How I spent my summer vacation, by Kae

So, maybe Bee was aiming a bit high last month when she referred to our mediocre return to blogging. But, I'll go along with it and continue our delusions of grandeur by announcing our triumphant return to the blog...at least for the rest of the week. Then Bee will set off for another undisclosed location to do more undisclosed training that I think involves raising a pet, then eating it. So you're in my capable hands until she's released from her POW camp.

Rather than blogging for the past several months, I was doing other things. Kind of important things, like gestating new life. Which is a scientific term for lying on the couch, clutching my bottle of Zofran and trying not to vomit. Which mostly worked. With the Zofran I only threw up a couple times a week, instead of five times daily. (That pregnancy glow is actually the cold sweat that comes with a vom-fest).

30 weeks (maybe a little late on the announcement?)

But with my queasiness safely behind me for the last four weeks (as long as I stick with my BFF Zofran), and the ability to sit upright without the room spinning, and the bedrest/preterm labor fun in the rearview mirror, it's time to move on to more important matters. Like how to congratulate me and Aquaman on our upcoming bundle o' sleepless in a non-offensive, politically correct way.

In case you haven't noticed, our five children have less issues with sunburn than Aquaman and I do.

Contrary to the highly-educated WalMart cashier who thought she had it figured out, it's not actually a recessive gene from me and Aquaman that made them that color. The darker skin comes from their birth families in Ethiopia. And thus begins the need for education about appropriate things to say to an adoptive family that's now expecting a child via the biological route.

Not OK. Not ever:

1. So will this be your first real child?  (Umm....pretty sure they're all real)
2. So this will be your first kid of your own? (See number 1, above)
3. I know lots of families who adopt and then get pregnant! (This one comes down to the tone of voice. It usually implies that it was nice of us to adopt and pass the time until we could "really" start our family. This time with one of those "real" children who's "our own")
4. Were you surprised you could get pregnant? (Mostly inappropriate because you're the cashier at the thrift store and not my sister or best friend. Let's just say I don't question your obstetrical history: "So when you got pregnant were you using contraceptives?" Feels a little invasive, doesn't it?)

Appropriate and appreciated:

1. Congratulations! That's so exciting.
2. Congratulations! I'll be the kids are excited for a new brother or sister!
3. Congratulations!

And for the record, the kids are excited for a new brother or sister. They're just a little confused on the color of this one. Lanky was quite disheartened to hear after a little genetics lesson that this baby wouldn't be brown. After some serious thought, he asked, "But miracles can happen, right?"

Yep. Miracles can definitely happen.

 

 

--Kae--

Listen up, Jacques Rogge

I'm surfacing from my new evening love- watching Olympic swimming and gymnastics obsessively- to share my thoughts on the Olympics. IOC, take note. (Don't worry, no spoilers here).

In no particular order:

1. Olympic swimmers should not wear nose plugs. If you're in the Olympics, thus one of the best 
     swimmers in the world, you should be able to handle a bit o' water up the old schnoz.

2.  The women swimmers are really good about congratulating their competition after a race. Hugs
      and all. I don't know if the men just find it awkward to hug in the pool while they're scantily clad
      in their little compression shorts, but I think they could pick up a good dose of Olympic spirit
       from the women's side.

 

3.   Gymnastics- will it ever end? I can't handle any more late nights.

4.    The media is fickle. I never realized just how desperately they want to shape public opinion until
       I watched their Michael Phelps coverage. ("Now we love him, now we speak with scorn of his
       lack of training, now we dredge up nasty comments from teammates, now he's winning so we
       need to respect his amazing Olympic record. And just for kicks, let's play up a little rivalry
       between Phelps and Lochte that may or may not really exist). How am I supposed to blindly
       follow whatever the media tells me now?

5. I don't think I'd make a good Olympian. I start finding myself cheering for other countries because
    hasn't the US won enough medals yet? Can't we spread the gold around? Also, I just don't like to
    work very hard.

5. Olympic commercials rock. Thanks to some commercial (that must not actually be that good
    because I've seen it a million times and still can't remember what it's advertising. Something
    related to computers) I have a new favorite song:

   

         And a new favorite commercial. I'm not going to admit to weeping. Maybe a poignant tear
         trickling down my cheek:

Sleep...I so desperately need sleep...must watch women's individual all-around...Jamaican sprinters...

--Kae--

Scandalous and more scandalouser

I'm deeply disturbed by the women in our country. 50 Shades of Nastiness and Magic Mike. Enough said. Off my soapbox now.

--Kae-- (Don't worry, Bee, I'm taking all the credit for looking down at society from my high horse.)