Thirty Four {and three fourths}

Posted By on October 3, 2014

Yay! It’s another rare pregnancy update!

This weekend, I’ll hit thirty five weeks. Which, whoa. That’s impossible, I’d say, if it weren’t for the size of my belly (capable of clicking the track pad on the laptop all on its own when I move around too much). So near to the end, and grateful for it, as my shirts are beginning to be too short and I’d like to burn everything with an elastic waistband. And bras. Let’s not even begin to talk about bras.

After months of having an ever-growing list of projects in line before life changes for the hectic, things have finally picked up in the completion department lately. The husband spread a million yards of mulch for me, we have actual progress on three spots in the house getting functionality improvements, and some of the baby items have actually made it down from the attic to be washed. Our room is once again transitioning from Grown Up Space to Shared Space and, with it being the second time around in an itty bitty room, we’ve made a lot of wiser choices about what it really needed once again.

What pushed all of the to-do listing into high gear, I think, was a bit of a scare. Due to being completely miserable from itching from head to toe, we suspected that I might have had a lovely issue going on that was going to require a 37 week induction. Thankfully, I don’t, so we get the full 3 to 5 weeks after that to scramble around, but that was still a kick in the pants for a the few days the blood work took to come back. And, those extra weeks are going to come in handy, as I seem to have completely over estimated the amount of baby items I had stashed in the attic and was shocked to discover that we actually only still own 20 articles of clothing in the newborn to three months size range. That’s . . . not a lot. At first, I was thrilled over the idea of shopping for adorable tiny things. Onesies! Footsies! Gown thingies! But, then I went out and spent quite a while searching, and only came home with a dismal handful of gender neutral outfits. Apparently that was another thing I had forgotten about, the struggle for anything in the middle of a sea of blue and pink. When all else fails though, there are indeed plain white onesies.

So, onward we go. Still itching from head to toe and convinced I’m just allergic to being pregnant. Still hobbling, waddling and having my bones crack as though they are breaking in two, thanks to that broken back seven years ago. And still teetering on the edge of keeping all those lovely emotions in check on a daily basis. I actually cried tonight over the discovery that the Lightroom trial (photo editing software) the husband had installed for me would instantly rename all of my files. Sorting the last year and a half of pictures that I’ve fallen behind on is on my part of the to-do list and this will literally save me hours upon hours of manually renaming them. So, I cried. Perfectly logical.

(I had to pull the following picture off the husband’s phone from our camping trip because it just looks so absurd to me and makes me laugh. Sure, of course the hobbling pregnant lady with the basketball under her shirt will crawl around on the ground to get the perfect picture of her kids against the sunset. She’ll just need a few minutes to figure out how to get back up again.)

Happy Birthday {the bonus year edition}

Posted By on September 29, 2014

Up until this week, the husband was convinced that he was going to be a year older than he actually was about to turn. We had quite a laugh when the realization came that, wahoo, he was getting a bonus year! Even the kids seemed to know before he did, and Miss E rubbed it in a bit. Still, one step less on the way to middle age!

So, before the day comes to an end, Happy Birthday to the guy that’s more than I could have imagined. The husband that humors me with air mattresses on camping trips, endless walks for the perfect sunset, and has the patience of a saint when I don’t. The dad that smiles at Hello Kitty cupcakes, knows everyone else really blew out that candle, and musters the perfect amount of enthusiasm for their totally-not-a-secret present.

Happy Birthday to the one that’s always been my best friend.

All I can wish for is more years of adventures and laughter than we can count.

Thirty four is going to be the best one yet . . .

Best Friends {for always}

Posted By on September 26, 2014

Last year, on the husband’s birthday, he took the girls up one of our favorite mountains to camp overnight. They all smooshed into his little backpacking tent and cooked their dinner at the summit and had the most wonderful time. The girls came back the next day, full of smiles, begging to make it a yearly tradition. As the weeks led up to this birthday weekend again, their anticipation grew.

This afternoon, the husband surprised them with an early dismissal from school and off they went. His backpack was stuffed full, but it was clear that their excitement would help carry the weight up the mountain. Texts from after bedtime had jealousy inducing pictures of their dinner location, and told stories of them nearly skipping all the way up the trail. Barring any overnight troubles, I’m willing to bet they all might have enjoyed this trip more than last year’s.

Left behind as the husband’s car pulled out of the driveway this afternoon was a very, very sad boy. Little will break hearts in our family more than wails that someone “wanna gooo-ooo caaaa-aaaa-aaampiii-iiiing.” As he stood sobbing at the front door, I made heavy promises of ice cream and adventures and just about anything his little heart could desire. In the end, we had a wonderful date out, making the rounds to Panera, Target, frozen yogurt and dancing under rosy skies as the sun set over the mountains in the distance. As we walked to the car to head home, he presented me with a handful of wilted wildflowers and earnestly asked if I would be his best friend. For all the words he’s been keen to use lately (and I do mean all of the words), I’m quite certain those have been my favorite.

Here’s to sweet children that can melt your heart over and over again with such innocent questions . . .

Frozen Continues On {and on and on and on}

Posted By on September 20, 2014

Months upon months ago, I got an email in my in box that prompted me to jump on the ever continuing Frozen bandwagon. With an early purchase code, we scored some kick ass seats at reasonably low prices. I filed the confirmation email away, circled the day on my calendar and promptly forgot about it.

Today rolled around rather quickly and we rushed off to Richmond (an hour and a half away), making it just after the show started thanks to some wicked and unexpected traffic. Walking in, we heard the opening notes from the Frozen soundtrack and the kids were buzzing with excitement.

And then . . . we made it down to our seats where the true level of sound hit poor MJ and I ended up with a miserable barnacle for the entire show. Every time we go to one of these things, I vow to remember to pack her earplugs and, every time, I completely forget.

Tatey and Miss E were totally enthralled, clapping and singing along. It was all ANNA and ELSA and LOOK HOW FUNNY SVEN SKATING IS and OH MY GOSH IT’S SNOWING!!!!

Which, I’ll admit, the snow was an awesome effect.

As an adult, who has heard the soundtrack approximately three million times, I left feeling really happy that we didn’t spend more on our tickets. The entire production felt cheap and campy and as though Disney had sent the B-team to Virginia. I tried to be objective, I mean, it is a production on ice for kids, but still. The order of scenes was all out of whack, the costumes were a little odd (especially the trolls), there were a couple of oops moments with the remote control props and I lost count of how many skaters fell after the first ten stumbles and wipe outs.

All in all, it was cute, we had a great (relatively stress free) day out, and thankfully it will be at least a full year before I consider doing it again.

And I’m still in awe of the two skaters that were completely in sync as Sven. That alone was worth seeing.

Calling Names {and crushing dreams}

Posted By on September 7, 2014

The times that I’ve called the husband terrible names with true intent behind the words are few and far between. Sure, we mess with each other with the loving sort of name calling, but some instances just need a heavy hand behind them. Take the times that we can remember me calling him a “fucking moron” and actually meaning it . . . Once, he and his brother installed a sliding glass door backwards, lock on the outside, and tried to convince me it would be perfectly fine to leave like that while he deployed and left me alone in our rather sketchy neighborhood. Perfectly justified on that occasion.

And then . . . then there was tonight . . .

We all sat around the dinner table, happy conversations flowing. The kids were talking Halloween costumes, which then led to talk of witches and wizards and fairies and what is real and not real. Tater was being a royal pain over eating his dinner, so I was fussing with him on my side of the table, while the husband fielded the girls’ questions on the other. No, fairies aren’t real but they are fun to imagine. Yes, it would be cool if a wizard could make you into a fairy. But no, wizards aren’t real either. Harmless stuff really, mostly fluff I could tune out while fighting over a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

And then . . . then . . .

“So, if fairies aren’t real then, hey Dad? Is the tooth fairy real?”


*record scratch*

I glanced up as a look crossed over E’s face and shush, shush, shushed her as fast I could as she started to open her mouth. The wheels were turning about where on earth those eight dollar bills had appeared under her pillow from over the last two years. MJ sat thoughtfully chewing, blissfully unaware of the crumbling childhood ruse around her, still dreaming of beautiful Halloween costumes. Tater was still intent on pushing food around his plate. All we needed for damage control was to keep E’s mouth shut until I could spin it into a great responsibility for her as the older sister which, thankfully, I managed to do after diner. Here’s hoping the pep talk will work for a few years.

Seven, five and nearly three. If you need any dreams crushed for your still gullible children, send them on over for some harmless dinner conversation. Perhaps next week we’ll cover Santa.

As for the husband, just like that other time, he fully admits that this evening was a perfectly justified usage of calling him a “fucking moron.”

(one of these faces bears great responsibility now. no pressure or anything.)