BLOW Me.

First off, quick aside.  I had every intention of posting this yesterday, but then our power flicked off and on and the wireless router died for the dozenth time this year and then refused to come back.  And so I was without internet, because I refused to sit down like a normal person and plug into the ethernet cable.  Because - WIRES! The weight of it all, the tied-down-ness.  It was all more than I could bear.  Also I was somewhat busy digging my way out of the pit of despair our house descended into over the course of the busy weekend.

So now things are back to normal, the house is no longer in danger of being condemned, and Big Daddy picked up a spankin' new wireless router, thus restoring my faith in the internets. All is mostly right with the world.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled insanity.

I may have mentioned once or twice or eleventy-billion times that I have a small problem with phone anxiety.  

Talking to strangers or even acquaintances over the phone has been known to give me heart palpitations, sweaty palms, and halitosis.

So it was a big step for me to spend an hour chatting with Pete of Fiddley Gomme for his Blogger Love On Wednesdays podcast.

Pete is an incredibly personable guy, and I have a feeling he'd be great to set with over a couple of beers.  Not that lightweight Utah stuff, where they water the beer down to like 4 percent.  I'm talking good, New England Lager beers.  

That said, I'm also fairly sure that I talked too much, talked too fast, and meandered down Tangent Lane a few too many times.  I mentioned to him (off recording) that I have been living happily in my little bubble of relative anonymity, and I'm somewhat ambivalent about venturing out into new territory. I've never received hate mail, nor have I had to deal with trolls and other lower life forms.  It's like the Garden of Eden -- all naively exuberant exploration without any real consequences.

It's probably to be expected, then, that I'm feeling a little anxious about letting that go and moving on into the Big Bad World.

But moving on I am.  I started with getting my ticket to BlogHer for this year... and now everyone except my Mom can tune in to Pete's B.L.O.W. podcast this Wednesday to hear me interviewed.   He's too nice to tell you that I'm as awkward to talk to on the phone as you would imagine, but I suspect he required a stiff drink and perhaps a high colonic in order to recover from exposure to all hundred kinds of my crazy.  Anyway, be sure to give it a listen so that you, too, can hear me cackle like a hyena and possibly talk about conceiving my children under the influence of too much wine. 

Thanks, Pete.  You're a gentleman and a scholar. :)

Technicolor Spectacular

So last night was the Tee Ball Team Party.  The season ended all-too-quickly, and I'm already feeling unexpectedly nostalgic for Saturday afternoons at the ball field.  

The players, coaches, and parents met up at a restaurant to engage in the time-honored tradition of the Team Pizza Party.  The pizza and soda flowed, and we wrapped up the journey we have taken together over the past few months with a spectacular cake.

This cake was a replica of, what else, a baseball diamond - complete with rich green grass and muddy brown infield.  The colors were really quite eye-popping.

And the point of this little anecdote (about which none of you really give a flying rat's buttocks) is to get us back to this morning.  Specifically, you may follow me to the bathroom where I had to help Jack wipe his bum this morning.

He usually does this on his own now, you see, but he was in a bit of a panic because his poop was the exact color of green Play Doh.  Which scared the junk out of me - until I remembered that frosting.  I explained to him about the color coming out the same as it went in, and he finally came around to believing his insides weren't about to spontaneously combust.

And just to drive home the point, about 20 minutes later I did my own Play Doh-tinted party trick.  Which, of course, he demanded to inspect - just to be sure I wasn't pulling his leg about the food-coloring.

Welcome to The Family Aum.... where we are comfortable enough to critique each others' technicolor poo.  That's real LOVE, man.   

Tweet Tweet.

Oh dear. I mean, I can already tell you that a medium that allows me to vent, in 140 characters or less, exactly what is on my mind at any given moment of the day - and with insane ease, no less - is probably not a good idea.

That said, I'm doing it anyway. Because I can. Leastways, until I get sick of the noises coming from my own brain.

So you can now continue to follow the minutiae of my deranged mind over at Twitter.

Caution: May cause sudden onset of narcolepsy. Not surprisingly, the little thoughts I have over the course of the day make for less-than-riveting entertainment. You have been warned.

Still Standing

Or, more accurately, still sitting. Or laying down. Or schlepping my bulk from one room to the next, then to preschool and back again.

On the up side, I finally feel like there is light at the end of the tunnel. If I ever do this again slap me upside the head remind me that spending my first trimester in the darkest, coldest, gloomiest months of winter is not absolutely the brightest idea ever.

But, at last, the sun is creeping back out from its long winter nap, and yesterday the boys and I even sat out on the front lawn with some friends and had an impromptu picnic snack. The kids ran and giggled and fell down a lot, and generally behaved like you might expect from children who have been cooped up all winter and then suddenly released into the sunshine out in the Big Blue Room.

Other than that, though, there's not much new to report. We bought a new mattress for our bed! It's quite comfy, thank you. Definitely an improvement over the 20-year-old one we replaced. That mattress had grown so lumpy and awkward to sleep on that I would not have been surprised to find a body under it when I pulled it off to put the new one down. (Luckily, the only thing I found were several lonely socks.)

And before you go lecturing the pregnant woman on the idiocy of hauling a couple of queen-size mattresses around all by myself (with my herniated L5, 'natch), let me remind you that my idiocy has been long established on this site. You're not telling me anything I don't already know, or anything that my mother won't be telling me in a string of panicked emails as soon as she reads this. Hi Mom!

T has to head back to Ye Olde Czech Republic for a week or so, after which we will be celebrating my 29th birthday in style. Which is to say, in Amish Country. We try to take an annual trip to Lancaster County so that I can stock up on my yearly requirement of pepper jelly and handicrafts. We didn't make it last year, and the year before that we had only an abbreviated trip when we drove up to procure the devil demon dog, Gizmo. YOU know, "He who chews everything in sight, including my favorite black boots and several thousand toys and that one time he got ahold of one of the steaks before we got them on the grill and then I had to melt him with my heat vision." Yeah, him.

The time before that I happened to be pregnant with Tobin. I have the photos to prove it, as T took this photo of me outside a shop in our favorite shopping spot:

And, of course, now that the belly is burgeoning once again we'll likely take yet another opportunity to remind everyone that yes, we apparently enjoy The Sex, because here we are.. yet another bun in this here oven. I'll post the follow-up pic after our trip because - c'mon - we both know you're dying to see if I still look that smiley and happy-faced this time around, because - really? - THREE?

And yes, really, Three. And maybe another one if we are so inclined, but no decisions on that yet and definitely not beyond that because five is CRAZY territory, and it's another well-established fact that we have quite enough crazy around here already. Just ask any of the people I met at my sister's wedding. They were apparently forewarned that I am The Crazy Sister. True story.
(Also - on five being the crazy territory - Hi SB!! Love yer bunz!)

The other day one of the grand-dads who does drop-off duty at the preschool overheard that I was expecting once again. He looked at Jack yanking on my hand to hurry me to his class, and Toby clinging desperately to my leg and whimpering about "Choo Choo! And cookies, woman, COOKIES!" and said "And you haven't figured out yet how that happens?" and I smiled weakly and chuckled at his joke and then went home and ate a bag of M&M's - THE END.

And Then I Exploded and Died, The End.

I just ate about half a pound of beer-simmered sauerkraut.

I feel no shame on this account.

If I still needed proof of the pregnancy, this would about cover it.

Also, I apologize in advance to my fellow inhabitants of the Potomac Region for the blast of unholy wind that will doubtless make its way to the coast later this evening. Because sauerkraut + pregnant digestion = gas that would shame even my dog, and he was born without the necessary higher brain functions to feel actual shame. But trust me... if this was HIS gas, he would be ashamed.

But, for the record? OHMYGOODNESS how I do love me some sauerkraut.

Even if it means I might actually explode outwards from the inner pressure, thus ending a short but beautiful existence in a rare example of Death By Flatulence.

The End. (And you're welcome.)

Under Penalty Of Law

My sister went and tagged me. And, being that I am hormonal and emotional and that holy freaking crap, my boobs hurt, it's actually a relief to have this post write itself.

For the record, though? Vinegar cravings: check. Bloated like a drowned corpse: check. Falling asleep without warning: check.

But a sudden craving for a Wendy's baked potato? Really? And since when does the slightest tinge of hunger mean a wave of nausea? And when did children's television become so emotional? Because I don't remember Oswald getting me misty-eyed before.

Not that I'm complaining.... I mean, this is probably my last pregnancy. I guess I should enjoy the weirdness, aye? In a way, it makes my usual life seem almost... normal. *grin*

AND, away we go.

What was I doing ten years ago?
I was getting ready to run, screaming into the night, from BYU. I'd been in a stark clinical depression for months, without having any idea what depression was. I kept a blanket over my window and slept most of the day, worked nights at a movie theather, and cleaned house for one of my sisters on Fridays. I had no money, only one friend I trusted to talk to, and no idea where I was headed. I was just beginning my journey out of Mormonism, starting to put words to the feelings and ideas I was struggling with. It was the most difficult time of my life.

What are five things on my to do list?
Finish my crochet project
Finish Barack Obama's book, "The Audacity of Hope"
Find 5 new recipes to try out for dinners next week
Research how I'd go about starting a vegetable garden in the back yard
Get ready for my new business venture this summer (more on that in a later post)

What are three of my bad habbits?
Biting my fingernails
Leaving wrappers around the house
Making "to-do" piles on the counter; bills to pay, letters to write, appointments to schedule, etc.


Places I have lived?
Washington, Michigan, Virginia, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, California, Washington D.C., West Virginia



What are some things that most people don't know about me?
I have no known allergies except for very mild hayfever.
I had no idea how to cook until encouraged by my mother-in-law to learn. Now, I'm actually quite pleased with my culinary skills.
One of my most cherished dreams is to write and illustrate a children's book.
I never talk religion with my family, except for one sister I'm extremely close to, and I'm not even sure my whole family is aware I officially ended my membership in the LDS Church.


And THAT, my friends, will bring us to a close for today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to actually... like.. get dressed, and stuff. My kids are mumbling something about snack time, and I try to be at least mostly-dressed for preschool drop-off in the afternoons.

Yours in sleepy, sleepy, oh my howdy the tired is like a disease and I actually fell asleep folding laundry the other day and can't you see how all these italics are stressing the depths of my tired, tired pregnant..um..ness? Amen.

Of Sisters and (Not-So) Secrets.

My sister has a blog! Did I mention that before?

Well, I mention it now because the buyer who was supposed to close on their Utah house just lost financing. SO they are still stuck with 2 houses, and she's having a bad day. Also? Apparently someone in our faux-prudish family busted her for telling the story of how the Angel came to sit atop the Christmas tree. (Personally, I laughed the first time I read it a few years ago... and again when she posted it.)

SO I felt the urge to write her a poem. Because I am just the sort of sister who is helpful that way. I mean, really, what ills exist in life that a silly poem cannot cure? Well, a poem or a bazillion dollars. Since spiders are now nesting in my empty wallet and the bank card audibly whimpered when I paid for gas yesterday (Thank You Christmas) I opted to go the poem route.

For your reading pleasure:

A Poem.

So sorry to hear that your buyer fell through
That sucks more than a Christmas tree up the wazoo
It may be that your humor's a little askew,
But I'm your sister, and mine is, too.
When it comes to warped humor there's one thing that's true
It's not far from the oak tree that we acorns grew.

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

And now for something completely different!

For weeks I have been planning a surprise getaway with T for tonight. Before the Spinal Injections of Doom, before the Great Appendix Crisis of 2007. I have been telling him I am taking him out to dinner at a surprise location.

In truth, I arranged with the owner of a local B&B (who also happens to be another mom from Jack's preschool class) to get a room at the Inn for an incredible price, as well as have a lovely dinner and breakfast for the 2 of us there.

Now, given that he is my most avid reader, you may be saying "But how is it a surprise if you're writing about it here?" And to that, my friend, I say "Exactly."

You see for the last several months T has always worked from home on Fridays. Like clockwork. Without deviation. But, due to the aforementioned Appendix Crisis and yesterday's Christmas program at Jack's school, he has been working from home a lot lately. And so, yesterday, he announced he would be going into the office tomorrow.

I argued with as much feigned disinterest as possible. I attempted to dissuade him, to cajole him, to be insistent to the point of obnoxious -- all without divulging the secret reason for my objection.

Finally, after losing the argument and starting to panic, I spilled the beans. For which, incidentally, T is very happy. Now he can look forward to our getaway all day today, and has also made arrangements to make his schedule fit for tomorrow. So, while I'm disappointed that I didn't manage to totally blindside him (this time) (2 surprise birthday parties and 1 very arduously-attained signed copy of his favorite childhood novel having been sprung on him without a hitch) I am glad that it doesn't change the fact that we have an entire evening to look forward to. Alone. Together. With our Scrabble board.

That's not a euphemism, by the way. We always play scrabble when we have a night alone. Also, we put together puzzles. Of course we also engage in activities befitting two consenting adults with a king-size bed and a jacuzzi at our disposal, but seriously - we can do that at home. Me? I'm looking forward to the Scrabble and the trash talk over a bottle of Cabernet. That, my friends, is something much more difficult to accomplish with any peace and success at home.

May you all have a romantical-type evening (or at least a relaxing one). 'Tis the season to lose your mind in the whirlwind, after all, and we all deserve a little R&R at a B&B once in a while - or at least a reasonable facsimile.

I mean, you haven't really lived until you've played Strip Scrabble, baby.

So Long, Farewell... NaBloPoMo

What a long, strange month it has been.

Big Daddy T has been absent for most of the month and, as it turns out, he will be leaving us again on Sunday. 10 more days in Singapore. The month of December is now defiled with this incessant business travel, but at least he'll be back in time for Jack's preschool Christmas Program.

Looking back over this year's NaBlo, I realize how much faster it has gone by. It's a different year, and life is getting busier with each one that passes. I had high hopes for 2007 and, while it wasn't the worst year or even a bad one, really, it certainly has not lived up to some of my high expectations.

We'll pretend, for argument (and sanity) sake that this is the fault of the year and not any fault of my own. Because we don't want to sully NaBloPoMo with accusations of "fault" or "blame", now, do we?

Besides, by the time I finish this post, pop a few ibuprofen for my back, and climb under the covers for a little Dr. Mario to put myself to sleep (Nintendo DS plays Game Boy Advance games. I can kill candy-colored germs with multicolored Panatol to my geeky little heart's content) it will officially be December.

I shall celebrate by taking the weekend off from Blogging, and returning to you on Monday - hopefully refreshed and raring to go.

I leave you with a little game we like to call "5 things you didn't (want to) know about me."

1) I used to have my belly button pierced. When I got pregnant with Jack, I took out the ring. I got stretch marks all over my belly, but around the hole from the piercing the stretch marks formed in the shape of a star. I spent the last part of my pregnancies looking like a stretch-mark-star-bellied sneetch. Which I thought was awesome. (Still do.)

2) I cannot abide the taste of eggplant. I have tried it baked, boiled, steamed, grilled, and fried. Also as part of parmigiana, mashed with garlic, and on pizza. I hated it in every case. This continues to mystify many of my relatives, as they absolutely love the stuff. I find the texture snot-like, and it tastes like I imagine boiled cardboard would. I am subsequently a target of suspiscion and disbelief, as they are mystified that anyone could possibly harbor such a vile opinion of poor, innocent eggplant.

3) When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in my blankets at night, cover myself up entirely, and pretend I lived in the hollow top of a mountain. There was a hinged lid which I could open to gather supplies -- usually snow to melt for water and maybe some wild berries or a rabbit to skin and eat. All of this was, of course, entirely imaginary. I may have read a few too many Laura Ingalls Wilder stories at around the same time.

4) I often sleep in a t-shirt that my niece, Victoria, made for me when she was 10 years old. She is now 15. It has a tracing of her 11-year-old hand print and drawings of flowers and sunshine. She made it when she was still a little girl, all stick-figure drawings and knobby knees. Now she's turning into a teenage girl - chasing boys, weighing invitations to the prom, looking forward to getting her learner's permit. But I have this t-shirt that proves that she wasn't always the adolescent heartbreaker; once she was just a little girl who made a t-shirt for her aunt because I was the epitome of cool. You know, before I got old and, like, totally lame and whatever.

5) I got my first spray-on tan today. I no longer have the remnants of my Summer farmer tan to ruin the lines of my pretty party dress. Also, it did not turn me orange, for which I will give thanks to the Artificial Sun Gods. It was a risk, but it turned out well. Thankyouverymuch, Amen.

Nap. Desperately Need.

For one reason or another, y'all, I am tired. I mean bone weary, fall asleep at 10 and sleep until 10 on a weekend, where is my coffee because SOMEONE IS GOING TO DIE IF I DON'T HAVE IT RIGHT NOW tired.

This morning was a flurry of driving to's. To the pediatrician's office (15 miles away) to help them combine 2 different sets of medical records in order to have a current immunizations record for Jack. To the gas station to put air (again) in my back right tire, which appears to have a slow leak, and grab cheese and croissants for the kids for "lunch". To the preschool to have both kids photographed and digitally fingerprinted for emergency records. Finally, to home, where it was too late to put Toby down for a nap - which explains why he is now running, pantless, through the living room and screaming like a rabid chimpanzee.

My brilliant plan for this afternoon involves picking Jack up from school, putting gas in my van (which is running on the gasping vapors that are left when even most of the fumes have been burned up), feeding my child something more substantial than cheddar and pastry, and maybe decorating the front yard for Halloween. If there happens to be an extra corpse in the yard when I'm done? Don't worry, it's only me -- passed out like a wino in the unmowed grass.

Tomorrow is my first day of physical therapy. I'm supposed to get rehabilitated for the herniated or ruptured disc in my back, but all I heard was "massage" and I was sold. Mama could use a few thousand of those.

Big Daddy came home on Thursday, to much fanfare. We celebrated with Mexican food at Anita's Restaurant, which was lovely. And also, reminds me of an OverShare I've been meaning to do....

So a few months ago, I was offered a free two-month supply of a new product called "Align" for treating IBS. I asked if there was any sort of catch to the deal, and the nice marketing rep assured me that there was no catch -- but they would appreciate an honest review of the product. After the time I have spent in the doctor's office trying to figure out if there was anything that could be done to help my digestive issues (See? I did warn you about the OverShare) I figured it couldn't hurt. Also, the suggestions of my gastroenterologist all involved things like "Reduce your stress" and "give up caffeine and spicy food" and really, you may as well just start digging now.

So I got the package of little white pills in the mail, I read all the literature, and I decided to give Align a try. (I'm sure there's supposed to be little (TM)'s around that, but I'm far too tired right now to use up the brain power of trying to figure that out, so let's just remind everyone that's a trademarked name. kthxbye.)

With the miscarriage earlier this year, I got a little delayed in testing it out. Once I recovered, though, and got started... I have to say I am impressed. Basically, it's probiotics in pill form. Which means that it's a lovely alternative to choking down 3 or 4 containers of yogurt every day. Especially if, like me, you aren't really a big fan of yogurt. Unless it's frozen and made of chocolate, in which case I make a special exception, but... I digress.

Align worked like quite the charm, and with the back problems and general insanity of attempting to tread water in the deep end of motherhood and housewifery... well, at least it made me regular. Please note that I received no compensation, etc, for that thoroughly articulated and glowing review. I just said I'd give my honest opinion and, once it's available to buy (which I don't believe it is quite yet) I highly recommend Align and will probably buy it regularly. Pun? Totally intended.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go tempt fate with a cup of coffee and some more driving. While I ponder when, exactly, it was that I morphed into an 80-year-old woman.

Happy Tuesday!