First Trimester Memories

As of this past Tuesday, I am fourteen weeks pregnant. And, during those fourteen weeks, I have shared nothing about the entire experience via this blog. (However, to my credit, I have documented the time somewhat in a private journal, so that's something. And, to be fair, I didn't learn I was pregnant until I was six weeks along, so really, I've only missed out on writing about it for the past eight weeks.) If I were doing it over again, I would have chosen to write blog entries throughout the early weeks, and then post them after the secret was out. Oh, well. Next time.

Although I'm somewhat frustrated with myself for not chronicling the events of the past eight weeks a bit better, as I reflect on the dark pit of discomfort that was much of the first trimester, I'm remembering the constant state of "...bleh..." that I found myself in. And, I'm finding it hard to imagine that I would have been in any sort of condition to write much more than "well, I threw up again...this is ridiculous"...and that's really not particularly eloquent.

In any case, as I begin what I can already tell really is going to be a much more pleasant second trimester, I'd like to share some of the memories from the past two months, for posterity's sake. Because pregnancy seems to very much be a journey with throw-ups-and-downs, good times and bad, happy moments and puny ones, I'm going to borrow a format (with a bit of variation) from my cousin's blog that she uses frequently and that I admire. So, without further ado, a -/+ look at some of this pregnancy's early occurrences.

(-) Waking up at 4:00 a.m. to throw up

(+) Having a job as a substitute teacher and being able to choose to stay home for the day

Let me say right off the bat that I vastly underestimated the phenomenon of "morning sickness". I knew it was a possibility, of course, but I didn't appreciate (how could I?) what it means to truly be in a constant state of near 24-hour nausea. I was not prepared for that miserable feeling. The morning after Bobby and I found out we were expecting, at six weeks exactly, I woke up at 4:00 in the morning and headed straight for the bathroom. I would say that it was only a psychological response, that I was perhaps expecting to get sick...were it not 4:00 a.m. But no, it was very much the real deal. 

For the five-ish weeks that followed, this was a normal trend that continued throughout the morning and eased around noon. There were several times when I was already committed to going to work, and there were a few days when it took all the energy I had to blow-dry my hair...while I sat on the floor...and took breaks to hover over the toilet again. Not fun. 

There were a couple of days when I was subbing at my mom's school, and during that time I was feeling miserable but still trying to hide my symptoms. And when you're feeling sick and your mother is one door down and you "can't" tell her all about it...well, it's rough, I tell you.

Still, I am incredibly fortunate to be able to stay home when needed and allow myself to rest. How expectant mothers working full-time do it, I don't know. 

(-) Getting sick

(+) A vast improvement in my attitude about it, 

in large part due to Bobby's constant encouragement

No one likes throwing up. I really don't. And that first week or so of tossing my cookies 3+ times per morning was really a strain on my mental health. I was discouraged, and I'm embarrassed to say that there were brief moments of feeling a bit of resentment about the whole thing. I knew the queasiness was a healthy sign, and I was thrilled to be expecting. The problem was that I didn't feel pregnant at that point; I just felt sick. 

Bobby was a significant source of strength during that time. He was constantly encouraging ("you're such a trooper!"), and saying he was proud of how I handled it. As unpleasant as it was for me to wake up in the middle of the night to vomit, it couldn't have been especially great to wake up to hearing it on a regular basis, or hear me complain about my symptoms. He was a trooper, patiently taking care of me as best as anyone could.

Anyway, Bobby thinks I "got better at getting sick". True, it turned into a bit of hobby, if you will, and around week ten, I started just taking care of business and moving on with things. It had a lot to do with gaining a better attitude, but was also a result in the changed physical state of no longer feeling constantly drained. By that point, I was getting sick, and then getting better. 

(-) Not sharing our news with loved ones right away

(+) Sharing a big secret between the two of us

Because the chance of miscarriage is greater during the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, Bobby and I chose to keep our baby news private for the first few weeks. It was a challenge not to share such major information, because we were both immensely overjoyed, and I was also really quite puny. Having family support a bit earlier may have made those initial weeks of sickness more bearable, but it was still special for Bobby and I. We got to celebrate our little one's upcoming arrival together, and that time of secrecy was time that I'll treasure. 

(-) The need to eat...constantly

(+) Dill pickle spears

Pregnancy nausea seems to be relieved by maintaining a full tummy. Ironic, since nausea doesn't at all inspire eating. But, that was exactly what was required. Aside from the vomiting, my biggest early pregnancy complaint was the need to constantly eat. I've always had a healthy appetite, but this incessant eating took a lot out of me. It was mentally draining to be continually thinking about not only what food I could eat next (often not more than half an hour after my previous snack), but what healthy food to eat. A healthy food that sounded appealing and wouldn't cause more nausea. It was tiresome! And it was constant. When I did substitute teach, I took a grocery bag full of food to get me through the day. It looked like far more food than one needed, and I didn't always eat all of it...but I sometimes did. I just couldn't risk running out of food lest I feel sick again. 

There were several foods that brought relief in those early days: lemon drops, oyster crackers, mints, chicken broth, ginger ale, pretzels, dry Cheerios, popsicles, Rice Krispie Treats, applesauce, bread, saltine crackers (so help me, I never want one of those again!)...and dill pickles. 

Cliche as it is for a pregnant woman to crave pickles, crave them I did. I bought three jars of them at the grocery store...for three weeks in a row. They were so satisfying, and I couldn't get enough. If I had to be eating, having a food that was so appealing was a blessing. 

I'm sorry to say that my desire for pickles has waned significantly, but not to worry! I still have a cabinet-full should the craving return. (And I'm really hoping that it does.)

(-) Having a dirty house

(+) Having a husband who understands

I am just now realizing just how exhausted I really was in those early weeks. I'm enjoying a boost of energy now, and things like grocery shopping, loading the dishwasher, and folding the laundry are actually getting done now...which just makes me realize how much time went by when they weren't. Bobby never complained when the laundry sat unfolded in a pile at the foot of the bed for days. (Hey, at least it got washed! Most of the time.) He never complained when he had to stop on his way home for dinner because I couldn't bring myself to make him a home-cooked meal. He wasn't suffering, but it wasn't the standard of married-living to which he's accustomed, and that I so enjoy regularly providing. I hated having a messy house, and feeling as though a nap was all I had energy for. But, I'm so thankful for a husband who not only didn't let me know that he probably hated it as much as I did, but did his best to make it better. 

(-) Getting sick in the BedBath&Beyond parking lot

(+) Only having two public morning sickness incidents

I'll spare you the details. It wasn't pretty. But, for feeling nauseous so often and having to leave the house on occasion like a normal person, I'm quite pleased with my track record of public "incidents". The first experience was actually at the doctor's office, after having blood drawn. (But, I figure it's a clinical environment, so surely they've seen it all, right?) And really, both experiences took place in relative privacy, so that's something to be thankful for. 

(-) Waking up at 4:00 a.m. to eat

(+) Not waking up to throw up

The nausea eased considerably around thirteen weeks, and I am highly enjoying this new pregnancy phase. My drive to eat has eased considerably, too...such a blessing! I still have an appetite, and when I need to eat, my body lets me know...but it isn't the constant annoyance that it was, and it feels easier to manage. My body's new habit, though, is hunger in the early morning hours. I've never been a midnight-trip-to-the-fridge kind of girl, so waking up with a growling stomach is a new thing for me. Two nights last week I woke up and had to make myself peanut butter cracker sandwiches in the kitchen at 4:00 a.m. (If you ask me, nothing tastes good at that time of morning. Nothing.)

After walking through the cold house twice, my new method of hunger control is to make my crackers the night before, store them in a plastic container in the bedroom, and munch on them one by one almost every time I'm up to go to the bathroom...which is frequently. So, throughout the night, I'm eating approximately four peanut butter cracker sandwiches. I'm hoping this pattern doesn't continue for long, but for the time being, it's tolerable, and is keeping my hunger at bay until the morning. (And yes, I'm eating hearty dinners with protein. This nighttime snacking is hardly a result of an insufficient meal, I assure you.)

I think that just about covers it (with the exception of a couple other momentous occasions, deserving of their own posts). What a memory-filled few months it has been!

(++++++) Knowing that in a few months, I get to be a mom

We're Having a Baby!

Our little "Firecracker" is due July 3rd!

Words cannot express our joy.

Oh, Possum....

This morning, 30 seconds away from needing to walk out the door and head to work, Bobby came into the kitchen, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless. Then, he said...

"There's a...'possum...laying in front of the couch in the living room."


I don't remember what I said. It doesn't matter, really.

I looked around the corner and peeked into the living room, where, sure enough, was an opossum laying on its side in front of the couch.

Yes, the floor needs to be vacuumed.
(As though THAT'S the biggest issue with this photo.)
The sticks Royal keeps bringing inside to chew on make
keeping the carpet clean a losing battle.
Oh, well. We (clearly) have bigger problems.

Was it dead? Was it "playing 'possum"? Who could say?! (You never can tell with 'possums.)

The other question on our mind...how the heck did it get inside? And, when?


The point of entrance, we're thinking, was Royal's doggy-door. And our suspicion, mortifying though it is, is that the intruder came inside...last night. As in, while-we-were-still-awake, last night. The interior laundry room door which leads to the doggy-door is closed before we go to bed, and so our little guest couldn't have come inside after that. Which unfortunately means that last night while I fell asleep watching t.v. on the couch in the other living room, waiting for Bobby to get home, there was a 4-legged, hairy critter with a tail (that wasn't Royal) meandering through the house. Ewwww. 


We can't even blame Royal. Truly, I'm not sure he was even involved. If you've met Royal, you'll likely agree that if he knew about the opossum's existence, the likelihood of it hanging out in the house and not causing a stir is slim to none. I just really think I would've been aware of any 'possum vs. dog interaction going on...in the next room. But, who knows? (If anything, I'd rather thank the dog. Even if he did bring the 'possum inside or play with it somehow, there was no obvious chase or damage to furniture, and no bloody mess. Let's face it, it probably could've been way worse.)

Anyway, back to this morning's predicament. Sure, the thing looked harmless enough, motionless and sleeping (?) as it was. But, if it was just "playing 'possum", would it bite when jostled? Jump? Run around the house? What does one DO in that situation?!


My first suggestion was to shut all the interior doors in the house and let Royal back inside. Surely he would bother the opossum enough to allow us to figure out whether it was alive or not. Brilliant, right? (Okay, I'm not proud of my thought process...but it was the best I could do given the circumstance. It seemed appropriate.)

Bobby, using his brain a bit more than I, pointed out that the 'possum could bite Royal, might be rabid, etc., and Royal needed to stay outside. (See? Smart in a crisis. I love him.) So, while I maintained a safe distance from my position on top of the kitchen island, Bobby heroically placed a large plastic bin over the critter. The thought was that the 'possum would either wake up and just walk out the door underneath the bin...or have to be scooted across the carpet.

Of course, the latter was what happened. The biggest problem was getting the non-moving 'possum up over the door trim by the front door. Bobby used a broom, and swept the little guy off the porch. Gross.

We're pretty sure the thing is dead. He seemed pretty stiff, and although he is a nocturnal creature and likely traumatized, the fact that he's been lying in the same spot on the cold grass for the past two hours getting snow-covered seems to suggest that he's a goner. But, only time will tell, I suppose, if he decides to get up and walk away. Ugh, whatever.

Needless to say, I felt a strong need to clean this morning. I shampooed the carpet (you know, since an opossum was laying on it...and was then scooted across it), and then Royal got a bath. Mark my words, the disinfecting has only begun.

It was a funny and obviously surprising way to start the day, and most certainly the strangest situation in home ownership we've experienced thus far. But, most of all, Bobby is my hero for bravely playing exterminator this morning...in his business suit. What a guy.

myPhone: Part III

Last post about my stolen and then recovered iPhone, I promise. (Well, no, I don't promise. You just never know.)

I'm fascinated by the amount of personal reflection and thoughts of faith that have emerged as a result of such a seemingly insignificant event in the course of the world (i.e. a lost phone). I'm thankful for the reminder given by this experience, that God uses the moments we least expect to guide and grow us. Seeing Him work in big ways in our little trials is such an excellent display of His intimate involvement in the smallest of life's circumstances.

My mom's blog post regarding this incident is encouraging and insightful, and truly makes the happy ending to this story "Even Better". Check it out.

Happy Friday, everyone!

myPhone: Part II

In case you missed it, my iPhone was stolen Sunday night.
Now that we're all caught up, let's move on to the really good part of the story....

Last night, Bobby took me to AT&T to get a new phone. I was not eligible for an upgrade, and so we would have had to pay face value for a replacement iPhone 4...not gonna happen. Thankfully, though, Bobby's phone was eligible for an upgrade (read: contract extension). I should mention that if anyone is actually in need of an upgraded iPhone, it's him. He has put up with a slower iPhone model (with a big ol' crack across the screen) for months now, and never once has he complained. As he said yesterday, "it works just fine, it just has fewer bells and whistles". He's a good guy. Bobby used his much-needed upgrade to get me a new iPhone yesterday, one that's slightly better than my old one, in fact. And although an unfortunate and unexpected expense, the cost of the phone with the upgrade was a far more reasonable price to pay, given the circumstance.

Yes, I was excited about a brand new phone. But, I still couldn't help but feel guilty for getting a second, new iPhone 4 when my ever-so-deserving husband was still dealing with a broken old one. We got in the car after making the purchase, and I was moved to tears considering his selflessness and generosity. He never complained. He never balked at the idea of using his upgrade. He just did it...and I highly doubt that I would've been equally as loving had the situation been reversed. I know I am married to an incredible man, but getting such a poignant reminder every now and then of what a truly excellent husband I have is certainly a powerful blessing.

When we got home, I was surprised and overjoyed to discover that my apps and music and contacts (though not entirely updated) were backed up on the computer and transferred easily to my new phone. Last night, as we waited for trick-or-treaters, I worked on getting the phone back to my preferred settings and was officially back in business. Life was very, very good again.

But, the story isn't over yet! Oh no, my friends...read on.

This morning, Bobby and I were awoken bright and early to the doorbell ringing. Thinking it was the utility company coming to read our meters so early in the morning again, I had no intention of answering the door, but peeked out the window curiously. There, sitting in the driveway, was a police car.

"Bobby! It's the police! I think we need to answer the door!" Of course, by "we", I meant Bobby, as I was hardly feeling presentable for an early morning visitor.

But, when I heard the officer say that a cell phone was recovered at a local high school (my alma mater, in fact), and that they were able to trace the number back to our address, I was hardly concerned with appearances. I came to the door and said "no way...." (Sidenote: Bobby and I never actually offered to let the officer come inside. We are so not experienced in proper policeman etiquette. Oops.) The officer (another alum) was very friendly, and his very much unexpected news absolutely made our day.

The individual that we had suspected was responsible for the theft does, in fact, appear to be the perpetrator, and was described by the officer as a "regular troublemaker". (Yeah, that's evident.) After the teenager brought the phone to school yesterday, it was stolen from him (ironic, yes?), and somehow made it into the hands of the school security officer, who questioned the student. And his story wasn't adding up. Why couldn't he get into the locked device? Who were those two people on the home screen?

Lesson #1: Passcode protection on the phone works. My data should be entirely secure, as he was never able to get into the phone. Fantastic.

Lesson #2: A personal photo on the home screen makes it quite clear whether or not the phone is yours. Nobody has a wedding picture of the bride and groom on the home screen of their phone if they aren't part of the happy couple. And, when you're in high school, and look nothing like either of the newlyweds, it raises suspicions. (Although you've got to appreciate the story he came up with when asked who the bride and groom were. Apparently, he met "us" downtown, and took our picture. "That's John and Karen". Good one, dude.)

So, the phone was apprehended and I should be able to pick it up soon, data (photos! contacts! calendars!) in tact and secure. For a brief second, I was annoyed that we had purchased a new phone no less than 14 hours prior. But, my well-deserving husband should end up getting his earned upgrade, and be able to use the new phone as his own. That's what being loving and unselfish will do for you, I suppose!

The difficult question today was determining whether or not to press charges against this young man. I certainly don't wish to ruin a 15-year-old's future, and it's tempting to think that offering grace as a Christian should mean giving him a free pass. But, recognizing the deliberate and brazen manner in which this individual did what he appears to have done, it feels as though the more loving thing to do is to provide an opportunity for him to learn, grow, and change...before stealing an iPhone turns into stealing a car, or worse. That potential for change is exactly what we hope a juvenile intervention does for this young man.

I've considered where my heart is with this matter: am I simply seeking justice for wrongs committed against me out of spite or vengeance? No. I'm not out to get anyone. But, after considering the facts as they've been presented, about this event and about this teen, I truly believe that not getting away with this and suffering the consequences could be the best thing to happen to this adolescent. I'm so hopeful for an even-happier ending to his story.

We'll see what happens.

Tonight, I am feeling unbelievably refreshed. After feeling discouraged and frustrated by this experience, I now feel nothing but deeply blessed. I am grateful that my phone was rescued. I am grateful that my husband will now get a better phone as a result of this ordeal. But, more than anything, I am ever so thankful for the opportunity to realize again what special people I have in my life.

I was at church when the theft occurred, and many friends there offered such encouragement and sweet words when I was so clearly distressed. My parents fed us a spaghetti dinner afterwards, providing comfort and hugs and patiently letting me mope. My best friend checked on me the next day, and gave an enormous compliment that was of more comfort than she knows. And Bobby, besides making sure that my phone was replaced quickly, did his best to make me happy again. He takes such good care of me. ("I said, 'for better or for'...now.")

I am surrounded by individuals who through their example of compassion and love don't allow me to foster malice, but instead help inspire an attitude of grace. This entire experience has reminded me of that; I believe God intended this trial as definite evidence of His abundant blessings in disguise.

How can I be anything but grateful?

These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith

—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—

may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

1 Peter 1:7

myPhone: Part I

On Sunday night, my iPhone was stolen.
At the Fall Festival.
At our church.
How's that for irony?

It's sickening, really, and that's exactly how I felt when I realized that someone more than likely walked away with my phone as I passed out candy in a game booth. (One of the frustrating parts about this scenario is that I knew...I knew...this was a possibility, and so I deliberately hid my purse in a filing cabinet, and thought my phone was out of the way enough to be in a safe place, too. Clearly, it was not.)

I have never felt so violated, so taken advantage of, or so hurt. I cannot, cannot understand how someone could do what they did. They must be in a desperate place, and I am so trying to remind myself of that. Nevertheless, I'm crushed. My phone had passcode protection, and we deactivated our phone service quickly, so I am very much hoping that my data remains secure and that the collateral damage is minimal.

My condition Sunday evening was...not good. I had a good cry once I got home, letting down from the feeling of helplessness and emotional distress. Today was quite an interesting day, sans phone. But, my outlook at this point is greatly improved, and I'm thankful that I chose to hold off on blog-writing until my state of mind could be considered more "reflective" and less so "vindictive". I'm not upset about the phone itself. It's replaceable. (With some birthday cash that I'd earmarked for curtain-making...sigh.) But, it's the apps and photos and such that I cannot get back that I'm sad for now.

In any case, this experience has made me think.

First, I've found myself thinking that the amount that I rely on that device is impressive. It is my alarm clock, my watch through the day, my connection to everyone, my source of news, my camera...and even when I'm not using the phone, I know it's there and I can. (Basically, it's my grown-up security blanket.) To a degree, yes, I'm sure I rely on my phone more than I should. But, it's the world that we live in. And rely on it, I DO.

Secondly, I've thought about the personal nature of our phones these days, and that it's the loss of that personal data that makes this hard. Yes, it's just a phone, made of metal & plastic & gizmos & gadgets. But, the beauty of iPhones (and likely smart phones in general) that I hadn't appreciated until now, is how much it becomes a personal reflection of us. My photos, my music, my facebook, my e-mail, my contacts.... Those things help tell my life story, and it is violating to have that taken away. And, it isn't just the personal data, but the personal habit. Using my phone throughout the day...from checking the ABC News app. as my hair dries in the morning, to catching up on e-mail as I unload the dishwasher...is a part of the habits of my daily life. When that is disrupted, when that is taken away, it doesn't just feel like a piece of technology any longer, but it feels as though it really is a piece of my life. I had no idea until I was forced to spend a day without my iPhone, just how much I use it...and enjoy doing so!

Third, I realize that having an iPhone stolen is hardly the worst thing that could happen. To even have have once had an iPhone, for goodness sake, is evidence of my being a part of a very privileged segment of the world's population. I know that life could be so much darker for us than it is. Relatively speaking, this still only falls in the "annoying" category of the difficult experiences that life can bring.

Finally, I really wish someone had told me about MobileMe or the FindMyiPhone app. before this happened. Sure, everyone was happy to tell me about the perks of such apps once it was too late to be of any use to me. Haha. Everyone was sincerely trying to help, but it is truly an awful feeling to think that, had I had such a tool on my phone, I could've tracked the stolen device or wiped the phone's data or done something else similarly useful. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. So now, besides just feeling bummed that I didn't have an obviously well-known phone feature that could've saved me from this emotional turmoil, I'm also left wondering, "what other super-handy things do my friends and loved ones know about that I don't?!" Please share, won't you?

On a similar note, do you know what the iTunes App Store shows as the example of what the FindMyiPhone app can do? Take a look.

Emily's iPhone located? Really? Just plain cruel, don't you think? Tell me about it.

(Stay tuned for an update. This story is just about to get good!)

Christmas in October

The Christmas decor is up at Walmart, and it's been on display at Hobby Lobby for weeks now...and I am bothered when I see that commercialism beginning so soon. I'll be holding off on decor and preparation until November 25th (at least). I have a strict rule: no Christmas-anything until after Thanksgiving. (Apparently I'm "old school" like that....)

So, as you might imagine, when I joined the Christmas Choir at our church and our first practice began in August, I was admittedly a bit apprehensive about listening to Christmas music so early.

My cousin will smile at what I'm about to say. She's from the school of thought that Christmas music can never come too early. My dear sister, who shares my feelings about giving each holiday and season its due time, might disown me...but I do hope she doesn't.

The fact is, I am truly enjoying listening to and singing Christmas music in October. (To be clear, sis, it's just the choir music, I promise!)

Most of my mornings in recent weeks have begun by singing along (with gusto!) to the rehearsal CD in the car on the drive to work. The songs are jubilant, beautiful, and with lyrics like "arise...come alive!!!...", how can one help but to be awakened and ready to start the day? My morning "rehearsals" have been such a worshipful time.

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign:

The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son,

and will call him Immanuel.

Isaiah 7:14

(This is, interestingly enough, not my first post this year about singing Christmas music out-of-season. Remember this one in April?)

I always greatly enjoy and appreciate Christmas music in the weeks leading up to December 25th. And, I know that when December rolls around (shoot, when the day after Thanksgiving rolls around!), I'll be ready to play my Jim Brickman Christmas albums (yes, plural) on a regular basis. But, what I didn't expect was the appreciation that I've found for these carols right now.

Right now, the shopping frenzy has not begun. The television commercials are not yet emphasizing finding "just the right gift", and our minds aren't overwhelmed by what "must" get done before Christmas morning. The decor & the shopping & the wrapping & the baking & the parties are all such fun! But, they can lead to a frenzied and overly-busy month. Right now, I just get to reflect on the message of Christmas through the music, without the distraction of all of the other things that December holds.

There is something to be said, I believe, for having a few weeks of mental and spiritual preparation for the holidays. Who would've thought that by listening to Christmas music in October, God would bless me with the chance to do exactly that?

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6

Six Months

Six months ago Friday, we closed on our house! We didn't move in until a month or so after that, but we have officially owned our home for half a year (plus four days) now. Wow. We've done a lot of living in the past six months, and have still been able to spend a lot of time working on the house, too. The progress we've made in these past months is considerable, and I'm so very proud of what we've accomplished.

New paint, new hardware, new furniture...a new "look". We're definitely making our mark here.

Those dents in the garage door? Yep. That was all us! (Okay, that was all me.)
The paint stains on the carpet? That was me, too.
Royal has chewed the trim in the laundry room, and the window screen in the guest bedroom has a few Royal-related scratches.
(Seriously, Bobby, have you not damaged anything? I'm the destructive one?! I didn't see that coming.)

But, I love all of that. It means we live here. Are we trying to destroy things? No. We take a lot of pride in our home, obviously. But, a house doesn't turn into a home because of a new paint job. Instead, it's the living and the memory-making that takes place there (for better or worse!), that makes it a special place to be.

We don't want to fix the garage door right now (let's be honest, I could damage it again!), and for now it serves as a reminder to me that accidents happen. The paint stain reminds me how hard we worked to paint for so many weeks, and how much fun it was for Bobby and I to take on that project together. And the Royal stuff? Well, we love that dog, who undeniably brings us more joy than the times that his behavior reminds us that he's very much still a puppy. I hope those bite marks always make me think of him, and these past few months when the three of us made the house our own.

In many ways, it feels like we've lived here for far longer than six short months. We're so very content, very comfortable, very much "at home" in this space, and that's exactly the way it should be.

Objects In Mirror

Did anyone destroy their car's passenger-side mirror while reversing out of the garage to head to work this morning?

Nope? Just me then?

Cool.

Yes, that is how my day began. Which was a shame, too, since it had otherwise been such a lovely Friday morning, complete with a new outfit combination and a hot cup of Hazelnut-flavored coffee. And then I had to go and complicate it.

This little accident is especially annoying since I was making a deliberate effort to not let it happen. I had my foot on the brake, and I was watching the mirror and the garage closely to avoid such an incident. (Which I knew would happen one day. It's a tight fit in there.)  But, I clearly wasn't watching closely enough. The ol' Camry had a little more 'get-up-and-go' reversing power than I gave it credit for today, and before I could stop it, I just watched the mirror get crushed.

GARAGES TO THE SIDE OF MIRROR ARE MUCH CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.

In all fairness, I'm convinced the garage is out to get us, as this is not its first offense. The garage door may or may not have been shut twice on the tailgate of Bobby's truck in recent weeks...and the person responsible for that misfortune is still very, very sorry.

The matter of fault in today's incident is largely irrelevant and placing blame is clearly unhealthy. But nevertheless, it is being contested a bit between the mister and I. For reasons I shall not describe, I am inclined to believe that my dear husband shares some of the responsibility here. (Although I'll admit, Bobby, my preliminary estimate was a tad unfair. 75%-25% is too harsh. I was the one behind the wheel, after all. And...all of the vehicular damage suffered in recent memory has been my fault. I'm willing to go 95%-5%. Thoughts?)


Why is accepting fault so difficult? ... I really should man-up and accept 100% of the blame, but why do we (or really, is it just me?!) feel that urge to diffuse responsibility? EVEN IF someone else IS even a little bit responsible, why does it feel so unnatural to say "it was all my fault"? There are people who are able to do that. I, however, have obviously not matured to that point just yet. 


This is another opportunity to grow, I suppose.

So, we have this unexpected expense for something that probably should've been avoidable and I wish wouldn't have happened. (Guess that's why it's called an accident....) I would've preferred to spend the money it will take to fix it on something more fun...like, say, a bathroom doorknob. (Hey, 'fun' is relative!)

This hasn't ruined my Friday, though. Heavens, no. I'd have to put this pretty high on the imaginary list of "Top 5 Annoying Things That Have Happened to Us This Year", and goodness...it could be so much worse.

Life is too short to lose perspective on the true magnitude of annoyances like this, and there's no looking back. I mean, really, in my case, there's no looking back...the mirror's broken, remember?

Puppy Love

This morning I substituted in a kindergarten classroom. When one of the little girls came in the door, she stopped in her tracks, eyed me, and quite emphatically said, "Whoa, what are youuuu doing here?"

To which I replied, "Well, good morning to you, too, dear."

I thought, at that point, that it might be a blog-worthy exchange...until 4th grade happened this afternoon.

Specifically, one pre-pre-pubescent 4th grader happened, who we shall refer to as "Romeo".

And here you were, reading the title and thinking this was another post about Royal. Oh, how wrong you were.

There I was, minding my own business, just passing out papers to the class before the end of the day.

Romeo: "Mrs. Phillips, I would gladly take a bullet for you."

Me: "Hmm. That's quite generous of you." (I walk away thinking, "that's quite the line! Surely he's just heard that somewhere and has no idea what that even means.")

And then, as the rest of the students were lining up the door, Romeo asked if he could tell me something to the side "real quick". I had no advance warning of what was to come next. (Except for that whole "take a bullet" thing. Yeah, I guess that should've been a clue.)

Romeo: "I'm like, really, pretty much in love with you."

Me: "Oh!"

Okay, before you pass judgement on my lackluster response, what would you have said, to a 9-year-old, in-the-moment like that? With a classroom full of students about to head out the door, I might add! Sure, in hindsight I can think of several other responses ("I'm married! ... "Do you have ANY idea how old I am?! ... "Gross!"),  but again, I was kind of put on the spot there.


I'm hoping (and it's entirely probable) that he'll forget he ever felt this way. However, given his boldness in expressing his (...gulp...) "love", I may just have the chance to express my very-much-non-mutual feelings another day. Probably won't use the "Gross!" response, though, so rest assured.... 


Me: "How do you know you're in love?"

Romeo: "Pretty much just how you look. (face turning red) ... I think I have a problem."


Yes, child, I'd say you do.

I'm more on-guard against such "feelings" when I'm teaching in, oh, a middle school classroom. (Although, I'm usually forced to be so strict when dealing with 8th graders that I'm quite certain my demeanor negates any feelings of attraction! Not a bad thing.) But, I've never before (to my knowledge, anyway) been the object of a 4th grader's affection. So, note to self: 4th grade boys can think they're in love. Yikes. Who knew?!

Romeo is surely innocent enough...an expression of "puppy love" at its best. But this is, of course, a somewhat delicate situation to be in. There are far too many incidences of inappropriate behavior in school environments and so my awareness is heightened of the importance of my thoughtful response...for those obvious reasons, and because it would also be inappropriate to carelessly crush a young man's confidence at a delicate age.  Given that confidence, I'm sure he will have many, many age-appropriate romances ahead of him. I hope he does. More importantly, I'm hopeful that he'll be taught that those romances should be based on far more than just appearance.

For now, though, he's just got to learn that hitting on the teacher isn't the wisest decision.

That'd be a good start...and I'll choose my words wisely.