Progress

So I'm sure you've been wondering about the state of our rec room. I mean, who doesn't worry about how other people's home improvement projects are coming along?

The last time I bothered blogging about it, I think it looked something like this:


That one's a little dark, but you still get the idea. What a mess!

But I'm proud to say, Craig has made lots of progress. It looks more like this now:

Ooh, look! A wall instead of a gaping hole! And it's even been spackled and sanded at least three times. Trust me.

More walls. Also spackled and sanded. Times three. But there's ALSO a new window there! Notice how pretty and clean and WHITE it is. So light. And it has double-paned glass. So insulated!
This picture is actually a bit old. Craig has also added trim around the window so it looks all finished now. If you don't believe me, come over and see for yourself!

All this means we've finally reached the very important step of choosing paint colors.

I know plenty of people who seem to walk into Lowe's, look at the paint chips for a bit, and choose their favorite color. Done. Craig and I don't work like that. We have a very complicated process that takes us days. But we're always happy in the end, so I'm okay with that.

The first step, which is sort of a pre-production sort of step, involves getting one of every single paint sample that we think we might possibly like. We take them home, and then the kids get their hands on them and scatter them all over the house. Then we repeat this a few more times.

Then we really begin.

The ACTUAL first step is to find some throw pillows or curtains or something that we like. Craig's theory, and it's a good one, is that you can match paint to pillows, but it's pretty tough to find pillows to match your paint. So we start with the accessories. This usually involves a trip to Target (although we have been known to check out Pier 1 Imports and a few other stores as well). We get pillows we like. And then we go back to Lowe's for another round of grab-every-possible-color-of-paint-chip. But this time we don't let the kids touch them. We flip through them all and choose the absolute favorites. And then we move to the rec room so that we're getting the correct lighting and we begin comparing.

At this point, it looks something like this:

We continue looking and comparing in daylight and at nighttime until we've finally chosen our favorites. This time, the colors we like are Foamy Sea (I love the name almost as much as I love the color) and Hopsack (less points for the name on that one, but the color was a perfect warm beige that I was looking for). And THEN, after this lengthy process, Craig finally gets to go and actually buy some paint. Whew!

So he is actually painting now while I'm sitting around blogging about it. The kids have small paint brushes and are "helping." I love three-day weekends.

Birds in Washington and Virginia: A REALLY Quick Comparison

My 6th grade block teacher was Mr. Spoor, which is a rather unfortunate name. Mr. Spoor was an old hippie who loved birds. Plenty of students referred to him simply as "Bird Man" because he knew everything about birds and even insisted that we make large bird books as one of our main assignments. Most students probably came away from his classes hating birds. And I sort of wanted to. But who can just collectively hate birds??? Not me. I feel like a dork admitting it, and even more so since in my mind this connects me with Mr. Spoor, but I really do like birds. They're amazing, and the variety never ceases to fascinate me.

Having said that, I am certainly no bird expert. But living here in Virginia I have noticed some of the differences in the birdlife between here and Washington. The most obvious is the lack of bald eagles:

There's a park just a quarter of a mile from the house I grew up in that has at least two bald eagle nests. So it's a rare day at the park when you don't see them swooping around. And they are an awe-inspiring sight. But what I love about bald eagles is that they are so majestic and beautiful, but then if you manage to hear them call out to each other, they have THE most ridiculous high-pitched little chirp. It makes me laugh every time. (If you're curious, I found a pretty good YouTube clip of it.) I was so proud when I was able to pick out that sound. Occasionally when I'm at Fay Bainbridge State Park, I can actually hear the eagles before I spot them.

There probably are some bald eagles somewhere around here, but I have yet to see them. And I miss them.

Another bird I miss, though not as much, is the great blue heron:

We do have them here, but not nearly as many. I'll see one every few months if I'm lucky. In Seattle, you can see them lined up along the waterfront, ten or twenty at a time. Something about their shape and the slow way they walk always makes me think of brontosauruses. (Can you see it, too? I'm not just crazy here, am I?) Anyway, they're beautiful and graceful birds and when I do see one, it always makes me happy.

But the purpose of this post isn't just to complain about Virginia. Because there are some fun birds here, too. Although the first one I'm going to bring up may not qualify. But first, this is a blue jay that you'd find in Washington:

Kind of pretty. But mostly just mean. I remember one dreadful afternoon when our cat managed to kill a baby jay, and its furious parents spent the rest of the day dive-bombing us if we left the house. Not that I can really blame them in this case, but the fact is that these are not nice birds. And I doubt the Virginia version is much nicer. But I do have to give it credit for being a lot prettier:

No comparison there. These ones are absolutely gorgeous. Points to Virginia.

But I think my favorite bird here, which I had never even seen until I moved to Virginia would have to be the cardinal:

Obviously I had heard of these birds. And I knew they were red and everything. But every time I actually see one, it's like that little burst of color goes straight to my heart. It's impossible to not be happy watching a cardinal bob around in your backyard. These little guys almost make up for the lack of eagles.

Mr. Spoor would be proud.

Memories

These are the mice I collected when I was in middle school and high school. (I could have sworn I had one with a graduation cap and gown, complete with tiny diploma, but it seems to be missing now.)

I know those are pretty small, so from left to right what you're seeing is a singer, a bride, a hula dancer, a queen (or king-- not so sure about that one-- but I think of that mouse as being Gertrude from Hamlet, so she's a queen), a plain (naked) mouse, a clown, a painter, Carmen (from the opera), and an angel. Aren't they cute? A friend from elementary school also collected them; she had all sorts of cool ones: an Indian, a chef, a magician... They really were terribly creative. I think the woman who made them retired, but they used to be sold at a toy store in downtown Seattle called The Magical Mouse. The store is still there; I made Craig go visit it when we were engaged. I have these pictures as evidence:

If I'm going to embarrass Craig, I can embarrass myself, too...

Their stuffed animal collection is actually much more impressive than their array of viking helmets. But the viking gear makes for funnier pictures.

Anyway, the reason I'm bringing all this up is because on Sunday morning we were sort of bored so I decided to pull out my mice and show them to the kids. And now Bentley LOVES them. He wants to play with them all the time. I foresee them being well loved and becoming very shabby in the near future. So I wanted to document how cute they are before they're completely destroyed loved.

But now I'm getting distracted by the other pictures from that venture into the city. We'd only taken the ferry to downtown to get our marriage license, and then planned to look at the touristy places like Pike Place Market. But we were there during SeaFair, and happened to luck out because the Blue Angels were performing. We managed to dash over to the Smith Tower and go up to the observation deck to watch them. It was awesome!

The Blue Angels are pretty small in this picture, but I love how the sun is glinting off them.

Isn't that just cool? Such tight formation!

Peeling away from each other. Such control!

A nice close-up.

One shot of the happy couple and then the battery in the camera died.

Wow. This post has gone in a completely different direction than what I had planned. Ah, well. It happens to the best of us.

That's all for now, folks!

Storytelling

I love to tell stories. Whatever you say to me will make me think of some story that I just HAVE to tell you. Right now. Sometimes the story I have only marginally relates to whatever you just said, but any connection is enough for me. Besides, tangents are the spice of life, right? Sometimes what you say will make me think of several stories all at once, and then I trip over my own words in an effort to get them all in before you either a) lose interest or b) decide you have your OWN story to tell.* But don't take that the wrong way, because I love hearing your stories, too. And as much as I might have a billion things to tell you, I really do like for there to be plenty of give and take in a conversation. Please share your stories with me-- I like to collect all the best ones and bring them up in other conversations!

This can lead to problems, though. The most obvious is that I tend to talk obsessively. Some people (like Craig) enjoy it. Some people don't. Those people tend to not become very good friends with me, and I guess that's okay. I had a Young Women's leader who once told me to never worry about being popular, because when I have kids, I'll be the most popular person I know. She was right, and these days, that's enough popularity for me! (<--- See? A quick story!)

I've also had times when I begin to tell a story, only to realize partway through it that I'm telling you your own story. That's kind of embarrassing. But aren't you glad I was paying attention and that I enjoyed your story so well I thought it was worth repeating? If you look at it in the right light, it's sort of a compliment. Not annoying at all!

And of course, there's the danger that I will repeat my story to you. I do that a lot. I know. I don't mean to, but it just happens. Especially if we're sitting with a group of people and some of them may not have heard this story yet. (Poor Sarah, my VT companion of three years now, has had to sit through the story of Kendra's birth more times than I would care to count. She's very patient about it, though.) I usually try to begin with some sort of disclaimer like, "Stop me if I already told you about this, but..." But even if you do gently remind me that you've heard it before, I'll still probably have to at least give you the punchline once more. It's so hard not to!

And of course, whenever I hang out with friends who read my blog (like at Book Club today), I start to worry that every story that I tell is something I already posted on my blog, and I'm boring everyone stiff. Sorry about that, fellow Book Clubbers!

Anyway. While I was typing this, Bentley discovered my hand lotion and rubbed a whole lot of it into his hair. Time to stop thinking about stories and start dealing with the ones happening all around me!





*This was an entirely new concept to Craig. He had never thought of "conversation" as being a competitive thing. Obviously he didn't grow up with four sisters all vying for Mom's attention.

Tip

If you're going to decide on a whim to make bread before Church, and if you're obsessive-compulsive about being on time, then it's probably a good idea to read through the directions really closely and make sure you have enough time to let if rise all three different times and bake. And if you decide on a different recipe than the one you originally planned on, read through those directions carefully, too, because it might need more time to rise than the first recipe.

Trust me on this one.

So Disturbed

If you're anything like me, you will immediately scroll down
so that you won't have to look at this picture.
Am I right?

So living my happy little existence the way I do, I occasionally forget that life-- especially life on the east coast, I've decided-- is fraught with danger.

Craig took Bentley camping last night for the ward's annual Father-Son Campout. Bentley was ecstatic over the whole thing and looked forward to it all week. The morning of, when he blessed his breakfast, he mentioned in his prayer to "please help us to sleep while we're camping, just me and my dad." (Yes, sleeping well is the one thing my kids always remember to ask for in their prayers. They learned this from me. My kids not waking me up in the night is very important to me!) An hour before they left, Craig and I presented Bentley with a new Lightning McQueen sleeping bag. He was pretty much as happy as I've ever seen him. This was right up there with Disney World for him.

So, well stocked with hotdogs and s'mores ingredients, Bentley and Daddy headed out. Kendra and I stayed home and painted our toenails, ate macaroni and cheese (I should have made two boxes-- that girl can eat!) and watched Cinderella together. That's about as girly as I get. Then after I put Kendra to bed, I made ice cream and watched Chicago. Much more my style! I ate way too much junk food and nearly threw it all back up again at three in the morning. Oops. I guess Lucky would prefer it if I ate healthier. Which is why tonight I'm planning on only eating ice cream-- no chips and no frosting-covered graham crackers!

Anyway, the next morning Craig and Bentley returned, smelling of smoke, but otherwise quite happy. Kendra was very excited (or as she says, "assighted") to show off her toenails to Daddy and Bentley. I threw all their clothes in the wash and Craig decided we should give the kids baths both because they needed them, but also to check for ticks. It's a good thing Craig is from the east coast, because that never would have occurred to me.

And of course, right at the end of bathtime, we discovered a small brownish-reddish speck on Bentley's neck which I pulled off with my bare fingers, only to realize that I now had a TICK ON MY THUMB, at which point I ran shrieking from the room. I'm not sure which made me freak out more: the fact that my little boy had had a tick on him or the fact that it was now on me. But trust me, I'm not lying about the shrieking. Craig managed to calmly seal the tick up in a plastic bag (he thinks we might want it in case Bentley develops a rash-- no idea if that's true or not, but in the meantime, we seem to have obtained a pet tick). I obsessively washed my hands and eventually calmed down enough to get Bentley and Kendra dressed. Poor Bentley was pretty upset by the whole thing, mostly because it involved me digging at his neck-- where he is incredibly ticklish (ugh. no pun intended!!!)-- with my fingernails. Poor guy.

Anyway, our internet research says that unless the tick has really embedded itself (and it needs several days to do that), there shouldn't be any risk for Lyme disease, but to keep an eye on the spot just in case. Having read about Amy Tan's advanced-stage Lyme disease (in her excellent collection of essays, The Opposite of Fate), I have to admit that the mere possibility of this happening to my son terrifies me. So I will be checking his neck religiously now.

The worst part about all this (assuming, as I'm doing, that Bentley will be just fine,) is that it brings so many fears-- fears that are normally dormant-- crashing down on me. I'm already pretty scared of bugs, but have gradually been toughening myself up to them. I barely flinch when I have to kill a silverfish or a spider now.* (Crickets continue to be a different matter; dang, those give me the willies.) But this lands me right back at square one in that department. All bugs are shudder-worthy again. And before I know it, the whole east coast begins to seem frightening: ticks! Poison ivy! Poison oak! Hurricanes! Tornadoes! Where does it all end??? The only scary thing we had in Seattle was the occasional blow-out from Mt. St. Helens, but even that's only happened twice in my lifetime (and the second time was no big deal). I guess we have stinging nettles, but those really don't compare to poison ivy... I'm sure we've got ants somewhere, but I can't remember EVER seeing one inside my house. I guess Seattle has more than its fair share of crazy politicians, but those same guys spend a fair amount of time right here in DC, so I haven't managed to distance myself from them very much.

Anyway. I love it here. I really do. I love my home, I love my friends, I love having my in-laws nearby. I love our backyard. I love that Craig is employed (which is seeming like more and more of a blessing every day that the economy continues to suck.). I love the cardinals and the fireflies and the cicadas. I love all the museums that are so close by that I never bother to go, but I know that I can whenever I want to. I love a lot of things here.

But isn't it a bit... dangerous?



*In this context, yes, spiders count as bugs. Anything with too many legs that crawls inside my house so that I have to kill it falls under the very general and not scientific category of "bugs."

Grammar Nazi

This was on GraphJam:


I can't tell you how relieved I am to know that I'm not the only who is completely annoyed by people who consistently screw up simple grammar. Who would have guessed that graphjam could restore my faith in humanity?

Green Thumb, Part II

I have not had the best of luck with plants. I got a couple lovely house plants from a woman in the ward when Bentley was a baby. This lady carefully explained to me that, due to the stress in her home over she and her husband's divorce, the plants were suffering. This immediately caused me to worry that if the plants didn't do well, it would be because I was stressing them out. Talk about pressure. One plant was an ivy, and it proceeded to grow all over my bay window, attaching little nubs into the walls. As I began to have visions of Audrey II, I became more and more creeped out by it. I think I threw it away when we moved.

The other plant was a beautiful tall thing with strong fronds, but it was very big so I stuck it outside for a few days while I tried to decide where to put it. Bad idea. All those beautiful fronds promptly turned yellow and fell off. Oops. This plant proved to be quite hardy, though, and it sprouted new leaves and managed to thrive. Until Bentley got old enough to enjoy grabbing fistfuls of dirt from its pot and throwing them onto the carpet. Nothing I did persuaded Bentley to stop doing this, and I finally decided that I could not keep both the plant and my sanity. So the plant went to live with the Goodfellows. (I have no idea how it's doing now. Sister Goodfellow was worried that her cats might destroy it, but I told her if I didn't find a home for it soon, I was going to simply chuck it into the woods behind my house so I could stop vacuuming and screaming at my child. So either way, the plant would be doomed. Sister Goodfellow decided to risk it.)

Then of course there was the debacle of the orchid that my sweet neighbor gave me. I don't know what I did wrong, but I killed it. And it was very sad. It had been so pretty!

Now, some of you may not know this, but one of the things that really excited me when we bought our house was the prospect of having a yard that was big enough for a garden. My Grandpa used to spend a lot of his time gardening, and going outside to pick produce with him was always a delight. Wouldn't it be great-- not to mention cheap and yummy-- if I could grow fresh tomatoes all by myself? (This was never a possibility in my home growing up. We lived out in the woods where there was hardly any sunshine for growing anything other than rhododendrons (the Washington State flower, in case you didn't know!). The few things we did try to plant in a patch of sunlight quickly got eaten by the monster slugs that also reside in Washington state.

So gardening is something that I have happy memories of, but don't actually have a clue as to how to go about doing. (<--- Long, weird sentence. Sorry. Good luck interpreting that. Sorry to any former English teachers out there...) And it turns out that I am not someone to jump into the great unknown. I really like someone to hold my hand when I'm trying anything new. (Maybe this is why I'm not crafty?) And so then, being the natural procrastinator that I am, I just never got around to doing it this season. Oh, well, I thought to myself, maybe next year I'll plant a garden.

End of story.

Until. I saw on my friend Anna's blog that she had planted a garden. I was very impressed. Someone who actually DOES those things that I mean to do! And I left a comment on her blog telling her so. And she (kind soul that she is) emailed me back and said she had some extra seedlings if I wanted them.

Well, I couldn't turn down an offer like that. So I picked them up the next day and began trying to dig out a spot in our yard full of weeds and who-knows-what that might accommodate a garden. It took two days and a lot of work on Craig's part, but we finally got the ground ready and I happily planted all the seedlings. As I knelt on the ground with my little shovel and my baby plants, I told Craig that I was quite enjoying gardening. Craig was quick to point out that that was probably because he and Anna had done all the real work for me. Yeah, well.

But I did it. I tried something new, and that makes me happy. And so I'm not worrying about the fact that I probably did the planting all wrong. I'm pretty sure they're haphazard and too close together, I know the various plants are all mixed up, and I probably didn't do the best job of getting all the old roots out of the soil. But despite all that, my garden is growing!!! And that makes me happy. So here are some pictures to prove it (and of course a couple pics of the kids):

My garden is the stuff on the right. Everything on the left just happened to be there already. But I do like the roses!

Bentley likes to water the garden. Craig is hoping he'll be a firefighter some day.

Kendra's hair looks really bad when she pulls it out of its ponytail...

I didn't plant these strawberries, but aren't they cute? Bentley tried one today and didn't like it...

One more shot of the roses. (Try not to notice the green chain-link fence behind them.)

And one final shot of the actual garden. Mixed in there are tomato, squash, and watermelon plants (according to Anna; I can't think of why she would lie...). Not bad, eh?

Optimism

If you're a lover of summer like I am, the odds are pretty good that you've been disgusted with this cold, icky weather we've been having so late in May. (And people say it rains too much in Seattle!)

But I finally found a silver lining to it all. This cold weather is the only thing keeping my very pregnant little sister's hands and feet from turning into this:

(No, she doesn't just have fat hands. There is something seriously wrong here.)

And this:

Doesn't that make you hurt just looking at those poor feet and ankles? Anyway, that's what happened the last time Natalie decided to have a baby in July. Carpal tunnel syndrome up the wazoo. Why she decided to have a second baby also in July is a mystery, but I guess sometimes things just work out like that. In any case, we're hoping to avoid some of that horrendous swelling this time around. Her baby (who is affectionately called Joey II for now) is due July 5th. Until he makes his grand appearance, I'm going to have to not complain about the cold weather.

Doesn't it make you feel better knowing that for someone out there, this is a blessing?


P.S. to Juliana: Happy Birthday!
P.P.S. to Natalie: Happy Birthday tomorrow!
P.P.P.S. to Carla: Good luck this week! You're in my prayers!!!

And one last P.S. to anyone who is still reading: Few things make me feel smarter than including links in my blog. Can you tell?

Possible Careers for Kendra

This weekend, Kendra has been acting her age. Which is two, in case you needed reminding. All the bad things you associate with the terrible twos-- the random kicking and screaming tantrums and the running away when I'm trying to get her dressed (especially if I'm running late)-- this has been Kendra.

I hate to say this, but usually Bentley is the more challenging of my children (Lucky remains very easy right now. And quiet). But Bentley has suddenly pulled a surprising reverse of Kendra's behavior and has turned into an absolute delight. While I'm wrestling Kendra to the ground, threatening to pull her hair out if she won't hold still long enough for me to stick a rubber band in it, Bentley will calmly walk up to us, wrap his arms around me and say, "I love you, Mommy." (Which, as if that weren't enough, really sounds more like "I wuzoo, Mommy." Just rip my heart out and take it, kid. It's all yours.) I guess it's good that usually one of my kids is behaving at any given time, right?

Meanwhile, Kendra is also getting craftier. I was pulled out of Relief Society this afternoon because Kendra had a poopy diaper. Or so she had told her poor (gullible) nursery leaders. She wasn't poopy. She was barely even wet. She just said that so she could leave nursery for a few minutes and hang out with mommy. My daughter is already an accomplished liar. And this is the THIRD TIME she's tried this trick. (And no, she's never mistaken about the state of her diaper at home. And yes, her usual leader has caught onto this trick, but she wasn't here today.) Kendra also managed to get out of nursery a few weeks ago just by telling her leaders that she "needed" to see her mommy. They didn't know what to make of that, but decided they'd better comply just in case. I told them to not believe her unless she was actually crying or they could see (or smell, I guess) that something was the matter. Kendra is surprisingly manipulative for only being two.

I think she might have a great career in politics in store for her.

Fine Dining

You know what every child's favorite "restaurant" is. Well, Bentley calls it "McO'Donnel's." You know-- the Irish-Scottish fast food place that everyone's talking about these days? What's not to love about it?

Dance

I got to have another ultrasound yesterday, just as a follow-up after all the previous mess. All is well with Lucky, which was a relief after some of the horrid dreams I had the night before (pregnancy dreams are probably the worst thing about being pregnant. That and getting fat). I'm at 11 weeks now, and s/he looks surprisingly like a teddy bear. Big head, slightly smaller body, little stubs of arms and legs.

But for being shaped thus, this little baby can really get its groove on! Lucky proceeded to shimmy away and rock out the entire time we watched. The doctor was impressed. I had to laugh, it was so fun to see.

Look out, So You Think You Can Dance! Lucky will be ready in a couple decades!


By the way, if you're even slightly interested in dance, check out this website, which my friend Laresa found. It's all pictures of dancers doing these awesome poses in and around New York City. It made me wish I was a real dancer, or that I'd been there for these photo shoots. Sheer joy. Seriously-- look at them all!

Classy

I'm always impressed by classy people. My Grandma Bentley, even at 95, manages to be one. She's actually more stylish than I am. Somehow I missed out on that gene. I remember my mission president's wife, Sister Grames, explaining to me that anything you do, you should do it right. She described a woman who donated cookies for something, and brought them neatly arranged on a beautiful plate with a gorgeous bow tied around the whole thing. The presentation, according to Sister Grames*, was as much a gift as the cookies were.

I believe in this wholeheartedly. But I can't seem to make it happen. This weekend, I watched as the other members of the R.S. presidency arranged food for two completely different meetings, and both times it was PERFECT. It was presented beautifully. The food was really good. There was a nice variety, so everyone found something they liked. And there was plenty of it so nothing ran out. Everyone enjoyed it, self included. If all the meetings I went to had such great food, I'd go more willingly to all these meetings! (On the other hand, I'd also be fatter, so it's probably best that they don't.)

In this whole two-meeting production, I was the one who didn't notice that there were hardly any plates left in the enrichment closet (which is arguably my domain, though I don't like to admit it), so they were all mismatched and came in a variety of sizes. And half of them were Christmas plates.**

I'm not kidding when I say that I missed out on the classy gene. If you ask me to bring brownies to an event, I'll be the one to show up with them still in the pan. They'll probably be uncut and I'll ask to borrow a knife and then proceed to scoop them out, still hot and falling to pieces, surreptitiously licking my fingers as I go. The only thing I can say in my defense is that the brownies will probably at least be gooey and yummy. That much I can do. But this ability to present things beautifully just is not in my repertoire of skills.

I don't say this to whine about my lack of tact, or even to fish for compliments or protests that no, really I am a classy person. I've learned to accept this flaw in myself, and I figure I'd rather be the tactless person who at least is somewhat reliable than neither. It could be worse, right? No, this isn't something I'm losing sleep over.

No, the reason I'm writing this is just to tell all you classy people out there (you who were shaking your heads in amazement at my buffoonery) know how impressed I am with you. Even when I try, my efforts always fall short. Your ability to be classy is truly a gift. Know that people like me look up to you and are impressed.



*I'm worried that this might somehow sound snarky about Sister Grames and this is not my intent at all. So I want to make it clear just how much I love this woman. She was my second mother in Japan, and I consider her and President Grames family. Just for the record.

**Delilas, kind soul that she is, pointed out to me that it was good to use up all the odd plates every now and then.

***And if you're reading these footnotes, don't you just agree that Audrey Hepburn is one of the coolest and classiest of all people in the world? How did she do it? Does anyone NOT love her?

Gleek

My dorkiness knows no bounds. They've now combined Glee with ballet and "Total Eclipse of the Heart." I've died and gone to heaven. Yes, I know that this song is probably the sappiest song ever written. But that doesn't mean I can't love it.





I also like that I can't listen to this song without thinking of Cate Blanchett's awesome character in the movie Bandits:




*Sorry for the poor video quality. It's the best I could find on YouTube. And also sorry if there's a swear word in there somewhere, too-- oops! I fully expect the Glee video to be yanked any minute now for copyright violation, so try to just enjoy it while it's there!

Mini-Confession

These are Kendra's stacking clowns, which she got for her birthday from Grandma and Grandpa Smith:


I love playing with them. Kendra doesn't quite have the hand-eye coordination to do much with them yet. Neither does Bentley, actually. But I do. And the kids enjoy knocking down my creations when they wake up in the morning (I usually only stack them at night, when I'm picking up all the toys in the living room). And there really are TONS of ways to stack these little guys! It's surprisingly fun and challenging. I also like to try and coordinate which colors go where-- I managed to have all blue on the bottom with red and yellow divided on the tops once. It was wicked cool, if I may say so myself. And I also like that these clowns are cute and have a sort of "Please don't hurt me" look on their faces. Not at all like the scary clowns that you picture terrorizing little children.

I wish more of my kid's toys were this fun. For me.

Do you have a favorite toy?

Where I Was Last Weekend

Last weekend I got put on bed rest. I had just read about two other people being on bed rest, so apparently I was just following the trend. Saturday and Sunday, I only got out of bed to use the bathroom. Some time around Sunday evening I finally broke down and showered. My hair tends towards greasy way too easily, and 48 hours without a shower was beyond disgusting (even Craig was starting to be impressed with how gross it was, although he was pretty nice about it, all things considered).

Craig worked his tail off those two days. He took care of the kids, made all the meals, even "made" the bed while I was still in it. He redboxed Young Victoria just for me (and slept through most of it) and even made peanut butter cookies for us to eat while we watched. For dinner, he brought the kids' high chairs up to my room so we could all eat together. He was exhausted after it all. (My favorite quote was when he said that he felt like he'd been running around busy all day, and yet hadn't actually done anything. Yup, that sounds like a pretty accurate description of motherhood!) While he did this I laid in bed and read, messed around with the laptop, and tried to keep the kids from jumping on top of me too much. Bentley enjoyed pretending to give me shots, and then gave me a tiny bouncy ball of his for being so brave. That made me laugh. And whenever her feelings got hurt (approximately every five minutes), Kendra would climb into bed and snuggle with me through her sobs. I surprised myself by being able to sleep peacefully through both nights of bed rest-- you'd think I would have been so sick of being in bed that sleep would have eluded me, but no, my capacity for rest seems to be endless.*

Meanwhile, my body managed to walk the dramatic line between completely freaking me out and easing my mind that everything was going to be all right: just enough badness to have me really worried without ever convincing me that I'd actually lost the baby.** By the time I finally could go see a doctor late Monday morning, I was so sick of not knowing what was going on, I just wanted answers so I could deal with whatever was happening.

Naturally, this meant sitting in a paper gown for thirty minutes while I waited. But in the doctor's defense, her patients had been double-booked, so I'm sure she was doing the best she could. I was more glad that they were willing to squeeze me in at all than I was annoyed with the wait. And I had Craig and Kendra to keep me company. (Bentley had gone to a wonderful friend's house who called that morning and asked what she could do to help.) The doctor finally arrived and quickly performed an ultrasound. And within a moment, we heard the rapid thumping of Lucky's little heart beating away. Such relief. It's amazing how I can tell myself that I'll be just fine whatever happens, and then as soon as I know that everything is okay, how startled I am to realize that I was lying to myself and I really really really wanted everything to be fine.

And it is.

Lucky has been appropriately named.

And I am tremendously thankful for that.



*Tip: That's something that probably wouldn't look good on a resume...
**Yes, I'm talking about blood here.