Saturday, December 31, 2011

carrying this torch

I've been sitting here for an hour. I've erased five different first sentences. It's hard to know what to write. I would tell you all about Christmas, but I think we're all a little tired of the festivities by now, aren't we? I would recap the year, but that would just mean rehashing the details of baby-growing. I would write a list of resolutions, but I sort of hate resolutions. I rarely remember them past January 5, and if I do remember they only make me feel guilty for my lack of proactivenesstivity. It's a word, deal with it.  I would describe how it feels to be so close to having a baby, but that feeling morphs from sheer joy to utter panic every thirty seconds, and I don't want to give you reader whip-lash. So I guess I'll tell you about sewing. I sew now. I'm a sewer. Six days ago I became the elated owner of a limited edition Project Runway Brother sewing machine. The first page of the machine's manual declares in bold, capslock THIS IS NOT A TOY. But if you ask me, it really depends on your definition of toy. For what is a toy if not a gateway to dreams? A mechanism for unlocking possibilities, for letting imagination rule, for shape one's ambitions? Just as Go Go the Walking Pup taught me to be a responsible dog owner and Legos unleashed my inner architect, so does my sewing machine make all those pinterest projects possible realities and not mere pipe dreams. Who knows? Maybe I, Meg Morley Walter will some day be the next Project Runway winner. I've already (almost) completed a baby quilt, all the while hearing Tim Gunn's voice in my head, making it work.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

my gift to you

Call 719-26-OATES.

Merry Christmas. And you're welcome.

Monday, December 19, 2011

make my dreams come true

Last night was the annual Morley Family Gingerbread House Building Extravaganza! The name is a bit of a misnomer since we've never actually used gingerbread and instead of houses we usually construct abstract imitations of the world's greatest structures. It's always one of my favorite nights of the year as well as one of the most frustrating. The same thing happens to me every time. I have BIG ideas. I get really excited about creating my graham cracker interpretation of stone henge or Trump Tower or whatever, and then about forty five minutes in I remember that I am not an artist, that graham crackers break, and that there are not enough gum drops in the world to make up for my lack of architectural know-how. Sometimes I give up, start over and make a quaint winter cottage with a peppermint wreath. Sometimes I suck it up and finish the job I started. Like this year:

It's the Great Wall of China. Obviously.

When my dad saw my finished product he asked, "Is it a garbage barge?" Sigh.
The other Morleys (and one Walter) seemed to fare somewhat better than I, as is usual.

Stephen's space plane with a little Ziggy Stardust

Hannah's winter manor

Carey's nursery

Brad's church (nondenominational)

Nick's...I'm not sure what this is.

These bears at a campfire wish you a Merry Christmas.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Call Doreen

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

girl i don't believe in what you say

How much perfume is too much perfume?
My personal scent policy, since you asked, is two squirts if it's body spray, one squirt if it's a legitimate perfume, and thirty minutes to let it settle before coming within ten feet of another human. Otherwise, in my humble opinion, it's just too much.
I maybe should have shared my credo with the woman at the table next to us at lunch today. Because if the smell of your perfume is overpowering the taste of other patrons' pad kee mow, you've got yourself a problem. Seriously. I have no idea how my food tasted. I mean it tasted like decades old baby powder, not like the Thai dish I ordered thanks to her vapor cloud of suffocating smell.

To be fair, my pregnant nose is pretty much an unwanted super power. I might be overly sensitive.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

he's a jolly good fellow

Happy Birthday Ollie!

We hope you enjoy the treats, the new leash, and your new toy duck, which you haven't let out of your sight for the past three hours. You make us laugh every day, and while you have your naughty puppy moments, we're so glad you're a part of our ever-growing family.

Monday, December 12, 2011

walk past the cafe

My thoughts lately read a lot like this:
BABY. 6 WEEKS TIL BABY. work. i need to go to target. BABY. i have to go to the bathroom again. IS SHE STILL KICKING? i wish elf was streaming on netflix. BABY KICKING. is it ok to eat blue cheese when pregnant? GOOGLE SAYS IT'S NOT OK. i already took a bite. OH NO, WHAT HAVE I DONE?. i should really vacuum. BABY. KICK COUNT. work. BABY. utah. i'll vacuum tomorrow. BABY. 6 WEEKS TIL BABY. gossip girl. BABY. grilled cheese sandwich. BABY. where's the best place to buy a nerf gun? BABY.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

yes it is

Some of use have to learn how to be cool. We have to observe others, and learn from their ways.

Then there are those of us who are born cool. They are the observed. Like my sister Hannah:

18 years ago, Hannah was born cool.
For a while, it was hard on Hannah to have an older sister who is a little bit spazzy and wears socks with boat shoes. After having surgery at a young age, Hannah's attending nurse asked her about her family. Hannah replied, "I have a mom, a dad, and a brother." No mention of sister. She would draw family portraits of her mom, dad, brother and even dog, but no me.
Luckily she eventually came around, and over the years, she has not only become more radical, but has also become sweet and generous and the best sister anyone could ask for, let alone the best soon to be aunt for Baby Ivy. She's going to redefine "cool aunt", and I'm so grateful our daughter will have Hannah in her life becuase she needs to look up to someone who knows better than to wear socks with boat shoes.

Happy 18, Han!

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

must be Santa

I just realized how easy it would be to get a job as a mall Santa this year. What with my naturally rosy complexion and my twenty pounds of belly- yes, twenty, I'm a dead ringer.
But it's not just my appearance that's old-manish lately. After I woke up from a nap, Stephen recited a poem he wrote in my honor:
"The love of my life lies on the couch,
Sweet, right? And accurate. I snore. Pregnancy makes me snore. And dependent on antacids. And my vision seems to be slipping? I'm just a beard away from Grandpadom.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

For the holidays you can't beat home sweet home.

I almost spelled that title "you can't beet home sweat home." Do beets sweat? Do vegetables perspire?
Also, how hard is it to create a Christmas playlist that excludes Mariah Carey? Huh, Pandora?
Finally, The proof is in the pudding. What proof? What pudding? What murder mystery was solved when the inspector, addressing a dining room full of dinner guests, pulled out his magnifying glass and declared, "Aha! The proof is in the pudding!" and then pulled a bloody dagger from a trifle?

In the name of practicality, we at the Walter residence are forgoing Christmas decor this year. It makes sense since we're here for just another week before heading West once again. Stephen is more than ok with it since he likes Christmas about as much as he likes sweaty beets. Ollie hasn't said anything about our apparent lack of holiday cheer. I promised Ivy we'd have a tree next year, and she seems cool with it. Really, it's just me that's wrestling with our grinchiness. Last week at Target I put the same wreath in my cart then removed it three separate times. Ultimately I bought four baby onsesies instead of a wreath, but I may go back.Unless you validate my practicality, Internet. Guide me.

Fun fact, I had to google the spelling of the following words for this post:

School, you failed me.

Monday, December 5, 2011

da doo da doo da doo

Kids love Stephen. Every kid in the world. Or at least every kid we come in contact with. Whether we're sitting in church, shopping at the grocery store, or walking down the street, young ones stare, smile and giggle anytime Stephen looks their way. Some take it a step further (literally) and walk up to him. And some, like this small child, without saying a word, approach our table, hop into Stephen's booth and cuddle up close. Stephen's new friend didn't seem to mind that I was cackling with laughter or taking his picture. In fact, I don't think he even realized I was there. All that mattered was Stephen.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

the western front

Happy December!
This is possibly my last full month of pregnancy. Holla back! Besides holding our new baby, I think I'm most excited for the pregnant paranoia to end. Everyday I learn about some new potential complication or terrible something that could happen between now and delivery. And everyday I'm more convinced it will happen to me (us). Is this what parenthood is? Will I spend the rest of my existence worrying that my children will wrap the umbilical cord around their necks or stick their fingers in sockets or drive too fast?
Speaking of parenting, Stephen and I are supervising my cousins while my aunt and uncle are out of town.  Our job is to make sure they're nourished and to school on time, which means driving my aunt's car, which means trying to determine what all the many different buttons do. You would think I would know better than to push the red button marked SOS, but I swear I thought it would open the garage door. Instead it connected me to an emergency response operator who did not think it as funny as I did that I called by mistake. I would venture to say she was highly unamused. My bad.