ask conrad if his mommy is going to have a baby come out of her tummy soon and his face lights up in silliness and he say's "No". but instead of the no sounding like an "eff you", it sounds very british and that's how we know when conrad is teasing or joking back. he becomes a brit. i blame it on thomas the train.

friday morning conrad and i went up to the hospital to see shahala and her new baby. like with me, when informing conrad mrs. shahala's baby came out of her tummy he was humorously disagreeable about the whole thing. once at the hospital, in the room, with shahala lying down holding little sydney, you couldn't have paid conrad to stop smiling. he was mesmerized. i asked him if he thought she was beautiful and bashfully he responded with a "Yah". shahala was even a sport as to let him hold her and well conrad, all conrad wanted to do was pet the day old angel like a little puppy. and he definitely didn't want to give her back, because for the thirty more minutes we were there he repeatedly requested to hold her. hold her. hold her.

needless to say, i'm very much at peace with conrad's acceptance of baby brother truman. on a daily basis he gives my tummy kisses, talks to it, tells it different animal sounds, and all on his own doing. no requesting from jon or i. acting as a big brother to my tummy was completely his idea, and his undertaking.

i think the biggest hurdle we are going to have is not going to be conrad wanting to be the center of attention but of conrad wanting to constantly hold and play with the new "center of attention". which seems like the more desirable of choices anyways.

i can't believe how close my due date approacheth. i'm 34 1/2 weeks. how did this happen?!? i'm definitely ready in one sense and no where near in the practical sense. as it stands right now, we will probably need to move out by july 31st. i've been quite aware of this impending reality for some time, but waiting to see where and what God would have us do, has prohibited me from doing necessary nesting. there is no baby room for truman, not even a car seat. or a bassinet. i did however buy a phil and ted double stroller off of craiglist in dallas, so depending on if and when eric and boo visit, i'll eventually have it here. i do have a moses carrier so for awhile there will be somewhere for truman to sleep. and as for the car seat, i'm working on that. once again on craigslist, the problem with this isn't me being terribly particular, but finding a car seat base that fits on my petite rav 4's backseat ass. otherwise i probably would be terribly particular. as for the baby room, i know it'll come. might be after truman is born, but like the stroller, eventually.

none of the "eventually" perspective does jack shit for the itching desire to set everything up in loo of truman's arrival. though the comfort is in knowing we are trusting God, not merely in theory, but in this act of waiting. and waiting. unsure. ambigious. waiting.

jon is watching a biography about the pixies, which reminded me of a something i wanted to blog about months ago: the possibility of my rock star kindred spirit being chris robinson, or maybe it was rich robinson. one of the two. for the longest time i wondered if, apart from the bass player mortal attraction, how someone like me, a music enthusiast...a rock snob, could find so very little in common with those responsible for crafting and creating the very thing that makes my soul quiver and sparkle.

i listen to these interviews on npr, or at least i did until my stereo got stolen out out my car a few weeks ago-though if you ask jon it wasn't theft because my windows were down and somehow that negates it being a crime. whatever- run on a program called World Cafe. they showcase some of the most random and awesome bands and artists; i've heard everyone from my morning jacket to the guitarist from the clash. the host, david dye, a guy who has to have the coolest job on the face of the earth apart from that annoying chic on the travel channel who GETS PAID to jet set across the globe, shacked up in five star hotels, critiquing the spa's, the most expensive items on the menu because of course that's what we, the people who watch such television shows want to know about- what dishes on the menu we will never be able to afford, let alone travel to such exotic locales to taste, taste like. so david dye has a whole slew of questions and song requests he presents these rock legends and rock to be legends with, i would sit there in my car and almost feel uncomfortable listening to these Idols make absolute no sense, just ramble blah blah blah, then they would play a song and the moments before awkwardness would vanish, and once again they were perfect. genius.

this dilemma wasn't new to me, i had experienced it back in dallas: night after night, show after show, local and touring musician after local and touring musician (minus the occasional bass player, but i'm not sure if bass players count because they hardly talk during interviews let alone when there is more than one person present). and just as with the interviews on npr, i could never find that groove, that groove that says, "we are two of the same". i would do most of the asking and buying, them the talking and drinking.

then one day on my way to safeway to buy the fixings for sandwiches i heard an interview with the black crowes. i've never been a black crowes fan. really never even paid any attention to their stuff. but listening to the interview i had this weird sensation, the sensation of not wanting to cut their wrists for them. whatever robinson brother it was, he was cool. not pretentious, or overtly attempting at being weird and novel, just transparent in who he was. the reasons and inspiration for why he wrote a certain song were things i always thought musicians thought-things i could understand and not just gravitate to but relate to.

i turned the car off and walked inside for my quest of sliced smoked turkey and muenster cheese when it dawned on me, i am jon's very own not so hot version of kate hudson and him my short haired, bearded rocker turned father.

Till Hernia Do We Part

me: we need to start going on dates again.

jon: we will once we can have sex again.

me: (look of being perplexed, and knowing whatever the reason is, i'm sure it to be inappropiate.) and why?!?

jon: otherwise what's the point (followed by That laugh of his).

fittingly and finally, Mommy

not much of a surprise conrad's first accidental word was DaDe, his first intended word, Da, and his first two syllable word, Daddy. literally, from the first seconds of conrad's existence outside of my womb there was a connection between him and his father. a "hi, conrad" followed by two just opened eyes looking intently in the direction of his fathers voice. everyone in the room knew he knew, it was no coincidence.

as his language skill has developed, slow but steady, there has been:

elm, elma (elmo)
nahnah (juice)
op...n (open)
a-ba (bath)
gee (keys)
buh (bug)
bee (for both bee's and the beach)
dub (thank-you)
dub-dub (here you go)
we (weeds, he is absolutely OBSESSED with pretending to weed eat the grass with the toy weed wacker i got him from a yard sale. i shit you not, some mornings he wakes up asking for "We")
me (conrad referring to himself)
wal (walk)
wah (water or waffles)
pah (grampa)
mah (either me or his gramma)
mil (milk)
nack! (snack)
arbe (arby's)
yum-me (yummy)
teh-e (his teddy bear)
swee (swing)
par (park)
help
up
down
hat
go
daddy
beetle
mow
bleh
bubba
ba-be
ball
more
NO
yah
hi
bye
hot
one
two
thwee (three)
fhour
ive (five)
ate (eight)
nihn (nine)

and almost every animal noise you can possibly think of plus a plethora of other various words that are hit and miss with consistency.

but if you noticed, I, the women who carried him for 9 long months, spent 16 hours in labor with, nursed him from sore, infected nipples, for 10 months woke up in the middle of the night to tend to; I, the women, who pureed his first foods by hand, spent countless hours every day stimulating him with various sounds and smells and sights and rhymes instead of putting him in a baby swing to exist, who has changed what seems like thousands of his God awful diapers (while making lovey dovey faces none the less), having had spit up in my hair, on my blouse, in my mouth; I, the women, who has bitten cherry after cherry in half for him so he wouldn't choke on the pit, scrubbed crap off his crib, on a daily basis has read the same book ten times in row for, been brainwashed by thomas for, let clip my toe nails with real clippers, spent hours outside searching for bugs with, and has dedicated the remainder of her life to his happiness and well being; I, that same women, up till this afternoon only been referred by an occasional bubba and the same word he calls his grammas.

then something happened i have been waiting for since the day i found out i was going to be a Mommy, this afternoon he finally said, "Mommy". a perfect, two syllable, "Mommy". me. his mommy.

there in the mall i stopped the stroller and in front of store front windows and doors, with people all around me, i dropped down in front of him and made a complete fool of myself as he repeated it over and over again for my amusement.

add it to the "I, the women", the mommy.

are we cool yet?!?

exhausted and drained i plopped down on the sofa. jon was playing one of his alternative reality uber nerd computer games and conrad was asleep. it was 9ish or so and once again the finished day had taken it out me, conrad had worked me, pushed me, and had it been a hour earlier, i would have made the trip to barnes and noble to buy Turning the Terrible Twos Into Terrific, a book super mom kim back in dallas swears by.

as jon slayed giant dragons with his posse of elves and centaurs, i began to unveil to him my fears on being a mother of a toddler. not all has been lost but the last few weeks have been more hard than not; conrad has been busy trying to figure out which one of us is in control, and often i have been too tired and pregnant to enforce and ensure him it's ME and his father; the punitive damages from such inconsistency has been worse than i could have imagined. which is why yesterday was so difficult, because i decided first thing that morning to reclaim my power, and a power struggle it was.

then we greeted today. already after one day of total uncompromising and firm stances, he is worlds more agreeable. in fact, today has been pretty magical. not a single tantrum or NOOOOOOO or hitting. we've been to the park, rode our tricycle (one of those with handle bars for you the parent to push while they sit strapped in. it's awesome.) to story time at the library, played trains with his friends afterwards, rode our tricycle to the gelato shoppe, split a small cup of chocolate and raspberry, then to Rays to pick up a sandwich for daddy which we brought to him at work, and home for a nap. and during all this there has been kisses and snuggles and silly voices and conversations about the world around us....and me only having to ask something once.

DongaDeep

if i would have read my horoscope yesterday it probably would have read, "your f'ed".

i'm not going to, and i don't lament the slew of character scrutiny i was forced to undergo. as martyristic as this is going to sound, i actually, in some weird sort of way, relish such occasions. not for the stinging regret it brings, or the shame, or for the downward-inward introspect that insists you work it out in your heart, but for the bettering i hope it will bring.

i see it as an episode of What Not To Wear, and me as the fashion victim coming to be rescued with a $5000 credit card to Saks-but in this scenario-instead of coming mirror to mirror with all my fashion faux pas, i'm face to face with my inner ickiness and after a few wardrobe lessons and a clean sweep of my closet, everyone around me is relieved i'm no longer blazing around in blouses with shoulder pads coupled with gyspy skirts.

the painful thing about this time is i swear i've been here before. i had crossed this bridge. burnt this demon. i guess that's the thing about areas we struggle with: their ability to sneak back at any given moment. it's lesson for me to be more vigilant with myself, my words, my inability to filter emotions and judgements through the graces of God. i'm referring to bluntness; to the rawness.

after an entire day spent dredging the trenches, i realized to be successful, i must realize such success is not within me, but relying on "through Christ".

and knowing that makes it seem a whole lot easier.

at least seven feet under

i have a sick feeling in my gut the chaos of this past week is just a taste of what having two will be like. there were many a times i was loading the dishwasher or doing a load of laundry or shuttling conrad from one activity to another when a huge sigh would just bellow out of me without consent. i'm assuming my body was dispersing of small amounts of life i'll no longer have when i'm 90, which is just as good, 90 doesn't seem to be cracked up to...oh that's right, everyone knows 90 probably sucks balls. anyways. part of the problem was that-that 3 foot little person who lives with us, that free loader decided naps were no longer something he'd humor me with. i never realized just how important those naps are to not only maintaining a non-hazardous bathroom zone, but for my sanity.

i'm sure being 7 1/2 months pregnant isn't making the situation any better, or that conrad has woken up in the middle of night twice this past week and ended up in bed with us, not to mention jon worked a typical long week-most days jon leaves for work around 6:45am and doesn't return till around 6ish that evening, so not only does it make for long lonely days, but means i'm not going to expect, and probably won't recieve, any help around the house. then today jon is working again-an on the side tile job, which is great because we really need the extra income, but it's hard for him and hard for me.

sorry to be debbie downer, but to write about anything else would be more work. this is how i feel: seven feet under with a shovel made out of rubber.

On Second Thought


there is an unspoken, though often grumbled through grinding teeth, little saying about camping, it goes, "your not camping unless at some point your miserable".

last friday that some point would have been from 11pm to 7am.

with my parents in town and the mandatory trip to the redwoods and coast at hand, i decided months ago we would camp out at right there in the redwoods just twenty minutes away from the coast, also known as, jedidiah state park in california.

i had acquired a 6 man tent from a yard sale and jon borrowed two extra sleeping bags from one of his friends at work. as for food, my mother and i decided it would easier to forgo the hot dogs and potato salad and wavy lays and six packs of cola, not to mention, the makings for breakfast and lunch (though naturally we brought along the ingredients for smores) and instead go into town for all our hunger needs. the buying and packing and preparing all that food just wouldn't just be a huge task for we women to undergo, but four adults plus one car seat, a tent, four back packs, four sleeping bags, four pillows, one carry your toddler on your back-back pack, and a crate full of incidentals all stuffed in a small rav4, was in and of itself, WAY TOO MUCH STUFF.

once we arrived at the campground we "lucked" out and got a spot someone had just cancelled their reservation for right down on the river. SCENIC just isn't a sufficient enough of a word. lot 55 was mystical- as my father and i resigned to once we ran out of synonyms for scenic-though it's not like we actually saw any white bearded wizards or little fairies dancing on shamrocks. our campsite was however backed up to redwoods hugging the rocky bank of the sparkling crystal water, and, my favorite part, across from a flight of steps that lead directly to the restrooms. unfortunately, and most importantly, we were unable to find even ground for our dome of a tent. and that leads me to 1) attempting to sleep while feeling yourself sliding down and, 2) the quote un quote of the word lucked previously written.

and while i was miserable, no one had it worse than my husband and mother and son. my father and i actually decided it would be awe shucks to sleep out under the stars like we use to when i was a little girl: be it in the backyard or on camping trips, i was always his comrade for braving the elements in hope he would talk about the various constellations and their wonders till my eyes couldn't take staring up into the white speckled abyss anymore and i would retire to dreams of far away galaxies. this time however we were both too tired and the air too cold; we said goodnight then buried ourselves out of sight from one another in the warmth of our sleeping bags. but back in the tent, the ground wasn't just uneven it was extremely uneven. conrad kept sliding out from underneath his covers to the cold tarp at the bottom of the tent, jon would bring him close and afraid of distressing conrad, conrad would fall asleep their on jon in the most uncomfortable, coldest position possible. on the other side of the tent was my mother. she shared the dilemma of sliding while trying to sleep and of a borrowed sleeping bag that was rank with the smell of gasoline. she too was cold, and alas, she made her peace with God and decided to take the gamble of covering her face down in the sleeping bag from the chilly air despite the possibly lethal and obnoxious odor.

throughout various points in the night i would wake, greatly disappointed it wasn't yet twilight and dying to take the short but brisk walk to the bathroom. sometime around 3am, i mustered the courage, squeezed my muscles together down there, and woke my father to go with me. there was no way i was going to be able to walk those few hundred yards by myself with only a flashlight as my defense from wild hungry california bears.

when the sun finally rose, once again, i laid there longing; longing for food. any food, bear food. my mother had noticed a sign for McDonalds on the way there and the night before jon and my father spoke of rising early and bringing back food for the women and children. but it was past twilight and the soft nudges did nothing to stir my father, neither did the eventual, "i thought you were going to get breakfast early this morning. and well, it's early." i tried to sleep through the hunger pangs but every time i would dose i was rudely awoken by little chipmunks daring to crawl into my sleeping bag with me.

7:30am marked the rise of our campsite. we huddled into the car and headed for McDonalds, but ended up at some dive jon knew of from his annual company fishing trip to brookings. through bloodshot eyes we happily sipped our coffee and exchanged horror stories of the night before.

we had camped, and survived.

Never Been Good at Posting After A Week of Nothing

this could go in a hundred different directions: i could write about how much fun it was to have my parents here with me for a glorious 6.5 days, i could write about how stinken busy we were and how by the end of the week conrad was so out of whack we all thought he had entered the Terrible Twos on bad crank, i could write about all the places we went to and things we did and what we ate and what we said and how enduring it is to be around my father and his zany tactics and behavior, and i could also write about my perfect mother and how she made everything just as perfect as her perfect little perfect self.

but truth be told, or written, that's a lot to write about and now that the house is empty and conrad is returning to sanity i'm realizing ALL the grown up things i need to tend to. like, paying bills. and returning calls from a week ago.

i seriously forgot the world existed while they were here. we just had too much to do to be bothered by the hodrum; i was determined to soak up every second of their visit, and i feel i did i pretty good job at it. of course, it does little in the I STILL MISS YOU LIKE HELL department, but it did wonders in the I'M NO LONGER QUITE AS HOMESICK department.

word on the street is that my sister and eric are planning a visit out here in september. there will be a new baby but i know i'll be past ready for some more quality time with The Family that makes me happy to be family.

They're Here!

early sunday morning my parents had finally arrived. for what seems like EONS now i have been patiently awaiting their visit. this trip marks their first time to come here Together, and a torturous eighth months since I/We saw them last. and with those eight months i have had more than enough time to plan their every second here, starting with Avenue of Giant Bolders, Becky's Cafe, and Crater Lake (seen in the picture on the left, behind my mother who always seems to be blinking in every cameo). i have been up to Crater Lake a few times, but this trip up i too was surprised to see the 12 feet of snow still on the ground. though snow in and of itself in june really blew my beach bum parents away. for thirty minutes straight all my father could muster was, "SNOW! THEIRS SNOW ON THE GROUND!".


the really amazing thing to me however is how conrad has seemed to not miss a beat with the grandparents he only sees twice a year. it hadn't been a hour and conrad was requesting to give my mom a kiss, and wanting to trade hats with my dad.

i probably won't have a lot time to blog this week, let alone be on the computer, though i'll try. like i mentioned, i have every second of every day mapped out. today was the "medford attractions", ya know, a trip to the Rogue Creamery ( their bleu cheese took the 1st, or maybe it was 3rd, place for the best bleu cheese in some International contest. it's kinda a big deal if you live here or into cheese awards at all.) , a trip to some fancy schmancy chocolate store ( their were actually chocolateres drizzling colored chocolate onto truffles and stirring buttered cremes!), then to the Harry and David store. me and my father were going to take this time during conrad's nap and hit the Roxy Ann winery, nothing more heart warming than a father and pregnant daughter hitting the winery for some vino in the middle of the day, but we both decided a nap would kick ass more. yet here i am...while he naps.

conrad could teach seminars on FOCUS and DETERMINATION.

dear dallas (mostly, pregnant women in dallas),

do you have any idea how lucky you are to have so many yummy eateries at every corner? do you? i said, DO YOU!!!???!!!!

when i was pregnant with conrad( i won't even bother mentioning the countless, tittering on gazillions, of times i wasn't pregnant and none the less) i l-o-n-g-e-d for the number two at allgood, the pulled chicken casserole from chuys, the queso at los lupes, sushi from blue fish, a chicago dog from harry's hot dogs, a burger and milkshake from jakes, the chef salad at tabc, oh and i could go on and on. the cravings would swell up in me, making me unable to focus on simple tasks like being content, or, making meals myself.

unequivocally, the hardest aspect of adjusting to life in medford, oregon hasn't been coping with the long and rainy winters, or that the closest buffalo exchange is a couple hundred miles away, or that culture here is non-existent, or even that there are some days where the only social interaction i receive is from the bank teller or the cashier at target. no. those have not been the most challenging obstacles i've had to deal with, what is-is the UTTER lack of good/mediocre restaurants that exist in this valley. *with the exception of the sushi restaurant jon and i stumbled upon two weeks ago. that place kicked ass.* i honestly didn't think places like this valley i call Home existed in this world. i was clueless. i assumed everywhere had at least a FEW good restaurants, or dives, or cafes. but a complete wash?!? seemed impossible to imagine. then i moved here and was pregnant and the cravings began; i dreamed of huevos rancheros and pancakes, of barbeque and fried okra, of queso, rivers of velvety queso!, of cheesecake factory and of fireside pies.

jon and i would head out on friday nights and saturday mornings trying new, recommended places, but they were all terribly sub-par, and for the asked price, we felt like we were being rapped in the ass. still, we've perservered. and there have been moments of redemption: morning glory out in ashland does make a tasty breakfast, though if it were a tad cheaper, i feel it would be more just for what their serving; and then there is roadhouse grill, which has a decent tri-tip, though i venture to assume, if the same tri-tip were served somewhere in dallas, one might enjoy it though never think about it again. and of course, the sushi restaurant wasabi, a hole in the wall, that when jon and i visited was so jam packed those who had to wait had to wait outside. wasabi is actually a sushi bar that would thrive in dallas or any city for that matter: the rolls were TASTY, and fresh, and most importantly, completely worth every penny.

but today i'm not craving sushi, or steak. today i WANT a clubhouse sandwich with a side of salty fries.

but where? i'll answer myself: No Where!!! it's hopeless, and i must get it through that head of mine it's not going to happen. just like the days where all i want is good bbq that...don't happen, and the days where desert from La Duni would make my entire world...don't happen, this too, won't happen.

so hear me dallas, and go eat out!

"the gnashing of underwear"

the perfect title for a porn-drama.

emoutional rollercoaster

like most aggrievances, things usually start with a single domino knocking over the next, and then the next, till the kinetic torrent reaches it's grand finale...triggering a bad mood. unfortunately for me and everyone that comes in my path, i start the day in motion thanks to pregnancy mood swings. this morning it was a trip to the grocery store with conrad that sent me over the edge. up until last week shopping with conrad was less than desirable but still do-able, then one bright beautiful moody day we were at Target-i was picking through the sale rack looking for maternity clothes talking to conrad all the meanwhile. it hadn't been, oh i don't know, a minuet or two, when i looked up from the floral prints to see that conrad had been busy doing some shopping of his own: he had in fact pulled an entire row of shirts from off the rack and into our cart. as i went to re-hang them up and try to convey why we shouldn't do such things, he went to pull them back down. at this juncture conrad was in the back of the cart, being in the front where i could semi-control him, had already been decided against within the first few seconds of walking in/climbing up my head so i wouldn't be able to maneuver his legs into the front of the cart. i then decided he absolutely needed to be exactly where he would fight me not to be, and he did. the saga went on and alas i left with a few things i had gone there for and a few snacks i had not. it was the beginning of the end.

this mornings trip was no different. except for at the grocery store conrad wanted to open and eat everything i threw in the cart: the box of cherrios, the unwashed grapes, the still greenish bananas, the goldfish crackers, the gallon of milk, the block of cheese, and the twix candy bar i was hoping to enjoy all to myself. and every time i would stop to look at something he would stand up (safety straps don't work for him because he has already figured out how those work) and lunge with a glee into my arms as if we were at the park and doing so was as perfectly normal as willy wonka enslaving ompa lompa's to work in his psychedelic candy compound is.

so there in the bread aisle i am struggling to keep him from standing up whilst emitting a cool, patient composure; i have stopped the cart and with a hurting back, a sharp pain in my vagina from the hernia, i'm earnestly explaining to conrad why it is so important he keep his tushie down while he is in the cart when a mom with a sleeping infant interrupts me and asks if she can get by.

*please allow for a long pause*

i turned around. glared. and pushed us out of the way.

by all means it was an acceptable request, however, my mind played something like this:

sure i'm in the way and even though you could just back up four feet and go around me it is totally acceptable that i should have to stop what i'm trying to do so i can listen to your screechy voice and let you by. but no. it's not. because i'm 7 months pregnant and by virtue of that my body already hates me and my emotions are everywhere and here i am at the friggin grocery store with a toddler who wants nothing more than to push the cart into other people and displays of stacked cereal boxes, and you dear mrs. new mother, well, you'll know better one day and i hope you remember me and this look of disgust i am giving you now.

i left the grocery store in the baddest of moods, but thanks to pregnancy mood swings, the pendulum has already swung the other way and i no longer do i want to feed that mothers baby to a pack of hungry wolves.