Life in a Nutshell

The sick. It's got to stop. Even my doctor was a little surprised to find out that it's still carrying on as if I were merely 8 weeks pregs. In the last two weeks the deal was sweetened with a nice head cold. Awesome! I'm thoroughly flu vaccinated now, so everyone can rest easy. I'M NOT GOING TO DIE!

Went to the doctor today. Heartbeat sounded good, size was good, only gained 3lbs- also good, and scheduled our ultrasound for December 9. To be truthful, finding out the gender of the baby is not nearly as urgent to me this time as just seeing that things are mostly okay. I made the doctor talk to me again about my risk factors for having a baby with birth defects or chromosome abnormalities. He offered the quad-screen again, but after discussion with him I opted to skip it. It so frequently turns up false positives for chromosomal defects which then can lead into much more invasive testing and confusion, and really? what am I going to do with that info anyway? Will it change things? Probably not. So we'll wait for the ultrasound and see what we can with that. He assures me that due to my age, health, and blah blah blah that the chances of problems are pretty slim. An enclosed spine, four functioning heart chambers, and two kidneys, it will be a sight for my sore eyes.

I scheduled the ultrasound for a time of day that we can take the older two kids with us. Spicey wanted to know all about how we would know if the baby is a girl or boy so I explained as factually and age appropriately as I could how the ultrasound works and that the doctor will be able to see if our baby has a p*enis or a v*agina. Now the trick is reprogramming her to say "when we find out if our baby is a boy or girl" instead of the other words when we're in public. It's super fun to see the heads whip around when she spouts out the names of genitalia in public.

Thanksgiving break is upon us. I wish I could say that I'm dying to eat turkey and tra-la-la family togetherness but life has us clinging to the words of my current favorite song, "Leave to thy God to order and provide. Through every storm, He faithful will remain."

And He is. And He will be. I just wish He would do it my way and hurry up about it, already.

The Cake Pan

Fifty-eight years ago my grandparents packed up their three small children and moved from Minnesota to rural Arkansas to be missionaries with Christian Missionary Alliance Church. Their job was to travel to rural, destitute communities in the Ozarks to teach children about God's message of salvation. They worked through the small, one-room schools teaching scripture and songs, showing pictures, and telling Bible stories with flannel graph and slides. They also managed a thrift store and helped develop a children's camp there until the government ruled that Christianity could no longer be taught in public schools. Both of my grandparents left behind their families, friends, and childhood homes to answer God's call in their lives.


While making their journey to Arkansas my dad was to have his third birthday. On the day that they departed from Minnesota my great-grandmother gave my grandma a brand new metal baking pan with a slide-on lid. In it was a baked birthday cake for my dad so that he would have a cake on his birthday, though they would be far from home. Isn't that such a grandma thing to do? To make sure her wee little grandson's birthday was properly celebrated? I have no strong memories of my great-grandmother so I love having the idea that she was just like my grandmas and my children's grandmas.


Last spring when we visited my grandparents for Grandma's 80th birthday she offered me the cake pan and told me the story. She knows my love for kitchen antiques, which is probably why she thought to offer it to me. I was elated. E L A T E D.

I have been saving it for six months for this very week, Jack's third birthday. Jack's middle name is my dad's name, something we are all proud of-- especially my dad. Today they will both have celebrated their third birthdays with a cake baked in the same pan, one in 1952 and one in 2009. Perhaps it might sound overly sentimental, but oh how much it means to me.




As I mixed up the cake today I thought about all the cakes and casseroles my Grandma must have made in this pan over the years, the church potlucks it's been too, and the homes of the sick or bereaved who she brought a meal to. I thought about how it might have been her favorite go-to baking pan in the kitchen that cared for her five children and thirteen grandchildren.

When she gave me the pan she described how surprised she was to receive it, knowing how much it must have cost her mother to buy her such a beautiful new baking pan. She apologized for it while I was swooning, acknowledging that it wasn't in the best condition anymore. I thanked her profusely, but could she possibly understand how much this small gift means to me? Of the hundreds of dollars in kitchen antiques I own, some rare collectibles, this is my most prized piece.

Thank you, Grandma. I love you.

Birthday Boy

I'm not sure how this happened exactly, but today is Jack's third birthday. THREE, people. Where did the time go?

Happy birthday to the boy who has taught me about patience, whose birth made me reprioritize everything I once thought was so important, who makes my life interesting every single day, who cracks me up with the silliest sense of humor I've ever seen on a toddler.

Happy birthday, buddy.

The New Vacuum

Geez louise, people. Hoover hasn't even collected dust in the garage yet and you're already asking what I replaced him with. Have you no heart?


Okay, so yeah, we replaced Hoover the day he died. I just didn't want to take away from his memorial moment by discussing my new lover in the same post.


We bought a Dyson DC14 Drive (not the "Animal" model). I can't stop vacuuming. I'm not kidding. In. Love. I've always hated vacuuming but this vacuum redefines the task. Uh!Mazing!

Hoover Trade-Off
1997-2009

After 12 ½ loyal years of service, our Hoover vacuum has finally died its last death. A lovely gift from my grandparents for our wedding, it has served us well. It has kept the floors clean in six different homes, various rentals that were left trashed by tenants, and more vehicles than I care to admit to having owned. It viciously chased the hair and dandruff of two dogs, two cats, and five family members. It suffered through the renovation of an old home, and has vacuumed the extra fuzz off of new carpet with zeal.

In his later years little Hoover embraced massive battles with dumped out baby powder, spilled cat litter, and the debris of more than a few haircuts performed on wiggly little boys in front of the TV. He took on each task with willingness. Though his tired age had begun to show he never gave up.

Thank you, Hoover, for your years of loyal service. Rest in peace old friend.