31 March 2009

running for my life....and a chicken sandwich

I heard a scratching at the front door, like someone trying to fit a key in the lock that wouldn’t work. 'oh its probably nothing' I told myself and just rolled over. but then i heard footsteps. its was 3am, there should not be footsteps in the hallway. i leaned over to rhys and gently tried to shake him awake. i told him that I thought someone had broken in. He jumped into action, grabbing the lamp as it was the closest thing to him, he ran into the hallway ready to battle. he was met by two burly men in ski masks, one of whom decided to welcome rhys with a crack of a baseball bat on his head. then i freaked out. i didnt know what to do so i grabbed my phone and my leatherman and i ran. somehow i managed to slip past the two men in the hallway and ran into the street. i needed to get help, but from where?! the street was unnerving empty, even for 3 in the morning. i tried several doors but no one answered. i tried screaming at the top of my lungs to draw attention to myself, but no one came. i ran down the street, across the path and into some bushes. it seemed like a good place to hide. and then i watched the house. i saw them lift rhys into a big white van and then i watching in horror as one of the men made eye contact, with me. i had been found. off i went. running. running. the police station was down the road, if only i could reach it. the van was speeding down the street after me, gaining on me with every step. I had to protect little Eli. i couldn’t let them catch me. i had to get to the police station. but it was locked. seriously? can a police station close?! off the street i ran, down a hill, through a yard and then full force I threw my entire body weight-every last ounce of me-into the front window of a house. they stopped the van and both followed me in. could i have really picked the one house on the block whose inhabitants were away? but then i noticed a third man. i thought i was dead for sure. 'please dont hurt my baby' i cried as they got closer to me. all i had was my leathermen. but i would use it. i thought, 'well if you come at me at least one of you will get stabbed somewhere.' but then the third man swung the bat and crack, down fell one of the men who was towering in front of me. as his buddy turned around to see what had happened he too was smacked in the face. it was Rhys. he had come to in the van, realised what was happening and rushed in to save Eli and me. I fell into his arms crying.....

then next thing I knew, rhys was shaking me awake, hugging me saying 'shh...its just a dream, its just a dream...' apparently our house was completely secure. no one had broken in, little Eli was safe, the police station, i'm sure, was in fact not closed and i was lying in bed next to Rhys, who had not been hit in the head with a baseball bat. but it was so real. and i was still scared. i didnt sleep the rest of the night. partly because i kept thinking...really? I left rhys? I ran away from the house where was my husband was lying unconscious on the floor? could i really leave him? that question is still plaguing me. did i do it to protect Eli? or did i do it because I am a wimp? I am glad it was just a dream. I am glad i eventually woke up.

On a totally unrelated note, I went to a local little sandwich shop today for lunch and ordered a Chicken Tikka Sandwich. That is all i said. 'Hi can i have a chicken tikka sandwhich please' before i could even ask what was in it (because I usually ask the ingredients when i go out) she said "well honey that has mayo in it? can you have mayo? here let me show the jar so you can read it... and it also has this spice and this spice and this sauce..." and begins to get out every. single. ingredient that she uses to make the chicken tikka mix. she reads through them one by one, waiting for my response before she moves on. I couldnt help but smile.

This exchange meant two things. 1.) I now look obviously pregnant and 2.) there are really nice, considerate people left in the world. I will go back to that shop tomorrow simply becasue that lady was wonderful. and because the sandwich was delightful!

26 March 2009

I am jealous of....

I am jealous of people who know exactly what they are going to look like when they get up in the morning. people who know they will be the same size, colour, and shape. People who know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when they look in the mirror after one night of sleep, they will not have grown 4 sizes, have an extra chin or two, a rash, red bumps, random curls in normally straight as a board hair and so on. I am jealous of those people that don’t have a surprise almost every single morning when they look in the mirror, because let me tell you. I have a surprise. I can’t plan ahead on outfits because at the rate that I am outgrowing my clothes, there is no guarantee what will fit on a day to day basis. I have no idea what my stomach, arms, face and sides will look like. nearly every day my stomach is getting bigger. which i love. but my arms are also putting on some additional weight. This, i do not love. but my chicken legs are still chicken legs. i am beginning to wonder how they will support my massively growing upper half.

I am jealous of people who can go on water slides and roller coasters. Granted there are neither water slides nor roller coasters around me, or is there is promise of a chance to do either one of those things in the near future. Yet the budding trees and fresh blossoms of a coming spring time always make me want an amusement park and a good ole' water slide. Even if I wanted to walk around in public in a bathing suit, and that is assuming that I can even find one that is decent and fits, all such joys are prohibited to pregnant people. Yes, yes, I understand why. but that does not take away my desire.

I am jealous of people who don’t label check every. single. piece. of. food. they. buy. Thats right, every. single. one. I am ready for the day when I can walk into a store and think 'hmm...this sounds nice. I will purchase this item of food for consumption' instead of 'oh that sounds nice...better check first to make sure it is free from all the yummy food stuff that pregnant people are banned from eating lest their baby end up with seven heads and 23 billion eyes' Apparently a vast majority of the foods I eat regularly are not pregnancy appropriate. I am happy to not eat them to protect little the little bean, but I am still jealous of the people who don’t have to care. which brings me to the next point.

I am jealous of people who can eat hotdogs. I love hot dogs. I am going to a Rangers game in April. I want a hot dog. with mustard and relish and ketchup. and i cannot have one. they are banned. and i am jealous of the hundreds of other people in the stadium who will be munching away on the magical baseball food of 'ball park hotdogs'

I am jealous of all the people who got to drink green beer on st. patrick's day. yes, i realise that was weeks ago. but i am still jealous. still.

I am jealous of all the people who can sleep on their back at night. They, they experts that be, say from about 23 weeks on pregnant woman should not sleep on their back because there is a chance that the baby could fall against the umbilical cord, and the weight of their body would cause the cord to smash, hence limiting blood/food/oxygen supply to the baby and potentially resulting in death. I have been terrified of this happening since i was about 7 weeks pregnant. when the baby was the size of an apple seed and couldn’t possibly have smashed anything. Yet since November 2008 I have not slept on my back once. I used to only sleep on my back. Its been quite a change. so i am jealous of all you normal back sleepers out there. Oh, and let me just say before pregnant people or mom's come back and say that they slept on their backs and their baby's are totally fine...I will not listen to you. i will still be scared. still not sleep on my back. and still be jealous of all those who can.

I am jealous of people who get to go on holiday. ok, so this is pretty cheap of me to say because come July i will have a little boy and that is way better than a holiday. but at this point all my friends are booking their annual holidays to a warm, beachy and fabulous destinations. Cuba, Spain, Jamaica, Egypt, Greece...and I am stuck in rainy, cold UK. and since i still have 4 months left of being pregnant....it seems like ages away until the little bean comes into this world. and a holiday sounds fantastic. and way out of reach. so i am jealous.

I am jealous of people who can sit for long periods of time without pain. those people who can sit at a desk, or on the couch, or in a car and not constantly feel like they need to stand up or shift around lest their right side explode. Or the people who can watch a movie without weird pains in their hips and the need to lay down so their head will stay attached to their body.

I am jealous of people who do not have to pee every 15 minutes. I am probably the most jealous of this. Well, this or maybe hotdogs. I have an uncontrollable need to pee CONSTANTLY. In university I went on a road trip and for some reason had to pee several times before we arrived at our destination. I was saddled with the nickname ‘squirrel bladder’ for the rest of the weekend. now, I really do have a squirrel bladder. No matter what I do or don’t drink. Or how often I rush to bathroom to have absolutely. nothing. come. out. I still feel the undying urge to pee every 15 minutes. Those of you who have regular, normal person bathroom breaks. I am jealous.

Yet I love that I am pregnant. I love that I can feel Eli move. I love that he likes to kick me all day long. I like that I get to talk to him and sing to him (although rhys does most of the singing) and read to him. I love that he is there, with me all the time. I love tremendously the fact that I am pregnant. It is an amazing feeling. i couldn’t imagine not being pregnant at this particular stage. its such an unexpectedly, mind blowing-ly, awesome experience. and i would trade it for the world. but.....I am still jealous sometimes...

23 March 2009

welsh = afrwydd

Most mornings on the way to work i listen to my 'learn Welsh' CD's. i am determined that little Eli will be bilingual. Ideally I would like him to speak English, Welsh and Spanish. granted, I will need to speak all of those languages in order to teach Eli and help him along as he learns. and lets face it, sometimes I struggle with English!! But nevertheless, i am trying-fighting as hard as i can to learn Welsh. sadly, i am losing the battle. badly. Welsh is a very difficult language. the lofty language experts that be say that it is the fourth hardest language in the world to learn. i agree with that. although from my personal experience, i put welsh right up at the top. there are certain letters and sounds that i cant even pronounce let alone memorize. to make matters more difficult, Welsh has very few vowels. this makes it hard for the american who is used to being able to look at work and pronounce it somewhat phoneitically. I think this stems from the fact that the only other languages I have tried to learn are Spanish and Italian.

I attempted Italian for an 'impendent study' whilst in university. Teaching yourself, with tapes and workbooks, with no teacher to monitor progress? yeah, i set up myself up to fail on that one. Spanish I have been a bit more successful. I have taken Spanish classes off and on since I was in second grade. you think i would be fluent at this point. i am not. but i can get by, and i like that. i like that my basic Spanish was able to get me to a McDonalds late at night in Spain when the cops were ushering all the other foreigners down the street to cabs...my Spanish got us past the barrier, down the street and to the much coveted food! But now, Welsh has taken over. and let me give you an example of just how different it is.

English: Hello
Spanish: Hola
Italian: Ciao
Welsh: Shw mae

E: Goodbye
S: Addios
I: Addio, Arrivederci
W: Hwyl

E: Happy Birthday
S: Feliz Cumpelanos
I: Buon Compleanno
W: Penblwydd Hapus

E: Congratulations
S: Felicidades
I: Congratulazioni
W: Llongyfarchiadau

you get the picture..... lots of consonants, not a lot of vowels. I realise that since English, Italian and Spanish are all romance languages, they will be quite similar to one another. but since those are the only languages i have ever even attempted to learn...well it makes the welsh seem that much more insanely difficult. to me Welsh looks like a bunch of random letters throw together. yet magically people say these 'words' to each other and conversation ensues. i am astounded by how people speak this language. my sister-in-law speaks it fluently. in fact, her job is translating English to Welsh. all day long she speaks in this crazy hard language. its impressive. especially to me, the little American who is struggling to even remember the basics of normal conversation.

But I must truck on, for I desperately want little Eli to know Welsh. I am really determined that he will be aware of both sides of his heritage. Rhys is just as passionate about being Welsh as I am about being American. We want to raise Eli to be proud to be both. proud that he is special enough to come from two very different cultures. i know we can teach him about his American and Welsh heritage without the Welsh language, but i would love for that to be a part of it. Plus how great would it be to have our own secret family language? cause lets face it, with less than 500,000 people in the world that speak Welsh, its pretty safe to say that no one will speak welsh at Christmas holidays in Oklahoma!!

19 March 2009

my new love.

i love this website. Love is probably not a strong enough word. I completely and utterly adore this website. it is fantastic. It is amazing. everything is so expensive. but is that stopping me?.... well ok, it is. but I have purchased two of these irresistibly cute and incredible overpriced knitted creations. Go to the website and check out everything. its all so great.

if money was no option...below are a few of the things I would purchase. (the first two are the things that I have already purchased)

It is a little knitted bird rattle

These are rattles! In the shape of little fruits!

this one has a mohawk! and a tattoo on his arm!

a good lesson on pride

Just when i start to get comfortable with a lesson that I feel i have really grasped, something else happens. Ever feel like that? Like you have really started to make sense of what Jesus was trying to teach you and then suddenly...you are completely broadsided with something else? that happened to me yesterday. Let me explain....

Monday: I get a call from the head of finance. Lets call him 'P'
P: Kristina, we have a very important meeting on Wednesday that I really need you in for. It is at 10:30. Please make sure you are available."
Me: Sure, no problem. I will be there.

Tuesday: Head of finance calls again, just to make sure that i was planning on being there for the 'really important meeting' I say of course I am.

Wednesday: P shows up, some people show up. I happen to answer the door and show everyone to the conf room. Then go to find P. I also make a stop off at the bathroom because I have to pee constantly. Seriously, about every 15 minutes I feel like I need to run to the bathroom or I will explode. So off to pee I went.

Upon returning to the conference room, i found everyone seated. P walked in a few seconds after me and I thought, oh good, meeting ready to start. and this is what happened...

P: oh good your are here. I would like a coffee, white no sugar. What does everyone else want? Kristina will run along and get it.
I think my facial expression gave away my true emotions. Shock, annoyance, frustration....what I wanted to say was 'get your own coffee' and whilst I did not verbally say that, i am pretty sure my face said it. bad move kristina, bad move.

I went to get the coffee and tea for everyone. but the whole time I did I was really annoyed. Why in the world did P call twice to make sure I was going to be there? Just to make sure he didn’t have to get the coffee and tea himself? really? is that all I am good for? In this company, apparently so. I run across the street to get milk for people when they run out, get more coffee, bring it in to meetings. since when did i become a secretary!!?! and then it hit me. like a ton of bricks. i am overflowing with pride.

Am i really that arrogant that I cannot be grateful for the fact that I have an easy job, in this difficult economic climate, that pays me extremely well to basically do nothing? how am i not grateful for that? how can i forget that God has blessed me with so much at this time, not the least of which is excellent maternity leave!? enter pride. it just seeps in and starts to tear away at your grateful and gentle spirit, making you easily annoyed, visibly frustrated and verbally negative. so whilst i feel I am learning quite a bit about simplicity, apparently I still have quite a lot to learn about pride.

18 March 2009

an VERY angry post

I have been mulling this over in my mind for a while now. I was so angry, so appalled and so infuriated when I heard about this that I couldn’t even speak about it without tears springing into my eyes and an audible shake coming into my voice. Even now, over a week later, i am still seething. But i cannot ignore this anymore. There have been newspaper reports, editorials, opinions, and many discussions. and it seems the majority of the British public are equally outraged. Anyone who knows me, or has read this blog, is aware of my love for the military. Not all military action, but the soldiers and the institution itself. I think the men and women who fight for this great country deserve the utmost respect and admiration.

Yet what did the 2nd Battalion Royal Anglican Regiment receive when they came home and had a celebratory march through the streets of town? dozens and dozens of muslim protests. Cowards, murderers, butchers, and shouts of 'go to hell' is what they were greeted with. The soldiers were taunted, jeered at and even had dozen of huge signs berating them with negative and offensive messages as they marched by. they were met with crowds of people not protesting the war, but protesting them, as people, as soldiers. even now as I write my hands are starting to shake and I am fighting back tears.

These are men and women who signed up to serve their country. who are willing and ready to fight and die to for the cause that their country sends them to fight. I am not saying every person in the service, here or in America, agrees with the war in Iraq. But they still go because that is their duty. They deserve our admiration for being willing to sacrifice comfort, security, family and friends. Whether or not you agree with the war, the soldiers who go, who risk life and limb, are our true heroes.

In light of this protest, many have come back with the argument that in the UK it is legal to have 'peaceful' demonstrations. Indeed that is the muslims leaders main argument. Fine. i will not disagree that you can protest the war until you are blue in the face. But lets be honest here. Those who went out to protest as the troops were marching through town were doing so to cause a scene, to make a very obnoxious point, to cause disruption. That is inappropriate and completely out of line. It doesn’t show courage to go out and protest against returning soldiers. (3 of that particular regiment were killed whilst on duty) It is an act of cowardice to stand behind a hateful sign, shouting negative and derogatory remarks at fellow human beings when they march by. It is unbelievable, it is infuriating.

Several newspapers have featured editorials and articles with that very opinion; that it was extremely inappropriate to protest at the time they did, in the manner they choose to. The leaders of the protest have come back with the argument that it is their right and to try to take it away would be discrimination. One even mentioned that the very mention that the protest was inappropriate was discrimination in itself. I realise that what i am about to say is slightly off topic and will more than likely come off negative and racists, but so be it. I don’t care what religion you are, what colour you are, what you choose to do in your spare time, but the second that any person, people group, religion or race starts to behave negatively towards the country and their countrymen who have so graciously taken them...well enough is enough. at least half a dozen of the protesters who people who are known to be in the UK on asylum. People who choose to leave their own country due to persecution to come to this country, which has so graciously let them in. The UK has different laws than a muslim country. Why? because it is not a muslim country. pretty simple. If you feel that the UK is not muslim friendly, that the government is not bending over backwards to accommodate islamic law, that you will have to abide by the British laws, and if you have a problem with that...you have the choice to leave. If you are of the persuasion that because you are a muslim you should only be accountable to islamic law...then move to an islamic country.

you do not have the right to shout negative remarks at returning soldiers. you do not have the right claim discrimination every time something doesn’t go your way. you do not have the right to demand a different law, expect people to bend over backwards to accommodate your needs. you who have chosen to live in the UK, you must accept the law and rules of the British government. or leave. And just to be clear, the you in this diatribe is not specific. it is addressed to all of the 'yous' out there who have chosen to negatively and inappropriately protest, all the 'yous' who have chosen to demand extra rights and privileges only to cry abuse when not given it. you could be muslim, American, Chinese, black, white, male, female...it doesn’t matter. However for this specific instance, i refer to the muslims. Not all muslims; i have some good friends who are muslims, who do not behave like this. but those radical and verbal muslims who feel the rest of the world owes them something. and it is fresh in my mind as it has been in the news, the papers, an even closer to home....as the soldiers marched through the streets of Watford. my town. my turf. and they need to back off.

forgive me as I have gotten slightly off base. but the point remains. I am so angered by people who, just because they believe differently, feel they have the right to belittle and degrade another human being. Those soldiers should have been through hell and back. They have seen and lived in places that you and I would not even like to imagine. I know its cliché and I realise that the war in Iraq and say, World War II are quite different, but the duty of the solider remains the same. to fight for our freedom. to protect us, to serve us, and some even die for us. They deserve more from us than we can ever give. Remembrance Day, Veterans Day...those are not enough to show our appreciation. Those soldiers should have felt appreciated, loved, celebrated and welcomed as they marched through the streets. I am disgusted to think of what they were met with instead.

Not to down play the hundreds that came out in a show of support. flags were waved, children were yelling, shouts of 'well done' and 'welcome home' were also heard. Many of the supporters turned on the protesters, yelling at them, showing their anger. One man climbed atop a telephone pole and threw packets of bacon at the muslim supporters. I am not advocating that kind of behaviour as I feel that is just stooping to a negative level, but he made his point. You are not welcome here. and that is how i feel. If you want to come out to protest against the laws of the UK, want to claim discrimination and want to label the returning soldiers cowards and murderers...well you can shut the hell up or get the hell out.

17 March 2009

space and a giant library

I have been looking at 2 bedroom flats on the off chance that there will be a bargain and something wonderfully amazing, yet cheap, will magically appear. nothing has and I seriously doubt that anything will. honestly though? i have no desire to move. I really want more space but do not want the hassle that comes along with a move. changing your address, letting family and friends know, letting every company you use know, changing phone lines, internet providers, t.v., figuring out a new way to get to work, walk to town, an entire new time frame for everything, not to mention the packing and unpacking and cleaning. really i just cant be bothered. especially since I know it wont be permanent. I just have no desire to move until its to a house we are buying and will stay in for a while.

But as a result of not wanting to move and having small space, i need to get rid of stuff. I have such a hard time with that though, because what do you get rid of really? books? decorations? picture frames? clothes? scarves? It is such a challenge to me deciding what I really do and dont need. 'need' is probably too strong of a word, because i venture to say that all the things in question are all things that i could do without. i probably dont need any of it. i mean really, do you need a picture frame to live? no, i just want it. But I could have a lot more space if there was less 'stuff' Perhaps I really need to go through my flat with the mindset of "if it has not been used within 4 months then get rid of it" But alas, I am such a pack rat that I really struggle when it comes to giving things away. Maybe it is just me, but i always have the same conversation with myself:

"you never use/wear/carry/read this. It is time to get rid of it" So I put said article in give-away-bag and walk away. but then....

"wait...I may use/wear/carry/read this particular article if I had a fancy dress party to go to, or if it was warmer/colder or if I was really bored, or when i decide to not watch t.v. again, or if I gain/lose some weight" So I proceed to take said item out of the give-away-bag and put it back in the house.

I will go through this process with nearly everything. The only reason I ever manage to give anything away is because after an item has been through this "let it go, no i still need it" process 3 or 4 times, then I will finally let it go. seriously? why not just let it go the first time? Or better yet, why not buy it in the first place. But that is an entirely different problem all its own. What it all comes down to is this: I will have nearly enough space if i could convince myself to get rid of the stuff that i dont use/wear/carry/read no matter how good my excuse is for why I still need it!

I find books particularly difficult to get rid of though. I aspire to have a huge library in my home one day. the kind of library that 'the beast' has in Beauty and the Beast. In case you have never seen that classic Disney cartoon; the library stretches from floor to ceiling in the tallest room I have ever seen. Easily a 4 story library with a giant ladder that swings around the room on wheels. That is the kind of library I want. How can I possibly have enough books t fill such a room if I get rid of them? I have started Eli's library though. Granted he wont be reading independently for quite a while, but i have already started reading to him. so far Eli has the complete set of Beatrix Potter classics in hardback, which are my favourite, and 6 other children’s books. The Hungry Caterpillar, Guess How Much I Love You, Edwina: The dinosaur who didn’t know she was extinct, a Noah story with finger puppets, and two Oliver Jeffers classics: How to Catch a Star and Lost and Found I love his little collection! such a good start.

Speaking of love, I must dwell upon Oliver Jeffers for a moment. He is fantastic. I really love his writing and illustrations. How to Catch a Star is such a fantastic children's book. Go to his website and check it out. even if you have no children and no desire to buy children’s books. he also does adult illustration and art. He is a unique fellow and worth a look. I highly recommend it. But go with an open mind. It is not your typical "ok look a pretty mountain landscape" Its a bit more, well, shall we say "off" than that? But go and look. you wont be disappointed. And as a bit of direction, to get to the children’s book, click on the picture book link.

I feel like there are additional thoughts...but nothing else is coming in a clear and concise manner. Plus I was thinking today, who really wants to know about my cleaning habits and Eli's book collection? Are those things even relevant? Probably not, but that is what has come out at the moment. I have a really strong desire to write about a particular protest that took place last week...but am still very angry and have yet been able to write about it without lots of cursing coming out. so that will have to wait.

16 March 2009

next time, i will hit you.

Last Wednesday started out as a normal day. Got up late, rushed around the house, left in a hurry, spilled milk on my jeans once i was already in the car and it was too late to change...yeah, pretty typical. I was minding my business, driving to work, talking to Eli, singing the Stereophonics to him (might as well start him early on the 'phonics) when this moron decided to pull out in front of me at a roundabout. He did not enough have room or time. he was an idiot. and his idiotic move left me with two choices: hit him or slam on my brakes whilst swerving in an attempt to avoid hitting him. i choose the later. next time, i will hit him.

I slammed on my brakes which resulted in the seatbelt pulling much too tight across my stomach and then me hitting the steering wheel. poor little Eli. intense pain and bleeding followed. and a MASSIVE freak out by me also followed. it was not cool. So i drove myself to the hospital closest to work only to discover that they did not have an emergency room and would not see me. I spoke with a doctor who suggested that I wait 45 minutes for the next bus that would take me 25 minutes down the road to a hospital. um, really? that is the best idea you have? no thanks. So back in my car I went. At this point I am crying so hard that I can barely see (probably why the doctor suggested I take the bus) and can barely speak. So what do I do? Call rhys and drive of course. the natural thing to do when all of your abilities are impaired. I get Rhys on the phone, who can barely decipher what I am saying, finally communicate to him what happened and explain that I am driving to Watford to the hospital. so what does Rhys do? Drops everything he is doing and runs off his site. doesn’t stop to grab his bag, talk to his boss, anything...off he goes to the train station to start his 2 hour journey to get to his freaked out, crying uncontrollably, having a melt-down, wife.

The M25 was perfectly clear. I credit Jesus for this miraculous feat first thing in the morning. I make it to Watford in 25 minutes, which is fantastic timing, and straight into the ER I go. I explained to them that i was in a wreck, pregnant, in pain, bleeding and generally just freaking out. Although i am pretty sure they could see all of that for themselves. Within minutes I was whisked away in a wheel chair upstairs to the labour and delivery suite. Apparently anything over 20 weeks they immediately take you to delivery. those words freaked me out even more. everyone was SUPER nice, really reassuring and by the time I got to the delivery room Rhys was frantically calling my phone saying he was at the hospital and couldn’t find me. Again, I credit Jesus with Rhys' amazing time on the trains. usually a two hour journey and somehow he made it in less than half that time.

Although it’s probably a bit too late at this point, but to make a long story short, we heard the heartbeat straight away, had a scan, saw several doctors, had loads of tests and blood work done, and everything came back fine. No problem with me. no problem with little Eli. I had to stay in for a day and night just to make sure, but was released with a clean bill of health. eli is completely fine. And on a side note, I was VERY impressed with the NHS for the entire process. They were quick, efficient, effective, very calming and very thorough. I feel much more at ease about giving birth on the NHS at this point.

So crazy idiot man, if you are reading this, next time you pull a stupid move like you did last week, I will hit you. I hope someone hits you because you deserve to have your car smashed. You caused me lots of tears last week. I would have had much less of an impact had i just continued going at my slow speed and hit your car. Make no mistake, next time I will hit you. and i wont think twice about it.

9 March 2009


I am 20 weeks and 4 days pregnant. I finally look pregnant. not fat. pregnant. not 20 weeks, maybe 14 or 15 based on others....but still. I no longer look chubby; like the kid who ate too many twinkies and never ran around at recess. nope. not me anymore. I look pregnant. finally.

3 March 2009

todays recommendation

if you are like me and so bored at your job that by 11am you are completely out of things to do...including looking at Facebook and every blog imaginable, I have the perfect solution.

Seriously. This is brilliant and has now occupied me for going on 1 and half hours.

Go to you tube and search for old cartoon themes. It is fantastic. Popples, Rainbow Brite, Transformers, Fraggle Rock, My Little Pony, Care Bears...ah. Those were the good ole' days.

Only down fall? I currently have the Gummie Bears jingle in my head. "gummie bears, bouncing here and there and everywhere....."

ah, that makes me smile.

the past few days several things that have happened that have brought a huge smile to my face. i have decided to share. and, since I love lists so much, I will share in list form.

1. Saturday night. This past Saturday was a HUGE day, on which more details will be offered later. But the night bit...ooohh it was a good laugh. James was DJ-ing at Druids so off we all went. It was some woman's 40th birthday party and the pub was overflowing with 40 plus woman dancing like they were 16! If that is not good for a laugh, then i don’t know what is. But the part in particular that brought a smile to my face was this.... Let me tell you the story. James was playing 80's and early 90's music. some of my favourites. In particular, Billy Joel's 'We didnt start the fire' A classic. I was pulling out some super cool moves, you know, running man, wave, mashed potato. At one point I even put all my hair up into a pony tail at the very top on my head and did the head-swing-head-bang-really-cool-80's-move. Yeah, I am awesome. After all of this cool dancing, whilst I was taking a break, drinking my water, chatting with Hannah, a guy comes over to me and says "so I was just wondering...are you connected to any of those guys over there" pointing to the rugby boys on the couch. Really? Am I getting hit on? Dancing like a moron? With a pony tail on top of my head? 5 months pregnant?!!? I replied that yes, I was married to one of the guys on the couch, and pointed at Rhys (who at this point had realised what was going on and had not the friendliest expression on his face) the guy turned to Rhys and said "man, you are one lucky guy" and just walked off. HA! and to think that I had been feeling fat! We had a good laugh about that one after he left. random guy hitting on the married, pregnant lady. Sadly, this goes to show to my constant complaint that although I am 5 months pregnant, you cant tell at all. but all the same, it made me smile.

2. Living in Europe. In particular the greetings. I don’t know how many of you reading this know or remember Nick Ogle, but he always harped on about 'greeting each other with the holy kiss' Unfortunately that never really took at JBU, but it is how people greet one another over here. and i love it. its very welcoming, very comforting. Take this morning in my office. We are having a big meeting today; the guys from France, Germany and the UK are all meeting together. This is my team. These are the guys that I really enjoy working with. So as they filtered in this morning it was one kiss on one cheek for the Brits and the Germans and a kiss on each cheek for the French. And it made me smile. So different from an American office that consists of stiff handshakes and 'how do you dos' This was, well warm. and it made me smile.

3. Baby Show. Saturday was the London baby show. It was massive. there were loads of pregnant people, little babies, crazy people running around trying to find a bargain. I went with Sam and Hannah. and it was fantastic. We were only there a few hours and I really didn’t buy all that much. Really the only things were a blanket/coat thing for little Eli in the winter and the kind of cloth diapers that I wanted. Bum Genius. woo hoo, i was excited to see those! But we spent the day out in London. baby show, lunch, hang out time, coffee. it was nice. and it made me smile.

4. An hour work out. Ok, so that may not make everyone happy, but i was really quite pleased with myself yesterday. For the first time since I have been pregnant, I feel like I really got a good work out. Coming from the habit of lifting and running a minimum of a 5K a day, to well....being pregnant and having to limit myself. it was a challenge. so I was quite pleased yesterday that i managed to get a good, solid hour of working out in. it really made me smile. and my legs a bit sore today.