san francisco.

Some days I am pretty excited that we live in San Francisco. There’s a certain sense of coolness — I kind of wanted to say “a certain sense of je ne sais quoi” but figured “coolness” summed it up better — that we can pretend to have achieved because we’re able to say we live in the city. (We’re still not as cool as Whitney Port though.) There really is so much to do, see and eat here. And I’ve only barely scratched the surface, I know. Plus, it’s really beautiful, especially by the water.

Other days I can’t wait to move out. Today, it’s the latter. I even texted Ashton with a countdown till we’re out of the city, and on to… well, we have no idea where yet because it’s still about a year and half away. There’s really no particular reason why I’m feeling down on San Francisco today. She didn’t do anything to me. Tomorrow, hopefully I’ll fall back into the first category and I’ll be full of love for the city by the Bay. Maybe a little “We Built This City” will help.

babyGap.

babyGap (That’s the correct capitalization. For starting a sentence it looks silly, but I don’t mind.) is my favorite place for baby clothes.

And “speaking as a former baby,” it’s where I would choose to pick out my first wardrobe for life had I been given the chance, and had it been around in 1984. Simple, cute, comfortable. Love it. This little baby Wise Grey Owl has already been lucky enough to be the recipient of many presents from our overwhelmingly generous family and friends. This is the latest one — thanks Courtney and Paul! — and as I was putting it away with the rest of her tiny babyGap wardrobe (again, from the generosity of others; I’ve purchased very little so far), I felt inclined to check the website yet again… and somehow that lead me to blogging about it now.

tsk tsk target.

Now, I rarely have complaints about my beloved Target, but today I felt like I could just punch this cashier in the face. Alright, that’s a slight exaggeration, but I did give her a pretty good glare.

I’m in Target at least twice a week (on average that is… let’s be honest, I’ve been there much more often than that some weeks), and every single time they ask if you want to save 10% and open a Target red card. Often this 10% would be like a $3 savings. I’m surprised they think that might really entice me, but I digress. I know they have to ask, so I don’t blame them for that. What does bug me is when they really push it, and that’s what happened today. Not to me — I’m strong enough to glare her down as I said — but to the poor guy in front of me who barely spoke English and therefore couldn’t understand her credit card bullying. That’s not racist; he really didn’t. So his total came out to about $50, and she of course asked if he wanted to save 10% and open a Target card. He hesitated. I think because he was wondering “what are you saying to me?” (but in Spanish), and she took this momentary pause and jumped all over it. She said “oh, it only takes two minutes, come on, we’ll just go ahead and do it, can I see your ID?” The poor guy didn’t seem to recognize the trap he was walking into right then. I gave him a tiny head shake to indicate that he didn’t have to do it, but why does he care what I think? He eventually pulled out his ID. Mind you, it was a passport from Mexico. (I wonder how popular Target is down there? And do they call it “Tarjay” the way so many of us do to sound fancy? Probably not.) She went through the steps with him barely understanding a word, and then sent him off on his merry way with a brochure about the card, and a $5 savings. Lucky guy. And should you ever be in this situation in the future, with the language barrier it definitely took more than two minutes. Had I not already unloaded all of my items on to the belt, I wouldn’t have been stuck, and therefore been so angry while watching her take advantage of his confusion.

When it was my turn to pay, I only let her get so far as “would you li…?” before I cut her off with a stern “no,” and the aforementioned glare. Maybe she was just going to ask if I liE. In which case, the answer would still be no.

hoot hoot.

Thank you to Heather for pointing me in the direction of these great prints. (The direction being toward etsy.) I would love to have these owls crowding up my walls.

24 weeks/6 months.

I was talking with a couple girls on Sunday about how to answer the question of “how far along are you?” when you’re pregnant. (I also overheard them having an almost identical conversation with a pregnant friend of mine just minutes before, so it’s a hot topic I guess.) I’ve found my initial reaction is to say how many weeks I am because I seem to be constantly reminded of it throughout this whole thing. I also realize that no where else in life do we measure something so long in weeks, and I sound ridiculous saying “23 weeks,” when they’re only looking for where I am in terms of this 9-month process.

Here’s where the confusion comes in though… Today I’m 24 weeks pregnant. (Crazy, huh?) If we go with the general equation of 4 weeks = 1 month — which it only really is in this month that we’re currently in — I’m 6 months pregnant now (6 x 4=24). (I’m just showing my work; Ashton has always doubted my math skills.) So if I say that, you immediately think I’ve only got 3 months left, right? I would think that. But no. Pregnancy is 40 weeks long, which means I’ve got 16 weeks left. So if we use the equation I referred to earlier, that’s technically 4 months left (4 x 4 = 16). And yes, pregnancy is really more like 10 months not 9 (4 x 10 = 40).

I’m sticking with months in my answers to the general public though. Then if they ask for a due date, I’ll say June, and they can figure out the math on their own (I could even supply these equations to help). Or they can think I got my due date wrong, and I probably meant May.

Either way, 16 weeks — I mean 4 months — sounds like nothing to me.

P.S. There was a lot of over the top punctuating in this post, and I really like it.

tagalong cookies.

Are Tagalong Girl Scout cookies looking skinnier this year? I asked Talmage, and he tells me that the cookies haven’t changed, but I swear there used to be more peanut butter.

So perhaps — like everything else lately — is it just my distorted perspective that as I get bigger everything else looks skinnier?! I’ve told two people recently that they looked like they had lost a little weight. Both informed me that they were the same, I was just getting bigger. It’s like when you’re 10 and you go back to your old preschool and you can’t believe that anything bigger than a mouse might have been able to sit in those seats. People (and cookies) are turning into mice all around me. (That sentence makes my skin all itchy thinking of a bunch of mice near me. Sick.)

ice dancers.

Brother/Sister figure skating pairs really creep me out.

The announcer just said that this couple from Great Britain “doesn’t think of themselves as brother and sister when they are skating.” How do you just forget that you’re brother and sister?

They do make me think of that Modern Family episode though, and that makes me laugh.

this kills me.

Ashton doesn’t think it’s nearly as funny as I do, but I can’t help but laugh when I look at it. I was just checking how far I would have to hold the camera out to take a picture of both of us, etc. We never attempted a better one though because I couldn’t get over how funny this was. I know, I know, it’s not that funny. In the moment it really was though. I’ve built it up way too much, and no one is actually going to “LOL” looking at it, but it makes me happy just to put it up here.

licorice, eh?

I recently read an article about the effect of licorice on your unborn baby’s intelligence. Apparently, it’s not so good. Stace, do you remember how much licorice we consumed while you were here?? (I’m thinking that it’s luckily not the red vines we eat here, but the real licorice those Europeans eat. The stuff that has actual licorice extract in it.) Let’s hope I don’t find an article on the negative effects of your mother eating inordinate amounts of Snowflake Ritz crackers. We (OK, mostly I) ate a lot of Snowflake Ritz too.

PS Maybe these Canadian Olympics are getting to me. I just felt like adding “eh?” up there. But I’m not going to write the whole thing out in French, too. The repetition is a bit much for me.

simon and beatrice.

I shouldn’t blog about the Bachelor, and not blog about my new niece and nephew. What would that say about my priorities?! Happy birth day babies.

Bea, Amy and Simon.