A Quandary

Though I readily admit to having a very high tolerance for car dirtiness, today something inside me told me it was time to do something about the nasty disaster that is our Toyota Highlander. I have been putting off any kind of cleaning projects in that car for literally months now...there always seems to be some trip coming up that I know will just trash the car again anyway, so I figure, what's the point?

Call it pregnancy weirdness, or maybe just a last ditch effort to get my body to go into labor on its own, but today was cleaning day, the day that our poor car has been waiting for since...oh, let's just say early '09.

After over an hour of vacuuming with no attachments (where are those things, anyway?) I had the front of the car pretty well cleaned. I couldn't reach under the middle seats very well, so I figured I'd have Honey help me out when he got home. Thankfully, he was happy to oblige.

Turns out, with no attachments even talented Honey couldn't really get under those darn seats to reach the millions of Cheerios/Nerds that had accumulated over the months, so he, of course, had to think outside the box.

And what was the solution, you ask?

Why, the blower, of course.

This was what my previously vacuumed front of the car looked like about midway through. I wanted to cry, but thankfully he blew it all out of the side of the car before the tears started to fall. Thank goodness for Sweet Honey.

Too bad the outside of the car still looks like it was sneezed on by Falcor the Luck Dragon...but we all know it's what's inside that counts, right?

Christmas Came, the Goose Got Fat...

Lest you begin to judge me on the pretense that we failed to celebrate Christmas this year, here is some actual proof. Proof, that is, that the kids got a hold of the camera on more than one occasion during our 2009 celebrations. I will hopefully get around to posting some more pictures later, but for now, please enjoy what I like to call "Christmas in Abstract." All very moving pieces, I must say...

Grumpy Monday

I saw a snippet on the news last night about how the 3rd Monday of every January is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year. Something about cold weather, the after-Christmas let down, (and, I would interject, the realization on debt incurred over the holidays) the number of days left until Spring, etc. However, for us desert dwellers who rarely see a gloomy sky, let alone a drop of rain, the cold weather is far from depressing. In fact, we tend to bask in the glow of dark skies and sub-seventies temperatures... heck, we may even make some hot chocolate and put on a pair of socks just to celebrate.

So, I respectfully disagree that Mondays in January are particularly depressing.

Unless you are 38 weeks pregnant.

Being very pregnant on any Monday in January might be just a little bit sad. But not because of the weather or the recent fleeting passing of the holidays. It has more to do with something else.

Like no longer fitting into once-too-large maternity clothes. Or not being able to accurately check your blind spot because your great and spacious belly will no longer accommodate such dramatic movement in a space as small as your driver's seat. Or not being able to eat anything within 5 hours of going to bed so as to avoid heartburn, only to wake up at 1, 3, 5 & 7 am with acid in your throat anyway. Or painfully reaching into the bottom of a shopping cart to retrieve groceries just after painfully squeezing past said shopping cart in an effort to reach the cash register in the narrowest aisle in all the grocery stores in all the world. Or trying to bathe an active 2-year old. Or trying to chase said 2-year old. Or trying to put said 2-year old in time-out. Or turning over in bed. Or standing. Or breathing. Or finding this picture in the computer archives.

All I have left to say is this:

Come on, February...

A Note of Apology

Dear Thing I Was Supposed to do Yesterday,

I am writing this letter to apologize for not getting to you even though you were the only thing on my list yesterday afternoon. I know you don't like excuses, but I thought maybe I could explain myself. You see, I had a full 40 minutes to finish you up, which should have been plenty of time. But then there was the sandbox drama that had to be dealt with, because, let's face it, one shovel for two kids is never enough. Then there were the brownies that I decided to make, not because you weren't more important, but because they were a physical necessity for myself and my unborn child. Then there were the sandy shoes, then the bathroom incident, (not one for the books, but icky nonetheless) then the lengthy phone call, and before I knew it my window had closed and it was time to start dinner.

Maybe next time if I write you down, you will actually get done.

Sorry again. We'll try for it another day.

Sincerely,
The Mom

A Little Less Conversation, a lot More Nesting

My head has been spinning since mid-November. We have been out of town or had visitors so frequently in the last couple of months that I feel like all I have been doing is either cleaning or packing/unpacking for a trip. Now, with the Thanksgiving and Christmas madness subsiding, I have had some time to think about the other big thing that's coming up: baby #3. (In all fairness, I have been thinking of her all along, especially while consuming Tums or peeing in the middle of the night or trying to zip up boots.) Maybe I should say that I've finally had time to plan for the big upcoming event...which for me, means a whole lot of nesting.

Some people like to clean when they have a new baby on the way. Not me, though. I like to stick with the organizing part. So recently, almost in a panic, I wrote down a list of all of the things I wanted to do before the baby comes...you know, important things, like organizing the linen/game closet and clearing off the shelf in the laundry room and cleaning my desk off. I remember a couple of years ago being in a similar panic and organizing all of the toys in the playroom a few days before Savanna was born because I couldn't stand the thought of bringing an innocent newborn babe into such chaos. Craig just laughed at me and said, "you know she won't be playing with these when she comes home, right?" Fine, I knew it then, just like I know now that the first thing this baby does when she comes home will likely not be to open the game closet to ensure that Family Feud is stacked neatly on top of Catch Phrase.

Really, though, let's face it folks, there will be plenty of time for cleaning after the baby comes. In fact, that's probably a lot of what I'll be doing for the next 18 or so years of my life. Organizing, however, doesn't usually fit nicely into the events of the day, (not my day, anyway) and so must be given a little extra timing and consideration. It lasts longer, makes me feel better, and is, in general, a much more satisfying process than sweeping, mopping, or vacuuming.

After New Year's, my sister took the girls to California for a few days while I got my nesting on. It was bliss. I cleaned out clothes bins, got rid of old toys, stacked things neatly, cleaned shelves off, and, not unlike the Flintstones, had myself a gay old time. I also got some much-needed time alone with baby-Daddy, which will hopefully hold us over until the last of our kids graduates from college. In a matter of days, I was able to cross everything off my list, and begin to feel like I can finally sit back and breathe. (Figuratively anyway. Real life breathing is not so breezy these days.)

So, aside from the baby's room not being painted, her dresser being, as yet, unfilled, and the fact that she still doesn't have a name that we can agree on, I say, "bring it on, baby, I am ready for you."

Because all she really cares about is a full tummy, a dry diaper, and how neat the pantry shelves look anyway, right?