1. Go dumpster diving with my CPH. He’s got this grand plan to pull over 100 cups from the dumpsters of a nationally known fast food restaurant. If he succeeds, we’ll have round trip tickets to go see our friends, R* and Nathalie. We could go anywhere, but we will be going to DC. We’ve already decided. Even though, technically, the CPH doesn’t have to take me anywhere because I’m not helping at all in this endeavor. Because I’m pregnant and it may not be safe in a cold, wet, mushy dumpster.
2. Decorate the exterior of my house for Christmas. I have grand plans. They involve lights and ribbons and wreaths. And I know the CPH is busy with end of the school year stuff and I would be more than happy to climp on a ladder (or the edge of my porch) to hang lights and ribbons and wreaths. But I wouldn’t be allowed to. Because I’m pregnant and, apparently, it’s not safe for me to climb onto anything….even a stool to reach onto the top of the refrigerator.
3. Drink a whole bottle of mulled wine and then fall asleep while enjoying the twinkling lights of the Christmas Tree. One of my favorite Christmas memories happened in the house where my parents got divorced. Maybe that year needed to be a little extra special given the circumstances. Maybe this was a tradition that we had done for many years before that, but I only remember it because I remember so much from that year. After we had finished decorating the tree, we got out blankets and sleeping bags and fell asleep to the twinkling lights. I think it’s a lovely tradition that I hope to continue (start) with my kids. But I’d like to add one facet to the tradition. A bottle of mulled wine. Even the kids get a sip, and then the adults partake of the rest. But I can’t do that this year. Because I’m pregnant and it’s just not a good idea to drink a full bottle of mulled wine. Also, sleeping on anything other than a bed is kind of hard these days. Actually, sleeping even on my bed is kind of hard these days. Because I’m pregnant and I already wake up 15 times during the night.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m very happy to be in the situation that I find myself. I know that next year, I’ll be more than able to partake in these and many more activities. And by then, we’ll have one more person to do the celebrating with. And that’s almost as exciting as drinking mulled wine while standing on a ladder and pulling used cups out of a dumpster!

So, this morning, Cleaning says (something to the effect of) to me, “Hey, why don’t you clean the kitchen?”. And I wanted to. Really I did. I looked at the dishes and I really wanted there to be none there.
But I had to put all the stuff in the crock pot for Chili tonight. So, Cleaning and I compromised and I put all the clean dishes away and then I brought in all the glasses from the TV room.
Hey, at least we’re trying to get along!

I love my friends. I really do. But so many times, I feel so uncool standing next to them. They’ve all got great fashion sense. Their hair always looks fantastic. Every picture you see of them is like they just stepped away from a mirror making sure they look perfect. And most of the time, I don’t feel like I fit in. Most of the time, I try really hard to look cool and it just doesn’t pan out. I mean, when I’m by myself, I look pretty cool, but when you put me close to my friends, I definitely pale in comparison. I’ve always thought I’m a pretty average person, so don’t start feeling sorry for me now.
All that said, but here…Here is a very cool picture of me (please notice sarcasm)

I got to see really fuzzy pictures of the baby growing inside of me this morning. I know tons of people want to know, but I can’t really tell you how I’m feeling after the appointment. Or better yet, I can’t pin down exactly how I’m feeling. I mean, God, I’m excited. It seems like we’ve been waiting for this for such a long time. And when I see my friends around babies and I see how lucky this child will be to be surrounded by not two people who love him or her, but the number of people who will truly love this child goes beyond what I can count on my fingers and toes, I get even more excited.
And sometimes I feel a little scared. And then when I think about how I will feed and clothe and protect this little tiny thing, I get even more scared.
But then when I think about how I may not even be a large part in the formative years of this child’s life, I get all jealous. And when I think about all my other friends who are pregnant right now and how they will get to be mommies who stay at home and get to see their baby grow from 3 months to 6 months, I get even more jealous.
But then I think about how great it is going to be that the CPH gets to try his hand at hands-on fatherhood. I think about how we just don’t know many fathers that stay at home (for the most part) with their children and I realize that I’m just being selfish. And then I think back to how me and my brother and my cousins and my neices and nephews were all raised by working mothers and babysitters. And then I realize I’m being even more selfish.
So, it’s crazy really. My emotions are unexplainable and far from rational. But I’d have to say I’m normal feeling this way. Hey, at least I feel normal. That feels nice.

Today, M* turns a monumental two years old.

Here he is being a little freaked out by his mom and dad at the CPH’s birthday party last month.

Happy birthday, M*! Here’s hoping your birthday goes as well as your Christmas is promised to be (since we all did what we were told and bought lots and lots of Sufjan’s cds).

Tonight, the CPH and I are heading out to the annual Thanksgiving festivities. This year, it’s happening in Cleveland, TN. We get to spend a whole four days and a few extra hours on Sunday with our friends.
Very excited.

Some people love hot weather. And I appreciate that. I don’t understand it at all. But I appreciate it.
I love cold weather. I love waking up in the morning and looking outside and seeing snow. I love watching the wind blow snow across a street.
I just feel so much more alive when the cold air is hitting my face.

Know what else makes me feel alive? Getting to spend a weekend with my family (and dear friends who I miss so much!!) making Christmas candy. We leave tomorrow!

I cross several cross walks on my way from my parking lot to the building I work in. I would say I’m pretty good at it. However, this morning, a scary man in a huge white pick-up truck has disagreed. Seconds after I stepped off the curb at the very first crosswalk, the white man turned to a flashing red hand. I continued to walk because I understand that the flashing red hand does not mean stop and go back from whence you came.
But, like I said before, the scary man in a huge white pick-up truck disagreed.
As I’m walking across I hear someone honking at me, so I look up. It’s a scary man in a huge white pick-up truck yelling through his window and no doubt pointing to the flashing red hand as if to say, “I am a scary man in a huge white pick-up truck! How dare you walk when the red hand is flashing!”. He’s in the middle of the cross walk, so I have to walk around the front of the truck to keep walking in the cross walk. As I start to walk, he taps his foot on the gas as if to say, “Do you not see that I am a scary man in a huge white pick-up truck?!?”. I look up at the light as it turns from green to yellow, which causes me to look at the scary man in a huge white pick-up truck as if to say, “Idiot, look what you’ve done. You totally could have already been on your merry way if you just would have paused for one second so that my tiny little self (in comparison to your scary self in a huge white pick-up truck) could have crossed!”. Then I keep walking and he yells something through his window.
I think I won.
Pedestrians unite!

Not that long ago, the CPH mentioned something about a recurring dream he has about coming in unprepared for a class. I’ve had those dreams before too. Mine are usually math classes and I’ll come into class, knowing that I haven’t been there all semester and I’ll feel really behind.
I’ve always found it fascinating that many of our friends have had this same dream (with of course, some variance).
As I awoke during last night’s sleep, I realized that I often too have another dream that is much like the unprepared class dream. I have a recurring dream that I need to catch a plane and I just can’t make it to the airport in time.
As the CPH and I talked this morning about it, he said, “well, you do hate to be late”.
Brilliant deduction!

Last night, we headed out to our church’s daughter church. We always have a good time, hanging with everyone after the service (they eat together every Sunday night), but usually I’m a little put off by the service. It’s way too laid back for me and so dark. I often find myself wanting to fall asleep instead of listening to what the speaker is saying. But last night, my friend gave his “story”, a tradition they are starting at this church. And it was a riveting story. It was a story that made me love my friend more. It was, if I may, one hell of a testimony.
And as the CPH and I lay in bed, he said that he hoped he never had to tell his story because it would be so boring. And I had to admit that I was thinking the same thing. I mean, sure, I have some things that happened to me that I could tell, just to make the story interesting. But those things don’t really play into my spirituality.
I have no faith issues. I find it really easy to believe. I have never felt that God doesn’t listen or that God will not take care of me. I trust others and try to treat others the best way that I can.
On Saturday night, the CPH and I watched an interesting episode of one of our favorite shows, Only in America. This show is about a reporter from the New York Times (Charlie LeDuff) that investigates American Subcultures. This weeks episode had him looking at south-eastern pentecostalism, what he entitled “country preachers”. He was asked, at first (and later uninvited) to share his testimony at a tent revival. As a Catholic, he had never found himself in the position to share his Christian story, so he went to see some apparently famous southern pastor to help him out. He wanted to talk about how the story of the good samiritan is easy because anyone can help out a man who is bleeding on the side of the road. What he wanted to talk about is forgiveness and how hard, but necessary, it is for the bleeeding man to help out the guy who stabbed him.
And I completely agree with him. But that’s not really my story. It’s my idea and my convictions, but I don’t think that because of something that happened to me. I just think it.
If I ever have to tell my story, i wonder if Charlie would come and tell his again. That sounds so much more interesting.

So, Amy’s questions on my recent post about the small group and a conversation I had this morning with the CPH has prompted me to write a little bit more about what I think about communing together.
As we sat around the table last week, talking about our monthly agendas, we had some great ideas. We were planning to do things that didn’t just involve sitting around in a big circle reading the bible and talking about how the words made us feel. We were carrying out actions. We were planning to take what we had learned in the past and apply it. But still I felt a bit uneasy because there seemed to be an idea in all that planning that we needed to make sure that we didn’t forget to talk about the bible and to pray.
But what I want to know is this. Is there an on/off switch that makes us more “christian” when we pray or read the bible? Why is reading the bible a requirement of a fellowship group? Aren’t we communing with God and with each other just by being in each other’s presence?

Because Amy has such great ideas, the CPH is ordering tickets today for the SMWB to come and visit over the New Year’s Holiday. We haven’t been to see him yet in Florida and because we need to be saving some money instead of spending it all away, we were feeling a bit sad that one of us would probably not be able to make the trip there. Amy (she is so brilliant, just wait and see) thought it was sad too and asked why we couldn’t just buy the SMWB’s ticket to come see us and then we could both see him.
I don’t know why we never thought of it, but hey! What a great idea. I mean, who would want to spend New Year’s Eve in 85 degree weather anyway??

Last night, during small group, we sat around the dining room table and ate popcorn and drank water and talked about how our small group is shaping up. I’m really enjoying it. We’re a laid back group. Most of the time we read something someone else thought about the book of Galatians and we talk about how we feel about what they said. Also, in the works are monthly dinners where we cook together, monthly story time (where one of us tells “our story), and monthly movie nights. We also talked about making Christmas Cookies and delivering them.
But never does a week go by when our little friend M* doesn’t make us lose our thoughts because he interjects with “Oh, yeah!” or “Ice Baby”. And then we laugh (how can we not?!?) and then he is encouraged to continue.
Inappropriate, but oh so funny behavior is such a vicious cycle.

I started this blog about a year and a half ago. I can’t even remember the real reason for starting it and I’ve never regretted anything I’ve written on here.
But that’s because the stuff I write about is not all that controversial.
The CPH, however, seems to, more often than not, get a lot of flak for his devisive ideas. Recently, he wrote about a campaign that our church has been running for the past month or so regarding raising money for various things that the leaders of the church think is necessary.
I, being the more trusting of church in general of the two, could see why the church needed more money. I know that every organization, at some point and sometimes often, needs to increase their operating budget. I’m not sure I had decided that we needed to sit down and flesh out how much we could give, because honestly we don’t give very often, even in tithes. But still, I understood why the pastor was asking us for the money. He was asking for the money because he and the leaders of the church had decided that it was needed.
But the CPH is a jaded man. Especially about trusting in things that he has found in the past to be untrustworthy. And he asks questions. Lots of them.
Recently, I was helping a friend fill out a free profile on e-harmony. The profile asks you to rate yourself in regards to many (many!) characteristics. There were several words that gave us pause as we discussed what they truly meant. Trust was one of them. My friend admitted that she was very trusting, sometimes to her own (or a relationship’s) demise. I really believe I was taught to be a very trusting person. And sometimes I get so upset wtih my friends who definitely have trust issues. I told her my mom had always told me to trust someone until they gave me reason not to trust them. And she thought that was a good lesson to learn.
But then she asked, (something to the effect of) If you’re walking down an alley, are you going to trust the person who starts walking behind you?
Probably not, but does that mean I shouldn’t?

I have always been one to think often of death. As a child, as I rode in the back of the pick up truck to the river, I would envision the article the next morning after I had fallen off the back of the truck to my death. At an even younger age, I can remember taking a nap beside my mother and as I watched her sleep, I would put my hand on her stomach to make sure she was still breathing. Sometimes, I lie in bed and for a second try to imagine my life without the CPH and usually end up crying before I can get past the second.
And just recently, I’ve started to take hold of my own mortality just a little bit more. Being pregnant and realizing that as your child grows older, you will also grow older doesn’t let thoughts of death stray far. I can’t help but think that as my child turns thirteen, I will be that much closer to death.
Yesterday, I got a very cryptic message from a friend. She was calm and stoic and asked that I give her a call back. This is not a friend that calls me just to ask for a recipe or tell me something funny that her daughter said that day (she uses email for that). I knew, when I heard the message that something was wrong. And there were so many options as to what that wrong thing could be. Did something happen to her daughter? Did something happen to her husband? Did something happen to our friends who were coming home from another country this weekend?
I finally found her number (like I said, we usually talk more on email) and she told me the news. One of her closest friends had passed away the night before. The assumption was that a blood clot, a very large one, was the culprit.
I had known H* when we were in college together. Sure, I even considered her a friend then, but in the past year, I had maybe talked to her three times.
But my friend, she’s devastated. She told me that she was going through her phonebook, trying to figure out who she should call to tell them that H* had died and she kept going over H*’s number thinking…Of course, I should call H*.
I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet.

Nearly two years ago, my friend C* and his wife A*, left for missions work in Asia. Today, they are supposed to be returning to US soil. She’s about 7 months pregnant and they haven’t been able to see a doctor too much while they’ve been gone. They won’t be staying too far away, his mom lives close to Louisville and he’ll be looking for a job real soon. Wonder if I can talk him into finding a job in Indy?

Tonight is my friend Kyle’s yearly show at a local gallery. Last year, a pitch-in (thats a potluck for all you non-mid-westerners) accompanied the show and apparently it was a great success. This year, there will be a dessert pitch-in happening in the gym while people are oohing and aahing over Kyles new art.
Im bringing one of the desserts.
Stay with me. This isnt as boring as it seems.
Last night, after having argued with the CPH over the phone about my frequent visits to Arbys (He thinks Im eating there too often I ate there on Saturday and then again last night), I headed out to the grocery store to buy the things I needed for the dessert recipe and a few other staple items.
When I got back, the CPH, having just arrived home from school, helped me bring the groceries into the house and even helped me put them away.
As I scanned the recipe, I noticed that I had forgotten to buy one item soda crackers. I asked the CPH if he thought I could use oyster crackers instead of soda crackers and his response made me so angry I wanted to scream. He said, get this, I dont even know what soda crackers are. Can you believe that?
So I grab one of my chocolate covered donuts that I had bought at the grocery store, sat down on the couch and sulked. But where I had sat down, was first occupied by the CPHs shirt that he had taken off so that he wouldnt get his dinner on it. The CPH asked me to get up so he could move his shirt, but apparently I wasnt moving fast enough. He asked me one more time. I jumped up, screaming at him, Im getting up!. Then as I turned around to sit back down, I started to cry. But I wasnt just crying, I was hyperventilating AND crying.
AND then, when the CPH came up to the couch to comfort me and was asking me what was wrong and if I wanted him to go to the store for me, I started to laugh. But I wasnt just laughing; I was uncontrollably laughing AND crying.
And then I stood up, calm and collected, and went to make my dessert, replacing the soda crackers with oyster crackers.
Hormones are fing blowing my mind.

Sometimes, I like to hold my pen in my left hand as if to give the impression that I write with that hand.

I am such a poser.

I’ve been excited about shopping for Christmas presents for quite a while now. But the holidays are sneaking up on me! I can’t believe how little time I have to get all this done.

But not all the time. I swear. But in the cold nights, when my humidifier is so far away my mouth dries up like a fish out of water, i sometimes snore. But it’s not like a shake the house kind of snore, it’s more like I’m trying to roll my r’s with a dry mouth kind of snore.
And it’s not only affecting the CPH’s sleep. I think it’s affecting mine. I go to bed tired and I wake up even more tired.
So, the CPH bought be some of those stickers that you put on the bridge of your nose to open up your sinuses and I tried them for the first time last night. I looked like a big dork and I woke up a couple of times wondering why in the world I would have left my glasses on for the night (the pressure on the nose feels much like the way your glasses feel). But I did notice that I could actually breathe through my nose, which for me is actually something I’ve never been able to do all that well.
And I woke up this morning and I felt revived. Like you should feel after 8+ hours of sleep. I have no idea if my snoring was fixed, the CPH says he was too tired to notice.

Because I’m lazy, I didn’t put together my aforementioned marionette costume. Because I’m lazy, I’m apparently brilliant and the girl who wore the costume that keeps getting mentioned the most.

Meet the hardened Filipino Undercover Street Cop and an afghan.