the terribles

There's just been something about this pregnancy. Physically, I feel much better than I remember feeling at this point with Jordan. I haven't put on quite as much weight; I only just started this week needing to get up to pee once in the middle of the night (I was at 3 times + at this juncture last time); my general discomfort is really pretty manageable.

So why the hormones? Why the volatility and why the so so so so so tired all the time? Why do I feel my limits being pushed much more than when I was huge whale with a tiny bladder? Oh. There is that key difference between last time and this time:

the almost-two-year-old

This girl knows there's something strange afoot in the Pope apartmenthold, and she's authoritatively seizing her opportunity to start tap tap tapping on some boundaries. See if those puppies hold up to a little persistence and a lot of attitude. Well, sometimes they do and sometimes they don't.

Jordan has the distinct advantage of having two of the most stubborn people my mind can summon up as her parents. Sean often says he thought he was the most hardheaded person he knew until he met me. And then I usually reply "Sean, you're way more stubborn than I am." and he concedes "Ok, you're right." just to make his point. So, are intangible qualities such as determination and unbending tenacity genetic? Because...Jordan got the best of both wills. Except by best I actually mean worst because it's not so lovely to try and discipline that crap. Basically the three of our stubborn wills look like that thing that all those guys do in rugby before a play

my head is stronger than yours. nuh-uh. uh-huh. nuh-uh. uh-huh.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I think, Jordan has a flash-in-the-pan temper. If we're going the hereditary route, that's from her dad and from my dad. My temper's a slow boil, crockpot style. And the meal at the end of that one is not yummy. But Jordan's comes on before you can see it and no sooner do I feel the wind-up and smack to the side of my face, is she signing "I'm sorry," stroking my hair, and sighing "ohhhhhh" while she rests her head on my shoulder. Um, what? 

Remember that song by Alanis Morrissette from like the 90's? I'm a little bit of everything, all rolled into one: I'm a b-, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed. I'm you're hell, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between.... That's Jordan's anthem right now. She is such a loving, affectionate, happy, doting little toddler, oh but you better hand her that granola bar quick quick QUICK. Too late, now she's this

It's a tough spot with her right now too, because she is acutely aware of when she's done something wrong. She backpeddles immediately and goes into her new Divert! Divert! Divert! mode, which goes like this: Mom hands Jordan a bowlful of strawberries. Jordan eats them contentedly until she sees that Mom has some of her own strawberries. Jordan wants those ones. Jordan throws her strawberries across the floor with the type of accuracy that ensures every single strawberry has been evacuated from the bowl and is in fact on the floor. Jordan sees that Mom is upset about this development. Divert!! "Hi, Mommy. Hi, Mommy. Hi, Mommy. [make sure head is slightly and adorably inclined to the side, wave hesitantly, and employ soulful puppy eyes as effectively as possible]"

As upset as I am when she pulls these types of daily antics, it is so hard not to smirk when she does her "Hi, Mommy." tactic. Why does she think that fixes what she did? Why is it so cute when she does it? How do toddlers intuit parents' weaknesses?

I know things are going to change soooo much in less than two months now. I'm soaking up the last of the Jordan-only time, even the frustrating parts. My last day of work is a month from now, and I'll have 2-3 weeks to just spend with her, just us, before our family of three becomes four. I am so excited for this new one to make his entrance into our lives. The imminence of the occasion, however, is making me nostalgic and weepy. It'll never be just Jo and I again. And I know it will be much much better, but it's such a crazy thing. I don't just have a kid anymore, I have kidS. Kids! You'd think I was an adult or something.

Well let's not get carried away.

ps. Google Reader, I'm sure you know, is kaput in less than a week. You can follow on Bloglovin' if you wanna. I put a button up and everything. See you there?

smooth criminals

Smoothie criminals, actually. The last week has seen Jordan and I obsessed with cold, liquid breakfasts.

(I received like 12 "gender neutral" bibs before Jordan was born because we didn't find out what we were expecting on our first time around. I'm not sure how "I love dirt" can possibly be construed as potentially feminine, but for the record: Jordan does love dirt...and sticks and rocks. They are her bread and butter. Also, she's taken to layering her bibs for a casual take on pattern play. Get the look: Neons + Bold Message; Yellow + Green Stripes are Androgynous Too; Creamy Yellow with Blue Piping + "It's Fun Being Me" lettering and you've got yourself chic, custom, on-trend toddler style.)

Alright now that that's out there. What's been happening lately is Jordan hasn't been quite as hungry. She used to piledrive like a lumberjack, but I'm fairly sure she's pushing a few molars through in the back - if I'm correctly translating her cues of: biting everything (blankie, doll's head, the occasional handtowel, and she made an attempt on my thigh before I shut that down), being niiiice and cranky, running a fever and faucet nose, shoving her food to the back of her mouth to take bites with her back teeth instead of chomping with her front gapped ones as usual, and one of her more subtle indicators, pointing directly to her gums in the back and shrieking OWWW!

Gumshoe that I am, I didn't figure out why Jordan had been acting like such a...let's use "terrible two" as the euphemism of choice here, until a couple of days ago. Therefore the fact that we've been having smoothies for breakfast every morning for a week has been a coincidence pleasing to Jordan's poor swelling aching gums. And since smooth, cold drinks seem to be her eating method of choice at the moment, I've adapted a recipe to try and pack as much good stuff in there as possible. Her other meals have been scant and mainly consist of her biting the food for the sole purpose of putting pressure on her gums, then delicately spitting it back out and handing to me with a "duh, mama." (done)

Ok I'm positive you have not ever needed nor ever received this much background just to get to a recipe, but you know how I roll by now. I found and have been making my own little adaptations to this recipe, which was a result of my Google search for "blackberry smoothie." My parents have a spectacularly prolific blackberry vine, and because it produced about 25 times as many blackberries as they could possibly consume per day, they started freezing them, and I started pilfering them. This smoothie IS AWESOME, and I'm really quite proud of my tweaks. I managed to make it healthier and I think quite tastier, and mostly I just used stuff I already had on hand. Have a gander:

My lazy, 7:30 in the morning, what-kinda-blogger-are-you self didn't feel like lining up the ingredients and photographing them attractively, so I set up a half-clad and groggy child next to the blenderful of necessities, gave her the honey-scooping spoon, and called it good. Forgive me.

Highly Adaptable, Exceedingly Nutritious, Exceptionally Palatable Blackberry Smoothie (patent pending)

• 1/2 cup coconut milk (my extremely well-informed, crunchy, healthy mother-in-law tells me this is the best kind on the market. It's a whopping $3.50 at Whole Foods for one flippin' can, but it provided three smoothies' worth, and it was deliciously creamy. You know, just FYI.)
• 1/2 cup plain Greek yogurt
• 1/2 avocado
• 1 large ripe (and I prefer frozen) banana
• 1 cup blackberries, fresh or frozen, but frozen if you're Jessie and Jordan and prefer your smoothies to cause teeth chatters
• 1/2 cup frozen blueberries (totally optional, but I threw them in the last couple go-arounds simply because I had them and, yep. Yep to blueberries.)
• 1-2 tablespoons honey, depending on your sweetness preference

You know smoothies and their complicated method: carefully arrange your ingredients in a blender, secure a lid atop said blender, eenie-meenie-minie-mo which button will be most effective. Frappe? Whip? Grind? It's a dilemma, just shut your eyes and push a button.

Then side-eye the blender and begrudgingly allow the loud obnoxious whirring only because you know there's a treat coming soon. Finally, split the contents evenly betwixt two tall cups, and don't give a second thought to the fact that this amount could easily feed four. Chug away.

And then as a bonus, make a mental note to buy chia seeds and try Grace's recipe because she promised they completely restrain your need for chocolate in the afternoon(/morning/evening/twilight hours). I'm paraphrasing. She said something like "help stave off afternoon sugar cravings" but I only heard that I wouldn't compulsively shove chocolate bricks down my throat at any given moment of the day. Plus...I may be developing an affinity/addiction to caffeine? I find myself really grumpy by 11 a.m. if I haven't downed a chai or some other sugared-up carameled-out faux coffee that Starbucks rolls out. Best for all parties if I find a healthy option, yes? Thanks Grace.

Go get that Monday guys. Because now you have breakfast options to be proud of.

OH, post-script. Please please check out what's going on with Dwija & baby and check out Cari's awesome plan to help. Prayers are great too!

five (not) faves

I totally wouldn't blame Hallie if she personally uninvited me from joining her legions of favorites ever again after what I'm about to do: use her bright and sunshiney link-up for evil. I've been trying to come up with things that I am fired up about this week, but what my brain is actually doing is: oh that song? I HATE that song. That song SUCKS. or That recipe was GROSS. or This product has done NOTHING for my skin, why should IT be a favorite. I have lots of not favorites and no new favorites.

Basically, I've been on my broom. I try to internalize my witchier moods, and I think I mostly do, but there are certain things that just do a little dance on the very last weathered and beaten nerve that my bulging body possesses so, what do I do? I write about it. Then I link it up. (Quickie and handy example: there is a persistent bugger of a fly doing rotations around my head even as I type, and I wish I could real quick pull a Katniss and arrow that b to the wall. Then I would laugh like Mr. Incredible when he's in the volcano and has gotten the kink out of his back. These are the things I think about. PS, I've never even read Hunger Games. Thank you Netflix and Jennifer Lawrence, for keeping me abreast of relevant pop culture.)

Not Favorite, the First// Pregnant Feet

Forget the dry, cracked heels. I've got a Pinterest recipe that promises to remedy that. Those always work, yes? No, that's not even the problem with my pregnant feet. They're swelling big-time. Ok, I wouldn't say they're Kardashian status quite yet

but then I'd never try and stuff my sausage toes into ridiculous, not-even-cute shoes such as those. The problem with my feet is that they're stupid tiny. Therefore, as my ankles become cankles, and my feet continue to swell, they are becoming increasingly monoline, and have taken on the appearance of fat hooves.

Here, I snapped this one of my pretty feets for you

And also, they're ON FIRE. I'm pretty sure I could power Google for a good few hours with the heat radiating out of my tiny toes. Suddenly CAKE's song Nugget takes on new meaning:

Clever feet that flicker like fire

And burn like candles in smoky spires

Do more to turn my joy to sadness

Than somber thoughts of burning planets.

So very true for me right now. Except my feet are not clever, just beefy. Beefy feet that flicker like fire. (That song is purposefully not linked. It is overrun with f-bombs. I'd go so far as to say the f-bomb plays a starring role.)

Not Favorite, the Second // Exercising/Not Exercising

Exercising and I are at an impasse. I hate exercising in the same exact proportions that I hate not exercising, as mathematically improbable as this may seem. The dread leading up to exercise is equal to the relief felt after exercise.

There is a steepish hill at the end of my regular walking route and, as I was huffing and puffing and nearing death while tackling it the other day, I glanced across the street to an old guy carrying a briefcase, probably on his way to the bus stop or something, and he didn't even need to open his mouth to breathe. Then I just felt like Ron Livingston in Office Space when he's sitting dead stopped in traffic and the 90 year old with the walker on the sidewalk is moving faster than him.

Not Favorite, the Third // My persistent desirefor My utter dependency on My full-blown addiction to chocolate

There was this cute little four-second stint during my first trimester where it seemed that I'd been freed of my lifelong shackles to sweets and was ready to move forward toward a more mature palate. Yeah that's over now. The thought of chocolate consumes me all day. It consumes me nearly as much as I consume it. The reason the dimensions are unequal is because

1 all-consuming thought about chocolate = 4-7ish of those little chocolate bricks consumed

Let me reiterate: I don't buy this stuff. I try to stay out of harm's/carbohydrates'/20+ grams of sugar's way. But when I go into work, I know where that bowl of Hershey's chocolate-almond bricks is kept at my co-worker's desk for people to graze at will. When the image of one of those gold-clad blocks of goodness floats across my cerebellum, it's like zombies to the smell of flesh. I muuuuust have it. Help me out here, does anyone have some will power/self-control/big girl pants they could throw my way?

Not Favorite, the Fourth // My hair

Ok it's not that I don't like it all short like this. It's just.....ugh, in order for me to like it I have to do it. In order for me to do it, I have to invest 8-12 minutes with the blow-dryer and straightener. And sometimes, I'd really just rather invest that time to Pinterest. Or Instagram. Or blog rounds. But when I don't do my hair it looks eerily like Sir Dudley Moore's

minus the volume and plus a few unfortunate kinks due to a couple ill-placed cowlicks at the back of my scalp. I'm tempted to splurge on Hallie's recommendation though, and just sea salt the crap out of my hair. I'll probably just end up looking like an '80's Rosie Perez without excellent nasally sass though.

Not Favorite, the Fifth // Construction

California, what the deal is. Alllll the sudden alllll the road things need to be fixed at once? The potholes, we must fill them! The perilous overhanging branches, we must trim them! The double lines whose pigmentation is venturing dangerously into more of a butter yellow than a deep marigold, paint them! paint them! California....are you pregnant? This looks a lot like nesting. And hey, I feel ya. But here's the thing: your hormones are seriously impeding my daily commute and my treasured punctuality. Tighten up on your reins, you're runnin' wild. Not all the tax money needs to be spent all at once, you know.

Now you know my innermost concerns, and I have defiled a perfectly lovely link-up with my doom and gloom and nonsense. A day late no less. (I started this post 25 hours ago. That fly from the beginning? He's dead now.) I'm going to redirect you to Hallie's now, where other linkers have better things to say. In the meantime, I'm going to sit here and assure myself that the sun will come out tomorrow.

And it will probably be really flippin' hot.

day of the dads

Alright, I'm late, I know. Having read just the sweetest blog posts yesterday the blogging world over about dads and husbands, I feel totally guilty that I didn't prepare one in advance. But isn't it also kind of a good thing that we were having too fun-filled a day for me to get around to blogging?

 

I'm so glad I was able to waddle down to the shoreline with my camera in time to catch these when I spotted this happening from my sandy perch. Here we have: slighlty-mulleted Sean-Father (who tried to get a nice Father's Day haircut yesterday but "the only woman who knows how to cut my hair" had a line of four people before the shop even opened) and well-tanned Greg-Grandfather (that'd be my dad) doting on this very fortunate daughter/granddaughter.

Jordan and I indeed are very lucky ladies to have these guys. So very lucky. We live in a world where much, much too often fathers are absent and/or disengaged. My dad has only ever been the most present and the most engaged with each and every one of his eight kids. All eight! What a feat. I wish I had had the presence of mind to snap some pics out of our old albums when I was at my parents' house last. There are pages upon pages of bike rides, backpacking trips, surf lessons, evening hide-and-go-seek sessions with the neighborhood kids, the more recent, raging Vegas trips, and countless other activities all hosted by my pop. And all with an enthusiasm and energy that was contagious. I hold my dad in awe; he seems nearly tireless.

Then there's that newer, mulleted father. I remember the very first night we spent with Jordan. She had to be taken to the ICU because of an alarmingly low white blood platelet count. We were up allll night long, tired and worried and anxious, and Sean, with heavy blackish circles under each eye, said something like "I've never experienced this type of worry. How can you love someone that you just met a few hours ago so intensely? I feel like all my happiness is tied to her." To me, sounds like a father's love. And this completely inexperienced, slightly awkward first-time father grew into the most natural, most dedicated, most enamored dad I've ever seen.

Yikes, sorry for the slew of sappy, I got a little carried away. What I mean to say is, I hope you all had a wonderful day celebrating the most important men in your life. As I look down at my belly, currently bouncing with a serious case of in utero hiccups, I know that this kiddo will be blessed with excellent examples of manhood that he may aspire to.

This was Jordan's present to her dad. She was a little upset that her handprint didn't quite fit in the shadow box that she bought, but she's over it now.

Happy Father's Day, friends.

fave five

Hey there. It's Wednesday and I thought I'd skip on over to Hallie's today for a few favorites. What else are Wednesdays for (but to taunt me that I'm only halfway through the workweek)?

1// First on my list has got to be reserved for this lass

My sister Audrey, formerly the cutest and smiliest baby that was ever birthed, has grown into an eighteen year old high school grad who chose those flats (with taped up soles) to be the only part of her personal wardrobe that would be showing at graduation. I expect nothing less either.

Auds isn't one to follow trends or care what people think of her. She wears my dad's knit sweaters and doesn't brush her hair. She is a live music junkie and an AP Calculus student. She picked up piano a couple of years ago on her own motivation, and now has a partial musical scholarship to a college that she scouted out, researched, visited, and got accepted into. She listens to Peter, Paul and Mary and Tom Waits on her years and years old record player. She is...Auds.

So sitting through alllllll these

to catch this gem of a shot

(pro-tography is in my future, think you?)

isn't as much a chore as graduations tend to be, when you have such a sister to be proud of.

2// That was a really long favorite, sorry 'bout that. How about:

Benedict Cumberbatch

Sean and I saw the new Star Trek movie a couple weeks ago. I'm about the furthest thing from a Trekkie (did I even spell that right?) and have never sat through a full episode of one, so I know zero nada about any of the storylines. Sean tells me that Kahn (as portrayed by Cumberbatch) is something of a super-villain in Trekkery and I looked at this guy and thought, Really? So slight of stature and maybe even on the ninny-looking side.

Then, he SPOKE. Dude, his voice joins the ranks of Charleston Heston and Alan Rickman and Orson Welles. Deep, rich, powerful reverberance that makes you think, now there's a villain. So my second favorite is...Benedict Cumberbatch's voice? Yep.

3// Anna at IHOD's Clean Green Smoothie

(her graphic via Pinterest)

Holy healthy, this was flippin' delicious. I followed the directions pretty much exactly, plus added probably 1/4 cup of frozen blueberries. I also froze my sliced up pear the night before because I like my smoothies extra cold. Jordan and I chowed on this, it was so so yummy. Two glasses apiece, I tell you, and there was extra left over. And then we had the leftovers the very next morning. I'll be doing this one again and again.

4// Upcycling

I 100% put that word in for Sean's benefit. He is annoyed to the nth with the word "upcycling." "That's one of your bloggy, pinny, made-up words, isn't it?" Be that as it may, I took these old, never-wear don't-care jeans and cut them off at the knees for some Bermudas. Sean even helped me actually. An upcycling aider and abetter. I like them a whole bunch, and since they're from my past heavier years and therefore roomier than I'd care to recall, they're perfect for my current pregnant bottom.

5// Patio living/Summer living

The weather has been GLORIOUS. Glorious. (Don't get hotter, Southern California.) So we have been eating dinner on our partially-revamped-almost-done patio every night. It's perfection. We're eating better, healthier, and cheaper, and we're all three of us enjoying each other's company in the cool fresh air. 

Preview:

It's no backyard, but it's what we've got. And right now, it's pretty nice.

So that's it for me. Are these supposed to be quick faves? If so, I fail. I'm nothing if not garrulous. But if you go to Hallie's I'm sure you'll happen upon some better bloggers with thriftier favorites. Enjoy this Wednesday friends.

beach day bday

Saturday was my official debut as a helicopter mom. You know the ones. The ones that stalk their children like prey on the wild frontiers of the playgrounds and parks. The ones that hyperventilate at the scrape of their child's knee or bump of their child's chin. I'm not her. I'm not that guy.

I'm the one that lets her kid get knocked over by the surf so that she will learn to have a healthy respect for the power of the ocean. (Ask me how that's working out...has Jordan stopped trying to drown herself via giggling through the soup of the day's current? Maybe just a little. Mostly no.) I'm that callous mom that the helicopters point their horror faces at when Jordan biffs face first on the her way up the slide steps, and while she debates whether to employ water works I gloss "oh, you're fine." (Hey, it works. She believes me.)

But you know why I can act that way in those situations? Because I ultimately have control over them. When Jordan gets knocked down by a harmless wave at our usual beach, I pick her up and say "See? You have to be careful in the water" and she proceeds with a little more caution. When she takes a fall at the park and seems legitimately upset about it, I know hugs and sympathy bring about comfort in t - 12 seconds.

Saturday, however, we tried a new beach for Sean's birthday.

sorry for the Insta-peat, but I'm in serious love with this pic.

We decided to trek down Malibu way for the day instead of usual turn up towards Santa Barbara. Malibu always comes with a price, as we always forget until we're in the thick of it. We wandered for upwards of half an hour in surf traffic looking for reasonable parking, with the end result of paying $10 to park in some valet lot where they don't valet. (Seriously, the attendants wear uniforms and point, but you park and unpark your own car and cough up ten big ones. Are you for real, Malibu?)

My dad had warned me beforehand, but I didn't realize that the surf was HUGE. The beach sloped dramatically downward, and the waves crashed directly on shore. There was no room for error here. Frolicking in playful ankle-deep currents was not an option. Jordan did her signature sprint for the BEATS!! and I shrieked like a raving banshee and grabbed her by both hands. My hover status was advanced professional for the next couple hours. These were the types of waves that would first knock the feet from under you, then drag you back with them to be slammed on shore by the next wave in line. NO THANKS.

Fortunately, it takes very little to redirect Jordan's attention to not-that-exciting endeavors.

what bone-crushing surf?

Hey thanks Starbucks, for that totally impromptu sandtoy decoy.

Jordan filled, capped, stuck the straw in, uncapped, and poured out sand for a straight half hour. Easily pleased.

Our Sunny with a Chance of Drowning excursion turned out to be lovely, as long as Jordan stayed 10+ yards from the shoreline. I really have never experienced that type of anxiety over my child's surroundings before, and have newfound sympathy for what the stressed copter moms must feel all the time. We returned to our regular beach on Sunday, where I watched Jordan prance regularly in the regular puddles while I endured a regular amount of uneasiness - none.

So Sean is 27 and I have the privilege of lording my youth over him for a few days. We're a little over a week apart so I will be joining the ranks of "late twenties" fairly shortly. Until then... mid-twenties be mine.

simple saturday, simple birthday

I received an email invitation from Iris to join her Simple Saturday link-up, and thought, why not do a short and sweet and simple post for my always too short, oftentimes sweet, and generally simple Saturday? Further, guess why this is just the perfect Saturday to link with her? Because this boy

is 27 today. It is the husband's birthday today, and he is still every bit as hick as portrayed in this photo. (Current favorite beer: Pabst Blue Ribbon. Current favorite music artist: Eric Church.)

Sean and I have been together eight years and married for nearly three. While I have seen him make significant, formative changes from the college-partying good-time-charlie that I first knew as just a friend, he is still in many (important) ways still this boy

oh he is going to kill me for this one. isn't it delicious? SIDEBURNS

He is still my bestie. He still (sometimes infuriatingly) maintains his cool when I want to freak! out! about! stuff!... that may or may not be particularly related to my pregnant hormones. He is still my most valuable confidante. He still makes me crack up with his ridiculously unique and totally quirked out sense of humor. And I still love holding hands with him as much as that time on our first date when he leaned over in the theater and shakily asked me, "Hey, is it cool if we hold hands?" (That was such a moment for me, you guys.)

And he has overwhelmed me with how great a dad he is. I knew he would be a good one (heck, I wouldn't have married him if I didn't think so) but I guess, with his utter lack of any experience with children whatsoever, I didn't expect the excellence that he exhibits every single day. Man he loves this girl

and man, she loves him back.

So, I guess I simply want to say, Happy Birthday Sean. I love you, and may we always be 19 together (minus perhaps the beer-chugging capacity...)

(oh hey, eyebrows.)

Now go and link up with Iris!

accidentally on purpose?

You won't believe what Jordan did last night. You won't believe it because I don't really believe it.

Background: about a month ago I bought this DVD to accompany my lofty first-time-parenting goals of potty-training Jordan before her brother comes on to the scene. It's the movie my mom used for my younger siblings and it seemed to do the trick from what I recall. The theme song will stick with you until your dying day though. And it might even bring your dying day on a little sooner than expected. Steel nerves be yours if you purchase the potty video.

So I set the girl up on a little potty chair that was $12 at Target and painted to look like a frog. (Is this imagery supposed to encourage the process? I'm puzzled by the logic.) I popped in the obnoxious and plopped next to her for some quality potty bonding time. We danced along with all the toddlers who were excitedly circling their own potty chairs; we bobbed our heads to the never-ending theme song, and we semi-attentively listened to the training portion in which Jordan gets a quick and dirty anatomy lesson in cartoon form.

We've done this a few times now over the last couple weeks with a big fat nothing to show. As I expected really, it's a little early? But last night as we were winding down for her bedtime, Jordan climbed next to me on the couch with her bottle and asked for the "bah-ee." I've become something of a translating genius in toddler speak so I knew she wanted to watch the "potty" video. Sean was home; it could be like a wholesome family date.

I don't know if it was the extra presence and the pressure to perform or if it was just good timing, but Jordan peed in the flippin' potty. I could not possibly have been more shocked. I didn't think she was so much absorbing the content of the potty video as delighting in the overly enthusiastic half-naked toddlers in the theme song portion. I f-r-e-a-k-e-d out, generously doled out much too high-pitched praises that I'm sure neighbors' dogs could hear a couple miles away, hugged Jordan repeatedly, and walked her over to the real potty to dispose of her urinary efforts. I gave her two chocolate chips - because that's how magnanimous I am - and was sure to reinforce how "PROUD OF YOU!!" I was.

commemorative nakey shot: post-pee, mid-celebration

I'm leaning towards the this-was-coincidence campfire, but of course I'm going to take this success and run with it. I texted my mom the news and sent pictures, as all well-adjusted first-time potty-training mothers will do. I have great plans for loading Jo up on some liquids this morning and demanding a repeat performance. And look, I've blogged about it. Jenny tells us that this is grounds for regress.

In other news, I think I'll throw in a fave post over at Grace's. To be honest, I don't really have much of a favorite - not so much because I think everything I write is solid diamond, as much as sometimes I read my archives and think, wow, 30-something other people have agreed to read this stuff? But I forgot to acknowledge that I hit my 100th post (oh look, it's about potty. I am a pony possessing perhaps two tricks, at most.) so I thought I'd belatedly acknowledge such a feat by reflecting upon some of my blogcomplishments. I'm linking this post because a) I think it's really what finally convinced me to start a blog - so I could complain on a public forum!! and b) I really love me some Chicken Run. You should head over to Grace's and check some o' the others.

It's Friday! Yessssss!! You have yourself a good one.

a case for co-ed

Two very good friends of Sean's and mine are expecting their first in a little over a month. They're having a boy, like we are, which means they will obviously be best friends. Parents get to plan those things right?... Well something we can and did plan this past weekend was a co-ed baby shower for them. I'm not quite sure what gave me the idea to make it co-ed, but you know what happens when you bring boys to a shower? It just turns into a party. Which...I'm all for actually.

Our apartment is teeny tiny, so Sean and I agreed that this would best be made a pool party. As a pregnant myself, I know I appreciate a good buoyancy sesh. We had good peeps, good food, and good drink, so the lack of shower games was not missed (by me, anyway, and definitely not by any men), and I'm hoping no one minded the very casual nature of it all.

I got carried away in decorating and theming, as I am wont to do

BUT I forgot to take a pic of the lemonade stand, which I'm super bummed about. I went a little Crazy Martha on it and it really made me step back and consider: am I this much of a Type A? In any case, I'm going to give you the homemade lemonade recipe because, first of all it was ridiculously easy, and second of all it was ridiculously delicious. But wait for it, I have a couple more pics.

All the babes were invited. Hey if the boys get to come, the babies get to come. It's only fair. Jordan had an absolute ball being surrounded by her second cousins (my cousin's kids, that is. He has a 2 1/2 year old and 1 year old twins! the crazy life.)

Mine's in the watermelon suit with the chlorine saturated diaper. And would you look at those tight curls on the twins on the left? You pull them out and they spring back and I squeal with delight. On repeat. These four girls. I can't get over how excited I am that they get to grow up together. Besties.

Jordan doesn't have much respect for other people's space. Bubble invader.

*mental note: BUY swim diapers. Poor girl must've been walking around with 7 extra pounds of literal water weight.

I think it was a success. Sean bbq'd but was still a part of the party since our balcony overlooks the pool. We had a cooler full of cold ones for the boys, sangria and wine for the non-pregs, a lemonade stand and Italian soda for the pregs and under-agers, and good talks and laughter all around. It honestly didn't feel so much shower-y as summer bbq-y, but I don't think anyone minded.

So now I'll impart this lemonade recipe that seemed to be a smash. At least, there wasn't any left. I made the simple syrup the morning of, because it needs time to cool in the fridge. This is a step that could easily be done the night before you're serving. Be forewarned....there's a lot of sugar. I bet you could sub out some for like agave or honey, but I wasn't going to mess with 1,336 five-star reviews on my maiden voyage of making it. 

•  8 cups water
• 1 3/4 cups white sugar
• 1 1/2 cups lemon juice (I feel strongly about fresh squeezed. It realllllly kicks it up a notch. And maybe counterbalances the preposterous amount of sugar with all it's Vitamin A, B, C, E....W, X, Y what have you)

Just boil one cup of the water with the sugar to produce the simple syrup. Let it cool to room temp before putting it in the fridge to chill. When it's chilled, mix everything together. Seriously that easy. Serves 20.

I sliced up a few more lemons to float on top for aesthetics. Because I'm nuts. Then I set out a shallow dish of honey and another shallow dish of sugar so that people could do their own sugar rims. Then I put out Torani syrups in strawberry and raspberry flavors so that you could spike as you choose. Fresh strawberries and raspberries were out for garnish and why oh WHY didn't I take a picture of all this? 

***

The moral of this post is if you're looking for a more casual shower, or perhaps if the mom-to-be is not big on being the center of attention (which my friend is not), bring in the men. My brother was all semi-insulted that I was inviting him to a baby shower *gasp!* but he ended up staying latest. In fact don't even tell the guys it's a shower, because really it's just a party. A kick-back, one might say. With a pregnant lady or ladies.  Ain't no party like a pregnant tea party. (That's a Flight of the Conchords reference and if you got that then I love you, let's marry.)

craps

I wasn't anticipating being one of those. One of those mommy bloggers that feels compelled to write about her child's every ache, pain, and bowel movement. Ok, I'm still not one of those but I guess when something like Saturday morning happens, a pregnant fat chick has to vent a little. I do what I want. Except, I had actually wanted to title this post "sh*tshow" but I thought that skirted a little more into the inappropriate than I should venture.

All I can say, without revealing details reserved only for my mom and siblings (to whom I recounted in blow-by-blow format) is that, had Jordan performed this tutorial in fecal abstract art with her macabre my-crib/body-is-my-canvas approach on a weekday when there was no one about to help me with the aftermath, I would have pulled a Jordan-in-trouble, hid under the table, and pretended nothing had happened. Lucky for Sean, Jordan timed her Jackson Pollock-esque debut for bright and early Saturday morning.

My keen and astute instincts tell me that Saturday morning may have been linked to Friday morning. On Friday morning, out of the clearest blue sky, I was walking Jordan up to her sitter's when she paused, upchucked her breakfast of fresh cherries on the pathway, turned a half-step so that my skirt could share in the path's unfortunate fate, then proceeded to greet her friends in her signature "haaaaaaayyyy! hiiiii!" manner. No sweat. First time throwing up in her whole life, and I'm the one squawking and flapping about like a rooster on crack. Jordan was just kind of like "well that was weird" and I was "aaa!? are you ok? what's wrong?! answer me!"

I didn't go to work on Friday (save for a couple of hours when Jordan took a nap and my sister watched her) and despite my hovering prowess, Jordan displayed no further symptoms. Until.

Saturday morning. Jordan started whining around 8:30 like she was super annoyed about something. Sean went in to greet her with a signature "Good MOOOR-" interrupted by machine gun "Jess! Jess! Jess! Jess! Jess! Jess!" (I'm gonna go out on a limb here and just state that he needs to work on bad news delivery.) Jordan was understandably upset that the contents of what rightfully should have been split up into seven diapers was in her hair, on her favorite Dr. Suess blanket (that one is no longer with us...that sucker used to be white, but now...), on several board books, on every slat in her crib, and in her eyebrows. Honestly, I was defeated as soon as I walked in the room. The only words I could summon were slow, defeated, whimpering "Oh no.... oh no..... oh no....."'s on repeat for pretty much the duration of clean-up.

A little teamwork, a lot of breath-holding, a literal hose-down, bath and shower (in which Sean used two different types of body washes, because he said that would make her cleaner?) and much disgusting laundry later, and Jordan seems to be juuuust fine. Proud even. I relayed the events to my family in person as we descended upon them to use their laundry machine, and my brother quipped "Was she just in a shitty mood?" and I'm sorry for the language, but that was the first lip-twitch I had produced all day and I can't help but share the type of humor I appreciate.

Apologies for the wordy, pictureless post but, given the content, do you really want to see? I'll show you instead how we punished Jordan for her crappy endeavors:

Sand Prison. Inescapable - mwah ah ah ah ah

The rest of our weekend went smoothly. We actually did some other fun things aside from our beach excursion above. Perhaps I'll tell you about it sometime. Tomorrow shall we say? Happy Monday. (<----- cruelest oxymoron ever invented.)