The Reluctant Blogger

Birth of a... Blog?

2009-07-26T23:59:00.004-04:00

Announcing the birth of Lauren's new blog:

Writing from Scratch

Born: Sunday, July 26, 2009
12:19 a.m.
Height: 169 posts
Weight: 64MB

Visiting hours are from 12:00 a.m. to 11:59 p.m.,
Sunday through Saturday.
Proud author is recovering fine.

* * *

It's true. I'm moving.

With all this talk of new birth, it's time to give my blog a new lease on life. A fresh start in cyberspace. Because, if you haven't noticed, I am no longer reluctant in my blogging. In fact, I rather enjoy it. So, with the help of my friend and creative genius Jeremiah (whom you should all hire to design your blogs), Writing from Scratch was born. Still the same general kookiness; still taking my scratch ingredients --- experiences, photos, impressions --- and kneading them together with words to create something delectable (and mildly fattening), as all writing should be.

So, in anticipation of the even bigger birth announcement soon to come, I am giving you all a day or two to update your bookmarks and visit my new bloggie in the maternity ward. Call me biased, but I'd say he turned out pretty cute.

Tough Love

2009-07-23T18:16:00.001-04:00

Anniversary

2009-07-22T06:00:00.000-04:00

Nine years ago today I walked down the aisle toward you, my love. Slippered feet treading on rose petals, petticoats rustling, eyes dancing.

You looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen.

We were so giddy, the congregation chuckled when we recited our vows. Our smiles cracked our faces in half, pouring out light. It felt like we were play-acting, saying words like "husband" and "wife." It was too easy to remember the early days, when our moms drove us on our dates, to believe that we were grown up enough to marry. Still, we slipped the rings on each other's fingers; we kissed; we processed out to the limo where we slurped down glasses of champagne so fast you were dizzy for the wedding photographs.

Married.

Nine years later, I am still walking toward you. Bare feet treading on cereal and plastic army men, ankles swollen, belly heavy with child. Moving closer to that place of light and perfect union that we promised to love and cherish all those years ago.

And you still look at me like I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.

I love you.

In My Survival Kit

2009-07-20T10:15:00.000-04:00

You.

2009-07-19T00:00:00.004-04:00

Dear Noah:

This will likely be my last full week with just you. Just one kiddo to tuck in at night, just one little face to scrub, just one small hand to grasp in my own as we go out into the world.

You are a mere two weeks shy of your third birthday, and I am amazed at the little man you have become.

You dress yourself. You take showers. You use words like "swashbuckle" in a sentence. You sing loud. You play air guitar. You call me "Mom" and ask for "Some privacy, please" when you use the potty. You know all of the Spiderman villains by name. You help set the table and ask to "earn some monies" to put in your teddy bear bank. You adore your daddy. You (thankfully) forgot the cuss word I taught you by accident. You make funny faces that get you out of trouble because your dad and I can't help laughing.

I have learned you, and you have learned me. You have brought out the grown-up and the child in me, both at once. You have witnessed my triumphs and failures as a mom, and it appears that you still really like me anyway. I can now breastfeed, change a diaper, install a car seat, collapse a stroller, identify signs of strep, tolerate Barney, bake chickpeas into cookies, and name almost all of the Spiderman villains, thanks to you. We both had a lot of growing up to do, and still do.

Whatever changes lie ahead, know that I love you. And that, despite your insistence on being a "big boy," you will always be the tiny baby I cradled in my arms after that first gasp of breath, the opening line to the amazing story that is you.

All my love,

Mommy

The Four A.M. Book Club

2009-07-17T09:35:00.019-04:00

The Four A.M. Book Club
Meeting Minutes: July 17, 2009

A meeting of the Four A.M. Book Club was called to order at 3:56 a.m. (EST) by Chairman Pooky the Bear. All members were present, including: Chairman Pooky, Ms. Lauren (Secretary) and Sir Leo the Cat (Treasurer). The group convened in the living room.

Ms. Lauren set forth a motion to begin reading and Pooky seconded. The motion carried. Ms. Lauren read a novel; Pooky meditated; and Sir Leo bathed himself.

Ms. Lauren noted that the other club members were shirking their literary duties. Sir Leo replied that he had only joined the club for the tummy rubs and late-night snacks. Ms. Lauren chose not to press the issue --- acknowledging the scarcity of nocturnal participants --- and set forth a motion to snack. Sir Leo seconded. Orange juice, peanut butter toast, and flaked tuna entrée (for Sir Leo) were procured. A hearty chewing session ensued, followed by more reading, meditation, and a nap by Sir Leo.

At roughly 4:45 a.m. (EST), all participants fell asleep. The meeting was adjourned.

Interested insomniacs should contact Ms. Lauren for further information about the club. Open enrollment will continue through July 31, when an additional member is expected to join. This member, referred to only as "Baby," will be leading a discussion on Dickens' classics through the month of August, though he will likely be distracted --- with Sir Leo --- by the snacks and snuggles.

BUSTED

2009-07-15T22:11:00.013-04:00

Let me paint a sad little scene for you.

Pregnant woman (2 weeks from her due date) waddles through the aisles of Target, picking up the few items that will keep her household running for several days hence (soda, cat food, laundry detergent). Woman pauses at intervals to catch her breath, feeling the now-familiar squeeze of Braxton Hicks contractions.

Woman proceeds through checkout line and exits the building, adjusting her eyes to the glare and heat of the summer sun. With teeth gritted, she hefts her 38-pound child out of the shopping cart and situates him in the car, offering him a bag of Goldfish crackers if he would please stop whining. Woman unloads groceries into trunk of car and exits parking lot.

Woman cranks A/C down to "Lo," which at first only blows heat. Sweat beads her forehead and back. She is thirsty and tired, anxious to make her way to her friend's house where they will chat over a glass of iced tea while the kids entertain each other.

Woman flips on turn signal as she approaches her friend's condo complex, noticing for the first time the string of policemen up ahead, radar guns poised, their squad cars parked in a menacing line along the roadside. One policeman holds out a hand to signal "STOP." Her stomach squeezes, but this is not a contraction.

Police officer asks woman if she knows why he pulled her over. "I guess I was going too fast," she replies, looking defeated. Cop tells her she was doing 36 in a 25-mph zone. Woman leans awkwardly over her large belly to reach for her registration and proof of insurance. Meanwhile, her son proceeds to spill half a bag of Goldfish crackers onto the car floor as he strains to see what's happening.

Woman hands documents to officer and waits as he returns to his squad car to prepare the ticket. She starts crying. She can't stop. This is horrible timing, she is hot and tired and sweating, her friend's house is only a few hundred yards away, and her toddler is whining: "Go! Let's go!" She stares down at her massive belly, which looms like a giant "Get out of jail free" card (meaning any punishment, considering her current physical and emotional state).

No such luck. Officer hands over ticket with talk of points and traffic school. Woman nods, crying. Signs at the X, crying. Nods, crying, as the officer asks if she is all right and instructs her to drive safe.

The aftermath: a semi-hysterical phone call to her husband, a hug from her friend, a glass of iced tea and a pep talk as the kids entertain each other.

Moral of the story: Pay attention to speed limit signs, even when your throat is parched and the temperature outside reads 99° and your child is whining and you are experiencing mild childbirth contractions. The iced tea can wait.

AND...

Don't cry over spilled Goldfish.

Scenes from Pete's 30th Birthday

2009-07-13T23:35:00.012-04:00

Because this blog is about more than me and my belly.
At least 3.5% of the time.

Thanks to some very creative (and thoughtful) church interns.

Later that day...

Even later (post-Swedish massage at spa and pre-surprise Outback feast with friends)...A really, really, really good day.

Here's to many more!

And here I thought I looked good

2009-07-11T20:15:00.003-04:00

A direct quote from Noah as we left the house this afternoon (I was dropping him at church for a playtime activity):

Noah: "But Mom, you just can't wear your pajamas to church!"

Apparently he has clued into my round-the-clock ultra casual wardrobe.

This baby better come soon. I am running out of T-shirts.

Look Who's 30!

2009-07-07T23:15:00.001-04:00

"The great thing about getting older is that
you don't lose all the other ages you've been."

-Madeleine L'Engle

In that case, this happy birthday wish goes to the 2-year-old in my husband who still loves making funny faces with his son; the 8-year-old who hams it up (and makes me laugh like no one else); the 14-year-old I fell in love with; the 16-year-old who wooed me with roses and piano ballads; the 21-year-old I married; the 23-year-old I followed to Florida; and the handsome, wise, silly, sweet, strong 30-year-old before me today.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! I love you!

Inertia

2009-07-06T07:00:00.002-04:00

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.

2009-07-01T00:23:00.015-04:00

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"

2009-06-30T09:21:00.000-04:00

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!

2009-06-29T09:24:00.006-04:00

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

2009-06-24T06:59:00.000-04:00

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

2009-06-23T06:30:00.005-04:00

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

2009-06-21T17:24:00.007-04:00

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.

Yoga Pants, Oh How I Love Thee...

2009-06-16T23:03:00.005-04:00

... let me count the ways.

* * *

Last night I watched Oprah's team give makeovers to several of her loyal viewers. I told Pete I am starting to feel like a "Before" picture.

We cracked up.

(You have to keep your sense of humor.)

A Tasty Tribute (And the Official End of My Pity Party)

2009-06-14T16:08:00.006-04:00

This will be my last post dedicated to Beki's gut-wrenching departure for at least the next 72 hours. Because frankly, my gut could use the break.

But I had to show you the cupcakes I brought to their farewell barbecue on Friday. The cupcakes are --- gasp! --- store-bought (something I rarely EVER do, since I love to bake), but the decorations are homemade. I used PhotoShop to crop and print some pictures of our escapades together and mounted them on toothpicks, which I stuck into the cupcakes.

It made for a very tasty stroll down memory lane, as the following pictures will attest:

Here's Noah holding a picture of "Uncle Todd" holding him when he was just a few days old.

And here he is polishing off his little delicacy with expert skill:

For the record, I have no idea what they put in blue icing, and I don't want to. All I know is, you had better be prepared to sport a set of blue lips for at least half a day, leaving most of your party guests looking like they need to be resuscitated. Which, a for Pity Party, seems entirely appropriate (though mine has now officially concluded --- thank you for coming).

The Last Hurrah (for now)

2009-06-13T10:38:00.003-04:00

This will give you an idea of Beki and Todd's gift of hospitality: they hosted a backyard barbecue at their old house on the evening of their move!

Wesley and Beki (note Wes's broken ankle, poor guy)

Now if I had been packing for weeks and hefting boxes and furniture all day, I would probably grab Taco Bell to go and call it a day. But that's not their way. And I'm so glad --- because it gave me a reason to stop crying, put on makeup, and rejoin the land of the living.

I love this family.

Todd fired up the grill and cooked us some Bubba Burgers, which we promptly devoured.

There is nothing like a huge spread of food to ease the pain of parting. At least, in my world (and don't tell me I need therapy).

I think Sammy-Boy was hoping to get in on the feast. Those eyes!

Only kids can get away with eating a huge meal and then bouncing themselves silly on a trampoline.

Our friends Mike and Debbie, who live just a few streets over, also joined in the fun, so it was truly a neighborhood affair. Our little gang has spent a fair share of holidays together, which turn out especially hilarious when Mike brings his fireworks.

No explosives tonight though, other than my stomach. Either I'm nearly eight months pregnant, or I ate waaay too much.

It's just that sometimes, when you find a good thing, you can't get enough.

Case in point.

Things That Make Me Sad Today

2009-06-12T14:29:00.012-04:00

The Orlando Magic losing to the Lakers in overtime.

A car without air conditioning in 95° weather.

The big things: Injustice. Poverty.

The little things: Library fines. Frizz.

But most of all today, this:

Watching Beki and her family move out.

Sometimes you need consolation; sometimes you just need to cry.

Today, I cried.

Day of the Pineapple

2009-06-11T13:49:00.007-04:00

For some reason, the experts love to compare the size of your unborn baby to fruits and vegetables. There was the kidney bean phase (8 weeks), the avocado phase (16 weeks), the rutabaga phase (25 weeks) --- as if I know what a rutabaga looks like --- the cabbage phase (30 weeks), and now, we have reached the day of the pineapple (33 weeks). Thank goodness the baby only resembles a pineapple in weight, because if women had to give birth to something that spiky, we would all be begging for C-sections. Next week he will be a cantaloupe, which sounds slightly less intimidating, though more rotund.

The Pineapple Phase is proving to have its challenges. Mainly, I cannot get comfortable. Last night I attempted to watch TV and shifted positions about every 30 seconds over the course of an hour and a half. Poor Pete was on the other side of the couch, bouncing up and down with my every move like it was some kind of seesaw for restless couch potatoes. Or couch pineapples.

Hopefully the Pineapple will allow me to watch the Orlando Magic cream the L.A. Lakers this evening in the NBA Finals. Because we are going to dice their little hopes and dreams into fruit salad. With maybe a rutabaga thrown in for good measure.

Noah's Big Boy Room

2009-06-08T09:32:00.002-04:00

Remember this room? The one that has alternately served as a studio, an office, and a guest room? The one where our previous visitors have been forced to step over keyboards, accounting files, and random office equipment?

I give you --- THE TRANSFORMATION.

Before: Guest Room/Former Studio/Office

After: Noah's "Big Boy" Room!

Pardon me while I inundate you with pictures. I am nesting, remember?

We had been planning to replace the futon with a full-size bed for Noah when we realized --- with the rails on the sides, the futon makes a perfect toddler bed. Especially when fitted out with rockin' Spiderman sheets (oh yeah, baby). The bedding is from Target; the bright orange curtains are from IKEA.

Here is the view from the bed:

I especially love the cube shelf from Target with the IKEA picture frames above. I bought that Tigger for Pete on our family vacation to Disney World back in 1995. Little did I know it would one day belong to our son! And that we would live a half-hour from Disney!

Here is the view looking out into the hall, where you can see the new IKEA dresser (gee, is it obvious where we do our shopping?):

That rectangular-looking column on the dresser is an IKEA lamp. Gives off a nice, 11-watt glow at nighttime.

And this makes me really proud --- notice the frames above the bed?

It is Noah's personal art gallery, consisting of empty frames painted blue with his artwork hanging from binder clips, so the art can be updated regularly.

I got the idea from this post here (lest you think I am some kind of Martha Stewart genius. I often give that impression. Cough.).

So usually, nesting involves getting the baby's room ready, but since Noah's old room is pretty much ready to go (complete with changing table, crib, and glider), all I have to do now is launder the crib bedding and unpack the baby clothes. Do you see why I was counting on another boy??

That concludes our tour on Lifestyles of the Pregnant and Fabulous. For more information, COME VISIT. So long as you don't mind sleeping on Spiderman sheets!

The Catch-Up Post

2009-06-06T14:44:00.014-04:00

(Umm... I said Catch-Up, not Ketchup. Never mind.)

Oh, Reluctant Blogger---you are living up to your name these days. Although, to be fair, I am reluctant about many things lately: getting dressed, cooking, any kind of movement... I am in full pregnant mode with the weeble-wobble walk, the pervasive nesting instinct, and an extreme attachment to my gaucho and yoga pants, both of which resemble pajama bottoms. Actually, they double as pajama bottoms. Actually, I don't think I'm getting out of my pajamas for the next eight weeks. That will eliminate the need for pesky personal hygiene.

I jest, but you get the idea.

I have actually had a very full couple of weeks---full, but not hectic. Summer-preggo mode prevents me from even setting a toenail near the hectic pace of this past winter and spring. I wish I could be this mellow all the time. Maybe it's the yoga pants.

Anyway, in case you are curious, or in case you are my mom, or both, here is the bulletpoint version of my recent adventures:

1. Jenni's Visit. My sister Jenni visited us for a week and brought with her my ADORABLE new niece, Vivi, and my ever-adorable nephew, Jack. This will give you an idea of the adorability factor:

I rest my case. Actually, here is one more:

Because Jenni is adorable too.

We swam, we splashed, we hit the beach. We napped, we vegged, we ate. We taught the boys about 1,036 lessons on sharing (two three-year-old firstborns are a volatile combo). We had a blast.

2. Noah has hit puberty. Okay, slight exaggeration here. But he has grown a mustache:

No wait, that's pudding. My mistake. (Doesn't he look like a young Don Juan?)

What I am not exaggerating is the fact that my baby has become a big boy in the span of about a week: moving to a big boy bed, moving to a big boy booster seat in the car, and becoming potty trained. (That will be its own post, since potty training is such a hilarious adventure.) He also insists on getting dressed by himself, and apparently he shares my affection for round-the-clock pajamas. If I weren't having a baby in 55 days, I would be mourning this transition, but Noah's independence will only help me in the future when I have an infant glued to my person.

3. Beki and her family are moving. There. I said it. My beloved neighbors are moving. I have lived comfortably in denial for the past month, but it is time to face facts. Granted, they are only moving five minutes away (for now), but I am deeply mourning the loss of my across-the-street friend. So just to let you all know, I will be in the depths of despair on or around June 19th. Possibly sooner. (In case you all want to sign up to bring me meals and chocolate and Kleenex and foot massages. I just threw in the foot massages for good measure.)

Beki and Vivi

4. I am huge. Noah weighed 9 lbs., 9 oz. when he was born, and my doctor is predicting another whopper. Here is my birth plan: Get to hospital. Get drugs. Get more drugs as needed. Have baby in one push. Nurse baby. Eat steak. Do you think I should write that down for the nurses?

Belly at the Beach

And that, dear friends, is my life in a nutshell. I would write more, but let's be honest --- most of you skimmed through this post for the pictures (and I don't blame you). So I will leave you with a good one, and I promise to be back soon. You don't want to miss Adventures in Pottyland or pictures of Noah's big boy room.

Love to all, L.

Happiness is...

2009-05-26T07:04:00.004-04:00

... seeing your husband in a tuxedo.

... watching two dear friends get married.

... getting dressed up, even when your belly looks like a big, wrapped present. (Which it is.)

Sweetness and Light

2009-05-22T15:58:00.006-04:00

The world got more beautiful today. At 1:57 a.m., to be precise. The moment Ann and Davison's baby girl, Emily Caroline, entered the world.

I am cradling this news like I would little Emily herself, holding it to my heart with awe and wonder and happy tears.

Congratulations, Ann and D. Emily is all sweetness and light.

And yes, I am already planning an arranged marriage with our soon-to-be born baby boy.

My Favorite Faces

2009-05-17T15:57:00.002-04:00

The Belly Blog

2009-05-14T07:44:00.010-04:00

(Written from the perspective of --- you guessed it --- my belly.)

Bellies get no credit these days. We are the overlooked and underappreciated part of the anatomy. Unless you are one of those prima donna bellies on the cover of Shape or Men's Health magazine (the show-offs), you are relegated to a life of relative obscurity beneath layers of cotton and polyester blends.

Don't we deserve better? We take what you give us; we process the french fries and ice cream and black coffee with little complaint; yet you poke and prod us into too-tiny jeans and bemoan our existence, as if we were the ones to blame for our occasional expansion. Really, I can barely stomach such ingratitude. If you're going to blame an organ, blame the tongue. He is always wagging about how delicious and savory and succulent everything is, as if taste buds weren't a dime a dozen. Show me a tongue that can do what we do every day, putting up with both him and those moody intestines. Talk about temperamental! And don't even get me started on the colon. If you ask me, he's full of... well... Never mind.

But the times they are a-changin'. Ever since this baby showed up, I am finally getting the recognition I deserve. Just look at the star treatment I am receiving:

I am no longer confined to zippers and belts; instead, I am being treated to roomy elastic waistbands that comfortably accommodate my girth.

I am massaged with cocoa butter daily.

I am a minor celebrity. People want to touch me all the time. They say, "You're all belly," and it is viewed as a high compliment.

I have been placed under the care of medical professionals who take great care to measure me and jot down their findings. Growth is good.

I am photographed on a regular basis. Angles are chosen which best accentuate my rotundity, and the photos are placed in albums for posterity.

Will it last? The fame, the coddling, the appreciation of my beauty and talents? Yeah right. Fame is fleeting, and in three months I will shrink back into obscurity, aided by chalky diet shakes and low-carb lunches. I will once again hear the scrape of a zipper being eased into place and the inevitable griping over stretch marks, which I personally think are quite beautiful. Consider them my commemoration of a gentler, simpler time when the belly was king.

So the next time you complain of an upset stomach, take a moment to reflect on how you would feel after enduring such highs and lows. I will, as the poets say, "Quit bellyaching," but I am glad to have said my piece. Forgive me if it was a little hard to digest. The truth always is.

Don't Take It Personally

2009-05-12T16:19:00.007-04:00

On Mother's Day, the same day Noah woke me with an enormous hug and kiss and told me "Mama, you're a beautiful princess," he also told me, "I hope you get swallowed by a shark." Hmph. It took me a day or two to realize he was referencing one of his favorite books, How I Became a Pirate, in which the pirates' soccer ball gets swallowed by a grinning, toothy shark. At the time, however, I felt somewhat wounded.

"Noah, if I got swallowed by a shark, who would feed you and get you dressed and brush your teeth?" I asked, curious whether a two-year-old really has ANY CONCEPT of his dependence on mama.

Noah looked at me squarely, as if the answer was obvious. "Leo would brush my teeth."

Of course. The cat would take care of him.

How silly of me.

Water Baby

2009-05-11T22:04:00.004-04:00

This afternoon, Noah and I took our first swim of the season over at Beki's house.

Goggles compliments of Beki's boys
(He wanted to look just like the big boys)

As you can see, Noah really got into the part. I was expecting a screaming/crying fit, but once he warmed up, there was no stopping him. By the time we wrapped up almost two hours later, he had abandoned his floaty vest and was adventurously working his way around the perimeter of the pool, clinging to the wall and playing on the pool steps.

All by himself (under my watchful gaze, of course.)

Meanwhile, I actually felt weightless for a blissful few minutes. It is a strange sensation to be floating and to feel a baby floating inside you at the same time.

I am the human baby pool!

Ten Things I Learned from my Mother

2009-05-10T07:40:00.023-04:00

1. Chocolate can be a meal. It's amazing how far you can get on a Diet Coke and half a bag of M&M's. (Or in my case, a full bag. I never had her knack for moderation.)

2. Do what you enjoy. You may recall that my mom is the Scrabble champion of the universe. If you want to see an expression of unbridled glee, let her crush you with her triple-word score.

My mom is also happiest when exercising, a trait which I unfortunately did not inherit. Give the woman an elliptical machine and an iPod and she will burn 500 calories with a smile on her face. Mom was an aerobics instructor for years, and to her credit, she managed to teach me how to pony and chorus kick with the best of them (even though I am rather lacking in the coordination department). When I go to visit my family in Colorado, I always pack my sneakers, knowing that Mom will find some way to get me to the gym. What can I say? It makes her happy.

3. Sing. My mom has a beautiful voice. We would sing in the car, in the kitchen, in church. She is my favorite person to harmonize with. She taught me to sit on top of the notes and not scoop them like a wannabe Debbie Gibson. Mostly I learned by listening.

4. Cleanliness is next to sanity. My siblings and I tease my mom mercilessly for her love of vacuuming. Something about having all the carpet hairs lined up in neat rows makes her feel at peace with the universe. Footprints on a freshly groomed carpet were a cardinal sin, so we learned to either cover our tracks or just take flying leaps from the kitchen to the family room couch (when she wasn't looking, of course). I found it so frustrating that I vowed to take a firm anti-vacuuming stance when I grew up.

I vacuumed twice yesterday. There is no escaping your genes.

5. Be generous. I don't think there is a paycheck Mom earns that she doesn't give away. When I was in high school, I remember her endorsing an aerobics check over to me so that I could go on a youth group trip to Colorado --- the same trip where I fell in love with my now-husband. (I fell in love with Jesus too, so it was a doubly good investment.)

Me and Pete, off to Colorado (1994)

When we were out driving one day and I was having a particularly miserable bout of teenage angst, she disappeared into the grocery store and reemerged with a new Anne Tyler novel and a bookmark ---which I still have --- that says, "Remember, you are special, you are needed, you are loved." When I pined for a cat on which to pour out my budding maternal affection seven years ago, she bought me Leo. (I could give countless other examples, but then I would embarrass her.)

6. Be silly. Both my mom and dad taught me this one. Thanks to their silliness, they raised a first-class ham (moi). I fully intend to pass on this legacy to my children. You can't take yourself too seriously.

7. Nothin' says lovin' like something in the oven. My love of baking comes from my mom. I have fond memories of coming home from school to the smell of fresh-baked brownies or chocolate chip cookies. Baked goods are an excellent way to express affection. They are also an excellent excuse to lick the batter.

8. Appreciate nature. My mom loves the mountains, and she loves the beach. She loves a good, invigorating hike or walk (there she goes exercising again). One time she picked me up early from school so she could take my brothers and me to collect fall leaves on the Appalachian trail. Now that is education.

9. Pray. I must have barged in on my mom numerous times growing up, because I have vivid memories of seeing her kneeling by her bed and praying. That image has stayed with me. I can only wonder how many prayers she has spoken on behalf of us kids over 30+ years of motherhood.

10. Express affection. Mom is quick to offer a hug, a kiss, an "I love you." She never forgets to tell us that.

And now, especially today, it's my turn to say, "I love you."

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Hatched

2009-05-05T23:36:00.003-04:00

Dear Kim:

To answer your question: yes, the peeps have finally hatched. (I know you've been waiting.)

My little peep, however, still has 12 weeks to go (see photo below).

Love,

Lauren

Peeps are Nesting in My Kitchen

2009-04-02T14:10:00.004-04:00

Last night, my kitchen counter was teeming with expectant Peeps.

It's that time of year again. And what do these marshmallow critters use to build their nests?

Cocoa Krispies, butter, candy-coated chocolate eggs, and marshmallows, of course. It's a time-honored recipe, honed by generations of nesting Peeps.

This Peep mama is apparently expecting a boy and a girl.

As I admired her little brood, I noticed the mama looked kind of tasty.

So I ate her.

Not only that, I decided to take the whole lot to preschool today to be devoured by a roomful of marshmallow-loving children.

The circle of life is brutal, isn't it?

I feel pretty, oh so pretty...

2009-04-01T15:32:00.006-04:00

Oh no. Say it ain't so.

That is a picture of my son in a pink hula skirt, is it not?

Ahh... yup. It sure is.

Apparently, when the kids play "dress up" at preschool, Noah has a penchant for hula skirts and princess dresses. His teachers assure me that this is only because they have more girl costumes than boy costumes. I am confident that, should a Spidey suit or cowboy hat have been available, those would have been his first choices.

At least, I hope.

Guess who just might be donating some manly costumes to the preschool? Once I see the girls in policeman hats and fireman helmets, I will know we have equal opportunity costuming.

And if my son still chooses to hula, I will have to make my peace.

A Perfect Day

2009-03-26T14:58:00.005-04:00

I am a week late in posting these pictures, but I would be remiss if I skipped them, since they represent a pretty well perfect day. Last Friday, we made our first trek to the beach of 2009 and it was divine. Sand between our toes, a pleasant sea breeze, good books, shovels, and a big bag of Cheetos. Who could ask for anything more?

Noah checks out a jellyfish, who they named "Purples"

More company (Noah was fascinated)

I dig the shades, man.

Seriously, am I the palest Floridian EVER? Must work on that.

While we were there, some friends called and asked if they could please watch Noah for us that evening so we could go out on a date. Ummm... Give me one millisecond to think that over. YES!!! Once we were home and clean and only slightly sunburned, Pete and I went out for burgers at Five Guys and then saw "Duplicity" at the AMC. A new release in the real movie theater! I felt like the Queen of Sheba. A very pregnant Queen of Sheba. Enjoying a perfect day.

How to Take a Sunday Nap

2009-03-24T21:22:00.001-04:00

By Noah.

Welcome, Vivi!

2009-03-19T14:01:00.002-04:00

I am VERY proud to announce that my beautiful, gorgeous niece, Vivienne ("Vivi"), was born yesterday at 7:56 a.m. I am already head over heels in love with all 6 pounds and 18-1/2 inches of her. Granted, I haven't held her yet (my sister Jenni and her husband Justin live in Colorado), but when I do, she is going to get smothered with auntie-kisses. Smothered.

A million congratulations to Jenni, Justin, and my sweet nephew Jack, who is going to make one terrific big brother.

Justin and Vivi

Asleep in her daddy's arms

It's a...

2009-03-13T15:41:00.004-04:00

BOY!!!

(I will spare you the photographic evidence, but trust me, there is no doubt.)

Did I call it or what?

Pink or blue?

2009-03-12T15:09:00.006-04:00

Today I am filled with anticipation. Tomorrow is our 20-week ultrasound. Yes, I say "our" even though I am the one with the burgeoning belly. Considering what I put Pete through --- what with my mood swings and 24-hour snacking (I should not be allowed to grocery shop when Oreos are on sale) --- it's a joint venture. By the end, he will be tying my shoes for me --- I guarantee it. There are reasons for the expression "barefoot and pregnant."

So... girl or boy? Will I be festooning my baby in pink ruffles or blue stripes? Will we continue the season of superheroes or venture into Barbie territory? Will I have a mini-me to take out shopping and lunching and pedicuring (in a few years, of course) or a rough and tumble sparring partner for Big Brother Noah?

Time will tell... That, and the 32 oz. of water I am supposed to "drink and hold" an hour before my appointment.

Let's just hope I don't sneeze.

Chillin' Like Bob Dylan

2009-03-11T21:27:00.003-04:00

This morning, when Noah was lounging on the couch cushions, I told him he was "chillin' like Bob Dylan." He found that phrase hilarious, and repeated it back. "Bob Dylan. Chillin' Bob Dylan, Mama."

I told him, "Bob Dylan is a musician. He writes songs."

Noah pondered this. "Is he a rock star like Dada?"

"Yes," I said. "Exactly like Dada."

Toddlers are so perceptive.

Hug Like a Two-Year-Old Boy

2009-03-10T19:47:00.021-04:00

This is what happens when you instruct two-year-old boys to hug. Observe:

It looks a lot like professional wrestling, but they are hugs nonetheless. With a lot of tackling, giggling, and shrieking.

The occasion for this hug-fest is the painful truth that Iain, Noah's BFF, is moving (with his family, of course) to GEORGIA. I have remained in a comfortable state of denial for the month that I have known this news, but now that the moving van is being packed, my emotions are starting to unravel.

I met Allie (mama to Iain and Cory, wife of Jeremy, and one of my best friends) when taking newborn Noah for a walk in the neighborhood, and her mom introduced us. If my memory serves me right, Iain was just 11 days old. Allie and I exchanged phone numbers and agreed to go walking together in the near future. A couple months and several walks later, I remember inviting Allie into the house saying, "Please just ignore the mess." Allie said, "I think we've become the kind of friends that don't need to worry if our houses are messy."

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I am thinking about taking the two-year-old approach to this whole move-thing. You know, a hug/tackle, maybe grabbing Allie by the ankles with my kung-fu vise grip. Do not underestimate the power of a woman who's been taking her prenatal vitamins.

Or who really, really loves her friend.

Self-Portrait

2009-03-08T21:30:00.003-04:00

19 weeks and counting! We're really cookin' now!

The Icing on the Cake

2009-03-07T23:24:00.011-05:00

They say that when you're pregnant, you can get away with eating for two. This week, I think I ate for six. I feel like the human embodiment of the Golden Corral buffet line. My child is swimming around, tethered to his umbilical cord, saying, "Hmm... Shall it be steak tonight or chicken breasts wrapped in bacon?" (My apologies to all vegetarian readers --- I am a bit of a carnivore during pregnancy.)

I can comfortably blame my diet on vacation eating, however, seeing as the occasion of Ann and Davison's visit virtually demanded a time of feasting and celebration. And celebrate we did. Ann is always the life of the party. Just look at these happy faces.

You might say we are glowing, too, since both of us have a bun in the oven (OK, what is it with me and the food imagery?). Ann and D's sweet little hot cross bun is due at the end of May. They are the truly disciplined ones who did not find out the gender of their child in advance, whereas Pete and I are counting the days until Friday. FRIDAY!!! FRIDAY, PEOPLE!!!

Whoa. Take it easy, Golden Corral.

Here is the happy couple and future Best Parents in America:

Judging from their tireless entertainment of Noah, their agility in buckling him into his carseat (despite his squirming), their boundless creativity (D made Noah an airplane out of a paper towel tube, OK?), and their general good humor, they are going to make AWESOME parents. *I have 6,001 other reasons, too, but that would make for a very, very long post.

For now, let's talk about cake --- because cake makes for good subject matter. Or subject batter. Oh man, somebody make me go to bed.

On Thursday, we had the pleasure of hosting Ann's parents for dinner, who were also on vacation from Virginia. Since both of them recently celebrated their birthdays, a cake was clearly in order. I went to work.

Here is Chef Noah, always willing to contribute his taste-tester skills. Do not underestimate the value of a good taste-tester.

Or his glee at the prospect of sampling the finished product:

I think Noah sang the birthday song the loudest. He is really into birthdays these days (giving me his wish list on a daily basis, lest I forget).

So good to celebrate, to feast, to make birthday wishes, and to stock the babies' buffet lines with sugar and spice and everything nice. (Ann and I agree that frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails are definitely off the menu, unless the snails are seasoned and served in a Parisian café.) So good to be with old friends and get stomach cramps from laughing at past memories while making some new ones. So good to watch another chapter in each of our stories unfold. And just to be together.

It really is the icing on the cake.

Preparations

2009-02-28T16:05:00.011-05:00

This has been a week of great anticipation in our house. Our beloved Ann and Davison (or "Auntie Ann and D," as Noah calls them) are here for a whole week, having driven through the night all the way from Richmond, Virginia. Excuse me while I go die of happiness.

Or at least temporarily lose consciousness.

There. I'm back.

It has also been a week of great scrambling on my part, because as of Monday, the office/guest room still looked like this:

And now --- glory hallelujah --- it looks like this:

If you didn't believe in miracles before, you might want to consider it. Pete and I were high-fiving each other by the end of the day yesterday, right before we collapsed on the couch with giant bowls of frozen yogurt. Hurray for teamwork, Goodwill, and the motivating power of Cool Mint Cookie fro-yo. This room will undergo one final transformation as we convert it into Noah's new bedroom, but at least now no one has to sleep amid tax files and stray paper clips.

OK, maybe just the occasional paper clip.

Noah's preparations have been much more basic. Pick out every stuffed animal and action figure I want to show to Ann and D. Check. Ask Mommy every two minutes when Ann and D are arriving. Check. Help Mommy make muffins to greet our long-distance travelers.

Check. I particularly like the spot of flour on his cheek and the outthrust lower lip in the above photo. My young baker is deep in concentration.

Lick spoon. Check.

Now we are ready.

Things I Swore I'd Never Do as a Mother #7

2009-02-26T20:28:00.006-05:00

#7. Indulge a picky eater.

Yes, this is proof of me actually picking the berries out of Noah's Special K. (For the record, he did eat three bowlfuls in one sitting.)

I finally drew the line at straining the "chunks" out of his yogurt. Now I only buy the non-chunky kind.

But I still cut the crusts off his sandwich.

If he turns into a grown adult who only eats crustless cheese sandwiches and yogurt with Diego cartoons on the containers...

I blame only myself.

Resurfacing

2009-02-25T17:12:00.014-05:00

Gasp. Sputter. Cough.

I have finally come up for air.

January 2009 will, thankfully, never repeat itself. It was a month full of good things --- the culmination of which was the Conversations women's event at my church (a dream fulfilled that I will tell you about later) --- but certifiably insane in its pace. I will not tell you how many videos Noah watched as I tried to cope with life, work, ministry, and his ever-so timely decision to quit napping. Nor will I tell you how few times I cooked. Or shaved my legs. Or returned your phone calls and e-mails.

Or took the time to just... be.

Something had to give. I went to church one Sunday and our worship pastor sang "Come to Jesus," and I did. Jesus has this thing about taking on heavy burdens, so I handed mine over. No claim check. The Harry Houdini chains I had locked on my ankles began to loosen, and I started floating back to the surface.

And the next day, I said goodbye to one of my work commitments. My favorite one. The one that requires the most concentration and energy and creative focus. I just knew God was telling me to pour all of that energy into my family right now. I cried, I deliberated, I prayed. But I knew it was the right thing.

Which brings us to... ah... February. The month of love. My favorite month in Florida, which of course means pleasant temperatures and good hair. Over the past two weeks, I have cooked for my husband almost every night, testing my culinary prowess with a lemon zester and kabob skewers. I have taken Noah for walks in his stroller, waving hello to neighbors who'd thought we'd moved because they never saw me out walking anymore. I have sat on Beki's back patio and shot the breeze, in the breeze. I have felt our baby moving and lain awake with my hand on my tummy, marveling at the miracle blooming inside me.

Come to think of it, there seems to be no shortage of miracles around here lately (I cooked, remember).

It's just that I'm finally standing still long enough to notice them.

I promise...

2009-02-24T22:26:00.004-05:00

I'm coming back. (And it's about time!)

Sharing? Or something else?

2009-01-24T23:02:00.006-05:00

Today at lunch I served Noah a bowl of fresh mixed fruit with his "Spidey noodles" (Spiderman-shaped mac & cheese --- a staple in our home). He quickly pronounced which pieces of fruit he did not care to eat. Pick-y, pick-y, pick-y.

Then, as I watched, he moved the offending pieces of fruit onto my lunch plate.

"These are for our baby," he declared.

(In other words, send 'em down the pipes to Little Baby Bro. Maybe he likes green grapes.)

Apparently my claims that "the baby's hungry" every time I swerve into the Taco Bell drive-thru are teaching him something about prenatal digestion. I am now viewed as the maternal garbage disposal. Or compost heap, if you want to be green about it.

I must nip this in the bud.

Q&A with Lauren

2009-01-23T16:18:00.003-05:00

Q: Where have you been for the last month?
A: In the Galapagos Islands, studying sea turtles and working on my tan.

Q: No, really. Where have you been?
A: Working a lot. 18+ hours a week. I have a part-time admin job, which I do from home, and I write curriculum for my church. I'm also helping plan a major women's event at church, which has been in gestation for almost a year. Next Friday we launch this baby (the event, not my real baby, who is comfortably swimming in utero).

Q: Now that you mention him/her, how is the baby?
A: He is doing swimmingly. Yesterday I had my 13-week appointment. Nice strong heartbeat. According to the internet, fingerprints have already formed on his fingertips. Could this process be any more miraculous?

Q: Good question. Could this process be any more miraculous?
A: Uh... no. I think I already answered that one.

Q: So you think it is a boy?
A: I am placing my bet.

Q: What are you doing with your first full day off in three weeks?
A: Krispy Kreme and shopping with my guys. Purchasing my first maternity clothes of the pregnancy (to make room for the Krispy Kremes). Playing Scrabble Sprint online. Blogging. Reconnecting with my inner couch potato. Making eyes at my hunky husband. Nursing my cold.

Q: Are you ever going to post more pictures to Project 365?
A: Yes, when I have more than one day off in three weeks. Don't worry, this shutterbug has been snapping away.

Q: What's the best news you've heard all day?
A: That my friends Ann and Davison are going to stay with us for almost a whole week at the end of next month. They are such good friends that they don't even complain about our lumpy futon.

Q: What is the funniest thing Noah has said lately?
A: He calls the Incredible Hulk the "Incredible Milk." He sees his picture on all the posters for Universal Studios, and being rather superhero-obsessed, he always points him out. Pete and I think it is so funny that we haven't corrected him.

Q: Will you ever blog regularly again?
A: Yes. Someday. Life is just really busy right now. I still read all your blogs, so keep writing everybody.

Q: Where are you going right now?
A: To nap. The house is quiet. Signing off...

Project 365: Week 1

2009-01-10T22:13:00.013-05:00

Project 365. One picture a day for 365 days. Ordinary life. Extraordinary life. Blue skies. Breakfast plates. Travels. Muddy shoes. The perfect project for a Reluctant Blogger who wants to document her days in pictorial shorthand.

And keep the grandparents happy, of course.

Without further adieu, I give you Week One.

January 1: Daddy's home!
Pete returns from Christmas Camp (annual church youth retreat).

January 2: Noah kicks off Friday Family Day with a
Krispy Kreme donut.

January 3: Goodies to take to Nathan and Jen's house,
where we feast on Omaha steaks and good conversation.

January 4: Watching William Hurt in Broadcast News and
wishing I had cable (no offense, William).

January 5: Noah and his trains.

January 6: Lauren's ridiculous backlog of work which will keep her
busy all week. Vacation is, indeed, OVER.

January 7: Noah reading his new favorite book in the
Taco Bell drive-thru after a trip to the library.
Mental note: Remind child not to (literally) consume books.

The Week in Pictures

2009-01-01T22:26:00.000-05:00

A pictorial recap of our Christmas week in Colorado.

1. Noah on the plane, awaiting takeoff.

2. Reuniting with my "little" brother, Teddy.

3. Pop-Pop reading the Christmas story.

4. Cookies for Santa!

5. Caroling.

6. Ted's Christmas cuisine: eggs and sausage
(plus Pillsbury cinnamon rolls)---yum.

7. Pete arrives Christmas morning!
(Best present ever)

8. Sweethearts.

9. My brother-in-law Justin's FAMOUS
chocolate pie. To die for.

1o. The usual cutthroat game of Scrabble
(Mom won---of course).

11. Noah and Cousin Jack snuggled up to watch
Cars (note Jack's toy and pj's).

12. Visiting the Colorado Railroad Museum
with Nana (Noah's idea of heaven).

13. Future engineer?

14. Driving up a snowy mountain with Dad and Pete.

15. View from the top (Brrrrrrrr!!).

16. Quality time with Jenni & Jack.

17. Eating a PANORMOUS Pizza Hut pizza
with Jenni (who is also pregnant).
The Preggos (as we call ourselves) also watched
inordinate amounts of Food Network TV.

18. Bedtime stories.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Say It With Pie

2008-12-20T07:32:00.003-05:00

Beki's Masterpiece

Ask, and ye shall receive. Look what arrived on my doorstep last night, in the hands of a smiling Beki.

She took the hint and made me a chicken pot pie. And I haven't even had the baby yet.

I love when Christmas presents come wrapped in pastry. It beats gift wrap and tissue paper every time. And when two gifts of the pie-variety arrive in one day, I just about die of happiness.

Look what else I was greeted with yesterday, in the hands of a smiling Carol Beth:

Her world-renowned, five star, award-winning chocolate pecan pie. She bakes me one every Christmas, and I pine for it all year long.

Two pies in one day. Is this heaven?

No, it's Florida.

If you don't hear from me for a few days, it's because I'm in a self-induced pie coma. And loving every minute of it.

Ten Things

2008-12-18T16:24:00.017-05:00

Ten things I'm loving right now...

1. Naps, naps, and more naps. Bring on the naps. I am almost out-napping my cat Leo, which is impressive. Growing a human is tiring.

2. It's cliché, but true. Pickles and potato chips. SALT, I LOVE YOU!

3. Noah as the Dark Knight. With his fuzzy sidekick.

4. Beki --- my neighbor, friend, partner-in-crime, psychotherapist, exercise coach (former), personal chef, and motivational speaker --- and our recent conversations at my kitchen table. (I am really just buttering her up so she will make me a chicken pot pie.)

5. The fact that Noah has finally adjusted to his big boy bed and resumed a regular nap schedule. God heard my prayers.

6. The realization that today is my grandparents' 63RD wedding anniversary. I don't even know what the gift is for 63. Paper? Wood? Diamonds? A small country?

7. Meals that require absolutely no skill, effort, or planning. Oh yeah.

8. The "Jesse Tree" Advent quilt made for us by my sister-in-law, Kim, who never ceases to amaze me with her creative skills. Each ornament represents a part of God's story. We have fallen slightly behind, due to my tendency to lose consciousness in the early evening hours, so our Bible lessons will likely extend into January. I am half-tempted to leave it up all year (such a great teaching tool).

9. Getting to visit Noah's preschool classroom this morning for his Christmas party. Sunny Delight, muffins, kids singing (or sort-of singing), and those tiny little chairs all of us adults try to balance our behinds on.

10. The knowledge that, in a matter of days, I will be here with my parents and siblings:

I am going to freeze my little derrière off, but it will be soooooo worth it.

(Inspired by this post by SouleMama, who somehow finds the time to raise four children, create the most adorable handmade outfits and crafts for her kids, and save the world with her knitting. Not that I'm jealous or anything. Ahem.)

Introducing...

2008-12-16T19:56:00.004-05:00

I'm back.

And I brought someone with me.

TA-DAH!!!!! Welcome, Baby #2!!

Pete and I are, to say the least, OVERJOYED. As is the new big brother. (Last week Noah asked me if I have Baby Jesus in my tummy. Apparently, all this talk of babies during Advent gets a little confusing.)

July 30 is the due date, just four days away from Noah's third birthday. So my dream of only having one child in diapers at a time may actually come true!

I would write more, but ever since this little one came on the scene, I am apparently incapable of staying awake past 8:42 p.m. Or getting through the day without Pringles and peanut butter. Or blogging --- but that will change, I promise.

(Just keep the Pringles coming.)

Love to all!

Brush with Fame

2008-12-03T12:00:00.002-05:00

While I don't like to name drop (cough, cough), it just so happens that our little family had a major brush with fame last week.

Major.

Brush.

With fame.

I know what you're thinking. Obama? Tyra? Jared the Subway Sandwich Guy?

Better.

Pete, Noah, and I met the --- THE, mind you...

BUZZ LIGHTYEAR. And Woody. Although Woody wasn't quite as impressive in person. Maybe his pullstring is wound a little too tight.

Are you sufficiently impressed?

If not, you need to up your Toy Story intake. Does the body good.

"Ages three and up! It's on my box! Ages three and up! I'm not supposed to be babysitting Princess Drool!" If you can name that character, you pass with flying colors.

And while we were waiting in line to shake hands with these dignitaries, we just happened to snap a few more photos at Toy Story Mania:

"The claw! The claw is our master!
The claw decides who will go and who will stay!"

"You have been chosen!"

"Wait a minute, I just lit a rocket...
Rockets EXPLODE!"

And my personal favorite...

"You really are Stinky Pete, aren't you?"

Classic.

Head in the Clouds

2008-12-02T19:35:00.004-05:00

Is this not one of the coolest skies you've ever seen? Last week my mother-in-law and I stood outside at the playground, heads cocked back, eyes fixed upward. I was mesmerized. I want to roll around in this sky. I want to wrap it around my shoulders like my favorite, never-say-die 25-cent Goodwill sweater (which is the best kind of sweater, by the way). I want to bury my nose in it, like I'm cuddling a fat woolly Disney sheep with pretty eyelashes and a bell around its neck. The kind of sheep we hope hung around Jesus' manger.

(Pause for woolly sheep photo.)

(Nice.)

It's hard, after a week of vacation, to power on the laptop and stare at unanswered e-mails and work to-do's and appointment reminders. You may be feeling it too. Add in a hefty dose of Christmas holiday shopping madness and you are destined, as I am, for the occasional restless night and chocolate binge and ulcer-in-training.

Which is why it is not such a bad thing, at least once a day, to look up. To extricate your nose from the proverbial grindstone. To watch the clouds. To lift your eyes.

And in case there's no woolly Disney sheep around to nuzzle, one of these will certainly do.

Today, I am especially thankful for...

2008-11-27T19:33:00.015-05:00

My family.

My in-laws, who are visiting this week, and who always make me feel like a guest in my own home. This morning, my mother-in-law asked if she could please change Noah's diaper so I could go take a hot shower. I think I'm in heaven.

Our early Christmas present---an over-the-range microwave!---which my father-in-law kindly installed this week...

... And (glorious!) the extra counter space it gives us. (Our kitchen is a tad on the small side.)

A husband who is willing to indulge his wife's request to fold the napkins decoratively for Thanksgiving dinner.

This fold is called "bird of prey." Thank you Google.

French's french fried onions and Bruce's Yams. Gotta love that Bruce.

Pumpkin pie, and the joy it brings.

Jesus Christ, and the freedom to worship Him.

So much to be thankful for... Including you, friends. Have a great holiday!

Fashion Statement

2008-11-19T22:52:00.003-05:00

It doesn't take much to make me happy.

An hour of quiet in front of America's Next Top Model, a bowl of frozen yogurt, a cozy fleece blanket, and a comfy couch.

I guess if I want to make the show, I'll have to work on my posing.

Not Noah, though. This boy is ready to rock the fashion world.

(As seen this evening, as I did the dishes.)

Just Ducky

2008-11-18T22:42:00.010-05:00

ADVICE TO BLOGGERS:

When you lack the ability to string together coherent sentences after the ten o'clock hour, generate new content by posting cute pictures of your loved ones. Or yourself. Or your pet. Or your kitchen appliances.

Or, in this case, waterfowl.

And so, taking my own advice, I give you these snapshots from our recent preschool field trip to the petting farm, where Noah and I got to hold and pet a delightful little duckling.

This is me saying, "Gentle hands! Gentle hands!" (Translation: "DON'T SQUISH IT!")

I love Noah's fascination with his new web-footed friend.

And I just love him. Period.

Some days...

2008-11-15T14:34:00.008-05:00

Some days I wish I had a face like Natalie Portman, so I could shave my head and still look good.

Some days I go on a cleaning spree and pull all the furniture away from the walls so I can vacuum the baseboards with that handy hose attachment.

Some days I check the airfare to places like Denver and Richmond just in case I might be able to hightail it outta Dodge at a moment's notice.

Some days I think about exercising.

Some days I wonder if Diet Coke is turning my insides caramel-colored.

Some days I really, really intend to blog, but it just doesn't happen.

You understand.

Next week, the Reluctant Blogger promises to stop vacuuming long enough to post more of her adventures. You'll probably find me with a Diet Coke in hand, dreaming about Denver.

And possibly sporting a shaved head.

Secret Ingredient

2008-11-08T15:14:00.004-05:00

When life gives you rotten bananas...

... make banana bread.

Enlist the help of someone you love...

... for added sweetness. Mix and bake accordingly.

I've been yearbooked!

2008-11-07T16:41:00.007-05:00

My dad sent me these pics last week, and I am still laughing. If you have yet to visit yearbookyourself.com, you are in for a hilarious treat.

I personally think 1954 was my year, baby.

Thanks, Dad!

(Circa 1952)

Batman Begins

2008-11-06T13:09:00.004-05:00

This is the scene they didn't show you in theaters.

Few people know that, before to moving to Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne actually resided in a cute Florida bungalow with his parents and fuzzy cat. He trained as Batman from an early age, honing his fencing skills under the expert tutelage of his mother (who was renowned for her beauty and intelligence, might I add). The butler and the Batmobile and the League of Shadows --- that all came later.

Oh, and Batman was always a huge Coldplay fan.

Glad I could enlighten you.

Trick or Treat!

2008-11-03T16:49:00.007-05:00

Some pictures of our adorable little monster, for your enjoyment:

With Daddy

Trick or treat!

A monster-mouthful of chocolate.

We thoroughly enjoyed both the evening and the (now depleted) stash of candy. Noah is lucky to have two parents who are so cautious of his peanut allergy that they're willing to consume every peanut butter cup and Snickers in sight.

Hey, no one said parenthood comes without sacrifice.

Once Upon a Pumpkin

2008-10-31T09:17:00.023-04:00

Once there was a pumpkin, who was loved by a little boy.

The little boy asked his daddy if he could take the pumpkin home.

His daddy said yes.

The little boy was so excited, he invited his friends to come over and bring their pumpkins, too. Then he made pumpkin cookies with his mommy to share with his friends.

The little boy noticed that his pumpkin cookies were smiling. He wanted his pumpkin to smile too.

He asked his daddy to make his pumpkin smile. His daddy took out a large sharp knife. This scared the boy at first.

Then his daddy showed him how to cut the top off the pumpkin, like a lid. The little boy thought this was very exciting. What would they find inside?

The boy reached his hand inside the pumpkin. It felt slimy and wet. The pumpkin was filled with a gooey mess of seeds and pulp.

The pulp was orange, just like the outside of the pumpkin. The boy's daddy showed him how to scoop the seeds into a bowl.

His friends scooped their pumpkins too.

They all agreed that sometimes, sticking your hands in a gooey mess is very fun.

Next, everyone drew faces on their pumpkins. Some used markers. Others used special tools to poke tiny holes in the pumpkin's skin. The holes made a pattern, like stars in the sky.

Finally, they began to carve their pumpkins. The boy's daddy ran a knife along the lines he had drawn, revealing the pumpkin's two eyes. Next, he carved a nose.

The boy's mommy carved a smile with three teeth poking out. The little boy asked if he could help, but his mommy said he was too young to hold a knife.

So he went and watched Charlie Brown.

Finally, the pumpkin was finished! The boy's daddy took the pumpkin outside, where the night was dark and the air was cold. He pried off the pumpkin's lid and put a candle inside. When he lit the candle, the pumpkin burst into a bright smile.

The pumpkin glowed in the darkness, as though all the love and joy he felt for the little boy was shining out into the world. It made the little boy smile too.

His friends lit their pumpkins next. What a sight! There was a pirate pumpkin,

A scary pumpkin,

And a cheerful pumpkin with a raised eyebrow, who looked as if he had a joke to tell.

There they sat --- four little pumpkins shining in the night --- each of them different, each of them special. The boy and his friends smiled back, and for a moment, it felt like they too held candles inside, lighting up the night sky.

THE END

10 Minutes

2008-10-29T12:55:00.034-04:00

They say in Colorado, "If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes."

I'd say the same applies to motherhood.

At lunchtime, Noah was in that state of semi-delirium that inevitably follows a late night of pumpkin carving and cartoon specials. "I want my socks OFF, Mama!" he demanded, with all the gusto of a budding dictator.

"Keep your socks on, Noah, it's cold out," I said distractedly, raiding the refrigerator for the makings of an easy lunch. My eyes fell on a carton of strawberry yogurt and a stick of cheese. Perfect.

"NO, I want them OFF!" Clearly, this was not open to negotiation.

"Okay, Noah, just a minute," I said, halving a banana to add to his plate.

"I WANT MY SOCKS OFF NOW, MOM!" Mom. This is a new thing, as of two days ago. I refuse to answer to a two-year-old calling me "Mom" like a teenager. Last time I checked, it is way too early for prepubescent angst.

"Just a MINUTE," I insist, my own impatience rising. "And my name is not Mom, it's Mommy or Mama." I plunked the banana down on his placemat and reached for his socks, peeling them off with a "Zo-OOP!" sound effect, which won me a tiny smile.

The smile disappeared as soon as it came. "NO," he said, as I sat him in his booster seat. He shoved the yogurt container away from him, the spoon clattering after it. The cheese and banana were also deemed unacceptable and pushed aside. "I want a stem," he said, pointing to last night's pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies, their orange hue glowing through the clear plastic container.

"These?" I held up the container. Immediately his expression changed from rage to euphoria.

"Yes!"

As if I even needed to ask.

What transpired next was an unpleasant scene in which I insisted the yogurt come first and he unleased the full measure of his fury. I clicked through my multiple mom-personalities like a slideshow on ineffective parenting. Mean mommy. Cajoling mommy. Painfully enthusiastic mommy. Fed up mommy. YOU WILL EAT THIS OR YOU WILL GO IN TIME OUT mommy. KEEP IT UP AND I AM CALLING YOUR FATHER mommy. (Pete, be glad you didn't answer that call.) And finally, Settle-down mommy. The mommy who read him Curious George for the umpteenth time until he calmed his hiccuping cries long enough to shovel in a bite of yogurt. Then a bite of cheese. Then, the banana. The whole process resembled a person learning to drive stick: grinding the gears, jerking forward, stalling out, grinding again. When he finally cleaned his plate and I reached for the cookies, we both looked relieved, if a little sheepish.

Fast forward ten minutes. We are esconced in Noah's "story chair," a red cushy glider where I nursed and sang to him during all those months of infancy. Lately, Noah insists on sitting next to me rather than on my lap as we read, trying out his "big boy" persona. But today, we're done with books. "Mama, can I sing to you?" he asks, and I translate my toddler's mixed pronouns in my head. His grammar is a little muddled: I means you and you means me, just like when he says, "Mama, can I pick you up?" (Now that I would like to see.)

"Sure, Buddy," I say, and I hold him to my chest. He buries his head in my shoulder and tucks his arms around my middle.

Away in a manger, I sing.

I have always loved Christmas carols as lullabies. They are easy to remember, they are exquisite, and many recall a sleeping baby Jesus, which is about as serene an image as I can muster. Noah, whose breathing has begun to slow and deepen, seems to enjoy them too. I move on to Angels We Have Heard on High, then Silent Night. My toes knead the carpet as I ease the rocker back and forth, back and forth, the two of us sailing on our own little ship.

It has been a long time since I have held him like this, for this duration. With an infant, your arms are the cradle; with a toddler, your arms are the leash. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment, grateful to be needed for something besides sock removal or a sippy cup refill. The tyrant has disappeared --- his anger spent, his tummy full. Without the swagger, he is still my baby. I kiss his head and --- click --- the slideshow advances, revealing a much more peaceful mommy than the one clenching the yogurt spoon only moments before.

Some days, all we can expect is to get by in ten-minute increments. We can travel the entire emotional spectrum in the span of an hour, walking our children through the trials and glories of a world where the yogurt comes first. But when you finally make it to the cookie, and you taste that sweetness, you can say around a mouthful of crumbs, "It was worth it."

And it is.

Morning Glories

2008-10-27T20:28:00.002-04:00

Three scenes from this morning, showing three of my great loves:

Sigh. Life is good.

Things I Swore I'd Never Do as a Mother #6

2008-10-23T12:00:00.003-04:00

#6. Stand idly by (holding a camera, no less) while my son demonstrates unlawful crib evacuation procedures.

Since Noah has recently taken it upon himself to exit his crib --- and room --- upon waking up, without waiting for me, might I add, I decided I needed to witness just how he was accomplishing this acrobatic feat. Observe the following video, where he instructs me to "Watch your Noah" as he begins his climb. Apparently the toy box is key to the operation.

It's a sad day when you can no longer keep your child in a cozy wooden CAGE.

Feels like Fall

2008-10-22T13:44:00.021-04:00

I can't believe I finally get to say this:

It's starting to feel like fall.

YAHOO!!!!!!!!!

I think every Floridian should get an "I survived another summer" T-shirt at the close of the season. That, and a "Get out of your August electric bill free" coupon. Who's with me?

Some fall scenes (and no, don't expect changing leaves or jackets... This is a swamp, remember):

(Below: Noah and Pete on the Dragon Express.
Pete is the one near the back with his arm up,
letting out a "Whoop!")

Man, I love this season.

Boy Wonder

2008-10-20T21:22:00.009-04:00

I am continually amazed by Noah's powers of retention. He learns a word once, and it's in there. I, on the other hand, am losing brain cells daily. Just this morning, I spent ten minutes scouring the house for my car keys, which I knew I'd seen only moments before. The old retrace your steps method really worked, seeing as I finally located them in the top rack of my dishwasher.

Wow. I have lost my keys all over this house (and beyond), but that is a new one.

Is it the Cheerios? The 3-1/2 hour naps? The miracle of youth, that allows a two-year old to take giant intellectual strides in the course of a morning? Whatever it is, I need it.

Case in point: We recently read Curious George and the Hot Air Balloon, in which George "accidentally" takes a balloon ride over Mount Rushmore. (Tell me, is he really the "good little monkey" they always claim he is? Don't you think the Man with the Yellow Hat needs to step it up with the discipline already?) Anyway, Noah was so fascinated by the "statues in the mountain" that I showed him a picture of Mount Rushmore on Google. As you will note in the following video, he is just about ready to be the next winning contestant on Jeopardy! (presuming Dada Penguin can accompany him).

(The sound you hear at the end is Pete arriving home from work --- I would have been curious to see if Noah could name the other two Presidents.)

Remind me to up my Cheerio intake.

Has anyone seen my keys?

Dear Chiquita Banana...

2008-10-19T08:04:00.009-04:00

Dear Chiquita Banana Co.:

I am writing to suggest a new face for the Chiquita Banana Company. As you will note in the photo above, this young boy demonstrates not only a high adorability factor but also a rare ability to balance objects on his head (in this case, a lady bug basket). We can certainly work our way up to fruit, beginning with kiwi and perhaps moving on to pomegranates by the end of the week.

It is my firm belief that his remarkable cuteness will capture the hearts of shoppers everywhere, and his age will likely inspire millions of toddlers worldwide to increase their banana intake. I can verify that this child speaks highly of your outstanding product, being that bananas and mac & cheese are his two major food groups. (We are also in talks with Kraft Food Co., so I advise you to snatch up this offer quickly.)

I look forward to hearing from you in the very near future, and am certain that we can negotiate a lucrative contract for this obvious budding talent.

Respectfully yours,

Lauren

P.S. He can also balance grapes and pineapples (for an additional fee).

Heroes

2008-10-14T19:43:00.012-04:00

Our home is now peopled with the personalities of Noah's gang of superheroes. As one little boy's imagination comes to life, so does his collection of toys. Meet the Magnificent Seven:

(I have yet to break it to him that Darth Vader has gone over to the Dark Side.)

The heroes were kind enough to pause from saving the world long enough for me to take this portrait. Consider it my contribution to posterity.

This is Headless Orange Guy. Headless Orange Guy has no head, one leg, and no foot. I have yet to ascertain his super power. As of now, it is known only to Noah.

And this (quiet down, ladies) is Aqua Guy. Our latest import from Owen's toy collection across the street. Aqua Guy's super power is either flexing or transfixing you with his mesmerizing gaze. Observe the flexing:

Now the mesmerizing gaze:

I know. It's a toss-up.

With Aqua Guy's many features, it's easy to see why he has gained popularity with such relative ease.

In a two-year-old's eyes, at least.

Pete is not so easily won. In his words, "He's just a little too... pretty."

Now Pete, what's a Superhero without his good looks and charm?

You of all people should know.

And for the record ---

--- your mesmerizing gaze has him beat.

Now you just have to practice your flexing.

Happiness is...

2008-10-10T07:24:00.003-04:00

So if my clothes are fuzzy and wrinkled, you'll know why.

Good Medicine

2008-10-08T21:18:00.004-04:00

Problem: Injury sustained on playground when child bumped chin on climbing wall. Bloody lip. Teeth intact. Child retained consciousness. Mother retained consciousness with difficulty (mild hyperventilation).

Treatment: Bowl of vanilla ice cream before dinner to reduce swelling and staunch tears.

Outcome: Good humor restored. Appetite ruined. Happy child. Happy mama.

How to Survive Post-Vacation Stress Disorder

2008-10-07T14:11:00.008-04:00

You all know how it is when you get home from vacation. The empty fridge. The dirty laundry. The piles of paperwork you blithely left behind on your departure, saying "I'll get to that later."

Guess what?

It's later.

Such a rude awakening, this Post-Vacation Stress Disorder. This time, however, I am attacking it head-on.

The Franklin-Covey Day Planner is out and back in action, baby. My freeform days of old are now zipped in a tight girdle of appointments and prioritized task lists. I have slept eight hours a night, three nights in a row. (Seriously, why didn't anyone tell me how good that feels?) I have attacked my workload like the Jackie Chan of bookkeeping. I am uber-productive. I am WOMAN. Hear me roar.

Or hear me snore, whichever your preference.

Because guess what? Right now, I am seizing 15 minutes ALL TO MYSELF. 900 seconds of me-time to eat Godiva chocolates, sip an ice-cold Diet Coke, and read a novel on the couch. It is an actual appointment in my Franklin-Covey Day Planner, sandwiched right between "Call boss" and "Pay bills." I am finding that if I give myself permission to rest in bite-size chunks, I will actually use the time --- and appreciate it --- without residual guilt or the temptation to overindulge. For us OCD types, this works. It may be pathetic, but it gets the job done.

Besides, how much happier would we all be if we took a little of the vacation home with us?

(Carol Beth, thanks for the birthday chocolates... I am actually closing my eyes when I chew, they are SO DIVINE!!!!)

Home again!

2008-10-04T08:16:00.005-04:00

We made it! Finally rolled in just before midnight. Will spend today "digging out!"

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home...

Noah's Travel Diary: More Pictures (Because That's How I Roll)

2008-10-02T16:33:00.010-04:00

Dear Everybuddy,

Mama says we can't stay here FOREVER because Leo would miss the way I chase him and hug his neck until he goes ROWR. And she says it would not be nice to ask Aunt Beki to scoop his DOO-DOO DUNE for all of his NINE LIVES.

So I am taking LOTS of pictures.

Love, Noah

Auntie Kim

Halle, Lydia, and Riley

Riley and Tate

Lydia

Tate's kite

Nana and Pop-Pop

Mama

Me and Mama (on the Ocracoke Ferry)

Noah's Travel Diary: Beach Days

2008-09-30T07:08:00.002-04:00

Dear Everybuddy,

Here is how I am spending my vacation. I have decided to live here FOREVER with my cousins. I will miss you.

Love, Noah

P.S. Iain, you should come too. And bring your cape.

Noah's Travel Diary: The GIANT Sandbox

2008-09-28T21:24:00.011-04:00

Dear Everybuddy,

It's me Noah again. I am writing to tell you about the GIANT SANDBOX we visited yesterday. Daddy says it is called a DUNE.

I was so happy to get out of the car that I just ran and ran and ran and RAN. Mama said it was time to get my wiggles out.

The sand felt squishy under my toes, just the way I like it.

I am glad I had Daddy there to help me climb the BIG DUNE. It is hard to climb a mountain without your Dada.

And Mama always has a juice box waiting for me. That is very important to a mountain-dune climber who is also a SUPERHERO.

So if you ever meet a superhero, remember that he is probably THIRSTY.

I could see the whole world up there. The world is very, VERY big.

If Mama made Leo's litter box this big, he would never go #2 on her bedspread. I think he needs a Doo-Doo Dune.

And that's all I have to say about that. Bye-bye Everybuddy.

Love,

Noah

Noah's Travel Diary: On the Road

2008-09-27T09:16:00.017-04:00

Hi, Everybuddy!

Its Noah here. Mama says I am the speshul corespondent for owr beech trip. I'm not shure what that meens, but I think I get extra Goldfish crakers and am allowwed to use the kamera.

Oh, hang on --- Mama is turning on the spell chekur. Much better.

Today I will tell you about our road trip. Mama and Dada always talk about how they want me to sleep in the car. I try not to take it personally. Sometimes I will be nice and give a big yawn and rub my eyes to make them think it's working.

And sometimes, I am such a good actor it actually works for real.

I have other tricks too. Like when Mama gives Dada a hard time for his driving, and I put on my invisibility cloak.

I keep it on until the coast is clear. Or we pass a McDonalds. Then I SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM (AND nuggets AND fries AND chocolate milk).

Oh yeah, AND the Playland, even though Mama says it is a Germfest. She loves it when I find a random fry somewhere near the slide and eat it.

(I think she would rather I use ketchup.)

Then she panics and washes my hands with antibacterial soap.

Baby Penguin says the dryer tickles his fur.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Love,

Noah

How a Toddler Packs for Vacation

2008-09-26T13:41:00.002-04:00

Thomas the Tank Engine book, check.

Stuffed penguins, check.

Buzz Lightyear, check.

Superhero cape, check.

(Funny how clothes and diapers become an afterthought.)

North Carolina, here we come! Fourteen hours of driving over two days to the Outer Banks, where we will enjoy seven blissful days with Pete's entire clan.

And the house even has high-speed internet! Woo-hoo!!

See you there...

Fit for a King

2008-09-25T11:57:00.000-04:00

Of all the crafts Noah has brought home
from church...

... the King Saul crown has got to be my favorite.

Such a noble use for a paper plate.

Penguinissimo

2008-09-24T14:13:00.008-04:00

The other night, when I went to clean up Noah's toys,
I came upon this lovely scene:

It appears that Mama and Dada Penguin were preparing a duet.
(They are so refined.)

I didn't hear any actual music, but I think my presence was
affecting their concentration.

Either that, or they were mesmerized by the black and white keys.

I love seeing them spend quality time together. It's so inspiring.

You know you miss your husband when...

2008-09-23T12:20:00.008-04:00

YOU KNOW YOU MISS YOUR HUSBAND WHEN:

The A/C in your car goes out and you find yourself at the auto shop discussing faulty compressor clutch valves with the mechanic.
You eat chicken nuggets and SpongeBob noodles with your two-year-old because really, what's the point in cooking?
Watching a chick flick alone on the couch no longer sounds appealing.
You hold his shirts to your nose, hoping to catch his scent.
You check your e-mail 14 times a day (instead of the usual 12).
You realize, with chagrin, just how many pieces of leftover birthday cake you are capable of eating all by yourself.

Miss you, Babe!

Couch Tater-Tot.

2008-09-22T15:38:00.012-04:00

It's amazing the things you'll find under your couch cushions.

Loose change.

Lost keys.

Popcorn kernels.

And the occasional small child.

I know I saw Noah here somewhere...

I mean, I just saw him a minute ago...

Oh yeah. There he is. Hey Buddy.

Nice belly button.

If your strategy is to act adorable so I don't mind you messing up the house...

... it's definitely working.

Clever boy.

Hello, Thirty.

2008-09-21T20:26:00.018-04:00

Last night: A surprise birthday party at Beki's (I had NO idea), a roomful of wonderful friends, calories galore, and a hilarious game of Catch Phrase, where Allie made the amusing observation that I make "jazz hands" every time I pass the buzzer.

Today: An 8 a.m. phone call from Pete in Brazil, my baby boy singing "Happy Burr-day Dear Mama," chocolate cake with Beki's family, and a parting hug from my mom at the airport.

* * *

This morning, as we drove to church, Mom asked, "So how do you feel?"

"Older and wiser," I quipped, my eyes on the road.

"And you should feel loved," Mom said. "You're very loved."

I paused. Mothers have a way of bringing it all home.

I think a lot about the people I love --- your faces, your stories, your joys and pains. But to think about being loved --- me of the funny faces and the jazz hands and the silly quirks --- now that is something else entirely. To pause and consider your love --- to unwrap it, and hold it up to the light --- is a great gift.

The greatest gift.

Thank you.

Love,

A Very Grateful & Blessed Thirty-Year-Old

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 30: Face my biggest fear.

2008-09-20T17:19:00.015-04:00

Friend or foe? Read on...

No, my biggest fear is not llamas (although that would be pretty funny). This photo simply serves as a "warning shot" that a paralyzingly scary picture is soon to follow. We're talking BLOOD-CURDLING here. I recommend that those who are faint of heart please place their hands over their faces and read this entry through cracked fingers. I certainly would.

Okay, here goes.

Are you ready?

AAAAAGGH!!!!!!!!!

Hee hee, that was just a test. Now get those hands up! You've been warned!!

As you may have guessed from the photos above, we spent the day at the zoo with my mom. Pete is in Brazil through Thursday, so it was especially nice to have my mom there for moral support as I stared down my demons.

By demons, I mean SNAKES (they are synonymous). The very word makes me shudder.

For as long as I can remember, I have suffered from an intense phobia of these legless, slithering creatures. We are not talking about an Indiana Jones-like distaste or general fear. Picture a grown woman trembling and sniveling all over herself, leaping six feet sideways to avoid a piece of old tire on the ground that displays snake-like qualities. I do not like fake rubber snakes. I do not like pet store snakes. I do not like ferrets, because they resemble snakes with fur.

I do not like them, Sam I Am. Here, there, or anywhere.

So it was with fear and trembling that I entered the Reptile House for perhaps the first time in My Entire Life, surrounding myself with cases full of snakes of all colors and sizes and degrees of evil.

Allow me to present to you the capstone of the Pushing 30 Project: me staring Death (or at least His Agents) in the face.

(Gee, do you think Noah sensed my fear?)

I would keep typing, but that picture is giving me the creeps. Tune in tomorrow for the Grand Celebration (my birthday!) where I promise the only scary picture will be Me at Thirty with all the gray hairs and cellulite that crop up overnight.

Goodbye, 20s! It's been fun!

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 29: Attempt to beat my mother at Scrabble.

2008-09-19T23:37:00.007-04:00

Don't laugh --- this may be my greatest act of daring-do since I started these 30-day shenanigans. This woman is the Yoda of Scrabble. She is the Triple Word Score Tyrant. She can make words that start with "Q" that don't even require an accompanying "U."

[Case in point: QAT (noun). A shrub cultivated in the Middle East and Africa for its leaves and buds. Are you getting the picture?]

A face-off with my mother over a Scrabble board requires three things: courage, laser-beam focus, and humility.

Because she will beat you.

Do not be fooled by her pleasant, self-effacing demeanor. The moment victory is in sight, this person emerges:

Yeah. Consider yourself warned.

There will be a day when victory is mine. I may be 30, I may be 60. I may have to wait until she can't see the tiles properly and then sneak in "QAT" on a triple-word score.

Just don't expect her to let the birthday girl win.

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 28: Ride a horse.

2008-09-18T23:16:00.005-04:00

Riding Whiskey, My Noble Steed

Whoa, Nelly. Is that a horse I see? For me? For me?

(The six-year-old in me is jumping up and down and clapping.)

It looks like 20+ years of wishing for a pony for my birthday have finally paid off.

Beki's birthday present --- a morning ride on her (former) horse, Whiskey --- certainly met the Pushing 30 criteria of celebrating life in all its fullness and wonder. As she, a seasoned horsewoman, will attest, there is nothing like the sight and smell and feel of a horse.

For Whiskey, however, I can imagine there are better things than the sight and smell of me on a Thursday morning, with all my quivering nervousness and excitement for The Big Ride. So we made friends over a handful of carrots.

Apparently we are alike in our ability to bond over a good snack.

Beki taught me all kinds of helpful things about good horsemanship, like how to brush Whiskey, how to saddle her up, and how to scoop out her hooves before riding.

I taught Whiskey how to pose for close-ups.

Cheese!

Climbing into the saddle, or should I say, mounting the horse (I am still perfecting my lingo), was exhilarating. Insert sneaker in stirrup, grab saddle horn, say prayer, and swing a leg over.

Ta-dah! Yay for us.

From that point on, with Beki's careful guidance, it was an easy ride. We walked and trotted, dodged the occasional tree limb (it was easy to forget I was the one steering), and perused the property. If it weren't for the fence and my love for Beki, and the fact that I am totally inexperienced, I would have ridden off into the sunset.

Because I like the view from the driver' seat.

As does Beki (who actually could ride off into the sunset):

And to quote wisdom of old, "There is nothing better for the inside of a man than the outside of a horse."

I know Beki would agree. Thanks, friend, for an unforgettable gift.

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 27: Get moving.

2008-09-17T23:02:00.002-04:00

You do not want me for an exercise partner. I whine, I oversleep, I feign communicable diseases. I walk slowly and stop to retie my shoelaces. I wear gym shorts that date back to the early '90s. I communicate in grunts between the hours of 6:00 and 7:00 a.m. I refuse to jog, except through major intersections. I resemble the Geico caveman.

But Beki refuses to give up. She seems to think I have exercise potential.

So today we walked. And talked. And talked. And walked. And because we met at 7:00, my full vocabulary was up and running --- which made the excursion rather enjoyable, I must admit.

But I still looked like the Geico caveman.

Carpe diem!

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 26: Make room.

2008-09-16T21:14:00.002-04:00

Making room could well be my theme for 2008. Making room in my life for the things that really matter. Making room for relationships, study, creative pursuits. Making room for prayer and stillness. Making room for the needs of others.

But tonight, dear friends ---

--- it's all about making room in my refrigerator.

Guess whose mother is spontaneously flying in from Colorado to help celebrate her daughter's 30th birthday?!

MINE. How'd you guess?

If you saw this post, you know I have a bit of work to do over the next 36 hours to prepare for her Thursday afternoon arrival. So instead of skydiving, I guess I'll sort through the contents of the Frigidaire.

I don't know what to call this next picture: I Can't Believe It's Not Butter! or I Can't Believe I Have Four Open Containers of This Stuff!

Apparently, I missed the memo on finishing one container before you open another. Mom, you may need to offer a refresher course when you get here.

My efforts are not limited to the kitchen --- I am also a lean, mean, shreddin' machine. Oh, the detritus of our days...

I am proud to have snuck these gems into the garbage before Noah decided to use our bank statements as confetti. Phew.

Making room, cleaning out, paring down, emptying. It is a relief to usher the clutter out of my house and life, and to prepare to fill it with the sweet, joyful presence of Mom.

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 25: Play hooky.

2008-09-15T20:00:00.002-04:00

I took a day off from my project.

Because it's almost my birthday.

Because it is raining outside.

Because I am too busy indulging in Beki's homemade chicken pot pie to think about anything besides its chickeny creamy goodness.

Because you probably don't want to hear anything more about my personal hygiene.

Because the novel I'm reading is halfway decent.

Because I can. And it's oh-so liberating.

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 24: Make peace with my naturally curly hair.

2008-09-14T20:47:00.004-04:00

The blank canvas. I have to believe even Angelina Jolie has mornings like this.

If you have been reading this blog for more than five and a half minutes, you know that I have a rather tempestuous relationship with my hair. I did not realize that my penchant for holding a 400-degree flat iron to my scalp was actually an extension of my control-freak personality until I read this article online. I don't know which is more frightening: my psyche or the fact that someone actually took the time to analyze the deeper psychological underpinnings of a hairdo.

I would not want to see their file on Billy Ray's mullet.

For Pushing 30 Challenge #24, I hosted an international peace summit between my flat iron (straight hair) and my diffuser (curly hair). The outcome of our peace accord was enhanced by my online research, where I discovered a new and life-altering way to tame the mane.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... THE URBAN TURBAN.

Actually, it's a beauty technique called "plopping" aimed at enhancing curl structure, but because I find that name so distasteful on so many levels, I am changing it to the "Urban Turban."

It is a multi-step process that involves wrapping your wet hair in a T-shirt to set curls into clumps...

... while absorbing excess moisture. Is it me, or am I straight out of The Gleaners? (See Dad, I did pay attention in art history.)

*WARNING: Do not expect your spouse to find you even remotely attractive during the beautification process. This is not pretty, people. I recommend hiding in a locked room with coffee and the Today show for at least 20 minutes. (To quote Noah: "You look funny, Mama.")

Once you reach the air-dry stage, it is safe to come out in public.

'Til at last --- ta-dah! ---

--- you fully emerge from your T-shirt cocoon like a beautiful butterfly.

Or at least, you no longer scare small children.

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 23: "Let the wild rumpus start!"

2008-09-13T21:16:00.000-04:00

Kudos to anyone who can tell me where my title quote came from.

Anybody? Anybody?

Ding ding ding! Time's up. It's from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak, one of Noah's all-time favorite books (and mine).

Earlier in the day, at the breakfast table, I demonstrated for Noah what a wild rumpus is. It involved me getting up and dancing around the living room to an imaginary tribal beat, arms flailing, knees bouncing. Noah laughed that deep, aerobic belly laugh that I love so much. Since I don't have any pictures of that (except for the ones now in your head), I am posting the ones from our afternoon "rumpus" at Iain's birthday party, where we bounced like wild things on the birthday boy's new trampoline.

Does this lady look 30 to you?

On second thought, don't answer that.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming...

2008-09-13T21:12:00.002-04:00

... to reveal the results of my recent sewing project with the ever-fabulous Allie.

TA-DAH!!!!

Doesn't every child need a superhero cape?

Super-Noah has hardly taken it off since Saturday afternoon, when Allie and I unveiled custom-made capes for all three of our boys at Iain's 2nd birthday party.

Did you ever see a cuter crime-fighter?

I'd say he looks quite pleased with himself.

Guess I've got to make room for two Supermen in the house!

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 22: Floss.

2008-09-12T14:26:00.001-04:00

You do not have to have great teeth to change the world. Just ask George Washington.

But for once, I would like to not be the person who covers the down payment on my dentist's new Mercedes every time I darken the door of her office. I am the brushing, rinsing, flossing type who, despite her best efforts, cannot avoid the Cavity Club. I am a lifetime member.

Challenge Day 22 ends the great Flossing Rebellion, in which I briefly scorned the cool minty tape out of sheer frustration with my recalcitrant gums. I renounce my rash vows that flossing makes no difference to the health of my cavity-prone teeth. Deep down, I know it's a good thing.

I just hate it.

If you are brave, leave a comment and confess whether you are a Lapsed Flosser, an Anti-Flosser, or a Model Flosser. I really would like to know.

The Pushing 30 Project, Day 21: Teach.

2008-09-11T18:53:00.004-04:00

The facts and figures:

26 years since I last spent more than a few minutes in a preschool classroom.

3 hours spent as a teacher's helper to 1 amazing teacher.

8 adorable four-year-olds.

1.21 gigawatts = the energy level of 8 adorable four-year-olds.

17 times that I exclaimed, "That's so cute!" (The room decor, the activities, the girls' little hair bows, the puppets.)

15 minutes spent gluing sequins on construction paper.

2 dozen Deceptively Delicious chocolate chip cookies I brought with me for snack time.

2 minutes for the first dozen to disappear.

10 minutes of rain that threatened to cancel recess.

10 minutes of panic that recess would be cancelled.

2 Advil when I got home.

Teachers, you make the world go round!