19 weeks today, I believe?
Rockin' the bump. Parking in the Expectant Mothers parking spaces if I have to. Ok, once I did that, but I totally qualified for that space and some jerk stole my regular people space.
New weird side effects:
-First time for the
Mask of Pregnancy. It looks like I got tangled up with a curling iron, like when I'd occasionally burn my forehead trying to get my Claw Poof hairdo in middle school. Three weird lines on my forehead. Maybe I'll have to get a picture of it. Just weird.
-I kid you not, I laugh different. Maybe it has something to do with having a big belly like Santa Claus, but when I laugh it's from way down deep in there somewhere. Feels pretty good and sometimes it takes very little to make me laugh. Finally, a good side effect! And makes me think of the bible story when God told Sarah she was going to have a baby and she laughed
Ya, right! . And the He showed
her.
I
guess the hearty laughter makes up for the insomnia, crying, zombie-moods, and cellulite.
*****************
-In other news, where have all the pretty sandals gone? I can appreciate a gladiator sandal or those sandals that kind of look like Donald Duck's spats as much as the next gal, but I need something a little more...wearable? Plus I'm not trying to draw unnecessary attention to my cankles at this time.
But seriously, Target, normally trusty source of reasonably priced cute footwear, has really let me down this year. Plenty of flip flops, but flip flops are the sweat pants of the shoe world. OK for home and the beach and maybe some errands, but not so good for much more. No matter how many big plastic jewels or pleather flowers you put on them.
Plenty of retreads of last years sandals. And lots of low quality sandals that I know
might look cute for a couple wearings and will then look like raggedy garbage.
Where are the quality sandals? Kick-ass leather sandals. None of this weird microfiber stuff. Sandals with real wooden stacked heels, not plastic heels with stickers made to look like stacked wooden heels. Metal buckles, not plastic. That kind of thing.
Ya, I know, they're on Zappos and they only cost $200. I'll keep on searching. But how about that for an indignant rant, eh? Deep thoughts, I know.
-Mark's aunt has told me on two separate occasions how huge I am. I am debating a 3 Strikes You Are Going To Get A Frakkin Earful From Me policy.
-Mystery Koi. We found 3 big koi in our pond and we have no idea where they came from. I need to get a photo of them. Two orange and one white, they are so pretty.
-YoYo gets some penicillin. The cat was exhibiting signs of a urinary tract infection so I picked up some antibiotic. Mark gives the shots in the family, from pigs to cows to cats, and my job was to restrain. Lucky me: YoYo is the cat who has sent several of us to the ER for tetanus shots. But YoYo would tell you there were extenuating circumstances.
At any rate, the wretched-smelling dehydrated beef liver dog treats were more than enough distraction for him. Hopefully he's on the mend.
-Lazy Days Of Summer. So the kids will be home all Summer and I won't. As we approached this horizon Mark & I knew that some changes needed to be made, namely in the chores arena.
Sam, only son and oldest child, had been the chore boy from the get go. The kid is a worker, I tell you. He works at the market, many times setting everything up by himself in the mornings. He's done that for years. He feeds the animals. Helps work the bee hives. Cuts the grass. Weedwacks. Trash duty. Occasionally supper and dishes. Some laundry. Plus he does yard work for other people, among other things. Honestly, looking at that list, it's a wonder why I have so much damn work to do myself when I get home.
Ah yes, now I remember. The Girls.
I love my girls so very much, I do. They do well in school, they're kind and caring, and not particularly sassy. They're my beautiful girls.
But thanks to their reliable and hard-working brother and their own ability to hide when there's work to be done, they've managed to skate by pretty easily all these years.
Mark and I know there's a lot of blame to place directly on us: we let 'em slide way too often and now we're paying the piper trying to reverse the damage done.
So far it's a pretty painful process.
Their shared bedroom has been the black hole cesspool of the house forever. Their brother's room? Looks exactly the same every day: bed made, floor immaculate, everything in its place. The rest of the house generally looks like civilized people live in it, but the girls' room was always...overwhelming.
Since moving into the house 6 years ago we have taken literal shovels full of stuff out of it. Bags and bags of garbage, toys and Goodwill clothes at a time. And yet, just days later it was destroyed again. Bad. I quit buying anything but bare necessities for them years ago and still it overflows.
I've threatened, I've counseled, I've given How-To Demonstrations, I've given step-by-step instructions
pick up that sock, throw away that piece of paper, put away that book until the whole room was clean. I've given options, no options, time lines. Ignored it altogether or broken down in tears of frustration.
Even with the rules of no phone, no iPod, no friends til it's clean, it is still an every day battle.
Add to that our new lofty ambitions of laundry, dishes, and floor cleaning, and it's a full-time job goading my daughters.
But I'm pretty sure that's all it boils down to: wearing them down, one Chinese water torture drip at a time. Or was that me being drip-drip-dripped into madness? Time will tell.
I have hope that eventually there will be a day when they do something of their own volition. Just not today. Today, they will bargain and complain and drag it out and make dirty faces at their mother.
-And lastly. Anybody else see this resemblance?
It's been bugging me since this first time I saw her. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.
Peace out.
The Belly.
Bubbles saying hello.
The Cooker.
Chicken halves. All sold.
Since blogger and I go 'round and 'round over photo posting, feel free to peruse the rest over yonder. It also explains the ear-less pig.
When I first met Mark, when he was even weirder than he is now ;) he had this thing he'd do when something excited him or made him happy. Could've been a good part of the story he was telling, could've been a good song on the radio, could've been an exceptionally tasty bite of whatever he was eating, but he'd always punctuate the event by 'pulling a trigger on it.'
