Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

This is our first Christmas in our own home and we don't any family visiting. My mom is coming out on the 27th, but she won't be here for any actual Christmas festivities. I thought I would be sadder about not seeing my family this year, but I'm looking forward to a quiet Christmas morning with our little family for a couple hours before we visit with friends and have brunch. And when I say quiet I'm anticipating chaos and an over-stimulated toddler. I thought we would be having a low-key, less-gift Christmas this year but our little downstairs tree is practically dwarfed by the mountain of gifts around it. And that isn't even including Parker's play kitchen. It's a bit overwhelming.

Because we're doing a Christmas morning brunch we opted to do turkey Christmas Eve. Karl's work gave us a free turkey this year so I decided to go all out. I have never in my life cooked a turkey. I'm not even sure how big the turkey we have is, but I'm hoping not too big to defrost in the sink tonight. Karl and Parker are excellent eaters, but I doubt the three of us can polish off a whole turkey this weekend so we've invited a friend to join us. I bought a roasting pan. I bought brussel sprouts and turnips for the first time in my life. I'll be making my mother's traditional stuffing (Stove Top) and trying my hand at gravy. (I've got a Swiss Chalet mix in the cupboard in case of emergencies.) I am ready. I am capable. I am borrowing a meat thermometer so I don't kill us all.

Parker surprised us with an early Christmas gift this week and now we're all getting over colds. The only surprising thing about it is that it's the first cold I've had since the summer, and my son likes to lick shopping carts and gives the occasional open mouthed kiss. We were well overdue, but it looks like we'll be healthier for Christmas. I decided to give in to the cold and have spent the week taking it easy and staying hydrated the best I can. It's helping, but has kind of done a number on my Christmas baking. I've been meaning to try my hand at dairy-free butter tarts (as per Karl's request) all week, but I blinked and now it's two days before Christmas. This is probably a good thing. Christmas baking is my weakness.

I love our church, but they always add modern lyrics or choruses to traditional songs and it kind of drives me crazy. I don't mind updating traditional songs once in a while, but sometimes I just really want to sing about the joy of Christ's birth without getting distracted by the other song randomly spliced in there. I love Christmas music and I know that sometimes the same songs get tedious year after year, but there's a reason they still resonate as true. Nothing reminds me more of why we celebrate at this time of year than O Holy Night or any of those traditional songs. "Truly he taught us to love one another." Those words really convicted me last year. Non traditional Christmas music is great, too, though. I Celebrate The Day by Relient K is one of my favourite Christmas songs. When you listen to the words it just blows my mind. "The first time that you opened your eyes did you realize that you would be my saviour?"

Merry Christmas, friends.

Currently.

craving: Chocolate. I went to the gym last night to walk like an old person on the treadmill. I normally go Friday nights and there's no one there, but apparently Mondays are for righting weekend wrongs and it was really busy. No one around me was running, either, it was just a bunch of walkers. Apparently I'm not the only person that enjoys walking on the treadmill before dinner. The thing is, the last couple times I've been to the gym to get my senior citizen on, I've really felt it afterwards. Last night I ended up on the couch with a heat bag on my back because apparently any exercise whatsoever is going to make me cramp these days. Holla at the almost third trimester. As a woman, I associate cramping with chocolate. Thus the craving. If going to the gym is going to send me into a chocolate eating spiral I should probably just give up on fitness. It seems counter productive.

watching: Call the Midwife season 4. I got it from the library but couldn't get through it all before I had to return it. Gone are the days of binge watching shows in a week. I contemplated bringing it to work to watch on my lunch break, but I cry during every single episode. I feel like I need to maintain some dignity.

wishing: That the American election would make the US dollar go down. I know I'm horrible, but even if it just does it for a day or two I'd be happy. I really want to order some yarn off KnitPicks and I can't afford to pay 25% more for the exchange rate. Remember when the Canadian dollar was higher than the American? Those were the days. I also want to buy my dad this mug. 

anticipating: Two things. I have a package waiting on my front porch at this very minute with the most amazing mug in it. I'm talking about the kind of mug I daydream about. I can't wait to drink coffee out of it in three months from now. (Why can't I have a sugar aversion instead of coffee? Life is hard when all you want to do is eat Mike and Ikes.) Also, I'm going on a husband-less babymoon tomorrow. I'll be in Victoria until Sunday night, snuggling my friend's brand new little guy, dancing in the rain, eating so much west coast food, and finishing up my Christmas shopping. Other highlights will include going to the bathroom alone and attempting to sleep past 7 a.m.

organizing: The baby's room. This is taking much longer than anticipated due to having another child to look after, but I'm getting really excited about it. I have a couple days off next week so I'm hoping to make some real progress. There are few things I enjoy more than organizing a space while listening to a good audio book.

cooking: There's a beef stew in my crock pot at the moment and I made shepherd's pie on Sunday. Last week I made lasagna soup and decided to try making French bread to go with it. French bread and I have an abysmal success rate, but I managed to make three delightfully edible loaves. We ate a lot of white bread last week, including French toast Sunday morning. I'm basically Martha Stewart. .

reading: I'm just about the start The Story of the Trapp Family Singers. I'm excited. I also finally joined Goodreads and I kind of love it.

planning: What I'm going to eat once I give birth. Sushi, chocolate cake, and coffee, for the record. 

drinking: Stash decaf chai spiced tea.

eating: Fig newtons. Like an old lady boss.

feeling: Like a whale, gumball, or sausage depending on what I'm wearing.

wondering: If WestJet will let me get away with a suitcase slightly larger than their allowable carry-on dimensions. Maybe if I cry. Also how much knitting I should bring for four days and two flights away.

feeling: Proud of myself for not eating the bag of Skittles in the cupboard I bought for my flights tomorrow night. Every time I get Parker a graham cracker I see them and I get twitchy. My name is Anna and I'm a sugar addict.

missing: This is Us. It won't be on tonight because of the election. Now that I've returned Call the Midwife to the library I have no excuse to cry in front of the television tonight. Hopefully. Thank God for Netflix.

First post of 2016. I talk about poop.

A month or so ago I saw something on Pinterest talking about how to potty train your baby. I scoffed at it because it seemed like an absurd waste of time. Who wants to spend their days holding a grunty baby over a toilet? Do you know how often babies do their business? All. the. freaking. time. I figured diapers weren't that bad in exchange for some independence.

Well. Now that Parker's more interested in solid foods (and trying to jam the spoon as far down his throat as possible) I have changed my story. I've decided that the whole "food before one is just for fun" line is a load of b.s. There is nothing fun about what happens to that food. With out next kid, I'm going to breastfeed exclusively until potty training is done. You can say that's weird, but I would so much rather have a two year old hanging off my chest than deal with that diaper. That mom that potty trained her newborn clearly knew her shiz.

On that note, we had a lovely Christmas. Flying with Parker was a bit harder this time because he seems to know when we have to get up early and adheres to the teenager's logic of "Why even bother going to be bed?" I also, foolishly, thought that taking him on a 6:30 a.m. flight would mean he'd sleep through the whole thing because that's his normal sleeping time. Don't make the same mistake I did. It wasn't too bad, especially since airplanes are full of babies at Christmas, but we did have to have a little chat with our screaming, over-tired baby on the second flight of the day. I like to think the passengers around us appreciated our magnificent parenting style of telling Parker that no one on the plane liked him and that he should probably just be quiet. WestJet will be sending us our parents of the year award shortly.

We painted our living room last weekend and it wasn't as hard on our marriage as I anticipated. The hardest part for me was living in a mess. We didn't live in squalor before Parker was born, but our house was never this consistently tidy before. That's what Saturdays were for! Going back to work in a few months will probably kill me. I hope Parker's figured out how to work a vacuum by then.

There's an extreme cold warning for the city tomorrow. Naturally, I made Oreo ice cream today. It's hard to believe it's -30 out when you're at home in your sweatpants all day. Instead of doing the rational thing and hibernating tomorrow, we've decided to abandon Parker with some friends and go to the movies. You just can't beat going to the movies in the middle of the day.

I finished watching Gilmore Girls last week. It was an emotional time and, even though I'd seen bits and pieces of it over the years, I never actually saw most of the last season because it came on at 10 and I got off work at 10:10 back then. Memories. They ended it so well, though, and I may have cried a little. I'm now very, very excited about what they come out with next. All I can say is, I hope Jess has sorted himself out and that I don't think I'll take much parenting advice from Lorelai.

You wouldn't think Fridays would be so magical, staying home all the time, but they really are. In my great attempts to not eat junk throughout the week five p.m. on a Friday really means something, especially with the teething that's been going on around here. I find that ice cream and Kahlua really help take the sting away.

Hibernation: over.

Hibernating last week was so good. I only left the house twice, both times after Parker was in bed and they both involved Costco. One of those times included late night wandering and Christmas shopping at Winners/Home Sense. Give me a cup of tea and an hour or two to wander around there and my heart will sing a thousand happy songs. I don't even need to buy anything, I just like looking around. When we win the lottery I am going to spend all of our winnings there. We can live off boxed scone mix and fancy teas.

A friend came over on Tuesday night and we watched About Time (her first go-round and my third). I'd thought about cancelling on her but it felt cruel to do so at the last minute, and watching movies with friends is very low on the energy scale. I also had a friend from work over Wednesday morning to for a couple hours to dish over work-place drama and her firing the day before. Drama does not wait for hibernation and anti-social needs.

I officially delved back in the world of the normal functioning folk on Saturday morning when I hosted a group of girlfriends for breakfast. Before we moved, I was part of a group of girls that would have Saturday morning breakfasts. It started as lunches in university, graduated into weekly Saturday mornings, and then, as life got busier, became more of an as-possible event, culminating in an annual Christmas party. To be honest, I'm looking forward to it more than anything else this holiday season. Five more days!

I would also like to formally invite you to join me for next month's breakfast. If you don't do something like this with the ladies in your life you are missing out. It's so easy to get wrapped up in our lives and not take time to just be women, talking about whatever life gives us. Actually, side note, I would love to do this digitally. You, me, coffee, the internet as my living room. Unless, of course, you live within commuting distance to my actual living room, in which case I'm wondering why you're not here right now.

With ten days to go until Christmas (WOO!) we'll be heading home again on Saturday to show off our biggest accomplishment this year.

I've decided that with the end of the year fast approaching it's time to get most of those projects done that I tried to before Parker was born. The weekend before my water broke I was going to reorganize the kitchen cupboards (read: organize for the first time). When we moved in a year and a half ago my goal was to get everything off the counter and in a cupboard as quickly as possible. Then we got distracted by all the other things you need to do with a house, I got pregnant, etc., etc. 

Today I finally went through our Tupperware cupboard (Karl's real Christmas present) and kind of sorted our food cupboard. My tea situation is still out of control, but I feel like I did a reasonable enough job. At least there's some order to the chaos and, bonus, I found way more chocolate than I thought we had. We now have an official can shelf. I feel so housewifey and homesteady.

There is nothing relaxing about going on holidays. It always means cleaning everything that you've been too lazy to do lately. I kind of love it. Hibernating last week meant that I did a lot of the big cleaning so this week is just about laundry, cleaning the washing machine, and knitting up a storm. That and hanging out with everyone I neglected last week. And your emails. Whoops.

Now that I know where I keep everything in my kitchen now I should probably use that knowledge for good and make dinner.

The light on the other side.

Being sick is always the pits until you start getting better. That's when you can still be full of boogers and hacking like a smoker but the worst of it is over and you're ready to scream it from a mountaintop that you're feeling so much better! Now come on, guys, let's drink a glass of wine in our sweatpants and think about all the cleaning we feel like doing.

The post-cold stage this time is kind of like the last month of pregnancy. I see my future and it's not surrounded by used tissues. All that energy I saved from sitting on the couch for three days has been storing itself up into my cleaning reserves. Sure last weekend was immensely lazy, but this weekend I'm dreaming of sanitizing, scrubbing, and tidying like a woman whose water's about to break.

Everything needs to be cleaned. Disinfected. Wiped down. Bye bye, scary dust bunnies and invisible cold germs. Hello, scary Anna.

Now that Parker's more or less out of our room, I'm going to put on flannel sheets and duvet cover on our bed tonight so that we can finally sleep with the window open, just like we did before he was born. I don't even think we used our flannel sheets last year, even when we were sleeping with the window open at -40, because I was such a raging ball of hot hormones and tiny human incubator. So bring on the polka dot flannel!

I haven't gotten excited about Christmas yet and our pumpkin is still on the step. Karl's birthday banner is still on the fireplace, come to think of it, and his birthday was over a month ago, but I just like the way it looks. It snowed last night, though, so I feel the festive urge settling in. Once the house is in good shape then I can start thinking about putting up the trees. Yes, trees. We bought a full size tree during clearance season last year so this year we're rocking both child and adult size trees. We are definitely the fanciest people you know with outdated birthday banners in their house.

I've got a pretty tight knitting schedule going this week. I'm working on a blanket for a friend that got married in August and need to have it finished and hopefully washed and dried by Friday night. It's been going pretty well and I'm really enjoying the process of it, but I'll be glad when it's done. Because that means it's the weekend and hello, cleaning time. When you have a baby it's so much easier to get stuff done when you just need to feed them every few hours and someone else does the rest of the parenting.

Parker rolled from back to front for the first time this week. He decided to do it right before bed when no one was watching. Apparently when babies learn new skills they like to practice them. Even when they're sleeping. All. night. long. It was like having a newborn, being woken up every hour by an enraged baby. Ever since then he's been like a moody teenager. Or cat. Hello, mood swings. But only when it's just the two of us. He hams it up really well for everyone else we see, including Karl. Little punk.

That's okay, though, because rolling is the precursor to standing and we all know what standing leads to. Making Mommy breakfast in bed. Only 19 more months until he's old enough to operate the stove unsupervised. I can't wait!

Lately.

We were supposed to get a gas fireplace installed in our basement today. After a disastrous basement renovation last year we take all sorts of home improvement events with a grain of salt.

With our basement reno everything ran a month behind schedule and we ended up with a bill 20% higher than anticipated. We argued and used our stern voices and negotiated a price that still frustrated us, left them at a loss, ended up with a basement with issues we can only laugh about, and were left with some smug satisfaction in finding out the contractor went out of business not six months later. But there is no more wood panelling, fluorescent lighting, or stucco on the inside walls, so it was better done than not.

Today's one-day fireplace extravaganza was only partially completed so they'll be back tomorrow. Maybe. Wednesday at the latest. It's nice to be off work so we don't have to stress about the time off. I was initially worried about the whole... power tools, drilling, hammering, banging and tiny human with a powerful need to nap once in a while. No need to worry, though, because said tiny human took a longer nap than usual over all the noise so I got to spend the afternoon reading like a civilized person.

And, bonus, there's nothing like the prospect of having strangers over to get you up and dressed with make-up on before 8 a.m. for the first time in months. I even wore my "Democracy: Your voice matters" shirt in honour of today. Parker wore his Team Canada shirt to cheer for the country today, too. I would have taken a picture of him, but he peed on himself and had to be changed by the time I had the sense to do it.

American? Confused? It's our federal election day here. We voted on the first day of advance voting so get to stay home and look disdainfully at all the campaigners that try to sway us with their pamphlets and promises today. I have to say, I am A) so glad my job requires me to be non-partisan and B) SO glad that after today people will stop with the mudslinging and door-knocking. I have no idea how Parker will react to the doorbell ringing if he's asleep.

I probably should have gotten out the Halloween candy for all the canvassers that came to the door. 'Tis the season, right?

We finished painting our dining room table this weekend. Of all the millions of things we've painted in the house this is by far my favourite. We were given our table by one of Karl's co-workers several years ago. It was in rough shape so we stained it in an attempt to make it beautiful. I'm pretty sure we made it look worse. I finally had enough this year and decided that it was time to fix the darn thing up.

Poor quality pictures aside, it's my favourite thing we've ever done and was well worth not having a table for two and a half weeks. We'll probably paint the chairs next year and they'll need to be recovered again eventually.

That marks the third thing we've redone since Parker was born. And also the last because winter is coming and it's time to turn our attention inwards to the actual walls of our house. Eventually.

While we were table-less for a couple weeks, we took to eating our dinners in the basement in front of the television. Because we're classy and sometimes need to pretend we don't care enough about each other to actually talk. During that time we really got into Happy Endings on Netflix. If you've never seen it, it's hilarious and I love it. You should go watch it immediately. But don't try watching it on Netflix because they took it down with no warning. We took Thursday off from it and BOOM, it was gone on Friday. We still had 22 episodes left. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth in our home. It's been a tough couple days.

We learned an important lesson, though, and that's to never take something for granted that's been on Netflix for years. If you find it and you like never stop watching it because, like my favourite burger place in Victoria, if you go away for six months when you come back you'll find it for lease and never again get to have that sweet sweet burger made from Cowichan Valley beef with a gourmet side of dairy-free onion rings a mere ten minute walk from your mother's house. And you will be sad. I loved you Cabin 12. And Happy Endings.

Lately

Pregnancy did a number on me. Mentally, I mean. The nesting in particular. It's cruel, really. You get into hyperdrive with the house cleaning, organizing, folding, sorting, decorating and so forth and all of a sudden BOOM you can't do it anymore. That little creature inside of you motivating you to DO IT ALL is now literally sucking the life out of you (but that's okay, just eat more cookies and it'll regenerate). So you just sit there while he eats, you shovelling back baked goods like they're going out of style (as if), and look around at your once tidy home and remember what it was once like. Sometimes you cry and wonder how you became this person? Not the mom, the freak that enjoys a clean home. Saturdays were for tidying and dangit I liked it that way!

There's nothing like a baby to make you appreciate what things were like before. Not just your house, but your body. Nothing makes you feel like you used to be a swimsuit model quite like having a baby and looking at the aftermath.

That said, there's a new normal around here. And it's being eternally grateful for getting four hours of sleep in a row. A month ago, I was losing my mind excited over an hour of sleep. Look at me now! What whaaaat. I'm so entitled.

Parker has taken a 2-3 hour nap every morning this week. I'm basking in it because I'm sure it'll never last. For instance, I can see him fighting it on the monitor right now which is really unacceptable because, hello, I deserve at least another 90 minutes. What a punk.

As far as the continued nesting goes, I've made myself an extensive list of things I want to get done to keep the increasing mess and chaos at bay, not to mention my sanity in check. As soon as I wrote it I went and reorganized our bedroom which was definitely not on the list. I added it after, though, just so I could check it off. Because that's how you build up your self esteem.

Oh hey, you'll never guess who woke up and mocked me for daring to dream big. Two hours later... I'm back. With coffee. And a half awake baby kicking it in the swing. If I pretend he's asleep, maybe it'll really happen.

So much judgement from such a little person.

I read an article yesterday about how the camera baby monitors can be hacked and someone woke up to a stranger yelling "Wake up, baby!" over their's. Not only is that incredibly creepy, it's just sadistic. Who does that to a sleeping baby? Especially when that sleeping baby's parents are actually getting sleep? I hope they find whoever did it and hide dirty diapers in their hubcaps before arresting them.

Parker's eight weeks old and I'm starting to feel like a human again. Granted, I've been more or less a hermit for the past couple weeks, but it's the to-do list chaining me up, I swear. That and I realized that if he isn't napping well he will if I hold him. And, long story short, somehow we ended up watching three movies on Tuesday. Because I'm a loving mother.

I feel like I'm functional now. I don't have a meltdown at the end of the day if I haven't napped because I'm getting a total of at least six hours of sleep a night now. Two weeks ago four hours was a treat and a half. No wonder I'm feeling so alive!

Last week I was a boss and we walked every day. This week I'm a slob, even though the weather isn't scorching anymore, and only took myself to the gym. The only impressive thing about my first trip back to the gym in four months is that I didn't cry when I put on my workout clothes. There's a garage sale in the neighbourhood today, though, so I'm hoping to take the boss out as long as it doesn't get too hot. Or he doesn't have an amazing nap that simply cannot risk interruption. Okay, I'm a hermit. I change out of my pyjamas every morning, though. That has to count for something.

I got a really horrible entertainment unit off Varage Sale months before Parker was born. I had every intention of refinishing it before he showed up but then I couldn't bend over anymore and figured it could wait. I sanded it last weekend and have been painting it every morning this week, except today because I'm a rebel. I don't know why, but I always think that doing this kind of project will be so easy and quick. Sanding particle board was ridiculously easy but it's taking forever to paint. And someone (me) didn't put the lid on the paint very securely last time it got used so it's a little tacky. And someone (me) didn't think that all the dust in the garage from sanding probably should have been swept up before starting to paint in there. And someone (me) is going to have to learn to be very happy with her less than smooth paint job on her $5 entertainment centre. Aaaand someone (me) is just praying that the horribleness is erased by new backing, white paint, and new hardware. Otherwise that someone (me) will be found crying in the garage later this weekend. So you can pray for me, too. It's just such a tragedy to waste a good nap.

And now I'm going to take my own advice and attempt to roast chickpeas while I still have free will.

Four weeks.

There is less than four weeks until my due date. I'm not keeping track, but it's 26 days. I also have 14 work days left. If I survive.

In the past week and a half my body has changed. Sleeping is so much more uncomfortable, standing is hard, walking any distance greater than that of the nearest bathroom is basically impossible. When I do end up having to walk anywhere, it's very slowly. Too much speed jostles the baby who is firmly implanted on my bladder. More so than ever before. People with walkers could do laps around me.

My hips have started to ache and it makes getting comfortable in bed really challenging. Then, when I've finally gotten comfortable enough to fall asleep, I'm guaranteed to wake up in the middle of the night. Every time I wake up in the middle of the night I'm guaranteed to be awake for an hour. It was really bad last week. I'd wake up, use the facilities, crawl into bed utterly exhausted, then lay there for an hour while my brain ran a marathon. I would think about work (which has been way more frustrating than I'd like it to be right before I'm off for a year), the baby's room, why I wasn't sleeping, the laundry, the kitchen, my hips, feel the baby roll all around, and freak out about the general state of our house's cleanliness. I would plan all the things that needed to get done over the next couple days and write mental lists with deadlines. It was very stressful.

Then it would be time to get up and I'd be so tired. I went to bed at 9:15 one night and still woke up exhausted. Being this pregnant is no fun, I'm telling you.

I started writing myself little to-do lists that I thought were totally reasonable. Then all of a sudden my body was like, NOPE. I can be about half as productive now as I could a month ago. I just get too tired/sore/emotional otherwise. Last weekend was a hard one.

This week I did better with my to-do lists and basically dominated them. I even enjoyed myself. It helps that I put menial things on there that I'd be doing anyway, like "laundry," and more important things like "don't panic." It's good to have goals. And I can honestly say that when I cross off this week's "don't panic" I'll only be fibbing a little bit.

I took before pictures of every room in our house so that I would have proof for myself that I was productive. Even if that just meant doing the dishes in the kitchen. 

Our office (aka overflow guest room) is now cleaner than it's been for months. I like to just stand in the doorway and look at it, basking in the bright cleanliness of it all. It's a beautiful sight to see. The baby's room has a new light fixture, closet doors that aren't 1978 poop brown, and the carpet is on the floor, not in the crib. All that needs to be done is a mobile made and hung, and pictures to be put on the walls. There are even teeny tiny diapers in there.

This upcoming Friday I'll be full term at 37 weeks. I have it in my head that he's going to come before my due date. I know, I'm probably delusional, but I think it's first time mom paranoia. I'm amazed that he's still in there. How have I managed to grow a human inside of me for this long? How has he not gotten sick of me yet and tried to escape?

Knowing that Friday is full term and I'm almost ready is helping the anxiety. We finished our prenatal classes last week and have our hospital tour tomorrow. Once we actually know where we're going I'll be emotionally ready. I may not have a bag packed yet, but my body's tired of pregnancy and we bought a man diaper bag today, so what more could we need?

We had dinner with our neighbours earlier this week. They have two kids, and their son is just a month old. I got to feed him a bottle and get some serious newborn snuggles in. It's hard to believe that in a month I will have my own baby to look after. I had to suppress my urge to give him back every time he fussed because, oh dear, I'm going to have my own to deal with any minute/day/week now and I won't be able to pass him off. It was okay, though, because after he ate and burped and fussed a bit, we got our snuggles on and he only puked on me a little bit. And I totally soothed him. Like a boss.

I didn't always having neighbour kids right next door when I was growing up and I love that our boys are going to be the same age and get into all the trouble together. And by trouble I mean reciting poetry and learning to speak French. Our neighbours also have an awesome play set in their backyard that makes me wish I weighed less than 100 lbs so that I could play on it. We need to build some sort of ladder/zip line from our place to theirs.

And speaking of weighing only 100 lbs, after my co-worker so lovingly pointed out my swollen feet last week, my doctor informed me that he's never seen me look so swollen. So, you know, I'm just getting better looking every day. This is why I think leggings and flip flops count as business casual attire for pregnant ladies.

I also made a trip to the dentist last week. The hygienist commented on how she couldn't believe how much my gums were bleeding and that it was making her hands slippery. I was unapologetic and blamed the baby. If they want to clean super pregnant ladies' teeth they need to live with the consequences. She then commented on how it makes sense, since everything else is really swollen, too. I wish this story ended with me biting her. Let's pretend it does.

And now I'm going to eat waffles.

Lately. And I'm glad I'm not a baby giraffe.

I made the mistake of watching the highlight video from when Animal Planet aired a live giraffe birth. Don’t ask me why, I just did. That momma giraffe just walked around for five minutes with a baby giraffe hanging out of her backside. It looked like she was pooping. It was so disturbing that I could feel my baby recoiling in terror. Is that what happens in the maternity ward? People just waddle around with babies sticking halfway out of them until they drop six feet onto the floor?

I lost you, didn’t I? I might have lost myself for a moment there, too.

You know what confuses me? How politicians announce their intent to announce that they’re going to be running for a position. Why even bother? It’s like doing the same thing twice. That must be an American thing because I’ve never known a Canadian politician to do that. Then again, I don’t really pay that much attention to politics and Canadian politics don’t get the attention American ones do, even in Canada. Probably because people are busy just doing what they intend to do instead of announcing their intent to do so.

FYI, guys, I intend to think about what I’ll be making for dinner later today. I’m just not doing that right now because I’ve got other stuff to do.

I’m really excited to start a job where I’m not referred to as anyone’s assistant, even though that’s not in my job title and hasn’t been for years. If someone calls me my son’s assistant I will probably punch them in the teeth. I’ll be his caregiver. Sure, I’ll be assisting him to live, but, if anything, he’ll be my assistant. In being awesome. I have high hopes for the kid.

I’m not sure why people get so down on Barbie. I’m really starting to relate to her. We all know how unrealistic her body shape is and how she has to keep some of her internal organs in her legs because where on earth would they fit otherwise, right? Well, I think I’m starting to grow part of my baby in my thighs. Maybe that’s where my placenta is living, because holy cow talk about growth. I have to go on an emergency shopping trip to buy capris today because now that we’re out of snow season (one week and counting!) I need to get some fresh air on my legs. And none of my capris from last summer will go over my baby-filled thighs anymore. I know that baby rolls are so cute and everything, but I think that’s only for the first couple years. Anything later in life is just disturbing.

This morning one of my coworkers asked if I’d lost weight. I know. I love her. She then asked if maybe the baby had dropped or something and I didn’t tell her, but the answer is yes, probably, and straight into my thighs. Now go get me a cheeseburger.

According to the internet my baby weighs over 4 lbs now. I’m not sure how I feel about this.

The big questions these days are “Are you ready?” “Are you just so excited to meet him?” “Are you having a hard time waiting?” and the answer is I don’t know. Karl is so excited to meet the little guy, and I admit that I am, too, but there’s just SO MUCH that needs to happen first. I need to finish his blanket. I need to make more blankets. I need to decorate his room. I need to make him a mobile. I need to do more laundry. I need to make something with the dates in my fridge. I need to paint my toenails. I need to clean the toilets. I need to paint a stereo stand. I need to eat more vegetables. I need to go buy diapers. I need someone to definitively tell me if I need an electric breast pump or not. I need to go to our prenatal classes. I need to reorganize our kitchen. I need to have my car vacuumed. I need to get more sleep and exercise and probably drink more water while I’m at it. I need to spend as much quality with Karl while we still can so that we can remember why we love each other when the baby makes us forget.

Last week I bragged about how I was still sleeping like a champ. Don’t do that. You will be humbled. I’m still sleeping okay, but now I can’t get enough of it. All I want to do come 9 p.m. is crawl into bed and sleep a million years. It’s hard, though, because of all the things we need to do before the baby comes. I had two meltdowns two days in a row about it all. If I don’t have one tonight it will be a miracle. Who knew that laundry and unkempt rooms and furniture needing to be painted could be such a cause for distress?

I had a very successful trip to Michaels the other day. I didn’t even buy yarn. My son’s room is going to look like something straight out of a Michaels catalog (if such a thing exists). Let’s just say he’s going to be introduced to burlap and chalkboards and cork way earlier than I ever was. Actually, basically at the same time as me. But his polka dot education will start as soon as his little eyes can focus. Is anyone else tearing up thinking about this?

I still haven’t tried out my ice cream maker yet. I’m trying to come to terms with my thighs and the fact that I’ve basically given up on going to the gym for the next couple months. I tried to suspend my gym membership and it was the most freeing decision of my life. Then I found out I couldn’t and I have extreme guilt again. I hate wasting money, but now that it’s nice out I’d rather go for a super slow walk outside than on a treadmill.

 

Our anniversary is coming up in a couple of weeks so I’m thinking I might make some ice cream for it. And possibly a cake. Or, even better, pay someone to make us a cake. Because there are few things in life I love more than professionally made cakes. And, um, sharing them with my husband.

 

Okay, I'm going to go pretend I'm thinking about my intention to go do something else now.

Welcome to my head.

Now that I’m pregnant people ask how I’m feeling all the time. All. The. Time.

We had a new receptionist start and I’m technically her supervisor but not because I’m going on mat leave and what’s the point, right? So even though I’m kind of her supervisor and she’s never heard me complain about anything on her second day she still asked how I was feeling. Tired, like a whale, and a little hormonal, how about you?  Or how about, like there’s a bag of rice sitting on my bladder at all times so can we keep this conversation short? Oh wait, the bag of rice is kicking my delicate bits and if you don’t move I might pee on you. I’m also gassy, so don’t breathe too deeply. But my hair is super thick and shiny, just don’t mind the GRAY I pulled out of there yesterday morning. It’s still sitting on the bathroom counter awaiting further inspection. And don’t look too closely at my eyebrows because now I no longer have just one light coloured hair in there, but about eight. And I’m too afraid to rip them out to see whether they’re blonde or white or grey because I’ve done the over plucking thing before and never fully recovered, physically or emotionally. Just thinking about it makes me queasy.

And don’t come too close because baby muffin top is a real thing and nothing makes me feel more like trailer trash. As much as I appreciate the one person who said, via Skype, that “it’s all baby!” it’s so totally not. It’s every bad food choice I ever have or ever will make in my lifetime. And there’s a little boy in there somewhere, too, playing patty cake with my insides, but he’s the least of my worries.

The baby usually moves around like crazy at bed time when I’m just laying down to read. The other day he was kind of lazy so Karl thought it would be great to poke him and wake him up. The kid sure showed us and moved preeeetty much all night long. Every time I rolled (which is becoming more and more now that I’m bigger and bigger) he rolled, too. And our bed squeaked its new squeak. And I slowly lost my mind.

When we moved into our house our bed frame picked up a creak. It drove me nuts at first but I eventually got used to it when I realized there was nothing I could do. Well now it has a metal squeak. All I can say is, I haven’t gained THAT much weight that our stupid IKEA bed shouldn’t be able to maintain our girth. If I didn’t have this bowling ball attached to my abdomen I would totally tear that bed apart, throwing the mattress against the wall, beating the frame with a screwdriver and swearing at it until it caved into silent submission.  But I do and tying my shoes is getting harder so my mattress throwing days are probably over for now.

I had an intern at my doctor’s appointment the other day. She was very nice, but very thorough. I probably should have showered beforehand. I’m now worried that there will be a doctor, an intern, and however many nurses and what have yous delivering my baby when the time comes. And maybe their intern friends. Maybe they’ll have their cell phones out, too. And then… Oh, no, the possibilities are just  too traumatic to go into.

I always said that I wouldn’t let myself become a teaching opportunity. Sorry guys, go learn on someone who’s done this a couple times. Now, though, I just know that if Dr. Intern wants to see how it’s done and/or deliver my kid I’ll probably let her. Because I’m too frigging nice. And I liked her well enough. And did you catch it? She’s a her. I didn’t even know women wanted to deliver babies in this day and age.

I have a craving for Fruit Loops. I had a lot of cookies this weekend, but some Fruit Loops with unsweetened almond milk sounds like nectar from the gods rights about now. Some smell in the parking lot made me think of them and now I’m flashing back to summer vacations watching Grey’s Anatomy and eating dry Fruit Loops alone on my mom’s living room floor. Except now I’ll be watching Friday Night Lights with my husband and my unborn child auditioning for Stomp and there will be almond milk in there to cut back on the SUGAR. Which, let’s be honest, I don’t really need any more of. I got weighed on Monday. I’ve gained 23 pounds. And that’s not counting the extra 5-10 lbs of holiday weight I was packing right before my birth control stopped working. Thus the unsweetened almond milk. Also, sweet almond milk is vile, except for maybe in a latte or something.

So, in case you’re wondering, I’m kind of hoping this little boy weighs about 30 lbs when he comes out at this point in time. Probably by c-section if that’s the case. Then with all the extra birth stuff that comes out I can finally get started on my six pack. Hey, a girl can dream.  Or maybe he’ll weigh seven lbs and my placenta will make up the difference. I still want him to be snuggly, after all.  Yeah, I’m going to go with that. Or maybe my leg will just fall off and I can be all, baby weight? What baby weight? I woke up like this!

I had my first fender bender on Tuesday. Well, the first one in traffic where it wasn’t just me versus a parked Mercedes. It was stressful. I’m stressful. What was even more stressful was the fact that I wore a dress to work. Why is that stressful? Because I went to the doctor yesterday afternoon just in case. When you’re growing a baby the doctor always checks the heartbeat at every appointment. That means that pants are a good option. Well, it’s not like the guy isn’t going to deliver my baby or anything, but does he really need to see me in my maternity tights? The answer is no, nobody does.

Thankfully the damage to my car is minor, and the fellow that hit me seemed okay if a little stressed himself. I was a stress case all day, though, and of course I almost got rear ended again this morning by some goon. I would have had a full on melt down and refused to get back in my car until Karl came and picked me up. But I swear I’m not the problem. Regina drivers are the worst. And my doctor telling me that typically car accidents mean you go to the hospital (even if you’re feeling fine?) and that my baby is – and this is a direct quote – “still alive” didn’t help me feel much better about things.

In case you’re still worried, I’m fine and baby’s fine. The guy that hit me was going sideways when it happened so he was clearly attempting to at least stop. My neck was a little stiff yesterday, but that might have had to do with my ridiculously high level of Tuesday-related stress. I got paper cut from a file when I got to work. Then the screen protector started to come off my phone. I so should have stayed in bed yesterday.

It’s been a weird up and down and down then up kind of week. Part of that is 110% the fault of the baby hormones. Monday was good, Tuesday was just terrible, and today started off with me thinking that I seriously should have considered calling in sick because the terrible Tuesday feelings hadn’t really dissipated. Then things started to pick up a little, I got my hands on some dark chocolate peanut butter cups and an iced Americano, finally made it to the post office, and all was well. Plus, my huge stress cloud started to disperse. That thing was no joke. It made me want to crawl under my duvet and cry for four hours. That’s baby hormones for you, making you feel like an irrational teenager all over again.

I have no idea how pregnant teenagers do it. I have a lot more empathy towards them now. I mean, I think I’ve done pretty well with the crazy hormones but when I get stressed, especially where the baby‘s wellbeing is potentially concerned, things can go sideways pretty quickly. Which clearly doesn’t help anything ever but that’s the way it is.

I also think that my stress level has a negative impact on how much the baby moves. It’s like he’s already learning to stay out of my way when I’m in a bad mood, but it kind of has the opposite effect. What I really want when I’m losing my mind is to feel the little sea monster tell me that he’s okay. I mean, I’d rather it come with a jab in my abdomen than my lower regions, but I’m not going to fault the little guy for at least trying.

Anyway.

I want an ice cream maker. And a bigger crock pot. And better food processor. These should be my 2015 goals. My current food processor was a hand-me-down from my mother in law. It works well enough, but it’s got a crack in the bowl and it’s only a matter of time until it doesn’t do its thing anymore. I also feel like I could get something that works better.

My crock pot and I are really working on our relationship. When we moved to Regina I tried using it again for the first time since we were newlyweds. I mastered one recipe. I’m trying to branch out a bit but I lack a lot of motivation. I made beef dip this week for the first time ever, though, and it was life altering. And there were leftovers. Crock pot meals that come with leftovers are like heaven smiling down on me. So easy! Anyway, our crock pot isn’t very big and I want to be able to start freezing some leftovers. Thus the need for a bigger crock pot. I need to be a super mom, after all.

And an ice cream maker. I hear there’s an attachment you can get for your KitchenAid. How amazing would that be? I really like ice cream (because I’m a human with a heartbeat) but I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t as sweet as it always it and maybe had more stuff in it. Like muffins, I don’t need my ice cream to bring all the sweet. I’m happy to just eat coconut whipped cream plain or with a little vanilla. Make it a little colder, and add some fudgy or doughy bits in there? Sorry, my rumbling tummy just woke up the baby. With some beef dip beforehand? If I got hit by a meteor after eating that I would die happy and accomplished. Some sort of ice cream making tool would really make my life better. Just saying.

I should mention that when I have a baby shower. Sure, baby stuff is all well and good, but I would definitely be a better mother if I had an ice cream maker, bigger crock pot, and superior food processor. The crock pot could even double as a baby bath. Minimalism at its finest.

In other news, I want to be a hat person. I think I pull of a toque reasonably well, but I really want to be able to pull off those straw fedoras that are like what Bruno Mars wears. At least, I think he might wear hats like that. I want to be that cool. I keep trying, too, but every time I try one on either my mom or husband laughs at me. And then I get offended, look at myself in the mirror, and realize they’re right and that I do look absurd. Then I pout about it because why can’t I wear cool hats like that?

Karl and I are going to look at a glider tomorrow night and I think it might be “the one”. Most gliders are micro suede, which we hate, and cost as much as a small car. They may or may not come with the coveted foot stools. This one isn’t micro suede, doesn’t come with a foot rest, and costs less than a bicycle. Initially we wanted it all, and I was willing to recover/replace cushions if possible. But then I had a reality check and decided that it’s okay to settle sometimes. The thing is, I don’t sew. At all, really. I would attempt a no-sew cushion cover if I had to, but in my perfect world I could just bust out the staple gun and have my way with things. I still could, I guess, but the results would likely vary. This glider we’re looking at is dark wood, so it’s going to get painted an actual colour, but the cushions are oatmeal and they look like they’re in good shape, plus they don’t really clash with the whole ambience of the room. They’re also the kind of thing that could be easily replaced or (maybe) recovered the no-sew way. So probably just replaced. And foot rests aren’t really that hard to figure out or critical.  

This is my life. Trying to figure out baby room furniture, art, what not. We need to pull the room’s closet door out of the garage and paint it white, make sure it has knobs, etc. I also need to find some baskets and itty bitty coat hangers for the closet so I have something new to cry over. Aaaand I need to look at all the clothes we were given and figure out what else we’re going to need. We have some big decisions ahead. Stroller brand? Baby wrap brand? Bottle brand? Do we have any blankets for him? Mesh bumpers for the crib? A mobile? Am I the worst mother in the world that the blinds we’re hanging aren’t anywhere close to blackout  and I refuse to use a sound machine? What about a video baby monitor? I know it’s like spying on your kids, but he’s so young he won’t even know. He’ll grow up in a world where he has a cell phone by the time he’s three (JUST KIDDING) and 20,000 Facebook friends so being on camera 24/7 will totally be normal. Besides, I don’t want to be the mom that goes into her kid’s room twenty times a night to make sure he’s still there. I’ll just check my video monitor even more. We’re also not planning on keeping him in our room for long because we want him to get used to neglect at an early age. Also, our bedroom is small and whatever he sleeps in (crap… something else to figure out) will probably be right in the way. So I feel like getting our kid used to constant scrutiny is the best choice for us. Although have you seen how much those things cost? Might as well just get him an iPhone and be done with it.

FYI, this post took three days to write. I bet you’d never guess that by the paltry 2,500+ word count but I totally tricked you. Is it Friday yet?

Day seven.

I think it's funny when people talk about living a minimalist lifestyle and how they love living in small places with less things and are so much better than me. Okay, they don't actually say that last part, but they might after this. I love living in a place with stuff. I like the cozy look that comes from crowded bookshelves and walls. You heard me. I like it.

Our house is 2000 square feet (total) with four bedrooms and 2 1/2 bathrooms. And I like it. I like having the room for the baby, the bedroom for the office (grown-ups have offices), the guest room, and our own bedroom. I like it!

I hate cleaning three toilets, especially since I stopped being able to find my favourite toilet cleaning tool and I am really not a poop person (but sure, we can talk about it if you want). I do, however, LOVE having multiple bathrooms. Karl and I use our en suite and the main bathroom at the same time all the time. It's what I like to call a marriage tension releaser. Our third bathroom is for guests when they stay and is in the basement so is perfect for when we watch TV. To be totally honest, we don't need that downstairs bathroom 90% of the time, but it's amazing for company. And commercial breaks.

I like that we have an upstairs living room and a basement with a TV in it. That's what civilized people have. Sometimes I feel like we have too much space because it certainly doesn't all get used all the time, but I know that it does get used. The extra basement space is awesome for kids to hang out in and we fully intend to make it the official play area of the house. You know, when our kid is big enough to play and not just hug my bladder.

People with minimalist style kitchens blow my mind. I had a tiny kitchen for years and it made me want to start knocking down walls, ripping out my hair, and throwing things. Sure, we got rid of our espresso machine when we moved and I'm thinking of getting rid of our toaster oven that we never, ever use, but that's about as downsizey as I want to go right now. I may not have used my waffle maker in a few years but I have room for it and I will use it again! Like this weekend, okay? Baby needs waffles. With coconut whipped cream, bananas, and strawberries. Or maybe raspberries. And a dusting of cocoa powder. What about some cinnamon sugar? I think I just drooled on the keyboard.

Sorry. I got lost in a food fantasy. Which would be hard to make reality in a teeny tiny kitchen, okay?

Oh, man. Waffles.

Now, I don't need a lot of space to feel like my life is worth living. We lived in roughly 600 square feet for almost four years, remember? But having lived in an itty bitty basement suite for almost four years really makes me appreciate what I have now. And that's room to lay on the floor unencumbered. And windows. And a deck. And a front and back yard and who even uses front yards if they have a back yard anyway?

I appreciate the notion of not having stuff stuff stuff everywhere and not finding our worth in stuff because, really, it's just stuff. And it's fleeting and meaningless and we can't take it with us. But I also appreciate having enough space for you when you visit, a kitchen with enough room to make waffles in, and enough bathrooms that if Karl and I get sick at the same time we're not going to risk our marriage over it. I also like that I'm at a stage in my life where I might even have too many bookshelves and am contemplating getting rid of some. I may not be a minimalist, but an empty bookshelf is just as sad as a puppy that thought it was going for a picnic. We don't need that much stuff or sadness in our lives.

I hope I'm not giving the wrong impression that we're super rich people and poop five-dollar bills (in our multiple bathrooms) because a lot of our stuff has been given to us, picked up used, or bought after great discussion and forethought. I'm also not a hoarder except for books. Hoarding would really interfere with my ability to lay on the floor.

All that to say, I applaud you minimalist people for doing your thing and living in your tiny houses with your tiny kitchens and only having enough bath towels as warm bodies in your house. You're great in your own way. But you're totally welcome to come over and use my excess of small appliances any time because I know you secretly want to.

The throne room

I have this problem. It's a weird one, and you're probably going to laugh at me. It's actually more of an... addiction. 

I'm addicted to housework and making this place a home.

Weird, eh?

I noticed it last week with our epic painting marathon (11 hours for me, six of which were on Friday night) and then the cleaning and baking that ensued. I'm changing. I'm becoming the kind of person that thrives on being domestic. Unpacking boxes of books, searching for furniture online (we scored a sweet rocking armchair this week on usedregina.com for $120), and, yes, even painting, give me a great sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. And even, I dunno, joy?

I think I must have gone through a similar phase in the summer of 2012. I was all about the colour coordinating books, painting nightstands, and organizing the heck out of the place we'd lived in for two years. And that's when I learned that I love life so much more when the place I'm in isn't chaotic and things have a place.

So what I'm saying is, last weekend was so crazy full that when Monday came around I was ready for another weekend. Then today happened and I decided that I hadn't enough of painting last week so I gave the above mentioned nightstands a makeover. I feel like their makeover is something to be really proud of. They're drying in the garage right now, but I'll Instagram them tomorrow when they're back in the room. I'm also going to do a house tour before the end of the month. I swear. So if you refuse to look in the sidebar and see my Instagram photo, you'll see the nightstands in that. 

There has been some debate amongst Karl and I as to when the best time to do a house tour would be. He thinks I should wait until the basement's done, but it's mostly done at this point, and it's going to be a few weeks before our current guest bedroom looks like a room instead of a closet. We have company coming in two weeks, though, so I'm going to use that excuse of clean space to bust out the camera. So let it be written.

So anyway, once I was done painting our nightstands and going for coffee with my beardless boyfriend I hung a mirror. Then I was all, "Oh, I'll vacuum the floors because there's still beard hair everywhere, but I'm not going to clean the toilets no way no how but maybe I'll just clean the counters. The toilets can wait until tomorrow."

So naturally I cleaned the toilets. I didn't clean the downstairs bathroom (we have three, and it sucks at times like this) because the contractors are still working down there and every time I look at that toilet I throw up a little in my mouth. I haven't cleaned the darn thing aside from when we first moved in three months ago. It's the contractors' bathroom right now and as far as I'm concerned it doesn't need a cleaning until they're done. Because stranger poop is disgusting and I don't want to deal with it more than once.

You know haow everyone has a weakness and it's either blood, poop, or vomit? We'll I'm a poop person and cleaning toilets makes me so. grossed. out.

I used to use flushable Method brand wipes to clean the toilet and it was awesome. I didn't have to worry about keeping the rag or magic eraser or whatever that was cleaning up the toilet ick because it just want down the drain and was never to be heard of again. Yeah, I know people that clean strangers' toilets without gloves, but I always wash my gloves when I'm done scrubbing the bowl. Because ew.

And before you think I'm a germ freak, I'm totally not. It's just toilet germs. Yuck.

I haven't been able to find the wipes since we've been in Regina. When we went home a couple weeks ago I couldn't find them where I used to get them, either. So I have a question for you, and that's how do you clean your toilet? Yes, I know about the toilet brush and, yes, I use it. But, you know, the rest of it. 

I can pretend I'm okay with the magic eraser on the two upstairs toilets, but I fear the downstairs bathroom more than you could ever know. At least a dozen strangers have used it. For at least two months. I might need to burn my gloves once I'm done down there. 

So, please, give me your tips, tricks, and helpful hints as to how you don't vomit every time you clean your toilet.

Turning up the base.

Well then. June has been a crazy month so far. I had every intention of sitting down a week ago (I can't  believe it was only a week ago) and telling you a bit about the most traumatizing part of it. But then I was so traumatized that I couldn't relive it right away and now, here I am, nine days later finally getting around to it.

We got possession of our house 11 days ago and pretty much everything since the week before that has just been packing, moving, cleaning, and painting. And that last bit was the traumatizing bit.

Since moving to Regina, Karl and I noticed a disturbing trend in home decorating. Well, we noticed a few actually. We now live in a city that gets winter for six months out of the year. That's a pretty big contrast to a city that gets about six days of winter a year, like Victoria. Living in subzero temperatures for 50% of their lives here leads people to do some odd things with their houses.

The most disturbing outdoor decorative choice I've found it people's desire to paint their houses weird colours. Robin's egg blue is not a good colour for your house, or even your trim. Actually, it's even worse on your trim when your house is a typical shade of pooh brown. Like our house. But luckily our house's exterior has a working colour scheme of poopy brown and some other neutral. There's at least some cohesion.

Also, Christmas decor. I have never seen Christmas decorations up in May at such a high number of places. The prairies really are more religious.

Another outdoor architectural feature that's common here is brick. Don't get me wrong, I love brick, but not like this. Almost every house here has brick on half of the front. If it's not brick it's a mismatched wood panelling of some sorts. Houses in Regina are like the mullets of the real estate world. Stucco? Brick? Wood? No need to choose when you can have it all at once!

I digress. Our house has some of that brick and wood thing going on but it's tasteful because it's just the chimney. And, aside from being the colour of soft poop, our house is lovely. But I might be a little biased already. I mean, it is my first house.

The big decor choice that many Reginan homes boast, though, is oak baseboards and trim. Whether they're real oak or not isn't the issue. The issue is that the majority of houses are all decked out in this really fab oak style trim. I mean, whoever decided to build a city on a swamp with mix and matched fronts of houses decided to take it to the next level. If you can't go outside in winter for fear of freezing to death, why not bring nature inside with a nice helping of wooden baseboards and trim! They look so nice next to the hardwood floors that most houses have here.

Puke. About the baseboards, not the hardwoods.

Karl and I knew that as soon as we got possession we were going to exorcise that scourge that our beautiful little house had inside of it: wooden baseboards and trim in the living room and hallways.

Thankfully, the previous owners had updated the trim in the bedrooms, kitchen, and bathrooms. The sexy basement doesn't need trim, but that's another story altogether and we'll save it for another time.

I'm not a superstitious person, but maybe getting possession on Friday the 13th and starting the long road to baseboard painting that night was a bad idea. We also painted the kitchen but that was fine.

Karl and I like to say that we know our limits. I know I can't park big vehicles very well and that making pretty pastries isn't really my forte. Karl knows that he can't play Jenga. The two of us know that moving furniture together is best left undone. We also knew, going into our baseboard painting marathon, that neither of us had much experience painting things particularly well so we would go through the extra effort and tape everything. Every. Little. Thing. Except the kitchen ceiling because the tape wouldn't stick.

I don't know if you've ever painted baseboards before but I have some advice for you before you start: don't. One living room, two hallways, and one back door entryway. Combined with the kitchen, it was almost three rolls of painter's tape and 15 1/2 hours of work over a weekend.

We decided to paint our kitchen a similar green to our last kitchen because I am consistent. The majority of the inside of the rest of the house is painted in some sort of warmer neutral that I will henceforth call Regina neutral. That colour is everywhere, including the place we just rented. I picked my battle and my hatred of oak baseboards and trim won out over every other colour woe I have about this place.

The previous owners left a fair amount of paint behind for us, and we didn't end up having to buy any paint for the trim. It was a small victory and one that we almost regretted once we realized the paint can we were using had a leak in it. Thankfully we noticed before we left for the night that first Saturday and the offending can is still sitting in a plastic bag, in a box, in our laundry room. Naturally it hasn't leaked since, but praise the Lord it didn't get all over our hardwoods. I'm pretty sure if you ruin hardwood elves come and pull out all your eyebrows while you're sleeping and it's very hard to explain that at work the next day.

It turns out I'm not a terrible painter. It also turns out that Karl is better at cutting in against the ceiling than I am at using a floor guard and painter's tape. But at least I'm quick.

There was a horrifying moment in the painting process when we realized that (a) we didn't prime when we started on the baseboards and (b) that meant we needed to do three instead of two coats of paint on them. Our window frames even needed four coats. There was great sorrow and wailing. I wore sackcloth and tore my clothes. But then I just got up early Sunday morning and painted from sunrise until sunset for the second day in a row, not stopping to eat, sleep, or even use the bathroom until the job was done.

And when it was done it was good.

Everyone who comes over has to tell us how nice our baseboards look because when they don't I have a little cry in the garage and wonder if it really does get better.

I could barely bend my middle finger after our marathon painting session and I'm thinking that's where I balanced the brush for those 15 1/2 hours. The top of my right foot was also bruised from all that kneeling on the floor. I like to think of it as my typical floor scrubbing injury. Because I get the most hardcore injuries.

I don't regret painting our baseboards, but were I more affluent I would have hired someone to just replace them. I also suddenly understand the appeal of spraying them instead of using a brush. It's something I always thought was a little over the top when I saw bloggers do it, but I so, so get it.

The night we finished painting, we went back to the place we were renting and the amount of wooden baseboards there made me want to cry. The 15 1/2 hours we spent beautifying our own little place would have been kid stuff compared to what would have to be painted there. And then I rejoiced because it was over, looked awesome, and within a week I wouldn't have to climb a million homicidal stairs anymore.

I've got your back.

One of the joys of living in a new city is that there are very few things to distract me from blogging, like friends and social events. Aside from the six days of work I had this week, sleep, trying to find a grocery store that sells Earth Balance squares, and the multiple trips to Costco that are apparently inevitable when you move provinces.

We just wrapped up a big week at work that started on Sunday with a conference we were putting on. Come Wednesday morning everyone in the office was scratching their heads trying to figure out why their brains said it was Friday but the calendar said it was Wednesday and holy cow, did we really have to keep showing up for two more days? It was all good in the end, though, because you never quite appreciate five o'clock as much as you do when you're stuck in a work related time warp and don't even talk to me about how exciting, nay, giddy I was yesterday when it was FINALLY Friday and I had a hot date with my husband, couch, some leftover spaghetti, and Frozen.

Yeah, we went there. I kept hearing about how Frozen was THE movie to see. "So good! So amazing! Life. Changing." Well, it was entertaining, refreshing (and not just because while they have rather Swedish sounding names I'm pretty sure it was based on life in Regina), and funny, it wasn't alllllll that. I mean, the songs didn't change life my. All they did was make me feel inadequate about my relationship with Karl because we never sing about our feelings to each other. Like, not ever. 

My brother in law is going away for work next week (you know, the Alberta family) so I invited my sister in law to come visit for the week. And she is! And she's even bringing my nephew with her, so score! My first set of multiple house guests (not counting my dad because he is not a multiple, unless you're multiplying by one) in our unpacked, set up place. I wasn't going to clean the bathrooms this weekend because I'm lazy to the core and love to make excuses but I will clean all three toilets and even vacuum the stairs for this occasion. And guess what? If you come stay with me on our open-door guest policy I will do the exact same for you, too!

It was while I was restocking the downstairs bathroom with toilet paper this morning that I realized Karl and I might be in trouble. We used to be the people that had more TP and paper towel than we knew what to do with (okay, I knew what to do with it. I was going to use it to barter for protection come the zombie apocalypse because while we do have a lot of peanut butter and canned beans we don't have any guns or crossbows or any skills with them that we know of and don't even think for a second that toilet paper isn't going to be a luxury item. Especially three-ply Charmin like we're currently stocking. Just like the queen.) but now we're only down to a couple rolls (hello, fourth trip to Costco in a month!) thanks to having three bathrooms that constantly need to be stocked. I am NOT that host that leaves you wanting for TP and hoping there's a stray Kleenex around to save the day. But, in case you're wondering, there is always a box of Kleenex (Puffs, actually, because we are JUST LIKE THE QUEEN) right behind you.

Anyway, even if we're running low on TP, but still doing well with paper towel, thanks for asking, I have a new item to barter come the apocalypse: chocolate chips. Non-dairy chocolate chips, at that. Karl and I hit up Bulk Barn before going to Costco on Wednesday night because I know they carry chocolate chips I can eat and I needed cashews. There's something about the grocery stores here that makes them highly inferior to the ones in B.C. It was also Karl's first trip to Bulk Barn and if you've never been there it's basically Disneyland for fat people because EVERYTHING. The thing is, not everything is a good deal so you have to know your prices, but I knew that cashews and chocolate chips were a good deal (especially since they were both on sale). So I spent $20 on them. 

Cue our trip to Costco and all of a sudden Costco has the 2 kg bag of semi-sweets that don't have any dairy? You do not pass up something that valuable and rare because you just might never see it again. So in case you're wondering, we now have about 10 lbs of chocolate chips. I'll be wheeling and dealing in chocolate chip cookies come the zombie apocalypse. It'll be legendary. I'll be the chocolate chip lady up in Regina and people will QUEST to get here. Just like Atlanta, but less zombies and more chocolate at the finish line.

I also got a library card. Look at me go! I got it with my new Saskatchewan driver's licence in which I actually look good. Why didn't we move to this province years ago? B.C.'s license gave me five o'clock shadow! And as much as I love five o'clock these days, I do not enjoy rocking it on my less than chiselled jaw line.

Anna out.


P.S. Frankenpie was not a flaming failure!

Dietary Needs.

We had some friends over last night to play games and hang out. I'm sure you can relate with me when I say that I like to have something for my guests to gnaw on while they're over. You know, something to show them how much of a super working woman/housewife I can be, something other than water.

Well, the couple we had over last night have some pretty intense dietary needs. She is allergic to, essentially, everything, and he is on a similar diet to hers and has lost 50 lbs as a result since the fall (I only add that part in because it's freaking inspiring). When I texted him yesterday to get some snack ideas he told me that gluten and sugar were no-noes but that everything else was fine. I knew he was lying so I asked about dairy. Okay, no dairy, either. What about Stevia as a sweetener? You know, since some people hate it. Apparently Stevia is evil poison and the only sweeteners they can handle are pure maple syrup and coconut sugar. Totally simple, right?

I'd been thinking that chocolate covered strawberries would be a nice treat since (thankfully) straight-up, no additive chocolate is permissible. Chocolate covered strawberries are always a nice dessert to make because they look so fancy and they're super easy.

Enter this:

I blew their minds. Six bricks of that goodness, a cup or so of coconut sugar, almond milk to get the consistency where I needed it, and a couple lbs of strawberries later we were happy, happy campers.

I don't want to brag, but they loved them.

The only thing about them is that I didn't have time to stick them in the fridge to cool before we ate them, so they were a little soft. She actually said she appreciated that they were soft instead of hard, so that was nice. While I do like the harder chocolate myself, it is nice when it's not falling everywhere. I'm a messy eater so I usually find leftovers in my scarf later. Like a two year old.

So, my recipe.

You need:

1 cup approx. Almond milk
6 squares Unsweetened Bakers Chocolate
1 cup appprox. Coconut Sugar
2lbs Strawberries
A double boiler

(I actually just got my first double boiler from my in-laws' junk pile at Christmas time. I used to just use a Pyrex bowl over a boiling pot and it works just as well. I guess you could microwave it, too, but I feel like you're more likely to burn the chocolate that way. You should also never microwave a pot.)

Set the burner to around half, and melt the chocolate. Stir it constantly, making sure to scrape the bottom of the pot, to ensure it doesn't burn.

Add the coconut sugar as the chocolate is melting and stir it in.

Add almond milk as needed to smooth out the consistency.

Once chocolate is smooth, dip strawberries and place on wax paper to cool. If there is leftover chocolate, dip the strawberries again.

Eat them all.

I had a bit of leftover chocolate so six squares might be a little excessive, but I figure it's better to have a bit too much than not enough. Since I'm not sure if it solidified eventually, you might even be able to melt it again. I sent it home with our friends because she's pregnant and can get away with eating it with a spoon.

I really like dark chocolate, so this was right up my alley and any potential bitterness was cancelled out by the strawberries.

I had also never tried coconut sugar and didn't know what to expect. It wasn't bad, a bit like brown sugar, but I didn't find it as sweet. I only tried a couple crystals, though.

All in all, I call it a smashing success and I dare you to try it.

My problems are worse than anyone else's. Ever.

Not to complain or anything, but White Christmas is ready for me to pick it up from the library. Pretty much as soon as I heard that I became emotionally done with everything and my deepest darkest need to watch Christmas movies while knitting took over. So yeah, I'm in a pretty dark place today. Because I don't want to be at my desk, memorizing Bible verses for tonight's Bible study like the procrastinator I am. I want to curl up in my sweat pants with my knitting and figure out what all the Christmas fuss is about with White Christmas.

Shame that I need to wait until at least Thursday to find time to do so.

Officially 2012 is going to be the year that I got with it and watched the Christmas movies that people always talk about but I've never seen. I grew up with Miracle on 34th Street but it was black and white so I was naturally bored by it. As many times as I sat down to watch it growing up, I couldn't tell you what happens if my life depended on it. Maybe I should add that one to my list, too.

Last year I finally saw all of A Christmas Story. I'd seen snippets of it growing up, but I think 2011 was the first time I ever watched it front to back. I know it's so terribly racist, but I laughed so hard at the "fa-ra-ra-ra-ra" part. If you haven't seen A Christmas Story I think you should really get on that, okay?

My absolute favourite Christmas movie is The Santa Clause. It was only a couple years ago that I finally realized the wit and irony in the title. Clause. Get it? Santa Claus with an "e"? Genius!

Then, of course, there's Love Actually which, for the record, I will be watching in a new light. Creepy weird guy that's in love with Keira Knightley is totally Rick from the Walking Dead. It's a good thing he's such a graceful loser to the guy that was in Serenity otherwise there would have been a serious throw down between evil government operatives and post-apocalyptic cops willing to do anything for survival. I may never be able to watch those scenes the same way again. Until, of course, she offers him banoffee pie. Um, Canada, you need to get on that banoffee pie wagon right now. I forgot all about it until just now. SO. GOOD. If Keira Knightley showed up at my door offering banoffee pie I would give her every single video I owned in exchange.

Anyway, this isn't about Christmas movies or British deserts. Or maybe it is now, I don't know. I wanted to tell you about my night last night.

Last night I felt like a university student again. A very, very busy university student. I had to do some budget reconciling, so after I bought Christmas card envelopes, pooped the dog, made dinner, and threw laundry in, it was pretty much 6:30. Because I am the definition of efficiency. I reconciled in Quicken until I made a stupid mistake I couldn't find and had to take a break to clear my head. Since I didn't have time to do that, I turned to my Bible study homework.

Every week we have to listen to an hour long sermon by John MacArthur, memorize a verse, and do some homework. I know, right? Way more work than I thought it would be. This is the third official week and I totally failed at memorizing last week's verse. I just raised the white flag an hour before Bible study and admitted that I had left everything too close to the last minute and wasn't going to get it all done.

Last night I turned on the week's sermon and got on that laundry fold train. You know, the one I've been avoiding for the past several weeks. It's a tale as old as time. Anyway, I actually found that I was really enjoying myself. Apparently I'm a million times more productive at the laundry folding when I'm not watching TV. I guess it kind of makes sense. John MacArthur is my new laundry folding buddy. He's not much help though, to tell the truth. He just talks and I do all the hard work.

By the time the hour long sermon ended I was not only surprised that I still had laundry to fold, but I was also a little disappointed in the fact that it was now 9 o'clock and I still had a bazillion things I wanted to get done. I was also in the middle of folding a pile of clothes so I figured I'd finish that load, put them away, then move on to the super fun written part of my Bible study.

I've told you before that I don't listen to music while I run, opting for podcasts instead. I do, however, listen to music sometimes while I'm cooling down and trudging back home. Because, you know, you need motivation to actually walk back up that moderate incline to get home once you've already spent your energy.

It turns out, my post-run songs make really excellent laundry folding music. For serious. I don't have a ton of music on my phone, but it's pretty much Kelly Clarkson, Matt Maher, Matthew Mayfield, and Mother Mother. There are a couple Jars of Clay songs and some Mumford and Sons thrown in there for good measure but that's about it. I know it's all a very odd mix, but I love it.

The best is when Kelly comes on and sings about how what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. Um, yeah. If that 20 minute run didn't kill me I'm definitely a stronger person. Or Mother Mother comes on and invites me to fall in love. Matthew Mayfield wants to grow old with me, Jars of Clay talk about them good monsters, and Matt Maher is breaking down prisons, rising up, and all around making me want dance in some sort of awkward fashion. (Because that's the only fashion I know how to dance around in.)

Anyway, Kelly came on right after Mr. MacArthur and basically told in no unclear way that her life would suck without me. I, um, maybe have been jumping around and doing some of my sweet sweet dance moves with the laundry. There is no shame, okay? I admit to nothing.

Then, because I knew that one more overnight reconciliation of the bank account session would drive me absolutely insane, I made time to watch Castle. It's called priorities. It was also totally worth it because it was a Christmas episode. I can't believe Christmas is three weeks away because as far as I'm concerned the Christmas spirit is right here, right now. Three more weeks just means that I have that much longer to relish in it. Hallelujah!

I now miss running and hope to get back into it on Thursday. Who have I become?

Okay, I'm done now.

Prioritizing sparkly ornaments.

As anticipated, this weekend did not result in happy Christmas decorating times. At all. I ended up spending most of my Saturday at either Costco or Walmart. On the bright side, I got things done. For the record, many of my Christmas gifts this year are coming from either Costco or Walmart. I love cheap WWII DVD box sets. I'm trying to buy my father in law's love and this year it just might work.

Between giant discount shopping and going to an engagement party Saturday night I really had no time to get all Christmasy on our place. It was almost depressing. What I did do, though, was clean our floors. Three times.

Apparently top of the line vinyl faux-wood flooring is not the easiest to clean. Whoever thought grooves in flooring was a good idea is in desperate need of a reality check. Even though I think our floor is attractive (as far as flooring goes), it's a nightmare to clean. It actually hides dirt really well, which is good since I only need to clean our floors every three to six months. Disgusting, I'm sure. I've never really noticed how horrific it was until Saturday night. I may have gotten a touch of the insane cleaning lady bug. You be the judge.

My mother in law bought a steam cleaner. It's basically a higher end Swiffer wet that actually works and only uses super hot water to clean the floors. Genius! My mom used it on her floors upstairs and said it was great. The MIL uses it on her hardwood and loves it. My vinyl wasn't having any of it. Some of the nasty got off our floors (there wasn't too much "nasty" to begin with, though) but not much.

Eventually I got tired of the supposedly amazing steam cleaner wasting my time and busted out the mop. I was committed. It was also after 10 pm, for the record. I'm hardcore like that. Except, of course, the mop didn't do a great job. Sure, it got up more dirt than the steamer, but not enough. The front door area and kitchen floor still looked a bit darker than the rest of the place. That's when I took things into my own hands and grabbed the Scotch Brite pads.

I'm officially heartbroken to say that the only effective way to clean our floor is to do it scrubbing on hands and knees. When you get that up close and personal with your floor you start rethinking every decision you ever made. Why do we wear our shoes in the house? Why do we eat? Why do we let Mom's dog come visit? How do two people make so much gross?

Eventually I had to call it quits. There's a visible difference in the lack of dirt on our floors, but they certainly weren't clean enough to eat off of. The more I scrubbed, the more dirt I found and the more disheartened I got. It was okay, though, because all I had to do was look around the rest of our place and see how thrown together it all is and I started to feel better about my floors. Who needs clean floors when they slant downwards, there's wall paint on the ceiling, and a chunk of roof is cut away to fit a smoke alarm? It's our first place and I'll take it, and I'm using it as an excuse for my (significantly less) dirty floors.

All I have to say is that whoever invents an easy floor cleaning spray deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for bringing peace to relationships with homes and their cleaners everywhere. I will also name my first child after them, assuming their name isn't gender specific and they don't mind being pushed into middle namedom.

So yeah, that's a long way of telling you Christmas didn't really happen Saturday. It didn't happen yesterday, either, because there was a lot of time spent at church being churchy and then setting up for an evening function. Which we went to. We basically spent all day at church with a brief interlude to check out the salmon run. I hope to share that with you later this week.

Yesterday was also an emotional day. By the time I went to bed I was absolutely spent from having so many emotional ups and downs. I think Karl, the emotional rock, was feeling it a little, too. Except he didn't cry because he's a man and only does that when he gets married.

But tonight? It's on. I've opted out of going to yoga for the fourth week in a row. It's called prioritizing. I'm going to go home and run, vote, eat some dinner, and then Christmas it up like there's no tomorrow. Because that's how I roll. At least tonight, it is. I keep recognizing that I need more joy in my life and it's time to stop putting that off. Priorities, people. Priorities.


And just in case you haven't done it yet, there's still one more day to enter my awesome giveaway. Remember, your odds of winning are phenomenal. Just like the prize. Obviously.