The Beginning of Something Wonderful.

Happy 2012! Not to be a blogging cliche, but I love the fresh start of a new year. New planner, new goals, another chance to do it all right. I have a sneaking suspicion 2012 is going to be pretty fantastic - not in small part due to the little girlie kicking away in my belly, protesting that we are out of bed approximately two hours too early today. 

2011 was simultaneously wonderful and pretty awful. We clinked champagne flutes at midnight last year already ten months into the process of trying to have a baby. And, as much as I tried to focus on everything else I had going on and count all of the things I had to be grateful for, infertility has a way of occupying every single thought in your head. 

The first eight months of last year, we were trucking through a lot of dark days. Every new page of the calendar was staring me in the face as another month failed, on top of the fact that I was pumped up on medicines that made me feel and act like a crazy person. At the time, the only bright spot I could find was that Hugh and I cleaved together during those days rather than being driven apart.

But, just as my peach of a husband would promise me over and over again as a sort of mantra, we got there. On August 15th at 6:45am, our whole life changed with one little test (that I almost threw in the trash before I realized it was positive). I spent the next four months completely overwhelmed with excitement, but also feeling like I was floating along in a fog. A fog of hormones and shock that we were finally having a baby and joy so huge it was honestly a little bit scary, and, let's not forget, the paralyzing fear that something was going to happen to take it all away. 

It's funny how much can change in just twelve months - last year we spent part of our holiday break deciding on fertility medicines and a strategy with my doctor. This year, we spent our time off painting a nursery and hanging up baby clothes and putting together a crib. Oh, life, so tricky sometimes.

And now here we are. Back from the holiday that we both needed much more than we realized, and eager to welcome all that the year ahead promises. I am refreshed and ready to go. Which brings me to my 2012 resolutions. Last year, I had a three page list of things I wanted to do differently, ways I wanted to be better. It wasn't my most effective year of resolutions, let's just put it that way. In hindsight, it is easy for me see I was grasping at straws, trying to get control over something since I couldn't control the one thing I really wanted. 

This year, I've decided on a simpler plan for my resolutions. Over the last eighteen days I have spent much of my time off reflecting on what I want the year to look like, on how I want to feel when we're toasting its end in twelve sure-to-fly-by months, and I have decided that my 2012 will be driven my a word:

Intentional. 

I want to be intentional with my energy, my time, my diet, my money, my relationships. Coming off of a year during which I feel like a bobbed along in the current and, for the most part, let my life happen, I am ready to be living with intent again.

Let's do this, 2012. 

The Most Wonderful Time of the Most Wonderful Year.

We're on a little White Hot vacation, my friends.

A vacation that involves staying home, knocking out nursery projects like it's our job, checking off pre-baby to do list items, staying in bed until 10am every morning drinking coffee, and staying up late making delicious dinners and talking and planning and imagining this turn our life is going to take in a few short months. 

This is our last official time off together, other than a weekend here and there, before baby girl comes. And while we are focused on the one million things to do and on all that we have to celebrate, I'm focused on soaking it up, too.

As we are past the halfway point now - 22 weeks and counting - I know our days as just Cassie and Hugh are drawing to a close. And while I'm over the moon for the new adventure we are embarking on, I want to make sure I savor the days that are left where it is only us. After all, it has been only us for the last seven years, and they have been the most wonderful times of my life.

So, from our little family to yours, happiest of holidays. I hope you are spending your days with your very favorite person, reveling in everything you have to celebrate.

Our 2012 Christmas card photo. I can't get the actual card to upload, and after the disaster that has been using Tiny Prints this year, I'm just going to let it go. But I will leave you with the fact that it was 45 degrees and windy outside when we took this photo using the tripod and the self-timer. Mad skills, my friends, if I do say so myself.

 

See you in 2012!

The White Hot Life in Photos (and Words).

Happy Monday, my frinternets. Normally this post is a little weekend update, but seeing as I haven't updated you on our weekends in approximately 3 months, you're getting an update of the latest and greatest from our White Hot life as of late.

Here's what it's looked like:

My favorite husband had a birthday (two months ago). We're now co-members of the twenty-eight club. At that point I was two months into growing this baby and, subsequently, two months into not cooking a damn thing. So, I felt it was only fair to indulge my favorite birthday boy with his favorite meal:

Why yes, yes, I did cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner for Hugh on October 6th. I've told you I love that guy.

Boston Cream Pie birthday cake!

One of my very dearest friends is having a baby (like, any day now). Her husband is a year ahead of Hugh in med school, and we met at the first Wives' Club event three years ago. And I have said about one thousand times since then that I don't know what I would do without her. Suffice to say we have a lot in common. Anyway, I had the honor of co-hosting a little baby shower for her. All of the photos of the people are blurry, but this is a little peak at the details:

 

The spread.

 Vanilla Buttermilk Cake with Strawberries, Lemon Curd, and Cream Cheese Icing. And, she's having a baby girl!

Hugh carved a pumpkin that looked like Fletcher. Because he's awesome:

Cooked and ate some really, really good food. Because even though the food-blogging has been nonexistent, the food-eating has been pretty nonstop:

 Meatball Pizza.

 Pizza with Figs, Roasted Garlic, Pancetta, Caramelized Onions, and Blue Cheese. Nirvana.

Chili bowl. Crazy delicious. Crazy heartburn. Oh, pregnancy.

Waffles and Blueberry Compote.

Started decking our halls:

A snazzed-up mantle.

Our pets are still a mess.

We've stayed really busy with work and school, but decided to make it better by working and studying curled up in bed with our very spoiled babies:

 

I mean, really.

 

Henry is determined to be the first of the boys to feel baby girl move. He fell asleep waiting.

Henry stuck his face in a bowl of sour cream:

 This is his I'm-in-trouble expression. 

And Fletcher just continued to humor us, patient boy that he is:

Oh, and last but certainly not least, we've made it to the halfway point:

20 weeks. And she's kicking up a storm. Safe to say being pregnant with this baby girl of ours is more than exceeding my expectations. We are just loving life right now. But more on that later this week.

And, with that, you are basically caught up on life at the White Hot house. We missed you around here.

Hope your week feels like the end of the countdown to a two-week Christmas vacation!

It's a...

I want to preface this post by saying I had absolutely no preference on a boy or girl going into our appointment. Not because I "just want a healthy baby." I do want a healthy baby, of course, but I don't think the sex and the health are really at all related, and certainly not mutually exclusive. Rather, I didn't have a preference because it took us a long time to get to here, to this pregnant point. And when you're dealing with the waiting game, I think all you really want is a baby. Whether that baby was a boy or a girl didn't really matter at all.

Now, getting to the good part. I was sixteen weeks when we went in for our ultrasound on Friday. I knew that was on the early side to be finding out, so I had worked hard at not getting my hopes up that they'd be able to tell us. Really, I was just excited to get to watch our sweet baby on the screen for an hour.

Since I met Hugh, I've always felt like we would have all boys. I don't know why, but I have always just pictured myself as the Mom of three boys. Maybe because our pets are all boys?

Anyway, when I finally got pregnant, I didn't really have a feeling one way or the other. Until week 7. When I woke up clear as day feeling like this baby was a girl. Try as I might to remain neutral, I could only picture the baby being a girl. When Hugh was stressed about our boy name options, because you know we've been discussing names since 2005, I couldn't even get worked up about it.

So, there we are at the ultrasound. I think girl. Hugh thinks boy. My Mom thinks boy. Every single one of our friends thinks girl. And then two minutes into our ultrasound, the tech proclaimed, it's a...

GIRL!

I thought it was a girl and I was still shocked. I sat straight up on the table and shouted, "Are you serious?!" She was. And then there were lots of happy tears and hugging and hand-squeezing from these elated parents. 

Really, it's so fun just to know. And it doesn't hurt that we think she's just the cutest thing we ever saw:

Sweetest little profile.

I, for one, cannot even handle those little crossed legs.

So, there you have it. A healthy, perfect White Hot baby girl. And if you thought I was counting down to April 26th before...

Post Script: I'm back into my regular life, cooking and working and maintaining this little house and staying awake for more than three hours at a time, so stay tuned for some non-baby related posts. And, let's be honest, probably some more baby-related posts too. Happy Monday, frinternets.

The Anniversary of the Day That Changed Everything.

I'm finding it hard to get back into the swing of, well, everything, as my energy slowly returns (hip hip hooray!). Especially hard to get back into the swing of cooking and then blogging about it. So today I will tell you a little story. It's one of my favorites. It has nothing to do with food, but it's the very start of how I came to be married to my favorite dinner date.

I've mentioned before that Hugh and I met in class, our last year of undergrad. The class was a Jamaican Slave Literature Honors Seminar. There were nine students - me, Hugh, and seven other English majors who felt compelled to take an 8:30am class that required a number of 20 page papers. 

One of the requirements of this class was a Saturday field trip to a former slave plantation that had been restored and was used for teaching purposes, located two hours away. We were also required to carpool to this event. A few days before the field trip, the travel arrangements were scheduled to come up for discussion at the end of class. 

Here's what I knew about Hugh at the time of this discussion: he rode his bike to school; a few weeks into the semester, he got hit by a car on said bike and broke his wrist; he was quiet in class (a real boon when you are in a room with a bunch of people who love to hear themselves talk), but when he did participate, his comments were either funny or intelligent; he was handsome; during a particularly boring lecture, he once leaned over and asked to borrow my pencil so he could puncture his own ear drums (see: funny).

So, the carpool plans came up for discussion at the end of class, and I had to leave to go to work. On a whim that would change the rest of my life, I leaned over to Hugh as I was running out the door and asked him if he wanted to ride together. He said yes. Very excitedly, I might add.  He must have been taken with my roll out of bed at 8:20am and wear some wrinkled running clothes to class look. Later that day, I got this email from our professor: 

 

And then I realized I had planned to spend an entire day with someone whom I knew really nothing about.  I decided I would cancel and drive myself. When I told my mom this plan, she said that was rude and I would do no such thing. I told her I hoped he wasn't a serial killer.

Saturday rolled around. Hugh picked me up at 8am, right on time. I was inexplicably nervous when I was getting ready that morning. And he was nervous when I got in the car. We made stilted chit chat for the first two minutes. And then we settled right into a conversation that lasted the rest of the day. It was one of the best, and easiest, conversations I've ever had. The field trip was kind of a disaster, but it didn't matter. 

On the way home, we stopped to get lunch at a kind of disgusting chain barbecue restaurant. I offered to pay since Hugh had driven (He would like me to note here that he objected. I paid anyway.). So I, of course, love to joke that on our first date Hugh took me to a terrible restaurant and then he made me pay. 

I remember feeling genuine disappointment when we pulled up to my apartment at the end of the day; I was sad our day was ending. After we parted ways, I immediately called my Mom to tell her that a. I had not been murdered, and b. I had had the most fun day I could remember. Little did I know, Hugh called his dad as soon as he was out of the parking lot to regale him with tales of my wit and charm and beauty. Really, he called to tell him that I was very funny and laughed at his inappropriate jokes, which was code for the fact that he kind of loved me already. And to tell him that he had not been murdered. 

The story could have ended there, but that night when I was out with my friends, after a little liquid courage, I called Hugh (seriously, so forward, right?) to see if he wanted to come out and meet us. He did. Here's a picture of that night:

  

At the end of the evening, he drove me (and all my friends) home, and was the perfect gentleman. The next afternoon I was on the phone with my favorite friend, recounting every detail of the day and night to her, discussing whether or not it would be weird to see him in class on Tuesday and if I would hear from him, when he beeped in. He was calling to tell me happy Halloween. We talked for two hours.  

And the rest, as they say, is history. Since October 30, 2004, rarely has a day gone by when I haven't spent hours in conversation with Hugh. Even those first few months when I was assuring him and myself and everyone I knew that we were just friends, we would spend our evenings talking at his apartment or chatting on the phone late into the night. He remains my very favorite person to talk to. And riding in his truck to that field trip 7 years ago remains my very favorite decision I've ever made.

I'm so glad you drove a two-passenger car, h.

What We've Really Been Cooking Lately.

Do you know that I am not a great secret keeper? Especially when the secret is good news. I'm less of the keep-my-mouth-shut type and more of the shout-it-from-the-rooftops type.

And, when I am tasked with keeping quiet about the best news ever, I've found it's easier for me to just not talk to anyone than it is for me to keep it to myself. Hence the fact that I've kind of been ignoring you for the last two and a half months, blog friends.

But it's not just you. I've been ignoring a lot of things in my life. My garden. My kitchen. My meal plans. My exercise. My cleaning. My camera. Even my children (but only a little).

I am, however, extremely well-acquainted with my bed. And my couch.

So, now that I am slowly lifting my head off the pillow, I think it's time to come clean before I just explode with secret-keeping. What makes you so tired you lose the will to do anything but spend your days in the horizontal position and so nauseated you turn green at the thought of cooking one single thing and so grateful you feel like your heart may burst?

You guessed it:

Baby's first photo, taken 6 weeks ago.

I'm pregnant.

With a little White Hot baby. And Hugh and I are already completely and totally smitten.

More details to come, but suffice to say our excitement level is off the charts. We've basically been one big non-stop celebration since August 15th.

Can you even believe it?!

The Blogger Formerly Known as Craft Impaired.

So, I've mentioned before that I was in a sorority in undergrad. Say what you want about sorority girls and the coinciding stereotypes, but I will tell you this - the friends I made during those 4 years are some of the very best I have. And those were some of the most fun years of my life.

Plus, if you go to a massive public university with 45,000 of your nearest and dearest, it pays to join an organization that makes the place feel a little more like home.

I will also tell you that sorority girls do a lot of crafts. Like a lot. Projects for your big sister, projects for your little sister, outfits for parties, banners for events - there is a lot of painting and hot gluing and fabric-covering and glittering that occurs under those roofs.

So, you either start out crafty, or you learn quickly. Which brings me to the point of this post, a little confession: I was totally the latter, convinced I was born without a crafty bone in my body.

But you'd never know it now. Just look what I whipped up for our front door a few weeks ago:

I emailed my mom a photo of my wreath project, and this was her response:


"Wow! This is beautiful! It makes me think of when you used to have to do all those crafts at Chi O, and I thought it was hilarious because you were so craft-impaired. Just look at you now!"


Oh, Mom. She knows the truth.

Love,
Your Favorite White Hot Crafter


Post Script: I used this tutorial for the ruffles, and went off on my own for the embellishments. A little JoAnn's faux flower and some miniature pine cones, and that sucker was screaming Fall from our front door. Happy crafting, frinternets.