love this photo. so peaceful. in the very space where she was born. third baby, first homebirth, and i gotta say--it was kind of awesome. maybe i'll tell you about it someday. but right now, duty calls. off to smell some baby hair and kiss some baby toes...
life is rough, isn't it?
many thanks for your love and well-wishes!
xoxo,
c
No blow-drying.
Join me.
I dare you.
(Speaking of daring, have you ever tried taking a picture of the back of your own head? Not an easy task, I tell you. Probably the most exercise I've had all week month, actually.)
Also on my list of warm-weather resolves:
You?
Should-Have-Kept-Her-Mouth-Shut #1:
"Hi there. When are you due? Really? Me too. Wow, you are so much bigger than I am."
Should-Have-Kept-Her-Mouth-Shut #2:
"Aren't you about to have that baby soon? No? Huh. That's funny. I mean--not to be rude--but the reason I ask is that you're bigger than so-and-so and she only has two weeks left."
Oooo-kay.
So I'm huge.
There I said it. And, for the most part, I'm okay with it. (Repeat Hypnobabies daily pregnancy affirmation after me: "I love my pregnant body and accept it everyday." Good.)
But, let's be honest, I must have been on some serious hormones when I thought it would be cool to make this:
Call me a sucker for pretty pictures and beautiful styling...I am neither petite nor Asian, both of which must be requirements to pull off this look. The (mostly) finished dress is about as flattering as a hospital gown on this 5' 9" gestating body. Less, actually.
I have contemplated all manner of different ways to save it (a belt? (um, where?) different sleeve? turning it into a shirt?) but I think it is destined to be ripped apart and reincarnated into something else. A tablecloth, probably. Oh, well.
On the upside, my new sandals fit...
between the hours of 7:00 AM and 4:00 PM at least.
Yeah, maybe don't answer that.
Next question...
Did I mention I was taking a blogging hiatus?
For the entire month of December?
And then some?
I know, I know. If you're going to be gone longer than expected, you're supposed to call, send a message by carrier pigeon, something. (Somewhere in the universe K is reading this and smiling smugly to himself. Yes, dear, I recognize the irony of the situation and humbly request that you wipe that self-satisfied smirk off your face right now.)
A few of you have kindly checked in to find out if we're still alive out here, and if so, why this blog has become so dad-gum boring lately. The thought of chronicling the last 6 (8?) weeks or so in detail makes my stomach hurt (more on that later) so perhaps a few (brief) highlights...
My sister and her family came to visit. We pulled out all the stops and welcomed our friends from the South with single-digit temperatures and...a broken water heater. 'Tis the season for unexpected household expenditures! (New garage door opener...check. Updates to our "vintage" plumbing...check.)
Yours truly celebrated a milestone birthday, which means it is officially no longer okay to ask how old I am. (Note to my children: it is also not okay to volunteer this information to other people, particularly random strangers in the supermarket.)
Santa Claus came to town. Once again, the Man in Red managed to make the children's dreams come true--despite the anxiety-producing absence of a chimney I might add. (Olivia = Nancy Drew's wardrobe. Asher = large quantities of chocolate, to be consumed in its entirety Christmas morning.)
K's parents and two of his siblings also came to stay. How to sum up the seven-day extravaganza? They've been gone two weeks and Asher still continues to insist on saving a seat for Grandpa. Right next to him, of course.
And, last, but not least, there was the holiday baking, which is, of course, the real reason for my extended leave of absence:
Yeah, so it's not much to look at right now. Okay, so it looks more like the Loch Ness Monster than anything, but I have been assured by multiple sources that that knobby blob there is in fact a much-anticipated bun in my oven. Expected to arrive in all its delicious glory this summer. (Woot!)
And now you have seen a picture of my uterus, so I think my work is done here for today. Until next time (hopefully sooner rather than later, otherwise I'll send word via message in a bottle or something)...
Yesterday I celebrated 9 years of wedded bliss with this handsome man:
Over the years he's had some pretty strange ideas...
1) Assembling/displaying a life-size model of a pteranodon in our dining room.
2) Fashioning a Dad-and-me ride-on lawnmower out of some spare hardware and stroller parts.
3) GROWING A BEARD.
The list goes on...
Still, nothing could compare to the sheer insanity of proposing marriage to his girlfriend while they were both still in college, a whopping $84 in savings between them, and seriously no clue what it really meant to be husband and wife forever and ever.
Eh, we're still together. Let's face it, we'd be crazy not to be.
Happy anniversary, Engineer.
All my life I've been plagued by comments from strangers and/or people I've just met:
"Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"Haven't we met before?"
"Are you sure you don't recognize me?"
And the answers are always no, no, and (sheepish look) should I?
Over the years, I've learned to shrug and chalk up each exchange to having one of "those" faces, always secretly wondering just exactly whom my mug might be channeling.
I have a friend who looks almost exactly like Norah Jones. And a sister who everyone swears is the spitting image of Marissa Tomei.
I, apparently, look exactly like the Excedrin girl:
I know, I know. Uncanny, right?
Vain delusions about celebrity look-alikes aside, I am now confronted with a much more pressing issue: either I've been pimping over-the-counter painkillers in my sleep or...there's someone else out there walking around with *my* face. I'd like to think that, even unconscious, I'd have enough business sense (not to mention raw animal magnetism) to peddle wares with just a little more sex-appeal. Like...J-ello. Or tires. (Hawt!) Which leads me to but one conclusion:
I have an evil twin.
Okay, so I don't *know* that she's evil. But, hello, I wasn't born yesterday. I've seen enough soap operas and science-fiction films to know that the long-lost twin is *always* evil. Sure, sure, I know there are extenuating circumstances (blahblahblah) and exceptions to every rule, but, let's face it. On this issue, Hollywood has spoken. The case is officially closed.
Which leads me to the obvious question...what to do with this information? I suppose I could confront my mother. Face to face. Ask her what happened to this person of whom I know so little and with whom I share so much. Demand an explanation for 29 years of deception and secrecy. But being that she (my mom) is out of the country right now--and that she will inevitably claim to have no idea what I'm talking about--that course of action seems rather...impractical at the moment. Plus, I'm not very good at confrontation.
So then there's the question of contacting Evil Twin...
Yeah, I tried. She's shooting a Swiffer commercial right now, so I left a message. I'm sure she'll call me back.
Meanwhile, I suppose there's nothing left to do but make peace with the fact that a stranger is making money with *our* profile. (Gah! Why didn't *I* think of that?) Oh, and don't worry, I'm not stupid. I'm also taking preventative measures. Now that the cat's out of the bag, so to speak, if you should find me doing something totally out of character--like, I don't know, ironing, wearing socks with sandals, or lifting heavy boxes...you'll know why.
P.S. I think I need some Excedrin. (That clever minx is good, isn't she?)
Wow.
Did you watch the opening ceremony last night?
Amazing, right?
K: "More amazing than the time Michael Jackson came to your house to use the bathroom? More amazing than the time you ate your weight at Godfather's pizza?"
Yup.
(You should know by now that we quote a lot of movies around here. But only the really good ones.)
I'm excited to see what comes next. I hope it isn't more Ralph Lauren hats, which, for the record, were just a tad too "Jules and Buffy go yachting" for me...
They say a lot of Olympic records have the potential to be broken this year. (Do "they" say that every year?) I'm looking forward to sharing some of the events with my kid now that she's old enough to appreciate them.
Speaking of records, I've been setting a few myself lately--albeit not of an athletic nature. I made, ahem, what some might call a rather generous contribution to the public library yesterday (read: K paid my overdue book fine). I'm not going to embarrass anyone by talking numbers or anything, but suffice it to say that the receipt was (significantly) longer than my 6'2" husband is tall. (Sheepish look.) What can I say? I'm a giver. (Editor's note: go read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. It's available now.)
And since we're talking about great lengths, Liv got a haircut today courtesy of yours truly:
I picked up some sweet tips from the very, shall we say, flamboyant (?) instructor at the hair school where I got mine done a few weeks ago. Still feeling smug about that one, by the way...where else can you get a haircut for $8? That's right, my friends, $8. (Hey, I gotta save money somewhere. How else am I going to fund my literary philanthropy?)
Go Team USA!
Did you miss me? We're slowly but surely getting back into the swing of things around here. Which is exactly what I promised myself I wouldn't do--get back into the swing of things when what I wanted is to stay in the swing of things because everyone knows there's nothing worse than playing catch-up after a long vacation. Am I right?
I should be doing laundry. Or mowing the lawn. Or calling Home Depot to find out how much it's going to cost to replace the kitchen faucet my husband broke while I was gone. Grrr. (On the other hand, now I have an excuse for not doing the dishes, so maybe his little (mis)adventure in home-improvement-gone-wrong isn't really such a bad thing after all.)
Instead, I'm sitting at the computer, looking at the 1,000+ pictures I took over the last month. Missing our families and brainstorming get-filthy-rich-quick schemes so K can retire and we can move into my parents' basement and live happily ever after. Heh. My 12-year-old nephew said he's going to invent the world's first totally solar-powered car, so maybe I can get in on some of that action. Or not. It sounds like it might require actually doing something, and, clearly, I lack motivation.
Case in point:
I said I'd get up early and go running every morning this summer...
Yeah, my iPod died. And it was hot in Salt Lake City. And my parents live at the bottom of a really steep hill. And I got a new frizz-susceptible haircut (which, who am I kidding, upon re-introducing to the humidity of the Midwest, I can practically hear getting puffier), and, and...
I said I'd keep up my blog while I was on vacation. Instead, I got bit by a vampire. (Warning: Yes, the dialog is so corny it makes Sweet Valley High read like Steinbeck, but what can I say? I'm a sucker for high-drama teen fiction. And speaking of corny...Mamma Mia!, anyone? Yes, the cheese-factor is high in this screen adaptation of the popular musical but come on! Double-07 and Mr. Darcy on-screen together? Singing? With jazz-hands? Where do I sign up!)
I said I was prepared to pay $4 a gallon for gas on our road trip...and yet I still got sticker-shock filling up 9 times in 1 month at $100 a pop. (Ouch.) Still, it was worth it for this:
and this:
and especially this:
Okay, so I also said I wouldn't overdo it on the sweets. But you can see how well that worked out. (Man-made approximations of pineapple + sour watermelon + green apple + cherry + banana = irresistible in my book.)
Sigh. It was fun while it lasted. (Anyone else have the post-vacation blahs?)
Yesterday I stood in Target's hair color aisle for who knows how long...
Chocolate or toffee?
Mocha or cinnamon?
Cocoa or espresso? (Okay, seriously, are we talking about hair color here or the menu at Starbucks?)
My poor children. By the time I'd finally made a decision (given the options of brown, brown, and browner, I picked mahogany--it was on sale) Olivia was finishing up her first year of college and Asher was sporting what appeared to be the beginnings of a mustache. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but it was a long time. Certainly long enough for El Tornado to fill an entire shopping cart with various and sundry must-have items from the Health and Beauty section and beyond--hand cream, several hairdryers, peanuts (unsalted), and an industrial-sized carton of assorted Slim Jims. (I have no idea how he hefted that into the cart, by the way. Either he had a well-built accomplice who, for obvious reasons, wishes to remain anonymous, or we've got another Little Hercules on our hands...quick, someone call Oprah!)
(Editor's note: here is where I insert a couple of random pictures of my kids because K says too much text without pictures is intimidating. Plus, I'm kind of excited about experimenting with my new lens.)
Anyway, just in case you were wondering, mahogany proved to be an excellent choice (gray hair(s) begone!) although I'm not sure it was worth all the angst I put into making the decision. Come to think of it, neither was the years-long anxiety attack I had over what color to paint the living room (4 different color swatches on the wall for 3+ years and I finally decided on...white) or the approximately umpteen hours of research I invested in cataloging the pros and cons of pears versus flowers. (When in doubt...get both.)
So I have what doctors call a little bit of a "commitment problem". (Any Chris Farley fans out there? Just a little gratuitous reference to one of the funniest movies of all time.) Tonight that means I'm staring at a bunch of fabric and trying to decide which pieces to use for a little project I have in mind for Olivia. I think I've narrowed it down to some combination of these lovelies:
Any guesses what I'm making?
How about now?
