our very obsolete blog
Yesterday, Tricia and I celebrated 13 years of marriage. She was amazing then, and is so much more now. What a privilege it has been to grow and love and live and work together these many years. I am not the man I was (which is a good thing!), and much of that change is due to Tricia’s patient love for me.
May God bless us with many more decades together. I love you, sweetie!
This year I have a new job to add to my already rather long but not exhaustive list of titles including: wife, mommy, chauffer, personal chef, housekeeper, teacher, decorator, laundry woman, disciplinarian, and nurse. My new job title? One I have never had before and am not likely to have again: I am officially a Matron of Honor. M.O.H. for short.
Sadly, this new job doesn’t pay anymore than any of the ones I already had, but I don’t mind. So far, it’s been a pretty fun gig. Even downright frivolous at times. It requires lots of time on the computer, researching various topics all having to do with something called a “wedding”, and chatting on Google with the B.R.I.D.E. She’s a decent boss, good at delegation, fairly clear with her expectations, and for the most part, happy with my work so far. I’ve only gotten yelled at once or twice.
Along with this new job are some travel responsibilities, which reminds me, I should see about whether I can expense some mileage given the price of gas these days. The B.R.I.D.E. generally goes along when travel is required, and sometimes our resident J.B.M. (that’s Junior BridesMaid for those of you not in the know) accompanies us. The B.R.I.D.E. assures me that future travel will require visiting several nearby, yet exotic locations: places where they take common household ingredients like flour and sugar and turn them into works of art that look amazing yet get gobbled up all too quickly. I think she told me that visits to florists are also in our future.
But so far all our travel has taken us to chic little stores full of ballgowns, where one or more of us essentially get to play dress-up for hours on end. There is much trying-on of satin, tulle, and taffeta. Picture-taking, critiquing of various styles and colors, frowning over things we don’t like, and exclaiming about our favorites. The B.R.I.D.E. is lovely in everything she tries on so it’s sometimes hard to be a completely objective employee, and give her the feedback she needs. I’d love to prove this to you by showing you a photo of her in a frock, or maybe ten, but I do not dare or she would fire me in an instant, no questions asked. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it!
I hope to post more about my adventures as an M.O.H. in the coming weeks and months. Maybe even show you some pictures of this important new work I am involved in. But for now, I gotta run….I see a google message has popped up on my screen from the boss — duty calls!!
While checking my blogs just now, and eating my morning peanut butter toast, I had a little mishap. I dropped my toast, and watched it flip around and around as if in slow motion, until it gracefully landed butter side down on my toes. While I hate to waste that precious peanut butter, you will probably be happy to hear that I refrained from licking my buttered toes.
Today Nicolas Andrew (aka: Mookie, Nico, Nicolicious, Malibu-Nic — he tans easily, like the Malibu Barbie doll!) turns five years old. Like each of our first two children, he felt it best to arrive very close to a major holiday, thereby making the timing of birthday parties each year a little tricky. We hope to celebrate his special day tomorrow with family, doing some of the things he likes best. The weather is looking less and less like it will cooperate so I don’t know if we’ll be able to enjoy some of the outside activities we’d hoped to. This will likely ruffle me more than it will the Birthday Boy, though.
Because one of the great things about Nicolas is that he is fairly content and happy in most circumstances, especially when he is with the people he loves and who love him.
Nicolas is our most unique child: unique to our family, that is. The rest of us are admittedly a bit more uptight, and tend toward over-achievement in many instances. We’re all even a bit nerdy, you might say!! Nicolas has a personality that I think God knew we would need in this family. He is by far, the most comfortable in his own skin. He thinks he can do just about anything, but doesn’t come across as arrogant. He can make friends with anyone, and usually does. In tough times (in the life of a five-year-old, mind you) such as when he is picked on, falls very ill, or experiences disappointment, he sort of shrugs it off, gives a little sigh, and moves on with life. In a very non-five-year-old fashion. He is very trusting, and quite brave, in an almost-frightening way given how young he is. Most of all, he makes us laugh. He is so funny, and his often comical presence in our lives makes for a lot of humor.
Which I think God also knew we would need. God sent Nicolas to us as a wonderful surprise, at a time when we didn’t know we needed another baby, and for that, we will be forever grateful.
I wasn’t thinking this way though when I saw the positive pregnancy test back in October of 2001. We had just moved into a new house, I had a two year old and an eight month old, and Jay and I had already discussed a tentative plan of three years’ interval between our second and third babies. To say this third baby was a surprise was a massive understatement. Truly, to this day, we do not know how Nicolas was conceived. Well, I mean, we KNOW, but circumstances should have rendered a pregnancy impossible at that time.
But, regardless of circumstances and human planning, the first pregnancy test that I took was positive. So were the second and third, much to my dismay. One would think that a woman who had to wait over 18 (agonizing, at least to me at the time) months before being able to conceive her first child, and who experienced not one, but two miscarriages in quick succession before the safe arrival of her second child, would be overjoyed to see a positive pregnancy test announcing the potential arrival of a third baby into the family.
Instead, not only was I not overjoyed, I was panic-stricken. To my way of thinking, it was much too soon to consider welcoming a third child into the family. After all, I still had an infant to care for. I never wanted three children, aged three and under in my household all at once. Sure, we hoped for more children someday but not this soon. All I could think at that point was that I had prayed over and over for children, and really hoped for a houseful someday, and that God, employing some warped sense of humor had made the entire process an emotional roller coaster for me, culminating with Him “blessing” me with more tiny children than I could humanly handle at once.
Being a young, relatively immature and inexperienced mother, I envisioned a crazy and disorganized household in which children ran wild, and life was chaos. Our family calls ourselves Christians, but what sort of picture would the family in my wild imaginings show to a world in which we are called to be salt and light? I feared for our family’s future, I grieved for the lost childhood I was certain that Jonathan, our second child, was to experience, receiving another sibling way too soon, before he was even done being a baby himself. I had many dark and depressing thoughts as I spiraled into months of questioning why God was doing this. I was angry and frustrated with Him, and sadly, I generally remained that way for the majority of Nicolas’ pregnancy. My sweet husband can attest to the fact that I was not fun to live with during those months; being angry with God is neither conducive to an individual’s inner peace, nor to the peace and serenity of their family.
I tried very hard to present a brave and happy face to those I came into contact with, but inside I was panicking. The “helpful” comments of those individuals who constantly reminded me of my plight with statements like, “Boy, are YOU going to have your hands full!” and “Sweetie, don’t you know what causes this?” made me so upset. My husband’s assurances that God would not give us more than we could handle, and that my being angry at God would not make having this third baby any easier, but instead complicate the situation, fell on mostly deaf ears. I wanted to believe him, to trust that God’s grace would be sufficient, that He was the author and giver of life, that this baby was something to be amazingly thankful for, but I struggled mightily in those months leading up to Nicolas’ birth.
Providentially, the events surrounding Nicolas’ entrance into this world culminated in the best labor and delivery experience I have ever had. He was a week and a half late, and the only baby to not be either induced or delivered by planned C-Section. I still treasure the memories around the time he was delivered, and know this was just the first of many surprises and blessings God showered on me regarding this special child. I fell in love with Nicolas the minute I set eyes on him, and was so thankful for this third beautiful baby. But I still remember crying in the hospital as we prepared to return home, wondering how I would handle and care for three tiny children. Aside from some meals our church friends brought that first week home, there was no other outside assistance available to us as we adjusted to being a family of five.
But Jay was a great help and encouragement to me in the early days, and while he was home from work for about a week, he took care of Abigail and Jonathan almost exclusively, allowing me to focus on little Nicolas, and truly sleep when he slept, etc, in an effort to recover and gain strength for the task ahead. In those first few weeks, I truly cherished my one-on-one times with Baby Nicolas, and even waking in the middle of the night to nurse him and change him was a joy. It never felt as hard as it had with my two previous babies. I actually looked forward to those midnight and early morning feedings with him. And all I can think when I reflect on it now is that God was so gracious to allow me these happy emotions and precious times considering how I had fussed and fumed over what I was sure was going to feel more like drudgery.
Nicolas went on to be our easiest baby ever, in most every way. He slept though the night by three weeks of age, and continued that habit long-term. He seldom cried or even fussed, and he smiled often and giggled alot. I remember how Jay and I would look forward to our “Nicolas time”, which usually consisted of us holding our little baby boy and allowing him to smile, gurgle and cheer us in the way he managed to, even at just a couple months of age. His happy personality came through loud and clear, giving us a glimpse into the sunny and funny little boy he was to become.
Today our entire family and extended family is blessed with happy Nicolas.
Most people who meet him are charmed instantly by his sweet and friendly personality. And while he has some of the same struggles and issues as many five-year-olds do, yet in other ways he seems to possess a peace and calm that I only hope and pray to someday have. His sweet presence in our lives is an ever-constant reminder of the good gifts God lovingly bestows on us, even when we do not ask for them, even when we kick and fight against Him. Today, we thank God especially for Nicolas, our sweet five-year-old surprise, marvel at the little boy he has become, and look forward in faith to what the future holds for him.
Why do you suppose I am wearing this clever getup? I’ll give you three answers, from which you may choose your favorite:
1 – I just needed a fresh new look – after all, I’ve been wearing the same “Suburban Stay at Home Mommy Garb” for over 8 years now.
2 – Having way too much free time on my hands, I am off to a daytime masquerade party for other Mommies with Way Too Much Free Time on Their Hands.
3 – I am doing my best to protect my eyes, nose and mouth as I prepare to sand the mudded ceiling in the boys’ bathroom as part of the ongoing remodel.
If you guessed “3”, you were right on the money. The sanding went ok, though I admit I had a great deal of difficulty breathing, as I perched high on my ladder with dust raining down on me. Bleck. But, I got the job done. Here is what I looked like when I finished:
Very classy indeed!
We are making great headway on the bathroom project. Hopefully we’ll have pictures for you soon!
It is a bit of a disappointment, when upon going to check on your supper simmering nicely in the crockpot….
Which you added to the plugged-in crockpot several hours ago,
That you spent lots of time chopping and mixing together a little before that,
Because you wanted to enjoy a warm, homemade potato soup with your family on a chilly day,
And after all, you had several potatoes on hand which needed to be used,
And you even threw in the remnants of the bottle of Chardonnay that was opened a few nights ago (Because we all know that recipes just taste that much better with a bit of wine added in!)
….to find that the supposed-to-be-simmering soup is not simmering. Not exactly. And truthfully, it’s not quite yet hot. Or, patient reader, even the tiniest bit warm. Because for whatever reason, the outlet you’d plugged your trusty crockpot into IS NOT WORKING!! Bummer.
Cold potato soup with crunchy, uncooked potatoes and other veggies doesn’t sound as appealing as the warm and cooked variety. So, I’ve moved the crockpot to a different spot on the kitchen counter, picked a new outlet, and plugged the soup in. For real. At this rate it should be done by about 10:00 tonight. Which, to look on the positive side of all this, means I’ll have supper ready for tomorrow evening with no additional effort on my part.
But tonight, dear readers, we shall dine on omelets!!
What sort of meal (whether cooked or uncooked!) are you enjoying at your supper table??
In some of my “spare” time lately, I’ve been cooking and freezing meals, hoping to stash up a nice amount of food for after the baby comes, so that when we are in the midst of wakeful nights, and lots of feedings, and just the exhaustion that comes from having a sweet newborn around the house, I will not feel much need to spend time preparing food. Along the way I’ve logged what I prepared into excel so that I do not lose track of all of it . Today I printed out my inventory spreadsheet and learned I have an amazing 28 meals (and by meal, I mean things like a 9×13 pan of lasanga, which is way more than just one meal for our family!) all set to go! Wow!! Here is what they look like in my garage freezer:
I do not think much more will fit in here, do you?? Some of this food is from a class at Super Suppers a couple weeks ago, which I tried for the first time. I’ll let you know what we think of it AFTER we taste some of the food! But it was definitely a fun time with friends, and I put together twelve meals in just a couple hours. The rest of this is soups, chowders, casseroles, meatloaves, lasagnas, and other meals that have been all prepared, minus the final cooking. To say I feel a sense of accomplishment over the state of my freezer is an understatement. Indeed, I feel rather like a mother squirrel storing up for winter!!
Perhaps there is a factoid somewhere which validates the idea that pregnant women endure not only physical challenges while gestating, but that somehow their brains are affected as well. If not, I can publicly acknowledge that my brain and capacity for intelligent processing have definitely diminished. There are many evidences for this in my life but the most obvious one occurred this afternoon: I ate a whole chocolate bunny.
Those of you with children who have enjoyed Rack, Shack and Benny would probably be willing now to join in a sympathetic round of the Bunny Song with me. Just recalling the lyrics makes me feel stupid. Here is what happened:
It was innocent enough. I finished a not-too-big lunch. And was still hungry. There is little dessert in the house. But it just so happens that there is a certain dark chocolate bunny which I gave my husband for Easter (that was back in March for anyone keeping track) that he has never eaten. And it has stared at me, day after day. Night after night. Taunting me. I have warned him many times over the past weeks and months: “If you don’t eat that bunny soon, I may have to eat it myself!” Tell me this: if you were married to a hungry pregnant woman threatening to eat your dark chocolate bunny, would you be as cavalier about the poor confection animal as Jay has been? I hardly think so.
So folks, it was bound to happen: this afternoon, after my lunch (which was quite tasty!) I devoured the chocolate bunny. Every last morsel. It was very good. And everything was fine, till about an hour or more later, when I began feeling quite dizzy. And ill. After half an hour of this it occurred to me that perhaps my body was dealing with a significant sugar high, then low, brought on by my bunny consumption. Another half hour later there was no doubt. I was miserable. Shaky, nauseous, awful feeling. In due time Jay came home from work, and I confessed my gluttonous sin, and the fact that I was quite literally feeling rather ill over the whole thing.
“What? My bunny? I was going to take that to work with me!” he exclaimed, stricken, it would seem, over this bunny for whom he’d shown no real concern till now. Whatever. I could hardly take his disappointment seriously. But, he enjoyed poking a bit of fun at me until he realized that I was truly in a bad way over this bunny. And spent the rest of the evening being quite helpful while I tried to cope with a few chores, but mainly felt so sick I wanted to die.
It is now 9:30pm. And I feel terrible. I may never look at another chocolate bunny let alone eat one. Next Easter, please feel no need to present me with any chocolate treats of any variety. A basket of fresh fruit will be just fine, thank you. And now before I creep off to lie miserably in my bed continuing to battle the results of my gluttony, I leave you with this parting thought, dear readers:
Taken From Veggie Tales’ Rack, Shack, and Benny:
“The bunny,
the bunny –
whoa, i ate the bunny.
I didn’t eat my soup or my bread
just the bunny.
The bunny,
the bunny –
oh i love the bunny!
But now i feel real sick in the head from the bunny.”
I haven’t posted a ton about the pregnancy. This is the first pregnancy during which I’ve had a blog (I started writing shortly after the birth of our third, Nicolas) so I suppose I should spend more time chronicling my experiences, but truthfully, there are many days I am so exhausted that it is enough to take care of my family and survive!!
One of the things I still manage to do despite my fatigue is eat. Eat, eat, and eat some more. I seem to be quite hungry these days. Almost constantly. And yet, in a couple months, when I am ready to give birth, and my scales are tipping at 55 pounds greater than what i regularly weigh in at, I will be shocked. Just as I am always shocked at the end of every nine months (nine months and two weeks with Nicolas!). I am not tall (5’4″, and that’s giving me a 1/2″ of grace!) and that amount of weight on my small frame is um, noticeable, to say the least. I look very prosperous while pregnant. Healthy, well-fed, you get the picture!!
So: what does a hungry pregnant woman eat? Almost everything, it seems. Just about every food known to man tastes so delicious these days. I truly think the pleasure of eating is enhanced while pregnant. Just as smells seem to “sniff” stronger, I believe food tastes more flavorful as well. Fresh fruit tastes like nectar come directly from the door of heaven to me. I consume tons of it every day. Peaches, grapes, watermelon, and cherries are my current favorites. Perhaps in the heat, they are some of the most satisfying and delightful things I have found to eat. But then, meat is high on my list of preferred food lately as well. Steak and grilled chicken, and pork ribs….YUM!!
What does a snack look like these days? Keep in mind that my non-pregnant self doesn’t really snack much, or even feel the need for it. But for me, while gestating, snacks are a must. Pregnant women’s insides start doing strange things when the tummy is empty. So, this afternoon it was (for you, Rita!) a toasted piece of wheat bread spread thickly with gooey, melty peanut butter and a tall glass of icey cold milk. Oooh, delicious. That used to be an entire breakfast for me, now it’s just a midday snack!!
And I actually ate two bowlfuls of ice cream the other night while we watched a movie (Hotel Rwanda, if you’re wondering. Very heart-wrenching, but a good movie and one worth seeing). Jay’s jaw dropped when I came back with the second bowl (it was Bluebell’s Tin Roof, a flavor some friends introduced us to the other night, and I am lovin’ it!). And we wonder why I gain 50+ pounds with each child!! :-O For those who might be curious, Tin Roof is vanilla ice cream with a rich chocolate fudge swirl and roasted peanuts dipped in semi-bittersweet chocolate. Quite delectable. And good for you too: besides the obvious dairy component, did you notice there are peanuts in it??
Other favorite snack items include apple slices with peanut butter on them, wheat thins by the handful, grilled chicken with avocado slices on tortillas, tall glasses of orange juice, and lots of cold, cold milk. I do not often crave “junk” foods, or even sweets, per se, though I do have myself a sweet thing each evening (brownies are a favorite!). But I do not spend time each day stuffing myself with potato chips and cookies. In fact, most of what i eat is actually very nutritious, good food. But eat a lot of anything, and it starts to add up on one’s scale.
Ah well, it is a season of life. One I am really thankful to be able to experience again. And during this time, I am truly grateful for good fresh food and a healthy baby to feed. And for the ability to eat when I am hungry. These are certainly things never to be taken for granted. So, here’s to food!!
Does anyone remember the lyrics to that Bennigan’s radio commercial that played a few years ago? It was an Irish sounding guy singing something like: “I found 10 bucks in the pocket of my jeans…”. Very catchy tune, but I can’t recall how it goes.
Well, yesterday I put on a pair of jeans shorts that I haven’t worn since my last pregnancy (3 years ago) and I put my hand into one of the pockets only to pull out…..you guessed it: $10!!! As these jeans were washed before being put away, but likely hung to dry (you don’t want any more shrinkage than is absolutely necessary with maternity wear!), the ten dollar bill was crisp and clean, but a little wrinkled. Still perfectly good, though. Now, what shall I do with my newfound treasure??