The peonies are in bloom in our yard. This crazy Colorado spring we've had this year means that we only got one  lilac bloom out o...

On my mind... Springtime 2013

Friday, June 14, 2013


The peonies are in bloom in our yard. This crazy Colorado spring we've had this year means that we only got one lilac bloom out of our two huge bushes. But my peonies are blooming!

The other day I stepped outside and I felt the fires that have been burning tens or hundreds of miles away. The Black Forest. The Royal Gorge. La Veta. The sunshine on the ground was that awful hue of orange, the air made it feel like the world was one big campsite, smokey and hot. It's very unsettling to this native Coloradan.

We caught a second swarm of bees last week, thanks to my husband! He found them in downtown Denver, at the bottom of a skyscraper at 18th & Champa. What are the chances? They are hived and appear to be doing great. Still, our bees won't fare very well this year if they don't get any nectar, and they won't get much nectar is there isn't any rain. Pray for rain for poor Colorado, we're burning to the ground. Our bees are in a dearth and our land is scorched. People have lost homes, hundreds of people.


We have a nice enough little home in a lovely neighborhood, and I take it for granted. I do.

During the school year the parents of the kids at the elementary school across the street drive me batty. Justin and I have agreed that when we go home shopping {hopefully sometime next year} that we will not buy a house within 1 block of an elementary school. 


The pick-up time coincides with naptime at our house, and the pick-up takes place right in front of our house for some reason, despite the school's entrance being on the other side of the block. At 3:45 p.m. every day they park in front of our house and proceed to set off car alarms, yell at their kids, honk their horns, let their kids "practice" their lack of trumpet skills, and basically just be as noisy as possible. I'm a city girl. Noise doesn't bother me, I love having people around...unless my ginger child is napping and then my hair goes a little more gray every time someone makes a noise that could wake her up prematurely. When you have a wild ginger for a middle child, you need that naptime.

You'd think the weekends would offer a sweet break, but no. My kids still nap and the parents still bring their kids around to practice lacrosse by setting up a giant tarp and hitting a ball against it every 2 seconds for an hour.

This doesn't seem like a big deal, I know. Look, I'm always happy to see a parent and child spend quality time together. BUT, the noise bounces off the school building and echoes to our house and it sounds exactly like a giant firework display booming every. two. seconds. until they decide she's had enough practice, pack up their stuff and leave.

OR, if it's not the lacrosse kid, it's the college students from another country who practice right outside my house, kicking balls into our yard occasionally. I can tell they're foreigners because I can't understand a word they say scream...except the swear words, which they choose to express in perfect, clear English whenever they miss a goal. Awesome.

Last summer we were given no respite because the city decided to do construction on the entire school yard. So construction vehicles were right outside our house all summer. But not this year! School is out and it's quiet, except, well...


The ice cream truck lady is my archenemy. 

She's baaaaack! How could I have forgotten her?

The other day she saw us out in our yard and she stopped her truck and asked my kids if they wanted ice cream. Who does that??? Um, disturbingly zealous ice cream truck drivers apparently, and pedophiles, that's who.

I was right there, of course, and said, "No thanks! If we wanted one of your extortionary $10 popsicles we'd flag you down ourselves like tradition dictates. No need to trouble yourself by stopping your truck and acting like a creep toward my children." Okay, so maybe I just said those first two words.

As she drove off I then had to explain to my daughter why she couldn't have the ice cream that lady had offered. Thanks a lot, lady!

One time, when Violet was a napping baby, the ice cream truck decided to park itself for lunch. Right outside our house. With the music running. I sent Justin out to threaten them ask them to move, they did, but I think it's made us a target of their obnoxiousness ever since. This is like something out of a Seinfeld episode, but I swear, the ice cream truck lady hates us. They want to make us pay, be it a $10 popsicle or a lost nap.


So I've hit the one month mark. 4 weeks from today, my c-section is scheduled! I'm officially 9 months pregnant. This means I'm having a hard time doing anything these days. I hit this wall during the third trimester. Like, I'm done. But I'm not done yet, not until July 12.

"I'm never doing this again, you hear me?" I've said to Justin a few times this past week.

"Okay, honey." 

Except I have to admit, that's third trimester talk. Will we have another? Pssh! No! Who knows? All I know is: now is really not the time to ask me for an accurate answer to that question. We will know more when we're well into being the parents of three, whether or not we'd ever welcome another. Because hey, once you break the two-kid rule American society has, you're crazy enough to go to five, or six...or twenty! Right?

These days, you announce #3 is on the way and people give you looks, they wonder about your sanity, they ask, "When are you going to stop?" 

But third trimester talk says no more kids. Also, just don't listen to me right after this baby is born because then I sound completely different. Holding that newborn baby in my arms, marveling over him. You're bound to hear me say...

"I want at least five more!" 

And Justin will say,

"Okay, honey." 

Yeah. Don't listen to postpartum baby love talk either. Basically, for the next three months or so, everything I say could be a lie. I blame hormones.


Speaking of hormones...

You know the classic story of the teenager who's parents are going out of town and so she quietly plans a small party she shouldn't be throwing? Except the whole school finds out and shows up and gets drunk and trashes her house and the daughter gets in mega trouble?

{This doesn't just happen in movies, it actually happened to one of Justin's wealthy clients recently. So they had Justin install a new system of security cameras all over their estate. The things that put food on our table, I'll tell you what...}

Anyway, that scenario is basically the same thing as what happens when a pregnant lady shows up to pull weeds in the evening at a garden next to the Highline Canal...where 5 trillion mosquitoes just hatched over the stagnant water.

Yep. Party at my body! Somebody brought the estrogen! 

The last three nights I have been eaten alive. It makes me furious. I leave the church garden with my family, in the most foul of moods, scratching my ankles, my back, even my derriere, until I'm raw and sometimes bleeding.

Last night I coated myself in this natural bug repellent, but to no avail. I'm 9 months pregnant, I don't want to use DEET. But at this point, I'm feeling I might have no other choice. Because at the rate I'm being bitten, even after bathing in natural mosquito repellent, I will get West Nile Virus. It's only a matter of time...

I think I'm extra allergic to mosquito bites too, because Justin says he gets bit but they don't bother him because they don't itch.

"I just don't scratch it and it doesn't itch. That's what you should do, just don't scratch it," he says.

And I look at him, whilst scratching one of my twenty bleeding bites, some in unholy places because who would think to spray mosquito repellant there, and I imagine hitting him over the head with a garden shovel. {Loooove yoooou honey!}

My last try, before resorting to the DEET, is going to be this product. Wish me luck. Last night I dug the Benedryl No Itch Cream out of the medicine cabinet and asked my husband to put it on my ankle, because I can't bend over his baby to do it  myself.


Four more weeks...


Look at me, I got something done!

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  1. I love you too sweetheart. Thank you for giving up a growing part of your body the past 9 months. In a few short weeks, you will have a beautiful baby boy to hold. I know it doesn't make the next few weeks any easier but the answer to any requests you may have, my answer will be

    "Okay, honey"

    Love you


  2. Good luck with the new baby. Crestline, California is where I live. Somehow I landed on your blog. Enjoyed reading. Oh, now I remember I was looking for calendar blocks. Many years ago I figured out how to make them on my own. With the internet I was able to type in the words and got many hours. so I hope this reply gets to you. I think they will tell me my email address needs to be approved.

    1. Thanks for the comment Sandra! I got your message about subscribing. I think I need to add an option for that on my sidebar... will try to do that now :)

      Nice to have you visiting my blog! ;-)

  3. This is a lovely post! A good description of life and time. The benevolence of bees, the irksome mosquitoes, and the ruminations of an expectant mother. Heart felt. I hope you write more in this vein, as it will be treasured!
    Love, Dad.

  4. Oh Heather! We could be mosquito sisters or something like that. I always get eaten alive. I've wondered if it's a blood type issue. Hmmm . . .
    I love your posts. They are so enlightning and honest and hilarious. Hang in there. The next 4 weeks will go by so quickly. Cherish every minute of it.


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