Wordless Wednesday: Father's Day

As a pregnant person, I am a ball of emotions in general. Anger, exasperation, joy, sadness, love - you name it, it's me, at some point and at some ridiculous level. (Feel bad for people who are around me on a regular basis.). This means I have lots of sniffly posts I could be sharing. Lots of mad posts I could be sharing.

And lots of gushy and nostalgic posts I do plan on sharing. You're welcome.

Here's one that won't go in to ton of words, but I think the photos do the talking pretty well ... I am thankful every day that I married such a great guy - one who is smart, hard-working, funny, caring, dedicated, patient and loving, among other stellar qualities. I am even more grateful that he's the father of my children and that they have such a strong man to look up to and learn from, every day. Elle adores him, and I know that Wesley will, too.

Even though Elle was convinced that Father's Day meant that it was also Tim's birthday, we had a nice day celebrating Daddy and spending some coveted family time together, including gifting him with his annual photo present:

Elle's last chance to be the sole star of Tim's Father's Day photo gift (2013).

Daddy's Day, Diva-style (2012).

"What is this green stuff I'm sitting on?" (2011).

We let Daddy sleep in, spent some time at the beach and went out for dinner - I'm not sure who enjoyed the day more, Elle or Tim :)

And two bonus photos ... I was staring at this one all day at work with my heart all melty and my eyes all teary:

Quite possibly my favorite photo ever (Nov. 2011). LOVE these two.
[Photo by Jodi Wells Photography.]

And this one, which makes me smile every time I see it - and we're just weeks away from another tiny person getting to know his daddy (and I'm guessing that while Elle was sleeping on him, Tim was watching the Reds, which will happen a lot with Wesley, too):

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

I needed to post this before I forgot it happened or convinced myself it was a pregnancy-related hallucination.

About three weeks ago, Tim told me that he couldn't find his wedding ring. He often takes it off when he works out, but it wasn't in any of the usual places he keeps it. He's also lost a few pounds in the last few months, and he said that it had been slipping around a lot lately. He was worried it had slipped off completely without him noticing. I was upset but held out hope that he'd find it.

Our rings on our wedding day.

A few nights later, he told me he'd thought a lot about it and thought maybe it had slipped off while he was doing laundry. Yes, he was pretty sure it must have come off and slipped down the side of the washer or dryer.

This would have been awesome news except the way our washer and dryer are set up would require three grown men and/or an act of God to get them to move or lifted in order to check for the ring. They're wedged in to a utility closet in our condo and are side-by-side with about two inches of total wiggle room. Given that I am nearly six months pregnant and also not three grown men to help him, I wasn't sure when we'd be able to search for the ring.

I had pretty much resigned myself to having a husband without a wedding ring for a while or having to go buy a new one at our jeweler. Neither of these options thrilled me, but there wasn't much I could do about it.

Last night, I didn't feel well - I was having weird stomach pain and was exhausted, so I crashed on the couch and slept fitfully. I woke up several times, including when Tim came home from work at 2 a.m. He got some food to eat and settled in to watch some TV. I continued to doze and drifted in and out of consciousness.

I remember becoming much more alert when I heard a "HON. Guess what I just found?" and realized he was talking to me. I mumbled a "What?" and opened one eye to look at him.

He'd found his wedding ring. In the middle of the night. While eating a post-work snack.

Where did he find it?

In a bag of pretzels.

IN A BAG OF FREAKING SOURDOUGH PRETZELS.

This is remarkable on several levels, most notable to me the level where he usually does not finish a box/bag of food and we end up with crumbs of chips/cereal/etc. that would go untouched for months if I let them. Apparently we had hit a level of sourdough pretzel desperation that prompted him to eat to the bottom of the (several week-old?) bag and discover the ring that had been gathering salt and pretzel dust for quite some time. The fact that the bag wasn't thrown away without a second thought is nearly as astounding as the fact that the ring was found there. I still can't believe it.

As I texted my sister and a close friend this morning to tell them the lost ring had been located, I continued to wonder if I had dreamed it or if he had actually found the ring in a bag of pretzels. I then remembered heading to bed at 3 a.m. and hearing him mutter something about how weird it felt to be wearing his ring again. I may or may not have kicked him at that point.

This story will live forever on the blog, but I also will not let him forget it any time soon. He had to take one of our cats to the vet today for a follow up check on an ear infection. The (rather large) cat carrier he'd used to take Sid to the vet last week had been in our (rather small) living room all week (we usually keep them on our lanai but knew the appointment was coming up, and Elle has taking to "playing vet" and stuffing plush animals in to the carriers, so we let it stay inside between appointments).

I came home today to find our other cat carrier in the living room. I called him to ask why he'd gotten the other carrier out, and he said he hadn't been able to find the one he'd used last week, so he grabbed the other one from the lanai.

I looked at the two cat carriers that monopolized the floor space in our living room as I asked with a smile: "Really? You couldn't find it? ... Did you check in the pretzel bag first?"

Yup. Never going to let this one go. But I sure am glad Tim has his wedding ring back - he's mine, folks. Allllllll mine.

Wordless Wednesday: Air Elle

As much as this scares me, it makes the two of them extremely happy:

October 2012, age 26 months.

She certainly isn't as aerodynamic as she used to be, and this was likely the last toddler toss. But it certainly does make for some great photo ops. 

April 2011, age 9 months.

I used to worry that she was too floppy for this. Now I worry that she's way too sturdy.

February 2011, age 7 months.

I mean, seriously - she gets some serious air. And she loves it.

Same night as the first photo,
different throw.

Just call me Julie Andrews.

When Elle was wee little, I used to hum and sing to her as I tried to put her to sleep after feedings or for naps. I didn't know many nursery rhyme-type songs at the time, so I sang what I kinda/sorta knew: Musicals.

The most common one was "The Sound of Music." When I thought Elle was tiring of that, I went with a little bit of "West Side Story" and "Porgy and Bess," but it was almost always "The Sound of Music." I felt like a dunce when I mixed up verses or sang the chorus of certain songs over and over, but Elle had no idea I was hacking the works of Rodgers and Hammerstein to horrific bits and pieces. I downloaded songs from "The Sound of Music" to my iPod for a refresher and listened to them at work, which did little to help me with my lyric retention problem.

When Elle was about a month old, Tim's mom and nephew came to meet Elle and visit us. Elle was going through some sort of crazy growth spurt, and I remember nursing her and getting a little bit too excited to find that there was a "Sound of Music" marathon on TV. We watched every time she nursed that day. I delighted in those nursing sessions and also considered them additional lyric refresher courses, but after that, I don't remember singing many of the songs to Elle. I think it was just a few weeks after that she started to sleep through the night and there weren't multiple opportunities to put her back to bed at night.

Fast forward almost two years, and I'm having flashbacks to those first few months of Elle's life.

I put Elle to bed almost every night, but on the nights that Tim is home (and the Reds aren't playing), he'll sometimes take bedtime duty. I'll hear him reading her story after story, and then he promises her a few songs. They usually sing "Twinkle Twinkle" or "Baa Baa Black Sheep." Sometimes Tim gives her some REO Speedwagon. But the singing at bedtime has always been their thing.

Until this week. Elle and I did our usual bedtime routine of stories and rocking, and then she said "Songs?" I asked her what she wanted me to sing, going through some of our toddler song regulars as options for my performance. She said no to all of them, so I took matters in to my own hands and started in with "The Sound of Music."

I've added a few songs to my rotation over the last few nights. I lead with "Do-Re-Mi" and throw in "Maria" or "My Favorite Things." (There's a girl at church that Elle loves named Maria, though, so I don't want her to start calling church Maria a flibbertijibbet or tell her she's a riddle, you know?) Sometimes if we're doing a full performance I'll sing "Sixteen Going On Seventeen" or yodel like a lonely goat.

But every night, she requests "Songs?" and I ask "What song do you want to hear?" Then she acts all coy and says "Ummm ... raindrops?" This never fails to make me smile, because out of all the words and songs I sing, she remembers "Raindrops on roses."

I'll be brushing up on my lyrics again, because Elle is sharp and will soon start correcting me or notice when I mumble over words. Until then, I've also been teaching her some contemporary tunes - she now asks for "Mommy's songs" in the car and will sing along to the "Ooh baby baby" part of Usher's "Scream." Cute? Incredibly. At dinner tonight, she kept saying "Don Dokken?" much to Tim's delight. (If you don't know who Don Dokken is, I don't blame you - if I hadn't met Tim I'm pretty sure I'd still be in the dark, too.) One thing is for sure - Elle will be nothing if not musically diverse.

The time I had almost six days to myself.

Two weeks ago, Tim was on vacation. He's been at his job for six years, I've been at mine for less than one, so we don't exactly have equal vacation time. I'd taken some unpaid time off in May, so I wasn't able to take more time off, and on that Thursday, we got up super early, drove to the airport and Tim and Elle flew to Ohio. They were gone until Tuesday, when I left work early to pick them up at the airport (and of course their flight was delayed and I encountered torrential rain on the way there and we hit rush hour traffic on the way back).

But that's six days - three times the longest amount of time I have been away from Elle since she was born almost two years ago. Tim and I are used to traveling separately and being away from each other - although not preferable, we're able to return to our long-distance relationship roots and manage short-term separations with relative ease. And he and Elle have plenty of one-on-one experience (for those not familiar with our situation, he works nights and I work days, so he takes care of Elle every morning), so I wasn't worried about her missing me terribly.

I was simultaneously excited and depressed about their trip to see our families. I knew I'd miss them, but I also knew I'd enjoy having some "me" time and the opportunity to get some stuff done around the condo.

Tim put almost 1,200 miles on the rental car and spanned the state, hitting every region except the southeast corner of Ohio (we've never had much use for the southeastern part of the state - sorry, southeastern Ohioans!). Elle was along for about half of those miles.

Elle was a trouper and traveled super well (especially considering she had to spend so much time in the car/plane and slept in unfamiliar places with people she doesn't see on a regular basis), and Tim got to see his beloved Reds and lots of his family, but we're hoping there aren't many more vacations like this, where we're separated and/or rushed and/or exhausted. 

While they were gone, I went to Spin class (twice! and to the gym without having to rush home!). I made a huge mess of the condo (and then spent time cleaning it all up). I planned a night out with friends. I ate what I wanted when I wanted and watched crap TV. I also missed Tim and Elle terribly, and while I was glad they were with family, I was jealous that I wasn't with them. It was hard to walk past Elle's door every night - open - and know that the quiet in the condo wasn't because she was peacefully sleeping in her crib.

To illustrate how a situation like this presents many conflicting emotions, I made a list of some of the things I noticed about my time by myself. Here are some things I could do that I normally cannot:

- Leave scissors out.

- Leave markers out.

- Not have to wash dishes every day or run the dishwasher more than once.

- Decide to go to the beach and just grab a towel and go - not debate the timing of the trip, if the time getting ready is worth the effort, worry about the sand that will get in all of the crevices of the baby and car, bags needed for the trip, etc.

- Spend an hour debating between two different pairs of shoes and then decide not to get either one.

- Visit 5 different (shoe) stores in about 40 minutes because I didn't have to mess with a car seat, stroller, etc. (I was having a shoe crisis, and unlike many women my age, I detest shoe shopping. Detest is actually a nice way of putting it. At one point I called my mother and expressed my anger at the genes that gave me huge, wide feet. But I digress.)

-  Go to Target even though it was monsooning out - I needed to buy stuff, darn it.

-  Eat lunch at 2:30 instead of noon because no one (other than me) was crying and whining because they were hungry and it was nap time.

- Watch TV before bedtime (like Lifetime movies and other fun stuff) instead of reading Tumford the Terrible for the tenth time that week before bedtime.

- Go to Spin class without worrying about who was going to watch my kid and "Ohmygosh I have to get home" because Tim/the sitter needs to do this and that and I need to take care of Elle.

- Sleep in until a ridiculous hour after a night out with friends. (I would probably still be sleeping except one of the cats jumped up on my dresser.)

- Have a night out with friends without paying for a sitter or worry about how early I was going to have to get up the next day.

- Leave my coffee cup on the floor while I leisurely read the newspaper.

- Change diapers.

- Leave the house whenever I wanted.

Conversely, I could not:

- Get hugs when I got home from work.

- Rock my baby before bedtime.

- Read Tumford the Terrible for the tenth time that week.

- Have a regular eating schedule.

- Spend the entire time at home because it got lonely.

- Make a freaking decision and buy the shoes already instead of wasting a ton of time deciding.

- Hear the sounds of giggles and toddler-speak that normally fill my home.

- See my family.

- See my husband's family.

Princess Elle Belle at her birthday party.

 - Attend the birthday party my husband's side of the family hosted for my almost-two-year-old daughter.

- Spend time with Tim.

- Enjoy a baseball game with my husband and his cousins.

- Make up for the fact that Tim took about seven photos on the trip (I would have been pushing 300).

I was extremely glad when they got home, despite the fact that the condo had been pristine that morning and looked like a tornado had hit within 3.4 seconds of their arrival. There was laundry to do, routines to get back in to and hugs to catch up on. It was fantastic to have a few days to myself, but I'm glad to be sharing them again :)

Wordless Wednesday: Fireworks and flashbacks

I was doing laundry tonight and listening to the fireworks outside when I realized I really, really don't like fireworks. I don't mind watching them, but I'd rather not have to deal with the heat and bugs one has to face while watching them outside, and tonight I'm cursing my neighbors for the loud booms that threaten to wake up my daughter.

I tried to figure out why I'm hating on such a mainstay of Independence Day celebrations when I started to remember past July 4th holidays. And honestly? Most of them were spent working, which is why I probably don't remember much. I remember watching fireworks from my parents' backyard when I was in high school. I remember driving to my sister's my first year out of college to spend the holiday weekend with her and my brother-in-law. But for the most part, in the last decade, if I wasn't working, I didn't want to venture out and battle throngs of people for a prime viewing spot of the fireworks that I'm so "meh" about anyway.

But one July 4th definitely stands out to me, and I think it will always be one of my favorites. Tim and I started dating in November 2003. I moved 2.5 hours away in December 2003. And in May 2004, we broke up for a few weeks, largely due to circumstances caused by/involving the instability of a long-distance relationship that didn't really have a "local" foundation. (But also because I'm part spaz and was miserable in my new job. But that's a different story.) Three weeks of dating while living in the same area code isn't much, especially when the long-distance that follows involves hectic work schedules and other life stresses.

So we broke up in May. It was hard, and it was emotional. But after a few weeks, we both realized that we weren't happy apart - there was definitely something there, and we both wanted to give it another shot. We were cautious, and we took things slow - phone calls, then a short visit by him up to me in Michigan, and I think the July 4th visit was the first "we're seriously getting back together" visit that lasted more than a day or two. I drove down for the weekend, and by some miracle he was off, too, so we went to one of our favorite parks for the city's big July 4th bash. We ran in to the mayor and several other city officials that Tim knew, and we saw the publisher of the newspaper that we had met at and Tim was still working at, so it kind of felt like I was dating a celebrity :)

Eventually we spread out on a blanket, the sun began to set and the city's symphonic band filled the air with patriotic tunes and John Philip Sousa marches. Before it got too dark, we had someone take this photo of us (I think it might actually have been the mayor!), and it is one of my favorites.

We both look young and happy and hopeful, and it was such a relaxing, enjoyable, reassuring night.  I'm a pretty anxious person in general, and I just remember being content that night - happy to be with Tim, to be enjoying the evening's sights and sounds and relaxing in the night air of the city where we had met and started our relationship.

Truth be told, we did break up one other time under different circumstances, about two years later (still long-distance dating, although at that point I was 4.5 hours away instead of 2.5), but it didn't last as long. Now that we've been together for almost nine years, those short break ups feel like little speed bumps in a longer, exciting road trip. This first break up was definitely a defining time in our relationship, marked by one July 4th holiday that showed us that we are simply happier together,.

Healing and humor

My husband is a funny guy. So funny that not even 24 hours after he had surgery to remove "The Bump," he was taking photos of his head dressing to text me, just to make me laugh at work.

I received this photo with the text "Baby and I are playing Revolutionary War."

He dug out my flute and took several photos to get just the right angle. Apparently the baby wasn't playing Revolutionary War - she was playing "put morsels of cat food in the cat's water dish while Daddy isn't watching." I strongly dislike that game, but I have to admit, Tim gets an A for effort and creativity. (And perhaps a C- in child-watching for the morning.)

Tim's recovery has continued from his "war days." About 10 days after Tim's surgery, he had half of his staples removed. Here is a picture from the night before they were removed - the swelling of the area had gone down, but there is definitely some bruising here:

Since that area is delicate, they didn't want to remove all of the staples at once. Tim went back five days later to have the rest taken out - this is from two days before, with some of the staples remaining:

His hair is growing back in the general area they shaved. He refuses to get a haircut, though, so the rest of his hair is ridiculously long and shaggy, as you can see above (and keep in mind this scraggly photo was from two weeks ago). The hair isn't growing back on the line where the incision was, but we aren't really surprised about that. He also doesn't have feeling on a portion of his scalp, but the doctor told him that it is normal and could last for up to a year.

Of surgeries and poop

Tim had his surgery today - all went well and he's doing great considering they knocked him out and sliced his scalp open. I don't deal well with medical stuff like that (which makes it mind-boggling that I had a med-free, natural birth and didn't pass out at all), and I was worried there might be two patients in the surgery center if I passed out. I worked a half-day, trying to time it so I would be there when Tim woke up and was in recovery. His surgery didn't start on time, though, and I got there about 10 minutes before he was wheeled out of pre-op. I felt my blood pressure starting to drop as I saw him with wires, monitors and the hospital gown. Luckily, they took him away and I took a quick trip to get his pain-med prescription filled, which gave me some fresh air and a distraction from the urge to collapse in a heap on the floor. I'm strong like that.

*insert the photos of Tim with his bandages here
... oh wait, he'll kill me if I post those on the blog*

But now Tim has a dressing on his head, and he looks like a mummy. (Elle was a bit freaked out by it, and we're calling it "Daddy's hat.") He has to see the doctor for a follow-up tomorrow (and has to wear the dressing until the doctor removes it), and then he plans on going straight to work. I think he's crazy, he claims he's tough, we both agree he's stubborn. The nurses all said he handled the anesthesia extremely well (it was his first experience with it), and he actually made ME take a nap when we got home. He wasn't able to eat after midnight, so he had a well-deserved Chipotle burrito with a side of pain meds at dinner. He's been tired and can't really rest comfortably because of where the incision was, but seriously, you wouldn't know he was operated on seven hours ago if you didn't see the tell-tale headdress. Or if you didn't hear that the volume on the TV has been turned up because the dressing covers his ears and apparently affects his hearing.

Elle always says "Where Daddy? Daddy work" at bedtime. Tonight she paused, knowing that Daddy was on the couch - not at work - but not sure what else to say. I told her Daddy was resting because he had a boo-boo, but he was going to be all better and his "hat" would come off. Elle decided to answer her own "Where Daddy?" question with "Daddy boo-boo."

Speaking of Elle, she had a bit of a rough weekend herself. After some detective work tonight, I have concluded that our weekend of Pooper Bowl and seemingly endless stay in Fussytown was caused by another canine tooth poking through. This is number three, and these teeth are creating the second-worst teething experience of our parental lives, trumped only by the molars,.

The extra drool and wacky eating created some nasty digestive issues this weekend. I changed so many poopy diapers that Elle started to repeat my diaper-changing mantra of "No more poopy diapers!" On Sunday she had a mini-meltdown at lunch, woke up from her nap extremely cranky and clingy and didn't eat much, a theme of the weekend. I loved the extra cuddles, but I hate seeing her in pain and discomfort, and it isn't fun trying to prepare lunch or dinner while Elle freaks out that I'm not picking her up righthissecond. Or givinghermorefruitsnacksthisveryminute. Or fillintheblankhere. Whatever it is, when she's like this, I can't do it fast enough.

After four days of this fun, Elle won't meet our eyes when we ask if she has to poop. The tell-tale farts broadcast the deed that has already been done, and she looks down at the floor as she nods her head slowly - first "no," then a defeated "yes" before scurrying to the bathroom, where we find, time after time, that it's too late for the potty and there is yet another poopy diaper to change. 

So we've got the Mummy, who is handling things well - and I'm so relieved that the surgery, however minor it was, is over. I didn't realize how stressed I was about it until last night, and then today I had a hard time focusing at work, just knowing that the surgery was nearing. And then we've got the Tummy (byproduct of the teeth) - and I cannot wait until this round of digestive woes and tooth-induced cranky is over. Seriously, the teething cannot be finished soon enough, for any of us.

Random ramblings, 2.2.12

* I still have my melasma. Meh. There's really no point in me trying to do anything about it until after I'm done with pregnancy/nursing/etc., so for now, I live with this:

I live with melasma, not a pink arrow on my forehead.

* I had a cold a few weeks ago. It hit me that I seriously had nothing in our medicine cabinet stronger than a cough drop, because after 9 months of pregnancy and 13 months of breastfeeding I wasn't used to being able to take anything.

* Related: My cousin reminded me about Cold-Eeze - again, something I hadn't taken in about two years. I was telling Tim the next morning that he should take some, too, and Elle misheard and got all excited at breakfast: "Cookies? Cookies?"

* Sometimes when I use my Keurig I feel super fancy.

* I realized the other day that there is chatter constantly streaming in my subconscious. I was walking out to my car at lunch and heard "Llama llama holidrama!" in my head, from one of Elle's "Llama llama" books. I find myself humming songs from "50 Toddler Tunes" and the Wiggles. I think I'm on the verge of waking up in the middle of the night trying to shake Grover and tell him to turn the effin' page because HE is the monster at the end of the book. My brain? It has been toddlerized.

* Dear LinkedIn, I wish you knew me. Or knew that the person you just suggest I connect with is someone I do not get along with and do not care about connecting with or contacting. Ever. You irritated me, LinkedIn. Since I hardly use your site, I guess it won't really affect our relationship, but STILL.

* I big puffy heart washable crayons. They're absolutely awesome.

* My good friend (and Elle's "Aunt") Traci got Elle one of the coolest books ever for Christmas - a counting, children's version of the classic "Pride and Prejudice." There are several books in the BabyLit series, and while Elle doesn't understand the meaning of the people or things she's counting, she totally gets "houses" and "hearts" and "doggie." It's a very, very neat book.

* Tim has to have surgery next week. The official diagnosis is "scalp cyst" - those familiar with the situation call it "The Bump." He has a bump behind his right ear, and he's had it for, well, a long time.

This isn't the best angle to show the size of The Bump,
but it will have to do because Tim would kill me
if I went around photographing The Bump.

The hair that grows in that area is coarse and has a mind of its own, and many a doctor, dentist and barber have mentioned "The Bump." It never really bothered Tim, and he'd had it checked out and deemed harmless, but over the last year or so, it has been growing, and it can be ignored no longer. He was referred to a plastic surgeon (really, there is no end to the jokes in this tidbit) and will have to go under anesthesia for the surgery. He had an x-ray of his head (insert giggles here) and then blood work. Now the surgery is scheduled and I'm eager to see what his head looks like sans bump. I'm also eager to see how he handles the anesthesia, because he is confident he'll be back to normal within four hours  of the surgery and plans to go to work the next day. I am not so confident in these things. I am a little concerned - after all, it *is* surgery on his head - but I think that it will go well and he'll be bump-less in no time.

* In my continued efforts to save money and time, as well as stay healthy, I'm looking for any suggestions my dear friends and readers have for saving money and/or meal planning. I check out several sites, coupon (although not as much as I probably could) and try to plan out a few meals a week (which can be tricky for a working mama with a sometimes picky toddler and husband who refuses to eat leftovers). So, lay it on me - what are your best tip and suggestions that won't suck every ounce of my free time?

Three years ago ...

Three years ago, I woke up ridiculously early. And I made several close friends and family members wake up ridiculously early, too. I paid a woman to put brightly colored curlers in my hair, then I walked around with the curlers and let people take pictures of me. (It was obviously the mimosa taking charge.)

Three years ago, I depended on the help of friends and family - as well as their presence and support - to make the day perfect. (Mother Nature and our crap photographer didn't get the memo, but the friends and family totally delivered.)

Three years ago, we stood before our friends and family. The pastor, a friend of ours, had prepared an amazing ceremony - one that made me want to laugh and cry.

Three years ago, we were surrounded by some of our favorite people (and they were all matchy-matchy, too!) for the big event. The group was quite diverse, but all of them are special to us and remain a part of our life today.

Three years ago, we entered a room together for the first time as husband and wife. (I'm pretty sure I had the same goofy grin on my face all day.)

Three years ago, we ate cake that was almost too pretty to eat. (Almost.)

Three years ago, our nephews were soooo young. And they finally forgave me for moving their beloved uncle to Florida. (At least, I think they've finally forgiven me. I would be mad at me, too. They have a pretty awesome uncle.)

Three years ago, we danced together - and like always, Tim made me laugh.

Three years ago, we were joined by the majority of our families and bridal party at Dave & Buster's. I wore my wedding dress (Tim refused to wear his tux), and even though I could not have been more exhausted (who had the bright idea to have a morning wedding ceremony, anyway?), we had a blast celebrating.

Three years ago, I married an amazing man - a man who supports me, makes me laugh, loves me unconditionally, works hard for our family and is an absolutely wonderful father. A man who has made me a better person and is truly my best friend. A man who has provided me with a love I never imagined.

And three years ago, I never imagined how awesome our life together would be. We may not have everything we want or get to spend as much time together as other couples, but at the end of the day, I wouldn't trade any of it for the world. No matter what struggle face or obstacle we're presented with, we're in it together, and that's all that matters.

Happy anniversary, babe - I love you! Looking forward to many more years of love and laughter :)

A birthday letter from Daddy

July 31, 2011

Dearest Elle:

At 11:28 a.m. today, you turned 1. As I've told you on several occasions, you can pretty much do anything, fishing included, after you turn 1 year old. For that, you should celebrate like it's your birthday.

But there's one thing I won't be able to do anymore. I can't call you baby, my favorite name for you lo these 52 weeks and one day. That's because you're officially not a baby anymore, though you're still just as cute as you were yesterday. Unfortunately, your graduation from babyhood is the first of what I'm sure will be a long series of bittersweet milestones for me.

As a baby, we shared activities I'm sure you'll soon outgrow. Before you could talk, we had a special language of lip smacks and tongue clicks that no one else could, or cared to, understand. You scramble-crawled to me for protection from silly little things that scared you. And you broke down and cried on the rare occasions I used my "deep voice" to tell you no. It won't take you long as a toddler to realize all you have to do to escape trouble is smile at me.

There are some special things I pray you take with you to the next stage of your life. I hope your face will still light up when I walk through the door. I hope you still will giggle with abandon when you play with your mommy. I hope your mommy and I bring you half as much joy every day as you give us.

Your first year has been perfect. You are now permitted to move on to toddlerhood, but you'll always be my baby.

With love,
Your da-da

Wordless Wednesday: Winter X-Games

For my birthday, my family gathered in the mountains
of Colorado - where it snowed, snowed, snowed.
Here, my sister caught the perfect photo of Tim's
favorite game with Elle - Baby Tossing!
More on our trip to come - I'm still
catching up on life and photo editing!

Race recap

My sister, Marti, and brother-in-law, Jeff, came to visit a few weeks ago. The timing of their visit was planned around a half marathon relay that my sister and I registered to run. My sister has run several races, from 5Ks to half marathons, and I've run a few 5Ks, but no races since several months before I found out I was pregnant. And after I had Elle, recovery from the delivery of Gigantor left me in pain for two months. I thought I might never run without pain again.

Thankfully, that was not the case, and running the half marathon relay with my sister was excellent motivation to get back on the running, um, train, as well as an athletic bonding experience with my sister. It was certainly challenging to find time to train, but in the end, I was comfortable with where I was at: Slow, but not at risk to physically hurt myself by running my 5.5-mile leg.

I took a few days off work for my family's visit. We realized a few weeks before the race that the run was the morning after daylight saving time, meaning we'd be running early in the morning on one less hour of sleep. Whee! I ended up getting about four hours of sleep the night before we ran, but Marti and I got up early and headed to the race site around 5:30 a.m. My leg of the relay was first, but since we were there with plenty of time to spare, we hung out together with other runners until close to the 7 a.m. start time, when Marti headed to the relay area.

It might seem that I had the easier part of the race - after all, a half marathon is 13.1 miles, and my leg was 5.5 miles. Marti was going to run 7.6 miles. The night before the race, though, we were looking at the course map when we realized that there was an incline on the first leg of the course. No problem, I thought. I'd only trained on a flat area in my neighborhood, but it certainly couldn't be *that* much of an incline, could it?

Let's just sum it up this way: One of the other runners said that the relay was divided not evenly in distance, but evenly in difficulty, and I have to agree. The course was an area I've driven on countless times to one of my favorite aquariums, but I'll never look at the bridges that I ran over the same. It was cold at 7 a.m., and there was a breeze. Although it was dark when we started, as the sun came up, the view of the water as we ran over the causeway was amazing. The words "ran uphill both ways" kept going through my head as I battled the wind and incline, but the sun came out around mile 2 and I started to hit my stride. By mile 4, I'd taken off my sweatshirt and thrown on my sunglasses. And right around then, I decided that a faster pace was sustainable for the remaining 1.5 miles and maybe it would be better if I could just power through the last of the bridge. I ended up motoring through the last 1.5 miles and met Marti at the relay exchange, when she took this picture of me approaching:

Then I wandered around for a bit and waited for Marti to run on her flat portion of the course return to the relay exchange area, where we would run in the last tenth of a mile and cross the finish line together.

As we joked about preparing for a perfect picture finish, Marti pointed out a surprise on the left side of the finish line: Jeff, Tim and Elle! We had told our husbands not to bother coming to the race. As nice as it would have been to see them after finishing, I didn't want to disrupt Elle's nap schedule, especially with the time change, and with transportation, traffic and timing issues, we didn't think it was worth the hassle for the boys to battle the crowds and meet us. But I have to admit, it was AMAZING to see them and have them watch us cross the finish line. I was very thankful that Tim had decided to surprise me, called and picked up Jeff at the hotel and battled the crowds to find us.

Elle: Unimpressed. Me: Thrilled!

I had done a lot of people watching while I ran and waited for Marti, and I was inspired by the mother/daughter teams, the kids cheering their fathers on, the babies in strollers guarded by relatives waiting for the babies' parents to complete the race. I kept wishing that Elle could be there to see me finish, that someday we would be able to participate in events like this as a family or even do a relay together. And there she was, with Tim and Jeff, watching her mommy and aunt cross the finish line.

Our "official" race photo.

It was an amazing surprise, and it actually worked out really well with her nap schedule. The boys and Elle joined us for the post-race breakfast, and I let Elle eat some banana and yogurt, so she was in heaven.

I felt good after the race. Tired, but good. The weather ended up being perfect by the end of the race, and I wasn't sore or sick from the run. Marti and I placed 48th out of 68 relay teams (there was also an option to run the straight half marathon with no relay), and we were pleased with that, since we weren't really doing it to break any time records. I was just pleased that I managed to run 5.5 miles and not die. A group of women saw me with Elle as we were eating breakfast, and they congratulated me on running "so soon" after having Elle (I didn't explain to them that she was several months old). I had demanded requested donuts after completing the run, and Marti brought a half-dozen delicious donuts over later that morning. YUM. My basic needs had been met, so I was happy.

Family photo <3

Burning oodles of calories before 9 a.m., taking in the beautiful sunrise, checking out the scenery as I crossed the bridge, getting donuts, experiencing a bonding experience with my sister, being surprised by my family, holding my daughter after finishing the race ... all in all, an excellent Sunday morning :)

Sisterly bonding complete: Post-run, pre-donuts :)

When Daddy's away ...

... Elle gets to play :)

I have several lengthy, deep (well, some of them) posts half-finished right now, but I love sharing photos of Elle.

Tim is at a concert tonight with his friend Jay. We had planned on having our normal sitter watch Elle while Tim rocked on and I was at work, but then Jay's wife, Jen, volunteered to watch Elle and get some quality baby time.

Our easy going girl is used to Mommy, Daddy or the sitter watching her at home. But tonight, Little Miss Adaptable is partying with Jen at Jen's house. Jen shared some photos of the happy princess:

And although Elle has met Jen and Jay's dog, Roxie, before, that was in a party atmosphere with two other babies. Roxie didn't know what to do with all of the new, little people and basically tried to lick each baby to pieces. Elle got quite a bath of doggy love that day. Today, though, some one-on-one interaction:

Jen and Jay, on behalf of Elle, Tim, moi and Ozzy Osborne, thanks for tonight! :)

Elle has a funny daddy.

Tim is on furlough this week and starts his new position on Monday. When I did the week's grocery shopping, I bought some extra food for his meals at home, including the makings for some BLT sandwiches. On my dinner break at work tonight, I called him.

K: Hey, how's your night going?
T: Pretty good. I just made my BTs.
K: Your 'BT's? What happened to 'L'?
T: Oh, she was napping when I made them.

No "BT"s for this "L" ... but she does enjoy her carbs.

A new dish

You know how there are a million and one code names for a pacifier? Paci, binky, plug, soother etc. - I didn't really care what we called it as long as it worked, and I'm happy to say Elle isn't reliant on it, but she is calmed by it when she's especially fussy or tired.

From day 1, the pacifier was "the fooler" for us. Apparently it is a family thing on Tim's side. Makes sense, really - the baby often wants to suck on something like they're eating, and the nipple of a pacifier "fools" her. So then "fooler" gets shortened, and we have the foo. Or the foo foo. I thought it was cute, and it certainly worked for us, so the pacifier, for all intents and purposes, is usually referred to as "the foo."

When Tim's mom and nephew came to visit a few months ago, they referred to it as the foo, too. Tim's sister-in-law continued the family theme when she mentioned the fooler during our Ohio visit. Weird as it may be, I thought it was cool to adopt a family tradition :)

Last weekend, in my frantic run-around-getting-stuff-done-while-Tim-is-home-and/or-the-baby-is-napping time, I decided to sterilize some new foos and a few bottle parts. As the pacifiers were boiling on the stove, Tim walked over and saw this:

"You're making Foo Soup?" he asked.

It's the little things ... :)

Open 24 hours a day ...

My mom and youngest brother came to meet Elle and visit us when she was a week old. While they were here, my mom spent lots of time snuggling with her granddaughter, and my brother gave Elle a really sweet stuffed elephant named Ellie. Mom and Doug went to Elle's second pediatrician appointment with me, and they helped out with some household stuff so I could take a nap/blog Elle's birth story/catch up on life a little without feeling like my baby wasn't being held 24/7 enough.

Doug also spent much of the visit hanging out with Tim, including one day when Tim decided he would watch sports in the nursery all day. The deal was that I could drop off the baby for diaper changes, but other than that, it was a "man cave" and I was to deal with all other baby needs on my own. Doug decided to take the diaper duty quite seriously, asking if "their client" was ready pretty much every time I fed her.

Doug introduces Elle to Ellie.

I tried to explain to him that we weren't going to change her diaper unless it needed to be changed, despite what that might do to business, and by the end of the day, they had a good routine down. Doug would be in charge of unbuttoning and buttoning the onesie, and Tim would do the changing of the diaper.

A few days after that, Tim asked if his client was ready. As I handed the baby to him for a diaper change, I heard him thanking the baby for her repeat business. Yes, this is one customer that takes loyal to a whole new level.

Tim's contributions to the last weeks of pregnancy

Soooo in my last few days of pregnancy, Tim has developed some interesting habits. One is to sometimes text me and ask if I'm having contractions. (Last night I responded with "Yes - can't, won't, shouldn't, I'm, don't ... all contractions I have.")

Another is to ask if I'm contracting or going to in to labor when I call him, which would be understandable, I suppose, except I'll usually ask how he's doing or what he's going to get for dinner ... not exactly questions I would waste time on if I were, in fact, going in to labor.

Lately, when he says goodbye to me in the morning, he'll ask if I had a lot of contractions the night before. Since I'm usually asleep the whole time except for about 12 trips to the bathroom, I have to say no.

My charming husband has also coined a new nickname for me: Fatty Fat Fat. Clever, no? Conveniently he has started this during the first week that I actually FEEL fat and not just pregnant. He says he can't call me this at any other time, although I have to wonder why he thinks he can call me that at *this* time. I do have to admit that it is cute in a twisted way when he says "Awww, my two favorite girls: Flat Face and Fatty Fat Fat."

Last week, Tim decided to get Mexican food for dinner as a way to jump start labor. (To be clear, I was at work, and he was going to get Mexican by himself.) I'm not sure he understands exactly how this process works, but needless to say, it did not put me in to labor.

And last week one of my weekly pregnancy e-mails included a quiz about "what gender should you parent?" I took the quiz and got the same result as Tim, but I loved how he phrased it in the response to me: "Evidently, either a boy or girl would lucky to call me Mom."

Dear Elle, you'll quickly find that your father has quite the sense of humor - this is just a small sampling. But he's very much ready to meet you and win your over with his comedic charms! C'mon out!

Empathy

At our third childbirth education class, our instructor brought in a "Empathy Belt" for the men of the room to try on. She offered to let anyone who was interested to wear it during our hospital tour but said anyone who wanted to get a picture with it on could do so as well.


Tim was a good sport and tried it on at the end of class. He didn't even complain when we had photos taken - and he KNEW they would appear on Facebook and the blog :)


The guys could see that a belly of this nature would make it difficult to bend over and tie your shoes, and I think the guy who wore the belt for the hospital tour had a bit of a back ache. The weight of the belly is simulated by lead balls (lead balls that do not kick, press on your bladder or wedge in to your ribs). But the seven pregnant women in the class all agreed that until they have nine months of this and swelling, heartburn and loads of other "fun" pregnancy symptoms, there wasn't really an Empathy Belt that we could really get behind.

The stupid look on my face was prompted by my refusal
to say "Placenta" as the instructor directed.

Timisms

I spent a good chunk of yesterday before work taking care of some non-furniture baby-related things. While I missed my trusty screwdriver, I was able to make some phone calls that I had planned to make last week but postponed due to my scratchy throat and hard-to-understand voice. Some of these calls were to pediatricians that have been recommended to us, but I needed to see if they accepted our insurance, what we needed to do before the baby arrives, etc. We narrowed it down to one pediatrician, and as I was talking with Tim about it, he told me that he doesn't expect the baby will ever be sick. Then, the following conversation:

K: "Well, even if she's not sick, they'll still want to see her on a fairly regular basis for the first year or so."
T: "To check for wear and tear?"
K: "Uh, no."
T: "To make sure there are no kitty puncture wounds?"
K: *silence*
T: "To look for signs of kitty headbutting?" (This is prompted by Mario's headbutting of a life-like baby doll that Tim presented to him on Monday.)

Maybe I need to send recommendations for us as patients to the pediatrician instead of the other way around ...

* * *

It has recently come to my attention that my husband is going to be one of *those* people. You know, the kind of person who wakes up a baby just to play with it? And does so knowing that later, when the baby is cranky because it was woken from a nap, he won't have to suffer the consequences?

This shouldn't surprise me, considering how he acts with the cats. But Tim often puts his hand on my belly to feel the baby move. But if the baby isn't moving, he'll pat my belly, kind of like he's dribbling a basketball. And more than once, the seemingly dormant baby has become an active ball of activity ... one that kicks me, flips from side to side of *my* stomach and suddenly wants to party and not settle down.

We're going to have some adjusting to do, folks.