The main thing that we’d like to get done before I pop out this kid is to finish our back deck.  We’ve spent the last few summers trying to get our yard in order so that we can, at some point, actually enjoy it.  We figure this might be our last summer for a while to work on it hard core.  We pretty much finished up the front yard earlier this summer and have been focused on our back yard.  And by “back yard”, I totally mean “the dirt hill behind our house that will never be considered a yard!”

After much thought we decided the best (and possibly only) way to utilize the mound of dirt behind our house would be to turn it into one huge deck with multiple levels.  Yep, our back yard won’t have a single blade of grass.  This is actually a great plan because we’ll be able to throw send the boys out on the deck to play and we won’t have to worry about them.  Especially once the fence in finished.

If you’re new to my life blog then you might not know that The King is the epitome of a hard worker.  He lives for work.  He thrives on work.  He, pretty much, just basically enjoys hard labor.

(Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one confused at how he and I wound up together.)

What I’m saying is that The King has planned to do all of this work himself.  You know, while working a full time job, being a husband and father and donating his time to our church.  This whole deck business is huge and The King can’t physically do all of it in the amount of time we have left.

Enter me.  His pregnant wife.  (And maybe some others.)

The plan for the deck is to have it be three levels.  The first level starting at our back door and the subsequent levels going up to the back alley.  The first level of deck was completed last summer, as well as the framing for the second level.  Each level is to be divided by a gabion wall.  (Have you ever seen a gabion? They are pretty cool and you should check them out.)  Anyway, I think the average person hires someone to come in and put together the wire gabion baskets and then hires someone else to come in with a backhoe and fill each basket with rocks.

We’re not “average”.

And so The King and I (and a few friends, who we’ve happily paid) have spent the last few months taking rocks from a pile of rocks we bought and had delivered and dumping them into the gabions.

By just looking at the gabions you might not think they have that many rocks in them.  If you think that…YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

There are a lot of darn rocks.  Lots and lots.

Take my word for it.

At this point in the project we were all “we should just look into paying someone to finish the second level.”  We hemmed and hawed and finally decided to fork over the cash to pay someone else to do something that we could do, but just didn’t have the time to do.

The second level was finished in two days.  It would have taken The King a few weeks of evening and Saturday work to get it done.

It might have been the best money we’ve ever spent.  It looks beautiful!

Level three will be a flat area filled with gravel for the time being.  Next summer The King will build a shed and a sauna with a shower area.  (I know you want to come and stay at my house, right?!)  The third level will have to wait until next summer.  Sad, but true.

Another thing of our list of “Things to do before the baby is born” is for me to sand down all of our teak deck furniture (that we bought a few years ago AT A SUPER DISCOUNT) and have The King restain it (I probably shouldn’t be messing with stain and paint at this point in my life).

It isn’t the fastest task, but it’s going good.  So far I’ve sanded two chairs and one chaise lounge chair (and half of the other).

Our new table umbrella was delivered last week (thanks Overstock.com) and we’ve managed to eat dinner outside EVERY SINGLE NIGHT since its arrival.

The fence should be going up soon.  SOON!  The pile of unused wood will be sold online soon.  SOON!  And the deck will be finished.  FINISHED!

Then we’ll be able to cross it off the list of “Things to do before the baby is born”.

Speaking of the list, I crossed something else off the list on Sunday evening:

“finish boys room”

Yep, the wall art has been updated (with super cute pictures of old pirate ships) and….

…new curtains have been sewed by ME, WHO DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO SEW.

(The “before” pic of the fabric and the existing sheer curtain that will go behind the new curtains.)

And the “after” of the curtains, all sewn and hung up on the rod.

What was The King doing while I was cutting fabric and cursing my sewing machine?

He was working on crossing something off the “Summer of Fun” list:

“Climb to the VERY TIP OF MT. RAINIER“

(He’s been training to do this for a while.)

Thankfully he (and the guys he climbed with) was safe.

And thankfully I didn’t go into labor while he was gone, thus cursing me to naming my child something like “Rainier” or “Muir” in honor of giving birth while my husband was on the mountain.

Next up; crossing even more things off the “Summer of Fun” list!

My parents were surprised to see the coach and his lovely wife. They weren’t the type to just drop in. I remember they sat my parents down in our front room and the four of them talked in hushed tones while my siblings and I went about getting ready for bed.

The next day I asked my parents what they were all talking about the night before. My dad told me that they had asked my parents to raise their youngest daughter, if something were to happen to the rest of the family while they were on vacation. My told me that while this was very unlikely to happen, it was a great honor to even be asked.

My parents had already raised most of my dad’s siblings. So what’s one more kid, right?

They whole next week while the family was on vacation I worried about them getting in an accident. I needed to know whether or not I was getting a new sister. My parents had never asked anyone to do this for us, so I thought maybe the coach and wife knew something that we didn’t know. Like they *knew* their plane was going to go down.

Of course nothing happened to the family and I never got a new baby sister. I never forgot about it though. Any time I saw the little girl over the next few years I felt a bond to her because she could have been my sister.

When my oldest brother turned eighteen my parents had to update their will and put him as the guardian of the rest of us, if something were to ever happen to my parents. Before then I think we all just assumed we’d have gone to live with my Aunt D and her family. If a verbal or contractual agreement existed between them, I wasn’t aware of it. We just all knew that’s what would happen.

For the next three years I worried that something would happen to my parents and Biff would raise us. Dear Lord. Not good.

When I turned eighteen I assumed that my parents changed their will again. This time to put me down as the guardian. OF COURSE.

When Babboo was born The King and I tried to decide who we’d want as Babboo’s guardian, if something ever happened to both of us. The King made it clear that if something happened to just him, HE DID NOT WANT ME TO REMARRY. (I gave permission for him to remarry, but he refuses. That’s a story for another day.) So, besides the “do not remarry” statement, we’ve never been able to come up with who we’d want Babboo to be raised by.

(I know I’ve blogged about this before. Bear with me, it’s on my mind again.)

There are so many things to take into consideration:

• Will this family have enough money?
• Will this family had other kids that will mesh well with ours?
• Will this family take Babboo on trips around the world like we plan to?
• Will this family teach him the same morals we would?
• Will this family be LDS and stay active in the church?
• Will this family be around long enough to see Babboo raised to an adult?
• Do we want family to raise Babboo?
• Do we want him to be raised by friends, who are a lot like us?
• Does this family live in Washington or Utah?

The answers to these questions actually rule out quite a few members of both of our families. The last one especially for both of our parents. Neither one of us are too thrilled about either of our siblings taking this role, also for answers to the questions above.

So it seems that a member of one of our families is out.

That leaves friends.

I think that it’s very important that we find friends that will raise Babboo the closest to how The King and I would raise him and still include our families in his life. Again, some of the answers to our questions rule out some of our friends. Plus, The King is pretty sure our parents will not be happy with it not being a member of the family and might even fight it, if needs be.

This topic has started some very serious discussions (and by “discussions” I mean “fights”) between us. So much so that instead of discussing it we just stopped talking about it.

Since Rerun has come into the picture I’m feeing a little more pressure to finally find someone who we both agree on. At this point I’ve told The King, “I don’t care who we pick, let’s just pick someone RIGHT NOW.”

Seriously, I don’t care. I want it taken care of. I just want to make sure that our precious boys don’t end up living in my sister’s basement with her dogs and cat and no other kids around. Or living with The King’s parents, who may only be alive for the next few years. (Hey, you never know with old people!)

We have two little boys to think of now. This is getting serious.

Even with delegating The King to PICK WHOEVER THE HELL HE WANTS, he still hasn’t given me a definite name. I’d love to be able to give this family a little heads up. Or at least ask their permission. (I hadn’t thought before that maybe someone wouldn’t want to take our precious boys. Would someone turn down this offer?)

Logically I know that there isn’t a very high chance that this need will ever arise. I know that. So I’m not sure why this has caused so much grief for the last 4 years.

But dude, let’s choose already.

Last Wednesday I came into the office and sat down at my desk.  My back instantly informed me that that day would be my last day to wear high heels.

I feel like I’ve given up.

I woke up on Tuesday to a very large and uncomfortable body.  I felt like I had grown substantially overnight.  I reminded myself of when I was pregnant with Babboo and how hard that last little bit of pregnancy is.  And then I reminded myself…I AM NOT AT THE LAST LITTLE BIT.  I have ten more weeks of this.  It’s just going to get worse.

Ten more weeks and I feel like I’ve given up.

The last two evenings I’ve sat on the couch hemming all of my maternity slacks so that I can wear them with flats.  And I’m not talking about cute and sassy flats that make a girl feel feminine and stylish.

Oh no, I’m talking about shoes that have one purpose and one purpose only: comfort.

(Those are my exact shoes.  And they are not cute.)

I can’t deny the fact that my back doesn’t hurt as much as before.  I can’t deny that my feet aren’t as swollen.  I can’t deny the spring in my step as I walk up the stairs at work.

I can’t deny the sheer comfort.

I feel like I’ve given up. That I have been conquered.

(Let’s not even talk about the fact that I’ve worn my hair in a ponytail everyday for the last three months.  Seriously.)

But I can’t give up.  The vain girl in me won’t allow it.  And so everyday I apply make up.  I wear cute jewelry.  I smell good.  I keep my finger nails manicured, my toes painted and my legs shaved.  Heck, I’m still wearing about 90% of non maternity tops.  (In fact today I’m wearing an XS non maternity shirt.  For reals.)  (Yes, it’s very stretchy.  But dude, EXTRA SMALL.)  (Take that!)

Just like last time I’ve realized that coming into work everyday is truly a blessing.  Having to be in my office, ready to go, at seven means getting out of bed, taking a shower, and trying to look as presentable as I always have.  (Except you know, wearing FLATS!)

I have a friend that is pregnant also.  She’s quite a few months behind me.  She’s been sick.  Very, very sick.  “Can’t get out of bed or bother to brush her teeth” sick.  It’s been miserable for her.  She’s a SAHM.  She doesn’t have to get up every morning.  While I’m thankful I was never that sick, I’m also thankful that I have a place I have to go to everyday.  As lame as it sounds, I’m thankful to go to work everyday.  (I am also thankful that my cubicle is located near a bathroom.  Because hello, breech baby sitting right on top of my bladder!)

And on a whole other topic, The King’s been training the last few months to climb Mt. Rainier.  You know, Mt. Rainier which has a topographic prominence greater than that of K2.  The darn thing is tall.  Really tall.  And snowy.  And also an active volcano.  So while my body’s been adjusting to carrying a baby, his body has been training hard.  He’s even done an overnight initial hike of Mt. Rainier just to “check things out”.  (He said that due to the amount of snow he wasn’t really able to actually “check” anything out.  He couldn’t even see three feet in front of himself.)  (This does not sound like fun to me.)

What I’m saying is that The King’s intense training makes up for me wearing flats to work everyday.

He’s so awesome.  (And also maybe a little crazy?)

I looked out the window by the front door and saw two twentyish super cute gals. One was texting on her pink iphone and I couldn’t see the face of the other one. I thought it might be our single female next door neighbor. I thought maybe she was locked out of her house, or something. So I opened the door, with The King behind me.

The girl who’s face I couldn’t see saw me and CLEARLY looked freaked. She was all “we have the wrong house”.

“Yeah you do.”

And they turned and walked away. And The King and I walked back upstairs to bed.

As if this isn’t odd enough there is a twist to this story. A huge twist.

One of the girls had a live parrot on her shoulder.

A PARROT.

ON HER SHOULDER!

*

So many questions.

First off, our house looks very different from any house on our block. There is no mistaking our house for another house. No way. And yet, how did they mistake our house for someone else’s house?

Didn’t they notice our two cars in the driveway and realize they weren’t cars that belonged to friends of theirs?

Why didn’t they think anything of the fact that it probably took The King and I a couple of minutes to actually get to the door to open it? This gave them plenty of time to figure out they were at the wrong house.

Who rings the door bell of a completely dark house at 11:45? Even if you think you know the person?

Could this be a Craigslist Escort ad gone bad and how does the parrot play into that scenario?

The King and I sat in bed trying to figure this out for way too long. We just couldn’t get what the angle was on this. Were they scoping out our house to rob it later? Were they running a screen for someone else to sneak in the garage and steal all of The King’s tools?

Seriously…it’s crazy!!!

Mostly because they were two super cute and totally normal looking girls.

But really mostly because there was the whole “live parrot on her shoulder” element.

So tell me, seriously, what do you think this was all about?

*The girl was much cuter then this lady (although not as happy looking). And she wasn’t wearing a Bird Shoulder Cape that is available for purchase for a mere $16.99.

Clearly he wasn’t.

The King ran up the stairs (my running up the stair days have been put on hold) to see what was wrong. The type of scream it was indicated he wasn’t crying about having to go to bed. It was a bad scream.

The King asked him what was wrong and Babboo said he’s “seen” something that scared him. After a little coaxing Babboo told him he had closed his eyes and seen something.

His first nightmare. Or rather “nightmere” as he refers to them.

The King asked him what his nightmare was about. “I don’t want to tell you. It’s too scary.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just tell me what scared you so bad.”

“I don’t want to.”

This went on for a little while until finally The King got Babboo to share.

“It was about ‘Hansen and Gretel’.” (Babboo is not familiar with the German name of “Hansel” and thus refers to the boy in the story as “Hansen”.)

“Hansel and Gretel”? We didn’t even know the kid knew who Hansel and Gretel were. We surely hadn’t told him.

“Teacher read us the story today at school and it scared me.”

I admit that I didn’t remember the exact story of “Hansel and Gretel”. I knew there was something about a brother and sister, a house made of candy and maybe a witch? As far as what was specifically scary, I wasn’t sure.

At this point we were both trying to comfort Babboo and explain to him that it’s just pretend and there is no such thing as “Hansel and Gretel”. We talked him down a bit but then he told us he didn’t want to go back to school ever again. You know, just in case his teacher were to read “Hansel and Gretel” to him again. The King promised him that he’d talk to his teacher in the morning and ask her to “NEVER READ ‘HANSEL AND GRETEL’ AGAIN!”

“But what if she forgets?”

“She won’t forget. I’ll make sure of it.”

Finally the kid settled down and was able to fall back asleep and stay asleep for the rest of the night. When he woke up the first thing he did was remind The King to talk to his teacher about “Hansel and Gretel”.

Who knew that a simple fairy tale should scare the socks off a four year old? He’s seen scarier episodes of his favorite “Iron Man” cartoon.

The King does the morning drop-off at school.

I do the afternoon pick-up.

When I got there later that day I talked to the teacher about “Hansel and Gretel”. She said while reading it to the class she thought it was too scary for the kids, but they had assured her it wasn’t and asked her to keep reading. She was very apologetic to me about the whole situation and I told her not to worry about it. We weren’t upset. In fact it was sort of comical that Babboo was afraid of that book and not anything else in life.

Seriously, a simple fairy tale?

Every subsequent day after this Babboo has reminded us to remind his teacher not to read “Hansen and Gretel”.

Last week he started asking us if he’d always remember that he didn’t like “Hansel and Gretel”. He was afraid that he’d forget it scared him and somehow accidentally read it again to be scared to death all over again. We keep telling him that he’ll never forget that the story scared him. I explained to him that when I was his age I was terrified (TERRIFIED!) of Darth Vader and even though I’m older and I know that Darth Vader is pretend, I can still remember that I used to be scared of him.

That hasn’t seemed to convince the kid.

This last Sunday Babboo said he wanted to make a card for his teacher. He loves to do art and make cards for people, so this wasn’t an unusual request. I sat down with him and he grabbed a marker to start writing his card.

“What do you want it to say?”

“Please don’t ever read ‘Hansen and Gretel’ ever again. And don’t forget.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And I want her to keep the card everyday and put it in her pocket, everyday, so that she’ll see it, everyday, and know to not read ‘Hansen and Gretel, everyday.”

Clearly he’s not joking about this.

On a separate piece of paper I wrote his request down. He patiently copied what I’d written onto a card for his teacher. (The kid is writing. And reading. FOR REALS!) (He’s a genius!) (And also afraid of fairy tales.)

The card was delivered to his teacher Monday morning. At the afternoon pick up the first thing he told me was that his teacher didn’t read the book.

I replied with a sarcastic “no kidding?!”

I mean seriously, after all of that this poor teacher knows WITHOUT A DOUBT to ever read “Hansel and Gretel” to the class again.

“Hansel and Gretel” are still a hot topic at our house. Daily he questions us about the possibility of forgetting he’s afraid of the story. And daily we remind him that he’ll never forget.

While looking online today for information on “Hansel and Gretel” I read the plot of the story. According to Wikipedia:

“The story follows a young brother and sister who discover a house of candy and cake in the forest and a child-devouring witch.”

A CHILD DEVOURING WITCH? Yeah, I’d forgotten that part. No wonder the poor kid is so afraid. I’m pretty sure I’m afraid of that witch too.

Not only is their this witch that likes to eat kids but the story also includes “an evil step-mother who convinces the father to abandon the children in the woods as there is not enough food to feed the whole family.”

Parents that abandon their children in the woods?! Not enough food to eat?!

Holy crap, what was Germany like back in 1812 when this story was written? Were child devouring witches and horrible parents the norm? Was there not enough food to go around? And if there was such a shortage of food, where in the crap did the child devouring witch come across the supplies to make “a house made of gingerbread and other confectionery to lure’s them inside”??

I’m pretty sure I’m going to have nightmares tonight too.

So tell me, what were you afraid of when you were little?