Cheesy Pajamas

Don't you just love cheesy family pictures? That's me in the red hat with my sister and her two daughters. We're wearing fleece hats we bought at an Arts and Crafts fair. I'm hoping that font is so small you can't read it. If you can, please don't tell anyone that I wore (and still have) a fleece hat I actually paid ten dollars for at an Arts and Crafts fair.

Anyway. My family SO dominates in the hoaky photos department.

Case in point: Every Christmas Eve we all open one present, and it's the same every year: Pajamas to wear that night and all the next day. I say that because it literally takes all day to open our presents (my mom goes overboard on the gifting, plus we take turns opening our gifts...so as the family gets bigger, Christmas gets longer...as in we opened until 7 pm this year).

I digress.

Back to the pajamas. So somewhere down the line, we decided that we should take a "Jammie Picture" every year, showcasing our new pj's. Heh. The name "Jammie Picture" is even cheesy. Now you might think this picture would be cute. Only partly true. There are two of these pictures, and yes, one is cute. However, the second one? Is so entirely retarded.

Some nerd in our family (not me, I swear. I'm the youngest of three sisters, and am trying my hardest, despite getting older, to stay the coolest. For example? They both scrapbook. Me? SO TOO COOL to scrapbook. [sorry if anyone reading this partakes in this rather expensive and extremely time consuming hobby. If it's any consolation, I like looking at them...I just don't have the patience for it.])

Oops. Digressed again. So some nerd in our family decided one Christmas that it would be funny to pose normal for one "Jammie Picture" and then pose goofy for another. For the record, I was initially SO incredibly against this idea. However, I hate to be a party pooper, so I decided that I could maintain my coolness by having the best goofy look.

Last year, I pretended to punch Jeff in the face while he choked me.

The year before that I drew a really big mole on my face with eyeliner.

The year before that I laid on the floor pretending to be dead.

Seriously, I am amazed at how good I am at pretending to not be cool. You'd almost (I said almost) think that I actually enjoyed these cheesy "Jammie Pictures". Please, my friends. Do not be fooled. I do not enjoy these pictures, and worry not, nothing can take away my coolness. Not even this baby growing in me. Rest assured, there are no minivans on the horizon, or family photos in which we wear matching denim shirts. No, no, not me, I will forever remain chic. Fleecy red arts and crafts hat and all.

Picky, picky, picky...

I am so thrilled. My favorite Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bag, the Velveteen, is at Nordstrom!!! I love this one so DEARLY BELOVEDLY much, and so I put it on hold. Why did I put it on hold and not just buy it? 2 reasons: 1) It's 155 freaking dollars and 2) Because I'm a wee bit hopeful this Christmas. See, I went shopping with Husby the other day and when I saw the bag that I thought I liked the most (The Spring Roll--much cuter in person than online), he said "Put it on hold. My parents have NO idea what to get you this Christmas." So now I'm hoping I get the Spring Roll...just for the fact that I can take it back and get the Velveteen instead! How conniving is that?! I'm sorry! I just can't help it! I am super picky!

Seriously, I am annoyingly particular about clothes, shoes, bags, makeup, furniture, cars (more on this later)...you name it. From the time I was 8 years old, I've always been the type that knows exactly what they want-- in their head. The problem with that is I can never find it in person. My grandma used to take me shopping for my birthday every year. I would DRAG her around the mall from store to store, trying to find something that fulfilled my vision. One year it was a tan coat with flannel on the inside and leather accents (Gap Boys had it, lucky for Grandma). Another year it was brown worn leather shoes that are sturdy and clunky yet feminine, not boots, with no more than a 2 inch heel. Never found those.

My pickiness has even escalated throughout the years. It's so bad that I've actually considered learning how to sew and how to make shoes by hand. Seriously. That bad.

Unfortunately for me now, I've learned that I can usually find the exact item I'm looking for, only it costs $200 more than I'm willing to spend. If it's clothes, it's usually by BCBG, Max Studio or DKNY. I love the creative femininity of their designs and the fabrics they use. And they fit me so damn well. Which, obviously, is why it all costs 8 million dollars.

Ahhh well. I don't really need to worry about any of that for a little while now. I don't think BCBG designs maternity wear. And if they do, I don't wanna know about it!

The One Where I Write About Nothing.

Here are my kitties. Gracie on the left, Cali on the right. They really like the bathroom window for some reason.

I am feeling awful lately. I know I shouldn't complain, because I haven't thrown up, but I get this morning, afternoon and evening sickness and it rarely goes away. It's just this icky, nauseous feeling. If I think about it or talk about it I start to dry heave. It makes me feel like I'm being overly dramatic like Jessica Simpson on the "Newlyweds" episode where they go to this super-fancy restaurant in Napa and she hates all the food and starts gagging. Please say I'm not as obnoxious as she is.

So I wanted to put some pictures on here...but for some reason Blogger is not cooperating. It wants to put all the pictures at the beginning of my post instead of where I left the cursor. Curses! Well, at least you got one. Aren't my kitties cute?

Goodbye, Hermie.

My nephew Landon's hermit crab died today. His name was Hermie and he was a good little crab. Landon is 4 1/2 and just sobbed as his daddy dug the hole for the little crustacean's burial. He was crying so hard that he almost made me cry (darn hormones!). After the burial he asked me if he could fly now.

Me: Yes, because Hermie's in heaven, he can fly, eat as much candy as he wants, and he never has to take naps.

Landon: What does his shell look like now?

Me: I think it has diamonds and pearls all over it.

Landon: started to cry even harder

Me: Why does that make you so sad? Hermit crabs love diamonds and pearls!

Landon: Because if he has a different shell, how will I know him from all the other crabs?


Doesn't that just break your heart?

No one better get between me and my chicken bake.

Okay, so I have no doubt...I am definitely preggers (as if the 2 blood tests last week, 1 home urine test and one hospital urine test weren't enough).

I have had the biggest mother of an appetite for about a week or so. So big that I'm afraid of what I'm going to look like in 8 months. Now don't get the wrong idea about me, I am DEFINITELY not the type of person who says "I'm eating for two", and then wolfs down half a carton of ice cream. I've never been much of an eater, and I try to be pretty healthy about what I do eat. And during my pregnancy I plan on being even more particular. But I can't tell you how difficult it's been. I'm gonna get really open here with you all. Pre-preggs, I weighed 108 pounds, and after this past few days? I don't even know, because I'm too afraid to step on the scale.

Sunday during church, I couldn't even concentrate on what the pastor was saying. All I could think of was how much I was dying for a huge, fat, juicy steak. (?!) I am not a huge fan of red meat, I usually prefer chicken and fish. But apparently? Not anymore. I called BFF Robin and begged her to come to our favorite Mexican restaurant for their SCRUMPTIOUS steak fajitas. Fortunately she was up for it, because I was prepared to go out to eat by myself if I had to (Husby works on the weekends, so he wasn't an option). Before the skillet was practically put down on the table, I snatched a slice of the steak and just stuffed it in my mouth. NO concern for the fact that I had just burnt my fingers and tongue, or that I was in public eating with my fingers. ME. WANT. MEAT. arrgaghghhghagh. (gross sound of me scarfing down food like a cave woman.)

And it doesn't stop there. Yesterday I don't know what came over me. My body just kept saying "EAT!!!" So for breakfast I ate a homemade egg sandwich, then for lunch I made a grilled turkey, cheese, tomato, lettuce, pickle, horseradish (?) and ranch (?) sandwich. Then about 3 hours later, I was, you guessed it, hungry again. So I had a small bit of yogurt with granola. Then I went to the gym. And ran my a$$ off because I am DETERMINED NOT TO GAIN A ZILLION POUNDS. Then I had to go to my neice's Christmas Band Recital, where I knew I would die if I didn't have a snack, so I ate some crackers with cheese, more yogurt, and a few baby tomatoes (I was in a big hurry). Apparently it wasn't enough, because by the end of the "concert", I was ready to stop at a drive thru. Don't worry, I didn't. I went straight home and to bed, determined to try and fall asleep before I became so hungry that I couldn't avoid eating.

No such luck.

Flipping through the channels I saw this guy on that female President show eating a fatty burger, talking with his mouthful. And it looked sooooo good. My stomach even made a gurgle noise.

Determined NOT to give in to my hunger, I found a particularly graphic Law and Order that I hoped would gross me out.

Again, no luck.

So I drank an entire 32 ounce bottle of water without stopping, thinking "sometimes people think they're hungry when they're really thirsty."

Um, yeah. I wasn't thirsty.

It had been a whopping 2 hours since I'd last eaten, but it honestly felt like it had been 2 days.

I held off all the way until 10 pm, when Jeff came home. He gave me a kiss, and I practically ate his head. Okay, not really. But an hour later I could have.

Me: "Babe, I am SO STARVING RIGHT NOW. Can you get me something to eat? Please? It's so cold in here, I don't want to get out of bed, but I'm really dying. Pleeeeeease. I don't care what it is, as long as it's substantial. Like, Hamburger substantial."

Jeff: Looking at me like an alien has inhabited my body, "Holy cow! It's after 10 at night. Wow...okay...umm...what do you want?"

Me: Feeling like an alien really did inhabit my body with an evil intent to make me gain 300 pounds. "I don't care. Whatever. As long as it doesn't take more than 3 minutes in the microwave. I really don't know if I'm going to make it. Please--hurry."

Jeff: Takes off running to the kitchen. Not so much because he wants to get me food, but because he's afraid I'm going to eat him if he stays any longer.

Me: Yells after him "Remember--SUBSTANTIAL!"

After the longest 8 minutes of my life, Jeff finally comes back with a broccoli and cheese stuffed Chicken Bake It's stuffed, breaded chicken, about the size of an elongated burger, and worth probably 80 grams of protein. Normally I eat half of one. This time? I inhaled the entire thing. It didn't matter to me that the chicken was chewy because it was cooked in the microwave instead of the toaster oven. Jeff was in such shock at me that he stood at the side of our bed and watched me eat it like I was a lion eating its kill on the Discovery Channel or something. Later he told me he was watching and listening. I was literally making this breathy inhaling noise with every bite. My dad walks by and peeks his head in. When he sees me chowing down, in bed, he has to watch too. I felt like I was in some weird chicken eating contest and they were my audience. But I didn't care. I was going to eat, and whoever wanted to watch could watch, as long as they didn't ask for a bite.

Once I finished, I washed it down with the glass of milk Jeff brought, and was finally comfortably satisfied. I settled in under the covers and thought about the fact that I should probably brush my teeth again, because nothing is worse than sour milk with herbs breath. But I just couldn't get myself out of bed. Then the 32 oz of water hit my bladder and gave me no choice but to get up and head for the bathroom anyway.

The kicker to this whole story? Jeff told me later that it was a turn-on to see me eat like that, knowing I was "feeding our baby".

And I thought I was weird.