Monthly Archives: May 2009

Roses Are Red…

OK, enough hints. I’ll come clean. Several of you did end up guessing the name, but by brother-in-law, Matt, gets credit for being the first to get all of the hints and put them together.

We are naming our daughter Violet. I love that is more old fashioned and not common. I love the image of a small, delicate flower.

image

I like that it (kind of) has a family tie (there is a Viola in the genealogy). And, honestly, I’m really happy that we found a name that doesn’t end in the long “e” sound (which sounds way too cheerful with our last name—trust me, I live with it).

So, do you want to know how the clues get you there?

  1. The bratty kid from a 38 year old movie is Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I know, I know…it was a book before it was a movie. And the movie was remade a few years ago. But my husband grew up loving the 1971 version of the movie, so that is what he associated the name with.
  2. In the picture, I was wearing a purple shirt with flowers on it. Which reminds me: What the heck is up with the whole “Roses are red, Violets are blue” poem? Violets are generally purple, right? I mean, that’s why they’re called violets. Yeah, yeah, I know. “Roses are red, Violets are purple” wouldn’t work since nothing rhymes with purple. So pick a different flower to put in the rhyme.
  3. A lot of you got that there is a character in Twelfth Night named Viola. I think that Matt and Gay were the only ones that caught on that “viola” is the Latin word for “violet.”
  4. Nobody commented on my last two clues, so I don’t know if anyone got them. The first was the word “incredible.” In the movie The Incredibles, the daughter was named Violet.
  5. In the second sentence of yesterday’s clue, the important part was the word “alias.” People, I’m ashamed to even admit to this one since I think that Ben Affleck is a weenie, but he and Jennifer Garner (who starred in the show Alias) apparently have a daughter named Violet. The association with him may be the only thing the name has going against it for me. I’ll get over it, though.

So, there you go. I’m sure your life feels so much more complete now that you know. I can honestly say that my mental health has improved significantly since we finally decided.

Now, I just have to get my kids on board. Who knew that little boys would have such strong opinions on baby names?

 

*Between when I wrote this and when I hit the publish button, Sean asked me, “So, did we actually decide on Violet, then? I know we were talking about it, but did we say we were actually going to use it?” Aaaaaaaaargh! See, I told you people. He’s still saying we can use it. Honestly, though, I think he is conspiring to drive me completely out of my fragile mind.

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Sushi on Ice (and Other Random Bits)

This afternoon, as I was in my car driving to a Cub Scout leader training meeting (more on that later), I was listening to the local news on the radio. They were talking about the death last week of a local high-end seafood restaurant owner while he was taking pictures in Death Valley (how apropos). They mentioned that his public viewing was happening right then—at the restaurant.

OK, people. I’m sure this reveals much more of the inner workings of my mind than I should admit to. That being said…

Have you ever heard of the parties where they serve sushi off of the body of some scantily-clad model? That is where my mind INSTANTLY went. Except the concept is much less appealing (not that the concept is appealing anyhow) when you picture it on an older, dead guy.

Off course, when I called Sean from the car to ask him if he was listening and share this gem from my brain with him, he didn’t hesitate in telling me how messed up I am. Of course, as I pointed out to him, I am a product of my life experiences. I only have so much responsibility for how my brain works. But him? He CHOSE me. So, really, which one of us has the real issues?

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In my church, we are given callings to serve in different capacities within the congregation. Up to this point, the entire time I have been writing on this blog I have been working with the 12-18 year old girls. I love working with teenage girls. This wasn’t the first time that I have done it, and I doubt that it will be the last.

Recently, however, I was asked to accept a new calling. This was because, obviously, God has a really wicked sense of humor. I am now a Wolf den leader. That means that the one time a week that I am likely to leave my four boys for any significant period of time, it is to spend time with eight or so other boys. Eight-year-olds. This, my friends, is what you refer to as a growing opportunity. Because goodness knows that these kids don’t need me and my complete lack of experience with scouting to get them through the program. I should have some clue as to what I’m doing when Noah’s old enough for scouts in two years. Who knows how many other peoples’ kids all mess up in the meantime.

Anyhow, tonight I went for some regional training for new leaders. I have a few suggestions for the organizers and teachers of this training:

  1. Three hours for one meeting is expecting a lot of people.
  2. Meetings should never be scheduled to end at 9:30 pm.
  3. If you choose to go ahead and plan a three hour meeting that ends at 9:30 pm then, for the love of all things holy, END ON TIME! Because, by 10:10, I’m just going to be grumpy.

Seriously, even if you put aside the fact that I didn’t have time to eat dinner before I came, had swollen feet, and am just dog-tired by that late, assuming that what you have to say is more important than anything else 20+ people have going on in their lives is just plain rude. Because, honestly? In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, food and sleep come way before knowing which color the summer pack badge is for each age group.

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Of course, you all don’t care about that. You just want the last baby name clue, right? Tonight, you actually get two. And, since yesterday’s appealed to the classic literature scholars among us, I’ll steer more towards the popular media this time:
 
I’m sure my daughter will be incredible. Being her mother won’t mean I’ll need an alias.
 
And now, I go to bed. Ah…to sleep. Perchance to dream. Most likely, though, to toss and turn and creek and ache.

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Filed under A Scary Look into My Mind, Baby naming, Just for Fun, pregnancy

Sewing and Growing

Today, the promise of more heat and humidity finally got to me. I still haven’t bought any maternity shorts since I just can’t justify the idea of $40 for something I’ll wear two months (especially when I can get JEANS for $20). So, I decided to just hack the lower part off of a pair of jeans and make my own shorts.

As I was standing in my room with the pants/shorts on inside out readjusting my pins to make sure that both legs would be the same length, all of my children came in to pester me monitor my progress and ask questions. As I explained what I was doing while trying to keep the baby from grabbing my pins and attempting not to poke myself, Noah took a closer look.

“Mommy, what’s that on your leg???”

Sigh.

I now have a pair of shorts to keep me more comfortable as the weather gets warmer. I also have a six-year-old creeped out by my varicose veins (which have been made visible by said shorts).

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Sean got dirt to put in my planter today. That means I need to make a decision. I’d like to put in an ornamental tree (the smaller the better, since it is in front of the house) and plant some flowers around it, but I haven’t been able to decide on what kind. My front-runners right now are a weeping cherry, a lily of the valley tree, or a dogwood. Maybe a Japanese maple if I could find one that isn’t too ridiculously expensive. Thoughts? Anyone?

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Along the same vein with plants…

Sean finally agreed to help me put in a garden! We have lived in this house for over five years now, and I have never had a garden. Honestly, the idea intimidates the crap out of me. For the past few years, though, I have wanted to try. He has always come up with different reasons not to do it. This year’s? He tried to tell me that our neighbor (an avid gardener) wouldn’t want us to have a garden so close to her yard.

Riiiiight.

I told her that. She laughed. Since then, she has been making little comments here and there to him about how great it would be to have a garden in my yard.

This evening, I came out to see Sean talking to the neighbor, Carolyn.

“You said Carolyn was OK with where you want to do your garden, but you should have seen her face when I showed her exactly where!” he said, triumphantly.

I was confused, since I had already shown her exactly where I wanted to do it.

“You didn’t tell her that you wanted to put it back next to her driveway like Paul (the previous owner of our house) did.”

“Um, that’s because I don’t want it there.”

His face fell.

“So where do you want it?”

“I wanted to put it in this BIG, FLAT, OPEN SPOT next to our garage.”

“But that’s right in the middle of the yard!” he protested.

Which, of course, caused Carolyn and I both to laugh at him. Apparently, the back corner of our side yard—a spot where I don’t let the kids play because I can’t see them from any angle inside of the house—is “right in the middle” of our yard. Right.

I pointed this all out to him. I asked him how in the world putting it there could possibly be in his way.

His answer? He has to mow there.

Um, not once it’s tilled up and full of plants!

Anyhow, he has admitted defeat. I have been assigned the tasks of deciding how big to make it and borrowing the tiller (that’s a tough one—walk next door, ask my dad if he could show Sean how to use it). Of course, that means I get to try to plant and tend a garden while I’m all big and waddley. I’ll manage on the sheer determination to prove to him what a good thing a garden will be (I hope).

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Before I end, I’ll throw in another baby name clue. But first, I’ll go ahead and say that the last clue didn’t have anything to do with my father-in-law’s brick condo that I was standing in front of in that picture. Ever since Nicole suggested that, though, I’ve been laughing to myself and hoping that I’ll never have any reason to feel like using this for a lullaby to my daughter:

 

And now, the clue:

Some of my clues may seem like Latin, but you’ll get it by the twelfth night.

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30 Weeks—Holy Cow! Thirty Weeks!

I’m tired.

OK, I’m pretty much always tired, but we’re reaching a new level here.

When I was seventeen, my then-boyfriend-now-husband dropped me on my back. We were both sitting down at the time, goofing around and wrestling, so he didn’t drop me all that far. But it was far enough. I’ve had lower back problems ever since then (the poor guy still feels guilty every time I suck in air from a spasm). Anyhow, the problems are definitely worse when I’m pregnant. The bigger I get, the more constant the pain. Lately, it had been messing with my sleep a lot.

Now, I’m used to yawning a lot and dragging through my days. But Saturday? As I stood there wondering why a can wouldn’t scan as I was checking myself out at the grocery store (don’t ask me why, but I really prefer to do it myself)? And after several attempts I realized that I was trying to scan it over the conveyor belt instead of the scanner? Yeah, that’s when I knew that I have officially gone brain dead from lack of sleep.

Oh well. I mean, how much worse can it get over the next two months?

Wait. Don’t answer that.

In much more positive and exciting news…

WE PICKED A NAME!

OK, I picked a name. He, as usual, shot it down. A while later, I realized what his issue probably was and asked him if he might try considering the name without allowing a bratty kid from a 38-year-old movie to affect his opinion. It must have worked (well, that or the slight emotional breakdown I had over the whole naming thing around the same time). Anyhow, the next day, he said we could use the name.

I’m just not allowed to ask him about middle names. Because, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, WOMAN, ISN’T ONE ENOUGH FOR NOW? I’m OK with that. Heck, I asked him if he thought we should even give her a middle name or just omit it so she could take our last name as her middle name when she gets married someday.  I now know how people would look at me if I sprouted another head.

So, what name was finally amazing enough to break him down?

I’m not telling.

At least, I’m not telling you yet. I’m slowly starting to believe that he really does mean it and that I get to name her something that I really like. But, well, I just keep waiting for him to go, “Wait! I take it back! I just can’t do it!” Or something along those lines.

Maybe I’ll just sprinkle little clues here and there. See how long it takes you all to figure it out. You know…be totally annoying. You get your first one in this week’s picture:

30 weeks

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Truly Initiated Into Parenthood

As if there were any question at this point…

I think, at some point or another, every parent is peed on while changing a diaper. It is one of those things that makes you feel like you are truly a parent.

Tonight, Caleb decided to do me one better.

After all, how many parents can say that they were peed on FROM THE NEXT STALL OVER?

Seriously.

When I told Sean of this amazing feat, he asked me exactly how that came about. I responded with the logical answer which was, of course, HOW THE HECK SHOULD I KNOW? I was in THE NEXT STALL OVER. I couldn’t exactly see the precise mechanics that led to the situation.

The best I’ve got is: If you give a midget a fire hose, it’s bound to get away from him once in awhile.

I’ll be washing my feet before bed tonight.

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Filed under Daily Life, just plain bizarre, Kids, Parenting

Week 29

If a picture is worth a thousand words, why does the online thesaurus only give about 75 synonyms for “big”?

29 weeks

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You’re Never to Young to Question Your Mom’s Style

Every night, we allow our kids to watch a little TV to wind down and then tuck them into bed. They each get hugs and kisses from Mommy and Daddy, along with a few minutes to talk about whatever they may have to say.

Tonight, as I was kissing Wyatt and enjoying that look of joy he gets as he hugs me tight and tells me he loves me “so much,” he decided to take the opportunity to tell me something.

“Mommy,” he said as he looked straight into my eyes, “I like your hair when it’s kind of more straight.”

“You don’t like it as much now that I’m letting it be curly?” I asked.

“No, not so much. I like it better when it doesn’t have the curls.” Then, looking at how I had it just then, he continued, “It’s ok when you have it back in a thing like that, though.”

“So, you like it straight or in a ponytail, but not when it’s curly?” I asked. Then, I suppose in some lame attempt to win him over, I continued, “Daddy likes it this way. He likes the curls.”

Wyatt thought about this for a second.

“No. Not so much the curls.”

That’s right—my four year old doesn’t like how I’m wearing my hair. Somehow, I thought my kids would be teenagers (or, at least, girls) before they started criticizing my style.

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