A long time ago, my sister and I were at a baseball playoff game with our great friend A. A and I sat on either side of my sister and were in deep conversation about how the game was progressing and how the players were performing. We thought T was also in on the conversation—merely listening at the moment—and would join in at any moment with her own assessment of things. But when she did pipe up—right in the middle of the conversation—she wistfully said only, “Man, those taquitos were good.” Obviously, she had been so lost in good-taquito-land that she had not even known that we were having a conversation—one we thought she was actively participating in.
I was reminded of this story yesterday as we drove to church. It was pretty much the biggest Sunday of the year for us. B had a talk to give, E was being blessed, and we had a friend coming to church (in honor of both E’s blessing and B’s talk) who had never attended our church before. I normally abhor being late, and on this particular Sunday, being late was simply out of the question. We had to be there to meet our friend, be on time for the blessing (which happens at the beginning of the meeting), get B seated on the stand, and, oh yes, in time for B to ask the people he would like to be involved in the blessing if they will participate. Nothing like the last second… In any case, we MUST arrive early.
Nevertheless, we found ourselves leaving the house 12 minutes behind my intended departure time. As we pulled out of the driveway and headed through the neighborhood, B was waxing poetic about—of all things—the burrito he had in his hand. Specifically, the tortilla, if you must know. That’s right, it’s just SO STRONG. He can eat the burrito without fear of spilling on his Sunday clothes. He needs no protection. Isn’t it divine? I suppose after a lifetime of inferior tortillas, it is a joy to find one that lives up to the measure of its creation.
Well, I’m nervous about the time issue and remark that our 15mph Sunday pace will not help matters. So, we speed up to normal speed and get on the highway. Halfway to church, after the glorious burrito has been consumed, B panics: “Did you bring my scriptures??????” [Why would I bring his scriptures?] “No, but don’t worry, you can use mine.” “But my TALK is in my scriptures!” You have to know B to understand just how awful this is. The first time he was asked to speak in church after his tour of duty in Afghanistan, he was worried about it for a whole week, to the point of being physically ill. He admitted that he was more afraid of speaking in church than of Ak-47 fire. He admits it’s irrational, and dutifully speaks when asked, writing out his talk word for word. There is absolutely no possibility for “winging it.”
Well, we could NOT turn around (our poor friend would have been left high and dry, plus B wouldn’t have been able to talk to the people who he wanted to help with the blessing, plus we probably wouldn’t make it in time for the blessing to take place anyway…). So, we decided to split up. B got out on the highway to hitch a ride with someone else going to church (so that he could meet our friend, recruit blessing helpers, and generally assure the people in charge that, yes, we were blessing our baby and, yes, B would be giving the closing address) and I turned around to go home and get his talk, taking the baby with me to ensure that he wasn’t blessed without me being present.
I arrived at church after the meeting had started. B ran out to the car to grab the baby. As we ran through the parking lot, our poor, certainly bewildered or incredulous friend is holding the front door of the church open for us and calling out, “They just called your name!” So, as we race into the chapel we find it silent. Everyone sitting and waiting. The people involved in the blessing have already assembled at the front of the chapel and are just waiting for B (the blessor) and E (the blessee). There are no empty seats. Our friend ducks into a pew in the back and I duck into one close to the front while B races to get E out of his car seat at the front of the chapel. B is out of breath for the blessing and I don’t hear a word that is said. Our friend thanked us after the meeting for letting him “be part of your adventure.” Great.
So, it wasn’t the best Sunday. But at least there is a type of tortilla can hold. Tender mercy. Mexican food does this to people. T and the taquitos; B and the burritos. Me? I guess I’m no different. I’ve been dreaming about my birthday dinner at a certain Mexican restaurant for weeks. Only one day left now! Hopefully I can keep the baby alive…
http://picasaweb.google.com/lyndseyandbrett
or
http://picasaweb.google.com/lyndseyandbrett/EndOfJulyEverest#
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
"nEverest"
I spent the first five weeks of E’s life gushing that he was such a “good” baby. And he was. Wasn’t he everything we needed him to be, and so much that we had never even dreamed he would be (ie SUPER CUTE; truly, I continue to be shocked by how cute he is). He took it like a champ when we celebrated his three week old birthday by becoming homeless and taking up residence in Super8 and Holiday Inn Express. He traveled across the country and house hunted and ran errands for weeks. Of course, how could he put up much of a resistance? Even now he has no mobility, very limited purposeful movement, and has not yet learned to talk back. This was probably the best move of his life. And we’ll be able to test that theory by moving every June for three more years. Is moving with a three week old, one year old, two year old, or three year old best? Stay tuned for the answer.
When he was 5 weeks old, he and I traveled home to the Northwest. I seriously had the best time ever. E seemed to enjoy it as much as he enjoys everything else. However, it was on this vacation, the first time in his life when he was observed by people who unlike B and myself actually know something [read: ANYTHING] about babies, that I found out he is not exactly the typical definition of a “good” baby. Two days into the vacay, my dad observes, “He’s sort of high maintenance, isn’t he?” He is? I asked my mom what on earth he meant by this and she fessed up that E is not as “mellow” (thanks for breaking it softly, mom) as all of us were. Uhhhh…you mean, babies don’t normally fuss all day and most of the night? There are brand new babies that aren’t in a seemingly constant state of discomfort or malcontent? I really had no idea. Oh well, he fooled me into thinking he was a good baby and that’s what counts.
So THAT explains why I was given literature on colic at the pediatrician’s office. I thought colic was 6-hour stretches of purple-old-man-faced crying. E just fusses. And he never sleeps. Hyperalert or high needs they call it. With mild colic. Hyperalert babies “need more of everything—except sleep.” They cat nap. Which is exactly what he does three or more times a day. 15 to 45 minutes. Never more. So forget about catching up on sleep when he naps. They also need to be held a lot and really like [read: fuss less] when they are moving. Night time was probably typical baby fare, except for the nightly 4am fuss-fest. This is the colic part. Every night, no matter what schedule he was on, he would begin serious fussing at 4am and fuss for the next two and a half hours. No stopping it.
He’s also SUPER cute, super healthy, a great eater, and a super smiler. All the time he’s not fussing he’s smiling. Such a good baby. But, I have to admit, I was absolutely butt-kicked by the lack of sleep. I went 8 weeks with 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night, and I firmly believe that 5 hours is exponentially better than 4 hours. In any case, I shed tears at the thought of ever having another child. It is my philosophy that you can have no children, or two, or three, or how ever many more you want. But one? Naw. So, here I was, committed to do this again. I was so happy with this baby, but I did NOT want another.
So, finding out that it was possible to get a DIFFERENT sort of baby next time [wait…so kids are different from each other?] gave me hope. Then, week 8 was a breakthrough. The 4am fussies went away (they’ve only reappeared twice in the last week and a half). Also, he’s fussing less during the day. I now get 6 to 6.5 hours of sleep each night, and yes, it’s exponentially better than five!
Bring on number 2.
When he was 5 weeks old, he and I traveled home to the Northwest. I seriously had the best time ever. E seemed to enjoy it as much as he enjoys everything else. However, it was on this vacation, the first time in his life when he was observed by people who unlike B and myself actually know something [read: ANYTHING] about babies, that I found out he is not exactly the typical definition of a “good” baby. Two days into the vacay, my dad observes, “He’s sort of high maintenance, isn’t he?” He is? I asked my mom what on earth he meant by this and she fessed up that E is not as “mellow” (thanks for breaking it softly, mom) as all of us were. Uhhhh…you mean, babies don’t normally fuss all day and most of the night? There are brand new babies that aren’t in a seemingly constant state of discomfort or malcontent? I really had no idea. Oh well, he fooled me into thinking he was a good baby and that’s what counts.
So THAT explains why I was given literature on colic at the pediatrician’s office. I thought colic was 6-hour stretches of purple-old-man-faced crying. E just fusses. And he never sleeps. Hyperalert or high needs they call it. With mild colic. Hyperalert babies “need more of everything—except sleep.” They cat nap. Which is exactly what he does three or more times a day. 15 to 45 minutes. Never more. So forget about catching up on sleep when he naps. They also need to be held a lot and really like [read: fuss less] when they are moving. Night time was probably typical baby fare, except for the nightly 4am fuss-fest. This is the colic part. Every night, no matter what schedule he was on, he would begin serious fussing at 4am and fuss for the next two and a half hours. No stopping it.
He’s also SUPER cute, super healthy, a great eater, and a super smiler. All the time he’s not fussing he’s smiling. Such a good baby. But, I have to admit, I was absolutely butt-kicked by the lack of sleep. I went 8 weeks with 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night, and I firmly believe that 5 hours is exponentially better than 4 hours. In any case, I shed tears at the thought of ever having another child. It is my philosophy that you can have no children, or two, or three, or how ever many more you want. But one? Naw. So, here I was, committed to do this again. I was so happy with this baby, but I did NOT want another.
So, finding out that it was possible to get a DIFFERENT sort of baby next time [wait…so kids are different from each other?] gave me hope. Then, week 8 was a breakthrough. The 4am fussies went away (they’ve only reappeared twice in the last week and a half). Also, he’s fussing less during the day. I now get 6 to 6.5 hours of sleep each night, and yes, it’s exponentially better than five!
Bring on number 2.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Come on, Dover!
So, for the two of you who are interested, the post below this one was written by Brett to explain the scoring of the Tuley Baby Guessing Contest 2009. I am now going to explain his scoring method in my own words and according to my understanding.
See, instead of running the scoring the way I suggested (a total of 100 points; a certain number of total points possible for each category; fewer points awarded the further from the actual value your guess is) Brett decided to conduct much of the scoring like a bookie at a horse race. It’s all about odds. For example, we asked and found out that 90% of all births at our hospital used epidurals for pain relief. So, if you guessed epidural and were right, you would be awarded fewer points for that correct answer than you would have been had you guessed natural and been right. So, how many points were “possible” in the “method of arrival” category? Well, we didn’t know ourselves until we knew what the right answer was.
Of course, the “method of arrival” was an all or nothing category. For weight, length, and date the horse race scoring method was again used, but this time every guess received was awarded some number of points (or fraction of a point, as was usually the case). We obtained a graph indicating the range and average weights/lengths at 37 through 42 weeks gestation; so Brett figured out how good your guesses were (based on expected values) and then ran them against the actual weight/length of the baby. The percentage of births occurring before the due date, on the due date, and after the due date were used in computing the points that should be awarded for each date.
Gender was simply all or nothing, but I demanded that the number of points assigned to this category be low enough that a person could still win without having to guess it correctly.
A brief caveat:
While Brett did the computing, I did the research for the “expected values” (a great way to occupy my time at the work desk). I must here admit my own misgivings about basing our “expected values” on the averages of the public at large. My family generally has large babies, has them early, and has them naturally. So, the guesses from my family members generally indicated larger weights, earlier dates, and natural delivery. I’ve felt bad about this possible “edge” from the start. But, in the end, my family did not produce the winning combination of guesses (although the second, third, and fourth placers were relations). In fact, the baby was not as early as the family trend would dictate and was a pound larger than the largest
guess, so the advantage of my family members was minimal.
See, instead of running the scoring the way I suggested (a total of 100 points; a certain number of total points possible for each category; fewer points awarded the further from the actual value your guess is) Brett decided to conduct much of the scoring like a bookie at a horse race. It’s all about odds. For example, we asked and found out that 90% of all births at our hospital used epidurals for pain relief. So, if you guessed epidural and were right, you would be awarded fewer points for that correct answer than you would have been had you guessed natural and been right. So, how many points were “possible” in the “method of arrival” category? Well, we didn’t know ourselves until we knew what the right answer was.
Of course, the “method of arrival” was an all or nothing category. For weight, length, and date the horse race scoring method was again used, but this time every guess received was awarded some number of points (or fraction of a point, as was usually the case). We obtained a graph indicating the range and average weights/lengths at 37 through 42 weeks gestation; so Brett figured out how good your guesses were (based on expected values) and then ran them against the actual weight/length of the baby. The percentage of births occurring before the due date, on the due date, and after the due date were used in computing the points that should be awarded for each date.
Gender was simply all or nothing, but I demanded that the number of points assigned to this category be low enough that a person could still win without having to guess it correctly.
A brief caveat:
While Brett did the computing, I did the research for the “expected values” (a great way to occupy my time at the work desk). I must here admit my own misgivings about basing our “expected values” on the averages of the public at large. My family generally has large babies, has them early, and has them naturally. So, the guesses from my family members generally indicated larger weights, earlier dates, and natural delivery. I’ve felt bad about this possible “edge” from the start. But, in the end, my family did not produce the winning combination of guesses (although the second, third, and fourth placers were relations). In fact, the baby was not as early as the family trend would dictate and was a pound larger than the largest
guess, so the advantage of my family members was minimal.
Explanatory Note on Equations
[Note: there is also a cool graph (which is referred to in this write up) that will be included in this post at a later time. Also, the equations would not work in Blogspot, so L paraphrased them. Good luck deciphering the paraphrasing.]
Intention
My intention was to normalize the point values and adjust the point distribution for each category so that the expected value (Ex=[strange sign]Pxi*xi) for uniform random guesses within a reasonable guessing range for each category would be equal, and contestants would be rewarded proportionately greater for more accurate guesses. The difficulty for me was to define what is a reasonable range for each of the parameters, and how to shape the distribution. There were also various types of data among the different categories, some continuous and others discrete. The expected value for each category was 10 points.
Distribution Ranges
I relied on research L did on the internet to help define the relevant ranges. It was difficult to find satisfactory and matching statistics for all the categories so we used the process of best guestimation.
Discrete: The categories with discrete data types were: Gender; Method of delivery. Gender ranged from Male to Female. Any uncertainties were to be settled decisively by the doctor. Method of delivery could range widely. We limited the range to only those that were guessed by contestants and those suggested as possibilities on her website which all fit into five broad categories: C-section; Epidural; Forecepts; Vacuum; Natural.
Continuous: The categories with continuous data types were: Length; Weight; Time; Date. Admittedly "date" could be treated as a discrete data type, but it worked well with a continuous normal distribution and bins. The range we settled for length was 18-21.5 inches. Weight was 6 lbs 2 oz to 8 lbs 5 oz. Time was 0 to 24 hours. The range for dates was the range of the guesses from contestants: May 3 to May 24. These ranges do not include all the possibilities, but they set up a good range to bound point distributions.
Distribution Shapes
Discrete: Gender: the approximation was made that each gender is equally likely and therefore worth 10 points if correct. Method of Delivery: according to the data we were able to gather on P hospital and other general trends we calculated the probability of C-section = 20%, probability of Epidural = 57.6%; probability of forecepts = 6.4%; probability of vacuum = 8%; probability of natural = 8%. Using the expected value formula with the condition that Pxi * xi = Pxi+1 * xn. So, like horse betting or roulette, contestants win more points for guessing correctly a less likely outcome. The points were: Forecepts = 31.25; C-section = 10; Epidural = 3.47; Vacuum = 25; Natural = 25.
Continuous: I decided to use a normal curve for the base distribution. This is different from what many use, such as exponentially decaying point distributions, in that it has two ranges each side of the peak separated by an inflection point instead of a single range of rapidly decreasing values, were the penalty starts off very steep but slowly decreases or visa-versa. The first range starts with only slight point penalty as you deviate from the correct answer, but with increasing penalty as you get further, peaking at the inflection point. The second range has decreasing penalty as you get further away from the correct guess, however in this range the point values are already pretty low.
The height of the curve can be adjusted by a scaling factor so that when multiplied by a uniform guessing distribution the resultant expected value can be adjusted to zero.
The next adjustment that must be made to this shape comes from the previous heading title "range". By adjusting the ranges of each category (or equivalently adjusting the standard deviation) such that approximately 99% of the area under the normal curve fits within the defined guessing range it is hoped that "good" and "bad" guesses within each category carry equivalent penalties, making each category as important as the other.
Guesses were made into bins in order to calculate the area under the normal curve, for example if someone guessed May 18 the area would be calculated as that of the left tailed probability of 18.49999 minus the left tailed probability of 17.5.
The general form of the equation in excel is:
=(Scale Parameter) * (NORMDIST[(guess + (nealry one half of bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1] - NORMDIST[(guess - (one half of the bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1])
The scale parameters and standard deviations are on the spreadsheet for your perusal. Contact this blog's host with a special request to have it emailed if you are really a glutton for punishment.
Conclusion
I wasted many hours of my life coming up with a baby guessing contest that is convoluted and not significantly different or cooler than others, but it is our baby guessing contest and I don't plan to change the methodology. However, if you request a copy of the spreadsheet and can find error in my calculations, I may be glad to correct such an error.
Intention
My intention was to normalize the point values and adjust the point distribution for each category so that the expected value (Ex=[strange sign]Pxi*xi) for uniform random guesses within a reasonable guessing range for each category would be equal, and contestants would be rewarded proportionately greater for more accurate guesses. The difficulty for me was to define what is a reasonable range for each of the parameters, and how to shape the distribution. There were also various types of data among the different categories, some continuous and others discrete. The expected value for each category was 10 points.
Distribution Ranges
I relied on research L did on the internet to help define the relevant ranges. It was difficult to find satisfactory and matching statistics for all the categories so we used the process of best guestimation.
Discrete: The categories with discrete data types were: Gender; Method of delivery. Gender ranged from Male to Female. Any uncertainties were to be settled decisively by the doctor. Method of delivery could range widely. We limited the range to only those that were guessed by contestants and those suggested as possibilities on her website which all fit into five broad categories: C-section; Epidural; Forecepts; Vacuum; Natural.
Continuous: The categories with continuous data types were: Length; Weight; Time; Date. Admittedly "date" could be treated as a discrete data type, but it worked well with a continuous normal distribution and bins. The range we settled for length was 18-21.5 inches. Weight was 6 lbs 2 oz to 8 lbs 5 oz. Time was 0 to 24 hours. The range for dates was the range of the guesses from contestants: May 3 to May 24. These ranges do not include all the possibilities, but they set up a good range to bound point distributions.
Distribution Shapes
Discrete: Gender: the approximation was made that each gender is equally likely and therefore worth 10 points if correct. Method of Delivery: according to the data we were able to gather on P hospital and other general trends we calculated the probability of C-section = 20%, probability of Epidural = 57.6%; probability of forecepts = 6.4%; probability of vacuum = 8%; probability of natural = 8%. Using the expected value formula with the condition that Pxi * xi = Pxi+1 * xn. So, like horse betting or roulette, contestants win more points for guessing correctly a less likely outcome. The points were: Forecepts = 31.25; C-section = 10; Epidural = 3.47; Vacuum = 25; Natural = 25.
Continuous: I decided to use a normal curve for the base distribution. This is different from what many use, such as exponentially decaying point distributions, in that it has two ranges each side of the peak separated by an inflection point instead of a single range of rapidly decreasing values, were the penalty starts off very steep but slowly decreases or visa-versa. The first range starts with only slight point penalty as you deviate from the correct answer, but with increasing penalty as you get further, peaking at the inflection point. The second range has decreasing penalty as you get further away from the correct guess, however in this range the point values are already pretty low.
The height of the curve can be adjusted by a scaling factor so that when multiplied by a uniform guessing distribution the resultant expected value can be adjusted to zero.
The next adjustment that must be made to this shape comes from the previous heading title "range". By adjusting the ranges of each category (or equivalently adjusting the standard deviation) such that approximately 99% of the area under the normal curve fits within the defined guessing range it is hoped that "good" and "bad" guesses within each category carry equivalent penalties, making each category as important as the other.
Guesses were made into bins in order to calculate the area under the normal curve, for example if someone guessed May 18 the area would be calculated as that of the left tailed probability of 18.49999 minus the left tailed probability of 17.5.
The general form of the equation in excel is:
=(Scale Parameter) * (NORMDIST[(guess + (nealry one half of bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1] - NORMDIST[(guess - (one half of the bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1])
The scale parameters and standard deviations are on the spreadsheet for your perusal. Contact this blog's host with a special request to have it emailed if you are really a glutton for punishment.
Conclusion
I wasted many hours of my life coming up with a baby guessing contest that is convoluted and not significantly different or cooler than others, but it is our baby guessing contest and I don't plan to change the methodology. However, if you request a copy of the spreadsheet and can find error in my calculations, I may be glad to correct such an error.
Monday, July 20, 2009
de Colores
And now for another issue of “I would. Would you?”
There are few things that interest me more than home improvements/decorating. Of course, it’s just the thought and sight of them—I’ve never really done any. But I love reading on the internet or in magazines about what could be done. Then, while we were living in the Holiday Inn Express I found the home improvement channel!!!! HGTV. I was in heaven. I watched it with or without the sound each time I had to nurse. I’ve never enjoyed nursing so much.
So, now here we are in our rented town home. I am allowed to paint, provided that I paint the walls back to white before we move. I was faced with this dilemma when we moved to Atlanta, and I decided NOT to paint, since we only had a 15-month contract. It would be a waste of time and money, I thought. We ended up staying in that apartment more than two years and I often regretted not painting it the way I wanted. And so, with that, I give you the pros and the cons this time:
Pro:
I could practice painting—like learning a new skill. Although I just have to paint over it in less than a year, I will have a little more experience when I go to paint my own house. Plus [provided that it looks good] it will look good! Cheap home improvement.
Con:
Painting will mean work for me now and, worse, work for me in a year when I’m getting ready to move and have a one-year-old running around. Why go through the trouble for such a short return?
So, I’ve decided to paint. Originally I had big plans. Paint lots of rooms! But I scaled back to just the baby’s room and a bath room (I even got the baby’s room taped up for painting). Now I have scaled back to just the half bath. It’s the smallest (and ugliest) room in the house—even the closets are bigger.
Now for the “I would. Would you?” portion of this post. (You may have thought it already happened. Alas, no.)
Color selection. I went to Lowes and picked out four triptych paint samples (meaning: four little cards that each has three similar shades of paint). They all “work” with the flooring and I know I don’t want to go with the mid- or light shade on each card. That narrows it down to the darkest four shades. I found the one that matches best: Ivory Brown. But then, I remembered HGTV. Have I learned nothing? Why match your floor exactly? Why live so monochromatically? I should choose the one that is the biggest stretch. Sure, it still matches the floor (it’s sort of multi-colored flooring), but it’s kind of orange. It’s the shade I first threw out. But now, thanks to my home decorating education, I know that THIS is the color I should probably be painting. So, the decision came down to the monochromatic color or the “stretch”/counterintuitive option. It was at this point that I really noticed the color names: Prairie Dance, Lovely Buff, Cake Batter, Sahara Sands, Woodlawn Lace, Woodrow Wilson Putty. Maybe these names will contain the answer... And what were the names for the two colors I was choosing between?
Ivory Brown vs CORAL GABLE BILTMORE MEDITERRANEAN CARAMEL!
Decision made. Why didn’t I just look at the names to begin with? Seriously, who wants "Oatbran"?
There are few things that interest me more than home improvements/decorating. Of course, it’s just the thought and sight of them—I’ve never really done any. But I love reading on the internet or in magazines about what could be done. Then, while we were living in the Holiday Inn Express I found the home improvement channel!!!! HGTV. I was in heaven. I watched it with or without the sound each time I had to nurse. I’ve never enjoyed nursing so much.
So, now here we are in our rented town home. I am allowed to paint, provided that I paint the walls back to white before we move. I was faced with this dilemma when we moved to Atlanta, and I decided NOT to paint, since we only had a 15-month contract. It would be a waste of time and money, I thought. We ended up staying in that apartment more than two years and I often regretted not painting it the way I wanted. And so, with that, I give you the pros and the cons this time:
Pro:
I could practice painting—like learning a new skill. Although I just have to paint over it in less than a year, I will have a little more experience when I go to paint my own house. Plus [provided that it looks good] it will look good! Cheap home improvement.
Con:
Painting will mean work for me now and, worse, work for me in a year when I’m getting ready to move and have a one-year-old running around. Why go through the trouble for such a short return?
So, I’ve decided to paint. Originally I had big plans. Paint lots of rooms! But I scaled back to just the baby’s room and a bath room (I even got the baby’s room taped up for painting). Now I have scaled back to just the half bath. It’s the smallest (and ugliest) room in the house—even the closets are bigger.
Now for the “I would. Would you?” portion of this post. (You may have thought it already happened. Alas, no.)
Color selection. I went to Lowes and picked out four triptych paint samples (meaning: four little cards that each has three similar shades of paint). They all “work” with the flooring and I know I don’t want to go with the mid- or light shade on each card. That narrows it down to the darkest four shades. I found the one that matches best: Ivory Brown. But then, I remembered HGTV. Have I learned nothing? Why match your floor exactly? Why live so monochromatically? I should choose the one that is the biggest stretch. Sure, it still matches the floor (it’s sort of multi-colored flooring), but it’s kind of orange. It’s the shade I first threw out. But now, thanks to my home decorating education, I know that THIS is the color I should probably be painting. So, the decision came down to the monochromatic color or the “stretch”/counterintuitive option. It was at this point that I really noticed the color names: Prairie Dance, Lovely Buff, Cake Batter, Sahara Sands, Woodlawn Lace, Woodrow Wilson Putty. Maybe these names will contain the answer... And what were the names for the two colors I was choosing between?
Ivory Brown vs CORAL GABLE BILTMORE MEDITERRANEAN CARAMEL!
Decision made. Why didn’t I just look at the names to begin with? Seriously, who wants "Oatbran"?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Everest Kai
Date: May 16, 2009
Time: 13:13
Method: Natural
Weight: 9 pounds 3.3 ounces
Length: 20.75 inches
Gender: Male
Total points possible: 127.73
JLS 75.96
LAN 75.14
EMN 73.47
DAN 68.55
RAJ 61.74
DLK 58.29
CB 54.44
DMN 53.43
MB 49.65
TJN 49.56
KES 49.49
RSA 45.79
JMB 40.50
NW 36.80
GD 32.87
ECH 30.19
BT 27.54
DP 25.26
JEM 22.49
TKY 15.80
Time: 13:13
Method: Natural
Weight: 9 pounds 3.3 ounces
Length: 20.75 inches
Gender: Male
Total points possible: 127.73
JLS 75.96
LAN 75.14
EMN 73.47
DAN 68.55
RAJ 61.74
DLK 58.29
CB 54.44
DMN 53.43
MB 49.65
TJN 49.56
KES 49.49
RSA 45.79
JMB 40.50
NW 36.80
GD 32.87
ECH 30.19
BT 27.54
DP 25.26
JEM 22.49
TKY 15.80
Congratulations JLS!
*More scoring info to follow shortly.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
In a way I envy my friend at work who says she always knows what her taxes are going to look like because nothing ever changes. My tax situation is so different year-to-year that I NEVER know what to expect at all. Owe or refund? And to what order of magnitude? $20, $200, or $2000? This makes preparing taxes a rather hopeful, exciting endeavor, but admittedly one that can end VERY badly.
When I was a teen (and when I was out of the country for three years in my early 20s), the responsibility of seeing that my taxes were paid fell to my dad. He dutifully filed them and billed me for what I owed (the government and him). It wasn’t until I was in college AND in the country during tax time that I finally started getting money back and eventually MAKING money on taxes. While at BYU I used their tax lab most of the time, a friend once. Seeing how much money I was getting on my return made me question what on earth my dad had been saying that had always left me owing. After age 25 (yes, still in college) the EIC boosted things to a whole new level. These experiences gave me confidence to try doing my own taxes on paper a couple years ago. After all, I was in GA—no BYU tax lab here. Well, like the years of dad-prepared taxes, again I came up owing…this time a lot. So, I waited until my next trip to Utah (you know, the week I traveled there to defend and revise my thesis, and get married, and do my taxes…) and used the tax lab again, who true to form got me a hefty return.
The last two years, I have been the primary tax preparer. I get them all worked up online while at work. I have plenty of time to try different things—even different tax preparation software. I ask B questions in the evening and search for information during the day. Then, once I’ve done everything, he looks them over on a Saturday, changes/adds whatever he wants, and files them.
This year, the first tax preparation software I used was telling me that we owed a lot. Really, a lot. I was not satisfied with this outcome, so I tried the other software. The best I could do with the new software was to “balance” the taxes [keep in mind we have three states to deal with]. This was quite a feat, considering what the first software had been telling me. How is it that I put the same information in and the softwares tell me vastly different things, both guaranteeing the lowest owed amount and biggest refund? Of course, breaking even was still not what I was hoping for, even though I know that no return means you didn’t give the government a free loan on your money, so theoretically it’s ideal. B spent ALL DAY Saturday going over the federal and trying to get the states sorted out (I had been too frustrated with my week of taxes to do more than the federal) and ended up getting us a nice return. Can you believe that?
The fact that he was able to get a substantial return SHOULD be because he’s so stinking honest, but we all know things don’t work like that. It is true, though, that B is the most honest person I know. That $1.67 interest from your savings account? It needs to be taxed. The odd job someone gave you $20 or $100 for? Mention each of those. I like to laugh at this and complain that it’s ridiculous, but that just sets off a long speech about integrity. What’s it worth? Is my integrity worth $1.67? $1000? Do I want to go to hell over an amount of money? Well, there really is no legitimate retort/rebuttal to these questions, for while I cannot definitively say how much my integrity really is worth or whether there is an amount of money for which I would want to go to hell, I am certain that none of the amounts of money we talk about are enough. So, I simply respond by trying to come up with as many things that we could try to pay taxes on as I can. There must be more things for which we can be taxed…
When I was a teen (and when I was out of the country for three years in my early 20s), the responsibility of seeing that my taxes were paid fell to my dad. He dutifully filed them and billed me for what I owed (the government and him). It wasn’t until I was in college AND in the country during tax time that I finally started getting money back and eventually MAKING money on taxes. While at BYU I used their tax lab most of the time, a friend once. Seeing how much money I was getting on my return made me question what on earth my dad had been saying that had always left me owing. After age 25 (yes, still in college) the EIC boosted things to a whole new level. These experiences gave me confidence to try doing my own taxes on paper a couple years ago. After all, I was in GA—no BYU tax lab here. Well, like the years of dad-prepared taxes, again I came up owing…this time a lot. So, I waited until my next trip to Utah (you know, the week I traveled there to defend and revise my thesis, and get married, and do my taxes…) and used the tax lab again, who true to form got me a hefty return.
The last two years, I have been the primary tax preparer. I get them all worked up online while at work. I have plenty of time to try different things—even different tax preparation software. I ask B questions in the evening and search for information during the day. Then, once I’ve done everything, he looks them over on a Saturday, changes/adds whatever he wants, and files them.
This year, the first tax preparation software I used was telling me that we owed a lot. Really, a lot. I was not satisfied with this outcome, so I tried the other software. The best I could do with the new software was to “balance” the taxes [keep in mind we have three states to deal with]. This was quite a feat, considering what the first software had been telling me. How is it that I put the same information in and the softwares tell me vastly different things, both guaranteeing the lowest owed amount and biggest refund? Of course, breaking even was still not what I was hoping for, even though I know that no return means you didn’t give the government a free loan on your money, so theoretically it’s ideal. B spent ALL DAY Saturday going over the federal and trying to get the states sorted out (I had been too frustrated with my week of taxes to do more than the federal) and ended up getting us a nice return. Can you believe that?
The fact that he was able to get a substantial return SHOULD be because he’s so stinking honest, but we all know things don’t work like that. It is true, though, that B is the most honest person I know. That $1.67 interest from your savings account? It needs to be taxed. The odd job someone gave you $20 or $100 for? Mention each of those. I like to laugh at this and complain that it’s ridiculous, but that just sets off a long speech about integrity. What’s it worth? Is my integrity worth $1.67? $1000? Do I want to go to hell over an amount of money? Well, there really is no legitimate retort/rebuttal to these questions, for while I cannot definitively say how much my integrity really is worth or whether there is an amount of money for which I would want to go to hell, I am certain that none of the amounts of money we talk about are enough. So, I simply respond by trying to come up with as many things that we could try to pay taxes on as I can. There must be more things for which we can be taxed…
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Classified
Could someone make the case for me in favor of going private on a blog? Why is this done? I understand that ANYONE can read my blog if it isn’t private. Of course, I’m one of those “anyones” and I am only somewhat ashamed of the amount of blog browsing I do on blogs belonging to complete strangers. But really, how much of a threat am I? Ok, so maybe for some, just the idea of ANY unknown reader having access to their blog is distasteful. But, all in all, the threat of people like me stumbling across my blog and reading it doesn’t bother me.
So, I guess there are a few other “anyone” types out there. They are the threat, right? But what, exactly IS the threat? Will they move from blog stalking to physical stalking—shadowing me as I run errands, watching me through windows, and copying my birthday wish list and children’s names? Certainly, there are those who would steal my SS# and bank accounts if I let them, but you will notice these numbers are conspicuously missing from my blog (and I suspect from the private blogs as well). So, why does everyone go private?
Basically, I’m wondering if I missed a report on some sort of new and growing trend [threat-trend] that has everyone scared, and the way to protect yourself and fight back is by going private. Did something awful happen? Was it in the news? I read both TIME and Newsweek every week, which, of course, means that I know exactly what is NOT going on. So, if you know what the threat is, please tell me so that I can evaluate it and decide whether I need to go private. So far, I’m comfortable but open to privatization should anything make me sufficiently uncomfortable.
It’s funny, because I consider myself a very private person. I only want people to know what I tell them, and I carefully consider what information I want to go public (this blog is fully-approved, by the way—no secrets here). Don’t even get me started on what an irritable hostess I am for house guests—even under the best conditions. Mi casa is no tu casa. But mi blog is tu blog. For now.
So, I guess there are a few other “anyone” types out there. They are the threat, right? But what, exactly IS the threat? Will they move from blog stalking to physical stalking—shadowing me as I run errands, watching me through windows, and copying my birthday wish list and children’s names? Certainly, there are those who would steal my SS# and bank accounts if I let them, but you will notice these numbers are conspicuously missing from my blog (and I suspect from the private blogs as well). So, why does everyone go private?
Basically, I’m wondering if I missed a report on some sort of new and growing trend [threat-trend] that has everyone scared, and the way to protect yourself and fight back is by going private. Did something awful happen? Was it in the news? I read both TIME and Newsweek every week, which, of course, means that I know exactly what is NOT going on. So, if you know what the threat is, please tell me so that I can evaluate it and decide whether I need to go private. So far, I’m comfortable but open to privatization should anything make me sufficiently uncomfortable.
It’s funny, because I consider myself a very private person. I only want people to know what I tell them, and I carefully consider what information I want to go public (this blog is fully-approved, by the way—no secrets here). Don’t even get me started on what an irritable hostess I am for house guests—even under the best conditions. Mi casa is no tu casa. But mi blog is tu blog. For now.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Just listen to me.
This all started a long time ago…
My gas mileage used to be inconsequential. By that I mean, I don’t know what it was. It didn’t stand out as being totally AMAZING or very, very poor. My gas gage has been broken since I’ve had the car, so I have to fill up when the gas light comes on (or soon thereafter). In order to have one additional aid, I also reset the mileage counter each time I fill up. I don’t work out the miles per gallon, but I figure that the light WITH the mileage counter is nearly fail proof. And it is. I’ve only run out of gas twice. That’s average, right?
Well, it’s been really bugging me for a year now that my gas mileage has been falling akin to the stock market. True, I don’t know what it ever was to begin with, but I can remember it being well into the 200s before the light would come on. Then I was sad when it was in the 220s, then 180s, then …eventually… 140s. This caused me no small amount of concern. I would dread seeing the gas light—REALLY dread it—“just a FEW more miles…don’t come on yet…” I drove in a state of fear even greater than the state of fear that I normally always drive in. So, a couple months ago, the dealership was called and they asked me to drive three-tanks-worth of gas from the same station on my normal route, recording the miles/gallon.
…
This all started a long time ago…
About a million months ago, I noticed that my tires looked low. I mentioned it to B and he gave me a very “my dad” type response, “Your tires look fine.” Sure. He knows more about tires. Whatever. But the tires still looked low to me. It was bugging me as the months went by. I’d mention it monthly, “Honey, the tires look really low to me.” Always the answer, “They are not low; they look just fine.” I couldn’t understand it. I even SHOWED him the tires. “Look at THAT one!” How could he not see it?
Finally, after MONTHS of this, as we parked his car next to mine one day and the weather was nice and we were not in a hurry to get somewhere, he decided to prove to me that I was crazy. So, he got out his tire-pressure-checker-device, intent on making this a learning experience. “I’ll check the first one, and then you can check the rest.” First, he showed me that my tires are 44lb. tires. Then he used the device: 22lb. Ha HAH! He was so shocked he quickly checked the next one, forgetting about how he was going to make me do it. This next tire was so low, we don’t even have a reading for it. The pressure thing didn’t even pop out, which means it was 10lb or fewer. Now I was excited! The next tire was the one that looked the worst (and that, when I showed it to him thinking he would not be able to deny how low it was, he could not see anything wrong with it). But B was done checking. “Well, they’re all going to be low. I’ll pump them up tomorrow.”
And he did. B normally gets up when I leave for work, but on this day he got up 15 minutes early, put on his jacket (it was POURING RAIN) outside, and headed out to my car with his bike pump (the tall, stand-up kind you use your arms for). When I got out there he was soaked and working hard. I sat in the car for a few minutes (the rain, you know) until finally he stopped so I could get to work (the final tire was mostly pumped up). He said it was a great start to his workout. His arms and chest were burning and he was worn out.
So for months we had both fretted and despaired over the tanking gas mileage, but also for months I, alone, had fretted and despaired over the ever-more-flattening tires—the very CAUSE of our mileage problems. Think of all the wasted gas. Think of all the wasted fretting! The car is currently getting GREAT mileage (I guess). Comparatively the mileage is great; certainly it’s good enough to be inconsequential. And, a lesson has been learned. I finally got B to see that not only do tires have a HUGE impact on gas mileage (bigger than he thought they would), but I should be listened to when I think there’s a problem. It will save us money and save him 15 minutes in bed on a rainy morning.
My gas mileage used to be inconsequential. By that I mean, I don’t know what it was. It didn’t stand out as being totally AMAZING or very, very poor. My gas gage has been broken since I’ve had the car, so I have to fill up when the gas light comes on (or soon thereafter). In order to have one additional aid, I also reset the mileage counter each time I fill up. I don’t work out the miles per gallon, but I figure that the light WITH the mileage counter is nearly fail proof. And it is. I’ve only run out of gas twice. That’s average, right?
Well, it’s been really bugging me for a year now that my gas mileage has been falling akin to the stock market. True, I don’t know what it ever was to begin with, but I can remember it being well into the 200s before the light would come on. Then I was sad when it was in the 220s, then 180s, then …eventually… 140s. This caused me no small amount of concern. I would dread seeing the gas light—REALLY dread it—“just a FEW more miles…don’t come on yet…” I drove in a state of fear even greater than the state of fear that I normally always drive in. So, a couple months ago, the dealership was called and they asked me to drive three-tanks-worth of gas from the same station on my normal route, recording the miles/gallon.
…
This all started a long time ago…
About a million months ago, I noticed that my tires looked low. I mentioned it to B and he gave me a very “my dad” type response, “Your tires look fine.” Sure. He knows more about tires. Whatever. But the tires still looked low to me. It was bugging me as the months went by. I’d mention it monthly, “Honey, the tires look really low to me.” Always the answer, “They are not low; they look just fine.” I couldn’t understand it. I even SHOWED him the tires. “Look at THAT one!” How could he not see it?
Finally, after MONTHS of this, as we parked his car next to mine one day and the weather was nice and we were not in a hurry to get somewhere, he decided to prove to me that I was crazy. So, he got out his tire-pressure-checker-device, intent on making this a learning experience. “I’ll check the first one, and then you can check the rest.” First, he showed me that my tires are 44lb. tires. Then he used the device: 22lb. Ha HAH! He was so shocked he quickly checked the next one, forgetting about how he was going to make me do it. This next tire was so low, we don’t even have a reading for it. The pressure thing didn’t even pop out, which means it was 10lb or fewer. Now I was excited! The next tire was the one that looked the worst (and that, when I showed it to him thinking he would not be able to deny how low it was, he could not see anything wrong with it). But B was done checking. “Well, they’re all going to be low. I’ll pump them up tomorrow.”
And he did. B normally gets up when I leave for work, but on this day he got up 15 minutes early, put on his jacket (it was POURING RAIN) outside, and headed out to my car with his bike pump (the tall, stand-up kind you use your arms for). When I got out there he was soaked and working hard. I sat in the car for a few minutes (the rain, you know) until finally he stopped so I could get to work (the final tire was mostly pumped up). He said it was a great start to his workout. His arms and chest were burning and he was worn out.
So for months we had both fretted and despaired over the tanking gas mileage, but also for months I, alone, had fretted and despaired over the ever-more-flattening tires—the very CAUSE of our mileage problems. Think of all the wasted gas. Think of all the wasted fretting! The car is currently getting GREAT mileage (I guess). Comparatively the mileage is great; certainly it’s good enough to be inconsequential. And, a lesson has been learned. I finally got B to see that not only do tires have a HUGE impact on gas mileage (bigger than he thought they would), but I should be listened to when I think there’s a problem. It will save us money and save him 15 minutes in bed on a rainy morning.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Srant Eyes
When people hear that you don’t know whether the guest in your human hotel is a boy or a girl, they will try to enlighten you. Their guess, regardless of what it’s based on, is as good as mine or yours or anyone’s. Still, many people feel conviction when they share their insight. For all I know, most people either go with a random guess or a gut feeling, that is, these folks don’t share how it is they came to believe [or KNOW] one way or the other. That’s me. When I guess about others, I’m just playing the game, because it’s FUN to guess when the odds are 50/50!!! I might be right! Other people try to impress upon me the accuracy of their guess by sharing the way they came by it. For instance, the FedEx Ground guy knows because of the height of the belly. Others know by asking me about cravings or fetal movement. The grocery bagger…well, I don’t know how she knew, but she’s from India and told her guess to the cashier who translated it to me, so it sounded…well, very sage coming from a tiny Indian woman in one of billions of Indian languages. The girls at work know because of the “ring test.” In fact, they didn’t think I would let them try it on me, since I didn’t want to know the gender. Ummm…okaaaaay.
But the most interesting gender prediction to date was given a couple days ago by a Japanese man. I work for a Japanese company, so I work with a lot of Japanese people as coworkers and clients. This man was a client, here in the office to meet with one of my coworkers. His English was very limited (much like that of the guy he was meeting) but we’re all totally used to that. He saw the belly and the following conversation ensued:
Him: [pointing] When? When…auhhh…when…auhhh…
Me: In May.
Him: Boy or gull?
Me: I don’t know. It’s a surprise!
Him: Suplize. Ah-huh. I sink it is gull.
Me: Maybe!
Him: [pointing] Very round. If boy, … [bringing his hands together] peak.
Me: Oh.
Him: Also, you have calm, nice face. If boy, … [at this point words fail him and he proceeds to put a finger on the outer corner of each of his eyes and pull up and back, creating very slanty eyes—or, srant eyes, as some might say. I am a bit perplexed by this Japanese man making slanty eyes in an effort to tell me how my face would look if I were carrying a male fetus. What does he mean? If it were a boy, I would look Asian? I would have srant eyes? I don’t feel comfortable asking him these things or supplying him with these words, although I cannot figure out what else he could be saying. Finally, it comes to him:] mean! Mean face.
And now we know.
But the most interesting gender prediction to date was given a couple days ago by a Japanese man. I work for a Japanese company, so I work with a lot of Japanese people as coworkers and clients. This man was a client, here in the office to meet with one of my coworkers. His English was very limited (much like that of the guy he was meeting) but we’re all totally used to that. He saw the belly and the following conversation ensued:
Him: [pointing] When? When…auhhh…when…auhhh…
Me: In May.
Him: Boy or gull?
Me: I don’t know. It’s a surprise!
Him: Suplize. Ah-huh. I sink it is gull.
Me: Maybe!
Him: [pointing] Very round. If boy, … [bringing his hands together] peak.
Me: Oh.
Him: Also, you have calm, nice face. If boy, … [at this point words fail him and he proceeds to put a finger on the outer corner of each of his eyes and pull up and back, creating very slanty eyes—or, srant eyes, as some might say. I am a bit perplexed by this Japanese man making slanty eyes in an effort to tell me how my face would look if I were carrying a male fetus. What does he mean? If it were a boy, I would look Asian? I would have srant eyes? I don’t feel comfortable asking him these things or supplying him with these words, although I cannot figure out what else he could be saying. Finally, it comes to him:] mean! Mean face.
And now we know.
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