Hi, Internet! I was missing on you so I decided to check in real quick. Since you're oh-so-loving, Internet, I know you're dying to know how Nell is...Well, she's awesome, thank you very much. She's awesome, adorable, and hilarious. I think she's gonna be a stand-up comedian. Of course, her career won't really take off until she can actually stand up, but when that happens, look out Dane Cook with your spiky hair and your tight t-shirt and your joker's smile. There's some new competish in the neighborhood and her name is NellyButtMcGillicutty. (That's what I'm calling her at the moment...not quite sure why, but Bill hates it and I love it. And we know who's in charge...) She's a trip. She has a million and one facial expressions. Maybe a million and two. And she transitions from one to another effortlessly, like a screensaver slideshow. She can take it from totally irked to hysterically laughing to "should I maybe go to the bathroom?" to intrigued to sassy to confused to "I do need to go to the bathroom" to frowny to smiley to "I just did go to the bathroom" to kinda cranky to totally indifferent to giggly to yawny to screamy to sleepy...all in about 11 seconds. Obviously, I'm exaggerating here, but if she never talks, she'll be just fine. She's got such a great little face...it says all she needs to say...and usually what she needs to say is really funny. (And like the great Springfieldian philosopher Homer Simpson said to his little girl when they were waiting for her first words: "The sooner you talk, the sooner you talk back. I hope you never say a word." I do hope Nell talks, but I'm just saying. Between Homer's point and the fact that Nell's little mug is so expressive, I'm not too worried about when.)

She's a blast to be with. I love her like all get out. We all do. The Houses have been very smiley these days. Everyone's been really great. We're settling back in a little bit, but I'm still allowed to be riding the high for a little bit longer. I've been doing a few Weber things here and there. Paperwork, mostly. Even though Bill's always saying "proper paperwork is the corner stone of a successful business", I do hate me some paperwork. Paperwork's pretty high up on my nemesis list. (So are hacky-sacks and diarrhea, but now I'm just rambling. I should post my nemesis list one day. It's been in the works for a long time and is always changing. Diarrhea's been on there for a long, long time, though.) But obviously, there's a lot of Nell work to be done, so I haven't dove totally back into normal life yet. Nowhere near, actually. Feeding, changing, nap...feeding, changing, nap...feeding, changing, nap. It kinda never stops. It's amazing how you end up cramming most of what used to be your life into the little gaps of time between feeding, changing, napping, and feeding again. I made 11 phone calls in 26 minutes the other day. Not work stuff. Just calls I needed to make. But I flew through them like a lunatic. I had to. She was gonna wake up soon. Two weeks ago, it would have taken me two weeks to make those phone calls. Now, 26 minutes. I mean, it makes you think how much time you waste when you have time to waste, but it also makes you think: "Man! This little person is DE-MAN-DING!" I'm just funnin'. I love being her "go-to". Her "contact". Her "point person". I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Before I go, I'm SO sorry I haven't been able to get some pictures up. I'm really gonna work on that this week. Ben said he'd help me again, but he always says that so I might see what Teenie can do. I have two REALLY good ones of Nell that I want you guys to see. I'm not putting any ones with me in them because, even though it was a "quick" delivery, I look pretty darn sloppy and I'm not quite sure I'm ready for the world to see me that way just yet. But, I'm working on those pictures. I think you're really gonna like them. There's the two Bill put in a frame and took to work. (Well, Barb put them in a frame. Bill's never put anything in a frame, come to think of it.) But they're great. You're gonna love them.

She's here! Nelly-butt-magoo-face!!

I have a girl! She's adorable and all wiggly and cute. A little baby girl! Of course I love my boys, but I've always wanted a little baby girl. I hope I do right by her. I know I will, but I always - "always" is a little over the top...the two other times I?ve done this, I mean - I've looked at the new baby in my arms and said, "I love you and I?m gonna take care of you the best ways I can." I did that with Nell, too, and then she yawned and stretched and went right to sleep. I take that as a good sign. I love her, Internet. I'm so happy.
The actual delivery was so much easier than Aaron and Lester. Oh, my gosh...SO much easier. I mean, that's obvious, right? Number three's easier than one and two. But Nelly was so ready to see the world, once the party got started, she didn't put up much of a fight at all. Bill was right there with us, of course, there in the room. Nicki and Barb were with Aaron and Lester in the waiting room, but they came in right after she was born. Barb cried. Nicki sniffled, but I don't think she cried-cried. There's nothing wrong with that, of course. I'm just saying. All I saw was sniffling. She might be getting a cold. (Did I just say, "I?m just saying"? I'm sorry. That's so...pissy.) Sarah and Ben brought everyone else by a few hours after. Raymond was so cute. He wanted to hold her right away. Right when he walked in he asked if he could hold her. He was the first, non-parent Henrickson to hold Nell. Once Barb told him to make sure he holds her head, he was convinced that, at least for a little while, her head would literally fall off. When a nurse carried Nell back to me, Raymond got in the ready position, palms to the ceiling...waiting to act if something happened...say, Nell's head rolled off, for example. It was cute. Bill was really proud. So was Ben, actually, which I thought was sweet. We think and talk about family a lot, I know, but two days ago was a really family-ish day. I felt really special. I felt like I had just run a marathon and everyone was there...no, that everyone -the whole fam, that is - ran the last 100 yards with me, all crying and happy, and then we all hugged and cried and were happy together at the finish line.

Alright. Just some details...not the gushy stuff (though there was some gushy stuff...get it?) I was watching the Tivo'd premiere of "So You Think You Can Dance", of course, and my water broke out of nowhere...during the first montage of all the season's contestants. Typical. Though I am taking this as a sign that Nell will either be a dancer or will love "So You Think You Can Dance" as much as I do...and I'm happy with either of those possibilities, frankly. So, I made a mess on the couch and ran over to Nicki's to get Bill. Ran? Not really. Waddled. Waddled/shuffled...quickly. I waddled/shuffled quickly across the yard to Nicki's, like a human water balloon that had sprung a leak. He was asleep on the couch with an open book on his chest. It?s amazing how quickly fathers can shift into gear. Moms do it, too, of course, but dads can become firemen, movers, construction workers, NASCAR drivers at the drop of a hat. Plus, Bill has a lot of practice (though he wants more, of course) so he's particularly good at this "call to duty" moment. He told me to sit on the steps by the door, then he grabbed the hospital bag like a gazelle, told Nicki and Barb what was going on, and before I knew it we were en route...with the rest of the clan in tow a little ways back. Bill was kinda chatty in the car, but I really wasn't up for talking much. Don?t know why. I wasn?t in much pain (I wasn?t in much pain, ever, really), but I just wanted to...focus or something. He caught on pretty quickly, though, and just let me be in my head. He drove fast, but not crazy. He only honked once...a new Bill birthday record. (When Barb was having Ben, Bill was driving so all over the place and honky with everyone, he got pulled over by a cop who ended up escorting them to the hospital.) A string band was playing on the radio, which I remember liking a lot. So old time-y. Made me think how many women over the years have felt the feeling I was having at that particular moment. I mean, the song wasn?t about birthin' babies or anything - life isn't that perfect - but just that kind of music...it felt right. Violins and a harmonica...a guy singing about trying to get back to North Carolina to see his "baby"...picking a "bouquet of dogwood flowers"...it was great. It kinda got me zoned in, randomly. I closed my eyes and just let it put me at ease. Soon we were at the hospital and I was all hooked up. There were about 45 minutes of waiting around...that nervous waiting, of course. All the doctors were happy with what was happening so there was actually a lot more of just me and Bill in the room for while. Much more than last time, totally. Some time around then, Barb and Nicki showed up with the boys and set up shop in the waiting room. When it was "time", it was time. I mean, she came out quick and easy. What were we so worked up for? Maybe that baby > vagina comparison wasn't as dramatic as I described last time. Whatever the reason, it was kind of a breeze, really. A little eight pound, seven ounce angel isn?t that big a deal, right?

10 hours after we left home, we were back home. It was fine by me, but they really do get you in and out quick these days. The house was quiet that night...but full of happy/teary smiles. Sarah and I cried a little together when she was holding Nell on the couch. Bill gave a great prayer and Nicki made a great casserole. Barb and I put her to sleep in the crib in my room. Bill stayed with us that night, of course. We slept well. So did she, for the most part. She's...great...make that, perfect.

Baby! Details to follow ASAP, but...BABY! BABY NELL!!! -- Edited by margini at 05/30/2008 6:49 AM PDT

Lately, I've been meeting a lot of people who have the same name as towns or colleges. (Though, no college towns, just yet.) Pam's cousin is named Madison - first name. I met her when I was pulling into my driveway yesterday after an emergency Ben and Jerry's run (Americone Dream is "my jam," as Teenie would say.) They were playing croquet in Pam's front lawn, just the two of them, which was odd in a cute way. Madison's visiting from Tucson. (No, I haven't asked Pam about her being afraid of cats and no, Pam didn't introduce me as anything but her "neighbor and friend"?she's nice like that) I asked them why croquet and Madison said she didn't know why but she saw a set in Target the other day and thought, "why not?" Alright...why not...I guess.

Then, this morning, I talked to a guy on the phone for Weber named Yale. He didn't go to Yale. I asked. He said he was educated thanks to the Idaho penal system and we left it at that. Ten minutes later, I was on the phone with Marty Stanford. What's the deal here? Weird, huh? No? Ok. You'd think it was weird if it happened to you...unless your name is Louis Harvard.

Alright, so, once and for all: Should I like or be afraid of Fiona Apple? I remember listening to her on the radio a few years back and thinking she sounded messed up in a cool way, but then she dropped off my radar?or maybe the radar in general, I don't know. But Sarah's been cramming Fiona Apple down my throat all week so I finally gave in and just started to listen to one of her CDs. (She won't admit to it - not that I've asked her - but she's totally into Fiona Apple because Scott is and she's in that place...where everything your boy likes, you like SO much you just want to scream. That's a nice place. But you never appreciate how short a time it lasts. It's not a bad thing it doesn't last, but when you're there, you think it'll be like that forever. Nope.) But back to Miss (Mrs?) Apple. I think I really like her. I like how she doesn't have one style that she beats into your head over and over, for twelve songs in a row. The first one sounds like some hot, curvy woman singing in some bar in the 30's, but then the next one is all rock and poppy. I like those curve balls. But I get an intimidating vibe from her a little bit. She seems mad...and I think she might be mad that not everyone's as cool as she is. She kinda seems disappointed in the world...for being so dorky and lame and "into all of that". She's right, though. Most of us are pretty dorky. But that aside, I think she's got some soul. Plenty of music folk have heart, but it's a lot harder to have soul.

"So why did I kiss him so hard late last Friday night
And keep on lettin' him change all my plans
I'm either so sick in the head I need to be bled dry to quit
Or I just really used to love him
Or I just really used to love him
Or I just really used to love him
I sure...hope that's it."

I hope that's it, too.

So...well, first, thank you for all the "when's the baby coming?!? When's the baby coming?" questions. You guys are the best. You're "my jam." (I don't think I'm using it right.) SOON!!! I promise. Believe me, I'm as ready as you are. But I'm trying not to rush anything by getting antsy. Not rush things in a medical way, as in: if I try to rush something, something bad will happen. (For now at least, there's no medical worries on the horizon...I'm just LATE). But more in that: "she'll come out when she's ready to come out" kinda way and I'll keep her cozy (while she keeps me waddly) in the meantime.

No way I'd do it, but I thought about a water birth for the first time a few days ago. Don't know why. Don't think it ever crossed my mind during any other pregnancy...though I didn't have four years to think about things during any of the other pregnancies. I don't really get all the science behind it, but I kinda like the idea of my body readjusting itself (to deal with the fact that I'm in water) and all of that adjustment making it a little less painful...and maybe a little easier for Nelly-face, too. But...like I said, I'll never do it. Even though, in thousands of ways, Nicki's out of another time, I can't imagine her face if I ever said that I wanted a good ol' fashioned water birf for Nell. "Readjustment? Hydrotherapy?" she'd say. "Get over yourself, Margie." No way. Barb...she'd never go for it either, but she'd calmly try to talk me out of it and then maybe even share a laugh with Nicki about it after I left. But...I'm not gonna do it, anyway. It just popped in my head, is all. I'm getting kind of nervous right now. About the delivery. I mean, like, right now as I type this. It's amazing how sometimes I can completely not think about it and then, 20 seconds later, it's all I can think about:

BABY...............vagina -- Edited by margini at 05/14/2008 1:54 PM PDT

I remember when I was in third, forth (and maybe even the fifth grade), the "rich kids" (which I'm using as a put-down, for some reason...that's probably not too fair)...the rich kids wore a lot of LL Bean stuff for a while. Mostly the guys, I guess -- it's a pretty guy-ish store -- and they would wear LL Bean flannel shorts, or khaki pants, or those plastic, low-top boots called "duck boots" because, I'm guessing, you're supposed to hunt ducks in them or something. So, I wanted LL Bean stuff. I wanted our family dog to sleep on a "pinewood green" LL Bean dog bed with her name stitched on it in cursive. (That is, of course, if we had an actual family dog at any point. We had a gerbil that my mom killed with a mag light by mistake, "the boyfriend" Jerry had a ferret for a while, and a cat or two would show up here and there for a while. A couple of years ago, mom got one of those yippie dogs that's easy to step on and is, in general, terrible...but CoCo came way after I left. But we never had that fluffy, old golden retriever that looks like it would lay down in traffic for you if you asked it to. If we did have a dog like that, I would have named her Wilhelmina Golden McNugget, and called her "Nugget" for short. Best dog name ever. Second best: Lester. Bronze medal: Clovis*.

ANYway, all of that came back to me today when I was looking at a random LL Bean catalogue for the first time in years. No idea why we got one in the mail, but while I was thumbing through it today in the bath, I started laughing out loud at some of the modeling pictures they had in there. I think I might not want LL Bean stuff as much as I once did. I couldn't stop cracking up. Teenie knocked on the door and asked me if I was watching TV in the tub - an idea I've always wanted to make real...maybe one day. But no. It was the catalogue. The clothes are whatever - I'm not really into the fake outdoor look anymore - but the models are hilarious. They're not the hot models in J. Crew or Old Navy or Ralph Lauren that are, 20 and...really...I mean...totally hot. Not them. It's the Oldies that are getting me. I'm finding the mid/late-50'smale model to be a very funny part of the world...one that I had never appreciated before.

Salt and pepper hair is a must, though more pepper than salt is always preferable. Unless, of course, you're playing the grandfather who's taking his grandson hunting, or fishing, or walking in the snow to have a nice long talk about life. 'Established" is the look not "Old". Obviously, a ridiculously square jaw is a prerequisite. You know the guys I'm talking about. Just...for some reason when I was looking at the catalogue, all I could think about was "those guys". Selling "the good life" with a foursome of 50 year olds has started to make me giggle lately.

Those models might make good money, but there's no way they live like that in their actual lives. They don't always dress like that, do they? They're not always frolicking in tuxedos (ties tied..or "untied" perfectly) or roasting chestnuts in cashmere. They can't, I can't imagine, really have villas on the French Riviera, where they spend the winter months tanning and smoking and smiling and drinking.

I picture them having a terrible mortgage on a tiny condo outside of Los Angeles somewhere...and not in the beachy part outside of Los Angeles where everyone should want to be. No, I'mtalking about the other side of town. I'm picturing Mr. Johnny Tan Face taking off that linen suit he doesn't own, putting the Rolex back in the case, getting in his Hyundai, spending two hours in traffic to get back to that condo, getting yelled at by his zinfandel-loaded wife, snorting some kind of something, passing out in his underwear watching "Roseanne"...waking up at 6 in the morning, having really bad diarrhea and maybe throwing up, getting back in the Hyundai, getting back into Los Angeles, putting on a camel hair overcoat, smiling like a millionaire...and doing it all over again. It makes me laugh and cry at the same time. Someone should write an article about those guys. Explain them to me. I'm dying to know. What if one's an actual Duke or something awesome like that. That'd be...incredible...and surprising as all get out. But awesome all the same. Show yourself, Duke of middle-aged modeling. I want to meet you. *We miss you, Clovis!

This afternoon, I got yelled at by my mom for not having the baby yet. She yelled at me. Me: The person carrying the baby! What the heck is up with that mess, huh? I mean?are you kidding me? Especially her. Besides the fact that someone her age's last motherly duty is to help and be nice to her daughter during pregnancy (I don't need an allowance or a ride to the mall), that woman, in particular, has no right to be snappy with me about one darn thing.

"Well I can't imagine what you're doing to hold onto that baby so long, Margene, but if I were you--"

("If I were you"?!?! If she was me, I'd be drenched in vodka right now, living in Roswell or worse with a ventriloquist best friend a bad history with pyramid schemes. Come on!)

She went on: "If I were you, I'd be real careful and think real hard about having that baby real soon."

Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard. Thinking. Real. Hard.

Still no baby. Imagine that, Mom. But I thought real hard, and I mean REAL hard. I don't know what could have happened. Maybe that's not how it works. Maybe it's not about thinking real ha?whoa, what was that?I just?my water just broke?OH MY GOSH!! OH MY GOSH!!!

JUST KIDDING. GOTCHA.

Come on, folks. Even if I did start having the baby right now, I wouldn't tell you because that would make her ridiculous advice-think real hard-actually have some credibility and I'll go to my grave before I admit that "mama knows best" about anything. (I hope I'm not coming off too rotten about her. I love her and can normally take all her crap, but that one got me today, and I'm still a little riled up about it. Thank you for putting up with me complaining, Internet. You're good people.)

Still digging the Weber stuff, so that's good...even though Nicki keeps asking me what it's like not to be a "real woman" any more (funny, since I'm the pregnant one...AGAIN.) I Pretty much worked all week last week, and even a little on Saturday. Thursday I thought I was going to be off, but Bill called me on my cell phone while I was at the mall (getting a scalp massage, of all things) and told me he'd pay me time and a half if I could do the phones last minute...which, of course I said "OK" to, even though I should have asked for straight up double time. And then for a few hours on Saturday, and now today. I love getting a paycheck. I always wish it was more, though. I need to work on being less greedy. But I guess it's good I like to work now. Wanna secret? When I work for Weber? Bill makes sure I get child care from Nicki or Barb or Sarah or Ben, even! I know!!! How amazing is that? Give me a good honest hour of work over child care any day of the week. And when Nell finally bursts forth in all her glory? A week's maternity leave will be all that I need. Unless it is Caesarian, in which case I'll take two. And sneak a couple of Percodans. No harm no foul. You know what I mean?

Today, someone put me on hold for 37 minutes. Can you believe that? I've already done my "no one has manners" rant (maybe twice), but, even though it was just a fluke, it was amazing. Watched a full Jeps (which is what I call "Jeopardy!" for some reason, beffy...that was a very reasonable question on your part), and listened to their "on hold" music - Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69" - 11 times in a row...which probably helps explain my extremely weak performance in Final Jeopardy...John McEnroe? That was terrible. But this guy, who I was calling back, by the way, put me on hold, forgot all about me, went to lunch, came back, remembered, then got back on the line. It was actually pretty satisfying to have waited it all out. And we giggled about it when he finally got back in his office and realized I was still holding...

"You gotta lot of patience in you, young lady," he said. "Sure am sorry about that."

He was cute. I pictured him looking like Andy Griffith with a mustache.

I've noticed that when I'm actually talking on the phone, I walk around a lot, or, at bare minimum, I stand up. I wonder why that is. I don't know if it's a new thing or what, but I can't just plop down and yap anymore?at least not Weber yapping, that is. I was on a call with a company in American Fork this morning and stared, for at least 15 minutes, at this cat cleaning itself on the sidewalk in front of my house. It looked tubby enough to be someone's house cat, but also kind of had that attitude that only strays have...I don't know. But I was pacing back and forth in the front room, saw it out of the corner of my eye, and then couldn't watch it until it finally decided it was clean enough and walked off. No idea why. I guess it might speak, somewhat, to the overall lack of personal charisma on the part of Cheeky Swanson in American Fork , but something about this cat had me captivated. It had a great wattle that flapped back and forth when it walked. (Have I told yall how much I respect a good wattle? It's my favorite part of a cat. Neck fat is my favorite dog attribute.) I was impressed he or she didn't give a hoot about what was going on around it. Cars, bikes, people?nothing. It just kept on licking until s/he was done. One funny thing happened when Pam was doing her morning walk and came up on the cat. She didn't know I was watching, of course, but I had to giggle when she all of sudden saw the cat in front of her, harmlessly cleaning itself, and she just froze in her tracks the way you would if you saw a snake ahead of you on a trail or something. She looked terrified. I don't know if she's allergic to cats or what...or if she had some traumatic experience with a random cat when she was a little girl, but she gave the cat with the great wattle a wide berth - walking way up onto my lawn to get by - before continuing on down the sidewalk and looking back a couple of times to see if it was stalking her...it wasn't. It was hilarious. I want to ask her about it, but I think she might get self-conscious or think I watch her every move. You get it, Internet. You can appreciate the comedy in watching people do funny stuff when they think no one's watching. But I guess, deep down, it is a little weird: me, at home, mid-day, watching a cat on my sidewalk, in my nightgown, and I see Pam doing something quirky. It's probably tough to bring that up with her: "Hey, Pam! So, I was staring at you the other day, and..."

That might make her think I'm weird. But now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure she already does. Maybe I'll just call and see what her deal is with cats...maybe I will! And ask her to THINK REAL HARD about it.

First of all, I feel like every "issue" (wrong word... "topic"?...) Every thing I think when I sit down to write I feel like I've written already. (Have I already written that I feel like I've already written everything already? Probably.) I may have asked "why do people have such terrible phone manners" before but I know I haven't talked about it for the reasons I want to talk about it right now because this is the first few weeks of working for Bill on the phones at Weber Gaming and that's what got me thinking that people are terrible on the phone. So during parts of the day when Don and Bill have to do more Home Plus stuff?which is a lot of the time, they forward the Weber calls to my house and I take messages and do a little what-not here and there (pretty much just keeping the ship from sinking ) but in the process, I have to deal with some real pieces of work. What happened to, "this is so-and-so. May I speak with so-and-so, please?" I didn't grow up with many manners. Trust me. But even I was taught that one. What am I supposed to do with this:

"Hey, it's Charles. Tell Bill me and Sinclair talked about it and we'll take fifteen of the twenty-three hundreds for six months, flat, and then 15% after that."

I hear that and my head spins. You know how many calls I get an hour? A lot. I haven't been keeping really good count or anything but I get a lot. And the reason I'm perfect for this job is because I have the time. Bill brought it up real casually a few weeks ago and I didn't really know how he or Barb or Nicki would feel about me working for Weber Gaming, but all I'm doing is taking phone calls, and like I said, I can't do much more than sit on the couch anyway so while I'm sitting on the couch, why not answer the phone and try to move a few slot machines, right?

I can't go out anywhere anymore. I look like the Outback Steakhouse blimp and I pee every nine seconds, so instead of doing nothing, I throw on a hands-free head-set and clock in for a few hours. I can be with the kids. We got a phone line splitter that's easy as cheesy to work, and I'm just sitting on the couch watching "Jeps" re-runs, talking to people like Chuck, Sinclair, Loom, Doc, and Carlos. If this is what a career woman is, I'm it. But seriously, these guys - it's only guys I talk to - just call like they're the only person we might do business with and they just jump right in with their stuff. That's so conceited, right? I mean?I don't even like when people say "it's me" on the phone (Barb does that), but people that do that, at least, know you. I'm talking to strangers all day and they, more or less, do the same thing. "It's Charles.' Thanks. And?who's Charles, again? Right. The guy I talked to an hour ago. Get real. Be a grown up. Tell me who I'm talking to when you call me. Teenie does it. Why can't you, Chuck? Huh?

I am kind of loving this little part-time job, though, and I never thought I would. I was on the phone a ton when I was working at Home Plus and it stunk. But this is kinda groovy, actually. At first, last week, it was all messages. Truth be whatever, that was pretty boring. When it was just messages. But by Thursday or so, I branched out a little. I had to know what people were talking about so I more or less pretended to be a temp last Friday and asked a bunch of questions and by this Friday, I was almost wheelin' and dealin' a tiny bit. I mean. Not for real, but kinda. It's great. Especially cause it's only a few hours a day. I might could do it a few more hours here and there, but...if Bill wants me to, I will. I'd like to if he asks me, though.

I'm "on" again tomorrow. I've never had a "job" where I've liked saying that. A few hours in the morning after the boys go down and I take a bath, and then a few hours after lunch, after the boys go down and I take a bath. (That's right. Multiple baths a day. You better believe you'd do it if you could. I can. I'm always pregnant. I KNOW I've said that before?but get used to it. It works. Every time.) It's amazing that work can be somewhat enjoyable. That's new to me. I've hated every single job I've ever had. The first restaurant I worked in wasn't too bad because I was 16 and they'd let us have a beer or two after we closed out our section, but that place got shut down quicker than Nick's Grill out by the movie theater (3 months), where the health inspector found semen in the biscuit batter. I have no idea how long Bill'll need me, but I'm game for whatever. It's more fun being on the field than just being a cheerleader, that's for sure.

I don't know who this Damien Hirst guy is, but apparently he's rich and famous and weird and British, and also, I'm pretty sure he stole an idea of mine. Yes, his dots are in straighter lines and a little bit more colorful, but his painting "LSD" (druggie...typical) looks a heck of a lot like a picture I drew three and whatever years ago during some serious down time as an employee at Home Plus. I used every color high lighter I could get my hands on; used a quarter to draw a bunch of circles on a piece of construction paper, and colored them all in with different colored high lighter. I called it "germ farm" and the end result looked a lot like, this:

wikipedia.org

Except his sold for, like...17 million dollars and mine, I'm pretty sure, got ripped down the second I stopped working at Home Plus. I had a coworker named Cheryl who would always complain that my picture made her feel like she was getting sick just because the name of the thing was "germ farm". Man that grinded my gears. I'm pretty sure she never felt well because she was like 300 pounds and smoked two packs a day. She didn't think so, though. It was my picture. Little did she know how valuable it actually was...

There are only 435 people living in Martin, Michigan. 435. Martin, Michigan. That's a great name for a town with only 435 people in it. I wonder if I wrote them all a letter (or maybe wrote one letter and sent it to everyone), they'd consider renaming it Margene, Michigan. I mean, if Martin is, like, some pioneer or explorer who settled the town or something important like that, keep it Martin. But if Martin was some big wig who just happened to be rich long enough, I think maybe it's time for a change. And that's what's great about a town so teeny-tiny. Only 435 people! They can make some changes if they want to. That's pretty cool. 435! There might be more people in Juniper Creek. (Gosh, I wonder if Juniper Creek is on wikipedia. I'm scared to look. If it's up there, I bet Adaleen wrote it.) If I could get one person from Martin, Michigan to read this blog (writing this blog more often might help with that) and he tells 20 people about this blog... then, like, a pretty big portion of Martin, Michigan will know who I am. Maybe that'll help get the ball rolling. I'd settle for an intersection or maybe a stoplight. Does Martin even have a stoplight? Do towns even dedicate stoplights? Who cares? This is Martin, Michigan. PEOPLE OF MARTIN, MICHIGAN: ANY INTEREST IN BEING THE SISTER COMMUNITY OF LINDA VISTA LANE and naming your first (or next) stoplight "The Margene Memorial Stoplight"? Or just change the name of your entire town? Let me know. Believe it or not, I do read the responses my fans and haters throw at me. Call me!

Moldova is a country, but it sounds like a body part you're not supposed to let strangers touch or see.

I have a... third (?) cousin named Jon F. Kenedy. No "H" in the first name. Only one "N" in the last name. And the "F" stood for "Flip". I only saw him three or four times but... why would you do that to a child?

It's probably because I've been pregnant for... forever now, but lately I'm feeling very... punchy. Agitated. Kinda snappy... I don't know. I have a short fuse recently. I hate that. I was at... (OK, don't say anything... I know how bad this is without anyone pointing it out... I was at a Lowes the other day. Don't give me any guff about it, it was right on my way and I remembered I had to get light bulbs... it was, literally, the next building I passed. So I went in.) Anyway, I was at Lowes and the woman in front of me had no idea what she wanted. She had 45 things in her cart, but she was only gonna get, like, 5 things. But she brought all these different brands and sizes of the 5 things she was getting — why is it so hard to buy a padlock? — and she kept asking the cashier for advice on which brand and size to buy. And color! She asked what color of cabinet handle the cashier thought she should get. Are you kidding me? So, I had to wait in line behind this lady and all I wanted to do was be in bed... in the dark (funny, since I was buying light bulbs) and just hear nothing. I wanted to be deaf, almost... so I didn't have to hear this woman talk. And I felt bad about that. But, man, I totally felt it... to my bones. It was one of those feelings that you feel sooo hard that you feel it... like, on and in your body. I was just mad. I didn't really want to be deaf, of course, but this woman was annoying me so deeply I wanted to snap my fingers and be listening to that noise that's just... noise... that you only hear late at night. Nothing specific, but everything together... it's silent, but you can hear it, you know? You'll hear a car passing every once in a while or whatever, but really it's just what "nothing" sounds like. I was praying to be able to hear that nothing when this lady was yapping. When it was all over — when she finally got her 5 useless, random things — I was kinda proud of myself for not blowing up at her. I played that scene out in my head, but couldn't come up with any good version, so I guess I'm actually happy the way it turned out. But, man. She was grinding my gears, people. And really, all she was doing was shopping. A woman shopping made me dream of living in a cave and never talking to anyone again. That's probably not a good thing. I really want to not be pregnant. Seriously. And I still gotta a while...

Finally, just because it's on my mind, obviously, I just went ahead and typed it in: "Pregnancy". I halfway expected it to just be picture after picture of me. But, it's not. I'm learning some great lingo no one uses, though. A woman that's never been pregnant (that ain't me) is called "nulliparous". Who knew? Maybe if I read all the stuff that's here, Nell will finally just pop out...maybe I can make her as sick of being in there as I am hosting her...probably not, though. She loves it in there. I can tell. My uterus is exactly where she wants to be, and who can blame her? And in the mean time, I ask you this: in the picture on the right, what in the world is this woman wearing? Are those pistol holsters or is it a stripper outfit...either way, those dangly things seem out of place...thoughts?

wikipedia.org

Wow. So. This is new. Don't be mad and make too much fun of me, either. But, I wrote a story. It's really short. I'd love for the www to read it, if anyone wants to. If not, just tell me nicely and I won't post another. I doubt there will even be another one, so?don't even worry about it.

I had a dream that I was in this Scottish castle, standing by a HUGE fireplace, talking about Dr. Phil with a Dalmation and Tabby cat. The cat hated Dr. Phil and wanted to attack him in his sleep. The dog didn't seem to care one way or the other about Dr. Phil, but was super concerned about when his master was going to be home. He wasn't scared of his master coming home or anything. He just missed him really badly.

So, when I woke up, I decided to write a little story. If you're not so sure you're interested in seeing what kind of story I can come up with, I'll tell you it's been very highly reviewed already. Teenie said it was "more fun than what they make us read in school." I'll take it.

Hope you (kinda) like it.

Also hope everyone is having a great new year.¹
____________________________________________________

The fire crackled and hissed as the Cat and the Dog laid, all curled up, on the warm brick in front of the not small fireplace on the far wall of the family room. It was mostly just embers by that point?but it had never been hotter. And the Dog and the Cat appreciated that fact.

"This might be as hot as it's ever been," the Dog said.

"You'd know better than I would about that," the Cat responded without opening his eyes. "This being my first winter and all. But this is a restaurant quality fire, if you ask me. Grade A."

The Dog lifted her head off the brick and looked at the Cat, whose eyes were still closed.

"You've never been in a restaurant, have you?" she asked.

"No," the Cat said simply. "I heard the Boy say that about a glass of lemonade the Woman made for him the other day...pink lemonade...so I thought I'd give it a try here?when we were talking about the fire. I think it just means something's really good."

"He doesn't play fetch with me as much as he used to...the Boy."

The Dog began licking her black spotted paws.

"You sound just like a woman," the Cat said as he flipped himself on to his back.

"The woman?" the Dog asked. "Our Woman?" She flipped her snout in the direction of the kitchen, which was separated from the family room by a long, marble counter top. "Her?"

"The...A...Our?whatever. 'He doesn't...(fill in the blank)...as much as he used to'. Such a chick thing to say...I'm telling you, it's true. You probably remember him playing fetch a lot more than you actually played fetch."

"Only because I'm warm and I'm tired am I going to let that comment slide."

"Don't do me any favors," the Cat said.

"Never have, never will," the Dog assured him. "And you sound ridiculous using slang and phrases like 'don't do me any favors' and 'restaurant quality'. I just thought you should know."

"Noted," said the Cat.

"And 'noted'."

"I'm not worried about it," the Cat said, giving all indication that he meant it.

From a kitchen, a crash of a shattering salad bowl. The Cat leapt to his feet and readied himself for any kind of escape he might need to make. "Dagnabit!" said the Man from the kitchen. "I'll get the gosh darn dust pan."

The Dog, whose head had raised at the noise but who did not move from her spot, slowly lowered her chin back down onto the brick. She smiled and looked at the Cat out of the corner of her eye. She yawned.

"You OK there, sport?" she asked, oh-so-casually.

"Don't call me that, Dog."

"Feisty."

"You'll have yourself a nice bloody snout if you egging me on, " he said, yawning as well.

"You make me tired and that's the only reason I like you."

"OK."

He yawned again. "I mean it."

The fire popped some more. The Dog wished the Boy would come over and put one more log on and stay up and watch TV; Or even better, that the Man would drop one or two pieces of coal on the embers and talk about how "that's how you really keep a fire hot"...and then stay up and watch TV with the Boy. After a minute, the Dog stood up, walked in a tight circle and sat down, facing the kitchen.

"I think they've clocked out for the night, Dog. I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"My hopes aren't up," she said dismissively, even though it wasn't true. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

"They're always up. You're a dog."

The Dog knew it was true as she slowly laid back down, still facing the kitchen.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" the Dog asked, reserved.

"Maybe right here. Although...there's nothing worse than falling asleep with his warmth and then waking up two hours later and I'm freezing my paws off and it's dark as all hell." The Dog nodded a knowing nod. "So I might try to sleep on the vent in the Woman's walk-in closet, but she's been checking on me there a lot lately and God knows I don't need that. Maybe on the piano bench. I know that's weird, but I like it. Maybe in the Man's leather chair. To answer your question: I'm not sure. You calling dibs on something?"

"Whatever," the Dog sighed.

"Don't pout."

"I'm not."

She was.

The lights in the kitchen began disappearing, and this caught the animals' eyes. The both perked their ears up, waiting. Yes, even the Cat.

The Woman walked out of the kitchen and through the family room. "Make sure this fire won't burn the house down," she said as she walked through another door on the other side of the room.

"Gotcha," the Man said as he entered shortly thereafter. He gave the fire a once over and followed the Woman through the doorway.

The Cat had already fallen back asleep. Only one kitchen light remained on. The Dog's ears remained at attention?one slightly creased and cattywomped. The Boy came through, munching on a piece of peanut brittle as his lanky body loafed through the family room.

He never broke stride. He never looked at the Dog. She stood and shook her head and body, straightening out her ear.

After he had walked through the doorway and out of her sight, he whistled and clicked three times. The Dog's eyes lit up like the burning embers as she sprinted out of the room, struggling to keep her paws under her, following the Boy's call, and leaving the Cat alone by the fire.


¹Oh, and no bowtie for Bill for Christmas, but I couldn't disagree more about a man never looking good in a bowtie. It just takes the right man. And, no. We don't drink caffeine. Hot water with lemon, mostly. Good question, though.

Random, but so for real, aspiration of mine: conducting an orchestra. Does that blow your mind, Internet? Me, Margene, in my pajamas (assuming that's ok with the musicians, audience, etc...I do work best in my jamies), baton in hand and all the what not...just bringing the house down in some huge concert hall. Sometimes I practice with a knife and fork when I'm cutting up Lester and Aaron's dinner...usually to that song on the "meat, it's what's for dinner" commercials. I love that song. I'm humming a certain part right now that I wish I could figure out how to write down so you'd know what I'm talking about it...I mean, I'm sure you know what part I'm talking about, but...I wish I could write it out because it's fun to try to write what a sound sounds like...especially music. Bop, bop-bop-bop, bop-bop-bop, bop-bop-bop, bop-bop-bop, BIP! Everyone's got that, right?

Here's a question for you, Internet...if I may. And I think I may because, well...it's the best part about this whole situation we got going on here. You don't really know me that well and I don't really know you all that well, either, so it makes it OK to just come out of nowhere with something like: why do men have to make everything make sense? Like, why does everything have to work out to a: "this happened then this happened then this happened then this happened and that's why it is the way it is from now on"? Whoa. Yeah, I know. That's a little fru-fru-y of a question, but come on. All of us are philosophers sometimes, right? It doesn't take a toga or a bowtie, does it?¹ I do my best contemplating in the bath?or bathroom in general, really, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I think it's a question worth thinking about?even if it's only when I'm in the tub or on the toilet (which is more time than you'd like to think about, lately. Gross.) I've been kinda the butt of the family joke lately-mostly from Ben and Bill - for being a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions and it grinds my gears that every little problem I have or moment of frustration I go through (and sometimes make others go through with me), one of them has THE...solutionor so they think. I was a little crabby yesterday afternoon so Bill brought me some water to soak my feet in, which is super sweet, of course. But when I was still kinda crabby, definitely less crabby, but still kinda crabby...like 15 minutes later, he was in total shock. Sore feet = crabby, to him. Do something to help sore feet...no more crabbiness. It ain't that easy. I was crabby for about 5 million reasons yesterday afternoon. ONE of them happened to be that my feet were sore. ONE of them?you see what I'm saying?

Ben's been Captain Current Events lately, which is something that I'm really proud of him for, and he and Bill have been talking all through dinner (and after) about Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, the environment?all the stuff that CNN yaps about all day long (I bet CNN's run by a bunch of fellas, too, of course.) And?it's great, you know. It's really great (and I'm so proud of Bill, too, for really getting into this with Ben lately) when a dad and son talk man talk?you know worldly stuff. It's just...a great thing to witness because you see them talking and listening to one another in a completely different way than they normally do. And they both love it and it's probably made all of us .5% smarter just from exposure to second-hand conversation, but hearing them talk (and I know they're saying informed, educated things)...but hearing them talk, you'd think the world existed on a straight path...and has for all of time. Of course I'm not saying what they're talking about is simple or that they're being "simple-minded" or anything like that, but...I don't know?it seems like they never take into account things "just happening"...randomly)...and so everything has to be tied to something else for it to make any sense or be worth talking about at all.

Maybe I'm way off. I mean, they obviously know more about things in the world than I do...but it's not the details I'm even talking about here. I don't doubt that they know more about what's going on than I do. I'm just talking about the way they talk about stuff. It's all super interesting, but it does seem way too?straight forward (if that's the right phrase for it). Is it really possible that "this caused that which caused that which caused that which caused 9/11"? That doesn't seem possible to me and I think that men really do need, for some reason, to think that way. Why? (Seriously. I'm asking.) And it's obviously not just about history or politics or stuff like that. A guy can't just BE sad. He's sad because...(fill in the blank...but the blank's only got room for one word.) And whatever's in the blank is the one and only reason. That's so weird to me. I guess it's just part of what makes us different, right? Sure. I can take that. Because trying to make sense of it would be to?think like a man. And that's not always a good thing, right?



¹Real quick: You think Bill would wear a bowtie if I got him one for Christmas this year? I kinda want him to. Is that weird? Not dorky, scientist bowtie. But I think he'd look good in a sharp, manly one. The people that mess it up for all bowtie folks are the ones that ONLY wear bowties. Those people are usually pretty uptight and I think they're ruining it for everyone else. Maybe I'll get him a nice, manly, red one. I think he can pull it off?if he ever took it out of the box.

First of all, I cannot believe The Bachelor didn't choose either one!!! Are you kidding me? I mean, it annoyed me at first?that he totally copped out and left all of us hanging?but then what really grinded my gears was the sit-down show after the final rose when DeAnna just wouldn't get it through her head that he didn't like her and that's why he didn't choose her. I mean, I know she didn't like hearing all this "I think about you more than you know" crap, but it looked like it NEVER crossed her mind that he was just being polite and not just saying: "Look. It ain't gonna happen. Hit the road." Now that would have warranted tears. I get that she wanted to be on the cover of People and all?all smiley and cuddly with her man. But it didn't happen. Get over it. Come on. Have to respect for yourself. You're making us all look bad.

Thanksgiving was great...as always. It's my favorite holiday. I'm sure I've said that before. (Or did I say that about Halloween, too? Let's just say?I like holidays?any and all. Huge Arbor Day fan. ) And this thanksgiving was great, per usual. Bill did a TurDuckEn again (I don't know about making the "E" capitalized, but if I didn't, the chicken part wouldn't get the respect it deserves, right? Sorry if it looks weird.) And Nicki made an incredible honey baked ham...not from the store...home. Made. Start. To. Finish. So yummy. I don't think they were allowed to eat pork on the compound because when I asked her why she never wrote the recipe down she said her mom wouldn't allow it...so it was either super-secretive or it was made on the sly. Either way, it was some kinda scrumptious. I helped with the fixins but left the important stuff to the pros. Stirred stuff when people asked me to. Melted butter...took the trash out...made the place settings?filled the water glasses...you get what I'm saying. I was second string...which is exactly where I belong on Thanksgiving day. I cooked a turkey once...once, if you get what I'm saying. It didn't go...well...at all. We watched the parade?watched some football with Benny. (Bret Favre is the cutest. Seriously. How does he get hotter every time I see him in those Wrangler commercials? Tell me. I want to know. I think it has something to do with the grayness in the beard.) It was a nice and relaxing day. Plus, we ate right at one o'clock, which I think is a good move because it gives you time for a round two (and three, maybe) without having to rush it before crashing into bed. I've never really dug the 4:30 Thanksgiving mealtime. I mean, there's nothing wrong with it, really, but you can count Margie out of any post-meal fun, more than likely, because 6:30-7:00 (...post TurDuckEn...with the recent Day Light Savings switch...)...well...I'll be like a sack full of rocks, asleep in my bed...maybe even with my clothes on. But one 'clock?done by three...there's still hope. The sun's still up. Football's still on. All systems are go...at least for a little while.

But my post-meal day did take a turn for the sad, though, in between round one and dessert (Sarah's pumpkin-pumpkin-that's right double pumpkin-pie). I went outside to get some air (I get sweaty now when I eat a big meal...yes, it's gross. I know.) And I saw my old friend Clovis, the bunny I found in the pool, not moving in the yard over by the boys' jungle gym. I knew right away. I hadn't seen him since the day I pulled him out of the drain, when I could hold him in the palm of my hand. But I'm sure...absolutely positive it was him. He is (or...was) bigger now and I could see him from the kitchen door lying underneath the slide. He was kinda curled up like a cat, but his eyes were open. Internet, it was so sad. I don't know how he died. He didn't look like he'd been attacked or anything. But he didn't look sickly or anything either. He just looked...dead. I stood over him for a few minutes and told him that I hope he had a good life and that his death was quick and painless and that he gets to come back as anything he wants to. It was nice to have a quiet little moment with him before I told Bill. He was really sweet about it. I think a lot of guys would have just put Clovis in a garbage bag and dumped him in the trashcan with the TurDuckEn carcass and that unsuccessful cauliflower casserole and run back inside to see a football score. But Bill didn't do that at all. He dug a little hole near the pool and buried him and even said a little prayer. Teenie and I cried a little and Nicki scratched my back lightly (in that comforting way) while Bill said a few words. Raymond drew a picture of me and Clovis in the pool that said: "Sorry Margie and Clovis." It was sweet. The whole family was really nice to me...they know I'm all hormonal and what not...it was still really nice that they didn't laugh at me or get annoyed that I was, actually, really sad. I think I'm becoming a more emotional person, in general. Things just weigh on me a little more now than they used to...and not just because of the baby. It's just weird that when I pulled him out of the drain and he was alive and he hopped off after eating a little snack with me, I never really thought he actually would die, you know? He dodged a bullet so I thought he'd be safe from then on. It's funny how my brain knows that makes no sense but I felt that way anyway. I thought he'd have a family with little bunnies running all around him and a lady rabbit and a nice warm burrow. But he died under a swing set...by himself. That's sad to me. I know he's just a bunny, but let me have this. He was special to me. Even though I only saw him one time, alive. He was my buddy. We had a connection. And I'm sad he's gone. It makes me scared to feel this way about Clovis when so many other (you might say, "bigger") things can happen at any point. To family...to friends...whoever. What if Bill had a heart attack in the Home Plus parking lot, you know? You never see the life-changing moments coming...and with emotions like mine...being blindsided is a scary thought. Anyway, my good friend Clovis' picture is on the blog somewhere...obviously I wrote about him the day I found him and if I still have the pictures on my camera, I'll re-load them. But if I can't find him and you'd like to get a look at him when he was a baby (and to pay your respects), scroll back through. We miss you, Clovis! Hopefully, I'll see you in Heaven.

Sorry to be a downer. Don't want to be, I promise. Just wanted to pass on the goings on in my life, as of late. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I'll stop just telling you about our holidays next time, I promise. Give you some more...I don't know...substance. Sorry I'm not writing more. I've become a netflix fiend and it's taking up a lot of my time. Any recommendations? I'm watching the first four seasons of "Beverly Hills 90210" right now. (You know you love it!) My favorite line in the whole series is the outgoing message on Dylan's answering machine: "This is Dylan?you know the drill." Tough as nails.

More soon.
Margie

Barb's funny. She's funny for wearing a shower cap and not thinking that's at all funny. She rocks a swim cap, too. That's less funny, but combined with the other thing?I don't know. I love how, to some women (Barb absolutely included), getting your hair wet is the worst thing that could possibly happen to you?ever. And it should be avoided at all costs unless during the controlled and pre-determined time. So funny.

She got me a 3-month-long membership at a health club downtown?after my Halloween binge, which she was none too happy about. I said I'd only go if she did and, finally, she gave in. That was a week ago, and now that I think about it, I have no idea why I said I'd only do if she did. She got me the membership to be nice (they have a special mommy-to-be class Monday, Wednesday, and Friday)?so why did I put up a fight? No idea. I should apologize for that. (mental note.) But anyway, I've liked gyming it up with Barb, even though we've only gone a couple times so far. Barb's even doing the preggers classes with me?which I think is awesome and, again, hilarious. I love her there. No one knows she's not pregnant, you know? I'm the biggest one there, anyway. So it's nice. She's in pretty good shape - much better shape than me - so I bet the exercises are pretty lame to her, but still?I think she likes it. It was pool day today?Wednesdays are pool days. Lots of bouncing. Lots of hands in the air and TONS of kegel squeezing to music like "Addicted to Love"?which makes me giggly. Our teacher is a big believer in kegel squeezing. And if the other ladies don't know Barb isn't pregnant (I feel like I'm beating this over the head?even if they did know, it wouldn't be a big deal at all?maybe they do know?it doesn't matter)?but if they don't know she's pregnant, they definitely do know she hates getting her hair wet. She's not subtle about it. She ain't afraid to hold up a class getting started. She makes it seem like a NASA engineer needs to triple check her swim cap for potential leaks before even a pinky toe even gets near the water. It's hilarious. I was laughing so hard at her inspection process. Glad I've been doing those kegel squeezes. :

It's been a long time since I've been in a gym. It's such a scene! I swear I saw Nitro from "American Gladiators" in there on Monday. (I should google him. If there's anything on wikipedia about him having any connection to SLC, then it was definitely him at the gym. I'll get back to you on that.) His b-acne was ridiculous. And he's balding. It was pretty sad. Still looked pretty strong, though?for what it's worth. But there are just so many characters in there...not just Nitro. There's the really old man that's really, really muscley?in an uncomfortable to look at kind of way. There's the slut. And the other slut. And the other slut. And the Asian slut. (lots of sluts?do people hook up at gyms? What's the world coming to?) There's the fat trainer with the glasses and goatee that should be working at Jack in the Box?not telling you how many crunches to do. There's the really sweaty guy on the stationary bike that must lose 2 gallons every 30 minutes. There's the girl on her cell phone the whole time: "Hold on. I have to do this lunge set real quick. Hold on." It's so funny. There are so many types of people that you almost always see at gyms?and I don't like any of them. I don't like Nitro, sluts, or sweaters. I guess I can say, now that I think about it, that I don't really like people at gyms. I mean, yes, I realize I'm at the gym myself, but I don't think it's really my thing. You can't look me in the eye and call me a gymmie. Barb's making me go because I need to go and Barb knows what she's talking about. So I'm at the gym, but I'm no gymmie. Gymmies are way too full of themselves, whether they're actually in shape or not. If I ran the world, I'd say, "no mirrors in gyms. Not one." No one's using them to make sure their form is right. It's all about ego. I hate seeing people making out with their ego. It's disgusting. Yes, we all do it. We all need to have a kind of back and forth with our ego, but don't do it on a mat in a room with 150 people in it?in front of a mirror?grunting. Come on. What is this crap?

My recent gym visits have made exercise a popular topic of conversation in the houses this past week, too. No one else is that interested. At first Ben was asking all the stuff we were doing and was all about helping us keep a log book and everything but as soon as he learned we weren't doing squats, bench presses, dips, and things like that, he really lost interest. Sarah said she might go with us one time, but I'm not holding my breath. Bill doesn't have time for it, but I begged him to do as many push ups as he could in one attempt?three nights ago. He did 71-which is a ton, if you ask me-but he's still too sore to move. Poor boy. He was trying to impress me, which I appreciate. And he did?impress me, I have to say. I do wish he could have lifted his dessert fork tonight at dinner, but?71 push ups! I'm so proud of my baby. I love my baby !

-- Edited by margini at 11/15/2007 4:32 PM

My best day of school EVER was the day after Halloween in fourth grade because I was the only kid in my class that didn't have to go on the field trip to the Dinosaur Resource Center in Woodland Park. My mom thought it was ridiculous to make eight year olds meet at 5 in the morning to go on a 4-hour bus ride the morning after Halloween...so she wouldn't sign the permission slip. It was awesome. It was a major win as a kid. I was so happy. It was just me and the student teacher in classroom and it was pretty much recess all day. And she got us McDonald's for lunch. It was great. Today's not that good, but things are going alright. I'm helping Bill by putting address labels on, like, a million envelopes that are being sent out to Weber people next week from all over. He's paying me a "munchy run" for every 100 I do. I think that's totally fair. He tried?tried?to low-ball me and negotiate for it to be 1 run for every 150 envelopes, but I told him he could pack that garbage in the car and take it to the dump because mama didn't raise no fool :. I know he's just gonna get Ben to go get my (Oreo) DQ blizzards anyway, so what should he care? He calls it "delegating". I call it "passing the buck." But either way I'm bloated on blizzards and I'm loving every second of it. Plus, they're "no lick" envelopes. Easy-peezy. So that's what I'm doing. I got 350 under my belt already today, so I'm cruising. There's candy all over this house. Pregnancy is a legitimate excuse, right? Right? Well, since I didn't hear anyone say no, I guess I'll have one more "Take 5". (Have you guys had one of these things, yet? Good lord. Get one. Now. I had thought the candy bar people had pretty much run out of ideas, but no. They had one more in them: combine all the ideas they've had before and put them into one candy bar. Genius.)

So all the kids had fun last night. Sarah and Ben too cool for trick or treating these days, but everyone else got into the groove. Teenie went as "Hannah Montana" and would snap to it when someone asked her to sing for her candy. Poor thing, she doesn't have a voice. I put little cowboy suits on Aaron and Lester and wheeled them around in the radio flyer wagon. Raymond went as a fireman (he carried a stuffed Dalmation and everything)?but Wayne was the cutest (if I had to just pick one.) The boy wanted?and I couldn't have made this up if I tried?he wanted to be a grilled cheese sandwich. So?that's exactly what he was. A grilled cheese sandwich. It was the best Halloween costume I've ever seen. Barb and Nicki made the whole thing from scratch for him?it was great. Seriously. The "bread" looked all golden brown and the cheese looked all oozy coming out of the sides. It was incredible. I'm gonna try to put some of the pictures up, but my camera's on it's last leg. It's been pretty terrible lately?but I'll try. Regardless, just imagine it. Wayne in a grilled cheese sandwich outfit. Ah! So cute!

We pretty much just did the neighborhood thing, trick or treating-wise. Pam (turbogirl, you asked how she was treating us) made all this fudge for everyone so that she got my vote for best homemade treats. (She's been fine, by the way. Pretty much a "don't ask, don't tell" type situation. Not in a bad way. In a respectful way.) But there was a lot goings on around town, too. I've never been much of a hauntedhouse person. I get scared but it's a cheap scared because I know something's gonna pop out from around the corner and so my waiting for it is scarier than the actual popping out? especially if it's something lame like some 16 year old kid holding an axe or whatever. There was this thing in West Haven that claimed to be "13 acres of haunted trails". Acres!!! 13 acres. Now that sounds scary. Trails. Trails are scary. Trails at night are really scary. Add a 16 year old with a chainsaw into that equation and I'm genuinely frightened. But? we didn't go. The other thing I read about that kinda sounded cool was some kind of dance recital of "Thriller" at Kinsbury Hall. I don't know. I'm always game for a live performance of "Thriller". My cabin did a version at camp one time because our counselor was a big fan and knew all the moves so we did it for "Talent Night". We won third, I think. The winners did some dorky camp-version of "Wheel of Fortune". We were pretty bummed. Anyway, I would have liked to see what they came up with at this thing last night. Maybe I'll try out for it next year? I can do that shuffle into overhead clap move really well.

Anywho. The Roman thing? I don't mean to dodge and I'm not being cagey, but there just isn't much to talk about. I could tell you what's in the paper, but? then again, so could anyone. Bill really wants us to stay clear of all of it and I'm pretty much all for that decision even though I don't wear a sandwich board all day that says so. It just seems easier to stay out of it. So much drama if we get involved. Obviously, like I said last time, it's been hardest on Nicki. But she seems to be doing alright. She follows the details the closest (they're picking jurors this week), but I think she's actually doing OK. She didn't bad mouth Halloween as much as she normally does. That's a good sign, I think. Or a positive side effect, at the very least. She's talking about maybe getting a part time job, too, so that's interesting. We'll see if that ever pans out, but? at least she's not holing herself up cutting out newspaper clippings all day long. Who knows, though?

Gonna run. Got me some more labels to smack on these envelopes. Hope you guys are having a good day today. Talk to you soon.

Margie

Alright. I'm not as tough as I let on. (Ha! Understatement, per chance?) I'm not tough enough to take all the crap "pro" bloggers take. But I'm also not tough enough to stay away as long as I thought I would. I miss you guys. I do. Is that lame? Do you hate me for liking that some of you like me? Everyone likes being liked, right? I'd go online and read all you guys' comments and it was nice to just sit for a while?but I'm ready to come back?if you'll take me. I'm sorry I was being so prissy to you, Internet, and everyone else. Bill told me I was acting like a little girl who dropped her ice cream cone on the sidewalk. (Has that ever really happened in real life, by the way? I think it only happens in cartoons or in old movies?) Anyway, I'm really sorry for being "Pouty Magee" over here. That wasn't cool. I wanna keep doing this. Hope you guys will continue to check in with me from time to time. Don't know what kinda schedule I'll be on-Nell's getting really uppity in there-but I'll definitely be posting a couple times a month?or thereabouts.

I'm on pink cloud nine these days, thinking about my Nell. I can't wait to have a little baby girl around here. It's starting to feel like a football locker room in these houses lately. Sarah's been hanging out with Scott SO MUCH (which isn't bad, I'm just saying?she's home for meals and family home evenings and that's it) and Teenie's?going through the phase where it is not cool to be hanging out with her mom(s). And then?there are the boys. And the boys?and the boys?so many boys. I swear Wayne and Raymond are HUGE and Aaron and Lester are becoming such boys! They smash things now, and love cars that either go fast or have big wheels. Lester's talking, practically rapping. Aaron's favorite thing on earth is the garbage truck. Bill took him out into the driveway on Tuesday morning to watch the garbage truck come down the block. It was so cute. His eyes were open almost as wide as Bill's smile. It was a sweet little moment. I wish I'd taken a picture?but I was vomiting in the kitchen sink at the time. (Yes, that's a complaint. I'm complaining here?it happens. Let me have it every once in a while.)

So I can't wait for her to get here. One more month! Yes! Nellynellynellynelly! Can't wait! I love singing to her, usually for a few minutes before we take our naps. I hope she's not disappointed in me once she's born and has to hear me sing to her "in person" or whatever. My voice stinks. But while she's in my belly, and doesn't know any better, I like to think she loves my vocal stylings. Before the nap?in that great quiet time as we're drifting off, I sing, "I'll let nothing separate us" by my mom's all time favorite singer, Otis Redding. That's a good one to wind down to. But then, when we wake up, usually in a pool of sweat, I sing Nelly's "It's gettin' hot in herre" because my girly's name is Nell (Nelly), because I've loved that song ever since it came out, and because it is, in fact, hot in herre all the time!

I'll give more of a family update next time. I just wanted to say hello, I'm sorry, and I'm back. I hope that's ok. Roman's trial is starting in the next few months so that's got everyone on edge, but Bill wants us to try to stay out of it all?which is hard on Nicki and easy on me. But, again, I'll get into all of that next time. I'll attach some ultra sound pics of Nell so you can introduce yourselves. I love the one of her sucking her thumb! Come on! How amazing is that? She's so super-duper, it's incredible. Next check up is on Friday. After that, only a few left before I got that little muffin in my arms, finally. Everyone's really excited. Bill's "all a-glow". It's cute. In such a great way, when a baby's on the way, Bill gets so family-ish, it's awesome. Not that he's not like that during the other times, but when we're counting down days to a new one, he gets so giddy and happy and fatherly. It's adorable. Anyway, tootles for now. Good to be back. Please come hang out with me on the www-internet-web. : I miss you!

Lots o' love,
Dame Margini Henrickson, esq. (You telling me I'm not a dame and a lawyer? Prove it?)

Dear Internet,

Umm…we need to talk.

I think we need a break from each other. No, not me and Bill. Not me and Nicki. And no, not me and Barb…even though you’re convinced I don’t give a flip about her. No. Me and you. Me and you, internet. Things have gotten…angry. Tense. Not nice. Judgmental. Snappy. Snippy. Harsh…

Maybe it’s because I’m in a heightened emotional state with the baby coming. (Which reminds me, if I continue the blog, the next time I’m preggers, I’ll include extensive photo documentation of my waist line, bunions, and uterus so that maybe a few less people could ask if I’m really pregnant.) So, maybe my emotions are haywire, I’ll admit. But I just don’t think I’m feeling it anymore…right now, at least. Maybe in a couple of weeks. (A couple months?) Maybe I’ll get back in the saddle and crank this thing up again, when I have the stomach for the good, the bad, and the ugly. But I’m taking a break for now. I don’t need this. It’s hurting my feelings. It’s making me feel worse about myself. It’s making me sad. Why would you want that to happen? Where do you get off, Internet?

I guess I need to work on my delivery…here and out in the world. (And I guess I need thicker skin, too, but I hate that I do and that thick skin is looked at as a good thing. Why is that? All it proves is that you’ve gotten hurt before…all it proves is that you’re less sensitive than before…it’s so stupid.) I get mad, you say I’m “throwing a tantrum”. Barb gets mad and she’s “telling it like it is”. I’m sorry, but that’s unfair. Barb and I have different points of view…different opinions…we’re different people. I’m not in Barb’s head…and the closest you get to being in mine is what I write here. You don’t know everything. You don’t anything, in fact. A lot of you want to relate to Barb, and there isn’t an ounce wrong with that. If you don’t relate to her, you should because in a lot of ways, she’s as good as it gets. But she’s not perfect. That’s not an insult. That’s a statement of fact, ok? You don’t need to defend her to me. I get what she’s gone through. Believe me. I get it more than you do and if what I’ve said or done has made you not believe that, I’m sorry. But to say she’s the only one who has sacrificed to be in this family is absolutely ridiculous. And to keep count is just as insane. (Is there a way to score who’s gained the most? Doubt it.) It doesn’t matter who you think has contributed more or less…if you’re keeping track, you’re missing the entire point. I regret a lot of what I’ve said to Barb…especially in the past couple of days. I’ve been short with her. I’ve tried to prove a point or two by being a little over the top. I’ve put her in situations she probably didn’t enjoy being in, and I’m sorry. I’ve told her that. I told her that. I don’t need to tell you that, Internet. Feel free to stop reading. And I’ll help, by not writing…for a while. I don’t want to let you win by giving up all together (plus I’m used to typing now. Writing with a pen gives my hand cramps now anyway. I guess I could type and still not go public with it but you’d love that too much, internet.)

I’m not feeling sorry for myself that I’m catching so much hell from you, Internet. I’m just kind of over it for now. Maybe we can get back together in the future, near or far. I need to exhale…and I think you might, too. I thought things were hard in the real world! They’re even harder when you have a peanut gallery. During my time exiled from cyberspace, however long it is, feel free to write about your lives. Expect consequences, though. There are more than you might think. You feel worse about mistakes when you’re called out. I’m just warning you. Maybe I’ll make up another screen name and write mean things to the folks that have called me selfish, childish, blind, and dumb….let them see what it’s like to have mistakes highlighted for the world to see. I won’t. I don’t even know if I want to or not. I just feel like being mean for mean’s sake. That’s pointless. So, scratch it. I won’t do that. I promise.

So if you don’t hear from me for a while, don’t worry about me…not that you would. I’ll be fine. We’re fine. The family’s fine. Barb and I squared away a lot of what’s been eating at us and whether you believe it or not, we’re fine, too. I apologized to her…and believe it or not, she apologized to me, too. She knows I’m not perfect and I know she’s not and Bill’s not and Nicki’s not and OUR SITUATION is not and while the “valleys” might not seem valuable to you…I guarantee we’re better for them as a family. I’ll be thinking about you a lot. I’m sorry I disappointed you…but I can’t care that much…even though I want to…I know that I don’t, deep down. Maybe I’ll make you proud of me again in the future. That’d be nice. But it’s not that important.

I’ll be in touch. I’ll give you updates when I’m up for it. I’ll read your hate mail…but I won’t give you any new ammo for a while. What I’ve given you so far has been returned to sender and it’s chinked my armor. Probably just another example of my immaturity, but…it’s true and it does, in fact, hurt. I doubt that was the goal…I don’t know exactly how malicious you are, Internet…but your tongue is sharp. I know that now. A good lesson to learn. One that will help me when we meet up again. I can’t ask you to keep stopping by if I’m not giving you anything to read regularly…but I kinda hope you will…just to see say what’s up. Hope. I won’t blame you if you don’t. I wouldn’t, if I were you. But…just don’t forget about me. I’ll upload some pictures of the baby when SHE is born (I’ve known for a while…wanted to say something…but…).
We’ll cross paths again, I’m sure.
Sincerely,
Margene Henrickson,
wife of Bill, Barb, and Nicki…
mother of Ben, Sarah, Teenie, Wayne, Raymond, Aaron, Lester, and Nell.