He's a problem solver, that one

In case it wasn't obvious before, I'm in full-on nesting mode. Chip said he hasn't really noticed a difference as I'm always running around straightening things and making to-do lists, but what does he know?

Anyway, the internets is a friend to all who nest. Last week the internets was nice enough to leave baby diapers, a blanket and a few miniature hats, onesies and socks on our front porch. Obviously, the "not finding out the sex of the baby will keep me from shopping" reasoning is a thing of the past.

Last night I asked Chip if he thought we needed a bassinet or cradle in the bedroom for the first couple of weeks. Discussion ensued, and we decided to wait and see if this kid even wants to be around us at night. Hey, everyone needs their own space.

This morning, Chip announces, "So, I thought about the cradle, and I think I have a solution. Let's mount one of those gerbil feeder bottles in the corner of the crib, and then neither of us will have to get up in the middle of the night for feedings."

You can't argue with logic like that.

On a related note, if everyone could start saving their cardboard toilet paper cores, Tro would really appreciate it.

The good, the bad and the funny

Three things from Chip, over the course of three days.

The good: Thursday evening we had a breastfeeding class at St. John's. (Yes, Sherri, they have classes for these things. Yes, Andy, Chip did go with me.) The class started at 6:00 p.m., so I went straight from work. I was seated in the lobby when Chip arrived, still in his suit and tie. Without saying a word, he walked over, gave me a kiss and pulled a banana out of his coat pocket, which I quickly inhaled. As soon as I finished the banana, he pulled a granola bar out of his other coat pocket. Such a Boy Scout, that one.

The bad: I'm trucking around the house in a T-shirt and these glorious stretch pants my friend Sue lent me. (Seriously, these pants are so awesome that I get sad every time they are in the laundry.) Anyway, I was looking pretty pregnant. So I asked Chip, "Is it weird to see me with a huge pregnant belly?" His response: "Yes. And can you believe it's going to get even bigger?"

The funny: Friday morning I was getting ready for work, and as always I was having an accessories dilemma. I threw on three long beaded necklaces in an attempt to make my white cotton maternity shirt look different from the other five white cotton maternity shirts hanging in my closet. As I studied my reflection, I foolishly asked Chip, "Do these beads look okay?" He quickly responded with, "Sure, they look great. Mardi Gras is only a few months away. Start wearing that shit now. It's time to get the party started." As I left the room, he made a big point of twirling a T-shirt above his head, Girls Gone Wild-style.

Ye scalawags best be reading this

It's here! It's finally here! My favorite day of the year -- International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Indulge your barbaric side and let loose with those favorite pirate phrases you love but hesitate to use on a daily basis. Amaze your friends and coworkers by throwing out "arrs" and "avasts!" like it's your job.

I was foolish and wore my pirate shirt yesterday, but fear not -- Chip is wearing swashbuckling boots with his suit and Buddy is sporting an eye patch. To make up for my lack of pirate apparel, I shall hop around on one foot and pretend I have a peg leg. You can call me Peggy the Prego Pirate.

Now, ARRRen't you glad you know this?

And that's why I love them

Yes, I am the nerd who reads the comics every morning. I usually only send relevant ones to my family, but now that I have this blog, well, all bets are off. Before you know it, I'll cover this site with pictures of "hang in there!" kitten posters.

Anyway, I particularly enjoyed this comic because while I love my friends and of course they love me, we all know that no woman is going to tell her friend:

"So, I see you got your hair cut. Yeah. Not so good. Why don't you go ahead and give that another try."

No, no. That's so unrealistic. Real friends save those awkward conversations for big issues that can seriously affect someone's future and/or well-being. For example, one of my good friends just sat me down the other day and let rip with this:

"Debbie, I need to talk to you. It's about the chandelier. I cannot believe Chip won't get one for the baby's room. Does he not love this child? I'm really worried about what kind of father he is going to be. Seriously, you really need to decide if you want to bring Tro into an anti-chandelier environment.Whatever you decide, you know we're there for you, should you need to seek refuge in our chandeliered nursery."

Thank heavens I have friends who are willing to have those awkward, yet necessary, conversations.

Busted with the butter

If you'll recall, I like to always have snacks at the ready. Trust me, you want it this way, too. Hungry Debbie is not Good Times Debbie.

So, I'm walking across the highway this morning with a coworker. A very thin coworker. In my ginormous purse I have packed a yogurt, grapes, a miniature loaf of zucchini bread (thanks, Mom!) and a tub of butter. WHAT? I bet you carry crazy stuff in your bag, too. The contents of my purse just happen to be perishable. Okay, yes, it's perhaps a bit much, but it's not like that's just today's breakfast. The grapes and yogurt are for snacks, and the zucchini bread will take me through breakfasts/morning snacks for the rest of the week, and like, I said, it is a miniature loaf.

Anyway, back to the morning march. While I am comfortable carting around groceries in my handbag, I don't necessarily want my coworker to see the butter peeking out of the pantry that is my purse. Of course she does. And, being the funny girl that she is, she ribs me about it during the remainder of our walk. She does tell me that I look great and she likes the color of my sweater, so I forgive her. I am so easy sometimes, it's crazy. No wonder I'm pregnant.

So, fast forward to breakfast time. I have just finished my slice of zucchini bread and I'm returning the butter to our department's mini fridge. Wouldn't you know it, I run smack dab into a guy who's wife was a total waif during all 18 of her pregnancies. Awesome. I excuse myself, continue past him and his judging eyes, and run into a marathon-running coworker who has never had children. Even better. She, too, smiles and says nothing. I'm sure they didn't even notice, and if they did, they were probably more concerned about the knife in my other hand, but still. I can't help but feel like I'm being judged. The reason I feel this way, of course, is that prior to growing this soccer ball in my stomach (seriously, that's the size of my uterus this week), I would have totally judged a pregnant chick walking around the office with a tub of butter. By the way, you do notice that I'm saying butter and not margarine, right? That's totally intentional. I'm a butter girl now. Butter is natural, and that is my defense. Calories, schmalories.

To top off my list of troubles, I'm fairly certain Chip shorted me on the coffee this morning. My doctor begrudgingly allowed me one small travel mug of coffee each day, but I have a sneaking suspicion Chip doesn't agree with this plan, and is therefore not giving me a full pour. I'm sure he would tell me it's so I won't slosh scalding hot coffee onto my hand, but I think we both know what's really going on here. More judging.

Country boys

My Uncle Bill and Aunt Bev were kind enough to host the Klostermann clan for a BBQ a few weeks ago. My aunt and uncle live next door to the farm where my mom was raised; my cousin Kris and her family live in what was once my grandparents' home. Everyone in my family simply refers to this compound as "the farm."

Sherri and I were frequent guests at the farm, so summers spent carefully walking around tractors, scaring cows, cutting through pastures and sneaking into the hay loft were second nature to us. It's weird to think that Brennan and Tro will only get to experience these same things when we unceremoniously deposit them on my relatives' front steps.

So, enough about my nostalgia for days on the farm, and on to what you really want: pictures of Brennan. Click here for a Brennan-centric review of the day.

Madness, with the flip of a switch

All Chip could talk about this weekend was how excited he was that football season is finally here. Oh, he absolutely couldn't wait to spend Sunday in front of the television. Well, around 9 PM on Sunday he finally got his wish. (Please note that this was not my doing. The boy is simply not programmed to sit down and relax.)

So, Sunday evening, there we were: Chip was watching a game, I was reading the Sunday paper and Buddy was lounging on his love seat. It was just so nice and relaxing. For 10 minutes, at least.

Me: I think I want a chandelier in the nursery.
Chip: What? Are you kidding?
Me: Nope. The room needs an element of whimsy to it.
Chip: You're high. Absolutely not.
Me: Well, okay. But I definitely want a dimmer switch. And I'm not taking no for an answer.

Let's get physical

No one loves to get their ExerSaucer on more than Buddy. If someone could just give him a boost, he's certain that he, too, could benefit from Baby Einstein's interactive toys that "develop sensory and motor skills, and introduce bi-lingual language." Being of Mexican descent, Buddy is obviously fluent in Spanish, but it wouldn't hurt him to brush up on a few key phrases. Someone has to teach Tro to speak in Espanol.

While a number of baby items have found their way into our house, this is the first toy that sits right at Buddy's eye level. Despite the tempting soft parts and the fact that we hit the animal sound buttons whenever he's within earshot, Buddy has shown remarkable restraint. No licks or nibbles, and even better, he hasn't tried to take off with the contraption. We're hoping he'll exhibit the same restraint the first time he meets Tro.

A bucketful of bliss

Despite a lack of tickets, Chip and I met up with the Wilson family on Saturday to partake in some Mizzou-Illinois tailgating action with our friends the Hehmeyers. I love Rob and Amanda for many reasons, but mostly because when it comes to parties, they, for lack of a better phrase, do it up right.

Exhibit one, the gin bucket of joy pictured above. Prior to Saturday's event, this southern Illinois girl had never laid eyes on a gin bucket. Road sodies and lunch buckets, yes. Gin buckets, no. Why it took me so long to make its acquaintance, I do not know, because that pretty little bucket above was the belle of the ball. Rob periodically let loose with shouts of "Gin bucket! GIN BUCKET!" and the people came a-running. Passersby stopped in their tracks, smiled, took a shot from the turkey baster, said thanks and moved along. It was a beautiful sight. And as someone who has zero desire to ever baste an actual turkey, well, it was the best use of a turkey baster I've seen since my dad used one to change the oil in his truck.

Another tailgating highlight was Amanda's sister's father-in-law, who, when he was not wearing his Hulk-like plastic fist in Mizzou colors, would play the Missouri fight song on his trumpet. While wearing a black and gold hard hat. Yes. You read that right. Live music, every hour on the hour. I cannot shake my band geek past, so I absolutely swooned when I heard someone playing the fight song on a trumpet.

If you love the Tiger faithful as much as I do, click here for a few more pictures from our day. It's going to be a good season.

This is all very natural, I'm sure

I think my ribs are spreading at this very moment. I don't even know if that's possible, but holy hell, that's what it feels like. I started to have some weird pains this afternoon, so I decided to poke around a bit. Big mistake. The phrase "tender to the touch" has never been more appropriate.

I promised Buddy a long game of ball tonight. Excellent. Looks like I'll be throwing a lot of grounders. Not his favorite, but it's still better than helping me ice down my rib cage.