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.
Amen.

---

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 @ tjmohrphoto.com

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.

Love,

Mama and Daddy

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.

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.

Love,

Mama

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 !!!

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)

My 2nd Annual 29th Birthday

Today. May 3rd. Marks the date of my birth. Thirty years ago. THIRTY. Three whole decades.

I was asked this weekend if I was dreading the big 3-0. To tell you the truth, I haven't been. And I'm not freaking out now that I am. Officially. THAT age.

Honestly, 25 was the age that really hit me. In the face. Hard. I was at the grocery store buying candles for my own birthday cake (which is depressing in and of itself). Not sure if you've ever noticed, but birthday candles come in packs of 24. I was 25. Which meant I needed 2 packs of candles. FORTY EIGHT candles. I had graduated to the same candle bracket as a 48-year-old. Gone were the carefree days of simply one pack of candles! Also gone were the days of someone else taking care of the birthday candle buying, but that's a whole different issue.

Later on that year, I saw a billboard advertising the 25th Anniversary of Popeye's. Great, now I'm the same age as fried chicken.

It probably didn't help that at age 25, I was a few steps behind where I thought I'd be at that age. Sure, I had scored an awesome husband, but I still hadn't completed college or bought a house. I thought I'd surely have done both by then. After a whole quarter century! Then Katrina came and well, nothing really throws your life plans off track like a natural disaster.

Here's the good news. I made it to 30. And I'm happy about what I've accomplished thus far. Here's a recap of the past decade of me:

2000 - dropped out of LSU, planned my wedding, married the one and only Stewart Alexis

2001 - moved to Washington, lived on a military base, bought AUSTIN, bought AUSTIN a new $3,000 leg, cried when AUSTIN ate the whole roll of film that documented Stewzie's first year as a married couple

2002 - bought Black Betty, was voted Employee of the Year, moved back to Louisiana, readjusted to heat and humidity

2003 to 2004 - worked, saved, had my purse stolen by crackheads, missed Stew a lot (he worked offshore)

2005 - went back to college, paid for it myself, continued working full time, turned 25 along with a 2 piece, white meat, spicy, with a side of dirty rice, a biscuit and a red drink, got Katrina'd, lived in Arkansas for a month with 9 dogs and a whole mess of people, came back home and removed my neighbors' carport from our backyard, got a new job

2006 - went back to college (again), got a 4.0, kept working, paid off Black Betty, became an Aunt

2007 - kept my 4.0 streak alive, started househunting, kept working full time

2008 - bought a house, renovated it every night for 9 months, kept my job, my husband and my GPA but lost my sanity, EARNED my degree and finally graduated

2009 - learned to relax, thanked my husband, went public with my snoball love affair, started Stewzie

2010 - had a crazy dream that the Saints won the Super Bowl, realized it wasn't just a dream, dressed like a toothless hillbilly not once but twice, then turned THIRTY

Whew.

This is just a tiny percentage of the ups, downs, and in betweens of the past 10 years. If you are the one who created the above, good or bad, THANK YOU, I am truly blessed. If you have been a part of any of the above, good or bad, THANK YOU. If you weren't a part of any of the above, THANK YOU, because you're reading this now and that means you're a part of today. My 2nd Annual 29th Birthday. The first day of the rest of my life.


"Time and Tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of thirty." - Robert Frost