Tuesday, June 17, 2008
With a new baby on the way, we jumped at the chance to snag one of the brand-new-never-been-lived-in-before houses on the Air Force Base. We're currently living on base, in a 13 year old stucco disaster. There are cracks and gaps everywhere you look. Bugs come in, literally, by the hundreds. Spiders, scorpions, ants, crickets, pill bugs, roaches, earwigs, beetles, you name it. In our carpets, on our walls, and especially in the bathroom and kitchen. This morning I noticed a family of baby beetles, maybe 50 or so, had invited themselves in under our front door, and died right there on the tile. All the weather stripping in the world wouldn't be enough to keep these suckers out. We roll up towels and shove them up against the door in hopes to block the air/light, and this keeps the larger bugs out for the most part. The day that we got the keys to our new bug trap, Christopher had to come in and vacuum up thousands of insects. Some dead, some alive. We had no idea how much of a problem it would turn out to be. You can follow an earwig or ant with your eyes, and watch it disappear into an invisible crack in the wall. I'd hate to see whats going on in there. When we got the keys to go look at our new place, there was not a single bug in sight. I can't wait. Our new place is a town home, 3 bedroom, 2.5 bath, laundry room, 2 car garage, hardwoods downstairs, carpeting upstairs, and did I mention never-been-lived-in? While the backyard is slightly sloped, and we won't have nearly as much privacy with our neighbor's being able to see into our open windows, it will be clean, and ours. I told Christopher I don't care how many kids I pop out before now and the time we leave this base, we're not moving again.
Monday, June 16, 2008
My dad does everything to the absolute extreme. Yesterday I talked to him for the first time in probably over a month. I talk to my mom a few times a week, but its usually just dead air when my dad is on the line. So we start out talking about the basics, "how are you?" and "hows the weather?", which in Texas, is hot and nearly 100 everyday. He starts to talk about how he went to clean out their motor home (that they can't afford to take anywhere), and how he found a large family of mice living inside. About 20, he said. And here comes the extreme part... he got rid of them, with a shop vac. When I replied with "Dad!", he went on to say "I didn't hurt them, I just sucked them up and then dumped them into the field out back". Me being pregnant and full of uncontrollable hormones, I had to ask if he hurt any babies. Rather than just saying yes, I have to give him a slight amount of credit for trying to soften the blow. "No. I didn't hurt them. They just got sucked up and thumped through to the other side". ...Wow Dad.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Yesterday while I was milking my morning sickness for all its worth, the husband took the daughter to the park a few houses down. While I was enjoying watching "Can't Buy Me Love" in peace and quiet, I started feeling lonely. They'd be home any minute, right? ...aaaany minute. Finally, I peeked through the blinds to spy on the fam, and there was Christopher, running full speed towards the house. ...Where's Eleanore?! So I jump up, practically naked (hey, its hot here alright? you do it too.), wrap a baby blanket around myself, and meet him at the door. "Whats wrong, whats happened?!". He has a smile on his face, so it can't be that bad. He tells me that Eleanore has found a mud puddle, and he needs to get the camera. While I'm moody, and angry that hes down there having fun with her while I'm feeling lonely by myself in the house, I decide to put my dress back on, and walk down there because this is something that I knew I would regret missing. This I decided, after I had slammed the door on him for a stupid reason. So I march my sore, rapidly growing body across our community front yard, grumbling to myself for one reason or another. My hormonal anonymous anger was swept away as soon as I saw my wittle oink oink rolling down in the mud like a cute wittle baby piggy. <--- yes, that was me baby talking, it happens, haha. Christopher had taken a few pictures, before handing me the camera and saying "here, you're better at this than I am". I can't believe he said that. See ever since I met Christopher, hes been taking pictures. He seemed to have fancy cameras and know quite a bit about photography. I've always liked taking pictures, but never had the nice equipment or knowledge of anything more than pointing and shooting. The first time I saw Christopher's developed pictures, I raised my eyebrow and crinkled up my nose. ...They really weren't that good? Finally one day I had to bring it up. "Babe, maybe photography isn't your thing". Uh oh. Big fight, get ready for it. I really didn't want to fight, I was just trying to... I don't know, ya know? Anyways, it turned out that I was a much better photographer, and picked it up right away. If you can imagine, this made imaginary steam shoot out of Christopher's ears. And it made me feel guilty. We decided to buy a digital camera right before Eleanore was born, which for us was a huge deal, since just a few months prior we couldn't even afford more than a days worth of food. Wait, whats my point again? ...Dangit, pregnancy makes me crazy I swear. Oh yes, so, if I wouldn't have met Christopher, then I wouldn't have had Eleanore, and I wouldn't have bought this crappy camera, and I wouldn't have started taking pictures, and I wouldn't be pregnant again, and I wouldn't have been moody last night, and I wouldn't have gone out and taken my new most favorite picture of all time. *Thanks for dealing with my hormones hon*.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
It has been way too long since I've gone to a concert. The last time I went, I was 6 months pregnant with Eleanore. I moved away from Portland a week later. Can you believe that its been two years? Neither can I. Abilene isn't exactly thumping with bass beats or screaming with wind carried vocals. And as far back as I can remember, I associate summer with music. I feel kind of lost in the warm weather if there's not a tour to tail or a new album to play on repeat. And I'm not kidding when I say play on repeat. I can listen to the same 12 songs over and over again until most people would want to pull their own hair out. I'm kind of known for it actually. All of my friends would agree that riding in my car is probably both predictable and annoying. Christopher has gotten used to it. Back in the day when we had first met, I cruised around in a bitchin Kia Sportage convertible, with the music blasting. I remember one time I picked Christopher up from his house when I got off work, and an Eagles song came on the radio. I turned it up as we crossed the Fremont Bridge, and sang so loud it didn't matter how off key I was. I looked over at him in the passenger seat ...aaaand, nothing. Why wasn't he singing? Not only was he not singing, but he looked mad even. How can the Eagles make anyone mad? I think most of us grew up listening to them. So I turned the volume down, and asked something along the lines of "you... don't like Hotel California?". He turned and looked at me, and then replied with a "Nope", said in a way that was meant to make me feel like "I'm better than you. You like bad music. And for that you suck". He had no explanation as to why when I asked. He just, didn't like them. So from that point on, whenever the Eagles would come on the radio, I'd turn it up to maximum volume and wait for him to crack. Wait to see him mouthing the lyrics out of the corner of my eye. It turned out later on, that he made that up. He said that about every band. If someone liked it, then he didn't. He was that guy. (I was right, he did like the Eagles!!) I vowed never to be that girl. He has no problem making fun of himself for the way that he used to front, which is good, because I tease him for it pretty much daily. And at one point in our relationship, he had purchased 2 of the same Eagles albums. If I like a band, or a song, or an anything, I don't want to be ashamed of it. My sister in law once put me down (not to my face, but in a forum that I stumbled upon accidentally. She apologized and had the moderator delete her comments, and that was that) me for liking Disney movies. Saying I couldn't be "punk", or "emo", or "rockabilly" if I liked Disney. ...Says who?! I don't claim to be any of those things (I think its pretty high-school to label yourself in those ways), but even if I did, I'd like to think that I could be any or all of them, and still have the freedom to like whatever I want to like.