I have finally met with an obstacle that Google could not help.

I know.

Apparently, I’m the only person in the ENTIRE INTERNET to want to switch FROM WordPress TO Blogger. Apparently, I’m a big weirdo. We already knew that, though. I guess WordPress is supposed to be soooo amazing, and Blogger is supposed to be all boo, hiss… but I’m really tired of having to sign in with Open ID whenever I want to comment (and sometimes it won’t LET me sign in and talks all this mumbo jumbo about ‘illegal characters’ and then I cry) on someone elses’ blog. And I’m tired of the WordPress themes, too.

I’m not cool enough for WordPress. I recognize that.

So I’ve spent a good amount of time painstakingly moving all my old posts into my new shiny Blogger blog. Everything is there, except all the old comments. Which, actually, breaks my heart a little. You people and your comments have made me soooo happy! Your comments rock my face off.

So go! Read my new blog and tell it how pretty it is! Don’t stick around here any longer! Because it’s going to be waaay more boring than usual!

In honor of our two-year anniversary, here is the story of How We Met.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Lucy. She went to college in a particular state, where she learned all sorts of dramatic (and overly-dramatic) lessons about things like Life and Relationships and Knowing Herself. She learned a few lessons about teaching, as well. When she was nearly done with college (with only two semesters left to go!) and had just finished with learning  a few particularly tricky lessons, she decided to get a tattoo.

Which isn’t really the brightest decision a person can make. But bear in mind, she was still learning.

The reason she wanted a tattoo, she said, was to have a permanent reminder of a lesson she had just learned. This is the truth, although I think we can safely say that in addition to that reason, she also just kind of wanted to get a tattoo. But officially, this tattoo was to remind her to always trust her intuition. Because, as she had recently learned, there is nothing pleasant that comes from knowing better deep down in your heart, and stubbornly doing something anyhow. Nothing pleasant whatsoever. She had found out that listening to that nagging intuition (which, she suspected, was really God’s way of nudging her in the right direction) instead of doubting it or ignoring it was probably a great way to save herself heartache. And while heartache happens to be a good medium for learning all those important lessons, it is no fun at all, and she wanted a little break from it.

So Lucy looked and looked, and found a little image that symbolized intuition. And on Thanksgiving break, she went and had it tattooed on. Which hurt. And also, didn’t really end up looking very good. Which is terribly ironic, if you think about it. Lucy accepted this with the resigned attitude that twenty-one year olds who make dramatic gestures while recovering from heartbreak will most likely end up looking a bit foolish. So you could say she learned yet another lesson, although she seemed to have a tendency for learning these things the hard way.

A few weeks later it was Christmas break, and Lucy traveled to a different state, very far away, to spend the holidays with some friends of hers.  These friends listened to all her woeful stories of heartbreak and bad decisions, and decided that the thing for her to do was to go on some dates. Lots of dates! So they set her up on a blind date.

Lucy had been on several trips to see these friends, and so she had met this boy’s mother before. She had also seen this boy before, once, several years ago. But she thought he looked like one of those handsome, arrogant athletes. The ones who consider themselves to be Too Good For You and also,  God’s Gift To Women. And since Lucy hadn’t had a very high opinion of herself at all, she avoided boys like that like the plague. And rightly so, because they are a plague. But what she hadn’t taken into account was the fact that people with very low opinions of themselves don’t always percieve others with much accuracy, because they are so busy having low opinions of themselves.

She might easily have gone through the rest of her life without knowing that he saw her then,  too, and he thought she was beautiful. And even though he never approached girls (because they were always approaching him, unfortunately) he had gone up and introduced himself to  her. And apparently, she completely ignored him. He insists that she was snobby and thought she was too good to even speak to him. Lucy insists that she never heard him at all. I have several theories about this, because usually Lucy has very good hearing.

One is that the boy failed to speak up or make sure he had engaged in eye contact.

Another is that God stopped up Lucy’s ears, for any number of mysterious reasons. Maybe Lucy needed to learn all of those difficult lessons before she would be ready to meet this boy. Maybe the boy needed to be snubbed by a pretty girl for once in his life. Who can say?

Whatever the reason, Lucy didn’t know that not only did this boy think she was beautiful (if snobby) but that for the past several years, whenever he saw a picture of her at their mutual friend’s home, he would think to himself that someday he was going to marry that beautiful (if snobby) girl. Which is why he agreed to take her out on a blind date that Christmas. Although he told himself, if she was mean to him again, he would take the $20 that their mutual friend offered him to pay for dinner.

So the boy (whose name was Joey) called Lucy on her friend’s cell phone while they were grocery shopping in Target (they were standing next to the shredded cheeses at the time) and asked her to go on a date with him. Lucy agreed, and immediately started planning what she would wear. She was still planning later that night, as she lay in bed. And then all of the sudden, a thought hit her so hard that she sat up bed and gasped. The thought was This Is The Person I Am Going To Marry. Which is quite a thought to have before ever having a conversation with someone, especially for a girl who was planning on running off to some exotic locale after she graduated, to live in a grass hut and educate foreign children (she hadn’t quite let the lesson about dramatic gestures sink in, I assume) but that was the thought she had. And she remembered her tattoo, and what it was supposed to stand for. And then she rolled over and went to sleep.

The next day, they went on their date, which started at three in the afternoon with a trip to the movie theater to see King Kong. And then they went to dinner, which somehow didn’t have any awkward conversational glitches. So they went to a bowling alley, where Joey showed her how to play pool, and very kindly didn’t laugh at her bowling disabilities. All in all, it was a very successful, very long date, and when it was over, Joey gave Lucy his phone number. She didn’t want to take it at first, explaining that she really hated all those confusing rules about if you are supposed to call, and how long to wait, and all that mess. Joey smiled and said that he wanted her to call him as soon as she felt like seeing him again.

Lucy went inside, feeling a little funny. When her friends asked her how the date went, she dazedly mumbled something about marrying Joey.  The next day, she was trying to think of a good time to call him, but before she could,  he called her, and they went out on another date.

At the end of that date, Joey kissed Lucy for the first time. And as soon as he did, a thought hit him so hard that he stopped kissing her for a second. The thought was This Is The Person I Am Going To Marry. Which is funny, because for most of his life, Joey had always asked God to let him know the love of his life by their first kiss. Which had always been very frustrating to his previous girlfriends, because he never thought he was in love with any of them. And so later that night, he told his mother that he was going to marry Lucy.

But he didn’t want to scare her off, since they had just met. They spent the next few days together, but Lucy had to go back to her school, several states away. Joey was worried that he would never see her again. Lucy was worried, because she was dating (not exclusively, mind you. She had established from the start that it was a casual thing and she would go on dates with other people if they asked) another boy there. She felt it would be unfair to date two boys casually when one of them was disadvantaged by being so far away, and anyhow, this other boy seemed terribly inconsequential compared to Joey.

Fortunately, when they had been seeing each other every day for about a week, they talked about it. Joey suggested that they try having a long-distance relationship, and was even big enough to say that she could go on dates with as many other people as she liked. Lucy agreed to the long-distance relationship, but offered to just stop seeing other boys entirely. Joey appreciated this greatly.

Lucy flew back to her school, and that night she told her best friends that she had met the man she would marry. They laughed nervously, and hoped it wouldn’t turn out as badly as that tattoo. She reminded them that she was Following Her Intuition now, like the tattoo reminded her to.

Joey called her that night, and they talked and talked. He made reference to almost saying something, but not wanting to scare her off. Which no girl can hear without demanding to know what the something was. Joey mumbled that it was something about being in love. Lucy laughed at him and said that that wasn’t scary, since she felt the same way.

“There’s more, though.” He confessed. “I’ve been telling everyone that I’m going to marry you.”

“Oh. But that’s what I’ve been telling my friends!” Said Lucy.

“Really?” Demanded Joey, sounding very relieved. “But it’s only been a week.”

“Apparently, that doesn’t matter very much.” Said Lucy.

“Well, will you marry me, then?” Asked Joey.

“Only if you propose to me in person, with a ring. But yes, I will” She said.

So they talked every day for hours and hours, about everything they could think of. Which was good,  because they really didn’t know anything about each other. They found out that they agreed on practically all fundamental things, like Politics and Religion and How To Make Tuna Sandwiches, although they had few common interests or backgrounds. But most importantly, they found that it wouldn’t have mattered if they had nothing in common, because they loved each other so much.

Lucy went back to Joey’s state for her Spring Break, and they spent every waking minute together, and at the end of the break, Joey took her here:

And proposed to her Officially, with a ring and everything.

Although they had a few bumps along the way, most of which were due to Lucy doubting her ability to love and be loved, and some of which were due to Joey learning how to let her go so she could come to him freely, they got married two weeks after she graduated.

 And it works, even though it probably shouldn’t on paper, even though all common sense says that you should not become engaged to someone after having spent a week’s time with them. Because while Lucy and Joey and very stupid about quite a few things, and are still learning all kinds of difficult Lessons, they know one very important thing. There is such a thing as soul mates.

You can’t force yourself to be someone’s soulmate if you aren’t, and you can’t bump into your soulmate right at the time you think you should. But if you trust God to lead you in the right direction, and are open to listening even when something isn’t rational, just because you know deep inside that it is better than rational (sad-looking tattoo optional for most, thankfully) then you will find your soul mate. And I think that even if they never learn anything besides that, Joey and Lucy will be happy, because they have each other no matter what. And that is all they really need.

The End.

Of that particular chapter.

Because the story really keeps going on and on.

Which is why I keep writing in this blog.

Christmas was really, really wonderful. So wonderful that it has taken me what, three days to recover enough to stumble back to the Land of Blog. We had Christmas Eve at Joey’s grandmother’s, Christmas Day at his great aunt’s, and Christmas Night at OUR house, for his dad’s side of the family. Which meant that I spent massive portions of time the days before Christmas getting our house ready for our first real ‘company’ and the hours between 6 AM and 1 PM on Christmas morning cooking. I enjoyed all this a lot, and was not spazzy, which surprised everyone involved! I think I like being a hostess! Everything I made tasted like what it was supposed to taste like… except, you guessed it, the sweet potatoes. I tried so hard, really I did! I even called mamma and made her tell me Exactly How to make them. Which, no surprise, was Exactly How I have always made them. So I don’t know… maybe it is this oven? But I didn’t get upset, I just decided they weren’t going to work again, and had Joey dump them out to make room for the turkey that needed to be re-heated before we could eat. So it was all good. Here are some highlights:

• Our house looked pretty and was decorated all seasonal-like.

(notice absence of presents actually UNDER the tree. This is due to McLovin, and her tendency to eat ANYTHING.)

• McLovin was amazingly well-behaved the whole time we had people over. It was unreal. This may have been related to the fact that Joey made her run on the treadmill (as per the Dog Whisperer’s advice) for an extended amount of time before anyone showed up.

• Joey and I once again dominated the various gift exchanges we took part in, by use of sneaky telepathic couples strategies. I got everything I  had my eye on, except a Battle of the Sexes game.

• I got pretty, pretty shiny things for Christmas, because my husband likes to spoil me.  A lot.

(I would totally model this and the earrings, except I haven’t been photo-worthy in about three days)

(Does anyone else pick out their own Christmas presents the way Joey and I do? The only surprise present I had this year was a desperately needed Belly Band. We both like surprises, but also feel that the majority of the fun of present-giving is being sure that you get the other person what they actually WANT.)

• Ariel got a ton of presents in her own right, which made me realize that next year she will be about ten months old and fully able to drool all over the wrapping paper and have bows stuck to her head. And, as I pointed out to Kanga in a moment of unadulterated glee, she will be wearing froo-froo fancy CHRISTMAS  PARTY DRESSES.

• Someone (and I really wish I knew who) gave Joey’s great-grandmother a bunch of DVD’s for Christmas. And one of them was Love, Actually. Am I correct in remembering that there are extended scenes of naughtiness in this movie? I remember liking the movie a lot, but being embarassed by large portions of it. And I am not 85 years old. So I’m looking forward to hearing about the reaction of highly conservative Grammy at the next family gathering.

• Sitting on the swing on our back patio after everyone left (it was freakishly warm here) and talking over the state of Everything and Everyone with Joey.

• Doing absolutely NOTHING on Dec. 26 other than sleeping in, laying around, and eating leftovers. I had fun, but I was worn out! I have never enjoyed a day of complete laziness so much in my life!

• And that evening the most strenuous thing I did was watch Dark Knight with Joey and his parents (from the comfort of my own couch) because that was one of his presents and he wanted us all to see it. I’m scared of clowns, people. I’m scared of regular, I’m-not-scary!-I’m – a- nice-clown clowns.  Once when I was student teaching a pre-k class, we had to go to an assembly about fire safety. Taught by clowns. You will be proud to hear that I did not die, and in fact was a great comfort to the several four year olds who showed the good judgement to be freaked out. And when Joey and I were first married, we were house-sitting for his grandmother, who COLLECTS clown figurines. And did you know that clown figurines MULTIPLY EXPONENTIALLY when left to their own devices? Because they do. I promise. So I hadn’t seen Dark Knight, even though Joey swore it was one of his favorites, and he really loved it. And I watched it with him, because I love him. And yeah, it was pretty good. But clowns are still scary.

So Christmas was really good, and I found out that I really enjoy hostessing things, and I’m pretty much all rested from it. Yesterday was productive in that we got up in time to go to the bank and the bookstore (I had giftcards burning holes, people!) and then I got started on clearing out Ariel’s room. Tomorrow is one of my baby showers, and I am EXCITED! So I thought I should make some room. I also made a list of all the things that need to be done before that nursery is functional, and yeah, it is a loooong list. But it was still a fairly productive day.

Today doesn’t seem to hold that kind of promise, though. I was tossing and turning most of the night last night, alternating between distressing, vivid dreams, and waking up to realize that I was sleeping on my back. Oops. So of course, nothing but my back seemed comfortable, and I COULDN’T sleep on my back, because that is bad for the baby, right?  And I got up at four thirty to write down a dream, because it seemed important. It is truly a cruel world where a pregnant girl not only dreams about her husband dying (Worst. Nightmare. Ever.) but also dreams the exact date, and in her dream, looks at herself in the mirror and desperately insists that it isn’t too late, she can still stop it. It was creepy, to say the least.  I wrote down every last detail of the dream, although the vast majority made NO SENSE at all, and would seem to indicate glue-sniffing rather than prophetic abilities,  because who could ignore a dream that specific? And this woke Joey up, and he assured me that he wasn’t going to die on me. But I was still upset because for one thing, the date that I dreamed? Was completely and utterly unacceptable. And for another thing, there was a disgusting lack of helpful stopping-it-from-happening  information.

So I am recovering with some serious pink bathrobe/decaf coffee/blog therapy.

In summation:

Christmas was awesome. Dreams suck. I am groggy.

Joey and I have been watching too many DVR’d episodes of 3rd Rock From The Sun, which, for some strange reason, cracks us up to no end. It has started seeping into our everyday conversations, and I fear no good will come of it.

Joey: “You’re so cute! You tickle me on the inside.”

Lucy: *gasping for breath as she tries to deliver one of French Stewart’s lines* ”Well I can do that. With a bamboo skewer!”

Probably, this isn’t that blindingly funny to anyone else. Probably, we’ve turned the corner into Scary Couple Land. Probably, next we will invent our own language, like twins.

At least we’re happy together.

My mamma and Scout went to spend Christmas with my other sister, out-of-state yesterday, so the day before that we did a bunch of Christmas-y stuff here. We had a lot of fun working on various projects at my house, and then we drove to a neighborhood Christmas light display. It takes about an hour and a half to drive through it (slooooowly) and some of the people sell popcorn and glow sticks from their front yards, and some people sit in the backs of trucks and sing Christmas carols as they meander through the neighborhood. Even if you have a 3.75 baby dancing on your bladder the whole time, it’s a lot of fun! It also brought out (for some people) something that Joey and I had noticed while shopping the other day – Christmas Traffic Stabbyness. Now, I get why you could become overwrought after spending hours shopping with the galloping hordes of other last-minute shoppers, and then sitting in slow traffic, when you presumably MUST get home and wrap your presents and do fifty thousand other things. I get it, I just still think you should stop being a grouch.

Like I wrote before, we spent a lot of time at the end of the semester on A Christmas Carol, and I think that is still affecting my expectations of the holiday. Watching a ginormous SUV repeatedly cut off other vehicles, and honk at them unnecessarily, and be an overall bully, I kept thinking of this quote:

 “But I am sure that I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round… as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely.”

It has helped me out a time or two, when I start to feel annoyed by really loud obnoxious people in stores, or people who stop in the middle of the aisle, etc.

Because yeah, Christmas shopping can suck.

But if you are feeling stabby already? Maybe don’t go to the really long (optional!) line of five mph cars to look at the Christmas lights. It won’t put you in a better mood, from what I observed. Probably you are doing it out of obligation, so your children have all the holiday experiences possible. But I can’t imagine that the particular seasonal experience of you cursing and honking at people who are looking at the lights is going to make a good scrapbook page.

We had fun, though. Scout was busy alternately pointing out various features of each lawn, and telling mamma that she needed to quit laughing so much (?) and then about halfway through, she gasped and declared, “You guys, look! Christmas lights!!” in an awed voice. I swear, we can get nothing past that child.

Joey and I gave her a children’s digital camera for Christmas. I wanted to get her one last year, but was voted down by my husband, who didn’t think it was developmentally appropriate. I wanted to get her one this year, but they were outside of our budget. So we got her a strange contraption that lets you fuse little plastic beads together with water, to make various patterns. I… don’t know. It was a better option than the twenty-dollar drum set, is all I can say in my defence. But then mamma found a really great (pink!) digital camera on sale, and bought it. And I bought it from her, because that was MY idea. So we gave both of those presents to Scout. Guess which one is not even a little bit developmentally appropriate? And guess which one provides hours of contented random picture-taking. Of… the TV, and people’s elbows, and the ceiling. But, whatever, did you know you can push a button and it will add BUNNY EARS to people in your picture? Assuming they have heads, it totally will.

Now, I have to go jam all the stuffing back into McLovin’s bed, and sew it up. Because apparently those dog beds aren’t made to be washed Every. Single. Day.

Crate training, I shake my fist at you. Also, please come inform my dog that no dog will urinate in it’s own space. She seems to have missed that memo.

Yesterday (seeing as we are INSANE and all) Joey and I went to the mall to knock out the remainder of our Christmas shopping. With one exception, we accomplished that. Which is impressive when you consider how long we were sidetracked by a going-out-of business sale at Steve and Barry’s, AND had to leave to take McLovin to a vet appointment and then come back.  Actually, it was pretty fun, once I got over whatever strange third trimester hormones were surging.  Because yes, mostly the things that “hurt my feelings” yesterday were silly. Except.

When we were finding a parking space at the mall, there was a girl around my age walking in front of us. She was by herself, wearing a cute, put-together outfit, her hair all fixed, swinging a shopping bag while she walked all alert and full of energy. Also, she had a teeny-tiny waist which I am guessing was NOT housing a rib dislocated by an ever-expanding baby.

I used to have a teeny-tiny waist. And her jacket would have looked very good on me. It was seriously cute. So for a moment, I was intensely jealous of this girl, who can spend her money on cute clothes, who has energy after Christmas shopping in the mall, who isn’t exhausted and waddling and uncomfortable and irrationally hormonal. Just for a moment, while I considered the fact that while I MAY (possibly) get my teeny-tiny waist back eventually, the facts are that I will be MORE exhausted after Ariel is born, and I certainly won’t be spending my money on cute clothes first and foremost. Or shopping by myself. Just for a moment, I rebelled against that idea.

But then, I wasn’t anymore. Because, I reminded myself, I get a BABY. And that doesn’t instantly turn me into a frumpy middle aged woman. I realized that part of why I’m scared about being a mother is because I haven’t made it MINE yet. It seems so hard to reconcile my idea (which is probably somewhat skewed anyhow) of Motherhood with my idea of being 24. Most likely, if I try to squeeze all my personality and priorities into some abstract and two-dimensional idea of Who I Must Be Now, then yes. I will probably be jealous of carefree-looking girls for the rest of my life. Also, I will probably be a lousy abstract and two-dimensional mother, and a discontented person.

I know better than to do that, though. I learned in college to own my experiences and situations, to make them my own, with my own interpretation and twist. Teaching? I do it my particular way, and probably would hate it if I had tried to reduce myself to a cliched maxim engraved on some cheesy apple decor. But I love it MY way, and I’m good at it, and it fulfills me. Marriage? Would I be so incredibly happy with mine if I had re-created myself as the Perfect Wife? Would Joey?

Granted, I was terrified of these things before I experienced them (which is actually a reassuring thought in this context) and I still worry and stress quite a bit about them. As I tried and tried to warn Joey when we were engaged, I am VERY HIGH STRUNG. But I love these things, and I have learned how to do them my own way.

For some reason, it is a huge temptation for me to cling desperately to a stereotype when confronted with an unknown situation. Probably because I desperately want to do everything Right. And it is a huge temptation to attempt re-creating myself to fit whatever mold, to be a safe concept rather than a flawed human being. But like I said, I know better now. So realizing that THAT is what I have been doing for the past seven months… it was a wonderful kick in the pants. Recognizing that you have a problem is the first step, etc.

In other words, I had a major epiphany in the parking lot. It was a moment.

A  moment which I really should have kept to myself, or maybe tried to express at a different time. However, I tried to explain what I was thinking to Joey as we walked into the mall. But I didn’t get much further than “Did you see that girl, walking in front of us? I was just so jealous of her for a second, with her cute clothes and being skinny…” Which is about a quarter of my whole thought, here. And then Joey interjected, “You really don’t want to be pregnant, do you? You must hate it, you complain about it all the time.”

Duuuuuude.

I really hate crying in public places. But sometimes you aren’t left with a lot of alternatives.

I don’t know how that sounds to anyone else, but I had two interpretations.

1.) For the love of God, stop whining, woman. Do you think you are the only person to ever have been pregnant?

2.) You don’t love the baby enough.

Neither of which is what he meant, as was restated numerous times in numerous apologies that followed immediately after. I KNOW.

Joey generally prides himself on not making a lot of Stupid Husband Comments, and really, they are very rare. Of course, he did follow that one up with, “But you shouldn’t be jealous of her, baby. You have me!” Which was really a reference to how I tend to think of motherhood in single-parent terms because that is how I was parented, and how he is There For Me and will support me, etc. He realized right away that it didn’t sound quite  like a rousing endorsement just then, though.

I really couldn’t  BEGIN to  explain either my tangled-up epiphany or the way his comment made me feel (and still haven’t, actually) so I mumbled something about my feelings being hurt. And then sniffled my way through Barnes and Nobles, and pouted my way through a bowl of teriyaki chicken and rice at the food court. And then was sufficiently distracted by all the shiny things, my shopping list, and the promise of a movie date later in the evening, so I was able to get the heck over myself. Which is nice.

But it was kind of hard to hold onto that nice shiny epiphany until just now, when I wrote it down. Which, I guess, is why I have a blog.

So yeah, Note To Self: Remember to do Motherhood your own way. Duh. Also, find a jacket like that girl had. It may actually be possible to have BOTH a baby and cute clothes. Crazy thought, I know, but worth a try!

Re: comments

Kanga is my fantabulous mother-in-law, Scout is my four year old little sister.

And Joey is going  to LOVE that you pictured him as Latino, Hilary!! My prediction is that I will read your comment to him, he will laugh and then invest a good amount of time teasing me for my inaccurate writing skills, and then I will confess that sometimes I may accidentally have written about my OTHER husband…Antonio Banderas.

Now, without further ado, allow me to present…

THE HOUND FROM HADES

Please, try to be brave.

In all seriousness, though? McLovin has been kind of a huge pain. This led me to read a book by the Dog Whisperer guy, because when in doubt, I read a book! But it was really helpful, and Joey and I got on the same page, and she’s been doing much better. Well, I guess Cesar would say that WE are doing much better. Apparently, its all about the energy that you project. A few weeks ago, we thought it was funny when the puppy started to charge my plate of food, and I stopped her without saying anything, just giving her my infamous Teacher Look. We thought it was nothing more than a good story to file under Reasons Why Lucy Is Scary, but I guess it was really an example of the one time I projected the right energy with McLovin. So I’ve been practicing, and now I can make the puppy stay in her kennel with the door open until invited out, resist chewing on my hands and feet, and wait to eat until given permission, all with my Jedi mind tricks. This morning, she even stopped halfway through the hole in the backyard fence, turned around, and came back when told to do so. My energy was particularly strong, though, since I had NO desire whatsoever to chase the puppy around the side yard clad in a fuzzy pink robe and flip-flops, my hair in complete disarray, waddling like a gigantic pregnant duck. Classy, I know.

The fact that I was able to go outside wearing these things, and did not die of frostbite, reminds me. I should take back my snark about the natives of my area and how they panick over trivial freezing precipitation. Because after I wrote it, I read Kate’s post about the weather in her area, and realized that I am a big baby and would DIE in such conditions, no questions asked.

Which also reminds me that when I wrote about ICE, I forgot my funny little story of the tiny Red Hat Society lady who attempted to shove me OFF THE ICE BRIDGE because I wasn’t moving fast enough for her. I know I didn’t look pregnant in that parka, and pregnancy is usually my reason for why people should be nice to me these days, but really, you shouldn’t be pushing anyone.  Even if they are taller than you. Even if you are rocking the red hat and purple shoes thing.

I may possibly have planted my feet, turned, and projected some very stern energy.

She got off easy, though. Just ask McLovin.

My life currently has a bit of  a theme.

Our first birthing class was on Monday (and I’m just now writing about it, yes. Sigh.) and guess who ended up having to coach a game on Monday night? My darling love, that’s who.  He was going to try and get someone else to coach for him, but I didn’t want the guys demoralized on my account, so Kanga went with me instead. I get wife points for this. Lots and lots of wife points.

The class was great… I hear. Out of the two and a half hours of class, we were present for about thirty minutes. Why, you ask? Not because of poor planning or procrastination, but because of ice. Driving through the Metroplex usually takes us about thirty minutes. Forty-five in traffic. Since we were going out past the Metroplex, we gave ourselves a good solid hour. And it took two and a half. Not kidding even a little bit!

Every. Single. Bridge. Had. Ice.

And by “bridge” I mean overpass. Which, there are kind of a lot.

So not only did everyone have to slow down quite a bit to avoid wrecking, but also had to stop for those who did NOT slow down and therefore wrecked. Which, I think, was the majority. There was also a lot of insane people driving on the shoulder THE WRONG WAY, making up lanes and shooting ahead, then shoving back into a real lane, and generally causing mayhem. This is not an area with much experience in winter weather, you can easily tell. This is one of those areas where if there is a forty percent chance that there MIGHT be some light snowfall, all bread and milk turns instantly to gold, then vanishes. Having lived in Colorado, this annoys me a bit.

As does being late, as you know. But this was so ridiculous that Kanga and I had not option but to laugh. What else is there to do? We sat in trafic and listened to the classical music station and mocked the impatient people who were spazzing out. And threatened them with dire consequences if they recklessly slid into us, or tried to cheat the rules of good traffic manners.

Finally, we got there, and I got over being embarassed at being VERY late and also husband-less. Everyone was very nice, and we hadn’t missed the relaxation and breathing techniques part of the lesson. I was sad that Joey missed a basic rundown of pregnancy physiology, though. It took me nearly an hour to explain to the man what a placenta is. I also got our books and assignments for next class (I never thought I would be so excited to have homework again, but it is kind of making me happy!) one of which is for the moms to give the dads a twenty minute backrub every evening. I asked the instructor if this applied to labor coaches who weren’t present for class.

But I AM giving him his backrubs. For the sake of doing our homework properly. And also because I wouldn’t be able to figure out most of these Bradley exercises without his help. There is a serious lack of bodily-kinesthetic intelligence in my brain. A really serious one. So once again, the wonder couple compliments each other’s deficits!

Because we didn’t have that pleasant of an experience with ice on Monday, we decided to try again the next day!

My mamma gave Kanga her Christmas present early  – tickets to ICE. ICE is an ice scuplture display thing at a big hotel here, and we hadn’t been before, so we made an afternoon of it. Basically, you get to borrow some huge North Pole looking parkas, and then wander freely through a 4 degree winter wonderland. Until your toes fall off. Joey swears that the snot in his nose froze solid. Which is disgusting, yes, but demonstrates how COLD it was!

It was also a lot of fun, and parts of it were extremely pretty.

Look! I found the cable-thingy that connects the camera to the computer! To celebrate, I will put an ACTUAL picture of our real selves on this blog. Which I will probably edit out later, so quick! See what we look like in real life!

Please note that in this picture I am about 60% parka.

Scout was particularly cute in hers, being so tiny.  Her arms were a good six inches shorter than her parka, which came down to her shoes and had more backbone than she does. She loved the ice slide, but was cold and crabby most of the time. When mamma asked her afterwards if she had even a LITTLE bit of fun, she sniffled, “No! I had a lot of fun. But I don’t like to be so much cold.” Which is kind of how I felt about it, too.

This is gonna be short and sweet. Because… yeah. Our dwelling place has been cursed with a Moste Fearful Illness, and I have a lot of icky messes to clean up now.

Joey does not do sick well. I do not do sympathetic well. We discovered this on our honeymoon, the majority of which was spent in the teeny-tiny room of the cruise ship… watching an endless loop of Flicka, The Fast And The Furious: Tokyo Drift, and Switch.  Motion sickness and a cold are apparently not a good combination, and I realized that I was going to need to grit my teeth and be sweet and patient, that my husband is a man who needs a lot of babying when he is ill.

When I am sick, to make matters worse, he delights in taking care of me… insisting that I not go to work, checking in frequently to see if I need anything, making sure I rest.  I’m not used to that – I may complain a good bit (okay, a LOT) but I also feel very strongly about sucking it up and getting through what needs to be done. I actually take horrible care of myself, and do not rest well if there are things left undone, no matter how bad I feel. So he balances me out, which is totally the theme of our relationship.

Which also begs the question, do I follow his nurturing example and be incredibly sympathetic, because after all, people tend to do what they want done themselves in a given situation. And I could certainly benefit from being more sympathetic. Or do I balance HIM out and encourage him to push through a little bit? I get the jerk role in this little balancing act, I’m pretty sure.

The answer probably lies somewhere in the middle.

I hate that he feels bad, and I did everything he asked, and checked to see if he needed anything, and rubbed his back, and washed his face with a cold washcloth,  and helped him get a sub this morning so he wouldn’t have to work, and said a lot of “I’m sorry, baby.” But 48-ish hours into whatever weirdo bug this is (the flu?) and I am wearing thin. It is also hard to commiserate with someone who thinks they may be dying because they haven’t kept anything down for a day, when I just spent three months not keeping anything down, and managed to keep TWO people alive in spite of it.

Sometimes I think I have no heart. Sometimes, probably Joey thinks so, too. But it would be a lot more often if I didn’t save up my snarky thoughts .

Also, McLovin is sick. Do dogs catch sicknesses from people? Because this seems to be a stomach malady as well… I have to throw a bunch of blankets (off of OUR BED) in the washer now, because she had an Incident. And then I have to go throw McLovin in the bathtub, because she is currently walking around smelling like an Incident. And then I should probably roam the house, discovering all the little messes that I’m sure have happened while I’ve been at work.

Sigh.

“And so the overly dramatic pregnant girl felt pretty sorry for herself.  But then she got her hands on Breaking Dawn, finally. And it was good. Really, really good. And she spent an entire day laying around, reading and napping and reading some more, because there were more than 700 pages to read. And they all lived happily ever after, which is good, because she would have thrown a big fit otherwise. And while her husband was somewhat disturbed, because he felt that normal people do not read that fast (and probably he suspects her of skimming, but she totally didn’t) the girl felt much refreshed in body and spirit. Because laying around all day and taking so many naps is probably exactly what she needed, and also because HER precious fetus will not be kicking so hard as to break her ribs any time soon. Just hard enough to bounce the book up and down a lot, since apparently 700 + page books are too heavy to be rested on the  Belly.

Additionally, the comments on her blog cheered her up quite a bit, too. The End.”

I am also pretty happy with life right now, because Joey and I got our Christmas tree yesterday, and a good bit of Christmas…junk, I suppose you would call it. I’m torn, because I read all these wonderful people blogging about how wasteful and commercialized Christmas is, how the real meaning has been completely sucked away and turned to stress and debt and vanity. And I think, I should fully agree with that! 

But at the core, I just don’t. If that is how typical Christmas observation makes you feel, I DO think you should find and embrace your alternative, absolutely. But it makes me happy, and warm, and I love it.

This probaby has a lot to do with (oh, Lord, here I go psychoanalyzing myself. AGAIN. ) the fact that the majority of my childhood Christmases were spent under the shadow of the Ghost of Bah, Humbug. Otherwise known as my ex-stepfather. I won’t say he went as far as suggesting that we all die sooner and decrease the surplus population, but he definitely felt that we had no right to be merry, we were poor enough*. And Christmas WAS nothing more than stress and money, greed and depression. I spent most of every Christmas season planning how I would celebrate when I had my own family, how I wouldn’t shoot down every last bit of excitement with what a waste of money it all was, or make people sad with pointedly un-presents, or alternately, crush them with a huge burden of expected gratitutde for real presents, and then punish them for months afterwards when it wasn’t met.

Last year was my first Christmas with Joey, and I’m sure he felt the strain of exorcising that ghost with me, balancing the need that we had as poor, struggling newlyweds to start small with the need that I had to ENJOY Christmas. And he balanced all that very well, because he is amazing like that, and I felt for the first time that I could relax and celebrate and give presents and be lighthearted, and it wasn’t overshadowed by any of those icky things. So this year, I don’t really feel any ghosts haunting me. I’m excited about the Christmas tree (which fell over somehow last night, but fortunately I hadn’t put any decorations on it yet) and the lights that Joey is going to put up on our house, and the presents that mamma and I bought my students, and the gingerbread house kit that I found last night, and the fact that WE will be hosting Christmas for one side of Joey’s family this year, and also the fact that next year we will have the cutest little girl in the world to introduce Christmas to and make her wear insanely froo-froo party dresses at the slightest provocation. And I have cards to send off to people, and cookies to make, and presents to find. Joey isn’t much fun to buy for this year, because he already HAS his big present. A family friend gave him a ridiculously big, fancy TV ( a MAN’S television) that they had replaced rather than repairing. So we got the insanely expensive parts to repair the TV as his big present. I personally would go through life content with a TV that cost the same as those parts and never feel even a little deprived. But I am thrilled to be able to get him one of his Big Three Items (a big screen TV, a big truck, and a laptop) so much sooner than I expected. And I will still be finding him smaller presents, because you HAVE to have things to unwrap!

McLovin was also our present to each other. But we have decided that this implies we were very, very bad all year.

If all this stuff didn’t make me happy and content, if we left the stores last night bickering and feeling irritated with each other rather than holding hands and enjoying each other’s enjoyment, if I felt like a stressed-out slave to retail… then I could whole-heartedly agree with all the wise people who dislike typical Christmases.  But that just isn’t the case for me, and I don’t see things changing anytime soon.

On a random note, McLovin was smothering my face with puppy love yesterday, and I SWORE it smelled like she had just brushed her teeth. Joey and I agreed that this was weird and impossible, and maybe the pregnancy nose was a bit haywire. But when we got home last night? I found a chewed-up travel-sized tube of Colgate in the family room. My nose was vindicated, once and for all.

Now I’m going to get dressed, clean up the house, and get to work on the CUTE cards I found last night. Because I want to and it makes me happy, and also because I finished Breaking Dawn, and what can you really read after that?

*My class spent the last week COMPLETELY immersed in A Christmas Carol, and so it has invaded my blog a little bit. I could probably quote a good third of the book, because we spent so much time Savoring The Language. Savoring is exactly the right word, too. I never knew a book could make you so hungry!

All day yesterday was one of those really great days where the kids were good and nothing gave me a headache, and everything went well… and this was a FIELD TRIP DAY, people. I cannot describe to you how much I hate field trip days. But this one rocked. If I wrote about work here in any kind of detail, I would TOTALLY write about this. But I don’t. And also, yesterday evening? Did not follow the serene course of the rest of the day. I had a conference, and then rode over to a gym with Joey because his team was in a tournament there. As we were parking, I off-handedly mentioned to him that I was going to call the midwife’s cell and see if she wanted me to come in in the morning. I was feeling guilty (as I am sure reads LOUD AND CLEAR from my last post) that I was being stubborn and maybe irresponsible. And also I had just realized that all the (gross alert!) excessive discharge might not be just an icky pregnancy thing, that it was really QUITE excessive, and probably I should mention it to the midwife since it was happening in conjunction with the backpain and the cramping, etc.

So I called her from the gym (and what a fun thing that was, trying to describe fairly personal symptoms discreetly into a cell phone, in a crowded room full of high school boys. If I had crammed myself further into my corner, I would have been sticking out the other side!) and she said it sounded like my water had broken, and that I needed to go directly to Labor and Delivery, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.  And I tried to backtrack and make sure that I hadn’t used any inflammatory rhetoric. But I’m pretty sure that rather than “Help, Mayday, there’s water EVERYWHERE, this boat is SINKING!” I was pretty calm and accurate. All my blood whooshed down to nowhere, but even though I couldn’t stop picturing my womb as a SWIRLING TOILET OF DEATH that I was too stupid to notice, I did NOT indulge in any hysterical crying while waiting for Kanga to pick me up. Instead I focused on drinking a bottle of water (I think somewhere in my brain I was hoping that it would miraculously replenish any lost amniotic fluid or something)  and being very angry at myself. Because angry was the calmest option I could hope for just then.

I struggled, the whole way there (and it was a long drive to the particular hospital I had to go to, we passed two other hospitals on the way) because while I was OBVIOUSLY never going to forgive myself  for being stubborn and stupid if anything happened to the baby, I was wondering if anyone else could ever forgive me. Particularly Joey.

But we got there, and got all hooked up to some monitors that let us hear my baby’s truly heroic heartbeat and some serious hiccoughs, so I calmed down a bit, internally. And whiled away the time feeling sorry for everyone who I was inconveniencing by this trip to the hospital, particularly Joey, who not only had to worry that there was something seriously wrong with his wife and unborn child, but couldn’t BE THERE for most of it because he had to coach the game still, which was a little wearing on him, to say the least. 

And eventually we found out that while I was having contractions (at least now I KNOW what a contraction feels like. People keep asking me if I’m having any, and I keep wondering how on earth I would know, as I’ve never had any before.) and such, the baby was staying comfortably in place and all my symptoms were caused by a raging bacterial infection. Which is wonderful! Bring on the antibiotics! And also, I hereby swear to not be stubborn and stupid (in regards to prenatal care) EVER AGAIN.

We went home, exhausted and hungry, and pretty much collapsed. Much to the disappointment of McLovin, who had been left alone in her (very spacious) kennel most of the day and was NOT PLEASED, not even a little bit. She seems to have recovered now, though. I’m still struggling with my emotions a bit. In addition to the horrible bone crushing guilt, I am also feeling:

Stupid that I didn’t call sooner.

Stupid that I did call and it wasn’t a real emergency.

Bad for inconveniencing everyone.

Stupid because everyone will think I just have to have drama and the center of attention.

Bad because HOW are we going to pay for that little jaunt to the hospital?

Scared about my ability ( or lack thereof) to make good choices and handle situations like this.

and

Insane, because I have clearly set myself up in a classic Lose-Lose situation, as described by my psych professor. If you follow my thinking carefully, you will see that I am a horrible person if there was anything wrong with the baby, and also a horrible person if it wasn’t really an emergency after all.

Which seems to imply that deep down, I really just think I am a horrible person. Which is kind of true. And that sucks, but I’m not entirely sure what to do about it at this point, and I don’t know that I would have the energy to do anything even if I knew what to do. So I guess that for right now, it will have to be enough that the people I care about the most love me whether I am horrible or not, and would forgive me, even if I never did.