Happy Earth Day.

We were going to plant a tree today... but it rained.

We were going to pick up trash outside in the neighborhood... but (see above).

I was going to cook a turkey for dinner... but I forgot.

I was going to post something really interesting today... but I couldn't think of anything.

In lieu of anything interesting, I am throwing in the towel, ordering a pizza, dosing up on Nyquil (Hello, spring cold 2011! I wondered when you would make your appearance.) and settling in for a night of movies, pizza, beer, and relaxation.

I know it's both Earth Day and Good Friday, but I'm pretty sure that both Jesus and Mother Earth want me to eat pizza and drink Pilsner Urquell tonight. I'm sure they'd let me know if they felt otherwise, and I will totally be recycling the pizza box and empty bottles when we're done.

So HAPPY EARTH DAY! :)

Birds Flyin' High... you know how I feel....

Welcome to a new year! ...

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, and all that jazz.  Or so they tell me.  The beginning of a new year always makes me feel so... somber.  Almost funereal.  It never feels quite real, as though the months from January to March happen in a fog-soaked dream on some other plane.  It's not an entirely unpleasant sensation, but certainly not a good place to be for overlong.  It's a good time for writing, at least for me.  It's the time I can release, at least a little, my kung-fu grip on the illusion of control.  Perfection. Control. My ever-present, invisible frenemies.  They live in my head and run taped loops all day long, critiquing every move. Critiquing every imagined move, as well.

The big boys are both at school, and there are a million things to do this morning.  Which probably explains why I got back from dropping Toby at school and then spent 15 minutes in the car, in the driveway, listening to NPR while perusing November's Vogue and daydreaming about auditioning for a play at the local theater.  

I auditioned for a real play exactly once - when I was in high school.  I was terrible.  Self-conscious and crippled with insecurities, over-conscious of my Rubenesque figure in a room full of anorexically thin California blondes, I knew I was doomed to fail before I started.  Naturally, I was correct.

Such a different woman am I from that emotionally crippled girl.  Some of the scars, however, remain.  So I look at the open audition notices (for a playhouse in our ridiculously small Mayberry town) and daydream about just going in with gusto and having a ball.  My husband encourages these flights of fantasy.  I shrug and say "maybe someday" and go back to my lovely daydreams and try to decide if the blouse on the clothes-hangar of a model in Vogue would hold up over my 38D's.  Then I jot down notes, ideas for a short story.  I head back into the house to finish my cold coffee from this morning.  I sit down to type up a few notes on this long-neglected corner of my digital brain.

Outside, the sky is gray and the frosty air burns in my throat like whiskey fire.

Inside, the house is quiet but for the crawling sounds of one tiny explorer and the low hum of the fridge.  Time to begin the day. Time to begin the year.

Hello, my friends.

Brain Dump.

Let me state up front that this post is not guaranteed to make any sort of cohesive sense whatsoever. (Not that they usually do, but - you know - this one might be even more disjointed than usual. You have been warned.)

It's hot this morning.  This is East Coast heat, though, so it's really the humidity that grabs you and wraps you in sticky cobwebs.  The cloying damp of the air clings to your skin and gives your face that "dewy" glow that was all the rage with Hollywood not so long ago, before getting pregnant became the newest fashion-of-the-moment.  My clothes - such as they are on a muggy Wednesday morning, consisting entirely of a "Singapore: It's a Fine City" T-shirt and a pair of yellow maternity underwear with a rubber ducky on them - stick to my soft frame and look like claustrophobia.  

I reheated a mug of yesterday's coffee, which isn't so bad when you drown it in as much Creme Brulee-flavored creamer as I tend to.  The meagre caffeine wasn't enough to sufficiently lift the fog before I had to vacuum up an entire package of saltine crackers stomped into the carpet by my 3-year-old.  Why isn't the vacuum picking up?  Oh.  I turned off the agitator bar again.  Fixed.  There, now the room is only as messy as it was before the kids got to it this morning.  That's not so bad, really.  There's too much furniture in here, though.  

Why do my eyes feel so funny? ... Oh, right.  I went on a date with my husband last night.  We hired our first honest-to-god babysitter, a darling girl who leaves for college in a week.  She's going to nursing school. I wonder what that must be like, being young and knowing what you want to do with your life.  Really? You want to be a labor and delivery nurse? That's what I want (wanted?) to do.  Well, before pregnancy and layoffs and working two jobs got in the way.  No, it's okay. I can go back later if I want to.  No, I haven't decided for sure yet.  For now I'm making cakes.  We'll take the baby with us tonight, so it's just the older two.

The baby made it through the previews and about 10 minutes of the movie.  He's always done great at theaters before, but not this time.  We fed him sweet potatoes.  That bought a few minutes. I tried nursing him again, safe in the darkened theater.  He bit me. Hard.  So much for that.  Then he cried, so my husband took him outside.  That was the last I saw of them for the rest of the movie.  So much for a date.  I might have cried a little on the way home.  I might have cried a lot.  I might be PMS'ing, though, so don't read into it.  No, Baby, it's okay. I'm happy - I really am.  I'm just... working through it.  "IT". You know. All of it.  I'm sorry you're stuck with me.  Ok. I'll shush, I promise.  No, I won't say that any more.  

So that's why my eyes feel funny.  Now I remember.  Oh, look. The dog found a jumping beatle.  Every time he paws at it, it starts leaping around in the air.  What IS that thing? It jumps and clicks.  Google? ... Ah! A click beetle.  Cool.  I mean, not cool that it's in my living room, but cool that it can jump like that.  The dog is freaking out.  Here, I'll get rid of it.  I think we'll take the dog to the dog park today.  How did I just find out about the dog park?  Well, we'll take him.  As long as this humidity dissipates soon, anyway.  Is it supposed to storm today or something? ... Oh.  Yeah. Forecast for today: Thunderstorms, 100% chance of precipitation.  So much for that idea.

Thunderstorms out here in the sticks are unlike the ones I have experienced anywhere else.  Even out west, amongst the Rockies and the Wasatch, where the thunder would echo off the mountains and ricochet around your head like a subway tunnel.  Out here it's the wind that scares you.  It howls and moans as it shears off the mountain and dips down over the Shenandoah river. It whips between the houses, peeling off vinyl siding like  candy-bar wrappers, and litters the sidewalk with orphan roof shingles.  And then there's the rain.  Even with our insulated roof the rain can be marbles falling on tin.  At the best of times, though, it's the sound of the shower against the sliding door. Who needs an ambiance fountain when you have rain like that?  Of course, when the thunder does crack too nearby, it's a slamming iron door. Makes you wonder what the gods could be arguing over, and whether they'll make up or just end the world.

I think I'll just mop the floors today, and then run the vacuum again.  The kids sheets need changing, and I swore I'd check out the 30-day-shred on on-demand.  I can't believe I'm still fitting into some size 18's.  What happened to that size 8 figure?  Oh. Yeah. 3 kids in 5 years, that's what.  Sorry, Body.  I don't mean to be so hard on you, especially since I'm the one who keeps feeding you those cupcakes.  

Maybe one of these days I'll really get to open that bakery.  Somehow it seems like it would be easier to resist the charms of cheesecake-filled chocolate cupcakes with lemon chiffon frosting if I could only see other people enjoy them.  I do love the baking.  Or rather, I love when it's done.  The cakes especially; they're like childbirth.  Miserable in the moment, sometimes, but then it's done and look! Look what I made!  Of course, the cakes go off into the world and done is done - the kids not so much.  They're  a work in progress, of course.  How do perfectionists parent? How can I be a perfectionist and still have so much dirty laundry?  

There's no manual for all this, is there.  I'm great with manuals; I am the Ikea master.  Why is there no allen wrench for life?  Insert tab A into slot B, use screw Q and don't over-tighten.  But I don't know anyone who has built my life before; I feel like an ottoman in a room full of arm chairs.  Also, I use entirely too many metaphors.  I know you don't mind; you're understanding like that.

Like A Prairie Dog. Or Maybe Whack-A-Mole?

If you've been following the weekend exposure photos, you probably have a pretty good idea of how I've been feeling lately - even though I have been far and away from actually putting any of it into words.  So let me attempt to do that for you now.

Big Daddy T has a new job.  That's Good Thing one.  He's got a great job, he finally got a great management position (something he's been wanting for a long time now) and I can't tell you what a relief it is.  

Good Thing Two is that Tobin is officially potty-trained and, as of this morning, is attending preschool two mornings a week.  

Good Thing Three is that I am sitting here with my coffee, the baby is asleep, and I have a few moments of absolute solitude for the first time in a very long time.  I should be using this time to do something productive, and I intend to going forward, but for today I thought I should at least plug in for a few minutes.  You know, in case anyone thinks maybe I died or was abducted by aliens.  Or possibly that I drowned in the world's largest latte (which, hey, let's face it: Not a bad way to go!)

I've been doing my best lately to follow my mantra and Live Life On Purpose.  That has involved a lot less computer time (despite what my husband might think) and a lot more time doing things like switching to cloth diapers for Milo (gDiapers, I love you so much I might put you in my will!) and attempting to shake my self-ascribed title of "World's Worst Homemaker EVER."  This is a two-step process: Step One, stop calling myself that. Step Two, stop actually being that.  

Does this even make any sense? Probably no.  But I've been brain-bereft lately.  I'm learning to accept my limitations and stop worrying about making everyone else happy.  It's not an easy thing to do, but I find that crafting helps.  Did I mention I'm making tutu's now?  Yeah. I really need to get photos done and list a few more things on the Etsy site.  Things like superhero capes! And tutus! (I know I said tutus twice. They are Just. That. Awesome.)

So now that I've rambled on and on for quite some time, I'll cut to the chase for anyone still following along at home.  I'd like to say I will be posting more frequently (not to mention coherently) and perhaps with fewer parenthetical asides.  I'd LIKE to say that, but the truth is I will probably continue to post somewhat sporadically for the foreseeable future.  Life just keeps getting busier and if I think too much about it I stop actually living it; blogging with regularity requires a lot of the "thinking about it".  I'm turning over a new leaf of sorts, though it's hard to explain exactly when I'm still on the first cuppa the day.  

I've lost 10 pounds, I'm working on getting to bed by 10:30 and up by 6:30, and I have acquired a jogging stroller so I can start getting my body back.  There's a lot to say about ALL of this, but I'm not sure I have the wherewithal to say any of it right now.  See how this happens? Too much to say, not enough words. 

So I'm on a sort of hiatus this year.  I'm not gone, I'll be back now and again, but I think I need a reprieve.

Then again, I could change my mind tomorrow.  I'm funny that way.

Tired.

A neighbor I have not seen in a few weeks saw me at the bus stop this morning.  She asked how the baby is doing, then told me "Wow! You look really tired!"

Okay, so that's really not a great thing to say to a frazzled mom.  

I was a little affronted, I'll admit.  The thing is, she's right.  I DO look tired.  I AM tired.

But this afternoon I'm feeling a little less so.  Because Big Daddy had a good interview this morning, and regardless of whether this solves our problem of unemployment or not it was nice to have something positive happen.  I didn't realize how clenched I've been lately.  Medication can be a wonderful thing when you really need it, and - in addition to lessening the inexplicable state of depression -  I have literally felt the Zoloft soothing my anxiety. Until the medication began to relieve it, I didn't realize I was even feeling anxiety.  Since the layoff I have been coping almost miraculously well... for me.  However, after that spot of good news today I could honestly feel my shoulders relax as though a weight had been lifted from them.

I haven't been sleeping well.  I fall asleep well enough once I try, but then I wake up constantly during the night with a feeling of sharp anxiety.  It doesn't help that the kids still wake up and climb into bed with us more often than not, or that Milo has started waking in the night for a 2am feeding.  That said, I think my "tired" has as much to do with stress as it does with lack of sleep.  

I thought there was a point in here somewhere when I started writing.  Now that I'm here, it doesn't feel like that really panned out, does it?  Ah, well.  I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm still here.  I have not abandoned this project, but I have not been in a place to articulate much lately.  I'm coping fairly well, and I'm enjoying lots of snuggles and giggles and kisses with the boys.  My life at the moment is pretty good, even if it probably includes too much chocolate and too little sex.  I'll be back to form eventually; until then, forgive the sporadic posting and general lack of enthusiasm, won't you?  

More Than You Needed To Know

Because my brain is appropriately scrambled, allow me to share the jumble of thoughts and events with you.  (Also, please notice that I did back-post Weekend Exposure again.  Because all the cool kids are doing it...)

Let's see.  Where to begin? 

How about "Big Daddy got laid off and then I went to Utah and then, oh, I'm opening an Etsy shop!"

There.  That's the neat summary for anyone who doesn't want to read further. 

Still here?  Good!  Okay.  So, yes, Big Daddy T did, in fact, face another layoff when the company that bought his employer basically got rid of his entire division.  That's the bad news.  The good news is that they are doing everything they can to help him move to a new position within the company while he also pursues every available opportunity.  Friends have come out of the woodwork to help him find a new job, for which we are eternally grateful.  It's awesome to have friends who worry almost as much about our little family as we do.

So, while the job search was on, I had a previously arranged trip to Utah to attend to.  Milo and I boarded a plane, and then another plane, and finally landed in the City of the Great Salt Lake.  When we left DC the temperature was in the low single-digits, so it was actually nice to be someplace in the 30's and 40's.  It was even nicer to be with family, and Milo predictably charmed his way into hearts across the board.  I went to a Sundance party, met the president of the Utah Sundance Commission (she was lovely, by the way) and some other very cool people, and was officially banned from the game SceneIt by my older sister after winning too many times in a row.  (Because I am the Queen of Useless Trivia, which is not as prestigious as it sounds. I'd much rather be the Queen of Bloomingdale's... or "Queen of Everything" or perhaps "Queen of anything other than Useless Trivia". )  

Any-who, Gumbo was made and devoured.  Dancing was done and laughter was had.  My 46-year-old sister got hit on by a 25-year-old from Las Vegas who thought she was 28.  Oh! And then my 3 sisters, my sister-in-law, and I pretended to be the polygamous sister-wives to my brother-in-law in order to avoid the attentions of drunken Utah rednecks at the club we went to.  So there was that.  And yes, it was as ridiculous and awesome as you would imagine. (My sisters? They're hot.)  When you get that group together, I am somehow the least wild of the bunch.  And, yes, I realize that - that right there? - that's a frightening concept.

So as they were discussing their behavior and giggling madly, I happened to casually remind them that I HAVE A BLOG.  And the silence that followed, it was deafening.  Of course, I wouldn't be so heartless as to post the photographic evidence of actual family in the act of Letting Their Hair Down. (Especially family in possession of photos of my youth that could doubtless be used for purposes of blackmail. So far they've resisted the temptation.) It was tempting.... but I forgot about Karma.

Karma was listening, and decided to teach me a lesson for my evil thoughts by disappearing my camera at dinner the last night of my trip.  As went the camera, so went every photo of our adventure.  All my photos of family with the baby? gone.  All the pictures of my sisters and I bonding? gone.  The video of the flamenco guitarist from the Sundance gala? Gone.

You get the idea.

So while that was a sour note to end my adventure, it was quite probably the best visit I have ever had with my family.  I also got to hang out with Dr. Allie and the Amazing Wonder Steve, and went with them to celebrate Dr. Allie's Wicked-Cool Sister's Birthday.  Dr. Allie has one of those families that makes their own fun and has so many in-jokes that you can't help but get swept up in their magic.  Also, they invented "Pass The Baby" which is maybe the best party game ever that doesn't involve nudity.

With many hugs and well-wishes, friends and family and various beloveds said our adieus and Milo and I were sent back towards home. (Leaving out the part wherein I braved 7 hours of fly-time travel, one plane change in Denver, and a fussy baby.  Both ways.)  

Oh, and I might have watched OUR NEW PRESIDENT take the oath of office from the Salt Lake City airport.  Also, I might have shed a few tears of happy shock when the airport crowd burst into spontaneous whooping and applause.  It was a moment I'll remember the rest of my life.

And then? And then I came home and started making baby shoes.  Because I am crazy! And - hello! are you new here? - I am really crazy!  

And now crazy has an Etsy Shop!  There's nothing in it yet; I'd like to have a few things finished so I can put them all up at once instead of one at a time.  But! I will also take requests!

Items that friends and strangers on the internet can purchase will include:

Baby Shoes

Leather-soled Baby shoes for new and practicing walkers

Jester hats

Personalized Initial Super Hero or Heroine capes

Crochet hats of various varieties and colors

Crochet fingerless gloves/arm warmers

And probably other things I have not thought of yet.

Other than the yarn items (which obviously require new materials) all fabric items are made from repurposed fabrics! Because I am eco friendly! And maybe also because I found a really awesome corduroy jacket that was several sizes too small at a thrift store, and decided to make it into a pair of booties because the pattern was so awesome.

So without further ado, I present: Sweet Cheeks Cupcakery.  There will be a few items up by early next week, so stop by and please don't let the fact that my husband is suddenly unemployed guilt you into buying more environmentally friendly, adorable stuff than you need. (Only let it guilt you into buying exactly as much stuff as you need. heh. Shame people, I have none.  What I do have is a mortgage and a husband, 3 kids, one very large dog, 2 cats, and 2 Betta fish who expect to be fed semi-regularly.  So, you know, I'll totally whore myself out work crafty magic for your dollars.  Hey, how about a photo? Here are the shoes I made for my Niece and her Brand Spankin' New Baby Boy:

So thanks for letting me promote myself there, briefly. And don't worry, we're keeping our spirits up.  Every time Jack asks a thoughtful question about President Obama, I smile involuntarily.  Watching the snow plow clear our street as we get our first real snow of the year? Another smile.  Hearing the kids burst into spontaneous rendition of "Party in my tummy" from Yo Gabba Gabba?  .. you guessed it - smile yet again.

We're going to get through this, even if we come out the other side with nothing but a smile and each other.  Cheers!

WOW. Just... Wow.

One and Two and Three.

First there was just one.  He was one, he was only, and he was ours.  He was perfection, and we spoiled him with abandon.

Then there were two.  There was one and there was two, separate but equal in the eyes of the house.  Everything was a division -- Mom and Dad, Big and Little.  One-to-one defense, if you will. A constant attempt to be fair, and spoil them equally.

Now there are three.  Where there was once a competition between one and two, now I sit here on the sofa next to our tiny three.  One and two climb the stairs, engrossed in animated discussion, off on an adventure that will doubtless end in one bedroom completely destroyed.  But there are bad guys to be vanquished and heroes to be made.

Three is tiny and helpless.  Three has his mother.  One and two seem to understand this.  They have each other.  And they break my heart with the sweetness of it.

The Balance Myth.

This is why you love me: Because I will rear my head in your airspace to drop a rant on a random Friday morning.

Today's myth to be busted: "Mothering Balance"

It's dangled out there in front of us as the epitome of "doing it right".  Find that balance! The elusive "work-life-mothering" balance.

Allow me to pose to you a radical and revolutionary idea for our time: There Is NO Such Thing As Balance.

Life is not balanced, and whenever I attempt to ponder this mythical "balance" I find that the hours in my day are spent in the planning and pondering instead of the actual living.

Instead of running ourselves ragged attempting to live up to some sort of balance, let's just admit that - most of us? - we muddle through as best we can.  Some days we do too much work, some days too much playing with legos and too few dishes.  The only balance I expect to achieve is to get to the end of the day and not feel like I've screwed anything up too badly.

So, please, Oprah? Regis and Kelly? GMA Ladies? STOP with the deluge of "experts" telling me how to find Balance.  It doesn't exist.  Like unicorns or decent laundry stain remover, I believe it's a pretty legend that exists only in the minds of the believers.  

I hereby declare that I will no longer concern myself with finding the Balance.  I'm going to concentrate on completing the essential tasks of the day and using whatever time is left in whatever way I see fit.  

And what do you know, so far it's working out pretty well.  Apparently when you stop trying to figure out how to find something and just start Living your life On Purpose... the balance will take care of itself.

*Disclaimer: The above was written by a mother of 3 while holding her six-week-old infant. She got 4 hours of sleep last night.  She hasn't finished the laundry but she vacuumed her whole house yesterday, fed her family, packed a school lunch, cleaned the toy room, nursed the baby a dozen or so times, and she may or may not be typing this at her kitchen table while pantless.  Which is to say she's doing pretty well in her assessment, and has not wasted a moment of her precious time wondering if she is "balancing" all of her responsibilities and goals well.  Later today she plans to go to the playground with her toddler and perhaps lay a new floor in her living room.  This is Life: Lived On Purpose, but not necessarily As Planned.

Welcome To Our Sitcom

So we're engaged in our usual Saturday-night pastime of channel surfing when we happen across the "Transformers" movie and a shot of the bod-licious Megan Fox.  We both spend a moment in quiet contemplation/appreciation of her hotness.

I casually mention to Big Daddy that I recently read an interview wherein Miss Fox admitted to being something of a nymphomaniac.

BD: "Huh? ...Really."

Me: "I wish you could see your face right now."

BD: "What?!  I mean. Um. That's just... uh.. interesting, that's all."

Me: "Mmm-hmm..."

(a moment passes)

Me: "Are you sweating?!"

BD: "Uh. No! I mean.. no." (wipes a hand across his brow)

Jack: "Daddy, are you pouring your drink on your head?"

BD: (pause) "Yes, Son.  Yes I am."

Yep, just another typical Saturday night in the Casa De Aum.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go hose down my husband.  I believe he may have spontaneously caught fire in the next room.

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Tonight we drive to the dealership to pick up the new car.  Yes, I said "new".   I know, I'm quelling the panic at the thought of the car payment... but aside from the fact that it appears John Q. Everybody is busy trading in their horrific gas-guzzling SUV's for every compact and sub-compact car in the used market  (Even our beloved Carmax came up with a pitifully sad selection of vehicles to fit the bill in replacing the dearly departed Aquaman) Big Daddy is in critical need of a vehicle with things like.. you know... air conditioning and working windows and locks.  Also a vehicle that doesn't require me to crawl out of bed and come rescue him from a breakdown off the side of some godforsaken stretch of highway between here and civilization in the wee hours of the morning would be lovely.

Rest in peace, AquaMan.

And so it is that Big Daddy will soon be the proud owner of a brand-spanking new Saturn Astra. Because the availability is limited in our area he found that to get the options he wanted his only color choice was... silver.  Like the minivan.  He mentioned that he fully expects to wake up tomorrow to find a troop of gnomes with pickaxes making a muck of the front lawn.  Don't mind him, though, he's just bitter because he has a thing for blue ("da-ba-dee-da-ba-doo").

So that's changing, then.  New car.  That's different, right?

So then we leave in about a week for our family vacation to the Outer Banks.  Sand, surf and, hopefully, quiet hours in the sunshine with a good book.  And then back home just in time to get Jack ready for Kindergarten.  Now, normally this would involve copious quantities of wine and weeping. For me, I mean.  Being pregnant limits my mental health options, though, so I may have to make due with tabloid magazines and frozen limeade.

Once we get into the swingin' routine of regular school (did I mention it's all day kindergarten? ALL. DAY. *sniffle*) I'll have a few hectic weeks to prepare for the arrival of the small being currently percolating in my lady regions.  And by "small" I mean "freakishly huge, just like my previous spawn".  I was hoping to land somewhere in the eight pound range this time but if the size of my exponentially growing belly is any indication this baby will weigh approximately 86 pounds.  So at least there's the fame and free diaper sponsorships to look forward to.

But basically what I'm getting at here (not that you expected a coherent point at this stage in our narrative, did you?) is that my life 8 weeks from now will be unrecognizable as the same life I am currently leading and I'm really not sure exactly how I feel about that.  I'm sure it will all end up just peachy keen, but it's the not knowing that is driving me a little bonkers.

So I guess what I'm getting at is... Hold me? And maybe send cookies.

  

Shrinking Those Degrees.

I don't put a lot of thought into that whole "Six Degrees of Separation" thing, but I came across this little item (okay, so I'm only 3 or 4 months behind in seeing it...) and I it gave me a little thrill.

You see, my father-in-law is a retired Navy Captain.  He also got to work with (now) Cmdr. Mike Lopez-Alegria back in his Navy days, and even (so I have been told) got to help recommend him to NASA for the space program.

That alone is a cool enough "degrees" thing, but that I can then connect the dots between Mike L-A and Alton Brown?  Our Good Eats Hero? The Man who inspires my husband to tackle new and exciting challenges in the kitchen, and who may yet inspire my eldest to set his sights on Culinary School? (Okay, so the kid is 5, but Good Eats is his favorite show and he already talks about being a chef when he grows up)...

Well, that's pretty schweet, y'all.

Oh, and before I forget, I do realize that today is Friday.  I also realize that means I should, according to my own schedule, be posting a "Friday Foto Feature".    Due to circumstances beyond my control (read: I am exhausted... and lazy) we will be skipping it this week.  I'm sure that a combination of therapy and dark chocolate will help you recover from your massive disappointment. (*cough*)

Indeed.

"I do not think it is necessary to believe that the same God who has given us our senses, reason, and intelligence wished us to abandon their use, giving us by some other means the information that we could gain through them."
– Galileo Galilei

Puter No Worc.

No worcing puter. Home row iz 4 buzt, except g & h. I hev to put up booc recommenz when new puter comez. New M@cbooc iz en route. Which iz goot becuz typing thiz wey? Iz the worzt.

Bonuz pointz iv you c@n cipher wh@t thiz zez. 4 Zeriouz.

Be b@c zoon! H@ppy Mon.

Tweet Tweet.

Oh dear. I mean, I can already tell you that a medium that allows me to vent, in 140 characters or less, exactly what is on my mind at any given moment of the day - and with insane ease, no less - is probably not a good idea.

That said, I'm doing it anyway. Because I can. Leastways, until I get sick of the noises coming from my own brain.

So you can now continue to follow the minutiae of my deranged mind over at Twitter.

Caution: May cause sudden onset of narcolepsy. Not surprisingly, the little thoughts I have over the course of the day make for less-than-riveting entertainment. You have been warned.

Still Standing

Or, more accurately, still sitting. Or laying down. Or schlepping my bulk from one room to the next, then to preschool and back again.

On the up side, I finally feel like there is light at the end of the tunnel. If I ever do this again slap me upside the head remind me that spending my first trimester in the darkest, coldest, gloomiest months of winter is not absolutely the brightest idea ever.

But, at last, the sun is creeping back out from its long winter nap, and yesterday the boys and I even sat out on the front lawn with some friends and had an impromptu picnic snack. The kids ran and giggled and fell down a lot, and generally behaved like you might expect from children who have been cooped up all winter and then suddenly released into the sunshine out in the Big Blue Room.

Other than that, though, there's not much new to report. We bought a new mattress for our bed! It's quite comfy, thank you. Definitely an improvement over the 20-year-old one we replaced. That mattress had grown so lumpy and awkward to sleep on that I would not have been surprised to find a body under it when I pulled it off to put the new one down. (Luckily, the only thing I found were several lonely socks.)

And before you go lecturing the pregnant woman on the idiocy of hauling a couple of queen-size mattresses around all by myself (with my herniated L5, 'natch), let me remind you that my idiocy has been long established on this site. You're not telling me anything I don't already know, or anything that my mother won't be telling me in a string of panicked emails as soon as she reads this. Hi Mom!

T has to head back to Ye Olde Czech Republic for a week or so, after which we will be celebrating my 29th birthday in style. Which is to say, in Amish Country. We try to take an annual trip to Lancaster County so that I can stock up on my yearly requirement of pepper jelly and handicrafts. We didn't make it last year, and the year before that we had only an abbreviated trip when we drove up to procure the devil demon dog, Gizmo. YOU know, "He who chews everything in sight, including my favorite black boots and several thousand toys and that one time he got ahold of one of the steaks before we got them on the grill and then I had to melt him with my heat vision." Yeah, him.

The time before that I happened to be pregnant with Tobin. I have the photos to prove it, as T took this photo of me outside a shop in our favorite shopping spot:

And, of course, now that the belly is burgeoning once again we'll likely take yet another opportunity to remind everyone that yes, we apparently enjoy The Sex, because here we are.. yet another bun in this here oven. I'll post the follow-up pic after our trip because - c'mon - we both know you're dying to see if I still look that smiley and happy-faced this time around, because - really? - THREE?

And yes, really, Three. And maybe another one if we are so inclined, but no decisions on that yet and definitely not beyond that because five is CRAZY territory, and it's another well-established fact that we have quite enough crazy around here already. Just ask any of the people I met at my sister's wedding. They were apparently forewarned that I am The Crazy Sister. True story.
(Also - on five being the crazy territory - Hi SB!! Love yer bunz!)

The other day one of the grand-dads who does drop-off duty at the preschool overheard that I was expecting once again. He looked at Jack yanking on my hand to hurry me to his class, and Toby clinging desperately to my leg and whimpering about "Choo Choo! And cookies, woman, COOKIES!" and said "And you haven't figured out yet how that happens?" and I smiled weakly and chuckled at his joke and then went home and ate a bag of M&M's - THE END.

Rationalizing His Irrationality...

T has been hesitant to spread the good news of our pregnancy, preferring to play it close to the vest and keep it to ourselves for a while longer. I suspect the reason is mostly carryover anxiety from the lost pregnancy last summer, but - being a man - he keeps coming up with alternative (and increasingly improbable) excuses for his reluctance.

Take today, for example:

Me: So did you tell your boss about the baby yet?

T: Not yet. Tomorrow, I swear.

Me: mmhmm

T: Hey, it's not as easy as you make it out to be! How do I bring that up in casual conversation?! What if he's jealous because he wants me all to himself? What if he freaks out because the kid might be his? Have you even thought of that?

Me: Um.. no. And there's a good reason for that. Did you really just suggest that this baby isn't yours?

T: Um.. no? But it could have been implanted in you by a master alien race of lizards. You know, like immaculate conception.

Me: Like Jesus?

T: Exactly! But in alien-lizard form.

Standing Still

I have 2 different posts already half-written and now filed away for another day. (Including the meme you tagged me with, sistah S. I'll get there, I promise.)

But at the moment, I am strangely caught up in a feeling of inertia.

My life has been a strange and constant parade of stops and starts, fits and spurts. My growing years consisted of a string of moves every two years or so. There were always siblings going off to college, getting married, having babies.

When I was 9 my dad helped put a bad man in jail, and maybe had a contract put out on his life by some mafia types who weren't happy about it. Police staked out our house and followed us everywhere for days. I only vaguely realized something was happening, and mostly pouted about not being allowed to go ride my bike around the neighborhood for a while.

When I was 13 my Mom's only sister lost her battle with cancer. I remember my last conversation with her; I was baking cookies in our old kitchen in Utah. We talked about her hummingbirds, and whether there were more or less this year than usual. I went to her funeral a few months later; hers was the first dead body I had ever seen. We moved again a few months later.

California was my first settle-down experience. We stayed there for all 4 years I was in high school. Of course, adolescence is hardly a period of stillness. There was puberty to go through, driving to learn, proms to attend, boys to kiss. I got my first real kiss on my eighteenth birthday, which I will forever associate with the preceding loss of 80 pounds. I did a lot of running in those days. It helped to clear my head.

This year marks my tenth year in the DC area. I've moved constantly in that time - as a single girl apartment and house hopping and then as half of a married couple going from a single-bedroom to a tw0-bedroom to make room for baby number one. Finally, as a family we moved to our house here in our country town.

Three and a half years have passed since we came here. We had another baby. We lost a baby. Now we're having another baby. But the big things in our own life have a sense of inevitability to them - a feeling that we're following our plan. Through the struggles here and the joys here, there is a feeling of... resting. A sense that we are standing still. Waiting. As though this is the quiet, sheltered time before life goes haywire once again.

Perhaps it's just that, as a child, the bumps in the road that shaped us unaware begin to get lost in the landscape as we cross the bumps of adulthood. We evolve, and we cope with the present.

Every once in a while, though, there's a moment of absolute stillness. There are moments when the storm of life rages around you, and you glory in it. There come moments in the life of a parent where you must surrender briefly to the chaos, and suddenly find yourself at peace.

When I was 11, we lived in Texas. I stood outside on a chilly early-spring afternoon as a rainstorm threatened the skies above me. The wind blasted in all directions around me, lashing whips of hair across my rosy-cold cheeks. Each gust felt closer to whipping me right up off the ground and spinning me off into the sky. The air was thick with the coming rain and the clouds overhead were dark and menacing in the green-tinted sky. No cars drove the streets and no other soul crossed the horizon in the empty field where I stood. I closed my eyes and raised my arms against the blast, ready to dissolve against the rush of the wind.

Thursday Roundup

* No. I can't talk about IT yet... but I promise to talk about it tomorrow. Then? I promise to talk about IT ad nauseaum thereafter. Mucho mysterioso, no?

* Happy Chinese New Year, and welcome to The Year of The Rat (also known by its former name of Wu Zi). I don't really know much about the holiday, except that in elementary school there was usually a kid from China in my class who would bring little red envelopes with celophane fish in them. Obviously, I am a wealth of cultural knowledge....

* If anyone really, REALLY loved me they would buy this for me. I'd ask for the one from the official site, but they are sold out. Plus, the baseball jersey style will work for cold-weather wear as well as into the summer - once he wins the nomination, of course. *cough* Oh, and then again when he is President Of The Galactic Alliance.

* What the hell is going on in Washington? Do they think that because it's an election year we aren't paying attention? And then of course there's this. Which makes me wonder -- if the the really bad guys are all at this secret camp, doesn't that mean that we know that the guys we're holding in Gitmo GenPop are probably not the really bad guys? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller???

So Long, Farewell... NaBloPoMo

What a long, strange month it has been.

Big Daddy T has been absent for most of the month and, as it turns out, he will be leaving us again on Sunday. 10 more days in Singapore. The month of December is now defiled with this incessant business travel, but at least he'll be back in time for Jack's preschool Christmas Program.

Looking back over this year's NaBlo, I realize how much faster it has gone by. It's a different year, and life is getting busier with each one that passes. I had high hopes for 2007 and, while it wasn't the worst year or even a bad one, really, it certainly has not lived up to some of my high expectations.

We'll pretend, for argument (and sanity) sake that this is the fault of the year and not any fault of my own. Because we don't want to sully NaBloPoMo with accusations of "fault" or "blame", now, do we?

Besides, by the time I finish this post, pop a few ibuprofen for my back, and climb under the covers for a little Dr. Mario to put myself to sleep (Nintendo DS plays Game Boy Advance games. I can kill candy-colored germs with multicolored Panatol to my geeky little heart's content) it will officially be December.

I shall celebrate by taking the weekend off from Blogging, and returning to you on Monday - hopefully refreshed and raring to go.

I leave you with a little game we like to call "5 things you didn't (want to) know about me."

1) I used to have my belly button pierced. When I got pregnant with Jack, I took out the ring. I got stretch marks all over my belly, but around the hole from the piercing the stretch marks formed in the shape of a star. I spent the last part of my pregnancies looking like a stretch-mark-star-bellied sneetch. Which I thought was awesome. (Still do.)

2) I cannot abide the taste of eggplant. I have tried it baked, boiled, steamed, grilled, and fried. Also as part of parmigiana, mashed with garlic, and on pizza. I hated it in every case. This continues to mystify many of my relatives, as they absolutely love the stuff. I find the texture snot-like, and it tastes like I imagine boiled cardboard would. I am subsequently a target of suspiscion and disbelief, as they are mystified that anyone could possibly harbor such a vile opinion of poor, innocent eggplant.

3) When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in my blankets at night, cover myself up entirely, and pretend I lived in the hollow top of a mountain. There was a hinged lid which I could open to gather supplies -- usually snow to melt for water and maybe some wild berries or a rabbit to skin and eat. All of this was, of course, entirely imaginary. I may have read a few too many Laura Ingalls Wilder stories at around the same time.

4) I often sleep in a t-shirt that my niece, Victoria, made for me when she was 10 years old. She is now 15. It has a tracing of her 11-year-old hand print and drawings of flowers and sunshine. She made it when she was still a little girl, all stick-figure drawings and knobby knees. Now she's turning into a teenage girl - chasing boys, weighing invitations to the prom, looking forward to getting her learner's permit. But I have this t-shirt that proves that she wasn't always the adolescent heartbreaker; once she was just a little girl who made a t-shirt for her aunt because I was the epitome of cool. You know, before I got old and, like, totally lame and whatever.

5) I got my first spray-on tan today. I no longer have the remnants of my Summer farmer tan to ruin the lines of my pretty party dress. Also, it did not turn me orange, for which I will give thanks to the Artificial Sun Gods. It was a risk, but it turned out well. Thankyouverymuch, Amen.