Nesting (finally)

For the last month, I've had a to-do list with at least 50 items on it, none of which have gotten done. One thing held me back: Bentley's preschool. Four other moms and I started one of those do-it-yourself preschools in September, and October was my month to run it. That was at my own request-- I was too afraid to take the first month, but also wanted to get my first turn finished before Lucky made his appearance; the other moms were very nice about indulging me. We only have the kids meet twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays in the morning, so it's not like this was taking every second of my time. But it still sort of felt like that!

So with preschool preoccupying my thoughts and my time, I kept housework at a minimum and baby prep pretty much didn't happen at all.

But now that October is basically over, it was time to get the house ready. This also happens to be the ONLY Saturday before my due date where we had no plans. So today was the best day to put Craig to work, too.

So we have been working.

I have finally boxed up all of Bentley's and Kendra's clothes that don't fit them. This was kind of embarrassing, since some of Bentley's clothes that were hanging in his closet were size 18m! My poor little 4-year-old! In my defense, some of his size 2T stuff still fit, so that isn't quite as ridiculous as it sounds. Which leads me back to my last point: my poor little 4-year-old who can still wear size 2 clothing! Now it's equally embarrassing to look in his closet, since I feel like he has no clothes. But the truth is that what's hanging there is plenty for now. It just isn't a packed full closet like it used to be. That's probably a good thing.

As I boxed up Bentley's stuff, I looked at all those cute outfits and thought, "I hope Lucky is a boy!" so we can use these again! And then as I packed up all of Kendra's adorable dresses, I found myself thinking, "I hope Lucky is a girl so I can see all these cute dresses again!" I guess I really will be happy either way! I'll also be hoping that Child #4, some day, is the opposite, so I'll get to use EVERYthing again. But that's a long way off in the future.

Along with all the packing has come oodles of rearranging. Although Bentley and Kendra have been sharing a room since September, all of Bentley's clothes were still in the other bedroom, which we have been referring to as "the changing room" because it also has the changing table and all the diapering stuff in it. So today I moved Bentley's clothes into his and Kendra's room, which makes a lot more sense. And then while I was doing that, I had Craig rearrange all their furniture. Why is it SO fun to rearrange furniture? Probably because Craig does all the work and I just get to relax and boss him around. But also because it's so exciting to have an old space feel completely new! I love it.

Craig, when he's not moving furniture and heavy boxes for me, is keeping busy unpacking boxes of stuff for our rec room. When we finished that room, we moved all our stuff into it except three boxes. Then we ran out of steam and shoved those boxes in the changing room and forgot about them. But with Lucky's due date getting closer and closer, I felt like it was time to finally tackle that project, too. So Craig has been sorting through all that stuff and deciding which things need to be added to the rec room and which things can be moved to the crawl space. Included in the boxes of stuff to go in the crawl space are all the Christmas cards and newsletters I've ever received, all my old calendars, and my college notebooks that I just can't throw away. You just never know when you might need your notes on the Reformation and Counter-Reformation, or when I will need to re-read your Christmas newsletter!

Now that I'm writing this, it's occurring to me just how much work Craig has been doing for me this week. On Thursday he also planted two flats of pansies in a lovely row in front of our house. Our neighbors gave us these, which was so sweet of them. But I have to admit that when I discovered their gift on our porch, I nearly cried because I couldn't for the life of me figure out how I could possibly plant them or when Craig might have time to do it, since he's been busy grading all this week.

One other task I put to Craig was to fix the broken handle on the chest of drawers in the kids' room. It's just a cheap, fake wood sort of dresser, and the one handle (which broke when Bentley was a baby) has been hanging down over the next drawer, making it difficult to open and close. Now that Bentley will be sharing the dresser with Kendra, all the drawers will be utilized, so it makes sense to be able to open them all easily. We didn't have any other wooden handles lying around, so we made do with what we had. Now the dresser looks like it has a happy face. Or at least, a face:


We are so classy all the time. At least we have some flowers in front of our house!

Okay, I need to get back to work!

A New Love

At my last prenatal check-up, the nurse suggested that I was on the fast track to gestational diabetes, and that I had better cut back on my carbs and sugars. (Interestingly enough, the doctor didn't mention any of this at all. Probably because he was too busy getting an earful as I explained to him why we would NOT be scheduling my c-section at my next appointment. Do these people ever read your charts before seeing you???? But that's a story for a different post.)

Getting diet tips from my sister Leah, who actually had gestational diabetes, confirmed that I'm basically on the Atkins diet. Kill. me. now. According to Leah, I am no longer supposed to eat: bread, pasta, rice, or cereal. Or soup, potatoes, carrots, or peas. Or anything else that I like to eat. And no fruit before lunch time, or something, but don't ask me why.

I will be completely honest and admit that I have not been following these rules as carefully as I should. I justify it by saying that I don't actually have diabetes yet, so surely I'm not required to be as careful as Leah had to be, right? But the real truth is I'm weak. My biggest sin is in eating cereal for breakfast. One morning I was good and scrambled up an egg, complete with tomatoes and cheese. It left me feeling vaguely ill (which is just obnoxious, since I don't get sick when I'm pregnant. Why should I bring morning sickness thundering down on me in my 3rd trimester???). And my kitchen was a mess by the time I was done. It was all too much for me and I went back to my cereal. In a nod towards healthiness, I try to eat the cereals that have some protein and complex carbs, as I'm pretty sure those are better than the Special K and yogurt that I was devouring (and which I had thought was healthy!).

I do better for lunch and dinner. For a few more weeks, I think I can handle the surplus of meat and eggs and watching my family all get to eat the accompanying bread while I salivate. Craig is enjoying getting more meat in his meals AND can make a fabulous omelet, I've discovered. That's been a nice bonus. I'm not so good about resisting the mini-Kitkat bars I bought for Halloween (note that I say I bought them for Halloween, not for the trick-or-treaters; they only get candy that I don't like).

The saving grace in all this has been my newest discovery: peanut butter. Maybe it's just because I overdosed on pb&j sandwiches as a kid, but unless it's mixed in with chocolate ice cream or stuffed inside a Reese's Peanut Butter cup, I really haven't had much use for peanut butter. Until now. Now I can't get enough of it. I sit and eat it by the spoonful and it's always a sad moment when I finally tell myself to stop and put the jar away. Peanut butter is a gooey bliss and happiness, sealed in a plastic jar. It is the saving grace of this diet.

32 days until I'm hoping to meet Lucky. And start eating bread again.

A Tale of Two Faux

I make no claims at being fashionable. On the rare occasion when I actually go clothes shopping, it's usually for maternity clothes. And when that's not the case, I usually end up calling my little sister Rachael and asking for her advice, because I have no clue what's in and what's not. None whatsoever.

So this isn't exactly something I'm losing sleep over. But it's still something of a dilemma. Here goes:

I have two really comfortable maternity skirts that I wear to church. One is black and one is white. I have super cute, church-y shoes that are white, which get compliments every time I wear them with the white skirt. But aren't you sort of not supposed to wear white after Labor Day? How hard and fast is that rule, anyway? The black skirt is fine and comfy and looks reasonably nice, but it leaves me wanting in the shoe department: the black shoes I have that are church-y require nylons, so I've pretty much stopped wearing them. (I'm convinced that nylons were invented by the devil and avoid them at all costs.) So that leaves me with my other shoe option: flipflops. Now-- let me point out that these are fairly nice flipflops. They're from J-Crew and they add an inch to my height. They aren't quite in the same category as Old Navy's $5 flipflops (nothing against Old Navy; I adore their flipflops and own way too many of them). But ever since a certain apostle mentioned that beachwear was not appropriate for church, I've felt guilty wearing the flipflops, even if I wouldn't actually wear this particular pair to the beach.



So which is worse: the black flipflops or wearing white well after Labor Day? Or do I get a pass on all these silly rules because I'm pregnant? (Please, please, please?)

You be the judge.

Skinny

*I feel like I should start with a disclaimer-- this is a bit more personal (and less funny) than I usually am on my blog. If you're not in the mood for that, feel free to just skip this post. Or if you think I'm treating serious matters too lightly, I apologize for that, too. I'm afraid this is about as serious as I get in my writing!



I took just enough ballet to absolutely love it, know that I'm not particularly good at it, and completely skew my perception of what my body should look like. I started way too late-- high school and college. No ballerina ever began dancing in high school. But when I was young enough to perhaps (but honestly, probably not) have been molded into a real dancer, I was more interested in learning how to ski. It wasn't until I failed to get a part in the high school musical my junior year that I decided I needed a new hobby and took a beginning ballet class for adults.

When I headed off to BYU, I continued with the ballet and gradually added every ballroom dance class that they offered. Ironically, I made it to the 300-level classes in all but ballet. In the last ballet class I took, I was so happy when my instructor told me and my good friend that we were ready for the 300-level class. But then I went on study abroad instead and couldn't bear the idea of repeating the same 200-level class again in order to get back in shape enough for the next level. So that was the end of my ballet career.

This wasn't a huge loss-- flexibility does not run in my family, and while I was pretty good at most of the dance classes I took (I always came away with an A or an A-), I definitely wasn't anything special. I was never the girl who didn't have to worry about finding a dance partner because she was just so amazing, if you know what I mean.

But yes, all this dancing did severely distort my ideas of what I should weigh. Not my perspective of other people's bodies; just my own. This is one of those things that I mostly just try not to think about too much. I have a pretty good idea of what I should weigh, and as long as I'm in the ballpark, I don't worry too much. (Obviously, when I'm pregnant it's a whole different story. But that's not my point right now.)

But during my first year of graduate school, I got pretty stressed out. I was in a train wreck of a relationship, wherein anything that went wrong was always mysteriously my fault (and worst of all, I always believed it). I was taking classes in a subject I wasn't entirely familiar with (that happens when you switch majors). And I was teaching for the first time. Actually, it was worse than that: not only was I teaching for the first time, I was also simultaneously working and going to school for the first time.

It was a lot to handle. And apparently I dealt with it by not eating.

This was certainly never a conscious decision. I was just too busy, or I was too stressed, or I was too unhappy to bother with food very much. I never noticed or thought about it until other people began noticing. The little sister of the evil boyfriend asked me once if I was starving myself or possibly making myself throw up (she had been bulimic, so she was understandably concerned). Their mother also asked me if I was throwing up. (Fortunately, no. I may have had some issues, but they weren't that deep!) Neither of these observations worried me; I just felt touched that they were so concerned for me.

It wasn't until my oldest sister Leah saw me and began lecturing me on eating properly that I began to think that maybe all these people were right and I was wrong. Not that Leah's lecture did much good-- I don't think I changed anything at that point. But life changes. The bad relationship finally ended and I suddenly found myself dating Craig and happier than I'd ever been before. As I continued taking classes, I got comfortable with my new subject and more confident in my scholarship. I got used to the juggling act of teaching and being a student, and learned to enjoy the combination. And the eating problem resolved itself with no more thought than I had given it in the first place.

But just recently, a friend posted a picture on facebook of me during this skinny time, and I have to admit, I was horrified by how anorexic I looked.
Maybe it's just the angle or the shadow effect or something, but I look like I'm about to disappear. And I think I may have been trying to, at that point in my life.

I'm thankful that I don't feel like I want to disappear any more. I'm thankful that eating is a happy thing for me, that life is full of joy. Much as I occasionally am shocked by just how much weight I can put on while pregnant, I'm also thankful that I'm able to have babies and be healthy and even happy during my pregnancies.

Yes, I'll have a lot of work to do to get this weight off after Lucky makes his/her appearance. But until then, I am darn well going to let my soul delight in fatness.

I might go make brownies.

Hot Date

In the Church (I think other places, too), they're always encouraging couples to keep going out on dates, even after you're married. I'm all over this idea, but when you're poor and really busy, it's hard to make it happen as often as it probably should.

For our anniversary (which, yes, was back in August), my Mom said she would treat Craig and me to a nice dinner. Well, this wasn't something to just flippantly squander away. Craig and I thought about where we wanted to go and waited until we were feeling pretty desperate for a fancy meal before we bothered to actually plan anything. When we finally got to that point, we decided on a local restaurant called Carmello's. I have heard nothing but good things about this place. It's a Portuguese and Italian restaurant, and everyone who talks about it RAVES about how delicious the food is. I was so excited.

Until the actual day arrived. And my stomach decided to go crazy. I'll spare you the gross details, but suffice it to say, there was no point in spending much money on food that weekend. I think I finally resorted to rice and toast for a day or two before things settled down. So our date got canceled.

A month later, we finally rescheduled it. And again, we were really excited. Craig's parents were watching the kids. I put on a necklace in hopes that this would channel my self-image from "huge" to "pretty." Craig even put on cologne. We drove into Old Towne Manassas, parked, walked up to the restaurant holding hands, and this is what we found:


Yup, look closely into that window. Carmello's is currently a pile of rubble. Apparently there was an electrical fire some time ago.

So much for that idea. (The good news, for all you who recommended Carmello's in the first place, is that they are rebuilding. But by the looks of it, I think the grand re-opening is still a few months off...)

By then it was too late to head to a different (fancy) restaurant. So we laughed for a solid five minutes, snapped that picture, and then tried to figure out what to do instead. We finally decided on Panera, mostly because it has a cozier atmosphere than Chipotle. That was almost a really great idea, but unfortunately, some homeless guy also appreciated a good cozy atmosphere, and proceeded to sit near us and snore throughout our entire meal. It was one of those nights where I might have wanted to cry if we could have just stopped laughing for a moment.

Some day, Carmello's. Some day.

Update on my Identity Crisis

I'm afraid it's worse than I thought.

I made the book slings. (Well, no, I got friends to make the slings for me.) And then I attended the Relief Society Super Saturday activity, which-- ironically-- was a lot more of the same. I had signed up for three crafts. I did two of them, and then when I (verbally) realized I was running out of time, a great friend of mine offered to do the third one for me. And she did a great job, too.*

All this outside help is giving me a false sense of ability. I'm beginning to believe that I'm actually good at stuff like this. Which is why when my friend Shalane talked about starting a sewing group, I got all excited thinking about it. Partly because Shalane was showing me this cute apron that she'd made. And partly because my other friend Jen (who, you might recall, helped me out with the book slings, and so is completely at fault for feeding my false sense of confidence) showed me these little girls' dresses we could try making. And even more to blame is probably my friend Laresa who pointed out this skirt that I'm totally lusting after. And with all my new-found, completely unearned confidence in myself, I'm just itching to try it all.

Would somebody slap me, please? I keep having flashbacks of the Arrested Development episode where Gob is in prison with his father and tells him that he just wants them to play ball together. Without even looking up from his book, George Sr. mutters, "Great. Now you're an athlete." Someone probably needs to say something like that to me: Great, now you think you can sew.

But, um, if you don't want to do that, you could just lend me a sewing machine.

Or sign up to participate in and/or teach our new sewing group. Hint, hint. Anyone is welcome. Anyone who has ever sewn anything can probably teach me a thing or two! I'll be passing those sign-ups around at church on Sunday.




*I'd go into more detail about some of the fun stuff I got to make, but these were all gifts for family members, some of whom read this blog, so it will have to remain a secret for now...

Random Tidbits

Here are a bunch of random notes, none of which is long enough to merit its own post:

-Our refrigerator was making a worrisome buzzing noise. And I fixed it. I'm pretty proud of myself. It turned out that I had accidentally turned on the ice maker (which we disconnected before we even moved into this house, since the second we turned on the water it leaked a huge puddle all over the kitchen floor). So I turned it back off again and now there is no more buzzing. Mad skills, I'm telling you.

-Last night I dreamed about hanging out at BYU with Craig back when we were engaged. I always love being with Craig, but that time was so magically happy and in-love and Disney-esque-- it was fun to relive it for a few hours. We would run into each other on campus and it was like there was nothing better in the world. Then, in my dream, Craig surprised me by taking me to Burgers Supreme. Boo-ya!

-When Craig was getting ready for work this morning, we heard a pretty loud crash. We froze, listening for a full minute before the expected crying began. Bentley had fallen out of bed in his sleep. Poor guy! What a miserable way to wake up!

-And while I'm talking about sleep and dreams and stuff, after Craig left for work, I went back to sleep again and this time I dreamed that I was screaming at the kids for waking up too early. We're not just talking angry yelling-- we're talking full-throated, I'm going to be hoarse for a week, all-out screaming. When I finally did wake up to Kendra pounding on the door, I was so scared of what I might do to them in my tired state that I managed to keep my voice to a very mellow, library voice. Maybe that dream served as a warning. But it still left me feeling terrible.

-At church yesterday, it seemed like every woman over 50 that I spoke to wanted to tell me how my tummy has really "popped out." Now I will admit, I haven't been to church in my own ward in several weeks-- I was sick, then I was out of town, and then it was General Conference. So maybe if you hadn't seen me in a month, the change is pretty obvious. But still. Really, people? What are you supposed to say to something like that? "Yup-- turns out I'm huge! Thanks for noticing!" I don't get it. If I ever say that to some poor pregnant woman, someone please hit me.

-It's a little disconcerting when the novel you've been enjoying, and which you're 250 pages into, suddenly turns into Hamlet. I just sort of wanted to send an email to the author saying, "Whoa! Where did that come from?" Although I did feel pretty smart for noticing, until I also noticed that on the back of the book, one of the reviewers had mentioned that it had elements of an American Hamlet. So maybe I'm not so smart after all... Nah, I probably am!

-And speaking of Hamlet, has anyone ever pointed out to you that the weird little Canadian flick Strange Brew is also just another version of Hamlet? If you think this is just a coincidence or that I'm reading too much into it, let me just point out that the name of the brewery is, after all, Elsinore Beer. 'Nuff said.

-Did anyone else notice that the cicadas have all died out? It must have happened weeks ago, but it just occurred to me this morning. Funny how they can make so much noise and yet be completely not missed. I sort of wonder how many people out there are like that...

-And finally, a lesson learned this weekend: Crazy busy weekend (including Super Saturday, birthday party, homecoming at Craig's school, and lots of extra meetings for Craig) + me forgetting to take my iron pills = me crashing hard on Sunday. You'd think needing a nap after I showered would have tipped me off, but it wasn't until I had to take another nap after dinner that I realized my mistake. Bad, bad, bad idea. Very bad idea.

That's all for now folks!

Status

You may or may not know this about me, but I really only like to worry about weird things. I'm not saying I never worry about normal stuff-- money, my family, where the country is headed-- yes, I worry about all that. But it's absolutely no fun at all. I'd much rather worry about things that I have no ability to change and that probably don't matter anyway.

Like Elvis.

I've been worrying about him a lot recently.

Is it just me, or has Elvis been placed in some sort of weird cult status where you can only like him if you ABSOLUTELY LOVE him? You know what I mean? It's as though the general populations' idea of a true Elvis fan tends to be someone who is certifiably crazy! Maybe this is just what they show in the movies, but it seems like the people who really love Elvis want to impersonate him or believe he's still alive. They wear the crazy flashy outfits he wore in the 70s (when no one looked good), after he was overweight and puffy, riddled with drugs, and looked tired with life. (Part of this has to be because it's much harder to impersonate the young, classy, full-of-life Elvis; you'd need more energy and you'd have to start off pretty good looking. That's nothing you could fake with big sunglasses and sideburns.) I don't think other rock icons from the 50s and 60s are quite at that level, and I think it's much healthier that way. Your average person (like me) can really like the Beatles and it won't by the defining thing about them.

I'm not sure this is the case with Elvis. I worry that the because this love of Elvis is more of a cult than anything, no one really takes Elvis seriously any more. And that's such a shame because, like his music or not, the guy had talent. And, in his early days, he was definitely easy on the eyes.

I'm certainly not the world's biggest Elvis fan. I don't even know all that many songs by him. But the ones I know, I really like. Recently I've found myself listening to him more and more. His rendition of "How Great Thou Art" is more spiritual than anything the MoTab could do. I like the jazzy fun of "Burning Love." Nothing says Christmas better than "Blue Christmas." And his slow songs can still melt your heart.

So I propose that we all take some time to get in touch with Elvis Presley. Not as a joke. Not in a "let's wear crazy clothes and shake our hips" sort of way. Let's just kick back, listen to his music, and appreciate his mellow voice. He deserves that much.




So I do have to ask-- because I am genuinely curious-- what completely weird thing do you like to worry about?

Busted

Bentley is trying to break up my marriage.

The other day, we had a little incident at pre-school. It-- ahem-- involved Bentley exposing himself. (Those of you with sons: Please tell me that this is normal behavior and that my son is not a pervert. PLEASE.) So afterwards, I tried to discuss with him how this was not appropriate. Even though I was being very reasonable and not even raising my voice, Bentley began pouting and then finally exclaimed as defensively as he could muster, "But Daddy does that!"

Time froze momentarily. I blinked once. Then I decided to clarify, "Daddy does what?"

"Daddy gets to wear shorts! I want to wear shorts, too!"

"Um. Okay, you can wear shorts. But what I'm talking about is how you can't pull your pants down in front of other people, okay?"

Apparently Bentley had switched topics without bothering to tell me. Later on Craig assured me that he is not in the habit of exposing himself to others, especially the kids. Phew! Because I'm pretty sure that would have put a strain on our marriage... (And probably his teaching career, too, for that matter.)


So then yesterday, Craig was out on the front porch cutting tile, and then suddenly came back in the house. Bentley, in the other room, heard the screen door open and slam and promptly shouted out, "Is that the mailman?!?!" This time it was Craig's turn to look at me funny. Does the mailman often come inside to visit with you? was what his expression clearly implied. I could only stare wide-eyed and shake my head, assuring him that a) the mailman has never stepped foot inside our house and b) just for the record, our mailman is a woman.

Bentley must have noticed the momentary tension he created, though, because that became his favorite joke for the rest of the afternoon. Every time Craig came in the house he was greeted as though he were the mailman. Just what every father longs to hear.

Oh, and while I'm telling stories about the kids, Kendra has gotten pretty good at singing along with the Glee version of Lady Gaga's "Poker Face." I'm pretty sure this is a knock against my awesome mothering skills. Although Craig has been very kind about not pointing this out to me. Yet.


When they talk about kids putting a strain on your marriage, it never occurred to me that the kids would be doing it deliberately!

Food for Thought (but not much)

Every time I eat a graham cracker, I'm surprised by how good they are.

The Primary Program Cometh

Yup, among the many things that fall means, one of them is that the Primary Program is coming up. As a sunbeam, Bentley has one sentence he is supposed to say: "I know Jesus Christ is my Savior because he died on the cross and was resurrected."

For FHE last night, we decided to practice this with him. No exaggeration at all-- I read it to him once and the kid had it memorized. He recited it four times for me! Okay, okay, so it wasn't exactly "letter perfect"-- he'd shortened Christ's name to just "Jesus" and changed the last two words to "got resurrected." But still! This is the same kid who STILL regularly forgets six and seven when he counts to ten! I wasn't expecting him to catch onto this so quickly! And just now-- the next morning-- I decided to see if he still remembered it. I didn't even read it to him once-- he got it with absolutely no prompting from me.

Yes, I'm bragging.

And normally I'm totally against bragging about your kids, especially on a blog-- it just seems too cheap and easy, somehow. But this time I have to share. Mostly because I can already tell you that when the actual Primary Program happens (on October 17th, if any local grandparents are interested in attending), I'm pretty sure he'll stand up there looking blankly at all the people in the congregation until his teacher whispers his lines to him, at which point he'll whisper it all into the microphone in a completely inaudible voice. At least, that's how it's always gone down when he's assigned to give a prayer in front of the primary.

So I'm bragging right now while I can. This way, it won't bother me as much when it all goes wrong because some of you in the audience will be able to smile and nod knowingly to me, acknowledging that you know that Bentley had learned his lines. And that will make it all all right.

So thank you in advance for your understanding. Thanks for that knowing smile-- I'm looking forward to it.

A Time to Whine

I've reached that point. The point in pregnancy where you are just too big to move very easily any more. I'm only at 32 weeks, so I still have a ways to go. This seems almost unbearable when I'm laying on the couch and the phone rings so I have to heave my huge self up and off of the couch to answer it. I clearly need to be more diligent about keeping my phone within arm's reach at all times. I haven't quite achieved planet status yet, but I'm definitely on my way. (I have gotten to the point where everyone thinks I should be due any day now. Ha! Fooled you all! Just you wait and see how big I can get!)

I also woke up the other night when my leg cramped up something awful. I've heard about this happening, but this was my first time actually experiencing it. It hurt so much I actually began whimpering as I frantically tried to flex my calf to uncramp it. Who whimpers without it being a joke??? Anyway, it left me sore enough to barely sleep the rest of the night, and then I was stuck limping all morning until I could finally take a hot shower. Whew. Those of you who suffer these things regularly (I have at least one friend who has mentioned these), I suddenly have a lot more sympathy for you. (Or is that empathy? I can never remember...) It was horrible and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Or at least not anyone I liked...

The other thing of note is that the weather suddenly turned cold yesterday. I've really been hoping that my usual Fear of Cold Weather will take a back burner to this little space heater I carry around in my tummy, but I think I was overly optimistic. Because right now I find myself wearing those crazy warm fuzzy socks and a sweater and I'm still wondering how high I can turn up the thermostat before Craig notices and turns it back down. So Lucky here isn't putting out nearly enough heat. I'm not sure which is harder to deal with: the fact that I don't want to ever get out of bed when it's cold outside (I'm pretty sure that I should be given special permission to hibernate all winter), the fact that Bentley throws a fit every time I tell him he can't wear shorts, or the fact that none of my pants seems to be fitting me quite right and I really just want to wear shorts along with Bentley. Except it's too cold for that.

I really do try to look on the bright side of cold weather! I found a great recipe for potato soup that I've fallen in love with and am craving all the time. (I add salt and velveeta cheese when I make it. Yum. And I'm seriously thinking about getting bread bowls at Panera next time.) We stuffed the inside of our duvet back into its cover and now it's all thick and warm and cozy. Craig is already looking forward to building a fire in the fireplace (in our brand new rec room, which I still love). And he even made hot cocoa for me yesterday.

I tell myself that it's only a couple months of cold and then I'll have this baby and lock myself in the house with a warm blanket and spend a month or so nursing a newborn before I have to start thinking about going outside to do the grocery shopping again.

But deep down, I know that it's still going to be a long, cold winter.

I miss summer already.

Weather and Ikea

So for those of you who don't live in the area, we had quite the downpour yesterday. My experience with a good downpour is usually that they last for about ten minutes. Yesterday's lasted pretty much all. day. long. It was crazy. I just looked it up-- somewhere in the neighborhood of 6 inches of rainfall? Wow.

This, of course, happened because my parents were here visiting from Seattle. I'd told them about the delightful 70 degree autumn weather we'd been enjoying, but I guess Virginia wanted them to feel more at home. So we had hot, humid rain. Very impressive, Virginia-- the poor Seattlites hardly knew what to do with themselves. Unfortunately, this spoiled all my ideas of things we could do: Cox Farms, apple picking, driving up to Shenandoah National Park to look at the fall colors. Yeah, not good rainy day activities.

Instead, we went to IKEA. That was pretty fun, mostly because you get to park in a garage-- anywhere else and I doubt I would have bothered. Much too wet. But the parking garage meant I could deal with it. And now that I know how to navigate Ikea without having a nervous breakdown, I actually enjoy that store a lot. I've decided that the key-- for people who don't enjoy shopping-- is to go with a good idea of what it is you're looking for, and only bother with that. Skip everything else. In our case, we were looking at closets to give my parents ideas for how they might reorganize their laundry room. Just looking at all the closet options still took a good hour or so. Imagine if we'd looked at kitchen cupboards or something, too! The other key is to take shortcuts when you can. For example, if all you want to look at is closets, you can pretty much skip the entire middle level. So do it. There's no point looking at plates and lamps and plants if you don't need or want any. My other tip-- and this is key-- is to eat there. Swedish meatballs are great. Swedish meatballs for $4 is amazing. And if Dad is buying, you really can't go wrong! (Thanks, Dad! Lunch was great!)

The only bad thing about this trip was that Bentley chose this day to show off his bratty side to Grandma and Grandpa. I think I spent thirty minutes trying to bribe him to eat his lunch before I finally gave up and told him that he was not allowed to play in the kid area at all (despite the fact that Kendra was already there playing, since she had finished her macaroni & cheese). Much crying ensued. But as Craig said, at least I held my ground, right? That's good parenting, right? Right? And anyway, my parents were bound to notice that Bentley has the same bad temper all the rest of in my family have eventually. Right?

Today has been a beautiful, blustery day. But I feel too resigned to bad weather to do much about enjoying it. We did at least go to a park, which lasted until Bentley face-planted on the slide and started bleeding. That can happen when you decide to climb the slide in your socks... Pretty soon we're heading to the Cheesecake Factory. If Bentley doesn't want to eat his food there, I don't care. I'll be enjoying myself no matter what.

Sorry, I'm not really sure what the point of this post is, exactly. It meanders from weather to Ikea to my child's behavorial problems and back to the weather again sort of, with absolutely no point or punchline.

Oh, well. Sometimes, blog posts are like that. I'm going to blame it on the weather.