Memorial Day

Oh, the pukey carnage of Memorial Day Weekend.  It was largely an exercise in survival for me.  But it was nice to have an extra dose of Mr Renn around.  We don't see nearly enough of him lately.

We did not make it to the cemetaries (that would have required two functional parents) but "we" hosted a BBQ for Mr Renn's family on Monday, of which I took zero photographs.  But Mr Renn was pretty proud of the spread.  He should be, he did it almost entirely by himself.  I am so lucky to have a husband who cooks.

We followed that up by a productive evening.  Mr Renn made great headway on Sir O's birthday present:



And then he and the boys washed our very dirty vehicles.  My boys were in heaven, at least until they started soaking each other.  Our hose water is insanely icy cold.





I keep waiting to feel this baby move.  I think I need some emotional assurance that my physical misery has the potential for a constructive end.  This lying very still trying not to puke (and usually failing at it) is getting really mind-bendingly old.  I told Mr Renn that this year I am so consumed with the business of getting a person born that spending my energy thinking about people that have died is too close to an exercise in exploring futility.   I have to be very judicious about how I spend my energy.