My *Groby Belly

As soon as I hear that someone I know is pregnant the first thing I do is look for pictures. I’m not sure why but there’s something about a growing belly that’s intriguing and most people just can’t help but wonder what the previously normal looking person looks like with a baby bump. I’m always frustrated when the pregnant person in question neglects to put up any photos. Aren’t they excited to show off their bump? Don’t they know that everyone is waiting to see that beautiful belly?!

At least this was all before I became pregnant myself. I always thought that I would be eager to show off my swelling abdomen, but as it turns out…not so much. Here’s the thing, when you wake up one day and find that your shirts are too tight and your pants won’t zip let alone button the last thing you want to do is get the camera. It doesn’t quite matter that the weight gain is a good thing, when your clothes don’t fit it’s not exactly a Kodak moment. Let me be clear, I love that I’m pregnant. Not a day goes by that I am not overjoyed at the miracle of life that grows inside me. It’s a blessing and I can’t thank God enough for the gift he’s given me and Aaron.  However, I have no belly button and I’m pretty sure it’s not just my belly that’s gotten bigger, so please forgive me for not having put up a facebook album following its growth up to this point. Perhaps you can understand.

With that said, I’ve decided to bite the bullet and post some pictures. After all with only 13 weeks left to go I can imagine that there is some genuine curiosity out there. So remembering how enthusiastic I once was to look at others and to show off once it finally happened to me, here’s me and *Groby from about a week ago.

I’m currently 27 weeks and truthfully there really hasn't been a whole lot to see until just recently. The true test will come a few weeks from now when, as my dad so lovingly puts it, "you'll need a Hoveround."

*Thanks to Steve for coming up with an awesome new baby name: growing + baby = Groby. Genius.

What to do with Sundays

Church. I grew up in one. Jath grew up in one. I went to the same one for 22 years (ish). Jath went to a different one every 10 or so years, but the pastor usually stayed the same. Simple summary: before we got married, Jath and I had not done a lot of "church hunting".

Enter grad school on the east coast, where I ended up at a somewhat large Presbyterian (not-Wesleyan, but at least PCA) church primarily because most of my church-going classmates attended that same somewhat large Presbyterian church. When Jath joined me a year later, we continued to go and enjoyed the occasional run in with people we knew, but were otherwise fairly uninvolved. As for the Presbyterian thing, the music was a bit . . . dirge-y (not to mention filled with olde-timey reversed phrasing--e.g., "When into the woods goest I, the Lord methinks upon"). The too-simplistic explanation? Presbyterian = Reformed = low(er) view of man = we are worms = sing as if you were a worm, albeit a saved! worm. Contrast this with my upbringing: Wesleyan = Armenian = lots o' free will = I chose God! = skip the worm stuff = Joy! Joy! Joy! Basically, I'm used to singing in a major key more often than not.

When we moved to northern Ohio after grad school, we quickly found a larger Christian Missionary Alliance church and settled in. By settling in, I mean we went on Sundays and tithed. Both are good things, but we had wanted to get more involved in our church than we had before. Because we knew we would only be there for a year, however, we found a lot of reasons to simply go without doing much more. We enjoyed the music and the preaching (and the rather distracting sign language ministry stage right), but we were excited to move to a more permanent place and find a church we could "really" be involved in.

Which brings us to the last three months. We began our church search as most people of our generation do--Google our neighborhood together with the word "church". The result? A lot of churches that seemed not quite our style, for various reasons. What reasons, you ask? (1) I'm not Episcopalian, (2) I've been conditioned by society to believe that quality website = quality organization and have no reason not to apply this belief to churches, (3) sermon audio can tell you a lot about a pastor.

The next several weeks looked like this:

- moderately sized non-denominational church that opted for the "multi-purpose worship center" design (i.e., gym with a stage)

- small, wealthy non-denominational church currently meeting in small, wealthy elementary school while building a European-style cathedral with what appear to be attached townhomes?

- smaller baptist church that loves being a baptist church, friendly 3-4 people our age

- moderately sized Evangelical Free church with v. passionate worship leader guy, impressive youth pastor, and, at the time, a worship song writing contest

- large (v. large) suburban baptist church with aggressive (but well-organized) volunteer campaign

We went back to the last two several times. As for the E-Free church, we liked the size and the worship music, but it was a bit of a drive, and not in an area we were likely to move to (ask me about the awkwardly-executed conclusion to the worship song writing contest offline). We liked the large baptist church too, but it was also a far drive from home and we were still unsure whether we would find a lot of people attending who were in our "stage" of life (e.g., 7 of the 10 groups that met on Sundays were expressly limited to those 40 and over; the couple at the welcome center seemed completely unsure of what to do when we introduced ourselves and asked for info). Nevertheless, we decided that we could find a niche in a large church, volunteer to help where our skills were needed, and learn from those in a more advanced stage of life.

At least that's what we had decided, until one Saturday evening, when we heard a faint yet familiar olde-timey dirge calling us from not too far away . . .

(to be continued)

Hello gorgeous, we've been waiting for you...

I was never ungrateful for the oven in our rental home. It worked, for the most part, and it being gas was a new experience from the previous three years of our series of electric ovens. There were things about it that bothered me I suppose. From the beginning the front left burner wouldn’t light unless Aaron took a match to it (a game of roulette I never opted to play on my own), the knobs for the clock and timer were broken, the numbers on the stove dials were fading and faded, water took an eternity to boil and the flame on the cook top only came in two settings high and off. The gas part was nice though, the oven always seemed instantly hot and with the exception of boiling water (I’m sure Alton Brown could tell me why) everything cooked with great speed.

It was a good stove, a nice oven that served its purpose in the kitchen well. Until, that is, the back left burner also stopped lighting. One burner not functioning was workable, but two was getting a little difficult. “It’s probably just the pilot light” said Robin to Aaron as they stood over the stove. “Just lift the top and you’ll see it.” This under normal circumstances would have been the correct and most wise solution to our problem, but upon opening the top it was a complex maze of wires with no identifiable pilot light anywhere. The two of them peered and searched in the mess and then decided that it was best to close it up and maybe Google it later. Unbeknownst to us all the closing of the lid served as a knife like action to the wires underneath severing a few that may have served as the primary flow of gas to a burner or two. As the heavy smell of gas and strange serpent-like hissing would tell us later something was wrong, and with a call to our land-lady and to the gas man our stove was no more. Carried off to where unsuspecting appliances go to die…or our land-lady’s basement. 

This is where the story gets good. Two days later what is being wheeled into its place but an appliance one might believe was made with modern fairy dust and stainless-steel rainbows. It was sleek and striking. A digital display with buttons galore, 4 working burners each with a flame range from low to high, an oven with bake and broil options, a warming drawer with separate controls, it even had a nightlight feature with the option to lock out burner controls keeping children and pets safe. It was amazing and it sits effortlessly in my kitchen even as I write. I’ve been racking my brain all morning on what I might be able to cook that would simultaneously use all 4 burners, the oven and the warming drawer…Thanksgiving anyone?

And so goodbye little white Chefmate stove, you served us well, but you oh beautiful Whirlpool are serving us much better and may I say you look gorgeous doing it.

Goings On

And somehow it's mid-September. A few things have been going on in the Shepherd house of late. First, this is Robin's last week with us before she moves into an apartment of her very own. We've enjoyed the company but I think she's ready to unpack her life, as opposed to storing it two flights down in our basement.

On Monday, Jath decided to whip up some amazing roast chicken and potatoes. Last night, Robin and I participated in the age-old tradition of splitting the wishbone. I originally wished for a Land Rover, then realized it would probably be better to just go for cash--just in case I found the Land Rover a bit cumbersome to parallel park on our street. After agreeing to pull on "3", Jath counted, we gripped, and then *snap*:

It broke into three pieces... I immediately Googled the significance of the result. Surprisingly, about 50% of people who answered the question on Yahoo Answers believed that an "even split" means both wishes come true while the other 50% believed that neither wish would come true. I decided that 100% of those people have too much time on their hands.

(Transition)

So when I was in school, I cooked a good deal. I've always found it a good escape from the very regimented tasks I'm doing most of the rest of the day. I also enjoy baking. According to Jath, and others who've tried my baked goods, this is a problem. My self-diagnosis? Cooking = be creative, throw a dash of random spices in, add an egg, see what happens, etc. Baking = 1/3 c. sugar or FAIL. It's not that I don't follow the recipe when baking, it's that I always think the recipe is missing something--usually either chocolate chips, cocoa powder, instant coffee, or coffee beans (you have not lived until you have tried my chocolate chip coffee pancakes). Regardless, now that I work ~11 hours a day, neither cooking nor baking happens all that often.

Enter last night, and my spontaneous desire to make one of my favorite foods: coffee cake. After convincing Robin this was a great idea and promising Jath that I would not add unlisted ingredients, we pulled a recipe off the web from the Pioneer Woman (I'm told she's a pretty good cook). The result?

Words do not describe how good this coffee cake is. We halved the recipe because there was lasagna in the 9x13 pan, but 8x8 worked just fine. I still think it would be better with a layer of some chocolate chips or cocoa powder in the middle, but I'm not complaining.

(Transition)

Living in the "South" has also afforded us the opportunity to interact with some flora and fauna not native to most other Midwestern cities. For example, we have a bamboo forest growing in the backyard--a blog post unto itself. Last night, however, we welcomed Robin to the South in rousing fashion. Actually, the South decided to welcome her. As I sat reading the final wrap up of the day's news on CNN, I heard a "cry" (shout, yell, scream, etc.) from upstairs. Given that screaming isn't a typical occurrence around here, I inquired. The reply? "There's a lizard in my laundry basket."

Of all the things that could be hiding in one's laundry basket, a lizard isn't exactly the worst option. Still, it's not exactly a welcome roommate. Fortunately for us, this particular lizard's reaction to being surrounded by crazy twenty-somethings armed with trash cans is to stay completely still. So rather than scrambling around the upstairs of the house chasing a rogue lizard from room to room, we simply carried the basket outside, turned it upside down, and shook it a few times. All in all, good fun.

Other good moments from the week?

- a speaker phone chat with Jordan (the first time we called, the answer was "I'm in night class. I'll call you afterwards).

- the season's first hot drink from Starbucks

- Toby nearly mastering the doggie door

and

- pulling off an opening-week win in Fantasy Football (thanks largely to WRs not named Randy Moss)

Hungry Bear

It’s happened. My appetite has turned.

This afternoon after church we went to First Watch, a quaint café serving breakfast, brunch and lunch from 7am to 2pm every day. While everyone else ordered breakfast I decided to have lunch. I had a vegetable sandwich melt with potatoes, fruit and salad on the side. I ate it all easily and soon thereafter finished Aaron’s half a giant chocolate chip pancake without problem. And with no food left on the table to eat, I was finished.

The fact that I ate all of this food does not concern me as much as how I felt afterward. Where under normal circumstances a person might feel stuffed and regretful (see Aaron’s previous post) I felt good, satisfied even. Once home I felt even better, and once I pushed out of my head the idea that maybe I was still feeling a might peckish, I napped like a giant hibernating bear.

My biggest regret after waking: I did not eat the turkey sausage that Aaron offered me at the beginning of my meal… “I’m sure this is more than enough food for me…”

Jath?

What I Ate for Labor Day

According to Jim Gaffigan, Americans use holidays as an excuse to overeat ("I don't usually have a hamburger, a hot dog, and a brat . . . but I guess it's the 4th of July."). For me, Labor Day was no exception. So rather than recounting our trip to visit our wonderful family in Pennsylvania by describing what we did, I'll let you know what I was eating (voluntarily) while we did it!

Friday, September 3:

• Cold oven-fried chicken, homemade mac'n'cheese -- loading the car and preparing for the drive to PA
• 10 spicy crispy chicken nuggets, 1 crispy chicken sandwich, 1 junior bacon cheeseburger (all plain), some of Jath's fries -- refueling said car and letting poor Toby stretch his legs in Washington, PA
• Colby Jack cheese stick -- celebrating our arrival at home in PA while simultaneously learning that the bag of Colby Jack cheese sticks carried an expiration date of March 2 . . . 2009.
• Oreo Klondike bar -- discussing Jath's maternity wardrobe and watching Venus Williams beat down Mandy Minella at the US Open

Saturday, September 4:

• Homemade chocolate chip waffle with butter, ~6 strips of bacon, coffee with cream -- waking up from some extra sleeping, flipping back and forth between VH1's Top 20 Countdown (music videos), ESPN College Game Day (football!), and eventually the US Open (tennis!!)
• Kettle-cooked potato chips (4 variety bag) -- continuing to watch the US Open and brainstorming board and card games to play later in the day
• Popcorn with extra butter, Sprite (because Jath can't have caffeine and we shared) -- watching "The Other Guys" and yelling at the punk movie crashers who came into the theater 15 minutes before the movie ended so they could talk to one another loudly in front of us to be quiet and take it outside (not surprisingly they laughed at me for having the audacity to expect them to behave like decent people, then left for yet another movie)
• Warm wheat bread, butter -- waiting for our appetizer at Longhorn Steakhouse
• Fried onion fingers -- waiting for our salads at Longhorn Steakhouse
• Cesar salad -- waiting for our entrees at Longhorn Steakhouse
• Sirloin steak and shrimp scampi, steak fries -- laughing at the fact that our hapless waiter kept scooting into the booth with the people next to us whenever he needed to take their order
• Oreo Klondike bar -- playing Wise & Otherwise, a board game that essentially takes Balderdash and pairs it with random "sayings" from around the world (i.e., "There's an old Arabic saying, if you take a camel to school, ____"), followed by some canasta

Sunday, September 5:

• Pecan sticky-bun, coffee with cream -- watching "The Sports Reporters" talk about how broken the BCS system is (already) and getting ready for church
• Steak, baked potato with butter, corn on the cob -- sitting around the dining room table and enjoying the fact that it was actually pleasant outside, that we got to see several family friends at church, and that we weren't having to drive back to Ohio that day
• Kettle-cooked potato chips (4 variety bag) -- nearly napping and watching, you guessed it, the US Open
• Hand tossed pepperoni and sausage pizza from Pizza Hut, 3 pieces -- playing Rage
• Peanut Butter M&Ms, multiple handfuls -- playing Euchre (the first time I had played since 2006) and watching the Sound of Music (not my choice)

Monday, September 6:

• Pecan sticky-bun, coffee with cream -- alternatively watching the Today Show and VH1's Jump Start (more music videos)
• Kettle-cooked potato chips (4 variety bag) -- standing
• Hand tossed pepperoni and sausage pizza from Pizza Hut, 1 piece, cold -- preparing for a Euchre rematch
• Peanut Butter M&Ms, even more handfuls -- losing our Euchre rematch
• Hot dog, hamburger with provolone -- watching our final weekend dose of the US Open
• 2 Crispy Chicken sandwiches, value fry -- refueling and letting Toby have some walk time outside Wendy's in St. Clairesville, OH
• Coke Zero -- trying to stay awake for the final 1.5 hours of the drive
• 3 pepperoni shards -- lamenting the fact that I felt too ill to finish off Robin's cold pizza and compensating by eating the pieces of pepperoni that had fallen off onto the tray

Suffice it to say, it was a busy weekend.

or•gan•ic (awr-gan-ik)

So lately I’ve been hearing/reading a lot about organic food. It’s an interesting topic really and perhaps even somewhat controversial depending on who you’re talking to. I used to think the organic trend was just a clever marketing scheme to get yuppie people to buy cheap produce at an outrageous price. But now I’m not so sure.

Organic produce is a staple in almost any grocery store. And while some things organic are still just an excuse to sell you something at an upgraded cost (who after all really needs organic Oreos?), there may be something to the organic craze. Take milk for example. Interesting that even though the only things listed on your regular milk carton are pasteurized milk and added vitamin D there are apparently any number of hormones and antibiotics in the feed that were given to the cows that made the milk that never make an appearance on the list. Hormones and antibiotics that may or may not be leading to early “maturing” of young girls and health concerns for the rest of us as we age.

Anyway, it was enough to get me thinking that maybe organic milk (produced by cows that only get organic feed – sans hormones and antibiotics) might be worth it. I’ve been drinking a lot more milk of late and since it’s not just me who’s taking a drink when I sit down with a glass I thought I’d give it a try. So this week I bought organic milk (pushing aside all fears that milk is in fact considered the gateway to organic food). Yes it was more expensive (1/2 a gallon for about $0.50 more than a gallon of regular milk) but I felt like I had a good reason. At least I knew why I was buying organic, and it wasn’t so that I would look cool at the register next to the hippies and soccer moms at Trader Joe’s (that was just an added bonus). I have yet to decide if it’s something I’ll keep doing in the future. In any case organic milk tastes exactly the same as regular milk so the only thing left to consider is will the extra $3.69 a week to keep weird hormones and antibiotics out of my body really make a difference? Maybe…