Training Him Up

This morning after breakfast, Troy spotted his Daddy's Bible, still sitting out on the table from Daddy's devotion time before Troy was awake. He wanted to try to read it, and I reminded him that he had his own Bible--a sweet white covered Bible with his name on the cover, a gift from his auntie when he was born.

He immediately toddled over to his bookshelf and pulled out his own little Bible, somehow knowing which book it was in the midst of the few dozen picture books on that shelf. Then, with his stuffed Nemo in hand and sporting his Thomas the Tank Engine jammies, he set it on the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down to have his own little devotion time... even folding his tiny hands, closing his eyes and saying "Uh'men!" in the middle of it.

My eyes, they were overflowing... as was my heart.

Riding "Neeeeeeigh" to pass the time

We were getting a bit of cabin fever today--John is still home due to the fires and there are hazardous air warnings for our city--so we loaded up and headed to the only place we could be indoors and still do some walking... the mall.

Troy could NOT have been happier to get out of the house.

When we said, "Okay, let's go bye-bye now," he grabbed his diaper bag, dragged it over to the front door and repeated, "Go! Go! Bye-bye! Go! Go!" about half a trillion times.



I think he's sick of us.

He was thrilled when he saw the carousel at the mall... and for the first time, instead of making the low grunting sound he normally does when we ask what a horsey says, he was shouting, "Neigh! Neeeeeigh!"

So, we couldn't resist. He had to take a ride.




The slightly confused look is a result of Mama saying, "Look at Daddy--smile!" rather than an indication of the fun he was having. He was, in fact, bouncing up and down the entire time and cracking himself up the entire time.

Except, that is, when he was trying to push my hands away so I wouldn't be holding on to him. He thought that being high on a moving horse with nothing but a small strap holding him in was perfectly fine.

Independence, thou scarest me.

He played for almost an hour in the kids' "playtown," along with all the other million and one children who have been cooped up at home the past few days. Some friends from church happened to be there too, doing the same thing we were--hoping for a good long nap when we got home.

After lunch, we tried to take a self-shot family picture to commemorate what will probably be our last outing like this, just the three of us... but, um, yeah. It didn't quite work.





Notice Troy wearing his fireman overalls, in honor of Grandpa Dule, who was fighting fires as we were playing? He loves 'em both--the Grandpa Dule, and the overalls.

I am happy as could be to report that the fires closest to us are, for the most part, under control, and most of the evacuations in our area (including for all of our friends) have been lifted. This certainly doesn't mean that the whole fire situation is taken care of... there are still others raging, such as the one my dad is still fighting in Running Springs. My brother talked to him a little bit ago... they were just ending their "shift" (now they're separated into a day shift and a night shift, instead of just working for days straight with little-to-no sleep) and were going to find some food and head for bed. We really have no idea when he'll be coming home... when the fires are finally out, the job still isn't done. There is always a ton of clean up and other stuff to do.

And, in baby news.... there isn't much. Except for the fact that my dear friend who was planning on watching Troy just got word that her dad is very ill in the hospital, so we're praying for him while trying to figure out a plan B. Not knowing lots of people in the area can pose a problem now and again. But, hey, I have a few more days till Due Day... so maybe NONE of this will be an issue.

And now, we're headed off to church. We have to leave in about 15 minutes... and I am typing away here, not even kinda ready to go. Great planning, eh?

Fiery Update

Well, peeps, things are heating up around here.

As far as we know, our home is not in any grave immediate danger, but we're pretty much surrounded by fire on all sides. Not, like, our house all alone in the middle of a clearing with walls of fire billowing toward us in every direction, though. More like miles away in every direction, except that of the beach, of course.

We've just found out that there is a new fire aboard our base... directly by the gate we use to get on base. There are now three housing areas evacuated, and some barracks that definitely need to be... but they can be a little slow getting those orders out when it's in the military's hands to do so. (Like, uh, last night. When, at almost midnight, John's command started calling once they got official word that their training area was about to burn... beginning a bit of chaos as the guys realized they had a ton of classified, official and important stuff out there that needed to be "rescued." Instead of, you know, being prepared and getting it earlier in the day when they knew the fire was very close. But, anyway...)

We just talked to a good friend in the barracks, who said that he and the hundreds of other young guys are packed up and ready to leave just as soon as they are allowed to go. But, they have to be allowed to go first. Even if they can see the flames from their barracks. Ahem. Such is life in the Marine Corps. And yet we do love it tenderly. Ooh Rah. :smile:

Our main interstate was closed for a while today, but is thankfully reopened for now, which is good in that it gives us a way OUT of here, if need be, that doesn't lead us directly into the southern fires. It also gives us a way to get to the birth center if this baby suddenly decides that smack dab in the middle of chaos is the best time to make his appearance. Thankfully I have a copy of all my charts if we aren't able to get down there and need to head to the nearest hospital instead. But we're just hoping he stays put. There are lots of little details that would be involved with leaving here that would kinda add some stress (like, where does Troy go if our friends who are planning to watch him are evacuated or if we can't get down to them? And, with the fire so close right now, we'd have to leave praying that our area doesn't get evacuated while I'm at the hospital, with our animals and all important stuff here... but, you know, I'm trying not to borrow worry at the moment. Blocking that right out of my mind. Or not.) We're just hoping the baby keeps cooking for at least a few more days.

We're hearing from my dad for quick minutes when he's able to call. They got a few hours of sleep last night in a house that was under construction, taking turns keeping watch. I saw one of the pictures he'd sent (how I love phones with internet access!) and John said, "Yep, there's his bed."

I told him, "No, silly, those are his turn outs and all his gear."

"Exactly. His bed."

Oh. Yeah.

So he's tired, working hard, hard, hard, and covered in black soot, but he's safe... being our brave fireman!

That's about it from under the smokey skies for now. Thanks so much for your prayers.... seriously, there is just something so... neat... about having bloggie friends praying in times like this. To see the body of Christ come together through internet lines... it just shows that no matter what, our Jesus is BIG--bigger than power and computer cords, uniting us together through miles and miles--and certainly bigger than any fire. How thankful I am for that!

Food is good, while you wait

The sky is orange here and ash is falling from the sky. There are now two fires on our base in addition to the other 16 burning across Southern California--one of them is right where John's been working the past few weeks. He was, um, obviously told to stay home from work today. My dad is still fighting one of the fires--tired and working incredibly hard, but he's okay. And, thankfully--never thought I'd be saying THIS at 39 wks!!--we still don't have a new baby.

So we're just waiting today. Hanging out in comfy clothes, keeping everything closed up (my eyes and nose are still burning, even with the windows all closed), watching movies, doing our best to keep up with the news... we're not personally in any immediate danger right where we are, for now... but now we're keeping a close eye on the fires on base.

So... since I'm just waiting around today--though I AM doing laundry, gathering my stack of ironing to work on later, and planning to finish the couple yummy goodness things we didn't get to on Friday... lest you think we're totally lazy, ahem--I thought I'd give you a couple of those scrumptious recipes from Friday's meal making.

Two of them can be found in this here blogosphere--

The enchiladas came from my friend Tammy's cooking website... here. Seriously, I just tried the recipe on a whim one day, and have never been so happy that I did. Even my cousin and teenage brother rave about and crave these things. Which isn't really saying much, since, of course, they are teenage guys, but, you know, it helps.

And those wonderful chicken pot pies--the came courtesy of Mrs. Fink, here. Before Troy was born, I'd made two chicken pot pies to freeze, which sadly came out quite bland and icky. John said they were good, but he's also the guy who hates mushrooms and yet will eat them when served to him. I knew I could trust Mrs. Fink, and she sure didn't disappoint me. These are simply delectable chicken pot pies. Seriously.

As for the rest of the yummy-ness, I figured I'd post one or two recipes at a time, that way you're not overwhelmed with great yearning for food that clogs the arteries all at once.

Though, honestly, I'm typing on a lap top that has some key-recognition issues, thus discouraging me from doing too much typing. Like, not more than one recipe at the moment. I'm already feeling about ready to give up and go to the big computer, but that would require, you know, MOVEMENT, and there's just not enough energy in this here body right now.

So, that's right... on to the food.

John's Mom's Incredible Lasagna


1 lb ground beef
1/2 cup chopped onion (I use onion powder--I have a hubby with some odd
preferences when it comes to certain textures)
2 cups (16 oz can) tomatoes (can use tomato puree or blend tomatoes in a
blender if you have a "particular" husband)
6 oz can tomato paste
1/3 cup water
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp pepper
1/2 lb lasagna noodles, cooked
12 oz mozzarella cheese, sliced
1/2 lb Velveeta cheese, sliced
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Brown meat, drain. Stir in onion, tomatoes, tomato paste, water and
seasonings. Cover and simmer 30 minutes. Cook noodles while meat sauce
simmers.

In 9x13 dish, layer half of the noodles, half of meat sauce, and half of
each cheese, repeat layers. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

Notice all that cheese? Mmhmm.... thus why this is always a "treat" meal for us. Like, after I've had a baby and need some comfort food.

And, lest you think that John is a picky eater, I'll assure you that he is not... he just has a few specific preferences that I like to indulge, just because, you know, I'm his wife and all that. He doesn't particularly care for chunks of onion, tomato or mushrooms, BUT, if served them, he'll always eat them. Always. Which I can't necessarily say for myself. When I'm picky, I'm picky... er, uh, particular, as my aunt would put it.

I'll post the recipes for The Sweet Stuff later this week--the fudge and the chocolaty peanut butter "Reese's Pieces."

You should see the sky outside, peeps... it's getting worse by the hour. Completely orange now, and so covering the sun that at 3pm it feels like late in the evening. I haven't seen this kind of smoke since we were on our honeymoon in Alaska three years ago. And, then, we weren't concerned with much more than the fact that the smoke was blocking our view of the mountains we'd come to see... this time it's a little more scary.

So I'm going to go make some food. That always helps everything.

Fire, Fire, Everywhere

Things are a leetle bit crazy around here at the moment...

If you've turned on or read the news at all today, you've certainly heard about these major fires here in Southern California.

The ones nearest to us are putting our city in a "pocket" of clear area, with fire burning in every direction around us. People are being evacuated from nearly every city nearby... we have a few friends who have been evacuated and several of John's coworkers on base are stuck at work, unable to go home. One of them even lost her home today. The base housing itself is on "evacuation standby," with a concern being that if the fire closest to us hits the dense brush-filled training ground, it would be a straight and quick shot to the housing areas.

Further north, more fires are burning--apparently there are at least 14 total right now. Many of you know that my Daddy is a fire captain... he was called out last night, first to cover for the first strike team his department sent out... and now he's been called out on a strike team of his own. He's currently fighting the Lake Arrowhead fire--they lost nearly 130 homes there just this afternoon.

Please pray for my dad... for his safety... for success in fighting these fires... and for our family, especially my mom, being that it can be quite frightening and nerve-wracking having him out there, not usually knowing where he is, what he's doing, or how things are going. It can be hard for those who haven't lived the firefighter's life to understand, but it truly is like he's a soldier sent off to war--only the enemy, in this case, is billowing flames. We'd greatly appreciate your prayers while he fights and leads his guys against this fire.

Also, if you happened to be praying that we'd have our baby soon--you can stop now. :smile: Due to all the road closures, it isn't certain that, if labor began, we'd be able to get down to the birth center. Delivering in the ER of a hospital I've never been to with a doctor I've never met doesn't really appeal to me for some reason, so it would probably be a good idea if this little guy holds out a few more days until all of this has died down.

Promise to update if and when there's anything to tell... thanks for praying, peeps.

Yummy Yummy Goodness

If I needed a cure for my cleaning obsession, this was it.

Because, let me tell you, there was nothing that could be called "cleaned up" about my kitchen yesterday.

My cousin Tiffany and bestest friend Bethany came out Thursday night with the intention of filling our freezer with a bunch of scrumptious meals for after the baby is born... so we did.

After staying up, um, quite late on Thursday night--which was certainly not part of the plan, but couldn't be helped, now, with three girls needing some girlie talking time, could it?--we started out the day on Friday appropriately.

With a nice McDonald's breakfast, of course.

Then we got to work. A few hours later, that is.

A little after NOON, :cough:, we headed out to the grocery store, filling the cart with all sorts of goodness and tiring Troy out completely by the time we got home--perfect, because we needed his nap time to get started with our culinary endeavors.

Then we donned our aprons and WENT TO TOWN, peeps.

The whole shebang started out making two pans of enchiladas.

While we waited for the whole chicken to cook so we could use the chicken meat, save the broth and use the pan for the lasagna noodles...

We worked really, really hard on the uh, sweet stuff.

Lots and LOTS of sweet stuff.

Because what are good meals without a little dessert to finish them off?

We had to, of course, make two pans of each sweet thing, because we weren't going to fool ourselves. If we only made one, none would end up in the freezer. That's just the fact of the matter, peeps.

Never fear, though, me hearties... we did go back to regular food once the chicken was done cooking and we'd strained and saved the broth.

These chicken pot pies are the bestest. So we made two.

And then... we got kinda tired of taking pictures every two minutes, so we just cooked.... leaving out pictures of the lasagna. Many apologies. Because that one dish is probably the best one of any we made.

What with the loads and oodles of cheese, cheese and a little more cheese on every layer.

It makes my mouth water just thinking about it... ahh, remembering the first time I had this delectable treat at John's home a few days after he proposed to me. I was glad I was marrying into such a family that night.

I'm tempted to bake one of those pans (we made two--shocking, isn't it??) tonight. But I won't.

After the lasagna, I started to make the sauce for, of course, TWO dishes of baked spaghetti. But I was a little tired.

Thus explaining the double amount of water put in the sauce.

Poor little Troy had come down with the cold I had last week, and we all had some aching feet from being ON them all day, so we just followed his example... cleaned up and decided to call it a night.

Then we sat in the living room and did what the three of us do best...

(besides making lots of food to clog the arteries and cause gall bladder surgeries. Ahem.)

I won't tell you exactly what we were looking at, but just know that this wasn't posed. I doubt if you even entertained the notion that it was, though.

And, for the record--and because I just realized with glee that in the above computer-y picture I could pass for not being pregnant--I hope this is the last of these that will be taken for a Very Long Time:

Any day now, peeps.... any day.

Today would be nice.

Anyway, here's the list of the damage done:

• Two pans beef, cheese and rice enchiladas
• Two chicken pot pies
• Two pans of the quite famous "John's Mom's Lasagna"
• Fourteen cups chicken broth, stored and frozen in 2-cup "portions"
• Two pans chocolaty fudge (a third of one pan has somehow disappeared, leaving us all quite baffled)
• Two pans of "Grandma Lee's Reese's Pieces" (almost HALF of one of those pans is nowhere to be found--we are about ready to call the authorities on this one.)

And the two things we didn't get to last night, but I'll do myself in the next couple days:

• Two casserole dishes of baked spaghetti, with the correct amount of water in the sauce
• A batch of peanut butter and chocolate chip cookie dough to be frozen in uncooked balls, ready to pop a couple in the oven as needed, for company and such. (Provided a certain man doesn't eat them all raw... not that he's ever been known to do such thing. Never. Ever.)

I think that between this and the meals the sweet ladies from church are planning to bring after the baby comes, we'll be good to go. A few pounds heavier, perhaps, but VERY good to go. Thanks a bunch, my Tiffy and sissy!

Shhh... You just might disturb the quiet

It is completely quiet here.

Not a bit of noise.

Okay, well, a bird is chirping outside... but that's it.

And guess what? I'm alone!

My sweet friend Rebeca is keeping Troy for a couple hours... we have a little system worked out in which I keep her son one afternoon a week and she keeps mine for a different morning.

Last time, I went to Starbucks for a couple hours--alone!--and read my Bible, wrote in my journal and read a book to my heart's content.

But, today--ah! today!--I just ran happily along back home, where it is nice and restful and peaceful--and, um, clean, ahem. I have almost two whole hours to sit in the quiet and work on a little project I've been meaning to get done.

(This project is NOT of the cleaning sort. Don't worry. It's more along the lines of a Christmas gift for a person who shall remain unnamed because they do check this page from time to time. But no cleaning today. Maybe the ironing. But no cleaning.)

So I'm typing in a whisper and just enjoying this rare occasion of complete serenity.

Ah, the bliss.



And then hits reality:

Just after typing this up... a car drove by, honked its horn, thus prompting me to look out the window... just in time to see one of our poor doggies scared out of his wits by a sprinkler suddenly turning on. I looked around and noticed that the entire sprinkler system in the backyard had just activated, on full blast, and was quickly turning the yard into one massive lake.

The sprinklers are set to turn on during the middle of the night, not the middle of the day.

I ran outside--which instantly drenched me--tried to turn them off, called John, made a joint over-the-phone effort to figure out what had happened. But to no avail. The emergency shut-off switch seemed to be having its own emergency. It wasn't working.

By the time we figured out that there was nothing LEFT to figure out, it was past time for me to pick up Troy from my friends' house. I had to simply leave the lake to continue filling--and the dogs to continue looking pitiful in the sudden "rain storm"--throw on some dry clothes and hurry to go get my toddler. Thankfully it was almost John's lunch break, so he could drive the half hour home to make another attempt at getting the geyser to stop geys-ing... eventually having to manually turn off the valve because nothing else was working.

And THAT, dear peeps, was my nice, relaxing, serene and oh-so-quiet hour and a half.

And so she decides to throw perfectionism and impatience out the window in one swoop

I tend to frequently eat my words.

I say things like, "I'm never again going to make negative comments about the way I look and thus frustrate my family--who are all sick of hearing it--yet again."

Or, "There is no way I'm going to be so ridiculously impatient again during the last few weeks of THIS pregnancy."

Or, "I'm not going to constantly expect myself to be perfect, starting TODAY."

None of those are true statements. And yet I seem to say--or at least think--them often.

I don't know why I think I can fool myself. But I do--all the time.

Shake your head and smile. I know, I know.

But today, I think I've just about completely worn out the perfectionist in me. Which--considering how often I mention it, you should know--is really saying something.

You would think that, having been pretty icky sickie since last Thursday, my life would look something like this: sick, not sleeping, nine months pregnant, caring for the toddler as best as I can, getting through each day by watching movies, reading lots of Little Golden Books, playing with sit-down toys and counting the hours till John gets home.

And then, today, the day I'm finally really feeling better (never mind the way I sound, though, due to the past couple days of hacking up a lung), I'd spend it cleaning up, getting the house back in order and life back on track.

That would make sense and seem logical.

But instead, I was sick, not sleeping, nine months preggie, caring for the toddler, etc. etc. etc., but I was also paranoid. Certain that at any time I'd go into labor and had to have everything in order and ready to go. Because, goodness gracious, I'd hate to have anyone come to my house the day I get home with the new baby and think that I'd been doing nothing the past few days. Or that, you know, I'd been SICK.

(Insert statements about not being a people-pleaser here.)

So not only have I been trying to get over a cold, but I've been running my little Dirt Devil vacuum/sweeper at least three times a day, mopping at least once, dusting every day (we have hardly any dust here--and on top of that, it's been raining, thus, even less dust), cleaning the bathrooms (twice--since Thursday. And I'm fighting the urge not to do them again today. There are three bathrooms in our house. And only three of us...), doing laundry compulsively and not going to bed unless e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. is in order--ship shape and ready to go. Company-ready at any given moment.

And that brings us to today. All the hacking and wheezing and trying to breathe sent me to the doctor's office this morning (something I haven't done for a cold since... I don't even remember... I was probably two years old or something) and was simply reassured that I don't have a sinus infection, bronchitis, or an ear infection, but seem to have just a regular ol' virus combined with seasonal allergies, both of which can hit twice as hard when pregnant. Double whammie. Fun, fun.

I am, in fact, feeling quite a bit better today... except for the fact that I'm completely exhausted from the past few days of ridiculousness. And when I look ahead and realize that there could very well still be another two or three weeks of this waiting (not likely, but possible), it wears me out even more.

I mean, who wants to live in an obsessively-cleaned spotless house for a month? When you're the one doing the obsessive cleaning?

So right now, I'm sitting on the couch with the lap top (which, of course, is not sitting in my lap, being that, ahem, I don't have one anymore) and enjoying Troy's scattered toys.... not planning on cleaning them up as soon as I hop up from this position.

I kinda feel like making a mess and just leaving it for a little while. Because, um, we do LIVE here.

And, guess what? I have a medium sized pile of ironing sitting atop my washer right now from yesterday's laundry, it's after 4pm today, and I haven't even set up my ironing board yet.

I'm telling myself it'll be okay. Or, rather, the burning of my tired eyes is telling me it'll be okay.

I'm also telling The Perfectionist In My Head to just sit back and CHILL OUT.

Further proof that a perfectionist can follow a pattern.

I've not been such a great posty-person the past few days, I know. And I'm afraid that my quietness will be attributed to the arrival of a particular little bebe, which, I may assure you, has certainly not happened yet.

It's just that I've been so busy, what with, you know, all the waiting around.

Actually, I have been quite busy hacking and wheezing and trying to breathe since Thursday. You'd think that by Tuesday, I'd be on the upswing, wouldn't you? Not the case. This morning I woke up feeling just as sick as I did the first bad day of this here cold.

I'm just hoping now that this baby decides to wait until the cold is all over, because I kinda don't think that not being able to BREATHE and being in LABOR would go too good together. Maybe I'm wrong, but...

So while I've been busy convalescing (and going to a midwife visit, and having lunch at my friend's house, and chasing a toddler, and keeping Troy's hands washed and comparatively germ-free, and convincing John to drink Airborne, and praying they don't get sick, and watching hours on end of Road to Avonlea, and, you know, Getting Locked Out of the House) I've been finishing my latest non-creative project.

There is a grey kitty, a black and brown doggie and two brothers--kinda like a certain little family we happen to know--little hand puppet mittens, now to be hidden away until Christmas for a certain little man.

Not that, of course, he hasn't seen them worked on this entire time, and even tried them on his hand already.... but I'm banking on that short memory of his.

I feel I must point out to you, though, that I did, gasp!, switch the colors on the two boys so they don't look exactly the same. I also changed the cat and dog colors completely, to match Troy's real kitty and doggie. I deviated from the pattern! Shocking, I know. But I'm not fully convinced the second one turned out so well with the switched colors.... I think all that red makes him look like a Christmas elf.

Oh well.

And, truly, I am joking just slightly when I say that I NEVER take liberty with a pattern. I do. Sometimes. I even made a pinafore to go over my prairie dress when I was eleven--completely pattern-free. I'm still proud of that one. I wear it over my church dresses just to show it off.

Or not.

But, the thing is that I know I can do So Much More if I have a good pattern... which is why I don't scrapbook. It scares me to death to have all those blank pieces of paper and pictures and ribbons and buttons and stickers and be told to do whatever I want with them. I break out in a sweat every time.

But, look, when I was twelve and had time for such things, I made this dress, WITH A PATTERN:

Now, just never mind the glasses, the curled-hair-in-the-face attempt at an Edwardian hair style--with bangs--or the half-smile that is meant to evoke a sense of sweetness, modesty and propriety, but instead looks pained. Remember, I was twelve. An age when all things should be forgiven in advance.

But, look, the dress! I made the dress! And wore it to my friend's girls-only "Jane Austen Ball." During which we had dance cards! And talked with, ahem, "English" accents! And danced with our very own dances modeled after that which we'd seen in our favorite Jane Austen movies, to sounds tracks from those very same movies! And played lady-like old-fashioned games! And played the piano and sang for each other! And admired each other's dresses!

Oh, sorry. The dress was the point. Not the occasion.

So, we all know I'm not creative and could never be Little Miss Whip-Out-A-Wedding-Gown-By-Looking-At-A-Picture (like some talented peeps I know), but, hey, I can follow a pattern and make my little guy a Christmas present.... and alleviate the waiting-for-baby-while-warding-off-a-cold boredom while I'm at it.

Anyway... ramblings are over now. Back to the business of trying to breathe. Catch ya later, peeps.

And the adventure continues...

Sometimes, I think that if our days around here can be this eventful now, with one 18 month old boy, WHAT IS TO COME???

Maybe you all shouldn't answer that question. My heart may not be able to handle it.

What, ask you, am I referring to?

Yesterday, peeps.

The morning began as most Friday mornings around here...the only difference of yesterday was that I'd come down with a cold the day before and had slept nary a wink the night before. I woke up to find my amniotic fluid leaking and the contractions that have come and gone with more regularity the past week continuing, a bit more definite. We're in the "any time now" mode, but I wasn't too worried at this point. With Troy, my water leaked for three days before it broke, and the contractions haven't felt too "real" yet.

Troy and I had a whole list of errands to run, some shopping for labor supplies in there as well, so I figured we'd leave early and get them done and over with. Because, you know, I knew I'd be worn out in the afternoon, and was already looking forward to nap time.

We had a Mommy and Troysie breakfast date first, then hit Target, the little kids' barber shop, Trader Joes, with a few little stops in between.

While I was unloading groceries at home, my next door neighbor--the only neighbor we really know and have a relationship with--pulled out of her driveway and we stopped to chat for a few minutes about them checking on our dog when the baby's born. Then she drove away. Remember that, 'kay? She was gone now.

I went inside and starting unloading the grocery bags while Troy played with his toys in the living room. The empty paper bags were all over the floor, toys strewn about and some full Target bags sitting in a pile.

I went out back to put a few things in the garbage can, leaving the sliding door open a few inches. On my way back in, I stooped over to pick up the dog's water dish to fill...

And heard the door slide closed. And heard a click.

My heart stopped.

There was Troy, grinning at me from inside the door he had just closed and locked.

I pulled on the door, just in case. Please, Lord? It wouldn't budge.

Trying not to panic, I went around to the front door, thinking that maybe since I'd just been unloading groceries, I'd left it unlocked.

Nope.

Then I went ahead and started to panic.

I went back around to the slider door, only to peer in and find Troy standing on a kitchen table chair, dancing around. I called through the glass to "get down." He smiled a wide smile at me and repeated, "Det doon! Det Doon!" Then he waved and sweetly called out, "Hiii!"

Once he was on the floor again, I ran next door, thinking that just maybe there would be someone home at our neighbors'.

Nope.

I ran back to the back yard to check on Troy again. I didn't see him. The sense that did kick in was my sense of smell as I looked down and saw that my brown flats had apparently landed in a fresh pile of dog poop. Ahem.

Troy appeared from around the corner. I cleaned off my shoe the best I could and saw that he was sitting on the floor playing with his See n' Say.

This little man has just recently figured out how to turn on light switches, because he's just barely tall enough to push them up. But he's not tall enough to turn them back off. The back door lock is, SIGH, very similar to a light switch. I kept trying to coax him to open the door, tapping on the door and saying, "Open it, Troy... open the door."

All this accomplished was to encourage him to bang on the door back at me and say, "Mama? Out'ide? Mama? Out'ide?"

I ran back to the front and went to the next door over. No answer. The next door. No answer.

NINE doors later and multiple trips into the back yard to check on Troy, a door finally opened.

I didn't know what exactly the purpose of the hanging flowers above the front door were at that house, though it made a little more sense when the young woman who opened the door turned out to clearly be a devout Hindu.... who barely spoke English.

I asked if I could use her phone to call my husband... feeling a mixture of panic and ridiculousness as I explained that my toddler had locked me out of the house. She sweetly lent me her phone and I called John--whom I knew to be in the middle of some things he really couldn't get out of that day and at least thirty minutes away from home. He suggested seeing if I'd locked the truck and could perhaps open the garage, and that MAYBE the garage-to-house door would be unlocked, too.

My Hindu neighbor assured me that I could use her phone again if this plan didn't work, and I ran back across the street. The truck was unlocked.... the garage-to-house door wasn't.

I checked on Troy again--by this time it was nearing forty minutes he'd been alone in the house. It is a very odd feeling looking inside one's house through a window, seeing your child in there, and having no way of getting inside. Once again I couldn't see him. I could hear his little voice through an open upstairs window. Then I saw, through the banister railing, his little blonde head, sitting half way up the stairs. He was crying pitifully. "Mama. Mama?? Mama? Out'ide? Mama?"

I was close to tears myself.

On my way running back to my neighbor's house I realized that in my running back and forth, I'd done something again to the foot I'd hurt two weeks before. Now I was hobble-running with a big ol' belly back and forth across the street. I'm sure to anyone watching from their own window, it was quite the comical sight. To me... not so much.

I called John again. He said he was on his way home, but that it would be close to a half hour before he was even here. He said I might have to call the fire department.

Oh, YES. That was JUST what I wanted. The fire department to show up at my house, arousing the curiosity of our whole little community (though it might seem me and my Hindu neighbor were the only ones HOME on this Friday afternoon) and tell them my toddler had locked me out of my house. I'm a fireman's daughter. To me, this sounded as absurd as calling them to get a cat out of a tree.

I decided to run--er, uh, to hobble-run-limp--back to check on Troy again before calling 911. Ahem. I thought maybe I could think of some new brilliant idea in the meantime.

He was still crying on the stairs. I banged on the window to get his attention, finally convincing him to come downstairs and over to the door. I tapped on the door again, asking him to pleeeeease, Troy-Troy, open the door! See this switch? Pull it down!!

Suddenly he seemed to get the idea. He was pulling on the handle, then saw the lock. He started pulling... and pulled it down--then pushed it right back up again.

I thought I was going to die.

I applauded and praised. Try again!

This time I was also pulling on the door from my side. He pushed up... the door slid open.

A sigh of relief would be a HUGE understatement.

I scooped up Troy, called John to tell him all was well...

...and decided it was just. about. nap. time.

John decided it might be a good idea to have a hide-a-key somewhere on our property. I think I agree.

Oh The Cuteness

Now I know I've posted a whole lotta links to stuff on our church's website lately... but perhaps you'd allow me just one more?

I think you'll like this one.

Last week they put together a short childcare video and there is a certain little towhead in a green shirt, waving his little hand about half way through...

Clickie here to see it.

I wuvs it, I do.

And, that bebe girl in the beginning?? Is she not the. most. adorable. little girlie? She really and truly does smile and laugh like that, all the time. I've never seen her cry... and I've even been with her when she's hungry in the infant nursery, so that's saying somethin'. She's the highlight of the mornings John and I spend in the infant nursery, yessirree.


Aaaaand in other news... I was blessed to receive two sweet blog awards this past week from two special gals...

The first was from Mel's Mom...

And the second, from Melissa herself.

Thank you, sweet ladies!

Now, once again, I'm supposed to choose a certain number of bloggers to bestow these awards upon, but the choosing of it is just. so. hard. I'm going to have to write up a post that lists all of you and each of the awards and have a great big Pick Your Own Award Day.

Don't think that's how it's s'posed to work, but oh well.

Until then, I'm going to be putting any blog awards in a very backdated entry, rather than on my sidebar, because, frankly, I think we're running out of room on that there sidebar. And, even more frankly and honestly... in this case, I'm a wee bit bashful. I do need another column... but I don't have the time or energy to figure that there little piece of HTML out.

Oh, and one last thing. It seems that WordPress has taken a strong dislike to me recently. It eats my comments. A few people with WordPress blogs that I leave comments for frequently are having to fetch my comments from their spam folders... so if you have one such blog, you may want to check that folder every so often, because you never know--WordPress is very particular in its choosing of friends. You may have several such hidden bloggie friends.

And, clearly, there is no new baby here yet. I mean, I doubt such an event would be relegated to the end of a very random post, but... just in case you were wondering, you know.

So... do YOU have a normal mouth?

I don't. And neither does Troy. And neither does my mom.

But, as it would just figure, John, my brother and my dad all do. The weirdos.

Yesterday I took Troy to see a pediatric ENT doctor because of a bump on the roof of his mouth. We first discovered it when he was around six months old, and an attempt at a video consult with the ENT doctors down here didn't do too much. We knew we'd be moving down here ourselves and decided to take him in to get it checked out when we got here.

So that's what I did yesterday.

It was just great.

Picture a large, stark exam room filled with scary looking instruments all around, a nine-month-preggie mama sitting in a dentist-looking chair, holding in her arms an 18 month old toddler who is screaming at the very TIPPITY-TOP of his lungs and flailing in every direction, while the also-very-pregnant doctor shines a bright light into his mouth with one gloved hand and uses a probe to "feel" the bump in the back of the mouth with the other... not wanting to use her finger for obvious reasons. Namely, um, TEETH.

The gagging noises from the toddler who thought he was being tortured just added to all the fun.

But the appointment confirmed that the bump is nothing but a torus, a boney mass from where the pallet fused together and a bit too much bone grew there. The good thing is that it hasn't been growing along with him, so it's much smaller, proportionately, inside his mouth now compared to when we first noticed it, and certainly doesn't cause him any problems when it comes to eating.

But here's the thing--it is very rare for an infant to have a torus, and they aren't usually discovered until later adulthood, if at all, because either they are so slow-growing or they've been there one's whole life and the person doesn't realize it's not normal.

Kinda like me. Ha. I have one and didn't know it until I noticed Troy's.

I even told John, when first trying to describe it, "It's on the roof of his mouth, in the middle, toward the back... you know, like where your mouth starts to curve downward?"

He said no, he didn't know that spot in his mouth. His pallet doesn't curve downward.

So here's my question--the doctor said that hundreds of thousands of people have a torus and don't even know it.

Unless they're being fitted for dentures, that is. Which neither John nor I have had done at this point in time. Ahem.

(I know, that wasn't a question exactly. Or at all. We're getting to that.)

So run your tongue along the roof of your mouth and see if it goes straight back after the initial curve up from behind your teeth, nice and high and smooth, or whether it dips down at some point, giving you a bump in your mouth.

Because you might need to know this bit of crucial info for when you're fitted for dentures, you know.

And tell me your self-diagnoses. Because I'm obsessively curious like that.

Paranoia and Obsession

Paranoia #1: Standing up on the choir steps next Sunday and having my water break. (My water did break before labor began with Troy... we had opted to stay home from church that night because I'd been in the hospital earlier that day, which turned out to be a Very Good Thing. Had we been at church, we would have been just sitting down for the message to start when that great gush began. So this paranoia, while not exactly based in reality, has a leetle bit of ground to stand on...)

Paranoia #2: While standing up on said choir steps, having my pregnant belly be visible to the people sitting in the seats down below us. I pull UP and pull DOWN, constantly, but there is a certain freaking out feeling that occurs with the feeling of nylons suddenly rolling down the belly slope, carrying the "waistline" (ha!) of the skirt along with them. When you're standing on the front row. Ahem.

Obsessive Thought: Having the windows be cleaned before bebe arrives. I'm just not sure I have the energy for it... can't you just see me toppling off the step stool while trying to reach the upper corners of the sliding glass door? I'm not sure such a maneuver would be too helpful to the foot that is still recovering from my tumble down the stairs.

The Excellency of the Knowledge of Him

If you've known me or been reading my blog for any length of time (here or at the old location), you know there are a few themes that keep coming up in my posts.

And, believe it or not, I'm not actually talking about babies, dog food or water, or my ever-present state of scatter-brained-ness.

I've spoken several times about some of the deep and foundational things the Lord has been teaching me over the past few years... the biggest one being the truth of my sufficiency in Him alone... His grace... my position in Christ... acceptance in Him only... struggling with being an extreme people-pleaser... not basing my "worth" or "status" as a Christian on what I do or don't do, or what others think of what I do or don't do. I am found in Him... and that's all that matters.

I wrote a little more on this last Friday, based on a brief mention our pastor had made during Thursday night's Bible study. But we all know I'm not the most eloquent and can make something quite simple sound complex with a zillion words, which tends to happen every time I attempt to explain these heart-thoughts. It turned out that our pastor was preparing this week's Thursday Bible study on this very topic... the one closest to my heart, the one that has completely changed my life and affects nearly every area of it daily.

I'm not sure I've ever heard a message quite like this one, at least not in an actual church setting. It might rock the boat you're in just a little, even if you think you already know about "all this stuff." But I know that even as the Lord has shown me some truths that can seem to be hidden in plain view, even in our churches, I needed this message. And now I think I know why the Lord knit our hearts so quickly with this local church body... our pastor's heart on this matter, based on such a foundation biblical truth as our very position in Christ, infiltrates every part of this church that we've seen thus far.

Please, I urge you, click this link, then click on "The Excellency of the Knowledge of Christ" and listen to this message. It was put on the church website just for you, the readers of this blog. It's not very long... and it may just change your life.

Someone please tell me I'm supposed to laugh about this kind of morning

It all started like this:

I was about to mop the floor this morning and Troy wanted to help, as usual, and so I let him, as usual. But then, when it came time for me to take the mop and actually do the job, he didn't like the idea. At all. I'll spare you the details, because I'm sure you've seen it yourself before and know just what I'm talking about, but we had quite a little ordeal on our hands resulting in a lil bit of discipline.

When it was all over and the human-natured little boy was on his way, he then took up an attempt at gaining Mama's pity by walking around the house alternately crying for his Oncle--only it sounds more like "N'cuh" when he says it--and crying "S'wheet... s'wheet!"

With tears.

Streaming down his face.

As if Oncle was going to fly home from Alabama just to hear him say "Sweet!" save him from his mama.

A few minutes after this little incident, John called from work to say hi and I told him I was about to get in the shower so I could go to the store. A hurt foot that couldn't really handle a trip to the grocery store saw to it that we are virtually out of food. Unless you want to count the jar of mayonnaise, bag of rice, spaghetti noodles and leftover baby shower cake.

So I was about to get into the shower--as in, about to step IN the shower, peeps--when my doorbell rang. I wasn't sure if I'd heard right, so I just peeked out from my second story window and didn't see anyone, but then I heard a knock followed by another ring of the bell.

Tossing on the nearest clothing I could find and taking one quick glance at the unshowered hair and face I'd never hope to see greeting ME at the door, I grabbed Troy and ran downstairs.

It was our next door neighbor. With a dog. Our dog. Well, actually, not OUR dog, but my parents' beloved Border Collie who has been staying with us the past two weeks while they are in Alabama.

Apparently she'd found him taking a joy-run in the street in front of our house.

In a panic, (is our dog still in the backyard or did she get out too? What if my neighbor hadn't found him?) I went out back, discovered Belle was still there, quickly brushed off their paws--we don't have dirt here, it's just mud most of the time--and let them in the house while I went out and tried to figure out where the escape spot had been.

It was one loose board in our wooden fence, with a forced opening of not more than five inches. Brodie is skinny, but how he managed that... I have no clue.

Upon going inside, I realized that I had clearly not brushed off those paws well enough because there were now muddy dog prints all up and down the stairway carpet. The carpet that, for whatever reason, the owners deemed it necessary to be a creamy WHITE.

I cleaned both dogs' paws, again, with them trying to wrestle and play with each other the entire time, and a laughing toddler falling all over them, right there in the middle of it. We were a heap of playful growls, flying fur and one old towel.

I grabbed a wet cloth. I grabbed the phone. Started cleaning the muddy prints off the stairs. Called John to tell him that he'd have a little work to do on the fence when he got home.

I thought Troy and the dogs were just playing in the living room.

I was wrong. Kinda.

They WERE playing, just not in the way I'd have liked. Troy was playing with the dogs' water dish, and had just finished dumping half of it all over the kitchen floor.

And Belle had stepped in the puddle.

It seems I still hadn't cleaned those previously muddy paws well enough, because as soon as they were wet, it was like a stamp and brown ink. There were now perfectly formed paw prints ALL OVER the downstairs carpet and the hard floor. (You know, that floor I'd mopped earlier?)

I sighed.

I cleaned those muddy paws yet AGAIN. I mopped up the spilled water. Then I rinsed out my cleaning cloth, got down on my hands and knees yet again (picture nine month preggie tummy in there, too) and began anew, this time sure that Troy was in one spot and the dogs were in another.

Ten minutes later, the carpets were cleaned, the dogs were both IN OUR HOUSE--crashed on the floor, in fact--the dirty cloth was in the hamper, my sprained foot was throbbing a bit, but I was done and I plopped down on the couch.

Then I glanced to my right. And turned my head the other way. Completely.

There was Troy, over at the water dish again... standing bent at the waist, hands on either side of the dog bowl, hair completely drenched, face in the water...

...lapping up water with his tongue. Like a dog.

He looked up at me, blowing the water droplets from his mouth and squealed with delight.

I looked again and sighed, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.

I told him no, we don't drink from Belle's water dish, wiped his face, gave him a book to look at, and fell into the couch once again.

Grabbing the phone, I called my mom's cell in Alabama.

"Tell me this is all funny?"

Busy hands...

I know you wouldn't think so by reading any recent entries on this here blog, but for quite a while I spent most of my time completely oblivious to the fact that I was expecting a second baby.

Not oblivious in the way of not realizing I was pregnant, mind you--that would be quite an interesting thing--but most of the time, I just didn't remember. People would say something about it and I'd think, "Oh yeah, that's right... I'm supposed to be having a baby."

Quite the polar opposite from the first time around.

I think having a one year old, making two moves, losing a grandparent, an emergency trip across the country and my mom being in and out of the hospital might have contributed to that. Just slightly.

So about a month or so ago I started feeling a little bad about the fact that our newest little boy wasn't quite getting the brain space his older brother had at that point (as in, every single waking AND sleeping thought) and had this nagging feeling that maybe I should actually think about the new baby a little more often. I mean, we prayed together for him, John and I, and I was making plans for his birth, but I was so very scatter-brained (that's unusual??) that I seldom really thought about the baby himself.

Until, that is, I made a trip to Michael's on a whim one day. Troy and I were leaving Barnes and Noble for story time, and I decided to walk across the shopping center and visit that crafty place where ideas start... though usually lasting only until about the time my keys are in the ignition.

When I got home, I sat down at the computer and was checking my email (which is NOT unusual, ahem) when my mom instant messaged me.

I just "pulled a Grandma." I typed.

What did you do? Spill something down the front of your shirt? she asked.

Yes, laugh. But that IS often what we mean when we say that I have "pulled a Grandma." Of all the things my grandma passed down to me, the tendency to end up with a spoonful of dinner on my clothes rather than in my mouth is one of them. And it's not just me. Others of us grandkids inherited it, too. Oh, the sweet sentiment of the thing...

Me: Nope. I went to Michael's. I'd had a White Chocolate Mocha from Starbucks during story time, but I didn't actually spill any on myself. Quite the thing.

Mom: What did you buy?

Me: Well, I spent a whole heap of money on a pattern and a bunch of nice yarn for something I'll probably never finish. I'm going to start crocheting a stuffed monkey for the baby... so that he'll know that at least for a little while, his mama was actually thinking about him specifically while she was pregnant with him.

Mom: That's a good idea... since you seem to forget about him. ;) You should really try to finish it, though. That would be so special for him...

So that's what I did. I started. I tried to finish. And I did.

And, so, meet Mr. Monkey:



The perfectionist in me (which is, um, in every square centimeter of me) would like to point out the mistakes and tell you how many times I pulled out the first ear I made before I realized I actually WAS doing it right. But I won't. Because, hey, it looks good from a computer screen and you'll never know the difference.

So I'm thinking that between this little monkey and the zillion and one recent blog posts that talk of nothing but the baby, he'll know that his mama did indeed think of him while she was expecting him.

And Grandma would be proud. After all, she's the one who taught me to knit and crochet--and to have several handwork projects going at once, some doomed to never get that final stitch. But she'd be pleased that I actually finished this one. She'd probably have a spot from lunch on her shirt, but she'd be grinning and saying, "Oh, Ashleigh, let me see! Oh, that is just darling."

Now Troy is napping, and so I'm going to use the rest of this blissful time to go work a bit on one of the other yarn projects I've now started. We'll see how many of these I can finish...

Because I'm a nesting maniac today

One-hundred percent contrary to my plan to iron and crochet all day today, I've completely given in to a crazy need to get my house in order top to bottom in preparation for the baby's arrival. I'm washing every baby item in sight, organizing closets and drawers, rearranging furniture...

I even cleaned Troy's high chair with a toothbrush.

Yep.

I said I was crazed.

So until my house is in spotless, spic-n-span shape (as it will remain for all of, oh, one day after I'm finished, of course) I'm leaving you with a few clickie places.

Heather has written a great post about the cancer of terrorism and our need to never stop fighting it... and a whole bunch of other great stuff. So stop by and say along with me, "Ooh RAH!" :grin:

And if you need to be reminder of the reality of the deepest sacrifice some of our men and women and their families are making, you might want to go over and read the words from Mel's heart. Her fiance's unit came home this past week from that Sandy Spot... without him. And yet this sweet girl went to welcome them home through her tears. My throat closes up and my eyes spill over every single time I visit her blog, because... well, just because... and I can never even find words to leave her a comment. But sometimes we need to remember.

Oh, and one last thing, on a lighter note... Susan over at By Grace was kind enough to bestow upon me the "You Make Me Smile" award. So very sweet... although I think her perception of "having it all together" is horribly skewed. :wink: I'm supposed to, in turn, give this award to ten bloggers who make ME smile, but frankly, there are just waaaay too many to choose from right now and I can hardly figure out where baby socks are supposed to go, let alone who is "most deserving" of such an award. Because you all are. I smile every time I open up my browser or click on my Bloglines notifier. If I happen to narrow it down, I'll be back on this one... otherwise... well, we'll just have to see.

Aaaaand my dryer just stopped.... gotta run, peeps.

I think he was a little tired

I've always wondered how parents end up with pictures of their kids asleep in the high chair.

Because, I mean, come on, how can your child--who normally wants nothing to do with sleep, period--seriously just crash like that, sitting up? And how can you either not notice or just sit and watch???

Now I know.

You just... do.

Thus why nearly every parent has a few of these classic fall-over-crashed-out-in-the-middle-of-eating-or-playing pictures. Or something like that.

Oh, and the other thing? You know your little person has been spending nearly every waking moment with his almost 17-year-old uncle for a week when he is walking around the house saying his two new favorite phrases...

"S'wheet...'wheet."

and

"Dooooo!"

His versions of "Sweet" and "Dude."

I don't know whether to shake my head in bewilderment or crack up at the cuteness of it all.

Showers of itty bitty bebe blessings

Warning: Huge onslaught of baby-related pictures to follow. If you don't want to see somewhere around a zillion baby shower pictures, click out of this window now. Thank you for your cooperation.

AND, moving right along.

Saturday was the day of a beautiful celebration of the quickly approaching arrival of our new baby boy, Merritt Will, given by my cousin Tiffany and my mom, with help from lots of other people--my cousin Laura, my Aunt Sheri and my sissy Bethany. It was held at the greatest, fancy schmancy restaurant in a private little room... perfect for our party of family and a couple like-family friends.

The difficult part of the day was the fact that my Mama wasn't able to be there--after all her hard work and planning. She is still in Alabama, caring for my Gram, and while we're thankful that she is able to be there, it was pretty hard on everybody to be together for something like this and not have her there. For me, she's often the life and light of our family get-togethers, and though we still had oodles of fun on Saturday and the shower was amazing... we just missed her terribly.

Thus, the 500+ pictures and two hours worth of video tape we have waiting for her return.

Ahem.

So. Brace yourself for, um, a few pictures...



Lions for the bebe, bought by his Grammie while she's been in Alabama and overnighted along with other shower supplies to be here for this day... even though she herself wasn't here. And recognize that picture used as a decoration? Thought so.


Handmade cards to along with the gifts~~~favors--tiny boxes filled with candy hugs and kisses and topped with tags made by my mama. (Part of the overnighted supplies!)


Family~~~Tiffany and Laura~~~Aunt Sheri and our newest little addition to the family, Isaiah

Misty and baby Elisa~~~my Aunt Kathe and cousins Sara and Emalee (here with Misty--who still lives down here--and Elisa) surprised me by driving from Northern California to be here for the shower. And surprised I was!!

Sweet Olivia Joie and Mrs. T~~~Emilie and Emalee

Precious Isaiah...

A picture cannot even hope to do this cake justice. I have honestly never in my life seen such a perfect cake for any occasion. It matched the hand-made invitations exactly and looked like it should have been in a Southern Living Baby Shower edition magazine. It was completely... perfect.



The cake tasted just as awesome as it looked... not that I would know, of course.

Games, games... "Who has the heaviest purse?"... "Baby Word Scramble"..."How Much Do You Know About Ashleigh Trivia"... "Baby Items--A to Z"... finished off with prizes such as Longaberger teacups filled with tea bags, Yankee Candles, and Bath and Body Works body splash~~~Tiffany loving Misty's sweet little Elisa

Having lots of fun~~~Olivia capturing all of it on tape

The basketball bump

Giftie time!

Quilt from Aunt Kathe~~~crocheted sweater from my sissy, Auntie Bethy

Tiffany, ever thinking of the "little things" that mean so much, had a basket for the mama... filled with--what else??--Sweet Pea lotions, body wash, body butter, bath pillow... ahhhhh.

We had a little too much fun with the present opening~~Who knew that Johnson's would have baby cucumber melon products?? The new little man now has his very own set of yummy smelling bath products.... and a bib that I think is just perfect.

Aaaaand... I kinda freaked out when I saw these. Three bumGenius cloth diapers. Mmhmm. You all knew I was crazy about cloth diapers, weird as I may be, but I kinda went a little more crazy.... because I really didn't expect my cousin to go to my favorite cloth diapering site and order some of these diapers I've been wanting. But she did. And I shouldn't have been so surprised... she pays more attention to those kinds of details than anyone I know.

And, I also went a leetle bit nuts when I saw what looked like a box of plumbing supplies.... very specific plumbing supplies. A diaper sprayer. For those of you who use cloth and even those who don't... just try to imagine how wonderful a diaper sprayer that attaches to the side of your toilet would be. My thoughts exactly... for the past 18 months.

Made by my cousin Laura--the same one who made the invitations and the centerpieces (don't have a pic of those yet)... saying in a card what they all had shown throughout the day.

And all these pictures? Along with the other 400+ taken over those three and a half hours.... all courtesy of my beloved sissy. We managed to get one picture with her in it, just so we knew she was around, you know. I wuvs her.

And the things not shown in pictures here:
(Not because we don't have them, but, you know, I thought these, uh, few would be enough for now...)

The group gift--an Arm's Reach Co-sleeper bassinet (woohoo!)~~the centerpieces that matched the invitations (also not shown) and the cake, with scripture on one side and a quote about little boys on the other~~the food, which was indeed picture worthy in and of itself~~the personalized menus with "Shower of Best Wishes for Merritt" printed on them by the restaurant~~the rest of the gifts~~Troy's big brother gift, which I "helped" him open at the shower, though he wasn't there, and then he opened again when I took it home~~my one-shoe-on look and the ace bandage on the my left foot due to a trip down the stairs, which thankfully resulted in a sprained and swollen foot and a hobbling gait instead of a bruised-or-worse tummy~~the picture of me shoving a bite of cake into my mouth, or the one of Aunt Sheri doing the same with a piece of the cheese bread, ahem.

And if there were words to express an adequate thank you to my mom and Tiffany and everyone else who made the day unforgettable, they'd go here. But there aren't. So it's no use trying. All I can say is that I am incredibly blessed by such wonderful friends and family... and they make me cry just by thinking of them.