Tag: Me Myself & I

Posted on

Are you there God? It’s me, SM

A few weeks ago I stumbled across a post on the blog Not-Calm, and after I read this paragraph from it I felt like my head had been struck by lightning. Or 1,000 light bulbs had gone off inside it. Or something along those lines. (emphasis added by me)

When Lex was in kindergarten and went through a time where he couldn’t sleep at night because the idea of dying was upsetting him too much, I told him that before he was born his whole world was inside of me.  He could hear my voice, in an underwater, warped way, and he maybe knew that he wasn’t alone, that there was something else keeping him company.  And, I told him, it would have been impossible for him to imagine the world that he was about to be born into.  Light, colors, air, trees, smells, cars, houses, seashells, rockets, food, even his mother – everything he could think of – all of it was so close to him all the time but he had no way to know.  I told him that we have no idea what happens after we die, but that if we have the sense that there’s more out there, then I think it’s because there is.  That there’s something holding us that we can’t see or imagine, but we can still feel is there. It seemed to help him.  I know it helped me.

That part in bold is basically the exact view I hold of religion, yet have been unable to put it into words. Thank you, Jenijen, for doing it for me. Now that we have a daughter and will hopefully give her a sibling or two someday, the concept of religion and my feelings toward it has been in my thoughts a lot more often than it used to be.

I do believe in God, or a god of some sort, but my religion basically stops there. Which may seem pretty odd, considering I grew up going to Sunday School and church pretty much every week, was baptized as a baby, and went through Confirmation in my church. I was raised Presbyterian, and R and I were even married in a Presbyterian church. It was a very non-denominational church, but a Presbyterian one nonetheless.

I have never denounced organized religion or anything like that, nor have I ever had a bad experience with the church either. I guess I basically just got bored with it, and never saw the point of having a book that was written thousands of years ago govern my way of thinking and living. Although we attended church regularly, my family was not overly religious when I was younger, so it’s just not something that was deeply ingrained in me with much importance. And quite frankly, the highlight of the sermon for me each week was counting the pipes in our church’s organ. There are 152. That is a number I don’t think I will ever forget.

So when we decided to have kids, I knew I probably wasn’t going to feel the need to raise them with a strong emphasis on religion either. I felt I may get a little pressure on this from R’s family though, who are pretty devout Catholics.

And for some reason, and this will probably totally expose my religious ignorance, Catholicism has always seemed to me to be a religion that wants to push you until you join them and follow their rules. And man do they have a lot of rules, something I’ve discovered in the 11 years R and I have been together. He’s not even a strict Catholic anymore either, more along the lines of barely even practicing. He’s given up on the no meat during Lent thing, and neither of us has been to church in years. And no, he has not forsaken his religion either, it’s just not something that is high on either of our lists.

Some people may be gasping in horror at this lack of faith in our lives, but it just is what it is. It’s not even a complete lack of faith really, but maybe a lack of practicing that faith actively anymore. And personally, I don’t see this as having had a negative impact on our lives at all.

But back to the having kids without really having religion. What then? From the start I just assumed we would not have our children baptized as infants, but let that be a choice for them to make on their own when they’re old enough to make it.

Seems fair, right? I mean, why force a religion label on a baby who has no idea what any of it means, and whose parents are not only 2 different religions but don’t really practice either of them anyway? Which one would we choose, and why?

I know scads of people will disagree with me on this, but I kind of find the notion that God will shun any life simply because it has not been baptized ridiculous. Many people hold the baptismal rite as something profoundly sacred, and I fully respect that. It’s just not for me. I think if, god-forbid, D passed away before she was baptized, she would not spend eternity rotting in hell simply due to that fact. It just doesn’t jive for me. I think if there is a heaven, her spot has been reserved for almost a year now, no matter what happens from here on out.

There are so many different religions out there, 99% of which I know extremely little about, it just makes sense to me to allow our kids to discover them, learn about them, and see if there’s one that they really feel drawn to. Just as long as it’s not some crazy unibomber kool-aid-drinking cult, I’ll be satisfied. And who knows, maybe someday I’ll feel the need and/or desire to go back to church, and then maybe I’ll even see if D wants to be baptized into it, but right now I’m happy how we are.

Here’s kind of how I see things. Like I said, I do believe in a god figure of some sort. Is it the exact God I learned about in the Bible, the one who we all grew up picturing as a grandfatherly man with an enormously long gray beard dressed in enormously long flowing white robes who lives up in the clouds? Eh, maybe not. But I definitely think there’s something out there.

I do believe in evolution, and the Big Bang theory makes much more sense to me than the story of Creation (a person from a rib? does not compute), but something had to have caused that spark that ignited the Big Bang. Something had to make that second in time happen so that the entire universe could then spill forth.

That something is kind of more how I picture god. And I think I’m more comfortable with it being a lower case g god, too. I’m not convinced it’s a human figure, but more of a spirit. Like those words above say, it’s that sense we have that there’s more out there, because I totally have that sense.

And you may find this part really weird, but yes, I do say bedtime prayers. In fact, I say the exact same “Now I lay me down to sleep…” version that I made up with my mom when I was little that includes all of my family members, pets, and my youngest sister at the end since she came along after I already had the list solidified. I have come to add my own touches here and there too as I feel the need, especially now that I have my own little family. D always gets a shout-out for protection, and R makes the list too on those days when he’s being nice to me.

But what about Baby Jesus? I don’t know, what about him? Did he exist? I don’t know. Why do we celebrate Christmas as his birth then? Good question. Don’t ask me, I didn’t devise the religious calendar for that part of the world’s population who believes in it.

See here’s the other thing. I don’t know why, but for as long as I can remember I have always gotten the weirdest feeling about the Bible. Like, how do we know it was really written by the people by whom you believe it was written? I know there are the Dead Sea Scrolls and all, but still. And how did its words come to stand as the law of the land? Um, that’s why it’s called faith, SM. Yes, I get that, and I guess that’s just where mine differs from many others’. I place my faith in the something more out there instead of those ancient pages.

This kind of turned into a jumbled vomit session. Sorry about that. Point is, though, that no, we’re not baptizing D. At least not anytime in the foreseeable future. And fortunately we never did get the push-back I was expecting about that either. R’s mom did ask him a few months ago if we were going to, he said no, we hadn’t planned on it, and that was pretty much that.

And as for my religion/faith, I think it’s better described as a spirituality that I have, and I have finally found the right words with which to express it. It’s not a rock-solid foundation that I turn to in times of need or weakness like many people have in their own spirituality, but it’s the sense that there’s something bigger than all of us out there keeping tabs on everything and maybe giving a little nudge here and there so things don’t get utterly cosmically out of whack.

I have no idea what happens at the end of it all, but it will work itself out when the time comes. And to me, that strange little notion is kind of comforting.

 

 

Posted on

Army crawl

That’s what I was almost forced to use as my exit strategy from D’s room tonight after I put her to bed. Seriously, what is going on with this kid? Bedtime is turning into wartime again, and I am not amused.

She has to fall asleep taking a bottle, and if she rolls over and wakes up when you put her in her crib, forget it. You’ll have to start all over because she’ll stand up and start crying. Tonight it took no fewer than 5 tries to finally get her to sleep. And on that last time I held my hand on her stomach so she couldn’t roll over when I laid her down, or else I might still be in there, on round 476.

Why has this happened? She used to be fine going to bed – when she was nursing we could even put her down with no issue if she was still awake after her last feeding. She would put herself to sleep no problem. I want that D back. This one isn’t as nice.

I want to just let her cry it out, but R usually can’t take it as long as I can and goes in to rescue her. The other night he even said, “Oh, we’ll just spoil her until her birthday.” Meaning we’ll keep going back in to get her and continue giving her a bottle to go to sleep if she starts crying at bedtime until she turns 1 in a few weeks. Ugh. I don’t think that’s called “spoiling” her, I think that’s just teaching her a bad nighttime habit.

And no way could I try letting her cry tonight because R’s still sick and had gone into the bedroom about 3 hours before I was playing bedtime ranger. His Highness with the Sickness would not have been pleased. I was already chastised earlier today for making too much noise as I was responding to D’s little squeals and noises with my own.

As if.

I don’t know how much more of that I can take either. His doctor did put him on antibiotics yesterday for rheumatic fever (eh??) and strep throat (although his throat doesn’t hurt), but then he started feeling worse after taking them. Um, that’s not how they’re supposed to work. Then his side starting hurting because he thinks he fucked it up sleeping on the futon so often this week.

Splendid – that’s the same futon upon which I will be sleeping tonight so he can have the bedroom to himself.

Oh, and don’t tell me D has another ear infection. I know that was the diagnosis when she first pulled the bedtime crying stunt back in March, but I find it really hard to believe that it’s back just 2 weeks after the doctor gave us the all-clear.

When I took her in right before we went to Canada the infection was totally gone in both ears. There was just a little bit of fluid left in one of them, but her doctor said that was completely normal.

Sooo… what gives here people? Tonight she even kept lying down like she was going to go to sleep as long as she could still see me each time she picked her head up. What the? Finally she was like f this, I’m just going to get up. And there we went again.

So finally at 9:30, about an hour and a half after I first started trying to put her to bed, I was able to take a shower. And then since I had the house to myself at long last I gave myself a pedicure. Don’t laugh at either my gross feet or my horrible nail painting skills. There’s a reason I don’t do this for a living:

This little piggy

It’s a rad color I picked up at CVS yesterday, and is much more aqua than it looks in that picture. For some reason only the blue hue got picked up, none of the green. I did take it with my iPhone, though. I wanted a change of pace for the urban adventure race I’m doing tomorrow with my trainer and another girl. Not that anyone will be able to see my toes through my running shoes, but still.

And now I’m going to go eat some Kopp’s frozen custard. I cleaned out and up the whole garage today, walked up to the grocery store with R and D, mowed the yard, and played single parent for a while.

Damn, I hope R’s meds kick in soon. I don’t need 2 babies to take care of in this house.

 

Posted on

Creepy McCreeperton

Last night R, D, and I went for a walk up to the post office to pick up all our mail from last week and then to the neighborhood grocery store. It was hot as blazes, but we’re tough like that (or maybe a little crazy). And we ended up having 2 packages waiting at the post office too, so those were fun to cart around on the stroller. Anyhoo.

I was standing in front of D in her stroller in the produce area of the grocery store as R was picking out some veggies, when a man walked by with his cart and stopped to smile and wave at D. No big deal there, everyone does that. So I did my usual, “Can you say hi?” to her, while she just sat there smiling at the guy. Now here’s the weird part. His comment was, “So cute. That’s not fair of you bringing him in here. It’s gonna make every woman’s who walks by ovaries ache.” Um, ew?

First off, she’s a “her”, not a “him”. She had on a little blue dress with flowers across the neckline and matching bloomers. Whatevs, small detail there. But the ovaries comment? Ick. Sure he was just being friendly, but that kinda skeeved me out. I know I’ve said on here how my ovaries have kind of started itching to do the baby thing again, but that’s totally different. That’s me talking about myself, not some random male stranger making on off-hand comment about ovaries to a woman with her baby.

I asked R if he heard what that guy said on our way home, then relayed the conversation and how it grossed me out, and he goes, “What? I don’t even know what that means,” and started laughing. Silly boys.

What do you think? Was that a weird comment, or am I just the weird one?

** Side note, but still baby-related, I found out yesterday another good friend of mine is pregnant. Congrats, C!!! And 3 friends had baby girls last week while I was gone – congratulations, C with baby S, L with baby C, and F with baby B! This really is baby madness. **

 

Posted on

Mean girl

How do I prevent D from becoming one?

There is nothing I hate more than girls of any age, really, whose main goal in life is to form cliques, be the top dog of those cliques, and subsequently make life a living hell for anyone not in with them.

You know exactly who I mean. We all experienced them in school or even outside of school in life at some point, I’m sure. I know I did. And I was never the top dog. Nor was I ever really in, either. And when I think back and am perfectly honest, it sucked.

I don’t think I was ever the direct target of any cliques’ disdain or fun-making, but I was never really invited into a lot of stuff either. I don’t mean invited to join in torturing other non-clique members (even though i wasn’t), but just in general.

Sure I had a good group of friends all through school, but I was never one of the *cool* kids or the popular girl that everyone wanted to befriend. And up until pretty much my senior year in high school, I was really, really shy.

Me, initiate a plan with friends or an idea for something to do with others? Not a chance.

Hence, I spent most weekend nights just hanging out at home rather than out at parties like a lot of people in my class. (in my defense, though, i actually did like spending time with my family. maybe it was because i felt most safe and comfortable there, or maybe it was because my group of friends just weren’t the big partiers, but i didn’t mind staying home on those weekend nights one bit.)

Throughout grade school, and pretty much all of high school, too, I always felt like I didn’t quite fit in with everyone else. I’ve never been able to figure out why that was, either.

Maybe because I had such a weird last name that no one could pronounce (Picl – take your best shot, but i’m sure you’ll get it wrong. teachers taking attendance became the bane of my existence).

Or maybe because I was always one of the “smart” kids.

I think my shyness definitely played a big part, too. In a group of people or unfamiliar situation I would never go talk to someone I didn’t know or who I thought I wasn’t “friends” with, I would just stand by myself if my friends weren’t around and try to blend into the walls or background.

Finally by the end of my junior year and into my senior year of high school, I was much more confident in myself and stopped being so hung up on everyone else’s perceptions. So what if they didn’t like me? Not everyone has to. I liked me. And so what if I didn’t know someone that well? I could still say hi to them in the halls instead of averting my eyes and pretending I didn’t see them.

I made a lot more friends in my class (well, ok, acquaintances anyway) and actually had some fun. I was valedictorian of my high school class and athlete of the year, which was an unbelievably huge honor for me, since I never considered myself an athlete either. I was just a swimmer. But senior year I single-handedly outscored our entire football team at the State level. Now there’s a confidence-booster if there ever was one.

I was still beyond ready to get out of both high school and Peoria by the end, though, but at least the days became a little more bearable. “Glory days” high school definitely was not, for me.

But enough of my therapy session. Back to the matter at hand, which is making sure D doesn’t turn into one of those clique-forming, classmate-heckling mean girls.

Unfortunately I did tease kids in my classes from time to time when I was younger, like in grade school. And I am sorry for that. Why is it that everyone always picks on the fat kid? But I was also teased sometimes, and I didn’t like it. It hurt my feelings. Too bad I never turned that around in my head to see that’s how the kids I teased felt, too.

I guess it just worries me now more than ever, as a parent, how judgmental kids can be of those who are different from them. And why do so many parents not instill the value of acceptance and tolerance in their children?

My parents never really said much about it not being right to make fun of people (even though i didn’t really make it a habit. remember the wallflower? she usually came out to play more often than any sort of teaser), but that is one of the main things I am determined to teach D – don’t be mean to someone just because they don’t look or act just like you do.

I want her to learn that everyone has a story, everyone has feelings that can get hurt just like hers, and just because you think someone is “different” doesn’t mean they don’t get a chance too. I don’t want her to be a pushover, by any means, but I just want her to know how to treat others with respect. All the bullying stories that are out there now make my stomach turn, and it’s something of which I never want D to be a part.

I guess on the flip side, how do I teach her to handle a situation if she is on the unfortunate receiving end of teasing?

That one’s harder, and I’m really not sure.

Of course my wish is that she becomes a nice, funny, friendly girl who no one wants to make fun of, but I would hope that if she is she would be confident enough not to let it bother her too much. Or, something that I would never have dreamed of doing when I was little, be able to tell the person who’s teasing her that she doesn’t appreciate it and to knock it off.

Obviously confidence isn’t something she’ll really know for years, but I think you know what I’m saying. I just want to be a good enough mom to raise a strong, self-confident daughter, not a mean girl.

I just found this paragraph from a woman’s tribute to her father, and although it came from a completely different scenario than that of which I’m speaking here, this is exactly what I want to teach D:

“My dad taught me so many, many things, and the most important of them were things he taught me by example.  He taught me to be considerate, to give people the benefit of the doubt, to not be judgmental, and to be patient.  He taught me that honesty is best, even when it’s the more difficult choice, and he taught me to treat everyone with respect.”

 

Posted on

What? Huh?

Poor R. He probably hears those words come out of my mouth more than any others. And I know sometimes it annoys him to no end. But you see, I have this problem. I don’t hear things a lot. I don’t mean like I’m going deaf already, but if I’m not paying attention and you start talking to me, there’s a very good chance that I will miss the first couple of words you aim in my general direction.

I don’t do it on purpose, I really do want to hear what people say to me. But sometimes I just can’t help it and I’ll miss the first part of a sentence. This happens at home all the time. We’ll be watching tv, or I’ll be on the computer or something, and R will start talking to me. Well, I’m all engrossed in whatever it is I’m doing and not anticipating the words that are about to come out of his mouth, so 9 times out of 10 I have to ask him, “What?” Or, “What’d you say?” It’s even gotten to the point where if he says something to me or asks me a question and I don’t respond but instead just sit there blinking at him, he knows he needs to repeat himself. Sometimes he gets fed up and just shakes his head saying, “Never mind,” which then drives me crazy because I really do want to know what it is he said.

Again, I blame this not on disregard for what is being said to me, but on not paying attention. R will swear he’s told me something that I cannot remember for the life of me. And it’s honestly not because I’ve ignored him. It’s just because I probably wasn’t paying full attention to him when the conversation started. I’m not not listening to him, I just don’t hear him at first. And I’m sure he wouldn’t admit it, but he mumbles a lot too. He does. So that doesn’t help either when words start coming my way and my ears aren’t primed and ready for them.

I have so many dialogues and lists running through my head at any given moment, that if someone catches me off guard with their words it’ll take me a second to catch up to the conversation at hand. So if you start talking to me and I have to throw in a couple “What?”s, please don’t be offended. It’s just my own special little way of letting you know I care enough to want to hear what you’re saying. I’m listening, I promise.

 

Posted on

Another F

I had to give myself another F for Mommy for Saturday. The story goes a little something like this…

D’s torso and head were covered with a red, slightly raised rash Saturday morning, so I called her doctor’s after hours care line. Fortunately her doctor was at their clinic taking patients that morning, so we got her last appointment and headed in. Turns out D’s allergic to the antibiotic that was prescribed for her double ear infection last week. Awesome. Her doctor said it was either that or roseola (very similar symptoms – spiking fever followed by a rash in the shape of rose petals once the fever subsides, and apparently D’s just the right age for it), except roseola doesn’t itch. And as R put it, D was itching like a motherfucker. I’ve never seen her rub and scratch at her head like she did all day and night Saturday. Ok, allergic reaction it is, says the doc. And her ears of course weren’t better, so the doctor prescribed a different antibiotic for those and recommended children’s Benadryl to help get rid of the itch. Okey dokey, back to Walmart we went to get the medicine. My favorite place on Earth. (please sense the dripping sarcasm)

Why did we have to put her right away on another antibiotic instead of letting the allergy-causing one get fully out of her system before trying something new, you may ask? Well you see, we’re heading on vacation in less than 2 weeks’ time for a week, wherein we will have no cell phone or internet service, so if we need D to be on medicine to clear all this shit up we have to get her on it with time to spare to see the doctor again before we leave to make sure all the nastiness is finally gone. Whew.

They gave her the first dose of Benadryl at the doctor’s office to help her stop scratching, and by the time we got home from Walmart D was exhausted. So I gave her a bottle (she didn’t want any lunch) and put her down for a nap pretty much right away. R left for the afternoon to go to a WI craft beer festival, so it was just me and D. Little did I know what was in store for us. I thought great, she’s down for a nice long nap, I’ll sit out in the sun for a little bit to catch some rays, then get the house cleaned before R gets home. No sweat. HA! Damn, SM, why do you keep thinking your luck is so good? Let’s just say things didn’t go exactly as I had planned or hoped.

D napped for maybe half an hour the entire rest of the day. And that was from about 5 combined attempts, minimum, before R even got home. I knew from my days on maternity leave that accomplishing stuff around the house is a carefully choreographed art involving a combination of stealth and acute time management during the precious minutes of baby’s slumber. An art, I may add, that I mastered. I could get every chore and all the laundry done while D napped, no problem. So I thought yesterday was going to be a breeze. However, the doctor and pharmacist only mentioned that Benadryl may make D drowsy, not turn her into a demon spawn. I have never seen her so upset and miserable. This rash itched her so badly she clawed at her head constantly, and every time I tried to put her down it was like her crib was a bed of pins and broken glass. So she didn’t want to sleep, she didn’t want to eat, she didn’t want to take her medicine, she didn’t want to be put down, and then she’d decide she didn’t want to be held either. Well what the hell?? I couldn’t win – I couldn’t make her stop hurting, I couldn’t make her happy, I couldn’t get anything done, I just felt like a total failure. By the end of the afternoon I had reached my breaking point. I couldn’t take it any longer. She kept screaming harder and harder and nothing I did was working or seemed to be right, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I put her in her crib and walked away. If I couldn’t just have 5 minutes to get 1 thing done, I was afraid I was going to scream at the top of my lungs, and then what would the neighbors think?

I felt horrible. I was so mad, and I didn’t know how to make it stop. I wasn’t mad at her, I was mad at it, the sickness that was torturing her. I was so frustrated that I could neither placate her nor get anything accomplished, and it just took me to my boiling point. Of course R came home not 5 minutes after I’d left her crying in her crib, and when I said, “Welcome to hell,” he said, “Oh please, come on.” In case you were wondering, that was not the correct response. Yeah, you’ve been drinking beer out in the beautiful weather for 6 hours while I’ve been battling an inconsolable infant who’s sicker than she’s ever been. Come on? I’ll come on you with a swift kick to the nuts if you’re serious.

And so the evening continued. D alternating screaming with brief interludes of play and seeming relief, yet not going to bed, while R and I took turns trying to comfort her. What happened to the drowsiness of the Benadryl? Was that supposed to be a joke, or were they just flat out lying to me? For it seemed that drowsiness was the last side effect it caused for D. Finally at 11:00, hours after her normal bedtime, I was able to get her to sleep after a bottle. Ahh, fingers crossed. Holy hell! 1 hour later and she was back up crying. It was during this round of trying to get her back to sleep that Ryan said we were going to have to take shifts, I told him to just go back to bed, and he told me not to get mad, as I was holding the sleepless, writhing, monster that had possessed our child. “I CAN’T HELP IT!” I shouted. Seriously! I couldn’t. After that day and that night and my feeling completely inadequate, all I could do was get mad. But again, I wasn’t mad at him, I wasn’t mad at her, I was just mad. Because what else could I do? I had no more nice, patient Mommy left. It ran out hours ago. I know that wasn’t the right answer, but it was the only one I had at that point. And then an hour later, she was back in bed. Only to wake up at 3:50, when R had to take her out to the couch again, like we did earlier in the week.

And I had planned on being the one up early with D yesterday so R could sleep in on Father’s Day, then here he was the one dealing with her in the wee hours of the morning. Plus I didn’t wake up until 8, when he stomped into the bedroom to get his cup of water. Shit. Another F. When I saw what time it was I felt terrible, I’d ruined his Father’s Day morning. So I quickly got up, took over the D patrol, and he instantly climbed into bed. I thought maybe just not being around was what he wanted, so I took D to the store to get milk and diapers, since we’d run out of both during the night in her maelstrom of sickness and itch. I ended up driving around with her for a couple hours since she fell asleep and I knew he would be too, then I stopped at McDonald’s for his favorite breakfast items just before they switched over to lunch, to try to do something right.

I hate those days. Those days where all forces combine to create the perfect storm of my parenting failure, and I just can’t take it. I did what I could and it just wasn’t good enough. What else am I supposed to do?

 

Posted on

Your turn

So D is still sick, her fever reaching 104.5 last night. Which sucks, since I thought she was getting better after a decent day at daycare yesterday with no high fever. Maybe the medicine just hasn’t had enough time to kick in all the way. But last night was wretched for her. She wouldn’t sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, and whenever we tried to put her in her crib she would wake right back up and start crying. So we had to take turns sleeping with her on our chests on the couch. R took her until about 1, then I went out and slept with her on me the rest of the night until 6:30 this morning. Her fever was still 101.5 by that time, so she had to stay home from daycare. Fortunately R was able to stay with her, because I had a busy day at work ahead.

In light of the fact that she’s about all I’ve been concentrating on these past couple days, hoping her brain isn’t frying, I thought I’d try something different here today. You guys run the show. Ask me something. Anything about me you’re curious about? My past, my present, being a mom, being a wife, my likes/dislikes, anything? I promise to answer all questions honestly, assuming they’re not too incriminating, anyway. 😉 Or suggest a post topic you’d like to see. I’m always open to suggestions for the site – what you like on here, what you don’t like, what posts you’d like to see more of, what posts you don’t like.

A lot of you already know me irl so this may be totally boring for you, but is there anyone new out there? Anyone, anyone?

If you want to ask/say something but don’t want to leave a comment, please feel free to email me. My email address is up there in the Contact tab.

Thanks!

SM