Weddings, Weddings, Weddings

This weekend, John and I will attend the sixth wedding we’ve been invited to since we were married. I have been pregnant for all of them: three while I was pregnant with Jacob, and now we’re on wedding number three with Henry. Needless to say, our boys are born knowing how to party.

 

 

 

The most important of thing I’ve learned about going to weddings while pregnant is admittedly not applicable to all my readers, but still needs to be noted: even if you’re only about four months pregnant, even if you’re out of state and feel a desperate need to represent the great state of New Jersey, it is not—I repeat, not—a good idea to jump around to Bon Jovi, fist-pumping with your eyes closed. You will regret the vigorous motion once the song is over. You will also regret punching your husband in the face. Thank goodness he doesn’t bruise easily.

 

Attending weddings while pregnant also means you probably don’t have to worry about someone wearing the same dress—and you can wear it six times, you don’t have to be concerned about whether you’ll fit into your dress/glorified tent in the weeks prior, and you can really dig into the cocktail hour. You might not be able to last until the very end of the party, but sometimes that means beating traffic. Win. Win. Win. Win.

 

The other, more beautiful thing to mention is not so much about being pregnant, but it’s the simple fact that going to weddings might be more fun than getting married. Don’t get me wrong. Our wedding day was fabulous: perfect weather, a soulful homily at Mass, good food, good dancing, and lots of hilarious pictures taken.
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But going to weddings as a guest means simply enjoying the day—spending real time with friends and family you might not see that often rather than running around the room to say a quick “hi” to everyone, not being the center of attention all day, and at the risk of being repetitive, the cocktail hour. This might sound like I’m just a hungry pregnant lady, but the truth is, the moment John and I enter a cocktail hour, we’re on the hunt for pigs in a blanket. And if they’re there, we find them.

 

John and my relationship started with high school proms and semi-formals, so we are all about attending fancy functions together. We can cha-cha-slide with the best of ‘em. But these days going to weddings with him reminds me that the commitment we made almost three years ago is stronger today than it was then. We are stronger today than we were then.

 

Getting is married is great. But being married is about eighty-five thousand times better.

 

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The Frustration of Loving to Write

Every hobby, outlet, vocation, et cetera has its joys and its trials. Though I’m not sure which of those categories writing fits into for me, it certainly has its ups and downs.

 

Part of why I write this blog, why I am writing a novel (or two), why I write in a freelance capacity is that I enjoy it. I love putting words together and rearranging them until they fit just right. Another part of why I write—and I realize this is prideful at times—is that I feel that I have something to say, that my voice is worth adding to conversations on faith, motherhood, marriage, relationships, and so on.

 

Yet another reason I write is because it soothes me. The act of typing (and not handwriting, for me) my thoughts so that I can see them before me helps me reflect on what’s going on in my life. Challenging myself not to just record happenings, but to glean some sort of wisdom from them helps me to be sure I am not letting life pass me by. It’s like John said the other night when we were talking about reading effectively: highlighting as he goes along helps him to know that he’s really engaged in the material in front of him. Writing helps me to know that I’m actively involved in the life that’s happening to and around me.

 

The trouble with writing is that a thought or twelve can sneak up on you at inconvenient times. Like when you’re pregnant, but have a toddler and a freelance business—which are both incredible blessings—and have a thought pop into your head, fully composed at eleven o’clock at night, when you should have been in bed for an hour already.

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A few weeks ago, I was having some trouble sleeping, and as I lay in bed, I found myself effortlessly drafting blog posts and new scenes for my current novel-in-progress. I considered getting up and writing them down, but I didn’t want to un-relax my body and mind more than they already were. Keeping a notebook at my bedside to write in the dark doesn’t work, because writing by hand really doesn’t satisfy me the same way. The double bummer is that once I am awake and have time to write, I can’t remember or I’m too tired to recall what it was I was going to write.

 

This is all to say that there has been a lot more going on in my head lately than has made it on to this blog. But sometimes life moves too quickly to keep up with everything. I need to remind myself that little disappointments like that are worth what I gain as an alternative—more sleep, more patience, a happier day for the little man.

 

I know I used this photo yesterday, but it’s my new favorite.

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Take That, Food Allergies!

This weekend, we celebrated Jacob’s second birthday. Jacob is currently obsessed with things that go, mostly trains and airplanes. Because I knew I could easily get Thomas plates and cups, I went the train route. You’d think that making a cake for a kid allergic to dairy, eggs, codfish, peanuts, and tree nuts would be tricky, but at this point, I say, bring it. (Okay, so maybe the codfish part wasn’t really a challenge.)

I used the banana bread recipe—with substitutions—that we make almost every week for the cars and engine. The decorations were all snacks I know Jacob can eat . . . and loves. I made icing with dairy-free margarine and tofu cream cheese, and the cookies are made from the recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag, with substitutions made for butter and eggs, and, of course, without chocolate chips. This recipe, even in this form, may be better known as The Greatest Cookie Recipe Known to Man.

 

I asked Jacob what he thought it was. First, he said, “ABCs,” because he likes to point out words when he sees them. When asked again, he said, “Muffins,” which is true because it’s the same recipe we use for banana muffins. And for some reason when he helped me make the cookies, he kept calling them muffins.

 
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I finally asked if maybe it looked like a choo-choo train. Pleasant boy that he is, he said yes. The proof that he believed me came after he started to open his gifts. The first was a remote control car. He used the remote on the car for a while, then walked over to the cake and pointed the remote at what was left of the “cake” after we’d all had a piece. It didn’t move, but my heart sure did.

 

 

Mom: 1; Food Allergies: 0.

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