Untitled (but not poetically so)

The rosy afterglow of a lovely Storymakers conference is fading but I'll have my memories to keep me warm until next year. Well, memories and some extra fat cells. Kim from Temporary Insanity brought me the most delicious Cadbury Canadian chocolate and I gobbled it up. No, I didn't. I totally savored it. Wanna hear a funny story? My kids thought I was going to share it. Ha ha ha! I love my children but feeding them fine chocolate is a little bit of a pearls before swine thing. So . . . no.

Don tried hard to fatten me up too, with homemade caramel apple butter. Doesn't thinking of that make you want to curl up with a novel, a mug of hot chocolate, and apple butter on toast? Yum! Especially on the homemade bread my husband has been experimenting with. Wanna hear a sad story? I didn't want to risk putting it in my suitcase because I didn't want the glass to break. I bundled it up and stuck it in my purse so it would make it home on the plane with me safely. But . . . security wouldn't let me through with it and I had to leave it behind. I have never been so bummed in the security line. Sad!

I brought home another souvenir from the conference, though. A rockin' cough. I get smoker's lung and I haven't even earned it. I'm so lucky! The baby loves it when I cough while she's nursing. She weeps with joy every time.

Here are some more random memories from last weekend: Becca Wilhite wore a seriously cool necklace at Borders. I got a new beta reader. Yay, Eowyn! You are super nice! Luisa can navigate a packed ballroom with a stroller like nobody's business. And when Susan asked me to help her find Kim, I told her I didn't know where she was but that I knew exactly who else to look for. Sure enough, it made me laugh to see Kim at lunch sitting with Eowyn and Luisa, exactly where I would expect to find her.

Amber was really concerned about how the nursing is going with Eden. I love it when people worry about me and ask me how I'm doing. It makes me feel important. Amber Lynae surprised the pants off of me when she said hello at the conference. I had no idea she would be there, so that was fun.

And it took five times as long to link everything as it did to write the post. And I'm totally not exaggerating. I may never, ever link again.

Anyway, I'm off to do some exciting things for the twenty minutes that my husband is bottle feeding Eden. Do you think I can fit in a trip to Nordstrom, dinner with a girlfriend, a refresh on my manicure, four loads of laundry, and a whole house cleaning in during those twenty minutes? No?

Hm. 'Kay. I guess I'll have to settle for wandering through a few more blogs . . .

We interrupt this blog . . .

So the midwife was all like, "Breathe deep and . . . PUSH!" And then a baby came out.

Then she was like, "Okay, breathe deep and push again!" So I did and then my blogging mojo came out and got incinerated as medical waste.

And that is the only way I can explain the last six weeks.

Occasionally, my blogging cells will rally and try to fight their way to the internet. But then Eden decides to eat (so we're talking every 45 minutes or so here) and she latches her cute little rosebud mouth on and nurses away and then the slight little pool of mojo that had accumulated is drained out with the milk.

So yes, I'm saying Eden has stolen my blogging mojo. And I don't begrudge her one bit. I mean, really:

I'm going to have a problem with that little face? Hardly.

Truthfully, we are still working the nursing thing out and that takes time and logistically makes typing impossible. I still read tons and tons of blogs but this is a little girl who loves her mommy and wants to always be held so that makes it really hard to comment. And the few times she does let me put her down for a short period of time are spent doing things like feeding my family. They are looking all wraith-like. If any one of them lingers in front of the grocery store just a little too long, people try to give them money to buy food. James especially. Between his natural skinniness and the desperate, desperate state of his hair, I think he's developing a reputation as "that homeless kid who rides a scooter everywhere."

Anyway, things have been especially busy this weekend. I went to the fabulous LDS Storymakers conference which was far less stressful than last year because I have a contract now. Oh, but far MORE stressful because Eden came with me which was interesting, plus I had to solve a wardrobe challenge. How do you dress a six week post baby body in something that is flattering and still functional for nursing? Answer: wear dresses that button in the front and have very forgiving A-line skirts and ties in the front that hide your belly. And wear awesome shoes so nobody looks at the rest of your outfit.

I spent the weekend in great workshops and critique groups which was fun. But the MOST fun was meeting/hanging out with all my bloggy/writery friends.

Take this photo for instance:

I'm going to crib my own comment from Crash's comment trail. If you read Crash, DeNae and I, you're probably really worried to discover that we simultaneously occupied the same physical point in the space-time continuum UNSUPERVISED. You are right to be worried.

I also met Kazzy who is lovely. And I hung out with Sue, the One True Sue, the Navel Gazing Sue, who is also my critique partner and WHO HAS PROMISED TO GIVE ME SOMETHING TO READ SOON. Ahem. Not that she's busy or anything.

And I saw our other partner, Aubrey, and we exchanged gifts of the spirit, only mine was shaped like a book and hers was shaped like a one pound box of See's chocolate which made it back home with me already half eaten which is Not Good but Very Delicious.

I saw my college friend Susan (I forgot to get a picture) and my blog friend LT (ditto forgetting the picture). I saw writer friends Annette Lyon and Josi Kilpack and Julie Wright. And I almost don't want to name any more people because the more people I name, it will make me feel worse about anyone I forget.

Anyway, when Eden settles down to something resembling a schedule (and our rule with the kids is: free ride until age 3 months and then you choose a schedule or we make one for you), blogging will even out. The tentative plan is: blog regularly and also have it be. . .um, good.

Just know, I'm still reading even though my comments have slowed down but seriously, blame it on Eden. Not my total inability to do twelve-teen things at once.

P.S. I didn't forget you, Eliza. I just looked hideous in the picture of us together and I refuse to put it up which is too bad because it's a cute one of you.

P.P.S. Does anyone else think that Crash is way pretty?

Not so unspotted

So, for a wholesome Sabbath activity, we often watch MGM musicals. This means that I put one in, Grant continues to bounce off the walls, Kenny and I sing along at the top of our lungs, and James sits in the corner of the couch (because it's a sectional and has a corner) and acts like he thinks it's kind of dumb. But I know he doesn't really think that because, for example, just three days ago he heard the "Good Night" song on a commercial and got all excited. "Mom! That's the same song in The Sound of Music!" And I'm not even italicizing that because it's the proper thing to do with a title. The pure excitement in his voice forced those italics.

Anyway, wholesome. Right? So we watched My Fair Lady today, one of my all time favorites. And Grant was running around as usual paying no attention (except for "Get Me to the Church On Time" when he did a little jig for us that included the robot, which btw, is ridiculously cute on a two-year-old). And then it gets to the very end when Professor Higgins realizes he misses Eliza Doolittle and he says, "Damn, damn, damn!"

Guess what Grant's new favorite word is, in triplicate and everything . . .

Randomosity

1. "Unchained Melody" just kills me every time I hear it on the radio. It is sung with such longing.

2. I think a three-way tie for first place in songs with lyrics that make no sense but are kind of awesome anyway is: "Pass the Dutchie ('Pon the Left Hand Side)", "Louie, Louie" and "Tub Thumper" by Chumbawamba.

3. Mother's Cookies is running a contest where the winner gets a year's supply of cookies. The prize is paid out in 42 free product coupons.

. . .

Now, I realize that 42 is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. But I still have a problem with this.

Let's start with the math. There are 52 weeks in a year. Either they have a serious lack of faith in their own cookies and they think I'd eat them at a pace of less than one package a week, or they have way too much faith in me that they think I could keep a package of cookies around for a week without polishing it off. On my very best behavior, a package would maybe last a day. Maybe. And if it's those frosted circus cookies, those buttery delicious agents of Satan . . .

Look, 42 just isn't enough.

4. I finished my third manuscript this morning. It took me just over five months which isn't bad considering that Christmas and birthing a new baby fell during that time. But it's down right terrible if you consider that it's 30,000 longer than my goal and and at least 15,000 longer than my publisher is going to let me get away with. To put that in perspective for non-writers: that's one third of another book. That's 15,000-30,000 words that will disappear into the hungry maw of my delete key.

Hm.

It's entirely possible I may have to rethink my hatred of outlining in advance.

5. My son had the fifth grade puberty talk. He's been entertaining me all week with his commentary on the booklet they received.

6. I could possibly live forever on food made from potatoes.

7. If I could drive any kind of car in the world, and money and practicality were no objects, I'd pick a 1967 Shelby Mustang. A Bentley might tempt me, but I think the Mustang would win in the end.

8. I found a yummy new treat:

9. My baby girl was an angel today. I love her.

10. I like Green Day all right but I don't own any of their albums, so I'm not sure why I know all the words to so many of their songs.

Happy Friday, friends.

Clothes make the (wo)man. Not.

So I think I'm not superficial. 

But I am.

It bothers me.

Here's how I know I am: I like to look in style. That's not such a big deal and it doesn't make me superficial. But I don't have a great sense of natural style. I've talked about my overly matchy-matchy dressing tendencies before. I can see stuff in a magazine or on a mannequin and then buy it for myself, but that's not exactly an organic approach to fashion. It seems like people with a natural sense of style can find really disparate items of clothing from all kinds of places and pull them together in a way that is totally hip. I would never be able to look at the same pieces they do and come up with an outfit. Yet you look at the same stuff on someone else and they have that air about them, that confidence that even if what they wore didn't all match, they'd feel sure they were awesome, anyway.

Yesterday at church I saw a girl in a gray and white striped blouse (matte cotton), a silver skirt (shiny), opaque black tights and metallic gold Mary Jane heels trimmed in silver. It shouldn't have worked, but it did. I'm sure (in my own head) that if I tried to wear the same outfit, it would look all wrong. People would look at me and think, "She has no idea how to dress."

Naturally stylish people can find the coolest outfits at the Goodwill. I'm sure if I wore thrift shop clothes, people would know I got them from a thrift store. That wouldn't matter if I still came off looking cool or stylish, but I would look like a bag lady. And that's how I know I'm superficial. Give me a Payless version of a shoe or the $90 Nordstrom version of it, and most likely, I'll pick the Nordstrom version of it because I'm sure in the Payless shoe people would look at me and say, "Huh. Cheap shoes" and in the Nordstrom pair, people will say, "Huh. Cute shoes." Even if they're IDENTICAL.

Basically, my self-esteem depends on me spending more money than I need to on clothes so that I can feel confident in front of other people.

I'm so pathetic that I've actually seen something cute on markdown and then thought, "Wait. If it's on markdown then nobody else wanted so it must not be that cute after all." And then I've not bought it.

On a related note, I'll be spending my next vacation running with the lemmings.

Anyway, I'm trying to overcome this. There are flashes of hope. When I have bought items of clothing or pairs of shoes on a whim simply because they amuse me or appeal to me at some emotional level, simply because I like them or the mood they put me in, those are the items that I get the most compliments on no matter how much or little they cost.

So you'd think I learn. The lesson would be: spend less time and money on trying to project an image and more on the things that please YOU. That is REAL.

I understand that this is about the lamest, most inconsequential issue ever. But it's been on my mind because I have the LDS Storymakers writing conference to go to next week and I've been planning my wardrobe for weeks now. It's fun to dress up for stuff, but as I puzzle over what to wear and discard or as I eliminate choices and consider my reasons why, I realize how totally lame I'm being. If I showed up in my oldest, rattiest stuff, the truly cool people are still going to like me regardless. And if I think wearing my sharpest brand new outfit is what will gain me friends, then I'm not cool at all.

The funniest thing is that I couldn't care less what other people wear. I don't know why I think they care what I do.

That's it. It's official. Something inside my head is broken. Maybe a little retail therapy will help . . .

Home sweet home.

We bought a house!

Yeeeeeeehawwwwww!

But I have to confess something and I hope you won't think less of me. Here goes . . .

We went over there this afternoon and I spent two hours caressing it and undressing it with my eyes.

I know, I know, it's so wrong, but it felt so right!

I stripped away spotted carpets and dated tile in my head and then re-dressed it in sexy ceramic tile and slammin' paint.

I'm so excited for when we have that little piece of paper that says that house is mine and I can do whatever I want to it!

And for everyone who has been asking about the details, some time when I can type in longer than five minute bursts (thank you, voracious Mama Juice hog Baby Eden), I'll tell you the very interesting story of how we got it.

But for now, the vital statistics:

It's in Rancho Santa Margarita which is thirty minutes south of us and inland, in the foothills. It's green and rolling and I'll take a mental snapshot of how it looks now in the spring so I can refer back to it when summer heats up and it gets more . . . brown. We've visited our ward and loved it. We're at the end of a cul-de-sac and we saw kids close to my oldest son's age playing outside.

The house itself is 4 bedrooms, 2.5 baths. Two stories, all bedrooms upstairs. Spacious master suite: the freaking closet is 70 square feet. SEVENTY. It may be the first one I don't defeat. Our living room has a nook that screams "make me your library!" and the kitchen, while the victim of mid-nineties golden oak cabinets, has updated granite counter tops that we can work with. The whole thing needs some new tile and paint and that's about it. 

Sooooooo happy!

Atlantic City, here I come!

We found all the Easter eggs, but does anyone know where the baby's hair bows went?

I did it again. I put the bow organizer I got for my baby shower somewhere in my condo, somewhere that made perfect sense at the time. But because it makes sense, I can't find it. I live in 1100 square feet. How hard can it be?

I do this with keys, children's shoes, my books.

Sigh.

How does this go mnissing in a place that doesn't even enough storage for us to have a linen closet?

You know what? It takes special talent. So special, in fact, that I've found the answer to a loooooooong held question I've had. It's all about Miss America. See, I grew up watching the pageant every year with my family and I felt sure I would never be able to compete because I didn't have a performance talent. I couldn't sing or dance or play an instrument well enough for the talent competition. 

I knew I could write, but how does that help in a talent show? I guess I could have done it Whose Line Is It, Anyway style where I stood up there with a ten cent Bic ballpoint and some ragged notebook paper, taking suggestions from the audience and improvising a story:

     "I need a place."

     "Bulgaria!"

     "I need an occupation."

     "Plumber!"

     "I need a relationship."

     "Great aunt!"

      "All right, if you'll just watch me quietly for twenty minutes or so, I'll give you a 500 word story on how Harvey, a plumber from Fargo, inherited a bodega in Bulgaria when his only remaining relative, an eccentric great aunt, died in the former Communist country. Just sit tight, folks. Hijinks will ensue!"

So you see the problem, I'm sure. But now, it's like those psychic wounds have healed because Heaven knows my kids think it's hilarious when I tear through the house looking for my keys. I figure I'll enter the pageant and then for the talent portion, I'll have them duplicate my living room as a stage set. Then at the beginning of the night, I'll walk onstage and set my purse down somewhere, then walk off again. They'll roll the set off stage and an hour or so later, when it's my turn during the talent section, they'll roll the set back out and I'll spend my allotted 3-5 minutes looking for a purse that's obvious to everyone else. If everyone else has the same sense of humor as my ten-year-old, I'm a lock to win that section of the competition.

Anyway, have you seen the hair bows?

Strike a pose.

And now for the post I've been threatening to do for two weeks:

PICTURES!!! Wheee!

I have no idea if anyone wants the labor and delivery story, but I guess I'll tell it and you can just hit "Shut up," a/k/a "Page Down" if you don't want to know.

I've been doing non-stress tests since December twice a week at the hospital. And every time I went, everything was fine. "Baby's heart rate is great, amniotic fluid levels are great. See you in a few days."

Truthfully, I was beginning to feel a mite foolish for even being there, so much so that I asked my midwife about maybe not going any more. Not that I minded, but I felt sort of hypochondriac-ish. She said, "Nope, you're staying in."

The very next week, I went in for my regular Monday appointment. March 8. My due date was March 23. They did the heart rate thing, and it was fine. They did the ultrasound and said, "Huh."

Not really my favorite medical word. Then the nurse said, "I'm going to get a second opinion." Oooookay.

The second opinion was that the first opinion was right: my amniotic fluid was way too low and I was having the baby. So we walked down the hall and I got a fabulous dress for the annual pervert ball, complete with a peekaboo closure in the back. Suh-weet.

I called Kenny and said, "I know when Eden's birthday will be."

He said, "Okay. When?"

I said, "March 8."

He said, "All right." Then there was a pause. "Wait. Isn't that today?"

I said, "Yep."

And he said, "I guess I'm headed to the hospital."

So I'm too tired to correct the spacing on these photos. I'm just going to number the captions and you can match them up, 'kay?

1. So I got comfortable in my luxury hospital bed. (Seriously, this hospital was crazy fancy. And all brand new.) But the comfort didn't last long because that little baby was in a bit of distress so, just like with my other two kids, I had to spend most of my labor on my side which is super uncomfortable after a couple of hours. Oh, and they kept making me go on oxygen. Sigh.

2. Totally worth is because then Eden was born. Labor was 9 hours and the contractions were by far the worst this time so I was extremely happy when I got my epidural. During the whole getting-the-epidural portion of the program, I was hurting and extremely cranky so when the anesthesiologist said, "I'm going to give you a shot to numb the area," I was not happy. In fact, I whined and said to Kenny (like it was his fault), "Why do I always have to get the shots? I'm tired of stupid needles." But after the medicine kicked in, I was glad.

3. Eden wasn't too glad to be born at first.

4. But then she seemed to think it was all right.

5. She's super cute when she's awake and striking super model poses.

6. But she's prettiest when she just looks around with her big, bright eyes.

7. Believe if or not, these two little boys were way more excited when she came through the door the first time than they were on Christmas morning.

I like this mom gig.