Four week review

Holy crap! It's been a while. I didn't fall into a hole or move to Morocco or get distracted by my ever growing mid-section. It's just been a really, REALLY busy month. In fact, I just realized this week that it is June. JUNE, people. That means that we are half way through the year, I'm half way through my pregnancy and Lost will never be on TV again. EVER. So sad. Great finale, by the way. The island was real, the flash sideways were purgatory. If I have to explain that to ONE MORE PERSON, my head will turn inside out, I swear.

Anyhoo, a brief recap would look like this:

1) Marc discovered the existence of a money tree in our backyard as we bought two new cars and sold our old ones. We now both own proper parent-mobiles, neither of which is a mini-van, THANK THE GOOD LORD IN HEAVEN. My sweet and darling Blaze - the car I have driven since high school - has found a new home with a friend so I can go over and pat her hood once in a while when I'm feeling nostalgic. My new car - Harriet - has all sorts of nifty buttons and features, most of which I have not figured out, mainly due to ignorance and fear of accidentally launching a missile which I'm fairly certain this car could do. Also, the owners manual is about 400 pages thick and that would require a bottle of wine to get through - verboten in my delicate state. My old manual was one page and consisted of two bullet points:

• Insert key and turn to make car start. Use hand crank when this fails. Horse and buggy are out back if this doesn't work either.

• Everything else can be solved with duct tape and prayer.

And this seemed to work for the 18 years that I drove her. Though sometimes I was late to work, what with hitching up the horse and all.

2) I have been nesting like it's my job. There is nothing quite like the realization that come October activities like showering, sleep and a lazy morning perusing Elle Decor will be a thing of the past. The walls need to be painted, like, NOW. By me. Which is what I have been doing with every spare moment. My client who is an OB/GYN asked the other day with a horrified expression, "You're not going up and down a LADDER, are you?" when I explained the paint in my hair. Sensing that this was not a GOOD thing, I lied and said, "Of COURSE not!" But what kind of question was THAT? I mean, how is one supposed to get the corners and stuff if I DON'T go up a ladder? I can't send Kylie up there with a brush attached to her tail, after all. She has no sense of how to paint a straight line. I've tried.

• As a footnote I should add that I've gotten all cowboy about the painting and don't tape or tarp. People regard this with a lot of suspicion, like I'm committing some sort of foul play by not taking proper precautions. But you know how in grade school how they taught you to color IN THE LINES? I'm really good at that. So stop with the gasps, please.

3) I've been doing the kind of writing work that hopefully brings in actual profit. Which takes us so much brain power that at the end of it all I can only really drool onto my keyboard which really doesn't produce the kind of riveting content that you all expect from this site.

4) I've been staring with horror and fascination as my body goes from "svelte" to "sea manatee." Dude. There is a human being in there and no matter how much I acknowledge that fact, I don't think it will really become something more than an abstract idea until I meet our son in October. Marc is convinced that I'm just eating a lot and slipping the doctor a dvd of someone else's sonogram when we go on our visits. In the meantime, I can tell you that maternity pants rule. I'm retiring my Official Eating Trousers and keeping these on standby for every big meal.

This weekend, Marc and I celebrate six years of marriage. We dated for some four years prior to that, so we've put up with each other for roughly a decade. Yay, us! Marc is gifting me with his presence since he has taken my pregnancy as a mandate to go climbing every weekend until the baby arrives for fear that he will NEVER GET OUTSIDE AGAIN. Logical, since my first reaction after giving birth will be to scream "GAH!" at my flabby midsection after which I will chain Marc to the changing table. This is what you do, right? Never allow your mate to have any sort of life again? Or at least until the kid is 18?

Do you sense my sarcasm?

So my gift to him is an afternoon spent at an art exhibit we're both interested in followed by dinner in San Francisco. Which is really a gift to me as well, thus sparing him the need to buy me an anniversary present. See what I did there? I am a giver! Sunday, I'm sure Marc will flee to the forest and I will continue with the painting that never ends. How is it that our house has so many WALLS? My mom always said that life would be so much easier if we just lived in a tent that we could shake out every once in a while, this usually after a morning full of choring. I'm beginning to see her point.

Have a great weekend everyone!