Poutine

Goodnight, Ladies

2009-10-12T19:26:00.002-04:00

This will be the last week Poutine will be up, so don't forget to update your blog rolls, or your favourites list to http://www.revandthemissus.blogspot.com if you want to keep up with Wiggle Man's adventures. And mine, of course. And Hubba Hubba's...I mean, The Rev's.

And hey, go one step further and follow me over there. It's easy to do: head on over, and click the follow button on the left hand side.

Don't Forget

2009-10-08T13:31:00.003-04:00

If you have a hankering for adorable pictures of Wiggle Man at an apple orchard, you need to head over to Rev and The Missus!

Poutine will only be up for a little while longer, so please update your bookmarks, etc, or even better--follow me over at www.revandthemissus.blogspot.com !

Don't Forget

2009-10-03T14:26:00.002-04:00

I'm now posting over at Rev and The Missus, so update your favourites list, or your blog roll, or however it is you lovely people find me.

The Missus says please. The Missus says she'll give you candy. (Not really, unless you, like, know me, and come over to my house and stuff. Then I might be able to dig up some candy or sumpin'.)

The Missus says thanks.

Moving

2009-09-30T14:17:00.002-04:00

No, not us, silly! We just moved! My blog is moving. Now you'll be able to find me at www.revandthemissus.blogspot.com . I'll be there, and so will Wiggle Man, and Hubba Hubba (only we'll be calling him Rev now--I mean, if I can't do it in real life, I'm surely going to call him that online).

Don't worry--I'll leave this up for about a week or so in case you forget the new address. I hope you'll all follow me over to my new place...see you there!

Teeny Man

2009-09-29T22:39:00.004-04:00

Even when he was a baby, Wiggle Man looked like, well, a little man.

This is him, inspecting his first train. Considering he still plays with it, it must have passed inspection.

Wiggle Man continues to amaze us. I'm convinced he grows inches every time he sleeps, and today I have proof that my boy is paying close attention to what he sees on tv. In a touching mother/son moment, we sat on the floor reading a book about trucks. Some sort of large, manly, dirt-moving type tractor was on the page, and Wiggle Man pointed to it and said, "George."

I was thrown for a minute, until I remembered the Curious George episode where George goes to the landfill, and drives a tractor very similar to the large, manly, dirt-moving type tractor in the book.

Then Wiggle Man pointed to his head and said, "hat." Because, of course, in that episode, George goes to the landfill to rescue The Man With The Yellow Hat's, well, Hat.

He's growing up so fast. I hope I can keep up.

Lucky Seven

2009-09-28T11:03:00.003-04:00

Seven years ago today was my first date with this hunka hunka burnin' love.

(This is one of the few pictures I have from his ordination service--this is from before the service.)

Here we are, in all our youth and glory, on our honeymoon.

Somewhere, there are pictures from when we were dating. But those are on film. I know. Perhaps I'll bust out the scanner. When those pictures actually get unpacked. So, look for those sometime, I don't know...next year, or something.

Nutmeg and Cinnamon

2009-09-24T09:55:00.002-04:00

I love this thing.

Fall would be so tedious without my apple peeler/corer/slicer. Before this lovely invention, I had to do all this by hand. The horror.

Even with a broken handle (the repair, by the way, will be a boy job) I whizzed through those apples to get to the good part: dark brown sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon. This was the first time I've grated my own nutmeg and cinnamon. It was a little extra work, but worth it.

There you have it: my first apple pie of the season. Inspired by Julie, whose blog you definitely need to check out. We went to college together, so I can tell you that as cool as she seems in her blog, she's just as sweet and cool in real life.

Another Big Day

2009-09-19T10:34:00.004-04:00

We've had quite a week in our family. Not only did Wiggle Man turn the big 0-2, but tonight Hubba Hubba will add another title to his name. Hubba Hubba is many things: Husband (obviously), Father, Son, Brother, Friend, Killer of Spiders and Other Unidentified Crawlies...but tonight, he adds Pastor.

Tonight, surrounded by friends and family, Hubba Hubba will be ordained as a Minister of the Word and Sacrament. In a way, it's the culmination of a journey that began when he was in high school, got detoured for a bit, and began again one fall night as we sat in his car and he told me he felt called to ministry. I knew then that one day we'd be here--he'd be ordained, and we'd be preparing to start serving a church--our new family in Virginia. (Still working on a blog nickname, guys.)

So, babe--congratulations. I plan on telling you this about a million more times today, but I'm so proud of you.

Party Time!

2009-09-17T21:49:00.001-04:00

Now We Are Two

2009-09-14T09:57:00.006-04:00

From this:

To this:

Happy Birthday, baby.

Wiggle Speak

2009-09-11T14:52:00.002-04:00

As we've been meeting new neighbours and friends, I'm noticing I've been translating for Wiggle Man a lot. This reminded me it's time for another installment of Wiggle Speak. So here goes:

Sigh: (No, not the sound, I just don't know how else to spell what he's saying.) 1. Outside

Das: 1. Thank you.

Hoo-hoooooooo: 1. Train. 2. Thomas The Tank Engine. 3. Sirens

Cook: 1. Cookie. (Not that he eats cookies, mind you. He thinks fig bars and animal crackers are cookies. I'm content to let him linger in ignorance.) 2. Tacos. 3. Cook. Eg--what does Mommy do in the kitchen? Cook. What does she cook for you? Chssssssssss.

Ba-Ball: 1. Ball. 2. Baseball. 3. Target. (Wiggle Man calls Target the Ba-Ball store, because of the giant red cement balls out front. He tries to push them every single time. He also claps and cheers when we tell him we're going to the Ba-Ball store. Mommy has taught him well.)

Nom-nom: 1. Food, usually Subway.

Tuuuuuu: 1. Two. 2. Any other number. Eg--how many feet do you have? Tuuuuuuu. How many fingers do you have? Tuuuuuu.

And to finish up, a little Wiggle Eats. We took Wiggle Man to a Chinese buffet for lunch today. My son? Wanted nothing to do with the chicken nuggets they had. Instead, he ate an egg roll (filled with the usual cabbage, etc.) and lo mein. Odd boy.

Movin' On Down (South, That Is)

2009-09-07T12:23:00.001-04:00

A thousand apologies for my absence—I’ve spent the last week amidst boxes. Boxes and boxes. Boxes of boxes. It’s been a little ridiculous. But all for a good cause—we’ve moved to our new home in Virginia, and couldn’t be more pleased. Thank you to everyone who helped unload boxes, move furniture, put together furniture, bring meals—we’ve been overwhelmed by your love and generosity.

I’ve been thinking—I have blog names for everyone I write about (except myself, of course.) How should I refer to y’all (I’m practicing being Southern) from our new church? I’m taking suggestions for your collective nickname.

My goal today (which was my goal yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that) is to finish unpacking the kitchen. Who knew I had so much stuff? Seriously—some of this stuff has been packed away so long, I’d almost forgotten I had it. However, I’m proud to tell you that only two boxes remain to be unpacked in my kitchen. (Let’s not talk about the counter, which is covered in dishes to be washed. My poor, poor dishpan hands.)

Wiggle Man seems to be settling in just fine—he’s very proud of his new “big boy” room, and tries to show his choo choos to anyone who drops by. He’s been sleeping in his “big boy” bed every night, and hasn’t rolled out of it once. He has, however, figured out that he’s no longer actually trapped in a crib, and has tried to sneak out and play when he should be napping. What he hasn’t figured out yet is that Mommy has ears like a bat.

Anyway, I think I may go back to my boxes for a bit—hopefully I can post a little more regularly as things settle down.

Another First

2009-09-01T18:22:00.002-04:00

Wiggle Man is churning through the firsts this week. He said "bye" for the first time this week. And we had our first "procedure."

Here's how our story begins:

Wiggle Man and I were sitting on the deck Sunday after church. It was idyllic, almost. A beautiful day, a well behaved child...I should have known. We hadn't been out there long when Wiggle Man came limping up to me, whining and pointing at his foot.

I know, I know. He should have had his shoes on. Lesson learned.

So, I pulled him up on to my lap to examine the splinter that, sure enough, was sticking out of his chubby little foot. Using my super Mommy powers, I quickly grabbed the end of it with my fingernails and pulled it out.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, there was a whole lot more to that splinter. I had just pulled the tip off. What was left was like a small tree or shrub, stuck there in my little man's foot. He was not impressed with our attempts to remove it. He was not impressed with the idea of it remaining, either.

Once we got in bandaged up, Wiggle Man decided he felt better. Me, not so much. But I was hopeful that bath time would soften and loosen things up, and it might just, you know, come out on its own.

Not so much.

Nor would it come out after another "session" with Dr. Hubba Hubba. Dr. Mommy had no luck, either. Even Auntie M, with her nursing background, was unable to remove the shrubbery. So, the next morning we headed off to the pediatrician's office for the procedure.

Dr. D asked Wiggle Man where his boo-boo was. Wiggle Man obliged, pointing to his foot. Dr. D thought he was kidding...until he looked at Wiggle Man's chart.

"Oh," he said.

Yeah.

The plan was for me to hold Wiggle Man up to my chest, so he couldn't see the doctor poking and prodding. Hubba Hubba held Wiggle Man's leg still. Dr. D did his thing.

For 15 minutes. Maybe longer. I certainly wasn't looking at my watch, or anything.

No, I had to look into the screaming red face of my son, who chose this moment to say "Mama." Only it was more like this: "Mamamamamamamamamamamamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaa!" It broke my heart to not be able to do anything besides hold him, tell him every story I could think of, and finally just tell him Mommy loved him, over and over again.

20 minutes later, he was smiling and eating pancakes at McDonald's. Me? I'm still a little traumatized.

Drumroll, Please

2009-08-30T15:28:00.002-04:00

Are you ready? Here it is: the moment you've all been waiting for. Or maybe not. But if you've been dying to know what our big news is, I'll let you off the crazy train and tell you.

Right now.

No, seriously, I will.

Ok, here goes:

This morning, at a congregational meeting at a certain church in a certain area of Virginia, that congregation approved the call of Hubba Hubba as their new pastor!!!!

Obviously, we're super excited. This is something we've been working and praying and thinking and hoping towards for, well, almost the entire time Hubba Hubba and I have known each other.

You see, one fall night, Handsome Boyfriend (this was before he became Hubba Hubba) told me that he felt called to ministry. While his telling me this was a big step for our relationship, to be honest, I wasn't surprised. Not only did I know Handsome Boyfriend would make a great pastor, but I always felt that I'd end up as a pastor's wife. (And Handsome Boyfriend and I both knew at that point that we were meant to be married.)

As you might imagine, it's been a long road since that night. There was marriage. There were denominational requirements. And there was seminary life. And denominational requirements. And Wiggle Man arrived. And then were were more denominational requirements. And then there were times we weren't sure exactly what God was doing.

If you've been reading my blog for awhile now, you know that at one point we were considering whether God was actually calling us to serve Him in Kenya. Obviously, He wasn't. I don't always understand the roads God takes us down to show us His plan. But I do know that if we're patient, and quiet enough to actually listen, He will show us His will, one way or another.

Back in June, we traveled down to Virginia to interview with a representative committee from what is now our new church family. I think everyone involved had a sense right away that God's hand was in this.

If you're a part of our new church and you're reading this, I hope you know how very excited we are to meet you and share this life God has called us to lead together. (Oh, and my apologies that you get to hear your new pastor referred to as Hubba Hubba.) I hope you enjoy this glimpse into our lives, and I look forward to getting to know you and your families.

Soon and Very Soon....

2009-08-29T13:47:00.002-04:00

I'll be able to let you all off the crazy train, and tell you what big changes await our family. And this time, when I say "soon" I mean, soon. Like, hopefully, sometime tomorrow.

Because of what I hope and pray to be able to tell you tomorrow, my week has been, well, full. Soon, hopefully, I'll be back to posting regularly about my adventures--being a stranger in a strange land, wife to a foreigner (ok, I guess I'm the foreigner here) and mother to a slightly odd, but totally wonderful Wiggle Man.

For instance, this week you missed out on hearing about Hubba Hubba's birthday cake. (Which tasted amazing, and looked like Wiggle Man might have decorated it. Except I did.)

You missed on out what Hubba Hubba requested especially for his birthday cook-out, and my thoughts on the leftovers, which are fragrancing the refrigerator. (Spell check seems to think that fragrancing isn't really a word. Bizarre.)

I'm not even going to rant about those ads on websites that are driving me crrrrazy--you know, the ones that expand to cover half the web page if your mouse even glances in the general direction of the ad? (Note to advertisers: this does not make me want to buy your product. It has rather the opposite effect.)

Instead, I'm going to finish my iced tea, (the fake kind--I only like the real kind when it's done the proper, Southern way, super sweet and ice cold) and go back to doing what I've been doing all day to get ready for next week.

You know, when the crazy train makes a stop somewhere.

Edit

2009-08-24T08:55:00.001-04:00

I've been playing with some photo editing, so I thought I'd share.

Since, you know, I'm holding out on you about, ahem, other things.

Hint, Hint

2009-08-22T15:05:00.002-04:00

Hoo-Hoooooooo

2009-08-21T13:17:00.002-04:00

You may think that a certain place with a certain famous mouse is "the happiest place on earth." For many people, I'm pretty sure it is. I've been known to enjoy a happy day or two there, myself.

But if you are not quite two years old, and you happen to be my son, then "the happiest place on earth" has got nuthin' on this place:

We spent yesterday at a local railroad museum, and even got to take a ride on a working steam engine. We also got to spend the day with Grandma and Papa (my parents), so Wiggle Man got thoroughly spoiled. (As is proper, for a day out with Grandparents.)

Of course, Thomas The Tank Engine has a lot to do with Wiggle Man's love of trains.

All day long we got to hear Wiggle Man point out the trains to us: "Hoo-hooooo! Hoo-hooooooo! Hoooooooooo-hooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

We got some interesting looks in the museum, that's for sure. And, when he wasn't "hoo-hoo-ing", Wiggle Man was screaming. (Also bringing us interesting looks, stares, and--from the parents of other Thomas-loving toddlers--knowing glances.) Yes, screaming. Big, giant tears of agony every time we left one attraction to go to another.

It didn't matter that we were leaving the steam engine ride to go to a entire museum filled with trains. Or that we were leaving the museum to go to a petting zoo. Wiggle Man doesn't exactly have the concept of anticipation down yet.

All he knew was that we were dragging him away from something fun. It didn't matter how much more fun he was going to have where we were going next--he was willing to miss out on that to stay where he was. A bird in the hand, and all that.

There's a lesson in that, I'm thinking.

WiggleSpeak

2009-08-18T13:27:00.002-04:00

Finally, (or so it seems to my anxious Mommy heart) our Wiggle Man is learning to say more than animal sounds. So I thought I'd take this opportunity to give you a dictionary of WiggleSpeak, for those who may not be fluent.

Dada: 1. Daddy, of course. That's an easy one.

Pop: 1. Pop-Pop (Hubba Hubba's dad. My dad is "Grandpa", and Wiggles is still working on that one.) 2. Popsicle (specifically, Mommy's special blueberry-banana-yogurt pops--the only kind he knows.) 3. The machine at the farmer's market that makes multi-grain cakes (like rice cakes, sort of) and which makes a big popping sounds. 4. Pretzel dogs, from the same farmer's market. This gets confusing, as you might imagine.

Car: 1. Car, simply enough. 2. Uncle Carl, our neighbour and good friend.

Book: 1. Book. 2. Milk. (I have no idea.)

Bee: 1. Plane. 2. Blankie.

Gas: 1. Gas. Heaven forbid Mommy not get gas after a trip to Walmart--he doesn't understand we don't need to get it every time we're out.

Chhsss: 1. Cheerios. 2. Cheese. 3. Shoes. (Sometimes, you just gotta take it in context, and figure it out from there.)

Chuch: 1. Church. Wiggle Man does not like passing by the church and not stopping. This has less to do with his early spiritual leanings (although we do have an ultrasound picture where his little hands appear to be clasped in prayer) and more to do with the toys in the nursery.

Bech: 1. Beach. However, since he likes to say this randomly (when no beach or sand is present) this one took us a while to figure out.

Brrrr (or, beurre): Regular readers already know this one--my bilingual child is merely asking for peanut butter.

Trash: 1. Trash, garbage.

Pee: 1. Just what you're thinking, only more inclusive. Wiggle Man refers to, ahem, numbers one and two as "pee." You just have too look at where he's pointing to know which, um, number he means.

Stinky: 1. Yup, stinky. He especially enjoys telling us his feet are stinky. Sometimes he'll even demonstrate for us just how stinky they are by sniffing them, declaring them "stinky", and laughing hysterically.

He has a few more words, but I think I'll save them for another day.

Blindsided

2009-08-15T19:22:00.002-04:00

Just when you think you have them all figured out: they become toddlers.

All afternoon, I was in Supermom Mode. I was sooooo proud of myself: I had a plan. A plan to get Wiggle Man to eat something other than beurre. Or animal crackers. I was going to get him to eat vegetables and fruit. In a single sitting. And he was going to enjoy it so much, he wouldn't even realise it was good for him.

This plan might have worked, had it not been for the terrible unpredictability of the two year-old (or almost two year-old) set.

I made mini pizzas on whole wheat crusts, cut up the veggies very, very small and covered them with cheese. Then I made us fruit smoothies. Brilliant, yes?

No.

Wiggle Man sat in his high chair for...I lost track of time, but for a ridiculous amount of time, refusing to eat. Smoothies and pizza. I would have killed for smoothies and pizza as a kid. I certainly would not have sat stubbornly at the table, refusing smoothies and pizza. Now did I refuse potatoes? Yes. Pork chops? Yes. Meatloaf? Heck yes. But pizza? Are you kidding me?

To top it off, while typing this I had to tell Wiggle Man not to eat the goldfish crackers. Out of the trash. They were soggy from sitting in the rain for two days. Apparently garbage is preferable to mini pizzas and smoothies.

I have a feeling two is going to be a fuuuunnnnnn age.

Taste of Summer

2009-08-13T21:13:00.004-04:00

Dessert tonight took me back. A thousand memories of summers past came flooding in. Memories of dinner at Grandma's, dinner with friends in my college apartment over the summers, and the nights I wasn't sure if I wanted to cook, and just took a spoon to half a melon.

Yes, a melon.

Cantaloupe, specifically.

Nothing says summer to me like a good, fresh, cantaloupe.

I treated myself to a ginormous fruit cup from the local farmer's market. By the time I thought to take the picture, I'd already eaten the strawberries off the top.

As much as this absolutely made my dinner, Hubba Hubba is not a fan of the cantaloupe. This:

totally grosses him out. He thinks it tastes rotten. Literally, rotten. Can you imagine?

RFP Strikes Again

2009-08-12T16:45:00.005-04:00

RFP.

Random Foot Pain.

It's probably not so random. If I'd just get over myself and go to either a) a doctor, or b) a decent shoe store, I'm sure someone could tell me what's bothering my feet. My guess is it has something to do with my high arches, and unwillingness to spend more than $40 on shoes. But, if it comes down to a choice between never running again, or shilling out the cash for decent shoes, I may have to swallow my pride and go to a decent shoe store.

Hubba Hubba thinks I need to go to a podiatrist, and get "special shoes."

Just calling them "special shoes" is enough to keep me from thinking that's a good idea.

I'm pretty bummed about this, since this RFP, whatever it is, once kept me from running for about a year and a half. It wasn't until a month and a half ago that I found I could actually run again. (And please, check out the link to learn what I mean when I say "run." It's probably not as cool as you think.)

Dutifully I got up at 6 am to go for my run. As soon as I started down the stairs, I knew RFP had struck again. The old familiar ache was there with every step down I took. It's nowhere near as bad as it was before I gave up running last time, but it was enough to make me decide to give these a break for the rest of the week:

Instead, I'll do some strength training, and see how my tender tootsies feel after a bit of a break. If any of you are avid runners out there, like Sara, feel free to chime in with any thoughts you have. My RFP and I would appreciate the free advice.

Oh, and one more thing:

Sorry to keep you all in suspense. I promise I'm not trying to drive you crazy. I just figured it would be nice to have some company on the crazy train.

I'll share all the top secret details as soon as they're declassified. Til then, enjoy the ride, and please keep your hands and arms inside the crazy train at all times.

Thank you.

Oh, The Times...

2009-08-09T19:04:00.004-04:00

They are a-changin'.

I can't go into many details right now, but our little family is about to have some big changes. Big changes that don't (I repeat don't) involve the pitter patter of little feet, or anything like that.

I'm writing this in the midst of a crazy storm, with some pretty impressive lightning. It's a reminder, for me, that, as Rich Mullins so aptly put it, we are not as strong as we think we are. In the times that I long to be in control, I have to remember Who is in control.

In Job 38:24 God asks Job if Job knows the way to the place lightning comes from. We may have a better understanding in our day and age of how lightning actually works, but we certainly don't control it.

In the times I feel so insanely blessed it leaves me without words, I have to remember Who each of these blessings is from.

Times change. What seemed out of control several months ago can be life's biggest blessing. Sometimes when the storm passes, it leaves something beautiful.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-08-05T12:20:00.002-04:00

The CCT

2009-08-03T09:22:00.003-04:00

I have a theory about cars.

I've noticed this over the weeks as I've been jogging in the mornings. You see, the roads near our house are windy, with little to no shoulder. At 6 am (I know, I know) it's less of a big deal than, say, at 5 pm.

My theory? The Car Clump Theory, or CCT. The basic principle behind CCT is that where no shoulder or sidewalk is present and a pedestrian is sharing the road, all cars will travel in clumps of two, three, four or more cars. The pedestrian hears the cars coming up behind her, moves on to the uneven, often soggy grass. Thinking the car has passed, the pedestrian moves back onto what little shoulder is available, only to find herself in the midst of a car clump.

By the way, the inverse of CCT is true when you are the driver of a car waiting to make a left hand turn. Instead of traveling in clumps and thereby making it possible for you, the waiting driver to make your turn, the others cars will space themselves so perfectly that turning is impossible.

I believe CCT and its inverse should be submitted to the most reputable scientific journal available, don't you?

Rainy Day Editing

2009-08-02T15:13:00.002-04:00

It's a rainy, grey day, and I'm curled up in a chair doing some photo editing while the two men in my life sleep the afternoon away.

Here's the same photo, as a fractal. Or something.

Today's Special

2009-08-01T09:32:00.004-04:00

My giftings do not include car maintenance.

Once upon a time, I was making the long drive from the True North Strong and Free back to New Jersey. By myself. I was feeling pretty proud of myself, actually, for having attempted the(thus far successful) trip. When I was about 30 minutes from the U.S. border, still on the good ol' QEW, my car decided that steering was no longer in its job description. As was the whole "forward motion" thing.

Amazingly enough, I was near an exit, and I managed to get the car off the exit ramp, and on the side of the road. At dusk. Across from nothing but a rather seedy looking "motel."

Really.

I don't remember if I just didn't have my cell, or if it wouldn't roam in Canada, or what. For whatever reason, I had to trudge my way across the road to the motel, and use the payphone to call AAA. Except I was still in the TNSAF, so it was CAA I called. The very kind lady got help sent to me, and very strongly urged me to not wait in the motel bar.

I didn't.

A very nice tow truck driver came to rescue us, I got to spend the night in a hotel by myself, and CAA fixed the serpentine belt on my car.

Fast forward to yesterday. I was on my way to my monthly indulgence--a massage. I didn't used to be one of those people that got a regular massage. (I secretly always wanted to be one, though.) However, I found a great, reasonably priced massage therapist, and I find it really does help.

But I digress.

So there I was, driving happily along, blissfully unaware that disaster was about to strike. As I turned onto the street my masseuse was located on, my car decided to reminisce about that time we were driving home from the TNSAF. Once again, steering went out the window. Once again, my car crawled to a stop. Just like before. I thought to myself, "Well, there goes the serpentine belt."

I was totally proud of myself for remembering what the thing was called.

I phoned Hubba Hubba, who said he would come "take care of it", and I walked the remaining block and a half to my appointment. But not before I followed Hubba Hubba's advice to put a rag, or something, in the window. I assured him I'd find something, but all I could find was an dried out diaper wipe.

It worked, I guess.

After my appointment, I ventured out in the rain, expecting to see HH and a tow truck. Instead, there was my car, parked neatly in the parking lot of the masseuse. A block and a half away from where it died.

What?

I called Hubba Hubba. I heard a hint of amusement in his voice as he explained that my car had not, in fact died. The serpentine belt was just fine. The car had merely stalled.

Yeah. I never bothered to try and start the car--I assumed it was the serpentine belt, like before, and went from there.

Cars: not my specialty.

{Almost} Wordless...um...Thursday

2009-07-30T19:20:00.001-04:00

To give you a break from all my blogging about cake, I give you Wordless Wednesday.

On Thursday.

Presenting....The Cake

2009-07-29T22:49:00.006-04:00

Drum roll, please.

I didn't get a good shot of a slice showing all the gooey filling, since my "birthday girl" piece was an end piece with all the icing.

So imagine all that chocolate buttercream covering yellow cake with actual fudge marbled in (not just chocolate cake--fudge, people) and two fillings: strawberry, and a chocolate custard filling.

Do you understand the importance of the countdown now?

This is why I jog, friends. Because I get this excited over food.

In other news, I did not get the one thing I asked Wiggle Man to give me for my birthday--the word "Mommy." No, his ever-growing vocabulary, which includes "cake" (he means pancakes, not the sugary goodness pictured above), and "Pop" (meaning Pop-Pop, or yogurt pop, depending on the context), still does not include Mommy.

I did get a sweet Willow Tree, though, and the faceless boy and his faceless mommy look remarkably like my Wiggle Man and me, so I'm happy.

My Button

2009-07-29T12:07:00.004-04:00

Dudes, I made a button for my blog!

It's not the most fabulous button you'll ever see, and I'll probably change it in the next week or so when I get a little more adventurous. And skilled. But, seriously, it took me a while just to make that teeny little button you see on the right. (Note: I've already changed it once since I put it up, and may again, who knows?)

The point of the button? To take you to the post where my songs are. I've got a couple of more I'd like to add in the next month, so stay tuned!

And, it's 7 hours and 50 minutes until cake. In case you were counting.

This Is It!

2009-07-28T19:09:00.003-04:00

This is the last full day I will spend as a twenty-something. Tomorrow, around mid-morning, I become a thirty-something.

Whoa.

I've mentioned before that I'm ok with the whole "Big 3-0" thing. I really am. I mean, Hubba Hubba passed that threshold three years ago. So, being married to a thirty-something, and being a thirty-something can't be that different, can they?

Can they?

At any rate, I get cake. Yummy, marble cake with strawberry filling and a chocolate buttercream icing. Or frosting, if you insist on calling it that. Whatever it is, it's super delicious.
And, if Hubba Hubba was smart, the cake will read something like this:

Happy Birthday to my darling wife, the most beautiful-est, special-est woman there is.

You know, if they can fit all that on the cake.

Friday Peevishness

2009-07-24T09:39:00.003-04:00

Every once and a while, I like to list some things that drive me nuts. Like, you know, gravity. I find it very therapeutic. Maybe these aren't things that bother you. Maybe you do these things yourself. (Don't worry--I'd still be your friend. I'd just make faces at you when the need arose.)

Irregardless of where you stand, I present my Friday Peeves:

The word irregardless. It makes no sense.
Drivers who refuse to merge when told their lane is ending. Come on, people. If we all wait until the very last second to merge, we end up with a mile-long back up. Like last night.
Drivers in a roundabout who yield to the people entering the roundabout. In addition to the fact that this makes no sense, there's the whole issue of the road signs.
People who do not flush. Public washrooms or otherwise. I don't want to have to flush for you.
Having my personal space invaded in salad bars. I'm going as fast as I can, I promise.
Drunk screaming guys (or gals) at ball games. The likelihood of Charlie Manuel heeding your advice does not increase with the volume of your voice, of the number of offensive words you choose to use.

I feel better already. Don't you? If you'd like to get something off your chest, feel free to leave it in the comments. Unless, of course, one of your peeves is people who list their peeves.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-07-22T07:41:00.000-04:00

Trippin'

2009-07-21T16:18:00.003-04:00

Well, if you read my last post, you know that we spent part of last week in Virginia. Rather than share the details of our trip, I thought I'd give you more of a visual:

Ok, so we spent a lot of time at a playground. And a small carnival. But most of those pictures aren't flattering. To me. So you only get to see the one of me and Wiggle on the slide.

The combination of our top-secret, confidential purposes there (insert evil laugh) and Wiggle Man's nap schedule meant we didn't do a lot of tourist-y things, but we still had an amazing time.

Plus, we learned what "cloth bologna" is. It's bologna. But it tastes less bologna-y than regular bologna. Don't ask me why.

Potty Break

2009-07-16T16:17:00.002-04:00

What a day, what a day.

If you happened to be walking around a certain town in a certain part of Virginia today, you may have seen a woman walking hand in hand with a young boy, not quite two years old yet. You may have stopped the woman to tell her that her son was adorable--that he had beautiful eyes, beautiful hair. You would have been right.

You may have noticed the woman's hair was, perhaps, slightly less beautiful. You would have been right again. You wouldn't have known that the reason for that was she forgot her straightener. And her running shoes. Which has no effect on her hair whatsoever. But still.

(Fear not. I have it on good authority that the woman in question hit the local Wal-Mart to buy replacements.)

However adorable this mother-son picture may have seemed to you, walking around the picturesque town you may or may not have been walking around this morning, you would have had quite a different impression if you were in the vicinity of a certain coffee shop.

Had you been outside the ladies room of a certain coffee shop in a certain town in a certain part of Virginia, you may have heard the following conversation:

(If that was you, my deepest apologies.)

Mother: Wiggle Man, come here please. Come here, honey. Mommy has to change your bum.

Wiggle Man: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

M: Please, honey, don't scream like that. This is a very small room. Now come here, please.

WM: EEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

M: Now. Come here NOW.

WM: (Shakes his head no.)

M: Stop touching that garbage can. Get up off the floor and come here so I can change your bum.

***It should be noted at this point that there was no actual change table in this washroom, nor was there even a counter to do in a pinch, so Wiggle Man ended up back on the floor, where his bum was promptly, and with wet paper towels--guess who forgot wipes?--changed anyway.***

M: Ok, Wiggle Man. All done. Mommy needs to use the toilet now, and then we can go.

WM: Uh-uh. (More head shaking, followed by whimpering and tiny hands being held over tiny ears. Whatever you may think, this is actually about the noise of the toilet flushing. It's Wiggle Man's newest fear.)

M: Wiggle Man, come back here. Stop running around. No honey, it won't be scary. Please stop whining. PLEASE. Stop making that sound. Seriously. Stop.

The conversation continued in much the same vein throughout the fearsome toilet flush, hand washing, and purse-gathering that followed.

And then, of course, came my apology to the kind woman waiting outside, who I can only hope was entertained while she waited for her own potty break.

Crying Over Spilled Milk

2009-07-10T14:10:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure why gravity hates me. I've posted about this before, but gravity's onslaught continues.

Yesterday I was quite proud of myself for having cleaned my floors, and having cleaned them with vinegar instead of a harsh, yucky chemical. (I know, I know--some of you do this on a much more regular basis, and so my self-congratulating here seems trite. Just let me have this.)

Anyway, there I was, admiring my gleaming floors. Less than 24 hours later, I had spilled milk, a lot of milk, all over the kitchen floor. Twice.

I can't even blame this on Wiggle Man, or complain about Hubba Hubba tracking mud all over my clean floors--both of the men in my life are perfectly innocent of the defiling of my clean floors.

It was me. All me. Both times.

Well, me and my evil nemesis gravity.

Being BH

2009-07-06T08:40:00.003-04:00

In my ever-growing list of blogs I enjoy, you'll find Suburban Turmoil. Lindsay is not afraid to tell it like it is, and tell it in a way that makes you laugh so hard you may or may not just pee a little. Last month she linked to a column she wrote about Brag Hags.

The Brag Hag, a term Lindsay coined, is that mom who insists on sharing with you each and every one of her child's many, many accomplishments.

Well, just this once, just this once, you understand, I am going full on BH.

See this?

If you spend any amount of time in our house at all, you've probably seen Wiggle Man doing one of two things: eating a peanut butter sandwich, or asking for one. Now, Wiggle Man's vocabulary may not be as extensive as your child's. I'll give you that. But is your child bilingual?

I thought not.

Remember, Wiggle Man is half Canadian, and there's some French Canadian in that Canadian part of him. You may not realize what he's saying at first when he comes up to you and says "Brrr. BRRR!"

Is he cold? Is he mimicking a car? But if you grew up in the TNSAF (True North Strong And Free) and remember any of your high school french, or if you always read the french side of your food packages, you know that what he's actually saying is this: "Beurre." As in "beurre d'arachide", or peanut butter.

Yes indeed folks, my kid is spontaneously speaking french.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

D-Day

2009-07-04T15:00:00.002-04:00

It's coming.

It's only 25 days away.

My 30th birthday fast approaches. And I'm ok with that. I'm actually looking forward to it.

For one thing, there's the cake. In Hubba Hubba's family, we do cake and ice cream for every one's birthday, big or small. Last year, Hubba Hubba got me a cake from my favourite local bakery, where their marble cake is yellow cake with actual fudge (not just chocolate cake) marbled in. And can I tell you about their butter cream icing? My mouth is watering just typing about it. I'm not kidding. This cake is so good, I refused to let any go to waste. I froze the leftovers in individual servings, and had birthday cake for the next six months.

And of course, I'm debating what I want for my birthday present. I need a new flat iron, but I've been watching infomercials for the InStyler. It looks pretty cool, and I know someone who has one, and she loves it. But then again, I a shopping spree at Target is always a great gift.

But as 30 approaches, I'm starting to understand why wisdom comes with age. I know, I know--most people don't equate wisdom with the ripe old age of 30. But when I look back on myself at 20, I can see a big change.

I'd like to think I've got more discernment. I hope I've got a better vision for my life, a more balanced vision. I make better decisions, and have more realistic expectations. (Except when it comes to gravity. I still expect the laws of gravity to suspend themselves when I'm having a clumsy day.)

So, all in all, I'm ready. Ready for the big 3-0. And all that comes with it.

Besides, no matter what--Hubba Hubba will always be older than me.

It May Be Late, But It's Still...

2009-07-01T21:03:00.002-04:00

Wordless Wednesday! (Happy Canada Day!)

Nothing Better

2009-06-30T14:27:00.002-04:00

Do you remember childhood summers spent running around in the sun? There was nothing better than a sprinkler on a hot day. (Unless, of course, you had a pool.)

But even then, there was just something about running through the grass, shrieking when the cold water hit your back.

Just looking at these pictures makes me long for the ice cream man to come driving by.

Pride Goeth...

2009-06-27T10:51:00.002-04:00

There I was--getting my run in first thing this morning, knowing the rest of the day would be too busy. And hot.

You can picture me, can't you? Flying down the road, graceful as a gazelle, ponytail swinging behind me.

Oh wait, that was the other girl out for her morning run. I was the one huffing and puffing in my over sized t-shirt (actually Hubba Hubba's t-shirt), lumbering down the road.

I was just at the point in my still very short (I'm still a little paranoid about my feet) run where I was feeling pretty good about myself. I had a pretty good pace going, (for me) and I felt ok.

And just as I was trying to figure out what had lodged itself in my nostrils that was preventing me from breathing through my nose (you can use your imagination to fill in the sound effects) I heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind me. Fast.

I looked, and then I saw her. Seventeen, maybe eighteen years old, in a cute tank top, running like the wind. Definitely not making snorting sounds through her nose, or labouring in any way. She quickly passed me, and I spent the rest of my run home watching her get farther and farther away.

After I got over myself, I realised that it didn't really matter. I was still out there, trying my best. I thought of what I think whenever I see someone trying something that I'm already good at. I never think to myself, "Gee, I do that so much better." Generally, I'm just excited to see someone trying.

And if the other girl out there running this morning thought about me at all, her thoughts were likely similar.

I hope.

Hello, Old Friends...

2009-06-26T13:19:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time, I used to run. And please understand that when I say "run" I mean "jog". It's just that running sounds so much more athletic to me than jogging. Especially the kind of jogging I do. It's more like bouncy walking.

Anyway.

At some point, after Wiggle Man was born, I did something awful to my feet. Perhaps all those workout tapes I did barefoot had something to do with it. Whatever the cause, I found myself unable to run without severe pain in my feet, shooting all the way up my shins and calves.

And I missed running. Ten Minute Trainer--you are my friend, but you're no substitute for getting out of the house and just running.

I tried new shoes. I tried inserts in the new shoes. I tried the inserts in the old shoes. And then I gave up.

But in the past few weeks, I've noticed that when playing softball, my feet didn't hurt when I ran. Hmm. So, I worked up the courage, and very, very slowly started jogging down the street.

Nothing.

No pain. No agony. Just...running.

So, hello old friends. I've missed you.

Peevishness

2009-06-24T19:23:00.002-04:00

So, we all have pet peeves. I'm sure you have your share. You know, things like drivers who cut you off, misspelled signs, or a GPS that says it's taking you to a Dairy Queen, only to bring you to, well, not a Dairy Queen.

I did not get a Peanut Buster Parfait.

But that's not the pet peeve I'd like to share with you today. No, this is a much larger problem. Worldwide, in fact.

I'm talking about gravity.

Yes, friends, gravity. It's one of my pet peeves. At this point some of you will try and explain to me the various benefits of gravity. And I suppose, yes, there are some good things. Like keeping iced tea in my glass, instead of all over everything.

I'm just not sure that outweighs the stuff that drives me crazy.

Perhaps it would be easier if gravity didn't seem out to get me. But it seems any time I try to do anything, every inanimate object in my general vicinity falls to the ground. If I try to get lotion from the cabinet in the bathroom, the hairspray will come tumbling to the ground. Hand soap? Well, just trying to use that causes Hubba Hubba's deodorant to fly across the room.

By this point you're thinking that my bathroom is just too cluttered. There may be something too that theory, especially if you saw the size of my bathroom. But let's think about some of gravity's other pitfalls.

Like when I fall down. I think that's more the fault of gravity than any clumsiness on my part. It can't be my fault when I'm walking down the street, perfectly innocent, no obstacles, and suddenly, out of nowhere, gravity pulls me down to the ground.

And let's think about the fact that if we lived on, say, Pluto, I'd weigh next to nothing. Of course, then people who weighed even less than next to nothing would then come up with some new system of weights and measures, rather than having to resort to decimals, so I'd end up weighing something like 45, 000 Plutomagrams, or something.

Gravity.

It's not your friend.

His First Car

2009-06-21T19:08:00.002-04:00

Look out, world! Wiggle Man's got wheels.

Apparently, this is what happens when Hubba Hubba has time to kill at the mall (imagine how often that happens.) He'd been wanting to get one of these little cars for The Wiggle for a while now, found himself at the mall with some time on his hands, and voila. (I wonder if I should drop some hints about a stand mixer....or perhaps a new pair of shoes. )

It seems that Hubba Hubba and the Fisher Price Company have slightly different definitions of the terms "minimal assembly required." I think it's the "minimal" part they differ upon.

Luckily for Hubba Hubba, Wiggle Man was ready and willing to help.

He was even willing to take it for a test drive. Wheels? He don't need no stinkin' wheels.

There was no keeping Wiggle Man from this car. Let's just say Hubba Hubba learned his lesson, and now puts together any new toys while The Wiggle is conveniently sleeping.

Here he is, in all his new found freedom. Wiggle Man hasn't quite got the hang of going forward yet, but he does a mean reverse.

Beep, beep!

Paper Thick

2009-06-18T19:46:00.006-04:00

Yesterday I finally tried something I've been wanting to do for awhile--make paper. The whole concept has been intriguing me for some time, so when I saw the Bill Nye Paper Recycling Kit in the clearance aisle at Walmart, well, I couldn't help myself.

I decided to recycle some of Wiggle Man's "art."

Step One: Rip everything to shreds (very therapeutic) and soak for at least two hours.

Step Two: Put the mushy paper in the mixer. Bill recommends adding gelatin to the water if you plan on writing on it.

Step Three: Give up on the hand mixer, and throw everything into the blender. (Seriously.) Also, add some food colouring, so the pulp changes from puke grey to puke green.

Step Four: Forget to take the picture of Step Four, which involves scooping pulp onto the mesh screen seen here, and gently moving it around under the water so the pulp spreads evenly. If you look carefully, you can see the heart shaped form that Bill provides, along with some other shapes if regular old rectangular paper doesn't quite do it for you.

Step Five: Cover the pulp and the mesh screen with one of these handy-dandy cloths, squeeze out excess water, flip over and peel off the mesh screen. Then put the cloth with the pulp on it onto the press. Cover with another handy-dandy cloth, put the top on the press, and tighten the nuts. Over tighten, so that the plastic snaps, rendering it unusable for future paper projects.

Step Six: Leave your very thick paper to dry. Apparently for much longer than the recommended 24 hours.

All sarcasm aside, I think it's a great project. Perhaps not as durable as I'd like, but for what I paid for it, I'm ok with it. I think Wiggle Man would probably love it if he were older.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-06-17T09:27:00.003-04:00

Not Me! Monday

2009-06-15T14:46:00.003-04:00

It's been a while since I've participated in MckMama's awesome blog carnival--Not Me! Monday. If you'd like to check our her blog, and other bloggers who are participating. It's like free therapy.

Here goes:

This week I did not have to chase Wiggle Man through not one, but two kitchen restaurants.

I did not eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

I did not let Wiggle Man eat an inordinate amount of french fries while we traveled, simply to avoid meal time arguments.

I did not sleep in my clothes one night while we were away, simply because I was too lazy to change into jammies. That same night I did not let Wiggle Man sleep all by himself on the air mattress because he was too afraid to sleep in the pack n' play in a new place for the third time that week and every time I rolled over on the air mattress it woke him up so I slept on the floor beside the air mattress and made Hubba Hubba sleep on the couch.

I do not enjoy the use of run-on sentences.

I do not have several baskets of clean laundry to put away.

That being said, I need to start procrastinating. While it's not likely I'll tackle that completely fictional laundry right now, I should be a little productive this afternoon.

Ta-ta!

Seeing How The Other Half Lives

2009-06-13T16:59:00.004-04:00

A thousand apologies for my blog absence. Since Grandma's passing, and funeral, I just haven't felt up to it. I had my lap top with me the whole trip, in case inspiration hit, but...nothing.

Today, though, I'm feeling a little more myself. So I thought I'd share some of my experiences on my recent trip to the True North Strong and Free.

Living where I do in the actual "garden" part of the Garden State, motherhood can be a little different than the experiences of other mommies. This past week, I got to see how the other half lives. Well, the other third. Rural Mommy got to experience a little of Suburban Mommy's experience. (Urban Mommy is a whole other experience.)

There are a couple of things I'm terribly jealous of. Like parks. How awesome to be able to walk to a park. Rural Mommy can drive 2o minutes and get to a park. But it's just not the same.

We took serious advantage of the proximity of a great park to my parents' house. This is Uncle D, helping Wiggle Man down the slide.

Wiggle Man and I got to experience a Mommy and me swim time at a local pool. How great is that? Three dollars and a change room filled with mommies and kiddies later, we were in a pool swarmed with people. Wiggle Man wasn't used to all that chaos, so we headed to a less crowded part of the pool. Eventually, though, he settled down and spent a long time carefully pouring water from one toy watering pot to another.

This is cool stuff, people.

After that, lunch at McDonald's (grilled cheese and apple slices for Wiggles, nuggets and apple slices for Mommy) and then Wiggle Man spent a loooonnnng time playing in the play park. I was a little envious of the camaraderie among those in the "mommy circuit." Rural mommies generally don't have a "mommy circuit."

All this comparison got me thinking. There's a lot to be said for Suburban Mommies, and, while I'd love to join their ranks, Rural Mommy has her moments, too. Rural Mommy can take her kids to feed the chickens, or watch the ducks swim in the stream.

Like I said, Rural Mommy has her moments.

Contrast

2009-06-05T23:45:00.002-04:00

This post has been milling around in my brain for the last couple of days. I'm still not sure it will come out right, so bear with me.

It's been a little odd around here, lately.

The juxtaposition of life and death, goodbyes and new beginnings is jarring.

My Grandma passed away Wednesday. That in itself is a jumble of emotions. I'm sad, obviously. Sad for me, because I'll miss her, sad for my Mom, and the rest of my family. At the same time, I'm happy for Grandma. Happy because I know she's free from the pain and frailty that have been plaguing her, happy that she's with Jesus.

One of my oldest, dearest friends gave birth to her firstborn this week, a little girl.

Life, death.

There is a new beginning for my little family in the near future. I'm going to hold off on details for a little bit, since there are still some steps to complete, but I can't wait to see what God will do. But--new beginnings mean other endings.

Hello, goodbye.

It's interesting to be so excited, and so sad at the same time. I guess that's what life is. Nature itself is a cycle of life coming from death.

There's something profound in that.

Sorry Guys

2009-06-01T11:31:00.002-04:00

My apologies if you've been checking here regularly, and have been frustrated to see the same post over and over again. I haven't written anything new in the last few days. To say it's been hectic around the ol' farmstead would be a bit of an understatement.

We've had guests. I love having guests--especially these friends, since we never get to see them.

We've had a wedding. And by "had a wedding" I mean that Hubba Hubba, Wiggle Man and I were all part of the wedding party. (Wiggle Man was a reluctant Ring Bearer. He wouldn't walk down the aisle, but we got some super adorable pictures of him in a tux afterwards.) This was a huge honour for our family to all be involved. And, it was a huge undertaking, in terms of planning and executing. There aren't many people we'd put ourselves through all that for, but the new Mr. and Mrs. E are definitely in that select group. We love you guys!

Also, my grandmother's health is rapidly declining. It sounds like she'll be meeting Jesus any day now. I'm trying to keep up with the laundry, in case rapid packing and driving to the True North Strong and Free is required in the next few days.

We also have one event up our sleeves that is currently scheduled for later this week, but may be postponed depending on Grandma's health. I'll keep that one a secret for now.

(And no, it's not that one of my very besties is scheduled to deliver her first little one on Thursday...although that's never far from my mind, either.) :)

At The Car Wash

2009-05-27T14:17:00.003-04:00

It's been a busy week around here, and is likely to get busier in the week to come. We have a very special wedding this week, that the whole family will be involved in. Wiggle Man will be debuting as a ringbearer. I can't wait to see him in his tuxedo.

After the wedding we'll be taking a trip to Virginia, so you can bet I'll have some beautiful pictures.

Until then, here are some pictures of Wiggle Man "helping" Aunt Shell wash the car.

From The Mouths of Babes...

2009-05-25T14:09:00.002-04:00

Well, friends, Wiggle Man has started expanding his vocabulary a little bit. For the longest time, he said two words: "Da-Da" and "Uh-oh." He can also spout off a zoo's worth of animal sounds, but in terms of actual words, we were stalled at those two.

Bear in mind I've been coaching him on "Mommy" since he was about 6 months old.

A couple weeks ago we noticed Wiggle Man repeating the same word over and over again, but it was hard to make out what it was. Then, we realised it was actually two different words: "trash" and "garage."

This may seem odd at first, until I tell you that Wiggle Man is obsessed the the trash can. The only way I've found to keep him from constantly digging in it (and yes, sometimes licking it) is to let him throw things out frequently throughout the day. It seems to satisfy his curiosity, and let's face it: it's a handy thing, having a kid who wants to take things to the garbage for you.

I'm not sure what his fascination with the garage is, except that it seems to be a neat place where Daddy and Pop Pop go to get tools.

To recap so far: "Da-Da", "Uh-Oh", "trash" and "garage". This week he added one more.

I know what you're thinking: "Mommy". It would only be fair.

Which is why his newest word is "Aunt Shell."

Boys.

Blueberry Banana Pops

2009-05-22T15:15:00.003-04:00

What kid doesn't love popsicles in the summer heat? I wasn't super excited about the amount of sugar and additives in store-bought popsicles, so I looked for some recipes online.

Most of the recipes I found had sugar, or called for straining out the skins on the blueberries. Since so much of the good stuff is in those skins, I came up with my own (much simpler) version.

Add the following to a blender:

8 oz plain yogurt
1 banana
A handful or two of blueberries
A squirt or two of honey

Blend everything up, and pour into popsicle molds. (You'll get about four regular sized popsicles.)

After that, it's just a matter of chasing your child around the house with paper towels to catch all the drips!

One Word:

2009-05-21T16:50:00.002-04:00

Pre-school.

That's where I was all day.

Pros: The kids are energetic. (The day goes by super fast.)

Cons: The kids are energetic. (I'm beat.)

What's really crazy? Wiggle Man will be ready for pre-school next fall. I kept watching these kids, thinking that in just over a year, my little man will be as big as they are, doing the things they do.

Whoa.

My First Recipe Post

2009-05-20T07:51:00.007-04:00

I don't think I've ever posted recipes before, but with some of the new things I'm trying, I thought--why not share?

I feel like I've been dieting since Wiggle Man was born, with little success. I really didn't have so much of a problem with weight gain while pregnant--it was weaning him onto a bottle that killed me. Or rather, my waistline.

I tried going back to jogging, but something has gone terribly wrong with my foot, and I can hardly get down the road without extreme pain. I tried limiting what I ate. I tried SlimFast. I've tried various workout programs. Everything has worked a little--nothing significant, though.

So, I've decided to change my thinking a little bit. Instead of focusing on shrinking my waistline, I'm going to spend my time thinking about keeping me and my family healthy. If I get smaller as a result--fabulous. If not, well, that's ok, too.

So, besides making sure that Wiggle Man (and Mommy) spend lots of time playing outside, I've started introducing some healthier recipes to our menu.

Steel Cut Oats

I've been turned on to these thanks to MckMama, who often shares her healthy recipes. I like the texture of these better than regular oatmeal. I love these with some light granola on top (I like Bear Naked Fit ) with some honey drizzled on top.

Veggie Couscous

While this is a form of pasta, it's super yummy and filling, and a great way to sneak in some veggies. I cook the couscous according to the package directions. (Chicken broth makes a great substitute for water.) While the couscous is cooking, I saute up some veggies in olive oil. You could use whatever you have on hand--I like broccoli and sweet red peppers. Stir it all together, and you've got a great side dish, or (in my case) a big bowl of dinner.

Turkey Burgers

You might be thinking you don't like turkey burgers. Use regular ground turkey. There is no point using 99% lean ground turkey if it's going to make a burger so dry that you'll never eat another turkey burger. I like to add rosemary (chopped, so your husband doesn't ask what "those twig thingies" are) shredded apples, onion flakes (I hate chopping onions--they're evil) and salt and pepper.

Hubba Hubba tells me they don't grill as well as regular burgers. You can try drizzling them in olive oil, or doing these in a pan on the stove.

Put those babies on a whole wheat roll with some pickles, and you're good to go.

I'm also trying to use honey more often as a sweetener (it's sweeter than sugar, so you can use less). I stir flax seed into our yogurt and applesauce, and try to snack more on nuts. These are my baby steps to keeping my family healthier. There's a lot more I'd like to do, but I'm starting with small changes.

Baby steps. Turkey burgers today, whole organic foods tomorrow. Or next year.

Maestro

2009-05-19T07:39:00.000-04:00

I think Wiggle Man is learning to sing.

Lately, when he plays the piano, I hear him humming and doing what could be the beginning of singing. I've consulted with both of Hubba Hubba's sister's and they agree. He's singing.

This really shouldn't surprise me--I sing to him. A lot. Like when I change his diaper (click here if you're curious about what that might sound like). Or when we brush our teeth, or get dressed, or clean up toys...really, just about any time of the day you're likely to find me singing to Wiggle Man, or at him, or at least in the same room as him.

And, since it's a rare day that I'm playing the piano and not singing along, Wiggle Man has learned that the two go together--at least in our house.

These shots are courtesy of my sister-in-law and, judging from the circumference of his hair, are a little dated. They must have been taken shortly after his last hair cut.

If you look closely, you can see our attempts at "art" on the easel in the background.

No laughing--remember, I've already admitted I can't draw. If you look very, very closely, you can see my attempt at Curious George.

Sigh.

Shave and a Haircut...

2009-05-18T08:15:00.003-04:00

Two bits!

If only that's all it took to get Wiggle Man's hair cut.

Thankfully, we pay even less than "two bits" for our hair cuts--it's fabulous having a mother-in-law who is a beautician.

And yet, even though it's his own Grammy cutting his hair, Wiggle Man wants nothing to do with the whole process. This never used to be a problem--when he was smaller, we could get his hair cut fairly regularly. Now? Wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And so, for now, our Wiggle Man is a little mop head! Whaddya think?

Art From The Wiggle Man

2009-05-14T16:21:00.002-04:00

We Heart Art continues, so today I'm showing you some of Wiggle Man's drawings. Bear in mind he's not quite two.

He calls is "Ugh Baa Saa." Or something like that. Well, he would if I asked him. But he's napping right now.

Also, if you had trouble listening to my songs yesterday, you should be able to hear them today. Listen to your heart's content, but please don't download them, or use them in anyway without my permission.

For lots more We Heart Art, check out Domestically Challenged, Three Baby B Chicks and I'm Living Proof That God Has A Sense of Humor. Mr. Linky will take you to other bloggers who are participating.

I Heart Music

2009-05-12T22:25:00.014-04:00

**Another Update***

One request, friends. These songs are my property, and I own the copyright. Please play them and enjoy them, but don't download them, please!

***Updated***

It should be easier to play my songs now. You should see a player underneath each song--all you have to do is press play!

***Original Post***

I do, I really do. I heart music. I heart art. And this week, three great blogs are hosting We Heart Art. It's like an online arts showcase. How cool is that? Check out Domestically Challenged, Three Baby B Chicks and I'm Living Proof That God Has A Sense of Humor for some We Heart Art, and Mr. Linky will take you to other bloggers who are participating.

Some of you know I've been working on some songwriting lately. I did a little composing in college for a class, but nothing was "successful", at least, according to my prof. It wasn't something I felt I was very good at. But, I felt God prodding me to try again and just as I was wondering how to go about sharing it, We Heart Art came along. So, I'm taking the plunge. I've recorded three of my songs (the only ones that are really finished) and (crossing my fingers that I've set it up right) you should be able to hear them here.

So, friends--my songs. Keep in mind it's the song itself, and not necessarily my performance of it that I'm showcasing as "art". I'd love to hear what you think, even (helpful, please!) tips you might have! And get your art on, and join in the fun!

April 29th is the first song I tried writing, although Thank You was the first song I actually finished. April 29th is a reference to a devotional in My Utmost For His Highest by Oswald Chambers. The Scripture for that day is 1 John 3:2, which is where the chorus comes from. This devotional has always meant a lot to me, especially during times in my life where God's way seemed unclear.
02 April 29th.mp3
Common Bonds is a song for a little girl in Africa. I met Hannah in 2006 on a trip to Kenya with my church. Hannah's smile captured me immediately. She helped translate for me to her friends, and we played the craziest games. The time I spent with her and her classmates is indelibly imprinted on my heart.
03 Common Bonds (Hannah's Song).mp3
Thank You is a song I wrote for Stellan. Many of you probably follow MckMama's blog, so you already know Stellan's story. On the off chance that some of you aren't familiar with this little guy, Stellan's heart problems, both before and after birth, set off a firestorm of prayer from all over the world. I wanted to write something for Stellan, something that would try and convey what his little life has meant to me.

13 Thank You (Stellan's Song).mp3

I Heart Art

2009-05-11T07:34:00.000-04:00

Don't you? Heart art, that is? My bloggy friend Sara and two other bloggers are hosting a super fun carnival this week--We Heart Art. It's a great chance to showcase your own art, as well as your kids' art. I'm so excited to be taking part. Head over to Sara's blog for all the details.

In the next day or two I hope to post recordings of some of the songs I've written, and some of Wiggle Man's drawings.

But, to whet your appetite for some We Heart Art, I've provided a picture from our recent and utterly fabulous trip to Jamaica. Below my adorable son, you'll see the elephant I drew for him in the sand. And, you'll understand why I'm a musician, rather than an illustrator.

Thoughts On Baby Feeding

2009-05-10T21:33:00.004-04:00

I'm going to warn you right now--some of you won't want to read this. If you're male, and related to me or know me in real life, you probably won't want to read this. You might be blushing already. Also, if you happen to feel super strongly about breastfeeding in every and all circumstance, you won't want to read this.

A few days ago, Lindsay over at Suburban Turmoil posted about breastfeeding. One of her comments that hit me like a big, giant "DUH" was that there were very few women blogging about bottle feeding, in comparison with the number of breastfeeding bloggers out there. So I thought I'd post about my experiences feeding Wiggle Man.

Let me start by saying I totally support breastfeeding. I really do. And when I was pregnant, I was praying I'd be able to feed my son that way.

I wasn't sure I would be able to. In college, doctors told me after some surgery I had (perhaps I'll explain that another day) that breastfeeding might not be a possibility for me. I desperately hoped and prayed that it would not only be a possibility, but a reality.

Before giving birth, I read everything I could on the subject, including the experiences of women in situations like mine. I thought I was pretty well prepared. Then, in the hospital after having Wiggle Man, each nurse had something different to tell me about nursing--how long, when to switch sides, how to hold him--all this changed with every shift. Suddenly, everything I'd read flew from my mind, and I was more than a little confused.

Add to that the extreme discomfort (no, let's call it what it was--PAIN) that breastfeeding gave me, and the result was one slightly disillusioned, and terribly frustrated new mom.

Still, I kept breastfeeding. I tried every position suggested. Thanks to my mother-in-law, a truly wonderful lactation consultant came and helped out. But the pain continued--it felt like glass coming out, instead of milk.

At Wiggle Man's one week check up, he had lost 1 lb, 9 oz since his hospital discharge.

I don't remember much from that appointment. All I really remember is trying to fill out the patient information forms while rocking a screaming Wiggle Man's carrier with my foot. (He cried a lot back then.)

I really don't think his weight loss registered with me. I remember the nurse telling me his weight, and when I heard "6 lbs, 1 oz" I thought she must be mistaken. I'd delivered a 7 lb, 13 oz baby. I knew babies lost some weight at first, but there was no way he'd dropped down to 6 lbs. That was crazy.

Wiggle Man was scheduled for weekly weigh-ins. I believe this was when my wonderful lactation consultant came to help me out.

The next week was awful. Wiggle Man was constantly fussy, constantly nursing. Nothing I did seemed to make any difference--he was always hungry.

The breaking point for me came when I literally could do nothing but breastfeed. Before Hubba Hubba left for work, I made several sandwiches, and camped out on the couch for the day, doing nothing but breastfeed. He'd go maybe 15, 20 minutes without nursing. When Hubba Hubba came home that night, we finally decided to try some of the formula the hospital sent home with all new mothers.

Wiggle Man gulped down than teeny ounce bottle in about a minute, and the scales fell from my eyes. My baby wasn't fussy, wasn't colicky, he was hungry.

Of course.

What frustrates me the most is not the two weeks I spent futilely trying to do something my body couldn't, but that I felt I had to. Breast is best, after all. It drives me nuts that it took me two full weeks to realise breast is not best if your baby is still hungry.

This is the point at which some of you will ask me why I didn't try any of the products available to help with my supply problem. Why wasn't I pumping? (I was, but it wasn't doing much good.) Why wasn't I trying fenugreek, or something else?

By that point, I was just trying to get him as much nourishment as I could, as quickly as I could. Also, for me, it didn't feel right taking herbs, drinking tea, pumping my breasts, all to accomplish the "natural" method of feeding my son.

So, from that point on, Wiggle Man was exclusively bottle fed. And suddenly, he was the happiest baby. I was a much calmer, more nurturing mother. Hubba Hubba could help with the late night feedings. And with that, our family routine fell into place.

Like I said at the beginning of the post, I am in full support of breastfeeding. What I have a problem with is pressure many moms feel to breastfeed, regardless of whether it is the best choice for them and their children. In my case, bottle was definitely best. I just wish I'd felt that confidence sooner.

A Little Dirt Never Hurt

2009-05-09T08:06:00.001-04:00

When Wiggle Man decided to play outside in the mud again tonight, I wasn't missing another opportunity to capture his messcapades on film.

I forgot how badly mud puddles smell. Seriously, gross.

I can see that Wiggle Man is going to be all boy as he grows up. You know--frogs in his pockets, bugs in jars, and mud under every fingernail.

Yes, he's in the mud in sandals. Yes, I'm sure someone out there will be horrified by this. I'm OK with that.

I can see that a good laundry detergent is going to be Mommy's best friend.

I Tried To Get A Picture

2009-05-08T08:15:00.000-04:00

Really, I did.

It was the funniest thing. Hubba Hubba told me that Wiggle Man was filthy from playing outside with him whilst I prepared our evening meal.

I just didn't imagine he was quite that faulty.

I went to call him in (he was out with Pop Pop, not just roaming free) and started laughing as soon as I saw that little boy. His face was splattered with mud. His hands and arms were muddy, too. Once I got close enough, I realized that his pants, from the knees down, were mud. (It was hard to tell from far away--he was in baby camos.)

I ran inside to get the camera. Wiggle Man decided to follow me inside, tracking mud everywhere. (Must clean that up later.) I grab the camera, try to zoom in on his speckled face, only to realize there is no card in the camera.

I hate that.

By this point, Wiggle Man is furious. (Don't ask me why, it's not like he had a filthy floor to clean up.) I gave up on the photo shoot, and concentrated on stripping him down. It took several wipes to get him clean enough, at least until I can get him in a bath before bed.

Thank heaven for little boys. And wipes, lots of wipes.

Things I Don't Understand

2009-05-07T07:38:00.001-04:00

Fear not, friends. I know when you read that title, "Things I Don't Understand" you're thinking, 'Man, this could be one long post.'

And it could be. There's a lot I don't understand. A lot of big, deep, profound things that I just don't understand.

This is not one of those posts.

This post is dedicated to the mundane things of life that I don't understand.

Like, commercials for a certain pharmaceutical aimed at gentlemen that feature couples lounging in bathtubs in the most random places. Life a field, or the beach. What is that?

Why do rainy days make me want to take naps?

And what was with that guy who parked behind me in the parking lot at the grocery store yesterday? It's pouring buckets, I make my way to my car only to find it impossible to actually get to my trunk. There's the world's largest truck parked right up on my bumper. Nothing like stashing the groceries in the front seat.

Why does my son think the funniest thing in the world is for him to crawl under my piano, and convince Auntie La La to follow him? (Ok, that one is pretty funny.)

Hot dogs taste better at the ball park, or a bonfire. I don't know why.

Actually, all food tastes better at the ball park. Or a bon fire.

Now I want to roast some marshmallows.

I could not for the life of me get yesterday's post in nice paragraphs. No matter how many times I went back to edit it, and space those paragraphs nicely, it kept spitting my post out in one long blog.

I almost mistyped "post" as "poast." Makes me wonder why "roast" isn't spelled "rost." Rost beef anyone?

I don't understand why I'm so bad at throwing out empty shampoo bottles. Seriously, guys, there are like 5 or 6 empty bottles in my shower. Not all are shampoo--some are other bath products. But still. I need to throw those bad boys away.

So, what about you? Wringing your hands at wait staff? Cashiers got you cuckoo? Is programming your remote control a pain in the tooshie? I want to hear all about it. Just as soon as I fight my way through my empty bottle jungle, and get my shower.

I Just Can't Get Enough

2009-05-05T23:24:00.005-04:00

I just can't get enough....of this adorable face.

I know, I know. I'm one of those mothers who insists her child is the most amazing child ever born.

But in all honesty, most days he just amazes me. If you have kids, you probably feel that way about them, too. So you know where I'm coming from.

My Wiggle Man is a bundle of energy, sure. (Hence the nickname.) But he's also growing up into such an amazing little boy. Helpful around the house? Check. His favourite chores are putting things into the garbage for me, and putting away his toys. (Ok, well, maybe he doesn't love that one, but he's getting pretty good at it for someone who's not two yet.) Tonight? He put his dirty socks in what would have been the laundry basket. Had his basket not still been sitting in my room, filled with folded laundry waiting to be put away.

He's also quite the love bug. One thing he never seems to get enough of is kissing boo boos. He will point out his ~~two-week old~~ very recent boo boo on his arm, pretend to cry a little, and come get his kiss. Also, you can ask if if you have a boo boo. For me, he points out any freckle he can find (and there are many) since I guess they look like tiny scabs to him. Nice. Once he's shown me me boo boo, I can ask for him to kiss it better, which he does so sweetly.

There you have it. My Wiggle Man--Mommy's Little Man.

And now for something completely different.

An update: I mentioned in an earlier post something terrifying I've been attempting:

songwriting. I've gotten past the initial jitters, and shared some of my stuff with Hubba Hubba, and a few other people. Now, I'm trying to figure out what (if anything) God would have me do with what I've written. Suggestions?

I'm enjoying the process, so I'll likely keep it up, even if no one ever hears my songs. Songwriting gives me a way to focus my prayer, Scripture reading, and even deep-thought thinking. It's kind of like my own unique devotional time.

And that's a pretty good thing, I'm thinking.

Shampoo Head

2009-05-05T07:45:00.000-04:00

I couldn't resist taking these pictures of Wiggle Man in the tub last night.

Shampoo Head is one of Wiggle Man's favourite tub games. He's got so much hair that we can work up quite a lather. He just loves it when I get some of that lather on my hands. He pours water over my hands to rinse them, or laughs when I put them in the water slowly so the bubbles stay on the surface.

I just love this kid.

Not Me! Monday Returns

2009-05-04T07:39:00.001-04:00

Well, it's been awhile friends, but MckMama is home with her MckMuffin and Not Me! Monday is back! Check out her blog for links to hundreds of bloggers participating, as well as her own Not Me! Monday post.

Well, here goes nothing...

This week I did not avoid laundry because of a large (and I mean LARGE) spider in the cellar where the washer and dryer is. I was not totally skeeved out even after Hubba Hubba washed the pile of clothes that the spider was last seen under. I certainly do not still have two baskets of clothes waiting to be put away.

This week I did not go to Target and come out with twice as much as I'd originally intended on buying. (Oh wait...Hubba Hubba reads this. Scratch that, he'll know it was me.) In my defense, had I done that, it would have all been necessary. Really.

Yesterday, I did not have M&Ms and baked barbecue potato chips for "brunch" when I got home from church.

This week I did not start breaking in new shoes for next weekend.

This week I did not blog about a missing cream egg. (Oh, wait...some of you read my blog regularly, so you know that was me.) I did not then skillfully interrogate my prime suspect until he finally cracked and confessed. I did not then proceed to take his mugshots. In case you're curious.

So there you have it, friends. At least, as much as I can remember. Now that we're back in the NM!M swing of things, perhaps I'll do a better job this week of keeping track of...the things I didn't do.

When's The Big Day?

2009-05-03T08:34:00.000-04:00

Wiggle Man and I were out back playing with the chickens, and I had to go inside for the camera. It looked like the girls were having a bridal shower out there--pink petals everywhere.

The same reason I love our cherry trees is the same reason Hubba Hubba is...less than fond of them.

He seems to think that this is a mess. Or something. I find it incredibly beautiful.

I couldn't resist taking off my sandals and feeling those cool petals beneath my toes. And in between my toes--I was picking soggy petals off later. And yes, I clearly need a pedicure. It's on the list of things to do, really. It just gets pushed back for more important things. Like blogging. And eating cream eggs.

For my Mom, and anyone else curious about the actual size of that cicada shell from the other day:

For some reason this makes it seem smaller. It really is much bigger and more disgusting that it seems now. Really. Disgusting and crusty.

Oh, and keep checking back. We have a verdict in the Mystery of The Missing Cream Egg.

A Classic Who-Dunnit

2009-05-02T08:03:00.001-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen of the court, a monstrosity has been committed. In my very own home. Pictured below you will see what the Easter Bunny...er...my parents brought me for Easter. A dozen Cadbury Eggs. Most were of the traditional cream variety, although some were caramel. Yes, they're in a ceramic egg holder--that was the other part of my gift.

To date I have eaten three (3) of my treasured Cadbury eggs. Now, I'm no whiz at math, but I believe that should leave a total of nine (9) eggs remaining. If you'll look carefully at the picture below, you will notice that only eight (8!!!!!!!) eggs pictured.

I believe that this crime was committed sometime yesterday...possibly late in the evening. Possibly when someone was feeling snackerly. (No, that someone was not me.)

I have my theories, friends. I have my suspicions. I will need further evidence before I can fully make my case. But I assure you, ladies and gentlemen of the court, that once my case is solid, the perpetrator will be presented to you for your judgement.

Lastly, I'd like to show you the multi-lingual aspect of my Cadbury eggs:

Ramblings

2009-05-01T08:05:00.000-04:00

I can't remember what I was going to write about. I had clever paragraphs all planned out.

Now they're gone.

I'll have to improvise.

My mother wanted to know if the picture of the bug was an accurate depiction of the bug's size.

It was.

My PVD is slowly abating, although I suspect it's very likely that Tiffany is right when she says that PVD lasts until your next vacation.

In an update in the ongoing saga of Jenn vs. The Hugest Spider In The World, I was forced to do laundry today. I needed clean shirts. It's so hard to empty the dryer when trying not to stand near the pile of clothes from under which crawled that giant spider. Said pile was, of course, directly in front of the dryer. However, I persevered, and can now wear clean clothes.

Huge giant spiders are part of the reason why I am against laundry areas in the basement.

And so, with that, I'll leave you for now. Unless I remember the rest of what I wanted to say.

PVD

2009-04-30T07:55:00.000-04:00

I may have PVD.

You know, Post Vacation Depression. Symptoms of PVD include frustration at carrying out menial tasks such as emptying the dishwasher or doing laundry. (Or, as you know if you follow me on Twitter, I've been avoiding laundry due to a giant spider.) Other symptoms to watch out for are using unusual lingo (I have to bite my tongue to keep from calling everyone "mon"), listening to music outside of the norm for the individual (I have sudden urges to blast reggae) and trying to get others to notice your tan.

PVD, not surprisingly, strikes after arriving home after a fabulous vacation, such as the one we were blessed to take last week. I haven't done enough research to know the duration of PVD symptoms. I can only hope (for my sake, as well as Hubba Hubba's and Wiggle Man's) that they subside soon.
And I mean, really. What's so wrong with the assumption that when you return to your room it will have been thoroughly cleaned, beds made, and one of these waiting to greet you?

I may have to start folding the ends of my toilet paper into those neat little points.

Not So Wordless Wednesday

2009-04-29T08:00:00.000-04:00

Well, at least I got to come home to one of my favourite sights:

I love it when the cherry trees blossom. Wiggle Man and I were out playing with the chickens who live in the pen next to the trees.

It was idyllic. Until I put my hand up to lean on the tree and saw:

Nothing like an exoskeleton to ruin a great moment.

We're Baa-ack!

2009-04-28T13:22:00.002-04:00

I woke up this morning feeling two conflicting emotions. The first was joy tinged with amazement that Wiggle Man had slept in so late. It was 9:45 am, people! I actually had to wake him up. Amazing what a bus ride, followed by a plane ride, followed by Mommy spilling milk in the Wawa parking lot, followed by some staying up 2 hours past your bedtime will do for a kid, in terms of sleeping.

The other emotion? Bummed-ness. I was so bummed that there would be no buffet breakfast waiting for me, no freshly squeezed island orange juice, no smiling Fritz asking me my room number. Somehow, even Wiggle Man waking up at 6 am seemed ok in Jamaica, man.

Sigh. And one of today's questions on Millionaire was about pina coladas. Can you be homesick for someplace that isn't home?

At any rate, we're back in Jersey. Wiggle Man has already trashed the first floor of our house with toys...or maybe it only looks that way because we still have suitcases half opened everywhere. It's hard to tell. I may have strewn about the contents of two carry-on bags in a frenzied attempt to find my phone. (Which, in case you're curious, was exactly in the pocket I thought it was, yet somehow missed the first three times I checked.)

I should be doing laundry, or unpacking, or cleaning. Something productive. Yes, somehow, I just can't seem to muster up the motivation to do it. My brain is still on island mode.

Maybe later.

So Long, Farewell...

2009-04-27T10:47:00.002-04:00

Auf wiedersehen, good night. I really do hate to go and leave this lovely sight. Jamaica is amazing. I can't believe it's already Monday. When I'm done this, I have to start packing. Sigh.

I know, I know. No one out there feels sorry for me.

But you wouldn't want to leave this, either, would you?

I didn't think so.

Sunny Days

2009-04-26T16:41:00.002-04:00

Well, Wiggle Man got his Sesame breakfast after all. We didn't realise it was going on until after the office had closed for the evening, so I was worried we wouldn't get in. But get in we did, and I'm so glad. It was a blast. They had all the characters show up, and take pictures with each child. The kids got gift bags, too, which was a nice touch, I thought.

The breakfast was in the same restaurant where Hubba Hubba and I had dinner last night. A bit of a transformation from the quiet, romantic, white gloved service atmosphere to:

Speaking of date night with Hubba Hubba, I wish I'd brought my camera. The reasons for that are twofold. One: the only picture we have of Hubba Hubba and I dressed up on our date was taken by one of the resort employees on their camera, and when we looked at it this morning in the photo hut I hated it. I'm sitting all sideways-ey and it looks like I have no neck. Two: I can't show you the awesome appetizer I had. I ordered tropical fruits in a pineapple hut, thinking it would come in some sort of pineapple cup. Nope--it actually was a little pineapple hut, complete with pineapple roof. I almost didn't want to eat it.

I did, though.

Back to breakfast: what a great job the resort did. There was a DJ playing Sesame Street music, all the decorations were Sesame Street, and I love how each employee, from the Kids Camp counselors to the wait staff, really seem to love the kids.

This is one of Wiggle Man's new favourite loveys, chillin' with us at breakfast:

The only slight disappointment so far has been that the resort is shooting some marketing photos today, so we couldn't use the beach or the pools. Here's the photographer's chopper. Is it wrong that I wanted to shake my fist in anger at him every time I saw him?

We were pretty upset at first, but the customer relations team came through. All the guests today had their choice of various complimentary tours and attractions--we chose a local water park, thinking Wiggle Man would love it.

We were wrong. Evidently, the kids pool area terrified him, as did the lazy river. Who knew that giant buckets of water landing on your head, and flipping over in a tube with your Dad on the lazy river could be scary?

So, we headed to another resort we'd been given access to, and spent the rest of the day on the beach there.

And finally, to finish things off, more photographic proof that I am indeed on vacation. Yes, I'm pretty red...sunscreen only goes so far, apparently. Happily, I'm darkening to a nice beige today. (I never really get nice and brown. I just stop looking the colour of paper.) Like my diva sunglasses? I tried some "fierce" poses yesterday...I don't think Tyra would be proud.

Good Morning, Sunshine

2009-04-25T16:36:00.003-04:00

I love how quickly we can adjust to a new routine. Morning in Jamaica starts the same way: Wiggle Man wakes up, cuddles in bed with us for about 2.45 seconds, and then immediately wants to go out onto the balcony.

Eventually we convince him that if he wants to do anything other than play on the balcony all day, he needs to get dressed. This means chasing him around the bed and wrestling him into his clean diaper and clothes.

Even before breakfast, he starts pointing towards the pool and signing "more"--his way of saying "please". It takes more cajoling to get him to agree to eat breakfast. Then it's back to the room for another showdown to get him ready for swimming.

In addition to the pools and beaches, the resort has a mini water park with slides, a lazy river, and a fountain of sorts, with water shooting up everywhere. This is one of Wiggle Man's favourite things:

Today we finally got him to play at the beach. (He's been a pool baby up until today.) He didn't seem to fond of the sand; yesterday he wouldn't even walk on it. Thankfully, today there were boats and a water trike on the beach--these distracted him long enough to get him used to walking on the sand. Now we have a hard time getting him to leave the beach.

I love chubby feet on a beach.

And, lest you start to question whether I'm actually here on vacation, here's a picture of me. Yes, my hair is fluffy and curly. Yes, I brought my straightener, but quickly realised there was just no point. Even if I weren't in and out of the water all day, the humidity here has my hair going in all directions. And so, I wave the white flag of surrender. But not before at least attempting to tame it with clippies.

Where's Froggy?

2009-04-24T16:27:00.005-04:00

Did you ever read those Where's Waldo books as a kid? That's what this picture reminded Hubba Hubba of:

I found this guy on our balcony this morning. As soon as Wiggle Man is fully awake, he wants to go out on the balcony. I've probably said it before, but the kid would live outside, if we'd let him.

Here's a shot of the little guy up close. (The frog, that is. Not Wiggle Man.)

Cute, right? I thought so. Hubba Hubba just grumbled that Froggy was one of those stinkers making all that racket last night.

I absolutely love our resort here. The people in charge of the kids programs are fabulous, and Wiggle Man has taken right to them. There's so much for kids to do here, and plenty of relaxing things for me to do.

Yesterday there was a Sesame Street parade. Wiggle Man seems to think that Elmo (or any of the characters, really) are his own personal friends. I've heard some kids are afraid of the characters in costume. We can't keep our kid away from them long enough for the other kids to get hugs.

Did you see the movie Elf? You know the scene where Buddy's in New York, and he finds out Santa's coming to Gimbels, and he says "Santa's coming? I KNOW him!" I swear that's exactly what Wiggle Man is thinking about Elmo whenever he sees him. "I KNOW him!"

After the parade it was time for dinner on the beach.

I love Jamaica....

Bring....Me....

2009-04-23T15:54:00.005-04:00

Two pina coladas, one for each hand....or maybe just one--I mean, no need to go crazy, or anything. Although I have to say--these are the best pina coladas ever. We even made a Baby Colada for Wiggle Man. Before you call Family Services, relax. It was a tiny bit of the frozen mix (sans alchohol) mixed with a lot of milk. He loved it.

If you're family, you're glad to know we got here safe and sound. If not, well, you might just be jealous of this:

We're here in beautiful Jamaica, and we may not leave. Ok, we probably will have to leave. But I won't want to.

We had a pretty uneventful trip here. Wiggle Man slept on me most of the plane ride. Which made that the hottest plane ride ever. Seriously, the kid's a heat pump. The only drama we had was the shuttle ride to our resort. (Which was still cool. We drove through the town where they filmed Cool Runnings.) However, it turns out that Wiggle Man inherited more than my love for carbs--he also gets carsick, just like Mommy.

Unlike Mommy, though, he actually threw up.

There we were, driving crazily across the island, music pumping, and Hubba Hubba shouting for the poor driver to pull over. Did you know diapers make excellent barf bags? True fact.

Once we arrived, though, he was all smiles and giggles. He'd live in the pool, if we'd let him. He was less excited by the beach, but I have hope. He is my son, after all. And he loves it here. He won't want to leave, either. Unless, of course, he can take these guys with him:

Cookie Monster just walked by. I blew him a kiss--he returned the favour. Don't tell Hubba Hubba.

I'm off to find me a pina colada.

And They're Off!!!

2009-04-21T13:27:00.003-04:00

Just a quick note to let you all know I may not be posting much this week. We're leaving for our family vacation...a much needed one.

Depending on the internet connection, I may be posting pictures to make you drool with envy (at the vacation part...not any fab photog skillz I may or may not have) or the odd vacation story.

So keep checking back, but don't be too mad at me if there's nothing new. You can always look at archived pictures of Wiggle Man.

Here's a couple more to hold you over, courtesy of my sister-in-law. (Out of respect for Wiggle Man, I will not post the naked butt shot.)

I'm off to pack...at least, that's what I'll be spending Wiggle's nap time doing.

For The Kisses

2009-04-19T22:54:00.002-04:00

I was thinking today about motherhood. Not that I don't think everyday about motherhood, in some form or another, of course, but today was different.

I was thinking about why motherhood. What in the world inspires us to get up way too early, go to bed way too late, spend entire days without adult conversation*, wipe up milk, snot, poop, vomit, and unidentifiable substances without a grimace and re-read Where The Wild Things Are
37 times in a row?

*adult conversation = words that don't end in "ie", (as in "milkie" "blankie" "bummie") don't involve animal sounds, and discussions concerning shows not currently on The Disney Channel.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think I have the answer. The reason the human race repopulates. What keeps mothers going.

I personally, do it for the kisses. There's nothing like a slobbery Wiggle Man kiss.

Even if I do wipe my cheek afterwards.

Blog Fling!

2009-04-18T08:20:00.003-04:00

Happy Saturday, readers! I've been looking forward to today all week. And not just because it's the weekend. (I'm a stay-at-home Mom, remember? No "weekend" for me!)

Today is Sara's Blog Fling! My post today comes from Brandi. Be sure to check out Brandi's blog, and Sara's to find other bloggers who are flinging their blogs.

Here's Brandi's post:

I grew up in the country and I don't think my mother has ever had a manicure or a pedicure. I had to teach myself about girlie products including tampons, often learning things the hard way. There was the time that I waxed off and entire eyebrow. Then another time when I tried to straighten my hair... the chemicals burnt it and my hair started breaking off at the roots. I was left with some nice bald spots. Asking me about a beauty product is like asking a boy to pick out your prom dress.

I've had my moments. I'm partial to Coco Chanel Mademoiselle. My hair stays relatively trimmed. My eyebrows are mostly plucked and my day isn't right until I've showered and shaved. I have makeup preferences although I'm thinking if the economy gets any worse my choices will have to come from Target instead of Sephora. I still swear my Maybelline Great Lash mascara.

What do I treasure most, you ask? If stranded on a dessert island, what is the one thing I can't live without? Here it is...

This stuff is the most versatile and best thing I own. Even dirt poor, I think I would find a way to have it in my cabinet. It cures chapped lips in a heartbeat. It laughs at my scaly elbows and knees. I've used it on babies butts and as lip gloss in a pinch. I lather my hands at night in an effort to make that dry wrinkly 35-year old skin go away. I think it's working. When my kids had psoriasis on their scalps, this was applies. Their hair was greasy one day but the scales disappeared. I quite clearly and vehemently swear by it. Run out and get some. Wait! Maybe I should buy stock first.

Thanks, Brandi! Don't forget to head on over to her blog, and Sara's, too!

More Than Just Poutine

2009-04-17T16:15:00.004-04:00

It's fun to post about things that are different here in America-Land. People often ask me if it's really different being down here, as opposed to the True North Strong And Free (TNSAF). These people are usually Americans. (Please remember--I'm married to an American. I like you guys.)

There are lots of things that are different. Uni-coloured money, for instance--it took me years to get the hang of looking in the corner for the denomination, rather than just memorizing colours. I can't tell you how many times I gave a cashier a one-dollar bill, thinking it was a twenty. (Twenties are green in Canada. You look in your wallet, see blue, green and purple, and you know you have 35 dollars.)

And then there's Fahrenheit. A few years ago I was finally able to stop subtracting 30 and dividing by two to get an idea of how cold it would be. Or not cold. You see my point.

One of the most bizarre things that's different down here is the Corn Pops. I've never understood why Corn Pops have to be different. What's worse is that the ones down here are...um...not good. My apologies if you're a fan of American Corn Pops. But seriously, there's something weird about the shape. And don't even get me started about the texture.

Here's what Corn Pops should look like:

This picture was originally for photographic purposes only. I've not been feeling the greatest today, so I had cereal for breakfast and lunch. I had every intention of simply pouring this back into the box.

I ate it.

It was good.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-04-15T18:43:00.002-04:00

Put On Your Easter Bonnet

2009-04-13T10:57:00.003-04:00

It's egg decorating time!

Before you check out these pictures of Wiggle Man "decorating" his eggs, you need to understand the adult/child ratio going on. Wiggle Man was the only child doing eggs. There were....hold on while I count...5 grown ups taking pictures. (Incidentally, there were 4 more watching t.v. in the other room. Men.)

It looked like he was holding some kind of bizarre baby press conference.

Check out the hands. I'll give you two guesses as to whether or not that came off before church the next morning.

The egg dipper is really more of a fun accessory. Not so much a tool.

Who says a manly baby can't dye his eggs pink? That's what Hubba Hubba gets for watching t.v. while the women supervise egg dyeing.

These made some very lovely deviled eggs the next day. Green eggs and ham, anyone?

Rainy Days and Mondays....

2009-04-11T08:05:00.002-04:00

Don't always get me down, actually. This rainy day does, a little, because today's the Easter Egg hunt at church. Yes, I know they'll still do it, only inside. But I was really looking forward to getting some adorable pictures of Wiggle Man outside.

You may not hear from me much this weekend, unless of course something totally blogworthy happens that I just can't wait 'til Monday or Tuesday to post. Grandma and Grandpa are here for Easter to visit the Wiggle Man...and us, of course. Naturally.

So, if I don't post before then, Happy Easter!

Such A Big Boy

2009-04-09T16:49:00.004-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to the newest human with climbing capability: Wiggle Man! (*Thunderous Applause*)

Doesn't he look proud of himself? Pride was my first emotion. Then came exhaustion at the thought of chasing him down all day, keeping him from climbing everywhere. You know, like climbing up onto the couch, then up the arm of the couch, and reaching up to turn the thermostat up to 85. Not that he did that shortly after taking these photos, or anything.

Still--he was pretty excited. And naked. I hadn't folded his laundry yet, people. I promise I dressed him before his afternoon nap. I just make no promises about how long exactly before his nap that was. More than 5 minutes, though.

"YESSSSSS!!!!!"

Things I Thought Before I Was A Mother

2009-04-08T14:24:00.004-04:00

***UPDATED*** (Warning: visual proof of massive snot at end.)

I can admit it: before I became a mother, there were things I just didn't understand.

For example? Small children's terror of Kleenex. Being a grown-up, I couldn't understand how snot dripping down your face and running into your mouth could possibly not be the worst thing ever. It seems, however, that the worst thing ever is having that snot wiped off your face.

Before I became a mother I could never understand why the mothers of these children didn't just use softer tissues, or not wipe so hard. Or something.

Now that I have one of those children, I've learned it doesn't matter how soft the tissue, how gentle the touch, how carefully I make sure that I don't cover his mouth at the same time I'm covering his nose (you know...breathing, and all) he still runs in terror as soon as I whip out the Kleenex.

Stay tuned--if I get a good shot of him all snotty when he wakes up from his nap, you may get a visual.

For My Peeps

2009-04-06T11:48:00.004-04:00

Sara over at Domestically Challenged was asking about how a Canadian gal like me ended up living in Joisey married to a red-white-and-blue-through-and-through American, spawning a half-breed Wiggle Baby. So, naturally, I will oblige. I try and make My Peeps happy, when I can.

(Domestically Challenged, by the way, is a fabulously hysterical blog, and I highly recommend you go check it out. Plus, I'm mentioned there today, which makes it more fabulous. For me, anyway. Oh, and Poutine--fries, gravy and cheese curds. Tres yum. )

And now, back to "Days of My Life", starring Me.

When we last saw our heroine, she was graduating college with her BS of Music Performance (Flute). This was her first foray into living as a Canadian in America-land. For the sake of my sanity, I'll stop referring to myself in the third person right now.

I'd been accepted into a great school for my Masters, but alas, the money there were sure they could find among unaccepted assistantships, was not found. This, by the way, all went down about a week before graduation. Nice. There I was, graduated, and no prospects.

After much prayer (and I mean much) I decided to look for a teaching position in a private school. (It had to be private, because my degree was not Music Ed.)

My reasons for looking for something in the Northeast U.S. are a little personal--and some of those reasons just might be reading this. :) However, I found the school I eventually took a job at, and began the ginormous process of applying for visas, saying goodbye, saying hello, and moving to a land unlike anything I'd known--there were horse farms on the same road as my new home, for heaven's sake.

Anyway, some of that personal stuff led to some heartbreak, I'll admit. But my God is bigger than heartbreak, and He used that to lead me to Hubba Hubba. (And, He gave me one of my dearest friends back.)

God's a great healer of hearts, and Hubba Hubba and I were engaged soon after--I knew he was the one as soon as I met him, I actually did. You really do "just know." We've been married for 5 years now, with a Wiggle Man to bless our lives (and keep us busy.)

So, that's the backstory, Sara. If you want to fill in the blanks with some more details, you'll just have to come visit on your summer vacation. We'll talk over Poutine.

Seriously?

2009-04-04T20:43:00.003-04:00

One of the pitfalls of living far from home, in another country, is that no one is ever cheering for your team. Not pro sports, not even the Olympics. I'm always cheering for a different team. (It's why I adopted the Phillies as my NL team--for once, I want to cheer for the same team as my husband.)

I never, ever, ever get to watch the Leafs play. Never. Even on t.v. So, Hubba Hubba thought it would be nice to go watch them play Philly the other night.

Now, let me start by saying the Leafs suck this year. The Leafs have sucked for a few years now. Most of my life, actually, with the exception of a few good years. (Not great, mind you, but good.)

Anyway, so I know they're not the greatest team this year. I wasn't expecting them to blow the Flyers out of the water. But, they were just coming off a win against the Flyers, so I wore my jersey with pride to the game.

By the end of the first, Philly was up 5-0. Or was it 6? I lost track.

Every single Flyers goal, the guy in front of me would turn around, do a little dance, and try to high five me. Every. Single. Time.

My boys actually pulled off a decent comeback--the final score was 8-5. If you're not familiar with hockey, that's a ridiculous score. What that tells you is that the winner was the team whose goalie sucked the least.

It figures.

You Know It's Love When...

2009-04-03T15:44:00.004-04:00

You're willing to accept chewed up food from the mouth of your child:

Wiggle Man has this thing--when he's eating food he'd rather not, he'll spit it out, and hand it to me.

I don't know why I take it.

But then again, how could you resist this face?

Also, I wanted to share with you my latest song for Wiggle Man:

(To the tune of "How Deep Is Your Love" by the BeeGees.)

How clean is your bum? (Is your bum, how clean is your bum?)
I really need to know--
Did you do a Number Two in there?
Or is that just air,
That is stinking you up so?
You have got to let me know!

So Tired...

2009-04-02T18:45:00.005-04:00

I. Am. So. Tired. Today.

Today was "Sub at your local Christian school day."

I'm beat, friends. Beat, I tell you.

I want a nap.

Wasn't Wiggle Man teeny tiny?

Stepping Out

2009-03-31T21:33:00.002-04:00

Lately I've been doing something that scares the bejeebuz out of me.

I'm a pretty open person, I think. Or rather, thought. I'll tell anyone pretty much anything they want to know about me. Some people might tell you I share a little too much about myself.

But there's something that I'm finding hard to share, even with Hubba Hubba.

Songs.

I've been writing songs. Or trying to, anyway. We're not talking major productions here--just some simple verse-chorus numbers featuring me and my piano. I've got 2 that are just about done, and another couple of ideas that are sketched out.

It's hard for me to play these songs for Hubba Hubba. I can't imagine trying to play them for anyone else.

Ah, vulnerability.

Monday Morning Talk With Jesus

2009-03-30T08:32:00.003-04:00

Hi, everyone.

I know I've been a little lax in posting this weekend. There's been no good excuse, really--I've just been distracted.

Anyway, instead of a Not Me! Monday, many of us who normally would be sharing with you our goof ups and foibles from the week will be spending the time praying for Stellan, instead of writing.

My heart's pretty full this morning, friends. Here I sit, music from Angie's blog is playing in the background, and my Wiggle Man is playing is his new red jammies with the butt flap. I'm pretty blessed. The contrast between my blessings and others' heartbreaks seems pretty vivid right now, and has for the past week.

I understand, of course, that when my heart was breaking, those were likely days of great joy for others. I get it. A lot of people on this planet--our best days coincide with others' worst days.

Still.

I guess that's it for now--sorry I'm not more clear than this.

I'm going to go have a talk with Jesus.

What I Did With My Gorgeous Spring Day

2009-03-27T15:46:00.002-04:00

Aren't you dying to know? You know you are. So here goes:

First, Wiggle Man and I sat around in our jammies. We do this a lot in the mornings. After breakfast, there's a pretty serious lounging around time. Sometimes I pretend to be productive--this morning I chose to fold laundry and sort through hand-me-downs.

We watched Imagination Movers. Scott's my favourite--I think it's the Wobble Goggles.

Grammy came for a visit and brought Wiggle Man a shirt with Curious George on it. (We also watched us some George during our lounging around, might I add.) Shirts with George are Wiggle Man's favourites.

We went to the farmer's market, where we had an uber-healthy lunch of stuffed pretzels... yum-o-licious! I also bought good stuff, like fresh produce and glass-bottled milk straight from a local dairy where all the cows are grain-fed, and get weekly pedicures or whatever it takes to keep cows happy and healthy and their milk extra tasty.

Wiggle Man slept on the way home. You can't keep a Wiggle awake when you're the only other person in the car. It's hard to drive while reaching back to shake him awake.

We watered our chickens and fed our ducks. We watched our ducks, um..."wrestle." Three of them. Ew.

We made a mess, and cleaned it up. Wiggle Man coloured on my piano. (SOOO glad that crayon wipes right off those keys.)

I put Wiggle Man to bed, and got ready for the piano tuner to come. Wiggle Man is still awake and babbling in his crib. 2 hours later. At least he's not crying. Normally by now I would have accepted the fact that the 20 minute nap he took in the car was all I was going to get today, and would have brought him back down. But I don't dare let him down here with the piano tuner and all his tools. I can only imagine what chaos would ensue. And chaos like that I'd rather leave to my imagination, thank you very much.

There. That's my day, so far. What have you been up to?

Thoughts From The Shower...And A Silly Plea

2009-03-26T23:24:00.002-04:00

I take what Hubba Hubba likes to call "Hollywood Showers." By that, of course, he means any shower lasting longer than his 5-Minute Scrub-A-Dub Express. Although, condensation does have a tendency to accumulate on the walls of our bathroom, regardless of the fan, whenever I hop in the shower, so perhaps he has a point.

At any rate, I'm a fan of my showers. Hot water--good. Shampoo smells--good. And while all this is going on, my mind has a tendency to wander. So, today I thought I'd share some of those thoughts with you.

Daily shower cleaner actually works when you use it daily. If you're like me, you normally only remember to spray it when you want the bathroom to smell nice (Method's ylang ylang is especially lovely). But lately, out of sheer curiosity, I've been spraying it after each shower. And you know what? My shower's cleaner. Who'd have thunk it?

Is it really going to give me better results if I squeeze the tube of toothpaste from the bottom? (Yes, I brush my teeth in the shower. Anything to prolong the hot water fest.) I mean, sure--you don't end up with the battle half-way through the tube where you're trying to squeeze the paste trapped in the bottom of the tube up to the top...but come on. "For best results"? Surely my teeth are just as clean as the most conscientious bottom-of-the-tube squeezer.

I almost typed "bottom-squeezer" but thought better of it. It sounded naughty.

Also, how long will it take before Hubba Hubba gets fed up with the massive collection of shampoo bottles I have in there? The current count is three. Three different brands, along with their respective conditioners. (Actually, I have two Dove conditioners, because I mistakenly bought two conditioners, instead of a shampoo and a conditioner, so I had to go back and buy the shampoo later.)

You can think through a lot of stuff in a Hollywood shower. Unfortunately for your intellectual enrichment, I can't really remember anything else.

So here's my silly plea: follow me on twitter. Please? I just signed up yesterday, mainly to be able to get updates on Stellan (click on my Praying For Stellan button to go to MckMama's blog and learn more). But every time I sign in, that box telling me I have no followers just mocks me. So, if you twitter, please follow me! I'll try and make it worth your while.

2009-03-25T10:41:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking through this post for a couple days now. It's been in there, ruminating, while I try and decide how to clearly say what I'm thinking.

I've decided I can't. Say it clearly, that is. Of course, I'll spew it out in convoluted fashion for you, gratis.

Here's the thing. I know I serve a God who is sovereign. I know that. And I also know that while He is infinite in all things--knowledge, power, etc, I know that I am most definitely not. In fact, I'm most definitely finite. His ways are so far above mine that it's not even funny.

I get that. Sort of.

But then the whole problem of suffering crops up, and throws me for a loop. So many people much smarter than I have tackled this problem, so believe you me, I'm not expecting to solve it. Not today, not likely in 50 years, should God grant me that much time to ponder.

Monday was an incredibly happy day in our household. We got the news that Hubba Hubba had passed his last ordination exam. Now all that is left before he becomes Rev. Hubba Hubba is some paperwork, and a little bit of being in front of Presbytery.

This is exciting, seriously. If you've followed me for a bit, you know that we've been pursuing a 2 year mission in Kenya. You also know that our plans seems to have stalled, mucked up in who-knows-what kind of political/denominational/cultural mess. With no end in sight, I might add. We've kept our life in a holding pattern, hoping that something would break in the situation, and we could head off to serve the Lord over there.

But it seems like maybe He's asking us to serve Him over here somewhere, at least for now. So you can imagine that we're pretty pumped to see that the holding pattern might break. We're ready for the next step, whatever He wants that to be. Or wherever.

That same day, I checked out MckMama's blog,. as I do often, and found out that her youngest, Stellan, who many of us have been praying for since before he was born, is in the hospital with some pretty serious heart issues. (Incidentally, check out her blog for updates, prayer opportunities, and ways to help, if you feel so led.)

The contrast between joy and concern hit me like a brick. MckMama and I serve the same loving, sovereign Lord. Yet, while I was rejoicing in answered prayer, she was on knees before Him.

It's hard to get. I know that neither situation changes the fact that God is loving, and sovereign. I guess for now it's about trusting in that very fact--He is loving, and sovereign.

See? I told you it was convoluted.

Prayer Request

2009-03-23T12:18:00.002-04:00

Hey everyone,

If you read my blog regularly, you know that normally on a Monday I'd have a post filled with all the ridiculous things I may, or may not have done throughout the week.

I've been a little behind all morning, but now I'm glad I didn't. Mckmama, hostess of the NM!M Carnival, has been in the hospital with her youngest son, Stellan. Please pray for Stellan--he is having some heart difficulties. If you'd like more info, check out MckMama's blog.

Something Funky's Goin' On...

2009-03-22T13:26:00.002-04:00

Seriously, friends.

Almost everyone whose blog I read is sick. And I'm sick.

How does that even work?

In other news, I may have found my hand twin. If you don't know what that is, you don't watch enough "Friends."

More on my hand twin later.

Safe and Sound

2009-03-19T18:51:00.005-04:00

The last, final bit of our stuff is on its way out of our old house. Read this for a refresher on why we've been packing to move nowhere.

One of the biggest, and most stressful things to move was my piano. Yup, my baby grand had been next door for over a year. And while walking across the driveway to play it was not that big a deal, I've been so excited about having it over here.

I had big plans for photographing the whole move. Big plans. You would have been astounded. Even more astounded than you likely already are at my extensive use of italics in this post. Alas, a sick mommy and a very active, curious toddler meant we were staying far away from the piano moving shenanigans.

Hubba Hubba has been planning the big musical move all week. Because my piano was in the basement. And it doesn't fit up the stairs. So we had to get it out the same way we got it in.
I won't go into details, because frankly--I don't have the brain to understand the mechanics of it all.

Here's what I know: Between the removable floor and the drop ceiling, a gigantic hole was opened up. Pulleys were attached to beams in the attic. Chains extended down to the basement. Piano movers prepared my baby, getting her legless and all wrapped up. Then Hubba Hubba hoisted her up through the ceiling.

Wiggle Man and I were at my mother-in-law's where the Wiggle could keep out of everyone's way. Unfortunately, this meant my camera was also out of the way.

I did get some pictures after Wiggle Man and I got back. I think he has potential.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-03-18T15:23:00.000-04:00