How on earth is baby shuffling my organs all the way up here (points to region in upper abdomen)????? He’s* not supposed to be all the way up there yet. Maybe it’s the way I’m sitting (shifting). Baby tends to shuffle and kick when he feels his space being encroached upon, I think – he’s definitely getting big enough to feel cramped.

*Male pronouns utilized out of grammatical necessity alone. Please do not infer any rash predictions re: the sex of this child. I refuse to commit to a speculation.

Announcement

The Priests for Life tell me this is more or less what Baby Curry looks like right now. :)

I apologize to anyone I have been grumpy with lately. Oh yes, that's right: "morning sickness", but for me it's more like "all day sickness with special emphasis on mornings and evenings". :( I'm not really spewing, thank goodness, just always feeling like I could be, if I were so inclined. Thank goodness for peppermint gum. I don't know what I'd do without it - seems to keep the monster at bay, to some extent.

We, of course, wanted to wait on announcing it widely until we'd told our families in person. We did that earlier tonight by giving late father's day cards to both the new grandpas (and two present great-grandpas!) at a small party.

. . . and yes, we are very, very pleased. :D

Griping

I once saw a cartoon (courtesy of Kakashi, I believe) a very long time ago, that more or less satirized all blogs as public forums for personal (and often very stereotypical) complaints.

I also recall, once, when I was having to write a persuasive speech on a subject I didn't care about, that frustration seemed to be the only surefire way of motivating my muse. If something didn't make me mad, or, moreover, if I thought that the subject was so frustrating it was pointless to talk about it anymore, I couldn't write very well.

Now, my father has held, and continues to hold, that I have a gift for the turning of phrases, and that my highschool journalistic aspirations need not and ought not be tossed aside lightly.

However, the world doesn't need another barking dog.

What I want to know is whether I will ever be virtuous enough to write (and write well) when not griping about something? Reading my old posts, I can dig up a few pithy gems which were written in good humor. However, they were all written during college.

. . .

So, in that case, let me qualify my question: will I ever, apart from a near ideal social setting, be virtuous enough to 1) want to write, and 2) write well, when I'm not complaining?

Now, truth be told, there are lots of happy things I could, theoretically, write about. However, all of my really happy things currently live in the land of potentia, and for that reason it seems to me that they ought to be treated as sacred. They ought not be written about like any other mundane thing. They should be saved up in silence until they reach actuality, right?

. . .

Dietary Dilemmas

My husband and I decided that my health really isn't very good right now, and that changes are most definitely in order. So, I took advice from here and from there(i.e., from my mother and other well-informed sources), and upon some recommendations I obtained this book through the interlibrary loan service.

I read through the book with the intention of being objective. I found the style repetitive, and the author beats around the bush for far, far too long. However, when it comes down to it she seemed to purport a logical, philosophically supportable approach to food, diet and lifestyle. That is, "moderation in everything" - not all carbs, not all proteins, no neverending regimen of rigourous exercise, but a balance of all good things. I handed the book over to the ever-skeptical-of-anything-that-smells-of-nutrition weirdos/chiropractors-and-all-such-hocus-pocus-son-of-an-M.D.-husband, and he likewise thought it sounded promising. We had two misgivings, however.

1) God did not create supplements. Why on earth would it be necessary for me to take 12 different kinds of them every day, and several of them multiple TIMES per day, just to keep my health in good order?
2) We are wary of organic food pushers. For all we can tell, organic food is just an excuse to charge a heckuva lot more money for a "specialized product". I mean, when we ask for a solid account for organic food as a necessary expense, we always end up getting a reply including something about factories and spillage, a depleted ozone layer due to out-of-control 80's hairspray, or something of the like blah blah blah, and the resultant bad soil, bad air {insert hand waving here} - and therefore POOF, the nutrients - ALL GONE. Factory spillage? All over the midwestern breadbasket, eh? Must have missed that for all the purdy sunflowers . . . (Needless to say, we're not convinced. Yeah, I know, I'm such a stubborn little skeptic.)

Nevertheless, we put these misgivings aside and sallied forth to the health food store, thinking we'd give this lady's diet thingy a week-long trial in the "all i's dotted" format, and tweak it from there if we thought things were a little over the top.

Now, we fully expected it to double our weekly grocery bill.

However, we never expected it to triple it. Yes, TRIPLE. The hubby has been having little seizures ever since.

So . . . we're going to go back to eating Cheetos and TV dinners, okay?

Oh for goodness sake of course I'm just kidding. I was raised by a nutritionist, so I could never eat that way in good conscience, let alone feed it to someone I love. All-in-all I'm actually quite good at serving up very healthy, balanced meals - the food just isn't "USDA certified organic" from the local upscale food market.

Now, how precisely my health got to be the way it is right now is probably due to a confusing conglomeration of several factors - things like moving, undergoing major life changes, liking my own cooking a bit too much and a complete lack of social outlets. (It's not because I eat like Bubba Jenkins.)

However, I must admit that I've been disgusted all week with the fact that someone finds it justifiable to charge someone that much money for rather basic food. We're definitely going back to "normal" food - I'll just make the necessary, non-organic substitutions and we can keep ourselves out of the poor house. If there's one thing I hate it's stores that sell things at higher prices than they should simply because they can get some idiot to pay that much. Well, that idiot is not going to be me. Nope. NOT ANYMORE. They're just going to have to find another idiot to pick on.

Another thing that was not made immediately apparent to us in our original read through of the above-mentioned book is that this diet requires us to eat a heckuva lot more food than either of us are accustomed to eating. I mean, just look at this plate (click on photo for mouth-watering, full resolution):



that's a LOT of food.

(Wait, you're thinking. Isn't that STEAK? What do you mean BASIC FOOD? - - Okay, so this was our one splurge item. It was allowed by the diet and BOY did it look yummy - and moreover we only bought one of them, and we split it. Although I have to admit that steak is a LOT more affordable when it's not sold by a "natural foods market". On sale at Publix is the way to go.)

To be honest, though, I'm not sure if I can keep eating this much. Mind you, a ton of it is vegetables. My refridgerator was positively CRAMMED with veggies when we came back, much to my husband's delight. (In fact, he's been very pleased with this change altogether (excepting the $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ part), which is great - I like the fact that he's so supportive he doesn't even have to try. . . . I would sure appreciate it if he'd up and dislike that gol-derned goats' yogurt, though. Talk about naaaaaaaaaaaaaaasty . . . ) However, the fact of the matter is that I'm not accustomed to being full when on a diet. That seems downright weird.

Moreover, one other thing that's bothering me about this diet thing: in the past, I've always had a spiritual, sacrificial approach to my dieting ("offering it up", if you will), along with a philosophical adjustment that involves reassessing food according to its most proper end (i.e., "I eat to live, I don't live to eat"). This diet, however, demands that I spend a huge portion of my not-working life prepping, cooking, eating, and cleaning up afterwards. As I sit here now I should be back in the room properly cleaning up after a fresh, beautiful, and very messy dinner. You see, evidently leftovers more than a day old are a big no-no, and you're supposed to rotate your food so that you never eat any one thing more than once every three days. Now, this presents something of a difficulty with the whole, "I eat to live, I don't live to eat" mantra, as that's hardly what my life looks like right now. I mean, for all I can tell, since starting this diet I live to chop, sautee, simmer, broil, scrub, and drink water - that's about it. :-/

Oh, and another thing I dislike, according to this lady, all alchohol, no matter what quantity, no matter what kind, classifies as a "toxic chemical".

FIE, I say. FIE FIE FIE. I will not tolerate that kind of slander for an instant.

Oh, and also, did I mention that I'm hungrier than usual all of a sudden, between meals? I don't know if the diet/piles of supplements has already succeeded in boosting my metabolism or what, but I'm positively starving these days. Whussup with that?

Maybe I should take that as a sign and go back to the diet that I used to lose 40 some-odd pounds way back 7 or 8 years ago, huh? . . .

Missing Term

The English language should invent particular terms for people to use when referring to their in-laws.

"Mom" and "Dad" are obviously unfit terms for this, since one is accustomed to applying them to the most proper individuals they belong to, i.e., those people who bore you and brought you up. Using these terms to apply to adopted family members from marriage is very awkward.

However, there are only two other alternatives to using these parental terms. One is to call in-laws by their last names with the respectful "Mr." or "Mrs." in front. This is very confusing, since in the case of the lady she is being called the same thing as her mother-in-law and that makes it all very odd. Moreover, it sounds stodgy. Yuck.

The other option is to call in-laws by their first names, or some corruption thereof. This is unfitting, since it isn't customary or proper for first name usage to cross generational gaps, unless the older person is an unusually good friend or of an unusually bubbly temperament. (Neither of which can be said to apply in most cases, and most certainly not in mine - my in-laws are anything but bubbly).

So, I'm now taking suggestions for new words to fill this office. If you can, supply an etymological analysis and show why the terms are a good fit.

And no, I'm not asking you to be serious.

A day in the life . . .

. . . "Well, I dunno, I like the name Anne, but I also like the name Fiona."

"Eh, yeah, it's okay. It's still kinda weird."

"You think all the interesting names are weird. I refuse to make another child on this earth suffer with a blah Catholic name that everyone else has. No Pauls, no Johns, no Marks, no Marys or Katies . . . "

. . . *silence indicative of thought on something else* . . .

"What are you thinking, honey?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was trying to spell 'Fiona' in Greek."

. . . *blink*, *blink* . . .

"You were what?"

"I was trying to figure out how to spell Fiona in Greek."

. . . a few moments of silence . . .

"First of all, I think that might be the nerdiest thing you've done to-date. Second, the name is Gaelic, not Greek."

"Well, you could spell it in Greek. However, I can't figure out which letter to use for the 'o'."

Fortunately, my love's risibility did kick in and he was able to see the ridiculous in this conversation. There was a time when he would have just looked at me blankly and wondered what my problem was.

And later on . . .

My future brother-in-law was wearing a shirt with a picture and signature on the front. The signature, however difficult to read, said "Jimi Hendrix". My mother had an adverse reaction to it, and asked him what on earth that was all about. He was about as animate in his response as he ever is. :) My future mother in law says, "Yeah, please, you tell him. He doesn't listen to me."

Later, when we got home, mother was telling my dad about the tee-shirt. I figured it was a good time to ask a question, since there was nobody outside of my immediate family to ridicule me.

"Who's Jimi Hendrix?"

My dad just looked at me. My mother said, "He wrote horrible, nasty, loud music. I never liked it."

"What were his hits?"

"Oh, he didn't have any." my mother responded. I seriously doubted this to be the case, since I had heard of the name in some vague way before.

My father says, "Don't ask a person for her opinion on Jimi Hendrix if her favorite singers were The Partidge Family, John Denver, and James Taylor. Jimi Hendrix wrote 'Purple Haze'."

"Oooooh, yeah, okay . . . " I said. Mom made a face at Dad.

Oh yes, a day in the life . . .

babysitting siblings on a Friday night. . .

"Hey, hey, sis, hey, Emiwee, I'm still hungwy."

"What? I thought you were the one that didn't eat!"

Skinny little kid blinks at me.

"Well, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I'm hungwy wight now I guess."

"Okay, well, it's Friday, so you can't have meat. Do you want peanut butter and jelly? The tuna salad's all gone and Mom hasn't had time to go shopping since we got back into town."

"Okay."

. . . I'm making the sandwich. . . .

The older boy says, "Hey, you know, Mom doesn't necessarily HOLD to the not-eating-meat on Friday thing."

I look at him blankly.

"You know that you have to make some kind of sacrifice on Fridays, Graham. It's a sacrifice for you to keep from eating meat, otherwise you wouldn't be telling me that."

He pauses for a time.

"What's for dessert?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, . . . if it's something that's not too good I could give that up instead."

"Graham Lowell! You know that the whole point of a sacrifice is to give up something you like."

"Awwww, maaaaan. Okay, fine . . . "

Smaller child gets up from dinner table and plays around, tormenting his sister with the old "I'm not touching you" move, for the umpteenth time.

"Paul, Paul, now, listen kid, when I was little Mom never let us get up at all until we asked to be excused."

Makes some strange boy-like noises involving sticking out of tongue and wild contortions of the face - much like the illustrations in Calvin & Hobbes. As that cartoon strip is a family favourite it's hard to tell whether these expressions are from the nature the Watterson originally intended to imitate or are, rather, adverse effects of his literary influence.

I blink at skinny little brother.

"Paul, do I look amused?"

"Yes."

*&$# - - it didn't work. I thought I'd pulled off a poker face. I really need to get better at this.

"Paul, my patience is wearing thin."

"Is it this thin yet?" he asks, indicating something very small with his fingers.

Don't look amused. Don't look amused. Don't look amused.

Heck, it's no use. I'm amused. He can tell. How on earth am I going to keep order around here?

. . . Fortunately mothering happens one day at a time. . . . Hopefully I can develop these skills, eventually . . .