The rest of the weekend

The temperature actually warmed up to something close to 40 degrees on Saturday, so we bundled the kids up and ran them around downtown till they started whining about it. Good times.

We went to lunch at a little cafe on 9th street. Iris chose to spend most of the meal with my sunglasses on, Olly mostly gnawed on...everything, and Lola pondered nervously about what exactly was all over! Iris' toast (Lola, it was butter).




Today we had painting time, mostly because I didn't have the energy to explain again why picking up the cats by their throats and carrying them around is not nice, they don't like it, and they will in fact retaliate eventually.

I'll have you know there was much keening and woe when the paint-ey snoopy shirt had to be taken off once artiste time was over. We ended up putting another, less paint-oozy, giant Kyle t-shirt on her to stanch the tears. The Artist Formerly Known As Iris (TafKAI!) is very emotional.

It's Secret Agent Stuff; You Wouldn't Understand.

They would tell you why their work is so important, but then they'd have to kill you. Do not question the necessity of a Kelley at work. It might look like sleeping to you puny civilians, and of course you'd be wrong. This one of the many reasons why they are the Secret Agents and we are not.

Indeed!

Just a quick update: I am indeed pregnant! I've been to the doctor and had a blood test done, and I am apparently such a professional at being pregnant that my HcG levels are extra high. Not like, excessively extra high, but perhaps on the high end of normal. Point is, I'm pregnant. Fo Sho.

We told Iris about the pregnancy the day of the squinting at the second line game, and she's taken to talking to my abdomen. Mostly she says "HIIIII BAYBEEEEE." It's really cute. Like, really, really, capital-C: Cute. We asked if she thought she was getting a baby brother or a baby sister and she immediately responded with baby sister. Or "baby shishtuh." Something like that. Then we asked her what we should name her baby sister, and she said something like Dido, but now I realize that she might have been saying Lola, since she always replaces the "L's" in Lola's name with "D's." And she does completely idolize Lola, so... not sure.

I'm super duper tired all the time, and I discovered today that if I don't eat every two hours on the dot, I actually get woozy and shaky like I've consumed three pots of coffee in 10 minutes. I'm eating about six meals a day, and it's now 9:23 pm and I feel like I might pass out from exhaustion. Higher cognitive functioning is completely beyond me at this point. Kyle swears I didn't get like this last time till more like second trimester time, so I don't know what's going on. This pregnancy is just an overachiever, I guess. I'm gonna sleep on it, and I'm sure I'll come up with an amazing explanation for the complete ass-kicking I'm already getting here. Okay, no, not complete. This is me NOT jinxing things. Complete destruction would include barfing, which I thankfully am not involved with. I'd MUCH rather sleep 100 hrs a week than barf. So. On with the sleeping then...

Funny thing happened on the way to washing my hands

I nearly threw it in the trash. Okay, I did throw it in the trash, but then I pulled it out again really quickly to make sure that I at least gave it the full three minutes that the instructions suggest you wait. So I set it down on the counter and went to fetch some coffee. Then the toddler started climbing my legs, and the cats were crying about not having any food in the left-hand bowl (even though the right-hand one was full), and the phone was ringing, and I knew I was supposed to be doing something but since I needed the coffee to be alert enough to remember stuff like that, I couldn't remember that the thing I was supposed to be doing was getting coffee. Oh, and also checking on that little bathroom project I nearly tossed.

That line is so light that I nearly threw it out again, but figured it couldn't hurt to get a second set of eyes on it. What follows is possibly the most humorous attempt at getting good light that the three of us have ever undertaken. Kyle and I are holding it up to the kitchen window, squinting and angling our heads, and Iris is down by our feet shouting, "MINE." As if I'm gonna hand the thing I peed on to the baby... anyway, we determined that it's either the location of the second line were there to be a second line, or it is in fact the second line, and OMFG, I'm pregnant.

Thank You, Claus

I am aware that it has been ages since I've posted. Be forewarned that this post contains no pictures. I'm sorry, and of course, I'm sorry.

Kelly's been bugging me for months to post something (anything, MeMe, ANYthing...). Yeah, I get it. It's been a long time. I shall inveigle you all with my storytelling mastery, and of course forgiveness will rain down upon me once you've heard my tales of pride and woe. Seriously. It's gonna be majestic.

So we spent a quiet Thanksgiving at home. For the entirety of the turkey-week break, Kyle randomly spouted platitudinous declarations like, "I am thankful that we are not on a plane, and also that we are at home." Or, "I am thankful that no one is announcing our initial descent, and that no toddlers are barfing on me at 5,000 feet." The man is lyrical. Anyway, I made like, seven times the amount of food we'd actually need to feed a family of 2.5 for three weeks, and we invited Uncle Jesse over to share the feast. He took home a three-meal sized tupperware of leftovers and we still had to throw out a huge quantity of food after awhile. I either need five more children, or to work on my portion control.

Kyle put up the Christmas tree and decorated it while Iris napped on Thanksgiving day and I continued to baste and dress things. While still in a groggy stupor directly following nap time, she gazed upon that fine plastic pine and said, "the treeeeeeeee!" She may have waved her fingers about in a lackadaisical spirit finger effect. There was wonderment. Kyle purposely placed all breakable ornaments well above toddler grasping reach, resulting in a minorly top-heavy yet heartfelt Christmas scene, including the Christmas panties/cigarettes that have adorned our tree since our second Christmas as Kelleys. Don't judge; they're colorful, and they add just the right amount of levity to an otherwise staid holiday scene. I mean really... they still have the tags on them and everything, and the box is empty. Anyway.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. Christmastime is upon us, and at our first available moment, we jet off to the sunny hills of Liberty Proper. Can I just have an aside here to note that the folks of that town know how to do it UP when it comes to twinkly lights? Seriously, it was all but professional. It certainly helped bring about the yuletide spirit, that's for sure.

So we get to Grammy and Pa-Pa's house, and everything is great. Iris is in love with her grandparents and can't stop talking about Uncle Kiss and Coco (Chris and Craig, for those of you who might be a little unfamiliar with Iris-speak) and everything is great! We arrive right at nap time, an idea which Iris professionally and soundly dismisses. Said dismissal is levied with such flare and aplomb that Kyle and I find it's best we locate the nearest Target Greatland and hide there sans child for as long as possible. This is clearly a great idea on December 23rd in the middle of a large city. We, being the shockingly graceful and mature adults that we are, handle it with poise and confidence, and we don't even bicker or attempt to remove each other's eyelids while navigating that Great Land. Once we locate nearly everything we need, we exit the store with more speed and efficiency than I thought either of us capable.

Grammy offers to let Iris sleep with her our first night there to give Kyle and I a break. Everything is great! We all get to bed at a respectable time, we catch up on our sleep, Grammy and Iris get their bonding time, and it's great.

Christmas Eve morning dawns, and by 6:30 am, I've luxuriated in so much sleep-in time I have no choice but to shower and descend to real life (note: if 6:30 is me sleeping in, please imagine our daily life, thank you). I end up lazing alone on the downstairs couch till nearly SEVEN THIRTY before Grammy and Iris emerge for the day. This is weird. This is remarkably late for the whiz. She finally joins me on the couch for some snuggle time and I am shocked to note that she is blazing hot. Temperature check = 102. This is... great.

Pa-Pa saves the day with baby ibuprofen, and Christmas Eve is afoot. We head over to Aunt Carol's house for Kelley Family Christmas Debauchery (um, Uncle Eddie? I was sure your name was Brendan...) and Iris gets to spend time with her cousins. After a few minutes of introduction, Iris, Rylee, Walker and Wyatt are off. I know everyone likes to joke about family get-togethers when the kids just gang up and tear around the place like Tasmania is their homeland, but really. I mean, really. Genessa (Walker/Wyatt's mom) and I took turns meeting up in random living room corners and asking one another, "have you seen...fill in the blank with any child previously mentioned???" They are just so. freaking. fast. In summation: it was a fantastic time and the kids were stoked beyond words. Good, good times.

Christmas day, we go to the Hicks side of things. By this point, Iris is fully feeling the evil virus deep in her bones, and she's not handling it well. Frankly, Kyle and I didn't handle it very well either. She's fully doped up on baby ibuprofen/tylenol/cold medicine/lack of sleep. Our arrival... didn't go well. Eventually we manage to jointly pull our sh*t together and have some Holiday Cheer at Aunt Patty (Aunt PittyPat!) and Uncle David's house. It should be noted here that Santa Claus lives at Aunt PittyPat and Uncle David's house. He is about 5'2", he's animatronic, he sings songs, and he sports an external mic that anyone (*coughuncledavidcough*) can speak into, causing animatronic Santa Claus to speak. He resides on the stairway landing. Grammy took Iris to see Santa Clause (quoth Iris: "CLAUS! CLAUS!"). First she cheered, then got too close and cried, demanding to get away, then immediately demanded to be brought closer again. Iris loves/fears Claus. If she had motor skills to carve, I'd be staring at IK+SC FOREVA on a nearby conifer.

What follows is the Classic Flu. A couple of days of high fever, followed by nearly two weeks of snot-nosed, hacking cough, twitchy sleeped, irate child. This of course begets the same, thrice-over, manifested first in me, then Kyle, then Aunt Claire, just for good measure. The Flu is an insipid beast.

How did Aunt Claire get said cloying illness, you ask? Well clearly the Reinhards descended! We drove home from KC on Christmas day to meet with Grandma and Grandpa Reinhard, and Aunt Care and Aunt Kaykay.

Boxing Day dawns, and we all settle in to open presents under the tree and make merriment like we have any idea what you're supposed to do on Boxing Day. I'm thinking it's open boxes... Anyway, it was our one day of mostly healthy togetherness before things get ugly again. Grandma and Grandpa offer to make dinner for everyone (lasagna) and I joke that I used to tell people I was allergic to spaghetti because I coincidentally came down with a stomach virus the morning after spaghetti dinners no less than three times in my childhood. Lasagna, being essentially spaghetti in a different shape, proves no less potent by the time morning rolls around. Aunt KayKay arrived already sick, and at some point over the course of the next five days, Kyle falls in with the whiney lot of us, only in a markedly less whiney way.

You'll have to forgive my lack of lucidity for this next part of the Holiday Journey. The Flu pretty much pistol whipped me into submission the day after the Lasagna Event. I didn't make friends with the toilet, but I felt like I should have been doing so, and I'm not sure the anticipation of hurling is less severe than just getting it done with already. Between my own whiney B.S. and Iris', I had little energy to devote to things like "social awareness," or "change out of your crusty sweats sometime, you gross, gross woman." Iris and I jointly decided to forgo food for a few days and settled in together for some quality moaning.

What I do remember is a string of days filled with skillful lazing and a never ending supply of coffee and breakfast sandwiches (thanks parentals). Grandma and I hit the crafty store one day so that I could get supplies for a completely inappropriate cross-stitch I've been working on, and she grabbed some yarn and whipped up two neck warmer things. I'm wearing one now. It's heather grey and warm and awesome. It's like a super cozy neck brace (love you, cozy neck brace! smooches!); I might have developed an inappropriate relationship with it shortly following our introduction. Ahem. At some point in the week, Grammy and Pa-Pa visit to deliver the final 2/3 of Iris' gifts that we couldn't fit in our car when we first returned home.

Iris manages to return to the land of the living the day the Reinhards depart. I can't manage to curtail my awe at her about-face in personality, and Grandma and Grandpa manage to regard me as if I'm only a little bizarre for being so shocked at the change. I might have been a little feverish still, so I can't be blamed for the irrational feelings of loss that accost me when I realize my family is leaving. I still feel like crap and I want my mom to pet my hair and tell me it's going to be okay, Claire just turned 21 and I was too out of it to show her the town, Katie and I were supposed to watch The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants II like four years ago and we still haven't done it, my kid JUST stopped being anti-social and she STILL won't let Grandpa Reinhard pick her up, and I think I'm still wearing those damn sweatpants. Okay, Flu, I give. You win, you big bully. The morning after the Reinhards arrive safely home after a few near-misses with a giant snow storm, Aunt Care is felled by the Flu's Poleaxe, and the gift keeps on giving.

It was a great Christmas.

Because the world needs to see that Iris did eventually become well enough to decide to watch

her Elmo stories shirtless, with a hand down her pants. If that's not a sign of good health, I don't know what is.