The Vortex

So, I'm pretty sure the Husband is now coming down with the Flu. Poor guy. I told him not to smooch me but I think he secretly feels he is impervious to illness.

Meanwhile, Burnstopia has become the Vortex of all cuteness:

It's official

So I had a doctor's appointment this morning, one of those run of the mill check in with the doc to make sure the baby is still alive kind of visits.

Turns out I have the flu. All official like.

It also turns out that my yet unborn child is already healthier than I am.

It's rather disarming when you go in with your little list of questions for your Trained and Certified Medical Professional and the first thing she tells you is that she looked at the ultrasound and your baby boy is a model of perfection and while I might feel AWFUL (I could think of a number of inappropriate words to describe how I really feel), my Son is doing BEAUTIFULLY. Which, was really all I needed to know.

Other than that news, my blood's as clean as a whistle, my blood pressure is even fairly normal (as I've been laying nearly comatose for the past 2 days that should be no surprise) and I lost 3 pounds which I expected to get lectured about and prescribed, oh, I don't know--Ice Cream, maybe--but which they're all, "Wow, your weight looks great!"

So in exchange for coughing up pieces of myself every hour or so, I have a perfect little boy swimming laps around me and strangely, I don't resent that at all.

Something New For Me

I am sick.

Again.

But rather than regale you with all my charming symptoms and whine whine whine, I have actually learned something...it's like I'm growing here, people.

Here's my new epiphany. Everybody gets Something.

There are some pregnant women who throw up every single day of their pregnancy. There are fertility problems, there is preeclampsia or gestational diabetes. There are miscarriages and ectopic pregnancies, preterm labor and complications during birth. There are women who desperately want labor and end up with c-sections and those who want to breastfeed but can't. And there are women like me whose immune system goes on a 40 week hiatus.

From where I sit, the vacationing immune system doesn't look so bad. If I had to trade it for any one of these other things, I don't think that I would.

And in the end it doesn't really matter, because Everybody gets Something.

It's a Seattle Tale...

Post the Second from Whimsy Land!

Yesterday were many errands--some of which she is sure to blog about so check up on her because she'll tell the story much better than me.


But I? I am taking ownership over Customer Service Steve and the Tale of the Kitchen Aid Mixer.

Whimsy's Mama had wanted to give Whimsy a Kitchen Aid for Christmas, because, who wouldn't want to give an expensive mechanical device to their daughter for Christmas? But she couldn't find it for some reason, or maybe it was the shipping the thing over here, I'm not sure--it's immaterial, but it's background, people, so pay attention. She had given a gift card in the amount of the aforementioned desirable Kitchen Aid to the lovely Whimsy.

We were having pedicures and Whimsy's Mama called and said that their Kohl's was having a special sale from some such hour to another and if she went during the sale then the gift card should cover the cost of the Kitchen Aid and she could have this beautiful piece of kitchen machinery for her very own.

We were right there and we are wild and crazy pregnant women (oh dear, I'm really hoping that doesn't affect my Google stats) so we popped over to the Kohl's. We hobbled and wandered around until we found the household goods and then we found the Kitchen Aids and they were so shiny and clean and beautiful and promising delicious baked goods every time we were within their siren's song, but there were no signs about the special sale! There were no fliers! There was no information whatsoever and so I--Brave Wife that I am--went off in quest of Customer Service.

There was literally NO ONE on the sales floor. What is with Kohl's lately? There's never anyone when you need them. So I ended up back in the far corner in Customer Service and that is when I met Customer Service Steve.

Customer Service Steve looked a little miffed. I don't think that he was miffed, I just think he looked that way. He looked like he had been sent back to Customer Service many, many moons ago and someone had forgotten that that is where they sent him.

So I, being a temporarily displaced Southerner, did what any Southern girl would do--I smiled and turned on the Southern Accent. I asked about the special sale and did that happen to apply to the Kitchen Aid mixers--and did he happen to know?

And he said, "Sure. Check the flier. Sale starts at 3pm." So I checked the flier and indeed all kitchen electronics were an additional 10% off, so I thanked him with extra CHARM and trotted off to find Whimsy.

She was standing guard, mesmerized by the shiny Kitchen Aid mixers. So I relayed the appropriate information to her and lo, she was so happy! But Whimsy, y'all is 9 MONTHS PREGNANT! Women who are 9 months pregnant should not be carrying Kitchen Aid mixers, and as I have already mentioned there was NO ONE on the sales floor. I am only 5 months pregnant, I thought that surely that must be the lesser of two pregnant women, so I picked up the one she wanted and took it back to Customer Service Steve.

Why? The gift card was in Whimsy's other bag. We were going to have to put the thing on hold while we ran (I'm speaking figuratively here, people) home to get the gift card and then come back to purchase the Kitchen Aid mixer.

So. We are now two pregnant women walking up to Customer Service Steve with a very large, very heavy Kitchen Aid mixer. It was placed on the counter--you need to get a visual of this, Whimsy and I are both rather...petite. Between the counter and the height of the Kitchen Aid mixer, we could really only see Customer Service Steve's forehead. Alas, we informed him of our ill preparedness and our pregnant states. At which point, Customer Service Steve's head bobs to the side of the Kitchen Aid mixer and checks us out with a very intense frown on his face.

He then demands, "Why did you carry this down here then?!? Why didn't you just ask for help and I would have gone and gotten it!?!"

At which point I'm torn between laughing at the now disgruntled Customer Service Steve and being a little scared of him...the last thing I need is someone else bullying me about "resting" or whatever.

So I shrug and sheepishly reply, "I have issues asking for help."

At which point, he responds that of course he'll hold the mixer until we come back and maybe I should seek out a support group for that issue of asking for help.

That people, is the appropriate and comical use of sarcasm...and props to Customer Service Steve for his use thereof.

Whimsy and I had a little henna done--that story will be posted at the Creamery--so we were really in a fit state to saunter back into Kohl's and purchase the shiny Kitchen Aid mixer, so we did what most pregnant women would do--we sent in Whimsy's Chip.

You have to understand. Chip is...um...not petite. Chip is very tall. And can be a little scary looking when he really wants to be. And I have the feeling he was not terribly amused about having to purchase a Kitchen Aid mixer for his very pregnant wife while she was reclining in the car because of some "exposure" issues.

So, from what I can gather, Chip walked up to Customer Service, met with Customer Service Steve and scared him. More than a little. Apparently, Customer Service Steve contritely explained that he had wanted to help us but that we hadn't asked and he maybe didn't know that we were pregnant and he was awfully sorry.

And Chip purchased the shiny Kitchen Aid mixer and trotted back out to the car where we were waiting and he may have chuckled just a little.

LIVE from SEATTLE it's Friday!

Hello everyone. So sorry to have not posted for a bit. It was a crazy week trying to clear my desk at work and then getting set to take off for Seattle and Whimsy! And while I will have the trip in photos for you come next week--I'm making no promises--I wanted to let the lovely internets know that I had not forgotten about you...and also, to give you all some travel tips.

Flying Brings out the Worst in Everyone--Including ME:

• When you are flying, remember to BATHE before you board the plane. With soap. And use deodorant. Your fellow passengers, don't want to smell you. For 4.5 hours. 30,000 feet over Montana. And yes, I'm talking to you seat 24D.
• If you are going to be sarcastic to the point of being CRUEL and MEAN--keep it to yourself when you're in an enclosed tube, otherwise known as an Airplane. Seat 27F, I mean you. The flight attendants didn't do anything mean to you, so don't be mean to them.
• If you're going to insist on NOT paying attention to what's going on in the cabin around you, keep your complaints to yourself when you then don't know what's going on. 26 A and B I mean both of you.
  
• Man in 25F--I don't need to know the whole story of your soon-to-be-ex-wife and hearing it just makes me sad. Please don't make the pregnant girl sitting near you sad.
• To most passengers in general: You do not need to pack your entire life into your carry-on baggage, ce n'est pas necessaire! In fact, you're being incredibly selfish and slowing everyone else down. Check your bag and bring a book. That's all you need.
• If you're flying COACH. And there's someone sitting behind you. PLEASE DON'T PUT YOUR SEAT BACK. Don't even be tempted. It's utterly selfish and arrogant. Why should you deserve to be any more comfortable than anyone else?
  

And that was the flight in a nutshell. I managed to survive it. I hate flying as you all know--it makes me think of death, and in very unpleasant ways, but it's done with until Monday so I will be Scarlet and not think about that now, I'll think about that tomorrow.

As for today, there is much fun planned by the Lovely Whimsy! There will be henna and pedicures and shopping! And as for the rest, we'll see.

So what are you all doing this weekend?

Half Way There...

Yesterday when The Husband and I were up and puttering about the house he turns to me, raises his arms in the signal for a TOUCHDOWN and says, "Today is HALF WAY THROUGH THE PREGNANCY! WOOOHOOO!"

That says a lot about the kind of pregnancy this has been.

I know, I know, there are a lot of women who have GREAT pregnancies--they aren't sick, they aren't excessively hormonal or grumpy, they don't get cravings, they sleep like nobody's business, they have that gorgeous skin and hair and nails and everything.

I am not one of those women.

I haven't been sick--not morning sickness anyway, I catch every cold known to mankind. But I can't sleep and my hormones are making me...shall we say "grumpier" than normal for me. This is a situation not generally helped by my inability to sleep like a normal human being. My skin hasn't been awful but my hair is attempting a global coup unless I reign it in with a pony tail by the end of every day.

Aside from the physical discomforts, there's just something mentally disconcerting about this person, a whole human being, a stranger taking up temporary residence INSIDE MY BODY. I find myself bending or twisting in certain ways and my body's clear response of, "WON'T WON'T WON'T!" It's not normal...my body does what I tell it to do--what I want it to do and now it's taking orders from my uterus.

Disconcerting is putting it mildly.

All that said, we really are excited for our Boy. I know that in 5 months time when I look at his squalling, wrinkled up and bald little self it will all be worth it. The lack of sleep, the no cold meds, the ill fitting EVERYTHING, the odd appetite...he will make it worth it.

Let's just hope he likes me.

Oh dear.

I'm not sure what happened. We went grocery shopping and came back with Baby STUFF. As in...A REAL LIFE BABY WILL ONE DAY BE LIVING IN OUR HOUSE INSTEAD OF ONLY IN MY BODY!!!

We have officially lost it. Baby--please be nice, your papa and I are already toast.

UnValentine's Day

So the alarm went off this morning in Bed Sweet Bed and I hit the snooze.

It went off again. I hit the snooze again.

It went off a third time and The Husband got up and I lay there listening to NPR for a minute.

He came back to Bed Sweet Bed and switched on the light and started homework.

I got up. Fed the cats. Took allergy meds. Picked up Leike--aka The BIG one--who howled and I carried her back to Bed Sweet Bed where I pushed her into The Husband's face and said,

"Leike says Happy Valentine's Day!"

The Husband said, "Oh yeah." And went back to doing homework.

Marriage is romantic, no?

The thing is...the Husband is just not that romantic of a MAN. I know. I know. But there are romantic men out there--I'VE HEARD OF THEM! They bring flowers and make fancy dinners and breakfast in bed and...probably other stuff too.

But the Husband, he rubs my back most nights. He sneaks up behind me and hugs me so hard he almost knocks me over. He UNLOADS THE DISHWASHER!!! He balances the checkbook because he knows I HATE it. He loves a good cuddle. Lately he grins and rubs my belly and says, "Hey, Baby! Be nice to Momma!" He reads pregnancy books and refuses to settle on a name NOW because there MIGHT be another name out there! He reads the blog even though he never comments. He's at the most important doctor's appointments. He laughs at my goofy jokes and tries anything I make even when it's not the most appealing thing in the world. He carries the groceries up the stairs and actually has opinions about household management. He read Pride & Prejudice because he knew it was important to me...come to think of it he's also read Our Mutual Friend because I asked him to. He actually knows what I wrote in my thesis even though he has no idea why. On my birthday he tracked down an icee machine because I really wanted one. He sees all the neuroses and he doesn't ask questions, he just lets me do whatever it is that I MUST DO in that moment. He asks me to text message him when I have to ride the bus home so that he doesn't worry.

He never shouts or hits or calls names. He never pushes my buttons. He never hits emotionally below the belt. He's not passive-aggressive, and he never plays games. He knows the worst things about me and he loves me anyway. He never ever leaves me.

There won't be flowers or candy or mood lighting or cards and romantic dinners...but there will be HIM and in the end, there's nothing better than that.

Grumpy

The Husband. He is grumpy. GRUMPY. With all caps.

"How can he be so grumpy when he has such a wonderful wife?" You ask.

Well, I'll tell you.

There are a couple of reasons...the overwhelming amount of work he's required to do for school, he's now applied for 4 internships and of the 4 he's gotten 3 NOs and 1 YES which he turned down (it was too administrative and he wasn't really interested in doing that--so it's fine, just grrr). Add to all of this that Tis the Season for his Annual Funk and it all makes for a very GRUMPY Husband.

I love the man dearly, I want you all to love him as well, and so I generally show his sweetness and humor, rather than his Grumperifficness. But since the Grumperifficness is all we've got right now, I figured I'd just be honest with you.

I suppose the real problem is mine. After nearly 4 years of marriage I still have no idea what to do for him when he gets like this. I generally lay low and keep my head down and wait for it all to blow over--similar to the shelling of Bastogne in January of 1945...stay in your foxhole, keep your head down and wait it out.

I have my own funks, and I generally prefer to be left alone until it ebbs away of it's own accord--so I guess that's why I tend to treat his funks in this way. But I also try to put on a brave face when necessary for work or family. The Husband is just FOUL.

It's more worrisome than usual because, dude, we're having a kid. How am I supposed to teach the Dude that he needs to just avoid Papa right now because Papa is GRUMPY? To say nothing of how that just perpetuates an unpleasant cycle. I love my FIL but we have a "Dad Barometer" when we're in Savannah and we measure, or attempt to measure, his mood. When he's foul, I put my head down and work and when he's happy it's fun and we can tease and banter. But even the Husband is tense when the Dad Barometer is reading stormy skies ahead. I just don't want that for the Dude.

And yet. I'm pretty sure that no matter how much I try, I can't protect the Dude from everything. I have my neurosis, my funks, my foulness too. Between his parents the kid is surrounded by hazards.

I am thawing out butter for cookies...maybe something warm and smooshy and homemade with comfort his Grumpness. Any other suggestions for comforting his Grumpness?

Little Known Facts...

...about my workplace! Fun for everyone!

Did you know that the printer that sits by my desk sounds just like a fetal doppler when it's printing something?

Did you know that if you clear your desk on Friday so as to have an easy and quiet Monday you will inevitably get 40 emails in the course of said Monday morning?

Did you know that academics NEVER clear off their hard drives? And they will ALWAYS ask you to go looking for a document that they can't remember what it's called but they modified it just last week and it can't be that hard to find...

Did you know that graduate school candidates wear FUNERAL clothes to their interviews? I chuckle every time I see them and walk past their interviews thinking, "There's a double meaning in that..."

Did you know that the most valuable weapon in my employment arsenal is the Smile and Nod. My education means next to nothing in the Workplace, instead when I come to work and faculty members start talking to me as if I am a new arrival to this planet I just smile and nod. They get to walk away feeling well pleased and I don't have to muster the energy to convince them that I am a cognitive and sentient being. We can both go our merry ways.

Did you know that I'm 5 months pregnant and the HORMONES that have mutated into a quiet, seething rage? That can't be good for the Dude...

So there you go. It's a Monday. I've got the Rage. My grandma is having hip replacement surgery today and I can think of about 50 places that I'd rather be than at my desk. Go figure. The Husband remains over worked with school and therefore more absent than not. A tree fell over this weekend at the place where we've been dog-sitting. So I got to walk Hogan while he Peed on the World and the Husband chopped up a tree. But the pillowy lining is that my mom made me a loaf of homemade white bread and I can go home tonight and have toast.

What did you all do this weekend?

Bar-B-Que and Transcendence

As you know, Wednesday was the Husband's birthday but he's had such an INSANE week that we didn't celebrate until last night. As I know you've missed my snarky restaurant reviews, I have planned my return. Unfortunately...

No snark here.

Per his request we went to Allen & Sons, a tiny, hole-in-the-wall, CLASSIC bar-b-que establishment on highway 86 in Hillsborough, NC. The place had gotten RAVE reviews and the Husband...he loves him some bar-b-que so off we went.

FIRST WARNING: When I moved back to the South after years out west and up north I made the rookie mistake of referring to bar-b-que as a VERB as in To Cook OutSide With Fire. We were on our way together somewhere and the Husband STOPPED the CAR to inform me (in a 20 minute lecture) that BAR-B-QUE is a NOUN not a VERB, it is a KIND of FOOD and not the manner in which it is prepared. If I wanted the VERB it would be To GRILL or simply To Cook OutSide With Fire. But that if I was going to survive the South again, I needed to understand this ONE concept very clearly. So now you know, we're talking about the NOUN. The FOOD. Not the VERB: to cook outside with fire.

We get there and it's this old house that's been converted into a restaurant for I don't know how many years. We sit, we order lemonade (which is so sweet that diabetics should beware), and we peruse the menus.

SECOND WARNING: VEGETARIANS YE BE WARNED. There are NO vegetarian options. Oh, the cole slaw is vegetarian enough but it's a SIDE if you really want to experience Allen & Sons you have to eat some form of meat. And also, I was a BAD vegetarian last night. I ate the fish.

The Husband orders a standard bar-b-que plate that comes with cole slaw, hushpuppies and french fries. They brought it out with a bottle of warmed sauce. He looked at me over a pile of pulled pork with a totally blissed out look on his face. I was sorry, not for the first time, that I hadn't brought the camera. They brought a basket of hushpuppies and my plate of 2 catfish filets and french fries and cole slaw and DUDE...the Dude loves cole slaw for some reason so I was pretty happy. There was no chance I'd ever be able to eat the entire plate, so I settled for one piece of fish and some of the fries and the SLAW.

We ate quite happily for some time, I ordered a dish of cherry cobbler and ice cream--made with SOUR cherries mind you, which is the only REAL way to make cherry pie or cobbler. It was divine. Swimming in butter but DIVINE nonetheless.

As we sat mulling over the meal we'd just consumed and watching other customers drift in and we started talking about how miraculous food is. Now, I have more than the average girls' share of body issues and food issues (this you all know about me by now) but it cannot be denied in the South that there is something truly transcendent about Southern Food. Here we sat and across the restaurant was a large table filled with older established white folk, two tables from them was an African-American couple, just behind the door was a South Asian mom and her two kids and then in walked two Punk/Anti-Establishment type girls who ordered take out. And then there was The Husband and I--two graduate students just trying to blend in.

We talked for a long time about how interesting it is the South. People talk about their differences; racial, religious, cultural, political, linguistic even--but what they don't see is the way that everyone lays down those differences for The Food. We all eat it, catfish, bar-b-que, collards, slaw, beans, corn bread, fried chicken, grits, fried green tomatoes, ocra, biscuits, pie and the ever present carafe of Sweet Tea or lemonade, in our case (we don't drink the TEA). It's all there...those ties that bind us together and make us equals whether we acknowledge them or not.

Sometimes I wish people would just notice.

Birthday Sentiments

This is The Husband long before he was The husband. He's the one on the left. The one on the right is his best friend The Jeff. But since we know about 40 Jeffs we generally call him The Jefe. And why, yes, they are representing the North, thank you for asking. I don't remember how old he is here, I think he must be 12 or 14. He's cute though, no?

Today is the Husband's birthday. Please allow me to slip into sentimentality for a bit because he is the Husband and also my best friend and ALSO it's MY blog. And dude. I'm pregnant, I can be sentimental if I want to! If you don't want to read it, you don't have to. Skip along and we'll return to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

I have to say that I'm rather glad the man was born. He's changed my life in more ways than I can list here...but more importantly he makes my life so much happier. I probably don't tell him that enough. I'm quick enough to point out the MESS on his desk or the HUGE pile of laundry or how the man PROCRASTINATES everything, but I seldom tell him how much happier my life is, how much more of a joy it is to live in the world with him. I suppose we hardly ever tell people those things though.

And one of those little known facts about the Husband is just how funny he is. He cracks me up, even when he's trying to convince me to quit chewing on my nails or some other such fidgetiness on my part...he makes me laugh. The other day he had gone to Bojangles for breakfast and he proceeded to tell me this story about this man who was in line ahead of him. He did all the voices and represented the menu so that I could picture the whole thing--faces and everything. It was awesome. There are other things too--but they're private and also they're just mine and I'm not willing to share.

He loves Patrick O'Brien's novels. He's read the Aubreyad at least 3 times (it's 20 books long)...the happiest I had seen him in a long time was when we visited the USS Constitution (it figures prominently in one of O'Brien's books). He's rereading it now and will periodically stop me to read a section from the text, the funny bits--you know, when Jack Aubrey messes up a cliche or Stephen gets the better of him. It's those moments when he approaches me with tales of these characters as if they were real people.

Do you ever feel as if you've lived your life up to a certain point as if everything was in black and white? Or in mono sound instead of stereo? And then something sudden happens and everything bursts into Technicolor and stereo sound and it's as if you woke up from some strange elongated dream. He's that something sudden in my life. Every day, he suddenly happens. It never gets old, it never stops surprising me that he chooses to be with me every day.

Thanks, Love. For bringing me Technicolor and stereo sounds. The world is best for having you in it.

Lightning Bugs

We lived at the end of a cul-de-sac in a little white house that had a root cellar and a big old oak tree in the yard. From the tree hung a large and very cool tire swing, with the tire hanging vertically as all cool tire swings are hung.

The house had a little porch with a porch swing. And a big hilly back yard with dogwood trees and honeysuckle. In the springtime the whole back yard would smell like honeysuckle. It was amazing.

Because of the very large and very cool tire swings kids came from all over to play at our house. Well, probably the tire swing and my own extremely cool 8 year old self. Mostly, we played with Danny. Danny was 9 months younger than my brother and I and when I was 5 years old, I was absolutely convinced that I would marry Danny.

I did not. But there's not much use arguing with your 5 year old self.

There weren't many kids in our neighborhood, but I had friends from Brownies. Suzanne and Michelle who were twins and also a girl named Andrea. Then there were friends from Church--they were the ones I played with a lot; Jody and Rachel and Carrie. My brother had other friends but he mostly played with Danny.

I'm sure you remember how it was...my brother and Danny playing GI Joes, the three of us climbing trees and taking turns in the tire swing. My sister would rake up the leaves from the trees in the fall and my brother and I would jump from the porch into the piles. It was all of 3-4 feet high but we felt so brave at the time.

We would sit together on those summer twilight nights on the porch and watch thunderstorms roll in. My brother and I chasing lightning bugs until it was too dark and we had to go in. I suppose it was the magic of childhood, but lightning bugs were never bugs to me. There is some fundamental difference between lightning bugs and say, a cockroach, or a bee that will sting you. I loved lightning bugs. I still do.

What Homework Looks like in Burnstopia

So I thought you'd be amused at the manner in which graduate work is accomplished in Burnstopia. Believe me, when it was me it looked very similar but, you know, with less facial hair. Agnes really believes that she's helping. It would be more endearing if we weren't under deadlines.


Leike says she is too beautiful to photograph.


And just so you don't think that I've just been laying around eating bon bons all day long--here's a picture of what I did on Saturday night. I have no knowledge of why that one cookie is missing a bite. I was no where near the kitchen. In fact I'm pretty sure I was doing laundry. Or maybe vacuuming. Really.

Oh yes. We are CA-RA-ZY.

Bullet Points

• Thank you all for the lovely wishes for the New Boy. We're rather excited. Now we get to pin down a name. YAY for US!

• Today is CEI's last day at the Workplace. I am going to miss her terribly, but she gave us joy. And also cake and ice cream, for which the New Boy is very grateful.

• I did the dumbest thing I have ever done in the history of my LIFE. I take 2 allergy meds (yes, both approved by my Physician)--one at NIGHT and one during the DAY. This morning I got up. I poured a glass of water. I reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled down a bottle of allergy meds and took 2 NIGHT TIME PILLS!!! I don't know what I was thinking--it was dark. I was tired. Must be NIGHT TIME!! Anyway, I took 2 PM pills and went trotting back to Bed Sweet Bed where the Husband was still sort of sleeping, woke him up to ask what i should do because Dude is my Medical Advisor when I'm at home. At which point he groggily said I could try to throw them up but I shouldn't take an AM pill on top of the others (which I already KNEW). So I did. I went forth and TRIED to throw up. Something I have never done in my life. And of course nothing happened. So I've spent the entire day sort of half asleep. Also chugging water trying to flush it out of my system... which kind of worked but also kind of didn't.

• You know what's funny? Workplace parties are funny. They start out really crowded with all the people who are really just there for the CAKE and then they gradually dwindle down to the people who actually like each other and are there to gab and laugh and cut up until going back to work. I find myself exasperated by the bull--it was all I could do to keep from looking around and telling people to just take their cake and GO so that the 4 or 5 of us could chat with CEI on her last day.

• Speaking of CAKE. There was also ice cream--extreme Moose tracks. I made sure to dig out the fudge ripple. You know. For the BABY.

• I have had about 3 bajillion liters of water today. As I type this I am floating up river.

• Today is payday and also Friday and I have a lovely weekend in front of me that will involve sleeping and shopping for maternity clothes and also baby stuff and also groceries and maybe some laundry and then dinner at my parents house. I'm told there will be pie so it's bound to be GREAT.

So...what are you all doing this weekend?