Guess what?

I got to buy this today:


Yes, that means what you think it means! A baby girl will be arriving at our house sometime at the first-mid May. I am fairly certain that her name will be Brooklyn Claire because Chris and I actually agree, which is a small miracle. He has vetoed my other favorites: Hadley, Campbell and Emerson--oh, and Olivia. Olivia because turns out that naming our children after the pair of sex crime detectives on one of our favorite TV shows is not appropriate. Oh well. See why I need to stick with the name on which we both agree? Otherwise it could be a delivery room decision and that doesn't seem wise.

This means I get to use one of the two sets of girl bedding I purchased long, long ago--the bedding I was sure that jinxed me.

My weekend was full of celebrating and not enough resting. I'm not complaining now, but certainly will be when I return to work tomorrow. A quick run-down of the events:


*Dinner with the Hubs at Simply Fondue on Friday evening. A delicious, extended dining experience that left me uncomfortably full. The highlight of the evening was most definitely the dark chocolate raspberry cabernet dessert.
*A mini shopping trip with my wee family. Fun even if we did go to the mall. On a Saturday. During the holidays.
*An overnight stay at a foufy local hotel. This was the view from the window of our 18th floor room:

*Celebrating and socializing with my THERAPY 2000 friends. Who doesn't love getting dressed up and enjoying a night out, even with less-than-desirable food?
*A perfect lunch and shopping date with one of my other favorite people on the planet, my friend, Stephanie. It is so delicious to have one-on-one time sans kids with the dearest of friends.
*And finally, hanging with my love watching season finale of The Amazing Race & Cowboys game with Chili's take-out.


Yup. I am one lucky girl.

Puhp-ohhhh

One of these is one top of our fridge, with an ever-dwindling supply of Halloween candy:


Elliott calls it puhp-ohhh. Puhp-ohhh has come to mean candy in Elliott's world. Conversations in our home often go like this:

Mommy: Elliott, what would you like for breakfast--cereal or toast?

Elliott: Puhp-ohhh

Mommy: Sigh in defeat.

Tonight E's monologue went like this:

"Hi, Puhp-ohhh. I wuv uuu, puhp-ohhh."

This was right before he begged for a granola bar and then picked out the chocolate chips one by one. I blame this sugar-mania on my husband, who loves all things candy. I fear we're going to need locks on candy locations in this house.

Glammy's Agua

If you are wondering, Glammy's agua (ahh-wah) looks like this, according to Elliott:



I was hoping this might make my mom drink actual water, but she kind of rolled her eyes and chuckled. I'm thinking that if an almost 2 year old thinks you only drink Diet Coke, there might be a problem. . .

What's That Smell?

After spending several weeks days trying to figure out the source of a pesky funk, I have decided that the source is ME. Specifically, my armpits. Evidently I blocked out this pleasing side effect of pregnancy. Turns out my Secret Clinical Strength isn't a match for the hormone overload in my pit-region.

In more positive news, we got to hear Baby Buster's heartbeat chugging along yesterday at the doctor's office. After four weeks with only little squiggles in my belly to let me know that he/she is alive and well, that rhythmic pumping is music to my ears. I was especially anxious with my friend's complicated pregnancy experience right now. Sometimes a trip to the doctor can relieve my fears. However, the anxiety leading up to the appointment definitely doesn't help the perspiration. . . Do you think the nurse had to use air freshener in the exam room after I left? How embarrassing.

My Husband is Obsessed

with Angry Birds. I believe it might be a sickness. The fact that he refuses to lower the volume without much nagging and keeps the noise turned on when he types on the iPhone might lead to serious sickness. Sickness caused when I punch him when he's not looking.

When Bad Things Happen. . .

I feel like I have spent my life feeling like I was on the less fortunate side of things: not quite as smart as Deana, not quite as pretty as Amanda, not as good in love as Stephanie, not as skinny as _____, and on and on. . . Until now. Now don't get me wrong, I feel quite fortunate in my life to have a great family, beautiful son, adoring husband (you adore me, right Chris?), etc. I am talking about that deep down 'if only' syndrome that we all carry around.

I am getting a hefty dose of being the more fortunate one and it is a heavy load to carry. I have not known the depths of this joyful burden before, but I am feeling intense guilt. You see, I have a dear friend, a kindred spirit in many ways, that is also pregnant. And this dear friend is hurting. Her pregnancy is in jeopardy and it is ripping me apart inside. Ripping me apart that two people so incredibly sensitive, loving, thoughtful and hopeful about a new life are feeling gut-wrenching, potentially life-altering pain and there is NOTHING I CAN DO. And just as there is nothing I can do to change their outcome, there is nothing that this lovely, loving couple could have done to prevent this severe complication. It is just shitty luck that has left her sitting on bed rest hoping for good news Tuesday and I am sitting in a hotel room blissfully uncomplicated by such things.

I am immensely happy and thankful for this new soul growing inside of me, and at the same time I can't figure out what put me in a place of relative safety and this dear friend in a place of relative risk and pain. I have known of my friend's situation for 4 days now and it is still consuming my thoughts. Consuming. Eating up my daydreams and my time. My soul is rocked by empathy for her pain and worry. I think--How can she eat? How can she sleep? How can she smile? how? If she lose this baby, how will she cope with the tearing pain? If I go on to have a healthy baby and she does not, how will she ever look at me and my baby and not think, 'That should be me'?

I know that the answer to these answers for this kind friend is faith. I have prayed more this week than I have in quite some time. I pray for peace within the soul of my friend and her husband. I pray that they can lean upon each other for strength instead of turning inward. I pray that if they receive good news that they can celebrate without heavy hearts. I pray that God can lift any guilt from my friend's heart over this tragic event. I pray that if bad news is received that this couple will find strength in each other, their friends and their faith. I pray.

That is all that is left to do.

Announcements from the Depths of Fatigue

I've finally drug myself from the pits of exhaustion to admit to the interwebs that Baby Buster is on his/her way! It's true. Elliott will have a sibling of the human variety arriving sometime mid-May.

I say human variety because, let's face it, my kid totally thinks that Humphrey is his sibling. And for the most part, he's right. We've been working diligently on teaching him something other to say than "Get down, Humphrey."* We now get the occasional, "Good boy, Humphrey."*

*Asterisk required in case one might think that Elliott's utterances actually sound this clear. . . despite having a speech therapist for a mom, this is not the case. I have a tiny complex about it.

My boy can dance. . .

Not quite the same as live action footage, I would like to present to you the fantastic dance moves of one Elliott M. . . .

Count Your Blessings

THE cutest development in my life? Elliott saying "Bweshyou" every time someone coughs. Yep. It's official, I have the cutest kid in history.

Boobie?

Yep. I said it. Boobie. I shamefully taught Elliott this word when he kept poking at my boobie. I mean, what word would be better? I didn't know what to say. I call his penis a penis, so why not call my boob a boobie?

Unfortunately, in sweet little Elliott's world the word "book" has somehow morphed into the pronunciation "boobie." And because he repeats everything three times in succession (I'm not worried about autism at all. No, not at all), my child is often found yelling, "Boobie, boobie, boobie!" His dad is puffing out his chest with pride. I am darting looks around hoping no one hears.

Lost Connections

The social network phenomenon maybe isn't always a good thing. This weekend I saw, through a mutual friend,that one of my dearest friends from my college years got married. Yay! Where the possible negative enters in is because I wasn't invited. I. Wasn't. Invited. I feel hurt, like in third grade when a friend chose not to spend the night with another friend instead of me.

To be fair, I have to admit that I haven't spoken to this friend is about 3 years. What's that you say? I have no reason to be upset if it's been that long since we've actually spoken? You're right. I know it. The thing is, this particular friend has always been a sister of my heart. Someone who has, after minutes, days, or years without speaking, has instant familiarity with the deepest parts of me. For some reason, I thought this feeling of fondness would be returned from afar. And that is where I have to accept complete and utter responsibility for my snub. I mean, how can I wax on poetically about my love for a friend that I haven't taken the time to call, email, write a letter in over three years? Why oh why do I let people that I love slip away? Is it just a matter of human nature or just a sign of my laziness? Does the fact that I let these cherished ones float away mean that our connection was fleeting? That the connection I celebrate and exalt in memory wasn't all that deep in real life? Perhaps. I just know that for now I feel like a schoolgirl when my best friend, a sure thing, was going to pick me for her team--I knew it as soon as our eyes met across the room, only to be shattered as I was relegated to last on the list.

Chris' sister, Trisha, and her husband, George came all the way from Virginia for a visit this weekend. It has been a long, long time since they've seen Elliott live and in person--Like since he was a screaming, red-faced, overly fussy infant. Don't worry. We've kept them updated on his tremendous growth through precious snapshots, humorous videos and darling anecdotes. Generally, things that make them giggle in adoration or coo out "awws" at his overwhelming precocious nature.

Imagine their surprise when greeted with a screeching, opinionated toddler greeted them, answering their every question with "noooo." I saw the covert looks exchanged above his head, the ones that read, "Uhhhh. . . This is not the child we've heard stories about over the past year and a half. Really. How do any eardrums survive that decibel?" The truth is, he was that kid until about 2 days ago. Okay, okay, maybe it was a week ago. All I know is that I want the sweet, compliant child of a month ago back. I now know the embarrassment of a toddler looking at me, his mother, staring into my eyes deeply and screaming in frustration. I am fairly certain this episode, along with him clinging to my legs or falling onto the floor crying in frustration have been effective birth control for Trisha & George. Very effective, in deed.

P.S. I'll include the super-cute zoo pictures and those classic adorable, perfect child moments in a post later this week. Must keep up the ruse, right?

Sodden Bliss

Yesterday, Hermine came to town. It was the house-guest you think you'd like to have visit and then decide, "Oh crap! This is awkward. I made a mistake." What I'm trying to say is that we North Texans wanted rain, but we got way more than we had bargained.

Our dog, Humphrey, is the delicate, finicky sort (unless trying to eat himself to death) and strictly protests doing his business if it means soggy paws. I let him out first thing in the morning, for which he was clamoring when I awoke, but quickly tried to duck and sway around me while I continually said, "Go potty, Humphrey. Go. POTTY." Ridiculous. Elliott took this moment to toddle at tip-top speed out onto the patio while screeching, "Agua, agua, agua! Ow-dye, Ow-dye, Ow-dye (outside outside outside)!" Upon feeling those first plops of water hitting the top of his head, Elliott immediately threw his arms up into the air, simultaneously throwing his head back in joy. Oh, that a simple rain shower could bring me such unadulterated joy. Wait. Watching that child o' mine throwing his head back in unadulterated joy brings this mama joy beyond measure.

Janitor or Bag Lady?

I have strong suspicions my Elliott could be either one.

1. He loves to clean. Loves. His favorite toys are a child-sized broom, mop, or the bottom half of a Swiffer. Sometimes he dusts with a feather duster. No really. He does. Occassionally, he says along witht he cleaning, "wee-uh, wee-uh." (sweep. sweep.)

2. Elliott has a new obsession with carrying his treasures around. Yesterday, this involved a handful of books, a cup, and socks with a random toy stuck under his chin. When that was no longer comfortable, he pulled a small wagon of Legos around stuffing in bits of trash, unmatched sacks, diaper inserts, his cups, a book and feather duster (see above).

These, the most favorite of his activities, have lead me to the solid conclusion that "Environmental Superintendant" or bag lady. I am certain that his father and I can influence him to seek higher education. Right?

God on Earth?

And again, today's Star of the Show, the ever sassy and observant, Abigail.



Setting: Sweet little Addison's Baptism party, attended by family and close friends (that's me). Other guests included my long-time friend and Addison's godmother, Kathy, and her family: Carl (hubs), Hailey & Hannah (daughters). The kids, all of them, were running wild playing together, or at least playing around each other loudly.

Abby decided that she needed some help from an adult to carry out her latest scheme, or maybe just to read her a book (her favorite past-time is being read to). She walked into the kitchen and calmly said:

Je-shush? Je-shush? Come hewe a minute?

Let me introduce you to Jesus, in Abby's eyes:


The rest of us know him as Carl, husband to Kathy and daddy to darling Hannah and Hailey. Kathy was surprised to be married to God on Earth and well, I don't think H & H are aware of their father's newly crowned status. What do you think?



I laughed until I cried, while Abigail stared on, with her precious face reading, "What's the heck is so funny, NeeNee?"

And as a bonus, this is what I may look like if I ever experience a stroke:

In case you were wondering, Je-shush took this amazing photograph.

Biscuit Holders and Letting Go

I am all about function. Typically, this means any short-cut available to me will be taken (unless it relates to cloth vs. disposable diapers). Today I called that theory into question. I was wearing a cute maxi-dress with Spanx and a strapless bra (definition on to turn a comfy dress into restricted misery). Pretty normal, right?

I went to the bathroom at work, looked down and questioned, not for the first time, why Spanx have a huge gaping hole in the crotch. Is this intended to air out the goods? Or are you supposed to actually pee through the hole? I seriously pondered this and decided to test my theory. I sat down, ready to tinkle right through that little hole. I did. I was going to do it. Was you might ask? I totally chickened out. . . I mean it just didn't seem like a good idea to test the 'pee hole' theory while on a short break from a meeting with my corporate supervisors. I am fairly certain that coming back from the restroom reeking of urine and damp spots on my hiney would ruin any chance of further advancement in the company, right?

My whole life has been a series of vignettes where my timing is off because I just couldn't reign in my impulses and WAIT for the right time to blurt out my observation, question or awkward thought, but this time, this one time I made the right choice. I'm convinced.

(My friend, Deana oft comments,that taking off a pair of Spanx is like "opening a can of biscuits." I get that today. I totally get that.)

Elliott has Mad Skillz

Elliott is love with music, and has been for a long time. Soothed by my off-key voice, he sings with me in a cacophany of sweet jibberish in the carseat, the highchair and rocking to sleep each night. My mom unearthed the synthesizers of my sister's and my youth. Elliott is in heaven. Not only is he a tiny songbird, he's got mad white-boy dancing skillz. Of course, this is likely due to the fact that my dad and my husband, the penultimate white boys, were providing the model. Witness for yourself:

The Do-Run-Run

That darn sinus infection knocked me down for two whole weeks, but it sure didn't knock me out. I do-ran-ran all over our neighborhood, despite the oppressive heat(it's seriously a bazillion degrees outside) and about a billion excuses I had at my disposal to not go. AND, I have a new favorite to share, brought to you by by brills sister, Amanda.

My thighs are BFFs, to borrow a quote from my sister. That makes this the best invention in a long, long time:


Yep. Perfect for sweaty runs in the bazillion degree heat, cute skirts and dresses in the same heat and protecting those sensitive armpits from hateful sports bras. How did we miss out on this brilliance in my many chafe-tastic summers of sweltering heat at El Tesoro? True,there is no Gold Bond tingle with application, but let's face it, the Gold Bond tingle came from already irritated skin. And the genius of Body Glide is the prevention of the irritation. Amazing, I tell you. Amazing enough to prevent all irritation in 100 degree heat in the chub-rub area after a day of dress-wearing and finishing up with a run. Revolutionary in my pants-area.

Two ships, passing in the night. . .

I wear many hats: mom, wife, supervisor, daughter, friend, manager, sister. Right now I am feeling the weight, the wonderful weight, of all of those roles. It seems the one that most easily suffers is the one that is my bedrock--the relationship with my husband. Whew. We aren't fighting. We aren't angry with each other. We aren't even disinterested with each other. We are simply busy. Busy trying to have a life outside of our small family, be quality parents and meet expectations at our respective jobs. We trade-off Elliott-duty and give each other a quick peck on our way out the door. Honestly, it's a bit disheartening. The good news is that we have not one, but two dates scheduled this weekend. Amazing that after months of not having even one date that we get TWO!

Date one will be the Rangers v. Boston Red Sox when we'll be sweating our asses off cheering the Rangers to victory (at least I will be). Woo hoo. Fireworks. It's a testament to Chris that I am going, because it's hella hot outside and sitting at a baseball game doesn't sound all that relaxing. . . but I will go and I will sweat and complain cheer!

Date two brings us to a 'Welcome Back to Texas' party in honor of our dear friends, Karen and Nathan, both of whom I have known for over 10 years. They have spent the past two years in the desert wastelands of Arizona and we will celebrate their return to the Promised Land by drinking beer. Beer and grilling. It's basically everything that defines Nathan wrapped up in one evening: beer, meats, and having a wonderful time with friends.

Moral of the story: it's about damn time I get to spend some quality time with my husband.

Addendum to the story: I have a ridiculous love for So You Think You Can Dance and I am sad it is coming to an end. It will definitely help with me getting to bed on time because it's a strict no-go when Chris is awake. . .

Abby-Abby-Abby

After vacation, Elliott was obsessed with my best friend's middle child, Abby. He would talk about her in the mornings--"Abby, Abby, Abby." Or would point to any toddler-ish aged little girl and say "Abby, Abby, Abby."

Well, after far too long, we finally got to see the star of the show--Abigail herself. Abigail is a diva. She is rough and tumble, determined to match her brother step for step. Abigail is compassionate. With every blow of my nose, she would say "bwess you." Heart-warming. She is a bit bossy--turns out that she's not the best playmate for a friend's more laid-back child. I've told Elliott repeatedly that Abby or her sister, Addison, are on the approved list for marriage. I figure that their lessons in sharing are just preparing them for marriage. Right?She can light up the room with her smile, but this post is not about her smile. Oh no, this post is about her darling booty, exposed as she trailed up the playground after her brother. Her mom and I repeatedly reminded, "Pull up your bottoms, Abby." Dutifully, she tugged at the front of the suit, leaving the back continuously in the open breeze.

And Elliott? After a month of requesting Abby-Abby-Abby, Elliott was not all that concerned with playing with Abby. It took until the last 30 minutes of our visit before their parallel play worlds collided. I suppose Abby-Abby-Abby is a love interest from afar. I think the key to her heart is making friends with her big brother, Jackson. Finally, after over a year of wishing that little boy could DO something, Jackson and Elliott had a delirious game of chase. Yep. The way to her heart indeed.







And a glimpse into the fun of our Family Fun Day for my company, THERAPY 2000. We visited a 60s-era amusement park in the 103 degree heat. Brave, aren't I? Chris had to work, so Elliott and I set out for some fun on our own. Merry-go-round=screaming and clutching at mama. Train=success! And of course, everyone, and I mean everyone with whom we spoke, commented on those beautiful baby blues my baby sports. It makes this mama awfully proud, even if I can only thank Poppy's genes for those luscious eyelashes.

We're in trouble now. . .

Yes, that's our Breakfast Room table. Yes, that's Elliott standing on the chair. And yes, he got up there all by himself. All previous bets are off. Time to bring out the big guns. . . now can someone tell me what the big guns should be?

Meh.

Sinus infections suck. Like really suck. I have one and it's miserable. It started as a cold given to me graciously by my sweet son, Elliott. He is so thoughtful. So today I broke down and paid 65 buck-a-roos to have a doctor confirm what I already knew. The upside is that the additional 67 buck-a-roos for medication should provide some relief.

The dorky doctor with braces at the doc-in-a-box also kindly provided prescriptions for cough syrup with codeine and that oral yeast infection medication. Lucky me--I get a yeast infection (or "east" infection as my Nanny called it) with every antibiotic exposure. My husband thinks I should see an ENT because each and every cold I get results in a sinus infection. I know he's probably right, but it sure seems like a hell of a lot of hassle. Meh. Maybe someday? I'm an expert procrastinator, have I mentioned this? So someday I'll see an ENT and they'll say I have jacked sinuses. . . and then what? Yeah, that's the answer I'm dreading. Surgery. Surgery that could like hurt my brain. Sounds pretty miserable to me.

I bet I can procrastinate on this one a long, long while. Unless Chris has his say. We're going to keep that option off the table though, right?

The Charmed Life?

*Please let me preface this post by saying that I am well aware of how absolutely, fantastically, lucky I am. This is just me whining.*

I am wondering how my sister has lucked into the charmed life.
1. Never experiencing a broken heart. That skinny, dorky boy with freckles and red hair that showed up at her high school graduation is now her considerate, funny, way less dorky husband.
2. She's athletic. And skinny. And smart. And funny. And fashionable. And beautiful. Wow.
3. She finds amazing deals for designer products. I always feel like a cheap copy of what she has told me might look good together. . .
4. A pregnancy with zero complications or illness. Seriously. Z-E-R-O.
5. Spontaneous labor. 17 minutes of pushing. First baby. Seriously, does that really happen to people? The answer is yes. It happens to people that lead charmed lives.
6. Immediately following giving birth to her oh-so-perfect son, she looked amazing. I just looked bloated and greasy.

7. No apparent anxiety over the whole parenting-thing.
8. Breastfeeding is EASY to her. Easy.
9. 18 pounds lost 9 days after giving birth. Uh-huh. That's no exaggeration.
10. She can have really short hair and not look like a moon face.

Despite all of her luckiness, it does not diminish my love and admiration of this woman I find myself lucky to call my sister, even if sometimes it leaves me searching for how I have "character" from things not quite as charmed in my life when compared to her. In my less bitter days, I know that we are both remarkably lucky women, products of our parents' love, acceptance and attention.

Fulfillment & Frustration

Yesterday was crap-tastic. Of course, the high points are always the moments with Elliott (minus the face slaps, biting attempts and trying to rake my glasses off my face while trying to rock him into calmness each evening). So while filled with frustration at work, my Elliott laughed harder than ever last night--a tinkling of pure joy and amusement. Turns out my smarty-pants knows quite a few body parts, but not the tongue. I seized the moment to teach him when it came up in a book. As Elliott reached out with his plump,curious hands to touch my tongue (weird, I know)I pretended to be surprised and yelped. It was pretty funny so it must be repeated over and over, right? Yep. The third time we completed the sequence, I didn't know if Elliott could catch his breath and Chris had come from the other room to find out what had him cracking up. Purity and peace summed up in a moment with no toys, just parents, a child and a rocking chair.

Why is it that as adults it is so difficult to abandon ourselves to that kind of joy? I don't know the answer, but I do love the glimpses of it I sneak from time-to-time, almost all captured in laughing with abandon.

Laughter erased the dust of frustration layered upon my soul. It rocketed me away from my preoccupations and to find the connection that is my heart made human: my husband and my child wrapped up in laughter.

P.S. This is totally not the entry I sat down to write. I really thought it was going to be about running and how I totally rocked it tonight. I'm pretty sure what came out is better.

Aunt-xhiliration

I'm officially an aunt. Official. Elliott has a first cousin! Amanda had a smooth labor and delivery and all are resting at home peacefully. Calm before the storm, right? It was a hella long day on Thursday when this perfect little boy made his way into the world, and since my mom went to Austin with me, that meant no sitter for Elliott, which meant we all had to go together! Needless to say, 40 minutes of napping, 2 grilled cheese sandwiches and a 10pm bedtime made for a frantically hyper child. Luckily, he was mostly in a good mood. Poor guy was even chanting "nigh-nigh" when we finally made it to my sister's house. I'm going to save pictures of the little man so that his mommy and daddy receive all the glory from first glimpses. I know that Ben and Amanda are already fantastic parents, but I also know that the life and relationship that they have enjoyed over the past 10 years is now irrevocably changed. Changed for the better. . . or mostly so.

I keep telling people that I feel like I have PTSD left from the first 3-4 months of the newborn stage. It comes out like a joke, but like most humor, it's rooted in truth. As much as I want a sibling for Elliott, I am terrified of two. Sounds irrational to use the word terrified--I mean doesn't that sound all dramatic??? Well, I know of no other way to say it. Chris and I agreed to really focus our efforts on me getting pregnant when Elliott is 18 months old. Sounded reasonable and far away. Turns out that life is moving at warp speed and Ell turning 18 months old is NEXT MONDAY. Next. Monday.

I assumed that an internal switch would flip on this self-determined date and I would be 'ready.' Ha. That was stupid. I feel so ambiguous. My current train of thought is to let nature be our guide and if I get pregnant, so be it. Stop laughing. I am fully aware that anyone who knows me with any depth knows that me letting something be to chance is truly laughable.

So, in an effort to exorcise my demons, my fears must be named, right? (clears throat) Here you go:

1. How, how will I survive the nausea of the first trimester with a toddler and nasty, foul, rancid diapers to change?

2. How much will Elliott suffer because I'll be focused on another child and/or feel crapalicious?

3. I can't imagine survival of that first 3 months when the baby is up all the freakin' time with a toddler. It was damn hard the first time and I thought I was going to die.

4. Is it possible for me to divide love and make it multiply?

5. Can I go through the lack of sleep and screaming child again?

6. What if I get another baby that cries as much as Elliott did?

7. What if I put off getting pregnant so long that all my eggs are dried up?

8. How will we afford childcare for another little one?

9. I'm finally attempting to get back into shape, I know that getting preggers would put that on hold again. I don't want to start a pregnancy up in poundage.

10. How will I handle sleep deprivation with a toddler? (I know that's there twice, it's worth that)

There you have it. In the end, there is very little doubt that I want another baby, there's just so many unknowns and worries that goes with being a parent and seeing my dear sister embarking on this journey just awakens all of those thoughts for me.

A journey starts. . . steps. . . er,how does that go?

Point is, I've decided I'm doing the Couch to 5K program. I am. I'm going to do it. Have I mentioned that I pretty much hate running? Does this mean I've lost my mind? I think it just means I'm ready to get the ol' heart rate up and be more fit and this is a very attainable way to do so.

I did my first work-out with their interval schedule tonight and I DID IT. It was hot. It was difficult. But, I DID IT. I feel great. I'm hoping this feeling will carry me through the next work-out. . . and the next. . . and the next. . .

Stay posted for updates. I'm determined to run, just to prove to myself that I can. So if you see a fat girl trotting down the side walk, feet barely leaving the pavement, know she is on her own personal journey, full of determination and pride. Encouragement welcome.

Making changes

This week has been so freakin' crazy that I simply have had no time to post about my goings-on. No. time. Mostly my thoughts have been inwardy-focused. . . I don't know if that's good or bad or if it just is. I say stupid things. My inner voice torments me with thoughts attacking my self-esteem. Why? Is this the truth for all thinking people? Sigh. I don't know. But I do know that after seeing a disgusting picture of myself, I am determined to make some healthy lifestyle changes. Like doing something to get more physical activity into my life. Turns out that sitting behind a desk for hours on end does little for stamina, energy or overall health.

The problem is that I pretty much hate exercise. I've never like it. Never. I cried once when a boy told me in the 5th grade that he could walk faster than I could run. Cried. Of course my dislike is furthered by my absolute inability to successfully perform any athletic task. Couple that with the scorching heat and I am full of rationalizations to sit inside, moving as little as possible.

This week I triumphed over my hate and the heat. I took the Humphrey dog and we walked. And we walked. I know it's not much, but it's a start.

It's official. I want to be. . .

here:



Sigh. I used to think that I was not cut-out for being a stay-at-home mom. . . I'm still somewhat certain, but I sure do wish that I could at least work part-time. Vacation convinced me of that. Elliott is just hysterical and loving and lights up every corner of my life and I enjoyed those 10 days of togetherness. I mean, who could resist this:

Vacation Return Woes

We are officially back from vacation, much to my dismay. It was a fabulous week that passed far, far to quickly. Once again I was reminded of the natural beauty of Texas--our rented home was on the banks of the Guadalupe River in Gruene, and the purity of nature displayed for us was amazing.

Pictures to come. Soon.

Currently, I am avoiding laundry by the important task of catching up on The Bachelorette. Clearly, I have my priorities in order.

Living the Dream

We are leaving for vacation on Saturday. Saturday. I have a partial list of what to pack, a partial group of clothes, snacks and swimming paraphernalia actually packed. Elliott is running a fever. A hurricane is headed ashore, leaving rain predicted as possible each day of our vacation. Oh, and I have been working at my away-from-home job like a madwoman. Plus, plus it has taken a week to get my anxiety med refilled. Living the dream, I am. Just living the dream.

Food Mooch

Food Stealing 101, by Elliott:
1. Spot a bigger person across the room, innocently munching on food.
2. Toddle quickly over while dramatically rubbing your lips, signing "eat." Do this even if you just ate your weight in tasty morsels. Everyone knows other peoples' food tastes better.
3. Whine just a little while turning on you most adorable smile and beseeching look.
4. Hold out your hand or be so brazen as to just reach out and take the bigger person's food.

This is time-tested. It works. There is no further need for food envy anylonger.

(Warning: This may only work for wee people, as the cuteness factor is greatly decreased in people over the age of 4.)

Friends? Penpals? Both.

Since I got pregnant, actually before that, I joined an internet group focused on children born in February 2009. I started posting way back in June of 2008, a couple of weeks after I got pregnant. So for two years largely the same group of women have shared our ups and downs of pregnancy and parenting. As with any group, there are people with whom I have 'clicked' with better than others.

Well yesterday was like a first date, because one of my closest friends from this group of ladies came for a visit. I was a bit nervous because with the anonymity of the internet, we had shared quite a bit of our lives with each other, without the burden of ties of the 'real world.' Jenn and her hubby, David, brought sweet little Christopher over for a playdate and dinner.

I [not so] secretly think Jenn might be my twin--we have the same sucky syndrome (PCOS), both struggle with weight, have the same sense of humor, same politics and both of our hubbys work in law enforcement. Knowing all of that, there's still a bit of a warm-up period when sharing the same breathing room. After that, though, it was wonderful. Jenn told me today as we left lunch that she now knew that I am "a real person." Indeed, I am a real person, and it was a relief to add a new friend with whom I could be just that--a real person. Not hiding anything. Finding sincere friends on the internet can certainly be a challenge, but the support I have gained has been immeasureable. I think that the relationships developed must been similar to penpals of old, sometimes it is easier to lay bare your thoughts when separated by circumstance and distance. . . and united by the same circumstance.

Here are some pictures of my internet real-life friend, Jenn, with Elliott and Boo.

Stranger Danger

Yesterday I was the creepy stranger. Yes, it's true.

As I rounded a corner in my neighborhood, a small dog was streaking up the street toward me, and being a recent rescuer of furry things I decided I needed to HELP. Noble intentions, right? As the dog passed by my car in a blur, I pulled up next to the small child (maybe 6 or 7 years old) and said,

"Sweetheart, is that your dog?"

That kid looked at me and tore down the street like the boogey man was on his tail. It was clear: his parents had told him strangers offering to help him get his dog (too cliche' isn't it?) are the dangerous sort. So he ran like mad straight to his daddy.

I pulled alongside the home and asked the father if that was his dog and if it was, did he need help getting it? I mean, clearly I'm a mom--driving a crossover SUV, carseat in the back, make-up rubbed off after a hard day's work--but this man peered down the driveway, all suspicion in his narrowed eyes and I felt the need to add:

"I was just trying to help. I wasn't trying to be creepy or anything. . ."

Note to self: Announcing the not-creepiness of yourself ensures that the other person thinks that you are, indeeed, creepy.

Moral of the story: dog home & I'm now that lady in the neighborhood. I sure hope Elliott takes the Stranger Danger lesson just as seriously. . .

Bloggy-blog Tag

Because I got a shout out from my dearest friend, Deana, I will answer these questions:

1. Favorite Color: Green. It's calming. It's nature. It means healthy things. Mostly though, it's calming and I need that.

2. Favorite Brand/ Designer: Does Target count? I'm guessing no.


3. Favorite Restaurant: Joe T. Garcia's. Long lines in which to drink your fill of knock-you-on-your-booty margaritas, an oasis of a patio and no rush to eat and leave. It is a place for families to relax and drink. Oh, and the food is good, too.

4.Hobbies: I could copy Deana's hobbies, but I'll restrain myself. Reading, photography, wine tasting, crossword puzzles, playing on the interwebs, digital scrapbooking (this may be something I just want to be my hobby. . .).

5.Favorite thing about yourself: My laugh. It's loud and contagious and I love it when people laugh.


6.What does your room look like? Some random clutter, a dresser, a bed without a headboard (total pet peeve), doggy stairs, fan, weird wicker chairs my mom thought I needed, nightstand, fan and lamp. It's a big room.

7.If you could have dinner with 2 people (dead or alive) who would they be? Probably one of my grandparents. And. . .? I dunno. This question is far too cliche for me to answer. Does that get me out of coming up with something?


8.What's your next "big splurge"? A new camera lens. Please. Soon.

9.What's your favorite joke, quote or saying? Can't remember a joke for the life of me. I have lots of quotes that I love. Simple and old: "Bloom where you are planted."

10.Anything else you would like us to know about you (random fact)?! I have no idea. . . I'm liberally living in conservy-ville.

So there you have it. Ten questions you probably didn't want to know the answers to and a good 180 seconds (300 if you're a careful reader) you'll never get back. So, it's my turn to tag someone, and I tag...

Put Down the Cupcakes

and YOU! Feel free to post in the comments or on your own blog if you have one

Have you ever found a tool you use daily that is so part of your routine that you wonder what happens without it?







Yep. That's a pick. A hair pick from when I was in 8th grade. How long ago was that? 1990. . .so that means. . . what? That darn hair pick is 20 years old. TWENTY YEARS. Dude. That's a long freaking time. My friend, Whitney, once told me (in roughly 2003)that using a pick to comb out my post-shower tangles dated me. Wonder what she'd make of a whole blog post dedicated to a 20 year-old piece of plastic with curling iron scars?

Touching AND Funny?

I have aspirations of my blog being hilarious and touching at the same time. Turns out I'm lucky if I hit 1 out of 2. Tonight is my stab at touching. Or funny? I dunno. You decide.

Obviously I love my child. I wanted a child more than anything, he's been lovely, yada yada. I must say that now, at 16 months, Elliott's personality is so blindingly funny that it steals my breath. For the longest time, he was just a happy baby, just like most babies out there. Happy. Sweet. But maybe not funny. My kid, MY KID, is so funny that Chris and I find ourselves giggling mercilessly at his antics. Putting Ell to bed each night could be an exercise in patience (sometimes it is, I can't lie), but most of the time I have to peel myself out of the glider and use a lot of self-talk about how he really needs sleep and that my playing into his sleep-avoiding antics is being selfish.

Putting Elliott to bed goes something like this:
Sit in glider.
Wrestle him into pajamas while he is clamoring for "bubbie, bubbie" (aka, books).
Still wrestling while he moves into the "abwa, abwa, abwa" phase (aka, "agua" or water).
Elliott picks a book for reading.
I start reading in my most calming and interesting voice--after all, I want him to be interested in literacy, right?
Calming voice becomes drowned out by E's squealing at wanting to turn the pages himself. (Fighting with a 16 month old ensues. I win.)
Books are over and it's time for quiet songs.
"Abwa, abwa, abwa, abwa"
Elliott pointing to the animals on the wall above the glider, followed quickly by trying to scale mama to touch them.
"Muh-meee" (aka, monkey), "boooooo" (aka, elephant trumpeting), "yah-yuh" (aka, lion).
"It's time for night night, Elliott"
"abwa, abwa, abwa"
"Night, night, Elliott" I then start singing a series of quiet songs.
My nose is pinched. "Nuh, nuh, nuh." (aka, nose, nose, nose)
"It's time for night night, Elliott"
"Muh-muh" (Who can resist a 16 month old kisses?)
"Night-night, Elliott"
...
...
...
Needless to say that this continues until the frantic energy slowly ekes out and he grabs "wubbie" (aka, lovie), holds the corner tight in his fist, while the left thumb is pulled calmingly into his mouth.

That is perfection. That is the highlight of my day. That is the joy of motherhood.

We love diversity (or how E's toys became amputees)

Because I am a huge fan of the Pioneer Woman, I inspired by her photo vignettes. Here goes on my own experiment:




This picture exemplifies how Elliott moves these days










Elliott loves his Little People toys

















With an avid fan. . .















Hey, what just happened here?












I told you that I am a big fan. . .













And this is how the Little People end up amputees.