the dotted line: my life feels like an episode of the beverly hillbillies

{the beginnings of a hat to bring littleone home in - more pictures here}

Except we haven't become millionaires overnight and aren't moving to Beverly Hills.

:: our sunday ::

After a quick trip to the farmer's market {where we always share a yummy vegetarian omelette, followed by an equally yummy strawberry + banana crepe...oh, how I love sunday mornings}, we spent the afternoon packing up the remaining boxes, disassembling some of our furniture and waiting for a prospective tenant to arrive for a viewing. In the end the person didn't come and although our car was packed to the brim with boxes and furniture, it was too late for us to drive anywhere. We decided we'd rather have a relaxing evening and watch a movie - so off we went to our local dvd store. Close your eyes and picture this :: a bright yellow SUV, parked in the middle of a massive parking lot, surrounded by festively decorated palm trees. The only distinguishing feature that made our car stand out was the two full-length bookcases strapped to the top and wrapped with an old quilt. Now picture me, heavily pregnant, wearing my comfiest yoga pants and a dusty white t-shirt that doesn't quite fit over the belly anymore, messy hair {similar to this}, waddling along next to J, in his ripped jeans and old t-shirt, holding our shopping :: a dvd, a carton of milk {for me}, and half a dozen donuts {for him}. I should say that he never eats donuts and rarely has a sweet tooth, but he had a craving...hmmm...aren't those supposed to be reserved for me?! As we approached our car, he spontaneously started humming banjo music and we both collapsed with uncontrollable laughter.

All that was missing was granny and her rocking chair.

We returned to our very empty home, curled up with Bailey + Oscar in bed and watched our movie. I drank my milk. He ate his donut. I complained about my backache. He complained that I take up too much of the bed. What happened to finishing a day of moving with pizza and a bottle of wine, like they do in the movies? Slightly more romantic than milk and donuts, but this is what memories are made of, right? You know, for all those "when I was 8 months pregnant with you..." stories. Oh baby, watch out :)