Monday, December 17, 2007

Dear Santa,

As you can see, I've got everything I need this year.

Thank you,


Sunday, November 11, 2007

Thank you so much for all the comments, emails, cards, packages etc! Today marks a month of being a mother of two. And it is wonderful, but as you can imagine a little bit crazy. I have so much to write about, no time to write it. About a billion times a day I think of something to post, if for no other reason just so I can remember it when my kids think they are too big for snuggling.

Ohmahgah, is there anything like holding your tiny baby on your chest while they sleep? Listening to them make those little squeaks and sighs, watching them curl their legs up underneath themselves like they were back in your belly. And thinking, someday this tiny person will be taller than me and wanting to borrow my car.

Sweet Pea is taking every bit of big sisterdom in stride. She rocks out in the helping department. And she loves to love on her "baby broder". And if she didn't already seem so grown up in comparison, today she heard, memorized and repeated (frequently) her first curse word. Ooops. But in all fairness, I really did hurt myself.

Anyway, I have lots more to say. But alas. For now pictures will have to speak those 1,000 words they are so famous for. More later, thanks for being patient.

Blissed out Clover

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

A few more pix from the hospital. This is Sweet Pea and Grandma and Grandpa getting to meet the baby for the first time.

As an aside...I am Flickr stupid. Is anyone an expert at this? I'd love some advice on how to do cool things. So far, I'm not so much impressed.


Tuesday, October 16, 2007

We've been a little busy!

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

It's officially fall. And I'm all nostalgic for summer already. So here's my farewell to my favorite season.

Thanks to Rachel for having this cool little dealio on her blog for me to copy and steal. :)

Monday, October 01, 2007

I thought I should post something, just in case a) anyone reads this, and b) anyone reads this who pays enough attention to know that we are “in the window’ for the arrival of le bebe and might be wondering if that is what is keeping me from blogging.

He’s still living in mah belly. So I have no exciting news to share on that front. But having an incredible case of baby brain is, in fact, what has been keeping me from blogging. I can barely string words together to form intelligible thoughts. And that’s my excuse.

Sweet Pea is having major Halloween Costume Angst. She vacillates between wanting to be a Pumpkin and wanting to be Ariel the Mermaid daily. I didn’t start the conversation, because duh…who gets a three year old talking about that kind of thing any sooner than two days out? But now that we’re having it, I’m pushing for Pumpkin. The mermaid costumes I’ve seen are all $30 for a couple strips of shiny fabric intended to, what? Certainly not appropriately cover a three year old. Just for fun, let’s say her dad did give the thumbs up for her to go parading around in hooker clothes. Halloween is at the end of OCTOBER. She’d have frostbite in about 30 seconds. Doesn’t the costume industry make things for the bazillion trick or treaters who don’t live in the south? What about the poor kids in Minnesota who want to amass loot dressed as princesses and mermaids? They’re supposed to put a parka on over that costume they paid thirty bucks for?

Ok, a thought just occurred to me. Perhaps, if the Golightly family wasn’t a bunch of heathens, our plans for the 31st would involve a Harvest Party, inside, at a church. And then a scanty mermaid costume would be appropriate? Maybe? That’s all I can come up with to explain why anyone outside of Phoenix would buy one of the damn things.

Anyway, I should do some work. But nope, no baby yet. I’ll keep you posted.

~ Clover

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Today is cold and rainy. And so I'm officially in a Fall kind of mood. Which inspired today's Random Photo/Image. Hope you likey!


Monday, September 17, 2007

I am no Supergenius (but I know one!). However, there are a few things I know to be true. Here are today's top 10:

1) I have ZERO desire to engage in combat with a moving, or parked really, car. Not even one of those weird little European things that looks like a golf cart mated with a bicycle.

And so, I am baffled, BAFFLED I tell you, as to why the woman pushing the baby carriage chose to waltz out into traffic this morning as I made my way down 5th street. Even my three year old knows that when the red hand is lit and the light is green it means DON'T WALK. Plus lets pretend you didn't learn that as a preschooler. Wouldn't common sense tell you that when there is a mid sized SUV and a full sized Diesel truck coming at you at 30 MPH, it's probably a really good idea to keep your feet planted on the sidewalk?

2) Getting the Amy Winehouse rehab song stuck in your head is not only annoying, it's sure to get you a look or two when you start singing in Babies R' Us.

And by the way, Amy Winehouse. GO TO REHAB. Make yourself comfortable. Stay awhile. Yes, yes, yes.

3) Having a head cold when you are pregnant sucks Wookie. I mean, I know I'm just the host right now. But geeze, Baby Boy, could you spare yo mama a couple of good ass kickin' antibodies? I'm sure my being able to breathe would benefit us both.

4) Pink Eye is not sexy.

5) If you have problems that require you to contact Symantec Tech Support, you should probably just set your computer on fire and start over.

6) It doesn't matter how much butter you sauté them in, it doesn't matter how pretty Williams Sonoma makes them look in the "fall recipes" picture, it's not likely that your husband or your kids will eat turnips, parsnips and butternut squash. (But more for you, yea!) Next we test the theory with brussel sprouts.

7) When you get pregnant your ass is supposed to get big, and if yours doesn't there is something wrong with you. And I hate you a little bit.

8) If your husband has a single friend who gets sideline passes to important football games, has a golf handicap he can flash with the fingers on one hand, and generously hands over the keys to his sporty little BMW, you are screwed.

9) Cake for breakfast is good no matter what.

10) If your husband says to you when you are 35 weeks pregnant, "You know, there's a whole chapter in the hypnobirthing book about exercise and how important it is. You haven't really been exercising that much lately, have you?" It IS possible to hit him in the face so hard that your fist comes out the other side. But it's frowned upon to maim your Babydaddy. So, probably, don't do it. Unless he keeps pestering, and then by all means kick his ass. It's good exercise.

Happy Monday.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Happy Birth Day Mary Grace!!

And lots of love to her Mommy and Daddy who have been very patiently waiting for her to arrive for a very long time. Congratulations my friends!


Friday, September 07, 2007

A little fluff for Friday:

5 Things I Am Afraid Of:

Things I cannot put into writing because I am a mother and I just can't GO THERE
Skiing anywhere other than the bunny hill
Distance, resentment, dishonesty and regret seeping into my marriage

5 Fears I Have Conquered:

Skiing on the bunny hill
Being alone
Lighting the BBQ
Letting Sweet Pea do semi-dangerous-yet-age-appropriate things so that she'll learn for herself instead of everyone telling her to "BE CAREFUL" over every little thing

5 Things I Am Good At:

Being a mom
Being a friend
Karaoke (heh, admit it, you're jealous)
Telling stories

5 Things I Am Bad At:

Doing hair
Biting my tongue (figuratively, not literally)
Being on time
Good penmanship

5 Things I Want To Get Better At:

Remembering birthdays and being thoughtful enough to send cards and/or gifts
Not getting my feelings hurt so easily
Being a morning person
Asking for help

5 Things I Will Never Be Able To Do and Therefore Covet The Ability To Do Said Things In Others:

Distance Running
Being the touchy feely huggy friend
Anything to do with fashion and spending money on nice things for myself
Singing really, really, well
Traveling all over the world to exotic and semi dangerous places

5 Things I Wouldn’t Give Up, Not For Anything:

Flexibility in my job
My relationship with my mom
Custody of my child(ren)
Some things I have that belonged to my grandparents like photos, jewelry, some wooden trains, and a few little knickknacks
Being a girly girl

5 Things I Would Be Lying If I Told You I Wouldn’t Sell My Soul To Possess:

Lakefront Property
A flat stomach
A gourmet kitchen
New flooring throughout my house
That really “put together” look and air that some women possess

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Today’s random photo isn’t really that random. I wanted to introduce you to our pet, Tiny.

Tiny has been with us for the whole summer. Hanging out, eating disgusting things. Getting bigger and bigger. He lives above the front door of our house in the mountains. He’s allowed to live there because of all the little gnatty/mosquitoey things that are in his web every morning. (Not to mention the much larger mothy/grasshoppery/other spidery things in Tiny’s web. Tiny is, obviously, very adept at the catching dinner thing.)

Sweet Pea thinks that Tiny is cool. Mr. G is rather disinterested. Personally, I think I should get some kind of a badge of honor for being able to go in and out of the front door without hyperventilating or worse. I have a healthy respect for Tiny. Tiny probably looks at me like I’m dessert.

Mr. G is of the mind that Tiny is a girl, and one of these days we’ll arrive at Chalet Golightly to find Tiny is no longer, only to be cheered by her millions of offspring floating on their tiny wisps of web out into the wild blue yonder.

He’s sort of a romantic that way.


Friday, August 31, 2007

I have spent the last few days in a fabulously craptastic funk. Man, I was grouchy and so blue about so many things. Then, for some reason, today while walking to lunch with my superhot boss, it was like a cloud lifted. We spent our lunch hour cracking each other up about silly things like football rivalries and sports reporters. We talked about how cute our kid is, our plans for the long weekend, and sunning ourselves on rocks like lizards. (Ok, really just he wanted to do that. I wanted to get back inside to the air conditioning. But still.)

Anyhoo…I am resolved to be in a better mood. Even though today is kind of a sad day…the fabulous Ethel Baby passed away two years ago today. And I’m having some drama in my friendsphere. And the lobby outside my office is full of reporters waiting for Sen. Craig to announce his resignation. (Man, that bums me out. What a way to end a career. What a blow to the state of Idaho. What a STUPID THING TO DO. Seriously, listen to the police interview and then try to convince me that any first year law school student couldn’t have gotten those charges dropped. But props to the Senator for employing more of my previously blogged about battle tactics than I originally gave him credit for.)

In an attempt to make my resolve a little more, erm, resolved? I ate some cookies and read a funny blog. And now, yup, I’m in a good mood. I can’t believe that August is over though. Not that September in southern Hideyhoo is even remotely fallish. It’s still hotter than hell here, and the air is thick and smokey. But school has started, my football team opens against USC on Saturday, and Sweet Pea asked me about a Halloween costume the other day. So I suppose summer is officially on its way out.

Usually, I dig in my heels and refuse to acknowledge the changing seasons. But this year, the beginning of September means that October is right around the corner. And that means we’re going to have a baby soon. Woohoo!! And also, ohmigah, what have I done? And finally, sniff sniff. This is my last pregnancy. The last time I’ll be able to feel little feet in my belly. My last mommy of a newborn time. My last few weeks of being really uncomfortable and nauseated and bloated and hormotional and…BACK TO WOOOHOOO!

I told Sweet Pea several weeks ago that her baby brother was going to come when it was pumpkin time. And it’s funny, but now I’m sort of holding myself to that same timeframe. Like, the baby has strict orders to stay put until the air turns crisp (yeah, I worry about having a preemie, Sweet Pea was early) and then when we get out the fall decorations and put pumpkins on the porch he will magically arrive just in time to wear a cute and snuggly little costume for Halloween. How convenient and tidy for me, no? Like Martha Stewart is going to tie a grosgrain ribbon around his little diapered waist and present him to me with a freshly baked loaf of pumpkin bread. Ahh Fall. Ahh domesticity and perfection and bliss.


It’s the denial and terror talking. I realized that this morning when Sweet Pea tore the nursery apart and smeared lip balm all over the diaper changing pad. Kind of a, “How am I going to shower and dress myself while keeping an eye on the baby and his super helpful and busy big sister? Lalalalalalalala…Fall is family time. Fall is cocooning time. Fall is when we bake and wear sweaters and have perfect babies and perfect preschoolers who look like Ralph Lauren ads and play in the leaves. Lalalalalala,” moment.

It’s all true though, right?


Thursday, August 30, 2007

At lunch today Mr. G and I were approached by a reporter from the NY Times about the Larry Craig thing. So that's the 3rd reporter at this point who's asked me about it.


What a mess. I really can't even decide how I feel about it. I'm conflicted. It's hard when it's people you actually know. I mean, kind of peripherally. But still. This is a small state where people have a lot of interaction with their public officials. I've met him several times. I know his family. My friends work on his staff. It's just...ugly. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, and even my liberal little self takes no joy in it. For several reasons.

Here’s what I know though. Senator Craig would be in much less of a mess had he employed an age old female battle tactic. Get indignant, get scary pissed, and confuse the opposition into believing it’s all their fault. Let me illustrate.

I’m sitting in a bathroom stall tapping out sexually aggressive messages in Morris Code. Suddenly a badge appears. In the next 3 seconds I go ballistic. “Who are you? What are you talking about? Are you some kind of freak?” Because really, until someone sees your wanker, have you actually engaged in lude conduct? No! You were simply singing showtunes – ok, maybe not showtunes. Maybe the Battle Hymn of the Republic – in your head and tapping your foot along to the beat. What kind of freaky weird pervert would assume that toe tapping was a solicitation for sex??? And BY THE WAY, I am very powerful and could squash you like a bug for making these ridiculous accusations.

Anyway, to little old me, that sounds way more likely to work than pleading guilty. I’m just sayin…But it only works on male police officers. If they bring in that Kyra Sedgwick character you’re screwed.

I told the reporter that. Heh. But off the record. So if anyone sees it in the NY Times let me know.


Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I'm starting to think this "Random Photo Tuesday" thing was a bad idea. Basically it just illustrates what a craptastic blogger I am.

Then again, random photos would probably be a lot better than random slices of my headspace today. I'll just be honest and tell you that I'm in a foul, foul mood. I don't even feel like apologizing for forgetting the HS dance picture. Again.

This is a picture taken by Sweet Pea. Not bad, eh?

This is a picture of Sweet Pea. Man, that girl is cute.

And this is a picture of my ginormous belly.

I got stopped on the street by a reporter earlier today. He wanted to know if I had a comment on the Larry Craig thing. I don't. It seems really sad to me on so many levels.


Friday, August 24, 2007

I am so loving this illustration that was posted on Illustration Friday today. It's a watercolor. So cute. I'm thinking that it would be a faux pas to put the image here, but you can click this link to see it. The topic this week is "Visitor" and this piece is titled, "Waiting for Visitors." The blog is called "Artista Blog" and you have the link.

Oh, what the heck. I keep getting pop ups when I go to the blog, so here's the image:

That little girl is three I bet. :)

Speaking of, it's State Fair time here in Hideyhoo. My usual ritual is to go with Sweet Pea and my mom, have a corndog, look at all the art/photography/quilts/giant pumpkins/farm animals/"amazing" product booths, and ride a couple of kiddie rides. But this year since I'm banned even from the slow moving elephant ride we had to enlist the help of Mr. G. He went rather grudgingly and then surprised himself by having fun. Right up until the point that he and the other dad with us on ride duty had to share the back seat of a teeny weensy little helicopter so that Sweet Pea and Weezoo could sit in front with all the controls. OMG, I will just say that even though I know it means he will NEVER go back to the fair with me, the hysterical laughing jag that I participated in with my dear friend Emily was worth it. Mr. G. has sworn that bad things will happen if I post any of the "big guys in a little helicopter" photos on my blog. But WHAT-EVER. Why have a blog if not for immortalizing moments like these? I mean, after all, isn't this about the love that fathers have for their children? Love that trumps any hope you have of clinging to your dignity? Love that laughs in the face of maximum capacity warnings? Love that has actually nothing to do with cuddling your fraternity brother in the back of a stuffy plastic helicopter, and yet there you are...

The good people in the Ag Extension Barn would be thrilled to know that I'm counting on the valuable and interactive learning experience at the dairy cow display to answer a few questions come October about babies and nutrition. Sweet Pea is stoked to know that milk and other dairy products come from cows and goats. I bet you one hundred American dollars that she asks me at some point post baby if I can also make ice cream.

We did go back to the fair with grandma last night, and made our usual rounds. Man, there is a lot of REALLY BAD art out there. My top faves were, in order:

1) The painting of the hunter about to take have a poop in the woods, who has to make a tough decision between reaching for the toilet paper or his gun when a big elk wanders right in front of him.

2) The meticulously drawn, big enough to hang over your couch, incredibly realistic, man-that-must-have-taken-HOURS, expensively framed, bud light bottle.

3) The 2' x 3' acrylic painting done from some middle school kid's yearbook photo, where said kid has not combed his hair and is wearing a wrinkly Dr. Pepper t-shirt.

I have to say that the flower arrangements were kind of a disappointment this year. No one used a slinky OR any old car parts. The most exciting one had some big pieces of clear plastic incorporated. But other than that there wasn't even really anything to snark on.

The highlight of the evening was Sweet Pea "winning" a stuffed rose at a froggy fishing game. You would have thought she just won big on Millionaire. And coming in second was Grandma's gold star effort to take her on a ride. Not as funny as two dads in a helicopter. But just as uncomfortable for a long legged beauty such as my mother.

Anyway, I heart the fair. Last night I promised Sweet Pea that when she got big enough I'd take her on the fast rides. She'll be lucky to hit the height requirement for the Farris Wheel by high school. But someday...


Tuesday, August 21, 2007

It's Random Photo Tuesday, again. Already. Geeze...

Ok, so I forgot to bring in the promised embarrassing high school dance photo. But I do have a good snap to share.

This is a photo of my grandmother, Ethel Baby. She must have been in her mid twenties in this picture. It was taken at the Idaho Statesman, where she worked. And where my grandfather also worked. He was five years younger than she was - scandalous! He must have really caught her eye though, because she told me that she turned two other gentlemen down before she finally agreed to get married at the ripe old age of 28. On the back of the photo in her handwriting it says, "Statesman, legs." And for all my life whenever this photo has surfaced the members of my family all exclaim, "Nice Gams!" I think my grandfather made her a card or something that said that. I'll have to check with my mom. Anyway, here's to Ethel Baby and her fabulous gams. She's been gone two years this month, and boy do I miss her every single day.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

I’m trying desperately to think of some fun and clever way to begin this post. But really want I want to do is flop down beside you sorority girl style and say, “Ohmigosh, you are NEVER going to belieeeeeve what I found stuck to my windshield yesterday.”

It’s a little newspaper called “Christian Ministries World Newsletter”. And after sitting in my car and reading it for a few minutes, I actually braved the “girl, you crazy?” stares of everyone else downtown that day who had been proselytized to and carried it two whole blocks back to my office so I could share it with you, gentle reader.

Let me just pull some quotes for you to give you a taste of what Pastor T is preachin’.

Headline: “Evil One-World Government Agents are Claiming to be United States Agents”

Body copy: “After quitting his diabolical work for Rome, under the pretense of being part of the United States government, [name withheld] tells how the United States of America’s law enforcement agencies are enforcing the Pope in Rome’s will on U.S. citizens.”

I guess because I am a Catholic, and already under the influence of the diabolical Pope in Rome, I hadn’t realized what a threat this really was.

For example, did you know that the Pope in Rome was responsible for the Killing of David Koresh? Did you KNOW THAT? It’s all right here in the seven page transcript of the phone conversation of [name withheld] to one D. Sweat of the Holy Christian Church volunteer prayer phone line. Apparently this poor soul, we’ll call him J, was totally overcome with all his pent up guilt and called the prayer line to confess his involvement in Waco, the Oklahoma City bombing, and both attacks on the World Trade Center. Actually, he called twice. They only printed one transcript because of the redundancy though. Natch. He’s former BATF, FBI and DEA you know. As evidenced by a full color photo of him in fatigues, and of course by his own admission in this chilling confession.

It all began when he volunteered for the government in 1988. Then the FBI “did him real dirty.” Then we interject a diatribe from the editor of the newspaper – presumably Pastor T – where we learn that Pearl Harbor was all a set up by the Pope in Rome, and the plan communicated to FDR (a puppet of the pope) by a homosexual Cardinal. Then back to J who goes on to tell us 5 more pages of things like, “the FBI, DEA, CIA, CFR are all branches of the Vatican.” “I’m not a white supremacist or anything, I’m a Christian first.” (White supremacist second? Third? Oh, right. Your stint with the KKK was an undercover op. Keep reading…) He was forced to frame some high ups with the KKK, and then when he refused to agree to assassinate Pastor T the FBI tried to frame him. But HA! Little did they know that he was in a hospital in an oxygen tent recovering from a highly secretive gunshot wound when THEY say he was doing whatever it is they were trying to frame him for. So they framed his youngest son instead. And I’ve got his high school prom picture here to prove it.

I’ve also got a picture of Pastor T, with the following really relevant caption. “[Pastor T] with the late superstar and congressman, Sonny Bono and Congresswoman Mary Bono (who loves her up some Pastor T in this photo I should add). All three are wearing [Pastor T] designer jackets, which are worn by hundreds of motion picture stars, entertainers, recording artists, sports figures, presidents, politicians, kings, queens, princes and princesses.

Presumably not by President Bush, however. As Pastor T labels him “the most Catholic President we’ve ever had.” And says that President Bush is advocating “Catholic Nazi terrorism, which is Roman cannon law.”

Man, I missed that in CCD class. I’m not a huge fan of the President or the new Pope though. So maybe I should jump on this bandwagon. Somebody sure as hell has. Because Pastor T is printing up his newsletter in full color on some nice heavy stock. And inside the the newsletter was another newsletter printed in full color on some nice glossy paper, with fancy illustrations of a “difficult mountain.” Or maybe he just makes so much money selling his designer jackets to famous people he can throw a lot of cash at his printing operations.

Here’s a little trivia. Did you know that Pastor T and his wife were married in a Baptist church in Las Vegas – despite not being Baptists at all, and their best man was none other than Hank Snow? Hank just happened to be there and stood in, but years later when he and Pastor T became best friends in Nashville, Pastor T never brought up their previous connection. And Hank never remembered it. Not even when he saw the pictures? Maybe, since Pastor T and his wife were actually married 3 times in Las Vegas, Hank just was confused about which ceremony he was Best Man in.

There are a lot of people who are totally inspired by Pastor T, just so you know and don’t think I’m making fun. Most of them live in places like Uruguay, Nigeria, Zambia and the like. They all write lovely letters and include photos. Maybe in the next newsletter there will be letters and photos of people right here in Hideyhoo who saw the light after the blanketing of our downtown with this inspired literature. Maybe my blog will be featured…

Fame, fortune, maybe even my own designer jacket? I tremble with anticipation.


Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Today is Random Photo Tuesday!

Blast From the Past Picture Day!

Bad Scanning, But Who Cares? Show Us the Goods Day!

Ok, actually, it's I'm Probably Going to Sell My Wedding Dress on Craig's List Day. So I had to scan a picture of it, and a discussion about whether or not to sell it led some of my interweb girly friends to request to see the photos. So, here you go.

Mr. G and I will celebrate 9 years of wedded bliss in October. Given that, I have to say that I'm pretty impressed with how un-outdated our hair is.

Please forgive all the dust on the scanner.

This is the "here's the dress" picture that will go on Criag's list, sans Mr. G and my head. Would you buy that dress for $200? Alfred Angelo, size 10 (fits like an 8). No stains or tears.

This is just some pure schmoop. I heart that picture.

This is me and one of my two Dads. (Divorce, not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.) I heart this picture a whole bunch too. My mom has one just like it of her and my grandfather. One of these days I'll frame them together.

This is my soon-to-be-new family, so as to show off the bridesmaid attire (on my SIL at the far right.) My other SIL was pregnant with my nephew in this picture. I remember shopping for her dress before she was even showing, and having to use one of those little pillows to see what it might look like by the wedding. We laughed at the prospect of her belly really sticking out like that. My nephew turned 8 in January. Le sigh...

Next Tuesday maybe I'll see if I can dig up an embarrassing HS dance photo. I know just the one.


Thursday, August 09, 2007

I have just now learned that a couple of my girlfriends have declared this to be “The Year of Cunnilingus.” Do with that what you will. But, for the love of God, don’t tell me about it.

Have I mentioned lately how pregnant I am? Ohmahgah. I am so pregnant. I am at the point where people look upon me with pity and ask with hope in their voices if I’m almost through. You know what’s crazy though? I’m NOT almost through. If I make it to 40 weeks (unlikely) I will be pregnant for another 2.5 whole months. Sweet Fancy Moses. Being this pregnant is really itchy. That’s one of the things I had not forgotten from last time. It started with a vengeance about a week ago. I’m at the point where I have to get up in the middle of the night not just to pee, but to reapply body butter. (Thank you Jesus for Body Shop Body Butter. Amen.) The itching. And the peeing. And the heartburn. Oy.

You know, there are women out there who just loooooooove being pregnant. God bless them. Each and every Buddha bellied one of those mamas. They should all be surrogates and have babies for the all the nice ladies out there who can’t. I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE WOMEN. I don’t hate it or anything. But I can say with a lot of confidence that I like being unpregnant, and all the sleeping and walking normal and peeing once at bedtime that goes with unpregnancy. Thank you.

There are some things I do like about being pregnant though. Like, getting rid of all my belts and not having to tuck my shirt in ever. And watching the baby roll around and stick his little hands and feet out so that my stomach goes all cattywampus. My outie bellybutton. Eating dessert whenever I want. Wearing flip flops all the time, even when it’s totally inappropriate and then being all, “Just TRY to make me wear shoes” about it. Naps. The way older women smile when they see you waddling down the street. The way Mr. G and Sweet Pea talk into the bellybutton microphone.

Ok, I should stop or you’re going to think I was lying when I was complaining about the itching and peeing and heartburn. Those things really do suck. And I don’t need to remind anyone about the 17 weeks of all day long sickness hell. Do I? Suffice to say, it was hell.

Anyway, that kind of came out of nowhere. Hormones I suppose. I fluctuate between schmoopy and bitchy pretty readily these days. And that was slightly more interesting than what I was going to post about Sweet Pea falling into a toilet in the Spokane airport on Sunday. (Shudder.)

And with that, I’m out.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Who hit the Warp Speed button? How do we turn it off?

Where are we going, and why am I in this handbasket? Oh, sorry, that's a different post.


Oh, and also, I made it so that you don't have to register or sign in to post comments on my blog. Be gentle. And no spam please.


Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Mr. Golightly is trying to tell me something. I think it has to do with a lack of faith in my ability to maintain my role as “the person who keeps our family alive and healthy.” He hasn’t said as much, but he’s suddenly very concerned about our plants.

Ironically enough, so am I. However, I hadn’t shared this with him. So yesterday when I came into the kitchen and found that he had moved several shriveled up philodendron and dracaena from their spots on the poorly named “plant shelf” to a place more directly in my line of vision, I took it as a bit of an intervention. (Ok, truth. I thought for a second that the plant had crawled down onto the counter in a plea for mercy. I wasn’t aware until yesterday that Mr. G even knew we had plants in our house.)

The thing is, I used to have a green thumb. And a green index finger, pinkie, several toes, and possibly a green nose. At our old house I couldn’t help but have plants flourish. In fact, the same philodendron that is now basically in hospice care in my kitchen sink used to have leaves the size of dinner plates, and had begun this sort of freaky and aggressive takeover of our breakfast nook that ultimately required us to re-paint a wall.

I don’t get it either. Our new house has windows everywhere. And of course, the previously mentioned plant shelf of doom. It goes all around our seemingly well lit kitchen. When we moved into our house I spent a small fortune on planters, and an entire afternoon repotting all the plants we received after my grandmother passed away. I lovingly grouped the plants according to their need for light and water. I carefully placed them around the house. I watered them. I fed them. I endured a rather unpleasant mildew gnat infestation, and subsequently watered them less.

No dice. I think I’ve killed off at least 8-10 innocents. And HELLO, don’t think the pregnant lady doesn’t feel guilty about that. Especially since, like I said, many of those plants were gifts to our family after my grandmother died. No pressure or anything. What kind of cruel joke is it to give someone an orchid as a memorial gift? Do you know how much time I’ve spent trying to nurture that damn thing? People should give the grieving hardy things. Like, cactus. Or maybe dandelions. Something with a bit more “circle of life” going on than a $100 flower that has inspired entire libraries full of books about how not to kill them. I can practically hear it’s little plant voice mocking me and my feeble attempts and light/heat/moisture regulation. Well, I could. It’s corpse was moved to the garage last week.

Anyway, I’ve renewed my commitment to the flora in our home. I bought a few new plants. Tried to shield the sick ones from their view. Moved some pots to more sunny locales. Bought some plant food…I’m ready for my Victory Garden.

Mr. Golightly seems encouraged by this. Although I did spot him reading the fine print on our life insurance policies earlier.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

And in totally unrelated news, I like how this turned out:


Monday, July 23, 2007

I think what is happening to me right now is a bad case of diversionary decorating. What I really want to be doing is painting the nursery and getting it all ready for the impeding arrival. But in a case of tragic irony, women who long to prepare baby rooms can’t. For all the lifting and climbing and fumes and whatnot. (Although, truth be told, I may have painted a little bit when I was pregnant with Sweet Pea. And with the exception of her love for twirling in circles until she is falling down dizzy, we think she’s pretty normal.) Anyway, it’s the lifting that’s really impeding my progress. And since Mr. Golightly has had a busy, busy summer. I’m stuck with a lot of HGTV energy, and no one to boss around.

So today I bought some posters on AllPosters.Com – they’re having a sale by the way.

Asti Cinzano by Leonetto Cappiello
Asti Cinzano

Three Lab Bakery by Ken Bailey
Three Lab Bakery

These will go in the dining area of our place in the mountains:

The wine poster on the wall next to the buffet, and then over the buffet some shelves with wine glass racks. And the lab poster on the wall by the sliding door.

And then I’m working on some creative endeavors for the baby’s room involving this little guy:

And another thing for the cabin using these pictures of my grandmother:

(I didn’t scrap that page. Credit there goes to my Aunt Donna.)

I’m also in the process of framing some pictures that I’ve manipulated. Here's a sample:

Now. Here’s where I need help. I would really like a pineapple to hang on the wall in my cabin kitchen. I found a perfect door knocker today that if I were rich I would have bought on the spot. But it was like $130. I’m thinking more in the $20 range. So if anyone is bored and wants to help me in the nesting process. Get thee to Google and find me a pineapple.


Thursday, July 19, 2007

King of Queens - Doug Pole Dances

Random Stuff:

I like this blog I found today called Jezebel. I'm probably the last person on earth to discover this blog, but me likey. So let me live the dream.

I've been slummin' it over on YouTube lately (for a work project), and I have to be honest with you. I'm all, "meh" about it. I have yet to stumble upon anything truly highlarious. Except for like SNL clips and clips from sit coms. Professional highlarity. I'm just going to go out on a limb and say that the population at large can put away their cam corders. (Yeah, I'm like the only person in the universe who is not enthralled with Charlie the Unicorn. I know. It's not You, YouTube. It's me.) But if you would like to enlighten me and send some funny YouTube my way, gofer it.

I have a hot date tonight with my babydaddy. We're going to the early showing of Harry Potter. Because we are That Cool.

I got a blackberry pearl. Neener Neener.

Ok, so I am going to attempt to post a YouTube video here. Random, I know, since I just said that YouTube was, in essence, kind of lame. But I do love this video everso. Fingers crossed...

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Monday, July 09, 2007

It's been really hot here. Not that I would know much about that, because my response to the rising temps has been to run for the hills. Literally. Or the coast. Either works nicely if your pregnant lady goal is to avoid Fred Flintstone feet. Not so much if you're trying to become a prolific blogger.

Anyhoo...we've been playing in the shade and in the water as much as possible. Last week we went to our erm...other house? Cabin? Lake house? Townhouse? It is a domicile without a classification I guess. I think of it as Chalet Golightly. We rotated guests throughout the week, which was big fun. And bonus, the last crew to roll through are the 'rents of our God Daughter Weezoo, and her new baby brother O Dawg. (I know, but we've already covered that I'm kind of paranoid so DEAL with the pseudonyms.) Anyhoo, after spending a couple of days with them and their exemplary parenting/juggling of babies skills, I am now feeling slightly less overwhelmed by the prospect of having this baby be on the outside. It's all good.

My camera died on day one of both trips, natch. So I have a few snaps I stole from others' cameras to share and more coming.

Enjoy. And I hope everyone else has had as much fun over the last two weeks as we have.

Monday, June 18, 2007

A few peeps have asked me today why you have to have a Blogger account to post a comment on my blog. It's because I am a big fat wimp who is scared of creepy flamers posting mean things. For reals. This one girl, at band camp, had a flamer posting on her blog about how ugly her baby is. That was enough to scare me away from allowing anonymous posts. If someone called my baby ugly I would cry, cry, cry. (Even though that would be stupid. Have you seen her? She's gorgeous.)

So here’s where my head is after a lovely Father’s Day weekend. I’m like, freaking the hellout.

Well, ok. That might be a little drama. But I’m for sure nesting and creating a monster to do list for Mr. Golightly that he will no doubt ignore completely. He’s all, “I have to paint?” So now I’m afraid to tell him that he also has to build a desk, hang a new ceiling fan, and install a faux wood blind which will very likely have to be special ordered for the worlds oddest shaped window. He might run for the hills. My poor baby daddy. He’s so cute. He’s so capable. He has so many wonderful qualities. Home fix it projects are not, however, at the top of that list. Nothing domestic really. Except opening jars and killing bugs*.

He did plant some flowers for me yesterday. Because, you know. “HOW CAN I POSSIBLY HAVE A BABY IF THERE ARE NOT FLOWERS IN THE FRONT YARD???”

Maybe I’m not exaggerating after all, oui?

*So Sweet Pea has developed this total freak out phobia of bees recently. Last night we had a lovely BBQ** on our patio with lots of family, and this wasp was flying around her, and she was screaming and crying and had to go inside to eat her dinner. Which of course sparked much conversation among the adults at the table about “why would she be so upset” and “she hasn’t ever been stung” and “she doesn’t see YOU freaking out does she?” To which I am all, UM, YOOOOHOOO. It’s a wasp. She’s 3. WASPS ARE FREAKING SCARY. They sting you. They fly aggressively around your head. They look like mean little skeletons. I dunno. Personally I think if you’re going to freak out about something a wasp seems pretty rational to me. But yes. Sigh. We’ll work on it. Anyway. Brave Mr. G saved the day when he killed the wasp with nothing but a mere teaspoon. And Sweet Pea nearly swooned in admiration for her daddy.

**Father’s Day BBQ Menu that I am feeling very smug about: Spinach and strawberry salad, cedar plank grilled salmon with sun dried tomato glaze, roasted asparagus, wild rice, and triple chunk brownies/ice cream. Mmmmm….

Maybe I should go on a brownie run? Maybe I shouldn’t since I’ve already gained 22 lbs. and have 18 more weeks to go. Yeah, that’s right. A pound a week. I could squash you without breaking a sweat so don’t EVEN post a flame comment on my blog.

Ahem. So anyway. I’m also coming to the realization that prior to knowing that this baby was indeed a boy, I could sort of carry on like it would probably be another girl. And another girl is nothing new. So having this baby will be like nothing is different. Right? Hahahahaha. Hahahahaha. Ha. Heh. OH MY GAH. Everyone remain calm. It’s going to be fine. But you DO realize I’m having ANOTHER BABY. Right? And not only is it going to cry, and not sleep, and want to eat things, and poop, and make considerable amounts of laundry…It’s going to have a PENIS. I am so totally out of my league. Barbie I get. Dresses that twirl I get. Playing baby dolls and going shopping and having tea parties…I get that! Boys are a mystery to me. Boys are really busy, aren’t they? And I think we’ve covered that Sweet Pea comes by her fear of bugs and creepy crawlies honestly.

And then the other day I was driving my car when I had this sudden flash of realization – He is going to grow up and get married someday (maybe) and then I will have a daughter in law!! I already hate all his girlfriends.

Oh lordy. I need a brownie.
~ Clover

Thursday, June 14, 2007

I thought of something! I thought of something!

Tomorrow afternoon I have my 20 week ultrasound (Although I am actually at 22 weeks if anyone cares to know that detail.)

ANYWAY...We should know by tomorrow afternoon if we have a boy bebe or a girl bebe on the way. And if my new hair color has resulted in fins.

Sweet Pea still insists that there is one of each floating around in there. She's named them Allison and Mike. Did I already post that? Sorry. Baby brain is in full force.

If anyone cares to make a last minute guess you should do that now. I don't have any gut feeling either way. I've flipped and flopped between boy and girl so many times I was beginning to go with "tom boy" or extremely sensitive and well dressed boy who loves showtunes.

Tomorrow will tell! Right now I'm going to put in a guess for a heard of soccer playing octopus. Octopi? Octopusses? A whole bunch of the squirmy little buggers.

Since I am too boring to post about anything in my life, I thought I would briefly regale you with a conversation I overheard in the hair salon today. (Yes, I got my hairs colored. Sue me. I figure if the 9 months pregnant owner of the salon has been willy nilly putting the stuff in people’s hair for the duration of her pregnancy, then my child will likely not have fins based on an hour’s worth of exposure. Plus. I’m huge, yo. Indulge me some cute hair. OH! And I totally figured out today why when I flat iron it doesn’t look the same as when Cute Cassie the stylist flat irons. Because my flat iron cost $20 at the Wal Mart. And her’s was like $200 at the beauty supply store. Damn.)

So here goes:

Girl one: “I so remember the first time I met you. I was totally intimidated.”

Girl two: “I remember you saying that, but why?”

G1: “I think I had it in my head that you and Paul had dated at some point. Maybe Lindsay told me that?”

G2: “She would say that. She talks smack about me all the time. That girl is such a bitch.”

G1: “I know. Total bitch. (then cheerfully) So is she going to be at your wedding?”

G2: (equally as cheerfully) “Of course!”

Hahaha. Ok. Maybe you had to be there.


Friday, June 08, 2007

Today’s musings are about maturity. Or, the lack thereof. Specifically, mine.

Yes, today is the day that I completely out my 8th grade sense of humor. Or maybe that’s degrading to 8th graders. Well, political correctness be damned, because here goes.

These are two things at my house that are currently making me giggle like a hyena. May I present Exhibit One:

THAT, fair readers, is a butthole. A sphincter. A big ol’ purple starfish. And I work with enough of the artsy fartsy types to feel fairly confident in stating that it is not by accident. Methinks that the illustrator, Mr. David Catrow, is a bit of an 8th grader hisownself.

Heh. Still funny.

Next, I’m going to offer up what I think is a perfect example of “too close to the forest to see the totally inappropriate for children and yet hilarious sexual innuendo.”

Snort. Bahahaha. MAN, that one just cracks me UP something fierce. I mean, of COURSE it’s Two Headed Monster. Nothing naughty about a singular being going nigh-night. Unless of course that singular being is drawn in such a way that he appears to be two nekkid dudes blissfully drifting off in their big comfy bed. NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT. Unless it’s available for download on the Sesame Street Web Site.

Heh. It’s not anymore. By the way. Available for download that is. I searched high and low for it the other day. Maybe they took it off line to draw some jammies on Two Headed Monster. Or, you know, a cigarette.

There is actually a third thing at my house that has hit the “things as funny as fart noises and the word boobies” list. It is a plastic cup with a bust of Cinderella on top. Sweet Pea Lah-HOVES that cup. And the other night she was cradling it everso when she announced at the dinner table, “Mommy, you’re strong. Daddy is big, but he’s not strong.” And Mr. Golightly’s reply to that was, “Oh yeah, well your Cinderella cup has an Adam’s apple.”

Which of course led to further inspection of the cup, and a new name for it which is “the tranny tippy cup.”

And because I am like 12 I think that’s way funny.

Dude, who farted? Heh.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Hello? Hello…hello……hello…..

Quite the echo. It’s dusty and cobwebby in here too. Oops. Sorry about that.

Some good news though! The magic pregnancy fairy sprinkled me with glowy dust, and I am feeling 100,000,000 percent better. Phew. Now we can get on to the business of having normal aches and pains and bladder control issues. Praise the Lord.

So. Um. Has anyone read the newspaper lately? Are you as freaked out as I am? So are we officially back to the cold war, or just unofficially trying really hard to start WWIII? It’s extra fun to think about all that when you have a baby on the way, let me tell you. Oh, the future is bright my little one.

I have decided that I need one of those bumper stickers that says, “If you’re not outraged you aren’t paying attention.” I’m going to slap it on my car and then park every day next to Butthead Bill Sali’s right hand guy. His truck is covered with bumper stickers. And even though I shouldn’t be surprised, every day when I read The Stupidest Bumper Sticker Of Them All, I rather want to key his car. Are you ready? Ok, here goes: “Guns Don’t Kill People. Abortion Clinics Kill People.”

Um. WHA?? I mean, Ok. Let’s pretend for a moment that we’re all Pro-Lifers of the most passionate sort. GUNS STILL KILL PEOPLE. Idiots. Maybe as long as your gun is pointed squarely at someone who doesn’t agree with you it doesn’t count?

My head hurts. It’s the outrage.

So in other news. While I have been obsessing over whether or not my child will be born into a nuclear winter, Mr. Golightly can't decide if he's upset, or delighted by the new title sponsor of our hometown Humanitarian Bowl. (That’s WAC Football for those of you not paying enough attention to be outraged.)

Roady’s Truck Stops.

As a Vandal he's dying laughing. As a WAC football fan he's annoyed. But overall he's really hoping that they give out appropriate souvenirs. Mr. G is pulling for tire irons and trucker hats. I suggested microwave burrito’s and strong coffee. But we both had to concede to Tom the Employee who recommends porn and switchblades.


Thursday, May 03, 2007

I should not watch reality teevee.

Ok, in truth, NO ONE should watch reality teevee. But alas. I have once again been sucked into American Idol. My pattern is to get really involved one season, and then swear it off for a while. And then, suckage.

I get so emotionally involved with these people. I actually cringe and suffer during the first few episodes because I just can’t stand to watch some of those idiots make such a-holes out of themselves. And Simon really terrifies me. Not so much in the latter part of the season, but in the beginning when there are all those poor people who think they can sing, and then WHAMMO. Simon.

It’s probably because I am a mediocre wedding/karaoke aficionado my ownself. Good enough to croon some Allison Kraus in a periwinkle bridesmaid dress. Not good enough for, well, anything else. Simon would hate me. Randy would be all, “Check it out, check it out, check it out Dawg. It wasn’t my favorite.” Paula would love me though, and then maybe we could go drink a gallon of Robitussin, or hairspray, or jet fuel. Whatever it is that she’s on.

Ok. So check it out. Last night broke my heart into itty bitty teeny weenie pieces. Even though I totally called it. Even though I don’t think either Chris or Phil were going to win. We are just at a point where I love all those crazy kids, and I want them all to be my American Idol. A million bucks for everyone! Recording contracts all around!

Sniff. Sniff.

So now it’s just going to be absolutely painful every Wednesday night. I mean, when it gets down to Jordan, LaKisha, and Melinda I may have to stop watching. Or get serious about sharing Paula’s koolaid. I can’t pick a favorite out of those three. (Sorry Blake, I like you too. But the girls have it this year I think. Props for the cool Bon Jovi remix though – I totally dug that.)

Am I alone in my Idol love? (My dad was one of the millions of voters on Tuesday, and he voted 20 times, for reals. So obviously, no.) Am I alone in my Idol heartbreak? And most importantly, who is your pick?


Thursday, April 26, 2007

I’ve worked in Event Planning for a long time now, and as a result I guess I’ve become a girl who likes to work from a theme. Luau, Margarita Party, Roaring 20’s, Mardi Gras, you name it, I’ve got a centerpiece.

Lately, there seems to be a theme in my life that I’d like to move away from though. May I present: Vomit.

My personal focus on vomit has been sort of a lingering affair. We’re at 14 weeks now, and I think I can safely say that throwing up – or the intense avoidance of throwing up - has been ever present since about 5.5 weeks. Making that just over two months of feeling like hell. If you’re keeping track. And believe me, I am.

Sweet Pea and our dog Irie are both rather competitive in nature. Not wanting to be outdone by someone with more experience, they both chose 12 hour puke-o-rama’s that definitely rivaled my more drawn out approach in terms of volume and the nasty factor. The dog wins hands down though, just because of the fact that she’s all, “Receptacles be dammed! I chose the WHITE CARPET to showcase my abilities!!”

You have to wonder if Mr. Golightly is feeling a little left out of all this. Although I think if he decides to throw his hat in the ring we may be looking at something brief but spectacular, and involving a whole bunch of cheap tequila. I’ll block out May 6th, at about 3:00 AM and see if he’s interested.

After that, I vote for a Golightly Family Holiday, a “Day Without Vomit.”

Until then I’m sharing anti-nausea meds with the dog. For reals.


Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Ok, be honest. Is my cranky pantsedness scaring you from posting a comment? Or am I really just that boring?

IS THIS THING ON? Tap. Tap. Tap.

I know people are reading. I have may ways...

Don't be scared. I love comments. Lots.


Monday, April 23, 2007

Man. Lately I am just so…pissy. I’m kind of tired of it. And really tired of feeling so out of control of my emotions. And downright SICK of having people pat me condescendingly on the head and make stupid comments about my hormones.

So I’ve decided to take a new tack. I’ve decided to blame you. And by you, I mean the universal You. As in, everyone. Everyone. In. The. Entire. Universe.

Like the lady at the deli counter who spent a good 6 minutes grilling the poor minimum wage earning, English as a second (and still in the process of being learned) language speaking deli clerk about whether or not the “turkey breast meat” that comes in that obviously fake breast shaped loaf was organic. And then, when she didn’t get the response she was hoping for, proceeded to make said deli clerk read the ingredient list of the salami. SALAMI. Unidentified animal parts, salt, chemicals, and fat. Are you kidding me? Go buy some carrots and get the hell out of the way so I can order a corn dog and some chicken strips. Or better yet, buy a beetloaf and shove it in your pie hole.

Or how about the guy who told a room full of people recently that he didn’t want to have any responsibility for coordinating and executing a particular project, and then spent the entire afternoon today spewing ugly and petty emails about how those same people botched said project. (Sorry, that was vague. I’m not fully ready to rant about it yet.)

Or the neighbor kid who rings my doorbell 25 times in quick succession every time she comes to the door.

Or my own damn dog who won’t listen to me and farts endlessly.

Or the HR person at my former place of employment who INSISTED that the reason my W2’s weren’t mailed to the correct address was 100% my fault because I obviously hadn’t updated my information with her office. And then two seconds later, without any prompting or information from me asked if I would like the W2’s sent to my address on, “Insert the correct address that the argumentative shrew had all along here.”

And now, even though I am STILL fuming about azzhat number 2, I am going to bed. Where I will undoubtedly get to replay every word of every email exchanged today, and fantasize about changing all my courteous and professional responses into various forms of “Fuck You, Fucker.”

Did I just type that? Really? Sorry. I’m hormonal.


Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Just a note to express my deepest sympathies to all those touched by the violence in Blacksburg, VA. And a cyber hug to Misanthropster and Cranky Bastard who are living the hell.


Thursday, April 12, 2007

A thousand apologies for being such a lame blogger as of late. I can't help it. My bedtime is 9PM.

For now, a few pictures of our Easter weekend at the Golightly Family Ranch in the beautiful Clearwater River Valley.


Sweet Pea doin her thang.

My nephew Gabe, who will be a year old in June.

Aquiring some Easter Loot.

And a bump makes four...

Hope everyone is enjoying Spring!


Friday, March 30, 2007

At the request of a couple long distance friends, who clearly don't believe me when I tell them that I haven't yet reached the beautiful and glowy stage of pregnancy, here it is. Photographic evidence that I am just as big right this second as it took me 18 weeks to get to last time.

I've said it once, I'll say it again. It doesn't seem fair that I should have to lumber around and say goodbye to my feet before I get over being nauseated all the damn time.

But for the record, that's not why I look so morose in this picture. I cropped out my neurotic dog, who was whining about something imaginary at my feet. I would have left her in the picture, but her eyes were doing that satanic green glowy thing. And that's just creepy.

I'm pretty sure this was taken on 3/20, by my cruel husband who doesn't believe in giving a girl a heads up before he starts snapping. Although, in all fairness, the ones I did pose for aren't any better.

Le sigh.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Last night began the first of many conversations Mr. Golightly and I are likely to have about the important task of naming our future child. If it’s anything like the last go around, it will start off kind of humorously, and then by about 36 weeks I will be so mad at him over his flip attitude toward the whole process, that I’ll be threatening to name our child “the next thing that comes out of your mouth.”

Sweet Pea was almost named Captain Tennille Golightly.

Honestly, I don’t even know why I brought it up last night. Except that I didn’t feel very good, but didn’t want to go to bed. So I drug the baby name book off the shelf and started in the boys’ names section.

There are so many more names NOT to choose than there are suitable monikers. Like, Derby for example. Or Gomer. Or the seemingly acceptable Aubrey. Which just kind of sounds girly until you read that it means “Elfin Helper.” What kid stands a chance of making it through grade school unharmed if you pick a name that not only sounds wimpy, but MEANS wimpy?

I made it through the R’s (it’s not a very big book) jotting down anything that sounded like it might work. You have to have a lot of choices when your husband gets a testosterone rush off of his veto power. I showed him the list and this very predictable conversation followed:

Mr. Golightly: “NOAH…Go and build me a shed. Make it 20 cubits by 40 cubits, and put two of each garden tool inside of it.”

Clover: “There is nothing wrong with Noah. I like Noah.”

M: “I know. It’s just that I’d have to talk in my God voice all the time. Levi is out. I knew a bad Levi once.”

C: “You did? Who?”

M: “Just this guy. He was bad. VETO! What does that one say, I can’t read your writing…”

C: “Foster.”

M: “Foster?”

C: “Yeah, I just wrote down anything that sort of sounded appealing.”

M: “Foster? VETO! Oh, you still like Luke huh? LUKE, I am your FATHA. (Darth Vadar Breathing.)”

C: “But you would be, his father. So it works.”
M: “Hmmm. Maybe. Why are we looking at boy names, you said it was a girl?”

C: “It’s just a hunch, I don’t know that for sure or anything.”

M: “You said you were a ‘girl factory.’ (Pause) Ely is Ok. Aaron is a VETO. So is Jamison, that would be too weird, because of Jamison.”

C: “I thought maybe it would be a nice tribute. He’s a good friend, and I like the name.”

M: “True, but VETO!”

It’s a good thing this baby is a girl.

And now onto more depressing news.

Anyone remember last spring when I posted about the jerk who left the anonymous threatening note on our door about our nuisance of a barking dog? Well, he’s at it again. Only now we know who he is. He’s mostly gunning for my neighbor this time, but I’m getting lumped in because of ONE DAY, almost A YEAR AGO, when my dog had to go outside for the afternoon and whined – not barked – whined at our back door.

He is clearly unstable. For one thing, the only time the damn dogs bark is when he stands at their shared back fence on a ladder and yells obscenities at them. I’ve witnessed this in action several times. He also throws rocks at the dogs, and what do you know, they bark at him!!

Rumor has it that his neighbor on the other side is considering taking some legal action, because in the process of throwing rocks at that neighbor’s dogs, crazy man has hit the house a few too many times and caused some damage.

But in the meantime I’ve got a crazy person threatening my dog. (And my poor neighbor, who is only 21 and freaking out about this crazy man appearing at her fence at all hours of the day yelling obscenities and saying things like, "You know what happens to dogs who bark don't you??")

Ah…happy spring.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

When did I turn into that cartoon character Maxine, with her saggy breasts and her general hatred of the entire universe? Oh, right, the day someone took my hormones and my stomach and strapped them in for a ride on the never ending tilt-a-whirl.

Things that are pissing me off right now:

1. Max and Ruby. I know I’ve ranted about those bunnies before, but seriously. WHAT GIVES??? Where are their parents, and why are they so nice to each other? Can’t they call each other names and lash out with some fur pulling like normal siblings?

2. What to Expect when You’re Expecting and the Best Odds Diet. I know better than to even read that book. But the other day I drug it out to see if it would give me any advice about what to do for constipation (romantic, yes?), and of course their advice was all about fiber and fluids and getting plenty of rest. And then there was this paragraph about how some women experiencing nausea had luck drinking hot water with lemon juice – BUT NO SUGAR. IF YOU EAT SUGAR YOUR BABY WILL HAVE FINS AND YOUR ASS WILL EXPAND TO THE SIZE OF RHODE ISLAND. And the second I read that my head exploded and I ran to the kitchen to eat brown sugar with a spoon. Azzhats. If the puking lady wants a Country Time Lemonade just freakin’ give her one. And then back away slowly before she uses that bottle cap as a weapon.

3. Didn’t I just shave my legs the other day?

4. Watermelon need to get in season RIGHT NOW. And the produce manager at Albertsons who allows those mushy flavorless imposters to parade around in watermelon rinds needs to be fired.

5. My phone has a stupid ring.

6. Confidential to the lady with the Caprice who parks next to me every day. Your car is disgusting. Clean it. You are going to die young if you eat as many French fries as your front seat indicates. Knock it off. And you need to learn how to park that damn thing between the yellow lines. Stat.

7. Mr. Golightly needs to understand that when I say I’m going to lunch, I mean that I need to eat something in the next 90 seconds or bad things will happen. Bad, bad, things. Instead, he gives me puppy eyes and holds up two fingers to indicate that I should wait for him because he is wrapping up his never ending conference call and if I could just be patient for two minutes he could accompany me to the sandwich place. And because I am a sucker I fall for this every freaking time. Even though two minutes turns into a span of time long enough for me to write down no less that 7 things that are pissing me off right now.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

I had forgotten about the dreams. The progesterone fuled epic dramas, comedies and musicals that play out in my head every night are a bit mind boggling. Not to mention the steam factor. So maybe they are more like full length feature porno films playing out in my head every night. Complete with decent plot lines, amazing wardrobe choices, and detailed sets.

Last night I dreamt about my Grandmother’s house. Not unusual. Most of my dreams are set there for some odd reason. This dream involved me very virtuously rejecting the affections of a lonely golf pro. He was hot. And persistent. So I’m not sure why I was being such a goody goody. I mean, it was just a dream.

The night before that I dreamed an entire SNL-esque musical skit about a girl who wonders if her skirt makes her butt look big. There were swirling lights, choreographed dancing, lyrics that rhymed, and 3 part harmony. Hello…I can’t dance and I barely read music. How come I can dream in three part harmony?

The one that really takes the cake though is from last week. I dreamed that I was a college coed in a weird time warp where we dressed like it was 1940, but IMed each other and talked on cell phones. My name was Carol, and I was enrolled in some kind of summer institute that seemed a lot like ritzy sleepaway camp. There were picturesque mountains and streams. Fields full of flowers, a lodge, etc. And I was there with a group of friends who looked like they jumped straight out of a scene from a WWII film. We did things like stroll around the lake in our Mary Janes while we carried our books close to our chest and giggled about boys.

Enter Kel. Kel is one of two boys who were attending our summer institute on exchange from another university. Kel, who resembled Mr. Golightly everso, was the heartthrob of the summer. All the girls were swooning over him. I wasn’t so impressed, until one day I happened upon him stocking shelves at the on-campus grocery store. I was buying milk in a glass bottle (?!?) He struck up a conversation and asked me if I’d like to have dinner. I said yes. Afterward he walked me back to my conveniently private room, located on the opposite side of the romantic moonlit lake.

(Is anyone gagging yet? I know. It’s like I’m channeling Danielle Steele.)

So we get back to my room where a long lingering kiss turns into bodice-ripping-heart-pounding-up-against-the-wall-sweaty (ahem, this is a PG blog.)

And then, sadly, Kel leaves the next day to return to his regularly scheduled life at a university far far away in the city. And I return to my mundane existence as a college student and employee at my nature preserve/university somewhere in the southern hills.

Cut to me sitting in some kind of staff meeting (with a bunch of people I actually used to work with), when suddenly the door flies open and this guy Brian (who I really did go to High School with) bursts in and says, “Carol, I just got another IM from Kel. He wants to talk to you. Really Carol, you’ve just GOT to tell him about the baby.” At which point I stand up to reveal a sizeable belly bump and excuse myself from the meeting. I go down the hall to the computer in Brian’s office and have an IM exchange with Kel that goes something like,

Carol: Hello

Kel: Where have you been? I’ve called, I’ve emailed…

Carol: I know, I need to see you. Can I come this weekend?

Kel: Of course, I’ll pick you up.

And the next thing you know I’m driving around in a golf cart with this girl who is a composite of about 5 of my girlfriends, and she’s also pregnant. We are maternity clothes shopping for my trip. The clothes are exquisite.

(Seriously, can you believe this? It lasted for hours. At one point I even got up to pee, came back to bed and picked up right where I left off.)

Ok, so cut to me in this very 1940’s esque train station, wearing a hat and a long raincoat. Kel sees me and runs down a long hallway, sweeping me into his arms. Of course, when he hugs me he feels the pregnant belly and freezes.

I KID YOU NOT, there was a close-up of my terrified face, and time stood still while I waited for Kel to recoil in disgust or fear. But no, (que musical swell) Kel steps back, drops to his knee and kisses my belly. Choking back tears he says, “It’s mine?”

And I, ever the leading lady, reply, “Either that or we have to name him Jesus.”

So we are both crying, and he’s kissing my face and saying, “Marry me, you’ve got to say you will!” And then we go back to his apartment and make sweet sweet love. (Bonus! Twice in one dream.) Afterward, we are lying there in the soft glow of sunset, and Kel says to me, “Oh, by the way, I’m really rich.” And I’m all, “Wha? You work at the grocery store.” And he says, “Not really, I developed a technology that allows stores to track their inventory on handheld wireless devices. I was just testing it out this summer. Microsoft bought my patent for $40 million.”

And then I woke up, and half expected to see the credits rolling above my bed.

Is that not totally unreal? Would Freud have a heyday with me or what? At least it’s not like my friend T who had dreams all through her second pregnancy about doing the nasty with the little old guy from the Monopoly box.


Thursday, March 01, 2007

It’s time to make an official announcement I suppose.

I feel like hell. My pants don’t fit. I’m gassy, and for the love of GOD, please don’t anyone mention food products coming from cows, pigs, chickens, fish, lamb…anything but vegetables and fruit really. Watermellon is Ok. You can talk about watermelon. Mmmm…watermelon. And lemons. Oooh, tomato soup. Ew. No. Scratch the tomato soup. That was Tuesday.

Yeah. You guessed it. I’m pregnant.

If you are one of the people in my life who deserved to hear about this from me, perhaps in a phone call, or a face to face visit. I’m sorry. Really. But it’s my second pregnancy. And I feel like crap. Did I mention that? So, pretty much, I just wanted to be able to whine about the craptastic parts on my blog. And in my hormotional state, that’s taking precedent over cutesy announcement type messaging. So, consider yourself technologically savvy. You heard about my kocked-upedness in the blogosphere.

Besides, if you’d gotten a call from me you’d probably be wondering if I was even excited or happy about this joyous news. I assure you. I am. We are. Sweet Pea especially. It’s just that, and I may have mentioned this, I’m not feeling so hot. I’d describe it in greater detail, but that would make me dry heave into my garbage can. And I think my co-workers are getting at tich tired of that bit. Soooo…

Uh, the details are that I’m nearly 7 weeks along. I know, that’s like a hiccup in the grand scheme of things. And those of you who know my history are probably a little surprised about my spilling the beans so soon. The thing is that I’m not very good at keeping secrets anyway. And, have I told you yet that I’m experiencing some nausea? Well, I am. So in addition to my lovely pallor and irregular behaviors (i.e. covering my nose and mouth and running away from anything with a scent. Except lemons. Mmm…Lemons….), I’m wearing these ridiculous grey terry cloth wristband thingys that are supposed to help with the nausea. They are an acupressure thing, and I’m not sure if they work but I’m sure as hell not taking them off to find out. Anyway, all of those above things make it obvious. And so one by one people start to figure it out. And then it’s like you have to tell Mary because Lucy knows, and if Mary knows then she might tell Alice who would be hurt if she didn’t hear it from you, and blah blah blah.

So again, here it is for all the world to see. I’m pregnant. Woo.

Here are a couple of things I’m noticing about pregnancy, part deux.

My stomach heard me tell my mother on the phone that I got two pink lines. At that exact moment, there was an audible sigh and my body from the shoulders down assumed the exact shape it took about 18 weeks to get to the first time around. Things that had regained some perk are now sagging. Things that had gotten toned are now flabby. Things that were as flat as they were going to get now look decidedly Easter Egg shaped. My doctor says it’s about your bowels being all messed up and muscle memory. I concur. My bowels are in fact, all messed up. And my muscles did a little dance of joy at the memory of getting to hang it all out.

Mr. Golightly is a lot more sympathetic to the morning sickness thing. I think this time around he realizes the long term impact this is likely to have on his sex life. And so he wants to make sure that in nausea free moments I’m looking at him lovingly. Just in case. Not a bad strategy really. And at least we’re both pulling for some nausea free moments.

There is a small person who is not at all concerned with making sure I am feeling pampered and well rested in my delicate condition. I worried about this going in, but was somehow distracted from focusing on what a challenge it would present. I was also not aware that said small person would be filling the role of Early Pregnancy Commentator. Announcing things like, “Mommy, you made a stinky smell like poop.” And, “Mommy is the baby in your tummy making you throw up? Go put your bracelets on and feel better.”

The thought of twins was mildly frightening last time. Now I have terrifying dreams about nursing two giant babies with full sets of teeth.

Speaking of twins. Sweet Pea has made the prediction that she is going to have sisters. Two of them. She also thinks that she can communicate telepathically with our friend Sadie. I asked Sadie if she’s been having any obscure dreams or random thoughts involving mac and cheese and Disney Princesses, and she says no. So let’s all hope that Sweet Pea is not going to have to start the Psychic Friends Toddler Network.

(Oh, and I had an ultrasound and at first glance there only appears to be one little lima bean in there. One tiny little lima bean with an awful lot of power over my hormones.)

Anyway. There you go. There will be a new person in the universe sometime around mid October. And given the prototype, we’re expecting great things.