An excellent weekend. It would've been better if (let's all say it together now, kiddies) it had been longer.

Friday Matt and I celebrated our anniversary by going out to dinner at the Peddler, which is a very fantastic local steakhouse. Matt was a little disappointed to find that they had (once again) run out of the smoked oysters they usually keep on the salad bar. But as I don't like oysters, it didn't dampen my mood in the slightest. Matt had prime rib (with fresh horseradish), and I had filet mignon (with bleu cheese sauce) and we ate ourselves nearly to bursting.

He also got me some flowers. He had them delivered to my office - which I'd told him years ago was the preferred method. After all, flower deliveries are twice as good if you have witnesses to your sweetie's wonderfulness. Unfortunately, they didn't actually show up at the office until about fifteen minutes after I'd left for the day. So we wound up having to go back up to my office after he got home from work to get them. But they're lovely flowers - bouquet built around a trio of miniature (hand-sized) sunflowers. Yay, sweetie!

Saturday, K.T. and I edited. We discovered that it is less comfortable for sitting but more comfortable for writing at the kitchen table. That may become the new standard, with our pair of burgeoning bellies.

After the editing, I went home so we could - dramatic music, please, Maestro - Hall. I think that session would be what you might call the grand opening of Matt's new plot. Whooboy. This'll be a fun one. If it doesn't drive me utterly insane.

Sunday was Easter, of course. We went down to my parents' for dinner. Mom made ham and sweet potatoes and green beans and fruit salad, and a black-bottomed pecan pie for dessert. (If you've never had pecan pie... I'm sorry. If you asked Matt, who's a transplanted midwesterner, what he likes best about living here, I suspect pecan pie would be in the top five. Easily. It's essentially a pie crust filled with a sweet custard and topped with pecan halves. Black-bottomed pecan pie is not - despite my mother's reputation as a cook - a burned pecan pie, but one with a layer of chocolate at the bottom.)

My mom has been on the Atkins diet for about a month now, but she jumped off the wagon for Easter dinner. Obviously. It was all extremely tasty. No weird Mom-style cooking mishaps. And I have a few slices of ham and half the pie in my fridge at home, now. Life is good.

Let the baby fever begin!

Matt's mom, when he called, apparently wished Matt and I a Happy Easter once - and the baby about five times. She also asked whether her anniversary present to us might be baby-related. (I appreciate her giving us the option. But we need so much baby stuff, I'm not turning down any assistance, at this point.)

My mom gave us a little storybook (Good Night, Mr. Night) and matching stuffed doll. She'd seen it in a catalog a while back and decided to order it. And then last night decided she couldn't wait to give it to us. The doll is lovely - a soft dark blue velvet Mr. Night with little glow-in-the-dark stars. Also, while we were there, she hauled out my baby album and showed it to Matt.

My grandmother, when I called, expressed her wish to "help out" - specifically, she wanted to get us a bassinet. She had to pick the one thing we've actually already arranged to get from a friend... Ah, well, it's not like we don't need about a bajillion other things, too. (My grandmother, by the way, has a very distinct and unashamed preference for girls, and so is quite thrilled to learn that's what we're having. I padded her with a whole lot of "probably"s, just in case.)

But now, alas, the work week has arrived.

--Liz