mama monday: heartbeat, part 2

The milestones of Week 15:

and Week 16 (four whole months!)

have come and gone without much drama - in fact, almost all the drama of pregnancy so far compacted itself nicely into the first three months.  PRAISE BE.  My heart goes out to all the mamas who feel the effects of nausea throughout their entire pregnancies.  There are elevated positions of honour reserved for you in heaven.  Rob Bell told me.

Yesterday I attended the bridal shower of a long-time friend of Andrew's, in where else? Woodbridge.  Italian bridal showers are not to be messed with.  Much like any other Italian gathering, these showers are large, in charge, are attended by relatives known and partially unknown, must include alcohol, a meal of several courses, and the only acceptable (or audible) means of communication is a fraction below a yell.  This shower also had a loop of 80s music, games, and prizes.  One of which my mother-in-law won.  And bequeathed to me.

In fact, my mother-in-law is one of the most gracious, loving, kind, and giving person I know.  While on our way back to my house she casually gestured to a small bag of gear by my feet.

"Oh, by the way, Sarah, I borrowed a fetal doppler from work and we can listen to the baby's heartbeat."

Like it's the most normal thing in the world to have comandeered an $800 piece of obstetrical equipment from an OB-GYN office to use at one's leisure.  She's going to make a great grandmother.

When we arrived home, Andrew watched in anticipation while his mother, an OB-GYN assistant veteran of 25 years, searched my abdomen with what looked like a mini karaoke machine while I lay on the couch.

At first, all we heart was my slower, steady heartbeat.  Whum, whum, whum, whum.  After a few seconds, and a switch in microphone position, we tuned in to Baby Gaz's quickened whammy-whammy-whammy-whammy and all three of us smiled.  For Andrew, it was the first time he had heard Baby Gaz live.

I like that it was in our living room.

foto friday: in memory of 518 jane

Now, from the archives of my iPhone's camera app...

A few weeks ago, my good friend Nicole Evans was wed in Sunbury, Pennsylvania.  Nicole has starred in my blog before, as we once were roommates at the best apartment in all of apartmentdom, 518 Jane: Where Life Is The Party.

This is the diner where we all ate breakfast.  A full breakfast in Sunbury was $3.49.

This was the incredible wall hanging at said diner that was beyond words. 

Baby squirrels have emerged from our neighbour's eavestrough (we are OK with this, primarily, because they are cute and it's not our eavestrough).  This is the closest I could get to three of them - there are four, but one is a bit of a mama's boy and stays inside most of the time.

This is how much fur we can brush off of Solmon once he begins to shed his winter coat.  Better outside on the porch than inside on my floor.

Every year, our church runs a youth conference called Freshwind for thousands of youth.  I have attended the conference for many years and Andrew and I ran it for the past three year in a row.  Since we're no longer youth pastors we don't run it anymore which, this year, was both odd, and very freeing.  

Oberon, hunting wild birds on BBC Life.

My mom and I went to Elmwood Spa in celebration of mother's day.  This was the third picture we attempted to take, but were laughing too hard to take properly.  My mom peed a little.

Here lies The Couch from 518 Jane: Where Life Is The Party.  It was a good couch, and had a good life. It has gone to live in Couch Heaven.

wifercize wednesday: the new domesticity

One of the blogs I follow, Pacing the Panic Room, recently featured a few guest posts by the author's wife, Cole, here and here.  I've been in love with this blog ever since Ryan (a photographer) began posting shots of his wife's pregnancy and I've been hooked ever since.

Although I usually scan the blog for pictures I found myself reading each. and. every. word. of Cole's Q&A session because a) she's cool, b) I think we could be friends in another life, and c) she has a wicked sense of humour.

One of the questions a fan sent in was:

Dear Cole, Where do you turn to for inspiration? Favorite books/magazines/websites/movies/pop culture?

Cole answered that she recently read Radical Homemakers and Made From Scratch - which, incidentally, are two books on my Amazon.ca Wishlist in case you're interested and you should be because my birthday is coming up next week - and this only heightened my fictitious BFF status with her even more.

I've written about homemaking before and, since taking a work-from-home position with the church, I've found myself thinking about it more and more.  What does it mean to be a homemaker?  How much of a homemaker can I be if I buy everything ready-made?  How can I express my creativity in-home and make our house an expression of who we are and what is important to us?

One of the main draws of books like Made From Scratch is that people, like myself, are feeling a draw back to making things ourselves.  Not picking them up, prefabricated, from a Big Box Store and displaying them as if they were our own creations.  There's a "new domesticity" (a term coined and explained further here) that is more than just hipsterism.

We want to be a part of making things.  It's what humans were created to do: create!  And, yes, it cuts costs and impresses people and gets you hipster status as well.

I encourage you (wifes, husbands, singles, anybody!) to begin your adventure into the new domesticity.  It'll be messy, because the instructions won't come with the packaging, but you'll learn something about life, and yourself, along the way.  I promise.

A good place to start would be looking up DIY projects online the next time you run into a household problem, search creative blogs for ideas to yoink (I like yoinking from ApartmentTherapy, Design*Sponge, Piewacket, Remodelista, and DesireToInspire, to name a few), check out The New Domesticity's group Flickr account, read books like the ones mentioned above (also Domestic Bliss by Rita Konig is another one), go to yard sales ("One man's trash is another man's treasure"), keep your eyes open for curbside adoption options, have clothing swaps with your friends, live a sustainable lifestyle, recycle, sew, build, cook, and get your hands dirty.

Here's a video I stole from my brother's Facebook page to get you all inspired-like.  Don't forget to let me know what projects you get up to!

Makers: Mini Maker Faire Toronto from Ryan Varga on Vimeo.

foto friday: something out of nothing

Near the subway station where I live there once was a blank wall under a bridge.  I featured part of this blank wall before here.  Over the past few months, however, someone has been commissioned to make the blank wall less blanker and with something other than rust stains.  I took these photos during production:

wifercize wednesday: husbandry fail

I like gardening.  

It is not to be assumed that I am good at gardening.  Like I enjoy painting but generally with my hands and instead of for the purpose of art more for the purpose of getting messy.

For a few weeks little envelopes would show up at our house addressed to Andrew from various locations around the world.  The States.  Thailand.  At first I thought he was buying magic beans, like Jim tricked Dwight into trading on The Office, but they turned out to be organic seeds.

My husband is very good at gardening.

He had ordered lettuce, red lettuce, mint, rosemary, and basil seeds.  I promptly offered to plant and nurture them for him.  

This picture would be less impressive if you knew just how much went into establishing that these plants WILL NOT GROW.

First: the lettuce (of regular and red variety) planted and bloomed nicely at first.  Then I made the error of transplanting my two red lettuce experiments into larger containers, an operation that did not agree with half of the red lettuce family.  Although it could have been the vinegar.

Second: the vinegar.  I planted the mint and rosemary (top two middle containers) one sunny morning and read the package carefully: both required gentle misting as opposed to direct watering.  I grabbed a water bottle from our kitchen and misted generously.  Mist, mist, mist.  Mist, mist.  By the time I began misting the red lettuce for fun I could smell the distinct odour of vinegar.  Because I had grabbed our vinegar/water mix that we use to DISINFECT THE SINK.  

I Googled "vinegar + gardening" to realize that vinegar does, in fact, have several functions in the garden.  All of them lethal.  How to kill grubs.  How to kill weeds.  How to kill germs on gardening tools.  How to keep neighbourhood cats away.  

Third: planting seeds too deeply.  Although the package read "plant 1/4 inch below the surface" I tried ignoring the instructions for the lettuceseseses and realized what they meant by 1/4 inch was barely dusted in potting soil.  Hence, the lettuce's (partial) success and the basil's utter defeat (top right container).

Now when I look at my little plot of farming I see this:

and I hope that lessons learned in the garden are learned only once and this means I will one day go on to have a long and prosperous career as a horticulturist.

mama monday: ok already

Over the past weekend, three separate people kindly reminded me of the state of my blog.  Principally: not updated.  Shout out to Helen, Rebecca, and that wonderful girl that Andrew bumped into at a Starbucks near Orangeville.

Since last we met, Baby Gaz and I graduated Week 13:

And Week 14: 

Week 14 is here represented by a 3.5 inch jalapeño pepper which, trust you me, I am not in the habit of eating.  In fact, anything spicy has been so far off limits for me since I end up feel it dance around my esophagus a few minutes after eating.  Like a spicy Cuban rumba party in my throat.  And the kind of party that you wish you hadn't spent the $15 cover charge to get in for because the guy to girl ratio is 1:10, the drinks taste like Drano, and the walls are perspiring.

In other news, I believe I can say that I've received my first piece of fan mail.  Mid-last-week, a package came to the door which Andrew accepted and then asked aloud, to no one in particular, if anyone had been purchasing more shoes online.  I swore I hadn't.  Then checked recent memory to make sure it was true.  

Within the oversized bubble envelope was a beautifully crocheted (really? that can't possibly be the way to spell something so wonderfully handmade: CROCH-et-ed?) baby quilt in a perfectly chosen dark teal suitable for Baby Gaz no matter if Baby Gaz turns out to be a Miss or Mister.

The gift was sent, along with a beautiful card, from a friend I know from camp - eons ago - named Charis.  AND SINCE CHARIS READS MY BLOG I CAN CONSIDER THIS FAN MAIL.  Thanks so much, Charis!  You completely made my week!  The blanket is now proudly displayed in the not-even-remotely-ready room set aside for Baby Gaz.

Speaking of Baby Gaz's nursery, one of the sure signs that I had passed over into the promised land of Second Trimester was that three weeks ago I woke up and instead of feeling like human slime putty or gagging while I brushed my teeth, I took a look at our two upstairs spare bedrooms and decided: I need to move all this furniture.

All of it. 

None of it can stay as it is.

I'm moving it all.

Now.

And I did.  I slowly and awkwardly moved a secretary desk, a dresser, a filing cabinet, an ironing board, a rocking chair, a desk chair, an oversized upholstered armchair, two large bookshelves, two small book shelves, a few boxes, and a single bed to rearrange both rooms.  One room is now our guest room slash studio room where Andrew's keyboard can reside and I can write (HA! who are we kidding? I write on my lap on the couch in the living room, more often in my pajamas than not), the other is the Nursery In Progress (or NIP).

And by "in progress" I mean it currently houses a single futon, a wicker chest, a dresser we may end up using as a change table, a Swiffer, and Charis' beautifully CROCH-et-ed dark teal baby blanket.  

wifercize wednesday: don'ts for wives

While enjoying an extravagant dinner and witty banter with our friends Ben and Sarah, I found (and read) these two books while in the bathroom.  Correction, I did not read the two books cover to cover.  In fact, I skimmed the first few pages, became uneasy about the amount of time I had been missing from the meal, and took the books with me.

They are now on lend to me to write this special Wifercize Wednesday.

Published in 1913, one would assume (as I did) that these two manuals - conveniently blue and red to yet further distinguish the genders and keep colour sexism alive - would be a laugh.  Outdated misogynistic advice written by an opinionated man who desired to put his wife in order and thought it prudent to write a companion edition for husbands to keep the peace.

The author of both books is, in fact, a woman by the name of Blanche Ebbutt.  In prefaces she writes in both volumes, she appeals to each sex in turn.  To the wives: "I hope she [the average wife] may find it worthwhile to take a few hints from an old hand."  To the husbands: "You are neither as bad nor as good a fellow as you imagine yourself to be...  As for men- well, I have a husband myself!"

I wish I could take the time to write out all my favourites from both books but, as they are only 73 tiny pages each, it would basically mean a re-write and you'd be better off buying them for yourself.  Instead, I'll post some of the best from each category to whet your appetites.  Wives, take note.

PERSONALITIES

Don't expect your husband to have all the feminine virtues as well as all the masculine ones.  There would be nothing left for you if your other half were such a paragon.

Don't put on airs with your husband.   If you can't be natural with him, you shouldn't have married him.

Don't let your husband feel that you are a 'dear little woman', but no good intellectually.  If you find yourself getting stale, wake up your brain.  Let there be nothing your husband can talk about that you will be unable to understand.  

HOW TO AVOID DISCORD

Don't say, 'I told you so,' to your husband, however much you feel tempted to.  It does no good, and he will be grateful to you for not saying it.

Don't keep your sweetest smiles and your best manners for outsiders; let your husband come first.

Don't snub your husband.  Nothing is more unpleasant for lookers-on than to hear a snub administered by a wife, and it is more than unpleasant for the husband; it is degrading. 

HABITS

Don't check your husband's high spirits.  Let him sing a the top of his voice in the bathroom, or whistle out of tune on the stairs, and be thankful for a cheerful man about the house.

Don't think it beneath you to put your husband's slippers ready for him.  On a cold evening, especially, it makes all the difference to his comfort if the soles are warmed through.

FINANCIAL MATTERS

Don't expect to begin where your parents left off.  A little struggle in your early married life won't hurt you.

Don't have any secrets from your husband in financial matters.  Complete confidence is best.  Don't let him have any financial secrets from you.  You are partners, and you have as much right to know what is the balance at the bank as he has.

Don't confuse stinginess with economy.  You can be careful without being mean. 

EVENINGS AT HOME

Don't omit the kiss of greeting.  It cheers a man when he is tired to feel that his wife is glad to see him home.

Don't get the idea that all your husband wants is a housekeeper, or a decorative head of the table.  He wants a companion and when he is at home he doesn't want you to be always somewhere else. 

JEALOUSY

Don't try to excite your husband's jealousy by flirting with other men.  You may succeed better than you want to.  It is like playing with tigers and edged tools and volcanoes all in one.

Don't be jealous, anyway.  It belittles you, puts you at a disadvantage, and, if your husband thinks about it, is apt to make him unbearably conceited.  Nothing makes you look old and worn sooner than jealousy, and nothing makes you more ridiculous. 

RECREATION

Don't forget the anniversary of your wedding.  Keep it up.  The little celebration will draw you closer together year by year.

Don't be afraid to rough it now and then with your husband as a companion.  If he feels that he would like a week's walking tour with you as a chum, don't object that it may rain, or that you haven't a suitable dress, or that you can't manage for a week with nothing in the way of luggage except a nightdress and a tooth-brush.  Enter into the spirit of the thing, and you'll get quite as much fun out of it as he will, and be happier than if he accompanied you to some fashionable resort where you would need to dress three or four times a day.

FOOD

Don't forget to 'feed the brute' well.  Much depends on the state of his digestion.

DRESS

Don't impose your ideas on your husband in matters of individual taste so long as his style is not bad.  He has a right to his own views.

Don't reject your husband's advice on matters of dress without good reason.  Many men have excellent taste and original ideas on the subject.

ENTERTAINING

Don't refuse to entertain your husband's friends on the ground that it is a 'bother'.  Nothing pains a man more than finding only a cold welcome when he brings home a chum.

Don't try to 'amuse' your guest every minute of the day.  If they feel thoroughly at home, the amusement will come naturally.  Don't forget to have books in every room.

 Don't refuse to entertain at all because you can't do it on the same scale as your neighbours.  The 'jolly little party' is generally preferred to the starchy reception. 

mama monday: weeks 9, 10, 11 and 12

First, let's answer some fan mail.

Yes.

My intention, once I announced our pregnancy to the world, was to update Mama Mondays weekly with information about how far along I was, etc.  In fact, the intention behind Mama Monday itself was to post about pregnancy and motherhood.

But first trimester had other plans.

Each day of my first trimester played out the same as the one before:

Wake up after 10+ hours of sleep, hungry.
Pee.

Breakfast.

Pee.
Snack.

Pee.

Lunch.
Pee.
Nap.
Pee.

Dinner.

Pee.

Relax in the evening with Andrew.

Pee twice or three times more.

While I snack.

Pee.
Bed by 10:00 p.m.

So here's a rundown of recent events.

Week 9

According to website research, Baby Gaz is now about 1 inch which here is represented by this partially eaten pickle.  Mmm, pickle.

In fact, the number one thing I have been craving over the past few weeks has been sour things.  Grapefruit, pickles, vinegar, tziziki sauce.  Oh, and salty things but that's not much of a break from tradition.  Andrew claims that he'll get me a salt lick for Christmas one year.

Baby Gaz and I are both doing fine.  In fact, I meant to include a video Andrew made for our small group when we announced the pregnancy - in it, Baby Gaz makes its first film debut and you can hear the heartbeat: 

Week 10

Baby Gaz is now the size of this delicious Reece Peanut Butter © chocolate egg my mom bought us for Easter which, although I have sworn off caffeinated drinks for the first trimester, I have no qualms eating in handfuls.  Baby Gaz is also already begun making demands:

I don't like meat.
I don't like greasy foods.
I don't like complicated sauces or dressings.
I don't like when mommy smells meat, greasy foods, complicated sauces or dressings.
I don't like when mommy looks at billboards of meat, greasy foods, complicated sauces or dressings.
I don't like it when mommy brushes her teeth.
I don't like it when mommy stays awake for too long.
I don't like it when mommy doesn't eat every few hours.

I want someone to hang out with from 3:00 a.m. until at least 4:00 a.m. every morning.

This uterus is too small.
This bladder is crowding me.
This stomach needs to take up less space.

Week 11

As I rummage around the house for various items that represent the growth of Baby Gaz I recognize that I will have to employ creative tactics.  Like opening an entire 900 mL bag of farfalle to use one piece for this shot at Week 11.

My primary pregnancy complaint (other than nausea which, praise Him, has begun to abate) has been regarding Baby Brain.  Simply put, I am suffering from mild amnesia as it pertains to vocabulary, direction, names, dates, multitasking of any sort, and purpose of entering a room.  My once proud University of Toronto degree still hangs proudly in our living room declaring that I achieved a degree in English, although I now frequently have conversations with Andrew about "that thingy" and how "what's her face" was so "you know" with "whatever" and...hmm?  Nevermind.  I forgot.


Week 12


This week, May 2nd, marks Week 12 on Mama Monday which also heralds SECOND TRIMESTER!  Actually, second trimester starts around Week 14 or something, blah, blah, blah.  I'm interested in speeding up this first trimester as much as possible.  And all the gagging with it.

I have...

...I forgot what I was going to type there since I raised my head for a moment to watch part of a Community episode.  Great show, by the way.

OH.  I have made my peace with all food items that once breathed.  This little velociraptor is back!

It's difficult to tell from the picture, but Baby Gaz is now the size of a two inch dried mango.  For the past two and a half months we've been compiling a list of things to register for.   Now I can't imagine owning a stroller that didn't have a chariot-optional setting to pull Baby Gaz on a sandy beach.  HOW WILL BABY GAZ ENJOY THE BEACH WITHOUT A CHARIOT-OPTIONAL SETTING?