In The Honey Bucket

Have you seen this?





The same principle applies to mothers with coughs all over the world.

I am a mother who is getting over a cold and coughs. It makes me pee a little. Sometimes a lot.

Today I went running with Rachel in the stroller and it was a nice day. But then, I started to cough. And I coughed some more. And I tried not to pee but sometimes it just comes out. I promise I do Kegel exercises each day!

After a few more coughing fits, I decided that I needed to find a bathroom so I could cough until I was done coughing. Hooray! I thought, I'm getting close to a park with a bathroom! Problem solved.

Or so I thought.

The doors were locked. The sign on the door said, "These bathrooms are temporarily closed due to vandalism."

OK, so do I kick down the door to use the facilities (and also vandalize the door) or do I go into the bushes next to the busy road (and potentially get arrested for indecent exposure and traumatize everyone and practice for camping in the wild)? Neither really sounded like good, legal options.

I looked around, and lo and behold, a Honey Bucket! A Port-A-Potty! That is legal!

Fortunately (maybe) for Rachel and I, the Honey Bucket was handicap accessible, so we both could go inside it.

Rachel had been sleeping, but woke up when the stroller jostled around as I shoved it into the Honey Bucket. I locked the door.

"Ooooh boy," I muttered. This was a stinky one.

Rachel looked at me with a funny face. It was a stinky one.

I opened the seat. I don't want to be graphic, but this potty was piled up. Almost to the top. I think more people should try to hold their poop until they get home. No wonder it stank so badly.

And I completed my business. Rachel looked confused. I coughed and got some more pee out.

I opened the door and rammed the stroller through it, stealthily getting some hand sanitizer (HOORAY! Also need for my bum, probably) in one hand. The stroller wheel got stuck on the door jamb and I had to maneuver it to get unstuck. Rachel was really looking confused. We were finally free! And the hand sanitizer slipped out of my hand. There was no way I was going back in there, so I tried my best with the last vestiges of it on my fingers.

For the rest of the run, I didn't cough very much, nor did I have to pee again.

And that is my slightly TMI story about running.

Bear (Mace) Attack!

Most of our hikes take place in bear country. We like it that way. There are less people, which means more solitude.

We have really meant to buy some bear mace all summer. We really don't want to be eaten by a bear.

Washington has mostly black bears, but there are also some grizzly bears.

Grizzly bears live here:


From Wikipedia

And black bears live here:


From Wikipedia

So we hike often in bear ranges.

Finally, we bought some bear mace. I would recommend getting some if you are going to hike in areas with bears. This one was developed by someone who survived a grizzly bear attack and his companion had human pepper spray. Bear mace is a whole lot more potent than pepper spray. Andrew was really excited about our bear spray because it came in handy camo holsters. Classy classy. But also very useful.

From the pamphlet about the bear spray, we learned that the bear mace will dilate the bear's eyes to cause temporary blindness; will make the bear cough, choke, and feel nauseous; and will cause the mucus membranes to swell so the bear can only breathe to sustain life---basically he will pass out. It is powerful stuff.

Andrew enjoyed reading the reviews of the bear spray product. People wondered how strong it was and sprayed it in their homes and had to fumigate the place, or got it in their eyes, or (as the pamphlet told us not to) sprayed their tent or children as a bear repellent. We laughed. What idiots.

But then one day, a grizzly bear wandered into our apartment. We sprayed it. The end.


Source

Just kidding.

Andrew and I were showing his mom our new bear mace over Skype on Sunday. She was very worried about us encountering a bear, so we calmed her fears. Andrew then decided to practice taking off the safety cap.

And he dropped it.

And it sprayed on our carpet.

"It works," he said.

I would have said something quite different. Starting with "sh" and rhyming with "split".

But, Andrew is a good boy and generally doesn't sin on the Sabbath. I, however, am a different story. My roommates can testify that Sundays are the days when I said most of my inappropriate comments.

Back to the story.

We had sprayed bear mace in our apartment. I ran and opened all the windows (it was about 40F outside) and got a fan going. We started coughing like crazy. We needed to leave our apartment, but we were baking a delicious treat and couldn't leave it in the oven!

So we did what any sensible couple would do.



We wrapped our faces in scarves and Skyped my parents until our delicious treat got out of the oven.


Andrew tried his best to scrub the bear spray out of the carpet.

And then we went on a walk for an hour and half. When we got back, our apartment wasn't full of airborne bear mace. Thank goodness. Also, thank goodness there wasn't really a bear in our apartment, because then we would have bigger problems than a burned dessert. And thank goodness that the baby wasn't here yet because that would be horrible for the poor little thing.

Unfortunately, I did not go into labor from coughing and coughing.

Bear mace works. Do not try it at home.

Hospital Again

A month ago, I decided to burn my hand off with hot wax.

I was going to wax my eyebrow (it was getting to the point of being just one eyebrow). I followed the directions. Put it in the center of the microwave and heat for 30 seconds. Too bad my microwave sucks. It was hard on top, so I tried to stir it a bit. However, there was a boiling pit of magma wax in the center that sprayed out like a volcano across my left hand. We found wax on our kitchen table and the carpet about three feet away from where it happened. I am glad it didn't get my face.

After watching most of Men in Black with my hand in ice water and it still killing, we decided to go to the hospital. I had about seven blisters across the knuckles of my left hand. It hurt unless it was in the ice water. Also, my eyebrows were still hairy.

By the way, how stupid is it to "rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10"? Yes, this hurts, but there are things that hurt WAY more and in different ways.

Back to the story.

They bandaged me up and sent me home with a prescription for Vicadin. Too bad that the next day while trying to change my bandage, the wax that was still stuck to my skin pulled my skin off. So we went bad to the hospital and they soaked it in a saline solution and tried to get some more of the wax off.

On Monday I moped around and slept. On Tuesday we went to a burn center in Seattle. There, they purposefully cut my skin off, put tiny bandaging on, gave me some physical therapy exercises to maintain mobility in my hand, and wished me luck.

At home, I had to change it once a day and scrub all dead skin and scabbing off. I am may have sworn. Once. Or twice. After a few days it seemed pretty healed and I only took the Vicadin for four or five days.

Andrew refused to take any pictures because it was so disgusting. But here is my almost-healed hand.



You can see that it was all the way across my knuckles and up my finger joints.

And here is Andrew being a good nurse:



And here is the bandaging:



I went to the burn center a week ago and the nurse and doctor told me that my hand was healed! It shouldn't scar, and if it does, it should be minimal. I need to continue the stretches and do things like play the cello and piano. I need to treat it like baby skin for a year.

So it has worked out pretty well. I'm glad it healed well and wasn't too painful over the long term. I'm also grateful that I didn't have to take care of an infant with one hand.

I waxed my eyebrows this weekend. Waxing is like riding a bike--you just have to get back on and not follow the directions on the wax.

Picture Fail

Sorry if you cannot see my pictures. I am in the process of fixing it. This is what I get for changing my settings on flickr. It was an emotional afternoon of pregnancy hormones. Andrew helped me figure out the problem. Let's just say Andrew enjoyed one of his favorite activities--taking advantage of my hormonal craziness by doing nice things to make me cry.

Backpacking Fail #1: Barclay Lake

At the beginning of June, we decided to head up into the Skykomish ranger district and go backpacking! It  would be amazing! We got our food ready, packed everything up, and were ready for a good time in the mountains. Since it was my first time backpacking, we picked a short, level trail. It was about 2 miles in to the lake. And, to make things even better, it fell on free fishing day! Score!


The bridge on the way to Barclay Lake


Me on the bridge. I look so cool with my backpack on. Also, keep in mind how awesome and kick-butt I am! I'm like 19 weeks along on this trip.


A lovely stream


Me at the camp spot. Our tent is incredibly attractive, right? It fits two people who like to be cozy. Don't I look soggy? That's because it is June in Washington!


Barclay Lake--it was really quite beautiful.

By this point, we have successfully packed in to the lake. So far, so good. No backpacking fail yet!


Andrew pumping the water. He was SO excited to use his new pump.


"I'm pumping the water and it is raining! Yay!"


Andrew trying to light wet wood on fire. This was a backpacking fail. We never got it to light.


Andrew looking epic at Barclay Mountain.


Throwing our rope for the bear bag. I was terrified we would meet a bear. But at least the bag was far away from our camp, so if it came to eat our food, it shouldn't eat us, too.


Time for hot chocolate because we are freezing to death!


Fishing for free. Andrew is so happy to be fishing. Backpacking fail: neither of us caught a fish.


Me fishing, but mostly doing casting practice. Whenever I've caught a fish, it has been on accident.

We were wet and cold and had nothing to do after we fished. We brought cards but our tent was too small to sit up in, so no go on the playing together agenda. And so we went to bed.

I remember trying to stretch out my leg but feeling some cold at the bottom of my sleeping bag, so I curled up into a ball.

At about 2:00 a.m., Andrew sighed and said, "My feet are wet. Are yours?"

"A little," I say. "I really have to pee." I'm pregnant and myself. I pee twice every night.

"Me too." It must have been the hot chocolate. Andrew never pees in the night.

"I have to pee bad enough to face the wild animals, but if I go outside, all this water will fall on us," I said.

"Yeah," Andrew said. "And we would be soaked."

"And my hips hurt. I have tried to not move so I don't get wet." If you touched the side of the tent, you got wet.

"This isn't a very good tent," said Andrew.

And we just laid there in our sleeping bags for about an hour. Then we talked to each other for about an hour. We were both in pain from our bladders and my hips really really hurt. We were also both cold and very wet. Then we laid there for another hour.



Andrew being miserable in the morning.


Our wet, cold toes in our sleeping bags. Tent, you were somewhat useless. Can you see the water droplets on the inside of our tent!?!?

Finally, it was 5:00 a.m. Andrew said we could get up in 15 minutes. So we did. And I peed a great pee. Andrew peed a great pee. And my hips felt so much better.



We are tired! It is 5 a.m.! Do you like Andrew's hipster hair?


Best part of the morning: our bear bag survived. We have breakfast!


You suck. We are buying a new one.

And we ate food and packed up our soaking wet gear and were out of there by 7:30 and to our car by 8:30. And since we weren't thinking clearly and it was free fishing day, we drove to Fish Lake (like two hours away) but couldn't find a place to access the lake. So then we drove for another 45 minutes to Leavenworth and bought a pretzel and bienenstisch. And then we drove forever home. We were super tired. That night was officially the worst of my life.

I couldn't believe myself when I told Andrew that I was willing to go camping again--if we had a different tent.

Backpacking fail.

Sarah's Graduation

I forgot to mention that within all the chilling and packing and panicking I did during the end of April, I also passed my thesis defense with flying colors! David (my adviser and boss) said it was an unusual defense because the other committee members were so positive. My defense was amazing. I got so many new ideas and was so excited to keep working and expanding my project.

Anyway, that meant I could walk at graduation!

And it began traumatically for me. My friend, Chase, had a little medal from the Humanities College, which he said they just gave to him when he picked up his cap and gown. Well I didn't get one! And I am pregnant! And I became irrationally upset about this. So I went over the the Josten's table and kindly asked if they knew where I was supposed to pick up my little medal. The guy was super RUDE and told me he didn't have time to help me. Chase was also shocked at the Josten's guy's rudeness. So then I was even more upset. Fortunately, a few minutes later, Dr. Conte showed up and gave me a medal. I was really irrationally happy that I got my medal. Moral of the story: Give pregnant women medals. They deserve it.

And then we had to wait for a long time before the procession began because of the lazy bums who didn't pick up their caps and gowns before! So the academic procession began about 45 minutes late. And I had to pee and I was really really thirsty. This was a bad day to be pregnant.

Academic Procession

At this part, all the future Masters walked from the Fieldhouse to the Spectrum while they blasted bagpipe music from the speakers around the university. First best part of the procession was the kids at the elementary school applauding us and holding signs. They were just happy to be out of class. Second best part was seeing Andrew, my parents, and Heidi (my MIL) applauding me.

Me--looking slightly like the pope giving a blessing or a Medieval Jesus with the Holy Hand Grenade--marching.

A much more attractive photo of me marching.

The future Masters entering the Spectrum. Hi family!

The Hooding

In this part of the graduation ceremony, the future Masters walk through a tunnel of professors and you line up. The professors put the hood over your head and then you walk to the stage and give them the card with your name on it. These photos were taken by David with his phone from a distance, but since he was sitting where he could actually see the hooding, these pictures are actually pretty good.

The hood going over my head. :)

Oh my gosh! Moses (the professor in the yellow) just told me how to fix my hair over the hood!!! Moses put the hood on me! (Why is this post full of religious references?)

Heading up to the stage...

"Master of Arts in History, Sarah L. B. Fassmann."

Receiving my diploma cover--thanks!

I'm so happy and my shoes are so great. 

Hi family! I got my diploma! And my cap is falling off my head.

 The Happy Graduate

Master Sarah--that's right. I'm so proud.

I'm so proud of this accomplishment! I have worked really hard over the past two years and especially hard during March and April to finish my thesis in time. I still need to finish revisions, but I am done!

And because it is awesome and I've already alluded to several religious things, don't you think I look great in my black robes of a false priesthood/academic robes?

Oh Hugh Nibley, you are so good for making everyone feel smart and stupid at the same time.

Bad Baby Names

My boss David suggested that I get all the bad baby names out of my system now, so I don't name my kid a bad name when it counts. So I thought I would compile a list of names that would not work at all.

Utah and Idaho Style
Skaught (pronounced Scott)
McKyndraly
Diezle (it sounds way manly but looks way girly)
KneeFy (Nephi--bad spelling and from the Book of Mormon)


Family Names(ish)
AnnDrew (for a girl, named after Dad)
Glennda (named for Andrew's dad, Glenn)
Leslie (for a boy, my sister's name is Leslie)
Ingeborg (love Andrew's Oma, but the part with "borg" in it would not go well with my trekkie family)


Names with an Esset (ß)--as Fassmann is traditionally spelled Faßmann
Caßidy (Cassidy)
Jeßee (Jessee)
Rußel (Russel)
Shariße (Sharisse)
Aniße (Anisse)
Katniß (Katniss--no I have not read or seen Hunger Games)


Good German Names
Fritz (and for a girl--Fritzine)
Heinz (but what about Dr.Doofenshmirtz?)
Käse (cheese in German...it could be cute)
Astrid (Astird... ha ha)
Hildegard (poor kid)



Names From Sports (suggested by my friend Greg) (bad because neither of us are athletic)
Mesut (for Mesut Özil, a soccer player for Germany and Real Madrid)
Tiger (for Tiger Woods)
Mia (for soccer player Mia Hamm)
Serena (for tennis player Serena Williams)
Arnold (for Arnold Palmer, a golfer and the namesake of my boss's favorite drink, whom I would always think of)


Just Bad Names
Spacealien (pronounced spas-e-a-leen)
Jesus (Spanish pronunciation, but let's be real  here. The kid is going to be super white.)
Willard Harrison Quentin (named for my current work, the Western Historical Quarterly, or the WHQ)
Midge (our kid is going to be short. It's a fact of life. She doesn't need to open it up to being called midget)


There are other bad names out there. I just thought I would share a few of the bad ones so you can enjoy. Being named any of these names would surely traumatize the Baby Platypus for life.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...

Remember the Little Engine that could? That book? Remember that silly clown who rides on the engine?

Anyway...

I have read 3 of the 8 books, am plugging away on the paper due next Tuesday.

I think I can, I think I can.

My cousin Alison got married last Saturday, and I know you are all dying to see my maid of honor dress. I will post it soon. And it should be amazing.

You should mostly look forward to a picture of me and Alison jumping, and all my hair flipped into my face and I look like I have a beard. I guess, it fits into No Shave November.

I will survive this semester. And so will Andrew. And then: DISNEYLAND!!!!

From Now To December 16

I have a lot to do. I'm a grad student. But last night I took a minute to write down everything I have to do before the end of the semester.

• Read eight books.
• Spend time researching in the archives at the University of Utah and here at Utah State University.
• Write a comparative book review (five books).
• Write a normal book review for a journal.
• Apply for a scholarship.
• Finish writing an essay for a contest.
• Finish writing a thesis chapter.
• Finish writing the thesis introduction.

You might not hear from me for a few weeks.

Also, I love vegetables. They are the best thing ever.

Fall Break Adventure #4: Corn Maze

After doing apples (APPLES!!!) we went to the corn maze in a beautiful evening of sibling bonding. Plus me who is not a sibling but is an in-law and Maren who neither a sibling nor an in-law.

I learned that in Salt Lake City you have to drive for half an hour to get to a corn maze, unlike Logan where you drive for five minutes or Kaysville where you drive for ten minutes to get to a corn maze. The big city is a crazy place.

Elise and Hannah. They led the way. Although Andrew told them which way to turn.

Me and Andrew in amongst the corn.

Maren and Wes---watch it Wes, that hand is ON her waist.

And after we got out of the maze and found all ten numbers, we had to get our pictures and Frankenstein's monster and his bride.

Elise and Hannah

Wesley and Maren

Andrew and me

What a fun time. We did not go to the haunted part cuz that would have been traumatic. And I would have peed my pants. Plus, we couldn't have had sibling bonding in the corn if we were running away from terror incarnate.

Chickens, Chickens, and More Chickens

***CAUTION: This post contains headless chickens and chicken guts. Look away if you get queasy or if you love chickens and don't want to see where the stuff you eat really comes from.***

On July 25, I went with the in-laws to slaughter 27 chickens with the extended family.

I made a Chicken Music Mix CD, which was filled with fun songs like "Chicken Fried," "Brown Chicken, Brown Cow," "Sic 'Em On A Chicken," "Chicken Dumplings," and "C-H-I-C-K-E-N" (which me, The Dad, and Elise are dancing to), along with the classic Bill Cosby skit, "Chicken Heart That Ate New York City." Everyone said the CD was great and helped make the chore more fun.


Uncle Dan (who cut off the heads) and The Dad (who held the wings down and got covered in blood) pulling the skin and feathers off of the chickens.


Me gutting a chicken. I am crying and I almost threw up. It was still warm inside! Grandma S. was helping me. She kept saying how proud she was that we girls would have skills needed when the Lord calls us to Missouri. Sorry, when the Lord calls us to Missouri, I don't think we'll be gutting chickens, and we might not even eat meat. I guess I have these skills for when our government and economy collapse, so Andrew and I have to feed our families with what we can hunt or raise.


That's me with the chicken that I gutted.


All I can say is that Andrew really missed out. And that was quite the experience.

Remember that Dress?

I'm really really hard on jeans. I go through them like tissues. I think, on average, I buy about 3 pairs a year--every year--cuz the ones I bought last year died. I just wear through them really really fast, mostly in between my thighs they just wear through. It is sad. I also really hate buying jeans cuz I have such a hard time finding ones that aren't too long, fit my thighs, and don't fall off my butt. Usually these shopping trips include tears and frustrated grunts in the dressing room.

Anyway, when people are trying to lose weight, they hold their high school jeans as their goal. That won't work for me. They fell apart years ago. As did the ones from all through college. So jeans aren't a realistic way for me to measure weight loss.'

I have to use dresses. I have a bunch of dresses (15 full dresses and 21 skirts--not including formals or the wedding gown) and should probably get rid of some, but I can't. I fluctuate so much in size, that I wear different ones all the time.

Anyway, this last year I have not been happy with my weight and size.


Unflattering Easter picture. Not happy about this.

More flattering Easter picture--but still...

So instead, I have to measure my size by which dress I fit into.

I made this super super cute dress as a freshman. It fit on-and-off well and sometimes snug over the years. I haven't been able to wear it since 2009.

Today, I tried it on. And it fit! Snug, yes, but it fit. I even think I could have zipped it up all the way, but I had no one to zip the top up for me (the sleeves were tight, I need to tone my arms). YAY! I was really really really excited and happy.

Other dresses to fit into in the future include:

My wedding luncheon dress (and corresponding underskirt so it is modest).


And this beautiful girl--which I fit into at the most athletic and toned part of my life ever.

You may think, wow Sarah, you aren't even that skinny. I do not care. I don't believe that skinniness determines health. I know plenty of 100-pound women who cannot lift anything, swim a mile, run a 5k. What matters to me is muscle and tone, which actually weighs more than fat, so if I weigh 150 pounds because of muscle, that would be awesome.

And if it doesn't happen, that is OK. But I felt so good and healthy when I wore those dresses, why wouldn't I want to aim for that state of health again?