30 weeks, pumpkins, and pooches

Baby girl weighs about 3 lbs now and is 16 inches long, according to the stats. She moves more, sometimes making me go "whoa" and place my hand over my belly. She's still not talking. Her papa is reading a labor support handbook and we're both getting increasingly excited about her arrival...seems so far away still, but Christmas is coming...

It's a cloudy and --finally-- raining day today, but I think the mums and our super-cool pumpkins keep the porch purty. We have a wide front porch and a porch off our room, but since this is the entrance/exit one (as well as the smallest), it ends up being the most decorated by default. Please know we have no garage or shed to keep things like weedwhackers or bikes in, so...


Guess which pumpkin is mine (damn K. and his Martha Stewart pumpkin abilities):

These morning glories are supposed to be Heavenly Blue, but they bloom white nonetheless:



And lastly, our girls:



Happy Wednesday!

What My Monday Looks Like

I don't usually blog about my work life, so here it is:

I am wearing my hair in pigtails, haven't yet showered, and am drinking my 2nd cup of tea. I've made some phone calls to track down interview subjects for the next 2 weeks, and I'm drafting this week's interview, which is due to my editor tomorrow by noon (which is why I'm at the computer; computer=internet=too-much-distraction-for-the-novel).

This morning, I spent some time writing in my current composition notebook (I'm going through about one a month, and I'm bad about typing the novel up, so I fear their loss/destruction.) I wrote about a fourth of my daily quota before transitioning into the busy work of the day; after lunch, I'll get back to sitting pen-in-hand and marching forward with Alice and Sam, the second novel.

I've got 37,000 words typed and 25,000-ish untyped, for a total word count of 63,000-ish (got to make it to 80k at least, though 90k is my goal). That's not including the month's work that I threw out early on.

Writing is hard, and I tend to do it in short spurts; it requires actual brain power, no busy work involved, and so it's by far the most challenging thing I've ever done. I have lots of lists, index cards, and outlines; it's kind of like knitting; I can't drop the Theo's-romance-with-Connie stitch, or Sam's-career, even though he's super-focused on Matilda right now... just a lot of stuff to keep track of, and I have an increasingly small brain (as K./ pointed out to me. Apparently pregnancy actually diminishes--TEMPORARILY--the number of brain cells or something like that. I'd kick him but I keep forgetting.)

This afternoon, after lunch and drafting away in my notebook, I'll force myself to return to the computer so I can type up another thousand words of the already-drafted stuff. It's amazing how far this story has come.

The novel is my constant daily work; the interview stuff ticks away, one subject a week; proofing, my most lucrative and boringassignments, comes when it comes, 2-3x a month with no warning. I write a personal column every other month, which takes no time at all. It's all about deadlines, baby, and I meet mine.

This novel will be drafted, and typed up, by Thanksgiving. Polished and sent out to agents/publishers by Christmas.

Despite the fact that the only people expecting it are my husband and my mother :)

weekend, fall

We have now lived in Mississippi for a year. I know this because K. and I saw the pumpkin patch at the Episcopalian church in Oxford last week; hey, I said. That was here when we moved down here.

And here it is again.

October is a fine time in Mississippi. As I type this, the sky shines bright blue with no humidity, the doors are open and it's a touch chilly, cool enough so that I'm wearing a sweater and sipping K's homemade butternut squash soup. If tonight's like last night, we'll be glad of the extra duvet on our bed and we'll sleep in t-shirts to hold heat close to our chests.

Our fall garden is in and-- with the exception of the newbie brussel sprouts, who haven't done much-- thriving. 18 broccoli plants, 18 cauliflower plants, a bed of turnips, and a bed of mustard greens. I went out just now and ate one. They're delicious so young, tender and not yet bitter, but still spicy. If the brussel sprouts take off, we will eat them the way K. loves (cribbed from my Silver Spoon cookbook): boiled a wee bit, just to make them tender, then sauteed in butter, sprinkled with salt, pepper, and a touch of nutmeg, and then doused in grated Parmesan. Mmmm mmmm good.

I've got a big date with pillow forms, fabric, and my new scissors for tomorrow, while K. will be at the building as usual. There's a band playing downtown in the park tomorrow evening, and Sunday-- well, we don't make plans beyond church for Sundays, but I have a feeling that the two pumpkins on our porch might be meeting the sharp side of a knife.

I don't think I've ever been so glad to leave summer behind.

25 down, 70ish to go

Thanks to everyone who called or wrote on my birthday! So many nice people in my life.

No more gushing about the husband, but he was very, very nice. To me. Through hours of grumpiness. I owe him a backrub or two...

But it's late, and I'm rather tired; we stayed up late last night watching Scrubs, eating apple cake, and tiptoeing into the kitchen periodically to view our new... refrigerator! The used hunk-of-junk we'd bought upon discovering our rented home didn't COME with a fridge stopped keeping food cold a month ago.

One disastrous order with Sears and much sniffing of the milk later, we received this from a different company entirely:



Isn't it beautiful?



Not to mention Energy-star certified (the least we can do), and the smallest regular size at 18.3 cubic feet. I am of the opinion that Americans overestimate their need for refrigeration, and anyway, we have plenty of room (sorry about the rotation, but note the convenient cheese drawer on the upper left):


By the time the chilluns come along, I hope to have a root cellar and a chest freezer.

And here are the presents of the hour:



The vase is lovely, much-needed given my predilection for flowers, and I kept finding lovely wrapped bars of lavender soap (another weakness of mine) around the house yesterday from my darling husband, but this, this is what makes my heart sing:



After making two slipcovers with what kindergarteners use to cut construction paper, these chrome-covered, carbon-steel babies with a lifetime guarantee and a snick that resounds with the angels make me go all soft inside.

And, as requested by my m-i-l, some belly shots, one taken last night as I dig into presents:



15 pounds gained, many clothes outgrown, and a definite waddle beginning to develop. 11 weeks (out of 40) to go!

The downlow on the LP

(I am so hip, I just can't STAND myself)

Today is a big Baby day. I am now 28 weeks preggers (out of 40, people!) and that means that I am now officially in my third trimester.

Say it with me: whoa.

Like most of this whole pregnancy deal, things change slllloooowwwwlllly, so my belly is pretty big-- but if I wear a loose shirt, I could totally FOOL you--, I am waiting for my innie to become an outtie, and nothing seems that different. Unless I think about not being pregnant. That was way different.

The Little Princess should now have a good chance of surviving if I were to go into labor, thanks to all that preemie medicine stuff, which totally creeps me out because the bebe weighs just over 2 lbs, if she's like other kids, and measures about 15 inches. I'm willing to bet she's taller.

She can hear and sense light. She may or may not have eye lashes. Weird, eh? She moves around a fair bit, though those of you familiar with my placental situation understand that that's still acting as a big old shock absorber; as she continues to get bigger, that will matter less and less.

And as for me?

I'm very excited. Very excited indeed. We're getting the carpet in the nursery replaced, FINALLY, so I can really set things up in there, and I'll return from my late-October visit to the farm with a crib. We'll be ready to roll by Thanksgiving. Because I need a month or so to sit in the baby room, hold up impossibly wee onesies, and giggle to myself.

Finally, fall

Until I moved to Mississippi, I'd classify myself firmly as a late spring/summer person. The green, the late nights, the prospect of those two 3-day weekends...I'm a fan.

But in Mississippi...the warm weather has lasted too long. Plus, I've got a winter baby to look forward to, and so I'm welcoming the bright blue skies and decreasing nighttime temperatures. Don't get me wrong-- it's still around 90 degrees each day here, but the humidity has fallen away, and the air conditioning is off; we sleep with screen doors open to sixty-degree temperatures, cool enough to make a morning sweater necessary, and I'm loving it.

A few photos:

The "before" shot of the kitchen/lineoleum area, with its ugly ugly bookcase:

The after-shot-- ok, not really, but look at the sofa! I made the slipcover myself! And K. made the boocase! And we made my huge belly! And that's my mum and Anika!

A shot of my beautiful German sister, along with another peek at the couch:

And lastly, evidence of the nesting mode (I sorted our table linens this Sunday. Placemats, napkins, stained but clean clothes, and dishrags):

yet another stupid movie

K. likes stupid movies. Movies with no dialogue and Asian guys trying to kill each other. Movies with poor dialogue and multiracial guys trying to kill each other. Movies with slow-motion kickboxing scenes, fast car races, bombs, and guns. It's Friday night, date night, and we're watching "300." Another stupid movie.

We are doing this because K. has been waiting for this movie to arrive from Netflix (it got lost the first time) and he's hard to say no to. But since I'm not allowed to comment on the movie's stupidity (I tried, and he bit my foot), I have retired to the iMac, to mock him without fear of injury.

So, in short, K. likes stupid, stupid movies.

And I hate them.

The Baby Shower, aka the day K. bought out Costco

On Saturday, Danielle and Stinkie arrived, small dog and law books in hand respectively, all the way from Nashville and Birmingham, just to be at my baby shower (I love them commas). This made a full house: Mom and Anika in the guest room, Danielle on an air mattress, and Stinkie on the sofa-- six people and four dogs on my little house!

On Sunday, at twelve-thirty or so, the food was made, my dress was donned, and the festivities began. The cool thing was that nearly everyone was already there-- we were only expecting two locals, so we cleaned up the house and prepared a lady-food buffet for ourselves-- so much fun! Danielle had the whole program firmly in hand, and it was truly awesome to see her coordinate everything from asparagus wrapped in roast beef to the soothing of craft-shy girls into making quilt squares for the wee one.

In due course, Margaret arrived, then Angela with her six-week-old son. Billy added a certain authenticity to the baby shower, but did not distract-- the sweetie slept the whole time.

We ate food, colored quilt squares with crayons, played games (Stinkie won! Woo 'Bama), and opened presents.

Let's just say the little princess was thoroughly spoiled. She's got a swim outfit, socks and onesies galore, two fleece suits, and wee little dresses that nearly make me cry-- as well as a stroller, a swaddle cloth, cloth diapers, all-natural soap, moccasins, mary janes, and a rug and a mirror for her abode, and a funky diaper bag with MY initials for me.

It was an uber-wonderful time. Who knew being girly so could be *so* much fun?

best.baby.shower.ever!

pics to follow; in the mean time, onion soup to eat, a novel to write, interviews to set up, and a cold to stave off.

domesticicity

SO K. has all the pictures on his laptop in the oh-so-vundebar picasa, and hence, there will be no picture today. it's in the other room. and it's not even turned on.

my mother and my german sister are supposedly meeting me at thacker mountain radio this evening, though they're waking up in bowling green, kentucky, and it took them 24 hours to get there (apparently it took a day to drive out of virginia? who knew?) so I am resigned to the possability of saving two seats that will never be filled, ergo making all others around me hate me.

last night, I came home from the gym and quickly made 2 garden beds, which I then seeded with turnips and mustard, before K. pulled up at six or so. We ate grilled cheeses for dinner and then began our operation blitzkrieg: dogs washed, drove to the building where we unloaded shelves and organized his tools (which consisted of about 800 screwdrivers thrown wildly across the building...and other things, of course). we drove home-- the whole block-- and folded/put away 4 loads of laundry, put sheets and duvet covers on 3 beds, vacuumed/mopped the floors of the entire house, and cleaned the kitchen.

K. sheepishly asked "so where's the vacuum cleaner these days?
and I giggled and said, "over there."
He said, "are you giggling because you think I don't know where it is? You move stuff aorund, you know."
I said, "Yes, I am giggling because you didn't know where it was. Are you being defensive about that?"
Pause. "Maybe."

It was really nice working with my hubby; lately, we've been more along the lines of "divide and conquer", which-- when he's doing filthy stuff at the building-- i am a-ok with.

Of course, we proceeded to read for a good hour before we turned off the lights. Shadow slept on the porch adjacent to our bedroom last night, since she's been pissing wherever she lies down, and Dido-- we thought-- was under the bed per usual. We slept the sleep of the righteous, woke late, and when I went to let the dogs out, I could not find Dido anywhere.

She was in the backyard, with filthy feet, looking very, very woebegone. Apparently one of us let her out last night, and she somehow never made it back inside.

Got to sharpen up, what with a baby coming and whatnot...

tread carefully: truly mushy ground ahead

Tomorrow is our two-year anniversary.

Because I love celebrations, I am *so* excited; because I'm an overthinker, I've been doing some heavy-duty relationship analysis lately, thinking about how we began, how we've changed, how things are.

Despite the accusations of PDA and whatnot out there, I try not to brag on my husband, mostly because-- well-- when one has the best, one tries not to boast overmuch, mais oui? But being that it's our anniversary, I'm pulling out all the stops:

I have the best.husband.ever.

Apart from being fantastically handsome, so much so that it's only his magic circle on the ring finger of his left hand that keeps women from hurling their underthings at him as he strides around looking all fine, K. is just really, really nice.

Exhibit One:

K. works a lot. At a job that demands a lot--- but he never complains about it, and so he makes it look easy. And when he comes home? Well, he spends another 15+ hours a week (including his entire Saturday) working on a historic building that no one else with less than a million dollars and a hole in their pocket would have touched with a ten-foot-pole.

Contrary to popular opinion, K. does not spend all this time laboring for the sheer love of labor itself (though he does like to work up a good sweat and tear things apart). But what keeps him doing this, day after day, and then coming home to a slightly pouty and infinitely demanding wife (who wants to TALK and take WALKS and do everything she can think of to keep the poor man from sitting on the sofa and watching a few hours of Scrubs) is this: he wants the best for our family.

Me, the pups, and now the little princess; K. keeps his mind on our futures more than I would have ever thought possible.

Exhibit Two:

Here's the real miracle: he doesn't whine, complain, or ever even insinuate that working so hard is a burden. Nope. When K. comes home from whatever job, he's happy to see me-- kisses me, hugs me, and says thank you for any water I might hand him. He praises my cooking without fail, allowes himself to be hauled out to the porch to see my morning glory flowers, and says with real awe, "the house looks beautiful, baby" after I've cleaned it.

Exhibit Three:

And then, sometimes, like yesterday (his ONE day off a week), K. spends his Sunday afternoon making me a bookcase I've been wanting, and then repairs a battered screen door I dragged home so we can have a breeze through our kitchen this fall. And that's right-- he doesn't complain. Instead, he holds my hand as we walk home, teases me about my growing belly, and scritches the dogs' heads as they hustle him for attention when we walk though the door.

And then:

Even when we fight (and we do), he listens to me. He's been known to say he's sorry. And nothing truly hurtful comes out of his mouth, not ever. There are so many lines that he never crosses, and that's why our world-- which occasionally fills with grumpiness, anxiety, and nothing-for-dinners-- stays so magical. Because he always puts us first.

Because he's the best husband ever.

why I love my writing gig

This morning, I went to interview a lady who I'd been told to call because she "has a house like nothing you've ever seen."

It is indeed, like nothing I've ever seen; she feeds catfish from her deck over the 5-acre "lake", there are cooing white turtle doves in a tall ironwork cage with a tin roof, and old windows hang from the edges of the porch like other people hang Boston ferns. I had a great time.

And when I left, I bore an invitation to a fish fry, jars of salsa, cinnamon spears, soup, and muscadine jelly, as well as an exhortation to measure my kitchen door to see if one of her three salvaged screen doors would fit.

People are so COOL down here.

25 weeks say WHAT

Last night, I was dancing around K. with my shirt held up (it happens a lot these days) and he said, "you know that belly you wanted? It's here."

And it is! Baby girl is doing some GROWING, as evidenced by my eating about three shredded wheat bowls of cereal a day, staggered between my regular meals.

According to my baby site, the little princess is about 13+ inches long and weighs apound and a half. She moves often; oo, in fact, just now; otherwise, betrays little sense of personality. Except she just kicked me again. There are 15 weeks to go, and I have the sense that things will be a'changing.

My lovely husband bought me my first pair of maternity pants, which ROCK; my back hurts a bit more, and it's harder to be comfortable sleeping; otherwise, I feel like myself. Just with a growing stomach that contains a live creature that occasionally moves.

Not weird at all.

September 2nd: Jon and Sarah Marry

We left BG at 4.15 am to fly to Charlotte, NC for the wedding of Jon and Sarah.

Jon and I have been friends since I was 14. We haven't kept up the adolescent fervor of our high-school friendship, but we remain dear to each other, and after getting to know Sarah, she's become a good friend as well. I'm so glad they've married, and I wish them nothing but the best.

Their programs requested no church shots, so these are from their early evening reception:

Entering as man and wife:


A classic Jon expression:
Some cake-cutting action:
K. and me being goofy:

Sarah, me, and the belly:



And to end on a high note, the lovely Mrs. W.:


It was a grand time. And then-- they went to Costa Rica.

What we did not do this weekend

1. Wash/trim/reapply flea stuff to the dogs

2. Stay for the entire Ole Miss/Missouri football game

3. Go to church

4. work on my slipcover

5. Enjoy the stupid movie "Dune"


What we did do

-K. slept until eleven on Sunday, and then he called his seester

-We took the dogs for a long Sunday evening walk

-I read four books, two about babies and two novels

-K put his hand on my belly when the baby was kicking and felt her move

-all the laundry



All-in-all, we're a wee bit sad it's Monday.

BG pics

After a month of record heat and lack of rain in Mississippi, northern PA with its cool temperatures and clean glazier lakes was love.ly.



We had two fantastic rows, numerous swims, and K. and his sister-in-law-- who bring out the kid in eachother-- finally got to go snorkeling:


Not to mention time to bond with my lil sis (thanks to our conversation, I finally tackled the stairmaster yesterday!)

The boys-- cousins and uncles of various degrees-- looked quite spiffy for the Saturday night dinner and dance.



And as always at vB gatherings, there was ample time to shoot cans with BB guns. K. kicked my cousins' arses.

It was the L.P.'s (little princess) first B.G. experience. She'll be shooting cans herself in no time.

On the Great Cow debate-- and etc.

LISTEN HERE, fellow liberals: boycott industrial feedlot beef, who are trucked all over America, fed corn that has been trucked all over the same America, not to mention grown by massive use of oil-run machinery and over-use of fertilizers ALL YOU WANT-- but for heaven's sakes, eating the grass-fed cow some poor sustainable-agriculture devotee down the road raised does NOT NOT NOT contribute to global warming because that said poor cow happens to POO and PEE and ergo contribute METHANE GAS and AMMONIA.

If we're getting rid of animals because of their emissions, why don't we start with animals we don't eat? Horses weigh about the same as cows, and if they belong to pretty little girls with rich parents, they're getting hauled around the country to jump over sticks and wheel around arenas, ergo using MASSIVE AMOUNTS of fuel while POOING the whole time.

Save the Sustainably-Raised Cows. Boycott Pony Clubs.

P.S. this is a joke. I don't think animals' emissions are our major problem. Please.

because It's Tuesday, and that means tomorrow's the weekend!

The world has righted itself.

It's funny how much K. being gone interrupts the rhythm of daily life; after all, he's at work 9-6 when he is home, so why should the lack of the car pulling up in the evening throw off my entire week? I don't know, but it does.

I've been busy spoiling him since he got home, which in our world, means me not yelling at him for forgetting to take out the trash and making blueberry pancakes for breakfast.

Tomorrow, we head to Blooming Grove for three full days of lake walks, swims, and hanging out with my super-cool sis, as well as forty--FORTY--other relatives. Then we board a plane at an absurd hour in the am and head to Charlotte for Jon and Sarah's wedding, boogie the night away, and return to Mississippi on Labor Day, hopefully rejuvenated, rested, and ready to get back into life here. K. doesn't travel in September, so no disruptions loom. (I'm having a baby shower though. September 29th. It's gonna be awesome.)

We had a spontaneous sunset picnic at Enid Lake, about 15 mins from our house, Sunday night with the chicken Danielle carted in from Nashvegas. It was beautiful, if buggy; being a mama in training, I'd brought bug dope.



And due to overwhelming request, a belly shot:



We'll take some pics this weekend. I was modeling the 2 dresses I'm packing (one for the dinner/dance in B.G., one for the wedding) for K., and he rightly observed that I look barely pregnant in one, and unmistakably so in the other.

Have a great week/weekend chickies.

It is still hot

But perhaps because my fingers are now blistered and not throbbing with pain (man, I am going to be such a WHINER during labor), the world seems pink and rosy.

I've got this character who is an architecural paint conservator-- these things develop, I promise; it's not like I sat down to write a novel with a guy who analyzes paint chips-- and he is teaching a seminar to a bunch of future architects, who care naught about paint, but are somewhat interested in old houses.

One of them asks him why old houses feel different, more harmonious, to her than new homes, and he can't come up with an answer. He thinks about low-ceiling Pennsylvania Dutch farmhouses, stately brick Federalist homes, funky Queen Anne cottages with their curliques and preciousness, and it's hard to find a common denominator-- other than age.

Is that it? The only reason old houses are cool is because they're...old? And if anyone loves new houses-- tell me why.

P.S. Shout out to DANIELLE, who is arriving tonight from Nashville with a cooler of grass-fed sirloin, all-natural pork chops, and antibiotic-free chicken, along with her lovely self, her less lovely dog (I will post a picture; she's so funny-looking), and some dvds of Weeds. Gonna be a grand time here in Mississippi.

a high of 102 today

but I'm going for a walk.

Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

you know

it is hard enough to write a damn novel in the midst of exciting baby news and possible house news and husband on business trip in lovely city/fancy hotel while i swelter in mississippi with a shepherd who runs away and a stepdog with an eye infection without burning my m*-fricking right hand so that writing longhand, the way i do, goes like this: hand under ice, think of sentence, got it, go! PAIN almost done with sentence what was the sentence? ice now! relief...repeat.

since this is the 3rd time i've scalded my hand in 2 weeks...i need to work on ambidexterity.

Most Importantly: The Bebe has a spine, brain, heart, two legs, two feet, two hands, and two arms, as well as a good-lookin' profile.

And...

She's a girl!

bebe and the boys

I did not post yesterday because I wanted to put up a new belly pic, since people, I have started to pop! But the camera's in the other room, and dealing with iphoto (WHY is there not a mac version of Picasa?) seems like a lot of work for a picture of my poochy abdomen. So the bebe's fine, I'm hungry a fair bit, and a neat thing happened-- we've been eating very little meat because I refuse to buy the grocery store stuff filled with antibiotics and growth hormones and the natural stuff is hard to come by in Mississippi,I was all worried that the bebe was getting enough protein. Meanwhile, I also found myself NATURALLY-- naturally, people!-- making eggs for breakfast a few times a week (something I usually don't do because of the pan clean-up) and drinking glasses of milk with my lunches (also out of character). And then I read that voila, eggs and milk have protein! Listen to your body, people-- as long as it's not saying chocolatechocolatechoclate, you might surprise yourself.

The other news is we found homes for the boys. They will not be living together full-time, but a lady in Tunica is taking one (she has lots of land, 2 kids, and a lab) and her parents are taking the other (they also live in the country and have another dog), and the boys will see each other 2-3 weekends a month and spend vacations together, so it's a lot better than going to unrelated homes. Nonetheless, I am very sad-- because I LOVE them, especially when I found out they're not getting any bigger (28 and 21 lbs respectively). So sad that last night I had a nightmare where the woman didn't really live in the country, but in a motel, and tried to kill Kagan when we took the dogs away from her. I woke up convinced we had to find another person, but in the cold light of day, I don't think this woman-- who I've had several lengthy conversations with and who offered to email me pictures-- is lying.

So the boys go to the vet tomorrow to get their tiny testes removed, and on Saturday, they will be picked up by the grandparents.




I'll miss them.

On the upside, these guys don't question my life choices:

The two little uns are Beau and Jack, two hound puppies that arrived in our yard, covered in fleas, ticks, and without collars. We're trying to find them homes, but in the meantime, it's a hectic house.

The downside of being ahead of the curve:

Some magical things have happened since I married, and more recently, became pregnant. The support from people in my life has been mostly overwhelming, but it's also been illuminating: it comes from (for the most part) those older than me, who have been down this road before.

As for my peers? I have more than one friend who stopped talking to me after the pregnancy email went out. They just literally never responded, and I hear through the grapevine that they take the baby in my belly as some sort of criticism on their own life.

"Think about where they are coming from," my mother counseled, and I said "Why? Why do I have to? It's like the lady at McDonald's telling me that she doesn't like my t-shirt; it has nothing to do with her." And so being married and expecting a baby has nothing to do with my friends, both close and not-so-close. I promise each and every one of them that in the moments where making a baby was a possability, I had none of them on my mind.

I'm pretty fond of Bridget Jones and her Smug Marrieds, but in my world, taking a traditional route has caused me to be a social pariah. Now that I'm not the Only.Married.One, having a husband has become a little more acceptable, but the having a baby? No one else is there yet. And somehow the fact that I am makes some of my oldest friends draw away.

I'm still me, just as I was when I fell in love with K., just as I will be after the baby is born. I might not be sleeping in and as obsessive about my kitchen floor, but I can guarantee I'll still like quirky British movies, suck at Scrabble, and be incapable of not consuming any chocolate in the house. So the fact that some of my peers take a choice that is wholely mine personally makes me very sad, and more than a bit resentful.

Baby Wednesday

Today, I am 20 weeks pregnant: half-way through according to the experts.

Today, K. looked at my belly (visible between my unbuttoned pants, which keep closed by a hair elastic loop, and my tanktop) and said: "When are you going to look pregnant?"

Apparently, NEVER.

Today is also the first week my baby calendar does not compare the baby to a piece of produce, so I have no cool comparisons for you. But from toe to head, the bebe should be around 10 inches long-- though it's all doubled up, not stretched out on tippitoes) and weighs around 10.5 ounces.

We head to the doctor August 20th (12 days) for our ultrasound, the first one since the very beginning, and the biggie-- where they check for organ development, deformations, and-- gender.

Anyone want to take bets?

falling off the wagon

After weeks of relative healthy-living bliss, yesterday got lost to chocolate with almonds, Harry Potter, and craving a house.anyhouse.rightnow.

After a late-night cleansing of lots of water, cleaning the floors, and rearranging the furniture...I'm back! And our rented home looks *beautiful*.

Happy Wednesday.

Always fun

I went to a friend's house this morning with all my southern ladies as she was having a book signing (she's an academic author). And while I was there, a lady whom I know only by face grabbed my hand and introduced me to a rather ugly, bulgy-eyed man who's beyond middle-aged but not quite old. The man introduced himself and then promptly informed me that I had gotten facts wrong in one of my interview pieces about a 93-yr-old WW2 veteran. He then asked for my email so he could send me information that would set me straight.

What I wish I'd said: You're an ugly old man with terrible manners. You email me, and I'll email you tips on being a a better HUMAN BEING.

What I did say: Why, I'm sorry. He was a difficult interviewee, being very deaf and 93 YEARS OLD, but here's my email. Excuse me, I'm going to get some coffee.

And now I shall stew about it ALL DAY.

Seriously, tomorrow is the first of August

And about 80% of the people whom I internet-stalk/keep up with (K. laughs at me for referring to my "friend" in France, who has no idea I exist) have not updated. That gives me the freedom to talk about whatever I please.

1st. The Trip
The beach was as expected, with the exception of the bloody pawprints on the door; my mother's dog did not take kindly to being left in a bedroom on our one evening in town when there was a thunderstorm, and he tried his damnedest to get out of the room, ergo costing mom a whole lot of moolah. But the bloody pawprints tickled me, they really did.

On our way back, K. and I began Our New Method of Traveling.

K. hates spending money, and isn't so good at enjoying the trip; he always wants to get straight to the destination. This means that when we travel across America, we stay in budget motels conveniently located off the interstate, eat in gas stations, or a cracker barrel if I throw an absolute fit.

But this is changing, a wee bit.

Saturday night, we reached our goal of Conyers, Georgia, desirable as a location only because it's about 30 miles outside Atlanta, and we were planning to hit the Atlanta Trader Joe's in the morning and didn't want to pay Atlanta hotel rates. So we stopped, got a room in a chain hotel off the interstate, and then, while K. showered, I took advantage of the free wireless to google the town's history.

Turns out even Conyers has a past, and after I'd told K/ about it, we got directions to the old town of Conyers, which turned out to be about a half-mile from all the interstate sludge. We parked behind some beautiful old brick buildings and promptly ran into...an Elvis impersonator. "Good evening," he said, and we good-eveninged him back. He drove a white SUV, which matched the jump suit.

After walking down an alley and following our ears, we came upon a darling little street that was blocked off for a block party; locals stood talking, eighties music played, and it was all very cute, especially in front of buildings like these (this pic was taken the following am, on Sunday, when all good Southerners are in church):



We ate at a supremely good (and cheap!) Thai restaurant, right there, very happy that we'd passed by the Cracker Barrel. It was a truly nice time, and we could have so easily not had it.

2nd. The Baby

I ain't posting tomorrow, so here's your update: the kid's alive! I went to the doctor this afternoon and heard its heartbeat; it kept moving, so she was sliding the cold listening-thingie all over my stomach, trying to keep up with it. I can't feel the baby move yet, but the doctor said that she'd be surprised if I could; my official freak-out date about that is 23 weeks, so not for another whole month.

We find out the baby's gender at the next appt, and I cannot wait. That appt was to be August 21st, but K. and I just realized he has yet another business trip planned, so we're hoping we can bump it up a day. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, here's a picture of my not-so-svelte self:



I'm kind of nekkid-pregnant now, meaning my belly is sticking way out, but it still kinda fits under normal clothes, so you can't tell unless I'm...you know.

Still, happy 19 weeks to the bebe. We're still trucking.

We're back!

K. with Eliza and their "castle"; me.

Long post to follow.

We'll be back July 30th

We are going to the beach; we leave today, arrive tomorrow, and I haven't packed a thing. The hosue was beautiful when K. gone home, and now it's like a damn tornado....but I digress.

Me, the two beasties that K. loves, and K. himself are going to the beach-- along with 3 other dogs, both my aunts and their hubbies, my mom, my sister, my cousin, and perhaps my very grumpy grandfather and step-grandma, if they ever make up their DARN minds. We're all staying in the same house. We may not make it back alive. Yesterday, mom said "I'm bringing bourbon." Me: "And what am I supposed to do? I'm not ALLOWED to drink."

On the upside, I can always pull the I'm-pregnant card.

Wish us luck!

I woke up to the door opening at 6.45 am...

And sweetie was home!

Poor man killed eight hours in Las Vegas before leaving on a red-eye flight that put him into Memphis at 5 in the morning. He's sleeping, and I am so.so.so glad he's home.

Baby Day

Alas, the baby is not a sweet potato; at 17 weeks, it's more like a large onion. 5 ounces/5 inches with cartilage hardening to bone. Not much else news this week.

It has officially been confirmed to me that I do not look pregnant; "just kind of poochy," said my social engagement of last night, who is sporting a near-full-grown baby-in-the-belly herself.

I figure it's because of my remarkable ab muscles.

I have also not felt the baby move to my knoweldge. Why to my knowledge? Well, apparently the first movements (felt between 16-20 weeks) can feel like bubbles, butterflies, or...gas.

Still not sick; still not thinking labour will be the worst experience of my life; still feeling like me, ergo frustrating the woman who came up to me and told me about her co-worker's 50-hour-labour.

We'll reach the beach by Saturday. Aloha!

I have had a killer day (novel quota, an interview, 2 articles, proofs to the Fed-Ex, and now a social engagement), but:

Look at the ducks! The baby ducks!

Interviewed an organic gardener this morning and she had baby ducks!

Pregnancy update

From now on, Wednesday will be Baby day, since it's the day that I turn from one week to the next week, which means I get to tune into my pregnancy web caldendar and see what the baby's doing now (you wouldn't believe this kid! 2 weeks ago its intestines moved into its stomach!).

Today, I am 16 weeks preggers. The baby is now the size of an avocado; considering that we were in the kidney bean stage for a while, it's nice to be moving through the fruit ranks. I think sweet potato is next, but I might be jumping the gun.

My belly's pooching out, but I *still* don't look very pregnant. Which is kind of a bummer, because we're going to the beach with my family for a week next Friday and I wanted my tummy to be all huge in between my bikini. Man, I love me some bikinis. They make me feel like I'm four and running around nekkid.

I've been having intense dreams, which everone talks about, but they don't seem especially mystical. And I've always slept like I was thrown into the bottom of a well, so really, I don't think I feel much different, other than the fact I now feel guilty whenever I sleep on my back and waves of hunger that make me nearly nauseous descend with no warning every few hours.

K. is now forbidden sugar. I told him that I was having a hard time avoiding sweets, and I'd been fantasizing about chocolate ice cream. We went to Sonic THE NEXT DAY and he blithely ordered a large choclate milkshake. He is now *sweet*less (and you really don't want to know the reason I'm avoiding sugar, but let me just assure you that if I could, I would eat as much sugar as I could stuff into my body like most pregnant women, so perhaps the fact that my body has stopped handling it is really a good thing. Other than my bloated belly, I think the rest of me is actually thinner since the doc laid down the kibosh.).

In the beginning, I thought we were having a boy, but now-- no idea. I call it The Baby in my head, and it is genderless, which-- as someone told me that mothers "know" about the child's gender, means that I now worry that it is a hermaphrodite. This does not worry me as much as it might, because being preggers means that I am so INUNDATED with entirely legitimate things to worry about that the hermaphrodite thing is about #44, right after # 43: the baby's room is carpeted and therefore its lungs could be damaged because hardwoods are better and #45: how long should we wait until baby #2, considering I want my last child to be out of the house by the time I turn 50 but 18 months between means I only get 9 months off before getting pregant again but 24 months means that Baby #1 will hate Baby #2...

I think I have to go eat something.

Because I'm Better than You

Now that I'm nearly blind from writing a tricky article about a hurricane katrina refugee/speech therapist/art promoter, I thought I'd post in the hopes that pretty much everyone I know would get off their bloggers' duff and tell me how they are.

That being said, I'm cheating with pictures.

Me, my sister, and my newest obsession (handrolling avocado rolls since sushi in this place is so darn expensive):



And a shot of my proud and sunburnt husband when he arrived home, fish in hand:



Happy Tuesday chickies!

Yesterday, I won at Scrabble

And yet, it was not the highlight of my Sunday. Such a nice day: church, cherries, Scrubs, Scrabble, a long nap after the vegetable soup made me nearly comatose (something about eating these days makes me so tired), TWO baths, a dog walk, and grilled chicken and corn on the barbeque I finally convinced K. to drop $20 on.

A great day, and much-needed, considering my sweetheart will be living it up yet again in Vegas next Saturday to next Thursday.

We finished it off in the dark bedroom, lying side by side under soft cotton on plumped pillows, talking-- YES, talking-- intently about The State of America.

Being involved with this small town has made me wonder about the future of small towns in America. I hate to see so many gentrifying themselves with coffee bars and over-priced antiques, hoping to become the latest get-away destination for urban people with money, but that seems to be the only viable alternative other than 1. being a University town or 2. dying. Because the people who used to support small towns were farmers and then industry/factory workers, and we now eat food from other coutries and agricultural giants and use things made in other nations.

K. said, well our town is still alive, and I agree. It has a hardware store, a local newspaper, a video rental, a lumberyard, a drugstore, and a grocery store-- all locally owned and operated, although all have their competitors (mostly in Oxford).

But there's also still one plant here, a place that makes carburators, and if it closed-- how many of those businesses would survive?

K. thinks-- and I agree-- that we have always chosen technology over what's actually good for people. There is more stuff in the world than ever before, but somehow, bluecollar America isn't making it. Which is why our colleges are filled to bursting, and the competition for liberal arts majors is so intense.

I wonder what will happen.

Why don't I get any of the GOOD celebrities?

First, Britney Spears and Kevin Federline were married on the same day (albeit a year earlier) than K. and I. That's right, we share an anniverary-- or did, since they've since divorced.

And now? Now that I'm expecting our first baby and wander around in jersey dresses with a slight bump showing, guess who is doing the same?

Not Heidi Klum.

Not Cate Blanchette, or Mandy Moore, but...

Nicole Ritchie.

It's very sad.

Still rockin'

What with the nervous breakdown, house decorating, and visit from my FANTABULOUS sister, there's been no time for posting this week.

Of course, since no one updates their blogs anyway, I don't much feel guilty.

I got K. a Father/pregnany book and am slightly regretting it... "you're not supposed to take hot baths" "you can't have any brie" "my book SAID you'd be clingier" but mostly it's really sweet to hear him getting all this baby-on-the-way knowledge.

Speaking of K., he's away! On a boys' vacation! He headed off in the early afternoon for a 3-day fishing trip on the Gulf with THIRTEEN other guys, on average about thirty years older than him. I last heard from him when they'd arrived in the Walmart at Biloxi, where they were stocking up on you guessed it, beer. Watching K. and these grown men compare tackle boxes, confer over line weights, and practice casting in a backyard made it awfully hard to begrudge him a weekend away. Wish him big fish.

Besides-- my sister is here! And S. is driving in from Birmingham tomorrow, so wild times will be had, my friends. Right after I take a nap.

Baby update: Went to the doctor, heart still beating.

Confessions

Background: after K/ called me a roly-poly crazy person (or something like that) and I thwacked him for calling me roly-poly, he pointed out that I sometimes get upset at the wrong part of his insults.

Then:

Me: Sometimes I wish that Shadow and Dido would die so I could get the new, flea-free, non-shedding, non-crazy dogs that are my REAL pets.

K.: That's terrible.

ME: When we have teenagers, I'm going to turn to you and say that I wish we could start over and have our real children instead of these pimply monsters.

K.: And then I'll turn to the children and say that I wished I could start over with my real wife instead of this pimply monster.

Me: I'm not VERY pimply. (And I'm NOT!)

Pause.

Nor am I a monster!

A very good Wednesday

I dreamed last night that I gave borth to FIVE babies at once (all healthy, thank Heaven) (wait? Why am I thanking Heaven?!?!) but K. wasn't there because he was assisting our pregnant friend in HER labour and I was all like "she's got her own husband, what the heck is wrong with you?"

Babies are kind of all I think about these days. I've never looked forward so much to doctor's visits (next one next Tuesday! whee!)

In other news: it finally rained here, which I thank God for. We've had less than half of the normal rain so far this year and summers are traditionally dry.

The Board of Aldermen voted the Main Street project K. and I are involved with into next year's fiscal budget, which means we can exist and get to work.

And most excitingly, K. and his new helper started working together last night. C. is a college kid with a lot of practical know-how, who showed up on time, worked hard, and thinks he's getting paid well. I am so thankful that K. will have someone to help him with the building-- since I've turned out to be pretty much unwilling and useless. But it's exciting to see the building emerging from all the crap piled into/onto it over the years.

So, down here southernly, most all is well.

pregnant ponderings

So far, I've puked once, taken a few naps, and not lost my baby. (Keep your fingers crossed.) This makes me a lucky pregnant person, as compared to women who spntaneously vomit at all hours of the night, etc.

So being pregnant hasn't impacted me hugely in a physical way; instead, it's more like early spring-- change is small, incremental-- except this.

I'm easier on myself.

When I look down the pike-- we live in a rented house, I'm drafting a book I dearly hope will jumpstart some kind of novelist career, we're having our first baby, and it's a fact that I myself am like a two yearold child when tired-- I can see that there's a lot of stuff heading our way.

So far, instead of continuously freaking out, I've slowed down a little. I lie down after lunch if I need to; I tell my husband he has to take a walk with me before he goes to work on his building; I'm going to suck it up and pay the library for the book I.Cannot.Find (sorry, sweetie!). I want to be with K. more, as if I'm storing up our together-time against the coming infant-months like some kind of love squirrel. Before, there was a maximum I had to get done each day; now, there's a minimum.*

If I had to compare it to something, I'd say I can see that there's a long tiring hectic few years in front of us-- especially when you consider we want more than one child-- and so I'm pacing myself like a long-distance runner, because I don't want to race through the coming time, frantic about how much more I need to be doing.


*This is not to say I am advocating lazy cows, because we all know how I feel about 1: dirty houses 2: uncared-for pets 3: "i wanna be a novelist but i just can't find the time to sit down and write" and 4: blowing off professional obligations. So there.*

For your Friday

Here at Chateau de K&A, all is well. Mom's in town for a visit, so I've been busy entertaining her in the afternoons...when she's not being squired around by a Mississippian she seems to have enchanted. We're going to hitup Greenwood, Mississippi, this afternoon, and I'm excited to tour a new town.

Mom swears I'm starting to show, but K. insists my belly has always been this big. I prefer to think that it has indeed grown. Either way, I'm feeling surpringsly good (aka not pregnant-ey) and I've only taken one nap in the last ten days!

Our garden has...grown. So far, we've learned that we planted WAY too much lettuce, and not enough beans. The corn is starting to form on the stalks, tassels and all, and we've been getting more and more cherry tomatoes coming in, while our big tomatoes are small, green, and growing. The crabgrass is relentless, we harvested all of our turnips, and our carrots are getting there.

Here's a pic:



And happy weekend!

catch up

A short and pleasant weekend. K. and I woke up on Sunday morning, decided to skip church, made blueberry pancakes and bacon and watched Arrested Development, and then-- went back to bed. Woke up at 1 and watched more Arrested Development! How decadent is that???

A busy week ahead; Mom arrives for a week-long visit this evening, I've got some deadlines, and the new novel cometh along. Plus, now that I'm positive I'm pregnant after seeing the darn thing on a screen, I devote entirely too much head space to baby stuff.

I'm anxious for my belly to stick out, so I'll look like I feel. I keep pulling up my shirt and saying "it's bigger, no?" to K., while he shakes his head.

It totally is, though.

The News that my husband has already told everybody in the entire world, including the president of this town's chamber of commerce and our landlords

I'm preggers!

FACTS:

How preggers: 11 weeks

Due date: Dec. 28th

Sex of child: Won't find out until week 20, idiot

Have you gone to an ob/gyn and seen the baby and seen + heard its heart beating: YES! So it's definitely alive!

How many pregnany books have I read: 3 and I'd like more (not including maternity fashion guidebooks)

Have you been sick: SO SO SO SO SICK, by which I mean mildly nauseous and tired for 2 weeks, seems to be gone now, during which I complained unremittingly

And the eternal "was this planned?": by which I respond, wanna make God laugh? Make a plan. Because let me tell you, the minute we thought we might want a baby, there I was peeing on a stick and whipping it out to show K. the minute he got home from work.

P.S. FOR THOSE WHO THINK WE'RE TOO YOUNG:

well, we are.

So we went, and now we're back.

Our cabin wintered Vermont beautifully. Our patron saint, Harry, took some pictures of the cabin decked out with snow among the bare trees, blue mountains startlingly visible beyond it, but alas, they are the old-fashioned non-digital kinds of pics and so you'll have to imagine.

Our cabin began our vacation as a lovely holding pen for dirty lumber and a vacation getaway for mice; when we left, the porch roof was done, our sassy little woodstove was installed, and we'd put down the final floor inside, as well as moving out all the lumber, scrubbing the walls, sweeping out the mousepoop, and making our cabin a cabin and not a construction zone. And-- perhaps most importantly-- we had ourselves a real vacation, complete with fishing, reading, bowls full of cherries, and entirely too many of those Vermont crullers K. loves so much-- not to mention time with his sisters and parents.

The fishing took place over where I used to work, the beautiful small private lake about ten minutes from our cabin, and K's swimming in the small swimming hole that the aforesaid patron saint dug out for us to utilize the ice-cold small stream that trickles under our road. We have a teeny-tiny perfect pond now!

So, here's our photo show:








It's beautiful, no? There are dozens of pictures I haven't shown you, because we are proud as heck of our small powerless cabin in the woods. K. came across me sitting cross-legged in the clearing where we had camped last September, among the new rye grass, just gazing. Whatyou doing? he asked, and I heaved a great dreamy sigh and said, just looking at our cabin.

OUR cabin. We got in a conversation on whether or not we would sell it for five times what we've put into it and the answer is--well, no. It wouldn't be enough money to retire on, and besides-- we never want to build something like this again.

After reading about the Powatan Indians and learning about a Norwegian farmer who is the eighth generation on a family farm, I've been thinking about land, and what it means. I never recognized the American pioneer spirit in me until I learned about people who understand themselves to be temporary, the land permanent; and so while K. and I plant our feet on our Vermont land and say, this is ours, we also try to think about what has been there before, what will be afterwards. The best melding of the two that we can manage.

We're back....

Biggest post in the world promised for this weekend!!!!!!

Happy Friday

K. and I stayed up until 1 in the morning watching season 2 of Scrubs and eating crackers and cheese last night. WIld times, my friends, wild times. We've both been a bit cranky, a bit on edge, a bit going-through-the-motions, and I think we are more than ready for our week in Vermont. We leave next Wednesday. We haven't left Mississippi since... January (with the exception of my overnighter in Birmingham), and I can't wait.

In other news, it's been delightfully chilly at night, Shadow waited to vomit this morning until we let her outside (this is a first), and we ate some of our own lettuce! Those are the good things.

Have a wonderful Friday chickies.

I know, it's been a while.

I have finally learned to appreciate gray days.

These last few days have been clouded-over, and it is fan-tastic, as we were in the middle of ever-increasing humidity that scared the ca-tooie out of me since it is May. I know it is a reprieve, but last night, with the temperature downright nippy and the fan blowing all the sweet cold air in, I slept through the night for the first time in forever.

You see, in the course of our marriage, K. and I have discovered that I am the furnace and he is the freezer, but only at night; during the day, roles are reversed. He's put pillows between us before because I'm "glowing hot and making him sweat," which I prefer to take as a testament to something besides temperature, heehee, I'm so clever.

In other news, we are going to Vermont next week (wee!) and I am resigned to my slipcovers getting trashed during the week I'm away. I don't know what's wrong with my damn dogs. They have two perfectly comfortable beds that I fluff out every DAY for them, despite the fact that doing this emits great puffballs of hair, and then they pull stunts like Shadow last night, ever so casually sauntering out of our bedroom, ostensibly to her dog bed in the hall.

But I know my girl. I craned my neck, saw her veer into the living room, and said "not on your life!" while I shut the doors to K's great amusement.

That did not deter her this afternoon when I was ON THE COUCH and she tried to hop onto the armchair.

Someone got a smacking. I know, I'm tough, but she sheds like a banshee and she's a bit incontinent. All these things equal not on the furniture.

Lastly, we have people coming for dinner, and I must bestir myself. Grr. If there was a sushi restaraunt in Water Valley-- well, for one, you probably wouldn't want to eat there-- but if there was a clean and safe and delicious sushi restaraunt in town, I'd be getting some bento boxes and telling them to sit on the dog-haired sofa.

Double grr.

today is the day...

Y'all,

This morning Shadow found two baby raccoons being tormented by blowflies, dehydrated and upset, under a tree. I ran inside, googled "orphaned raccoons" and proceeded with what I think could be fairly described as admirable competence--- but I did not take a picture, and thus you can not understand how cute they were (don't freak out about the past tense, just wait).

The size of very small kittens, about 3 weeks old I think, eyes open but teeny-tiny.

On the advice of the internet, I dripped condensed milk onto a rag, which they-- eventually-- were big fans of, and I put them in a box with blankets. After a feed and a poo and a quick sponge-off, I put aforesaid box in the dark bathroom, and they fell asleep. I then called a wildlife rehabilitator, because it turns out that 1. it's illegal to raise wild animals and 2. there was one right in my town! She came by, very competent, and said that they were orphaned for sure; since we live in town, it's likely their mom was trapped by the animal controller or hit by a car. She then put them in a carrier, and will take them home; one had a small injury to a foot (which I hadn't even noticed, being so unfamiliar with baby raccoons), but she said they were dehydrated but in good shape and that they'd be released into the wild-- a more country wild-- by the end of the summer.

She also confirmed their sex: a boy and a girl.

So pray for the baby raccoons! I kind of miss them. They make the coolest noises, cooing and clucking and... just wonderful.

Saturday Night Fever

Spring is almost gone, down here in Mississippi; when it's above seventy degrees at night, that spell s-u-m-m-e-r to me. Although I know it gets much, much worse; at least our house has air conditioning, which we haven't had to turn on yet. I like hearing the birds in the morning, and the screen door to the porch off our bedroom is such a gift; drowning it all out with sweet cold air will be a mixed blessing.

It is strange how short-sighted we-- or at least I-- are. During the winter, when all the trees are bare and the grass brown, I never fully believe that spring will come. But every night, I fall asleep knowing that the sun will be there in the morning. 10-12 hours versus four months-- a lot easier to count on the first one.

I am sweaty and dirty from pulling out nails and staples in the building, painting my new chair, and playing in the garden. The cherry tomatoes, that started out so small and spindly, are getting bigger and bigger, strong green leaves and a few star-shaped yellow flowers. It's all very exciting.

Despite all my preparation re. the second novel, I find that I've got to rewrite and start-- not entirely-- over. I was working on a sewing project last night, and the same thing happened-- even though I'd measured, even though I'd thought it through as much as I could, I had to discard everything and take what I now know (like the zip will have to be under the arm, and to allow for darts before measuring the back piece) and hope this second attempt will work better. I turned to K. that night and said that I was tired of having to start over, even after I tried so hard, even ater I'd given my best effort to the first attempt. (Sewing is a lot like writing for me-- a love-hate relationship with imperfect products.) He didn't say much, just listened, but man, it feels good to complain sometimes. So now I am rolling up my sleeves and trying, trying again.

I think that's why I like cooking-- it's nearly all passable the first time.

I have to walk the dogs before the sun sets; happy weekend, y'all.