Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Speedy Summer

The move is looking more and more official, which is both awesome and completely overwhelming. I do not care to pack while I am pregnant. Come to think of it, I do not care to pack even when I am not pregnant. Pregnancy is just an awesome excuse for everything. Fortunately, though, once our massive amounts of crap are collected into boxes, those boxes can go into our new basement (WHOOHOO) and stay there, unpacked, forevermore, should I so chose. Or should apathy so chose. Whichever.

I am so excited for a basement I cannot even tell you. The views of the mountains and two sinks in the bathroom are also very awesome.

Yesterday I got to go to the doctor and drink what basically tasted like the syrup form of Tang to test my body to see how well it could process sugar, and thus see if I was at risk for diabetes. Happily, my body processed it fine. At least my pancreas did. The sugar kind of went to my head and I got wretchedly light-headed, so I got to spend a pleasant forty minutes resting horizontally on a little table in a doctor’s exam room, trying not to faint. Just how I like to spend MY Monday mornings. But, as I said, no sign of diabetes, so I had an ice cream sundae to celebrate last night.

Tatum has become disgruntled as the amount of space on my lap seems to be dwindling, though that doesn’t stop him from still trying to sleep there. Today he got a kick in the face through my stomach, which woke him up. While it wasn’t that much force, (I’m not sure he bothered to open his eyes completely) I was kind of excited. Get him, little girl! He plans on chewing on you when you get here, so I say it’s never too early to learn to kick him in the face.

Otherwise, life is much the same as usual. The Funasaurus is playing a lot of volleyball, Sugar is too good for the rest of us, and the liquor store seems to be managing to stay open, even without my weekly withdrawals of chardonnay. Now if the tornado sirens would just stay off for a couple of days….

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Getting Fatter and Sleepier

If I owe you an email or a phone call or a kick in the pants and have neglected to do so over the past two weeks, I am sorry. I had great intentions to get back on the blogging train with more regularity once the pregnancy was public knowledge, but my work had other ideas. Ideas which have kept me up until 2:00 AM, burning comma-shaped holes in my eyeballs and making me deliriously mourn the days of hour-long naps. On the plus side, I do feel more productive than I’ve felt in a while!

I do not feel that pregnancy is a valid excuse to buzz off early, after I discovered that my boss was conducting a conference call while hemorrhaging. As in, losing massive amounts of blood whilst navigating the temperamental world of WebEx. She claims she has not yet had time to go to the doctor. I claim I could not make this shit up if I tried.

Were that not enough, The Funasaurus also got a bee in his very expensive bonnet and we’ve been in the process of refinancing our house and/or deciding whether to up and move to a bigger house before the baby’s born. As in, you know, the next two and a half months. Because we don’t have enough going on, already. We’ll have extra money to pay for this move because babies don’t cost anything and we get lots back in taxes, right? Right? Hello?

Completely unrelated, I am terribly flattered that PassionSearch.com has singled me out as their latest target market worthy of unreasonable amounts of spam, but I feel I must warn them that their marketing research did a terrible job. If you do not come bearing cookies & cream ice cream I have no passion for you.

And if I have not already told you, I am spending my days enjoying my last bits of solitary princess-dom, occasionally sharing with Sugar. There is a new princess on the way, the ultrasound did show girl parts, and I am getting the impression that she will be getting more royal treatment than I will. Le sigh. I am not sure I am ready for the Queen Mother title. I don’t really want to wear those kinds of hats.

Monday, July 06, 2009

Family Gathering

The Funasaurus has a Crazy Uncle. Crazy Uncle is a unique soul with a Master’s degree in poetry from some fancy university, which he has forsaken on his quest to idealize the downtrodden working class. He has spent the last thirty years or so as a janitor, to be among his people. He also has decided not to drive and does not own a car. That’s all well and fine, until some family function inevitably comes up, and everyone is all, “I suppose we should invite Crazy Uncle” and then we have to draw straws for who has to go fetch Crazy Uncle and give him a ride to said function.

Enter: Fourth of July, 2009. Location: Funasaurus extended family’s farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The Funasaurus’ mom volunteered to pick up Crazy Uncle (seeing as how it’s her brother) and then managed to somehow shirk that responsibility me and The Funasaurus, adding, “Oh, and he is bringing some friends.”

Super duper. Because Uncle Crazy’s friends are always an interesting set. More often than not they are homeless, much younger than he is, and full of baby mama-esque drama. Up we pulled to the little apartment that Uncle Crazy is sharing with his friends from Ohio (they took the Grehound) who are, indeed, homeless, and madly in love. And very eager to display their love in the front lawn of said apartment. They piled in, and The Funasaurus and I attempted conversation. “So how do you guys know Crazy Uncle?”

“Through my wife,” explained Homeless Dude, who is busy fondling the woman who is, apparently, not his wife.


We are still unsure as to how they know each other.

We got to the house, and we went in to start preparing potato salad and other traditional 4th-esque food. The rest of the extended Funasaurus’ family is quite normal, and very friendly. They even invited my parents down so that we didn’t have to choose between families, which makes life very easy.

Eventually it was time to eat, and after selecting the perfect hamburger with slice of American cheese, I waddled out to their fabulous deck (I say “waddle” because I have gained ten pounds in the last week or so. TEN. POUNDS.) where one table wass full, with people like The Funasaurus and my dad sitting around yukking it up, and the other table is half-empty, only hosting Crazy Uncle and friends thus far. I sucked it up and took one of the empty seats at the table with Crazy Uncle & co.

Moments later, The Funasaurus’ mom came out of the house, followed by my mom. I watched them both assess the deck situation, and eyeball the one remaining seat at my table. “Oh, here, I’ll let you sit with your daughter!” exclaimed The Funasaurus’ mom benevolently to my mom, as she darted off towards a lone deck chair. And thus my mother got to join me at the Table of Incomplete Sentences. At least my mom got wine.

There were a few false starts at conversation, but eventually we mentioned something about the radio, and Homeless Dude got all excited about a local radio station in Ohio. “Do you work at the radio station?” asked my mom.


“So, then, what do you do, if you’re not at the radio station?”

“A lot of things.”

At least he was consistent in his curt, useless answers.

“He does landscaping with his dad,” Uncle Crazy offered, appreciative of our attempt at conversation.

“Not that much. We do more roofing,” countered Homeless Dude.

Uhg, that must be hot in the summer,” I said, polishing off my lemonade.

“Not really,” said Homeless Dude. “I take off my shirt.”

We weren’t quite sure what the appropriate response was to that, so I looked around for more lemonade, while my mom studiously nursed her Chardonnay.

“I used to be a stripper,” added Homeless Dude, when apparently we did not respond to his shirtless comment in the way he wanted.

I watched my rather prim mother nearly choke on her Chardonnay out of the corner of my eye.

Coincidentally, the conversation died shortly after that, so we excused ourselves to go admire the flowers at the far end of the yard. “I wish I could give you some of this,” said my mom, swirling the dregs of her Chardonnay as we walked. That is why she is my mother, and why I love her very much.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. We got to give Crazy Uncle & co. a ride home, and then a ride to WalMart, where they decided they would prefer to be for fireworks viewing. The Funasaurus and I drove home, comparing notes and watching the fireworks across the horizon from our vantage point on the highway. When they’re that far away, going 75+ miles an hour doesn’t really make a huge difference. Among other things, we agreed we should probably get our child a very large car seat. Safety first, and all that. If it just happens to be chauffeuring-prohibitive, that’s just an added bonus.