"Don't grow up too quickly, lest you forget how much you love the beach."

Primary song of the day!!!

"I'm So Glad When Daddy Comes Home!!!"

In Stitches

I attract crazies. It's true. I hold a reputation for it at work even. Weird, random people and circumstances. I can't tell you the number of them that have happened while pumping gas. My mother is even worse. I should have known my grandmother would be exponentially so.

A few weeks ago my Grandma and Grandpa drove up to visit so Grandma and I could attend Stitches. Stitches is like THE premiere, um.. fiber show? I think it has been decided to go with the term "Fiber Show". "Knitting Convention" conjures up too many images of Trekkies in costume. But if you knit, spin, crochet, or need a reason to spend inordinate amounts of money on hobbies you're not likely to actually pursue, Google "Stitches West" and you'll soon realize why I looked forward to it for months.

The plan was for Grandma and I to take the train to Santa Clara, two hours away. Now I need to back up and remind you that I am a slight control freak (also a genetic trait) when it comes to leaving my house and knowing where I am going. I just never know who I'm going to meet. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was on the verge of tears when Mike my GPS was abducted from my vehicle a year ago. Mapquest, Google maps, whatever...I'm on it. The word "lost" raises my blood pressure lots.

Back to the story-

We're going to drive to the train station, leave the car, take the train where we will arrive within walking distance of the convention center. This will also require that we drive from my home to downtown and will need to leave at the butt-crack of dawn.

The night before we decide that we should really drive the car to the light rail station (much closer to home), leave the car there, take the light rail to the train station down town, then take the train.

Our plan looked to be going brilliantly. We arrived at the light rail in time to figure out how to purchase our tickets and not a single crazy even attempted to approach us. We arrived at the train station in plenty of time to confirm and print our tickets and find the restroom. Still not a single crazy thing had happened and we'd been up for almost three hours. A record considering we had just taken public transportation. We knew we were in the right place based on the number of women knitting in the station and wearing scarves, shawls, and sweaters many in patterns that I recognized.

Then we found out our train was canceled. Other arrangements were made for us. You don't mess with thirty plus women carrying sharp and pointy sticks. The not so short version of the story is that we woke up at 4:30am to take the Light rail station where we left the car, took the light rail to the train station, took the train to one town, got off the train onto a bus, realized it was the wrong bus, got off the bus onto the right one, then onto another train where we arrived in Santa Clara at almost 11:00 am.

Now, the convention center would have been within walking distance had my grandma not been a grandma and me not been seven months pregnant and up since 4:30am. We ended up taking a taxi and setting a record for the types and number of times I'd taken public transportation not just in one day, but in my entire life.

We only met a couple of crazies, but I'm not counting any of them. It turns out who I thought was a crazy dude knitting on the train actually knew his stuff and was extremely helpful. I even took his card, have read his blog, and have put my dad to work making me a knitting sheath to increase my knitting speed and tension so I can make my husband a wicked pair of hiking socks.

The other was our taxi driver. If Queen Latifah had a sister that outweighed her by a hundred and fifty pounds, it would have been her. When she saw that I was pregnant she cut us a deal. She also told me at least forty times to "Just look at that belly!" "What a beautiful belly!" and that I had the most beautiful body. I was having a boy she just knew it! She also gave me the best advice about childbirth I've received up to this point. "It's a piece of cake!" she exclaimed. "I dunno why these womens like to spread them horror stories. It's a piece of cake! You just get rid of thems who say otherwise until you pop that baby out." I would not have minded riding around with her the entire day. Total crazy, but a crack up.

The show itself was everything I'd hoped for. I do not have the English writing skills to do the yarns, fibers, notions, etc. justice. Let's just say that Grandma and I have already begun plotting our strategy for next year. We still plan on taking the train again, and plan to expect the unexpected. For as crazy as it was, it was remarkably tame. The craziest thing about the whole day was that I didn't buy any yarn to knit with at a Knitting Convention, um..I mean Fiber Show.

For the Forty-thousanth time!

When I was waiting for Scrunch I wanted to tell EVERYONE and ANYONE that would listen that I was going to be getting a baby. But when I stood in the check-out line with my little pile of pink no one asked me anything. I wanted so badly to tell everyone. How could they have known? I was more than happy, almost eager to tell them. It's a girl! She's due in January! Our birth mom looks fabulous! She's happy, and smart! She's going to be beautiful! But I only got a few chances to share the news.

Some things are different this time around, obviously. Least of all the fact that I'm not dependent on anyone regarding bringing my baby home and that I don't have to get permission from anyone for a damn thing. The state does not care about the my living conditions this time around. How easy it is to take things like that for granted. And the questions. Oh the questions! This time, I get asked something everywhere I go. Not that I'm not excited, truly we are, but really grocery check out lady, why do you even care?

"Is this your first?" This is my first pregnancy, but I have a two year old daughter. Great adoption awareness conversations as well as blank, "Um, okay." stares have followed that one.

"When are you due?" May 19th.

"Do you know what you're having?" A boy.

"Do you have a name?" Erick. NOT GEORGE no matter what my husband tells you. Followed closely by, "Do you have a middle name?" James. His blogger name is still yet to be determined.

"How are you feeling?" Ever since my husband's holiday party where he pleaded that I not describe Braxton Hicks contractions as "my hoo-ha squeezing" I'm not sure how to answer that one. I feel pregnant. Do people know something I don't? I'm pregnant, not sick.

"Is Scrunch excited?" Scrunch gets excited about waving good-bye to poop in the toilet. How do you accurately measure what her emotional state is regarding becoming a sibling? If you ask her if she's going to be a big sister she'll tell you yes. And she knows that she is going to have a baby brother. Any more than that and I think we're reading too much into a two year old's psyche.

"Do you have the nursery ready?" No.

"Are you ready?" Ready or not, I think I'm in this for the long haul. What am I supposed to say there? Um, no? I don't know? Too bad if I'm not? I think I am, but how would I even know?

Did I miss anything?

Betcha I make forty-thousand and one before I leave Target the next time.

L-7 Weenie

You may or may not have noticed that we got a new camera. We don't know how to use it- myself even less than my husband. Hence the picture of the drain while trying to take pictures of Scrunch at the pool.

But don't be jealous. It took the stars aligning just right to justify the purchase. My husband had to leave the continent and me planning to give birth in a bathtub.

Because I am a great big chicken weenie, rather than go to China with my Husband I am going to my Mom's. We leave tomorrow. Something about giving birth in the airport in Tai Pei gives me the heebie jeebies. Would've made for awesome pictures though, huh? So long as I wasn't holding the camera. Pictures with the lens cap on all look the same no matter what country you're in.

Marketing Missed the Mark

I know there are real people with real problems in the world, but two I'd really like to do something about are- 1)Not having enough hot water for me to take a shower and Scrunch to take a bath within an hour of each other with hot water to spare. And 2) The new Victoria Secret campaign I saw last week.They both make me want to climb back in bed and not get out.

I've never been fat. Eight months pregnant is the biggest I've ever been in my life. So hate me. But I'm not uber-thin either. Just because I'm not fat doesn't mean I look down at my body and think, "Oh, baby. I am a hottie with a body." Um, no. I still think, "I need to get into the sun. If I'm really tan my vericose veins don't show as much." "My toes are really, really weird." Sure, there are things (like my boob size) that I'd like to change. My double chin more than my boob size, but I don't think about it all the time. I've accepted that I'm a chick and no matter what, there will be things about myself I'd like to change.

What bothers me about the new Victoria Secret campaign. Are you friggin kidding me? I don't have body image distortion and it still makes me want to puke up everything I just ate for dinner. "I Love My Body"? No shit. If I looked like that I might hug myself all sexy-like and say to myself, "Oooh baby! I am a hottie with a body!" I'd also be a very hungry, cranky beast.

On what planet do women's bodies look like that? Not this one. I've seen a whole lot of naked (as a nurse, just to clarify). And a whole lot of old naked. You know what? It doesn't last. Everyone, EVERYONE, no matter how perky their boobs might be, gets saggy knees at some point. Gar. Un. Teed.

What are women supposed to think?

Throw yourself off a bridge right now if you think that's what normal people look like. There are seven women in the campaign. 7 out of billions. Not bad. Blegh. It just isn't in the cards for most of us. Thanks a whole lot to the ass on Victoria's Secret's marketing campaign for pointing it out. You have my permission to use this pic in your next ad should you get a clue, jerk wad.

Generally I am opposed to belly shots, but I figure this is a for a good cause. It brings out the feminist in me in a weird, ironic way.

Play by play

Hi.

We have not been on vacation. We left town. Vacations involve warm beaches, skimpy bathing suits, and sparkly drinks with umbrellas. This little 1700 miles-in-five-days-escapade was not a vacation. But we had fun and Scrunch stayed dry the WHOLE drive. I wore high heels two days in a row, and if there was a record for the amount of family you could visit without having a family reunion, I'd like to receive it. Or get me a sparkly drink with an umbrella.

Brace yourself. You are about to get a play by play of the last five days along with pictures. We're going for a record here. Get yourself a sparkly drink, get comfortable, and have a sit in front of the computer.

Drive to Salt Lake. We did not take pictures. It is a God-forsaken landscape that I'd like to just skip all together. Battle Mountain? Why would anyone battle over that place?

Arrive in Salt Lake and check in to the hotel. Sent husband for a pizza. Sleep on what is obviously not my bed. I have become a bed snob.

Day 1

Visit with my Grammy. Totally confusing to Scrunch because how can we both have a Grammy and they not be the same person? She soon recovered when she realized MY Grammy has "a piece of caaaaandy" throughout her entire house.

McDonald's parking lot to meet the cousins and swap dresses.

Lunch with my Gram (yet another grandma-type person) and Sawyer (a To-to like pooch who thinks he's a person).

Swimming with Grandma Jody and Uncle Tom. It's actually Grandpa Tom, but I laughed so hard when she called him "an Uncle Tom" that trying to break her of the habit now is sort of pointless.

Sleep. Still not my bed, but there weren't any visible bugs so the hotel passed.

Day 2

Wedding and my first day of heels. Grandma and Grandpa Smiff (Smith) came to watch Scrunch. And live up to the expectation of always having a sucker in his pocket.

The whole reason for the trip was to see Husband's sister be married. Yes, they look so young. Yes, she is a few years older than I was when I got married. But I don't remember Husband and I looking so young. Everyone in attendance laughed, some (her dad) cried, and we all felt very, very old.

Luncheon following the wedding. Buffets are brilliant when you've got a bunch of toddlers in tow.

Dinner with the Smiff side of my family. Scrunch keeps a very close eye on this guy. He's on her list of favorites.

Day 3

Breakfast with my Gram and a bunch of folks that carry my maiden name. I'd like to point out that my Gram also has a yellow kitchen and an orange wall.

Drive to St. George in the most horrendous, snow-ridden, driving conditions I've ever been in. Witnessed the ten care pile up that was probably on the news, and thought I was going to give birth on the side of the road. I didn't. And we made it.

Reception. Day two of heels. Don't they look happy (and young)?

Day 4

Breakfast and wearing the kids out at the park. It's gonna be a long drive home. Come hell or high water I will sleep in my bed tonight.

Twelve hour drive home.

I told you to get comfortable.

And the winner is....

In bed at midnight, and up at 4am, sore throat, progressing into a cough with a coughing toddler, a dryer that runs but doesn't dry clothes with two loads of laundry that MUST be done in the next two hours if ANYone in this house is going to be wearing panties for the next week, and a ten hour car ride to the blessed land of Zion remaining in front of me. Did I mention I was seven months cranky? um, I mean pregnant.

Do not talk to me until I've had my coffee this morning. Since I do not drink coffee, do not talk to me period. I'll do my best to keep my mouth shut and will be home next week.

Take a Vote

Is there anything more annoying than a sore throat?

Where have you been all my life?

After an hour and a half massage and acupressure, I am in a happy place.

Bless you Carrie The Masseuse.

I'm adding you to my Christmas list and you can be my new best friend.

Behind the Times

Somewhere along the lines I missed the memo that a blogger should write a post welcoming March. All my favorite blogs did it. I did not. Scratch me off your list of favorite blogs.

So, March...Welcome? I can't even remember if you came in like a lion or a lamb. That was four days ago. My memory does not go back four days. I am lucky to stay on track with my hourly potty timer. Lists and timers define my life at the moment.

Scrunch is doing great with the potty thing, but I hate it. Potty training is a pain in the butt. Potty training while pregnant is actually quite handy though. I have to go at least half as many times as she does. I just wait for the timer, and it's time for me to go again. And if I wet, I blame the kid. Both kids.

Next Wednesday starts a vacationing/ mostly driving marathon that will last until the end of the month. Scrunch will get to see seven grandmas. And they will think all her little tricks and sayings are just as cute and funny as the first time they heard them. Unlike mommy who at four this morning only found the "Come on, Mommy! Let's watch a movie!" mildly amusing.

When we get home I will have six weeks left of baking our little dude. That's kind of cool. And then I think about my list of "to do before dude" and I feel the pressure to get my butt in gear. I keep making the list longer and then avoiding it. Things like, add brown panel to the bottom of dining curtains. Paint the kitchen and family room. Put in the front flower bed. The usual. Instead, I threw a party yesterday. And I there was way too much food, and too few people. We'll blame the pouring rain, not the fact that I have flaky friends. But raise your hand if you have ever left my house hungry? Ever? Thank you very much. I would call that a successful party. There was enough leftovers for me not to have to cook for two days. And my house smells awesome, thanks to Katie and Scentsy.

Today I am making a huge batch of spaghetti sauce and stuffed shells for Relief Society. At least I'm supposed to. I'll start a new list, avoid it, and get something done on the original list.

I should stop making lists.

Just March.

Breakfast on the Brain

All I can think about is breakfast.

Was it...?

a) The greatest cinnamon rolls at our favorite breakfast place ever!

b) My sausage toes after so much walking at Stitches. An entire post dedicated to Stitches to come.

c) Repeated readings of "If you give a Pig a Pancake, Mouse a Cookie, and Moose a Muffin".

d) Newly Modge-Podged craft storage which makes my eat-in kitchen area look like the IKEA showroom- which also has pretty good cinnamon rolls.

Or

e) All of the above and the four cups of tea that it took for me to recover today.