Letter B

More Bluster

Mother's day was splendid this year. It was my fourth as a mom, but my first as a mom of two so it was, you know, especially special. We all had breakfast in bed together, including the dog. Lowell gave me a card that had lovely things he said about me written in it (Matthew was kind enough to edit out "She gets really angry sometimes.") It did make up for a pretty dreadful Friday and Saturday filled with fever and vomit. Willa has an ear infection (her first, squeee!) so it's been a little rocky. But she is on the mend and only retching up about half of the daily doses of Amoxicil I have to give her. And she is napping a lot more which really helped my sanity today. Lowell and I actually made a kite while she napped this afternoon. We used bamboo skewers, tissue paper and dental floss but it still came out pretty okay. After the glue dried we took it out on the deck and launched it up into the bluster and, lo and behold, she flew! (Of course they were gale force winds so we could have tied string to an alarm clock for the same effect). Lowell, who has been talking about kites a lot lately (thank you TV!) loved it. After we went inside, both shivering because we weren't wearing jackets, he looked up at me with his thrilled little face and said, "That was FUN." It was one of those moments where you just want to dip your kid in acrylic so they stay exactly that way forever.

We have a subscription to Atlantic Monthly. (Why? Because we have too much pride to admit that we don't have time or energy to read anything intellectual anymore. We also get Harpers. God help us.) They must be facing some pretty dire newsstand sales numbers up there at AM HQ because I have noticed that their covers are getting more and more sensational. Israel is doomed! Religion will kill us all! Ack, Iraq! Britney is trainwreck (so let's figure out some pseudo-intellectual spin on the story that lets us put her on the cover!)  This month's issue just arrived and, I am not kidding, the cover has an asteroid heading straight for earth with the headline "The Sky Is Falling." OMG chillax, Atlantic, here is some ad money, okay?

Also in ridiculous media: this Wall Street Journal article. Ostensibly about how women executives who left their careers to be SAHMs are an untapped resource of seasoned professionals with flexible schedules. But the real gist of it is: "Hey! Corporate America! There is a whole pool of talented workers just waiting to work for peanuts. They don't deserve to be compensated for their training and experience because they have to pad their resumes to be hired again someday by schmucks like us! Let's be unapologetically exploitative and call it win-win!" I really don't understand how anyone can sit there with a straight face and offer a $21 hourly consulting fee to a Stanford PhD. Wow, I didn't know that growing something in my uterus was license to fuck me in the a**! But at least my skills are fresh now. I just hate that not-so-fresh feeling.

The Elephant In The Stable

The winner of the Derby contest this year was the delightful DadaMama. She picked all the money horses, including Big Brown to win. (Lea, you came in close again - might have to send you a little consolation prize.) Thanks to all that participated.

The Derby shocked the hell out of me this year, in two ways. One, the incredible victory of Big Brown easily winning from the 20th post position left me in awe of this horse's power and beauty. And then, like whiplash, the exhilaration turned to dismay when Eight Belles broke down. And this is the problem for me and horse racing. On days like Saturday it seems little more than a blood sport. As inhumane as fox hunting or bullfighting. It sickens me and it makes me feel like I will swear it off for good. Then I pick up the paper and read Kent Desormeaux, Big Brown's jockey, retell the race from his perspective and I get goosebumps. I know that I am not going to be able to stop loving racing. It's a part of me. (At eight years old I had a picture of Stevie Cauthen on Affirmed  next to my bed for God sakes).  But I can't support it unless the industry makes real changes to lessen the risks to horses. The only good that can come out of Eight Belles death, and Barbaro's before her, is that it puts pressure on the powers that be in thoroughbred racing to finally make some of the real changes that have been talked about for years. No matter how expensive, disruptive, or tradition-breaking. I am hoping this beautiful filly will at least have that lasting legacy.

Ladies And Gentlemen!

Derby Day is upon us. Time for a little wagering.

The Rules:  Put up your 3 best guesses for win (1st), place (2nd) and show (3rd) in the comments. Enter up to 3 picks per person. All guesses timestamped before 6 pm this Saturday will be in the running. (FYI Post time for the race is 6:04 PM and the broadcast is on NBC)

The Winner: the commenter that chooses all three money horses in the correct order or the closest to getting all three. In the case of a tie I'll do a random drawing for the winner.

The Prize: Cheap Derby souvenir plus my secret Benedictine spread recipe. And, of course, the glory.

Here are the contenders as of tonight:

1    Cool Coal Man
2    Tale Of Ekati
3    Anak Nakal
4    Court Vision
5    Eight Belles
6    Z Fortune
7    Big Truck
8    Visionaire
9    Pyro
10    Colonel John
11    Z Humor
12    Smooth Air
13    Bob Black Jack
14    Monba
15    Adriano
16    Denis of Cork
17    Cowboy Cal
18    Recapturetheglory
19    Gayego
20    Big Brown

The odds are always changing but right now Big Brown is the favorite. Current odds and lots of details here if you want to do research. But, again, betting the Derby takes way more luck than skill so go for it. It's just fun to have a horse to root for. Good luck!

Blarghity!

Good God, my house is a wreck right now. And please trust me, when I say my house is a wreck, I mean it. I'm not the kind of person who says her house is a mess when there is dust in the corners or a couple dishes in the sink. Oh no, you can be sure that if I say it's bad, it's BAD, and not good-bad but bad-bad. Of course if I am typing away here that means I'm not doing anything about it. Some days I wish that all I wanted in life was to be housewife with young children. Then I think I might be better at it. Or at the very least the laundry would be done more frequently. But unfortunately I have the Internet. And the Internet reminds me, daily, that there are many, many, many things I would rather be doing than scrubbing the bathtub. And if I can't go out and do them then, by gum, I will read about it instead. It would be so much easier if it was the Fifties and I could just take some tranquillizers, turn on Lawrence Welk and Hoover the place from top to bottom in my pearls and heels. Goddamn feminism had to go and ruin it all.

Willa has passed the six month mark. I feel like that is impossible but I am checking the calendar, and yes, she is indeed six months. Almost seven. She is sitting up, eating solids now, and constantly babbling about God knows what. She chose to celebrate her six-month birthday by refusing the bottle. We had been doing just fine with it until a couple weeks ago and now she will not take a drop no matter how we beg and cajole. Next I mix Hershey's syrup with breast milk and see if that works. Seriously though - any of you had this happen? What do I do? At least I see the light at the end of the breastfeeding tunnel at this point but still hoping someone has a trick to share.

Just a reminder to you non-horseracing fanatics out there. This Saturday is the first Saturday in May, aka Kentucky Derby day. I will be holding another contest to pick the money horses starting Thursday. Check back for details. Mmm... I don't know about you but there's nothing quite like that fidgety compulsive betting sensation!

Pressure Drop

You know how the Universe is never supposed to give you more than you can handle? Well the Universe is really pushing the envelope these days. I had one of those weeks where if I was in any other job, be it medicine, law or business I might say "Oh to hell with the student loan debt and the lost years and the peer disapproval, I'm outta here." But there is no getting out of this parenting gig as much as I wish some days I could quit. Or at least get a freaking lunch break.

I am so frustrated because I still have not learned the lesson that I am NOT IN CHARGE. That parenting is about an exact a science as dandelion blowing and no amount of book reading or late night Googling is ever going to give me THE ANSWER. (I apologize for the all caps but they are necessary today). I keep thinking that with enough time I will find the right technique or the use the perfect words and *poof* it will all be easier. I don't even want perfect, I just want easier. But then I have days like today where Lowell tests every inch of me and I fail repeatedly and I just want to go into a hole and stay there for a few days but, oh yeah, I have a baby to nurse and hopefully make eye contact with today. And the dog needs to be fed. I am sure many of you out there have moments like this. When you realize that no matter how good a mom you want to be you will always fall short because that's what being a human is all about. Please just know that at that moment when you sit your kid in front of Diego or Backyardigans just so you can have a few minutes to cry your eyes out at the kitchen table that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I am doing it too.

Did I also mention that I have a head cold? Not helping my general mood. My sinuses are so bad that at one moment today I actually felt an atmospheric shift in pressure IN MY FACE. I was walking from one room to the other this morning and suddenly my head felt like it was inside an airplane at takeoff. It was very, very, very weird. And because I am a weather geek and check the forecast first thing in the morning I knew that a front was moving through and I thought, well, should be raining soon. And then, good golly, it did. Behold, it is I, the human barometer.

My Favorite Fool

Here are my favorite pranks of the day in reverse order of awesomeness:

3. Rickrolling reached it's apogee. It's all shark jumping from here on out.

2. Martha Stewart totally got me on her craft of the day. I was like "Hmmm... I don't know, beans? Really?" before I realized it had to be a prank.

1. My sister taped that clear window plastic insulating film on the outside of her two boys' bedroom doors while they were sleeping. They woke up in the morning and went to walk out their doors as usual and bonked right into it. Her 9 year old walked into it twice he was so confused. Fricking brilliant. So sad it was not caught on tape.

You might wonder "What drives a grown woman to stay up all night silently taping clear plastic film on her child's bedroom door?" Well, 30-some years ago that woman was born today. Kara takes her April Fool's pranking very seriously. I'm just glad I don't live with her anymore. Happy Birthday Kara!

Well, At Least It Would Solve Global Warming

Thanks a lot, New York Times, for ruining a perfectly good Sunday by adding to my short list of "Things which cause existential dread." Now I will be fretting in the back of my mind about not only climate change, loose nukes and the Middle East but also whether some scientists are going to accidently create a small black hole. Great.

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Eat An Entire Bag Of Mini Eggs

Let's just say Easter was a mixed basket this year. The egg dyeing was much fun. This was the first year I really got to do it with Lowell -- he loved dunking the eggs and scribbling with the magic crayon. My aunt Jill had her pysanky party on Saturday and just like last year it was a major highlight. (If you want to see pictures check out my post about it at Roses Are Blue.) Playing Easter Bunny for the first time was also pretty cool. I had fun hiding the eggs and making the baskets. And eating the extra Peeps that were just sitting there in the box, going stale. And I got to dress up the kids. Willa in her Easter dress just about killed me. Alas, every Easter has its black jellybeans and this year it was that Lowell got sick on Friday. Some kind of tummy bug, complete with fever and listlessness. By Sunday, while he was not running a fever, he was still off-kilter and unable to handle the stress of chocolate for breakfast. We had an operatic series of meltdowns when the supply was cut off at brunch. There were moments during them when I wondered if he was ever going to stop. It was pretty bad. He did recover after a nap and we had a very pleasant afternoon making a giant bucket of mud with his friend, Lucy, but I was a little scarred. As was Matthew. He pretty much cursed me and the gentile horse I rode in on for the rest of the day. Things were much better today though. Only one protracted whine session for a bite of chocolate bunny, thank you, Jesus. No, I mean it, thank you, Jesus!

Using This Move A Lot

Like my reverse karate chop? Pretty much doing it all the time these days. And when I'm not fighting off impulsive 3-yr-olds I'm playing the ever-fun "Which child do I neglect now?" game. I've been quoting my friend Leah whenever anyone asks me how the whole two kids thing is going: "It's basically Sophie's choice every five minutes, isn't it?"

Matthew is watching "No Country For Old Men" right now in the other room. All I hear is silencer gunshots and jarring car crashes over and over. As much as I love the Coen brothers, uh, yeah, no thanks. Hope the next one is more in "The Big Lebowski" vein.

Speaking of the Dude, is there a more moronic holiday than St. Patrick's Day? Honestly. And I ask this as a practically pure-blooded Irish-American who has more than once been face-down in her own green vomit mildly inebriated on the day. This weekend the monthly pub crawl in our town aligned with St. Patrick's weekend and it was just ridiculous. (Why do you think shamrock sunglasses are a good look, sir? Why?) Maybe I'm just mad because I'm breastfeeding and I can't snuggle up with a bottle of Jameson whenever I want. Nah. The only good thing about the day is to go see if my dear Feral has posted. (If she hasn't go read this: my favorite St. Paddy's tribute ever.)

Yay. I posted. Now I get to go do our taxes. Woo hoo! If I go to the dentist tomorrow I'll have hit the procrastination trifecta.

Uh...

Last night I had all these things running through my head that I was going to post about. I was so excited!  Tonight, poof, they are gone. I am sitting here staring at the compose post window with my mouth hanging open, and yes, a little drool oozing out.

Possibly they are gone because I have been watching MSNBC for the last 300 hours while they putz around trying to pick a winner in the Ohio and Texas primaries. Gah! I don't care! Please, just let it be over. I can't take it anymore. I honestly think the Democrats could nominate a credenza and it would win the general election so please, just let it be over tonight. Of course I do have my preference, but I am going to be coy with you. If I voice a preference the other candidate will most assuredly win. Because I am the center of the universe. Hey, look at that - Ohio went to Hillary. Okay, I've done enough. No mas!

Thank you all for heading over to Roses are Blue. I am so excited although, honestly, I need another blog to feed like I need a cap in my ass,  But still, loving having a new project. You know, cause I'm so over the whole second baby thing. (Putting Willa in a drawer and getting out the glue gun!) I am most excited that you'll get to know Kara. She is so talented and a great storyteller. (Did you see this? So beautiful. Did you read this? Hilarious.)

Ah, Willa must be reading. She just woke up and told me to stop blogging and feed her. Have I mentioned lately how lovely, smiley and sweet this little girl is? Oh my GOD, she kills me.

Introducing Roses Are Blue

You might have noticed about once a year I'll write a post about something I've made. And I may have mentioned here once or twice that it's been a dream of mine to someday have a craft blog. The problem is that even though I love to make things I am scattered and random about it. I could never produce enough to keep a craft blog alive. My sister on the other hand is not only incredibly talented but comparatively prolific. AND she too had dreamed of one day having a craft blog. Her problem was that she didn't know where or how to start. So we decided to join my blogging brain with her crafting brain and bring one more craft blog into the world. Introducing Roses Are Blue. An imperfect craft blog. Full of stuff made with more love than skill (especially when I'm at the helm). But that's okay, because we like it that way. It's mainly going to be Kara's gig for now, while I recover from the new baby shell shock, but I'll be there both behind the scenes and occasionally in front. We have somewhat similar personalities and writing styles so it will be much like this site, except with waaaaay more glitter. If you like craft blogs then I hope you'll visit us often.

Oh Domino

I have a subscription to Domino magazine and lately I've been wondering why. When Domino started it seemed fresh, exciting and actually had a few beautiful things in it, beyond say, a single serving spoon, that I could afford. But these days it seems to be getting just as fussy and absurd as the other more traditional shelter magazines. I am as aspirational as the next person but if I see one more model, actress or socialite doing a "budget" $50,000 renovation of her Manhattan one-bedroom I'm going to barf. This month was the "Green" issue so I got to feel poor, frumpy AND guilty. It was awesome. And there was no shortage of eco-aspirationalites making me barf. I was originally going write a post parodying this gem but I don't think I could top it's (unintentional) hilariousness. (I can try though: "Wake up. Wipe spit-up off my 80% acrylic Old Navy cardigan that I fell asleep in last night. Break out breast pump and squeeze fresh, delicious breast-milk into my favorite bisphenol A-laden Avant bottle." )

Speaking of fussy and absurd, a couple months back I think I mentioned a top-secret project I was working on with my sister. Well, it's almost ready for its big reveal, my friends! Can you feel the excitement? Can you? I'm positively dizzy! But then I don't sleep anymore and alternate caffeine and sugar to keep myself conscious. Anyway, stay tuned...

Be Mine

Happy Valentine's day everybody. I am getting this in just at the wire even though I have been planning to write a post all week. I was also planning to make some cookies yesterday and finally use my cute set of heart cookie cutters I bought last year on sale. Instead, there are two smushed sticks of softened butter on my kitchen counter. I was also planning on doing the laundry. There is a load of wet and a load of dry down there right now. Where they've been since 10 am this morning. Let's not even discuss the last time I showered. In short, there is a mighty gap between what I plan to do and what I actually accomplish these days. Not surprising, but really, really getting to me.

It's come to my attention that when you have a baby girl you receive a whole badonkadonk-load of pink stuff. The other day Matthew called down while getting Willa dressed and said "You want me to put her in this pink onesie?" He caught himself and said "yeah, the pink one, you know which one I mean, right?" People, they're all pink. Now, if I had birthed her first, I might even be annoyed. But after three years of earth tones I am just like BRING IT ON. If I never see another fire engine, dinosaur or soccer ball again it will be just fine. Of course it can get just as ridiculous. Today she was in a pink sleeper on a pink polka-dotted blanket with a pink hat on and Matthew looked at her and said "Hmmm, I am detecting a color theme here..."  And can someone tell me why the hell they put those stupid puff sleeves on baby girl's sleepers? She looks like a tiny Krystal Carrington. I would never even put her in them except for the laundry issue (see above). But it's not like we leave the house or anything. Sigh. Seriously, spring cannot come fast enough this year.

Well, That Was Fun

Yesterday was my 38th birthday. (Gulp. Firmly in the late thirties right now. Reeeallly got to get on the stick if I am ever going to be considered a wunderkind. Already missed the prodigy window. It's looking like I may have to settle for late bloomer at this point.) Anyway, yeah, birthday on the Super Bowl. Not the worst thing in the world since I am a football fan but does limit the options for what to do on the day itself. Uh, yeah, guess I'll be watching a football game and some puerile beer ads. Drowning my sorrows in Matthew's famous tacos as the Giants lose to the Sith Lords, I mean Patriots. BUT! NO! The gods shined upon young Eli and his band of merry men and they pulled it out in the most dramatic fashion possible. I have been know to wax philosophic in this space before about the beauty and thrill I get out of sports played at the highest level so yesterday's game was a little gift from heaven for me. Loved it.

In other birthday news I was showered with gifts and treated to a spa day on Saturday to make up for the birthday on Super Bowl thing. Matthew and I escaped from our children (thank you Bubbie) to a chi-chi village not far from here where I got a massage and facial and he shopped for fancy meat. (Could we be any more hunter-gatherer? Me in my sweat hogan and him out clubbing porterhouse?) It was extremely restorative. When the masseuse was working on my arms and hands I nearly passed out from sheer relief. I had no idea how completely worn out they were with all the infant-lifting and preschooler-blocking. When I am Queen of the Universe everybody gets weekly hours-long massages. And first-season FOTC DVDs. If that's what you're into. And that reminds me of my mother's bday card to me:

[Two lunching ladies]

LL#1: So where's your birthday party at?

LL#2: Don't end your sentences with a preposition.

LL#1: So where's your birthday party at, bitch?

Grammar humor FTW!

Hiatical

Woah. Did not mean to take such a long blog break. You know, just went out for a pack of smokes and kept on driving, man. Every once in awhile I hit a real fallow period and there is just no way I can sit down and type out anything. I get completely frozen and forget how I ever wrote anything. Apparantly, though, all I have to do at times like this is clean my house. Cleaned up in a major way this weekend and it made me feel like a different person. I am not a feng shui type but there is something to having clean, clear surfaces that makes everything feel more possible. Maybe I should go ahead and put some water in my money corner or wind in my willows or whatever.

You know what else might make me feel like a new woman? Rene Russo's wardrobe from The Thomas Crown Affair. Good god, everytime I see that movie I want to take all our savings and blow it on some Michael Kors separates. It wouldn't hurt to have Russo's body too, and the number of her colorist, but I'll just take the clothes. My current wardrobe is so sad. So very sad. I refuse to wear the maternity stuff and the pre-pregnancy clothes are still too small. I am surviving on stained long sleeved t-shirts and yoga pants. I try not to dwell on it, I know it's temporary, but looking like a slob all the time is starting to get to me. Gah. Feeling new-found confidence and optimism seeping away. Must... find... hexagonal mirror...

Watch Your Back, Jean-Michel Cousteau...

How To Have A Helluva Year

JANUARY

Start the new year off by getting your period. Commence fretting about the fact that you're still not pregnant. Let it develop into full-blown panic. Demand spouse have more sex with you. Marvel at the speed with which this demand is met.

Build some bookshelves and finally unpack the boxes of books that have been haunting your living room for 8 months.

FEBRUARY

Go see a concert on your birthday. Make sure it's far enough away to warrant a sleepover without children.

Pray for snow. Have prayer answered.

Take a pregnancy test, sure that it will be negative. Feel shock when the digital readout is "PREGNANT." Feel total bolt of joy. Then commence fretting about how it probably won't stick. Or how it probably will. Either way, fret.

MARCH

Celebrate spring by getting a face full of gigantic, showy pimples.

APRIL

Announce your pregnancy to family and friends. Then announce it to the Internet. Bask in the warmth of well-wishes and happiness.

Go to California for Passover. Repeat basking. Say goodbye to a loved one there whom you might never see again. Cry when your son hugs her.

MAY

Against your better judgment, join Twitter. As predicted, become completely addicted within hours.

Enter the red zone of your son's terrible twos. Seriously wonder if it's you that is f*cking him up or the other way around.

Find out that you are carrying a girl. Pinch yourself. Pinch yourself again.

JUNE

Celebrate Father's day by conning your husband into building you a herb garden. And registering for Blogher.

Start writing haiku.

JULY

Get the call that your loved one has died. Comfort husband who's lost his second grandparent in a year.

Celebrate your wedding anniversary by going to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Visit your Dad in Chicago. Swim in the lake of your childhood for the first time in years (literally, not  metaphorically).

Go to a conference that empowers you, connects you with incredible people that you have only known via the written word, and generally makes you feel sparkly and alive. Feel amazed that it was all you thought it might be. To celebrate, bring your best maternity-crunking out at closing cocktail party.

AUGUST

Give heat and humidity the big, swollen middle-finger.

Have a living legend scare the bejesus out of your child. Attempt sly phone camera shot while toddler has you in a full-nelson.

Seriously start worrying about finding a name for your daughter. Catch yourself scanning spam sender names for ideas. Get completely hooked on Nymbler.com.

SEPTEMBER

Wake up in a cold sweat after terrible nightmare about your decrepit bathtub. Realize that there are exactly 3 tons of tasks that must be done before the baby comes. Start making mental list.

Call your mother and beg her to come to help before the baby is born. And after,too.

Have good friends that gently insist on throwing you a baby shower. And offer you pearls of wisdom.

OCTOBER

Laugh off all the nesting fever. You know the baby is going to be late. Roll over to get some more sleep. Feel a pop and a gush of liquid. Wake your husband with an expletive.

No time for epidural. Feel the undeniable urge to push. Also, feel the undeniable urge to jump out the window.

Hold your newborn daughter in your arms.

NOVEMBER

Thank your vague agnostic godhead for your family who have all taken shifts to help you with newborn and preschooler.

Start your career as a stage mother.

Celebrate Thanksgiving and son's third birthday at the same time. Wonder why you never thought of birthday pie before.

Honor NaBloPoMo pledge. Post on your blog every single stinking day of November. Take a moment on the 30th to marvel at your stupidity.

DECEMBER

Celebrate Hanukkah with delicious, oil-laden latkes.

Decide to host Christmas. Then a couple weeks before call family in a panic, realizing you can't possibly host Christmas. Family talks you off the edge, arrives, and helps you have a beautiful holiday.

Start moping around December 30th. Feel like another year has passed and you achieved nothing, once again. Read over blog archives and realize you're insane. Feel inspired to post your insight on the Internet, you freaky blogger, you.

------------------------

Happy New Year everybody! Hope you have a helluva 2008.

Beautiful Is The Child

Having a new baby around Christmas time can be a heady experience. The core of the nativity story, you know -- when you take out all the messiah stuff, is really a celebration of the miracle of birth. And I've noticed that when you constantly have a tiny baby in your arms during the holiday season everything is just a little bit more charged.

I remember a moment when Lowell was about a month old. It was late, I was listening to "Silent Night" and tears started to stream down my face. A song I had heard thousands of times suddenly sounded new and the enormity of the entire experience of creating a life revealed itself. (I may have also been seriously sleep-deprived, but that's all part of the mystery, right? It's no coincidence that the most reverent hymns are about the baby Jesus sleeping.) This year at Christmas, with another newborn, I have been having similar moments. Feeling joy in the extreme, but laced with the unique terror that comes with being trusted to care for a tiny, vulnerable thing that has a value beyond measure. Most of the time I don't think about it. Most of the time I am caught up in the minutia of the day or the week. I'm not thinking about the fact that Matthew and I just created a human being out of thin air. But when the nativity myth is everywhere it comes back to me. A miracle has happened here. A tiny, spit-up covered miracle that keeps me up at night, but a miracle nonetheless.

Merry Christmas to you who celebrate. And peace be with you all.

Happy Hanukkah, Homies

O, Glorious Day!

I feel like I just broke the tape at the end of my first marathon (okay, who am I kidding, 5k). This NaBloPoMo was way harder than last year for obvious reasons. When I started it I was pretty sure I would drop out in the first week. And I almost did. Then I broke into the shoe closet and it was okay.

I'd like to thank Matthew who was kind enough to humor me with this quixotic (he might replace the "quix" with "idi") quest and do baby duty most nights when I needed to get a post up. (Right now he is badgering me to go to sleep as he has done every night. Bless him.) And I'd like to thank Willa, who by some miracle chose the hours between 10 and 12 to have a sleepy spell almost every night. Lastly, but not leastly, I'd like to thank every person that stopped by to see what I'd pulled out of my a** every day. And an extra-special thank you for the comments. I usually try to respond to comments but it was impossible this time. Please know that your comments make my day. Really. I get all giddy.

I'm going to try to keep posting regularly but certainly no more of this daily nonsense. Now, off to sleep. And then to wake up to beautiful, wonderful December. But before I go, one more baby pic of Willa. This is a good visual of how I feel right now. Yippee!

Short Yarn

Willa is sucking the life force out of me. Near-constant nursing all day long. Needless to say not getting a whole lot done today. Will be happy if I get this post up.

Craft update. It's been a little while since I've posted any creations up here. On the day I went into labor I finished the little hat below. I hadn't even weaved in the ends and next thing I know I'm shoving it in my hospital bag. Already too small for her now but for like one day there it stayed on and was adorable. The blankie I had just started and I really fear I might never finish it now. For one, we have received approximately 10,000 baby blankets as gifts. And each one is cuter than the next. (Check out this beautiful one made by my sister. So lovely.) Our cup runneth over. But seeing as this is most likely my last baby (not to mention I spent a small fortune on the beautiful organic cotton yarn) I do plan on finishing it soon. Like before summer. Even if only in 5 minute increments between boob shifts.

Lady Luck Shine On Me

Dudes. Playing my Post-A-Lame-Sentence-So-That-I'm-Not-Disqualified-For-NaBloPoMo-Prizes card tonight. I don't want to miss my chance to win a free pound of See's candy. I got two words for you: Bridge Mix.

You Complete Me

Tonight I had a little time, due to a sleepy baby, to go down my blogroll. It's been awhile and, especially because of NaBloPoMo, I am hopelessly behind. Can I just say one thing though? There is a shite-load of incredibly good stories out there. Told by talented, gifted writers. Sometimes I try to imagine what my life would be like if I hadn't started this blog and gotten plunged into this culture. It's really hard to do but I always come to the same conclusion. It would be poorer. Drastically poorer. I am constantly amazed by the richness added to my life just by sitting down at the computer and reading and writing stories a couple times a week. Even when blogging feels like a nit-picking monkey swinging from my neck and I swear I am never going to blog again I still love the stories. I come back again and again and then feel compelled to sing out my own. This is just my little mash note to you, blogging friends and gentle readers. I love you guys.

Old Man Autumn

How To Mystify Your Jewish Husband

Let him catch you with tears streaming down your face at the end of "Elf."

The Best of Momku

Momku has been on a bit of a hiatus during NaBloPoMo because I have a finite amount of gray matter and it's being stretched to the limit as it is. In lieu of new material (and because it's late and I have to post so I can go to bed) here are some of my favorites from the last few months:

It's nice to be paid
In kisses but I'd prefer
Some legal tender

Ossified dead bird
Oh God no, no, no, don't touch
See? Bones, ske-le-ton

Took the kids and cleaned
The house while I slept. Someone's
Getting a blowjob

I screamed at you for
Throwing a fit. Glad you don't
Get irony yet

Another fluff piece
About "slacker moms." I'd get
Mad but, whatever

Impounded your phone 
And read your texts. OMG
UR in trouble

Dante's lost circles:
Plan Dinner; Cook Dinner
Clean After Dinner

Nobody pushes
"Natural Dentistry." Yes
Epidural please

Warm baby smell. Yum
Know now why mice eat their young
No impulse control

Oh Crap!

Wow. First night I almost forgot to post. That was close.

Survived the Thanksgiving-Birthday nexus. Lowell woke up at 6:45 and asked for his presents and cake. Explaining to a 3-year-old that he has to wait almost 12 hours until presents and cake was UN-fun. He tried his best logic on us ("But it's my birthday now!") but, alas, our cruel rule stood. He was able to open some presents though, because even our mettle is not that strong. (Just an aside, your kid's birthday is a really bad day to run out of AA batteries.) Our dinner was really, really good (especially since I had almost zero hand in the cooking of it). Even though I was a little nervous about hosting since we're not exactly at the top of our game these days everybody pitched in and we had a great time.  After dinner the birthday cake (actually birthday pie) was finally delivered. It was worth the wait. At least for me. Lowell was so happy and excited that I teared up, unexpectedly, while singing "Happy Birthday." I forgot what a joy birthdays can be. As long as they aren't mine.

 

Happy Birthday, Lowell! Happy Thanksgiving, Um, Everybody Else!

As mentioned yesterday, it's not just Thanksgiving around here today. It's also Lowell's third birthday. While not ideal timing, it sure made picking a theme for his party easy this year. (To the left are the party hats I made for the birthday pie celebration after Thanksgiving dinner. To answer your question, yes, I am insane, and no, I don't really get much sleep. But aren't they cute?)

I am so excited for you, Lowell. Three is the magic number and I can't wait to see how you grow this year. I love you with every ounce of my heart, my darling big boy.

The Frozen Turkey Cometh

After last year's turkey stock incident I have been very careful around the kitchen today. In fact I didn't even step foot in it except to get another Joe-Joe from the secret hiding place. I am not cooking at all this year save mashing up some potatoes right before dinner. I have been busy though because tomorrow is not just any Thanksgiving. It's also Lowell's third birthday. Although I have been thinking about the birthday and getting things ready it hadn't really hit me until I was making his birthday crown that he is actually turning three years old tomorrow. I can't believe it. Of course I can on some days, but mostly it seems like yesterday he was a newborn. It doesn't help that I am having constant flashbacks to his infancy because of Willa, but honestly, how do the years go so quickly when the days seem to last forever?

Hurricane Willa As Seen From Space