already ready already

It's back. I've finally received that most precious of gifts. That gift that signifies that I'm a woman and am fertile. The gift that makes it possible for us to get busy baby-makin' on Christmas like we'd planned. I only have one thing to say about this:

Let the Procreation Commence*!



*Results may vary. Pregnancy often results in an infant.

blue traveler

Last night I dreamed I was being held hostage in a car full of salesmen. They were used car salesmen, the kind who wear polyester pants with short sleeved shirts covered in sweat stains in the underarms region. They also thought they were involved in espionage. They had promised me overtime pay if I would just stick with them long enough to get to Idaho (yeah, I know, right?) and deliver the “package” they had been given. After something like 17 hours in the car, I’d had enough. I yelled at them for about 5 miles, finally got them to pull over and let me out in the middle of nowhere; where it just so happened that a girl I knew from high school lived. I convinced the girl’s mom to let me borrow a car, which she thoughtfully stocked full of blueberry muffins, and I finally headed home.

I wonder if this means I’m not looking forward to the 10 hour drive ahead of us tomorrow?

promises, promises

Jason and I have been struggling the past few weeks with who could give the other the most contagious disease. First, I hit him with a nasty cold that I’d been suffering through for about a month. He snored his way through that one with enough snot to choke a horse. A-ha, thought I, take that. Then he returned fire with a flu bug for the ages. I tried to comfort him while he was battling a low grade fever and swollen tonsils, all the while trying to keep a safe 40 foot distance. All to no avail. I left work early yesterday with a temp of 100.00. I don’t think I’ve had a fever in over 10 years. My body operates at a steady -5 degrees. If I’m running at “normal” something is wrong. If it actually makes it to a fever, I’m definitely sick.

All I could do was curl up on the couch and bemoan how ill I was. I couldn’t let 5 minutes pass without reminding Jason that I was sick, sick, sick. So sick. Do you remember how sick I am? I’m really sick. So sick that at 7:45pm I was asking whether or not it was time for bed. Now? How about now? Please? Jason knows that if I go to bed before 9pm I’ll wake up sometime around 4:30 and not be able to fall back asleep. So he appeased me with promises of back rubs if I would just sit with him and watch 30 more minutes of Total Recall. Just 30 more minutes, that’s all, then I’ll rub your back for you, I promise. If not for the assurance of seeing the alien lady with three boobs, I probably would have called it a night.

one sesame street

As I sit here looking at the clock, wondering when it will FINALLY be time to punch out, I remind myself: One Sesame Street.

Clocks held little meaning to me as a child. Time was something abstract that adults worried there was too little of. If I had to ask "how long" the answer always meant too long. Instead, I started asking in relation to something that I knew very well....how many Sesame Street's was it? Was it a Sesame Street and a Mr. Roger's Neighborhood or just one Mr. Roger's? Time was broken into little fragmented units that I was able to wrap my brain around.

I still use this method to convince myself that something isn't really that far away. Just a few Big Birds and it'll be time for dinner. A few more and it'll be the weekend. A hell of a lot more and it'll be Christmas.

See? When broken down, it's a lot less daunting to count Snuffleupaguses than to think of the days and weeks ahead. And who wouldn't rather count Snuffleupaguses?

what dreams may come

I have been having crazy dreams lately. Dreams that leave my gut wrenching as I shoot upright in bed. Mainly they have to do with school. However, I am not in school. I haven’t even come close to a text book in almost 5 years. At first I thought it was because Jason’s sisters are in college and I frequently ask for updates on their mental state. Having to go to college and be a well functioning adult at the same time can be quite a process in futility. Especially at “the Lord’s University.” That kind of pressure could give anyone nightmares.

My first instinct is to shout, "But it’s THEIR pressure. THEIR stress. THEIR finals. Not MINE." There is no plausible reason as to why I’m experiencing dreams of the sort where I enter a classroom that I’ve never seen before, where there is being taught a subject I’ve never heard of, taught by people like Emma Thompson and Michael Cera. No reason whatsoever for me to be having these terrifying dreams of not having studied for a final of a subject that doesn’t exist. No reason for me to feel embarrassed that I’d forgotten that there would be a test in that class and I hadn’t studied.

And absolutely no reason for my extreme relief that the teacher granted me a C when I really, really deserved the D.

why i love you

For using "emu" because you couldn't bring yourself to type out "emotional" while we're discussing my feelings. You have standards.

wash trying to be jayne

He'll be in his bunk.

jamie the lou and the blustery day

Yep, that's right. That's snow.

why i love you

I decided to wear your cologne today and I'm really glad I did. It's what I think a man should smell like, it smells like YOU and every time I move, it drifts up and I feel better.

better than prozac

I recently realized I had yet to properly introduce the newest member of our family.



This is Hoban Washburne, Wash for short.

He is the most wonderful cat ever to grace the earth with his presence. I mean it. He’s quiet (except when he wants that turkey sandwich you’re eating), he’s cuddly and he sleeps as much as I wish I could. He knows his name and will come running if you offer him a lap upon which to lounge.

And he loves his Mama. I don’t know what Jason did - maybe it was his big hiking boots tromping around, maybe it was his smell after having cleaned out the garage, or maybe it was just that his heart was two sizes too small - but last week Wash developed an aversion to him. Wash could be sound asleep in my lap and Jason would walk into the room and it was like a gunshot went off - he’s up and under our bed faster than a 20 lb cat should be able to move.

I'm pretty sure it has something to do with all the company we had for the last 3 WEEKS IN A ROW. Poor cat didn’t have a chance what with the constant stream of people roaming about the house; enough people to start a baseball team with. I think it was too much for his delicate sensibilities to handle. So for now he only likes me. Which is completely fine by me. I would hide that cat in my pocket and take him with me everywhere if he didn’t weigh so much.

Is that a 20 lb cat in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

He really has been a personal mini-lifesaver over the past month. With my struggling through the depression and anxiety, the knowledge that when I get home there will be a husband, a bunny and an amorous cat waiting for me has made a world of difference. And at night, he lies between Jason and I and runs his little motor. I rest my hand on his side and drift off to sleep. Who needs Valium when you have a cat that sounds like a classic ‘67 Camaro?

the source of my sushi power

Last night Jason and I went out for a sushi mini-bration and something happened that has never happened before.

I had to use my fingers to eat my sushi!



It was the strangest thing. I've never had a problem using chopsticks. EVER. I can even show you the proper way to hold them. But nothing was staying put. Sometime during the 8 tries it took me to get a spicy crab roll from the plate to my mouth it hit me. Oh no, what had I done? I looked at Jason, with the shredded remains of a smoked eel hanging off the end of my chopstick -"Did I just get rid of the source of my chopstick power?"

Jason got me hooked on sushi after we were married and I have craved it ever since, becoming more and more adventurous about what I'm willing to try. I've contemplated what it would cost to move to Japan so that I could have sushi everyday. But now something was horribly wrong. I couldn't use the chopsticks except to stab ridiculously at the fish. If a rabid gunman had run into the restaurant and shouted that he would kill everyone unless I could prove I could use them properly, before Jason took him out (obviously), I would have had to let everyone there know how sorry I was that I couldn't save them.

Then the correlations started running through my sushi-induced coma brain. Our mini-bration was to celebrate having my IUD removed. Since we'd decided to start down the long road to parenthood we had to do away with the birth control. But what if, just what if, that was the source of all my power? Had I freely given up the power source to the only thing that allowed me to look like a civilized person while eating raw fish?

I now have no other choice. From now on, when sushi is involved, I'll have to use my fingers. There are only so many shirts I can stain by having soy sauce splashed down the front of them when a California roll is not constrained by my unweildly chopsticks.

And if this is the price of us bringing a child into the world, then maybe I should just give in and ask for some adult-sized bibs for Christmas.