Keeping up with the Duggars...

...if the Duggars had stopped about 20 kids ago, which is my way of saying that the next Upton is on the way.

Here's the kiddo at about 12 weeks.

Just a tad eerie, no?

I'm due in the middle of February.  It has been a very easy pregnancy so far.  I didn't even believe I was pregnant until it was confirmed with an ultrasound at nine weeks.  My midwife discovered I was anemic, so I've been taking about 300% of the daily recommended allowance of iron and I actually have more energy than before I got pregnant.  Some days I don't even want to nap.  My midwife is trying to avoid some of the complications of Frances's delivery (abruption, anemia, a low platelete count, blah, blah) so she's sent me to visit with a Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor, who also recommended a couple supplements and some non-stress tests toward the end of the pregnancy.  Now I'm taking about nine pills a day and will be visiting the hospital quite a bit toward the end for the tests, but that is so preferable to early labor, anemia, etc. that I don't mind a bit.

We aren't going to find out the sex, so don't ask.  Frances is pretty sure she's having a baby sister, and we suspect she's right.  We think Frances is handling the news with grace.  The first time we mentioned the baby to her, she just wanted to know where it was going to sleep.  Then she went through a spell of wanting us to read Julie Vivas's The Nativity to her over and over, but she's done that before.

I definitely have moments of panic - how am I going to handle a tantrumming Frances and a hungry new born while Mark is at work? - but I know we'll survive and I can't wait to see what this next kiddo is going to be like.

We are at a complete loss for a name.  Suggestions appreciated.

Wareham Cranberry Festival

Last weekend was the Wareham Cranberry Festival.  As Southern transplants who've never experienced a cranberry festival, we figured we better check it out.  The festival was great, full of free rides for the kids and extensive arts and crafts displays for the adults.

Here's how Frances started the day, minus the ladybug on her right temple:

And here's how she ended up:

She was sooo pleased with herself.  After getting Frances all dolled up, we headed out to the actual cranberry bogs.  We learned there is wet picking and dry picking.  This would be the wet picking.

The berries are floated, sucked up in a tube and separated from debris on this conveyor belt.

The pickers can clear about 60 acres a day.

Frances was under the impression that we would be doing the picking ourselves.  She was somewhat underwhelmed by watching others do the picking, but Mark and I were in awe.  The colors of the berries and the scale of the project were mighty impressive.  Frances was pleased to find these stairs to nowhere.

Then we ate some apple cider doughnuts, because we could, and headed for home, some worn out but happy campers.  Frances was asleep within three minutes of getting back in the car.  When we asked her about her favorite part of the day, she said she liked the school buses we took to get from the parking lot to the festival and then to the cranberry bogs.  We had guessed as much.  Not exactly the point of the festival, but as long as she enjoyed herself!

Happy Autumnal Equinox!

(I just love saying "autumnal" and "equinox."  "Autumnal" sounds like something Tigger would make up if he were trying to be fancy and the Latin of "equinox" is just great.)

The Autumnal Equinox seemed like a great excuse to go apple picking, so we headed out to Tougas Farm in Northborough, MA.  I had a great time; I think we all did.  

Those Tougas Farm people are no dummies.  Almost as soon as you step onto the farm, they sell you an apple cider doughnut or three, which was fine by us.  Look at this joy! 

Last year, Frances would eat about two bites of an apple cider doughnut.  Sacrilege!  This year, she ate all but two bites.  The kid's learning.

Then those Tougas Farm people give you a hay ride to the apples.  Frances Elliott loves her some hay rides, and picking apples wasn't too bad either.

Here she is inspecting her plunder:

Then those Tougas Farm people provide a hay bale for some photo ops.  They really know what they're doing.  Frances begged to get up on the hay bale and then practiced her flying, while staying seated.

To leave the apple picking area, Tougas Farm guests must walk past the pumpkins.  So, guess what?  We bought a pumpkin.  Frances insisted on buying the smallest one she could find.  We didn't understand her choice, but we certainly didn't fight it either.

Then Frances had her first caramel-covered apple, but we didn't get a photo of that because we were too busy eating our own lunch.

Really fun day.  I think days like this make the cooler weather worth it.  Mark would shiver and disagree.  So far we've made apple sauce and an apple pie with our apples.  I think an apple galette is next up.  Yum.

Meeting Lena

My parents, because they are insane, have recently acquired two new dogs.  Just what every almost-retired couple needs.  The bigger, calmer, quieter of the two dogs is an Anatolian shepherd named Lena.  Frances wasn't at all sure about Lena when we arrived in Maine.  Frances spent most of her time sitting on the kitchen counter trying to avoid the dogs.  But she did have moments when she warmed up to Lena, like so:

The smaller, wilder, louder dog is a Portuguese Water Dog named Marta, also lovingly referred to as "Heathen."  I'm guessing she was locked up somewhere while these photos were being taken, otherwise Frances would have retreated to the kitchen counter.  Frances got pretty good at saying, "Buzz off, Heathen."  I was tempted to teach her "Get behind me, Satan," but "Buzz off, Heathen" was probably just as effective and satisfying, as in not at all effective and totally satisfying.

We took many other photos of Frances in Maine, doing Maine-type stuff like steering the sail boat and frolicking on the beach naked while her mother shuttered in a turtle neck, but those photos are not to be found.  Perhaps our camera's memory chip gave out?  Oh, well.  We'll just have to take those photos again next year, and every year after that.

Mt. Desert Rock, or "Our Triumph"

I normally stick to all things Frances on this blog, but when I asked Mark if I should include our sail to Mt. Desert Rock, he replied, "Of course!  It's our triumph!"  So here's our triumph.

My dad, affectionately known as "Sir" of late, got a bee in his bonnet to sail to Mt. Desert Rock.  Mt. Desert Rock is, shockingly, a rock off the coast of Mt. Desert Island.  So Mark and I signed on, once again abandoning Frances to Mimi's care so we could go sailing.  The three of us headed out at about 7:30 a.m.  Around 11 a.m., we arrived at Mt. Desert Rock, like so: 

"Inhospitable" sums it up well.  The surf was so rough, you wouldn't land there unless getting on shore was more important to you than ever sailing your boat again.  And even from a great distance, the place reeked of dead fish.  Maybe because of all the seals hanging around?  I had fun imagining what a bachelor lighthouse keeper would say to a potential wife to lure her in.  Something like "It's only bone-chillingly cold nine months of the year!  And you'll never have to weed or worry about pesky trick-or-treaters."

So, why a triumph?  Well, Sir didn't fall off the boat, despite challenging seas.  Mark wasn't too seasick and I wasn't seasick for long.  We didn't see the whales we were hoping for, but now we can say we've seen Mt. Desert Rock.  Jealous, aren't you?

Good Ol' Beech Mountain

A lot of this vacation was spent walking Mimi and Sir's latest canine acquisitions, which was great because it got us up and moving on a very regular basis.  One afternoon, we scampered up Beech Mountain.  Keeping the group together proved a little difficult, what with a two year-old doing her dawdling two year-old thing.  Mark carried her most of the way and Frances didn't even complain.  Here's Mark and Frances on the trail. I think she's going to be a tall girl.

One Morning in Maine

I had this lovely idea: I would take a picture of Frances every hour, on the hour, for a day in Maine.  It would be a nice introduction to life in Sawyer's Cove for all you future visitors.  It might even make a nice book.  

Let's examine the results of this little project.

6:30-ish a.m. - I know I said I'd do it every hour, on the hour, but she wasn't awake on the hour, so there you go.  Here's Frances, waiting for breakfast and avoiding Mimi and Sir's new, enthusiastic dogs by sitting on the counter.

7:30-ish - It doesn't appear we've made much progress, but notice that Frances is dressed.  Mimi will be soon, I'm sure.

8:30-ish - Mark, being a trooper, took Frances outside while the rest of us got organized.  The two of them found a fascinating caterpillar.  It's hard to tell from this photo, but the caterpillar had great spikes.  We thought it was a real find.  It became less exciting as we found more and more identical caterpillars, but at 8:30-ish in the morning it was pretty good.   

9:30-ish - Forgot to take the camera to the grocery store with us.

10:30-ish - I did take a photo of Frances getting into the car at the grocery store, but it was a very awkward photo, so we're going to skip it.

11:30-ish - Frances eats a nutritious lunch of mini pepperoni and apples, emphasis on the pepperoni. 

12:30-ish - Frances takes a nap.  No photo.

1:30-ish - Mark and I abandon Frances and this project so we can go sailing.  End of project.

So there you have it!  Instead of A Day in Maine, you get One Morning in Maine, and it's not very tempting, I know.  I promise any potential visitors that we try harder when we've got guests.  You will not be dragged to the grocery store, for instance.

I think I'll try this project again when all the cousins are in Maine.  Surely someone will be doing something photogenic every hour, on the hour.  Surely.