Good Times in the Small City

I have mentioned, in passing, the Small City, which is the city closest to our house. It is, as you may have guessed (if you're REALLY SMART) pretty small. It is also, for the most part, kind of stuck in 1985. And I mean that in the best way possible. There is a "mall," which has about two dozen stores, MAYBE, and features JC Penney. Home Depot did open in the Small City a few years ago, but there are a lot more independent stores that have been around a long time. There is still no Target.

But there IS a movie theater. Two, even. One of them has four screens, the other six. Neither of the theaters has stadium seating. It is still possible at these throwback theaters to buy popcorn and soda for five dollars. For both, not each. And it is possible to walk into those theaters on the opening day of New Moon* ten minutes before the movie starts and sit in an almost empty theater. Which I did yesterday. It was, granted, the middle of a workday. But I counted 23 other people in the theater, and that is BY FAR the most crowded I have ever seen a theater in the Small City.

And that is why I love the Small City. (Well, that and the fact that it has a farm store. Which is right next to the theater I went to. Which is why I went to the movie, because I was buying chicken food and the movie was starting in 10 minutes.)

* In case you've been living in a cave, this is the newest of the "Twilight" movies about teenager vampires and werewolves.

Lies. All Lies.

Lennie's comment yesterday about being warmer this winter due to pregnancy made me mad (don't worry, Lennie--I'm not mad at you). Because a LOT of people told me this, starting way back in the summer. And to be honest, I was kind of counting on it. I was dreaming of a winter when my hands and feet weren't always cold, when my nose would be warm at night, when I could fling away my wool sweaters and romp around in, like, a cotton t-shirt and sweatshirt.

This is not going to happen.

I understand there are real physiological reasons for women being warmer while they're pregnant (increased blood supply, mostly), but I'm not. And that's only one of the standard pregnancy side effects that don't seem to apply to me.

I have not felt the crazy urge to scrub all the grout in my bathroom with a toothbrush in a fit of nesting.

I have not had any weird cravings for something I never normally want to eat, like liver (GROSS). Or even a craving strong enough that I was willing to actually go out of my way to procure a food.

I am not glowing. I know this because no one has said so. And isn't that some kind of given, that people immediately respond to pregnant women by gushing, "Oh, you're glowing!" So I must really not be glowing.

I have not had erratic, hormonally-driven emotional fits. You know, crying over a commercial, screaming at people for no good reason, all those good things that are usually attributed to pregnancy. One day, I may decide to behave like a raging bitch for no good reason, because I might as well get some use out of this convenient excuse.

I'm sure there are more, because my usual reaction to books about pregnancy or other people's stories is that no, that does not sound familiar. And it is my understanding that a lot of women don't experience "typical" pregnancies, so who decided what's typical? Maybe nothing is typical! Maybe the medical community is trying to dictate a woman's experience! Maybe it's all a BIG CONSPIRACY!

Maybe I need to go have some breakfast before I start seeing black helicopters. Have a nice weekend, duckies!

Buried Alive in Bed

We have come to a tricky time of year in regards to our bed coverings. The question at hand: To down, or not to down?

See, there comes a point every late fall where the decision is made to put the down comforter on the bed. The decision is mostly made by me, and I usually give in only reluctantly after much pleading by A. He loves the down comforter. The weight of it makes him feel cozy and safe from the admittedly brutal cold we experience in our bedroom.

However.

The weight is the problem for me. Because in addition to the down comforter, we also have flannel sheets and two wool blankets--one moderately light and one very heavy*. The combined weight of all of these coverings is substantial. And it makes me feel a little like I'm buried neck deep in a grave. It is also, however, absolutely the only way to be even moderately comfortable when sleeping in a room that holds steady at 45 degrees.

So while the down comforter is not yet on the bed, it's only a matter of time. And in the meantime, tell me, duckies: Do you like to be pinned to your bed by the weight of your covers, or do you prefer free and easy sleeping?

* Incidentally, the very heavy wool blanket was a wedding present to us from the MiL's friend Mary in MN. I know Mary reads this site, and so I would like to publicly state for her benefit that that was one of the very best wedding presents we received. Thank you for saving us from certain death in our sleep from the cold, Mary. We owe you.

The Solution to All My Problems

Well, all my problems involving droopy pantaloons, that is. A topic that is on my mind at present as I wander around doing chores and holding up a pair of A.'s pants with one hand. The solution came to me in a flash of brilliance as I bent over to grab a t-shirt out of the laundry basket to hang on the line and very nearly lost my precarious hold on my (A.'s) pants. Such a simple, practical solution, too: suspenders*.

Yes, suspenders. Beloved of men with beer guts everywhere. And what do I have but the gestational equivalent of a beer gut? And who says men with beer guts are the only ones allowed to sport such a fashionable item of clothing?

Now I just need to figure out where to find a pair . . .

* Or braces, if you want to be British today. Sometimes it's fun to be British. At least in word choices.

The View from Above

The four dogs spend their days outside, hanging around the property, sleeping in the sun. They occasionally rouse themselves to bark at passing cyclists, but for the most part it's pretty chill. Until I go outside. And then? NON-STOP FUN AND EXCITEMENT.

I don't know why they get so excited when I step outside the door, since 99% of the time all I'm doing is dumping the compost or getting more firewood. And yet, they react as if I'm going to shower them with treats or take them on a walk or something equally thrilling. Then, when all I do is stand there and give them a pat on the head or two, they manufacture their own excitement. Meaning they all press against my legs and start whirling and biting each other's ears and feet. Playing.

I'm flattered they want to include me in their little games, except I end up with the weight of four squirming dogs pressing against my knees, which is not as much fun for me as it is for them. The only way to avoid it is to keep moving--you stop and you're sunk.

Oh well, it's nice to be loved, even if only by four crazed dogs.

And a Happy Monday to You, Too

I just logged into my Yahoo account and glanced at the "news" story they always highlight before you click through to e-mail. The title of this particular one was, "Stressful Careers that Pay Badly." Can you imagine sitting at your desk on a Monday morning, logging into Yahoo for a little distraction from your misery, and reading that your job not only sucks, but is badly paid to boot? I mean, I'm sure those people KNOW their jobs suck, and almost everyone thinks they aren't paid enough, but still. Bad timing on the part of Yahoo.

This Can't Be Healthy

The bamboo shade on our bedroom window is covered in a thin film of greenish mold. Time to break out the Lysol.

For those of you who long to live in a grand historical home, specifically a stone historical home: Are you prepared for moldy window blinds? Because they come along with the history.