Umm, what?

I still have three weeks left before this little Turner is due. So imagine my surprise yesterday when the doctor informed me that I'm dilated to a 3. And 50% effaced.

"Ummm, what?"

That was my reply.

This is whole new territory for me. I was at a zero on my due date with Kyle. And he was a week late. I imagined it would be the same this time around.

PLUS, we're headed to the beach for a few days. I know, not the best timing. My doctor advised me to research the nearest hospital down there, and I've taken her advice.

So here's to a fun vacation! And here's to no more progress until at least next week!

Double Meaning

Kyle's learning to read and has been doing pretty well. But occasionally we encounter an obstacle. For instance, here's our lesson from a few weeks ago:

Ruth: "Okay, let's sound out these words."
Kyle: "Dog...cat...little...sleep...but - Hey Mom! Butt's a bad word!"

And so we interrupted our lesson for a 5-minute discussion on but vs. butt. Try explaining that to someone who doesn't really know how to spell. But I thought he'd figured it out.

Until today. Fast forward to this morning:

Kyle: "Hey mommy, you silly head! You're a silly goose. You're a butthead!"
Ruth: "Kyle! That's not a nice word!"
Kyle: "But mom, I said 'but.' Like, I'm going to the store but I don't want to. See? It's the nice 'but'."
Ruth: "Well, when you put it with the word 'head,' it's not a nice word. Okay?"

Apparently we still have some work to do.

Sweet-ish Pancakes

Kevin and Kyle have a weekend tradition. Sometimes it happens on Saturdays, sometimes on Sundays. But it always happens.

Swedish Pancakes. Also known as crepes.

Once upon a time, Kevin's dad served an LDS mission in Sweden. And he brought back a fantastic little recipe book, containing this recipe, among others. He fixed up these special pancakes for years, and tradition was born.

Kevin was trained in the art form, and began making them for me after we were married. The problem? I didn't love them quite as much as he did. Don't get me wrong, they're delicious. But I'm more of a pancake or french toast fan.

So imagine his delight when he realized his little buddy, his one and only son, loved them as much as he did. Now, not only could he cook his favorite breakfast, but it would be truly appreciated.

So together, every weekend, father and son cook up some Swedish Pancakes. Kevin measures, Kyle mixes, and the delicate golden pancakes are gobbled up almost before they hit the plate. Nothing more than a little butter and sugar on top to make it perfect.

And as the first bite approaches his mouth, Kyle says:

"Mmmmm, I love Swedish Pancakes! They're so....Sweet-ish!"

"Sweet-ish?"

"Yeah, mom. That's why they're called Sweet-ish Pancakes. Because they're sweet!"

Enough said.

The best 40 minutes

On the way to church today, I couldn't help but laugh.

I couldn't help laughing at the 20-mile expanse of nothingness that leads from my house to our church. I couldn't help but laugh at the wind and the dust storms (yes, we have dust storms, not rainstorms) that surrounded me. And I couldn't help but laugh at our church that sits, literally, in the middle of nowhere.

Realizing that I ought to photo-document this journey for future posterity, I laughed at the fact that someday, someday, we'll laugh our heads off at the fact that we lived out here for four years of our lives.

But as I was laughing, I realized something. That 40-minute round-trip drive through the barren desert is probably my favorite 40 minutes of the week.

Because for 40 minutes, I have my son's undivided attention. And he has mine. Dad's already in meetings, so we get a 40-minute heart-to-heart.

We sing primary songs. We talk about the scriptures. He talks to me about his friends. He asks me question upon question (some of them surprisingly deep) and I try my best to answer them. I get to hear what he's really thinking about, what's really on his mind.

During these 40 minutes, I'm not competing with the television, video games, or friends. And he's not competing with household chores, telephone calls, or yardwork.

It's just me and him.

And it's the best.

34 weeks

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

I'm starting to get swollen hands and feet. Uncomfortable.

I think I'm starting to waddle when I walk. Yuck.

And I swear that my maternity shirts aren't going to fit much longer. Yikes!

Yet, at the same time, I think this might be my favorite stage. Because, you see, although I might feel highly unattractive and uncomfortable, I can feel an actual baby in there.

I'm not feeling little thumps and tiny kicks. Or a little flutter. I'm feeling full-blown punches. She's bruising my ribs. She's doing somersaults that make me catch my breath.

But I love it. I love it because she feels like a real baby. I can distinguish between elbows and knees, feet and hands, her bum and her head. It's awesome.

I love the fact that while I'm reading, with a book resting on my belly, she'll jostle the book so much that I sometimes drop it. I love the fact that she loves sugar as much as I do. And I love the fact that Kyle can actually see her move now.

Basically, I just love her. And I can't wait to meet her.

Batter up!

Today was Kyle's first t-ball game. He's been in heaven, just going to the practices,
so you can imagine how excited he was for an actual game.

He was a little concerned about wearing "basketball shorts" to a baseball game, but I
convinced him it would be okay. Trust me, I wasn't about to buy a pair of baseball pants
that he'd outgrow in 6 months. He sure would've liked them, though. Maybe next year.

They warmed up and stretched...

They sat in the dugout and cheered their teammates on...

And finally, it was Kyle's turn.

And wouldn't you know it, his second time up to bat, he hit a Home Run! Way to go, dude!
It doesn't get much better than this - watching your little guy have the time of his life.

Out with the old, and in with the new!

Remember these little babies?

Well, in the last six months, they've been joined by another friend:

But rejoice with me, folks, because today all FOUR went out with the trash! Well, one
was sold for a whopping $10. But the most important fact is, they're gone!!! History. Adios.

And they've been replaced by this little machine - brand, spankin' new from the store.
It's a happy day in the life of Ruth.

PS: This whole "being unable to fix a lawnmower" fiasco has been quite damaging to Kevin's self-esteem. So be kind to him. Don't rub it in his face. Besides, I kind of already have.

PSS: The only reason I've cared so much about a decent lawnmower is because I'm the one who mows the lawn. That, and I'm not really fond of the white-trash look of four mowers sitting in my yard.

PSSS: You should see the looks we get around the neighborhood, as Kevin sits and watches his pregnant wife mow the lawn. It's pretty funny. But it's by choice, I promise. It's my favorite chore - other than washing the car.

Simplicity

Few things make me happier than seeing these as I do my dishes.

And to think, I didn't have to do an ounce of hard work or pay a penny to get them!
They just grew in my yard, all on their own. It's a beautiful thing...

Intramural Insanity

Maybe it's the military. Maybe it's the egos. But it's the craziest intramural team I've ever seen.

Intramural teams are supposed to be laid-back, right? It's a pretty casual arrangement. You form a team and compete against others in a little friendly competition. It's all for the fun of playing.

Well, not this one.

For the last 6 weeks, volleyball has attempted to take over Kevin's life. It began with a Nazi coach, who insisted upon several practices each week. Then she forced them to fork over $20 for a personalized t-shirt. Not so bad, right? Well, they're the only team that has them. Let me tell you, they look pretty snazzy.

Then, unsatisfied with their performance, she proceeded to "cut" players off the team, sending them down to the "B Team." Luckily, Kevin made it through by the skin of his teeth, but it was a close call for awhile. Let me tell you, he was nervous.

Still unsatisfied with their performance, she decided to start keeping stats. She tracked their "kills," their "errors," and all of those other terms that I'm not very familiar with. Guess what it showed her? She had the most errors (she might try to deny this, but I saw the sheet).

All in all, it's been a hysterical season. Those of you to know Kevin, know that this is SO not his style. Sure, he's up for a little friendly competition, and there's nothing he likes better than playing on a great team with great players. But not when it kills the fun.

So we've just sat back and laughed. Kyle and I are there at every game, three times a week, cheering them on. And it's actually been fun. However, the tournament is next week and I doubt we'll be sorry to see it end. It was fun while it lasted, but it's time for a little sanity.

(You didn't hear this from me, but it's rumored that Kevin's being recruited for the base team. You go, babe!)