I Married a Grandpa?

I married a grandpa. Or, at least, he's suddenly turned into one.

When Phil and I were first married, his driving made me slightly nervous. He was very impatient with slow drivers. If someone wasn't moving fast enough, he'd tailgate. If they turned, Phil would speed up and drive as close to them as possible, just to show them that they were moving too slow. Drove me nuts. Does the person even know that you've just taught them a lesson and shown them that they are too slow? Are they thinking, "Wow. Thanks, mister. I had no idea I was driving too slow for you." Of course not. But he continued to do this.

Other family members noticed that Phil was a bit of a lead foot on the road. I even had some ask me, "Does Phil always drive that way? Or is it just when he's in a hurry?" Nope, it was all the time.

Phil referred to me as "the hissing snake" because I would suck my breath in through my clenched teeth when he would get too close to a car. (You tried it just now, didn't you. Sounds like a snake, right?)

Then Phil read this. Granted, it was my own fault for recommending it. He had been telling me that I needed to drive differently because I was wasting gas, so I told him to look up that article in the RD. I thought he'd find it interesting, but I had no idea he'd take it so seriously.

The next time I was in the car with Phil, we were driving to IKEA to get J--'s dresser. I couldn't figure out who was driving. My lead foot husband had disappeared and was replaced by some grandpa driver. He wouldn't go above 55 on the freeway. In the carpool lane. We had people honking, flashing their lights, and gesturing. I was mortified! I tried my best to slouch as low as was pregnantly possible and figure out where Phil had disappeared to. I tried to appreciate the irony. I tried to look at things positively: at least he was being careful. But all I could think was, "Oh no! I married a grandpa!"

You know how people say that they start to resemble their spouse after being married for a long time? I didn't used to buy it. But guess who's starting to drive more aggressively. Yup.

At least Phil hasn't started hissing at me.

Guess Who's Smiling?

Isn't she cute?

This is what's cranked in my van these days:



I never thought I'd enjoy bluegrass stuff. And then A-- and S-- started learning it on fiddle and guitar. I'm such a sucker for things my kids are doing.

Sandwich Toppings

On Saturday, Phil made sandwiches for lunch for everyone. I got tuna. He made the usual for himself and the boys: ham, cheese, and bacon bits, with olives and dill pickle relish for himself and A--. (Yeah, I know. Gross. Weird taste runs in the family: Phil's mom used to make peanut butter and TOMATO sandwiches. Disgusting—I know because I tried it once.) Little J-- got formula in a bottle.

As we were finishing up, Phil asked T-- if he liked his sandwich. T-- nodded hesitantly. Phil said, "That's good because I put in an extra ingredient in your sandwich that you've never had in a sandwich before." I started getting worried because T-- doesn't always like new foods and can be turned off to things he used to like if he thinks they're somehow different.

T-- asks his dad what it was that was new in his sandwich, to which Phil replied, sweetly, "Oh it was love."

I paused only a moment before I started laughing, "Yeah, T--. Because Mommy never makes your sandwiches with love. Of course. Even though Mommy makes you lunch every day, I never make it with love. Nice one, Phil." He was mortified.






I should be able to get plenty of mileage out of that one.

She Made It

Yes, the rumors are true. Baby number 4 fooled me in every way. Not only did she come on April 1st, but she fooled me into thinking I'd get a nice, short, smooth labor (my last labor, start to finish, took about 6 hours). This one started at 2:30 am with my water breaking (my first thought was, "Oh, this is SO not even funny") and ended at 8:36 pm when she finally made her way out. Yes, folks, that would be EIGHTEEN HOURS. She also fooled me into thinking she'd be somewhere in the 7 lb range, like all three of her brothers. Oh no. She was more than a pound bigger. My sons were 7 lb 4 oz, 7 lb 4 oz, and 7 lbs 7 oz. She was 8lbs 10 oz. Awesome. To top it off, she developed a fever and her biliruben count is up, so although I got to come home last night, she's still in the hospital in the level 2 nursery. We should be able to bring her home in a couple of hours from now, I hope.

I feel like I've been hit by a Mack truck. My body is exhausted, and I feel the onset of a cold coming on. It's been quite a week, let me tell you. But it's all worth it. She's beautiful, don't you think?






[Update: We brought her home yesterday afternoon. She's doing great!]

A Slice of Pie

With an unfinished basement and this baby coming soon (I hope), we are short on space. Friends and family have been incredibly generous with gifts, and I have nowhere to put all of these lovely things. I decided a few weeks ago that I needed to get a dresser.

Those of you who know my family know that furniture is something that we don't just go out and buy. Why buy something you can make? And the quality of furniture that comes out of the family shop is unbeatable. However, I know that Phil doesn't have time to build anything right now, and my dad's health is such that I couldn't in good conscience ask him to do it either. So I had to start looking at (heaven forbid) furniture stores. Yuck. I looked almost everywhere. I even got Phil to go with me, and he was absolutely disgusted with the quality (or lack thereof). Finally, I decided to go online and look at Ikea. (Some of you remember this post, so you can understand my desperation.)


Well, folks, I ate a huge helping of humble pie this weekend. We took the boys and went for our first ever visit to Ikea. Granted, some of the things we saw were not "shop quality," but we were amazed by most of the things we saw. Phil the Engineer was absolutely floored by the European efficiency of the store design. We fell in love and came home with this, in blue, and these.

Saturday evening, Phil and the boys started putting together the dresser. I worked on other things, but I was listening carefully from the background as Phil worked. This is what I heard:

"Wow."

"These Europeans are incredibly efficient! Why can't we do this here?"

"This is absolutely amazing."

Over, and over, and over.

At last, I had to come in and see exactly what he was talking about. First, he showed me the instruction manual. It was all pictures—no words. It was so well done that T--, the 4-year-old, could figure out what they were supposed to do next. That's impressive. (Granted, T-- is a very smart, mechanically-minded boy, but he's still only four.) Next thing to impress Phil was their cam lock screws, followed by the finger joints in the wood, the efficient use of steel in the roller hardware, and how they predrilled the holes in the pieces so accurately. Coming from Phil, who is an accomplished carpenter in his own right as well as an engineer, these words of praise do not come lightly.

Because Phil is a carpenter and knows what it takes to make furniture, he added some extra steps to the assembly process: we glued all the joints before tightening the hardware. That meant extra time, but it makes the dresser far more sturdy and stable that it would be if we'd assembled it according to Ikea's instructions. Even though the dresser is made of pine (not the hardest of woods—it dings very easily), at least it won't come apart when we move it. For what we paid for it, Phil and I were quite pleased with the quality.

Now, all was not romance and roses. The honeymoon ended very quickly when we tried to put the first assembled drawer into the dresser and discovered that Europeans are not as perfect as Phil believed. It didn't fit. We could get it in, but it wouldn't shut all the way. From that point on, Phil's praise turned a but sour. However, as we discovered this morning, it was only one drawer that had a problem, and Phil can fix it. (I feel sorry for those who don't have the knowledge and training to make such a fix—that would be a royal pain in the patootie to have to return the dresser after you'd spent that much time putting it together, and it's a mistake that you wouldn't find until you were nearly finished.)

So I'm enjoying my slice of humble pie today (in the form of a blue dresser), and I take back every bad thing I ever thought or said about Ikea. They must be pretty amazing to impress my quality-snob husband. Yes, the quality isn't "shop quality," but it's pretty darn good for the price.



My hat's off to you, Ikea. Thanks for solving my storage problem.

My Little Romeo

I had S-- in the car the other day. I asked him about who he played with at school and what they were doing at recess. You know, the usual mom line of questioning. S-- tells me about playing with his best friend (a girl) and someone named Emily from her class. Then I heard a long sigh from the back seat and this comment:

"I really like her face."

Um...excuse me?

"You really like her face? Whose face?"

"Yeah...Emily. I really like her face." (another sigh)

"Oh? What is it you like about her face?"

"Well, she has these freckles...and I really like her eyes."

"Okay...what color are her eyes?"

"I don't know. But I like her eyes. She has these glasses that bend but don't break. And she has this kind of creaky voice."

"And you like her voice?"

"Yeah."

"And her freckles and glasses?"

"Yeah. I just really like her face."



Well I'll be. My son is a sucker for freckles and glasses that bend but don't break. And creaky voices.



This last Friday we happened to see Kacy's Maggie, who is in S--'s class, waiting in the school gym for SEP's. I decided to ask S-- about Maggie later.

"So do you ever play with Maggie?"

"Yeah. I like to play with Maggie. She likes to wiggle her eyebrows. It's kind of creepy."

"Creepy?"

"Yeah, but in a good way."

"Creepy in a good way?"

"Yeah. I really like it when she wiggles her eyebrows."



Amended list: S-- likes freckles, bendy glasses, creaky voices, and creepy eyebrows. Potential girlfriends take note.