New to me

Recently I traveled home to collect a few giant bags of maternity clothing from my sister.  I quickly discovered that the wardrobe she and I have cobbled together over our first pregnancies ballooned during her second one.  She was the recipient of many clothes from her co-workers, which has all been passed along to me.  Sweet!

Okay, so after sorting through all the bags, dumping the motherload of clothing I can't wear for the next 6 months, and replacing it with tummy-friendly options, I just have one question for my sister:  which one of those losers bought the skinny jeans from the maternity store?  Seriously, it's a skin-tight jean, in a gorgeous dark denim, with a large elastic tummy band around the waist.  No one, and I repeat, NO ONE who is giving birth the near future (i.e., 20 weeks or less) should be allowed to purchase something like a skinny jean.  Seriously.  (One exception:  if you have a personal trainer who visits your house each day, because you appear regularly on a large movie screen in several hundred cities.  Other than that, no skinny jean for you.)

Yeah, they're still on the hanger in my closet.  I'm trying to decide who I want to scare with them.  My husband?  My sister?  Someone needs to see my calves & thighs shoved into this laughable idea of a clothing item, with the basketball tummy topping off the whole picture.  Then they'll know EXACTLY why I'm freaking out.  I tried them on before I knew what I was getting into, and I had to peel them off.  Reminded me of my single days, when I still fit into that awesome pair of jeans I was wearing when I first met Brian.  Six months after we started dating, I couldn't go anywhere near them without hearing some giggling from the hanger. Today, they're still hiding in the back of my closet.  They, like me, eagerly await the day that the breastfeeding metabolism kicks into high gear, and I lose like 50 pounds in 2 weeks.

What?  It could happen.  and every woman out there knows  exactly what I'm talking about.  We're all guilty of saving that one outfit that made us look like a rock star (or at least, we thought we did), and hoping against any kind of rational hope that one day, we'll rock it again just like OLD SKOOL, YO.

But if you are a mother who talked to me at any point during the first two months of Helen's life, you might be aware that the breastfeeding thing will be a bit of a challenge for me.  So, cross your fingers that things go much better this time around, because Mama needs a new pair of jeans. 

Overheard

The day of our ultrasound, Brian & I were trying to figure out how to tell Helen about the coming baby. Or her impending doom. We thought we knew how she'd take it, but we couldn't be sure.

Brian: Helen, we've got some very important news for you that's going to change the rest of your life.

Helen: I've got Fruit Rollup tongue!


Not sure if the folks in my generation and/or their parents have seen Fruit Rollups lately, but these things have morphed into my mother's worst nightmare. They look and taste nothing like fruit anymore. Remember how they vaguely resembled flattened strawberries, complete with the seeds? Now they're dried up sheets of Kool-Aid. Plus, they have these edible bluish-greenish patterns printed on them that can create a tongue tattoo. Of course, at the tender age of almost 3, she doesn't have the patience to figure out how to make a tattoo stick to such a rapidly moving object. She just shoves a Fruit Rollup in her mouth in about 2 bites flat. So, now she's eaten a 6-inch square of flat red sugar, and her tongue and lips are slightly blue. I can't tell if she's unable to breathe, or if she's seconds away from bouncing off the walls - neither of which is a great prospect.

Anyway, I started all of that to mention that Helen is so excited about this baby.  She tells me all the time, "Mom, I love your baby."  She wants to name it after one of her daycare teachers, and she tells anyone who asks that her mommy has a baby in her tummy.  She's thrilled to be a big sister, and she insists that she will share her toys with the baby.  We've learned a little lesson in how to hold a baby with her new Cousin M., and after seeing her pregnant aunt at Christmas, then visiting in the hospital and hearing that the baby came out of her tummy and now we can hold the baby - EASY, BE EASY, VERY SOFT, THAT'S IT - she really, really gets it.

So, a special thanks to my sister for going through all of this ahead of me, and for being a perfect object lesson for Helen.  You knew you did this for a reason, right?  I'm sure you're thrilled you could help us out.  

One of Helen's classmates at daycare will have a little sister next month, so they've been comparing notes in class, I think.  The other girl wants to name her little sister "Tutti-Frutti."  Wow.  Not so bright at this age, are they?

Helen lifts up my shirt at the slightest whim and tries to "see" the baby through the belly button.  I've put her hand on my belly to see if she can feel the baby kick, but of course the baby doesn't even try to kick once Helen's noise level approaches my torso.  I should use her as a calming effect more often.  I've noticed this baby kicks FAR more than Helen did.  The ultrasound was a hoot - at one point it looked like the baby was riding a bicycle, she was kicking her legs so much.

Speaking of which, Helen was an unexpected guest at our second ultrasound. She was sick that day, banned from daycare for a fever, and I had no one who could stay with her.  Nor did I have enough notice to change the appointment.  I promise, I am not in the habit of bringing my toddler to a doctor's office that doesn't have a pediatrician in it.  She was threatened within an inch of her life to be good that day, but I shouldn't have worried.  She was fantastic, even if she didn't quite get what the ultrasound looked like.  And I don't blame her - those things are notoriously hard to see for the uninitiated.  The pictures ended up in her room, where she can look at them as much as she wants, and as I was putting her to bed tonight, I found them under the covers.

That girl is excited to have a sister on the way.  I just hope she remembers to maintain this level of excitement later on.

The Long Walk, Part Duh

So, it's time once again to show you all pictures from Brian's latest foray into the western United States and the Desert of Insanity - also known as Bataan Memorial Death March.  In case you don't remember or weren't reading around this time last year, I'll link the blog entry here.

Twenty six point two miles of marching, with a 35-pound pack on his back, not to mention loads of life insurance riding on every single step.  This year the participant numbers jumped from 4K to 5K.  This thing is really getting to be huge.  Some people were apparently a little confused about which uniform to wear, and possibly which war we were currently fighting:

I enjoy the pictures that Brian takes of the course, including all the folks up ahead and their footsteps left behind in the sand.  The majority of the course is rough terrain like this, which many athletes will understand makes the event that much harder on the body.  I won't even discuss the waiver they got everyone to sign about not suing in case they step on unexploded land mines.  So, what's left?  I think it's important to note that the sun was rising as everyone headed out.  Yes, they got this many people up for this event while it was STILL DARK OUTSIDE.

They ran into the same bagpiper this year, and chatted him up.  It turns out this guy is from Canada, and does a couple of these events every year.  He has a fantastic mustache, and he pipes his way through every single march.  He said it's a great way to meet people.  I would also bet it's a great way to get folks in front of you to march a heck of a lot faster. 

Here's a nice picture of the relief station along the route.  I would imagine this water would be a much more welcome sight than even the gorgeous American flag against the beautiful clear blue sky.  

I have to say that despite all the joking that Brian & I do prior to this event, mainly about the life insurance proceeds and how very much that income would mean to me, I couldn't be prouder of him.  He came home with a record finish of 20 minutes faster than last year, and a much quicker recovery time.  I know being around all of these military folks for a weekend must be so inspiring and a big boost to the patriotism (even though most of the conversation center appears to fixate on how to fit a trip to Hooters in the schedule).   The fact that the race is increasing in participants so much shows what a quality event this must be.  I may sound like I'm joking when I say I could think of a million ways to enjoy a weekend that involve less than 26.2 steps around my house, but I am thrilled he could enjoy something called a Death March this much.   

So, lots of love and big hugs to my husband - I'm so glad you're back.  I've just got to head out and return this little vacation home I picked up.  Be back soon.

General Update

Old news from January:  I have a new nephew to cuddle with, strangely enough, also named Cousin M.  I'll have to figure out something to call him, like M the Younger.  Or M the Louder.  We'll see how that goes.  He's a real cutie pie, as Helen says, and he already loves his Aunt Jennie.  Keep an eye out for his baby pictures, because I'll have about a billion.  A few of them may even be of someone other than me cuddling with him.

The same weekend he was born, there was a small snowstorm in town, and Helen got her first chance to toss a snowball at her mom.  And her Nana.  And her Grandpa.  Oh, it was a lot of fun for everyone to watch, and thank god My Precioussss was quick enough to get this shot:

I'll give you extra points if you noticed the purple mittens lying on the ground nearby, and thought to yourself, "Oh dear, Jennie - the gloves are off now."  Yeah, I know.  It's truly a metaphorical picture, AND a literal picture, at the same time.  There's got to be a word for that situation, but the only one that occurs to me is "irony."  Also, "doom."  Because for strange some reason, I can't get the Darth Vader theme out of my head.

Cruisin', on a Sunday afternoon

Brian and I had been talking with some friends in New Orleans about joining their group of friends for a cruise to Mexico.  Brian & I have never been on a cruise, and honestly, we were a little nervous.  It seemed like spending a lot of money to sail around with 2000 people we didn't know, and would we like it?  Opinions varied widely, especially when I looked at the internet.  His parents are big fans of cruises, and they talked us over the Cliffs of Indecision by volunteering to keep Helen for us.  So in December, we booked our 5-day vacation for the end of February.

This, by the way, is the first vacation we had from Helen since we went to Montreal in 2006.  So, needless to say, we were a little excited about getting freed from the shackles of parenthood.

And then, that pesky little ultrasound.  I sure know how to make my side of a trip to Mexico really, really cheap.

Anyhoo, in February, we headed down to New Orleans and discovered that the group we joined up with contained 15 born & bred natives of the Crescent City.  So, even if I could drink, I wouldn't have been able to keep up on my best day - and for those of you who can say "I knew her when" - that includes my 29th birthday.

(Don't ask, "Which one?"  I mean, the FIRST one.)  

Yeah, those guys were hard-core!  

But we had a great time on the cruise, and we shouldn't have worried about it for a second.  Yes, they do charge extra for drinks (including sodas) but after a while, all thoughts of "extra spending" melted into the background.  There was plenty to do and see, and we enjoyed meeting all the new people.

I especially enjoyed my afternoon naps.  It was so nice to have an 8 pm seating for dinner, because I could head back to the room and take a siesta before getting ready to eat.  Our crowd was seated each night at 3 tables close together.  We ended up sorting out with one table full of married folks (us), another table full of either newlyweds or more settled singles, and a third table of the wild single crowd.

The second night on the ship was Formal Night.  We all got gussied up and as we were enjoying the appetizer course, I heard someone making that jangling noise of the silverware against a wine glass.  Turns out it was a young man from the wild singles table.  Once he had the attention of several tables around us, he stood up, then got down on one knee and offered a ring to a girl at the table.

We, of course, all knew that it was fake.  But the rest of the night, people kept stopping by their table to say congratulations to the "happy couple."  The married folks at our table dreamed up a pretty fantastic breakup scene for later in the week (i.e., another girl tossing a drink in his face and shouting, "I can't believe you're marrying that whore!"), but it never happened.  I guess on a cruise vacation, you have time to dream up the wild scenarios, and plenty of friends to help you carry it out.

Our cruise included 2 days in port, one in Cozumel and one in Progresso.  We ended up spending both days at the beach with most of the crowd.  I got a little bit of sun, even.  It was very warm and very relaxing, and I really enjoyed getting to know all these new people.  Also, butchering the Spanish language by ordering food & drinks.

The last day in port, we all got back on the ship late afternoon, and as we pulled out to sea to go back to New Orleans, I noticed the wind picked up quite a lot.  The water was pretty choppy, even though had been very calm all day.  Not having been on a cruise before, I was surprised to feel the boat moving occasionally, and instead of making me sick, it made me very nervous.  I wanted that boat to STOP. ROCKING. ALREADY.  And normally, it didn't last very long, or if I moved to a different part of the ship, I couldn't feel it.

However, sometime that night, we sailed right into a large storm front.  I woke up around 5 am to feel the boat rocking tremendously.  Finally I got up to look out the window and saw nothing but huge waves with white caps.

The captain came on over the loudspeaker a few hours later to tell us that we had sailed overnight through 14-15 foot waves, and currently we were in 10-foot waves.  He said the storm front stretched across the Gulf, and he had no choice but to go through it.  The weather was pretty miserable on deck (60 degrees, very high winds), but he expected that it would calm down after lunch.

Later that morning we went to get some food.  I had a lot of trouble walking a straight line down the hall, and there were little sickness bags stuffed into the railings every few feet.  And after lunch, there were tons of room service trays lining the halls.  I don't think many people on the ship left their rooms.  It was pretty miserable, and although I wasn't sick, I was definitely freaking out.

I found out that back at our house, they had snow, and directly south, big tornados at my parents' house.  So, it was a pretty big storm system, and I'm glad we all came through with no trouble.

Helen and Brian's parents were waiting for us at the airport.  She had been a great little girl for them all week, and I was so proud to hear that they had a wonderful time playing with her.  She only asked about us a couple of times, and finally her Nana told her that we were on a big boat.  But since they were getting her two Happy Meals at a time (we must have TWO toys, after all), I don't think she had a problem with us being gone.  

Seeing her at the airport was the best thing - I realized how much I missed that little girl, and I was so happy to give her a big hug.  After her grandparents left the next day, she spent the next couple of weeks saying, "Mom, thank you for getting off the boat."

No problem, sweetie - no problem at all.

So, it's been a while.

I have been a little remiss in updating you on the latest and greatest in the Wyatt family.  We've had some excuses.

Well, only one, really.

And she's due on August 4.

More to come ... including stories & photos from a week-long cruise vacation.

A trip down Memory Lane

Brian and I were watching "America's Funniest Home Videos" this evening, and one of the videos showed a young girl around 8 years old, with her own insect-collection box full of "eleventy-three" cicadas (by her own count).  Her mother asked what she planned to do with the bugs, and the child lifted the box high and replied, "Dump them on Mommy."  Ensuing chaos with the video camera flying in every direction as the woman screamed to the heavens.

(Sounds like a little darling to raise, doesn't she?)

The video inspired Brian to share with me how he and his older brother used to frighten their own mother.

Brian:  We really weakened that lady's heart, I tell you.

Jennie:  What did you do?

Brian:  We used to hide behind corners, waiting for her to walk by, and we'd jump out barking like dogs.  (Brian demonstrates the barking.  It sounds like a couple of Dobermans just discovered an intruder, and wanted to make sure the folks a few blocks away knew they were on the job.)

Brian:  She'd get so scared, she'd turn red and start sweating.  It really got her heart racing.  And we kept at it for about a month.

Jennie:  How old were you?  

Brian:  Oh, we were in high school.

More Video Fun

This morning I decided it was time to preserve for posterity's sake the current state of Helen's general knowledge.  Daycare is doing a great job of teaching her some basic life skills that she'll need one day soon.  Not only can she sing a little ditty titled "These Are the Months of the Year" (conveniently missing September), but she can also recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  She's proving once and for all that the kid is a great mimic, and I really need to watch my language.  

By the way, the bonus part in the Pledge is not the quick beverage break in the middle.  Stay tuned to the end.

These are the months of the year.

The Pledge of Allegiance.

And the Oscar goes to ...

This weekend the laptop reached a critical mass and threatened to go on strike. So I spent some time figuring out how many pictures of Helen to keep. I lamented how many worthless TV episodes I bought in iTunes. And I especially considered the various applications that we never use to see if there was a way to free up some hard drive space.

I discovered we had 2 very large moviemaking programs. We have some basic programs that we've used to cobble together some clips of Helen or various vacations, but we've never used the fancy applications, ever. This laptop was a hand-me-down from my mother, who used the movie stuff frequently as a teaching tool for her consulting work. So we got the programs for free, and at the time, I was pretty thrilled about it. 

I'm also the proud owner of a fancy video camera that connects to the laptop for easy downloading.  So, I'll go ahead and confess:  at one time, I had dreamed of becoming a short filmmaker.

No, I don't mean that as opposed to a tall filmmaker.  

_______


I grew up knowing I would work in accounting. It was one of those things that few kids know with certainty - except me. I'm one of those people who prefer to have a small selection of good choices rather than an uncertain plethora of everything. It's easier to make up my mind. So when I met a woman at my church who seemed to be the ultimate professional role model, and I found out she was an accountant, that was the person I wanted to be. At the time, I was 12.

You're allowed to be scared of me. I would have been, if I weren't already me.

For some reason, I never wavered from that path. Maybe because I'm boring or predictable, or a giant freak. After college, I became an accountant and spent over a decade working in my chosen profession. Each year, I went through the stress of putting together information for the company tax return, which is no mean feat given the regular workload that has to get done, too. So each March, it became my habit to take a decent vacation on my own, to treat myself for all the hard work and long hours.

One particular year was harder than the others. In February, my grandmother died unexpectedly. Our family was devastated by the news, and as we spent the next day making a plan of how to take care of her and her things, our family dog of 12 years was in the vet's office being assessed for a serious illness that turned out to be kidney failure. She was suffering tremendously, and the vet called that day to tell us it was time to make the painful decision. I will never forget the sight of my father on the phone with the vet, sobbing. With everything going on, we couldn't make it to the vet to say goodbye. It was horrible to lose so much of our family in such a short time, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

In my mind the timing is a little hazy, but I think it was only a week or so later that my mother ended up in the hospital with an emergency appendectomy. When it rains, it pours, I hear, and that month was a gusher. 

Oh, and of course, there was some work to be done. So by the time I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, I planned a pretty fantastic vacation to get away from the grief and stress. I headed out of state to visit with a couple of college friends and made reservations at a nearby B&B for the weekend in a small town with a film festival that weekend. I knew they filmed Dawson's Creek in that town, so I figured it would be a fun time for me to wander around and see famous people. Or Pacey. I was okay with either one.

But it wasn't that kind of film festival. I discovered it was a fledgling event, created in response to the movie industry's growing interest in their town, and it definitely encouraged local folks to get in the act, but famous people? Not so much.

I carefully perused the schedule and selected a variety of films to see. One of the sessions was a showing of short films at a very old, small theater downtown. One of the short films was a 12-minute documentary of a guy walking around a giant field in North Dakota, where one of those buried nuclear missiles from the Cold War used to reside. The missile silo was no longer occupied by either soldiers or nuclear material, and I think he interviewed some locals about living so close to something that threatening, and now it was just a field with a concrete slab in the middle. He created tension and humor in a short time, and I remember thinking, "I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT."

Suddenly, in my head, I had a career as a amateur filmmaker, creating a short film that I could shop around to various festivals, traveling the country until I had gained some notoriety. Eventually I'd be nominated for an Oscar. In my acceptance speech, I would carefully thank Pacey for guiding me to the film festival where I got my start.

_______


So this weekend, as I found myself dragging those movie applications to the trash bin on my laptop to make room for more pictures of Helen, I realized that I have a long way to go before I'm up at that podium. I also have someone else to thank - my husband, who bought me my first video camera. Now, if I could just get some blank tapes, ones that don't get filled up with our vacation footage or clips of Helen doing goofy stuff, I could figure out what might be a good short film subject. Suggestions are welcome.

Happy New Year, a little late

This year we decided to put up our first Christmas tree together. I had always done a tree in my single days, but once I started dating Brian, we spent so much time traveling to see each other, it didn't make a lot of sense to have a tree in either of our places. When we combined homes, we didn't have room for a tree. And then in the new house - well, Helen would have field-stripped a tree in about 20 seconds. So this year was the first time we both looked at each other and said, "Yeah, we ought to do this."

I dragged out two big boxes of decorations that I'd kept for this moment, and Brian came home with a bargain tree & stand from Home Depot. (Folks, that place has giant, fresh trees for a steal compared to the average tree lot. Check it out next year if you get a chance.) Once Brian made it through the traditional light cursing ceremony, we started with the ornaments, and I soon learned how hard it would be to get Helen to stay on track with this project. I'd put up an ornament, and she'd take it down to look at it. She didn't quite have the hang of putting them back, so as soon as I could decorate, the tree was getting undecorated.

Finally I made some headway, and we spent a couple of weeks letting Helen plug in the lights at night. She really enjoyed having it and talked about it all the time. Brian & I both patted each other on the back for making the holiday so special for her this year.

But there's something about the day after Christmas makes a tree instantly obsolete. We came home from our nice holiday with family to see this rapidly drying tree in our living room, and the only thing I could think of was the work involved in taking it down. Let's leave it up a little longer, I pleaded, hoping to get to a weekend where I could take care of that giant chore. Thinking of the path of needles everywhere in the house as we dragged it out to the car and then cleaning out the car - it was just too exhausting to consider tackling on a weeknight.

Of course, the weekend arrived, and we just played lazy the whole time, so then it's another week with a tree in the house that just reminds me it's not Christmas anymore, and there's work ahead of us to make it all disappear.

So imagine my surprise when I got home the other night, and the living room was spotless. No tree, no needles, and the whole place looked like a million bucks. I was overjoyed to learn Brian had taken the afternoon to get it done. It was literally breathtaking to have all of that work mentally checked off as we moved into the New Year, and at that moment, I was so proud to be married to him.

Helen turned, looked at me, and said, "Santa take tree away?"

A very wise child

The whole family piled in the car last weekend to head down to see family for Christmas. Brian spent a bit of time trying to find out from me what his Christmas present was, while Helen sat in the backseat drinking some juice and looking out the window. Then Brian asked me if I got him a new videogame. Since his usual M.O. with a new videogame is to occupy the sofa for 2 weeks while perfecting it, I responded as any loving wife would.

Jennie: Do you think I'm stupid?

Helen: (from backseat) You're not stupid, Mommy!

Brian: Helen, I think Mommy was actually calling Daddy stupid.

Helen: Oh. Okay!

Jennie: (laughs hysterically)

Brian: (clenches jaw)

Future Superstar

Helen sings A LOT. Usually on demand, too. The important part is, I've got some video proof of it, finally.

"Twinkle Twinkle Little Star"

"ABCs"

"Itsy Bitsy Spider"

Each video is about 30 seconds long. Enjoy.

Moments of Clarity

One morning this week, Helen woke up crying. I ran upstairs to see what was wrong, and she was lying frozen on her bed. When I asked what was wrong, the tears came pouring out, and she told me that her neck hurt. My first worry was "Does her head hurt, too? Does she have a fever?" Because moms tend to panic about the worst-case scenarios first: meningitis, paralyzed, you'll shoot your eye out, etc.

Turns out Helen had a pretty bad crick in her neck. She's been sleeping in her big bed for nearly a month, after a short transisition period in a toddler bed, and what I've discovered is that after I tuck her in and close the door, she gets out of bed, turns on the light and piles up her bed with stuffed animals and books. Lots and lots of books. If she wakes up, she sits in bed and reads books.

That night, she must have had so much stuff piled on the bed that she ended up sleeping in an awkward position, and so her neck was in pretty bad shape. She cried so hard whenever I tried to move her, and she absolutely refused to take a shower or a bath to warm it up. So I ended up giving her a little ibuprofen and sitting with her until she finally moved around. That took a couple of hours. The entire time was a struggle - she was in pain, and not understanding why, she was really cranky about it. Everything was a battle that ended in tears, including getting her dressed to go to daycare. At times it was just a marvel to watch her fall apart so easily. It's truly a crisis, when the world conspires against you in EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER WANTED.

I felt bad about taking her to school in that condition, but I had to make an appearance at work. The teachers were very understanding, and I hoped that a little bit of time playing with friends would make her feel better. I called to check on her that afternoon and the report was that everything seemed fine. Or so I thought.

I got back to the daycare that afternoon, and the director walked with me on the way to her classroom. Without even asking, he said to me, "Today, you know, there were moments of clarity, when Helen really got it and she could hold it all together. And then, sometimes, it was just one giant meltdown."

My shoulders slumped. I could see the entire evening stretched out ahead of me, just like the morning had gone. And once I was home that night, I wasn't too far off the mark, either.

The next morning, she woke up and told me very brightly, "My neck not hurting, Mommy!" Ah, thank you sweet Jesus.

But I haven't forgotten the director's comment all week, and the more I think about it, the more I realize that's a very good description of motherhood, too.

Family News

My husband Brian has a large extended family. His mother has five brothers and sisters, all of whom are married with children of their own. I've loved being a part of their family, spending special holidays and events with them. Most of them made the long journey to our wedding, which touched me deeply. When I cooked Thanksgiving for the first time, stressed by having a newborn, a dozen dinner guests and a dressing recipe that just wouldn't work, they were all there to pitch in, making appreciative noises over every detail. They are good people to have in your corner, and I'm thrilled to pieces to know them all.

About 2 years ago, one of Brian's cousins, a lovely girl named Amanda, married a handsome and polite young man who also happened to be named Brian. Although I had met Amanda at another family gathering, we met then-fiance Brian at our own wedding. I will never forget that Brian is the reason we have our entire set of steak knives. I heard through the grapevine that he encouraged that purchase after seeing our registry. I knew right then & there he was a keeper!

The next year, Brian & I made the trip with a very new Helen to see them get married. What a gorgeous ceremony! We had plenty of volunteers to take care of Helen, so we got to enjoy the reception, too.

Her Brian had recently been complaining of stomach pain, and learned last month after several doctor visits and tests that he has advanced Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. In someone that young, it's obviously devastating news. I cannot imagine facing this kind of event so early in my own marriage, and I pray each day that they are given the strength to handle this journey.

Brian has been admitted for treatment to one of the foremost cancer centers in the country, and Amanda started a blog to update family and friends about his treatment. As it is with anyone's life story - sometimes days are good, sometimes days are harder. But my hard days now pale in comparison.

I invite you to vist her blog and check on their progress. Bookmark it, check on them when you can, and send good vibes their way. I know they'll appreciate it.

Click here for Brian's Update.

Overheard

This evening I called Brian on my way home from work and discovered that he had already picked up Helen from daycare, and was driving home with her. To understand this story, you may want to know that she often takes a stuffed animal to daycare with her, and that day she had a brown puppy dog.

Anyway, while I was on the phone with Brian, in the background I could hear her chanting.

Helen: Puppy driving!! Puppy driving!!

Brian (to me): Puppy's up front with me.

Jennie: A-ha.

Helen: Puppy driving!! Go puppy, go puppy, go puppy, go puppy ...

(Brian & I have a short conversation about possibilities for dinner that evening. We have this same conversation via cell phone every evening. In the background I can still hear Helen chanting.)

Helen: Go puppy, go puppy, go puppy, go puppy ...

Brian: Helen, we can't go any faster, sweetie. You don't want puppy to rear-end the car in front of us and cause his premiums do go up, do you?

Helen: (complete silence)

Brian (to me): Boy, I really got her there.

Jennie: Hahahahaha! Oh, that's totally going on the blog.

Helen: (still silent)

Brian: Helen, you'll get that joke when you're older and you wreck your daddy's car.

Jennie: And how!

A Quickie

Each morning, Helen arises to the sound of my shower turning on. She makes her way downstairs to our room, and brightly greets a still-sleeping Brian with the phrase, "I wanna watch ponbob, Daddy."

We have a handful of Spongebob Squarepants episodes on Tivo. Brian can push the following buttons in his sleep: TV Power, List, Select, Select. This makes the chipper morning version of Helen stop speaking for 11 minutes, which is Brian's main goal.

Meanwhile, I'm showering away. Sometimes Helen comes in to say good morning on the way to her Daddy's bedside, but for the most part, she's into a ponbob episode when I get out of the shower.

Yesterday I was back in the bedroom getting some clothes out of the dresser, and I see Spongebob on the screen, holding up a bank. From having heard bits and pieces of the same 5 episodes over the past several months, Spongebob is trying to get arrested so he can be thrown in jail, and thus help break a friend out of jail. For those of you not familiar with Spongebob Squarepants, he's a square sponge who lives in the ocean. He's also a major doofus. That sort of helps create the plotline in 99% of the episodes. Smurfs, it ain't.

Anyhoo, as I'm pulling clothes out of the dresser, I hear the following dialogue:

Spongebob Squarepants: "All right, gimme the money!!"

Bank Teller (snarkily): "Will that be from your savings or checking account, sir?"

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

This past weekend, I took Helen to a birthday party for one of her classmates at daycare. Her parents meant well, but honestly, a 3-year old's birthday party is one of the most excruciating forms of torture known to man. It's a good thing the Taliban hasn't seen one of these celebrations. We wouldn't make it out alive, folks.

It was a Disney Princess Theme Party, and her older sister (15 years old) dressed up as Belle from Beauty & the Beast and put makeup on all the girls. "Belle" even sang a beautiful song from her soundtrack when the cake came out. It was a bit surreal. She did a great job, but it felt really awkward. Whatever happened to "Happy Birthday"?

By the way, good thing Brian didn't come to the party. I think he might not have approved of the makeup.



Aside from the parents who invited me and the birthday girl, I didn't know a soul there. They had invited a bunch of their friends and family and neighbors, so there were a bunch of adults and plenty of their kids running around.

The only truly awesome part of the party was the giant bouncy castle, appropriately decorated with the Disney princesses. At first, Helen seemed interested and dutifully climbed inside. With 2 other girls already jumping, however, it was a little too much for her and she panicked. She really wanted out. Since I had the camera ready to go, I got a picture before helping her out.



Later that afternoon, she realized how many kids were squealing with joy rather than in fear or pain, and she screwed up her courage to get inside. And then, I couldn't get her out of it. The sun had started to go down, and the air had turned a little chilly, and still she wanted to jump.







These days, it's rough on parents at these parties. We're expected to stay and enjoy ourselves, but there's not a single thing for us to do. At this age, we have to watch our kids, because other parents aren't allowed to. There was a giant bouncy castle outside, and an NFL game on in the house. I couldn't go inside to watch the game without leaving Helen with a yard full of strangers. Yet, I couldn't bring her inside because all the fun for her was in the yard. So I kept wandering around, making sure she wasn't getting into trouble, and standing on the fringes of the party, hoping I could join a conversation nearby. But since everyone was either related or knew each other, I was the odd one out. The hosts were nice, but they were busy making sure the party was running smoothly. So, while I watched Helen have a ball, the whole time all I wanted to do was go home.

Finally, after an eternity, they brought out cake and then opened presents. Two and a half hours after it started, the nerve-wracking torture was over. Oh, the things we endure for our kids. MATERNAL SACRIFICE, YO.

It's still way more than I could manage.

Last week Brian was feeling the need to combine a little activity with our coach-potato evening of watching TV. He's just started to work out in preparation for another Bataan Death March next year, so I can understand why he wanted to squeeze in a little exercise.

So he asked me how many push-ups I thought he could do. I ended up betting him that he couldn't do 200 push-ups in 15 minutes. He got down on the floor and proceeded to do push-ups.

(Ladies, I wouldn't be surprised to hear that the words "double dog dare" got him down the aisle.)

Brian did several sets in the allotted time, and kept track on a piece of paper as he finished each set. After he finished, he showed me his notes:

Set One: 50 (not too bad)
Set Two: 30 (little tougher)
Set Three: 20 (glad it wasn't 50)
Set Four: 20 (starting to burn)
Set Five: 20 (ma, ma!)
Set Six: 30 (why God, why?)
Set Seven: 20 (let me go change my undies)
Set Eight: 20 (ooooooo!)
Set Nine: 10 (no words)
Set Ten: 10 (just so you couldn't say I was cheating)

Total: 230 pushups

PS - Happy Birthday, Brian. You're still the man.

Love,
Jennie

What a Treat

Halloween night was a lot of fun this year, mainly because I'm able to explain things to Helen ahead of time and she'll remember it later. I had taken some time last weekend to mention how Halloween worked, so Helen had been expecting to go trick or treating for a few days. She woke up that morning, very sleepy as I got her dressed, and mumbled, "wanna go twicker tweat."

That night I raced home from work and we got ready to have a little bit of company - the Amazing Babysitter and her Still-Smells-Like-New-Car-Husband were coming over to check out the festivities. They brought their two giant German shepherds, who were both wearing skunk costumes. ADORABLE.



I put Helen in her outfit - previously mentioned here as the Hello Kitty Butterfly costume - and then proceeded to get into my costume for the annual photo shoot.



Some of you may have caught the brief Wonder Woman rant last month. So it shouldn't come as too much of a shock to see me in the costume. What might be a little shocking is learning that costume is homemade. Everything except the boots and the lasso were put together with the assistance of my mother, a sewing machine, needle, thread, and serious ironing skills. Even my little sister got in a few stitches on the skirt. I found a lot of tips online from people who had made their own Wonder Woman costume, and was inspired to do it myself. Fortunately I was able to set aside some time on a couple of weekends to get supplies and had a very willing mother help to put it all together.

I am so proud of how the outfit turned out. I have pictures of the process, and I'll compose a post about later this month. But in the meantime, let's think about this: how many people my age can honestly say, "My mom helped me make my Halloween costume this year"? Raise your hands. Higher, folks. I need to get a good count here. Anyone?

Helen had a ball with the tour of the neighborhood this year. But it took 4 houses for her to actually speak up and say "Trick or Treat." Usually when I prompted her with, "Helen, what do you say?" she would respond with "Thank you!" And really, when an adult hands you a giant bowl of candy and lets you pick whatever you want, sometimes as many as FOUR pieces, you can't go wrong with a "Thank you."

Now, if she could just remember to grab the chocolate instead of the Root Beer Dum-Dums, her parents would be thrilled. Girlfriend LOADED UP on the lollipops this year. I don't know what it is about her and lollipops, but it's a little disturbing. Given a choice of anything on a stick and everything else with sugar in it, she goes for the stick every time. Here we have the post-Halloween wrap-up picture, where Helen has one lollipop in her mouth, and is trying to unwrap a second one. Life is tough.



She finally passed out around 9 pm, about an hour later than usual, after bouncing off every single wall in the house from all the sugar. Hope everyone had a great holiday, and that each of you got all the Dum-Dums you wanted, too.

Halloween Preview

I picked a famous person to imitate for Halloween. I think you can tell which one is me.