I begin to think that Littleman will teach Tae Kwon Do someday...or karate...or judo...or one of those things where you have to kick a lot.
He's been kicking me HARD the last couple of days, in a vain attempt, I think, to get comfortable in a place that is just too small for him. I tell him that means he needs to get a move on and arrive already, and he just kicks me again.
I sat today and tried to entertain Buddy and Miss Boo today while Merry Maids did their thing. It was surreal, not least because Miss Boo beamingly informed one of the (not terribly merry) maids that she "looked like a princess!" It made the cleaner break into a smile and chuckle, which is nice, because I think she probably had allergies or a headache something. She did excellent work, but seemed depressed.
If I had any doubts about the necessity of hiring the spit-shine done (they washed the cupboard doors and the heater vents) they were laid to rest today; it was a day when just getting up and walking across the room would set off contractions. Maddening ones--they are debilitating, requiring me to stop and deep breathe and remind myself to relax and, in the words of Ina May Gaskin the midwife, "be grateful and graceful", but they do not actually herald labor because they stop again as soon as I sit down and have a drink of water. Most frustrating. If I have to have contractions, I'd rather they didn't stop and I could get hold of the baby already.
On the upside, the people who looked at our house twice have decided to offer on a different place, which gives Littleman a little more bumping-around time. I don't have much patience to wait but I shall have to develop some, it appears.
Tomorrow a troop of realtors are going to come through the house and offer us "feedback". Hopefully all my attentive HGTV watching will forestall any of the obvious comments they might have--things like "well, really they probably ought to put the diaper pail away".
Might I make a suggestion for anyone who's in the house selling/moving arena? Who doesn't want to give an inordinate amount of money to Applebee's and the pre-prepared section at Costco and Pizza Hut? Check out Saving Dinner. It's not something I use all the time--we actually like a bit of repetition in our menus--but for frenzied times it is invaluable. The book is divided into seasons and can be used for a full year. It gives you shopping lists, menus, and recipies to cook dinner six nights a week. The seventh night, the author says, is for you to "spread your wings" and try recipies from other cookbooks, but in practice for us the meals make enough leftovers that the seventh night is leftover night.
The meals are healthy and veggie-heavy, which is nice; although I don't use the low-fat dairy products she calls for on account of having two toddlers that need the fat (and believing that fat isn't bad for grown people, either). The menus include side dishes but not desserts. Since the Husband and I have a hard time eating our way through a whole cake, this is okay by us--I generally make cookies or something at the beginning of the week and that does it for us.
It sure beats having no idea what's for dinner and blankly ordering pizza again, and giving everyone heartburn for the next two days. It's a cheap book, tiny, and easy to take with you to the grocery store if you don't want to re-copy the shopping list. The menus will be a bit more expensive than if you cooked strictly from a pantry (our bill was $118 this week instead of a more normal $80 or so, but that included breakfast and snack stuff) but not nearly as expensive as eating out or eating frozen stuff. Dinner's on autopilot, all the groceries and side dishes are accounted for, and any helpful body can be given the recipie to follow.
(Whereas it doesn't seem like it would be kind to the grandmas when, after they ask, you have to admit that you were just going to make up something to do with cube steak and that they're on their own to figure out what, because you're bent over the counter being grateful and graceful--oh, and that there are no potatoes.)
Cheers,
Breanna
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