I Am NOT Cute

I've been asked for pregnancy photos, and after looking at a few from yesterday, I can definitely say it:  I am not cute.  I don't say that with sadness or regret or with the junior-high-type hope that you'll tell me differently; I say it as a statement of current fact.  I say it because I know that if I was a guest speaker at high schools, I could pretty much end teenage pregnancies.  ("You want to look like this?!  Hmmm???  Well, do you??!")

I am the ugly face of pregnancy.  But it's okay.  Really, I am truly happy.  Sure, I'm uncomfortable because I'm freakin' giant, and yeah, it would be nice to be one of those adorable pregnant women who just gain weight on their bellies instead of all over (yeah, I'm pointing at you, Tanika), but this is what third-trimester pregnancy looks like on me.  Twenty-nine weeks, to be precise.

I have the awesome job of creating a home for two babies whose tiny little faces I'll get to see in two months.  These babies are my family.  They are children that I will love with the depth and craziness that comes with motherhood.  Soon we'll struggle to remember a life without them.  And that is a pretty damn beautiful thing.

So for now, it's okay that I'm not cute.  My body has bigger concerns. 

But once this is over, I'm gonna be smokin'!

Out With The Old, and In With The Bigger

I'm not sure if we've been in denial, but when I think about it, we've done a pretty horrible job preparing for The Babies.  I have not begun to create a nursery for them, which means I still have to buy blackout shades, a glider, a changing table/dresser, a couple of bouncy chairs, two crib mattresses, mattress covers, linens, and 2 new Angelcare monitors, and we still need to paint one of the cribs, repaint the room, and buy my poor daughter some clothes (more on the clothing dilemma later).  We also have yet to buy a carseat and double stroller that will fit the carseats.  And we need to buy diapers.  Lots of diapers.  I'm sure I'm missing stuff here, but these are the things that are on my mind.

Here's what we've done:  (1) Signed up for breastfeeding class this weekend; (2) bought a new multi-room video monitor (When it arrived yesterday, The Husband promptly took everything out of the box and set it up.  In the kitchen.  Cuz that's where we needed it.); and here's the big one: (3) we got rid of our car and bought a new one!

The boys spent some time on a recent weekend washing our sedan in preparation to sell it.  I can't tell you how much joy it brings me to see all three of them cleaning.  Is that wrong?  I just wish they'd bring that enthusiasm indoors.

Eventually, it just became fun to throw the rag around and jump in puddles.

There was much debate over what car to buy next.  The debate mostly centered around whether we were going to give up on life and buy a minivan (no offense to those who have already given up on life, ahem, Rache, Tanika, Cindy, Mark & Chas, Mom & Dad).  I, being the sensible one of the two of us, voted to give up on life.  It seemed the best way to handle three carseats and the mountain of stuff that must travel with babies and toddlers.  The Husband, however, was deeply concerned about all of the crap he'd get from Chas.  It's a legitimate concern -- that girl can dish it!

In the end, The Husband found a minivan/station wagon type car that did not have automatic doors, but was otherwise filled with lots of buttons and gadgets to play with (which, of course are the most important things when you have a ridonculous number of children).  He didn't make this decision easily; even after he signed the contract, he was wavering.  The concern, he said, was that if I didn't like this car, it would be his fault.  If we ended up hating the minivan, that would be my fault.  Given this rationale, the only logical choice was to nudge him in the direction of the minivan/station wagon.  (I think a wise person once said that the key to a successful marriage is knowing precisely where to place the blame when something goes wrong.)  I'll let you know if this goes wrong.

(Is it just me, or does this look a leeeeeetle bit like a Hearse?  Nonetheless, Zachary says, "New car.  I want to drive it!")

Fifteen

In the ultimate act of defiance, this little boy has yet again refused to stay a baby forever.

Roar had the nerve to turn fifteen this year.  Fifteen!  It's bad enough that he's gotten so tall (5'8") that I have to look up to him, but this year we're going to have to succumb to societal pressure and allow this child to get behind the wheel of a car (yes, this child who has not remembered to write down an upcoming test in his planner since third grade is going to have to remember how to navigate a four-way stop).  We might even let him date, but as I've told him, she must be a straight-A student and otherwise have all the qualities that will make him a better student and person (The Husband says this is very Sri Lankan of me – I say it's common sense).  Even then, I've advised my son that I will hate her.  Maybe he'll just be too busy studying and playing sports that he won't even think about dating until he's at least 18.  It could happen.  But alas, it seems that at some point, I'm going to have to accept that my child has turned into a young man against my wishes.

We had a quiet celebration with steak and cake and presents (namely, an Oakley backpack, and, because he never has enough shoes for his liking, a Nike gift card).  His friend, Ryan, spent the night playing video games with him, and during an upcoming non-rainy weekend, the Husband will take Roar and a couple of his friends to play paintball.

Roar, I'm nervous that sooner than I care to admit, I'm going to have to let you go to make your own mistakes and suffer a broken heart or two.  It'll happen, I promise.  But now, at fifteen, I'm still gonna be all up in your bidness, I'm still going to nag you about your homework, I'm going to constantly worry out loud about your ability to drive, and I WILL hunt you down if I don't know where you are.  It's partially because you refused to stay a baby.  But mostly, it's because I love you like crazy.  And never forget that despite my nagging, I am infinitely proud of you.

Happy Birthday, Not-So-Little Man!

Quadruple Chocolate Cake

In my bio, I think I mentioned that I enjoy baking. So, from time to time, I plan to post some of the things that I've made, along with recipes.

For example, I made this double-layer, deep, dark chocolate cake. Between layers is a chocolate ganache. It's topped with a rich, milk chocolate frosting, and drizzled with more chocolate ganache and toffee bits.
Doesn't it look delicious? (Or, I should ask, wouldn't it look delicious if it were in focus?)


Well, it was terrible. Dry and dry. So no recipe for you.

My Big Break

Yesterday, I got the call. Filming is underway in Baltimore for a television series starring Kevin Spacey, and they wanted yours truly to be a "featured extra." Yep, not just your run-of-the-mill-standing-in-the-background-never-gonna-see-you-on-film kind of extra, but a handing-Mr.-Spacey-his-coffee-in-slow-motion kind of extra. Okay, maybe it wouldn't be in slow motion until I played it back that way on the dvr, but you never know. They needed me today and tomorrow, and given that my boss is such an accommodating gent, I'd certainly be able to go.

"Just one little thing," I said to the casting agent. "I should probably tell you that I'm 7 months pregnant with twins, and therefore I look to be about 9 months pregnant."

"Hahahahahaha," she cackles. "That won't work. Personally, I detest pregnant women. Mr. Spacey sends his regards."

Anyway, I don't get it. They apparently wanted me to look like this:

as opposed to this:


What's the big deal?

(Note to Husband: Pregnancy pictures should never be taken in the early morning, without at least an hour to prepare, and certainly not from the back. Ever.)

A Belated Post

I'm cheating a bit in this post by posting some pictures from the weekend before last. But it's good stuff!

First, Zachary got a new present. We needed something in the backyard that could keep him occupied while I kept my gigantic body in a chair on the deck. He's not quite big enough for those cool wooden playsets, so I was looking for a little plastic one. But even those are really expensive! Ultimately, I found one on Craigslist. It normally retails for around $400, but I got it for $45! I'm so proud of me. And Zachary LOVED it.

Yep, that was him in his PJs and boots. It was the Best Day Ever! (But to be fair, any day that he can go outside or spend some time without pants is the Best Day Ever. Love this age!)

I like to think that he was so grateful, it led to what happened next: "Fowers for mama!"

It might not look like much, but it took him about 20 trips back and forth to a tree where he found these "fowers" in order to make this bunch for me. Each time he'd deliver a flower or stick with a kiss, then go running back to the tree, saying, "Need more!" (Did I mention that I love this age?)

And it can't be a cheating retrospective post without a few pictures of my handsome boys on Easter.

Here's my little guy, waiting to go to church.

He then had to put up with pictures outside. He cooperated. Mostly.

My boys. Aren't they terribly handsome?

The Cast

I've been putting off starting this blog because there was so much pressure on this first post to capture all that I want this blog to be. However, by letting the enormity of the first post stand in my way, I've neglected opportunities to document some beautiful and delicious moments in our lives.

So I've reset my standard for this post: It will likely suck. It might even suck hard. It is certain to have formatting issues that I will not resolve. But it will be the first post. And it will be done.

Let me introduce you to the main characters:

"The Husband" -- Love the man, hate the beard. (Luckily, it's gone now. Unfortunately, it will return next winter.) He's my opposite in almost every way possible: politically, religiously, temperamentally, and in the fact that he's a cleaning-averse, melanin-lacking, spelling-challenged extrovert who needs little sleep. We think each other is crazy; he ponders about it aloud and with expletives, I mostly confine such thoughts to my head. Despite his misguided beliefs, he's loyal, loving, funny, and beautiful. I am lucky that he's the father of my children and The Husband of me.



"Roar" (as my youngest son likes to call him) -- Teenage boy. Although that presents challenges (mostly in the olfactory and motivation sense), I never forget that in the scheme of things, he's pretty fantastically awesome. Best. Brother. EVER. Gives kisses goodnight, even when mad. Runs errands without complaint, even when the request interrupts tv watching. Because I didn't spend enough time with him during his formative years, he's adopted some of his father's political leanings, an inability to spell, and a preference for the color orange. Smart, funny, kind, outgoing, athletic, and crazy handsome. Will rule the world someday.

"Zachary" (as I like to call him) -- Toddler boy. Kills me daily with his cuteness. More than anything, loves his brother, his grandmothers, slides, balls, motorcycles, "a bit of water," not wearing pants, and being "outshide." Can flip out unexpectedly, or expectedly, such as when he's told to go inshide or put on pants. A constant source of bliss and warmth.


[Pictures to come]
"The Babies" (or "Baby A" and "Baby B," as the docs like to call my girl and boy twins, respectively) -- Currently 27 weeks old, a little over 2lbs. Remarkably well behaved, but have been known to sit on each others' heads and kick each other in the face on occasion. I'm hoping to keep them safe and warm until 38 weeks, when I'll finally be able to love them and hug them and call them [to be announced later].

And then there's me. My intro is on the side of this blog, and it would seem self-centered to introduce myself yet again, don't you think? There are also more people who make our lives so much easier, fulfilling, and fun, but they'll be introduced later.

Welcome to the story of my family.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Uncle Mark!