Monday, October 10, 2011

Excuses, Experiences, Words, Prayers

Has it really been 2 months since I wrote something on here?  My apologies.
It's just that SO MUCH is happening lately.  Sure, I want to document it and write funny, interesting, memorable stuff about it.  But even more than that, I want to LIVE it.  To be fully present and experience everything that right now has to offer. 

So there's my excuse.  But rest assured that despite my lack of words, this stage of my our life is totally blowing my mind.  And I mean that in the most mind-blowing way.

In the mean time, I've been meaning to post this.  It pretty well sums up the OMG-I'm-about-to-be-a-real-live-mother-of-a-real-live-daughter anxiety that I feel.  Thank you Tina Fey for writing this:

The Mother's Prayer for Its Daughter

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered,
May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.
Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen.
Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long,
for Childhood is short — a Tiger Flower blooming magenta for one day –
and Adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the internet forever,
that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers
and the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a bitch in front of Hollister,
Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,
for I will not have that shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord,
That I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck.
“My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. And she will forget.
But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Head Case

Dear Baby Stewzie,

I'll probably take some flack for what I'm about to say to you.  I may even offend some people.  Wouldn't be the first time.  Probably won't be the last.  But there is something I feel pretty strongly about, so I'm just going to go ahead and say it to you.

I promise I will never, EVER make you wear anything like this:

If your head gets chilly, I will outfit you in a warm hat.  If your hair gets in your eyes, I will get you a haircut.  However, call me crazy, but I'm 100% certain that you will be adorable and will not require the application of any type of restricting, hubcap-sized, faux floral headgear to enhance that adorableness. 

You'll thank me one day.


Wednesday, July 13, 2011

A Word from our Sponsor...

He'd like to take this opportunity to remind everyone who the real baby of the family is.  He's not jealous AT ALL.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Baby You're a Firework

It all started out as a sarcastic comment made by my husband. Isn't that always how it starts out?

We were talking about how we wanted to find out this baby's gender. I knew for sure I wanted it to be something memorable. Something meaningful. Something original. "Gender reveal" parties are increasingly common, and while I think the whole "cut the cake to see if the icing is pink or blue" idea is great, it's getting a little overused.

So, we're sitting around one evening tossing around ideas. The ultrasound was scheduled for June 23, a little more than a week before July 4th weekend. Stew blurts out "maybe we should just shoot some fireworks and when they explode pink or blue, that's how we'll find out?"

Of course, my brain started spinning with creative ideas. We could invite all our family and close friends, do a July 4th theme, complete with red & blue fireworks, and BAM! (no pun intended) we have the perfect gender reveal party. I even knew the perfect date for the party. July 3rd is the anniversary of the day we started dating (way back in 1998). What better way to celebrate? After several weeks, I successfully convinced Stew (Sure we can fit 70 people in our house! 27 year old a/c system? No problem!), then began taking steps to turn his sarcastic comment into a reality.

At the ultrasound, we turned our heads as they scanned "the area," then had the doctor write down the baby's gender, print a picture of "the area," and put everything in a tightly sealed envelope. We asked Stew's best friend Eric if he would do the honor of secretly reading the envelope contents at the party and then shooting the corresponding firework. He agreed. Then we waited until the local firework stands opened up and purchased red fireworks and blue fireworks. We did a test run a few days before the party to make sure the fireworks had the right effect. We forgot to tell my elderly neighbor we were testing the fireworks. Needless to say it was pretty funny when he ran outside at 9 pm, pistol in hand, thinking the explosion was signaling the end of the world.

I won't go into detail about the million things that threatened to ruin this party (3 hour power outage the day of the party, anyone?) but I will say that thanks to the neverending stream of help from our incredible family and friends, this party turned out to be more perfect than we could ever have imagined. Baby Stewzie, you are surely loved by everyone already.

Here are just a few of the photos from the party. Photo credits: My super-talented brother Tim.
You can find him @

Team Boy: (the majority)

Team Girl: (the minority)

Team undecided: We wore black in honor of the power outage.

Red fireworks or Blue fireworks?
After much anticipation and suspense, Eric lit the fuse. Aaaand...
It's a GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We were shocked! Stew was convinced it was a boy.

Big brother Austin was surprised too:

This was by far THE BEST surprise of our lives. I seriously watch this video multiple times a day and I still get chills.
Baby GIRL,
We are so excited for you to be our daughter.
Mama and Daddy

Wednesday, July 6, 2011


Baby Austin, 2001

Grown-up Austin, 2011

Dear Austin,

Happy TENTH Birthday! It's been a good year for you so far, I mean besides this and the other time where you almost bled to death from a toenail (claw) cutting session gone awry (your father's fault). The 765,408 bloody pawprint stains on our carpet are a nice complement to the vomit stains, however. Adds character.

This year you're going to be a big brother. In fact you were the first person soul I told that little secret to. Should be quite an adjustment for you, as ANYTHING new or different is an adjustment for you. If I move your food bowl 3 inches to the left, your whole world is thrown off its axis. Having a baby around your house 24/7 will surely confuse you to no end, but I'm confident you'll do ok eventually. You always do.

Tonight, we celebrate you. I'll even let you drink out of the toilet as much as you please.



Thursday, June 23, 2011

Boy or Girl?

Okay y'all, I promise I'm in the process of creating a post with actual words and pictures that'll catch you (and me?) up with everything that's been happening in Stewzie-ville lately. So much!

In the mean time, guess what? Today's the "big" ultrasound day! As in, the one where they determine this baby's gender! Just to be clear, we won't actually be finding out the gender today - we're having the ultrasound tech write it down in a very well-sealed envelope, to be opened at a later date (more on this soon). This way, we can be surprised in a setting much more pleasant than a hospital exam room. I mean, who likes hospital exam rooms? You? Well, you're weird.

So, for fun, look over at the right side of your screen. See that gender poll? Feel like making a guess? Go for it. I'm curious to see what everyone thinks. For the record, no, I have no intuition about the gender. And honestly I don't really have a preference. Just as long as it grows up, gets a job and makes enough to fund Mama & Daddy's retirement is healthy.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

What goes down must come up

Dear Baby Stewzie,

Today is a good day. Wanna know why? I have now gone an entire week without puking. Thank you for easing up on me. Your mama is not a very pleasant puker to be around. Just ask your father. Or maybe just take my word for it. Want to know the coolest thing I puked over the span of the last 3 months of multiple daily pukes? No? Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. Why? Because I'm your mother, that's why. Chewy Sweet Tarts. It looked like tie-dyed puke. A work of abstract art, if you will. I apologize if those last few sentences embarrass you some day. I have a way of using sentences to embarrass people I love. Just ask your father. Or maybe just take my word for it.

So now that I have moved on from using every ounce of energy I have to keep from vomiting up my spleen, I plan to use all that leftover energy to do something productive. Like napping writing embarrassing sentences to you. I never would have thought that 3 months of nonstop nausea would be the most awesome 3 months of my life, but they have been. Did I mention the time I barfed in the drive-thru of Krispy Kreme? Yeah, that was fun. Not the part where I had to apologize to the cashier who witnessed me in action, but the part where I knew that all of this unwanted barfing was happening because YOU. ARE. REAL.