For you, Intern

Danny warned me that since I hardly ever update anymore, I might be losing readers. Well, here you go, Intern. An update and countdown to our move.

We went to Nashville this weekend for a quick visit to check out Stevie's future hockey team as well as our new house. We put in an offer on a house that we spent a whopping 18 minutes in the first time around, because that's probably twice as long as we normally would make a life-altering decision. That's just how we roll. So this weekend I got 18 more minutes to check to see if there were blinds on the window and where the bathroom was.

Luckily, my memory was faulty, and I loved it even more now that I knew it is ours. (Almost.)

But there are a couple of things that we do need to change....



I've changed too many babies diapers to let this stand in the girls' room.



And I'd really like a working butler to work in this butler's pantry...



And unless all of the kids decide to go to LSU, these colors in the basement need to go.





But I love my new kitchen.



And upstairs loft which differs from the upstairs playroom complete with its own wetbar and ice maker.



Tomorrow (ish) I'll post pictures of the outside which is just as extreme in its awesomeness.

Home

Perhaps since we dined on a delicious steak on Thanksgiving rather than the Tryptophan-laced turkey, I got a boost of domestic energy today.

We returned home from Atlanta late last night, and while the boys were off at a hockey tournament at a very unlady-like time of morning, I unpacked, did all of the laundry, cleaned out closets and dressers to fill a dozen bags of clothes to Goodwill, grocery shopped, did miscellaneous computer tasks, went through all of the catalogs and made a very nice white bean turkey chili with fresh cilantro.

I am recording this not to brag or to bore you, but to prove to myself later that I did something of substance this week.

The good news and the bad

The one downside of having my wisdom teeth all healed is that my summer diet program is officially over.

Since I had been relying on relentless, excruitiating pain to prevent me from putting anything in my mouth all summer, I realize that strategy is now obsolete and I will have to rely on more traditional methods of portion control.

Which pretty much sucks and makes my thighs sore just thinking about it.

Reverse Deja Vu

Yesterday I had a reverse deja vu.

After a full day of hockey and parties, Stevie and I bagged the banquet and went out to dinner together instead. One of the many reasons I love that kid, is that he eats so well. And anything. Always has. So he chooses the Thai place because he wants sushi. What's not to love?

So we are sitting in our ornate booth munching on panang chicken when two older ladies come in and sit in the booth behind us. I can't see them, but I can hear every word.

The one is launching into a well-rehearsed diatribe about a mutual friend, "Helen." It seems Helen is cheap, annoying, anti-social, and a liar. (I feel a pang for Helen when I hear that they won't stop on their way to the theater to get her ice cream.) Anyway, in addition to Helen's many faults, she also must be a piss-poor Bridge player, because one of them says this:

She wouldn't play with their group because they played the trump card with the diamond bust.

I have absolutely no idea what that means, but I could hear myself saying it 40 years from now.

I wrote it down on the back of my Bruce Springsteen ticket sub with the sushi pencil so I would remember it when I'm 70.

An assortment of nonsense

Please do not read the following as a complaint, by any means. Do not read it as anything other than a musing, a bewilderment, an internal query, an observation, or a pondering. Choose whatever adjective you prefer, but definitely not a complaint.

It has been 2 weeks since the article was published and life has changed. Not that I coveted my former low profile and not that I expect such recognition outside the boundaries of Safety Harbor or just my own street even, but losing a level of anonymity is a little strange.

Let me explain. I expected a few friends to comment. I expected a few unexpected people to comment. That about covers my expectations.

What I did not expect was for my garbage cans to be taken in and out because my neighbors read about my pregnancy rather than notice on their own. I did not expect mere acquaintances to save, laminate, or otherwise display my article in any way shape or form. I did not expect my book to be auctioned off for money much higher than the cover price.

And I certainly did not expect to stare back at my own crooked smile when I walked into the exam room at the OB's office. OH MY GOD HOW PERFECTLY DISCONCERTING WHILE IN THE STIRRUPS. It made trying to distract myself by looking at myself while in that horrific position really rather creepy.

It feels like I'm stalking myself. Maybe I should get a restraining order.

******

Anyway, the doctor's visit was a mixed bag. Besides the self-voyeurism, I just have not been feeling all that well, honestly. I'll spare you the symptoms but it's starting to make me a little pensive. But no matter what the test results today show, I have officially started one aspect of my freelance maternity leave, as last night was the last meeting I will cover for a while. When they started speaking of the March agenda, I gratefully thought, Yahoo! I can honestly not give a shit! And none too soon as last night was the single most uncomfortable experience of my life trying to fit and stay still in those plastic folding chairs while fighting off contractions and hot flashes. At one point during a diatribe on the difference between beige and tan exterior paint, I thought my water was going to break. And the sad part is, I knew that not one bastard in that room would drive me to the hospital. They would fail to pass the motion by a 2/3 majority.

The good news was, if such a thing is conceivable at this point, is total weight gain--20 pounds. Approaching the eighth month and 20 pounds. I feel like I want to eat cake or something to celebrate, but then that might prevent future celebrations. But it is Valentine's Day after all, so perhaps a chocolate covered cherry or seven might be appropriate...

Happy Valentine's Day.