Impatient Imp

I think the baby wants to come out. He keeps poking me in the side with his index finger. Okay, maybe it's an elbow or a foot, but it seems to say, "What's going on out there? I'm bored! Could you at least give me a magazine to read?"

The Need for Speed

What is it about high speeds that gives us such a thrill? Yesterday as I was on my way to work, I was finally able to get out from behind a slow(ish) driver and pass him (on the right, which is aggravating), and as I was speeding away, I felt myself take a deep, satisfying breath. It was as if I had just emerged from being held under water for three and a half seconds too long.

A couple weeks ago, I was babysitting Tim's (much faster) car while he was out of town. During that week, I learned something about myself: I should not be allowed to drive fast cars. At least, not anywhere besides the autobahn. As I was cruising down the highway with no one in front of me, I actually caught myself giggling.

And it's not just in the car... before getting knocked up, it was against my religion to walk for exercise. My mom always walks around her neighborhood with the "Walking Ladies" in the morning to stay in shape, but whenever I tried to walk for my workout, I ended up running instead. Why walk for 40 minutes when you can cover the same mileage in 20 by stepping up the pace? You get home faster, and let's face it, you look freakin hot! At least, in your own head. Don't ever watch yourself run in those mirrors at the gym. It's not just your spunky ponytail that bounces, you know.

So why are we in such a hurry? Why do higher speeds result in wider grins? Is this true for everyone? It must not be, as evidenced by my archenemy, Slow Guy in the left lane... and the Walking Ladies.

(Art from politecards.com)

Stay Classy San Diego!

I decided on the hospital in which Baby Bell will enter the world. Actually, the insurance company decided for me, which was very kind of them, don't you think? As I was reviewing the hospital's pamphlet, I made an amusing discovery. The name of the hospital gift shop is... The Classy Corner.


Score! Maybe I'll register there!

Identity Crisis Freakout Session

Last night, it hit me... What have we DONE? There is a person growing in my belly and we can't give it BACK! Up until yesterday, I've been alternately excited out of my mind or complacent about the whole thing. Then about 18 hours ago, the panic struck. What am I thinking? I can't be a Stay at Home Mom! I like Starbucks too much! How am I going to get my venti no whip hot chocolate on the way to work if I don't drive to work? There's no drive-thru in my hallway! How will I know how to act during the day if I'm not wearing heels? How will I introduce myself? I don't even like the term Stay at Home Mom, but I haven't found a suitable alternative.

Here's my problem: In theory, I believe that staying home with the kids is noble and selfless and beautiful. But now that my days as a working woman are numbered, I'm beginning to fear (correctly, I've heard) that this new career will be frustrating, mundane, and unglamorous. And it's not really taking care of the punk that I'm worried about. It's managing the household. Is it really possible to feel fulfilled when your primary responsibilities require no resume, no degree, no references?

Our society puts a lot of pressure on women and the choices they make about their families. McCain's running mate Sarah Palin has brought this issue to the forefront for many people. Can a woman contribute her time, talents, and energy to a career and still be a good mom? Can she be a leader in her community and still be the kind of leader that her kids need her to be to them? Can she volunteer to help people in need and still give her family a stable, happy home life?

All my life, I've planned to stay home with my kids. My mom stayed home with me and I had a wonderful childhood. I distinctly remember walking in the door from school and being greeted with the aroma of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. She volunteered for my school's PTA. We always had dinner together as a family. When I got a migraine, I knew she'd be available to pick me up and take care of me at home. I want to give my kids a stable, loving environment at home in order to help them develop the confidence and talents necessary to carry them through the rest of their lives. See? Doesn't that sound fabulous? But when it comes right down to it, I know that most of my time will be spent cleaning up messes, feeding little bellies, and being a chauffeur for the next 100 years.

Is it really possible to be satisfied with one's life as a Stay at Home Mom? (And is there a better title?)

Death with a Side of Fries

What would you eat for your last 3 meals on earth?

I know this question is a bit morbid. Who cares? Humor me. I was thinking about this while I was out on the road yesterday. I think it started when a motorcyclist nestled himself in my blind spot. Luckily, before I changed lanes, I did a triple-take. (Even while checking my blind spot, I couldn't decide if I was seeing the wrap on the window of the corporate vehicle I was driving, or another vehicle.) Anyway, that got me thinking about death. And I was hungry at the time. So, naturally, I was already thinking about food, which brings me back to my question of the day: What would you eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner the day before you kicked the bucket?

As for me...

Breakfast: Starbucks hot chocolate and a butter croissant. Not a Starbucks croissant or a Costco croissant. An actual French croissant, all crispy and chewy and flaky. Yum. Throw in a side of fresh fruit too. Merci!

Lunch: A tomato sandwich made with a big, juicy, garden-fresh tomato on whole wheat bread (toasted), with mayo, salt & pepper. And how about some sweet corn on the cob too, dripping with butter, and plenty of salt & pepper. To drink? I can't decide between a Diet Coke and chocolate Silk (soy milk). How about Diet Coke with the meal, and chocolate Silk for dessert? Yeah.

Dinner: For the appetizer, I'd like a Sunset Roll (crab & avacado topped with salmon sashimi, lemon, ponzu sauce & green onions), complete with a heavenly concoction of soy sauce, ginger & wasabi. Then, bring on the green curry with tofu! Yes, I realize I'm mixing Japanese and Thai in one meal. Is that a problem? I would like my green curry to be from Thai Garden in Holladay please. Then for dessert, two slices of pie. One lemon slice from Sandy's in Ogden, and one slice of my own dark chocolate pie.

 

Your turn!

My Willfully Erroneous Days Are Over!

All my life, I've tried to use a certain word that does not exist. I've repeatedly used it in school assignments, business letters, personal emails... and I wouldn't be surprised if you even found it somewhere on this blog. What word is that, you ask? I will tell you after I wander off on a brief tangent...

When I was in sixth grade, I walked up to Miss Wills to ask her how to spell a word. The word in question was alot. It just wasn't looking quite right on my paper. She informed me that there was no such word. In order to placate my outrage, she continued that the word I was trying to spell was in fact two words. Ever since that day, I have remembered to use the two-word term a lot when trying to say several, many, assorted, myriad, etc.

As I was saying, there is a word the true spelling of which I have refused to accept these 27 years. I have spurned to bend to the will of spell check, despite its repeated insistence of my inaccuracy. I've scoffed in the face of even my beloved companion, dictionary.com.

No more! From henceforth and forever, I vow to discontinue use of the nonexistent word eachother. Even now, spell check has harshly underlined the one-word term in bright red dashes seen only by me, the author. Curse you, spell check (shaking my fist)! You've finally worn me down. Like my friend a lot, which I learned how to spell correctly 16 years ago, I hereby vow to use two words when I mean to indicate that a relationship or an action is reciprocal among the members of the set referred to by the antecedent. (Thank you dictionary.com.) 

Enter a new era into my life during which I will use all words correctly to the best of my knowledge. Enter each other.

Labor Day

I am spending this Labor Day doing manual labor to prepare for my day of labor in December. Yes, I am in full-blown nesting mode. On Saturday, I finished cleaning out the baby's room. It was an empty room, complete with fresh vacuum tracks and clean baseboards. Sunday, Tim and I spent the day in Boise with his brother Matt, his partner in crime Julie, and their 4 year-old son James. James-O was generous enough to let us take off with all his old baby stuff. We made a haul! And when I say haul, I mean an entire U-Haul trailer stuffed full of primary-colored stuff. We've spent our morning cleaning it all off (since it had been sitting in storage for 4 years).

Our neighbors had a good laugh. Poor Tim. This is a pretty big blow to his ego.