What Should We Do Now While We Wait For The Baby To Come?

My water broke at 7 am. The kids left on a play date at 11 am. The Baby didn't show up until 2:30 am.

We had to do something between contractions, so we painted the nursery.

Is This Worth Crying Over?

I've spent 15 hours painting. I've made my husband bail me out of a project he didn't want any part of in the first place. He's spent hours painting and spackling and unhinging. I've moved the furniture and plastic sheets back and forth and back and forth again. I've taped and painted and stretched in ways unhappy for an 8 month pregnant woman. Places in my body that house critical birthing muscles are screaming for me to stop. I've made three trips to the paint store 1/2 an hour away. I've sat in her room with swatches in hand and cried.

I think I hate the colour.

And I still have to finish the second coat.

And Naomi will be home on Saturday and it's a surprise for her birthday, so it has to be finished.

Is The Only Difference Between My Life And A Chick Flick...

...A Good Soundtrack?

The coolest music I've heard this week was when Dallin was setting my cell phone's ring tone to The Entertainer. (Depeche Mode was a close second.)

Last week I heard cool music too. It was Matt and Jenny's wedding CD. It's the only cool music we have. We lost the CD once, and went without any cool music for about a year and a half. Then I asked Matt to burn us another one. Now we're hip and happenin' again. I think.

Other than that cool music, we listen to Suzuki, Beethoven's Wig ("..it's very big. It's long and curly and it's white..." see if you can get it to fit to the tune of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony), and CBC talk radio.

I often watch Chick Flicks and think, hmmm... I've got handsome person who loves me, misunderstandings to carry the plot along, kids to drive me crazy, beautiful house, in-laws to laugh at (on both sides), and a minivan. Then the only difference between their life and mine is 50 lbs., a great haircut, and a really good soundtrack. I'm going the wrong direction right now to think about the lbs. The haircut will hopefully come this week. But the soundtrack may be hopeless.

Note picture of our whole house, surround sound, fully automated, high-tech, super-duper, thermo-nuclear stereo system (i.e. boom box for $34 from Future Shop now hiding behind plant on the floor next to the piano.)

I think my life might be as romantic and touching and tragic and happily-ever-after as a good movie with a sound editor on the job.

Am I The Wife Of The Century?

Does it make me wife of the century to hang a dead animal above the beautiful mantle of my glorious and very central living room? Does it communicate my great love for my husband? Does he look at it every day and know that I prioritize him above all else? I asked him a few days ago if he feels joy every time he looks at it. "Yeah, I guess." "What kind of Joy?" I said, "Like Joy Joy?" "Uh huh." "How much Joy?"

Maybe it gives my children respect for the grandeur of nature? (Or maybe it makes them a little nauseous.) Maybe it is teaching them that killing for sport is OK! What are they thinking as they patter past it between their bed and ours?

Or, does it just say--"Oh it really is too bad that a woman who can't decorate at all lives in that beautiful house," "That man really does need a den," or "Why is it staring at me?"

The eagle is currently on a "trial period." Last night I suggested a joint custody arrangement where the eagle would visit us every other weekend and one month in the summer. That could be a nice compromise.