"Fishing..." (Oh, so Loosely Stated....)

Friday nights over supper, all of us typically make plans together as a family, as to what we are going to do the following day for our Family Day.  Ideas get thrown around, Kev and I assess our energy levels...and our budget, the forecast is checked, and voila!  Usually, something is agreed upon fairly easily, and we are off to the races...so to speak.

The traditional Family Day breakfast...

This time of year, fishing season is just barely upon us, and I fully realize that I am completely outnumbered when it comes to the epic enthusiasm from all male parties represented under this roof upon the realization of this fact.  And upon even further realization that a local river has been stocked with trout, and that Saturday was going to be gorgeous weather-wise, well the plan of what would be taking place first thing in the morning was really a no brainer.

Inhaled in 2.5 seconds...

And whilst tucking my wee cherubs into bed for the night, I was also, quite emphatically informed by all three Hoolies that they would NOT be impressed if London decided to make her debut during the nighttime hours before the fishing expedition was able to get underway.  I said I would see what I could do.  No pressure...

My life for the rest of the summer...

Well, the day dawned bright and beautiful.  We were jumped upon by three small Bedheads around 6:30 a.m. very seriously telling us that "the best fishing is first thing in the morning..." and so we stumbled out of bed, made the coffee and the pancakes, and hit the road by 8:30.  Unshowered, of course.  It's the way I so love to roll.  (Not so much at all...but the patience meter on fishing days is quite low in my home).

Oh so picturesque...But wait...their lines are caught on each other.  Good times.

Picnic packed.  Van loaded.  Wormies purchased.
And thus began our first family fishing adventure of the season.
And it was Epic.

This is Ransom's first year of fishing with a real worm and a real hook.  In previous years, he had been more interested in throwing rocks or "pretend" fishing with the little red plastic fish that came with his pole.  Well, this year, he was bound and determined to be a "big boy," which is cool.  Except for the fact, that this three year old has a firecracker of a temper, he is stubborn as all get-out, and he has the patience of a gnat.

So, after two failed attempts at casting...what does my child do?  Well, in disgust, he chucks his pole right into the rushing river...and his 38 week pregnant Mama has to dive over the rocks and grab it by the line before it got swept away for good.  Finally, after reeling in about 20 feet of line...and after getting his hook stuck in my down vest...and after finally retrieving said fishing pole of glory...

...and after utilizing every last bit of self control to not send Ransom into the brink right along with his pole... (just kidding, but only a little bit)...thus ended my wee one's day of fishing.

"Thorry, Mama.  I won't do that again."  

Back to throwing rocks he went for the remainder of our adventure.
We shall pick it up again next time.
Ho-ly Hannah.

Rock throwing.

Next on the list of funsies, Jesse proceeded to slip on a rock and fall in up to his waist....upon which I laughed... which made him really mad at me.  So, to make up for it, I told him I would bait his hook for him because he kept losing his worms.  This assuaged his being miffed at me...but before I was quite ready for him to take his pole back...he took it anyway, and proceeded to hook me - worm and all - in my huge head of hair...in which I became slightly miffed at him...and Kev had to come and ream on my hair, which just happened to be that delicately painful hair located by my temples...during which the entire time he kept asking:  "How did?....What?...How in the?...."

Now you see him...now you don't.  Plus, his line is caught on bottom, just for good measure.

I yelled loud and he laughed hard.
And it was really awesome.

After that, I decided not to hang around to see if Kaden wanted to hook me, as well; and instead I started throwing rocks with Ransom.  Far far away from the Large Ones and their runaway hooks.

Finally, after a couple of hours of catching nothing but the bottom every. other. cast., we got a call from our friend telling us that we were at the "wrong bridge" where the fish had been stocked, and that he and his son were at the "right bridge."  They had only been there just a little while, and they had already caught their limit.  Good times...

So, over to the proper location we drove...where Kev finally did reel us in one nice little trouty...and where the boys continued to keep catching the bottom...and each other...and where after another hour or so, we decided it was time to wrap things up for the day and maybe head home.

It's what's for lunch...er...snack.

First fishing trip down in the books.
A success?  Well....a fish was caught, I guess.
And when asked if the boys had fun, we were answered with three resounding:  "OH yeah's!!!"
To which Kev and I looked at each other and asked:  "Did WE have fun?"
In which we replied to each other:  "We think so....??"

 And then I took a nap.

And when I woke up, Kev had tackled our garage of atrociousness and made it all super spiffy, we got our deck all set up with our table and chairs, and the weather was still oh so glorious.  So, I ran to the store for chicken sausages and ice cream cones - determined to keep Family Day a celebration - and it did end up feeling that way, after all.  A fun little bonfire, supper outside, three boys running free, ice cream cones for dessert, showers for the Hoolies, and campouts in their beds together.

Peace once again reigns supreme.

Phew.

A quick game of Cribbage for Kev and I.
And then a 7:30 bedtime for us both!
Love-o-ly.

Sometimes, Family Days are exhausting...

These Days...

...of little boy joys.

First newt of the season...that also has gone missing in our house...or quite possibly in one of our kitty's bellies...

Every Spring, the boys and I have a "bucket list" of sorts that we want to accomplish before the summer is over...namely "critters" that we want to catch - or at the very least see - before those crazy, long days of winter are upon us once again.

First snake of the season...in which London gets a taste of what she's in for.

At the very minimum, these are the things that we want to catch at some point or another:
~ A snake.
~ A snapping turtle.
~ A painted turtle.
~ Frogs' eggs.
~ Big Daddy Tadpoles - like the bullfrog ones.
~ A bullfrog.
~ A little tree frog.
~ A toad.
~ Butterflies.
~ Salamanders.
~ A newt.
~ Crayfish.
~ Nests - for birds and hornets...
~ Leeches - this one is ALLL the boys.  I'm good with this one.  Grody.
~ Caterpillars, lightning bugs, moths, etc. etc. etc. in the bug category.
~ All sorts and sundry fish when we go on our fishing excursions.
~ And I'm sure I have missed several other things, as well....

Young snapper.  Just out of hibernation.  Very lethargic the first day.  Very "snappy" today.
Time to release the hostage, methinks.  I would like us to keep all of our fingers...

As soon as the very first of these "treasures" has been found, the boys know that Spring is really and truly indeed upon us, and almost instantaneously the flow of our days shifts from more time being inside to most of their time being outside...or a whole lot of that front door banging open and shut, back and forth - between racing inside because they forgot something or for a quick change because they fell in the brook, and then back outside again for a new adventure.

A growing collection.  With one of my "baby totes" housing our turtle right now.  Geez.

And thus, the shift in the cleanliness of my floors and the magnitude of my laundry amount changes, as well.
But, I love it.
I honestly do.

First wee butterfly.

I much prefer my boys living outside in all of their filthy glory - with the sunshine and the trees budding, the grass growing and the flowers sprouting, to those crazy, long, cold, and dreary months of Maine winter.  I am SO not a cold weather woman.  So, I will take the wet with the mud, the filth with the never ending laundry, and the dirty fingernails, with the crazy critter count any day of the week.

Nosy girls...

And usually - once they get into their full glory of all of their critter catching - I establish a "one aquarium, one critter" rule.  Otherwise, things can get really out of hand.  Like yesterday, for instance.  Yesterday, was just one of those days of little boy glory where all in the course of a single day, they found themselves frogs' eggs, a newt, a snake, and a snapper.  In the words of my Jesse:  It was the "BEST! DAY! EVER!" And since everything was just all so new and exciting, I told the boys that they could keep everything for a couple of days before we release them back to Mother Nature.

Frogs'....or maybe salamander...eggs.

Of course, they had to take things one step further and beg to have everything moved into their room - for only one night - just so we can "study" them and do "science experiments."  And me feeling oh so generous at the time, told them that that would be fine.

Long about one in the morning, however, when I had my nightly traipse downstairs to grab my cup of "calm" tea to try and keep my preggo restless legs at bay...I did experience a slight case of the heebie jeebies, wondering if there would be something "slithery" or "snappy" that might just have escaped in the night and that my bare naked feet might come into contact with in the pitch dark blackness of my normally oh so safe and cozy home.  Freaky...

So, tonight, the hostages shall be released.
It's just the way things must go, my Loves...
Both for the sake of God's little creatures...and for the sanity of yo' Mama.

Big Daddy Taddy.

And so...
Spring has indeed sprung in these here parts.
And this makes us all so VERY happy.

Tis now the time for long walks in the woods...
For bike and stroller rides...
And soon...oh so very soon...for moving just a little bit faster.

These are the days of perpetually wet feet.
Of explorations.
And of little boy imaginations running wild.

These are the days of never. ending. laundry...
And of keeping an eye out for ticks and for poison ivy.

Days of simple things.
Of making time pass so much more quickly while we wait for wee London's debut...

And these are the days where my porch looks perpetually like this:

These are the days that bring me SO. MUCH. JOY.

For the ring, dear Rachael....I thank you.
For the every day, perpetual reminder of my "joy journey...."
What a gift...

Heritage.

There's this little white building with a proud white steeple - way up in God's Country - which can be seen for miles around from the highest point in Hodgdon... that played a hugely pivotal role in my life during all of my growing up years, and that still to this day is very near and dear to my heart.

See the steeple - far far away?

Every single Sunday - barring sickness or death - my two brothers and I crammed into the backseat of our little family car, and our family headed across our small town of Hodgdon over to the other, equally small little town of East Hodgdon, where we would meet up with the rest of the Quint's and the Smith's, the Duff's and the Foster's and everyone else in between who was related to all of the rest of us in some way or another.

And it was in this tiny little building, with tons of friends and cousins, and with a church "family" that watched me grow up from the time I was a baby until the day I moved away as a "Mrs."... and who loved me no matter what.... where I learned so very many things.

There's something pretty special about a place where there are so many families with three generations represented.  There's something very sweet about seeing a grandbaby being bounced on his Grampy's lap during the middle of the service so that the baby's Mama can actually get something out of what the pastor is saying, and there's something pretty cool about watching little cousins all lined up together in the same pew -- literally growing up together in the church.

God bless church potluck suppers...

....There's also something really embarrassing about having the Mama's - mid service - split up said cousins and make them return to their rightful owners because they can't stop the snorting belly laughs or the note passing during the pastor's message.

(I speak not from experience, but from being an innocent onlooker.  Ahem.  Right, Jodi?....)

It was there, though - in that little building, and with those precious people - where I witnessed and observed faithfulness being modeled.  It was there where I learned what I really and truly believe - and why I believe it.  It was during those years and in that building where I learned to love Jesus and where I learned to not just read His Word - but to live and practice it, as well.  And it was from those people where I learned that family extends far beyond "blood," and of what it honestly means to be the Hands and Feet of Jesus.

This is the "family" that - while some of the older generation teased me about my wild and crazy hair and ear lobe piercings..... also openly welcomed and accepted my edgy, but truly-searching-for-Jesus, new boyfriend....who not only sported an earring himself, but who also had some pretty wild and crazy hair.

And this is the "family" that closely walked with me when he took his life four years later...

This is the "family" that supported me and prayed for me when I flew clear across the world having never been on an airplane before...and who loved me and listened to my follow-up presentation that went way, way, way overtime upon my return home.

This is the "family" that not only threw me my bridal shower, but who also gave me showers for my first...and for my last wee baby...fourteen years later.

And it was in this building where I learned loyalty and love...and where it was shown by the people within those four walls, that "you can always come home."

Here I saw modeled the same truths that were being modeled at home...
I learned what a strong marriage looks like.
I learned what it looks like for an older woman to be an example to the younger.
I learned what it means to be faithful in little, and what it means to be faithful in much.
And I saw parents loving their children well.

This is a rich, rich heritage.
And this is a legacy that my three small boys get to be a part of whenever we return back home for a visit.

And while I firmly believe that Jesus can't be contained to any building...and that any "church" is only as healthy as its' people...because that's what the church is in the first place...

And while I know that it takes a bunch of different styles...and songs...and set-ups to make the world go round...  Goodness knows, we ourselves have been a part of several different venues - missional house church, big and small traditional churches, and more edgy contemporary ones...

I also, and equally as firmly believe that it's the people inside that make the difference.
And it's the love and the "walking alongside" that stays with others forever.
It's the acceptance and the grace...and sometimes the "tough love" shown when needed...
And it's the "family" that extends far beyond the borders of blood that truly creates the definition of a "church."

And while I know and love so many friends who believe that God is irrelevant and that church is no longer necessary in this day and age...I also know that you can't judge God by His kids.  And while no-one is perfect, and while some of His kids have scarred others for life by both their words and by their judgmental actions...there are also some of God's kids - and many who reside here in this sweet, small building - who have solidified in this woman's heart the very real relevance of God Himself and of my very great need for Him each and every day of life.

So, while everyone's "Journey with Jesus" looks different...
While each person's "style" and "preference" may sport a different flavor than what someone else may like...
While some may have tried this whole church "gig," and sadly may have gotten badly burned in the process by some well-meaning "saint"...

I am so very thankful to be able to say that my growing up years, and my rich heritage in that sweet little Hodgdon building on the White Settlement Road way up North in God's Country, helped shape and mold me into the woman that I am today.

And it taught me the deep, wild love of a Father God.
It solidified and and confirmed to me what my parents modeled and taught me at home.
And it showed me authenticity.

God is good.
He is real.
And He can be trusted.
There is more to life than these fleeting years on Earth.
And may He find us faithful.
May we choose to a part of His Story...and may we be accurate reflections of Him and of who He really is....

For these truths taught to me - and for so very many more - I will remain forever thankful.
May people always be able to say that they can see Jesus in God's kids who came out of that little white building...


*   *   *   *   *   *
Written in honor of my sweet little church family who is celebrating "up Home" tonight.
Wishing I could be there with you all...

On Not Saying "I Told You So"...

...when you really, rightfully could.

Just a little over five years ago, when we were living in Pennsylvania - in a ghetto apartment on "the other side of the tracks" - we had this itty bitty bright peach bathroom with absolutely no counter space to place even one of our toiletries upon while we were getting ready for the day.

And it was awesome.
Only not so much.

Kaden was three, and Jesse was about seven months old at the time of this story -- just barely crawling.  And every single morning of life when I curled my hair in the bathroom, I would set my iron down on the (closed) toilet seat while it was heating up, because there was no other place for it to go.  And every single morning of life, when Kev came into the bathroom to get ready for the day, he would say to me:  "Honey, you can't leave the curling iron sitting there. One of these days, one of our boys is going to come into the bathroom, reach up and grab that thing, and get a really awful burn."

Every single day, this was our exchange.

And I would agree with him.  He wasn't being foolish, and he wasn't being over the top protective.  But then I couldn't find any other place to set it down while I was getting ready....so I would tell myself that I would just stay in the bathroom the entire time it was on to make sure that a burn never happened...and thus that same scene replayed itself perpetually, each and every day... for days and weeks on end.

Until one week-end -- the week-end that Jesse actually started crawling for real -- Kev had a Saturday morning class, and a friend and I decided to go and check out an Amish food market down the road.  So we made plans that I would drive Kev to class so that I could have the car.  The plans were last minute, so I wasn't completely ready for the day when it was time for him to leave.  And this one time, I left my curling iron hot and ready on the toilet seat, packed the boys up in a flurry to get Daddy to class on time, and told myself that I would finish getting ready when we got back home.

Well, by the time we got back home, I remembered that I wanted to check something online in the living room really quickly...and that "really quickly" turned into several minutes...and when Kaden said:  "Mama, I need to go potty, can Jesse follow me into the bathroom?".....distractedly I responded:  "That's fine, Honey..."

And life went on as normal.
Until...

Until that ear-piercing, gut-wrenching, my-child-is-in-agony scream that came from the bathroom, and I knew in an instant what had happened.  "Jesus, NO!!!" flew out of my mouth, and I raced into that room, where I saw that my seven month old baby had his hands wrapped tightly around that burning hot piece of rod and could. not. let. go. because the heat had sealed his hands in a claw grip around it.

I have never heard screams like that before or since, and I have never lived a worse day in my life.

Graphic...but important to show that this story is not just about a "little" incident.

I called my friend who rushed over with her hair dripping wet and her just born baby, and she drove me to hospital where we raced into the emergency room, and where we began the agonizing process of cooling down his hands and assessing the damage....all the while knowing that I had to tell Kev - who had no idea what was going on...and who had warned me repeatedly for months. on. end. that this day would one day come... and indeed it had.

At the carelessness of this little baby's Mama.

Charlotte's husband found the Head of Security at the school, who hunted Kev down...who was told nothing but:  "Your son has been burned".... and he was immediately rushed to the hospital to meet us.  He could hear Jesse's screams as soon as he opened the door...and when I turned to meet him...I braced myself for what was surely to come.

Days...weeks...of wrapping and re-dressing his wounds...

A look of horror, at least.
A "How could you?" for sure.
And an onslaught of "How many times did we talk about this?!" for certain.
It is what I would have done, for sure -- not a doubt in my mind.

But, there wasn't even an ounce of that condemnation.
Never once did I hear an "I told you so."
And to this day I have never, ever been blamed for the scars that race up a huge part of his hand.

Surgery day where they grafted a strip of skin off of his belly.

There was only grace poured out.
There was the shushing of my "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...."
There was the: "It's okay, Honey.  It could have happened to anyone."....(which we both knew wasn't true).
And there was the comfort of the Protector Husband for His wife so very broken....

And every single day of my life...and especially in these summer months as that skin graft from his belly tans brown while the rest of his palm stays peachy white...I am reminded of that day.

Sweet little cast.

I am reminded of what my husband's rightful response could have been.
And I am reminded of what it instead was.

That day...and his response to me forever changed me.
I will remember that grace shown to me - for life.

Because I know -- in my heart of hearts -- I know...that if the shoe had been on the other foot, my response would not have been the same.  There would not have been that same mercy shown.

After surgery stitches showing off the new skin - once the cast was removed.

But because of that gift given to me... I have learned how to better give it back to others, as well.
I have learned mercy...and I better practice grace.
Those scars are a perpetual reminder...and my husband is my forever Hero.

So...

When it's so very tempting to be able to rightfully say "I told you so" to someone...
And when those words could fly out so easily...and rip wide the wounds that are already bruised and bloody...
When something could be said - and maybe even rightfully so - but would be remembered for life...
When the guilt could be made to be a burden worn heavy for years and years to come...
And when internal scars could be created that will stay remembered forever and never ever forgotten...

New skin grafted on - allowing his little fingers to once again fling wide open with full range of motion.

Even if you have the chance to say it...
And even if it is your every right to do so...

Maybe....don't.
Swallow deep, and respond in a way that heals the wounds.

The grace shown will be remembered forever.
Trust me.
I know.

Tuesday Happy.

This makes me so happy.
On so very many levels.

A little boy.
His faithful dog.
And a puddle.

What more do you need?
Pure, unadulterated happiness.

When Grampy & Grammy Came.

Have you ever read the book The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman?
It kind of revolutionized our marriage in the early years.

The basic premise of the book is that there are five main love languages, and while we "speak" a combination of several of them, most people have a predominant one that when "spoken to them" makes them feel most loved and appreciated.  We also tend to speak the love language that we most want to have spoken to us...so it's helpful to know which is most important to your spouse, because you may be showing love in a way that speaks to you...but doesn't necessarily speak so much to him or her.

Clear as mud?

Let me break it down.  So the five love languages are as follows:
Quality Time
Acts of Service
Touch - Not necessarily sexual - but hand holding, hugging, public displays of affection etc.
Words of Affirmation
and Gifts

When Kev and I read through this book together with some other "seasoned" couples in year one or two of our marriage, I couldn't really put my finger on which one exactly meant the most to me.  And I remember a lady speaking up and saying:  "If you're not sure which love language is your predominant one, just think about what irritates you about your spouse, and chances are...that's your love language not being spoken!"

And sha-zam - just like that, I knew what mine was.
And so did Kev.

From day one in our marriage, there were tiny little things that irritated me to no end...but because they were so tiny, I didn't feel like they were worth mentioning.  Things like:  If he took a glass of water with him to the bathroom in the morning -- why on earth couldn't he bring it back out and put it in the kitchen sink when he was finished?  And...if he was the last one out of bed, why would he leave it unmade?  This was beyond me.  And...once you're done taking a shower -- why in the world can't you just put the bath mat back over the end of the tub?  I just didn't get it.  And. it. bugged. me.

You know - really earth shattering kinds of matters.
I knew - in the grand scheme of things - that they were little, so I didn't mention them...because I didn't want to get into a fight, but they irritated me to. no. end.

So, when this wise, wise woman made that comment - I had a lightning bulb moment - and knew without question, that my love language is "Acts of Service."

And for Kev -- when he came home from work, I was always home about an hour before him...and without fail, he would always find me reading a book in a chair in the corner.  I was a teacher at the time, and I was with crazy kids all blessed day, so when I got home, the first thing I would do would be to completely lose myself in a book.  So, when Kev came home, I was far away in La-La Land, and all he would receive from me would be a serious of grunts and "that's nice, Honey," and whatever else I could muster out that would make him think I was paying attention to him.

His love language?  Quality Time.  Before reading the Five Love Languages, it was beyond me as to why my reading a book would irritate him.  Here I was minding my own business and not causing any trouble...and he was frustrated.

Well, glory be.

Sounds like the silliest, most simplistic thing, but that book completely changed the course of our marriage and the habits that we have to this day.  No joke.  From that day on, things changed.  But little things can become big things over the course of time...and when you know what makes your man or your woman feel loved, and when you learn to speak the love that they really need to hear....well, things change.

Kev knows that I find it far more sexy if after I'm gone for a few days I come home to a picked up house and dishes that are caught up than a dozen roses sitting on my kitchen table.  I feel far more loved if he makes the bed and puts his dirty laundry in the hamper than if he brought me home a piece of jewelry.  It's just the way I'm wired.  And he feels loved if I am present when he comes home.  And if I protect our family time when life has gotten out of control.  He feels respected if I check with him first before planning our week's schedule, and he feels loved if I ask him out on a date instead of it always being vice versa.

Good times.

Aaaaannyways....
Super long intro to what I was really going to write about today -- which was having Mom & Dad over this weekend.  Let's just say that my love tank is filled up to the tippy top brim.

My Dad is a school teacher, so this was his April vacation.  I just thought they were coming to spend a couple of nights with us while he had the time off.  You know, time to just hang out, veg, have backyard bonfires, spend time with the kids, and do a whole lot of nothing.

Well, they just kind of swooped in like little nesting fairies and kind of conquered my house.

We have a lovely old table and benches - on loan from some dear friends - that has gotten increasingly rickety over the years.  We practically live at this kitchen table, and I want to return it in as good of a shape as it was loaned to us, but it's been in need of some love.  So, Dad helped Kev shore everything up... and now everything is more stable than it ever was, and this makes me really happy.  I honestly thought it was going to be the death of somebody!

Meanwhile, Mom hired the hoolies to do all sorts of projects around the house, that I have had on the back burner of my "want to do but will probably never get to" list.  Things like:  washing my windows and cleaning the outside of my fridge.

It's white.  Who knew?

Sha-zam!!!

And things like bringing me a brand new vacuum cleaner to have for my very own...and teaching Kaden how to use it...

And my most favorite thing ever:  when I woke up one morning, I noticed that while I was sleeping, a little cleaning fairy had tackled my atrocious stove top where applesauce and maple syrup...and baked on eggs...and who knows what... had been baked on and left for dead.

Now gone and gleaming.

Wowzas.  I had thought this was a hopeless cause.
Now I like to walk by and just look at it...

And then, to top everything off...not only did they slave away the whole live long weekend, and not only did they stash away in my downstairs freezer: two homemade loaves of bread, a lasagna, and a double batch of cookies and muffins...

They decided that wasn't quite enough, and they needed to go out with a bang...

They wouldn't even let me make them supper.
Acts of Service, Baby.
And then some.
Ho-ly Hannah.

While we Wait.

For all three of my pregnancies, I have had significantly different nesting strategies...or maybe, I should call them different things that I chose to be OCD and anal about.

I think I like "nesting strategies" better...

About 37 weeks.

With Kaden, it was the classic first time Mama nesting impulse where every. single. thing. in my house had to be in tip top shape, cleaned, organized, and culled from top to bottom, attic to basement.

A more accurate side view of the "vastness."

With Jesse, I knew that I was going to be a Mama of two, and most certainly I would never have time to cook a meal in my life ever again; so my focus was more on meal prep and freezing.

And I had to repaint my kitchen cupboards.
This was an absolute necessity.

Attacking...er "loving on" London...

With Ransom, we were in the midst of moving, and he was my first fall baby, so we had just come off of harvest season.  My family may not have had their home set up yet, and they may not have had any meals to eat....but sure as shooting, they had a boatload of frozen strawberry jam and applesauce to live on for months on end to come.

A photo bomb by my photographer's hand.  AKA  Kademyster.

And with this little girl, I'm finding myself to be even more random.  Things are fairly organized.  Things are fairly clean.  And I have a handful of meals stored away in the freezer.  Nothing really over the top, however.  But, after our little "trial run" a couple of weekends ago, I got my sights set on the fact that I have got to have new shower liners before this baby comes.  I need new shower liners, and the bathroom curtains and window curtains all have to be washed.  And I will not be ready for her arrival until these two things take place.  Dirty windows?  Didn't feel the least bit led to wash them...but then my Mama came and learned that it's been four years (yes. four. years.) since I've given them a thorough going over.  So she changed that fact real fast.  She rocks like that.  Freshly scrubbed floors?  Meh.  It may or may not take place.  But, brand new shower liners and clean window curtains?  A necessity.

And I also need a constant supply of peanut butter in the cupboard.
I get twitchy if we are running low and don't have a back-up.
And I get really nervous if my favorite yoga pants are in the wash...
And if we are running low on toilet paper.
It's the important things in life that I really tend to worry about...

Packed suitcase with the essentials:  camcorder, cd player, Cribbage, and snacks...

But, as of right now, we are finally golden.
She can come.
I'm good.
Shower liners purchased.  Curtains washed.  Peanut butter and toilet paper stocked.  Yoga pants packed.
Phew....
Weirdness, much?
I've learned to just roll with myself....both literally AND figuratively.  Ahem.

And now for just a couple of my favorite hospital "traditions:"

I always give my "big siblings" a gift from their "baby" for when they first come to visit us at the hospital.  Just some little things to make them feel big and special.  It's become a really fun tradition for me, and just today I finished filling their little "goody" bags.

And for each baby, Kev has always made me a beautiful cd of songs...in which I try really reeeeally hard not to listen to before I go to the hospital...but I usually can't wait, because I'm so excited.  I rarely pay it a bit of attention during the actual labor and delivery, but for the entire rest of our time in the hospital, I have it playing on repeat to the point where I have the order of the songs memorized.  I love this.  It's one of my most favorite things.

Aaaaand, once again I tested positive for the Group B Step...so I know that I will be staying an extra night in the hospital for the baby to be monitored.  It's pretty guaranteed that I won't get both doses of antibiotic into me before London makes her debut.  With Ransom we barely got one in in time.  And whilst hospitals are very much not my favorite while I am in labor...I very much don't mind staying an extra night after my baby's arrivals.  It's kind of like a hotel stay.  Only not so much.  But, I do so rather enjoy showing off my baby....and living in my jammies...and having meals brought to me.  That's kind of "hotel-ish."  And Kevy always stays with me...and the Hoolies always have sleepovers with Grampy and Grammy.  So, it's really kind of fun all the way around.  Once the baby comes.....

It's cozy...and snuggly...with my songs playing...and my hubby beside me...with our new baby close.
One of my favorite things, indeed....

And speaking of favorite things....

Oh my word.  Check this thing out.
A priceless gift from a precious friend.
I love. Love. LOVE this necklace.  What a treasure.  I almost cried when I opened it....

Seriously, it is one of my most treasured possessions.  And little did she know that this was the exact sort of "mother's jewelry" that I had been looking at and wanting.  It was to be my "Mother's Day Gift" to myself this year.  Ha!  Sooo, Happy early Mother's Day to meeeee!

And so, now we wait...
And we savor these last few days and weeks.
And we nest just a little bit more.
And I shall treasure these last few hours of feeling her move "in womb" until the day when I can finally meet her face to face...

We will cherish the gifts of today...

And we shall also drink a whooooole lot of pregnancy tea whilst we do all of our waiting.....
And we shall walk around the house during the wee hours of the morning drinking "Calm" and hoping that the restless legs will die down so that I stop shocking my husband awake with all of my violent kicking...
And we shall continue to write blog posts at 3:00 a.m....
And have crazy, weird dreams about giving birth to small animals...
And have my sons tell me that they "can't remember when I was skinny"...
And have people talk about my hidden "watermelon" like it's the most clever joke ever known to man...

You know...things like that.
While we wait.