Back In Time For Hogmanay

We've been criticised by several of my family members for not updating in several days.

We have lots of really good reasons. This holiday season has been probably the most difficult one this family has seen in a very long time - lots of really sad and emotional circumstances have occurred, not to mention all of the illnesses being passed back and forth. (Did I mention, I got sick right after Scott?)

But again, I don't feel like getting into all the reasons this festive season hasn't been the most festive for us, so I'll just give you our best excuse for why we haven't updated.

I've been in hospital!

Before you concern yourself, I'm fine, Baby's fine, Scott's fine. But on Boxing Day, I started having what felt like really regular contractions in my low abdomen. I had about five in one hour so I called my midwife and took a long, hot bath to stop them. They did stop but started back up about three hours later. My midwife had said if they continue or start back up to go to hospital. So when they started back up, I called the hospital and they told me to come in and to bring an overnight bag in case they needed me to stay. So I packed a bag, and we got to the hospital around 9.30pm. They checked me over and thought it was possibly a UTI but also possibly preterm labour so they kept me overnight. It was my first overnight stay in hospital ever. It was weird. The following morning, the doctor saw me, but the pains hadn't lessened despite the antibiotics so they kept me another night. Let me tell you, it was the most boring and uneventful hospital stay in the world. They never verified UTI, but they did decide it wasn't labour so I'm home.

My hospital stay was very eye-opening, to say the least. How any woman could comfortably have a baby in a normal hospital, I don't know. I stayed in a room with four beds, and the poor woman next to me had to labour behind her pulled curtain with three other people in the room with her. How. Utterly. Horrible. Then she went off to have her baby and came back. I could not do that.

Let me quickly add, by the way, that for some, the hospital is the best place they can imagine having a baby. Many feel safe there and that is perfectly acceptable. I have no problem with other people having babies in hospital. But me? No way, no thanks, not ever if I can help it.

Basically, these are the things I learned regarding how I personally could not have a baby in hospital:
1. Hospitals are SO UNBELIEVABLY BORING. How on earth would you distract yourself during early labour? No TV, no stereo, no snack food. I'd go stir crazy.
2. The privacy, though this hospital was probably better than others, is still barely existent. The poor woman next to me had to labour knowing that there was a woman with a baby right across from her. Surely knowing things like that would distract you from being able to just go with it. I know I'd feel unable to make noise or moan or walk around, knowing I might wake up a baby and the baby's exhausted mother.
3. Hospitals, no matter how good they are, still rely on schedules. Each mother was handed a sheet on which they were to record how often and how much the baby fed, how many nappies were changed, etc. I just cannot be bothered with stuff like that.
4. Women are encouraged to breastfeed (in this hospital anyway) but are then supplied with loads of formula to supplement with. They are encouraged to get the baby to drink however much and then chart it. The whole time I was in (one full day and two nights), I never saw so much as a nipple. All the women said they were breastfeeding though... Not to be condescending, because I'm not saying this in a holier-than-thou way, but it's no wonder breastfeeding is such a challenge to so many women. If babies from day one are fed bottles full of yummy milk and then are suddenly given a boob that has nothing but a few dribbles of colostrum, of course they're gonna refuse! "What's this?? WHERE'S MY FOOD?!" (And of course, there's the nipple confusion issue, too.) But if you give the baby your breast only, they'll suckle a bit, get some colostrum, and eventually, your milk will come in and they'll get what they've been working for. Babies are born with enough fat stores to get them through those first 24-48 hours before Mummy's milk comes in; they don't need formula, but they do need colostrum. Obviously there are exceptions to the rule, but in general, bottle feeding them to start with and then offering them a boring, rather empty boobie is gonna cause problems. Anyway, that was a rant I didn't mean to go so far on.
5. I want to use cloth nappies exclusively. How much would hospital staff hate me?

Anyway, that's enough for now. I just got way too carried away there. Sorry. I need some sleep. ("They" aren't kidding AT ALL when "they" talk about sleepless nights with a baby. I had to sleep through THREE babies last night - and I wasn't even the one who had to get up and feed/change them!)

So anyway, 2007, march on. May you bring this family some cheer (and a baby!)

Nae Good

My poor wee hubby is unwell. Very unwell, really. I've never seen the sweet boy so poorly. Luckily, it isn't the flu, as I first suspected, at least not according to the doctor, but whatever it is, chest infection probably, it's screwing with his asthma which freaks me right out.



He's under there somewhere.

I hate that he's sick during Christmas. He got a one week sick line so he won't be at work this week, which is just as well. I hope he feels well enough to enjoy his Christmas dinner tomorrow. We managed to go out last night to a friend's house, but we had to leave quite early because the poor darling wasn't feeling well. He slept through church this morning, but for once I didn't give him a guilt trip over it. He really wasn't well enough to be there.

But - I was, and I went dressed like Santa Claus. Even though Santa mixed up spells Satan.



(I couldn't cover my cute pigtails with a hat though, so that's why the black head scarf. It wasn't part of the festive outfit. The green eyeshadow was. And I wasn't really trying to look like Santa Claus; just wanted to be Christmasy.)

Merry Christmas all. Hope you all wake up to the smell of chocolate gravy in the morning, like my man will be.

YUM.

For Mom

Mom's been hounding me about another bump picture. Since I was going out last night (which means putting on make-up) I took one last night. Here you go, Ma, hope you're happy. ;)

Peppermint Pinwheels - The End Result

Well, they didn't turn out exactly like the picture, but they were tasty nonetheless. Not very red or very pepperminty but still rather good sugar cookies. I think I'll attempt them again, but next time I'll a) make the swirls red and green (for Christmas, of course) and b) do both swirls in peppermint, not just the red. Or maybe leave out the peppermint altogether. Who knows. At any rate, they were a hit at the party I took them to last night, which somewhat made up for the lack of enthusiasm the last time I baked for an audience.

Peppermint Pinwhee --- Excuse Me?

Not all is well in the Second-to-Last House in Greenock right now, but we'll manage. Lots of disappointments today... no need to go into them all now... things like my working from home plans are shattering (but rather than discuss that here and possibly get fired, I'll tell you in private if you wish for details)... etc...

But I don't want to dwell on the negative. So I present you with this: (!)



Go ahead and laugh, but this veiny confection is gonna be delicious once it's hardened (heehee!) in the fridge, been sliced (yipes!) into thin cookies and baked at 350 degrees and look like this:



Ah, that makes me feel better. Food always does (except nowadays when food, any kind of food, or the lack of food, gives me flaming acid reflux which bubbles and boils its way up my esophagus all the live long day, positively forcing me to pop antacids like candy even though I personally hate medications of any kind and avoid them to the greatest extent possible, preferring preventable pain to subjecting myself to ingesting foreign substances, like antacids which are full of aluminium, particularly now that a human life form is developing in one of my internal organs). Yeah, peppermint pinwheels.

Hot Scottish Rock Stars and Stupid Obstetricians.

I don't know which of these is bigger news: the fact I might need a C-section or the fact that I saw Stuart Murdoch jogging.

I'll start with Stuart Murdoch.

You see, I've been anticipating this for two years now. Before I moved to Scotland, I envisioned myself blithely sauntering down the street in the West End and casually passing Stuart also blithely sauntering down the street and inviting him out for a cup of tea. Yet I've worked in the West End for almost two years now and have never seen him about. His diary is full of entries about him on his laptop out in the middle of town, etc, but I've never caught him. Not in the town, on the subway, in a pub, on Byres Road or in a trendy teahouse.

Then today, the first day of my last week in the West End, Stuart jogged right past me.

He was far enough in front of me for me to clock him, so by the time he passed I knew it was him... because, you know, I stared. And he stared at me, but in a slightly 'oh dear, she must think she recognises me' annoyed way. Sorry, Stu, that this didn't happen the way I planned it. I'm sorry I didn't ask you for a cup of tea.

But thanks for jogging past me and fulfilling my dream, to some extent.

***

All right, so about this c-section thing. Well, to be honest, I'm not worrying myself over it. Basically, my placenta is still too low, but I've still got a few weeks for it to correct itself. The doctor doing the ultrasound couldn't tell me exactly how close to the 'os' (internal cervical opening) it was because I didn't have a full bladder. Well, geez, guys make up your mind. For my first scan I was told to have a full bladder so I did. For the second scan, I showed up ready to pee my pants and they told me I didn't need a full bladder. So this time I show up empty-bladdered, and I'm told they can't tell me anything definite because I didn't drink enough. Bah. So I'm scheduled for another scan after the new year to check up on it. And then I'll be having regular scans from then on out to ensure a vaginal birth is safe.

If the placenta doesn't migrate away from the os, it'll be a c-section, whether I like it or not.

But again, there's time. The placenta doesn't actually move, being attached to the uterus, but the uterus does expand, so the position can change slightly. If a section becomes necessary, then I'll just deal. But I'll probably cry first. I'm so excited about having a homebirth and experiencing a natural, intervention-free birth, that it saddens me that I might not get it. But again, I'm not gonna dwell on it. God is in control, I'm confident of that, so whatever will be will be.

Good news is, it's still a girl. ;) Though the doctor (what's with doctors?) didn't get that I was joking when I asked if he could just verify she's still a girl. He looked at me confusedly and said, 'They don't change their sex.' Oh, don't they? Well, that's a relief! Idiot.

Christmas Show and stuff

So this weekend has been eventful.

Tonight was our Sunday School Christmas show. I didn't realise how nervous I was until after Sunday School this morning when the kids were going crazy and going into huffs over getting called out and 'swearing' they weren't going to show up tonight. But the kids all arrived (plus a few, we had to improvise a few wise men costumes) and it actually all went off without (much of) a hitch. The angels had a bit of trouble with the wording 'peace on earth and good will to those with whom God is pleased' and ended up saying something to the effect of 'Glory to God in the highest, and good will ... peace on earth... good will to those men ... with who God...God is pleased', and they also declared that Jesus was 'convinced' by the Holy Spirit, but other than that, it was good. The only major mistake was mine and Scott's fault as we tried to lead the parents and children in some Christmas carols with the guitar and for some reason, when we started 'Oh Come, All Ye Faithful', neither one of us could remember how it went and we both started singing to two totally different (and wrong) tunes, and then we started again, just to sing the wrong tunes again, and everyone laughed, and then one of the older men in the audience began it for us in a completely different key to where Scott couldn't pick it up with his guitar so we just went a cappela. I couldn't stop laughing; in fact, Scott had to gently push me back a bit because I was laughing so hard in the microphone. I couldn't look out into the audience because I could see in the corner of my eyes all my friends laughing and I was desperately trying to compose myself.

Anyway, it went well, when all is said and done, and none of the kids huffed or swore or hit anyone over the head with a shepherd's staff, so it was truly a success.

****

This weekend was also Scott's birthday weekend. Today is his official birthday (happy birthday, honey), but we celebrated most of it yesterday, because today was going to be so hectic. He got The Game on dvd and Bopit Extreme2 from me, two suits from me, his gran and Kate and Faisal, two comic books he used to read as a kid from Kate and Faisal and Lego Star Wars II for PS2 from his parents. We had a very nice meal at Thai Siam, and I baked him a cake, which was about one and 1/2 cups of oil and 1/4 a cup of sour cream away from disaster. (Basically, I was going to make him a red velvet cake, but the recipe called for one and 1/2 cups of oil which thoroughly grossed me out, but I didn't have any applesauce* to replace it with so I decided last minute to make him a pumpkin cheesecake instead but saw the recipe called for 1/4 cup of sour cream which I did not have. Luckily, I had a chocolate cake mix in the cubbard in case of any cake emergencies, so he got a very special boxed birthday cake...) And today for breakfast, he got to choose what he wanted me to make, which ended up being bacon (fried) rolls with potato scones, so that's what he got. And we had cake for lunch.

Now it's time for my bed. Tomorrow is the third and final ultrasound scan to check the placement of my placenta. I'm not worried about placenta previa anymore; I have a good feeling all is well. I've been practicing good forward leaning positions to get the baby in optimal foetal positioning, and I'm feeling really positive about the birth. Only eight more weeks! That is, unless the girl likes her dwelling so well she decides to stay on an extra two, in which case, there might be words.



*You can replace oil in any recipe with the same amount applesauce, making your recipe far healthier and tastier.

Angels We Have Misinterpreted On High

It was nearly 12 am on Saturday night, and I'd just remembered I had yet to write the nativity play to be rehearsed the following morning at Sunday Club. So there I was, in bed, in pajamas, with my laptop open and my trusty ESV (Especially Sanctified Version*) Bible beside me. I know the story by heart, but it was late and I was tired and I didn't want to have to think too much. I started typing up narration and dialogue, using my Bible as a guideline to keep me straight with the old familiar story. An angel appears to Mary and then Joseph, Caesar decrees the entire world to should be registered, Mary and Joseph saddle up and head to Bethlehem, but there's no room in the inn, so they sleep in a stable, Jesus is born and wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger. Nearby there are shepherds in a field and the angels come to them declaring 'Glory to God in the Highest and on earth, peace and good will towards men--'

Stop.

Double-take.

Luke 2:14: 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!' (ESV)

Peace among those with whom he is pleased? Suddenly, my Especially Sanctified Version seemed Especially Soteriological (in the Reformed way). I had never heard such a translation.

So, like a good little wanna-be theologian, I went downstairs and pulled down my New American Standard Bible (NASB), another word-for-word literal translation. It said, '...And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.'

I scratched my head. So where did I get that line 'peace and good will towards men'? It dawned on me: Ah-ha! I only recently switched to ESV and NASB; it must be from the old NIV (New International Version - a looser, more colloquial 'thought-for-thought' version) days, my old favourite (before I knew better, snicker.) So I pulled my old beloved NIV study Bible from the shelf and turned to Luke 2.

'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.'

I'm puzzled. And feeling slightly duped.

Who taught me 'peace and good will towards men'? It may not sound like a big difference, but it actually changes the 'Christmas message' significantly. Even the innocent Baby Jesus Lying in a Manger story is now swaddled (ha) in theology. Was he born to bring peace and good will to men (in general) or just to those whom God favours?

It was now very late, and I had to finish the play. Not wanting to be controversial (being one of only approximately four Calvinists in my church, I didn't want to be accused of indoctrinating), I kept the 'good will towards men' line and finished off the story - careful to note that the wise men (however many there were) arrived much later and not at the stable.

The following Sunday, I discussed this issue with Jeff and Scott. We pulled down a few more translations to inspect. We found our culprit(s): King James Version (KJV) and New King James Version (NKJV). Both say, '... and on earth peace, good will toward men.'

After discussing the magnitude of this change (and Jeff, might I add, is not a Calvinist), I realised I couldn't, with good conscience, leave the line so skewed. I changed the script to say 'peace to those with whom God is pleased'. Though it felt controversial, who was I to change or add to the Word of God?

The implications of this have been really mind-boggling. Not that I didn't already believe that Jesus came only for the Elect, but to find evidence of this in the 'Christmas' story was really surprising - and eye-opening - to me. The angels essentially told us that the Baby Jesus was born to bring peace to only a select group: those with whom God is pleased or even perhaps those whom God favours. What a radical difference that makes!

What a difficult difference that makes.

On the back of my ESV Bible, there is a blurb about the translation process. It states something to the effect of 'The translators agreed to put aside doctrinal differences in order to render a translation that is true to the original text'. I wonder what translators must think when they come across passages in the original text that make them think of something differently than they always thought before? I wonder how hard it is to put aside personal doctrines in order to render a true translation? I wonder if people of all different doctrines change their minds on several points after an undertaking like this?

Which sort of unintentionally brings me to the other issue I came across while writing this children's play. Some translations blatantly do not put aside doctrinal differences in order to render a true translation. I don't know what scribes and translators were doing with the KJV/NKJV, but that was a long time ago and they were also the first English translations, so I won't be too hard on the old King. But take, for instance, The Message's take on the verse (and ooh, I'll try hard not to get all up on my soapbox about The Message...): 'Glory to God in the heavenly heights, Peace to all men and women on earth who please him.' (Similarly, the Contemporary English Version says, 'Praise God in heaven! Peace on earth to everyone who pleases God.')

The subtle change in the verse passed right over me upon first read. Jeff actually had to point it out to me. I was just surprised that The Message didn't follow the traditional catch-phrase and not a bit surprised that it added 'women'. Did you see what else I'm referring to?

What's the difference between 'Peace among men with whom He is pleased' (NASB) and ' Peace to all men and women on earth who please him' (Message)?

Syntax, semantics, rhetoric.

The point of this entire post is how drastically those things formulate our beliefs and theology. What else, I can't help wondering, are we being spoon fed that is subtly yet fundamentally wrong?



*I think it was Bryce who dubbed it this, though I could be wrong. At any rate, I stole this moniker from someone and love using it. ESV actually stands for English Standard Version.

Parcel in the Post/Oh Yoda Tree

There are several things I could write about tonight, but I think I'll just narrow it down to the two most pressing.

Parcel in the Post
I got a card through the letterbox from the Royal Mail saying they had a parcel for me. This is always an exciting occurrance. I know that I have several things due to arrive soon: a present for Scott, the baby monitor I ordered from Mothercare, two packages of presents from my mom and a present from Devon and Liz. I couldn't wait to get to the mail depot after work to find out which it was.

It was none of the above! Now this is always even more exciting, when you don't know what it is or who it's from. So I got in the car, and as maybe we all do, I opened it immediately.

It was from my internet friend Alex.

Let it be known, Alex and I have never met, but it's funny how much I consider her a real-life friend. A couple of years ago, she knitted me the cutest hat, to which I, in response, painted her portrait. One day, we intend to cross the short distance of the island of Great Britain and meet.

Let it also be known, and publicly appreciated, that I have received many adorable baby gifts since I became pregnant, from family and friends. Schmooker has been given some of the cutest items in the world from people who already love her. We are thankful for and love every last gift you have sent us.

But oh my goodness, I just have to tell you that the things Alex knitted are to freaking die for.


(click on the photo to view all)

Alex, you are unbelievably awesome. COME TO SCOTLAND. (Or we'll just have to go down there!)

Oh Yoda Tree
I felt I ought to address this issue before anyone took any great offense, looking at our Flickr pictures.

Last year, I struggled a lot with the idea of Christmas. I wasn't even sure we ought to be celebrating it at all. There is no biblical mandate to celebrate the birth of Christ; we are only told to remember his death. I also wasn't sure how I felt about all the other Christmas things, like Christmas trees, presents, Santa, etc. It all seemed so pagan and worldly. I did a lot of reading up on the different origins of these traditions and what I found a lot of times upset me. It seemed that if celebrating Christmas were even acceptable at all, the way we do it currently was far from godly.

But a few things I read made sense to me. On the subject of celebrating Jesus' birth, I read a comment somewhere about how if a multitude of angels felt it was good to sing Glory to God in the Highest, in celebration of the birth of our Saviour, then surely it was right for us to do the same. Maybe the Bible never tells us to celebrate Christ's birth, but I came to agree that that doesn't mean it is wrong to do so. However, the way we were doing it still bothered me. Then I read something else, I do believe on a Messianic Jewish website/forum/something-or-other. A Christian non-Jew was asking the same kind of questions as me, and someone (a Messianic Jew, I believe) responded that in his family, they celebrated the holiday with a tree and presents, etc, but divorced the unreligious traditions from the story of Christ's birth. It was two different occasions. The tree and presents and family dinners was all part of a holiday, but they did not try to make those things religious. They shared the story of Jesus birth with their children as they would any other story in the Bible, but they didn't try to combine the religious story with the unreligious holiday.

This made sense to me. After all, family dinners and presents aren't bad in and of themselves. Teaching your children about giving and receiving graciously is a wonderful thing. A big decorated tree in your home isn't necessarily bad either. What I felt was bad was somehow trying to make all that about the most fundemental aspect of my entire life, indeed of the entire world, Jesus Christ. What trees and tinsel and Santa Claus have to do with my Saviour and Lord, well, there is no relationship.

So I decided that's how I would approach Christmas. I would separate the two ideas - the birth of Jesus from the decorations and presents. I wouldn't try to make the holiday 'symbolic' (though if my kids draw symbolism between the 'gift' of God and the gifts at Christmas, then that is fine). I will emphasise that Jesus was born so that he could live as a human being without sin and later die to take our place as a holy sacrifice. Scott and I will read our children the story of Jesus' birth.

We will give presents as something separate.

This separation settles the discomfort I felt about Christmas as a whole. It also leads me to become more and more annoyed at everyone throwing a big hissy fit over which department stores aren't saying 'Merry Christmas' anymore because OH MY GOODNESS, ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TRYING TO KEEP CHRISTMAS LINKED WITH CONSUMERISM?

So basically, I'm only saying all of this so that no one thinks the new 'Holiday' tree topper in our house is pure sacrilege...

How DOES he make his money?

I noticed yesterday that 'some' (cough IE cough!) browsers don't seem to have the ability to process images with a transparent background, so some of you have been getting the images at the top surrounded by an ugly gray box. Hopefully I have remedied that. But I don't like having to do what I had to do. Transparent is my FRIEND.

I'm also thinking I'm going to do away with the top frame, and just keep the skinnier side frame. Does everyone with tiny computer screens agree? I like frames, but I think maybe they make it too difficult to see the main content. Also, I know frames are so part of the past, but I'm still using Blogger to post with (I SO need to get with the program, don't I?) and I don't like trying to design things in blogger - I like using my Dreamweaver.

Anyway, for the time being, we've got a guest in our home (Jeff, the EX chicken farmer, which by the way, the EX makes me very sad and I'm having a bit of an identity crisis for him...) so I don't need to engross myself in webplay. I need in engross myself in some French toast! Cheerio!

EDIT: On second thought, I just got the top frame to shrink to fit the smaller birdie image, and I've changed my mind. I'm sticking with the frames for now unless you all beg me to do otherwise (because your lives depend on the frameset of my blog).

A New Hope Home

I'm really impulsive.

(At this moment, you who know me are rolling your eyes and thinking, 'Um, duh'.)

I get something in my head, and I really have to act on it. IMMEDIATELY.

Take this house for instance.

It's fabulous. And I want it.

Sure it's a bit out of our price range. Yes, people are going to be clamouring over it. We don't really have any hope of landing it.

We're not even sure yet if we want to buy.

But it's perfect! I mean, really perfect. I mean, not just kinda perfect but like perfect in every way. The location. The size. The lavendar walls. The gorgeous kitchen. The Amtico flooring.

It's also directly next door to Scott's parents house.

(Now some of you are thinking, 'I knew there was a catch!')

But this is actually completely agreeable to me. Sure most people would balk at the idea of living directly next door (as in, the next number) to the in-laws. But not me. No, I actually rather like the idea. Sure, there would have to be some rules put in place - no unannounced dropping in, etc (even though we've been guilty of unannouncedly dropping in on them before), but in general, I think it would work out just fine.

And did I mention the house is PERFECT?

The only hitch is, well, the price. But surely people have bought houses slightly out of their price range before? In fact, hasn't everybody? You'd definitely think that after watching an hour of Home and Garden television.

So back to me being impulsive.

I'm afraid if we don't view this house right this minute we'll lose any chance of getting it. If we don't book a solictor NOW and put in a bid NOW we'll lose it forever. Scott says we have to wait until tonight when we can talk about it. But what if it's SOLD by tonight??

If it were up to me, I'd be putting in an offer this weekend. Thankfully it's not up to me. I don't even know how much of a mortgage we could get, or what to do with a mortgage at all, for that matter. Or how to hire a solicitor or if a solicitor is even necessary. And I don't know what kind of fees are involved. Or how long the process takes. Or when we'd have to move in. OR EVEN IF WE WANT TO BUY A HOUSE AT ALL YET.

But this house is worth it. And I'd overcome my Mortgage Fear to have this place. I'd pack up my belongings with an eight-month gestated baby in my uterus for this place.

But part of being impulsive means that in a few days I may not luv this house with all my anymore. It might get sold, and I'll forget all about it (though I might glare at the new owners when we happen to see them entering and exiting). So it's a good thing Scott's not impulsive.

On the other hand, oh my gosh what if it sells THIS WEEKEND and we totally lose our chance of getting it because we waited too long?! Scott, hurry up and call the bank!

UPDATE: Sold. :(

Give Me Chocolate or Give Me Death

Dear Raging Hormones,

I understand that you are circulating my body for a very good reason. I understand that without you, my little schmooker wouldn't grow right and my body wouldn't be able to cope with her inside me.

But for the love of all things holy, would you mind settling down just a bit?

Because of you, I want to scream at things. Because of you, I want to chop people's heads off on a regular basis. Because of you, I want to cry about every tiny bothersome thing, and it's beginning to get just the slightest bit ridiculous.

Today, you nearly made me shout obscenities at a group of Fifth Year girls standing outside the disabled toilet. It wasn't their fault, assumably, that there were several schoolbags blocking the door, meaning that the school's disabled children wouldn't have a chance in hell of getting to the toilet if they needed it, but because they were the only people near the said bags, I wanted to shout my head off at them for not caring about other people, including their very own peers, and disobeying rules like 'Do not block the door with your bags' or even 'Do not leave your bags lying in the hall during break times'.

I also had absolutely zero interest in the fact that a pretty flower was sent to one of the girls in the office, and when she came in, excited about receiving them, I barely looked at her. Who cares about your dumb flowers? Who cares about 'Kenny' or whatever his name is. NOT ME.

Or rather, NOT MY HORMONES.

And because of you, I found myself crying in the nurse's station as I took a short rest during the day because I was so tired and probably should've gotten my blood tested for anemia so now I'm probably gonna die.

And then, you, in conjunction with the Royal Mail, had to totally screw up my afternoon, causing me to have to repackage my parcels TWICE and then in the car as well because one parcel was over 2kg and what's the big freaking deal, hmm? But I nearly threw the boxes of Christmas presents at the mail guy for telling it me it was going to be £50 to ship unless I repackaged them (again) into two separate packages. Gah!

Ahem.

So, dear hormones that are protecting my child and body, as much as I am indebited to you for all the work you are doing to keep me fit, I'd appreciate if you'd also take a moment to consider my sanity. And while you're at it, maybe you could lay off the tiredness?

And if you happen to see your friend, the Uterus, could you ask her to please stop contracting, and if you see your other friend, the Vagina, could you ask her to please stop with the whole making-me-waddle thing? It was cute at first; it's not cute anymore.

Sincerely,
Lori

Holy Mackerel!

I'm a whale!

I'm now 30 weeks pregnant. That sounds so FAR. I mean, the 20 week numbers sound nice and cute and second trimestery, but 30?! That's like, ready to pop. Not really, Schmooker is actually not welcome to arrive until at least 38 weeks (ah, heck, we'd still take her earlier than that, but she'd have a serious talking-to about arriving to parties too early and not allowing herself to bake all the way through before making her appearance. We want our babies well-done, not medium rare. Ew. That's an awful analogy.)

Anyway, disgusting steak-baby references aside, I'm very excited about my 30 week mark and commemorated it by allowing myself to buy a little outfit (it was only £5!)

I can't wait to meet my little girl.

Catching the Worms

Hello, readers of the blog formerly known as 'Second-to-Last House in Greenock'!

Yes, we've 'redesigned'. (Scott says it's more of a 'reskin'.) I've been trying to think of a new idea for the blog for a while now, since we are a)expecting a new addition to the old scottandlori and b)because we may not be in the second-to-last house in Greenock for much longer. (Or heck, maybe we'll be here forever, who freaking knows.)

Anyway, I've toyed with lots of really stupid new names and design ideas, but none have been satisfactory. Then last night in bed, I decided on a little black bird... with a pink background.... but what did it all mean?

It didn't really mean much, but then I thought about early birds catching the worms... and how that fits in with our very near future... being early birds for a very long time, as soon as the baby arrives. So there... that's the meaning of this whole silly thing. Maybe by seeing every hour of the night, we'll catch some worms...

Or something.

Fine, it's just an excuse for me to put a cute little bird on our website.

Another Blether About Books (and a bit about life)

Actually penned on Thursday night, 30 November, but not posted, as I lost my stolen wireless connection.

I don't use the word 'enchanting' often (or ever), but in the following sentence it is most appropriate:

I just read the most enchanting book. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith is simply marvellous. I'm actually so sad it ended. I'd have liked Cassandra to go on forever and ever until she died. Most books don't encourage me to think on in the context of the story; I'm usually quite happy with the way they end and though I'll very often dwell on the contents of the story for some time after, I rarely think what might happen to the characters after the book ends. This book is rare for me in that I really do want to think may happen after Cassandra finished her journal. I wonder what happens to her, her family, the Cottons... without getting specific (because I think if you're looking for an enchanting book to read, you should head to your library right now and pick up a copy), I just wonder, hope, want everything to keep happening for her.

My brother gave me this book, telling me I'd love it. I believed him, but it's taken me this long (five months, or is it eight?) to start it. It's a quick read (or maybe I've just had a lot of time on my hands, being in bed for a million days), but it's lovely. I wish I could read it again for the first time.

Perhaps I'm building it up too much now. I'll stop gushing. It was a really good break after reading the 500 exhausting (but well worth the effort) pages of Just a Little Prick* by Peter and Hilary Butler on vaccinations. I'm now reading Notes from a Big Country by Bill Bryson. I never did finish Vanity Fair. I'll admit I lost interest when Becky moved in with the Sir Pitt Crawley. I'll try to pick it up later, but I just find all the Crawleys so hard to like. And Becky's boring descriptions of them haven't kept me interested enough in Becky to keep going.

In other news, I went to work today. I stayed until 1.30 then came home. My boss didn't expect me to stay the whole day, which was a relief. Around noon I felt my body positively crashing. I'm still not over this thing, but I desperately needed to get some work done so I'm glad I went in. I'll go in again tomorrow and hopefully stay the whole day. I need to. And luckily it'll then be the weekend. More sleeping, or rather, trying to sleep. Let me just say cold plus heartburn plus big wiggly baby in womb makes it very difficult to sleep, as if just one of those things weren't bad enough on its own.

Oh yes and two more things:
First, Scott's parents are back from Australia and Japan. They came by tonight with soup, for which I am entirely grateful. They also brought us pressies - a kokeshi doll for me, some Japanese letter openers for Scott and a hand-knitted teddy bear for Schmooker, made by one of the ladies in the Melbourne branch of our church. They told me what my Christmas pressie will be too, but I'll keep that a secret until Christmas.

Second, I'll be working from home starting in June. My boss gave me the okay today. :D Praise God! And I get to take the iMac mini home with me to work from. Hurray!


*I actually think the back cover blurb for this book is horrible in comparison to the actual content of the book. It sounds all alarmist and blindly anti-vaccination and conspiracy-theory. The book is actually, in my opinion, well-written, not alarmist or conspiracy-theorist and fair. It's quite scientific and absolutely full of references to medical literature, not just opinions and theories. So if the subject interests you, don't let the back cover fool you. I think it's unfortunately misleading. And again, I think it's worth the effort, if the idea of vaccination doesn't just 100% sit well with you.


[UPDATE for Friday:] I did go into work all day today and managed just fine. I also OFFICIALLY officially finished Christmas shopping, as I finally got The Gran her present. We also got to start in on our advent calendars today, it being the first of December. Today's present for me was a gorgeous hat. Good times!

The Illness Continued

It just won't go away. I think it might be the bubonic plague. Or bird flu, at the very least.

The Illness

It's Day 3 of The Illness.

I'm still at home, though I feel really guilty about not being at work. Why? Two reasons: 1) I have deadlines this week (one of which I've now missed) and 2) I always criticise 'those people' who take off work for every little cold.

I've never been one to miss work very much. In the two years I've been at the school, I've probably only had about three days off before getting pregnant - and two of those days I was actually sent home because they thought I was so unwell. And two of those days ended up being the start of the flu (and I mean like, real flu, not this pansy-ass 'oh sniffle, must be influenza and death!').

But since I've been pregnant, I've had to allow myself to think in a different way. Will going to work put too much strain on me if I am unwell? Do I want to stay unwell when my baby is completely depending on me for her well-being? Is it best to rest and get better as soon as possible in order that my child is as healthy as can be?

In reality, this is the first time I've taken off work for actual sickness during my pregnancy. The other times have been related to my backpain (from the time I was stuck in two hour traffic agony) and probably morning sickness. I didn't like taking off any of those days either but at least I could console myself in knowning that, by law, days taken off sick due to pregnancy cannot be held against you as sick leave.

Anyway, so I'm hoping to be back in tomorrow. I really need to get these deadlines met. Not to mention the fact that I've only got 3 and a half weeks left of work before I start maternity leave!

Roll on Christmas, baby.

I've got a cold.

It sucks.

Thanksgiving (Satur)Day

I know Thanksgiving is old news now for you Americans (and Canadians, for that matter), but we had our dinner last night, and I believe it ought to be mentioned.

About ten people showed up, plus two little ones aged 3 and 5. It was a lot of fun. Most were people from my work, with the exception of Michaela and Kate and Faisal (Scott's sister and her man).

Nothing terribly spectacular occurred other than the fact that everyone seemed to have a really good time. I know I did. But really, what I'm most pleased about, is that the food all went really well. Kate brought a yummy mashed potato dish (which I failed to get a picture of) and Carol brought a yummy vegetarian lasagna (which I also failed to photograph before it was devoured). Carol and Lynda (and their daughters) brought fairy cakes and chocolate crispie cakes and rock cakes (which I still have loads of so I could go get a picture of them). Besides that, the rest of the meal was up to me, which suited me fine.

I spent all day Saturday baking. First I made the pies, pumpkin and chocolate cream.





After those were cooled, I refridgerated them and later in the day began the stuffing and the sweet potato souffle.





(The sweet potato souffle was actually made by Michaela, who arrived a couple hours early to hang out.)

The cranberry sauce was your typical Ocean Spray stuff - but not the kind in the can, unfortunately, that you can slice. Oh well, you can't have everything.

Then, of course, there was the turkey. I ordered a cooked and frozen crown turkey breast from the catering manager at the school, so all I had to do was defrost it and stick it in the oven with some gravy (store bought) poured over it. Despite my forgetting it was in the oven for a really long time, it turned out great and didn't go dry.



To finish it off, we steamed brussel sprouts, broccoli and carrots, and it turned out to be a lovely, lovely meal, a proper Thanksgiving meal. After we'd all filled our plates, we went around the room and said what we were thankful for. Scott is thankful for our baby. Lynda's five-year-old daughter is thankful for school, and Carol's three-year-old daughter was thankful for her mashed potatoes.

I was thankful that nothing burned.

For more pictures, click here and here.

Call the Fire Brigade!

Whew, what a day off this has been! Aside from nearly being looked-at to death by a couple of junkies builders (who, as it turns out, are friends of my landlord), I also got trapped in a cold stairwell in someone else's flat!

Scott and I are considering moving to a bigger home, now that Schmooker has come into our lives, so today my landlord took me to view one of his three-bedroom flats in the West End (hoorah). The flat was actually really, really cool - big, airy, well-lit, massive kitchen, super-sized oven/stove, loads of storage, good security...

Too good, in fact.

The flat is an attic flat which is over a dentist's office and another residential flat. The stairwell (close?) is shared by the two residential flats. At some point, while I was oohing and ahhing over the space, the kitchen and the massive cubbards, the second-floor-flat residents must've left the building...

And locked the door at the bottom of the close.

When we were through viewing the place, we walked down the stairs. Suddenly, I felt confused. How do we get out? I thought, as I couldn't remember having to open any doors on the way in. I tried the door first, then Davy tried it. It was locked. Davy pulled out his bundle of keys and tried them all, just to discover he did not have a copy of that door key.

We were trapped.

I suggested we go try knocking on the second-floor-flat door to see if anyone was in. No one was in.

Luckily, the flat is actually owned by Davy's daughter so we thought we'd just call her. Only Davy left his mobile in the car. And didn't know her mobile number by heart.

I started phoning the people in my mobile, hoping someone would have her number. We got no response. Finally, after calling about three or four different places, we got ahold of Davy's wife at her work and she got us their daughter's number. She was out and told us she didn't have a key for that door either, as she's never known it to be closed.

Twindle thumbs.

Davy finally asked her to get her husband to come down with a crowbar and break us out.

As we waited, Davy kept looking out the window (about a story and a half high, we were), then suddenly tried opening it. It opened.

"Hey, I can jump out the window and go get a ladder!" he suggests, brilliantly.

Pause, as I weigh the options.

I could either be stuck in a cold stairwell for heaven knows how long with my landlord or climb down a ladder at seven months pregnant.

Definitely the ladder.

So Davy jumped out the window and returned minutes later with a ladder. (The flat is just down the street from our church, and coincidentally there was a ladder in the church.)

I was terrified.

He put the ladder up to the window and climbed it to try its strength and stability. He took my handbag, put it on the ground and then climbed again to help me out the window. I paused and told him I needed to pray first, which I did, passionately.

Then he began directing me on how to get out the window onto the ladder. I climbed up over the railing, and managed to get into the windowsill facing out. I crawled over to the far edge in order to give my huge body enough room to turn around. He stayed on the top of the ladder to keep me steady. He directed my first foot onto the top rung. He stepped down a few and directed my second foot. The whole way down he stayed right behind me which was conforting; he's a big man, and if I fell, I'd at least be falling onto something cushiony.

At last I reached the ground. Nervous laughter ensued. Davy commented that Scott was going to kill him. This is very possible.

It feels good to be on solid ground again. I'm much less likely to fall. Actually, that's entirely not true.

Call the Police!

Our neighbours are building an extension to their house right now so during the day we try to keep our car out of the drive so it doesn't get damaged by the construction. We're usually both at work so it's no big deal, but since I am off today, Scott reminded me to move the car before the builders started working. So after I got up and dressed this morning, I headed outside to move the car.

As I walked out my front door, I noticed an unfamiliar old silver car sitting on our street with two very suspicious-looking characters hanging out inside with the windows open, smoking.

I briefly considered locking my door but realised that might be a bit extreme considering I was only moving the car a few feet. I was aware of them watching me. I quickly got in the car, moved it and got back out (locking it, you can be sure). I went back inside and locked the door. I peered through the window to see them still sitting there, looking at my house.

I started thinking of what to do. They looked like total junkies up to no good. I checked the clock so I could record how long I'd noticed them there. I decided if they were still there in half an hour, I might need to call the police. I'd tell the police that I'm home alone and pregnant and really nervous about these junkies sitting outside my house peering at me.

I decided to call Scott, you know, to let him know I might not be safe.

He had to call me back so I waited. When he did call back, I told him:

"Scott, I'm just telling you this so you know, but there are a couple of junkies hanging out outside the house in a car, smoking or something, and they're making me really nervous. If they're still there in half an hour, I'm going to be really worried."

"Where are they? Outside by our car?"

"Yes. Right by our car. They're really suspicious and look like junkies."

"Are you sure they aren't the builders?"

Pause.

"Well, do the builders look like pure junkies?"

"I don't know. Go around back and ask the neighbours if they are the builders. I gotta go."

This did not make me feel any better. I put down the phone and started gathering courage to go out back and knock on the neighbours door. But before I could get too far, I heard voices outside my window.

I peered out, unnoticeably, I hoped, and saw the "junkies" putting on construction coats and get out their shovels.

It just goes to show you can't judge a book by its cover.

(I still maintain they might be junkies, just high functioning ones...)

Thanksgiving Day Christmas Tree Photo Post

Unfortunately, though today is Thanksgiving, I'm going to have to reverse my holiday posting. Normally, I'd put up my Christmas tree after Thanksgiving. However, we won't be celebrating Thanksgiving until Saturday (as naturally the Scots don't have this Thursday/Friday off.) So I'll write about my Christmas tree putting-up experience tonight and Thanksgiving on Saturday.

But I'm going to use the age-old 'show don't tell' method of writing... only literally, actually, to tell the story of The Christmas Tree.




















The End.

Like Mother Like Daughter

Dear Mom - Please don't take the following the wrong way. I in no way am making fun. I've actually grown to love the items discussed below.

At some point in time, my mother decided that leopard print was so me. She started buying me leopard print stuff every Christmas. My aunts thought it was so me too. Over the years, I've recented two leopard print picture frames, a leopard print blanket and a leopard print scarf and gloves set.



Amanda and I used to joke about this all the time. I started wearing the scarf and gloves a lot because frankly, I like matching things, but we thought it was funny that out of nowhere, my mom and aunts decided that I loved leopard print. I don't know where this came from. But it must've been a self-fulfilling prophecy because now I kinda do.

A few weeks ago, Scott and I were wandering around the little girls' clothes section in a shop when I spotted a little outfit I couldn't do without. Scott was amazed. He said, "Lori! You're going to do exactly to our daughter what your mom did to you!" I just smiled and placed the outfit in the basket. Yes, I thought, revenge.

Only it's not revenge. Because it's so unbelievably cute. In fact, I think it's so unbelievably her.

Shout It From the Rooftops

I love my husband more than I could ever in my wildest dreams have imagined.

I just wanted to announce that to the world.

Fail To Impress

I just thought it would be melodramatic to title three posts in a row with derivatives of the word 'fail'.

Months ago as the ladies in the church gathered to plan our monthly Ladies' Evenings, I volunteered to help out with the baking. 'I love baking,' I informed them. They oldies were quite pleased to hear this because not only did it mean a little less work from them, but it also meant that maybe, just maybe, there would be someone in the younger generation to carry on the very important tradition of homebaking for church gatherings, a tradition that is dying out amongst the youth.

I was very anxious to impress. Anna, one of the older ladies who is very well-known for her homebaking, was particularly delighted. While having a cup of tea at her house one evening, she offered us some shortbread and then commented, 'You bake too, don't you?' sounding quite pleased. I really wanted to impress her with my baking. Her and the other ladies who find baking for church functions the greatest ministry a woman can have. (My church doesn't allow women to speak, so you know, baking and making tea is about the crux of it. I do not agree with this doctrine, might I add. But I do love to bake. Though I hate making a cup of tea.)

So tonight was the Big Night. I spent hours yesterday evening making up my 'tray bakes'. I made two batches of shortbread and two batches of no-bake cookies (at the request of one of the ladies who liked my no-bake cookies). It really did take hours. Shortbread is a tricky thing. I was so nervous, making that shortbread. When the dough came out all crumbly, I was nervous. I rolled the dough out a million times with the rolling pin, trying to get it to hold together, but it just wouldn't get less crumbly. I added water and more flour... refridgerated the dough (is it called dough if it's shortbread?)... Anyway, in the end I just went with it, and they turned out fine. A bit dry but tasty.

I brought in my four batches of cookies tonight on brand new Christmasy platters. I was nervous. I couldn't wait until the tea after to observe the reactions. I dreamed of the ladies complimenting me on my delicious shortbread. I invisioned them asking the 'secret' of the unique flavour.

Tea time came, and I tried to be non-chalant about watching the platters empty. I tried to non-chalantly look at people's plates to see if they'd taken any of my cookies. I watched faces as they bit into my shortbread.

The platters remained full.

The plates seemed ominously void of my cookies.

The faces eating my shortbread showed no interest.

I even found a half-eaten piece of shortbread left on a table.

Not even my friends who knew the shortbread was mine commented.

The night ended, and I peeked in the kitchen to reclaim my platters. I knew tons of cookies had been left. I asked if they were going to kept for another occasion. One lady said yes, she'd put them in some tins - unless I wanted them to take back home. No, no, I insisted, I'll just take one or two for Scott. I waited for someone to comment on them. One lady finally did. 'Was that almond in them?' she said, with a funny (I think?) look on her face. Embarrassed and suddenly terrified that my 'unique' flavour had been a disaster, I quickly explained I usually use vanilla but thought I'd try almond this time. 'Oh, no,' she said, 'I don't like vanilla.'

That was the only comment I got the whole night.

I know it's silly, but I was crushed! What if they never want me to bake for them again? I'm afraid now to even volunteer. I came home and nearly cried. Maybe it was a mixture of disappointment, pregnant hormones and the horrible rain that drenched me on my journey from the car into the house, but seriously, I'm the saddest.

Double Failure

Well, I didn't manage to post yesterday either. Why,you ask? Because I was out PARTYING! Yeah, that's right, I was a Wild Child. I drank so much water, I was wasted.

It was my friend Jamie's 'leaving do' at work. He actually left a month ago, but we just got around to bidding him his farewell. We met up for lunch at 1.00 and partied until late into the eve. Ya'll, I was so impressed with myself - I stayed out until 10.00! At which point I was so thoroughly exhausted I could barely even sleep. I was too tired to get into a comfortable enough position.

I was so exhausted during dinner, even, that I could barely lift the fork to my mouth. But I was starving also so I managed.

But that is why I didn't post yesterday. I was too busy shooting ice water at the pub.

But maybe today. Maybe today.

Failure to Launch

*No, I've not seen this movie and don't intend to.

Well, I failed to successfully blog at least once each day. Big fat deal. Last night I was exhausted after spending the most wonderful cheap date night with my husband - pizza delivery, a romantic drive in the dark, and [edited for content].



It's not that I had nothing to say; I've had several entries in my mind to write about in case a day arrives when I'm stuck. But last night, I preferred sleep to blogging.

(Though sleep I did not really get, as I woke up periodically all night with the most disgusting and horrid heartburn EVAH. Note to Self: BUY GAVISCON)

It seems now, though, a bit stupid to embark on one of my planned topics because a) I'm at work and had to find a picture in Flickr to blog from (by the way, I got Flickr put back on our access list - I called the IT department and complained childishly) and b) My title wouldn't do it justice. So maybe tonight I'll post something more exciting, but for now, I'll just tell you about my incredible bargain shopping from yesterday lunchtime.

My friend Carol from work and I are quickly becoming The Most Boring People To Have Lunch With in the universe. She brings in her lunch and I've started either bringing mine in or buying soup and eating it at my desk before going away for the hour. We pretty much then just walk around the town during lunch until it's time to come back. Our usual haunts are Morrisons (grocery store), Mothercare, Instore (junky cheap stuff shop), Cancer Research charity shop, Au Naturale (kinda tacky but sometimes nice home decor) and Boots (chemist). I know, I know, quit clamouring to come lunch with us!

Yesterday, I decided to use my Boots Advantage Points that I've been saving up for a few years. I had £18.50 worth in points. I also had a £5 off voucher for any No7 product.

Girlfriend, I bought three Christmas presents and a facewash for £1.50.

And I still have £8.50 in Advantage points left.

That's almost as exciting as the bargain I got on matching his and hers vibrating toothbrushes!

The (Not So) Mysterious Thoughts of a Woman

Throughout the day, I thought of several different things I could post about - contraception (inspired by this GetReligion post), my upcoming homebirth and my birth plan, and my very hopeful-looking work-from-home situation. But now that I'm at home, sitting with my legs wide apart on a stool with my oversized tummy taking over what should be my lap with increasing backpain as I continue to try to sit this way because I don't have the heart to kick the cat off my rocking chair... I don't feel like posting about anything. If only my laptop were waterproof, I could post from a hot, steamy bubble bath...

So here are some random, not-thought-out thoughts to get us all by.

The people at my work don't have a clue what I do. It's fair enough when an IT teacher asks why I use a Mac and I have to explain that it's because I design the magazine, but when your own boss tells you he wasn't aware that you write the termly newsletters... well, that's just insane. I write six newsletters a year; I'd consider that a definite important part of my job that my own boss should know about. When the Deputy Rector has to clarify with me in a meeting about the magazine that I'm the desktop publisher, I think that's a bit crazy too. I mean, why else would I be in the meeting, a copy of the magazine in hand, discussing the need for higher quality photographs, more condensed text and a higher standard of proofing on the printers' part if all I do is answer the bloody phone sometimes? And when I call the IT department to talk about loading some new pages on the website and the IT guy says, 'Thomas isn't here, but there's someone else who deals with the website who might be able to help if you can find out who that is' and that 'someone else' happens to be ME, okay, there's a problem.

Keeping up with housework is well and truly an astronomically-sized job but a few basic rules are helping me out:
1. Hand wash the dishes after dinner. In fact, while you're cooking, fill the sink with hot soapy water and drop the pots and pans in as you are finished with them. Wash those while things are cooking/simmering/baking. After dinner, take the remaining dishes immediately back to the kitchen and finish the job. If the water is yucky or cold or whatever, refill the sink. Or if you're lucky like me and have a dishwasher, rinse the dishes and stick them in there. It's amazing.
2. Do one load of laundry a day. Laundry is so easy; it takes minutes to separate out a few coloured/dark/white items and throw them in the wash. An hour later it takes only another few minutes to throw them in the dryer/hang them on the line/hang them on the airer. I'm going to do my one load when I finish typing.

I'm learning that decorating a baby room really ought to be a last trimester sort of job. In the first trimester, I was so excited about being pregnant that I bought all sorts of neutral decor baby stuff to start decorating with. By the second trimester, I knew I was having a girl so I started buying girly things. Now I'm in the third trimester and I'm tired of the crap I've been looking at all this time. I exchanged most of my jungle-themed items (with the exception of a mobile that Pete bought us) for the 'Secret Garden' theme (pink and pastel green and white flowery stuff) and I've changed my mind on the colour scheme again. Originally it was going to be oranges, greens and yellows for the jungle theme - then it became pink and turquoise with a touch of yellow for the cute but not too girly theme - now I just want pink and white with a few bits of pastel green to match the 'Secret Garden' theme. I've sort of lost my mind.

That hot, steamy bubble bath sounds unbelievably good right now. It's laundry then bath time. Good night.

Pulling My Weight

Well, even though Lori started this post every day thing, apparently I need to do some of it too.

I'm a bit rusty at this whole blogging thing, so I'll go with the tried and tested list method.

1) Work is mind-numbingly boring. I've been given a promotion recently, so I'm now a supervisor of sorts, which brings with it a much less interesting job and a good degree more money, which is much appreciated with a nipper en route. Office work really isn't good for a man, I need a real job. Like a miner, fireman, or something. The kind of job our dads had.

2) Having the cats back is nice. They've matured a lot since they left a few months back, and are less prone to annihilating our mail every day. This is wonderful. Also, they like to play more now, so I get to play-fight with them more, which is the best bit about having cats.

3) Pete (my brother) has moved to the States, and I miss him. Call soon, man.

4) Ahhhh, I'm done.

School's Out for Power Outage

Remember in high school those blessed chance days when the power would go out and not come back on and everyone got sent home early?

The kids at this school won't remember days like that. No, no, they'll remember learning geometry in the dark.

The power at the school went out today around 12.00 noon. We all expected the lights to merely flicker a few times and then come back on. But as time passed, and the power never came back, we began to wonder what would happen. It was the school's Open Evening tonight as well so we knew at some point they'd have to sort out something, as the Open Evening is such a huge event, but we did expect the staff to at least send the kids home. Especially when the temperature started dropping.

And the sun started to go down.

It gets dark around here around 4.00 these days, and earlier if it's a bad day, which today was. So at 3.30 when the kids did leave, the school was freezing cold and nearly pitch black.

As an employee who had only a few things to do today, I totally loved it - for a while. But it started to get pretty old when things would pop into my head that I needed to work on, and I'd turn to my computer just to remember it was off. I'd brought in a book today to read after hours, as I'd volunteered to stay on late to answer the phone calls from people asking about the Open Evening, but it was too dark to read. I also had my Christmas cards with me in case I got bored, but it was too dark for that too.

And did I mention I was freezing?

At one point, I had my coat on, a blanket over my legs and my hands jammed in my pockets.

And there was no tea. No electricity meant no kettle which meant no tea.

It also meant no water, as the water machine is plugged into the wall. I ended up drinking milk (which never got warm in the fridge surprisingly enough) out of a tea mug, which didn't warm me up much.

No electricity also meant the security door didn't work. Which meant people were able to walk in without buzzing us first. When night fell, Pamela (the receptionist) and I sat in the cold dark contemplating what we'd do if Jack the Ripper arrived. She actually got spooked enough to tell me that I couldn't stay down there once she left at 5.15 if the power weren't back on.

I said I didn't mind staying even if in the dark to answer the phones. A few minutes later, around 4.45, Pamela was cut off the phone when the phones all went out.

By this time no one else was still in the building; they'd all gone home to get ready for the Open Evening.

So there we were, in the dark, freezing cold and no phones.

I was so ready to pack up and leave.

Then the power came back on.

Keep On Truckin'

I've finally made it to the third trimester, by the way.

Bad Dreams and Nightmares

I often have bad dreams which I call nightmares. But I think nightmares are actually defined more distinctly by the sweating, chills, crying and inability to accept the dream as a dream upon awaking. Well, maybe not, as dictionary.com describes one as 'a terrifying dream in which the dreamer experiences feelings of helplessness, extreme anxiety, sorrow, etc.' At any rate, I have a lot of bad dreams. The night before last I dreamed I lost my baby. I woke up upset but relieved it was only a dream. I waited for a few minutes until I felt her kick and felt reassured enough to go back to sleep. I probably described it to Scott as a nightmare.

But last night I was reminded of the real distinction between the two. Last night I had a genuine nightmare. I woke up gasping for air, covered in cold chills and sweating. I woke Scott in a panic and began sobbing uncontrollably. He kept assuring me I'd just had a bad dream, and it was all okay. But I couldn't stop crying. The dream had been so real. Even after waking, I couldn't console myself. I was sweating and couldn't close my eyes for fear the images would reappear - which they always did when I did try to go back to sleep. Scott got up to get me a glass of water to help calm me, and I just sobbed the whole time, praying that God would take the images away from me.

I can't even describe what I dreamed. Even now it's too horrifying, and I don't want to recall the images. But once again, the dream was about losing my baby. Only this time it was the kind of dream where I was certain it wasn't a dream, and in the dream I kept trying to wake up, hoping it was a dream, and I couldn't. I just kept looking in the crib and screaming.

I know it's normal to have scary dreams while pregnant. I've had a few scary dreams, ones where I drop the baby or hurt her somehow or forget to feed her or whatever the case may be. But they've all been resolved upon awaking. Last night's dream just keeps haunting me. I relish my baby's kicks even more now than ever. I couldn't go back to sleep last night until she gave me about five sturdy kicks in a row, as if to say 'Mama, I'm fine! Go back to sleep, you're stressing me out!' I just sat in bed, rubbing my belly and praying. I finally rested my head on Scott's chest while he coaxed me to breath slowly with him until I drifted back off. The dream didn't return, thank God.

I suppose this is just my brain trying to work out all my fears and all that, separating the real fears from the fake ones. What happened in my dream wouldn't actually happen in real life, I realise that now that it's morning and it's all over. But I still don't like the prospect of going to bed at night with the possibility of more of these dreams tormenting me.

It helps to get it all out this way. I'd rather blog my fears than dream them.

Lori's Fabulous Saturday O' Tidying

I love a good productive Saturday. I love feeling like I got something done. I woke up with Scott early this morning, and when he went off to work (yes, the poor boy had to work on Saturday), I put in a load of laundry, filled the dishwasher, handwashed the remaining dishes, wrote a good number of Christmas cards, hung up the wet clothes from the wash and put in another load. All before Scott got home at noon. We were then meant to take Scott's gran shopping, but she wasn't feeling well, so after spending a little time with her, we headed off for a late lunch and did our own grocery shopping. We came home, I put in another load of washing, I took a nap, then we returned a video to the video shop, where I rented another video and watched it. All of this and it's only 8.45!

I only say all this because I have nothing else to talk about... and I'm about to go to bed (8.45!) and I needed to blog today.

Sorry for wasting your time, buttheads!

Sir Quackenbush III

I'm going to talk about my favourite toys. I'm not a total grown-up yet, and I don't intend to become one fully ever.

This is Sir Quackenbush III, sometimes referred to as the IV by mistake. Sir Quackenbush III is the adopted son of Sir Quackenbush the Second, a yellow duck presented to me by Scott on our first Christmas. Sir Quackenbush the Second is the highly successful son of Quackenbush, a yellow beany baby duck which quacks, presented to me by a friend (was it Devon?) in high school.

Sir Quackenbush III believes he is a duck, just like his forefathers, and we have allowed him to believe this. He does in fact quack. He has happily lived as a duck for quite some time, but recently he's been asking questions.

'If I'm a duck, why can't I swim?'
'If I'm a duck, why do I have to wear a raincoat?'
'If I'm a duck, why am I not yellow?'

I don't feel able at this time to tell him the truth about his adoption. I simply reply, 'But can you quack like a duck? Then you're a duck!' At this point, this satisfies him and ends the matter. But I know far too soon, he will begin to piece together the truth.

Sir Q has been like a child to me. He's the right size to be a baby, he's got little chubby legs like a baby and he has a small but adorable wardrobe. He's innocent and loves his daddy and talks to us (often during the night when one of us rolls over on top of him).

I love Sir Q. He is currently my favourite toy. He's one of the few toys I will almost refuse to let my kids play with and destroy. Not to mention the very real concern we have of both confusing our kids ('Teacher: What sound does a monkey make? McFarlane Kid: Quack quack quack!') and our kids telling him he's actually a monkey.

I'd be remiss not to mention the other favourite toy that I don't want my kids to play with. This is Bobo. While Sir Q may be a great companion, no toy will ever be like Bobo. Bobo and I go back further than I can remember. Bobo has been my lifelong companion. Bobo's been through (and survived) more than most toys; she's undergone about two or three surgeries and more precarious adventures than I can name. She was always willing to ride on the handlebars of my bike or be strung from the ceiling fan and swirled about.

She had a rough start in life. She was supposedly abducted (by me) from her first owner, the neighbour boy Justin, about twenty-two years ago. About sixteen years ago, she was betrothed to another sock monkey named Jay Roy. She and Jay Roy were inseparable until Jay Roy went through his anti-girls phase and broke off the engagement. She and Jay Roy remained friends, however, and two years ago, she married Fred. She and Fred are doing very well and often take the responsibility of watching over Sir Quackenbush III (careful not to expose their close biology) and Isabella Snowflake Bear, one of the other main residents of our bedroom.

For more on Bobo, I refer you to an essay tribute I wrote to her in university.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

As much as I'd like to blog about something interesting, something with a theme or topic, something thought-provoking and engaging, I'm just going to tell you about me.

Me and Scott and the changes taking place around here.

First, something happened two nights ago that has never happened to us before, in the two years we've been married.

We ran out of toilet paper.

This must be some kind of rite of passage or something. Into real marriage. Into parenthood. Into what the world is really like. 'People come into our lives and walk with us a mile, but then because of circumstance you run out of toilet paper.' I think that's what Mrs Balgavy REALLY was trying to say all those years ago.

Second, the cats are back temporarily. Scott's parents are in Australia for a month, so we've taken them back in for the time being. I actually really enjoy their company. I also enjoy the fact that they aren't staying. I think we've made the right decision in letting them live with their grandparents. At least for now. But they've been really sweet and not destructive, and I do so love Clementine's little sniffles.

Third, I'm starting to walk like a duck. Ok, here's a bit of good old TMI, it's just that the vaginal pressure is really hard to walk with. And when I get up out of chairs, I do it like a real preggo, with my arms pushing me up and my mid-section rising before the rest of me. And I have to hold my abdomen whenever I sneeze or cough (and it's probably an indication that I've not been doing my Kegels regularly enough that sometimes the sneezes cause minor leaks...TMI again). I feel pretty silly most of the time. But in a way, I like the duck-walk. It's another rite of passage. You're totally up the duff when you walk like a duck.

Fourth, I've decided to take control of my family's health. Dum dum dum! I say it's an effort to be that Proverbs 31 woman, but I think it's more just mummy-worry. I want my kids (and my hubby) to be healthy and strong and able to fight infections and do karate. So I've changed a few things around here. I realise that I probably will not realistically be motivated to TOTALLY change our entire lifestyle, but I can change the ingredients of our lifestyle. So I've thrown out all the crisps and crap like that (leaving a few treats), and I've started buying whole wheat everything - bread, pasta, flour, you name it. I've switched to organic cow's milk and organic anything that is in-a-jar type food (because I'm being honest with myself about my need to take baby steps, and I know I won't start making spaghetti sauce from fresh diced tomatoes and clippings from my basil plants just yet). I've started buying these Actimel things to boost our immune systems. I'm going to get Scott started on a daily vitamin supplement. (I'm on the prenatal ones.) I'm going to buy more fresh organic vegetables and fruit, and we're actually going to eat it; in fact, I actually for the first time ever finished a whole bag of apples, which I am immensely proud of! And for me personally, I'm going to stop eating chocolate that isn't organic (except for the odd occasion) for one simple reason - it's damn expensive, and if that's all I'm allowed to eat, I won't buy it very often! I bought a Green & Blacks dark chocolate and ginger bar on Tuesday, and I'm still only halfway through it. It's amazing how well this system is working for me. The organic chocolate is a lot richer and more in depth taste-wise than your run-of-the-mill chocolate bar, so instead of shovelling the chocolate down my throat, I'm actually enjoying it and getting enough, one little square at a time. And finally, this Saturday I'm going to head into Holland & Barrett and get some flax seed or oil, mineral-type stuff and a few other health food items to supplement all our meals.

Even though my house is a mess, it makes me feel good to know that I'm making a little effort to keep our insides from being one!

And fifth and finally, I'm really really really in the Christmas spirit, having spent the evening wrapping presents in beautiful silver paper and writing out Christmas cards. I want to put up the Christmas tree NOW, but Scott says no. He says I have to wait until after Thanksgiving. Which, really, I should be hugging and kissing him for, for allowing me to keep that family tradition alive in our new family, instead of carrying on this country's normal tradition of 12 days before Christmas. I mean, how sad would that be, a tree only 12 days before Christmas? What would be the freaking point? I should be happy that I get to do it in three weeks. Or is it two? Holy cow!! Christmas bells are totally almost ringing!

Also with that 10 million pounds?

I'd buy Rangers a few new forwards.

Rich and Quietly Not Famous

Earlier, it was either post about Carman or post about nutrition. I chose Carman.

Then I read someone else's blog and decided I wanted to blog about that too.

What I Would Do With 10 Million Dollars (but we'll make it pounds because we're 'British' like that - or at least 2/3s of us are and the remaining 1/3 is a permanent resident):

1. First, we'd invest it and live off the interest (and Scott points out he'd never work again). Then, with the interest:

2. Scott would buy 3 gigabytes of RAM for his computer, two new graphics cards and another computer.

3. Scott would buy Nintendo Wii.

4. Lori would buy an Apple Mac - both in laptop and mini form.

5. We'd buy two houses - one in Arkansas and one in Scotland (Glasgow, Newton Mearns). Whichever one we lived in more permanently (as the other would be the vacation home), we'd have a master bedroom, a bedroom for each kid, two guest bedrooms, a library, a games room and at least one big enormous bathroom with the toilet in the shower like the Edwards' who I used to work with.

6. Lori would buy a Mini Cooper, and Scott would get a red car.

7. Lori would hire a cleaner, a gardener (sure we have one now but THIS gardener would plant flowers), and Allison for each pregnancy.

8. Oh yeah, and my houses would be beautifully furnished Laura Ashley style.

9. We'd go on a European tour (and pay to take our closest friends) and see France, Italy, Greece, Cyprus, Spain - eh, everywhere.

10. We'd go on an Antarctic cruise with Devon and Robert.

11. We'd give a lot of money to our church.

12. We'd give money to our families (or if they'd prefer, new houses or new cars or whatever). (Gosh, it took me that long to remember to be generous.)

13. We'd fly Amanda, my brothers and their wives, my parents and Devon, Robert and Ella over here to visit. (Hmm, might need more guest rooms. Or we could just put them up in fancy hotels.)

14. We'd go see Dirty Dancing in London.

15. Lori would buy all new clothes.

16. Lori would buy Scott an XBOX 360 without him knowing it. (Lori would later regret buying Scott the XBOX 360.)

17. Lori would buy every book she's ever wanted for that library she forgot she installed in her big house.

18. We'd buy Rangers season tickets (heck, hospitality seats even).

19. We'd buy a piano and piano lessons.

20. We'd adopt a baby from an orphanage. A Chinese orphanage, probably. Or maybe a Russian one.



Or something like all that. I don't really know how much 10 million pounds is. (But if I bought everything from America in dollars, we'd be just fine!)

Confessions of a Dangerous Geek

It's time to just out with it.

I used to listen to Carman. And I thought he was good.

A Big Grumpy Blogger

Laugh if you want, but I really had no idea pregnancy was going to be like this. I just assumed with a little bit of positive attitude, I'd just sail right through it. I thought that the hard part was going to be the labour, but the rest was going to be nine glorious months of blooming marvellous.

I didn't realise I'd throw up the entire first 16 weeks.

I didn't realise from 16 weeks through 26 weeks (and counting) I'd have excruciating back pain.

I didn't realise I'd start having painful Braxton-Hicks contractions starting in the middle of my second trimester.

I didn't realise I'd be so unbelievably tired.

I just thought it was all supposed to be a walk in the park.

I mean, sure, I'd read about the 'niggles' as the books so cutely put it, I'd heard the pregnancy horror stories, but I just assumed people needed to buck up and get positive and be excited about the MIRACLE THAT IS GROWING INSIDE THEM.

Ya'll, I'm totally excited about the miracle growing inside me. It's the rest of me I'm not excited about.

I'm so tired of feeling like crap. I'm so tired of my back pain. I have absolutely had enough of it. And yet I've still got ages to go. It's so depressing, knowing I could have yet another three months of unmanageable back pain to go. Most pregnant women are afraid of labour. I'm not. I'm ready for it. I can't wait. I can't wait to push this darling child out of my body. People tell me I'll miss the bump, and I probably will, but all I can think of now is how amazing it'll feel to not be in pain any longer.

But then I start feeling guilty for feeling this way, because there are so many women who would do anything to be pregnant and here I am complaining about it. And even me, I was desperate to finally have a baby. It's all I've ever wanted. So what gives me the right to complain? And I also don't want to wish my pregnancy away, because it really is such an amazing experience, one I wish every women could have, and it's such a relatively short period of my life in which I get to experience it myself. And I don't want to say I'm ready to have this baby, because I'm not, because what if I actually did have this baby now, it would be terrible! She's not ready to be born, and I know that, so if she accidently did come now, I'd feel guilty like it was my fault for being so impatient with her!

Ok, I can detect a bit of ridiculousness in everything I'm saying. A bit of placenta-brain talking. I'm just being grouchy and complainy and frustrated. I'm tired. I don't sleep at night, and then I work all day, and then I come home and see how much needs to be done here, and it's just too much right now. I feel headachy and fevery and cold and weak and my back hurts and I'm just feeling poopy all over. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to type any of this. I just feel lousy. It'll go away. I need to eat my dinner and go to sleep. My baby's kicking my ribs (that's a new one for me) and is probably sick of me giving her the blues.

Remember Remember the Fifth of November

It was the night when some chap called Guy Fawkes attempted to blow up Parliament. The polite British commemorate his capture with bonfires, fireworks and blowing up a Guy Fawkes doll.

I love it.



bonefire.org/guy/

Middle Child Syndrome?

I am so unlike everyone in my family - in certain ways at least. If I didn't look like my mother's younger twin (but not much younger because my mom's still practically a baby), I'd think I was adopted. And if I didn't have her silliness and my dad's stubbornness and this matching lone freckle that me and my two brothers all have on our arms. If it weren't for all them genetics I'd be seriously wondering (and possibly checking the milkman's arm for a lone freckle).

Maybe it's because I'm the middle child. Maybe it's because of that stubbornness I inherited from Dad. Maybe it's because I studied the liberal arts. Or maybe I had a traumatic experience as a child that altered my sense of reality. Or it could be all those head injuries I accrued growing up (I can think of about four off the top of my head).

I'm nothing like my family in politics. My parents used to (affectionately?) dub me 'their little Democrat'. To be precise, I am not a Democrat and never have been. Neither have I ever been a Republican. I remember the first time I was old enough to vote. I had no idea that you voted for all the different local officials on the ballots too. I asked my dad how one is able to know all the issues each person on the ballot stands for. His response? 'Ya just go down the page and tick the R's.' Oh, I see, thanks!

Maybe I got that cute little nickname because I used to argue with them about the war in Afghanistan. Or maybe because I once accidentally said in front of them that Bill Clinton did a few things well. Or it might have been the fact that I didn't vote for Bush last time around. (And again, to be precise, I didn't vote for Kerry either. I actually intended to vote for the Constitutional party candidate, Michael Peroutka, but being overseas, I didn't manage to get my absentee ballot ordered in time.)

I'm also different in other, smaller, less argument-inducing ways. (I now just try to leave politics out of all conversations whenever possible.) I've also been (affectionately?) dubbed the 'little hippie'. I think this was in response to a peasant skirt I once owned when I was about 20 pounds lighter and living on cold Eureka Pizza. But it has escalated to my 'tree-hugging' and natural health and family planning ideals. And I, of course, was the weird one who moved out of the country (but it wasn't to avoid the draft, I promise!) And speaking of draft, I may be the daughter of a military man - and the sister of one too - but I'm soooo not into it. Though I will make the occasional pro-Air Force joke when surrounded by members of other branches of the armed forces (ie, The Air Force do the flying, the Army do the dying).

I must say though, in defense of my absolutely wonderful family, we all agree on one thing (with the possible exception of one of my brothers) - we're all Calvinists. At least they've got that right!

I don't say any of this to insult my family. I think I have the best family in the world. We're all very close and are there for each other. I'm totally proud of both of my brothers and think they have amazing wives, my aunts and uncles are all great and supportive and my parents did an incredible job of raising us all to feel loved, special, smart and independent. I see myself, as a mum-to-be, agreeing with a lot of my parents' parenting choices now, and I know I will look to them for guidance and advice and as role models.

It's just somewhere along the line, I realised they're all crazy. And I diverted away from the craziness. Though they'd say the exact opposite.


This post brought to you by my realisation that my pharmacist brother will probably faint if I decide not to vaccinate my children. And the need to blog something when I actually have nothing to blog about.

NaBloPoMo Block

Unfortunately what happens when one vows to post on one's blog every day for thirty days is life stops doing interesting things.

So once again, I'm falling back on the old list format.

1.

Oh my goodness I don't even have anything to list.

Ok, here's something I was thinking about today:

I'd rather suffer physical pain than go number two when someone else is in the stall next to me.

Well, it's a good thing I never actually officially signed on to this NaBloPoMo thing, because my work has now denied access to Flickr. Flickr. I mean, seriously. So since Flickr was the only way I could blog from work (because of course Blogger access is denied), I may very easily not get around to blogging every day.

It's okay, I'm not that bothered. I'll still try though.

But for now, these things must be said:
1. My back %$&#! hurts.
2. My boss is acting and speaking very favourably towards my working-from-home suggestion.
3. Saturday night is Fireworks Night.
4. Tomorrow is Friday.
5. I'm ready to put up my Christmas tree.
6. I wish I could sleep for a few weeks straight.

My Life In Gerunds

Beginning
I was under the erroneous impression that the 1st of November was Reformation Day. I was sadly mistaken. So I have missed Reformation Day. I have missed an opportunity to write a Reformation Day post. I will be frank with you - I'm okay with that. I would've had nothing to say on the subject anyway.

Working
I received this email from my boss:

Lori,
I have the Newsletter for you with some amendment suggestions,and I also have info on your working from home idea.
Regards, Colin

That was Monday. I haven't heard anything else since.
*twiddles thumbs*

Shopping
I am mostly done with my Christmas shopping. I still have a few gifts on the list yet to get, but at least I know what those gifts will be. There are only two people for whom we are completely clueless as to what to get (and those two people happen to be our mums). It's a grand feeling. The lack of additional cash in the bank account isn't a grand feeling, but knowing the advantage of not buying all of it the day before Christmas is.

Reading
I've given up on several of the books I was attempting to read. Captivating has been officially tossed by the wayside. I just can't get through it. The cringe factor is too high. The eye-rolling factor is too great. The stereotype factor is too big. I just can't do it. Vanity Fair is still very much on the list, but I haven't picked it up in weeks. I interjected The Complete Guide to Breastfeeding in the midst of my other readings and finished it quickly. I particularly loved the oh-so-80's advice on appearance and romantic evenings (think matching sweatbands and videocassette players). I'm half-way through Velvet Elvis but not progressing much. My summer issue of the Oxford American finally arrived (on the 30th October), which has interrupted the rest of my reading. Sigh. Anyway. Reading shmeading. When will I ever get the time.

Researching
My poor hubby is about ready to ducktape my mouth shut about this whole vaccinations thing. I ordered The Vaccine Guide (Randall Neustaedter) with my Amazon vouchers (more reading!). It seems the more I look into the issue, the bigger I realise the issue is. There is so much to consider. I'm only just starting to get my head around it. I've created a spreadsheet (love spreadsheets!) to help me get an initial idea of what its all about.

Here's a wee sample:


Overreacting
My midwife felt that I was becoming a bit too anxious about the baby during our appointment on Monday. She felt this because I was first talking about taking an infant CPR class in case anything ever happened to my baby and then because of my indecision on the topic of vaccinations. But in all truthfulness, I don't feel all that anxious at all. Sure, I am overwhelmed at the enormity of responsibility I am going to have as a parent (and already have as a pregnant mother), and I think I have very natural worries (what if I'm not a good mother, what if something happens to the baby, what if I get fat), but I wouldn't call myself anxious. I just want to make good choices. I want to have reasons for my choices. I want to know why I am doing the things I choose to do.

I don't want to take everything I hear as Gospel Truth. I want to think for myself. I want to think in partnership with Scott too. And the more I learn about different things, the more at peace I feel. Knowledge is power, or something.

Gestating
Schmooker is a kicking machine. She's getting bigger and bigger (duh) and so her kicks are more and more powerful. We can now see my belly move around when she moves. It's totally weird and awesome. This also means though that she is beginning her lifetime career of driving me nuts. Last night in my sleep was the first time I was aware of her movements. Luckily they didn't quite wake me up, but it's only a matter of time.

I'm also nearing the third trimester. I can't believe how time is flying! And how on the other hand I feel like I've been pregnant forever and have forever yet to go! Scott said to me last night, 'In three months we'll have a baby.' HOLY COW! I think I passed out after that.

Ending
In the spirit of internet community and good blogging (or in many cases, like mine, mediocre blogging), I think I will attempt to participate in this. I have a girlblogcrush on Kerflop, and while I don't need free hosting or anything, it might just be good for getting me to update regularly. However, you may have to read about what we had for dinner or how little sleep I'm getting, but blehwhocares.