I spend most of my life not eating fruit. It’s not that I don’t like it. I can’t say “I don’t like fruit.” It’s more like…every time I take a bite of fruit that looks sweet and juicy and succulent…I’m disappointed.

I don’t know why, but fruit disappoints me, and I don’t like to eat food that lets me down every time. So I generally just don’t eat fruit. I enjoy veggies, so it’s not like I’m anti-produce. I just can’t get into the fruit.

The only exception to this rule is when I’m pregnant. Which at the moment I am. And I woke up yesterday thinking about fruit. I brought some to our mini-family picnic, and enjoyed it. I ate it when I got home. And I’m still thinking about it today. Mostly the citrusy types of fruit.  And pineapple. Berries of every kind are still a big no-no.

Fruit thought #2

I dreamed last night that I was a surrogate to my brother and his wife. (Kyle and Cherie.) I dreamed the whole pregnancy, the labor, the delivery, etc. And then, after the baby was born, Kyle announced “his name will be ‘Nimbus.’”

I let that sink in, and about half an hour after the naming announcement, I threw a fit. I told Kyle “I’ve carried this baby for nine months. I know it better than you do, and HIS NAME IS NOT NIMBUS. TRY AGAIN.” And I went on to explain that every time I talked to the baby while in my womb, I addressed it by names of the old testament prophets and the names of the arch angels. So they should consider those names.

In the meantime, I had to use the restroom so I went to another room of the hospital, only to be interrupted by a hospital employee. The person showed me some pictures and explained to me how they used to be a man, but they had a sex change and their husband happily supports them and they have adopted children, etc.

Later, driving away from the hospital I wondered aloud “I wonder if that means the hospital employee’s husband is gay, since he actually married a man?”

I’ve been thinking about it ever since I woke up…the problem with the name “Nimbus” and the problem of “was the guy gay or not?”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND…..I’m taking Ella to the park now, so…the end.

If the “morning sickness” lasts as long this time as it did with Ella, I’m looking at another two months.

To be fair, I haven’t thrown up yet. But I’m pretty much mindful at any given moment where the nearest trashcan is, because I know it’s only a matter of time. That one smell or thought of a smell or taste that sends me over the edge. Two close calls while brushing my teeth. But it’s still been avoided.

What’s worse? Throwing up, or wanting to? I just can’t make that call.

In any case, something is going to have to change, because seasick Leah is pretty miserable to be around. And her house is messy. And she doesn’t cook. And she hates it when her two year old climbs on her, and clearly THAT isn’t going to stop.

I have things to do, so this needs to wrap up yesterday. How did I work a job while feeling this way?! Seriously. Sam and Susan can apply for sainthood for living in an office with first trimester Me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have three baskets of laundry to glare at for a few hours.

If you want one, let me know!

This is my fifth pregnancy, and the minute the second line appeared I’ve struggled with negative dark shadowy thoughts.

What if something bad happens again?

Do I tell everyone? I want people to rejoice with me. But then if something happens, will it just be awkward and weird?

I decided right off that I’d go ahead and tell. I’d rather have people rejoice with me now, and be able to do so again next spring, or on the flip side, if something did happen, then it’s not an awkward “Oh by the way I was pregnant but now I’m not.” which is kind of what I did last time and I don’t think it helped anything.

Then Sunday, in church, I had an inner dialog with God. It went something like this:

“Why am I struggling with these thoughts? Every good thought I have about being pregnant is shadowed by a darker sinister one. ”

“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

“Oh. ok, so what does God have to say about me being pregnant? How do my make my thoughts obey that?”

“Sons are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.”

“Right, I get it. Ok.”

And so that is my battle cry. Children are a reward from the Lord. PERIOD. So that has been what I am saying every time a thought of “what if” creeps in. It’s too easy to play that game, too easy to shrug my shoulders and say “whatever.” It’s not “Whatever…” no, it’s simple. Children are a heritage. a reward. A family that has them is blessed. End of story.

I have a beautiful daughter who brings me gifts of purple and trash in the morning, and she is a reward. A fantastic one. And so is this unborn child. Whenever I get to meet him or her, I will see how beautiful they are and what a gift they are. And THAT is that.

About 15 minutes later, she comes back up stairs, dragging a plastic basket with a box in in it, filled with…well..I’ll show you.

This is a purple box she found beside the trash can, with a purple cup that I THOUGHT was in the cupboard where she can’t reach… a purple empty jelly squeeze bottle that WAS in the trash, and a piece of bread.

My first thought was “there is a loaf of bread spread over the kitchen floor.”

My next thought was “How the heck did she get the colors coordinated so perfectly?!”

It’s like she was hunting the kitchen for the perfect purple and brown palette.  And then hauled it up a flight of stairs to show me.

Anyway, so I went down to investigate…no bread on the floor. Nothing out of place, really.

So weird.

What am I going to do when I have two of them, and they’re egging each other on? “You find all the purple!” “Ok, you find all the green!” And I wake up to frozen veggies, a tupperware lid and an empty jar of salad dressing in a box by my bed.

I look forward to those days.

Some aren’t so bad. Funerals for the elderly are easy.

Funerals for the young are hard.

There is a fine line you find yourself walking, between knowing (in the case of those who know God) that the mourning is temporary and their fulfillment in Christ is complete…and the other side, of knowing/feeling that the life that person was living was cut off abruptly, with so much left undone. I’ve felt this one too many times. Once is too many. 3, 4, 5 times…too many.

The levels of hurt are profound, and seem to amplify, as new wounds are added to old ones. Any time someone is removed from your life, for whatever reason, there is some hurt. Removed because they died…there really just aren’t words.

I think in this instance, the pain absolutely is personal. But even more, knowing first hand the grief my aunt, uncle, and cousins are feeling, and the road that is ahead of them, is what hurts more. It is as though their hearts are withstanding an unprecedented earthquake, and the aftershocks keep coming. And coming. And coming.

A firm foundation will hold them fast. They will not crumble, they will not fall. But the trembling earth will still be felt. For many years to come.

My heart aches for them.

I don’t think they read my blog. But either way…I love you Boville family, and I know exactly how to pray for you. I am, and I will. And if you ever want to know what the road looks like a few years from now, just ask. I wish I had someone to ask, and I didn’t. But you do, so feel free.

See you later, Michael.

This is what we saw.

Within 30 minutes, we saw two cars worth noting. The first:

Had 5 tomatoes in the rear window, ripening in the sun. “Hmm. Interesting.”

The second car?

I’m guessing cantaloupe.  In which case, I did not know you could ripen melons in the sun, let alone in your rear window. “Hmmmm……”

Next up, we passed a truck with a trailer full on ablaze. Couldn’t tell what was in the trailer but it kind of looked like furniture. I felt bad for them.

Shannon said it looked like a classic case of flicking a cigarette butt out the window and it catching on the trailer. Hope that wasn’t the case.

Next, is just plain….”?!?!?!?!?”

It’s a little hard to see in the photo, so I will describe it in great detail. A car club of crown vics. One outrageous model was lime green, was on 30” rims, with Lamborghini doors. How do I know about the doors?   Cause he had them open. On the highway. In bumper to bumper.

But that is not the car we are looking at in this picture. In the photo above, we see a white crown vic. It’s on some big rims too, but not that big. What really makes this car “special” is that it is a rolling advertisement for Family Guy. Yes, that “Family Guy.” It has door sized images of Peter Griffin, lots of quotes all over, and on the back as you can see…on the bumper…”Giggety Giggety.”

I didn’t even know African Americans were a demographic of family guy fans. (Duane doesn’t count.)

It was a rolling DRATW. Full on

Ok.  So that was crazy. Shannon and I laughed, and laughed. But this is not the best one. The best one?

This guy:

Clearly a Florida Gators fan, big time. The kicker? The plastic display case siliconed to the hood containing an actual gator head. The kind you pick up at your local Taxidermist.

He wins. hands down.

And then along comes this guy. We will call him “Andre The Giant Onion.” I left “Average Onion” in the pic so you could have perspective.

I have been thinking long and hard about how this onion should be used. I LOOOOOVE onion. A sweet onion in any form is a welcome addition to….anything but ice cream, probably.

Should we slice it? Should we dice it? Should we eat it raw in a salad? Should we let it simmer in butter until it delivers it’s golden sweet caramely goodness?

There are too many options. And this onion of greatness deserves a meal of greatness.

I actually emailed The Pioneer Woman, asking her what she would do with an onion like this. No response. Maybe I should have tweeted her instead? Anyway, all that to say…I’m open to suggestions.  Leave your detailed and loving suggestions in the comments. If you inspire a new dish, i’ll name it after you. Or at least name the onion after you. “Andre” is a little impersonal.

We moved. Ella discovered the joys of bubble wrap. We got at least 5 episodes of The Tick distraction free since she was 100% absorbed in this activity.

And the day after we moved in, we decided to have Fathers Day Dinner at our new house and invited the family over. I spent the morning pretty much digging plates and silverware and pots out of boxes, in quite a hurry.

Gotta tell ya, pouring $200 into that pool a few days later was GREAT FUN. Total fun. I highly recommend it.

Just kidding. Want to know what I DO recommend?

Naps. For toddlers. In their own beds. In their own rooms.

Can’t put a price on that one, my friends.

So we are attending East Coast Christian Center, at their Avenue location. It will be good for him to be actively involved in church again, it’s been awhile, and I don’t know what my involvement will look like – for now not much more than on Sunday morning. But that remains to be seen. Shannon has experienced spiritual growth there in the past, and I am confident that if it’s where God wants us to be for now, that spiritual growth will continue in our whole family.

Not sure if I’ll continue blogging services. I might but I’ll have to evaluate what purpose it would serve, since I’ve had several purposes for doing so in the past and I’m not sure they all still apply.

So we’ll see.