• Pacifier use increases the risk of ear infections.
• Pacifier use causes buck teeth or other dental abnormalities.
• Pacifier use inhibits evolving social development.
• Pacifier use is unsanitary.
• Pacifier use hinders language development and can cause a lisp.
• Pacifier use delays potty training.
• Pacifier use beyond infancy hinders the development of self-soothing and stress-management techniques.
• Pacifier use paves the road for future addictive behaviors such as smoking or eating disorders.
• PACIFIER USE IS A SIGN OF POOR PARENTING!!!!  Or is it???

To wean, or not to wean: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous sideways glances from other parents,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles that will come when I deprive Vivi of her Precious Paci. . .

It’s no mystery that Vivi loves her binkie, and to this point, I haven’t been able to bite the bullet and make her part with something that she seems to still need, especially with a new baby brother on the way who will turn her world upside down.

Aagh! Why don’t kids each come with their own personalized instruction manual???

As a mom with kids that were recently sick, a thermometer reading “98 degrees” is a blessed thing. But as a homeowner seeing the same reading on the thermostat in her bedroom despite the fact that the AC had been running all day while she away, I suddenly was the one feeling SICK!

BT whipped the house into immaculate shape as a homecoming surprise, but I could have done without the surprise of ANOTHER broken down AC unit. So, one of the first tasks I had upon my return from vacation was to try and diagnose/fix the AC. Unfortunately, because I am acquiring quite a bit of experience in the AC department, I was able to narrow down the problem to either a burned out outside fan motor or a defunct capacitor. There’s a GREAT store in Dallas (Adam the Answer Man) that sells parts and offers know-how so that you can fix your own appliances. BT and I fixed our fridge a few years ago–$30 part vs. $290 repair from a local rip-off artist (Smartway Appliances–VERY crooked, HORRIBLE BBB reviews, STAY AWAY from them!!!).

Anyway, I digress.

After trying to discharge the capacitor ourselves only to have the thing spark like it was a 4th of July firework, even my frugal sweetheart caved and agreed that we could call someone in this time . . . with the condition that I watch everything that he does so that we could do it ourselves next time. (And I’m sure that, with three aging AC units, there WILL BE a next time). So, although the AC tech (James Piper–honest, knowledgeable & reliable) was probably a little annoyed as a large, pregnant woman hovered over him, watching his every move, asking all sorts of questions, he patiently endured the service call and was quickly on his way. Speaking of pregnant, it turns out that we had a “pregnant” capacitor–bowed at the top and bottom and evidently ready to give birth because she as leaking oil.

Am I glad that we called in a pro this time? You bet.

Will I be able to fix it myself next time? You bet.

I never knew that ten little fingers could wrap their way around my heart like they have. 

One of the things that I cherish about my little Miss Vivi is how she loves to hold my hand . . . but not just HOLD my hand.  She entwines her fingers around mine and squeezes tight.  And every time she does this my heart melts, frustrations flee, and I say a little silent prayer of thanks for being entrusted with such a precious little angel.

A Buck Sixty-Five.  That’s what Bryan claims he weighs.  It’s truly endearing how he tries to make me feel better in my advanced stage of pregnancy, proclaiming a “lofty” weight, thinking that there’s no way that I’ll hit that mark and thus will not feel quite so large.

Think again.

I can’t comprehend how he could possibly know how much he really weighs because I doubt that he has stepped on our bathroom scale in the last year.

Seriously.

Unlike me.

I weigh myself daily, if not more.

Seriously.

So, we are left to speculate about his true weight.

I ask you, my friends, if you think that the man in this picture, my wonderful husband, would even tip the scale at “a buck forty.”  And for the past few weeks that I’ve been on vacation in Utah distanced from BT, I’m awfully worried that he’s had to punch some new holes in his belt to keep his pants up.  A few nights ago, his dinner consisted of a can of diet root beer.

Until I get home (in a week and a half), if you happen to see Bryan out and about, will you please remind him to EAT!

I like my chocolate bittersweet, not my vacations.  Unfortunately, I’m afraid that the fun the girls and I have as we visit family in Utah over the next three weeks will be tempered by the fact that Bryan is not with us.  Nonetheless, I am grateful that he has a job and that he works so hard to provide for our family.   We LOVE you and we MISS you, BT.