Off To See The Wizard

25 08 2012

There’s a new post over at called Off To See The Wizard. It’s about how my husband is now starring as Dorothy in our home theater production. Check it out.
And if you haven’t joined the new blog yet, sign up while you’re there. It’s easy, it’s free. I might even pay you.


The Unexpected Kindergartner

20 08 2012

There’s a new post over at Check it out.
And subscribe while you’re there, for the love of all that is unsacred and unmotherly.

Toulouse has graduated.

13 08 2012

The blog’s been moved from to

Not by me, of course.

I’m a technological idiot.

By my patient and gracious friend, Brannon Glover.

Now would be a great time to join the blog so you get an email every time I write about something scintillating like what I found under my bed today.

Just go to, find the box on the right side that says “subscribe” and put your email address in. (If you were already subscribed and you didn’t receive a post today, you might have to resubscribe).

Please make me feel like someone’s actually reading this dribble. ; )

Talking to Strangers

19 07 2012

What you talking about, Willis?

Talking to strangers is, well, let’s be honest…not something I’m into.

I’m not that big of a talker period.

I don’t enjoy talking on the phone.

I don’t even enjoy talking in person much of the time.

Every now and then, I’ll end up in an actual interesting conversation with someone and then I’ll think — wow, this talking thing isn’t so bad.

But inevitably, the interesting portion of that conversation will end and then it’s on to talking about things I’ve already talked about/listened to at least 300 times.


My husband, on the other hand, just looooves to talk.

He likes to talk to people he knows.

He likes to talk to people he doesn’t know.

He likes to talk on the phone.

He likes to talk in person.

He likes to both talk and listen.

We have a lot in common.

But this is not one of those things.

I think it’s interesting, in a why-would-you-start-that kind of way, that he’ll talk to complete strangers in a restaurant, grocery store or even a parking lot.

I’m the person who puts my ipod speakers in my ears the second I get on a plane so the person next to me doesn’t start a conversation.

I’m not a total bitch.

I promise.

I’m just not much into chit-chat.

As I explain to my husband when he marvels at my lack of interest in chewing the fat, there are only so many words allotted to any given person in a day and he uses up 100% of his and 80% of mine, so what am I supposed to do?

But I like it that way.

So imagine my surprise when I started going out and about with a preemie who has an apnea monitor and a feeding tube. And everywhere I go, people start asking me about him, or telling me their preemie stories.

It would be impossible for me to tell you how many of these experiences I’ve had in the last few months since Meyer came home from the hospital.

A lot.

He can’t exactly stay with a babysitter, so I drag him everywhere I go.

And people stop me.

In malls. Doctor offices. Grocery stores. At Asher’s preschool. On the sidewalk. In the drugstore. At the dog groomer. At festivals. And once, in a public bathroom.

Which is kinda weird.

But the weirdest thing of all is that I don’t mind it so much.

At least 75% of these people end up sharing preemie stories with me.

They were preemies, they had a preemie, their sister or neighbor had a preemie.

And without fail, everyone of them then tells me how great the kid is doing today.

Even 29-weekers like Meyer are winning spelling bees, quarterbacking football teams, performing original music in Europe, and acing their SATs.

It makes me smile.

And feel a real sense of community.

And feel really good about my baby’s chances of being whatever kind of talented, accomplished or even just happy person he wants to be.

He’s already paying me back by being the best baby ever put on the planet.

Other than right this minute, of course.

He’s laid back, smiley, happy and he already sleeps from 11pm-8am without a peep.

We may have gone through some serious stuff for a few months.

There’s no may about it.

But I think he’s paying us back by being as little trouble as he can be from here on out.

Which makes him easy to drag all over the place all the time.

And puts us in public places where people want to talk to me all the time.

And for once, I kinda like it.

Maybe I should open myself up to general chit-chat with strangers more often?

After all, there’s bound to be some aspect of the weather I haven’t discussed with the postman 30 or 40 times.

Eh. That sounds hard.

Arranged Marriage

9 07 2012

My son, Meyer, is engaged.

I happily accept all of your congratulations and mazel tovs.

I also freely admit that he is only a few months old, just met his fiance and drooled in her general direction for the first time this weekend, and is quite some time away from being able, physically even, to say “I do.”

But those are minor details.

Meyer’s fiance is named Ellen.

He was born on January 31.

She is a Leap Day baby.

Meyer was born 3 months premature, and I’m convinced he came early just because he wanted to be older, not younger, than his intended.

It probably goes without saying that Ellen is the daughter of one of my very best friends.

Someone who’s like family to me.

So what’s so wrong with me wanting to make that family title official?

Granted, I’m not considering any say Meyer might want to have in the matter of his future life partner.

And although I was the kind of independent, stubborn child who would’ve gone postal over the mere suggestion that my parents would choose what cereal I would eat in the morning, much less my future husband, I’ve rethought the idea of arranged marriage as an adult.

And I think it’s just peachy.

In fact, Ellen’s mother and I talked rehearsal dinners (I’m thinking luau) and possible destination weddings (I suggested Hawaii; she thought budget-friendly Cancun) this past weekend.

We also began to take all the cutesy photos of them together that will elicit the most passionate oohs and aahs during their rehearsal dinner slide show.

In fact, we put them naked in a baby bathtub together Saturday night for absolutely no other reason except to take their picture together for said slide show.

The whole event will be simply fabulous.

I just hope Meyer’s not one of those kids that’s all into FREE WILL and crap like that.

After all, mother knows best.

And what’s best for him is to know that his own family and his wife’s family will love each other and get along swimmingly.

In fact, unlike most husbands, he won’t even need to worry about dividing up his holidays. We’ll just do them together as one big happy family.

After meeting delightful baby Ellen for the first time, I’m really not worried that Meyer will choose to mess up my lovely arrangements for him.

There’s no way he’ll be able to resist falling in love with that face.

And once his mom and I get the wedding plans finalized, which should be within the year, we can get right to work picking out names for their children.

After all, I didn’t get to use any of those baby girl names I’ve picked out over the years.

Yep. I’ve got my eye on someone for Asher too.

I reject your modern times. Bahahahahahaha!


2 07 2012

Yep. This is what it looks like in my house right now.

The heat is killing us here in Atlanta.

Even the energizer bunny fell over asleep mid-play.

The baby refuses to even wake up.

And the dog? Not even willing to bark at the UPS guy.

It’s officially Hell hot.

Old Big Shorts

20 06 2012

I had a baby a few months ago, and then I had a long, enduring ordeal with him in the NICU for 2 1/2 months.

And then I spent what seemed like every second of my time taking the baby and Asher to doctor and therapy appointments for the first couple of months after Meyer got out of the hospital.

I couldn’t have dreamed of working out.

So I am not thin right now.

And of course it bothers me.

But does my 4-year-old have to get in on the act?

Last night, I was folding some clothes and as I shook out a pair of my shorts and then held them in front of me to fold, Asher looks up from the bathtub and says, “Are those daddy’s pants?”

“No,” I said. “These are mommy’s shorts.”

Just a beat passes, in which I can feel something horrible coming on.

And then he says, “Sooo big!”

I immediately dropped the shorts to the floor and dove head-first into my bed.

And bit my pillow.

Asher came into the bedroom to ask why I was laughing.

And then he saw the tears in my eyes and wanted to know if I was crying.

I told him truthfully that I had laughed so hard, there were tears in my eyes.

I wasn’t crying.

At least on the outside.

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