You know, I am Wonder Woman

Some of you may know that I started working at a new company last summer.  Among the many perks of working here is an annual theme party held each Halloween.  They encourage everyone to dress in costume for an afternoon parade, and there's a panel of judges, and prizes for the winners.

Essentially I've died and woken up with a job in heaven. 

After we got the memo with all the details about the parade, I spent about 30 seconds trying to figure out what I could be for Halloween.  It hit me like a bolt of lightning - I could finally dress up as the one character that I have wanted to be since I was 4 years old and severely addicted to Lynda Carter's lousy acting skills on what passed for action shows on television in the 1970's.  I could finally spin around in a circle 5 or 6 times, and I could BE Wonder Woman.

The thought was just too delicious.

There's a great costume shop in town that I stopped by to ask about a rental, but they said they don't have any for rent.  Something about licensing?  They did have one for sale by Marvel, and it was not the best thing I'd seen.  So I spent the next week searching the internet for a suitable costume to buy.  There are people on eBay who will make one for you for several hundred dollars.  Some of them are even pretty good.  There are a few knock-offs costumes that I immediately dismissed.  I also could have cobbled some things together with a few key props, and it might have passed for decent.

As I searched, I could feel myself settling for the easy way out, but the lure of the fame and the prize money was just too strong.   So I kept searching.  And that's when I found The Wonder Woman Museum.

There is a man somewhere who loves Wonder Woman too, possibly a bit more than me, and you can make whatever you want of that.  But this man spent a couple of years creating an exact replica of Lynda Carter's costume from Season 1, and meticulously pictured each step along the way.  All of his research, all of the fabric and stitching and stars and gold leather - it's all there in stunning detail.

As I scrolled down the page in awe of this man and what kind of life he must have to spend it on such a fun project, I saw a picture of a pattern he had made for the cape.  It was all sectioned out in red, white and blue, and taken from a few angles to show the pattern and the finished project.   And that's when it hit me.

I could totally make this costume myself.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I don't have any skills in the sewing arena.  I've never made anything more complicated than a hem in my whole life.  And when I have hemmed something, you can really tell I did it.  Know what I'm sayin'?

But with that pattern, and all those close-up pictures of the outfit - well, I knew exactly who could help me.  And within about 3 minutes, I was dialing her to spill out the whole crazy thing.

I was 35 years old.  And I was calling my mom to help me make my Halloween costume.  

To her credit, she didn't even hesitate to say yes.  I sent her the link to the website I was pouring over obsessively, and we exchanged a few suggestions about how to make this happen.  Then, the first sewing weekend trip was set.

Okay, so if you're thinking to yourself, "Self, there's no way that Jennie is going to show up at work in that Lynda Carter bathing suit," - well, you're right.  I found several pictures during my research of a few episodes with her in a skirt version of her outfit, and I also decided some kind of tank top would be an appropriate substitute for the bustier she normally wore.  

Brian had a client who did embroidery - bowling team shirts, monogrammed girls' dresses, you name it.  He & I talked about how to make that top, and he talked to his client about how to make that top, and to sum up, there was far too much discussion about how to make that top.  And one evening, I came home from work, and lo, my husband had been to the fabric store.  

He spent hours looking for pictures of the eagle (it changed over the course of the show, so he was looking for a good one to copy) and finally made an eagle pattern out of this gold lame' fabric, and laying it out across a red tank top, I could see it all coming together.  

He had also bought some fake white leather on sale, and figured out a way to wrap that gold fabric around it to make the bracelets and tiara and belt.

You can make of that whatever you want, but at that moment, I could not have possibly loved my husband any more.

He claimed it was not a particularly rough job, looking at hundreds of pictures of Lynda Carter on the internet.  I'll have to take him at his word.

I was over the moon with excitement as I headed home for a sewing weekend.  Mom & I dragged the sewing machine out from its hidey hole in the upstairs closet, and tallied up a short list of the things we'd need.  Mom, god love her, had already found the stars to put on the cape.  We went to Wal-Mart and spent about 45 minutes trying the patience of 2 toddlers while deciding on fabric and notions.   Red, white and blue costume satin, gold trim and rope, thread, and some other stuff.  I think I spent about $40.

In getting the sewing machine, I dug out an old pattern for a short wraparound skirt that Mom had made for us about 10 different times as kids.  It was billed as one of those "make it in a hour" patterns that convinced me to try it.  So as the kids went down for naps, Mom & I put together the first piece of the costume.

The skirt didn't take long, and soon I could see the whole thing coming together.

We found some paper and put together our pattern for the cape.  Essentially it was a half circle sectioned off into one large half of blue, and the other half alternating red and white.  We didn't have a protractor, so we spent a couple of minutes trying to figure out how to make even sections for the red & white.  Considering how proud we were of ourselves for getting it right, I'll tell you now:  neither of us majored in math.  But we did it.

We measured the long edge with a ruler, and it was 54 inches.  We divided by 6.  With a string tied to a pencil, and holding the pencil up near the neck, we drew a straight line down the string every 9 inches.  We wrote the color name on each section, and cut the pattern to begin laying it out on the fabric.  

Piecing it together later on, we realized we probably should have added a seam allowance.  After putting together a few more sections, we realized we also cut out the fabric on the pattern with the wrong side up.  Essentially, every section we added kept getting shorter and shorter.  What started out looking like the one in the WW Museum came out more like a short one to match the length of the skirt.  I didn't mind a bit, actually.  It was pretty impressive for the first try.  Mom added a red satin trim to tie the cape around my neck, and it matched perfectly.

Mom & my sister helped with sewing stars on the cape and skirt.  We tried ironing them on, but the sticky side wasn't working too well on costume satin.

We used some stitch witchery to adhere the gold lame' to the fake leather to make the bracelets and tiara and belt.  Mom stitched gold trim on the edges and after adding red stars, we were set.

At home, I added velcro for the leather pieces, and fitted them.  I had bought a black wig for a Snow White costume ($6) to serve as the gorgeous tresses of Lynda Carter.  I found some boots on a website called Trashy.com ($38, and no, I didn't buy anything else there), and with some nude pantyhose and bright red lipstick, the outfit was complete.

Parading around at work as Wonder Woman, I got plenty of smiles and laughs.  It was well worth it, especially when I got to tell people that I didn't buy that costume - we made just about every single bit of it.  People were stunned.  Mom & I were pretty proud of each other for how great it turned out, and Brian & I were wondering how to make some extra bucks at Halloween, possibly by selling the accessories kit.  

Over Mothers Day weekend, I got to show Mom the results of her hard work.  The company films the parade every year, and I borrowed the DVD to show her my short moment in the sun.  Letting her hear the laughter and applause of other folks as I hammed it up for the crowd - I can only hope that felt like some kind of payment for the project.

Mom, you went above and beyond for what has to be the umpteenth time in my life, and all for a little of your daughter's own personal glory.  You unselfishly spent two weekends on a sewing machine and working over a hot iron to make my little crazy fantasy come true.   I can't say thank you enough, and I just hope the great big grin on my face was worth it.  

Confidential to my mother

Shortly after we arrived home from visiting you for Mother's Day, your precious granddaughter severed our connection to this laptop in a most unforgivable manner.  You remember that power cord for the G4 that I'm always complaining about?  And the one that everyone else complains about, too?  Well, it shorted out and sparked its final time during an intense viewing of "The Incredibles" on DVD.  You can't imagine what it took to order a new one on eBay at the wonderful steal of $25 and wait for an excruciating 2 weeks for it to arrive.  Not having a backup meant we had no laptop at all during that time.  Turns out that the shipment had to clear Customs first.  I guess they don't sell Apple power supplies to overseas customers that easily.  Brian's looking at stocking up for the next time it breaks (an inevitable proposition since this will be our 3rd cord in about as many years), but in the meantime our newest cord has about 8 feet of electrical tape wrapped around the portion that always breaks.  

So, to sum up - I have my entry almost polished, but I was waiting to get the pictures from the laptop, which of course required power.  Now that we're back in business, I'll get the entry finished up & posted soon.

You just wish you could be me

So, last night at 10:15, I was standing in our garage, watching my husband hold a small butane lighter in one hand, and repeatedly push the pilot light button on our brand-new water heater with the other hand. My hands were trembling as I held the instruction booklet. "Oh please God," I prayed, "let it be the tiniest of explosions."
_____

Monday night Brian came home to discover a giant pool of water in the garage. Turns out our water heater finally remembered that its warranty had expired. Our main concern was how quickly we could get the new one installed. Brian was leaving Wednesday for a 2-day work meeting out of town, so waiting until the weekend wasn't an option. Especially after that first cold shower on Tuesday morning. A headache-inducing cold, I might add.

Homeownership has been grand, (3 years next month!) but unlike apartment living, it's a steady debate of "how much does this bother me? a lot? okay, let's spend the money to fix it." Or, "well, daycare will be over in a few years, we can get it then." And the idle conversation about how we might spend our PowerBall winnings - um, I mean daycare budget - turns to new appliances and new flooring and we're off to the races. But in all honesty, we haven't actually done anything significant to the house since we moved in, except to paint it. Well, I take that back. There was the Toilet Repair Day of 2005 right after we increased the water pressure, but for the most part, this house works just fine. So, to find a broken hot water heater Monday night - I thought, you know, we've been pushing our luck for 3 years. Time to pay up.

On the Top 10 list of reasons why I married Brian, somewhere around #5 is "truly handy with tools." I just assumed he'd look at the old unit and try to fix this himself. But we needed a new hot water heater instead. And in our initial discussions on Monday night, I learned that Brian knows enough about plumbing to be dangerous, but was understandably nervous about working on something attached to a natural gas line. So I had a conversation with a guy at Home Depot before work the next day, and Brian checked out the scene at Lowe's. We compared prices & models & warranties & the all-important online reviews. The choice was made, and payment exchanged hands.

Note to taxpayers: Next week is tax rebate deposit week. We are spending our economic stimulus package early. You can thank us next month when you hear about the rebound in the manufacturing sector.

During the shopping, Brian saw the stiff numbers associated with an installation, and he was truly inspired to try it on his own. (I should have known.) He borrowed a truck from a friend, shut off the gas & the water, got the old unit out and hauled it to the dump. Then he hauled the new unit home from the store. By this time, Helen & I were home from work. I sort of helped manuver it through the gauntlet of car projects while Helen danced around like a ninny. I quickly decided the two of us would be no use in the garage and planned to put her to bed early with the idea that I would try to help later.  Instead, a short time later, she & I were at Home Depot getting 90 degree copper pipe bends. Plus, a propane torch and solder and flux.

Yeah, a blowtorch near a natural gas line. Sign me up for this job!

When I got home, I put Helen to bed and then watched Brian work. First he soldered a new cold water pipe out of the wall and attached a flex bend pipe to it and the new water heater. Then he did the same thing for the hot water pipe coming out of the tank. Next trick was to get the air out of the line, and pray nothing would leak. It's hard work to solder copper pipes together from an angle above your shoulders.  Even with a ladder. It's even harder to attach that flex bend pipe with two wrenches at that angle. But he kept cranking away and finally achieved no leaking.

He then had a tricky time figuring out if the gas was on or off. He turned it back on to the house, but the knob on the pipe was a mysterious little thing that didn't indicate either way. I think he must have pushed that pilot light button a zillion times and kept readjusting the knob with a wrench to see what might work. Finally he grabbed the butane lighter. I clutched the instruction manual like it was our Last Rites, which clearly stated with all kinds of giant warning signs - DO NOT TAKE OFF THE INNER DOOR TO LIGHT THE PILOT. DO NOT LIGHT THE PILOT WITH A LIGHTER. DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200. Oh dear lord, the praying began. But to my credit, I never said a word out loud.

He didn't have to use the lighter, thankfully. After some more adjusting, which also included me moving clear to the other side of the garage for an easy escape, I heard him say "Aha!" and I realized something important must be happening. Or something bad was about to happen. I inched even closer to my escape hatch. And then there was light - a pilot light. Lo & behold, it all worked like a charm! Oh, what a relief.

That night I slumbered peacefully, with the new water heater humming along a mere 6 feet away on the other side of our bedroom wall. This morning, our house was still standing. The bonus? We had plenty of hot water this morning for Helen's oatmeal and both of our showers. Hallelujah.

Brian, deep down, I never doubted you for a second. But I'm peeking into the garage when I get home to see if I need my swim fins, or a nice hot bath.

Put those dreams on hold

If you didn't know, this weekend was the NFL Draft.  Brian watched diligently for several hours on Saturday and Sunday, commenting occasionally on the prospects of our local team.  Sunday evening he got a call from our Navy friend W.

Brian:  Once again, nobody called me up for the draft.  

W:  And you waited by the phone all weekend.

Brian:  I'm firing my agent.

Get on the bus

Okay, so the conversations at work these days tend to revolve around just how high the price of gas could go by summer.  It was a little obscene to put about $30 worth in the tank earlier this month, and it only came up half full.  And I drive a Honda.

My car doesn't get used at work - it just sits in a parking garage all day.  One of my co-workers mentioned riding an express bus that gets to work on time in the morning and arrives back in plenty of time to pick up Helen at daycare.  I did a little investigating on all the different schedules, and I learned that I've got a lot of options.  There are a couple of express bus schedules for the regular commute, which gets me to a spot downtown only a block away from my office door.  In case I need to run home during the day (i.e., Helen's sick at daycare), there's a local bus that takes a little longer but leaves every half hour.  I've also got a great option for those  monthly doctor appointments that take me right past my doctors office.  I decided this was worth a try, even for just a month, and if I hated it I could go back to driving.

After two days I was hooked.  Public transportation gives me a lot more flexibility than I had imagined, and while I'm without a car during the day, I DIDN'T NEED IT ANYWAY.  Lunch is usually within walking distance, or I can ride with co-workers if we're heading somewhere together.  Errands after work?  I never really had time since I was picking up Helen from daycare and had to race back in crazy traffic.  I can plan ahead a little better, and combine trips on the weekend or evenings. 

This first month, I saved a lot of dough on gasoline.  Half a tank of gas lasted me through 2 weeks, instead of a full tank per week.   Parking costs downtown dropped significantly, too.  I expect in all to save about $150 this month, and as the cost of gas goes up, it will be even more.

Anyone else out there figuring out a way to save on gas?  Feel free to share in the comments.  

More Cows

We traveled to Uncle J and Aunt L's farm this weekend.  Helen has been jonesing for about 2 weeks now, begging us to take her to see the cows.  Once we arrived, I discovered why.  Turns out the cows got busy last summer, and there were 7 baby calves running around the field.  

You could say they were a little hungry at this point.  As soon as we came into the yard, they gathered at the fence.  They get to eat all the grass they want right now, but I think they wanted a little bit of feed.  Instead, they got a little bit of Helen.

Here is a picture of some calves.  They are a little wild and won't let people pet them.  This is as close as we got.

This cow seemed fine with posing for a picture.  I don't know why.

Farm living is the life for me, especially when the weather's nice and the people are friendly.  Aunt L did a great job of hauling out all the stops to entertain a very tired little toddler.  I wish I could explain how much that meant to me, since we had arrived without any resources of our own.  I guess I was expecting the cows to take over the show.

I promise I won't take so many cow pictures the next time I'm there.  I am probably the only person who finds these animals fascinating in photography.  I didn't get good shots of them this time because the moms were hanging back with the babies.  I learned that one of the moms had lost her cow (she tried to deliver by herself in the middle of the night) and I felt a little pang of sympathy for her.  It must be the most horrible feeling to stand in a field full of those calves, and not have your baby by your side like all the other moms did.

I gave Helen a little extra squeeze that night when I put her to bed.

Songs I Have Learned

Helen & I were reading a book that happened to have a few lambs on one of the pages.  Helen started singing, "Baa baa black sheep have you any wool, yessir yessir, bag full."

I've heard her sing more of the song before, so I encouraged her. 

Jennie:  "... One for my ..."

Helen:  "... maksa ..."

Jennie:  "... one for my ..."

Helen:  "... Jane ..."

Jennie:  "... and one for the ..."

Helen:  "... little boy ..."

Jennie:  "... who lives in ..."

Helen:  " ... the drain."

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.