Saturday, September 24, 2011

Who's a Bedwetter?

Handsome Husband and I are constantly having wars over who's towel is who's. My philosophy is, if it's there and it's dry, use it. His is a little more humane and he thinks that your towel should be your towel to get wet and dirty. Little does he know that when you step out of the shower you are the cleanest you will ever be.

I mean, let's face it. I am a girl, and I have hair that needs to be wrapped up in a towel outside of the bathroom. A towel that stays on my head until I am putting a shirt on and I have to unravel it from my head, only to pile it back on before I go make lunch or whatever is next on the agenda. My towels have a hard time staying in the bathroom, let alone finding their way back to the bathroom to dry and be ready for the next use.

Steven's, on the other hand, is always handy on the towel rack. More often than not it is dry and more often than not mine is nowhere to be found so I conveniently use his. Which, of course, would be no big deal if I could do it so that he would never find out. But he does. He's a great detective that way.

He's so responsible, he always checks for towel before he gets in the shower. He never has the problem of opening the shower curtain, dripping wet, and there being no towel except mine to be had anywhere. We have a hard time relating.

My towels never make it back to the bathroom because they are usually busy being dropped and forgotten in various places. Most often the bed and the chairs in the kitchen. And there are many times when there is a towel in both places because mine was forgotten and I couldn't very well traipse around the house dripping wet to look for it so I use Steven's and then forget that it's not mine to abuse and drop it someplace. It drives him crazy.

But, I always tell him that when I am gone, if I am the one to get to leave first, that he will miss having to re-live an easter-egg hunt every time before he gets in the shower. And then we get all solemn and he says that I am right, that he will miss it and that he loves me and I get a big hug and a kiss for leaving the towels out rather than a mad husband.

"Jessica, you have got to stop wetting the bed." And that is how I became our resident bed-wetter 'cause my towel would be on the bed, and instead of drying, it would be soaking into the covers and sheets. So, yes, I am a bed-wetter and it probably won't stop for years to come.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Ants in our Pants

Maybe I did a super cleaning job and then had a whole bunch of people over for dinner and then the cleaning kind of got pushed to the back of the to-do list. Maybe I forgot to sweep the floor for a coupla weeks. And maybe I have always been intrigued by ants and it was no big deal when the first few filed into our kitchen. But 20 ants is too many ants.

When I was little I LOVED LOVED LOVED bugs. I had a bug book and a bug container that had breathing holes manufactured in the top. And since there was always a bug already in there, I was forever begging my mom to cut holes into peanut butter jar lids. I will never forget the smell of day-old caterpillar and wilted grass and it still brings back good memories, even if the smell send chills down my spine.

My grandma and grandpa would dig up an anthill every summer and put some of the ants with some dirt into a canning jar for me to watch. Those ants would go to work right away making canals and tunnels and I loved watching them dig away, piece by piece. I've always been intrigued, too, how if you disturb an ant hill it's always the hurt ants and the babies that are rescued first. I could watch an ant forever move an egg to a safer location. It looks so hard, but they do it. And they do it quickly. If only people could have the same work ethic.

My interest in ants and love for bugs hasn't diminished much in the past 23 years. I mean, I don't go around putting them in jars anymore, but I appreciate them for their tininess. I wasn't really grossed out when a few ants appeared on our kitchen floor. Poor things were looking for some food for the winter and there was plenty to be had on our dirty floor. Well, that sort of changed when there were tons of them scampering along the wall, branching out to under the table. They weren't so cute, but I thought that if I just swept real good they would tire of their search and be gone. Which was kind of true. For a few days until we left some food on the table after dinner and the next morning it was teaming with ants. There are personal boundaries in the kitchen. And ants do not belong on the table. Nope. No way.

I swept, wiped and mopped that kitchen to spotlessness and then found my way to the store for some ant bait. Nothing was going to get in the way of the killer. I set out the traps and we left for the weekend to Rexburg. No one was going to be dropping crumbs on the ground for a good 36 hours and I was ready and waiting. When we got home there were a few ants who were slowly making their way around, but no real threat. They looked a little sick if I do say so myself. After that, no more ants. The traps had promised to kill a whole colony, but even if it had just made the scouts super sick I would have been happy. It kind of grosses me out more to think of a whole colony of ants, dead somewhere under the ground. But we've got no more ants in our pants and I am keeping our kitchen floor clean so that our next friendly visitors are not mice.

No Longer a Fatty

It's happened. I am no longer a fatty. My baby bump has emerged and yesterday was the first day that someone asked if I were having a boy or a girl! Finally! I have noticed people staring at me longer than usual, but I wasn't sure if it was because my pregnancy jeans were slipping down and not matching with my shirt or if it truly was because there's a belly where a flat stomach used to be.

In honor of such a momentous occasion I cleaned out my dresser and put all of my used-to-fit clothes in a basket in the closet and filed in the few prego things that I have randomly collected so far. They take up a whole half a drawer. My dresser is empty enough to close all drawers at once. This is highly unacceptable and there will be shopping in the near future. Thank goodness my mommy gave me a gift card to Ross specifically for this reason.

It was kind of sad putting away all of my collected clothes. 'Cause you know what I have decided? I don't look half bad with some extra poundage and could probably get away with being un-noticeably pregnant. So who knows if I will ever have the urge again to fit into the clothes that I could once call mine? Now I understand why my mom always wears shirts that don't hug her body that I always found disgusting. And you know what? I am ok with that. Which is even more disgusting. This is the weirdest thing ever, this pregnancy thing. But at least, for right now, I am no longer a fatty.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Bands on my pants?

Fact of life. You get pregnant and you are all of a sudden going through puberty, once again.

I hate bra shopping. Hate hate hate. It's a little humiliating 'cause you gotta have someone measure you, you gotta try on different styles and then within those different styles you sometimes need to try on different sizes. It's like jean shopping but more difficult 'cause instead of just slipping on a pair of jeans and doing a few twirls in front of the mirror to make sure everything looks alright and you don't have a big waffle bum there are more straps involved and those little hangers that they put bras on for display are not user-friendly. Not at all. Once you get the thing on, if you like the feel of it, you gotta slip on a shirt to make sure that there are not unsightly bulges, either from your own body or from some wiring in the bra. True story. I had to learn this trick on my own 'cause my first bra shopping experience left me with a bra that you could totally see outlined under any and every shirt, no matter how many layers were put on it to try to soften the ridges. Talk about embarrassing for an 11 year-old.

All of this takes some time. So the little sales lady is always knocking on the door, asking if everything is ok. Which kind of panics me and makes me fumble with trying to get those bra straps back on their little hanger that looks so tiny and cute but is really frustration with a cute face. Not so much fun.

I have come to the decision that when my little girl becomes of age we will march into Victoria's Secret, having a talk in the car beforehand about how the seductive models are not to be mimicked and how this is strictly a bra-buying experience, not that I am trying to expose her to pornography, and how if you're gonna buy a bra, you may as well do it right and in a cute dressing room all decked out in frills and pink. Very ladylike and it makes bra buying feel like a special occasion rather than a fact of life, not more unlike than how you gotta slaughter the cow 'cause that's where hamburger comes from, in a very bland JC Penny dressing room where the helper lady could be your grandma rather than a young, cute girl that is much more hip and has bras in every style you could want in almost every color. That is the way to do it. And even though they give customers a bright pink bag that screams 'I have a bra in here' at least it's cute. Oh, and another plus for Victoria is that they don't have any of those little bra hangers. Nope, they keep their bras in easy access drawers which deletes the need for hangers. Nothing could be more amazing.

Well, as I said, I am going through puberty again and needed a bra. We started at Pennys, bad idea, I knew that from the start, but they had a lot of designs online and they're supposed to be cheaper. That was a fail. So we went to Victoria's, even though they don't sell nursing bras in the store, they have them online and I thought it would be good to get my size. I was a little surprised when they had the math figured out, but you know, whatever.

I was shopping with Kimberly, my bestest best friend. She is the only one who can get me to do some pretty crazy things, like going into Victoria's in the first place a few years ago. Well, we were passing by a store called Motherhood Maternity and she begged for me to go try there for a bra. Turns out, we found a winner. And while we were there it was pretty obvious that I was a new 'mother' 'cause they were so super nice and so super helpful. They not only brought me bras, but some jeans to try with the belly band part, which I swore I would never wear, and even some shirts. Not just shirts though, they were t-shirts. T-shirts that would grow with me. Definitely worth the investment. And if I ever do decide to do this again (this, as in, get pregnant) they won't be out of style.

The pants were sooooo comfortable I just could barely stand taking them off to pay for them. The belly part was more like stretch fabric rather than elastic that I remember my mom wearing and so comfortable. And it sucked up my love handles! So slimming! They were a must, even at the high price, they were so adorable. Even cuter than the ones that I had gotten at AE the week before. Amazing. I never would have gone in there if it weren't for Kimberly. So off we went, back to her house so that I could change into my super cute outfit, complete with puberty busting bra, t-shirt and jeans.

I picked Steven up from work and he was so happy that I had finally gotten jeans with a band that he picked me up and swung me around. He was afraid as to how many jeans this pregnancy was going to need, but now the total will just be two. And one of them I no longer have to worry about what shirt I am wearing with them 'cause they suck up my love handles like they weren't even there. It feels so good to feel good again! Oh, and the other best part is that I ordered some extra large undershirts from Aeropostale so now I can have cute undershirts that actually cover my belly without me having to tug on them so often. Everything is going to be alright. All because I have a band on my pants now.



Bragging

I cannot get enough sleep. It's not even 'that time of pregnancy' where I should be needing this much sleep... but believe me. I can sure do it well. Sunday I fell asleep in Steven's arms around 7, woke up vaguely for a hour or so to change into pajamas and get a drink and was asleep again until he rubbed my feet to wake me up 12 hours later to take him to work. Two hours later I was in bed again and slept until 12, when I had to get up to get ready for work. That, my friends, is a lot of sleeping.

In between all of this, I was able to get 4 batches of laundry done, although none of them made it anywhere but a pile on a bed, ruffled through as I found my work clothes and was on my way. The kitchen was a disaster, the bedroom was a disaster and the living room wasn't so livable.

Lest I forget to mention, I don't do dishes anymore, and I don't cook anymore. Anything that has to do with food anymore than sticking a spoon or fork in my mouth makes me gag. Hence, all of that gets left to Steven and sometimes it doesn't get done.

But yesterday. Yesterday was miraculous. The garbage had all been taken out. All of it. And our garbage was like a college apartment garbage. We've all seen them. The kind where the garbage can is full. So full that there is garbage piled up higher than should be possible on top and there are piles lingering around the sides. The kind of garbage that causes the bag that was originally in the garbage can to sink to the bottom. The kind of garbage that forces you to grab another sack, just to lift pieces off the mound to make it manageable. Causing one to not only grab one garbage sack, but perhaps two or three. Big job. Something I was definitely not about to do.

The dishes were all done. All done. You know how dishes find their way, creeping along the sink counter as they explode out of the sink. How they get left on the table 'cause there's no room on the counters. Well... we all know of it. Don't lie. All of those were cleaned. Even the dishes that are so often forgotten because they're on the stove. Leftover pots and pans from dinners and lunches that were too hot at the time to be put anywhere but the next burner over and then just stay there. Those were done. AND the utensils were washed. This may not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but Steven's way of washing utensils usually includes a lot of soaking. Even when the dishes have been done, there's always a cold bowl of water (used to be hot) soaking all of our forks and spoons and knives which causes me to reach my hand in to the unknown soup to grab out my cereal spoon. EVEN that was all clean.

The bedroom that I had left a total wreck had a made bed in the middle of it without any of the clothes on it that I had left twisted in the middle. They were all put away. Well, as put away as could be. Steven's were in his coffin of a laundry basket and mine were on the floor 'cause he had gotten frustrated trying to fit more clothes into the already bulging dresser. I need to go through that thing and pull out the shirts that I can't wear anymore. Like, literally cannot wear anymore. They are now belly shirts and it's kind of sickening. And they are still mixed up with all of my other clothes. I need to have a sorting and boxing day.

I didn't even make it to the living room until this morning and what do you know? The blankets on the couch were all folded up nicely on the back of it. I don't even do that when I clean up. It just feels so good to have a clean house.

Now, I know I post about our dirty house a lot. But I think I post about it that way because it's a novelty. You know? Our house is usually not that messy. Ok, the dishes are more often than not, not done. But the rest of it is decent. And there are ALWAYS clothes spilling from somewhere. But let's be serious. I am never embarrassed about the bathroom or the living room when we have guests. Which are the parts that they would ever need to use if they were just swinging by for a visit.

There was even a time, when I was using that porcelain throne three times a day to empty my stomach contents that I was cleaning that toilet every other day. If I am going to have my face that close to something it had better be clean. I've got a basket to keep all of my 'girl things' in that is easily moved up into a cupboard so that the counter isn't cluttered with a blow dryer and a straightener that I always forget to turn off with miscellaneous makeup pieces here and there. I'll admit, the bobby pins get away from me sometimes and I can find them in every room of the house, but for the most part, everything that I need to get ready in the morning stays in that basket.

I keep the floors vacuumed and clean of stuff 'cause I love my open, clean space. So life isn't that bad. Don't fear for our baby choking on something unless it's a clean sock. And I love going through clutter, so our mail is never more than a little pile of bills that need to be payed, the due dates written in large on the statements as I open them when they come and then collect them until they're all ready to be sent out at once. Makes my life complete to lick those envelopes and stick them in the mail.

I love that husband of mine. He always knows just when I need him the most and never lets me down.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Interesting Fact

Let's face it. When a girl needs to go jean shopping it takes quite a few tries to find the perfect pair. And usually then it's not even perfect, it's a bearable pair. It's a long, strenuous process of trying on jean after jean. Trying on the same jean in two different sizes getting a feel for which one fits better, lots of rotating in the mirror and trying on EVERY SINGLE jean style in the store trying to find the one that makes your bumski look decent instead of like a flat pancake taking up your rear-side.

And then, if you're a picky-picky like me you have to not only take into consideration what it looks like, but what it feels like. Not just on you, but the material itself. I like my jeans thick and tough. Not the bedazzled cloth that they call denim but I am pretty sure that it is only 'mostly' denim. So it's kinda hard 'cause you gotta step up your search. Which means AE and Hollister and the Buckle. Those are the only places I have gotten jeans in the past three years and it has been worth every single hard earned penny to get jeans that you feel awesome in.

I don't spend too much money on clothes. In relativity, lol. My wardrobe is made up of dozens of t-shirts from various second-hand stores in multiple colors left-over from when I went through a phase of having a shirt in every color. And then for dressy occasions I have a sweater in almost every color as well. But for jeans I will drop cold, hard cash. There's nothing that competes with feeling good in your own pants.

Yesterday I had a hour to kill before my hair appointment and so I wandered the mall in my utah state t-shirt and warm-up pants with my hair in a side braid with curls spilling out all over the place. Put a cowboy hat on me and I coulda been a jock rodeo girl. Otherwise, I looked just a little sloppy, lol. I was a little too self-conscious to go to the buckle by myself without a boy in tow so I headed to AE. I find it so interesting that people that tend to shop at expensive places always seem to be dressed so casually. flip-flops, jeans and some kind of sloppy shirt thrown on. Most of the times the jeans are skipped for sweats or something else equally unflattering. It puzzles me, but it's one of those things that you honor. You make yourself believe that they don't look like that every day because of the clothes that are being folded into a neat little bag with a big label on it. That they are so awesome that they don't care what people think and can shop in grungies 'cause they are going out to a hott date later that night. It's sick how we idolize people.

After checking out the denim selection there I passed onto a few other stores, finding jeans that were more glamorous but didn't have the same fabric quality. So back I went to AE and grabbed up four pairs of jeans, one in each size for two styles. I tried them all on, and you know what the interesting fact is that I found out? I was really nervous about slipping my booty into a size 12 'cause 10s always fit the best but they're often just a little long on me and make me feel unproportional... well... when you get into a size 12 the manufacturers figure out that size 12 doesn't mean taller, it means squatter, and the pant length fit perfect! Or will fit perfect after a washing. I couldn't believe it! It's like a magical transformation.

So, now with some bigger pants I think my love handles that appeared last week will fall back into some chubby back fat that will help me support this little girl in my tummy. I have already decided that I cannot get myself to get prego pants 'cause anything on my stomach besides a shirt makes me feel like peeling off all of my clothes. Which wouldn't be pretty for anyone. So I am going through this pregnancy with regular pants and regular shirts with extra large undershirts under to cover up any kind of unsightly skin. All the prego stuff is just so... big for people with womanly curves, ya know? I still have to shop in the junior section! There's no way I am swimming my way through some flowy, loose material made for a woman twice my size with boobs. No way.

The doctor yesterday said that I had a weight increase a little more than most, but that I still looked skinny and healthy. Which is a loud and huge underestimate. My first appointment at 16 weeks I was 140 lbs and an appointment 4 weeks later and I am 152 lbs. It's a huge shock when you have been the same weight for so long with nothing more than 5 lbs variance up and down, depending on the season. I guess that happens when your main liquid is chocolate milk and you aren't exercising the same as you used to 'cause when you do feel well enough to do 'stuff' there's a house that needs to be cleaned rather than a gym that needs to be gotten to. And when you're working full time you go to work and come home exhausted. It's not the best schedule to use. I love my days off, even though it seems like I usually use them as time to re cooperate and end up sleeping a lot.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

High School Drama

I don't care who you are. Everyone enjoys a little high school drama once in awhile. That being said, as long as high school is far away in the past and you can laugh at the dumb things that were SUCH a BIG DEAL back in the day.

After seeing the movie trailer 'Prom' once I was hooked. I had to see that movie. As much as I hated high school and am glad it's far behind me, I still like the idea of high school. It's kind a fairy tale place that is in real life where I can imagine amazing things happening. Things like going to tail gate parties and watching every football game, even the away ones, dressed in school colors with glitter cascading on to by-standers as you bounce with your besties from one side of the bleachers to the other. Things that obviously I never did, hence I hated high school with a passion and came home crying at least once a week one year hating it so much. My parents patiently listened to me and my dad wiped my tears as I spilled drama after drama into their caring ears. Oh what a confusing time.

But this, this prom movie... it was a must-see. Especially since I have a self-interest in dances, and most importantly, the primping that goes into dances even before they start. That is always the best part, no matter what hott date is going to show up at your door later that night and wait for you for 30 minutes while you gaze and re-gaze at yourself, making sure everything is just right, but never really changing anything. Just reassuring yourself that yes, this is a picture-worthy momentous occasion, and yes, you do look strikingly gorgeous.

I had this wild idea when the movie first came out around prom season that Steven and I would hook ourselves up as a high school couple and maybe take a stroll through DI while picking up some ridiculous prom cast-offs and then go to the theaters in our 80's prom get-up and out to dinner, taking some awesome pictures along the way. We would take so many awesome pictures that we would frame some of them and hang them in our bedroom, just for kicks.

Well, DIs seemed to be fresh out of 80's dresses with the big poofy sleeves and obnoxious bows either in the front or on the back or all over, ruffling with taffeta. So that dream never came to pass, which meant that I never got to see this movie until last night we were scrolling through the redbox movies and came across it.

After much complaining we came home with it and popped it in the computer. And OH MY GOODNESS. High school drama drama drama. Each couple had a different story and it was kind of crazy how I could relate to each of them different as they were, they were definitely all a stereotype and it was just too funny. And the funniest part, Steven couldn't get enough of it! Every time I adjusted and made a little too much noise the movie was paused, waiting for the rustling to not be so loud so that we could get in on the drama going on at the time.

I cannot wait until we have kids in high school. It is going to be so much fun! I remember when we were dating and my roommates would come in with boy problems and because Steven was always over at our apartment he was more like a brother to a few of them and he would give advice and remind them, 'no playing games. games are not for dating.' He was my favorite from the start. He's always so patient with problems and even though he doesn't always know exactly what to say, he always made everyone feel better.