I've officially joined the club

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).

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.

But just a little.

Be honest: It only gets worse from here, doesn't it?

Springtime visitors

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.

Bats and moths come to mind, but we don't have bats. Instead, we get moths.

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.

Every spring, they appear in our entryway. They just appear - loads of them. And I hate them. 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.

It was that stupid, frantic bird all over again, minus the squawking. And it was gross.

I can't think of them just like butterflies, because they are NOT like butterflies. Butterflies are calm and serene. They float. 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.

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.

Gross.

Who knows of a better way to get rid of these wretched creatures?

I'm airing my dirty laundry (and dishes, and giant vats of Cheez Balls)

When Andy's gone, this is what happens to our house. At least lately.

Sadly, this is not the worse my kitchen has looked in the last two weeks.

Just home from Costco, and too lazy to put stuff away.

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!

A few months ago, it was because I was so sick. Now I'm just so...

...lazy?
...sloppy?
...tired?

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.

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 myself together to take care of my own house...forget it.

I wonder why that is?

*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?)

I am a murderer

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.

I took life from someone. Or better said, I neglected to sustain life for someone. And I feel sick inside.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The bugs love the plants.

I kill the bugs, and I also killed the plants - I am a murderer.

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.

Darn those plants.

32

I can't believe I'm 32. When my mom was 32, she had at least three of her kids.

When I was 22, I thought I was so old. Um, nope. I was so young. Now my body feels old, but inside, I feel like I'm still 22. Unfortunately, sometimes I still act like I'm 22.

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.

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.

Thanks to everyone for celebrating 32 with me!

Two more things:

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!

2) If you haven't already, go look at this.

They say it's about the size of a lime

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:

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.

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.

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.

Now let's just pray that we can make it until October 11.

Smelly feet

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.

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.

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.

Just look at where I get to store all my shoes!

And thus I joined the club of taking off my shoes when I came into the house. Actually, I probably became the leader.

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?

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 The Martha Stewart Show (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.

It. Was. Rank.

Smelly like an entire high school basketball team had wiped our furniture, cabinets, and appliances down with their wet jerseys after a championship game. 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?

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?

Before they came over, I spent 30 minutes cleaning the floors so that their wouldn't get dirty inside my house, but when dirty feet come inside my house and make my house dirty, it makes me not very happy.

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.