To register or not to register?

We are the happy custodians of Lola's Van while she is oversees and the time has come to re-register it. I have been dreading this moment, knowing how much it costs to get all the tests and pay all the fees, not to mention we need to replace the windshield in order to pass the safety test. (I am looking in to whether or not our insurance will cover it, but it doesn't look like it...) Well today I got a statement from the Washington State Department of Licensing with a summary of the charges to re-register the van in WA.

I'll let you decide...

Utah
$1.00 Uninsured Motorist Identification Fee (Don't I already pay this on my insurance?)
$2.50 Driver Education Fee
$6 Title Fee (transfer title to new state)
$80 Uniform Statewide Age-based Fee (for 6-9 year old car)
$17 Utah Safety Test
$25 Utah Emissions Test
$178 New windshield (to pass safety test)

$309.50 Subtotal, plus
$--? Registration Fee (to be determined—about $100 for our Honda)


Washington
$3.00 Filing Fee
$30.00 License Fee (road construction/maintenance)
$20.00 Vehicle Weight fee (highway improvements/transit)
$0.75 License service fee (computer system that provides licensing services)
$53.75 Total

High Fructose Corn Syrup Inventory

When I took a nutrition class at BYU about 6 years ago, I learned that most "wheat bread" is really not made with wheat flour; it's enriched white flour, with carmel coloring added to make it look darker. It didn't really have a whole lot of nutritional value. At that point in time, I resolved to only purchase bread which listed as the first ingredient "whole wheat flour." I have done this very successfully. I have been a careful consumer, and although we have paid more per loaf of bread, the result is more than just peace of mind. True whole wheat bread has better fiber and protein content. We are a very fiber-conscious household, and if we can get more than 4 grams of fiber per slice/serving of bread, bagel, tortilla, or pasta we feel like we've found the nutrition jackpot--this usually means anything that is designated as "whole wheat" or "whole grain."

Well, it's time to find a new loaf of bread again.

I have recently resolved to eliminate High Fructose Corn Syrup from my diet. It is an unneccessary sweetener in so many of our regular groceries, it almost makes me sick. If we consumers change the way we shop, the food industry will hear us. That is how we can make a change.

Take for example rbST. If you look on your milk carton, I guarantee you that it says "Made from cows not treated with the artificial growth hormone rBST." Ask my brother, and he'll tell you that artificial growth hormones as a principle are not bad, but the point is that consumers changed the industry overnight. When a large body of consumers changes the way it shops, the industry changes in response.

So with that said, I am changing the way I shop, and we are changing the way we eat. I've been the primary grocery-shopper for my household for 7 1/2 years (and for the last year and a half, I have also been a paid grocery shopper by trade), and I have come to rely on some favorite brands. Here is a list of all of our favorite, regular foods in my house that I now intend to replace with their non-HFCS sweetened couterparts. Well it is all about to change. And this is going to be painful.

• Sara Lee Classic 100% Whole Wheat Bread
• Yoplait Yogurt
• Smucker's Strawberry Jam
• Sweet Baby Ray's Barbeque Sauce
• Kraft Barbeque Sauce (all varieties)
• Heinz Worchestershire Sauce
• Hunt's Ketchup
• Wishbone Italian Salad Dressing
• Slim-Fast
• Mountain Dew (and all other sodas)
• Keebler Fudge-Stripe Cookies
• Mr. Yoshida's Original Gourmet Sauce
• Keebler Club Crackers
• Keebler Fudge Stripe Cookies
• Hershey's Chocolate Syrup
• Applesauce, most brads (unless it says "All Natural")
• Frosted Flakes Cereal

This list only represents the things I currently have in my house and intend to replace as soon as present stores are depleted. Few of our suspected-guilty favorites made the HFCS-free cut, including Cheerios, Peanut Butter, Bulls Eye Barbeque Sauce, Life Cereal, Quaker High-Fiber Oatmeal, Old El Paso Enchilada Sauce, Hunt's Tomato Sauce, Campbell's canned soups, etc.

While it might be hard to enjoy foods sweetened naturally instead of with HFCS, it is all a matter of conditioning. If you are conditioned to the taste of super-sweet applesauce, naturally sweetened applesauce will be hard to adjust to (hard to "swallow" if you will). That's why we're switching. I don't want to be accustomed to unnaturally sweetened products anymore. I want my children to appreciate the tast of applesauce for what it is: apples.

Once we've conquered HFCS, our next battle might be switching to free-range chicken, or grass-fed cows, but I can't wrap my brain around them all at once.

Here are some resources (from both sides of the debate) to educate yourself before you jump down my throat. I don't like debating, I just know what irks me, and HFCS irks me.

The movie that started it all: Food, Inc.

http://www.cnn.com/2010/HEALTH/03/25/corn.syrup.sugar/index.html
http://www.labelwatch.com/addinfo.php?aid=456;
http://www.sweetsurprise.com/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-fructose_corn_syrup
http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/high-fructose-corn-syrup/AN01588
A list of HFCS-free foods: http://www.stophfcs.com/list.html
http://www.ehow.com/list_5851584_list-high-fructose-corn-syrup.html

I welcome your input on your favorite HFCS-free brands.

I have 300 children...

"Are you having a bake sale?"

"No, I just have 300 children"

Well, it's actually 332. Or 334 if you count Leah and Samuel.

This is what I was asked today when I purchased over 1000 eggs at Sam's Club. I always get strange looks when I load up my shopping cart with 40 pounds of zucchini, or 20 bags of spinach, or 200 pounds of flour, or 14 half-gallons of ice cream. Those innocent bystandards must think I have a very unbalanced diet.

If you must know, I am not shopping for myself, I am a grocery shopper by trade, and I get paid to do it. I am the official food buyer for all the cooking classes at BYU, or "Food Procurement Specialist" if you want to sound official. There are 17 classes per week; 332 students, 4 instructors, a dozen TA's, a lab manager, and me! (And where would a cooking class be without its food.) You see, I'm quite essential, and I love being essential in a way that doesn't involve feces or diaper rash.

(Come on, you know how much I really do love being a mother)

And I'm needed as much today as I will be tomorrow, for there are always food emergencies. Such as "The students used too much parsley, and the lettuce froze at the back of the fridge," or "the students ruined their stir-fry so we need more millet" or "Someone opened the mayo and didn't put it in the fridge." You get the idea. Yesterday it was ice cream and honey, today its onions and cilantro. What will be the crisis of tomorrow? I can now identify such things as acorn squash, leeks, and mung bean sprouts (although I don't think I will have any.)

There was that one time the bottom of my onion box broke and I had onions rolling in ten different directions and into the street. Or that time when the ice on top of my two cases of broccoli melted and I flooded the walk-in fridge in a matter of one kickboxing class. And that one time I accidentally ordered an 11 pound block of cheese instead of 1 (1 lb) block of cheese. (parenthesis---overrated!)

When purchasing such things as 10 boxes of Red Hots Candies, 48 candy bars, 14 heads of cabbage, 12 pounds of tofu, 20 lbs of frozen raspberries, 32 tomatoes, or in todays case, 90 dozen eggs, I try to come up with answers such as "Oh, I just really like cabbage. I eat it three times a day" or "I'm on a chocolate-only diet." You get the idea. "Haven't you heard of the tomato/raisin home remedy?"

Whenever I explain the contents of such a grocery cart, I am always admired for having such an interesting job. It is so unique, yet perfectly fitting that someone like me should shop (albeit for groceries) for a living!

In a nutshell, it is a very cool job and I work with awesome people. I always know what is on sale. I occasionally get to eat yummy things. I have a chance to miss my children for 18 hours a week. (I get paid!) And of course, college student TA's make great babysitters.

Stupid things I've done this week

• I turned an entire load of whites into a load of pinks. It may be a secret, but how is a man supposed to feel manly when his undies are pink?
• I dropped my phone in the toilet. It still works except for the outer speaker, which means my pants will always vibrate when you call me.
• I posted the following status to Facebook at 3:30am: "baby keeps pooping all not, aggravated my serious diaper rash"
• I thought it would be fun to teach Leah how to play Mario Kart.
• I lightly sprinkled Mexican Spice Blend on our enchiladas tonight. It was so hot that the kids and I had crackers for dinner and Chris didn't even want to keep the leftovers.

I think thats a pretty good tally for one week. Hmmm...next week I fly solo with two kids, two car seats, at least 2 bags, one layover, and only two arms. There's some defininte potential for stupidity...

What happens when you watch too much CSI

We just finished watching the first season of CSI. In the past, intense shows like this have given me nightmares. This time it's day-mares. I think it may be time to watch something else for a while.

Case in point:

This morning I did laps at the gym. Mid-workout I paused for a drink of water and a breather. After I'd been standing there in the water for a couple of minutes resting, I heard someone bubble up to the surface on the opposite side of the lap pool. How long had someone else been there and why hadn't I noticed? Were they lurking about quietly so as not to be detected? Now, I'm blind as a bat without my contacts in, so I couldn't tell if this blob was a man or a woman, if they were staring at me or not.

Then my mind started imagining. The blob was a scary man and he was most certainly watching me, his future prey. We were the only two in the pool. If I naively continued my laps in blurry blindness, I would be apprehended by this mysterious shape on the other side. By the time Grissom arrived, I would have had my neck sliced open and my locker key, which had been pinned to my suit, would be gone. A look-alike Jenny would have gone into the locker room and removed my ID from my locker, and then used it to retrieve and kidnap my children from the gym daycare. Then Grissom would interview Chris and find out who my enemies were. That guy who gave me a dirty look on our bike ride yesterday? One of the creepy kids who waits at the bus stop in front of our house every morning? It would turn out that some desperate pseudo friend had me off-ed so she could console and ultimately woo my grieving widower.

I decided to get out of the pool.

And to think, I didn't even use magic

Last week Leah announced that she wanted a Little Mermaid toy. So we made a deal that if she could go a week without having an accident, we'd go to the store and she could pick out whatever new toy she wanted (provided it was under $10). We then started marking a smiley face on her calendar for every day that she went without an accident, and then counted each consecutive smiley to see if we had reached seven yet.

Half way through the week, she decided she wanted a magic ("magzick") wand instead. "Okay--you can pick out whichever toy you want. But only one toy. Are you sure you don't want a Little Mermaid?" I asked.

Then on the way to Target today, she announced that she wanted a Little Mermaid Magic Wand. Okay--that might be harder. "I don't know if they have that. We'll have to look and see."

We went straight to the toy department. As we walked toward the girly aisle, lo and behold, there on the end display I spotted a basket with $4 magic wands. Princess wands.

And so, in less than 10 seconds, we found this:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is a Little Mermaid Magic Wand.

Hereby resolved

I will never again attempt to put children 3 and under unsupervised at their own table for Thanksgiving dinner. It doesn't work.

I will buy Christmas lights at the dollar store. Lights that went into storage working properly will most certainly not work when they are taken out of storage. If they only last a year anyway, I might as well buy the cheap ones.

I will wear good walking shoes the next time I go to the mall the day after Thanksgiving.

I will test out the annoying-ness of any electronic, noise-making toy I am buying for my child before I give it to them and go insane.

I will triple-check the addresses on packages I am sending.

I will not attempt to make stroganoff in my pressure-cooker. Subsequently, I will not encourage my husband to taste an atrocity resulting from such an attempt.

I will not ignorantly uninstall the CD drive from my computer.

I will not leave a pound of ground turkey in the trunk of my car.

When I give my child a special stuffed friend intended to be a life-long comfort object, I will get an extra one as a spare.

I will not consume an entire Cold Stone milkshake when I already have a stomachache.

I will not spill an entire pitcher of ice-cold water all over the kitchen floor and my bare feet.

What have you learned (the hard way) lately?

The Girl Who Cried "Potty"

Scenario 1:

1. Situate yourself with a baby, a new diaper, and a container of wipes.
2. Remove child's soiled diaper, clean his behind, replace with clean diaper.
3. Discard soiled diaper. Replace clothing.
4. Wash hands thoroughly.

Scenario 2:

1. Remind child to go potty every 30 minutes, before every meal, outing, and at least three times before bed.
2. Help her remove pants and sit on potty.
3. Return 5 minutes later, cheer for joy, clean her behind.
4. Flush, replace clothing.
5. Wash two sets of hands thoroughly.
(I highly prefer this method)

Scenario 3:

1. Hear "Oh, NO! I went potty!"
2. Observe puddle of pee accumulate (in slow motion) on the floor, on the kitchen chair, and on the carpet.
3. Find something to soak it up with. Strip soiled clothing off of child.
4. Take child up to tub and scrub her down.
5. Dry her off and dress her in clean, dry clothes.
6. Clean up mess on kitchen floor: Soak up pee and sanitize surfaces. Scrub cloth kitchen chair.
7. Pile up all the nasty clothes and towels and cleaning rags, start a load of laundry.
8. Wash hands thoroughly.
9. Give child a big hug and tell her you love her anyway.
10. Reheat lunch and finish eating.
11. Repeat again 2 hours later.

Why I buy Q-Tips in bulk

fix·a·tion: (fĭk-sā'shən) n.
1. The act or process of fixing or fixating.
2. An obsessive preoccupation.
3. Psychology A strong attachment to a person or thing, especially such an attachment formed in childhood or infancy and manifested in immature or neurotic behavior that persists throughout life.

Some time during junior high school, I adopted the habit of cleaning out my ears with a Q-tip daily; it is part of my showering/getting dressed routine, and is as common to me as brushing my teeth or putting in my contacts. You could say I am a little obsessive about this practice. I bring Q-tips with me on vacation, or fashion a lame substitue if I've forgotten (you wouldn't go a week without toothpaste, would you?). My husband has heard me say, "Oh, no! I forgot to clean out my ears this morning!" I have now convinced him that he should adopt a similar habit, and have trained my children to expect having me regularly clean out their ears. (Incidentally, a couple mornings ago, I was rudely awakened by my two-year old putting a Q-tip in my ear and saying "My turn!).

And now I'm going to tell you why.

I was at Centennial Beach one sunny summer day in my teen years. My best friend Liz and I were sitting on one of those green floating things in the middle of the deep end waiting out the no-swim break, or catching some rays, boy-watching, or something equally lackadaisical. Then out of nowhere, and totally unprovoked, Liz looked over at me and said something that has changed my life forever. She said, "Ewww, Jenny! Your ears are disgusting! Don't you ever clean them?" Lets just say I was impressionable. I promise you that until that day, I was completely ignorant and unselfconscious about what was in my ears; I have never been the same person since.

So now it's your turn. What do you do? What comment did someone make to you once upon a time that you still remember vividly and that still impacts you on such a regular basis?

Three Years Later and a Stress Dream

The other night I had a stress dream reminiscent of college days. You know the kind, where you sleep through your final, or you forgot you were enrolled in a class? Only in this case, I forgot I was enrolled in any classes.

So in my dream, I started a full slate of winter semester classes at the beginning of January, only to have a baby on January 8th and stop attending. Completely. In real life, I would have taken the semester off if I was expecting a baby in January, or at least taken a few weeks off and then gotten a sitter so that I could finish out the semester. Of course, dreams aren't exactly rational or logical.

I remembered at some time in May (which incidentally is after winter semester has ended) that I was supposed to be taking classes, and I showed up at my Spanish class (30 minutes late, too, because I couldn't find the right room). I should have been embarrassed, but didn't think anything of it until the teacher cornered me after class and disgustedly asked me why I even bothered coming--I'd missed the entire semester. I asked what I could do to make up the work. At this point I felt so guilty and negligent and feared what my mother, who has taught college classes, would say about me--I'm just one of those lazy, ignorant students who falls off the face of the earth after the first week of school and then shows up for the final and expects a passing grade.

Then I had the daunting task of even remembering which other classes I was enrolled in. I think there was a math class, and an engineering class, and maybe physics? I'm not sure what I was studying--oh, and the hallways were my high school. Did I mention that I surprised myself when I remembered my locker combination after 4 months truant? They had redone the lockers, anyway, and there was some kind of paper-puncher in my locker that punched a hole every time you accessed it (kind of like a time clock?). Very strange. I could also reach into the lockers on either side of mine because they were not put together very close. But I digress. I couldn't decide which notebooks and textbooks to take with me to my mystery classes, so I just grabbed them all, and it was a lot to carry.

Right before I woke up I had been stressing about how to officially withdraw from my classes without a penalty--I was trying to access the course catalog with the rules on withdrawing, but they didn't publish the catalog on paper anymore (darn digital age!) so I had to get on a computer to look it up, and the computer was too slow, and somehow I got into a fight with someone next to me because they were making fun of me for some stupid, forgotten reason.

Anyway, I woke up to perplexedly reflect on this complex entanglement of high school, college, parenthood, and stress, which was contained all in one instantaneous dreamy image. Very, very strange. And I know for a fact that I haven't enrolled in any classes in nearly three years. I didn't believe my parents when they told me I would have college stress dreams 20 years after college, mostly because I never had stress dreams while I was in college (maybe because when I was stressed, I simply couldn't sleep). But now I understand. I completely understand.

Why I hide my toothbrush

As a married couple, you share a lot. Germs, bedroom, kitchen table, dessert, all your insecurities, the list goes on...

I think we may be the only ones that choose not to share a bed sheet--we each just like being able to twist and wrap to our little hearts contentment without having to fight over the sheet's midline in our sleep. (Hey, at least we share a bed, right?) But there are just some things you don't share with your spouse. I'm talking about my toothbrush. I am very particular on this point.

On many occasions in the past five years I have arrived at the bathroom sink only to find my toothbrush either missing or freshly wet. What can this possibly mean, you ask? It means that my honey forgot which one was his and commandeered mine. Sure enough, I'll find it in the shower (where he brushes) or when I ask him he'll say "I thought mine was the green one!" "No, yours is blue, because you're a boy." I have no idea how many times this happens that it goes undetected by me--let's just say ignorance is bliss. As much as I love the man, if I know its been in his mouth, I can't stand the thought of using it again. I relinquish all claim on it and get out a new one. The last time he used my toothbrush and we had no spares, I actually started crying (okay, so I was two weeks post-partum, that might've had something to do with it).

When I ventured out to buy a new toothbrush that time, I bought a bright pink one and a bright purple one--girly colors. So now my toothbrush is pink (because I'm a girl) and the purple one was stashed in my drawer for when I was ready to replace my toothbrush. There's no way a man would willingly pick up a pink or a purple toothbrush, right? Wrong! One evening he comes into the bedroom ready to tuck in and cheerfully announces, "I couldn't remember which toothbrush was mine," (of the three in the house he's stolen from me, of course--they're all his but the pink one) "...so I got out a new one. It's purple!"

Now there are two toothbrushes perched anxiously in their holder: pink and purple. No matter how hard I try, it's only a matter of time.

Why I haven't blogged all week

I guess you could say that I'm in survival mode this week. Aside from making sure that everyone is fed and diapered, there isn't much else I've expected to get done. At the beginning of the week, I mad a checklist of small things to make sure I did every day. It includes: read scriptures, get dressed and put in contacts, empty and load dishwasher, sweep kitchen floor, put away contents of dryer, spend 5 minutes tidying living room, spend 5 minutes on stationary bike (to get in the habit), give Chris a hug, read to Leah, put on happy music. Really, each thing can't take that long, and I figured that if I paced myself and did things over the course of the whole day, by the time bedtime rolled around, at least I would have accomplished something.

Well, that was the theory. I won't tell you which things actually got done regularly and which things got neglected--use your imagination. But there are other things that I didn't realize would take priority. For example, I've been very interested in filing our taxes this week and am waiting for the IRS to be "ready to process my return" which they're not. I've watched our Netflix movies right away so I can return them for another one--very important task. I've made bread in my breadmaker two days in a row (well I have to make sure it works!). Yesterday I even had the desire to make homemade soup and serve it to Leah's playdates and their mom. I've spent way too much time reading blogs--it's just so easy to keep sitting and to let my 2 year old run circles around me and watch Disney movies all day. And I've been planning projects to demonstrate at my next Stampin' Up! Workshop. What I should be doing is spending time with my kids, sleeping when they're sleeping, and preparing a RS lesson for Sunday. Let's hope today I have the energy to get off my duff and get to it!

Short-Order Breakfast

My favorite breakfast option as of late is French Toast. I justify making this for myself and my child because it has milk and eggs in it, and I make it with whole wheat toast. Fiber. Protein. Calcium. Sounds good to me! Its cheap, only takes about 15 minutes to make, and is super tasty. I make it approximately once a week.

Since Chris is back at work this week, I'm now on my own with two kids, but nevertheless, I had the craving for French Toast this morning. I decided to make a double batch so that I could keep some in the refrigerator and reheat it later in the week or as a midnight snack. I busted out the 20" griddle so I could make 8 at once. My toddler waited patiently by playing with tupperware on the floor, and my baby was blissfully sleeping. By 8:30 I served Leah a piping hot slice of french toast, soaking with melty butter and dripping in hot syrup. I poured myself a glass of milk and took a bite.

It tasted really funny. My first guess was that it tasted different since I coated the griddle with butter instead of pan spray as usual. I took a second bite. Like a brick it hit me with perfect clarity: I had used 1/4 cup of salt and not sugar. French Toast is not supposed to be salty. It tasted awful and it was not salvageable. Leah didn't seem to notice and ate her whole slice, but didn't ask for seconds either. What's really a shame is that I wasted 8 eggs, 2 cups of milk, and 8 slices of bread. And I was still craving buttery, syrupy, sweet French Toast.

I mournfully poured the remaining batter down the sink and all 7 remaining slices in the garbage can and started over. (A month ago, still pregnant, this would have made me cry). Of course by the time my second try was ready, my glass of milk was warm, the syrup was cold, and the baby had woken up. So much for being Supermom. This is the kind of thing that has contributed to the "Inadequacy" label having so many entries--this kind of thing happens to me all the time.

Here's the recipe so you can make it right the first time (Better Homes & Gardens Cookbook):
4 eggs, beaten
1 cup of milk
2 T SUGAR
2 t vanilla
1/2 t cinnamon
1/4 t nutmeg
8 slices of bread
butter

I watch Jeopardy, so what?

OK, this is so random, but I just have to brag. I just watched Jeopardy (yes, I really enjoy watching Jeopardy) and I knew some answers that none of the contestants got (and this wasn't kids Jeopardy, either). I got one answer (what is tenon?) when no one else got it (as in mortise and tenon) thanks to a design and architecture class I took nearly 3 years ago. Then, the final Jeopardy clue had to do with a "rich and famous" person whose wealth of $900 million once equaled 2% of the GNP, but at his death in 1937 he only had something like $30 million. Two contestants guessed Carnegie, and the other one spelled Rockefeller wrong. I knew the answer and I even knew how to spell it! Can I get some credit for that, Alex?

And for the record, I'm not just vegging out in front of the TV, I'm folding laundry.

End of random bragging.

What if...

At the New Year, we talk a lot about resolutions. Starting over. Getting off on the right foot. Starting that new diet or budget on the very first day...

Well, what if every day of the year were patterend after what you did on New Year's Day?

For example, today the whole family slept in late and barely changed out of pajamas. Since it was a Federal Holiday, Chris got paid even though he didn't have to go to work. I took a nice hot shower, bathed my child, made a yummy dinner, ran the dishwasher twice, vacuumed, took a nice long afternoon nap, did several loads of laundry, and didn't spend a dime! Wouldn't it be nice if every day were inexpensive and restful, yet productive?

On the other hand, I didn't actually leave the house once. I did shower and get dressed, but it was at 7:00 at night, and I never did bother to put in my contact lenses. I changed three supernasty diapers and kissed pinched fingers better. I didn't actually go to bed until 3 this morning, was hungover on Sparkling Cider, and had a double dose of dessert for lunch. Wouldn't it be awful if every day it was below freezing, I pigged out on desserts, I was extremely lazy, we were almost out of my toddler's diapers, and I were only days away from giving birth?

What would your year mean if you did today over and over again?

Nursery Necessities

Take a tour with me around the nursery! One year ago today we moved into this home. Leah's blue room was never put together and fully furnished and organized until...yesterday!

I'm so glad for the nesting bug this week, and for the ambition that comes with knowing that I will have a baby within the next 8 days! There are certain things that definately had to happen; acquiring and putting together a second crib was certainly one of those abosolutes. I found our second one on Craigslist with the mattress for only $100 and in addition to being very attractive, it is also in very good condition.

I brought it home and Chris and I set to work to put it together in an alloted hour before we went to a friends' house for dinner. This one was a little more complicated than our other crib. It had metal rods, springs, lots of screws...we had no idea how to put it together! We printed off the pictures from the sale ad hoping to get some clues about which goes where and what is up or down. Not much help. Dejectedly, we abandoned the project to go to dinner.

We had dinner with Chris' coworker Sharon and her husband Tracey, who have a two month old baby. After dinner, Chris and the rest of the gang settled in for a four hour UFC fight night and I was left to myself and my two-year old. What was I possibly going to do to entertain myself for so long and keep my child happy while she's up way past her bedtime?

Then I noticed it. In the baby's room were the parts to their baby's new crib they'd gotten at a garage sale, a bag of hardware, and assembly instructions. And did I mention it was almost the exact same crib that I'd bought for Samuel that very afternoon? Knowing that I would expose my true self as the strange dinner-guest who likes to put things together, I asked for a screwdriver and hesitantly offered to put together their crib for them. "No, I'm serious. Will you let me put this together for you?" She gave me the okay and I set to work. Would you have passed up such a golden opportunity?

In a matter of an hour, I had successfully assembled their crib and committed the instructions to memory. Once at home at 11:00 that night, I successfully repeated the procedure on our crib in a mere ten minutes. Wahoo!

We now have side-by side cribs-Samuel's all set up with matching Pooh layette-and the room is fully furnished with a functional and stocked dresser/changing table, my glider, and a bookshelf. It really looks like a nursery finally! I think I'm ready for a baby to come!

Meanwhile, I feel like the baby is going to fall out any minute, and my skin is on too tight. My insides are crushed by the baby and my reflux is unbearable(chocolate making the symptoms worse, of course). I'm glad we're in the home stretch!

A Baby Story: Part I

A few weeks ago, my brother sent me a great article discussing why pregnant women don't fall over. It's really fun to read, and talks about the evolution of the human spine compensating for the forward-heaviness of women during pregnancy, and is worth a read. Here's what I want to know: How does a forward-heavy pregnant woman carrying a 25lb toddler on her front topple over backwards?

This is what I did Friday, 10am. Down the stairs.

I'm a little shaken up, but not nearly as much as the two-year old who is completely unharmed and is merely responding to my loud shout as I went down...and down and down. I would probably have responded with much more hysteria if I hadn't had to calm her down first. I do get a nasty rugburn and am kind of sore, but other than that I can walk around and don't feel like anything is broken. Still, I feel I need to check with my doctor, who tells me to go to the hospital just to make sure everything is okay.

11am, at the hospital. They hook me up to a fetal monitor and the baby's heartbeat sounds great. That's a relief. But they won't let me eat lunch because they're waiting for the results of a blood test that would indicate if the placenta has abrupted from the uterus...which would be a serious problem. I have to have an empty stomach in case they do an emergency C-section. Woah! I was planning on doing laundry and making cookies and cleaning the kitchen today, not having a baby! They tell me they will keep me there for four hours while we wait for the test results.

1:00pm, A neighbor takes Leah for us, and my good husband stays by my side offering to get me anything I need. All I really want is lunch, and that's out of the question. So we wait.

5:00pm, The doctor checks in to say the test results are normal. I'm having contractions every 3-5 minutes, but they aren't painful. The doc didn't stop the contractions since I'm just about full-term anyway, and stopping the contractions could mask other problems if there were any. There's no risk that the baby is going to fall out...But the contractions could be a symptom of the trauma of falling down the stairs, so the doctor wants me to stay in the hospital overnight just to make sure there isn't any internal bleeding. I am glad that my doctor errs on the side of caution, since sending me home too early and having a problem 1/2 hour later is way worse than an uneventful 24 hour hospital stay. I ask Chris to bring me something to do, and he jokes that he'll bring back a basket of laundry...I'm glad someone has a sense of humor!

6:30pm, Chris brings me Subway and it is soooooo good. Then he leaves me for the night and I settle in to a night of boredom. I watch a movie and talk on the phone and when I go to bed, they give me a sleep aid. Alhtough I wake up a few times, I think I sleep fairly well and have enough pillows to call myself comfortable.

Rx: Rest and Relaxation
On one hand, I don't exactly have the luxury of a change of clothes, a toothbrush, unlimited mobility, and my trusty laptop, but I guess the beauty of the situtation is that I don't have to make or clean up dinner, I don't have to listen to the whines of a 2 year old, and I can sleep until I wake up, not until my two-year old wakes up. In that respect, I get to relax.

Saturday 8:00am, I wake up and eat breakfast, they steal some more blood.

10:30am, The blood test is normal, Chris and Leah come back to pick me up (after peeking at the babies in the nursery, of course), and they let me go home!

1:00 pm I'm at home. I'm showered and cleanly dressed, have finally brushed my teeth and we're hosting a Christmas party in 6 hours. I get a call from the doctor who says I might have to go back to the hospital for another Rhogam shot...he'll get back to me. (Isn't it great to be Rh Neg?)

I'm feeling pretty good and I'm still pregnant. So what do I do next? Go back to the hospital for another blood test? Lay on the couch and moan and make people bring me stuff? Make cookies? Clean the house?

Whatever I do, I'm not falling down the stiars.

Lights out

My husband thought yesterday was very "bloggable" and took pictures for me, so here goes.

The day was wet and cold. Around 6:00 it started hailing! There was thunder and lightening too, which was really weird. Then by 6:30 it was snowing and slushy and slippery...and then the power went out! It was kind of cool to be instantly plunged into total darkness...not to mention the silence since the basal hums of our home were also absent. It's amazing how much light one candle appears to give off when there is no other light source. The entire street was quiet and dark, with soft snow falling peacefully. The only thing missing was Christmas music. Leah was really fascinated by fire and candles. Aside from a tree, my Christmas decorations consist of a garland and two tall white candles on my mantle...I had no intention of ever lighting the candles, but they sure came in handy last night!

Over the course of the next three hours, we carried candles around the house with us and set up a game and played by candle flicker. Fortunately, Chris has no class or homework until January, otherwise it would have been stressful to be without power, but it was actually a lot of fun! When the power came back on at 9:45, we turned the lights back off and kept playing!

Unfortunately, I never cleaned up the dinner dishes or put away clothes and shoes in the dark, and it's no fun to look at now this morning. I guess I have my work cut out for me today!

Letters from Anonymous

I've received two anonymous notes in the past week--one was from a neighbor about the placement of our bicycle and the other was directed to me as a member of the Relief Society presidency.

We've had our bicycle locked to one of the metal beams supporting our shared, covered carport. It is on the side next to another renter. Was it in the way? Was it an eyesore? Without giving the reason, we received a note on our bicycle saying "The homeowners would like me moved soon." I'd like to ask anonymous "Where do the homeowners suggest I store this bicycle?" We don't have a locking garage, we don't have a shed in the back yard, there isn't a community bike rack, and we don't exactly have a mud room. Is this request based on the season and the fact that the bicycle probably won't be ridden much until next spring? Is it based on the fact that it hasn't been ridden much in the past two months as evidenced by two flat tires? Am I allowed to resume parking my bike there next year? Or am I requested to remove it indefinitely? Was it decided in last month's HOA meeting that someone would put an anonymous note on the Fosdick's dirty bike? Or was this an individual with a strong opinion about bicycle storage? Am I going to be asked to move our garden hose next and then trim my bushes until our postage-stamp sized front yard resembles the entrance to Stepford? These are questions I'm interested in asking anonymous, and I'm willing to try to accommodate anonymous if I just knew who they were!

(Let me interject here that in my defense, the aluminum siding on the carport is dented and discolored and broken, generations of tenants have stored and abandonded bikes, basketball hoops and kid toys and scooters in the parking lot--there's a mini Jeep that has progressively turned from 1 piece, to two, and then the wheels came off and now it's in four--this is an ugly parking lot and moving our fairly decent bike did little to improve that. I don't see a note on all those trashed and abandoned objects!)

I'll spare you the details of the other letter, but am confused by the need to remain anonymous in both cases. Each person wanted something to happen, and I'm generally a fairly accommodating person when it comes to reasonable requests (Actually, the second person wanted me to bend over backwards and peel her grapes). But what if I don't have enough information? How am I supposed to know who to be seen by when I do my good deeds to society? Am I supposed to tremble in fear and paranoia because of not knowing who these people are? I better be on my best behavior in case its the next person I run into! What is the benefit of anonymity (I almost wrote animosity--coincidence?)? On the other hand, do they secretly want me to know who they are? Are they anticipating for me to analyze handwriting and compare it to outgoing mail? Or have the notes tested for fingerprints, envelopes for saliva, and the ink and paper chemically analyzed for where they were forged?

To be honest, neither letter really angered me, but I'm just baffled that people think they need to be anonymous when it comes to asking for something. Am I so intimidating that people are afraid to confront me? Do I have some mysterious reputation for biting off heads?

Next, lets consider the rules of anonymous note-writing. For example, "I love your haircut" is a nice note to get--I'd still want to know who it came from, but it wouldn't make me shifty-eyed. I think I'd leave an anonymous note to someone parked illegally if it presented a potential danger. I think if my neighbor played their music too loud, I would knock and politely ask them to turn it down. But leaving an angry anonymous note? I'm not sure there are many cases in which I would do that. What is the etiqutte? In what situations is it better to say something anonymously than to put your name on it? When would you leave an anonymous note?

Costumed

Leah made her debut Saturday night as a cute little fairy bug thing. The costume turned out to be quite a masterpiece. I'm quite proud of my work aside from the dismay I feel at having used lining fabric and not actual satin, meaning it is practically as delicate as tissue paper and will likely snag or tear with just the wrong move or any contact with the Velcro closure at the back. By the time she wears it twice this Halloween it will probably have gotten destroyed. Figures.

Saturday was super busy with grocery shopping and costuming, and of course Chris and I were piecing together our own costumes with items from DI at the very last minute possible. The fairy wings were particularly frustrating because I didn't have the right kind of wire to make them stand up properly. They are quite droopy. (It took me three hours of attempting in vain to make them work before I decided to just accept droopy fairy wings.) The shoes are this past summer's too-small sandals covered with ribbon and a white pom-pom. The pattern called for a hood like the one on last year's monkey costume, but I ran out of time and just covered a headband with pipe cleaners and free-handed some stars I attached with a glue-gun. It seems to have worked just fine!

Total Cost: $20-30

Total Project Time: 10 hours on jumpsuit, 5 hours on accessories

Emergency trips to the craft store: 1

Number of lifeline calls: 0

Total satisfaction: 85%

Back to the costuming of the adoring parents: Chris decided he wanted to be an Emo Punk-Rocker Vampire. Don't ask me what that means because I never really could figure out what he was envisioning. He was outfitted with a tight black t-shirt, a spiked skull bracelet and skull necklace, a fake tattoo we stenciled on his bicep with a Sharpie, a ninja sword, black fingernails and eyeliner (yes, he wore eyeliner), and vampire fangs we didn't have time to put in last night. (We'll try the fangs again on Wednesday.) Here's a picture of the outrageous get-up:

Then there was my costume. I returned from errands at 4:00 only to have to finish constructing fairy wings and antennae, paint Chris's fingernails, and create a mummy costume for myself with sheets from DI that Chris willingly tore into strips. The party was at 6:00. Of course, as luck would have it, 2 hours was not enough time to do all this and make a mummy out of me, especially since this mummy has to be able to go to the bathroom every 20 minutes. At 5:30 when I could tell the mummy was not going to come together in 20 minutes time, I resorted to the bag stashed away in the back of my closet with an "S" t-shirt, tights, and a red cape. You guessed it, I was supergirl yet again for the sixth Halloween. (May I also remind that the supergirl costume was designed for a non-pregnant me and tights on a pregnant belly is very uncomfortable) Here's super-pregnant-girl:




















The party was a lot of fun and was a delicious break from the crazy Saturday we experienced. I have until Wednesday to try again with the mummy. I guess settling for a mediocre repeat costume yesterday is the price I pay for having spent so much time making sure everyone else had a fantastic costume. I should be more self-interested next time.