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.


Tuesday, May 3, 2011

These are days

Dear Baby Stewzie,

Today is May 3rd, your mama's birthday. I mention this only because it was around this time last year that I heard the words to this song and wondered if I would ever get the chance to experience them.

These are days you'll remember.
Never before and never since,
I promise, will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.

Would I ever feel lucky? Would there ever be a you to grow and bloom inside me?

These are days you'll remember.
When May is rushing over you with desire to be part of the miracles you see in every hour.
You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.

Would my desire for a miracle be enough? Would another May come and go without the blessing of you?

These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.
And when you do you'll know how it was meant to be.
See the signs and know their meaning.
It's true, you'll know how it was meant to be.
Hear the signs and know they're speaking to you, to you.

This May 3rd, a year later, I know it's true. Meant to be. So many signs. I see them. I hear them. I see you. I hear you. I am blessed and lucky.

Today I feel the light and laughter you are already bringing into my life. These are truly days I will remember.

I can't wait to meet you on your birthday.



Friday, April 29, 2011


Stew = Spearmint (thus the green teeth)
Suzie = Black Cherry
Snoball Stand = Juju's in River Ridge

Small snoball = $1.25
Condensed milk = $.50 extra
Knowing that THREE people are enjoying a snoball in this photo = PRICELESS

Monday, April 25, 2011

Second Line

second line (n), is also the name of a "unique dance", performed to the beat of New Orleans’ traditional jazz…The second line's style of traditional dance, in which participants walk and sometimes twirl a parasol or handkerchief in the air, is called "second lining." It has been called "the quintessential New Orleans art form"…

It’s sometimes hard to describe the unique traditions that take place in New Orleans. It’s sometimes even harder to realize how truly special certain traditions are, because when you grow up doing them, they seem normal, routine. One of my earliest memories is sitting on the linoleum kitchen floor, singing “Mardi Gras Mambo” at the top of my lungs. I remember thinking that the whole world ate king cake, and woke up at the crack of dawn to stake out a good spot for Rex. When I finally realized this wasn’t the case, I felt sad for people in other cities, but at the same time really, really lucky it was the case for me. For me and my city.

One tradition that has always intrigued me is the Second Line. For New Orleanians, second lining is second nature. Nearly any time a group of people gets together, a second line can occur. Funerals. Weddings. Mardi Gras Balls. Impromptu Street Parades. Any occasion worth remembering is an occasion that justifies a good second line. As soon as the first few notes of the song are played, the anticipation is palpable. Excitement washes over you and immediately you jump to your feet, grinning from ear to ear. You grab a handkerchief or napkin, but it’s not for drying tears. It’s for waving jubilantly in the air. At funerals, second lining celebrates life. At weddings, it celebrates new beginnings. At Mardi Gras, it celebrates pride of being born in the greatest city on earth.

Perhaps that’s why it’s fitting that on Mardi Gras weekend this year, Stew and I took part in the most important second line of our lives...

...and we haven't stopped celebrating since.

Baby Stewzie: Due 11-13-11 !!!

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Tis the Season


So, to kick of the 2011 snoball season, I took my brother Tim to my all-time fave Ro-bears. I had raspberry. He had orange. We kept it simple. And it was perfect. Ro-bears never disappoints.

This season I want to branch out; try some new places. So tell me...what's YOUR suggestion? Where to go? What flavor to try?

Happy snoballing,


Friday, March 18, 2011

Louisiana Iris

Finally blooming nearly a year after being planted.

One of the many reasons springtime makes me smile.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Three One

Dear Stew,

Today is your 31st birthday.

Thirty-one years. You've done quite a lot in those eleven thousand, three hundred and fifteen days. Some days have been incredible. Others, not so much. Point is, you've made it through them all. And you've become you. I really, really like you.

I hope today turns out to be one of the incredible ones. I hope this year is your best one yet.



Monday, February 28, 2011

Itching for Revenge

Retaliation. For THIS. You knew it was coming.
So did Lisa, I guess, but she probably wasn't predicting...


My original plan was to get a big bag of little fake rubber dog poos and scatter them all over her yard, sidewalk, porch, car, etc. But they don't sell fake rubber dog poo anymore. So I settled on a big bag-o-crabs.

And because I'm an equal-opportunity crabber, I gave them a little case of mail crabs as well.

Neighborhood Wars: They're highly contagious.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011


Stew: What's the name of that egg casserole thing you make?

Me: It's called a frittata.

Stew: Like Nelly Frittata?

Me: Eggsactly.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Revenge of the Turds

Remember THIS post?

Yeah, well I got home from work a couple days ago and found this in my front yard:

First reaction? The pooping dog sign reads my blog!

Actual first reaction? Lisa committed Grand Theft Yard Sign.

Turns out my instinct was correct. Mostly.
My sneaky friend Lisa did in fact deface decorate my property with that awful pooping dog sign, but the sign was obtained completely legally. She didn't steal it from around the corner. She bought it. Which says a lot about my friends. They'll stoop to the level of spending their hard-earned money on useless crap (pun intended) just to give me a good laugh.

Now I just have to come up with a plan of revenge. One that rivals The Great Toilet-Papering of 2009 (in which i used toilet paper that Lisa bought me...because I'm ruthless)...
Lisa, consider yourself warned. Muahahahahaha....

Friday, January 14, 2011

Who are you? who-who, who-who?

Hello (hello...hello...)

Is there anybody out there (out there...out there...)

So they tell me today is National Delurker Day. (Translation: National Day where you step out of the shadows of internet anonymity and leave a comment on my page to let me know that there are people out there in the universe besides my parents who may have stumbled upon this blog and had their minds blown by my way with words had at least a vague interest in any of what I have to say.

Interestingly enough, I recently checked my blogger stats. You know, the ones that tell you what Google searches lead people to your site? So far the top 2 Google searches that have led people to Stewzie? MY DOG ATE A BRILLO PAD and REDNECK HALLOWEEN. Am I proud of my online legacy? You bet I am. I'm the go-to girl for dog vomit and hillbilly costumes!

I know that random strangers are out there. Poor, unsuspecting souls who desperately search for advice on just what the hell to do when your dog DOES swallow steel wool...but find THIS. People looking for top-notch white-trashiness...hit the jackpot with THIS.

So do me a favor and tell me who you are. Doesn't matter if I don't know ya. In fact, that's the whole point of today. I WANT TO KNOW YOU! Doesn't matter if I do know ya. I still need to know you're reading. Without comments, I don't have a clue who my audience is. Please, go forth and comment! C'mon, you know you want to!

Incentive: If I get 10 comments, I just might post a picture of my brillo-swallowing dog wearing full-on redneck attire!

Friday, January 7, 2011


Is having a painted wooden yard sign depicting a dog taking a dump in your yard... THAT much more appealing than risking having a dog take an actual dump in your yard?

Is it bad that I really want to go get one of those fake little rubber dog poos and place it smack underneath that atrocious yard sign? Just for fun?

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Germans eat Mexican

It all started when I was a kid. My family would travel to the Northshore (of Lake Pontchartrain, for all you out-of-towners) for a New Year's Eve party at my Aunt's house. We'd go early enough in the day to hit up some local firework stands and perhaps do a little post-Christmas shopping.

For whatever reason, we'd have a late lunch at a Mexican restaurant. Years have gone by and our New Years Eve plans have diversified, but the Mexican lunch has stuck around. It's become my favorite Mohr family tradition, second only to my dad hanging rubber fried eggs from the ceiling fans for Christmas (don't ask). This year we did some figuring and realized that this is our 20th year of Mexicaning it up. Well, probably our 20th year. Might be only the 19th, but since it took us this long to actually remember to take a picture, we're calling it the 20th. Plus, it's my story so I'll make it whatever year I want.

Forget black eyed peas and cabbage. We rely on chips & salsa for good luck!

Happy New Year! (or Feliz New Year, if you prefer)