...or I'm brilliant!

This pic seemed to get a lot of attention on facebook and instagram, so I figured why not put it on the blog for the remaining ZERO of you who haven't already seen it?  Actually Allison suggested I post it on the blog.

So maybe I'm an airhead, but I'm also very, very smart.  Ya see, Matt had Henry out of the house, and I knew I had limited time to sneak in a quick "at home" workout (courtesy of Ashley).  Of course it also happened to be time for Sam to eat, so... duct tape it is.

so I'm an airhead...

Haha. Guys. Thank you so much for the pity comments.  No really, I love when some of you come out of the woodwork like that.  It's amazing.

On that note, I will resume posting about normal things like how I am an airhead.  Particularly in that last post, when I made Matt read it (like I do with all my posts since I tend to think I am hilarious).  So he was reading my post, and he quoted it, "Now you've really lost me?"  I said, "Yeah."  He said, "I think you mean, 'Now I've really lost you.'" Dang it.  I am almost as smart as I am funny.

And on that note, I'd like to tell you that my friend told me that she heard or read an article that your IQ drops after having children.  She felt offended by it.  I felt justified.

And on THAT note, I'd like to tell you that the same friend also told me that pregnancy happens to be really hard on your TEETH.  So, feeling like now I have an excuse for my bad teeth, I begin this convo with Matt.

"Hey, Ashley told me pregnancy is really hard on your teeth."
"Really?" (In sincere tone.)
"Yep."
(Without hesitation.) "So is candy." (Bada boom!)

Dang it.

And on that note, we are trying to teach Henry that he's not allowed to say "Dang it."

Happy Wednesday, folks.

so I've noticed a pattern...

Pretty much all I post about anymore is my kids, how I lose things, how Matt loses things, my kids, how I am an airhead, how Matt loves the weather, my kids, how much junk food I eat, my kids, my hair, and how Matt loses things.  So I need to change it up before I lose my three remaining commenting readers. Haha. No but really, I'm not kidding.

I'd truly truly love to write posts that point people to Jesus, but I've kind of set a tone on this blog, and well that tone is dry, sarcastic, and (might I add) HILARIOUS.  Okay, I'm just kidding.  Not really though. JK.  Okay, now you've really lost me, huh?  (It is past my bedtime.) The truth is, I have trouble doing both... while in real life, I am truly dry and sarcastic and hilarious (you've got to humor me and laugh)... I am also serious about JC and I love Him and want others to love Him too.  Problem is, I've never been able to bring those two "tones" together very successfully in the blog world.  Forgive me for thinking out loud for all of you to see... and with that I'm down to two commenting readers. Sa-weeeeet!

I think I'm gonna go to sleep before I lose any more of you.  You are all so precious to me. Muahaha. No really, I mean it.

I am my husband..

It's humiliating for me to admit this, but after searching high and low (we are talking, on top of the fridge, in the trash can, in the drain of the sink, in the couch cushions, on my bed, on Henry's bed and everywhere in between), I found my mouth guard... and this time it wasn't anywhere cool like inside the VHS... nope, this time it was just laying out on my bedroom floor in plain view.  So yes, I have become my husband and no, I am not okay with it.

Next.  I should tell you that my dentist appointment was about as terrible as I could have planned yesterday, and I think it's because my dentist's office is really good a guilt trips, but anyway... This snapshot of my texting with Matt afterward sums it up nicely...

 

I know you can't see it very well, but that picture is a bulk package of toothpaste and floss I bought at Costco right after my appointment... I had to go there to get diapers - bad timing.  And yes, we have toothpaste and floss at home, but somehow this purchase helped me feel like I was doing something for the health of my mouth.  Rational mindset.  If I buy nice workout clothes maybe I will want to go to the gym.  If I buy crafts, maybe I will want to be crafty.  Thankfully ONE of us is rational... maybe the other one of us will regain her ability to not lose things and together we can be a fully functional adult?

Happy Friday.

I have a disorder called bruxism. Haha.

Two ways to know it's summer.

1. The AC war has officially begun.  I set the AC schedule so that it is constantly set to 74, only to have Matt change it so it is constantly set to 75... You'd think I wouldn't notice that one degree, but oh, I notice.  And, I know people who want their (AAAH I originally had that word as "THERE" = so humiliating!) house at 68, so come on babe, throw me a bone here! 74? Not bad.  Matt also likes to pump the AC up to like 78 when we leave the house...

2. I sweat stinkin' bullets when I walk outside and I'm not exaggerating.  I sweat like a mad woman.  My dermatologist said that means I have a high metabolism?  I had NEVER heard that before, but she's a dermatologist so shouldn't I believe her?

On that note, I'm gonna go ahead and say that I DO have a high metabolism because based purely on the way I eat ALONE, I should probably weigh at least 30 more pounds than I do.  I am not kidding people.  I can pack down some food - some good food. Anyway, I'm not bragging.  I'm what they call "skinny fat" and I'm pretty sure I could successfully teach a course called, "How to Be Skinny Fat 101."  Okay, enough about that.

Next.  I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, and I seriously just absolutely hate going to the dentist, as I explained here and here. (Rabbit trail - those posts were from the glory days... I had 13 comments on one of those bad boys! That hasn't happened in ages.)  Anyway...I rescheduled my original appointment from a month ago, and then I was very close to rescheduling tomorrow's, but I figured let's just get this thing over with for cryin out loud.  One thing I guaranteeeeeeeeee will happen, and I am already just a TAD bit anxious about it.  Dentist is going to ask me if I've been wearing my mouth guard.  And guess what!  The answer = NO.  I lost it while I was pregnant (not that I looked too hard), and by the time I found it again, my teeth had shifted and it hurt to wear it, and I should have gone and got it re-fitted at that point, but I didn't so now I have to face the wrath of dentist tomorrow.  I'm fully expecting a guilt trip. Ugh.  I'll be feeling better when it's over.

Sometimes I just wonder if I could get an epidural in my mouth... it would be a little bit of a problem as far as eating, talking, swallowing, smiling, and looking like a normal human being goes... but I mean, my jaw just naturally clenches down.  I have to concentrate to UN-CLENCH it!!  That's a problem my friends... let's get me on some tranquilizers, some muscle relaxers... Okay, so I just googled "clenching jaw" and found this article.  Apparently this is a SLEEP DISORDER called bruxism and it's a learned behavior... interesting to me though because Henry is TWO and he already grinds his teeth.  (Poor guy.)  You gonna tell me my two year old has subconscious stress?  I guess it's not impossible.  That article is scary... apparently I should take my recurring dream where all my teeth fall out seriously??

Well there's more than you ever wanted to know about me.  Here's to me MAYBE learning my lesson and wearing my night guard from here on out.  I'll wear it tonight so when dentist asks I can just say, "I wore it last night." :) Ha.

Thankful: Day 11 [Awkward Preggo Situations, Etc.]

One good thing about my insanely painful nerve pain: it leads to funny and awkward interactions in public.  I'm thankful for these situations because who doesn't love a good laugh?

I wish I could describe this nerve pain for you.  Let's suffice it to say that I can be walking along normally and all of the sudden I get shooting pains all the way down the front or back of my legs (that's femoral and sciatic nerves, respectively) which sometimes literally causes me to fall to the floor (if I am at home), and no that is not a dramatic overreaction.

Yesterday at Target, I was finished shopping, approaching the checkout counter, when this terrible pain struck me in both legs at once.  I literally had to stop in my tracks, I hunched over at the waist and was squirming, and I let out an "Ooooh... Ughhh!"  I then looked up at the sweet, young, innocent checker girl who had a look of fear in her eyes.  (I'm about 99% sure she thought I was having a contraction.)  Instead of setting the record straight, I just go, "Sorry about that."

It wasn't till a few seconds later that I realized how funny the interaction actually was.

Then I started imagining how fun it would be, if I was a better actress, to play pranks on people all the time.

Like, Matt's been dying for me to pretend like I'm not pregnant when someone asks me when I am due.  He wanted me to do it in the last pregnancy, and he still wants me to do it.  Just to act really offended and/or confused, and then say, "Oh, I'm not pregnant."

It would also be kind of fun to pull the "I'm in labor" trick on someone when I'm actually not, but then you have the whole "boy who cried wolf" thing, and that wouldn't be cool.

Now that I'm thinking about it, it WOULD be funny to pretend that my water broke.  It would have to be the perfect situation (Thanksgiving Dinner maybe?), but it would be awesome...

Anyway, this reminds me of one prank I did pull on Matt last pregnancy.  As you all know, I am a fan of epidurals.  As you may also know, my pain tolerance is low (EXCEPT WITH THE NERVE PAIN - I'M TELLING YOU THAT'S REAL), my drama level is high, and natural labor has never been a thought for me.  (I'm also thankful for the freedom to get an epidural.)  So sometime in the last few weeks of my last pregnancy, I decided to play a trick on Matt, and our conversation went something like this.

Leah: Hey babe, I've been praying about it, and I think that I want to go natural in childbirth.
Matt:  Really? (Like, with a half smile, trying to figure out if I am joking or not?)
Leah: (Continue in serious tone) Yeah, you know, I've been thinking, if I ever have to suffer physically for the gospel, natural labor would be really good training for that.  Also, God made our bodies to be able to handle this pain, so I think he just wants me to endure that.
Matt: (Face turns serious and he secretly wonders whether he or anyone else can make it out of the delivery room alive with me not on medication) "Okay. Wow."
Leah: (Can't take it any longer.) JUST KIDDING!
Both of us: laugh! hahahahaha  (And he probably called me a butthead or something of the sort.)

So there you have it day 11.  Thankful for humor, awkwardness, pranks, and the freedom to get an epidural!

bling bling

Last pregnancy when my fingers started to swell toward the end, and I could no longer go all day wearing my wedding ring, I went out and bought a cubic zirconia ring in a larger size.  (You know, so I wouldn't feel like a teen mom - not that it would matter, but anyway.)

Well, we are back to that point in this pregnancy, but the thing is that the ring is so obviously fake that it's embarrassing. So I end up telling people (random strangers) that it's fake anyway.  It's actually serving the opposite purpose for which I originally bought it because instead of not feeling like a teen mom, I feel like a teen mom who's trying really hard (or maybe not hard enough) to look married and/or engaged.

Since my camera isn't so great, this picture really doesn't do it justice, but for your viewing pleasure...

For the record, I know that I have man hands. 

One, the "stone" is like kind of big - maybe equal to what a 2-3 karat diamond would look like.  Two, it's "gold" but the "gold" obviously leaves a green ring around my finger.  (And does anyone else besides me remember that Saved By the Bell episode where the class rings did that to them?)  Three, just trust me, if you saw it in person you'd laugh.

ma'am, we're thinking about getting rid of our sprouts

I promised you in my A-Z post a sprouts story.  So, here it is...

Sometime in the last 10 months or so (probably before Henry was walking), Matt, Henry and I took a trip to Jason's Deli. After we ordered, our hands were completely full with Henry, diaper bag, wallet, receipts, the little order number thing you are supposed to put on your table, drink cups, etc... It was at this time that the guy who took our order handed us a piece of paper and asked us if we could please fill out a survey.  Since, like I said, our hands were obviously very full and we were trying to put our money back in the wallet, and just get out of the way and get to our table, I asked the guy if the survey was mandatory.  Or, more accurately, I said, "Do we have to?"

He then, sounding very offended and authoritative said, "Ma'am!  We are thinking about getting rid of our sprouts!"  I wish I could do it justice by repeating it for you so you could understand his tone of voice. (Anyway, this was obviously a very important decision that I needed to be a part of via survey.)

At that point I wanted to say, "Seriously, dude, I could care less what you do with your sprouts."  Instead, practical Matt asked him if we could fill out the survey at the table (you know, after we had put all of our armfuls of junk down), and he said that was fine.

it is a...

Okay, before I reveal the gender of the babes in my tums, let me tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Leah.  Leah was pregnant.  For about six weeks during her pregnancy, Leah worked out and bragged about it on her blog. 

But then, all-or-nothing Leah stopped working out as much.  But you see her appetite was through the roof.  But Leah pretty much despised healthy food, so she ate a lotta junk.  She ate McDonald's, Chick Fil A, DONUTS, Ice Cream, Candy Bars, Candy, Coke, Dr. Pepper, Root Beer.  She ate breakfast two to three times a day.  She ate dessert after every meal.  She ate CHEESE, FRIED FOOD, BROWNIES from a box.  She loved every minute of it.

After about three weeks of this lifestyle, Leah went to the doctor for a routine visit.  It had only been four weeks since she last went to the doctor. As per usual, Leah hopped on the scale.  Leah watched as the nurse KEPT SLIDING THE MEASURER-THINGY TO THE RIGHT.  Leah watched in disbelief as they confirmed that she had gained quite a bit of weight since the last appointment. [I'm NOT exaggerating.]

Leah waited nervously for the doctor to enter the room because she feared his reproof.  The doctor said that blood pressure looked good, but when he started eye-ing the weight chart he exclaimed, "Wow!  You had a big month this month!  Did you go on vacation or something?"  "No, no vacation.. that's NEXT month," Leah replied, sheepishly.  "Okay. You were just eating a lot of ice cream because it's so hot outside, huh?" He said.  "Sure," Leah replied.  "Well, let's try to slow that down, okay?" said the doctor.  "DON'T YOU WORRY!" said Leah.

And we will ALL live happily ever after.

You'd think as vain as I am, I'd try to "reign in the cravings" (as Matt would say) just a little bit.  Well, this was a wake-up call.  To be honest, after I worked my bottom off during the previous 4 weeks and I had gained just the right amount of weight, I just sort of wondered if my body would naturally do the right thing, even if I didn't work out.  Turns out... NO.  OH WELLSERS!  At least I got some motivation.

And for the big reveal...

It
IS
DEFINITELY
A




BOY!

I'm super excited.  God is SOOOO good to us - so much better to us than we deserve!  Anyway, I am already picturing Henry and baby 2 being BFFAEAEAE. We have no leads in the name department... so that should be fun.  Perhaps I will put up some ultrasound pics soon.

"duck"

Henry has some trouble pronouncing a few words.  As a result, he uses the word "duck" for the following words:

-car
-cow
-dog
-duck
-dark
-truck

(On top of that, he thinks everything with wheels is a car or truck, so trains, tractors, airplanes are all also "ducks.")

The other day we were at Barnes N' Noble and there was a picture of Lightning McQueen on the cover of a book, and he was really excited about it.  So he pointed and exclaimed, "A DUCK!  A DUCK!" (Car.)  The ~8 year old next to us thought it was really funny, but it got funnier when two seconds later, Henry spotted a stuffed puppy and pointed and exclaimed, "A DUCK!"

I love this sweet shirt.  It is Paul Frank and it says, "Chicks Dig Scars," and it has a band-aid on the monkey's head.  It was a gift from a little boy who had the same surgery as Henry about a year before Henry did. :)

Henry is obsessed with his "Belly Butt."  He LOVES to show people his belly button.

 I love being that little man's official translator.

humiliating dressing room experience

I write this post at the risk of sharing TMI, but 99.99% of you are women (I think, minus those of you who choose to share my humiliating stories with your husbands), so I'll go ahead and share WITH THE DISCLAIMER THAT IF YOU ARE MY BROTHER OR MY BROTHER-IN-LAW OR FATHER OR FATHER-IN-LAW OR ANYONE MALE who is also RELATED TO ME, then you might not want to read...

I don't understand why it is necessary that a certain part of my body be "prepared" for nursing a child five months before that child will ever enter the world, but I am not The Creator.  So.  As you may or may not know, when you get pregnant, your belly is not the only thing that grows.

As a result of this, I have paid a visit to the department store to be fitted for a new brassiere.  (I probably wore the wrong size throughout my entire last pregnancy, so I decided it was worth the investment to get some new stuff...)  The first visit I made to the dept. store was in my first trimester, and I was pretty much between two cup sizes (TMI?), so I played it safe and chose the larger size.

Except, just as as your belly keeps growing and growing and growing... so do the other things. Now, I really shouldn't get into these details, but I'm not one of those girls who enjoys this new voluptuousness during pregnancy.  I'm plenty big BEFORE having to be anatomically prepared to feed a child (Definitely TMI).  Like I said, I am not The Creator.

Anyway.  My body is doing such a great job preparing for this child to be nourished, and as a result, I found myself at Nordstrom Rack (no pun intended - hahaha) today to try to get YET ANOTHER, BIGGER BRASSIERE.  I didn't think I needed to be re-fitted, since I did that like a month ago - surely I could just estimate. So... I head to the sizes that, to be honest, I once thought were only reserved for women over the age of 60.  The sizes that you pass in the store and think to yourself, "WHO WEARS SOMETHING THAT HUGE?"  Apparently, I do.

Here's the problem, though.  After searching through the inventory, I found myself with three, huge, potential bras in my hand.  I also found myself completely across the store from the dressing rooms.  These bras cannot be hidden... I considered picking up some clothing to hide them behind, and now that I'm thinking about it I should have done that...  but anyway.

So after I took the walk of shame across the store, I (FINALLY!) ended up at the dressing room where I think I am safe.  Here, I am supposed to tell the attendant how many items I have.  (Or, more idealistically, the dressing room attendant is supposed to carefully survey the number of pieces I am carrying.) Well when I got in line in the front of the dressing room, I noticed that the attendant was a GUY, and he was probably about 24 years old.  Lovely.

Don't worry.  He saw me coming.   He did not make eye contact with my "clothing." And he definitely did not try to verify that I was telling the truth about how many items I had. "Three please," I muttered, as I stared at the floor.  After none of the brassieres fit correctly, I DEFINITELY did NOT return them to the attendant, but shamefully walked back across the store to hang them back up myself.

And he definitely did not ask, "How did those work for you?"

In an ideal world I would have left the store immediately, but I had to face the guy again while I was waiting for Matt to finish trying on jeans.  Lovely Saturday.

the purse on your shoulder? (pregnant brain chronicles)

So I got kind of frazzled at the gym today.  I took Henry swimming at the pool at our gym, and that was fabulous as always... till the end when I started having a serious case of pregnant brain.

We headed to the family locker room, which is designated for parents w/ children of the opposite sex.  Any parent (male or female) can be in the room, so long as they (supposedly) have children of the opposite sex, but no one seems to really follow that rule.  Anyway, inside the locker room, they have about 5-6 closed off areas where you can shower/change.  Well, when Henry and I got to the family locker room, all of the areas were taken, so I, being a genius tried to pull a fast one and start changing out of my swimsuit in the common area (where anyone can walk through whenever).

Well, thank goodness, I got smart, and said out loud, "I can't do this, I am going to get in trouble... some creepy guy is gonna walk through here any second."  The kind lady next to me just politely agreed, "Yep."  Then two seconds later, the creepy guy with no children walked through, and she said, "There he is."  Fortunately, I had pulled up my swimsuit, and tank top... but my bra was still fastened around my belly, which I'm sure he found interesting.  But oh well...

So, I stepped into a bathroom stall, quickly changed, and left in a haste...

Almost to my car, I realized that I had left my purse in my locker in the locker room, so I RUN back into the gym carrying my 27lb child in 100 degree weather, and hurry in to find that the locker I had been using was locked/already being used by someone else and my purse was nowhere to be found.

"My purse is gone!"  I say, frantically, to the two women sitting there, one of which was the same woman who basically thought I was a psycho for trying to change in a unisex locker room... "It was in this locker right here, and someone seriously locked their stuff in here with my purse!!!"

The same lady pointed at my shoulder... "Are you looking for the purse that's on your shoulder?"  I glance at my shoulder, and sure enough my purse is right there.  Lovely.  I was just so embarrassed for the second time in front of the same lady that my only response was, "Uggggh! It's been a bad day."  Which was a total lie - it had been a fine day.

Anyway, when I finally got in my car, I decide I'm going to pull forward through the parking spot, instead of backing out of it... only to go "full speed" (whatever that is) into a curb.  Yikes.  I probably should have called a taxi or a designated driver at that point.  But, I didn't, and God was good, and we got home in one piece.

what did they DO before home pregnancy tests?

After I took my first positive pregnancy test with Henry I literally followed the one test with about six more because I didn't feel pregnant.  This time, after I had my first positive pregnancy test, I took ZERO more.  However, no one could count how many NEGATIVE pregnancy tests I took before I got the positive one (with baby number 2).  Without question, it was an embarrassing number of tests. 

Ya see, our "birth control" method after Henry came into the world was breastfeeding... which is not technically 100% effective, especially after they start solid foods at around 6 months.  So, there always seemed to be the possibility that I could be pregnant.  But, surprisingly, the natural/lactation method seemed to be PRETTY effective for me.  (Or maybe that's not so surprising, seeing as I felt like I could have nourished an army of babies.)  TMI?  Maybe...

Anyway, no telling how many times Matt heard, "I think I might be pregnant" when I was most definitely not even possibly pregnant.  So, it's no wonder that when I really thought I was pregnant, he didn't believe me.  Somehow in that last cycle, I found in myself the self-control to wait till about 15 DPO (days past ovulation) to take a test, which is kind of a big deal since I got a positive pregnancy test with Henry at 10 DPO.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure I took the test in the bathroom at Starbucks on a Saturday morning.  (Of course.) I took a picture w/ my smart phone, sent it to Matt, and that was the end of him not believing that I was in fact, preggo.

By the way, I am hoping, after writing this post, that about 99.99% of my readers are female.

Now or Never

That's my new motto.  Or it was this morning at 5:30 AM when I thought it would be a good idea to go to spin class with all the crazy spinsters.  But while I was peddling on that bike after no sleep and after not having set foot in a spin class since summer of '09, the song "Right Here, Right Now" by Jesus Jones came into my head.  (Yes, I had to look up the artist. Yes, I only know two lines in the whole song.)  And I began to think deep thoughts about how, really, all we have is right now, the present moment.  That's something I need to remember more often because, you see... I tend to be a procrastinator.  LATER is like my favorite word.

Later I will...
get back in cardiovascular shape
clean up dinner
make friends with my neighbors
try to resolve my problems
finish my 10000 scrapbooks
be a part of solving the world's problems
give more energy to seeking the Lord
put forth effort in important relationships
share the gospel with people that don't know God
eat healthy
save more money
give more money

But right now, let me eat cookies, watch Seinfeld, leave the house a mess, go straight into my garage so I don't have to talk to my neighbors... You get the idea.

But right now is all I have.  God gives us the joy of His presence one moment at a time.  He gives us help and grace in the present moment to do the things that He has created us to do in that moment.  Right now is all the time that I am given.  Tomorrow does not yet exist and may never come.  So really, it is now or never.  Don't laugh... it's true.

Thanks for letting me share my spin-class-induced thoughts.

Rewind: Another awesome rapping story.

Maybe you know the TI song "Whatever you like."

Well, I remembered that I had some awesome lyric confusion in that song too, and this can't be blamed on pregnancy since it was over a year ago. It's definitely worth telling though.

So this was sometime during the 2008 election when the song was on the radio all the time... and just now, when I looked up the lyrics, I realized the song was dirty... a good reason (in my mind) to just ignore the lyrics/never learn them, which I am obviously good at... then you can jam and not know that you're listening to trash.

Anyway... like I said it was during the '08 election, and I think Matt and I were on the way to Houston when it came on in the car.

We were just listening, when I bust out with a complaint, "I don't get it. Why is Joe Biden so cool all of the sudden? Just because Obama chose him as a running mate, rappers are going to start putting him in their songs!?"

Matt obviously didn't know what I was referring to, so I went on trying to explain... "Why does it say, 'Want JOE BIDEN, need JOE BIDEN?' That's so stupid."

Matt lovingly corrected me. Babe, it's "Want [your] BODY, need [your] body" not "want Joe Biden." Why would T.I. rap about Joe Biden?

Good question. Don't think I have lived that one down yet.

And btw, it's 5:08 AM. I have been up since 2:45... I woke up during a dream in which I was about to deliver the Hankster into the world. Unfortunately it was only a dream. I wonder how many other pregnant women are up at these insane hours. I am not good at being pregnant.

it feels GOOD to be a gangsta

The other day, Matt and I were riding along in the Accord when the Jay-Z song "Empire State of Mind" came on the radio. I decided to try to sing along and do the little gangsta move thing where you sort of purse your lips and move your hands up and down in front of your face while you rap... okay that was a really bad description, but surely at least one of you out there knows what I am talking about. Anyway...

Matt looks over at me. "STOP," he said.
"What? I don't look cool?"
"No."

But instead of stopping, I slightly repositioned my hands and continued to rap...

"Is this better?"
"It would be if you weren't pregnant and white... and that was our neighbor who just passed us while you were doing that."

Sweet. Fast forward to today...

Once again, riding along and the song "Replay" by Sean Kingston comes on. I've decided that I am going to sing along to the lyrics as loud as I can.

"Shawty's like a melody in my head
That I can't keep out
Got me singin' like
Na na na na everyday..."

At which point I bust out the next line confidently, "Like my eyeball's stuck on replay, replay."

Matt looks at me. "Are you serious? His EYEBALL is not stuck on replay."

Note: The lyrics are "like my ipod's stuck on replay." Not eyeball, oddly enough.

So the point is... I'm really white. And apparently even less cool than I'd be if I wasn't pregnant.

**Correction, it's Iyaz, not Sean Kingston

leah goes to the dentist (continued)

Note: Read part 1 first. And do I really need to tell you that? You are smart enough to know.

So...I've lived with an aversion to "the dentist" since I got my first cavity, probably while I still had my baby teeth. Lord knows the dentists have never had an aversion to me; when I go to visit, it's like they are getting their semiannual bonus. They LOVE me at the dentist.

This relationship sort of explains the last 2 months of my life in which they constantly pursued me and I just ran away. You see, I had my semi-annual cleaning scheduled in February at the same dentist I've been going to since 8th grade. I really didn't feel like going to the dentist in February, so I canceled my appointment.

I kid you not that I have been "missing" an average of 2-3 phone calls a week since February. And then the unthinkable: I ran into my dental hygienist at H-E-B on Monday. On Tuesday, I missed another call. So, I took the little hint from God, and finally called yesterday to make a cleaning and x-ray appointment for today.

When I got there this morning, my hygienist told me that when she saw me on the schedule, she and the dental assistant who had been calling had a minor battle over who should get the credit for the fact that I finally booked my appointment. It sort of makes me wonder if the dentist has some sort of deal with them - like if they can get people with "problem teeth" to come in, they get commission or something.

It really wouldn't be a bad idea because like I said before, when I go to the dentist, it's not a matter of whether or not something will be wrong with my mouth, but about what is going to be wrong with it this time, and how much it is going to cost.

Today, while my hygiene report was good, they still found cavities problems. Usually these "problems" lead the dentist to ask me (EVERY single time I see him) if I am still wearing this splint that I got in 10th grade to protect my teeth from grinding while I sleep. Until this time, I have always answered, "Yes, but I think I take it out subconsciously in my sleep." But this time I told the truth... almost all of it.

I was never good about wearing that thing, but over the years I have had phases of compliance. Anyway, two years ago after I broke one of my fillings from grinding so much, I decided that I was going to start using it regularly... except first, it needed to be cleaned.

So I, being the genius that I am, cannot be satisfied just cleaning it with the typical sanitizer. Instead I decide that I need to put it in boiling water to clean it. Um, it's made of hard plastic. Der. So, naturally, it shrunk, and I said goodbye to the expensive splint that was fitted perfectly for my tiny little teeth. I tried to go to Walgreen's and get the kind that you form to your teeth by yourself, but I found it's effectiveness lacking.

So when the dentist saw signs of rather intense teeth grinding, he was faithful to ask, "Do you still wear your splint every night?"

"Um, no." (Leave it at that. Does he really need to know that I'm a total idiot?)

"No?"

"It's gone."

"The dog ate it, huh?"

"Yep."

Then I got a lecture, and they actually think it's MORE urgent for me to get a splint than it is for me to get my cavities filled other problems fixed, if that tells you anything. I'm afraid that they are afraid that I am going to lose my teeth, and to be honest, I think Matt is right there with them; he "jokes" that all of my teeth will be gone by the time I am 35.

So, long story short, I received a lovely piece of paper with the suggested treatments and the cost of the treatments and was told that the teeth grinding issue was urgent. Let's just say that paying for my teeth won't be an issue, but there wasn't exactly an allowance in the newly revised budget for my million-dollar mouth. Okay, okay, it's not millions.

Before we parted, the dentist told me that he would rather me put him out of business with my perfect teeth than have to keep getting expensive treatments for the rest of my life. And just when I was starting to feel good about contributing to his welfare...

Stay tuned for information about how you can donate to the cause of my million-dollar mouth.

And I hope that you know that last sentence was a joke, but just in case... that was a joke. Happy Thursday!

leah goes to the dentist (Part 1)

Note: This post was way too long, so I had to break it up.

I've been a little short on blog material this week, which has actually been a nice chance for me to focus more on Easter and the mystery of the cross of Jesus Christ, my Savior, and the Savior of the World. I have loved that.

But then, I went to the dentist, and I realized that I have been concealing a huge "gibbizarresque" part of my life since the start of this blog: my relationship with the dentist.

When I go to the dentist, it's not a matter of whether or not something will be wrong with my mouth, but about what is going to be wrong with it this time.

I used to be ashamed of this reality because I didn't do what I was supposed to as far as dental hygiene goes. And on top of that, I don't suck jolly ranchers, I chew them, and I used to chain-chew an unbelievable amount of bubble gum. So less than excellent hygiene plus a diet consisting of about 50% sugar doesn't so much help someone like me. Oh, and do not let me forget to mention that my top and bottom teeth fit together like a puzzle because I grind them so much.

But I have stopped feeling ashamed at the dentist for several reasons. First of all, my brother's hygiene wasn't much better than mine growing up, and he has maybe only had one cavity ever. Second of all, Matt's brother, Mitchell, eats far more candy than I do, and he also does not have a cavity problem. And lastly, I have showed very strong improvement in both hygiene and sugar consumption in my adult years, and the problems haven't gone away. All of the evidence leads me to conclude that this is a genetic problem. I guess only God knows that, but I am passing off the blame until all is revealed.

I guess there is one thing that still makes me feel a little ashamed, and that's the fact that Matt has PERFECT teeth and PERFECT hygiene, not to mention the fact that he doesn't eat much sugar and he doesn't grind his teeth. And would any of you expect anything less than perfection from Matt?

But to say that he doesn't understand my dental problems is a ridiculous understatement. I know that many of you out there are like Matt in this respect, and I'd like to suggest that you take a good look inside and consider whether or not you've been self-righteous when it comes to your perfect little teeth? Now I am getting off topic, and this is getting long, so let me get on with the story... continued here.

officially awkward

Oh my gosh. I am officially the most awkward person on the planet. This literally happened less than 5 minutes ago, and the story can't wait. So without further ado...

I'm pulling into a rather small parking spot at my second favorite Starbucks in town. As I am pulling in, I notice that the owner in minivan in the spot next to me is still in his car. Awesome.

So I am parked really close to him (because the spaces are small), and I consider just backing out and parking somewhere else. Then it seems like the dude in the minivan is about to leave, so I decide to just park it. It turns out that the dude wasn't really leaving, he was just readjusting because I was parked too close to him.

He then rolls down his window and says, "The spaces are small."

But my window is up, so I roll mine down and say, "I'm sorry?"

And he says, "Sorry, the spaces are really small."

I immediately misinterpret his apology to be a sassy, "Hate to break it to ya, but you're gonna need to move" tone.

So to keep the rapport, I snap back, "OH, so I need to park somewhere else, huh?"

The guy was actually being nice and he totally didn't catch onto the sass. In fact, he thought that I was being nice to him by offering to park somewhere else. (But don't kid yourself, it was totally sassy.)

He responds very calmly since he didn't catch the attitude and says, "Oh no, you can stay there, I was just letting you know why I readjusted my car. I wanted to make sure you could get out."

I immediately feel terrible for being a sass-master, remember that I am actually going to Starbucks to read my bible, and then begin overcompensating for the bad attitude with overt friendliness.

"Oh, well, I just might go park somewhere else; that would be easier."

Dude responds, "No don't worry about it, I am just waiting on my wife, and we are about to leave anyway."

I respond, "Well, okay. Thanks."

Then I notice he has a kid in the backseat. (Mind you, I am still trying to compensate for being a total butt.)

"Oh you have a baby?" I asked with an unusual amount of enthusiasm.

Man responds, "Yep," but looks concerned like, "Why in the world is this crazy woman asking about my kid?"

I immediately realize that if I act too interested in some stranger's kid, it might freak him out a bit, so once again, I try to overcompensate.

"Oh, well, I am just really obsessed with babies right now..." (A completely false statement - and do I really think THAT statement is going to make him feel better about the situation?) "... My sister is about to have a baby."

Man sort of nods in a way that suggests the conversation is over.

I walk the walk of shame into Starbucks and live to blog about it.

Moral of the story? Don't try to bail yourself out when you act like a nincompoop; you will only make it worse. Just humble yourself, receive the forgiveness that you could never earn, and move on. Just move on.

those kitchen appliances will get ya

Matt and I have started getting ready-to-bake pizzas at Papa Murphy's on nights when we decide not to cook. 1- They are really good. 2- They are really cheap.

Last night, we were going to be eating a late dinner, and so we opted to get the pizza instead of cooking. My job was to pick up the pizza on my way home from a meeting, and Matt's job was to preheat the oven.

When I got home at about 9:15, Matt greeted me at the back door.

Matt: "Now, I don't know if we are going to get to eat the pizza. I think something's wrong with our oven." (Trying to break it to me gently and also carrying a somewhat concerned tone.)
Leah: "Really? What is it doing?"
Matt: "Well, when I turned it on, it made a really weird noise, and I smelled a lot of gas."
Leah: "Okay, show me. I am not going to be happy if we have to eat spaghetti."
Matt turns on the oven to show me. Nothing unusual happens.
Matt: "Do you hear that?"
Leah: "What? The gas?"
Matt: "Yes, it NEVER makes that noise. Is it leaking?"
Leah: "Um, babe, It ALWAYS makes that noise."
Matt: "No way, there's like a FIRE in there."
Leah: "When was the last time you actually turned the oven on?"
Matt realizes that the only thing he ever cooks on his own is spaghetti, waffles, and eggs, and that the last time he turned on the oven was probably at least a year ago.
Matt: "That's so weird. It's like there's a fire in there."
Leah takes over the operation of kitchen appliances.

I think Matt has a general paranoia concerning the household appliances he doesn't use very often. It is not an exaggeration that every time we leave the house together while the dryer is still running he says something like, "The dryer's running. I hope our house doesn't burn down."

Once again. Drama King.