I'm opening a doggie spa. $75/hour doggie massage.

The Onion really is an accurate news source.

Firstly, let's all knock on wood several times.

Ok. I haven't had a panic attack in a long while. Although I did get pretty anxious on the tour of the labor and delivery unit, and that's what prompted me to do this post on a 2009 article from The Onion. I was going to do it before the birth in anticipation of totally freaking out and losing my mind as I spent hours and hours in slow labor, but it turns out that super fast and intense labor doesn't leave you time or energy to freak out and lose your mind. So that's good.


I cut out the article two years ago and saved it in case I ever had to describe a panic attack to someone, which has not happened and even if it had I don't think I want to start collecting newspaper clippings. I know hubs doesn't want me to start collecting newspaper clippings. So I scanned it before realizing you can just read the article online. Whatever. Now I can throw it away and you'll all know what's wrong with me when I'm facing some sort of child-related crisis.

38 weeks yesterday.

And here I am at the pool the day before with my sister's kids - Maxie using the "profundity of my rotundity"* as a nice place to rest.




*Quoted from an actual statement made by hubs on an earlier occasion when he ran into me because he had underestimated my new size.

Special people.

In the early years of high school I would come home everyday to a house devoid of parents for a few hours and could lounge at the television or computer at complete ease. In the summers, even the later ones when I had a part-time job, I had so much time on my hands that I now have no idea what I did with it all.

NOW summers are always filled before they begin and I wonder if this is different in regions where residents get more than a few months of good outdoor time. For us, the last half of June is *ridiculously* busy. In a good way except that I'm actually sick of eating cake.

June 14: Flag Day. Also the day Minneapolis was hit by a history-making tornado, which happened the same year that hubs was born. Here he is in all his adorableness:


This might also be a glimpse into our child's future. Hubs is my stability and also my insanity. Seriously, he drives me crazy sometimes. But his obsessiveness about certain things are a good balance to my carelessness, and vice versa. Most of the time he's actually keeping me sane. I'm trying to figure out how to impress upon him that he'll need to step it up a notch when the baby's here because my mental state at that point might end up where the unlucky Price is Right mountain climber goes.

June 19: Laura's birthday. Seven. Seven! Second grade?! She is loving, dramatic, and impatient. Sometimes she surprises you with her logic - sometimes her lack of logic. She wears her heart on her sleeve and she wants to be a teacher.


June 19: Sarah's birthday. She's the pig on the right. We've been besties for most of our lives so she knows all my secrets. She's actually the reason I wanted to do this post (even though I planned on posting it much sooner). See, she always has terrible awful horrible birthdays. To the point where you wouldn't even believe it if I told you. And this is sad because she is so passionate and open-minded and FUN! So we had a little date the day before her birthday and I think it was actually a good one. Nobody broke up or didn't show - and nobody showed who shouldn't have. No parties were ruined and I'm pretty sure no tears were cried. SUCCESS! And part of birthdays/holidays is celebrating special people, so this post was born.


Also June 19: Father's Day. My dad is hilarious. He gets me. He would do anything for me. He makes the best beef stroganoff in the world. Also the best ribs. He's the kind of dad they made Father's Day for (unless you're a cynic and believe it's just a holiday for retailers to capitalize on - shut up, just let me have this!).


June 21: Missy's birthday. I don't have a picture because I was planning on taking one at the pool party but it rained. Boo. So I wasn't able to hang out but heard it was one of her top birthdays. She's another lady who's had some rough times but deserves a good, solid, awesome birthday. Karma says rain can't stop a good birthday.

June 30: Grandma's birthday. Rounding out the month is an 89-year-old woman who loves double impatiens, Christmas cookies, and my dog. Seeing a family member grow old is not pleasant, but she still has moments of laughter and ease. She's excited to meet the baby, and I've been hoping he'll have similar memories of his grandma to my memories of mine. Sleepovers, grilled cheese, cinnamon raisin toast, watching old shows (for us it was Dick Van Dyke and My Three Sons).


Sheets and sheets of Christmas cookies.

Tell that to my bladder.

I am not a fan of having my picture taken, but I'm told it's good to document important events - marriages, graduations, pregnancies, finishing that 32 oz. steak...*


So here I am at 28 weeks and five days.


And here I am pretending to do a warrior two pose. I wouldn't know because there aren't any mirrors in the yoga studio, but I'm *sure* I look way better in class. In any case, it's good to look silly anytime you can because if you ever plan on having kids it's best to just own it when you pretend to be a horsey. The only thing worse than pretending to be a horsey is pretending to be a horsey and looking mortified about it. That's just pathetic.


I asked hubs to take a picture of me depicting the pain I feel. I get daily comments on how tiny I am. Tell that to my bladder, bowels, ribs, hips, diaphragm, and solar plexus. I look tiny on the outside, but on the inside there's a dance party going on and given the swift sweeping movements that have been visible for several weeks now I'm pretty sure he's got turn tables in there. And possibly fly girls. I love it - but that doesn't mean I won't complain about it.


* Is there even such a thing as a 32 oz. steak?

Halfway to ohmygodwehaveababynowwhatdowedo?

Ok, diapers and naps and eating. That's cool.

But what if we have a cranky baby? How long is too long to cry? Is it normal to get up at random times to check that the baby is still breathing? What will we do when we run into all of the horribly scary and inevitable questions that every new parent faces EVERY DAY FROM HERE TO ETERNITY?

I suppose we'll get out a couple of the grocery bags we use for recycling, try to crumple the ridiculously large openings around our mouths, take two useless breaths, and then just deal with it.

I'm actually not freaking out - in general - about having a kid so much as I still freak out about potential problems with pregnancy/birth. Leave me alone! I can't help it! I'm emotional and forgetful and anxiety-prone! The warnings I've been given are clearly valid: once you're pregnant you'll spend the next forever worrying. First that you'll make it to the 12-week mark, then the 20-week ultrasound, then the 25-week mark where you feel like there's a reasonable chance for survival if the baby's born super early. Then the oodles of worries over the birth itself, and then the worries of post-fetusdom. Weight, brain development, choking, various colds and flus, acceptance at school, grades, broken bones and other injuries, and so on and so on.

Now, this is a crafting blog. But because we're at that celebrated halfway point and, given the monumental nature of having a child, some reflection is due. And now I think I'm done with the crazy.

Feeling him move around is my favorite thing ever. Sure, I cried when I discovered the emergence of stretch marks radiating from my distorted belly button, but I'm over it. I'm excited to be bigger. I want to wear sun dresses and, like my adorable friend E. Dittmar, I want to be that cute pregnant lady wearing a bikini at least once. I had some spells of ickiness in the early weeks, but was never ill. This time around it feels like my body was made to do this, and that's nice.

I'm doing yoga once a week. I've discovered that, as overwhelming as it is to prepare for a baby, I still enjoy it. Baby clothes are adorable, and luckily Becky has good taste, because we'll be able to borrow all of Finn's tiny things. I'm so grateful for having people around who will lend us things and understand my worrying and forgive my sleep-deprived, possibly weepy stupor. I'm grateful that I have a husband who is present and engaged, good in a crisis, and generally fantastic. I can't wait to get pictures of him and the child together. I really can't wait to see if they truly have clone pinkies, and if he'll pick up some of hubs's mannerisms.

In the mean time, I should maybe invest in some brown paper lunch bags.

I should just start referring to my dog as "my cat."

I don't know how to title this post without using a pun, so here it is: OH, BOY!

I was nervous for our ultrasound this morning because I'm a worrier and I just can't help it. But everything looks good and we could clearly see that we're having a boy. Most people, including myself, thought it would be a girl, but there you have it. Now I can start really obsessing about names.


The tech didn't get the greatest pictures because he was moving around so much. We like to imagine he's pretending to be a T-Rex. But the best and coolest thing ever is that when we finally got a good shot of his hand you can see he has hubs's crooked pinky:


So I'm really relieved and excited. When I called my sister to tell her the sex she exclaimed to the room at large and I could hear Sammy shouting, "yay, yay, yay, yay!" Laura wanted to talk to me. "I'm so excited that your baby is a boy," she said very politely and evenly. "I hope I will like him like I like Max. I think I will." I'm sure she would have been much more jubilant had it been a girl, but it was a sweet moment.

It's an it!

To begin, I suppose we should go back to February the 21st of the year of our Lord two-thousand-and-ten. I announced that I was pregnant, but then suspiciously never spoke of it again. Less than a month after that announcement, I no longer had that baby. We lost it at ten weeks. Later in the summer, we lost another baby at just five weeks. All the things you imagine a person thinking and feeling were thought and felt...with one simple reaction overarching: disbelief.

This is what led me to recently comment that "I'm filing 2010 away in the 'to shred' folder and moving forward in the hope that 2011 will be grand." Last year was filled with the devastation of losing two babies, but it did end with a third that continues to exist and is now at 13 weeks.

It was actually the endocrinologist who gave us the news. I saw him because I suspected I could be pregnant, and I also suspected that I might have a very rare problem called Auto-Immune Progesterone Dermatitis. If I was correct on both accounts, I wanted to find out what to do before the hypothetical baby was in any hypothetical danger. Luckily, I was wrong about the cause of my itchiness, and a man who usually has to tell people they're diabetic got to tell someone they're expecting. He was obviously excited about it, although I admit that our reaction was pretty much, "Oh God. Well, alright."

Being an incredibly anxious and paranoid person, I'm still very much uncomfortable with being too blase about it just because we're past the old "danger zone" of the first trimester. If I've learned one thing in the last year, it's that you can't count on anything in regards to pregnancy.

BUT, as a couple good friends point out, that's not a very peaceful or happy mindset. The stress of the last couple of months has lessened. Now I'm a little less Negatron and a little more Optimist-Prime. We've seen and heard the heartbeat. We saw a bean shape at eight weeks turn into a recognizable human just four weeks later. I've been lucky to have minimal morning sickness. I crave sweetness and vitamin C, which has led to a healthier diet than I've probably ever had (unless you consider the portions...). I've even allowed myself to start thinking of names and looking at crib bedding again.

The next thing to look forward to is, incidentally, February the 21st of the year of our Lord two-thousand-and-eleven. We have the anatomy ultrasound scheduled, where they'll measure all the organs, watch the blood flow through the heart, and look for the sex. Five weeks seems like FOREVER away, but by then, hopefully, the it will be a he or she who's basically all put together and just needs to grow. Fingers crossed.

I've met my match. Damn you, Hot Wheels.

Christmas is a time for traditions. Sparkling trees, nostalgic ornaments, hot cider, lovely gifts, and playing the same songs over and over until all retail workers everywhere begin to bleed from their ears. Also cookies. Spritz, date cookies, rum balls, monster cookies, double chocolate cookies, Belgian waffle cookies, thumbprints, haystacks, Hershey Kiss peanut butter cookies... So. Many. Cookies.


Of course the best part is that my nephews and niece get so excited. I learned how to type in like the fifth grade, but Laura is in first grade and already at about that level. She could operate the DVD player when she was two. And now she has a little gaming system on which she logged about four hours directly after opening it.


Finn is too little for electronics. He almost ate the Christmas tree. You can imagine what his drool would do to something with batteries. And Max is so little that he needed to sleep all through gift opening, which is just as well because the constantly flashing camera would've probably been real annoying.


Sammy received a few sets of Hot Wheels track kits, all of which he insisted that I set up for him. What with missing parts and track that has to be held down in just the right way to keep the cars on course, I was not pleased. I stuck it out for a half hour, and then all the adults were begging the children to just sit and watch a movie. We're horrible people.


Penny was ever so pleased to be reunited with my grandma.

Now it is 2011 and I'm going to say this: I'm filing 2010 away in the "to shred" folder and moving forward in the hope that 2011 will be grand. Now I'm going to knit so I actually have something of substance to share!

Two things: rashes and crafts

Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here. It's almost like somebody's been too busy to blog, or read blogs, or even check email... ah, work. So here's what's been going on.

Unfortunately, the first subject is reminiscent of a previous post where I speculated on the success of a health-related blog, which I realized then - as I realize now - would be gross and inappropriate and unnecessary. Well, whatever. Let's revisit two weeks ago, when I thought I might implode from wanting to rub my back on a tree trunk bear-style. I was in the middle of a skin patch test that was thankfully as worthwhile as it was torturous. Here are my unexpected results:


The main culprit has been formaldehyde and formaldehyde-releasing preservatives. These are in everything from shampoo to lotion to makeup to clothes. Clothes. Also some topical antibiotic ingredients are to blame, and even though no one really seems to be sure of the meaning of "irony," I'm pretty sure it has something to do with unwittingly putting antibiotic cream that you're allergic to on a cut, allowing it to penetrate right into your system.


So wrinkle-free, wash-and-wear, and blended-fiber clothes may be a problem. Basically, I might have to buy an entire wardrobe of hand-wash wool and cotton. Or become a nudist. Before taking either of those leaps, however, I'm trying to switch all of my products to see if this clears up. I brought in a suitcase to my testing full of all the products in our house and came home with approval to continue using about 15% of them. Above, you can see the binder of info the doctor gave me, most of which is comprised of an itemized list of products that are safe for me to use. It's kind of a pain. in. the. ass. to bring a binder to Target or Walgreens, where I may or may not find something because many of the products are a bit obscure (hey, if you can't get it at Target...) and I don't necessarily have a ton of choices (for example, below you can see that of 150 reported conditioners, I can only use 17). Don't tell my optometrist, but I have yet to find an eye makeup remover. Honestly though, I can't complain. All kinds of horrible theories have been spinning a web of anxiety, so finding a relatively benign cause and being able to do something after a year of discomfort is so welcome.


Aaaaand, onto more fun crafty things. While I was pacing the main floor of my house concentrating on not itching, I was neglecting to prepare for the second HandmadeMN Market. Sure enough, I left all my business cards at home along with my receipt book and some of my more popular products. Still, it was a fun and profitable show thanks to the HandmadeMN leaders (Toni, Lindsay, Kelly, Jenny...) and their crack teams of helpers. The time of year didn't hurt either. Hoards of our customers were out holiday shopping. Everything I bought was for myself :) except for the ladybug hair clip.

Practical Layers with Impractical Shoes

Practical Layers with Impractical Shoes by Theresa 'Orr' Bernard featuring a vneck tee

It snowed the other day and I've still been able to resist getting out my long underwear. Must. Build. Tolerance.

I should be spending this afternoon off by preparing for the HandmadeMN Market this Saturday, but I'm not. I'm catching up on my stories and eating pizza rolls in an effort to distract myself from the insane, horrible, profound, soul-wrenching itchiness on my back. Eleven months of all-over skin irritation finally drove me to a patch testing clinic. A hundred and twenty-some patches were placed on Monday, followed by two excruciating days of wanting to set piranhas on myself. The patches came off today for an initial "reading," and the good news is that we might be figuring out the problem. The bad news is that I might be allergic to my clothes. So, since I'm not allowed to actually scratch the damn itch, I'm treating myself to a day in front of the television while attempting to numb 3/4 of my back with ice. This is the life(?).

I am so sorry about this post.

You know, I was just thinking to myself, "self, what if instead of writing a blog about the mundane goings-on of a crafter, you wrote about the mundane status of your health and various medications? On one hand, the topics are equally uninteresting to a world of people who are busy with their own crafts and have their own bodies and minds to worry about. On the other, they're both just about the nitty-gritty of life, to which everyone can relate. Plus people are super voyeuristic and will read just about anything."

And then I was all, "you know, that's all true, but the real benefit of a state-of-being blog such as we're discussing is that it will finally give the elderly motivation to join the internets!"*

And then I wondered how a post might go, and imagined this:

Dear Electronic Universe,
Well, the diverticulitis is flaring up again. At least I think that's what the pain in my side and the random diarrhea is. I don't know why in God's name I ate that popcorn last night. The chlordiazepoxide does nothing, so I'm going to take Martha's advice and ask the doctor for ciprofloxacin, which you have to take three times a day** unfortunately. That'll make 13 pills every 24 hours! Doc has to adjust my thyroid medication, too. And then add to that the antibiotic ointment he'll most likely prescribe for my eczema. Guess I'll be sleeping with socks on my hands again!

See, I made most of that up*** and it was still really cathartic. And I bet there's a heap of folks who would commiserate on any one of the many implicated ailments. If I were elderly I might not have included links, because I probably couldn't figure out how to do it,**** and let's hope I couldn't figure out how to upload pictures because there is a time and place for visuals and this would not be it, but old people often lose their sense of inhibition and do some pretty crazy - and sometimes nasty - stuff.*****


* It's not habitual for me to have discussions with myself like this.
** No idea what the dosage is, and I don't care.
*** Actually, this just a small sample of some of the medical problems plaguing my family members.
**** I feel really bad about saying that. It's just that my grandma, whom I love dearly, has a lift chair with three buttons that she cannot master. It frustrates her and everyone else, but it is what it is. Not 30 myself, I can tell my brain function is not what it used to be - *possibly* due to computer use, but that would be entirely counterproductive to point out here.
***** I feel bad about saying this, too. But that same grandmother, and her mother before her (both well past the age of 80 at their respective outbursts), has declared, "ah, bit by the trouser worm!" after learning of some relatives' pregnancy or other.

Hawaii Part 2: Wherein we battle sand, bugs, ski slopes, and the Phoenix airport.

This is the view from our hosts' abode. I mean, I guess it's ok. From my own home you can see a bar, a mill that emits a putrid dog-food smell as it is currently being torn down, and the orange abomination that is our neighbor's house. There is also a lovely view into our back yard where we have a classy chicken-wire fence around our mostly bare/dead garden.


Naturally, with the splendors of tropical heaven all around us, we spent some time indoors playing with the Pattersons' new Wii Fit. I can happily report that my Wii Fit age is 31, only two years older than I actually am. I can also report that anything having to do with coordination is bound to be a fiasco, while I am awesome at anything having to do with luck or with standing mostly still. So...nothing has changed since grade-school. For example, trying to head-butt soccer balls was IMPOSSIBLE, but I ruled the ski jump:

None of the following people are any of us. The only surfer in the group had a broken leg. I'd like to say that I would try surfing, but I'm not that good of a swimmer, plus I had enough trouble just staying upright in the breaking waves on shore. Followed by a whole lot of trouble with sand in places sand should not be.


The sand in Minnesota is totally different - tiny little balls that roll right off the skin. In Hawaii the sand is made of bits of shell that suction themselves to you. Everywhere. So that's one drawback to paradise. The other is that there are cockroaches and poisonous centipedes. But Raid smells surprisingly good.

And this is a mountain by some name that rests in an area I don't know that was once described by a very famous author whose name I forget as "the best view in the world." I don't go on vacation to learn.


PS - Did you know that the Delta gates at the Phoenix airport are not in the main terminal? We didn't either, until we had toured the whole thing in our hour-long layover before being told to exit the airport, take a bus to another area, and re-enter through security. We were those people running through the airport with unwieldy rolling luggage, swearing and sweating profusely because we layered for the frigid airplanes but it was 90 degrees in Arizona. I was the last person to board after running to the gate in my socks. I WIN, PHX!

Hawaii Part 1: Wherein we spend our second honeymoon with four friends.

Ignoring the hacked up photoshopping job I did to edit out some people and make this beach appear more exclusive than it actually was, you can totally see how awesome it is in Hawaii. It's just that beer bellies don't really sell a place. It was my favorite beach out of the many that we visited on the north shore of Oahu, where there are inexplicably NO hotels other than the Turtle Bay resort. But that didn't so much matter because we were able to stay with the newly-wed Pattersons. Some couples go on vacation to reconnect; we use romantic beach scenes as rendezvous points to meet with worldly friends and invade the homes of folks married less than two months.


Waimea beach is about ten minutes from our hosts' abode. Fifteen minutes away is the renowned Turtle Bay, where you can get ridiculously expensive facials and actually see hoards of sea turtles. The feral cat hanging around the spa was slightly off-puting, but the *free* shower caps made up for it. In between Turtle Bay and "home" is Sunset beach, where the great Pacific Ocean claimed the rental car keys. At least I got an opportunity to snap this horrible pic of a TINY egret while we waited for a ride. These things were everywhere and only about 10" tall. Super cute.


And here we are, sans Hubs who is taking the pictures. Gimpy McGimperson, The Bride, me, Baby Mama, and Morning Fox.


In celebration of Gimpy's 30th birthday we spent a night in Waikiki and stayed in the very same hotel where Hubs and I had our honeymoon five years ago. We also spent the week eating massive quantities of food, especially meat. Also, vacationing with friends is very, very dangerous for the pocketbook. All for the birthday. Yes, the birthday.




In the next installment: we battle sand, bugs, ski slopes, and the Phoenix airport.

Oh. My. God.

So we got back from a vacation in HAWAII last night, and I've not gotten myself together for a post about it, but I will say this:

Our dog has been rolling in poop.

Dad: Penny's been good, but she kind of smells.
Me: Well, that's normal.
Dad: Ehhhhh.....
Me: Oh, it's gotten worse?
Dad: I took a wet towel to her, but she still smells.

Sure enough, it was time for the most thorough bath of her life. Welcome home!

Max

I'm just racking up the nephews here, and I'm behind on the sharing. Newest one is Maxwell Douglas, brother to the infamous Laura and Sam, born of my sister's womb on September 16, 2010.


His second cousin, Emily, was born two days earlier over in Wisconsin. I wonder if her cord has fallen off yet. Max's fell off the other day and no one knows where it went. I think the dog ate it.


Max still sleeps a lot but he's hands-down the best eater I've ever known. He literally was born ready. I know because I was there. It was not as messy as I was expecting, and it was just the amount of disturbing I was expecting. Also miraculous and emotional.


Laura totally loves him and wants to hold him and is very concerned with his well-being. She makes his bed. Sammy is unsure, as any four-year-old would be, but is mostly amenable to the baby.


And all I want to do is squeeze and poke his little baby tummy and cheeks. That is all.

Oh, 1960s, you crack me up.

Just sharing another gem that came from my grandma's house.

All "cabins" should have showers, dishwashers, and four bedrooms.

There's nothing wrong with camping, but I prefer to visit the north woods in comparative luxury. Hubs and I recently traveled to the Ely area, birthplace of Jessica Biel and home-base of Jim Brandenburg, to spend a long weekend at a friend's cabin.

Like "our" cabin, it does indeed have showers, a dishwasher, and four bedrooms. Also like our cabin, activities are dictated largely by the children in attendance. Thus, there was chasing:


a fair amount of crushing:


plus a lot of story time, bike riding, and *trying* to take naps.

The cabin was fantastic and our lovely hostess bestowed upon us her glorious cooking skills via homemade cheese, bread, flapjacks, chocolate zucchini cake... it was glorious. We also found opportunities to do all the real cabin-y stuff a person should:


hiking, knitting, cribbage-playing...


canoeing, fishing, s'more-making...


and doing an impression of one of my favorite Harry Potter movie moments.

Objectivity is lost on aunties.

Mothers, fathers, grandpas, grandmas, aunts, and uncles....we think the children in our lives are simply superior to all other beings. The things they say are the funniest, the faces the cutest, the hugs the warmest, and the smiles the brightest. Since today is my birthday I suppose I can indulge myself in imagining that I was once that kid. And then fourth grade happened.*

But I'm sure my niece and nephews will never have the awkward phase, just as I'm sure they truly are the most wonderful beings to exist. Note the "nephewS;" Joseph Finnegan Keelin was born on July 24.


Proof of my multi-tasking abilities: holding Finn while taking our picture left-handed.


He has sideburns. Finn is a cuddly and reasonable baby, except when it comes to being naked, which is pretty much the worse thing ever. Just a few thoughts among the vast expanse of consciousness that LIFE presents.


*Glasses + braces + randomly expanding facial features + ever-lengthening limbs = me = so.painfully.awkward.