Enough Said

If there were ever anyone who came to me and questioned my choice in mate, I would just show them this video I took during Family Home Evening.

The Best Thing in My World

Was born today.

Tomorrow is my thirteenth anniversary. Thirteen is my new lucky number.

I wish I was able to write the reasons I am so completely in love with my husband. I just don't have the words. He is the love of my life. I am broken without him. And I just adore him. I am so incredibly lucky that he chose me, and that he married beneath him.

Updates.

There have been no posts. I know. You want to know why? The choking on the face. It is all-encompassing. I spend 90% of my day trying not to move, and then the remaining 10% over the toilet because I moved. But, since my stomach is entirely free of substance, I thought I would give you an update. I am a giver, you know. Cry for me, Argentina.

Update:
All I do is vomit.

Jooj has the following super powers: Running super fast, running super-duper fast, shaking her booty super fast, running slowly, and running REALLY REALLY super fast. She reminds me that she has super powers, and can't turn them off, every day.

W is a prince. All he does is cater to me and bring me food and drink, which I throw up.

If one more person tells me "It is good you are sick--it means the baby is healthy/happy/strong" I will punch them right in the throat.

I am officially a "mature pregnancy." I am six years too young for a "geriatric pregnancy."

Jooj is awesome. I have decided I am fine with just one.

W is awesome. He is never to bring his sperm near me again.

Off to work on my abs some more.

La Yen out.

Check out the Big Blog on Phread!

I am guest posting over at Formerly Phread.

Because I am SO awesome. Everyone wants a piece of me. Especially Jooj. And the piece she wants is my soul.

Camera Found!

The camera had been hiding (since Mother's Day) in a top-secret pocket of W's Army backpack. I did not know that this pocket existed, and he forgot all about it until he went to put some undies inside for an early morning run. Hooray! I have been praying about finding this camera for months. I felt like it would return. And it did! Because small miracles are the ones that keep me going. Reals.

So here are some of the pictures that had been languishing. Just a few, to tide you over until I stop playing Plants vs. Zombies.

You know who has a hot husband and a reasonably un-barfy brother? La Yen. PS: I can almost guarantee that they peed in those wetsuits out of spite and obligation.

My mom, modeling the slanket/booklight combo we gifted her and all of the aunts for M-Day.

Identical cousins.

Someone heeded her bangs cut! And Spanx for the bosom!

In other news, I have started the Christmas shopping. One baby, four favorite labies, my aunt and uncle, and the Papo/CayCay Experience: Check. I use a spreadsheet. Because I am Awesome. When do you start yours? November? Sucker.

And So It Begins

W (who is still in Kuwait) went to the gym this morning while I had a ton of medical drama involving no actual medicine taking place near me. He did not bring his phone. Which resulted in me leaving thirty-two-hundred-fifteen texts for him to CALL ME.

When he did call me, he told me he had left his phone back in the barracks.

To which I responded:

"Right. Because it is not like you have a wife with a brain tumor or anything."
Zing! You like? I just threw it right out there.

Can you imagine how awesome I will be once I finally get a real diagnosis? Break out the shrouds and the wailing, people, it will be ON!

PS: I gave eleven vials of blood to the lab. Want to see my black arm?

Winners Don't Know About Cyborgs

I will let you in on a dirty little secret:
I am totally superior to W.

Now, I was not the coolest in high school--which is where cool is determined, you know--but I did not have an Afro. Or Birkenstocks. I may not have been cool, but I was not a geek. NOT A GEEK.

But since I married W, who DID have an Afro and Birkenstocks and lettered in choir (for the babes and the special brownies, he says), I have rocked myself to sleep at nights with the secure knowledge that in one area, I am better. I am not a geek.

But you know that prophesy? About the hearts of the wives turning to their geeky, geeky husbands?

It started with Buffy. I was all "Ew." And he was all "Hot vampires..." and you know I had to watch then. Because even the coolest among us love David Boreanz. Right?

And then, knowing my secret love of all things from the UK, he snuck in a little Doctor Who. With a Scotsman. Come on. No fair hiding the geek behind the Skinny Hot Brit. (Can I get a What What from Tiffany? No? Too soon?)

Next thing I knew, I was engaging in discussions about zombies and Hoth and agreeing to watch Battle Star Galactica. I used to be a debutante, I tell you! There is no reason for me to even know the relative merits of a Dalek vs. a Sontaran, but I do. I do know. And I have an opinion. (Dalek.) You can't get this out of your head once it has wedged itself in there. Believe me, I have tried. But it is no good. I am holding onto my pathetic edge for dear life. I am excited for a new Joss Whedon show! I know who Joss Whedon is! I have watched Dr Horrible twenty times! Pray for me!

Excuse the rant.

I am gaining the upper hand, I think, against him. He has gone too far, emailing me with this one, I tell you. No amount of James Marsters can possibly make this happen.
Alien Western Sci Fi Original Movie

Score one for the self control. YOU WILL NOT CONTROL ME, YOU PUSHER. JUST ONCE WILL HURT.

Twelve Years a Year-ing

Happy Anniversary to my sweetheart.

I knew he was the one for me on our first date. (Wasn't particularly thrilled about the idea of marriage, but that is besides the point.)

In keeping with our traditions, we are doing nothing for our anniversary and I am sick.

And for the second time in twelve years, W is gone with the Army to a far-off land. How lucky are we that it has only been two times? Seriously. Not being snotty at all--we are REALLY lucky. We haven't seen each other in many months, and still have a bunch to go, but we are keeping on.

Because we are not quitters. (Well, I am a tremendous quitter, but not with marriage. With lots of other things, though. Like dance lessons for Jooj and sewing projects.)

I love everything about him. Even the grody things and the irritating things. Which I will not mention here, because it is our anniversary.

Things are good when you have your sweetheart by your (figurative) side, I tell you.

Did you know that when he came home for his 20 day vacation, he spent an entire day of it moving a guy from our ward? Not even the Elder's Quorum presidency showed up. But W was there. Because he is good like that.

And he is incapable of taking Jooj to the store and not buying her a present while they are there.

And whenever anything sad or scary or yucky or bad happens to my friends or family, the first thing out of his mouth is "Do you need to go help them? We can find a way to fly you there..."

And when my feelings are hurt or broken it takes physical restraint to get him to not go and punch someone out.

And if I said the word, he would give up Army. Even though he loves it. And it is his calling in life. And he is really, really, really good at it. He just would.

And that is pretty awesome.

A Brief Departure for Queen

Here it is:

What is your husband’s name? W.

How long did you date? August 1994-December 1996

How old is he? 32

Who eats sweets? We both do

Who said I love you first? He did.

Who is taller? Him

Who can sing better? He can. But I have VOLUME.

Who is smarter? He is. I used to be smarter, but Jooj has made my brain hurt. He has always been the King of Useless Knowledge, though.

Who does the laundry? He is not allowed because of some Cashmere Incidents.

Who pays the bills? Me

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Him.

Who mows the lawn? He does unless he is gone, which is always, so I do.

Who cooks dinner? I do. Or Mr. Sonic does.

Who drives? When we're in the car together he drives.

Who is the first to admit they are wrong? He is. Because he is wrong.

Who kissed who first? We were at a REALLY lame movie, and it seemed like time-filler...

Who asked who out first? He asked me out on behalf of his friend, who he also paid for.

Who wears the pants? Oh, that's a cute question.

For Fig

The Final Act of Vanquishment.

Gracias por Mi Esposo

Being vanquished by DaStew. Who is his twin brother, apparently.

I am thankful for my sweet W.

Because today, when I woke up all chipper and cheery--despite sleeping with a toddler wedged in my baby-hole--I was assaulted by nonsense and got REALLY cranky.

Because--silly me--I thought that since the elections are over we could all SHUT UP. But I received three zillion forwards telling me "Let's go 2010/2012!!!" and "Democrats hate goodness" and "Suck it Republicans!" and "Stressed is Dessert spelled backwards!" and I got crabby. Because I really, truly, had no cares about who won this election, except I wanted Their Dad to still have a job, and to be able to keep saying "Saxby Chambliss." But, NO! The Internets still want to talk about it. BAAAH!

Because I went to work out and they were watching Yoga in Spanish while listening to "Living in America" and I could not concentrate on my cloits and dloits because I kept hearing the man say "Spanish Spanish Spanish Coccyx Spanish Spanish Spanish Sacrum."

Because I came home and the JW's stopped by and--instead of trying to save me--started pestering me for the toddler bed in my garage. "But you no have a baby! I need it now!" "But I am adopting" "But you no have a baby NOW. I need it NOW." Thanks, JW lady, for reminding me that keeping baby clothes is a futile waste of space because I am broken. I hope that Prince gets to heaven instead of you. Also--thanks for not caring about my eternal SOUL.

Because it is 80 degrees again and WHERE IN THE HELL IS MY WINTER?

But then I can talk to my sweet W, and we can have the following conversation:
"I want to punch you in the baby maker."
"You are a dirty Pirate Hooker. Why don't you go back to Whore Island?"

And--the beauty of my marriage--I can know that he loves me and we will laugh and talk about nothing and he won't tell me I am wrong and misinformed and useless as a woman and Obama! and McCain! and Prop 8! and Jesse Jackson! and Canada! and Bring Our Troops Home Momentarily Before We Send Them to Fight in Afghanistan! He just tells me that Dorothy Mantooth is a Saint and that he loves me and I should go buy a pencil skirt.

I am so thankful for him. So thankful that in less than 200 days I am going to take him out to a nice seafood dinner, and then I WILL call him again.

Yes, Virginia, Camels do Have Toes.

We decided at the last possible minute, to drive 5 hours to Albuquerque on Tuesday. Mami needed to go to the temple (and going to Juarez, Mexico is not an option right now, what with all of the mayhem) and we had a group of friends who could provide childcare.

So we packed our bag, hopped in the Explorer, lost the Ipod in our haste, and made the drive.

Wednesday morning, at the crack of dawn, Mami and some pals went to the temple--and it was exactly what I needed. I felt energized and that everything would be fine.

And then I stopped at the cafeteria and got a Kara truffle and a gingersnap. Even finer.

We headed back to the hotel to check out in a frenzy, and then went to the faboo Albuquerque Zoo. With, apparently, the entire population of New Mexico.
We saw Mingos, Jagrawrs ("RAWR! Now you say RWARS a me! Do it, you Jagrawr!"), polar bears ("What does a polar bear say?" ".....HONK HONK!!!" "Ok.") and GoCougs. And then--AND THEN!

I have no vanity when it comes to the informative purposes of showing you, my friends, what the proper pose is for mounting a camel. And yes, Azucar, those are crocs. Suck it.

And after we drove home last night we found apackage waiting from Papi. Complete with Jamel the Camel ("He say MOOOOOO! And *sniff*!"). And a burkha.



What a day!

The Witching Hour

With together time at more of a premium now than ever, W has been staying up with me while I edit and write and hot glue lamb costumes and watch Dr. Who and drink cocoa. As I write this, he is laying next to me on the Love Sac, with Rocket J. Dog, at my feet. Both are snoring. Jooj is upstairs asleep. The Christmas tree is glowing and the house smells like cinnamon.

This is contentment.

Man, I am going to miss this next year.

Do I have any volunteers to sleep next to my elbow and snore a little bit and wake up to get me water when I clear my throat? Because I will need that, you know.
I don't want to make this maudlin or desperate, but I often wonder what I will do. I mean, I know that I will survive and get through and carry on. I know I will end up okay. But what will I do at midnight when I need water and don't want to get up? What will I do when I have a beaver of 110 degrees and just might die if I don't get pudding and my arm on my forehead? What will I do when I need to take a nap after church, but Jooj has other ideas? Those are the things that I worry about.

Because everyone will come and offer help, but no one is going to put up with my needs for drama and pudding and a white burial shroud at the hint of a head cold. I know this.

Curses to W who has spoiled me for the real world. Apparently there are women who do things for themselves. And are fine with it. They make dinner and gas up the car and take off their own shirts even when their arms are just too tired.

But for now I will just focus on the snoring and coziness.
And maybe see if I can stick his hand in some warm water just one time. Because I have always wanted to see if that works.

Gamboo: An exchange.

Me: I am dying. I have a beaver of 200 degrees.
W: It is not that high.
How high is it?
101.
Well, it must have just dropped.
I think I have feline bovine disease.
You don't have feline bovine disease.
I think I have monkey pox from the zoo.
You don't have monkey pox.
It must be meningitis. Or Hepatitis D. Or C. Or B.
What about Hepatitis A?
Don't patronize me! I have galloping Pneumonia!
You don't have galloping Pneumonia.
Galloping Bronchitis?
Nothing is galloping.
You aren't a doctor. You don't know! You will be sorry when I am dead. I have crabgrass!
Would it help if you put the back of your hand on your forehead?
Yes, but I am too weak.
I will help you.
Thank you.
Would it help if you said "Woe is Me?"
Yes, but I am just going to whisper it because of my laryngitis.
woeisme
Is there anything else you need?
Sing me a spiritual.
Really?
Yes. Sing me "Nobody Knows."
(Sings.)
Thank you. Goodnight. I hope I see you in the morning.
Me too, sweetie.