‘Tis the Season (for spit & inappropriate touching)

Last night we attended the annual Christmas party for Hubby’s workplace (I used to work there too).  We don’t get invited to many parties and this one is usually really fun so I was excited to get out.  People seem to really let loose at this party and usually I am right there with them, dancing like a fool, spilling drinks on people, and yakking it up with people I haven’t seen in a while. 

<Insert reminder that I am 30 weeks pregnant>

It was still a good time but last night it became very clear to me how much of a social lubrication alcohol is for me.  This was certainly a different experience than it has been in past years. 

See, watching drunk people is all fine and good.  We laughed at dance styles, raised our eyebrows at the antics of the reeeally drunk, and commented on women bouncing up and down in dresses that were either way too short or way too low, threatening to reveal bits of themselves in Janet style.  Yes, we had some good laughs at other people’s expenses (oh come on… you do it too). 

Yes, watching drunkenness seems to be fine; it’s when the drunkenness comes to your table to chat you up that you really notice the difference between being lubed up (socially, I mean) and not.  Being 30 weeks pregnant is a magnet on the best of days but when you add copious amounts of alcohol and, in some cases, other stimulants, the pregnant belly seems to be a beacon that calls to the drunk like bad TV calls to Rosie O’Donnell. 

Numerous people touched my belly (I’ve found that I can be a little flexible with this and make exceptions for some but I’m talking about people that I barely know).  I was spit on by people leaning in close to talk to me over the blaring music.  When I wasn’t being spit on, hot little puffs of air travelled from people’s mouths and landed on my cheek with what seemed like a thud.  I was hugged by my husband’s boss just after he spit on me and just before he awkwardly offered me a job.  I even had someone cup my chin with their hand and squeeze my cheeks.  Yes, I’m serious… could I make that shit up? 

Anyway, I do realize that these things happen every year and that I am just lubed up enough to not notice them.  And overall it was a fine time because I enjoy catching up with people.  But I do find myself already looking forward to next year’s party when I will once again be self-lubed and a little more forgiving of (or oblivious to) the spitty-talking, hugging, dance-on-the-table masses. 

But for now, hand me that glass of ice water, would you?

Carol of the Bells (Raisin style)

So amid the constant flurry of all things related to pregnancy, curling club, choir, piano lessons, and just plain ole life, the ole blog has unfortunately fallen down on the list of priorities the last couple of months. 

But fear not for I bring you tidings of great joy. 

I’ve decided that December is the month for re-connecting and what better time to do it… Christmas is a-foot (or maybe a-stocking?), winter is upon us, and I am now 29 weeks pregnant… all of which makes for great blog fodder. 

So to kick things off, I give you what has been my favorite Christmas carol for as long as I can remember.  Remember the California Raisins Christmas special on TV?  Yeah, me neither… except for this one sketch.  I always got a kick out of these frigging bells and it turns out I still do … I laughed through the whole thing.  The dumb bell actually reminds me of a few people I know (“I lost mine”… hee hee!). 

While we’re on the topic, what was with the California Raisins anyway?!  I don’t remember ever really caring about them except for this one show but they had their stint didn’t they?  What kicked off their popularity and, more puzzling, what retained their popularity?  Did they have names?  Anyway, here is an additional bonus clip of the raisins themselves. 

It’s Eggs-traordinary!

On this, the last long weekend before Christmas, I only managed to get half of the things marked off of my “to do” list. 

“Houseclean the bedroom” – Check.

“Finish curtains for nursery” – Check. 

“Day of family time with “lives far away” sister-in-law and her brand spanking new baby Lucy” – Check. 

“Do the same bloody laundry and housework that I do every week and that keeps me from ever getting anything new done” – Check. 

 

Mind you, that is not a complete list, only the highlights.  It’s a bit disheartening to get so little done over a four-day weekend, especially when you have a nursery to build in three months with Christmas being smack in the middle.  However, I do frequently remind myself that I am 26 weeks pregnant and that accomplishing anything is pretty good when tying your shoes is becoming slightly problematic.  I wonder how I’ll manage when I am two months bigger.  Yikes. 

Despite the lingering to-do list, we did have an exciting turn of events here in good ole Dell, NB. 

Eggs!  Yes, eggs from our yet-to-be-named chickens. 

(Do not adjust your screens.  Two of those eggs are blue.)

 

Of course, this has gone straight to hubby’s head…

… but I suppose that’s okay since he does all the feeding and cleaning. 

‘Omelette a la Free Range’ will be a frequent menu item at Casa Dell (yes, I have noticed the clash of languages there) … hopefully I can tear hubby away from cheering on the chickens long enough to comment.

There’s a cock in my henhouse!

I have mentioned before that hubby and I decided to try our hand at hobby farming by purchasing five chicks to use for their eggs. 

Things are going quite well, although hubby deserves all of the credit.  I pretty much just observe them from afar while he keeps them watered and fed and continues to renovate their coop for the coming winter. 

For quite a while now – since the birds started looking like adults and not chicks – there has been one bird that has looked just a little different than the others.  See that extra little “waddle” under the chin?  We weren’t really sure what to make of this but knew that we had time to ponder the anomaly since the birds aren’t mature enough for egg production until at least November. 

Since we have time, let me back up a little to when the little chicks were purchased.  Hubby found an article in the local ‘buy and sell’ paper.  A few weeks later we drove up to this modified trailer that is surrounded by junk that lies on grass that hasn’t seen a mower all year.  (Let me clarify the word ‘modified’ … I don’t mean ‘modified for the better’.  I mean that the trailer had a two-room wooden porch built on the front of it many years ago that is now half fallen down, has holes in the floor, and is full of greasy, smelly junk.Oh, and chicks.  Lots and LOTS of chicks.)

I knocked on the door and this old guy comes out, bent over and limping and with eyebrows arched to the ceiling in suspicion.  I mean, he’s keeping a really close eye on me.  Once he realized why I was there, he entered the back room of the porch to get the chickens that I wanted.  He would pick them out of their cage one by one, turn them over, look at the ball of feathers, and either put them in the box I was taking or grunt and say something like, “I think that one’s a rooster”. 

Very scientific indeed. 

So here we are, many months later, wondering if that one odd-looking chicken just naturally looks a little different than his siblings or if it is, in fact, a rooster.  All wondering came to an end this morning with an IM sent by hubby first thing this morning:

“It is confirmed.  I heard some loud cock-a-doodle-doos this morning as I was walking to the garage.”

GREAT. 

You might think this is not the end of the world … and obviously it’s not … but it does mean actual chickens where the eggs for breakfast are supposed to be.  I imagine our neighbors are not likely to find the novelty in early rooster crowing for long either. 

Chances are we will have to get rid of this bird and we’re not quite sure how to do it.  Yeah, the actual mechanics of it are pretty straightforward (axe meets rooster) but going from scrambled-egg-lover to chicken slayer is a pretty big leap. 

If the course of action involves an axe-wielding hubby, I just hope he doesn’t fight back.

Images of Fall II

In honor of the first snowfall warning of the season (yeah, I’m serious!), here are some shots of the beautiful foliage in my little corner of the world this time of year.  I hope you have a good monitor. 

A few weeks ago, Hubby and I packed a lunch and went for a long hike out back, near my nan’s woodlot, on trails that mostly looked like this.  It was a labyrinth of four wheeler trails, old logging roads, and some paths we weren’t even sure were trails - some turning left and some turning right and some we made up as we went.  But… we managed to make it out alive (although I did save half of my sandwich just in case, I ended up eating it in the truck on the way home - because being vegetarian makes cannibalism out of the question). 

 

Those woods had mostly yellows and greens but I did come across this gleaming red beauty. 

 

I haven’t uploaded pics of the girls lately so here they are in their makeshift hunters orange collars.  They had a blast running through the forest, scaring up partridge (thwump-thwump-thwump-thwump-thwump) a couple of times along the way. 

Maggie …

and Nelly …

And on the drive home we stopped for a picture at this spot that my blog-reading cousins will easily recognize. 

 

The rest of these shots are from a solo walk I took on another day.  I like close up shots and my camera seems to do them really well.  Here are a few of them. 

 

 

 

And a little spider friend.  Not that I particularly like spiders; they do make for interesting photography though. 

It’s a little difficult to time but if you are thinking about a trip to this part of the world, definitely try to make it this time of year. 

These are the people in my phlegmy neighborhood…

Today at the office, for my listening pleasure …

The honker.  Yes, he’s still at it and this week he’s recovering from a cold so the honking is definitely at its peak.  I’m still at a loss as to how that sound comes out of someone’s head.  It’s so loud that I can’t hear the guy next to me and actually have to stop conversations until he’s done. 

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The saliva guy.  Nice as can be but the coworker in the adjacent cubicle is one of those people who seems to be drowning in saliva all the time.  You know the ones… every word spoken is through a puddle of spit that just hangs out at the back of his mouth around his teeth all the time.  I haven’t been spit on yet but it’s only a matter of time, really. 

He is also recovering from a cold this week so ’saliva guy’ has temporarily turned into ‘very snotty saliva guy’:  the regular saliva still applies (but in grosser -pun intended- quantities) and is accompanied by phlegm-filled coughing and sneezing that you swear will require a mop to clean up.  I find myself wondering how that one little tissue does it!  And how he sleeps. 

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The spreader.  You know the knob in every crowd that often doesn’t cover his mouth when he coughs or sneezes?  Yeah… gross, right?  This is another coworker that also seems to be more phlegmy than usual this week.  Not only is he not conscientious toward his fellow co-workers, but he is also the type that makes a big loud sneeze then turns completely silent afterward and you know he’s assessing the “damage”.  The other day he sneezed while on the phone with his woman and I actually heard him exclaim where it all ended up.  I’ll say again … gross, right? 

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So yeah… these are the people in my neighborhood this week.  Once, yesterday, they all got going at once and it was like some really wet, sickening sonata that filled the room with sounds of snot and visions of germs dancing above our heads. 

All I have to say (after all the words above on the topic, obviously) is that these people better not make my pregnant ass sick.  I’m fine with a cold when I can take some NyQuil and wake up three days later feeling better and wondering where that new birthmark came from but suffering drugless through a cold is just no fun at all. 

Photo from http://www.canada.com/topics/bodyandhealth/gallery/germs.html?g=0

Images of fall

I seem to be low on time and content for my blog lately so today I decided to have a look at my camera’s memory card for inspiration. 

The theme?  Fall.  Though there are no pictures of the turned foliage (yet), I found a few scenes that are undeniable symbols of chillier weather, shorter days, and the harvest. 

Mums.  Everyone from Walmart to the mom-and-pop shop down the street are selling mums this time of year.  Pair them with corn stalks or hay and a few gourds and you have fall decorations for your porch. 

   

 

Herb harvest.  I love harvesting anything from my gardens but there is something so down-to-earth, so granola, so green about clipping, drying, and then using your own herbs in your cooking.  I had a pretty good yield for herbs this year, with the exception of basil (which does not seem to like my thumbs, no matter how green).  I love that pic of variegated sage. 

 

Vegetable harvest.  If I’m speaking of harvest, I have to mention the 5 hours of washing, cutting, blanching, and bagging carrots that I did last week and that caused the palms of my hands to turn orange (the pic doesn’t do it justice… we have a big sink).  It’s completely worth the effort when you’re carrying 20+ meal-sized bags of carrots to your freezer and can look forward to blending those up for your yet-to-be-born infant. 

I have no pics but the other item that was plentiful this year (and every year) was zucchini.  I swear zucchini would grow if you threw the seed on pavement and just walked away.  And I can’t seem to find the balance between too much and not enough for just hubby and I.  I always end up grating, bagging, and freezing it for things like zucchini bread, cake, and muffins. 

                  

Glads or Gladiolus.  Another fall flower, .  I only planted these (red and cream colored) this spring so I’m hoping they do better next year.  They’re tall and top-heavy so I also need to figure out how to keep them from falling over in the wind. 

A few days ago I was driving home from work on a highway lined with fields and working crews.  The smell of dirt being worked wafted into my car and it took me back to the days of working in the fields, digging potatoes out of the ground with my hands.  I thought if there was one smell that could represent this time of year, that must be it.  

Except for losing daylight and having to put away the sandals (I haven’t given in yet), I really love this time of year.  I’m hoping the impending storm Kyle doesn’t beat the leaves off the trees before we can get out for a hike and get some pics to share.

A Quiz

What do these three things have in common? 

• Clay boy
• Green
• Eddie Murphy

Of course it’s … GUMBY!  (After talking to a few people today, apparently I was mistaken in thinking this was obvious, even though they are older than me and were actually out of grade school during this era of SNL!)  

If you had known that, had been listening to the local EZ-Rock station in Woodstock, NB, and had managed to dial in before me, you may be enjoying the bitchin’ prize that I won…

A 9-piece chicken dinner and a Moo-latte at Dairy Queen!  Granted, I don’t eat chicken and I’m not sure what a Moo-latte is but … I WON!  Woo hoo!

Want to be like Billy Mays?

I saw an infomercial that was laughable on the tube last night.  I know… they’re all laughable in one way or another but this was laughable in a ‘you expect this angle to actually sell this?’ sort of way. 

It was another Billy Mays product.  It’s not a cleaning product, a detergent, or a piece of play-doh that can haul a truck. 

No, this is … are you ready? … a pill.  An energy pill.  Yup, and the angle he’s using to sell it is, “if you want energy like me, this is the energy supplement I use”. 

I don’t know about you, but I have never looked at Billy Mays and said, “What can I do to have that energy?”.  No, I look at him and think, “How many uppers a day is this guy taking?  This guy needs to adjust his meds!  Could he be more annoying?  Is he half deaf or is there some other reason he yells all the time?  If he points at me one more time I’m going to rip off his fingers and shove it up his kaboom!”  I know his personality would win over some of the buying public but I seem to be the opposite. 

I couldn’t find the commercial on YouTube but if I do, I’ll update this post.  Instead, here is the super duper putty commercial. 

My first pregnancy post!

Yes, it’s true… today I reveal to the blogosphere that hubby and I are expecting!

It is amazing (and quite scary) how little you know about being pregnant until you’re actually here, reading the articles, forums, and magazines.  You try and try and try and say you’re ready and then bam!, there it is and you’re left going, “Hmm, okay … umm, so what is it I’m supposed to do now?  Oh yeah, there’s a million things”. 

Anyway, to celebrate the occasion, I would like to write about a few observations from the last 15 weeks.  Some of them may be obvious to you but they are apparently not obvious to many. 

 

• It may have once been, but it is no longer acceptable to touch a pregnant woman’s belly.  Pregnant women talk about this.  A lot.  The already-moms tell stories about their encounters while the first-timers, like me, plan what their reaction will be when it happens to them.  It’s true. 

My opinion:  Do I reach for your belly just because it is oversized?  Since it isn’t feasible to wear this shirt every day for the next five-and-a-half months, if you touch my belly without asking, I will either recoil in exaggerated horror or I’ll touch you inappropriately. 

Just don’t do it. 

 

• Once people know you are pregnant, their eyes automatically go to your belly when you meet.  It’s a reflex that, while completely inappropriate and rude any other time, is now unstoppable. 

 

• Fibre.  It’s not just for grandma anymore.  Denis Leary did a bit in No Cure for Cancer about insanely healthy people eating horkin’ fibre chunks.  Frig, he’s funny.  That’s all I can think about when I eat a bowl of my super-fibre-fied cereal now.  I know it’s not pleasant but neither is skipping that bowl of horkin’ fibre chunks. 

 

• I have not had any morning sickness, aside from a twinge of nausea here and there when I let myself get hungry.  I do not tell mothers this; unless they are in that lucky minority that the pregnancy gods decided to smile on (singing angels and all), they are not likely to smile and congratulate me on this. 

 

• Women love to see other women get fat.  I’s all part of that ugly cattiness that seems to exist by default between women.  Apparently pregnancy is not a exception to this rule.  That’s why some most women seem oddly interested in me “showing” (“Are you showing yet?”  “I think you’re shoooow-ing!”  “Let me see if you’re showing!”, followed by the bend over so their head is level with my stomach).  It’s creepy. 

“Umm, the baby is two inches long right now so I’m pretty sure I’m not showing”

• Along the same lines is this, another pet peeve among pregnant women: 

Would you say the following to any woman that was not pregnant?  “You’re getting so big!”  “Wow! Are you sure it’s not twins?”  “Look at that belly!”

The answer is NO, you would not because you would get a slap across the face or a knee to the groin!  So why,pray tell, do you think it is appropriate to say this to pregnant women?  Just because we’re pregnant does not mean we throw all self-consciousness and image issues out the window!  We know we’re getting fatter and, while we know it and expect it and it’s all for the beautiful baby we are creating, hearing you say it is really the last thing we want or need.   

Just stop it.  Tell her she’s beautiful and stop there.  Even if she is as big as a bus. 

 

I’m sure there will be more of this to come.  I’m just figuring it all out as I go along.