Gettin' Back To Nature- And Potentially The ER.

Happy Labor Day!

Communing.

Why are you reading this today? Go! Go outside! Good God, man, it's almost winter! (However, if you're not reading this until Tuesday or later, I'm quite hurt- wounded, really- at your disloyalty.)

There, now. I think I've sufficiently alienated everyone. Onward!

The reason that I'm able to post today is because of my daughter's proclivity towards 4am Beanie Bear tea parties in her crib. Thusly, she faceplanted at an ungodly early 10am for her nap, freeing me up to do all sorts of things like blog, sweep the stairs, and French braid my hair. (But aren't you exhausted, Keely, you ask? Nope! But Peej is! As I've stated before, my Mama Bear-like aptitude for hearing when my child is awake has not yet been fully realized. I don't hear her. P.J., however, has not slept through the night since grade school and is aware of block parties beginning across town. He's ZONKED tired.)

Her early nap will actually serve us well, as Peej scored seven buck tickets to the Cubs game for this afternoon. Nora's never been (and has a superbly cute hand-me-down Cubs onesie!), and the last time I went...was when I was nine months pregnant with Nora. (Sports!) We're only a few miles from Wrigley Field, and since the air is feeling all crisp and autumnal, it's gonna be a much better time than if we had gone during the past few weeks. (I think the combo of humidity, discomfort and athletics would have forced me to have a tantrum, kill a man, and eat all of the jumbo hotdogs in the surrounding area. The last still may occur. There's this one stand that sells ridiculously loaded footlongs that you crave in your sleep. For example.)

Other highlights from this long weekend included brunch with Peej's cousin and her husband, which facilitated a full-on clean of the house (which allowed me to ease up on chores/ease up on demanding that P.J. do chores the rest of the time...which everyone likes). There was a three hour family nap. A slow hike through the forest preserve up at Peterson Park (during which time my child found the only wood chip/dirt pile incline in all of the 46 acres and proclaimed "slide!") and had a picnic. A major Craigslist posting for all of the free/crazy reduced items which we just need to get out of the downstairs/closets/garage, and which- strangely- is yielding positive results and non-crazy people actually taking our things. And, nestily enough, we're blazing through the Important Things checklist for The Monkey and his/her room. Plus, we're mini-seriesing through Mary Poppins before Nora's bedtime each night- and she could NOT love it more. Spoonful of Sugar, jumping into chalk art, waiter penguins, sliding down banisters, girls named Jane, it's all like it was tailor made for our kid. Sure, I'm getting a little weary of singing each song eleven times in a row, but the vigorous applause is pretty sweet.

Bleeding.

It's almost enough to make up for the nightmare-inducing guilt I feel over watching my daughter trip into the coffee table and bite clear through her lip. Especially since she was running towards me. With a stack of books in her arms. And a cheerful grin. Happily announcing that she and Mommy were gonna read. And I was a split second too late to catch her. And the blood- oh God, the blood.

She cried for seven seconds. I cried for half an hour. She assured me that she was "fine," especially once the bleeding let up and she enjoyed a lemon Italian ice for the better part of an hour. (I think she'd willingly do it again for another Italian ice.) And later we rocked on the hammock and she fed herself fistfuls of mint and raspberries from the garden. So I know she's okay.

She has been accused of being too pretty- a fat lip will give her some street cred. And it's good for her to have some stuff to tell her future therapist.

You're welcome, Nora.

He'll Be The Prettiest Of Them All!

Why do you need another?

Before we continue on to The Pressing Issues, I'd like to acknowledge that I'm just as sick of the pregnancy talk as you are. Maybe even moreso, since I've got the pregnancy thought and the pregnancy insomnia. What I wouldn't give for a good anecdote from the club. (It doesn't MATTER which club- so long as there's a decent bar special and a questionable DJ.)

That said, as I am 33 days away from having another human being in my care, I have no such tales. (So maybe be a pal and tell me yours?)

Peej and I embarked on a very sleepy Date Night Month- which sorely lacks the Awesome of the last pregnancy's final countdown- and have tried to do such stellar activities as Have Dinner Together and Be In The Same Room At Night.

Last night, after giving NJ an early supper, bath, and supra-snuggly bedtime routine, I began preparations for a Grownup Dinner; steamed crab legs, sweet corn, and this loaf of multigrained awesomeness from Costco. (I do not bake, this cannot be said enough.) This plan was sidelined (slightly) by the arrival of The Monkey's crib and mattress- which my parents had generously ordered on Sunday night. (Have you EVER heard of anything getting delivered that quickly? Except by, like, a guy on a sweaty horse?) We were going to leave it until later on to assemble, except we both knew two things to be extremely true:

-P.J. cannot leave a puzzle/project/something with many pieces alone.

-And he had a very real fear that I'd attempt it without him today. (Guilty.)

So now we have a sweet crib with an extraordinarily decorated Enchanted Princess pink mattress (my Mom said it was a great mattress and we can always cover it up- which is true- but I'm fairly certain we've just guaranteed the birth of my son). And the 10pm dinner was terrific, made all the more romantic by the propping up of each others' heads.

All that we have left to do now is...panic over inconsequential scenarios. (Okay, maybe that's just me.)

Like how Nora is going to be SO SAD when we're in the hospital. Especially if I die in childbirth. Keeping in mind that- despite the Pony Express-like delivery of last night's furniture- we do not live in the Wild West (though I could use a little Young Guns action right about now) and there is a fairly good chance that I will survive the birthing of this kid. But the sadness over the hospital stay? That just crushes my face in.

Or how it's imperative that I finish birthday plans for Nora's second birthday- ON OCTOBER 29th. Because if I do not, I certainly cannot have a child on October 4th. Especially when one is planning a party as high maintenance as two hours at the playlot park with cupcakes.

I will attempt to put such Very Real Things aside for the evening- and the second installment of Date Night Month: Reloaded. For we are seeing the final Harry Potter in the theater tonight! It will be great. It will (thanks to the generosity and fabulousness of our our newly instated Babysitting Swap with Angie and Tim) be FREE.

And it will be, due to the very good chance of one or both of us snoring smack dab in the middle of the theater, more than a little embarrassing.

But I hear there's popcorn.

Emily From The Block.

(It's always fun to have a pal really close by. Like, across Kedzie.)

What A Guy.

Home sweet miniature home.

And Now...

A Love Letter To My Husband To Thank Him For His Endless Works O' Awesome (A.K.A A Very Public Plea To NOT Leave His Increasingly Insane Wife)-

Dear P.J.:

You are terrific. Really. No, wait, lift your head back up out of your coffee mug/desk/computer screen- this'll be worth it.

You are so incredibly tolerant and so incredibly choosy with your words. Specifically the cuss ones when you think Nora/our unborn child will hear them and be forever negatively affected. I especially admire this when things don't go according to plan/the door frame cracks/THE SCREWS ARE SOMEHOW ALL WRONG.

Here is what you accomplished this weekend for me/us/my neuroses/the children/the upcoming cold months known as The Rest Of The Year In Chicago:

-Doors on closets and remaining bedrooms that did not possess them. This endeavor required multiple backyard sawhorse projects which you pulled off in a timely manner...despite the fact that your daughter has a near-crippling fear of the sound of a saw in use. And can only be consoled in such moments of terror by you, her Dad. This slowed you down only slightly.

-The moving and painting of three laughably heavy pieces of the furniture in the baby's room. This was because I got a bee (hormone) in my bonnet (face/tears) about the slapdash nature of this new kid's possessions. Forget the fact that mismatched and chipped furniture was good enough for Nora- I was not having it this time around. And now they look great. Hope that hernia heals soon.

-That break you took to read at Mass, do a Costco run, and put both Nora and I down for simultaneous naps. (I'd be embarrassed to admit that I still need someone to put me down for a nap...except for the fact that it was the best nap ever. And nothing beats being tucked in to the words of "I'll take care of everything." Not a thing in the world beats it.)

-Removing the ceiling fan blades, helping me soak them in the bathtub, you scraping decades of grease from the undersides (I'm pretty sure our kitchen used to moonlight as an Arby's), and then reattaching them to the fans at midnight- despite the knowledge that most fans are assembled safely on the ground and not teetering in midair.

-Making sure that you and I sat on the couch- together- to watch The Soup and a goodly bit of House Hunters International before falling asleep. DATE NIGHTS ARE IMPORTANT, DARNIT. (I had been ready to tuck in with a bottle of seltzer and the newest Professor Layton game on the DS, but no sir. Not when romance is alive and well.)

-Drilling that hole to run those cables, saving us crazy ADT rewiring fees and allowing the closet door to close, no longer impeded by the bundle of wires acting as a doorstop. (It's almost like a real house, now! Also, who's been authorizing us to just have bundles of wires acting as doorstops?)

-Taking a "break" to supersonically speed-clean the house when you received the intel that your out-of-town uncle was not only stopping over for a surprise visit...but was, in fact, parking the car up by the neighborhood bar as we spoke.

-Dishes, dishes, dishes. Also, the recycling.

-Taking a break to drive to a friend's house, disassemble a playhouse in their backyard, strap it in, out, around and through our car, drive it back to our place, reassemble the awfully heavy and realistic house...and then spend a copious amount of time in said structure with your toddler. And lots of chalk.

None of these things include the little activities you do daily, like the cat litter (which I haven't done in years, despite not being pregnant for "years"), Nora's nightly routines, or making sure that I nevereverever run out of almond milk.

You are swell. Let's not abandon our wives five mere weeks before she has yet another of your clone-like offspring, okay? But I understand if you need some downtime.

I hear there's a super sweet little house in the backyard these days. What say I toss a beer through the shutters, yeah?

You've earned it.