My First Black Friday

The day after my first Thanksgiving, my dad had off, which was truly amazing for a cop.  My mom had to work, which was much of the case for my first year.  They were able to fix their schedules so that someone would be home with me, and I didn’t need a sitter until after my first birthday.

Like any good husband, my dad decided to take advantage of the sales and start the Christmas shopping for my mom.  Besides this got him and his baby daughter out of the house.  Plus, plus, right?

Except Black Friday was always a mad house, always is a mad house, and always will be a mad house, for ever and ever.  Amen.

As my dad tried to push his way through the crowds at the mall with a baby stroller, my nearly-five-month-old self waved my fist in front of me trying to clear a path.  Because even then I didn’t like crowds.

Tonight at dinner, my dad will retell the story for everyone, imitating a baby waving her fist in front of her as everyone laughs at the antics.  Which is fine.  Because my dad, mom, grandma did not even think to invite me to their crazy, chaotic shopping trip at 4. In the morning.  And I thank them.  Because if there is one thing I hate more than crowds, it’s mornings.

No party and no costumes make Fae a very sad mom

I’m envious of a lot of you today.   I know why the internet was silent this morning, why my Storm wasn’t binging at outrageously early hour (since AZ is still on Western time), why so many haven’t been by.  Today the schools are celebrating Halloween, and you all spent the morning running around like chickens with their heads cut off.  Evan’s school has a no Halloween costume policy, which I should have asked about when I was looking for a school.

I love Halloween.  But I wonder if my mom began to hate it.  The day the school celebrated Halloween (usually on Halloween if it wasn’t on some glorious weekend) was the day we ran close to being late.  My mom hates being late or even on time; she likes to be early.  We were always early to school.  But Halloween morning found our house in seven kinds of chaos.  Mom!  Where’s my hat?!  Mom! I need your help with my make-up!  Mom!  I need you to do my hair!  Mom! Where’s my bow?  Mom!  I can’t go without my dress and hair sprayed with glitter!  Mom!  Where are my shoes?!  After a few years of chaos, my mom set down the law that if you wanted to dress up, you had to be up a half an hour earlier.  It didn’t help matters at all.  Since my mom was a super stay-at-home mom, I assume this scene is somewhat playing at your houses this morning.

But alas we didn’t have such moments.  Evan didn’t get to torture me by changing his mind.  I didn’t get to forbid him bring any weapon props.  We didn’t scramble to get treats ready for a class Halloween party.  I didn’t get to yell at Sean for sneaking the treats.  (Oh, wait I did because the little stinker was eating the Rice Krispie Treat ghosts before I iced them.)  I feel rather depressed by this.  Not that I blame the school . . . much.

Several years ago, before the boys, I was a teacher assistant at a private school.  The moms were ultra-competitive.  The first birthday rolled around, and the child brought delicious cupcakes.  The next birthday hit, and the cupcakes had sprinkles.  The next birthday came, and the cupcakes had candy.  The next birthday, it was cupcakes with rings on top.  The next birthday, toys on top of the cupcakes.  At the end of the year, a mom brought pizza, cake, and ice cream for the class.  A little ridiculous, even if I got to snag a piece of pizza.  The parties were worse as each mom brought something to outdo the other.  Instead of regular cookies and punch, it was gourmet cookies, sparkling punch, toys, full sized candy bars, and so on.

At the time I was pulling a second job with the Girl Scouts trying to start new troops in schools around OC.  We were at a school for three months, and at the end of the session, we would throw a party and induct each girl into the Girl Scouts.  We had a handle on the parties because we were working in middle class and lower neighborhoods, knowing moms worked or there wasn’t much money in the families.  We asked the girls to volunteer to bring chips/pretzels, punch/soda, and cookies/cupcakes.  If it was a huge session, we would add candy and break up the subcategories.  We insisted on economy bags of chips and liters of drink.  The girls were told to tell their parents that day and not the night before the party. 

Even with us monitoring the discussion, it was funny to have girls volunteer to bring cakes, pies, and even try to bring more than one thing.  We would gently persuade the girls to go along with our plans, trying to convince them that they didn’t sell Fire Cheetohs in big enough bags.  Of course, some crazy mother sent her daughter with a huge pack of Pixy Stix which we confiscated before the girls opened it.  Though I was evil enough, to send all the girls home with some and twice as many to the girl who brought it.

So if the school is trying to keep things low-key, I get it.  If they’re trying to protect the kids with food allergies, I’m on their side.  We wouldn’t want to a parent to mistakenly give a kid something he or she couldn’t eat.  But really, I wish we could throw a class party.   Or at least see the creative choices of the class.

Ten Things I Never Thought I Would Say: Thank You, First Trimester

I know.  I know.  I’m usually not MIA this long, but with the inspection to make sure we’re not trashing the house, the gas pain, the nausea, the tiredness, well, the blog was the last thing on my mind.  While my stomach is not cooperating as much as I wish, my energy is slowly returning to normal.  But I’m writing a quick post because I need to catch up on all that I missed reading.

The Ten Things I Never Thought I Would Say: Thanks You, First Trimester.

1. Vomiting is like choking in reverse.
2. Oh, it’s so much easier when it’s liquid.
3. Thank God I was able to drag Sean in the house so I didn’t vomit on the drive way.
4. Well, now that’s done, I would like to eggs, sausage, ham, hash browns, pancakes . . .
5. I’m too tired to work on my blog.  Maybe tomorrow . . .
6. Evan, so help me, God, if I can’t get a nap, I’m locking you in the closet!
7. What? I always chew on crushed ice . . . when I’m pregnant.
8. I am NOT having another one.
9. THAT was for suggesting I become a surrogate after Sean’s birth.
10. I don’t care.  Use a Playboy.  (Which came right after I said.  I WILL vomit on you if you try.)

It’s all about nothing

Where do I start?

It was a better day today.  Since breakfast and lunch were digested normally.  The cure today was tortillas.  Yummy, fresh from the factory here in town tortillas.  Yup.  I have a lot of weight to gain if I want to hit the 200 mark again.

But then I did something disastrous.  I brushed my teeth.  While it’s a pain in the ass to feel like your doing your day under the influence of Nyquil, it’s easier than wondering when, what, and how much you’re going to hurl.  And we had to go to Costco or else I would be sewing diapers from rags tomorrow. 

My parents took the opportunity to spend quality time with the boys and me, and it provided the perfect opportunity to annoy and perhaps embarrass their youngest offspring at work.  Not to mention, they needed to make a return.  My parents are very efficient this way. 

As my mother made the return, my dad took over the pushing duties, giving the boys a tour of toys, Christmas stuff (Is any one else slightly disturbed by the fact Christmas stuff is out?), Halloween treats, and costumes.  My dad took great delight in trying to convince the boys that they should be Snow White or Cinderella.  That made it so much easier for my mom to find us by following the screams of protest.  After that, I took the wheel so that we could be finished before closing.

My mom’s big plan was to kidnap my children and send me home to rest and clean.  But the fatal flaw in her plan was that she bought me a pizza.  I had been craving one the day before, hoping that my baby brother had not demolished the Sunday one.  (Yes, my parents go to Costco every Sunday and always pick up a pizza.  One doesn’t understand why the baby brother waits until Sunday when he could buy one any day of the week.)  Unfortunately my other little brother had been there, and he HAD demolished the pizza to fulfill the ultimate desire for meat that he lovingly sacrificed for his bride.  Yesterday my mom had tried to satisfy my craving by offering a piece of cheese and bread, since those were ultimately what I wanted.  Yeah.  I laughed too.  I wish I could go back in time and offer her a glass of milk during her daily ice cream sundae cravings.

So I sat munching on pizza as my mom whisked the boys to bed after they nibbled on their lunch.  I listened to my dad rail about the problems of a nagging wife, a non-listening son, and the fears that my mother’s sister and husband would want to join us on the Alaskan cruise in 2011. 

After an hour, I found my eye lids dropping, realizing it wasn’t safe to drive home.  Since the boys were in my old bed, the other guest bed was stripped, I curled up on my parents bed to promptly go to sleep.

But I am blessed and cursed with the ability to sense when someone enters the room I’m sleeping in.  No matter how deep I sleep (and I assure, I sleep deep), I wake up if some one just pokes his/her head into the door.  I think it’s to make sure that if some crazy serial killer enters the room, he won’t be able to wrap his fingers around my throat while I sleep.  Instead I’ll be able to grab the phone or lamb and bash his head.  It also comes in handy when The Husband tries to insist he came home at midnight instead of 2:30 when the bars closed.

So my parents walked in and out of their room numerous times, but I played dead, knowing that if the boys woke, my parents would take care of them.  By the time I woke for good, I was in no hurry to run home and back.  Instead I watched the farming channel with my dad who is obviously suffering from a late mid-life crisis as he learns all about owning his own farm.  Then my mom and I watched Dr. Phil, and I was able to congratulate myself on being an excellent parent as Sean snuggled up to me.

So basically that was my day.  Oh, and some one else cooked me dinner.  So what did you do?  (And damn I can write a lot about nothing.)

Pink Cocoa Cuplets

Brought you by Mmm, Mmm, Memory by Country-Fried Mama.  Check her out!

I’m not big on fall.  In fact as a child, I kind of dreaded it.  School got harder in the fall.  I anticipated winter mornings in plaid skirt and knee-highs, standing in assembly in frozen grass, wondering why God was punishing me.  But worst of all was the yearly trip to cut firewood.

Starting as an infant, I was dragged out of my bed, dressed, and pushed into a truck long before sunrise, which is fairly inhuman when you’re not a morning person.  We would drive out an hour outside of town to meet my grandparents at the exit, just a little after dawn.  Then we would drive and drive until we were into the foothills of the Santa Ritas.  We would find a place to park, and then my dad and grandpa would start cutting marked scrawny oak trees.  If luck was with us, they would find good trees uphill.  Usually luck wasn’t with us.

As a baby, they had me in a playpen.  They joked every year that I cried whenever the sound of the chainsaws stopped.  She was meant to do this, they said.  I called it slave labor.  They forced me to go all the way until I was in college.  Then my grandpa would joke about flying me home just to help.  Ha.  Ha.  Ha.

Some years it was hot, but you couldn’t remove your jeans or flannel shirt to get cool.  Some years it was freezing, and you kept moving to get warm.  Thankfully, I have repressed the memory of the year it snowed.  There was the year of the baby mice, curled up tight in a nest.  The year of the horny toads, spitting blood when you pressed on them.  The year of the chiggers.  God, that was a bad year. 

There was only one good thing about cutting wood.  It was lunch.  The adults believed in getting done before lunch.  If it was a bad season of only scrawny oak trees marked, then lunch was an hour rest or so.

My grandma made the most perfect submarine sandwiches.  Each one specific to the person it was intended for.  She made deviled eggs that were heavenly.  She brought enough snacks and lemonade for an army.  But the best part was Pink-Cocoa Cuplets for desert.

These are an excellent travel desert because there is no frosting and they are not messy.  They get there name for the pink center from the Cocoa.  Trust me, men and boys love them too, even if they’re pink.  It’s been a couple of years since I had one.  So I might have to make these soon.

Pink- Cocoa Cuplets

2 c flour
1 T cocoa
1 t salt
1 ¼ c sugar
¾ c shortening
2 eggs
1 t vanilla
1 t baking soda
1 c cold water

Topping
1cup semi-chocolate chips
½ c chopped nuts

Preheat oven 375.
Sift together the flower, cocoa, salt, and baking soda. Add other dry ingredients slowly. Blend res of ingredients well. Line muffin tin with baking cups. Fill muffin cups. Sprinkle chocolate chips and nuts over the top. Bake for 20-25 minutes. Makes 24 cupcakes.

The Final News

BFF: Hey!

Me: I have to tell you something.

BFF: (noisy restaurant in the back ground) What?

Me: I’m pregnant!

BFF: I knew it!  I knew it when you called.  I’m having breakfast with a friend, and I almost let it go to voice mail.  But then I thought I bet she’s pregnant.  Last month was a crazy fluke.  But this month she’s totally pregnant.

Me: Yup.  So you coming down for the birth?

BFF: You bet I am.  I get to be in the room this time, right?

Me: Sure.

BFF: So have you told The Husband?

Me: No, he’s still in California.  He won’t be back until Monday night.  I think I should totally do something with this. This we’ll be my last time.  I’m keeping the pregnancy test hidden, so that I can prank him in a year or two.

BFF: HA!  There’s hope for the marriage when you’re planning pranks down the road.

Me: Hey!  It can always work on a boyfriend.  Wanna borrow it?

BFF: (I can almost hear her roll her eyes) Whatever.  So what are you planning?

Me: That’s why I’m calling.

***

We discarded several plans.  I really wanted to do a meal of baby carrots, baby spinach, baby burgers, and baby cupcakes, but the BFF felt The Husband wouldn’t pick it up.  She’s probably right.  We thought of feeling one of his dresser drawers with diapers, but then he keeps most of his clothes in a pile near his side of the bed.  We decided on my original plan, having Sean tell him.

Tuesday morning as The Husband slept, I wrote on one of Sean’s diapers.  “I’m going to be a big brother.”  I placed the diaper on Sean and waited.

An hour later, The Husband was playing with the boys, and I was getting us ready to move out and go grocery shopping.

Me: The Husband, can you change Sean’s diaper; while, I get Evan’s shoes on him.

I handed him the clean diaper.

The Husband: Sure, no problem.

I walked out of the room, peeking around the corner.  The Husband pulled off Sean’s shorts.  He pulled off the diaper.  He wiped Sean up.  He put on a new diaper on Sean.  He rolled up the old diaper and threw it away.  My jaw dropped.  Crap.

BFF: Hello?

Me: We need a plan B.

BFF: You’re whispering.

Me: I’m trying not to give myself away.  Here let me close the office door.  We need a plan B.

BFF: What?  He didn’t notice?

Me: Nope.  He changed the diaper and rolled up and threw it away.

BFF: (laughing) That’s great!

Me: What’s next?  A shirt?

BFF: No.  Do a sticker.  Then the shirt.  We’ll get bigger and bigger until he notices.

Me: What’s last dancing hippos with it written on them?

BFF: Perhaps.

Me: At least this will make a great post.

BFF: (laughing) It sure will!

I borrowed some giant nametag stickers from my mom under the pretense the boys would make stickers.  During naptime, I wrote “I’m going to be a big brother” on one of the nametags.  When the boys got up, I stuck on Sean as I gave them nametags and stamps.  I went to work on the t-shirt, just in case.

Ten minutes later, The Husband came out of the office to take a break.

The Husband: What are you doing, boys?

Evan: Making stickers.

The Husband’s eyes were glued to Sean’s chest.

The Husband: (Saying it quietly, almost under his breath) I’m going to be a big brother.  (pause)  (He looked at me; his eyes widening.)  You ARE?

Me: (nod) Yup.

The Husband crossed the kitchen and gave me a hug and kiss. 

The Husband: That’s great!  Should we celebrate?

Me: We’re expected at my parents’ house tonight.

The Husband: Do they know?

Me: No.  I waited to tell you.

The Husband: I had no idea this all happened this morning.  I was pretty out of- Wait.  How long have you known?

Me: Since Saturday.

The Husband: And you didn’t tell me?  This is the way you told me?  That’s not nice.

Me: What?  I thought it was cute.

The Husband: Well, at least, I got to know first.  So how are we going to tell your parents?

Me: I made a shirt.  In case plan B fell.

The Husband: Plan B?

Me: Yup.  You didn’t notice it was written on the diaper.

The Husband: What?!

We went over to my parents’ house with the plan that after we went swimming, we would put Sean’s new shirt on him.  Only Sean didn’t want to go swimming.  So I forced the shirt off and placed the new one on.  Sean wiggled free and went out back to play with Papi, Daddy, and Evan.

When Sean finally came back in, I was helping with dinner.  My mom turned around and asked Sean to give her a hug.  Instead he hugged Grandma-Great, and then he yelled “MAMA!”  My mom swooped him up before he could finish his run towards me.

My Mom: Let me see your shirt!  ‘I’m going to be a big brother.’  Oh, Fae!  That’s wonderful! 

With Sean still in her arms, she hugged me.

My dad: I was wondering why he had a shirt change.  He came out, and I thought, “Boy, what did you spill on yourself now.”  Congratulations, baby.

Me: Thanks, Dad.  No one say anything to anyone until I’ve got morning sickness.

The Telling of Sean

I couldn’t believe it.  I just couldn’t believe it.  How could we have gotten pregnant this month?  We did it one time, and I was so sure it was after the ovulation.  It was- Crap, The Husband is going to be so upset.  If I’m pregnant now, then the baby will be due in- Oh, Evan won’t even be two yet.  Not even near potty trained.  Maybe he’ll be sleeping through the night by then.  Ha.

I walked down the stairs to find The Husband and Evan playing with blocks.

The Husband: Well?

Me: Yes.

The Husband jumped up and kissed me.

The Husband: Wait here! 

He ran out of the room.  He came back with his hands behind his back.

The Husband: I had a feeling you were, so I got you this.

He pulled out a jewelry box.  Opening it, I found a necklace with a six sapphires circling a diamond, making the shape of a flower.  The Husband beamed.

The Husband: It’s real.  Not fake.

I rolled my eyes.  Like I cared.

Me: Thank you.  It’s just hard to imagine we’re pregnant already.

The Husband: You know me and my super sperm.

I rolled my eyes again.

The Husband: So when did it happen?

Me: At my parents’ house.

The Husband: (all smirk off his face) WHAT?!  Your mom is going to figure that out, and your dad is going to KILL me.

Me: We’re married, you know.

The Husband: If they figure it out, you have to tell them the truth.  You have to tell them it was all your idea.  I had nothing to do with it.

Me: You had a little to do with it.

The Husband: It was all your idea.

Me: Yes, it was. 

The Husband: (handing me the phone) You should call your mom.

Me: Thank you.  Should I tell her it was all my idea.

The Husband: Not until she asks.

Me: Ha. 

I dialed.

My Dad: Hello?

Me: Hi, Dad!  How are you?

My Dad: Pretty good.  How are you?

Me: I’m fine.

My Dad: Just fine?

Me: It’s been a rough morning.  Hey. Is Mom there?

My Dad: No, she’s out with a friend.

Me: WHAT? Again!

My Dad: What did you need, sweetheart?

Me: Nothin’.  I’m just pregnant again.

My Dad: So soon?

From the back ground, M: What? Is she knocked up again?

Me: Tell him I prefer the term preggers. 

My Dad: (aside) Your sister is a little annoyed with you.  So congratulations.

Me: You starting on the right foot this time, Dad?

My Dad: I don’t want your mom to yell at me again.

Me: Ha.

My Dad: So I’ll have her call you when she gets in.

Me: You don’t want to tell her?

My Dad: Good Lord, no.

Me: Ok, Dad.  I love you.

My Dad: I love you too.  Bye.

Me: Bye.

An hour later the phone rang.

Me: Hello?

My Mom: Your dad said you had to talk to me.  What’s wrong?

Me: Nothing.  I’m pregnant.

My Mom: That’s great!  That’s wonderful.  How did The Husband take it?

Me: He’s fine.  I’m sure by the end of the day every one will know.  He’s on the phone now.

My Mom: No waiting to tell this time?

Me: Nope.  Wild horses couldn’t keep that man’s mouth shut.  But I got to go Mom.  I got to get Evan fed and into bed.

My Mom: I’m so happy for you.  Call me later.  I love you.

Me: I love you too.  Bye, Mom.

My Mom: Bye.

Fifteen minutes later the phone rings.

Me: Hello?

M: Hey, Fae.  Mom says I have to apologize to you.

Me: For what?

M: I’m sorry for saying you were knocked up.  It’s not a nice term to call someone when they’re pregnant.

Me: Um, thanks?  I wasn’t offended.

M: I know.  But Mom was.  I got to go.  Congrats, Fae.

Me: Thanks.  Bye.

M: Bye.

***

Just so you know.  The call to the doctor’s that next Monday.

Front Office: Doctor’s Office.

Me: Hi.  I just got a positive on a pregnancy test so I need to schedule an appointment.

Front Office: No problem.  Name?

Me: Fae Mom.

Front Office: When was the first day of your last period?

Me: Um, Uh, I think it was date.  (Forgive me because I still can’t remember.)

Front Office: Fae, you always wait so long to call!

What? I have long cycles!

 

Leaking Out the News the First Time.

When I first came out of the bathroom when I was pregnant with Evan, I kept my head bowed.  I dragged my feet.  I walked slowly into the family room, where The Husband watched TV, waiting for the news.  He jumped up and hugged me.

The Husband: I’m sorry, sweetheart.  We’ll try harder next time.

Me: We don’t have to.  I’m pregnant.

I smiled at him.  It took half a second to sink in.

The Husband: You’re pregnant!  That’s great.  (We hugged again.  We kissed.)  Call your mom.

I grabbed the phone and dialed.

My Dad: (sounding groggy) Hello?

Me: Dad?  Is Mom there?

My Dad: No, she’s out with her friends.

Me: Really?  She’s out on a Friday night.  After you had surgery yesterday?  How are you doing, Dad?

My Dad: I’m ok.  These pain pills work wonders.  Whacha need, Fae?

Me: Oh, nothing.  It’s just that I’m pregnant.

My Dad: (pause) Is this a good thing?

Me: Yes.

My Dad: Well, then I’m happy for you. 

Me: Thanks, Dad.  Dad?

My Dad: Yes?

Me: Get some rest.  You sound like you need it.

My Dad: Ok.  I love you.

Me: I love you too.  Goodnight.

My Dad: Good night.

I hung up the phone and turned to The Husband.

The Husband: There was a lot less screaming than I imagined.

Me: My mom is out with The Council of Women.  She left my dad alone.  He’s still out of it from surgery.

The Husband: Huh.  Well, it’s still early.  You want to go see a movie?

Me: No, I have to open tomorrow.  Let’s just watch TV.

An hour later the phone rang.

Me: Hello?

My Mom: Your dad said you needed to tell me something.

Me: You left Dad alone after his surgery?

My Mom: It was Friend’s birthday!  We’ve been planning this for months.  Besides your father was just fine when left him.  He said it was fine if I went.

Me: Fine, Mom.  I’m just surprised.

My Mom: Is that what you wanted to tell me?  To scold me for leaving your father helpless?

Me: No.  I wanted to tell you I’m pregnant.

My Mom: You’re pregnant!  I knew it!  That’s wonderful, baby!  Congratulations!

Me: You, too, Grandma.

My Mom: I’m going to be a Grandma!

Me: Yes.  Mom?  It’s late.  I have to be at work at 6 tomorrow.

My Mom: Oh.  Right.  Well, call me tomorrow when you get off.

Me: Fine, Mom.  I love you

My Mom: I love you. Good night, dear.

Me: Good night.

***

 

The phone rang just as I peeled out of my work clothes.  Working for the benefits.  Working for the benefits.

Me: Hello?

My Dad: Your mother told me I have to apologize.

Me: For what?

My Dad: For not being enthusiastic enough last night.

Me: Oh.  Well, you did better than The Husband’s Dad.  His first words were “Oh no.”

My Dad: (Laughter) I’m happy for you, baby.  I really am.  If you’re happy, than I am.

Me: Well, as soon as I stop feeling to nauseas, I’ll be happier.

My Dad: Then I’ll be happier then too.

Me: Thanks, Dad.  Um, should I talk to Mom now so that you don’t get yelled out for hanging up before she talks to me?

My Dad: Yup.

***

That weekend I made The Husband promise not to tell anyone until we know for sure that we were pregnant.  He ended up telling J and his girlfriend D, who happened to work for a great OB/GYN.  She insisted I call on Monday to get an appointment, promising me that she would get me in.

Monday I called.

Front office: Hello?  Dr’s office.

Me: Um, hi.  I need to make an um appointment.

Front office:  Oh?  And what can I do for you?

Me: Uh, I think I’m uh pregnant.

Front Office: Ok.  Well, why don’t you find out for sure and call us back for an appointment?  Ok?

Me: Um, ok.  Thank you.

Click.

Hmmm.  That went less well than expected.

The phone rang.

Me: Hello?

D: Faemom.  (sigh) You’re pregnant if you have a positive on a pregnancy test.

Me: Oh?  They’re that accurate.

D: (sigh) Yes.  I’m transferring you back to the Front Office.  Tell them you got a positive on your pregnancy test.  They’ll take care of it all.

Me: Oh.

And as for that promise.  By the end of the week, everyone knew.  EVERYONE.  To this day, I’m sure The Husband put a billboard up on one of the major freeways in Orange County.  The best part was the hurt and nagging that came from friends who heard it from their husbands.  Thanks, The Husband.

Long ago, in a galaxy far away

They were young, and they decided to have one more date night before the baby was born.  Since poor goes with young, they got some pizza and went to the movies to see The Empire Strikes Back.  The husband was amused with Yoda, learning his mannerisms and speech to entertain his nephews at a later time.

The next morning the wife woke up feeling queasy and a bit in pain.  She assumed it was indigestion from the pizza and went on her way.  Until a few hours later, she was sure she was in labor, three days early.  The husband luckily had the day off from work.  They went to the hospital where they took the wife’s vitals and measured her.  It wasn’t time.  She wasn’t dilated enough.  They sent her home.

The wife fretted as her parents would arrive home from vacation the next day, believing they wouldn’t miss the event.  The husband called his father in an immediate panic. 

Husband: Hi, is Dad there?  Wife is in labor.

Stepmom: He’s unavailable right now.

Husband: Oh.

Stepmom: Wait!  You haven’t picked out a boy’s name yet!!

Husband: Wife thinks it’ll be a girl.

Stepmom: There has never been an oldest girl in your family.  Your family has boys.  It’ll be a boy.  And HE needs a name.

Husband: Fine.  Ebenezer.

He hung up.

Hours passed slowly.  The pain increased.  In the evening, the couple went back to the hospital.  But not before the husband decided they were NOT going to have a baby. 

Husband: Suck it up.  We don’t need a baby.  We can have one done the road. 

Wife: Husband, I think it’s a little late for that kind of talk.  Perhaps nine months too late.

The husband admitted defeat and drove the wife to the hospital.  They admitted the wife but believed the baby would deliver in the wee hours of the morning, on the husband’s brother’s birthday.

As the evening darkened into night, the doctor agreed to give the wife an epidural.  At the same time, he felt they should break the water to move things along faster.  The fluid was green.  A fetal monitor was brought out.  The baby’s heart rate was dropping.  The baby was in distress. 

There would be no pushing, no panting, no vaginal birth.  Everything became chaotic.  They rushed the woman into surgery, giving the husband another chance to call his father.

Stepmom: He’s not available.

Husband: What?!  Where is he?!

Stepmom: He went to the family cabin to think about this new turn in his life.

The husband slammed down the phone and ran to get suited up to see his child born.

The doctor increased the epidural up the spine, since the wife was already numbed.  She was not put under as was usual back then.  They lifted a sheet, so that she could not witness them removing the organs to get to the child.  The husband held her hand.  He glanced at his watch.  9:00pm.

He glanced at his watch again when he heard the angry cry of the child who was now cold.  9:20pm.

The doctor: It’s a girl!

Wife: I told them so.

They whisked the baby away to test her, but the tests were positive.  She showed no signs of distressed.  They handed the baby to the wife, now mother.  She smiled at the wrinkly, skinny thing.

Husband: She looks like Yoda with her big head and big ears.

Wife: So she does.

Later the husband, now father, decided to impress his young wife by changing the first diaper.  He was the eldest of six, so this should be child’s play.  Instead he got every diaper, every wipe, every blanket covered in the tar-like first bowel movement.  Dirty and cold, the baby screamed.  The wife laughed, helpless from the stitches and the laughter.  She could barely tell the nurse on the intercom why they needed her.  The nurse came in, took in the mess, picked up the baby.  As she left, she turned and tsked in disgust at the young father.

The next morning the paternal grandpa called from a pay phone to hear the good news, deciding that maybe being a grandfather wasn’t so bad.  Upon hearing, it was indeed a girl, the first eldest girl born on his side in living memory, he smiled.  Before he left to see his new granddaughter, he planted a cherry tree at the cabin, so that she could have pink blossoms and sweet cherries.

When the maternal grandparents arrived home, they called around for news as soon as they walked in the door.  On hearing that they missed the event, they drove straight to the hospital without unpacking the car.  The grandma was beside herself over the thought of having a little girl to dress.  She hugged the new mother and took the baby.

The quiet, tall grandpa walked in the room.  A man of his generation, he said nothing.  He confiscated the baby from his wife, sat down in a chair, staring into the little face.  Beneath the silent, strong exterior beat the soft heart of a man who loved his family dearly.

He whispered to the baby, “No matter what.  You’ll always be my Netty.”

Things I learned on our Trip

1)   Kids four and under can handle three hours on a plane.  The last half hour makes the mother want to jump out.

2)   Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine, you all need to pay for better street paint.  When it’s dark and rainy, it would be super nice to be able to see the street lanes.

3)   You all need to invest in street signs.  Especially Boston.  Not helpful for tourists.

4)   Tolls suck.  Do you know how much money we paid to just do u-turns?

5)   I’m willing to pay twenty dollars more a day to have maid service.

6)   “Take the second exit at Broadway” is not a helpful direction.  Left, right, or straight are directions.

7)   “Continue on Route 1” when you are starting at a parking lot on Route 1 is not a helpful direction.  Again, we need a left or right.

8)   Frustrated, tired husband, who is driving, ranting at tired, frustrated wife, who can’t find where they are on the map, makes the wife wonder about quickly divorces.

9)   Delusional tired husband ranting at freeway system makes delusional tired wife laugh hysterically.

10)   GPS can save you or destroy you.

11)    When lost, GPS sounds like a bitch.

12)    GPS does not know all. 

13)   My mother is an obsessive caller.

14)    The family wit came from my father.

15)   Black shirt or black tux = ring protecting ninja.

16)    Always include all children of a family in an event.  Do not leave any child out of that family.  The child will join event unasked.

17)    Never ask sister-in-law or brother where to eat because they like crowded, trendy places that are not suitable for children or tourists that would like to do something other than sit at a table waiting for breakfast.

18)    Tearing apart lobsters is harder than watching it done.

19)    Newly big-potty-trained child will always need to poop when you don’t have the little seat to use.

20)  It’s easier to hold a pooping child if you are sitting on the floor.

21)    Always buy two of everything when you have two children.

22)   Traveling with children is more tiring than traveling alone.

23)    Security guards in Boston like to start sh*t.

24)   Tired, frustrated mother is more the willing to return sh*t.

25)   Telling your mom on your cell phone as you’re waiting to board the plane that your kids have vomited and diarrheaed all morning does not make fellow passengers easy.

 

More details in the days to come.