Inertia

Inertia (noun): indisposition to motion, exertion, or change: inertness.

Here is what I would like to do for the next 25 days:

• Sit on my couch.
• Read.
• Sleep.
• Watch mindless television.
• NOT COOK.
• NOT CLEAN.
  
• Surf the internet.
• Float in a pool.
• Talk to Beki.
  

Here is what I am actually doing:

• Entertaining a very active almost three-year-old who is not content to sit on the couch for more than 30 seconds, unless "Clifford" is on PBS.
• Watching "Clifford" on PBS so I can sit on the couch for a full 30 minutes.
  
• Getting the baby's clothes, bedding, and room ready.
• Standing at the splash park in my gigantic (but cute, I'll admit) polka-dot swimsuit, supervising Noah and beating the heat (99°, no joke).
  
• Visiting every drive-thru in a 10-mile radius. (My dream of not cooking is being realized, but at the expense of my waistline. Wait -- what waistline?)
• Doing laundry at a snail's pace. (Wash one day. Move clothes to dryer next day. Fold three days after that.)
  
• Sleeping on the couch, then the bed, then back on the couch, then giving up.
  
• Swimming in Beki's new community pool (HEAVEN).
• Relying on my husband for just about everything else.
  

And that's about it. I would write more, but... Who has the energy?

Pooky.

Here he is, world. Celebrity, diplomat, international bear of mystery.


Pooky is his name. Cuddling's his game.


Don't tease him for his hourglass figure or stubby tail. Pooky is a force to be reckoned with.


Pooky is the ultimate weapon against insomnia. You can forget counting sheep or a glass of warm milk. Tuck his plump little body under your arm and you will soon be sleeping like a baby.


Pooky has seen me through many a sleepless night, from middle school onward. In college during midterms, I hugged him so hard his head popped off. Thankfully, one of my hallmates was savvy with a sewing needle and recapitated him.

Pooky hung with me through the stresses of my first real job, when I worked as a marketing assistant at a law firm. Having to give presentations to a roomful of 30+ lawyers will spawn two things: nightmares and canker sores. Desperate for rest, I hid Pooky under the mattress so I could snuggle him after my brand-new husband fell asleep. The times Pete caught me clutching my teddy bear in the wee hours of the morning, he threw him across the room.


But Pooky is a survivor. And a bear of peace.


So in my recent battle with insomnia, I knew the time had come to bring out the big guns. I am not above creeping into my sleeping child's room at 1 a.m. to rummage through his toy hamper. And there, wedged between Garfield and Ducky, I spied that familiar pear-shaped backside with its stubby tail. Stealthily I tucked Pooky under my arm, eased back into bed (grunting like a rhinoceros), and slept soundly until the bladder alarm woke me at its usual 2-hour interval. Since Pooky has come back into the picture, my sleep has drastically improved. Now I hide him under the mattress to avoid the watchful eyes of my bear-hugging toddler.


There you have it. I am thirty years old and I sleep with a teddy bear.

Long live The Pooky.

Please, Call Me "Cute"

As in, You are sooooooooo cute!

Please. I need to hear it.

Because there is very little I find cute about myself at the moment.

But you can make me a believer.

Here are my current obstacles to cuteness:

1. My general size and unwieldiness. I am about as graceful as the Incredible Hulk at a ballet recital.

2. The hack job I performed on my toenails this weekend, which still wear the polish from my April pedicure with Beki. I am lucky I still have toes. (They were very difficult to reach.)

3. My wardrobe, which generally consists of three shirts which I rotate in succession. Most have splotches on the belly, since it juts out like a coffee table and catches all spills. And I am too cheap to buy more shirts with only one month to go.

4. My hair. Coming soon to a ponytail holder near you. When is the air-dried 'do going to come back in style? Or the bun with a scrunchie around it?

On second thought, scratch that. I never want to revisit the scrunchie days. (Shudder.)

5. My huffing and puffing and constant breathlessness. Pete observed that I am always sighing or grunting. Apparently I sound like a cross between a caveman and the Incredible Hulk at a ballet recital.

So please...

Call me cute. Be it truth, flattery, or outright lying, I don't care. I accept all compliments indiscriminately. Tell me that my spaghetti-stained T-shirt really enhances my figure. That toenails were meant to look like they were cut with pinking shears. That my shower-cap head just screams sophistication.

And I will love you forever.

Yes, I am that vain.

And desperate.

And hopeful that my vain desperation somehow also classifies me as "adorable."

But that might be pushing it.

Yeah. Let's just stick with "cute."

Showered!

On Saturday, some friends of mine threw me a baby shower at Mimi's Café. I think they call them "showers" because the guest of honor is literally drenched in blessings (either that, or because it forces her to actually bathe and put on real clothes). I was overwhelmed!

Some pictures from the day:

Mmm... Chocolate fudge.

With Bre (another expectant mama!)

Belly to belly

My friend Kari

Barb, Baby Jessie, Jennie, Addie & Maggie

Beki, Allie & Kristen
(plus cute Emmylou in the background)

To everyone who hosted and participated:

THANK YOU!

What a blessing to have you as friends!

Like Father, Like Son

Here is Noah looking remarkably like his father as he peruses the Sunday Best Buy ad (apart from the Batman pj's and blue cape, which Pete has long since retired):


While Pete looks at the electronics, Noah is scouring the ad for pictures of Transformers. I made the mistake of introducing the concept of a "Birthday Wish List" for his August celebration, and that list is now about 20 items long, with Transformers currently dominating the list.


Other items include: Thomas trains, the toy motorcycle he saw on display at the grocery store (WHY do they dangle toys at random in the cereal aisle?), a new Superhero suit, and a baby brother.

That last item is on my wish list too. 37 days and counting!

How We Sleep

A National Geographic report.

Observe:

The Elephant

The Flamingo

The Bat

The Camel

The Sloth

The Fuzzy Cat

The Expectant Mother

While all of these creatures display distinctive sleeping patterns, the expectant mother is among the most unique. Rather than assuming a fixed position for the duration of her slumber, the mother moves and shifts with unusual frequency, even changing locations during the night (couch to bed, bed to couch). She constructs a nest of pillows which surround and support her limbs, often crowding out her mate. Due to the extreme pressure on her bladder, the expectant mother has been known to rise an average of five times per night to attend to her needs. While sleep is of extreme necessity to a woman of her condition, it is also one of the most difficult states to achieve and maintain.

After years of close study, scientists have arrived at an important conclusion regarding this species:

DO NOT WAKE A SLEEPING MOTHER.

Such actions would provoke possible life-threatening consequences for the perpetrator and are highly inadvisable, except under the most pressing circumstances (fire, tornado, impending monsoon).

At long last... My dad

The big joke regarding my dad and this blog is that he has only appeared here once or twice, despite the fact that he is a huge part of my life. So on Father's Day, it only seems appropriate that I pay tribute to the amazing, hilarious, wise person that is my father (and no, Dad, I am not buttering you up to make up for lost time). I have promised to limit my description of Dad to three web pages or fewer, so that the other dads in the universe don't feel slighted. But trust me, as dads go, he is at the top.


The top of a mountain, usually. In gorgeous Colorado. Either hiking, skiing, or more recently, biking. Which just goes to show how smart my dad is, and what good taste he has. (That, and the fact that he married my mom.)


Some interesting and somewhat random facts about my dad, to help you get to know him better:

1. He makes great pancakes. I still leap out of bed when I am visiting my parents if I catch even the faintest whiff of a hot griddle. Dad is the one who introduced Noah to pancakes and syrup (and undiluted apple juice, might I add --- oh, the horror!), and Noah has held the nickname "Short Stack" ever since. The little guy can put 'em away.

2. Dad packed our lunches during all our growing-up years. My friends found it astonishing that my dad was the one slapping together my bologna and cheese sandwich every morning before school. Usually he split up the Little Debbie two-packs, so that my sister and I each got one Swiss Cake Roll apiece. But sometimes he'd surprise us and throw in a whole pack. Just because.

3. Dad knows everything. Of this I am convinced. If the world feels like it is tilting on its axis, I call my dad. If I am making a major financial or life decision, I call my dad. If my car makes funny noises, I call my dad. The Dad Hotline is a lifeline for all us kids.

4. The First National Bank of Dad never closes. This is the other lifeline. The bank that never closes. And, uh, doesn't charge interest. And, er, doesn't really make you ever pay back your loans. (At least, that's what we're all hoping.) If it weren't for us kids, my dad would probably drive a Porsche and own property in Tahiti. (Sorry, Dad.)

5. My dad is hilarious. Seriously funny. If you don't believe me, check out what he wore to work one year for Halloween (*Warning: He might kill me for this):


I believe he came in second in the costume contest to someone dressed as Half-Sonny, Half-Cher. Which is way more disturbing than a grown man in tights, if you ask me.

6. My dad loves to fix things. He brought my 1972 VW Beetle back to life (again and again and again). He restored a 1968 Beetle to pristine condition. When he restored his VW Bus, he even made the curtains himself.

The Bus - Before

The Bus - After

7. My dad is the ultimate family man. We hardly ever have a conversation in which he doesn't try to convince me (at least once) to move to Colorado. Dad likes having his kids and grandkids around. When you're with him, you know that's true.


So Dad, even though I have just posted a picture of you in a bee suit on the world wide web, I hope you will still accept this heartfelt and loving tribute from your daughter on this very special holiday ---

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

I love you so much.