Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Season's Greetings
David was SO PROUD of that sugar cookie he frosted, he made me the best Christmas card ever.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Sweet Tooth
I decided this year to make my first-ever batch of sugar cookies. My family has a recipe, but I'm not particularly fond of it. (Every time I admit it, my mother tells me she thinks there's a defective gene in the pool, somewhere.) My family makes crispy, thin sugar cookies, with sprinkles. I prefer thick, soft cookies, with frosting.
I used (and tweaked) the recipe from Joy of Cooking. I thought they turned out well.
I convinced David to help me frost them. We worked on them last night. Guess which plate is his?
I used (and tweaked) the recipe from Joy of Cooking. I thought they turned out well.
I convinced David to help me frost them. We worked on them last night. Guess which plate is his?
Funny Aunt Lauren
We took this the day after Thanksgiving. (Sorry for the blurry start - I was still getting the hang of things.)
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The Animal Kingdom
Well, Thanksgiving came and went, and I have yet to take and post pictures of what was in the mystery package from Oma. Basically, it was great. It was Christmas in a box. Soon, I will post pictures - and hopefully a video - of some of the fun.
In other news, one of Abigail's favorite books is Sandra Boynton's Moo, Baa, La, La La. I am proud to say it is the first little-kid book I have memorized.
"A cow says moo.
A sheep says baa.
Three singing pigs say, "La la la!"
"No, no!" you say. "That isn't right!"
The pigs say "oink!" all day and night.
Rhinocerouses snort and snuff.
And little dogs go ruff ruff ruff.
Some other dogs go bow wow wow
and cats and kittens say meow.
Quack says the duck.
A horse says neigh.
It's quiet now. What do YOU say?"
Mommy and Abigail have been battling bad colds since Friday night. We're sneezing and sniffling and huffing and puffing, and we're generally plain old fussy. (Lucky David.) So guess which line keeps running though my head?
Yup. Pretty much.
In other news, one of Abigail's favorite books is Sandra Boynton's Moo, Baa, La, La La. I am proud to say it is the first little-kid book I have memorized.
"A cow says moo.
A sheep says baa.
Three singing pigs say, "La la la!"
"No, no!" you say. "That isn't right!"
The pigs say "oink!" all day and night.
Rhinocerouses snort and snuff.
And little dogs go ruff ruff ruff.
Some other dogs go bow wow wow
and cats and kittens say meow.
Quack says the duck.
A horse says neigh.
It's quiet now. What do YOU say?"
Mommy and Abigail have been battling bad colds since Friday night. We're sneezing and sniffling and huffing and puffing, and we're generally plain old fussy. (Lucky David.) So guess which line keeps running though my head?
Yup. Pretty much.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
How Low Can You Go?
I am a compulsive list-maker. I don't think I have always been one, but the practice has grown out of my realization that I am extremely absent-minded. Seriously, thoughts fly through my head at such a rate that if I do not write something down immediately, it's gone. It doesn't matter what it is - an item for the grocery list, a task I have been meaning to do, a question for David, a thought for the blog, a decision about what's clean enough to wear that day - it comes and goes in seconds. So I have lists. Everywhere. And it helps.
I'm not one of those types that wants a big, expensive planner either. If I had one, I'd just have to remember to buy the expensive refills, and who wants to do that? Disposable stuff works better for me. If I were to receive in my Christmas stocking a pile of Post-it notes, markers, and gel pens, it would make my day. Right now my "planner" is an 80-cent yellow spiral notebook I bought at Target.
My list making is compulsive, and if I analyze it, it probably feeds my legalistic, type A personality. I write everything down - even sometimes a reminder to brush my teeth (which, come to think of it, I forgot this morning). If I make a list, and then I decide to do one or two things not on the list, I write them down later, just so I can cross them off. Sick, I know. But if I put a positive spin on my compulsion, I could say that writing lists helps me to prioritize my day, look at what is really important and what needs to get done. It helps me focus.Confession: I usually write "devotional time" down at the top of my list each day. (And you know what? When we are criticized at church occasionally for "having a devotional time so we can cross it off our lists" I, for one, do not find that to be such a terrible sin. I feel like I have practiced discipline.)
All that to say - I have had to drastically lower my expectations for today. It's almost one PM and I have accomplished very little. (To those who may raise an eyebrow at the fact that I am blogging, writing was on my to-do list today, so I am not wasting time. So there.) I do not like lowering my expectations. I hate to say it, but it's true. I want to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. But I find myself, over and over again now that Abigail is in our lives, changing my idea of how a day should go, and what I should manage to accomplish.
Case in point: today I have managed to get up, get dressed, feed her, do some dishes, write three emails, and blog. Still to do? Laundry, make the bed, exercise, type up notes for a church meeting, find the location for the H1N1 vaccinations, write notes to two friends, go grocery shopping at Aldi and Target, and start cleaning for the Thanksgiving weekend, and call two long-distance friends. Oh, and brush my teeth.
I am fully aware that (if I'm lucky) this list will take me several days to accomplish. But don't worry, readers. Brushing my teeth has moved to task #1. I'll start now.
I'm not one of those types that wants a big, expensive planner either. If I had one, I'd just have to remember to buy the expensive refills, and who wants to do that? Disposable stuff works better for me. If I were to receive in my Christmas stocking a pile of Post-it notes, markers, and gel pens, it would make my day. Right now my "planner" is an 80-cent yellow spiral notebook I bought at Target.My list making is compulsive, and if I analyze it, it probably feeds my legalistic, type A personality. I write everything down - even sometimes a reminder to brush my teeth (which, come to think of it, I forgot this morning). If I make a list, and then I decide to do one or two things not on the list, I write them down later, just so I can cross them off. Sick, I know. But if I put a positive spin on my compulsion, I could say that writing lists helps me to prioritize my day, look at what is really important and what needs to get done. It helps me focus.Confession: I usually write "devotional time" down at the top of my list each day. (And you know what? When we are criticized at church occasionally for "having a devotional time so we can cross it off our lists" I, for one, do not find that to be such a terrible sin. I feel like I have practiced discipline.)
All that to say - I have had to drastically lower my expectations for today. It's almost one PM and I have accomplished very little. (To those who may raise an eyebrow at the fact that I am blogging, writing was on my to-do list today, so I am not wasting time. So there.) I do not like lowering my expectations. I hate to say it, but it's true. I want to do what I want to do, when I want to do it. But I find myself, over and over again now that Abigail is in our lives, changing my idea of how a day should go, and what I should manage to accomplish.
Case in point: today I have managed to get up, get dressed, feed her, do some dishes, write three emails, and blog. Still to do? Laundry, make the bed, exercise, type up notes for a church meeting, find the location for the H1N1 vaccinations, write notes to two friends, go grocery shopping at Aldi and Target, and start cleaning for the Thanksgiving weekend, and call two long-distance friends. Oh, and brush my teeth.
I am fully aware that (if I'm lucky) this list will take me several days to accomplish. But don't worry, readers. Brushing my teeth has moved to task #1. I'll start now.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Peanut Butter Cookies and Coffee for Breakfast Do Not Help Lose the Baby Weight
But they were good.
I overslept today. My alarm was set and went off, but I apparently had other plans. I don't remember my alarm, but I do remember opening my eyes, rolling over, and looking at the clock at 8:30 AM. 8:30. That's ridiculous.
I have an excuse, though. Babystyles has changed her routine lately. She's not sleeping through the night anymore, waking up one to three times during the evening to fuss about something. And then she's sleeping late into the morning to make up for lost time. Like right now - it's 9:16 and she's snoozing peacefully. I just went into the nursery and turned on the lights and pulled her blankets off of her - but still she snores.
It makes sense, I guess. She wasn't napping much during the day, but she was sleeping through the night. Then I tried to encourage longer nap times during the day, and now she's waking up overnight. Though I'm annoyed and tired, it's hard to decide which I prefer - an uninterrupted night of sleep, or a chance to do my own thing during the day.
I guess it's time to try a real, honest-to-goodness schedule. A consistent wake time in the morning and a (more) consistent bedtime at night.
I overslept today. My alarm was set and went off, but I apparently had other plans. I don't remember my alarm, but I do remember opening my eyes, rolling over, and looking at the clock at 8:30 AM. 8:30. That's ridiculous.
I have an excuse, though. Babystyles has changed her routine lately. She's not sleeping through the night anymore, waking up one to three times during the evening to fuss about something. And then she's sleeping late into the morning to make up for lost time. Like right now - it's 9:16 and she's snoozing peacefully. I just went into the nursery and turned on the lights and pulled her blankets off of her - but still she snores.
It makes sense, I guess. She wasn't napping much during the day, but she was sleeping through the night. Then I tried to encourage longer nap times during the day, and now she's waking up overnight. Though I'm annoyed and tired, it's hard to decide which I prefer - an uninterrupted night of sleep, or a chance to do my own thing during the day.
I guess it's time to try a real, honest-to-goodness schedule. A consistent wake time in the morning and a (more) consistent bedtime at night.
But, poop. That means I'll have to get up earlier, which means I'll be tired and sleepy more often - and at the times when she's most awake. Seems like an unfair trade off.
Monday, November 16, 2009
This Little Piggy
I have found over and over again in the past year or so that people expect me to know things I do not know. At first it made me angry. But now it's happened so many times, I'm beginning to think maybe I should. At least, the way they communicate with me, I feel like I should. I feel like I have the word "STUPID" stamped in red on my forehead.
Take today, for example. David and I need to get vaccinated from the Swine Flu. Abigail is under a year, and nursing, so we're considered high risk. That much I know. Have I researched Swine Flu at all? Not really, except to recognize symptoms. And do I understand how vaccinations work (other than they put some of the virus into your system)? No. So sue me.
This afternoon I called the doctor's office to find out about scheduling an appointment. I left a message stating who I was and that my husband and I were interested in getting vaccinated.
An hour later I get a return message on my voicemail, "Hello Mrs. Yeager. All we have here at Dr. Santi's office is the nasal vaccination, not the injection. Thank you." Click.
Soooo... what does that mean? (And of course, you all, being grown ups, already know. But I DID NOT.)
I called back. Here's how the conversation went as best I can remember:
Me: "Hi, this is Brittany Yeager returning your call. I, um, guess I don't know what the difference is between the nasal vaccination and the injectable one. Can you tell me?"
Nurse: "Well, all we have is the nasal spray. Although, Dr. S says if you are healthy, you could risk getting it."
Me: "Risk getting it? Why is it a risk?"
Nurse: "Well, you would have to see how you feel afterwards. There's a window of time in which you could come down with H1N1."
Me: "Well, my husband and I have a five month old, so how are we supposed to get vaccinated and not put our daughter at risk?"
Nurse: "Oh, yes, well. You have a five month old. The nasal spray is a live virus."
Me: "Which means...?"
Nurse: "Well, it's a live virus."
(Suddenly the light goes on in my brain.)
Me: "Are you telling me then that the live virus is a risk because it's possibly contagious? That I could pass it onto my child? But the injectable version of the vaccine isn't live, and therefore safer for the family?"
Nurse: "Yes."
Me: "So, does Dr. S recommend we come there and get the nasal vaccination, or should we go to the health department?"
Nurse: "You have a five month old? You should go to the health department. They have the injectable vaccine. It would be better."
Me: "Okay. Thank you."
Click.
So, maybe it's time for me to admit I'm not as smart as I think I am. I should have known this stuff. I should have researched it. I should have understood it. Which means, I guess, that not only am I not that smart, but I guess I'm kinda lazy, too.
Or maybe people don't know how to answer straightforward questions.
Take today, for example. David and I need to get vaccinated from the Swine Flu. Abigail is under a year, and nursing, so we're considered high risk. That much I know. Have I researched Swine Flu at all? Not really, except to recognize symptoms. And do I understand how vaccinations work (other than they put some of the virus into your system)? No. So sue me.
This afternoon I called the doctor's office to find out about scheduling an appointment. I left a message stating who I was and that my husband and I were interested in getting vaccinated.
An hour later I get a return message on my voicemail, "Hello Mrs. Yeager. All we have here at Dr. Santi's office is the nasal vaccination, not the injection. Thank you." Click.
Soooo... what does that mean? (And of course, you all, being grown ups, already know. But I DID NOT.)
I called back. Here's how the conversation went as best I can remember:
Me: "Hi, this is Brittany Yeager returning your call. I, um, guess I don't know what the difference is between the nasal vaccination and the injectable one. Can you tell me?"
Nurse: "Well, all we have is the nasal spray. Although, Dr. S says if you are healthy, you could risk getting it."
Me: "Risk getting it? Why is it a risk?"
Nurse: "Well, you would have to see how you feel afterwards. There's a window of time in which you could come down with H1N1."
Me: "Well, my husband and I have a five month old, so how are we supposed to get vaccinated and not put our daughter at risk?"
Nurse: "Oh, yes, well. You have a five month old. The nasal spray is a live virus."
Me: "Which means...?"
Nurse: "Well, it's a live virus."
(Suddenly the light goes on in my brain.)
Me: "Are you telling me then that the live virus is a risk because it's possibly contagious? That I could pass it onto my child? But the injectable version of the vaccine isn't live, and therefore safer for the family?"
Nurse: "Yes."
Me: "So, does Dr. S recommend we come there and get the nasal vaccination, or should we go to the health department?"
Nurse: "You have a five month old? You should go to the health department. They have the injectable vaccine. It would be better."
Me: "Okay. Thank you."
Click.
So, maybe it's time for me to admit I'm not as smart as I think I am. I should have known this stuff. I should have researched it. I should have understood it. Which means, I guess, that not only am I not that smart, but I guess I'm kinda lazy, too.
Or maybe people don't know how to answer straightforward questions.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Birthday!
Happy 4 Month Birthday to Abigail!
And when I asked her how she felt about her birthday...
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
David Thinks They're Cute
David and I are trying to save money these days. Now that we live on one salary, we know we have to be careful with how we spend "extra" money. (I use that term loosely. There is no "extra" right now.) Among other things, that means cutting down our grocery bill drastically. What we've been doing lately is buying as many groceries as possible at Aldi. David's rule is that we have to try everything once and decide if we can live with it, or if spending the extra $1 per item is worth it for the sake of taste. When we have to, we go to SuperTarget to do the rest of the shopping - for meat and produce, that sort of thing.
So far it's working pretty well. It means I have to exercise amazing self-control and pass by the wine and junk food aisles at SuperTarget. (And each time I do, I feel simultaneously triumphant and pathetic.) I've found I do better if I have a chaperone - then I'm held accountable and won't find myself wandering in the home goods or baby clothes sections of the store.
Anyway - with the arrival of fall I have been tempted many times to spend money unnecessarily. Every time we drive by the Wheaton Garden Center I resist the urge to turn in and stock up on hardy mums to decorate the front porch. And while David and I are not carving Jack-O-Lanterns this year (due to a couple bum wrists for me), I did so very much want a pumpkin.
Well, on Sunday when we did our shopping, I saw that pumpkins were only $3.99 at Target. A guilt-free purchase, right? And seeing that we saved about $22 shopping at Aldi that week, like a little kid I begged David, "Can we puh-leeeeze get a pumpkin?" He said yes.
For three days it sat cheerily on our front stoop, a flash of color amidst the brown and graying landscape that is our front yard. Today (Wednesday) David took a sick day to run me to the doctor (to see about my bum wrists - suppose I shouldn't be typing) this morning. When we returned from our errand around 10:30, this is what we found:
Over the course of the day several of our friendly neighborhood squirrels decided to make good on the opportunity.
So far it's working pretty well. It means I have to exercise amazing self-control and pass by the wine and junk food aisles at SuperTarget. (And each time I do, I feel simultaneously triumphant and pathetic.) I've found I do better if I have a chaperone - then I'm held accountable and won't find myself wandering in the home goods or baby clothes sections of the store.
Anyway - with the arrival of fall I have been tempted many times to spend money unnecessarily. Every time we drive by the Wheaton Garden Center I resist the urge to turn in and stock up on hardy mums to decorate the front porch. And while David and I are not carving Jack-O-Lanterns this year (due to a couple bum wrists for me), I did so very much want a pumpkin.
Well, on Sunday when we did our shopping, I saw that pumpkins were only $3.99 at Target. A guilt-free purchase, right? And seeing that we saved about $22 shopping at Aldi that week, like a little kid I begged David, "Can we puh-leeeeze get a pumpkin?" He said yes.
For three days it sat cheerily on our front stoop, a flash of color amidst the brown and graying landscape that is our front yard. Today (Wednesday) David took a sick day to run me to the doctor (to see about my bum wrists - suppose I shouldn't be typing) this morning. When we returned from our errand around 10:30, this is what we found:
Over the course of the day several of our friendly neighborhood squirrels decided to make good on the opportunity.
The challenge is made.
The feast commences.
The word is spread.
By dinner time it was cleaned out. I spent $3.99 to feed a bunch of dirty, brazen rodents.
Score: Squirrels 1, Brittany 0.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
A Bit of Gloating
So, I haven't blogged for a while because... well, I haven't had much to say. I could bore you with the small details of Abigail's development, or gush about how she is probably the perfect child... but I know better. I know all new moms probably feel that way at some point. And frankly, though David and I might be enthralled with the fact that she is now blowing raspberries (who knew "phptps" was a linguistically developmental milestone?), you don't necessarily care.
I will, however, post a photo. This was taken a few weeks ago when David and I visited Wisconsin with a few friends. I was snapping pictures of the group, when Abigail caught sight of me.
Ah, the benefits of being at home! It's abundantly clear these days that she prefers Mom to Dad. So I found it immensely gratifying to see her crane her little body around her father's shoulder in order to keep me in view.
My friend A tells me not to let it get to my head. She claims, "Enh, as soon as Abigail's a sentient being, she'll prefer her father over you. That's just the way it is."
And I know she's right. But I'm reveling in my moments of Mom-glory for now.
I will, however, post a photo. This was taken a few weeks ago when David and I visited Wisconsin with a few friends. I was snapping pictures of the group, when Abigail caught sight of me.
Ah, the benefits of being at home! It's abundantly clear these days that she prefers Mom to Dad. So I found it immensely gratifying to see her crane her little body around her father's shoulder in order to keep me in view.
My friend A tells me not to let it get to my head. She claims, "Enh, as soon as Abigail's a sentient being, she'll prefer her father over you. That's just the way it is."
And I know she's right. But I'm reveling in my moments of Mom-glory for now.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Why I Hate Jewel
The expiration date on the Colby Jack said November 2009. When I opened it, this is what I found:
This is not the first time Jewel has sold me spoiled food. You would think I'd learn my lesson. But no, I keep going back for more. What can I say? I guess I have a thing for fuzzy blue strawberries... and apparently, fuzzy blue cheese.
Gross.
This is not the first time Jewel has sold me spoiled food. You would think I'd learn my lesson. But no, I keep going back for more. What can I say? I guess I have a thing for fuzzy blue strawberries... and apparently, fuzzy blue cheese.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Cast Your Votes
So my sister emailed me yesterday after my last post and told me that my blog gave her "white ghost lines" when she read it. You know, that trick your eyes play after staring at something bright (or dark) for a while. She said it was hard to read.
So... is this template better? Or should I stick with the black?
So... is this template better? Or should I stick with the black?
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Disillusionment
I just took Abigail on a walk. We were strolling along, enjoying the hint of autumn in the air. It's a cloudy day. Leaves are dotting the lawns all around the neighborhood. Lawnmowers are running, kids are walking home from school or playing in their front yards. Fall is lovely now... not the harbinger of doom it becomes in late November with the coming of winter.
We came upon two girls playing in their driveway. As I approached (when they were still out of earshot) I saw one girl swinging a jump rope above her head, making a circle. In my head I chanted, "Helicopter, helicopter, please come down. Helicopter, helicopter, touch the ground. Only if you're wearing the color..." I smiled to myself, glad to see the old games I played are still popular.
As we walked closer, I heard the girl chant, "Helicopter, helicopter, please come down. If you don't I'll shoot you down. Boom. Boom."
Sigh...
At least in the ORIGINAL version, kids had the presence of mind to form an actual RHYME.
We came upon two girls playing in their driveway. As I approached (when they were still out of earshot) I saw one girl swinging a jump rope above her head, making a circle. In my head I chanted, "Helicopter, helicopter, please come down. Helicopter, helicopter, touch the ground. Only if you're wearing the color..." I smiled to myself, glad to see the old games I played are still popular.
As we walked closer, I heard the girl chant, "Helicopter, helicopter, please come down. If you don't I'll shoot you down. Boom. Boom."
Sigh...
At least in the ORIGINAL version, kids had the presence of mind to form an actual RHYME.
I Am That Mom
I will never be as cool - or artistic - or chill - as I would like to be. I am realizing this.
Several factors are working against me.
Namely, the minivan. I should have known it when we bought it - I did know it when we bought it. Minivan=Nerdliness. I am so that mom driving around. When all I had was my Nissan, I used to sneer at slow minivans, lumbering away from stoplights, filling all the spaces in the parking lot at Danada. Now I am one of those. I can't park the dang thing, I can't back it up, and I certainly can't keep the thing going the speed limit. Now everyone passes me on the road. Last night I tried to go to a friend's house for dinner, and I accidentally drove the thing up onto the curb and parked partly on the grass. I didn't realize it until I got out to take Abigail out of the back seat, but I was too frustrated (lazy) to move it. I crossed my fingers and prayed no one would see me, but alas - a woman pulled right up behind me. She got out of her tiny little car, stood there and just watched me curiously, with a bit of knowing judgment in her eyes, as I wrestled the car seat out of the van and limped up to my friend's front door.
My entertainment choices are fighting me, too. Sci-fi is out to get me. I've been tricked into watching a lot more since David came around, and I find myself liking it. (It's like predestination - this inexorable call upon my life. I will be a sci-fi fan... I will...) However, sometimes I rebel. My husband is currently making me watch (sigh) Battlestar Gallactica. (My family probably has no idea the TV show even exists, and I am sure my friends are mocking me right now.) I never thought I'd watch it. Once upon a time, D and I were watching The Office, and Dwight made a comment about Battlestar. Until then, I had never heard of it - but Vid had. He finished Dwight's comment before Dwight did. (I was more than a little concerned that my husband and Dwight had anything at all in common.) However, Battlestar has been recommended to us by more than a few friends - all of whom I respect and trust. We are currently watching Season 2.5 (I think). Edward James Olmos (from Stand and Deliver) is cast as the Admiral. He's a good actor. But so far, I am not impressed. If I didn't think my friends were brilliant and wonderful, and if I didn't trust them as much as I do, I would have abandoned it a season ago. And I am aware of my nerdliness factor increasing.
Finally, biology is working against me. As in (let's be honest, folks), I have very little talent. Only a few things interest me artistically - writing and photography. (I used to sing, but then I married David. I'm more than happy to let that delusion of a hobby go.) Writing creatively doesn't happen as often as I'd like, and really, is rather a disappointment when I do attempt it. I don't honestly have much of an eye for photography - though I'm convinced I could learn, if I had some time - or motivation - or money for a class. And I'm just not one of those Audrey Hepburn types - you know - one of those people with natural style or presence.
I don't say this because I want you to join me in a pity party. Please don't. (And please, Ma, no comments!) Nor do I need encouraging comments from my 5 or 6 readers. Really, that's not what I'm going for. I'm just being honest. Hasn't any one of you ever realized you're not the kind of person you admire? I'm realizing who I am. I know hip, artistic, chill people. I am not one. I'm just a wanna-be. And I think I might be okay with that.
Several factors are working against me.
Namely, the minivan. I should have known it when we bought it - I did know it when we bought it. Minivan=Nerdliness. I am so that mom driving around. When all I had was my Nissan, I used to sneer at slow minivans, lumbering away from stoplights, filling all the spaces in the parking lot at Danada. Now I am one of those. I can't park the dang thing, I can't back it up, and I certainly can't keep the thing going the speed limit. Now everyone passes me on the road. Last night I tried to go to a friend's house for dinner, and I accidentally drove the thing up onto the curb and parked partly on the grass. I didn't realize it until I got out to take Abigail out of the back seat, but I was too frustrated (lazy) to move it. I crossed my fingers and prayed no one would see me, but alas - a woman pulled right up behind me. She got out of her tiny little car, stood there and just watched me curiously, with a bit of knowing judgment in her eyes, as I wrestled the car seat out of the van and limped up to my friend's front door.
My entertainment choices are fighting me, too. Sci-fi is out to get me. I've been tricked into watching a lot more since David came around, and I find myself liking it. (It's like predestination - this inexorable call upon my life. I will be a sci-fi fan... I will...) However, sometimes I rebel. My husband is currently making me watch (sigh) Battlestar Gallactica. (My family probably has no idea the TV show even exists, and I am sure my friends are mocking me right now.) I never thought I'd watch it. Once upon a time, D and I were watching The Office, and Dwight made a comment about Battlestar. Until then, I had never heard of it - but Vid had. He finished Dwight's comment before Dwight did. (I was more than a little concerned that my husband and Dwight had anything at all in common.) However, Battlestar has been recommended to us by more than a few friends - all of whom I respect and trust. We are currently watching Season 2.5 (I think). Edward James Olmos (from Stand and Deliver) is cast as the Admiral. He's a good actor. But so far, I am not impressed. If I didn't think my friends were brilliant and wonderful, and if I didn't trust them as much as I do, I would have abandoned it a season ago. And I am aware of my nerdliness factor increasing.
Finally, biology is working against me. As in (let's be honest, folks), I have very little talent. Only a few things interest me artistically - writing and photography. (I used to sing, but then I married David. I'm more than happy to let that delusion of a hobby go.) Writing creatively doesn't happen as often as I'd like, and really, is rather a disappointment when I do attempt it. I don't honestly have much of an eye for photography - though I'm convinced I could learn, if I had some time - or motivation - or money for a class. And I'm just not one of those Audrey Hepburn types - you know - one of those people with natural style or presence.
I don't say this because I want you to join me in a pity party. Please don't. (And please, Ma, no comments!) Nor do I need encouraging comments from my 5 or 6 readers. Really, that's not what I'm going for. I'm just being honest. Hasn't any one of you ever realized you're not the kind of person you admire? I'm realizing who I am. I know hip, artistic, chill people. I am not one. I'm just a wanna-be. And I think I might be okay with that.
Monday, September 21, 2009
First Day Without Daddy
On Thursday evening Abigail rolled over (back-to-tummy) for the first time. Her accomplishment was met with cheers and applause all around. She was 11.5 weeks old.
This morning, David got up and went to work for the first time in 12 weeks. Yup. Today marks my first "real" day of being a stay-at-home-Mom.
I can't believe how quickly the time went. It's been such a blessing to have David at home, experiencing the first three months of Abigail's life with me. He's been such a help to me. As we've moved from two to one income and started the journey of parenting, we've seen God provide in good ways. We discovered we can happily spend 24 hours a day together (despite the initial weeks of new-parent stress), and we've praised God as he's provided extra income and help from friends to meet our needs. David has been busy with paying gigs, and has received a great deal of encouragement about his music and songwriting efforts.
It's 12:46 PM. I have a big long list of stuff I'd like to do this week (laundry, coffee with a friend, catching up on emails, studying for Bible Study at church, reorganizing some closets, running errands, cooking, etc.). That list in and of itself is sort of a wonder to me. This is my new stage in life: being "busy at home". I'm excited about it. I'm enamored with my little girl, and excited that this new stage means I get to focus on building relationships with people at my church, finding new ways to serve, and of course, caring for and teaching Abigail.
That said, I thought I might mention how today has gone in actuality. For starters, I am still in sweats - spit up covered sweats, to be exact. Abigail has wet through one outfit and is currently asleep in the second (also spit up covered).
(An aside: Remember how I said I liked my cloth diapers? I'm starting to second guess that. I've got the diapers cinched as tightly as they go, and they still leak, despite the fact that they leave little red marks on Abigail's legs. When I put in extra stuffing it seems to help, but then I worry I'm going to give the kid back problems because when she lays down, she's on an incline, with her little butt above her head. That can't be good for bone development. I pinched her leg in the snaps accidentally today and she screamed, which made me feel awful. And I can't even count how many times I've done laundry in the past few weeks. I don't know if it's worth the effort. Maybe I'm not as green as I thought I could be...)
To continue: There are dirty dishes in the kitchen, and a pile of unpaid bills sitting on our coffee table. I haven't written any of the emails I meant to, and the dirty laundry is still sitting in the corner, staring at me. I know I'm not cooking dinner - won't make it to the store today - so we're eating Mac & Cheese tonight. Food of the gods, that.
So David's going to come home and ask me what I did all day. And I'll say,"Fed her, changed her, cleaned her, fed her, changed her, cleaned her, cleaned me, fed her, changed her, made the bed." And he'll just sort of look at me a little dubiously. But that's okay.
This morning, David got up and went to work for the first time in 12 weeks. Yup. Today marks my first "real" day of being a stay-at-home-Mom.
I can't believe how quickly the time went. It's been such a blessing to have David at home, experiencing the first three months of Abigail's life with me. He's been such a help to me. As we've moved from two to one income and started the journey of parenting, we've seen God provide in good ways. We discovered we can happily spend 24 hours a day together (despite the initial weeks of new-parent stress), and we've praised God as he's provided extra income and help from friends to meet our needs. David has been busy with paying gigs, and has received a great deal of encouragement about his music and songwriting efforts.
It's 12:46 PM. I have a big long list of stuff I'd like to do this week (laundry, coffee with a friend, catching up on emails, studying for Bible Study at church, reorganizing some closets, running errands, cooking, etc.). That list in and of itself is sort of a wonder to me. This is my new stage in life: being "busy at home". I'm excited about it. I'm enamored with my little girl, and excited that this new stage means I get to focus on building relationships with people at my church, finding new ways to serve, and of course, caring for and teaching Abigail.
That said, I thought I might mention how today has gone in actuality. For starters, I am still in sweats - spit up covered sweats, to be exact. Abigail has wet through one outfit and is currently asleep in the second (also spit up covered).
(An aside: Remember how I said I liked my cloth diapers? I'm starting to second guess that. I've got the diapers cinched as tightly as they go, and they still leak, despite the fact that they leave little red marks on Abigail's legs. When I put in extra stuffing it seems to help, but then I worry I'm going to give the kid back problems because when she lays down, she's on an incline, with her little butt above her head. That can't be good for bone development. I pinched her leg in the snaps accidentally today and she screamed, which made me feel awful. And I can't even count how many times I've done laundry in the past few weeks. I don't know if it's worth the effort. Maybe I'm not as green as I thought I could be...)
To continue: There are dirty dishes in the kitchen, and a pile of unpaid bills sitting on our coffee table. I haven't written any of the emails I meant to, and the dirty laundry is still sitting in the corner, staring at me. I know I'm not cooking dinner - won't make it to the store today - so we're eating Mac & Cheese tonight. Food of the gods, that.
So David's going to come home and ask me what I did all day. And I'll say,"Fed her, changed her, cleaned her, fed her, changed her, cleaned her, cleaned me, fed her, changed her, made the bed." And he'll just sort of look at me a little dubiously. But that's okay.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Epiphany
There is a difference between tidying and cleaning.
Perhaps you already knew this. Probably I did too, and have just been deluding myself for most of my adult life. I always sort thought - nay - prided myself - that I was someone who liked cleaning, and who kept a clean house.
To my chagrin, I discovered today I do not keep a clean house. I have a tidy house. Tidy is fluffing pillows and picking up David's toys and tossing laundry in the machine. Doing dishes, and when I'm feeling really ambitious, passing a dust cloth over the most obviously dusty pieces of furniture. But see, that's where I was tricked. 30 second dusting jobs are NOT cleaning. Tidying I like. Cleaning I do not.
The grandmother is coming this weekend to see her baby. Today meant extensive dusting, mopping, sweeping, and scrubbing. (Who knew those spots on my kitchen floor could disappear? I thought we just had old linoleum.) The kitchen sink is actually white again. The dust bunnies have been removed from all corners. The rugs are vacuumed. (Again, I just thought they were old...) Heck, I even scooped dead June bugs from my windowsills. All for my mother. Nay, for the Grandmother. For Oma.
I'd like to believe my house was filthy because I have an 11-week old who is sucking up all my attention. (She can grab the butterfly on her play gym and suck her thumb. I am so proud!) But it's not true. I'm just... lazy. I like faking it. Sure, now the house looks great, and I am extremely pleased. Cleaning is delayed gratification. And tidying is all about immediate gratification. Sure, real cleaning = bigger payoff. But tidying is an easy high. And if I keep the lights low, no one knows the difference. Right?
Perhaps you already knew this. Probably I did too, and have just been deluding myself for most of my adult life. I always sort thought - nay - prided myself - that I was someone who liked cleaning, and who kept a clean house.
To my chagrin, I discovered today I do not keep a clean house. I have a tidy house. Tidy is fluffing pillows and picking up David's toys and tossing laundry in the machine. Doing dishes, and when I'm feeling really ambitious, passing a dust cloth over the most obviously dusty pieces of furniture. But see, that's where I was tricked. 30 second dusting jobs are NOT cleaning. Tidying I like. Cleaning I do not.
The grandmother is coming this weekend to see her baby. Today meant extensive dusting, mopping, sweeping, and scrubbing. (Who knew those spots on my kitchen floor could disappear? I thought we just had old linoleum.) The kitchen sink is actually white again. The dust bunnies have been removed from all corners. The rugs are vacuumed. (Again, I just thought they were old...) Heck, I even scooped dead June bugs from my windowsills. All for my mother. Nay, for the Grandmother. For Oma.
I'd like to believe my house was filthy because I have an 11-week old who is sucking up all my attention. (She can grab the butterfly on her play gym and suck her thumb. I am so proud!) But it's not true. I'm just... lazy. I like faking it. Sure, now the house looks great, and I am extremely pleased. Cleaning is delayed gratification. And tidying is all about immediate gratification. Sure, real cleaning = bigger payoff. But tidying is an easy high. And if I keep the lights low, no one knows the difference. Right?
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
PS Diaper Update
Some of you have asked what happened with the cloth diapers. Here's the skinny:
I like them. They are soft and cuddly, and Abigail doesn't seem to mind the extra fabric between her legs, or the ghetto-bootie they give her. (The diapers make her look like she's wearing a bustle beneath her onesie.) I have not encountered any blowouts, and she isn't getting diaper rash like she was with the disposables.
It was a little hard to find the right fit - I'm still experimenting - and consequently, there are occasionally leaks out the legs. (But I'll take a little tinkle down the leg over poop up the back any day.) I think I've got the legs finally cinched to the correct size. And at night, when she wears them longer, I stuff a microfiber rag (a car wash rag - bought at Target) in the diaper, under the normal insert. It works really well - it's super absorbent.
That's all I got, for now. It's time to go change the Poop-meister, anyway.
I like them. They are soft and cuddly, and Abigail doesn't seem to mind the extra fabric between her legs, or the ghetto-bootie they give her. (The diapers make her look like she's wearing a bustle beneath her onesie.) I have not encountered any blowouts, and she isn't getting diaper rash like she was with the disposables.
It was a little hard to find the right fit - I'm still experimenting - and consequently, there are occasionally leaks out the legs. (But I'll take a little tinkle down the leg over poop up the back any day.) I think I've got the legs finally cinched to the correct size. And at night, when she wears them longer, I stuff a microfiber rag (a car wash rag - bought at Target) in the diaper, under the normal insert. It works really well - it's super absorbent.
That's all I got, for now. It's time to go change the Poop-meister, anyway.
Hmmmm
So, David left for rehearsal about an hour ago. I puttered around: called my father, dusted a bit, opened up our webcam thinking I would load it onto the computer, put it down, dusted some more. All with a kid in one arm.
Finally realizing that my left arm was numb from carting Abi-girl around, I placed her under her play gym, figuring she could chat it up with her friend Mr. Cardinal while I checked my email.
She squealed with glee and began batting her toys around, gurgling and babbling loudly. Content, I plopped down on the couch and opened up the laptop. I grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV.
Silence.
I look up from the screen and see my 10 week old's eyes glued to a commercial for Glee. She's been watching TV silently for 10 minutes now.
Should I be worried?
Finally realizing that my left arm was numb from carting Abi-girl around, I placed her under her play gym, figuring she could chat it up with her friend Mr. Cardinal while I checked my email.
She squealed with glee and began batting her toys around, gurgling and babbling loudly. Content, I plopped down on the couch and opened up the laptop. I grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV.
Silence.
I look up from the screen and see my 10 week old's eyes glued to a commercial for Glee. She's been watching TV silently for 10 minutes now.
Should I be worried?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
On Jeans
In my opinion, jeans shopping is typically a horrible experience. I rank it right up there with bathing suit shopping. Really, they may be equally terrible - and incomparable - seeing as I usually buy jeans in the fall and bathing suits in the late spring. Different seasons, you know? Each terrible in their own way.
Anyway.
I've been wearing my Old Navy maternity jeans since a week after Abigail was born. (The first week it was all sweat pants, all the time. Whoo.) I really liked my maternity jeans throughout my pregnancy, but now that we're nearing the 10-week mark postpartum, I find myself rather tired of them. The panel has torn, leaving a huge hole in the back. I have to roll the panel down, which creates a funny tummy bulge under all my clothes. And they're really loose through the leg. Plus, I mean, come on. They're my pregnant pants. And I'm not pregnant anymore!
Yesterday I got on the scale and found out I only weigh 10 lbs more than my pre-pregnancy weight. Cheered, I was certain that was not enough to merit new jeans, surely. So I hauled my old jeans up from the basement (I had several pairs) and tried them on. But none of them - NOT ONE - could I get around my waist (or even close to my waist, actually).
Sigh.
So yesterday I decided to take the plunge. I fed Abigail, packed her into her car seat, and went jeans shopping. I only had enough time to hit one store, so I stopped by the Gap, banking on Labor Day sales. I was in luck - everything was 25% off.
Long story short - it was both a wonderful and terrible thing. I passed right by my old sizes, right past all the "Skinny" cuts, and started grabbing sizes off the "Curvy" rack. It didn't take very long. (I will spare you the details of what a shock it was to see how exactly my body has changed since childbirth.) I chose a pair 2 sizes larger than my previous size (who knew ten pounds merited a 2-size increase?), which felt rather terrible. But I do like the way they look, which is rather wonderful. I can almost pretend those 10 lbs don't exist.
Ah, vanity.
Anyway.
I've been wearing my Old Navy maternity jeans since a week after Abigail was born. (The first week it was all sweat pants, all the time. Whoo.) I really liked my maternity jeans throughout my pregnancy, but now that we're nearing the 10-week mark postpartum, I find myself rather tired of them. The panel has torn, leaving a huge hole in the back. I have to roll the panel down, which creates a funny tummy bulge under all my clothes. And they're really loose through the leg. Plus, I mean, come on. They're my pregnant pants. And I'm not pregnant anymore!
Yesterday I got on the scale and found out I only weigh 10 lbs more than my pre-pregnancy weight. Cheered, I was certain that was not enough to merit new jeans, surely. So I hauled my old jeans up from the basement (I had several pairs) and tried them on. But none of them - NOT ONE - could I get around my waist (or even close to my waist, actually).
Sigh.
So yesterday I decided to take the plunge. I fed Abigail, packed her into her car seat, and went jeans shopping. I only had enough time to hit one store, so I stopped by the Gap, banking on Labor Day sales. I was in luck - everything was 25% off.
Long story short - it was both a wonderful and terrible thing. I passed right by my old sizes, right past all the "Skinny" cuts, and started grabbing sizes off the "Curvy" rack. It didn't take very long. (I will spare you the details of what a shock it was to see how exactly my body has changed since childbirth.) I chose a pair 2 sizes larger than my previous size (who knew ten pounds merited a 2-size increase?), which felt rather terrible. But I do like the way they look, which is rather wonderful. I can almost pretend those 10 lbs don't exist.
Ah, vanity.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
The Great Diaper Experiment
The Great Diaper Experiment starts today.
Before Abigail was born, I decided that I wanted to use cloth diapers. My reasons were twofold. One, I wanted to save money. Two, I thought it might be better than throwing away thousands of diapers over the next two years.
I talked to my sister-in-law, R, and decided to purchase some Fuzzibunz. I liked their name, and I thought they looked fairly easy to use.
But here's the thing. You can't start a newborn on cloth diapers. They're too small. Those little legs aren't chubby enough for the elastic. And who, pray tell, wants to do extra laundry in those first 6 weeks postpartum? Not I.
So we started off with disposable diapers. As we hit the two month/10 lb mark, I found myself saying at each diaper change, "I really ought to start using the cloth diapers." Only, I never did.
I never knew how dependent I was on disposable diapers. They're so great in so many ways. They start out small and puff up when they're full, so you know, without having to smell (a huge plus with my faulty nose) or stick a finger in a leg hole to check. Heck, the swanky disposable diapers even have a little yellow stripe down the front that turns green when the diaper is wet. Wow! What's not to love? I couldn't let them go.
Until today. I bit the bullet. I cinched and snapped a VERY large cloth diaper on my VERY skinny kid, and am awaiting the results. There are gaps and puckers, despite my attempt to make it as small as possible. I am expecting leaks. And mess. Not due to the diaper, perhaps, but to how skinny my kid is. I would really LIKE to be able to use the diapers. Who doesn't like saving money? And I have to admit, I really will feel better about myself as a human being if I am not creating so much waste. But if she's too skinny, disposables it will be.
And it sounds like Abigail is filling her diaper right now. So I guess I'll have my answer momentarily.
Before Abigail was born, I decided that I wanted to use cloth diapers. My reasons were twofold. One, I wanted to save money. Two, I thought it might be better than throwing away thousands of diapers over the next two years.
I talked to my sister-in-law, R, and decided to purchase some Fuzzibunz. I liked their name, and I thought they looked fairly easy to use.
But here's the thing. You can't start a newborn on cloth diapers. They're too small. Those little legs aren't chubby enough for the elastic. And who, pray tell, wants to do extra laundry in those first 6 weeks postpartum? Not I.
So we started off with disposable diapers. As we hit the two month/10 lb mark, I found myself saying at each diaper change, "I really ought to start using the cloth diapers." Only, I never did.
I never knew how dependent I was on disposable diapers. They're so great in so many ways. They start out small and puff up when they're full, so you know, without having to smell (a huge plus with my faulty nose) or stick a finger in a leg hole to check. Heck, the swanky disposable diapers even have a little yellow stripe down the front that turns green when the diaper is wet. Wow! What's not to love? I couldn't let them go.
Until today. I bit the bullet. I cinched and snapped a VERY large cloth diaper on my VERY skinny kid, and am awaiting the results. There are gaps and puckers, despite my attempt to make it as small as possible. I am expecting leaks. And mess. Not due to the diaper, perhaps, but to how skinny my kid is. I would really LIKE to be able to use the diapers. Who doesn't like saving money? And I have to admit, I really will feel better about myself as a human being if I am not creating so much waste. But if she's too skinny, disposables it will be.
And it sounds like Abigail is filling her diaper right now. So I guess I'll have my answer momentarily.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Rhode Island Part Three
More sights from RI
On the way to the beach...
On the way to the beach...
Warren's Point Beach after Hurricane Bill
At the Farmer's Market
Rhode Island Part One
David and I spent the last two weeks in RI. Every summer for the past fifteen years (I think) D's family has had the opportunity to "rent" out a beach house. It's a sweet deal - they have friends in the area who actually live in Louisiana most of the year, but own a summer home on the shore in Little Compton. It's a big enough house to (very cosily) fit the entire family - 7 Yeagers and 5 Bowmans. I love the picture above. David is with his nephews, Adam (4) and Daniel (2). I'm pretty sure the three of them were imagining they were pilots - so I'm not really sure what the Pixar Movie-Viewer is for, but they seem to be enjoying themselves... especially Vid.
Here are a few photos from the trip. Enjoy!
Here are a few photos from the trip. Enjoy!
How we pass the time:
Eating yummy food - especially corn on the cob!
Playing bacce on the lawn.
Making 15 foot mentos-and-diet-soda fountains.
Shooting off the potato gun. Who doesn't like to see potatoes flying 1,100 feet into the air? (Yes, really. My brother-in-law Stuart knows the formula to calculate just how high they went.)
Friday, August 7, 2009
Being Old
Our next door neighbor, Andy, is a frail old man we thought was close to 90. He leaves his house daily, backing slowly out of his driveway in a dark blue minivan. (He goes somewhere for part of the day - somewhere like a local Legion or something - for a midday meal.) Every time we see the van leave, we cringe. Yesterday, on his way, out he stopped to talk to David... and mentioned that he was on his way to MICHIGAN to visit his MOTHER-IN-LAW who was 105. Apparently she still lives on her own. Aside from being completely terrified at the thought of Andy out on the expressway, and wondering what in the heck they do to pass the time, we decided he must not be quite as old as we thought - maybe mid eighties at the latest. But still. His mother-in-law. 105. Sheesh.
And speaking of age, David and I decided to officially declare ourselves no longer young. 30 is just 17 days away for me. We have a house, a kid... and as of Thursday afternoon, we now own a minivan. I really see it as the Lord's provision for us - we found one in excellent condition, fairly low mileage, and at a much lower cost than we were expecting to have to pay. Our mechanic examined it, gave it his stamp of approval, and now it's ours. Despite the fact that I'm nervous about driving it (I mean, come on, I'm used to a Sentra), and that it's not a new new car, I'm excited to have it. Finally, enough space for whatever we need to do.
(And don't worry - we're not totally admitting defeat about our ages. David is holding onto his youth... He has an Atari and Batman toys. He sings silly songs and talks in cartoon voices. He doesn't clean his bedroom. And me? Well, I've got David.)
Even for a minivan, you have to think it's pretty. Right?
Saturday, August 1, 2009
And Then There Were Three
Abigail turned a month old on Wednesday. A month. I know it's not much, but it's hard to believe.
I've been up since six AM. Abigail woke wanting to eat, so we did. She ate at 11:00 PM, 3:00 AM, and again at 6. After breakfast she was bright eyed and bushy tailed, as the saying goes. And the sun was up. So I had a choice - try to lull her back to sleep so I could climb back in bed next to David (who, incidentally, is still there), or stay up and enjoy my baby until she conked back out. She's asleep now - so maybe I should be, too. Instead I'm enjoying a cup of decaf (funny, BA (Before Abigail) the words "enjoy" and "decaf" would never have been in the same sentence), a slice of banana bread, and quiet time in front of my computer. No more leisurely Saturday mornings in bed, I guess. I can probably kiss Sunday afternoon naps goodbye for a while, too. At least Sunday afternoon naps like they used to be. Every time I close my eyes now I have one ear tuned to the baby monitor.
People told us our lives would be different, that no parent is ever prepared. It's amazing how a parent-to-be comprehends that statement, and at the same time, doesn't understand it at all. It's only just now that D and I are beginning to feel somewhat human again. Our lives have some pretense of a routine - or at least a pattern (it's too early to call it a rut) - that we're managing to live with. Yesterday we even managed to have friends over for dinner! Our lives are filled with a lot more mess - baby clutter and bodily fluids - than I ever imagined. And this is just the beginning.
And yet, every time I pick her up out of her crib after a nap and look at her squidgy, sleepy little face, it doesn't really matter. I've never wanted to kiss and hug someone so much in my life. All that baby softness snuggled up to your neck - who could resist? Seriously.
I've been up since six AM. Abigail woke wanting to eat, so we did. She ate at 11:00 PM, 3:00 AM, and again at 6. After breakfast she was bright eyed and bushy tailed, as the saying goes. And the sun was up. So I had a choice - try to lull her back to sleep so I could climb back in bed next to David (who, incidentally, is still there), or stay up and enjoy my baby until she conked back out. She's asleep now - so maybe I should be, too. Instead I'm enjoying a cup of decaf (funny, BA (Before Abigail) the words "enjoy" and "decaf" would never have been in the same sentence), a slice of banana bread, and quiet time in front of my computer. No more leisurely Saturday mornings in bed, I guess. I can probably kiss Sunday afternoon naps goodbye for a while, too. At least Sunday afternoon naps like they used to be. Every time I close my eyes now I have one ear tuned to the baby monitor.
People told us our lives would be different, that no parent is ever prepared. It's amazing how a parent-to-be comprehends that statement, and at the same time, doesn't understand it at all. It's only just now that D and I are beginning to feel somewhat human again. Our lives have some pretense of a routine - or at least a pattern (it's too early to call it a rut) - that we're managing to live with. Yesterday we even managed to have friends over for dinner! Our lives are filled with a lot more mess - baby clutter and bodily fluids - than I ever imagined. And this is just the beginning.
And yet, every time I pick her up out of her crib after a nap and look at her squidgy, sleepy little face, it doesn't really matter. I've never wanted to kiss and hug someone so much in my life. All that baby softness snuggled up to your neck - who could resist? Seriously.
Friday, June 26, 2009
The Grumpies
I got the grumpies yesterday, big time.
First of all, the doctor (as I expected) told me Baby Girl wasn't doing much - and that I would probably be back to see him on July 1st. He said at that time they would do a non-stress test, checking the baby's heart rate and amount of space & fluid inside me (through a fetal monitor and ultrasound - nothing invasive). Apparently Baby Girl needs to still be swimming comfortably, or they get worried. Then they would decide if/when to induce me. My 41 week mark will be July 5th - and I assume the induction, if it has to happen, would be sometime in my 42nd week.
I don't really want to be induced. The 5 or 6 of you who actually read my blog, please pray that she decides to come before then. My actual due date is this Sunday. :)
After the appointment, I came home and found out that our neighbors have officially begun building the fence around their backyard. We live in such a tiny house, the fence feels very close - I'm not even sure we have the space to run a lawnmower along our side yard. I'm not worried the fence will be ugly - the couple next door has good taste. But I do feel a bit insulted. I know our backyard is ugly, but is it really so terrible to look at? I feel like we're being shut out.
Then I began to make banana bread (another goody for the freezer). Long story short, our oven is not heating. It lights up, and it tries... but gets nowhere. It's got to be 15 years old, so I guess I'm not surprised that it crashed. But now I need to know - who do I call about the oven?
First of all, the doctor (as I expected) told me Baby Girl wasn't doing much - and that I would probably be back to see him on July 1st. He said at that time they would do a non-stress test, checking the baby's heart rate and amount of space & fluid inside me (through a fetal monitor and ultrasound - nothing invasive). Apparently Baby Girl needs to still be swimming comfortably, or they get worried. Then they would decide if/when to induce me. My 41 week mark will be July 5th - and I assume the induction, if it has to happen, would be sometime in my 42nd week.
I don't really want to be induced. The 5 or 6 of you who actually read my blog, please pray that she decides to come before then. My actual due date is this Sunday. :)
After the appointment, I came home and found out that our neighbors have officially begun building the fence around their backyard. We live in such a tiny house, the fence feels very close - I'm not even sure we have the space to run a lawnmower along our side yard. I'm not worried the fence will be ugly - the couple next door has good taste. But I do feel a bit insulted. I know our backyard is ugly, but is it really so terrible to look at? I feel like we're being shut out.
Then I began to make banana bread (another goody for the freezer). Long story short, our oven is not heating. It lights up, and it tries... but gets nowhere. It's got to be 15 years old, so I guess I'm not surprised that it crashed. But now I need to know - who do I call about the oven?
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Can anyone tell me...?
What else am I supposed to be doing?
I mean, with my time. I'm not quite sure how to fill it. I feel like I must be missing something. Last week was great. No problems filling the day with cooking, cleaning, getting some exercise, running some errands.
This week has been slower. Although I spent Monday afternoon having lunch with friends (which was lovely!) I've been rather wanting for things to do since then. (I know, I know, I shouldn't admit this, right?) It's way too hot to go out walking. We don't really have TV. One can only read so much. Granted, some of my inactivity was involuntary - yesterday I accidentally locked my keys in the car and was tied to the house. But, I mean... what do I do?
The baby clothes are washed. Diapers, etc, are stocked, as well as my "goodies" for after L&D. The house is clean (enough). The hospital bag is packed (minus PJs for D). I prepped a dish of lasagna today that I mean to freeze and save for after Baby arrives. Tomorrow I'll make & freeze some banana bread. The phone number for the food ladies from church are stored in my cell phone. The car seat is installed, the bassinet set up. There's gas in the car.
My mother and sister are emailing or calling every day to find out what's going on. And what do I tell them? NOTHING. Nothing is happening. Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment, and I expect more of the same.
Come on, Baby, come on.
My guess? July 4th.
I mean, with my time. I'm not quite sure how to fill it. I feel like I must be missing something. Last week was great. No problems filling the day with cooking, cleaning, getting some exercise, running some errands.
This week has been slower. Although I spent Monday afternoon having lunch with friends (which was lovely!) I've been rather wanting for things to do since then. (I know, I know, I shouldn't admit this, right?) It's way too hot to go out walking. We don't really have TV. One can only read so much. Granted, some of my inactivity was involuntary - yesterday I accidentally locked my keys in the car and was tied to the house. But, I mean... what do I do?
The baby clothes are washed. Diapers, etc, are stocked, as well as my "goodies" for after L&D. The house is clean (enough). The hospital bag is packed (minus PJs for D). I prepped a dish of lasagna today that I mean to freeze and save for after Baby arrives. Tomorrow I'll make & freeze some banana bread. The phone number for the food ladies from church are stored in my cell phone. The car seat is installed, the bassinet set up. There's gas in the car.
My mother and sister are emailing or calling every day to find out what's going on. And what do I tell them? NOTHING. Nothing is happening. Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment, and I expect more of the same.
Come on, Baby, come on.
My guess? July 4th.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Summer!
I hate bugs. I'm a big bug wussy - very bad at killing them, and very grossed out by most all of the insect world. I can't get over my phobia. I always call on Vid to play exterminator.
A few weeks ago, D killed a jibblie bug on our bathroom ceiling. (What's a jibblie bug? It's one of those grayish, hairy, fragile looking millipedes that hang out in damp places in our house. We hate them. When you squash them, all that's left is a gray blob and some million quivering legs.) Since then, every time I've walked into the bathroom, I've scanned the ceiling and the floor for gross things. To my relief, I've never seen anything.
So yesterday, D left for work. I get up, turn on the shower (bleary eyed, no contacts, etc) and climb in. I turn my face towards the water, look up at the shower head, and crawling around on top is a JIBBLIE BUG. I watch it crawl frantically back and forth near the spray. It's clear I've startled it as much as it's startled me. I don't want to stick my head under the water, because if Jibblie Boy decides to head towards the spray, he'll be knocked off the shower head, onto my head, and get tangled in my wet hair. And that might be the worst thing EVER. So I shut off the shower and jump out to put my contacts in. My thinking is I'll be able to see him better, and then I can reach up and throw a rag over him or something and squash him. Only, by the time I have my contacts in, Jibblie Boy has crawled OFF the top of the shower head, down in between the faucet and the cap. (You know, where the water comes out.) I know he's in there, because he's his antennae and the tip of his head are peeking through the gap. There are two long feelers wiggling around, threatening me.
What do I do? There is no Vid to save me. I'm half wet and need a shower. Can he fit through the holes? Will he climb back out? I decide to get back in the shower. I figure since I have my contacts in, at least I'll see him make an escape, and I can hop out. To my relief, he stayed put. But I took my shower eyeing those antennae with a scowl, tilted as far away from him as my baby belly equilibrium would allow. It was a fast shower. Now he's gone. I don't know where.
It made me realize that summer is here. Why? Because summer in Illinois is about humidity and bugs. Not only are the jibblies making an appearance, but we have earwigs EVERYWHERE. And the crickets are out in force at night. This morning it was 80 at 8 AM, and it's supposed to reach 93. Despite the bugs, I actually love the heat. If I were not so fat and pregnant, I'd go out and enjoy it.
Of course, if I weren't so fat and pregnant, I'd be at the office, working. So, never mind.
A few weeks ago, D killed a jibblie bug on our bathroom ceiling. (What's a jibblie bug? It's one of those grayish, hairy, fragile looking millipedes that hang out in damp places in our house. We hate them. When you squash them, all that's left is a gray blob and some million quivering legs.) Since then, every time I've walked into the bathroom, I've scanned the ceiling and the floor for gross things. To my relief, I've never seen anything.
So yesterday, D left for work. I get up, turn on the shower (bleary eyed, no contacts, etc) and climb in. I turn my face towards the water, look up at the shower head, and crawling around on top is a JIBBLIE BUG. I watch it crawl frantically back and forth near the spray. It's clear I've startled it as much as it's startled me. I don't want to stick my head under the water, because if Jibblie Boy decides to head towards the spray, he'll be knocked off the shower head, onto my head, and get tangled in my wet hair. And that might be the worst thing EVER. So I shut off the shower and jump out to put my contacts in. My thinking is I'll be able to see him better, and then I can reach up and throw a rag over him or something and squash him. Only, by the time I have my contacts in, Jibblie Boy has crawled OFF the top of the shower head, down in between the faucet and the cap. (You know, where the water comes out.) I know he's in there, because he's his antennae and the tip of his head are peeking through the gap. There are two long feelers wiggling around, threatening me.
What do I do? There is no Vid to save me. I'm half wet and need a shower. Can he fit through the holes? Will he climb back out? I decide to get back in the shower. I figure since I have my contacts in, at least I'll see him make an escape, and I can hop out. To my relief, he stayed put. But I took my shower eyeing those antennae with a scowl, tilted as far away from him as my baby belly equilibrium would allow. It was a fast shower. Now he's gone. I don't know where.
It made me realize that summer is here. Why? Because summer in Illinois is about humidity and bugs. Not only are the jibblies making an appearance, but we have earwigs EVERYWHERE. And the crickets are out in force at night. This morning it was 80 at 8 AM, and it's supposed to reach 93. Despite the bugs, I actually love the heat. If I were not so fat and pregnant, I'd go out and enjoy it.
Of course, if I weren't so fat and pregnant, I'd be at the office, working. So, never mind.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
"Can I have your autograph?"
Last night my husband was asked that question more than a few times. It was our first taste of what it really felt like for him to be a "performer". DYB's concert/album release party was this Friday, and by all counts, I think it was a success.
Despite tornado warnings, rain, and hail, we had about 100 people show up to celebrate with us. I was so glad to see so many people come out. It was great to have so much support.
The band performed a sort of laid-back, pseudo-unplugged set. David "revealed" a new-old song Psalm 115 which a lot of people seemed to like, and the band covered a song by Paul Stookey called Love Rules.
The aside picture was taken the night before the gig, when I was messing with the camera, and David was working on the new Martin. You'll notice it's missing a string. He was busy sanding the bridge as I was clicking away, and had to loosen that string to do it.
Take a look at some of the photos of the night.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Laundry Issues
When I went to visit my sister over her birthday weekend, she told our family a hilarious story about hot water in the toilet. Basically, when some plumbing work was done on the house, somehow some pipes were switched, and the toilet was hooked up to the hot water pipes. Consequently, every time she or N had to use the facilities, it was quite comfortable. (No chilly toilet seat in winter, right?) Only, for whatever reason, it took them a while to notice the mistake. I believe the toilet might have been steaming one day - and it tipped them off.
Well, we don't have a steamy toilet bowl, but we do have some laundry issues. I did three loads of laundry yesterday. The first was a dark load, so I set it to cold. When I went down to the basement a half hour later to load the laundry into the dryer, I noticed all the clothes felt warm. (Usually I forget about the laundry and everything turns cold and clammy - moving the wet clothes to the dryer is an unpleasant experience - kinda like accidentally stepping in a small puddle on the bathroom floor when you've just put on clean socks.) "That's funny," I thought. I checked the washer. It was indeed set to cold, and our display says, "Cold Rinse". So we should have been good.
I shrugged, started loading whites into the machine, and went to set the washer to hot. This time I decided to test things and stuck my hand in the flow. The water was (you can guess) anything but. So I clicked it over to cold - and the stream immediately heated up to the correct temperature.
This wouldn't really bother me (I mean, it's easy enough to reverse washing instructions) except that I have no control over the rinse cycle - it is ALWAYS going to be hot - and my brand new supply of Fuzzibunz cloth diapers very clearly state they must be pre-rinsed, and then rinsed after washing in COLD.
PS I am aware of how long it has been since we had our basement plumbing work done. Why am I just noticing this now?
Well, we don't have a steamy toilet bowl, but we do have some laundry issues. I did three loads of laundry yesterday. The first was a dark load, so I set it to cold. When I went down to the basement a half hour later to load the laundry into the dryer, I noticed all the clothes felt warm. (Usually I forget about the laundry and everything turns cold and clammy - moving the wet clothes to the dryer is an unpleasant experience - kinda like accidentally stepping in a small puddle on the bathroom floor when you've just put on clean socks.) "That's funny," I thought. I checked the washer. It was indeed set to cold, and our display says, "Cold Rinse". So we should have been good.
I shrugged, started loading whites into the machine, and went to set the washer to hot. This time I decided to test things and stuck my hand in the flow. The water was (you can guess) anything but. So I clicked it over to cold - and the stream immediately heated up to the correct temperature.
This wouldn't really bother me (I mean, it's easy enough to reverse washing instructions) except that I have no control over the rinse cycle - it is ALWAYS going to be hot - and my brand new supply of Fuzzibunz cloth diapers very clearly state they must be pre-rinsed, and then rinsed after washing in COLD.
PS I am aware of how long it has been since we had our basement plumbing work done. Why am I just noticing this now?
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