Monday, July 20, 2009
Caption contest winner announced!
You may remember in May how I challenged my three blog readers to come up with a caption to a particular picture of Rose. I just realized that I never actually told you about the winner. Perhaps I'm biased, but I loved my husband's lolcats-like caption. I'm not a photo editor (and not very good with lol-speak either), so please excuse the paltry modification. But, I think you get the idea...
Thursday, July 16, 2009
What? Michael Jackson passed away!? I hadn't heard.
So, like the rest of the world, I have been listening to a lot of Michael Jackson the past week or so. I've always had a soft spot for his duet with Paul McCartney, "The Girl is Mine". The laid-back beat, the painfully memorable lyrics ("'Cause she said I blow her mind"), the ridiculous voice-over (Michael: Paul, I think I told you, I'm a lover not a fighter. Paul: I've heard it all before, Michael. She told me that I'm her forever lover, you know, don't you remember?). It's all just too perfect.
But then, as I began to think about, I started to feel bad for Paul and Michael. I mean, this girl is two-timing them! And they're both oblivious. Michael's off sending her roses and telling her that he'll love her endlessly, and all the while she's telling Paul that she's her "forever lover". Wake up, boys - she's using you both! And let's look at the two of them. They only have one thing in common: their fame. Can you say "gold digger"? Geesh. They shouldn't be fighting over a girl like her. She probably moved on to Hall & Oates soon after. Typical.
But then, as I began to think about, I started to feel bad for Paul and Michael. I mean, this girl is two-timing them! And they're both oblivious. Michael's off sending her roses and telling her that he'll love her endlessly, and all the while she's telling Paul that she's her "forever lover". Wake up, boys - she's using you both! And let's look at the two of them. They only have one thing in common: their fame. Can you say "gold digger"? Geesh. They shouldn't be fighting over a girl like her. She probably moved on to Hall & Oates soon after. Typical.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Two Months Old!
Rose celebrated two months of age on Friday. Here are a couple of pictures I snapped of her.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Milestone Alert!
I'm going to try and take a picture of Rose every month on the 10th, celebrating her first 12 months of life (this idea was stolen from my friend Emily). I couldn't decide which ones to post, so you get a variety pack.
In case you're wondering, life with the baby is great. She's a good sleeper, which means mom and dad are well-rested and perky (most of the time). Dad has even been able to sneak in a couple of rounds of golf, and I was able to play for our rec-league softball team a few weeks back. We'll be flying to Houston this weekend for a wedding - have baby will travel. Rose also got to meet a lot of new people last week, including one of her great-great-grandmothers (that's right, she has more than one great-great-grandmother). I posted some more photos to Facebook too, so you might also want to meander over there for some additional oohing and aahing.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The official blog transition.
Now that I'm a parent, I have some bittersweet news: this blog will be inundated with baby-gushing from now on.
I can't help it! She's so sweet and adorable and precious and cute and wonderful and amazing and...well, you get the point. But, I assume you'd rather see for yourself.
I give you Rose Elizabeth:
(It may not seem like it, but I promise she has more blankets than just the one in all of the pictures.)
Lastly, I've been inspired by my friends Graig and Sara to present all of my blog readers (all three of you) with a small challenge. Below is one of the more entertaining pictures of our little goofball. I have a couple of captions in mind for this photograph, but I'd like to hear your suggestions. Please send me an e-mail or write a comment with your best idea for the caption to this photo. I'm not sure what the winner will receive (besides our admiration, of course). May the best caption win.
[I've also posted this challenge on Facebook.]
Monday, May 18, 2009
Guess what? I gave birth!
So yeah, I'm officially a mom. As I sit here writing this post, my husband (Andrew) is sleeping. My daughter (Rose Elizabeth) is sleeping. My dog (Della) is sleeping. My cat (Toonces) is sleeping. My other cat (Elvis) is probably sleeping.
And I'm wide awake.
Wide awake and staring at the baby monitor, hoping to see a flicker of red light announcing that Rose is rousing. I'm with the "never wake a sleeping baby" crowd, but sometimes I really want to. Because how else am I supposed to spoil her and love on her and shower her with kisses?! Maybe if I type R-E-A-L-L-Y L-O-U-D-L-Y she'll accidentally wake up... nope. I guess I should appreciate this quiet time. Too bad there's no one else awake to appreciate it with.
And I'm wide awake.
Wide awake and staring at the baby monitor, hoping to see a flicker of red light announcing that Rose is rousing. I'm with the "never wake a sleeping baby" crowd, but sometimes I really want to. Because how else am I supposed to spoil her and love on her and shower her with kisses?! Maybe if I type R-E-A-L-L-Y L-O-U-D-L-Y she'll accidentally wake up... nope. I guess I should appreciate this quiet time. Too bad there's no one else awake to appreciate it with.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Wedding...
This weekend, my husband and I went to Chicago for a family wedding.
Here are some highlights:
1. My mom and grandpa were in a roll-over accident on the way to Chicago. Amazingly, they both walked away (practically) unscathed. So unscathed, in fact, that they got a loaner from the car dealership and continued on their way as if nothing happened. My mom even went to a dueling piano bar later that night, still wearing the same grass-and-mud-stained pants (stains caused by crawling out of her upside-down car into a ditch).
2. The wedding was supposed to be on a boat that cruised the Chicago harbor for three hours. Unfortunately, due to the 40 mph wind gusts and 6-8 foot swells (not to mention the 32 degree temperature and sleet), we stayed at the dock.
3. What's that you say? "Don't complain, at least you were looking at the beautiful Chicago skyline." Tut-tut, my friend. It was actually "Earth Hour" on Saturday, which means the Chicago skyline was lit up like a Christmas tree with a strand of lights out. It wasn't pitch black; that might have been kind of cool. No instead, it was just a dim, gloomy expanse.
4. Oh, did I mention that I said the prayer before dinner? I didn't want to screw it up, so I decided to write it down. I then read the prayer out loud, slowly and clearly like I learned in speech class. Apparently I didn't learn to read in any class, however, as I prayed for Jim and Tim (instead of Jean, my aunt). Whoops.
But, for me, the highlight of the weekend actually happened in the hotel room before the wedding. Upon finding out it was going to be very, very cold, I decided to purchase some tights to wear with my adorable, spring maternity dress (did I mention that I have 6 weeks until my due date at this point?). Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find any "maternity tights" on the Magnificent Mile. Probably because I was only up for walking a block of this mile-long shopping mecca (see pregnancy sidebar above). But I did find some XXL tights at Nordstrom's, that (according to the all-knowing chart on the back of the package) should have done the trick.
So, after gussying myself (hair, make-up, happy-smelling lotion), it is time to dress. Standard undergarments? Check. Camisole, dress, and jewelry? Check, check, check. Only one thing left: the tights.
[Editor's note: Men, you may not understand the literary weight of that last statement. But, believe me, "the tights" is meant to have been read with ominous music in the background. All women mentally inserted said thematic tune instinctually.]
I bravely sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my right foot onto my left knee. I am able to then pull on the right leg of the tights, all the way up to my calf. I set my right foot down, and then realize I cannot actually reach my left foot. Of course, now that the tights-tango has started, I also cannot simply repeat my previous move with the opposite legs/feet. So, I call in my husband. After some coaching, he is actually able to ease the tights onto my left leg, again up to my calf. He then exits the bedroom area of the suite, thanking God for making him male. I begin the next phase of the tights-tango: the two-inch shimmy. (Ladies, you know this routine: start from the bottom of one leg, and pull the tights as taut as you think they can go. Repeat this step on the other leg, only to discover you gained a meager two inches. Repeat this step over and over again until you are sure your next yank will run your tights. At this point, you're probably halfway there.) Well, what I didn't realize was that my two-inch shimmy-ing abilities have decreased in direct proportion to the increase in my pregnant belly girth. I begin panting. Sweating. Grunting. Sighing. Groaning. I don't notice my volume increasing; I am on a mission that cannot be denied.
Well, my husband did notice my volume increasing. So much so, he thought I must be in labor. Or, if not in labor, about to induce it myself. He runs into the room with a glass of water, tilts me onto the bed (you need to have a mental picture of me tangled in tights to understand why I use the verb 'tilt'), and begins to rip the tights off of my legs. I don't understand the urgency of his movements, but realize that his actions are providing a freedom I had forgotten in the past moments. I could feel my legs again! My breathing was beginning to steady. Wait, why was I sweating? I couldn't even remember, it all happened so fast. I sat up in bed and sipped on the refreshing beverage he had delivered, fanning myself with my spare hand.
Looking back, I still don't remember all of the details of that fateful encounter with the Nordstrom XXL tights. All I know is that my legs were bare for the wedding, and that was fine by me.
Here are some highlights:
1. My mom and grandpa were in a roll-over accident on the way to Chicago. Amazingly, they both walked away (practically) unscathed. So unscathed, in fact, that they got a loaner from the car dealership and continued on their way as if nothing happened. My mom even went to a dueling piano bar later that night, still wearing the same grass-and-mud-stained pants (stains caused by crawling out of her upside-down car into a ditch).
2. The wedding was supposed to be on a boat that cruised the Chicago harbor for three hours. Unfortunately, due to the 40 mph wind gusts and 6-8 foot swells (not to mention the 32 degree temperature and sleet), we stayed at the dock.
3. What's that you say? "Don't complain, at least you were looking at the beautiful Chicago skyline." Tut-tut, my friend. It was actually "Earth Hour" on Saturday, which means the Chicago skyline was lit up like a Christmas tree with a strand of lights out. It wasn't pitch black; that might have been kind of cool. No instead, it was just a dim, gloomy expanse.
4. Oh, did I mention that I said the prayer before dinner? I didn't want to screw it up, so I decided to write it down. I then read the prayer out loud, slowly and clearly like I learned in speech class. Apparently I didn't learn to read in any class, however, as I prayed for Jim and Tim (instead of Jean, my aunt). Whoops.
But, for me, the highlight of the weekend actually happened in the hotel room before the wedding. Upon finding out it was going to be very, very cold, I decided to purchase some tights to wear with my adorable, spring maternity dress (did I mention that I have 6 weeks until my due date at this point?). Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find any "maternity tights" on the Magnificent Mile. Probably because I was only up for walking a block of this mile-long shopping mecca (see pregnancy sidebar above). But I did find some XXL tights at Nordstrom's, that (according to the all-knowing chart on the back of the package) should have done the trick.
So, after gussying myself (hair, make-up, happy-smelling lotion), it is time to dress. Standard undergarments? Check. Camisole, dress, and jewelry? Check, check, check. Only one thing left: the tights.
[Editor's note: Men, you may not understand the literary weight of that last statement. But, believe me, "the tights" is meant to have been read with ominous music in the background. All women mentally inserted said thematic tune instinctually.]
I bravely sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my right foot onto my left knee. I am able to then pull on the right leg of the tights, all the way up to my calf. I set my right foot down, and then realize I cannot actually reach my left foot. Of course, now that the tights-tango has started, I also cannot simply repeat my previous move with the opposite legs/feet. So, I call in my husband. After some coaching, he is actually able to ease the tights onto my left leg, again up to my calf. He then exits the bedroom area of the suite, thanking God for making him male. I begin the next phase of the tights-tango: the two-inch shimmy. (Ladies, you know this routine: start from the bottom of one leg, and pull the tights as taut as you think they can go. Repeat this step on the other leg, only to discover you gained a meager two inches. Repeat this step over and over again until you are sure your next yank will run your tights. At this point, you're probably halfway there.) Well, what I didn't realize was that my two-inch shimmy-ing abilities have decreased in direct proportion to the increase in my pregnant belly girth. I begin panting. Sweating. Grunting. Sighing. Groaning. I don't notice my volume increasing; I am on a mission that cannot be denied.
Well, my husband did notice my volume increasing. So much so, he thought I must be in labor. Or, if not in labor, about to induce it myself. He runs into the room with a glass of water, tilts me onto the bed (you need to have a mental picture of me tangled in tights to understand why I use the verb 'tilt'), and begins to rip the tights off of my legs. I don't understand the urgency of his movements, but realize that his actions are providing a freedom I had forgotten in the past moments. I could feel my legs again! My breathing was beginning to steady. Wait, why was I sweating? I couldn't even remember, it all happened so fast. I sat up in bed and sipped on the refreshing beverage he had delivered, fanning myself with my spare hand.
Looking back, I still don't remember all of the details of that fateful encounter with the Nordstrom XXL tights. All I know is that my legs were bare for the wedding, and that was fine by me.
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