And would you please pass the salt?
I am sitting in what used to be my office/guest room, but is now a very pink little girl's room. It's the only other Internet connection in the house for me until we can get a laptop, and right now with an impending birth it's just not on the to do list. Lest you think we will be terrible parents and allow our 3 year old to have a computer in her room, allow me to assuage your fears. No toddler should have a computer in his or her room. Mine will not be the first. She did ask me today if this is her computer now.
Back to the pinkness. I think I may have mentioned before that I am just not a girly-girl. Now, I do love to get dressed up and I love me some shoe shopping at the Nord, but that might be the extent of it. I hated hair bows and ribbons when every girl in high school was sporting them in her cutesy cheerleader and drill team up-do. I had short hair and played basketball. Part of the problem may have been that I never was good at fixing my curly hair, and rather than fight it, I cut it off. Needless to say, pink is not my favorite color.
When we were expecting our firstborn, everyone (including Mike and me) was convinced that I was having a boy. My day camp staff even had the nerve to name the baby "Cletis." When we did the ultrasound and the nurse told us we were having a girl, my first thought was, "What do I do with a girl? I don't know how to be a girl...I'll ruin her hair just trying to fix a ponytail!" I looked around in the baby departments and specialty stores, and all I could ever see was an ocean of pink for little girls. I tried to get as little pink as possible, and we painted the nursery a lovely shade of buttercream, got a denim valance and crib bumpers and dust ruffle, and I accented with a few flowered blankets and crib sheets that contained pink.
Then Moriah showed up, and she looked so darn round and cute in all those pink clothes we were given. I fell in love with almost all things girly. Yet when the time came to talk paint colors last week with my man, I informed him that I wanted something off-white to go with the vintage fabrics chosen for bedding, etc. He said, "As far as I'm concerned, if she wants her room to be pink, it can be pink." My response (muttered quietly, as she was standing nearby), "But I don't want it to be pink. And what about if we want to sell the house?" I think I present a convincing argument...Mike's response, "As long as it presents well, anyone will buy this house."
And then I did it. I laid down my life for the happiness of my girl and I said it. "As long as it doesn't clash with what I already have for the room."
Mike is at this very moment, putting the finishing touches on the baseboards and we are surrounded by four very pink (albeit with a more peachy tone to it than bubble-gum) walls. Our little girl could not be more pleased with her new room. I wish I could have recorded the squeals of delight from that tiny body when she saw the paint going up. It made it all okay.
But I had to put my foot down and tell her that she could not have the "sparkles and glass slippers" that she wanted on the walls. It's just not feasible.
Counting Down
Only six more weeks to go, if Brother even lasts that long. Shoot - I may not last that long! He kicks my ribs a lot. And I'm sure that I have some internal organs that are bruised. At this point, he has a middle name (I'm not telling), and thanks to my mother, lots of clothes. He will look very boyish.
Last week, both of my sisters came in town and helped me tremendously by taking down about 95% of the wallpaper in what will be Moriah's room. Mike and I still need to finish and paint, but once that is completed I think everything with her room and the nursery will come together very quickly. Fortunately, I had decorated the nursery with some gender-neutral items when Moriah was born, simply because everything for girls was pink, and I'm not such a girly-girl. Now that we're having a boy though, I've revolted and I've dressed myself in bright colors throughout my entire pregnancy (pink included), and I'm going to get a pedicure in a few weeks with bubble-gum pink polish. Back to the nursery...I only needed new crib sheets and a few brown accents to keep it from giving both him and my fella a complex.
Changing the subject completely, I have a love/hate relationship with summer. Thankfully, it hasn't been as humid as it typically is this time of year, so the evenings have been really pleasant. When everyone was here last week, we went to the Astros game Tuesday night (which was abysmal if one wants to discuss the game), and then to Galveston late Wednesday afternoon. It's a great time of day to go, if you've got kids. We used to do that with all my cousins when we were young. We would leave Houston around 2 p.m. and head down to the state park, where they have picnic and shower facilities. We would play until dinner, play some more, and leave at dusk. You don't get as hot and dehydrated, and the chances of getting sunburned are almost nothing (yes, we did use sunscreen though). It was so fun to watch Moriah run around and do her own thing. At one point, we were trying to get her to fly a kite with Mike, but she ran off several feet away from us and just repeatedly threw handfuls of sand in the air. She was totally in her own world, and I loved it. She even ate her dinner without me begging her to eat. Here's a freebie: get the rotisserie chicken salad from HEB. Oh. My. Goodness. Delish. And easy to take down to the beach. And I got to make good use of my new maternity swimsuit. I need to make a point of getting us to go down there again.
I like how summer is more relaxed. I like all the lighter foods during summer. I have been using all the fresh produce from my garden, and even giving it away. My zucchini is still out of control. I love that I've been making sourdough things, and sun tea, and I even made five pints of bread and butter pickles with cucumbers from my garden and my grandparents' garden. I like that my mom and sisters are in education and that they have the summer off. I can call them at any time during the day. Traffic isn't quite as bad. And then I hate that our yard is fried to a crisp. My petunias look so sad. I have these little flowers on the ends of what are supposed to be stems, but look more like twigs. They are trying so hard to hang on. I hate when we get in this pattern of no rain. It's bad in the hill country right now, which is terrible for the ranchers. Still, with the evenings being so nice, I hate to complain.
With all that said, you may not hear from me often in the next several weeks. I'll be busy with a few things around the house. Maybe I'll get on every so often and tell you what I made for dinner...
Last week, both of my sisters came in town and helped me tremendously by taking down about 95% of the wallpaper in what will be Moriah's room. Mike and I still need to finish and paint, but once that is completed I think everything with her room and the nursery will come together very quickly. Fortunately, I had decorated the nursery with some gender-neutral items when Moriah was born, simply because everything for girls was pink, and I'm not such a girly-girl. Now that we're having a boy though, I've revolted and I've dressed myself in bright colors throughout my entire pregnancy (pink included), and I'm going to get a pedicure in a few weeks with bubble-gum pink polish. Back to the nursery...I only needed new crib sheets and a few brown accents to keep it from giving both him and my fella a complex.
Changing the subject completely, I have a love/hate relationship with summer. Thankfully, it hasn't been as humid as it typically is this time of year, so the evenings have been really pleasant. When everyone was here last week, we went to the Astros game Tuesday night (which was abysmal if one wants to discuss the game), and then to Galveston late Wednesday afternoon. It's a great time of day to go, if you've got kids. We used to do that with all my cousins when we were young. We would leave Houston around 2 p.m. and head down to the state park, where they have picnic and shower facilities. We would play until dinner, play some more, and leave at dusk. You don't get as hot and dehydrated, and the chances of getting sunburned are almost nothing (yes, we did use sunscreen though). It was so fun to watch Moriah run around and do her own thing. At one point, we were trying to get her to fly a kite with Mike, but she ran off several feet away from us and just repeatedly threw handfuls of sand in the air. She was totally in her own world, and I loved it. She even ate her dinner without me begging her to eat. Here's a freebie: get the rotisserie chicken salad from HEB. Oh. My. Goodness. Delish. And easy to take down to the beach. And I got to make good use of my new maternity swimsuit. I need to make a point of getting us to go down there again.
I like how summer is more relaxed. I like all the lighter foods during summer. I have been using all the fresh produce from my garden, and even giving it away. My zucchini is still out of control. I love that I've been making sourdough things, and sun tea, and I even made five pints of bread and butter pickles with cucumbers from my garden and my grandparents' garden. I like that my mom and sisters are in education and that they have the summer off. I can call them at any time during the day. Traffic isn't quite as bad. And then I hate that our yard is fried to a crisp. My petunias look so sad. I have these little flowers on the ends of what are supposed to be stems, but look more like twigs. They are trying so hard to hang on. I hate when we get in this pattern of no rain. It's bad in the hill country right now, which is terrible for the ranchers. Still, with the evenings being so nice, I hate to complain.
With all that said, you may not hear from me often in the next several weeks. I'll be busy with a few things around the house. Maybe I'll get on every so often and tell you what I made for dinner...
Getting Back on Track
Someone has been praying besides myself - I've been able to walk on Monday and today with hardly any pain at all. Yesterday was a little rough, but I didn't have too much to do. Thank you, whoever you are. And thanks be to God - I've been ecstatic. In fact, so much so that I wore myself out on Monday. Moriah and I did a marathon at Target and bought everything we need to re-stock our changing table and diaper bag. All those little no-fun items like desitin, lotion, shampoo, and the like. We came home and I promptly washed all of his clothes and receiving blankets and the few crib sheets. So now Brother can have clean clothes, a clean bed, and a clean booty. Still needs a name, but at least he'll have good hygiene. I feel much better about getting some things accomplished, and not in the state of desperation I was in at the last posting.
Speaking of names, I bought a baby name book last week. While looking through it, I could not believe that I found the name "Febo." It is Latin, meaning "he who shines, who stands out." I immediately called my former boss and told him. Today I called my former co-worker and told her. We all got a great laugh about it. Let me tell you about our friend, Febo...
Almost a year ago, Nancy posted about the strange art around HFBC. I was so happy that Febo got into the world-wide-web fame. There was a very dear elderly woman at our church who was known for her generosity, godliness, and her love of education. Tragically, she was mugged at a Whataburger, and eventually passed away from her injuries. To honor her memory, a group of people took the space just outside the game room and bowling lanes of the CLC, and dedicated that patio space as a prayer garden. A very expensive mirrored cross was hung on the building, and a few items from her personal garden at her home. We had absolutely no problem with the prayer garden concept, and we were even tolerant of the white iron garden seats that were placed out there. Seats that are so tiny, only my right thigh can fit on them. We simply did not understand the choice of the statue. A girl (missing two fingers, no less) with a goat and a tambourine. At the base of the statue is the word, "FEBO." We had no idea what it meant, we just knew that it looked awful and I wished for something better with which to honor this woman. Anything but FEBO. There were never any flowers planted out there, so it wasn't even much of a garden. And I am sorry, but I am not even remotely tempted to pray with only my right thigh upon a hard seat while looking at a goat and a girl with three fingers. Our office got so much grief from church members for that area, and all we could say is, "We don't understand it either. We had no control." The hand with the missing fingers eventually fell off completely, reminding me a little of Luke Skywalker (I know, I'm a nerd, but Star Wars was huge when I was a kid).
Then, to our great delight, we were given a plaster figurine of David with a lamb being carried around his shoulders. We named him "Bebo," for he looked like Febo's relative, and began to hide him in various places in our office. He was put in purses, file drawers, coffee mugs, plants, you name it. This went on for years, and we were pretty good at finding clever spots for him. Sometimes weeks would go by before he was discovered.
Maybe you can understand my elation at finding this name in my book. I was more than glad to share such happiness with Bill and Debbie. The saga may continue, but at least the Febo mystery has been solved. Sort of.
I still hate that statue.
Speaking of names, I bought a baby name book last week. While looking through it, I could not believe that I found the name "Febo." It is Latin, meaning "he who shines, who stands out." I immediately called my former boss and told him. Today I called my former co-worker and told her. We all got a great laugh about it. Let me tell you about our friend, Febo...
Almost a year ago, Nancy posted about the strange art around HFBC. I was so happy that Febo got into the world-wide-web fame. There was a very dear elderly woman at our church who was known for her generosity, godliness, and her love of education. Tragically, she was mugged at a Whataburger, and eventually passed away from her injuries. To honor her memory, a group of people took the space just outside the game room and bowling lanes of the CLC, and dedicated that patio space as a prayer garden. A very expensive mirrored cross was hung on the building, and a few items from her personal garden at her home. We had absolutely no problem with the prayer garden concept, and we were even tolerant of the white iron garden seats that were placed out there. Seats that are so tiny, only my right thigh can fit on them. We simply did not understand the choice of the statue. A girl (missing two fingers, no less) with a goat and a tambourine. At the base of the statue is the word, "FEBO." We had no idea what it meant, we just knew that it looked awful and I wished for something better with which to honor this woman. Anything but FEBO. There were never any flowers planted out there, so it wasn't even much of a garden. And I am sorry, but I am not even remotely tempted to pray with only my right thigh upon a hard seat while looking at a goat and a girl with three fingers. Our office got so much grief from church members for that area, and all we could say is, "We don't understand it either. We had no control." The hand with the missing fingers eventually fell off completely, reminding me a little of Luke Skywalker (I know, I'm a nerd, but Star Wars was huge when I was a kid).
Then, to our great delight, we were given a plaster figurine of David with a lamb being carried around his shoulders. We named him "Bebo," for he looked like Febo's relative, and began to hide him in various places in our office. He was put in purses, file drawers, coffee mugs, plants, you name it. This went on for years, and we were pretty good at finding clever spots for him. Sometimes weeks would go by before he was discovered.
Maybe you can understand my elation at finding this name in my book. I was more than glad to share such happiness with Bill and Debbie. The saga may continue, but at least the Febo mystery has been solved. Sort of.
I still hate that statue.
Nesting Gone Wrong
I've lately been wondering when my nesting instinct will kick in. I don't quite remember having it with Moriah - it was more like the overwhelming feeling of desperation that we were not finished with the nursery. So here I find myself, once again, eight months pregnant and neither room for my children is ready. Small progress has been made, yes. But there is still much that remains to be done.
The main problem is that I realized a week or so ago that I am nesting in a way - it's just focused in the wrong direction. Lately I love my kitchen. Mike took down all of the ugly wallpaper that had been in there since he bought the house 15 years ago and painted. Then he replaced two of the three light fixtures. It makes the kitchen so happy and bright. I've been bringing in a ridiculous amount of tomatoes and mutant-zucchini and cooking wonderful things with sourdough starter that I made. I bought some peonies for my kitchen table Saturday morning, and they smell heavenly.
Ask me what we have ready for Brother. He doesn't even have a name. He has some clothing. And mattress pads and 2 green crib sheets and a set of four receiving blankets. I'm venturing to Target in the morning to buy some Dreft and dryer sheets so that I can wash all of his stuff and at least he won't have to be naked when we bring him home. He might be nameless, but at least he will be clothed.
The other problem is that he has already "dropped," which is such a terrible pregnancy term. It sounds like he fell out of my body. Or that I haven't been taking good care of myself during this pregnancy, and need to be reported to the prenatal CPS. Anyhow, he is putting so much pressure on my pelvic bones that it is excruciating for me to stand up and walk at times. There is no way for me to stop myself from waddling. It hurts too badly for me to walk any other way. And I am so, so slow. I am convinced that he is not going to wait until August 2. He will either come early, or I will shamelessly beg my doctor to induce me. Now that I have said this, watch me go until week 42...
All joking aside, please pray for me to get some motivation to do something in a room other than my kitchen, and pray that I can walk. It's impossible to do all the shopping that must be done in the state I am in. And I really want to go to the beach and wear that cute maternity swimsuit I bought.
The main problem is that I realized a week or so ago that I am nesting in a way - it's just focused in the wrong direction. Lately I love my kitchen. Mike took down all of the ugly wallpaper that had been in there since he bought the house 15 years ago and painted. Then he replaced two of the three light fixtures. It makes the kitchen so happy and bright. I've been bringing in a ridiculous amount of tomatoes and mutant-zucchini and cooking wonderful things with sourdough starter that I made. I bought some peonies for my kitchen table Saturday morning, and they smell heavenly.
Ask me what we have ready for Brother. He doesn't even have a name. He has some clothing. And mattress pads and 2 green crib sheets and a set of four receiving blankets. I'm venturing to Target in the morning to buy some Dreft and dryer sheets so that I can wash all of his stuff and at least he won't have to be naked when we bring him home. He might be nameless, but at least he will be clothed.
The other problem is that he has already "dropped," which is such a terrible pregnancy term. It sounds like he fell out of my body. Or that I haven't been taking good care of myself during this pregnancy, and need to be reported to the prenatal CPS. Anyhow, he is putting so much pressure on my pelvic bones that it is excruciating for me to stand up and walk at times. There is no way for me to stop myself from waddling. It hurts too badly for me to walk any other way. And I am so, so slow. I am convinced that he is not going to wait until August 2. He will either come early, or I will shamelessly beg my doctor to induce me. Now that I have said this, watch me go until week 42...
All joking aside, please pray for me to get some motivation to do something in a room other than my kitchen, and pray that I can walk. It's impossible to do all the shopping that must be done in the state I am in. And I really want to go to the beach and wear that cute maternity swimsuit I bought.
Attack of the Killer Zucchini
This, my friends, is precisely what happens when one neglects to carefully check one's garden for four days.
We picked four zucchini that were that same size, and seven others that I just had to get out of that garden, for fear that they would eat my baby if I allowed them to continue to grow.
I have no idea what I'm going to do with them. Maybe I can shellac them and send them to the Smithsonian for posterity.
We picked four zucchini that were that same size, and seven others that I just had to get out of that garden, for fear that they would eat my baby if I allowed them to continue to grow.
I have no idea what I'm going to do with them. Maybe I can shellac them and send them to the Smithsonian for posterity.
How Does Your Garden Grow?
My vegetable garden makes me so happy!
Moriah and I picked these until I just couldn't stand to bend over any more this morning. These will make a substantial side-dish for tonight's dinner. There are plenty more beans for tomorrow night as well!
Pretty green tomatoes
Squash blossoms
Moriah and I picked these until I just couldn't stand to bend over any more this morning. These will make a substantial side-dish for tonight's dinner. There are plenty more beans for tomorrow night as well!
Pretty green tomatoes
Squash blossoms
Livin' Large
Since my belly has been expanding, I have encountered a few new things.
1. Various stains on my shirts, most of them red. I think it might be all the strawberries that I've been eating lately.
2. We have pocket doors throughout our house. I have not yet learned to open them a bit more, therefore getting myself slightly wedged in the doorways at times.
3. Mike and I ate lunch today at a busy restaurant, and I had to squeeze myself between two occupied chairs to get more to drink. I had to make the decision, "Do I knock the lady upside her head with my belly, therefore missing the gentleman behind her with my bum, or vice-versa?" I figured the lady would be much more forgiving and understanding than the gentleman. Thankfully, I cleared both patrons.
4. I forget that grocery aisles are not that wide. Moriah likes to sit in the "car cart," and I rammed it into at least three or four shelves trying to turn us around. She said, "Mama, why you're hitting the shelves?"
1. Various stains on my shirts, most of them red. I think it might be all the strawberries that I've been eating lately.
2. We have pocket doors throughout our house. I have not yet learned to open them a bit more, therefore getting myself slightly wedged in the doorways at times.
3. Mike and I ate lunch today at a busy restaurant, and I had to squeeze myself between two occupied chairs to get more to drink. I had to make the decision, "Do I knock the lady upside her head with my belly, therefore missing the gentleman behind her with my bum, or vice-versa?" I figured the lady would be much more forgiving and understanding than the gentleman. Thankfully, I cleared both patrons.
4. I forget that grocery aisles are not that wide. Moriah likes to sit in the "car cart," and I rammed it into at least three or four shelves trying to turn us around. She said, "Mama, why you're hitting the shelves?"
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