Monday, December 31, 2012

Practice For Opening Season

If I were to write a sixth grade-level science report covering the events of this past weekend, it would look a little something like this:
 
"The Uterus: Nature's Punching Bag"
by Heather Clenney
 
Sometimes when a pregnant lady is really tired and is too stubborn to sit down and order her husband around, or when she doesn't drink enough water, she might start feeling the intense effects of a natural process called Braxton-Hicks contractions.  These are also known as "practice contractions", even though my mom says that if the contractions that are just for practice make a woman feel like her baby's about to come flying out of her bellybutton, that should make me think twice about the consequences of making "adult decisions", whatever that means.
 
The End.
 
 
So it was apparently my time on Saturday evening to experience but a taste of what I've cheerfully signed up for in childbearing.  I started experiencing fairly sharp, spaced out contractions around 9:45 p.m., and throughout the course of the night, they grew more regular insistent.  I figured out around the midnight mark that if Ava's little baby body slinked into just the wrong place before a contraction happened, she got to spend the duration of the contraction right in that spot, whether it was jammed butt-first into my ribcage or some other unmentionable place.  Poor little squirrel.  Can't be fun.
 
And poor Daddy, too -- as he lay there in the throes of a cold, grasping for sleep, I rolled and moaned and generally made my discomfort known as we ticked off the minutes between contractions.  The pugs booger-barked and howled from their crates downstairs.  Miss Daphne shuffled from cabinet to floor, her fatness making every move apparent to oversensitive ears.  Even Honey Boo Boo Dog was a terrible disturbance where she slept at the foot of our bed as she kicked the phooey out of him while she galloped after whatever Great Danes pursue in their doggie dreams. 
 
Around 4 a.m., I renounced any right that we had to restful sleep and informed Jason that it was right time we drive to the hospital and have me checked for any, ahem, impending appearances.  I was fortunate that my sister and brother-in-law (Aunt Angela and Uncle Ben -- not the rice guy, by the way) were staying right down the hallway in the Blue Room since their power had been out at their Gourdneck home since the Christmas Day Ice Blowout of 2012 had robbed them of electricity and all its cozy benefits.  We roused them, and they sprung into action to help us get ready to go.  I took a warm shower -- which felt like the best warm shower in the history of all warm showers -- and stuffed a few granola bars into my bag, then we split for the lights of Little Rock.
 
I just had to listen to Paul Simon's Graceland album on the way.  It's become an adult pacifier of sorts for me, and by the time we reached the front doors of Baptist Hospital, I was fairly mellow.  Maybe even a little punch-drunk from the adrenaline and the South African beats.  And probably the lack of sleep. 
 
A cheerful nurse took me, Aunt Angela and Daddy into the examination room and strapped me into all manner of non-invasive devices to measure Ava's spunky heartbeat and the progress of my contractions.  We were there for four or five hours, I'm not sure now.  Probably because I was falling asleep between the nurse's questions and uterine events.  I have a knack for dozing off in semi-public situations.  I usually have crazy dreams.  There on the table, I dreamed that there were two fuzzy blankets beneath my cot, and no one would hand me one.  Last ultrasound I had, I dreamed that Korean singing sensation Psy was in my face trying to convince me that I needed to eat more cabbage.  Pish!  Tosh!  I get plenty of Vitamin Whatever, dude.
 
A few monitor beeps and one physical examination later, it was officially concluded that I was the victim of very regular Braxton-Hicks contractions, and that my cervix was thick enough to die another day (sorry.... getting off of a James Bond kick).  I was sent home to nurse my sore innards and recover from the rest we lacked.
 
All I can say is, if that's "practice", then come game time, you'd better be on like a hot mike in a back alley comedy club, Little Miss Uterus!!!
 
 


 
 

 
 

 

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Hearts With Legs

Maybe it's the overcast skies and all the gray post-winter storm mush sloshed all over every moving thing outside.

Maybe it's the worry over missing my regular OB appointment because the ice and snow has knocked the power out at the women's clinic.

Or maybe it's my deficit of yummy Christmas cookies consumed this year.

Mommy's having a tough day.  I allowed myself to do a little bit more reading on Hypoplastic Left Heart babies, and anytime I take that much medical information into my already pregnancy-addled brain, it takes me a few days to sort it and settle in with it.  With her arrival so quickly impending, I feel like I can't afford not to educate myself as best I can in order to make the best decisions with my husband regarding her health.

I can't remember where I heard it, but someone once told me that having a child of your own is like having your heart walk around outside your body.  This makes so much more sense now, even with her little heart tucked up safely near mine for the time being....

  
I promise to snap out of this funk very soon.  I just need a day to sit with it again.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Aw fiddlefarts. Ran Outta Mayan Calendar.

"Leonid What's-His-Name,
Herman Munster, motorcade,
Birthday party, Cheetos,
Pogo sticks and lemonade,
Symbiotic stupid jerks,
That's right, Flanders,
I am talkin' about you!"
 
-Homer Simpson's re-jerked version of
REM'S "It's the End of the World as We Know It"
 
IT'S DECEMBER 21, 2012, 1:26 p.m. (Central Time) 
and the Mayans have already lost Australia, New Zealand, and most of Asia.
 
 
 
I was wondering about how that whole 12/21/12 doomsday scenario was going to pan out, anyway.  I mean, wouldn't it be kind of a tricky operation to destroy the WHOLE world during the short while that all the different time zones were within the same calendar day, anywho?
 
 
Trust the Oreo.  It's never steered us wrong before.
It's even been good to me, see?:
 
 
"Maybe what the Mayans forsaw was the end of Twinkies," said Daddy.
 
Bah.  Might as well have been an asteriod through my heart.
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Faith Builds a Nursery

When things seem worrysome and uncertain,
it's good to know that someone strong and steady is looking out for you.   
 
 
From what we've experienced over the past few days, there are apparently
SO many more strong, steady Someones looking out for us than we ever could've anticipated.
Ava Leigh has a host of angels watching out for her, both in heaven and on earth. 
 
 
I sincerely do believe that angels exist in order to do the work that God intends them to do.
I also believe that the Holy Spirit moves within receptive people's hearts to accomplish what will bring Him glory. 
 
Sometimes I don't recognize these agents of heaven until after their work is done.
 
 I can look back and clearly see my shortfalls of faith He's smothered in protection and grace. 
 
God has certainly mended much more than I ever intended to break.  He's proved Himself faithful to me, even when I've refused to acknowledge His help.  Maybe it's been for the sake of others' faith that he's preserved me during those times.
 
 * ~ * ~ * ~ * 
 
I've been cool lately. Aloof. Too proudly self-sufficient.  Too captivated by my own supposed cleverness.  I'll hardly let my husband open a jar of peanut butter for me before I strain myself twisting the lid and beat it to death with the butt end of a butter knife because I'm so stubbornly convinced of my own adequacy.
 
Maybe this is a wake-up call. 
 
No spiritually mature Christian believes they are their own self-sustaining source of strength.
 
 Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective. 
Elijah was a human being, even as we are. He prayed earnestly that it would not rain, and it did not rain on the land for three and a half years. Again he prayed, and the heavens gave rain, and the earth produced its crops.
~ James 5: 16-18
 
Was Elijah the guy with the spiffy Sunday School haircut and a good citizenship award hanging on his office walls?  Likely not.
 
Was he the kid with the gold star on his Biblical behavioral checklist?  Who knows.
 
What I know of him and of other great figures of faith (like David and Moses) who were called "righteous" were the ones who were aware of humility as the foundation of their faith, even while others were calling them king or master.  They had plenty of screwups immortalized in writing for us to scrutinize, but in the end, it was their faith that ultimately set them and their families apart to be blessed.
 
It wasn't that terribly difficult things didn't happen to them. 
But incredible, history-altering things unfolded around them and because of them, too.
 
I know that my family isn't the first family to ever fear for a child's life.
I know that there are people out there who are aware of every mistake I've ever made,
and wonder why I would think I deserve God's favor in begging for the well being of our daughter.
 
They have a point.  I'm not deserving upon my own merit.  Neither one of Ava's parents are.
But that's exactly why we even dare to pray.
God's forgiveness is SO much stronger than the damage done by our shortcomings.
 
And the constant reminder of His LOVE is enough to conquer our fears.
 
 
This is why we keep adding details to her nearly overdecorated nursery.
This is why we wash her tiny clothes and hang them neatly in her closet.
This is why I collect books that I long to read to her.
 
Because we believe that God can make it possible for us to bring her home, healthy.
 
 
 
 

Saturday, December 15, 2012

A Journey of the Heart




We had an appointment with a parade of specialists from UAMS and Arkansas Children's Hospital yesterday to address the questionable ultrasound pictures we've seen over the past few weeks.  The investigation began about a month ago when our regular obstetrician's visit revealed potentially unusual placement and size of Ava's digestive organs.  From what the doctors have concluded thus far, her ability to digest and thrive from what she is digesting seems to be unhindered.  However, a precautionary look at the rest of her organs flagged a possible growth-related issue concerning her heart.  We were then scheduled to return to the high risk specialty clinic for further ultrasounds and an echocardiogram, followed by a visit with a pediatric cardiologist and a high risk pregnancy specialist.





According to the cardiologist's assessment of the views provided, the left ventricle of Ava's heart is slightly undersized, which has likely affected the growth of the aorta that loops above it.  While this causes no problem in the womb because of the heart's greater dependence upon the right ventricle and a temporarily intact ductus arteriosus, shortly following birth the ductus arteriosus closes and the heart begins to rely more heaily upon the left ventricle.  

Since it isn't possible to measure the effectiveness of her left ventricle until after she's born, our medical team is making arrangements for her delivery to be scheuled as an induction at UAMS in order to have her immediately dosed with medication to extend the life of the ductus arteriosus and have her transported to Arkansas Children's Hopital. From what I understand, after that point we'll have to see how lefty does its job and if there is any hardship to the mitral valve that depends on it.  If its processes are sufficient, that would be ideal.  If they aren't, a series of surgeries may happen for her.


I know that this update might seem like a sudden turn of events on this blog, but I've been hesitant to record these details of our precious daughter's development because, frankly, I've been to afraid to face what these complications might mean in her fragile life.  Now that the things she might be dealing with seem somewhat clearer and the shock of all these appointments is fading, I understand that NOW is the time to relinquish our paralyzing fears and ask for unceasing prayer for our daughter, the medical team, and everyone we know that our family will depend on during Ava's early life.  

Anyone who knows Jason and I well enough knows that we're a very self-reliant little team.  It's going to be a big adjustment to have to depend on the expertise of others for the sake of our girl's health.  While we'll move heaven and earth to insure she has access to the BEST care, we are aware that every miracle that's possible is in our Heavenly Father's hands and that He above all should receive the praise for every victorious moment of her impending battle. We know that none of this is a mistake on His part... It will be our blessing to love and protect her.

We love you, Perfect Girl.  Mommy and Daddy and all your grandparents are busy preparing for you to come home healthy and strong.  We have faith that God will show His mightiness through you.
















Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Tasty birds

 
Our sweet church family threw a shower for us this past Sunday afternoon (December 9), and in my gleeful haste to gab and be festive, the only picture I took of the whole event was this shot of a single cupcake with the purple bird's beak nibbled off.  Yes, I ate it.  Yes, I monitored my sugar all afternoon so I could eat it.

I left nothing but a few marshmallow fondant feathers.  Let's have a moment of silence for Mr. Delicious Bird and his fallen comrades.

I would gladly accept and treasure any pictures from that day, if any gentle reader might oblige me... 

Santa is Strange.

 
I can only imagine what the packing slip for my recent package looked like to the good people at Amazon.com.
 
 
Contents:
 
1 Cuddleuppets Unicorn
 
1 F01T Tactical Tomahawk, Black
 
 Like my parents always told me:
Don't ask questions.
It's all part of the magic of Christmas.
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Worryin Hour

Dear Ava Leigh,

By my watch, it's the Worrying Hour. 
(That translates to approximately five thirty, Central Time.)
I give my worries an hour to do ply their craft each day,
Then stuff them back into my nervous system for later.

I'm astounded by my spiritual immaturity,
in my refusal to relinquish my fears for you.
I don't care to discuss them. 
Wording my speculations might be like
loading a previously jammed weapon,
according to my frayed logic.

I'm not even confident that I understand
what the doctors are double-checking for on Friday,
since Dr. Double For Indiana Jones insists
that you do not behave like a sick baby.
But who calls the trucks out to a smokeless fire? 

The sound echo of your round, new face
is sleeping on my desk. 
I talk to the you in that picture,
the you that looks so much like my dad.
I'm comforted that you look so unbothered,
and I'm grateful for this glimpse of you...
you look like you couldn't be anything but perfect. 

No matter what,
You are.

And you will be.
You will be. 

Monday, December 10, 2012

Mini's Furry Friends: O Christmas Cat

 
O Christmas cat, O Christmas cat,
O where could you be hiding?
 
O Christmas Cat, O Christmas cat,
O where are you residing?
 
 
You're eighteen pounds
of evil fluff
 
I don't trust with
our Christmas stuff
 
O Christmas Cat, O Christmas Cat,
please don't chew through the deco.
 
 
O Christmas Cat, O Christmas Cat,
I see your tail a'flicking.
 
O Christmas Cat, O Christmas Cat,
Let's not eat wire netting!
 
 
Why do you slink
amongst the bling
 
And chew on sparkly,
blinky things?
 
 
O Christmas Cat, O Christmas cat,
This might be your last Christmas.....
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


Thursday, December 6, 2012

IT'S NOT JUST UTER-ME NOW... IT'S UTER-US!

Guess what.

My sister Angela is pregnant.

 
What he, urm, she said!

I am ECSTATIC!!!!  Our children will be born in the same year, which means they'll get to poke each other in the eyes and pull each other's hair without one doing more damage than the other.  AND we'll both be about the same amount of crazy for the same reasons at the same time.  When you're the only crazy person in the room, it's just tragic.  When there are TWO crazy people in the room -- AND you're both growing bigger and hungrier by the day -- the odds are in your favor.  We ARE having Frito chili pie and mushroom soup for family dinner, DANGIT.

But seriously, I'm thrilled that Ava will have a cousin close to her age.  I was fortunate to have a few who I could have sleepovers with and exchange Lisa Frank stationary letters with through the mail when I was growing up.  Even if I didn't see them that often, we always managed to pick up where we left off as friends without the complication of being involved with one another's cliques at school.  We didn't feel the need to impress one another.  And best of all, our parents didn't have to worry about whose kids we were with. 

Even though Angela and I live about forty five minutes away from one another right now, we're still within close enough proximity to help one another or meet up for shopping trips.  This holiday season, that's going to be valuable -- with one of us puking and the other waddling, I expect we'll be able to negotiate some pity bargains if we hit the stores together!  Just kidding.

Or am I?

When it comes to bargain shopping, we are a little bit evil. 

 
Maybe not THAT evil.
 
I can't help but wonder what our five-year-old niece Jazmin is going to make of all this.  Her little world is going to explode with babies in 2013.  That's a hurricane of change and adjustment for a five-year-old.  I remember that feeling well.  I was five myself and attending kindergarten when Angela arrived, all wide-eyed and blond and smelling like powder and spit up.  While I'm sure that mom could tell me about all kinds of diabolical things I probably did on a daily basis in order to reestablish myself as the center of attention, the only five-year-old memory I have pertaining to that time was of being really proud that I had a baby sister.  I remember having mom bring her to Mrs. Chesser's class for show-and-tell so everyone else could admire her, too.  I don't remember being anything but proud and curious toward her. 
 
But then again, as we established earlier, I am a little evil.
 
But Jazmin is brighter than I was.  And she is very sensitive to others' feelings.  And after being in her position once myself, I'll try to teach her about her Big Important Role as older cousin.  As an older sister, I wish I had put more effort into being a better example for my younger siblings.  It's of no credit to me that they grew up to be so un-evil.  I think if I had realized that I would have a hand in guiding them, however accidentally, I would have taken more pleasure in my position as the oldest.  Now that I've realized it at thirty, all I get to do is to influence them to be as cheap as I am!     
 

 
 
Despite my past failures, I still think I'm slightly entitled to dole out a little sisterly advice in the case of pregnancy.  So Ang, if you're reading this today, this is all I have the right to say:
  •  Keep your bellybutton clean.  You never know how awkwardly intimate some old ladies get when they rub your belly. 
  • Don't apologize for accidentally burping, pooting or puking.  Just smile.  At no other time in your life will people think it's cute, so take advantage.
  • When you think you're about to kill a bewildered husband or punt a pug across the room, retire to the master suite and watch The Notebook or What's Eating Gilbert Grape.  Wring yourself out, then repeat.  Your emotions are drenched in hormones, and you can outsmart those little boogers by rewiring them with an occasional lacrimal blowout.
  • A little coffee in the morning cancels out a little cheese at night.  You'll figure out what I mean soon.
I LOVE YOU, MY FRIEN!  YOU CAN DO THIS!
     
 


 


  

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Gettin' Nestified

I know that after the hurricane of activity at Mini Clenney's house this past week, we owe our family and friends an infinate amount of pizza and foot rubs.  (Well, that's what would sound good to me, anyway.) 
 
 
 
 
 
I have a feeling that some union somewhere is going to have my bum on a platter for all of the underpaid labor I took advantage of.
 
 Now look how spiffy things are! 
 
Here's the upstairs coffee station (because a spare ten dollar coffeepot saves me a few lumbering steps every morning)... 
 
 
...the White Room, which you may use when you visit if you can talk Honey Boo Boo Dog into giving up her daybed.  Good luck with that.  I'm pretty sure she's bigger than you.
 
 
 
 
...and the emerging mural in Ava Leigh's room which Daddy's still doctoring up on spare evenings.
 
 
 I would have a picture of the crib to share with you, but when Jason ripped open the package, we discovered that instead of the nice, tidy white bed we were expecting, we were given a yicky light oak piece.  No thanks.
 
So Daddy's negotiating skills were dusted off, and he straightened out the whole catastrophy with a nice management lady from Target who ordered the right bed and will give us a discount to make up for the trek across hill and dale to the nearest red dot boutique to retrieve it.  Crisis averted.  I hope that Mini inherits that silver tongue.
 
And speaking of that beautiful little girl, we were told at our last ultrasound that she has visible fat rolls.  Honey, you can have 'em!  They look so much cuter on you than me! 
 
 
 You look just like daddy when you're sleeping... 
Just another reason I love you.
 

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

The 12 Pregnant Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
A stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the second day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Two foot rubs
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the third day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!


On the fourth day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the fifth day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the sixth day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Six pit stops in an hour,
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!



On the seventh day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Seven Schwan’s deliveries,
Six pit stops in an hour,
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the eighth day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Eight pumps for milking,
Seven Schwan’s deliveries,
Six pit stops in an hour,
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the ninth day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Nine ladies’ leak pads,
Eight pumps for milking,
Seven Schwan’s deliveries,
Six pit stops in an hour,
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the tenth day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Ten painted toenails (CAN’T @*#&$* REACH!),
Nine ladies’ leak pads,
Eight pumps for milking,
Seven Schwan’s deliveries,
Six pit stops in an hour,
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my husband gave to me
Eleven loads of laundry,
Ten painted toenails (CAN’T @*#&$* REACH!),
Nine ladies’ leak pads,
Eight pumps for milking,
Seven Schwan’s deliveries,
Six pit stops in an hour,
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
And a stick that turned pink when I peed!


On the twelfth day of Christmas, my poor, bedraggled, hormone-gagged husband gave to me
Twelve hours of naptime,
Eleven loads of laundry,
Ten painted toenails (CAN’T @*#&$* REACH!),
Nine ladies’ leak pads,
Eight pumps for milking,
Seven Schwan’s deliveries,
Six pit stops in an hour,
Five fingers too swollen for riiiiiiings!....
Four rolls of Tums,
Three Saltines,
Two foot rubs,
‘Cause the dang stick turned pink when I peeeeeeeed!

 
Merry Christmas, Daddy.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

The Big Ow.


Now that Ava Leigh is edging into her eighth month, a lot of ladies are asking me if I’m growing apprehensive about her delivery.  I don’t really know what to tell them without my response coming off as indifferent, because situations that anyone with the sense of a goat would worry over, I simply can’t.  I don’t know if it’s a self-preservation mechanism or the inability to wrap my mind around the precariousness of such an event, but something in my brain refuses to speculate over how complicated delivery might be.  This is coming from the gal who was born with her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck like a python.

I compensate by fretting over insignificant things instead.  For instance, finding the perfect shower curtain to match the downstairs bathroom.  Or organizing Ava’s clothes by size, color & theme.  Or making sure that between birth and spring semester, there’s enough put back in the freezer so my husband won’t subsist on deer and Dinty Moore alone.

What else can I do?  How do they expect me to react?  Does it validate someone's painful experience any less if I happen to have no more trouble than a cat?

 I could get really worked up and allow what hasn’t happened yet to gnaw at me like an insatiable squirrel… or I could read as much as possible about what preparations can be made both mentally and physically, and leave the rest in the hands of God and capable physicians.  I’ve been walloped by a lot of things in life that I didn’t see coming – a terrible car accident, divorce, job loss, debilitating depression, a screwdriver to the eyeball (don’t ask) – and can look back and see God’s fingerprints all over those situations.  I’ve always felt extremely blessed and somehow spared the worst of things, perhaps because He knows how truly weak I am.  I trust that childbirth will be no different. 

Friday, November 23, 2012

Towel Brawl 2012

Yesterday's holiday was lovely.  I can think of plenty of dear ones whose company I missed, but to those whom we had the pleasure of eating and visiting with yesterday, it did our hearts much good to reconnect with family. 
 

Tonight we'll be dining with a different branch of the family tree with the added bonus of celebrating Aunt Angela's 25th birthday.  Bwahaha, you're old, Ang!  Aaaaaand I'm still older than you.  D'oh.
 
Speaking of Angela, we met by chance at a far-flung Wal-mart in Hot Springs last night, both of us with bedraggled husbands in tow.  I was leaving with armloads of bathroom goods and she was just revving her engines for retail battle.  "Why do you come to this Wal-mart?" I asked her.  She was truly the last person I thought I'd see at that location -- it's miles away from home and there's two outposts closer to where she lives. 
 
"This is the ghetto Wal-Mart.  It's more fun!"   
 
And the sad part was, I knew she was right.
 
What was I thinking, exposing my expecting self to the heaving tide of rabid old ladies who threw themselves at the Black Friday bins as soon as the plastic was ripped off?
 
Thank God I ran into family friend Laura.  We camped out next to the towels together until eight o'clock when the first round of insanity began.  I admit I completely underestimated the vicious nature of my fellow tightwads, because when the frenzy began, it literally blew us back like a small nuclear explosion.  I threw my arms around my belly instinctively and cowered between a trash can and a concrete pole until the ground stopped shaking.  When I gathered the courage to look up, Laura turned to me triumphantly with an armload of taupe towels and kindly allowed me to pick though them.  Come to think of it, I'm not sure if she even had the chance at the towel colors she wanted.  She just grabbed mine.  I will never forget her Thanksgiving sacrifice.  I don't know what I would've done without her.  *sniff!*  I'd probably still be drying off with Bounty paper towels.
 
This is why I'm bestowing upon her the first annual...
 
 
Congratulations, "Lulu!"  Your ferocity is appreciated!
 
 
 


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Madea's Roll-y, Pugly Turkey Day

Dear Mini,

to spare you some confusion in the years to come, I've resolved to compose a list for you of all the unwritten, yet understood grownup rules that govern family Thanksgiving.  Now, if you don't choose to observe them, no one is going to take away your birthday.  (By the way, when is that going to be?  Mommy could use a clue.) 

Much of life a game anyway, and it helps to know the perimeters within which we're playing.  Adds spice.  (Like cinnamon.  Not mace.)

Rule #1:
If you're a hunter, it would behoove you to contribute some venison to the family table.  Daddy just informed me when he went hunting today that since he hadn't picked off a choice buck yet and it was nearly Thanksgiving, his policy would be, "If it's brown, it's down!"  Fortunately his patience paid off, and Mr. Whitetail stumbled unwittingly across his path this morning just in the nick of time to save Bambi's mom from a gravy-smothered fate. 


Final score:  Daddy: 8 points.  Bullwinkle: 0.
 

Rule #2:
It's thoughtful to look nice for your relatives, so dress up just a little for the family gathering.  They're some of the most important people in your life, and it's a loving thing to show them that they're worth the extra effort of a shoe shine or breaking out the iron.  (Daddy's iron is the other love of his life, by the way.  Her name is Sylvia.)  You don't have to immobilize yourself in flouncy fluff so much that you can't play with the other kids.  Just ask me to braid your hair and I'll let you borrow my mail order stretchy string pearls.
 
Rule#3:
Even if you can't cook, bring something to contribute to the meal.  Frozen pies are always a festive option.  Ice is helpful.  Rolls are practical, too -- both as a side dish and as a projectile ammunition against slow-moving cousins. 
 
 
Sister Schubert:  Bringable, edible, throwable.
 
Rule #3:
If you  must go shopping on Black Friday, you are allowed to do so only with your Aunt Angela.  Believe it or not, behind her normally placid demeanor lies the heart of a retail panther.  And maybe a little Madea.  She views shopping as a contact sport.  If no one's bleeding when she leaves, that blender she just got for ten bucks is but an empty victory.
 

 
 
Your Aunt Angela be packin'.
 
Rule #4:

At the Bennett gathering, it's perfectly acceptable to indulge in a nice, lingering nap after dinner.  Just don't be surprised when you wake up with one of four pugs on your face.  But don't reprimand them.  After all, you're the one with turkey breath.
 
 
I can has a lick of your dinners.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Monday, November 19, 2012

A Tree Grows in Ava Leigh's Room

With things finally moving in a progressive direction involving baby preparations, Daddy took a little time to wax creative upon the freshly painted walls of the nursery this weekend....

 
 
 
 
...and with a steady hand, gave root to a tree that will bloom blossoms that blow across the wall above her crib. 
 
He keeps reiterating that he's forgotten more than he remembers about how he learned to paint in high school.  Well, he must've forgotten an encyclopedia's worth, because he amazes me with a paintbrush after neglecting his art for thirteen years.  Did I mention that he was painting that pin-precise tree with runny ol' wall color?  Inconceivable!
 
I love living with him.  He constantly surprises me.  I never know what trick he's going to pull out of his hat next. 
 
(Not that he wears hats.  They just don't look quite right on him. He's very Cary Grant that way.)
 
 
Dapper, yet somehow askew....
 
For example, did you know that he can sculpt?
And deliver baby animals?
And that he knows the name of every plant in the garden center without looking at the label?
And talk anyone into buying pretty much anything?
(That's what he was doing when we met.)
 
Just to add to the resume, he came home from the fall festival at church this Halloween and demonstrated his new skill of making balloon animals. 
 
Coolest.  Daddy.  Ever.