In some cases, practice doesn't always make perfect, and other long-winded discussions

Our bathroom shower has some open screw holes where I assume a previous owner had some shelving of sorts placed. See figure A.

Almost every morning—and I emphasize the almost every—in my pre-contact and therefore blind state, as I fumble into the bathroom during the first few minutes of consciousness, I do a startled double take at these innocent little holes, mistaking one (or several) for a large, fierce, intruding spider.

Almost every morning. And we've lived here for a year, folks.

And on a seemingly unrelated note—of which I'm going to try my hardest to make related—I have mentioned before that since a little human has decided to set up camp in my stomach, I've developed a hearty and faithful gag reflex. To just about anything. I mean, look at me wrong and I'll set off in a frenzy. By now I'm well aware of certain things that will spur an attack—sitting up too quickly, dumping things down the sink (strange, but true), etc., etc., etc.—but some things just can't be avoided. Like brushing my teeth.

Or bathrooms.

Is that weird? It started while we were on our cruise. It doesn't really matter the state of the bathroom—clean, dirty, big, little. It could smell like daffodils in the springtime for all I care—they're all the same, and they all hold something magical within them that triggers my brain which in turn triggers a dreadful gag in the most violent way. And heaven forbid I glance at the toilet, sitting there in all its grandeur, taunting me to come near. It's gotten bad enough that I've developed a psychological aversion to the loo. I have to give myself pep talks before walking into one.

As humans, we become pretty accustomed to bathrooms at a pretty early age. So what on earth has happened to me? The good news is that it's usually just a morning problem. But I emphasize the usually.

So, after getting over the initial daily "spider" false alarm only to transition into a fit of "I'm-gonna-spew-if-I-don't-get-out-of-here-soon" spasms, is it really so bad if I stagger back to bed and throw the sheets over my head?

...Anyway, I resorted to writing all about it in hopes that it'll somehow bring about a cure to both issues.

However, despite the new bathroom phobia, overall I've been feeling much better. And feeling well has helped me to transition into a much more excited disposition. I'm ready to go buy me some baby shoes! Well, buy baby some baby shoes, rather. *

I'm in a really awkward stage where I look more like I've had a sever-all-ties break up with the gym instead of like I'm pregnant (which, sure, we've taken a bit of a break—but it's not like we don't associate...). And my face is essentially one big zit. But other than that, I can assure you that all is well because the other day I zealously scurried around my kitchen making cupcakes while jamming to Oingo Boingo's "Dead Man's Party."

And if you don't understand how that last sentence relates to anything, just know that it is a keen indicator that I'm pretty much back to normal. Emphasis on the pretty much.

*Noteworthy footnote: We're scheduled to find out if we're having a lil' Thomas or a lil' Season on Dec. 2. I asked baby the other day if he or she would be willing to give ol' Mom a little hint as to which gender he or she happens to be. So far, he or she is not talking. Sheesh, stubbornness starts at an early age. Which, clearly, comes from Tom.

Hockety pockety.

All right. Here comes the big revealing. To get a perfect appreciation for our costumes, you should probably watch this first:

We're an exact likeness of them, wouldn't you agree?

The crowning accomplishment of my costume:

Homemade bloomers. Made by the talented hands of Aileen. She didn't even use a pattern!

Tom kindly made our shoes. His turned out to be quite the masterpiece. However, when he sat down to make mine he forgot that I'm a mid-20's grown up, and accidently made my shoes to fit a seven-year-old.

As usual, I'm posting the whole lot of our Halloween festivities—including our professionally carved pumpkins (well—Tom's is), my professionally designed cupcakes, and pictures from the Halloween party we attended last night—on Facebook.

In other news, today is our one-year anniversary. Our celebrations consist of Tom working his normal double shift at work...I cleaned up our house a bit...and I might entertain a hearty nap later too. We'll see. Anyway, you may or may not be able to expect a follow-up post having to do with the "inside look" into "year one." Again, we'll see. But if I do write such a post, you can rest assured that I'd make it as sappy and sentimental as humanly possible. Because that's how we roll around here. That's how we roll.

Toodles.

Halloween sneak-peek

I'll give you a dollar if you can guess what our Halloween costumes are going to be. But first, you should know that I chose the vaguest of pictures, because if you really did guess our costumes, Tom would be quite put out. Oh, and if you happen to already know what our big plans are, you're disqualified from playing—and don't even think of cheating. (I wrote that with my most serious "and I mean it" face on.) Next, you should know that no pictures of my particular costume are shown. Mainly because we haven't taken any. But you should know that it is intricately linked to Tom's, and it involves the color purple. ...Not the book—just the color.

And finally, you should know that we take Halloween costumes very seriously around here.

Not even a full five minutes after our friend Aileen informed us that she doesn't "loan out her sewing machine to just anybody," Tom broke her sewing machine.

Aileen likened Tom's sewing to how one would veer out of traffic on the freeway.

While he feverishly sewed, I worked with Nicole on a flyer for her hair salon. If you live in Provo (or thereabouts) you should definitely go to her because she's a professional. I speak from experience—and it says so on the flyer.

So there ya have it folks. Let the guessing game begin.

P.S. Don't quote me on the dollar thing. Pregnant women say the darndest things some times.

I have a thing for fabric

Remember a few years back when toilet paper pumpkins took Relief Society enrichment meetings across the nation by storm? Well. A few nights ago, in an effort to be festive, I decided to dig out my fall-time and Halloween decorations from our storage room—only to discover that our storage room has a good, solid leak. And since it just so happened to be a rainy day, a soggy mess stared up at me. So what did I do? I closed the door and walked away like nothing had even happened. Figured I'd just deal with it another day. Besides, soggy makes me gag.

So much for being festive.

Anyway, the point that I'm slowly getting to is that my precious T.P. pumpkins were among the waterlogged and otherwise unusable victims of our leak. However! Since "crafty" is practically my middle name these days (shoot—you should have seen the name tag I made for myself for the Oh My Crafts cruise), I decided to make more. For one, I remembered that they weren't that hard—but most importantly—I was dying for a project to occupy my time so that I could put our mountain of laundry off even longer. It's the same pile that we came home with from our cruise. Compounded by last week's selections. I don't know, I kind of think we're at a point now where we can make a contest out of it. See how long we really can last before starting up that washer.

Pathetic—or courageous? Feel free to discuss in the comment box.

Back to my original topic: I wasn't actually planning to make six. But fabric is just exciting to me. Especially fabric on sale. And don't get me started on ribbon. As some of you might already know, in recent months I've acquired a strong itch to learn to sew. Which would be a huge undertaking—for a girl that's never even sewn on a button. Pathetic—or courageous? Oh, nevermind.

Part of what's slowing me down is that I don't have a clue where to start. But I did have fun dressing up these rolls of toilet paper.

Oh, which photos to showcase?

We're back. And I've been exhausted ever since. As my sister pointed out, I've been home for two whole days and only just barely got pictures up on Facebook. Shameful, I know. And then there's the whole predicament of choosing which pictures to put on here. Because I took about a million all total. So in an effort to keep a captive audience, I'll just post a few of my favorites—along with the most colorful trip details I can muster—and then after that you're held responsible to view the rest on Facebook should you so desire. Oh, and that's not even all of them. Due to a series of unfortunate events, my pictures of St. John, New Brunswick and Bar Harbor, Maine ended up on my boss' computer. The mere fact that I don't have all of my pictures currently in my possession gives me shifty eyes and a neck twitch. But perhaps that's a post for another day.

Here we go.

Points of interest from our trip (because I'm not quite sure all of these details could be dubbed as "highlights."):

• Strangely, what first comes to mind is the embarrassing fact that I got stuck in a bathroom stall while waiting to board our connecting flight in Denver. The door lock jammed, and I found myself jiggling the tar out of the stall door—to no avail. Standing there in a panic, I envisioned myself missing our flight to New York because I was stuck in the stall. I kid you not, I even toyed with the idea of crawling underneath the door. Anyway, crisis was averted after about the 25th body slam. Lesson learned: don't ever use the restrooms in the Denver airport.

• We had a lovely time in New York. I for one, would recommend Mary Poppins to anyone and everyone. It was superb. Prior to, we walked what felt like the entire province of Manhattan, packing in as many sights as humanly possible in one day. It was glorious. We started with the Brooklyn Bridge.

• The following day I came down with a cold. I have a sneaking suspicion the subways of New York had something to do with it. So each day I went to bed with a dousing of Vix Vapo Rub and woke up with a healthy share of soda crackers and ginger ale—and sort of got by. I'm not sure who's more excited for the first trimester to be up—me, or Tom.

• Peggy's Cove (Halifax, Nova Scotia) seemed the perfect setting for a nice, old, good-fashioned ghost story. However it turns out that Peggy just shipwrecked there, met someone and fell in love. And that's that. Lame.

• Unfortunately, the main detail that sticks out about St. John, New Brunswick is the horrible stench we (more like me) had to endure while crossing a bridge to get a view of the nonexistent "Reversing Falls." Other than that though, I did get some shots of some super-old and super-cool churches. I'll be sure to get them from my boss the next time I decide to show up to work.

• Bar Harbor was entrancing. We've already agreed we'll go back. Sadly, it dumped rain the whole day, which put a damper on our bus tour through Acadia National Park. It was difficult to see out the foggy and steamy windows of the bus. And I took very few pictures because it was raining so hard. So you'll just have to take my word: It was beautiful. Oh, and while we were there Tom had a taste of Lobster Ice Cream. Who knew?

• And...Boston. 'Twas our only sunny day, which in my book, means that Boston and I are truly meant to be. I knew it all along.

• My camera (okay, the work camera) had a cardiac arrest midway through Boston. It was devastating. I guarantee that in fifty years, I'll still be pining away about it. Obviously, returning to Boston is a given.

• Newport, Rhode Island involved a lovely stroll down the billion dollar mansion avenue. Oh, if only we'd had time to tour some of them. Especially the haunted ones. What can I say—sometimes you just need a good ghost story in your diet.

Well anywho, as I said, there's a lot more on Facebook. (109 to be exact...) And... as a tickler, should you decide to give 'em a gander, you'll find a New Yorker feline, a Lady Season (aka Liberty) and step-by-step tutorial on eating escargot. Among others. Go check 'em out—I dare you.

Tension at the Giles household

In all fairness, I did warn him I'd blog about this.

A few days ago Tom came home proudly toting his recent purchase from the D.I. He'd told me that he had something "special" in mind for our upcoming vacation. In my head I assumed he'd come home sporting a bright blue leisure suit, or something of the grandiose variety.

But....a fannie pack is all it was.

I more or less told him I didn't feel good about him wearing an accessory from the 80's that held reign in popularity for longer than most of us feel comfortable talking about.

He said, "But Seas—it's for the cruise." As if that should put me at ease.

I suppose as all the wise people say, you have to pick your battles.

But seriously—a fannie pack?

In what turns out to be a life-altering post

Our home has recently taken a big hit.

My motivation for housework has decreased exponentially (I'm not a math person...is that possible?). I feel like I've turned into one of those terribly messy room mates that I used to complain to my mom about so often (but don't worry—I'm not referring to YOU.)

Basically, there's no time for house upkeep because I'm too busy shuffling back and forth from the couch to the bed and back again to take naps (with an occasional stop in the kitchen to rummage for something tasty.)

Fortunately, my hair has grown out enough so that I can pull it up almost every day.

I consider it a very successful day when I've showered and blow-dried my hair. However, most days I either a: pull up my hair in a greasy mop-of-an-excuse for a ponytail; b: put a hat on; or, c: both.

In other words, I've completely let myself go.

Oh. That, and I'm pregnant.

But really, is that any excuse?

No, really, I am. We even heard a beating heart today. And here's the picture from the ultra sound. Because what kind of blogger would I be without proudly posting that?

Okay, okay. So the real ultrasound picture is of "junior" (Tom hates when I use that term) at 6 weeks, and it's really quite difficult to discern the "speck" that we like to call a baby, and plus, I like my rendition of it better. So there.

Oh yeah.

Our little bundle of morning sickness (and by that I most certainly mean joy) will grace our presence on or around April 18.

ANSWERS TO PROBABLY COMMON QUESTIONS

• Yes, we're extremely excited (with an occasional hyperventilating freak-out session on my part.)

• No, I have no guess or preference to what baby's gender is going to be. As long as it comes out human I'll be satisfied.

• I've developed a stellar gag reflex to most everything (I say that as if it's something to brag about...)

• I have been eating a fair share of pickles, baked potatoes, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (but not at the same time).

• I am entirely sick of toast and crackers. Entirely.

That's all I really wanted to say.

Neat, huh?

Survey says?

Let's get a hearty "aye" from all those in favor of Tom Thomas contributing to this here blog. After all, he IS listed as a contributer. And by the looks of it, he's got a story to tell.