Heartbeats, lentils, and cowboys.

Yeah for two entries in a row (not counting the weekend/time off from work for Easter)!  OK, so it’s been like half a week, but that’s still a big improvement compared to the space between the last two entries.

So, first off.  Update from last week.  We went to see Invasive Woman.  VWH made a bold attempt to stay in the waiting room when I was called back but we made him come.  (As the PA said, “It’s his kid too, right?”)  This turned out to be a good move as Invasive Woman was posing as her normal street name, Dr. OBGYN.  Nothing scary or nightmarish.  And we heard the most beautiful little rhythmic, swishy sound emerging from somewhere around my bladder.  I’m going to take a stab and say it wasn’t lunch or alien invasion.  Hearing that steady sound independent from ME as a person…it was crazy in a totally speechless kind of way.  VWH listened to the tempo of the beat as the doctor declared it “perfect” and explained how it will decrease slowly over the next months.  (Or as VWH said, “We’ve gotta get it down from prestissimo to the Ravel Piano Concerto.”)  It was pretty incredible.  I can’t wait to hear it again—something to look forward to.

I guess that since Baby’s presence was officially overheard he decided to play some tricks on his mommy (when Baby is mischievous he’s a boy).  A day or so later I experienced that wondrous experience common to most moms-to-be, but has somehow dodged me.  I call it, “I don’t know what that smell is but I might ralph all over you if I smell it any more-itis.”  The offending odor?  Lentil soup, which is one of VWH’s most favorite foods.  I thought it would be good to make, being chock full of healthy veggies and lentils.  Well, after it banished me out of the house, I decided I may never look a lentil in the eye ever again.  Still, I will gladly take one isolated experience of Pukeitis over the daily routine my mom and her mom lived through with their kids.

I have much to be thankful for.  Yesterday was Easter Sunday, which meant my life was committed to several church services, but they were beautiful services.  Lots of flowers and little girls in beautiful dresses and joyful singing and “Khristós Anésti! Alithós Anésti!” and really good food.  There’s something so incredibly happy about Easter that can’t be matched by any other holiday.  This is, of course, largely due to the incredible hope we have been given as a result of the events of Easter morn so many years ago.  But I think it’s also partly because we go to church and celebrate with our church family AS WELL as our relatives.  The joy is spread all through your community.  Woe to the cynic who avoids it. 

In reality TV news, Jet and Cord were eliminated last night on The Amazing Race.  I am devastated in that I’ve-thought-about it-once-or-twice-today kind of way.  VWH was indifferent, per usual.  At least those cowboys can be satisfied with the fact that they lost because all the other teams ganged up on them.  They were perceived as a threat, which they were.  Still, the show has lost one of its funniest, sweetest, and most inspiring teams.  It won’t be the same from this point through the end of the season.  No more awesome cowboy/Coplandey theme when they come around the bend!  New pick to win it all (even though it’s too late to win the coveted Starbucks gift card): Zev and Justin.  Next team to be eliminated: Kent and Vyxsin.  (I’ve been picking them since week 1 to go home though…I think it’s more a wish than a real analytical decision.  Kent’s obnoxious.)

New things!

Dear Blog,

I have been a bum.  Seriously and truly.  Over a month since my last post.  <hangs head in shame>  This is not remaining true to my resolution.  I hereby resolve to do better.  Because it’s not fair to you, sweet faithful blog--you never hide from me or disappear for weeks at a time.  You deserve better than this.

The truth is, there has been a lot going on.  Some of which I didn’t feel I could share with you right away.  But now I can.  You see…I’m really hoping I’m not “Too Old,” because there is going to be an increase in our family.  And I couldn’t tell anyone for the LONGEST time, but it was consuming the vast majority of my thoughts.  So I couldn’t write, because I had nothing else to write about.  But now our news is known by most, and I want you to know too faithful friend.  There are many new topics to explore whilst passing the time at work waiting for 5PM to roll around.

Like what kind of puppy chow is best?  Or should we get the collar with the rhinestones or just a rich, royal blue?

Just kidding.  It’s a little more serious (and permanent) than that.  We’ve decided to skip right over Marley and Me and head straight for the big leagues.

Today I can leave earlier than 5PM, which is why I started this entry early.  Tomorrow is Good Friday so we get some extra time to “vacate” for the holiday weekend.  (Which for musicians means, “Organize truckloads of music, figure out which church you’re supposed to be at where, wake up on Easter Sunday before the birds, and hope the choir doesn’t consume too many mimosas between services.”)  I am taking advantage of the extra time today to head over to my new friend, Dr. OBGYN (I prefer to refer to her as her superhero name, “Invasive Woman”).  Today she gets to stick this wand on my stomach, move it around, and those weird alien noises you hear in movies will magically emerge from me.  And supposedly we will hear a sound that we haven’t heard there before.  A fast, steady fluttering of a tiny heart that is inexplicably tiny and hidden.  The first real sign that there is something in there that is alive and real (other than a few random bouts of insomnia, occasional unsettled stomach, and a slight tightening of my pants…all of which could be chalked up to too much chicken wing dip). 

I am making VWH go with me this time.  VWH is of the mindset that Ricky Ricardo had it right: waiting rooms are GREAT for fathers-to-be.  He would far prefer to bury his nose in Chesterton than enter Invasive Woman’s territory (I can’t say I blame him there).  Oh, when the baby actually arrives he will be the first one in line to play with it and give it lots of love.  But the idea of being in a delivery room is approximately equivalent in his mind to handing a poisonous snake.  I say it’s good for him and an educational experience…one that I shouldn’t have to experience alone.  After all—he had a pretty hefty contribution in bringing this whole thing about.  You get what you paid for.

So I will leave you today, faithful blog, with this exciting news.  Topics for future discussion include:

1.        The joys of buying three bridesmaid dresses for three different weddings this year, with me anticipating being a different size for each.

2.       Moving to our new abode (this happens in about a week) and adjusting to life without a dishwasher.

3.        Why do department stores apparently need to save their most hideous clothes and brand them as “maternity?”

Overheard from a substitute teacher...

Student: “I can imitate any animal!  Ask me for any animal sound!”

Teacher: “How about a giraffe in space”

Student: “I can combine breeds too!  Ask me about any two dogs!”

Teacher: “A poodle and a lab mix in space.”

Student: “Why do you love space so much?”

Teacher: “There are no children there.”

“I  ran out of things to do with my 2^nd grade class so I taught them Ubbi Dubbi (Turkey Talk).  They thought it was the coolest thing ever and managed to acquire a rough working knowledge of it before the end of the day.  Now it’s spread throughout the school and I get dirty looks from various staff members when I show up to sub.  Also, it somehow has turned from Ubbi Dubbi into Hobby Wobby.”

Teacher to me via text message: “Quick!  What’s x3y2z9/x5y2z3? 

Me: “Umm.  54xyz/30xyz.  Or 9/5.

Teacher to me: “No!  The numbers were exponents!  Help—I’m in class and I have no clue what to do!”

Me: <Puts head down on desk and laughs.>

 “I once subbed for a fifth grade English class.  Their assignment was to work quietly writing a paragraph about some topic…I don’t remember what it was about.  Anyway, kids these days all have hand-held spell checkers.  The class worked relatively quietly, with the only noise being the computerized, monotone voice of their spell checkers pronouncing words.  “Coun-ty…”  “Cha-rac-ter…”  “Boob…”  “Boob.”  “Boob.  Boob.  Boob. Boob.  Boob…”  Needless to say, the class was gone for the rest of the period.

Fifty isn't old. Not at all.

Today my dad turns 50.  This is a big deal, although perhaps not as embarrassing in my family as in others.  He and my mom enjoyed a quiet weekend away together and there are no plans for a huge party as far as I know.  This is fitting, as my dad is a relatively quiet, thoughtful guy.  I’ve only been around for half of his lifetime, but wanted to share a few of my favorite memories we’ve enjoyed together…

My first time throwing a softball with him in the backyard was unforgettable.  I was 7 and definitely had no concept of turning the glove over to catch tosses above the waist.  The hard softball (we realized a few weeks later after the season started that they were actually using “soft” balls) bounced off the heel of the glove and gave me my first fat lip.  In spite of my reluctance, he got me back outside again and I became a pretty decent fielder.

We’re even though, because once he was pushing me on our new swing set and I was trying to help too much and gave him a fat lip with the back of my foot. 

Learning how to drive was an adventure.  Dad wanted me to drive standard first.  I generally pick up things fairly quickly, but driving a stick shift was as far away from natural to me as learning to breathe underwater.  I can remember stalling out in the middle of a turn several times and, instead of getting a move on, totally freezing.  Dad’s quiet, calm voice raised slightly (a lot for him) as he urged me to please find a way to get out of the intersection.  Driving was one of those few things Dad actually backed off on and I didn’t finish learning standard for real until 5 years later, when I bought my first car.  (I secretly think he found my little Neon a great car because it forced me to go back in time and get it right.)

Dad is tenacious.  Unlike me and driving, he doesn’t give up on things that don’t come easily.  One summer we went to a family camp and he decided to master the Eskimo roll in a kayak.  Every day he would get in the pool with the kayak and somebody to assist when he would inevitably get stuck under the water.  He would slap the bottom of the kayak (now pointing at the sky) and Mom would go over and help him crawl out.  He did this over and over, making little bits of progress but never actually accomplishing the roll.  Finally, towards the end of the week the kayak went down, I heard the “pop” and “slap” as it broke on the other side and Dad popped up again all by himself.  The look on his face was priceless as he thrust his paddle to the sky and shouted, “YES!!!”  And then the kayak flipped over again and Mom had to help him out.

As I think back, perhaps the most vivid memory is spending time each school day going over math homework with Dad.  As a homeschooler, I relied on my parents for my education, especially as things got more complicated in high school.  They did a great job (I think so anyway…and my SAT scores aren’t bad either), but I’m afraid I resented Dad coming back from his day job because it meant at least 1, if not 2 or 3, hours doing math together.  We would correct all of my wrong problems from that day and then tackle the next day’s lesson together.  I used to hate it.  Dad would spend a lot of time reading the next lesson carefully and making sure he understood it thoroughly before he would explain it.  When I was 16 I thought it was because he was really fascinated by it and didn’t really care about my impatience.  But that wasn’t really the case.  I do think he enjoyed refreshing himself on high school math, but he gave me a gift each day by sharing his valuable time off of work to help prepare me for my future.  And that time we spent together is beyond measure when you consider how many daughters never see their daddies, much less have hours to spend together every day, just the two of them. 

Dad prepared me for my own family by providing me with an incredible role model.  He is forever a teacher, even reminding me right before we walked down the aisle to VWH, “Now, be sure to speak up when you say your vows.”  (Thanks Dad…)   VWH and I still turn to him for advice often and are honored to be in his presence.  I can’t believe I get to call him Dad, but I do.  Everybody else out there should be very jealous.

Happy birthday dear Daddy.  I love you.  Plain as that.  More than I can say.

 

I am not a mall rat.

I just want to say first-off that today’s font is called “Shruti.”  If I start typing about beets and Chinese throwing stars, please understand that it’s not me.  It’s the font.

Last night I went to the mall with a dear friend.  You know she was a dear friend because I went with her to a mall.  Malls aren’t exactly my preferred stomping grounds.  When I was little, going to the mall meant hours of wandering around watching my mom shop for necessities.  My brothers and I took it upon ourselves to practice hiding in the racks of clearance.  (This generally incurred the same disciplinary measure we “earned” at the grocery store.)  Yes, mall shopping to me means sore feet and that tantalizing smell that wafts for 100 yards in every direction of the soft pretzel shop.  As a 7 year old, you drool at the aroma, but never have enough coinage to actually get it into your mouth.

Now that I’m grown up I can buy a pretzel if I want, but the average mall demographic still consists of 14 year old girls who are already dressing for a future in…modeling, 14 year old boys wearing “pants” that start at the knees and end several yards below their feet, 80 year olds doing their daily exercise (pace approximately 0.04 mph), and 2 year olds who have escaped their parents’ clutches and are running around, screaming with unmatched delight.  It’s like being inside a Pacman game.

VWH likes malls even less than I do.  He seems to think that there are certain rules that must be followed upon entering said establishment.  These include and are not limited to:

1.    Speed-walking

2.    Sighing a lot

3.    Getting distracted and bumping into people (usually the elderly or the toddlers)

4.    Sitting on the floor whenever we enter a store and opening his current book

5.    Hiding in the racks of clearance

All of these reasons contribute to my aversion to shopping malls.  But I love my dear friend, who was on a mission for some very important items for another mutual dear friend.  I didn’t want her to brave it alone, so I said I’d go along.  I figured we needed two items, both probably purchasable from the same place, so we could be in and out.

Well, our excursion got off on the expected wrong foot when, not 30 seconds into our visit, Dear Friend literally yanked me away from a large pool of puke in the middle of the walkway.  Yum.  Of course we did make it to the desired stores eventually and of course they didn’t have what we were looking for.  So we had to go to a separate store apart from the mall, where we did end up finding the invitations we had been searching for.  And in spite of the puke, we had a decent time (this is due almost entirely to her wonderfulness, and that the total cost of the necessary items was minimal).  But I still don’t really like malls. 

So I think VWH might have the right idea when it comes to mall shopping.  Get in, get out, go quick, and then hit the road.  And I think my chances of being successful are pretty high.  After all, I am faster than 80% of all snakes.

Earthly economics

In other slightly more appropriate news, I just attended a most fabulous chapel service on campus.  The speaker was my all-time favorite professor outside of music, whom I haven’t heard lecture in 4 years.  He spoke on “A Biblical and Wesleyan View on Ministry to the Poor.”  His delivery style is this magical balance of calm wisdom while never resting audibly or mentally until the final statement.  As usual, I experienced the major exhale as he closed and prayed the Lord’s wisdom to be imparted on us. 

Jesus and Wealth

Money is a…

1.       Strangler

2.       Damning

3.       Idol

Wesley and Wealth

1.       Equal wealth

2.       Gain all you can (so you can…)

3.       Save all you can (so you can…)

4.       Give all you can

I’m never positive that I totally agree with this professor, but he does an outstanding job of raising questions and demanding you to consider something outside your comfort zone. 

Freedom, freedom, it's what we all need...

Today I am experiencing an experience never experienced before.  I didn’t realize I was experiencing anything out of the norm until about a half-hour after I got to work, which is unfortunate, because I’m not thrilled to be experiencing what I am experiencing.  I am truly a liberated woman today.  VWH posted this poem yesterday and he had no idea how appropriate it was:

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see
That brave vibration each way free;
Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

Today I am very thankful that I sit at a desk, with a jacket to zip up, and don’t run races for a living.