tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36233156329093757682023-11-16T03:37:28.546-08:00just lishlishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.comBlogger180125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-74685995843534644152010-01-26T09:06:00.000-08:002010-01-26T09:25:57.081-08:00Trying to survive January<span style="font-family:arial;">Boy howdy, has January been a tough month for us. I have started several new posts in the last couple of weeks, but never finished any of them for various reasons.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Such as:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">1) I was sick. Throwing up sick. And Max was sick. Ear infection sick. The same day. Which basically means that he cried unless I held him and walked around. And he wouldn't sleep until I had walked around sufficiently. And of course once I put him down because I had to go throw up, he would wake up and start everything all over again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh, and we were not home. We were at a friend's house in Denver. It sucks being sick not at your own house, doesn't it?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">2) Andy had to work in Denver for a week, the week after I had already been there for four days. So we tagged along with him so I could see him at some point in the month of January, and we stayed with our dear friend Eldon and family. Eldon's wife passed away Thanksgiving weekend, and they are struggling but doing very well considering. Plus, Andy's work was making a goodbye video for our other friend who is dying of breast cancer. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">3) I had to go to New Jersey for work for four days following our week in Denver. I got a new boss and a new team and had to go for teambuilding activities. Those are always fun. Watch <em>The Office</em> if you don't believe me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">They're super fun.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Really.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">(not)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So just to give you some perspective (because, really, I know you were just <em>itching </em>for some perspective on my woes): I flew to Denver on Sunday 1/3, flew home to Salt Lake on Wednesday 1/6. The whole family then drove to Denver on Saturday 1/9. We stayed at Eldon's for a week. I flew to New Jersey on Sunday 1/17 and Andy and Max went to his mom's house in Larkspur, CO. Andy worked while his mom watched Max. I flew home from New Jersey on Wednesday night 1/20. On Thursday afternoon 1/21, we drove home from Colorado to Utah.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have so much laundry to do. Can you even imagine?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Thanks to all the stress and traveling (despite vigilant pumping), my milk supply is diminished, so I can no longer nurse Max. That wasfor all of my male readers - I knew they cared about that.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Right?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">So today we are off to take Max to the doctor for his four-month checkup and his shots. Looks to me like he's grown quite a bit, don't you think?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431099687363245890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfJwkmh43Ug7l5F2sLUuWFoqSB9nhK-WZZn5iX-QsjbyQGgfgZzsx33ya38fVVGkcI4xtj-yahDCalTQGkYqlHsCfkhWHIcszJ20jp5a62RwyRYx90GUuKaQvJJXnfvsExs3_B0EPYfU0/s200/cuddle_monster.JPG" border="0" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Here's hoping my next post is a little less complaint ridden.</span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-51065887388870201072010-01-11T19:29:00.000-08:002010-01-11T19:33:32.302-08:00Back to blogging<span style="font-family:arial;">Several people I know really enjoyed Andy's blog when he actually kept it up. He was about ready to pull the plug, but lucky for us, he decided to join the blogging bandwagon again. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Hope on over to </span><a href="http://drewstorm.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:arial;">Andy's blog</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> if you feel like reading about our adventures from Andy's perspective.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">And I will say this: he is the one with the camera, so if you want to see pictures of me, that is probably where you will find them.</span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-39540000842684035742010-01-05T13:57:00.000-08:002010-01-05T14:34:16.797-08:00Missing Mr. Max<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423384622542545362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPdSi02Fc02-cl5wnjyX9wSiJiLFMAALvvHs7JTpscdIP3HTYoPuSVQKYPTKYOGJATOYLTaZhS0byF61faODHhYscm9H1biqJ9rSH-slYU4VSzsIZEW-9VdOma7NLgHohafC0QMczvmh6E/s200/Max_032.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">It has now been 50 hours since I have seen my baby.</span><br /><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Andy dropped me off at the airport Sunday afternoon at 1:00, and it is the first time I have not had Max with me since he was conceived. I carried him for nine months inside of me and for three months outside of me. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Now he is not here, and I feel somewhat lost.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Don't get me wrong; being in Denver for work is nice. It's nice to see my co-workers and friends. Get a pedicure at my regular salon and eat at my favorite restaurants. I almost feel like a regular childless person again.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Almost.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">There is still this: </span><span style="font-family:arial;">my arms feel empty, like <em>empty-empty</em>, like I'm missing some extension of them. You'd think they would be lighter than air not lugging an almost-12-pound baby around, but instead they hang by my sides, heavy with the sadness of not being able to hold him. And unsure of how to make themselves useful. What did I do with my arms before I held a baby all day? I don't remember.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">And this: my ears continue to strain for his cry, but they don't hear it.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh, and definitely this: I wake up every three hours at night, ready to nurse him and cuddle him back to sleep, but am greeted instead by my pump and a stiff hotel chair instead of our comfortable rocker.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I know leaving Max is not the end of the world. When we moved to Utah, I knew that traveling for my job was inevitable. I know Max is in excellent hands, receiving superior care - his daddy takes such great care of him. (Almost better than me, I think, since feeding issues have almost diminished in my absence. What the heck?) </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">I have no doubt we will all survive this three-day separation.</span> </div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">But I don't have to like it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczIBTvx_v3_FjMv9f52jOZoWiUQQppBxe1GEv3dcF1XfyU2vi_cq7ZGl5J27SqOUQAEBodf5lQ0pYxJaonPZfaMo1edXEA8uBYomxl-VSKMQilZMGkm3K9SIxpb9okafr4l0o2nMUjbhw/s1600-h/Max_034.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423385057467943634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczIBTvx_v3_FjMv9f52jOZoWiUQQppBxe1GEv3dcF1XfyU2vi_cq7ZGl5J27SqOUQAEBodf5lQ0pYxJaonPZfaMo1edXEA8uBYomxl-VSKMQilZMGkm3K9SIxpb9okafr4l0o2nMUjbhw/s200/Max_034.jpg" border="0" /></a>At least I know Andy is not leaving him in pajamas all day. He sent me a picture as proof. </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">He even put together a pretty good looking outfit, if I do say so myself.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:Arial;">And oh yes! I miss Andy too, not just Max. </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">But it's different - Andy hasn't been fully dependent on me for a year. He's pretty good about taking care of himself. Plus, we've been apart before - we've got that down, old hat.<br /><br />But not me and Max. This is our first.<br /><br />And </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">I just have to make it about 27 more hours.</span></div></div>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-64947509507778843102010-01-04T15:57:00.000-08:002010-01-04T16:20:14.347-08:00When the shoe doesn't fit...<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423041723294241362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwUn_pnRE9Mxsgp-l8wK09odOY14fl7pd_VG8PlKXD52yC8Xok-x_s2-OCIo4fSI0FQ7bLa38kh7C3qaf_04hP-G_BwURTOduuYiNUM8ZO9uHRniNoC1DvHa3FkkHz3hijmLeg6dUri87/s200/shoes.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">I knew when I got pregnant my body would change. </span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I knew I would have new aches and pains.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I knew my hair might become more (or possibly less) curly, (definitely) more gray, and less plentiful.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I knew my nails would grow faster and be more strong.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">And I knew I would gain weight. That was a no-brainer.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">So I pretty much figured I wouldn't look exactly the same as before. I knew I'd need to buy bigger clothes, and that I might have to wear these clothes for a while after Max came. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Okay, fine.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">But I hoped that not <em>every </em>blamed thing I own would no longer fit me - namely my jewelry and my shoes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I have not worn my beautiful engagement ring in about nine months now. Sad, but it can always be made bigger.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">But most sad of all is that I just gave two boxes of shoes to my sister, whose feet are now smaller than mine. We used to wear the same size - 7.5. And shoes can't be stretched to fit bigger feet.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Sniff.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I am sad that my feet are now big. Not small and dainty as some people referred to them. Not even average.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">They are, in fact, now big.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">The question I have is this: how many women have to replace a closetfull of shoes once they have their babies? Is this common?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Not that knowing whether it's common makes me feel any better. It's still crummy.</span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-76438486759691629702009-12-30T20:56:00.001-08:002009-12-30T21:10:05.871-08:00Three months of Max<span style="font-family:arial;">I can't believe Max is now three months old. I swear, it seems like just yesterday we were driving to the hospital and he came out screaming his squeaky little scream.</span> <div><div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421261129510550866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DtGAwX6wcfVj221OZC_CmkUcewT2r_eo7f3hMDVS9741ie7XJezMgKZSSx-WhO7Goio9wx81tWphbajZOVjMLIJoUobKcC84qkEAdpekk_iVAvwH5uAC_s1KPQw15KR6cvt-fDAojxDr/s200/Max_birth.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">But now, three months have passed and he smiles (but never for the camera), laughs wide-open mouth laughs, "talks," kicks, and plays. He lost his hair, and then gained it back. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />And my capacity to love him just grows each day. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />What worries me and makes me sad is that it will be over before I know it. While I enjoy all the milestones he's reaching, I'm already sad that he's not his tiny baby self anymore.</span></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;"></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421261883291234434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwhhOC1sjTwdabuMMHRMQLv55n6x5VsRDJu6ornscGaBlua1KfcG63e4oVsBbXyYQ8EIzyynK13tLA42krFMgJ4KR8P91xkZXAd-IYJBHqtpHv5hJWlOzi5_fBzyiePmJKPbIidrx-qgz/s200/Max+028_small.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421262039735128210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp98X-llRP5mpQ55ky9yxnjgKvE2TEg-mDC0ZQUugcCXgT3jm6dpucxYhpPQlIy1gmx7anjnNpo4acO5Q7xK-FXSbxqImeJVeKUvJn3mDfcd4-ERQv0bJ52M4gNcETGGdLGrIkCIkIBD8B/s200/Max_2+months.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421262228512100386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwnIswaJtD_oTXNK8ylw452LOLcM6kJ8e-hPjyFCe1iTbN9rRFG1aVRA4IWyPtNvNR0PBVe0c3bt40vJSNxA7AaK9JStHJal2roenw0TX_-51FLUFKLnfyhbsjx6-ZA3qd-PQ0nD9pAHc/s200/Max_3+months.jpg" border="0" /> <div></span><span style="font-family:arial;">He looks so serious, doesn't he?</span></div></div></div>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-47245903863189031942009-12-16T18:05:00.000-08:002009-12-16T18:23:09.289-08:00Dear Santa<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvd_83W3j6BF8WJxGBOcFvKrhx83OqbQv7SddrFS9muleeTOeXFLRDp9U0shUPDWg28W_PRSDzY4aD-GdEVg3sd0W0QqLVuR5I9tjYR2NGvQKOBrvK13i5PH2l9TZT2g6Ku90b-wWKwuF2/s1600-h/Dear_Santa.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416024402352356114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvd_83W3j6BF8WJxGBOcFvKrhx83OqbQv7SddrFS9muleeTOeXFLRDp9U0shUPDWg28W_PRSDzY4aD-GdEVg3sd0W0QqLVuR5I9tjYR2NGvQKOBrvK13i5PH2l9TZT2g6Ku90b-wWKwuF2/s200/Dear_Santa.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Dear Santa,</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I am so behind this year. Here it is, December the sixteenth, and I have not bought one Christmas present. I barely got my tree up and decorated two days ago. And I have baked nary a Christmas goodie. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">How can this be? you ask. It seems I am somewhat preoccupied these days. Juggling baby, work, laundry, cooking and cleaning has worn me out to the point where I cannot even watch a 20 minute TV show without dozing off and waking up an hour later asking Andy "What did I miss? Can you rewind?" (never mind the fact that he has moved onto and almost finished with another show).</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">I don't have time to eat meals anymore. It is 7:21 pm and I still have not fed myself anything for dinner besides one piece of buttered wheat toast. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Santa, I am tired so deep in my bones I sometimes have a hard time putting one foot in front of the other just to climb into my bed. (I know other moms out there are calling me a whiner, but cut me some slack - I'm new to all this juggling business.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">So the reason I'm writing you this letter is to make some special requests for those special people in my life.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">For Andy: a job that pays him what he deserves. It's nice that he's working (trust me, we're grateful), but a guy can only work so many 12- to 16-hour shifts for lower pay. I think he might just fall apart one night and I won't know how to put him back together. The question is whether the emotional falling-apart or physical will come first.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">For Max: a bigger stomach. I am trying to hard to get this kid on a feeding schedule, but now matter how much time elapses between feedings, he gets hungry early! A mom can only devote so much time in her life to preparing food, serving food, and cleaning up after the food for her child. If he were only more predictable, would eat more during a feeding, it would be ever so helpful for me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">For my parents and sisters: whatever they want. They have been so great, so supportive, so loving, and such great cheerleaders and babysitters since we moved to Utah and decided to remodel our house. They deserve whatever they want. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Seriously.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">And for me, Santa: well, after I wrote this post and got the complaints all out of my system, the only thing I can think to ask for is this: please let me always remember every moment of what it's like to be a wife, a mother, a daughter, sister, and friend to these great people. I complain that there's too much to do, not enough time to do it, and not enough energy to go around, but even when I'm bone-tired, I get a hug, a smile, a laugh and there is noplace else I would rather be.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Or anything else I'd rather be doing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Think you can deliver, Santa? </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I hope so.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Love,<br />Alicia</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">PS: Thank you for bringing back <a href="http://www.nbc.com/chuck/">Chuck</a>.<br />PSS: Do you think you can help me get back to my pre-pregnancy weight any quicker? Thought I'd ask...</span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-44134671901324029502009-12-08T12:55:00.001-08:002009-12-08T12:56:13.500-08:00Max laughs in his sleep<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMtZqBMaEtmEqweSdGQE5C5yooLwX4glTmB5rIO2TTj8SPkrfs0jIdhNAxvReSQ6uv2wqrFrfXXPqbjKee1aDwf5VOR_Hc7CkkG3Ej56VzPhuVwek_hgd5K4aF_Z6Xd-JFevmuAo9wqVt/s1600-h/Max_sleeping.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412971956843080866" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMtZqBMaEtmEqweSdGQE5C5yooLwX4glTmB5rIO2TTj8SPkrfs0jIdhNAxvReSQ6uv2wqrFrfXXPqbjKee1aDwf5VOR_Hc7CkkG3Ej56VzPhuVwek_hgd5K4aF_Z6Xd-JFevmuAo9wqVt/s200/Max_sleeping.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I walked into the room and heard a little "heh, heh, heh" going on in there. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But he was asleep! Half smile, eyes rolled back, and everything.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It was just too darn cute. But I wasn't able to capture the smile, so you'll just have to enjoy him sleeping in his hedgehog romper and sneaker socks.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">By the way, where can I get my own sneaker socks?</span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-91301460502125138532009-12-07T07:53:00.000-08:002009-12-07T07:58:40.340-08:00My new favorite<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvJt9ffC7XUs1QgVWVsh-ajssR4OFm5AH2AgxUHtkYoSS9Ds5Hi-txjxrctnsCloDcajYc3Y1c7epejZ9_HJiRsmRQ4cNbwrCeultoQyxMO4bV2pwZcz6uWAzMTGuU7YaQhgov9-RwDeE/s1600-h/Max_legs.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412523518264174114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvJt9ffC7XUs1QgVWVsh-ajssR4OFm5AH2AgxUHtkYoSS9Ds5Hi-txjxrctnsCloDcajYc3Y1c7epejZ9_HJiRsmRQ4cNbwrCeultoQyxMO4bV2pwZcz6uWAzMTGuU7YaQhgov9-RwDeE/s200/Max_legs.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">This is not the best picture, but I tried to catch him in action, and all I had handy was my phone.<br /><br />I love to be around when Max wakes up. He stretches his arms and legs, but as he stretches his legs, he essentially does a leg lift - lifting his legs straight up in the air.<br /><br />What makes it so funny is that usually he's wrapped in a blanket, so the little blanket just goes straight up in the air, and comes back down. Usually about three or four times.<br /><br />Is there a point when every move he makes doesn't charm the pants off me?<br /><br />Seriously.</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">PS: Don't you love my piles of laundry? While I work, I put him to sleep on the guest bed in the room across the hall. It is also where I fold my laundry. Gotta love being a working mom!</span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-71796552565139365062009-12-01T07:43:00.001-08:002009-12-01T07:53:32.646-08:00Max in action<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoBP11NbwRqfooqg3HpegTSOqzCgkoymW8RlG1iVEgmj7v4zDi5u6Kdn8aGWHIFHGAihT83bIN31YrOqW_EACn7lIs7KBLvJSUziSLHC-4zBdm_L_OlDksGIMsOZD6om2b1mugnS9OU_q/s1600/Max_playing.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410294020779869346" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoBP11NbwRqfooqg3HpegTSOqzCgkoymW8RlG1iVEgmj7v4zDi5u6Kdn8aGWHIFHGAihT83bIN31YrOqW_EACn7lIs7KBLvJSUziSLHC-4zBdm_L_OlDksGIMsOZD6om2b1mugnS9OU_q/s200/Max_playing.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Seriously. I just want to eat him up. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And while I lso love him being a tiny baby, it's really fun to watch him grow and change. He weighs 10 lbs 4 oz now, and loves his play gym from IKEA. He can actually hit the tnings on the sides and make them spin.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This is an action shot of him playing with it. He's making lots of noise and kicking. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">In his man dress. Nightshirt. While we get ready to drive to Denver.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Again. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But seriously, he's </span><span style="font-family:arial;">just so cute none of it even matters. </span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-36877222823022289062009-11-30T07:25:00.000-08:002009-11-30T07:36:55.567-08:00My friend Heather<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_cqZQXfyKHOqsuWpnSVFBIFnw_wdP_e9xZqgrtuLfnpNjr4b31-tuJbWowOthZMZG8ZGNHMRQGfAvRhPeJF9sFVPW1TDGoeAaWzZHZbOgLrVkpxCdWxgq7kcm3qAQEVW9tftq2GcUdHG/s1600/Eldon_Heather.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409918333841198338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ_cqZQXfyKHOqsuWpnSVFBIFnw_wdP_e9xZqgrtuLfnpNjr4b31-tuJbWowOthZMZG8ZGNHMRQGfAvRhPeJF9sFVPW1TDGoeAaWzZHZbOgLrVkpxCdWxgq7kcm3qAQEVW9tftq2GcUdHG/s200/Eldon_Heather.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">My friend Heather was the type of girl who made everyone feel like they were her best friend. I know I wasn't her best friend, but each time I talked to or spent time with her, she made me feel like I was the coolest, nicest, sweetest person she knew.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I think that's because she was such a cool, nice, sweet person. I wish everyone could have known Heather because they would have loved her and become a better person for knowing her.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">She passed away over the weekend, losing her brave fight with breast cancer. I can't help but ask questions like "Why her?" Because let's be honest, the last person Heavenly Father needs right now is a young wife and mother of three children. She needs to be here taking care of her family. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I've been in shock all weekend and have done a lot of crying. For her sweet husband Eldon, for her beautiful children Elle, Emma, and Makai. I was privileged to serve them in several ways over the past year, and they always made me feel like I was helping them so much, when the truth was, they helped me more than I think I ever could have helped them.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">From Heather, I have learned...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...to have love in my heart for everyone.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...to be more softspoken.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...to be welcoming of all.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...to keep my opinions to myself unless asked.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...to try not to say unkind things about others.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">... to be more gracious.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...to always serve others.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And a million other things that I can't even think of right now.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">While I'm certainly not great at all these things, Heather's example helped me learn to try to be better. Being better at these things will help me be more like her, and she was actually pretty near perfect.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm so grateful I had the chance to get to know her. She touched my life in a way I didn't expect, and will forever be grateful for.</span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-31121136710260416562009-11-20T12:03:00.001-08:002009-11-20T12:19:32.262-08:00Getting settled<span style="font-family:arial;">We finally are moved in to the point where I was able to find the cable that will let me get pictures off my camera. Sheesh! It's hard to unpack boxes when I have a tiny person demanding my attention all day.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Honestly, I don't mind. He's much more interesting and fun than unpacking boxes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Tomorrow Max will be 8 weeks old. I swear, the time has gone by so fast I think I'll blink and he'll be on a mission or telling me he doesn't want to go on a mission before I know it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In the meantime, enjoy these pictures. He looks so different from the last pictures I posted, but every day, his ability to melt my heart just increases 100fold.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinsfbfJuw2L7BVDENiBudpXGFYW6PLq8qtowC7Ajk07_Pqk3kS_2nvQBJYuQ6jxoOz6UDIsGtUaS0ZqDF9uMme_BzNbEVXSLlxh-FZcU2fyxX71IKWUSWT5Pe9g7q-Q9XokyG4aD6e6VUs/s1600/Max+028_small.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406280760636138002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinsfbfJuw2L7BVDENiBudpXGFYW6PLq8qtowC7Ajk07_Pqk3kS_2nvQBJYuQ6jxoOz6UDIsGtUaS0ZqDF9uMme_BzNbEVXSLlxh-FZcU2fyxX71IKWUSWT5Pe9g7q-Q9XokyG4aD6e6VUs/s200/Max+028_small.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm copying my friend Stephanie and posing him with the same stuffed toy every month to see how he's grown in relation to the toy. I had to choose Max because that is who he is named after - the naughty little boy Max from <em>Where the Wild Things Are</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">He loves to sleep with his arms up, just like his daddy. He gets so mad when I try to swaddle him, but if I leave his arms out, he's great.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406279712060927442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekjIi3cHSdkLwcj7SDFW58ZD9w3E6MmZElHcchhDNaKidqEXfm60SBHT5jtSdoBSuwrszmqdAZbC2H6FP7kyjpw9ApYzdHmpv_niuiwm1CkNPLUh_klS2T9st1C6X45aOHQsod8o0usdW/s200/Max+036_small.jpg" border="0" /> He hates to wear a hat, but I bought so many cute ones, I insist. And then I insist that I take his picture. </p><p></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjND-cpczyVHJ3cVkEA_dbmue-my2fyLL-13EJdHzZQQfMPntzv67K8qbjhzzUJBX0eMC_rUPwly8hmCVp9cqayVQWj6-kZZk80ji2hzCONOsm63Z2yo5ev1zR5aj2eVexveI_4SZGZB3Gb/s1600/Max+040_small.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406281049727742098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjND-cpczyVHJ3cVkEA_dbmue-my2fyLL-13EJdHzZQQfMPntzv67K8qbjhzzUJBX0eMC_rUPwly8hmCVp9cqayVQWj6-kZZk80ji2hzCONOsm63Z2yo5ev1zR5aj2eVexveI_4SZGZB3Gb/s200/Max+040_small.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Because who can resist a cute kid wearing a dinosaur hat? Not me!<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I promise to get back into blogging. Now that my maternity leave is ending, I'll be back on my computer all day long. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-43958855402781380642009-10-07T15:09:00.000-07:002009-10-07T15:25:11.822-07:00As promised some pictures of the infamous Max<span style="font-family:arial;">I had no idea how much I would love being a mom. I'm sure all women say this, but I think I mean it more than anyone. (Maybe not, but still, I'm going to say it.) I tell everyone this is the job I was made to do. In fact, is it too soon to start again?<br /><br /></span><div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Maybe. (I am still a little sore, after all.)<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Maybe it's so awesome because I waited so long? You know, the whole "you have to wait for all worthwhile things" or however that saying goes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Or maybe it's because I thought it would never happen? Like when you're a teenager and you think you'll never turn 16 and be able to drive - never - but then it happens and you can and you love it so much you'll run any errand your mom asks you to run, just so you can sit behind the wheel of her mom car.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Or I guess maybe it's just because I gave birth to the most beautiful and perfect child ever. (For now. Because let's face it, he'll grow up sometime and become a teenager who always wants to drive my car.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />But you can decide for yourself: here is the perfect child at his first big photo shoot. His daddy picked out the wardrobe, set up the set, and took the pictures while his mom and grandma just stood there and laughed as he stretched his super long legs, constantly rolled to his left side, and kept shoving his fists in his mouth. As if they'll fit.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389985067526337938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4AYe5B-r7XIOsOaQGWK-bMf8rZEJkIcpusp-baxbeeApljQkezuf_o2gGGKxNnp8CX48s8fG5Jhl7CqQT9X2bXgb5bVVhGntYA3PWmi93UoSrJIrkasakPoSpcL_zWQ-iI_4iy_vsDW3H/s200/Max_05.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389985268924418882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNAvi2DPhMy9qY9hUzdVOV5-TBsQ_qLO83NAjwpFFM0mZgZvyYxbl-OqFBtOsEUZ3cePfo9fmwSMnJAdS4slKC09bwTmzLsk7ROsNuNqbuhaIiuQfvvcXJcHymuYIwl_k4nQ90Fkd-tr0p/s200/Max_10.jpg" border="0" /> </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389985660097975538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQ__NGy8_nSwwdwmRjwxCJeleDQdqdEN2Y8Ptxxk4PSZDkRvf-q3w-xr6TtucGFTx3crLTGBt8gsj1L9ElTUkMXhAxjewsIErB3HjmStiNtpGMtp7WpEI2defPjXmYkHpOGRqddCyFBS3/s200/Max_08.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389985853511217666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7wdj-xI0fAMW-yOfD3N31c3hi6SQZdagH61pRtoMcgWRDeRlAqlonF-LhjPhfrAvRfyMrO2fBB1r8aOCru1lEm63iolf55SAEPDTiB6ln0qgGQ0y7s5Of0IY8QpslUKae66NBEMh2sYZ/s200/Max_09.jpg" border="0" />He got a little overstimulated, but hey, it was for a good cause. If you're on facebook, find Andy - he posted all 60-some odd photos on his site and you can see them all there. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I refuse to participate in facebook. Sorry.</span></div>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-86387180377923442872009-09-29T16:38:00.001-07:002009-09-29T16:55:33.865-07:00It turns out I can do hard things<span style="font-family:arial;">Like for instance, get this little person from my inside to my outside (that was hard).</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387038138863302402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqv0AuREujuoJxLLk6wLhyphenhyphen6ggzBR9RXI76ZGxWuKvY6tU7OB1JUP7llq75NKts0umgf9dTV2Ux4FdjD2j5XlPc_SHITSk8YCzDe8aDJ3Rzwwhqe9gkaFyXHRLHhrQWSlOY9j3jnARL9HJS/s200/photo.jpg" /></span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">And like be home alone to take care of this little person my last day in the hospital and my first day home from the hospital (Andy had to work). I even managed to fit a shower and a kitchen clean-up into my day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm pretty much just amazed at what our bodies are made for and the incredible feats they can pull off. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Anyway, a lot of people are asking for the story and more pictures. You can read the story here, but I have not unloaded pics from my camera yet or had a chance to take new ones, so you'll have to wait for Andy to do the pics. I promise they'll be soon!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I have been planning a blog post for quite some time now to let everyone know how and what we're doing. The last couple of months have been rough - Andy was in Utah for 6 weeks working and looking for a house for us, and I was home working, suffering through some pretty severe back pain, trying to get the house packed up and ready for this baby. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Andy found us a house and we thought we'd move out there before he came. We planned on going the weekend of September 25, and Andy came home two weeks before that to work in Colorado and we started working towards that date. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">At one point, I just wasn't feeling it, and tried to get him to change it, but we had a bit of a discussion about what to do. Finally we decided to stay in Colorado and have the baby - I was planning on being induced on October 12, just after my due date (October 10). It was a good plan and we moved forward with it. I scheduled an express childbirth class on Saturday September 26, a baby shower on Sunday September 27, and a breastfeeding class on Monday September 28. It felt like a solid plan.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">On Friday evening September 25, I was having really mild contractions and then my water broke when I was going to the bathroom. I didn't realize that's what happened and went on with my evening. I did call my doctor and she said that she was on the fence - it might be something to worry about, might not, but to go to the hospital if things got worse. We had breakfast at IHOP. and when we got home about 9:00, I realized bleeding and contractions were worse and convinced Andy we should at least go get checked out. As a precaution.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">So off we went to the ER, both of us just exhausted and not in the mood to sit in the ER and then go home after two hours. However, once I got on the exam table, the rest of my water gushed out and I was told we were not going home until I had that baby, within the next 24 hours. We were shocked!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">So about 11:00 pm they put me on pitocin to get things moving along, I got my epidural around 4:00 am, started pushing around noon, turned on some Beatles music around 12:15, and at 1:15 pm he was born. What a surprise and a blessing all wrapped in one.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm sure you know we named him Max - Maxwell Kenshi Ahlstrom. Max after a favorite children's book (Where the Wild Things Are) and Kenshi after a Japanese samurai to honor Andy's Japanese culture. He weighed 6 lbs 7 oz and was 21 inches long. The first thing the doc said when he came out was, "Oh! He has a cleft chin!" Andy and I looked at each other and said, "What? Where did he get that from?" We could not think of anyone in our families who has one, but I'm thinking my dad does, we just don't notice it because of his goatee/beard. Funny.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Turns out my fluid was infected, which they think is why I went early. I had a fever during labor and Max came out a little on the warm side. We both had to have oxygen, but a day or so later, everyone is fine.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">So there's the story. We're home from the hospital now, Max is doing great, no one is sleeping, but everyone's happy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I'll post more when I get more pics of little Max. Thanks everyone for the emails and well wishes!</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">PS: We're moving to Kaysville in a few weeks. See some of you very soon!</span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-68724995597945521362009-08-14T07:29:00.000-07:002009-08-24T10:10:16.556-07:00Just a pain in the...<span style="font-family:arial;">I've tried not to be one of those pregnant women who complains all the time. Well, I've tried to be one who complains to just my family instead of everyone. But can I just say this: being pregnant is hard!</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">At the end of July, Andy and I drove to Utah to find a place to live, since our first offer didn't work out. About 30 minutes into our drive, I developed this immobilizing back pain, and about six hours into what turned out to be about a 10 or maybe even 11 hour drive, Andy pulled over and made a bed for me in the back of the van. I finally found relief.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But ever since that day, I have had back pain. So painful that I only find relief when standing, walking, or lying down. No sitting for me! </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Which makes sitting at a computer pretty tough. Which makes working tough. And more importantly, which makes posting new blog entries tough.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Sheesh.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I started seeing a chiropractor last week, and am getting a little relief. Here's hoping the relief keeps coming, because we are not at all ready for this baby and I have so much work to do!</span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-29070527186018555562009-07-31T07:28:00.001-07:002009-07-31T07:33:08.102-07:00Where has the time gone?<span style="font-family:arial;">So July has sped by, and the only thing I can remember about it is this: Emails. Paperwork. Addendums. And lots of money.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We put an offer on a house the first week of July, and have been stuck in a whirlwind of offers, counteroffers, inspections, and money transfers to accommodate everything.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It finally culminated this past Tuesday with us cancelling the contract and walking away from the house we loved so much, because the people selling the house were not super (or at all, really) coooperative.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Bah.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We went out for a pricey crab leg dinner and Cinnabon dessert to try to drown our sorrows. Here's hoping the next one goes a little more smoothly. And that we have a place for little Max to sleep when he arrives in a couple of months!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">PS: The house was in Utah. Did I say that? Andy and I are planning on moving to Utah. Today, anyway...if things keep NOT working out, maybe we'll end up somewhere else ... location TBD. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-77208222568101967552009-06-23T10:55:00.000-07:002009-06-23T11:09:20.298-07:00Sick day<span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350585368844401106" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 181px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2tUESnbluHXAsIAFqxXHVM10XGvxZtdemCsbZdPq6Vgv4Q1fm0yT-TPHBhG1D4ej0TpBomdYgHyhMgZR2dGKHUzarDS_kDupAHfC1k88lXrS8Q9UKIL__TCLUW9XgHv7HZvlQJcoEglwx/s200/sick.gif" border="0" />I always thought the hardest part of pregnancy (for me) would be dealing with headaches. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have had headaches for as long as I can remember, and have been on all sorts of medication for them. When Andy and I got married, I weaned myself off the meds and just took Excedrin or Excedrin PM when I got a headache. Since that obviously can't happen when you're pregnant, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">I thought it would be tough to survive headaches sans Excedrin. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As it turns out, I've only had two really bad headaches while pregnant. (yay!)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">What I have had (and am on my third one) are sinus infections and most recently, a really bad viral infection. This thing has knocked me flat on my back - I have stopped working and been in bed or on the couch for almost two weeks now. Coughing, hacking, draining, you name it - it's happening at our house, and I'm not a happy camper about it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Especially because the dead moths just continue to pile up. Ugh.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Wish me well soon. I hate looking outside at the sun and wishing I could be out there, when instead I'm lying on the couch surrounded by piles of tissue, hugging a humidifier.</span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-28762788989856492592009-06-10T05:51:00.000-07:002009-06-10T05:57:55.251-07:00Which is better?<span style="font-family:arial;">On Saturday, I set out to conquer our moth problem once and for all. They are ONLY in our entryway (unless we leave the door open between the entryway and the house), and they cover that room. On any given night, there must be at least two to three dozen moths hanging around. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Gross.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, on Saturday, armed with the vacuum cleaner hose, I started sucking them up. One, two, three, thwump, thump, thwump, they all went in. I must have vacuumed two dozen moths before satisified I got them all.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Not so.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I tuned around to put away the vacuum, and heard tiny moth wings beating behind me - five more had just appeared! I proceeded to suck them up, and turned to put away the vacuum once more.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And they just kept coming back. They crawled out of the window, I'm guessing from somewhere in the depths of our shoe cabinet, which I opened, and sucked out the moths I could see in there. I think one of them laid eggs that stay dormant all year and hatch in the spring. They flew everywhere, attacking me - flying at my head, beating their tiny, grossy, dusty moth wings at me, as if they were ready for war.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In hindsight, I realized I was attacking <em>them </em>after all - why wouldn't they attack back? Maybe because it's not their house! They don't pay rent - I do!</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Still - gross.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So I bought a bug bomb so we could fog the place. Andy set it on Monday, and I came home to four moths in that room - all of them dead, and now I'm finding dead moths everywhere.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So you tell me - which is better? Dozens upon dozens of live moths, or stepping on a dead moth and getting moth dust on your bare foot?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'll say it again: gross.</span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-47590236601448351902009-06-01T15:03:00.000-07:002009-06-01T15:04:30.942-07:00A friday surprise (kind of)<span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342480778323812706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 167px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2zRux7qR7o21IPIIMbv7QT4gl1RV10DnFFOhCsszWarqG2VDSDnWFLGRCE9hGUNChmrlyEzfPZ1JeADYsgo8V75uzAd2DdUwT8QmMxtlGpP6jWNq9Blumwi6A-1Vv54QeyDc0s_Af4og/s200/boy_onesie.jpg" border="0" />On Friday, here is what we learned about Baby Ahlstrom: </span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">He is a he. That's right, we'll have a mini-Andy in about four months. (I wasn't 100% sure, but had suspected a boy, because everything I'm wearing these days is blue. Weird, but it turned out to be true.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">He is super active - so why is it that I still can't feel him moving? Something to do with the thickness of my placenta. (um...what?) Hopefully he'll move soon. You'd think with Andy tapping my stomach and commanding him to move all morning would work, but not yet. I guess this kid has already decided to show us his rebellious side.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">His brain, heart, and facial structure look great. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">All his measurements are average (good), which the doctor said was great. Andy was all, "Just average?" And I was like, "Dude, at this point, I do NOT want our kid to be above average size, because I'm the one who has to get him out!" Right? Right. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">The real question is this: what in the world do we name him? We had no problem choosing and agreeing on girl names, but we cannot agree on boy names. We need some suggestions! (Real suggestions - this means you, Jon Tolman.) </span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-32832225260032468872009-05-18T07:55:00.000-07:002009-05-18T07:59:03.260-07:00I've officially joined the club<span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">I know there are lots of milestones and big things that automatically make a woman a member of the Motherhood Club, the biggest and most official being actual labor (still trying to figure out how to get around that one).</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Clearly, I haven't gone through labor yet, but something else has happened to me twice in the last week that I think pretty much cements my admittance into said club: I sneezed and peed my pants.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">But just a little.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Be honest: It only gets worse from here, doesn't it?</span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-77559619517883647542009-05-14T07:41:00.000-07:002009-05-14T08:10:29.581-07:00Springtime visitors<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgXsxnUyvcVRAQO2M3tUccSMuCVBU_vz-kVr8wHmitbWLmzfg0pbom2VkF3EH22IIE9CKq8F7EkKBq0_1AHxJM5q_7XAS46LavnbyzZwrJoX81g6162K3lDHPz0gIZiBkr9rYEgYF6NjJ/s1600-h/moth.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335694925683669618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 152px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgXsxnUyvcVRAQO2M3tUccSMuCVBU_vz-kVr8wHmitbWLmzfg0pbom2VkF3EH22IIE9CKq8F7EkKBq0_1AHxJM5q_7XAS46LavnbyzZwrJoX81g6162K3lDHPz0gIZiBkr9rYEgYF6NjJ/s200/moth.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't remember a lot from my childhood, but I do remember this: When I was in junior high, a group of my friends were hanging out at this guy's house. He wanted to show us his cool bird (I don't even remember what kind it was, just that it was big). That bird must have been so excited to get out of his cage, because he flapped around and around the room, squawking, trying to find a safe place to land. As a couple of kids chased him around the room, he frantically landed on what he must have thought was a safe nest - directly on top of my head. (I had very curly hair, I suppose much akin to a bird's nest.) When he realized it was a head, not a nest, the bird became even more frenzied and tried to break free, causing him to become completely tangled up in my hair. It took three people and what felt like hours to un-tangle that stupid bird. I was officially traumatized and have despised crazed, flying animals ever since.<br /><br />Bats and moths come to mind, but we don't have bats. Instead, we get moths.</span><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">There are so many downsides to Andy being gone that I won't even try to list them. But the worst one by far has to be those wretched moths.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Every spring, they appear in our entryway. They just appear - loads of them. And I hate them. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Some manage to sneak into the house. And they came last week. I had to get something from my car at night, so I turned on the light and walked into the entryway, and was greeted by at least a dozen moths, frantically swooping at my head, trying to get into the house.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">It was that stupid, frantic bird all over again, minus the squawking. And it was gross.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I can't think of them just like butterflies, because they are NOT like butterflies. Butterflies are calm and serene. They float. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Moths are just frenzied, and they cause me to be frenzied and walk around my house with a flyswatter, swinging at the air as they evade my attacks.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">To date, I have killed five of them, but they keep coming back. They disappear during the day and reappear at night, all crazed and scrambling for the light. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Gross. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Who knows of a better way to get rid of these wretched creatures?</span></div>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-12982889800784688152009-05-13T07:08:00.000-07:002009-05-13T07:22:27.869-07:00I'm airing my dirty laundry (and dishes, and giant vats of Cheez Balls)<span style="font-family:arial;">When Andy's gone, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">this is what happens to our house. At least lately. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335311214125267298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nEivPS6N7A1rG1mYGOmhJkynhTMX4MzKIID-yRJCebCuQXdlI_R-h2KCwzeQlBAM8H3azgp2t7P1pK3YmsouVMIJvNs4g94ov2qLLnw1sSrOJtEqUU-HRgRLhTxhJV3ytGdYmHd6VdHO/s200/kitchen.jpg" border="0" /> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Sadly, this is not the worse my kitchen has looked in the last two weeks.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335311437219256546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn75yADtTtw6jUQ3qP9T-SGBiLaOctx6BwKbXN-5YXz2T8G2Sf9CZIx9hbGHQ92M5RxdrisNUleGxw81J-46bZGdbmDd4RPGrQtb9_nnpaTSKOwPvy7F9W1x-hDLsHMd6hF9Nf1-IbvJfZ/s200/living+room.jpg" border="0" /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Just home from Costco, and too lazy to put stuff away.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335311579456654642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLugsJyMzb6QuGN_CI_Kf1FnxfUOnn9x6l-HrwDOU2hSK6jl_SHESpZH1sy7O5sVtGmL_RIqDYJtTxyzXLinp5wf83AkJl3i_P8D-IVjkFDLi_f3L4MUxaIZQuAbR3IR0xnnBhRxgcftOM/s200/TV+room.jpg" border="0" /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;">I just have to point out the giant vat of Cheez Balls. I laughed when Heather gave those to me, but sadly, I'm the only one who has eaten them, and look how much I've eaten!</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A few months ago, it was because I was so sick. Now I'm just so...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...lazy?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...sloppy?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...tired?</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Who knows, but he's been gone for two weeks* and we have a week and a half to go. I better get cleaning if I want to be done by the time he's back.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">It's funny, because as the Compassionate Service Leader for our ward, I'm pretty okay at pulling people together to deliver food, help with people's houses, and other services. But when it comes to pulling <strong>myself </strong>together to take care of my own house...forget it.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I wonder why that is?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">*Andy's in Aspen shooting a movie. Doesn't he have such a glamorous life? While I stay behind, sitting on the couch eating Bon-Bons and watching Hulu because we cancelled our cable. (Seriously, why does having children make us do crazy things to save money?)</span></div>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-55132943291917681722009-04-21T08:59:00.000-07:002009-04-21T09:25:43.773-07:00I am a murderer<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327181553611311826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 136px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxvCUbIq_9eFnWt3QDflTNLVs9Np5JIuHI_MSw5b9T5c6pP9CDG0b_C5NLwLi4kpWtw5I6dsKE38BAtxDTO4tdutisTjjVGgGgcE-aaIfPywkfQC-K1BuiY_vMfP9b2MAeK7aMVGeLc-FO/s200/dead_plant.bmp" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's not every day of my life that I walk around thinking about offing someone - just occasionally, like when I have a bad day at work or a particularly unpleasant run-in with another driver. But today, I realized (thanks to Andy calling me a murderer), that I am a murderer. It wasn't pre-meditated, but I am a murderer nonetheless.</span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I took life from someone. Or better said, I neglected to sustain life for someone. And I feel sick inside.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Allow me to explain: Last fall, Andy's dad took a job in the east, and his mom went to the west to help his sister. She asked me if I wanted some plants, since she wouldn't be here to take care of them. "Sure," I said - naievely thinking that "some" meant less than 10. I have less than 10 plants in my house, and I would say I have "some." And I have no problem caring for them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">She dropped off approximately two dozen plants, of varying sizes, shapes, and textures. A week later, Andy drove to her house to bring back almost 10 more giant sized plants, some as needy as a newborn.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">They filled up all our kitchen counters, plus floor space. Some needed lots of sun and little water. Others needed constant watering and did okay without much sun. A few (not many) were DOA, and went straight to the trash.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I tried my best to sustain them, I really did. In fact, I did okay for a few months. But then I got pregnant and while some people think my nurturing tendencies would have heightened, they completely went out the window. I kept telling myself it's because I was so sick all I could do was walk from the couch to the bathroom. I couldn't clean my house, couldn't even put on makeup, let alone water some plants. But the truth remains: however I rationalized it, here I stand four and a half months later with a room full of dead plants. Oh, and bugs all over our house - some dead, some still living. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">The bugs love the plants.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I kill the bugs, and I also killed the plants - I am a murderer.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Does this mean I am unable to nurture living things once I get sick? If so, let's everyone pray for this baby that I don't ever get sick. I keep thinking that at least a baby will make noise when it's hungry. The plants were just so quiet, I couldn't help but ignore them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Darn those plants.</span></div>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-62673354975943200462009-04-08T06:18:00.000-07:002009-04-08T06:26:27.574-07:0032<span style="font-family:arial;">I can't believe I'm 32. When my mom was 32, she had at least three of her kids.<br /></span><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">When I was 22, I thought I was so old. Um, nope. I was <strong>so </strong>young. Now my body feels old, but inside, I feel like I'm still 22. Unfortunately, sometimes I still act like I'm 22.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">On the plus side, I got a fun little present from Andy...he made up my mind for me about which phone I should get. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322310221263517986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 121px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTs3jy-OnLPCa0Bnfmj9yUCx4MrbVX2SU4qDmuvpDlwyd_hQ3wyKpQCQYKZxv9WEIPgIg6N8yl5zyXm-Rgf2cMEe2nMCn-nggCISx1XcbHLyY7AHcGBo9mXgCjTKA_mQAlP1BvmY0jnDHy/s200/iphone.gif" border="0" /></span> </div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">And let me tell you, it is worth every penny! I had no idea how much use I had for an iPhone. He tells me, "It's not a phone - it's a lifestyle." And he's right.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:Arial;">Thanks to everyone for celebrating 32 with me!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br />Two more things:</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">1) If you want more than three comments on your blog, post that you're pregnant. It was nice to hear from all of you!</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">2) If you haven't already, go look at <a href="http://www.drewstorm.com/chucklestocurecancer/episode7.htm">this</a>. </span></div>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-25968445978835145492009-03-31T09:47:00.000-07:002009-03-31T10:03:47.905-07:00They say it's about the size of a lime<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3WnJ4wj5-ntMIZXCPrCtIlbXQQ8kuSnYNHSSzYWSfhc9X4nU6iVgM0zEm-XoBHTMFcQ3PbzRAu34kLhgPU8McvXSFyQB38VxuhwL6lWsMTkjGTGNpcnQhXM9lxueg3a19K0-LlFKbHcF/s1600-h/pregnant.jpg"></a><div><span style="font-family:arial;">It's been a rough couple of months at the Ahlstrom household - sickness, lots of work, new callings, more sickness. Oh yeah, and then there's this:</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319395311437629506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 96px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6I3nI0KARA6O3waR25AyoOK-gjhRBssHD3dtt2Dem6M1rUr2j_3tqZpzbU0qQ3KjZRpbhObArzEKGxFwibHSpzWZGTrugnoo7q0GBC1y1XCdhknuZ1PvCCGqS292bH0CxV86maO_DPcK/s200/pregnant.jpg" border="0" /></span> <div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Yep, it's true. And we managed to (mostly) keep it a secret for almost 13 weeks - hard. This morning we had an ultrasound and saw Baby Ahlstrom bouncing around for the camera, showing us its ginormous alien head.</span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Even though I've been the sickest I've ever been, it took that ultrasound to make it real for me, and reality is sinking in with each passing minute.<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />And now I can say thank you - for keeping us in your prayers, for still being my friend even though I didn't tell you our little secret, and for sending good vibes out to our family while it took us so long to reach this point.<br /><br />Now let's just pray that we can make it until October 11. </span>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3623315632909375768.post-1788911729186478172009-03-06T06:50:00.000-08:002009-03-06T07:15:39.529-08:00Smelly feet<span style="font-family:arial;">I've never really been the kind of person to take my shoes off when I go into someone else's house, especially my own. Unless they specifically request it, but when they do, it makes me feel weird. Walking around someone else's house in my socks (or no socks) with a bunch of other people just doesn't feel right.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXpMdfttWA9YVL5SpR_DmYuH90coIkFjeYvvrf46pMq8RmzdnDCK_ivMHMBuXlQCW6U2Q2CZ2f7lBXQhRe4wBptuM_rzEINF1UCTFCpsoZLsYrt2cdbfMKY_E1RyqPNify8LdTWLEMSjy/s1600-h/entryway_2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310092810191836354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXpMdfttWA9YVL5SpR_DmYuH90coIkFjeYvvrf46pMq8RmzdnDCK_ivMHMBuXlQCW6U2Q2CZ2f7lBXQhRe4wBptuM_rzEINF1UCTFCpsoZLsYrt2cdbfMKY_E1RyqPNify8LdTWLEMSjy/s200/entryway_2.jpg" border="0" /></a>Then I married Andy, who is half Japanese and we moved into his parents' old house. His Japanese mother added this entryway onto said house - a specific place for people to leave their shoes when they came in. It has some Japanese name, which I cannot remember at present.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Andy convinced me I would love it, and I wasn't so sure. But when he pointed out that I would have an entire shoe room instead of just a few measley racks in the closet, the idea grew on me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Just look at where I get to store all my shoes!</span><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310092365626301938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFeUEtSmJOKFfPvk1Fsoti2jmZ7pZF4E7TGxwW6_rShol6pszqLGYErPdNtpp_cxA_dVe2ym1hoXr4ODDs0HQ89a7OZnANiXDKXMck8c42_3uwfqyX0A9o7_DA4EyAam0MkbTaNq_maUx/s200/entryway_1.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">And thus I joined the club of taking off my shoes when I came into the house. Actually, I probably became the leader.</span> </p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Usually, it's not too big a deal. We take off our shoes, and when people come over and see the big pile of shoes, they take off their shoes too. No big deal, right?</span> </p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Except last night, we had the young men and young women over to our house to work on a movie project with Andy. I sat downstairs catching up on <em>The Martha Stewart Show</em> (she has great ideas okay!) while everyone sat upstairs writing their scripts and throwing popcorn all over the kitchen. When everyone left, I went upstairs to help Andy clean up, and the whole upstairs reeked.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">It. Was. Rank.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Smelly like an entire high school basketball team had wiped our furniture, cabinets, and appliances down with their wet jerseys after a championship game. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">And we even had really strong scented plug-ins and a Scentsy "candle" burning - what the heck? When I told Andy it smelled like a locker room, he said he's pretty sure it was one of the young men's feet. His feet? </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Maybe I just don't get that because I didn't grow up with brothers, but holy cow! Whose feet are stinky enough to smell up an entire first floor of a house? </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Before they came over, I spent 30 minutes cleaning the floors so that their wouldn't get dirty <em>inside </em>my house, but when dirty feet come inside my house and make my house dirty, it makes me not very happy.</span> </p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">This poor young man, I don't mean to pick on him. But I just might rethink the whole "remove your shoes before you walk into my house" thing. </span></p>lishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15167809906068050870noreply@blogger.com4