Virginia is for Lovers. And Screamers.

We went to visit my sister and her family last week in Falls Church, Virginia. We got there Tuesday afternoon and stayed with them until Saturday afternoon. We went to a nature center, to the zoo, and to Mount Vernon. It was so wonderful to spend time with Leah and her kids, and I am so proud to say that Eleanor took a strong liking to me, and would even request to sit in my lap when Leah was around. That's huge, you guys. HUGE. And Philip is such a lover, he would constantly pat my stomach and talk to the baby, telling me what it was going to be (I think he settled on boy, finally) and telling me he loved me. Leah and I had a lot of great talks, and Michael and Brandon were able to go have a boys' hour at a wine a cheese shop.

And what about Elijah? Oh, Elijah... my suddenly 2-year-old mess. He's a very scheduled boy, our Elijah. And being off his schedule for that many days in a row, combined with sleeping with me and Michael for all but one night, turned him into a raving lunatic. I told Leah I'm just sorry she didn't get to see the sweet, happy boy with whom I spend my days. But, all told, he did a lovely job rolling with the activities (barring the fits at the zoo, which were probably my most horrifying parenting moments thus far). And through all those days and all the cousin-picture opportunities, I took a grand total of zero pictures. I even had the video camera with me, but still failed to get any proof of our being there. Leah took maybe five, and she has them on Facebook, if you're so inclined to go find them. I would steal them to put up here, but I'm honestly too lazy.

Saturday afternoon we headed toward our hotel in Baltimore because we were flying out early Sunday morning, and we decided to make a pit stop at the Natural History Museum in DC along the way. Michael didn't tell me until we got there that he had been dreaming of taking his own child to the museum since he was 15, so I'm really glad we did it. I only wish we had had a little more time, but the benefits of Michael working out of DC are that (1) he's there at least twice a month and (2) he earns enough free flights that our going with him is relatively inexpensive.

Anyway, Elijah loved the museum (until the end, but you'll see that in a second). We were basically running through the exhibits which, let's be honest here, is probably better for a kid his age anyway. He saw lots of dinosaur bones, or as he calls them, "chomp-chomps."

The fact that he smiled for these pictures is pretty amazing to me, and I will flash them everywhere until I get more. Which might take a while.

Then we ran over to the mammal section, which was by far his favorite. We talked about all the different animals, and he wanted to touch them all. Good thing they're all behind glass.

He always talks about the baby giraffe at the Nashville Zoo, so this guy was a hit.

All these pictures were taken with Michael's phone, so the shutter was slow. I was trying to get him reaching toward this lioness with both hands as he said, so seriously, "Hold me?", which means, "Can I hold this?" He was only temporarily disappointed, because then we saw THE HIPPO. My mom bought him a copy of Sandra Boynton's Hippos Go Berserk, so we've been reading that a lot lately. He was excited to see one in person, but his energy was starting to wane. When I asked him for one more picture, one more smile for the camera, this is what we got:

After that, we decided to make a quick exit, but not before running through the polar exhibit. And here's one of my two favorite stories from the trip: 

The polar exhibit is all white, and it's kind of like a tunnel, where they have things hollowed out so you can see the animals as if they were under water. There's also a part at the top that's glass, where a giant stuffed polar bear is staring down at you through the ceiling. I said, "Oh, look, Elijah! It's a polar bear!" And since he was riding on Michael's shoulders, he was much closer to it and looked up in awe. Then he stretched out those sweet little hands and said, "Excuse me, bear. Up me?"

We spent the night at the Embassy Suites near BWI (word to the wise: if you have a baby/toddler who needs quiet to sleep, do not go to an Embassy Suites. The design of their buildings leaves the entire middle section open, which means that 200 pre-adolescent girls who are going to see Justin Beiber will scream ALL. EVENING. in the open air atrium and keep your kid awake). The next morning, poor Elijah cried when Daddy's bag disappeared into the abyss behind the Southwest counter, and then got happy when Daddy took him on the moving sidewalks over. And over. And over again. Finally, as we were descending into Nashville, my other favorite story happened. 

Elijah was watching a show on the iPad, but had been fussy for a while, and was starting to get really annoyed with being cooped up. He was also pulling furiously on his ears, so I said, hoping to alleviate some of his frustration, "Here, honey. Take a drink. It'll make your ears feel better." He just stared at me, then slowly took his cup, but didn't do anything. "Take a drink. It'll make your ears feel better." Still moving slowly, but staring at me as if I were crazy, he placed the nib of his sippy cup in one ear, and then the other. I thought Michael was going to fall out of his seat. It took another minute, but I finally convinced Elijah to put his cup into his mouth.

Now we're home, getting back into the swing of things, and preparing for a birthday non-party on Saturday. It's just going to be Michael's immediate family and maybe Eric and his kids. I decided not to do a theme or anything, just cupcakes and some snacks, and just let the kids play. Maybe I'm too tired, but I think I'm just thinking it's silly to put so much money and effort into something I'm going to throw away. Especially since he has no idea. And he's happy to just run around saying, "Birfday, Friday, 2!" all around the house. 

I'll leave you with the only picture I have of me pregnant... I'm one day shy of 29 weeks here.

And 6 weeks later

I'm halfway back into the land of the living. Today I was alone with Elijah for a total of two hours, and I changed my first dirty diaper in 6 weeks. There was some gagging and a lot of breath-holding, but we both survived. I hoping that next week will prove even more productive.

I was in bed for a total of 6 weeks and 2 days, and it's just been in the past few that I've been up and moving for more than a few minutes at a time. Yesterday I was up for the entire day -- and then went to bed at 7. But hey, you gotta start somewhere. I was officially 12 weeks pregnant on Sunday (I had another ultrasound that bumped my due date to December 4th), so we're hoping the first trimester's troubles are on their way out.

Today I am grateful for:
beautiful, beautiful babies (especially ones named Julia Jean who are born to my cousins)
an end in sight
a healthy 20(!)-month-old
the most patient husband a deliriously ill woman can ask for
modern medicine
and, maybe most passionately, my in-laws

I cannot even express how grateful I am to my in-laws for taking care of Elijah for the past six weeks. My mother-in-law, especially, has sacrificed so much time to come to my home, do laundry and dishes, change diapers, and brought me all sorts of random food, from Sonic vanilla Cokes (my most intense craving for this pregnancy) to Italian ices to crackers of all varieties. I start to cry just thinking about how I have no way to adequately thank her for everything she's done for me.

So how do you thank someone for that? Any ideas are welcome. And don't say just having her grandbaby is all the thanks she needs... I would've done that anyway. I need something else.

Coming Soon....

My triumphant return to Facebook! What makes it triumphant is not exactly clear, but I thought it sounded nice. Although I haven't missed it nearly as much as I thought I would, there are a select few friends whose posts I miss, and I miss having such a convenient way to communicate with so many at once.

And speaking of communicating with many people at once, I decided to do this post to save myself from making a ton of phone calls. Lazy? Perhaps. But also efficient. And that, my friends, is something I love to be. So, with that said, I efficiently proclaim --

The end of November will see baby number two!

Since everyone who reads this is family (or close friend), I thought it would be easier to announce it here. We are very excited, and prayerfully hoping that "the sickness" doesn't return. So far I've just had nausea in the mornings. Today was kind of rough for the first half of the day, but I'm being diligent about keeping food in my stomach, and it's helping (I think). My doctor is being proactive as well, so this one has to be better. Right? ... Right.

Cabo without the Wabo

"Cabo Wabo" refers to the wobble you do when trying to get home after too much tequila. We have not been doing any wabo-ing since we got here, but we're still having a blast. When we walked into the hotel's open-air lobby, the guy greeted us by saying, "Welcome to the Marquis los Cabos!" and a whale surfaced and blew out of its blowhole as if on cue behind him. It was perfect. Since then, we've seen probably 50 whales, mamas and babies, and lots of fish jumping around. The first couple of days, we were two of only about 20 people at the resort, so it was quiet and perfect for sitting next to the pool and reading our books. And despite slathering 30 SPF all over ourselves, we both still got a little burnt. But we've been staying out of the sun and enjoying ourselves immensely.

Friday morning found us on a two-hour beach horseback ride. Michael (I'm giving up trying to keep his name out of this thing) told the workers that I was an "experta," which mortified me a little, mostly because I thought they'd give me a crazy horse, but Ballo was like a pussy cat, and I had a great time. Michael got the slowest horse of the bunch, Gereno. One of the guides had to ride next to Michael for the first hour, whipping the horse and forcing him forward. And, at one point, Michael was hitting the horse's rear with the extra lead, and the knot on the end got stuck ... er ... under Gereno's tail. In a quite uncomfortable spot. Uh, yuck. But Gereno was much more inclined to trot home than he was to go away, so the way back was less eventful.

Today we went downtown to see the shopping situation and ate at Cabo Wabo Cantina, where I had a delicious strawberry margarita and ate lobster tacos. We got a couple little things for Elijah at the mall, then headed back to the hotel for some pool time before the nightly dinner. Tonight we ate at Sunset da Mona Lisa restaurant - the view was AMAZING. So gorgeous. The food was pretty good too.

So, each night Michael's company, along with paying for this whole trip and any drinks you order from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. every day, leaves gifts for us in our room. Thursday night we came in to find a camera, Friday we got sunglasses for both of us, and tonight we got a canvas beach bag, Michael got a North Face jacket, and I got a dress. This dress feels like heaven. The silk is fantastic, and the colors are really pretty. Only problem? The colors make me look like I'm dead. And the style makes me look like I'm pregnant. I think, okay, I can just sell this on eBay or something, right? No big deal. Oh, but here's another problem -- in order for Michael's company to write this stuff off on taxes, they have to put their name on everything. So this dress, this gorgeous silk dress, has the name of the company embroidered at the hem. Sure, the thread is the same color as the dress and no one could see it if they weren't searching for it. But it still makes me a little depressed. Maybe I'll use it as a nightgown. ... Wouldn't that be sad? I don't know what to do with it. Maybe I should just keep it and see if it looks as bad on me as I think it does. Sad.

Tomorrow Michael is going surfing, and I get the morning by the pool and a massage in the afternoon. Sigh. I love vacation. There's just this nagging feeling that I'm missing something... or someone ... a tiny someone, to be more specific. Even though we've video chatted with him every day, I still find myself wishing I had Elijah here. I cannot wait to squeeze that baby. Only 3 days left!

Sometimes I Truly Hate Technology.

Most of those times, it's because my husband is reading things on his iPad while "watching" t.v., but that is beside the point.

Last night we watched a movie on Blu-Ray, and I have never felt so old. Husband reset the whole stinking movie THREE TIMES while trying to turn the subtitles on (it was a British movie and I couldn't understand them very well). So I started complaining about how this darn new technology wasn't any better than DVDs because at least DVDs had a simple menu and it didn't have to restart everything just to tell you that there wasn't a subtitle menu. And then I felt old. But I still think Blu-Ray navigation can suck it, because it's terrible.

And then there's our camera, about which I shouldn't complain at all, because it's a DSLR that is wonderful and takes amazing pictures (despite my camera-work) and it was given to us as a gift. But the card reader - if it were I person, I would shake my head and say, "Bless its heart." But it's not. It's a no-good, persnickety, angry, contrary, piece of deliberate frustration. Not only does it simply not work on my Mac, it refuses to allow itself to be read by any computer in our house except one - Husband's 5-year-old Dell laptop that is so infested with spyware and viruses that it takes an hour to open Word. And after the card reader allows pictures to be moved from the card to the computer, I have no way to transfer them in their large state from one computer to another except through the teeny-tiny thumb drive that I bought in 2003, which can only hold (and I'm sure I'm exaggerating here) 3 pictures.

So in order for me to get pictures on this blog, I have to go through the following steps:
1. Take the picture.
2. Take the picture again because I had my hand in front of the flash / took it off auto-focus / took it off auto-whoknowswhat / forgot to close the curtains / some other ridiculous amateur mistake.
3. Get the card from the camera to the reader.
4. Take the reader to the basement.
5. Turn on Husband's super-crappy laptop.
6. Download pictures.
7. Go through pictures, pick the best ones.
8. Put them on a thumb drive.
9. Transfer thumb drive to desktop.
10. Upload pictures to desktop.
11. Upload pictures to Blogger.
12. Go back upstairs.
13. Finish post on my laptop.

I know those last two steps are unnecessary, but I prefer typing on my computer to the desktop, and because I'm a grown woman, I can do what I want.

There has to be a better way. But until I figure it out, I will leave you with this photo of Elijah (on the right) and his cousin, sporting their new NASA coats, which were brought to them last weekend by their smitten grandparents. This picture makes me laugh out loud every time I see it.

Not Completely Inept

Six months ago, Elijah slammed his bathroom door open so hard that the hinge popped off the door and three screws flew out into the playroom. I gathered the screws and dropped them into a soap dish on the bathroom counter, lamenting the baby's new-found joy of frustrating me (I had just told him to stop banging on the door, but was currently... indisposed, and unable to stop him. His glee at my obvious frustration was even more frustrating). About a month after that, I was moving the soap dish and two of the screws went down the drain. I shrugged and felt glad that we had at least one so I could replace the other two.

Because we are trying to get the house on the market, we have starting fixing the little things that we have lived with but that a potential buyer won't want to see. Today, right at Elijah's naptime, Husband decided it was time to fix the bathroom door. I finish changing a diaper just in time to see him sitting on the floor of the bathroom, trap (U-bend from under the sink) in hand.

Me: What are you doing?

Him: Getting the screws.

Me: How did you know how to do that??

Him: I'm not completely inept.

Me: Huh.

Husband proceeds to pull the stopper in the sink and pour out the contents of the trap, and out fall the screws, with some other nasty looking brown sludge.

Me: Gross. That's the sink where I clean Elijah's messes. That's probably poop.

Husband makes no reply, but unstops the sink and rinses the screws off, restoring them to a little bit of their former glory. This involves running the water for a minute or so. And then he starts giggling.

Me: What?

Him, holding up the trap, giggling even more: I forgot to put this back on.

Me: Not completely inept, huh? ... I am not cleaning that up.

Someday He'll Hate Me for This

I love Target's dollar bins. I also love Photo Booth and my baby's smile.

My Unborn Children's Unborn Children

When I met my husband, he owned two motorcycles, one SUV, and three houses. Well, one house and two condos, but still. And then, right before we got married, we bought another townhouse. We quickly sold one house, then sold another about a year later. So, as of February of 2009, we owned two condos, one that we lived in and one in an up-and-coming area of downtown.

In all this real estate buying and selling, I had very little to do with the process of it all. Husband sold two of the houses without my being involved because I wasn't around when he purchased them and therefore had no claim to them. I was around for the closing of the second condo, but because Husband had already been approved for the financing and was just waiting for them to finish building it; all I had to do was show up at the title office and sign my name 500 times. It seemed like such a decent, quick and painless procedure. Oh, how naive I was.

We have a contract on the house, and we're going through the arduous process leading up to closing. The first inspection was completed on Tuesday. Josh had warned me that there are a lot of things wrong with every house, and I thought I was prepared to see the report. But, oh, my. It was 24 pages of safety issues, problems, and -- gasp -- a recommendation for a structural engineer to look at the house. When I finished reading all 24 pages, I felt defeated. How could so many things be wrong with one house? How could a builder half finish something and feel good about himself? Why would you build a house that's quite obviously for a family and not want it to be safe?

And then I stopped listening to my Pauley-pessimist nature and took a deep breath. Not everyone is a perfectionist, and the world keeps turning. Everything is going to be okay.

Most of the things wrong with the house are aesthetic and easily fixable. Well, easily fixed by someone other than us. How I wish my Granddaddy were still around. He could fix all of this faster than he could say, "Aw, horse." We had a structural engineer look at the house, and he assured us that there is no reason whatsoever not to go ahead with the purchase.

In the midst of all this, we're trying to complete the mortgage application process in order to lock in the rate we want. For a week and a half, Josh was asking us to get a pre-approval letter to give to the sellers - basically, proof that we can actually pay for the house. And we are contractually obliged to give them this letter. I kept asking Husband to ask the mortgage lady, Josh was asking Husband, Husband said he was doing what he could. I finally took over the communication with the mortgage lady, and requested the letter. The e-mail I received in return was polite, but asked for so many things that I was stunned; I felt like she was asking for my unborn children's unborn children and their friends. I had already dropped off probably 70 pages worth of information at her office. Thinking she needed more was crazy. I start scrambling to find pieces of paper that I am positive Husband recycled months ago. But still I try.

After stressing about finding all this information, Husband realizes -- oh! He's had the pre-approval letter! For a week and a half! He just never opened the link! Huh. Who'da thunk?

And so we're plugging on, giving information about every part of our lives, and waiting impatiently for this process to be finished. We start the second round of negotiations this weekend, based on what we want them to fix before closing. I know this will all be worth it, but I'd feel a lot better about it all if I could shop. So far I have been amazed at my self-control; I haven't bought a single thing for the new house. I am constantly looking, but so far, no purchases. Be impressed.

Gratitude

I started this blog for a few reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I left Facebook for a few months and was craving a different outlet for thoughts. I was also inspired by great friends whose blogs are little bright spots in my days (when they post, that is). One friend called the internet sad in that it allows you to feel like you're interacting with someone who you might not normally; I said I preferred to call it lazy.  Either way, it's enjoyable.

Today I had to go to a routine doctor's appointment, and my sweet mother-in-law drove an hour in rush hour traffic just so I could go unencumbered (read: without the baby). I feel so blessed to have family near me, but not only family, people who are loving and willing to help when I need it. One of my faults is an intense loathing to ask for help. For anything. I do okay with my mom and Husband, but otherwise, I won't ask. I haven't figured out yet if it's pride that stops me; a lot of times I think, "I don't want to bother them with this," but that seems like a cop out. Anyway, it's good to have in-laws who will just say, "Okay, I'll be there at 9," with no hesitation for my protests of self-sufficiency. Because I'm not self-sufficient. There's a much bigger Being out there who has been asking me to let Him help for a long time, and my struggle for "independence" is really futile.

So today, I am grateful for:
1. My sweet mother-in-law, who adores Elijah (and whose adoration is returned by him) and who doesn't hesitate to clean my kitchen. She has no idea how much I love this.
2. My loving Father, who helped me to find the perfect man to marry, and who continues to show Himself to me every day, mostly in the form of a raucous 16-month-old blonde baby.
3. Birds eating at my feeder. Random, yes, but I love sitting on my couch and watching them get a snack in the afternoon.
4. Afternoon naps - for all four of us (Elijah, me, and both dogs).

The Culling

It has begun. If I were pregnant, I would say I was nesting, but right now we'll call it action fueled by an intense fear of becoming my parents.

Lately my mother has been calling me regularly to ask if I want something; two days ago it was a text about my prom champagne glasses (yes, but only because Husband loves sparkling wine), and today it was a phone call about the 50+ coffee mugs she and my dad have acquired over their 38+ years together. They used to collect them, and while I was growing up they lined the tops of our cabinets, cheerily bearing witness to all the places any of us had ever been. It's just been in the last house that they moved to in 2001 that the mugs went into a storage cabinet and haven't seen the light of day. I impolitely declined, and suggested that she dispose of them quickly and painlessly.

It's not that I don't love the thought of those mugs; I do. But after at least five towns and who knows how many houses (I don't even think Mom remembers anymore), my parents have collected so much junk that they don't even know where to put it all. There are boxes in their house that I'm pretty sure were packed in 1987 and haven't been opened since, just staying hidden move after move. And that's why I've begun to clear out my own things -- I'm terrified that the same thing will happen to me. What started as a way to make my house look better to potential buyers has turned into an all-out war against clutter.

I started last Friday with my linen closet, and as of today, I have finished my section of the closet (where I found a huge stack of wedding thank-you notes that never got written. Do you think they still want one after 3 years? It might be funny to send them now, but I doubt I still have the addresses. Or the desire). I have probably 5 shopping bags full and ready to go to Goodwill; my criteria for keeping and giving away (a few things got trashed, but not much) was this: Have I worn it this winter? Keep. Will I/am I capable of wearing it this winter? If yes, Keep. If no, give away. Honestly, there were a few sweaters I was sad to see go, but really, if I haven't worn it yet, I'm not going to. Because let's be honest - I'm probably only getting fatter.

But this was the saddest sight to me:

I don't wear very many pairs of shoes. I typically have 3 pairs that get rotated regularly. But I love having options, and there's something about a beautiful pair of heels that just makes the world beautiful. Like these, which I bought 3 years ago this month on clearance at Macy's. I have worn them twice (I think; it's possible that it's only once).

I put them on and danced around the bathroom a little bit before putting them into the Goodwill pile. Sadly, pregnancy made my feet grow by a half size, so after just a few minutes I was ready to take them off. If you're a 7 1/2 and want them, just ask.


I cleared out the door and the floor racks and decided that having as many as filled up the floor rack was probably still too many, but I'd stick to it. And I did.

And here are the sad, lonely friends heading off to Goodwill and hopefully a good home.

Molly, if you want your black Pumas back, now is the time to speak up.

The rest of this week, I'll be working on the storage room downstairs and the guest room closet, both of which are super small projects, but if I tell myself I only have to get those done, I'll feel like a good worker when they're finished by Wednesday. But the biggest project for the week, the one that requires my locking Husband in the bedroom and not letting him out, is this:

Those two drawers sticking out the furthest? All SOCKS. When I told him he should get rid of some, he said, "Nonsense. The drawers are just too small." I told him he had two options: he does it, or I do. It's the first time he's ever volunteered to clean anything. Probably in his life. And, just so you know, because Husband works for an internet company, I decided to keep his name out of it. The last thing his clients need to see when searching for their new rep is this:

Yes, that is a shirt from "The Incredible Shrinking Woman."

Oh, and about the house - they countered, we counter-countered, and we're all guessing that we should be at a decision by tomorrow. So... it's (almost) official. We probably won't close until May, but we're moving! To a giant house. That I have to fill with furniture. And decorate. I think I've lost my mind a little.