a category all his own

God has blessed me with a good husband.  Probably... no, definitely a lot better than I deserve, but don't anybody tell him I said that.

This July will mark 10, count 'em 10, years since he and I first met.  Way on back in the day when he was 18 and just out of high school and I was just a wee lass of 13 and fresh out of 7th grade.  Before you start looking up laws on unlawful interaction with a minor, let me clarify that we didn't start dating then or anytime soon.  I had previously met his cousin whom a friend and I had deemed "hot." My friend was interested in him, so since that interest was already taken, my curiosity was peaked by hot-guy's cousin... even though he was 5 years older than me and my friend had assured me that he was most definitely not in the same "category" as his hot-guy cousin.

And I should just interject here that I am oh-so-glad hubby was not in the same category as his hot-guy cousin since, however hot he may have been, one of my first questions about him was still, "Are you sure he's not gay?" That was his category.

P.S. He's not, by the way.  And that isn't his category anymore, thank goodness, since he's added a bit of depth to his character.

Anyway.

So, upon meeting the hubby back then when he could be nothing more to me than an alluring and not-attainable about-to-be-college guy, I soon realized that even if he wasn't in his cousin's hot-guy-although-sorda-queer-looking category, he was a really genuinely nice guy and we became fast friends.  And when I say really genuinely nice, I mean like the kind of really genuinely nice that was rare 10 years ago and is now headed for extinction.

So, for the next... umm... lemme add it up... 3 1/2-ish years we continued our friendship and were actually fairly close friends but never anything more.  He came to my baptism shortly after we met and went to lunch at Pizza Hut with my family afterward (with hot-guy cousin in tow, I might add).  We saw each other at church functions and often found ourselves hanging out with the same groups of friends.  He showed up at my parents' house at least once to get computer help from my dad.  We even went on date-like excursions (not really), just the two of us, to visit someone in a hospital in another town an hour away.

By the way, there might actually be something in one of those unlawful-interaction-with-a-minor laws about crossing state lines with an underage girl in your vehicle if you happen to be over 18, which he was.

We also went to Fuddruckers.

Meanwhile, my dating standards were getting lower... and lower... and embarrassingly lower with every.single.guy I had anything to do with.

It wasn't until the end of 2002 that we started spending a lot more one-on-one time together.  We talked a lot on instant messenger and I flirted with him a lot but not so much because I was definitely interested in him, but more because, well, that's just the way I operated.  It was also during this time that he uttered the magical line of, "Tell Curtis to sniff your butt for me." Long story.  Involving the fact that my dog always nosed him in the rear.  He also jumped up into his lap once for the sole purpose of belching in his face.  Anyway... regardless of all the time we were spending together, I still claimed to not be interested in becoming involved with him.  As a matter of fact, I have documented evidence in one of my journals where I actually wrote the words "of all the guys I know, Hubby is the only one I could never see myself with."

Ah, the irony to be sitting on the couch very obviously pregnant by and listening to the snoring of the one you could never see yourself with.

Finally, one night he invited me over to his parents' house for supper and as we sat in his dad's study watching the ever-so-romantic movie choice of Austin Powers (don't remember which one), he reached over and took my hand.  Not what most would consider an overt statement, but for him it was the equivalent of standing in my yard, boom box raised overhead a la John Cusack.

Thus began our crazy, up-and-down, back-and-forth story.  And the plummeting status of my dating standards took a sharp upward turn.

Things have never been perfect for us or anything even approaching perfection.  In fact, we've had some pretty darn rough spots during our dating, engagement, and short marriage, but I've never wondered even in the bitterest of times if he loved me or not or if maybe today he wouldn't come home to me.  There's never been a time, even when we've been upset with each other, when he wouldn't take me in his arms and try to make everything all better.

In this day and age of disposable marriage, I know that ours is not.

And that is definitely a blessing.

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except the kitchen sink

I wish I always had something clever to blog about... but tonight is Friday and Friday night seems to be one of those times when I blog about nothing and everything.

Today has been a good day.  It was one of those days when I pretended that there was not in fact an intimidating pile of laundry encroaching upon our general living space and left the house to go do more interesting things.  Like buy 40 bucks worth of random household stuff at Target, eat lunch at Chick-fil-a with my two favorite guys in the world, and send the hubby on his merry way with the grocery list while I came home and played computer games while the kiddo took his nap.

While I'm still not entirely sure what "the life of Riley" is... I'm pretty sure I live it most days.

When hubby got home with my groceries, I fixed up a big ole pot of white chili, which we enjoyed with Mam-ma and Poppy.  And, aside from the kiddo getting injured to the point of tears not once but TWO times, it was a very enjoyable evening.  The second time he smashed his little finger in the laundry room door and he cried and cried and kept holding it up for me to kiss it like he just couldn't understand why that didn't make it feel better.

Motherhood is such a fickle and bittersweet thing.  I've never known anything else in the world that can make you feel simultaneously like the lowest and most inept person ever born and Superwoman.

Except maybe doughnuts.

I'm planning for us to stay home the entire day tomorrow because I've been putting off doing stuff to get ready for this baby's arrival for way too long.  On top of the usual laundry I've been avoiding, I still have at least half a box full of baby clothes to launder plus some new things I've bought which are still in bags here in my room.  Besides that, the changing table has just become kind of a catch-all for all things baby and the crib has some not-washed linens in it, too, I think.

As long as we're talking about baby stuff... I ordered a hot pink nursing bra today.  Why hot pink? Apparently it has been a very popular color and they've sold down to a very few sizes (including mind, amazingly) and I was able to get it for HALF the original price.  Not bad considering I figured out that I'm going to spend about $150 total on nursing underthings before the baby even gets here.  Who knows what I'll end up needing.  When I told the hubby about this, he said, "Well, I guess you make your choices... $150 worth of nursing bras or that iPod I was gonna get you."

Such a sensitive soul.

I don't think I want that iPod so much anymore anyway, Mister.  I think I'm going to opt for jewelry as my new baby/pain-and-suffering gift.

P.S. The nursing accoutrements I've found are a little pricey (Bravado Designs, if you're curious), but they seem fabulous and I'll be sure to report back with a rant or rave on them... even though I'm pretty sure the only person who ever reads this is my husband.  And we all know where he stands on the subject.

So, it's springtime in my little corner of the universe.  Or at least this is when springtime usually happens.  The grass was getting green, buttercups were had bloomed, this past Tuesday it was  like 80 DEGREES outside... and then on Thursday it started snowing a little after lunch time...

and it snowed...

and snowed...

and snowed some more...

and we ended up with about 3 inches of snow on the ground.

So they called off county schools THE NIGHT BEFORE well before bedtime even though the forecast clearly stated it was going to be well above freezing the next day and when I got up this morning (ish... we slept sorda late), the roads were not only clear but already practically dry.  And a big portion of the snow was gone.

No way should anybody be surprised by any of this, but every year we all go through the same rigamarole of moaning and groaning about how it's neverrrrr going to be warm outside and we're all going to die slow and torturous deaths of hypothermia and/or cabin fever... but then we get up one morning and it's 94 degrees outside and so humid that you have to evolve (or maybe devolve) into something with gills to even go to the mailbox.  And then of course we start complaining about how hot it is and how we're all gonna die of sun poisoning and heat stroke before fall rolls around.

Never satisfied.

Anyway... what springtime means to me, in a nutshell, is this huge church function I get the honor of participating in each year.  I don't know if it was ever officially named, but it somehow down through the years got the name "Ministers' School." It's not like a seminary and it's not like where men come to learn how to preach... it's more like this:

A bunch of preachers from all over the place show up at the church of which I'm a member all dressed in their preacher attire, some of them with their hair slicked back, to just be together and to listen to a few of their peers preach.  They also sing pretty loud and pray really loud and stand around in the hallway and slosh coffee all over the floor.  At lunchtime they sound like a herd of cattle coming down the hallway and most of them want more than their fair share of chicken.

We run a pretty tight ship on paperwork and registration and all that fun stuff and that's where I come in.  I run the registration database.  Sound important, huh? Not so much.  Here's what I do: I sit in a little room, update the computer when it needs it, eat a lot of pie, and answer other office-related questions when they're fielded in my direction.  My answer to most of those questions is either: "Um, let me ask my husband," or "Um, let me ask my dad," both of whom are more knowledgeable than me on all that computer-y stuff.  Hubby runs the sound board/video stuff and my dad built the registration database a while back.  I just inherited the job because I decided working in the kitchen wasn't for me.  It's way scary in there.

The best part of all of this is, all told, it lasts an entire week and I get to see a bunch of out-of-state friends who I never get to see otherwise.  At the end of the week on Friday, people come to our house to hang out one last time before heading home.  Last year we had a full on church service in our office... complete with about 15 people, 2 desks, and a piano.  Why is it always the smallest room in the house where people want to congregate?

Anyway, the last week of March is my favorite time of year.  Way better than Christmas.

Added bonus for this year: once that week is over, I'll only have about a month to go before the baby arrives.  Awesome.

Alrighty... well, I'm sure this has served to be an amazing amount of boring-ness to anyone fortunate enough to actually read it... and since it is now 20 'til 1, I better rolls over here and do some put-me-to-sleep reading if I'm planning on doing any tonight.

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the weight of love

I love you today and I love you tomorrow

I love you as deep as the sea

I love you in joy, and I love you in sorrow

You can always come home to me

There once was a man who found him a treasure

Buried out under a tree

He sold all he had just to own it forever

The treasure is you, you see

I love you today and I love you tomorrow

I love you as deep as the sea

I love you in joy, and I love you in sorrow

You can always come home to me

There once were some sheep safe on a farm

And one little lamb got loose

The shepherd went out and carried it home

That little lamb is you

I love you today and I love you tomorrow

I love you as deep as the sea

I love you in joy, and I love you in sorrow

You can always come home to me

--Andrew Peterson

The refrain of this song is on one of the Veggietales videos we have and I always find myself looking through tears at the Kiddo when I hear it.  There is no expanse of time or space, no wrong that comes to mind, no hurt that I can imagine that would make me stop loving him.  I will always be waiting to welcome him, no matter the circumstance, with open arms and a heart breaking with the weight of love.

Aptly, the song comes at the end of the video about the prodigal son, and oh how even sweeter that story has become to me since becoming a parent myself.  Knowing the burden of love that I carry for my son, I have some sense of how that father must have hurt as he watched his son go away from him, with the full realization that he couldn't stop him from hurting himself.  In his son's absence, how his heart must have ached for his child's return, regardless of his disrespect.  The best part of the story, though, is of course the reunion... when despite it all and without a second thought, the father runs to meet his son when he sees him coming up the road.

I have some sense of that part of it, too... the being received and celebrated even though you've been so miserably wrong part.  Because as of July 14, 1999, I had been so miserably wrong and under the weight of my sins for far too long.

But thank God for the flawless love of Jesus... the weight of which He carried all the way to Calvary.  Just to make me His treasure.

That Wednesday night, when my Lord saw me coming, He opened His arms to welcome me.  And according to my Bible, there was rejoicing in Heaven over this one little lost lamb.

Maybe the best part of all, though, is that today or tomorrow, in good times or bad, no matter where I am or what I've done...

I can always go home to Him.

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Oh bother...

Here's a not-comprehensive list of the well-meaning (maybe) advice and comments I received when I was pregnant with the Kiddo:

1. "Your life is never.going.to be.the same."

This one doesn't get me as much as the tone with which it was often delivered.  It was almost malicious... almost in I'll get you, my pretty... and your little dog, too! fashion.  So, did these people want to make me dread parenthood in general? Are they really so miserable in their parenting roles that they actually relish in the idea that another couple is going to be pulled down into their tar pit? And besides that, doesn't it seem kind of asinine? I mean, we were adding another human to our household... it kind of goes without saying that the family dynamic is gonna change.

2. "Are you sure there's only one in there?"

I'm huge.  I get it.  From what I've read, that's supposed to happen.  Let's move on.

3. "Just you wait until you get into your third trimester, you won't feel so great then."

Again, the malevolence! The unpleasant woman who said this to me might as well have gotten up in my face and shook her finger at me.  I'm truly sorry that some women don't feel the greatest when their pregnant and, at this point, I can sympathize, but that doesn't make me want to rain on another woman's parade.  Because, really, who does it help?

4. "You better enjoy sleeping now because once that baby gets here, you'll NEVER SLEEP AGAIN!"

Once again, doesn't it seem kind of obvious that my sleep patterns are probably going to be affected by a person whose pineal gland has never been fully affected by daylight and dark? And NEVER? Really? It's beginning to feel like people really want me to be scared of my child.

5. "Once you're in labor, you're gonna want the drugs."

We all know where I stand on this and what ended up happening with the Kiddo's birth, so I won't re-hash it.  I have to add, though, that of all the times I heard this particular comment, my favorite was when I heard it from a young, unmarried woman with no children.  And, yes, she did actually say it like she knew something I didn't.

6. (and similarly) "Once you're in labor, you're gonna be screaming and cussing at David and you won't want him anywhere near you."

Ugh.  No comment.

7. And here's my favorite ever... it was actually a conversation which took place between two older ladies as if I were nowhere in the vicinity:

"She looks swollen, doesn't she?"

"She sure does, and not just her ankles either... her face is swollen, too."

"I think she should probably see her doctor to make sure she doesn't have... oh... ummm... whatever that is that messes with your kidneys."

"Preeclampsia?" I interjected.

"Yes, preeclampsia," they both replied.

"Yes, I think she should definitely ask her doctor about that."

"Mmhmm..."

*This conversation took place at an outdoor baptism in mid-August.  It was about 347 degrees and had been for the past 2 months.  And I had already had tests for preeclampsia more than once at that point.

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Now, to switch gears just a smidge, here's a list of things I've heard during this pregnancy so far:

1. "Boy, are you gonna have your hands full."

*See the previous #1.

2. (directed at the Kiddo) "Getting a little brother or sister sure is gonna clip your wings." or "I can't wait to see how this one handles competition."

I'm not even going to get started on how much I hate hearing these sorts of things.  I have never even seen sibling rivalry in my family (at least not among actual children).  I'm not saying it doesn't happen or that it won't happen in our home; what I am saying is that it's never been put up with and it most certainly won't be put up with here.  And furthermore, why do people seem to want to see sibling being jealous of one another? It really seems like they enjoy it.  So, I got started.  But I'm going to stop now.

3. (and similar to last time) "You sure are gettin' a belly on you!"

This is my grandmother's very favorite thing to say to me.  I'm glad she told me because I was really beginning to wonder where my toes had gone.

4. I guess this is my favorite from this time around.  I fully expected to get a lot of "So, was it an accident?" or "Did you mean them to be so close together?" but we haven't really heard much of this.  However, pretty early on, this is what we got from one of my hubby's uncles:

"So, I guess you figured you might as well just go ahead and get it over with..."

Hahaha... yeah, somethin' like that.

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My point in making these lists is to point out what I've never heard with either pregnancy:

1. "Your life is going to get sweeter the moment your child is born.  And it's going to get exponentially sweeter with every moment from that point on."

2. "You're about to find out that you're capable of loving someone more than you ever thought possible."

3. "And you're even going to love how your heart aches because you do love them so much."

4. "Oh, and there will be some hard times, by the way..."

5. "But it's oh so worth it."

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a story worth telling

I'd have to categorize today as an unusual Wednesday.  And it seems it wasn't just unusual for me alone, but also for my parents and my dog.

The reason the day was unusual for me is because there was a mouse in my house.  We were just wrapping up breakfast - me on my couch, Kiddo on his.  I was doing my Bible reading and I saw that mouse-shaped blur out of the corner of my eye.  You know what I'm talking about... the kind where you're pretty sure you saw it, but you're not 100% sure you saw it until it darts out again making you want to climb to the highest point of the nearest piece of furniture and cringe a lot.

OK... maybe that's just a me thing.

Anyway, so I was actually pretty sure of what it was considering it ran from the corner of the living room to underneath the entertainment center and knocked Kiddo's partially deflated V-day balloons askew on its way.  That and the fact that Kiddo obviously saw it and looked around at me like, "Whoa, Mom... is that supposed to happen?"

So, I was just sitting there trying to remain calm and repeating my mouse mantra of: "This is not happening, this is not happening..." when it ran out from underneath the entertainment center and around behind the bookcase.

This is something I've never understood... why mice feel it necessary to exit a room in stages.  They obviously aren't incredibly brave creatures or they would just make a mad dash all at once.  But then again, I can't say a lot about bravery considering I was the one thinking about scaling the recliner.

The second appearance is when a bad case of the eebie-jeebies really started to set in.  So, I grabbed the phone to call Hubby and file a complaint.  I think when he said hello, I responded with something like, "UGGGGGHHhhhhhhh...... there's a mouse in the house..." I also stood up as if I was maybe going to do something about it, although I'm not sure what it would have been at that point because there was no way I was gonna leave the room and give it the chance to follow me.  Maybe standing was just a nervous thing.  Anyway, about that time, it came out from behind the bookcase - and here's the best part - STOPPED IN THE DOORWAY, looked at me, and scurried off around the corner and into the kitchen.

We all know that mice move in unidentifiable blurs of gray ickiness which leave you wondering if mice travel head or tail first, but no, this one got all saucy and looked back at me as if to let me know that he knew he was running the show and he was just gonna go take charge of the kitchen and find some crumbs behind the fridge.

I think my husband was in the process of telling me where the mousetraps were when I said, "No way I'm staying here all day with that."

So, we got dressed and went to my parents' house.

P.S. I've never set a mousetrap and don't really have any desire to learn.  Duh.  That's why I got married.

OK, so reason numero dos my day was a little unusual.  It's the middle of February, right? And on the way to my parents it starts raining a la monsoon AND lightning AND thundering... and by the time we get to their house it's a full-on rain/hail storm.  So, I got pinged on the head with hailstones.  Not so much of a normal happening for me.

Once we got inside and mostly dried off, I got to find out why it wasn't a normal day for my parents either (this is really what I sat down to write about and then I got all carried away with the mouse story).  Apparently last night some random abandoned dog showed up at my parents' house.  Mom said she was some kind of hound dog and had apparently had puppies very recently.  She also said that the dog was very sweet, but that Curtis (my dog from when I still lived at home) wasn't fond of her being there.  He was once a random abandoned dog and I think the whole situation made him nervous and maybe a little too reminiscent of his former life.  And Curtis has never liked situations that make him think of his mother, which is, I'm fairly certain, why he used to howl when I sang "Precious Memories" to him.

Anyway...

So this dog decided to just hang out and stand looking in my parents back door (and by stand I do mean like on her back feet) and howl all night.  She was still around by this morning and Curtis was getting a little peeved about it, so he bit her.  And they got into it.  He should know better than to mess with a hormonal woman.  Daddy didn't know what else to do but call animal control, although I think that if Curtis had been more amiable, they would have seriously considered keeping her.

The animal control people say they'll come pick her up but that my folks need to put Curtis up so they don't have to deal with canine attitude x2.  So, here's the first part of the story that gets kinda comical.  Mom and Dad bring Curtis inside the house.  This might seem pretty trivial except that he only passes through the house from time to time to pick up a milk bone and, oh yeah, he's the size of a small pony.  Plus, he stinks.  A lot.

So, mom is inside the house with Curtis when the animal control people pull up to get the mama hound dog.  About the time they've pulled up in the driveway, a guy we go to church with drove by in his big white pick-up.  Daddy didn't realize who it was, but he waves and slows down to come back and talk to Daddy.  So he socks it in reverse to pull back to Mom and Daddy's driveway... and absolutely runs all over their mailbox.

At this point, Daddy still has no idea who it is and is maybe a little miffed because, well... somebody just knocked over his mailbox, and he starts out toward the road saying, "WHO IS THAT?" Let's just say, he's a big-ish guy and can sound a lot more angry than he probably really is, so the animal control guys were looking a little uncomfortable and probably wondering if they might have to handle a domestic dispute or something.

So, Daddy's walking out to the pick-up truck and the animal control guys start easing out of their truck when Daddy realizes who it actually is who's hit the mailbox.  And this is what he says back over his shoulder to the cops:

"Oh... don't worry, guys.  It's somebody I know.  He just stopped by to knock over my mailbox."

Because that's just the sort of thing my dad pretty much always has to say.

..........

Maybe you had to be there.

I should wrap this up by saying that Hubby brought home mousetraps and we loaded one up with peanut butter and stuck it under the trash can in the kitchen.  Now, I figured the thing had probably found its way out of the house even before I left for my parents, but sure enough... about an hour later I was back in my bathroom getting ready for church when I heard that signature "SNAP! flop, flop, flop..."

And then I did a little happy dance because the sucker was dead.  Quadrupeds belong outdoors, this one found his way indoors, and, well... he just had to die.

Come after me, PETA.

P.S. Hubby cleaned up the carcass.  That's another reason I got married.

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