Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Note to Self

Don't ever let my little boy wear pink Dora the Explorer crocs. There are some lines that shouldn't be crossed. Ever.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Pregnancy Class?

Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger/Don't you fight it till you've tried it/Do the conga! Beat!
Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine

On Saturday, my gracious sister accompanied me to what she called a "pregnancy class." I tried to explain to her that I don't need a class to understand how to be pregnant, but the concept of a "child birthing class" was apparently too much for her to grasp. We were there from 9am till past 5pm. As I told my mom, they were trying to give us the full blown birthing experience: stuck at the hospital all day.

But really, it was pretty useful on the whole. I mean, we got to dance the conga for exercise--how much cooler can you get than that? Plus, my sister got some really great tips on how to be a good birth coach for me...like singing "She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain" while I'm showering during my contractions. I anticipate that being hugely soothing. Maybe she'll even follow up with a rousing rendition of "Oh, Susanna". I can only hope! She also learned some practical massage techniques, which I will take advantage of during her entire Christmas break. And we got to take a nap under the table after lunch so that we could learn how to relax our bodies. It was a big day. Especially because the videos we watched were made in either the late 80's or early 90's...and those hairstyles were cute. My sister promised she'd give me a mullet before I went into labour so that I'd be adequately prepared.

I'm so glad that she was able to go with me. It was hard being there without the Man, hard seeing the other husbands there learning how to help their wives, hard to know that he wasn't going to get to experience this with me. But I'm so proud of him. I know that he wouldn't miss this for the world if he didn't have to and that he'd be a great labour coach if he could be here (and that he would've been awesome enough to dance the conga with me). And I'm reminded of the huge blessing it is that we will most likely be able to video call from the hospital. I am appreciative of the technology that makes this so much easier. And the technology that enables us to see really awesome and inspirational videos from the 80's...

I sent this picture to the Man before the child birthing class so that he could see that, even if he couldn't make it to the class with me, his t-shirt did. Which is useful since none of mine fit any more. You can kind of see Baby Friz poking out over my legs. Incidentally, my legs are a lot skinnier now after 30 minutes of the conga interspersed with lunges and squats. Those instructors weren't playing around!

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Mouths of Babes

Quote for the Day: "My mommy doesn't do that because she's difficult." -anonymous child in my three year old class.

There are great things about teaching preschool. Hugs like nobody's business, being told that I'm loved, seeing that light bulb moment...but more than anything: getting to laugh at the hilarious things my kids say. Like the other day in chapel when one of the kids proudly announced that he prays for pickles. Hearing our pastor say, "That's right, sometimes we do pray for pickles," about made me pee in my pants.

Working with kids is really just the tip of the iceberg though. My oldest sister delivered her son this week, and oh my goodness, he's a cutie. I've been video skyping with him as much as possible (the beauty of the digital age), and I am counting the days till I get to see him at Thanksgiving. It's kind of crazy to me, knowing how much I already love this little dude, to realize that Baby Friz is going to be even more loved when he gets here. And I admit, I was a little surprised to see a newborn who doesn't resemble E.T. so it gave me hope for Baby Friz's looks. Now if only he could be born with a fro and dimples...

My cute nephew with his gorgeously huge mouth and awesome head of hair: