One Girls' Fantasy Is Another Girls' Dinner

A man must have coined the term "morning sickness". There is nothing "morning" about it. This thing I am experiencing would be more properly called, "Really &*%$ing sick, every #*$%ing minute of every $%&*ing day". Although, I guess that doesn't really have much of a ring to it.

In an interesting turn of events, I am famished along with nauseated. The body is capable of truly amazing things.

The only food item that sounds even close to palatable? Sushi. Pregnant women aren't supposed to eat sushi. Which means that I am reduced to dreaming about.

Christian Bale, sorry honey, it is over. From here on out all fantasies will feature only me, chopsticks and an order of spicy scallops.

The Day You Turned Two

Dear Margaret,

Today you turned two years old. Upon waking up, your daddy and I coronated you with a Sleeping Beauty crown. It is pink and made of plastic, glitter and ribbon. Absolutely tacky and absolutely perfect. I might steal it from you.

You don't really understand birthdays, but I have tried to make today special. You want to watch wonder pets? We watch it. You want chocolate? Oh look. I happen to have m&m's just waiting for you in my purse. Pizza? At ten thirty? Sure! Five Bagel Bites coming your way. As we watched the artificial cheese melt into the radioactive-red sauce, it occurred to me that very little about today is different than any other day. Welcome to your life. You are two years old and live everyday like it is your birthday.

As you slept off all that fake dairy and chocolate, I sat down and caught up on the news. Margaret, you are a toddler in a very adult world. The day you turned two, Eqypt was burning. Unemployment had risen and soup kitchens were overwhelmed. America's terror alert was at the highest it had been since 9/11. They called it "Code Really Really Red...Like Almost Scarlet...Seriously." Somali pirates captured a Greek super-tanker. A court convened on the murder case of a Bangledeshi girl. She was 14 and had been raped by her cousin. The village elders decided this made her unclean and sentenced her to one hundred lashes. She only lived to see eighty of them. The Republicans and Democrats continued to yell, too loud to hear the voices of people that needed them. A new study announced that french fries will, if they have not already done so, give you cancer. To add insult to injury, Adam Sandler had come out with, yet another, romantic comedy. (Tragedy can be relative. Why can't he just embrace the perfection of The Wedding Singer and cease all other efforts?)

Pushed the news away, and picked up your princess crown. It looks like it is made of frosting. The day you turned two, I decided not to despair that pink princess crowns exist in a world in which some 14 year olds don't get to grow up. There is darkness, but there is also light. Someday there will be just the blazing, glorious light. Until then, we will spread it the best we can.

The day you turned two, was the day I decided to make our home just like the world I wish you could live in. There will be bagel bites and story time and flowers. We will eat and drink love, charity and understanding.

And we will do it all bedecked in glitter, ribbons and crowns.

Happy Birthday, Darling.

Mama

Nine Months of Fridays

Ready for the weekend

It is Friday.

In a world in which I am not pregnant, Friday is generally a throw-your-hands-up-in-the-air day. The end of the week. A little behind on laundry. Maybe I haven't made my bed yet. Basically, I have already checked out in anticipation of a Saturday sleep in. Not chaos, but not perfect.

This Friday happens to be one of many pregnant Friday's to come. How to sum it up? This morning I made some oatmeal. All the bowls were dirty. So I ate the oatmeal...out of a serving bowl we received as a wedding gift. This particular receptacle is big enough to hold an army's worth of mashed potatos. It is also made of fine bone china.

Classy.

It all sounds a little Lindsay Lohan pre-rehab. I know.

Despite its ignominious beginning, I have high hopes for this weekend. There are about three hours out of every day that I feel both well and awake. I plan to fill them. There will be a date. We will purchase food storage. Maybe I will read. Maybe I will watch How to Steal a Million ...again. (seriously, Peter O'Toole. Yes. Please. Always.)

And dancing. There will be dancing.

When you wish upon a...

Constellations by Brian Kershisnik

After 5 days of visiting with Riley's lovely mama (more importantly known as Margaret's dear, dear Nana), today is a lazy day. The little girl and I had rice-a-roni for lunch, "mmmmm MOMMY! GOOD FOOD!", and M&M's for breakfast, snack and second lunch. She is sleeping and I am trying to stay awake.

Zuzu talks so much now. She is "HUNGRY!", "THE BABY IS HAPPY!", "GO ON!", "DADDY BACK!", "OH HUG. NICE!", and my personal favorite, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" (Said with a bewitching mix of desperation and toddler contempt. Really, quite fetching.) If it can be said in 7 words or less, Zuzu says it. Loudly.

Her favorite word, by far, is "STAR". Really, stars are her favorite...everything. The fascination began with the celestial bodies in the opening scene of Princess and the Frog. The star shines brightly, the heroine is introduced, hijinks and love follow. Obviously, those sparkly lights are harbingers of good things to come. Her love of all things "STAR!" quickly expanded to encompass US Bank billboards, the NFL logo, astronomy pictures on google image and the American flag.

For Margaret, there is no such thing as a simple drive across town. Every time we get in the car she taps into some primal hunter-gatherer aspect of her genetic history. The only difference between the girl and her hungry ancestors? She is not looking for berries or non-poisonous mushrooms, no, my daughter is looking for stars.

And she finds them. EVERYWHERE.

"STAR! MOMMY!"

"Yes, Margaret. Good job. There is a star on that flag."

"MOMMY! STAR!!!"

"What? Oh, I mean, yes. There is a star on that sign. Good girl."

"STAR. MOM. STAR!"

"Okay. Now you are just making things up, there is not a star....oh wait. Oh. Yes there is. The girl driving next to us. Has a star tattoo. On her neck. Um. Good job."

The thing is, Margaret sees stars everywhere, because they are, well, everywhere. It is like some vast right wing star lobby is working behind the scenes to keep us earth dwellers good and aware of our sky bound neighbors. (This seems a stretch, even for a conspiracy theorist like me. I mean, where is the profit?) Dismissing the cosmic cabal theory, one is left to assume that the rest of the world is as star centric as Margaret has become. Perhaps it is because we need to know there is something out there beyond just us, or maybe stars, are like, totally back in, because a Kardashian said it was so.

It doesn't really matter.

Margaret has felt the power of a symbol and what it represents. What a gift! Clear nights are heralded as miracles, as she points from, "STAR!" to "STAR!" to "STAR!".

A little thing. It has made my life better.

Once

Happy Ever After

This morning I am determined to find joy in my happily ever after. Joy in the laundry. Joy in the Life cereal stuck to the floor. Even Joy in calling the insurance company and yelling until they admit coverage of a procedure they have been denying.

Ok. Maybe there will be more joy if I don't yell. Just stern smiley talk.

I am alive. In love. Raising a baby and making another. If there is not cloud bursting happiness in that, what else is there?

Listening to the Once soundtrack is helping me on my way.

And Baby Makes....

Alright.

I am pregnant.

Barely. Just six tiny weeks.

I had this vague notion that I would keep quiet about it until I was further along. And then the joy of giving that grand announcement at 12 weeks,

"I have seen the stares. Gotten the subtle hints about skipping that third donut. Please, no more worries. There is a baby in here. It is making me eat that donut. Thanks for your concern. Now who has a brownie?"

It seems that I might not be great at keeping quiet. I am not born of a quiet tradition. My mom announced the new baby pi on facebook. I find myself telling strangers in the grocery store,

"I know my cart has nothing in it but cheddar potato chips and canned frosting. Don't worry, I am pregnant. This is totally normal."

Of course, I am in Utah, and the woman next to me in line had four children and an 18 inch waist. Sneaking suspicion she does not consider frosting dipped cheddar chips "normal".

I think the baby is a girl. Riley says boy. I told Margaret that I am making her a best friend. She thinks I am magical.

We are just eight months away from more mess, noise and love.

I cannot wait.

Cereal and Cinderella

Dear Margaret,

This morning you woke up begging for cereal and Cinderella. Lately, this is your favorite pairing. You prefer Life cereal, but will also tolerate Cheerio's.There is, however, no substitute for Cinderella. I understand your love. She is pretty, there are talking mice involved and she gets to wear a big beautiful dress.

Darling, You are only 23 months old and already your whole life is about a big dress and a happy ending. I am not sure that I could have prevented this. People can make a case about the socialization of genders, about misplaced priorities, about avoiding pink, prettiness and princesses. They seem to think that what you are can be avoided by the presence of a few unisex parenting techniques. They are all wrong, of course. You were born looking for a happy ending. Cinderella is just a manifestation of a dream you already have. I want you to know that it is alright to dream of the big dress and the big day and the prince that will meet you there. I will wish and hope and dream right along with you.

Just a little favor, for me? Don't bide time until the day you wear the big dress. There is so much to do. Know who you are. You are an eternal daughter of an eternal God. This connection is literal and your lovely soul holds within it a spark of the divine. Know your Savior.Understand your unique abilities. There is no one like you, and no one that can do what YOU can do. Develop your talents, strengthen your weaknesses. You were sent here to perform a great work. You must ready yourself. Have ambition. Get an education. This world is yours to know, understand and make better. Get dirty and make a few mistakes. Find the adventure in being you. Kiss a boy. Call me crying when he wasn't the right one. I promise to cry with you. Make the Word of God an integral part of who you are. Poetry and inspiration will follow. Understand it isn't a matter of who will have you, but rather, who deserves you.

And when you are ready, you will meet someone who is worthy of you, my little Margaret pi. He will be lovely and handsome. He will open doors for you and know your favorite flower. He will understand your dreams and put them before his own. You will be happy. You will kiss and dance and sing and love. You will wear that big dress on that big day and dance with your Prince. Don't worry. It isn't the happy ending of anything. It is a joyous beginning. A new start to the adventure you were born to have.

I have loved my happy beginning, my adventure in love, purple walls and burnt dinners. How could I not? You are a part of it.

Love,
Mama

Sleep In Saturday

Margaret woke up at 6:30 am this morning.

Seriously.

Someone should give her a prize. A blue ribbon for Saturday morning AWESOMENESS. I mean I am soooo proud of her. 6:30 wake up on a sleep in Saturday. What parent wouldn't be ecstatic? (I may have mumbled something like this when I was getting her out of bed because she keeps asking for a "boo ribbon?")

She will make it up to me today with extra cuddles and dance time. There is just no getting around it.

After setting the girl up with "FOOD!" and "MILK!", I stumbled into my bathroom to perform my morning ablutions. And there it was. My silly shower curtain that makes me silly happy. We bought it from Anthropologie years ago, before I realized money was really for things like groceries and the mortgage. It is the only item in the house that I air dry. (You know, I LOVE something when I launder it correctly.) Maybe it reminds me of a care free day, or the finer things in life...or maybe I just really like birds. Either way, it never fails.

Here's hoping your weekend is full of little things that you make you HAPPY!

(hmmm. I just read this and it appears that I love my shower curtain more than my child. Not true. It is just that the shower curtain never wakes me up before the sun rises.)

The lovely (albeit wrinkly) curtain.

PS. Help! My camera is broken so I have been taking pictures with my phone. Looking for a replacement. Any suggestions?

A Night Out

Last night was one of those nights.

Today has been one of those days.

I am uninspired and have eaten half a pan of cornbread. Which might not sound all that self destructive, until you take into account the way in which I eat the cornbread. First gobs of butter are applied. The cornbread is then broiled. More butter. Followed by a hive's fiscal year worth of honey.

It is excessive.

Riley wants to take me out tonight. Something about showing me a fun time so that I can forget my grumps. I say, why forget the grumps when you can wallow in them? I want to stay home. In sweats. And eat more cornbread.

In truth, going out will be fun. Once we get to the "out" part. It is what precedes the "out" that makes sweats look good.

I will have to do my hair....apparently, it is socially unacceptable to leave the house with it unbrushed.

I will have to pick out an outfit....which is depressing after all the cornbread.

I will have to actually leave the house, my grumps and the afore-mentioned cornbread.

This seems like a lot to ask of a girl.

I know that Riley would stay home in sweats with me. We would put Margaret to bed, turn on Psych re-runs and eat something that can claim both sugar and chemical as equal ingredients. That is what husbands do, and heaven knows he has done it before. It really doesn't sound too bad.

It occurs to me though, that tonight my husband is asking me to be his girlfriend. Maybe that is what wives do.

Guess I better go get a brush for my hair.

Three things I like...

About my room RIGHT now.

Riley wrote this to me on the door leading out of our room.
Yeah. He loves his meggi (3.14) pie.

Cards from a heated game of "idiot" last night.

I won. Twice.

Sitting. On a vanity. Topless.

Naturally.