Holiay Recharge

Between work and mothering and preparing for the Thanksgiving holiday, I have had little to no free time. Blogging has taken a severe back seat to pretty much... everything else. Part of the issue, I believe, is that I have not had time to think. Not enough time to watch crappy rom-coms and read poorly written British chick lit. No unwinding time on the treadmill or in the bath- or even a two hour solitary trip to Target. All of these things being, of course, my favorite ways to unwind. Which was why yesterday was such a treat.
I spent the better part of the week and the weekend anxiously preparing my litany of Thanksgiving dishes. I spent so much time cooking that our evening family time was relocated to the kitchen. My husband casually remarked, " I am really sick of hanging out in the kitchen." I hear you my dear, oh, I hear you.
That being said, I rather enjoyed perusing the internet last week for holiday fair that was not of my usual variety. I want to especially thank Martha Stewart and Paula Deen for sharing a nice variation of a Fall Salad, a crunch top old fashion apple pie, and chocolate pumpkin marbled cheesecake bars. That being said. The food I created was fine. No raves, no complaints. ( Perhaps next year I will try to drink less wine while baking?? - On second thought.. nah. )
The actualy holiday- between packing all of the said dishes, and the baby, and the baby's "stuff" and then relocating from one family to the other family 45 minutes away mid-day, left me... exhausted. Don't get me wrong, the holiday was delightful as it usually is... but for reasons afore-mentioned, it was not exactly what one would deem... relaxing. Which is what I am trying to tell you I have been craving these days. ( By the way- a revamping of the holiday schedule is on the docket for next year---).
So yesterday- with a refrigerator full of yummy leftovers, signaling a day off from the kitchen, and the hubby out doing his thing.... I relaxed. I swore to Billy as he was exiting the house that, " I am not doing jack today, just so you know."
And despite my declaration I found myself scooting my brand new Bissell around the house ( boy did we ever need a new vacuum... gross!! ), and I couldn't resist tackling the overgrown laundry pile, I did manage to squeeze in plenty of cuddle time with Jake and to rent Four Christmases with Reese Witherspoon and my favorite celeb to trash on, Vince Vaughn ( because I waited on him while waitressing years ago and he was a total asshole). But despite his smarmy grin I enjoyed all 96 minutes of the poorly rated box office bomb, as it epitomized what it is I have been craving... down time.
Today I feel emotionally recharged. Ready to tackle Old Navy with gusto and to reconsider my former promise of NO CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS. Because last night when I glimpsed the shiny glory of all of the eager beaver neighbor's Christmas finery, I couldn't imagine Jake's first Christmas with a scroogey Mom sans sparkly white lights.
It's amazing what a little rest can do.

Wait... Is the End Near?

Since I am hearing all sorts of things regarding my delivery date- one being that I will be induced at 37 weeks, which lands Thursday- and I am taking my computer in today for a week's long work worth of maintenance- this may very well be the last post I manage to squeak out before the BIG DAY.
The house is coming together- and while I have managed to throw out most junk I have managed to accumulate over the years, we are still quite "full." In addition, my Mom is here for a two day visit to help me whip some last things into shape, as well as her trial run on the dining room-turned-spare-bedroom-futon and after the first night agreed we should go to Kohl's to buy some "eggshells", which we are preparing to do now.
The husband is fortunately taking off of work on Wednesday and Thursday as well, meaning yet another extra pair of hands either around the house to help or if all is complete to at least... "hang out with me" during my last few potential free days.
I do not feel anxious, excited, or worried at the moment. I feel mostly reflective, but not in a sentimental way- more like in a I-Am-the-CEO-of-the-Company-and-Where-are-We-at? kind of a way. I wouldn't want to head into child delivery without plenty of toilet paper, dish soap, and peanut butter on the home front...Organization Station.
I guess this means that I am ready- so weather or not I am waiting until the end of the week or waiting until the middle of next month- all is well and good. I will do my best to keep you posted!

The Baby's Room Artists

Last Friday night, because it's been awhile and also due to my impending special delivery it could be another long "while", I scheduled an overnight with my neice... and while her Mom, Jen, warned me that "she was excited"... I myself didn't admit that I was ALSO very excited.

You see, my neice and I have something in common that I share with very few other people- we both like to paint. Paint paintings, that is. And while that may not seem to be such a special thing, it is. Because we like to paint together... social painting, if you will. Chitting and chatting and dipping and mixing. It's like when two musicians find each other at a party and proceed to jam to each other's vibe the whole night through, forgetting the world around them exists. Or it's like when peanut butter found jelly, say... or even when salt discovered pepper.

I made sure, before she even arrived, that I had canvases available for both of us, and when she did finally get here and we got to work, it was like magic. Before we began, I reminded her of some painting basics, and then I explained to her that I was going to try and emulate a quilt square from the nursery to hang on the wall as a decoration.

We worked in a peaceful, syncrhonized harmony- talking here and there, but relatively lost in our own respective artist worlds for over and hour. Her end product was fabulous and I will be hanging HER painting in the baby's room as well.

And maybe I am biased, but I think her composition is awesome for an eight year old, and her use of color, space and balance show a real talent.
Not to mention, I haven't had that much fun in ages.

The End Is Near

What is it? What did they eat? Or drink? The kids are OUT of their MINDS. It's total chaos here at the school. With the "Prom" finally behind us, Seniors out for the year, and only graduation and finals in front of us, there are fewer and fewer things to "dangle" in front of the students to bribe them into behaving.
This year it's particularly stressful for me becuase I feel torn between tying up my regular end of the year loose ends and preparing sub plans for the Fall when I will be knee deep in diapers and late night feedings. And while the sub can always call me, every additional detail written down in the "binder" is one less phone call to answer when I will truly NOT care at all.
And it's unbelievable to me that somewhere in the weekend, squeezed between my very last, and thank-you-very-much, bountiful baby shower and a retirement dinner at an incredibly fattening and SO-HOT-I-WAS-SWEATING-WHILE-EATING Japanese steakhouse there was a wonderful Spa Day complete with the sisters, Mom and Grandma that was absolutley splendid. Well, splendid except for my facial girl, and while she was quite nice, she did use me as a sounding board to clairfy her marital problems. But that aside... the Spa Day itself was over the top great.
And even when my massuese and I were laughing at my huge body on the tiny table and how it was cumbersome to move and my boobs kept flopping out of the sheet ( sorry people, these things are new to me.... I haven't exactly figured out how to exert control over those babies yet.. ) it was mah-va-lous.
If only I could have bottled me up some of that Spa Day to sip in doses this week. Sigh. Only five more pregnant days of school.

The Squeeze

I have never been one that can appreciate the pomp and circumstance of routine and attention. I dreaded my graduation from high school, didn't attend my graduation from college, anxiously awaited my wedding showers and feel no differently now that I am in the midst of baby showers.
I have had two thus far. One hosted by my "city girlfriends", the next by my "co-workers"... which doesn't sound fair because they are also my friends, and then next weekend, last but certainly not least, the "family" shower.
And while I feel like an elephant in a China shop at such events, particularly when I am the guest of honor, I have been doing my best to initiate, salivate, and gratiate all over the place so that everyone feels welcome, appreciated and thanked. And the fact of the matter is that I am very thankful.
When I initially created a baby registry, I nearly had a panic attack and had 911 dialed in on my cellular. Luckily, hearty Italian fair and a good dose of cheesecake alleviated the necissity for me to actually have to place that call... but it did result in some heartburn as well as a dose of insomnia. I had no idea I would need so much... STUFF. Not only was I concerned about where I would PUT the STUFF, I also didn't know how I was going to PAY for the STUFF. I had thoughts like.. ... Well, we could always spend five hundred dollars on the stroller we HAVE TO HAVE and I can lock it up with a bike chain to our grill. Or we could live without a crib, right? The kid can sleep in a nicely padded cardboard box? I know our child may actually not survive unless we buy him the "techno-euro-space-saver 5000" car seat, but will a used one from our friends be good enough?

Eventually, the insomnia led to some plotting, and the plotting led to some discussion, and the discussion led to some fighting with the husband which eventually turned into mature adult discusion and then ultimately to a "grand master plan". Which basically meant throw out everything you own and love and currently use, like the dining room table, and make room for baby. End of story. It has been working for us.

And so as the stuff rolls in, which again, I am very thankful for, I am realizing not so quickly that the "grand master plan" was not GOOD enough. Because the truth is our place isn't BIG enough. But we will make it work. Too bad someone I know isn't into Longaberger basket sales or they would make a killing off of me. Which has turned into my go to for "extra-storage solutions". Not Longabergers, per say... but BASKETS. I currently know a heck of a lot about what baskets are out there.
At any rate. The showers have been fabulous and my friends generous. More than I feel we deserve but we do appreciate it( really, I had to say that yet again). With most of the major items off of our registry purchased we have some financial breathing room. So really, I have no right to make any complaints. It's just if you come over and I ask you to sit in the crib for dinner, please understand we are just a tad bit tight on space.

New Job?

On our way back to Chicago via I-80, my husband and I stopped in my hometown to visit my Mother for a Mother's Day hello. Part of the overnight pitstop included, on behalf of Billy's birthday as well as an observance of the day itself, dinner at my very favorite restaurant, The Cellar in Geneseo, Illinois.
The Cellar is a small town steakhouse, with a motto of "food worth traveling for"...While it's basement location and fake brick wall-papered walls might be reason to give pause to it's deeper offerings, the bottom line is the food is delicious. Basic, fresh, grilled, and delicious.
Some of my favorite memories are rooted in this restaurant. Daddy/daughter dates, birthday celebrations, sports banquets, and even the home of my very first waittressing gig, which led to a part-time career in the field and was the origins of a humiliating memory of dumping an entire pitcher of iced tea in the center of 8-top well-dressed round before I even served up the appetizers.
At any rate, I was very much looking forward to my meal.
As we approached the restaurant, we noticed immediately the two police cars parked out front. Within a matter of seconds, we also heard the shrill whir of the ambulace following up behind. As we were meeting my Grandma there, I noticed my parents dart quickly inside the restarant to make sure there were no issues with her, while Billy and I lingered back, not wanting to clog the entrance. Seems as if this split second decision was the difference between "helping" and/or not.
While the ambulance people unloaded and made their way inside, I was met with relief as I watched my Father through the window chatting up my Grandma, realizing at once that at least the victim was not... well, her.
While this fact settled in, I was interuppted by a lone, uniformed woman standing beside me on the sidewalk, holding onto a stretcher- contemplating how to lug the huge steel bed down the 8 steps to the lower level of the restaurant entrance. Without remembering that I am nearly 8 months pregnant, I heard myself mutter, "Did you want me to help you with that?"... thinking while speaking that of course the ambulace worker would recognize my very pregnat state, as well as my heels and quickly deny me.
She didn't. "SURE!" She exclaimed. I immediately did what any wife would do and said, "BILLY- Help her get this down there!". While he took over, the lone woman thrust a large canvas medical bag at me. I stood there patiently waiting for them to get the gurney down the stairs and was shocked when the woman abruptly yelled, "Get that DOWN there, it's the oxygen."
What the hell? I thought. The OXYGEN??? Why is this on ME? I sprinted down the stairs and in the foyer of the restuarant was trying to convey to the masses that I needed to know where the "emergency" was as I was, unlikely as it might seem, suddenly, the "lady with the oxygen". In stilted English I managed to convey my importance and was directed to a section of the dining room, where I came across two police officers as well as some other EMT's helping a non-breathing victim to the floor. Tables had been moved. Patrons were staring. A once bustling dining area was stunned into silence. Again, as I made my way over to the "situation" I again tried to convey the importance of what I held...
I demanded the officer look at me via several attempts of holding the canvas bag at his eye level and yelling, "This is the oxygen, THIS is the oxygen, THIS IS the oxyGEN." Eventually, he was able to hear me and held out his arms to take the life saving oxygen machine.
When I turned around to locate my family, instinct had me searching for our "table", which was thankfully, in a different room altogether and no where near any of this.
As I sat down, I felt tears of overwhelm fill the corners of my eyes as the waittress informed us that the woman was fine and was breathing but was merely choking. Whew.
As my dinner and my family and my celebration came back into focus, I wondered when I had started working for the ambulance services in town.

Like... It's Been Forever!

Becuase THIS seems to be so popular, and since I have been horrible about blogging lately, I figured I would kill two birds with one stone.

A) Four places that I go to over and over:
Domincks, work- specifically- to my desk in the basement... ew, Target, and my new favorite store- Kohl's- because the one by me just got remodeled and it's fab.
B) Four people who e-mail me :
Don't worry about it.
C) Four of my favorite places to eat:
Home ( fer real), at the Cellar ( a steak house in Geneseo, IL ), Places with white linen napkins( if I am lunching with my friends), and Francesca's.
D) Four places I wish I could be right now:
IN THE WATER- ( 6 months pregnant and the bouyancy is great), with my parents at their home ( I am not looking forward to the three hour drive- see previous item RE: pregnancy), Shopping for myself ( For shoes and accessories-naturally), in a magic place where my house is clean and my body looks fabulous and I get to walk around comfortably in a bikini sipping cocktails and getting spa treatments.
E) Four people I'm sure will respond:
I hate this question.
F) Four TV shows I watch:
Real World- EVERY SINGLE SEASON EVER, The Hills, Survivor, House Hunters

In other very important hold-your-breath-news, I bailed on my Facebook account. The pressures were mounting and after getting an e-mail from a guy from my third grade class I did what most other respectable persons would do, I deleted my account. Now, mind you, I don't go to my "reunions" and when I am "home" visiting, I would willingly knock down a tuna can tower in an effort to conceal my identity and to dodge an old classmate at Fareway if need be. I prefer my anonymity.
I know I know- I have heard of the security measure- but really- just e-mail me through my e-mail? Ya know? It's just like Facebook only I don't have to add a bunch of security measures and deny friendships to people I don't really like that much. Just saying. With regular e-mail and can secretly dislike you from afar and not so.... In Your Face...

My house recieved the royal cleaning while I was on Spring break last week- we are talking washed curtains and dusted ceiling fans here people. This was the big time. In preparation for the baby I decided to try to slowly but surely kill myself by trying to do a month's work of neglected house work in three days. I must admit I did pretty good- but by Thursday evening had not slept more than 9 hours in three days and was feeling a lot of tightening in the belly--- I laid down pretty much the rest of the weekend. I have made myself a mental promise to be a little more balanced from here on out. As a reward for my new promised plan ( or maybe just because I am looking for an excuse), I am getting myself a new pair of shoes. And since I do not buy new shoes often, this is what I deem a "production"..... I have perused Piperlime to Zappos, J. Crew to Target... nary a brown wedge sandal is out there that I don't know about.

Either way, it's time to pack for my Easter weekend away- the parent's house AGAIN!- what can I say, I like it there....

Two Year Anniversary

I never thought I would be this girl. I wanted to be this girl- but I really had thrown in the towel that I would ever BE this girl.
When I approached my 30's, single as a single could be, I began to question what was going on with me. My SIL's told me without any hesitation that I had "commitment" problems. I couldn't have disagreed more, but those words sat with me. And grew. And nagged at me as I continued to cry my way through lease signings- refuse to schedule any type of vacation- and shirk any form of lengthy project- such as a Master's program.
Eventually I came to see their angle and began to absorb that there was some truth to their words.
The funny thing is that all along the way- my goals had remained the same, and I was resolute about that. I want to be married to the perfect guy for me, own a house, and have his babies. I want to belong to church, I want to stop spending my weekends at the bar, and I want my family to come back into sharp focus.
Since that time, things have changed so much. I credit my SIL's for forcing me to see the truth, I credit my Mom for being patient, and I credit myself for finally facing what I didn't want to see.
This weekend, as I sat in my condo, celebrating our two year wedding anniversary, five months pregnant, my calendar filled with family gatherings, church a regular part of my life, and bars a place I haven't seen in months- maybe years, I am finally happy. Really happy.
My husband and I decided to not DO gifts but instead got massages and went pheasant hunting together. It was one of the nicest weekends of my life. And despite some major skepticism by what were my friends at the time, I couldn't have made a better decision in choosing him to become my lawfully wedded husband. I am just thankful my SIL's got their hands on me before I passed him up.

Roller Party

It's been a really long time since I have been roller skating. So when we got the invite to my nephew's first boy/girl roller party I immediately cleared the calendar in anticipation of the big event.. that is of course AFTER asking my doctor if pregnant ladies can roller skate... "Yes, " she said, "Just don't land on your belly." I figured I could manage that and mentally prepared myself for a broken wrist.
And last week, as I dragged through the school week, I used the roller party as my "light at the end of the tunnel". Enter Pink Floyd background music here with a dash of strobe lights. It got me thinking about the days of old, garnering rides to the "rink", making sure the battery pack on my red light-up visor was charged, seven dollars tucked into the pocket of my coolest jeans, the ones with the roller skate on the back pocket...
Screeech! Enter reality. What am I going to wear? Now, I know my GM ( generous Mother) bought me some exquisitely comfy maternity pants, including some hip jeans, well... as hip as maternity demin gets for me. However, when I sported said jeans to work on Friday, we ran into some "issues". As in, they won't stay on. They are too big. Way too big. Of course, this didn't become apparent until I was walking down the hallway during passing periods and I was quite sure that the "maternity" portion of my pants was hanging well past my deirrier. And being that my arms were full, led to some temporary panic. I made it to class but spent the remainder of the day seated behind my desk as much as possible. In the end, the idea of wearing these jeans roller skating, well, it would never do.
I went on-line and found that the closest maternity-carrying Old Navy was a good twenty minutes away, and so it became the "Saturday mission". Off I went, patient husband in tow, and within ten minutes I found myself some NEW jeans. Not nearly as cute, but with a little more staying power and illiciting a lot more confidence.
We arrived at the party right on time, and after waiting in line for no less than ten minutes, I finally had my skates. As I laced up dandy pair of beige and orange rentals, I inhaled the familiar scent of old, sweaty leather. Of course the first pair didn't fit. The ogre behind the skate rental desk begrudgingly gave me a new pair. Eventually, it was time to stand. After a good ten minutes of arm waving balancing acts, I felt back in the swing, and off I went, like it was yesterday. Around and around the rink I went, gliding with the wind in my hair. At least that is how I felt- I tried to ignore one comment "Are you sure you should be skating? You looked so wobbly out there! " I could have stayed for hours. Wobble or not.
In the end, I find that I still love roller skating. And all Junior High kids aside, it was still fun.

Special Delivery

Personally, I have a pretty weak stomach for all things medical, particularly those things which involve blood, urine, or feces. It makes me gag just thinking about it. And, if my brother and Father are any testament to my own weaknesses, we are all bona fide medical wusses ( SP? - I don't use that word much?? ) Even the mere mention of certain words could send any one of us into a tailspin of gag reflexes or a scared and worried laughter- like the word, ummm vagina? Or scrotum, or even "tissue". Yuckity yuck yuck YUCK. We lean towards the safe with more pleasant sounding synonyms, like privates, down there's, and "stuff". So knowing that..
While visiting my brother yesterday, the subject of "delivery" came up. Mostly because my brother was explaining how grossed out he was while accidently "glimpsing" childbirth before he wisely repositioned himself to a more discreet location. This, of course, was all meant to be some well-meaning advice to MY husband in regards to our own future delivery. As I saw my husband's eyes widen in horror at some of the details, I heard him mutter, " Maybe I won't even be in the same ROOM! hahaha! HAH!! ". My internal response... "Um, NOT. You will SO be there... watching me suffer and scream in pain! You don't have to ruin your "view" but you are nuts if you think I won't be riding on this delivery to get me lots and LOTS of sympathy over the next year, I mean 10 years, I mean FOREVER!! I NEED this ammo and you MUST be there to watch SOME of it!!
The subject then ventured into "safe" vantage points. And in all honesty, I am a fan of the "safe" vantage point. Why risk it? So my brother, once again falling into advice mode, began to explain like this. "If you are a vegetarian and you go into a butcher shop, you are validated that you shouldn't eat meat. If you love meat, and then go into a butcher shop and from then on cannot stomach meat, you will always wish that you had never gone into the butcher shop. Because some people cannot ever forget the visual. And you will not know if you are that guy until it's too late. So, bottom line, if you like steak, don't go into the butcher shop. "
It's only a man who could break down vaginal delivery into eating steak. I think I just puked in my mouth.

A Perfect Day

I had a great time yesterday. Maybe it was the gifts in abundance that graced my feet, ready to be opened. Maybe it was the tradition we have in our family of opening the gifts slowly and thoughtfully one by one from youngest to oldest. Most likely it was the relaxing and enjoyable time I got to spend with my generous and loving family.
As my husband and I approached my brother's house, I clapped my hands and gleefully exclamined, " I can't WAIT to see everyone today!". And while as soon as I said it I felt slightly like a four year old, it was completely true. I knew there would be a fire roaring, music playing joyfully in the background. A plethura of decadent food choices. Presents beyond any sort of humbleness, and of course, the pleasant and laugh filled cadence of my family socializing together.
I had chosen gifts for my neices and nephews carefully. I anticipated the excitement they would have in opening ALL of thier gifts, but it gives me such pleasure in watching them be happy about something I personally have chosen. I desperately don't want to be like Aunt Jenny from the Brady Bunch.
It was a scream to watch the four oldest children sit together at thier own table, dining on thier own Christmas day feasts. Nary an egg was eaten as I saw them walk gingerly to the kitchen for more chocolate chip cookies, than to me, seemed humanly possible. And while thier table conversations were short lived on any one subject, they did seem to create "stocking" banter for at least one solid minute.
My favorite moment of all was when my five year old nephew gave my husband a gift all on his own. Granted, it is a plastic eagle head, but my husband actually loved it. Like as in put it out the second we got home last night. He stood behind his Mom as Billy unwrapped it, and I actually saw him hold his breath. And the whole thing was just so sweet I wanted to cry. Because he demonstrated not only his love, but his incredible thoughtfulness and sincerity.
In addition, my family, being mostly some form or other of type "A's"- which is where I sometimes fail them all, has it all down to a very enjoyable science. Arrive, eat a traditional egg casserole breakfast ( and who knew that my self-proclaimed "horrible cook" SIL would turn into a baking afficionado overnight and produce such spectactularness as a pumpkin roll and sticky buns? DELICIOUS. Both. ) Open gifts. Take a break. Open more gifts. Take another break. Stop. Eat again. Relax.
Towards the latter part of the day, I noticed my husband was nowhere to be found. And come to think of it, my niece and brother were also MIA. I found them in the back family room, rocking out to Rock Band. And who would have thought? My husband found a new talent in drumming, my brother the guitar, and my niece... a vocalist? Let me just say now, there is NO ONE in our family, aside from my mother, that can carry even the slightest of tunes. Finding a willing participant to play lead singer, and undoubtedly making a complete ass out of themselves is hard to come by in my family. But the desire to play Rock Band seemed to have an interesting affect, overshadowing any thoughts of ass-making or self-esteem issues. Many a family member, some of whom I have not heard so much as hum, were doing thier best to belt it out for the love of the game. Amazing what technology can do.
After almost twelve hours of celebrating together, which even surprised myself, the little ones needed to go to bed, as did we. My husband warmed up the car and loaded in all the gifts ( being pregnant does have some advantages) and after saying goodbye no less than three times, we slowly drove away, not wanting the perfect day to fade away.

Thankful for What?

Over the last year or so, since the miscarriage, my husband and I have worked hard to "get a life". Meaning, since we opted to not have children, we have created and built a lifestyle that blends us, our interests, and fulfills what did seem like a very empty house. As a result of our "project", I always have something to say or offer up. Have you seen THIS movie? Have you been to THAT restaurant? Have you ever been hunting? Do you like painting/reading/redecorating on a budget... ETC.?
We have done a good job in filling in the blanks and have become satisified with our lifestyle.
But a few weeks ago, there was some news from the female doctor about some "stuff". This "stuff" is very serious and out of left field. We have been coping and processing. We have been going to the doctor and I have three more appointments next week. It is slightly consuming and I am having a difficult time of not letting it get to me. It's hard to "forget about something for a while" when a large chunk of your free time is spent sitting in a waiting room. Flipping through crappy old health magazines and trying not to stare at the other patients waiting, equally as confused and thrown off.
I wish I could publish blogs about it, but at this point, I think I better keep it hush hush, at least until Wednesday, when I am going to see a specialist. I will know more. And I won't feel as if I am being too negative, or too hopeful. If I keep it hush hush, I feel I can stay removed from the truth, which is trying it's very best to upset my equilibrium. And while I have been writing about the experiences, I am keeping them to myself. I don't want certain people to read about it before I can talk about it with them in person. They may be offended, or unnecessarily upset.
It has occurred to me lately how precious our lives are. It dawned on me that until we got the news a few weeks ago, my husband and I were very happy, yet didn't stop to realize it. Life was good. Our jobs as a teacher and a public works employee, while not lucrative, are stable in the rocky economy. Our home is slowly but surely getting upgraded and fixed up to our liking. Our goals and dreams have just enough crossover to keep us connected yet just enough distance to give us space to grow as individuals. We have hit a pleasant rhythm in our marriage and life is good.
And perhaps it still is. We are both ultimately fine. But this recent "diagnosis" could change everything. Maybe for the better in the end, but also maybe for the worse. I am praying that God continue to show me that not only does everything happen for a reason, but that it happen in a way that I understand what that reason is. And sooner rather than later. I feel He has His hand in this. I am doing my best to not worry and fret about the future.
Since it's all very female and new and precarious, my husband and I are still working on making peace with it, therefore it's not the kind of thing we are ready to tell people in everyday conversation, particularly a holiday. When asked, lately, what I have been up to, I have found myself speechless for the first time in a long time. I think in my head, "You don't really want to know what I have been up to." and then hear myself say out loud out of desperation, "OH! Nothing! Really, not much at all," but really my life has been consumed and if I opened the floodgates I don't think I could stop talking about it.
In the meantime I am thankful I have my job and my supportive family and all of the other distractions that are keeping me from over thinking the possibilities and quite frankly, going nuts.
I know in the end everything will be okay. Our lives will realign and we will eventually barely remember this chapter in time. But for now, we are living it. Trying to be strong and mature and stable. Taking things one day at a time and waiting for the next appointment for more clarification.
*** Update: Everything is going to be fine!! Yeah!! Thanks for your thoughts and prayers!***

The Day After

I hate to say this for the risk of sounding bitter, but I am thankful that Thanksgiving is over. The food I fretted over making turned out fine, and in the end, I needn't have made half of it. In fact, one whole "ladie's" salad, as I like to call it, sits in the refrigerator crisper, unmade.

I was to make two salads, one special request being the age old "Seven-Layer" by my father, stacked fattily in my never before used Pampered Chef Truffle bowl, and then the "ladie's" salad, that I have refined over the years, including but not limited to: Blue cheese, strawberries, walnuts and red onion. I made the Seven Layer number the night before, as per the directions. The other was bought and bagged and waiting patiently until about five minutes prior to Turkey time, where it would be thrown together masterfully in my brother's kitchen in all it's crispy freshness. But there was no room for it on the table. Or the buffet. As I looked over the vast expanse of casserole this and casserole that, I began to question it's humble place among the mix, and even more so, it's necessity.

I whispered to my mother in an aside, "Do you really think we need another salad?". Her quick no left me hollering for my husband to run the ingredients back to the car, where it could refrigerate peacefully in the coolness of our Turkey Day November.

And judging by the huge amounts of leftovers distributed between 16 people, I believe it was a good call.

And when the feasting had ended, and the women began an efficient assembly line of dish washing and food packaging, and the men retreated to the living room, disaster ensued. Black gooey water began to seep out from beneath the sink. Husband's names were yelled and suddenly there was an odd role reversal. The women found themselves sitting in the living room, pouring another glass of wine, and settling in nervously. The men frantically began busting out tools and flashlights and taking off the dress shirts.

Eventually, as the minutes ticked by on the clock, I reminded my husband we had another Thanksgiving to get to, and I was holding the desserts hostage. Mid-project, we had to bolt. I still don't know how it ended, and judging by the looks of my sister-in-laws face, calling back later would not be appreciated.

We pulled into the MIL's at the perfect time, missing the dinner clean up and just in time for the coffee brewing. I whipped out my two desserts, one pumpkin pie and the other pumpkin cheesecake and hoped that they had not stuffed themselves to the point of no dessert. I questioned weather or not the cheesecake would have any takers, but in the end, should have reversed my concern.

In the land of pie-making, of which I am new, it is difficult to get a single pie crust. They came in "two's". Not wanting to waste it, I made two pumpkin pies instead of the one intended. Having an extra, we had previously made a quick stop to the police station to drop one off, so the cops on call would not feel unappreciated between domestic violence house calls and DUI's. Leaving me my precious "good one" for the MIL's.

And when I began the task of asking who wanted what, everyone wanted the cheesecake. EVERY one. As I sliced through the cheesecake time after time, I hearded myself pushing the pumpkin. "Sure you don't want a little slice of pumkpin, too?". But no. I am not all that great at sales.

So the cheesecake was devoured and the pumpkin sat. Sliced and ready but whole. Not a single slice missing. The MIL packaged it back up and sent it back home with me. And now it sits on the counter and I am wondering if we should take IT to the police station as well.

So in the end, I should have made the ONE salad and the ONE dessert. I will make a mental note for next year.

And today I need to hydrate beyond capacity and walk a million miles and nibble on lettuce leaves because tomorrow is the big wedding and the dress I spent WAY too much money on in is hanging in my closet and mocking me for yesterday's gluttoney. Stupid tight dress. What was I thinking?

TV Situation

My parents are coming in for a visit today. I see them frequently, but rarely in my own home. Since both of my brothers live in the area, and have much larger homes which are much more accommodating, and kids to boot, we often find ourselves meeting up over at thier houses.

But today my parents have decided to make a special trip to visit us in our own stomping grounds. And I am excited. Well to see them, but also because they are bringing us a 43 inch flat screen TV. They bought themselves some kind of gigantic plasma and have no use for the 43 incher now. But we do. We really do.

There will initially be some furniture mayhem. The buffet our current TV sits on is way too high for a TV of this... girth ( that reminds of "the door is way to heavy sir"- I loved Bender-sigh! ). Speaking of which, it is also extremely heavy. Which means that when we do move it, what we find under it should be interesting if not embarrassing. Because I have never, as far as I can recall, cleaned under there. And I will be following them around with a broom and a dustpan, even though I am not supposed to "get in the way" of such a manly project.

Let's not forget that there will be two men, the combo being my husband and my father, that will be strong-arming my furniture. And while I have been reassured that a furniture "plan" is not in order, as a female, I know it most cetainly, IS.

If I leave the furniture placement up to the soul decision of the men, I am sure the aesthetics will leave me flustered, confused and unhappy. Whatever scraps of furniture they will happlessly "take" from somewhere else in my house to create the perfect viewing height will discombobulate some other "arrangement" that took me, most likely, several trips to Target to create.

And let's NOT forget the gigantic buffet that we currently use as a "TV stand". Where in the hell am I going to put it? I have a feeling if I don't have a "plan" I will be climbing over this thing every time I walk in the door. And I will reach my breaking point much sooner than my husband and will try to heave and hoe it myself, scratching up the floor and ruining the lay of the carpet. And I don't know if I have the patience to wait for the help of my husband if this might take as long as it has taken him to hang my wall art ( going on two years). No offense. I get it, it's all about priority. But you see, I need a plan. And fast! I gotta' strike while the iron is HOT!

So in my head, deliberately unbeknownst to the "men" a plan has formulated. It will require much more moving than they are bargaining for. They will be irritated at my requests. But at the end of the day, all will be well, and while my happy hubby plops himself on the couch to get a load of his new tube, I will pleasantly organize my new "arrangements", dusting and humming and taking a step back to see how it looks, and diving in to move this little thing and that little thing until all is right again.

It's going to be a long day before we get there, but it will be worth it.

Weekend Re-cap

Friday was a whirl of activous opportunous. What should we do, what should we DO? The Union social was going at a local bar. Another guy wanted to maybe meet us at his "local", meaning paneled walls, Hamms posters, and a yellow tile floor, or, there was always home. After maybe twenty or so questioning texts and "who's going" e-mails, the fun got blown out of our sails and Billy and I opted to meet at home. Where he promptly fell asleep on the couch and I perused through the new US Weekly and sucked down a beer. Or so.
With a fresh start on our Saturday, we headed out to the gun range, stopping to pick up a friend of Billy's on the way. The front of the shop was filled with a wide variety of guns and gun gadgets. Second amendment posters and army knives. I felt uncomfortable in my baby blue Cub's hat and New Balance tennis shoes, but quickly got over it when I spied several other females in similar attire. We paid upfront for our stall rentals and paper targets and were ushered to the waiting area, which was comprised of a picnic table and an old soda machine. From which I purchased a 75 cent Diet Coke. When some stalls opened and our ears and eyes were fully covered, off we went to assemble and shoot.
Billy had me go first, so he could provide the proper tutelage. I thought I did okay on the targets, but the thrill of shooting was, as usual, more exhilerating than my ability mattered. Billy then went, and I was more than impressed. He kept getting Bullseyes and I felt a mixture of pride and jealousy. More than that, I was impressed with his manor. Confident, safe, and methodical. He would never hurry to forego safety.
While he continued to shoot with his friend I became bored, so went back to the waiting area to read. I was stared at once or twice but ignored the questioning looks, I didn't care what they thought, my book was too good. Who wouldn't want to read about elective mutism anyway?
As we left, a trio of odd balls came in that made Larry, Larry and Darryl look refined. I kept trying to hide my face behind Billy's shoulder just enough so my stares wouldn't be caught. But the combination of military regalia and loud over-talking about gun details and the oddly thick and dirty coke bottle glasses, mixed with ill fitting clothes made me feel hincky. We left quickly but overall had a great time.
Saturday night we had two parties. TWO PARTIES! We stopped by my friend's bi-annual chocolate and cheese party. The beatiful open fire place home and the Frank Sinatra and the chocolatey martinis made it hard to not get comfortable and have a great time. Besides, they were my friends, so of COURSE I was having fun. And right as the party was climaxing we made our exit to get on to the next party. A 25th birthday party at.... Dave and Busters.
It was a bust alright.
The crowd was mixed between gangsta teen, upset five year olds, and twenty-somethings on the prowl. The loud noises and flashing lights could have given anyone a seizure. And while I really did want to play enough Ski ball to win a gigantic stuffed pink panda, I could see the anxiety in my husband's face mounting. And as soon as he ordered a beer he said, "This isn't really my kind of place". Like I didn't know that the second we walked in the door. We stayed long enough to order the birthday boy his 40 ounce beer and for my husband to finish his normal-sized one and we bolted.
It's too bad we didn't hit the parties in reverse, but the ages of the party hosts would have made that nearly impossible, unless we wanted to pre-party with the twenty-somethings and then later helped clean up the empty chocolate mousse cups while Frank began to skip on the CD player.
After such a rough night ( we were home by eleven ) we had to sleep in. So by eight AM things began to finally yawn awake around here. I convinced my husband to watch Failure to Lauch with me ( thank God at least Matthew M. was in it ) and downed a pot of coffee with the new Cinnamon Bun cream ( which is good, but really, I was just hurrying through to get to my fresh bottle of the delicious and seasonal Pumpkin Spice).
By mid-day we were eating at my MIL's, which is great because not only is the food delicious ( she's a native Greek! ) this also means I didn't have to cook. We made our Thanksgiving plans and somehow I wound up with the pumpkin pies. Not that I don't think I can do it, or mind, really, but I have made so few in my life that I question my ability to make the perfect pie as the meal pinnacle for all the in-laws. The PRESSURE! If you think I am not getting at least three frozen back-ups you are nuts.
With time on our hands we headed to Wal-mart to pick up our hunting licenses for the big hunt next weekend. The man waiting on us, or actually as it turned out, the man we were waiting on, was an immigrant from South Africa. I was fascinated. He told us he lived in a mansion with a company car ( thanks to Hewlett Packard), two swimming pools and two and half acres. We didn't get to what sort of house he has here but he did say he moved here because of the crime, well that and his Grandson and feels compelled to remind his daughter of this frequently. He also told us that he and his wife, even after forty-two years of marriage will start out on a beatuiful day and for no reason get into a fight. Forty-two years!! He said, with exasperation and surprise. He made the experience a great one.
So end over end, the weekend went. A good mixture of activity and now it's Sunday night and I know I will be restless when I try to sleep tonight, because it's Sunday night and that is what happens when I try to capture the relaxed feeling I have had all weekend, but find my thoughts slipping into those of work.

'Tis the Season!

As the recipes in newspapers start to involve all things pumpkin and turkey, as the leaves turn shades of brown and fall off the trees, and as the clock rolls back and the afternoons get increasingly darker, I, my friends, get excited. Very VERY excited.

And it's not the Fall weather, or the suggestion of imminent snow, or the switch to a warmer and cozier and fat-hiding wardrobe as much as it is "The Christmas List".

In my family, the siblings draw names. And because there are many busy working Mom's and a hint of type A personality, the "LISTS" are due by Thanksgiving. And you must submit a list because it's a rule in our family. Or you will be forced to receive something "OFF-list"... and that leads to a cluster-fudge of receipts and returns and frowns on the happiest day of the year, as you enviously leer at the person next you smiling and enjoying a gift they actually wanted.

I am not sure HOW the due date came to be, exactly, although I am guessing it has something to do with a barrage of friendly-with-a-hint-of-impatience e-mail reminders sent out by, well, you know who you are.

And so with one eye on the calendar, I have stepped up the perusal of random shopping sites. Carefully saving my list of possibilities under my Favorites until I decide I officially want it. Where it is then cautiously copied and pasted onto my "List".

And I have found something glorious. Truly glorious. The Staxx ring. SO cute. SO wearable. SO diverse! And you can buy all sorts of parts and kits and colors.

And I can't wait to see the others' lists either. To see what has been pumping up THEIR jam lately.