Wait! That's What YOU Did!

Recently Garry had a good friend who was getting an unwanted house guest for a few days. He joked that this friend would have to come up with a lot of errands to get out of the house. For example, Garry said, he might have to go to Lowes again and again for light bulbs. Ha-ha.

I laughed along with him until I realized, WAIT! That's what YOU do! Over Christmas vacation Garry went to Lowes about 7 times for light bulbs and more light bulbs as he decided that every single light bulb in our house had to be energy efficient. The worst part of the process was changing out the lights in our entry way. It's rather high up there. I took these pictures for insurance purposes and to prove to the police I had nothing to do with his untimely demise.

Since we did not have any company during this time, I guess the unwanted house guest was just me ;)

A Vote Of Confidence

Everyday I ask the girls to make their beds. Emma is really good at it and never has a problem. Macey has an emotional breakdown everytime. It's "too hard" and she "can't do it" and there are tears and weeping and wailing nearly everytime.

I would not mind so much but I have seen her do it and do it well when she wants to -- she just tends to be a little lazy sometimes.

So I'll often ask Emma to help her and realized that it was not very fair to Emma. So I told Macey that everytime Emma helped her she had to give her a piece of candy since Macey still has Christmas and Valentine candy stashed somewhere in the depths on her closet.

"But Mom," she cried, "I'll run out of candy!"

Now there's confidence for you. But, I still love her. I helped her make her bed the other day and she tried to give me a piece of candy. Love that girl.

Macey Gracey Puddin' Facey

Being pregnant on Macey's birthday has been a challenge because I am just so emotional about it. I love, love, love this kid and everytime I think about how much I just love this kid, I start crying and just hug her tightly, and she's getting really tired of it.

From the minute Emma was born, she was such a Daddy's girl. They are so close! So when I had Macey, I finally had a little buddy. So fun!

She is so smart! She has an incredible memory and even though she is only in Pre-K, she's already reading. She's so kind! After my doctor's appointment yesterday I picked her up from my sister, she got in the van and asked, "So, Momma, how are you doing?" Really, what five year old thinks to ask? She's so beautiful! I love her eyes. What a beautiful girl.

She's our little Miracle Macey, and we love love love this girl!

The Great Flood of 2011

After 2 1/2 weeks, they are supposed to start putting our basement back together today! I am excited for the work to start and hope that it can go smoothly from this point on.

Like I said in my earlier blog, we did not get flooded -- we got mudded! Here's a picture that shows where I tried to Hoover some of it up (before I totally gave up) and how is was everywhere -- there's a clump of mud right next to the floorboard. Lovely. You can also see the wall start to warp. Ugh.

So Completely NORMAL

One of the best things about living close to family is that they help me feel very normal. They know where I am coming from, my background, a lot of my history, and it comes in handy.

Take Friday. For those interested in having a say in the name of Baby Cunningham #4, you need to talk to Garry. As I picked out Emma and had a major say in Macey and definitely picked the name Molly, I have conceded that it is Garry's turn. He has a list of about 11 boy names and 20 girl names.

H confided in me that his #2 name choice for a boy was "Riker".

I said ABSOLUTELY NOT! Why not should be obvious, and I told him why not, and he said that I was the only one that would even think of that.

So I called my sister. And asked her on speakerphone, "Rachelle, why can we not name a boy (if it is a boy) Riker. Explain it to Garry."

And she did. Because it's a name of a prison and everyone knows that.

It's good to be proven normal.

Is There Anything Better?

Macey is a middle child. Oh boy, is Macey ever a middle child. Watching this, we have tried to give her some alone time and her own things to be involved in. She goes to dance once a week and to Pre-K three times a week. And once a week I take her to the library where we pick out books and magazines and snuggle up on the couch in the book club room.

But last week she had the opportunity to tour a candy factory with her Pre-K class. A parent had to attend with each student and Garry took off the afternoon to go with Macey Grace. Of course he was the only Dad there, and he wanted to announce very loudly that he did indeed have a job, but look how happy Macey is in this picture!! Moms are great, but they always seem to be around. Is there anything better than time with Dad?

The Best Compliment EVER

It has already been established in this blog that I consider my sister to be breathing, walking perfection. Though I love leaving my kids with her I also dread the day when they realize they got jipped by getting me as a Mom and not her. They already make little comments, and so I am pretty sure that soon the gig will be up.

So it was bliss on Monday when I went to her house and she told me that she was talking to my niece (who is in the 9th grade) about the fact that I was having a baby next month.

"But she doesn't even look pregnant!" she said. (Bless her heart, yes I do.)

"I hope that I take after her and not you," she told my sister.

I had to laugh and ask my sister to get her to say it on tape so I can hear that again and again. Soon she will realize what I did a long time ago -- taking after my sister is the best thing that you can hope for.

The Problem With Thigh-highs

As my baby bump got bigger, I stopped wearing nylons on Sunday and instead decided to try thigh highs.

Oh, how I have learned to loathe them.

Here's the problem with thigh highs. They suck in your calves (thank you!) and even suck in your thighs (again, thanks!) but that leaves nothing to suck in my butt. In fact, now with my sucked in calves and thighs, my butt looketh like it runneth over.

It creates the worst image in the world! I have this huge bump in front and this unfortunate booty in the back. It's as though my butt has created an equilibrium on the other side I never requested.

So, yesterday after the unfortunate pink sweater mistake, I went to Motherhood Maternity for something nice to wear to Valentine's Day dinner. And when they asked if I needed any nylons, I ignored the price and said "yes, yes I do."

Death to thigh highs!

A Very Pregnant Valentines Day

A few years ago on Oprah there was a woman who said that we need to reclaim Valentine's Day and make it more about our husband than our kids and their school parties.

Coupled with this advice is more advice from my sister who admits that her Valentine's Day has gotten out of control. They started giving their kids 'presents' when they were small and could easily be overjoyed with a balloon and a sucker. But now they are teens and preteens and want DS games and Wii games. . .and somehow Mama gets a $2 box of chocolates because the budget is SHOT. She suggested being very careful of starting any 'gift' traditions with the girls.

So this year I was very careful about this Valentine's Day. I set up a babysitter because this Valentine's Day I was going out. And eating something CHOCOLATEY! Emma is off-track and so she did not have a party, but Macey is and she got sent with little Valentines and little suckers. None of the over-stuffed bags I usually put together. Because I am reclaiming Valentine's Day!

The only down part was this morning when I tried to get dressed. Um, ya, about that, I am having a baby in a few weeks (well, I say few, others might say more) and when I put on my little pink sweater I looked like a reenactment from an unfortunate part of the movie Tommy Boy. Yep, that part. Well, maybe next year. . .

What's In A Name?

Macey has an incredible memory when it comes to names. She can meet a bunch of kids and remember their name -- first and last if she heard it. She's amazing, and I have always called her "my little politician" because of this crazy skill.

Today is the day when the contractors start putting our basement back together again. I wanted to make sure that the girls knew what would be happening today and told them that Frank would be coming over to start fixing the basement.

See, I am HORRIBLE at names. Sometimes I get the first letter right. Sometimes I get the syllables. But I rarely get a whole name right. So I was not that surprised when Garry reminded me last night that his name was Randy, not Frank.

I told him that I would have to remember to tell Macey because she would remember and call him by the wrong name.

But I forgot to talk to her and this morning I reminded the girls that Randy was coming over in the morning. A few minutes later Macey piped up "I thought his name was Frank?"

I LOVE this kid. She's amazing.

Do Not Knock It Until You Try It

I really enjoy watching what Garry calls "trash" shows. And when we're talking about trash we are not talking about soap operas. We're talking about real trash -- Hoarders, Buried Alive, Animal Hoarders, I will watch them all.

But recently I have stumbled upon the History Channel's "Pawn Stars". I really enjoy this show -- watching what people are trying to negotiate and the price and the history of the items that come in, and I LOVE it when someone brings in a fake and they get called on it. Though sometimes it's by accident. Yesterday we saw a show where a man brought in a gun he bought for $800 and the gun expert said that it was a reproduction worth $75. Oh, and this kid tried to sell a playbill from Ford's Theater from the night that Lincoln was shot, and it was a fake. He thought that he was going to make $10,000.

Anyway, I digress. Garry was convinced that this was another 'trash show' but wouldn't you know that I came downstairs today and he was watching it? Don't knock it until you try it!

Can I Just Decide??

This morning I sent Emma outside to go catch the bus. I watched her walk down the porch stairs and heard the oddest noise -- it was like runoff water -- like a massive melting taking place. But it was 8 am, and it was FREEZING. There was no melting going on here. What was that noise?

I told Garry, who was home today, that there was a weird noise coming from outside. I couldn't locate it. But, I went outside again and looked down. There it was. An outside pipe near our porch had exploded, and there was water gushing.

I ran downstairs to check the basement and saw the damage before I felt it with my feet. There was a dark hue everywhere. A sure sign of dark, flooded carpet. Only it was not just "flooded". I did not have my contacts in and did not understand that it was mud until I was dumping water into the sink from my little Hoover and realized I was dumping out mud.

Garry turned the water off and we started looking for a dry spot to put everything. We could not find anywhere. Everything was wet.

I started Hoovering, Garry called the insurance company, and then he started moving everything into the garage.

After we had done what we could and were waiting (and waiting and waiting) for the water mediation people to arrive, we started talking about some good things. About how lucky we were that Garry was home today. How lucky we were that I heard the water when I sent Emma out to school (we're not regularly in the basement nor do we spend much time near the porch area). How lucky we were that we did not have too many huge items down there.

After awhile, I got tired of the game of finding the 'silver lining' to this costly situation. Can I just decide that this sucks and let it go at that?

They've Got Mad Skills

My kids have mad skills. They can wake up, usually between 3:00 - 4:00 am, walk down a dark hallway, into a dark room, go past their Dad's side of the bed, find mine way on the other side of the room, and proceed to scare me to death.

This morning it was Macey. She was up because she was scared of the dark, she said. Tired, I scooted over and let her crawl into bed. And suffocated. A husband, an eight-month pregnant me, and a five year old in a queen bed does not add up to comfort.

The last few nights it has been Molly. Usually she walks down the dark hall with her pillowpet, into my room, walks past her sleeping Dad and shoves a sippy cup in my face, demanding milk. "More milk!" Oh, and she usually amends "With Bunny" (her word for Nestle chocolate). And a spot in my bed. Usually I refuse to negotiate with terrorists but at that time in the morning I am too tired to argue.

One day they'll discover it's just easier, and cozier, to stay in bed. Or they'll discover that Dad's side of the bed is ever so much closer. Right now, I'll take either one.

Socks & Peer Pressure

This year for his birthday Garry said that he did not want 'anything'. The greatest gift I could give him was to not spend money.

Well, you have to get him SOMEthing and so the girls and I went shopping. They each picked out two items -- a small item and a fashionable sweater for casual office days. The sweaters were great and soft -- a blue one, a gray one and a really nice black one.

I bought him two different types of socks. My feet perpetually hurt, and so I love comfortable socks. Some were long and some only went to the ankle. But they were thick and cushy. Just lovely.

His birthday came and went, and he promptly took each sweater back to the store, without even trying them on, can I just add. He's a little picky when it comes to clothes and sometimes when I point out something nice at the store for him or for the girls he always responds with, "that looks like something YOU'D wear", like it's a bad thing. Sigh.

The socks were about to meet to same tragic end except for one thing. We went to my sister's house for a birthday party and everyone left their shoes by the door. I pointed out how many people were wearing the socks I bought him -- they are black with gold toes so they are easy to point out.

Wouldn't you know that after a week of avoiding the best socks ever, he wore them the very next day. And wouldn't you know that he came home from work and gave me "kudos" for picking out the socks. And wouldn't you know he went back to the store and bought more?

Men.