The new addition to our family arrived yesterday. It’s so cute, it doesn’t take up much space, and it works so hard to please us. Yes, dear readers, we’ve succumbed to Tivo. After lots of thought, we decided to cut out some other luxuries to afford this one. We got the DVR for free, so we only have to pay the monthly service fee. Rock on.

After the hellish set-up (including driving all over town to find a damn USB-Ethernet cable), we can now sit back in awe and enjoy the control we now have over live TV. It’s not quite all I hoped it would be: it doesn’t record two programs at once, and you can’t watch another live TV program if it’s recording a different one. But other than that, it’s lovely.

So, Tivo users, I ask you: what should I know to maximize my Tivo enjoyment? Please share your tips!

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Aside from worshipping the Tivo, we did have an active day. We went to the park, we went out to lunch, and I studied and took an exam for my Developmental Psychology class. (I aced the test.) Oh, and I found out one exciting bit of news today:

Thanks and praise to Queen of Spain for sponsoring me! Now go visit her and join in the campaign against Fred Meyer grocery.

Ladies –

The time has come for action. This issue has divided us for far too long, and no one on either side is happy with the results. Now is the time to unite and settle this issue once and for all.

Which issue? The “squat or sit to pee” issue, that’s what. (Did you think I was following the others on the feminism topic? Sorry, my brain is too fried to think that deep at the moment.)

First there are the squatters. You worry about germs. I get it. And so many of you choose to put those toned quadriceps to use instead of letting your prized, germ-free buns-of-steel touch the public porcelain ring.

Here’s the problem, though: women don’t have the built-in targeting device that men do. (Not that they are accurate all that often.) In fact, the female anatomy actually inhibits the ability to target, aim, and keep one continuous stream. The result is a spray of pee, some of which makes it to the target, but some of it also ends up sprinkled on the toilet seat. You remember being at the doctor’s office and having to pee in a cup, right? It never is as easy as it should be.

So, in trying to keep your ass germ-free, you’ve assisted in fowling up the seat that others must use. Are you implying that your urine is sanitary, but everyone else’s is not? A little presumptuous, don’tcha’ think?

Then there are those who sit to pee. It could be because you aren’t as worried about picking up the latest urban legend disease from the seat. Or it could be that you don’t have the upper thigh fortitude than those who squat. Or maybe you just realize that you can’t pee a straight stream, and don’t want to urinate all over the seat.

Whatever the reason, those who sit must endure the toilet roulette: will they find a wet or dry seat? Some take their chances and just sit. Others examine the seat in detail before sitting, wiping off anything they might find. A few use seat protectors, if they’re available. However, if the public bathroom is poorly lit, a wet seat can look suspiciously like a dry seat.

There is perhaps no worse feeling in the world than sitting your butt down on a toilet seat, only to feel that cool wet sensation, which is confirmed when you stand up and feel the air on your now-wet behind.

So let’s all come together on this issue. If you are a squatter with the accuracy of Dick Cheney, sit your ass down. Sitting down in someone else’s urine is about as fun as cleaning a blowout diaper. Not. fun. at. all. Worried about germs? Then Purell your booty afterwards, and don’t share your bodily fluids with the rest of us.

And for goodness sake, if you drip on the seat, take the time to wipe it off. It’s like brushing your teeth – if you’re an adult you shouldn’t need to be told to do this. It’s not an outrageous request, honest. I promise it won’t kill you.

We women need to help each other out on this issue. Have some compassion for your fellow woman, because if you don’t, the next time you leave hints of your presence sprinkled on the seat for the next woman, she may just call you out on it. Or if it’s me in a really bad mood, I might just have to grab you by your hair and drag you back into the stall to clean up your mess.

Thank you.

(God, I can’t believe I just wrote that title. Someone smack me.)

Having a breast ultrasound is not as exciting as other ultrasounds I’ve had in the past. There’s no small person to peek in on, no thumb sucking to view, and you don’t get a picture to take home and show your friends.

What you do get, however, is peace of mind. And I got lots of that today. The verdict is that my breasts are composed of perfectly healthy breast tissue, although it is lumpy. The hardened area the doctor found is a large mass of fibrocystic tissue, which, while a little larger than normal, is harmless.

The advice I was given was to cut back on caffeine, get more exercise, eat right, and lower my stress levels. I laughed, and then asked the doctor if he realized that I had a toddler, making most of that impossible to do. He replied, “Well, for your own health, make it work.”

He also advised that if I have another child (which we plan to soon) to breastfeed for the first year. Apparently it helps with the cysts, and it cuts your risk of breast cancer tremendously. I told him I would do my best, but I couldn’t promise that child #2 would go for it.

I’m so relieved to know nothing is wrong. It was only a slim chance of being a problem, and my logical side kept reminding me that I’m not at high risk, but I still found myself dwelling on it yesterday. I wondered what steps I should be taking to lessen my risks of diseases like cancer. Should I start eating organic? Vegetarian? More exercise? Non-toxic cleaners? Nothing like a minor health scare to make you wake up and make changes to your life, eh?

My last minor health scare was 6 years ago, when I had an abnormal pap test. I was put through a colposcopy and a cervical biopsy to determine if I had cervical cancer. But the results from that took over a week, giving me plenty of time to review the choices I had made in my life and to scare the bejeebus out of my 23 year old self. Luckily, the results came back as benign, and after a year of follow up tests every three months, I was given the all-clear.

I am so, so grateful for my health. Now that I’m a parent, nothing scares me more than the thought of leaving Cordelia without a mommy. I want to be there for her as she grows up, and be the one she looks to for advice if she becomes a mother someday. Yes, I know I could slip on the shower floor and break my neck tomorrow, and I can’t predict when my time will come, but I’m willing to do all I can to ensure it’s not for a long, long time.

PS – Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. It meant a lot to me. You’re all awesome, and I wish I could have everyone over to my place for drinks. Hopefully I’ll see some of you at BlogHer!

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OK, now that I’ve openly discussed my breasts and my cervix with all of you, shall we turn our thoughts to something a bit more lighthearted? (Yes, this is a ploy to get my girl parts out of your thoughts. You’re welcome.) Check out these cute videos: Kenya, Badger, and the Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny. Work safe – as long as work doesn’t mind annoyingly catchy tunes.

The nursing program at my local college has various hoops of different sizes and types to jump through in order to gain admission into the program. Some are simple and low to the ground. Others are spiked and on fire.

The health records required just to get into the nurse aide training class would be the latter variety of hoop. It requires a self-history, asking you to remember such things as the year and the MONTH you had chicken pox as a child. Then there is the required immunization charts that must be up to date.

After that, a full physical must be performed by your doctor, and your doctor must administer not one, but TWO tuberculosis tests, 7 days apart. Only after all of this has been completed, faxed to the Health Records Office, and given a processing time of 5 business days, are you given permission to register for this damn class.

Spiked and on fire, I tell you.

Today was my physical and the first TB test. My doctor is out on maternity leave right now, so I set up an appt. with her stand-in. Nice doctor – she took the time to get to know me, and discuss past health issues and such. I told her of the fatigue I had, and we agreed it was probably due to having far too much on my plate at the moment. We both agreed that some of the moles I have should be looked at by a dermatologist just to play it safe.

And then came the breast exam. I started to notice something was off when she spent a little too long on the right breast. Then she asked me, “Have you ever noticed your breasts being particularly lumpy?” Well, no, not really. Then she had me feel an area on the top, where I did, in fact, feel an area that was harder than the tissue around it, and smooth.

I didn’t think much of it, until she said she wanted to refer me for an ultrasound of that area. “You don’t have anything like that on the left breast, so I want to just play it safe and check it out.” she told me.

The remainder of the visit was a bit of a blur, to be honest. My antidepressant dose was upped ever so slightly to see if it helped with the fatigue. I was given a referral to a dermatologist. The TB test was administered, and I set up an appointment to return on Thursday for bloodwork and to check the results of the TB test.

I also left with instructions for the ultrasound. It isn’t something to have checked out sometime in the future – it’s tomorrow morning, first thing. I’ll be going to the Breast Care clinic at OSU – which is a fancy name for where they treat those with breast cancer. I’m sure the “hardened tissue area” is probably nothing, but I find myself more than a little nervous at the possibilities.

Suddenly the paperwork and TB test doesn’t seem all that bad of a hoop to jump through.

First, I had no idea people would love my wrestling commentary. Maybe I am missing my calling? Seriously, this child kicked my ass this weekend. She’s picked up some new moves that I wasn’t prepared for at all. I’m tempted to move her into pull-ups, just because it would be easier to change her that way. I thought giving a cat a bath was difficult, but this, well, this is far worse.

Friday we had a failed attempt at going to the zoo. It sounded like such a simple plan: Aaron, Cordy and I would go to the zoo and meet up with another couple with child, all do lunch, then walk around the zoo together. Well, it seemed like a good plan, but apparently it was the plan that every other parent in Columbus chose as well. I’ve never seen the zoo so crowded. We tried to find food, but the shortest lines were probably at least a 30-40 minute wait. Yes, you read that right: that was the wait for food, not some new and exciting ride. Crazy. In the debate over what to do, we ended up leaving on our own and taking Cordy to Olive Garden.

Saturday we had friends over to the house and we hosted a small dinner party. As I think I’ve mentioned before, I’m no cook, so it was off to Whole Foods in the morning to pick up some mostly-prepared dinner. I chose spinach and cheese manicotti, bison burgers, grilled vegetables, salad, and chocolate cake. Yum!

We also got the biggest financial setback of the past few months on Saturday. Aaron took his car to the mechanic because the brakes were acting funny. Turns out the back brakes were pretty much gone, and it would cost $650 to replace them entirely. Now, we just had the brakes serviced less than 6 months ago, but it was just the front brakes. You’d think they would have let us know at that time that the back brakes would need replacing soon, but they didn’t. We need both of our cars (that rant will be saved for another day), and we can’t afford another car at the moment, so we had to pay for the fix. I think the car has now doubled in value.

And then there was Easter. Cordelia had been an angel on Friday and Saturday, so we should have realized it wasn’t going to last. It didn’t. I’m not going into details at the moment (because I’ve entered the details into Queen of Spain’s contest), but let’s just say this mommy needed a stiff drink when she got home.

Finally, the highlight of my weekend:

Cordy is now drinking from a sippy cup without assistance!! Long ago I wrote of our struggles with the sippy cup. Cordy spent many months using us as her personal cup bearers, too high-born to dirty her hands with the menial task of holding her own cup when she’s drinking. But over the past week, she’s mostly stopped bringing the cup to us so we can hold it for her.

How did we do it? Well, it’s clear that’s a hot topic, since I get several Google searches for it weekly. Truth is: I really don’t know. She finally just gave in, I guess. There were several times I played dumb and didn’t hold it high enough for her to get any liquid. She would then get frustrated and grab the cup away, as if to say, “Sheesh, lady, can’t you do anything right?” If you’re going through the sippy cup battle, I say to you: it will end at some point. It’s sucky advice, but it’s all I got.