Monthly Archives: November 2012

Second kid syndrome #iPPP

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So we’ve all seen this gem floating around the Interwebz:

And you know, soon-to-be-first time moms are probably all, “GASP. DIRT?!” I know I was totally that mom. However, there is a ton of truth to the whole “being more relaxed with subsequent children” thing.

I mean, here we are getting ready for the arrival of our second son and while I am SUPER excited to hold him and love him and squish him all day long, I am admittedly less excited about getting everything ready in the house.

With Monkey, we had that nursery painted, set up and perfectly organized pretty early on. For lil’ Jonesy here? Well…the crib is set up. And the clothes are…unpacked. And we’ve got some toys hanging around.

But, well…yeah.

Don’t judge.

Have you recovered from Turkey Time enough to take pictures of anything besides your miserable overstuffed self sitting on the couch? Yeah, me either. But show us what you got anyway!



Mamamash
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We don’t need cocktails, we have retail therapy!

Posted in Friends by

There is a sacred, holy day each month (sometimes twice if I’m lucky) where I observe that ever-so-blessed occurrence of the ultimate in female bonding – a lunch and shopping date with my best friend.

That glow isn’t the sunshine, no. It’s the happiness we’re radiating because for a couple of hours (not counting the blissful car ride there and back during which no sippy cups will be thrown and no seats will be kicked) we’ll get to enjoy a hot meal we don’t have to share and then pop in and out of stores at our own leisure without having to check strollers for stowaway merchandise pilfered by kleptomaniacal toddlers.

Usually that meal involves chopsticks, instruments with which I am almost proficient. It’s always a good day when I don’t have to pick rice out of my cleavage.

Our shopping today centered around cute clothes for the kiddos, including the one who isn’t scheduled to make his appearance for a few more months.

With our firstborn, my husband and I decided on a monkey theme for his room and clothes. Luckily, everything in the stores was completely monkeyfied at the time.

This time, we thought that whales might be cute. I was worried about that, since I’ve never seen a single whale on an outfit or nursery bedding set, but I do like a challenge.

Anyway, Greta and I walked into Carter’s and there was this whole wall covered in a layette of little whales.

It took me like 30 minutes to pick out two outfits. It was so tempting to just grab one of everything. Oh, the restraint I am able to practice in my old age.

Sweet Greta completed the baby’s “coming home” outfit with his first baby gift, a cuddly whale blanket.

While I pray that he stays put for at least another 15 weeks, I am already getting antsy about meeting him. Judging by his mama’s belly at not even 24 weeks, he’s gonna be a big guy!

“Still Thankful” Turkey Salad

Posted in Noms by

Next-day turkey is kind of sad. It’s pretty dry at the point, white and bland and just sort of there in your fridge.

You could put it on some bread and make a sandwich, but no matter how many toppings you pile on, you’re still going to have this bite of cardboard poultry in there.

The turkey, it needs the salad treatment.

Most turkey salad recipes want you to put fruit in them. My husband won’t touch fruit, ever. If given the choice between eating an apple or giving up football, he’d happily sell his jerseys and his copies of Madden, and begin researching jai alai.

So I had to come up with my own salad recipe this morning, and it was pretty fantastic. Not even gonna fake modesty here, people.

(But there is a little bit of fruit juice in here. Shhhhhh.)

Mamamash’s “Still Thankful” Turkey Salad
(Makes 2 sandwiches)

½ cup mayonnaise
juice of ½ a lemon
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
½ tsp smoked paprika
½ tsp greek seasoning
salt & pepper to taste
¼ red onion, diced small
1 celery rib, diced small
1 cup chopped turkey, mixed white/dark (I like to finely shred the dark meat in the food processor and then leave the white meat in larger chunks.)

In a glass bowl, whisk together mayo, mustard, lemon juice and seasonings.

 

Fold in chopped veggies.

Pile on the meat, then give it a few more stirs.

Cover with plastic and let sit for at least an hour before serving.

YeeHaw for MawMaw #iPPP

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If I only got one holiday a year with my mom, I’d totally pick Thanksgiving. That woman is a machine when it comes to planning a menu, shopping for ingredients and whipping up a feast. Her cornbread dressing is legen…wait for it…dary. Through her connections with family and friends she has a collection of other holiday recipes that are unparalleled.

Thursday? We’ve got brined, roasted turkey. The aforementioned dressing with gravy. Corn casserole that could almost be a dessert. Broccoli salad that is almost like vegetable candy. Cranberry sauce that you could pour over the whole meal, it’s that good.

And PAH. Pumpkin and pecan, ‘course.

This year she’s still full speed ahead on the meal prep, but there’s been lots of down time to snuggle and plot with Monkey.

He’s her number one fan right now, following her into every room, looking for her first thing in the morning, begrudgingly sharing his iPad so she can play Angry Birds.

And of course, demanding pony rides, which as you can see, she’s passively obliging.

We’re thankful to have her here this holiday, knowing full well the responsibilities she had to put on the back burner so she could snag this time with just us. Thanks, Texas, for sharing her.

What special moments have you captured with your camera phone this holiday week?

Share them with us at #iPPP!



Mamamash
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Hoping for a downshift #iPPP

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Could we just…slow down? I’m still reeling from the whirlwind that was October and here it is, time to cook a turkey, and the world’s supposed to end in five weeks and then after that we’re having a baby and then I’m going to be 40.

Well, not for a while. Eventually. BUT IT’S COMING.

So, proof that I was really busy last month and not just sitting on my ass in front of the tv watching pre-election coverage. Here.

***

I cooked some stuff. That’s “Meme’s Smothered Chicken.” My grandfather taught me to make in when I was in Texas a couple months ago. My grandmother had gone to Houston for her weekly MD Anderson visit so I cooked for Pop, and then he was all, “Well, it’s pretty good but the gravy could be thicker.”

So of course I’ve cooked it five times since then trying to determine the precise viscosity of gravy that men prefer.

***

I took my kid to so many playdates and birthday parties that he began sleeping like a drunk frat boy. That child was so tired that he put himself to bed on several occasions, waving, “Night mama,” as he flopped his way up the stairs and barely made it into his bed before soaking the pillow with drool.

***

Then I got sick, and it sucked because the only medicinal relief I was allowed were rubdowns with Vicks and steam snuggles from Starbucks. (Ok, so, first world problems a bit. I know.)

***

Monkey and I made a Christmas list. I am so excited – new toys y’all! Trucks and Play-Doh and puzzles! (That’s my list. Monkey just keeps asking for a table.)

***

I deleted 74 pictures of my kid’s thumb off my phone. Never, ever leave your phone unattended if your toddler knows how to swipe his finger and unlock it.

***

I got all tarted up like a pregnant hooker and went to see MADONNA. Yeah, she’s in that picture somewhere, probably fellating a microphone and moaning about politics.

*Sidenote (Which could probably be its own blog post) – During this concert, Her Madge-esty walked a fine line between art and sacrilege. She blew the brains out of several men trying to invade her hotel room. She masturbated on top of a piano. She simulated sex with many, many objects and people. Through all of this, the women around me were silent. Then, during that part of the concert where singers insist on talking to the audience like we’re there to have a conversation or something, she referred to the crowd as “motherfuckers.”

Well, that did it for the Molly Midwestern behind me. She bunched up her face (to match her panties), stood up and announced haughtily to her companions, “I’ve NEVER been called that before. Who does she think she is? I will be waiting OUTSIDE.”

Lady. LADY. It’s MADONNA. This is not The Fresh Beat Band or Taylor Fucking Swift. What exactly did you expect? And furthermore, it’s not the violence or sacrilege or sex that bothers you, it’s the profanity? Your outrage meter, it needs calibration.

***

The next morning, hung over on too much bass and too little sleep, I took Monkey on an errand to do a favor for a family friend. Afterward, the friend – an older gentleman who has no children of his own – wanted to take Monkey to lunch for being so well behaved. So of course, as soon as we get to lunch Monkey stops behaving and we get our grub to go.

***

Let’s see, what else? Oh, there was that afternoon where Dad thought it would be hilarious to shovel sugar into a toddler’s mouth and therefore negate naptime. That was cute.

And there was the F-4 playdate.

And Monkey learned he was indeed too big for the bouncy seat.

He also learned how to pillow fight.

Then I took him out on a date. He drove.

Also, there was some guitar practice thrown in there.

***

We’re just kind of exhausted, as you can see. So much so that yesterday, when Monkey woke up from his nap he came and crawled in bed with me and took a second nap, curled over my neck, breathing softly in my ear and occasionally kicking me in the back as his brother kicked me from within in reply. It was bliss.

My MacBook charger died a violent death this week, so I’m late for #iPPP. If you haven’t linked up your camera phone photos, you still have a chance! Open til Friday night, y’all.



Mamamash
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Watching the horse race #iPPP

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I like math, I like competition, and I love my country.

So you’ll forgive me if I totally forgot about #iPPP today and just took this picture five minutes ago, right? Because tonight is totally my Superbowl, y’all.

Maybe you’ve got a life and haven’t been immersed in election stuff for the last week? Please, share so I can live vicariously through you! Link up with us for #iPPP!


Mamamash

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Remember, remember the fifth of November…

Posted in Family, Turtle by

Today will always be a day I’ll remember. But not because of gunpowder, treason and plot. On this rainy, dreary, chilled morning there’s an entirely different reason why the fifth of November shall never “be forgot.”

For days, I’ve prayed. Prayed without ceasing, you could say. Prayed for a heart with four chambers. A brain formed without flaw. A well-made lip, ten fingers and toes, perfectly sized kidneys, bladder and stomach.

I couldn’t sleep last night. I was beyond nervous this morning. And as I began to recline on the table in the ultrasound room, I said one last fervent prayer.

When the tech placed the wand on my belly, the first thing I saw were two legs squirming around – two gorgeous, long legs with big feet at the end. I immediately began to relax.

The woman who was performing the scan was an expert, and guided the wand quickly across my middle.

“Do you want to know the sex?” she asked.

She didn’t even get a chance to hear our answer or announce the result because it was suddenly, glaringly obvious what kind of equipment our kid was carrying.

I mean, wow. Just. Whoa, dude.

“That’s, um, definitely a boy,” she snorted. My husband broke out in a massive shit-eating grin.

I was instantaneously transported to a whole other plane of existence.

My sons. I have sons. That thought buzzed around between my ears before coming to alight on my heart.

My boys. Brothers.

I barely heard anything else she said – so strange since I’d been so worried – as she finished the scan. Everything beautifully made, perfectly knit.

I was just so in love right then. So in love with the idea of watching my two boys get to know each other. Play with each other. Beat each other up then sit down to share a snack.

I never thought it would be possible for my heart to stretch any more than it did when I had my first son. But sitting there on that table, I was almost short of breath as that same heart threatened to break free of the moorings in my chest.

Monkey was sitting patiently with his father on the bench beside me. We told him, “That’s your baby brother!”

“Baby brother?” he asked. “Ok!”

Y’all, I am so enthralled with the idea of being a mother to sons. I am not a delicate flower, my sense of humor is bawdy and my personality brash. I am, I believe, perfectly suited to raising boys.

My husband is rather smug at the moment. As the only boy on his father’s side, he feels all kingly having provided two men to carry on that name. It makes me giggle – it’s not like we’re Vanderbilts – but I can see how for a man that’s an important thing.

Oh, and remember how I said we had names picked out and I just needed to know the sex so we could start calling it by its name?

Yeah, we’re just gonna call him Turtle, because the second I saw his face all the names we’d decided on just melted away and I feel like we must start from scratch.

So, um, help.

****

My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, “You’re tearing up the grass.” “We’re not raising grass,” Dad would reply. “We’re raising boys.” ~Harmon Killebrew

It snowed last year too:
I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down
and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
-Dylan Thomas