This one is for Aunt Becky.

Aunt Becky needs a good laugh. She just had 3 vertebrae fused on Friday. Actually, I'm not sure laughing is recommended when you've just had major back surgery...if that is the case, I hope this makes you smile.

Yesterday's sacrament meeting was a really rough one for Jack. To illustrate just how rough it was, at one point I leaned over to Allan and whispered, "I really want to put him in prison."

As I took him to primary, with his eyes red and swollen, I saw a member of the primary presidency in the hallway and explained his current mental state, telling her to not hesitate to come get one of us if Jack started acting up in primary.

Later I saw her in the hallway and asked how he was doing. She said that since he was having a rough day she decided to make him her guinea pig during Sharing Time (totally inspired move, I must say). The lesson was on the atonement, and to illustrate the concept she asked Jack to come up to the front. If he did ten jumping jacks on behalf of everyone else, all the kids would get a piece of candy. He rambunctiously performed his duty. As she told me of the conversation that followed she started giggling. She had asked him, "Jack, did those jumping jacks make you sweat a lot?" He replied very enthusiastically, "No. But I peed my pants a little!"

Apparently everyone lost it. Children and teachers alike. Today my visiting teacher came over and asked me if I heard what Jack said in primary yesterday. The thing is, my visiting teacher wasn't even in primary yesterday. But word spreads fast...

Snow and the beach.

On President's Day we went up into the mountains. Jack saw a strip of snow about 4 feet wide and 12 feet long. It made his entire month. He insisted on playing in it for about a half hour. We had to drag him away. The boy is clearly deprived.

Then we hiked. I fell down. Okay, so it was more of a "nature walk." And I guess I need to be completely honest and admit that I fell, not among rocks and leaves, but in the middle of the parking lot. And let me tell you, I learned firsthand just how lax one's joints get during pregnancy. I couldn't walk without serious pain for the next 24 hours. I still hurt.

Jack threw rocks in the water for 45 minutes. We had to drag him away (sensing a theme here?), promising that there are other fun things to do in this world besides throwing rocks in water.

Fast-forward to the weekend. One of my best friends was in San Luis Obispo for the weekend. We made a quick trip ourselves. Jack acted exactly how I remember acting in hotels--like it was the most exciting thing in the world that I got to sleep in a bed that wasn't my own, I got to wash my hands with special soap, and I got to eat a huge breakfast. In Jack's case make that 1) a bowl full of bran flakes, 2) a loaded piece of french toast, 3) an orange, 4) three-quarters of a bagel, 5) a carton of yogurt, and 6) a big glass of milk. We won't even go into what he ate for lunch...or dinner.

We drove down to the beach. It was freezing. But we had good conversation. And Jack got to throw more rocks in the water.

I would describe the day as fun (because of Christina and her bambino, and also finally getting to meet Christina's mom), but also a challenge (I'll give you one wild guess why...)

Until Christina e-mails me pictures taken with her much better camera, here is proof of our weekend reunion...and proof that Jack picks his nose.

Ahh, much better. Thank you, Christina!

The squash. And the monetary consequences.

Please ignore my unmade bed (I had just taken a nap). And the dirty mirror (I have a four year old). And my lime green slippers (actually, I don't apologize for those. Why should I take off my favorite footwear just for you?).

Per request--not because I like taking pictures of my stomach--here is our genderless (to us, at least) spaghetti squash. All one pound of him/her nestled in fourteen pounds of luscious flesh. Allan tries to convince me that it's fourteen pounds of blood and placenta. Dear heart, I do love that man.

Getting dressed every morning involves a lot of frustration. Yesterday before church it involved tears. No, really. I do not enjoy my pregnant-ness. I did not with Jack, and I fear I'm enjoying it even less with this one. I have one flattering maternity dress. And by flattering, I mean it doesn't make me look like I'm wearing clothes from a pre-gastric bypass life. I'm tall. Anything that is actually long enough to cover the squash is enormous everywhere else. I'm wearing a Shade shirt in this picture. And as much as I'm grateful that it works, I don't want to make this one undershirt my wardrobe staple for the next four months.

It's also getting warm, which means I can't wear my winter coat over everything anymore. I have to bare the belly. And the huge clothes on top.

This morning I went maternity shopping. Online at the site from where my one flattering dress comes. I spent a good hour putting warm weather maternity basics into my cart, confident that I was being discerning and frugal: Two summer Sunday/night out dresses, three pairs of capris, one denim skirt, one house dress, five t-shirts, and a desperately needed pair of workout pants. I go to check out and what do I see? $423. And that is after my 25% off coupon. I actually started crying. Then I went to Allan, bemoaning the fact that I have to buy new clothes just because I'm gestating a baby.

My husband is pragmatic. He rationally said, "Buffy, you are having to buy a new wardrobe. One of my suits costs that much. I want you to buy what you need and what makes you feel pretty." Well, the latter part may be impossible, but I really, really appreciated his perspective. Because all my perspective has been is "there goes money from my new camera fund, my wheat grinder fund, my briefcase for Allan fund, my new breast pump fund, etc."

I figured I could deal without the house dress, one of the Sunday dresses, one t-shirt, and one pair of capris, therefore whittling the total down to $266. I transferred the money from my "presents" fund (sniffle) and checked out.

If these don't make me look at least halfway decent, I'll scream. And never leave the house again.

Since we're commanded to multiply and replenish the earth, paying $266 for maternity clothes is like paying tithing, right?

In the year 2022.

My son got seriously upset with me this morning because my answer to his question--"Mom, can you teach me how to drive the car today?"--was no.

We have a long twelve years ahead of us.