Archive for December, 2009

I know you’re suspicious…

Or at least you will be very soon. Because I have SO many things I want to talk to you about regarding this and need your input SO badly.

And because… there is no way I will NOT tell my bestest friend in the whole wide world, no matter which way this turns out…

yep, pregnant again!

I took this test on Dec. 9 – and was totally shocked to see the answer that came staring up at me. We had already talked about this – and how August/Sept. were the two months of the year that would be the worst timing for us. So we were going to be “careful”. I mean, after months of not being careful and actually trying to time things, I wasn’t too worried when we DTD on the morning of day 10. Not likely, I thought. But no more after this until I’m sure it’s past the window of opportunity.

And then… there was this nagging feeling that grew louder and louder in the back of my mind. On the morning I took this test we were snowed in and there was no school. But there WAS this one digital left in the back of the cupboard from way before, so I dug it out and took it.

And there you have it. I am due around Aug. 22, 2010. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet. We haven’t told a soul. Mostly just waiting around while the days pass by, seeing if it’s going to stick or not.

Right now I’m 6 weeks and 4 days. More than a week past where I made it to last time.

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My Dear Letters

Dear Little Mutt Getting On My Last Nerve:

I swear if you bring one more kitty box crunchie into the living room to eat I swear I’m throwing you out in a snow bank. It’s disgusting. Stop it.

signed: your-grossed-out-glad-you-don’t-sleep-with-me-anymore-owner

Dear Boobs:

Stop being swollen and sore for a full WEEK before AF! It’s thoroughly annoying. First the bras fit. Then they don’t fit. Yes dear, you can touch the boobs, but don’t even think about doing anything more because I might actually be fertile right now. No, don’t even think about touching the boobs, but I suppose if you want… you can do more even though I’ll just lay here like a cold fish because my hormones are gearing up for rag-time which means I may just have to smack you if you touch my boobs and then lay here and cry my eyes out. Good luck with that.

signed: a-very-hormonal-Lisa

Dear Lite 96.3:

Thank you for playing Christmas music. Now… about that… please stop playing the same 25 songs over and over and over again. Really. And another thing: not EVERY song with the word “Christmas” in it is actually a CHRISTMAS song. Seriously. Oh, and I am formally petitioning for the banning of all techno and reggae crap. Just so you know.

signed: a-trying-desperately-to-get-into-the-Christmas-spirit-Lisa

Dear Hubby:

It’s cold. REALLY cold. And if I have to be the one to plastic all the windows, you SO don’t have the right to complain about how I taped the plastic to the plastic “walls” in our bedroom instead of the tiny bit of wood around the window. Especially when I’m already PMS’ing and liable to bite your head off or cry at the drop of a hat. Seriously. Plus, it would have been SO MUCH WARMER if you’d actually fixed. the broken. windows. BEFORE winter set in.

signed: your-shivering-cold-and-grumpy-PMS’ing-wife.

Experimenting with some for the other blog:

Dear Small Business Owners:

I understand your desire to add a “unique” quality to your business name by using some “flair” so to speak. But when I see “So-and-So’s Kustom Trucks” on the side of your show truck, all I can think is that you must be poorly educated and can’t spell. I realize we live in world full of text messages and IM’s, BFF’s, OMG’s, R U OK’s, and zillions of others I couldn’t decipher if my life depended on it, but really, all of this technology and available information also means you can LOOK IT UP! Or maybe ask your facebook friends how to spell it and VOILA!~ customers who now get the impression you’re grown up and professional. Try it sometime.

signed: Your-obviously-read-a-book-or-two-non-customer

Dear Super Why!

Why oh why can’t you leave all those great classic children’s stories alone?! I’ve never seen the story of the boy who cried Wolf turned from a great story about being honest turned into a ridiculous story about how people need to trust their children more implicitly. Really. How exactly did you come up with that twisted story line? Thank you. Thank you so much for removing all moral value from dozens of great stories for children. I’m sure parents around the country applaud you.

signed: a-thoroughly-confused-and-disappointed-parent

Dear PMS:

Can’t you just leave a girl alone for ONE MONTH a year? Seriously, the tears, the cramps, the emotional breakdown over random commercials… I could really do without all that at Christmas time. Go harass the girls in Cancun, with their perfect little bikini bodies laying out in the golden warm sunshine while I freeze here in the snow with my stretch marks. Sounds like a great Christmas to me! And while I’m on this note, how about all of you guys sending me gas bills, electric bills, and car payment bills take a similar break for the month of December. A Christmas time without bills to pay? Just about as close to world peace as you’re going to get for me.

signed: a-feeling-very-attacked-Lisa

Dear Taco Bell:

Is there any good excuse for you to have not been open on Sunday, Dec. 20 at 10:45 am when your sign specifically stated you open at 9:30 on Sundays? Hmm? I didn’t think so. Which brings me to my next note:

Dear Arby’s:

Even though I have no desire to eat your food, I didn’t appreciate your sign flashing at me as I drove away from a cold, dark Taco Bell that said, “closed Sundays”. Really. That’s just heaping insult on injury. Not called for at all. Which brings me to:

Dear Businesses closed on Sunday:

Why?! This is not the south. This is not the Bible belt. This is the north, where we are Yankees and like to shop on Sundays. Try to keep up here. I’ll be more than willing to support you if you want to close on Saturdays. Let me know what you decide. And back again to:

Dear Taco Bell:

It is because of you that I was forced to eat my bag of M&M’s and drink that Orange Crush laying around in the back of the car, giving me a total sugar high that crashed as soon as I got home, giving me a headache just in time to deal with two little girls who had found Joshua’s bag of Christmas candy from school and which prompted them to behave like Mexican jumping beans instead of napping. There is no forgiveness for this. Unless you give me a free baja gordita with beans instead of meat. Then I’ll think about it. Let me know what you decide. And so:

Dear M&M’s:
What in the world??? There I was, sitting in my car, absent-mindedly throwing a few of what I thought were yummy peanut butter M&M’s into my mouth, when I’m suddenly aware that they are NOT peanut butter M&M’s. After a closer inspection of the package I see that I have been TRICKED! In tiny little words above the “peanut butter” is the word “strawberried”. Um. If I had wanted peanut butter and strawberry in the same bite I’d have made myself a PBJ. Do you realize how many women out there make a dozen PBJ’s in any given week? UGH! We’re sick of PBJ’s!! Okay, obviously, you are marketing these toward kids and not their mothers, but you should probably be a little more aware of how your packaging looks old fashioned and cute and not “aimed at kids” at all. Which brings me to my conclusion:

Dear Fast Food Chains:

Is there some reasonable answer to why not a single one of you offer PBJ’s for the kids? Wouldn’t that make sense? It takes so little time. Make up a bunch, advertise it on your billboards, and I guarantee you’ll have parents with picky-eater kids in the backseat lined up around the block next lunch time. Think about it. Thank me later.

Signed: a-very-disappointed-and-maybe-just-a-tad-bitter-about-not-getting-my-burrito-Lisa

The Face of A Woman

Ah yes. The end of the day. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and take in the sight of my face as I brush my teeth. I don’t spend much time actually seeing myself in the mirror. It’s usually the last thing I see before I crawl into bed, in the quietness that comes after bedtime, and it’s usually then that I realize that today I haven’t put on any makeup, that my eyes still have the tell-tale dark circles that reveal my status as “mother”, that there are indeed wrinkles beginning to show. Across my forehead. Beside my mouth. Next to my eyes.

On this night I see these limp tendrils of hair flung out from the corners of my face. Yes, I have corners. I guess you might call my hair line a ‘widow’s peak’, but not in the dark-haired mysterious maiden type of way. Rather in the plain-Jane way of corners and angles that encourage these maddening tendrils on either side of the “peak”. My best friend has thick hair that sweeps up off her face in a perfect rounded arc, framing her striking features. It’s beautiful.

If it were August I would have damp tendrils of hair sticking to the back of my neck and the corners of my face, and even then they wouldn’t be cute. My hair is stick straight, which for some unknown reason to me, seems to be en vogue right now. All the flyaways from my ever-present pony tail stick out in juxtaposition to the order I am constantly trying to impose.

I sigh. I’ll go to bed tonight, trying again to catch up on the years of lost beauty sleep when the endless rounds of babies, nursing, and pregnancy robbed of some and yet enriched with much more. Those things are intangible, and though their worth is beyond measure, in certain moments seem to slip away in that stark, bright light bathroom reality.

I’ll wake tomorrow at the normal, insanely early time. And tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll try once more to remember somewhere in the chaos of life as a mother of three little ones that buried under the “mother” is a woman who still needs to feel like a woman.

As I crawl in bed I look at him. He looks at me. I know he sees none of these ‘growing older’ things that I’m kicking against in my mind. I melt into his arms. Thankful, so thankful that when he looks at me he sees the rushing of memories in quick succession: the girl with hair flowing down, laughing on the back of the horse, the girl in the red dress picking him up from the airport, the vision in the white dress with a veil walking up the aisle on her Daddy’s arm, the woman great with child overcoming the pain and exhaustion to give life to a firstborn son to bear his name, the tender mother encircling her nursing babies in the glow of a nightlight, the woman on her knees, holding her son with his broken heart up before God, the dream girl sharing his bed. It’s all there. It’s ALL there, living inside his heart, in his memories.

What a gift, to be the “wife of his youth”. To share every milestone and memory with him, regardless of whether it means I’m growing older or not! What a blessing to be married to my Proverbs 5:18-19 Man.