Six days later...

And still not a ton to report.
***
We are under seige. Germs and icy roads. My parents are both wretched with yucky viruses and/or bacterial grossness and feel lousy. I have just gotten over a fun two-week cold, but it really wasn't that bad except at night.

***
Today I discovered the kid clothes resale shop and bought a bunch of cute stuff. Not a pastel in the bunch- lots of stripes, several orange items. I think this was the first time I had a good time shopping for His Impendingness. Is that sad? It might have something to do with the fact that I feel as though we might actually be sort of in the realm of readiness now, and shopping no longer presents itself as desperate and futile. J went WITH me and we got a car seat. This made me deliriously happy- wierd, huh.

***
I started reading another Don Miller book- I remember liking Blue Like Jazz and I sort of felt I should read this stuff since it has in part made our new church what it is. It's a very popular, very hip church. The other day after playing a totally not church-related gig (which was packed with folks from the church) J and I made some observations.

There is a breed here, the Pretentious Hippy Front (affectionately known from here out as the PHF- could less offensively be called the Portland Hippy Front) who dominate the scene. To attain PHF-ness, it appears necessary to either pay no attention to your hair (IE, let it grease, dread, or mat at will) or pay a lot of attention making it look like you don't (die it intricately but then cut it in such a way that it looks untouched by adult hands). They are passionate about Christ but like to throw out the worst curse words (like writing them in glitter on stockings on the wall of the gig venue) to prove they understand that Jesus said "shit" and that they are above religiousity. Most of the men have beards and are called Nate, most of the women have neat names and are careful none of the cool stuff they wear matches. I have seen more shoes I like in a church service than in any store on the planet.

Don't get me wrong- we do like it, and them. So far there are lots of these folks who are geniune and sweet and seem to remember us from week to week. Occasionally it just seems we may not be quite cool enough, or young enough, or from-Portland enough, you know? Probably that's because I've been feeling a little frumpy, old and out of place lately. It may be that the PHF is innocent, and will love us and keep us and call us George. Can't wait to see- can't wait to move up there and get into it all seriously.

***
I feel amazing lately. Could just be that non-fat decaf eggnog lattes are in season. There are little arms and legs tumbling around and except for the practice contractions (Braxton-Hicks is just about onomatopoetically the right name for those) during which I could swear he has snuck himself a shank in there, it's not half bad growing a life.