Squirmy Wormy

Dear Butterbean,

You are such a little squirmer. Your big brother earned the name Mr. Kicky while still in the womb, and has lived up to it ever since. You, on the other hand, are not so much a kicker as you are a squirmer.

My belly popped out a stretch mark immediately after you decided to do what felt like a full somersault last week. I can sit and stare down at this enormous belly you've helped me create and just watch you swim. Alien belly. I wonder how this will translate when you are here - outside.

I'm trying so hard not to wish away this pregnancy; this being my last pregnancy. I want to enjoy every moment that I have you completely to myself. It's hard though. I am so much bigger this time. I am so much more uncomfortable. Being sick twice has left me fighting to catch my breath even after just going up the stairs once. I've decided it's time to change my attitude.

You see, I certainly don't want you to come early. I want you to stay right where you are, baking away until you are good and ready for the world. So I'm changing my tune as of right now. Slowing down to enjoy this time with you scarf dancing in your little nest.

I have to admit though, that I'm getting really excited to meet you. I've been pulling out your clothes. They are so incredibly small. I've been thinking about where exactly you will fit into this family. We are ready for you. Your daddy, your big sister, your big brother, both big dogs, and me. We are all looking forward to meeting you.

Love,
Your Mama

Stinky feet

Little Bird has upped the foot game. Adding to his "eat the feet" routine, he is now "smelling the feet." Apparently, the girl who watches him while I teach taught him this game. It's better than what his daddy taught him to say the other day.

Where I decide I'm too cheap

I guess with the holidays now in full swing, I'm going to be a little more active on my craft blog. Today you can read about how sometimes you should just buy it.

Tree day

And so it is written: one day is turkey day, and the next day is tree day. Amen.

There was a whole lot of chasing in and out of the trees. Thank goodness Lovely was with us.




















There was some joyful merry-go-round riding. Again, compliments of his big sister.














Wagoner's wants us to have a "treemendous" holiday season. I'm just sharing how "treemendously" huge I've become.




















Lovely caught this shot of her daddy taking the second tree off the roof of the Jeep.














Little Bird was much more intersted in taking the ornaments off the tree at first, but his big sister was patient with him. She kept putting them back and showing him how.














He just about got the hang of it, but in the end, he thought it was much more fun to just get them from Mama and take them to Sister until she had a huge handful all at once. Heh.




















We almost finished this one. It needs a topper, and I'm going to have to make something. I don't know what we've been putting on top of our multi-colored tree, but I can't find anything among our Christmas things, so I guess I'm going to get crafty. Because I refuse to go buy decorations at full price before Christmas. The world would stop on its axis for sure.




















This is our smaller tree in the living room - the blue and silver tree. Not a great picture; maybe I'll try again when there is daylight coming in. It's good enough to see that Kevin wasn't smiling when he put the star on. Anyone knows that if you don't smile when you put the star on top that it will be crooked. We'll have to work on that tomorrow. I think I've squeezed enough Christmas cheer out of him for one day though.

Crafty me

Today's post is over at Specraftular. I've been appliqueing again. Be very afraid.

You can hang it on your wall

There was an interesting article in the paper this morning. Recently, a banker here in Raleigh was convicted in a ponzi scheme. He and his family have disappeared, and last week, all of his belongings were auctioned off to recoup some of the money he stole.

A Mercedes convertible went for around $107,000, and a diamond wedding ring was sold for around $170,000. There were several "big name" handbags that sold for a couple thousand each, and some designer shoes that seemed to have been in my size. Oh, darn.

The article in the paper this morning focused in on the "artwork" that was sold though. To be specific, the Thomas Kinkade "paintings" auctioned off to the highest sucker. I mean bidder.

One of the paintings was sold for $15,500. Wise, the rogue businessman, paid $85,000 for it originally. Apparently, it was so expensive because Kinkade himself painted it. Which is such an absurd thing to say in the first place. It's hard to even make a joke about it because it's so stupid. A painting is worth more because the painter actually painted it. That's hilarious.

The woman in charge of fine art at the auction house had this to say,

"Thomas Kinkade paints pictures that are very pleasing and are accessible to a large number of people. He's painting decorative pictures; you can hang them on your wall."

Again, it's hard to turn that into a joke. It's so funny on it's own. "You can hang them on your wall." That's one of the benefits of a Thomas Kinkade painting. How can you not snicker at that?

The article also goes on to say that Kinkade "offers a touchstone for art buyers who want security." I'm kind of wondering though, in an auction where people were willing to pay $2500 for a used Louis Vuitton handbag, where is the security in an $85,000 painting selling for $15,500?

It doesn't really matter. The paintings are complete crap, and Thomas Kinkade is a crook. His company sold paintings to gallery owners who were required to sell them for a minimum retail price while the company, and even Kinkade himself, undercut those prices on cable TV. The gallery owners sued and won.

My father-in-law likes to buy original artwork. It is one of his endearing qualities. He also likes for it to be from local artists. He's a cool Papa. His tastes vary from mine, and that is alright. Sitting in my living room one day, he looks up at "Bird Tropolis", by Anna Podris, and says, "Well, that's pretty, and I know you like it, but I like scenes. You know, paintings of scenes." I told him that technically, it was a scene, a cityscape, if you will, but he wasn't buying it. That's totally fine. There's a wide span between people with different tastes and those with no taste.

Of course, I think if Thomas Kinkade makes you happy, and you don't know any better, then by all means, hang him or someone who paints what he tells them to paint on your wall. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. What grabbed me about this story is that this banker was obviously attempting to "invest" in art by purchasing Thomas Kinkade paintings. Which is ridiculous.

I admit, one of the reasons I saved my pennies to buy Anna's work is because a gallery owner who knew that I already liked it told me that she was the Raleigh artist with the greatest potential for investment. I liked that little bit of information. Granted, if you tried to take one of my paintings from me now, I would never sell them for any amount. I love them, which is the real reason to buy original artwork.

We also have a Jason Craighead and a Bob Rankin. Kevin and I both loved the Craighead at the exact moment we saw it, and quite frankly, the Rankin just went nicely in our guest bathroom. There is also one of Keith Norval's owls upstairs by Lovely's room. Some other artists grace our walls, but from out of state.

I can't tell you if anything we've purchased will go up in value monetarily or not. What I can tell you is this:

• I know who painted it.
• I like who painted it.
• The money we paid for it stayed in our community.
• The money we paid for it went to support a real artist.
• We like the work.
• We intend on teaching our children that artists, like musicians, deserve to be paid well for good original work.
  

All of which is in direct contrast to the painter of light. Who makes me shudder.

I got your gDiapers coupons right here

We've been using gDiapers on Little Bird since he was born. We don't use them exclusively, but I do prefer them to anything else during the day.

They don't sponsor me, and I haven't been given free gDiapers to pimp my blog out. I just like them.

That's why when they were looking for moms and dads to join their gMum program, I signed up. Of course, I'm not even taking the time to look up the right label for that. I'm awesome. Basically it means that they send me a stack of coupons and a little happy (this time it was some Dropps detergent to try).

I share the coupons with friends, and I stop by the local Babies'R'Us and try to straighten up the disaster area that usually is where they keep the gDiapers. I don't know what it is about the gDiapers that make people want to plow through them like animals, but it's always a wreck. I'm the crazy woman you might see hanging back up the little gPants and trying to put back together the starter packs.

The starter packs are a cool way to just try out gDiapers, and I've got coupons for $10 off of one. If you would like one of those, or a $2 off any product, just leave me a comment. Of course, I need to be able to email you back, so please hook up your email with your comment.

Share the love.

Blink of an eye

This morning, as Bird danced joyfully to Andy Williams on the Sirius Holiday channel in our living room, he looked like a little boy. Not a baby. A little boy.

I must say, it happened so fast.

While I was in the attic today getting out my giant stockpot (hello, turkey stock!), I found a bag of Bird's newborn clothes. I went ahead and tossed them down, knowing that I'll need them sooner rather than later at this point.

I must say, they are so very tiny.

At dinner tonight, Bird was talking in two word sentence structure. "Daddy eat," "Yogurt gone," and my favorite, "Love you." Hearing him develop vocabulary and start to use a rough subject-verb relationship is amazing.

I must say, I think he is incredibly smart.

These cliches keep swooping down upon me, and I hear them leaving my mouth before I can think of something more original to say.

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The passing of time as a mother overwhelms me.

There are days that drag on so slowly, causing me to call Kevin at lunchtime and ask him when he might be coming home. The whining and tantrums make the minutes crawl by, tempting me to turn on Elmo and hit repeat.

But then there are days when I look at Bird, and I wonder how on earth we got from tiny baby to little boy so quickly. And my heart aches for the days to slow down; for him to fit more easily in my lap again as I rock him before bedtime.

Soon, we will have that baby when Butterbean arrives. In a matter of weeks, the tiny clothes will be washed and ready to outfit a brand new little boy. I'm nervous, remembering how hard the first few months with Bird were. I was so tired and so incredibly sensitive to the crying. It nearly undid me.

I keep telling Kevin that when it gets bad, or if I start to perceive it as unbearable - I'm asking him to remind me of how quickly the newborn will be gone. How quickly Butterbean will be a little boy. And how I will ache for him to fit in my lap more easily, and how I will mourn the dis-assemblage of the crib, and how I will miss nursing my boys.

It's a fair trade though. I know that the newborn stage is hard, and at the same time, I know that I will miss it when it's gone. But nothing in the world can replace having my Little Bird pop off my breast just before being put down for the night, reach up for my cheek, look in my eyes, and say, "Love you."

He's not even born yet, and I know Butterbean will be there all too soon.

Shirley's Shoepeg Corn Casserole

One of the things I make each year for the Boo-Shamoopie annual Thanksgiving blowout is this Shoepeg Corn Casserole. I almost feel guilty printing the recipe because it is so stinking easy, that this part of the meal feels like a cop out on my part. But Boo's husband loves it, and I've been making it every Thanksgiving dinner for over a decade now.

If you need something to take with you to a dinner, this is super easy, impossible to mess up, and you can make it the night before. Just wait to add the Ritz crackers until you are ready to bake it, and remember that if you have a refrigerated Pyrex dish, you want to put it in the cold oven and let it heat up as the oven preheats. Lest your Pyrex shatter. Which would be bad.

Shirley's Shoepeg Corn Casserole

1/2 C chopped celery
1/2 C chopped onion
1/4 C chopped bell pepper (I use orange because it's pretty and I hate green ones)
1 can cream of celery soup
8 oz. sour cream
1 C grated cheese (I usually use cheddar, but have been known to just use a combo of whatever was in the fridge at the time)
2 cans shoepeg corn, drained
1 can French style green beans, drained
1 sleeve Ritz crackers
1 stick melted butter

Mix first 8 ingredients. Pour into a long, shallow baking dish (I use a 9x13, but I also don't measure very well, so I often am just dumping random amounts of the ingredients into a bowl until it looks good, so I'm not much help there, am I?). Top with crushed crackers. Drizzle melted butter over the top. Bake 45 minutes at 350 degrees.

See? Isn't that embarrassing? So incredibly easy, but I promise, people will love it. Unless your people are like my father-in-law, who doesn't like anything. But says he does. Well, he doesn't like this, or rice, or grits, or mushrooms, or several other things that appear on my table frequently. But he eats them anyway. Except mushrooms.

Papa does approve of The Pie, however, and I think you should click on over and remind yourself of said pie and how good it looks. It's something else you should add to your Thanksgiving table fo' sho'.

Meal planning

If I don't plan ahead, there is likely to be pizza on the table or a trip to Torrero's. I just am not one of those people who can walk in the kitchen and throw something together.

So I meal plan. Often for a month at a time. I didn't mean to do it that way, but I got this awesome book, a Busy Body Book, at Blogher in 2008, and it just lended itself to compulsive meal planning. I know I'm not using it how they had in mind, but because of how I'm using it, I'm inclined to say it's the best planner I've had (although I'm waiting to see what Molly comes up with next, you know, supporting local moms and all!).

Here is what a week looks like:














The columns on the right hand side, I use for 1)Meals 2)People eating them 3)Notes 4)Weekly appointments 5)One-time appointments. The "people eating them" column may sound strange, but my stepdaughter is only here 50% of the time, and we like to have Papa eat with us whenever we can. Also, we meal share with a neighbor, so every other week, I make double and take part of it across the street, so I need to keep up with who I'm feeding nightly.

That's a terrible scan above, but the book is too big for my scanner. What you can't see on the far left is a lovely blank space where I put a list of what's in the freezer, Target lists, Trader Joes list, Costco list, or even copy down a new recipe I want to try. You can see the lines where I make my main grocery list.

About once every six weeks, I'll make a Costco run and buy meat. I'll divide it up into portions and freeze it, keeping a tally of what I've put on the menu plan. Other freezer basics are buttermilk biscuits, a frozen meal from Trader Joes for emergencies, a frozen pizza, a couple of casseroles, soup, stock, fat back for veggies (don't tell my Yankee husband about that though), twice baked potatoes that I make a couple dozen at a time, and summer vegetables put up for the winter. Basically.

That's it in a nutshell. If I follow the system, it works really well. I remember to take things out of the freezer in time for dinner, and I usually only have to go to Harris Teeter once a week. I feel better about how I'm running the household, the budget, and as a wife and mother.

And then there are weeks like this past one where I let it all slip through the cracks and barely made it to the store to get milk.

I like the organized weeks much better.

Not for granted

More of the plague. Poor Little Bird woke up yesterday morning with a nasty ear infection. He had been crying through the night off and on, but he would quiet down as soon as I rocked him a little bit.

When I went to get him up for the morning, he was just laying on his back, eyes glassed over, and his bottom lip trembling. It was enough to squash my heart into a pulp. His fever was 101.4, the highest it has ever been.

At first I thought it was the flu, but then I realized that the night time crying and the cough that lingered from the cold he had last week pointed more to ear infection. So we went in to see the doctor who told us that Bird had a nasty ear infection.

You know though, one dose of antibiotics and he was noticeably on the mend. By the end of today, he didn't seem sick at all. I'm grateful for healing and my healthy child. It's not something I take for granted, and sometimes it deserves to be said out loud.

I'm grateful.

Here come the holidays

When do the holidays start at your house? Are you already listening to Christmas music? Is there a tree up at your house yet?

Have you at least had a Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks? Because that counts, you know.

We're talking about it over at Triangle Mamas. Well, at least I am. Come join me.

For Anissa

I'm watching Glee. It's not going to be nearly as much fun tonight without the Tweets from Anissa throughout.

There are so many people praying for Anissa right now. I am just one of many. Please join me in that many.

Anissa is fighting for her life tonight after suffering a massive stroke yesterday. It isn't her first stroke. She has made it through before. She is ridiculously strong.

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At the Type A Mom Conference, Abby and I attended one of the speaker dinners. Anissa was there. She was sitting at the other end of the table with Heather, Janet, and Brittany. There were about 10 of us at the table, and it was hard to converse with anyone but the people you were sitting beside. Which was all good, because I was sitting with cool people.

But that wasn't quite enough for Anissa. She wanted to visit with everyone. Maybe she didn't think that was a big deal, but Abby and I both commented on it. After Casey left for an impromptu Asheville photo walk, Anissa came down and took her seat so that she could get to know the people at the opposite end of the table from her.

It was a simple gesture, but sums up everything I think about her. Anissa is a people person. A kind person. A genuine person. She wants to make connections, and you want to connect with her.

All these connections you've made, Anissa, are standing together with you now. Holding you and your family as tight as we can from all around the world.

More birthdays, please.

More birthdays. That's what we keep getting with my momma. It's pretty awesome. There have been so many times when we've been told there would be no more birthdays, and yet today, here she goes again, getting older.

And I thank God everyday that she is.

I'm not just thankful for her birthdays. I'm thankful that she is here for my birthdays, Little Bird's birthdays, everyone's birthdays.

When I was seven, Momma was diagnosed with breast cancer and not given great odds. Then, in 2004 (I think, it's hard to even keep track now), she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Both diagnosis came with the very real threat of no more birthdays.

Yet, here she is, turning a glorious and beautiful 69 years old today. Happy birthday, Reverend Mother.

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Ironically enough, today the U.S. Preventative Services Task Force issued a recommendation against routine mammograms for women in their 40's. They also poo-pooed the idea of regular clinical breast exams and educating women on monthly self breast exams.

From my wording, you can obviously tell that I'm extremely opposed to their recommendations. You can find a slightly less leaning and far more intelligent explanation of their study over at Toddler Planet. It's no surprise that my best friend is once again the voice of reason while I flame emotional.

I have the same emotional reaction to the lack of funding for Inflammatory Breast Cancer research. It doesn't get the funding or attention because not enough women die from it. I dare you to tell the women from Mothers With Cancer that NOT ENOUGH women die from IBC.

It's the same premise that the USPSTF is following though. Meh, only 3% more women died of breast cancer, and HEY! Look at all the money we save not doing routine mammograms on women in their 40's!

Bottom line. Frankly, I think you have to be a real asshole to only be able to see the bottom line. That was supposed to be a pun. I don't think it worked very well.

The American Cancer Society has started promoting "breast awareness" above the "monthly self breast exam." That's still dangerous, because you are really just playing with words there, but it's not the same as recommending that none of it is really that important because only 3% more women died.

Here's the thing, and I totally am stealing this thing from Susan. You have two breasts. If one of them starts to look different than the other, get thee to the doctor that very day. That's breast awareness.

Here's the other thing. I had my first mammogram on my 30th birthday. I haven't had one in about three years now due to pregnancy and breastfeeding, and I probably won't have another one until I'm 40 for the same reasons. But you - all my female friends - you need to be getting them. You need to be checking your boobies, and if you have any family history, tell your doctor you want your mammograms now. Get that baseline and then repeat every year. Your doctor can help you fight your insurance company if you need to. But start now before the world goes INSANE and starts listening to the USPSTF.

Just 3% more. Go ahead. Tell that to the 3%'s families who won't be getting any more birthdays with their loved ones.

Trouble on my mind

It's been like an episode of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom here today. Mama is down and out with no voice and the lung capacity of a gnat leaving Little Bird to prey upon her. Take out the sick and weak.

At the midwife today, we were down in one of the birthing rooms because it was busy upstairs. Bird kept running to the tub and turning on the water. I gave him the first try of, "Hands off," as I turned the water off. We made it to, "No sir," and an even more firm, "Mama said NO. Do you understand? Look at me, please. Hands off, sir."

He giggled and touched my mouth. My mouth that wasn't working right. Raspy and only half the words actually forming soundwaves. He giggled, touched my mouth, and then turned the water on again.

Prey on the weak.

He was like that all day. There is still one word that will stop him, thank goodness.

Trouble.

Turns out Little Bird hates to be "in trouble." When he knows he's in trouble, he will run to the nearest softie (in order: his sister, me, Daddy) and hangs his head while saying softly, "Trwouble."

It's ridiculously cute and sad and endearing and dang it, it just melts me.

I don't even know where he learned the word in that way. Usually I use "time out" for the warning. "Do you want to be in time out?" And he shapes up for a few seconds.

But now, "Do you want to be in trouble?" seems to hit home.

Trwouble. Hangs head and shakes it. Looks up with those big baby blues. It's hard to stay tough against that. I'm afraid I'm in the running for the biggest softie in the house, and with his big sister only here half the time, I need to stay tough.

And give hugs. Lots and lots of hugs. Because nobody likes to be in trwouble.

Medic!

My throat feels like I swallowed a rabid cat and it's trying to claw it's way back up again. My chest feels like I've got an anvil sitting on it. This is the second upper respiratory infection I've had this pregnancy, and I would like to state for the record, that it sucks.

Thank you, and good night.

We interrupt this program . . .

Again, not up for much today. Kevin took the kids out for the morning and ran errands. I lay on the couch like a lump. A big lumpy lump.

Now, we are trying to watch the Carolina game on TV, but the commercials are frustrating me. The commercials for primetime TV are scary and not something I want my toddler seeing. So I keep jumping for the remote and hoping that the game on the next channel over is on while the non-family friendly commercials are on.

We did see one commercial though that makes me happy. It's the commercial that features Kevin's work and the amazing research they are doing. I'm so stinking proud of him. Yeah, the hours are long, and I hate it when he has to travel, but he is doing work that is impacting lives positively. And he's smart. S-M-R-T. Smart.

Time to fix dinner. And by fix dinner, I mean order pizza. It's that kind of night.

Making beautiful music together

I have a cold (I hope). Little fever, lotta snot, yucky aches. So today you just get this video. Of course "just" this video is way cuter than anything I could think of to write.

This is Little Bird and his friend Pip, playing a duet. There will be a neighborhood band forming soon. I just know it.

Etiquette questions

I have etiquette questions. Not necessarily Emily Post questions, since I don't think she covered Twitter or what's the best way to tell someone to shut up. But questions nonetheless. Feel free to leave me all the assvice you can muster in the comments.

1. Is it rude to simply copy someone's Tweet and not retweet it properly? Like word for word?
2. Is it rude to DM someone on Twitter if you don't follow them? So you can't DM them back?
3. Is there a way to politely let someone know they are constantly spamming you with Facebook and Twitter DM's? I'm assuming I can't start off with, "Hey, stupid."
4. Non computer related, what do you do when someone constantly pummels your toddler with questions that he can't answer? Over and over and over? Like, "What did you do today? Huh? Huh? What did you do? Did you go to school? Did you play? Huh? Huh? What did you do today?" Not that said toddler would have had time to answer even if he could, but do you step in and answer for him?
5. On the dairy aisle, where you can't pass other people, what do you do when some dude is coming at you full on with his cart and doesn't cross over when he has the chance? Do you back up and let him through? Stare him down?
6. What do you say to the person who keeps referring to all the colds your child has had, even though he hasn't had colds, he's just been teething? And you've told him this numerous times?
7. Is it rude to tell the old man from up the street that if he is going to wander through the construction in your home, that you prefer him to knock first? Since sometimes you like to walk through the completely exposed kitchen in your freaking underwear?

You see, my hormones are out of control and I'm a little sensitive lately. So go ahead, coach me.

Thank you

Today is the day I always think, "I'm lucky to be here." Not just in North Carolina or the United States of America, but here as in existing.

From what I understand, my daddy wanted to be a chaplain in the Army. Then came Vietnam. Then came the Battle of Ong Thanh. After that, Daddy decided to become a lawyer. Took the LSAT in Saigon and came home to go to Ole Miss.

Any connection I'm making to those things is all my own. He has not said that they are related.

So in addition to thanking him for serving, I also always thank him for stopping. I much prefer him being around for Veteran's Day instead of being remembered on Memorial Day.

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If you want to know more about the ambush that happened in October, 1967 - the one that the news reported as an American victory - check out They Marched Into Sunlight by David Maraniss. It parallels the story of the Battle of Ong Thanh and a protest at the University of Wisconsin-Madison that happened a day apart. Universal is set to release a movie based on the book in 2010.