Tuesday, September 30, 2014


Papa was a chocolate milkshake. He was sushi and a crinkly grin and a diet coke with lemon. He was old westerns and old yarns. He was a nap in a comfy arm chair in the middle of the afternoon. My benefactor and landlord for 5 years.

I can imagine him, pugnacious and tan as a nut, sneaking into the Riverside Theater as a little boy. Strong and handsome, life guarding and diving from the highest platform at Kingsley Lake. Buying his wife a yellow rain slicker for Christmas when she asked for a new coat. I remember him driving me to the first grade, sitting in the cab of his truck so proud that my Papa was driving me to school. Sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over the scriptures, glasses on the end of his nose. Telling me I was crazy for getting a dog, and then sneaking Gilligan scraps of food at every opportunity. 

Papa called me little girl, or granddaughter. I will miss that. He was a man with a temper and a fierce loyalty, two things I have inherited. I loved telling him about our trips around the world, and he loved listening. A granddaughter who went to Egypt? To Norway? He was as proud as if he had gone himself. He collected. I remember coming over, and he was plopped on the sofa swinging a small ball of cord, pleased as punch over his monkey fist. He had every tool and could fix almost anything. He liked to tinker. He always wore a belt and suspenders, for good measure. 

 He let the little grandsons play with his special model cars. He was forever rummaging around for something sweet. He liked to tease, another habit of his I seem to have inherited. He didn't sugar coat, but he did love. When I was in the fourth grade I had to write a speech about my favorite person- it was him. 

He was so sick in the end, a shade of who he had been. I will miss him with all my heart. I miss his even more for my grandmother. I know I will see him again someday.  

Thursday, September 25, 2014



As a 10 year old girl I would run wild in our apartment complex from dawn til dusk. One day I had a very unfortunate run in with a spring rider and came home with a chipped front tooth and a slight lisp. Flash forward 15 years and the other day Jared and I accidentally headbutted eachother and my hand flew to my mouth. I knew my tooth was gone. But, alas, it was still intact and I breathed a sigh of relief. Two days later my fate visited me after a dinner at Chipotle and here I am: 25, pregnant and snaggle toothed once more.

The bell tolls for this tooth at noon today. My wallet weeps.


I felt the baby move last night! At least....I think I did haha.

It's my sweet Gilligan Theodores second birthday today! Gilligan I love you! You are so cuddly and soft and weird. You love eviscerating magnolia cones, fetch, food of all kinds and snuggling whenever possible. I always wanted to have my children about two years apart. Happy birthday to my 25 lb ball of fluff.

Thursday, September 18, 2014


Waffles, Wes Anderson......Wed Hats.

 OK that is a stretch. Jared and I are making our way through The Office (how has anyone our age not seen this show I will never know J Bird) and I keep getting the strong urge to make a Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica many years too late.

Last night I met my friend Alex down in St. Augustine for a Waffle Wednesday date at Cousteau's on Hypolita Street. Together we plowed through the Belafonte (nutella, strawberries) and The Whirly Bird (hot cinnamon apples, vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce) with a few slurps of the impossibly tart and fresh Calypso milkshake (key lime, vanilla ice cream, graham crackers) in between. I mean, whats a girl supposed to do when she hears about a Jacques Cousteau/Life Aquatic themed waffle bar? Go nuts, that's what. And these are no Waffle House waffles (disclaimer: I love Waffle House)These are Belgian Leige waffles: crisp, soft,slightly sticky, caramelized to perfection.

Oh and if you wear a red beanie like the unpaid intern you are, you get 10% off. Of course we had this on lock-down.
Cousteau's Waffle & Milkshake Bar on Urbanspoon
Torp, Norway

Monday, September 15, 2014


Eighteen weeks and four days. Four and a half months. So far things have been still and peaceful and mostly serene. I was barely sick, my cravings and other symptoms have been supremely mild. Pass the vanilla coke and bagels with cream cheese! For this I am grateful. I see myself as a mother in a very abstract way to this little flicker of life inside of me. All I know of it is it's drumbeat heart I've heard twice now, quick and strong, and a little peek at that sweet profile. That baby was moving and shaking this morning making it almost impossible for the tech to take a really clear picture, but it was so amazing to watch. The life in me is special and I feel a strong allegiance to it. I feel the need to do my very best for that tiny dancer.

Jared and I chose early on not to find out the gender of the baby. This is mainly for fun. There are precious few mysteries in life, and I have always loved a happy surprise. The anticipation brings me pleasure in a way I can't really describe. Not knowing hasn't been a burden, and I don't expect it will be. It is just for me and Jared, and that feels just right. On seeing the baby Jared feels like its a boy - and I still have no clue! Any guesses?

I am also choosing to do the best I can to plan for and strive to complete a natural birth, in the care of midwives at a birthing center. Once Baby became a reality, I started researching, pondering and praying ardently for confirmation that this was the right choice for my family. Don't be a hero was my early mantra. I don't have anything to prove. But when I think of my birth plan I am filled with hope, positive thoughts, light, warm feelings, the buzzing of nerves, peace and strength. Jared has been totally and completely on board since day one and has similar thoughts and feelings. I find this process endlessly fascinating. If you ever want to talk the wonder of the human body with me, I will marvel with you all the day long. Each piece of the puzzle fits so perfectly. And when family or close friends question me in a loving way, or even rib me, I can take it! In fact I love a good friendly tease, that's one of my personal calling cards.

But let me tell you what usually happens when you're a first timer. People hold the mystery of children - from birth to breastfeeding to education and beyond - over you like a weapon, pretending that they have the answers. That is something I can not abide. When people cackle at my decision, treat me like a silly child and proceed to tell me the news that childbirth is painful, I can't help but get angry. What is this urge we have to burst a bubble when we see one? What is this desire to rain on parades? There is a way to give  loving advice, to share your experience out of true concern, to be positive and supportive of a choice you wouldn't make for yourself. But it's always been easier to accept fear I suppose.

So maybe I will be a hero. Maybe I will be my body's champion. Perhaps I will listen to what it is whispering, and at the end, screaming to me. Because I know it will scream. But still, I think I will carry on. I know I will, because no one else is going to do it for me. People are drawn towards negativity. I certainly am. But how much happier we are when we trust ourselves. We don't always get an explanation attached to the answer to our prayers and our meditation, but we do get answers. Especially when we allow ourselves to be positive and have hope. No matter what happens, that is what I cling to. This baby will come out: in water, on land, in a birth center, in a hospital, with an epidural or with the help of a surgeons deft hands.  I am confident in my path. I feel strong and capable. I share my decisions because I have no shame in them. I pray that at the end of the journey there will be no callous "I told you so" moments. No matter what happens, I will still be a mother, and Baby will still be my baby. And no one can take that away.

Monday, September 8, 2014


Zinc my friends. The answer is zinc. Makes you (even more) pasty white, but works like a dang charm. I spent 3 days in the blazing sun, snorkeling, swimming and running amok with nary a pink splotch in sight. I'd like to bare my testimony that I know this Solar Sense to be true.

In other news, shortly after this picture was taken I was participating in a "don't get knocked out of your float" challenge with one Steph Secrist. My butt firmly planted in the float, I gently soared over waves for a half hour or so before drifting in to the shore. While trying to avoid a random giant rope covered in slime and algae covered bouys (why was that in the water ugh) I was smashed on the shoreline by an aggressive wave, popping said floaty which quickly filled with water and wrapped itself around me. Let me tell you, there is no cooler kid in south beach then the pasty white pregnant girl in a neon ugly print speedo floundering around with a 99 cent popped inner tube.


Who wants to take another road trip...