simply sara

and now for the part where I ramble...

2012-01-19T23:31:00.000-05:00

Random (but sweet) photo for a random (but sweet) blog post.

First things first -- my dear friend, miss Lindsay of Newly Nalevanko, is in the hospital having her baby girl right now. Like right this very minute. And this, my friends, makes my heart skip a beat. I can't wait to meet baby Isabelle, but really I'm just so excited for Lindsay (and Chris). I know, I know -- I tend to go on and on about how straight-up crazy parenting is (read on for more proof of this), but it really is such an amazing thing. The best thing, actually.

And speaking of "best" things .... have you guys seen the new Taylor Swift video? Um, hello Matt Saracen from Friday Night Lights. Have I told you lately that I love you? I mean, I don't love you as much as I love Tim Riggins (duh), but still. Anyway, I enjoy you. Well done, T. Swift. Well done.

And it's because of Audrey's current no-rhyme-or-reason sleep schedule that I'm watching things like Taylor Swift music videos at ungodly hours of the morning. Yep, you'd think at almost three months in, we'd be turning a corner. Seeing the light after being on the dark side of the moon, so to speak. Transitioning out of "survival" mode into "I can sort of pretend that I've got a handle on things" mode. But, yeah, not so much. The only good thing about this stand still in Audrey's sleep progress? I have an excuse to wear my Minnetonka slippers all the livelong day. Yep, nothing says "hot mess" like furry house shoes, flannel pajama pants and over-the-top exhaustion.

(Today, on GChat, I told my brother Mike that I was currently sitting on the couch in pajamas and house shoes. He thought this was awesome. I told him it was awesome. Awesome and undeniably gross.)

Which leads me to Glennon Melton's Huffington Post article, "Don't Carpe Diem," which has been making the rounds in the blogosphere this week. Have you read it? I first came across it on Dear Baby, and although I agree with Melissa's point about staying present as a parent, I kind of love, well, everything Melton has to say. I mean, is this really a surprise? This coming from the girl who strapped the Baby Bjorn to her chest, belted Sam into the shopping cart, and bravely marched into Harris Teeter a couple of weeks ago, only to abandon my cart and literally HAUL ASS to the car after Audrey barfed all over my neck and Sam morphed into exorcist baby when he discovered they were fresh out of free sugar cookies. (Really, Harris Teeter?!? Really?!? Help a girl out.) Yeah, it wasn't pretty. Anyway, read the article. It's good. And true. So true.

I know I sound like a broken record, but I wish Sam would start to talk. Just a few words. Or one word. You know, even a few hand signals or blinking patterns would work. Really, I'll take anything I can get at this point.

Today marks the grand opening of Haven's Kitchen, the cooking school-slash-food shop-slash-event space-slash-complete and total amazingness, that my best friend Katie has been working on for so long. Now, while I don't want to get my gush on all over this already-much-too-long post, I just have to say that I am beyond proud of her. Like, kind of in awe. Actually, not kind of in awe. Totally in awe.

Anson came home from working an overnight shift this morning. Upon walking in the door, he suggested (nay demanded) that I go sleep for a few hours. So I did. And it was glorious. (I love you, Brown.)

Isabelle -- it's 11:31. Are you here yet?

2012-01-17T15:48:00.000-05:00

"For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don't enjoy getting up and working and finishing your work and sitting down to a meal with family or friends, then the chances are that you're not going to be very happy. If someone bases his happiness or unhappiness on major events like a great new job, huge amounts of money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that person isn't going to be happy much of the time. If, on the other hand, happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard, a drink or a nap, then we are more likely to live with quite a bit of happiness."

-- Andy Rooney

Amen.

a belated "happy birthday" to you.

2012-01-16T22:12:00.000-05:00

I know I've kind of unofficially discontinued my birthday blog posts, but I had to make an exception for my mom. You see, when I think about how much I love, admire and appreciate her, I could go on ... and on ... and on ... and on. I mean, come on, friends. You guys know my name might as well be Wordy McWordenstein when it comes to gushing. What can I say? When it comes to my favorite people in the world, I just can't contain myself.

With that said, when I try to describe how much Sam and Audrey love my mom, I find myself at a complete loss for words. Really, Sam morphs into a human cling-on each and every time he's in her presence. Honestly, everyone else in the room might as well be invisible when those two are together. Mom & Dad -- step aside. Sam only has eyes for Nanny.

And Audie ... well, she's smack in the middle of that oh-so attractive "excuse me while I gnaw on my fists and smack myself in the face" phase. So yeah, she's kind of oblivious to everything that's going on around her. But something tells me she'll be following in her brother's footsteps. I see a position as the VP of the Janet Scott Fan Club in her very near future.

So, as the official representative for my verbally challenged kids, I'm sending a belated HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my mom, from her biggest fans -- Sam, Audrey and yours truly.

We love you, J.

(But you already knew that.)

a little "love you no matter what" note.

2012-01-11T09:00:00.001-05:00

Dear Sam,

I feel like we're going through a bit of rough patch right now. See, before your baby sister came on to the scene, we used to spend every moment of the day together, just you and me. Reading books. Going for walks. Driving around town. Having impromptu Taylor Swift dance parties in the living room.

Yeah, life was pretty sweet.

But now things are a bit different. It's harder for me to drop everything to read books to you all day long. It's January, so our outdoor excursions are fewer and farther between. Your sister apparently equates her car seat to being strapped into a straight jacket, so we avoid car rides like the plague. And I mostly watch you rock out to Taylor Swift by yourself, while I stay seated on the couch, holding Audrey. Because that's what I do.

All. Day. Long.

Anyway Bugs, I know there's a lot to be frustrated about right now, but this phase won't last forever. In fact, I can tell you from past experience that this little tough spot will most likely lead us to a really good spot very very soon. You see, I can predict these things because I'm old and wise like that. Mostly just old. But a little bit wise, too.

In the mean time, just remember that I love you more than anything.

More than sweat pants.

More than Gilmore Girls marathons.

More than cardigans and tights.

More than Anita's breakfast burritos.

More than a shopping spree ... in New York City ... at Christmas time ... in the snow ... with Reese Witherspoon and Rachel McAdams.

And trust me, that's a lot.

Bottom line: I love you the most,

Mom

the big chill.

2012-01-04T12:54:00.005-05:00

Baby, it's cold outside.

No, seriously, it's freakin' freezing outside. Which means that the Hot Mess Express has been parked outside our house for the last few days because we're not going anywhere, friends. (No way! No how!) I mean, schlepping two kids around is hard enough as it is without the added layers of coats, mittens, hats, blankets -- you get the idea. Plus, no one wants to see a greasy-headed mother huffing and puffing while trying to wrangle her babies into the car, all the while mumbling seasonally-specific expletives under her frosty breath. (Holy BLEEP! It feels like BLEEPING Antarctica out here! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! Seriously, I think my BLEEPING nose hairs are frozen together! BLEEP BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP!)

Get it together, crazy lady. Get it together.

So yeah, long story short, we've been staying indoors. Eating mass amounts of peanut butter crackers and Nutella. Watching old-school 90210 episodes and Tori & Dean marathons. Not bathing. You know, the usual.

But this morning I did have to battle the elements to take the little bean in for her 2-month doctor's appointment. And, despite the traumatizing round of shots and all-around poking and prodding, I was able to snap this cute little pic in the waiting room.

Are you feeling warmer? Melting inside just a little bit? Yeah, me too.

happy new year.

2011-12-31T15:21:00.002-05:00

I know this video has been floating all over Facebook all day, but I just couldn't help myself. I'm kind of in love with Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt is always adorable -- can you say 10 Things I Hate About You?!?

Anyway, enjoy this little ditty. And enjoy your New Year's Eve. I'll be sitting on the couch with my husband, sipping champagne and undoubtedly falling asleep long before midnight. Yep, after an amazing year, filled with long-awaited moves, unforgettable weddings and big arrivals, we Browns are officially wiped.

So please, do a little celebrating in our honor. Have a few drinks. Get a little crazy. Maybe make some bad decisions. And most importantly, hold on tight to the ones that you love most. Give them a big smooch at midnight. And get excited for 2012.

Happy new year, friends.

it's the little things.

2011-12-28T14:40:00.004-05:00

I live a simple life. As I've said many times before on this blog, I spend my days in leggings and hoodies, reading pop-up books, making bottles, singing along to Elmo's World -- you know, very exciting and stimulating stuff.

But somehow, no matter how quiet and unscheduled my day-to-day life seems to be, we always seem to have a lot going on. Which is a really good thing. Unbelievably, no matter how chaotic our little family unit gets, people seem to still want to spend time with us. All the time. We're incredibly lucky that way.

But here's the thing: preparing to visit others or host visitors ourselves these days can seem like quite the hurdle for this self-proclaimed conductor of the Hot Mess Express. Even when Sam is in the most accommodating mood (read: not pulling out every block, book, shoe and piece of Tupperware that we own) and Audrey is peacefully strapped to my chest in her Baby Bjorn, it's hard for me to get anything done around the house. In fact, I'm usually just trying to stay above water when it comes to anything household related.

(I'm actually sitting here right now, blogging, instead of picking up the baby wipes, burp cloths and pretzel chips that are currently littering my living room floor. All hail the domestic goddess!)

Anyway ... it's because of this 24/7 struggle that I'm particularly lucky to be married to the master of getting shit done. Really, it's kind of incredible. And last night, (after driving home from Charlottesville ... in the dark and fog ... with two screaming babies in the back seat) he actually walked in the door, carried everything in from the car, put Sam to bed and went down and cleaned up our storage-slash-guest room for two hours in preparation for the Browns arriving on Friday afternoon. And all while I sat on the couch, completely oblivious, eating mass amounts of peppermint bark and watching Teen Mom 2.

It's the little things.

break down of a breakdown - part deux.

2011-12-20T22:32:00.002-05:00

Some things never change.

a little love note on your 657th day.

2011-12-11T20:36:00.010-05:00

Dear Sam,

In these letters to you, my little sweet pea, I typically abuse my rights as a blogger, shamelessly using this space to gush (and gush ... and gush ...) about how in love with you I am. I sit on the sofa with my laptop and just surrender, letting my absolutely crazy love for you just wash over me like a giant tidal wave. These little episodes usually end in a sugary sweet blog post, filled with nothing to be proud of -- a puddle of ooey gooey wordy mush. I, too, am usually reduced to a tragic puddle by the time I've hit the "Publish Post" button.

(What?! It's my blog and I'll blubber if I want to.)

So, today I've decided to rein in my inner crazy lady (I think I can! I think I can!) and use this post to document a few little-known facts about my favorite gingersnap...

1. At this stage in the game, your interests change on a day-to-day basis, but a few things seem to be standing the test of the time: pretzel chips, baths, Yo Gabba Gabba and, above all else, trucks. Because you've decided to -- how do I put this gently? -- take your time in the "talking" department, you like to point out every truck you see, saying "dada, dada, DADA!" until we say "There's a truck. And there's a truck. AND THERE'S A TRUCK!!!" in return. This oh-so-fun game of back-and-forth goes on no less than 438 times a day. (Do I sound irritated? Never.)

2. You are also crazy about birds. When we read books, you don't want to hear the story or even look at the pictures. Instead, you simply want to point out each and every teeny tiny bird on each and every single page. (This seems like this wouldn't be that much of a time suck, but I swear, it's like the clever children's book illustrators got together and decided that, no matter the storyline, there will be a minimum of 1,367 teeny tiny birds in each and every children's book on the market. Again, not irritated. Promise.)

3. It gives me great pleasure to share that you kind of love The Sound of Music -- a fact that may or may not be a direct result of me singing "Do a Deer" to you multiple times a day. Every single day. For 657 days. (As for your not-so-subtle love for Julie Andrews, I have no comment. No one holds a candle to Mom, right? That's what I thought.)

4. You hated Halloween this year (how dare those kids come to your house and steal your candy!), but you loved (and I mean loved) your Elmo pumpkin. Who knew your dad possessed such mad carving skills?!? And just when you thought he couldn't get any awesomer...

5. You still don't ever (and I mean ever) sit still for more than two minutes. With this said, you have gotten a bit lovier lately, liberally giving out hugs and kisses to everyone, including your baby sister. Shock of all shocks, witnessing this usually makes me kind of fall apart like the hot mess you know and love. Oh Buggy, you're just the sweetest little boy ever...

(Reining it it. Reining it in.)

6. I'm proud to say that your taste in music is nothing short of stellar. Foster the People's "Pumped Up Kicks," Kanye and Jay-Z's "Otis" and all things Coldplay are your favorites these days. Oh, and "Last Christmas" by the always awesome Wham! Seriously, it's like we're musical soul mates.

7. I take back what I said earlier about your -- ahem -- verbal achievements (or lack thereof). You say "no," "yes," "moo," "choo choo," "more" and, your all-time fave, "stuhhhh!" So advanced.

8. Christmas is in two weeks, which means that Casa de Brown has turned into quite the winter wonderland, filled with cookie jars shaped like Arctic creatures (yes, you read that correctly), ghetto lights galore and one fabulous Christmas tree, if I do say so myself. When you first witnessed said Christmas tree, you had the best reaction, and I was so sad that I hadn't captured it on video. Little did I know that you would have an equally awesome reaction every single time you came into the room and saw those lights. Seriously Sam, you've already spent hours of your life mesmerized by that tree and our second Christmas tree which is, in fact, the first Christmas tree's reflection in the window. (Again, so advanced.) Really, this unwavering enthusiasm for the season makes your yuletide-obsessed mother very proud, Bugs.

And on that festive note, I'll wrap this not-so-little love note up. For you, my sweet boy, are such a gift to me this holiday and each and every other day of the year. I really am the luckiest.

(Did you really think I could make it through this entire thing without at least a little gushing? I didn't think so.)

I love you so much,

Mom

the fear factor.

2011-12-01T20:58:00.009-05:00

Last night (at 3:45 am, mind you), I found myself thinking about the first few weeks after Sam was born. At the time, I lived in Baltimore, in a dark (albeit darling) apartment. And it was smack in the middle of the worst winter I've ever lived through. Oh, and I had no friends. (Seriously, zero.) And Anson still had eight months left of a residency that resulted in him pretty much living at Johns Hopkins.

He was maxed out. I was maxed out and was showering roughly two times a week. Yeah, it was no bueno.

I actually remember sitting out on our front bench one evening waiting for Anson to round the corner on his bike. It was freezing, but I recall this intense need to just GET OUT of our house. So there we were, me and Sam, bundled up in our winter coats and hats to cover up the fact that we were both, in fact, still wearing our pajamas at 5:45 pm. I was bouncing Sam in my arms, trying to -- yet again -- get him to stop crying. I, too, was close to tears. Yep friends, it was a rock-bottom moment.

Once Anson got home, we had a conversation (aka me verbally vomiting all over him) where I confessed that I felt like a total basketcase, walking around like I might just lose my shit at any moment. (Looking back, who was I kidding?!? I had spit up in my hair and snot running down my face -- my "shit" was clearly long gone.) I wasn't looking for a solution to any problem -- I loved my new baby more than anything in the world -- but I felt a bit like I was close to drowning. And at the moment, I was grabbing for Anson, my lifesaver, and literally gasping for air between big, heavy sobs.

(Mamas to be -- have I completely freaked you out yet? It gets better. Keep reading.)

It's because of that vivid memory, that I found myself facing a bit of anxiety in the weeks before Audrey was born. Would I melt into a puddle of hormonal goo the moment I brought her home? Would I be walking around like a semi-functional zombie for the next three months? And would I, most importantly, be calmer, more confident and less, well, crazy this time around? With my less-than-stellar track record and another baby to take care of, it's safe to say I had my doubts.

But, with four solid weeks under my belt since Audrey's arrival, I can honestly say that this time feels a lot different. Sure, it's more to manage and straight-up chaotic the majority of the time, but I feel more at peace with it, which I'm sure is a result of having Anson home more often, my parents so close by and, you know, the fact that we're not buried under three feet of snow this time around. All in all, it just feels easier. Better.

Now don't get me wrong -- the exhaustion still creeps up from time to time, but this is why I've invested in Bobbi Brown's dark-circle concealer (amazeballs!) and basically have Diet Coke pumped through my veins 24 hours a day. And Audrey may be a sweet baby, but she still has her moments (and by "moments," I mean hours) of inexplicable crying. (Side note: I consider this a "win" if the crying is not a result of Sam chucking her monitor at her head. It's all about perspective, people.) And I still face times where the hot-mess wave is just too strong, and I find myself in a washed-up heap on my kitchen floor, cradling a newborn with a hysterical 21-month-old on my lap. And that, my friends, is when all you can do is -- you guessed it -- pop another chicken nugget in your mouth and surrender to the crazy.

I guess what I'm getting at is that it's a bit easier this time around because I know I can do it. It's not going to be easy and it's definitely not going to be pretty (in fact, most days it's going to be downright ugly) but, no matter how messy, this too shall pass.

When Sam was about a month old, I received a message from my friend Lindsay's mother that I still go back and read often. She sent it to me after one of my "I think my baby hates me!" blog posts and in it she wrote:

"In perfect circumstances, the first couple of months are rough. In less than an ideal situation, they suck. You are stuck at home, all alone, with a pooping, peeing, crying, hungry machine. The tiny little thing is incapable of rewarding you with a smile, a giggle or even simple recognition....and it's hard to talk to anyone about because, after all, being a new mother has been romanticized through the ages. That lovely soft little thing that coos and smells so sweet is the thing movies talk about and it's complete fiction. But, it is also an experience that will completely disappear from your memory the first time your baby smiles at you, laughs at you and reaches his arms out for you. Hang in there, and know that there are some very rewarding and wonderful times ahead."

And she was so right. The beginning is, no doubt, crazy hard, but it won't last forever. In fact, it goes by much too fast. And when the storm blows over, we'll forget about the sleepless nights ... and the tears ... and the projectile vomiting ... and the small electronics-turned-airborn weapons. And we'll move on to the next season of life, which will undoubtedly turn me into a total train wreck all over again. Stay tuned, friends.

a little love note on your 27th day.

2011-11-27T19:34:00.012-05:00

Dear Audrey,

My sweet little bean, on Tuesday you will be four weeks old.

(Just re-reading that sentence makes your momma's heart ache a little bit. How can it be that four weeks of my life with you has already come and gone? I know, I know -- I sound like a total head case right now, but this kind of melodramatic thinking kind of comes with the territory these days. All aboard! Choo! Choo!)

That's right, pretty girl -- you've been with us for nearly a month now, sleeping the days away ... rocking in your swing ... taking in the surrounding craziness that you'll now forever be a part of. From your rosy pink cheeks to your big beautiful eyes, everything about you is pure heaven. Even your little head smells like cinnamon -- a fact that may or may not be a direct result of your sugar-addicted mother dropping apple pie crumbs on your head while trying to hold you and inhale Thanksgiving dessert simultaneously. Let's face it -- you're destined to inherit at least a bit of your mother's hot messiness, so why not surrender to that fact early on, my little pastry head?

Anyway Audrey, you are just the sweetest, most laid-back baby I've ever met. Sure, I really can only compare you to your brother who gives the Tazmanian Devil a run for his money in the "try and catch me as I run circles around your ass" department, but it's that crazy energy that you balance out so well with your angelic disposition. Even on the day you were born, you kind of just rolled in under the radar, not wanting to interrupt anyone's day until the very last minute. (Side note: That was a very thoughtful gesture, baby girl, but a little traumatic for your overly cautious mother. Call me crazy, but showing up to your 38-week appointment absolutely clueless that you're already 5 centimeters dilated and will be having a baby a few short hours later is a bit -- how do you say? -- shocking to the system. It's okay, though, angel. You'll learn in the future that "fast and furious" is not exactly your momma's style. In fact, "predictable," "sloth-like" and "downright boring" are more my speed. I'm super fun like that.)

But, let it be known that even though I was surprised to meet you on that Tuesday afternoon, I've been in love with you since the moment I saw your face. And I've fallen in love with you more each and every day since, my little bundle of pink sugary goodness. For you were meant for no one else but me.

Forever ... and ever ... and ever,

Mom

déjà vu.

2011-11-13T09:43:00.005-05:00

When you have your second baby, you face countless moments throughout the day when you feel like -- wait a second -- have I been here before? That numb feeling in your tailbone after holding a sleeping baby on the couch for hours on end ... changing your sweatpants (yet again) after being peed on (yet again) by a 7-pound tiny human ... slamming your toe into your kitchen cabinets while fumbling to make a bottle in the middle of the night -- yeah, it all seems strangely familiar.

With my two little beans, though, those moments are where the similarities seem to stop. Sam sucked down bottles and then proceeded to spew the contents back out at you at warp speed. Audrey, on the other hand, will fall asleep with a bottle in her mouth -- she'd much rather snooze than eat. (A girl after her my own heart.) Sam liked to be wrapped up in his straight jacket of a swaddle blanket 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Audrey's limbs are much to spaztastic for that kind of physical restraint. And yes, Sam has pretty much been a ginger since day one, where Audrey's head is covered in light blond fuzz. Actually, let's just call it like it is, shall we? The girl's bald. Straight bald.

But, when I look into both of their sweet little faces, I am reminded of one striking resemblance between the two: the Brown/Scott schnoz. Seriously kiddos, my apologies for the tragic situation in the nose department. As you get older, I'll try to tell you that your dad is mostly to blame for this, but that's not really fair. Between Scotty and Bibi, you never really stood a chance.

On the upside, you'll now be well trained in the art of zinc oxide application. We'll never have to worry about you getting a nose ring to highlight your dainty little nostrils. And, if you're really lucky, you'll be a master at balancing silverware on the tip of your nose for extended periods of time. After all, it's all about surface area, kids, and trust me, you've got plenty of it.

a word on change.

2011-11-06T13:58:00.009-05:00

On Tuesday, at 3:30 pm, Audrey arrived.

(Completely unexpected, completely overwhelming, completely amazing.)

And to document one of the most unexpected, overwhelming and amazing days of my life, we have the above photo. Yep, after basically creating a low-budget documentary of Sam's birth and first few days of life, we have -- count it -- one real photo of Audrey thus far. This, and a few hazy Blackberry photos, are what I'll have to remember November 1, 2011 by.

All hail the Mother of the Year!

All joking aside, things are just different this time around than they were last time. And I knew that would be true. Sam's a crazy man, which means that Audrey spends a lot of the day peacefully rocking in her swing, taking it all in like the angel baby that she is. I haven't updated my blog or written a detailed email to all of my girlfriends giving a play-by-play of her delivery. Hell, I haven't even unpacked my hospital bags yet. Truthfully, I haven't done much of anything.

And that's okay. Because if there's one thing I learned from my original "baby," it's that this all goes by so fast. So fast it literally makes your heart hurt if you stop long enough to think about it. So, for now, I'm just spending my time holding my babies, neglecting personal hygeine and loving and appreciating my husband more than I ever have before.

In the mean time, here's one of the aforementioned cell phone pics to hold you over. A little bit fuzzy, a little bit cross-eyed, a lot adorable...

in the words of Emeril Lagasse...

2011-10-27T21:09:00.004-04:00

BAM!

Coming up on 38 weeks, people. Really, what more is there to say?

a little love note, from me to you.

2011-10-24T22:00:00.000-04:00

Dear Audrey,

With just a few short weeks left to go before your arrival, I'm embarassed that I'm just now getting around to writing my first love note to just you, my sweet girl.

The truth is, with so much going on around me (namely your whirling dervish of a brother, who spins around me like a Tazmanian devil day in and day out), it's hard to find a quiet moment to focus on this life-changing event that really is right around the corner.

But on Friday night, in the wee hours of the morning, I woke from a deep sleep with a sharp pain in my stomach, and for a few quiet hours I thought I might be meeting you sooner rather than later. After tossing and turning in bed for a while, I slipped out of our room, downstairs to the kitchen where I made myself a plate of Eggos. (Once you're here, you'll see how momma likes to eat crazy amounts of sugar soaked in sugar in times of happiness, stress, sadness, physical pain -- anytime, really.) There I sat for close to 2 hours as my stomach hardened and relaxed. As the pain came and went. And slowly melted away.

Although I knew it was a false alarm pretty soon after it all started, I didn't rush back up to bed. Instead I padded around the living room in the early-morning darkness, watched a little Mr. Holland's Opus on TV and just took in the peace and quiet. And as I sat there on the sofa, I couldn't help but think: Pretty soon I'll be sitting here with Audrey, my daughter.

Sara, she's coming.

And deep down inside something started to ache in the best way possible. It was like I could feel my heart swelling inside my chest. And immediately the guilt I'd been feeling for not preparing for you in the same way I did for Sam seemed to just disappear. For soon you will be here, and all those "should haves" and "could haves" won't mean a thing.

You see, if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that you have a lot of love waiting here for you, baby girl. Love and binkies .... and blankets ... and tiny clothes ... and food. A new stroller or baby swing? Ok, you got me there. And yes, let's just say you'll be sporting quite a bit of baby blue, yellow and green in your first few months. And you may or may not be sleeping in a basinette in our walk-in closet upon arrival. (What?)

But babe, despite my slow-going start this time around, I'm ready for you. Excited for you.

My bag is packed. I'm ready to go.

Whenever you're ready, I'll be right here,
Mom

sweet child of mine.

2011-10-19T19:48:00.007-04:00

This photo is cute, isn't it? Adorable, in fact, wouldn't you say? Just a baby boy and his best buddy, Winnie Cooper. Lounging. Mugging for the camera. Just as sweet as sugar.

Except here's the thing: Not much about Sam has been sweet these days. The lead-up to this photo session? Yeah, I'm pretty sure it went something like this -- Sam moseys up to Winnie in the kitchen all "Hey Winnie! What's shakin'? Feel like a royal rumble? Not really? That's cool....."

And WHAPOW!

After a swift smack to the snout, a stomp to the rib cage and the extra-special double-ear yank, Winnie's on the floor playing -- and praying that she actually is, in fact -- dead, while Sam just sits and smiles, snacking on mini muffins.

Such a sweet, sweet boy I'm raising. Mother of the year, baby. Mother of the year.

Seriously friends, I feel like I spend my entire day, each and every day, on repeat: "Gentle!" "Absolutely not!" "Sam Brown!" "Patience!" "No hitting momma!" "Show me what you want and I'll help you!" and my all-time favorite: "This is not how we communicate! Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?!?"

Yeah, I'm aware. I'm officially a lunatic. A 20-month-old smirky-face ginger has reduced me to a bumbling idiot, who spends her days huffing and puffing around the house, blindly chanting commands in an effort to discipline as if it's going to do any good.

You see, Sam and I seem to be in this incredibly challenging in-between phase where effective communication ceases to exist. He screams ... and kicks ... and holds 80-pound animals against their will, while I apparently think of the most ridiculous thing to say to a non-verbal toddler and then say something even more ridiculous than that.

Over ... and over ... and over again.

I know, I know -- even this delusional "I know it looks like my child's turned into the exorcist, but really it's just because he's frustrated from the lack of communication" explanation sounds completely ridiculous and mock-worthy. But let me remind you that I'm a hormonal 63-weeks pregnant person. I'm relying on the crazy delusion and excuses to get my through the next four weeks.

'Cause, you know, that's when the fun really starts.

a little sunday night chuckle.

2011-10-16T22:53:00.003-04:00

Thanks for the laughs, West Elm.

Could you use a little giggle? Step inside the world of Gary & Elaine, the couple living inside your home-decor catalogs.

(Thanks to Brielle for introducing me to this funny little blog.)

a few random thoughts.

2011-10-13T22:58:00.003-04:00

Oh hey girl. And by "girl," I mean Kate Kreager.

Oh hey, friends. I'm currently missing The X Factor to lounge on the couch while my husband flips between watching the Cardinals and the Caps games. (Can you say "Wife of the Year" award?!)

Translation: I'm bored out of my mind.

Solution: random-thought blog time.

1. Being almost 36 weeks pregnant just two weeks before Halloween should be illegal. I mean, honestly, Costco. Lay the smack down and keep the 20-pound bags of chocolatey goodness away from the pregnant lady, would ya? Seriously, if my memory serves me, I was plowing my way through the bag, head first, before we even got to the check out. But, then again, I'm currently sitting here in a Reese's-induced sugar coma, so maybe that public display of STUFFING MY FACE was just a bad-slash-amazing dream.

2. Do you guys watch Parenthood? Sure, sure, Lauren Graham plays one of the main characters, which means the show if filled with entirely-too-fast, stop-talking-over-other-people, no-one-actually-uses-these-words-in-real-life dialogue, but the music is amazeballs. I mean, last week they pull out "Falling Slowly" from Once, and then last night there's Ryan Adams and Iron & Wine together in one episode? And did I mention this is all playing in the background during a scene where one couple is in the hospital having a baby girl? Um yeah, how's an over-emotional crazy woman supposed to soothe herself in this situation? Oh I know -- eat 20 pounds of Halloween candy!

3. Speaking of crazy woman....I'm sorry to say that after eight months of level-headed conduct (if I do say so myself), the "It's my baby and I'll go GLADIATOR on your ass!" behavior has finally made its appearance in the form of lunatic-level nesting. Yep, after months and months of being all, "The second time around is soooooo much different. I'm soooooo laid back and casual about everything. I mean, really, what's there to worry about? I'm an old pro at this stuff, and whenever baby girl decides to get here, everything will just fall into place. Really, it's going to be cake!," I decided to wake up one morning last week, shake Anson furiously, and scream, "For the love of god, we're having a baby in 35 days!! What the hell were you thinking letting me sit around and eat Tostitos all day and not do ANYTHING?!? I'm the Worst. Mother. Ever. And PS. You're the worst father ever for just standing by and letting this happen!"

Oh friends, it hasn't been pretty. But now, after a few marathon trips to Target, Babies R Us, Buy Buy Baby and Carter's, I'm feeling a bit more under control. Now if only I could gain control of the tiny human that insists on right jabbing me in the pelvic bone 73 times a day. And round-house kicking me in the left rib on a regular basis. What's that you say? Maybe I should lay off the sugar so my baby girl isn't spending every waking hour jacked up on Kit Kat's? I'm sorry, I must've heard you wrong. You wouldn't say that to the self-proclaimed crazy woman, would you? I didn't think so.

5. And on a lighter note.....have you seen this? Really, what's not to love?

simple pleasure: best friends

2011-10-12T22:22:00.000-04:00

My best friend, Lorrie, got married this past weekend. It was relaxing. It was fun. It was gorgeous.

In a word, it was perfect -- the "just right" reflection of one of my favorite couples in the world.

Lor, as I said during your ceremony (after the snot-faced bawling was semi-under control, mind you), when it comes to the most important people in your lives, your wish is for them to find someone who makes them happy. Someone who makes them a better person just by being themselves. And, above all else, someone who will love them always. Just as they are.

In short, someone who will love them even more than you love them yourself.

Now, while I still have my doubts that anyone could love you more than I do (call me crazy, but it's true), I know that, in Jason, you've found a perfect match. And, although you're a married woman now, we'll always have Paula Abdul and Color Me Badd circa 1992 ... and Bob Seger circa 1998 ... and Mariah Carey featuring Boys II Men circa 1994 ...

Seriously, the out-of-this-world 90's playlist could go on and on.

Really, though, I just love you both so much. Here's to you and all that's yet to come. I, your crazy best friend, plan on being there to witness it all.

lessons learned.

2011-09-28T10:15:00.000-04:00

Historically, for the Brown family, the summer has been a season of laziness. While friends and family are jetting off on European vacays, Hamptons weekends, weddings galore and the occasional family reunion, we tend to spend our summers sitting tight. With the exception of the annual Outer Banks beach week (woot! woot!), we're usually content to while away the hot and humid days doing a whole lotta nothing. I mean really, who needs a change of scenery when you've got quality programming like The Bachelorette and Million Dollar Decorators to tune into on a weekly basis? Not this girl.

But this year we decided to switch up our oh-so-exciting routine and go on not one trip, but -- wait for it -- eight.

(Insert "WTF?!?" face here.)

And, on an even crazier note, we brought Sam along on half of these excursions, cross-country flights and all.

(Insert "No, but seriously, WTF?!?" face here.)

Yeah, in hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea, but what can I say? Pregnancy brain failed me in a major way. While usually cautious and practical to the point of borderline grandma status, I can only blame my reckless decision making on the pineapple-sized kung-fu fighter that is currently residing in my rib cage. Seriously, between booking multi-destination flights across the country and eating entire boxes of instant oatmeal in one sitting, the crazy has officially taken over.

Thanks for nothing, Audrey girl.

But yeah, to make a very long, painful, "please don't cuss me out even though my exorcist baby has been kicking the back of your seat for the last 2 hours" story short, we learned our lesson. Over-active 18-month-olds and flying machines with no options for GETTING THE HELL OUT OF HERE just do not mix.

Period. End of story. Lesson learned.

But (and there is a really big BUT to this story), we also learned a few other things from the whirlwind summer of 2011. For example, you're never too young to enjoy the greasy goodness that is Steak n' Shake french fries ... you know you've had a good day when your diaper (and other unspeakable crevices) are filled with sand for days ... nothing beats new sneakers and an open soccer field on a Saturday afternoon ... and canoes are totally awesome -- even if you never even leave the beach. Oh, and forget Disney World -- East Rosebud Lake is officially the best place on earth.

So, was it all worth it? Without a doubt, yes.

Period. End of story. Lesson learned.

in case you were wondering...

2011-09-19T14:59:00.015-04:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm a huge fan of the MommyMoi blog written by Brooke Foster. Brooke was my editor back when I contributed to AOL's home & garden site, Shelterpop, and we instantly bonded over our darling sons, born just a week apart from one another. Now that we don't work together, we don't really stay in touch on a regular basis, but I love logging on to her blog every morning to check out what's going on in the adorable world of Brooke and baby Harper. Plus, Harper's just about the cutest little boy I've ever laid eyes on, so sometimes I log on just for my daily dose of baby eye candy. What?!?

Anyway ... Brooke tagged me for a meme, so I'm supposed to answer a few questions about my oh-so popular blog and then pass it on to four more bloggers. Here goes nothing! Oh, and you can see Brooke's answers here.

Rules:

1) A blogger is nominated to take part in the meme

2) The blogger publishes his/her seven links on his/her blog, one link for each category:

— Your most beautiful post
— Your most popular post
— Your most controversial post
— Your most helpful post
— A post whose success surprised you
— A post you feel didn't get the attention it deserved
— The post that you are most proud of

3) The blogger nominates up to five more bloggers to take part

4) These bloggers publish their seven links and nominate another five bloggers

5) And so it goes

6) The site Trip Base will share the best posts from participating bloggers on its blog and every day on Facebook and Twitter at #My7Links

— Your most beautiful post: I'm really proud of this post. And I was really proud of myself at the time. My fussy wussy newborn baby had turned a serious corner and life was good. Ah, memories of sweet, little, quiet babies.

— Your most popular post: Isn't it funny that the single post that people commented on the most was one that included no words whatsoever? Just take a look. The pictures speak for themselves, friends.

— Your most controversial post: Oh please. We all know I wouldn't touch a controversial issue with a 10-foot pole when it comes to this blog. With that said, I was a little nervous about this recent blog. Women (myself included) can get a little crazy when it comes to touchy motherhood issues.

— Your most helpful post: In all honesty, I think this was my most helpful blog post. When holding a 2-month-old baby, beware of projectile vomit, friends. Consider yourselves warned.

— A post whose success surprised you: This was my first "little love note," and I thought it might come off a bit cheesy. Turns out, my friends and family love a healthy dose of cheese.

— A post you feel didn't get the attention it deserved: This is tough because, honestly, I don't think any of my silly posts deserve attention. With that said, I kind of thought people would comment more on this post. I mean, donettes, leggings, Logan from Gilmore Girls?!? This is good stuff, people.

— The post you are most proud of: This is a tie between the posts for my brother's birthday and my mom's birthday. As much as I love writing about motherhood and all the hot messiness that comes with it, I'm really proud of these posts for my family.

Ok, your turn! I nominate Lindsay at Newly Nalevanko, Jen at Living the Good Life and Jessie at Jessie & Justin's Blog.

a little love note on our anniversary.

2011-09-15T20:30:00.010-04:00

Dear Anson,

Five years ago today, we said "I do."

Five years ago today, I didn't know that I could (and would) fall more in love with the kind, loyal and excited-for-life boy who drove up 29 multiple times a week to see me for a year.

Five years ago today, I didn't know that I would develop an undying obsession with lox and bagels, Steak n' Shake and Take Fives. Seriously babe, you've done wonders for my diet.

Five years ago today, I didn't know that we would hold hands, crying tears of joy in a hospital in Baltimore and crying tears of sadness on a Friday night car ride to Charlottesville.

Five years ago today, I didn't know that we would live together through two years of graduate school, one year of residency and a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Chad and back.

Five years ago today, I didn't know that we'd live with my parents (count it) two times before one day living in the 'burbs, doing home-improvement projects on the weekends and seriously debating buying a mini van. (Gasp.)

Five years ago today, I knew that you were a master Christmastime decorator, but I didn't know that you were such a stud in the kitchen. And Mr. Fix It. And a professional baby manicurist. Mad skills, babe. Mad skills.

Five years ago today, I didn't know the words to pretty much every Jimmy Buffett song ever.

Five years ago today, I didn't know that we'd be the proud parents of a ginger-headed sweet potato and the 3.3-pound "bundle of navel oranges" that is currently residing IN. MY. BELLY.

Five years ago today, I knew I wanted to marry you, but I had no idea how much fun, comfort and sheer happiness would come with being your wife.

Happy anniversary, babe.

I really love you a lot.

xoxo

my girl.

2011-09-13T13:31:00.006-04:00

Bring on the burp cloths, baby!

I'm not the fanciest of girls, but I've always had a love for all things classic and girly. Pink frosted cupcakes....Tiffany blue boxes wrapped up in white ribbon....little black dresses? Um, yes please.

And now I'll have my own sweet little slice of heaven who, as it turns out, will be sharing a name with the true embodiment of "classic and girly", the lovely Ms. Hepburn.

I can't wait to meet you, Audrey girl. I see lots of fabulousness in your future.

at the risk of sounding sassy...

2011-08-30T18:18:00.016-04:00

Vintage Sara & Sam. Pre "I love you, Mom, but be prepared to have this plastic cup chucked at your face" moments. Ah, memories.

Today was not a bad day. It wasn't particularly crazy...or hectic...or frustrating. It was just a normal get-a-zillion-things-done-while-tending-to-Sam's-every-need kind of day. I love these days, but they're not exactly a piece of cake. Trust me, there are no soap operas on the couch while popping bon-bons and painting my nails -- a silly stereotype, I know, but a stereotype that does tend to come to mind when you hear the term "stay-at-home mom."

And that's what I am. A stay-at-home mom. Sure, when people ask, I tell them I'm a writer (and I am), but 90 percent of my days are spent making scrambled eggs, reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar over and over again, and tending to mini meltdowns. (We've yet to hit the full-blown tantrums, but trust -- they're coming.) Sure, I spend many a naptime and bedtime interviewing people from my kitchen table, writing freelance stories and sometimes even blogging, but that's not even close to being my full-time occupation.

Do I feel 100 percent positive about this new roll in my life every single day? No. But does it make me happy every day? Yes. And is it challenging every day? Um, definitely.

It's because of this, that I was particularly tickled to receive this archived article from my stepmother-in-law, Sandy, this afternoon. My mom has long been a fan of Carolyn Hax, advice columnist for the Washington Post, and oftentimes passes along her words of wisdom to me. She's even suggested I try to have an advice column of my own to be just like Carolyn Hax. Oh Mom, I love you, but don't you know that would mean I'd have to actually have some idea of what I'm talking about when it comes to, well, anything?!?

Anyway....I know this particular column is a bit sassy and, truthfully, I can't even really relate to it because I don't have a single friend or family member who's not supportive or understanding of my lifestyle. But sometimes, no matter if you're a working mom, a stay-at-home mom or a single mom (amazing, party of one, your table is now available), you just need a little validation. Someone else to say, "I understand where you're coming from, momma! And lady, you rock."

So thanks, Carolyn (and Sandy) for this little late-afternoon read. It made me smile -- quite a feat when your 18-month-old is chucking sippy cups and Crocs at you from across the room.

Good times, friends. Good times.

a little love note on a thursday morning.

2011-08-24T08:55:00.008-04:00

Dear babies Brown,

On Tuesday afternoon we experienced something new, different and altogether frightening together as an entire family. Are you ready for this? No seriously -- really ready? Cause this one's a shocker.

(Drumroll, please.)

An earthquake, kiddos.

Yep, you heard me right -- for reals, a legitimate, shake-rattle-and-roll earthquake. And let me tell ya -- momma was not a fan. While Dad and Sam were at home together, noshing on nuggets and apparently enjoying the wild ride, I was at the doctor's office....hauling ass down four flights of stairs....with about seventeen other frantic pregnant ladies. That makes for quite a visual, doesn't it? Yeah, it was crazytown jacked up on hormones.

And baby girl, let me tell you, I was holding on to your for dear life. I don't know what it was exactly about the shaking earth that made me feel like you might just -- I don't know -- fall out at any moment, but I was not going to let this happen. Considering you only weigh about 2.5 pounds right now, I think it's pretty crucial that you stay in there and cook a little longer. You know, get a little cuter. Lose the easy cheese, ooey gooey skin maybe.

Anyway, all dramatics aside, the whole event lasted about 35 seconds, but for the sake of family memories, I thought I'd record it here.

Brown family: 1. Brief underground rumbling that barely qualifies as an earthquake: 0.

I love you,

Your cool, calm and collected mother

the mom diet.

2011-08-16T19:54:00.008-04:00

It's my juice in a box! My juice in a box, yea...

First things first, I have to admit that the title of this post is a hoot. I mean a mom diet -- there's no such thing. At least not for me. Not right now. I mean, sure I've had my fleeting moments of fruit smoothies for breakfast, tuna salads for lunch and snacks of apple slices and raw almonds. But oh friends, those days are long gone. The tragic combination of feeding an 18-month-old all day long and being six months pregnant has definitely resulted in a lack of discipline in the food-consumption department. Yep, gone are the days of resisting half-eaten grilled cheese sandwiches and Teddy Grahams by the bag. Instead, homegirl has added a few throwback staples back into her daily diet and I gotta tell ya -- for those of you who have yet to dive head first into the baby pool, you have some serious goodies to look forward to. Peanut butter & jelly? Amazeballs. Eggo waffles? Heaven on earth. Trix yogurt? Surprisingly delicious (and not just for kids, apparently). And juice boxes? Dear god, why did I ever stop drinking these? Seriously, do yourself a favor and go out and buy yourself a case of Hawaiian Punch juice boxes and try to resist the liquid goodness. Hell, even plain old watered-down toddler apple juice tastes great out of a straw. Seriously, juice boxes are the jam!

(Wow. This post is really making it sound like I'm a food-obsessed hormonal pregnant person, isn't it? Kind of embarassing, but what can you do? If the shoe fits.)

Anyway....the real point of this post is to reveal the ever-growing "bump" (again, that title is a bit misleading) that has resulted from the oh-so healthy cuisine that's served daily aboard the Hot Mess Express. Sure sure, there is technically a two-pound tiny human in there that's also contributing to the expanding surface area of my stomach, but I'm pretty sure the majority of my insides are now filled with mass amounts of Ragu, maple syrup and Fudgsicles. Appetizing combination, right?

Man oh man, pregnancy is glamorous, friends. Almost as glamorous as my leggings-and-hoodie ensemble I've been rocking for the last 36 hours. Jealous? Thought so.

27.5 week shot

a situation.

2011-08-10T19:36:00.016-04:00

Oh, friends. Do you remember this post from last summer? Because I do. I remember it all too well.

Oh, the swaddle blanket. The magical, addicting, altogether EVIL swaddle blanket. In case you've forgotten, let me refresh your memory: For the first four months of Sam's life I was a shameless slave to the swaddle blanket. Seriously, it was a problem. If I didn't have a swaddle with me and Sam needed to sleep, fugetabouit! Honestly, you could drown the kid in white noise, warm milk and intravenous drugs, but if you didn't have him wrapped up in the baby burrito maker, sleep was not in the equation.

It was a sad state of affairs. You know, having your entire life revolve around a piece of fabric.

Fast forward fifteen months. Now you'd think such a silly dependency would be a distant memory by now, right? That Anson and I would be sitting around, having a good laugh over such a crazy addiction. "Oh honey, isn't it just hysterical to look back on how nutso we were with that dreaded swaddle blanket?" (Chuckle chuckle.) "What a ridiculous situation that was! It was like our entire well-being revolved around a silly piece of fleece!" (Giggle giggle.) "We're so much wiser now! Goodness knows we'll never let that happen again!" (Yackity yack yack.)

Riiiggghhhtttt.

The thing is, "that" is exactly what is happening to us all over again. Yep, it looks like Sam has found his one true love at age 18 months: the blankie. And not just any blankie, but the Gator blankie.

Made by Anson's stepmom, Sandy, back when Sam was a projectile-vomiting machine, the Gator blankie is just one of about 173 barf rags that Sandy lovingly decorated and sent our way during the first few months of Sam's life. It's very darling, adorned with a Florida Gator patch and orange and blue polka dot ribbon, but let me be clear, friends -- it's a BARF RAG. Pay no mind to the gorgeous, handmade quilts that Sandy spent weeks of her life designing, patching and sewing before gifting to Sam. Nope, instead our son has taken to a 12-inch piece of diaper cloth that's routinely spewn on, spilled on and -- you guessed it -- peed on.

Sam "Personal Hygiene is For The Birds" Brown, your table is now available!

And let me be clear -- the kid has not simply "taken to" this charming little piece of sour-smelling gauze. God help you if it leaves his line of vision for more than five minutes. Seriously, contact the Academy and grab your box of Sour Patch Kids because homeboy is about to deliver the "Best Actor" performance of a lifetime!

Hence the odor.

Hence the filth.

Hence the "situation" at hand.

Forget the lovies and cute stuffed animals. Hell, I'd even take a good old-fashioned pacifier at this stage in the game. But what can you do? The kid likes what he likes. And what can I say? If he's going to parade around town clutching a barf rag, at least it's a Gator rag. Am I right or am I right? Grasping at straws? Certainly. But undoubtedly right.

simple pleasure: dessert for dinner

2011-08-06T20:07:00.008-04:00

Today I fell down the stairs.

Holding Sam.

I fell -- boom, boom, boom -- right on my ass.

I cried.

Sam cried.

(Because we were scared, not because we were hurt.)

Then we sat on the couch and read Brown Bear.

And ate Chips Ahoy cookies for dinner.

And all was forgotten.

lessons for my daughter.

2011-08-02T11:55:00.009-04:00

Baby girl, 20 weeks.

As anyone who knows me knows, I'm a little bit of a momma's girl. I talk to my mom everyday, show up at her house unannounced, stalk her at the gym (although not so much these days) and, above all else, hang onto her every word when it comes to motherly advice. Seriously, if I had a dime for every little nugget of life wisdom she's given me over the years, I'd be rollin' in the dough.

Now, while I'm confident that I, too, will surprise myself with the life lessons I'll whip up out of thin air when the time comes, the idea of having a baby girl has got me thinking about what I wish for her and her life. Health, happiness, at least one Bieber-level rock star crush....you know, the usual stuff.

Fortunately for me, I still have a little bit of time to think about these things, and I can always turn to the professionals when it comes to this stuff. You know, like Tina Fey (and my mom, of course.)

Enjoy!

Tina Fey's "A Mother's Prayer for Her Daughter", via Parents

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it's the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach's eye, not the Beauty.

When the crystal meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half.

And stick with beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller coasters, log flumes, or anything called "Hell Drop," "Tower of Torture," or "The Death Spiral Rock N Zero G Roll Featuring Aerosmith," and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting, but not all the way to Finance.

Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes

And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I'm asking You because if I knew, I'd be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a rough patch from twelve to seventeen.

Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long,

For childhood is short -- a Tiger flower blooming magenta for one day -- and Adulthood is long and Dry-Humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever,

That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers

And the online campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,

Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,

For I will not have that shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a mother one day, be my eyes, Lord,

That I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 am, all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

"My mother did this for me once," she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby's neck.

"My mother did this for me." And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental note to call me. And she will forget.

But I'll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

a little love note on your 534th day.

2011-07-31T20:47:00.019-04:00

Dear Littlest Ginger on the Block,

Last week was a good week. You knocked it out of the park at swimming lessons; had two play dates with Lily, Connor and Campbell; went to two birthday parties for Jonah and Langley; and spent Thursday evening with your uncle, Ben, and Mayela while your mom and dad went to a concert downtown with the hands-down craziest Keith Urban fan on the planet, your Grandma Chelle. (Seriously Bugs, I wish you could've seen your grandmother at this concert. Oh lordie, you would've had a good giggle watching her jump up and down and dance like it was nobody's business. It was awesome.)

But anyway...

This last event of the week was particularly groundbreaking because -- and I'm a bit ashamed to admit this -- it was the first time you've ever stayed with anyone other than one of your grandparents for more than 30 minutes. I know, I know -- you're almost 18 months old, which makes that last statement completely ridiculous. It's sad, but true.

So, despite the fact that you spent the entire day on Thursday screaming every time your dad or I would leave the room, we decided to sneak out the door and leave you with Ben and My for seven straight hours. Although there was no doubt in my mind that you were in good hands, I had my concerns about how you would behave while we were gone. Sure, you're typically pretty low maintenance, but you definitely have your "It's my party and I'll SCREAM BLOODY MURDER if I want to!" moments. As we drove away, all I could think was "Damn, this night is going to serve as serious birth control for those two." Oh yeah, I had a sinking feeling it was going to be a long, crazy evening.

But, wouldn't you know, it turns out you busted out the Mr. Wonderful moves while we were gone. In fact, Mayela wrote me the nicest email I've ever received to make sure we knew just how wonderful you were. And in case this never happens again, I'm going to post a bit of that email here, as evidence of your cherub-like behavior...

"I completely expected him to cry when we put him to bed -- that just seems standard to me -- but we told him good night and he was right to bed. He also went right in his highchair without fuss. Ate pizza with us very contently. Drank lots of water. Drank all his milk. Didn't fuss when I changed his diaper or got him dressed. He also listens very well, which is amazing. If you call his name he comes right to you or stops doing what he's doing (he may have gnawed on some cardboard for a bit -- oops). Seriously, he is a dream child."

Now, while I know this whole "dream child" title isn't entirely accurate (ok ok, not even close to accurate), it's fair to say I was one proud momma this week. Sam, my little bean, after almost 18 months of life, it looks like you've turned into quite the little sweetheart. And while I know this stage of sugary goodness won't last forever (November 13th is right around the corner after all), I am savoring every last second of it. Seriously baby boy, you're so sweet, you're better than chocolate-frosted donettes. And, coming from your hormonal mother, that's saying a lot.

Angel child or alien exorcist creature, I love you always,

Mom

now & then

2011-07-25T20:34:00.008-04:00

"New baby?!? Whatchu talkin' bout?!?"

When I was pregnant with Sam, I was pretty nutso from the start. I spent my days cruising the web for everything from birth plan advice to nursery bedding. After each and every doctor's appointment, I would mosey on over to Baby Gap and buy a little something for the growing bambino in my belly. I was addicted to all things "baby," from books to websites, checklists to countdowns. Bottom line: it was all-consuming. I really spent every minute of every day thinking about nothing but him.

Crazy lady, party of one. Your table is now available.

This time around, on the other hand, has been a bit different. In a word, I'm a bit "preoccupied." I spend my days Googling "how to get the barf smell out of couch cushions" and "my toddler's armpits smell." (Seriously, you can't make this stuff up, folks.) I go to swimming lessons, watch airplanes from our driveway, eat mass amounts of Wendy's chicken nuggets (don't judge) and spend what seems like hours pointing out my belly button and moles -- Sam's favorite body parts to hone in on.

Yeah, things aren't exactly how they were the first time, but you know what? It's better. Because this time, I know exactly what I'm getting myself into. Sure, I'm bound to have a few demon spawn moments, but I'm also bound to have one hundred times as many "Holy amazeballs, people, I'm straight-up obsessed with this kid!" moments.

I repeat: Crazy lady, party of one. Your table is now available.

So yeah, although I may be a little less focused than last time, I'm getting really excited to meet this baby girl. And in the mean time, I'm just trying to enjoy every little moment with Sam "the world revolves around me, bitches" Brown before his world -- and mine -- gets turned upside down in 16 short weeks.

all aboard!

2011-07-19T12:39:00.003-04:00

This weekend I watched Juno three times. Three times, friends. And I bawled during each and every viewing ... all while pounding mass amounts of Goldfish, Tostitos and orange juice.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Yep, it's official -- the Hot Mess Express (aka "The Baby Train") has found its way back to Casa de Brown, and it's currently parked out front taking up entirely too much space in my tiny driveway.

Now, in my BC ("before children") life, I would've sworn up and down that -- no worries! -- my current "melty, weepy, all-around tragic" state would be back under control in about, oh say, 87 days. But let's be honest, my life has been in a constant state of hot messiness for the past 2 years. And I don't see that status changing anytime in the near future.

Embrace the crazy, people. Embrace the crazy.

So really, why not bring back the blog to document this oh-so-wonderful season of life, right? I mean, this stuff is just too good not to share.

Enjoy, friends. Oh, and bring on the donettes!

blog love: mommy moi

2011-04-01T16:02:00.004-04:00

Blogs are funny little things.

I understand that, at their core, they're supposed to be online diaries ... a place to post your most earnest feelings about the moments that make up your life. But, to be honest, I have a hard time actually going there when it comes to my own blog. Do I write about silly (or not so silly) arguments that I have with Anson? Rarely. Do I share embarrassing stories about my family or friends? Only the most light-hearted little ditties. I don't even really post pictures of myself. I guess, as much as I love blogging, I have a fear of putting it all out there. After all, who really cares that much, right?

I especially feel this way when it comes to mom stuff. Not just obvious things like baby weight or lack of sleep, but the big, crazy, make-your-head-spin kind of topics like, "I love my baby, but I miss my old life," or "I love being a mom, but sometimes I want to drop kick my husband when he walks through the door after being at work all day and I'm sitting in soaking wet sweatpants because I literally just fell into the bathtub, with my baby."

But just because I don't always feel comfortable delving into the world of frustration ... and confusion ... and yes, resentment, doesn't mean I don't have those feelings. And some of my favorite bloggers are those women who really put it all out there and tell it like it is when it comes to motherhood. I mean, I know this isn't exactly earth-shattering news, but this stuff is hard. And even though I hold quite a bit back, I appreciate those who don't.

Which leads me to my new favorite blog, Mommy Moi. It's written by my Shelterpop editor, Brooke, and it's pretty much amazing. Just check out her "Press" tab and it's plain to see the girl can write, but it's what she writes about that's so honest and relatable. From feeling (and looking) like a hot mess 24/7 to guilt to over-the-moon love, she covers it all. And she blogs everyday. Which, as you all know, is a commitment I respect, but can't seem to wrap my busy little brain around. Enjoy!

nine months later...

2011-03-16T10:20:00.005-04:00

Well friends, nine months after our house-hunting extravaganza began, we're finally closing on our house. This afternoon. Like, in four hours.

Praise the lord, and pass the checkbook!

Per usual, I'm equally excited and nauseated by the whole process, but I'm happy that it's finally here. That we can finally use the gallons of paint we've had sitting in my parents' garage since November. That I can start clumsily navigating the ever-intimidating world of home decor. And that Sam can start stumbling and falling down the five (count it, FIVE) flights of stairs in our humble abode. (Seriously, what were we thinking?!?)

Anyway, stay tuned for lots of pictures, projects and what's sure to be frustrations as we get settled in the new Casa de Brown. Can one woman successfully turn 2,000 square feet of house into a heaping pile of hot mess?! I think 'yes'!

my best friend's wedding.

2011-03-08T19:42:00.003-05:00

We all know couples that just make you smile whenever you're around them ... couples who are so rich with contagious energy and love. For me, that would be Lorrie & Jason. (Lorrie's my best friend, and Jason's kind of my best friend, too. I heart him.)

Anyway, they're in the running for the Crate & Barrel Ultimate Wedding Contest, and the winner will score a dream wedding furnished by C&B -- can you say "awesome"?!? So, if you have a free moment, click this link and vote for them. They deserve it!

monday, again.

2011-02-28T14:00:00.000-05:00

Hey kids. Well, it's Monday, and -- shocker -- I seem to have caught Sam's oh-s0-lovely cold. Thankfully, it seems as though I've avoided the earth-shaking cough that he had last week, so that's a plus. I guess this is what you get when you spend your days open-mouth kissing your snot-faced baby. Yep, you read that right, Sam only knows how to give kisses with his mouth wide open. Just keepin' it classy.

So yeah, this foggy brain of mine doesn't have much to share, but I do have a few random thoughts for this rainy Monday...

Have any of you noticed all of these new crazy "eat like a caveman and you'll look amazing" diets that everyone seems to be trying these days? My brother is doing the Primal Blueprint diet, and he's lost something like 15 pounds. And my fellow Florida girl, Kristin, has been doing the PALEO lockdown for the last six weeks and she looks like a little lean, mean fightin' machine. (Seriously KO, do you have permit for those guns, girlfriend?) So, am I intrigued by these diets? Yes. Do I have the discipline to actually eat this way for any period of time? Not in a million years.
So, I've been trying to think of a funny way to say this, but I just can't -- the Oscars were complete shit last night. I give Anne Hathaway all kinds of credit for trying to keep the show afloat while it was so tragically sinking to its slow, painful death, but wowza -- it was really bad, right? I mean, Kirk Douglas? I could hardly watch.
So, last week when I was driving home from Target, I thought it would be fun to drive Sam past my old high school. I'll admit, I do this a lot. (What can I say? I'm a sucker for a healthy dose of nostalgia.) I take every opportunity to drive through Franklin Glen, taking Sam past the neighborhood pool where I used to lifeguard and say, "See baby, that's where momma used to sit around doing nothing for entire summers making minimum wage." Or we drive past Lorrie's old house on Hidden Meadow Drive and I say, "See baby, that's where aunt Lorrie used to live and that's where momma's car got egged in high school -- right there, in that very driveway." Or we drive past Franklin Middle School and I say, "See baby, that's where momma experimented with frosty lipgloss and Contempo Casuals for two miserable years." So, last week I decided to take him past Chantilly, only to let out an audible WHHAAAA?!? when I saw that the old painted shed was no longer there. Figuring it had been taken down months earlier, I didn't think much of it, but I came to find out it had just been torn down the day before. And let me tell you, some people are sincerely pissed about it. Is it a tragedy? Um, I'm going to go ahead and say, probably not. But it is a little bit sad.
And speaking of sad, um....did any of you see Celine Dion on Oprah last week? More specifically, did you see her sing Billy Joel's "Lullaby" while a tear-inducing slideshow of her babies played in the background? Seriously, how does Oprah get away with broadcasting this kind of thing smack in the middle of the day? Doesn't she know that some of us need to go on functioning after her show and can't just melt into a puddle of sappy goo for the rest of the evening? Geezus, Oprah. Help a girl out.
And last, Sam is not walking. Like not at all. Like you grab his hands to help him and he just sits down. Should I be concerned?

searching for bryan voltaggio.

2011-02-19T15:49:00.017-05:00

A few Saturdays back, I made the 1-hour drive up to Frederick, Maryland, with Anson, Mayela and my obsessed-with-all-things-cooking brother, Ben. Sure, we were going up to see our aunt and uncle, Jimmy & Lori, and their charming new row house in downtown Frederick, but really, let's be honest, we were really hoping to run into Bryan Voltaggio. And by "run into," I mean we had serious plans to stalk him at his place of business.

Ok, so I had plans to stalk him at his place of business.

Moving on.

Anyway, I have two words for you, friends: Mission. Accomplished. Yep, about three seconds after sitting down in his simple-yet-swanky restaurant, VOLT, Lori spotted him. And then I proceeded to hyperventilate a bit into my Longchamp bag. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good celebrity encounter.

And Top Chef badass sightings aside, the day was awesome. All of the food at VOLT is amazingly delicious, and it's all topped with edible foam! Yes, foam. Who knew bubbly air could taste so good? Bryan Voltaggio, apparently. I repeat, he's a badass.

Pork barbecue after a three-course meal? So necessary.

a belated shout-out.

2011-02-17T19:53:00.007-05:00

Before I put the tribute to Sam's 1st birthday to bed, I had to post about my absolute favorite thing from the party: the freakin' adorable invitations ....

Um, yeah, are your insides melting a bit right now? Because mine are. Made by my brother's girlfriend (and my friend), Mayela, these invitations are pretty much the cutest thing I've ever laid eyes on. Oh, and she also made our darling holiday cards, too.

A lot funkier and artsy (translation: cool) than I'll ever be, Mayela does everything, from decorations to wedding invitations. The girl even has one of her designs hanging all over Reston Town Center. Seriously, she's crazy talented. And kind of a big deal.

So, if you're in the market for, well, anything, check out MayelaLopez.com.

That is all.

simple pleasure: sweet-as-sugar birthdays.

2011-02-17T12:54:00.009-05:00

On Saturday afternoon, we celebrated Sam's first birthday with a small, intimate group of friends and family. And by "small" and "intimate," I mean 35 people. Although I felt a tad silly for hosting such a large shindig for such a little man, I have to admit, it was really fun. And it meant a lot to us that so many people came out to eat delicious (if I do say so myself) kid-inspired cuisine and celebrate the lil' ginger.

"Oh Grandma, what pretty hair you have. (No, but seriously, WTF is up with your hair?)"

"Geezus, Dad. Not while I'm eating!"

"Oh, auntie Lor, you know me so well. Sure, I have no idea what on earth this thing is, but it does have gators on it. And gators are my fave. (Don't tell my dad.)"

sick day.

2011-02-15T20:31:00.010-05:00

Oh friends, the Hot Mess Express is back in full effect, and has been parked outside my house all day today. This tends to happen when Sam has a not-so-great day, and today Sam was one sick puppy. Like "snot all over my face," "hacking up a lung," "I hate you, MOM!" sick. But while the kid apparently can't stand to look at me, he still wants me to hold him 24 hours a day while he screams -- such a joy, I can't even tell you.

So, because of all of the above information, I'm still in my pajamas at 8:34 PM. And my sweater is covered in liquid Tylenol that my darling angel spit all over me. And I haven't brushed my teeth yet today. Yet I'm sitting here blogging instead of tending to my personal-hygiene needs ..... hmmm. Per usual, I suppose I'm surrendering to the overall unfortunate situation that was my day today. I mean, really, why fight it?

Oh, and on another awesome note, I got a lovely not-so-subtle email from BabyCenter.com today. First of all, their emails to me are no longer titled "My Baby This Week." This morning, I turned on my Blackberry to find "My Toddler This Week" in my inbox. Um, can you say "dagger"?!? I mean, Sam may have resembled a head-spinning exorcist baby today, but he's still my baby. I mean, really, it's been two days. TWO DAYS! Must you knock me over the head with the whole "toddler" thing?

Pump the breaks, BabyCenter.com. Pump the breaks.

And then, on top of the whole "Your sweet little baby is about to toddle out of your life" thing, the subject of their email was (and I kid you not), "What Happened To Your Body?"

BURN!

Now I haven't wanted to get into the whole "baby weight" thing on the blog because, let's face it, really what is there to say? You have a baby, your skin stretches to its limits and then -- shock of all shocks -- your body is a wee bit different than it used to be. But receiving an email titled "What Happened To Your Body" at 6:15 AM when you're wearing sweatpants covered in mashed up macaroni and cheese and baby mucus .... yeah, it's just not cool.

So, it's been an overall not-so-awesome day. But Glee did just air an amazeballs duo of Justin Bieber-inspired routines (American Apparel hoodies and all), so things are looking up.

Hope you guys enjoyed your Tuesday.

a little love note on your 365th day.

2011-02-13T19:26:00.013-05:00

It's my birthday. I do what I want.

Dear Sam,

Ever since I can remember, my dad ("Scotty" to you) has always rung in each and every one of our birthdays with one simple question: "What were we doing (enter age here) years ago on this day?" From there, he proceeds to share a few of the well-known details of our original birthdays. For example, on May 29, 1986, your uncle Mike was born the day we were moving into our house on Hidden Meadow Drive -- your Nanny was hell-bent on getting the keys to her new pad before heading to the hospital. And when I was born, Nanny and Scotty had spent the day at a barbecue in Tucson, grubbing on cheeseburgers -- something that would come back to haunt Nanny a few hours later.

Anyway, you get the idea. And while I now appreciate this little birthday tradition, I have to admit there were a few years there when I thought that Jim was a huge cheese ball for his annual dose of mushy nostalgia. I mean, who wants to talk about a day that none of us remember? Come on, Dad.

But now, with one year of motherhood under my belt (I'm an old pro, don't ya know), I see exactly why we were encouraged to take that walk down memory lane each and every year. You see, your parents aren't trying to force the details of your actual birth on you (that would be gross after all), they're just trying to some how, some way explain how much that day, your birthday, meant to them. Of course, that really could never be accomplished because, honestly, there are no words. But they're trying in their own way. And Sam, as it turns out, your dad and I are no different.

We thought you were going to be born on a Monday morning, but you decided to come two days early, smack in the middle of two feet of snow. I woke up that morning at 6 am to a few little pains in my stomach; nothing major, but enough to get me in the shower to shave my legs -- with all the "hot mess" action that was my appearance at the time, it was really the least I could do. After getting dressed (and a few little stomach cramps), your Dad decided he better make the trek out to Best Buy to buy that video camera we'd been putting off purchasing. I, on the other hand, grabbed a handful of Donettes and called your Nanny. I swear, before she even picked up the phone, she had hopped in the car -- grabbing Scotty on her way out the door -- and was speeding her way up 95 North to Baltimore. While everyone else started to panic ... and hurry ... and get excited around me, I turned on HGTV and sunk into the couch with Winnie. What was everyone getting so worked up about anyway? If this was a sign that the baby was on his way, we still had a long way to go. Trust me.

8 hours later you were here.

It was a hard day and, honestly, some of it was a bit of a blur for your mom. (I'll spare you the gory details.) But it was the best day I've ever had. Forget birthdays, forget engagements -- even weddings. Nothing could top the instant love I felt when I first saw you, Bugs. And now, your dad and I don't just talk about that day on your birthday -- we talk about it nearly every single day. Of course it's still pretty fresh in our minds, and surely as life gets busier and you get older, we'll have new memories to lie in bed and talk about at night. But for now, why not run through each and every messy moment of the day we met you, right? (Your dad was there; he remembers the gory details all too vividly.)

So Sam, as you grow, please try your best to humor your mother on your birthday when my face starts to twist and I inevitably start to tear up a bit at the thought of you getting bigger, and smarter and funnier. There's only so much I can handle, baby boy.

And, fortunately, your dad did make it to Best Buy that February morning, so we have this video, taken just 6 minutes after you were born. Enjoy the commentary. Turns out, just like his father-in-law, your dad is a cheese ball, too.

I love you forever,

Mom

"no eating until you blog again."

2011-02-10T13:34:00.006-05:00

The above quote was posted on my Facebook wall last week, courtesy of my brother, Luke. This just makes me laugh because, despite his waif-like appearance, the kid houses Tostitos queso dip and wing zings like it's going out of style. Oh little Lutey, you gave your sister a good chuckle with that one. Seriously, how's that "no eating" thing going for you? Not so good? You don't say.

Anyway...I know I'm a bad blogger. I'd like to think that I could really buckle down and devote some time and effort to this little blog, but other things seem to always be more important. You know, like watching the "Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" over and over again. I mean, really, as long as Bravo continues to air that train wreck on repeat, how can you resist? One word: UHHHHHmazing.

But seriously, this week I really did have more important things to tend to -- much more important things. Like, say, a certain ginger-head man's first birthday party! (Pause, Sara. Take a deep breath. Collect yourself.) Geezus, I always said I'd never be one of those nutso mothers who made a big fuss about their one-year-old's birthday and goes balls to the walls with a ridiculously large party. But, shock of shocks, I've turned into one of those nutso mothers who's making a big fuss about their one-year-old's birthday, and I'm currently going balls to the walls getting ready for his ridiculously large party.

(Don't judge, friends. Your time is coming.)

Anyway, I'll be sure to post pictures of the little orange-themed shindig just as soon as I get my hot mess of a self back together. Something tells me I'm going to be a big ball of mush by the end of this weekend. It's cool to cry while your baby boys eats his first birthday cupcake in front of 35 of your closest friends and family, right? I thought so.

"You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life!"

2011-01-21T20:04:00.005-05:00

Remember this post from way back in 2008? Well, let's just say I still spend many a blustery Friday night reading blogs on my couch. If you're with me, please do yourself a big favor and turn on TBS immediately. I know, I know -- not exactly Love Actually, but who doesn't love a good ABBA sing-a-long?

Again, you're welcome.

to the original BF, on her birthday.

2011-01-15T19:46:00.009-05:00

In case I've ever been unclear about my feelings for my mom, I think the birthday card I gave her today spells it out perfectly:

"The truth is, even if she weren't my mom I would go out of my way to be friends with her."

I really couldn't say it better myself. There with me since day one, to me, she's the original BF. And I mean come on, the above photo makes it pretty clear that the girl knows how to have a good time. Birthday hats for boobs?!? What more could you want in a friend?!?

Happy birthday, Mom.

xoxo

O to the MG.

2011-01-03T21:19:00.006-05:00

Calling all the single ladies! (All the single ladies!)

Imagine my surprise when I'm surfing through a few of my favorite websites this afternoon, and stumble across this -- a charming little Q&A featuring Rachel Machacek, an old co-worker of mine and my real-life girl crush! Seriously, the lady is beyond cool in a quirky, adorable, funny, laid-back kind of way. (The first week at my old job, she walked into the office in a "Mrs. Timberlake" t-shirt. Need I say more?) And now -- catch this -- she's predicted to become "the Bridget Jones of Washington" by the Washington Post.

Um, yeah. In case you haven't caught on yet, she's awesome.

So, if "read more books," or "get inspired," or just "give in to peer pressure" is on your list of New Year's resolutions, I strongly suggest you go out and buy her new book tomorrow.

That is all.

a little love note on new year's eve.

2010-12-31T19:57:00.016-05:00

My homeboys. New Year's Eve 2010.

Dear Sam,

I know I'm going to sound like a total cheeseball mother when I say this, but I am a total cheeseball mother, so here it goes...

Where oh where has the time gone?

It was just 365 days ago that I was reclining on our beat-up old couch in Baltimore, belly stretched to the limit (or so I thought), sipping on yet another caffeine-free Diet Coke, writing you my very first love note. Oh, what a hot mess I was then. No make-up, hair in a knot, sweatpants -- oh, wait a second, that's what I'm wearing right now! Preggo or not, I am always a vision in elastic. Man oh man, your dad is one lucky guy.

Anyway....

Not taking my wardrobe into account, a lot has changed in the last year. We moved back from Baltimore, found (but have yet to move into -- don't ask) our perfect first house and, of course, we had you, my little slice of heaven. Just as I suspected, Sam, you have made our lives more amazing than we could have ever imagined. You're funny, and messy and quite the little dancing machine. You also love (and I mean love) Beyonce and Carrie Underwood, but really, who can blame you? They're amazeballs.

Most of all, Sam, you're just a really happy kid. Which is what makes me so happy every single day. So happy in fact that your dad and I are sitting here right now, reclining on the couch, sipping champagne and toasting to a job well done. Well, at least so far. Because just like last year, we're still feeling a bit scared, and we'll surely mess up a couple thousand times more than we already have (trust me, there have been some doozies), but one thing's still for certain, baby boy -- everything about the world is better with you in it.

I repeat, I'm a total cheeseball mother.

I love you, my little sweet potato. Happy new year.

xoxo

Mom

a wish for you and yours.

2010-12-30T20:04:00.004-05:00

With just one day left before the start of the new year, I thought I'd share our 2010 holiday card with you, my readers who keep coming back for more. Here's to a 2011 filled with celebrations, laughter, love and -- of course -- holy adorable, make-me-melt baby pictures.

xoxo

Sara

simple pleasure: love, sweet love.

2010-12-27T21:15:00.009-05:00

photo by Max Wanger

Ok, ok, so it's not exactly a simple pleasure -- considering it's one of the most wonderful and exciting days of your entire life -- but to me, during this oh-so magical holiday season, nothing has made me happier than hearing the news that three of my dearest friends are getting married.

I have different histories with all of these sweet girls -- one was my very first friend after leaving home and starting my freshman year at Florida; one is in almost every single one of my memories from college (both good and, well, not so good); and one, who I have been friends with since 1st grade, is -- hands down -- one of the true loves of my life. (Call me dramatic, but it's a fact.)

So to Meg, and T, and Lor, this is just a little note to you to say once again how incredibly, out-of-this-world happy I am for you. You're all in for a world of love and laughs with those boys, which is all that really matters in the end, right?

And speaking of those boys -- nicely done, guys. You managed to find (and hang on to) three of the most amazing girls out there. Consider yourselves the luckiest men on the planet. I know you do.

baby, it's cold outside.

2010-11-30T22:48:00.003-05:00

My darling Sam,

Although the weather has been unseasonably warm over the last few days, the forecast is calling for dropping temps come the end of the week. Which got me to thinking ... we really must get your snow hat out of storage, don't you think?

Always looking out for your best interest,

Mom

an introduction.

2010-11-23T23:28:00.005-05:00

If you're like me, plagued with a chronic case of wanderlust but no funds or time to remedy the itch, you'll love this new blog from my best friend, Lorrie. Practically a professional traveler, Lorrie is always on the go -- one week she's soaking up the sun on an island off the west coast of Florida; the next she's riding high in Big Sky Country (that's Montana for you city slickers). Seriously, the girl is always on the move.

And now it looks like we're reaping the benefits from her non-stop schedule. Milestruck (um, awesome name, by the way) is dedicated to sharing her journeys, as well as what she's learned, loved and loathed along the way! Intrigued? You should be. Plus, if we're lucky, we might just get a few guest posts from her frequent-flyer BF, Jason. (Yes, he's awesome, too.)

And speaking of trips ... if any of you, my dear readers, will be traveling this holiday weekend, please be safe. And have fun. And eat like there's no tomorrow.

Just enjoy yourself, would ya? Happy Thanksgiving!

so...

2010-11-22T22:10:00.003-05:00

It seems as though I've fallen off the blogging wagon yet again. Way to go, Sara! Set a goal and abandon it after two weeks. Oh willpower, I know we've never been exactly close, but where are you when I need you?

Anyway ... things have been a bit busy around here with house stuff, and Thanksgiving stuff and, well, Sam, who has decided it's totally awesome to climb up my parents' sprawling curved staircase completely unsupervised. Um, excuse me sir, but may I remind you that you're 9 months old? Kindly shift yourself onto your bum and scoot back down the stairs safely, thank you. What's that? You'd rather launch yourself backward like a red-headed tree frog? Excellent idea. Go right ahead. Don't let me stop you.

Sigh.

So yes, when I say I've been busy, I've actually just been posted up at the bottom of my parents' staircase with my speed dial set to 911. And just when I thought my life lacked excitement...

Anyway, I hope you're all enjoying your short week before Thanksgiving. And I hope, for your sake, you watched Dancing With the Stars tonight. I know I hate on Jennifer Gray and her inappropriate boob exposure, but tonight's Dirty Dancing-inspired freestyle dance was AMAZEBALLS. I mean, the girl even rocked a cardigan and carried a watermelon for crying out loud.

So enjoyable.

happy friday, friends.

2010-11-19T16:39:00.008-05:00

Looking for some weekend reading? Here are a few of my Shelterpop faves:

Kelly Kapowski has a new line of baby furniture? Yes, please.

If money was no object, what would be your dream home upgrade?

Everyone knows I'm an Obama fan. But his office? Not so much.

a little love note on your 278th day.

2010-11-17T12:22:00.014-05:00

Dear Sam,

This past Saturday was your 9-month birthday.

(Please give mom a moment while she collects herself. Just writing that opening sentence has turned her into a puddle of hot mess on the floor. Talk amongst yourselves.)

Anyway ... when you were a little babe, and spent many of your days sleeping and crying (and crying some more), people would tell us that it would get easier. Once you got bigger, they would say. Or maybe once you could sleep on your stomach. But when I was in the midst of one of your unhappy moments, I sometimes (ok, all the time) worried that I would feel out of my league forever.

But, just as the pros (and by "pros," I mean your grandparents) assured us, it did in fact get easier. And so much fun. Now I can barely keep up with you thanks to all the speed crawling, the cruising around the coffee table and the jumping, jumping, JUMPING! And, as of last night, it appears you've embraced a new-found love for professional wrestling. Seriously, give the kid some body oil and a folding chair and he'd be giving Macho Man Randy Savage a run for his money. (And yes, I did just make a reference to early 90's WWF wrestling. I have three brothers, ok? Oh, and I'm also old, I know.)

I just want to say, Sam, that I never wished any of those newborn days away, and now I even have those moments where I wish I could just pick you up in my arms and sway you to sleep like I used to. But now, oh Bugs, it really is a whole new level of wonderful. You, my sweet boy, make me so incredibly happy every single day. Me, and the ladies at Giant who kiss you and try to feed you deli meat and hard candy. Oh crazy Giant ladies, you and your blatant inappropriateness really make me chuckle.

I love you, my little bundle of copper-headed, blue-eyed, borderline-ADD joy.

xoxo,

Mom

simple pleasure: celebrity sightings

2010-11-16T23:04:00.004-05:00

photo: InStyle.com

We all know I love a good celebrity sighting. But to be completely honest, when I do actually spot a celebrity in their natural habitat (ahem, Tim Gunn), I freeze and do absolutely nothing but stand there staring like a fool. My brothers, on the other hand, seem to always have great celebrity stories -- chatting with Liv Tyler at LAX, walking straight up to Moby to say hello, getting their picture taken with Method Man -- you know, no big whoop.

So yeah, I wasn't too surprised when this text conversation took place just a few minutes ago:

Luke Scott: Just had drinks with Penn Badgley. No joke. It's NYC.

Me: Um, did you talk to him?

Luke Scott: Yea, we were drinking and toasting each other. He was giving me advice on apartments.

You know, it's normal.

a few random thoughts.

2010-11-15T22:49:00.004-05:00

I can't lie -- this "I'm going to blog everyday" thing is serious business. I mean, who has something clever and amusing to write about every day? Not this girl. As you all know, my days are filled with cheerios, sippy cups and episodes of Dinosaur Train -- not the most exciting blog fodder in the world.

So, in an effort to stick to my posting streak, here's my list of random thoughts for the day. Is this stupid? Definitely. Don't say I didn't warn you...

1. Are any of you watching this season of Dancing With the Stars? Ok, here's the thing: Typically, I'm 100% skeeved out by Derek Hough and his sneaky pete mustache, but this season it's his cougar partner, Jennifer Gray, that's giving me the heebie jeebies. I mean, lady, you're fifty years old, for crying out loud. I miss the Dirty Dancing version of JGray. Give me some short shorts, a bad nose, some gyrating and a little "Nobody puts Baby in the corner" and I'm a happy girl.

2. Tonight I went to the new Rustico in Ballston and it was delish. (The company wasn't half bad either.) Um, Cous Cous Carbonara? Yes, please.

3. I've decided on the paint and carpet colors for our new house: "Over the Taupe" and "Worldy Gray". Yes, you read that right. And yes, I'm not proud of my mind-numbingly boring choices.

4. My youngest brother, Luke, moved to New York City yesterday, which I think is completely awesome. Seriously, it was like something out of a movie: He literally packed a suitcase, walked out the door and hopped on the bus to the Big Apple, leaving the NOVA burbs in his dust. Luke, something tells me you're going to do big things. That is unless the California Raisins come to get you in your sleep. Or a wave of lava. Just sayin'.

5. Speaking of Luke, have you seen this blog? You're welcome, brother.

happy birthday, little geary.

2010-11-14T14:24:00.006-05:00

First birthday parties are the best. Delicious food, adult beverages and all the baby eye candy you can handle. Seriously, I had to actually remind myself not to start nibbling on little children that I didn't know. Apparently my over-affectionate son had the same problem...

"Oh hey, buddy. Cool threads. Dig my puffy vest? Yeah, I thought so. You can borrow it sometime if you want."

"Oh, so you're the birthday boy? Lean over here so I can tell you a secret. And by 'tell you a secret,' I actually mean 'gnaw on your face.'"

"Just a little bit closer....oh -- and you're next, little guy!"

simple pleasure: british sing-a-long

2010-11-12T22:58:00.005-05:00

family circus.

2010-11-11T15:33:00.003-05:00

The Browns are here visiting for the weekend. This makes me very happy. You know what else makes me happy? This picture of my seriously beautiful sister-in-law, Kathryn. Yea, the gorgeous girl plus adorable baby combination is almost too much to handle.

Oh - and my apologies in advance for the light posting over the next few days. I'll be too busy eating, drinking and being carted all around town by my non-stop father-in-law to blog. What a rough life I lead!

simple pleasure: pretty little things

2010-11-10T17:13:00.005-05:00

photo by Paul Ferney for Oh Happy Day

Sometimes I see things that are just so pretty ... and whimsical ... and beyond creative that I have no words. This is how I feel about all of Jordan Ferney's creations, but especially her dinner parties that she throws on rooftops ... and on piers ... and, apparently, on the beach beneath the Golden Gate Bridge.

Again, no words.

ps. Do you think you could fashion this same sort of gorgeous scene on the deck of a suburban townhouse? Yeah, probably not. Oh well.

silent night?

2010-11-09T21:27:00.011-05:00

Ok parental units, I need your advice here. Jessie, Jenn, Courtenay -- I'm talkin' to you.

First, a little backstory:

So, about six weeks ago the Brown crew moved back into Casa de Scott. Yep, that's right, we're 28, we have a baby and a miniature pony for a dog, and we're living with my parents. What?

Anyway ... along with this move came a major upgrade for Sam in the bedroom department. I mean, first things first, he's got his own bathroom now -- a major must-have item for a 9 month old. Plus, he's no longer sleeping just steps away from a Baltimore alleyway. I mean, geez Louise, just the break from the 3 AM bar brawls and cat fights (literally, cats would fight to the death outside our apartment every night -- jealous?) should've led to long, peaceful, dream-filled baby slumbers, right?

Wrong.

As soon as we moved into my parents' quiet, dark and cozy house, my sweet little baby boy decided we had checked him into Crazytown and promptly turned into a middle-of-the-night hysterical fool. Honestly, I wake up almost every night to the sound of Sam screaming bloody murder, as if Freddy Krueger himself has snuck into his room and is now biting off each one of his baby fingers one at a time. Which, of course, makes me jump out of bed at the speed of light, panicked at the thought of my precious son having his baby fingers bitten off one at a time by Freddy Krueger himself. Really, it's not a pretty picture. I'm frantic. He's like freakin' exorcist baby.

Hot mess, party of two, your table is now available.

So, after a bit of online research (oh BabyCenter.com, how I've missed you and your addictive ways), I've discovered that some medical professionals refer to these pleasant little fits as "night terrors." Not so much a nightmare, these episodes are characterized by screaming (um, yes) and thrashing (mmm hmm). Plus, they say that although your child's eyes may be open, they are actually still sleeping. Sound disturbing? Um, yeah, it is.

So friends, any experience with this insanity? And if so, how long does it last? Please say not long. Momma needs a break from the crazy.

and speaking of red...

2010-11-08T13:50:00.005-05:00

Have you seen this? Um, a blog dedicated to the most darling guidance counselor of all time? Yes, please.

(Thanks, Linds.)

seeing red.

2010-11-08T13:35:00.005-05:00

My hair has always been blonder than blonde.

Accept for the fact that it really wasn't at all.

So now, in honor of my little ginger-head man, I've decided to stop the bleaching (and add a little padding to my pocketbook) by showing my true colors.

The verdict is still out, friends.

a little reunion.

2010-11-07T21:31:00.006-05:00

Today was a fun day. We spent the afternoon being grown-ups, hosting our favorite PA-school friends (plus lovely wives and darling baby) and eating a ridiculous amount of delicious food. The guys had a field day (like seriously, an elementary school-style field day) while the girls drank beers and stared at baby Lily. And Sam? Yeah, he sat in the corner, chewing on a Tupperware lid. So advanced.

And now a few pics from the day...

Oh hey, babies. You don't know this yet, but you're going to be taking this exact same picture for the rest of your lives. Good thing you love each other so much.

Ok, I apologize deeply for this photo. This is, in fact, my baby boy wearing a Boise State onesie. Please forgive me, Rochelle.

And moving on to much more important things...introducing the princess of preciousness, Miss Lily. Insert simultaneous "awwwwwww" here.

oh hey.

2010-11-06T23:08:00.005-04:00

Well friends, it's 11:09 PM and I officially have nothing to say. I've thought about posting an outdated pic of Sam ... or a link to someone else's more clever blog ... or (wait for it) an old-school Color Me Badd music video ("All 4 Love," anyone?), but I know you'll just see through me and my lazy blogging ways.

So instead I'll just wish you a very happy and restful Saturday night, complete with an extra hour of sleep!

And since I've sparked your interest, check this out. Um, you're welcome.

and now for a little friday night eye candy...

2010-11-05T22:44:00.014-04:00

seriously, how gorgeous is Natalie Portman?

bye, bye baltimore.

2010-11-04T20:43:00.014-04:00

So, we bought a house.

Yeah, it's a long story for a whole other blog post, but the point is that for the time being we are no longer renters. I wish I could say I was excited about this development, but to be honest, this whole house-purchasing process leaves me a bit queasy. Yeah, just give me a few weeks and I'm sure I'll be all "Paint swatches and wood blinds and duvet covers -- oh my!" But for now I'm just kind of nauseous 24/7.

But anyway, the real reason I'm posting is to give a great big "So long, Charm City!" to Baltimore. Now I'll be the first to admit that I was more than ready to -- how do I say this? -- get the hell out of there after our 12-month stay, but it was actually a really good year. We witnessed the craziest tricker treaters ever; watched fireworks from our doorstep on New Years Eve; spent many an evening at Patterson Park with Winnie Cooper; ate pizza on the pier; and lived through the most spectacular (and kind of scary) blizzard EVER. Oh, and we also had a baby. No big whoop.

But truly, the greatest gift we received from the great city of Baltimore, was the gift of the H&S Bakery Outlet Store, where we were first introduced to Berger Cookies. We later found out that you could actually find these delicious frosted treats at every gas station and grocery store from here to Philadelphia (honestly, they're even at the Giant in my mom's neighborhood in Virginia), but no matter -- as far as we're concerned, they're our little secret Fells Point delicacy. Forget the birth of our first-born child -- it's the gobs of chocolate icing that we'll be forever thankful for.

Berger Cookies, all dressed up for Martine's "Eclipse" birthday party.

Yeah, it was a good year. Thanks for the memories, Bank Street.

simple pleasure: drooly babies

2010-11-03T17:17:00.003-04:00

shameless plug.

2010-11-02T18:43:00.015-04:00

Remember this post back in November when I admitted that, while I love my husband (hey Brown!), I do have a few celebrity crushes? Well, I'm not proud to admit this, but I was lying to you, my dear readers. In fact, I have many, many, many celebrity crushes. It's actually a problem.

I got a fever and the only cure is more BIEBER.

The thing is, this obsession doesn't stop at celebrities. Oh no, it carries into the real world, too. Sound creepy? It kind of is. But in my defense, most of my other secret loves are the personalities behind the blogs that I read religiously. I mean, what's a crush-aholic to do when I'm bombarded by the sweet stories and pictures of darling little families on a regular basis? Seriously, it's my kryptonite.

So, it's because of this wee little problem that I was beyond ecstatic when my editor at Shelterpop asked me to interview -- wait for it -- Sherry and John Petersik from Young House Love, one of the best do-it-yourself home-design blogs out there. Yeah, it pretty much took all I had not to invite myself down to Richmond for a play date with Sherry and baby girl Clara before getting off the phone, but I managed to keep it together without turning into a complete and total hot mess. Believe me, I was as shocked as your are.

Seriously, what's a crazy person like me to do when faced with this cuteness?

Photo: Young House Love

So, long story short, I wrote a little story about this totally talented-yet-totally relatable couple and, if you're interested, you can check it out here. Or you can just log on to their awesome blog and leave feeling incredibly lazy and uncreative in comparison. I kid, I kid.

(Not really.)

day one.

2010-11-01T22:56:00.003-04:00

Oh hi, friends. Fancy meeting you here. On my blog. Where I'm supposed to post on a somewhat regular basis. What's that you say? You're sick and tired of checking this link only to find the same old (but you have to admit, ridiculously cute) pictures from two months ago? And I should stop kidding myself and just shut this puppy down once and for all? That I'm the WORST? BLOGGER? EVER?

Trust me, I hear you loud and clear. In fact, I've been telling myself the same thing since February, when the baby bomb dropped and my blogging life came to a screeching halt. Honestly, every morning I spell it out on my daily to-do list: Just write something. Anything.

But then, as we all know, the day comes and goes and my little blog, which used to bring me so much joy and comfort, goes untouched.

That is, until now.

Yep, today is the first day of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) and I, the self-proclaimed slack-ass blogger, am pledging to participate and post every single day for one month. Now, per usual, I'm sure I'll be falling back on a few (code: a lot) pics of Sam from time to time, but something tells me you're okay with that.

Anyway, I'm back. For 30 days straight. And maybe, just maybe, for good.

dear friends...

2010-09-20T11:45:00.011-04:00

I know what you're thinking. You don't have to say a word -- trust me, I know. Since pledging to blog more way back in June, I've posted a grand total of nine times. It's official: I'm the worst.

But, in my defense, this summer has been a bit of a long one, with lots of driving, packing and writing for me. Plus, Sam's officially a mad man and is now crawling, climbing and pulling up on everything, stable or not. Seriously, the kid knows no fear. This has resulted in many a face plant, which leads to the crying. Which leads to the holding. Which leads to me not getting much done.

We have had a nice few months, though, complete with a few visits from a few of Sam's biggest fans...

college football, baby!

2010-09-04T10:05:00.002-04:00

please excuse the tongue.

a little love note on your 181st day.

2010-08-13T08:23:00.013-04:00

Dear Sam,

Today you turn 6 months old. Seriously, where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday that I was pacing around our apartment, watching in disbelief as more than 3 feet of snow fell outside my door, willing you to wait just a few more days before you made your grand debut. Now, 181 days later, I can't imagine there ever being a time where I didn't want you right here with me, come rain, shine or Snowmageddon 2010.

Last night, I was lying in bed, trying to think of a way to put my crazy obsession with you into words, and I kept going back to the night you were born. Needless to say, the day had been a bit of a rough one for momma. And after a couple hours of passing you around to your grandparents and taking breaks to shuffle to the bathroom to try and pee (glamorous, I know), we were finally taken to our room where we'd be staying for the next 2 days. By the time we got settled and I found a comfortable position for my rear end (jealous?) it was after midnight, but who could sleep? I had just delivered the most perfect angel of a baby boy ever. (I told you I was a bit crazy when it came to you. Always have been. Always will be. Get used to it.)

Anyway....a few hours (and a few "what the hell am I supposed to do?!?" moments) later, the nurse came back to take you for some "tests." (Looking back, this could very well have been a ploy to get us to give it a rest and hand you over to the pros. Wow, we were clueless.) Anyway, she asked if we wanted her to bring you back when she was finished, or if we'd rather you go and sleep in the nursery in the company of the other sweet babes. Everyone had told us, when given this option, to TAKE IT. This could quite possibly be the last time we would have uninterrupted sleep for months. So, at 2:30 in the morning, wrapped up tight in the burrito which you would come to love, you were wheeled away. And we slept. Hard.

But, at around 5, I woke up, literally sitting straight up in bed. It felt like the best Christmas morning I had ever experienced. I whispered over to your dad, "Babe, let's go get him." And "go get him" we did.

I wrapped myself up in my ridiculous hot pink bathrobe, clutched your dad's arm, and we started what seemed like the endless walk to the nursery. Slowly, we crept down the hallway, passed the nurses station, where they all gave us a knowing smile. (Something tells me they'd seen this routine before.) Finally, after what seemed like hours, we arrived at the nursery. But, before going in to snatch you up, we simply stood at the window, holding hands and staring at you. Our beautiful little boy. Seriously, I have a lump in my throat just thinking about that moment. That was the culmination of, hands down, the happiest day of my life.

And do you know what? Six months later we're actually more nutso about you than we were then. In fact, every night before going to bed, we carefully open your creaky bedroom door and tiptoe in to peek in at you. Just like that morning in the nursery, we stand there next to each other, just staring in wonder. Really, now that I think about it, we're just legal stalkers. Officially crazed and obsessed lunatics. Guilty as charged.

Really, though, Sam, I'm just so in love with you. Every day I inevitably have a moment where I feel completely out of my league, and every day you inevitably make me feel like we were absolutely meant to be together and that I'm not completely screwing you up. In fact, when you start scooting, and a laughing, and smiling like crazy, it makes me feel like you might be a little bit in love with me, too.

Happy half birthday, Bugs.

xoxo
Mom

reality check.

2010-08-06T21:22:00.008-04:00

photo courtesy of the lovely Newly Nalevanko

So, I'm sitting here in my sweatpants, eating a Fudgsicle and watching Say Yes To The Dress, feeling pretty good about my low-key Friday night, when I come across the above photo on Facebook. Yep, I've been trying to forget that all of my best girlfriends are currently in the Keys, sipping on cocktails and lounging like rockstars, but here it is.

BAM.

Reality check, much?

Oh, new life, I do love you. But I'm pretty sure I'd also love cruising on a boat, sunning and snoozing. Just sayin'.

I like big butts and I cannot lie.

2010-07-27T12:31:00.005-04:00

You can do it, put your back into it.

Mr. Wonderful

2010-07-21T13:36:00.011-04:00

Dear heavenly baby,

I know we've only just met, but I already love you.

I'm not exactly sure when you arrived here at my little Charm City abode, but I think it was sometime around six weeks ago. You must've sat outside my son's window, waiting patiently until he cried himself to sleep, before creeping into his bedroom and climbing into his crib along with him. I imagine you nestled up beside him and whispered something in his ear. Something like, "I'm sorry to inform you, but your time here has come to an end, Mr. Fussy Pants. Now, if you would be so kind, please escort yourself to the nearest exit. Good day."

And with that, the Sam that I knew shimmied his way down the side of his crib and ran off into the Baltimore night. I like to think that he's now a regular at the neighborhood pubs, where no one cares if you hoot and holler, and causing a ruckus is not only accepted, but highly encouraged. Oh Original Sam, I hope you're having a good time, you little hoodlum you.

Anyway...back to my new, angelic, little-slice-of-ginger-headed-heaven baby. You are a dream, sir. Not to mention, a seasoned traveler. Yep, just last weekend when we flew home from Illinois, you were so kind as to not make a peep. In fact, you slept the entire way. While I was busy clutching the armrests during a particularly pleasant part of the flight, you just lied there on the seat next to me, snoozing away, dreaming of swimming through a pool of applesauce or sweet potatoes, I suppose. Even when the plane landed, bouncing and screeching down the runway, you didn't make a sound. And when we finally had to snap you into your stroller, you just barely opened your heavy eyes, lifting your brows as if to say, "What's a kid gotta do to get some peace and quiet around here?! Sheesh." Oh, you make me laugh, New-and-Improved Sam.

Even now, you've been lying on your playmat for 2 hours, your eyes glued to your girlfriend, Ina Garten. Sure, every couple of minutes you'll roll from side to side or let out a little howl, but mostly you just smile and laugh and kick your legs like a mini Michael Phelps. And sometimes, when you're feeling extra bold, you'll even get up on your hands and knees and think about starting to crawl, which always stops me in my tracks. I then proceed to get down on the floor right next to you, look into those big blue eyes and say, "Sam, you're doing a really good job." And I mean it.

Oh, I do so love this new stage in our lives, my little babe. But you know what? If you happen to run into the old, cranky Original Sam, you can tell him that he can come back from time to time if he wants to. I can take him. Because now I know that you exist, Mr. Wonderful. And, trust me, that's enough.

xoxo

Mom

so long, weekend...

2010-07-11T20:55:00.003-04:00

xoxo,

the #1 booze hound

wild thing, I think I love you.

2010-07-08T17:15:00.014-04:00

There's not much in my life these days that takes me away from Sam. Day in, day out, we're together, literally attached at the hip. And I'm fine with that. In fact, I'm kind of in love with him, so it's more than fine. It's downright wonderful.

But, last week, in celebration of Martine's 28th birthday, I had not other choice but to ditch the kid. What could cause me to toss my precious offspring and take off running - nay sprinting - to be the first person in a line of boy-crazed teenagers, you say?

Behold....

BAM!

Now, let me explain myself before anyone goes all "You're a grown woman! And a mother! And Taylor Lautner is, like, 8! Go back to your cougar den, cougar!" on my ass. Let me explain...

First of all, clothed photos of Taylor Lautner are no where to be found on the Internet. You all know this is true, so zip it.

Secondly, although I am a loyal member of Team Jacob, I do not, under any circumstances, find pleasure in his shirtless escapades. Just ask, Martine, who watched me awkwardly squirm in my seat every time Jacob came on the screen in nothing but a pair of cut-off jean shorts (oh yeah) and a smile. Seriously, women twice my age were actually fist pumping and fanning themselves each time this happpened (about 73 times in the span of 124 minutes), which was simultaneously hilarious and borderline innappropriate. I, on the other hand, was kind of shielding my eyes. What can I say? I'm kind of a prude when it comes to half-naked 16-year-olds.

But I do still love him. What a persistent little wolf he is.

Anyway... this movie was awesome. Ridiculous? Of course. But awesome nonetheless. I mean, who doesn't love a good flick packed with distracting colored contacts, vampires being ripped limb from limb and, of course, Dakota Fanning? I know a few lovelies who enjoyed themselves...

THESE GIRLS!

six weeks in pictures.

2010-06-30T07:51:00.009-04:00

It's only been two days and I'm already falling back on pictures of Sam. Something tells me you guys don't mind, though...

Penn State graduation 2K10. You can't tell from this picture, but we're in a bar. With a baby.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

Gingers unite.

Just chillin' in my Bumbo. Surrounded by bananas and lemons. It's normal.

Coveting my lean physique? It's all about the rice cereal. And lots of it.

i couldn't have said it better myself.

2010-06-29T20:22:00.005-04:00

I know I've missed Father's Day by about 2 weeks, but this post from Pregnant Chicken was just too effing brilliant not to share. Better late than never, I suppose. And male readers (you know who you are), take note of each and every one of these tips for the future. This advice is nothing short of genius.

ps. Thanks to my darling cousin Jess for this link.

my apologies.

2010-06-28T21:43:00.004-04:00

I have no excuse for my lack of blogging over the last few weeks. Per usual, I still spend the majority of my time sitting on my couch, in my sweat pants, bouncing a baby on my lap while watching an embarassing amount of reality television. Sure, I take a few breaks to walk Winnie...or switch the laundry...or maybe even run out to Target (my life is exciting, I know), but most of the time I'm just sitting here. Which means I could be blogging. But I haven't been blogging. And for that, my four loyal readers, I am sorry.

I've made a little promise to myself, though. I've promised to hop back on board the blogging train and, as of right now, I'm feeling 65% motivated to actually do it. Hey, I am many things (Stylish? Yes. Sexy? Duh. Awesome? Definitely.), but disciplined? Not so much.

But the thing is, although it may seem like I'm living in the movie "Groundhog Day" day in and day out, I actually have some things to share with you guys. And, let's face it, when I have nothing to say, there's always pictures of Sam.

So, you'll be hearing from me soon, friends. Thanks for sticking with me this long.

suck it.

2010-06-10T20:12:00.004-04:00

To say that Sam has an oral fixation would be a serious understatement. The kid gnaws on all things, all the time. Burp cloths, crib railings, his Dad's serious schnozz - nothing is safe from the drooling gums of Sir Sucks-a-Lot. And today I found out that this even includes his very own limbs....

Yep, it's true, my sweet baby boy actually gave himself a hickey today, friends. Classy.

one small step...

2010-05-19T15:10:00.014-04:00

"Whatchu lookin' at?"

Oh, friends. I am maxed out. Had it. Pooped. Straight dunzo.

Let me explain: I have spent the last six days trying to get my baby to sleep in his crib. Now, don't get me wrong, he's slept in his crib since he was about six weeks old, but not without a slew of crazy contraptions.....a singing seahorse; a high-tech noise machine that plays not 1, not 2, but 6 different nature-inspired ditties; a slanted "snuggle nest," complete with sidewalls and foam positioners to prevent face plantage; and, of course, the epitome of double-edged swords: the swaddle blanket. Honestly, never has a single object had such an impact on a human being's sanity (not Sam's, but mine). This "straight jacket" as my friends and family lovingly refer to it is nothing but a cotton blanket that fastens with velcro, creating a burrito-like effect, but, trust me, it's nothing short of magical. And it's because of this magic, that I've been 100% addicted to this stupid little thing since day one of baby boy's life. If we go out for the day and forget the swaddle at home, you can be sure I'll be throwing elbows at the nearest Babies R Us to snag a new one. If Sam wakes up in the middle of the night soaked through with baby pee (delightful, I know), you can find me digging through his closet at 3 a.m. looking for a replacement. And sorry parental units - if you kindly offer to watch my baby overnight, you're screwed if you can't get that baby wrapped up just right. But you don't mind holding him all night long, do you? I didn't think so.

Yep, I'm not proud. I am officially a slave to the swaddle. That is, until last Tuesday when I woke up to find my little Harry Houdini completely unwrapped and turned sideways in his crib. The little smirk on his face was adorable, but the message was clear: "Um, earth to crazy lady! I may gnaw on my own hands while I'm pooping, but I'm not stupid. Stop kidding yourself, Mom....you're just going to have to figure out a new way to get me to sleep because my swaddle days are over, lady! BWWAAAHHAAHHAA!"

Which brings me back to the last week of my life. Sam falls asleep anywhere but his crib....I hold my breath and tiptoe to his room before gently placing him down in his crib....I close the door while Sam "sleeps peacefully" in his crib....I walk into the living room.....I turn on the monitor....and DAGGER! The screaming begins.

Lather, rinse & repeat.

Ah yes, it's been one hell of a week, but it's officially the weekend now. And Valentine's Day is on TV. And my puppy's sleeping on my feet. And yes, my baby boy is sleeping in his crib.

Sara - 1.

Sam - 427.

guess who likes to sleep for 9 hours straight?

2010-05-12T09:18:00.007-04:00

Do I have something on my face?

Why do I get the sense there's something behind me?

Mom? Ok, joke's over now. Seriously. Mom!

what a difference a year makes.

2010-05-05T21:48:00.011-04:00

Wednesday was Cinco de Mayo.

That's right, friends - even though I spend 23 out of 24 hours a day carting around a tiny human, which has officially led to a permanent sway-slash-bounce to my step, I still keep up on current events and observed holidays. Oil spill. Tennessee flood. Erin Andrews v. Elisabeth Hasselbeck. Cinco de Mayo. Booyah!

With that said, knowing that it's national drink-your-face-off day and actually partaking in the festivities are two very different things. And when you have a 3-month-old, strapping on the Baby Bjorn and heading out to the bar can be a little - how do you say? - not okay. And sure, you could stay at home on your couch and down margaritas all night, but let's be honest, I have the tolerance of a 9-year-old right now. Long story short, my Wednesday night consisted of American Idol results (hasta la vista, Aaron!) and a cold Fresca sans tequila. I also spent a good 15 minutes torturing my baby in the bathtub, which, come to think of it, would have been a much more enjoyable experience for both parties had there been alcohol involved. Hmmm. Note to self.

Yep, my life is a bit different than it used to be and that's cool, but I'm going to be honest: When you have a baby, a part of you definitely mourns for your past life. Now don't get me wrong - in no way am I implying that you'd trade your new bambino for beer buckets and late-night Pita Pit. But what I am saying is that you do have those moments, as a couple, where you kind of smile at each other as if to say, "This is our life now. And I'm okay with it. But, man, do you ever miss the possibility of happy hour? Or maybe a trip to the mall without pushing around 118 pounds of baby gear? What's that you say?!? You'd gladly grow a third nipple for the chance to sleep in past 6:30 am! Oh, good. I'm not the only one."

So, fiesta? Not so much. Siesta? Yes, please. At least for now. But who knows, maybe next year we'll head out on the town and let Sam celebrate his first Cinco de Mayo by stuffing tortilla chips in his diaper. Or maybe we'll just stay home like we always do. And that will be okay, too.

rock the red straight to bed

2010-04-21T21:16:00.006-04:00

"I love you, Ovie. You are the cheese to my macaroni."

"You can't be serious! Bedtime in the middle of the Caps game?!?"

"I HATE YOU, MOM!!!!"

a little love note on your 67th day.

2010-04-20T21:48:00.014-04:00

Would you care for some buttermilk biscuits with those thighs?

Bugs,

Last week you turned 2 months old, which, to your proud-slash-crazy mom, is simultaneously exciting and heartbreaking. Before I go any further, let's get one thing straight, shall we? This "growing up" business ends now, got it? Good.

So....since you're going to stay this age for the rest of your life, it's a good thing you're such a fun baby now. You smile and coo and even laugh a little bit. In fact, I like to think you're giggling while thinking to yourself, "Momma, you're freakin' hilarious!" because - let's face it - when will my precious children ever really find me even mildly funny? Um, let me think, NEVER.

Anyway, I was thinking the other night about the first few days after you were born. Your soon-to-be buddy's mom, Courtenay, came by to love on you, and we got to talking about the "WTF just happened to my life?!?" reality that is having a newborn. I can admit now that it was hard for me to sit there listening to her only a few short days after the most life-altering day of my life. Sure, you were this little bundle of pure sugar, but, frankly, you scared the shit out of me, and here was Courtenay, looking completely together...and rested...and like she had a real handle on this whole motherhood thing. The main point she was trying to get through my greasy-haired head: it WILL get easier. I may have been nodding my head, but inside I didn't really believe it. I honestly thought I was doomed to walk around like a zombie for eternity, complete with bloodshot eyes and barf-covered flannel pants. Yep, the Hot Mess Express had pulled into the station and I was the new conductor. All aboard!

But, the thing is, it is easier. As you get bigger...and sweeter...and more predictable, it truly gets easier every single day. And let me be clear, Sam...although I was a wee bit shell shocked upon your arrival, I was head-over-heels for you (and your crooked ear, and your perfect lips) from day one. It's just that now, 67 days later, I'm even more in love with you than I was yesterday. Unfortunately for you, I don't see this growing obsession ending anytime soon, which is why you need to refer back to paragraph one and vow to stay this way forever and spend the rest of your days with me...sitting on the couch in our pajamas, singing "I love you, a bushel and a peck" and crying our eyes out. Okay, okay - I'll admit I'm the one that's usually bawling. What can I say? I may be getting the hang of being a mom, but you and those baby blues still bring me to tears multiple times a day. Once a hot mess, always a hot mess.

I love you like crazy,

Mom

you better work.

2010-04-19T17:49:00.002-04:00

Holy cuteness, ladies. This is my cousin's daughter, Elliot, shakin' what her momma gave her. Look out, GaGa! The girl's got moves!

oh happy day

2010-04-13T12:04:00.005-04:00

"Peace out, Jess. Sure, you may be 'the sexiest woman alive,' but I'm moving on to bigger things. Nothing says 'hotness' like baby mucous and cellulite."

I have big plans to post later about a certain someone's 2-month birthday yesterday, but I couldn't let the day go by without addressing the real reason to celebrate today......Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel are finally DUNZO?!? Can this be true? After years of wishin'...and hopin'...and prayin'...and dreamin'...has my longtime love finally emerged from the wicked spell he's been under and come to his senses?!?

a little love note on your 53rd day.

2010-04-06T19:01:00.009-04:00

Dear Sam,

Because of you, my days are a thousand times better than they used to be. Sure, we still have our hard moments, but they're fewer and farther between. Now, instead of spending our days lounging on the couch, we go out and take on the world together. Ikea, Target and Safeway have nothing on us. Yep, we're quite the dynamic duo, you and I.

Now don't get me wrong, we still spend plenty of time maxin' and relaxin', me on the couch, you in your beloved vibrating chair. Together we watch Oprah, Tori & Dean, Gilmore Girls and, of course, our new New Moon DVD. Yea, it's a sweet life, Buggy.

Team Jacob 4 life.

But most of the time I spend my days with you in my lap, trying to get you to smile at the person who loves you more than anything: me. Sometimes you share a little sweetness, but, mostly, I just get barfed on. Look out, ladies. Captain Charming is on the prowl.

break down of a breakdown...

2010-03-23T11:04:00.005-04:00

a little love note on your 30th day.

2010-03-15T12:05:00.029-04:00

Dear Sam,

On Saturday we celebrated your one month birthday. And by "celebrated" I mean I gave your big chubby cheeks a kiss and whispered in your ear, "Happy birthday, bugaboo." Yep - we go all out around here...

Anyway, I'm sitting here typing this as you lie sleeping in your little lamb chair, which you've grown to love so much. This, sweet boy, has been one of the crowning achievements of our first month with you: getting you to sleep without someone holding you. I mean, I understand why you'd want to spend all of your time in the arms of your rockstar parents, but it's just not practical, sugar. A girl's gotta shower.

Back to sleeping...I spend most of my days watching you do just that. I stare at your darling face and try to keep from laughing as your eyes roll from side to side, eyelids fluttering, while your lips go from smiling into a dead-on Blue Steel pose. (Seriously, take that, Stiller.) Then I spend a good amount of time trying to restrain your arms in an effort to keep you from smacking yourself in the face repeatedly. We try to swaddle you as much as possible, but sometimes you just won't have it, and you show your disapproval by holding your breath and grunting as hard as you can until your face turns a lovely shade of "If you don't get me out of this straight jacket I'm gonna go gladiator on your ass!" purple. It's really quite the routine.

Once you're finally asleep and relaxed into a bundle of baby goodness, it takes all I have not to start nibbling on your tiny fingers and toes and neck rolls. Oh hell, who am I kidding?!? Sometimes I just can't help myself and my appetite for baby limbs takes over. And so the whole process begins again...

Along with the ongoing challenge of sleeping, this month has presented us with many surprises about you, Sam, starting with your Speedy Gonzales-style birth. Seriously boy, it was as if you knew your mom was willing you not to be born on Valentine's Day (gag me), so you rose to the occasion and showed up the night before. First born baby...such a pleaser. And boy, in the event that I form a case of selective memory in the future, let it be said that the day you were born was, hands down, the best day of my life. Don't you ever forget it.

The biggest surprise, though: you're officially a GINGER! My friends and I have joked about this possibility for years and now here you are, my little Conan O'Brien look alike. Work that orange hair, Sammy.

Really, though, this entire month has been 100% dedicated to loving on you nonstop and now I can't wait to see what this next month brings. I can't wait to hear more of your coos and to see more of your early morning stretch routine, which really looks like quite the workout for a tiny baby boy. Your dad and I love you more than you could ever know or I could've ever imagined...something you won't really understand until you have a child of your own one day. Until then, I'll just keep telling you how much I love you...that is until you're old enough to be embarassed of me. And then I'll just keep telling you anyway.

Love,
Mom

fussy wussy was a bear

2010-03-11T15:04:00.013-05:00

WTF assholes?!? Yep, that's right, I'm an infant and I'm already hip to the texting lingo. Oh yeah, and I also just called my parents assholes - what are you gonna do about it?

So yeah...so much for my sweet baby enjoying bath time. In fact, he downright hates it, which, in turn, makes me feel like he pretty much hates me. Actually, there are quite a few times during the day when I feel like this little bundle of joy would gladly sock me to the moon (if he had control of his limbs, that is). Most of these precious moments occur when the little angel is hungry, which seems to pretty much be EVERY SECOND of the day. Seriously, remember this nugget from my blog last fall:

"I was quietly enjoying his nightly aerobics routine when WHAM! Seriously ladies, Kung Fu chop to the pelvis is putting it mildly. I know, I know, this little babe doesn't even weigh a full pound yet, but he's got guns. Or maybe he's practicing his roundhouse kick a la Chuck Norris. Either way, whoa baby - this kid's got some serious energy. So glad my uterine wall can serve as his personal punching bag."

Or what about this pleasant memory...

"Let me introduce you to what I lovingly refer to as the stomach spasm. This oh-so enjoyable maneuver is what I can only describe as a series of vibrating jumping jacks - all limbs, all directions, major vibration."

See, now I know what the kid was doing in there all that time...I was apparently starving him (can you say "worst mom ever?") and he was going straight nutso. Yep, apparently my generous diet of Donettes and Take Fives didn't satisfy the little human trash compactor because, honestly, when the kid wants food, he lets you know in his own not-so-subtle way. Enter the kicking and punching and going balls-to-the-wall ballistic.

Luckily, I may still have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to parenting, but I have learned to pop a bottle in this kiddo's mouth before he gets to the point of no return. I know, I know...call me what you will, but my sanity - and my body - just couldn't handle the fist fights multiple times a day. Seriously, no one wants to walk around with cracked glasses and a busted lip courtesy of their one-month old baby. Talk about taking the hot mess factor to a whole other level!

crazy love

2010-03-04T15:40:00.010-05:00

Ok, friends. What I'm about to say might shock you...

Having a newborn is crazy hard.

Ok, not exactly ground-breaking news, but let's just say I was not at all prepared for this new stage of my life. You know that feeling from college when you would stay up all night, leaving you feeling physically ill from exhaustion? Yeah...I wasn't prepared to feel like that for 14 days straight. I wasn't prepared for the endless stream of hormones that can send you into a full-on meltdown for no reason whatsoever. I wasn't prepared for the explosive diapers, the projectile spit-up and having a tiny human pee straight into your eye. Seriously, you're 18 days old - where'd you learn how to aim like that?!? (You're laughing now, but just you wait.) And I definitely wasn't prepared for the "fuss," which is really such a misleading term. Nope, there's nothing "fussy" about babies, friends. Let's tell it like it is, shall we? It's called screaming.

On the other hand, I also wasn't prepared to be even more in love with my husband than I ever thought I could be. And I wasn't prepared to feel so proud of myself for delivering a baby and taking care of him for 4 whole days, all by myself. And I definitely wasn't prepared to fall so head over heels for this little person who is the absolute love of my life. I mean, just look at that face...

Almost makes you forget about the whole "peeing in the eye" thing, right? Ok, not really, but you have to admit he's pretty scrumptious.

is it strange...

2010-02-23T17:56:00.006-05:00

that I kind of want to smother my baby in powdered sugar and eat him for breakfast?

you made me love you.

2010-02-16T16:50:00.011-05:00

On Saturday morning, I sat down at my computer to write a quick post about my planned induction scheduled for Monday morning. Needless to say, that blog was never finished, courtesy of a certain someone's early arrival at 8:43 pm that night.

It was simultaneously the hardest and most incredible day of my life.

So please pardon the little blog hiatus while I settle into my new routine of loving on my son like it's my full-time job. I'll be back soon, but keep this in mind: If my hot messiness didn't interest you before, it's now reached a whole other level. Consider yourself warned.

just thought I'd let you know...

2010-02-11T17:15:00.004-05:00

That my body has decided it doesn't want to work anymore. This is mostly due to the fact that my globe of a midsection had turned into one big ball of "YOWZA!" over these last few days. Nothing to get excited about, I assure you, but definitely not enjoyable.

And now, courtesy of the 30 extra pounds of "Ouchy WA WA!", my legs have decided they don't really feel like moving and my eyes don't feel like staying open for more than, well, 20 minutes at a time. Luckily, my little Baltimore street is still buried under 67,843 inches of snow, so I feel no need to be productive in any way. Instead, I've decided to stay as horizontal as possible in between my efforts to clean out my entire refrigerator. This afternoon I actually made a quadruple-decker quesadilla, ladies. Yep. I'm not proud.

So, with 3 days left until my due date, the laziness-slash-hot mess factor has hit an all time high, which makes me wonder ... how in the hell do women do this when they already have a kid (or three)?!? I mean, I could be wrong, but I don't think toddlers are cool to just veg out with a box of Nilla Wafers while their moms watch an entire box set of "Felicity." Hmm. Definitely something to consider before round 2.

So yeah, as much as I've enjoyed this experience of being pregnant, I'm done now. I'm ready to be able to tie my own shoes again. I'm ready to sleep on my stomach. I'm ready to kiss my husband without bouncing off of him like a ping pong ball. I'm even ready to say "so long" to the - dare I say it - donettes, and get back to my old only semi-lazy self.

Most of all, though, I'm ready to meet my baby boy.

the things they don't tell you.

2010-02-10T22:41:00.006-05:00

When you're 39 weeks pregnant and your baby gets the hiccups, you entire butt gets the shakes. Like, your ass actually jumps, friends.

The glamour of it all...

SNOWmigod, SNOWmigod you guys!

2010-02-07T13:24:00.003-05:00

At any other stage of life, I think I'd welcome a massive snowstorm like the one we experienced this weekend. Sit around the house for a few days, drink a little wine, watch 47 episodes of "Keeping Up With the Kardashians"...

But when you're 39 weeks pregnant, it's a little - what's the word - terrifying to think about going into labor when your tiny Honda is buried under 30 inches of snow and tree branches. Seriously, for all the not-so-subtle urging I've been doing to get this kid out, I think it's best he stay put for just a few more days. Got that, little guy?

In the mean time, I hope the rest of you are enjoying Snowpocalpyse 2010. Drink a few for me!

here's to you...

2010-02-04T15:57:00.004-05:00

It was about two years ago now that one of my best friends, Katie, decided to up and move to the city that never sleeps. I can admit now that I was a wee bit envious of her at the time, and, of course, incredibly proud of the life move she was making. More than anything, though, I was a tiny bit heartbroken to see her go. So, per usual, I wrote her a little poem in lieu of getting all weepy and latching on to her ankles in protest. (What can I say? I wasn't pregnant then, but I still had the capability to transform into a hot mess at the drop of a hat.)

Anyway...after searching through old emails, I came across that poem today and thought I'd share a little nibble:

So here's to our Katie, and the next couple years,

So raise up your saki or wine or your beer.

This weekend she'll move, we know it's not far,

But don't think we won't be chained to the outside of your car.

She'll soon be neighbors with Jennifer Garner and Tim Gunn,

Just walking down her street will be all kinds of fun.

Sipping on Starbucks when the weather gets chilly,

And spending her time with her soul mate, Miss Jilly.

But the distance is short and we won't be far away,

We've already planned visits for March, April and May.

After years with you here it will be hard to live without,

Good thing you invested in that Costco pull-out.

When we all leave tonight, we'll already miss you,

But we can't wait to see all the things that you'll do.

And remember there's always the Chinatown bus,

And no matter the distance, you'll always have us.

So Kate, on your 28th birthday, I hope you'll be out painting the town in the city that has brought you so much happiness. And tomorrow you'll be back...with your DC fan club (I'm the prez, btw)...toasting you and your upcoming year - something tells me it's going to be a good one!

15 days and counting.

2010-01-31T21:41:00.008-05:00

As some of you may recall, last year I wrote this little tribute to February which, at the time, was my least favorite month by a long shot. The holidays are over, the weather is at its all-time dreariness and, if you're blessed with transluscent skin like me, you're about to enter into prime pasty-face season, friends. Yeah, I could definitely do without February. That is, until now.

It's true, I've been looking forward to nothing more than February's arrival for the last 8 months. And yet, now that it's one day away, I'm freaking out a little bit. This tends to happen on nights when Anson's working and I'm home by myself, left to browse BabyCenter.com for hours on end and Google phrases like "I feel like I'm carrying a brick in my pelvis." I kid you not, people. Seriously crazy lady, step away from the computer and grab another donette.

Anyway....so yeah, I'm reading about pregnancy-induced hot flashes (sexy, I know), when I realize I am having a baby soon. Because apparently the rack of bottles on my kitchen counter and my oh-so attractive sausage fingers hadn't made that fact clear enough. It's not necessarily a bad fear that I'm experiencing as I sit here frantically shoving Frosted Mini Wheats down my throat. It's just intense. The fear of having no idea what to expect, and knowing that nothing I read or Google is going to really prepare me for what's about to go down.

So for now I'm going to lay off the baby message boards. Just until the anxiety subsides and the crazy has left the building. Something tells me this won't be happening for roughly 15 more days, though. Or earlier. Oh god.