a modern day fairy tale to send you off into your weekend.

When two people who've been married for five years and make pretty adorable children together and like each other enough most of the time have a cancer crisis and need to make decisions around what to do once chemotherapy probably sterilizes one of them, they do what any rational, not mentally ill people would do.



Half of you are probably thinking, "Hooray!" And the other half are probably thinking, "Hooray but... what the hell is wrong with you?!" So to answer your questions: Yes, we are crazy. No, in fact I do not know what I'm doing. Yes, we have thought about the long term and short term problems that this may present. No, a fear of the future cannot and will not rob us of our present joy.

It's sad that I feel like I need to defend this choice, but it comes because I've already had to do it a few times. So just to put to rest any doubt or worry that anyone may have about how we'll manage with everything we have going on, let me explain.

It is a luxury to sit down and have a discussion with your spouse about if and when to have the next baby. It must be fun to have a few months or a year to plan it, time it just right and execute said plan. That, however, is a luxury we just didn't have. We're still very young. We knew we weren't done having children. Those who know us well know we've wanted to adopt but that option became highly unlikely with an incurable cancer diagnosis. The doctors said treatment in a month so bank your sperm. We said let's give it a shot this month. And it worked out. And even though the timing may seem less than ideal to some, we are elated. Because the baby will be coming at a time when Phil will be on the upswing from his transplant. Because no matter what happens, we will never, ever regret having a third child. And because, really, who wouldn't want another one of these?


So I'll be 12 weeks on Saturday and I've known for eight whole weeks now! Which is why I haven't been posting much because I'd probably give it away with all the "Barfing Again" and "I'm soooooooo tired I could just zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..." Honestly, though, I've been feeling very well considering the stress, and being at the beach for the two roughest weeks was a major plus. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)

There are several of you out there whom I haven't yet seen in order to tell in person and for that I apologize. Let's just say I'm at the point where hiding it is nearly impossible and I actually had a nurse at the hospital on Tuesday declare, "Oh wow! You're pregnant!" (I guess my philosophy of not making assumptions about pregnancy until the baby is actually crowning isn't universal.) So I hope this will remove some of the awkward Is she pregnant or did she just eat a HUGE breakfast internal debate you would be having with yourself the next time you saw me. You're welcome.

Lots of love to you all, and lots of baby updates to come I'm sure. Should we get a gender poll going?

*cricket, cricket*

I'm posting a lot more over here these days. Ideally I'd love to combine both blogs but I don't see it happening. Phil is under the impression that each blog may have a different audience. He's right, but it makes my life more complicated. So I just hope you all will join me there occasionally and hang tight over here also. I'll have more posts coming at the end of the week. Promise!

fragments of funny

Many ridiculous things have been going on and if I currently had the ability or desire to form a cohesive thought I'd probably have a more clever way to present them. But really I just want to get them written down so I can throw away all of these durn post-it notes. So here they be.

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Ocean and Iris were chatting on the porch in their swimsuits. 

Iris: [points at Ocean's nipple] What's that?

Ocean: It's my mole.

Me: It's your nipple.

Ocean: It's my nipple.

Iris: Ooooooh! Nipple!

Ocean: Yeah, it's for the milk.

Iris: Milk?

Ocean: Yeah, for my baby.

Iris: [looks horrified, probably because she never liked nursing anyway]

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Iris calls lasagna Zanana.

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When Ocean doesn't hear you he asks, "What you said?"

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Any item bearing the label "Spot Clean Only" is practically an open invitation for one of my children to urinate all over said item. Thankfully, I don't pay attention to labels. In other words, Ocean's stuffed zebra will never be the same.

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Ocean: [yaaaaaaaaaaaawn]

Iris: [looking disgusted] Excuse you. Ex. Cuse.

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My mom: Ocean, I was watching you run around on the beach earlier and you just looked like such a big boy!

Ocean: Maybe it's the sunglasses?

more pictures.

Iris and my dad. She isn't enjoying this vacation as much as I would like. In other words, she screams every time we try to take her down to the beach.


Naked lunch:


Ocean and I in the pool:


Phil and I on our 5 year anniversary date (it was Thursday):


Ocean doing a shark imitation at the aquarium:

beachin', yo.

We made it to the beach, and- as expected- it's gorgeous here.

Here are Ocean and Phil in the pool:

And the kids having their morning cup of tea before hitting the surf:

Let's dominate some sand:

Ocean flying his kite:

Phil, Iris, Ocean and my dad, discussing the fishing:

More to come.

it's 5 am and i'll be going back to bed just as soon as i tell you nothing of importance. things seem much more pressing at this hour.

From the files of Captain Obvious: I haven't posted much lately. It hasn't been for lack of things going on... in fact there have been many times I wanted to sit down and tell you all about my session with a hypnotherapist, or share all the excruciating details of my food poisoning incident, or tell you the heartwarming tale of Iris smacking the shit out of a 3-year-old boy who was picking on her and making him cry. All good stuff. Just... not enough to fill up a post. But get me in the middle of the night, boy, and I'll blog your face off about some seriously inane crap.

So it's ridiculous-thirty in the morning and Ocean woke up about an hour ago and had a moisture situation which needed to be handled and so I dealt with it ever so swiftly only to hear a package of cookies beckoning me into the kitchen. Because they are healthyish cookies, and also because I have the self-control of something that has no self-control, I obliged. And then I realized why Matt's Cookies are a little healthier. The packaging is so obnoxiously loud that everyone knows what you're up to. There is no sneaking a Matt's cookie. There's practically a built-in alarm on the packaging. For a second, I swore I must be up inside the cyclone. It took me longer than it should take any one person to close the package back up after eating just one cookie and I'm pretty sure I heard the neighbor's dog verbally chastising me for being a glutton. At that point I thought I should eat something a little better for me, or at least something that wasn't going to rat me out, so I selected a Brown Cow yogurt. If you've ever had Brown Cow, you know that tongues of humans and angels are powerless to describe it. If you have not had a Brown Cow, you should try it post-haste. (But the frugalista in me must tell you to wait until they go on sale, and try to get your hands on a coupon while you're at it, 'k?) At any rate, I rapidly consumed that little slice of delicious and headed back to my bed when suddenly I had a stomach pain which, over the next five minutes, grew into an ache that can only be described as Oh sweet heavenly beings, please not food poisoning again. So I quickly exited my bed and drank some water and turned on my computer and now I'm feeling much better. Better enough to tell you that...

...we are going to the beach on Saturday for two weeks. (Not so fast, potential home invaders... there will be house guests galore while we're away. Ninja house guests with nunchuck skills.) I made a couple of trips to various grocery stores tonight in order to stock up on some things for the trip and while checking out at Meijer there was a couple behind me in the age range of Old Enough To Know Better and they were making out and possibly having sex too. At least I'm pretty sure that's what was going on; I was afraid to look directly at them for fear I should become impregnated and really, I think I'd take a pass on their DNA. I started to get annoyed but then I remembered my secret weapon: 172 coupons. They could make out all they wanted (or give me dirty looks) while I completed my transaction and I could save over a hundred bucks on what ended up being a $32 out of pocket sale. So basically we were all winners at Meijer tonight.

And on that note, and at the sound of the coffee maker coming on (which means Phil will be awake and chatty in T-minus 20 minutes), I'm going back to bed. Have a good day! Blogs from the beach to come.

"what the flip?" friday

I don't get it...

90% of children's books. They suck. And the suckier they are the more my kids want to hear them.

The huge moth in our spare bedroom. How on earth did he get in? And how long has he been there? 

My son's recent fascination with zebras and fish-faces. 

Heated political debates over the existence of public libraries, public parks, public transportation and public education. Oh, no wait. Heated political debates over those things don't happen. 

How it is possible that I spend roughly a hundred percent of my time looking for stuff. Most recent example: it took me 4.25 minutes to find the lid to the peanut butter jar.

Berry picking should be FUN for children. FUN. So why did my youngest stand in one spot of the berry patch sobbing, Mommyyyyyyyyy.... Mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! with a berry basket tied to her waist while it took me two hours to pick a quart of raspberries?

Vibrating mascara. Like I need any more help poking myself in the eye.