S-P-A-C-E

Seven years ago, I moved into a 900 sf one-bedroom apartment. It was perfect for a single, living-alone person. When Himself moved in, it was still okay. It had a dining room and a cute balcony and was 1/2 mile from work.

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The next apartment was a 1,200 sf three-bedroom, 1.5-bathroom apartment. We actually lived there for free because two of Himself's Navy buddies wanted a) to collect BAH (housing allowance) and b) a place to keep their stuff while they were out to sea. Since one cannot collect housing allowance without having a house, even though they paid $400/month to rent, they ended up with an extra $300/month in their pockets. Thank you, Uncle Sam.

Anyway, said apartment, even though it was on very grand-sounding "Malibu Palms Dr." was the closet thing to a ghetto I hope I ever live in. Seriously. It had NO good things about it. The worst things were a bathroom with no outlets and 18" of counter space in the kitchen.

Then there came The Palace, a brand-new, 1,000 sf, 2-bed, 2-bath heaven of two-tone walls, crown molding, 6' windows, 9' ceilings, a soaking tub, the greatest apartment kitchen ever, fitness center, pool ... I loved it. It drove me crazy the living space was all one room, but after the ghetto, not such a bad deal. Of course, it was more than twice what we'd paid for any other dwelling ever. But it wasn't quite in Outer Darkness, the commute wasn't horrible, and I did get a discount.

You can imagine, then, the Hobbit Hole's glory - 7' ceilings (5'10" where there was a bulkhead involved), no linen closet and oh, in a basement. But it had some redeeming qualities - a great storage room, a decent (if eccentric) kitchen and a great backyard.

Yet for all of these places, there have been two things I've always longed for - enough space to not have to look at the Christmas decor year-round and space for guests.

My anxiety goes into overdrive when we have overnight guests - because everywhere we've ever lived since my apartment 7 years ago has a single living space - and "open" floor plan, where everyone in the house must pileontopofeachotherlikethis. Everyone is in the way. The TV blares, people in another corner talk over it. Any kids involved go nuts.

Not very condusive to someone who needs a 4' radius of personal space at any given time.

But THIS move, a 1,500 sf 2-level duplex has space. A single-car garage (which I will never park in for fear of not being able to get OUT of the car), a basement storage room. Decent closets. A family room. A dining room. A SEPARATE living room. A backyard. A guest bedroom/bath.

Himself would tell you that the cabinets are suspect (read: Brady Bunch-era) and the windows are cheap (same deal). There is no pantry. But I am in awe as I unpack. There are spaces to store things logically. Skis, Christmas, outgrown baby gear in one place. Board games (all 30+ of them) in another. Food storage in another.

And separate gathering spaces - for kids, adults, whoever. Just in time for gas to be at record highs and too expensive for anyone to come visit.

Figures.

Adieu, Hobbit Hole

As of Wednesday, the Hobbit Hole will belong to someone else. I have the annoying bits of odds-and-ends to cart out (and about half of the kitchen), then a deep cleaning, and we'll close the door on our first year in The Frontier forever.

I'm surprisingly nostalgic about the Hobbit Hole - perhaps because it was Baby Girl's first home. Perhaps because of the lush backyard. Perhaps because I cannot yet locate the salt and pepper.

To listen to Himself, however, one would think the Hobbit Hole was a palace. Um, what?! Remember last year? When Himself spent days moaning about the low-ceilinged luxury digs (complete with 8-legged house guests) I conjured up for us while he was still in VA?

Fast-forward 12 months. Now he is moaning about the move to the house next door. Never mind the fact he forgot to tell work were moving on Saturday the 12th fate would have it, they scheduled him to work his once-a-month Saturday shift on ... you guessed it, Saturday the 12th. We are grateful for the mattress, box springs, bed frame and box of damp laundry (we had to move the dryer before the last batch of laundry was dry Saturday morning)he managed to move over.

Saturday morning brought a parade of comedic proportions. Enter Sara, with Baby Girl in the backpack on her back hauling boxes from one house to the other, Son lugging some odd-shaped box or another, and five neighbors - three of whom were under the age of 22 - all parading back and forth from The Hobbit Hole to the new house. The parade was so successful we wore a path in the patch of grass separating the two houses. Hopefully the new occupants of the Hobbit Hole are friendly, since we've already created a shortcut between the two houses.

Sunday morning brought more comedy as we discovered that the breakfast cereal was at the new place (it has yet to be christened with a name), but the milk, bowls and silverware were at the old place. All of Baby Girl's things were at the new place, but most of our clothes were still in the Hobbit Hole's closets. All personal hygiene products were at the new place, but my makeup was at the Hobbit Hole.

You get the idea. Today, it was slightly better. I only had to run over to the Hobbit Hole for the loaf of bread and the trashcans, as I was getting tired of the pile of Baby Girl's diapers in the corner of the dining room. The rule is now, if you return to the Hobbit Hole, for any reason, you MUST return with a laundry basket full of items.

At this rate, we might be out of the Hobbit Hole by sometime mid-winter.

Belonging

Baby Girl and I went on a walk today - that's twice this week I've managed to work out. And, while I think the excuse for moving Daylight Savings back into March is ludicrous, I'm singing the praises of the man who started it all.

Anyway, as we were walking (or, rather, I was walking, and she was sleeping in her Snugli), I found myself wandering (my mother would be horrified) into random neighborhoods. I paused at every single house for sale and wondered what they looked like inside. I watched children play in the streets, couples walking their dogs after works, teenagers out running. I walked and walked and walked (it was only upon returning home that I realized I had been walking for 90 minutes and it was nearly Baby Girl's bedtime - no wonder she was sleepy!).

As I walked, I thought about belonging.

After two years in our apartment in Northern Virginia - two years of railing against renting, I bought curtains for my living room windows. It made a huge difference. I felt settled. Nearly everyone I knew rented. It was too expensive to even consider any other option, so I hung my curtains and settled in. Long before that, however, I had settled in socially - making friends, investing in long-term relationships and feeling as if I belonged.

That is what is missing here. I realized tonight I am consciously holding myself aloof, because I know The Hobbit Hole is not a forever proposition - or even one beyond our year's lease. I know moving is right around the corner, again. I'm not naturally social - I have to force myself to be social - so combined with the hesitation to make any truly meaningful emotional investments, thereby subjecting myself to eternal guilt for not being a good enough friend to keep in touch, I haven't exactly made any friends.

In fact, I realized as I was walking, that the next time I move, I'm not bothering with unpacking any of the holiday items, camping items, most of our books, the special occasion kitchen items, anything home decor, etc. A boring, simple existence, to be sure - but the thought of packing again and moving makes me want to cry.

At the same time I was patting myself on the back for being so smart and efficient in planning our next move, my heart sank. It is exactly this same line of thinking (subconsciously of course) that has resulted in me living here for nearly 10 months and having nothing to show for it.

Not one new friend.
Not one new business networking contact.
Not one dinner party (to be fair, we have no dining room or dining room table).
In fact, only one couple over for dinner - or anything - ever.
Not a membership to anything (other than the library, without which I would either go broke from spending too much at a bookstore or go mad from not reading).
Not one favorite hangout or walking destination or place.
Not one radio station programmed into the car (due mostly to the fact that I listen to books on CD while I drive, and I've memorized the call sign of the local NPR station -the only radio to which I really listen).

Our lease is up in two months. Himself still doesn't have a job. I desperately need a new one. All of which must revolve around Miss Jan, Baby Girl's sitter, as I'm not willing to sacrifice her services even out of geographic inconvenience.

Other than the very obvious blessing of Baby Girl, I don't have much to show for the past year, and I know it's subconsciously on purpose, because it's not as hard to leave nothing as it is to leave something.

That and curtains made for 6' windows don't work very well in The Hobbit Hole.

Serenity

Sunday ranks in the top five of all good days I've had in my life, even though it had a rough start.

Sunday, I dressed Baby Girl in a long white dress made by a family friend - the same one my sister and I wore as infants. I then added a pair of pink ballet shoes that were a gift from a friend in Virginia and a headband given to her by my sister. Dressed head-to-toe in love, she and I joined Himself, my immediate family, my extended family and a few friends at church. She was then formally named and blessed, surrounded by some of the most important men in her (and our) lives.

It was a moment rich in emotion as I sat in my new congregation and listened to the words of Himself haltingly bless Baby Girl. He was nervous - a strange thing for me to realize about Himself. I could feel the love throughout the rest of the meeting wrap itself around me, seated between Himself and my sister, with Baby Girl nestled between all of us.

Later, during Sunday School, I watched my brother cradle Baby Girl. I watched her snuggle up to him and sigh contentedly into arms that weren't quite sure what to do with such a tiny little baby, dressed almost as an angel. I sat next to an aunt as she held Baby Girl close during the women's service. My heart pounded and my eyes stung.

Just before church ended, I gathered Baby Girl in my arms and walked the 60 or so steps to our house in the warm, late autumn afternoon sun. I entered the Hobbit Hole to find it bursting at the seams with family and friends and the scents of good food. As I settled down in the nursery to rock and feed Baby Girl before our entrance into the frenzy that would move to the backyard (the Hobbit Hole is not equipped for entertaining), my heart swelled again. I listened to the women in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the appetizer spread Himself and I had coordinated. I listened to the men drifting in and out as they moved the tables and food outside - overhearing snatches of conversation about the big Patriots v. Colts football game.

I wanted to weep. Here, in my little home, cradling my infant daughter to my breast - still dressed in her achingly beautiful, long, white dress - I realized that sacrificing our own comfort zone, the proximity of so many dear friends and journeying to The Frontier was the best thing that could have ever happened to Baby Girl. Here she could grow up, basking in the glow of family, sheltered by a love that comes from deep relationships, knit tight by decades of growing up together.

We emerged out into the backyard, dappled by golden sunlight, awhile later, and I basked in the glow of being surrounded by those people who would act as the founding community of Baby Girl's life - those who, through their presence this incredible day, would pledge their love and support of her as she grows into the remarkable daughter of God she is destined to be.

Somehow, I am confident that Baby Girl was aware of the magnitude of the day - that she knew she was surrounded by a group of people who would move mountains for her.

It will be a day I will always remember - for it's goodness, it's love and the deep impression it left on my soul.

SAHM = Save A Harried Mother

Okay, not really. But I think that even with one child, a small apartment and modern technology, I now know that I was right in thinking I will never be June Cleaver or Donna Reed.

This weekend was a rough weekend, with the first signs of winter giving me a preview of yet another reason why I fled Happy Valley and The Frontier the first (and second) time. I decided this week, with it's sunny 60-70-degree glory, was going to be better. I was going to tackle one room a day, so by the end of the week I wasn't looking at disasters that were better suited for a bachelor pad.

Monday started with both Baby G and I all discombobulated because we had to be out of the house by 9:30 in order to make a 10:15 appointment in the suburbs. Never in my life (since freshman year at USU when I had stayed out all night) have I, the self-proclaimed morning person, had such an ordeal making it out of the house by 9:30. Somehow, when I have to be somehwere, it suddenly takes three times as long to feed, diaper and dress Baby G. Somehow, I've forgotten how to look cute and my clothes don't fit, so it took me three times as long to get ready.

The insanity continued when Himself called to see if we'd pay him a visit at work so he could show Baby G off. No problem - except he works on the opposite end of the valley in a lab that is not close to any visitor parking. I drove to the hospital, parked in the visitor garage and lugged Baby G in her carseat (cursing the fact that Himself took the stroller out of the trunk) through the emergency entrance, up to the main lobby, across the sky bridge, up to the medical school labs, through the nephrology department into Himself's lab. At that point I was praying lenghthy prayers of gratitude that Baby G doesn't even weigh as much as her carseat yet.

We arrived home in time to feed G and for me to sort out a near-disaster at work. Then it was time to make dinner. Somehow, I managed to throw together Balti Chicken and Veggies between running in to save Baby G from whatever disaster was causing her to melt down in gut-wrenching sobs (it was usually the pesky pacifier falling out that was the culprit).

Tuesday actually went almost as planned. Baby G actually slept, which meant I managed to do several batches of laundry. I also re-discovered my coffee table for the first time in a month. The vacuum even made an appearance. I got some work done and the dishwasher loaded and run. Unfortunately, the laundry didn't actually get folded or put away - instead it took up what seems like semi-permanent residence in my armchair. I didn't mind - I got dressed for no reason, made Spanish chicken and rice and paid a visit to a potential sitter for Baby G. So what if the laundry didn't get done? I could fold it tomorrow, after which I'd tackle the bathroom.

Except Wednesday came and it was just as insane as Monday, because Baby G refused to nap and somehow the kitchen had become a massive disaster overnight. So, the laundry remained. I strapped Baby G to my chest in her Snugli and set to work unloading and loading the dishwasher and finding the countertops. Then we went up the canyon. I managed to make tacos, only because the world stood still just long enough to fry up ground beef and throw the other fixings out on the counter.

No matter - I could do some work and straighten up after Baby G went to bed. Except, Baby G never went to bed. She slept, but only fitfully, and only in my arms, which meant I spent most of the night on the couch trying to read by the light of the nightlight so I didn't disturb Baby G anymore than she already was.

Today I didn't have to be anywhere - the perfect day to try to tackle another room and the growing pile of laundry (I had, after all, accomplished another batch yesterday, since Baby G insists on never leaving the hamper standing empty). Unfortunately, Baby G's persistent tummy troubles remained and she didn't sleep. I managed to get in a batch of pumpkin bars (barely) requested by Himself, to take to visit a friend tonight. Never before has a simple recipe manifested itself into a three-ring circus as I tried to talk on the phone, eat the chicken noodle soup my mom brought when she was up, talk on the phone and carry Baby G around in her Snugli, since she's still on the "I'm not sleeping unless half of me is draped across or next to some body part of mommy's" kick. Somehow, amongst all the chaos, I didn't hear the timer go off. Luckily I thought, "this has been the longest 20 minutes of my life," and lo and behold a half hour had gone by. Apparently one cannot burn pumpkin bars merely by overcooking them for 10 minutes. We won't tell Himself.

So, the week draws to a close tomorrow and the only thing I've actually accomplished is finding the coffee table. Even that is doubtful, as it now harbors several stray things that weren't there on Tuesday. The laundry still taunts me from its armchair throne, the bathroom still looks like the aftermath of a wartorn country, Baby G's room looks like the dumping ground for all things lost and misplaced (thanks to the menfolk assembling her new crib last weekend without actually making room for it first) and our room looks like someone is contemplating running away, due to the clothing strewn from here to there and the half-empty suitcase on the floor from last week's visit to The Parents' house.

So much for ambition.

[Insert select 4-letter words here ...]

Remember this?

I spoke too soon. I think Loving My Upstairs Neighbors is an abysmal failure. Because I try not to use them, and because I value self-expression, I will refer to this weekend as "The [Insert select 4-letter words here] Weekend. Think of it as a sort of choose your own wording essay.

I really should just say "It was Horrible," and stop, but writing is therapeutic, and I need to salvage the one remaining day in my weekend.

Friday night, after returning home, I heard the alarming sound of a waterfall in my bathroom. I like waterfalls - waterfalls that are OUTSIDE. Not waterfalls coming from my bathroom ceiling, cascading down the shower wall, ricocheting off the tub and streaming onto the floor. It had the lovely scent of laundry detergent mixed with gunk from the crawl space through which it passed on the way into the Hobbit Hole.

I yelled to Himself, who went upstairs to knock on the neighbors' door (still gone, still inhabited by adult children). We could hear them walking around and talking - but they didn't answer. The landlord is on vacation. I left a message on his vm, his home phone and then, in a moment of sheer desparation, I sent an e-mail that was, well, awfully honest about my frustrations. I then stood under the bathroom vent, as that is the room under which I could hear the neighbors' kids, and I vented LOUDLY about my frustrations with the third Great Flood in three weeks. It made me feel better, even if I can hear them better than they can hear me. [Insert 4-letter words]. I then shut off the main water, preventing any future flooding.

I opted to leave the gunky floor, the soaked towels and rugs (just washed a couple of days ago from LAST WEEK'S flood), the groty bathtub and icky scrubbies and shampoo bottles until Saturday, and I went to bed, finally, about 12:30 a.m.

At 2:45 a.m., I woke up in excruciating pain. I nearly panicked, until I extracted the cobwebs from my brain and realized that I am nearly 40 weeks pregnant - waking up in pain at this point is a good thing, in most instances. I lay in bed, wide awake and hurting, timing the rhythmic, intense pains. 5-6 minutes apart. Every single thing that I didn't have ready for Baby Girl's birth ran through my head (including the fact that I don't have my brother's new cell number programmed into my phone - random!). I couldn't sleep, and I hurt. I got up and moved to the couch so I could read. I was just getting to the point where I was contemplating waking Himself up to go to the hospital when the pains went away. [Insert more 4-letter words - 90 minutes of excruciating pain for nothing]. I never did go back to sleep.

At 6:30 a.m., I got up to begin scrubbing the bathroom, figuring I might as well take advantage of my wide-awake frenzy while it lasted. I tackled the bathroom floor, the kitchen floor (because if I'm mopping one, I might as well mop the other), scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen and threw all the wet, gunky bathroom linens into the washer (again). The disaster recovery people showed up (again) and proclaimed the ceiling "wet," necessitating an industrial-sized (and industrial-sounding) fan (again). In the process, they made a huge mess, after accessing the crawl space. I lost it and snapped at the poor crew (who should be family - this is their 7th trip to the Hobbit Hole in three weeks). I apologized immediately as they scurried to clean up the new mess.

I spent the day feeling wretched. Hurting, tired, violent headache - and feeling like a lousy older sister because yesterday afternoon my youngest brother, S, came to visit. I never cooked once the whole time he was here - he ate cold cereal and mac-n-cheese. Himself talked S and I into driving 30 minutes to the nearest Chipotle - that was the only semi-real food he had his entire stay. His entertainment included a trip to Target to purchase Baby Girl necessities (although we still failed to remember sheets - we own no baby sheets), though we also took him to the big area ski sale.

We arrived home only to discover the upstairs neighbors [insert long string of 4-letter words] had TURNED OFF THE A/C. AGAIN. No one was home (not that they answer the door anyway), so I left a note in the door. Although they came and went last night and this morning, I still sit in the Hobbit Sauna, basking in the warm glow of the hottest Labor Day weekend in The Frontier in 57 years. [More 4-letter words].

I slept fitfully for about 4 hours and woke up at oh-dark-hundred feeling like I was coming down with the flu - from a combination of weekend-, sleep-depravation- and pregnancy-related ailments. I forced myself to attend church, looking forward to an afternoon of rest, as Himself and I were going to a friend's house for dinner, where Himself was cooking.

Except ... [warning - insert more 4-letter words], Himself decided he didn't want to cook, but it was too late to cancel, so I spent two hours in the inferno of the Hobbit kitchen-sans-A/C slaving away on the dinner that Himself arranged and packaged it up to drive to the next county. The food was good, the company wonderful, and Himself humored me and only stayed a short time.

So, here I sit, not even able to compose something witty or well-written, sore, exhausted and extraordinarly upset with the upstairs dwellers ... hoping that tomorrow will bring sleep or at least a better day.

**I do need to note that the landlord has been wonderfully responsive ... my frustration does not lie with him.

Love Thy Upstairs Neighbor ...

Love Thy Neighbor ... even when they go on vacation for two weeks, don't answer their phone and let their adult children have free reign, which means ...

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) when their washer hose bursts and floods your kitchen.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) when said flood necessitates a week of multiple industrial-sized (and industrial-sounding) fans occupying the kitchen and very small bathroom.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) even when aforementioned children REPEATEDLY turn off the air conditioning, even after the landlord turns it back on, then again after he leaves a note asking them to please leave the a/c alone. (Love them even more when you're 9 months pregnant and it's 100 degrees outside).

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) even when the children utilize ALL of the extra parking during the periods in which they are there, doing who knows what.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) even when the children only show up after midnight, congregate noisily in the dining room (over our master bedroom) and have long, heated discussions long into the night.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) when they wake up the next morning and use all the hot water (we share a water heater) by taking long, luxurious showers.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) when those long, luxurious showers result in bathroom flooding this fine Saturday morning, because the shower curtain wasn't closed all the way and the large puddle ended up causing a wet bathroom ceiling and dripping for us.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) when the shower debacle results in needing yet ANOTHER fan in the bathroom (thankfully this one a small, much quieter one) for several days to dry out the ceiling.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) even when you KNOW they are home, because you can hear them, but repeated attemps to knock on the doors (front and back) fail to rouse them regarding leaky bathroom, air conditioning and mail.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) even when you haven't received any more mail than you can steal out of their mailbox (slot in the house) for two weeks, because the postman doesn't sort the basement mail and the children, even though they come nightly, don't bother leaving our mail on our stoop inside.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) even when you had high hopes of having wonderful neighbors, retired, quiet, considerate, but instead end up with hermits with grown children who repeatedly fail to remember the basement dwellers in the Hobbit Hole.

Love Thy Neighbor ... (and their adult children) ... but I'm having one heck of a time convincing myself that I can, indeed, love my neighbor. Right now, I confess I don't love them very much.

*sigh*

The Twin Evils

Himself has had a rough week.

He has a raging, nearly psychotic, hormonal wife who goes from blissfully happy and calm to agonizingly difficult and weepy in 6.5 seconds flat. Add to that that she is up multiple times at night to traipse through the house in search of the little girls' room, her turning over in bed requires either a crane or a lot of rummaging, huffing, puffing and general sleep disturbance and the fact that she is in pain, which means being touched anywhere is liable to start the 6.5-second transition from stable wife to homonal maniac instantly.

He's getting no peace or sleep.

On top of that, there are the reappearance of the Twin Evils. There are two things Himself dislikes more than anything else: Heat and Spiders.

Problem #1: The upstairs neighbors (where the thermostat is located) are on vacation. Their adult children (who practically live there), dutifully watching over the fort while they are gone, saw no need to keep the A/C on while their parents are away. This was last week, during the hot, humid portion of The Frontier summer. On Thursday evening, the temperatures reached 92 degrees INSIDE the Hobbit Hole after 4 days of no air conditioning.

Himself was miserable. (Heck, me, the queen of "I grew up in a desert, heat doesn't bother me" was miserable - for some reason, my body fails to cool itself down since when pregnant - if I get hot, I stay hot for a good, long time).

The landlord rescued us and we enjoyed two days of blissfully cool air inside the Hobbit Hole. Saturday night, the watchdogs, er, children, came back. Off went the A/C again (still trying to figure out if they thought it just turned itself on without help?!). The weather IS cooler this week - by 10 degrees or so - but last night, after 2 days of no A/C and Himself finding the need to bake his potatoes at 425 degrees, we were miserable again. (Cooking in the oven is hereby banned until the solution is resolved - we don't need to CREATE any more heat!)

Himself tossed and turned all night. I frantically thought, "Oh no - my water broke!" every single time I woke up - a result of the volumes of sweat Himself and I were producing in our sleep. It was not a good night.

The neighbors have been gone for 10 days. No one knows when they are returning.

Problem #2: The Hobbit Hole had a visit from the exterminator, who sprayed the entire perimeter for spiders. Unfortunately, while the long-term solution means fewer spiders, the short-term solution means an influx in the 8-legged monsters, who then have the gall to up and die in inconvenient places. (Due to Himself's irrational near-phobia of spiders, I am the only spider-killer in residence - try not to laugh as you picture places where spiders dwell and a 9-months-pregnant lady trying to contort her body in such a way she can reach and smoosh said intruders).

Last night, for the first time in weeks, I found two spiders. Himself, already driven to near insanity by his wife and the stifling heat, nearly threw up his hands and retracted an earlier statement in which he said, "I'm really happy here. I like The Frontier." Instead he calmly retreated to the den and shut himself in, telling me he'd come out when I had disposed of the spdiers.

Yes indeed, Himself has had a very rough week. Bad enough, I've almost stopped wishing that men knew what it was like to be pregnant. He has enough on his plate at the moment. Poor guy.

Nesting, Part Deux

I have come a long way since the last time I posted about Nesting.

I have found both the blender and the bathroom trash can (and put them both to good use, I might add). Baby Girl's bed has been set up.

But ... the Nesting has been in full force the past two Saturdays. My mother says it's because Baby Girl is ready to come. I say it's because I was raised that Saturdays meant cleaning. I don't know what else to do but clean on Saturdays. I can't help it, it's genetic.

Last week, I went walking, made blueberry cornmeal pancakes, did six batches of laundry, unpacked countless boxes, got the shelving up in the bedroom (it is ugly, but functional for the moment), unpacked and washed the extra linens, re-organized the master bedroom closet, and organized Baby Girl's closet. Himself helped me assemble the stroller, unpack the car seat, relocate two bookcases (and then re-load all the books from said bookcases) and clean up the den (sort of - it still looks like he's taken over).

Today, we went adventuring to Target for another bookcase (for Baby Girl's room), trash cans, cleaning supplies and a mop (Himself flatly refuses to mop without one. I myself hold my mother's opinion that the only good mop is the rag you use to scrub the floor on your hands and knees - but I'm 9 months pregnant, so I'm not going to argue if Himself thinks he needs a mop). I went walking, made oatmeal for breakfast, did another six batches of laundry (lest you think two people can generate six batches in one week twice- three of those batches were Baby Girl-related - washing all her 0-6 months clothes, blankets, etc.), put the books, etc. on Baby Girl's bookshelves (which Himself set up), put the baby animal posters up in Baby Girl's room, scrubbed the bathroom (including the tub - no small feat at this stage), scrubbed the kitchen, re-organized the pantry, vacuumed and put all the laundry away.

Then I took a bath - the first one I've taken since I've been pregnant, and the first in the Hobbit Hole. It felt lovely, but I missed my nice big garden tub in Virginia that had arm rests and a back. The cramped cast iron one in the Hobbit Hole is no comparison, but it did help my backache.

I'm sitting now on the couch in my fluffy blue robe Himself gave me for Christmas, trying to decide if the fact that I completey neglected the living room means I should finish it tonight or save it for Monday.

Somehow, I think Monday might win. After all, one can only Nest so much in one day.

Save Me From the Voices!

Update to Slowly Going Insane ...

The fans are staying for another 72 hours.

72 hours of torturous noise.

72 hours of hugging the monster-sized fan between my knees every time I visit the little girl's room and having to shut them all down before showering (I tried to do it without shutting them down on Saturday - VERY VERY BAD IDEA! It's like showering in a hurricane, and about as destructive).

72 hours of sharing a counter and half a sink with the "petite" fan on my bathroom counter.

72 hours of holing up in the den with Himself, where there is some form of entertainment (his computer, my scrapbooking) and the fan noise isn't so bad.

72 hours before I can clean the kitchen/bathroom and their respective floors after having nasty water spread all over them.

In 72 hours (for a total of 144 hours), I might well be insane. Either that or VERY prepared to handle a noisy, wailing infant. At least she will be cute and not have "Disaster Recovery" printed on her side.

My mind has wandered into the "Hmmm....how can we make this torture on the upstairs neighbors as well?" field. Bad, Sara, bad. I think I might be hearing voices ... Maybe the fans keep them up at night too.

Slow Trip to Insanity

Anyone who knows me really well knows I cannot stand chaos or chaotic noises. I'm not sure if it's because my migraines or my anxiety are triggered by chaos, but whatever it is, it is the fastest way to put me on edge and torture me to the brink of insanity.

I absolutely cannot stand the sound of the dishwasher (run only at night or while we're at work), air conditioner (a bonus to living in the Hobbit Hole - we get the air, but don't have to listen to the actual air conditioner run), etc. Loud, reptetitive noises drive me crazy.

The Hobbit Hole is being dried out, which means there are large, industrial-sized fans in our quaint abode that have to run for 72 hours straight. Guess what kind of noise? You've got it. Guess who hardly slept last night? (Granted, our bedroom is MUCH quieter than the rest of the house, but you can still hear those monster machines working, no matter how many pillows are over your head). Guess who is trying to work on a talk for church with the constant cadence of industrial wind in the background? (Fortunately, the den also has doors, but those darn machines are just on the other side)

I can't even escape to the bathroom for peace, because I have to hug one of those monsters between my knees to use the facility.

Slowly, I am going insane, and it hasn't even been 24 hours yet.

The Hobbit Swamp, Part II

Yesterday, as expected, was not exactly par for the course, starting with the minor flood in the kitchen. It continued to be interesting, if nothing else.

Turns out, the deluge of water came from the upstairs neighbors. Their washer hose had been faulty and finally burst, sending the water down the electrical conduit in the wall into the Hobbit Hole.

A disaster clean-up crew (kind of a drastic name for such an innocuous proposed solution) paid a visit. They used their magic wands, determined how wet the walls were in the Hobbit Hole, and determined that fans were needed to dry the place out.

Those fans arrived this morning, just as I stepped out of the shower. Frantically, I dressed and answered the door - sans make-up, with my hair in a towel, looking rather disheveled. I had been warned of the fans' arrival. What I had failed to realize is the sheer size of said fans. They are enormous. No exaggeration. 4'x3' at least. Which wouldn't be so bad if the Hobbit Hole didn't have 7' ceilings and was built pre-ADA era when hallways and bathrooms were required to be a certain width. And, if I wasn't 36 weeks pregnant.

What it means is that I have to suck my breath in and move sideways between the largest fan and the refrigerator, to enter the kitchen. Minor inconvenience, really. Then there is another fan in the bathroom. This one occupies the small space between the tub and the toilet. Essentially, to sit on the toilet one now has to hug the fan between one's knees. This should provide three days' of amusing fodder, since Baby Girl is now sitting on my bladder. The third fan sits on the bathroom counter, which is just wider than the sink. In fact, the fan hangs over into the sink a bit. At this point, I should probably remind you that the Hobbit Hole has just one bathroom.

You can just picture the circus o' fun occurring this morning as I stood at the bathroom mirror (the only one in the house), trying to apply my make-up and do my hair, as the disaster clean-up crew tried desperately to work around my growing bulk, the teeny Hobbit-sized bathroom and the fact there is one outlet in there. For a minute it was a matter of who would win the race to the outlet - my hairdryer or their fan. The fan won. I went to work with wet hair. In the end, the outlet position in the bathroom didn't work out, so the fan is now run via extension cord to the living room, adding yet another layer of comedy.

Oh yes, and the fans, being industrial-sized, disaster recovery fans, are LOUD. As in loud enough to drown out any sort of conversation occuring in the half of the house that contains the kitchen, living room, den and bathroom. Loud enough to make one go slowly insane as she is trapped with only her own thoughts for company for three days.

Next time, I'd prefer the flooding to occur on a Monday so that the drying out could occur while we were at work, instead of facing the prospect of being home for two of the three drying days.

It's going to be a wonderful weekend. I can already tell.

Tales from the Crypt, er Hobbit Hole

This morning didn't go as planned. Mornings rarely do in our household, but this one was beyond anything I could have (or would have) scripted on my own.

Mid-way through my morning yoga routine (stop laughing - I realize the mental images conjured up of a very pregnant woman doing yoga in her living room is a little much this early in the day), somewhere between moving from Downward Facing Dog (my current favorite position, in hopes it gets Baby Girl to move out of breech position) into Warrior One, I noticed a waterfall coming out of the kitchen light switch.

Not kidding.

I nearly topple over (you try balancing with a basketball under your shirt!), as I try to decide if I turn off the yoga DVD, try and mop up the water, which is rapidly spreading into the kitchen and entry way, or yell for Himself first. I end up yelling for Himself to bring my cell phone and some towels in while I lunge for the DVD player to stop the "inhale, now bring your arms slowly..." incantations.

Except there is a problem. The boxes in which the "not-as-nice" towels were used as packing material haven't been unpacked yet. The water continued to flow, unimpeded, out of the light switch, down the wall and into various nooks and crannies as Himself frantically tried to get ready for work and I tried to reach the landlord via his cell, while diving into various large boxes looking for towels. (There are days when I loathe the fact that Himself does not have a flexible schedule).

I reach the landlord, who, I find out, is in California on business. It is 7 a.m. in The Frontier, making it 6 a.m. in California. I was the very first person the landlord got to speak to this morning, since I woke him up. He told me where the master water shut-off was. I groaned. Shutting off the water meant that I wouldn't get a shower. I have to have my insides examined today by the doctor, to make sure I'm not going into labor anytime in the next seven days - the thought of having to do that sans soap and water made my stomach lurch. Obediently, I shut off the master water valve. (On a side note - the upstairs neighbors should really be nice to us - I could cause ALL KINDS of issues, since I now realize I have total control over their water supply).

I ran upstairs in my ghastly outfit (remember I was working out in my living room, not dressed to make social calls) to let the neighbors know that the entire contents of their washing machine were now on my kitchen floor and asked them to please turn it off. Then I ran back downstairs. The Landlord called again and instructed me to cut power to the kitchen, since the water had obviously come down the electrical system and out the switch. Then I had to run back upstairs to tell the neighbors to call the landlord, since someone was on the phone and he couldn't get through.

Meanwhile, Himself finishes getting himself ready (minus water at this point), has a stroke of genius and remembers where the not-as-nice towels are and yells over his shoulder as he leaves, "Have a good day!" I had half a mind to call the university and tell them that "I'm sorry, I need Himself at the moment more than they do." (After all, I am 36 weeks pregnant - anything can happen), but his job is critical in our master plan to actually get ahead in this life, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

I mop up the floor the best I can, leaving the puddle under the refrigerator for later, as there is no way I can move it on my own. I go into the bathroom and discover that the water came out of that light switch as well, soaking a box of kleenex. At this point, I contemplate running away. I find some rags (we're out of not-as-nice towels and I steadfastly refuse to use the good ones) to mop up the bathroom mess. Then I sneak back to the water valve, turn it on and dash for the shower. Leak or no leak there is no way I'm going to see the doctor without showering. I get out, wrap a towel around me and dash back to turn the water back off.

Then the upstairs neighbor knocks. Now I'm truly in no position to be opening the door - it's no longer just a matter of embarrassing clothing choices. I answer him through the door. He explains that they've found the source - the water source to the washing machine - and cut it off, so I can turn the water on.

I count my blessings that The Factory is flexible, since it is now impossible for me to make it to work on time. Then I remember the landlord said he is coming back to town today and will be by mid-day to investigate the issue with a plumber. I realize the house looks like a bomb went off. I scramble to straighten the living room, shut off all views of Baby Girl's room and the den due to the looming messes in there and scrub Son's Coke stains out of the carpet. Stains I've been meaning to get to for a week.

I sigh, get ready for work, grab my lunch and the trash Himself forgot to take out and bolt far, far away.

I will return home this evening to smelly towels on the floor, a kitchen, hallway and bathroom in dire need of a full-scale clean and mop job and the contents of several boxes strewn across two rooms, the victims of The Great Towel Hunt.

It's going to be a wonderful day. I can already tell.

Nesting

I think I have hit the "Get this child out of me NOW" stage of pregnancy. I am uncomfortable and in pain all the time. While we're not exactly ready (in more ways than one) for Baby Girl's arrival, the next five weeks are looming ominously. August is my least favorite month anyway, now it just seems like it is going to be the LONGEST month.

Himself asked last night when I thought I might be feeling well again, because it was getting old (this when we were wandering around Circuit City trying to find regular telephone cord that was longer than 25 feet - the joys of living in the post-War Hobbit Hole). Once we found the telephone cord, I was tempted to string him up by his ears with it and say, "YOU are tired of it? You don't have a head, two feet and an arm crammed into one side of your ribcage. Give me a few months - it might be best to not repeat this conversation until Valentine's Day."

I restrained myself, however, and kept silent.

I've also hit the nesting point. Unfortunately, the nesting combined with the pain = very little productivity in real life. I stare at the disaster in our bedroom, the boxes in Baby Girl's Room and the "Himself has obviously taken over the den" disaster every day and sigh. I am itching to set up Baby Girl's bed (yes we have one, no it isn't set up yet). I am drying, two months after signing the lease at the Hobbit Hole, to feel like I live there - to have things on the walls, to have a place for things, to be able to FIND things (like my blender and the bathroom trash can).

Himself, however, is quite content to live in the two rooms of the house (living room/kitchen) that have been settled into and just avoid any other area until it's dark. I told him last night he was the anti-nester. I think the meaning was lost on him. He is flying back to the East Coast with Son this weekend to take him home (a topic that is not to be discussed ever again), so I made him a deal: He helps me "nest" this week by getting the heavy stuff re-arranged (we have to move our bed, now that we have AC, I freeze all night being under the vents) and set up (ie our shelves we bought weeks ago), and I will "nest" on my own time without driving him beserk.

We start tonight. We'll see what happens.

The Hobbit Hole Has Visitors

Excluding the variety of strangers (and some really good friends and really insane family members) who helped us move in and a few assorted relatives, last night we had our first real visitors to the Hobbit Hole.

First, Himself's childhood friend came to have dinner with us and spend the night. He's living temporarily in another state, commuting to The Frontier every day, while waiting for his house to close. I personally think the man is nuts - that's 100 miles of driving each way! To save his sanity and ensure he got some additional sleep, he stayed with us last night. Himself insisted I make Balti Chicken and Vegetables with Basmati Rice. Not usually something you serve to guests about which you know nothing of their food preferences. Astonishingly, Himself's friend liked the food (or was really good at faking a love of a food that was medium-spicy, has 30 ingredients and originated on a different continent).

Second, Julie of The Brown Brigade fame came to see us. She is in the area for a reunion and e-mailed me to see if she could come tour the Hobbit Hole. I was so excited, I immediately called Himself. "Two friends in one night!" I exclaimed. "I feel like I actually have friends." Granted, neither of them live in the area (Himself's friend is moving to the next county south of us, but it might as well be another country for as often as we'll see them), but for a brief moment, I felt like I actually knew people in The Frontier.

It was a lovely evening. Julie and Himself's friend both got tours of the Hobbit Hole. Himself's friend even christened the bulkhead near the entrance to the kitchen when he forgot to duck (ironically, Himself hasn't hit his head once - yet - and he's taller). Fortunately, the visitors of the 8-legged-variety stayed blessedly out of sight. (side note: the exterminator came yesterday as well - it was a very good day indeed!)

I had the most wonderful evening, just sitting and talking - catching up, reminiscing and enjoying ourselves (I even learned that Julie wasn't kididng when she cursed Hasbro - there is no way I could have figured out Coulter's transformer if my life depended on it). I don't think I had fully realized that my deep longing for VA is not just for the familiarity, but for the friends that we left behind. I began to realize that many of our East Coast friends, like ourselves, were expatriates, themselves on a journey of independence and self-discovery, and that, together in various groups, we had cobbled together a sort of surrogate family. There were military friends, work friends, church friends, neighborhood friends, social friends - each providing a sense of stability and belonging, a network of roots that mutually fed us as we forged our way through life, often without relatives of the traditional variety nearby.

I wonder what our friendships will be like here. In The Frontier, we are much closer to family - though our immediate families are still several hours' drive away. Still, the compelling need for a complete network of surrogate family members will be lessened, though I hope and pray that we are still able to forge some of the strong, beautiful friendships we did in the East. My life is forever richer because of those associations and deep friendships. I cannot imagine continuing life without them.

Night fell on the Hobbit Hole last night, highlighting the warm glow of lamplight, laughter and pleasant conversation brought by good friends. And we rejoiced.

The Worst Night

So, yesterday might have been The Greatest Day, but last night was The Worst Night. Not because Himself showed up, but even him showing up didn't negate the sheer agony of the night.

In an effort to say, "I may have called you on hormonal rampages during the last four weeks, but I really can do something," I set out to cook dinner for Himself and Son last night.

The Problem: I haven't cooked a meal since early May - at, oh, about 22 weeks. It is MUCH easier to slave over a hot stove when you are mid-second trimester, I realized. I also have ZERO desire for food. ZERO. Meaning cooking just isn't the passionate endeavor it usually is. And, Himself and Son were beat. So, while I'm sure the Chicken Teriyaki and Fried Rice were excellent, we did no more than pick at the food. I had three little pieces of chopped chicken and some orange juice. Two food groups. It was all I could handle. And ... I didn't realize how hard it is to serve a meal to a family of three when one doesn't have a dining room set, let alone a dining room (I am so visiting Ikea this weekend...).

In an effort to convince myself that my sleeplessness was a matter of me sleeping alone in a strange environment the last couple of nights, I went to bed sans another Tylenol PM (plus, the darn think worked so well the night before, I was sleepy until noon yesterday).

The Problem: My great "Eureaka!" moment of how to sleep in relative comfort while pregnant involves several pillows and takes up most of the bed. I failed to realize this would NOT work when Himself arrived with an understandable need to share the bed with me. It was also alarmingly hot in the Hobbit Hole last night, meaning Himself was in no mood to substitute for my back pillow by lying against me. We spent all night tossing and turning, trying not to get to close to each other and smother each other in body heat (pregnancy has definitely made me hot in one way :), trying not to fall out of our respective sides of the bed, as I moved myself and my army of pillows to one edge and Himself clung valiantly to the other edge in an effort to remain mum on the number of "objects" I had in bed with me, while trying desparately not to fall out of bed himself.

And the dog barked. The upstairs neighbors have an ankle-biter dog and a hoarde of grandchildren, whose parents don't seem to believe in bedtimes. Between the dog and the kids, one couldn't sleep even if it was cool and there were no baby bumps or pillow mountains in the way. About 5:30 a.m., when the cool breezes of morning began to blow, the dog and children were mostly asleep and I had given up on being comfortable, Himself rolled over, gathered me up and held me.

I slept for a blissful 90 minutes. The Worst Night was over.

The Greatest Day

**Side Note: Today's blog comes to you from Heidi's kitchen. Still no a/c at work, although they've rigged a suitable alternative in the large conference room, so for the next week I'll be working in one room with 15+ people - I didn't even have that kind of ratio as an underpaid intern! At least they swear the room is significantly cooler than my toasty office and I don't have to invade any more coffee shops or kitchens.

Today is The Greatest Day. It will be superceded by other greatest days, but for now, this ranks as the Greatest Day probably in the entire month of July, definitely in the last 7 weeks.

Himself is, right now, somewhere in the wilds of Wyoming, headed west. He and Son arrive tonight!!!! (I loathe exclamation points as punctuation better left in jr. high, but in this one case, a period was totally underwhelming and one ! just didn't seem quite enough). I have seen Himself 4.5 days in the last 7 weeks. Since then, while I haven't actually gained any weight, I have grown significantly larger, gotten more grumpy, and Baby Girl has firmly lodged herself in my right rib cage. I've unpacked a mere half of what we owned, learned where the dry cleaner, a less-than-adequate grocery store and a pharmacy are and killed my weight in spiders (okay, that is a slight exaggeration, but only slight).

If, yesterday around this time, you would have asked if I was excited about today, I would have started crying or yelling and said emphatically "NO," for a variety of reasons, most of which had nothing to do with today at all. Fortunately, Heidi is a very good friend and rushed to the "other side" of the valley to give me a private "therapy" session over the world's best Artichoke Dip. She also shared with me a secret: Tylenol PM.

Most of the reason the world seemed ready to end was probably due to the fact that I had slept about 4 hours in two days, due to a variety of reasons. I am more convinced of that now, since the single Tylenol PM knocked me out, I didn't wake up, and slept an entire 6 hours (6 hours of uninterrupted sleep is a minor miracle for me in the last several years). I'm thinking the Artichoke Dip, good friend therapy and Ben & Jerry's Half Baked also contributed.

So today is better, and it will be even better in about 5 hours. If I wasn't still so tired, I might be too wired to even work. Tonight I will cook the first meal I've cooked in two months - Teriyaki Chicken & Fried Rice. I won't wander around the empty Hobbit Hole wondering what to do with myself. I will play Fairy Step-Mother and Happy Wife.

And all will be well.

Lions, Tigers, Bears ... and Spiders?!

Little known fact, for which Himself would kill me if he knew the entire world now knows: He is afraid of spiders. Deathly afraid of spiders. He will NOT kill a spider himself. Rather, the appearance of an 8-legged creature requires yelling to whomever is within shouting distance to "come take care of the problem." This, of course, is more humorous when I am not the one who has to "rescue" Himself from said spider.

A fact neither Himself nor I considered when renting the Hobbit Hole: Utah + Basement = Spiders.

It wasn't so bad the first few days. A spider here, some webs there. "Honey, don't worry, they're harmless" as Himself fretted about what I had gotten us into without his supervision.

Then came Tuesday night. Tuesday was an all-around bad night anyway, because I had come to the crushing realization that pregnancy did equal helplessness, as I struggled to complete the grocery shopping and the schlepping of food down into the Hobbit Hole.

I walked into the bathroom to do some laundry. I pulled back the shower curtain to balance the laundry basket on the side of the tub, only to discover a colony of 8-legged arachnids camped out in semi-permanent fashion.

I think, at that point, was when I hit the end of my very short, very frayed rope. I called my mother 300 miles away, who wondered what on earth I wanted her to do about the problem. Very calmly, I said, "Nothing, but I can't call Himself, because at the revelation that we have a colony of spiders camping in our tub, he will steadfastly refuse to relocate. He's still in Virginia. Once he makes it to Utah, he can't go back. I need him to move in with me. That is in serious jeopardy if I disclose the spider issue is really this bad. And I have to tell someone about this ridiculousness."

The very end of the rope really came when, after killing all of the spiders I could find, I called Himself, sobbing, with an emotionally wrought discourse on how much I hated it in the Hobbit Hole. (This of course, was only slightly more rational than disclosing the spider issue, after all Himself is still in Virginia, and already having second thoughts about having to fear hitting his head every time he enters or exits our bedroom).

A total of 16 spiders (21 if you count the 5 I killed on Wednesday morning) and a half a roll of toilet paper later, I sat down and composed an e-mail to my landlord, explaining that while I applauded his "no pesticides" motto, I could not possibly live in a place occupied by more than one 8-legged critter (or their webs) at a time.

Then, I put the drain plug over the tub. I am having visions of taking it off only to have the entire bathroom overrun with a hoard of angry spiders who have been pent up in the tub drain waiting for escape. Then I remind myself that one of us being afraid of spiders is enough. I have to be the strong, sane one on this issue.

At least until I find another spider.

The First Adventure

I'm over-my-head busy today, but I couldn't not write this down while it was at the top of mind.

This weekend was a series of new adventures for me, including my first-ever all-night stay at The Hobbit Hole. The Hobbit Hole sort of resembles an inhabited locale now, rather than a dumping ground for used cardboard. The bathroom is completely unpacked. The kitchen is completely unpacked (if still disorganized). The bedroom is making progress. If you close your eyes in the other locations, it's not so bad. Really. Just really, really boring (I still can't find my CD player and have no cable or Internet, so it is also really, really quiet, which about drove me insane).

But the BIG "First Adventure" came this morning. The Hoopty needs new tires, so I dropped it off at the tire place three blocks from The Hobbit Hole on my way to work, and caught the bus. Yes, this morning was Sara's first experience with Salt Lake public transit.

I'm no public transit flunkie - I commuted via Metro and bus when I worked in downtown DC, and often used the Metro and/or bus to get around even after starting a job in the suburbs. I've seen more of underground Manhattan and Boston than I have aboveground, due to the amount I've ridden the Subway and the T. And, with Salt Lake's "once you get it, you can find anything" addressing system, I figured it shouldn't be that difficult (or expensive) to get around via the UTA.

Problem #1: The handy-dandy trip planner (which pales compared to WMATA's trip planner for Metro) told me that the fastest, easiest way to get to work from the tire store (exactly 41 blocks) had me disembark at my final location at an intersection that I am convinced does not exist. No lie. The street I am on dead-ends into a golf course, an interstate and a mountain. UTA told me I needed to get off somewhere where those three things converge. So ... I took the long way - involving a seven-block walk in the wrong direction.

Problem #2: I live 7 miles from the office, putting the tire store at just under 7 miles - a 15-minute drive. The "long" version of the bus trek, including the 7-block walk (I walked this to avoid having to transfer busses twice - I need the exercise and the morning was lovely, anyhow), took ONE HOUR to arrive at my destination (no wonder, the route took me 25 blocks out of the way), since apparently UTA is like all bus systems and runs chronically 5-10 minutes behind.

Problem #3: I have a reverse commute. I am going outbound, while everyone else is inbound. This means that the only people riding the bus are Salt Lake's version of sketchy (no Utah "sketchy" can come close to the sketchy people with whom I've shared close quarters on Metro, Subway and the T, but still...am I the only one that has figured out commuting backward is better than the alternative?) and the busses only run every 20-30 minutes. You miss one, you're doomed. I was a nervous wreck the entire commute, wondering who I would call if I ended up stranded somewhere between home and work, in a location that wasn't really on the way to either.

But ... I made it. It's cheap, the bus was air-conditioned and both of my drivers spoke English as a first language, which means I could actually understand them when they announced the intersections. This is one area in which UTA has a leg up on any other transit system I've ever ridden. I tried not to feel conspicuous as me, the nearly-seven-months-pregnant-woman-in-a-skirt (clearly, I wasn't thinking when I got dressed this morning), was hanging out on a couple of major street corners in the Salt Lake Valley. It was a little surreal - I felt like, possibly, I was the only person in the valley using public transit today - something that has never happened to me during rush hour in any other city.

The best part of the adventure? The swinging metal suspension bridge I had to cross to get over a creek between the bus stop and my office. For 30 seconds, I really did feel like I wasn't too far off in describing my new home to a friend as "The Outpost of the American West."

Now ... if I can just figure out how to get home tonight...

Random Updates on Hobbits, Formerly Possessed Appliances and Names

Last night, I paid a visit to the Hobbit Hole. It's looking a little like something that someone *might* want to live in. Maybe.

Heidi and I played Superhero (okay she played Superhero, and I, the pregnant wimpy lady, mostly watched) and re-arranged furniture in my bedroom. It took her a long time to assuage my fears of stubbing my toes on the end of my bed when I dashed to the bathroom in the middle of the night (no matter that I still I managed to stub my toe on the end of the bed on my way out of the bedroom last night before we left!). We managed to find a home for most of the clothes, and the bedroom now sort of looks like it might be inhabitable at some point in the near future.

The best piece of news all night was the formerly possessed washing machine (remember the exorcism that had to be performed on Sunday?). With great trepidation, I set out to re-wash my laundry, since the machine had failed to spin all the water out on Sunday, leaving a horrible, drippy, soggy, pile of wet stuff lying limp in the bottom of the machine. I held my breath the entire 1-hour cycle, running in every time the thing went to "spin", dragging Heidi with me. We watched the machine like madwomen (okay, I watched it like a madwoman, Heidi obliged me). Guess what? It worked! I don't have to call the GE repairman and, like an idiot, explain that my week-old washing machine that is worth more than my living quarters was behaving badly. Insert HUGE sigh of relief here.

The last update regards Baby Girl's name>. My big hesitation in naming Baby Girl the name we have most likely selected is that it is of an ethnic origion of which we have no claim to and my parents are not "weird names" people. So yesterday, I played brave little coward (ie I told them the name, but I did it via e-mail). This morning, I get an e-mail from my mom. It said, "Ummm .... so how do you pronounce it?!"

*sigh* That was not something I expected. I expected, "Where on earth did you get that name from?" or "Oh. That's nice" (Family speak for "I really hope you are kidding or certifiably insane). But pronunciation? I thought it was pretty standard.

While looking for a pronunciation guide (I am terrible at phonetics), I did find out it's a name given to children typically born to parents late in life. Guess that makes it suitable, since Himself is getting up there in years. That, at least, made me smile.