Home Sweet Home...maybe...

Well.

I think we found a house.

It's not a huge house.  It's not new.  It's not extravagant or luxurious.  But it's lovely.  It's surrounded by trees and has plenty of room (for us) to spread out.

Now we just have to buy it.

Chris will start the offers and the haggling next week.  For that is ALL him.  I don't care to bargain (and if you can name that movie (or book!) I'll be duly impressed).

For now, I'm taking a break.  I've discovered in the midst of all this craziness that I'm actually a MUCH (nay, profoundly) better mother when I have less going on.  And so I reiterate for all of those multi-tasking, working Mothers--I don't know how they do it.  The Boy and I have books to read and Charlie Brown specials to cuddle and watch together.  His new favorite expression for anything at all is "Good Grief."  It's hilarious.

And for those of you who, for reasons I don't quite understand, are interested, I've gone back to working out.  Are you impressed?  You should be.  I'm unspeakably impressed!  It's not really hard working out, I'm doing some strength training on upper and lower body, trying to build my I-have-to-carry-a-baby-and-lug-a-carseat-in-6-months-oh-crap! muscles.

And while I shall be packing up our apartment, I have already absolved myself of the actual move itself and declared my intention to spend the day hiding at my parent's house and watching television and biting my fingernails all day.  I've never missed a move before!  Not one of my own!  I feel a little strange...guilty and pansy all at the same time.  Is this all preemptive?  Since we haven't even bought the house yet?  We've told the office we're not renewing our lease so technically if the house doesn't work out, we still have to move.

And as for the babalah, I've been feeling inordinately guilty for not having blogged about the Babe much.  It's not personal, I don't mean to make the poor wee one out to be a lesser loved child or anything, there's just not much to say at this point.  Talk about what?  My fickle stomach?  My incessant craving for peaches?  The buckets of tears I've cried over absolutely NOTHING (last night it was the last 2 episodes of Battlestar Galactica!  BSG?!  I've seen it 3 times!  I've never cried over it before, but there I sat, on the couch, sobbing my heart out as Athena holds and rocks Hera and Sam steers the ships into the sun and Roslin dies and Starbuck disappears on Apollo and weep weep weep, what is WRONG with me?!)?  It's a pregnancy.  It's healthy and normal and I've relaxed A LOT thank Heavens.  I can feel the lovely twitchy, tickly movements of a real live baby in there, and that's nice.  And in 3 more weeks I'll be able to tell you if it's Another Boy or A Girl and that will make me inexplicably happy.  Maybe then, I'll start to blog more...I don't know.

We're talking names.  I've reached a point where lo, I am sick to DEATH of the pronoun debacle.  Do I call it an It? Him? Her?  Somebody pinch me please, it annoys the crap out of me.  I usually alternate between the three, but I am just sick of it.  And yes, we're those odd sort of people who name the child in utero and refer to the child by name, because we happen to believe that it's an actual person.  I like Margaret for a girl (Chris likes Mathilda) and Liam for a boy (Chris likes Isaac), and while I can get Chris to think about Liam, I can't even get him to consider Margaret.  (People, please, we'd call her Maggie while she's little and she'd have Margaret to grow into as an adult--if she chose.  We're not horrible evil people.)  So I think we may have found another girl name that we can agree on, but we can't agree on the adult form to grow into and until we do, I'm not talking about it here.  We can't agree on ANY middle names (for girls) at all, and while my Dad would opt not to give her (if it's even a HER) a middle name (so that she can use her maiden name as a middle name) I love the middle name option.  That way if she's happy to relinquish her last name she still has a middle name she can hold on to.  Anyway, this is all bounding around inside my head most of the time because Chris won't even have the conversation with me until we know what IT is, and now you know why I'm feeling a little bit CRA-ZY.

And I just reread that last paragraph and I sound LOONY, so it's not small wonder that I haven't blogged in a while.

(I'm leaving it there as future evidence, when my grown children come to me and attempt to argue that I love the Boy more than any others, that I was indeed obsessive and neurotic about each and every one of my children.)

Anyway.  It's a cloudy day today, which is just so lovely.  I'll never understand why people complain about the weather in Seattle.  I loved the clouds.  The unending weeks of glaring sunlight, that is Summer in the South, it makes me a little bit crazy.  I need the cloudy days, it's what reboots my brain and settles me down.  I always feel better after a nice long string of gloomy days.  Is that strange?

And on that note, you are all updated.  C'est la vie en Burnstopia.  Ce n'est pas une vie en rose, mais, c'est bonne.  And since I haven't heard from anyone in a while, tell me how you're all doing.