be mine

Ryan and I went on a mid-morning date over the weekend. We dropped Ralph off at my sister's house, scooted away when he wasn't looking, and drove off just the two of us. It's only the third or fourth time Ralph has been alone without either of us around, and of course I cried a little bit over it, because I'm a big old sentimental wuss. I kept saying, What if he starts to look for me and I'm not there? And Ryan was like, Cool it woman, this is supposed to be fun.

We got brunch at a little place that reminded me of the cute bagel shop I worked at in high school. We sat at a small table decorated with flowers and stringed lights by the front window, and sipped coffee from mismatched mugs. Ryan ordered a french toast sandwich with ham and honey nut cream cheese-- the absolute last thing off the menu I would have expected him to choose-- which, I guess, proves that I don't know as much about the man as I thought. Ham and honey nut cream cheese? Total curve ball, Ryan. Who are you?

After brunch we took a drive down by the lake, the old standby in times of romance. We decided to walk down to the beach, but ended up just running around like fools because it was windy and freezing. Ryan got too close to the churning, icy waters and I scolded him from a safe distance because, though he might switch things up a bit here and there, I'll always be set in my wussy ways. I finally coaxed him back and trapped him into taking some pictures with me. There's totally one of us kissing, but I'll spare you that shot.

When our fingers and toes were nice and numb we headed back to the car, drove through downtown and back to our baby. He hardly missed us, as far as I could tell.

And, I don't know. We had our fun, but I'll always like it best when the three of us are together.

About my Grandma

Last Monday night I was in the middle of writing a blog post about the baby and the weekend and a bunch of silly things going on. I was about to hit publish when I found out from my sister that my Grandma had passed away from a heart attack. It was such a shock, and I cried there on the couch, saying Oh no, no! and other kinds of things that don't make sense when one hears surprising, sad news. She was in her 80's, and relatively healthy. She had a lot of life left in her, and it didn't seem right that she was gone. It still doesn't.

On Friday morning we left for her funeral in Michigan, where my she lived, where my mom grew up, and where I was born. I got to see my sisters and their husbands and babies, and so much family-- some that I wonder if I'll ever see again. It was all very bittersweet.

She had a beautiful funeral service that included some of her favorite hymns. I cried through them all. The pastor started out his sermon and described her as "soft-spoken."

And I thought, What? No. Not my Grandma.

My Grandma's name was Esther, and took every opportunity she could get to introduce herself as Queen Esther. She was feisty and quick and hilarious, and she didn't seem to be afraid of much. The first time she met Ryan, she sewed up a hole in the crotch of his jeans. He was nursing a cold at the time, and she offered to rub Vicks on his feet. Soft-spoken people don't do stuff like that. But my Grandma did.

She was born and raised on a farm, and had the world's best stories to tell about it. Then, in her teens she moved to Chicago with her sister to make money for their family, and found a job as a secretary in what I imagine to be a Mad Men type of office. She always told my sisters and me about the time a married man in the office slipped her a note and made a pass at her. Then she'd describe how she ripped up the note and ceremoniously tossed it into the garbage can, right in front of the guy.

She dated her cousin (a Gregory Peck look-alike) before meeting and marrying my Grandpa (a Gene Kelly look-alike) ((not too shabby, Grams!)) She had three kids and collected clown figurines and taught me how to make the best brown-butter chocolate frosting in all the land. She sang me to sleep countless times, and once gave me a sponge bath when I was very sick. She always stayed in my room when she'd come to visit, and my closet would smell like her perfume for days after she left.

The last time I talked to her, two or three weeks ago, I admitted that I was a little nervous about delivering the baby. Before I could go on, she rattled off three or four Scripture passages from memory. She had the strongest faith. She made me feel so much better. And then, before we hung up the phone, she promised to buy me a housecoat and nightie for the hospital. Funny little lady.

Now she's gone-- my mom is left without a mom, and I'm left without a very special Grandma. And then, when I start to feel sad, I remember she's in heaven with my Grandpa and my daughter and lots of loved ones. I couldn't be happier for her.

the weekend

Happy Labor Day! Let us all take a moment to be thankful that I have not gone, nor do I plan to go into labor today.

. . . 

Thank you. We had a wonderful weekend! Did you? We saw loads of family-- on Saturday we headed north to see Ryan's brother Aaron play in a soccer tournament. But then he sprained his ankle (OH RON.) ((feel better!)) so we watched his team win without him. In between soccer games and family stuff, Ryan's mom threw us a cute little baby shower at the park. Lots of family and friends came to celebrate, and it was so sweet. We're crossing so many things off our list of baby needs, thanks to some very generous folks. Hooray!

And today! OH TODAY. Today was hot. And I've had it with the heat, did you know? Sometime in the early afternoon of this 2012 Labor Day I had meltdown #2 of the day. Poor Ryan went in for a romantic kiss and ended up with a positively soaked shoulder. (Sweat and tears.) Something about the heat makes me very irrational, and all the scary and stressful things going on in my life fill up in my brain all at once. 

I had a good cry. And then I felt better! So we went to the beach. 

The water has warmed up enough to still be shockingly cold, but not body-numbing. We went in as deep as our necks, then let the waves scoot us back towards the beach, little by little. It was wonderful and so good for me. We left feeling slightly sea-weedy, but so refreshed.

Our plan for the remainder of the evening is to celebrate the end of the last summer with just the two of us. Oreo milkshakes, air mattress in the living room, and a fan blowing directly on me-- that'll do it. So long, summer!

this post contains Pocahontas lyrics.

I was flipping through the pictures on my phone recently, and ran across these photos again. 

I love 'em.

We were having a ball that night, feeling all giddy about this baby coming, and feeling confident that he would be healthy. And we're still giddy, and he is healthy.

But the reality of this little one is starting to kick in. Like most mothers-to-be, I think about it constantly. This is what my brain sounds like at all times:

"Is he okay? Oh he's kicking! Cute! Do I have enough onesies? What does he look like? What if he's colicky? Is he claustrophobic in there? OH CRAP, LABOR. How much fatter am I going to get? Is he okay in there? Cute, more kicking! What on earth is a nosefrida? I'm hungry. I'm emoooootionalll. I'M SO HOT. What if he sucks his thumb and gets buck teeth? I wish he'd come right now. No! I don't wish he'd come right now! More kicking! Aww. Baby, baby, baby, baby."

...

Do you see what I'm dealing with here?

More importantly, do you see what Ryan is dealing with here?

Which brings me to the point of this blog post: when I ran across the photos above, I started to worry about how things will be after this baby comes. Because, despite my baby-related hysteria, Ryan and I have a pretty good thing going on. We're really happy with our little life. We laugh a lot, we hug a lot, we do fun little things that make us happy to be husband and wife. So when I think about adding the scary, new, cluelessness of having a baby into the mix I think, whoa whoa, wait a minute Mr. Postman. I mean, I'm already a crazy pregnant lady. It'll probably only get worse once the baby arrives and I have to figure out how to keep him alive. I don't want it to get so bad that Ryan is afraid to come home from work every night.

The good thing is this: Ryan is steady. (As the steady beating druummm) ((there are your promised Pocahontas lyrics, thank you.)) Want to know how many times he's freaked out about having a baby? Zero. All he has to do is pat my knee and say, "Don't worry Amelia. The baby's fine. It's going to be fine," and my heart rate goes down, little by little. And, if I'm totally honest with myself, I know everything will be fine. I know it will be wonderful! I know that I have no idea how much we'll love this little boy. And based on the marriages of my sisters and parents, I'm fairly certain that the love between Ryan and I will only get better and stronger and happier. Even if I'm crazy.

Also, I'm going to take seriously the importance of date nights and a good babysitter. The end.

strawberry festival

After the wedding festivities over the weekend, Ryan and I were happy to spend Sunday just the two of us, doing whatever we wanted. We took a nice drive up to Cedarburg again, this time for the Strawberry Festival. It was fun. It was crowded. It was hot.

After about an hour of weaving through crowds of sweaty people, we'd had enough, and decided to drive home. But not before treating ourselves to a big strawberry lemonade and a free balloon.

And free samples from the kettle corn guy.

Twice.

it's a . . .

boy!

boy oh boy!

(looks like someone's gonna have to toughen up.)

the time we went to Cedarburg and did not fight once

A long long long time ago, when Ryan and I were still wee college kids,

we took a day trip to Cedarburg, WI.

It was a Tuesday or something, I think.

And it was cold.

And we were trying so hard to have fun.

But it was cold, and we were both broke, and I'm pretty sure all the cute little shops were closed.

And we ended up fighting somewhere along the way, and drove back to campus in silence.

We laugh about it now, but.

It was a stupid day.

Well. Cedarburg got a second chance this past Saturday,

And I'm glad! Because guys! Cedarburg can be fun! I'll tell you why::

First we went to Amy's Candy Kitchen. Do you see that vent above the door in the photo below? It's a magical vent that blows steamy, sweet fumes into the atmosphere.

The doorway air is thick and warm and smells like buttery caramel. 

Ryan said it was a smell that could have made him sick if he sniffed too long.

But I could live in that doorway. I could.

The inside smells good too.

And then, when we left with our bag of peanut butter balls and chocolate meltaways, I took a bump picture. Because I was a happy woman.

Then we went to a meat market, where the lady clerk tried to get me to eat head cheese. (NO THANKS.) We bought two beef sticks, and Ryan was much more comfortable with the smell.

Do you see this face? This was after the beef sticks.

Other items of note:

-- We went to the cutest toy store that sold pretty blocks, old fashioned Golden Books, and nose flutes. A nose flute is like a kazoo, but you play it with your nose. A woman bought one while we were there, and the clerk said, "Just the nose flute today?" 

-- Ryan found the most perfect golf club at a thrift store for only a few bucks. But it was a lefty. It almost ruined the day. It still haunts him.

-- We went to a restaurant and ordered soup, and did not get saltines. But the guy that came in after us also ordered soup and he did get saltines? Minus one for you, Cedarburg.

the day ryan came home from work early

Ryan had a meeting in Chicago yesterday. When he kissed me goodbye at 6:50am, he told me he'd be finished around lunchtime, and that on his way back to the office he might stop at home for lunch.

So I scurried around making the house sparkly and welcoming. I put on some lipstick and whipped up a batch of brownies, and waited.

He texted me around 1:30 to tell me that the meeting went long, and that he and his coworker were getting lunch at Cheesecake Factory. Well. I asked him to make up for it by bringing home a piece of cheesecake for me. But he didn't.

It's fine.

No, actually it was fine. He ended up getting back around 3:30 and decided it wasn't worth it to drive back to the office. So he stayed home! The brownies were perfectly cooled by then, so we sat at our table and had a nice snack together. At 3:45pm! On a Tuesday! It was fun.

Afterwards I convinced him to take me to Anthropologie.

And then I convinced him to buy me a dress.

I had to give up 2 weeks of foot rubs to get it.

Worth it.

Easter

We spent the Easter weekend at my mom and dad's house. Holidays there are always a cozy, happy time. My mom keeps such a sweet house, and she cooks like Martha Stewart. She does laundry like her, too. I would know... I brought 6 loads of laundry with me and she did 5 of them. Thanks, Mom!

Like usual, after a wonderful church service (Easter morn trumpets! Has there ever been a more joyful sound? It made me wonder what heaven was like and what my baby was doing that day. Must have been beautiful!) we headed outside to take some pictures in our Easter Sunday best. A few days later I looked through them, and was a little disappointed to find that hardly any of them turned out. A few days after that I looked through them again and was pleased to realize that, while they aren't the most flattering pictures, they are hilarious. I'm glad I've got them.

However, here are a few things that did turn out:

one slightly blurry photo of me and my cute husband,

and the apple pie that he made. 

That turned out quite nicely.

things to say::

It's been a while! I've had a little break from blogging and tweeting and instagram-ing. Didn't mean to--it's just the way it is. But I'd love to update you with the stuff going on in and around Apartment 66::

• Are you wondering where I got the recipe for the delicious looking cheesecake pictured above? I'll tell you: find the cheesecake here and the blueberry sauce here. Oh Martha, it's good! We made it last weekend and barely got through one slice each before realizing there was no way we were going to eat the entire cake. I gave half to my sister. It's rich, but it's so good.
• Big news, guys. I have a job! I told myself I'd never be a nanny ever again when I quit my nannying job last year (that job terrified me for many different reasons,) but...here I go again! Ryan was good to me after we lost the baby, and didn't rush me into finding a job. I took a good chunk of time off to be home and took care of myself for a while, until this job sort of fell into my lap. I'm thankful it did! Three days a week I hang out with a 7-week-old chunk. He's sweet as pie, and so are his parents. It feels good to be working again. And it will feel even better the next time I go shopping--no more carrying around bags full of guilt!
• Last week A Cup of Jo posted the song Ryan and I danced to at our wedding. It was just a little something that made me smile. It's such a sweet song, and means more to me every time I hear it. I was so looking forward to that moment with him on our wedding day, and when the moment finally came, something went wrong with the speakers and we could barely hear it! We danced anyway, but I was so disappointed. When we came home to our apartment after our honeymoon, Ryan turned it on and we danced to it again in our living room, surrounded by boxes of opened wedding gifts. It was better that way. :)
• Speaking of Ryan, we were walking through the grocery store recently when he said this gem, "You know, if I could have seen my future self a few years ago and known that I have a string cheese in my lunch every day, I think I'd be pretty pleased. I'd be like, 'You're doin' ok, man.'" From this day forward, I vow to never run out of his favorite string cheese.
• Speaking of Ryan again, last night I had a dream in which I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, only to find Ryan already in there, secretly applying my $1 set of false eyelashes. For the life of me, I can't explain why this happened.
• And lastly, we saw the Hunger Games over the weekend, and I cried twice. 

That's all folks!