What you do in your house is worth as much as if you did it up in heaven for our Lord God. We should accustom ourselves to think of our position and work as sacred and well-pleasing to God, not on account of the position and work, but on account of the word and faith from which the obedience and the work flow. ~ Martin Luther

Monday, August 30, 2010

Guess WHO

......is still in my belly?

For those of you who are checking in on me every now and again~ give up. *I* have.

My "projects", you know, the ones that I would find to preoccupy myself while waiting so I could be thankful for having extra time, are all DONE now.

I even pampered myself with a faux Scotch tape manicure! Last time I did that was when Andrew was born, I am pretty sure.

The other day, with laundry all caught up, silly things like nails eventually painted, and furniture dusted (for the upteenth time) I told Matt, "Well. All my projects are done. I can't think of a single thing to do to occupy my time. What will I do NOW?" That night, Corynn had a freak bed-wetting accident and somehow a pocketful of sand fell out of Andrews pants' and into his sheets during rest time, leaving two beds to get new sheets and a bathroom full of dirty laundry.

Thanks guys! I knew you would pull through for me.

Actually reaching the actual duedate was SUPER hard for me (THANK you for all your words of encouragement, btw!) and I poured into puddles throughout the day, but since then it has been much easier.

EXCEPT, of course, when I went to church and there was a baby shower for a friend of mine who is due in a few weeks who wasn't actually in attendance because she had HAD her baby the night before. THAT, my friends, was not fun. It took several minutes hiding out in the single bathroom and half a container of CLEAREYES, but I eventually recovered. And enjoyed, immensely, the meatball subs that were served at the part-ay. Meatball subs can make everything right again.

I have been getting pointers as to how to get this baby out. One woman said jokingly "If you paint your toenails tonight, you'll have the baby." Matt did. (Thanks Mattie!)

We've tried a few other suggestions too. Alas. No such luck. ;-)

Silly me even got myself a bouquet of flowers for the table, thinking Smooch ought to have a pretty home to come home to. I realize it makes me ridiculous to think that Smooch will see, understand, comprehend or appreciate flowers on the table~but I can't help myself. If this makes me weird, so be it.

Besides all this pregnancy talk, which even *I* am tiring of, something BIG happened this weekend~but to share it with you, I'll have to take you back a few months.

Back into wintertime, cold nights, and indoor campfires.

We read about a little Farmer Boy turning bigger every day, who plays hard, works harder and thinks hardest of all, while little boy and girl ears soaked it all in for the second time. We read about how Farmer Boy chooses a pig instead of pink lemonade after a wise father fathers and what a 50cent piece really is worth. And then, the farmer boy with the breath I can hear and the big brown eyes that stare and the sweetest redneck accent ever says "I dink I'ma gonna safe MY money so me can buy a sucklin' pig!"

And he does. Religiously. Pouring every bit of nickel and penny and dollar bills into his big beautiful cowbank. Spends several nights counting and jingling his loot in anticipation of "the day" and telling anyone who will listen about his plans. One fateful day, the Saver has ENOUGH.

Like a true Farm boy, then there is work to be done. He sweats with the best of them and prepares a place. For HIS "sucklin'" pig. We decided we might as well get one as well, since Corynn loves her some sausage gravy and bacon is a Newmans' best friend. So, the Farm boy took his money and ours and the pigseller was so impressed he had saved all his money she even gave him a wee bit of a discount!

This past weekend, the pigs came home.

Meet Molly and Charlotte. (I wonder where THAT came from?)

Molly is the pink and Charlotte is the redhead with spots (Andrews' very own!).

I never thought we would become pig farmers. And when people tell you pigs STINK, they really mean it. (Yes, even if there are only two.)

But the children are crazy for them.

And I am crazy for my boy, who showed determination, hard work and perseverance far greater than I would have expected for a four year old. Those are the things I will choose to think about every time I smell that crazy smell.

That is, until I smell the BACON. ;-)
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