Still Pregnant

So for those of you who are curious, the answer to your question is no, we haven't had the baby yet! I have a history for cooking my babies a little longer than the expected due date. Emmy was five days late and Sophie was ten days late. There are a lot of advantages to going past your due date: more time to finish those last minute nesting projects, more opportunities to do those last fun and crazy things that you think you'll never get to do again, and the chance to answer the question, "you're still here?!" over and over again.

Nevertheless, as fun as it is to pass the 40-week mark, I'm ready to be done with this phase and on to the next. I'm excited to meet this new little stranger. I'm excited for Emmy and Sophie to meet their new baby. I'm excited to smell that new baby baby smell and to snuggle up with my own little bundle of love.

We'll keep you posted. Surely we won't have to wait too much longer, will we?

Take the Poll

For my dear friends who read this blog . . . notice the poll in the upper left hand corner . . . take a vote! Hopefully the verdict will be in sometime this week . . . you never know!

A Story for Father's Day

I have two recurring dreams. The first is a nightmare—I have long hair to my waist, I’m playing basketball, and I don’t have a rubber band to pull back my hair. I humiliate my team as I repeatedly can’t catch the passes thrown to me from my teammates. My coach chews me out and I am ashamed—the worst player on the team. The second dream is quite the opposite—I am the star of my team. I make every shot, grab every rebound, and my coach and teammates love me.

Although it has been a long time since I played basketball for my high school team, the feelings, emotions, and memories linger with me constantly. Indeed, I am amazed at what an impact playing basketball had on me. I suppose you can’t underestimate the psychological power that hours and hours of practices, drills, games, and tryouts can have on a person. I never play basketball anymore, but it is in my blood—a part of who I am.

One of those defining moments came when I was a senior playing center for the Frankfurt International School Warriors. It had been a disappointing season for me. I’d had to sit out for two months of the season due to a foot injury. When I came back, I was slower and not fully recovered, yet it was time for the final tournament where International schools from all over Europe would battle for the championship. For me, this was not just a final tournament. This would be the end of my basketball career and I meant to end my disappointing season on a high note.

I’d never been a star player. I played my role, which meant getting rebounds, playing defense against the biggest player on the other team, and being in the right place at the right time. My playing might have been improved had I not been afraid of making mistakes and taking risks. I played safe—which earned me a starting position but not a lot of attention. In fact, the only real attention I ever got was from my number one fan—my dad.

My dad is not a spectator. He likes to be involved in the action, and whatever he does deserves his complete participation. And so during each of my basketball games throughout the years, it was his voice I heard above the others, encouraging me, cheering for me, reprimanding the referees, and making sure the scorekeepers were doing their job. At the end of each game, he would congratulate me, pointing out the strong points of my game. I remember one game in particular. I was in sixth grade and had not scored a single point. I rode home sulking about my perceived failure. Dad would not let me stay gloomy for long. He told me I needed to change my attitude and he pointed out all of the good things I was doing for my team. He was always good about noticing a great rebound, an intercepted pass, or a clever defensive maneuver—things that don’t show up on the scoreboard.

And so, it was my final game: Frankfurt versus Paris. When I ran onto the court for warm-ups, the crowd’s cheering sent chills of excitement through my body. And even in the midst of hundreds of people, I heard my dad’s clear voice, calling my name. It made me happy to know he was there, rooting for me.

The game was a good one. Both teams played with their greatest intensity and each possession was crucial as the lead changed several times. I played most of the game, too engrossed to think of my throbbing foot, focused only on giving it my all. It was a physical match-up and I fought for every rebound, dove for loose balls, and did my best to keep Paris from scoring down low. In the remaining few minutes of the game, the score was close, the outcome uncertain, and I had a chance to shine. I was fouled and had to shoot free throws. This was the kind of high-pressure situation I had hoped never to be in. Some people want the ball in their hands at the end of the game, they thrive under pressure. I’ve never been confident enough. The game was on the line and all eyes were on me. The opposition chanted, squealed, stomped, screamed. Surprisingly, I felt calm and focused. Swish, two for two. I was fouled two more times, and both times I made every foul shot. A minute later, we won the game. It was over.

The crowd rushed the floor, my team celebrated, jumping and squeezing each other. In the midst of all this, I found myself crying. Joy and sadness clashed and I couldn’t contain them. Suddenly I saw my dad, running across the gym towards me with open arms. “You were wonderful!” he said, hugging my sweaty self. He held me there, crying, and for the first time since childhood, I felt myself let go. Everyone was happy and I mourned the end of a chapter in my life. My dad understood. In fact, I think he felt the same way.

A few short months later, I moved on to college, and from there, I married, got a job as a teacher, and am now staying home to raise my beautiful baby girl. Funny how time just keeps going, leaving ever-fading memories in its wake. When I think of my basketball playing days, I can hardly remember the specifics. The shots I made and didn’t make, the plays we ran, it’s all a blur to me now. But what I will never forget, is the love I felt from my dad as he hugged me in the middle of a crowded gym. And this is a chapter that I will never have to close.

The Happiest Place on Earth

There are a lot of happy places: my home (sometimes), my bed (all the time), Pinkberry, the Farmer's Market . . . but our family took a vacation to Disneyland in May - and I must say, it is quite a happy place!

We had so much fun, there is no way I can recount the whole wonderful vacation here, but I'll elaborate on a few memorable moments:

The morning of our first day of Disneyland, we had reservations to eat breakfast with the princesses at Ariel's Grotto at 9:40. I need to mention that we went on this vacation with our dear friends, the Woolfs. Before we left on this trip, Matt and Brandon did a lot of strategizing about how to save money. One of their concerns was the exorbitant (in their minds) parking fees. To make a long story short, (I could make this story very long if I wanted to), we were running late as a result of their attempts to save money. When we finally parked the car it was already 9:40 and we had to make a mad dash to the restaurant-- a mad dash through crowds of people with five kids, two double strollers, and an eight months pregnant girl (me). It was absolutely crazy. Those of you who have been to Disneyland know that there is a LONG walk to enter the park from the parking lot - long enough that they have trams to transport people. We skipped the trams and ran and ran and ran some more. I thought I was going to collapse or go into labor or something. We were frantically running into Disneyland instead of savoring the magical moment. And amidst all of this stress, I looked over at Sophie, and she was just taking in the happy surroundings, laughing, and having the time of her life. And there were Emmy and Kali, marveling at the sparkly sidewalks. I had to laugh. And with that, the mood was lifted. Emmy and I skipped the rest of the way to the breakfast. I figured everything would turn out - and it did.

Sophie is such a sweetie! Whenever a ride was little frightening or scary, instead of crying or refusing to go on another ride, she would just snuggle in really close to Matt or I and hide her face. Then afterward, she would say, "That ride scares me."

Both girls LOVED "It's a small world." Sophie was enraptured with all of the happy, singing children; and Emmy was fascinated by all of the different countries that were represented.

Cotton candy: The first day of Disneyland, Emmy was very aware of the cotton candy stands on every corner and would occasionally ask for some. We had brought other fun treats, and we'd usually use those to defer her requests. On the second day, Jennilyn and I decided it would be fun to treat the kids to cotton candy when they were least expecting it. So while we were waiting for the Tiki show, Matt and Brandon snuck off to get the cotton candy. When they came back and presented it to the kids, they were sooooo excited. It was fun to indulge in their fantasies and see how happy they were.

The parade. We went to the parade both days we were there and were fortunate enough to be front and center both nights. On the first night, both girls were fairly serious and just took everything in. But on the second night, they knew what to expect and got totally into it! Sophie danced the entire time and Emmy was brave enough to dance in the Congo line in the middle of the parade. The second night was seriously magical - Matt almost teared up at seeing how happy the girls were. As we all walked out of the part that night, Emmy said, "I wish we lived here."

There is so much more I could say about our trip to the beach, how much fun Disneyland was, how much fun we had with the Woolfs, how great the house we stayed in was, and how fabulously Jennilyn and I were treated on Mother's Day . . . but, that was all a month ago, so I will just end now by saying that we were truly treated to a WONDERFUL vacation - perfect timing, because our life is about to get more complicated.