ensure something gets lost, is to have me put it in "a safe place". I lose my checkbook for 3 years that way. At any given time there are half a dozen things that I can't find, because I put them someplace I wouldn't lose them.

So you can only imagine my concern right now. My daughter is a flower girl in my brother-in-laws wedding this weekend. My husband is the best man. I'm responsible for all the packing and clothing. Which means I'm responsible if anything gets lost. I'm trying really hard to keep all the important stuff together, but I'm really worried. Isn't it enough that her shoes don't fit - as of Friday! To mess up someone else's big day? I can't take that! I'll do anything I can to make it perfect for her. For my soon to be sister-in-law (I guess that's what we'll be, we married siblings).

All I can do is wait and see, and wonder what will be missing on the big day.

The best moments

A friend and I were discussing that her proudest moment of her daughter was not her rolling over, or her first steps, but the first time she listened to her mommy. In the same vein, while the big stuff is exciting, those aren't my favorite moments.

My favorite moments are the quiet ones.

Usually it's just Bubbles and me. Dad is out, and Bubbles is playing happily, but decides she wants to be near me. So she'll keep playing, but move so that she's touching me. Today she backed up until she could sit in my lap.

There is no photographic or video evidence, because no one else is here. But it's those moments that I know she loves me too. I appreciate every one of those snuggle moments, because with a toddler, they are few and far between. And I know, the older she gets, the less she will want to cuddle with her mom.

So the best moments, are right now.

15 Months

My baby is 15 Months today.

It's so hard to believe.

2 years ago, we didn't have any idea how much our lives were about to change.

1 year ago, Bubbles was having a dedication ceremony, my Mother-in-Law's church's equivalent of a baptism for babies.

1 year ago, we were still worried about Bubbles' health, and going to the pediatrician for frequent weight checks.

Now, at 15 Months, Bubbles is closing in on 20 pounds. She's almost in to 12 month sized clothes. She walks, runs even, and while she doesn't really talk, she definitely understands.

Each month is a blessing. And on the 7th of each month, I commemorate her growth with a photo.




My baby is growing up, too fast.

Like the good ol times!

You know how you can tell a good friend? You haven't seen them in 7 years, and when you see one another there is no awkwardness, it's like you were never apart.

A friend from high school sent me a message via Facebook that she was in the state. The wonderful state of Maryland. This is important, because we both grew up in San Diego, CA. She lives in Northern CA now, and I'm on the east coast. So to be in the same state was an unusual occurrence. So, we cleared the schedule, and took my daughter to her brother-in-laws house to meet her and her daughter.

The house was packed with three 3-year olds, a four-year old, a 6-year old, and my little 1-year old. And corresponding adults. I was so proud of my baby. She was falling over (literally) tired, but never once did she get cranky. She was sweet and sociable, smiling and laughing, and playing with kids and adults alike.

And to see my long lost friend, was fantastic. There was a lot of catching up, a lot of realizing I didn't remember much about her given our 7 year friendship, but we've also changed a lot. I realized she didn't hate me, and wasn't mad at me over things I remember that she doesn't. The last time I saw her I was going through a really rough time, and I sort of missed her college graduation party. We never talked again. I had a good reason, for the missing part, not for the not calling. It no longer mattered. Not only did it feel good, but it gives me hope too.

Routines

The say routines are good for babies. I think they are good for parents. Some days I just crave knowing that I'm going to have certain times to myself. Not because I don't love my little girl, but sometimes I just want "me time".

Growing up my Dad was really strict about routines. He didn't like unexpected plans. We had to tell him a week in advance, or we couldn't do whatever it is we were hankering to do. I'm a little more flexible, but that concept is ingrained in me. So my husband, who likes to make plans a few hours in advance, drives me crazy. Particularly because he makes the plans, but I'm the one who has to pack up the baby and anything else we need (like oh, by the way, we need to bring food tonight!). So I feel a little justified in wanting some prep time.

What amazes me is how easily Bubbles falls into routines. She knows when Daddy is supposed to get home. She knows that's when she usually gets to play outside. And she's ready, banging on the gate with her shoes, or, if we're already downstairs she'll go and sit in front of the stairs with a pair of shoes, trying to put them on.

Bubbles didn't start out well routined. We tried to create some, but particularly since she was breastfed - she ate when she was hungry and slept when she was tired. We tried to go with her flow, so things like growth spurts didn't put us in a frenzy. It's easier to do that kind of thing when you're home. I'm sure if she was in daycare she'd had a great schedule going.

So I wonder, when she grows up, will Bubbles be spontaneous like her dad. Or a planner like me?

Failling Apart

You can feel it happening. But you can't stop it.

It starts as a crack, deep inside.

Then, the quake starts. It tears through your body, and you are powerless to stop it.

With the eruption of tears the shaking will soon subside.

The worst of it is over in a few minutes. Recovery takes days, sometimes longer.

Then you wait, for something to trigger it again. Be that in 30 minutes, or a week.

All you can do is wait and see.

My "situation"

Because where you are in life seems to make a big difference.

I'm 30. That's right, 30. For the next 3 weeks at any rate. I have a bunch of education I'll be paying for a very long time. I think the student loan places expect you to make a lot more than I am to pay them off. At least the APR is really low. Helps not feeling the pressure.

In many ways, I am a stay at home mom. I am home all day, with my 1 year old daughter. She is active, but pretty good at playing by herself. Unless I'm on the phone. That's a horse of a different color. She thinks it's Daddy, so she wants to talk too. Not so good when it's actually my boss.

While I play a stay at home mom, I'm actually working from home. Standard 40+ hours (whatever time is needed to get the job done) during standard business hours. I can work some outside those normal hours to make up any time I spend, you know, feeding the baby or something, but I have to answer my phone and be available at any time during the business day. My entire department moved to telecommuting while I was on maternity leave. Talk about a great present! It has it's difficulties (like, I very rarely leave the house, and when I have to go to the office I have no one to watch Bubbles) but I get to watch my little girl grow, and discover new things. I'm here. I didn't think I'd ever be able to.

As far as my job goes, I'm a "field audit specialist". Whatever that means. In my world it means I came in as an auditor, but took over a technical role when our tech guy left. So my days vary - from audit, to programming, to fixing people's problems. It means I really only talk to my coworkers when they are frustrated and want something. We used to have better relationships when we talked to each other more. We're very accountable for our time, in 15 minute increments, so there isn't a lot of time to just chat.

My favorite time of day is 5 pm. That's right, quitting time! The first thing I do is turn to my little girl and tell her that Mommy is done working. And then, we play! She loves to go outside, so usually that's what she begs to do. Sometimes she climbs up into my lap. Sometimes we have to do other things, you know - productive things, but I try to avoid it for a least a little while. I want to play and interact with Bubbles. She loves it, and it's a great way for me to step away from work.

So, that's what I do. With the occasional breaks while Bubbles finishes eating to blog or twitter. I'm reaching out, hoping to find a group of friends I can relate to.

What I hate about depression

I hate that I'm never happy.
I hate who I am even on pills.
I hate that I have to take pills everyday.
I hate that if I don’t take the pills I am completely irrational and can’t stop crying.
I hate that I’m dependent on pills to function
I hate that most days I just don’t care.
I hate that I can’t bring myself to make an appointment with a counselor.
I hate that I don’t feel I can spare the time to go to an appointment.
I hate that I get so angry and frustrated with innocent babies and inanimate objects.
I hate that I don’t want to leave the house, or have anyone see me.
I hate that I’m always looking for validation online, since I don’t get it in daily life.
I hate that I need people to demonstrate they care.
And I hate that I never believe they do.

The NICU Experience

The NICU experience is an interesting one. They warn you that it’s a roller coaster, and they aren’t kidding. One day to be told your little one is going home, only to have that yanked away the next is emotionally exhausting.

The first trip to the NICU was so surreal. They wheeled me down with all our family members in tow, to see our little girl. She looked so tiny and fragile under the heat lamp. I just wanted to touch her. I couldn’t believe she was mine. She was blowing bubbles, so we immediately began calling her Bubbles. When they sent me back to my room (I wasn’t allowed to hold Bubbles, she was still too little), they sent a photo of her with me. I treasured that photo. It was the only thing in my room that reminded me why I was there. I had just had a baby, even though she wasn’t with me.


We were very lucky when it came to Bubbles’ health. Her lungs were strong, and she had no major health problems. They kept her so she could gain weight, hold her own temp, outgrow the bradycardia, and they did have to figure out why she was spitting up so much (they settled on reflux after a sleep test). They tested her constantly for jaundice, but it never developed. The bradycardia was the hardest. Thinking of my little girl just forgetting to keep her heart rate up scared me. And everytime we told her she was coming home, she would have another, thereby resetting the 7 day requirement. One day they put in a feeding tube, which was hard to see, but she pulled it out and they didn’t put it back in.

While we were lucky with Bubbles’ health, it’s still emotionally draining going to the hospital several times a day to see your baby. I didn’t feel as though she was mine. Surely, if she lived at the hospital she didn’t belong to me. After the first couple weeks I slid into a deep depression. My husband had gone back to work, and it was just me, getting myself out of bed to see my baby. And I stopped. My husband would get home to find me still in bed, having never gone to see Bubbles. Crying, because I wasn’t with her. And he would get me out of bed, and take me to see her. All I did was worry about her, and want to hold her, but I couldn’t bring myself to go. I didn’t want it to be real. I just wanted her home. At the time, I felt completely alone.

Since then, I’ve discovered a rich online community, full of people who have experienced the same, and much much worse. I wish I had it at the time. It’s really helped put things in perspective. The internet can be such a wonderful thing.

History, or so it would seem

I never thought I'd be referring to stuff from last year as history. But, it is what it is. And as far as this blog is concerned, May of 2008 is history. It's also really where all this began.

In October of 2007, my husband and I found out we were expecting our first (and only, thus far) child. She was anticipated June 17th, right after Father's Day. What a wonderful present for my husband! Little did we know, she would arrive before Mother's Day!

I had a very uneventful pregnancy. I actually felt better than I had in years - my asthma and migraines both went away. Even my depression lessened. I was so excited about every little thing - the first sonogram, feeling her kick, feeling her hiccups. I read about her development every week. We called her bozo, just as my parents referred to me before I was born. We had picked out her name in February, but we weren't sharing. The only downer was the constant barrage of intrusions - everyone had an opinion, was more than willing to share, and expected me to follow along. I particularly enjoyed the "Wow! You're huge! Are you sure there's only one in there?" I only gained 12 pounds people! I just started quipping that I was having triplets, and left during the stunned silence.

Tuesday, May 6th started out pretty ordinary. I woke up feeling like I was coming down with a cold. Not a huge surprise, I got sick every trimester. I didn't want to go to work, but my boss was flying in for two days to meet with me, wanting to make sure everything was settled before I left for maternity leave. So into the office I went. I had some meetings, and was going about my day, when everything changed.

My coworkers threw me a surprise baby shower! Complete with a "Happy Labor Day" cake. My husband was there, there were piles of gifts, and lots of good food. I had an amazing time. The guys took all the goodies to the car for me, and I finished up the day with a smile on my face. I left abruptly just after 4 pm, when two coworkers engaged in an aerosol air freshener fight over my cubicle, prompting an asthma attack. I knew I'd be back the next day, so I rushed out the door, and asked my husband to come pick me up.

After the work day came to a close my husband and I went to see our chiropractor. It felt as though Bozo was doing somersaults all day, bouncing on and off my bladder. Dr. D asked if I was certain about my due date. My husband and I knew for sure when I got pregnant (within a few days of course, have to allow for the inexact science of the timing) so we responded that we were certain. After the visit we went for dinner with my in-laws, then home to bed. We got home so late we left the gifts in the car, figuring we could bring them all in the next day.

Then 2 am arrived. And with it my water breaking. I don't think my husband will ever forget me waking him up to tell him that. I was at 34 weeks, and Wednesday made 1 day. I frantically threw stuff into a bag and we rushed to the hospital. I wanted so badly for someone to tell me that it wasn't my water that had broken. I wanted to have imagined it. I was put on antibiotics and bed rest. 12 hours from the time we got to the hospital, our little girl was born. And rushed off to the NICU. Which will be a story for another day.

A new endeavor

For some time now I've been following the blogs of other mothers, fabulous women who although I've never actually spoken with make me feel less alone. Their beautiful words fill my screen, make my heart ache for them, make me feel the joy they are feeling, and most of all, make me feel less alone. I've been spending so much time reading these other blogs, that I want to become a blogger too.

There are a few problems with this theory. One - I'm not a very good writer. Two - I'm always worried about saying the wrong thing. Three- I'm not even really sure what to say. So, I've given it some thought. How do I become a better writer? By writing. How do I become a better photographer? By learning my camera and taking pictures. I feel a kinship to these women, so if I can provide that for just one other mother, then I've done something good.

So a toast. To new beginnings. To new challenges. To giving back what others have given. I hope to find something insightful to say. I think most of us don't have the amazing back stories, we just have the day to day.