Silver Lining

I wrote a few weeks ago about pregnancy symptoms I would be just fine without. As it becomes more difficult to find a comfortable position in which to sleep and sit and be, I want to focus on a few things that I really like about being pregnant.

1. My hair. Usually it's very fine. Right now? Much thicker than usual. I got it cut last night by a friend that had cut it last July (and yes, that was my last haircut) and she commented that it was thicker than she remembered. Excellent.
2. Nesting. I mentioned on Monday that I gave in to my urge to nest on my birthday. I believe that nesting is a truly inspired part of pregnancy. We moved when I was eight months along with Cooper and I'm convinced that the nesting instinct is what got our apartment clean. Very clean. All-walls-scrubbed clean. And though I'm pretty darn tired a lot of the time, my house is still pretty clean. I'm enjoying it while it lasts. If memory serves, once the baby gets here, all of those awesome nesting desires will disappear.
3. I'm cute. No really, as vain as it sounds to put into words, I am a very cute pregnant lady. Seriously. Maybe I just bought the right maternity clothes, who knows? But really, I rock the pregnant look.

On the days when I'm extra tired (yesterday), it helps to look at the positive aspects of being pregnant. Plus, the whole baby at the end is pretty nice too.

A Frugalista's Spa Treatment

Want to know how to keep two little boys in one place and entertained for two hours while you attempt to reclaim the weed patch that was once your garden?

One word: mud.

We went out this morning, armed with hand trowels and sunscreen, and pulled about half the weeds. (Half the weeds in two hours should tell you how bad it was.) Because we opted to utilize the community drip lines, we don't have to water our garden. I really like this, but it's probably why I've let the weeds get so bad: I simply don't HAVE to go out that often. The drip lines happened to be on when we went out this morning. This made weed-pulling easier because the ground was moist. It also gave the boys an immediate distraction from their usual task of running through other people's gardens (sorry neighbors, I don't think they've actually stepped on any plants yet) and leaving the gardens altogether.

I left them to it. At one point I looked up and saw that Peter was using a stick to paint Cooper with mud. Cooper was a pretty good sport about it, but he did start to bat Peter away when he had reached his mud-paint quota. Cooper wandered over to a slightly deeper spot of mud about halfway through the weeding session. I kept closer watch on him at his new location and looked up just in time to see him dip his head into the mud.

Awesome.

When he came up he had a mud stripe that went from the middle of his head down to right above his mouth. A second dunk added to the mud mask.

Both boys had a grand time, except when I insisted that they help dispose of the weeds. There was a woman tending her own garden about halfway down the row. I'm sure I looked like a crazy lady to her. "No Peter, don't throw the weeds across the garden. Walk all the way up to the bushes and drop them by the fence. No. No! Stop throwing them! Cooper, come away from the mud and help us pick-up the weeds. Stop throwing weeds at me! Why are you sitting? This job does not require sitting. Please pick-up the weeds. We will go home as soon as we're done picking-up the weeds!"

To be honest, I felt a little like a crazy lady too. They did finally help, which meant we could move on to gathering our tools, rinsing off our hands, and heading home. Before stripping off the boys' muddy clothes in the garage and thoroughly scrubbing both children clean in the bathtub, I did what any good mom would do.

I documented the mess.

Remember, this was after they had washed off in the garden.

Another Year Older

For the past month Peter has been telling anyone who would listen, "Soon Daddy will be thirty-one and Mommy will be thirty." I decided long ago to embrace whatever age I am, and it's a good thing, because otherwise that might have bothered me.

Bryan hit his latest annual landmark a few weeks ago. He likes his birthdays to be low-key, so we celebrated with In-N-Out, chocolate cake, and Super Mario Galaxy 2.

Yesterday was my day. I am now thirty. I'll admit, I like (okay, love) attention on my birthday. Most years I tell people for weeks in advance when my birthday is. This year I only told a handful of people. Is that a sign of maturity?

When I turned ten my birthday dinner of choice was a Big Mac. (Now I think they're gross.) My big exciting gift was a hula-hoop, and it was pretty cool. Although, I don't have many memories of actually using it beyond my birthday.

For my twentieth birthday I had two celebrations. One friend took me to Disneyland. Another friend took me hiking. I didn't realize we would be hiking and got seriously sun-burnt. I still had fun, but I think Disneyland may have won.

For my thirtieth birthday I enjoyed a delicious dinner that Bryan made, complete with watermelon and low-sugar cake. And I gave in to my nesting instincts and rearranged the boys' closet, which was precisely what I wanted to spend my day doing (seriously). Oh, and we had a really good High Council Speaker in Sacrament Meeting; how often do you hear that? It was a good day. There were no big parties or places to be, and that was kind of nice.

I wonder what I'll do for my fortieth birthday...

Be Strong

Have you seen the theme song for the Youth of the Church for the year?



It's been a long week at our house. I needed this today.

Beat It

The boys and I have been having dancing parties the last few afternoons. Well, they dance, I move in a rhythmic but not-at-all-jarring manner. Yesterday we listened to the Broadway cast recording of Mamma Mia. During one particularly bouncy number Peter started feeling the beat. As he sat, moving his whole body to the rhythm, he looked at me and said, "Hey Mom, do you want to break dance with me?"

I had to decline, mostly because I just don't move in that way these days. But I encouraged him to go ahead without me.

He did.

And it was awesome.

30 Weeks

Gee, I hope my striped shirt doesn't make anyone dizzy.

My Favorite Season

In honor of the first day of summer, I spent over an hour weeding the garden last night.

In honor of the second day of summer, I am going to be very sore.

But I still love summer.

Happy Summer!

Mr. Fix-It

Bryan got two presents from the boys this Father's Day. He actually got (are you ready?) a tie. Believe it or not, that was what he wanted. The boys picked one out for him and Bryan wore it to church yesterday. Peter thought it was pretty cool that he, Cooper, and Bryan were all wearing blue ties.

Technically, Bryan gave himself a few more gifts. See, when I was sleeping off the iron-supplement-hangover on Thursday, Bryan was up motivating the boys to help him clean. When I finally rose, the house was beautiful. We've kept it that way since. A clean house makes Bryan happy, so that helped him to have a good Father's Day.

He also made a delicious Father's Day dinner. That's right, he made it. I got a migraine shortly after coming home from church (okay body, would you please stop freaking out now?) so I wasn't very helpful for most of the afternoon. He prepared a roast in the Crock-Pot, made two loaves of homemade bread, and put together a spinach salad.

I washed grapes.

He seemed to be okay with the lack of Father's Day pampering, although I did feel kind of bad.

I said that he got two presents from the boys, but I only talked about the tie. The other gift came on Saturday. Our kitchen sink was leaking on Thursday (one of the things Bryan noticed while he was cleaning) to the point that Bryan needed to turn off the valve to the sink and call the management company.

They sent someone out on Friday and, while it appeared to have been fixed for a short time, by Friday evening the leak was worse and our faucet had started dripping. Problem solved? Not so much.

Bryan went to his favorite fountain of knowledge: his dad. After receiving some plumbing counsel, Bryan went to work. He took apart the faucet, cleaned it, moved some things that were in the wrongs places, and put it back together.

And it worked.

It didn't leak.

Or drip.

Bryan was so pleased that he called the boys over, took the faucet apart again, showed them how he had fixed it, and reassembled it for a second time. Cooper watched Bryan with a look of admiration and said, "My daddy fixed it."

That may have even been better than a tie.

Iron-y

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. One of the comments I got about my jumpy legs suggested they might be caused by a lack of iron. I had a doctor's appointment on Wednesday and one of the first things they told me was that my iron was low. I didn't even know they had checked my iron, I thought they had just done my glucose test at my last appointment. My glucose was fine, but my iron was low by just a few points, although the word anemic was never specifically mentioned. Being the fan of all-things-steak that he is, Bryan was pleasantly surprised that they told me to eat more red meat.

In addition to recommending that I eat more cow and leafy greens, they sent me home with four different samples of iron supplements. The nurse talked about how some people have trouble taking iron and that I might find I like one supplement over the others. When I pressed for details about what she meant, she said that iron can upset some people's stomachs.

Turns out, I'm one of those people.

I took one of the supplements on Wednesday night, but not last night. That's mostly because I want Bryan to be able to go to work today rather than stay home and take care of the boys while I sleep off the effects of staying up all night emptying the contents of my stomach, like he did yesterday. That was not fun. I finally started to feel better around dinnertime.

Instead of taking a supplement yesterday, I put my trust in a large spinach salad and a beef burrito. I kind of wish I could up my iron just by eating iron-rich food, but I guess that's not going to cut it. I'll try a different supplement tonight, since tomorrow is Saturday and I won't be keeping Bryan home from work if I end up spending the wee hours of the morning trying not to lose my dinner.

Yum.

Go Down, Moses

We've had some trouble with bathroom words. Mostly in the I'm-saying-something-I-shouldn't-just-to-get-a-reaction-out-of-you kind of way. After toying with a handful of different consequences, Bryan and I feel like, at least for Peter, we've found something that works. (We're still trying to find something effective for Cooper.)

For Peter, the first time he says something he knows he shouldn't, he gets a timeout and he loses sweets for the rest of the day. The second time he says it, he loses his bedtime book. For the third time he loses his bedtime song. After that it's timeouts until he stops. Since instituting this practice we've only gotten to the third consequence twice.

Yesterday was one of those days.

After each timeout we talk with the boys about why they were there, about what action brought on the timeout. While Cooper ALWAYS knows why he was in timeout, sometimes Peter has a hard time remembering what it was that landed him in the corner.

This conversation took place yesterday afternoon.

Me: Peter, do you know why you were in timeout?

Peter: Yes.

Me: Why?

Peter: Because one of the 12 commandments says "Thou shalt watch your words."

Umm... apparently we need to spend a little more time studying The Old Testament.