Sunday, February 27, 2011


I'm excited about gardening this spring.

I've ordered my seeds and plan to start them indoors.

Here's what I have, so far:

Tumbling Tom Tomatoes
Patio Tomatoes
Patio Bell Peppers
Large Leaf Basil
Winterbor and Purple Kale

Here's my plan:

The biggest, sunniest plot is in the upper left corner of my diagram. That's where I'm going to plant Kale and Lettuce and Spinach.

The upper right corner and the west side of the house are shady areas, so I'll try some lettuce and spinach, but I won't expect much.

Basil will go in the window box off of our side porch and I've gotten types of tomatoes and peppers that will grow in containers, so that I can keep them on the sunny side porch and not have to worry about fencing them off to keep deer and bunnies away.

There's a plot that runs along the front of our house that I've edged and mulched. I think that I want to sprinkle some wildflower seeds and plant a few sunflowers in the corners.

Also, I'll try some of the Tumbling Tom cherry tomatoes in hanging baskets on the front porch. I'm hesitant to plant anything edible at the front of the house because it will all get covered in soot from the traffic and that grosses me out. But still, won't T H E S E be pretty in hanging baskets?

I feel so connected to and excited about this process. I just can't wait for it to get warm! My biggest challenge will be keeping deer and rabbits out of my plants. Do you have any strategies for keeping pests away?

Friday, February 25, 2011

Newborn babies and something about death...

I had the absolute pleasure of holding a friend's newborn baby this week. It felt good. I mean, really really good. But, not quite good enough to make me forget life six months ago, when Louisey was 5 weeks old. C-sections and sleeplessness. I don't quite know for sure that I definitely don't want another one, but I know... Not yet.

Louise slept for the first 3 weeks of her life. 20-21 hours a day. She slept so much that I actually called the doctor's office, convinced that something was wrong with her, because there was just no way that I finally had two children and it was this easy. But then, she boinged to life and even lived up to her big sister's reputation for being a terrifyingly demanding baby. Although, she wasn't really demanding anything, I guess. She just cried a lot. All the time. Inconsolably. For hours.

Doctors don't really know why some babies are colicky. They think maybe it's related to digestion or over-stimulation. All they can really tell you with any degree of certainty is that they'll grow out of it by the time they're 3 or 4 months old. Both of my babies screamed for at least 3 hours every day, red-faced and tightened up with little muscled fists. The worst time for them was always nightfall. I would cook something nice for dinner, and we would sit at the table together in the fading daylight, pretending to enjoy ourselves for the sake of my fragile domestic sanity, while the baby screamed and screamed in the swing next to us.

They're wondrous, newborns. Doctors say they're not sure why babies cry like that, but I'm pretty sure I am.

I watched my grandmother dying this winter. She had breast cancer that eventually settled into her brain, and she just slowly became less and less like a person inhabiting a body. At first, she spent almost all of her time here, with us on earth, and over the course of a few months, she slowly existed more and more in the place people go when they die. At the end of her life, she slept almost all day. Long stretches of sleeping, punctuated by waking moments of serenity where she would stare through the world with faraway eyes. And sometimes she woke up in a panic, unsure of where she was or what was happening. She would cry like a child and she craved simple things, like ice cream and sunlight on the back porch steps.

Seeing somebody die made me a better mommy to my second newborn daughter.

When Scouty was born, I went from being a fuckup junky kid with nowhere to be, to being the keeper and protector of a little, perfect life. I was just a jerk, but then suddenly, I was mommy... and newborn babies scared the shit out of me. Scouty slept a lot, too. But when she was awake, she was crying. I even remember asking my mother at one point, "Is there ever a time when babies are awake and not crying?" She told me, "That's what we're aiming for."

Scouty wanted to nurse all of the time, and she would cry and cry when I ran out of milk too soon. She cried when I bathed her, dressed her, lay her down in her crib. She cried if I had to shower or use the bathroom. She cried in the car seat, when I swaddled her and when I didn't. I didn't realize that this is just what babies do. Any time you move them or jostle them or leave them for a moment, they cry. I didn't know that it wasn't actually scary.

I think of this "crying all the time phase" as the period where my babies crossed over from being in the place people are before they're born, to being fully here. Of this world. In the place where people are when they're alive.

By the time Louise was born, I had already been through having a baby, once... and I'd also watched my grandmother sleeping 20 hours of every 24. I saw her plucking at the fabric of her bedding. I saw how she looked through me unless somebody startled her back into being. If you wanted her to really see you, you had to yell her name, "Grace!" She would blink into existence for a moment and say hello and smile, then slowly drift back into the place between worlds.

I really believe and understand that both of my daughters knew what it was like to be dead, when they were born. When they slept and slept, and opened their eyes to see the world as being different than I did, because I've been alive for long enough to forget what it was like before I lived. Both of my daughters were so small and new and soft and sleepy, and they remembered what it was like to not exist, yet.

Over the first few weeks of their lives, they plucked and stretched and peered their way into themselves, into their places in the world. They slowly stopped existing in that other realm and became a part of this one. They woke up. Came alive. And oh baby, did they let me know it!

Why wouldn't a new little person cry and cry and cry, given that they used to not be born, and now they were awake for longer and longer periods of time in a place where everything was new and shining and relentless? Where sounds and light and sensations, most of them beautiful and some of them terrible, just wouldn't go away. Where every time they weren't sleeping they were somewhere unfamiliar. Only, the world wasn't only unfamiliar, it was their entire existence exploding into being! Why wouldn't they cry, especially in the evenings, after waking softly and holding it together for hours and hours, until it started to get dark and the world closed up shop and everybody huddled up under a ceiling and said sleep now, darling. Just close your eyes and shut out the world and its wonders and sleep.

I'd flip my shit, too.

Little babies are so still and wise and perfect, but they're only that way for such a very short time. Well, they're our kids. They're always perfect. They become like us, though. Like people who are alive... and they quickly get hungry and wild for being and its captivating sensations. If they're lucky, (like they all should be,) they learn quickly that being alive means being surrounded by color and light and wrapped up in love. Everything they do is new, and it's wonderful and magical and most of all, worthwhile. Most of them don't even want to sleep, once they really wake up, and I don't blame them.

I believe that when babies are born, they're smarter than we are. They know something that we don't know. They know that we don't have to be afraid to not exist.

My friend's gorgeous, wise, perfect little guy at 5 weeks old.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Nap Time

It's 2 in the afternoon and Scouty is home sick from school. I feel like I've been moving around all day, doing stuff... but nothing seems to be getting done, so I give up on being productive. We've all just been laying on our bellies on the living room floor listening to Rilo Kiley. Scouty is coloring in a Buzz Lightyear coloring book. Louisey is putting my old cell phone into her mouth, taking it out and looking at it, and inserting it again. I'm leafing through recipe books from the library, looking for future meals.

It totally hits me that I feel completely at ease and even happy, in this moment. Just doing nothing. No plans to go anywhere. Me and my girls.

But then Louisey starts rubbing her eyes. And then Scouty is yawning. Louise fusses for a moment over nothing. Scouty lays her head down on her outstretched arm to color. And I'm thinking... no. way! I am going to get a nap time out of both of them. At the same time even.

Remember how I decided that I was totally at ease and happy with my girls? Well, I'd be a lot MORE at ease and happy sitting in our recliner under a blanket reading a book WITHOUT my girls. I spring into action, getting Scouty settled into my giant bed with the tiny dvd player showing The Spongebob Movie for the millionth time this month. I feed louisey and nestle her gently into her crib. I close both bedroom doors and take a deep breath and do a sexy little dance with my butt sticking out for emphasis on the pile of laundry in the upstairs hallway.

Oh yeah.

I try not to expect these moments, or to long for them or even to acknowledge they exist. I don't want to spend my daughters' lives just waiting for them to go to sleep so that I can do what I want to do. What I want to do is be an amazing mommy. I want to make their days fun and exciting and full of new experiences. I want to make them laugh and feed them healthy lunches and allow them to watch 2 episodes of Adventure Time in a row just because I like it, too.

If you live your life thinking, "Every day at 2 o'clock is naptime..." Then you spend all morning trying to make time speed up, and then all nap time trying to make time slow down, so that you almost resent your sweet, gorgeous babies just because they want to wake up and be alive. That's not fair. I don't live for nap time. I live for them.

And another plus to this attitude is that when I actually get a for real, both girls sleeping, double napper nap time, (which really doesn't EVER happen) it's like a little mini holiday in the quiet, quiet, all mine downstairs.

Cheaty swimming

It's not spring anymore in Pittsburgh. It was gorgeous and then, all of a sudden it was back to sucking. We had a snow day yesterday and didn't leave the house ALL DAY. So, I cheated.

I called the new, amazing family fitness center in Upper St. Clair and told them that we were interested in buying a membership, but that we wanted to try out the facility first. In reality, a 107$/month gym membership is the last thing we're looking to buy. Especially since I already have a membership to a gym I love and is exactly 1 minute away from my house. Especially especially since I've had a moment of enlightenment about how I'm an idiot about money and buying stuff and that spending less and having less stuff makes me feel seriously awesome.

So, I just lied so that we could use their pool. Their outrageous indoor poor which is zero entry kid friend. And has a giant whirlpool hot tub that totally made me feel like it was July for a minute.

We did have to pay 12$ per person for our one time pass. Even though it was so not in my zen simple spending plan, it was so totally worth it.


Awesome, right?


Louisey's first swim!


Monday, February 21, 2011

Unleashing my inner relaxer

Here's what I did with my mommy sunday:


-read naked in bed with the electric blanket on high until I dozed off and half slept/half listened to Elliott Smith on headphones.

-strength trained and did yoga.

-lit candles and spent an hour copying recipes into my new recipe book.

-Baked a cocoa banana oat bread that turned out amazing. (And ate way too much of it.)

-Pretended to be Jenny Lewis and sang my heart out to the darkening night in my underwear.

-Looked through seed catalogs online and researched growing Kale, which seems like it's going to be easy.

-Went to a book store and bought The Average American Male by Chad Kultgen. Disgustingly guilty reading.

-Went to the library and checked out vegan cookbooks and Room by Emma Donoghue.

-Went to gym and rode the recumbent bike and read at the same time. Oh yeah. I totally phoned it in and loved it.

Scouty took this picture of me.
It's me alright, with the little finger of god pointing me out.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Day off...

Kurt takes the girls on Sunday and leaves me with the whole day to myself. I'm trying to reevaluate the way I see these "days off." I've even decided it's a mistake to view my sundays as a day off from my regular life.

Becoming a mommy is confusing. When you first have a baby your consciousness explodes and you realize all of these things about the world and the way people live. You come to terms with so much about yourself and your past and the way you've been loved, or not loved, in your lifetime. You also realize very quickly that being a parent is NOT what you expected it to be. It's scarier and harder and more torturous than you ever dreamed something could be. It's absolutely relentless, and you had plans to get back to your regular life when you were done being pregnant. The thing is, it's also more delightful, more worthwhile, more rich and enlightening and joyful than you ever dreamed it would be, too. All of those good things don't add up to it being easy, though. Perfect and totally worthwhile, but never easy.

I think that's why so many new mommies latch on to labels and are almost self-righteous about their parenting choices. They need to be good. They are not one of the bad mommies because, see? Their child is big and well fed and wears cloth and meets all of her milestones early. They are sure their babies are okay and happy because they are not going to do anything wrong as parents, ever. It's a reaction to the sudden insecurity you feel when you realize that you've made an enormous decision that you had NO way of preparing for and you're not really sure you're good enough and strong enough for.

It's also a lot of pressure to put on yourself. But we somehow feel that putting pressure on ourselves is just part of it. Just part of being a good mom.

By the time your baby is getting bigger and you're having subsequent children, I think that the "good mommies" kind of burn themselves out being perfect, and we start to realize our children are fine and happy because we love them and we feed them and we keep them safe, but mostly just because we love them, (oh and also because we've rid our homes of refined flour and genetically modified foods.) It starts to matter less whether they should be pronouncing their "L's" correctly by now or clapping their hands on cue. The biggest thing about getting older as a parent, though, is that you realize how much you don't know.

In the beginning, you don't want to admit that you don't know every(any)thing, so you focus on what you DO know. Research on breastfeeding and co-sleeping and baby wearing and diaper washing. Still your baby wants to eat all the time and won't sleep and your back is killing you from lugging her everywhere you go. Over time, I put my kids down and used the stroller because being free of back pain was also important. That doesn't suddenly make me a bad mom, that I don't feel like wearing Louise when I can stroll her. And she's no less bright or happy for it. Although, she did roll over late.

I've only been doing this for 4 years, and I've learned so much. The biggest thing I've learned is that I don't know every(any)thing about being a parent. My kids will keep growing and changing, and I'll keep chasing after a (totally organic cotton, washed in Rockin Green detergent) dream for them, but really I'll just be holding on to them, squeezing their little palms in mine while we figure things out together.

It's a lot of pressure, at it's nature, loving our kids. That's why I try so hard to take all the self-imposed kind off of me.

By way of keeping an emergency at bay, the kind where I crack and call Kurt at work, asking if he could come home early because the sun is shining and I just remembered what it felt like to be able to walk in the woods, to be alone. I just got a kick to my guts because there was a breeze and I could almost feel the way a warm afternoon used to feel, where I would disappear under the leaves and become made of moss. Where I would stick myself and drift above my body. And oh darling, could you please come home because I think it's an emergency and I'm not sure I can bear to go on like this another second. I'm not sure I can bear the idea of blotting a spilled cup of milk out of our stained carpet or wiping strawberry jelly from the sole of my foot. I'm not sure I can handle it the next time the still sunlit air is scattered by our baby's cry.

I'm not ungrateful. I love my children and I see them for the absolute diamonds they are. I care for them with an absolute blind abandon and a fiery passion. So also, when I am never alone and too much time goes by that way, I break.

Sundays have been worked into our lives as a Mommy Day. Kurt and the girls get up and get ready without me. I lay in bed, settling into the pocket of warmth my husband left behind, half dreaming of a decadent breakfast and other sexy things, Iggy's gold pants, Elliott Smith wanting to run away with me and be hopeless junky kids, Jenny's unbelievable... everything, until my girls stop in to squish me and crawl over me and pull me away from my dreaming to sweetly kiss me goodbye.

Now, usually, I would jump out of bed as soon as they were gone. Check my email. Make a mental list of chores and errands I could complete with all of my stolen free time. With my "day off." I would feel guilty after a determined amount of relaxing and, around 11 or noon, I would start getting things done.

But then, I asked myself what I dream about being able to do in those emergency moments where I realize I've been perfect and on call and in love with everybody but me for too long. What do I dream about having the freedom to do, when my nerves are frazzled from being a really good mom? I certainly don't dream about running the vacuum and going to the grocery store.

I dream about luxuriating in bed, reading novels naked under the electric blanket or spending hours in a book store. I fantasize about baking and making lonely slow recipes, about asian markets and bulk spices. I dream about wearing mascara and wandering the streets. About getting my hands and feet dirty. About bodies of water and empty dirt trails. I dream about being far away from everything, to be let down from duty, to have the opportunity to spend the day not thinking or worrying or keeping tabs on anything. I dream about the freedom to waste my time, if I want to, and to use it in selfish ways if I want to.

These sundays are not a removed chunk of time from the rest of my life. They are not a day off from my life. They are a part of my life, and maybe, if I live like I am free on one day of the week, I'll be able to feel a little bit of that freedom the rest of the time, too. Maybe I'll be able to bring more of that freedom to the lives of my kids, to our time together. So, here's to just another day in my life. I have no idea how I'll use it. I have nowhere to be and I'm responsible for nobody and that's not something I'm prepared to feel guilty about. So, watch out.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Adventures of Scooter Girl and Cheeseman

First of all...

This is a 4 year old look, at least.

Today was good scooter riding weather, so we met daddy on The Montour Trail on his lunch break before Scooter Girl had to be at school.

Scouty Pop, breakin all the rules.

Cheeseman was there, too! (Is it weird that we call our 6 month old daughter "the cheeseman?" haha. It started as Cheesy Louisey, and then Cheesy, then Cheesemeister and now this sweet, beautiful little baby girl is called The Cheeseman. Poor darling. She didn't ask to be born into this mess.)

Mommy and...


There she goes!

The whole time Scouty is on her scooter, you can hear her singing an adventure song under her breath. It's her personal scootering soundtrack. "Scooter Girl is coming to save the day! Get out of her way! She scooters over monsters and punches them!"

Go go go!

Mommy did it...

We went grocery shopping yesterday. I was very frugal and determined to stick to our list. We had car trouble earlier in the week and had to spend a sickening amount of money to fix it. So yeah. I left the store, with both girls piled into the shopping cart, feeling proud of myself and my budgeting abilities.

And then I loaded my perfectly portioned groceries into the trunk of the car and closed the lid, locking my keys and phone in with them.

I just looked down at my two sweet little pea faces, snuggled up together in the unseasonable 35 degree sunlight and said, "Okay. We have a mission." I didn't lose it. I didn't swear or tell Scouty to stop talking for a second while I rubbed my temples. I just paused for a moment to warm up in the fat yellow sun.

We used the store phone to call for help and then spent about an hour in the parking lot. There aren't a whole lot of things to do for fun in the parking lot of a grocery store, but we managed. Scouty was singing a song that went, "Get up now and go go! Go go! Do the milk dance!" to Louisey, and baby sissie was laughing and laughing. Big huge belly baby laughs that were infectious. So I was doubled over the handle of the shopping cart joining in on the Milk Dance song, so that Louise would crack up and then we would all crack up.

That was us for a whole, entire, hour. Scouty singing at the top of her lungs with Louisey laughing like a little fat man and mommy laughing like well... a little fat woman. People were stopping to watch us for a minute, and smiling and telling me how adorable they were. I thought, "Oh wait! I have my new camera in the diaper bag in the front seat of the car. I need to take a video of this!" Tried the door handle. Nope. Still locked.

Eventually, a tow truck man came to help us and we followed him to the garage to pay. Remember all of my careful budgeting and spending? Those jerks charged me 50 bucks to unlock my door, but I was so grateful to see them and to be back into my car that I wanted to kiss them as I handed over my money.

At the garage, Scouty was asking the mechanics to smell the tires that were stacked up in the corner. "Try one," she said to a passing 20 year old man covered in grease. "They stink!" She also made it a point to tell everybody, "My mom made a bad mistake and we couldn't drive our car. Mommy did it."

I made a resolution for this month to try not to Lose It. To stay calm in the face of being annoyed beyond all possible levels of tolerance. I give myself a big check mark for yesterday. The whole thing even ended up being kind of sweet.

My girls make life sweet.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Way Back...

I found a bunch of old pictures of me from my 20-something, gigantic hair, out of control mess of a life, but never ever being dull, honey, never, days. (Prepare to have your pants rocked off, because this time of my life was just THAT sexy. haha.)

Two things:

I've never given up my inner Iggy, even now, waiting for the laundry to be finished so that I can go to the gym in pants that don't have baby puke on them. You better believe that I'll be listening to Raw Power on the treadmill and having a 30 minute daydream about junk and glitter.

Also: Why wasn't every male within a 100 mile radius beating down my door, trying to have sex with me when I walked around looking like this? Hot DAMN. haha.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Virgin Harvester


I'm so excited about trying to grow a garden this year. I was too pregnant last year, so I read some gardening books, and after having a baby and healing, I spent this fall preparing the ground. Hopefully I did everything right. Is there really totally a "right"? I double dug the ground and weeded and laid down mulch, so now I just have to wait for winter to be over.

Why don't you grow something this year, too?

Herbs in a flower pot or a tomato plant or a garden full of food? Head over to Dig This Chick and pledge to be a Virgin Harvester, too! (Even if you don't feel like gardening, her blog is amazing.)

All I really want out of this season is to grow some Kale and Tomatoes. And I want some wildflowers in front of the house. (Oh gosh, wouldn't an actual tomato be out of control delicious right now?) I hear that Kale is fairly easy to grow, or at least hard to kill and it's my favorite food, I think... so cross your fingers for me!

Do you have any gardening tips to pass on to a novice?

I'm crossing my fingers that I'll get a composting bin for Valentine's Day! haha. No really.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Thank goodness for diaper covers...

We're a cloth diapering family. I don't really care if you know that about me, or not. Like, so many women say, "I'm a cloth diapering, baby wearing, breastfeeding, co-sleeping mama," or whatever. I don't really care for the idea that my diapering status should inform you about who I am. I'm a person and I live in the regular world and I happen to be a mindblowingly awesome mom. I bottle feed, by the way. I have a good reason, but I don't feel compelled to pass it on to you. And my 3 year old eats candy and watches tv.

Anyway, we're a cloth diapering family mainly because I am a supremely cheap mama. I'm comfortable with that label. "Hi, I'm a cheap mama." That's me.

So, we use BumGenius and Fuzzibunz, mostly. I have a few stray diapers of different brands floating around, and a few covers that I never used, until recently. Until I started coming down with cold after cold and my children started coming down with cold after cold, and my three year old is a miserable little darling with sad, tired eyes and my 6 month old baby has totally morphed into a yelly little tyrant that is determined to keep me from completing a single REM cycle at night. I've been lazy about washing diapers, and today, I actually used some prefolds for their intended diapering purpose instead of just mopping baby barf off of my shoulder with them. When I ran out of prefolds and remembered that I had only managed to finish SOAKING the diapers, I improvised.

I picked up some sweet little 0-3 month onesies out of our growing and toppling, well-intentioned "donate pile" that won't actually make it off of Louisey's floor until I just FLIP OUT one day and act like I'm suddenly APPALLED at the state of things... anyway I stuffed a few onesies into a Thirsties cover and strapped the makeshift sucker on. We even left the house and ran some errands and nobody was any the wiser.

Have I mentioned that we're all sick and my husband is at a Penguins Game tonight? So I ordered a pizza. (Sue me, please.) Scouty and I ate the pizza in the upstairs hallway after giving Louise a bath. But, we didn't have any napkins. And there was that pile of little outgrown onesies.

All I am saying is: Don't be surprised if I invite you over for lunch or dinner and we end up eating refined flour and chemicals on the floor outside of the bathroom and then I hand you a onesie to use as a napkin and I have a towel loosely wrapped around my baby in lieu of a diaper.

Oh god. That won't really happen, I swear. If I invite you over for a meal, I promise that your food will be wholesome and will have never come near a bathroom and that nobody will have ever worn your napkin, especially not anybody who pees their pants a thousand times a day. (I can't make those kind of lofty promises about Louisey's diaper situation, though.) Does my family read this? I can just hear the sound of my parents-in-law fainting at the thought of their grandchildren being raised by such an ass. We're really a totally viable household. I promise, mom.

Mostly, a big THANK YOU to Meg at Thumbsuckersthumbs for sending a package full of reusable wipes and a bottle of Thirsties bum spray. We got it in the mail today and it was such a nice surprise!

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Cleaning house

I am going through the glorious process of throwing all of our shit away. It has been amazing so far.

Our house is too small for all the STUFF we have. I'm tired of tripping over baby toys and stubbing my toe on the giant package of 50 thousand rolls of toilet paper just sitting in the upstairs hallway. I think I even admit to going a little bit crazy, starting around christmas when I sneaked into Scouty's closet and threw away any loose toy parts that weren't immediately accounted for... and culminating here. I'm freecycling everything anybody could possibly be interested in taking and donating and trashing the rest. I want space.

Every time I enter the house, I think... What should I get rid of, now?

I even threw away one of our dining room chairs that was just begging to explode under my huge butt and humiliate me. I may have gone off the deep end because I'm thinking about buying more hangers for the second bar in our closet and then setting our beaten up, missing handles, painted over and over again dresser on the curb to be taken away. (My only issue is, then where would we put our underwear?)

I feel totally freed by a new understanding of how much I seriously don't need. If we had a huge house with plenty of room, it wouldn't make any sense to waste livable space by having tons of clutter and superfluous possessions. Since we don't have a huge house with plenty of room, it makes SUPER no sense to be wasting space and storage. So, who's with me for an early spring cleaning?

Cleaning house has almost made the notion of staying at home all day seem quaint and kind of cozy.

But not quite.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Winter Adventure Time.

I've been trying to have a brave approach to winter, this year. I think it might even be working. Any time it's sunny and/or above 30 degrees, we've been bundling up and getting outside to play. It's been fun and cold and rainy and we're all laughing and coughing at the same time, but it's been fun.

One day after school, we went to the game preserve at South Park and saw some buffalo on the hillside. We even got chased by a big, scary goose and about 50 million ducks. (Which, by the way, Feather was a total chicken about.)

We made a sad, tiny snowman who totally blasted me back in time to when I was a kid. We would make tiny snowmen everywhere, on the front stoop, on the hood of the car, and wait to see how long they could keep themselves alive.

Hello. The answer is... I stayed alive for three whole days, even after I lost my eye and mouth.

So. Cute.

On Friday, we ventured down to the strip district and had green juice at Right By Nature and then walked in the cold sun to the new Public Market. The market is adorable. I had some hand blended Rooibos from a tea shop, and a pumpkin brownie from Quiet Storm, and Scouty had hot chocolate and a huge homemade chocolate marshmallow. Homemade marshmallows are so fun and cute. I wish they weren't made with gelatin because they so totally delight my senses.

Oh! Something else that was part of a fun outdoorsy adventure! I picked Scouty up from school and she was wearing her snow pants, so we decided to head to the park instead of going home. Even though I had to pee. And have a notorious case of incontinence. (Thank you, pregnancy. I also have a hemorrhoid, if you're curious.) So there is a port-a-potty at the playground in warm weather. We chanced it and hoped it would still be there. Which, it wasn't.

After getting both girls out of the car, wrestling the double stroller out of the trunk, wrapping Louisey up in a blanket and buckling her in, strolling through snow and ice and making it to the actual playground, I was seriously going to pee my pants. So, guess what I did, instead of abandoning our plan and severely disappointing my 3 year old, strolling back over the ice to unpack the girls and repack the girls and the stroller and drive to a bathroom? I said, "Hold on a second," and I hiked up my skirt and down my tights and ducked behind the slide and peed on the ground! In the middle of a perfectly viable city neighborhood!

This is what being a mom has brought me to.

And you know what? I kinda liked it. It kinda reminded me of camping or walking home from the bar in college.

Scouty just came up to me and told me the funniest joke I've ever heard, (next to Pinky and the Brain's What's brown and sticky? A stick!). She said, "Do you know what kind of a face a fish has? A butt!"

Friday, February 4, 2011

Little cool girl.


Scouty told me that when she grows up she either wants to be a rockstar or a Steeler.