Towel Watch: 13th Jan 2010, Day One.

Before: Tuesday 9:45pm.
After: Wednesday 6:19am.

Cause I refuse to be the nagging wife...

That Man Dan

I love him cause:

He's either not willing to oblige in photos....

Or he's too willing...

He's kind to animals:


(Bobby on a chain)


(Bobby the Exclusive Bretheren)


(Dances with wolves sheep)

(Sparkler VS. Buck)

(Bobby meets the roof)

(Yanking Mr Tumnus's horns)

(Teaching Bobby bad habits)

DISCLAIMER: No animals were harmed in the taking of these photos.... unless you count their dignity.

He always finds what he's looking for:

(On the rampage looking for the Cookies that I hid. He found them. R.I.P Cookies.)

He's an amazing cook:

(This picture really does no justice to this AMAZING Burger. I'd happily eat it again over Burger Fuel.)

He's ingenious:

(He made a capflap)

( He made me a preggy belly bed to watch TV)

He buys me things unexpectedly:

He's subtle:

(I forget to throw shampoo bottles out so we end up gathering somewhat of a collection in the shower. I found these in the carport. He'd thrown them out the bathroom window.)

(Proving that he's not the only one that leaves empty toilet rolls in the can.)

He's my hero:

(One day he saved my life by cutting me out of a death dress... with his pocket knife)

He's brave and eats my experiments:

His revenge is NASTY:

(I was wearing his beloved "comfy pants" so he paid me back by wearing my clean robe, singlet and undies over his filthy cow poo ridden overalls until I took the pants off and put them back.)

He's real good at taking my picture:

He fixes my broke stuff:

He gave me her:

This list will never come close to capturing even the slightest essence of the very man I married.

He's a discrete giver and it's hard for me not to shout from the roof tops all the amazing things he does in private.

But since you asked, here are some points:

*He gives away his hard earned work bonus's.

*He's only taken 1 sick day in our 4 years of marriage.

*He tried adopting an abused child.

*Last week he told me to do nothing.. no cleaning, no cooking and gave me money to spend on myself in town.

*He's the first to step in when someone is being treated unjustfully.

*He's quick to forgive me for my wrongs.

*He builds me up in public.

*He flares his nostrils when he's trying to keep a straight face.

*He doesn't mind singing a bit of SuBo in the shower.

*He warms up my side of the bed in Winter.

*He makes me a coffee EVERY morning.

*He always gives me the biggest glass of coke.

*He sings Spice Girl songs at the top of his lungs with me in the car.

*He's a perfectionist on the BBQ.

*He never strives for recognition.

*He made and keeps our vege garden in pristine condition.

*He sings to my preggy belly.

*He can make anything.

*He includes others.

*He isn't hairy.

*He lets his farts out the bottom of the bed.

*He squashes disgusting bugs for me.

*He picks me flowers.

*He's a "Gleek".

*He wrote his future wife a letter in India before he knew me and read it out during our wedding reception.

*He has a kangaroo dance.

*He takes me to Auckland to shop monthly.

*He looks good driving Utes.

*He looks even better driving Tractors.

*He wants to assemble EVERYTHING.

*He always has a good idea.

*He finds this, this and this as hilarious as I do.

*He always knows what to do.

*He's loyal (to me, friends and employers).

*He never exaggerates.

*He never pretends to be somebody else.

*His eyes are like the ocean.

*He loads the dishwasher every morning.

*He makes perfect gravy.

*He's all mine.

I love you Dan.

I'm greatful you chose me to be your wife.

xo.

LETTERS TO [CAN'T REVEAL NAME TILL SHE'S BORN] # 2.

You mean I'm not supposed to be eating raw chicken?.



Dear Not-Charlotte,

(November 2009)
In two days we will begin the T-minus 10 week count down. This week you get eyelashes.. the very things that will oneday make you regret using mascara from all the stray ones that get swallowed up by your eye socket and make permanent home behind your eyeball.

I'm now breathing like a ten pack-a-day smoker since you now favour pushing all my innards into my mouth and what feels like you punching your little pillow into shape under my ribs.. I'd see the funny side if everytime you kicked my ribs they would make xylophone sounds like it does in cartoons. But they don't. So I'm not laughing. Only wincing in pain and secretly wanting your Dad to run to my side with every creak and moan I have... only he doesn't... he apparently doesn't read minds.


You are now extending your little limbs and leaving them hanging out in mid air. The last letter I wrote you, your Dad only felt you kick once... he has since had you kick him in the face and viciously boot 20 times in a row when he was running his hand over you... its okay... we tell eachother that you're just being "playful". We've agreed though that you don't like your Midwife. Your kicks seem more deliberate for her.


You're only a third of the body weight you're apparently going to be and I already am wondering if they have seat belt extenders for cars. If this is any indication we're going to give birth to the female Hulk Hogan, then I can't wait for you to go on wrestling tour and pay for our retirement. We could live with you on your wrestling tour bus and drink a couple non alchy beers after each show. WHO SAYS YOUR MAMA CAN'T HANG?


(December 2009)
It's officially December now, and man I wish you were a year old already, I'd totally be decking out the Christmas tree and wrapping up wrapping paper for you since that seems to be all babies are interested in when it comes to presents. Don't worry though Not-Charlotte, your Jia Jia is already putting away Christmas presents for you next year... she just expects to have first dibs on your name cause naming her own children and your uncles children apparently wasn't enough.

We went for our first swim of the summer over the weekend.
I envisioned refreshing romantic weightlessness on my back being carried along top fluffy pillows of waves. But it was brief. Not so much romantic. And more on the freezing side of refreshing.

I had a second of weightlessness lying on my back as I didn't count for the fact that I now carry a keg of liquid, guts, goop and extra human on my front so I bobbed over like a head heavy cork and was too scared to touch the ground cause of the seaweed. So I almost drowned in a metre of water.

They would've sent out the rubber duckie and I could've got on Piha Rescue if I were at Piha. Then someone would've made up shirts of my pregnant silhouette, tummy down in a metre of water screaming for help and sold them at the Sunday carboot markets in the carpark under the Whangarei Cinemas. They would've sold out to an overwhelming demand that they would then turn it into a business. Then they would start up a dot.com and sell internationally. One of those countries would be a country well call the U, S and A. They'd then get an appearance on the Nickelodeon red carpet by someone famous, like Rob Pattinson and get a mention when Guiliana Rancic asks "Who are you wearing?". Then all Americas tweens would beg their parents to get the same shirts for them for Christmas. One of those young kids would be Corby... Gails daughter. Gails bestfriend Oprah would hear about what Gail got Corby for Christmas and think it would be a good idea to find out more about this shirt as it sounds like another possible fad that has hit the planet, like "Skip It's" and "Pet Rocks", "Koosh Balls" and "Mood Rings" and feature it as a possible upcoming fad that we shouldn't all buy into on her next show. After some investigation by her people, they would come to the conclusion that these shirts don't fall into the "Fad" category. But it would be more practical to feature the company itself on her show in the "Rags to Riches" feature scheduled for next Month as Wikipedia details that this company obviously had their fair share of rags beginning in a carboot under a Cinema Complex. The company would then feature on Oprah and become so big the internet would blow up.

And all because of you and me.

But it didn't happen like that cause the seaweed floated past so I was brave enough to stand up.... and I wasn't at Piha.

Speaking of your Dad, (I know we weren't actually speaking of him in the previous paragraph but I wanted to bring him into conversation, so the first thing in my mind for beginning this new paragraph was "Speaking of your Dad" thus the "Speaking of your Dad" part at the beginning of this paragraph) he's already practicing walking your pram up and down the hallway. He's totally cool. Guess what he did? since you and I didn't make it to Church on Sunday (did you know that? I'm sorry, I know how much you like the Drums and Bass and clapping and people poking and prodding you - but I was sore and swollen and tired so we couched the morning away) your Dad went in and played Bass.

Not expecting him to come home with anything more than the Milk we needed to get us through till our usual grocery day he walks in with lunch and a MANGO and a MILKSHAKE MIX!! and an amazingly dreamy COT!!! and a fancy CHANGING TABLE SLASH BATH SLASH STORAGE THING ON WHEELS!!!! What a man. (Did you notice how I built it up with the use of Capslock, exclamation marks, the bold feature, Italics and a splash of colour? that's called education. Stay in school.)

As far as Husbands go, Dan Van der Man is totally boss. He is the cheese to my macaroni.

No doubt there will be times when you leave the house in frustration or anger, it doesn't matter what reason, don't ever leave without telling him you love him. Ever.
Appreciate him.
Tell him how awesome the gardens and lawns look.
How perfect his steak cooking abilities are.
How much of a hard worker he is.
Laugh at his jokes and make him cups of coffee without being asked.
One day he won't be there anymore so don't leave room for regrets and "should'ves".
It's the relationship with your Dad that will give you best indication of your level of worth.
Listen to him. The things he says and the things he doesn't.
He's your hero.
If you go by his example of what to expect in a man, you'll find a good thing.

I totally looked down just now and saw the remnants of what used to be recognisable as human feet. They've apparently been replaced with those of an Elephant. Just for that you can't wear makeup till your wedding day.

I so can't wait to give you your first taste of lemon.

I do love you though, you truely are the heartbeat of life. I've decided to ignore all the horrid stories I've been told about birth. They'll only rob me of the joy of these last weeks. Besides someone elses horror story doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be the blueprint of my experience. I trust that my body knows what to do. That you are perfectly and wonderfully made. For that I thank God. I'm just sorry that on your birthday your Koro and your Poppa wont be there to hold you close, but believe every word when I say that you would be the very love of their lives. Your Jia Jia keeps saying that your Koro would make the trip out to our place everyday after work just to give you a chocolate fish. I tend to believe that. Thats the type of man he was. You may never have met him but you can be proud that you are part of his line. His moko.

Since my eggo is indeed preggo and am for shizz up the spout, I was recently given a Magazine on healthy and active pregnancy and was pretty disappointed when I read that I'm actually supposed to be exercising.. but not as disappointed as I am that the mammoth act of getting out of bed and clothing myself doesn't count. I think if the person that wrote that article actually witnessed the contortions, the self body boosting and experienced a bit of the pain and the sweat it takes me just to get out of bed, then they'd voluntarily throw their internet PHD's out the window and go get slapped by their Mama's. I found it pretty interesting the article was written by dude too. There's just something about the presence of a pregnant woman that suddenly makes everyone in the room an expert on the health of unborn children. Bless em.

You haven't even been born yet and I'm already getting on the "my baby will be at school soon" crazy-train. Then you will have your own Caleb Smith that sits on your lunch box and tries to lure you into the boys toilets with orange wedges. Just make sure you scream loudly and tell him your Daddy has a gun... just like your Mama did when she was 5. And when you're 8, don't go marrying those Jason Rooke's on the field at School... it'll only follow you around for the rest of your life and even find it's way into a speech by your Head Bridesmaid on your REAL Wedding day. But ALWAYS wear undies or one of those Kohatu Harris's will down trail you when you take a sip of water at the drinking fountain and then when you get into an arguement with him later on he'll pull out the "At least I wear undies" line. Complete burn.

Well baby girl, this is the last day of 2009. Thank you for holding out like a good girl and not making your trip down the creek without a paddle too early. Only 5 weeks until the day of Waitangi, Bob Marleys birthday and your approximate expulsion date and then its Prison Tatts, Ciggies and Moonshine here I come! Hahaha no, no... but I will be all over Sushi, Red Bull, painting my toenails, chasing the dog when he eats the rubbish, sleeping on my tummy and eating swine flu pork and raw chicken just like a rash! Woo!

But most of all, I can't wait to meet you and to see your Dads reaction to your meconium.

Love, Mama.

xo

Letters to [can't reveal name till she's born] #1.

Boys.

Dear [can't reveal name till she's born],

Four days ago, it was your 21st week of swimming in a big liquid pool anniversary. One day it will be your 21st birthday! *clutches heart in anxiety* and I will be...... *gulp* 44.

44! that is only two years away from my "old" age. It is 46 that I plan to have already come to terms with the fact I can't laugh without needing to pee, that I can't hide the two "Pitman" wrinkles passed down to me from your Koro and that you are already pleading with me to dye my hair to hide the stainless steel silvers. I'm not freaking out over getting older mind you, I can't wait for each crevice in my hand to have its own story... to reveal the experiences, the loves, the hurts, the wisdom and the goodness of life. The goodness of God.

We had a huge trip to Auckland yesterday as you know, you always know when were going to Auckland cause you get so excited that you try to kick and headbutt your way out of the womb. (The only reason it doesn't work is cause you are not Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris uses Tabasco Sauce for eye drops so I don't blame or judge you for not being up to par with his abilities). The thing I didn't tell you though is that it wasn't a "shopping" expedition. Sorry to disappoint you. (One day I'm also going to point up into the sky and say "LOOK AT THE PLANE [can't reveal name till she's born] !" pointing up out over the opposite side of the car as your Father sneaks us past "Rainbows End").

One thing you are unaware of right now is you we're going to be a little Sister. Yesterday we had an adoption meeting but realised your "could've been sister" (who is actually your third cousin) is going to be better off with her other family. As much as we would have loved to raise her, we had to put her needs before our own. So you my baby are going to have to put up with being the firstborn. I can't wait to teach you how to do laundry.

The reason I started writing this letter is because I wanted to talk to you about boys. One day your "Boys are gross" filter will unfortunately dissolve into oblivion and you will begin to take notice of their smelly ways. Your Dad wants you to get married at 77, but you might have to remind him that he married a TEENAGER! ewww.

One thing your Jia Jia taught me is that there are boys that want the girl with the short skirts and small shirts. The one you want is the one that loves you for your purity and your love for God. You don't have to dress less for male attention. You don't want the one that gives attention to you for that.

At this moment in time, it is ridiculously easy to "fall" in the way of purity. It was hard for me. It could even be harder for you. If you do fall, if you do make mistakes, have the courage to admit it. Get back up. Deal with the consequences. Ask for forgiveness. Learn from it. Take responsibility.

Always remember, if you do make mistakes, no matter how much pain and regret your decisions may cause, I'm always here to hug you, to understand you, to cry with you, to speak the truth to you. Learn from my mistakes. Learn from others mistakes. Read your Bible. No, actually.

Keeping yourself for your Husband is almost unheard of today. God wasn't being a killjoy when he put pen to paper about that. But before I get too carried away I will save the more indepth "sex" talk until you start asking me to buy you razors (for your legs, hopefully not your face).

Just incase I haven't put you off completely, here's a list that just might:

• Just because a boy is a Christian, doesn't mean he doesn't have hormones.
• Don't underestimate the "being yourself" approach. It's when you can be yourself in a relationship that you will be happiest. It is what attracted me to your Father.
• Let a boy buy you dinner. Buy him dinner too.
• Don't waste a single Saturday night waiting for "him" to call. It will only hurt you if he doesn't.
• Listen to your head. Don't always rely on your heart.
• Don't always trust your emotions.
• Don't play with his emotions.
• Be honest about your intentions and values. Expect honesty back.
• Don't neglect your friends to keep spending time with him. Have a blooming garden of friends, not just a weed ridden bunch.
• Never force love to be. It will happen if it is supposed to.
• Ask God about His opinion.
  

Our futures are defined by our choices, not the chances we may take along the way. If you wake up oneday wondering how you got there... you made your bed and lied in it too, so follow your faith, your beliefs, your heart, your passions.

Look at me! being all Motherly with advice and all.

June 10th 2009 was when we saw those two pink lines on that pee stick, your Father and I got so excited that we almost had to change each other's nappies. It took one failed strip and two positives to convince us to go to the Doctor though... both your Father and I are Olympic Procrastinators, and regardless of our example, you're going to fight a genetic urge to put things off until they are almost past due. Kapeesh?

September the 5th 2009, I felt your first kick. You obviously knew we were away at your Aunty Lyndas beach house having the time of our lives so you wanted to join the action too (Aunty Lynda is actually your third cousin too, she will insist on you just calling her Lynda... but she sooo secretly likes being called Aunty). I didn't feel your next movements until three days later... you let me know you had arrived by booting my poor overly used bladder a couple times. As for now? GO TO SLEEP!

You have a pattern where you kick three times and stop, so we'll be relaxing on the couch when your Dad is all of a sudden ripped over to my side by the arm as I force his hand to my belly after your first kick. He has only felt you kick once... and he wasn't even sure if it was a kick or if his hand just twitched... it could have been his hand twitching (he IS older than dirt and I'm starting to think he'd like me to start pureeing his steak so he doesn't have to chew it) but we promise not to hold that against you, at least not until you come home with piercings in your face and then WE WILL TOTALLY HOLD IT AGAINST YOU.

Love, Mama.

xo

Trade Me (Summer) Lovin

In between cleaning a handful of my filthish house, working a paper hat into my ensemble and looking up gross things on Google Images, I had a sweet little package or two arrive on my doorstep today.

I'm the EXTREME cheapskate bargain slayer, so when these treasured vintage finds arrived for me, ME! I was completely delighted and surprised and romanced and massaged all at once.

They were not cheap, no, no, nor were they purchases I had made.

They came in plastic courier bags and were signed from a mighty manly Pirate that goes by the name of "One Tooth Van Horne" (so this place tells me) .... otherwise known as my hot Hubby.

What a Charmer!

I just love how he plays the "I'm gonna pretend I'm not listening to a thing you say regarding the stuff you like on Trade Me" card and then completely surprises me out of the blue actually purchasing the two very things I've dreamed over for the last like two YEARS!!!!

EEEE!!!!

(If they were food I probably would have scoffed and regurgitated them over and over by now).

All together now, "Awwwwwwww".

Thats my man!

I can't wait to throw Cats at teenagers with him in our old age....

Go and be awesome.

Mr Honey

Mr Honey is always watching

She's baaaaaack!!!

Well, well, well.... look what the smelly cat dragged in, a fatty that can't fit her pants anymore.

Yay to be back!

I got knocked up and vomited my WHOLE first trimester, hence the no show.

They should teach you that in Puberty class I reckon... that'd scare the kids straight.

No joke, I am at a weird in-between twilight zone space at the moment... nothing I own fits cause they're all too small, and none of my new maternity clothes fit cause they're all too big! Hello!! Can't someone please cut me some slack and just pretend to believe me when I say my jeans shrunk in the wash??

Speaking of which... lets briefly talk about Dan's pocket knife. It's a cute little thing, small enough to fit in the front pocket of his overalls without being too bulky, nifty enough to fit into the little screw to tighten the legs on my sunglasses, sharp enough to help out while assisting a Cow in Calf. Needless to say it's a very versatile tool, used for anything from opening an envelope, to cutting twine, to slicing an apple or even for cutting your pregnant wife out of a dress.

*Blink*

Not just any dress mind you. My favourite reeeeeally expensive cocktail dress. I'm one of those girls that knows what I like and what I don't like, eg. I don't like following the latest trends, I like individuality as much as I like the classics. And this dress was a Hepburn classic

*Blink*Blink*

We were off to a Cocktail party one Saturday night.

I was completely freaked out cause I had nothing that fit over my baby gut.

I got hit with the great idea to stuff myself into my favourite Hepburn dress.

I sucked the baby into my spine and got the hardest part hooked up, the eyehook at the top. Yuss!!

I then made my husband stop mowing the lawns.

He had to assist me in zipping it up the rest of the way as I was determined not to take my flesh getting caught in the zip as a warning.

After about ten minutes of sweating and panting and looking the eye of the Tiger square in it's... .. well, eye... we got the zip closed.

I was okay with feeling a little light headed and not being able to take in a full breath, cause being four and a half months pregnant could not stop me from looking fabulous for just ONE NIGHT... right? RIGHT!?

I was all made up and ready to go.

Bent to put my heel on when the zip completely popped.

I felt my lungs and skin suck in the relief.

I cried as if someone died, which then turned into wailing when I couldn't get the eye hook undone.

Dan appeared out of nowhere with his pocket knife in tow and shot me a look as if to say "Me Tarzan, you Jane, me throw you over my shoulder and we swing on vine off into sunset".

He saved my life and sliced the side of the dress open.

I was then so fed up I ripped the dress completely off down the side.

I regretted that decision immediately.

Laughing or crying were my only options.

Since I'd already cried and didn't want to ruin my makeup, I chose to laugh. Dan joined and reminded me I'm carrying a baby so of course things don't fit.

The scary aftermath:

Sorry Enrique Iglasias, but Dan can be my hero baby... and you should really stop singing that song anyway.

Well besides all that, I'm loving being pregnant. I love the little kicks I'm getting and that I finally have something to show for all these weeks of being energy robbed.

Let me tell YOU though... being Pregnant has NOT got me any special treatment whatsoever!

FOR INSTANCE

My Mum made a surprise visit from Australia and was booked into one of the Motels in town as she was planning to spend one day here and the rest in Auckland with the rest of our family. Deciding to stay with her we shared a room.

I grabbed the single bed and left her to the double bed.

There was a single bed and couch in the lounge that my two Aunties claimed.

So we were all sorted and ended up watching Sky in bed. Nice.

I drifted off into a beautiful and comfortable sleep with my pillow from home when I was abruptly awoken at around 2am by what sounded like Rhinoes being hunted and screaming in pain. Looking around I found there were no Rhinoes, only three 50 year old menopausal women snoring the night away. I closed the door to the lounge to faint the sound of both my Aunties going to town so I only had to deal with Mum.

I tried putting my fingers in my ears, I tried Mr Beans sock trick only it worked for him and completely did nothing for me, I even tried putting my pillow over my head risking death from suffocation.

Nothing was sufficient.

I woke Mum five times in five minutes to tell her she was snoring.

She apologised each time at least.

She tried to blame it on my Aunties and then tried to blame it on me!!!... ME!!!

I wished at that moment the Cops had a special division that deals with notorious snorers that have little to none respect for others, cause I woulda been all over that.

"Mum, I am WIDE AWAKE, I know the sound of snoring people in the next room as much as I know the sound of someone snoring right next to me. YOU WERE SNORING!".

She apologised again.

Drifted off.

Retreated to snoring her little head off.

I contemplated sleeping in the car, but since it wasn't mine and my Hubby had deserted me earlier on in the night, I settled for the only other option:

Yes Sir, that is the cold tiled Bathroom floor.

Since I don't really know how to end this entry, I'm going to tell you that I really need to go do my daily exercises when really all I'm going to do is sit on the couch, eat Icecream and give Dan the beats at Snowboarding on PS2.

Woo!