Magic Monday: Beginning

Good morning, darling MH.

After several nights of insomnia, Mama is pooped.

Check out this major bit of magic, though. It's you--at only 10 weeks. You were already rocking my world. Now we're at moving past 39 weeks, and I'm so ready to meet you!

A song

Good morning, MH. A blessing song for you.

Mother’s Blessing - La Bendición De Tu Madre by Snatam Kaur
Words of Bibi Bani, wife of Guru Ram Das the Fourth Guru of the Sikhs

Retoño mio, esta es la bendición de tu madre.

Oh my child this is your mother’s blessing.

Nunca olvides a Dios, ni un momento

May you never forget God, even for a moment

Adorando, por siempre, al Señor del Universo

Worshipping forever the Lord of the universe.

Recordando a Dios, todos los errores son purificados.

Remembering God, all mistakes are washed away.

Y todos nuestros ancestros son acogidos y salvados.

And one’s ancestors are redeemed and saved.

Siempre canta el nombre de Dios, Har Har

Always chant God’s Name, Har Har

Dios esta en tu interior, Dios es infinito.

God is inside you, God is Infinite.

Que el Verdadero Guru te sea amable

May the True Guru be kind to you

Que ames estar en compañía de santos.

May you love to be with the Saints.

Que tu prenda de vestir sea la protección de Dios

May your clothing be the protection of God

Que tu sustento sea el canto de la alabanza de Dios.

May your food be the singing of God’s Praise.

Bebe el néctar del nombre de Dios, y vive una larga vida

Drink the nectar of God’s Name and live long

Que la meditación en Dios te traiga dicha incesante

May meditation on God bring you endless bliss.

Que el amor sea tuyo propio y tus deseos se cumplan

May love be yours and your hopes fulfilled

Que la preocupación nunca te consuma.

May you never be worn by worry.

Haz de tu mente el abejorro

Let this mind of yours be the bumble bee

Y que los pies de loto de Dios sean la flor.

And let the Lotus Feet of God be the flower.

Oh sirviente Nanak, ata tu mente de esta manera

Oh Servant Nanak, link your mind in this way

Como el gavilán encuentra la gota de lluvia, y prospera.

Like the sparrow hawk finding a raindrop, blossom forth.

Chanting from the heart

Good morning, MH!

What is it about chanting and prayer that creates such calm and focus? I grew up with traditional Catholic prayers; my favorite is probably the Prayer of Saint Francis. I even can remember "playing church" when I was little, with my little book of prayers and my sisters as the parishioners.

There are so many powerful prayers . . . so many ways to connect to God. Here are three that I listen to and recite as I connect with your little spiritual heart.

Heart Sutra
There is something about Zen Buddhism . . . perhaps it is its simplicity to which I am drawn. Sit and breathe. Sit and breathe and pay attention. If you go to a sangha (a sitting group), often the Heart Sutra is part of the chanting that happens within the sitting. My favorite part of the chant is the paradoxical "Form is emptiness; Emptiness is form."

Click through to the YouTube version for the Japanese sounds and the English translation.


Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu
May all beings everywhere be happy and free. And may the thoughts and actions of my own life contribute, in some way, to that happiness and freedom for all.

It is important to remember that all that we say and do affects those around us, MH.



Chakra Opening
Chakras are considered to be energy centers along the middle of our bodies. There are seven chakras, described here, and they're in charge of certain properties in our bodies and minds. There are sounds associated with each of the chakras, and chanting them is supposed to open the energy channels. The one on which I'm focused as you prepare to enter the world is the root chakra, represented by the color red and the sound LAM.
MC Yogi makes the chanting fun.

Magic Monday: Is your mama secretly a swan?

Swan swan swan, 
Bending their necks to sing to the sky.
White feathers floating on green water, 
Red feet pushing against clear waves.
                              --Luo Bin Wang

Good morning, M. Hazel!

Wow. 38 weeks! How are you feeling about making an appearance soon? We are officially go for launch.

I have too many stories about birds. Today, though, a different spin on bird stories. 

During a game of Words With Friends (a Scrabble ripoff game that is an obsession of mine--words!!!), a friend of mine sent me a text, "My dream last night . . . you and I were sitting in a subway tunnel watching the trains fly by. All the while, you were pregnant and fully clothed in swan feathers; we talked of issues concerning having a baby. Your hair was a bright, deep red. Even though it was a dream, it was good to see you."

Dreams are so potent. Maybe they are just the brain's way of tying up loose ends, or rummaging through the trash out of boredom. But maybe they go a little deeper. Maybe some of them are filled with a little magic. Although Freud gets a lot of flack (even from me), I love psychoanalytic thought and interpretation. The unconscious mind becomes the place from which our intuition emerges. 

My goal here isn't to go too deeply into dream analysis, but simply to acknowledge the beauty of dreaming, and, especially, the beauty of that potent dream.

And so, a fast little doodle for you:

A poem

Good morning, M. "You know being born is important."

Carl Sandburg's "Being Born"

Being born is important

You who have stood at the bedposts
and seen a mother on her high harvest day,
the day of the most golden of harvest moons for her.

You who have seen the new wet child
dried behind the ears,
swaddled in soft fresh garments,
pursing its lips and sending a groping mouth
toward nipples where white milk is ready.

You who have seen this love’s payday
of wild toiling and sweet agonizing.

You know being born is important.
You know that nothing else was ever so important to you.
You understand that the payday of love is so old,
So involved, so traced with circles of the moon,
So cunning with the secrets of the salts of the blood.
It must be older than the moon, older than salt.

Momma is a New Waver

Good morning, MH!

Will you prefer the Rockabye Baby! song versions from some of my favorites:



Or the originals?

Magic Monday: World of Froud

Good morning, Maeby Hazel!

After I became mildly obsessed with watching Labyrinth, I did what I usually do with little obsessions, and I branched out. What I mean by that is that I like to take the main focus and filter it through all these different lenses. So, for instance, with another of my obsessions, The Cure, I found it necessary to dig into Robert Smith's childhood, his personal life, the band's pop-culture references, and on and on. Or, another example, I became fascinated for a few years with China's Communist history, which led to a lot of Cultural Revolution and Mao study (my favorite book on the topic is this one, even though it's controversial).

So, with Labyrinth, it became all about Brian Froud, whose artwork was the inspiration for the film. I don't even know how I came upon his book, Faeries, but as you can see, it still sits, well-loved, upon my living room bookshelf.

I look forward to making fairy wreaths with you, MH!

It wasn't the precious flower fairies that intrigued me, as much as the mischievous pixies. In the world of fairy (as in the "real" one), "pretty" isn't an indicator of kindness. My take on pretty:

"every kitten figures out how to get down . . . "

It was more the drawings that looked like this one that compelled me to forever love Froud:

In high school, I had a close-knit group of girlfriends, and we considered it part of our mission to spread the fairy gospel. Some of my best memories are of camping by various rivers, and walking out into the twilight to try and catch some fairies at play. Or staying the night at Weasle's (her name at the time), and building fairy wreaths with rose and wild garlic and dancing under the light of the full moon. Even some of our acting adventures were fae-guided. We did two productions of A Midsummer Night's Dream, one in which I played Robin Starveling (I think . . . it was the bit part, at any rate), and a second, for an Albuquerque drama festival, in which I played the coveted Puck. Acting is not my forte, MH, but belonging to such a group of whimsical friends who also believed in make-believe . . . it made a lot of high school bearable.

I've limited my "collection" to a small Fairy Corner, in a futile attempt to reduce suspicions that I might be a little off my rocker.

And so, I still love Froud. His wife, Wendy makes the most beautiful figures. I've never considered myself a person who has a collector mentality, but even having a very small copy of one of her fairy figures makes me a little giddy. And their son, Toby (who played Toby in Labyrinth), is in the family game, too, creating art and living as a part-time fairy. The whole family is getting ready for an exhibition in New York, with a book release, for Trolls. 

Ack! How cool would that be, to meet the whole Froud family?!??! Well, even without the meet-and-greet (since we've already scheduled our own meet-and-greet for at least a couple weeks prior), we'll eventually get the book and pour over the juicy troll drawings. 

A poem

Good morning, Maeby Hazel.

According to babycenter, you're the size of a crenshaw melon. Having never seen or eaten such a melon, this description isn't helpful. What I do know is that your kickboxing adventures have, frankly, gotten wild. Chiropractor is lined up for next week to create a truce between you and my skeleton.

A poem, "Ordinary Miracle," by Barbara Kingsolver, to start our day:

I have mourned lost days
When I accomplished nothing of importance.
But not lately.
Lately under the lunar tide
Of a woman’s ocean, I work
My own sea-change:
Turning grains of sand to human eyes.
I daydream after breakfast
While the spirit of egg and toast
Knits together a length of bone
As fine as a wheatstalk.
Later, as I postpone weeding the garden
I will make two hands
That may tend a hundred gardens.

I need ten full moons exactly
For keeping the animal promise.
I offer myself up: unsaintly, but
Transmuted anyway
By the most ordinary miracle.
I am nothing in this world beyond the things one woman does.
But here are eyes that once were pearls.
And here is a second chance where there was none.

Parenting Philosophies #2

Good morning, MH.

One of my favorite blogs, McSweeney's,  serves up a perfectly snarky sort of article on strangers giving parenting advice, written by Wendy Molyneux:

"Yes, he IS crying, isn’t he? You are right. He’s probably hungry. Should I feed him? And if so, where do I put the food? His eyeball? His butt? What kinds of cuts of meat do babies like? Should I not give him hot peppers? How much salt is too much, and when can I expect him to use a knife? If he spits up, should I have him put to sleep? There are just so many things I need to know, and that is why I rely on total strangers like you who happen to be experts on child care."

Read the rest . . .

Safe Baby Pregnancy Tips

Magic Monday: Blue Moons

Good morning, dearest. Here we are, at the start of week 36. Are you feeling the desire to make your appearance soon? It is a blue moon this Friday.

(photo by Revera, Creative Commons) Both holy and insane?

Sometimes people will say, "It  happens once in a blue moon," and that's because a blue moon is a rare thing. All it means, though, is that we have another full moon this month (so it's a calendar blue moon, and not a seasonal one), right on the edge of our transition from summer into autumn. But, is that all it means, really? The moon makes folks feel religious, crazy, superstitious--magical. Even Neil Armstrong, who just passed away, said that, "I think we're going to the moon because it's in the nature of the human being to face challenges. It's by the nature of his deep inner soul ... we're required to do these things just as salmon swim upstream." The moon is a part of our souls.

Because the moon is cyclical, it's often associated with women. Women are all about the cycle, right? Almost every culture has some sort of goddess (some have multiple) associated with the moon.

Diana not only governs hunting and the moon, but birthin' babies, too!

The science says that even though people think more babies are born on the full moon, that it just ain't so. I love science, but sometimes it really sucks the fun out of stuff. The magic part goes that if we're mostly water, and the moon can control the tides, the moon should definitely have an influence on our bodies, right? So, if you decide to make your appearance this weekend, then we'll chalk it up to Diana. And if you wait a couple more weeks, we'll chalk one up for the scientists. Either way, magic wins, because you'll be in my arms.

"And then there suddenly appeared before me/The only one my arms will ever hold." Although Ella doesn't seem to like this version, I like the playfulness.

Morning meditation

Good morning, MH.

Focusing on mindfulness this morning:

May we be at peace.
May our hearts remain open.
May we awaken to the light of our own nature.
May we be healed.
May we be a source of healing for all beings.

I'm a kitty cat (and I meow meow meow)

Good morning, Maeby Hazel!

This video is really old, but it still tickles me.

I live with two old men. Well. Not men. Males. Of the feline variety. Siamese-ish. Not evil Siamese, though, like these pre-PC Disney demon cats (at least not most of the time):

I haven't seen Lady & the Tramp in years, but this clip doesn't make me feel too confident about it timelessness.

My oldest cat is named Humo. His name means "smoke" in Spanish, and I named him thinking that he looked a bit like a cat that had got caught in a fire. He is 14 years old. When I was a 5th-year senior at the University of New Mexico, I lived in a house on Lead with a couple of gals. One of those gals, Heather, had a long-haired gray tabby cat who gave birth to a bunch of Siamese-ish kittens (Thank goodness. It would have been really weird if she gave birth to dogs!). The kittens disappeared to their new adopted homes, and there were two remaining in our home. I had picked a very light, more traditional-looking Siamese, but nobody wanted the big-headed kitten that was left over (everyone thought there was something wrong with him). Heather's mom wanted a kitten, but refused to take the "weird" one, and my heart strings were tugged just enough that I let go of the fair one, and took big-headed Humo. I'm so glad I did. Despite turning into a grumpy cat for a number of years, he's been a peach of a companion. 

Then there's Pooka. Pooka was given to me as a gift 11 years ago. I named him after a very mischievous, shapeshifting fairy. When I first got him, I fed him the way I do Humo--that is, I just left out the never-ending bowl full of food (I'll probably have to change that feeding procedure, now that I think about it. I wouldn't want you to think cat food is a viable nutritional option). But Pooka kept eating and eating and eating . . . He would have eaten until his belly popped, I think! AND, he had really bad asthma. And bad teeth. And he might suffer from hallucinations. He's a hot mess. Despite putting him on a more disciplined diet, he's never lost that big ol' belly flap, and so when he walks, his belly swings gently from side to side. He's a love muffin and an attention diva.

Humo is the darker cat, and Pooka is is the lighter one. They sleep pretty much all the time. What a life. I hope they're content.

They might be a little bit afraid of you at first. When my nephews are over, the cats usually go into hiding under the bed. It might be confusing for them to be in a house that is now filled with all sorts of new noises. Usually, things are pretty quiet.

We're gonna be a most amazing, peculiar, brilliant, and beautiful family, MH. We're getting closer to meeting each other in person! Meow meow meow.

Magic Monday

Good morning, my darling. Yesterday was a rough day, both physically and emotionally. I didn't have a chance to sit down and write. Today will be better. In the meantime, a little David Bowie for your magic pleasure.

I promise not to ever hand you over to the Goblin King.

Maybe Hazel, Maybe Not--Part I

hazel 

O.E. hæsl, hæsel, from P.Gmc. *hasalaz (cf. O.N. hasl, M.Du. hasel, Ger. hasel), from PIE *koselo- "hazel" (cf. L. corulus, O.Ir. coll "hazel"). Shakespeare ("Romeo and Juliet," 1592) was first to use it (in print) in the sense of "reddish-brown color of eyes" (in reference to the color of ripe hazel-nuts), when Mercutio accuses Benvolio of being testy with:

Thou wilt quarrell with a man for cracking Nuts, hauing no reason, but because thou hast hasell eyes

from the Online Etymology Dictionary

Good morning, MH!

Why do I write "Maybe Hazel?" You probably want to know why I'm being wishy washy about the whole naming business. Naming a baby is a monumental task! I started the deliberation process like any good geek girl would do, and I created a Google spreadsheet, with columns devoted to boy names, girl names, meaning/etymology, and a place for people to offer feedback. (Isn't this what everybody does?)

At first, I really was drawn to Poppy. You were my little poppy seed, after all, when I found out I was pregnant. But then, I worried that it sounded a lot like Papi, and I didn't want anyone teasing you with "Papi Chulo" references.

Also on the list: Alice and Jane and Claire . . . I find myself drawn to these names that have a bit of an old-fashioned flair. But, Hazel kept popping to the top of my list. I really do love that name.

This is the flowering shrub from which your name is derived. 

The last time Hazel was super popular was at the turn of the century (the 18- to 1900s, not the 19- to 2000s). Your name also means "commander," and the hazelnut is supposed to be a source of wisdom. Hazel branches are filled with magic and protection. And we'll have lots of fairytales that involve hazel-ish references.

FYI, I'm a word nerd. 

As for the Maybe . . . well. I have had FOUR ultrasounds, two of them at the ER. How rad was it that on the very first one, at 10 weeks, you raised your hand and waved at me? That made me cry. A little hello from barely-formed fingers. Too early at that point to determine gender. And then, at 20 weeks . . . a tech who was anything but certain. Her final answer was, "I'm pretty sure it's a girl." Ummmmm . . . And then, my third ER ultrasound, the doctor's final answer, "I would say a girl, but I wouldn't guarantee it." And the fourth, the doctor said (as I'm figuring out everyone does, as sort of a failed preemptive strike against postpartum crabbiness), "Don't hold me to it, but I'd say 'girl.'"

So. Maybe Hazel, but maybe not.

Pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy

Good morning, mH!

WHEW.

My midwife thought I had this awful (and aptly named) skin condition. But, I'm just itchy. I think. Partially from all that stretching, partially from having my blood consumed by an army of mosquitoes on a nightly basis.

I wish I had something like this contraption, pregnant-woman sized, for me to roll my body through repeatedly:

Aaaaaaaaaah. Sweet relief.

Magic Monday: the morning walk

Good morning, Maeby H.

What a weekend! A bit of scary, a lot of exhausting, and here we are, at the beginning of another week.

Most mornings, since we've been together, I try to go for a little walk. I live in a pretty fascinating neighborhood, and I thought I'd share a few highlights from my magical mornings.

We have power

via Reddit--an 8-year-old's vision of girl power

Your power does not reside in your gender, Maybe Hazel. We do get jobs. We are creative. We are smart. And we do have power--but not because we have veginas and bobes. 

Yes, I'm debating an assignment from an 8-year-old girl, but only because, while I appreciate the spirit of her words, I want you to know that I disagree. A great Buddha quote: “All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.” Whether I'm holding a little girl or a little boy in my arms in less than two months, these are the words that matter. 

You're a trooper, MH

A little over a week ago, we had ourselves quite the adventure. Actually, we've already had quite a few, but this particular day was pretty extraordinary.

Our high school staff drove to San Diego for a little sailing/bonding time. I've never been sailing. I've been on a ferry during a terrible storm, traveling from the north to south island of New Zealand. I've slept on a ferry traveling the English Channel. I took a boat ride out to dive with sharks when visiting Hawaii. I've been on powerboats to waterski and canoes to paddle around lazily. But, alas, no sailing. Soooo, despite the fact that your momma has been known to get motion sick on a treadmill, I am very much of the mind that I must follow Eleanor Roosevelt's advice, and regularly do things that scare me.

We set out at 1 pm. My dorky chart above shows that although I'm a little anxious, I'm mostly pretty joyful at the start.

Here we go!!! Whee!!! So exciting. Until  . . .

So exciting, until, as Captain Greg was doing whatever it is one does to a sail to make it go up, I felt something fall from the sail and onto my chest, and from my chest, onto my thigh. I thought a bird pooped on me, and asked, "Did a bird poop on me?" when all of a sudden, my thigh was consumed with a critical amount of pain. I'd been stung. By a bee. On a boat. In the ocean. I do not think this type of scary thing is what Eleanor had in mind.

I'm apiphobic. Few things can make me run around squealing like a little piggy, but bees and wasps can, and do. The kicker of this misadventure is that my friend DeeDee told me that it's not the first sting I have to worry about, in terms of allergy, but the second. She then explained the scientific reasoning behind it, but I was too busy whimpering and sniveling to understand or care, much beyond thinking, "I still have to be nervous around these necessary-but-terrifying creatures???"

Co-captain DeeDee gave me a cleansing wipe, followed by a cold beer (used for cooling my inner thigh only, sadly), and then a generous swabbing of mustard. Yes, mustard.

Well, despite the spike in adrenalin, I did my best to get over it, and decided to explore the front of the boat. I clipped on a life jacket and scrambled to the bow, where my friend Tim grabbed some excellent pictures, like this one:

You'll notice on my handy-dandy chart that my levels of joy and pain have inverted at this point.

Then, another too-exciting adventure: Canada (yes, Canada) was conducting some underwater-sonar-submarine experiment that consisted of a military helicopter flying in place, dragging a line from the helicopter into the water. While I was sitting peacefully, having a moment, we came so close to said-Canadian-"warship" (as it was referred to on the radio) that the spray covered me, and the boat caught the wakes created by the helicopter. It was all very action movie-esque, and I made my way back with legs of jelly.

It was then that, perhaps, the Dramamine upon which I'd relied gave up on me and my adrenalin rushes, and I became ill. Very ill. Embarrassingly ill. I felt badly for my co-sailors, as I know how I react when I'm around someone who's yacking, and there I was, my body squished between the metal bars (sorry about that), miserable (another spike on the pain chart) and yacking.

They decided to turn the boat around and head onto calmer waters (which still didn't feel calm). Even land didn't feel calm for a while. Still, I'm glad we did it. I kept smiling, even through my embarrassment, and kept looking for the joy. Eleanor would have been proud, even if the bee sting now might have gone into Super Evil Phase II at this point and transitioned to an infection.

Magic Monday

Good morning, my beautiful MH.

School is starting today.  Actually, it started last week (hence, the sudden drop in posting action), but my students arrive this morning.

I'll need a little bit of magic to get through today. I am a woman who always is prepared, always organized (in my own way) . . . but today is different. I usually have anxiety dreams about being completely unprepared at this time of year. There's the one where I lose complete control of my classroom and end up screaming at students at the top of lungs. There's another that must spring from my brief theater days, where I have to perform in a play but have not been given the script. This time, I'll be awake! I think that despite my chaos, though, it'll be a good day, mostly because it was an amazing weekend (more on that later). Love is the most powerful magic there is. 


From one of my favorite (and most magical) book series of all time :

"If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign ... to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever." Dumbledore to Harry, The Philosopher's Stone

Cravings

Good morning, MH!

I've developed a bit of queasiness in this third trimester. There are, however, a couple of cravings I've had throughout that never seem to have waned, despite the current (in)stability of my stomach. I'm pretty sure you'll be curious about my cravings at some point. I know it's a question that me and my siblings still ask my mom. "What did you crave when you were pregnant with me?" I never seem to remember the answer, but maybe it's because I love hearing my mom talk about it again and again.

My top 3:

1. Eggs. I've been lucky enough to benefit from our school chickens, and the yolks from those eggs . . . yummy. Creamy, buttery goodness. I prefer a soft-boiled treatment so that I fully can appreciate the yolk--by far the best part. Soft-boiled eggs with a couple pieces of buttered toast (sometimes with a little strawberry jam on the second slice) have been my comfort food since I was a little girl.

2. Watermelon. I get the little personal-size, seedless melons, cut them in half, devour one piece with a spoon, and save the second half for the next day. Refreshing, especially with the awful heat of Phoenix summer.

3. Ghirardelli Milk & Caramel. I'm usually a dark-chocolate girl, but this stuff . . . heaven. There's three servings (I think) in a bar, but I admit that when this candy is in my grubby hands,  it's usually gone in about a half hour.

Road Runner Going Hundred Mile Per Hour

Good morning, Maybe Hazel.

My favorite running song: Michael Franti & Spearhead--You can't help but do a little booty-shaking  when this starts playing.

Weekend before last, we were at a fabulous and bittersweet farewell party. You probably remember the embarrassingly high number of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that kept sending those sweet sugar waves your way. Those cookies were baked by my friend Liz, and as we chatted, she mentioned that she had a  brilliant trail run while vacationing in Oregon, and she'd thought about how much I would love it.

*sigh*

I don't know the exact moment I became a runner. Certainly, I've never been known for any sort of athletic prowess. I think trying out for the volleyball team in 6th grade may have marked the end of my athletic curiosity. But, I now identify as a runner (albeit, a runner on hiatus).

When I found out I was pregnant with you, I started researching. The tricky thing about the internet is that you basically can find information to support any position you're interested in defending. So, it's no surprise that I found lots of positive support for running as long as I could. 

I'm not gonna lie. I had a little fantasy that I was as tough as Kara Goucher and Paula Radcliffe, and I planned to run the Summer Series 5Ks up until you made your appearance.

I felt slower right off the bat, probably due to that pesky anemia. I've never been speedy, but I saw 9-minute miles increase to 10, 11 . . . I transitioned into woggling--a mixture of jogging and walking. I purchased a hideous maternity belt that kept you stable as I woggled 3-4 mornings a week.

On May 12, I completed the Luck of the Draw 8K, placing an impressive 165th place (out of 185 runners--hahaha). I also was scrambling up Piestewa Peak every other week. Slowing down, week by week.

Then, you made it very clear that my last name definitely isn't Goucher, and I had to shut it down altogether for a few weeks.

Now, we walk. Walking is good. It's not running, but we're staying healthy and safe. Running is my therapy; forced focus on the breath is the best active meditation for a Nervous Nelly like me. So, I know we'll get back to it. Maybe you'll remember the cadence of my feet hitting the pavement as I push you along in your stroller, and you'll be rocked into a contemplative space like mine, as I pretend once again that I can be like Goucher (who finished 5th in the Boston Marathon just 7 months after having her son and whose every move I'll follow this Olympics!).

Magic Monday

My friend Kristen sent this funny meme spin my way.

Good morning, Maybe Hazel!

One of my favorite fairytale movies of all time is Labyrinth. But, I don't think that I'll be able to share it with you for a few years. I probably ought to start paying attention to things like this:

That means, though, that most fairytale movies I love are more age appropriate for the elementary set: Princess Bride--8; Dark Crystal--7 (although, frankly, I found this film way creepier than any other movie mentioned here when I saw it at age 9); NeverEnding Story--8; My Neighbor Totoro--5 . . . so, it may be a while, especially if you're as sensitive to "scary stuff" as I am (which is to say, you get frightened for years by large Skeksis puppets who creep around stealing life energy from little Gelflings . . . my imagination gets the best of me).

Labyrinth and Dark Crystal share two creators that I adore: Jim Henson and Brian Froud (more on him later). Now, don't get any funny ideas about watching too much television. I'd much rather we are doing, rather than watching. I guarantee it's way cooler. BUT, on those rare occasions when relaxing on the couch is absolutely the best and only option, Jim Henson's creations aren't a shabby way to go. In fact, I'll have to hunt around for it, but I have a photo of Baby Me clutching two stuffed toys (my most favorite toys in the whole wide world): Bert and Ernie, two of Henson's muppet creations. Nowadays, Sesame Street is so huge that it has its own planet in the solar system, but his company was the originator. 

Magic is sometimes easier to feel when we can see it, and certain artists have a way of really making it come to life through film and television. In those moments when we both could use a little downtime, I look forward to sharing some of my favorite visual treats with you (age-appropriate, of course)!

Pregnancy and Swimwear

from David & Kelly Sopp's Safe Baby Pregnancy Tips

Good morning, M. Hazel.

I'm headed to San Diego this weekend for a staff retreat. Although I'd joked that I would be rocking a string bikini on the beach, I'm sticking with a "skirted" bikini. It fits . . . okay. I'm always challenged to find swimsuits that fit small on top and can handle a, ummm, generous amount of booty below, and forget about one-piece suits. Even in non-pregnant status, I've yet to try one one that doesn't make me feel like a pear stuffed into pantyhose. This particular maternity swimsuit doesn't like to stay up the way it should in the back, if you know what I mean. Plumber central. Cleavage best left hidden. I would apologize if people end up seeing entirely too much of me, but as we enter 32 weeks, I'm more concerned about just enjoying the ocean breeze without nausea, Braxton Hicks, or back pain--you, me, and big booty.

a poem for MH on Thursday

[Grow baby          grow a brain with curly]
--Hoa Nguyen


Grow baby          grow a brain with curly

hair      blow a leaf         a leaf

shaped love      hold the swirling

life-lasso          draw pretty bubbles baby

(soft rabbit)                  the center is

light green        the tender part

is the newest part

The case of the disappearing organs

Good morning, Maeby.

This morning, I was in the nest of pillows that has taken over my bed, and you busted out some serious breakdance moves. I'm always confused about where you might be positioned, especially during moments when your groove seems to place you up in my ribs, down in my pelvis, and on both sides--all at the same time.

No contest. You win the title of Battle Master. 

So, I'm just lying there, watching the show, and I had a minor panic attack. If you are here, there, everywhere . . . Ummm . . . where's everything else? Where's all my stuff? Based on my tinkle tempo, I know that my bladder is probably smooshed flat as a crepe. But what about all that other-stuff-that-I-can't-really-name-because-my-knowledge-of-internal-anatomy-is-appallingly-limited?

I found this handy-dandy animation (click through) that helped your visual mommy get a handle on the freak out. The "Birth" part of the animation is amusing. It'd be great if it had a little balloon-deflation sound effect. If only it were that simple. Carry on, B-Baby.

Cravings

Good morning, MH!

Everything from Boon generates big waves on my "oooooh, ahhhhhh" meter. I struggle with simplifying, so it's a cool thing to see people who are brilliant at it. I like to think this lovely little mobile would catch your eye, too.

Magic Monday

“Everytime a child says 'I don't believe in fairies,' there's a a little fairy somewhere that falls down dead.” -- Peter Pan

Good morning, MH.

You should know, right off the bat, that I believe in fairies. I believe in make-believe, and I (usually) am not too bashful admitting it. Probably this revelation will cause you great embarrassment in the tween years. Until then, I'm really looking forward to sharing this little bit of magic with you. Downtown Phoenix isn't the ideal place for fairy watching--too much concrete and not enough water or trees. It's barely habitable for regular people.

You'll have a much better chance at seeing fairies than your mommy. Something happens to people as they get older. Cynicism or anxiety . . . it's happened to me, but at least I still have stories upon stories (ancient, classic, modern, urban) that I can share with you. Most of them will begin, "Once upon a time," and most of them will end, "And she lived happily ever after." The Brothers Grimm are a favorite of mine, and "The Frog Prince" is at the top of the list. 

Scott Gustafson's Proof Print for "The Frog Prince" I often think about what you'll look like. Maybe like this princess?

The story starts out, "One fine evening a young princess put on her bonnet and clogs, and went out to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a cool spring of water with a rose in the middle of it, she sat herself down to rest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was her favourite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the air, and catching it again as it fell." 

The princess in this story can come across as selfish, but the beautiful thing about fairy tales is that there's all this symbolism tucked away. I like to think of it as a story of a girl attempting to embrace her inner voice and power. Symbolism! Our brains love to play and explore and stumble through meaning and metaphor. 

I promise I'll try not to bore you with too many crazy details and interpretations when I'm reading you stories. Sometimes the story is enough.  

Parenting Philosophies #1

My friend Karen sent this little gem my way. Sounds about right!
Congratulations, baby. We've made it 31 weeks!

New Car Smell

Good morning, Maybe Hazel.

I'm about to head out the door for a little walk, and guess what I'll see on our way out? (Drum roll, please)  . . . A BRAND . . . NEW . . . (this is mo' bettah if you picture it in the Price is Right voiceover). . .  Mommy-Mobile!!!

Here it is!!! 2012 Nissan Versa. You'll be chillin' in the back. I like how you can see how duck-footed I am in the reflection.

As much as I wish it would have magically appeared outside our apartment, it did take some doing. I knew, logically, that I couldn't put you in the front seat of my trusty old Nissan Frontier. I mean, I could have done, but I probably would get the same looks that I'd get if I decided to throw back a pint of beer at my local pub (mmmmmm . . . beer . . .). Plus, realistically, it's just not safe to have you in the front seat of the vehicle. Really, it's not, so please don't ask to ride in the front until you're 12.

The purchase wasn't so awful, but it lasted forever. Thomas, my car salesman, is a comic-book artist. I kid you not, he looks just like Comic Book Guy (and although he no longer has a ponytail, he lamented its loss). I kept waiting for him to say, "Worst job ever," since once he found out I was a fellow geek and artist, he kept repeating that he was an artist first, salesman second. He even had his portfolio with him, so while I waited for this, that, and the other, I was able to take a gander. He's pretty legit. As an artist, anyway.

I had one breakdown (I made it to the bathroom and had a satisfying and long cry). It followed after the process had been going on for hours, and I was slowly finding out that my vision of how things were going to go (short-term loan, tons of $ for my truck, etc.) was not going to be fulfilled. Part of my truck's reduced value had to do with a stupid accident. A couple years ago, when I landed in Albuquerque after taking students to Australia, I thought I could drive straight to Phoenix the next morning. As I pulled in to get gas, I took the side of my truck against that concrete poll thing that keeps people like me from taking out the entire gas pump. It did some brutal damage. One little attempt at blowing up a gas station, and CARFAX is all, "Oooooooh, shame on you, girl." Poop.

After some push/pull with Comic Book Guy, his mysterious manager (seriously, why do these managers give off such villain vibes?), and team G-Locas (that's us, btw, until I can think up a more suitable nickname), the deal was done. Yes, loans (booooo), and yes, safe (yayyyyy!). My mom and her hubby William saved our day with a Happy Meal, and they prevented another breakdown by taking all the stuff out of my good old truck.

It's just a thing. A vehicle. But it's also a symbol. A metaphor for big change. I'll miss my truck (and all the silly stickers I'd plastered all over it--my favorites were from Japan). But, in the end, it's just a truck. And, more importantly, you'll now have a much safer place in which to store and fossilize Cheerios and french fries.

Fruits and Veggies

Good morning, Maybe Hazel.

According to the bump, you're transitioning from cucumber- to pineapple-sized proportions. Certainly, it feels that way! And speaking of fruits and veggies, it seems to me that if my body were in desperate need of certain nutrients, then I would have insatiable cravings for, say, a heaping helping of steamed broccoli. Ummm. No, thanks. But I would love me some french fries, followed by some chocolate stuffed with caramel. Maybe a handful of gummy bears for dessert.

I'm trying to eat well. I would say that I generally eat better than a lot of folks, but I have my weaknesses (currently: chocolate in its many incarnations, fries, ice cream). And I have my aversions (currently, any leftover that's been in the fridge, popcorn, fish).

What I'm trying to do is bring up my vitamin D and my iron levels. My midwife would like my D levels to be at 30, and I've brought them from a "9" to a "25," so, getting there. My iron levels actually dipped lower than they were a few months ago. Pretty sure I've always had anemia issues, and those issues started their rearing lame-sauce, weak-blooded heads when I was training for half marathons. It was recommended that I start taking Floradix and adding in some extra protein calories in the form of a green shake.

The green shake was a bust. It was only after I had a shake (a shake that tasted suspiciously like I imagined hay blended with grass might taste) that I thought to look more carefully at the ingredients. Among the hundreds of things on the "Don't You Dare Eat That" list: ginseng and licorice. Go figure. The Floradix isn't so bad. Reminds me of some taste from my childhood. 

Getting my D levels right will (hopefully, fingers and toes crossed!) make it easier to give birth to you. Getting my iron levels right will (hopefully, fingers and toes crossed!) make it possible for me to have the energy to keep up with you.