The skinny skinny

For my own personal remembrance, and for those of you who I didn't meet until I already had three chins. . . . I just want to clarify that I used to be skinny : )

The Hiding Place

So, I am reading The Bible. Never read it before (head hanging in shame). I always felt like I should, and I have read parts, but I am going to read it cover to cover. Well, I am starting in the New Testament, so I guess I will read it middle to cover and cover to middle :). If you lack the motivation to read the Bible, which I apparently always have, I recommend you read "The Hiding Place". This woman was amazing, and her strength it seems to me, came from reading the Bible. So if you are looking for a good book to inspire you to read "The" Good Book, look no further.

Ode to Laurie

Blaine and I went on a fun date night on Saturday (thank you thank you THANK YOU Brian and Ralphie!). It was our first date since February and will likely be our last for a little while (due to the upcoming arrival of Miguel Bassett--keep those name suggestions coming). We had a nice dinner at TGIFridays and enjoyed watching Oceans 13 at the dollar movie theater (alright the $2 theater). We had a really fun conversation over dinner, talking about turning points and random things that have happened that have changed our lives.

I would have to say the biggest one of these in my life was getting my seventh grade locker partner, Laurie. We had to choose locker partners based on our 1st period classes and Laurie was the only person I knew, and even then I didn't know her, but I recognized her vaguely. Anyway, not sure how it all happened from there, but before I knew it we were on the Math and Science Academic Team together(yes, we wore sweaters), then the English Social Studies Academic Team, then the Newspaper Staff (Note: I am a nerd, that may not have been made clear in my other posts, but it is true, very nerdy, especially in Jr. High). We both had massive, massive crushes on Bryce Catten, and it was okay. We knew our place, we were the nerds, he was the unattainable dream guy-- neither one of us would ever get him, so why not dream together? In fact, I am pretty sure his locker was next to, or very close to ours, my heart flutters just thinking about it (ha!). Here is a good example of how we tormented Bryce Catten, for valentines day-- oh this is a painfully embarrassing remembrance-- we decorated his locker with Lion King valentines (Lion King had just come out by the way), and wrote on it "You are such a mighty king, oh how we wish we were your queens". Oh my gosh, were we really that bad, I am crying from laughing so hard about that one.

We spent our summers traveling through West Valley on one bicycle. One of ours was always broken, so we had it figured out how to make due with one bike between the both of us. We went on vacations together, worked the same jobs, joined the same clubs, and even protested the Olympics together (eh, it wasn't an official protest, just us marching up and down showing our opposition).

The other cool thing about Laurie was that her older brother was crazy too, just like mine! I was having a really really hard time with life, especially in regards to my brother. He scared the devil out of me. I was pretty sure he was in a gang. I hated it when I came home to find him there, etc. So Laurie and I had a pretty sweet system. If we got home from school and her brother was home, we would go to my house, if we got home from school and my brother was home, we would go to hers. And we helped each other through the stresses of having brothers who were crazy (both of our brothers are doing much better these days).

I was there for her when we were at Raging Waters and her lip got stuck in her braces. She was there for me when Blaine kissed "the man stealer". I was there for her when she thought her house was being invaded by a chainsaw murderer (turned out to be someone cutting down a tree next door) and she was there for me . . . . always!

So it was, Laurie and Kristi BFF for sure. I don't know if she realizes how big the influence that she had on me was. And though I thought I recognized before the significant role she played in my life I have to say that I realized it more on Saturday as Blaine and I played the game of "if Laurie had missed the first day of Jr. High, where would Kristi be now?" (we had some pretty good scenarios!)

Laurs, thanks for everything, I am so glad that we were locker partners and all the fun things it brought through the next 12 years!

P.S. I wish SO bad that there had been digital cameras back in the day because putting a picture of the 7th grade Laurie and I up on here would be the cause of a great many laughs!

Good News for those of you who like bad news. . .

So, it's official, death by childbirth is on the rise (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20427256/). Guess how excited I was to see that as a top story when I checked msnbc this morning. On a much happier note, maybe I will be able to spend the next month tying up loose ends, taking out life insurance policies and repenting instead of complaining about my aching back and expanding wasteline.

Just in case I don't make it (yikes!), I love you all!

Pieces

I am not wasting my time pondering over Swiper and Boots' logic anymore, there is no point. I have reached the conclusion that they are functioning without brains. They are sweet, cuddly, brainless dogs. Yet they continue to teach me little life lessons daily.

So they sleep inside in our guest bathroom (don't be afraid potential guests, you can use the upstairs bathroom). They are good, we have finally trained them to refrain from going to the bathroom in the bathroom.

Sidenote: I wonder if this is why I have such a hard time potty training Gwen. I spend half of my time lecturing the dogs to not pee in the bathroom and then try to convince Gwen that she should go potty in the bathroom. I can see how that might be confusing.

Anyway. . . we have figured out that it is a mistake to have anything, ANYTHING, in the bathroom with them while they sleep. This includes toilet paper (hence the real guests needing to use the upstairs bathroom). There have been many a mornings spent cleaning up shredded rolls of TP from their bathroom. I figured they were just out to get us humans; to rip up our shoes and toys and our precious bathroom tissue. This morning, however, we opened their bathroom door to find that they had ripped their own bed to smithereens. Their BED. Who could that hurt but themselves. I am under no obligation to buy them another one, they can sleep on the cold hard floor for all I care. They really brought this on themselves.

I wish I could let them have the roam of the downstairs at night, you know so they could protect us and not feel all cooped up. On one hand I think it might be good for them and they could exhaust their energy running in circles. On the other hand I am afraid we would wake up one morning to find they had devoured our staircase and we would have no way to get down and punish them.

Anyway, another life lesson learned. Listen to your parents. At first it may seem like they are chastising you for simple things, but eventually if you keep chewing on things you are going to rip up your own bed, and then they won't feel sorry for you. Not one bit.

Pinwheel pinwheel spinning around. . .

I remember hearing a little "bit" of one of Jerry Seinfeld's routines one time. He was talking about how the older you are the more similar you are to the very young. He mentioned birthday parties in particular . . . in both cases your family will sit you down and say "these are your friends, they are here to celebrate with you!".

Anyway, I was thinking about how similar the old and the young are in regard to lawn ornaments. Our neighbor is the queen of lawn ornaments. She has frogs, cats, butterflies all made out of metal and marbles and things that sparkle. They plaster their flower beds. I remember the horror of when my own parents started getting in to lawn ornaments. It was right in high school. How could I make my friends see that my parents were really cool if they insisted on decorating the lawn with spinning flamingos and such. Luckily my parents were nice enough to keep their little wonderland in the backyard.

Anyway, Gwen LOVES the lawn ornaments. If we are having a dull day we just go and look at our neighbors lawn ornaments and an easy hour will pass us by. It makes me want to go and take her to my parents backyard, because I am sure she would love it there too.

I don't know when you cross the age where lawn ornmanents become a mockery instead of something really fascinating and beautiful, but I think the old and the young definitely have the better way. Seeing beauty all around and what not.

Still don't know if I will be getting lawn ornaments anytime soon (before age 70), but maybe I should take a little extra time to admire the little things, including Sandy's ornaments :)

You know you haven't bathed your child in a while when. . . .

You find a Lucky Charms Marshmallow stuck in their hair. Ew. When was the last time we had Lucky Charms? (Alright, it was Marshmallow Matey's and it was this morning, but it is still yucky!)

Soy Milk: The New Ice Cream (sorry watermelon)

Okay granolas, don't get your hopes up, but I have taken another step in the direction of becoming more granolaesque. Soy Milk. It sounds really gross, but it really isn't. I don't know that I am converted to drinking it all the time in everything, but have you tried using it to make a smoothie? We bought some soy milk over the weekend and it is either a miracle ingredient in smoothies or somehow my smoothie making skills drastically improved over the weekend.

Still getting an epidural.

Moody Schmoody

The good news about being super moody all the time is that it doesn't take much to swing you from near depression into complete happiness. For example- today I got our electricity bill, and while it was still higher than I had ever hoped to pay for air conditioning, it was $10 less than last month. . . that's right $10. The excitement from this was magnified because I anticipated it to be quite a bit higher than last month since the weather has been excruciatingly hot and there hasn't been as much rain lately. Anyway, total happiness.

Then as if things weren't going right enough, I fixed my computer. For the last two months the monitor on my computer has been on the fritz. I would have to literally punch the screen to make it work, and then it would only keep working for about five minutes before it would flicker out and die. The new ultra efficient budget definitely does not allow for things like new monitors, especially when it is still functional after a few upper cuts. Anyway, it was getting harder and harder to revive the monitor, sometimes it required up to ten punches and then it would only last 40 seconds and finally on Saturday, the little green light went from green to blinking to nothing. It died. I was distressed. But today I think I permanently fixed the monitor. I won't say how because you all might make fun, but needless to say, I think I may need to find an alternate way to work my upper body now. Awesome!

Yesterday was great because Blaine came and took the reigns of my Sunday School class. Last week (my first week), my classroom looked more like a scene from Lord of the Flies than a primary class. I had a really really hard time last week, so much so that I was going to hand in my resignation this week; but the miracle husband (and having two less kids show up and keeping my purse full of jolly ranchers) saved the day and I actually had a good time and saw that the kids really were cute and sweet. Then the day ended with a delicious slice of some cake Ralphie made. Nothing better (if you have not had Ralphie cake, I recommend you invite her to bake you one, you will not be disappointed!)

So things started getting better yesterday. On Saturday things were scary. I was really on the downside of the mood swing. For one there was some mystery ink that kept getting all over me (consequently ruining one of the two maternity shirts that actually still fits me -- Don't worry Laurs, it was one of mine, not yours :). I went to meet some of Ralphie's friends and showed up covered literally head to toe in mystery blue ink. I changed when I got home to only later find myself covered again. Anyway, it was really frustrating. I was just so tired and it seemed things kept going wrong, etc. And I was dreading church because I was afraid of my primary class. On top of it all I was mad at myself because all of these things that were making me so upset were so trivial. Did anyone I know die? No. Anyone hurt? No. No, my life is pretty much going great so it really drives me crazy when I get in a bad mood.

Anyway, don't really know what the point of this post is other than to say life is good, even if you are covered in ink, life is still good. Be sure you marry someone nice who will help you control your primary class. And aren't I amazing to reduce my electricity bill by $10, wahoo!

One of the Ninety and Nine

I sometimes wonder where I am going to end up after this mortal sojourn. Of course the obvious choice is the top of the top, strummin my harp and cloud hoppin'. If that is going to be the case, however, I have some God-like attributes that I really need to work on. One of these became obvious to me today when I took out the garbage.

Out of the goodness of my heart I decided to let the puppies come in from the torrential rainfall today. While they were in here I had to take out the garbage. When I opened the door they both shot out of here into our cul-de-sac and immediately began running amok in our neighborhood.
I chased them around for a while, called for them, tried to be patient (the neighbors were watching after all). Finally Boots came over to me. I snatched him up and tried to beg Swiper to come to me. My neighbors, at this point, had gone back inside. Since there was no one to impress by my dog hunting, and no one to be upset that I just let the dogs run wild. I decided to cut my losses and just go back inside. Swiper would find his way home eventually, I was sure he would be fine. Being left alone in the cold hard world of our cul-de-sac would put some hair on his chest if nothing else.

As I turned my back on him and retreated back to our house, the scripture about leaving the 99 to search for the 1 crossed my mind (along with a sappy song one of my YW teachers played regarding the subject). I thought about how rude it was for me to leave the 1 and assume he would come back and go back to the ease and comfort of the 99 (or in my case, the other 1). Anyway, he did come back, luckily and he has been temporarily demoted to least favorite dog (again, I don't think Heavenly Father has least favorite people). Anyway, good thing there is always something to be working on. . .

Fiddle

As I was reading some of the comments on my blog I realized that half of you might think I am crazy since a lot of people refer to me as "Fids" or "Fiddle" so I thought I would offer an explanation for that one, if you care.

In the summer of 2001 I worked at an LDS girls camp, Oakcrest, up near Kamas, UT. Every week I had a group of 6-10 girls age 12-14 and we had a blast playing games, making friends and building testimonies. Anyway, it was the best summer of my life and I love the memories I made there.

So. . . we each had a camp name that the girls would call us until the end of the week when our true identity was revealed. My camp name was Fiddle (since I was taking violin lessons and had dreams of being Ryan Shuppe's back up Fiddler. . . have I ever mentioned I was his wife's visiting teacher, that's right!). So, that is why people call me Fiddle sometimes. It seems a little weird, but it doesn't even sound different to me than my real name :). So, what would you have chosen for your camp name. . . ?

#437- check

So Tropical Storm Erin is headed our way, well not just our way, it is on a crash course with us. Luckily we are pretty far inland so I think the major complication is going to be a lot of rain. I am kind of excited because our new ultra-efficient budget created today by yours truly does not allow for little extras- like watering the lawn. I have never been in a tropical storm, however, surviving a hurricane was #437 on my list of things to do before I die, which I made back in seventh grade. So with a little leniency (a Tropical Storm is pretty close to being a hurricane!) and a lot of assumption (mostly that I do not die in the storm), I am really close to being able to scratch that off the list. I'll be sure to write you all from the under-the-stairs closet to let you know how it is going.

Give me your tired, your poor or at least your pasta salad.

I have a face that must say to people "please, give me any extra food you have in your fridge." Most of the time it is not a big deal, I have no shame, I will take free food. Recently, however, I was at a neighbors house with Gwen to play, as we were leaving she rummaged through her fridge. I didn't really think about what she was doing when she asked, "hey do you like pasta salad?" I thought maybe she had a good new recipe. Not so. I said that I did like pasta salad. She proceeded to open a Tupperware, take a big whiff, wrinkle her nose and say "I am pretty sure this is still good, why don't you take it?".

If ever pawning off your leftovers on me be sure to smell them ahead of time, because something about having to smell them to declare them safe turns me off to it. So now I have the yucky pasta salad sitting in my fridge because I am too afraid to empty the container, gross.

Also, Blaine requests that if you attempt to pawn leftovers off on me that they not be mayonnaise based, that makes him nervous.

Other than these two things though, we'd be happy to take your unwanted food :) And I appreciate all food that has been given to me in the past. . .keep it comin (again, just smell it before I get there :) )

Our Saturday "Expenture"

If going to Sea World:

1-Never go on a Saturday

2-Never go when it is over 100 dgs (before humidity)

3- For pete's sake bring your kid a hat or umbrella or some sort of shading mechanism

4-Freeze your water bottles beforehand

5-Don't eat at the nearest Wendy's


Earlier this year we purchased season passes to Sea World. We only live an hour and a half away and the season passes were only about $6 more than a day pass, so we forked out the dough and did it. We hadn't been back since, and since the days that I can walk are getting limited (I am assuming that since I have been full out waddling for two months that my ability to walk is going to disappear some day soon), we decided Saturday was our day.

Since we knew Gwen wasn't up for a full day at Sea World, we took our time in the morning and got out the door around 10:30AM. Not too bad. We were a little discouraged because when we looked on Google Maps it said that Sea World was two hours, not just an hour and a half. We were not deterred though. This was going to be an ultra fun Saturday.

So, it took us THREE AND A HALF hours to get to Sea World. I don't get Texas traffic, particularly that of I-35. Where are all the people going on Saturday. I miss Utah where traffic is a non-issue on the weekend and during weird hours of the day/night. In my experience I-35 has the most absurd traffic patterns, and we hit it hard on Saturday.

We stopped for lunch at a Wendy's that was pretty close to Sea World. I had my heart set on this delicious grilled chicken sandwich Blaine had gotten the last time we were there. I ordered and they said it would be 8 minutes until it was ready. Made to order, I like it! I was happy to wait my eight minutes while gulping down my frosty and fries (and consequentially getting a slight tummy ache). When they brought out my freshly prepared sandwich I was pretty excited. . . and then I took a bite. It was unlike anything I have ever tasted and the only thing I could compare it to would be chomping down on a rubber bouncy ball. The chicken looked cooked, it was white, obviously they did something to it for eight minutes, but it had the weirdest texture. I tried to not be a baby about it, but then Blaine asked for a bite and without me saying anything he mentioned the weird texture. Ehhh. This was an expensive sandwich and it was so weird tasting that we were sure it was going to kill us. I wrapped the rest of the sandwich up and threw it away. Sad. Dang Wendy's, if it weren't for your Frosty's I would swear to never visit you again.

So when we got to Sea World, FIVE hours after it had opened, we hit another traffic jam. This was the traffic jam to park. It boggled our minds. Surely we had to be the only idiots to come to Sea World this late after it opened. . . nope! We waited in line to park for about 20 minutes. When we did park it was in this overgrown field with abundant wildlife (bugs) who were very distressed that we were overtaking their environment. Could they really charge $10 to park in a pasture three miles away from the park entrance? If we hadn't borrowed our friends parking pass and parked for free there would have been heck to pay.

I hit my walking capacity once we got to the entrance. I was pretty sure we were going to have to rent a wheelchair! Inside the park was pretty fun (and HOT!). We got to see the dolphins, coral reef exhibit, and a show with cats and dogs (and a pig, porcupine and kangaroo). It was all really fun but I was anxious the whole time that Gwen was going to get heat stroke. Right before we left Blaine surprised us and bought us a tray of fish to feed the dolphins, isn't that sweet? It was kind of chaotic because there were a million other people feeding the dolphins, but Gwen loved it and I did too (except you had to lay on your tummy to feed them and my tummy is really tricky to lay on!). We have to point out the money some people forked out on fish--- the guy next to us bought each of his five kids a tray, with two spare trays for fun-- that is $35 of fish! When we have five kids I am pretty sure we will sever each fish into five little tiny pieces-- if we do anything at all!

We were only at Sea World for about three hours and then headed off for our two and half hour drive home (better than three and a half eh?). After stopping for dinner and at the grocery store we pulled into our driveway at 10:30PM. We had been gone for twelve hours, at Sea World only a fourth of those. But we had fun dang it!

The face only a father could love?

What happened to the sentiment that parents should be blind to any shortcomings or physical abnormalities in their children? I went out on a limb and sent some people a link to view some of our recent pictures. Most people have been nice and encouraging (downright deceitful) in saying how I don't look like Godzilla. I appreciate the sentiment, I know it is not true, but their being candid is definitely appreciated. I didn't realize how much so until last night when Blaine was talking to my dad on speaker phone and mentioned how excited I was to have the baby. My Dad's response. . . "I'll bet, she was looking quite "porky" in the pictures she sent" (I couldn't tell if it was porkly, portly, or some other made up word that meant the equivalent of huge. . . ). What the? Thanks a lot Dad! ! That's it, we're not naming the kid Ivan anymore :).

Sleeping with the Enemy

In the late hours of the night, or perhaps even the wee hours of the morning this morning, I became aware of a presence in our room. This happens every morning, but this was way too early to be the same presence I was used to. Since my muscles lacked the strength I had to pry my weary eyelid open with my finger to see if I was just "feeling" the presence or if it was actually there. I was greeted with "Good Mouring!" (not a typo). Whoa. No way, not yet. I could swear Blaine had just crawled into bed no more than half an hour ago. I didn't have the will power to get up and look at the clock, but the darkness outside let me know that it couldn't be much past 12 or 1 AM.

"What the. . . Go to your bed!" I grumbled. "It's mouring time!" a cheerful voice responded. "No, it's nighttime, go to sleep" I shot back. "In a few minutes it will be mouring time!" She never lost an ounce of cheerfulness, despite my own frustration and grogginess. Finally I offered her a hand and she climbed up into bed. I have her trained that when she comes in our room she has to stay in our bed until "Daddy's music" (alarm clock) goes off. Usually this is just about five minutes, not seven hours, but it was worth a shot. She curled up close to me and wrapped her arms around me. What a schmooze, she knows my weak spot. I shook Blaine awake and ordered him to take her back to her room. "But Mommy, I want to lay by YOU!" I felt so loved and the frustration seeped out of my body. She wanted to be by me! She was playing her cards right and I decided I would let her stay.

I put my arms around her (happy to have someone to cuddle with), and she closed her sweet little eyes and drifted off to sleep. It was really precious. . . for about three minutes. We were facing the fan that I have to point directly into my face in order to not die of heat stroke at night. All of the sudden her beautiful corn-silk hair was tickling my nose, then covering my whole face. I tried to brush it away, but it was back immediately. How could something so beautiful be so irritating (her hair, not her). Finally it was too much. I knew that I could not handle life without the fan, so I tried to roll her over me and convince her to go sleep with Blaine. This was a mistake.

This woke her up of her angelic sleep and turned her into a monster; a monster who was screaming because she wanted to sleep by me, not Blaine. Finally I talked her into being in the middle. Before I knew it she was asleep again, but she must have been dreaming about karate class because I got walloped and kicked and poked in the eyeballs. We tossed and turned and tried to defend ourselves but we could not calm the sleeping beast. Finally she found a position she liked-- laying with her feet pressed against Blaine's head and her head pressed against her "little brother" , this pushed the little brother into my small bladder (which I had recently trained to only fill up twice during the night instead of ten times). When I got back from the bathroom there was no room for me in our bed, our KING sized bed.

Why didn't I move her back to her bed? Well, #1 because she gains ten pounds in her sleep and I lose half my strength, not a good combo, I am sure I would have dropped her and as bad as she was in her sleep, it was worse when she was awake and wanting to be entertained! I squished her spring like body close to Blaine and popped in my bed just before she sprang back into the sprawled out position. What a nutcase.

I remember my parents telling me about me doing the same thing to them, I could hardly believe a sweet little person like myself would be capable of sleeping like that, guess I was wrong! She may look like a sweet little Blaine, but deep inside there is a spunky, karate chopping, eye poking little Kristi waiting for moments to break free!

Are you in the club?

For years I have belonged to a secret club. You may be a member as well and perhaps are just not aware. There are several of us around. . . We are the people who had braces a long time ago and got a retainer cemented along the back of our bottom teeth and never got it removed. I think it is a scandal because they tell you to keep the thing in till you are 21, but who has money to get a retainer removed when they are 21? Here I am, nearly 26, still have the retainer.

I was a little nervous today as it was time for my first dental appointment since 2003. I wasn't so much nervous about the pain, or the potential cavities, but I was a little nervous that the dentist would want to remove my retainer. I never realized until today that I am kind of attached to it (not just physically but emotionally)! It would be so weird for it to not be there!

The appointment went well. I think I would do better at dental appointments if they would give me headphones to put on. The stuff they do doesn't really hurt, it just sounds like it should hurt, which triggers the same reaction in my brain. I think it would be good for me to stand and observe a regular check up. The vantage point you get being the patient isn't very good and so it leaves a lot to the imagination about what exactly they are doing. From my experience today the dentist first decided that she ought to etch her initials on the backside of all of my teeth with her little tiny hook thing. I don't know if she is afraid I won't be loyal or what, but she sure spent her time engraving my teeth. That is the thing that sounds the worst, I get the shivers just thinking back. Then her little assistant was a little gung-ho with the suction tool. Not only was my mouth bone dry, but I am pretty sure I won't have to go #1 for a week, and that is saying something for a pregnant woman. Then occasionally they would scrape my teeth with cottonballs (as if my mouth wasn't dry enough!), which I don't know-- did engraving her initials on my teeth make me bleed so bad that they went through like 12 cotton balls? Then they did an endurance test. On the questionaire they had me fill out at the beginning it asked if my teeth were sensitive to cold, which they aren't particularly so I answered "no". So after they sucked all the moisture out of my entire body and finished engraving my teeth they straight shot freezing cold water on all of them. I wanted to burst out, "okay, okay, I lied! My teeth are sensitive to cold, I should have told the truth, please stop!!".

Who knows what really went on at the dentist today, it was hard to tell since I could only see my nose and belly and I could only hear the scraping (make it stop!). However, I have done my duty and I don't have to go back for six months.

The good news is that she didn't say anything about the retainer. So, at least for the time being, I am still a complete person. A complete person that, like always, needs to focus more on being committed to daily flossing (don't worry, I am on the every other day plan-- it's not like I never floss, that's just gross).

Watermelon: the new ice cream

I feel like I won the lottery today. Blaine hates watermelon. He's tried it every way possible, he's tried irresistible watermelons but for some reason, he just doesn't like it. That being said, I haven't had watermelon in about five years. Like I am going to buy a gigantic watermelon for just me to eat.

This weekend, however, with Nick and Stef in town I decided to go for it. With their help I could get rid of most of the watermelon and then I could probably finish off the rest myself. So we busted open the melon on Sunday and ate about 1/2 of it. It was soooo tasty. It really hit the spot. And I am sitting here right now finishing the last precious bites of my watermelon. I have intentions of going and buying a new one later tonight.

I wondered though if eating watermelon was kind of like eating otter-pops, you know sugar water. So I looked up the nutritional content of a watermelon, and I was pleasantly surprised. First off a cup of watermelon only has 48 calories. A cup of low-fat ice cream has about 240 calories (regular ice cream could be upwards of 380 calories). Then on top of that watermelon is like a cancer reducing miracle machine. It blasts the carcinogens out of you and fills you up with vitamins A and C and potassium. It has fiber and no fat. A whole honkin' melon costs the same as a carton of ice cream.

It has no seeds, keeps for up to three weeks sitting on your counter, satisfies both thirst and hunger--truly, this is a miracle food.

Misinformed

Blaine and I somehow were under the impression that Bridge to Terabithia was going to be more of a "Harry Potter" experience than a "My Girl" experience. So when we sat down last night with our popcorn and plate of watermelon I hardly expected to find myself two hours later with a whole box of wadded up tissues next to me.

I am not a crier. I can remain stone-faced through most movies, books, or experiences that may make others cry. In fact (and he will kill me for exposing this) if one of us is to cry in a Movie, it is usually Blaine. He even cried in "Mission to Mars" or some other space show. It was sweet, he's a sensitive guy. So when I do cry during something it really catches me off guard.

In my regular not pregnant life I can only think of one movie that I really had a good cry in. I had been sufficiently warned too, but I thought I was strong enough. It was about four months after Blaine and I got married and we sat down to watch "Charlie". We had heard from a reliable source ("Chunga" the morning DJ from THE END radio station) that we shouldn't watch it and that he hated it because it made him cry. We thought we were strong though, what could be so sad? After the movie ended we found ourselves crying, nay- sobbing, for a good hour and a half. We just held onto eachother and cried our little eyes out. And swore to never watch that stupid show again. We debated making ourselves watch it once a year, but we haven't had the guts to watch it again since.

My reaction to Bridge to Terabithia was so unpredictable. I was doing good, the girl died, it was okay. It happens all the time. Then I don't know what happened to open the flood gates, but wowzers; I couldn't stop myself. Then when I had about gotten a grip on my emotions we watched some special features and found out the book was written because the authors son had lost his best friend when he was 8. The whole process started anew, I think I maybe even cried harder.

Is it because I am pregnant? I have no idea. Nonetheless, it is a show worth watching; and if you think you are going to watch it and think it is corny and not get the emotional - cry your heart out- element; just invite me over, I will cry enough for the both of us, I am sure.

"The Experiment"

For the first four and a half years of our married life, Blaine and I were a one car family. Our 1998 Chrysler Cirrus saw us through the best of times and the worst of times. There were times when I was working two jobs, Blaine one and both of us going to school. Our car was tried and true and rarely had problems (except when we moved far away from my mechanically inclined brothers-- then it had a couple problems, but hardly worth complaining about). It was a pretty slick machine when I bought it in 2001; leather interior, five disc changer, sun roof, clean. After six years of ownership (three of those with a child), two moves across the country, and a need for a little more flexibility we decided we would like to have an additional car.

So in April of this year we found a shiny 2007 Honda Accord that we could lease for a phenomenal deal. Then something happened. Starting the day we got the Accord we started realizing some major differences between the two cars. As we drove the Honda home I commented on how great the lights were, then I realized, I hadn't even turned them on yet! When I turned on the headlights---whoaaa, it was like a whole 'nother world, it was like driving in the day! No wonder not everyone in the world was scared to drive after 8PM. Then I noticed that the road looked funny and my eyes were having a hard time focusing. Later I realized this was because our Chrysler had a scratch across the windshield (caused somehow by the windshield wipers, so it was rainbow shape) that was right in my line of vision, but my eyes had adjusted to it so well that now, looking through a regular scratch-free windshield, my vision was impaired. The next time I drove the old Chrysler I almost killed myself because the darn thing wouldn't stop! The brakes were so callous! In the Honda you just had to lightly tap the brakes and you would immediately stop. In the Chrysler you had to have about a half a mile and a lead foot. The Chrysler emits weird smells and randomly shoots smoke out the tailpipe etc.

Was our old car just falling apart, or was it only now, when we had something nice and new to compare it to, that it seemed inadequate?

I thought about that a lot this weekend. Blaine's recently married brother, Nick, came with his cute wife Stef to stay with us for the weekend. There was a lot of hugging, kissing, snuggling, whispering, giggling, tickling going on their part as they were just married three months ago. When we went swimming they splashed and played together while Blaine and I just checked each other occasionally for boogies dangling out our noses. Blaine and Nick went for a run together and Nick brought Stef back a little flower; Blaine brought me back his sweat drenched clothes to wash :). All the sudden I found myself feeling like my marriage was lacking. Just like the Chrysler. But, why didn't I feel that way before this weekend?

It was interesting enough to think about, then we had a Relief Society lesson that was prepared for me specifically (or so it seemed). The guilty taketh the truth to be hard, and I had a hard time sitting through that lesson while also remembering my thoughts and feelings from the weekend.

So, I have made a little challenge for myself this week, and I don't want to talk too much about it until the week is over, at that time I will give a report and let you all know how it went. Until then, let it be known that I have a great marriage and of course I am happy. The Chrysler is still a great car-- it's tried and true. It has 180,000 miles instead of only 3,000, but it has taken us through a lot of good times, a lot of ups and downs, and though it has needed the occasional belt replacement or new battery-- it has never failed us. It's not as fun and new to drive, but if we get a different car in a couple of years I can bet that the Honda won't seem as fun to drive as the next new car, etc.

Anyway, I am sure this is not the world's best analogy but the point is this: Our marriage may not be as cute and romantic. We sleep on opposite sides of the bed, and I can't lay my head on Blaine's shoulder because it hurts his arm, and I am not a big fan of kissing (weird I know) BUT I can trust Blaine with anything, my life, my trials, my despairs, anything, we are so much a part of each other that sometimes I can't tell where he stops and I start. We've truly become a "we" and that didn't happen overnight-- it happened somewhere along the 180,000 mile drive we have taken to get here. And unlike the Chrysler --- I look forward to hundreds of thousands of more miles of happy times and sad with my Blaine.

Nuff said

Toddler with diarrhea. White couch. Nuff said.

I love granolas!

I wanted to post on here my thoughts about my not being a "granola", but I decided I better first look up what the official definition of a "granola" is. My search led me to a site www.urbandictionary.com, and it cracked me up. Definitely I will have to check out this site more so I can add some hip new words to my vocabulary. Unfortunately a granola only kind of means what I thought. My definition: Someone who eats really healthy and bears children without medication. Most of my friends are granolas, so I hope I am not offending them as I write this post, but they must obviously know that I am not a granola (nor am I anti-granola in any way!). I wish I had a little more granola in me.

One of the major ways I know that I am not a granola is that we eat sugar cereal for breakfast, every morning, no exceptions. Blaine's mom has often mentioned that her biggest regret was not feeding her family hot cereals every morning. How would that be to be your biggest regret? Even though he may not have had hot cereal every morning, he most certainly did not have a lot of sugar cereal. When we were first married and took a trip to the grocery store he shyly asked me if we could buy some Cookie Crisp. "Uh yeah!" was my response. He then told me that growing up his mom would say, "we don't eat cookies for breakfast!". I held back telling him that sometimes at our house we would actually eat real, home-made, chocolate chip cookies for breakfast! Then later in life we did weight watchers and found that most of the sugar cereals were fewer points than the granola cereals (calling them "sugar cereals" is even funny to me because that distinction didn't enter my mind until after I married Blaine either). So bring on the Smore's, Fruity Pebbles, Captain Crunch and Cookie Crisp!

The other way I know I am not a granola is that I want an epidural the instant I am able to get one at the hospital. I would take one now if possible. I totally respect anyone who gives childbirth without medication, that is totally awesome and I am proud of them. I just don't even want to try, you know? Zero desire to go down that path. My biggest fear is that my labor will come on too fast for me to get an epidural and I will be forced to go the old fashioned route-- ouch! I guess it couldn't hurt to at leat prepare for that type of situation.

So obviously, I am not a granola. I don't buy organic food (though I did try organic cheetos the other day and they were quite tasty). So, I am confused why I am having these weird granola-like feelings about Splenda. When on weight watchers splenda was my best friend, it made everything diet-friendly (ice cream, soda, everything!). As I was consuming a lot of Splenda I looked it up one day on the internet. I got onto some Splenda conspiracy websites and totally got sucked in. Now I have the perdicament that I think Splenda is going to be the demise of all society, or at the very least it is going to give us all cancer. The thing is is that Splenda is in everything. Seriously, everything. And if not Splenda then Aspartame or some other sugar substitute.

So I find myself in the granola isles at the store looking for stuff with no artificial sweeteners, which is WAY more expensive (both in money and calories). But wouldn't you rather die old and fat, than young and skinny? Me too. I think the granolas have a good thing going. I think they are on the right track as far as food goes (I am sticking with epidurals though), I just wish I could be more dedicated to that type of lifestyle. One battle at a time, right? I am taking baby steps, for now it is Splenda-free products and the occasional consumption of hummus, but who knows, maybe in a couple of years I will make the dream of only eating hot cereal a reality in our family. The possibilities are endless.

Next month!

I can now officially say that the baby is coming "next month". Never mind that it is August 2nd and our baby is not coming until September 24th, that is a minor detail, hardly relevant at all.