Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Photos
So, I'm a little behind, but here are a few photos from Easter with our friends Nathan & Bailee. All of these photos were taken by Kyle Harper, and are completely his property. Thank you to him for allowing me to post them!!!
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Patrick wins the award
For Best Husband & Father ever.
If you haven't been keeping up, I'm pretty much a whiny, pregnant mess. I ache all day, and whine about it at every opportunity. Simple tasks are exhausting, and . . . yeah. You get the idea.
And Patrick - well, he has made the whole thing bearable.
Every morning, Patrick gets up and goes to the office and works his ass off to make sure we can pay the bills and eat and whatnot. He comes home from a long, stressful day, and is often greeted by a cranky wife and a wired preschooler. Most nights, he offers to make dinner, and (I hate to admit) I let him more often than not.
After dinner, he makes me a cup of cocoa, and then takes over child-entertaining almost exclusively until bedtime. He does bath, because it's uncomfortable for me to sit in the bathroom. He does bedtime because it's almost impossible for me to get up off the floor next to Miles' bed. He does all of this without complaint, and indeed with more enthusiasm and fun than I can say. Where he gets the energy, I'll never know.
After Miles is in bed, Patrick comes to make sure I'm comfortable for the night. If I need a shower, Patrick will set up a stool in the tub for me, so I can enjoy the warm water a little longer. While I'm showering, he fluffs the bed - which he has softened considerably by adding layers of comforters under the fitted sheets. If it's cold, he'll take a hair dryer and warm the sheets to keep me from freezing. Most nights, he rubs my back or my feet, trying to make me as comfortable as possible, so I can sleep.
Once I'm finally settled, he starts in on the chores, and the paperwork - doing laundry and paying bills until what must become the wee hours of the morning. With all he does, I know he can't be getting more than a few hours of sleep a night. Yet, he never complains. He's rarely cranky.
Instead, he's ever-selfless. Completely amazing.
(And probably completely embarrassed by this post. Love you, Honey!)
If you haven't been keeping up, I'm pretty much a whiny, pregnant mess. I ache all day, and whine about it at every opportunity. Simple tasks are exhausting, and . . . yeah. You get the idea.
And Patrick - well, he has made the whole thing bearable.
Every morning, Patrick gets up and goes to the office and works his ass off to make sure we can pay the bills and eat and whatnot. He comes home from a long, stressful day, and is often greeted by a cranky wife and a wired preschooler. Most nights, he offers to make dinner, and (I hate to admit) I let him more often than not.
After dinner, he makes me a cup of cocoa, and then takes over child-entertaining almost exclusively until bedtime. He does bath, because it's uncomfortable for me to sit in the bathroom. He does bedtime because it's almost impossible for me to get up off the floor next to Miles' bed. He does all of this without complaint, and indeed with more enthusiasm and fun than I can say. Where he gets the energy, I'll never know.
After Miles is in bed, Patrick comes to make sure I'm comfortable for the night. If I need a shower, Patrick will set up a stool in the tub for me, so I can enjoy the warm water a little longer. While I'm showering, he fluffs the bed - which he has softened considerably by adding layers of comforters under the fitted sheets. If it's cold, he'll take a hair dryer and warm the sheets to keep me from freezing. Most nights, he rubs my back or my feet, trying to make me as comfortable as possible, so I can sleep.
Once I'm finally settled, he starts in on the chores, and the paperwork - doing laundry and paying bills until what must become the wee hours of the morning. With all he does, I know he can't be getting more than a few hours of sleep a night. Yet, he never complains. He's rarely cranky.
Instead, he's ever-selfless. Completely amazing.
(And probably completely embarrassed by this post. Love you, Honey!)
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Blah.
I hate the weather.
I hate that it has such complete control over my mood right now.
I hate that for the first half of the week, it was sunny and bright and warm, and I felt fantastic and capable and awake.
I hate that now it's cold and dreary and overcast, and I feel exhausted and unmotivated and just plain tired.
I hate that I saw snowflakes this morning.
I hate that I have gone from sweating with the windows open to freezing with the heater on in a matter of two days.
And I especially hate that I'm losing my sense of humor about it. No more cracks about Mother Nature needing some help for her mental disorder. No more silliness about "only in the midwest". Nope. Now, I'm just grumpy and over it.
Woe.is.me. [dramatic fake-swoon]
I hate that it has such complete control over my mood right now.
I hate that for the first half of the week, it was sunny and bright and warm, and I felt fantastic and capable and awake.
I hate that now it's cold and dreary and overcast, and I feel exhausted and unmotivated and just plain tired.
I hate that I saw snowflakes this morning.
I hate that I have gone from sweating with the windows open to freezing with the heater on in a matter of two days.
And I especially hate that I'm losing my sense of humor about it. No more cracks about Mother Nature needing some help for her mental disorder. No more silliness about "only in the midwest". Nope. Now, I'm just grumpy and over it.
Woe.is.me. [dramatic fake-swoon]
Monday, April 1, 2013
Easter
First off, sorry about the last post. I tried to do it from my phone, and apparently, all of the photos are grainy and awful, and I can't seem to get it fixed. I will try to include those photos in a later post in higher res.
Now, onto Easter.
I love Easter. I love welcoming Spring, and celebrating the Resurrection, and hunting eggs, and . . . well, all of it. I love it for its Christian meaning, and for its Pagan roots. And I love that the two have blended into a day that can be enjoyed by all ages, for a variety of reasons.
Growing up, my favorite part of Easter was our egg hunt. Mom would stay up into the ungodly hours of the night preparing for it, I'm sure, but in my mind, it was totally worth it. Each year, she would hand us a single plastic egg with a clue inside. That clue told us where to find the next egg, and so on, until we found our Easter baskets, filled to brimming with chocolate and goodies. I loved the challenge of it, and the excitement of the treasure hunt. It was a tradition I always knew I'd pass on to our kids, someday. Especially when I found out that Patrick's family had an almost-identical tradition.
Since Miles was born, I've spent each Easter pining for the day that he'd be old enough to do the treasure hunt. I bemoaned the fact that it would be years before I could pass on this tradition.
Then, Saturday night, I had an epiphany. Miles can't read, yet, and written clues - even if read aloud - would probably be a bit too difficult. But the kid is awesome at pictures. Maybe if I took pictures of the hiding places. . .
So, I took a ton of pictures and printed them out . . .
Then, I cut them up and put them in the eggs. Each egg had a pictures of the hiding place of the next egg. I got a tad carried away and did 20 clues, ending with the Easter basket hiding in a cabinet. Patrick was skeptical that Miles would have the attention span for all 20, but I thought I could probably push him through the last 3-4 clues, and it would all work out.
We both underestimated our little treasure-hunter.
From the moment he opened the first egg, Miles was a bundle of smiles and concentration. Sometimes, he immediately went to the hiding spot and picked up the egg. Other times, he had to think for a few moments, puzzling out what that picture was portraying. In a matter of minutes, though, he had flown through all of the clues, and found his basket.
"Where the egg?" he asked. The chocolate bunny, the stickers - he didn't care too much about. He wanted more clues.
I was thrilled. Miles was thrilled. Patrick was beaming. It was a perfect start to a wonderful Easter. I can't wait for next year. :)
Now, onto Easter.
I love Easter. I love welcoming Spring, and celebrating the Resurrection, and hunting eggs, and . . . well, all of it. I love it for its Christian meaning, and for its Pagan roots. And I love that the two have blended into a day that can be enjoyed by all ages, for a variety of reasons.
Growing up, my favorite part of Easter was our egg hunt. Mom would stay up into the ungodly hours of the night preparing for it, I'm sure, but in my mind, it was totally worth it. Each year, she would hand us a single plastic egg with a clue inside. That clue told us where to find the next egg, and so on, until we found our Easter baskets, filled to brimming with chocolate and goodies. I loved the challenge of it, and the excitement of the treasure hunt. It was a tradition I always knew I'd pass on to our kids, someday. Especially when I found out that Patrick's family had an almost-identical tradition.
Since Miles was born, I've spent each Easter pining for the day that he'd be old enough to do the treasure hunt. I bemoaned the fact that it would be years before I could pass on this tradition.
Then, Saturday night, I had an epiphany. Miles can't read, yet, and written clues - even if read aloud - would probably be a bit too difficult. But the kid is awesome at pictures. Maybe if I took pictures of the hiding places. . .
So, I took a ton of pictures and printed them out . . .
Then, I cut them up and put them in the eggs. Each egg had a pictures of the hiding place of the next egg. I got a tad carried away and did 20 clues, ending with the Easter basket hiding in a cabinet. Patrick was skeptical that Miles would have the attention span for all 20, but I thought I could probably push him through the last 3-4 clues, and it would all work out.
We both underestimated our little treasure-hunter.
From the moment he opened the first egg, Miles was a bundle of smiles and concentration. Sometimes, he immediately went to the hiding spot and picked up the egg. Other times, he had to think for a few moments, puzzling out what that picture was portraying. In a matter of minutes, though, he had flown through all of the clues, and found his basket.
"Where the egg?" he asked. The chocolate bunny, the stickers - he didn't care too much about. He wanted more clues.
I was thrilled. Miles was thrilled. Patrick was beaming. It was a perfect start to a wonderful Easter. I can't wait for next year. :)
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Seasons of Pregnancy
When I was pregnant with Miles, I got a ton of sympathy. Everyone commented on how hard it was to be pregnant in the summer. How hot I must be. How much swelling I must deal with. As far as they were concerned, being pregnant in the summer had to be the worst luck.
Each time they told me this, I'd just smile and say, "I'd rather be pregnant in the summer. It seems like winter would be a much worse time to be pregnant." And they'd smile and nod, all the time believing that I was miserable, but trying to make the best of it.
I was miserable, but not because it was summer. I was miserable because I was huge, and everything hurt, and I was tired of sharing my body with another human. Summer actually made it more bearable.
This time around, I will get the joy of experiencing a spring baby. No worries about the terrible flu going around, or counting the days until she'll be vaccinated against things like whooping cough that can be so prevalent, and devastating to newborns. Instead, I will be able to take her outside and sit in the sunshine with her while Miles plays. We will be able to take walks, and play at the park, and spend time in public without worrying every second about whether or not she'll catch something.
However, the flip side of that is that I've been pregnant all winter. And I've found my instincts were right on - I much prefer pregnancy in the summer. And of course, I have had the sheer joy of being pregnant during the first winter in ages where it has snowed constantly and spring seems like it will never come.
Everyday, I walk outside and tentatively test the sidewalk with a toe, while holding onto the door. Is it slick? Because I have a unique talent for falling even when it's dry, and my center of balance isn't thrown off by a massive belly. If it is even the least bit icy, it takes me a full two minutes to get down the eight or ten steps outside my front door, as I cling to the handrail. Miles, meanwhile, is impatient and invincible and hops down the steps two at a time, and then whines because I'm taking too long. Then, I get to waddle down the drive, start the car, and buckle Miles into his car seat, all while juggling any number of necessary items.
And that's once I've gotten out the door.
Long gone are the days I could wear my warm, adorable wool pea coat It just won't button anymore. Now, the only thing that fits is a bulky faux-down coat that's five sizes too big, but barely zips in the middle. I bought it on clearance because I refused to spend a ton of money on a coat that I'd wear for a few weeks, at most. So, instead, I bundle into this monstrosity, and a scarf - because this coat doesn't have the collar my normal one does. And it's not nearly as warm, though it does its job.
Then, there's the anxiety - always worse in the winter, anyway. Only now, I've added pregnancy hormones to it, and it's outrageous. Even now, on my Zoloft for almost three months, I have random panic attacks. And my motivation to get out of my chair sets when the sun does. I feel a bit like Superman, soaking in my energy and drive from the sun. The difference is that when the sun is gone, so is everything else. And my only superpower seems to be getting up the stairs in less than 15 minutes.
So, yeah. Winter is a sucky time to be pregnant. I'm ready for spring, and for an outside baby.
Each time they told me this, I'd just smile and say, "I'd rather be pregnant in the summer. It seems like winter would be a much worse time to be pregnant." And they'd smile and nod, all the time believing that I was miserable, but trying to make the best of it.
I was miserable, but not because it was summer. I was miserable because I was huge, and everything hurt, and I was tired of sharing my body with another human. Summer actually made it more bearable.
This time around, I will get the joy of experiencing a spring baby. No worries about the terrible flu going around, or counting the days until she'll be vaccinated against things like whooping cough that can be so prevalent, and devastating to newborns. Instead, I will be able to take her outside and sit in the sunshine with her while Miles plays. We will be able to take walks, and play at the park, and spend time in public without worrying every second about whether or not she'll catch something.
However, the flip side of that is that I've been pregnant all winter. And I've found my instincts were right on - I much prefer pregnancy in the summer. And of course, I have had the sheer joy of being pregnant during the first winter in ages where it has snowed constantly and spring seems like it will never come.
Everyday, I walk outside and tentatively test the sidewalk with a toe, while holding onto the door. Is it slick? Because I have a unique talent for falling even when it's dry, and my center of balance isn't thrown off by a massive belly. If it is even the least bit icy, it takes me a full two minutes to get down the eight or ten steps outside my front door, as I cling to the handrail. Miles, meanwhile, is impatient and invincible and hops down the steps two at a time, and then whines because I'm taking too long. Then, I get to waddle down the drive, start the car, and buckle Miles into his car seat, all while juggling any number of necessary items.
And that's once I've gotten out the door.
Long gone are the days I could wear my warm, adorable wool pea coat It just won't button anymore. Now, the only thing that fits is a bulky faux-down coat that's five sizes too big, but barely zips in the middle. I bought it on clearance because I refused to spend a ton of money on a coat that I'd wear for a few weeks, at most. So, instead, I bundle into this monstrosity, and a scarf - because this coat doesn't have the collar my normal one does. And it's not nearly as warm, though it does its job.
Then, there's the anxiety - always worse in the winter, anyway. Only now, I've added pregnancy hormones to it, and it's outrageous. Even now, on my Zoloft for almost three months, I have random panic attacks. And my motivation to get out of my chair sets when the sun does. I feel a bit like Superman, soaking in my energy and drive from the sun. The difference is that when the sun is gone, so is everything else. And my only superpower seems to be getting up the stairs in less than 15 minutes.
So, yeah. Winter is a sucky time to be pregnant. I'm ready for spring, and for an outside baby.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)