We had Ourselves a Merry Little Christmas

Christmas was lovely. I didn't have to work for a few days, Pete was home, we got cute stuff for the baby (and some practical stuff too--it's not nearly as much fun buying a waterproof mattress pad as it is choosing out frilly little dresses, but I figured the baby would need it) and Lynn donned his best Holiday Cheermeister Sweater for the occasion.



We spent Christmas Eve and much of Christmas Day with my family and then got together with the Tidwell's two days later for a family service project (we assembled hygeine kits for the Humanitarian Aid dept.) and a Holiday meal. And on Saturday Pete got to go snowboarding, which he loves more than chocolate, Christmas, and Cougar Basketball combined. So he was happy too. I got him some new snowboarding boots for Christmas and some new snowpants (the gear he's had since he was 17 just isn't cuttin' it anymore). So he was an all new man and as giddy as any little kid on Christmas.






I got a new coat that actually buttons over my belly (Mom was disturbed that none of my coats quite covered me--she was afraid I was freezing her grand child to death). And I got some fancy perfume from my sweetheart. Good year.



Here are some pics of the festivities:

Christmas Cheer

I'm a bit chained to the house right now and feeling antys pantsy. It's not that I have nothing to do, I have planty of Christmassing left I need to get done, the problem is that in my current attractive, if not altogether slender state I own very few pairs of trousers that both fit me and are acceptable to be seen in public. And they're both in the wash right now. Soaking wet. Technically I could wear a skirt, I have a couple of those that fit too, but baby it's COLD outside. So I'm not dressed up with everywhere to go.

But I'm so excited. This year wil be Pete and my third Christmas together and we finally started the Christmas tradition that I have always wanted to be staple in my holiday-ing. We called the United Way of Utah and signed up to sponser a family for sub for Santa. It's a small family, a single father with one seven year old son. But I couldn't be more excited. We drop off Christmas for this kid tonight. (They told us to focus on the child, the parents rarely want any fuss made over them).

So this is what we got:



Two pair of trousers, four shirts and some toys. The email we received from the United Way said that this kid loves army stuff and wants a tank more than anything for Christmas. So, like the dedicated Santa he is, Pete braved the crazed masses and skoured the beyond-chaotic toy aisles at WalMart for nearly a half an hour to find the perfect collection of J.I.Joe toys for our little boy. I don't think he had to actually fight anyone for them, just search in every unlikely place to find them.

I took the safe road and picked out clothes (the boys clothes dept is much less of a war zone than toys). I got him some army camo clothes, but because I wanted the kid to look nice and not like a hood rat all the time, I got him some stylish clothes too.

We're not quite done, I still need to pick up a book (the United Way requests that you give each child you sponsor a book in their efforts to promote literacy--and I like the idea anyway. Books last longer and make better soul mates than action figures).

This is the book I'm planning to pick up--when my clothes dry.




Basically because it's brilliant. And I've never met a kid who didn't immediately fall in love with the inspired silliness of Shel Silverstein. Sheer poetry.

And we'll get him some candy of course. What is Christmas without a little sugar rush?

I love being Santa. And this is a valuable tradition that babygirl will love someday too. Hopefully family traditions like this can help save her from becoming a greedy material girl who thinks she should get a new Macbook, cell phone and ipod every year after she reaches the age of six.

I'm Becoming Crafty!

Pregnancy brings with it a lot of unexpected changes. Changes that leave an unsuspecting expectant mom barely recognizable from her previous self. I'm not talking about the monstrousity that has become my belly, that was pretty much anticipated. I'm referring to my sudden and intense desire to make things. Lately, if I'm not working on some project for the house, the nursery, or the baby herself, I have a nagging feeling that I am grossly wasting my time. (Even if I'm working--I don't think my boss would appreciate this sentiment if he knew about it).

Here are a few of the many little projects I have recently completed, or am currently working on:

While visiting the boutique at Thanksgiving Point I found a rose wreath very much like this one and was smitten. Their wreath however, was insanely expensive ($99) and I thought "I could make this for a fraction of the price." So I did (with the help of my sister-in-law the florist, thanks Sarah). I'm rather proud of the way it turned out. It will go in the baby's room, naturally.



Then I started making pillows. This will probably end up in the rocking chair (that is in the shop being finished right now). I know it's rather simple, but for someone with my skill level, it was an accomplishment. (If you look closely at this photo you can see the roses on the ends of the crib as bedknobs--we added those too.)



This is the one I'm getting the most raised eyebrows over; my burp cloth collection. I started stitching ribbon, lace, bows and rosettes onto burp clothes. I know, I realize the baby won't care if they're pretty, and she's just going to drool (or worse) on them. But I like them. I like the idea of having pretty things for my little girl, and even more, I like the idea that I was the one who worked to make them pretty and one of a kind. I've made 14 of them now. In fact, I'm going to have to start giving them away as gifts to friends who have babies because they don't all fit in the basket I have for them. (I stitched a ruffle around the basket too, by the way).



Other projects in the works are the bookshelf; I'm covering the back with fabric that coordinates with the pillows (and the curtains I'm making, oh, and the dust ruffle I'm making too).

I got a great deal on a canopy to hang over the crib, but it's rather plain, I'm planning on sewing lace trim on it.

Lastly, and probably most ambitious, I think I want to make the blessing dress for the baby. I attended a baby blessing for Pete's niece a couple weeks ago, and she was wearing a beautiful and unique blessing dress and bonnet. I asked my sister-in-law about it and she said she made them from leftover fabric from her wedding dress. She said it was easy (and I don't think she sews much, so I believe her). Well I bought my wedding dress so I don't have leftover fabric, and I'm not about to cut it up for a blessing dress, but I think I might be able to handle making a simple pattern. And adding lace and ribbon of course, because that's what I do. At least, that's what I do now, if someone had told me five years ago that I'd be making all this stuff just for fun I would have thought it a good joke.

Happy Birthday Mamaloo

Sharon and I plotted quite a bit to put Mom's birthday bash together--although it wasn't anything overly spectacular. I showed up to the parent's house with birthday dinner (Quiche Lorraine, Roast Potatoes, Cottage Cheese and Asparogus)and then Pete and I carted everyone up to Salt Lake for a Christmas concert in the Catherdral of the Madeline.

The Utah Premiere Brass were playing, and the Bountiful Bells as well. Coupled with the impressive cathedral ambiance, it was quite a show. Afterward we all went to Sharon's wee house for birthday cake and presents. I made a chocolate Pudding Cake with fresh whipped cream, but as you can see from the photos the gift was a much bigger hit. Sharon, my dad and I all went in together on an ipod and Sharon downloaded some of mom's favorite songs to get her started. You can't see from the photos, but it made her cry. I think she likes it.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas!

Merry Christmas from the Tidwells!

No Seriously, How Big Are You Really?

Some of my devoted blog fans have requested that I post photographs documenting the progress of my pregnancy, and have even expressed mild irritation that I seem to be blatantly avoiding posting any such photos. There is a simple explanation for this; it is that I have finally surpassed the valley of the reasonably large and am rapidly approaching the vast plains of the criminally humongous. And I don't think my poor camera appreciates it. AND I still have eleven weeks of optimal growing time (and the Christmas Holidays--with all its Christmasy chocolateness) to get through before I can do anything about it.

And I am sorry, but I have no sympathy for pregnant women who complain about feeling "fat" when I see them walking around (sometimes even RUNNING around) all over town, and one would never know they were pregnant except for the bowling ball size bump stuffed down their trousers. No hips. No thighs. No gigantic other parts that look large enough to breastfeed an entire army of babies.

I however, have gotten to the point that when I see people whom I haven't seen in a long time I tell them "yes, I feel great, I never imagined triplets would be so easy!" I think Utah County is considering assigning me my own area code.

For those of you with morbid curiousity these photos were taken today.

A Masterpiece in Progress

Thought I'd post a few pics so you all could see the projects Pete and I have been working on over Thanksgiving weekend. This nursery in the making is going to be no less than a work of art.

The Ice Queen Melted

My birthday was on Friday the 21st and my family truly outdid themselves celebrating for me this year. I have been so busy lately with working from home, getting the nursery ready for the baby, being the Relief Society president, preparing for the holidays and other random projects that my birthday kind of snuck up on my without my paying much attention, so when everyone went all out for me it was most unexpected--so much so that I actually cried--a few times.

I got a surprise package in the post from Kaitlin in San Francisco with teh DVD Sabrina (Harrison Ford and Julia Whatshername and who cares anyway because it's Harrison Ford I watch the movie for). As I mentioned in an earlier post, Sabrina is probably my all time favorite chick flick and I coerced Kait into watching it with me right before she left me for a bigger city. But the tear jerker was the sweet card she sent with it (I won't tell you what she said, but it left me crying into my birthday poptarts).

That evening when I came home from spoiling myself (or rather, spoiling the baby by taking a shopping spree and buying ridiculously expensive decor for her room) Pete had a surprise for me. He covered my eyes and led me into the baby's room where this was waiting for me:



Which really got me crying. And I don't cry. In fact, on my mission the other missionaries started calling me the Ice Queen because I just about never got all weepy and emotional (among other reasons--which I maintain only made me a better missionary). In the past two and a half years that Pete and I have been married he has seen me cry a grand total of six times. But this beautiful rocking chair sitting in the torn up, soon-to-be nursery melted me and I cried.

Pete then took me to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner; Pizzaria 712 (the highest end pizza you will EVER eat in your life) and to Comedy Sportz where I have never seen them put on such a good show (and Pete and I used to be regulars).

All this left me feeling that I had so much to be grateful for--highly appropriate for this time of the year--and anytime really. I am so grateful for a husband who loves me despite my present resemblance to a killer whale, and who is so excited to become a dad that he is in the backyard right now sanding and refinishing a dresser for Baby Girl who won't be able to say 'thank you' or know why she should for at least a couple of years.

I am grateful for a family that, despite our weirdnesses, loves eachother and comes through for eachother without fail, and I am grateful that I have a purpose in my life directing my choices and bringing me happiness and fulfillment. I am grateful that I am not confused about who I am and that when this little girl is born I can help her remember who she is so she never forgets. And I am grateful that my heart knows how to melt and that I'm becoming all soft underneath and I can cry occasionally because that's what moms are supposed to be, right?

Saying Goodbye to Grandma Mckinlay

I attended my Grandma McKinlay's funeral on Monday, and I really didn't expect it to affect me like it did; after all the poor woman was 97 years old and we'd known her body was seriously declining for the past two or three years (her mind had gone much earlier). So when I got the news that grandma had passed away I admit I wasn't sad. I knew she wasn't. I honestly felt it was a mercy and a blessing and was excited for her.

So I was unprepared for her funeral and the surprisingly poignant pangs I felt as family members shared memories and stories of grandma's life. I felt particularly guilty because my cousin Melanie had emailed me a month ago requesting all the grandkids to submit memories of grandma so she could compile them for a collection and I never got back to her. My excuse at the time was something ridiculous--like I didn't have time or something, but the real reason was that most of my memories involving my Grandma McKinlay seemed to revolve around food and I didn't want to admit the fixation in my memory.

But I'd like to make up for it now and record a few of my memories of my grandmother--both food related and non.

Grandma had a photo gallery in her house crammed with framed pictures of all her grandchildren. I believe those pictures were some of her most prized possessions. I was a curious--make that mischievous child always getting into everything and touching whatever people told me not to touch as soon as their backs were turned. I remember breaking a photo frame on more than one occasion and feeling horrible about it, but grandma never got upset with me or asked that my mother stop bringing me to her house no matter how much havoc I wreaked.

When I was about seven years old I found a little statue of a girl holding a dog at a neighbor’s yard sale. I thought it was so precious and I bought it for dime, but immediately began worrying about which one of my younger brother or sisters would break it once I took it back home. My solution to this problem was to take it to grandma’s house where all her breakable belongings were regarded with a sacred reverence and never disturbed or broken by anyone—except me. I took the horrid little statue to grandma’s house and asked her to keep it for me until “the kids” got old enough not to break it. My statue was given a place on grandma’s vanity table in her pink bedroom where I forgot about it for years. When I was about nineteen or twenty grandma began worrying about the statue and reminding me every time I saw her that she still had it and I could come pick it up any time. By this time I understood that the statue was really nothing more than a piece of rubbish, but it now had value because grandma had kept it safe for me for so many years. My plan was to let her keep it until she died and then collect it as a memento of how much she loved me. The little statue somehow survived grandma’s first move after grandpa passed away and kept her company in her room at the Atria, but sadly was thrown out in her second move and I was never able to reclaim it.

I remember those half cans of Shasta that grandma always had waiting for us back at her house after an afternoon at the pool, which were the greatest invention in the world because we each got to drink our soda out of the can rather than sharing with a sibling.


These little wonders would be served either with cheese hot dogs or a peanut butter sandwich that she always spread butter on as well. No one made peanut better sandwiches that way but grandma. And if we were lucky and had the timing right, grandma had sweet rolls waiting for us at her house and the hardest decision was whether to eat one with cherry or lemon jam.

When Sharon and I were very young grandma would read to us the story of Snow White and Rose Red and she would always tell me that I was Snow White and Sharon was Rose Red because of our drastically different coloring.



She had nicknames for us all; Kaitlin was Tootsie Foot, Danielle was Tiny Dame and Lynn was Yinny Boy. When Lynn was little he had a speech impediment and most people couldn’t understand more than a few words of what he said. He would get so excited when grandma would come to visit us and he would run up to her and hug her knees while telling her a rushed version of whatever he wanted to say before running off again. Grandma would wait until he was out of earshot and then turn to Sharon or me and ask “What did he say?” so we could interpret for her.

One time Grandma gave Sharon and me My Child Dolls with blond and brown hair to match our own (Sharon promptly got me to trade).


And she and Iris used to take Sharon and me shopping for new school shoes before the beginning of a new school year. Grandma would say “I get to take Charlotte,” because she knew I would only take ten or fifteen minutes to pick out a pair and Iris would get stuck with Sharon and have to spend two hours trying on every pair of shoes in the store. This was one her favorite stories to remind us of later when her memory was slipping. Grandma used to slip Sharon and me $5 a month to practice our piano. I’m afraid it didn’t really work because even though Sharon can sight read enough to pick out a few notes now, I can’t play a thing.

All these memories and more came back to me as I sat in grandma’s funeral and felt the little girl kicking my ribs from the inside. I was a bit sad that she would never know grandma or have these same memories (although her grandmas will both be wonderful). Grandma was such an indispensable part of my childhood and I really do miss her (and I guess being a kid as well—because the two went so inseparably hand in hand). Thanks grandma. For doing what you could for me and loving the one who broke some of your most precious things.

Fall in Utah

I know everyone is posting their thoughts and photos of Fall in their area of the world right now and I guess I'm like everyone else. But honestly, how could I let this gorgeous season pass without showing my respects to the artistry of it all.



Last weekend Pete and I took a pic-nic brunch up Rock Canyon to enjoy the changing colors. I can't believe we live so close to all this and so rarely make the effort to enjoy it.



Being in the mountains put me in such a good mood, I even allowed myself to be caught on camera for the first time in months.



Yes, I am carrying REALLY high. I know you couldn't help but notice. Please take the time to enjoy the background scenery too.



We were lucky we got such beautiful weather, over General Conference weekend Pete and I took a mini-vacation to Bear Lake and it rained the whole time we were there. But we did manage to get out and take a few shots.

Pete's Latest Project

Admittedly, Pete's latest project is on a somewhat larger scale than my nursery plans. Pete is in a Business Class at BYU in which he and a few classmates are required to open and operate a small business for the duration of the semester. Pete and his group started a Rally Towel Business called True to the Blue.



Last Saturday was their first trial of the business as they sold their Rally Towels outside LaVell Edwards Stadium during the BYU vs. UNLV Football game. They did pretty well for a being open for their first two hours ever. Watch out for Provo's Original Rally Towel at a Football game near you!

My Latest Project

I love projects! In fact, I think it's actually a genetically linked trait in in my family to seek out projects, and then go way over the top with them--anyone who knows my sister Sharon understands EXACTLY what I mean by that.

So my latest project/obsession has been baby quilts. Sounds like not-that-big-of-a-deal right? Wrong! (See above note about going way over the top). In my search for the perfect bedding set for Baby, I am finding myself to be rather non-committal. I like a lot of what I find, but I have a very definite image in my mind of exactly what I want and I haven't seen it yet. So, it has come to making baby quilts. And I have decided that my mother and I need to make this perfect Aristotelian exists-in-the-mind-of-god baby quilt. (It sounds like a good tri-generational bonding opportunity, right?)

The challenge with all of this is that neither mother nor I really know how to quilt. We've both tied many quilts, and Mom has made some beautiful quilts and blankets before, but never actual quilting. I say, there's no time like the present to learn! Mom's on board and we have a pattern--its a simple one, I am after all a reasonable woman. When it's finished it should look something like this:



Really, Mom got off rather easy. The pattern I am hoping my Mother-in-law will make for Baby is much more complicated (she has years of quilting experience and likes to try new designs and pattern, so I don't think this will be too overwhelming for her).



This is really just one small part of all the plans and daydreams I'm coming up with for Baby's room and belongings--yes, I realize she won't care at all, but this is so much fun for ME and all Baby's aunties! I'll post photos as we finish projects so you all can see how things turn out!

How Pete and I came to Be

One or two people have asked me lately how Pete and I met--people who I thought knew "our story" and I realized that I never posted it on this blog, so it's about time I took care of that.

When/how did we meet? Well, which time? It could either be at the MTC in Preston England, in the Chicago airport on layover, or in Ms. Fishler's 7th grade heath class. (Now that we've been married for two and a half years and are expecting our first baby I find it amusing that we had our first Sex-Ed class together at the tender age of 12). The official answer to the whendidwemeet question is the Chicago Airport(that whole health class thing doesn't really count as we never actually spoke to each other--or noticed each other in any way really).

We were in a group of new missionaries headed to England for training--so I guess in the strictest sense, we met on our missions. Just not IN our missions--which is a big difference. Actually, we hardly met in the airport either, just enough to swap names and where we were from. I remember noticing him mainly because we were from the same hometown.

After we got to the MTC is a different story though. We still rarely spoke--we weren't in the same district and rarely had occasion to meet in passing, but I sure noticed him in groups. (Being cooped up with a group of 32 other missionaries all day for three weeks, it's hard not to notice everyone). But Pete stood out nearly from the beginning. for starters, he was older than the other American missionaries and definitely more mature. (He didn't get in trouble for staying up all night playing football in the halls).

And then I happened to catch a glimpse of him going off to sports time with his district WEARING A T-SHIRT! I grabbed my comp's hand and whispered "Don't look now, but Elder Tidwell looks HOT!" She laughed her head off and of course swiveled to stare. But I didn't think it was funny. From that day on I did my best to stay on the opposite end of the MTC from the happy, smiley elder who looked so good in a T-Shirt. Believe it or not, I really wanted to be a good missionary and not have a crush on one of the elders.

After our three weeks we of course went to our separate missions, Pete stayed in England and I took a short flight to Ireland. I got so busy (and so traumatized--but that's normal) that I forgot all about him. Good. That was the purpose.

Ten months went by (I was less traumatized by this point, but just as busy) when I was serving in a town called Lisburn (about 20 min outside of Belfast for those of you who don't know Northern Ireland) with a crazy companion called Sister Sinnott. She had a 'friend' she was writing to who was serving in the Leeds mission (she refused to call him her boyfriend and mocked him mercilessly even though they wrote every week without fail for two years--and ended up married a few months later). One day Sinnott was making a tape for her 'friend' when she thrust the tape recorder at me and commanded me to "say hello to Elder Peterson." I said hello, and since I couldn't think of anything else to say, added "I know someone in your mission, say Hello to Elder Tidwell."

That was it. Except it wasn't it. A few days later I got a letter in the post from said Elder Tidwell. It actually scared me to death, I thought Oh no, now he's going to think I totally fancy him and he's writing me to 'let me down gently.'

But he didn't. It was actually a very nice, cordial (if messy and nearly illegible--sorry Pete)letter. I wrote back. Then he wrote back. And I wrote back. On it went till Pete came home from his mission and asked me on our first date--about five days after he was home, and two days before his homecoming. (It wouldn't have taken him so long to ask me out, but I had accidentally sent my phone through the wash and he couldn't call me any earlier.)

Approximately forty five days later we were engaged, and we were married in the Salt Lake Temple in May of 2006. And we're happy. And Pete still looks hot in a T-shirt. (Can't say the same for myself--pregnancy is an adventure, but not an attractive one).


So that is the story of how Pete and I came to be US. If anyone actually read all that, thanks for indulging me.

HE MADE IT! As if I ever Doubted . . .

It's official, Pete has been accepted to the Advertising Program at BYU (finally)! Yipee! Yay!! Celebrate, fanfare, etc! I don't know why I'm so thrilled though, it means I'll never see him again for the next two years, but IT'S PROGRESS!!

Congrats Pete, I know how hard you worked to get accepted (trust me, I know) and I am SO PROUD OF YOU!!!

Just a Wee Bit Nuts

I don't think I've been able to concentrate on anything but planning for New Babygirl for the past three days . . . If you're in my Relief Society, sorry for neglecting you.

I wasn't even overly bothered that the Cougars played kind of a stinky game on Saturday, winning only 21-3 when it should have been a much more significant margin of victory. Hey, at least they won (Babygirl was kicking the whole time--a bit distracting).

She's been kicking a lot lately, Pete even got to feel her kicking for the first time this weekend--see why I've been so baby-minded?

And, well after the game I was just so glad it was a short game and we still had time to make it to the store before closing and BUY BABYGIRL'S CRIB!!!



It was nearly a compulsion. It's not even the crib I originally fell in love with (but who can afford $450 for a crib without a mattress?) so when I found this one that was actually affordable, I snatched it up. A crib is a must have--even if she's not scheduled to arrive for four months. So I'm going just a wee bit nuts. But that's normal, right?

Sugar and Spice . . .

Turns out the little squirmer is a GIRL!
And although this complicates the matter of choosing out a perfect name (we had a boy's name) WE COULDN'T BE HAPPIER!!

We welcome any name suggestions, but please don't be offended if we don't choose to use your name (I've had some weird suggestions already--mostly from my father).

I Feel Like Monstro the Whale Big and sleepy with a living creature in my belly trying to get out. On the positive side, tomorrow is the BIG day, we find out if Baby is a he or a she!

Big and sleepy with a living creature in my belly trying to get out.

On the positive side, tomorrow is the BIG day, we find out if Baby is a he or a she!

I Really am a Writer, I Promise!

I've been meeting a lot of new people lately. It's a perk of being the Relief Society President of a Married Student Ward that always experiences a huge influx of new members corresponding with the changing semesters at the two local universities (BYU and UVU).

And most new people I meet ask me, "So, what do you do?" and I tell them, "I'm a writer for an online Marketing Company." And then they say "Really? You're a professional writer? That's so cool!" Yep. Really. I'm a professional writer. But then I read my blog and think to myself "If anyone actually read this they probably would not believe that I actually get paid to write for people. For businesses none the less. (Although honestly, I don't get paid that much.)

So I decided that I should post some samples of my writing on my blog. Don't worry, I won't post anything I wrote for work (used car dealership ads get boring, even if I wrote them myself). If You're interested in reading a short chapter from the Young Adult novel I work on occasionally, I included the following chapter entitled Bra Shopping

Background: Angela is an overweight 15 year old girl who struggles with severe self confidence problems. Part of the novel (the part this chapter represents) works through her relationship with her mother, while the main body of the story deals with more serious issues with her friends.

Fried like a Sausage

I love BYU football. I truly do. I'm one of those people who goes to the games and stays the WHOLE time, even if we are up 44-0 at the end of the third quarter. I was taught that you're not a real fan if you leave before singing the fight song at the end of the game. But for crying out loud, I've never been a pregnant fan before!

For the last three weeks I've shown up to church on Sunday completely exhausted, dehydrated and sunburned to prove my hard core fan status. In fact, its gotten to point I have to hide from one of the Elder's Quorum presidents every Sunday because he chews me out for allowing myself to be out in the sun for that long 'in my condition'. I need to be more careful. If I'm overheated and dehydrated, my baby is dehydrated, and all that.

Well this week he was right. I was so unprepared. It's partly the weather's fault, it was stormy and drizzling when Pete and I left for the game and I was more concerned about how I was going to stay dry for three and a half hours. So sunscreen and hats were not top on my list of necessary game day supplies. You'd think living in Ireland for so long would have taught me a lesson or two about trusting the reliability of the weather.

The moment Pete and I entered Lavell Edwards Stadium the clouds parted and the sun shone. I thought it was a good omen, the sun always shines on the Cougars. It didn't take long to realize I was toast. So despite a mostly exciting, good game, for the first time in my life I wanted to leave the game early--to get out of the baking sun and into the shade. I contented myself with spending the forth quarter inside the portal by the concession stands where I could still see most of the field but was out of direct sunlight. I still had a horrifying sunburn at church the next day. It made me look really dignified when I met the new sisters in my ward; they think the Relief Society President is a total redneck--which, as of right now I am.

And it hurts. I'm sitting at work rubbing aloe lotion on all the tender spots that are practically sizzling under my fingers.

I hope the Cougars appreciate the sacrifices I make for them.

On a different note entirely,

Baby is moving. I know baby's been moving for a long time, but now I can feel it. I didn't realize what it was at first, I thought I was having mild cramps, but I realized yesterday that the cramps are coming more frequently and they seem to come and go with loud noises among other things. Baby was reacting to George Q. Cannon going off at the game. Baby can hear, and the noise startled him/her. Crazy.

What's in a Name?

Like every other expecting mother in the universe, I spend a lot of my time thinking about potential names for the little squirmer in my belly. I was delighted to find this website to help me decide just how unique the names Pete and I are considering are:

HowManyOfMe.com

There are 23 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

So far, I know that favorite boy name is a winner (only 1 in the US) and my two top girls names are pretty good as well. My own name however, is shared with 23 other females (goodness, I hope they're females!) in the US. See how your name rates.

Thank Heaven for Sexy Shoes

I'm wearing hot shoes today. Shoes are about the only Sexy thing I can wear these days, anything else I might try just makes me feel silly with my growing baby bump. I find that pregnancy has driven me to accessorize more. I remember to wear earrings more often and take advantage of my large necklace collection. I feel like Rabbit trying to decorate Winnie the Pooh's back side when he got stuck in the hole. Or maybe more like Pooh actually getting stuck in the hole . . . I'll have to think about that.

But don't worry Baby! I still love you, despite what you put me through!

Cravings

Last night a I had a craving--but not the typical 'I'm pregnant, I need ice cream and pickles' kind. I suddenly NEEDED to watch this movie.

Because I love it. It's my favorite Girly movie, and I'm not huge on Chicky-flicky-girl movies. In fact, I don't think I've seen any new Romantic Comedies since Bewitched came out in 2005. I only saw that because I love Nicole Kidman, but I'm pretty convinced Will Ferrell is a moron.

Anyway, I called Kait at 9:00 and made her drop everything to search my parents' video library for Sabrina, and when she couldn't find it I coerced her into coming with me (to two different video rental stores and the Orem Library) and then watch the beautiful Harrison Ford with me. Linus Larabee is definately the better looking brother. Too bad Julia Ormond is the weak link in the movie in which she plays the title role.

And because the Orem Public Library is awesome, I can keep my movie for a week and watch it as many times as I want! Sigh . . . this may be a long weekend for poor Pete.

Family time at the Zoo Slide Show