Jeramy's 30th birthday was Friday, and we celebrated Saturday night with a big bash. Apparently he thinks that he has hit a mid-life crisis. After all, he tells me, Pipefitters only live to be about 60 anyhow so thirty marks the mid-point. Plus within the course of 2 months he is turning thirty, celebrating his tenth wedding anniversary and becoming a dad. That last milestone, at least, will be life changing. He claims that this whole mid-life crisis can easily be overcome with the purchase of a welded-aluminum fishing boat. And when this argument gets him nowhere he tells me how the baby would be much safer on board such a vessel than what we currently own.
It was great to have our friends over last night for a BBQ. For some reason we have never had a big bash during the summertime before, so this was the first time that we took advantage of the backyard rather than cramming into the house. Jeramy was able to drown his mid-life crisis sorrows in a little alcohol, while I, in my pregnancy-enforced sobriety, tried to keep things moving smoothly and gave nursery tours. Cujo walked around wondering why so many strangers were delaying his bedtime and suckered guests into giving him pats and tummy rubs.
Jeramy's sis snapped this pic of him and I with our 30th birthday goblets. I used my "sexy bitch" cup last January for my 30th, while his brother's girlfriend presented Jeramy with the "pimp" goblet. I had offered to let him use the "sexy bitch" cup, but for some strange reason he declined.
On a different subject, isn't it funny how we turn into our parents despite our best intentions otherwise? Growing up, our house was a mess. My mom's mantra was that you should never own a house with a kitchen you could see from the front door. She was very good at keeping one room of the house (usually the living room) presentable, but if you should venture beyond its borders watch out. I, of course, vowed that my housekeeping would be much better. And while I never quite attained my Martha Stewart aspirations, my house was generally a degree or two cleaner than it had been growing up. There have been times when my house has been especially filthy with the last quarter of grad school and pregnancy topping the list.
More and more it has been difficult to muster up the energy to clean. So what is a 7-month pregnant girl to do? Well taking a cue from my parents, I threw a party. There is nothing more motivating than the fear of your friends realizing that you live like a pig to get you moving in the cleaning department. This was definitely a tactic used by my parents when we were kids. In fact, when my sister and I were teenagers, I think they almost hoped we'd throw a party when they left town because they knew we'd clean the house. For me, this tactic does work. Yesterday we spent the entire day cleaning with Jeramy in charge of the outdoors and me in charge of the indoors. It's amazing how much tougher cleaning is when your pregnant...the squatting, the bending, the standing on your feet for hours. But it was worth it, because now I can go into maintenance mode until Jillian is born.
Since I knew nursery tours would be in order, I managed (with Jeramy's help) to get the quilt hung above Jillian's bed. I really love how her room is coming together.