On picking your own brother out in a crowd (or not)...

Last night, while watching the Rangers beat Tampa Bay, I spied Spencer in the stands directly behind (and a little to the right) of Nolan Ryan in the dugout:

Me: "Look, Trev! It's Spencer!"

Trevor: "Where?"

Me: "Right there. Behind Nolan Ryan and one row up."

Trevor: "That's not Spencer."

Amy: "Sure does look a lot like him."

Me: "It is totally Spencer."

Trevor: "Guys, I think I know what my own brother looks like."


But, guess what: IT WAS TOTALLY SPENCER.


Five minutes later:

Trevor: "Hey, look! It's Spencer!"

Me: "Um. Yeah. We know."

Things that make me giggle...

I took these while visiting friends in Martha's Vineyard two months ago:




I mean, spelling isn't my forte either. But I think I'd break out the dictionary if I was going to all the trouble to paint a sign.

(Who am I kidding?! I am fundamentally impaired when it comes to creating artwork. And, well...just plain lazy. I'd never paint a sign.)

Does it make me a bad person because I like to think that the owners of the bed and breakfast where I stayed actually went out and purchased this sign somewhere BEFORE hanging it up?

And, yes. Part of me kind of wishes I had stolen it.

A series of updates and nonsense (related, unrelated and completely random)...

• Trevor felt Thor move for the first time on Friday evening. Told you the little dude was a powerful kicker!



• We suddenly realized that The Fetus is considered “viable” around 23 weeks (I hit this milestone in a couple of days). Not that we’d want Thor to come early (or that we’d be able to bring him home anytime soon if he did), but it quickly became necessary to figure out some sort of nursery situation STAT. Irrational? A little, but nesting had to start sometime. Have I mentioned that I’ve put NO thought into a nursery? If it were up to me, Thor would probably have to sleep in a drawer after his debut into the world. I’m just not the best planner and can’t visualize a space to save my life. Luckily, Trevor is good at things like this, and – thanks to him – we now have a crib ordered and on its way. We don’t have much else, but at least the kid won’t be sleeping on the floor!



• Baby stuff is nauseatingly adorable. And expensive.



• Whoever started spreading the rumor that the human gestation period is nine months was smoking crack. I’m not even very good at math, and I’ve figured out that four goes into forty TEN TIMES. Thanks to this widespread mathematical miscalculation, I have started feeling the need to add disclaimers when people ask me how far along I am. For instance, I start the sixth month in a couple of days but don’t enter the third trimester for another four(ish) weeks. And I won’t give birth for another four months. BUT I AM STILL SIX MONTHS ALONG! Did they make it this confusing on purpose to screw with the brains of pregnant women? Because so NOT funny!



• Haskell is afraid of his food bowl. We don’t know when or why this started, and it has been going on for days. And it isn’t like the dog has had a lot of negative experiences as far as his food bowl is concerned. Nothing but the twice daily positive reinforcement of feeding him kibble in it. So, the questions remain: Why his food bowl? And why now? And, most importantly, how do we go about fixing this?



• Preggo brain is starting to make life difficult. Yesterday, Trevor and I arrived at church to teach Sunday School, and I went up to the door and pushed and pushed and pushed, but couldn’t get in. Then, I just kind of gave up and stared at the door trying to figure out why it wouldn’t let me through. Was it locked? Did I need a password? Was I not pushing hard enough?
  
  Ya'll. All I needed to do was pull.



• I had my car detailed last week, and have spent the last several days trying to figure out how to put the driver and passenger side floor mats back in place. I've had the car since 2004, and this has never been a problem for me before. I finally had to ask for Trevor's assistance. And, of course, he had to make fun of me and say things like, "Have you never played Tetris"? Seriously, people - what is happening to my brain?!



• It took me months, but I finally figured it out. Trevor signed up for Netflix so he could watch endless hours of cartoons. He says it is superhero research for Thor. BS, Trevor. BS.



• The whole "must buy a crib" thing took Trevor and I inside Babies R Us, where we briefly considered the various types of car seats available for infants up to 30 or so pounds. The outing ended in frustration after we spent twenty minutes UNSUCCESSFULLY trying to figure out how to separate A car seat from its base. We even lowered our standards and just tried to separate ANY car seat from its base. Any car seat at all. I was pushing random buttons and levers and Trevor was swearing in public and breaking a sweat. All I could think about was how we both have masters degrees and the car seat was outsmarting us. At this rate, we will never be able to bring Thor home to his new crib because we are too mentally incompetent to figure out how to operate safety equipment designed for a child.



• Trevor made me a virgin margarita on Saturday night. Except I got less than 1/3rd of the way into it and he suddenly remembered that the orange liquor he used *shockingly* had liquor in it. I sort of panicked at first before remembering that my mother drank wine on and off with all three of us while she was pregnant and we turned out okay. A couple of sips of mostly virgin frozen goodness probably had absolutely no effect on Thor. But, still. TREVOR!



• I've had three people tell me I look "a little pregnant" today. Part of me is excited to look more expectant and little less fat, and the other part of me wants to flick off the world.



• I started getting ligament pain a few days ago. I'd had it before, but now it has a tendency to wake me up. I'm pretty sure that is why I'm starting to finally show. I am less than amused by the situation. Mainly because - between the shooting pain and the constant need to pee - I am waking up about 25 times a night. This is starting to make me cranky.



• It is supposed to be 94 by Friday. I might need a sweater.

Evil squirrel...

This squirrel saw Alley at the door, YAWNED, stretched out completely
on his tummy and, well, chillaxed.

Alley went ballistic.

Part of me wanted to let her at the fat, lazy little bugger. The other part of me was too worried about what would happen if she caught it.

If you ask Alley, I allowed the squirrel win and make a mockery of her.

Remembering Gran...

Gran

Yesterday we said goodbye to Trevor's grandmother, who we all lovingly referred to as "Gran", in a beautiful, music filled service over at HPUMC.

Gran was fabulous.

She passed away suddenly last Wednesday (August 17th). Gran had broken her hip on August 1st, but she had undergone surgery to repair it, had moved back home to C.C. Young and had started rehab.

The day before she died, Gran had gotten her hair and nails done, and was "holding court" in her room while visiting with friends and family.

Again. It was all very sudden.

She was on her way to rehab when it happened. The nurses had helped her into her wheelchair, when Gran complained of being "tired" and wanting to "go be with Charlie" (Trevor's grandfather). Then she passed out. She was gone before the nurses could even dial 911.

Despite the fact that Gran's memorial service wouldn't be held for over a week, Trevor and I cut our trip to Colorado short, and arrived back in Dallas last Thursday. It has been a long last ten days, and we are both still reeling from the experience.

I was lucky to know Gran for nearly a decade. In so many ways I thought of her like one of my own grandmothers, and was so looking forward to introducing her to her first great grandchild this winter. She knew we were having a boy, though (she was hoping for a girl, but knew from the moment we told her that we were expecting on Mother's Day that it was a boy). I only wish our son could have grown up knowing Gran and experiencing her antics firsthand. Because, again, the woman was fabulous.

Here are a few of my favorite memories of Gran. I'll probably add to this list from time to time as stories occur to me. The woman was one in a million:

• Gran was born in 1920 to a mother who thought - at 50 years of age - that she was going through menopause. Except nine months later, here came Gran. Gran was the youngest of four daughters, and was literally the hidden track at the end of the CD. Because she was so much younger, Gran had neices and nephews that were closer to her own age than her sisters.



• The first time I met Gran was back in the summer of 2002. Trevor and I had just started dating, and he arranged me to have dinner and meet his family one evening at Buca di Beppo on Park Lane. I was so nervous, and desperately wanted to make a good first impression. So, it should come as no surprise that I had an allergy attack within minutes of meeting everyone and sitting down at the table. My eyes teared up and I couldn't stop sneezing. It was so bad that I couldn't see to excuse myself to the bathroom. One, I had no idea where it was, and two, I couldn't see to find it. Before long, I was a snotty, wet-eyed disaster while everyone just stared at me. Not exactly the first impression I was hoping to make, but - let's face it - things rarely work out the way I plan them to.
  
  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trevor's grandmother with her hand down her blouse searching for something in her bra. At first, I thought I was seeing things. That is until she produced a small pouch or coin purse from underneath her left boob (I would later learn that Gran referred to her bra as her "upstairs purse"). She opened it up and dumped the contents out on the tablecloth. Among the various items were at least fifteen different kinds of brightly colored pills. She separated these from the rest of the stuff and started going through them. After a few seconds she selected one, picked it up and handed it to me while saying, "Here you go darling. I'm pretty sure this is an allergy pill."



• Trevor told me there were two rules when visiting his grandparents.
  1. Always pee beforehand.
  2. Never eat anything his grandmother gave you - especially warm chocolate.
  
  
  
• One Christmas, Gran gave everyone items that she had "won off of people playing Bingo". Trevor's mother received a pair of red, satin panties and Trevor's uncle got a blue vibrating "neck" massager. This prompted a series of questions regarding where, exactly, Gran was playing Bingo.



Gran handed out a lot of under garments over the years as presents.


• The woman LOVED the Texas Rangers. I found it very fitting that the Rangers won the night Gran passed away.



• An example of Gran's cooking: Canned asparagus covered in mayonnaise and topped with deviled eggs. Served warm or at room temperature.



• For years Trevor and his brother, Spencer, didn't have to buy toilet paper or cereal because Gran would horde it from C.C. Young. When Trevor and I moved in together, these Gran care packages continued to arrive on our front door step once or twice a week. Since she knew I didn't eat meat, Gran also started to include random pieces of fruit. Sometimes the fruit was several weeks old by the time it made it our way. Once we received a half eaten container of pimento cheese in the middle of the day one summer. Of course, we didn't come home to discover it for hours. There were ants.



• One time I met a woman while getting my nails down that worked at C.C. Young, and asked her if she knew Gran. Her eyes got wide and she told me that just last week Gran had come up to her at the front desk and asked her to do her a favor. The lady said she would, and Gran sat down next to her, propped her feet up on her desk and asked her if trim her toenails.



• Gran always liked to have her face on. Once she couldn't find her eyebrow pencil, though, and made the decision to fill in her brows using hot pink lipstick. According to her, pink eyebrows were better than no eyebrows at all.



• I will always remember Gran in nothing but her bathing suit and high heels coming out to greet us in the driveway. One time she had a t-shirt on over her bathing suit, and was walking down the sidewalk carrying a bouquet she'd picked of her neighbor's flowers. Except where the shirt hit, it kind of looked like she had forgotten to put pants on. Trevor claimed this is how she always dressed in the summer.



• The woman LOVED Jack and Coke. And snickers.



• She was known to carry a flask in her upstairs purse.



• Gran told me once that she skipped school to attend the 1936 Centennial. She and the boy she was with decided not to pay to enter the fair, and climbed over a fence instead. They were both caught and arrested. The first time she told me this story, she said she was taken downtown and her father had to come and pick her up. However, she later claimed that she was able to talk her way out of being carted off downtown and the cop let her and her boyfriend go.
  
  Gran got mad at me for telling Trevor's mom this story. Apparently, she was concerned that the police might still be looking for her, and didn't want the story to get out. I did my best to convince her that I was pretty sure the statute of limitations on sneaking into a World's Fair 70+ years before had probably run out decades before. I don't think she believed me, though.



• During one family meal, Trevor's uncle was about halfway through a longer pre-meal prayer when Gran suddenly said, "Amen!" and started eating.



• Every Thanksgiving Gran would insisted that Trevor's mom make dinner with all the fixings, and then she would only eat a tiny amount of stuffing before announcing she was ready for dessert. Trevor's mother would tell Gran that she would have to wait for everyone else to finish eating before moving on to the next course.
  
  One such Thanksgiving a few years back, Gran sat there for a few minutes before reaching for Spencer's plate, scraping the food off onto hers and stacking his plate under hers. Spence, who had been engrossed in conversation with his uncle, didn't notice, and stabbed the table with his fork where - a few seconds before - his turkey had been. Gran, with a smile on her face, turned to Trevor's mother and said, "Spencer is done, too. I'd like pie now please".
  
  Gran won.



• When Gran broke her hip on August 1st, the doctor offered her morphine to help with the pain. Gran refused, though, because she didn't want "to become an addict". When she was reminded that she'd be on morphine after her surgery the next day anyway, she briefly considered it. Not to ease her pain, mind you, but because she was curious about the effects of morphine and wanted to experience it with a clear head.



• She cheated at Skip Bo.



• Everything Gran saw, heard or experienced was the best. The best sermon, the best wedding, the best movie, the best book review. She only remembered the good things in life. Never the bad. She might be the only person who was alive and aware in November of 1963 who had no memory of where is was or what she was doing when JFK was shot.



• Trevor can't count the number of times Gran asked him to rub her corns on her feet. Apparently, this was one of those duties she expected from her grandsons. He still shudders when he thinks about it.



• At Moo's funeral back in January of 2009, Gran commented to several of my friends that she hoped her service was as well attended as my grandmother's was. Then, she asked each of them if they would come to her funeral when the time came. They did.
  
  Gran's service was actually so packed that they had to move it from the smaller Cox Chapel into the main sanctuary.



• Gran taught Sunday School to former First Lady Laura Bush while living in Midland.



• Gran's doctor told Trevor's mother once that he thought Gran was starting to go senile. Trevor's mother just smiled and told the doctor that her mother had always been that way, and that Gran was just fine thankyouverymuch. She was.



• Gran would invite herself over to my mother's for dinner or [fill in the blank] holiday. On one such occasion, Gran told my mother that she needed a drawer in her house that she could call her own. When my mother inquired what the drawer was for, Gran responded that she needed a place to store a tube of Poligrip.



• Gran was a doodle.



• Gran was famous for her presents. At Trevor's uncle's birthday party in July, Gran gave him (among other things) a book, a half empty bottle of shaving cream and a dented can of Chef Boyardee overstuffed beef ravioli. This was the same party where she ignored Spencer for half the meal, and refused to answers his questions - even though he was seated right next to her.



I was usually the recipient of various items of her bedazzled clothing.


• I love to remember Gran on her 90th birthday with her hot pink boa and sunglasses. Have I mentioned that she was fantastic?



• At the bridesmaid luncheon the day before Trevor and I got married, Gran told me I could call her either "Gran" or "Janie". But I was to NEVER EVER call her Mrs. Hill again. She made me choose right there on the spot. I went with "Gran".



• When she broke her hip earlier this month, Gran started talking about how she wasn't going to live to see her next birthday in September. When we reminded her that she needed to stick around for the baby, Gran smiled and said that there was a picture that she had given Trevor's mother. That picture was going to be Gran's window from heaven, and she'd watch the baby grow up through it. She also implied that she had already given the picture to Trevor's mother, but Trevor's mother had yet to hang it up in her house. Gran said if Trevor's mother didn't hang up the picture, she wouldn't have a good view from heaven and she would be very sad. We still have no idea what picture Gran was talking about.



• Trevor told me that when he was little, Gran used to put either hydrogen peroxide, lemon juice or spit in his hair when he walked by. The first two where to keep his hair extra blonde. The third was to tame his cowlick.



• Gran loved the sun.



• Gran at 90 somehow got a hold of a tube of Retin-A that she had ordered from Mexico without a prescription. She had heard that it could help diminish the look of wrinkles. She used it all over and then decided to sunbathe over at Trevor's uncle's house. This resulted in a second degree sunburn.



• When Gran had her hip replaced five or six years ago, she failed out of rehab. She just didn't do pain.



• Gran was stubborn.



• After her husband passed away, Gran once volunteered to help lead a group field trip of Alzheimer patients to the Dallas Zoo.



• Gran was a wonderful artist. She loved to paint and draw. Despite being talented in her own right, she would often sign paintings done by others and pass them off as her own. Only upon closer inspection could you see that the real artist's name was crossed out and had Gran's name written over it in nail polish .



• During the Great Depression and the second World War, there was a chewing gum shortage. Gran LOVED gum, so this really affected her. For the rest of her life she was known to hoard gum even though her son brought her Sam's Club sized packs whenever she claimed she was low. But it wasn't just packs of gum that she kept. She also couldn't bear to throw away already chewed gum. Hence, wads of gum could be found all over her apartment, her in purses, etc. Apparently, previously chewed gum was better than no gum at all.



• Trevor and Spencer said that whenever Gran saw a butterfly, she claimed it was her sister checking on her from heaven.



• Gran loved holidays. Any holiday. She would always dress up festively and decorate her apartment accordingly.



Spence and Gran,
Christmas Eve 2010


• The contents of my last present from Gran back in July: An empty, yellow make-up bag, a baby quilt, a pair of PJs with black scottie dogs and snowflakes all over the shirt and pants, a box of Q-tips and cotton pads from The Myconian Collection, the May 2011 Monthly Calendar of Events at C.C. Young and a "Happy Holidays" paper placemat with a snow man on it.



• Gran wanted to buy our baby his first stroller. She saw a double stroller...somewhere...and called to tell Trevor about it. When Trevor commented that we only needed a single stroller for now, Gran replied that we could strap the baby in on one side and a dog on the other.



• Trevor received a baby blanket from Gran five or six years ago for his birthday. This was long before Trevor and I were engaged, much less married. It was blue with pink accents. Gran said it was appropriate for a boy or a girl. We weren't pregnant or thinking about becoming pregnant. This blanket was among other items including a half empty travel sized bottle of Listerine, a used toothbrush and half a tube of hemroid cream.



• Gran was a very attractive woman and used to model for Neiman Marcus and Kodak in her youth.



• Gran never referred to Trevor's mother as "her daughter" in public, in birthday cards or really, well, ever. On the flip side, Gran would also not allow Trevor's mother to call Gran "mother". Gran insisted that Camilla call her "sister" and signed all of Camilla's birthday cards as "Janie".



• Gran set her bed on fire by accident a couple of years ago at C.C. Young. A lamp had fallen down between her bed and the wall, and - over time - the bulb heated up Gran's comforter and started to smoke. Gran smelled the smoke, but only in her bedroom. She ventured out into the hall, but - seeing no fire and smelling nothing burning - returned to her apartment and climbed back into a bed that - by this point - was on fire. Eventually the fire alarms went off and the fire department arrived. Luckily the fire was contained to Gran's bedroom and no one was injured.



• There was the time Trevor and I went over to visit Gran and Charlie, and Gran answered the door in a long sweater and panty hose. We didn't think anything of her outfit until she bent over to stoke the fire in the fireplace. Anticipating what was about to happen, I looked away. Trevor, on the other hand, was mooned by his grandmother. He yelled, "Gran! Where are your pants!" Gran just stood up, turned towards Trev with a smile and said, "I've got hose on darling."
  
  
• Before moving into C.C. Young, Gran and Trevor's grandfather lived in a house with a swimming pool. There was also a cabana in the backyard that you to walk past the pool in order to access. According to Trevor, Gran was constantly falling into the pool on her trips to and from the cabana at all times of the day and night and during all seasons.



• I never had the opportunity of driving with Gran, but Trevor says it was "terrifying".



• At our wedding reception, Gran couldn't wait to eat a slice of the chocolate groom's cake. She kept trying to convince people to go and cut her off a piece on the back. She thought no one would notice if it was cut properly. Finally, when she could get no one to do her bidding, she approached Trevor and more or less demanded that he go do it for her. I guess she figured he could since it was his cake and all. Trevor refused. She then started in on how we couldn't expect people to wait so long to eat cake, and needed to bump it up on the schedule.
  
  To this day, I'm still kind of surprised she didn't just decide to dig in regardless. That woman loved her chocolate!



• Gran affectionately called Trevor "Tweb-bee" and Spencer "Spency".
  
  
• Gran donated her body to science, which is kind of strange (considering her age) and strangely perfect all at the same time. She was a woman ahead of her time.

Again, this list will most likely be updated from time to time as other photos pop up and memories or "Granisms" occur to us.

If you had the opportunity to meet Gran and have a story you would like to share, please add it in the comments section below or send an email HERE. We want to keep her memory and unique spirit alive for generations to come!

Skillz (or the general lack thereof)...

This would be one of those evenings where I desperately wish I had some semblance of talent or skill in the kitchen. My cook Trevor isn't feeling well and went to bed at 7:30 - leaving me hungry and left to fend for myself.

On another note, we don't seem to have any food. Which can't be right because I've been to the store at least twice since we've been home. Maybe I am just seeing ingredients? I'd attempt some sort of combination (with the intent of creating a meal), but I worry about poisoning my already ill husband. And then there is Thor to think about.

When did I become such an epic failure in the kitchen? Oh, wait. That's right: The day I was born. I have other skills. That aptitude test a decade or so ago discovered that my true talent lies in the field of pitch. To be fully happy, I should be learning and studying some long dead Chinese dialect where a single word, depending on pitch, means a multitude of different things.

I love that my true calling in life is completely irrelevant and...well, useless. I've tried to self soothe over the years by telling myself that practical skills are completely overrated. That is until I am faced with evenings like this one where I am left to my own devices (a.k.a. starving on the couch with a box of Wheat Thins and a few hunks of dried papaya) without the basic knowledge needed to feed myself properly.

Seriously. It is kind of amazing I've survived this long. Thor is totally screwed.

Update: Trevor just woke up and made me a salad. I totally didn't know we had salad fixings! That man is a genius. What ever would I do without that man I love? Oh, that's right. Shrivel up and die of starvation. Note to self: Do not outlive husband...

Update II: Trevor just pointed out that I was (apparently) SO hungry earlier, that I opened the box of Wheat Thins upside down. I also missed the bag of carrots in the fridge, which were located next to invisible salad fixings. Maybe my brain IS shrinking?

Another episode of "I'm Pregnant. No, seriously. I am. Really."

Went to the dentist today. Not a single person there believed I was pregnant. The appointment took twice as long as normal because I was more or less on exhibit during my cleaning.

Which having strangers come in and stare at your abdomen while your face is covered in toothpaste and you are wearing a bib is...well, not a good look for anyone.

Have I mentioned that I hate going to the dentist?

The lady who actually performed my cleaning is also pregnant. And showing. At three months.

Lord. I can't win.

In other news, I just asked Trevor to read this post because I'm exhausted and I wasn't sure this particular story was even worth publishing. Because I obviously have standards when it comes to what I share on the internet.

(Yeah, who am I kidding. I posted about peeing myself a week and a half ago. Standards my a$$.)

Anyway, Trevor ranked this post as a "7 out of 10" on some sort of mystery scale. Which means that this post is either absolutely fabulous and representative of one of my better literary works or my blog totally sucks.

It is a good thing I have to pee (again) or I'd probably over think my way into caring about what Trevor was actually trying to tell me.

Dressed to kill. Literally. Getting dressed in the morning is murder...

Today was my first day back after two weeks off. And I found the following very frustrating:

1. My regular jeans still fit, but they push in on my belly in such a way that it hurts. Not because they are too tight, but the pressure is just plain uncomfortable. Hence, I had no choice but to wear my maternity jeans today.


2. Maternity jeans almost require you to wear maternity tops because of the black elastic band. Regular shirts are mostly too short to hide the fact that your jeans stop below your hip bone. However, most of my maternity tops are either not summer appropriate (stores are selling sweaters and fall items and it is still 105 flipping degrees outside) OR are the type of shirts that are more fitted. I used to feel fine in fitted tops, but - since entering the seemingly never ending baby beer gut phase - I am too self conscious. I just feel fat, and have newly developed and defined gut rolls to prove it. And the maternity clothes just seem to highlight all this fluff. No one needs to see that. Especially since the public at large has no idea that I am pregnant and not just obese. I find myself telling complete strangers that I am five and a half months pregnant. Like that somehow explains or forgives the fact that I no longer can dress myself properly.


3. For the love of all things holy: WHAT kind of underwear are you supposed to wear under maternity jeans? I am having enough wardrobe issues without worrying about panty lines across my lower abdomen. Yes, that's right. I'm NOT talking about panty lines around my upper thighs or butt, but lines that show off the top of my bikini briefs. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Throw me a freaking bone here! Can I have no dignity?


4. I am officially ashamed of my granny bras. Why is something so comfortable so completely hideous?


5. For the first trimester and a half, my body seemed to forget how to sweat. But, all of a sudden, I've started sweating again. Like a freaking sieve. And my facial oil glands are working overtime. No matter how hard I try to keep the shine or perspiration at bay, I'm a complete soggy disaster in the time it takes me to drive to work. And my hair refuses to be tamed by any kind of product. I get these crazy hairs around my face that stick straight up or curl in a I-didn't-even-bother-to-brush-my-hair today kind of way. Except I actually DID try, and it made no difference whatsoever. It is like I'm going through puberty again at thirty one.

In other news, I've been craving dried papaya for the last two and a half weeks. I don't get it because I'm not sure I've EVER had a papaya in my life - much less DRIED papaya. I just woke up one day, and was like: "Wonder where I can find me some dried papaya?"

That's right. Thor likes papaya and Enrique Inglesias.

Trevor is just worried because whatever I eat, Thor does, too. Except Trevor is more concerned about what I'm NOT eating. Namely hamburgers, sausage, bacon and onions.

(I just gagged a little just thinking about those foods.)

Theoretically, this means that his son might not LIKE these things, which is very un-Thor-like. Or un-Texas-like. Or un-man-like. I'm not really sure. All I know is that Trevor is just plain worried. And all the papaya and Enrique Inglesias are doing nothing to ease these concerns.

Personally, I think the Enrique Inglesias is a sign that Thor might be taking after my father, and is already practicing "The Jig" in utero. Hey, they say some things skip a generation.

As for the papaya? Yeah. I've got nothing.

Text message from my sister...

"I don't know anyone other than Adam and vodka at this wedding. Good thing vodka is sooo good to me. Going gambling after this."

Dear God.

Hey, big spender...

Apparently I made such an impression at A Pea In A Pod a few of weeks ago that the store is now calling to remind me periodically about sales and special events, like tax free weekend.

Part of me isn't sure how I feel about this. The other part could really use another couple of shirts (mine are starting to get...errrr...shorter).

Not very happy that pregnancy comes with a closet full of regular clothes that suddenly don't seem to fit quite right. My wardrobe staples are suddenly staples no longer. But, at 21+ weeks I am still in the baby beer gut phase, which means that I suddenly have fat rolls and my favorite jeans give me a muffin top...but only on the right side. Explain THAT to me.

However, when I wear maternity clothes, I LOOK...well, almost pregnant. Psychologically, this is unnerving, and makes me only want to wear my regular clothes more. I am sure the situation will continue to deteriorate before I finally submit to this whole pregnancy thing. Leave it to me to try and rebel against a condition which is not only expected but guaranteed to happen. Have I mentioned that I pick my battles well?

In other news, yesterday was trying morning. Between waking up and meeting my aunt for lunch, the following occurred:

1. The toilet overflowed.


2. Since we all know about Trevor's history with toilets and cleanliness, I decided to do the disinfecting of the floor and overall bathroom. Without really thinking about it, I marched in there armed with a roll of paper towels and bleach, and went to town. About ten minutes into the process, Trevor walked in and started yelling at me that I was killing his baby. Okay, maybe he didn't use those exact words, but that is how I took it. True, I was barefoot and gloveless in a small, poorly ventilated room cleaning with bathroom disinfectant and bleach. I honestly didn't give the situation much thought before heading in there, because, well, there was poo water on the floor and my options were limited. Either I cleaned it up or leave it to Trevor have toilet water residue on the bathroom floor for all eternity. Subsequently spent the next twenty minutes in the closet sobbing hysterically that I had inadvertently harmed my unborn child.


3. Received "courtesy notice" from the City of Dallas informing us that they've changed the tree branch rule from six feet from power lines to fifteen feet. A citation will apparently follow because we have ONE tree with branches within ten feet of the lines. Of course, the date we are supposed to fix the situation apparently passed two weeks ago. Which is awesome since the letter wasn't postmarked until the 16th, and our next bulk trash day isn't until mid September. It is like they want you to fail. Stupid effing city.


4. Nearly decapitated by gardening equipment falling off the garage wall.


5. Said gardening equipment hit one of the garage door sensors, which - of flipping course - made the door refuse to close. This was all the more awesome because we were already running late for lunch and there was no way the car would make it without stopping for gas.


6. The vet couldn't get fecal samples from Gypsy or Haskell. Anyone with pets knows that this now means that I get the honor and privilege of collecting the poo myself, storing it in my fridge and transporting back to the vet during their operating hours. Now if THAT doesn't make a girl feel special...

Throw in the fact that we returned to Dallas from Colorado 3.5 days early to temperatures that are more than twice what we experienced in the pass between Ouray, Silverton and Durango on Tuesday (see photo below), and you have one highly depressed and hormonal pregnant lady.

How I miss Colorado!

Thor likes Enrique Iglesias...

Enrique Inglesias performed on the Today Show this morning, and Thor started dancing in my womb. I am *pretty* sure I've felt Thor move before, but this was the first time where I couldn't just chalk it all up to gas or digestional vibrations.

Trevor was less than amused that the first time I would actually admit to feeling his unborn son move was during a televised Enrique Inglesias concert. He tried to change the channel, but I wouldn't let him. After all, his baby was obvious saying, "Baby, I like it! Come on give me some more!" Why deny The Fetus?

Trevor tried argue that I was misinterpreting Thor's movements as "dancing". According to him, Thor was actually attempting to kick the sh*t out of me for making him listen to such crap.

Whatever, Trevor. Thor likes what he likes.

"Don't stop, baby! Don't stop, baby! Just keep shaking along!"

Storm over the New Mexican desert...

Stormy sunset just north of my mother's cabin...

Have I mentioned that Colorado is one of my favorite places on the planet?
Love. It.

Day trip to Ouray...

Trevor and I decided to spend the day in Ouray, Colorado. Neither of us had ever been, or experienced the most dramatic part of 550 between Silverton and Ouray (known famously as the Million Dollar Highway) as it curves somewhat precariously at great heights above the Uncompahgre Gorge. So, after deciding to rest after yesterday's hike, it seemed like a good day to make the hour and a half journey to the so-called Switzerland of America.

Plus, there was only *supposed* to be a 10% chance of rain or afternoon storms. Considering the drive, the gorge and the overall highway curviness (not to mention Trevor's lowlander driver status), we thought good weather would be a perk with the least amount of potential risk of embarrassment on the road. Hey, the road was high and the drop off STEEP, people!

All in all, we found Ouray to be absolutely charming. We had lunch at the local brewery, and spent the afternoon shopping and walking/driving around town. When what we thought was a passing shower hit, we sought refuge inside one of coolest, little coffee shops in Colorado and spent a couple of hours drinking chai tea and catching up on emails while sitting on deep, comfy couches. It was fantastic and very relaxing.

Unfortunately, the rain only increased as the afternoon wore on, so we decided to cut our losses and head back south to Durango.

Here are some of the day's pictures:

Entering the famous section of the Million Dollar Highway
headed towards lovely Ouray, Colorado.

Tunnel.

The Beaumont when we first arrived.

Trevor REALLY wanted to eat at Billy Goat Gruff's.
Unfortunately, there was absolutely NOTHING I could eat on their menu.
It was a sad realization for poor Tevo.

We ended up eating at the Ouray Brewery.
This was the view from their rooftop dining area.
I had the tiniest sip of Trevor's beer, and was surprised by its chocolate after taste.
I don't even LIKE beer and thought it was fabulous.
(This is really saying something)

Why no popcorn? Haters.

View of the main street through town.

The Beaumont as the weather started to deteriorate.

The Courthouse. 1888, baby!

Shops along the main drag.

Overlooking Ouray on our way out of town.

It was still sunny on the north side of town.
(If you look closely, you can see the Beaumont)

Storminess moving in.

View of Ouray from higher up 550.

The way back home kept looking worse and worse.

Clouds looking westish (I think).

Of course, the road in the OPPOSITE direction was all sunshine and blue skies.

The Switzerland of America.

Trevor requested photos of both these signs. I nearly FROZE to death taking them. The temperatures in the pass plummeted quickly as the rain started to pour.

Not necessarily the weather a lowlander wants to see on curvy and gorge(y) part of the Million Dollar Highway.

Headed back to Silverton.

I can't wait to go back to Ouray in the future. There are a bunch of hikes in the area that I am itching to try at a time when I am not held hostage by a heart rate monitor. Including two of the area's fourteeners: Mount Sneffels and Uncompahgre Peak. Hope Thor likes the mountains!

I will be your leg rest, if you'll be mine:

We swear we didn't pose them this way. They were both simply too tired to move.

And, yes. To those with the maturity level of Trevor, it almost looks dirty.

It is not. They were just sleepy. Honest.

Weird? Yes.
But also strangely cute.

Cascade Creek Trail...

Today we hiked part of the Cascade Creek Trail. Trevor and I had never considered it before, because it looked like a backpacker's trail where you could - literally - hike to Silverton over the course of a weekend. But, thanks to a trifold about local hikes near Purgatory that my mother picked up years ago, we discovered that you could make part of the trail into a nice day hike to a picturesque waterfall. Round trip the hike to Engine Creek Falls is about five miles, and took about two hours each way. Of course, hikers without a husband armed with a heart rate monitor attached to his pregnant wife can probably make it much faster.

Speaking of which, it is really effing difficult to do any descent hiking in the altitude without your heart rate climbing above 130. I've been really good about fudging the numbers (only slightly) until today when Trevor all of a sudden started demanding to see my heart rate on my watch for himself every five minutes. It is sort of amazing we ever made it to the bleeping waterfall. That said, I burned 2500 calories in just under four hours. Not bad for a pregnant lady with a heart rate cap, if I do say so myself!

The hike through Cascade Creek Valley is beautiful. The way up does have several switchbacks, but none of them are steep or very difficult. You go through two or three grassy meadows with loads of wildflowers and gorgeous panoramic views of the surrounding mountain peaks, which makes the hike a highly rewarding one. I would definitely recommend it, and look forward to hiking this trail again in the future. According to the pamphlet, there are other waterfalls further up the valley that I would love to explore. There is something spectacularly beautiful about waterfalls in the mountains to me. I could spend days up there next to the river if it weren't for all the bugs.

(Seriously. The bugs were BAD today. Swarms of big, black flies that were seemingly unaffected by bug spray. The only way to lose them was to keep moving. Otherwise you felt like Pigpen from the Peanuts cartoons.)

As for the Awesome Pawsome, this hike is very dog friendly. The path isn't too rocky and there are plenty of small streams and creeks along the way for them to cool off in and take a drink. It is pretty much a doggie paradise.

Now for the usual post hike photos:

Following the creek at the beginning of the hike.

Eventually, you leave the main creek and switchback up the mountain.

One of the first meadows encountered on the hike.

The view through the trees.

Names and dates carved into trees. The oldest we saw was from 1963.

Hiking through another meadow full of wild flowers.

Briefly above the tree line.

Wildflowers.

The trees opening up into a meadow.

The view of Engine Creek Falls from the Forest Service Bridge.

The view from the rock where I took off my shoes and almost lost one.
To quote Trevor, "That was close. And no. I would not have carried you back to the car".

Hasky, Me, Woo.

Trevor and Alley on the Forest Service Bridge.

Trevor overlooking the creek from up high.

Hiking back upstream to get a better view of the waterfall.

If we had more time, I would have loved to have gone up there.

Another photo op with Haskell and Gypsy.

Trevor and Alley.

Water break on the hike back to the car.

Wish these photos could do the meadows justice!
They are so much more beautiful in person!