Two Whole Years

Yesterday was a big day for our family.  Husband and I celebrated our two year anniversary!  (Am I really this old?!)  I am blown away by how quickly the time has passed, how much fun we've had together, how easy it's been, and how it's so hard to remember ever being without Husband or Clara.

I am such a lucky girl.

(And I feel especially lucky after pigging out on Chicken Madeira and Red Velvet Cheesecake.)

See last year's anniversary here and here.

It Wasn't So Bad After All

On our way to grab some Valentine's pork smothered in barbecue sauce, Husband posed an important question:

"What do you think about not celebrating Valentine's Day?"

and I said:

"Do you mean, not celebrating it at all, or celebrating it with donuts and BBQ?"

and he said:

"Yeah, like we do.  No roses or chocolates or expensive dinners."

and I said:

"I like it just fine."

A Very Kieren Day

It was one of those Saturdays, where you pop out of bed at 7:30 am and choose adventure.  Inspired by one too many DIY blogs and feeling lucky, I threw on some pants, skipped my makeup, settled for glasses, and grabbed Clara.  We were off to the yard sales.

We didn't find anything worth buying.  

(I don't believe in your yard sale finds, Apartment Therapy!)

Then, Clara napped and I called my mom to ponder the question of attending the Historic Home Tour  by myself, with a baby strapped to my chest.  The Pipkin in me was spinning all sorts of awkward theories when suddenly, my mom offered her services as the Laverne to my Shirley.

Two hours later, we were standing in a bright blue kitchen from the 1950s.

(And I didn't take any pictures.)

Until I saw this awesome car, which happened to be of my most favorite variety, which is the Volkswagen variety.

And I stared.  And I dreamed.  And I would have killed for that car.

Until, I saw a car that was much more conducive to the heinous amount of children Husband plans on having.  

And I decided I would look pretty cool pulling up to Cafe Rio on Taco Tuesday with a flood of kids escaping my Ford Falcon.  Oh yeah.

We ended our day over cheeseburgers with Husband and a short stop to play with cousins.

Even without finding a mid-century, hardwood, less-than-$100 dresser, I'd call it a successful day.

A Girl and Her Daddy

Those first few weeks of parenthood are a curious mix of magic, sleep deprivation, and what-the-heck-are-we-doing.  For awhile there, I think we were both intimidated by our little one.  I could be found taking copious notes on nap times and diaper contents, while Husband was turning his parental rights over to the boobs.  

'I think she's hungry' ... 5 minutes later ... 'you should feed her' ... 5 minutes later ... 'I think she wants the boob' ... 5 minutes later ... 'but I don't have boobs!'

Needless to say, I think the daddy-daughter relationship is starting to bloom.  

And oh how it melts my heart.

Day at the Parade

Clara and I took it upon ourselves to celebrate MLK Day with a little parade-watching and festival-navigating.  Little did we know, Clara has a thing for marching bands, as evidenced by the uncontrollable flailing of her arms and legs.  Drum solos, however, haven't yet passed her test.  Each time those drummers started up, she would freeze and cock her little eyebrows.

Speaking of eyebrows...

It has come to my attention that Clara inherited something besides tiny ears from Husband's family.

The Eyebrows.

Ode to Socks

You may or may not be aware, but socks are a frequent topic in this house.  Why, Husband is quite fond of his socks, you see.  His drawer is filled with black and tan dress socks, all adorned with pinstripes and argyle print, just waiting to be paired with the perfect slacks.  If you look only a little further, you will see something quite special.  There, in the very same dresser drawer, lay the holy white socks from the Costco temple.  These aren't just any socks, they are fuzzy and comfy and mid-calf and indestructible, all quite necessary when it comes to a husband's socks.

And then a small wife enters the scene, equipped only with only a pair of striped ankle socks and a pair of green knee socks.  Flats, sandals, and high heels - who needs socks?  And then, she remembers, as she quite often does, that she owns a singular pair of pink, plaid converse, which must be worn when traipsing through mountains or jumping over rain puddles.  And, well, the knee socks are just for kicks.  (Lots of kicks.)

Finally, there is a small baby in this house, one who prefers that her socks match her outfit and pattern themselves after ballet slippers.  (A small bow is acceptable, too, in a pinch.)

Now that the pleasantries are out of the way...  

It is at this moment in time that we tell you about the strange allure of the aforementioned white foot coverings.  They just happen to be the perfect socks for leather riding boots and general foot warming, both activities common to small wives.  They are also quite snuggly for small babies and, on top of that, not half bad when it comes to taste!  And lastly, let us not forget, that these socks make excellent camera cases.  Which, come to think of it, should be very obvious.

We thank thee, dearest Husband, for allowing us to experience the unrivaled pleasure of your white socks.  And while we're at it, we simultaneously apologize for blackening the bottom of your holy socks (how does that happen?!) and commend you for your ability to keep white socks as pure as the driven snow.

Birthday Celebration

On Friday night, we turned the in-laws date night into a birthday celebration for Husband, complete with screaming baby.  We went all out with miso soup, sushi rolls (Las Vegas!), gyoza, tempura, and some pork-rice thing.  Our sweet hostess wrapped up the night with some tempura ice cream and a polaroid photo.

Busy Bees

It's been a busy week over here.  

We've done a lot of window shopping (Clara loves to nap in her stroller), Husband has been extra busy with work, we had lunch with an old (and dearly missed) friend, I've started to sew Clara's blessing dress, there has been a big home decorating project (!), Clara and I have gone to work and to the doctor, we celebrated Husband's birthday, and the laundry has been washed, left in the washer, forgotten, and re-washed more times than I'd like to admit.

All in all, it's been a wonderful week.

P.S.  I finally made it to the point where breastfeeding ROCKS!  (I never thought this day would come!)

Happy Birthday, Old Man

First night together

Dear Daddy,

First it was my birthday, then Mommy's, and now it's your turn.  You are 26 years old today and boy is that grown up!  I don't think I'll ever be that old!

We've only known each other for a short while, but you are already the best daddy.  My favorite thing is when you hold my on your arm and let me suck on your thumb.  I love looking around and drooling on you.  If I'm lucky, I might even get a taste of grown up food from your finger!

I also like the games we play, especially the one where you cover me with a blanket.  Pooping on you is pretty fun, too.  And remember when I threw up on you?  Yep, that was today.  So "happy birthday" and "you are welcome!"

I'm looking forward to your next birthday, Daddy.  By then I'll be able to give you an even better present, like walking or talking!  You'll just have to wait and see.

Love you lots,

Clara

One Plus One Plus One

Exactly 1.5 years ago, I tied the knot with my very best friend.

I can't believe how quickly time has passed.  All of the greatest milestones of my life are flying by!  On one hand, I love it, and on the other, it terrifies me.

I am so thankful for this wonderful husband of mine, for his endless love, support, and snarky comments.   He is a great husband and my very best friend.

I am so glad that the two of us have become three.

The Hubsdaddy

When your daddy is nice:

When your daddy is mean:

The End. 

Have a wonderful weekend!

Husbands, Cake, and Puppies

I tried to think of a good husband analogy, but I failed miserably.

Husbands are like cake (so sweet, but you get sick of it if you eat too much), but I don’t get sick of cake. In fact, I like the cake part best and the frosting part least. So, that would be saying that I like the dry and boring part best and the sweet part least. (Crap, maybe that is a good analogy for my marriage.)

Or husbands are like puppies (you want to cuddle and love them, but then they can drive you insane and poop on everything), which is a lot closer to the truth. Except, I don’t like it when puppies grow up, though it is nice when husbands grow up and can supply you with endless amounts of money to spend on furniture.

That’s where I gave up. I will leave the analogies to someone with much greater mental capacity than myself, though I am currently sporting two brains in one body.

I came home to flowers from Husband last week.  What a wonderful suprise.

My husband is the best. And what is the best? It is him and he is the best.

(So logical, I know!)

In all seriousness, though, I have been a moody pregnant woman lately. I just haven’t felt very happy, seeing as I am a large whale that can’t do much of anything anymore, except complain about sore body parts. (And they really are sore!!)

But then, I realized that I have been really happy over the past week!! And then, I realized that it wasn’t because I decided to be a big girl and try to improve things, but because my goodly husband stepped up to the plate. What an unselfish lover I have! He, who wasn’t doing anything wrong in the first place, went out of his way to love and serve me even more.

I expressed this to him last night as we were lying in bed.

After my big speech about how grateful and happy he has made me, and my questioning whether or not he’s noticed a difference, he said:

“Well, you have been a lot nicer to me lately.”

And so I have. I really have.

An Inevitable Update

Do you remember the day that I disclosed my curse unto my readers? The fact that I am despised among those of hubcap descent? It is true, fellow internet surfers: I am cursed.

(Original story here)

When I presented my husband with the new-new-new-hubcap that tried (and failed) to escape down a conveniently-placed gutter, he said, “Okay, I’ll go put it back on.”

“You can’t just put it back on; it will fall right off and then we’re out another $30 and looking ghetto again.”

“Yeah, I can just snap it back on.”

“Not uh, the little snaps are broken. Those are what hold it on.”

Insert man-talk about how objects really function, which is not the way that women think that they function.

“Okay, whatever you say.” (Knowing that I will be proven right about the hubcap - I have enough experience to anticipate the outcome, don’t you think!?)

…

Some while later, Husband forced me to drive into the desert to go shooting. (Of course, the Mazda 3 is an off-road vehicle, didn’t you know?) Lo and behold, when I left the shooting spectacle to pee behind the car, I noticed that the dang hubcap was missing.

I was filled with validation, as well as a certain feeling of, “Dang it. Now we’re ghetto again.” Lucky for us, we found the hubcap on the side of the dirt road. We picked it up and tossed it in the back seat.

...

Now the question remains: Should we glue it on with some silicone gunk, rock the missing hubcap for life, buy a new hubcap, or buy aluminum wheels with the money that we don’t have?

I’m all ears. Let me know how you keep your hubcaps in place.
(And no, I don’t hit curbs all the time! Seriously.)

Bugs in a Rug

Okay, seriously? Seriously. Seriously? Seriously!

The Nick and the Husband are twins. Whenever we head home for the weekend, these two are inseparable. Two peas in a garage! I like to think it’s because The Nick and I are so similar. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Husband likes me, so he must like The Nick. I like Husband, so The Nick must like him.

Well, it’s cute. Even when they have matching outfits, which might otherwise be creepy, except it’s not.

Really, the only difference is that Husband falls asleep about 5 times a day, almost like an old man. Actually, it’s exactly like an old man. And aren’t old men adorable? Yes.

Also, what is on Nick's pants?!

Riddle me that.

Sweet Goodness

Life has been hectic lately and I’ve been a pregnant bum for every second of it.

The Arizona weather has been particularly respectful of my baby-growing, yet Husband and I failed to take advantage of the spectacular Saturdays. We could have taken hikes, visited ghost towns, and seen the state parks, but no, Husband studied and I sat around the house, like the worthless person that I really enjoy being. Really.

Now that school is out (for life) and I don’t have cankles (yet), I convinced my hubsfriend to hit the Peach Farm with me.

Honestly, I needed an excuse to cross off the “Vitamin A” square on my nutrition chart and peaches are way tastier than pumpkins.

Alright, I really hope that this isn't my go-to pregnancy posture.

I realize that Husband and I need to do more fun things together, but I fear that Senor(a) Baby will make that more and more difficult as time progresses.

I have a sister-in-law that seems to live her life to the fullest, even with a tiny baby and a small son. They are always traveling and seeing new sights as a family.  I have decided that they are my world-traveling role models.

I want to be like that.

I really do.

I guess it’s time to set up the Vacation Sinking Fund…

when we actually have some extra money.

Bodily (Fun)ctions

I’m all about the sugar, friends, which is why yesterday was such a mystery unto my brain.

The 1 hour glucose test is no amusement park. The sugar drink is only slightly better than downing half a bottle of pancake syrup. It tastes like warm, liquid sugar. Yum.

Come to think of it, the sugar drink would be a feast for hummingbirds. However, I am not a hummingbird, not even close.

I drank my whole mug of diabetes and was fine until a few minutes before the blood draw, when I started to feel a tad woozy. I am still wondering whether I should blame my small stomach, the fetus, the sugar concoction, or my needle phobia for what was about to transpire.

Heck, let’s blame them all.

I had my blood drawn (AND DIDN’T CRY! High-five!). But, somewhere near the end of the draw, I started feeling nauseous. Upon saying that I might (translation: definitely would) vomit, Husband and Nichelle started running around looking for a bucket of some sort. Lucky me, I got to throw up in a clear, plastic bag – perfect for the spectators.

Also, I threw up all over the exam table and myself.

(Boy, did it feel good to throw up! What a relief!)

So, all was well last night, except that I had to attend my birth class in my vomit attire. No one would have noticed, but I told them, anyway. Husband even let me cuddle with him for the full three hours, all while sporting a sexy pair of suit pants and a button-up shirt.

Come to find out, he didn’t realize how much puke I had caked on my clothes, until he put his hand on my leg in the car, on the way home.

That Husband is a good man.

This Baby Will Kick Yo Butt

Ze bebe was kicking ze hubzee yesterday morning.

“Kick, kick,” said ze leetle bebe.

“Oh no, I am le tired,” said ze dade.

“Kick, kick. You must wake up and turn on ze showa for ze mama.”

“No, no, dearest muffin bebe. Ze mama must turn on ze showa, to ze perfect temperature, like zo.”

“Ze mama is so very exhausted, dearest fada,” retorted ze fetus child.

The father, with whom the mother was cuddling and said baby was kicking in the back, began to snore.

“Fine. Kick, kick. We are out of ze bed and turning on our own showa, no help to you, commoner!”

…

I was spooning Husband yesterday morning and he could feel the baby kicking for a good ten minutes, while we dozed. He told me this, when he joined me in the shower, the shower that he did not turn on for his good wife.

It’s cute, though, isn’t it?

The baby-kicking part, I mean.

Yesterday in My Belly

Yesterday was Mother’s Day and, I have to admit, I felt a little bit like a mother.

Just a little baby-fetus-in-my-belly bit.

The talks at church were wonderful and it was the first Sunday in awhile that I have actually paid attention the whole time. (I am so grown up!) If only old ladies told stories about their childhood during every Sacrament meeting...

(Being old is going to be so cool.)

So, there you have it. I am a mother-in-the-making.

25 weeks from the front is different...

than 25 weeks from the side.

...

Highlights of Pre-Mother’s Day include: A slave husband, strawberry pancakes, back rubs, washed dishes, and tasty mashed potatoes.

Slightly Sappy, but So Neccessary

I have needed a major attitude adjustment lately (as my wise mother would say), because really, I am happy, healthy, and the recipient of countless blessings.  

So, what more can I ask for?

My number one blessing, without a doubt, is my dearest husband.  Whether he is doing "the walking fingers on my back" while we watch Jack Bauer kick some rear, suggesting ways for me to better myself (actually talking to people = the nice thing to do), cooking me waffles (so I can top them with ice cream and strawberries), sitting through a 3-hour birthing class when he needs to study, or telling me how much he loves the baby belly... I am always his favorite.

He takes his last final on Tuesday and I am more than excited!!  It will be wonderful to have the nights to ourselves, to move on the next chapter in our lives, to save a little bit of money.

It's only me and him for a few more months and in a way, it makes me sad.

I think I might miss this.

The next time that it's just the two of us... we will be old folks.  We won't be poor, we won't live in a tiny apartment with only the bare essentials, we won't have to carpool everywhere together.

Right now, we are in the midst of the best time of our lives... and I need to be more grateful.

Isn't marriage wonderful...
knowing that you will have your best friend by your side for the rest of your life?

Isn't eternal marriage wonderful...
knowing that you will have your best friend by your side for all of eternity?

Yes and double yes.

Three Cheers for Fudge Stripes

Have you ever been married to a chap who wants to lose some weight and “get healthy?” Have you ever told your hunky mate that he should eat a sandwich for lunch or have some scrambled eggs for breakfast? Has said man candy ever insisted on eating fruit snacks and chips instead, because they have fewer calories? Does this make any sense to you, as a person with basic nutritional knowledge?

Well, if I said it once, I’ll say it again: That is straight crazy! (Referring to the manly man, of course.)

Here is a new series of mind-bending questions for you:

Have you ever hated vegetables, in all of their rainbow colors of disgustingness? (Except green beans and dark green varieties of lettuce?) (Especially corn and carrots.) Let me rephrase that question: Have you ever hated all vegetables that were not green like unto the green on trees not native to Arizona? Have you ever done a 10-minute workout video for pregnant women and not taken a break, for the first time? Has your very unhealthy lover forced you to eat salad afterwards, instead of cookies baked by magical elves from Keebler?

Have you ever been like, why is this really nutritionally deficient person telling me how to nourish a baby in-utero? Have you hated that the violator of all things healthy was actually correct in their suggestion, so you ate some salad, even though you didn’t want to? Did your ironic nutritionist watch you eat your leafy greens while munching on the above cookies?

Well, that happened to me.

All of it.

This is completely unrelated:

I saw Atlas Shrugged on Friday and it was amazing!!  Cult films are always fun and this one made me feel a lot more sophisticated than Twilight (even though I love me some werewolves without shirts) and a lot cleaner (physically and morally) than The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Oh, and let's not forget the most epic Mormon movie of all time:  Napoleon Dynamite.

These movies are straight brilliant!

Seriously, though, Atlas Shrugged is my favorite book, so I was really happy that the movie producers didn't completely butcher Ayn Rand's message.