Because it is a tradition

in our family to do major renovation projects right when we have a baby, my house is a construction zone.

For my Christmas present, Matt got me something I have been dreaming of for a year--beautiful new, dark hardwood floors. My entire house was tiled (seriously--it is even under the carpet upstairs) when we moved in, and we have talked about eventually replacing the purply-grayish blahness with hardwoods. Matt decided to suprise me and wrapped a broken piece of tile for my present. Yep, that's right--he took a hammer and chisel to our floor to make sure there was no going back and presented it to me in the hospital.

On Monday, Frank and Tracy took the boys and Matt worked with his cousin to chip out all of the tile and mortar in the living/dining room and front entry. Then he spent the entire day Tuesday cleaning up--sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, and dusting. Seriously, how did I get this guy? The wood comes in on Monday, and if I can hold off delivering for a few more days, it should be finished before the baby and I come home.

To add to the chaos, both of our bathtubs leaked this week, and we (Matt) had to rip out the soggy drywall. The home warranty should fix it all for a $100 service fee (keep your fingers crossed for me, will you?), so I will come home to beautiful floors AND a functioning jacuzzi.

Yeah, we like to pack it all in. Keeps life interesting.

Feliz Navidad!

Merry Christmas from our family to yours!

This Christmas, I am grateful for many things, but my husband is on the tippy-tip-top of my list. This afternoon, he spontaneously decorated my hospital room with lit garlands, mini trees, and stockings. Thanks to a passle of 3M hooks, some heavy objects, and a few straight pins, it looks very festive!
It took 3mg of magnesium, 1 turbo shot of terbutaline, and some relaxation breathing, but we had a fun Christmas Eve. We wrote letters to Santa, requested some chocolate milk and cookies from the cafeteria for Mr. Claus and the reindeer, and ate Chili's fajitas (feliz navidad, remember?)
Then the boys laid on pillows and blankets to watch a movie and a nativity slideshow courtesy of my handy hubby. Earlier, I mentioned to him that it might be fun to have the boys come watch a Christmas show with me. Instead of just popping a DVD into the hospital's dismally small TV (I think it is killing Matt to watch non HD TV on such an archaic piece of technology), he rigged up a projector and a screen in my room, and we enjoyed a "popcorn movie night," one of my boys' favorite things.
Matt lugged all the presents to the hospital (including some hidden in the closet that are from you-know-who) so he can bring the boys over to open them in my room tomorrow morning. Hooray for Matt--he is a really REALLY good sport and has done everything he can think of to make this a memorable Christmas for our family.

Top 10 Reasons I am Glad I am (Still) on Bed Rest

This will go down as the longest blog post in history. But however long it takes you to read it, rest assured it took me 10 times longer to write it with a pulse oximeter taped to my finger.


Liza’s Top 10
10-Keeps me humble:

Heading into my fifth week of bed rest, I am now in the hospital and being pumped full of magnesium sulfate, a heavy duty drug that relaxes soft muscle tissue. It makes you feel (and look) pretty awful. The first day I was on it, Matt came into my room and said (in the most loving way possible), “Wow. Wow. You look like a druggie.” That was day one. I am now on day 3 of magnesium, and I just hobbled into the bathroom and when I saw the reflection in the mirror, I laughed out loud. For the record, Matt brought an HD video camera last night when he brought the boys to say hi, and NO, I will not be posting pictures (or video in HD) of my loveliness.

9-Kindness of strangers:

Here’s to random acts of kindness. My nurses have been wonderful—even offered a sponge bath when I couldn’t shower (I politely declined). When I was still at home, one neighbor whom I’ve only talked to twice found out that I was on bed rest. Having done it herself for months (yikes!), she started purchasing magazines and leaving them on my doorstep. Didn’t ring the doorbell or even leave a note—just left them so that my family would see them and bring them in to me.

8- Keeps my sense of humor:

Yesterday was my anniversary. Matt left the hospital to relieve my mom and went home and cleaned the garage. Then he took my boys to pick out a beautiful bouquet and called to see what I wanted for dinner (hospital food is getting REALLY old). He showed up with a full steak dinner (I'm a carnivore--this is my FAVorite). After the boys bounced around the room and gave me kisses, they headed home. Matt and I settled in and opened our dinners. I ate for about 3 minutes, then promptly threw up my $30 dinner. And settled for a dinner of chicken broth and half a roll. We just laughed.

7- Roll-with-the-flow kiddos:

My boys have handled mom being on bed rest wonderfully. I have to admit, it can’t be all bad. Cookies after breakfast? Sure guys. Play the Wii for hours? Why not? Playdates every day? This rocks, Mom. Seriously though, they have been great. Carter has been riding the bus to school while I’ve been down. The first time, I was worried he would be nervous, scared, etc. The bus came earlier than I thought, and Matt had to run and flag it down. With the quickest explanation to the bus driver, he hustled Carter aboard and then waved goodbye to our 6-going-on-30-year old. Was he scared? I worried all day. No need. He loved it. Not even fazed. He has made friends with all the big kids and told me he never wants us to drive him again. Mac has played happily with a multitude of friends and snuggled with me on the couch. He even watched Jane Eyre the other day (ok, he fell asleep). I’m glad they are such pals and I can’t wait until my energy matches theirs again (did it ever?).

6- Kindness of family:

The big question: how does a mother of two rambunctious boys go on complete bed rest for 4.5 weeks? The answer: amazing family and friends. Our friends and family have totally stepped in, taking the boys for hours at a time and entertaining them completely. Chelsea and Charlie, my sister-in-law and cheerfully chubby, cherubic 10-month-old nephew, came to stay with us for 8 days. In addition to setting my boys into fits of giggles, they (well, Chelsea) cooked, scrubbed, ran errands, brought snacks, fluffed pillows, and mothered my kids and myself until they were on their last legs. We demonstrated our gratitude by sharing our colds and getting them deathly ill (double-ear infection for Charlie and fever/chills/flu for Chels). We’re still sorry (and grateful), guys. **more family kindness below**

5-Painted toenails:

In addition to becoming the part-time and sometimes full-time parents of two adoring boys, Matt's parents have anticipated our every need. Childcare, fresh oranges, Christmas Eve jammies--they have thought of everything I haven't. Today, Tracy and Emma came to paint my toenails (which happen to poking out of some open-toed, knee-high white support stockings my nurse so kindly outfitted me with. Matt thinks they are super sexy). I am now sporting some very season-appropriate green-with-red-and-white-polkadots nail art. A professional job. What would we have done without them?

4- Matt's newfound culinary prowess:

Matt has discovered a hidden talent—cooking. After mastering Italian ravioli soup, enchiladas, etc., Matt decided one Sunday to go for the gusto. When I woke up that morning, he had already started thawing a turkey, and he had rolls rising before he left for church. In his enthusiasm, however, he misread the packaging and had estimated cooking time for a 2-pound turkey. A delicious, juicy, rosemary and garlic herbed 8-pound turkey was ready at 9:00 pm that night. But we had marvelous rolls for dinner. He was pretty proud of himself, and deservedly so. His rolls totally rocked mine.

3- Martha Stewart came to visit:

Literally. Ok, kind of. Better than that. I have watched a lot of Martha on bed rest, but my mom came in town last week, and anyone knows that is better than Martha any day. In addition to mopped floors, freshly baked artisan bread, spoiled children (mac could hardly believe his luck when he asked for Cheetos at the store and she actually bought them), my house now sports new, custom made yuletide décor. My rather pathetic looking front porch, I hear, looks beautifully vintage cheery. I have not seen it yet, but I have asked Matt to take a pic for me. In addition, she has spent hours with me flipping through decorating magazines, chatting, and even watching the Discovery channel next to my hospital bed. This is her fifth trip down to rescue me this year, and she’ll be back when the baby is born. My New Year’s resolution is to be a much less needy daughter/wife/mom.

2- My sweet husband:

After spending more than an entire month as both the mother and father, breadwinner and homemaker, chef and maid, contraction counter and shoulder to cry on, Matt came to my hospital room last night (my anniversary, remember) with entertainment for the evening. He had pulled out some old letters from our memory box (Matt and I long-distance dated in the pre-email, pre-texting age and communicated the old fashioned way—just think how ancient that will sound when I tell my kids in 10 years). I felt too lousy to do anything but listen to someone else talk, so he read some of my letters to him, his letters to me. He has slept at the hospital every night. Filled my water bottle a million times, then helped me drag my IV with me to the bathroom a billion times. And he does it all with a wry smile, just waiting to crack a joke.

After cooking the turkey and then cleaning the kitchen the other day, he said, “You know, I’ve spent the last 9 years trying to dumb down your expectations, and now I’m blowing it all.” But he is wrong. I’ve known what I had since I snatched him at 16. Smart move, Liza.


1- It means that I am still pregnant. Less time in the NICU. Healthier baby. Keep repeating until the magnesium wears off.

San Diego, Part Deux

On Thursday, we packed up our campsite, said goodbye to our pals, and headed off for a solo adventure, PIRATE STYLE. Avast, on the horizon, me eyes spotted a right sea-worthy vessel that my mateys had to plunder (seriously--Mac wanted a cannonball for a souvenir). Me 'n these here scurvy scallywags drug our sorry keesters out th' car and had us a grand great adventuaaarrr!

Pirates overboard! . . . almost.

Aarghhhhhhh! Pirate smirks (and Mac's hook).

Captain Carter mans the wheel

Put yer back into it, you scurvy dog!


Alas, the journey did not end so well for the scallywags. After sneaking into the captain's quarters, they were ambushed by enemy blaggards and run through with daggers. They met their end on the captain's bed. But being the most steel-hearted, scumdiferous bilge rats this side of the caribe, they made it back for a Russian submarine tour. Saavy?

Serendipity

(Look closely--the buried one has a tiny mermaid body)

Does it get any better? After two and a half months of moving in and painting our house, on a whim, I accepted an invitation from some friends (who also happen to be Matt's cousins) to join them for a week of fun in the sun, namely, camping on the beach in San Diego. Urban camping, that is. With daily hot showers and clean (flushing) potties--my favorite way to camp.

The boys have been such good sports while I have unpacked and painted the house, I figured they could use some real play time. I have lots of pics, so I'll spread it out over a couple of posts. Here's activites for days 1 through 5:

#1 Eating delish food with pals. We did LOTS of this.

#2 Playing on the beach. We made sand castles, mermaids, found shells, made race car tracks, played baseball, drove tractors, made mud pies, and got very, very sandy.

#3 Crashing the waves. Carter boogied with the best of them, and Mac thought about it several times. In the end, he was content to just jump over the waves, and I couldn't blame him--

the water was FREEZING!

#4 Squirrel hunting. Those pesky rodents raided our camp repeatedly, chewing through tents, eating baby bottles (nipples and all), and leaving spherical calling cards. So the boys went "Lord of the Flies" and set traps, fashioned bamboo spears, and became official campsite protectors and Squirrel Hunters. (For the record, none of the tents housing the "Hunters" were ever attacked. An intimidating lot).

#5 Hanging with the gang. In all, we had 13 children with us. Quite the spectacle wherever we went. My boys were in heaven. (from left to right, remi, mac, carter, nash, slade, xander, blue, cruz)

Plaaaay Ball!

First opening day of little league in my mothering years. And it was awesome. Carter looked like a seriously intense ball player. Watch out, majors, here we come! He had SO much fun!

Mac, however, is still ticked that he is only 3 and unable to play. Dang that birth order!

Thirsty

You can tell it is heating up down here, because the hijos keep asking me for water, water, and more water (and yeah, most of the time Mac asks for chocolate milk first, then, after being denied, he settles for water). But we are thirsty.

Both figruatively and literally.

Carter has an insatiable thirst for knowledge of how things work. This morning, as we were awakened by a blur of full-throttle, rather-one-sided conversation from an alert Cart, Matt mumbled, "Does he ever stop talking?"

For instance, the other day, Carter and I were talking about how he and Mac were born early . The gears started churning in that 5-year-old-going-on-30 brain of his, and the following was the resulting conversation:

Carter: Mom, what if a baby decides it doesn't want to come out of the mom's tummy?

Me: Well, then the mom gets really sore and grouchy, and her body pushes it out. (*Note* Heretofore, Carter has (reasonably) believed that all babies come out via c-section. That nice and tidy explanation worked for me up till now . . .)

Carter: But why? And how?

Me: Well, when it was time for you to come out, the doctor cut my tummy and just took you out.

Carter: But what if the doctor isn't there to cut the mom's tummy?

Me: Well, sometimes the daddy has to help.

Carter: How? Does he cut the mommy's tummy with a knife?

Me: Um, I guess he could, but . . .

Carter: Really? Could Dad do it? What knife would he use, mom? Show me which knife in our kitchen he would use to get the baby out.

Me: Ok, well, the reality is, Carter, that most babies don't come out through a mom's tummy. Lots of times they come out between a mom's legs.

Carter: Where she goes to the bathroom?!?!?!

Me: Yes, but--

Carter: THAT'S DISGUSTING!!!!

And that was the end of that.

I must still be a UTAHN . . .

Because the other day, Mac dropped something and said, "Freakin' heck!" I laughed so hard, he said it all afternoon. Made me miss my SLC hood.

The BANANA gods must be angry . . .

So Mr. Mac has been wanting to make banana bread for 6 days now. Each night, as we get ready to read bedtime stories, he wails in agony, having just remembered that we failed to make the banana bread that day.

So today, we did it. Or at least we tried to.

I gave each boy a bowl of bananas to mash (we were making two batches), and left the room for 5 seconds. When I came back in, Carter had headed for asylum in his room, and there was a mashed/smashed bowl of bananas--in shards and goop--on the floor. Oops. Despite the fact that it was unintentional, Carter was hysterical.

Many banana-inspired tears later, I coaxed him to come back out and bake with us.

Mac and I, in the meantime, had pureed the bananas and poured them into the bowl. Mad that he didn't get to puree, Carter stomped to the table, rather emphatically grabbing a bowl he thought was his. Um, yeah, you guessed it, it was the bowl with the puree. Which was "emphatically" sloshed all over the table, chair, floor, rug, and Carter.

Bummer. No more bananas. We ended the night with three delicious loaves of pumpkin chocolate chip bread.

My house smells . . .

MARVY.
My mother-in-law owns a cleaning company and sends very friendly cleaning ladies to my house every other week to clean the ENTIRE house.
(Even the sides of the toaster and the INSIDE of the garbage can *sparkle.*)
My boys couldn't be happier (CLEAN-AHOLICS that they are),
and I get to practice my SPANISH for a few hours.

My hydrangeas are a little worse for the wear--either they received a spritz of Windex or they are perishing from the delightful lemony-scented fumes,

but HECK--
My newly mopped floors make me HAPPY.
Hooray for Kathy!

We {heart} footwear

Happy Valentine's Day to us. And to you too.
To me from Matt:

To Matt from me:

To Carter:

To Mac:

WANTED . . .

my camera.

Tragically, when we came back from Christmas, one of us misplaced the camera. (I'm not naming names, but the perpetrator is the only person at our house who is not a chocoholic.)

Anyway, I've really been missing my camera the last couple of days because we had a few Kodak moments that alas, I cannot share with the world at large. They shall remain only in my memory.

Here's what you've missed:

1. Beltman and Pullup Man: Today, about 10 minutes after I made what I thought was a valiant attempt at convincing my kids that they must be clothed to go to the park, they came out of Mac's room ready to go. As Beltman and Pullup Man. Beltman was wearing five belts, a soccer medal, one skeleton glove, and a backwards baseball cap (and underwear--that is it). Pullup Man was wearing a pink swim diaper (Matt bought those last year on accident--for some reason Ariel didn't tip him off that they were for FEMALES), one jazz sweat/wristband, one scuba diving glove, shades, and flips (and that is it). They proudly announced their names and powers. They looked awesome, and they knew it. (p.s., I made them slightly alter their costumes for the park--but only slightly.)


2. Carrots and Edamame taking a ride in an ambulance. Courtesy of Mac's lunch. They were seated very tidily in the front seat, one carrot stick and one edamame per seat.


3. A self portrait of the author, NieNie style: Because I have cause to celebrate. Today I met a mom at the park, and as we chatted about our kids, she confessed that when she first saw me, she decided I must be the nanny because I looked too young to be the mother. (Bless that woman.)


4. A Valentine: Made for me by Carter a few days ago when he told me I was not allowed to come out of my room for 10 minutes. I acquiesed, not knowing what my acquiesence would cost me. When I came out, the house and the brother still looked intact, so I thought no more of it. But yesterday, he announced he could not wait for Valentine's Day to give me my present. He ran to Mac's room and pulled a picture from behind Mac's bed. (*sweet boy*) It is a beautiful likeness of yours truly. Complete with realistic, VERY bloodshot eyeballs. "See the bruises on the eyeballs, Mom? I know that is what eyes look like. I was paying attention."

See, now aren't you sad about my camera, too?

Death by . . .

Chocolate.

This weekend, Matt and I went to a fundraiser called Death by Chocolate for his work. Essentially, in addition to hors d'oeurvres and a little hobnobbing, we walked around a room, sampled chocolate truffles, triple chocolate mousse,

tuxedo chocolate pie, chocolate ravioli, chocolate dipped strawberries, chocolate cheesecakes, and more. You name it, we tasted it. Even "chocolate" chili--which pretty much tasted just like chili. After sampling all of it, you get to choose which one was your favorite, and vote for it. Does it get much better than that? I had a hard time deciding between the white chocolate covered potato chip cookies (sounds SO gross, but they were FANTASTIC!) and the tuxedo pie. Matt's favorite? The chili--the least chocolate thing in the room. Of course.

Overheard

I took the boys to see Lion King, the musical, this past weekend.

In preparation, we borrowed a copy of the movie and watched it multiple times so they were familiar with the story, because (gasp), they had never seen it. Oh, I tried when Carter was little, but it seems like my boys only like the Pixar Disney flicks and none of the older ones--except for Peter Pan (but that has pirates in it, of course). They have a very discerning taste when it comes to style of animation--or whatever.
But they really enjoyed the movie. They started growling alot (ok, more than usual) and pretending they were "the red one" (Mufasa) or the bad uncle (Scar, obviously), etc. when they would play throughout the day. The night before the play, I let them watch a little bit of the show right before bed. I was doing a little laundry and caught a piece of their conversation as they watched the scary part where Mufasa dies. It went like this:
M: Carter, I am the red one.
C: I'm Simba. Hey Mufasa, you're going to die.
M: (grief stricken) Oh, I am! I am going to die! Oh no!
C: Mufasa (with real emotion), here it goes!
M: (in anguish) Ahh! I'm dying! Simba, I'm dying. Oh. Now I'm dead.
C: Yeah.
M: Simba, why do you look so sad?
C: Because you're dead, Mufasa.
M: Look, Simba. You're trying to snuggle with me. But I'm not snuggling back. Because I already died. Are you so sad?
C: Yeah. I might cry (convincingly).
M: Mmmm . . . I'm tired of being the dead red one. Now I'm a hynedo (hyena). I'm going to get you, Simba!
And on it went. It was HILARIOUS. They were very in to it.
I was a little worried about taking them to the play (It was a full on Broadway performance in a nice theater, and Matt was at youth conference), but it was so fun! The actors dance in the aisles, and the costumes are AMAZING. (the pics don't do it justice--to see more, go here. My boys were enthralled for 3/4 of the show. And then they both promptly fell asleep (it was about 9:30). At the same time. On me. (A fact they adamantly and indignantly denied the next day.)
I was so proud of them--they were very well behaved (the girl next to me might have begged to differ, but for C and M, they were AWESOME). Thanks for Grandma Smith for the tickets!