Two Very Important Lessons

So I’ve learned a few lessons in the past few days.
Lesson Number One:
Do not watch The Notebook when your husband is out of town. This may result in a deluge of waterworks and hopeless blubbering on your couch. It wasn’t a pretty picture. James Garner, I felt every twist of emotion you went through, and enjoyed every minute of it.




Lesson Number Two:
Do not compound the cinematic culmination of a beautiful love story with footage and memories of Patrick Swayze.
It took me a while to be “allowed” to watch Dirty Dancing. The title was enough to send Mrs. Cameron over the edge and ban it from the get-go. Then she rented it and I’m sure the near-miss of Johnny’s bare backside (no matter how many times I rewound it, the camera always seemed to juuust miss it) was enough to place this movie in the permanent pile of banned movies Heather was not allowed to watch. But oh Mrs. Cameron, the day I found myself at a friend’s house whose mom was cool enough to not care about preteens watching a tale of coming of age parental defiance with a smattering of abortion thrown in was the day I had the time of my life. Hello Johnny Castle. May I carry some watermelons to the secret dance lair for you? Would you please instruct me on where your dance space ends and mine begins? Please teach me to work on my spaghetti arms and please, for the love of pete, float me up in the air for The Lift! Sigh. I have spent the morning googling clips of that beloved movie and reliving fond memories that I associate with that movie. My best friend Laura introduced me to dipping pretzels in vanilla ice cream during one of our many Dirty Dancing viewing sessions. (Seriously, I thought it sounded disgusting, she twisted my arm, and the combination of salty and sweet turned my attention away from Bobby the disgusting waiter long enough to try the delish combo. Try it. You’ll thank me.) Or how about the time our sweet friend Robyn asked so innocently during The Lift practice scene

(you know the one, it’s raining, and Johnny kicks that stump out of the ground to break the car window so they can run off to the lake to practice lifting in the water – where miraculously it’s not raining), “Do you think her bra strap was supposed to fall down her arm? Was it scripted that way?” Thank you Robyn, I will forever think of you and smile when I watch that movie. Or how my friends Angela Cicirello and Libby Blanford and I would discuss the inner working of the movie during ALGEBRA II class? It just goes to show you how wondrous the movie was if it still captivated us as seniors in high school. We were forever quoting the movie, (“Sweet gherkin?”) during class. And honestly, the whole “sweet gherkin” line still cracks me up.
Years later, I was at a happy hour event with some friends and we were sitting at a table watching the night unfold on the dance floor. There was a couple dancing, who, let’s just be straight out honest here, had to have been taking ballroom dancing lessons and were anxious to showcase them at the local bar. So, to make my friends laugh, I admit I might have heckled them. Not so loud that anyone other than my friends could hear, but sadly, I did make fun of them that night. As they were counting their steps around the dance floor, I called out “DO THE LIFT!” They didn’t hear me but my friends laughed and laughed. And seriously, if you had watched them practically mouth the words “one-two-three-step together” you would have seen the need to say what I did. If you were a member of that ballroom dancing super couple, I apologize. But it was really funny.
I wanted to have those silver shoes that Baby and Penny had. I wanted to get called up on stage and have Johnny Castle tell everyone that “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” and then dance our special dance. Ending with the lift of course. While he mouthed the words to I’ve Had (The Time of My Life). Swoon.

I think this weekend, I will have to view the movie and force my dearest hubs to endure my countless quoting and dancing. Although, I am not sure how successful a 7 month pregnant woman will be at keeping up, but I’ll give it a shot. But don’t count on me getting down on the floor when Lisa does her crazy wacked out choreography while singing

and you can wackle all you wanna, you can wackle while I walk away, away, away, away!

Logic Puzzles

I admit it. I am completely addicted to logic puzzles. Remember those from school where you are given some clues and based on the clues, you have to figure out which first name goes with each last name, what each person's favorite color is, where they were born, etc? Yeah, those. I love them. I print them out daily and become engrossed in whose last name isn't Smith, or who did not choose the putt putt golf game. I printed some out this weekend to work on while watching football (my fantasy team BLEW UP - thank you Drew Brees!!!) but Emma had other ideas. Have you ever considered the thought that two pieces of paper, when clutched in 14 month old hands could make WINGS? When said little 14 month old hands flap up and down, the paper makes a really fun noise and it's sort of like trying to fly. At least I imagine that might be what she thought. Either way, she laughed uncontrollably and thought she was having a great time. Needless to say, those wrinkled puzzles will need to be downloaded again and completed at work. But ONLY when I'm caught up. :-)

Check this link out if you'd like to see what I'm talking about...
http://www.puzzles.com/Projects/LogicProblems/SlumberParty.htm

The neatest thing? You can either work the puzzles online or print them out and use your pencil. Since my poor pencils don't get any use anymore, I prefer the pencil and paper method. Well, that and I look busier when "figuring" at my desk rather than staring at a computer screen clicking away at my mouse.

..........Drumroll Please

We interrupt your daily activities to bring you the following breaking news bulletin:

Ladies and gentlemen, wait, do any gentlemen really read this? Hmmm. OK, whatever, I have news!!

I HAVE OFFICIALLY PASSED MY GLUCOSE TEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you. That concludes this breaking news story. Please feel free to share your well wishes and congratulations below. Or get back to your regularly scheduled lives.

The Elusive Perfectly Folded Fitted Sheet

I find more and more that I am a perfectionist. For those of you who know me personally, you will not be shocked by this statement, although you might be shocked at my late admission. OK, so I admit it. I think there is a right way to do everything and I strive to do things that way. It just makes more sense to me. Why do a job unless you do it the very best you can AND with the most efficiency. With working full time, being pregnant, and chasing a toddler, efficiency is the key to my life.
Alas, there is one mythical creature, my unicorn, if you will, that I cannot “catch”. The elusive perfectly folded fitted sheet. You know when you first purchase a new set of sheets how lovely they look in the package, all folded up nice and neat. Four pieces of fabric arranged just so inside that sleeve of plastic, waiting for you to take them out and spread them out on your bed. Oh yes, let’s just admit one more thing while I’m at it. I am such a nut for perfect unwrinkled sheets, that I unashamedly spread newly purchased sheets on my bed without washing them! Because, friends, when you wash the sheets, although they smell delightful, they are not as perfectly smooth as they would be out of the package. I have been known to iron sheets (please stop screaming at me – I realized what a wasted effort that was while still in college and allowed to make stupid mistakes) but when you own a king sized bed (which I have since I was in the 7th grade), ironing those monsters is too time consuming. Coupled with the fact that I have owned a black lab for almost 13 years, ironing was good in theory, until you factor in the black dog hair the clean sheets would inevitably pick up from the floor.
So we’re back to the perfection that comes out of the plastic package. I have always wondered how “they” managed to get such straight lines and how everything fits so wonderfully. Enter my mother in law. Seriously, she is amazing at folding fitted sheets. Like she could fold professionally for those brand new sheets shipping out to all of the Bed Bath & Beyond locations nearest you. It’s amazing; her handiwork is the likes of which I have never seen. I will feely admit that there may have been a time or two when she was coming to our house to watch Emma that I may have left clean sheets on the breakfast table, knowing she might just fold them for us. And then, honestly, if she does fold them, I don’t want to put them on the bed. I’d rather just wash what’s on the bed and put them right back on rather than “waste” the perfectly folded sheets that have been put away. Because they are that pretty. When I finally do use them, I fully expect those little cardboard pieces to fall out as if they were brand new. Now I have asked her to show me countless times how she achieves such magic and she has obliged. I just don’t get it! I have tried and tried and no matter what I do, they end up crooked and looking like I’ve just rolled them up in a ball. Which is what I’ve resigned myself to doing. Seriously. Sure, I fold the flat sheet and the pillowcases and they are beautiful. But the fitted sheet gets rolled up and smashed down as small as I can make it (which still leaves it ten times bigger than the flat sheet) and I stuff them all into the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. I am an official fitted sheet folding failure. Do you have that elusive task that you just can’t make happen? No matter how hard you try? Please tell me I’m not the only one who is faced with such a situation.


…and for all of you who are going to tell me to lighten up, they are just sheets, I know. I get it. I’m way more driven to all things neat and organized than the “normal” person. Heard that more than a few times in my life. So that being said, let’s all just thank Jesus for sending me such a man as Jeffrey Scott Parnell who will not only put up with my quest for household perfectionism, but who also was born to a mother who has perfected what I cannot. Here's to the hope that someday I'll finally grasp what she's saying. [grin]

At 31 Weeks and 13 Months

OK, so technically, Emma is now 14 months, but I started this when she really was 13 months old. And I liked the whole 31 vs 13 thing.



At 31 weeks, I definitely look pregnant.
At 31 weeks, I not only have a name picked out for our son, but we also know his birth date!
At 31 weeks, we have a crib, but no mattress or bedding.
At 31 weeks, I love to go into Alex's room and enjoy what it looks like so far.
At 31 weeks, I'm still exhausted. So much for a second trimester burst of energy. I've now given up hope.
At 31 weeks, I let Emma crawl up the stairs by herself and save my strength for giving her a bath. :-)
At 31 weeks, I now go to the doctor every two weeks.
At 31 weeks, Alex's presence is a constant reminder by his kicks and pushes against my belly.
At 31 weeks, I am both intrigued and frightened at the possibility that I might actually see the outline of his hand pushing out against my tummy.
At 31 weeks, I'm relieved we are passed the heat of a Houston August!
At 31 weeks, I wonder how it is that super-organized Heather is so far behind in her preparation for this baby.
At 31 weeks, it is fun to watch Jeff speak to his son through the "speaker".
At 31 weeks, I still haven't gotten swollen ankles and I'm still wearing my wedding rings!!!
At 31 weeks, I think Emma still thinks I am having a puppy instead of a baby. :-)



At 13 months, Emma got her first haircut but probably needs another one!
At 13 months, Emma's favorite thing is still the puppy.
At 13 months, she loves splashing in the bathtub and I am proud to say that I let her!!
At 13 months, Emma is a walking, squealing delight.
At 13 months, she has been moved up to the toddler class at church. (what, already???)
At 13 months, she has outgrown footie pajamas and now wears separate jammies to bed.
At 13 months, Emma knows when her daddy is gone and will call his name as she walks from room to room looking for him.
At 13 months, Emma cut four molars. All at once. Almost completely painlessly. Almost.
At 13 months, she needs new shoes, but apparently has a tiny foot that complicates things. Well, that, and I refuse to buy plastic shoes or shoes that are all pink sparkles or light up or have a heel on them. Can I just buy a pair of plain white sandals?
At 13 months, she loves milk. She is her mamma's daughter.
At 13 months, she is still a good eater, and will eat most anything we give her. Including beets. (UGH!)
At 13 months, she knows her shoes go on her feet and the brush goes in her hair, but she hasn't figured out how to really accomplish either.
At 13 months, she prefers to feed herself and will generally refuse food if you are trying to feed her.
At 13 months, she loves Little People, my nail polish, and music.

The Return of the Glucose Test

Well this morning was my glucose test. There is no way on this whole earth that I could not eat. It's just not happening. This little mister inside me demands it. I talked with my ob nurse last visit and she said I could eat. Just nothing with sugar. So I made two eggs this morning and drank a glass of water. Because it was a necessity. I admit I thought long and hard about a glass of not just milk, but chocolate milk, but when I took the milk jug out of the refrigerator and read that there were 11 g of sugar just in the milk, I slowly put it back. (But you had better believe that I either need to stop for a chocolate milkshake on the way home or I'll need a tall glass of chocolate milk when I get home.) So I go in this morning, armed with a straw (thanks Grannie, for the fantastic suggestion last time!) and my sweet husband who agreed to go with me for moral support. The girl gave me a bottle of orangish liquid and told me I had 5 minutes or less to down it. In walks another girl, here for the same thing. She gets a red one. It is at this moment that I realize I had red last time. Red is fruit punch flavored. I have started sucking down orange. The only flavor worse to me than orange would be grape. I really really wanted to offer some to Emma, but I figured we'd pay for her sugar rush later and I should just suck it up and suck it down. In like three swallows the other girl is finished. I'm barely below the top of the label. Grrr. Meanwhile, the two husbands are talking and I am mystified at how she is guzzling her drink so quickly. I keep sucking that straw and after they leave (of course) I finally finish. Let me pat myself on the back for a minute. I did not have to be told I was running out of time by a nurse this time. Last time I was spoken to several times about how I needed to speed it up, so that was a good thing. I went upstairs to my ob visit, but they didn't call my name before my hour was up and it was time to head back downstairs again to have my blood drawn. Now let me just start by saying, for those of you who don't know me well enough, I don't do blood. I don't want to see it, I don't want to talk about it, and I darn sure don't want to give any away. I have this theory that my body makes X amount of blood that happily circulates around in my system for a reason. Take any amount away from said happy little system, and I think there should be a problem. So this has always been a problem for me. Add to it that one of the ladies who does the draws has been wonderful every single time I've ever done this (with Emma and now with Alex) and there is another woman who I did not care for when I was pregnant with Emma. I have a friend whose doctor is also in the same facility and she and I have compared notes several times about how we like the one but not the other. Well don't you know this is the second time I get "the other". She was fantastic. I told her I was probably her worst patient and that I would please not like to see anything. Please. She said I wasn't even close to being her worst because I didn't flinch when she [AUNT JAYNE STOP READING] put the needle in. She took her vials, band-aided me, and sent me on my way. [AUNT JAYNE YOU CAN READ AGAIN]
So back upstairs we go and get called. The little man's heart rate was 153. I gained 5 lbs. All is well with both of us and we've now entered the bi-monthly visits. 63 days to go. By the way this little boy is pushing on my stomach all the time, you can bet I'm counting.

Side note: Aggie football starts this weekend. WHOOP!