Here's an idea - can someone make it happen?

Attention all chemists, pharmacists, researchers, nerds:

I believe that there is a great need out there that is not being filled. Sick pregnant women, like me, have to rely on diclectin and supplementing that with gravol, just to make it through the day. There is a need for a control-release anti-nausea patch. That's right. A patch. Clamp it to your arm and let the druggy goodness soak in for, say, 3 months? If that is pushing it, I would even accept one month at a time. I have taken this issue up with my pharmacist husband, and he says that he will get right on it after he invents a control-release caffeine patch to wear to work. Selfish bastard.

THERE IS A MARKET FOR THIS! I am already taking 6 diclectin plus 2 or more gravol a day, and I still feel like frozen poop on the bottom of a farmer's boot. A patch would be a godsend. God. Send. Actually, God, if you could send some sort of relief on the sick side of things, that'd be great.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Mustard.

These are my confessions

Since I have been trouble sleeping at night (pregnancy makes me more of an insomniac than I already am), I have compiled a list of totally random things I want to get off my chest.

• I hate being pregnant. It sucks. I know that many women glow and shine when they're pregnant, but I don't. My house is a disaster because all I feel like doing is lying on the couch and moaning. I cannot stand the smell of my kitchen, so that is a total gong show, and everything I want to eat has tons of salt, loads of trans fat, and about 5000 calories. Bring me my fat pants!


• I do not care for lobster. I don't know what all the fuss is about.


• I wish that I could leave Sacha with a sitter once in a while so that I could have time to actually be myself again.


• To my locker neighbour in high school: I had a crush on you, but I was too embarrassed to say anything because you considered to be dorky (like I'm not a dork, I know...). I was super glad that you were my locker buddy for 4 years, because it gave me a chance to hang with you without anyone wondering why. I am such a tool.


• I once heard a guy refer to me a "chubby, not the kind of girl you date." This was a decisive moment in the start of my weight issues, leading to anorexia and then learning how to live with it (I don't believe that you can truly be cured of it).


• I often feel left out from my sisters, who are a lot closer to each other than they are to me. I must have been too much of a bitch to them growing up. Wait, I know I was to Talia. Still am, even from thousands of km away. How do I do that??


• Paul: I miss my friends a lot, but I miss you most because I miss how you seemed to look up to me and ask me for advice, help with school, and how I felt like you needed me, but then again, even if I was still living close to you, you really wouldn't need me anymore.


• I have not touched my knitting needles in 3 weeks. The thought of knitting makes me nauseous. I don't understand the reason behind it, but it's true. Same goes for reading. Books = pukeville.


• I am scared of what Sacha is going to do when I am in the hospital having the baby. No family here, no one he's comfortable with to stay with. I am fearing the worst.


• I miss my mom. I wish she had holidays left so that she could come take care of me and Sacha so that I could be gross and sick and my house would not fall apart.


• I need to make supper, but the though of cooking makes me want to yak, and I've already ordered take-out way too many times this week. Did I mention that I hate being pregnant? Maybe I'll have some ice cream. Ew, no, I think I just threw up in my mouth a bit from thinking of it.

Haiku Fun!

Tony's not home but
He laughs: Sacha's bum explodes
Diarrhea sucks.

 

Wanna join the fun? Visit Haiku Fridays!

Let me have my moment

When Sacha turned 1 at the end of August, I had some professional photos taken of him. I just picked them up yesterday and now, I just HAVE to show you. Let me have my moment of pride and bragging rights!

Wordless Wednesday: Wrestling or Cuddling? The Crestle!

 

Hairdo and Hairdon't

Prepare yourselves. You are about to be blown away by my...funk! Blame it on the pregnancy, if you don't mind.

I headed out the door SANS ENFANTS to my hair appointment this morning. I was on a mission. To get a new look. As much as a new look is possible when one cannot buy new clothing that doesn't have a stretchy waist band or one of those icky bows that hug your back. But I digress.

My hairdo was getting a little hairdon't for my liking, and so I asked my stylist to funk it up a notch. We have plans, my hair and I, and today's appointment was merely Phase I of the whole. Today, my friends, I got bangs. BANGS! I know, it can be a scary thought. I've had my share of bad bang experiences. (Hair, people. Git yo mind out tha guttah!) Like this:

The spikey bangs

Oy Vey!

Why you should never cut your own bangs

Wanting to impress the boys with my coolness

Swept away for high school graduation - getting a bit better

5 years later and still the same for convocation. Ain't I classy?

 

But lo and behold, this is what I have now:

I like! Phase I is a success!

Phase II will be a bit more complex, and I will have to wait a few months before I can do it. It involves a little colour and a lot more length. Happy!Happy!Joy!Joy!

You may now resume your more important readings and doings. My bangs and I thank you for your interest.

Feed me!

I've switched my feed. Just for shits and giggles. If you so desire, you may update your feed readers by clicking here:

Subscribe in a reader

Merci!

So caught up!

It is 9:04 Eastern Time and I am caught up on my Google Reader.  No one post until Monday.  Must stay in bed with the sickies.

Thank you all for your understanding in this matter.

Four in a bed means half of your family is on vacation!

I'm not really a cuddly sleeper. I relish the time I get to sleep ALONE in my bed, sprawled out to the four corners of the plushy feather bed. That's why I am so amazed when I read something like this from People Magazine:

Brad Pitt says he and Angelina Jolie are going to need a bigger bed – for their expanding brood.

"We're not done," Pitt, 43, quipped, acknowledging public interest in the family's growth. "They say, 'Any plans for a fifth?' And I say, 'And a sixth, and a seventh, and an eighth, and a ninth.' That's my answer."

"We also made a 9-foot-wide bed" that fits him, Jolie, 32, and all four children, Pitt who is starring in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, told the Associated Press. "Just big enough. One more and we'll have to go to 11 feet."

Huh?  How on earth can you get any sleep like that?  We were thrown into co-sleeping when Sacha was born, even though we had never planned on doing it.  His cradle was right next to our bed, but he would not sleep in it, and he spent the whole night grunting and spitting up all over himself.  So Tony and I started taking turns propping ourselves on the couch and having Sacha sleep chest-to-chest, which seemed to be the only way he would do it.  After 2 and half months, we were both tired and had massive neck and back aches.  Massage therapy was a must.  We transitioned him to the crib for night time and he still napped with me until he hit the 5 month mark, then it was all crib.

I have nothing against co-sleeping, but I just cannot get past the logistics of doing it long term. Every now and then, I get a little teary over the thought of Sacha growing up and I bring him into bed with me in the wee hours of the morning, but I always regret it.  He kicks, squirms, slaps, talks and laughs in his sleep.  Not so much with the sleepytime cuddling.  This, added to the fact that I am a light sleeper who wants the whole bed to myself, makes for not so pleasant dreams and grumpy mornings.

In a way, I envy people that are comfortable enough to co-sleep indefinitely.  Then again, I will put it out there that I get a wee bit of the creepers when I read about teenagers crawling into bed with their parents.

Whatever cranks your wank, I guess.

How do you weigh in on the sleeping issue?

Proof that kids don't know what's best

Dear Sacha,

I know that you know how to operate the stereo and entertainment area of the den, and although this makes me proud, it also annoys the bejeezus out of me.  Your skills at turning the TV on using the remote AND the button on the TV both thrill (when Daddy is watching rugby) and annoy me (when I am watching Ugly Betty). I don't really mind when you play with the stereo or adjust the volume to a brain blowing level of decibels, but now, things are getting a little out of hand.
Yesterday, while I writhed and groaned on the couch from being sick (damn coffee-bean-sized baby), we watched an ENORMOUS amount of Treehouse.  This was for your own benefit, as I was clearly NOT in the mood to play or cart you around all day.  Well, obviously that got old, even for you.   I watched you go over to the end table and pick up a DVD.   Totally amusing me up until this point, you brought it to the DVD player, turned it on, but couldn't figure out how to get the DVD inside (thank Vishnu).  Annoyed with the predicament, you brought me the DVD, pointing and yelling at me to get my sick ass off the couch and do some real parenting. Or just help you put the DVD in so that you could continue amusing yourself without my help.

I looked at the DVD you selected - it was a Value Drug Mart promotional DVD that Daddy had received in the mail.  Not your most riveting of videos.  I knew you would not enjoy it, so I tried to put a different DVD in, more along the lines of Disney or Backyardigans.  But were you happy?  No.  You were thoroughly annoyed that I would even consider pulling such a switch on you. You yelled and pointed your little waggy finger at me some more.   As much as I love a good finger waggin', I gave in. I put the Value Drug Mart yawn fest, and we watched.  You were thrilled.  For about 1 minute, then you turned the TV off, pointed that finger and yelled at me again.

I would just like to clear this up: I tried to warn you, I tried to get you to watch something else, but YOU were insistent.  I then listened to your demands and followed through.  It is not my fault that you didn't like the results.  I do not, therefore, appreciate being finger-wagged and told off.   Maman knows what's best for you, even when you think I'm being totally stupid. One day, you will have a kid who wags his finger and yells at you, and I will smile. But not today, my friend.  Not today.

Love,

Maman

Gracing the world with a view of my breasts

After reading Sara's post on Suburban Oblivion and watching Bill Maher make his incredulous statements on breastfeeding, I felt compelled to get in on the debate.  If you haven't seen the video, go watch.  If you're pressed for time, you can skip the about 2:51 left in the video, and that's where it gets juicy. Have you watched it?  Good.  Read on.

I am very lucky. I grew up in a family that was very breast-oriented, that is, breastfeeding oriented. I remember, at 11 years watching my 19 year old cousin nurse her baby boy and thinking to myself: I hope my nipples NEVER get that brown! I remember my mom, who never hid her body from her daughters, telling us that her breasts were so small and limp because we sucked the life out of them. I remember my cousin's wife nursing her son at my bridal shower, and hearing other mothers telling her how nice it was to see a young mother nursing her baby.

It was never a question of whether or not I was going to breastfeed my children. That's how I was raised: breast is best, and it's nothing to be ashamed of.

When I had Sacha, I was determined. I had heard that nurses will often slip babies the bottle in the nursery without consulting the parents, so I made a sign for his bassinet at the hospital that read: My mommy and I are learning how to breastfeed, so if I am crying or hungry, please bring me to my mommy. I was fortunate enough to have a fantastic nurse who helped me every step of the way with those initial difficulties, and by the time I went home, I was a fully engorged nursing mama.

We had friends visit us that first day at home, and I did not cover up to nurse. I was still learning, and I needed to see what the heck I was doing! Our friend Brad was a little uncomfortable, but he just made a point of playing with our cat rather than stare directly at the breasts, and we were all fine. When my mom and stepfather visited, I didn't cover up in front of him, either. It was my house, my breasts. As I had more visitors, I became comfortable nursing in front of others without feeling the need to hide. In fact, the only place I ever covered up was in restaurants or mall benches. Not really because I felt I needed to, but it seemed to be the acceptable thing to do. And at that point, Sacha was still letting me cover him up. That changed after a few months, when he figured out how to use his hands to grace the world with a view of my breasts as he smacked and smiled at them while he enjoyed his meal.

I never let the fact that I breastfed stop me from living my life. I nursed in church, at the doctor's office, in the staff room of my husband's work, in the mall, in the grocery store, in the library, in restaurants, in my car, at Starbucks, in several airplanes, and in airports. Sometimes I covered up, sometimes I didn't. I never intended to make people uncomfortable, I just wanted to feed my son. I wasn't trying to pleasure myself, and although I have grown to love the bonding I share with Sacha when he nurses before bed, somehow, I don't think that it's the same as Bill Maher gets from fondling his sausage.

And so I persevere. I will nurse my second one, probably while chasing a toddler around the mall while the baby is clinging to my breast and my cover blanket has gone to the wayside, and I will not be ashamed or embarrassed by my breasts, performing their God-intended function. And I hope you won't be embarrassed either. I'm not asking you to look, but I am asking you to support those mothers, like me, who don't want to spend their lives in hiding trying to conceal the mystery of nursing, and who would like to be a part of the greater world WITH her children.

Crouching laundry, hidden cleaning lady

I have a confession: I have a cleaning lady. That's right. Every second Tuesday, she graces my house with her presence for 3 hours and leaves it smelling lemony fresh and dust-free.

When we first moved out here, we were shocked that everyone had house cleaners. Even singletons with nothing but time on their hands had people go and clean their houses for them while they sat on their arses and watched American Idol. I was dismayed, and at the same time, insanely jealous.

So I set out to find myself a cleaning lady.

In the meantime, I had Sacha. Sacha being in our house meant pools of dried spit-up, urine and possibly poonamis all over the floor.  It also meant less time to clean the regular stuff - like the toilet, the dishes, myself.

I finally found one.  She turned out to be a total bitch, who canceled on me with fake dead uncle excuses more times than she actually showed up.  And it took her 2 hours and 2 rolls of paper towel to clean the bathroom.  I can do that in 20 minutes with NO paper towel, so I felt that it was a total waste of money and paper towel.

Then Gail entered our lives, with her punctuality, efficiency, and almost stealth cleaning abilities.  I hardly know she's here!  And when she leaves, our house is immaculate. For about 5 minutes  Then Sacha throws his juice on the floor and crushes cookies into the couch.

But those 5 minutes are enough to maintain my sanity.  Knowing that if I don't have time to scrub the bathroom tiles, Gail comes every other Tuesday and can do it for me.  My Baba tells me stories of raising her 3 kids (my dad and twin aunts, only 23 months apart) with no running water, diapering the 3 of them in cloth diapers, waking up with twins in the middle of the night, and keeping her house clean without help.  I must be lazy to have a cleaning lady!

But that's not me.  I don't want to spend every spare minute of my day cleaning.  I could, but I would be a grumpy frump of a woman, more so now that I am pregnant. As it is, Tony and I spend a good hour at the end of the day cleaning my house and getting back to square one so that the mess doesn't accumulate from day to day. So rather than scrub my floor every day, I shrug it off and go play with Sacha and pray that when he's older, he'll be thankful that his house was a little less than immaculate because his parents took the time to play with him instead.

Toddler time

Since learning how to walk, Sacha has learned many things around the house. Some are good, sometimes he has good intentions, and sometimes he just does stuff to be a shit.

Good: Sacha has learned that paper goes in the recycling box.
Bad: Sacha also knows how to move things from the recycling box and throw them in the garbage.

Good: Sacha is very interested in using utensils.
Bad: He also feels that jabbing utensils into my face is hilarious.

Good: Sacha has learned how to close doors and play hide and seek.
Bad: He has not figured out that he doesn't know how to open doors, and this starts yelling at me through the door at the grave injustice of him being locked behind a door.

Good: Sacha knows what a pizza box looks like.
Bad: Sacha knows how to drag a pizza box out of the recycling bin, bring it to me, open it, and then yell directly at me because there is no pizza in the box.

Good: Sacha knows where his soothers are kept.
Bad: He cannot reach the place where his soothers are kept, so he tries to climb up his dresser to get at them, but ultimately ends up yelling for me to lift him up so that he can scoop them all into his hands.

Good: Sacha is able to tell us when he wants to take a bath by going to the tub and throwing his bath toys is.
Bad: He also knows how to tell us that he's done bathing by climbing out of the tub and streaking down the hall.

Which is what he is doing right now...

The most posh socks you can find

I finished my first pair of REAL socks. Admire their beauty!



Look at the fine detail on the baby cables! You're drooling, I know you are.



Now, before you all start e-mailing me requesting your own pair, I feel I must explain their tremendous value.

Yarn: Socks That Rock 100% superwash merino in Metamorphic colourway, $25.99
Time and labour: 20 hours (approximately) at $30/hr, based on how much money I could be making if I was teaching piano instead of knitting.
Total time and labour = $600

Grand Total for one pair of custom made socks = $625.99

It's a total bargain! Don't wait another second to order YOUR custom made foot nirvana!

What is your mom worth?

As Tony and I are trying to determine where we want to live when we move back to our home province, we weigh out the pros and cons of each potential town/city.

Must haves include French schools (or immersion at the least) for Sacha, teaching opportunities for me, and somewhat appropriate housing prices.

The discussion of other perks led to this conversation:

Me: Does Camrose have a Starbucks?

Tony: Umn, I don't know.

Me: I really want to live where there's a Starbucks.

Tony: But Peace River doesn't have a Starbucks.

Me: Yeah, but my mom is there.

Tony: So what you're saying is that you'd trade your mom for a Starbucks.

Me: NO...I'd trade a Starbucks for my mom.

Help Wanted

WANTED

New Mama Friend to live in house next door as current Mama Friend is moving 18 hours away due to husband's stupid contracting job.

Description of duties:

• employing the following motto with enthusiasm: mi casa es su casa


• partake in daily playdates


• share children's toys


• willingness to babysit


• pass all hand-me-down kids' clothing to me for first grabsies


• engage in winter evening knitting parties


• bring me sweet sweet coffee in the morning without notice


• participate in social afternoons involving screaming children and soothing tea


• outings to Walmart with children to pass the time with no intention of buying anything, but leaving with a cart full of crap


• exercise-paced walks with strollers


• not offended by children swapping soothers


• babysit stupid cat while we are on holidays

Qualifications:

• Must be a mother, SAHM to be given special consideration


• Extra consideration given to mother of toddler or pre-school aged children


• Must not be too hung up on cleanliness of domestic abode


• Must enjoy knitting, preferably while under the influence


• Must enjoy being under the influence


• Must be understanding to the fatigues and stresses of motherhood


• Must be very friendly and social


• Has BIG shoes to fill.

Wages - to be negotiated. Benefits include, but are not limited to, frequent meals at la casa Mustard, free babysitting services, playmates for children, total sharing of household contents, carpooling, unlimited use of backyard pool (weather permitting).

Applicants may forward their resume to Mrs. Mustard in the comment space below. Only successful candidates will be contacted.  Or semi-successful candidates.  At this point, I'll probably be contacting everyone.  It's gonna be a l-o-n-g winter.

Kicking some ass and giving names

Things are happening. It's strange and wonderful and I have YOU to thank for it. In the past weeks, I've been the most humble and grateful recipient of some linky-love from some great bloggers and some most excellent blog bling from Jess and Jenny. This has sent my little corner of the blogosphere into a tussle. A mild traffic jam, if you will. Ok, maybe not a traffic jam. Perhaps a 5-car line at the Tim Horton's drive-thru. But hey, me likey the bizness, and here's my chance to refer some of my happy customers to the blogs that keep me going.

Be it known to all those who read this that the following blogs kick some ass:

Martinis for Milk, You Can't Reason With Crazy, Chicken and Cheese, Breed 'Em and Weep, Attack of the Redneck Mommy



If you want to show your bling, here's the code:

<a href="http://www.cheezewhizandmustard.wordpress.com" target="blank"> <img border="0" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1081/1355521359_0b9fcf6541_m.jpg" alt="For blogs that rock your world. Hard."/> </a>

My thoughts in 17 syllables

The tide has come in

Rising, washing, up his back


Big mess: Poonami

-----------

I am so tired now

What the hell was I thinking?

Two babies? Oh shit.

------------

What I really want


I can't have, damn mama guilt

My friend, Martini

Wanna join the fun? Visit Haiku Fridays!

What's the difference?

A Public Service Announcement:

Having the second one is not as glamourous as having the first. It is normal to not really think to much about it, or to shudder when picturing the lack of sleep, personal time, and total mayhem that your life will envelop with the arrival of number 2.

Proof? While this pregnancy was planned and we are very happy that we are having another baby, here's a tidbit from our morning conversation:

With an earnest, almost worried, look on his face, Tony asks me: "Is it normal to not feel as over-the-top excited about the second baby? I mean, I'm excited, but I don't feel the need to call the radio stations and announce it to the world."

Me: It's normal We know what's coming.

We look at Sacha clutching to Mr. Dash with a total dominatrix look on his face, while Dash hums in annoyance.

Oh boy.

+++++++++++++++

Further proof: while typing this post, Sacha managed to grab my coffee cup, try to take a sip, be disgusted, pour the coffee on my laptop, and then slip in the spilled coffee running off the laptop keyboard.  My first instinct was to protect the laptop, but I fought that in order to be a good mommy and make sure Sacha was ok.  Which he was.  I then locked him out of the bathroom while I performed emergency surgery on my precious to make sure it still worked.  So far, so good.  Freaken kid.  Now he's trying to eat my power cord.

Wordless Wednesday - We be some sexy sisters

Can I not have a moment alone??

By now, I am used to the fact that I can never have alone time. I pee with an audience, I get changed in front of a soother-toting toddler, I sing the Backyardigans theme song to a half naked little boy sitting on my lap while *ahem* downloading, so to speak,

Yesterday, Sacha went the extra mile. I ran into the shower while he watched one of his kiddie shows. Since the bathroom is right next to the TV room, I figured I would actually be able to clean myself in peace. Wrong.

Nice girls get their bling

I'm sorry. I'm late. In more ways than one, I guess. Last week, Jess at Oh The Joys handed over this beeyootiful bling to myself and about 100 other bloganistas.

As you all know, blogging is all about spreading the love. So I am FINALLY going to pass this on to my favourite bloggy ladies:

Krista at Don't Look Now But...: She is a funny girl, and she gives me linky love more often that I give my husband sex.  Just kidding.  Or am I...

Kara at You Can't Reason With Crazy: I love her.  She be my buddy and always takes the time to look at my flickr pics and comment on here.

Mrs. Flinger: She once sent me a nice e-mail saying how she was honoured that I was on her site.  I laughed and told her she was crazy.  Crazy nice!

Casey at Moosh in Indy: She is cool.  She comments ALL OVER the place, and I think she would share her mom's neti pot with me if I asked.

Jackie at Jackie's Life: She sent me a very nice message offering her skillz for Cre8buzz (which I have not really figured out).  Rawk on!

Disclaimer: This short list is not to say that YOU are not nice.  Reading my blog, in fact, makes you intrinsically nice.  I, however, being tired and pregnant, must go to sleep and should NOT stay up all night blogging and linking away.

I repeat:  YOU are NICE.  You = Nice.

Cutbacks aren't always a bad thing!

I am a SAHM. I do not go to work, I do not go to school, and my son stays home with me and my insane cat. When I read this over at Metro Mama, I was compelled to join in the eco-fun. I am pretty conscious of my eco-footprint, and in the spirit of the BlogHer's Act September Challenge, here is how I am going to minimize my footprint this month:

1. I will use a thermos-mug whenever I buy myself a coffee or other hot beverages. I know that some places will even give you a marginal discount if you provide your own cup. I buy myself a drink about twice a week, so this will save about 8 disposable paper cups this month. If I can convince my DH to do the same, we would save an additional 20 or 30 cups.


2. I will use the cloth/reusable grocery bags whenever I go shopping. I have 2 large bags that I bought from A&P (which are made from 100% post consumer materials) and 2 smaller cloth bags from Loblaws. Interestingly, these 4 bags can hold as many groceries as approximately 20 plastic bags, based on the highly inefficient bagging skills of most grocery store employees. Yes, you CAN put cereal and eggs in the same bag! The eggs won't break! Since I buy roughly 2-3 plastic bags of groceries a day, this will keep about 60-90 plastic bags out of our landfill.


3. I will use my cloth diapers for Sacha whenever we are out in public instead of buying the disposable ones for those occasions.

We currently use cloth diapers during the day and he uses one disposable diaper at night. However, I usually use disposable diapers in public for ease of packing. However, if I just keep a couple of cloth diapers ready to go in the car, this shouldn't be an issue. This will probably save about 5 diapers a week. This isn't huge, but it's better than nothing. Plus, I HATE buying damn disposable diapers more than I have to!

There are many other suggestions on the BlogHer's Act Canada page. Many of these we already do, so I didn't bother mentioning them here. But check it out for yourself and decrease your eco-footprint!

In the beginning, there were breasts

I have a friend who says she could tell that I was pregnant before I even knew. She looked at pictures from Sacha's first birthday (I was pregnant then, but unaware of it) and could see that I was pregnant.

She did the same thing when I was pregnant with Sacha. I didn't tell her until I was 11 weeks along, and when I did, she just said "Oh, I already knew that. I could tell."

WTF?!

Then again, now that I think about it, there are certain things that happen to me as SOON as the sperm meets the ovum:

1. My boobs increase in cup size. That's right. I have gone from a 34D to a 34DD already. And I am only 5 weeks along. Last time around, I had to go buy bigger bras 2 weeks after I found out I was preggo as I had developed a nasty 4-boob-syndrome that couldn't be tamed. That, and I couldn't button up my blouses for work. The ladies just refused to be contained. had to switch to sweaters or wear cardigans over everything. Add to the mix that I had to teach phys ed to a pack of 6th graders.


2. My face looks like I dipped it in a vat of chunky salsa and then into a plate of cracker crumbs. ACNE. Bad. Lots of it. I had terrible acne growing up, but I went on acutane when I was 19 and it cleared up. Then I got pregnant with Sacha. I didn't even want to go out in public without some sort of hijab.


3. They say that you don't really put on weight in the first trimester. HA! Poo Poo I say! I've already put on 4 lbs! Par for the course, I guess, seeing how last time I put on 12 lbs in the first 12 weeks. GACK! Breasts and pimples must weigh a lot, I guess.

What sorts of things do you notice when you are pregnant? Someone out there MUST share my pain...

Here we go again, part deux

Early to mid May!  WOOT!

I guess I'll never see Pavarotti live

I am not that big of an opera fan, but I do appreciate talent.  There has never been and never will be another like Pavarotti.

Tony is a MASSIVE opera buff.  He loves Pavarotti.  He would have had a million of his babies, were that possible.  He had purchased a ticket to see Pavarotti in June 2006. I was pregnant and teaching, and didn’t think that I would want to see him.  Tony paid almost $100 for a nosebleed seat and was determined to see him, even if it meant going by himself.  Then, just a couple of weeks before the concert, Pavarotti publicized his cancer and postponed his tour.  Tony was given the option to reserve a ticket for the rescheduled concert, which was to take place in October.  Unfortunately, we were moving across the country before then and would have a newborn by October, so he reluctantly took a refund on the ticket.

It really is a shame.  I wish that Tony would have had the chance to hear such greatness in person.

Rest peacefully, Luciano Pavarotti.

Get the full Pavarotti story here.

God Save the Queen!

It’s time to laugh out loud!

As recommended to me by Poot and Cubby, I started reading the Queen of Shake Shake. And I laughed. I laughed so hard that I peed. And then I laughed at that!

The woman is hilarious! If you haven’t checked her out yet, DO IT! I probably would have nominated her for all her posts, particularly this one while she was squatting over at Velveteen Mind whining about her fresh mait. But this post is the first one that got to me. This post hooked me, reeled me in, and I was done, forever being a lowly unworthy member of her royal court.

God save the Queen!


++++++++++++++++

To see the rest of the summer’s ROFL awards, go here and here.

Wordless Wednesday: Hear ye, hear ye!

I miss you already

Dear Elliot,

We said our goodbyes about an hour ago, and I miss you already. You gave me a hug and a kiss, then cried and wanted me to go stay at your house. You said you were going to miss me and Tony and Sacha and that you didn't want to go. I didn't want to cry in front of you, I wanted you to see the face of your goofy auntie Sarah, but I let the waterfall out as soon as you left. Singing Sacha to sleep was a strained voice jetted with tears and cracked breaths.

When you were a baby, I used to visit you and your mom every Friday afternoon. You always smiled at me, laughed until you were red in the face when I danced like a moron to "Proud Mary", you loved reading with me, and I loved every minute of you. I had pictures of you on my bulletin board in my classroom, and told relentless Elliot stories to everyone with ears to listen. You are the reason I wanted so much to become a mama. I loved you that much.

It hurts me so much to have to leave you, knowing full well that it will be almost a year before I can play with you again, that Sacha will be a year older before you two can once more terrorize each other. How I wish that my concept of time and space was as innocent as yours. Maybe then you wouldn't seem as far away or I wouldn't miss you so much in between the together times.

You just left, and I miss you already.

I love you, Elliot.

Auntie Sarah