"Baking" Fashion

For whatever reason, I am diametrically opposed to the words 'pregnant' and 'preggo'. I can't blame it on the hormones, either, as I've never really thought of them as very feminine or attractive words. (and yes, I do have a thing for words)

So I've decided I'm not either one of these things. Rather, I am 'baking' a bun. And as a coworker informed me recently, one of the most rewarding aspects of 'baking' ... is the new wardrobe shopping. So I thought I'd give it a go.

In deference to the unexplained vintage-y/off-beat fashion bender I'm on, I decide to do some online shopping for "Vintage Maternity Clothes."

Oh, my dearest ladies who happened to be baking in the last 40 years. While there admittedly were a lot of cute items that came out of your years - even some that I will likely sport - I can say with utter confidence that I never, ever, ever want to see how the words 'tent dress' or 'muumuu' actually look when on my person.

What a week.

Starting on Wednesday last week, there were literally and figuratively tornadoes ripping through my life. Here's how things went down. The DH was taken to the ER on Wednesday morning with stroke-like symptoms, and that evening they decided to transfer him to St. Luke's. While he was there, they did a whole battery of tests. The doctors, nurses and other staff were absolutely wonderful.

Also on Thursday evening, a vicious twister tore through the countryside here, and among other horrid acts, managed to swoop up a very, very dear lady who will be terribly missed.

On Friday morning, the results of several of DH's tests came back and it was determined that he did indeed have a couple of mini-strokes. He has a VERY, VERY small bit of his brain that was affected (the size of a pencil eraser). He has no motor skills damage, no lingering physical or mental issues at all. So, in that, he is EXTREMELY blessed. The doctors released him on Friday with a prescription for a cholesterol-lowering drug, and orders to take a daily baby aspirin, and (I quote), "Get your sh!t together."

AND, after I got him out of the hospital on Friday, I think I almost gave him another stroke, as I broke the news to him that he's got another reason to get his stuff together: I've got a bun in the oven. Yep. It'll be done baking right around Christmastime. (I had been to the doctor on Wednesday morning, the same day as his stroke, and the tornado. I think I'm gonna call this kid Captain Mayhem!)

Anyway. That's the news update. Thank you again for sending good vibes in our direction, it was definitely needed/appreciated.

To the tune of 'Jingle Bells'

Dashing through the mud
With one boot on, one off
Wish I had the other boot
But I don't have time to stop!

Once the cows are in
I skip o'er to my boot
It's barely seen above the mud
And I about can't pull it out!

Oh, working cows!
Working cows!
Fun for everyone!
The only part that ain't real cool
Is the laundry that needs done.

Less power, more tool.

Sorry, hammer. I didn't know you were so cheap.

Or that I'm such a badass.

Either way, you're destined for the Great Toolbox in the Sky. Happy trails.

I'll whip your will.

Early this week, I was sung awake at about 4:45 to the tune of 'whip-poor-WILL! whip-poor-WILL!' The little dude was, I exaggerate not, sitting ON my windowsill. He was cute, and he had a lot to say, so I just smiled and put my head under the pillow for a few more winks.

Then he showed up the next morning, same unGodly time. And THIS time, he managed to awaken the DH as well. Which ain't no small feat, I'll vouch. It being strike one between the DH and the bird, though, DH accepted it as a happy early riser and went back to sleep.

Ah, but the next morning was too much. Whipoorwill had entirely too much to say at entirely too early of an hour. It was closer to 3 AM on Wednesday when the DH skipped strike two, went directly to strike three, and put the shushdown on the wee feathery puffball.

heh.

Not to be discouraged, however, Whipoorwill has maintained his ever-flowing crowing. I can still hear him in the small hours of the day, talking up a storm, but he is decidedly further from the window ... although I think he gets more courageous and a little closer every morning.