What's in a name?

Well I guess I can write about being pregnant now. I didn't want to until I was out of the first trimester. I feel like I have been walking on egg shells, not wanting to jynx anything. But all seems to being going well. I'll find out at the end January if this will be a daughter or son.

All of us, Brad Turner and I have the same intials. TBC. Lovely initials if I do say so myself. I always shared the same initials with my sister, my mother's simple genius at work. Two girls, one set of initials, hand me down work even for monogramed items. I always loved it. So when I was going to marry my sweetie I was nerdily overjoyed that he and I would have the same initials. I would still have someone to share that with, and yes, I know I'm a dork. So now my name list must consist of "T" first names and "B" middle names.

I am weird about naming a human being. It's a huge responibility. I have always loved my name. Tiffany Lynn- It fits me. Brad and I butted heads (imagine that) when coming up with Turner's name. I didn't want my child to have someone else's name. I have always had a weird notion that names go with certain preset personalities or character traits. I wanted my little baby to be able to make his name fit him and be only his. Brad wanted a "different" name for our son too. Brad, being one of only seven or eight Brad's that we know, didn't want his kid to be one of the many Tom, Dick, or Harry's in the world. Brad and I talked about our own names and he said he's never liked his. He never liked going by his middle name.

So what do we have to work with? Tabitha came up with perhaps the most perfect contender in the name race. Thunder Bolt! T-check B- check. Could be hollered out across a busy shopping mall and later across a football feild. My dad is standing by his favorite, one that I can't even spell--Tchopotoulis? I think not.

Being a parent is a huge responsibility, from the very begining on through to eternity. You don't stop being a parent simply because you die. The values you teach your children will live on past you and past them. Kindness instilled in a child will transcend generations, likewise, so will hate and malice. So even the naming of a new being is a huge responsiblity. I want a name worthy of a future president, star linebacker, teacher, father, mother, or anything else they wish to be.

I won't be listing my favorites, I still have five and a half more months to go and don't want anyone getting ideas for their new baby from my gaurded list. I have a girl name that is definite and pretty much decided. Although Brad has assured me that I won't need any names for a girl, because he doesn't make girls. We'll see. Boys names are harder. I am not anywhere close to narrowing down the field. It would probably be easier if I just liked traditional names. There's nothing wrong with all the tried and true stand-by's. I like biblical names, for other people's kids. I don't want a "Tchopotoulis" running around either. A normal sounding , yet original name is all I'm looking for. Not an easy task when you consider the world's growing population.

V

"Turner Drink Milk!" I have heard it about fifty times in the past five minutes. Turner is going through his list of stall tactics, anything to keep himself from falling asleep. We're back in Utah and trying to get back into our routine. Turner did sleep in his bed last night, thank you Jesus. He napped great yesterday but today he is going to shriveling up and blow away if he does not get a glass of milk. I promise he is well fed and fully hydrated.

Today is my five year anniversary. Brad and I's first multiple of five anniversary. Not a big number, like fifty, but I feel a weird sense of accomplishment. We have lived in three states in that time. We had our son. We had a misscarriage. Now we are pregnant and hopeful. Our lives are so different than they were five years ago. I thought we still wouldn't have kids by now. Now I wish we could have a few more than two. We live in the mountains, not the humid, endearing swamp that I just left. Now we rarely see the other side of ten p.m. We used to see the wrong side of sun up on a regular basis. Now sun up is when we get up instead of go to bed. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world, then or now.

So, with my measly little five years I feel pretty darn good. It's half way to ten and a quater of the way to twenty. I wonder what each new year will bring us? More children? New homes to put on the list of places we've lived? Nieces and nephews? Who knows? I do know that I want to find all of it out with Brad. He is an enormous pain in my ass about three quarters of the time, but I have always liked a little agrivation. Besides, I don't want to have to break a new one in and house train them. Brad is so close to being potty trained, I see a pee free floor in my future. I don't know if I could find someone who could live with all of my weirdness either.

My family let me know, on several occasions, this trip home that I am a tad bit bossy and controlling. Well, don't they know that my way is the best? I only want what is best for all of them, so why don't they listen damn it? Brad knows I am peculiar about certain things. He lets me have full control of the house and everything in and around it. I like to organize, so I do. I know that he is a stickler about having the checkbook balanced down to the penny. I try my best to remember to write everything down in it. He knows that I will not fry food except on special occasions. He lives with it and waits for trips home to eat all the fat laiden foods he craves. We compliment each other. We are the picture in the dictionary used as an example of "Opposites attract".

What would I do with another me? The world could not handle such a thing. So I have Brad. He's the big to my little, the stoic to my silly, the messy to my neat. I need that, and wether he'll admit it or not, so does he. So Happy Anniversary to us! The fact that neither of us in locked away for murder speaks volumes. Even though he is a hard man and not too sentimental, he softens up for me. You don't believe me? Come look at the huge boquet of flowers that just got delivered. He remembered. Off I go to smell the roses, and enjoy the times when my life is so sweet.

It's Christmas Time Pretty Baby

I am up listening to my son roll through the halls of my parnets house on his scooter. I am still groggy from the half a Unisom I took last night. My doctor says that one of it's ingredients will help fight nausea. I do not puke while I sleep, but that's all I can vouch for. Chirstmas is in two days, but it's not feeling Christmassy to me.

Sure, there's tons of stuff I still need to get done: Buy groceries, make an attempt at duplicating my Mawmaw's cornbread dressing, cook something to bring to Gran's, cook something to bring to Brad's Pawpaw's, finish wrapping presents, and finsh sewing gifts for my sister to give to her other nephews. But none of it feels like Christmas used to feel. I guess Christmas used to feel so fun and care-free simply because it was care-free.

As a child there was no budget for gifts, only the joy of opening them. There was nothing to cook, only the eating of my favorite meal. Everyone was happy and had nothing to worry about. Now I realize that the kids were the only ones with nothing to worry about.


Now I have a litany of things to play on my mind this Christmas: I am troubled by the cough Turner can't shake. Is it asthma? Am I keeping enough food down to let a normal, healthy baby grow? I am still down five pounds and I am in my second trimester. Do I keep my prenatal vitamin down long enough to absorb anything from it? Will Turner have a meltdown on Christmas and it's Eve, due to running around so much? Will we continue to come home for Christmas?

I know I will have a break next year. My sister is getting married right before Thanksgiving next year. So, we'll fly in for that, stay for Thanksgiving, and head back to our home to spend Christmas there. But while here for my sister's wedding will my in-laws get mad that I don't go to Brad's little cousin's wedding? She is planning on having her's the same day as Tabitha's. I will not leave my sister's reception. I will stay and help my parents pick up and clean up the wedding aftermath. Just like my sister did at my and Brad's wedding.

So, I need a few things from Santa this year. Santa could bring me a calm stomach, a little more time around Christmas to get things done, he could sway the other bride to be to want a lovely summer wedding, give me a good resolution for the "To fly home or not to fly home" delema that we'll face over the next several years. For the most part, these things I can figure out on my own. But wouldn't it be great if Santa could still fix all your woes? Now I turn my wish list over to God. He's better at helping with problems and far better at listening. He hears my list of hopes and dreams through out the day and at night as I lay down and try to clear my head. I not only ask things of Him, but spend countless prayers simply giving thanks. It reminds me of how fortunate I am and that my problems are so small compared to the problems others face.

I hope all of you are having a Merry Christmas this year. One where the presents take a back seat to the gift of having a family to open them with. I will enjoy watching my son open his gifts. What I will enjoy more is watch ing him play with his grandparents and love on his Aunt and Uncles. I will hope we are making memories for him that will be close to my cherished childhood memories. I wish all of you the same, time with your family and peace in you hearts.

Madder than a wet hen

Good morning. Mine's effing great. My baby is at my mother in law's so I should be taking advantage and sleeping in. Am I ? No, up being pissed off. OK, my darling husband flies in tomorrow. Just letting you all know this because he'll be needing a ride home from the airport, cause I won't be there to collect his grumpy ass.

He forgets that I am, shall we say, a little bit on the tempramental side. Do not snap at me, do not tell me to shut up, do not take me for granted, all things he needs to be reminded of from time to time. Why? Well, he married me because(this is my theory anyway) I am not like the other girls he dated. He could not intimidate me. I will not be bullied. And maybe my borderline psycho-ness is a little sexy. I married him because he could not be wrapped around my finger. I had, up to that point, worn all the men in my life on my manicured hands and they all ended up boring me.

We met our match in each other so to speak. He forgets this now and again and I have to let loose my uncaring and cruel self to remind him what lies just beneath the sweet demeaner. He gets used to his bed being made, lunch and supper being homemade everyday, robe being rehung in the bathroom with slippers beneath it, errands being run, house being spotless, travel plans being made, and all the other everyday nicities that he has become acustomed to. I love doing all of these things and so much more. But I will not do them, not a one, if they are unappreciated or if he is being a little too much of an asshole.

I will not be talked to in a way that is remotely disrespectful. I will not be told to shut up. I will not pick up the phone to make up. I will not give him his travel information and flight schedules if he is pissy with me on the phone. I will not pick him up from the airport should he figure out what airline I made his reservations with. I will also make no effort to be the first to cave.

I used to want to call and talk. Now I let him call me. I visited home my first few times and he never called. So I quit. It took him a couple days, but the phone rang. A pissed off, pouty little boy was onthe other end mad that I had not called. I explained that the phone works in both directions. Now we call each other for the most part. I like to remind him that I can live with out him. Cruel? Maybe. Do I care? Not at all.

Brad is a pain in the ass to live with. I have an on going fantasy of getting a can of peas and smashing it into his head when he's not looking. And for future reffrence Mr. Prossecutor, yes this will be the evidence you need to prove that my actions were premeditated.

To let you in on a secret: I do love him, dearly. I will remain married to him for a very long time. I will continue taking very good care of him, as long as he remembers what I am worth. If he does not, all agreemnets are null and void. So, he is just in need of his quarterly tune up. He's good for about 15,000 miles and then needs to be reminded how his life would be with out someone doing all the little things that make his days go smoother.

When you pick him up from the airport, perhaps you could stop by a florist and let him pick something pretty out for his lovely wife. Maybe even make him sign his own card. All he has to do is show me that he cares, and I will reign in the fire breathing she devil that has been let out to play. I will comb my hair and put away the fangs and claws and we'll all have a Merry little Christmas.

Not dead, just in Podunk

I'm not dead or on an internet strike, I'm just in Podunk. The actual name is Arcola, but it qualifies as Podunk. This is not a put down, just a fact. What, you ask makes a place "Podunkish"? Well you must be at least twenty minutes from any form of civilization. For example, to go to "the store" one must get in the car and drive for at least twenty minutes. Now don't go to hollering. I don't mean the mom and pop gas station that also sells milk and nightcrawlers, a real store.

Also, to earn the certification of Podunkish, all local merchants must look at you like you're crazy when you try to pay with (gasp) a debit card. Ther must also be the absesnce of any national bank branches. When you really need cash to purchase your night crawlers you have to use the local bank who only charges five dollars for the pleasure of using thier ATM. One of my other favorite things is the magic inability to use your cell phone indoors anywhere in Podunk. They work intermitantly while driving. As long as you do not got over signal scrambling hills or pass parish lines. Once inside, your cell phone may ring, but you can not actually talk on it. Houses in Podunk are apparently constructed much in the same manner as bomb shelters and are made to break up any kind of radio signal.

Podunk has it's upsides. My family is here. I can ride a four wheeler all day and never get tired of it. No noisey neighbors. No traffic sounds all night long, etc.

It just takes me a few days to readjust to the pace. I also have to realize that the posted speed limit is only the speed to stay under, not travel at. People here would cause wrecks in any urban area. They drive ten or more miles an hour below the speed limit. And for those of you who haven't visited Podunk lately, it's all two lane. No four lanes. No passing lanes. All curvey roads with streches of five or miles in which to get caught behind someone going about twenty-five miles an hour. So, I am still here, just not as here as I am at home if you know what I mean.

Say my name

So, Elmo has been on good behavior lately. No odd food stuffs in his mouth that he did not ask permission to eat. He has kept his noise level down while playing inside and has been very hygenic as of late. He is a good little monster. But much like Little Monster, he has charmed me into what I am sure will soon be mayhaem.

Elmo has been so good that he convinced me ask Santa, on Turner's behalf, for the Elmo Knows Your Name version of himself. Now, before soft Elmo was given to Turner, Santa tried to give the Name Elmo to Turner last year. Unfortunaltey, Santa's elves were sneaking whiskey into their hot chocolate while in the workshop . They left out Turner's name from the list of Elmo's known names. But after a series of write-ups and saftey citations, not to mention mandatory AA meetings for the elves involved, the situation was rectified. "Turner" is now availible for download via the internet. And if you hold a degree from MIT you can easily upload it into the new Elmo knows your name doll.

Don't you think "Santa" had an easier time at Christmas when it just involved putting G.I Joe's together or assembeling Barbie motorhomes? So, I called the North Pole help hotline while trying to upload the "Turner" into the Elmo should know Turner's name doll. I was greeted by a a really jolly elf who walked me step by step through teaching Elmo to say Turner. When he assured me all will be up and runing perfect we got off the phone. Only ten seconds later did I find out that Elmo now knows how to say "Good morning User One". Oh how sweet. It would've probably been a little easier to just change Turner's birth certificate to User One, but I am stubborn. I call the North pole back. They help me again, but this time it works! I feel as though a Mommy of the Year medal should be given to me by someone in a tux with really white teeth.

So now, Elmo knows Turner's name! Elmo also know's Turner's friends names, his favorite foods, what time he rises, what time he goes to bed, and his favorite toys even. Wait a minute, is this Secret Esbionage Elmo? Was he crafted to gather information to be sent back to monster headquarters? Will they be using said information to plan a hostile take over? I really wouldn't put it past anyone with the last name Monster.

So we will be intergrating Name Elmo into the family Sunday morning. Santa and I have had a few conference calls and he has bent the magic of Christmas for us. We will have our Utah Christmas a little early. Santa understands the high cost of airline travel, compounded by the expense of shipping back presents. Santa is a buisness man after all. I negotiated for use of his sled and reindeer team for our return home to carry all the Christmas loot, but the reindeer are union workers and our return schedule conflicts with their vacation time. Santa agreed to deliver Turner's presents early, it frees him up a little on Christmas Eve for an extra cookie break. I in turn, will consult him next year and negotiate our schedules. I will also be contacting a union rep for the reindeer to see if we can work something out.

I hope Turner enjoys Name Elmo. I hope Name Elmo will be let on the plane when we fly home and not confiscated as a threat to homeland security. I also hope that Little Monster doesn't corrupt Name Elmo and start using him to steal pay per veiw movies. The three of them will be under strict observation, Elmo, Name Elmo, and Little Monster. The trifecta of monstering is about to become a united front in my home, my Christmas wish is to stay ahead of the debauchery that I 'm sure is on it's way.