Thanksgiving week and Miguel's birthday  will always coincide... he was born the 27th of November.  Last year it was on Thanksgiving; this year, the day after. We were gathered at Mike's bro. Dannie's house for Thanksgiving, where Mom and Dad Erb are staying.  ( Dannie and Marilyn are in the Philippines for some medical certification training program that will allow Dannie to practice medicine in Third World countries. ) There were large amounts of great food like turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry salad, and pumpkin cheesecake. We went shopping on Black Friday, a little, and got a trike for Miguel's second birthday. He is hardly strong/old enough to drive it properly, but he kills himself trying.



The long hair was just too much too take... we put it off as long as we could, since Miguel raised cane those few times we trimmed it down. Finally, we decided to bite the bullet and take him to a hairdresser-- speed seemed to be the crucial factor... I fully expected at least moderate cane-raising even there, but to my surprise, Miguel sat as still as a mouse on the kid chair, watched Dora on the screen in front of him, and seemed mildly amused at the strange lady clipping his hair. Wow. Was he fascinated or intimidated? I debated disguising myself and trying it again next time, but... maybe I'll just let the hair grow to Beatles length again, and take him back to the hairdresser.
 A haircut makes him look 6 months older.



We've been doing some Christmas decorations, and after Mike checked out the fireplace and reported it squeaky clean, we threw some wood in and have been charmed ever since. The few times we have it going, all I want to do is sit in front of it, sip tea, listen to a Christmas CD, and be incredibly nostalgic. I'm only 26- is it permissible to be nostalgic when you cannot recall life prior to the late 80's?



We have one more thing to be thankful for, as well as come up with creative ways to deal with. We're going to be parents for the second time, next summer. I was hoping and praying that I would not get sick like I did with Miguel's pregnancy... but I am. Not as bad, and it feels like I am a bit better equipped to deal with it, but still... throwing up every other day and spending about 50 percent of my time on the couch fighting nausea is really killing the holiday spirit within me. I continue to pray that I am granted fortitude... with Miguel, I ended up suffering months of depression and discouragement. I did determine to be a little more vocal about it this time, and asking my friends to help/encourage me. The last time, I really tried to hide/deny the depression, even though my husband begged me to see a doctor, get on meds temporarily, SOMETHING!  It isn't worth whatever pride you think you salvage to battle the darkness of discouragement for weeks and months; wishing you could disappear in a hole and die so the endless nausea would stop. Part of my difficulty with Miguel's pregnancy came from Mike and I  having just left the Amish, buckling under disapproval from my Amish family, (thankfully, Mike's parent had also left, and were a huge support) getting accustomed to a new church, new friends, a new culture, actually- then pregnancy on top of that. So.... I think it will be easier this time, come what may.
 The creative ways of dealing with the morning sickness... or any-time-of-day sickness?? My midwife told me last time around that I had low blood sugar, which was spiking my nausea. I had to eat... often. Eat, when you want to puke? Yes. So, often in the morning, Mike will get up for work at 5:30, and if I feel sick, he hurries out to the kitchen to make toast. Two pieces of buttered toast usually tames my stomach. Or, sometimes it sends me packing to the bathroom to throw it overboard. Either way, I feel much better for a couple hours. Sometimes a little humor works... jokes about going sailing since I'm seasick all the time anyway, envisioning the worst scenarios and events in which to be sick. It doesn't cure anything, but a laugh makes anything more bearable. Tonight, I was too sick to do anything but fantasize about blueberries... so Mike kindly ran to the nearby grocery store to get some blueberries. (Read: not in season, not cheap!) He returned with not only the desired food, but  half a dozen roses. Way to quench the queasies AND score BIIIIIG points with your wife. It takes a real man to bring flowers home to a woman who is pale, moaning, huddled under a blanket... and may very well need to have her hair held back for retching in the next 10 minutes.
 That's my husband. Not a big romantic, not lavish with words, flowers, and such-like, but knows how to warm the heart at the perfect times. Neither of us quite envisioned this scenario (not sure why not) of the trials of marriage when we were dating, but I dare say those roses tonight meant more than any tender glances, words and flowers that I received before I weathered a few storms, arguments, crises, and  public parking-lot pregnant pukings with the very resilient love of my life....

 You are not responsible for the crazy thoughts you get while renovating....

"I wonder if the idea of using drywall dust and plaster pieces for decor could start a trend."
"If my son is electrocuted while poking his finger in an exposed receptacle, would we go to jail?"
"Paint color samples make great bookmarkers. I don't have time to read, though. Could I sell them on e-bay?
"My husband is really attractive with spiderwebs hanging on his shoulders and hair... in a kinda spooky way."
"No, we're not playing African drums over here. That's us pounding out the trim."
"Mounting flashlights from odd corners to shine on our work areas at 10:00 PM... our version of being in the spotlight."
"I wonder what would happen if I would call the police anonymously and say that I think there are dead bodies wrapped in blankets in a garage at 10971 Cutter Rd... only to have the police find pet-urine-soaked rolls of carpeting?"
"Sitting on sharp tools that are buried in the couch is cruel and unusual punishment. If I ever want a divorce, there are my grounds."
"I think we should be on reality TV. What could be better than having me moon the camera falling off a ladder?"
"If I show up in church with paint on my nose, is that considered makeup?"
"Our love-language right now is 'Let's go to Home Depot.' Maybe we could book a night there for our anniversary."
"Wonder what they call holding a paint roller in one hand, clamping a wet putty knife in my teeth, and fixing a bottle with the other hand. Tridextrous?
"To the neighbors: no, we're not having a domestic dispute. I'm in the kitchen discussing the finances with my husband in the attic. Sometimes yelling IS communicating."
"My husband can't run a paint roller. I AM the superior gender!'...
..."I have no idea what a three way switch is, though. Back to subordinate gender."
"Sorry if I come visit you and no longer look in your eyes when you talk. I'm busy trying to decide if your floor is laminate or hardwood, maple or walnut, Mohawk or Pergo."
"I feel so empowered. I can name 10 shades of white."
"Sometimes throwing away a 5 dollar paintbrush after slathering oil base paint is easier to bear than smelling like gasoline at the dinner table."
"Do It Yourself" is an incorrect phrase. By completion of your project, every employee of Sherwin Williams, Home Depot, and Builder's Supply knows you by name. First name."
"I suppose dreams that show me in heaven renovating the pearly gates have no significance... or do they?"

 For a couple weeks now, two Jehovah's Witness ladies have been coming to my door. At first, I was like, sure, I'll speak with you. Next it was, "Mind if we come in a bit?", which I allowed because I didn't think I would forbid two nice ladies entrance simply because of their beliefs. We found common ground on a few basic issues, such as the creation by the word of God, good intentions of God toward His people, the presence of sin in the world, etc. Then, gradually, a few other things crept in- and I can no longer agree with them. Not only that, I have researched them and found some pretty shocking discoveries about their beliefs, not to mention the fact that the one lady told me some untruths about the Watchtower Society; probably not intentionally, but because Witnesses are fed a lot of propaganda and told to accept the leader's interpretation as truth. In fact, they do not believe that the Scriptures in themselves are sufficient to guide people; they must be accompanied by Watchtower study helps. Above all, they do not accept translations other than their own, the New World Translation; which has been translated and written since the 1950s by less-than-credible 'scholars'.
 They will be coming again next week, and have requested the new address of where we are moving to. I am planning on declining that request, telling them I do not wish to further discuss these things with them since we are not going to agree anyway, and ask them to please refrain from making attempts to contact me. If they persist, I plan to present them with some of my findings on their beliefs.
 I would appreciate any input from any of you who may have had dealings with Watchtower people on this level, and some advice on effective ways of, well, simply put, getting rid of them! I prefer something quick and painless- I am very busy with this moving/renovating stuff, and do not have time to stand around arguing all day. I also request prayer- I'm pretty nervous about it, since I have never before asked someone to leave my house. Any stories or recommendations from you would be great. Thanks!
 I will report back....