After a hectic, somewhat stressful week, I set yesterday aside to be my Day of Restoration.

While Mitch went off paint-balling with some guys from church, I slept in, spent a leisurely morning at Caffe Adagio, reading a bit and writing a bit, and then went to get my hair cut.

Now, sometimes people say “cut” when they really mean “trim” (I’ve been guilty of this myself), but in this case I mean cut. You can now see the back of my neck when I wear my hair down.

So, a new, lighter-headed version of me stepped out of the salon feeling refreshed and ready to set out on a quest for a new hat and new fall tights, only to be distracted half-a-block later when somebody caught my eye and waved from within the Koi Cafe. I slowed; I did a double-take. Surely not…?

But yes! It was two friends waving, two friends we’d lost complete contact with as we moved and they moved and we all changed our phone numbers several times – so I went inside, had a seat, and spent the next four hours sipping bubble tea and catching up with them, talking about everything under the sun (but mostly about Harry Potter).

When finally we parted ways, I resumed my search for hat and tights, only to find them immediately and be thus spared the hassle of actually shopping. From there I went to Ashley’s, where we’d originally intended to walk the trail near her house, but were thwarted by the sudden appearance of a chilly autumn rain, so instead we stayed indoors and made pumpkin ice cream (she made the ice cream, I licked the spoon).

Afterwards, Mitch and I redeemed his birthday gift of two tickets to The Cody Rivers Show and spent the evening laughing hysterically before walking home in a full-blown autumn storm.

At the end of all that, I really do feel rested – and restored.

Dear Readers, I have the most wonderful news…

…but if you’ve talked to me at all in the last three weeks, you probably already know what it is. However, I won’t delay a single second more in informing you that, surprise! We’ve got a little Rosenburg on the way!

I say “surprise” because it is exactly that and we’re thrilled, even if all our plans for the next year have suddenly veered off in this wildly other direction, compacting what was to be Mitch’s final year of college into a final two uber-intense quarters and making us consider all kinds of crazy notions like moving (we’re opting to stay in our small apartment for now), changing work schedules, and breaking the news to our spoiled cats. Suddenly it’s much more important that Mitch get a job before he graduates. Suddenly it’s much more important that we have insurance.

So, we’re excited, our families are excited, and I am completely, profoundly exhausted. I don’t suppose I’ve felt rested once during the last two months (that was, in fact, the first symptom that caused us to speculate on my “condition”), which is a little frustrating, since a trip to the grocery store can knock me right out for a few hours and my standard walks to and from work are just beyond my energy threshold, leaving me shuffling wearily for the last few blocks toward home. I have been known to fall asleep at work these days and to take naps in the afternoon (which, under ordinary circumstances, I hardly ever do), and I am personally looking forward to getting out of this particular phase, though I can’t really expect this state of affairs to improve much after the baby is born.

But, here, why don’t I answer some of the questions you’re likely to ask right off?

How far along am I?

Eight weeks. Two months. Two-thirds through my first trimester (and counting).

When am I due?

We’ve heard everything from May 4-May 10, so that gives you an idea. I’m partial to May 9, since that’s the date I heard first.

Are we going to find out the gender of the baby?

No, we’ll wait. The only advantage we could think of to finding out early was that then one could buy lots of things in either pink or blue – which is incentive right there for us to hold off and encourage lots of yellows, greens and oranges. Babies look pretty much the same either way for the first few months, don’t they?

Also, the couples we’ve talked to who did it both ways were passionately, passionately convinced that it’s far more amazing to wait until the baby is born to find out.

Have we thought about names yet?

We’ve pretty much settled on Albus Severus Potter Rosenburg, regardless of gender, as an homage to the only cheesy moment in the entire Harry Potter series. (At least one person so far has thought, for a split second, that we were serious and he was thoroughly horrified.)

Honestly, we’ve thought of a few, but we’ll probably figure out a handful of possibilities and then wait until we meet the little dear before sticking it with a name.

Anything I didn’t cover that you’re curious about? Fire away!

And you can pretty much expect the blog to likewise veer off in this new direction, detailing our imminent parenthood in what I hope will be a most amusing fashion. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Crafty Coyote: The Dining Set Edition

Originally, I wanted to post Before and After photos for you, but as I took pictures neither before nor after completing this project, I’m afraid I have nothing photographic to share. So imagine, if you will, that we have one of those simple table and chair sets, with painted wooden-back chairs and upholstered seats, and a table with painted legs and a wooden top. Imagine that the paint is a faded and chipped forest green color and that the fabric covering the chair seats is a charming, but worn, rust red.

Imagine that now, after an afternoon spent in my parents’ front yard, Mitch with a paint brush and I with a staple gun, the whole set has been transformed so that the paint is now a glossy black and the seats a bright lime green, covered in fabric from what was once, I think, a tablecloth.

Ta da! Can’t you see it?

Mitch-stravaganza! (cont.)

So, Mitch opened his box, ate his chocolates, and read the card that instructed him to head over to Uische for a beer after work. Once there, he realized: surprise! There were a bunch of guys waiting for him, to toast in his twenty-eighth year with a glass of Guinness. Meanwhile, I was at home, diligently preparing a birthday feast: polenta with pesto, red pepper and goat cheese; green salad; a bottle of Honeymoon mead; and…a birthday cake.

All the other stuff was delicious, yes, but if you know me you know I spent days and days planning the cake but threw the dinner together that night, and hurried through dinner to get to the cake. So, dinner aside, here is the cake:

Let me tell you about it. The cake itself was chocolate, with caramel cream filling and a chocolate glaze. The piping was leftover caramel cream. I was really excited about the interplay of the bittersweet chocolate and the sweet sweet caramel (though it was made a little tart with creme fraiche), but as it turned out, both flavors were so strong and the cake was so rich that neither of us finished our entire slice. But what we did eat? Delicious.

Also, the cake is tiny – the plate it’s on is actually a small salad plate, so the cake was maybe 4″ across, which is perfect for two people. It was fun to make and fun to eat and it got two thumbs up from Mitch, who is incredibly picky about birthday cakes. Hooray! I’d better start scheming for next year.

Here is the cake recipe (my most favorite cake recipe) for you:

Vegan Chocolate Cake

(no eggs! milk! butter! or dairy of any kind!)

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup white sugar
• 1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 5 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 tablespoon white vinegar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 cup cold water
• 1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease an 8×8 inch baking pan.
2. In a large bowl, combine flour, salt, sugar, cocoa powder, and baking soda. Mix well with a fork, then stir in oil, vinegar, and vanilla extract. When dry ingredients are thoroughly moistened, pour in cold water and stir until batter is smooth. Stir in chocolate chips and pour batter into prepared pan.
3. Bake in preheated oven for 30 to 35 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool on a rack.

Enjoy!

Mitch-stravaganza!

That’s right – Mitch turns a whopping 28 today, and I am baking a cake. I also have all kinds of other tricks up my sleeve, nearly all of which have to do with food: apparently my idea of celebrating is synonymous with feasting, because the Wednesday-long celebration I have planned (and am, at this moment, pulling off without a hitch – my fingers are crossed) seems to revolve almost entirely around meals.

First, there was a liesurely pre-work breakfast at the Mount Bakery. Then, a small box of chocolates (ginger, cumin and earl grey chocolates, actually) for Mitch to open at his lunch break – this box also contained directions for him to be at a specified location at a specified time, neither of which I can reveal yet, since neither one has arrived.

As a matter of fact, that’s all I can tell you without spoiling surprises. Perhaps a longer post later, with photos? We’ll see.

It was bound to set in eventually

Recently it dawned on me that I’ve gone pretty completely crossed The Line (wherever that was) and landed myself right smack dab in the middle of Domesticity. I love having people over. I love feeding them. When our single guy friends come over, I run off into the kitchen and whip up some dinner, because a little light somewhere in the back of my brain blinks on and informs me that yes, they must be fed. I love bustling around in an apron (mine is covered in black and white polka dots and dragons and enormous buttons), filling wine glasses and clearing plates and straightening coasters.

It is the weirdest damn thing, I tell you.

I bake when I’m bored. I plan recipes days in advance. I rub my hands together gleefully when I come across an excuse to use up some of that half-quart of opened buttermilk in the fridge or to pull out my brand new piping bag/cheese slicer/salad bowl.

All this became very apparent last night (though I’ve been suspicious about this for a few months now) when we had ourselves a regular little dinner party – seven of us in our wee apartment. We ran out of plates, we had just enough forks and only one wineglass to spare, but oh my goodness, did we ever have plenty of food. Orzo with homemade pesto, a huge mixed green salad with tomatoes and avocados, French bread and, to finish, raspberry cake.

I’m still full, but at least the kitchen is clean.