Most women recount their labor stories in terms of hours, but I have to use days as my unit of measure. I’ve begun the count officially, and so my husband and I had a talk about names, considering several of the ones people have mentioned recently. A hearty “thank you” to everyone who posted and emailed name suggestions—even to those who left girl names because, well, you just never know.

In the end, I’m content to wait and see, not worried about anyone’s timetable. Truth be told, it is me who is more flustered than anyone else. Even if He hasn’t told us yet, He has chosen the perfect name already. God is never late; He is always on time. If He cares for the sparrow, I know that He cares much more about His gift to us, created in His image. He’s not worried, and so I take my cues accordingly. God is ever-patient toward crazy pregnant ladies, I suspect. How blessed to have nothing of greater concern at the moment.

On the home front, we are enjoying getting the strawberries right, finally. We’ve supplied our own tomatoes (and extra for the neighbors) for months now, but it’s time to replant new ones. I probably won’t get right on that just yet, though.
strawberries

Apparently, however, I need some remediation with the blueberries. I think this is a respectable amount of berries on a one year plant, but I suspect there are supposed to be leaves on it too.
blueberries

My husband bought a new-to-us van recently, and just like the houses we buy, he tore it apart. The picture here is actually pretty good, because you can’t tell that the ceiling was ripped out too. He’s installing all kinds of things, but the one thing all mothers of little ones might appreciate is…the onboard DustBuster. Yeah, baby.
My husband is crazy

I’ve heard that there are some men who are unable to buy gifts for their wives that plug-in, but I’m too practical for that. While others ride around with gold earrings and smashed Goldfish in their carpets, I’ll be smiling purty with a fully-charged vac in the back.

Now, my husband isn’t a car mechanic, but I there was a moment in time that I remember that I would be lost without him. It was the summer of 1995. We had met a couple months earlier– while I was a very poor, working college girl, and he was a youth pastor in seminary. My only transportation developed a major gas leak. He went to the library to obtain a diagram of my engine and fixed my problem with a .99 + tax piece of rubber/PVC thing. I knew right then, for sure, I was in love.

And now with an onboard DustBuster, I guess you could say that he’s still winning my heart ten years later.