PSF -- Correcting My Summer Mistake

Mommy is an idiot, especially given the fact that Mommy, in a former life, was an English teacher.

Sigh.

(1) All summer long, the Little Lady and I have been cooped up in the house. No play-dates, no outings other than OB appointments, and no swimming pool events (thanks to the Little Lady's surgery).

(2) Prior to the adventure described in this post, I did not have a library card.

(3) I didn't know that library cards are FREE!! (Seriously. Me = Idiot)

(4) I did NOT realize that the Little Lady could have been participating in the Library's Summer Reading program for toddlers. Other people reading to her, entertaining her . . . twice a week. Every week. ALL. SUMMER. LONG.

(5) The Summer Reading Program ended LAST Tuesday. . . the day before I found out about the wonders of the local library.

Yeah -- Mommy was an idiot this summer.

But, there's always the "next time," and that time starts August 17th. That's right. I only have to wait. . . um, I mean . . . the LITTLE LADY only has to wait a few more weeks till "Toddler Story Time" begins at our library. It's only once a week, but it's at least one outing a week that I can plan for . . . look forward to . . . and be excited about. (how about all of those prepositions. Woo hoo.)

I'm sure the Little Lady will enjoy it too. She certainly loved our first library trip this past Saturday. WOW, did she love it. The books were exciting, the toddler computer was the best toy ever, and the padded story-circle was the best thing to fall into EVER.

She even got her own library card, which she loved "showing off" for this picture.

This little book, which I don't even think was written in English, was her favorite.

And, I can't fail to show off my big girl at the computer. She was INSULTED each time we tried to help her. "No, no, Daddy! No, no, Mommy!" Yeah, the independent stage has definitely started.

Then, like the big girl that she is, she got to chat with the Librarian and check out her very own books with her very own "liber-berry" card.

The Little Lady and I are both VERY ready to head back.

Photo Story Friday:

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Proof of Progress

Remember the last time that I griped talked about the baby's room? I was frustrated concerned by the fact that we had not finished converting our office into Baby Boy's bedroom. I had emptied the closet, the drawers, the filing cabinet but needed help from The Hubby to finish.

Here's a glimpse back . . . .




Yeah -- definitely NOT pretty!

I ended up packing everything and moving all of the boxes myself. A rush of nesting adrenaline propelled me forward . . . but it was gone once I was finished. WOW! If you follow me on Facebook, that was one of those days when I complained about feeling as though I had been run over by a truck.

Despite the back pain, the room was ready for nearly ready for painting. Hubby added his own energy to the preparations by moving the filing cabinet, desk, computer, etc., to our guest room. Then, my ever so gracious father-in-law gave up part of his vacation to paint the room for me!!! WOO HOO!

While it isn't completely finished, we certainly can claim progress has occurred. I haven't been able to paint the furniture, yet; I guess that will have to wait until after the baby comes (Hubby HATES and refuses to paint). And, as you'll see, all of the decorations need to be finalized and put in their proper place, and I need to organize all of the baby supplies.

BUT . . . it is so much closer!!!!!

Woo hoo, I say. WOO HOO!









Close-ups of the bedding








Close-ups of the prints (still need to be opened and framed) and other deco

Thank you, NRA, for the Dress Up Clothes

I didn't grow up around my guns. As a child, my father (a farmer at that time) had one .22 . . . um, is "shotgun" the correct term? Or, is it a rifle?

Either way, he had ONE firearm; he kept it behind the seat of his farm-truck, ready for any emergency out in some lonely pasture. You know -- 'cause cows and prairie dogs are soooo fierce.

Dad wasn't a "gun guy." He didn't even hunt, even though everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) in our family did.

So, guns are rather foreign to me and seem, well, a bit unnecessary.

That statement is (most decidedly) NOT true for my husband and his family.

Guns. Guns. Guns.

Yeah, my husband's family enjoys the relationship they have with their guns.

(they do keep the guns appropriately locked in cabinets and the ammunition is kept in a separate locked cabinet; woo hoo for that)

Here in our house, I believe the Hubby has three guns. Why? I DO NOT KNOW! He doesn't really hunt; if . . . IF he goes hunting, it's only for the excuse of firing his gun. In five years of marriage and 5-6 hunting adventures, he has yet to actually bring back anything. He just likes to fire a gun.

With the exception of my father (who is now a United Methodist minister), I guess it's a guy-thing to like and desire guns. Hubby recently bought a hand-gun . . . just because. Actually, I think he purchased it because his buddy, his "boyfriend," purchased one. They go on man-dates to the rifle range -- just to feel manly and fire off rounds from their new toys.

Sigh.

And, because of that purchase, the Little Lady has added an interesting item to her dress-up collection.

It came in the mail -- innocently encased in a slightly battered manila envelope -- the bulky, mysterious shape within pushing against the paper wrapper.

Hubby had looked at me a bit accusingly, silently asking what I'd purchased from Ebay or Etsy this time.

"It's not mine," I said in reply to his unasked question.

Turns out, it was his. His "prize" for buying a new gun and for attending a local gun show.

The NRA, of which my husband is not a member, sent my husband a hat, which the Little Lady promptly claimed as HERS.



Oy ve - she really is her father's child.

Baby Stellan

PLEASE be praying for Baby Stellan. If you are following MckMama's blog, you know that Stellan is, again, having a very, very, VERY rough time.

Here's the link to My Charming Kids, so that you can read Stellan's story and leave MckMama some encouragement.

http://www.mycharmingkids.net/

Pregnancy Brain Strikes (AGAIN)

Oh. My. Goodness.

Not only is this situation just SAD, but it is my new "Most Embarrassing Moment Ever."

Hooray for me.

Let me preface by explaining that I am one hot woman. Not a sexy hot, mind you. No, I'm talking about the kind of hot that creates sweat pools. . . the kind of hot that makes you hate every last freaking day of Summer . . . the kind of hot where you don't want anyone or anything to touch you.

Even wearing light weight clothing, at this volatile stage of hotness, is miserable.

My husband made fun of me last night, referencing the Popsicle wrappers that were around our house. "I can always tell where you've been through out the day," he said laughing (and promising that he didn't have some hidden agenda by bringing up the fact that I was leaving the wrappers lying around).

I wanted to kick him -- which always seems to be my desire as of late -- but I refrained and just politely (very politely) reminded him that it is HOT in HOUSTON!!!!!

Today is no exception. It's hot. Humid. Sticky. Definitely not pleasant.

So, this morning after getting up, I decided that underwear and a (wayyyyyyy too small) shirt were all I needed to get through the day.

"I'll be less miserable," I told myself. "Plus, all of the blinds and curtains are closed . . . and, it's just me and the Little Lady. She won't notice I'm not properly dressed!"

Sigh. If only I could go back to those crucial first moments of the morning.

After an active morning of eating breakfast, coloring, and watching the Backyardigans, the Little Lady decided it was time for our daily nap. I was READY. After getting her to bed, I settled my scantily clad self onto the couch and immediately passed out.

Somewhere in the haze of sleep, I could hear Little Orphan Annie singing: "It's a Hard Knock Life for Us . . . It's a Hard Knock Life for Us." Struggling to wake up, I realized my cell-phone was ringing (and, yes, that's my ringtone of choice). Before I could really pull myself together and off of the couch, the song stopped and the missed call message flashed on the screen.

Missing a call doesn't stress me out anymore; I promptly laid back down to go back to sleep. But, I remembered that I was awaiting a call from my doctor. Sighing, I again attempted to pull myself up off of the couch, which is definitely not an easy feat.

The missed call was from my brother-in-law.

Ugh -- I woke up and actually GOT UP for him? Now, I love my brother in law, but was he, at that moment, truly "wake-up worthy?" It was debatable, especially given how hot I was at that point from the energy exerted to check that silly phone.

But I couldn't just dismiss him. During his single days, my brother in law was infamous for dropping by unannounced. Memories of those visits stirred up a faint sense of panic. Holy crap, what if he was calling to let me know he was nearly to the house? What if he just walked in the back door and found me, in my underwear and shirt, lounging on the couch? HOLY CRAP!

I sent two quick texts.

The first was to my brother in law:

"Sorry. I am napping. What's up?"

The second was to the Hubby.

"Any idea why your brother just tried to call me? He better not be coming by cause I am LITERALLY without clothes right now."

Then, I waited for their responses.

Hubby was silent. No phone call. No incoming text. Nothing.

Hmmmmmmm.

My brother in law, on the other hand, called back, informing me that he had two questions -- the most important being "did I really mean to send him a text letting him know that I wasn't wearing clothing."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I looked at my phone. He was correct. The text to my Hubby had NOT been sent to my hubby. It went to the brother in law.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I tried to apologize. I tried to explain. I tried to excuse myself.

But the damage was done. He knew the truth.

And, his original reason for calling wasn't to let me know he was stopping by. Nope -- he was safely two hours away from my house.

Sigh . . . and Sigh.




p.s. For the record, I am now FULLY clothed!

More Random Thoughts

(1) WHAT THE HECK??? My stomach AND my butt both curve out exactly the same. I look like a walking joke . . . from Saturday Night Live. Sigh.

(realized while walking past the ugly mirrored wall in our dining room)

(2) Well, CRAP . . . my two year old has learned to be a potty mouth because her hormonal, sleep-deprived mama can't control her own mouth. Hubby is going to LOVE this new development.

(and, for the record, her new phrase is "Dang'ed it" . . . correctly used with perfect tone, pitch, and facial expressions.)

(3) I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!


(4) Shut up -- No! No! No! No! That is all the more reason why I need c-section. That's the only plan.

(after Hubby decided to share all the info he's been learning about "natural" births: "tearing", episiotomy, prolapsed uterus, incontinence, hemorrhoids, bowel movements . . .")

(5) Little Lady!!!!!! Licking your finger and then wiping it on the windows does NOT equal "washin' da winows." When have you EVER seen me do that?

(yeah -- every day . . . this is how she helps Mommy clean.)

(6) YES! I can plant pumpkins!!!!

(if you play "Farm Town" on Facebook, you understand the significance of this!)

(7) This is what you consider to be THE development of all developments?

(Hubby, after he read his daily "what's happening with your baby" email, sent me a message that proudly proclaimed his son's testicles were descending this week. Well, woo hoo, Hubby.)

PSA -- DON'T Leave Home Without It

This past weekend, we traveled to The Middle of Nowhere, Texas, for my husband's family reunion.

And, this past weekend, I became one of those women that my mom always warned us against becoming.

I did NOT wear a bra the ENTIRE weekend. . . sigh.

I'm going to blame my venture into the land of bad taste and bad fashion on my husband. After all, it's because of him that I'm pregnant. Because I'm pregnant, my uterus is now up in my ribs, just under "the girls." Because my uterus is co-habitating with "the girls," I can't breathe when I wear a bra. Because I can't breathe when I wear a bra, I decided to NOT wear it for our 5 hour car ride across Texas.

I meant to pack it -- I did! (and, yes, I said "it," as in ONE! Sorry, folks, I know that is rather gross but there's only one bra left that "kind of" fits these days. Since the baby could come next month, I've decided to wait on getting the next size up till I know how breast-feeding impacts things. There you go -- now you know everything.)

In fact, I put my lone bra right by my purse, so I would not leave it behind. The plan was to be "free falling" for the long car ride and then (somehow -- under the black cloak of night) put it on before meeting his family.

But. . . sigh.

Things happened.

We were running late. I was hungry. I was anxious about finally seeing the Little Lady after her week's absence from our house.

I wasn't thinking, and I left my bra neatly folded on the table.

We arrived at the campsite very, very late. Yes, I had to "camp" all weekend -- which doesn't factor well into this story. Anyway . . . carefully and strategically carrying my purse (yeah -- I decided to postpone putting on the bra I "thought" I had), I walked into my inlaws' camper. After hugging and kissing the Little Lady, we crawled into bed, planning on unloading our bags the next morning.

And, it was the next morning, after I had showered, (semi) dressed, and fixed my hair, that I learned my bra was not in the car.

Shame and tears flooded my face. I couldn't believe it -- I would be meeting distant relatives sans foundational garments.

Scenarios started running through my tortured, hormonal mind. I could see myself, bopping down the rocky hill: boing, boing, boign, boing.

"Hi, Family!"

Shocked faces would greet me. Mothers would run to their children, rushing to cover their innocent eyes from the horror of my flopping gait. Fathers would turn red, not sure which way to turn for escape. Grandmothers would turn to one another, whispering in shocked disgust.

As this imagined scene played out, I turned to my husband and began to sob. The poor guy was lost. His pregnant wife, who had been venting for weeks about her uncomfortable bra and wishing she could go without one, was now crying because she didn't have that same hateful bra.

What was a guy to do?

He offered to drive to the nearest Walmart, a mere hour away. He desperately looked around the camper --I'm sure he was trying to find supplies that could be used to "MacGyver" a bra. Alas -- there were no Ace bandages, no duct tape, nothing which could be used to cover my overflowing cups.

All weekend, despite my attempts to nonchalantly hide my chest (and despite the double and triple layered shirts I wore in the 100+ temps), I knew that my secret wasn't a secret.

OH -- and did you know that a bra does more than just support and conceal one's bosoms? I didn't till this wonderful weekend. A bra also . . . .

(1) Stops sweat (remember the aforementioned 100+ temps) from pooling between the girls;

(2) Keeps nasty, Texas Hill-Country bugs from crawling around to explore my female hills and the salt-water lake below them;

(3) Forms a barrier from the dry dust and dirt that was hell-bent on covering every inch of my chest.


Yeah -- a bra is good for a lot of things.

I think it is time to breakdown and buy some new ones, regardless if they might not fit in a month.

No more humiliation, tears, bugs, sweat, and dirty boobies for me.

WW - A Sneak Peak

Guess what I did yesterday?

Less than 8 weeks to go before we can see if my little boy really looks like this!

The Silence is Thundering

Crickets.

That's all I hear.

Well, that's what I would hear if there were crickets in my house.

But there aren't any (thank goodness); instead, only the sounds of Charlie the Bunny, munching on carrots, and the fish tanks, water gurgling and sputtering, fill my ears.

Wait?

What about the sound of little feet skipping along the wood floor . . .

The sound of a squeaky little voice calling over the monitor, "Woo hoo! Mommy? Wer' ARRRRR YOU?" . . .

The sound of a slightly off-key song being sung to the myriad of baby dolls piled up on the couch . . .

Where are THESE sounds?

They're gone.

The Little Lady is on vacation . . . .with her grandparents. For an entire week!

This means that MOMMY is on a vacation!

(that's the Hubby and I doing our "Happy Dance;" I'm the skinny one, of course. Of COURSE!)

As we left my in-laws yesterday, without the Little Lady, neither of us couldn't shake the feeling that we were forgetting something. We checked bags and my purse, verified that each of still had our cell phones . . . made sure that the house keys were in our possession.

We had everything. There wasn't a single thing missing.

Except for our Little Lady.

The 5 hour trip home was (for lack of a better description) just plain WEIRD! We talked without interruption and listed to (REAL) adult music. Not once did I have to turn into a contortionist to retrieve a fallen book, pacifier, sippy cup, baby doll, or crayon.

It was our first childless drive in two years.

(well, semi-childless since the baby insisted on making his presence known the whole trip -- thank you very much, little guy, for the kicks, jabs, head rolls, and braxton hicks contractions. It was soooo much fun.)

The silence is nice.

Sleeping in is a very good thing.

Going to the bathroom alone is wonderful. . . really, really wonderful.

But, I must admit, I found myself feeling lonely today. I even cried when I called to check on her. She excitedly yelled, "Mommy," and then, in her little girl gibberish, told me about her day.

And, I missed her.

I missed her hugs, her mischievous grins, her varied expressions and moods.

I even missed her trying to drink out of MY big girl cups (although, I didn't miss cleaning up the inevitable messes from that activity).

I miss my Little Lady, and it's going to be a very, very, very long week.

Water -- with Mice on the Side

Oh, my Little Lady.

Those who know her in real life, know that her ennuciation/pronunciation is not ALWAYS correct.

Heck, I've given examples here on the blog . . . remember our struggles with the Letter S? Thankfully, she's no longer saying "kinky cocks" each time she sees a pile of "stinky socks." Yes, that problem has been remedied. Oh -- and she can now say "Upstairs" instead of "Up YOURS!"

Things are getting better.

But, these days, she seems to enjoy ADDING letters to words. . . . like the word "ice."

She loves, loves, loves ice. Every sippy cup of water needs a few, freshly frozen chunks of Mice in it.

Wait? Mice?

Yes, dear reader -- MICE.

THE ONE ANIMAL THAT F-R-E-A-K-S ME OUT.

That's what she calls ice.

"Mommy, Mommy! Um . . . . (oh, and "um" is our new favorite word) need some mice. Please, Mommy, please! Mice, Mommy! MICE!"

PLEASE, child, PLEASE -- drop the M!

We practice at every meal; both her Daddy and I repeatedly say, "No -- ICE. ICE."

And, with dogged determination, she reiterates . . ."Mice. MICE."

Of course, Daddy thinks its funny. Then, again, he's ALSO the lovely man who taught her the game "See-Food" last week . . . and taught her the game "Throw It." (which, apparently, involves CHUNKING anything and everything across the room -- off the couch -- down the stairs -- at my head. Sigh)

Yeah, mealtimes are just lovely. She's talking about mice, showing me mouthful shots of partially chewed food, and yelling "Throw It" as she pitches potatoes and bread across the table.

So . . . um . .. . Anyone want a toddler for a few days?