December's Gratitude List

So, I know that I intended to write these on the first of every month and today is the 8th, but, hey, I figure it is never too late to be thankful. Also, I feel I must address the glaring absence of posts between last month's list and this one's. Most of my attention is going to the writing of Katie's blog and, thus, there are fewer posts here. (Those of you who I want to have that address, have it. If you don't and you want it, e-mail me or respond and I'll see if you made the cut.)

So, quickly while the girl naps, here is this month's list:

1. My husband, who has got to be one of the kindest people on the planet. This morning he saw a cat get hit by a car and stopped to see if he could do something to save the cat. He couldn't so he took great care to move the cat's body and find the home to whom she belonged so he could inform the family. Please note, it wasn't he who hit the cat, he merely observed it. That's a good person, my friends!

2. Katie...not much needs to follow this. She is, simply put, a rock star. What a gift God has given us in her. But, should you want to catch a glimpse into her greatness, I offer you this: The other night she slept from 6pm to 8:45am...and this is only a little longer than her usual night's rest. Again, I say, ROCK STAR!

3. My dad, who though facing what is probably terminal cancer, keeps up the good fight and continues to find joy in life and give joy to my life. A person could not have a better father. You're a bug-catching, balloon-volleyball-paying all-star.

4. The rest of my family, especially my mom, who support me and encourage me and make me laugh.

5. Georgia. My God, it is good to be here.

6. Owning a home...no doubt, it has it's downside, but when I unpacked this time, I knew this stuff was staying here a while. And, it was staying in closets that were mine!!!! Hooray!

7. Barack Obama becoming our next president. Thank you, American voters, thank you!

8. Christmas shopping...I think I truly do find more joy in figuring out what to give to the people I love than I do getting stuff-which says a lot, 'cause I really like getting stuff!

9. Cool/cold weather! I am so glad fall is here and winter is in sight. I hate being hot and it is nice to be out their raking MY leaves on MY yard in the cool, crisp air.

10. Christmas music...I love it, love it, love it!

November's Gratitude List

After a few months off the blog radar, I return (a few days late) with this month's gratitude list. Without further ado, the things I am grateful for this month are

1) My family, especially my beautiful baby girl, Katie;

2) The really fun scrapbooking workshop I just attended;

3) That it looks like the people of the United States will elect an African-American for president, and, a person who might be able to correct the horrors that Bush has brought about;

4) That I am FINALLY a homeowner...hooray;

5) All the support my parents and my minister gave me during the first weeks of Katie's life, when I was struggling with post-partum depression;

6) The wonderful folks of PHPC, who have made Andy, Katie and me feel so welcome;

7) To be back in a town where we have some wonderful friends to do fun things with;

8) Harper and Dylan, who have hung in there with all the transition in their little feline lives;

9) The Daily Show; and

10) Laughter.

Suck It, Orthodontist

So, as you may know, I have braces. I have had them since January of 2007. I hate them. I hate the fact that I am 30-years old and sleep with a bag of mini rubber bands on my bedside table. I hate the fact that I am paying $5000 to having something done that my parents paid several thousands of dollars to have done once already. I hate the fact that all the family pictures of the first year of Katie's life will feature me with more hardware than your local Home Depot. I hate having lunch with someone and wondering not if I have food stuck in my teeth, but just how noticeable the food stuck in my teeth is.

But what I hate most, as of late, anyway, is the incompetence I encounter at the orthodontist. In Maryland I had a great ortho. He was young, funny, creative in his orthodontic assessments, smart, took time to explain the mechanics of what he was doing, had hired talented assistants, and was not bad looking. I looked forward to going to his office because everyone was so nice and I left feeling like we were making progress.

Then, we moved to Georgia. I was limited in my options as to whom I would choose as my doctor due to the fact that my MD orthodontist had used a new style of braces that most orthodontists aren't familiar with. (Despite being new, they still leave me with the opportunity to be called "metal mouth".) Thus, I am stuck with the doctor I have. The doctor himself is not so bad. I have toenail clippings that have more personality than he does, but he does seem to know what he is doing and that is more important than his ability to entertain me. However, the hygienist I have been assigned to over these last few months, frankly, SUCKS! I have had three regular appointments. For two of them I have had to go back for "emergency" care. Now, none of it was a particularly big deal, but when I am paying someone that much money, they should know what the hell they are doing. At my most recent visit, the woman replace the old wire with a new wire, adjusted it and we were good to go...when I pointed out to her that she had failed to put a necessary coil back on. Thus, we had to start all over. Why do I know this woman's job better than she does?

Perhaps this is a minor thing to gripe about. However, scheduling appointments requires a little more forethought and planning than it previously did. And if every time I go to the orthodontist ends up creating another appointment that we have to schedule, and one that has to happen immediately because something is poking me or falling off, then it makes life more complicated than it needs to be.

So, on Monday I go back to have something fixed that the woman didn't do correctly this past Monday. I have asked for another hygienist....surely that can't all be that incompetent!

Perhaps My Mothering Skills Need Some Work

Today's signs that I am in fact the world's best mom:

1) While fixing and eating my lunch, my lovely daughter spit-up. She doesn't really spit-up that much, so I am not usually on the look-out for it. So, I finished eating and sat back down on the floor to play with her. The poor child had spit-up all over her face, up her nose, and rubbed into her ear. Good parenting!

2) While feeding her a bottle this afternoon, Katie was apparently spilling some milk out of her mouth on the side opposite me (so that I couldn't see it). So, after she finished eating I sat her up to burp her and the back of her hair was soaked with milk. Maybe we can consider it a spa treatment?

3) During our car ride this afternoon, Katie managed to get a diaper wedgie of sorts. When we got home I hooked my finger in her diaper to un-wedge. I came out with a finger covered in poo. I'm not sure how to spin this one...

Ahhh, motherhood. You are the best!

Did You Miss Me?

So, after a 4 month hiatus, which included having a baby, moving to GA, buying a house (almost), and getting more familiar with my breasts than I thought possible, I'm back.

The husband mentioned in the previous post is still with me, too, which may surprise you considering the behavior described. I figure I have punished him long enough for his less than loving comments. Maybe now that he knows I am back in the blog world he'll do something so absurdly sweet I simply couldn't not blog about it, thus proving my previous characterization of him wrong....

Well, the battery is dying on both the computer and the author, so I will make this entry a mere toe in the water and leave you waiting for the cannonball that my writing normally is!

Glad to be back!

Is Your Husband As Supportive As Mine?

Ways the lovely Andy has expressed his love to his oh, so pregnant wife in the last week or so:

"Don't you ever get tired of just lying around all day?" he asks.

"You know, your feet kinda look like morgue feet," he says to me when the circulation of my feet was struggling a bit.

"You big pregnant whale!" Yes, he really did say this.

This one happened a few months ago. We receive weekly e-mails from a pregnancy website that updates readers on the babies status and gives pointers for different aspects of pregnancy. The e-mail that prompted Andy's next awesome remark was at the point where my belly was really starting to grow. The e-mail said something to the effect of "Don't worry about that belly, you'll have your old body back soon enough." So Andy in his supportive way says, "You probably don't want your old body back, do you?" It doesn't matter that what he said was true, he still shouldn't have said it!!!

Now, some of you may be saying to yourself, "I'm sure that in context these weren't as bad as they seem." Can someone tell me a context where calling your 39-week pregnant wife a whale is constructive?

Watch Out Pat Summitt, This Baby Has Your Number

Soooo, on Tuesday we had a sonogram done on the doctor's suspicion that Miss Priss might be a little big. It appears that the doctor's years in medical school paid off. The heavyweight champion of the womb is weighing in at 8lbs 9oz and showing no signs of making her debut anytime soon. (Fortunately, I have since had a friend tell me that the weight prediction for her son was a pound off, which is substantial when we are talking about the difference between 8 and 9 pounds being pushed out of my nether regions.) So, the plan is to sit and wait, which is not my favorite plan. I begged the doctor to go ahead and do something to get this show on the road, but was given an emphatic "no!". Apparently, unless it is medically necessary, this practice does not even consider intervening until 39 weeks in order to allow the lungs to mature as much as possible. I guess this makes sense, being as the lungs are, you know, THE LUNGS. So, we go back to the doctor a week from tomorrow, when I will be 39 weeks and 1 day. I will have an ultrasound the following Tuesday, June 3 and I guess a decision will be made about whether or not to induce, operate, or wait. (All this of course assumes that she doesn't decide to kick it into high gear and show up early...no surprise that this is where my vote lies!)

I guess no matter if she shows up tomorrow or shows up June 5 she's gonna be a big girl. So, my dad and I have started to think about her basketball career. I'm sure Pat Summitt will be retired 18-years from now, but I'm putting out a warning to her now just in case. Baby Girl Acton is going to have some mad skills on the hardwood and she will not be playing in TN orange. (A moment of explanation for those of you who don't know who Pat Summitt is. She is the unbelievably successful coach of the Volunteers women's basketball team. She is the all-time winningest coach in women's basketball and has 8 national championships. She is the female John Wooden.) In the same breath that I turn down Coach Summitt's future recruiting, I will go ahead and put it out there that my daughter would love to play for Duke, Vanderbilt, LSU, or North Carolina, all storied programs. And in case any of you are wondering if UConn and Geno Auriemma is an option, let me direct you to a weather map.

So, even though it is likely that none of the gabillions of newborn outfits that we were given will fit this child, we know that she'll be able to fit into her Air Jordans pretty soon.

Hold On Tight! The Excitement Might Overwhelm You.

I talk to my parents on the phone a lot. Like, probably every day. I think part of it is being an only child-that status tends to make one particularly close to one's parents. (Unless the parents were tools, in which case it is a different situation. But my parents aren't tools...good work, Mom and Dad.) Also, when my dad got diagnosed with cancer last winter I definitely started talking to him more frequently. Add in a pregnancy and there is pretty frequent phone contact. (Not to mention that I only work part time and the cats don't talk back, which sometimes equals a bored/lonely Elizabeth.) Oh, and an important note about these phone calls is that it is almost always me calling them. (See the previous sentence for insight into that.) However, yesterday both my parents called me just to check in. Yesterday was Wednesday. I think our most recent conversations prior to that occurred on Monday. Two whole days incommunicado! No wonder they were a little worried/confused.

Well, like I told them, there just isn't much to say at this stage of the game. The highlights of the day are getting off the couch with only minimal grunting and Law and Order reruns. What is deemed a big activity has definitely changed. For instance, today is leg shaving day. Never before in my life has a pre-determined day been for leg shaving. However, it just takes so much energy, not to mention contortionist skills, that now, before entering the shower, I must steel myself for the work ahead. Lame.

So, there isn't much to write about. There is another big adventure that is in the works, as some of you know, but it is secret for a few more weeks. After that the world will know. However, for now, you're stuck with stories of leg shaving.

You Want Me to Do What?!?!?!

Yesterday evening turned out to be more eventful than I planned. (However, it isn't too terribly hard to beat a frozen dinner with Charlie Gibson, Pat Sajak, and Alex Trebek as dinner guests.)

After several days of an intense pain on my right side that was coming and going depending on whether or not I was sitting or standing, I decided I should call the doctor. What actually prompted me to finally call was the fact that the pain did not subside upon sitting, which was the pain's M.O. Now when I called, this was what I had in mind for their response: "Oh, we're sure it's fine. It's probably just the baby's elbow or foot sticking in an uncomfortable position. Nothing to worry about." Then I would hang up and head for my frozen dinner. Instead they said, "Why don't you come in and see the physician's assistant in 30 minutes and that will give you some peace of mind." Despite that plan being a little more involved than what I was looking for, I agreed since peace of mind was what I was looking for after all. For about 15-20 of the interim 30 minutes I was on the phone with my dad (talking about hairstyles and such) and thus did not respond to the call waiting beeping in my ear.

After I got off the phone with my dad, I received a message telling me to just go ahead and go to the hospital so they could do a Non Stress Test. What!?!?!? No, No, No. Remember, it is just an inappropriately positioned elbow. No big whoop, remember? Alas, I headed to the hospital feeling a little like a tool since I was confident what I was feeling wasn't worth all this fuss, but still looking for the previously mentioned peace of mind. Fortunately, both the hospital and the doctor's office are literally across the street. As I was driving over I called Andy, or, to be more precise, I called the dentist's office and gave them a message to give to Andy. I asked the receptionist to as calmly as possible tell him where I was and what was going on. Fortunately, again, the dentist's office is also across the street from the hospital.

After filling out some suprisingly short forms in the lobby of Labor and Delivery, I sat and waited to be called back. Andy arrived in that time, which was good. After the nurse took us back I got to practice getting into the gown, which really should come with instructions. I'm not brilliant, but I'm not an idiot either, and I needed a dadgum diagram to figure out how to align all the appropriate pieces. I was really pretty content in my shorts and t-shirt. I'm pretty sure I should've just stuck with that!

Anyway, I feel as if I am belaboring (ha!) this story. To make it short(er), the test indicated that I was (and still am) actually having contractions, but it was unclear to the nurse whether or not they were real or not. Thus, we got a doctor's visit also, which was super fun-I especially liked the part where she stuck her hand up me to check my cervix. That's what she said she was doing anyway; it felt more like she was digging for buried treasure. Or a buried submarine.

In the end, the conclusion was that it was false labor, which I think seems really fricking unfair. I can deal with pain if we are getting somewhere, but pain just for the hell of it and to confuse me-WTF!?!?!? Hopeful that something might be gained from the experience, yet knowing the answer ahead of time, I asked the doctor if the presence of false contractions would allow us any insights into any kind of timeline. Nope. (Unfair, I say, unfair!) Instead, I was sent home with instructions to take a bath, have some Tylenol and go to bed. (She must have just forgotten the part about making margaritas.)

The end result: "an intense pain of my right side that comes and goes depending on whether I am standing or sitting." Plus a little peace of mind.

The Flip Side of Yesterday

Sooo, to counterbalance yesterday’s whining blog post, I give you the month of May’s gratitude list.

I am thankful for/that…

I can eat my cereal without holding the bowl due to the fact that the fetus comes with an external table;

Confirmation class will be done on Sunday. I have enjoyed it, but I am tired and will be glad to have the pace of work slow down;

Atlanta friends;

I am not giving birth in August (the heat would do me in);

On a related note, the air conditioner is fixed;

My parents are the most amazing helpers in the history of grandparents-to-be;

Having a baby means you get to pick out birth announcements, which means going to the stationery store, which means I might wet myself with excitement (I mean, I am wetting myself for other reasons, so I might as well find one that I am pleased with!);

We figured out how to put the stroller together, as well as install the car seat…plus, there is a county agency to check to make sure it is done correctly in case we didn’t figure it out the right way;

White cheese dip in the not-too-distant future;

New Kids on the Block’s imminent return (speaking of reasons to wet yourself!!!);

Really good friends and really good family. There is nothing better than loving people who love you back (I’ve tried it the other way…it isn’t nearly as fun.)

Reasons Why Being this Pregnant Rocks (She Said with Her Tongue Firmly Stuck In Her Cheek)

So, I have to say it, I AM SO TIRED OF BEING PREGNANT! I can't wait to be a mom, but I am over being pregnant-by a long shot. Here are some reasons:

There is an unidentified pain in my right side. I think, in fact, in may be an unidentified body part of the alien who has taken up residence in my abdomen.

There is an alien who has taken up residence in my abdomen.

I haven't seen my private parts in weeks, possibly months...but everyone else sure as hell has.

Pregnant leg shaving...a new sport that will debut in Beijing. Good grief!

Heartburn was not something I was at all familiar with prior to pregnancy. Now, however, I'm thinking I should buy stock in TUMS.

And while I'm at it, I might as well get me some stock in Charmin. Good God! How can one person pee so much...and to be frank, I could handle the frequent peeing if the pee and I could agree on when it was going to come out. Yuck.

Thank you notes...except for your's, writing your's was the highlight of the day.

This one's petty, I know ('cause the other's weren't): The baby will be born mere days after Father's Day and yet Mother's Day will go by just like any other Sunday. (Andy, you're not getting a Wii.)

So, those are some of the reasons I am ready to be unpregnant. Aren't you glad you stopped by?

(While writing this, ironically, I realized that neither Andy nor I wrote our May gratitude lists. Guess I'll make that a separate post.)

Until then...

I'm Still Here

I just wanted you to know, blog world, that I am in fact still here. And I haven't let the blogging go by the wayside. Rather I have just been absolutely inundated with the activities on my to do list. Pregnant ladies should have at least one extra day added to their weeks...seven days just isn't enough when a mere trip to the grocery store feels like climbing Mt. Everest.

In short, I just wanted to put all your anxious minds at rest and let you know that I will soon return. Hopefully after this Sunday things will normalize a bit...that is before normal is forever lost when Miss Priss arrives. (She says hello, by the way.)

Until then, I leave you with this closing thought: Heartburn sucks!

Sunday's Sermon (AKA: A Copout Post)

The following sermon was preached this past Sunday, April 13. It was the day the congregation celebrated the work of Rainbow Place, the women's homeless shelter which is housed on the third floor of our education building November through March. You will note, perhaps with thanksgiving, that the sermon is a little short. This is because there were other celebratory pieces of the service that cut into my preaching time. Bummer about that.

The texts were Genesis 9:8-17 and Matthew 25:31-46.

A few weeks ago my husband Andy and I were driving to Babies ‘R’ Us in Silver Spring. As we slowed down at a stoplight I noticed some motion outside the car out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to look at the van next to us. The driver truly seemed to be having a fit. She was vehemently pointing at something in the distance and mouthing some words. Andy and I looked over our shoulders in the direction in which she was pointing and didn’t see a thing. So we turned back to the woman with curious looks on our faces, a little alarmed at what might be wrong. She continued to point and jump up and down to the degree one is able to do so in a seatbelt. Andy rolled down his window to find out exactly what had this woman so excited. The lady rolled down her window and said, “Look! Look! A rainbow!” Andy and I turned our heads, politely admired the rainbow, and smiled at the lady as traffic began to move again.

Meanwhile, inside the car Andy and I were more than a little amused that a grown woman could react with such enthusiasm to a rainbow. You really would have thought that the woman had spotted that elusive rainbow with the pot of gold at the end. It is true, I must admit, that Andy and I were a little less than gracious in how we mocked her after driving away, but it was just so bizarre.

It occurred to me, however, as I was thinking about this sermon that this stranger’s joy over seeing a rainbow is probably how we should react when our skies are unexpectedly adorned with such beauty, a beauty that reminds us of God’s grace. Even more, I imagine that this lady’s jumping up and down is exactly how Noah and his family responded when they laid eyes on that first rainbow. Noah’s family had been on a boat for forty days with hundreds of animals. The family had no access to fresh food, entertainment, or an escape from the cacophony of smells and sounds produced by the animals. This in and of itself would have been tough. However, the situation had to have been even more horrific as Noah’s family watched the only world they had ever known slowly drown. How many lives did Noah see lost? How many homes did he see destroyed? How much despair must he have felt?

In light of this misery that Noah had been living in, what must that rainbow have meant to him? And not just the physical spectacle of it all, but the promise it came with. At this point God says to Noah, “This was a horrible moment in our history together. But I make this promise to you now: it will never happen again. Whenever the storms come in the future, the rainbow in the sky will be a sign that all of creation will not be destroyed. There may be hard times, some lives may be lost, but I will never abandon you. I am your God and this rainbow will serve as a sign of my love and my promise to you.” That rainbow in the sky was a physical sign of Noah’s salvation, a physical sign that his burden had been lifted and that God would support him

I imagine that the joy Noah felt when he saw the rainbow God put in the sky for him, is similar to the joy and hope that the women who are the guests of Rainbow Place feel when the shelter opens up for the season. Many of these women have endured storm after storm from the beginning of their lives. Some of these women lived comfortably until unexpected storms of massive sizes capsized their lives. The struggles these women face are endless. For whatever reason, their abilities to successfully procure stability for themselves are minimal. And, because of this, as Elliot Liebow says in his book Tell Them Who I Am,
The humanity of the women is under constant threat and by no means easy to preserve. Most homeless women are engaged in an unremitting struggle to remain human in the face of inhuman conditions.

Without a doubt, it is significant that, on the nights they stay at Rainbow, the women have a safe place to sleep, eat, bathe, and have other basic needs met, but what is more critical is that the women receive human companionship from those who are able to look past their physical exteriors, able to look past the label of homeless. When the women walk through the doors of Rainbow they are no longer the odd person out, no longer a drain on society. They no longer receive skeptical looks or have to wait in interminable lines only to be told they are ineligible for services. Rather, they become children of God; they become women through whom the face of Jesus shines just as brightly as it does through anyone in this sanctuary. Again from Elliot Liebow’s book, when talking about the environment of Rainbow Place he says,
The rules…were few and mainly limited to what one must not do…There was nothing that one must do. Everything not forbidden was allowed, thereby allowing maximum freedom. The women were allowed to be themselves.

Thus, it appears that the work and ministry of Rainbow Place carries out the commands of Jesus inherent in this morning’s Matthew text. As one of the Rainbow board members told me, “You can pretty much carry out all the tasks mentioned in this passage in one night at Rainbow.” Hungry women are fed. Thirsty women are given a drink. The woman who walks in the door a stranger is welcomed just as much as one who has spent many a winter in the shelter. Women lacking clean clothes are given new clothes and the opportunity to wash their dirty ones. And the sick are cared for. Only the command to visit the imprisoned is not explicitly lived out at a night at Rainbow. But I imagine a number of the women would agree that living the life of a homeless woman is a prison in of itself, even if the metal bars are absent.

The ministry of Rainbow Place is the ministry of Jesus Christ himself, and there is much we can learn from what happens there. Twenty-six years ago members of Rockville Presbyterian Church saw a need in this community and rather than simply bemoan the circumstances of that need, they asked themselves what they could do to fix it. They asked themselves what they could do to improve the world and make it more like the place God intended it to be. And then they took it one step further: after answering these hard questions, the founders of Rainbow Place took action. They didn’t merely observe the hardships of the homeless of Montgomery County, note the sadness, and then move on. Rather, they formulated a plan and enacted it, overcoming many hurdles and roadblocks.
I wonder how frequently most of us, even with the best intentions at heart, fail to take that last step? We find ourselves lamenting injustices we see in the world and yet fail to act on it. We bemoan that we are living in a country with political leaders who have led us down unwanted paths, but then barely make the effort to vote, much less actively support candidates we believe can make true change. We stand astonished at the deplorable state of public education in this country, but fail to provide inexpensive supplies to low-income children, much less take the time to tutor an at-risk child. In short, we ignore the command inherent in Jesus’ message.

What then are we to do? I believe we are to model the actions taken by those who went before us, the founders of Rainbow Place, and those walk among us now, the current staff and volunteers of Rainbow Place. These folks are able to truly look at those our society has deemed “the least of these,” and love them anyway. In fact, they take it a step past love. They turn their love into actions. This is what we are called to do. Regardless of who we encounter, no matter their race, gender, sexual orientation, age, political affiliations, socioeconomic status, no matter if they have piercings and tattoos and purple hair that we just don’t understand, we are called by Jesus Christ, the very one we profess our faith in, to act. Friends, the world is full of people in need. And God has gifted each and every one of us with the ability to serve. Perhaps you are good at math-find a struggling student to tutor. Perhaps you are a gifted seamstress-make blankets for children in Intensive Care Units. Perhaps you are talented at woodworking-sign up to assist with Habitat for Humanity. The world needs your gifts. God depends on your gifts.

On this morning when we celebrate the work of the men and women who make Rainbow Place a safe harbor of sustenance and hope, our challenge is to find the face of Christ in all who we encounter and open up our hearts and lives to them in such a way that they can’t help but see the face of Christ looking back at them.

Warning! Busy Week Ahead!

So, friends, I just wanted to let you know that the blog might have to play second fiddle over the next few days, if not the coming weeks. There is a lot going on! Our (mine and Andy's) calendars are starting to fill with pediatrician visits (to find the right one), continued baby class, baby showers, sermon writing, visits from both my parents, the RPC youth auction, and more. These are just the things that I can remember without looking at my calendar.

Plus, it takes about 30% of my day just to make it up the blasted stairs to my apartment.

Thus, with my limited energy, I will have to make other things a priority. Though it would be pretty funny to get up in the pulpit and just read blog posts instead of a sermon. (Many people are under the misconception that minster types aren't real people...blog reading would cure 'em of that kind of thinking really quickly!)

So, until we meet again, hang tough! (Yes, it's true the New Kids on the Block have reunited, are recording new music, are going on tour, and (some of them) are still cute! There is a God!)

What Are You Thankful For? (April 2008 Edition)

It is time for this month's installment of my gratitude list. It is funny how much I enjoy doing this. I think part of the reason I like it is because it is a chance to let people know that I appreciate them. So here's to you if you made the list...if you're not on it, perhaps you should re-evaluate some things, huh? (Kidding.)

I am thankful for/that...

1. All the previously pregnant women (especially those with new babies) who are willing to share their stories with me...even the gory parts;

2. My parents will each get to be at one of the two baby showers that are being thrown for us. My dad and his wife are coming next weekend and will get to attend the shower at Andy's church with us. My mom will come the following weekend and get to attend the shower at my church. Hooray!;

3. That my husband, despite getting me sick in the first place, is turning out to be a pretty good nursemaid;

4. ChapStick...I love that stuff, man! Especially as I am currently unable to breathe through my nose and my lips feel like Florida in August;

5. Andy and I will celebrate 4 years of marriage on Thursday. So, four years ago today, we were having a shrimp boil at my mom's house in Baton Rouge with family and local friends. It was a great time! (We won't talk about the rehearsal!);

6. The baby will be here SOON! She is due two months from tomorrow, but we've been having a conversation about how it is okay if she wants to come 7-10 days early (as long as she's done doing her thing inside me);

7. Spring is here! The weather is starting to show signs of turning the corner, flowers are blooming, the birds are at the feeder...new life abounds!;

8. I have a washer and dryer in my apartment. I swear the laundry is never done and if I had to walk up and down 4 flights of stairs with all those clothes...well, let's just say we'd have smelly clothes on quite frequently;

9. People are reading my blog. Most of them appear to blog voyeurs, but my location map tells me that they are in fact reading. And for those of you who actually comment, you get a gold star in this month's gratitude list!;

10. I know that I am loved and have people (and kitties) to love back!

Don't Touch Me...Not Even with a 10-Foot Pole

So, I'm wondering if there is a really cool craft you can make out of used Kleenex (or in this case, torn off toilet paper), because after today I'm gonna have a whole lot of 'em. Why you ask? Well, my husband apparently time traveled last weekend and whilst he was away he acquired Bubonic Plague. Fortunately, he was kind enough to bring it back with him to share with his friends, or at least his wife. Thus, I have TB-sounding lungs, gangrene-looking nose, and sporadic moments of fever (which doesn't look like anything, except maybe making my cheeks resemble the Coca-Cola Santa Claus).

However, tomorrow is the first day of a new month and that is the day we do our thanksgiving lists, which I think is really fun! So, tune back in. Hopefully the plague will be gone and that will be one thing on the list!

P.S. I recommend you NOT Google Image search "Bubonic Plague." It is NOT pretty.

Baby Class Numero Dos

Last night was baby class number 2. You may recall that baby class number 1 sent me into a bit of a tailspin. Thus, I was a little apprehensive about how I would respond to last night's adventure. You will be happy to know that I did just fine. I must admit I am still a little bit stressed about getting the breathing right. At one point, while teaching the breathing techniques, the teacher, Jennie, said, "You choose what works for you. There is no script. You are not getting a grade." I WANT THE GRADE! I WANT THE SCRIPT! I paid $175 for this, I want to leave knowing what hour on what day this little girl will make her arrival. I am starting to get the sense that I am gonna have to let that one go. Damn.

Despite still struggling with perfecting my breathing techniques, I was able to take in the other information and not freak out. I think that I was comforted by the fact that we started the class with a list. (Aaah, lists! How do I love you? Let me count the ways...) We discussed what we needed to bring to the hospital with us when the moment of truth is upon us. (She didn't say anything about Jack Daniels, but I'm pretty positive it just slipped her mind.) Which is a great conversation for me because it is so linear. I loved it and took some notes that I am quite sure others in the class were envious of.

You will be even more impressed with my change in composure when you know that I did it all by myself. Andy, sadly, was home with an ear infection and possible strep throat. The doctor said that if I was going to get his ailments the damage was already done, but that the other ladies hadn't had the privilege of hanging out with him and thus would be vulnerable to his germs. Thus, he was told to stay home. It was sad and disappointing, but, like I said, I took damn good notes so I could report back. The only thing that was lacking in my report was that I didn't have a model of the pelvis to use as a visual aid. Too bad about that.

Tomorrow is our 30-week checkup. Details will be forthcoming...

I'm Thinkin' Positive

A week from tomorrow the head of staff at my church heads to Hawaii for two weeks. Our music director goes to Taiwan tomorrow for 10 days. Several of my good friends will be in Northern Ireland together next week. My dad and his wife are going to NYC for a week. Me, I'm living large in...MARYLAND! Woo Hoo! Don't be too jealous.

However, I have decided to take it on the chin and focus on what's positive in my life. Even though I am not the world traveler I would like to be (or once was), I am going to have a baby. And that may be even better than skipping more classes than I went to and drinking more beer than water in sunny Sydney, Australia, which was my life in the (U.S.) fall of 1998. At baby class on Wednesday we were asked to share what was bad about being pregnant and what was good about being pregnant. People shouted out lots of different things (mine were the best, as I am sure you assumed), some of which I agreed with, some of which I didn't. Anyway, the question inspired me to come up with my own list. And since it is Easter and I am working on not pouting about not going somewhere fun (or hell, just out of this area code!), I am going to share my top 10 things that are good about being pregnant, in no particular order. Drum roll, please.

1. Um, BABY!
2. I get to buy new clothes (easier with tops than bottoms, but that's okay).
3. I get to buy really cute baby stuff.
4. People give us presents.
5. Thirty minutes on the treadmill at a speed of 2.7 counts as exercise, as does jumping up and down in the swimming pool with a bunch of old ladies in my water aerobics class.
6. People bend over and pick things up for me.
7. Andy does more chores. Goodbye scrubbing the tub!
8. I have an automatic out. Someone I don't like wants to go lunch, suddenly I am so tired and my back is killing me. Maybe next time?
9. My parents come to visit.
10. I, with Andy, get to choose someone's name, which is really an cool thing to do!

So, those are the thoughts for today. Maybe if I start feeling crazy again, I'll come back and read my list and it will help me remember. You can help me too.

The Actons Head to Baby School

Wednesday evening Andy and I attended the first of our six baby classes, or more formally, our Childbirth and Newborn Care Class. I have been looking forward to these for a while. Information makes me feel more comfortable and thus less likely to freak out. (The likelihood that I will freak out to some degree is still pretty good, but perhaps the severity of the freak out will be lessened.) So, my theory was that 12-hours of information and training would be a good thing.

Well, a funny thing happened: the information completely overwhelmed me! We have a “textbook” that is guiding our class and it was just too dang much for me to take in at one time. The teacher was great and the tone of the class was completely relaxed, but I got home and was all in a tizzy (post-Law and Order, anyway). I recognize that pushing an 8-pound being through a hole that I am not yet convinced is designed for that is a big deal, but I am pretty sure that I was inappropriately freaked out. I’ve got knots in my stomach even as I write about it.

Additionally, at the end of the class we began practicing our relaxation techniques. There was some guided meditation, some breathing (which, as you know, is always a positive), some muscle tensing and relaxing, and other such activities. We were sent home with the instructions to practice in the days prior to our next class with the idea being that the more familiar we are with these techniques when actual labor occurs we will be able to call up the skills more easily. So, naturally, I am now freaking out about not being able to do the relaxation techniques correctly and thus, not having them in my arsenal when I need them. I mean, seriously, what kind of overly anxious person am I? I need to relax about my relaxation techniques! What the hell?!?!?

I also learned some anatomical stuff that explains some pain I have been having and, somehow, learning the cause has made it worse. When a woman is pregnant the hormones in her body cause all the joints to loosen so that all the necessary parts are as flexible and malleable as they need to be when the baby comes. This is particularly true of the pelvis and the pubic bone (pubis). Well, I have been having some pretty rockin’ pain in the pubic bone. I asked the teacher about it and she informed me that the bone can become so loose that the two pieces actually start to pull away from one another and the cartilage (or whatever that is) that connects the two halves. In short, my dear, sweet daughter’s exit location hurts…a lot.


In light of all this I guess there are two options. One, I can ignore the book and the practicing and hope that the doctors just cut me open and take her out. (Honestly, this option looks pretty good right now.) Or, I can take baby steps (ha! baby steps) and take things as they come, concentrating only on what we have covered in thus far in class. I guess this is the option I should go with.

Maybe I should make an appointment with the therapist too.

Breaking News Out of Albany, NY

The following account is entirely fictional, though not an altogether bad idea.

In light of recent developments in the governor's office, the powers that be in Albany have decided to take matters into their own hands. They have spent the past 72-hours searching for a replacement governor for the state of New York who they can be assured will not later do further damage to the honor of this position. Their search resulted in the naming of Sister Mary Katherine, a 87-year-old Catholic nun from Buffalo, as the state's new governor.

When asked about how she felt about this appointment, Sister Mary Katherine's most pertinent remark concerned her outfit for the inauguration. She told reporters that she is planning on wearing her favorite t-shirt over her traditional black habit. The t-shirt reads "Jesus is My (ONLY) Homeboy".

Here's hoping their are no skeletons (or priests) in Sister Mary Katherine's closet.

An Unexpected Letter Arrives

My clever daughter-to-be has somehow figured out how to get a letter to me. I thought y'all might be interested to know what she is thinking, so I figured I'd share the letter.

Dear Mom,

I’m bored. Do I seriously have to stay in here 12 more weeks? There is NOTHING to do in this ridiculous place.

It’s too dark to read. Besides, I don’t know how.

There isn’t room for a DVD player. Besides, how would I get the Netflix out of the mailbox?

There’s nobody to play board games with. Besides, there isn’t room to jump up and down and gloat like you do when you beat daddy. And really, that’s half the fun.

I know you are thinking boredom is an affliction of the privileged and there are plenty of ways to entertain myself, but I promise I tried everything before sending this letter.

I tried dancing, but I kept kicking something. Don’t know what it was, but it sure was in the way.

I tried singing, but I kept getting a mouthful of something that is definitely not water.

I even tried learning how to count, but I didn’t know where to start.

So, mom, you can see that I’m not really a whiner; I really have tried to find ways to have fun. But I have failed. It is now up to you. So, I have some suggestions as to ways life might be more fun for me as we continue on our journey together.

First, I really dig the swimming pool. I like to bounce around with you while you are in the water. Go ahead and start making sure one of those is available for when I come home. In the mean time, stay in that pool!

Second, shopping is fun! There is a little bit of light that comes through your belly button and I can see what you are perusing. If you feel me kicking, that means I like it and you should totally buy it. If I’m still, walk away. (FYI: bad decision on that shirt from Target. Good thing you had daddy to tell you that you looked like an old lady in it.)

Third, eat ice cream! Everything trickles down to me, as you know. The apples and bananas are all right, but, man, that ice cream rocks! I really like it when it comes from Marble Slab or Cold Stone, but I have only experienced that, like, once. So, come on, mom, let’s go get some!

I think if you focus on these three activities I might be able to endure life in the doldrums for the next couple of months. Just make sure you don’t let me down. Remember: swimming, shopping, ice creaming!

Love, Your Daughter

Oh, yeah. One more thing: could you kindly ask Harper and Dylan to stop jumping on me? We might as well let them know now who’s in control of this relationship.

Guest Writers: Harper and Dylan

Harper and Dylan have recently become enamored by shoelaces. I'm not sure what brought on this new love affair, I only know it is real and it is true. Anyway, inspired by their newfound love, the kitties begged me to post this poem they wrote about shoelaces. So, without further ado...

Shoelaces

We love shoelaces!
They’re better then mama, even with her braces!

They are so fun to chase,
It’s almost like a race.

It makes daddy so mad,
Which secretly makes us glad.

The aglets (you know, the end of the shoelace) taste a little funny.

Oooh! I see a bunny!

A Sermon on Romans 8: 1-11

Romans 8:1-11

8There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. 2For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. 3For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do: by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and to deal with sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, 4so that the just requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. 5For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. 6To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. 7For this reason the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law—indeed it cannot, 8and those who are in the flesh cannot please God. 9But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. 10But if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. 11If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.

When I was 4-years-old my dad befriended a man while jogging in our neighborhood. The man, Mr. Jim, turned out to be a Presbyterian minister and my dad’s and his friendship led us to start worshipping at the church where he was the minister. Mr. Jim retired eight years ago and still lives in that neighborhood where he met my family. Meanwhile, my parents and I all live in different states from one another and time and distance has changed many of our relationships. Yet, Mr. Jim has been a constant and my mom, dad, and I are fortunate to still be able to claim him as a friend. In addition to being a minister, Mr. Jim is also a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. Over the 25-years my family has known him, he has counseled all of us and helped us dramatically. He is a man we are blessed to have in our lives.

Though he had always been an active man-he played football for LSU while a student there and rode horses and motorcycles into his early 60s-his body began to betray him in recent years. Due to a condition in his spine, he was frequently unable to stand, much less walk. The condition worsened and surgery became the only solution. In October of last year he had surgery to relieve the pressure on his spine that was limiting his mobility and causing him great pain. By all accounts the surgery successfully relieved his spinal condition. There was only one problem: when he awoke from the surgery, he was blind.

Initially there was some hope that his vision would return and that the blindness would be only a temporary side effect of the anesthesia or the trauma of the surgery. Five months later there has been no improvement. It appears that Mr. Jim will live the rest of his life in darkness.

Can you imagine what that must feel like? Everything that was once assumed and taken for granted is gone. He will never see his granddaughter’s face again. He will never see another of his wife’s paintings. He will never see the view from outside the cabin he owned in Colorado. He can’t read. He can’t watch movies. He can’t read his e-mail. He can’t watch football. All of it gone.

Mr. Jim is having to re-learn everything and it is hard and it is exhausting and it is frightening. Simple things like learning to navigate his home, which he has lived in for over 30-years, have become great challenges. Changing his clothes. Going to the bathroom. Making a sandwich. Think about it-how would your life change if suddenly your vision was gone? Would not the daily routines of life sometimes feel as if they were insurmountable obstacles?

It seems, then, that as a resultMr. Jim had two options: give up or learn to see with new eyes. Admittedly, there have been days where he has wanted to give up. Days where he was so depressed that he couldn’t eat. But there have been other days, days when he has fought and refused to let the darkness take his life. There are small steps he takes, like being brave enough to eat out at a restaurant despite not being able to see his plate. And then there are major steps he takes, that are simply remarkable: After retirement, he took a call serving as a very part time minister for a tiny church. His main responsibility is to lead worship on Sunday mornings. Not too long ago, only a matter of weeks following his surgery, Mr. Jim headed back to that church and preached, and has been doing it every Sunday since then. If, while preaching, he forgets his next point, his wife prompts him from the manuscript she has written from his dictation. He has refused to allow his blindness to prevent him from following God’s call.

He is learning to see the world in a new way. The world is harder for him this way; there is no doubt about that. But it is the only world he has and the only life he has and Mr. Jim has decided to find his way through it, even if that means relying on new and different guides. He has decided to set his mind on living life in a new way. He has faced the choice of life or death head on and he chose life.

That is what Lent is about, I think. In the face of death, a death we know is coming, a death that can’t be avoided, do we choose to let death win or do we stand with our God and choose life. Or, as Paul puts in this morning’s Romans passage, do we choose life of the flesh or life of the Spirit?

It is important at this point to be clear about what Paul meant when he spoke of life in the flesh. Paul Tillich, one of the 20th century’s “outstanding and influential thinkers” in matters of theology and philosophy, puts it this way:

‘Human flesh’ does not mean human body. Man’s body, according to Paul, can become a temple of the Spirit. But ‘human flesh’ means the natural human inclinations, man’s desires, her needs, his way of thinking, the aim of her will, the character of his feelings, in so far as it is separated from the Spirit and is hostile to it. ‘Flesh’ is the distortion of human nature, the abuse of its creativity, the abuse, first of all, of its infinity, in the service of its unlimited desire and its unlimited will to power.

In short, life in the flesh is a life based on human desires with frequent disregard to God’s call to us, God’s call to open our eyes and see the new life in the Spirit.

Now of course it is easy to stand here and discredit life in the flesh and uplift life in the Spirit. But choosing to live a life led by the Holy Spirit, even knowing what that life is, is not easy. I think in some ways trying to discern God’s will is somewhat like a visit to the eye doctor. One of the first things I am asked to do when I get to the eye doctor is look at the Snellen chart, which is the chart with the big E at the top and then the rows of letters beneath that decrease in size. Seeing that big E is easy. Those little rows at the bottom are a lot tougher, at least for me. It seems to me that the biggies of Christianity are like the big E on the top of the chart. Don’t murder. Don’t steal. Rest on the Sabbath. No problem. Pretty cut and dry. Easy to understand, easy to follow. The little rows at the bottom of the Christianity chart are a little tougher. They are the rows that represent life in the Spirit. They are the rows that we have to squint to see, the ones that require work to figure out what they mean, how God would have us live.

Right now, Mr. Jim is living life in the little rows. Things are tough. Figuring out the right step is hard work. Similarly, we are living Lenten lives that require work—lives that require serious focus; lives that require the willingness to see anew; lives that require rededicating ourselves every moment. And just as we are given glasses to correct our vision deficiencies at the eye doctor, God gives us Christ to correct the vision deficiencies in our lives, enabling us to look to Christ and receive support as we grope through the darkness and the dimly lit path.

God gives us Christ to serve as our guide, our leader, our hope as we approach the foreign and sometimes murky waters of faithfully living in the Spirit. God gives us Christ to wake us up to our callings, to our true selves. As Richard J. Foster says,

Jesus is a living Savior and the salvation that is in him includes teaching us how to live and re-forming our very selves. Remember, we are not learning how to live Jesus’ life (that has already been done); we are learning how to live our lives as Jesus would live them, if he were us. Jesus is the master Teacher. He knows how our lives should be lived, and he can provide the resources, insights, and strength we need…

I think this is a brilliant and rarely made point. God is not calling us to be Jesus. God is calling us to be the individuals we are and in being those individuals to remember what Jesus has taught us and to seek the Spirit’s guidance to show us how to live our lives in this time and place.

In 1990 an amazing film, called Awakenings, was released. If you haven’t seen it, please go straight to Blockbuster after church. The movie is based on the work of Dr. Oliver Sacks, whose name in the film is changed to Dr. Sayer and is played by Robin Williams. Robert de Niro plays a man named Leonard, one of a group of people institutionalized because they have lived most of their lives in a catatonic state due to childhood encephalitis. Dr. Sayer treats Leonard with an experimental and controversial medicine and, amazingly, Leonard wakes up. Leonard, who fell into his catatonia in his teens during the late 1930s, is now an adult and decades have passed since he last interacted with the world. Leonard awakes and it is 1969. What a year to wake up in after missing the previous three decades! The world is a new and amazing place. Cars have changed. Music has changed. The way people dress, women especially, has changed. Leonard is enamored by all that he sees. He is able to break the binds of his catatonia and freely engage the world. Meanwhile, the other patients suffering from the same catatonia are experiencing their own awakenings through Sayer’s experimental drug. Suddenly there is dancing and laughing on the hospital ward. There is swimming and movie watching. These people, who slipped away through no fault of their own, are awake for the first time in years and they are drinking it all in with a previously unseen voracity.

Sadly, the experiment is only temporarily successful and the patients all eventually return to their catatonia. But the world is changed for their having been awake. People are given hope, and the impossible seems possible. Dr. Sayer in particular is able to see his life through the eyes of people who will never have his opportunities. He is able to live with gratitude, with bravery, with hope. His life has been awakened because his patients were awake, if only for a moment.

Friends, this is what living life in the Spirit can do for us. We can be awakened to a world that is God’s world, a world where there is no judgment, no doom, and ultimately no death. We can be awakened to a world where, while physical death is a necessity, there is no spiritual death. We are free to settle for a life that is not a life in the Spirit, a life ruled by our own wishes and desires—but why would we want to when something wonderful is there for the taking? Life in the Spirit is a life of wholeness, a life of confidence that our sins have been forgiven, and a life where we can awake each day as beloved children of God. Choosing to live in the Spirit requires hard work, for sure, and it requires our asking for forgiveness, many times over perhaps. And yet a life of freedom and grace is there waiting for us—all we have to do is open our eyes and look for it.

Dang!

I had a whole post written, my first non-funny one, and blogger had an error. Dang. That is frustrating isn't it? Maybe the computer was trying to tell me that if it isn't funny it isn't worth it...there's some truth to that.

Does This Baby Make My Butt Look Big?

If you know me, which I am pretty sure all of my many (5) devoted readers do, you know that I am pretty much a jeans and t-shirt kinda girl. Dressing up to me means shoes that don't have laces and maybe, maybe, mascara. If I'm in a skirt, someone is either getting buried or getting married. Point being: my clothes demands are pretty simple.

Having said that, I do like my clothes to, you know, fit. I figure if some poor El Salvadoran or Honduran slaved over my t-shirt for a whopping $1 a day there should be some quality involved. Well, they must give the maternity clothes to the beginners (you know, the 8-year-olds). I am quite serious when I tell you that if the situation doesn't soon improve I will soon move from being a jeans and t-shirt girl to a panties and t-shirt girl. WHY IS IT SO HARD TO FIND PANTS THAT FIT AROUND MY BELLY...AND STAY UP? Yesterday I nearly had a breakdown when, in Target, I couldn't get the pants past my knees. Fortunately, a crisis was avoided when I noticed that someone had put size 4 jeans on a size, well, not 4 clothes hanger. (Seriously, should people who are old enough and responsible enough to have a baby wear size 4 clothes? I mean clearly there is a fundamental character flaw in anyone who could possibly fit into those pants!) The problem, I think, is that prior to getting pregnant I was between two sizes. This is no big deal when your pants come with belt loops. But when the only thing holding up the pants is a strange panel of stretchy material the size of Detriot, there are gonna be issues. I mean, the only other thing that I know that is that stretchy and that big (though with different dimensions) is a bungee cord...that certainly bodes well.

Sadly, this entry has no positive resolution (unless you are a sadist and find joy in the fact that I may soon be traversing the DC metro area with no pants on...at least I'll fit in). My only hope, dare I say it, might just be suspenders. Dear God, how did I get to this point? I'll be the pregnant Larry King or that Justin fella who cooked cajun food on Louisiana Public Broadcasting. Uggh.

What Are You Thankful For?

So, my husband was inspired by the Cool People Care website back in November to create a monthly list of things he is thankful for. I like reading his so much I decided that I should try my hand at creating a list. Thus, I give you Elizabeth's Thanksgiving in March list:

I am thankful for/that

1. Thanksgiving in March doesn't require massive amounts of cooking (though I do like me some cornbread dressing);

2. When Harper and Dylan are sitting on my chest and they decide to turn in circles and I happen to look up at the wrong time, their buttcracks don't smell like you might think cat buttcrack would smell;

3. Andy, who makes me laugh AND helps me figure out tricky sermon texts;

4. My dad, who, while perhaps being the most forgetful non-Alzheimer's patient out there, can remember the changes in the baby's heartrate from visit to visit;

5. My mom, who goes out to her car in the gym parking lot forgetting that she hasn't traded in her slip for her gym shorts...but even better is that she is able to laugh about it;

6. The crazy little girl in my belly who thinks that Mom's bladder = trampoline;

7. Krispy Kreme, which needs no qualifiers.

8. I walked outside today and my breath was nowhere to be seen...heck yeah, spring is on the way.

9. I am preaching on the morning we "spring forward," which means my sermon can be lame and only half the people will be there to hear it because they will have all forgotten to set their clocks;

10. I am blogging again and having fun with it!

Baby Class #1

Wednesday evening Andy and I attended the first of our six baby classes, or more formally, our Childbirth and Newborn Care Class. I have been looking forward to these for a while. Information makes me feel more comfortable and thus less likely to freak out. (The likelihood that I will freak out to some degree is still pretty good, but perhaps the severity of the freak out will be lessened.) So, my theory was that 12-hours of information and training would be a good thing.

Well, a funny thing happened: the information completely overwhelmed me! We have a “textbook” that is guiding our class and it was just too dang much for me to take in at one time. The teacher was great and the tone of the class was completely relaxed, but I got home and was all in a tizzy (post-Law and Order, anyway). I recognize that pushing an 8-pound being through a hole that I am not yet convinced is designed for that is a big deal, but I am pretty sure that I was inappropriately freaked out. I’ve got knots in my stomach even as I write about it.

Additionally, at the end of the class we began practicing our relaxation techniques. There was some guided meditation, some breathing (which, as you know, is always a positive), some muscle tensing and relaxing, and other such activities. We were sent home with the instructions to practice in the days prior to our next class with the idea being that the more familiar we are with these techniques when actual labor occurs we will be able to call up the skills more easily. So, naturally, I am now freaking out about not being able to do the relaxation techniques correctly and thus, not having them in my arsenal when I need them. I mean, seriously, what kind of overly anxious person am I? I need to relax about my relaxation techniques! What the hell?!?!?

I also learned some anatomical stuff that explains some pain I have been having and, somehow, learning the cause has made it worse. When a woman is pregnant the hormones in her body cause all the joints to loosen so that all the necessary parts are as flexible and malleable as they need to be when the baby comes. This is particularly true of the pelvis and the pubic bone (pubis). Well, I have been having some pretty rockin’ pain in the pubic bone. I asked the teacher about it and she informed me that the bone can become so loose that the two pieces actually start to pull away from one another and the cartilage (or whatever that is) that connects the two halves. In short, my dear, sweet daughter’s exit location hurts…a lot.

In light of all this I guess there are two options. One, I can ignore the book and the practicing and hope that the doctors just cut me open and take her out. (Honestly, this option looks pretty good right now.) Or, I can take baby steps (ha! baby steps) and take things as they come, concentrating only on what we have covered in thus far in class. I guess this is the option I should go with.

Maybe I should make an appointment with the therapist too.

Stupid Oven

Well, I had all these great things I was gonna write today (you know, stuff they'd be reading in high school class rooms in 25 years), but I burnt my finger on the dadgum muffin pan. Thus, the manifesto will have to wait. Bummer.

Girl Scouts = Vendors of Death

I've decided that really the grim reaper doesn't wear a black cape and carry that sycthe thing. Instead, she (yes, turns out 'ole death is really a female) comes knocking on the door dressed in green. Perhaps she is camouflaged in street clothes, but no doubt there is at least a green vest or sash present. And perhaps this vest or sash is covered in badges which only serve to even more lull you into a sense of safety and comfort. ("Hey, I got my CPR badge. Surely I'm not here to hasten your death with artery clogging goodness.") To make matters worse, she is commonly under 4' tall and has a smile filled with cherubic innocence. And, good God, she might even have pigtails.

As for that sycthe, well you know what it actually is: a cookie order form. Tagalongs. Samoas. Thin Mints. Do-Si-Dos. You pick, sir. There all so delicious, mam, are you sure you don't want one more box. There's no trans-fats. (You know the look on that little face when she says this, don't you. If you don't, call your favorite third grader and get her bend the truth for you. Then you'll know.)

You know, I can deal with an organization dedicated to teaching girls how to sew or even change a flat tire. But, sending these little ones out with the equivilent of cookie crack is just wrong! There are so many things wrong with this seemingly innocent enterprise. First, these cookies are offered once a year. We're Americans, for God's sake. We're known for hoarding on a good day. (Seriously, where else could the Red Cross have sold disaster kits with duct tape in them. You know, just in case. And, um, have you been in a Costco lately?) Throw in the fact that an item is a limited commodity and we're screwed. It goes against our nature as Americans to buy a mere one box and to slowly enjoy it. No! There must be several (50+) boxes bought and they must all be inhaled in one sitting. This leads me to problem number two: these cookies are addictive. The problem, linked to the above, is our fear that they will disappear. Because, in fact, they do. Buy now or your screwed until next year. And if we know they disappear annually, who's to say they won't vanish from our pantries RIGHT NOW!?!?!?!? Thus, the binging.

And, this, my friends, is where the agents of death come in. So, you have just put a box of Samoas down your hatch, right? Well the inevitable comes next. You are suddenly aware of your stomach and the fact that it is not, in fact, made of elastic. And then, for some of us, you become aware of the baby growing near your stomach, a baby that has further reduced the stomach's pliability. And then you realize that girl scouts are devils. (And this is true without even discussing the fact that while your stomach is reeling, your arteries are becoming the biological equivialent of granite. Like brand new granite. Not wussy, old granite that has been worn down with the passing of age. Nope, this is some seriously hard stuff.)

I'm quite sure this isn't what Juliette Gordon Low had in mind all those years ago in Savannah, GA.

Dead Rabbits Don't Go In the Refrigerator

I just finished reading my dad's most recent blog post which was about spending a couple of year's of his early childhood with a dead wildcat in his family's freezer. He has some bizarre stories (kind of a bizarre guy, truth be told) and you should check them out. Just click on this link to A Middle Aged Southerner... (and you should know in advance that he is giving himself some grace by calling himself middle aged): http://middleagedsoutherner.blogspot.com/.

Anyway, the story of the wildcat made me think about the summer I lived in Ponte Vedra Beach, FL. I had just completed my first year of seminary and, as most of us do, I was doing my supervised ministry internship. I was really fortunate in that I had a great supervisor and had a really fun summer. I also lucked out by where I had the opportunity to live. Perhaps you have heard of the PGA tour that takes place at Sawgrass? Well, I lived in a condo in the Sawgrass community that a fellow seminarian owned and was not using for the summer. It was a great location: yards from the beach, great shopping, cool animals to observe. Just a generally neat place.

However, there were some oddities to the home also. There are two I remember in particular: First, the whole place smelled like moth balls. And I don't mean in the sense where when you first take out your winter coat in November or December and you think, "Oooh, this is a little stinky." No, it was more like, "What in the name of God happened here? Are the neighbors unruly moths that have to be stopped at no cost?" I am quite sure that moth genocide took place in that condo.

The second incident occured shortly after I had moved in. I had just returned from the grocery store with my first "load" of groceries in my new home. I moved the few things that had been left in there (which, first of all, uggh to that!) to make room for my sparkling new groceries. I was opening the crisper drawer and was suprised to find a cache of batteries in there. No biggie, not so unusual. I picked them up to move to a more remote corner of the fridge, when I noticed a strange grocery bag underneath the batteries. It was closed up really tightly-perhaps that should have been my clue to stay out of it. But, nooooooooo. I had to investigate. And much to my great, GREAT dismay, there was a F#*@#*G rabbit pelt in the bag. I mean, what the hell? Why would any minister-to-be need to be cooling a dadgum rabbit fur? It freaked my shit out, for sure. I seriously thought maybe I should invest in a little beer fridge so as to avoid any other unsavory encounters with the recently dead. I mean, come on, a dead rabbit next to your cold cuts...

But then my dad came to visit and I showed it to him. His response? "Hey, I went eye to eye with a wildcat every time I opened the freezer for two years of my life."

I guess everything is relative.

Sorry to Disappoint

Well, bad news, blog readers (aka: Mom, Dad, and Andy). We have been iced in (winter wonderland, my ass) and, thus, there will be no maternity undies shopping. I know the hope of hearing a report back on that experience kept you all up last night. In efforts to not let you down completely, here is a brief description of how I'm sure it would have gone: Upon entering, everyone in the store froze, turned to look at me, and looks of pure awe and admiration spread throughout. "Who is this beauty before us and why has she not been advertising for us?" was clearly the question on the mind of all the salespeople. Being the modest person I am, I told them all to carry on with their bra shopping/selling and I set about my business. However, once the sales person got me down to my skivvies she fell to her knees and praised God for creating such a majestic piece of work. She insisted that I have whatever items in the store that I wanted as long as I was willing to let the store use my image in their ad campaigns. "Free drawers!", I thought to myself. "Hells yeah!" So, I gave the girls my contact info, loaded up up the undies and such, and hit the road leaving a mass of depressed women feeling even more inadequate. (I can't help it...it happens everywhere I go.)

Now, I don't know for sure that that's how it woulda gone, but I'm pretty sure.

Sugar, Aah, Honey Honey You are my Candy Girl

Well, it’s been a while since I last blogged. I don’t know that I really have anything worth writing about, but I felt as if I should make an attempt to let the millions of readers of my blog know that I am still in business. I have a friend who made a resolution to write a post once a week. Maybe I should do that. However, he has a much more exciting life than I do. Hell, I don’t even leave the house (and by house I mean absurdly expensive apartment) some days. Perhaps I can make up a more interesting life for myself…hmmm, what would that look like? It would definitely involve Orlando Bloom, tequila, and a hot tub. You know, I'm thinking that maybe the imaginary life is better saved for another time...a time that comes with a parental warning label.

Now that I think about it, it is at least a little bit lame that I am 25 weeks pregnant and I think I don’t have anything to write about. Perhaps my abdomen o’ baby can give me a focus. Let’s try that:

I got good news today. I found out that I don’t have gestational diabetes. My initial test, which was last week, indicated that my blood sugar was crazy high. The second test, which 30-second measurement of my blood sugar by a One Touch diabetes instrument (you know, like B.B. King and Patti LaBelle advertise for), indicated that all was well. This, of course, led to a third test. It was super fun. After fasting for 12-hours I got to spend three hours in the Quest Diagnostics lab. The test began with having my blood drawn to measure fasting glucose levels measured. Then, I had the royal privilege of drinking the equivalent of flat Sunkist with extra sugar added (yummy!). Following the drink from Wonkaland, I had my blood drawn on the hour every three hours on the hour. In the mean time, I wasn’t allowed to have food or drink, including water…yet, in typical pregnant lady fashion, I still had to pee quite frequently. It was a morning so full of excitement I'm not sure I would be able to handle another one like it. The doctor called with the results this afternoon, which really was good news. Thus, I promptly went out and bought some ice cream. Screw you, diabetes, I’m eating all the sugar I can get my hands on! (Well, not really, but I will splurge a little tonight.)

Well, I think this is long enough to assuage my guilt about not writing, as well as comfort my fans. Tomorrow I am going to this fancy bra shop to get some good maternity undergarments…I know you can’t wait to hear how that goes. Maybe there’ll be pictures.