Working 9 to 5, what a way to make a living.

This week at work, my shit, and a whole bunch of other people's shit, got handed to me.  The particulars are kind of unimportant in the context of this blog, although the end result does have a significant impact on the direction our family may be taking.

My department, my job, which I actually did love doing, and a status quo of almost 8 years were all yanked out from under me with no notice on Thursday.  The silver lining is that I was reassigned, and even during the worst economic crisis to hit higher education in the history of Nevada, I'm not taking a pay cut and I've been handed an opportunity to go in a completely new direction in a department where they are glad to have me.  I'm lucky, as usual.

In the past few months, I've been doing a lot of professional soul-searching.  Really, we knew that something drastic would happen with my job, although we didn't come close to anticipating this as it is.  The career trajectory of the International Student Advisor has a narrow, very specific path.  It's not like there are a lot of schools in Nevada (education isn't exactly high on the list of priorities here, which is intensely short-sighted and will only make things worse in the long run BUT I DIGRESS).  Any change I would make in that field would likely be a lateral move, and it's unlikely that I would progress very much even in the longer term.

But I wasn't ready to quit.  We aren't in a position for me to stop working.  We have a new house, and although we got a hell of a deal on it, we lead a two-income lifestyle (oh, how fancy we are...).  Ava is in a wonderful school, and if I'm not working, we'd cut that back pretty drastically (not entirely) and that would be sub-optimal for her.  If I'm suddenly a stay-at-home mom, do we have another kid?  I don't know that we're up to that just yet.  Rob travels so much for work, it would be so hard to start over with a new baby right now.  We need to have some stability, and so we were just in a holding pattern until something definite revealed itself.  And that's what happened.  A whole shitstorm of revelations came down.

The big picture shows that I'm not completely expendable, which means that the hives and acne (you know what's awesome when you're 38 and the spotlight is shining on you?  PIMPLES.) that the stress of not knowing and not having any say in the matter was causing are starting to clear up.  Instead of having to decide that it's time for a new direction, one was handed to me, and my resume can only benefit from it.

But my ego took a pretty big hit this week.  It's hard not to be insulted.  I like to think that Michael Corleone's philosophy of how it's not personal and it's just business is the way to handle stuff like this.  But it's very personal.  Someone else decided what I get to be when I grow up.  That's not an easy pill to swallow (unlike Tylenol PM, which, thank the lord, is SUPER easy).  I understand that change is inevitable and that These Things Happen and that BS about the good lord doesn't close a door without opening a window.  The lesson thus far has been that in the future, when I grow up and I'm trained in my new job and moving up in the field (oh, we all know I will...), I will remember that even bad news deserves to be delivered with consideration.  Mary Poppins said it best:  A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.  I think it is possible to do what was done this week without making it feel like it felt.

This week was also not an example of me being on my Motherhood A-Game, either.  That really bothers me.  Rob was on the road, and Ava is 2 and a half, and I had to be a grown-up at work AND at home, and that was hard.  It sounds so petty when I think of it like that.  I think of when I was a kid and my parents had stuff to deal with.  My mom's been gone over 20 years, so she's kind of idealized in my mind.  The absolute worst thing that I thought all week was "My mom would have handled this so much better..." and I got lost in that spiral.  But I don't know that she would have done any better than I did.  I've come to realize that she's probably be just as pissed off as I am and she would do her best just like I am, and that's really all there is too it.

This is kind of rambly, and, well, bloggity (oh, I get it...) but raising a family isn't always about what happens inside the house to everyone in the family all at the same time.  This week was probably the toughest week we've had since Ava was born, and it's over and we all survived.  From what I can tell, Ava's fine (although she now knows the word "why?" and she LOVES it because she repeats it over and over and COME ON, KID but she probably would have learned that anyway) and no worse for having a sad mom who wasn't up to the super awesome bath and bed routine on Thursday.  Rob is, as ever, amazing, and is expertly providing balance to my indignantly unbalanced Scales of Justice In This World.  And I'm fine.  A door closed, but a window is open (even though that window now has a view of the freaking men's room instead of the Strip TRUE STORY).

The Damn Move

We've been busting our tails getting stuff unpacked and put away because cardboard boxes are not conducive to a peaceful evening with a 2 year old ("What in that box, Mama?  Oh.  What in THAT box, Mama?  Oh.  OK.  Is that Ava's box?  Is that my box?  Can I have that box?").  Really all that's left is hanging pictures and figuring out where we can put breakable stuff so that it's far enough out of reach so as not to prove its breakability but not so far that it might as well just stay in the box.

The move itself was pretty easy.  The movers showed up on time, and they had loaded, moved, unloaded, and placed our furniture by 1:00.  We just kind of stood there and pointed where we wanted stuff to be.  Professional movers are totally categorized as Money Well-Spent, because while it wasn't cheap, it sure was nice to not have to empty any drawers or schlep a couch up the stairs.

So now we're just adjusting to our new digs.  It's awesome.  It's so amazing that I'm waiting for someone to show up and say "Oh, we were just kidding.  You can't live here."  Our neighbors are incredible--Ava's already got the little boy next door wrapped around her finger.  His mom gave us a scooter that he's outgrown, and we were stunned by the offhand kindness.  It was No Big Deal to her, and after 5 years of having assholes and deadbeats on all sides, we were just blown away.  The families on our street all know each other, too, so we're meeting them all.

Ava's got a playroom that has room for her own table and a play kitchen and whatever else we want to put in there.  My commute is now 25 easy minutes instead of 45+ clenchy ones.  Our grocery store was just voted Best of Las Vegas, and it's like a reasonably-priced Whole Foods.  The view out our bedroom windows is of mountains and sky.  We can see stars at night.  It just goes on and on.  

Don't even get me started on having more room--not just more room, but more SPACE in the house.  We evidently had 2300 square feet of furniture in our 1400 square feet--no wonder we were all crowdy!  And while we're on the topic of our 1400 square foot charmer, please say a prayer and bury your St Joseph statue upside-down in the yard, because it's in escrow.  Keep your fingers crossed.

It all feels very normal, like this is where we're supposed to be.  We're still learning how to use the thermostat (OMG it was 65 degrees and blowing cold air this morning) because I think the upstairs one is busted, and it takes me probably 3 tries to find the right lightswitch, but this is probably the best decision we've ever made.  Sure, we've moved to the Land of Black Escalades and Fancy Obscure Purebred Dogs, and sometimes I feel like Marisa Tomei because yeah, I blend. 

Too. Much. Happening.

We are officially in the throes of packing.  We're at T-minus 25 days until trucks show up in our driveway at 7AM.  The stuff that we don't need (books, most small appliances, tchotchkes, crap that got thrown on a closet shelf, etc) is boxed up and staged in the garage.  I'm leaving pictures up until the end because I don't want it to be completely empty in here, but it's looking pretty empty anyway.

I'm going to take this opportunity to thank my lucky stars that we spent much of 2008 getting organized and cleaning shit out donating things we didn't need because that's making all of this much simpler now :).

Ava knows that Something is happening.  She's been to the new house a couple of times and she ran around like a lunatic seemed to like it.  She picked her room (the furthest one from ours--WIN!).  We talk about the New House and she's very curious about how it will work and who will be there with us ("No, Grams and Gramps won't be moving in with us..."). 

The plan is for her room to be the last thing we take apart.  There's really not a lot in there to begin with, so once books and clothes are done, the rest is just furniture that the movers can deal with.  Her new room will be the first thing we put together, so she'll wake up here and we'll take her to school and then at the end of the day we'll do a seamless (I can hear you laughing...) transition to the new house and she'll go to sleep in the new room and everything (shut up) will be blissful and perfect.  Right.

I'm trying to focus on what we can control right now--work has officially become insane and while my job is still safe from budget cuts, there's some new stress and uncertainty happening that is starting to feel like some unfunny test from God.  I'm sure everything will be OK, but I'll be glad when some questions are answered and things feel normal again. 

Rob's job put him on the road quite a bit in the last couple of months (February in Chicago?  Awesome.) and it will again, but not much until after we move (hooray!). 

So now we just wait.  There's not much to do besides pack and clean out the freezer (we're having some pretty random dinners, but we need to defrost it by 4/7).  I tend to feel like the rug could be pulled out from under us at any moment--really, this all came together so quickly and easily that naturally I'm totally suspicious--but it all seems to be falling into place.  Perfectly.  Like I planned it :).

Mooooovin' on up!

So one day a couple of months ago, I realized that my commute made me want to kill myself.

Well, not really, but that drive is really a terrible way to start and end one's day.  The daily traffic report was usually just a narration of what was in store for me.  An hour after I left home in the morning, I arrived at my office.  An hour or more after I left my office in the evening, I would get home.  We've been eating dinner at 6:30 every night, and that makes the rest of the evening rushed and hectic.

We're in the northwest part of town, which is lovely, but it's just such a pain in the ass to get just about anywhere.  We started talking about where else in town we could live.  After an exhaustive two-week search, we found a house.  Not only am I shaving 15 miles off my commute (EACH FREAKING WAY), but Rob is knocking 15 miles off his frequent shleps to the airport AND we're gaining 1000 square feet of house.

WIN!

It's happened pretty quickly.  We're likely going to close on the new (to us) house on March 31.  We're looking to move  the 2nd weekend of April.  This means that we have approximately 40 days to put all of our stuff in boxes.  Anyone who knows me knows that I've already started packing.  Anyone who REALLY knows me knows that I have a packing schedule laid out and that I have a spreadsheet of where stuff will go in the new house.  Anyone who has to live with me just shakes his head and lets me go on with my bad self, and he'll thank me in two months when we've executed a stress-free relocation.

So that's the news.  It's very exciting, and we think we've found a really lovely place where our little family can settle and thrive.  It will also be very nice to gain back one entire hour every single day that can be spent doing something other than flipping off assholes in traffic commuting.

Insanity Ensues

So, it's become apparent that we are nuts (it's also nuts that we are parents, but that's another posting...).

It began just like any other Saturday. Breakfast in jammies, assessment of the day to come, and so on. We'll be needing to wash the Honda; that can be our pre-nap outing. While we're out, Rob said, "why don't we go to Petco so Ava can visit the kitties and the fish?" They evidently did this last weekend while I was swilling martinis in San Francisco with the girls, and it was a big hit. All right then.

Petco has adoption events on Saturdays. Just FYI.

So we look at the kittens, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves kittens. And then we look at the fishies, and Ava gets all squealy because she loves fishies. And then we go over to look at the parakeets and cockawhatevertheyares, and Ava gets all squealy etc. etc. etc.

And then I go into the dog grooming area where the Humane Society has two pens set up, one with big dogs and one with small dogs. I don't look at the small dogs (really, why would I?). But I walk over to the big dogs, and I start reading the flyers they have posted on the gate. There's a bassett/beagle mix, which doesn't tempt me because that equals "howls and digs". And there's a shepherd mix, who is cute, but.... eh.

And then there's this other dog hanging back a bit. She's got a friendly face and a wagging tail. And she looks at me.

And I'm a sucker. And I'm in tears. Because I'm a sucker.

I read her story. "Pebbles is an 8-year-old Rottweiler. She is housetrained, and prefers to be inside. She sleeps on the floor next to the bed. She is good with other dogs, cats, and kids. " And I'm a mess. So I wander over to Rob and Ava (over by the fishies...) and Rob sees me and he KNOWS that Something has Happened.

"There's this dog...," I say. "And she looks so sweet. Go see her."

So now we have a dog. Pebbles, the 8-year-old Rottweiler, to be specific.


She's very happy to be with us. She has had a bath and brushing, and lots of water. And some worming tablets (there was some scooting). She's very calm. She's getting used to being here. She was surrendered by her previous family just a week ago--it's likely that they are one of the thousands in town who have lost their home to foreclosure and were forced to give her up when they moved into an apartment or other non-dog-friendly sort of place. She seems like a very good girl.

Ava loves her. Oh, Ava loves doggies so much, and now we have one in our home. I don't think she remembers much about Gracie (oh, poor Gracie...), but whenever she sees a dog, she wants to pet it and touch it and love it. So she's figuring out how to handle having a big (and rather fat) dog to pet and love at her whim. There have been a couple of wrinkly lip almost-but-not-quite-snarls that were the result of Too Much Love and Not Enough Personal Space. We're keeping a very VERY close eye on Pebbles and Ava both. Without being too Dog Whispery, we are already an established pack, and it's important that Pebbles understand her place in it. We think she will.

She's got some habits that we can already tell we're going to have to help her break. She's used to people food, we think, as she was very.very.very.very. interested in everything we've eaten and she hasn't touched her kibble. That explains the 20 extra pounds she's carrying. She's definitely housetrained, and she even knows to go to the door when It's Time To Go Outside. She knows her name, and that's kind of a bummer, because we're not really the sort of people who would name a dog "Pebbles" but whatever. She can be Pebbles if she wants to. She'll lay down and come when we tell her to. That's really all we need.

Right now, she's asleep in the middle of the living room, and she's very snorty about it. The absolute comfort that can be identified from the snore of a happy dog is something that is wonderful to behold. And really, I hated not having a dog. It's only been 6 months since we lost Gracie, and it's been so quiet (and clean, but mostly quiet) without a dog at all. I feel like we did a really good thing today. We'll give her a good home, and in return, she'll be a good dog.

Our cups runneth over.

We're blessed. We know we are. We have jobs (although the terms of mine are currently the subject of discussion at a special session of the legislature), our bills are paid, our house is warm (insulated, I imagine, by the stuff on all of the counters and tables...) and we are healthy (unless you count colds). At the end of each crazy day, Rob and I look at each other and say it out loud, how lucky we are.

Ava is a little girl. Not a baby, not even a little bit, anymore. She knows more words than she says and her personality is really coming through. This morning I went in to wake her up, and she looked at me like "WHA?", handed me her monkey, and pulled the blanket over her head. That's my kid all right ;). We're working with Daycare to transition her to the Toddler Room. She is down to one bottle a day (right before bed) and she's losing interest in that pretty quickly. She can walk all the way from the car to her classroom. In the Toddler Room she will eat her meals at a table, instead of in a high chair. She'll nap on a cot instead of a crib. They have two hours a day of outside play (weather permitting...) which she is going to LOVE.

She's so big. I look at her on the rare occasions that she falls asleep in my arms, and I can only see glimpses of the baby she used to be. She's stretching out, so the rolls of little chub on her legs are going away (booooooo...). She is going to be a handful, I think. Already, she makes it clear when her world isn't what she wishes it to be. She doesn't like too many people, so we're watching her carefully as she moves from the familiar team of Daycare Ladies to a new group. She'll be OK, I know. But we will need to help her learn how to be OK and stay OK.

Right now, I have 3 close friends (you know who you are, ladies) in various stages of pregnancy. It's so cool to be on this side of it, like I'm in on a secret. It's such a big deal. One will have her baby next week (!!!! so excited!!!) and we can't wait to meet him. Seeing my friends go through this after having done it myself makes me realize that no, we're not ready to do it again. I'll say that again in case you missed it: no, we're not ready to do it again. Not yet. It's too big. We're good with where we are right now.

Blog As Baby Book

I have one of those baby books that you're supposed to update with pictures and milestones. It's been on the shelf since mid-March. This has become the official record of Ava's development.

Milestones that seem to be happening all at once:

• Today a tooth broke the surface. Bottom left front. Pictures will hopefully follow, but she's tricky so we haven't caught a shot yet.
• She is moments away from crawling. She'll get on two arms and a leg but one leg is in the wrong place and she can't quite maneuver around it. But it's close.
• Last week I was sitting on the floor with her. She took both my hands and pulled herself up to a standing position. This freaked us out completely
• Right now? She's clapping. For no reason other than it makes her happy
• She likes watching people wave, and sometimes she waves back

Big things are coming.

The Sponge Migration

You've seen it on Discovery Channel when they show the ocean floor--these creatures that seem completely stationary actually do move, but they have to use time-lapse photography to show it. So they set a camera up and film for 8 hours and then they speed it up and it looks like rush hour. This is what we have going on in our living room.

Ava is not crawling. She never was too thrilled about "tummy time", which is what all the Advice Givers tell you that is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING YOU CAN DO FOR YOUR BABY'S DEVELOPMENT because it forces babies to learn to push up off the floor with their arms. Yeah, we hate that here. But she does love to sit and play with her toys. We plop her down on the floor and put some toys within reach, or just out of it, and she will amuse herself for half an hour. She doesn't topple over very often anymore. She'll just sit and play and talk to us and to herself and to her toys and everybody's happy.

This week I noticed that she wasn't where I put her. She was in the same position, but instead of being next to her playmat, she was 3 feet away playing with the fishbowl that Auntie Beth gave her (she loves it!). And then 15 minutes later, she was next to the Jungle Thingy with the spinning balls but she didn't creep over, she didn't roll. I don't know how she moves.






She just kind of rotates and reaches for something and when she sits back up she's a foot away. I don't know how she does it. We lack the technology (and patience) to do time lapse, and if our video camera can speed up I don't know how to do it. But she moves. I don't know how she moves, but she moves and it's FREAKING ME OUT.

In a related story, we're going to start childproofing the house this weekend. Because if she's this sneaky at 7 months (holy crap, 7 months!) we are totally screwed once she can get up and walk around.

More Kool-Aid, Please

I have joined a cult.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not a joiner. I'm not a people person. I don't like daily affirmations and I really get suspicious of anyone who is too enthusiastic about anything.

But my house was a mess. Not like on Clean Sweep, which I actually cannot even watch because it makes me angsty. It was more of a consistently piley cluttery step-over-stuffy sort of environment. And that stresses me out, especially when I'm carrying a baby in one hand and an armful of stuff in the other.

Enter the Flylady.

Flylady wants us to have a clean house. Not OCD clean. Not clean at the expense of your family's sanity and all your spare time clean. Flylady believes that if I spend 15 minutes a day tidying up and one hour a week with a vacuum and a duster, the house will become clean and stay clean.

Flylady emails me friendly reminders about things like "rebooting the laundry". Cute, huh? Rebooting it means that if it's not folded and put away, I need to get off my tuckus and move it one step closer to that status. Flylady wants the last thing I do every day to be a ritual Shining of my Sink. Not a metaphor. A shiny kitchen sink is the key to a clean house. Flylady wants me to sort the junkmail before it even gets inside the house so it doesn't pile up. Flylady wants me to set a timer for 15 minutes, walk into the Room of the Week, and, working clockwise (NEVER COUNTER-CLOCKWISE ONLY CLOCKWISE), I should hum a merry tune whilst "blessing my home" with cleanliness.

What pisses me off is that it works. Instead of spending a big chunk of time every evening stomping around with a Swiffer and clearing off the table (again) and getting frustrated with what doesn't get done, I spend less than half an hour focusing on whatever today's mission is and then I'm done.

I'll be damned if the house isn't clean and the laundry isn't folded and put away.

Sometimes she gets a bit Thankful To Our Lord, and the stuff she has for "WOHMs" (work outside-the home moms, as opposed to stay at home moms) is obviously attached as an afterthought, but I like that she advocates the creation of a system. Her methods require the creation and implementation of routines, and that makes me very happy. I love systems and routines like nobody's business.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go shine my stupid sink.

Angels On Earth And Up Above

There are things about being a parent that nothing can prepare you for. I mean, in the months preceding Ava's birth, we were inundated with advice. And a lot of it was useful. Like how one of my besties recommended Aquaphor for diaper rash issues. Best advice ever. And how someone said to take pictures of us holding the baby, not just of the baby. Awesome.

Nobody warned me about how time would slip away as it does. Ava and I get home around 6:15 and before I know it it's midnight and time to go to bed and hope that she sleeps through the night (she still does most nights) so that Rob and I can get 6 good hours of sleep before we start all over again.

Nobody warned me about how her milestones would affect me. One day a couple of months ago, it's like she just woke up and became this little person. She's aware of us, of herself, of her hands, of her feet, of the dog, of the world. Last weekend we were at the cabin (yeah, I know, pics and video will be up at some point) and Grams reached for her and she gave this big smile and opened her arms so wide and was so happy to be picked up. It was the first time she had done this, and while she'll do it a thousand times or more in her life, this felt so important. She didn't passively get passed around. She wanted to be where she was going.

Nobody warned me about how my heart would break when learning about a child drowning (or being found IN A FREAKING DUMPSTER OMG WORST STORY EVER) on the news. I get this cold, tangibly sharp fear that just courses through me for a second like a knife when I think of anything happening to Ava or any of my friends' kids or just about any kid at all.

Nobody warned me about how I would feel when learning about a friend's miscarriage. Oh, this was a bad week for that. I'm part of an online community, and this week, two of the ladies who I've gotten to know (there are probably a hundred total) lost their babies. One was 20 weeks along and it's not the first time it has happened to her and hearing that awful news was almost more than I could bear. If you have a minute, say a prayer for Alma and sweet baby Brooke.

Must. Lighten. Up.

Nobody warned me about how hard it would be to pull out the little clothes that once seemed so big on our little girl that are now too small for her and put them in storage to make room for the next size up. Ava is now 17-1/2 pounds, and in the 6-9 month sizes. For such a little punkin, she's awfully big :). Switching out the clothes forces us to see just how much she's grown--she's gained 10 pounds! Such a big girl :).

Nobody warned me about what it would be like to see my father holding my daughter and pointing out the things that he thinks are important for her to see. It's so funny to see him shift into Gramps mode.

I'm realizing that we all waited such a long time for Ava to join us, like we were in a holding pattern until she got here. We were just killing time, and now we're scrambling to slow it down.

We Do The Best We Can With What We Have

I have time to blog at work (shhhhhh don't tell my boss) but I have pictures and video at home. I've been trying to somehow coordinate the two, but it's just not happening. I'll get pictures up later this week. Or next week, because it's already Thursday. Crap. I'm almost out of week.

I honestly thought I knew what it was to be busy. I had no idea. There's no way to predict just how much stuff would need to be crammed into a 24-hour period. My going back to work has really caused us to take a hard look at what is actually important--what really truly honestly needs to happen. The initial guilt of putting a Very Small Baby into full-time daycare was soon overshadowed by an overwhelming need to re-evaluate everything I do in the time spent away from her. One day, as I was looking at the picture I have of her on my desk, I just felt so sad. I didn't feel like what I was doing (probably playing Bejeweled on Facebook or reading Perez Hilton) was worthy of filling the time. I missed her so much, and in order make the time away from her count, I realized that I better damn well do my job the best way I know how.

It was like a lightning bolt. Because the reality of our situation is that we both work. Being sad about having to work and pissing away the time does not change that. Ava is not in daycare so as to allow me to watch the TV shows that I miss because I need to get some sleep.

My job is not my dream job--I'm not actually sure what my dream job would be. But I do like what I do. It's interesting. I meet so many fascinating people and I learn about different cultures and places. There is a lot of bureaucratic BS to cull through, but I like the part of my job that requires me to figure stuff out and break it down in a way that people who don't speak much English can figure out. Before, I came to work, I did my job, and went home and got on with my life.

It's different now. I'm on committees (well, one committee, but I've only been back a month; there are more committees forthcoming, I'm sure). I return phone calls (ugh, I hate voicemail) promptly. I take a more active role in the daily operations of my office and I actually contributed to the birthday fund instead of quietly avoiding the collection requests and tactfully refusing cake (most of the time...). I don't know if anybody has noticed, but I feel better for doing it. It makes the time spent away from that precious girl go faster, and I feel better about why I'm not with her all day every day.

It's after 5 now. I'm off to go pick her up and get a big squirmy gummy-grinned hug before we embark on the schlep home. Incidentally, the schlep home is less of an ordeal because of a carpool lane with a 2-person requirement--and a baby in a carseat? Totally counts as a second person.

A Weary World Rejoices

I started maternity leave on Monday about halfway through the day. I've been running pretty tired lately, and on Monday all signs were pointing to "OH just go home already!" So I did. It's been a good week ever since. I'm getting some stuff done around the house (OMG the kitchen positively sparkles!). I'm catching up on my daytime TV, and chick movies. I have reacquainted myself with the Wii, and I'm unlocking all sorts of marvelous worlds on Super Mario Galaxy. Maternity leave is pretty dull with no baby, though. I'm confident that once she gets here, things will pick up. I'm off through March 23. YAY!

Rob is at work today, but will have the next 6 days off and will be off Thursday and Friday of next week as well, and we're both looking forward to that. I don't think we realized how necessary having a few days off together before the real fun starts would be.

We didn't decorate for Christmas this year. It just felt like too much to deal with. And while it's weird to have a Christmas tree-scented candle instead of an actual tree, I feel like it's letting me see how different this Christmas is from last year, and all previous years, and how next year is going to be a whole new ball game. Ever since my mom died, Christmas has been kind of an iffy time of year for me. We spent a lot of years just grinding through the holidays because we felt like we had to. Some years, it was so comforting to bake the cookies and unpack the decorations that I grew up with. Some years, not so much. With the addition of Rob and Florence to our fractured family, we've rediscovered the joy that we used to have every year when I was a kid.

Last Christmas, we had the usual big lit-up tree and all the holiday stuff out and it was just wonderful to come home to see that every evening. Rob and I opened our presents on Christmas Eve (as usual because I can never wait and I'm a grown-up now so I don't have to) and it was just nice and quiet. On Christmas morning, we had breakfast and as we were waiting to go over to Dad & Florence's for dinner, I remember just thinking how quiet it was. Really quiet. Too quiet. It was serene and peaceful and we were very contented, but I felt like something was missing.

So here we are a year later and it's a whole different type of quiet. It feels more like Christmas than last year. There's a sense of anticipation--like when you're 8 years old and you KNOW there's an Atari under the tree but you have to wait and it's so hard but it will be so cool when you can finally tear into that one gift and spend the rest of your life being hypnotized by it. Yeah, it's like that. And no Christmas ever again will be spent waiting or hoping for more than we have right there with us.

Now go drink some egg nog. If you're feeling extra sassy, put some brandy in it and raise it in our direction. Next year, we'll return the toast. Merry Christmas from our family to yours.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Baby Gear

Yesterday was my shower. I don't consider myself as someone who is into stuff like that. Other people's showers have always been fun, but not generally something that I've really gotten into. Being on the other side of it, in the midst of all of our preparations and the Big Discussions that are happening right now about what's going on and how we'll proceed have put the concept of Baby Shower into a whole new light.

There is nothing as optimistic, as hopeful, as wistful, as sympathetic as a baby shower. Women (not men--more on that in a minute) at all stages of life get together to give not only gifts, but advice and support based on their experiences. They tell stories that have no other suitable audience than other shower guests. The stories are intimate, funny, terrifying, and they create bonds between women who may have not much else in common. You learn things about your friends and their relationships that may not otherwise be revealed in any other situation. Heirlooms are passed along--either cherished family items that you have seen in pictures for years, or something as simple as your friend's diaper caddy basket that she is done with and knows how handy it will be for you.

Men do not belong at baby showers. They just don't get it. Even great dads who are 100% hands-on and they take other dads under their wings and give great advice, have no place at a baby shower. I've been to co-ed showers, both for babies and for weddings, and the men invariably flee into the other room to talk about anything besides weddings or babies and maybe watch some sports. No, showers belong to women.

My guests were my friends who are better sisters to me than my actual sister ever tried to be, my in-laws who have welcomed me into their family, a newlywed wife of just over a month, grandmothers, mothers of older kids and toddlers, mothers who won't have more kids and mothers who just might. They talked about how to get through those first treacherous weeks and what helped them do it. They compared notes (special wipes or regular wipes--there was a moment of tension over this one...) and drank wine and gave me an amazing afternoon.

One of my dearest friends made me a cake out of diapers. I had heard of such a thing, but I thought it was an urban myth. Ro, if you see this, the memory of those two tiers of rolled-up diapers (and bibs and hooded towel) will make me smile for years to come. My friend Kathy came down for the weekend and helped me sort through the gifts and put together a list of what we'll need to pick up (um, we don't own a single bottle...) and what we have plenty of (washcloths). She's going to send down her Pack & Play that will serve as a bassinette for the first few weeks. Tina offered up her expertise on helping me shop for nursing gear, and Katie made a stack of be-ribboned burp cloths that I am hesitant to use but I know they will come in handy. Everyone gave something that struck them as necessary, either by its cuteness (onesies with ladybugs on them? CUTE!), its convenience (a sterilizer that goes in the microwave!) or its faith (a wall-hanging with a prayer on it that will be the first thing seen as you walk into the room).

We probably have about 3 weeks left before the baby is born. We know that we're about to have life as we know it become almost entirely rearranged. We are surrounded by people who are itching to help us get through it. And we can't wait.

Kick Me!

Speck has made her presence known. They tell you to expect a flutter, or some other really light delicate sensation. Night before last, I'm laying down poking around my belly hoping to feel something, and I guess she got tired of being nudged around and she SHOVED up against my hands. Scared the hell out of me. Once we established that she was indeed still safely in utero, we came to the conclusion that our offspring may turn out to be a bit, um, active. Pray for us and anything that is breakable in our home...

For the record, she's poking me right now, and has been all day.

This morning I had another OB check--heartbeat (hers, 156 bpm), blood pressure (mine, 112/60), weight (mine, no comment but still within reasonable parameters). Right now, she's about the size of an average banana. She's measuring right where she should, and we're feeling very smug about our ability to make such a perfect child. Remind us of this feeling someday, perhaps after we catch her borrowing a car without permission, or some other such shenanigan that may or may not have had a precedent set by one or both of her parents.

This weekend we'll be in San Diego, and we're really really REALLY looking forward to getting out of town. Between the weather (hot, sticky), work (crazy), school (Rob, and he's seeing the light at the end of that tunnel) and preparing for our Blessed Event, we're a bit frazzled.

That's about it. I'm back at the peri next week, so there should be pictures and much gushing from us :).

Well it's been a big week...

Just when we were starting to calm down and just sort of sit back and avoid the heat, we found a car that was just what we were looking for: big enough to haul a baby and accompanying gear, a 90 pound dog and accompanying gear, us and accompanying gear, but not so big that it would break us one $4.25 gallon at a time. It was rapidly becoming time to part with Rob's beloved Mustang, which has been a great car but is on the verge of needing some work if we were to keep it. So on Monday, Rob left the house in this

and returned that night in this



It's a Honda Pilot, and it is awesome. It's a 2006, and it's in great condition and we think it's going to be just what we needed. It's got enough ground clearance to get us into the cabin in Utah without getting high-centered. We're pretty happy with it.

Nothing new as far as the baby goes. I'm 16 weeks along, and everything seems to be normal. We're making progress on the room--the bed and desk are cleaned off and we have a plan for the rest. A couple more months and we should be ready to start making it into a suitable room for Speck :). Next doctor's appointment is on July 31, and then I see the perinatalogist on August 6. While I don't want to get my hopes up, I'm thinking that at one of those appointments, we'll find out if Speck is a boy or a girl. We'll keep you posted.

As an added bonus, here's a pic of how Gracie is staying cool this summer :).