Semi Wordless Wednesday

This is what happens . . .



when you let your child go outside . . .



with a handful of cookies.



This is what happens . . .



when your child likes to play . . .



in dirt.



This is what happens . . .



when your child decides . . .



dirt and cookies are good for the face.

Tears, Glorious Tears

These days, the things that promote my tears to flow are really, really, REALLY ridiculous.

1) Any baby birth story, adoption story, or any show about either topic.



2) The reveal on each episode of "What Not to Wear." (seriously)



3) The HGTV commercial where the Daddy dresses up to attend his little girl's tea party.



4) The "Best in Show" announcement at the Westminister Dog Show. (Yeah -- I cried, and I'm not even a dog person)



5) Every episode of Vern Yip's "Deserving Design."



6) Gone with the Wind (a movie that has NEVER prompted tears now makes me wail)



7) Any cooking mistakes in the kitchen -- yes, I cry now when my oatmeal boils over.



8) Hubby making fun of me for crying . . .but, to be honest, those are angry tears.




That's right, my "sweet" husband believes that it is perfectly acceptable to make fun of a weeping woman. It doesn't matter that I fire off angry retorts or send soul piercing thunderbolts from my furious eyes. Nope -- the BOY thinks it is ok to laugh.

LAUGH!!!!

Yesterday, he momentarily fooled me, agreeing with how sweet a commercial was. I was touched, falsely thinking that my husband had a heart and understood the reason for the river of tears pouring down my cheeks.

Then, as I looked over at him, I realized he had turned his face away and his body was shaking with laughter.

I threw something at him. Can't remember what it was but I know that it was definitely NOT heavy enough!

I Love Jesus, but I Drink A Little

This seriously has to be one of the funniest things I've ever watched. If you've seen it before, you know what I mean.

This video takes about 7 minutes of your day but it is WORTH IT! My husband and I were in tears over this.

Catch me -- I might faint!!!!

So . . . has anyone noticed the progression shown on my little ticker at the bottom of this ol' blog??? WHAT? You haven't!?!?!? You mean -- you are not anxiously looking at it each day, counting down till the moment when I reach 12 weeks? That all so important milestone hasn't been on your mind every waking minute??????

Oh. It's just me.

Hmmmmmm.

Well, then, let me share the good news.

I HAVE MADE IT TO TWELVE WEEKS!!!!!!!!!

(insert bloated, pregnant woman doing an awkward happy dance here)

Yesterday, the Little Lady, Hubby, and I went in for my 12 week appointment. Of course, like each appointment so far, I was incredibly nervous and prepared for bad news.

But, the only bad news given in that room was to the Little Lady, when her daddy told her that she could NOT play with the Bio-Hazard Trashcan. She was thoroughly heart-broken.

The baby is doing well, as shown on the grainy ultrasound, and it appears that I'm growing a little kick-boxer. Oooooooo -- this is going to hurt in a few months! That baby was moving, kicking, and punching during the entire ultrasound. It was crazy how active that little thing was. Good grief!

Of course, my sister, upon hearing the details of the visit, groaned and said "Oh, no -- you're going to have another Asher." Asher is my one year old nephew who, according to his mom, hasn't stopped moving since conception.

You know what? I'll take that scenario. I've waited too long for a dream (that seemed as though it would never happen) to be upset that my dream is a little hyper-active.

Besides, maybe the Little Lady and this Little One will just wear each other out and I'll have two kids that sleep through night for the rest of their lives.

Right? Right? That's what's going to happen, right? Surely that's not just wishful thinking on my part.

And, if it is -- don't tell me.

The Little Lady Learns to Talk

It is amazing how quickly little ones pick up the process of communicating. Every day, the Little Lady uses a word or phrase for the first time. Usually, it takes a few minutes to realize what she's talking about, but sometimes the meaning is all to clear.

"Steeenkuh:" that's Stinker, for those that don't follow the Little Lady's dialect. Yep, she now knows the word "Stinker." What's even more impressive is the fact that she uses it VERY correctly, reserving its use only for her Daddy. She runs up to him, points, yells, "STEEENKUH," and then runs away as Daddy chases her. Definitely her favorite game this weekend.

(and, definitely my favorite little bit of Little Lady lingo)

"Wus amanner:" Every time she starts to cry, no matter what the cause, the Little Lady asks herself the same question over and over -- "What's the matter." Ahhhh, it so bittersweet to see her little self sitting on the floor or in her rocking chair, sobbing away, trying to be introspective and determine why she's crying. Sorry, honey, but that confusion never gets better. I still ask myself that same question every time I tear up.

"Di jou poooop:" This is the most embarrassing of the Little Lady's acquisitions. "Did you poop" Each time one enters or leaves the bathroom, or if her Daddy behaves like a 12 year old boy and "lets loose", that question is the Little Lady's response. Over and over and over. "Di jou poooop? Di jou pooooop? Di jou poooooooooop?" Sigh. It's definitely the most clearly enunciated of her new words and phrases.

Luckily, she hasn't unleashed this one on anyone outside of our immediate household. I'm not ready for the shocked eyes of friends or strangers just yet.

I've turned into THAT woman!

Dear, Hubby --

What's wrong with this picture?



Well, aside from the obvious focus, color, and crooked star issues????

Did you say that the "wrong factor" lies in the fact that it is a picture of a CHRISTMAS TREE??? In FEBRUARY???

Woo hoo! You win!

And, I lose.

Yes, we still have our Christmas trees up . . .in the middle of February. In case you haven't noticed, this is NOT the norm for most people.

But, it is not my fault. Even though I am a Christmas-fanatic, I am not so in love with that most festive of seasons that I leave my decor up year round.

Oh no -- normally, I have things promptly put away on the 1st of January. It's tradition.

Somehow, tradition went out the window this year. I blame you.

Now, I realize that I can't blame you for all bad things that happen around here, but you totally gets the blame for my decorations still being out and about.

You see -- you, a "manly man", REFUSE to climb up into the attic and bring down all of my boxes.

Refuse.

But, your Mama and my own Mama have REFUSED to give me permission to climb up there myself.

"You do not have any business up there in your condition," they have told me.

(I have to admit -- it is kind of nice to be able to use "my condition" to throw work your way.)

So, Hubby -- if you're reading today . . . ummmm . . . can we PLEASE put stuff away this weekend? I'd hate to have to call your Mama again -- but I will. Consider that threat now out there.

Love, Your Wife.

P.S. Happy 35th Birthday!!!!!!!!!!

Semi Wordless Wednesday

Sometimes the best of intentions just go horribly awry.

Even a Mommy's simple intention of giving her Little Lady her 1st haircut.

Well, Now That's Just LOVELY!

The Little Lady learned a new word yesterday.

From Mommy.

"Crap."

UGH!

I knew that I needed to purge the word from my vocab, but I hadn't yet. Honestly, it's just a great word. Seriously -- I can't think of ANY situation where it doesn't fit. It's MY word.

And, now, it's also the Little Lady's word.

Only, she doesn't use it accurately or with the gusto that Mommy does.

She just "sings" the word.

To the tune of the "ABC Song."

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!"

Oh -- and Hubby, the great help that he is, has decided to teach her the question "What Does Mommy Say" . . . . with "crap" being her answer.

Sigh. And. . . crap.

Semi Wordless Wednesday

While the rest of you have been dealing with extreme winter weather, this part of Texas has been beautifully mild.

The Little Lady took it upon herself to enjoy the weather in her own way, taking her blankie outside for a nap.




Of course, once she realized she had been caught, then it was all about being silly.




Turning from my silly daughter, I realized one of our magnolias is blooming again.




Hip hip hooray for warm weather.

What a Man, What a Man... a Mighty Good Man

NO -- I am definitely not talking about my husband today. Well, I suppose I could; the poor guy is having to put up with a lot these days.

But, no, today there is another man worthy of discussion on the ol' blog: Poppi.

Who is Poppi?

Oh, just the man who expanded my closet space, the man who put up baby gates so the Little Lady doesn't fall down the stairs, the man who painted my bathroom, the man who fixed the drywall work that Hubby "tried" to do . . . and, most important of all, the man who REPAINTED MY HORRIBLY UGLY KITCHEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously, who is Poppi?

The Little Lady's Grandpa -- my husband's father -- my sweet father in law.

And the only man in my life who does any kind of work around my house.

(Sorry, Hubby, but even you know it's true.)

This past week, Poppi was here and he took pity on a sad little pregnant Mama . . . pity that her husband certainly didn't show her. You see the sad little pregnant Mama (ok, ok, I'm talking about me here) was depressed over the state of her kitchen.

Once upon a time, I thought my kitchen needed to be green. I love green . . . all shades, but I never found the right hue for my kitchen. What I ended up with was a florescent, jarring color that shocked everyone who entered the room.

It was really, really ugly.

Since I realized my mistake, I have tried to find the perfect, new color. Don't worry, a few months ago -- I found it and blogged about it: Bonjour Beige.

(Come on -- how was I NOT going to blog about the experience of buying paint. What's more interesting than that?)

But, my husband refused to help me paint and the Little Lady was all too eager to help. My paint sat on the shelf, waiting for the day when SOMEONE would use it for greatness.

Last week, Poppi was that someone.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh . . . .I love looking into my kitchen now. It's beautiful, calming, and magazine worthy. My antique platters and dishes glisten on the soft taupe background; my daughter throws less fits under the spell of the new paint; heck, I even COOK better in this new room.

All because Poppi is a painting genius.

Hubby, why would you let your father show you up like that?????




A Jay and Deb Production.

Proof that I Must Make God Giggle

I have been nervous, really, really nervous this past week. All of a sudden, after my nipple making days, all pregnancy symptoms disappeared.

Every dang single one of them.

No more freakish hunger.

No more little cramps and twinges.

No more manly burps. (Yes, I wrote "manly burps." I am not proud.)

What the heck? What in the world did it mean to be suddenly "symptomless?" Of course, since I'm a pessimistic worrier, I instantly thought the worst and shared my fears with my mom and husband.

And, of course, I also turned to the internet. That didn't help. I found positive stories and negative stories alike.

Sigh.

My hourly prayers became modified. Instead of just praying for the health of my little one, I began tearfully praying for God to give me morning sickness, nausea, gas. . . . ANYTHING to act as a sign that my baby was still alive.

I got NADA.

I became more and more scared, losing faith in the miracle God had given us. Losing faith in God's purpose and plan.

Saturday night, as I sat on the couch, worried, I remembered a post I'd written in December. The post, "D@mn Hallmark," was written on a night when I was struggling with my past miscarriage and my infertility. I questioned why I desperately wanted another child instead of being content with the beautiful baby God allowed us to adopt. I questioned the fairness of God giving me such a desire without giving me the ability to get pregnant (or the ability to finance a second adoption).

I was basically feeling sorry for myself.

As I reread this post the other night, I noticed the date of "publication:" December 8th.

What's so special about December 8th?

According to my due date, the baby's measurements, and everything else that goes into the calculations, December 8th was the day my baby was conceived.

The very day my husband's super swimmers broke the tough wall of my obstinate egg.

I couldn't (and still can't) believe it. On the day that I questioned God and His plan for all that we've been through, He was working an absolute miracle in me.

And, that was my sign. Not a sign that my baby was ok, but a sign that God was in control. That God had planned this, created this experience. . .and did it when I was at one of my lowest points.

God did all of this in the midst of my doubt.

And, I'm sure He was laughing the whole time . . . knowing that soon I would learn of a tiny life, fearfully and wonderfully made by His hands, in my broken body. He laughed knowing that soon I would realize the extent of His grace, love, and purposeful planning (planning that doesn't require any prior knowledge on my part for it to succeed.)

That same Saturday night, I shared the entire story with my husband, letting him know the full extent of God's hand in the conception of our new child.

Sunday . . . the hunger, fatigue, twinges, and (sigh) the manly burps all came back with a vengeance.

And, I found the baby's heartbeat on my new doppler.

All is well.