Notes From Home Plate

Is the World Ready?

Published on by Lisa

Everyone who knows keeps asking, “Are you ready?”

And all I keep thinking, “Are WE ready? It’s more like is the WORLD ready for another human who is 1/2 me and 1/2 Nick?”

Yes, friends, family, and loved ones, the day has finally arrived, if you haven’t already guessed from small leaks (or as Nick would say, “…the weakest links in our circuit of family and friends,”) that we are expecting a little one to grace our lives and expand the family. I am pregnant!

Oh, the anticipation…oh the relief of FINALLY being able to blog and write about the past 9 weeks.

Let me tell you, keeping a secret is just not my thing, especially when it’s so joyous!

Roughly 7 weeks ago, I knew I was pregnant even before those stick tests told me so. Here were the big clues:

1) I’ve been a deep sleeper since I was born. I can sleep through a hurricane. Out of nowhere, I start waking up in the middle of the night, uncomfortable.

2) I start getting horrible abdominal gas pains and my body is bloated like a marshmallow.

3) Everything, even the taste of water, is bitter and tastes like liver in my mouth.

4) I feel, how shall you say, different.

I just freaking knew. I mean, I just knew. But 6 pregnancy tests later, it was confirmed and what a day it was….

It was a Sunday. I woke up at 6am because I couldn’t sleep (remember clue #1) and Nick woke up about an hour later to find me sitting up in bed, thinking. I took the test and left the stick in the bathroom, yelling at Nick to get out of the bathroom, “WE WON’T LOOK AT IT! WE WON’T LOOK AT IT! IT’LL BE TORTURE! LET’S GO TO ANOTHER ROOM FOR TWO MINUTES!”

So we go to the bedroom and pace the floor. Well, Nick paces the floor and starts blabbering about the 101 reasons why the test could be false negative and we should look at the chances of it being wrong and how we should definitely take another one tomorrow and how so many factors could disrupt the accuracy of the results…When Nick is reasoning aloud really fast, he makes me even more nervous because he’s never nervous.

When two minutes are up, I charge into the bathroom and see a very large PLUS sign and worldlessly go up to the Papa to be and present the test two feet above my head, aka, Nick’s eye level. Never, in all the years I’ve loved Nick, ever saw his face look so purely joyous and excited (not even when he married me, imagine that…). We didn’t say a word, just hugged for a long time while I started to cry of course.

Then we flopped ourselves on our bed and were quiet. Finally, I broke out and said, “So, there’s a baby inside me and we’re gonna be parents.”

Nick flops over to look at me, “I know, it’s crazy isn’t it?”

“Crazy? Try insane and unthinkable. WE. US. WE ARE GOING TO BE PARENTS. Like, a life is OUR responsibility.”

But nothing could taint our joy, disbelief, and excitement.

Nick left for El Salvador two days after our big news and it was torture not to tell anyone. So I burned the secret to my sister, Christina here in Cleveland, and my mom. I was DYING to tell someone and Nick was gone for 5 days. I just couldn’t wander the world without anyone to share it with.

We’ve had two doctors appointments and everything looks excellent. We already heard the baby’s heartbeat and are floored by each little miracle of our little pinto bean growing inside me. It’s so wonderful and simultaneously terrifying.

A lot of people wonder how we told people so early. Our doctors warned us that we shouldn’t spill the beans until the 11th week or so. Nick and I thought awhile about that and then finally came to our conclusion: understandably, you don’t want to get everyone excited when there’s such a chance of miscarriage. But, all the people in our lives who we trust and would want to know we had a miscarriage would also want to know if we were pregnant. The same people we’d turn to in times of sadness are the same people we’d turn to share our miracle. And so we decided to tell folks around 6 weeks and pray for a safe journey for our little one.

We tried to tell as many people face to face as we could, but alas, life is complicated and news travels fast.

Little Pinto is expected to come into the world January 1, 2010.

So, like I said…it’s not a matter if WE’RE ready, but is the world ready?

A Dip into the Valley of Darkness

Published on by Lisa

Sometimes the sports world makes the rest of the world too depressing to deal with.

Last night, the famous four (Me, Nick, Christina, and Brian) gathered around their monstrously clear flat screen to watch the flat screen effect of the Magic against the CAVS.

Sometimes it just hurts and the pain of defeat zaps all ability to write with enthusiasm.

In other depressing news, we just got word that Nick and I need to go shopping for a new car. For some people, this can be an exciting adventure. For Nick and I, buying something large – and all the details and discussion that goes into that decision – is about as enticing as eating a bowl of raisin bran. Not exciting whatsoever.

Why, you ask, does the prospect of buying a car antagonize us so much? Well, for Nick is means shopping. (It’s the same reaction if you ask him to cook, or go look at swatches at Home Depot.) For me, it means I have to make a decision based on practicality. I hate that.

So, it puts us in somewhat bitter moods, but we try to look on the bright side of things. But with the Cavs performance lately, Cleveland is one big gray cloud called Annoying. And it’s hanging right over our house.

Get on the Train

Published on by Lisa

Thanks be to God for the glory of spring. But, why God, why, must the lush green beauty come at such a price to my health?

My throat and nose are clogged with green as well. It’s just disgusting and not the lush kind green outside, but the sick, disgusting kind that come with colds, sore throats, and infections. GROSS. I hate germs. Like, more than you ever will or can possibly fathom. I HATE things that are in the family of centipedes, bacteria, sickness, and contamination. And fungus.

But, as the die hard Cavs fan that I have grown to be, my sickness did not preclude me from going to Christina and Brian’s house (pretty much Nick and my best buds here in Cleveland) to watch Game 2 of the Cavs/Magic of the Eastern Conference NBA finals.

Just as in game 1, I start off pumped and make all kinds of significant commentary about the lewd history of Marv Albert. And then I fall asleep at half time while Nick massages my feet and talks stats with Brian. I wake up with 3 minutes left of the 4th quarter and blast the Cavs for blowing yet another large lead. And then LeBron makes a LeBeautiful 3 point shot at the buzzer and I forget I have bronchitis and scream to the heavens. And the four of us high five each other. NOTE: We’re not high fiving kinds of people. That’s how pumped we were.

The one thing I could not get over and kept pointing out as much as the marvelous physique of Dwight Howard, is how Stan Van Gundy (head coach of the Magic) has a striking resemblance to JOHN LOVITZ. I mean, seriously.

Like Father, Like Son

Published on by Lisa

Two words: car accident.

UGH.

Minor, but any form of a car accident has a ripple effect. It puts these tiny but significant wrinkles in your day.

Nick was at a complicated 4 or 5 way stop, turned into the intersection while someone decided to pause and keep going into the intersection, part of her brain erasing one important fact: THERE’S ANOTHER HUMAN BEING IN THE INTERSECTION.

A frontal collision, the bumper ripped off, some damage that left her car scratched and ours not drivable. The most important thing, obviously, is that Nick is fine and the only thing affected was his anxiety over paper work, car rental, insurance, and my need to get to work that morning but our 1-car situation made that slightly impossible.

UGH.

Nick is fantastic in high stress situations. He claims it’s very Borchers of him, and I must agree. When the pressure is on, the shields and blinders come up so he only sees his goal, strategy, and the most direct access to resolving the issue. My brain, in times of crisis, assesses the likelihood of survival and then ponders how precious life is, how short and fleeting our dreams are…You can see the difference.

What I think is hilarious is we were just in Russia this weekend when Kay and Kelly (Nick’s mom and sister) were out running errands when the car overheated. Fortunately but against Kay’s will, they pulled off the road to make sure the car didn’t explode or anything like that.

They call Ron (Nick’s Dad).

According to Kelly and Kay, it was 2:40pm when they called and Ron said he could leave in about 20 minutes. According to Kelly and Kay, they sighed and complained to one another as to why he couldn’t leave right then and there. According to Kelly and Kay, he should just come to their rescue whenever a crisis occurs.

Ron comes to the rescue, of course.

We all laugh at the expectations in the story and I giggle at some of the similarities I see in Nick whenever a crisis occurs.

While Nick was the one in the accident, he called to let me know, ask me to find the location of the closest Enterprise, but then took care of all of the details after that. I did nothing. I offered my help, but I just sat there, watching him make phone call after phone call, eating my salad and listening to him give policy numbers and identifying information a bazillion times to a bazillion people.

UGH.

When he was done, I threw my arms around him in a big hug and asked if I could make him something to eat, relax, and take a moment to enjoy the fact that he was fine, our life is great, and no one was hurt.

He just smiled, said, “No, thanks…I’m heading off to work now to get some stuff done.”

My forehead wrinkled in confusion and disbelief, “Uh, you work for a parish. I think most folks would understand if you’re in a car wreck to at least take your lunch hour to breathe.”

But he just grabbed his briefcase, kissed me, and walked out the door, heading to the office, his original destination.

You gotta hand it to that Borchers work ethic…they sure don’t mess around.

"Is"

Published on by Lisa

I was about to google a question that began with the word “is” and these ten questions appeared down in the scroll to try and predict what my “is” question would be:

IS
bronchitis contagious?
pneumonia contagious?
Obama the antichrist?
Michelle Obama pregnant?
your Jason Mraz lyrics?
limewire illegal?
Lil Wayne dead?
the world going to end in 2012?
santa real?
pluto a planet?

Let’s pretend Google is an omnipotent force…
If you could ask one “is” question today — what would you ask if you knew you would get the truth in reply?

Bet You Didn’t Know

Published on by Lisa

Factoid Numero Dos
(that’s #2 for you non-Spanish speakers)

I bet you didn’t know that May 19 is quite a day for me.

Back at Central Catholic Highschool in 1996 (oh my, that sounds really ancient), when I was a junior in highschool, my group of friends and I were a bit of hellraisers. Back in ’96, May 19th started out like any other day…

We first went to a party where we didn’t drink alcohol, but I drank 8 cans of Surge, a short-lived soda that doubled the amount of caffeine in Mountain Dew, and sent my heart pounding for days.

After the party, we head back to a friend’s house for more partying.

We get dressed up and decide to TP all of the houses of guys we had crushes on in hopes they’d ask us to the next homecoming dance (because, you know, TPing someone’s house is the way to communicate desire when you are 16)…

So, I am wearing a long dress and heels. We’re ALL ridiculously dressed up with an ungodly amount of toilet paper in the car. We squeeze seven into my friend Meg’s huge Buick and take off, laughing about how COOL and AWESOME our idea is. Then we have another brilliant idea: let’s throw rotten apples on the lawn and make signs on paper plates.

Then geeky me who is scared of breaking laws stutters, “Isn’t that vandalism?”

Of course everyone ignores and moves on with the rotten apples and paper plates plan.

While we make signs that say ASK TRICIA TO PROM. ASK JEN TO HOMECOMING. I silently hope that I would get thrown out of the car so I can run home.

We stop at the first house. I am shaking my head. It’s May 19 and only 9pm which means THERE IS STILL A LOT OF LIGHT IN THE SKY AND PEOPLE CAN SEE US.

I duck while my friends litter this poor guy’s house. And then this poor guy walks out of his house with his girlfriend and we take off down the road, speeding 90mph down a cul-de-sac. Ugh.

House number 2.
We decide to TP the house, no apples or paper plates for this guy. Relieved, I get out of the car in my heels and, this being my first TP experience throw the TP in all kinds of directions. As the TP bundle lands at my feet, I bend down to pick it up and the wind blows right up my fanny and the long skirt I had been wearing flies over the back of my head and veils me from behind.

As I am flailing my arms because I can’t see, my rear end exposed for the world to see with the TP in my hand, one of the neighbors comes out and turns on her light, “Um, girls, what are you doing?”

Blinded by a long skirt, I start running in the direction of where I think the big Buick is and finally free myself from my skirt and dive into the backseat…when we think everyone’s in the car I scream, “GO MEG!”

She slams on the accelerator and takes off… and I didn’t see that one of the doors was still open and poor Kara is hanging onto the open door for dear life screaming, “NO MEG!”

Which sounds a lot like my scream, “GO MEG!”

And Kara nearly got dragged by the car.

Fortunately, we pulled her in and we were all safe. Ridiculous, but safe.

It was only 10pm.

WHAT REBELS we were.

That night concluded with another party, probably more Surge for me, and talking about how we would always be best friends. We always said that if we could survive that night, we could survive anything.

Isn’t it funny how we measure life’s obstacles when we’re 16?

I still keep in touch with some of those friends. They are still ridiculous and hilarious, but we’ve been through more serious things as friends. Some of them have children, some have had divorce, some have had illnesses.

But, we always email each other a greeting on May 19 that we dubbed “our day,” to remember how great it was to be in high school, have your license, freedom, and especially friends.

Happy May 19 to Tricia (“Trick”), Jen (“Jenny-D”), Kara (“Deeters”), Meg (“Smeg”), Tara (“TLM”), Heather (“HK”)…from Lisa (“Slee”)

Wedding Season 2009

Published on by Lisa

It has been back to back weekends that we’ve hit the ROOSH, aka, Russia, Ohio…the undeniably tiny but lovable town of Raider pride.

The weekend of May 9th, we headed out there for Lindsey Grogean’s wedding. As a wedding photographer and technology geek, I always pay close attention to innocuous details that I am certain no one in the free world would care about — like what camera the photographer is using, or how well-edited the slideshow was done. While every wedding is different, this one stuck out to me in particular for a few reasons. One of them was how genuinely happy the bride and groom looked at the altar. I know that many folks are uncomfortable with a zillion people staring at you, but IT’S YOUR WEDDING DAY! Not the time to be pulling a shy act.

And this couple just looked so peaceful and joyful, I was already tearing up when they took their seats at the beginning of mass. Hands down, this was the most smiley groom I’ve ever seen in my life, possibly even surpassing Nick when he told me, “I Do” four years ago. (That’s A LOT of smiling.)

The second thing was their slideshow. It was terrific because at the end of it, there was a lovely montage edited snippets of family and friends talking to the camera and sending their well-wishes, something I tried to pull off for Kelly Borchers now Kelly Norris, but when I proposed the idea to Nick and his brothers, all of them agreed with three words, “TOO MUCH WORK.” Not for me, but to get everyone to submit something on camera, on time, and with creativity. Too bad for Kelly, it would’ve been awesome.

Anyway, these two lovebirds have some real characters in their life because each person was so unique with their well-wishes, it was hard not to be captivated by their humor. One person was doing a sock puppet show, another was by the railroad tracks, another had a gigantic stuffed animal he kept kissing…it was hilarious and heart-warming to see how beloved two people can be.

I love weddings.

And this particular wedding kicked off the wedding season for Nick and I. And what a terrific start it was…

A Letter for Joey

Published on by Lisa

Dear Joey,

Someday I hope you can forgive your Uncle Nick and I for forgetting your first birthday, which was yesterday, May 14th. Given how nuts I am about birthdays, it is with great shame that I admit, as your Tita/Auntie, to have forgotten to call you and listen to you babble into the phone.

When you are older, I hope you can understand that the human brain’s capacity to remember dates, even significant ones, does not accurately reflect the priorities in our lives and we are so sorry to have moved on throughout May 14th as if it were just another day.

You are a joy to watch. You have an older sister and two older brothers and I, being the youngest of four with the same ratio as you, can empathize with all the impending torture you will endure from your siblings. Already, you are being wrestled and jumped on, stepped on and stepped over by your brothers who sometimes treat you like a pillow or a bouncy mattress to cushion their falls. You always just smile and giggle like you are being tickled. Never mind that I start wailing like your neck is broken, you just smile at me and gurgle in delight that you are being used as a punching bag.

Your nickname by your siblings is Doe-Doe, I’m assuming because Jesse can’t say JOEY and Doe-Doe sounds better. Your other names are POOG and POOGIE…where those come from, I have no idea. I just call you Joe-Joe and carry you around when I can, whispering little messages into your ear, hoping the firing neurons in your brain will record in your memory how much you are loved and how you are adored by your family.

And with that, little angel, I sign off and wish you the best first belated birthday ever. One down, 99 to go, my dear nephew.

With all our love,
Tita Lisa and Uncle Nick

Bet You Didn’t Know

Published on by Lisa

A new series I’m starting on the blog — small factoids that I think are trivial and therefore entertaining about Nick and I….

I bet you didn’t know that I can’t stand those lion statues that some people place in front of their houses. I think they’re pretentious and weird. What if I just started putting sculptures of rhinos on my lawn?

Lions? Lions.

Nick says, “Oh, I love ’em! I think they’re great. But they need to be big lions, not those pissy small ones in front of a small house. If the house is big, the lions need to be big, too.”

What do you think?

Me and My Pops

Published on by Lisa


Today is my Pop’s 67th birthday.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

These are the just some of the reasons why I love my Dad so much and why he’s a terrific father…

– when he picks up the phone, he rarely says hello, he automatically goes into medical mode (that’s his profession, after all…) to determine my senses are healthy: WHERE ARE YOU? HAVE YOU EATEN? YOU’RE NOT DRIVING ARE YOU? and don’t think he doesn’t worry about Nick, too. Somewhere in there he demands, WHAT IS NICK EATING FOR DINNER TONIGHT? IS HE GETTING ENOUGH NUTRITION?

Yes, Dad, Nick and I are fine and we aren’t planning on flying anywhere anytime soon because I know how much you hate when we are in the air.

– whenever I go home, less than an hour after being home, Dad will disappear from sight. After looking for him, I’ll find him in the driveway, cleaning out my car.

– my Pops still gives me high fives with a very gusty ALRIGHT, LIZ! (That’s what he calls me…)

– Dad is the first one to say, “Don’t work too hard,” “Don’t stress out,” “Sleep if you need to…” Then when I admit that I am tired, he pronounces, “We’re getting off the phone, then! Go sleep…”

– Dad loves the color red, the number 13, has a very intuitive gut he follows, and loves to laugh – possibly even more than me (now THAT is a lot…)

Just a handful of reasons why my Pops is so great.

Love you, Dad.

ps – now that you have an email account, you’ll start regularly checking this blog :)