on the job learning.

Parenting is awesome. It really is. If ever there was a job where you learn as you go, this is it. You learn how to take care of the kiddo(s). You learn how to take care of yourself and your SO while caring for the kiddo. You learn how to live all over again because things are just different when there are little ones involved. Good different, definitely, but different just the same.

Case in point: cooking.

I love to cook. Truly love it. I love to chop things. I love to mix things. I love to smell the things that I'm cooking, knowing that there is a semi-magical transformation happening as the yeast and the water and the pinch of sugar combine with flour to make pizza dough. Or how something as simple as smelling onions and garlic and butter can make everything seem alright, no matter how bad a day you've had. Love it.

There's a funny thing happening in my kitchen these days, though. There's a four-year-old who wants to help. Always. She gets seriously peeved if there's nothing she can do to help, and sometimes there isn't. Sometimes everything has to happen at the stove, where it's too hot, or at the cutting board, where things are too sharp. She is not a happy camper when Mama says, "I'm sorry, there's nothing for you to help with right now."

I love that she wants to help. I love that she's interested. I really do. Really. I love it. And I know that children helping in the kitchen is good for them in lots of ways. They are exposed to fractions. They learn to follow written instructions. They see what goes into the preparation of their food, and kids really do eat more varied things if they're involved in the prep work. I've seen it. And I want S to want to cook. I love the idea of having time with her in the kitchen...when she's older.

But sometimes, Mama needs the free therapy that comes with kneading dough on her own. Sometimes Mama just needs to be alone in the kitchen. Sometimes this Mama just doesn't have the energy or desire to clean up the extra mess that comes with a four-year-old helping out when there are large quantities of flour involved. And then I feel like a bit of a rotten mother because I'll shoo my little mini-me away.

And then she goes to her play kitchen, makes something herself, sets her little play table properly, invites me to tea, and I know that everything is going to be alright.

Life can be tough, but it is so good. Especially when your preschooler pours you tea and offers you a wooden cupcake.

keeping it short.

Today, the post will be short and sweet.

Things NEVER to say to a woman who is miserably pregnant with her second child:

Oh, the second child is by far the hardest.

Thank you, woman with five kids. I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus now.

tgif.

I love the weekends. Normally, I love the weekends because the Ouisers all get to be together, and I have some help in the parenting department from 8-6. This weekend is different, though. I'm looking forward to the weekend for Mr. Ouiser. He needs a break. Have you seen him lately? He looks a bit like he's been hit by a truck. Between the amazing amount of work that he has to do at work and the amazing amount of stress in his life that comes from this roller coaster of caring for his dad, he's kind of got a lot going on. He leaves the house in the mornings around 5:30, and he hasn't been home yet this week before 6:30. Then he works from home after he's eaten dinner, twice working for a couple of hours after I went to bed. Also, he hasn't slept well in the five weeks since his dad first got sick. He's constantly on edge, worried that the phone will ring. So, he's operating on practically no sleep. Loads of work. Sick parent stress. And a hormonal wife. Also, there is an upcoming birth to worry about. I don't even think that's made his radar yet.

I think it's safe to say that the man deserves a break. He at least needs a weekend.

So, I'm making dinner. Chicken and dressing. Green beans (he won't eat those, they're for me and S). Cherry Cake Pudding. I'm hoping beyond hope that after dinner, he'll put his feet up and relax. Maybe watch a movie. Maybe he'll just fall asleep. But Mr. Ouiser needs to rest, so send him some restful thoughts, will you?

Here's a photo (shocking, I know) of the little helper that would love for her daddy to get some rest...or at least a yummy cake.

good things.

I must seriously seem bi-polar lately. One minute I'm gushing over how grateful I am to have wonderful people in my life and yadda yadda. The next minute I'm all...you know desperately down in the dumps. I don't think I'm bi-polar. I think I'm hormonal. Third trimester, you know. Anyway, I've decided to be positive today. Even though it's rainy. That's really something for me. You have no idea.

Anyway, some good things. In no particular order.

1. If you want to make my daughter love you, make her scrambled eggs. If you want her to be your slave for life, make her bacon, too. I didn't make her bacon, but I offered to make her eggs this morning, and she practically leaped out of bed. For the record, I would probably make her eggs more often, but she would literally sit and eat half a dozen eggs if I'd let her, and she is seriously unhappy without three eggs worth of yellow fluffiness. I worry about her cholesterol if I encourage a three-egg-a-day habit. So, eggs for Little Ouiser.

2. Mellie Mellie is coming home a day early this week because she has an eye appointment tomorrow. That means that I'll likely get to sit and have coffee with her and chitchat tomorrow afternoon. It makes my heart so happy.

3. If that weren't enough, C is coming tomorrow night on her way to G's shower in Memphis. My two favorite women in one day. Glorious. I think I'll finally make PW's Cherry Cake Pudding.

4. Pepcid...with a prescription. I mentioned this on Facebook, but my life has so drastically improved in the last three days, that this little miracle pill deserves two shout-outs. Even with Zantac, my heartburn had gotten insanely out of control. I had noticed long ago that my trouble breathing becomes exponentially worse when I'm stressed. I had not put two-and-two together, though, and realized that the constant searing pain from my chest up through my esophagus was causing stress. Duh. Anyway, now that the heartburn is under control, breathing is coming a lot easier, too. And...And!! My doctor told me that it's totally okay to take two Tylenol before bed every single night for the next two months if it helps me sleep through my joint pain. So, hello. Mama's been getting some real sleep the past couple of days. It's miraculous.

5. S helped me make Stuffed Pizza Rolls for dinner last night. We filled them with ham, pineapple, and mozzarella. They were good. She loved them, M loved them, I thought they were pretty darn tasty. And, get this...the whole time we were putting the toppings onto the little squares, I was just dreaming of possibilities. Roast beef, provolone, and roasted red pepper. Diced tomatoes, fresh basil, and mozzarella. Goat cheese, roasted red pepper, and prosciutto. Brie and apple and cranberries. You name it, I want to wrap it in homemade dough, bake it, and devour it. Especially if there are soft cheeses involved. I've almost reached a breaking point in my desperate desire for Brie.

6. I am not so naive as to think that everyone has experienced knee-buckling, gut-wrenching falling in love. Not everyone knows to the very microscopic center of their being that they are with the person that they're supposed to be with. And that's okay. To each his own. But I'm lucky. Mr. Ouiser is my other half. I know it every single day. I just don't always think about it. Today I'm thinking about it because I just finished PW's book. So, if you want to remember what it was like to fall head over heels in love, or if you just want to read about it, you should procure yourself a copy of that book. It's funny how Marlboro Man is so, so nothing like Mr. Ouiser. He's an honest to God cowboy for crying out loud. M is a cartographer. But there's something about the relationship between PW and Marlboro Man that is the same. Maybe it's the way that everything just clicked from the beginning. Maybe it's finding out that I'm not the only person who thought of marrying their future husband within a couple of weeks. Maybe it's knowing that there are men out there who don't play head games...men that will just let you know that they love you and will be there for you and take care of you forever and ever...and be great dads...great human beings, really. It probably doesn't hurt the comparison that M and Marlboro Man both get up for work before the sun rises. The difference being that M puts on chinos and button downs and nice sweaters while Marlboro Man puts on Wranglers and chaps. As I said before, to each his own. Anyway, read the book. Love your husband or wife or whoever.

7. That's enough for one day.

nesting?

I'm not far enough along in this bun-baking process to think that what's going on in my life right now is the proverbial nesting instinct. I've been wrong before, though.

Nesting or not, I've been pseudo-inspired by Simple Mom to do a little closet cleaning. I spent a couple of hours yesterday weeding out the closets and our drawers. M no longer has socks that will allow his toes to show. I no longer have shoes that I have held onto just because I used to love them. I'm pretty good about getting rid of clothes that I haven't worn in recent memory, but I always find it difficult to let go of footwear. No more. The donation box has already been dropped off at the local help center, and the trash pile is already in the outdoor bin. The hand-me-downs that S will never be able to wear are already gone to friends who hopefully can use them. I feel lighter already.

I also had carpenters here this morning to get the ball rolling on a couple of projects we'd like to think about. One such project is a storage bench for our shoes. If that were to be completed, I think I could actually love our enormous closet. For now, the shoes are just everywhere. It is so not Ouiser-like.

Beyond all the closet cleaning, but related to making life a little simpler, I thought this post over at Small Notebook was pretty fabulous. Even if you don't crowd your brain-space with project ideas, I think the message is valid. I suppose it's pointless to de-clutter your house if your mental to-do list is basically insane. Pop over there and read it if you get a chance.

Now, I have pizza dough to make. Have a great Wednesday, peeps.

busy bees.

You all know I'm a planner. I love a plan. I love a list. So, today was different. I was planning an outing to Nashville tomorrow, but it's supposed to rain. Since I needed to go to four different places and thus move a four-year-old in and out of four different places, I decided on a whim (whoa!) to go today. S and I loaded ourselves into the car and headed east.

First stop: Michael's. I needed several things that would've required internet shopping and three different stops through town if I'd stayed in DC to shop. I love local and all, but that ain't happening. I was prepared to keep S away from the kids' crafts section. I didn't realize I really needed to blindfold her. We didn't even get in the door before she started oooh-ing and aaaah-ing. There were bins of fake flowers outside and in the entryway. She thought they were ravishing. Then as soon as we got in the doors, there were Easter eggs and bits and bobs for decorating said eggs. Then, wham! Easter cupcake supplies. And sparkly baskets. Then St. Patrick's Day cupcake supplies. Then ribbons. Then beads. Then sequins. Then wooden dolls. Then wooden birdhouses. Then paint. And brushes. And stickers. Then yarn. Embroidery thread. More paint. More stickers. More, more, more. I am amazed that I got out of there only buying her two $1 kits to make necklaces (one for her, one for Little Feather Nester).

Second stop: M's office. We went to Chick-fil-A for lunch, which doesn't sound all that exciting, but Cherry Coke is from heaven, as are fountain drinks, and you don't find Cherry Coke "on tap" everywhere.

Third stop: picking up some paperwork from the bank.

Fourth stop: back to M's office. Preggo bladder full of Cherry Coke. You know how it is, right? Plus, S needed to sing for the people in M's office and make him princess dance with her.

Fifth stop: Target to exchange S's shinguards for the ones that A recommended and to return the ginormous bathing suit I bought for the Cincy trip and never put on. Hello, forty bucks, it's nice to see you again...

Sixth stop: Toys R Us. You're getting this right. I took S to Michael's and Toys R Us in the same day. Oddly, she saw a Barbie story book that she wanted to look at when we walked into the toy store. I told her there wasn't a place to sit to read it but that she could look at it as we walked through the store. It kept her occupied for most of the time we were there. We only had two detours into Barbie/Princess land.

I think it's hysterical that my daughter was more enamored with Michael's than with the toy store, but I suppose the nut doesn't fall far from the tree.

Once we got home, we did a little glue batik project (more to come) and now it's dinner time. Sayonara, peeps. I'm wiped out.

that's just cruel.

My cousin A graduates from high school this year (as do my sister S2 and my cousin J). Because I made a quilt for A's sister H, I am now dutifully making one for her. With all of the nuttiness in my life right now, I look forward to working on the quilt, and I finished piecing the top a few minutes ago. I actually find quilting and embroidery and all that mess pretty relaxing...mostly because it's darn near impossible to be stressing or thinking of other stuff when there are pointy needles involved. You lose concentration, you poke yourself in the fingers...or screw something up that requires a mulligan, and that ain't cool. Anyway, here's the cruel part. Preggers as I am, I am finding it increasingly difficult to sit at my sewing machine. There is no apparent comfortable way to be there. I spent just under half an hour at the machine today, and my back has been in knots ever since. Cruel, cruel world.

Also, the quilt I'm making started off as an Amy Butler pattern. This is the second time I've attempted one of her patterns. The first time it was a bag pattern. I was pretty unhappy with that pattern. I remember thinking that it was poorly written, but I was willing to admit that I was (and am) a sewing novice and as lazy as the day is long. This time, I don't think it's me. I ended up going rogue with the quilt. It just wasn't coming together properly. Plus, get this: I bought $150 worth of fabric for the silly thing. I sincerely have enough material left to make a second quilt. My enormous punch bowl is FULL of leftover fabric. And that's not even counting the extra THREE YARDS of backing fabric. Maybe I can sell the second quilt to pay for the first one. Anyway, I'm not generally a conspiracy theorist. A no-good complainer? Sure. Conspiracy theorist? No. However, I've got to think that our darling Amy Butler has upped the amount of fabric that she says to buy because she also recommends using her fabrics. There's no other conceivable explanation.

I will say this: I was planning to make the quilt bigger than the pattern. Lots of quilt patterns are for lap quilts and throws, but the point of this one is to go on A's bed at college, so I figured out how much extra fabric I'd need to increase the quilt size appropriately. There were random diagrams with loads of multiplication sitting around our house for days before I hit the quilting shop. I guess I should've just bought what the pattern called for after all.

That's enough complaining. Frankly, the all purple quilt is turning out pretty darn cute. A will love it, and that's what matters. Right?

In addition to quilting and embroidering, I thought S needed a little mommy-and-me craft time yesterday, so we made some new playdough and then played with it. Here's the only picture I took of us playing. You've heard of coke bottle glasses? S wears Bonne Maman jar glasses.

Also, my baby girl has strep with a wicked rash. You can see it on her chin in the picture. She's so pitiful.

so overwhelmed, so much to be thankful for.

Dude. Life is rough sometimes. I know you all know what I mean. We had our recent drama. It sucked, but we were reminded of our blessings, which is always a good thing. But it's just seemed like the crazy keeps happening. It's not really even worth going into. Sick kid. Worried mama. Concern. Hysterical mama. Stress that shouldn't be a part of my life but that I can't let go of. And the pregnancy hormones make it all seem like it's been multiplied by a thousand. Anyone out there that can relate? Anyone else just feel like they're drowning sometimes? Anyway, I've been feeling a lot like that lately.

And then I see how great I have it. That my problems are those bumps in the road I mentioned.

My friend Toddler Tamer posted this today about a friend's crusade to raise money for children's cancer research.

And it's pretty timely because an old friend from college has a daughter who is battling cancer right now. It's gut wrenching.

And I have two friends, A and A, who are living right now with significant physical pain as a part of their daily lives.

And my friend S's husband just lost his father.

And the list could continue.

And I'm trying to remember to just breathe. Just be a good mama to the girl that's here now and the boy that's coming along soon enough. Try not to stress my husband out with hysterical bursts of hormonal crying.

They're just bumps in the road. The sun is shining. I am blessed beyond belief. And I am sending what little positive energy I've got out into the universe for my friends that really need it. We probably all should.

you don't know jack...

...but Jack knows the weather.

S eats her breakfast at her little table in the living room. On most mornings, she watches Jack's Big Music Show while she scarfs her oatmeal or Cheerios or yogurt or waffles. Today was such a day. If you're in this neck of the woods, you know it's raining cats and dogs outside today. Big puddles are everywhere. It's gnarly out there, and it's safe to say that the Ouiser girls aren't planning to leave the house. Anyway, it's raining, it's pouring...and I'm in the other room. I was happily checking my Google Reader when I heard S singing from the other room, "Rain, rain, go away, come again another day..." To my knowledge, she had never heard that song before, but she picked it up just this morning on Jack. As I stuck my head around the corner to see what she was doing, she was just singing her heart out, marching in a circle. And I laughed.

Move forward about fifteen minutes. S was taking her "heart medicine," which is really a conversation heart. Don't judge me for allowing her to eat a conversation heart at 8am. It's better to have one piece of "heart medicine" at 8am than to have the whole box in the mid afternoon because Mama is sick of hearing her beg. She just realized yesterday that there are words on the conversation hearts, so as soon as she picked today's heart, she brought it to me to read.

"It says, you rock," I told her.

A genuine look of consternation crossed her little face.

"You mean it says, you climbed a rock," she replied.

Then she popped the pink heart into her mouth, secure in the knowledge that her mother is either a lunatic or slightly illiterate because the phrase you rock doesn't make any sense to a four-year-old. I suppose it sounds like caveman speak to the preschool set. Or maybe she things that I think she is an actual rock. Either way, I laughed again.

Now she's playing with paper dolls. I helped her put the dolls on their stands and explained to her about taking their clingy little clothes off of the pages they're stored upon. She came into the room a few minutes ago and plopped down next to me. Swinging her feet from the brown chair she said, "Mom, I need to potty."

"Okay, go potty."

"But after that, the princess clothes are hard to get out of the book. I am asking you to help me. I am not yelling across the house, so will you help me?"

"Of course."

And I laughed again.

I hope you're all able to sit back and laugh uproariously at the little ones in your lives today because the weather's not cooperating. Happy Thursday, peeps.

another standby and a daily ritual.

In talking about our standby meals, I forgot one. Veggie fajitas. S devours bell peppers (hooray for Vitamin C, right?), so we've always got them on hand. We also should buy stock in onions, garlic, and tortillas because on the rare moments when we're out of any of the three I go into panic mode. Anyway, having those things on hand makes veggie fajitas an easy go-to meal. All I do is slice peppers and onions, add some minced garlic, some olive oil, and fajita seasoning (I make ours). If I've got limes or cilantro or tomatoes, I throw those into the mix. Obviously, you could add meat to this, but I think I made it clear that we never have meat in our house. Seriously, it doesn't get much easier than this meal. You can throw everything together anytime you've got the three minutes it takes and let it sit all the livelong day. Then all you have to do is saute it in a super hot pan for a few minutes when it's time to chow. Add some salsa, and viola! Delicious.

For the record, our love of fajitas can be traced directly to T the Elder Geomorphologist. He makes the best fajitas in the entire world. I don't know what he does differently than I do, but I stand by the fact that no one can make better fajitas...despite the fact that I haven't eaten them in about seven years. Now that we're naming our son after him, I wonder if it's him we adore, or his fajitas...and all the beer we drank with him. Or maybe it's his wife and kids.

So that was the other standby. Here's the daily ritual.

Every single day, as I shower, I draw a heart on the steamy shower door. Every day. Just to remind myself that I love my life and my family. Lots of times I'll also pick one word to write above the heart. Sometimes it's something that I'm in desperate need of that day, like patience or grace or to heal if I'm sick or hurt. Other times I'll write something I'm extra grateful for that day, like M or S or friends or even hot showers or hot coffee. I know it's kind of silly, but I've never been able to keep up with a journal or a running list. Somehow, though, I can always remember this. Maybe it's because when I'm under the steamy water, I am usually alone (meaning no child regaling me with a chorus of, "mommy, mommy, mommy."), and things are usually quiet, and I am relaxed from the scrumptious hot water. Whatever it is, it works, and it makes me happy to see that heart drawn on the door. Every single day.

Now I've got some embroidery to see to. And a pot of decaf to brew. Happy Thursday, peeps.

Oh, I almost forgot. S brought me lunch.

a bump in the road.

Last week was a tough one around these parts. Some of you know what I'm talking about, and some of you don't. If you don't know, just know that it wasn't a tough week in my normal complain-prone way, it was actual yucky stuff. But we're through it, and that's a wonderful thing. We were reminded once again that we are very blessed to have amazing people in our lives...and frankly to have amazing lives, period.

In the midst of said tough week, I had a project that I needed to work on for my faux-aunt/grandma, Mimi. Mimi has an aunt who is turning 90 this weekend, and she'd asked me to make a little book for her like someone had made for her on her recent 70th. It was "90 Reasons We Love our Aunt Rachel," and the list was compiled by lots of relatives. The reasons just needed to be written out and have simple illustrations added. I think that Mimi felt guilty that I was working on the book in the midst of a crisis, but really it was good for me. It gave me something exceedingly positive to focus on. I've never met the infamous Aunt Rachel, but reading all the reasons that people love her and admire her was inspiring. I'm now chomping at the bit to tag along to her birthday party because I want to meet her.

Then yesterday, Scarlet Lily sent around a forward that was a lady's list of lessons that life had taught her...the list reiterated so many of the things from Aunt Rachel's list it was a bit uncanny.

And last night I was reading Whole Living and there were articles on happiness and simplification that reinforced a lot of the same stuff.

And these are all qualities that I strive for in my life already. I wasn't reading about reinventing the wheel. I've been reading about things that already matter to me and my family. Things like accepting people and their differences. Things like welcoming people into your life and your home. Basic kindness. Maintaining a life that isn't overwhelmed with stuff...loving what you've got and letting go of the rest.

The whole point of this seemingly disjointed post is that sometimes, even when things suck, it's good to remember the good things. Sometimes you have to sit back and focus on who you are and who you want to be and how whatever crisis you're facing will become part of you. Not letting a crisis define you. Aunt Rachel's book had the following as a reason that some anonymous family member loved her, "As a young mother she faced heartache and hardship. She looked at it as a bump in the road." Yesterday's email list put it this way, "Frame every so called disaster with these words: In five years, will this matter?" Sometimes those bumps, those disasters are big. Sometimes they really do matter. But those things are pretty few and far between. Most stuff really is just a bump in the road.

It's not the stuff or the situation that matter. At least I don't think so. I think it's how we deal with them that matters. And that means how we deal with the people in our lives. How we support and love each other. Because the one thing that has shown up in all these random lists and articles is just that: it's our relationships that matter. Our family. Our friends. Not our stuff. Not our little league soccer games. Not the spots on the sofa. None of that is important.

This actually isn't a seemingly disjointed post, it is terribly disjointed. The point is that I've been reminded recently that good friends and family that's there for you...that's important. Love and support are important. And I'm blessed to have all of that in spades. I hope you are, too.

another way that i'm looney tunes.

It's Valentine's Day, so I'll start with wishing you a very happy one. I hope you get a lot of chocolate. I hope someone you love supports a local florist because I used to work for one, and like all small local businesses, all of your business is appreciated and needed. I wish you were here to smell the chocolate cake that I'm baking for Mr. Ouiser. So, Happy Valentine's Day.

Instead of talking about romance and gushy stuff, I'm going to regale you with the story of just one other way that I'm totally nutters. And I mean that in the sweetest possible way. It's all about my grocery list. Mundane, yes. A little crazy, absolutely. I got eye rolls from three separate family members that I ran into at the store yesterday.

Here's the process, which I've hinted at before.

I sit down and try to think of a menu for the coming week. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes I've just got a hankering for chicken and dumplings or fajitas. Sometimes Pioneer Woman has spoken to me in my sleep. But sometimes it's not as easy. Sometimes making a menu requires that I sit down for an hour with a cup of coffee and every single word ever written by Ina Garten, plus my handy dandy recipe binder (aka The World's Greatest Cookbook). However it goes, a menu is made. So the paper has the days of the week and the corresponding night's entrée written upon it.

Somewhere else on the paper, I'll usually already have written down all the basics that we need for the week: milk, juice, bread, nineteen kinds of cheese, Cheerios, creamer.

Then I have to add all the ingredients that I need to make the stuff on the menu. Lots of times I've already got half the stuff, but you know how it goes. You have to look at every recipe (if you're using a recipe), and then you have to think to yourself, "Wait, do I have enough flour to make pizza crusts this week and make bread? Is there enough butter in the house to make four batches of cupcakes?" You know what I mean. You have to prepare. Like a Boy Scout.

Once the list of everything is written out...all the staples, all the ingredients, all the random stuff like deoderant and contact solution that your husband will not tell you he needs until after you've been to the store and therefore you must anticipate...then I have to write it out again. On the other side of the paper.

I have to break down the list into categories. Produce. Dry. Dairy. Meat. Frozen. Other. For the most part, we could get by on produce and dairy...except we need bread and cereal and Eggos. And gummies.

The list works like a charm. I am like a well-oiled machine when I walk into the grocery. Until I run into my family members and they look at my list and wonder where it all went wrong. And then I start to worry that I should seek therapy.

Happy Valentine's Day indeed.

rotten timing.

Today, I'm going to post about lovely things. I could post about heartburn that's requiring constant use of Zantac. Or round ligament pain. Or my inability to breathe. Or hip pain. Or exhaustion. Or loads of other stuff. But where's the fun in that?

Exactly. No fun at all.

Instead, I'll pontificate about the rotten timing of Spring catalogs. Because that's way more fun. I'm trudging along in my third trimester...not talking about all those rotten symptoms. I'm pretty much the size of a sumo wrestler, but I'm okay with that. There's an extra human hanging out. But I'm growing tired of the maternity wear and the cold, dreary winter. And now Spring clothing catalogs are arriving to remind me that I'm a whale and that I can't wear the lovely Spring clothing as early as I'd like. Granted, T is due on May 1st, so I'll have the latter part of Spring to wear something less wretched than my maternity clothes, but I'm not about to start buying real clothes when there is absolutely no telling what my body size or shape will be after the little bundle of joy arrives. Plus...what I really want...what I covet are dresses. And dresses just aren't practical for nursing mamas. Know what I'm saying? Ever been out somewhere in a dress with an infant and realized that in order to nurse said infant your entire outfit has to be hoisted up to your chin? It ain't pretty. So no dresses for about another year.

To limit the self-torture, I've chucked most of the catalogs straight into the recycling bin. But when Garnet Hill showed up, I made the monumental mistake of opening it. And here are some things that I am drooling over...for your Sunday enjoyment.

For the record, I understand that there's nothing really preventing me from owning the trench coat or the sweater. Oh, that sweater and all its lovely little cardigan siblings.

another day of random observations.

So, here it is. My brain unloading. You will be fascinated. You just don't know it yet.

• Yesterday, I picked up a copy of Real Simple. I don't know why. I couldn't stop myself. Anyway, it recommended that if you're kind of over your morning coffee, you should try warm milk with a splash of vanilla and a dash of cinnamon. I'm trying to cut back on sugar and caffeine lately since I've noticed a direct correlation between my sugar/caffeine consumption and my feeling like preggo-crap. While the cinnamon is bothering me because cinnamon just floats...the warm vanilla milk is pretty tasty. I'm certain I'll fall asleep any moment, though...and have a bit of a caffeine headache later. But, I hate to be negative. (That's funny, right?)
• Fruit punch flavored glucose test drink is funky. Plus, not eating my toast with peanut butter and a banana yesterday morning prior to the glucose test really messed with my day. I felt bad until I went to bed...at 7pm. (Thank you, husband, for taking care of our daughter.)
• My daughter gets frustrated too easily, and sometimes it makes me crazy. M gets frustrated easily, too. And I'm not going to act like I don't get frustrated because I don't want my pants to catch on fire (liar, liar), but I tend to think that I'm awesome and my mistakes add character to my life and my projects. S doesn't feel that way. What have I done wrong? (Please note: a dose of humility would likely make me a nicer, more likable person, but you can't teach an old dog new tricks.)
• I really, really want some wonderful person to take my dog. I am at my wit's end. I fear that in lieu of my current passive aggressive dislike towards said animal, I am going to be downright mean soon. I am trying to do the right thing by putting myself and the precious pooch into a better situation. M's not having it.
• I am super excited about this. Like, super excited.
• I do not want to go to the grocery store today, but I have to. Especially if S and I are going to make cookies later, and I promised her that we would. I must be more careful about what I promise that child.

I suppose that's it. I need to reheat my milk and take a shower. Have a great Thursday, peeps. Stay warm.

on standby

I don't think I'm alone in this one...correct me if I'm wrong. Doesn't everyone have standby meals? Something that you almost always have the ingredients for? Something you could make blindfolded in your sleep? We had one of our standby dinners last night, and as I was making it, I thought I'd share our standbys in hopes that you might share your standbys and we'd all be standby-erific. You following my logic here?

So, beyond pasta and jarred sauce, which is frankly delicious when you don't feel like cooking and sometimes when you do...especially if you doctor the sauce with whatever veggies are about to go to veggie heaven in your crisper and some herbs and a little red wine...and then you add cheese. I'm pregnant. I'm hungry.

So, like I was saying, beyond pasta, what are your go-to dinners? For us the need for go to dinners usually arises from my not remembering what I planned to make for dinner and not being able to make sense of the ingredients in my house. This scenario normally occurs when I write the week's menu on the same paper that I write the highly organized grocery list upon and chuck straight into the recycling bin upon arriving home...before I transfer said menu to the calendar on the fridge. I have a system, and when I fail at my system, there is chaos. There is a need for standby dinner.

Our two basic standby dinners, which are mercifully two of my daughter's favorite meals in existence are noodle soup and fried rice. We had noodle soup last night. It's essentially chicken noodle soup without the chicken. I have to plan for meals with meat as there is never meat in my freezer, and if there was meat in my freezer, it would be frozen and no good for when I realize it's time to cook dinner and there is no menu on my calendar. You still following me? This is how the noodle soup goes.

I peel and dice a bunch of carrots. Or I just chop up some baby carrots. Then I clean and chop up some celery. Peel and mince garlic. Peel and dice onions if there are some laying around that need to be used. Then I heat up some olive oil in a soup pot. Then I cook all those yummy veggies until my kitchen smells delicious enough. Then I add salt and pepper. I read in Alice Waters's The Art of Simple Food that one of the keys to making good soup is to make sure that the ingredients are well seasoned (at least well seasoned enough that you'd actually eat them on their own) in each step of the process. And, therefore, I add my beloved salt and pepper. Next I add chicken broth or chicken stock or water and bouillon...whatever is around. I bring it to a boil. Then I reduce it to a simmer and let that stuff simmer away until the veggies are a yummy, soup-appropriate consistency. Then I add a bag of extra wide whole wheat egg noodles. Those cook through...then I add fresh parsley if I have it...but I never add dried parsley, though there is no logical explanation for that. Maybe it's just that dried herbs aren't as pretty. That's it. Noodle Soup ala Ouiser. Rocket science, it ain't.

As for fried rice...I cook some rice. Then in a chef's pan, I heat a couple of tablespoons of veggie or canola oil over high. I add the rice and stir it up to let the oil absorb. It's not called fried rice for nothing. Then I push all the rice to one side of the pan. On the now empty portion of the pan, I saute whatever veggies I saved from their slow veggie death. Usually it's a myriad of diced bell peppers and whatever onions I need to use. You could use anything, though. Really. I think anything. Once those have cooked for a couple of minutes (to crisp tender), I mix them into the rice, and I add some soy sauce. Sometimes I add too much. Sometimes I don't add enough. I should consider measuring. Once everything is combined, I push it all to the side of the pan again, then I scramble a couple of eggs on the empty part of the pan. Mix it all together, and you're done. Dinner is served. And, peeps...there's carbs, veggies, and protein in this one. Drink a glass of milk with your dinner, and you've got all of your food groups covered. Wicked, huh?

So, those are our standbys. An added bonus is that both of those meals are also excellent for lunch the next day. Now, as I said, pasta and jarred sauce makes a pretty regular appearance around here as does the Ouiser family favorite bread/fruit/cheese combo. Or brinner. Yum. Eggs and biscuits.

I have no idea why I've rambled on about this for so long, but I'm done now.

paying with kisses.

I'm not going to lie to you, peeps. S got spoiled for her birthday. We have to make her friend party a no-gift affair because she gets so much from our family. We bought her a Leapster because of her newfound love of "drawing" on the computer and on my phone's sketchpad. She got an enormous amount of vintage Barbie clothes from my SIL. My parents got her a Happy Birthday Barbie that actually brought her to tears, plus a new coat for her Bitty Baby doll, and a new book. Then Sunday she got a Peyton Manning jersey that caused her to literally squeal with delight, a ton of Disney Princess figurines, and a Barbie vet toy. It's so, so much stuff, but she has played non-stop since she got all of it. She has spent hours on the sofa, dressing and undressing and redressing Barbies. She and her friend A played with the toy figurines for two-and-a-half hours yesterday with no squabbles. I finally had to make them take a break to have a snack. And the vet toy? Let's just say that I've had trouble getting the laundry done today because of the constant requests to play "Barbie and Dr. Alice the veterinarian."

Here's how the Barbie game goes...one of us is Barbie, who owns the sick puppy Emily. The other is Dr. Alice the veterinarian. I'll give you the script for when S is Barbie.

Dr. Alice sits in the blue kids' chair. Barbie, holding the puppy, rings the pretend doorbell.

Dr. Alice: Come in, please.

Barbie: Hello.

Dr. Alice: Good morning, I'm Dr. Alice.

Barbie: I'm Barbie.

We shake hands.

Dr. Alice: Who is this? (pointing to puppy)

Barbie: This is my puppy, Emily. She puked last night, and I want to know what's wrong with her.

Dr. Alice: taking puppy Well, let's take a look.

Dr. Alice then uses the stethoscope to listen to the puppy, then she must look at the puppy's ears, eyes, nose, and mouth.

Dr. Alice: It looks like the puppy is a little sick. I think she'll need a shot.

Barbie: Okay, Dr. Alice. I'll pet her to keep her calm while she gets her shot.

Dr. Alice: That's a good idea.

Dr. Alice hands the puppy back to Barbie, and Barbie pets her ears.

Barbie: It's okay, Emily, it will only sting for a second.

Dr. Alice gives the puppy a shot and a pretend princess band-aid.

Dr. Alice: All done. Here's a treat and some milk for her. You should take her home and let her rest for the day.

Barbie: Thank you, Dr. Alice.

Dr. Alice: You're welcome. That will be eight dollars.

Barbie looks concerned, then she gives Dr. Alice a bunch of kisses and walks away.

There is literally almost no variation in this little script. Occasionally, the puppy has the flu. Sometimes it's the "puke bug." But every single time S plays the pet's owner, this is how it goes, and if I say something wrong like, "I don't think Emily will need a shot today," S corrects me.

So, if you have a sick puppy, it would appear you should send it to our house because we're the cheapest vet around...especially when you consider you don't actually have to pay money. You can just pay us with kisses. We're a cheap date apparently.

Hope you're all having as much fun today as we are, but please come finish my laundry if you're bored.

keep calm and party on.

The fourth birthday is officially on the books. Finite Incantatem. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. You get the picture.

Last night was the big Princess birthday party, otherwise known as S's Royale Birthday. There were kiddos in princess dresses and boys with swords tied around their waists with their belts. There were homemade cards. I probably don't say it enough, but we are so blessed to have wonderful friends and wonderful kids in our lives. I am thankful for the people in my life constantly. I should probably tell them instead of you as few of them read this blog.

Alas, without further ado…the Royale Birthday in pictures.

something new to complain about.

Little Ouiser had a great birthday. I'll lead with that. And a picture for good measure...

...because I'm good to you, right? I made her biscuits and eggs for breakfast. We decorated some delicious cupcakes together. She played for hours with her friend S, and I don't think that either of them took a swing at the other. Her mama and I chatted. Little Ouiser rested on the couch watching the Strawberry Shortcake movie that I DVRed for her. Her daddy came home early, and we gave her her big present (more on that later, I assure you). We had the Feathernesters over for dinner, and the girls made their own pizzas. We ate. We sang to S. We had cupcakes. I read books to S and L (and T, I suppose). That's the birthday rundown. That's not what I'm hear to talk about today.

Today I want to talk about stuffed animals. I am serious.

I hate stuffed animals. Hate them. I fear I might be alone in this loathing because stuffed animals are everywhere. It's a kajillion dollar industry from what I can tell, and it's not slowing down because the darn things are so cute that people just keep buying them. And they are cute. And cuddly. Don't get me wrong, I see the appeal. Here's what I don't like.

S has approximately fifty-seven thousand stuffed animals, and she wants them all to live on her bed. Every morning we have to say "Good morning," to Froggy and Bubblegum Cake (a plush doll) that she sleeps with. Then when we make her bed, we say, "Good morning" to Rosie the Pillow Pet, Bea the bear, Pinky Princess the tie-dyed bear, Mouse, Duck, Sleeping Beauty, Curious George (who moonlights as Cosmo Brown from Singin' in the Rain, the aforementioned Froggy masquerades as Don Lockwood), Sheep, and Baby Stella the doll. We have to pile them just right onto her bed. Then we have to unload them again for rest time because there isn't room on her bed for her and all the animals. Then we reload after rest time. Then we unload again at bedtime. It gets tedious, and every single time that I try to move an animal to the play room, she drags it back because, "That's not where it goes, Mommy."

So what is one supposed to do with all the animals? I could buy one of those hanging toy basket things. I could buy one of those stuffed animal nets that hangs in a corner and makes stuffed animals a dust-trapping part of one's room decor. I could put them in a big basket. I know there are options, but if you employ one of those options, then the animals probably won't get played with, so what's the point in having them? This is not to imply that S plays with hers because she doesn't. The goofy things just take up space and make me crazy.

Look, she loves Froggy. He's been with her forever, and I could never part with Bea. Our friends B and S gave her to S when she was still in the hospital. But all those other ones? I'd throw them into a nice hot fire if I wouldn't get thrown into Mommy Dearest jail.

Am I alone in this? Am I?

Probably I'm the only person who cares enough to blog about stuffed animal hatred, but I think about it almost everyday, and when I saw this post during my morning internet surfing, I just couldn't contain my complaints any longer.

Now, I'm going to check on my daughter, who may or may not be hypnotized by her new Leapster.

and just like that...

...I have a four-year-old. Really. Four. Years. Old. It's hard to believe that I have loved her so much for so long already, and that I've spent so much time simultaneously wanting to hug her until she pops and pinch her head off. Parenting is nothing if not contradictory. It's amazing what being a parent can teach you about unconditional love.

The point is this. As of 1:01pm (13:01 to my Colgate hubby), my darling girl will have been a part of my life for 35,064 hours. I wouldn't trade any of them. We've laughed. We've cried. It was better than CATS and certainly better than actual cats.

Happy Birthday to my gorgeous four-year-old. The one that made me proud by actually recognizing the number four on her new birthday shirt. That's my brilliant baby. She also just told me that she'd dress herself today because she's four years old now. This'll be a treat.

it begins today.

Let the birthday celebrations begin. S doesn't turn four until tomorrow, but we're taking cupcakes to school today. Her request? I assumed it would be pink, pink, pinkalicious, but I was wrong. She wanted "yellow like the sunshine." Could it be that my darling daughter is finally catching on to the fact that sunny warmth is vastly superior to the dreary gray of winter? Probably not, but just the same there is a platter of orange slices and vanilla cupcakes with yellow-orange butter cream and yellow sugar crystals. Plus an enormous jug of that hugely healthy kid favorite: orange Hawaiian Punch. At least there will be a warm color palette in her classroom even if it's cold outside.

As for me, I'll be spending the day with my newest mountain of laundry. You are so jealous.

ohio, go home.

Back when I was a working stiff, my friend Tommy Taco introduced me to the following concept: no matter where you are (grocery, mall, farmer's market, library), the prime parking spots are almost always occupied by cars with Ohio license plates. Also, no matter where you're driving, you'll always spot Ohio plates. Anyway, he'd see cars from his home state of Ohio and yell, "Ohio! Go home!" It stuck with me, and four years later I still say, "Ohio! Go home!" every single time I see Ohio plates. It never fails. (I'd like to say that I know some awesome Ohio natives, so this has nothing to do with not liking Ohio or it's peeps. It's just a fact that Ohioans are everywhere.)

All that was just to point out that the Ouisers have been in the Buckeye State. S and I headed north with M for a meeting he had on Friday morning. We drove through some lovely weather. Weather that turned a five hour road trip into an eight hour road trip. The drive up was awful. The trip was not awful. The trip turned out to be pretty nice. Here's the rundown:

• The person who invented hotels is a genius and was likely a parent. Between mini fridges, continental breakfasts, swivel desk chairs, heated indoor pools, and lamps that are easy to turn on and off, hotels are like Elysium for preschoolers.
• One hour alone with a three-year-old in Ikea is fun. Two hours is Hell. File that away in your brains in case you ever take a three-year-old to Ikea without help. Or take a flask.
• No matter where you are, your child can be entertained in a bookstore or library. This idea has never failed me. Ever. We spent an hour at the West Chester Barnes and Noble, and if this pregnant mama hadn't had a blood sugar crash, we could've stretched it into at least an hour and a half.
• Henceforth, we will plan a trip to an art museum in every town we visit that has one. We didn't hit in museums in Cincinnati because the weather made travel conditions less than stellar, so M's meeting ran over a couple of hours. We did patronize the Speed Art Museum in Louisville. It was wonderful. They were hosting the Madcap Puppet Theater on Saturday, and we took in a performance of Peter and The Wolf, which S loved. Then she was able to make her own hand puppets. She made a pink princess and a purple princess. You're shocked, aren't you? I hope to go back to the Speed someday without a child because it seemed like they had a really, really nice permanent collection in addition to traveling exhibits. We didn't get to explore much because S wasn't in the mood, but I did get to see a Rembrandt portrait, and it made every trying moment on the trip worth it because it was that good. Really, the masters are the masters for a reason. All the lovely Renaissance pieces on display in the same gallery paled in comparison. And they were gorgeous, too. I love art. Really, really love it. All the way to my bones.
• Carmen the Garmin must have been mad at us on Friday evening because she made us drive literally in circles through Louisville. I was very mad...I had not seen the Rembrandt yet, so I was allowed to be furious.
• The new Honda has now been named. I christened her Amelia because I decided she's a girl. And she's a Pilot. Get it? If she disappears somewhere over the Pacific, I'll know that I was tempting fate.
• We are now home, and I'm baking cupcakes because someone who lives here is turning FOUR in a couple of days and we're taking cupcakes that are "yellow like the sun" to preschool tomorrow.

Now I must go watch some football. My darling Mr. Ouiser keeps pointing out that there are only three games left this season, and I need to watch the Pack win it all. Just so you know, we're mostly pulling for Green Bay because we like Aaron Rodgers, who looks freakishly like our future son's namesake when he has a helmet on his head. Food for thought. Clearly, the comparison would be easier if I had a picture of Aaron Rodgers hugging a younger, thinner version of me or if I had a picture of T the Elder Geomorphologist (as he will henceforth be known) in a football helmet. Alas, you'll have to make due with what we've got.

Later, peeps.

Please note that I used the term "henceforth" twice in one post. I'm bringing that word back into regular circulation.

a collection of random observations.

1. I found out this morning before my doctor's appointment that my OB was the three-time national Rollerblading champion. This is highly amusing to me, but I now know that good ol' Dr. C does not get my humor. When we were discussing the little "growth spurt" I've managed since my last appointment, I asked him, "Would you recommend Rollerblading as exercise for a pregnant woman?" He thought I was serious. Please. I can barely hoist my enormous butt out of bed. Like I'd get on Rollerblades.
2. Speaking of my growth spurt, allow me to tell get all deep and philosophical for a minute. Indulge me, it's a rare occurrence. I have proof that God exists. (For the record, if I were Catholic, I'd probably be excommunicated for this reasoning, but I'm an Episcopalian, so no one will care.) When we bought The Castle, there was a huge full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. One of those great big ones that you only see in old houses. I desperately wanted to keep it intact, so it was carefully taken down and stored in the garage for the duration of the remodel. A month or so ago, M called me out to the garage to point out that a huge shard of it had broken off, and he was going to chuck it. Fine with me. I'm a pregnant klutz. I would likely sever an important artery if it stayed around here. While we still have the $4 mirror from Walmart that we purchased in grad school, I refuse to bring it into The Castle on principle. So, we're living in a world with no full length mirror. This is seemingly a problem, but here's where I realized that it was God who broke that mirror. I suffered the huge indignity of having to try on a bathing suit this weekend. (Huge being the operative word.) When I saw my enormous beached whale of a body in the dressing room mirror, I knew that God took that full length mirror from me to keep me from having to see myself in it everyday. Thank you, Lord.
3. Because I am pregnant and a beached whale, I've been letting things slide lately. Like not coloring my hair as regularly as I should or not coming out of pajamas for days or not even knowing how long my hair is because it's been in a ponytail for six solid months. But I've decided that looking like fat roadkill isn't helping me to feel better about myself, so I'm going to start wearing lipstick all the time. You know, like little old school Southern ladies who put on lipstick to check their mail. In fact, I put on lipstick right after I brushed my teeth this morning. I am certain that this will boost my self-esteem, and when it works, I'm going to market the idea and make millions of dollars. It will be awesome.
4. Pioneer Woman's Chicken Tortilla Soup makes me happy.
5. Now I need a cup of decaf. Later, peeps.

the strawberry that loved to play in the patch.

If you've got kids, you already understand the following statement...and if you don't have kids but plan to someday, you will eventually understand that:

There are very few moments that turn out as awesome and perfect as you really want them to be.

That's not to say that life isn't full of awesome moments, it's just to say that you can throw your expectations out the window. Almost nothing ever turns out as you imagined it. Babies don't sleep during the hours you want. Toddlers won't cooperate with projects and outings. Preschoolers (at least my preschooler) are wildly opinionated and stubborn (so I suppose I should still be in preschool). I don't know what's coming next, but I assure you that I've mostly given up on expectations. As much as I can, I have to just go with the flow, and if you know me, you know that's something.

I digress.

The point is: last night was perfect. It was exactly what I wanted it to be.

After dinner, I mentioned that we should have some family art time. We all dutifully grabbed paper and markers and crayons, turned on some music, and headed to the table. We drew and colored and had a grand ol' time. S wanted to take turns drawing fruits, so I drew and colored a strawberry. Then I suggested that we make up a story about the strawberry, and she embraced the concept with vigor.

We wrote three pages of S's first masterpiece The Strawberry that Loved to Play in the Patch. I will save it forever because she may someday be a famous author, and I'll be able to prove that her illustrious career in words began at the tender age of three. The story is illustrated, it has a cover, and it's bound together with red embroidery thread. It was a lovely, lovely evening.

Of course, now we are going to have to write more and more stories, which is fine until I want to blog about them instead of writing them. Alas, I must encourage the creative genius.

I'll leave you with M's rendering of our family. It's classic Mr. Ouiser.

one of those days.

I still haven't puked. It's not about that. And I refuse to be ruled by fear.

Today is one of those days, though. It's not what you're thinking. It's one of those days during which I must make/do something to my house. If I weren't pregnant, and I knew how to put the third row seat down in the new car, I'd be on my way to pick up the antique bench I bought for our "entryway." Alas, I have to wait for Mr. Ouiser for that.

So these are the days on which bizarre things are born. Like today's Vintage Tea Towel window treatment. Tea towels, embroidery thread, and nails. Done.

For the record, this is the window that's being replaced. My windows are not that dirty. Also, don't say anything about the lighting or picture quality. I'm such a slacker that you're lucky you get pictures at all.

squeaky clean.

This is going to sound bad, and I don't mean it that way. Trust me, I don't. But, somehow. Somehow our house is just neater when M is out of town. I don't know why because he is not a messy person. Maybe it's because I spend less time on dinner when I'm not feeding him and thus more time picking up toys and crayons. Really it's probably an illusion. Anyway, he's been out of town for the better part of the week. He was in Washington being awesome on Tuesday and Wednesday, and he went to Kentucky yesterday. So the house has been pretty well picked up.

On top of that, S came down with a stomach bug yesterday and yacked all over the place. So, now things are picked up and disinfected. I mean, wow. My house is clean. At least the parts we go into are clean. I don't even count the formal room or the baby's room yet (though I did dust and sweep them the other day).

S's sheets and blankets are being washed in hot water as I type, and I'm guessing that I'll acquire said stomach bug as soon as I get her bed remade. I think that's the way it goes, right? You think you're in the clear...then WHAM! I'm seriously hoping that doesn't happen because being pregnant is miserable enough without adding a stomach bug into the mix.

I'm hoping that all of you have a lovely, puke and snow free weekend. Now, please send me all of your barf-free thoughts. I'd appreciate it. And you know I'd do it for you.

Happy Friday, peeps.

a change of attitude??

It's been a busy few days. Since I know you were all waiting anxiously, we did unload the Saturn on an unsuspecting auto dealership. If you're in the Nashville area, and you see a used dark blue Hybrid Saturn Vue, don't buy it. Seriously. We are now the proud owners of a 2008 Honda Pilot, and it's a pretty sweet ride. I've been driving around in the snow like a professional. So, that's one less thing to worry about.

There's also the aforementioned snow. We awoke Monday morning to a few inches' accumulation, so school is naturally cancelled indefinitely. Now it's snowing again, so I'm afraid people are going to start digging out their Y2K stashes.

Here's the whole possible change of attitude thing: snow gear. When I realized on Monday that I was going to have to march my pregnant butt out into the snow for the second time this season, I cringed. And shivered. And maybe even cried a little. Because as a not pregnant person, I hate the cold, but I have the option to layer. There is no layering as a pregnant lady as nothing fits this expanding belly. But then...oh! I remembered that M has an old ski bib/pants/thing hanging in the closet. And a big Colgate-worthy parka in another closet. Let me tell you, I will never play in the snow again without serious clothing. I didn't even mind being out there despite the fact that my hands kept disappearing into the coat's sleeves. Never again, people. It was magical.

My friend J across the pond commented that she purchased snow gear for herself last winter, and it's made a huge difference. Previously, she'd get her boys all bundled up but they could only play so long before she was frozen like Audrey Griswold, but now they can just play outside in the snow until everyone wants to come inside. Really. I realize now that as mamas, we (I am admittedly new to the game) try to keep our kids safe and warm and comfortable, but we never want to spend the money to keep ourselves in the same state. And, people, the kids' stuff will have to be purchased over and over and over again. Those little twerps keep growing. If you buy stuff for yourself, it'll last forever if you don't gain a bunch of weight or catch it on fire. So, I've declared that I will buy myself snow gear next year. (Not this year...I'm preggers, remember?) I will be prepared and mildly pleasant when it snows. I urge you all to do the same because, seriously, if I can embrace the idea of enjoying snow, anyone can. Anyone.

Now, completely unrelated...I've decided that I must not be all bad when it comes to parenting because my daughter told me this morning that she wants to be Kathy Selden when she grows up. Not Hannah Montana or Dora or anyone else. Kathy Selden. Know who that is? It's Debbie Reynolds's character from Singin' in the Rain. I love it. I also love Gene Kelly. He's a handsome devil, he is. Now go enjoy your day.

divine comedy.

I just spent the better part of an hour playing with polly pocket-sized princess dolls. Don't worry...S was playing, too. The chimney gas hasn't fried my frontal lobe just yet. Anyway, we were pretending that the princesses were having a royal ball in a ballroom that happened to be the metal container for S's Victorian Couture Magnetic Paper Doll. (You read that right.) Snow White was wearing Belle's ball gown. Sleeping Beauty (aka Princess Stella) was wearing Snow White's gown. Jasmine was sporting Cinderella's dress, which is actually ripped. There was an actual Polly Pocket doll at the party, too, and she was wearing something that looked like it was designed by Hannah Montana for skanky-kids-r-us. Also, we don't have polly pocket-sized princes, so we had to improvise. We had to use Gus Gus and Jaq (the mice from Cinderella) and The Mad Hatter and a member of the Lollipop Guild that were Happy Meal toys as princes. There was also a nurse, which was an actual doll from her doll house...the doll whose skirt came off long ago and was inexplicably worn by the Lollipop Guild prince today.

Anyway, Sleeping Beauty/Princess Stella got sick and needed to go with the nurse to the hospital. The nurse suggested that she needed to rest for a week in order to feel better. The nurse then made her a cozy bed and gave her a cup of tea (Chip from Beauty and The Beast). Upon putting Sleeping Beauty/Princess Stella to bed, the nurse was instructed to let Sleeping Beauty/Princess Stella's prince (Gus Gus the Mouse) know where she was so he wouldn't worry. So the bottomless nurse went to tell him, and he asked if he could visit her. He then went to visit her, and asked if he could snuggle in the bed with her to make her feel better.

Now, this is a perfectly reasonable request. Especially from a three-year-old who relies on snuggles to make her feel better when she's ill or cranky. But my mama brain fired up and my internal monologue went something like this:

If I say yes to this, what's next? Sleepovers with boys? Thinking her prom date can spend the night? Bringing home boys from college and expecting to sleep in the same bed? Am I dooming my daughter to a future of questionable morals if I let this mouse-masquerading-as-prince snuggle with the polly pocket princess?

The answer is no, but I literally laughed OUT LOUD at myself for being a complete moron. And then I realized that this was a story I had to share.

I hope you all have wonderful weekends full of princess parties and wholesome fun.

the one in which i freak my husband out.

So the chimney repair thing is slightly out of control. We had the drywall guy come in to put some holes in the walls and look for signs of damage or mildew or mold or dead bodies buried within said walls. As there were no major issues to be found, he started patching the holes that he created and threw some primer up over the creosote that had seeped through the bricks and caused some issues with the portion of the chimney that runs through the corner of our closet. The stuff just came right back through the primer, so the drywall guy has suggested that the only way to guarantee that it doesn't eat back through our paint is to frame the corner and put up real walls. This tripled the price of an already too expensive job. We were more than willing to pay for someone who knew what to look for to come in and make sure we weren't slowly poisoning ourselves with mildew. The new issue is another story. Seriously. We're talking about a major chunk of change, and lest you've forgotten, we've got a new car to buy in the immediate future.

Anyway, it turns out that we need to let the whole thing dry out for awhile before we do anything to the brick, so we're just sitting on it for a bit. It's the interior corner of the closet, and other than the inconvenience of having a lot of my closet stuff hanging out in the corners of the bedroom, it's not a big deal.

Now to freak M out. As Paul-with-Drywall (I like how I just made him a rhyming nickname) was leaving today, I told him about my conversation with the chimney expert about needing to let the bricks dry out thoroughly. He responded that as long as we could live with the mess, it was worth seeing if it would solve all of our problems. And then he added, "but you need to watch out. If any of you have persistent flu symptoms but don't have the flu, it could be caused by chimney gases leaking into the house."

Dang.

I've been sick for awhile, and even after a full course of antibiotics, some crazy illness has reared its ugly head again. I'm hacking up a lung over here. Now, I am confident that there are no gases leaking into the house. I am certain that there were leaky gases, but I am also certain that we've fixed the issue. So, I am attributing my illness to the fact that everyone is sick with one thing or another around here. I sincerely don't know anyone who lives within fifty miles of us and hasn't been sick in the last month, so really I'm not worried. It's just food for thought. Plus, I am curious to see if M totally flips his lid and starts making us all sleep in bubbles ala Bubble Boy.

Seinfeld image courtesy of Film Stew.

five minutes and the demise of productivity.

Over on Simple Mom today, they talk about simplifying your life by adding routine to it. Let me tell you, that is Kool-Aid that I drink. I believe in routine. I believe in it with every fiber of my being. Seriously. I learned the power of routine when S was a wee one, and I've not looked back. One night recently, she wanted to read books before brushing her teeth and using the potty, so I let her. We read oodles of books. Then after the bathroom portion of the evening routine she wanted more books. There was a meltdown when I explained that we'd already read all the books we were going to read because it was bedtime. In the mornings, if we ditch the usual get out of bed/make the bed/utilize the facilities/brush teeth and hair, things just don't go right. Dragon breath lurks. S's hair looks like Einstein's. Ten o'clock rolls around and I'll realize the child still hasn't peed and is probably doing serious damage to her kidneys/bladder. It's like that in our lives. There isn't a set schedule, but our routines are important. They keep us moving. We dig it.

So, Simple Mom had a link to someone's every morning five minute routine. Said routine was:

Minute one: make bed

Minute two: open blinds

Minute three: turn off porch lights

Minutes four and five: empty dishwasher.

That's awesome for that lady, but it ain't working for Ouiser. When I am able to pry my eyes open after I hear S moving around upstairs, this is my morning: groan about having to wake up, locate and don slippers and glasses, stumble like a drunk to the bathroom, open the curtains, pee, brush teeth, head upstairs to get the kid, then fake happiness until I am actually happy, which actually happens pretty quickly when I am snuggling with Little Miss Dragon Breath.

So I'd like to say that I understand that in order to make my personal routine happier in the mornings, I should shoehorn myself out of bed before my daughter wakes up. I get that. And sometimes I do because sometimes she sleeps an extra 15 minutes and sometimes I just can't sleep. On those mornings, I make the bed and brew the coffee before I head upstairs to slay the dragon breath. It's lovely. It is. But I'm no fool. To declare that I'm going to get up before the absolute last possible second is a lie. A big, fat lie. It's just not going to happen. No matter how much I like to have the bed made in a timely fashion. I am emphatically not a morning person.

Also, when I was reading that lady's five minute routine, firstly I wanted to know when her teeth got brushed. Secondly, I was amazed at the logistics of the routine. Bed to windows to outdoor light switch to kitchen. Her house must be laid out differently than mine because around these parts, those things don't flow in any semblance of an order. Thirdly, did she actually time her routine? I think it takes me longer than one minute to make my bed.

So that's the five minute part of the post title. Now on to the demise of productivity. I read Simple Mom pretty regularly. It's in my google reader. Of course from there I linked to the five minute lady. Then I realized that I needed to look at a bunch of her other posts because I was so intrigued by her five minute routine. Then I wanted to look at some of her sponsors. Now, luckily, I had places to be today, so I just made a mental note to visit all the links later and left that window open in my browser. Since then, I've thought about it. If I head down the rabbit hole of links, I will inevitably spend an hour looking at random stuff online this afternoon. And, peeps, when I say I've got a mountain of laundry to work on, I mean it. I've got lots that I need to be doing, but there's a good chance that I'll pop my head into the office to look at the computer (just for a second, I swear) and get sucked into the black hole that is the blogosphere. And I realized that I am less productive that I should be because the internet is the demise of productivity.

So there. That's my two cents worth for today. I must now tackle the mountain of laundry. I've got two loads done, and I've got about five to go. Yowsers.

a monumentally bad day.

Let me start this post by saying that I don't need any, "Oh, golly, that sounds awful. Are you okay?" responses. This day was just so ridiculous from top to bottom that I feel the need to share it with the world (or the nine people who read this blog.) Besides, maybe if something bad happened in your day it won't seem so bad when you add it to the stack of mishaps that happened in Ouiser-land today. Or maybe you'll say, "Ouiser, you fool. Listen to what happened to me and be grateful that your life is awesome." And for the record, I've even managed to find a silver lining in this day...which I'll share at the end.

To begin.

Yesterday on the way home from church there was a fairly overwhelming smell of something burning in my car. (This is the same POS Saturn that's been taken in for service three times since Thanksgiving.) When we got home, M investigated all the parts of the car that might be on fire and nothing was even hot, so we assumed it was a fluke.

Now on to today, which was scheduled to be the last day of M's Christmas vacation. I say "scheduled to be" because his boss emailed him on Saturday asking him to go to a Metro Nashville RFP meeting this afternoon. While he tried to get out of it, he couldn't, so the last day of vacation wasn't really going to be a day of vacation. We were determined to make the best of it, though, and we really wanted to go see the Impressionist exhibit at The Frist. So the plan was that we would go to Nashville, eat lunch, go to the museum, and S and I would take M to his 30-minute meeting. We borrowed a portable DVD player so S could watch a movie while M met with other people that got conned out of vacation time.

We're also planning to trade the aforementioned POS Saturn for a Honda Pilot, and there was one that we were thinking of looking at and potentially buying today. So we thought that if S was hanging in there, we might head to the dealership to look at the Honda this afternoon.

Off we went.

It was only 10:45 when we got to Nashville, and S wanted her typical chickenandfriesandasprite so we thought that Buffalo Wild Wings would work. Anyway, at about 10:43 it occurred to me that it was slightly early for lunch, and hey! maybe that smell in my car had something to do with the fact that I was 1500 miles overdue for an oil change. Since we were on a road that I was certain would have plenty of oil change places, we decided to get the oil change before lunch...especially since there was a chance we'd want to trade the Saturn later in the afternoon. We passed a Firestone, and M ran in to ask of they could get our oil changed quickly.

"Yeah, man, right away."

Yeah, right. We unloaded S and headed into the waiting area. We emerged one hour and twenty minutes later. I am not exaggerating even a little bit. One hour and twenty minutes is an eternity when you're pregnant and sitting in a Firestone waiting area with a three-year-old. It seems even longer when Fox News is what's on the telly. So, time check. It's 12:10 by the time we leave Firestone. We head back to Buffalo Wild Wings. Our experience with the dumbest people ever to work in a Firestone was followed by an experience with the dumbest server in the history of the restaurant industry.

Por ejemplo:

"I need the children's chicken tender meal with a Sprite for her, please."

"What kind of dipping sauce would you like with that?"

"Oh, no dipping sauce for her, please."

"Do you want some ranch or something for her to dip her chicken in?"

What I wanted to say: "No. That's what I meant when I said no dipping sauce."

What I said: "No thank you." And I might have kicked M under the table.

Also, let's not forget that we were at Buffalo Wild Wings. This was not a great culinary experience. At least the Cherry Coke was good. Anyway, it was five after one when we stood up to leave. We were about ten minutes from the museum, which we were going to have to leave at 2 in order for M to get to his meeting. We discussed it and decided that M could leave us at the museum because S can play for hours at ArtQuest at the museum, and she is easily entertained for twenty minutes or so in the gift shop. Plus there's a cafe. With cake. We'd be fine as long as his meeting was really only going to be about half an hour.

That was the modified plan...for M to leave us. But then we arrived at The Frist. And there with us? The entire population of the Metropolitan Statistical Area for Nashville. Seriously, there were people everywhere. I don't know why there were so many people there, but they were there in force. S had no interest in any paintings except for one Renoir that held her attention for nine seconds and two of Degas dancers that she looked at for a total of half an eyeblink. She just wanted ArtQuest. Upstairs we headed. The half of the MSA that wasn't in the Impressionist exhibit was there. S couldn't really participate in any of the activities she wanted to participate in because there were so many people. We couldn't visit the Gift Shop because it was closed for inventory. We decided to leave with M after all, and we placated S with a promise of ice cream if she cooperated.

And she did cooperate. She was as good as gold while M was in his meeting. She was even cute. She watched Singin' in the Rain and laughed her head off because she thinks that movie is hysterical. When M got back to the car after what really was (miraculously) only a half hour meeting, we decided that she was happy enough that we could go look at the car. When we got to the dealership she was downright giddy about the Pilot we were looking at. She says we have to have it for Baby T. She was awesome. Until she realized that we weren't actually going to buy the car today. And actually we might have...except that it would've taken too long and it had already been a long day for her. So, we headed to Sweet CeCe's for FroYo deliciousness. Things were going just fine. You could tell that all three of us were tired, but we were fine. We left downtown Franklin and headed home.

Then the big bad battery light came on. I looked up what that particular light meant and was greeted with the following,"If the battery indicator light comes on while you're driving, there is something wrong with either your battery or the charging system. Cease using auxiliary power devices like the radio or cooling system and have your vehicle serviced immediately. Also, you're screwed." I might've made that last part up. As the only place that can service my POS Saturn was pretty close to where we were, I called. They told me we'd be fine, to go on home...besides no one was there who could look at the car until tomorrow anyway. I was supposed to see if the light was still on in the morning. About fifteen minutes later we were broken down on the side of the highway in the middleoffriggin'nowhere, a little place known as Fairview to those of you in the know. S was in tears because without power, there was no DVD. I was almost in tears because I was so over the day. M was not crying or teary-eyed.

First call placed: my brother. "Please come rescue us." Done.

Second call placed: Walker Chevrolet. "I know you said my car would get us home, but we're stranded in Fairview. Now what? How do I get my car to you?"

Third call placed: GM/Chevrolet Roadside Assistance. After a few minutes of "Press one if you're in America. Press two if you're not an alien. Press three if you like Sweet CeCe's. Please enter your VIN number and blood type," I heard, "We are connecting you to an agent." Then my call got dropped. I nearly screamed.

M called them back, and eventually we were rescued by my darling brother. For all I know, my car is still sitting on the side of the highway, but I'm hoping the tow company found it. If not, I hope some arsonist found it. Or a common thief. Because, seriously, as soon as it's fixed, I'm trading it. No more fooling around. I'm sick of it.

So, here's the silver lining. We were all together. If we'd made it home, the car would've died tomorrow. And tomorrow, S and I are driving to Franklin for my sister's birthday dinner...and S and I might've been stranded in the middle of nowhere alone, which is just the kind of thing that ends up on America's Most Wanted or at least in a Friday the 13th movie. We had M with us, and that made it better. Because frankly, I am pregnant and hormonal and it's cold outside and I forgot to take a coat with me today. It would suck to deal with that alone. In the dark. In a small town where Deliverance is probably rented regularly.

That's really all I've got to say. I'm exhausted, and I'm going to find something to take the place of the gallon of wine I wish I could drink. Maybe there's some slightly fermented apple juice in the back of the fridge. Slightly fermented is probably safe for the baby, right?