Summertime, and the livin' is easy

There are lots of things I hate about the summer. Mosquitos, for one. And humidity. And having melon served at every gathering because it's in season. I hate melon.

But there are lots and lots of things I love even more about summer. Daylight past 8 p.m. Pick-up baseball games and trips to the park and not having to bundle up when you walk outside. Those nasty hot, humid days that end when the wind picks up and a cold front ushers in a quiet, beautiful summer rain.

And porch swings. Ohhh I love porch swings.

I've got lots of summer memories from my life on the farm. In fact, thinking back, most of my childhood memories are from the summer; you wouldn't know it's only three months long. I remember the four of us being sent out in the morning and not going back in until dinnertime. We caught bugs, counted cars, dug lots of holes, built treehouses, and exhausted our imagination. Unbelievably, we seemed to manage all of this without any injuries. Ever.

These days, I don't live on a farm. Not even close to a farm. And that's not going to happen anytime soon, if not ever.

So this year, we brought the farm to me.

Several months ago on my birthday, when we had just made the decision to buy this house, Chad bought me a hammock - or the promise of a hammock - to put in the backyard I had always wanted. Problem was, I only half-wanted a hammock. I could foresee Jackson getting tangled up in it when he was playing and having to mow around it and lying there swatting bugs in it and the idea became less appealing. So I never bought it.

About a month ago, on one of those first few summer nights where Jackson had gone to bed but it was still light out, I came out to our porch. Sitting here decompressing and reading a book, I looked up to soak it all in.

Rungs.

Sure enough, someone who owned this house within its last 60 years must have loved porch swings too, because there were already rungs screwed into the studs. It was almost too easy to decide that I needed a porch swing for my birthday present. But we're talking about me...so of course it wasn't.

I looked and looked and looked - and then Chad looked - for the perfect fit. I finally picked one. And picked the stain. And ordered it. Two weeks later, this beauty was sitting on my front steps (bless you, online shopping).

This little lady is small - as Chad said, "It can only fit two Tolleys" - but, man, it's awesome.

Last Sunday night, we had some friends over for a cookout. The second Jackson went to bed, it started to rain, and we had to move the party inside. Until Chad brilliantly suggested we go out on the porch, so there the four of us sat - protected from the downpour but still enjoying the smell in the air and the cool breeze on our skin - and chatted for three more hours.

Around 11:00, our friends went home. And the rain stopped. And the days got hot again. And we went back to work after the long weekend, and life got more complicated. But the summer has stuck around, seemingly forever. Something tells me that a lot of memories will be made on this porch, and it makes me happy that even though I can't totally replicate my childhood for Jackson, there are some things we can do that might make him look back in 33 years and smile.

I just don't know what to do with myself...

It's no secret over the past six months I've been crazy busy. I've been working at work and working when I got home and having a toddler underfoot means no time to do anything productive on the weekends. And those of you who know me well know that I hate to be disorganized. The fact that we moved in October into a not-very-spacious house and I still had boxes of artwork and photos and things for Goodwill made me c-r-a-z-y. Well, crazier.

The good news is, when you've worked someplace as long as I have, you tend to rack up the vacation. So when I checked earlier this month and had 38.5 vacation days I was required to take before February - or lose - I decided that it was time to put those days to good use and take myself a little staycation. No kid, no husband - just me, the dog and a list.

I'm not going to lie. I was absolutely clueless as to what the heck I'd do for a whole week. But by the time Monday morning rolled around, I had a list of projects broken out by day. Watch out, world, this lady is motivated and on a mission.

Yesterday, I slept in, got a haircut, made lunch and spent two hours cleaning out our bedroom closet. As a bonus, I found some old necklaces and instead of tossing them into the giveaway pile I spent 10 minutes shining them up and now they're good as new.

Today, I was up at the crack of dawn with the little guy, had an appointment for the HVAC serviceman, did one hour of catch-up work emails and then spent more than four hours cleaning out the guest room. It was by far the biggest project yet to be tackled and gave me some time to find a few gems, like this from my high school graduation.

Fortunately, I now have better control of my hair. And Janice has better fashion sense (but wasn't she cute?).

On the agenda for the rest of the week: clean out the attic, the storage shed in the backyard and make the coveted trip to drop all these somebody-else's-treasures off at Goodwill. But I'm not going to lie, I baked some fun in, too - lunch with a good friend tomorrow, a massage on Thursday (from a gift card Chad gave me in 2009 that I still haven't spent) and perhaps a trip to the zoo on Friday with the little dude and his cousin.

While three days ago I was worried I was going to be bored out of my mind, it's only Tuesday and I feel like my vacation is over. I'm thinking next time it might be nice to take two weeks - one week to get things done and the other week to read a few good books, go for some long walks, take a road trip with the windows down, and turn off the email. Wonder if I'd have a job to come back to if I pulled a stunt like that?

Shameful shirking

Earlier this week, I read a great column in the Wall Street Journal, "What They Don't Tell You At Graduation." While the piece takes a tongue-in-cheek approach to graduates - my favorite pieces of advice being "marry someone smarter than you" and "I am not asking you to cure cancer. I am just asking you not to spread it" - there's one tidbit I just can't get out of my head. It's #8:

Don't model your life after a circus animal. Performing animals do tricks because their trainers throw them peanuts or small fish for doing so. You should aspire to do better. You will be a friend, a parent, a coach, an employee—and so on. But only in your job will you be explicitly evaluated and rewarded for your performance. Don't let your life decisions be distorted by the fact that your boss is the only one tossing you peanuts. If you leave a work task undone in order to meet a friend for dinner, then you are "shirking" your work. But it's also true that if you cancel dinner to finish your work, then you are shirking your friendship. That's just not how we usually think of it.

Ohhh...boy, oh boy. I so do this. I honestly can't count the number of times in the last several months I've done this, there are too many. Sure, I've got excuses - at one point, I've literally been doing four people's jobs - but just because you have excuses doesn't mean what you're doing is excusable.

I've skipped important lunches that would catch me up with friends. I've totally forgotten birthdays. I've completely neglected emails, and walk dates, and girls' nights, and promised meals for new moms. I've been speeding into the parking lot minutes away from daycare closing time at 6:00 even though I'm supposed to be there around 3:30 to spend a few hours with my little dude before bedtime. I haven't cooked dinner since...March?

Quite frankly, and pardon my French, I suck. There's just no other way to say it.

This isn't even my boss's fault. He's actually a crazy nice guy with a young family who would be the first one to tell me to get my priorities in line. But here's the problem, because the author is right: nobody other than my boss throws me peanuts. (Even though Jackson throws just about everything he can get his hands on, we've not yet gone the peanut route.) So I work like hell at the office to the detriment of everything else. Good thing I don't get a performance appraisal as a mother or a friend because sometimes I worry I'd get a big, fat "does not meet expectations."

All that said, the article came at a really unique point in my life, as I transition to a new role at NRF and away from a department I've been a part of for almost 10 years. (More on that another day.) I'm anxious to get started, sad to leave my diehard team ... and thrilled to be putting something new together. But as I move into that position on Monday, I've had this weirdly refreshing perspective that I'm free. I get to start over with this work-life balance thing. A whole new team. New expectations. The rest is up to me. Instead of working more on work, I need to be working more on life.

So when I leave a mound of emails to spend time with my kid, take the dog for a walk, put together a meal that doesn't require something frozen going into the microwave, and spend an evening with my husband that doesn't involve me sitting on the other side of the room with a computer on my lap, I just have one request: somebody, please, pass the peanuts. Or just smack me upside the head with them.

My second child

Surprise! Earlier this year, I had another baby.

I'm only half-kidding.

Since January, we've been knee-deep in this video contest called "This is Retail," which is supposed to tell the stories of the people who work in our industry. Much like a child, this thing has taken YEARS off my life. I created it, I baked it for a little while, and then it came to life. And there is no putting that genie back in the bottle now, even though sometimes I wonder what in the hell I was thinking.

It's true that someone from Monmouth is in the running, which is a little town near where I grew up, but that's not who I'm rooting for to take home our $25,000 grand prize. (Galesburg people, please don't kill me.) I'm voting for this small businessman who does an incredible job showing how retail powers the economy.

I love this guy. I'd shop in his store if I was closer to it. And, umm, if I was a runner.



So my ask: Get your little self on www.retailmeansjobs.com/vote and vote for my buddy Jim through this Sunday (ten times per day per email address). I love this guy and his story. Of the 2,000 YouTube hits, I swear I've watched this video like 100 times.

I'd like to say it all ends here.

But as with having a child ... the first three months you don't even remember, the second three months are kind of a fog, and then it just continues to get better. Until after a year or so, you forget about all the sleepless nights and the nausea and the complete immersion into something bigger than you are and you're stupid enough to decide you might be willing to go through it all again. So stay tuned for more info on next year's contest once I get through this insanity.

We've got spirit, yes we do...

I'm reading a great book called The Happiest Toddler on the Block, a sequel to The Happiest Baby on the Block, which I buy for absolutely every expecting mom I know. The jury is still out on the toddler version, though if Dr. Karp can prevent meltdowns the way he claims then he's been worth every second of time I've spent reading.

In Chapter Two - and that's only as far as I've gotten so we haven't cured meltdowns yet - Karp talks about how children fall into three temperaments. Most are "easy," a few are "shy," and then a small portion are what he calls "spirited."

Parents usually know they have a spirited child because they're the 'more' kids. More active. More impatient. More impulsive. More defiant. More intense. More sensitive. More rigid. The No. 1 recommendation to parents with this toddler personality type: Keep them active. Get them outside to play -- a lot. These kids need to burn off their energy and work through their moods, experts say. They also need firm structure to keep them safe and stable -- and lots of patience.

Jackson sure sounds like a spirited sort, but since he's our first I can't be sure. Maybe all kids are like this, I thought. Dr. Karp suggests a test to determine your child's temperament:

Go to an uncrowded place, release your child's hand, and pretend to turn your back for two seconds. (Keep a close watch out of the corner of your eye.) What does she do? Stand there? (Easy.) Grab your coat and cry? (Shy.) Run away without looking back? (Spirited.) The answer will give you a pretty good reading of your child’s temperament.

Here are the pictures we took yesterday at the Cherry Blossom Festival after we let Jackson out of his stroller. Sense a pattern here?

Food fight

I've mentioned before how there are just some things that I just don't understand now that I'm a parent. And there are some things that I understand exclusively because I'm a parent (ie: drive-thru pharmacies).

Jackson doesn't read books. At ALL. It's not that we don't try. In fact, every night at bedtime we pull out a book and read it, but all he wants to do is open and close the pages. Finally, we've identified a book that Jackson seems to like: The Very Hungry Caterpillar. The little holes in the middle of the pages distract him long enough for me to read each page.

But as I was reading Jackson his bedtime story tonight, in between this incessant opening and closing of pages, I had one of those perplexing parent moments. What the heck kind of lesson is this book for a kid?

Let me sum this story up for you: A little bug wakes up, is hungry, eats for seven days including absolute JUNK on the sixth day, is so full he wants to pop, goes to sleep, and wakes up beautiful.

Uh-huh...If it was that easy I'd weigh ten pounds less.

Has anyone ever considered that there's an obesity problem in this country because too many kids read this book when they were little?

Bingeing and purging

I'm so behind, I haven't even updated that we bought a new house.

We close in two weeks.

And if you thought I was motivated about getting rid of stuff from my posts in February of 2009 or during my series of posts last year, you people ain't seen nothing yet.

Since we made the decision to move, I have been dead serious about purging the stuff we don't need. I am not taking seven years worth of crap into my new house. So here are the current rules we live by, agreed upon by Ellen and Chad - and Jackson by default:

1) If you forgot you even had it, it goes.

2) If it hasn't been used in the last five years, it goes. (For clothes, amend to: if it hasn't been worn in the last year, it goes. And if you have kept it around all this time thinking that someday you're going to be able to fit into it again...who needs that pressure?!? It goes.)

3) If you have no idea what's even IN that box, the whole blessed thing goes.

4) If the only reason why you still have it is because you'd feel badly getting rid of it...buh-bye, honey. It goes.

5) If it's not something that you want your spouse or your kid to have to sift through when you die, it goes.

In the last two weeks, we have taken a ton of stuff to Goodwill - including five garbage bags of clothes and over 100 books. And we've thrown away our fair share of stuff as well.

But in all the manic throwing-away of things, there have been a few moments where I've stumbled upon something unexpected and smiled. Like this note I found buried in a ridiculous amount of cards and love letters and newspaper clippings from my senior year of high school. They all got pitched but this made the cut:

Among a sea of absolute junk that I've been dragging around with me for 15 years, why on Earth did I keep that? (And why on Earth didn't I keep MORE of that? I love it. I'm keeping it forever. Chad and Jackson can clean it out of the attic when I die, and it will make them smile.)

I wonder how as a parent you make the decision on what to keep and what to pitch. I wonder if I'll have an attic full of Jackson mementos that someday I'll be begging his wife to take off my hands, or if I'll wish I kept around just one more piece of artwork or note on the days I'm reminiscing. I wonder if what I deem "important" enough to keep now will seem totally irrelevant in 15 years. I do wonder, all of these things.

But I ponder all this while I keep decluttering. This has been amazingly liberating and is such an opportunity to prioritize what's important in our lives. So when we move into our first actual house at the end of the month, we'll be doing it without a whole lot of baggage.

Except for the little things I love that will get tucked away until I stumble upon them again.

I'm baaack...

Well, this is embarrassing.

It's been two months to the day since I have updated my blog. Since I wrote my first post in 2007 I've never gone this long without updating it.

I refuse to get caught up over-explaining and rationalizing my neglect so I will only say I'm sorry to all four of you who read this. (Or maybe none of you now. Hmm.)

I'm also not going to try to spend an entire blog post summing up our last two months. Partially because there's too much to include and partially because I don't have enough brain cells at the moment to remember all of it. I do know that since I've blogged I've gotten a new boss, been to a bachelorette party, went away on a work trip, stayed downtown for our anniversary (6!), been to a wedding, hosted the parents for a long visit, spent time back home on vacation.... Honestly I don't remember the rest. Let's just say I haven't spent the last two months getting manicures and reading books.

Though I did just read The Help and it was as good as everybody says.

So we'll leave it at this: Now that my little guy is soundly sleeping 12 straight hours at night (halleluiah, I feel like a real person again) and my house is not a disaster and my job is not utterly insane, I will update this more often. How often? Who knows.

Guess you'll have to come back again to find out.

Wake-up call

Jackson was scheduled to get his four month shots over a week ago, but he woke up last Monday with a fever and his first cold. After eight days of sneezing, coughing and not a whole lot of sleep, we went in for his shots today. I spent all day dreading it. I remembered too well what happened last time and was wishing he was old enough that I could bribe him with a McDonald's sundae, as mom used to do with me if I was good while I was getting shots.

When we got up to the second floor, I realized I had forgotten something in the car. I asked the receptionist if I had a few moments before we were called, and he suggested they keep Jackson while I ran down to get it. When I returned, Jackson was holding court in the waiting room with three nurses, the scheduler and even a pharmaceutical sales rep crowded around his car seat watching him laugh and giggle for everyone. Must have been a slow afternoon in the office.

This time, the shots were a piece of cake. (As one of the nurses said, "With those thighs, he probably won't even feel them.") We were in and out in 20 minutes. He hadn't shed a tear.

On our way out of the building, I was feeling particularly euphoric. Our little boy had charmed the whole office, he wasn't fazed by the shots, and we were heading home on a beautiful spring day for a few hours of playtime before bed. I couldn't believe I'd spent much of the morning with a pit in my stomach thinking about this.

When I pushed the down button on the elevator, it opened instantly. A mother and her son - about six years old, give or take - had stepped in right before us and were taking the elevator down as well. She wrapped her arms around him and asked in the world's most cheery tone if he wanted to stop for Chick Fil A on the way home. Oh good, I thought, it's still ok for moms to bribe their kids for behaving at the doctor.

I smiled at the little boy, and instantly did a double-take. He was tall, but appeared fragile. His Superman t-shirt and blue pants were hanging off his wiry frame. He seemed tired. His pale blond hair was fuzzy, and growing back in patches. It was then I connected the dots: Our pediatrician's office shares a floor with the Children's Center for Cancer.

As I held on tightly to our perfectly healthy, giggly kid, I snuck a glance at this mother. She seemed so put together given that she was clearly dealing with the absolutely agonizing uncertainty and pain that must come along with having a seriously ill child. She's got far more strength than I ever will.

Suddenly, dreading two shots seemed like the most significant waste of time in the world.

Food for thought

I love the simplicity of this perspective.

Meltdown in aisle five

My friend Linda has always bemoaned my love of Target. When we were living together in St. Louis, I'd drag her in "just for a couple of things" and we'd end up spending hours - and a lot more money than we'd planned. I've loved that place since college.

Well, I've found a way to get me in and out of Target in 15 minutes, spending less than $40 in the process.

Go shopping with my son.

On Tuesday afternoon we went to Target to get a handful of small household things and a birthday present for Chad. I timed this perfectly: It was that sweet spot after naptime and before mealtime when Jackson is usually at his most charming. I figured I had an hour to browse the aisles, pick up a few snacks and cleaning supplies, peruse for the perfect gift and make it home with time to spare.

But that didn't happen. After about ten minutes in the store, Jackson decided he absolutely had enough and proceeded to have a complete meltdown in the shopping cart. We're talking about a gasping-for-breath screamfest. For absolutely zero reason, other than he apparently hates Target.

You've never seen me pick out a birthday present so fast.

My favorite part ~ Upon checkout, the very well-meaning clerk was trying to diagnose his ails:

- Ahh, he must be hungry.
  No, he's not hungry. He just ate.

- He must be tired.
  No. He just woke up from a two-hour nap.

- Maybe he needs a hug.
  Ok, seriously lady. I'm about to ring this all up myself.

At that point I must have looked at her with the exhaustion and frustrations of a new mother, because she stopped with the grand inquisition...and proceeded to ask me if I'd like to save 10% on my purchases for signing up for their credit card. (Umm...no thank you. And pretty sure the people in line behind me don't want me doing that, either.)

As the proverbial icing on the cake, as soon as the doors opened up to the outside Jackson stopped screaming, looked straight at me, and...smiled. Hmph.

This is why I shop online.

Reality check

I've been spending my days trying to unlock the mystery of a three-month-old, battling spit up and diaper duty and the inexplicable changes in personality that come from being too tired/too hot/too hungry or any litany of assorted things. It can be hard to remember in the midst of this tunnel vision that most of us are pretty damn lucky.

The father of a friend of mine, who is more like a sister than a friend, was diagnosed this week with pancreatic cancer. I don't know how bad it is, but pancreatic cancer is not good. They're going to fight like hell to beat it and, if anyone can beat it, they can. He's a wonderful guy, and my friend has such a palpable connection with her dad you can feel it when you spend just a few seconds with them.

Even though we've had a few friends recently who have lost parents - and a few more whose parents were very ill but pulled through - this news hit me like a ton of bricks. I've spent more minutes than I can count this week thinking about her and her family, wishing there was something I could do and praying for God to give them strength to help them through this.

This horrible, wouldn't-wish-it-on-anybody-in-a-million-years news has offered me a bit of a reality check. Instead of bemoaning my desperately-needs-a-refresher wardrobe or that pile of laundry in the corner of my bedroom or those last few pesky pregnancy pounds, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what we do have. And I've been consciously trying to take advantage of all the good in my life.

Join me in making a mental list of everything you have that's amazing. And, if you've got an extra minute, please send some positive thoughts to a friend going through a rough time.

All by myself

I'm not a TV watcher. I don't turn on the TV "just because." But one of the benefits of being home is that I can watch TV if I want - it doesn't get backlogged in the TiVo like it used to. So last week - or the week before (of course I don't remember) - I found myself in the basement at 4:00 with a hungry baby. And 4:00 means Oprah.

The episode was on military families and really brought the heavyweights: Tom Brokaw, Ben Bradlee and Michelle Obama. Each highlighted a different military family that inspired them. The entire show was intended to demonstrate the sacrifices and quiet commitment these families make to serve our country, often without much understanding or support from those of us who are removed from the process. 

I've been closer to military families than most. Chad's brother spent several years in the Army and his family lived at Fort Bragg. He was deployed for over a year and his wife, Becca, stayed home with their baby daughter (who is now much older than I care to admit). So I kind of thought of myself as being relatively in tune to the struggles and sacrifices that these families make. I know about the missed holidays and birthdays, the pit in your stomach when they leave, the heartbreak when they lose people they know, and the unpredictability and frustrations of deployments and leaves.

Thanks for the show, Oprah, but, well, I get it.

Or so I thought.

I found myself unintentionally thinking about these military families a lot when Chad went off to Atlantic City for a guys' weekend. He left for work on Friday morning and for 60-some hours it was just me and Jackson. (Granted, I had no less than five people email me asking if I wanted to get together for lunch or coffee or a walk, etc., but for the most part it was just the two of us.) And I gained such an incredible appreciation for what it would be like if I was taking care of a child, especially a newborn, and my husband was gone all the time.

I would lose my mind.

It's not the days that would be bad. Jackson and I already spend every day, all day, together. And most of the time I actually enjoy it. But when you've done the eat/play/sleep rotation four or five times, it's nice to have something or, more specifically, someone else to look forward to. In my case, there's someone coming home every night with whom I can have a real conversation and eat an actual dinner. There's someone to warm me up when I crawl back into bed around 3 a.m. after Jackson eats, who doesn't even complain about my perpetually cold feet. And there's someone who actually seems interested in my banter about the intricate, though often boring, details of each day.

I'm sure women of deployed soldiers have a support system. But "support" or not, when 5 p.m. rolls around and you're not waiting for anyone to walk in the door, that's going to make for some long nights.

After my weekend alone, I've got a totally new appreciation for families of deployed soldiers, especially those with little babies. I have no idea how they do it. I really don't think I could.

Office space

The woman who NRF hired to fill in for me during maternity leave - who is fabulous - is also pregnant, due at the end of February. Today, NRF threw her a surprise shower and I went into the office.

As with any "appointment" lately, I was a little nervous that we wouldn't be on time. I was up at 5:45 a.m. (not my choice) and still couldn't conceptualize how Jackson and I were going to make it into the city by 12:15. He ate. He played while I made coffee and tried to keep my eyes open. He napped. He took a bath. He ate again. He napped. And then I finally decided to bite the bullet and venture downtown, saying a silent prayer that Jackson's excursion into DC did not end - or begin - with a screamfest through the halls of my very serene office.

It was about as normal of a day as I've had in ages. Jackson's Aunt RT kept him over her lunch hour while I went out with the other people in my department. ("WOW," I kept thinking. "I used to do things like this all the time!" It feels like a million years ago.)

Before and after the festivities, Jackson managed to charm his way through the halls of NRF, even flashing smiles to a handful of lucky co-workers (most importantly, the woman who signs my paycheck! Way to go, buddy...). We were there four hours and Mr. Personality put on a show for everyone right up until the very last minute when this picture was taken.

He's been asleep ever since. Guess that adventure wore him out almost as much as me!

Jackson's Grandma Margaret ventured to guess that he may have a career in public relations. After his performance today, I've got to agree. At least I hope it's public relations and not politics!

Any day now, Buster

You know you've really neglected your blog when your own grandmother calls to remind you that you've been slacking off. (Hi, Grandma. Thanks for checking in!)

Ok, how many times can I say this without sounding like a broken record? It's not that I haven't wanted to blog or that I have nothing to say. It's actually the opposite: I have so much to say that I don't know where to start.

Here's what has happened in the last month, all of which warrants its own blog post but I'm currently feeling both overwhelmed and lazy so I'm going with an update through bullets:

• My friends threw me an amazing shower (see Buster's little hat and mittens from his Grandma Margaret)
• I found out that I'm going to be an aunt in May! Congrats, RT and Paul! We can't wait to meet "Yogi". (Where my brother comes up with these stupid nicknames I have no idea but we will eventually pay him back.)
• Chad had his meniscus repaired. Compared to last year's ACL surgery, it was a total breeze. ACL surgery for his left knee is scheduled for December 22. He is currently going to physical therapy so often that he got a t-shirt for "perfect attendance" last month. Not kidding.
• We went to a cabin in the Shenandoah with my sisters and their husbands as my birthday present. I can honestly say I've stayed in a barn! The weather was perfect and we spent two days playing cards, games and eating. A lot.
• Janice and Nick hosted an incredible Thanksgiving. Evening entertainment consisted of finding objects (ie: hot cups of coffee, glasses of wine, etc.) that would balance on my gigantic belly.
• Black Friday and Cyber Monday came and went. I worked. A lot. I even did my share of TV, though my clothing options were much more limited.

And that brings us to today, for the most part. This is Buster's due date. While I never expected an early baby, I have been giving this child the benefit of the doubt and told myself over the past few weeks that Buster is waiting to arrive until:

• The furniture gets delivered
• We go to a childbirth class, take a tour of the hospital, and choose a pediatrician
• His clothes get washed
• My hospital bag gets packed
• The Christmas tree and decorations are put up and the boxes go back to the attic
• We make a final decision on his name
• The car seat gets installed
• We spackle and paint the hallway and complete a zillion other household projects, much to Chad's chagrin
• We go out for our "Last Supper" (as we called our evening out last Saturday night)

Now that those tasks are all done, I hope he's not waiting for it to warm up outside because that doesn't appear to be happening for some time. So on his due date, the date I have had circled on my mental calendar for the last nine months or so, I sit. And I try to remind myself that the days I work now will be more days I have off later, that even though I'm not sleeping much I am also totally on my own schedule, and that every day that goes by without a baby is one more day I get to think about how amazing it's going to be to meet him!

No turning back

Sometimes I don't blog because I don't have anything to say.

Sometimes I don't blog because there's so much going on that I can't figure out where to start.

My silence for the last two weeks has been a result of the latter, but I promise to be better about it! I really do have a lot of things to write about...

NRF released its holiday forecast today. This is my ninth holiday season at NRF and our announcement is exhilarating every year. (I almost played Christmas music at work today, that's how excited I am...) I like my job for the first nine months of the year, but I love my job for the last three months.

I've actually been so focused on getting all the little puzzle pieces together for this big day of ours that it just hit me yesterday I won't make it through the entire holiday season: Buster will make his grand arrival before Christmas - if I'm lucky, right after Cyber Monday. As the date gets closer, the idea of having a baby strangely seems much farther away. I need to get out of this mindset soon because, as my doctor reminded me on Monday, Buster could come into this world anytime. (There is no indication that he will, but technically he could.) Eiks!

My favorite things, Part 5

It's been several months since I updated my favorite things list (see parts 1, 2, 3, or 4 for the historical perspective), so here are the things I am loving right now:

Janice and Nick's wedding photos: I've been waiting three weeks for this! (Remember? I didn't take any pictures.) Watch the three-minute video for more shots. I love each of these more than the last. I want to get married again just for the photos. sigh...

A belly band: When all my previously-pregnant friends found out I was expecting, this was the one thing they said I had to get. I've got to say, the concept of pulling this weird little piece of fabric over my pants to hold them up was a bit disconcerting to me. But I'm still not in the maternity clothes stage and I was tired of wearing things with no waist so I picked one up last weekend at Target for a whopping $16. It's the best money I've spent in ages. Now, my old pants are back!

Gatorade G2: The apparent combination of summertime and pregnancy has been giving me the worst headaches I've ever had. I'm talking about constant, sometimes-these-last-for-days headaches. My doctor suggested I was dehydrated, though there was no way I could possibly drink any more water. And then someone - our HR guy whose wife has had four babies - told me that I needed to be drinking something with electrolytes. (As Chad said, "Why didn't we think of that?") So, a little G2 in my day makes the headaches go away. At least some of the time.

My pedometer: A few years ago, I went and got myself a little pedometer and the darned thing slipped off my pants the third time I wore it. But the second one I got earlier this year is even better. This magic little device records your steps and keeps track of them over the past week - based on how many steps you actually take per foot vs. any kind of "standard" or average - and has a latch to keep it from falling off. When it's walk-time for Lucy, I just slap this thing on the back of my shorts (I put a house key on it too so we can travel lightly) and take off. I love this little thing. It's much more gratifying to come home from a walk to see you've traveled three miles than to just come home sweaty and tired.

The song "This Afternoon" by Nickelback - which is basically about a group of friends sitting around in their backyard wasting an entire day. Yes, it's overplayed but it makes me happy. (Unlike "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum which used to make me happy but is so overplayed that these days it just makes me irritated.)

Riesens: I love these darned little things so much, I can eat a dozen at a time! (Maybe that's a stretch, maybe not. I've never really counted.) For those of you who don't like dark chocolate, don't let that deter you. I don't like dark chocolate either, but I loooove these. Though be prepared for them to get stuck in your teeth.

Napping: Why, oh why, did I ever protest this activity? Maybe I can hunt down a person to let me trade in the naps I didn't take in kindergarten for a few during my workday. Wishful thinking?

All's quiet on the Western front

It's been a weird week.

We're calling it The Week of Chad. (Actually his phrase, not mine.) What this means is that Congress is in recess. And what that means is Chad's schedule is completely and utterly up to him. He might as well be retired. This partially makes up for working all those crazy hours, for sure.

So this week Chad has headed into work for a couple hours each day, gone golfing at least three times, been to the gym on a handful of occasions, stayed up late to watch movies then slept in, organized a happy hour, and cleaned out our utility room.

He has also walked the dog every. single. day. For me, this has been paradise - not only because walking the dog is one of my least favorite chores, but also because it's topped 100 degrees for the last three days and just the idea of leaving the air conditioning makes me feel kind of sick.

But as I sit here at 6:00 at night with no husband (golfing) and no dog to walk, I'm trying to remember what I did all those nights I lived by myself. I've already unloaded the dishwasher and gone through the mail, it's not a "gym" day, and my house is clean - save for that pile in the study I really must get to before we transition it into a nursery.

So, I sit. And I marvel at the peace and quiet, which I am acutely aware will not be the case about five months from now in this house. I think about which pavers we're going to buy when we redo our backyard, and what I'm going to wear to work tomorrow, and dinner.

And then I realize I have to go find something to do because this sitting around is making me crazy.

It's getting hot in here

Dear Lord:

It's hot. Really, really hot. (But then again, you know that, huh?)

It's so hot, I promise to never complain about how cold it is ever again. Provided you actually send along winter this year. I'm beginning to think you've intentionally turned our nation's capital into hell on earth.

Amen.

Things I learned this week

1) When a bride utters the phrase, "We really don't have that much to do," ignore her. She is either delusional, lying, or suffering from heat stroke.

2) I wish I could lead a double life. Being back home makes me happy. I miss seeing sunsets and driving places with no traffic and running into my grandpa at the coffee shop. But I would miss lots about the East Coast including walking places for dinner, always having something to do and being close to both mountains and the ocean. Maybe I could transplant all my friends and family to a place just like this that happens to be close to a bigger city. Anybody know of a place like that?

3) It's a good thing my bridesmaid's dress is literally one-size-fits-all. Every morning when I wake up, I'm rounder than I was when I went to sleep. It's weird to expand overnight like this.

4) I forgot what storms in the Midwest are like. It has rained every day since we've been home - significant, thunder-and-lightning, pouring-buckets-of-water rain. (To be fair, this is unusual.) As I write this, we are debating the merits of going down to the basement. People are pacing around the house trying to get a sense of what kind of storm we've got coming (except my dad, who rationally - or stupidly - decided to get in the shower before we lose power).

But I also forgot what a cold front feels like. While we were sweltering in the living room about 15 minutes ago, the clouds rolled in, the breeze came through and it cooled off about 20 degrees. I'd take the heat for awhile if I could be guaranteed that I'd get the satisfaction of feeling a cool front like this every time!

Update: I've been kidnapped.

As I write this, I am sitting in the unfinished basement. I came down here against my will but in the interest of my unborn child I figured I'd play it safe. (Actually I was really just tired of getting barked at to go to the basement.) The guy on the radio says a tornado has touched down about 15 miles from here. The bride-to-be is spastic and currently weighing the pros and cons of going back upstairs to get her wedding dress. Mom is filling the water softener since she can't sit still for more than 30 seconds. My brother is upstairs muttering about how much people around here overreact. RT has headed up to get my camera so we can document this monumental occasion. And dad is still in the shower.