Details, Details

Some people say that it's all in the details. Or is it?

In anticipation of our move, we have abandoned conventional living. We have decided to live in a maze of cardboard boxes. We forage for our needs of matching shoes & a clean towels and forgo our wants of furniture to sit on & home cooked meals. The girls have deserted their toys and created their own little shanty town out of storage containers. We are up to our eyeballs in STUFF! It's a danger zone. I have toyed with the idea of handing out avalanche beacons 'just in case'.

I do have a point. It is this. In an effort to be a more organized version of myself, I have tried to pay the utmost attention to every detail. No clutter or excess will enter our next abode. I have sorted, cleaned, mended, and thrown out years of material baggage (aka crap). For heaven sakes, I sterilized the bath toys. Alas, some details have escaped me. I tucked G-bean in the other night with her shoes on. I somehow overlooked the fact that E was playing Picasso with a sharpie on her white dresser. I discovered all to late that G-bean had unwound a full roll of toilet paper needing a telescope for her highseas adventure in a box. I found the phone in the fridge. I have thrown the toothbrush in the sink and spit in the drawer. And it was brought to my attention that 5 out of 7 days this week, my underwear has been on inside out or backwards. Hmmmmm...

Is it really all in the details or just the important ones...like survival.

Tip of the Day: Always Dress the Part

What's up Doc?

I recently went to my monthly cattle call weigh in. (Always a character building exercise). All the clanging and banging of the scale revealed that the month of September had not been kind. (My clothes strained seams could have told you that.) I proceeded to rationalize to the nurse. 'I have on heavy flip flops, suffer from dense bones and have the weight of the world on my shoulders.' She just rolled her eyes and herded me into my room.

Upon discussing this matter with the good ol' doctor, she gave me this diagnosis. First, I should stop spreading butter like frosting because my milkshake was going to bring all the boys to the yard. I remarked that such a weight gain was probably typical for a 3rd baby...WRONG! She shot me down. Come on Doc...curvy damsel in distress make something up. Tell me women with an abnormal amount of freckles gain more with the 3rd baby. ANYTHING! Then she had the nerve to tell me that if I wanted to get back on track, I should only gain 1 lb. next month. I teared up and blurted out "But it's Halloween!" To which she responded, "Eat celery". AHHHHHHHH!

The plot thickens (just like everything else around here). During my next grocery store trip, I made an effort to spend some extra time in the produce section. Celery in cart, we headed towards the checkout. G-bean asked if we could pick out some Halloween candy. Once again being upfront, I told her that if we bought it too soon Mommy would blackout and eat it all. Unphased & answer accepted, she moved on. As the cashier rang up my last items, she gestured towards the "super buy" of the day. Before she could even say the words, I squeaked "1 bag- the one with chocolate bars". I buckled! G-bean looked at me confused, "Didn't you just say...". Oh kid, this is one of those times where you do as I say and not as I do.

The Stork Won't Fly

While driving the other day, G-bean decided to ask R a serious question. "Dad how do babies come out?" she inquired. GULP, nervous chuckle, beads of sweat..."That is a great question for your mother." Not one of R's most shining 'Father knows best' moments. All things girly and messy make him squirm. Good luck R, you've got 2 daughters!

Upon arriving home, they both sat me down and presented me with the loaded question. G-bean seeking an honest answer and R praying for someone else to handle this delicate subject. When I asked her what she thought, she guessed the baby's best exit options were through the mouth or belly button. Here was my chance. My opportunity to open the lines of communication so that my kids would know they could always get a straightforward answer from their parents. HA! I gave her a very honest response (certain details excluded). When finished with what I felt was articulate and appropriate information, G-bean & R looked horrified. I think they liked G-bean's options better. Maybe next time I will stick with the stork.

Cravings or Ravings?

You know you are in bad shape when Frito's & Cranberry juice sound better than being stranded on a tropical island with a masseuse! Oh the things that go bump in the night in this belly o' mine. This week I have already polished off 1 jar of pimento stuffed green olives, half a jar of pickles, guzzled 2 gallons of milk, and downed my weight in sourdough toast. People- are these legitimate cravings or mad woman ravings? My world is nothing but salt & sour. Baking has lost it's luster while opening brine-filled jars brings such delight! Who am I? Who has taken over my body? I feel like one of those capsules where you just add water until they balloon up into some odd shaped creature. It's not all weird science. I do find myself giggling at the absurdity of my breakfast. All I can handle is Special K which boldly promises to take inches off my waistline. Ironically mine seems to grow a few inches each week. I have thought about complaining to Kellogg's just for my amusement.

I finally surrendered to this force of nature called pregnancy. I pulled out the paneled pants. YUP! I laughed, scoffed & dismissed the idea of those spandex contraptions. I told R it was way too soon. "I am still a svelte woman," I claimed. Alas when I tried them on for entertainments sake, let's just say I wasn't so amused. It was then that R admitted how wonderful they looked. Wonderful?! Upon further investigation, he admitted that I haven't looked comfortable in my jeans for a few weeks now. In not so many words, the man told me I had been walking around looking like a stuffed sausage coming out of its casing. Hmmmm...I guess panels aren't that bad.