Saturday, July 30, 2011

Good intentions

We've all got them. Those things we do, trying to make our lives easier. Buying a planner in January and using it for a week. Signing up for a gym membership. Purchasing fruits and vegetables at the grocery store. Don't even try to tell me that there has never been some broccoli hiding out in the bottom drawer of your fridge until the stench gives it away.

I am alright at washing clothes. I don't mind the switching of wash and the frustration when I know that our washer does not know the difference between hot and scalding hot. There is no such thing as cold water. Therefore I have a lot of clothes that are tinted just a smear bit. I don't even mind cleaning the lint out of the dryer. But I do mind folding clothes. Oh, yes, I do. It takes half a day to remember to switch and start batches of clothes and by the time they hit our bed in their dryer sheet yumminess I am not about to fold those things and put them away. No way.

So they sit there. On our bed. Until bedtime. When handsome husband carries me to bed after falling asleep in his lap watching a movie they get pushed to the floor. So they sit there. Until we have worn them through again and they are once again in the laundry basket.

This happens again and again. Story of my life in high school. Except back then, it wasn't clothes that had been pushed off the bed, it was clothes that hadn't made it to my chosen wardrobe of the day after three outfits. Any normal high school girl's room would look like that. I've never seen my parent's room look like this, however. I think we have our own thing goin' on right now. It's high school girl room multiplied by two.

Steven, wanting to keep the clothes from under-foot, even if they weren't put away, grabbed a large suitcase from downstairs and lugged it up, lifting all the clothes into it. This was fine, except that the clothes were then piled so high that it took forever to dig through them and they ended up sprawled all over the floor again. Forgive the good intentions.

I went through my clothes and took a whole great bagful to DI. I thought that if my dresser drawers were empty enough so that when laundry was done I could still close the drawers I may put clothes away. I now have half the clothes, but they just get used more often now so they are in the laundry one day and then on the floor the next.

It's getting kind of old to crawl around on the floor every morning looking for matching socks, or any socks at all. It's getting kind of old to not be able to take a quick inventory of my clean clothes. And it's getting really old hurdling clothes while clambering into bed every night.

I am starting to feel better now that this baby is floating in more water (seriously, I feel like a camel every time I drink from a water fountain) instead of laying up against whatever she was pushing on before. And the doctor specifically told me get things done and enjoy the next few months 'cause they won't last long enough. So, perhaps the road to hell is paved with good intentions. But the road to clean laundry is paved with good intentions, as well.

So, we better start gettin' on our way. Start knocking one good intention out at a time. 'Cause I can tell you one thing that I know for certain from babysitting. There's nothing like trying to find baby clothing pieces that match. Those things are seriously like Barbie shoes. You know what I am talking about. They sink to the bottom of the toy box and you can never find two at a time. We need to get some organization going on in this house.

I have strong feelings about how cute things make everything better. I always decorated my science notebooks and math notebooks with the cutest of stickers so that I would be excited to open them up and write in them. I used the cutest folders I could find and when things got really tough, I took notes with crayola markers for some added color.

Ikea is known for their awesome stuff, and guess who's going on Monday? This girl, right here. Our first good intention is to get some cute stuff to help us stay organized. Like a cutesie laundry bag, some racks for the closets and some nice boxes.

Also, perhaps the drawers need to be jazzed up a little bit. You know what I am talking about, wrapping paper glued to the insides and all that. And maybe a cute little label on the drawers with promised clean t-shirts and socks. Or maybe it just needs some paint. Everything looks better with paint. The only problem is that it's so... contemporary looking. So boring and nice. Paint looks best on scrollies and swirlies and some awesomely ridiculous hardware knobs. This dresser is so contemporary it doesn't even have knobs! I don't know how it would feel about being painted bright red or turquoise. It would probably rebel by looking nasty. But the paper in the drawers, now there's an idea that may just stick. I love those old drawers with wrapping in them. It just says, 'surprise, you have just opened a beautiful present.' Exactly what I need to get my motivation into movement of putting clothes away.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Mac and cheese and me

Just to give you a little insight into how deprived I was as a child, I had never even held a box of macaroni and cheese until I was babysitting at age 16. I know. Gasp.

I had been given instructions to make two boxes, three if the kids didn't eat any snacks in the mean time, and that there was extra cheese to sprinkle on top in the fridge if needs be. You know, if behavior was exceptional and all that. Food brings forth miracles, especially the promise of extra cheese. I never would have thought.

While the five year-old was telling me that I needed to boil the water in a sauce pan I was scanning the directions for stove-top and grateful for the simple pictures on the box that could quickly take the place of the 1st grade reading skills needed to understand the print.

I had no idea of the complications this meal had. Butter AND milk. At least with ramen everything comes in the bag for ya. So many dirtied dishes. A butter knife. A measuring cup. And to top it all off, a nasty cheese-covered pan with miscellaneous noodles that did not get scraped into 2nd and 3rd helpings of this american house-wife staple. I had no idea three year-olds could eat so many noodles! All of the kids just stuffed up on that noodley goodness.

My second encounter with the orange cheese-covered carbohydrate was much better. Supplement a meal with hot dogs and everything is more tastefully done. This certain family ate their noodles and all with ketchup. It was kind of peculiar when the little ones were setting the table and the ketchup found its way to the table. I thought it was probably for the hot dogs but was soon corrected.

Two squirts of the red stuff made that cheesy slop edible. 'Cause you see, I've never been a fan of 'fake cheese.' You put cheese in a can and call it cheese whiz and I can tell you something is extraordinarily wrong with the composition of that substance. Try to give me anything with the cheese that comes in individual packets and I will not go within two feet of it. Cheese and crackers that come together in a package could hardly be called cheese. More like dried up and preserved cow's udder milk. Ewww. But that ketchup, now that changes things. And so I have used ketchup on my mac and cheese whenever it is necessary that I eat the stuff.

It comes in phases, the need for noodles slathered in orange goo. I have made my own recipe where I only use half the cheese and no butter. It tastes fine. Cuts down on dishes (by one knife) and you don't get so much of the slimy orange left in your bowl at the end of a meal. I ate it a lot my first years of college 'cause it was cheap, healthier than ramen, and other people liked it so I didn't have to feel the need to eat a whole box by myself. Shhh, I didn't know about only making a portion at a time back then. It used to be all or nothing, ya know? Plus that's extra math to halve everything.

I recently went to the store as a pregnant lady who's cart is full of random things. Things I wouldn't buy if I were in a normal state of mind. Things like chile and Vienna sausages. Vienna? Who even eats that any more? I never even liked those things, but I saw them sitting in their cute little can and remembered being in Utah at my grandmas. She would always send us with a few cans when we went swimming. No one liked them much, but you get hungry out there in the mermaid surf (although more often than not, we were dolphins. Dolphins get to jump more.) and when you drip a little chlorine water on them they don't taste so bad. It was a nostalgic moment.

I also came home with mac and cheese. Not just any mac and cheese, but Cars mac and cheese. Noodles shaped like Cars characters. Let me just tell you, they don't taste as good. They've got too much noodle. There isn't enough cheese, even for a fake cheese hater like me. I even used the whole package. I know, gross. There's just too much mass to the noodle. And I ate it with ketchup.


Friday, July 22, 2011

Flaming Gorge part 2

Sorry, didn't want to make that last post 40 billions hours long. So we get there at 11:30 or so and find out that instead of sharing the trailer with Steven's mom and dad we're going to share it with Nic and Heather. Which is kind of funny because they were SO concerned about sleeping in a tent by themselves. You know, newly-weds and all, they wanted their own little place. But we opened the door and there were definitely some snores coming from behind the curtain. Which is chill, ya know. I was so tired I didn't even care and could hardly stand long enough for Steven to unfold our brand new sleeping bags and flop a pillow down for my wee head.

I was so out of it that I didn't even realize that the space we were sleeping in was actually the table with the cushions all arranged in a bed. That part was really weird in the morning when we put everything back in place and there appeared a table. There's just something kinda wrong about sleeping on a table without knowing it. Right up there with table dancing. It wasn't a very large space and I am pretty sure that Steven slept with half his body off the edge while I squished up against the wall and window. But we love each other.

I woke up wide-awake around five and there was no turning back. I had to pee like a child needs a candy bar and lucky for us, we were the closest ever to the porta potty. Count your blessings. I was feeling kind of groggy and thought a shower would be a good idea. I waited for Steven's mom to gather up her things to go with me and away we went, on to another adventure, leaving Steven instructions to comb his hair.

Unfortunately, I hadn't really planned on showering. Therefor towel, no check, shampoo and conditioner, no check. I did have clean under things and face lotion, though. It's always good to be kind of prepared. And a blow dryer and straightener complete with makeup. Can't leave the house without the essentials, ya know.

I was surprised there was no line for the potties or the showers, it didn't even seem as if anyone had been in there since the night before. It was relieving. This meant that the floor was still dry and not slippery from previous showers. It also meant that the mirrors were not fogged up. Not that this really helped them out. They were more like mirrors from a fun house. The kind that make one part of your body look dis-proportioned from the rest.

In order to get the shower water to spray you had to push the water button. There was no temperature changer, if I remember. The magic button was located in that vital spot. So I pushed it once and let the water warm from Antarctic ocean cold to Pacific ocean cold. Pushed it again and let it warm from Pacific ocean cold to Atlantic ocean warm. And there it stayed. At this point the air was colder than the water and I jumped in. My shower was all of one button push long and I was out of there, drying off with a sweatshirt. Luckily my mother-in-law was longer at taking a shower but shorter at getting dressed and getting ready. I had my hair blown dry and straightened, finishing up my make-up by the time she was out and her low-maintenance hair and ability to put on makeup with a small mirror got us out of there at the same time. We left the fun-house mirrors behind and drove back to camp for some hot chocolate.

Flaming Gorge part 1

As everyone knows, Steven and I LOVE roadtrips. We love talking, singing to the I-pod, dancing our best seat-moves as we pass cars in the fast lane and me snuggling up close to his bulky arm and sleeping. It's the best. The best besides the neck cramps and the bum pains.

Steven's family (as in his mom's brothers and sister and mom and dad and cute cousins) do an annual get-together and this year was camping. Now, you must know that I have not been camping since my last year of Girl's camp in 2007. Some quick math says four years. That's a long time. And there are some reasons behind that.

I hate waking up sweaty from a non-breathing sleeping bag. I don't like dew. Camping food takes more time to make than to eat and even MORE time to clean and put away. If your stuff touches the tent side and it rains your stuff gets soaked. There is tons of walking. Walking to the bathroom, walking to the running water, walking for recreation, walking to keep yourself from going crazy, walking. I don't like changing my clothes so many times. Waking up and putting jeans and sweatshirt on and then a hour later having to change into shorts and t-shirt to keep from suffocating. The regular stuff. Mmm... the sun. It's everywhere. And if it's not everywhere, than it's freezing cold in the shade. This girl has a hard time with temperature.

We started our 4-hour road trip to the Flaming Gorge when I got off work at 5:30, which doesn't say a lot 'cause that means that we still didn't leave the house until 7:30 or so. It's hard work packing last minute. We weren't so well prepared for this trip this time, leaving without our usual stock of drinks and candy. I have something terrible against eating healthy in the car. Kind of defeats the purpose of a road-trip if you know what I mean. We had 4 hours ahead of us and we made the most of it. We raced a mustang, and seriously, it felt like we were racing a horse through that canyon. Steven did his best to make that animal move and kind of rode beside them for a bit and then took off. The mustang stayed behind for about 5 minutes and then I guess got sick of us taunting him and raced off ahead of us.

Finally around the 3 hour mark we were getting a little antsy and stopped at the last place of civilization for some gas and nourishment supplies. I love tootsie rolls, the original chocolate kind the best, and most gas stations have a nice collection of the huge ones for a buck. Well... not this one. Seems not too many people share my love for the chocolate chewiness 'cause Steven came out with 6 of the medium size ones. You know, the long skinny ones that you get in a pack of fun candy at the store that's got the dots and suckers and tootsie rolls in it? Yeah, 6 of them. And they were rock hard. Those things have been sitting there for quite the amount of time. But I still loved them. It took me all of three minutes to get through all of them. Which made for a long time as Steven gnawed on his nasty candy bars that I didn't dare touch 'cause they are kinda gross. I think he did it on purpose.

We made it to the campsite just after everyone had gone to bed and were hardly ready for it to end. We had just gotten started!

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Relieved

Now that I have publicly admitted that I am pregnant, in my own words, I feel I can write freely again. Do you have any idea how hard it is to hold a secret in for so long and not even know how much it is affecting you by not sharing? I had no idea.

I keep getting asked if I am excited. No. I am not excited, actually. I am suffering day by day and would much rather have a puppy, in all honesty. It's all I can do to make sure that I have enough liquid and carbohydrates in my system to fuel a space shuttle and shuffle around with a stomach ache. I cannot think about baby decorations or clothes or toys or anything baby. It makes me want to puke.

The second most common question is, "Was it planned?" This is where another confession enters the stage. No. It was not 'planned' but it was definitely expected. Which sounds irresponsible so I always leave that part out and just say, "No."

I always say "No" because 'planned' entails taking folic acid and prenatals 3 months before we stopped using contraception. 'Planned' means having baby names picked out, decor all ready to go and riding a wave of enthusing joy of starting a new chapter in our lives. 'Planned' means financially stable with insurance. 'Planned' means on our way to buying a house of our own that we can bring our little bundle of joy home to. 'Planned' is definitely NOT the word I would use. It connotates responsibility and choices deliberately made. Maybe even a 'plan', hence the word 'planned.' None of that was present in the making of our baby. Which is surprising, because I have always been a planner. I have always known where I was going to be a year from the present at all times and what I was going to be doing. I have proof. There are multiple lists and diagrams of my life in several journals where I have written ideas and goals and then categorized them into months. The last one I made ended in July. Get married.

Once you link your life to someone else's it's a little harder to keep up with your own plans 'cause now there are two people to consider and your life revolves around taking care of one another which ultimately means that it revolves around a job. Which can change quickly. So I threw that to the wind when we weren't sure if we would be going home to Oregon or if we would stay in Utah for a few more years. Things and circumstances change so quickly that if you get your heart set on one direction and all of a sudden have to switch it up it creates some rifts that may as well be avoided.

And in all honesty, I never could have guessed a year ago that we would still be in Utah. That Steven would have a job that could support us with one income, that I would have a job that I love, that we would be renting a little house with green counter-tops, and that we would be expecting our first step into the unknown and never conquered territory of parenthood. Who would have guessed? And everything in between? I never would have dreamed up. Life is really too unpredictable at this point to try to make a plan. Not only is it too unpredictable, but I am part of a wagon train riding into the wild west. I am on my way to uncharted territory and I don't even know what to expect. When the future is so blank because there is no scaffolding to do because there is no prior knowledge of anything, what can you do? Nothing but ride out the next wave headed toward shore. All I know right now is that I am going to be babysitting for the rest of my life but the difference is that I cannot leave at the end of the day. Sounds a little bit terrifying.

So, sure, our baby wasn't 'planned' but it was definitely 'expected.' I mean, I am no dummy. I know that if you get cooties in ya than there is a pretty good chance of one of them turning into a lima bean. But I wasn't expecting it to happen so fast and it was definitely not something that we had thoroughly thought about. Which is probably better, because if you think about something like that too long than it's bound to become too scary and never happen. So we just kinda did what we did and didn't worry about it and then things turned a little more serious. Like peeing on a stick and two lines appearing kind of serious. And then details start to unfold and everything is going to be ok, if I can ever stop throwing up.

The only thing I can relate it to is bridge jumping. You're in your suit with your shoes strapped on tight so that your feet don't sting when they break the water. You're standing on the rail, looking down into the deep water. You can feel the wind and the sun with your extra-heightened senses. You know everything is going to be ok, but seriously, who does this for the thrill? No one. You do it for the accomplishment at the end as you break the surface with your body and then bob back up for air. You're never really ready. You could stand up on that rail for hours while people try to help you count down. But finally, you just gotta jump, ready or not. Midway between six and five. When no one is expecting. When you, yourself, aren't even expecting. Your legs crouch and you spring off. You can't let your mind get involved. That's what this is like. So I went ahead and jumped.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Kind of embarrassing

Ok. So I puke twice a day. I have emergency bathroom runs sometimes. My stomach is ALWAYS nauseated. Smells can make me gag. There are some foods that cannot even be said without me vomiting in my mouth. I change the radio station if a commercial starts talking about craving crunchy, greasy, deep fried nastiness or dipping that nastiness into your favorite sauce.

Have you guessed it yet? Yeah. I am definitely pregnant. Definitely. I have never been more uncomfortable in my life. And sometimes, after bowing and offering to the porcelain throne I just cry because I am so tired. So tired of eating. I have a hard time eating as it is, and then when it all comes back up a hour later I just want to hit something really hard. Really hard. 'Cause that means that I just lost a whole meal. To the throne of all places.

I am having a really hard time telling people that I am pregnant. First of all, I didn't even believe it at first. I mean. Really. Things go wrong all the time. Who's to say I wouldn't just have a heavy period the next month, right? And then I got a lab test taken and it said the same thing. You're gonna have a baby. Still kind of unreal. And then I started puking. Every day. Nothing says pregnancy like some puke, believe you me.

So then, it's all like, when do you start telling people? 'Cause if I told them now, then in 8 months when the baby comes, you feel dumb because people say things like, "woah, you've been pregnant a long time." It's the same 9 months everyone has, but the sooner you tell the longer it seems. 'Cause really, that is like 3 seasons right there. That's almost a full year. That's a long time.

And now I am starting to show. Just a little. Like an added 10 lbs in my stomach, even though in all honesty I haven't gained any weight because my puking in counteracting that. Which is also awkward, 'cause then only people that know that you had a super flat fantabulous stomach before know that something is changing, but to everyone else you look just a little bit fatty and your pants don't fit. Which makes it even worse because before I started puking all the time I was on my way to a fairly well-built body with some ripply muscles and everything. Nothing makes me more sad than flabby arms. And everyone knows that a girl's legs are where it's all at and those things have got to be powerful for pushing the lawn mower and running long distances chasing gazelle for dinner and all that.

But that's over for now. I can't get out of bed without knowing that there is something wrong with my stomach and that any small thing can aggravate it to a stormy fest of harpoon thrusts to my gut.

Not only are my exercising days over, but my hair-do days as well. Now I am lucky if I feel well enough to get in the shower and wash that hair of mine, let alone get it dried and straightened. The smell of my shampoo and conditioner churns my stomach. The smell of soap churns my stomach. Anything over the light breeze of fresh air churns my stomach.

Actually, that's not true. I could sniff cleaner all day if I could. I LOVE mopping the floor 'cause the lysol has such a fresh scent. I LOVE cleaning mirrors because windex has always been my favorite cleaning product. And I LOVE cleaning anything with 409. That stuff smells delicious! And I also LOVE the smell of the pool. Bring on some chlorine. Just so long as I don't have to get in that nasty water. I can sit and smell it all day.

This whole thing is embarrassing. And then, how do you tell people? I sent my parents and Steven's parents balloons and some little pin buttons that say 'future uncle' 'future grandma' blah blah blah that was cute. But the everyday people? "Hey, how you doin'?" "Oh, not so well, actually. I just got done flushing the toilet on everything I have eaten in the past week. Oh, and by the way, I am pregnant" See, it just doesn't sound that good. And then, it's hard to bring it up in a normal conversation because number one, that doesn't come up so naturally, and then number two, because that's like breaking your leg in elementary school. Half the kids feel bad for you and the other half think that you did it for attention.

It's rotten. So right now the only reason people know that I am pregnant is because of my family. And by family I mean my brother, David, who has a hard time containing such exciting news and would shout it out to the world, no need to say that he already announced it over the pulpit in church.

Kind of embarrassing.

Fun girls

Warning, there is a lot that I should be writing about before this, but if something is gonna get you tip typing on the computer again it may as well be your favorite girls in the world, hu?

I don't dream super often, and it's even less that I ever remember them, but last night was an exception I guess because of all the emotions that were mixed into it.

I love going home to Oregon and going to church because, let's face it, among the little girls, I am a local celebrity. Little Emily will spot me right away, she's always squirreled around her daddy's neck, looking at everyone behind them because they sit so near the front I guess people watching two rows gets boring pretty quick. And then she sees me, most of the time even before I see her, and she quietly whispers to her daddy that she wants to go sit by me. By this time I have usually seen her and her daddy and I make eye-contact and he lets her come to me. She's kinda shy, so she walks with her head down and patiently waits for people's legs to move as she makes her way to the middle of the bench where I am seated, arms open to grab her up in a hug. She is so super quiet in sacrament meeting it's hard to believe that she's even there, sitting on my lap. The only thing that gives her away is her coloring and her looking up at me ever-so-often for approval that her small scribbles are looking like the people and clouds and sunshine that she wants them to. I just love that girl to bits!

And then Geni and Lindsey. Oh those girls. They have SO much energy! I watched them all through high school. I fed Lindsey bottles and held her as she cried and cried. I played all sorts of games and did all sorts of puzzles with Geni and now they're all grown up. As grown up as fourth grade and first grade girls can be, with scabs on their knees from riding bikes and bumps on their shoulders and faces from playing hard. The three of us have had so much fun and have made so many memories it's hard to even think of just one, 'cause then a dozen come and it gets a little overwhelming. Those girls are why I love to come home. I still remember the last time I saw them before I went to college for the first time. It was late June and we had been sliding down the slip 'n' slide all day in their side yard. They were in their swim-suits and my basketball shorts were still damp as I sat behind the wheel. I gave them both a pick-me-up hug and a smothering kiss and instructed them to stay on the cement so that I could back-up without smooshing their toes. The hanging baskets above their heads already had blooms in them and they waved and waved as I drove out of their gravel drive-way. That was the last time I saw them before I started a new chapter in my life and I'll never forget it. It was one of those moments that you return to when things aren't going too great and you feel like no one knows what's going on. Those little girls would always love me, no matter what.