Addendum

Christmas tree 2009; Hamilton in his favorite fall sweater.

Gratitude

As many of you know, my past few weeks have been consumed with studying for the EPPP (the national psychology licensure exam).  I have devoted nearly every waking, non-working moment I have to tackling this beast in the hope that I can put it behind me before I reach my 3rd trimester of pregnancy. The problem is my waking and non-working moments are fewer and farther between!

However, while I spent this past weekend immersed in psychopharmacology and statistics, an overwhelming sense of gratitude replaced the usual frustration I feel while studying. It began when I heard a ruckus in the next room and found Jeff in there cleaning, packing, hauling, rearrangining, and sweating.  He was laying the ground work for what will become BB's nursery - or, as my mother likes to say, he was "nesting". Although BB is still a few months away from entering the world, Jeff has already proven himself to be an incredibly loving father.  He reads to BB, has been stockpiling his dresser drawers with baby clothes we have been collecting, and just recently, he even purchased a new hat for BB...a matching version of one he already owns. How cute.

The second reason I have been feeling ever so grateful lately is because of the season. I just love this time of year, when fall is still in the air and Christmas is just on the horizon. And now with Baby Bean on the way, I feel that the holidays will be extra special.  Jeff and I have already gotten into the spirit.  With Christmas music playing in the background, Jeff also spent the weekend converting our home from Halloween to Christmas (all while watching football).  I even took a break from my studies to help decorate the tree! In a few days it will be Thanksgiving, and we'll be celebrating with many of our family and friends.  It's times like these when I'm reminded just how lucky I am. 

The final reason for my recent swell of gratitude is because Baby Bean won't let me feel otherwise.  Everytime I get too stressed or too tired, he reminds me what a gift life truly is.  This reminder usually comes in the form of a jab or a kick to my stomach, but I have no complaints.  He has been been moving and wiggling more and more, and seems to be getting stronger by the day. While in my kickboxing class on Saturday, I could swear that BB was coordinating his kicks with mine (perhaps he will be a ninja after all).  Every time I feel him move I smile, thus I am smiling more each day. Jeff has even felt him move many times now. Sharing this with my husband just adds to my joy.

In short, Baby Bean makes me love life, the holidays, family, friends, and Jeff even more - and this is in spite of  me spending so much time with my nose stuffed inside of a book. I can't even imagine how fortunate I will feel after he finally arrives :)  Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings- Eric Hoffer

Puppy Dog Tails

That's right, folks. I'm going to be the proud father of a bouncing baby boy. Whoohoo! Jenny and I couldn't be more excited; though we are still in disagreement over whether he is going to be an award-winning scientist or a ninja. Perhaps he can be the first biomolecular engineer to moonlight as a crime-fighting kung fu master. On second thought, maybe it would be best if we let him choose his own vocation.

We're still entrenched in the challenging process of choosing a name. 'Baby Bean' is sure to earn him more than his fair share of noogies and wedgies, so we'd better come up with something. More on that subject later. For now, feel free to stop by your local tobacco shop and pick me up one of those celebratory powder blue cigars.

Here are our most recent ultrasound pics, complete with an uncensored view of his, um, himness, if you will.



If you squint your eyes, cock your head and stare, you might be able to see that I'm a boy

My handsome profile

Practicing my ninja moves?

When I grow up I want to be a little boy - Joseph Heller

Halloween Madness

More pictures of Halloween tomfoolery..............

Annual trip to Bate's Nut Farm, where we pick our pumpkins off the vine and enjoy some pumpkin flavored fudge.

BB's first pumpkin!

Halloween at the Wild Animal Park,

Jenny with the mommy monkey/baby monkey statue and Jeff with an owl?!?!?

Apparently BB loves pumpkins as much as his parents.

Maybe it is all the pumpkin flavored Golden Spoon frozen yogurt his mom has been eating.

Pumpkin carving fun, including our annual tradition of watching It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.

Jeff's monstrous masterpiece!

Mckynna-kins helping us get ready for Uncle Kevin and Aunt Kelley's Haunted House.

Home is where the haunt is- Unknown

Hamilton's Halloween Horror III

Every year around Halloween we torture our poor pup by dressing him up in some absurd costume, and every year he gets his revenge by taking to the internet and filling the inbox of our friends, co-workers, and family with his highly exaggerated complaints and awful puns.  Those unfortunate enough to be on our email list have probably already seen this year's tirade.  Those who aren't can find it below.  We'll post more of our Halloween antics soon...   

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dearest family and friends,

I'm sure you did not expect to hear from me again, that the humans who enslave me finally finished me off. But alas, I have managed to escape yet another Halloween with my life. And what a narrow escape it was! And now I come to you with another grim tale of abuse and despair, and another appeal for help.

As you might recall, these vile humans have stuffed me in a lobster shell and dropped me into a boiling pot, and they have destroyed what little dignity I had by dressing me in a ballerina's outfit and forcing me to twirl about for their cruel enjoyment. Oh, the horrors I have endured!

This year their monkey business reached dreadful new heights. As you can see from the photographic evidence below, these humans have gone completely bananas! They restrained me and bound me up in a most ridiculous and fruity disguise. Then they unleashed upon me a small but ferocious primate with four very sharp teeth. I tried desperately to peel away my yellowy binds, to prove to the ravenous creature that I am a dog and not some tasty tropical treat. But it was no use. I lost two inches of my beloved tail before the furry little monkey finally decided that I was not fit for eating.

Please, I beg of you to help me. Save me from the pain and humiliation that these humans bring upon me. I fear that I will not survive another year.

Woefully yours,

Hamilton Fitzpatrick

P.S. Happy Howloween!

Jeff, Jenny, Mckynna, Baby Bean, Hammy & Miyagi

P.P.S. Even after the events described above Hamilton and sweetest niece Mckynna (aka the adorable little monkey) remain the very best of friends.

Where there is no imagination there is no horror - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Lora Vee Wesson: 1919 - 2009

My grandmother, Lora Vee Wesson, died early Thursday morning. She would have turned 90 on Christmas day.

What can I say about Grandma Wesson? I really only knew her as a child knows a long-distance grandparent. Growing up, our relationship consisted mostly of “I love you” messages filtered through my mother and the annual birthday card stuffed with crisp 10 dollar bill.

My memories of those times we did spend together are mostly fond. She loved me and my sister very much, and we loved her right back. Sure, she called me “precious” a lot (which can be quite traumatic for a young man), and she didn’t let me walk by her without drawing me in for one of those cringeworthy “grandma” hugs. But that is a small price to pay to be the temporary center of someone’s universe.

I remember picking grapes from the vines in her backyard, and how my legs stuck to her plastic-covered furniture. I remember exploring the forest behind her house, searching for adventure. I remember teaching her how to play Nintendo – Super Mario World, and no, she wasn’t very good. I remember playing songs for her on my guitar (she called it "pickin"). They were probably mangled renditions of awful metal songs, but she grinned and bobbed her head and pretended as if it was the most beautiful music she had ever heard.

Most of all I remember my grandmother’s freshly baked pies. If ever there was a Michelangelo of pie-making, it was my Grandma Wesson, and chocolate meringue was her Sistine Chapel.

I grew older, and so did she. Though I had begun to explore the rebellious boundaries of adolescence, she still saw fit to call me “precious”. That held true even after I became an adult, after she had traded her house with the grape vines and the plastic-covered furniture for a nursing home. Around the time I got married, the ravishes of time began to take away her memories. Soon she no longer called me “precious”. She no longer knew me.

I was fortunate enough to see my grandmother just two weeks ago. Jenny and I were visiting Mississippi when she was rushed to the hospital. We went there with my mother, who has stood at my grandmother’s bedside throughout her darkest hours. There was fear and confusion in her brilliant blue eyes. For hours we held her hand and we stroked her silver hair, trying to soothe her tantrums. It had been many years since my grandmother has known who I was, so I was surprised when she looked up at me on two occasions and said, “Jeffrey”. Her face was lit up like a kid’s on the Fourth of July. And once I even made her laugh. These moments were fleeting, but I will always cherish each and every one of them.

Jenny brought home pie the night Grandma Wesson died. Of course it was no match for her chocolate meringue, but we enjoyed it anyway in her memory. I love you, Grandma. I’m happy you’ve found peace.

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal- Irish Headstone

Baby Bean = Boy or Girl?

Well, the date is set. October 13th, 2009 is the day that, if BB is cooperating, we will know whether our future will be filled with sugar and spice and everything nice, or with frogs and snails and puppy dog tails. In the beginning nearly every one of our family and friends felt that BB was a boy. But lately there seems to be a significant shift to team pink. I thought I would be one of those moms that just ‘knew', but nope, no such intuition. Jeff has consistently claimed to know that he was having a son, but not only does he slip up often and call BB a "she", but his heart tends to melt a little more whenever he spots a baby girl. We would be happy either way: a healthy baby equals a happy Jeff and Jenny.

What do you think? Leave us a comment and let us know if you are on team pink or team blue.
See the sonograms below for some help!

You know, men and women are a lot alike in certain situations. Like when they're both on fire - they're exactly alike- Dave Attell