I made a deal with the devil

Before MB turned into a big girl, I was such a better mother. I only had a few really specific visions for her life.

She can be anything she wants to be, I would think to myself, except a princess. I hate that princess crap.

I read a lot of articles about how the Disney princess industry was basically a gateway to the early sexualization of young girls, and smugly swore that no child of mine would be caught dead in princess attire.

I’m pretty sure my mom was shaking her head and rolling her eyes and mouthing into the phone: JUST YOU WAIT.

Actually she probably said it out loud, but I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I went so far as to refuse to let her anywhere near a tutu for the longest time because to me everything involving tulle only led down the same path towards a plastic crown and high-heeled dress up shoes.

And now, well.

I’m still not both-feet-on-board with the princesses, but between the princesses and Tinkerbell & co, MB has spent many happy hours playing dress up [sometimes even by herself!]. I can even thank the fairies in part for her potty training.

And let me tell you, that would go a looong way towards changing my view on just about anything.

Really? You’re going to poop on the potty? Let mommy get you a Big Mac.


Last week I feel like I finally crossed a line.  A made up line in my head, but still, a line.

I asked Mary Bullock what she wanted her reward to be for finishing her swim lessons.

Answer: Princess. Swim. Cover-up.

I was sort of hoping that such a thing did not exist. Or that it would take MB so long to finish swim lessons that she would forget.

Dang it, Disney. And wouldn’t you know that the very next day MB swam like a fish?

Lord and Visa, forgive me for what I am about to do…


Triple B

When Bennie was a baby, he was Baby Bennie to me. At some point, my sister disallowed me to continue calling him Baby Bennie, but I kept right on doing it, because that is what sisters do.

But soon I will have to start calling him Triple B– Big Brother Ben.

What a great big brother he will be! He has so many tricks to share and is so fun loving. He also loves loves loves baby dolls, which fascinates me. Mary Bullock likes baby dolls ok, but Ben is a natural caretaker. I can’t wait to see him with his new baby brother.

I also know what an odd thing it is to go from a family of three to a family of four. Before it happens, it’s hard to imagine that you can love another baby so much. But then you just do.

And as an added bonus, when you watch your baby become an older sibling, slowly at first and then faster as your new baby becomes a certified kid, you will find all new things to love about your big kid.

[They’ll probably also fight, because let’s face it, Jen, they’re related to us. But when they don’t, when they are nice to each other, you will burst into tears and wonder how you got so lucky.]

So get ready, Triple B! I’d say you’ve got about another year before your new bro starts destroying your train table. Take advantage while you can, little man!


Now that I’ve recovered from my trip to DC a week or so ago, I thought I’d try to gather my thoughts on it for a post.

Thought #1: There are very few people on Earth I would wait seven hours in an airport to go see. My sister is at the top of the list.

Thought #2: If you’re going to have one amazing meal before succumbing to a stomach bug you had previously bragged about avoiding [I think I now have a stomach of steel were my exact words], Masa 14 is a pretty good place to have it.

Thought #3: If you’re six months pregnant and feel yourself start to complain about being uncomfortable and your varicose veins killing you, hang out with someone who is 9 months pregnant. Perspective: achieved.

More to come on my sweet little nephew who is about to be a big brother!

Sooner rather than later, his mommy hopes.

How Does Our Garden Grow?

There are two ways you could take this post. If you’re the unforgiving sort, you could say that this post is way late. Our garden is around two months old and has already produced a bountiful harvest of arugula, basil, parsley, and peppers. We’ve also mourned the loss of a few plants in their untimely deaths– the zucchini bit it especially early.

Or you could say that this post is early for Father’s Day. That would be if you’re the forgiving sort.

I tend to think that Father’s Day is the perfect time to talk about it, because it definitely would not have appeared in our backyard without one certain Daddy’s sweat and tears. Ok, he didn’t cry. That was me. I really wanted that stinking zucchini.

I am often amazed by my husband, but I’m always especially in awe when he builds us something. I love that our children got to watch him do this and I hope that one day when they want to make something for their kids they think to themselves: I CAN TOTALLY DO THAT. I’m usually the opposite: listing all the reasons I can’t do something myself. One of the things I love about Lee is that most of the time he assumes he can do something himself. And he’s usually right.

Even if we end up spending a fortune at Lowe’s.

Happy early Father’s Day, Fun Mommy!

Next project: CHICKENS!

and my mudroom.

and turning our laundry room into a closet.

and rearranging all the rooms in our house.

Oh! and that other baby.

You’re going to be a busy, busy Daddy!