Breakfast

Today for breakfast I had Fiber One cereal.

But then I was hungy again an hour later so I had a bag of Sour Cream and Onion chips (the individual size, fortunately).

But I was still hungry for salt so I ate a huge bowl of green beans with Hormel Real Crumbled Bacon.

*sigh*

God and Morgan

This morning was chilly and drippy, especially compared to yesterday's teasingly warm weather. Morgan and I snuggled on the couch while I read a book and she drank from her loud sippy cup. It was a rare opportunity to snuggle and we took advantage of it.

After she finished her drink, Morgan was in a jovial mood. She stuck her arm in her sleeve so it appeared gone. "Where'd my arm go, Mommy?" We giggled and joked. Sometimes she likes to reverse roles (her idea, not mine) and pretend I'm Morgan. She threatened to give me a morning nap, which is strange because I can't remember the last time she even had a morning snooze.

As we were in the midst of role playing, I told her, "You know, Morgan, where you're as big as me, you'll STILL be my little baby." And that's when my clever daughter found an opportunity to bring up a delicate subject: "When I get big like you Mommy, then I can say..." she pauses to whisper, "oh God."

The reason she whispered it is because Dan and I forbade her from saying it. Morgan began to get confused about the appropriate use of God's name. Sometimes she would use his name liberally when she spilled things or tripped. We found this use of God's name to be unacceptable. But then, she'd be confused at dinnertime prayers when we would invoke God's name again. She doesn't understand reverence. To be safe, we told her not to say it until she gets older.

She's BURSTING to say it. Every so often, when she wonders if she's old enough, she'll inquire, "I can say 'oh God' now?" She always whispers the "oh God" part, which tells me she knows that it's special and, for now, forbidden.

I smile at my daughter's wits and sometimes tremble at how smart she is. What a marvel.

Chameleons

I may need an intervention. I've been blog barfing lately... throwing together random thoughts and littering the web with mindless brain jarble.

And here I go again.

When I was in Alabama, I was taking a lovely afternoon run on the treadmill in the gym. The view was beautiful. Through floor-to-ceiling windows I was surrounded by sea grasses and beyond that, the gulf. Gorgeous.

During my run, I noticed two little chameleons who came to sun themselves on the ridge of the window. But what happened next was rather jarring. One of the chameleons chomped on the face of the other one. I nearly fell off the treadmill. It was disgusting and yet I couldn't take my eyes off them. The victim chameleon was still breathing but laying helpless in the other's mouth. Then the chewed up one did a split-second Karate Kid flip and somehow managed to escape the other one's mouth. After that they did a fancy dance and one of them ran away, leaving the other to sun his hide.

I relayed this story to my husband and in-laws when I returned to the condo. They wanted to know which one ran away. I really didn't know. They're chameleons after all.

Cookbooks

I just got something wonderful in the mail: a cookbook about Gulf Coast Kitchen recipes.

I love cookbooks. I may have an addiction to them. I don't think I have that many, but I've noticed that many of my friends have a few: maybe five or ten. I have about sixty in my kitchen and more in storage that simply won't fit.

My addiction is hereditary. My mother loves cookbooks as well. Each year she gives us a brand spanking new cookbook signed by the author. But she has a lot of her own. One time I counted how many she had in one room. I think I stopped at a thousand. She converted a wall in my sister's room for shelving more cookbooks as well. Don't tell my father, but I also know that she has them tucked in crannies around the house: under the hutch, for example. She has so many books that sometimes they are piled, almost like furniture, around the house. It's not a messy house, but there is not a room without a book.

The cool thing about my addiction is that friends benefit from what I make them, so that may be why I don't hear to much smack about them.

IDIOT

I saw an Illinois Department of Transportation truck on the road the other day.

On the back was a bumper sticker which I read:

How's My Driving?
Call 1-800-452-IDIOT

*sigh* But I read it wrong. It actually said:

How's My Driving?
Call 1-800-452-IDOT

Waiting

I'm not going to pretend like I'm the ONLY one who thinks she is waiting on God most of her life. When the heart longs dearly, it's hard to imagine that anyone else could long just as dearly, but I'm sure it is so.

I did some thinking this morning and I realized that God's people could be characterized as a "waiting" people. There's the obvious Messianic waiting of the Jews and waiting for Christ's return. But there are SO many other stories about waiting and yearning. I think of Hannah yearning for a child and Noah waiting for the flood. I commiserate with the Israelites who were led out of slavery in a somtimes-dramatic-sometimes-humdrum fashion. I think it's hilarious that they were pushed through a sea on dry land in Hollywood hoopla and then when they got to the other side, it was, well, a lot of non-scenic walking.

Recently there is a Bible story which really puzzles me. It comes from Exodus 15:22 in the Bible. The Israelites were walking through the desert (having recently escaped from Egyptian captivity) and had been without water for three days. When they finally found water, it was too bitter to drink and they were ticked. Naturally they started to complain. The LORD told Moses to cast a tree into the waters to make the water drinkable. Then the LORD told his people, basically, to stop squealing.

Now here's the part I don't get: Right after this little fiasco of faith, the LORD takes them a little further where there were TWELVE wells of water and SEVENTY palm trees. God was testing them. He made them wait a long time for a basic need (water) and then he then takes them to a... resort?

I think God is telling his people that he created and therefore owns everything. He can dish out wealth or poverty as he so chooses. And above all, I think God desperately wants his children to believe him in all circumstances.

Now here's where I take it personally: My husband and I had a disagreement about buying a house recently. I wanted a house. He wanted to be able to pay for it. At the time, he didn't feel comfortable making an offer. I wanted this house because it was pretty and perfect for us; I was already mentally moving into that house. But the house sold. Then I got to self-pity and thought that God probably would make us buy another fixer upper and we'd live in squalor for five years with sawdust in our hair.

That's not Biblical thinking. First of all, hello! SEVENTY palm trees and TWELVE wells of water can't be wrong: God is rich. And let's not forget that God likes nice stuff, too. He didn't exactly make his temple a shack. God likes aesthetics.

But God also likes faith.

I'm really not sure where Dan and I will live. We're still in that "wandering" part of the house search. But I'm going to fight my insecurities (Oy vey!) and put some faith on for a change.

New Friend

A little boy from the down the street came to visit briefly. While his mother and I were talking, I noticed that he was playing with Dan's marble chess set. Morgan was on him like a hawk. "No touchie! This is very expensive." (She says that about EVERYTHING... even playdoh.) She got right in his face.

The little boy's response was priceless: "Can I hug you?"

Morgan thought a moment. "No."

I'm proud of my daughter for resisting the affections of a male, but a little more gentleness wouldn't hurt either. :)

Aunt Jill, Part II

I forgot to mention that I also met Jill's very good friend who I'll call "Kirby". That is in fact his name but I figure that if I put it in quotes it won't be so obvious that it's about him. He may think it's about someone else.

Anyway, Kirby and Jill have been best buds for AGES. They take care of each other's pets and cover each other backs when they need help moving, shopping and managing their homes when they're out of town. He's a really cool guy and the whole time I met him I was thinking, "What a great guy... why aren't they together?"

*sigh*

Aunt Jill!

Morgan and I just got back from Des Moines. We visited Aunt Jill, Dan's sister. It was a fun jaunt, let me tell ya.

Morgan had a couple of "firsts"... She took her first picture with the camera. She did manage to take a photo of Jill and I but we are kind of in the corner of the photo. And she had her first Indian food. We had lots of "girl" time and Aunt Jill treated us to takeout. We ate on the floor of the living room and watched old reruns of Full House while eating Chicken Curry. It was a little jarring culturally which made it all the more fun. Plus, I don't care how 80s his hair was, John Stamos is h-h-h-ot.

There were a few embarassing moments. Dan's mother came down for the day. While she was in the bathroom, Morgan kept banging on the door and shouting, "Grandma, what color are your pull-ups?" (Morgan thinks everyone wears pullups, even though she wears underwear.) And when my dear mother in law came out of the bathroom, Morgan asked her if she was wearing a bra. She's infatuated with undergarments.

Morgan is pretty crazy about Aunt Jill, too. She cried when we left Jill's place and followed my poor sis-in-law around constantly. Jill showed Morgan her tattoos and Morgan was thrilled. She thought they were ink stamped on her shoulder, just like the kind she gets when she goes to My Gym or Chucky Cheese. She came up to Jill and said, "I like your stamps, Aunt Jill!" and Jill laughed in a frustrated fashion and said, "They're not stamps, Morgan! They're tattoos!" (I'm sure Jill had told her MULTIPLE times.) But once Morgan has it in her mind that Aunt Jill probably went to Chucky Cheese to get a dragon tattoo on her shoulder blade, nothing is going to change her mind.

Jill also has a small, beautiful diamond pierced in her nose. It's inconspicuous and sassy. I love it. Morgan loves it, too. She thought it was a sticker because Morgan gets "sticker" earrings. "I like your sticker, Aunt Jill," she said. Poor Jill. It's the equivalent of saying "I like your clip-on tie" to a business executive.

Morgan also thoroughly enjoyed Jill's two cats: Sam and Amelia. I can't say they enjoyed her affection, but they got a good workout, dashing from this room and that. I think one of Jill's cats was getting pretty stressed about Morgan, because she started vomiting. Morgan found it on the couch one morning. She ran into the bedroom where I was sleeping, "Mom, the cat pooped on the couch!" It was early in the morning (6am?) and since she wouldn't let the subject go, I followed her to the living room to view the evidence. "Morgan, that's not poop. But it is yucky. No touchie." Jill explained later about her sensitive feline.

So that's it in a nutshell. A good time was had by all. I bet Jill is reconsidering if she ever wants to have children and hugging her traumatized kitties right now.

Trickery

Morgan did something rather embarassing the other day. We had some friends over, Piet and Steph, who have a one year old, Annelise. My daughter lined up all her favorite toys on her toy chest and then lead this little toddler into her room like a Venus Flytrap. Naturally Annelise wanted to play with this orderly display of colorful toys. But Morgan bent down to meet Annelise's eye level and said, "These are very expensive toys. No touch. They are fragile. Do not touch them." In truth they were neither expensive nor fragile. *sigh* I hope she has friends one day. :)

Democracy, Sweet Democracy

I am a racist. I am also an atheist, Jewish-antagonizer, sexist, legalist and extremely homophobic.

At least that's the lie I'm going to tell when the powers that be ask me if there is any reason why I should not be on jury duty. I got a summons today.

They must anticipate the groans because they have a bunch of mumbo jumbo on the paperwork which says that this is a civic honor. I wouldn't go that far. Winning a prize in ethics, that's a civic honor. Participating in elections, that is also an honor. But jury duty? Hardly. Granted, I'll get more money than I currently do, which is nothing. But the only people I can think of who appreciate jury duty are manipulative defendants and retired people. Or maybe history/political science buffs. But that's it. The general public does not shout "hurrah!" when they receive the summons. If it's such an honor, shouldn't it be printed on pretty paper with gentle graphics gracing its front: "Kind Citizen, You are Invited to Decide the Fate of Your Fellow Neighbor..." or something to that effect? Maybe Ed McMahon should deliver them with balloons.

They'll be sorry they summoned me. I'll make them sorry. "GUILTY" I'll shout before the court is in session. I'll wear fluorescent colors to irritate the attorneys. I'll write terrible slurs on the bottoms of my shoes so that when I cross my legs only the judge and defendant will see them.

Okay, I jest. And I should be ashamed of my behavior. To be fair, there is never a good and "slow time of life" in which to open a jury summons and respond, "My, I am so glad I get to be a part of this civic duty! Sign me up!" But in the end, I have to admit, I'm glad we have a democratic system.

Baptism

We attended a baptism this Sunday. I love baptisms. I cry at nearly every one I attend. The only baptism I don't recall crying at was my own. I was an infant and I understand that I "baptized" the pastor right back. Serves him right for making my head wet.

But the baptism we attended was super special. It was the baptism of Alexander Miller, the long awaited baby of our friends Marc and Sara. You wouldn't know it to see this chunker, but he was underweight at birth. He was like a mini baby, if there is such a classification. Darn cute, too. He looks very much like both his parents, but esp. his Daddy. When he cries, it's like watching Marc cry in a smaller version.

So there I was crying as usual at the baptism. Along with the precious babies. What a beautiful sight to see through clouded vision.

Morning Conversation

Me: Good morning, Morgan! We're going to Anika's house today.

Morgan: I'm going to the hospital?

Me: No, we're going to see Anika! Won't that be fun?

Morgan: Who's going to the hospital?

Me: No one. We're going to a friend's house.

Morgan: BUT MOM, WHO IS GOING TO THE HOSPITAL?

Running

Has anyone seen Spanglish? It's one of my favorite movies. I even tolerated Adam Sandler in it.

The reason I ask is because Téa Leone played an excellent type A mother who is a health freak and overly concerned about weight and apearance, among other things. In the movie, she redefines "avid runner". She's more like a running fiend. In one scene, there is a group of men running uphill. Téa's character sees a challenge. She shouts at them that she's passing them. The men pick up the pace and look back, concerned, as they see her gaining on then. Remarkably, she does pass them.

My sister is a runner as well. She is trying to drop the last remnants of pregnancy weight so she can fit in her size 6 body again. I've never been a size 6, so I wouldn't know the agony of being a size 10. Poor thing. *wink*

But I digress. She recently joined a group of neighborhood women who like to run. They invited her to join them during their 5:45am workout. When she arrived they told her that they walk a minute, run 6 minutes and then take a one minute break. To make sure they keep exact time, these women had digital watches that were SYNCHRONIZED and beeped every one minute and six minute increments. That should have been the first clue to my sister that she was in for it. In truth, she confessed that she thought they were wimps for only running six minute stretches.

Turns out that two of the women were training for a triathalon. The other two were only training for a marathon. And the loop they were scheduled to run was 5 miles. My sister said she began to run with them and quickly discovered that these women didn't just run... they galloped like horses. She longed for the one minute break they took. While most people would tell my sister that she should've told them to run ahead of her, keep in mind that it was the pre-dawn hours. Running in a forest like setting in the dark isn't the safest place to go for a jaunt. My sister was running for her life.

At one point after a one minute break, she cried "Dear God!" Coming from a highly religious family that did NOT take the Lord's name lightly, I stress that my sister was not using God's name in vain. But it wasn't a prayer either. It was more of a desperate plea to the Almighty for relief. My sister was praying for the second coming of Jesus, the rapture... anything that would relieve her burning lungs and spaghetti legs.

To hear my sister tell this story in person is priceless. I was on the floor gasping for breath, it was that hilarious. Call it a hunch, but I suspect that if my sister would tell HERSELF her own stories, she would laugh her way into her size 6 Levi's in no time.

Neglect

Little kids have a funny way of letting one know that they need attention. I have been preoccupied with home selling and, I'll be honest, I've neglected Morgan a lot. It's only been one week since the home chaos began and I've been on the phone gobs. Half of the time, it's been legitimate: talking to the realtor, working scheduling for home inspections, etc. But the other half has definitely been girl chat.

Morgan notified me that she has had enough. First, she has started pooping in her pants again. True, she wasn't fully potty trained before all this home selling fun, but the difference in this pants mess is that she is PROUD of it. She gives me a Cheshire cat smile and points to her butt. "Look, Mommy!" She's a smart kiddo. She knows that I HAVE to pay attention to her then. Touche.

But then, not long after the poop incident, she took an apple half and smeared it vigorously on the back room mirror. I don't know what she has against the cleanliness of this mirror. She has abused it before, but this was more intentional. She stood by it proudly as she pointed out the juice smeared mirror. Oy vey.

This neglect should come as no surprise. For example, I only keep plants that thrive on neglect. Like fake plants. Or plants that have a camel-like need of water. I love the words "maintenance free" and "self cleaning". Rarely do I buy clothes that say "dry clean only". They might as well say "never wash this" because I dry clean my clothes about as often as I flip my bed mattress. Five years? (I can hear Martha Stewart gritting her teeth even now.)

My daughter actually confronted me about my phone use. She said that I "don't listen to Morgan" when I'm on the phone. Nu-duh. I'm on the phone. She gets a lot of "shushing" whenever I'm on the line. Can't she see MY side of things for once? Sometimes she hears me dialing a number on the push buttons (they beep with each number pushed) and runs into the room I'm in saying "Nooooooooooo".

*sigh* I guess I should limit my phone usage so I can pay more attention to Morgan. But if Ed McMahon calls, she's gonna be sorry!

Test Results

Yesterday our doctor called to tell us that the test results came back from the miscarriage of our baby. The baby was healthy and normal.

This is bittersweet news. We're sad that this baby could not be healthy and normal on THIS side of life. But we've grieved this little one enough. He is in very good hands. There is hope that we may have another healthy child one day. Additionally, this negates any comments from the doctor that this baby was "not normal and that it's probably better that it didn't live."

To quote doctor Seuss in "Horton Hears a Who":

"A person is a person, no matter how small."

Egg Carton Children

Physically speaking, Angelina Jolie is probably the most beautiful woman in the world. She's a stunner. I'd love to look like her.

Lately, however, I've been conflicted about her new humanitarian efforts. I appreciate that she's using her celebrity to bring about world awareness of other countries. And I understand that celebrities get a lot of smack for everything they do. It's the cross they bear.

I think the reason I'm conflicted is because her recent adoptions of children seem more like a "collection" of children to me rather than a family. I saw an interview with her in which she said she wanted... how did she put it... "dozens of children"? What a strange way to refer to children...dozens of children...as if they are available in a 12-pack of eggs.

My sister in law is adopted from Korea. And I'm so glad that she is a part of my life. My in-laws adopted her prayerfully and did not see children as being individually picked, like a smorgasbord of world cuisine.

I applaud the fact that Jolie is adopting other races than herself. However, her recent efforts, as I mentioned earlier, see more of a "collector's item" approach rather than maternal.

From my own experience, motherhood is not an easy job. It's a lot of work. So the idea of romping around the world hand picking needy children to add to their family-ish structure doesn't sit well with me. Will these children be nurtured in an environment where there are consistent parents in their life? Will parents revolve in and out of their life if Angelina chooses a new flavor of the month beau? I also imagine that U.S. citizens who have been on the waiting list for a child to adopt will not appreciate the way that these celebrities get to accelerate their adoption process.

In the end, I would appreciate if Ms. Jolie would have to wait the full term for the adoption so the public could be sure that this was not a spontaneous "I think I'll adopt a child today" decision. And I'd also appreciate some acknowledgement on her part that motherhood is a life commitment and challenging (yet rewarding) work.

I don't think Ms. Jolie would like my advice however. So I'll be sure to send an egg carton to put her children in.

Poor?

I had something strange happen to me today. A person who I haven't kept in touch with much told me she's moving. She and I have had similarly modest incomes. In fact, we used to yard sale together with our kiddos in tow. Anyway, apparently her family is making mucho bucks now because she told me about a property she was looking at. I said, "Wow! Isn't that property expensive... like $640,000?" She said, "Really? That's a good price. I thought it was $720,000."

Whew... I'm really happy for her, but as Dan and I are looking for a new property, I certain wouldn't qualify that price range as "bargain basement". In fact, even if I had enough money to buy a house in that price range, I can't see myself ever downplaying that price. It's a lot of money.

Maybe we're poorer than I thought. Laughing...it's nice to be poor and not know it.

______________________________________________

On a happier note, I'm glad to say that we have negotiated a final offer on our house. If all goes well on the buyers' end as far as mortgage commitment, then we will say goodbye to this abode and find a new place to live.

Morganophilia

I'm not one to gush about my daughter, but boy has she brought me happiness. This child has me continually thinking, doubting, laughing, disciplining, running and loving.

This morning she answered her first phone call. "Mom, answer the phone!" she yelled to me. She had a phone in her hand already answered. I picked up the phone and, sure enough, Grandpa was on the phone. I had been in the shower and didn't hear it ring.

Yesterday she came up to Dan with a concern: "Dad, wedgies hurt, don't they?" Her tone of voice suggested that they could commisserate together about this problem. She wasn't trying to be cute. Apparently wedgies are a real issue to her three year old mind.

But this morning, she brought tears to my eyes. "Mom! I wrote you a note!" She gave me a piece of paper with scribbles on it. "Good job, Morgan! What does it say?" Her answer stunned me: "It says, 'Dear Mommy- You can borrow my baby since you don't have a baby in your tummy.'" Then she dashed off to play. She's pretty astute for a young child. I can't deny that there are the remnants of ache still in my heart when I think of my body not producing a healthy baby after Morgan. But my, what a gift I have in my compassionate daughter. What a gift.

Chicago? What Chicago?

Greetings from Gulf Shores, Alabama. Lobster Emily signing in.

The first of the week was a little on the chilly side, Alabamically speaking. It was about upper 60s. But yesterday it was 73 and today it may be 75.

It's no secret... I love, love, love the beach. Love it. Love the sand. Love the water. Love the sun.

Yesterday I loved the sun a little too much. I'm a bit singed... a little on the toasted side, but boy does it feel good.

I keep forgetting that technically it's winter. I feel like when I return it will be July.

Dan's folks have been very generous in having us here. We've been frequenting their establishments. Earlier this week we visited their favorite bartender, Judy. She likes to see Morgan year after year. Morgan greeted Judy in a very unusual way: "Hi, Judy! I went poopy in the potty." Anyone who has potty trained children or can appreciate potty training will understand Morgan's greeting. I don't encourage Morgan to give people a rundown of her exrementel activities, but hey, she's three.

I'm happy to say that Morgan loves the beach, too. She easily spends HOURS outside. We take shifts watching her on the beach because, quite honestly, there's only SO much excitement I can feign making sand castles.

When I return to Chicago, I advise all my friends to not ask me to do anything for them. Don't even call me to ask me for a phone number. I'm brain numb. I will be a jellyfish for at least a month. I think this trip is stripping me of the "type A".

Snow

When I looked out the windows of my home this morning and saw the snow blowing horizontally, I thought I was still laying down or hadn't had my V8 yet.

I had a few errands I was going to run today before we went out of town, but I decided that it would be a better day to snuggle here with Morgan. We went to MOPS this morning (Mothers of PreSchoolers). But after that, we came home and decided that once in a while it's okay to hang back.

This time next week, I hope to be walking on the beach. I don't know how much warmer it will be, probably upper 60s, but anything better than 30s would be great. We're going to Alabama to visit Dan's folks for a week. I'm praying for weather warm enough to lay in the sand and fall asleep. I worked 13 summers at the beach in New Jersey and I can still hear the ocean in my head.

Strangely enough, the wind outside sounded like an ocean today as well. Not the same feeling, but a similar sound. Powerful.

Wednesday

Whew! What a hump day! Wednesday was filled with news.

Dan and I went to the fertility specialist yesterday. She is great. She knows a great deal and is going to put us through a battery of tests. I'm REALLY glad she's doing that. I was concerned that she might say something trite like, "Take this pill and call me in a month."

In fact, she wanted to know about all our pregnancies, even the chemical ones. She was interested in how the last pregnancy had a heartbeat and good size the 8th week and suddenly stopped the 9th week. She seemed to suggest that the fetus had a stroke because of the suddeness of the death.

We have no answers yet, but after many weeks of testing, we should be in a better position for her to tell us where to go next. I'm so grateful to live in a country where this health care is available!


THEN.....


We put our house on the market! Can you believe it? We moved here about 5 years ago and put our blood, sweat and, let's be honest, life savings into this thing and now it's going to be on the market.

I'm very emotional right now. Yesterday was so amazing, I found myself very teary today. I let Morgan watch "Nemo" with some friends and found myself crying over a cartoon. Yikes. "Don't worry, Nemo-- You'll find your Daddy. Just like someone will buy our house."