i'll light the fire, while you place the flowers in the vase that you bought today-ay-ay-ayyy.*

Thank you, all of you, for your sweet messages about our new house! It was so fun to share the news! We had heard a few weeks ago that the first offer on the house might not go through and were pretty hopeful, but I didn't want to say anything, you know, for fear of jinxing it. The past three weeks have been a lot of waiting and waiting and waiting and small amounts of gnashing of teeth and saying, "WHYYY? WHY IS IT TAKING SO LONG TO FIND OUTTT?" And then we found out and we were like, "Aww yeahhhh!" Actually, our reactions were pretty subdued because Ryan's aunt was staying with us and we wanted to be cool. So we high fived, and then whispered excitedly about it in our bed that night. 

We've got big plans for this little house. It's very clean and has been well-taken care of by the little old lady who lived there for 45 years. But, it's also very old-lady-looking. The bathroom has pink tile everywhere, and the kitchen is quite yellow-- a paint can in the basement told me it's exact name: banana split. Sounds delicious, but it's still getting repainted. All the updates certainly won't happen right away, but we're okay with that. We like projects.

Our closing date is still up in the air, but we are hoping to move in by early October. Which means I'm killing time by writing (and re-writing) lists. Between the baby and the house and my annual fall fashion wishes, the lists are getting out of hand. They're everywhere.

Anyway, I just wanted to say "thanks!" to you all for sharing in our excitement. I can't wait to get in there and show you around. It's gonna be fun.

OH, and the best part? Ryan thinks the baby room smells like Waffle Crisp. That lucky baby.

*We don't have a fireplace, and I call it a vase, not a vahse, but we have been singing that dern song a lot.

about the house that i love that will never be mine, and feeling 28 weeks pregnant

Sometime last week Ryan and I decided we were in love with a house. A darling little two-story colonial with white siding and blue shutters. It had hardwood floors and old windows and a staircase in the living room that led up to 3 bedrooms, one that I was sure was perfect for a fresh baby boy. The front yard spread out wide and grew two big maple trees, while the backyard housed a birch tree and a clothesline and the promise of a someday garden. 

We drove past the house on Sunday afternoon and poked around a little bit. It was empty, so we pulled into the driveway and imagined it was ours. We went slowly through the back alley, discussing how we would build up the crumbling stones in the way back of the yard. Then we went home, Ryan excitedly put on his engineer pants, and quickly drew up a floor plan. He talked about where he'd put his workshop tools, while I pondered over what I'd do to make the pink tile in the bathroom work.

On Monday night we walked through the house twice with our realtor. She informed us that it already had an offer on it, but we could still have a chance. 

Today we found out that the offer was accepted, that the sweet blue-shuttered house will not be ours, that some other lucky family will get to enjoy the cozy living room and the big maple trees. 

Tonight we plan on saying a few choice swear words, loudly and dramatically, and then eating our feelings. (Well, that's my plan. Ryan will probably just stew quietly, as that is how he seems to manage disappointment.)

The business of house hunting is neither for the faint of heart, nor for the pregnant and emotionally unstable.

Speaking of pregnancy.

When I found out about this baby on that wonderful day in February, I made a promise to myself that I would never complain about the pregnancy. I'm so thankful for this sweet baby boy, that he's alive and healthy and still here with me-- I don't want to ever come across as though I'm not the happiest woman in the world about it all. So I watch what I say and how I say it. And, despite approximately 95 daily trips to the bathroom, being at least 20 degrees hotter than anyone else in any room, and being kept awake at night by flailing baby limbs (I blame you, Michael Phelps!) I think I've done a pretty good job of embracing my discomforts instead of complaining about them.

That being said, please allow me to ask this question: How is one supposed to eat 300 extra calories a day without feeling like Violet Beauregarde after every meal? Because each and every time I eat, I need to sit down and say "OOOoofffff!" which must be so charming to my darling husband, don't you think? There's just no room in there for a growing person AND extra food. I don't know what to do about it.

I mean, this baby's only gonna get bigger.

Your advice is welcome.