its just one of those days. I am grumpy. and for no reason really. can i blame the pregnancy? I feel really moody, really tired, and i have been crying all day for no reason. Perhaps its the stiches in my leg that I got friday. 11 stiches. no anthestic. crazy NHS. wouldnt give me anything becasue of the pregnancy. it hurt. its still sore. maybe thats it. or maybe its the fact that my boss just made me cry. yeah, im super cool like that. crying in the office.
but exciting news is that it is 24 days until my birthday and 3 days until we leave for America! woo hoo!
6 April 2009
2 April 2009
little battles....
I knew a girl a while back who had immigrated to America. Her entire family had moved to the states and they were spread across it. Mothers, sisters, brothers, cousins, the entire extended family had immigrated. except her dad. Her dad had chosen to stay in his home town. He sent his family thousands of miles away and he chose to stay. why? because he felt it was his duty.
see, the family was from Bogotá, Columbia. safe to say the drug capital of the world. as sad, and stereotypical, as it is, Columbia is now synonymous with drugs. they kind of go hang in hand. well, that and kidnapping. and this particular family? well, their dad was a judge. an honest judge. a judge who worked hard to remove drug dealers and drug users from the streets. a judge who gives out harsh sentences, a judge who could not be bribed. a judge who felt it his duty to serve the country he loved so much. a country that he remember much differently from what it has now become. and he was determined to do whatever he could to try to bring Columbia back to its former glory; to take the country back from the drug dealers and criminals.
But since the dad in said family was an honest judge, and determined to stay honest, his family was not safe. Criminals don’t take too kindly when their livelihood is threatened. Assassination attempts, countless break-ins, car bombs, attempting kidnappings, and unbelievable security for any family member any time they wanted to leave the house. even for school. These kids had 3 bodyguards each when the went to school. body guards that never left their side. Finally it reached a point where enough was enough. The family, the entire family, was shipped off to America under the cover of night, using decoys. Names were changed when they reached America and special arrangements were made with the US government to ensure protection. and the dad stayed behind. Why? because Columbia is his country and he wasn’t about to let anyone run him off. He would stay and fight, sometimes completely on his own, for as long as it took.
His life is threatened daily. His home has been destroyed. Cars run off the road, offices bombed. He has been shot at, stabbed and people have tried to kidnap him more times than he can count. Yet he stays and he fights. 'Little battles' he says, they are just 'little battles'. they dont seem so little to me. Take for example the family home. The home that my friend and her family grew up in, the home so full of memories, of pictures, of belongings. When the honourable judge returned home from work one day he found the home open, completely ransacked and smelling of gasoline. Police and his bodyguards quickly realised it was a deadly trap and instructed him to turn around, walk out the door, dont look back and never return. The house soon exploded. completely destroyed. that seems like a pretty big battle to me.
and he stays on still. Last i knew, he was still alive. still fighting. still trying to defend his country and his people against those who want to destroy it. still an honest judge. and what does he say? "little battles make you stronger and prepare you to fight the real war" He is a strong man. he is an admirable man. i only wish i had a tenth of his strength to fight for the things that I truly believe in.
see, the family was from Bogotá, Columbia. safe to say the drug capital of the world. as sad, and stereotypical, as it is, Columbia is now synonymous with drugs. they kind of go hang in hand. well, that and kidnapping. and this particular family? well, their dad was a judge. an honest judge. a judge who worked hard to remove drug dealers and drug users from the streets. a judge who gives out harsh sentences, a judge who could not be bribed. a judge who felt it his duty to serve the country he loved so much. a country that he remember much differently from what it has now become. and he was determined to do whatever he could to try to bring Columbia back to its former glory; to take the country back from the drug dealers and criminals.
But since the dad in said family was an honest judge, and determined to stay honest, his family was not safe. Criminals don’t take too kindly when their livelihood is threatened. Assassination attempts, countless break-ins, car bombs, attempting kidnappings, and unbelievable security for any family member any time they wanted to leave the house. even for school. These kids had 3 bodyguards each when the went to school. body guards that never left their side. Finally it reached a point where enough was enough. The family, the entire family, was shipped off to America under the cover of night, using decoys. Names were changed when they reached America and special arrangements were made with the US government to ensure protection. and the dad stayed behind. Why? because Columbia is his country and he wasn’t about to let anyone run him off. He would stay and fight, sometimes completely on his own, for as long as it took.
His life is threatened daily. His home has been destroyed. Cars run off the road, offices bombed. He has been shot at, stabbed and people have tried to kidnap him more times than he can count. Yet he stays and he fights. 'Little battles' he says, they are just 'little battles'. they dont seem so little to me. Take for example the family home. The home that my friend and her family grew up in, the home so full of memories, of pictures, of belongings. When the honourable judge returned home from work one day he found the home open, completely ransacked and smelling of gasoline. Police and his bodyguards quickly realised it was a deadly trap and instructed him to turn around, walk out the door, dont look back and never return. The house soon exploded. completely destroyed. that seems like a pretty big battle to me.
and he stays on still. Last i knew, he was still alive. still fighting. still trying to defend his country and his people against those who want to destroy it. still an honest judge. and what does he say? "little battles make you stronger and prepare you to fight the real war" He is a strong man. he is an admirable man. i only wish i had a tenth of his strength to fight for the things that I truly believe in.
1 April 2009
6 months gone and 29 days left
I am 4 months away from Indefinite Leave to Remain (UK Residency), 1 year and 4 months away from citizenship, 29 days away from my birthday (yes, the count down has begun already), 1 day away from going to Wales, 1 week and 3 days away from going to America for holiday.....and I am officially 6 months pregnant. to the day, exactly, i am 6 months pregnant. crazy.
I feel like lately I have been measuring my days in terms of counting down. How much longer until Eli comes, how many days until America, how long i have before i have to renew my visa etc. Recently I have added maternity pictures from Katie to the list. I am really excited about that. especially since for the past several months my camera has been either lost or broken, I feel like I dont have a lot of pictures of my pregnancy. i am glad katie will be around to take some pictures of it for me :)
Usually April is the time that I begin my birthday countdown. Those that have known me for longer than a year can vouch for this. Rarely does a day go by in April that everyone I know is not made aware that my birthday is coming up. Not because I am expecting presents, but because I just generally really like my birthday. and i like everyone else to know about it. Last year Rhys and I both took off and went into the city for the day, mostly in the hope of getting a new tattoo. That was my birthday present last year. And my birthday present this year? (yes, i already know what it is) AC/DC concert tickets!! woo hoo!!! They are playing London in June and I cant wait! knowing me I will probably start a countdown to that as well. 2 months and 26 days until AC/DC.
So whilst I am quite excited that I only have 29 days until my birthday, I am even more excited that i am already 6 months pregnant. At the moment though? i am the most excited that I only have 10 minutes until I am leaving work. woo hoo, I am going home!!
I feel like lately I have been measuring my days in terms of counting down. How much longer until Eli comes, how many days until America, how long i have before i have to renew my visa etc. Recently I have added maternity pictures from Katie to the list. I am really excited about that. especially since for the past several months my camera has been either lost or broken, I feel like I dont have a lot of pictures of my pregnancy. i am glad katie will be around to take some pictures of it for me :)
Usually April is the time that I begin my birthday countdown. Those that have known me for longer than a year can vouch for this. Rarely does a day go by in April that everyone I know is not made aware that my birthday is coming up. Not because I am expecting presents, but because I just generally really like my birthday. and i like everyone else to know about it. Last year Rhys and I both took off and went into the city for the day, mostly in the hope of getting a new tattoo. That was my birthday present last year. And my birthday present this year? (yes, i already know what it is) AC/DC concert tickets!! woo hoo!!! They are playing London in June and I cant wait! knowing me I will probably start a countdown to that as well. 2 months and 26 days until AC/DC.
So whilst I am quite excited that I only have 29 days until my birthday, I am even more excited that i am already 6 months pregnant. At the moment though? i am the most excited that I only have 10 minutes until I am leaving work. woo hoo, I am going home!!
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!
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...
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!!
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!
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!
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