Framed: Part 2

Third pregnancy in three years.
3 months along.
Due early January.
Known since May 2nd.

Loving PB&Honey sandwiches with milk and salty snacks (pretzels, cheetos, potato chips, french fries, pickles), water, and Newman’s Own Creamy Caesar Dressing

Disliking having my first bout of this thing called “morning sickness” and being porcelain-punished for my fondness of sweets (I still eat but always regret, I ain't no quitter)

Yes. We already have names picked out.
The real question is: will this baby be NH or RI?

(so not kidding about the initials. funny how things work out, huh?)

Thank you for all your well-wishes, I sure love you.
Now, any suggestions on preparing Caleb to be Nineteen Eighty-Four-ed?

Framed.

Last month our 4Runner needed to be repaired. It was the week after Mike concluded the semester, and the week before attending a work conference in Vegas. He spent most of the week, from 4:30pm to dark working on the vehicle.

Yeah, he is a stud.

The common radiator/trans cooler failure he remedied is known as the dreaded “strawberry milkshake” among 4Runner owners.

It cost us a pretty penny to fix the problem, so whenever someone asked us why we were not taking our trip out West this summer (by the way, we aren’t making our trip out this summer)

we blamed the 4Runner.

This is our family’s official retraction:
it’s not the 4Runner’s fault. It was framed.

The real reason we are not traveling out west this summer is because we’d rather travel out next summer

after the baby is born.
:)

Incoming

Friday was the day. It was sunny and Caleb was in a good mood. Can’t beat that, so we drove to Hopedale that morning. I parked in a Resident Only lot, all for the sake of art and we walked down the block to Freedom Street. I spent a lot of time in Hopedale last year as you know. And upon my first encounter I decided I liked the place. It’s small. Smaller than Millis and that’s saying something. The architecture of the town, like most of New England, is amazing.
One structure that I fell square over compass for was an old factory on Freedom Street. Ever since I discovered this building last year it has been my destiny to photograph Caleb there!

Friday was the day.

I ended up with 160 shots and the following are what I have edited.
Here’s what a granola bar and lots of cars passing by got me:

The reason why I like the photo above is less obvious, you have to enlarge it. The street sign says “Progress.” Just so you know, Progress Street in Hopedale is a “one way” that leads to one of those caution “children” signs. :)

The hardest part wasn’t protecting Caleb from the oncoming traffic.

It was protecting the cars from the Caleb-projected rocks.

(Yi-ikes.)

Happy Fathers' Day!

Hope your Fathers' Day is snappy.

Love,

Us

Not Yet Filled

The following blog post was adapted, like most of my posts, from an e-mail correspondence with a friend. If you are a member of my relief society presidency, please do not be offended or otherwise. Really, it’s no biggie.

The Tuesday following Emma’s delivery, my mother and I went to the Christmas Tree Shops where I purchased a glass vase.

We do peculiar things when we grieve.

What most people don’t know about me is I don’t like fresh-cut flowers. They have a vibrant presence for a brief period then they die. How depressing is that? My distain has caused my husband to be creative in the flora gift department: origami, pictures, drawings. It also caused my home to be vase-less for many years until that Tuesday, two days after I delivered.

When I got home from the store, I was resolute to fill the vase with a phony floral arrangement someday. In honesty, however, I wouldn’t.

I liked it being empty. I know it sounds morbid, even now it sounds odd clacking-it-out on the keyboard, but it was nice not being the only “empty” one around. I had spent seven months being pregnant and now I wasn’t.

I kept the vase empty and stored it in our kitchen “hutch” that holds my crock pots, toaster and other units. I’d toss the vase a smile each morning. We were cohorts in a way.

Then one evening I received a bouquet from our branch’s Relief Society presidency. The flowers were fixed in a vase that could have been my vase’s twin. My mother put the arrangement on the dining room table. I frowned at it. And felt poorly for my vase when I saw it in the hutch as I made toast in the morning.

With that said, I know

I’m weird.

I could have looked at the vase as not-yet-filled rather than just empty. It could have been an obscure object lesson for me, a parallel: an empty vase, an empty tomb. Eh? Eh? (imagine me elbowing your ribs in a chummy way here)

But much like my perception of the barren bush, my sensitivity to the parable of the vase was rash.

Now I have two empty vases in my hutch.

Any ideas what I should do with them?

There’s emptiness unlimited opportunity and hope to work with.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Life is good.

Lyrics here, good old Shaker hymn.

Just a "Note" (Lalala..)

Dear Jason Mraz,

We were first introduced through The Remedy, but I didn’t commit to your music until You and I Both, which is still on my Favorites list right next to Emaline by Ben Folds Five. I have a thing for piggy bank-toting geeks (ask my husband).

Last year, about this time, I was pregnant with my second child. She was diagnosed with Trisomy 18, a genetic rarity and fatal defect. She had a 10% chance to survive to term, and even then these children’s median lifespan is 5–15 days. Because it was commonplace for a child with this defect to die in utero, my doctor had me visit weekly to confirm a fetal heartbeat. We couldn’t rely on kicks or movement because my daughter was so small. With my son Caleb I felt his first movement at 14 weeks gestation, he was so strong. With my daughter Emma I didn’t feel a kick until 19 weeks, it was feeble. It would be another month until my husband could place his hand on my abdomen to feel her stirrings.

My doctor’s office was in Hopedale, on Hope Street. The satire was not lost on me.

After each appointment I felt exhausted. Sometimes I may have been

sad,

just fine

or anxious,

but I was always exhausted. I’d resort to listening to the radio to relieve my mind. Luckily for me a song of yours was in season. I could always find a station playing it on my trudge home. It rejuvenated my spirits and retuned my situation. Thank you.

Yours,

Angela

PS It is summertime again, ‘tis the season. The stations here have been playing your song regularly since April.

What's a letter you'd never send?