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I now know what it is like to live in soup. That's right, soup. It is my personal Dementor and it sucks all the happiness, energy, and any hope for the future right out of me. We have had a wave of humidity here that makes Pittsburgh feel just like Cancun, minus the nice beaches, drunk high schoolers, and bongs-for-sale every where. We have gone to the pool several times this week in order to escape the semi-unbearable armpit that we find ourselves in, but we are often chased away by the predictable afternoon thunder storm. A few days ago we were only in the pool for 30 minutes when a storm roared its flashy head. We had paid $12 for a 1/2 hour of relief, and we walked away feeling it had been worth it. I am also nesting. Isn't that a nice word for such an event? This is "an uncontrollable urge to clean one's house brought on by a desire to prepare a nest for the new baby, to tie up loose ends of old projects and to organize your world." So says the internet. But it's what I have been doing. I don't think I did this with Claire, but I have definitely been displaying all the signs of a brooding hen- I have been a homebody; I have been obsessed with disinfecting my house; I threw away Claire's old broken, dirty dresser and bought another one; and I have started washing all of the baby's clothes and putting them in their rightful place (the super cute dresser I bought!). Unfortunately, the actual task of getting this house spotless is impossible- first off, I have a three year old and a husband so everyday I have to start the whole cleaning process over from the beginning. Second, working in soup slows the soul down. And third, my body can only take so much anymore. But everyday I do feel a sense of control and accomplishment as I tackle little tasks- collecting little pieces of straws and grass in the hopes of eventually having a beautiful little nest for our baby- too bad the baby has to be greeted by this wonderful can of Pittsburgh soup when she comes.I leave for vacation in a few days and this is all I have to say for those who will be housing me and my family- I expect the AC to be blowing, blasting, bombarding, so much so that everyone else will have to wear sweaters and sleep with baked potatoes in their beds to stay warm. That's all I ask.
I, unfortunately, like to share. Well, except I don't actually like sharing my side of the bed, or sharing a really good bag of candy. But if I ever have a single thought pop into my head, I sure do like to share it. Immediately. To anyone in a .5 mile vicinity. While I do list sharing as one of my top attributes, it, unfortunately, is not always a good one. I get into trouble a lot with my "sharing"- you know the common side effects that accompany such spontaneous regurgitation of thoughts: putting my foot in my mouth; offending; nausea, dry mouth, and diarrhea; grossing people out with my way too personal details; and most destructively, gossiping.
For me, a blog just makes it so I can publish those thoughts to a distance a thousand times fold (by a thousand times, I mean the 7 of you that read my blog [but you guys do live far apart]). In my first post, I made the analogy of my blog to a fairy tale that told of three sisters who were told a secret. I am the sister that can't keep any type of secret in and have to at least share it with the thickets. . . and to my mom, to my friends, to the old lady with purple hair standing in front of me at the grocery store, to my sisters, and all else who may lurk on my blog. So it stands to reason that the more thickets I visit, the more acutely I will suffer from any number of those glorious side effects. So I do what I can to avoid such suffering. And this week, I had to do something drastic, something desperate, something cowardly. Something akin to chopping off my pointer finger to save the nose on my face. . . I edited past posts.
I know. I know what you are thinking- "Oh, the humanity"; "How dare she"; "Boo, whore!" I realize I have violated the sacred law of all journal/blog writing of not going back to change a post once you have written it. Because at the moment, inappropriate as it was, it was honest and true to yourself. If you go back and change it, it's like getting a boob job- no matter how much better you think it makes you look- it's just not the real you and it will never be the real you ever again. I actually had a hard time hitting the delete button on these less than pc posts . I could feel the betrayal to myself. But, if you also recall from previous posts, I am also a milktoast- I avoid confrontation like it's the plague. So while the honorable thing would have been to keep my post as is, and put some backbone behind what I feel and wrote, I edited it. Okay, so technically the honorable thing would have been to not write things that I would feel uncomfortable having anyone read, but apparently honor falls just behind speaking my mind, which falls slightly behind saving face, which falls somewhere behind my amazing ability to load dishwashers full and efficiently, in my list of attributes.
You might not even notice the edits, but that's not really the point. I don't often like to ask questions to reader's on my blog (first off, its so bloggish to end with a question, and second, it implies that I have the gumption to assume that anyone actually reads my blog), but I want to know what other people's take is on editing past journal entries that might tend to embarrass or incriminate (you know the ones that I'm talkin' 'bout).
Dear Void, is it really as big a deal as I feel it is?
I love Cody for so many reasons. He is truly my best friend and there is no one else I would rather spend time with. He makes me laugh, he make me think, and he always inspires me with how passionate he is about everything. He jumps into things full hearted, with the energy and enthusiasm of a child! But one of his greatest traits and one of things I love most about him is how much he loves and adores Claire. They are best of friends- he is always, always playing with her, getting her to laugh harder than anyone else can, and he tells me at least a dozen times a day, every day, how much he loves her. He has helped out with Claire (i.e. diapers, baths, bedtime, etc) since the moment she was born. In fact, before she was born, Cody would wake up in the morning and sing "In the Leafy Treetops" to my belly. I watch him when he is with Claire and I can see how much he enjoys being with her and the happiness he gets as she enjoys the world around her. He is a great dad and a great husband! Happy Father's Day, Cody. I love you.
Okay, enough of the mushy stuff- I just have to include these two little tidbits. At church, Claire was in the foyer, dancing around in circles because she thinks she is a ballerina, and she accidentally stepped down the stairs. I watched in horror as she tumbled down the stairs, head over heels. Cody immediately jumped up and grabbed her up, as I started to tear up. I was so, so, scared watching her, in what seemed like slow motion, tumble down. Though she screamed like a banshee, she was all right, just a bit scared and bumped up- we were lucky!
And this picture is for Monica. She helped me come up with the idea, and here is the finished product of what we did today for primary for father's day. You turn it over and you can open up the back of the shirt and there is a little poem. The kids had fun with the project, I think. I thought they turned out pretty cute.
Last night, a couple of my good friends and I got together to celebrate our baby #2. It was just a small gathering of my close friends and we had dinner, stayed up late talking on the patio, and had a good ol' time. I got some cute little outfits for baby Morgan/ Lily/?, a bath tub, and a really, really cute blanket that my friend, Kate, made for me. 
I am posting a pic because I want you to see how really cute it is and how much my style it is. She did a great job and I was really touched by how much time and thought she put into it. PS- I have to tell a funny story that happened at the shower. 
We were sitting on the patio at my friends house, where she has a sliding door with a sliding screen. One of my friends, Melanie, (you may remember her from the New York post) had gone back into the house to get a drink or something. It was dusky outside, so getting pretty dark, and when she comes to walk back out, she didn't realize the screen door was shut and she walked right into it!!! It came popping out. We all just died!!!! Oh, maybe you had to be there, but I am still laughing as I visualize the entire screen door popping out of its frame!! Oh, good times.
Today, I am exactly 30 weeks pregnant. Which equates to about an extra 25 pounds, an extra dozen inches on my waist, and a bigger bra size. But what is really starting to nag on me is what on earth am I going to name my sweet bundle of joy, whose current past times involve long bouts of sleeping punctuated by long bouts of flips and karate movements, with the occasional hiccuping episode. With Claire, I knew my first girls name before I had even met Cody, and then when I found out Cody's grandma's name was Claire, it was a done deal. However, this time around, the name we had picked out preconception, Morgan, isn't settling completely right. I like the name, but I feel like there is another name out there for this one. Literally, I feel it. It feels like its just on the tip of my tongue; I just haven't a clue what it is. That's why I am reaching out to the always consistent, dependable, and lucid world of bloggers to help me find what that name is. Now, I know the game of throwing out name suggestions to someone else is almost as fun as playing hot potato with a nail gun, but I really do need help, and at least I am not there in person to scornfully shoot down a name you have treasured for years. So here is what I 'feel' about #2's name- I want it to be a bit delicate, feminine, old fashioned. It ruins it for me if the name is popular. I for some reason feel it has an "l" sound in it (are you starting to think I am loco?) and the topping on the cake would really be if it is a family name. Well, you have you mission cut out for you- please use no inhibition in your suggestions. And remember, my daughter's future happiness depends upon your ability to read my mind for something that is technically not in my mind. I don't know what conundrum means, but this mission sounds like it would be a perfect example of one.
I feel a bit like we are in the blogging doldrums. The winds of inspiration have been stilled, though I know they will blow again. In fact, I don't think it is so much a lack of inspiration as a lack of time and motivation. But since I dislike it so much when other people don't blog for extended periods of time (meaning more than 3 days), I promise to sit down tomorrow and write a post. So basically this a post saying I am not writing a post today, but tomorrow. Talk about lack of purposefulness and productivity.
Sprinkler
Patriotic
Syrup
Beautiful!
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