Invasion of the Body Snatcher

My body is no longer mine. I suppose I haven't been stripped of it entirely, but am simply sharing it. The needs of the tiny proto-person I'm sharing it with, however, take precedence over my own wants. Andrew has taken to hovering in the background whenever I'm eating, asking if whatever it is I'm having is okay. I can't complain too much, though. He's always taken care of me, but now he won't let me lift a finger for anything. It's odd though, to think that everything I'm doing is affecting my unborn child. I've always been the sort of person who reacts poorly to being told I can't do something, especially if it's for my own good. I would love nothing more than to have a big block of feta cheese crumbled over a salad as a side dish to a nice plate of sushi, all washed down with a pint of hard cider, or even just a glass of iced tea, perhaps both. I now I can still have plenty of things I enjoy, but at the moment I'm focused on what I can't have. It's like I'm on a nine month diet from hell.
My mother has also gone crazy over this child, in a much better way than expected. We went to the beach together yesterday, just the two of us. There was no arguing and minimal eye rolling. She's already talking about babysitting next year while we're both working and at school. Today she told me she's ordering me a book about keeping a natural home for the baby, since I've become a bit of a hippie in that respect. She's also been sympathetic, since Dr. Killjoy, as she calls him, has basically put her on the same diet I'm having to keep to, though presumably without all the folic acid.
Andrew just called, he's finally on his way home. He's doing sound design for the show that's going on at school, so he's been putting in long hours. He's kindly agreed to bring me a strawberry milkshake because "the baby wants one." I think this kid and I, if we can work together, have a great future ahead of us.

Preservation

We have a Valley lemon tree in the backyard. (That's Meyer lemons to everyone else in the world.) There is a lot of fruit on the tree, and some of it is already starting to ripen. This tree is one of my favorite things about this house. I love lemons and limes to an extreme degree, just ask my dentist. I especially love Valley lemons. They are large, with a smooth creamy yellow skin that is easy to peel. I vividly remember grabbing one from the veggie drawer of the refridgerator in our old house, this is the fridge that Mom and I had covered in cow print contact paper because it was rusting and ugly. I peeled it, thinking it was an orange that hadn't gotten all its color. It was sour, but a smooth sour, with just a hint of sweetness behind it. That's when I knew what true love felt like. So, of course I was a very happy girl when I found five of them on the kitchen table the other day. I squeezed one into a glass, intending to mix it with iced tea. While waiting for the tea to brew, I drank the juice straight. Whoops. It was only supposed to be a taste, but it went too far.
Finally, with lemony tea in hand, I contemplated the remaining lemons. For reasons unknown to neither me nor my parents, the ends of a few of the lemons had already begun to rot. Something had to be done. That's when I remembered the recipe I had seen for preserved lemons on Stuttercut.org. We aren't talking lemon preserves here, all glossy smooth and sweet. No, these are preserved lemons made by tossing lemon quarters with salt, layering them in a jar with some more salt, and then covering the whole mess with more lemon juice. Considering the fact that I had just eaten two of the lemons with a hearty sprinkling of salt, I knew what had to be done.
For some reason, Mom has a couple of cases of little canning jars just sitting around. These aren't the full on big ones, but small cute ones. The lids are white and have strawberries on them. But why does she have them? Mom always has a couple of projects in the wings. That's where I get it from. I feel odd if I don't have two or three things that need doing. I think the feeling is called sanity. At some point, Mom had decided that she really liked sweet jalapeno relish and would someday make her own, hence the jars. I'm not sure that project ever really took off, hence the completely unopened box of jars that I am not allowed to get rid of, because she's retired now. Truly these are the years of put up or shut up with my Mom. We'll see how many of the projects she has been talking about doing once she "has time" actually get done.
I snagged one of the jars, quartered the remaining lemons, carefully slicing away the rotted bits, and taking judicious taste tests to ensure what was left was edible. They were tossed with salt, and packed in and covered with more juice. I've been shaking the jar everyday, as per the recipe. Soon I'll have to come up with something to do with them beyond "open jar, eat." I can't wait for the rest of the tree to ripen. Truly, these are exciting, lemony, times.

Cake

There is currently a six pound, ten ounce buttercream frosted chocolate cake on our kitchen table. Apparently, we're celebrating Mom's birthday again. I believe what really happened is that Dad was taken in by the cake while at Sam's this morning. "It's bigger and cheaper than the ones at HEB" was his completely rational answer to my question of "What's with the cake?" As the lolcats would say, the origins of my issues, let me show you them. Mom interrupted the cake conversation to ask if I wanted her to join the gym with me. The me plus other people plus the gym conversation is one we've been through over and over again. I hate people watching me while I work out. I don't care if they're actually watching me, because in my mind being in the same room is enough. They probably saw me at some point, and therefore they are watching me. Only replace the word watching with judging. If there's anything I hate more than people seeing me at the gym, it's having someone try to talk to me while I'm trying to do my thing as quickly and as solitarily as possible. My mother can't resist talking to me. Every trip will be a chat session. I told I don't mind her going at all, but that I am definitely not looking for a workout buddy. Again, this is a converrsation we've had. We'll see what happens.
In other news, we are sans tv at the moment. We're switching between satellite providers, and unfortunately the new one won't be able to install for four more days. It's not been too bad. I've been working on homework anyway. It's also a sort of thing. Amazingly, with all the studying I've been doing, words are failing me. At the end of my tv-free time, I will return with things better than ever. We're getting dvr. Oh yes. I will once more be able to pause and record tv. Joy. This means I am no longer an actual slave to my tv. In the meantime, we've been re-watching Firefly. I wish there was more. But, since there isn't, I'm off to continue on homework until it's time for HFS.

Cats and Boobs

Mom has taken to waiting until Andrew is out and then coming in to talk to me. Well, she says she wants to talk to the cats, and before I know it the cats are being told how my brother is screwing up now, or getting a litany of things my father has done lately. At least she tells them they're cute. Anyway, now, apparently, my brother feels that by buying him a house Mom and Dad pushed him out. Bentley's answer was to roll on his back and try to look cuter. Puck just glared at her for interrupting his nap. Puck is officially a teenager, I guess. He has the glare down pat. He could out glare a whole lunchroom of seventh graders. I'm starting to realize that it's a good thing I'm married, otherwise I'd surely be edging into crazy catlady territory.
In other news, I've decided to the Boobie-Thon this year. I forget why I didn't last year, but I'm doing it now! Yay boobs! And double yay for keeping boobs cancer free! Stupid cancer. My maternal grandmother survived her breast cancer (but not her diabetes), but I lost a paternal aunt to it. Breast cancer is a topic near and dear to my own boobs. I'm debating trying to put together a donation thing, like if I hit a certain ammount I'll shave my head. Or maybe I'll put two up, donate for me to keep my hair or donate to see me shave it, and then whichever ammount is higher will be the winning option. I think my mom will be donating to see me shave it, though she might throw a couple of bucks at not in the end. We'll see. My biggest concern about shaving my head is how much I know I will look like my brother. Everything else I can deal with. Well, possibly not the big red circle birthmark I have on the back of my head, which my brother also has, because the last thing a bald girl needs is a target.