Baby Names

We're not finding out whether this baby is a boy or girl. This has been met mostly with, "Oh, that'll be fun," reactions from people who are probably thinking, "You lunatics. That's like not taking penicillin or not having a computer." I have to admit that it was my idea. My sister Alisha did it this way and she thought it was marvelous, and being a curious soul, I wanted to see what it was like. Because hey, birthing without drugs does not provide me with enough excitement. Just call me an adrenaline junkie.

Mike is more in the "we're lunatics" camp about not finding out, but because I am swelling to giant portions and I am capable of squashing him like a bug just by sitting on his lap, he is willing to go along with my plan. Although he did try to see what it was at the big 20-week ultrasound, his ultra-sound reading skills were not as good as his engineering skills. He suspects that it is another little girl (Oh the Hair! uttered in the same tone of despair as Herbert Morrison's report on the Hindenburg disaster), because the ultrasound technician began saying, "Oh she's looking so good. Look how beautiful she is. I see her little leg." But later the technician did say, "I don't know why I'm calling it a she. I really don't know what sex it is."

I suspect that it is another baby. I have no intuition one way or another. I was a big believer in mother's intuition and all that pregnancy glow and feeling about just knowing what you're having until Hannah. I was sure Hannah was a boy. Positive. The pregnancy was so different from when I was pregnant with Kenzie. I was sick (with Kenzie I wasn't sick). I had heartburn. I was carrying differently. I had dreams that it was a boy. I just knew it was a boy. At the ultrasounds they would say, "Yep. A little girl." and I would shake my head and say, "You can never be sure, huh?" And secretly think that all this technology really didn't amount to much. I was positive it was a boy.

Then Hannah was born and my belief in mother's intuition was shot. (Don't worry Hannah, I'm glad you're a girl and it was probably best to rid me of my false beliefs early on in motherhood.)

Anywho, we're keeping our options open for names. We'd like to go for a name that ends in a -uh sound, as in "Hann-ah", since we've got Ellie and Kenzie.  Here's what I've come up with for boys, "Noah." The end. I like Noah, although my friend just named her baby Noah, and one of Mike's cousins just name their baby Noah. So maybe there's just a flood of Noahs. (Haha.)
For girls, I like "Ava" but our neighbor's little baby is Ava.

Hannah suggests that, "If it's a girl, we'll call it Sunny. If it's a boy, we'll call it Moony." Then she pauses and adds seriously, "And we can call him Moonface."  (I think she's hoping for another girl.)

Nanowrimo

Besides developing varicose veins that a phelbotomist would kill for, I have been developing another something that I hope will prove less painful.

I'm writing a book. I'm doing this crazy Nanowrimo thing and besides feeling completely insecure about my writing and my characters in addition to all the other things I usually feel insecure about, it's been fun. 

I have 25,000 words, which means I'm slightly behind in my word count, but I'm halfway to a goal of 50,000. I'm so goal-oriented that I'm halfway tempted to write "Blah, blah, blah" over and over for the words I'm missing, but I'm pretty sure that would not help me write the next Great American Novel. Because that is what this is. For sure. Except there's not enough Angst and Zombies. But I still have 25,000 words to go, so maybe some of that will work its way in. 

Here's my favorite excerpt:

When God was handing out talents in heaven, I imagine the scenario went something like this:

“Ahh,” he smiled down at me, “What talent would you like little one?”

Eager and anxious and nervous because there was a huge line behind me I must have forgot to ask for a useful skill. I was probably thinking about cooking, or being a good friend, or raising children, or some other unselfish and noble skill. But then I balked. Being in the presence of God must have made me jittery because I blurted out “Swimming! I want to be a good swimmer.”

I imagine that God drew his bushy, yet benevolent eyebrows together and possibly slightly frowned.

“Swimming?” He must have gently asked.

“Yes, yes. Swimming. I heard the earth is three-fourths water,” I laughed nervously, then coughed, when no one else laughed, and then nodded very seriously. “Swimming.”

God probably looked down at the blueprint for my life and thought, “Well, swimming won’t really help her with a history degree, teaching, and then three children, but, swimming it is.”

Then he smiled, made a few changes on the plan and told me to do my best.

And I am. But I sure could use a few other talents right now. My stellar swimming skills notwithstanding I think I’m drowning in motherhood. 

Motherhood

I'm always making to-do lists, but this sums up how I feel somedays. When I think about #2 I think about dinosaurs chasing me, or children whining, or fireballs whizzing through the sky. Not that these things happen, but that's what survive says to me.

What do you survive?

A Brief Angry History of Daylight Saving Time

George Vernon Hudson, a man too busy collecting insects to think about how Daylight Saving Time might possibly cause a four-year-old to scream in a high-pitched voice for fifteen minutes at 8:00 p.m. four days into the fall time change that she wants "TO BE HOME RIGHT NOW!" while driving in the car, when her mother has been working so very carefully with her and gained some solid ground on not throwing fits, proposed shifting an hour of daylight to the evening in the summer so he could COLLECT BUGS.

William Willet, a British man who had never dragged a sobbing, hysterical six-year-old out to the car in his bare feet on a cold winter morning to go to school, and had never bodily carried a four-year-old, kicking and screaming to her carpool and shoved her inside and said, "Watch out! The door's shutting," as she tried to cling to him, because they are sleeping an hour less than normal, also proposed DST in Britain so he could GOLF LONGER.

Foolishly, most of the U.S., under the delusion that they are saving energy, money or anything at all, agrees to this mass conspiracy against parents and their children and continues to change their clocks like lemmings falling off cliffs each spring and fall.
The End

Zion in Fall

Pic #1

If you've never been to Zion National Park in the fall, you should go. I, (yes me), with my 6 megapixel Nikon D40, took these pictures, no touch up this past weekend.
In one of my undergrad writing classes I remember a quote that our teacher read to us that went something like, "Even the poorest astronomer, through diligence, is bound to see some shooting stars." Now, for the life of me, I can't find the exact quote. Seriously Google? You've answered all my other obscure questions, why can't you find my quote?
Anyway, that's how I feel about my photography. I have a decent camera and sometimes I get lucky with lighting and scenery. It's easy to take beautiful pictures in Zion, especially in the fall.
Which one should we make humongous to hang on our wall?

Pic #2

Pic #3

Pic #4

Pic #5

Pic #6

Pic #7

Pic #8

Lotoja

The day before Mike left for Alabama he and his brother Dave did Lotoja.I got to be their support driver and had a good time driving them around and pretending to think that they weren't crazy. 

They finished a little slower than they wanted, but did a great job. 

I made a little scrapbook of the adventure: 

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A Surefire Wicked Witch Formula

Mike is home now, but for the past five weeks he has been in Alabama.  He was selected to attend Squadron Officer School in Montgomery, AL. We were excited for the opportunity that Mike would have to learn about leadership and Air Force philosophy as one of only 14 civilians in a class of over 400 of the Air Force's top officers. 

We were not excited to be seperated for five weeks. But we also knew that many couples who are actually in the military go through much longer and frequent deployments (where they are involved in wars), so we tried to grin and bear it. We also shortened it with me flying out to Alabama last week with the girls to visit and stay with him the last week. (More about that fun time in another post)

I wrote the following while he was gone, and I've slightly edited it, since I feel a lot better about life now that he's home:

We're almost at the 2 week mark and I am pretty sure that by the end my children will hate me. I always imagine them growing up and writing books about how I scarred them for life. I imagine them writing sentences like, "My mother was a yeller. I still jump when I hear loud noises."  Or "My drug problems all stem back to my mother's inability to follow through on promises."

When Mike calls, the girls and I are always in some pitched battle for supremacy. He gets to hear all about how if the kids don't go to bed right now and/or pick up their stupid toys, listen to me, do their homework, they'll spend eternity in their rooms. I bet it makes him miss me.

The worst part is that my patience is gone by about 2 p.m. Usually, when I know Mike will be home by 5, I can hold on to my sarcastic tongue and keep myself in patient mommy mode, but now I know he won't be home I just let loose: "Why yes Hannah, you're right. My whole goal in life is to make you miserable. I can see by how you are crying hysterically and yelling that you hate me that I am succeeding."

Today Kenzie called home with a sick stomach from school. Then she wanted to play and run and eat candy. So my patience was gone at noon. Her new favorite tone of voice is Defiant Whine. So when I told her she could not watch a movie or play, or eat anything but toast and applesauce, she said, "I'm never going to checkout again. Because of you. You are so mean. Mean, mean, mean!" I felt triumphant and only managed to not say anything by singing softly to myself, "I am the champion, my friend. And I'll keep on fighting to the end."

Actually my lack of patience is not the worst part. The worst part is knowing that I'm a whiny baby because I don't even have it that bad. People's husbands are deployed for months at a time and I can't even handle five (okay we're only at 2) weeks? Seriously. What is my problem?