Friday with Finn

Dear Mr. Favre,

My first season of football was going to be a great one because my most favorite team in the whole wide world, the Vikings, were going to be playing the first game. I was so excited that I put on my favorite Vikings onesie for the occassion. I even put on Dad's Helga Hat, but it's too big for me; I guess I need to grow a bigger head.

Anyway, Mr. Favre, you were playing a pretty good game...the best game I've ever seen, although technically, it's also the first game I've ever seen, but let's not cloud the issue with facts. I thought my Vikings onesie was going to be your good luck charm and I had plans to wear it every game you play for the rest of the season. Maybe even every day for the rest of the season if my Mama will let me.

Then I threw up on it. And you lost. I guess I laid on the bottle a little too hard during the first half.

I'll try better next time.

Love, your biggest (littlest?) fan,

Finn Hefter

Dear Mr. Favre,

My first season of football was going to be a great one because my most favorite team in the whole wide world, the Vikings, were going to be playing the first game. I was so excited that I put on my favorite Vikings onesie for the occassion. I even put on Dad's Helga Hat, but it's too big for me; I guess I need to grow a bigger head.

Anyway, Mr. Favre, you were playing a pretty good game...the best game I've ever seen, although technically, it's also the first game I've ever seen, but let's not cloud the issue with facts. I thought my Vikings onesie was going to be your good luck charm and I had plans to wear it every game you play for the rest of the season. Maybe even every day for the rest of the season if my Mama will let me.

Then I threw up on it. And you lost. I guess I laid on the bottle a little too hard during the first half.

I'll try better next time.

Love, your biggest (littlest?) fan,

Finn Hefter

City Market

I am an attention-whore. At least that's what Uriah called me when I dressed Finn up in his little zebra outfit to go to City Market on Saturday.

I wish you could see the tail on the back of this.

In my defense, we took him to the doctor first because he had a bit of a stuffy nose. I fully admit to being over-protective and wanting a medical professional to tell me that my kid had not picked up the Swine Flu during his first week at daycare. It cost me $20, but peace of mind is priceless. It was a little windy on Saturday so I wanted to keep his ears covered and, well, in all honesty, the zebra suit was calling my name. And really, is it my fault that he's just so damn cute and people oohed and ahhed and exclaimed to each other in reverent voices, "Look at that cute baby!" In fact, it can probably be considered a public service. Think of all the smiles that Finn created; the world was a better place on Saturday because of his zebra suit.

Yes, she is wearing a Justin Bieber shirt.
She has the Bieber-Fever.

Back to City Market...we went on a mission to get tomatoes so that I could make my Mama's Tomato Soup recipe. It is the most delicious goodness in the world and pretty much the only tomato soup I drink. But it takes a lot of tomatoes. And a juicer, but I don't have one of those (another story for another time). And, being Labor Day weekend, it was busy! We maneuvered the stroller through the crowds and somehow ended up with tomatoes, corn on the cob, some hot peppers that Uriah plans stuff with cheese and chicken later this week and then grill (I may have to have a beer with this little treat!). And purple peppers.


Purple peppers, you might ask? What does one do with a purple pepper? Good question. I asked Uriah and Abby the same thing. They had no idea. I'm pretty sure Uriah only bought them because Abby thought they looked pretty. So I did a little research. Purple peppers get their color from anthocyanin, which is the same antioxidant found in blueberries. Purple peppers are apparently not as sweet as red, orange or yellow peppers, but they stay crunchy after cooking better than the other pepper colors. The purple color will also leak out of the pepper when it is immersed in water, so it won't always look as bright and pretty after it's cooked. For this reason, I want to try a recipe that doesn't require cooking them in water or steaming them (such as a stuffed pepper would). I found an English Pea Salad that doesn't cook the pepper at all and a Multi-Pepper Salad that roasts the pepper. If I have enough of the purples, I might just try them both. And if you're going to be at Aaron and Angie's this weekend you'll get a taste!

We're going back to City Market in a couple of weeks to see what new fall produce is available. I'm looking forward to squashes and pumpkins. Maybe some apples to make apple sauce with. And crisp weather and jeans and sweaters and hats and crunchy leaves and seeing my breath. Reality check: this is Missouri, so I'll have to wait for November for any of that! But I can still make an apple pie and pretend it's fall...and Finn has an owl hat to sport.

I am an attention-whore. At least that's what Uriah called me when I dressed Finn up in his little zebra outfit to go to City Market on Saturday.

I wish you could see the tail on the back of this.

In my defense, we took him to the doctor first because he had a bit of a stuffy nose. I fully admit to being over-protective and wanting a medical professional to tell me that my kid had not picked up the Swine Flu during his first week at daycare. It cost me $20, but peace of mind is priceless. It was a little windy on Saturday so I wanted to keep his ears covered and, well, in all honesty, the zebra suit was calling my name. And really, is it my fault that he's just so damn cute and people oohed and ahhed and exclaimed to each other in reverent voices, "Look at that cute baby!" In fact, it can probably be considered a public service. Think of all the smiles that Finn created; the world was a better place on Saturday because of his zebra suit.

Yes, she is wearing a Justin Bieber shirt.
She has the Bieber-Fever.

Back to City Market...we went on a mission to get tomatoes so that I could make my Mama's Tomato Soup recipe. It is the most delicious goodness in the world and pretty much the only tomato soup I drink. But it takes a lot of tomatoes. And a juicer, but I don't have one of those (another story for another time). And, being Labor Day weekend, it was busy! We maneuvered the stroller through the crowds and somehow ended up with tomatoes, corn on the cob, some hot peppers that Uriah plans stuff with cheese and chicken later this week and then grill (I may have to have a beer with this little treat!). And purple peppers.


Purple peppers, you might ask? What does one do with a purple pepper? Good question. I asked Uriah and Abby the same thing. They had no idea. I'm pretty sure Uriah only bought them because Abby thought they looked pretty. So I did a little research. Purple peppers get their color from anthocyanin, which is the same antioxidant found in blueberries. Purple peppers are apparently not as sweet as red, orange or yellow peppers, but they stay crunchy after cooking better than the other pepper colors. The purple color will also leak out of the pepper when it is immersed in water, so it won't always look as bright and pretty after it's cooked. For this reason, I want to try a recipe that doesn't require cooking them in water or steaming them (such as a stuffed pepper would). I found an English Pea Salad that doesn't cook the pepper at all and a Multi-Pepper Salad that roasts the pepper. If I have enough of the purples, I might just try them both. And if you're going to be at Aaron and Angie's this weekend you'll get a taste!

We're going back to City Market in a couple of weeks to see what new fall produce is available. I'm looking forward to squashes and pumpkins. Maybe some apples to make apple sauce with. And crisp weather and jeans and sweaters and hats and crunchy leaves and seeing my breath. Reality check: this is Missouri, so I'll have to wait for November for any of that! But I can still make an apple pie and pretend it's fall...and Finn has an owl hat to sport.

Write what you know.

Once upon a time (or about a year ago), I thought that blogging would be a good idea. Since I was about to get married, I decided I would wax poetic about all the things going on in my life. I had grandiose ideas to write about planning, being a step-mom and being a newly wed. I could write about living away from my family and my not-so-exciting-but-it-pays-the-bills job. I spent more time daydreaming about what I could write about than I actually spent writing. Oh, I tried to pick it up every now and again. I’d write an entry here and there, but it was nothing consistent.

I got married and it was beautiful and hectic and stressful and one of the happiest days of my life. And I didn’t write about it. Abby pulled some very interesting antics in the fifth grade that included passing notes and naughty words. I talked about it, but I didn’t write about it. Then I got pregnant and life got in the way. There was always and excuse not to write. It was snowing. I didn’t feel good. There was laundry to do. We were moving. I was getting stuff ready for the baby. And then the baby came and with him came some of the most beautiful and hectic and stressful moments…that I didn’t write about.

Since my Mama and my Dad live far away (580 miles, 9 hours and 3 states – but who’s getting technical?) I started sending them “Finn Updates” via email after Finn was born. I’d include pictures and little notes about what he’s doing and how he’s growing and then I’d add on what Abby’s doing and how her school is going and sometimes I’d even add in what Uriah and I were up to. And since I was sending the email to my Mama and my Dad, it was easy to include other family and friends in those updates, too.

Last week I got an email from my good friend Bees in response to the latest Finn update and she asked if I’d ever considered blogging? The idea was sparked again…but I took a couple of days to think about it. Could I do it? Could I make the commitment to write even once a week? After all, I was going back to work and Abby was back in school and my time was about to get stretched again. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that, technically, I’m already writing once a week in an email, and blogging is just a prettier way of sending it. Besides, my Mama always told me to write what I know, and what do I know better than my own little piece of the world?

And so, here it is…my commitment to myself to write at least once a week until the New Year. In January I will revisit this whole blogging thing and decide if I will keep going (provided I can keep writing). Until then, I’ve written it down for the Universe to see, so I feel as though I am accountable to myself to uphold my once-a-week posting. Feel free to hold me accountable, as well.

Once upon a time (or about a year ago), I thought that blogging would be a good idea. Since I was about to get married, I decided I would wax poetic about all the things going on in my life. I had grandiose ideas to write about planning, being a step-mom and being a newly wed. I could write about living away from my family and my not-so-exciting-but-it-pays-the-bills job. I spent more time daydreaming about what I could write about than I actually spent writing. Oh, I tried to pick it up every now and again. I’d write an entry here and there, but it was nothing consistent.

I got married and it was beautiful and hectic and stressful and one of the happiest days of my life. And I didn’t write about it. Abby pulled some very interesting antics in the fifth grade that included passing notes and naughty words. I talked about it, but I didn’t write about it. Then I got pregnant and life got in the way. There was always and excuse not to write. It was snowing. I didn’t feel good. There was laundry to do. We were moving. I was getting stuff ready for the baby. And then the baby came and with him came some of the most beautiful and hectic and stressful moments…that I didn’t write about.

Since my Mama and my Dad live far away (580 miles, 9 hours and 3 states – but who’s getting technical?) I started sending them “Finn Updates” via email after Finn was born. I’d include pictures and little notes about what he’s doing and how he’s growing and then I’d add on what Abby’s doing and how her school is going and sometimes I’d even add in what Uriah and I were up to. And since I was sending the email to my Mama and my Dad, it was easy to include other family and friends in those updates, too.

Last week I got an email from my good friend Bees in response to the latest Finn update and she asked if I’d ever considered blogging? The idea was sparked again…but I took a couple of days to think about it. Could I do it? Could I make the commitment to write even once a week? After all, I was going back to work and Abby was back in school and my time was about to get stretched again. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that, technically, I’m already writing once a week in an email, and blogging is just a prettier way of sending it. Besides, my Mama always told me to write what I know, and what do I know better than my own little piece of the world?

And so, here it is…my commitment to myself to write at least once a week until the New Year. In January I will revisit this whole blogging thing and decide if I will keep going (provided I can keep writing). Until then, I’ve written it down for the Universe to see, so I feel as though I am accountable to myself to uphold my once-a-week posting. Feel free to hold me accountable, as well.

Let the games begin!

This is it.
This is my life.

I looked around my living room yesterday and I couldn’t believe what it had become in just three short weeks. Car seat tucked by Larry the Leather Chair. Swing in the middle of the floor. Bouncy seat in the kitchen. Pacifier, tiny socks, burp cloth, and a rattle on the coffee table along with last weeks mail and the grocery store ads I have yet to go through. There’s a basket of clean baby clothes stuffed under the coffee table (out of sight out of mind? I’m going to need the onsies sooner rather than later). Half empty diet Pepsi can on the end table next to a completely empty bottle. Boppy and baby blanket on the sofa. TV muted to the news. And my cell phone half stuffed between the couch cushions next to the indentation of my butt because I have been either sitting or laying on that damn couch in that same spot for 80% of the last 3 weeks.

I used to be so organized. I used to be tidy. On the weekends I would clean my house – the tub and toilet, the dusting, the kitchen counters, the floors. On Tuesdays I would do laundry – I sort whites, darks, colors and pinks. I wash a separate load of towels. I used to bleach on the whites. My plants were watered regularly and my kitchen floor used to be swept clean. I used to have a menu planned for the week – usually 2 weeks in advance – and the ingredients to make those meals! Now I have random things on the counter buried under clean dishes that didn’t get put away and dirty dishes waiting to go into the dishwasher. I have baby diapers in a Diaper Genie that need to go out to the trash and I definitely need to change the sheets on my bed. I need to try on my “old” clothes – the ones that I wore a long time ago when I could see my feet. I can see my feet again, I’m just not sure I can see them diving into a pair of black dress pants and being able to button the top closed. I’m a little gun shy about trying on those clothes, to be quite honest, because I’m afraid they won’t fit and I’ll be disappointed. I have a box of shoes that I haven’t even looked at since we moved because I couldn’t fit in them and God knows that trying to balance in a cute pair of red heels is out of the question when you’re preggo and your feet have swollen to the size of small elephants. I think I’m a little gun shy about trying those shoes on, too, because I’m afraid they still won’t fit and I’ll be really disappointed. But, oh, I long to wear heels again!

So this is the picture of my life these days. It is messy and cluttered and still a little pudgy around the middle. The routine is shot to shit; I’m lucky if I can pull together spaghetti for dinner and sometimes I’ll admit I’ve resorted to cereal for lunch. I haven’t been to the grocery store in over a month. I haven’t dusted in nearly that long. The last time my floor got swept my mom was visiting. And that, too, was nearly a month ago.

But I’ve got a beautiful baby boy who is the spitting image of his Daddy. A boy who loves to be snuggled and looks at me with unabashed love because he knows that I am the keeper of the bottles, the one who changes him when he’s wet and rocks him and sings nonsense songs to him. I am the one who picks him up when he’s sad and comes to him at night when he wakes up. I am the one who smoothes his wild hair and rubs his back and bounces him when he’s bored. I am the one who puts lotion on his skin after a baby bath and kisses his head a billion times a day. He doesn’t care about the floors or the dust or the piles of unopened mail. He doesn’t care that I’ve been wearing the same yoga pants for three days now or that my hair is in a ponytail because I can’t be bothered to take a shower.

All he cares about is me; and I, him. And that, my friends, is enough.

This is it.
This is my life.

I looked around my living room yesterday and I couldn’t believe what it had become in just three short weeks. Car seat tucked by Larry the Leather Chair. Swing in the middle of the floor. Bouncy seat in the kitchen. Pacifier, tiny socks, burp cloth, and a rattle on the coffee table along with last weeks mail and the grocery store ads I have yet to go through. There’s a basket of clean baby clothes stuffed under the coffee table (out of sight out of mind? I’m going to need the onsies sooner rather than later). Half empty diet Pepsi can on the end table next to a completely empty bottle. Boppy and baby blanket on the sofa. TV muted to the news. And my cell phone half stuffed between the couch cushions next to the indentation of my butt because I have been either sitting or laying on that damn couch in that same spot for 80% of the last 3 weeks.

I used to be so organized. I used to be tidy. On the weekends I would clean my house – the tub and toilet, the dusting, the kitchen counters, the floors. On Tuesdays I would do laundry – I sort whites, darks, colors and pinks. I wash a separate load of towels. I used to bleach on the whites. My plants were watered regularly and my kitchen floor used to be swept clean. I used to have a menu planned for the week – usually 2 weeks in advance – and the ingredients to make those meals! Now I have random things on the counter buried under clean dishes that didn’t get put away and dirty dishes waiting to go into the dishwasher. I have baby diapers in a Diaper Genie that need to go out to the trash and I definitely need to change the sheets on my bed. I need to try on my “old” clothes – the ones that I wore a long time ago when I could see my feet. I can see my feet again, I’m just not sure I can see them diving into a pair of black dress pants and being able to button the top closed. I’m a little gun shy about trying on those clothes, to be quite honest, because I’m afraid they won’t fit and I’ll be disappointed. I have a box of shoes that I haven’t even looked at since we moved because I couldn’t fit in them and God knows that trying to balance in a cute pair of red heels is out of the question when you’re preggo and your feet have swollen to the size of small elephants. I think I’m a little gun shy about trying those shoes on, too, because I’m afraid they still won’t fit and I’ll be really disappointed. But, oh, I long to wear heels again!

So this is the picture of my life these days. It is messy and cluttered and still a little pudgy around the middle. The routine is shot to shit; I’m lucky if I can pull together spaghetti for dinner and sometimes I’ll admit I’ve resorted to cereal for lunch. I haven’t been to the grocery store in over a month. I haven’t dusted in nearly that long. The last time my floor got swept my mom was visiting. And that, too, was nearly a month ago.

But I’ve got a beautiful baby boy who is the spitting image of his Daddy. A boy who loves to be snuggled and looks at me with unabashed love because he knows that I am the keeper of the bottles, the one who changes him when he’s wet and rocks him and sings nonsense songs to him. I am the one who picks him up when he’s sad and comes to him at night when he wakes up. I am the one who smoothes his wild hair and rubs his back and bounces him when he’s bored. I am the one who puts lotion on his skin after a baby bath and kisses his head a billion times a day. He doesn’t care about the floors or the dust or the piles of unopened mail. He doesn’t care that I’ve been wearing the same yoga pants for three days now or that my hair is in a ponytail because I can’t be bothered to take a shower.

All he cares about is me; and I, him. And that, my friends, is enough.

Oh, Baby!

Sometime between late Sunday night and early Monday morning, Wee-Me decided to drop into the "go-position."

I swear it was the wierdest thing...I got up a billion times to pee on Sunday night/Monday morning and Wee-Me was always in the same spot, tucked up under my right rib with a little butt sticking out; then there was lots of wiggling early in the morning. When I finally sat up in bed to get up for the day, I could breathe easier, it wasn't such a chore to stand up and when I did stand up and looked down there was space between my boobs and my belly. I did a lot of internet research yesterday morning and most sites said around two weeks now. I have a drs apt on Thursday so I suppose I'll have a better idea after that. I have asked Wee-Me to mind the Mama and wait at least until Monday to make a grand debut since Emily and Jerad's wedding is on Saturday. We'll see...


On a side note, I talked to my own Mama yesterday and she told me that she and Sarah had gone to visit my Grandma. Mind you, I haven't seen my Grandma since November when I told her that I was pregnant and she told me, "It's about time." This from a 90-year old woman who has had a couple of minor strokes, broken a hip and wrist, has some dementia and really doesn't say that much. But she told my Mama during their visit that I was having a girl.

To say Uriah was over the moon would be an understatement. He has been convinced from the beginning that this is a girl baby and I have been just as convinced that it's a boy. He now thinks that his opinion has been confirmed and there's no reason for us to even think about boy names (we still haven't agreed on one).

Sometime between late Sunday night and early Monday morning, Wee-Me decided to drop into the "go-position."

I swear it was the wierdest thing...I got up a billion times to pee on Sunday night/Monday morning and Wee-Me was always in the same spot, tucked up under my right rib with a little butt sticking out; then there was lots of wiggling early in the morning. When I finally sat up in bed to get up for the day, I could breathe easier, it wasn't such a chore to stand up and when I did stand up and looked down there was space between my boobs and my belly. I did a lot of internet research yesterday morning and most sites said around two weeks now. I have a drs apt on Thursday so I suppose I'll have a better idea after that. I have asked Wee-Me to mind the Mama and wait at least until Monday to make a grand debut since Emily and Jerad's wedding is on Saturday. We'll see...


On a side note, I talked to my own Mama yesterday and she told me that she and Sarah had gone to visit my Grandma. Mind you, I haven't seen my Grandma since November when I told her that I was pregnant and she told me, "It's about time." This from a 90-year old woman who has had a couple of minor strokes, broken a hip and wrist, has some dementia and really doesn't say that much. But she told my Mama during their visit that I was having a girl.

To say Uriah was over the moon would be an understatement. He has been convinced from the beginning that this is a girl baby and I have been just as convinced that it's a boy. He now thinks that his opinion has been confirmed and there's no reason for us to even think about boy names (we still haven't agreed on one).