... I'm apparently too poor to look good

While killing time on Yahoo today, I found a link that said "Hottest hand-bags for under $50!". And it made me (irrationally) upset.

Why is this a news story?? In this economy, I find it hard to believe that I'm the only one who would look at a $50 price tag on a sparkly, "special event" purse and leap for joy. Show me the article that says Hot Handbags for under $20, and then maybe I'll be interested. If it was a bag I would get multi-seasonal, long-term use out of (or one that could double as a diaper bag!) then I would consider spending $50 on it. I saw an article last week that was something like "the perfect LBD for less than $100!!" Uh, it better be way less than $100 or it's certainly not finding a home in my closet!

Maybe it's the shift in my life recently, going from a two-income to a single-income family while also preparing for a new child. Maybe it's because I'm pushing 30 (less than month now...). Who knows why. But, I grow increasingly more frustrated with the conflicting messages in our media. We are constantly reminded how piss-poor our economy has become. Layoffs all over the country. Rising prices for basic essentials. Foreclosure rates on the rise. Families making choices between health insurance and food.
But on those very same news pages, we find stories like the one I came across, touting the everyday accessibility of these sometimes very extravagant items based on their "low" prices. My favorite version of this are the articles Yahoo posts at least weekly "How Much House Will $X00,000 Buy You?". These articles compare the differences in houses for the same price in various markets around the country. And more often than not, the "$X00,000" is typically $500,000 or more. I'm aware that housing markets vary greatly across the country, and that there are many places in the US where $500K is the median home price. But again, in this economy, I doubt that the average American is looking for a $500K home. I doubt many of them see that article and read it with much interest outside of just wanting to see what amenities $500K could buy.
Much in the same way the average American woman is probably not bouncing with delight over spending just $50 on a handbag to match that $100 LBD (insert snark here). Now mind you, to me, the "average American woman" is a mom. And whether she stays at home or works outside the home, I assure you that one of her top priorities is finding ways to stretch every dollar. She likely has methods like couponing, buying things in bulk, buying items used when possible, the list goes on.... But - hold on to your hats, Yahoo! - one of her methods also probably includes NOT spending $50 on a bedazzled purse.
I know it's hard to believe, but it actually is possible to clothe ourselves and our families in something that doesn't look like Hillbilly Holly once wore it AND not spend a fortune. Is it easy? Not always. Is it always convenient? No. It usually requires clearance rack shopping, or perusing consignment stores. Looking for sales and price-matching around town. And God forbid you be a size outside of "normal", that just adds to the complication. But is it possible? Absolutely. And if you are blessed with a seamstress' hand, you can customize your look as much as you want for even less.
So please, please, please, media sites, I beg you. Stop telling us how bad things are, then insinuating we simply must have the hot new $50 handbag. Because trust us, we already know how bad things are and more than likely, that $50 handbag is pretty hideous anyway.

...I might be losing it in here

How is a raven like a writing desk? Well, if Poe couldn't provide an answer, I surely have no idea, but I pose another question to you. How is the ante-partum department like a psych ward? It's like this...

There is a constant rotation of women in PJs, bathrobes, and slippers. There are a few of us long-termers, but mostly the faces are in and out. Very few of us feel "sick", but we still have to stay because there is in fact something wrong with us. Depending on the varying degrees of our "conditions", some of us have privileges to leave our rooms, (some of us even get to leave unsupervised!) To go to the "lounge" filled with long over-worn paperback romance novels or mysteries no one's heard of, out-dated gossip magazines with no "new" news, cooking or lifestyle publications from seasons or years past. If we're really lucky, there's a good TV movie on the one TV with cable in the whole department.
The best part though may be the volunteers with the arts and crafts. These little elderly women who come around in their pastel smocks, and invite you to join them in the lounge for craft time. They have a little plastic box they bring with them to showcase previous crafts made....photo frames with puffy paint, painted ceramic piggy banks, popsicle stick creations, all sorts of hot-glued-sick-people-sad little crafts intended to make us all feel better.  Isn't that adorable, and wouldn't we like to come with them??
Most of the time, being here is just inconvenient and annoying. But there are definitely times when the weight of the situation weighs down on you, and it can be really hard to get through the day. So, I can appreciate the intent behind the arts and crafts. It gives us something to do, something to focus on, a chance to get out of our rooms and possibly get to meet some other people in the department. But being wheeled through the lounge, past the "arts and crafts" table filled with empty-faced women in yoga pants, baggy T's, and bathrobes; pregnant women with various sized bellies blindly following the instructions of a woman who I will name Glenda because she just looks the type. Wheeling past and watching Glenda and her sidekick-in-comfort operate the hot glue gun for everyone as though the patients might be on a suicide watch...seeing all that just made me laugh. It reminded me of something out of Girl, Interrupted or One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
Come on people, we're pregnant not crazy. .....Or are we?

...I'm on a boat

Figuratively speaking of course. Literally speaking, I'm in a hospital bed trying to stay pregnant long enough to keep my daughter out of the NICU. To say the least, this week has not gone the way I anticipated. Two days ago, I had a thousand things on my to-do list, only one of which was a routine OB check-up. That check-up changed everything.

*(From this point forward, I feel I should warn you that if you are a male reader, unfamiliar with pregnancy/childbirth, or just plain squeamish this whole thing may be TMI for you. For your purposes, we'll just wrap up the story with "things are moving forward faster than they should and I need to stay pregnant longer")*

For a few weeks, I'd been feeling quite a bit of pressure/pain/pinching on my cervix when my active little Jumperoo would move in a downward direction. Having never experienced anything like that with Nicholas, I knew it was not a normal pain. So, during my check-up, I requested my OB check my cervix to make sure I hadn't started dilating too soon. When I explained to her what I was feeling, she offered me another potential explanation for the sensations and upon hearing her explanation, I liked hers much better. Obviously. Her explanation meant nothing was wrong! But it did legitimately seems to explain the pain. However, just to be on the safe side, we decided to check my cervix anyway. As she's laying back the bed for me to assume the position, two potential scenarios are running through my mind. 1) she's going to violate check me and find that nothing's wrong, or 2) she's going she's going to violate check me and things are going to be so incredibly wrong that just pressure of her check is going to accidentally break my water and I was going to have my baby right there in the exam room. Well, I ended up somewhere in the middle. I have to admit, when quarts of amniotic fluid didn't go gushing to the floor, I stupidly thought that meant nothing was wrong. Turns at that only 32 weeks along, I was dilated to 5 cm and already 70% effaced. (For those unfamiliar, that means my cervix was well over halfway ready for my body to start having this baby. Add in some serious contractions and out she pops)

Remember my post about finding out we were expecting a girl? How I felt like I was instantly dumped upside down and the table, floor, and such all fell out from under me? Well, this was like that. Except now I was on boat, quickly sailing away from the image in my head of bringing my daughter, the final puzzle piece to completing our family, into this world. Sadly since then, my boat has not drifted any closer to shore.
They admitted me right then and there for pre-term labor. And after much back and forth discussion of what my expectations should be regarding the length of my stay, I now know I will very likely be here until she is born. Which is likely to be at least a week, maybe 2-3. I've had terms like "high risk" applied to my file; heard things like "NICU stay", "underdeveloped lungs", "feeding tubes", and other terrifying phrases applied to my daughter's potential condition. (There goes me...in my boat...drifting further and further out to sea with no paddle to get back...)

There are, however, lots of great things to report on this admittedly scary situation. First, since being admitted two days, there does not appear to be any change in my condition which is actually great. It means things are not progressing, that I'm not moving closer to active labor. They've given me meds to stop any contractions that I was having, however mild they were. Today I get to see how I do without them. Second, Zoe looks wonderful! Her heart rate is steady, she's very active, and she's already measuring around 4 lbs. I know, I know 4 lbs sounds so super tiny. But I've learned in the last few days that it's big enough to land her on the threshold of possibly avoiding being in the NICU. So she is not in any distress, for which I am so thankful. While she seems to want to leave the little home I've made for her a little too soon, at least she seems happy in her little home.

And third and finally, Nick has been in SUCH good hands during all of this. We have such amazing friends and family that have dropped their lives to offer to take him in while we go through these difficult weeks. And while it literally feels like my heart is being ripped out, another huge gust of wind pushing me further from shore, to think of him being away from me for possibly weeks, I do know that this brief period of my life needs to be focused on Zoe. I am asking a lot of my little man to bounce around the state for the next few weeks to stay with various friends and family, but I know he will be so well taken care of and he will have such a good time. It is immensely difficult to consider not having him in my day-to-day life, especially when it feels like everything else is so mucked up. But I know, for now, it needs to happen.

I know that in a few weeks or months (gulp), the four of us will have this behind us. We will be tired and sleep-deprived. We will be back to our lives of potty-training and play-dates with tiny Zoe in tow. We will be balancing grocery shopping and errands and work and everything else our daily lives consist of. We will be home and we will be healthy and we will be happy.

But for now, I have to float along in my little boat with nothing to guide me but the knowledge that the doctors will do everything they medically can to keep Zoe and I healthy and safe, and faith that God has a plan for us and He will get our family through this.

... I hugged my belly.

Upon reading this blog written by a friend of a friend, my heart broke and broke over and over for this family. But, my immediate physical reaction was literally to put both hands on my growing belly in the closest thing to a hug you can muster against your own body and thank God that I've not received such news about our Zoe.
As I read Blair's story, the thoughts and emotions I felt for her morphed from grief to pity to heartbreak to awe. Her family is not that dissimilar from my own. She and her husband are roughly the same ages as Jason and I. Their daughter is about Nick's age, and they were expecting their second child. A son to round out their young family.
As a mother, you spend your life holding your breath for your children from the very moment you learn you are carrying them. And for most of us, we're lucky enough to get to release those breaths at different times in our children's lives. Get to the end of the first trimester, breathe a sigh of relief. Get both yourself and your child safely through delivery, breathe a sigh of relief. First birthday, sigh of relief. This continues throughout their lives, releasing a sigh of relief at each milestone or potential danger.  A constant roller coaster of holding our breath while hoping and praying things will be okay, and releasing that breath when we've left the danger zone.
But on the occasions that sigh isn't released, on the occasions something unthinkable does happen, we are left with questions and unresolved emotions that, depending on the situation, can take years to work through. I think most mothers, or parents in general, in Blair's situation would be so angry and so confused for so long. I know that for myself, I can't even wrap my head around receiving news like hers.
And while I'm sure Blair is feeling - and will continue to feel - all those emotions, the faith that she exhibits is astounding. To face this unfaceable tragedy with the outlook she's presented seems impossible to me. It truly is a testament to the strength of her faith that she has even considered the outlook of "Why not us?".
As you start your week with your children, hug them tight and thank God for them and all the sighs of relief you've released during their lives. Pray for the Scheepers family over and over. Send good thoughts, good energy, whatever. Whatever your beliefs call you to do, do it. Let this family know and feel that, even from halfway across the world, even from strangers they've never met, that we all - as parents - love them and are thinking of them in this unthinkable time in their lives.

...my family is conspiring against me.

At least when it comes to my sleep, that is. Even the cat is on the conspiracy. Honestly, I don't remember the last time I slept through an entire night without any sort of disturbance.

Most pregnant women will tell you that it's a cruel joke how often your body requires you to get up in the middle of the night during pregnancy. Whether it be to pee for the bazillionth time, prop yourself up into a position that will - for at least the next 30 minutes - either eliminate or reduce your heartburn, or flop about in your bed like a fish until you find a new sleeping position that won't A) crush your sweet unborn, B) cause the lower half of your body to go numb, C) eventually make all your lower joints hurt, and D) is actually comfortable. Add to all of these possible scenarios the pregnancy-induced insomnia and/or ridiculous hormone inspired dreams that baffle the brain, and it's a wonder a pregnant woman sleeps at all. Honestly, most of pregnancy - not just the loss of sleep part - is a cruel joke. At the time when you need certain things most in life - sleep, a stiff drink, an indulgent meal of delectable sushi...mmmm....sorry! I got distracted! Anyway, at the time in your life when you need those things the most, you are deprived of them for the good of your precious little baby. I reference all of these reasons above as proof that Sweet Zoe is already in on the conspiracy. Which I think is just cruel really. She'll have plenty of time after birth to deprive me of much needed, sweet, sweet slumber. I see no reason for her to get on my bad side already.

Which brings me to Nicholas. Of all parties, I think he's the least guilty. But, nevertheless, he holds some blame. Since moving to his big boy bed, he has admittedly done impressively well with the transition. However, now that he has the ability to get out of bed as soon as he wakes, there are no more mornings of playful chatter in the crib until Mommy wakes. Nope, now Mommy has to wake as soon as Nicholas does. Which turns out to be anywhere from 6 AM to 8 AM. If we land closer to 8, I'm totally fine with it. I am not, however, fine with the 6 AM wake-up call (or the random 5 AM climb into bed I received last week). I do realize that as soon as Zoe arrives, a 6 AM wake-up call may sound like heaven. But for the time being, (when Zoe is not already dictating how little I sleep each night by ravaging my body via hormones) I'd like to at least make it 7:15, thank you very much. Between the two of my kids, I feel the need to ingrain the following into their brains.

And then there's my dear, sweet, wonderful, loving husband. Oh husband of mine, how I love thee. You are my best friend, my confidante, my partner in parenthood and love and life, and....oh. my. god. how you snore! Okay, in my hubs defense, he actually spends most nights on our couch because our mattress hurts his back. So most nights, the snoring thing isn't a problem. However, the nights he and I do share a bed always seem to inevitably also be the nights that I 1) have to pee a bazillion times, 2) am awaken by either heart-burn, the need to flop like a fish, a violently kicking fetus, a ridiculous pregnancy dream, or a combination of all, and/or 3) the cat. I didn't mention the cat yet, did I? Yeah...he's in on the conspiracy too. He tends to sleep where ever the Hubs sleeps, but never WITH Jason. If Jason sleeps on the couch, the cat stays in the living room and allows me to sleep. But if Jason sleeps in the bed, guess where the cat wants to sleep? ON. MY. HEAD. Not cool, Skip. Not cool.
Anyway...I digress....So, the nights that Jason does sleep in our bed, I already have all of this going on and am having a hard enough time either getting back to sleep or staying asleep and here comes the Lumberjack, just a sawin' away. And despite my most polite, loving efforts to slap him in the back of the head nudge him gently or wake him slightly by saying his name so he changes positions, he still. keeps. snoring.

So there I lay. Pregnant and kept awake by either my unborn daughter, my hateful cat, or my snoring husband. And finally, finally I start to drift off back off to something that might resemble sleep...when here comes Nicholas with his 6:00 AM wake-up call.
I swear, I think they're all against me.

...I have a new pregnancy craving

I don't usually post recipes on here, but this one deserves some attention. If this is on Pinterest somewhere, I'm not aware. So, for now, I'm claiming this one as mine. The idea came to me without any prompting from the Internet. Whether or not the idea has also occured to someone else, I don't know.
Anyway, here it is. I have very creatively named them "Nutella Microwave S'mores." Clever, right?

Okay, start with this.

Ignore this.

Make them look like this. Use as much or as little Nutella and marshmallows as you prefer.

Cook them like this. This will not make the Nutella warm, but it will prevent your marshmallows from turning your microwave into a gooey, sticky mess. Anyone brave enough to attempt much more than 10-15 seconds, I beg you - PLEASE send me pics of the result!

And TA-DA! You have THIS!!

Enjoy!!

...I'm standing on my head.

At least, that must be the case since my world is now upside down. I know I've been reeeaallly slack in posting new blogs. When I stopped working full-time, I had every intention of picking this back up. I thought surely I'd have tons to say as a pregnant stay-at-home mom. Turns out, not only have I not had a lot to say, I also don't have the freaking time to say it.
Well, ladies and gents, let me assure you, I officially have something to say now.
We found out this morning that Little Baby Gilbert #2, thus far referred to as "Peanut", is in fact a....(drumroll please....) GIRL! And while my "mother's whatever" actually already had me thinking that Peanut was a girl, the very second the tech said "It looks like a girl!", the table I was laying on, the floor the table sat on, the ground below the room we were in, and anything beneath that simply ceased to be. For I was now watching my life continue while standing on. my. head. Nothing, not even my own suspicions, could have prepared me for that announcement and the way it would make me feel.
Even after having Nicholas, when I looked forward to our future as a growing family, it always included two little boys, and only two little boys. Even after I got pregnant with Peanut, that image in my head still always felt just right. However, over the last several weeks, a little girl has entered the picture, replacing the second little boy in my picture. And the more I saw this image in my head, the more okay with it I was. Or so I thought.
See, the truth is, before we had children, I was TERRIFIED to be a mom. And when we found out Nicholas was a boy, I was thrilled. As you and I have discussed before, I was not the most angelic of little girls. Granted, we all have our pasts, and they all come back to haunt us in the form of our children. I am not naive enough to think that this fear is mine and mine alone. But, I couldn't help but feel as though I'd been spared a bit in the payback department by having a boy. (See this post for proof of how foolish I was for thinking such a thing...) So, of course, the thought of having a little girl has always been really scary. I've always been afraid of how I would handle raising....well, me.
But, when they told me today that I was going to be doing just that, my head exploded with thoughts that had never even entered my mind. Until right then, I'd always jokingly laughed off the idea of having a girl based on the effect it would have on ME. How would I handle it? What would I  do with a smart-mouthed daughter? What will I do when she doesn't come home at night? Today, however, my thoughts went immediately to HER. How will the way I "handle" it effect her? How do I teach her to not be the kind of girl that doesn't come home at night? How do I teach her the value of a positive self-image? I'm very proud of the woman I have become, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a hell of a time getting here. How do I teach her not to make my mistakes?
As mothers of sons, we know that there is a bond with our sons that is like no other relationship. We instinctively want to teach our sons to grow to be great men, strong men, the kind of men the world is proud to know. But now, as a mother of a daughter (holy bows and ribbons Batman! I'm having a daugher?!?!), I have a whole new set of wishes for my child. To teach her to respect herself and others. To teach her to care for her body, while at the same time teaching her not to obsess about it and let it define her. To teach her to care for others. The list of things I want for my daughter, in many ways, mirrors the list of things I want for my son. But, in as many ways, it is a very different list indeed.
So my confession for today is that I clearly MUST be standing on my head. My world has been turned upside down...and I don't suspect it will ever right itself again. I am, however, slightly comforted by the fact that when we got to see our little angel today, her legs were neatly crossed at the ankles. Good job, sweetie. Keep 'em crossed, you're off to a good start. It will keep your daddy from putting a chastity belt and an alarm system on you. I will do my best to teach you to hold your head high and be proud of yourself no matter what. But I can't stop your father from embarrassing you with his over-protective ways.
We love you, little Zoe, and we can't wait to meet you.

... I quit

After months of deliberation, many sleepless nights, and stressful days, I finally quit. I officially turned in my notice today at work. It was time for a career change. So, as of June 15th, I will be.......(drum roll please)..... a stay-at-home mommy!!
After the Great Gilbert Migration of 2011, I ended up having to work a full-time, 5 day a week job. Ever since Nicholas was born, I'd only ever worked 3 days a week. I never anticipated how challenging it would be to make the transition from 3 days to 5 days. I had been working 40 hours prior to the move, but had had the luxury of spacing out my hours so that I worked every other day. It truly was the perfect balance of work and home life. However, now after almost 10 months of Monday-Friday 8-5 shifts, that balance has fallen apart. I spend every day in a mad dash to get ready for school and work, get to work, get things done, get to the daycare before they close, get dinner ready, get bath ready, get ready for bed.....always getting things ready. Each day feels like a race to the finish line, and by the time I get there, I'm so exhausted I don't have the energy to do anything else. All my housework seems to pile up until the weekend, and then I can't enjoy my weekend because I'm constantly doing housework. And none of this even takes into account the amount of quality time I'm NOT spending with my kid. Sorry, I don't count plopping him in front of The Backyardigans while I cook dinner as "quality time". Effective, yes. Quality, no.
On top of this frustration, it was slowly becoming clear to me that the industry I've been in for almost 8 years is not where I want to be long term. 8 years ago, I took a job that I got because I knew the right people. I knew nothing about the healthcare or home medical supply industry or medical billing. As it turned out, I actually happened to be really good at it, and got really comfortable doing it. There are absolutely things I love about my job. I truly love being able to provide patients with what they need to more comfortably live their lives at home. And if I can do that in a way that doesn't cost them a fortune, even better. But over the years, it's gotten harder and harder to do that due to increasing insurance and government regulations, and decreasing insurance payments. In short, my ability to do my job has been compromised by those who make my job possible. The more I really thought about it, the more I realized this was not a path I wanted to continue down. And certainly not one worth continuing down at the expense of my family.
So here I go. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous (okay...scared out of my frickin' GOURD!) about the prospect of being unemployed for the first time since I was 15. I've been working literally almost half my life. I am actually going to apply for some part-time work, something simple, for a few hours a week. I think what I loved so much about my previous schedule was the balance it provided me to have some adult interaction...a life outside of the home, while also giving me plenty of time with Nick. It will also give Nick a chance to have some play time with other kids for awhile. But, that's not really my overall goal for now. If I find something, great. If I don't, that's okay too.
I know it will be a massive challenge to get accustomed to being a single-income family. But for once, I'm not worried about it. I've spent weeks, months even, stressing about the logistics of how to plan for my eventual departure from work. But now that it's upon us, I feel no stress. It took me forever to finally make the decision to pull the trigger and actually do it, but now that I have...I confess I am totally at ease.

... I'm in love. With a minivan.

I honestly can't even believe I just said that. But alas, I am what I am. And I am in love with a van. (Note: Henceforth, said van will only be referred to as either "the mini" or "a mini", but never "minivan" or "the van". Consider yourself notified.)
Here's how it all began. A few months ago, we started noticing that Nick's feet were brushing the back of the passenger seat in my Tribute. His feet would dangle off the end of his car seat, but he didn't have any legroom between his feet and the seat in front of him. To remedy this, we moved him to middle of the seat. However, that quickly posed it's own problems - mostly with getting him in and out of the seat and getting buckled. So a few weeks later, we moved him back to his original position and moved the passenger seat forward as far as we could get away with, without cramming a passengers knees into the dash. That worked great! Until Nick hit his next growth spurt. Now that his legs were getting even longer, we found ourselves in the very same spot again. Additionally, no matter where we put his seat, it left little (comfortable) room for backseat passengers. There was no getting around it. We were outgrowing our little SUV.
So, the search began. We'd decided long ago, after several rides in both my sister's and my cousin's Chevy Tahoes that our next vehicle would undoubtedly be a Tahoe or a Yukon. We loved everything about them, and were SO excited to finally be looking for one for ourselves. We've been looking for a couple months now, but we kept running into walls. Great price, high mileage. Low mileage, ridiculous price. Great price, great mileage, too far away. Close by, great price, decent mileage, previously owned by a chrome-junkie. You get it. Time and time again, we found the "almost" right one, but never the perfect combination.
Fast forward to last week. While on yet another internet search, I found myself looking over the inventory of a local dealership and saw a listing for a van for well under our price point. I absently said to myself "Sheesh, it's too bad we're not looking for one of those..." Insert light bulb over head here. I clicked on the link and the love affair began. Sort of.
In this little temptress, I found all the bells and whistles we were looking for in the Tahoe, but for literally thousands less. And the mileage was better. AND the doors opened at the press of a button. What mom worth her weight in diapers wouldn't be thrilled by all this?? What mom? This mom. Yes, it had literally everything I was looking for. But it's a minivan! Excuse me, a "mini". I was baffled by the fact that I was even looking at this listing, let alone considering bringing it up to Jason. But inexplicably, bring it up I did. And the more I talked about it, the more I (gulp!) liked it. And what's more, the more I talked about how I couldn't believe I liked it, the more I realized....I really wanted this "mini". So Thursday on my lunch break, I went to drive it. Part of me wanted to love it even more, and part of me wanted to hate it. I wanted some of the mental "shiny" that I'd attached to this van "mini" in my head to be tarnished by the test drive, so I could get out of this bizarro world, and back to the land of SUVs. I wanted to discover that, no matter the level of practicality, this was not the vehicle for me.
All of those thoughts were banished with one press of button. That button being the button that automagically opens Nicholas' sliding side door. With the press of that button, I instantly foresaw grocery trips simplified. Morning battles for independence to "open the door myself!" banished. Life, remade. With that one little button, the blinders were taken off and this "mini" took on a whole new light. It was love at first press. Everything else I saw after that was just leather coated icing on the minivan cake.
So yes, this weekend Jason, Nicholas, and I went back as a family to check out this new love of my life. We loaded Nick's seat up and made sure that yes, he does indeed have plenty of leg room. And a DVD player. And his own cup holder. And in case you missed this little detail, his very own automagically opening sliding side door. After riding in it, Nick claims to love "the blue car". We decided to sit down with the finance manager for some wheel'n and deal'n. However, fate stepped in and Jason got a work call that called him back to the apartment complex before we could finish anything. So, they have our info, they're going to run some numbers and call me tomorrow morning. Even though I LOVE this "mini", both Jason and I are very comfortable with not trying to force the money side of things. If they call tomorrow and don't have a great deal (great as in my payments go down, which based on all my math, they definitely should), then I'm okay walking away from it. It will hurt, and I will miss it, but if it's not meant to be, I don't want to force it. Even still, I feel like I'm waiting on the follow-up phone call after a great first date.

In case you're interested, here is my new found love.

And here is the video I'm obsessed with since falling in love with a minivan.

...Pinterest is taking over my life

But in a good way. Since creating my Pinterest account a couple months ago, I have noticed some pretty interesting changes in myself. It is definitely true that Pinterest will make you feel infinitely more crafty than you are. And it is definitely true that you will waste hours upon hours perusing all the pins. BUT, while perusing the DIY and Crafts section, I have found the inspiration to complete a few projects of my own that I had been planning for a while.
Below is a surfboard Jason found in an vacant apartment. It had been cut in half to use as a shelf, but the original DIY-er never did anything more than start to paint it.

I had it tucked in a corner in our office/guest room for about two months, never really sure what to do with it. Enter Pinterest, and voila!

Here's a close up of the detailing I painted onto the fins.

I'd been struggling with a suitable solution for DVD storage since we moved in 7 months ago. And now, thanks to the craftiness instilled in me via Pinterest, we have a one-of-a-kind, beach inspired DVD shelf.

But wait! She's not just crafty, she cooks too!
In all seriousness, I would say I've tried more new recipes since creating my account than I have in probably a year. Coming from someone who's been in a serious food rut, this is BIG. NEWS. Something about seeing ONLY the picture before reading the recipe makes it more appealing. Like my mouth already wants the food, my brain just needs to know how to make it happen. Take for example this tasty treat that's only 150 calories per slice!

But probably the most exciting take-over has been that of my motivation. Seeing all the pins that have motivational quotes and phrases, or pictures of "success" stories has really given me an extra kick in the pants. I've even taken it one nerd step further and set a different motivational saying each day when my alarm goes off for my morning workout. I'm like a junkie. I want to print them all out and put them up everywhere I go...bathroom mirror, closet door, fitness center at the apartment complex, refrigerator.
And then, I found a couple pins for blogs from chicks just like me!! EEP! What?! I'm not the only one out there who turns to the internet to whine about their struggles??? You mean there's more than one woman out there who is trying desperately to climb the uphill battle of losing weight and getting in shape while trying to a mom, an employee, a wife, AND an actual woman? NO WAY!!
So, it inspired me to start another blog to help keep myself motivated, and maybe if I'm really lucky, to also motivate someone else the way I was motivated and inspired by reading others blogs.
I confess I'm totally addicted to Pinterest, and it may the Coolest. Addiction. Ever.

... karma has found me

And I'd like to politely request that it leave me the hell alone.
It is no secret to anyone that I was, shall we say, a "spirited" child. It is truly a testament to the power of sheer self-control on my parent's part (and my sister's) that I survived my childhood and teen years. People say that a lot, but seriously. If I was my parents, I probably would have found a good place to hide my body.
So, when the possibility of having my own children entered my life, I have to admit that there was a legitimate part of me that was hesitant. I knew what was coming for me. I'd like to also add that Jason was a bit of "spirited" child himself. We were convinced our child would be the culmination of our childhood selves, come to torment us in revenge for our parent's suffering.
But when Nicholas was born, we were baffled. He was immediately an amazingly easy child. From one week old, he slept in his room with no trouble. He was sleeping through the night at 5 months old, and still sleeps roughly 10-11 hours straight every night. He's not a picky eater. He says please and thank you at the appropriate times. He's out-going and friendly. He behaves himself when we go out to eat (mostly). We couldn't understand it. We were so amazed by the presence of the complete opposite of our expectations. Our running joke is that Nicholas is the buffer, the prep child so to speak, for our next child that will surely be the "payback" we've been awaiting.
Well, the joke is over. Our "amazingly easy child" now presents with daily challenges we feel unfit to battle. None of our parenting experience has prepared us for a child who tells us "no" at every request. For a child who replies, "I will NOT put my cup in the sink.", or "Yes you will turn on Thomas!!". Or my personal favorite - a child who laughs at me while continuing to do the very thing I've specifically just forbade him from even thinking of ever doing again.
Karma, you sneaky devil. You had us convinced we would have some notice, a whole new child to prepare for before having to enter the battlefield of troublesome children. You pulled the wool over my eyes, and allowed me to believe - if even for a second - that I had maybe, just maybe, been given a brief reprieve from the retribution that is surely coming for me.
Silly mommy...

... I just want to potty in peace

Everybody pees. Everybody poops. Let's just go ahead and clear that up right now so there is no shock later when you discover that I, too in fact, potty.
Now that that's cleared up, I confess I just want to potty in peace. Any parent knows exactly what I mean. Once your children are old enough to be mobile on their own, you lose the guarantee of private potty breaks. Once your children become mobile, you resort to tactics like locking the door (which isn't always effective), sneaking out of the room while they are otherwise occupied (which is rarely effective), and finally just letting it all hang out and leaving the door wide open (which is always disappointing). Once, when Nick was just learning to walk I snuck out of the room to for a quick pee break. Predictably, as soon as his "Mommy's GONE!" radar went off, he came searching for me. In this particular case, I had left the door open so as to hear any stumbles and tumbles from the new walker. Nick came toddling into the bathroom, walking his hands down the wall for support, on his way to come climb in my lap. Yep, in my lap while I pee. We've all done it. Sometimes it's just easier than hearing the tantrum. Parenthood rocks. Anyway, walking his hands down the wall.....He reaches the shower curtain, and of course doesn't realize that it's NOT a wall. So, when he braced against the curtain, he tumbled forward. Keep in mind, during all of this, I'm on the pot. I had to jump up, mid-stream(!), to catch my toddler and keep him from plunging headfirst into the bottom of a porcelain tub.
And once you start potty-training, bathroom time becomes a group effort. Constant encouragement is required (Good job Nick, you went POTTY!!) , and it always requires a mini-party in the bathroom since there needs to be parental supervision for each trip. The mental connection of bathroom = private time isn't made for toddlers because Mom and/or Dad is always in the bathroom with them. So when I try to go to the bathroom, Nick thinks he needs to be there as well. I get his logic, but I don't much care. I just want to potty in peace. I want to handle my business on my own.
During a recent bathroom break, Nick decided he needed to participate. Thankfully, I locked the door this time. Well, technically I forgot to lock the door until he busted in on me. But once he reminded me, then I locked the door. He did not take kindly to this. For the majority of the time I was in the bathroom, he alternated between banging on the door, driving a truck on the door (Huge no-no in our house...Cars and trucks belong on the floor, thank you), trying to jimmy open the door, and saying my name over and over. Finally, he got quiet and I assumed he had given up and walked away. Silly Mommy. Upon finishing my business, I washed up and opened the door. Only to almost trip over my son, who promptly looked up at me and announced, "Mommy, I pooped."
Fantastic. Not only is bathroom time a group effort, now it's a team sport.

... I am an early bird

It is 7:05 on Monday morning. I do not have to work today, but I've been up for 2 hours. I have cleaned my kitchen, gotten caught up on Gossip Girl while having my coffee (OMG is Chuck dead?!?!?), fired off a few emails, and started a few new blog entries. While I'm not this productive every morning, I confess I love getting up before everyone else. I love having time to myself to do whatever it is I want to do. That may mean going for a run, doing laundry, cleaning up, or just reading a good book while enjoying a cup of coffee.
Jason is the exact opposite of this. He is definitely a night owl. In fact, if work hours didn't dictate our sleep schedules, I'm not sure we'd ever see each other. I'm convinced we'd pass like ships in the night, his bed-time of choice being my chosen time to rise.
Of course this means that I, by default, am usually the one up with Nicholas each morning. And if I'm already up, and have had a chance to ease into my morning by whatever means I chose that day, I don't mind. If I've already had some "me" time, I love getting him up and spending some one-on-one time with him. But if I am woken up by him, and I have to immediately tend to him first, then I feel like I was robbed of my morning. I feel cheated. (Yes, yes I know. This is parenthood. That's the way it is, your kids get all your time. You have no time for yourself. Whatever. This is confession, right? I'm confessing here, no judgement allowed, so hush. And for the record, I'm in the middle of an epiphany as I write this, so SSHH!) After many days/weeks in a row of getting up with him by myself, I end up feeling like it's not fair that it always falls to me to do so, but I suppose in reality what I truly feel is unfair is that I didn't get my "me" time.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I hear my little monkey jumping around in his bed. Good thing I've already been up for awhile.