The fish aren't for sale

A few nights ago I stopped by the consignment shop on the way home from work, just because I could.  Well, honestly, there's this glass chicken bowl I've been eyeing up for the past couple of weeks, and I wanted to make sure it's still there.  I walked in the front door and spotted it right away, roosting safely in its display case.  I doubt there are many souls in Saratoga that would ask for the keys to get at the chicken bowl...so I decided to wait for a price reduction and wander the store.  I'll be damned if I'm to be that crazy woman who drops 30 bucks (bawk bawks?) on a yellow hobnail chicken. Not this girl.  I made it around the perimeter of the store and came up with a small gift and a vintage ugly winter (not Christmas) sweater.  Who knows when I might need one...and besides, its got two deer on it...my nature preschoolers would eat that shit up.  The store was busy and nearing closing hours and I stood in line eyeing up the merchandise.  After sufficiently zoning out to the glass chicken, my eyes ventured upwards to a mobile.  A FISH mobile.  The half brown, half iridescent minnows were just swimming in air drafts.  They were 60's, they were loud/subtle, and they were soothing.  Just the sort of thing I'd like up in say, my crib. Hey!  "Will that be all?" my sweet young cashier asked.  I smiled, "Are the fish for sale?" Before she could answer, her ill-tempered, older coworker hauled up to the counter.  "The FISH are NOT for SALE".  Almost laughing, I left the shiners hanging from the tiled ceiling.  It's part of my plan now...a mobile of fish.  Since then I've had dreams that I've been fishing.  Not Phishing, and not computer hacking, but fly fishing.  And I've come to the conclusion that I'd like to teach my kid how to do that.  Dads are usually in charge of this kind of outdoor rite-of-passage.  Every Father's Day Price Chopper fills their racks with cards depicting blue sailboats and fishing poles and docks and wicker trout baskets while mothers get gardens and hearts.  That's certainly not going to stop me though.  After all, the fish may not be for sale, but I'm completely hooked on the idea. 

10 Weeks

My favorite appetizer

My mom gave this recipe to me awhile ago...it's great for holiday parties! And dairy free too...

Shrimp in Mustard Sauce

2.5 lbs shrimp, shelled/deveined

1/4 c finely chopped flat leaf parsley

1/4 c finely chopped shallots

1/4 c tarragon vinegar

1/4 c wine vinegar (white)

1/2 c olive oil

4 T Dijon mustard

2 t crushed red pepper flakes

2 t salt (I use less)

ground black pepper

Cook the shrimp in boiling water to cover, about 1-2 minutes, until pink and opaque...don't over cook! Drain and transfer to a large bowl. Mix the remaining ingredients together and pour over the warm shrimp. Mix well so every shrimp will be coated. Serve them in a bowl, passing it along with toothpicks for guests to help themselves.

Number 9

Doug and I are hanging out this morning, our attention split between watching the DPW plow a slushy 5 inches and North American wildlife on the Today Show.  The beaver peed on the wildlife guy and the hosts freaked out.  Sometimes I forget that some women are skeeved out by animals.  Not my kinds of women certainly.

We're taking the slow approach to getting ready for Thanksgiving travels and I'm rather enjoying myself. I'm definitely looking forward to spending time with the family, especially our annual parade/dog show/pajamas affair.  And even after a successful Friends Thansgiving plus leftovers, I'm still ready for more of the traditional treats.  Here is a capture of our most infamous moment each year: gravy time.  Even stark sober, gravy is still the main issue.  Somehow we always pull it off...

This was our first year hosting FTG at the Schweizer house...we learned that we can seat up to 12 people for dinner here...so bring on the food parties!  Here's a shot of this year's crew:

And a more candid moment:

After dinner, us girls rekindled our drunken kitchen pow-wow tradition...in the bathroom.  Letting more women in on the news (after Kathleen's super sleuth discovery skills won out) was empowering and reassuring. I feel that if you can create a small network of women that you trust to keep your secret and support you for better or for worse...then you have something really important going for you. Thanks for sitting on my bathtub ladies!

As far as Fletch goes, I really haven't been feeling all that bad.  I definitely have had my queasy moments, including one almost unfortunate incident involving praying to a wood pile right before homeschool nature class.  No need to go futher.  I'm constantly thirsty and I chug milk out of the carton.  I'm SUPER bitchy and mean.  My boobs kill.  Last night I peed 4 times between 11p.m. and 2a.m.  (That was ok because I got to see a lot of snow coming down...)  I cried during Taylor Swift's interview on 20/20 because I imagined myself as the "cool" mom who would take her tween to see that shit and buy a $40 T-shirt on top of it.  Why were we even watching that?  No idea.  I can eat a LOT of food...this morning I had pumpkin pie for breakfast.  I think I might be getting a wee bit more fat.  Or maybe it's all the seasonal food.  You be the judge.  Happy Thanksgiving from me, Colin and Douggleweizen!

8 weeks

I just got hit in the face with a blanket and then I smashed a spider's guts all over my shoulder and cried about it.  That's basically how today went. 

Yesterday was a little bit nicer.  We had our first visit to the OB-GYN...a "pregnancy confirmation".  Everyone was kind...Colin was the only male in a sea-gaggle of women and got busted on for it. The sonogram lady did her duty and we got to see the little Fletch, which, as both Colin and our techinician described it, was a blob with a one hundred and forty beat per minute heart.  It doesn't have a butt yet.  Endearing. 

After the fun stuff we met with Dr. for a brief minute.  I think he mentioned those little bracelets for pukiness and told me I could drink any kind of herbal tea.  Honestly, just let me read What to Expect on my couch and give birth in the bathtub at this point.  At least we got out of there with a picture of our smoke ring blowing demon blob.   And shared a salad at the Local. They made it into a teahouse just for pregnant bitchy me.  Who knew?

I go back on December 9th for a "new OB" appointment and the 19th for some more cuddly bladder-bursting ultrasound stuff.  There's some excitement on Colin's side, but as you can tell from the tone of my word, I'm still on the cautious pissy side of the fence.

I do have cravings.  They include but are not limited to: anything with marinara and cheese, hot chocolate pudding, potato chips, lettuce, twizzlers, mushrooms and popcorn from the movie theatre with loads of fake butter.  Which is lucky...because I will be heading there at 10a.m. for Breaking Dawn with RSM.  

No I'm not going upstairs and taking a picture of my stomach... Sorry. It's like the same anyway. 

Maybe after Friends Thanksgiving?

Fletch



There's something in here...

Well now...this blog just took a semi-unexpected turn...Tada....I'm six weeks pregnant!

It occurred to me to take a test a couple of days after I stepped in dog poop and projectile vomited all over the yard.  While gagging at shit is nothing new to me, I just suspected something was up.  All four tests came out looking like this:

Doug was my only witness. He was super-unimpressed and only in there to begin with because I paid him in brew bones for moral support.  I just looked at myself in the mirror and smiled and shook my head and muttered, "holy crap".

I broke the news to Colin on Wednesday night and proved that he doesn't listen to me all at once (just kidding buddy...you're great)...he brought a friend's baby announcement into the kitchen and asked if I had seen it before he tacked it up on the fridge.

  "Did you see this?" he asked. 

 "Yeah.  You're next." 

 ...Up goes the announcement. 

 "Did you hear me?" 

 "Uh, yeah..."

  ".........................."  

 "I said, 'You're next'." 

 ...............WIDE EYES...............

".....You're pregnant?"   

 Followed by a big hug and lots of, "is this a joke?". Ha Ha LOL...No.    We went out to dinner at Little India and toasted with water...I'm pretty sure we didn't know what to do with ourselves. It was like a weird, giggly, awkward high school date.

The next days have mostly consisted of Colin being awesome and me inside my head lamenting: I CAN'T DO ANYTHING.  WTF?  Pregnancy sucks!  I miss the taste of beer, my husband's brewing beer,  bacon's off limits, I can't even eat freakin' goat cheese...no hotdogs?...F off sushi...this sucks and I hate life and I can't go to the Mug Club celebration, how the hell am I going to be able to deal with this wedding next Friday? The couch and TV are my best friend all week and weekend.  My boobs feel like pissed-off water balloons and I can't find the safe herbal teas and........waaaaaaaaaaaaah.

I think this week's lowest point was when I was sitting here on the couch and Doug got up on the arm to look out the window, butt facing me.  He lifted his nub and audibly farted in my face.  Instead of moving or running away, I just sat there, sobbing hysterically in a lingering cloud of dog stench. Yeah.

I'm sure in the weeks to come, I'll be bitten by the pregnancy bug (Hell, I've already bought the What to Expect book).  It's not all bad, and a future kid is fun to think about.  It's just kind of hard to get excited when you're so forewarned about miscarriage and all that. I guess I'm going to try to focus less on the things I can't do and revel in the things I can...like eat a plate of spaghetti and meatballs at 11:00a.m.

I just did that. 

                        6 Weeks and all beer belly.  We call it Fletch.

                I can't tell if I'm pouting, kissing or getting ready to barf. Whatever.