I had one thing and one thing only that I needed to accomplish today. At 8am I needed to go to the midwife’s office for my regular checkup and get my swine flu vaccine on the way out. It was the failiest fail ever.

Last visit to the midwife’s office was wonderful and exciting. We found out we were having a girl and got to watch Penny squirming on the ultrasound machine for a solid half hour. Matt was with me, and held my hand as I laid down and received my regular seasonal flu vaccine. At that visit I had planned on getting both vaccines, but after barely making it through the seasonal flu shot, I opted to get my H1N1 on my next visit which was scheduled well in advance so Matt could come with me.

Well, he wound up not being able to come today. February being a short month and Tennessee being snow-day happy, he had to squeeze in a couple extra hours today with a client, so I went alone. I’ve known for about a week and a half that I would be going alone and psyched myself up for it. As in, not sleeping a wink last night and walking into the office this morning shaking.

When I arrived Brandy took my blood pressure, and her eyes opened so wide I thought maybe SHE was going to pass out and suddenly I’d have to really pull myself together and give her mouth to mouth or something. She asked me to take the standard pee test to find out if I had preeclampsia. I told her I thought maybe my blood pressure was high because I was so nervous, but she wanted to opt on the safe side.

So I waited in the room for what felt like decades before the midwife and her midwife-in-training came in to see me. Before I could even say hello I blurted out, “Do I have preeclampsia?” Midwife Melissa smiled and assured me that I was fine, no preeclampsia, and that they’d try taking my blood pressure later in the appointment.

And that’s when I burst into tears and told her that I was so nervous about coming in and getting a shot by myself, that my husband couldn’t make it (and he’s the one who really wants me to get the swine flu vaccine anyways!), and that my car was in the shop so I’m driving this brand new loaner car from the dealer, and what if I passed out and crashed the loaner car on the way home?!

“You really don’t need to get the shot today. Why don’t you wait until your husband can come with you?”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’d like you to get the vaccine, but you’ll be fine if you put it off another four weeks. We have to do a blood draw at your next visit anyways, so we can get it all done at once. And you get another ultrasound at that visit, which will be fun! You’ll get to see your little girl again!”

This is where I kissed her on the mouth. We finished up all the routine stuff, and she re-took my blood pressure which wound up being perfectly fine, in fact a little on the low side of normal.

I really wanted to be brave enough to get that shot all by myself today. I’ve had my blood drawn before by myself, but the thing that freaks me out about the flu vaccine is that you can feel it in your arm long after you’ve had it done, unlike a blood draw. And for some reason, my physiological response to feeling that sting hours later is to get queasy all over again. But I wanted to overcome it. I wanted to make Matt proud of me, especially because he knows that despite what everyone says, I still don’t believe it’s necessary to have the silly vaccine, but I am willing to do it because it matters so much to him. I wanted to kick this fear in the crotch once and for all.

I have gone to so many midwife visits over the past few months, have been poked and prodded with needle after needle and haven’t passed out once. I have gotten so much better. But then days like today come along, and I feel like I’m back to square one with no improvements made.

I mean, what would you do if you were told you needed to go sky diving once a month to usher in world peace. You’d be scared spitless at the door of that plane, and the only thing stopping you from vomiting would be the sexy G.I. Joe character whose back you’d be strapped to for the free-fall. So you get a little less scared each month cause G.I. Joe makes you feel a wee mite safer. But then one day you have to jump alone. And you start crying and say to yourself, “WHY DO I NEED TO JUMP OUT OF A PLANE TO STOP ETHNIC CLEANSING?!” So the plane takes you safely back to the airport, and you drive home hating yourself because c’mon, what’s so scary about jumping out of a plane?! ALONE?! People do that all the time, right? A BABY COULD DO IT!

That’s basically what it feels like. And now, because of my big needle fail the whole world is going to die of swine flu.

I have nothing to say. I am packing up our apartment and listening to Christmas music and running to the bathroom frequently. My houseplants are not doing well with the constant changes they’ve been through this year.

Symptoms are all pretty much the same. My sensitive nose is driving me nuts. The dog smells, I smell, food smells. I am completely wiped out all day and have to sit down frequently and take a load off. I want to sleep all the time except for last night when I couldn’t fall asleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about Christmas!

Oh, and time for some bigger pants. Only my painting jeans fit these days. Between those and my plethora of ratty t-shirts, I really look awesome. You know all those gorgeous pregnant women model-types you see? Not this one. I look like a person who has a creature growing inside their belly.

Ok, reserved the truck, address change, cleaning ladies scheduled… what else am I forgetting?

The past week has been non-stop fun between my sister coming out to visit, and my BFF stopping in with her husband over the weekend on their drive back from Georgia to Ohio. I’ve been so much in having-fun-with-people-I-love mode that I completely forgot about it until it just now hit me.

We move on Saturday. Like move out of this apartment that is full of stuff I haven’t even thought about packing up yet, and move into that house where everything is still covered in drywall dust.

Matt’s over at the house today finishing up stuff in the kitchen, and for all intents and purposes the place is basically livable. We have a usable stove, fridge, and microwave, cabinets and countertops. If the plumber swings by this week we might even have a working kitchen sink and dishwasher. So really, what else does a girl need?

Well, thanks for asking… a European vacation would be nice. Or my $8,000 check from Obama.

I am trying not to be stressed out. In fact after writing the title for this post I quickly plugged my ears with my fingers and started singing, “LALALALALA LA! CHRISTMAS!” to psych myself into a better mindset. I really DO think I can make it through the next week and all that needs to be accomplished… with the help of several pounds of dark chocolate.

And then, so help me God, I’m not moving again for a solid fifty years.

Matt had last Friday off, so we spent the morning and early afternoon in the house spackling the drywall. May I quickly comment about spackling? Ok, yes? Thanks. I’m amazed at how many tools you need to spackle. You need all these knives and then corner knives and seam knives, and honestly it all seems a bit excessive. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just slime the spackle up onto the wall with the palm of my hand, but I suppose that’s neither here nor there.

After the first coat was on, we headed out with a car packed full of food, hoodies, and Berlin, and we drove to Northeastern Tennessee for a weekend in the self-proclaimed “Horseback Riding Capital of the Southeast.” We had somewhat moderate expectations of the cabin we’d be staying in, seeing as their website primarily displayed their kitschy decor. But MAN were we blown away when we got out there!

It was a new cabin, probably no more than five years old, set on a little pond on a quiet 7 or 8 acres. We had a beautiful stainless steel kitchen to cook up a storm in, but spent most of the weekend split between flopping in the hot tub and flopping in front of the roaring fire watching HGTV. Those first-time home buyers are so embarrassing. Did I say those things? UGH! I hope not.

I had booked this weekend away to celebrate our anniversary before we had even found our house, and had no idea that the weekend would pull us away from our renovations – in a good way. I think we both were a little reluctant to leave the house on Friday when we knew how much we needed to work all weekend. But when we got out into no-man’s land it was all worth it. Even though it rained through Saturday night, we got out to a winery, and blew all our cash on outstanding Mennonite fare.

But the best part might have been seeing the look on Berlin’s face when we opened the screen door and said, “Go play!” She was all, “No leash? No poop bag? I can run wherever I want and roll in smelly things?” She romped in the mud and rain and ATE UP going back to her country bumpkin roots.

It was so hard coming back from a great weekend to get back to the grind. I guess that’s always how it goes. Now I have to get my butt over to the house to sand down that first coat of spackle. Maybe Billy Joel will keep me company.

You might have heard me loping around these parts bragging about the $12 lawn mower that I picked up for Matt at the dump. Well here’s the whole truth.

There’s a man who picks through stuff at the dump, and if he thinks it’s in working condition, he pulls it out and tries to sell it to people who are dropping junk off. Our conversation went a little bit like this.

“Sir, I need a lawnmower. What do you have for me?”

“I’ve got a few good ones. This one is the best. All it needs is a new spark plug and some gas, and it should be good.”

He then proceeded to start it. The engine refused to turn over.

“Ok, well how much do you want for it?”

“Twenty five dollars.”

“Well, I only have $12 on me. Anything for sale for $12?”

He then sauntered around a bit debating what he’d give up for such a low price. I could see the argument inside his mind. Finally, he walked back to the “best” lawnmower.

“Want me to put this in your car?”

“That would be great, sir. I appreciate it.”

So I drove away from the dump feeling MIGHTY good about my find. After all, my father-in-law is notorious for trash picking lawnmowers and getting them back into working condition with a little bit of brains and elbow grease. I was going to be the next Pops!

I headed to Home Depot where Keith helped me find the right spark plug for the model. Then I hopped in the car to fill my emergency gas tank. Called my dad on the drive to find out what kind of gas to get, and I could hear pride in his voice. “My little girl’s gonna get a lawn mower working and mow the lawn!”

It was too late now. I could not let my two dad’s down!

So I headed home with my mower, gas and spark plug and set off to do the miraculous. My first issue was a rusted old spark plug that I wasn’t strong enough to remove. Then I couldn’t figure out how to pour the gas out of my emergency gas tank. Very frustrated, I left the project for Matt.

Now, I need to stop for a moment and explain to you why it was such an urgent need for me to fix up this lawn mower… and not just to gain some parental approval. Our lawn had not been mowed since about a week before we closed on the house. We’re goin’ on a month here, with the last week being a complete rain fest. The grass in our football-field sized backyard was LITERALLY a foot tall in most places.

I’m a new homeowner and all, and granted we are in the process of renovating the kitchen. IE: there are bigger fish to fry, which was Matt’s argument all along. But I couldn’t do this to my neighbors! My dear sweet neighbors who have a male dog that is in love with Berlin. And the other neighbors who let us borrow their minivan to haul drywall home from the store. I can’t walk around having a foot of grass in my backyard with these sweet neighbors!!!!

This is turning into a novella. Let me wrap things up.

For days, I was pushing Matt to please figure out how to fix the lawnmower! So one day, during a break from drywalling, he squatted down by the lawnmower and replaced the spark plug. Then poured the gas into the tank effortlessly. And then he tried to start her up. Wouldn’t budge.

“Honey, Keith at Home Depot said that maybe we need a new air filter. Should I go get an air filter?”

“Babe, I really think this mower is going to take a little bit more work. And I really think we should finish the drywall.”

“Ok, but it wouldn’t take me long to get the air filter. We could at least try it.”

“Babe, let’s stay on task.”

Cut to yesterday when I went over to the house to put a second coat of paint on the master bedroom. When I opened the front door I was overwhelmed by the smell of gasoline. This couldn’t just be paint fumes, I thought. There’s gas leaking somewhere! I ran into the basement where we were storing the behemoth, and sure enough… two HUGE pools of gas underneath the mower. Right about now is where I flipped out. Because there was GAS! IN THE BASEMENT! And I could touch off an enormouse house fire if I so much as MOVED incorrectly! Should I turn off all the breakers? But could they potentially spark if I did that? And the spark could set off a house fire!? OMG! OMG!

And I proceeded to run around the football-field sized yard with foot long grass waving my arms in the air and screaming like a lunatic. Or I just sat on the basement steps for a moment to collect my thoughts. One or the other – you choose!

I opened the double doors in the basement, pushed out the mower to drip its gas in the backyard and add to the pleasantness out there. And I tried my darndest to air out the basement. Gas will evaporate eventually, right? And then it’s not dangerous? I’d make an awful terrorist.

Matt came by the house a few hours later in between his appointments, and I vehemently insisted he take that trash heap of a mower back to the dump, and get it out of our lives forever! He took a look underneath it, and sure enough… there was a massive hole. Like HALF OF THE ENGINE missing. Maybe for the full $25, I could have gotten the whole engine?

Back to the dump we went, where Matt explained the situation to the guy who sold it to me, and gave his steely judicious eye. Matt can be so MORAL sometimes, and can very calmly explain what you did wrong, and make you feel like Satan Incarnate. Usually he’s only doing it to me, but in this case I was glad he pulled out all the stops for the lawnmower salesman. Even though the whole time I was writhing in my seat and couldn’t look at them.

Then it was off to Home Depot to visit KEITH! Who hooked us up with a new self-propelled Toro that cuts! And mulches! And collects clippings in a little bag! And can also spit the clippings out the side! THANKS KEITH!

($10 off the purchase by showing my Lowes coupon! YAY!)

The story ends with me mowing my football-field sized backyard yesterday – my first experience with mowing. And I got halfway through it before I was rained out. I loved it! I loved mowing! I want to be The Official Mower Of The Matt Hofmann Family. Talk about instant gratification!

Except there was this one moment where a little snake slithered in front of the mower to safety. And I jumped when I saw it. And last night I had terrible nightmares where I kept hitting snakes with the lawnmower and their bodies would get all chopped up in the blade. And bloody bits of snake body would fly up from the mower and splatter all over my face.

So now, I want nothing to do with mowing or lawn mowers. Ever again. I don’t care who I’m letting down.

Berlin is lying on her stomach with her head on her paws. Every now and then she smacks her jowls and shifts so that her head is even closer to the floor than it was before. I can hear her tummy growling, but she refuses to get up and eat. Why do that when she could lay here right next to her mumma?

Every day this week I’ve been keeping myself occupied due to my nervous energy. On Friday we close, and I can FINALLY get my hands dirty! I can dive into that house with a bucket of rags, Comet and paint. I can get off the phone and computer – away from setting up utilities and pricing stuff out and calling references to find out about the work ethic of various skilled laborers.

I’m a bundle of anxiety and nerves not only because of the house. I’ve finally gotten over whatever it was I had last week, and have now passed it on to Matt. Matt, who has been working extra tough, long-houred days the past two weeks because he took off a few days at the beginning of the month. So when he gets home and is completely wiped out, I try to tiptoe around – feeding him whatever he finds appealing with his lack of appetite, stuffing him up with meds, and kissing him goodnight at 9pm. I’m trying to make this a quiet and relaxing place for him in the midst of the crazy work schedule and upcoming house closing. I’m hushing the cat for meowing while Matt’s asleep, all the while wanting to jump up and down on the bed and wake him up to talk about Electricians! And Plumbers! And the 5 million tiles I like and can’t choose between!

Then there’s personal stuff I don’t want to write about that is eating me up inside. But I’ll keep my mouth shut, and keep my thoughts to writhe around in my brain. I’ll show my self-control, all with the hopes that in the next few weeks I’ll have a new house, a healthy and de-stressed Matt, and plenty of things to pour my energy into.

Until then… I’ll just be mostly quiet.