The Tiniest of Joys.

The veggies are chopped, the kitchen is clean, the blueberry pie is in the fridge, and the timetable is all written out for tomorrow's Thanksgiving meal.

I'm so domestic right now it hurts.

I am thankful for my lovely house and my family and the ability to put together a meal to celebrate over tomorrow. I am thankful for the big, dusty box in the attic that holds every one of our Christmas decorations in it- a box we will be getting down and busting open at some point tomorrow.

I am thankful for all-day marathons of 'The Christmas Story' and crisp, clear weather and piles of dried leaves.

I am thankful for my family in Reno, and I am missing them so deeply it almost physically aches.

I am grateful for budding life and bubble baths and the smell of lavender. For a good glass of wine now and again and the thick copy of "Little Women" sitting on my nightstand.

Also- crushed ice.

It's the little things, this year. The things that quietly make me rich- so humble and simple that I almost forget they are there.

May God bless you all in abundance with the tiniest of joys, and Happy (happy! happy!) Thanksgiving!

Thrift-tastic!

I did all my turkey day food shopping this morning and then planned to go to a couple of thrift stores nearby to look for 1) a gravy boat, and 2) a big platter dish for Thanksgiving Dinner.

I came home with these instead:


A ceramic bowl that will be perfect for the cranberries I'm making, and a vintage owl perfume bottle that will look awesome in the nursery when it's all done.
Total cost: $5.


This Fisher-Price Jumperoo jumper that I saw online and wanted but wasn't willing to pay $80 for. This thing is in perfect condition and looks like it has never been used even once. And I got it for $20. Woo woo!


Aaaaaand Ezra's new BFF- the remote controlled big spaceship. Cost: $3.

I also saw this carseat & base at the thrift store for only $6, and contemplated buying it, but didn't in the end. Now I'm wondering if I should have.
It's a Combi seat- really good quality- and it seemed a lot lighter than the infant seat we had for Ezra. Shoot darn. I totally should have bought it, huh? Regret!


So... anywho... no gravy boat or turkey platter... but still... weeee! I'll just slap the turkey on the table and tell people to scoop the gravy from the pot with their bare hands. (We do things fancy 'round these parts, you know.)

******************************************

Also- thanks to all you who helped me with my outfit dilemma!! The red dress got the most votes, which was GREAT, but wouldn't you know it? The day of the wedding I felt gross and went with something dark and completely different to hide my girth. And I didn't get any photos of it. So... please don't hate me. I'm a lousy cheater and I should have just listened to your advice. Bad me! Bad! Bad!!!

:)

The Pedestal of Pregnancy.

"O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much
seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love..."

-St. Francis of Assisi

A friend of mine posted this part of The Prayer of St. Francis on his blog earlier, and as I read it this morning while sipping my coffee, I had an epic-ly gargantuan revelation.

Something along the lines of: I tooootally suck at this.

And: This is the kind of heart attitude that makes a great marriage.

If ever there was a prayer that I have needed to be praying lately, it's this. A prayer of selflessness and not feeling entitled to things simply because you think you deserve them.

Case in point: I'm pregnant. Very much so pregnant. And lately, an attitude has crept in to my heart that tells me I deserve some sort of special treatment. Now... while, on the outside, this sounds completely innocent and can even be a healthy thing to expect while expecting ("let me lift that 50lb box for you, dear!"), I have allowed this attitude to quickly turn into bitterness in my heart when I don't feel every one of my needs being met. I have allowed it to turn into resentment. I have thrown a big pity party and imagined every other pregnant woman in the world being fussed over and dotted upon while I feel like the "same old emery." I have cried. I have let it drive a wedge between me and the one I love most.

And you know what else I realized in thinking through all this? Just because my body is the only one that's physically changing during this time, that doesn't mean my family's entire lives aren't changing as well. I'm not the only one in this equation. I'm not the only affected party these long nine months.

I have been seeking consolation without offering any.
I have been seeking understanding without offering any.
I have been expecting love without opening my arms.

Pregnancy is a very special time, for sure. But part of me wonders if our society hasn't built it up to an unhealthy place in some ways... telling women they should be sitting on a pedestal the entire time and elevated to a queen-like status. This just doesn't seem completely right to me. Women should be cherished during this time, for sure, but do we have a right to demand it? To expect cherishing without offering it in the same amount to those around us?

Pregnancy should be a time of strengthening the love between your husband and yourself, shouldn't it? How do you strengthen love? One way: Selflessly. By laying your life down for the other over and over again. Because when that baby gets born, there's gonna be some big changes... and any love will take a whopping after months of 3AM feedings, to be sure. Doesn't seem like a good time to go and isolate yourself, right?

I don't know. This suddenly feels controversial, so maybe I'll just leave it at that for now.

All I know is that, for me personally, I haven't been doing a very good job at keeping my eyes focused on the people around me more than I've kept them focused on myself. (Don't they call this 'navel-gazing'? How very appropriate, as my navel is increasingly hard to miss these days...)

So, this prayer will definitely be on my lips as I go through my days from this point forward, because, to me, it feels like good love. And good love is what I promised to give... what I aim to give... and most importantly- what I have first received freely from the Author of love himself.

Commiseration.

There's nothing that says "good morning!" like cleaning up a trail of your kid's sick that leads from the living room, down the entire hallway, and all over the bathroom.

Ezra has been throwing up since Sunday. And I have been UP TO MY EYEBALLS in cleaning him up, the floors up, his bed up, and myself up after all the messy clean up. My washing machine has not had a rest. (BTW- Thank you God for washing machines.)

the sicky boy sitting in his sicky bowl.

The strange thing is, he seems fine when he's not throwing up. But then, out of the blue, he throws up again.

Icing on the cake! Yesterday, I started to feel sick too. I was cleaning up after Ezra and I almost lost it myself. And since then, I have felt very yucky and my throat is sore. I'm exhausted. My body feels like it's grinding itself up. I crawled into bed super early last night and just passed out after I finally got Ezra to bed. What a day.

Other frustrations that are adding to the madness in my household: The heater isn't working. I'm freezing. And the power keeps flickering off a few times a day- just enough to reset ALL the clocks and mess up the internet for a half an hour or so.

I... want my mommy. *sniff*

PS. Thank you God for pillow forts, too.

30 Weeks Pregnant.

Thirty weeks!

Just like clockwork, the third trimester has brought restless nights and difficulty sleeping. This is mostly due to the fact that the dreaded leg cramps are back, and all methods of eating bananas and drinking milk and taking vitamins and stretching before bed are seemingly powerless against them. I find myself staring bleary eyed at the clock as it inches closer to 2 AM almost every night, plowing through book after book and stretching in the dark until my legs feel like old rubber bands.

Other than this discomfort, I still feel extra super great. I'm definitely starting to feel my limitations, however, and am TRYING to remember to ask for help instead of expecting special treatment and consideration to fall from the sky into my (ever shrinking) lap. Little things, like getting Ezra into his carseat and oh, getting up off the smooshy couch are becoming exceedingly difficult to manage on my own. Heck... I can barely get out of the bathtub by myself these days. By the end of the day, my body is sore and tired, yet the second I lay down for my much desired rest, my legs start acting like naughty, silently screaming banshees.

Pregnancy... the training ground for the lack of sleep headed your way.

I took a good nap yesterday and got more sleep last night than I have in awhile, though, so I'm feeling great today. Bring on the mountainous laundry!

Ezra has a a cold today, so we are laying low.

Your nursery paint suggestions have been weighed and considered. We have yet to actually paint, but I think we're in agreement with the majority of your suggestions... stay with something similar to the green.

As per the job- THANK YOU for your very helpful suggestions and opinions. They were beyond helpful and I think I am comfortable with my current decision (to wait), and hope that the opportunity presents itself again at a more opportune time. To those of you who threw in your two cents... thank you so much.

Lastly- I am having a BLAST meeting some of you on facebook! What a great way to get to know some of you a little better. Thanks to all of you for being my friend and joining the blog network!



I can't believe I get to meet this squirmy little guy in 9ish weeks. SINGLE DIGITS, people! SINGLE DIGITS!

Dear Internets, Am I Crazy?

If you had the chance to get the perfect part time job, but you were SEVEN MONTHS pregnant, would you even attempt to go for it?

I am unsure what working 20 hours a week would look like with a newborn.

Anyone have experience with this or advice for a confused mamma like me?

Nursery Progress Photos

Chris has been working hard.

He's got all the wainscoting and crown molding up, with the first coat of white paint on them. (They will get a second coat soon.)

He's painted the crib white and also re-painted the changing table. Now we need to decide on a wall color....

I'm thinking something similar to what it is now, or maybe a darker brown? I'm torn. Here's a REALLY jenky photo of what brown would potentially look like:



or maybe something like this?



Any opinions are much appreciated!

Life and Pie.

I have been craving PIE for the last four days of my life, and after much hinting and, finally, pretty much flat out begging, I convinced my little family to accompany me to a little cafeteria place down the street that served pie by the slice.

(This was my first pregnancy demand. I have not yet asked for any special or late night trips to the grocery stores or restaurants to fulfill any baby-induced cravings. And I must say... It was a surprising! amount! of work! to wrangle some delicious PIE out of my boys. PIE!!)

Anywho, we went to this little cafeteria, and it was full of wonderful people who were, shall we say, of the elderly persuasion? There was an older man playing the piano, and some of the couples would get up and dance at intervals while he played. It was pretty much the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life. These people came from an era where dancing was IT. Dancing, to their generation, is like facebook is to us now. You know... Our main source of entertainment.

We sat and ate pie and watched these lovely people dance and sway to the talented man's piano playing, and I found myself wishing so badly that our society wasn't so disconnected now-a-days... that we could go back to a time when gathering in a small dance hall was the thrill of the week, and people had to interact face-to-face if they were going to interact at all. I wished that my sons could grow up in a more personal world, and I found myself praying that they wouldn't retreat behind some digital screen at the ripe old age of 8, never to resurface again.

That's when it happened.

Ezra started groovin' a little bit in his chair. The boy was feeling it.

We encouraged him to dance if he felt like it, so he plopped another bite of his strawberry cake in his mouth and hopped right down off his chair.

What followed was what can only be described as some "fancy footwork" in the vicinity near his chair. It did not take long for the older people in the restaurant to spot this flashy little newcomer. They cheered and clapped, and one extra precious old lady (who earlier had been filling the length of the room with her dancing and shockingly high KICKING) asked my son if he would like to dance with her.

So he did.

They shimmied and "fancy footworked" their way to and fro, with a beaming mom and dad watching from their nearby table. People hooted and hollered. We clapped and whistled. My son lit the place up.

When the song was over, Ezra bowed and said "Fank you, fank you!" as the cheering continued. He thanked the woman who had been his dance partner, hopped back into his chair, and proceeded to finish his strawberry cake.

To say I was proud would be an understatement. I was beaming like a lighthouse.

In that moment, I was most reminded that the world really is what we make of it. I was reminded that the world doesn't have to feel so disconnected, distant, and aloof.

I'm pretty sure that, with one little dance, my son taught me we don't just have to roll over and accept what the world is handing us. It is what we make it.

It is what we make it!!

It starts with just a little movement... a little groovin' in one's seat... and ends with a heart that's willing to hop down off its chair and simply get its boogie on.

A Tale of Two Emerys.

I had a prenatal appointment this morning, but this one was EXTRA! SPECIAL! because I got to drink that sugar-syrup cocktail that tastes like a cup full of liquefied stay-puft marshmallow man (With extra sugar on top!) to make sure I have no signs of gestational diabetes.


BLECH that stuff is gross.

From now on, I will be seeing my midwife every two weeks. Heck-a-moly this baby is really on his way soon, isn't he?

While I was waiting in the waiting room for them to call me back, I read a book and wrote a poem. It was actually quite relaxing and wonderful. After about an hour, a nurse stuck her head out from behind the door and said, "Emery?"

I started to gather up all my stuff and walk over to her, but by the time I got over there she was already talking to another woman from the waiting room. I stood nearby and waited for them to finish talking, but after a moment, I realized that they both were sounding very confused.

That's when I realized that she was asking the other woman questions about her glucose screening test- "had she taken the drink yet?"- to which the woman replied with, "Um... what?"

I stepped in and asked if the nurse thought she was speaking to Emery, because actually, I was Emery. The other woman that the nurse had been talking to turned and looked at me and exclaimed, "I'm Emery too!"

THERE WERE TWO EMERYS IN THE SAME ROOM.

{Then the universe exploded.}

Isn't that craaaaaazy? We were all "woah!"

And the nurse was all, "Woah!"

And the people in the waiting room were all, "WOAH!!"

Then I had to go get blood sucked out of my arm.

The end.

Third Trimester.

Get this... I'm already in my third trimester somehow. I feel like I JUST got pregnant. This is all so very opposite of how it felt last time.

When I was pregnant with Ezra, I was bored most of the time. I worked the lunch shift at a restaurant by my house, which occupied about 4 hours of my day, and then I pretty much just... sat around after that. Eating sweetarts and watching Oprah. The days and months crawled by like a thousand million Christmas Eves. I journaled a lot. And wandered around a lot.

This time, however, has felt like hyper-warp-speed. Not that I'm a very busy person even now... but caring for Ezra has replaced all the hours of wandering and writing in journals that I had four years ago. And, heck, I must say that I much prefer the chasing of a squealing, laughing toddler down the hall all day to the lonesome wandering and journaling I did before. That got old and boring real quick.

So... yeah. Third trimester. The very last one. What the heck?!? This makes me slightly sad to think that I am quickly approaching the end of pregnancy already.



I love being pregnant. It's one of my most favoritest things.

Yet, I also can't wait to meet this boy. He's going to be utterly fantastic.

I think that some semblance of "nesting" is beginning to set in already... you can judge for yourselves by the fact that I spent a good chunk of time SCRUBBING MY OVEN MITS today when I should have been grocery shopping. Also, we've begun on the nursery. This photo is not pretty, but we're just starting the process of putting up wainscoting:



The chair rail & crown molding will go up next, and then the painting will come after that.

Also, I need to figure out what to do with the full bed in there. Part of me wants to keep it for after the boys are sharing a room, but the other part does not want it sitting around collecting dust somewhere until that eventually happens. We'll probably sell it on Craigslist. Or sumptin'.

Final thought:


Wigs are fun and silly!! Right up until one of those nasty plastic hairs find their way into YOUR MOUTH. The end.

If The Years Were Clothespins.

If the years were clothespins we could hang a whole outfit
to dry in the slaphappy wind.

If the years were balloons, we'd have a nice bunch.
Not quite enough for lift off, but at least some to share.

If the years were fat socks, our toes would be warm...
with a back-up in case of a fuzzy runaway.

Five years ago I stood before your square stature
in that stunning suit
thinking I might drown in tears of joy,
and I promised you the whole;
the unabridged me.

Cover to cover, yours.

If the years were crisp pages, I could fill them with the simple thrill
of knowing you're the one pouring over me...

word after word

until love takes us home.



Happy Anniversary, Honey...
The best years of my life are full of your smiles.

Hall Bathroom Make-Over: Before & After

Okay, so I'm realizing that the pictures just don't do the bathroom make-over justice. But here they be anyways!

BEFORE:

(I took these pics right after we moved into the house in 2006.) Not too bad. But the wallpaper was peeling at all the seams and, well, the floral overload just wasn't our cup of tea. So, one week ago, at 9:00PM the night before my parents arrived, Chris decided to do something about it.
{CUE SLIGHT PANIC ATTACK.}


DURING:
This is during the transformation. We'd peeled off all the wallpaper and Chris had retextured the entire bathroom the night before. My parents would be arriving in a couple of hours at this point. {Cue slightly BIGGER panic attack with a generous side of eye twitching.}


AFTER:


Now, the bathroom is a delicious dark gray (my favorite color), and all the white accents make it feel clean and modern. I'm thinking of getting a dark teal rug/toilet seat cover to add a little color to the room. If you ask me, Dark Teal and Dark Gray go together like bananas and pudding.

Mmmmmmmm... banana pudding... DROOL.

(Note to self: Ew. Never again use delicious food combinations when referencing the color of your TOILET SEAT COVERS. I may never eat banana pudding again. *sob*)