The best day

Today is our third anniversary. Three years ago today, Kevin and I jumped head first into marriage. The months preceding our impromptu nuptials were set to a Damien Rice soundtrack as we spent every moment we possibly could together. We were so surprised to find each other. So surprised to fall in love so quickly and so deeply.

One of our songs. For you, Kevin. You are truly the love of my life.

Tips for BlogHer '09 from someone not going

This year, I'm sitting out BlogHer. It doesn't have anything to do with the conference - BlogHer is terrific. It's also terrifically expensive, and with me not working anymore, it's just not practical for me to spend the money on it.

With that disclaimer out of the way, I present, "How I Would Do BlogHer '09."

1. Even though you are there in person, stay online. You will likely miss something if you aren't checking Twitter. And use your hashtag #blogher09. Because some of us will be living vicariously through you, you know.

2. You are responsible for your own fun. Don't wait to be invited. Sit down at a table and meet people. Show up at a party and have a good time. Introduce yourself to the person next to you in a session. Don't wait on someone else. You do it.

3. Try to mingle. Even if you have a group of friends there, pick a meal to share with someone you don't know or someone you wanted to meet.

4. It's not about the stuff. The amount of product thrust at you can be overwhelming. Take what you want - what you can use, and leave the rest. You probably can't fit it all in your luggage anyway.

5. Don't take it personally. Any of it.

6. Some, okay, a lot of bloggers suck at small talk. Why else do we take to the written word? We can edit, mull, contemplate, and craft our words. All things you can't do at a cocktail party. When the conversation lulls with your newly made blogger buddy? Ask them about their kids. Or their pets. Or their roommate. There are always plenty of things to talk about if you are asking questions of the other person.

7. People are not their blogs. You only get a small glimpse of what they choose to share in their writing. Just because you've read their blog for three years doesn't mean you really know them. Take some time in person to meet them as a person and not a blog.

8. Wear cute shoes. Okay, so that's shallow, but I do recommend it. Just ask Amie, my roomie in '07. I think I packed a pair of shoes or boots for every hour of the day.

9. Don't feel like you have to go to everything. You don't. Sit something out and have a cup of coffee with a friend. An old one or a new one.

10. If something does cheeve you, don't write a blog post about it. Suck it up and review #5.

I hope y'all have a fabulous time. There is a huge part of me that wishes I could be there, and I will miss seeing you. There is also part of me, however, that is enjoying just watching y'all all scurry about and not having to be scurrying myself.

If you will excuse me, I have some more not preparing for BlogHer '09 to be doing.

Little Bird's best friend

This week isn't going to be as much fun for Little Bird as last week was. Last week, his big sister was tracked out of school and was home with us. Bird was in heaven.

Lovely was a fabulous dance partner, a wonderful audience, a master storyteller, a patient art instructor, and an energetic outdoor companion. We played with trains and blocks, his farm set and balls. It was a week long fun fest at our house.

Today, Lovely went back to her mother's, and Bird stood at the door watching her leave with her daddy. I thought it would tearful, as every time she left the room last week, he cried for her, but he was alright. He waved and gave her one of his sweet, multisyllabic Bye's as she walked to the car.

As an only child for 11 years, Lovely has taken on the role of big sister like a champ. She has been unselfish with her toys, her time, and her daddy. It is quite impressive. She is quite impressive.

One afternoon last week, Kevin came home early from work to stay with Bird so that Lovely and I could go see the new Harry Potter movie. We both reread the sixth book before the movie - Lovely, because that is what she does, and me, because I wanted to be able to keep up with the conversation after the movie. We also watched Freaks and Geeks together over her break. I considered it an important part of her pop culture edumacation.

I guess it's safe to say that my week isn't going to be as much either. She is just as good of a stepdaughter as she is a big sister.

Welcome to the world, Rena Rose

I know I haven't posted in over a week. I was totally wrong about being over the plague last time. It was just some weird two hour break and then things got way worse. Aside from my sinuses still cleaning out and the persistent cough, I am well now, and there are pictures and stories to post. But not today.

Today belongs to Leanne, Daniel, Lydia, and Rena.

I have been reading Daniel's words since January 2007, and openly weeped at my computer this morning because I am so very happy for them.

Congratulations to an amazing family.

Hello. Just back from the other side of the plague. Taking one more day to recuperate, but I finally feel well enough to even type. It was that bad. Poor Bird has been quite a sport as I rot his brain with too much TV.

Before the plague hit, he and I tried out one of Abby's projects. Linus is about six months older than Bird, so when I see something on My Sweet Babboo that I want to try out, I bookmark it for a little later. Back in March, she posted about an edible finger paint and even included a great picture of the artist hard at work. Click on over and check out how well Linus is doing. Note how he is painting on the paper. It's awesome.

Little Bird? Went straight for the thighs and belly. Tribal warrior, that one is. He gleefully stuck his open palm into the paint and began rubbing it all over his body. Between the body paint and his affinity for rhythm, he might just be destined for Blue Man Group. Frightening.

Regardless of the artistic outcome, Bird had a good time. It did get a little sticky, but when it did, he just became fascinated with how his fingers had to be pried off his belly. He's a little goof.

I'm THAT mom too

Tonight we toured another hospital and met a group of midwives. They were lovely, and the hospital was alright. I don't think it's what I want to do, but it's still a very viable option.

During the tour, we proceeded to be the family that made all of the first time parents in attendance think, "OH DEAR LORD. What have we done?"

Little Bird was a holy terror. All he wanted to do was get down and run like a mad man. When we put him down, he ran in circles and squealed at the top of his lungs, making it very difficult for the midwife to be heard. If we picked him up, he thrashed about and screamed, "nononononononono" until we put him back down again to run in circles and squeal.

I thought Kevin was going to implode. I thought I was going to collapse.

People stared, and I know they were thinking, at least the ones who were still carrying their first child safely around in their bellies - they were thinking, "I will never let my child act like that."

What they fail to understand is that we weren't letting Bird act like that. Bird was choosing to act like that because he is his own little person. We were trying everything we knew to do to distract, redirect, occupy, or remove him. Only, when we were in the hospital part of the tour, we couldn't remove him because you can't hang out in the hallways. We didn't have a lot of options, and I could only whip out a boob when I had somewhere to sit.

It was his choice to act like a little hellion, and tonight, we failed to find the magic button to make him stop.

We were THAT family. He was THAT child. I was THAT mom.

There is a lot of talk about being THAT mom going on. I hope that you'll click over to Triangle Mamas and read about Susie's recent experiences as THAT mom. It's an awesome lesson in looking at someone through eyes of compassion instead of judgment.

It's also an awesome reason never to step foot in a Whole Foods again. Buy local. Buy fresh. Buy organic. But do it straight from the farmer and the dairies. It's better for everybody, and you won't risk getting treated like dirt from the emo artist lead singer check out people at Whole Foods.

Little Bird's pajama drawer

I like for my drawers to be neat. I like for clothes to be put in the exact same place every time. I like to fold my underwear. I like to organize my t-shirts by color, size, and softness. I like to fold my socks into neat little tubes that you stick directly onto your foot and unfold as you put it on.

At least I used to like all these things. I've been freed a little.

I still insist on folding my t-shirts all the same way. All the towels are folded in half, in half again, and then into thirds.

Kevin has freed me from the sock and underwear compulsiveness. I now toss my socks in one drawer and my panties in another - all wadded up.

It's liberating.

This sense of freedom has not found it's way into Little Bird's room. It's the only room in the house that stays compulsively neat these days. Until the construction is finished at our home, I've resigned myself to live in a bit of a mess, but Bird's room, it stays clean.

And his clothes stay organized and neat.

At least they used to. Before Bird decided that he wanted to "help Mama."

Little Bird likes to help put away his pajamas. He doesn't just like to help, he insists upon it.

And so his pajama drawer belongs to him completely. He has even figured out that he has to put both hands in and stir them up good so that the drawer will close. It's hard for me to close that drawer with those pajamas all twisted and the tops and bottoms scattered amongst each other. But he wants to do it himself, and I want him to learn.

My way is not necessarily the right way. Little Bird is his own little person with his own little messy pajama drawer.

I couldn't be more proud.

Entitled to change my mind

On the rare occasion, I have to admit that I've been wrong. Today is one of those days. Craigslist isn't always entirely a pain in the ass.

I mean, when you score a little beauty like this for $25, how can you complain?

It makes the outfit

Little Bird spends most of his time with me. He watches me do my hair and put on make up each day. Most of his friends are little girls. However, he does love to watch the older boys in the neighborhood, and he will imitate his daddy over me at the drop of a hat.

There is something though, that can only be blamed on me, and that is Bird's love of fabulous shoes.

When we were shoe shopping at Stride Rite one day, he picked out every pink and sparkly shoe he could reach and brought it to me. We left with a very manly pair of navy blue shoes, but the boy had spoken. His heart craved shoe bling.

Yesterday, I had grabbed the camera to take a picture of a baby hawk that was sitting on the slab for our soon to be garage. On my way back to the kitchen, I had to stop and get a shot of Bird in his favorite shoe. The shoe that was declared "scrumptious" by the gay men's vocal ensemble I accompanied once. A ringing endorsement if I have ever gotten one.

I can't wait until boot season this year. I have a feeling Bird is going to rock some Fluevogs.

Song Bird

When Little bird was 7 weeks old, I started taking him to Music Together classes. Some insane idea that I should be "doing something" with him. At 7 weeks old. I'm crazy, but I mean well.

Maybe though, it's not as crazy as I thought. Today, at just shy of 17 months, Little Bird serenaded us with "Trot Old Joe." It may be that the only people who appreciate this are Liz and Kristin, but that's alright.

The song goes like this:

Trot, Old Joe. Trot, Old Joe.
You ride better than any horse I know.
Trot, Old Joe. Trot, Old Joe.
You're the best horse in the country, ohhhhh
Whoooooaaaaaa, Joe.

The "Trot, old Joe." part is, "Mi-Do-Do," or a descending major third. Today, it was the last song we heard in the car on our way home from the grocery store. When we got inside, Bird started dancing around the kitchen singing, "Doo, doo doo" in the rhythm and pitch of "Trot, old Joe." He did this several times and then threw his head back and sang, "Whooooaaaaa!"

Just to show me that I wasn't making out something that wasn't there, he did it again at dinner. After he was finished eating, he started singing again. Kevin immediately recognized that Bird was singing an actual song, because it was. Of course by the end of Bird's impromptu concert, he was doing only one "Doo doo doo" before throwing his head back in an enthusiastic "Whooooaaaa!"

He has been trying to do the pitch and rhythm echo exercises at the end of certain songs on our Music Together cd's for awhile. But tonight - an actual song.

My little singer. He already knows how to play my heart strings.

You have to cut that out

Yesterday, we went in for our "nurse talk" where a patient history is taken and the nurse talks to you for about an hour about the rules. Nurse Kathy was nice about Little Bird tagging along with us. She wasn't so nice when she chuckled each time she said the word, "mature." Apparently referring to my age was the funniest thing she had done in a long time.

Little Bird climbed up in my lap near the end of our talking to and asked to nurse. Nurse Kathy asked how long he had nursed, and Kevin said that it wasn't a past tense thing. I said he still does, and she raised one eyebrow at me.

She said, "When are you going to cut that out?"

"When he's ready."

Then she put her professionally medical foot down and told me that I had to stop nursing my child. The doctor would tell me, and I needed to go ahead and do it now.

I just smiled.

The thing is, I had been sitting there thinking to myself that this could be easy. Just stay here at this OB practice and have a baby the way most of America has a baby. It's what I did last time, and Bird turned out just fine. Sure, some of the doctors and nurses annoy me, and it's complete overkill, but it would be the path of least resistance and familiarity.

Then I was shaken back into reality. That nurse, with her eyebrow raised in disapproval, was a good reminder of why I'm breaking up with my doctor. Maybe not at my next appointment, but soon.

After all, I'm a "mature" mother. I'm making informed parenting and birthing decisions. I'm done having doctors roll their eyes at me while I'm in labor. I'm done having nurses raise their eyebrows at me.

It's time for a change.

Butterbean at 9 weeks

I've been working on the post about our visit to the OB today, and I'm just too tired to wrap it up for now.

For now, I give you Butterbean at 9 weeks. So much more like a little baby this time. He was dancing his little bootie off in there, shaking his little fetal fins like pom poms. It was really cute.

Cherries in the Snow

This morning, I painted my toenails before we left for brunch. I usually go for purple or blue toes, so it made sense when Kevin looked down at them and said,

"Hmmm. What color is that? That's not your color."

No, it isn't. It's my daddy's color. His favorite, or at least one he asked me to wear once. So on Father's Day, every year, I make sure that I'm wearing it.

It's a rich, bright pink, and I think maybe my mom wears it too. If not the exact color, she usually chooses one very similar. It looks great on her toes.

In fact, I remember when she was in a coma and the week afterwards, I was assigned the task of massaging her feet and lower legs. She was bloated and weak and struggling just to survive at this point. Taking on my duty, I lifted the covers at the end of her bed and saw the most perfectly manicured toes. Her feet were still beautiful, and I'm fairly certain she was wearing "Cherries in the Snow," the same polish I put on this morning.

We both wear it because he likes it.

All while I was growing up, I felt like I couldn't do enough to please him. My grades were always a little too low. My clothes were never quite right. I didn't think I would ever measure up.

Funny. Now that I'm all grown up, I know that all it takes to make my daddy happy is something as simple as bright pink toenails.

If you look closely at my fourth toe on my left foot, you'll see that it is completely bruised. I did this by twisting it in between two tiles on our bathroom floor. A grout injury, if you will. And my husband says I'm not graceful. Hmph.

Little Bird changes his mind

We've come a long way from the first time Little Bird tasted apples. He is quite the fan now, although he chews them for awhile and then spits out what is left. Same with clementines.



Chew, chew, chew, spit. Endearing.

Bird does love his fruit though. Every afternoon after his nap, he gets a smoothie. He follows me into the kitchen and watches me load up the blender. As soon as I turn the blender on, he starts spinning in a circle and then runs back and forth the length of the kitchen, waving his arms in the air and yelling. He gets really excited over his smoothie.

Like I said, we've come a long way since the introduction of fruit to our Little Bird. Here he is last summer, having some apples.

Meal planning and other rambling

Oh, my heart. Almost daily, Bird does something that astounds me. Simple things that are so normal, but that to a first-time waited-so-long mama, are amazing.

I don't think this is necessarily fascinating reading material, but it's about all I think about some days. Between that and the overcoming nausea, I've been a little silent lately.

I do think that this pregnancy is going to end up with a healthy baby come the end of January, 2010. Today marks 8 weeks, and I am quite certain that things are progressing.

We've been spending our days biding time the past couple of weeks. There is lots of mommy-on-the-couch time with Bird climbing over me to reach the books that have been placed carefully within his reach. We read a lot. We watch too much TV. We try our very best to make it to the pool or the park after nap time when I feel better. We also infringe upon our neighbor probably way too much, but she is the type of person who meets you where you are, feeling good, bad, or ugly, so it's nice. I can be talkative or silently fighting off feeling like crap.

Summer is moving slowing, I'm afraid.

Meal plans have gone out the window. I've got to get back on that. At the beginning of the year, I took my dayplanner, which I always insist on having even though I have used it less and less since I left the non-profit world, and turned it into a meal planner. (Leave now if you are already bored, because it's about to get a lot more boring)

Each page has a week's calendar on the right and the left page is half blank and half full of lines. It's a planner that came in the infamous SVMoms swag bags last year at BlogHer, a BusyBody Book. At the beginning of the month, I go to Costco and buy meat for the month. I divide it up into portions of 2 or 3 and then freeze it. After listing what all in is the freezer on the blank section next to the first week of the month, I start filling in the days with meals, checking off the contents of the freezer as I go.

There are some constants. Tuesdays are swap meal days with Cyndi. Friday nights are breakfast for dinner nights. I also always buy 2 whole chickens every month so one night we have roast chicken, then the following night we'll have chicken enchiladas or some chicken casserole. Also, buying the whole chicken ensures that we always have chicken stock in the freezer.

Using the planner means that I can also incorporate Lovely's schedule into the planning, making sure I have lunch fixings on hand for her time with us as well. Or, if Kevin has a meeting or whatever, I can put it right in the same calendar where our meals are. The blank sections give me room to jot down a new recipe to try, and the lines for each week give me a place to make my grocery list right next to what meals we are going to have.

This was a fantastic system until I started getting really woozy when thinking about food. Planning meals is very difficult when just considering food makes you want to yak.

I have got to get back to it though, because I completely scored at the North Hills Farmer's Market yesterday. Thanks to Ilina, I was able to scoop up the full share of someone who wanted out of their committment to the very booked up Double-T Farm CSA for the rest of the season. Farmer Tom was looking for a "friend of a friend" to take it over, and Ilina was just that friend I needed to convince him to sell the share to me.

This means that every Saturday, we will have a whole mess of beautiful, tasty, organic, local produce to work into our meals for the week. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it. This week we have lettuce, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers, leeks, vidalia onions, zucchini, and zepher squash. The carrots taste exactly like I was standing with my grandfather in his garden. We would wash off the vegetables before we even got back in the house and munch on them in the backyard. I haven't had a carrot that tasted like that in years, until yesterday.

If I don't plan ahead, I'll be sure to forget what is in the fridge and let it go to waste. That would be awful, so I'm going to get back on it for sure this week.

It looks like I've written myself into a goal. I had better quit before I make any more promises to myself in public. Wish me luck.

Be sure to go over and enter the giveaway at Triangle Mamas. As of right now, it's been up for almost 48 hours and no one has entered. That is both embarrassing for me and great for you at the same time. It's for Animal Planet's Emergency Vets for the Nintendo DS. I don't even care if you have a DS. Just enter. It will make me feel better. Mercy buckets.

I'm holding still, Bird is wiggling

Forgive me. I'm exhausted and nauseous and every idea I have for writing gets sucked up by mommybrain.

In order not to go an entire week without posting anything, I give you Little Bird doing the Yo Gabba Gabba song about wiggling and holding still. It makes me laugh every single time.

Goodbye isn't so bad

Yesterday and today, I said goodbye to three very important people in my life. Three students of mine have graduated. They are really an end of an era for me.

They have been in my studio for 10 years. I have watched them grow up, and they are not only my students, but my friends. One is going to music school, one to art school, and one to film school. Three very artistic and creative young people of whom I am so incredibly proud.

It was hardest saying goodbye to the artist. He and his family are moving back to Sweden. I most likely won't see him again. We had dinner with them this past weekend, and they gave Little Bird the Brio train set that belonged to their boys. Even better than the gift though was watching the two teenage boys and my one little baby boy play with the trains on the floor together. They were so sweet.

The director isn't going too far from home for now. She'll be at North Carolina School of the Arts. She could be going to the school of the arts for any of their disciplines really. She acts, sings, plays guitar, composes, is a visual artist, and isn't just dabbling in them all. She's really good at them all. Today she gave me a Muse CD/DVD as a goodbye present. I love that she gives me things that she loves.

The pianist is going into music therapy. She has been student teaching at a music school for children from low-income families for two years now. The beautiful thing is that twelve years ago, she started out as a student in that school. Her mother is amazing. They immigrated from Turkey and have built successful businesses. She has her mother's focus and an immense amount of talent to back it up. I know I'm not really saying goodbye to her. I just won't see her every week anymore.

I invest myself deeply in my students. There are a few students who I invested too much of myself in and who let me down, but for the most part, whatever I invested was returned much greater. Especially by these three.

I won't be taking on any new students for awhile. I've got things to create. Albums to record and most importantly, babies to grow.

Meet Butterbean. He's due January 26, 2010, on Little Bird's 2nd birthday. We got to meet him today. He said, "swish swish swish swish," which translates into, "I love you, Mama." At least, that's what I'm going with.

Why I didn't sell him to gypsies

Last night, we decided to skip the baby motrin for Little Bird. He has had it most nights over the past month because of his incredibly slow, torturous, horrific molars. The top ones each have one corner broken through, but seem to be stuck. Some days, Bird just puts his hand in his mouth, chomps down, climbs in my lap, and cries. It's so pathetic.

Skipping the baby motrin was a bad idea. He woke up this morning crying out big sad "MAMA's" in his crib. Usually, he wakes up babbling and playing with his heartbeat bear. I went and got him, and he didn't stop crying until we made it downstairs for his morning "nuh-nuh."

He didn't get better. He took his plate of eggs and threw it across the dining room. He screamed when I wouldn't let him hurl his grits too. He clung to my leg as I tried to clean the kitchen. I decided we needed to go somewhere, so we went upstairs to get dressed, and he proceeded to empty the top drawer of my bedside table, bang on the glass shower doors, flush the toilet, play in the trash can, and try to turn the water on in the bathtub. And he ran through that cycle about five times. Every "no" from me sent him on to the next thing in the list of stuff he knows not to do.

We finally left the house. I called my mom and asked for help. He was driving me crazy. I've started trying to use "Time Out" with him, but he's too little to sit by himself, and as soon as I get on his level and look at him in the eyes, he either puckers up for a kiss or he starts to laugh. I don't think he understands that he has done anything wrong, he's just glad I've stopped whatever I was trying to accomplish to pay attention to him.

When we got home, he was still being incorigable. I decided it was naptime, just a smidge early. He didn't disagree. I gave him the much needed baby motrin, and he slept for a couple of hours. When he woke up, he was cooing and talking sweetly again.

I was hopeful.

I brought him downstairs and fixed him some lunch. He was a hungry boy, aksing for more with his sign instead of by whining and pointing. It is so much more pleasant. Then? After I gave him more? He signed "thank you" for the first time. I hadn't even cued him for it because I was just happy he wasn't screaming anymore. He did it again the next time he got more. It was fantastic.

We played on the floor for awhile after lunch, stacking and building and then knocking it all down. We read some books and sang some songs. He was a littel angel. Just when I thought he couldn't get sweeter, snack time came.

I asked him if he wanted a smoothie, and he responded with an enthusiastic nod. He had been nursing, and when I put him down on the floor, he started wailing again. This time, though, he was easily consoled when I took his hand and started walking him into the kitchen singing made up songs about what was going into his smoothie. He danced in the kitchen while the blender sang, and after I handed him his cup, he reached up and took my hand, leading me back into the living room for a little more lap time.

That's two things. A thank you sign, and him reaching for my hand instead of the other way around. Two new things on a day that I thought was going to completely suck rocks.

I barely remember the morning now. Except for those eggs.

Just as he is and will be

That's an $8 balloon. A giant Elmo head balloon. I have an unreasonable fear of balloons, but only the latex ones, so this one, although it made me slightly nervous, came home with us today after our visit to Sesame Street Live.

Little Bird and I sat on the front row for the show. I figured he would either love it, or it would scare the wonkers out of him. He loved it. The only part he didn't like was not being able to get up and dance. He made do kicking and dancing in my lap though, and we had a wonderful time. He even loved it when the characters came off the stage into the audience. The Count got a high five, and I thought Elmo might have to shake Bird loose from the bear hug he gave him.

There is nothing like watching your child enjoy himself and have a good time.

The family sitting next to us was doing the same thing. They had brought their son, and they were having a blast watching him enjoy himself. He was probably in his 20's, and he was in a wheelchair with multiple disabilities. When we sat down next to him, he greeted us with some verbalization and reached out for Bird. His father pulled him back and apologized. I told him it was just fine; that we appreciated the warm welcome.

When his mother came and sat down, she had practically cleared out the souvenir stand. She was grinning from ear to ear and showing her son all the things she had found, not the least of which was a spinny thing that lit up. Bird liked that too.

As much as Bird wanted to dance, the young man sitting next to us wanted to dance even more. He shook his wheelchair each time the music started. His parents had to hold it steady even with the brakes engaged. He was having a fabulous time.

I thought about all the activities and places to go that I try to find for Bird. The playgrounds, parks, children's museums, the pool, shows, whatever. I want to have these experiences with my child and watch him enjoy them. I know that there will soon be a time when he has outgrown these things.

But the family sitting next to us, they are stuck right there. Sesame Street Live has been and will continue to be awesome. There have been and will continue to be diapers to change. There has been and will continue to be a very limited amount of communication.

And I started to cry, but not because it was so incredibly sad, but because I thought that mother was so incredibly amazing. So what if it was the 10th year in a row she sat through Sesame Street Live? She loved every character who came to greet her son. She loved every clap and kick he gave to the music. There was pure joy in her face as she watched her son enjoy himself.

As different as our sons were, I felt like I understood this woman - this mother. If Bird did nothing but get bigger, if there were no more developmental changes, I wouldn't love him any less. I would take him to see Elmo year after year. I would change diapers for the rest of my life. I would still love being his mother.

The flip side is, of course, that barring unseen events, Bird will continue to develop. I have a few more years to enjoy Elmo with my son, and then he will be on to whatever comes after Elmo. He'll be off to little league, elementary school, and everything after. Maybe that makes it easy for me to say that I would still love being his mother, but I say it sincerely.

I sincerely believe that we love our children just as they are, just where they are, and just how they will end up. Mothers love their children. It is just what we were meant to do.

Brain sucker

I still pee on sticks. Can't help it. Just have to make sure those lines aren't fading. They aren't. It's not that I don't feel good about this or have hope. I do. I just need to see those lines popping up faster and faster. It's beautiful.

Yesterday, no - Wednesday, Little Bird and I went to the Farmer's Market. We tasted every strawberry there was to taste and bought four quarts of our second favorite. Our first favorites were being sold by a man who got mad at me when I asked if the fruit had been sprayed or just the flower. Too bad. They were good berries, but I'm totally willing to go with second best if they weren't loaded down with pesticides and fungicides.

We also bought sweet onions that look like the onion weeds in our yard on steroids. We found our favorite Mediterranean squash, zucchini for bread, purple and green asparagus, more herbs to pot, pork chops, and milk. I love the Farmer's Market.

I loaded up the back of the Jeep with all of our spoils and turned to see Bird stuffing an entire strawberry in his mouth, stem, leaves, and all. I tried to extract the leaves from his mouth, unsuccessfully so. In the meantime, I had dropped the keys to the Jeep in the back with the produce. I slammed the hatch closed and wheeled Bird around to the back seat only to find that the Jeep was locked.

Good news: Little Bird and my cell phone were not in the locked car. Bad news: Diaper bag and all of my purchases were, and Bird was wet and hungry.

He began screaming as soon as he swallowed the last strawberry. Kevin works way too far away to come and rescue me from the Farmer's Market, but that didn't stop me from leaving him pathetic voice mails. In the end though, it was wonderful Cyndi who saved me. I called her to ask her to look up numbers of a car thief for me. Instead, she reminded me that USAA would help and gave me their roadside assistance number.

They had someone at my car in about 20 minutes. I love USAA.

Later that day, Little Bird and I went to the park. I was very careful not to lock my keys in the car. In fact, I left the hatch wide open. Completely forgot to close it after I got the sand toys out of the back. Just left the diaper bag, gps, and everything in the Jeep wide open. Luckily, nothing was stolen while Bird and I romped obliviously around the playground.

Really, if you think about it, I suppose I don't need to keep peeing on sticks. This little embryo is already sucking my brain dry.