And so, we wait

Ah, this waiting game. I'm trying to remember how much easier a baby is when it's on the inside. And trying to be patient.

I don't do patience well.

But, then I remember...even though, my mother told me that one forgets the pain of childbirth shortly after....I wasn't blessed with that kind of amnesia. I remember. All too well.

So, I wait. Anxiously. Excitedly. With trepidation and nervousness. And I look forward to the moment...that sweet sweet moment...when he'll be placed in my arms...and the pain will have all been worth it.

quotable

When you grow up with three sisters, you develop a different taste in movies than that of a man that grew up with three brothers. Just sayin'.

I've been s l o w l y introducing my spouse to the movies that I grew up with. The movies my family quotes. Movies that threaten his manhood. Kind of. But not. But a little. This man has known me for over 15 years. He's probably seen 5 of the 30. (To his credit, most are several hour marathons.....Anne of Green Gables & Avonlea, Sound of Music, etc.)

My kids have had to endure more of them. Because they're little. And I'm the boss.

I've had a lot of movie quotes rolling through my brain these last few days. (There really isn't much else going on up there.)

Some favorites....there are probably only 5 other people that will appreciate these:

"How long are you going to be gone this time, Fathah?"

"Woooahhoooow!!!!!."

"Stop all this rhyming I mean it."

"Heidieeeeee, hurry back!"

"Let it be written, and let it be done."

"Azzzzzzzzz yoooouuuuuu wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiishhhhhhh."

"Twenty. Pounds. Of. Brown. Sugar."

"Come here little fellah. I wouldn't hurt you."

Were we the only ones? Does your family quote movies?

Well, that was disappointing

I was thumbing through an old church cookbook this morning...trying to find some new and fresh ideas to add to my repertoire.

I found this recipe for Granny's Double-Grain Bread. The very last sentence in the directions say that this bread is great toasted for breakfast. I like things that are great toasted for breakfast. I had all the ingredients. I went to work. Mixing. Kneading. Waiting. Punching. Waiting....


...after the second rise, I was to form the dough into two separate balls on a cookie sheet.

Check.

I let them "rise" until doubled...only, they didn't double up. They doubled around. Into blobs. Not wanting to take the time to reform them and let them rise once again, I went ahead and baked them.


(It's okay to laugh.)

They look interesting enough. They taste fine. But, they're not what I was expecting.




I cut them in half and put them in my cake dome. (Which is where I put all baked goodies. It's fun to look at them on my counter. It reminds me that one day a week, I can pull my act together. Accomplishment. Etc.)

I'm trying to find "the lesson" in all this. Something about how things don't always turn out as we think they should....

One Decade

10 years ago today, I married my high school sweetheart.

It was the best decision he ever made. :)

I like to look back and see how God has steered us along the path that's brought us to where we are right now. It's not the path I imagined us taking.....it's even better. I wouldn't change a thing.

Instead of spending this weekend clad in a bikini on a Mexican beach (as I had tentatively planned 9 years ago), I'll be wearing panel pants and a stretchy shirt - belly up to the booth at our (MY) favorite Mexican restaurant. Where I will be able to drink the water.

We'll clink our nachos together and toast the many happy years to come. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

frugal living tip #3 ~ better than cheap

What's better than clearance? Better than bargain? Better than bottom dollar?

Free.

Free is always better.

My favorite things to decorate with, especially in autumn, are ditch weeds. As in, weeds I pick out of the ditch. I dry them out just a bit, mostly to make sure the bugs have fled, and then poke them in wreaths, vases, my flower boxes, pumpkins....whatever suits my fancy.


The colors are perfect, and the price cannot be beat.






(It's best to bring along a{n almost} four year old, armed with his Swiss army knife. And don't be afraid to make him walk towards them first. He won't flinch if you should scare up a ruffed grouse.)

the mom voice

This morning the kids had a few minutes to play before heading off to school. I love to eavesdrop on them. It's so much fun to hear how their minds work. Gives me such pleasure that they get along so well. Most of the time.

My son is usually in charge of playing the poisonous snakes, crashing vehicles, wild animals, etc. He is the bit that interrupts the wedding ceremonies, the storm upsetting the calm. He's a brother. It's his job to unsettle things. My girl has known him the entire time he's been alive, so she embraces this. She works him in to the scene. It's choreography. It's beautiful. It works. Usually.

Today, was a good day. A bit different. For whatever reason, he had to be the Mom AND the poisonous snakes. My girl's character called for the Mother, and my boy answered using what he deemed an appropriate Mom voice. It was very high pitched, syrupy sweet, full of love. (Which is exactly how I sound...it wasn't surprising that he drew inspiration from what he knows.) *snicker*

A few moments later, he was relieved of his Mom-playing-duty...so that he could fully focus his energy on the snakes. Now it was my girl's turn to be the Mom.

This time, when the Mom was called upon, however, the voice had changed. A lot. Now the Mom was angry. Crabby. Bossy. Short tempered. More Wicked Step-Mother than Loving Doting Mother. It stopped me in my tracks.

Now, if my boy was using me as the example for the Mom, who was my girl using? A neighbor? A teacher? Someone from a movie? I just can't figure that one out. Very curious.

(I can't help but feel like a personal conviction is knocking on my door. I think I'll have to send it across the street.)

I'm tired

So tired...but somehow, I have all this energy.

Energy to dust under beds. And clip kiddie toe and finger nails. And bleach every bleachable surface in my home. To organize the basement. Again.

I feel like a walking contradiction. One that has to go to the bathroom 50 times a day. And 50 times a night.

At least the bathroom's clean.

remembering

On Friday, September 7th, 2001, I was on my way to an evening design class. The road I was on had a series of synchronized lights...the kind where you could get through all of them if you pushed it, just a little. The car in front of me was getting us through them...we were nearly at the end of the set, when the last one turned yellow. The gal in front of me stepped it up, and so did I. I reached down to grab something out of my back pack and looked up. She was hammering her breaks. I hammered, too. But it was too late. The roads were just a little wet, and I rear ended her.

I got out of the car in a panic. Was she okay? She was okay. I was a wreck. I was crying. I felt horrible. Her lovely car had one little schmick in her bumper. My neon was a crumpled up mess. I called my dad, who was also, conveniently, my insurance agent. He arrived. The police arrived. My husband arrived. I couldn't stop crying.

The poor sweet lady I ran into was so lovely and gracious. She reassured me that everything would be just fine. It was so bizarre. When all was said and done, my husband drove me to my class. My neon went to the shop. The nice lady drove herself home, with my insurance information. The police gave me a ticket, because insult and injury go hand in hand.

The next morning, I woke up very stiff. And emotional. I was about to grab a handful of Advil, when it occurred to me that something else was rather amiss. I took a test. It had two lines.

I did not take the Advil.

The rest of the weekend went by with me in a state of shock and a state of shock.

That next Tuesday, I said goodbye to my husband as he left for his daily college routine. I was getting ready for classes in the same way I always did...breakfast at the coffee table while watching Good Morning America. A plane hit the World Trade Center. Watching in disbelief, a second plane hit.

What is going on?

What is going on?

I watched until I had to leave to get to class. On the drive over, the radio spoke about the Pentagon. All the pieces were beginning to come together.

I parked my husband's truck in my parking lot, and began the 7 block trek to the Apparel, Textile, and Interior Design building. Something hot began to pinch my arm. A bee. I was being stung by a bee. It made me angry. I stepped out of character and squished it with my hand.

I ruined my car. We were having a baby. Something horrible was happening in our Country. I got stung by a bee.

I made it to class, and there were only 2 other people that showed up. Everyone was moving around really slowly. Televisions all around campus were tuned into live coverage.

I went to grab a coffee. Brought it back to the studio, and decided to work on my project. As I rendered the office space I had been working on, life felt very different. What am I doing? An Interior Designer? How do we change the world? What kind of world is this to be bringing a baby into? My arm hurts, stupid bee. What do we all do now?

emotional much?

My son is eating his lunch, picnic style, in front of the television. Where I'll let him stay until we leave for the playground to meet a friend. Normally, I try to limit the television watching....but today....today, I need it. Why? Because I'm a crier. Why am I crying? Because I am tired. And hormonal. And I don't want him to know that he made me cry when I "made his sandwich wrong." Because no little boy should see his mommy in tears over something SO RIDICULOUS.

Now, I didn't go and make him a new sandwich. He's eating the wrong one. And he's not complaining anymore. Which is good...because it really hurts my feelings. I can't tell you how embarrassing that is. I cried today because my son didn't want the peanut butter to touch the jelly.

This could get scary when we pick up his sister from school. She's got some attitude we've been working on......I may need to wear my sunglasses from here on out.

Lord, help me. Or at least, dehydrate my eyes.

nesting, nesting....one...two...three

What is a gal to do...when she can't sleep...can't nap...because every time her body slows down, her mind starts making a to do list? A list involving things like: wipe down floor boards and bleach all vent covers and wash hallway walls and poke random flowers into flower boxes so the world doesn't realize you're too lazy to water

Well...this gal gets busy washing clothes. Of course, she doesn't do any of the things that she's got on her mental to do list. That would make sense. Nothing this gal does these days makes sense. Not one thing.

But! The laundry is all done. Every last stitch. The baby clothes are all ready to go. Washed and sorted by size and type...folded and put into dressers and under bed storage bins.

And things are being thrown away! Lots of things. Things that were being kept because "one day" they would be needed. Broken things that were going to be glued onto other things. Toys with "only a few" {key} missing or broken parts. Clothes with stains that were going to be dyed...or something. All the cluttery bits and baubles....gone! Gone with the wind. Or at least gone with the garbage man. Bless him.

I've entered a dangerous zone. My husband is thrilled. The two piece vase with a huge chip out of the top corner, the one you couldn't tell was broken if you angled it just so, got pitched. After 7 years and 4 moves. It's gone. Good riddance!!

It's sad that I've clung to all this garbage. The pile of donatable goods is pathetically small. The stuff I've hung on to isn't even worth giving away. It was that junky!

As the nest gets more and more sparse-ish, my shoulders feel lighter and lighter. I'm freeing myself from the obligation of repurposing every piece of cast off castoff-ed-ness. Traveling light. It feels nice.

Things not to say to a pregnant woman

"So, when are you going to pop?"

"I hope there's twins in there!"

"You're only (insert number here) months along? You look like you could be due any day!"

"Wow! You are getting huge!"

"You look SO uncomfortable!"

"Whoa!"

......this list could go on and on....if you've ever been pregnant, I'm sure you've heard your fair share of stupid comments.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

On the other hand, please feel free to say any of the following, at anytime, to a pregnant woman;

"You look SO great!"

"From behind, I can't even tell you're expecting!"

"Is your face getting thinner?"

"Are you sure you're eating enough?"

"Honey, you should be eating more ice cream."

"Your walk looks so normal, without a hint of waddle."

(I've not heard the above, but am making a mental note to say these things to the pregnant women I encounter from here on out.)

Picking and choosing

We've been very careful this year with our schedules. Last year was full and fun...but pretty heavy on the full.

We did Wednesday Night Church Activities. My daughter was in ballet/tap/jazz. My son and I took a class through the school district. We did a kid's/mom's group at my church. Sunday school. Coaching. There were barely any days that were strictly ours.

I don't like that feeling. I can't handle a full schedule. I need breathing space. Space for inviting friends over to play. Or to meet for coffee. Or to just sit home and Norman Rockwell.

You know?

So this year, my daughter chose to do tap only. (woohoo!) We're not going to be a part of the Wednesday Night crowd. (Which, I must say, feels really strange, but I sigh a relieving sigh just thinking about it.) We'll do the kid's/mom's group, but not the class through the district. My husband will still coach, but without all the extras filling up our evenings, we'll be able to go and cheer his team on....or not..... Sunday school won't feel like "one more thing." Our weekends won't be quite so "precious," as there will be plenty of family moments during the week.

I know that once this new baby makes his appearance, I'll need the breathing room. We'll have more family time. More free time. More.

It feels so right. So. Right.