ahead of the rain

There are not many things that can get me out the door before 8am without an important appointment or a fire. Especially with a fully-dressed toddler and all of his essentials in tow. But this morning that's exactly what I did--spare clothes, diapers, snacks, and all. Because of this:

This is not a we'll-go-play-later sky. This is a get up, pack your car, stuff your belly into a protesting non-maternity t-shirt, and carpe-freaking-diem sky. This sky was not going to wait--wind and rainstorms were expected to roll in by mid-morning--so neither did we. To the Greenway we went, where we were the only ones up and at 'em besides the gatekeeper who collected our day-use fee of cupholder quarters before turning back to his paper.

Toddlers are kind of like chickens. You've got to let them free-range.

There were no horses around today (the Greenway is open to hikers, bikers, and equestrians), so it wasn't long before Remy sidled under the fence of the empty arena (there was an open gate, but that wouldn't have been as fun). "Arena" in little-boy language is "Giant Field of Glorious Dirt," so you can guess where we spent most of our time.

He was literally more excited about the barrels and jump standards than I have ever seen him in a toy aisle. Nice to know my genes are in there, alive and well.

This provided the opportunity to learn one of life's cardinal rules: always leave the jump standards the way you found them.


Obviously I'm not riding right now since I'm pregnant, but someday this kid is gonna make a kick-ass arena assistant.

We saw plenty of signs of spring, even as the clouds started to blow in, reminding us that 70-degree February mornings don't last long at all.

And before it started sprinkling, we squeezed in a stroll up the orchard fence line to watch a tractor chug up and down the neat rows of trees, picking dandelions along the way.


The first raindrops started falling as we pulled out of the parking lot, and the day quickly got soggy and grey, making me glad I'd resisted the temptation of "later." "Later" is not in a two-year-old's vocabulary. Which sometimes makes them difficult, but mostly just makes them smarter than us.

kitchen therapy: homemade pop tarts

Remy was sick through the weekend and most of the earlier part of the week, so when he was finally up for going back to preschool this morning, I might have done a little bit of a happy dance. Because I was glad he felt better, of course. And also because I needed a tiny break. Being covered in someone else's bodily fluids for the better part of five days is...taxing.

I set aside a little time for baking before I got started on work, because there really isn't anything more zen to me than a quiet kitchen and the smell of sugar and vanilla. Paula Deen was not invited to this party though, bless her heart--this pregnancy is not giving me much wiggle room nutrition-wise, so basically if I eat a little bit of junk, I feel a LOT like junk. So I decided to give a common pregnancy craving a healthier makeover, courtesy of Peas and Thank You's recipe for homemade pop tarts.

It sounds like an eye roll-inducing, fussy thing to make, but it's really not--the pastry dough comes together in the food processor in a couple of minutes, and rolling out and assembling the tarts is simple. Plus, this gave me a chance to use up some of the literally dozens of jars of jam I canned last summer when berries and peaches were in season. Blackberry jam went into these--a little taste of July in the middle of February.

I didn't have the whole wheat pastry flour that the recipe called for, and driving 30 minutes to the nearest store that carries it would have required putting on real pants (which, no.), so I substituted white whole wheat flour and everything worked out fine.


I also added a bit of lime juice to the icing, because I love the combination of berries and citrus. These have been tested in a toaster and as long as they're refrigerated or frozen, the leftover tarts warm up perfectly--the icing won't melt down into the toaster.

I'm already planning on making another double batch of these over the weekend and stashing them in the freezer for quick, healthier treats. Remy likes them too, although he's a little dubious about jam being hidden in something.

Cost-wise, these are actually cheaper per batch than the prepackaged, high fructose corn syrup-laden Pop Tarts, even if you use organic flour and sugar and the hoity-toity all-natural sprinkles. And cheaper still if you use home-canned jam--or just come get one of the six million jars in my basement.

bon temps

Happy Fat Tuesday! Oh what I wouldn't give for a virgin Hurricane from Boudreaux's right now. That was one of our go-to date nights when I was pregnant with Remy, and the judgy looks from fellow diners who didn't realize it was virgin were half the fun.

This particular Fat Tuesday started out pretty grey and blah with an earlier-than-usual wake-up call via the baby monitor, so I decided we needed to laissez les bon temps roulez a little. Thus, out came the (washable) paint--in Mardi Gras colors of course.


This has become one of my favorite tricks for cooped-up winter boredom--cover the playroom craft table in taped-down parcel paper, squeeze a few blobs of paint onto it, put the boy in old clothes, and let him go nuts. I love the crazy swirly color combinations he comes up with.

And I extra-love how completely focused he gets on his masterpiece (well, for a few minutes at a time anyway...he is two after all).

(No, I don't care that he climbs up on the table for maximum paint brush range. It's only a foot off the floor and this is a pick-your-battles moment.)

After the paintpocalypse was cleaned up and I'd tied up a few loose ends for work, we headed to Cupcrazed for their King Cake cupcakes. They used to put trinkets in the cakes just like a regular full-size King Cake, but apparently last year some jerk bit down on a plastic baby and threatened to sue them. That person does not sound like someone I'd like to hang out with. But the cakes are still delicious! If you're in the area you should be headed there right about...now. Seriously, they go fast.


And here's the 13-week belly PRE-cupcake, so you know it's real.

I absolutely cannot stand maternity stores--way too many over-attentive saccharine-sweet salespeople, and I swear one of them once actually used the phrase "your special time," so I'm relying on stretched-out old concert tees for as long as I can get away with it. Sorry, Ani DiFranco, I'm sure your face will go back to its original shape eventually. Probably.

perfect little heart

This Valentine's Day has been the sweetest yet.

Valentine's food for my loves: heart-shaped mini pb&j for Remy and fajitas with bell pepper hearts for Dave.

And since I'm just over 12 weeks today, it seemed like the perfect time to announce that a new little sweetheart is on his or her way.



I love most things about pregnancy but the agonizing waiting period of the first trimester is not one of them. And this time around the first few weeks were a little harder than they were with Remy, because...drama.

We found out I was pregnant the Sunday before Christmas, and the following Friday, the day before Christmas Eve, I was having some upper abdominal pain that I figured I should be a Responsible Pregnant Lady about and call the OB. She sent me to Urgent Care (it was after hours) to have my gallbladder checked, but you know who Urgent Care doctors won't touch? Pregnant women.

So on I went to the Worst ER in the World. I won't call it out directly on the off chance that my experience and the experience of a couple of friends have been flukes, but seriously, it's pretty bad. It's sparkly clean, brand-new, and nearly always deserted, yet is also apparently staffed by less-than-competent jerks. (This is going to be a bit of a rant but I promise there's a point.)

Long medical story blah blah blah short, they did an unnecessary pelvic ultrasound after which the Nurse Practitioner waltzed into the room and told me that the pregnancy was not viable because they could not detect a heartbeat. At something like 4 1/2 weeks gestation (I was sure of the dates). I don't have any letters after my name and even I know that at 4 1/2 weeks not only will nothing show up on an ultrasound, but an embryo's heart physically does not start beating until between 5 and 6 weeks gestation.

Now here is the point of this story: if you ever feel like a medical professional is doing a crap job of taking care of you, advocate for yourself. Even though it was 9pm I insisted that the NP page an actual OB for a consult before she sent me home with a "your pregnancy isn't viable, have a nice Christmas." And the OB told her that it was a perfectly normal ultrasound result for that early in a pregnancy, and to quit freaking me out and let me go home.

OB/GYN Kenobi was right. And a week and a half later, we saw a teeny tiny little dot on a second ultrasound--a dot with a healthy heartbeat.

A single perfectly heart-shaped red ivy leaf from the sea of jagged green leaves in our yard, found the day before our 10 week appointment, where the doppler picked up the baby's heartbeat at a strong 175bpm.

And five weeks after that, at 11 weeks 4 days, a great NT scan showed a perfectly healthy baby, and this mama started breathing just a tiny bit easier.

It will never stop blowing my mind that in a few short weeks they go from cluster of cells to blob with heartbeat to clearly distinguishable little human form.

Note to current uterus resident: we are all stocked up on drama now. Lets have a comparatively uneventful next 6 months, shall we?