A favor and a promise

To my dear readers:

I know you're out there, and I've been so overwhelmed by your generosity in response to my recent postings on PPD and all the glories of newborn parenting. Thank you.

I wanted to take the opportunity to invite you to adopt a new link in your daily internet habit: Heroic News.

I edit this wonderful news site and am finding stories everyday that are inspiring, troubling, sometimes shocking...but oh so necessary to distill for wider consumption by the general public.

If you will add Heroic News to your daily internet habit, I promise you will have a broader, deeper, and yes - sometimes more disturbing - picture of the culture we're living in. The culture we're building our careers and raising our families in.

It is so vitally important that the average person be informed on 'life issues' today. Technology and social policy are advancing so rapidly that most times, we're too busy asking can it be done? to stop and ask the more fundamental question: Should it be done?

So I invite you to visit Heroic News daily for the most comprehensive coverage of the most critical issues facing our culture today: abortion, human trafficking, stem cell research and cloning, euthanasia, contraceptives and reproductive technology, and the assault on the traditional family.

You can follow Heroic News via e-newsletter by clicking here and signing up for a daily dose, or you can simply visit our website at www.HeroicNews.org.

Tell your friends! Tell your family! Tell your pastor or rabbi! Tell that guy at work who sends you weird headlines from obscure websites every day! Just be sure you visit.

(And be sure to like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.)

My mom reads Heroic News.

Because Life Wins.

Love,

Jenny

Heroic News

I have been a bit - shall we say, infrequent in my online presence these past few months.  At least 'round these parts.  But I haven't been luxuriating on the couch eating bon bons all day.  I've been working for an amazing company called Heroic Media, running a new outreach of theirs called Heroic News.  It's a news aggregator, and for those of you not familiar with the concept, it's basically an online clearinghouse of sorts for headlines, articles and links to web resources, all gathered into one, convenient location  for you fine people.

The mission of Heroic Media is to harness various forms of news and entertainment media - be it television, internet, print advertising or radio spots - and start conversations about the most pressing issue of our times: life.  They run outreach campaigns to women in crisis pregnancies, they fund abortion awareness campaigns in major media markets, and they provide tangible, life-saving and life-affirming assistance to women and families in desperate need.  In other words, they are authentically pro life.  From the moment of conception onward.  So there's no room for the predictable, shallow criticism of pro-lifers 'dropping the ball' once the child emerges safely from the womb.

Heroic News' part in this mission is to deliver breaking news, up to the minute global coverage on wide-ranging life issues including abortion, contraception and sterilization, euthanasia, human cloning and embryonic stem cell research, and the sanctity of marriage.

So tell your family!  Tell your friends!  And visit every day... because I'm culling through allllll the crap that's out there on the internets ... so you don't have to ;)

Mucking the Internet

My day starts out pretty similar to most other mamas of little people. Leisurely awakened at 6 something in the am (7 this morning, making Daddy late for work - our little alarm clock is usually so reliable) by either persistent head-banging, crying or hooting/gibberish from the room next door, followed by 10 - 20 minutes of beached whaling (mine) around in the king-sized while dear husband valiantly rescues the innocent babe from his baby cage.

I'll spare you the painful details of the ensuing breakfast/coffeeorineffectivetea/to-shower-or-not-to-shower-that-is-the-question debate, but let the record show that more often than not, 'not to shower' emerges victorious.

Here's where my workday diverges from the average SAHM duties ever so slightly.

You see, I spend approximately 4-5 hours a day combing the www for treasures like this and this...and of course the occasionally tremendously uplifting tale like this.

But you have to dig through a lot of poop to find nuggets of gold.

Especially in a sickly culture dominated by relativistic, amoral/immoral detritus such as ours.

(I know, so uplifting, so hope-filled and Christ-centered. But what can I say...it gets a little discouraging some days.)

My husband often helpfully reminds me that I'm essentially doing this:

 

Although somedays it feels like this:

Point being, it's a lot of $&*# to dig through ... and it's not a truly representative sampling of humanity or culture.

Which is tremendously helpful to me when I'm knee deep in a story like this.

God.help.us.all.

Why spend my time this way? Well, it's a job somebody's gotta do. And I have the distinct privilege to work as the content editor of Heroic News, the premier online resource for breaking, global news on all major life and culture issues, from euthanasia to abortion to the attack on marriage and the family.

It's a mixed blessing to be sure, as there are some days when I just feel the crushing weight of how utterly devalued life is in this culture...

but in the end...life wins.

It does...it has.

But in the meantime, we have to keep fighting. For truth to prevail. For charity to pervade our thoughts and our actions. And for life.

Always for life.

So dear readers, will you spread the word about Heroic News? Perhaps link it to your own website or blog, and consider liking us on Facebook and following us on Twitter.

You won't be sorry. And coming Summer 2012, you'll have yet another opportunity to engage with the issues that matter most when Heroic News the television program premiers...stay tuned for details.

Until the whole world hears.

Ciao y'all

Forgive my radio silence yesterday, but girl's night out called and I answered, and I just couldn't seem to find the time to do my duty. The margaritas, however, were delicious.

I've been noticing some new faces around the comments lately and some increased activity on bloglovin and Facebook, so I thought I'd go ahead and introduce myself to you dear new readers. No doubt you've stumbled over here via the Edel Gathering homepage or perhaps Jen or Grace sent you (so my stats tell me), but at any rate, you are very welcome here. Very welcome indeed, Mrs. Bates. 

I just figured I perhaps owed you a little introduction and I figured what better way to do that than in a feigned third person interview? Plus, 66% of my offspring are wailing themselves to sleep right now and my husband is working for at least another 2 hours tonight and that soothing white noise on the sound machine? It's just the background ambience I need in order to conduct a proper interview with mahself. 

Without further ado, may I present to you, Mama Needs Coffee's FAQs (or something like that).

1. Who is this coffee lover, and how much caffeine does she actually consume? 

Hi, I'm Jenny. I'm married to Dave, who works for the Archdiocese of Denver. We live in a southern suburb of Denver proper, and we've been happily married for 4.5 years, in which time we've accumulated 6 separate addresses. The most recent address before this one was in Rome, Italy, where Dave worked as a journalist for Catholic News Agency, covering the Vatican beat. Yep, that's a real thing. We're pretty much done moving for now, though, much to the relief of grandparents on both sides. Italy was a blast. It was also supremely lonely/frustrating/confusing/charming/historic/socialist. Choose your own adventure from the archives and see for yourself.

(Oh, and I drink one to four shots of espresso per day, depending upon the night before. Yes, even when I'm nursing/pregnant. Makes 'em smart and tough.)

2. Why are your kids so close in age? Are you done?

Honestly, I was almost 27 when we got married, and Dave was 30. We're just making up for lost time.

In all seriousness though, we're practicing Catholics, and with that we believe in managing our fertility naturally, and without the use of birth control. As even a cursory examination of this blog will tell you though, I know a lot about contraception, and even if I were straight up atheist and living la vida loose and loca, I still wouldn't be popping the Pill. It's not only a moral issue, but a medial issue. And an environmental issue.

As for the 3 kids in 4 years? What can I say, we just like 'em. We figure we'll keep going till we get an ugly one. Meanwhile, please be at least a teeny bit classy when you're asking me about my sex life in the Target checkout line. I warn you, my comebacks can be a tad caustic when I let fly the first things that come to mind. 

3. Why blog? And why not monetize it, or at least learn some basic design-y tricks to make it look less like…it does?

I've been blogging since 2006, long back before it was cool. What started out as an outlet suggested to me by a college fling (who, incidentally, was a huge fan of this site called "Et Tu, Jen?") ended up having greater longevity than the relationship. We ended, but the virtual ranting didn't. And so 8 years and one name change later, here I be. Speaking of Jen, she claims the title of her forthcoming book was inspired by the headlining quote on my old blog, which is, admittedly, a good one. 

I haven't monetized it because honestly, it seems like a hassle. And because I have a full-time job already. (More on that later.) I write because it makes me feel alive and because it's how I process the world. Whenever I get emails asking about sponsored posts or guest posts I turn them down, not because I'm not flattered, but because that's not why I'm doing this. I don't have a brand to build, and honestly, I swear kind of regularly. And address controversial topics. And frankly, I like having the freedom to to so. (However, if anyone wants to send a killer diaper bag or amazing footwear my way, I will happily write you a love story and host it here.)

4. You have a real job?

I mean, 3 kids in diapers, you do the math…

No but really, I work full time, from home. Hence all the recent chatter about a mother's helper. I'm the content editor for a news aggregator called Heroic Media News. It's a news site that features content on life issues from all over the world. On a given day we cover everything from euthanasia to abortion, and surrogacy to the death penalty. It's fascinating stuff, and what makes Heroic Media News different than just about any other site is that the content is 100% relevant to major bioethical issues of the moment, but is pulled from a wider variety of sources than almost any other news outlet can claim. Secular, religious, state-run media, academic papers, you name it. If it relates to life and family issues and it's breaking news, you'll find something about it on Heroic. 

Our parent company, Heroic Media, has been in business for the past decade and is focused on offering life-affirming choices and resources to women in crisis pregnancy situations through various media outreaches; billboards, tv commercials, radio spots. You name it, they've done it. And they've done it well.

In addition to curating the content for the website, I also direct the content for a weekly television show by the same name. It's currently slated to begin airing on EWTN in April. The show, (which I will infrequently appear on as a guest anchor) will cover 5 breaking stories from the week. The aim is to "catechize through the news," which sounds odd, but hear me out. Technology and legislation - especially in the reproductive sciences arena - is moving ahead so quickly that there is often little or no thought given to the morality of a new advancement. We're so caught up in the "can we?" that very often nobody stops to ask the "should we?" What we're trying to do with Heroic is help people to reason through and to understand the moral and social ramifications of issues like abortion, embryonic stem cell research, and end of life care. You'd be surprised how few people have ever heard a homily on IVF, or who have ever discussed palliative care versus extraordinary measures with their own families. We want people to have these conversations. They're important. Maybe even the most important. 

So Heroic Media News. Read it. Bookmark it. Visit it every day. And feel very free to send news tips my way any time!

5. Did you study journalism? Or English? 

Yes. And no. I mean I was a journalism major for a semester, I think. But I was also a history major, an English major, a psychology major, an earth sciences major, and I ended up turning my tassel for a degree in the now-defunct school of mental health and human services. (Hail, Steubenville, made up majors.) 

So no, I didn't actually graduate with an official mandate to write, but writing has always been my thing. My first ever real published article appeared in Our Sunday Visitor way back in 2007, and the publishing bug bit me hard. Real hard. To date I've published more than 50 pieces for various publications both in print and around the web, and there's more fun coming this spring.

6. So, a book?

Honestly I'd love to write a book. (And no, no deals currently in the making. Not any solo projects, at least.) I think I'd write about contraception, and about how very wrong our culture has got things in that department. Or maybe about parenting and motherhood. (This would largely be a blooper reel, as I'm sure is self evident.) Or perhaps a memoir of our 9 months in Italy. At any rate, one day…

7. Do the things you write about really happen to you? Surely you're using hyperbole.

With very few exceptions, the shit that gets laid down on this page is real. I don't know if there is something about my manner or person that invites utter weirdness from strangers, or if perhaps I am just more attuned to finding and then recounting the humor in daily encounters, but let me assure you, I really do discuss teenage promiscuity with strange men at the Grease Monkey, and I've been known to encounter all kinds of … kinds at the big red bullseye. Plus, my kids are really weird themselves, and are thus an endless source of material. Just this morning I was trolling the Drudge Report with JP on my lap when he excitedly shouted "there's daddy right there! there he is!" while pointing at my laptop. The image he was so jazzed over was of Vladimir Putin and Barack Obama, so I'll leave that to your imaginations as to who my baby daddy more closely resembles…

And with that cliffhanger, I'll bid you a lovely evening, and repeat my gratitude for your time and interest. Truly, it's an honor to have so many new readers. I hope you'll take off your coat and stay a while.

Friday in 7

1.  

Last night, after a long day of work/mothering/nose-wiping, I was sitting at the 'ol laptop reading the most vile and troll-y comments on some article about something hosted somewhere on the internets and my blood pressure was rising steady, steady, filling up my ears like our stove-top espresso maker and then suddenly, epiphany: why am I reading this shit? My sweet sister Hillary, also a journalist, sagely pointed out that reading comments on any given article is equivalent to sitting in a public restroom and reading all the graffiti on the stall. What. What indeed, have I been doing, and why?

Blogging exempted, the written word is not generally intended to be a correspondence as it is a proclamation, and, therefore, is by its very nature not a 2-way discussion. Mind blown. I knew I had a problem as early as a year or so ago when I was indulging in a very infrequent (perhaps too infrequent) pasttime: reading an actual print newspaper. Probably while waiting in an airport somewhere. And as I finished the piece, my eyes automatically traveled down the page to see what ape_69_mofo thought about what I'd just taken in, in case his sage and worthy opinion might sway my own...what the WHAT.

Occupational hazard up in here, y'all. But I solemnly swear, from this day forward, that I will not - I repeat, NOT - be reading comments on any article that is not my own. And hell, maybe I won't even read those comments, either. Part of the joy of writing, and the mystery of it, is that you're creating something to present to the world, and it's not a collaborative effort that deserves to be shaped by random feedback from strangers. Can you imagine if artists worked that way? Or architects? Or dentists? Imperfect analogies, but do you see what I mean? (And obviously this doesn't apply to blogging, which by its very nature is ordered toward discussion. Different animal.)

2.

 Embracing my new found freedom, I decided to flex my domestic muscles last night and, in a profoundly ironic twist on the plunge into paleo living, I made everything bagels. From scratch. And I've eaten 3 in the past 12 hours. I can't even ... guys they are so good, I almost cried when I bit into the first sample. I told Dave that Einstein Bros was going to call and apologize for ever even attempting what I created in my humble, tiny Roman kitchen last night. Truly life-changing. And, now I totally look pregnant. Probably no correlation there. But this recipe + the addition of dried garlic and onion to the sesame seed topping....carb heaven, I tell you.  

3. 

Joey is owning the potty. We're on the big boy commode now, and his nasty IKEA potty chair is tucked away until little brother wants to jump on this diaperless train. It's a legit miracle, because I was fully expecting to be diapering three little booties come Christmas time, but it's been 2 weeks and I'm calling it 'stuck.' He has had a few accidents, mostly in connection with a nasty cold/ear infection combo which renders him slightly hysterical in the middle of the night, but the last 4 nights have been dry and easy. We'll see what regression the coming months of 12+ hour flights and multiple different sleeping arrangements brings, but for now, I'm rolling in diaper money and he is sporting some of the cheekiest baby man bikini briefs that you have ever seen. I can't put a picture up, because I do actually love him and trust me, this would be a scarring thing, not a 'look-how-funny-and-adorable-thing.' Plus, I want to be invited to his wedding someday. Or his ordination.

4. 

My job is changing just a bit and I'm now going to be creating original content for Heroic News at the new Heroic News blog. Regular topics to include: abortion, contraception, IVF, eugenics, euthanasia, embryonic AND adult stem cell research, gay 'marriage,' and human cloning. Bring your sunblock and your butterfly nets, because, you know...but please do stop by, and please spread the word on the www about HeroicNews.org/blog.

5.

What can anyone recommend for debilitating pregnancy exhaustion, besides the obvious and unattainable? I'm toying with the stupidest of stupid ideas and thinking about giving up my morning espresso(s), figuring that maybe I will crash earlier in the evening and that 10 hours, rather than 8.5, will do the trick? All I know is this morning I was in and out of consciousness for a good 45 minutes during JP's naptime, and I opened my eyes to find a nearly naked toddler crouched on my pillow systematically piling books and clean laundry on my chest.

6. 

Reading and loving this book right now. It's our second literary foray into Duggarland, and color us dorky but we love it, and we love reading about how this family is raising their children and striving for holiness. Do we agree with every single decision they make or belief they proclaim? No, of course not...but I think that's the case for almost anyone else's family who you look at. What they are is a whole lot of inspiring, uplifting, and challenging, especially on the whole parental attitude front. I am often a raging shrew in front of my innocent children, and rarely to I stop to reflect on how damaging mommy's habitual sour puss might be to their little hearts. But the Duggars make me stop and think. And to think, they do it without wine...shudder (like I said, toss the bathwater, not the baby.)

7.

My pretty little baby sister is graduation today. The number 6 whose entrance made our family into a legit 'they-are-definitely-doing-this-on-purpose' public gawking spectacle. The sweetest, most inexhaustibly sanguine and most fashion savvy 18 year old on the planet. And to think, she's already got a semester in Europe under her fabulous leather belt. Tia, I'm so proud of you and I can't wait to see what the coming years bring your way. Wish I were there to see the sixth out of seven Senours walk the blue carpet tarp in Clune Arena at the Air Force Academy tonight. Sniff.

Now if you'll kindly click over to the soon-to-be-published Mrs. Jen Fulwiler, Esq., I'll see you to the door.

A Day in the Life

In the spirit of preserving memories for future generations and because people seem to dig these kinds of posts, I figured I'd give it a go…

(*disclaimer: this may have been the very worst day of my entire motherhood to chronicle, but journalistic integrity compels me onward.)

Let us begin…

7:09 am: someone is snorting and tugging on my shirt. I open my eyes and blink at Evie, lying in a sweaty little bundle under my arm. Oops. I don't really remember pulling her into bed with me, but I suppose it happened at some point in the night. Oblige her by nursing until she falls back asleep.

7:19 am: roll carefully out of bed and watch as Evie stretches out like a teenager, flopping her arms over her head and trying her best to take as much bed space up as possible. Blow gently on her floppy black hair and laugh before creeping out of the room to find…

7:20 am: COFFEE. My amazing husband has an espresso waiting for me on the counter and has already fed both boys. Bless him. I could never breastfeed without the tag team system we have in place, whereby I handle the nighttime parenting and he takes the 6 am - 8 am shift. If I know I have at least an hour of two of uninterrupted sleep coming my way at dawn, I can handle almost any nocturnal shenanigans. Which reminds me…

7:26 am: peek into boys' room. Whew, no fresh vom. Joey's 6 hour stomach flu seems to have run its course, and the dorm smells only faintly of puke and Dawn dish soap. Crack the window open to let in the spring air and flee the scene.

7:31 am: sit down with my egg and Arbonne protein shake. Hear my phone ringing from the other room and run to see a missed call from my little sister. Dang, it's my day for preschool carpool. Slam the shake down and run to pull on actual pants, and a shirt that is not black. I have maybe 3 shirts that are not black, so this is a sign of real effort in living.

7:45 am: breakfast is done and I really should leave, but Evie is 'wolfishly hungry' says Daddy. Dave is going in late this morning because he has a lecture series to emcee this evening, so he agrees to watch Evie and JP while I run Joey and his cousin to school. I nurse Evie for 5 minutes to abate her hunger and scan Facebook for morning news.

7:56 am: oops. We're late. I toss gently place Evie in her Rock n' Play and shout a hasty goodbye to Dave before bundling Joey into the van. He's wearing a retro thrifted Superman t, a Fargo-style fur-lined winter hat with ear flaps, a puffer vest, and his little brother's gray cargo pants. He is a legend in his own mind. After a quick blessing from Daddy, he's in the van and ready to roll.

8:01 am: a minor accident has traffic backed up. Joey is delighted by a firetruck and ambulance parade and reminds me to pray, so we say a quick Hail Mary and inspect the bumper damage as we creep by. He knows about a third of the words to the prayer now…Catholic school FTW!

8:11 am: roll up to my sister's house and grab a nephew. We're gonna be so late…

8:19 am: arrive at school, running to the preschool entrance to beat the timed lock that automatically seals at 8:20 (I think? I've never been late enough to actually miss it). Hustle the boys into their classroom, check their mailboxes, make awkward small talk with their teachers and run back to the parking lot. Remember that for once I didn't do a guilty leave-behind of any other offspring in the van and relish the temporary silence of having no additional cargo for the 17 minute drive home. Mentally recommit to Dave Ramsey's principles as I look longingly at the beautiful houses in the neighborhood surrounding our parish. Resolve to never eat out again or buy any clothing so that we can buy a house sometime before 2019.

8:39 am: Home again. Take a hungry Evie from Dave as he is one-handedly finishing the breakfast dishes. I. Married. Up. Sit down to nurse and read a couple morning blogs.

8:46 am: Dave is asking me if checks and pinstripes can work together. Nope.

8:58 am: Finish an impromptu dusting session of the main floor. Look regretfully at my 2-week-old white cami that I'm using as a dustrag before throwing it down the basement steps to the laundry. Curse our 'new' old top-loading washer that has so far shredded the spaghetti straps on five camis and an embarrassing number of other unmentionables with stringy parts. Try to remember to buy one of those stupid mesh bags to wash delicate laundry in.

9:00 am: strip protective plastic trash bag off of Joey's pillow (under the case; no suffocating allowed in this house) and decide to run through all the bedrooms and bathrooms dumping the small trash cans into it. Arrive at the front door with an entire trashbag full of dirty diapers and thank God mentally for modern conveniences and the good sense to have given away my entire stash of cloth diapers before we moved to Rome. Never again, landfills be damned.

9:01 am: Dave is ready to go and we pray a quick morning offering with John Paul sandwiched between our legs shrieking about 'his monies!' Dave takes the trash bag from my hands and heads off to work and I see that our cans already lining the curb. I have the best husband.

9:06 am: scrub the kids' bathroom down with a pair of diaper wipes. Wonder if my toilet will be any less disgusting when my boys are teenagers. Decide the answer is probably not one I want to know.

9:10 am: sit down to start writing this lovely thing. JP is still screaming for 'monies,' so I dig 33 cents out of a dish on my dresser and line the coffee table with change for him to count. He squeals with delight and finds an old Trader Joe's bag to use as his 'purse.' I try not to be too disturbed.

9:40 am: look up and see John Paul lying in the Rock n Play, cackling to himself and counting his monies still. I'm a little embarrassed that all I've been doing for the past 30 minutes is recalling my day thus far, but not embarrassed enough to stop.

9:43 am: time to switch gears and start looking at headlines for Heroic News. Look at my open tabs from last night and count at least 3 bizarre headlines that apparently caught my attention before bed: "Jesus didn't care about being nice or tolerant and neither should you," "NH Teacher fired for friending students on Facebook" and "How to spot a psychopath." Decide that I probably am one, and get to work.

9:50 am: JP alerts me that "Evie doll is cwyin, mama" Find a somewhat unhappy baby in her swing and get a whiff of JP's 3rd diaper bomb this morning. Carry both offenders into the boys room and set Evie down on Joey's bed (mattress on the floor) for some dreaded tummy time while I address JP's nasty. Mentally vow to find and kill whoever keeps feeding him raisins. Wonder if it was me.

9:56 am: nurse again. Reflect in gratitude for Evie's stellar nursing abilities and my own gift of being able to type while she eats. Lovingly stare into the screen of my MacBook Air and rejoice in its small lightweightness.

9:57 am: JP is trying to put a pull-up on his stuffed monkey and is laughing hysterically. Wonder if it's time to think about potty training him, as Dave insists. Mentally slap myself across the face for even thinking this thought. Think about going to the library and/or Target before preschool pickup. Ask JP if he wants help outfitting his monkey. Help him.

10:01 am: He decides monkey would prefer a diaper.

10:02 am: Evie is no longer pleased with my multi-tasking. Shut computer.

10:20 am: Target it is.

11:16 am: Ooops, Old Navy was closer. $89 later and many spring colors later, I'm now late for preschool pickup, but I no longer look like a haggard recovering meth addict in a facility issued head-to-toe stretchy black uniform.

(School pickup, Lunch, nursing, phone calls, texts answered, bathroom trip with creepy 2-year-old observer in tow.)

1:24 pm: Ahhh, naptime/quiet time. Joey has been fighting this relentlessly since around Christmastime, but now that it's warming up he has relented to lie on a Superman sheet in the backyard with a stack of library books and a handful of roly-polies. I harvested the roly-polies for him. Vom.

1:25 pm: the remains of JP's quesadilla is hardening on a paper plate (survival mode 4ever.) I'm only semi-drawn to it, so this new eating plan must be working.

1:27 pm: they're all quiet at the same time. Evie in her swing and the boys in their respective nap zones. The second best part of my day has now begun.

1:28 pm: Joey is back. He needs a paper bag and a handful of sticks to have quiet time with. He asks me if I'd like to join him. I stare at him, wondering why God thought it would be funny to make my firstborn an extrovert.

1:30 pm: I settle down to write and check some emails. I see one from my editor at Catholic Exchange and I start thinking up ideas for another piece later this week. I never plan posts ahead of time, and I hardly ever write down ideas that come to me, but maybe I should. At this point what I write is 90% spontaneous, though I do have occasional insights in the shower.

1:31 pm: I haven't showered today…

1:37 pm: And I'm not going to. Joey is back and he is "all done with his quiet time." I break his heart by telling him he is mistaken. I wonder if i should start planning dinner, and then I remember the chicken sausages I put on the counter to defrost this morning. I move them to the fridge and, remembering that Dave has a work dinner, consider making salads for dinner for a second night in a row. Joey must have taken me seriously, because he wandered back outside with a sippy cup filled with Pellegrino. I absentmindedly finish the rest of the bottle.

1:44 pm: Retire to my room to hide from Joey for the remainder of 'quiet time.' A friend texted us an invite to come play afternaptime, and I consider waking JP up early just to get us all out of the house. Evie is crying to nurse from her swing. Flop onto the bed to nurse her while browsing for news stories with my free hand. Update the site with breaking news. I love having a baby who loves to nurse lying down.

1:59 pm: I got distracted by the internet. I look up from my reading to see Joey sitting in my doorway with his stuffed animals in his arms. He looks at me guiltily and then sits down on the hall floor and starts reading the atlas. Whatever.

2:03 pm: I can't imagine anybody is still reading at this point. I can't believe how many times each day I am interrupted. Start streaming the new Ingrid Michaelson album (free on iTunes for a week!) and Joey crawls up into my bed and announces "I just want to beeee with you." I send him to wash his ropy poly hands before letting him crawl up next to me. He covers my the back of my arm with kisses and snuggles into our bed. Now I'm a mommy sandwich.

2:30 pm: naps are a bust. Wake a sleepy John Paul and toss all 3 kids in the car for a trip to a friend's house and some magical Vitamin D time in her stay cation of a backyard. Pick up a nephew on the way because YOLO, and my sister has to take somebody else to the doctor.

4:05 pm: Why do I bring them anywhere? Oh yes, socialization…

4:43 pm: cooking dinner. Way too early. Trader Joe's chicken sausages on the barbecue with asparagus and baked potatoes.

4:50 pm: everybody is yelling for something, but I'm happily sweeping through the house and flinging dirty laundry/errant toys/random books down the basement stairs. All our toys and books now live in the basement, and my favorite part of the day is pitching things down the stairwell one by one. Clean house = happy mommy.

4:52 pm: dinner is served.

4:59 pm: dinner is over. Dammit, I've overplayed my hand. I run a bath for the boys and they run screaming towards the bathroom, shedding clothes as they go. The floor is littered with asparagus, but I did make them 'mop' the spilled milk under the table.

5:15-5:46: books are read, diapers are applied, teeth are brushed, and then I sort of lie there on Joey's bed, letting them both jump on me while they yell "fight fight fight!" and proclaim it wrestling time. Wish for the hundredth time today that Dave was home for bedtime.

5:50: prayers. A quick, incoherent story about some pigeons, a penguin, Lightening McQueen and Mater flying to Rome for JPII's canonization. Lots of random words in Italian. Ends with a trip to Old Bridge for gelato. Joey is satisfied. Hit the lights and head to my room to nurse Evie.

5:58: brag on Facebook about having put my kids to bed 2 hours before sunset. Hear banging and shouting from the back bedroom,

6:35 pm: Both boys are watching a double episode of Curious George on a laptop propped on their dresser. Eating granola bars. I'm a sucker.

6:40 pm: fine, one more episode. Evie is asleep in her swing, so I unload and load the dishwasher and spray down the counters and table. Check for new headlines and get briefly immersed in a stupid post on Facebook. Wonder why I came crawling back to my social media habit for the umpteenth time.

6:46 pm: because the internet.

6:50 pm: bedtime for real this time. Good night, sleep tight.

7:00 pm - 8:00 pm: Sit at computer. Think about doing a couple waiting loads of laundry.

8:05 pm: is it too late to take a shower? Evie wakes up and wants to nurse. I don't feel so hot...

8:25 pm: oh, the stomach flu. Now it's my turn. Spend the rest of the night in a prone position on the bathroom floor, returning occasionally to bed to lie there moaning. Please, God, don't let the baby get this.

11:54 pm: PLEASE GOD don't let the baby get this. Dave offers her a bottle and she refuses. Violently. I attempt nursing in between bouts of vomiting. Joey wakes up screaming that he's hungry and Dave goes to comfort him.

Maaaaaybe this was not the greatest day to chronicle…but it's certainly not one I'll forget.

7 Quick Takes

Why yes, I have been reduced to posting exclusively when link-ups are involved. And just when this lovely little blog was starting to heat up.

C'est la pregnancy.

1.

Morning sickness. It's over, and not a moment or 11-weeks too soon. I will take bone-crushing fatigue and cravings for baked potatoes over all-day nausea in a heartbeat. And speaking of hearts, mine doth go out to expectant mamas who truly suffer. Especially the HG varietal. I was starting to think for a minute that I was riding that horse, but the clouds have parted, the sun is once again shining, and I don't run screaming and gagging past the seafood stall in the market most mornings.

2. 

Houseguests. My husband's best friend (who is a brand new,13-day old priest!) has been staying with us this week, and what a joy it has been. Mass in St. Peter's basilica on the altar of Bl. John Paul II, Mass in our home, served by my somewhat enthusiastic 2-year-old who only wandered off to play with trucks 2 or 6 times during the liturgy, and countless moments of consolation and joy after 5 long, arid months alone in this city. So very blessed. 

Every new priest's dream. And not a shabby morning for our family, either.

3.

Chipotle. Super Target. A car to drive around in. Oh, I mean my family and friends, in 20 short days. Oh America, I am longing to be home again, and all that stands between us is 3 short weeks and an 11 hour red-eye from London to Denver. Should be relaxing, rejuvenating, peace-filled, etc. 

4. 

This piece I wrote for the Heroic News blog got picked up a couple different places. And normally when I write 'controversial' I'm filled with comment-dread and holding my e-breath for the comments to start rolling in rough and dirty...but now I don't read them! Weeee! Such a simple, stupid epiphany that has saved me so much e-grief. Because non-blog related pieces aren't meant to be dialogues between the writer and the world.

5.
Can I just say, being pregnant in Italy is a biiiiiig change from being pregnant in the US of A. Or maybe it's just that every pregnancy is different, etc. etc. But I've lost 6 lbs so far (beer weight? Am I a frat guy?), and I'm still not showing at 11 weeks. (Due to, I don't know...All the walking? No processed foods? Eating a loaf of bread a day?) Both boys had me in maternity fat pants by now, and I have to say my relief is immense as I contemplate walking down someone else's aisle in 4 short weeks in a gorgeous bridesmaid dress and having the optimistically-sized-last-December beauty zip right up. Fingers crossed.

Also, stuff like encounter number two in Steph's post never, ever happens here. Or if it does, the language barrier is such that I don't know when it's happening. Which makes me feel...normal. And even though Italy has the lowest birthrate in all of Europe and there are no babies here and there will be no native-born Italians in another two generations if they continue in this fashion...well, these people love babies. Not enough to actually have any of their own, mind you, but oh my goodness do they like to love on mine. And sometimes take them out of my arms in public places...

6.
Joey and JP kissing 'baby' over and over again and talking to my stomach and making big plans for 'baby Jesus coming at Christmas time' and 'playing trucks all together' and 'drink hot milk.' Okay, son, whatever you say. Also, Joey insists that bambino numero tres is a 'he' named Tonio.
'Baby has a penis, Mommy.' Over and over again. Hopefully never in public, but there's always that 11 hour plane ride on the horizon...

7.
Baked potatoes for lunch, every single day this week. Slathered in Heinz ketchup, imported from a specialty store across town and enjoyed with inappropriate gusto. And did you know, Italian Heinz has no artificial flavors, colors, or preservatives? It's basically health food, people. I only do the very best for my babies.Weirdest pregnancy craving ever? Nah, with Joey I couldn't get enough of salt and vinegar chips paired with salami and cheese, and I hunted green chile like it was my job. I fatefully and regretfully consumed a super-hot varietal on the eve before labor, and, well, Yolo.

Go forth to Jen, and visit all my e-friends.

7 things that are actually pretty awesome about being a SAHM

(linking up with the next big name in broadcasting, Jen Fulwiler)

I think anyone who has spent even a cursory linger or two around the blog knows that I have lots to say about the trials et al. of being a mother of the homebound variety. Sure, I mix it up with the occasional story of warm fuzzies, but there are plenty o' tales of woes and oh-no's to keep you entertained. And I stand behind them. In fact, sometimes I stand over them, mopping and disinfecting.

But today I thought I'd bring a different flavor. While I was choosing an outfit this morning (for mySELF, not even for a small person.) I thought to myself, it is pretty sweet that I get to determine the dress code for the day. Heck, I have unilateral sartorial autonomy! I'm basically a style editor and producer at the haute couture daily edition of Uebbings unlimited. And that's a cool job.

So I present to you a curated collection of 7 really cool things about being a stay at home mom.

1. As alluded to above, I have ultimate dress code authority. For now, it extends over our entire brood. Sure, my almost 4-year-old has some opinions and favors wearing his adorable (thrifted) Converse without socks, but since I vetted and/or purchased every item in his wardrobe, even when he digs through his dresser to assemble a getup that would do a drunken farm animal proud, it looks...decent.

For myself, while pregnancy and the dreaded after effects certainly have a massive influence over my options, I get to choose how dressed (or undressed) I want to be for the day. Lately I've been leaning toward the more dressed end of the spectrum, because it feels so nice to have a put together outfit on, even when I'm just running errands and hunched over a laptop tap tap tapping away on a project during nap time. My girlfriend sent me a link to this girl's daily outfit feature on Instagram (which I don't have, but she cross posts them to Pinterest) and we both fell deep and hard. So today's outfit credit goes to Karla Reed.

2. I make all the food decisions. If I don't want my kids to eat something, I don't buy it. Will they occasionally get their sugar-seeking paws on something at a friend's house or celebration? Of course. And does it matter? Well, we have no food allergies in our family, so nope, not really. 90% of our diet is under my direct jurisdiction, for better or for worse, and so for now, while they're young, I'm focusing on training up little palates to eat broad and wide across the produce aisle, and to snack on protein instead of always binging on carbs. Check back with me in 4 years when everybody's wills and opinions are stronger. I'm sure I'll eat my smug words. (Full disclosure, they're snacking out of a plastic bowl of TJ's cat cookies and Goldfish crackers I set on the front porch right now. Like stray animals.)

3. I get to take naps. Okay that one's actually only relevant when I'm 5 minutes post partum because once the hazy first few weeks clear, I return to my usual neurotic self who cannot, for almost any reason, nap when at home alone with the children. Anxiety abounds, sleep evades.

But still, the potential for napping exists. And my boss won't bust me if I try.

4. Leading me to my next favorite: the flexibility to pursue meaningful, soul-expanding work during the varying pockets of flexible time I find throughout the day. Since Joey was a newborn I've been editing and producing content for Heroic Media News, and I also contribute to Catholic News Agency, Catholic Exchange, and complete the occasional project for Our Sunday Visitor and Endow.

Obviously the caveat here is that writing is what I do, and it can be done from anywhere, but I truly believe that due in large part to the internet and emergent technology and a workplace made a little more humane by ever-increasing influence of the feminine genius, women today, at least in our culture, have more opportunities than in all of human history to make something beautiful, oftentimes in a non-traditional work setting, and to be compensated justly for it.

5. I can call "do-over" on a day that's heading straight to hell. 2 pm and everyone is screaming? Time for a quick trip to Target for a coffee for mommy and some dollar spot browsing for the small ones. (Lucky me, they're still gullible enough that we can return their playthings at the conclusion of our Bullseye session without actually purchasing any more crap to bring into the house. Mostly.)

This means I can hit up the petting zoo farm down the road if I feel like it and the weather permits, or I can make the proverbial 3 am phone call and load up the Odyssey for a 50 minute drive down to grandma's house where terrible coffee, a sun-drenched kitchen and a fenced-in trampoline await us. Pure joy.

6. I don't miss anything unless I want to. (Please know that I am not saying this to offend or wound any moms who choose to work outside the home or who are compelled to do so for reasons beyond their control. I respect you, my friends, and I am grateful for the unique contributions you are making to the economy and to the social order. Truly. I'm just speaking out of my experience on this one.)

This one is a fine line I stumble along every day, because on the one hand, children, give me some peace and quiet and go watch Peg+Cat or throw dirt at each other in the back yard. Please. And on the other hand, almost every night at bedtime finds me holding a chubby head against my chest and stroking soft baby hair and wondering where the days are going, and the years too, for that matter.

The truth is I have a front row seat to every milestone, every success, every tantrum, and every sibling altercation. I can choose to intervene and correct, or to sit back and let the natural order of things play out. Or I can check out entirely (guilty and guiltiest) telling myself that my physical presence is enough for them. And sometimes it is. But more often than that, they want more. They want my attention, they want to captivate me and to share the joy of learning something new about the world or about life. And I'm here to give that to them, if I can pry it out of my selfish and sleep-deprived little grinch heart. And that is such a privilege.

7. I can take the ages and stages as they come. My 2 and-a-half year old son is ready to potty train. I, on the other hand, am not. Potty training means to him, I think, wearing Lightening McQueen tighty whities and whizzing on the pine tree in our back yard at his leisure (thanks, idolized big brother). And many, many pairs of soiled pants per day. Since there's no pressure to get him up to code for daycare or preschool or really, anything, I can take my sweet sweet time and wait until he's 3. Or 11.

Right now my oldest is unbelievably snuggly. I love that he comes up to me and professes his love and admiration over and over again throughout the day. I'm so glad I can soak up this age so that when his dominant, fiery extroverted personality kicks back into high gear I have the sweet memories of a snuggle bunny who just wants to beeeeeeeee with me.

So there you have it, long winded and intensely specific to my experience, but true enough.

What are you favorite things about being a mom who stays home?

7 Quick Takes, the profanity edition

1. The night before last, a skunk sprayed our window AC at 2 am. Have you ever been victim of biological warfare of the most primitive degree?

2. Efffff word.

3. In other neighborhood news, I spent the better part of Tuesday afternoon trying to figure out the origin of the pinging noises and falling debris raining into our backyard whilst Joey splashed innocently and ignorantly in the wading pool. The source? Mexican tweens with bb guns. Shooting at my house. And, consequently, my two small children. We are now sporting a 'bullet hole' in one of our living room windows.

4. And on that note, we're moving today. And not a moment too soon. Armed with trashbags and febreeze aplenty, we're moving 2 miles across town (literally to the other side of the tracks) to an infinitely better zip code and into a slightly more expensive and much, much, much nicer rental house. With a 2 car garage. Perfect for refinishing all manner of Craigslist furniture gems. DIY madness be mine.

5. Moving. With a manic depressive toddler whose two-year molars are erupting, and a sleepless wonder of a 3 month old who is vehemently opposed to not being held every waking hour of his day. Of which there are approximately 17. Pray for us.

6. I dumped an entire glass of H20 on the laptop this morning, screamed a word that rhymes with BumpIt, and ripped off my shirt to mop up the spill. Sending poor, delicate Joey into a fearful panicky fit of sobbing, the likes of which can only be brought on by the sight of one's topless, swearing mother trying desperately to salvage the family's most priceless piece of electronic equipment. If you can read this, it all turned out alright. And Joey will work the rest out in therapy some day.

7. My heroic husband returned from the gym and announced with a wink and a smile that he had a present for me. Then he handed me a pack of Camel 99's and said 'I thought you might be able to use these this weekend.'

Laugh or cry? Still debating...

Happiest of (finally) Fridays. Now go see Jen.

7 Quick Takes

I can't coast forever on the fumes of my resurrected 'new' posts showing up en masse this week, I suppose, so I'll take the lazy mom's hack and join Jen for a few.

1. I had the craziest conversation with my fantastic masseuse tonight, who may or may not have started JP's labor last time around. This time around? I didn't beg her to pull out the big guns yet, but I definitely feel closer to the finish line after a good 60 minute pummeling. If you have a Chinese reflexology place in your vicinity, I implore you to go check it out. A-mazing. And 30 bucks. For an hour. I would literally pay somebody 100 for the incredible work she does, but I don't have to. So I just tip her ridiculously well and send aaaaaaall my pregnant/stressed/injured/breathing friends her way as referrals. Eastern medicine for the win, at least in this arena. But her story … just stay tuned, because it's worth an entire post - hell, an entire book.

2. John Paul is so adorable this week. And so snuggly. Actually it's borderline obsessive snuggly.

In my bed, inches from my head, no better place to be.

I think if he could, he would crawl back into hotel uterus, grab his sister by the scruff of her neck, toss her into his crib and settle in for the winter. He wants to be lying on me all the time, nuzzling my neck and breathing up my nose and I honestly think he would ingest me if he could somehow figure out how to. He also has a sweet, sweet devotion to Mama Mary and points her out at every possible opportunity, going so far as to sleep with a little figure from one of our nativity sets in his bed. I can only presume that baby is indeed imminent, and he senses it, and that he is most likely going to be Pope one day. Nicely played, John Paul Franics. You needn't even take a new name. Though Benedict XVII has a nice ring to it…

3. So many carbs. I can't stop eating, and the scale is recording my every transgression. I always forget about this last 2-5 week period where all bets are off and even if I've managed a very reasonable 30 something increase up to this point…well, de nada. Because the last month of pregnancy for me is like the fatty fall round up of all of nature's hibernating beasts. And I'm the one eating all the acorns and drinking all the honey and you just never know when you're going to need that extra burst of energy so yes, I will eat that peanut butter sandwich at 3 am. And then I'll wonder why my belly enters a room 4.3 seconds before I do.

I'm giving these credit for 33% of my November/December weight gain.

4. My dad casually mentioned to me in conversation the other day that my mom was, quote, "reading your blog in bed last night and laughing so hard that he was concerned," and that "he was just trying to finish 'Mockingjay' but she kept interrupting him to read him excerpts." I honestly just, don't, … no words.

5. I took the plunge and moved all my kids' toys (except for a single basket of books and a small ottoman full of a few select items) to the basement today. My main level looks amazing, and I spent at least 23 cumulative minutes going up and down the basement stairs breaking up fights/checking for the blood that must surely be accompanying that gawdawful noise/resetting the damn Curious George episode to minute 1. So I think at this rate, I can plan on having a much less cluttered and beautiful living space, and possibly canceling my gym membership also. And maybe having a home birth on the basement stairs.

6. We had a local tragedy today that ended about as well as something like a school shooting could have ended, but is still cause for great sorrow. Arapahoe high school is about 2 miles from our house, so we were effectively on our own lockdown all afternoon from the resultant traffic of the emergency response at the school. Please pray for all the students involved. And please don't think Colorado is some batshit crazy cowboy country filled with crazed gun-toting teenagers out for blood. I know our reputation is not super stellar, but I wish I could convey the reality that this is a safe place, a good place to live, and that a few lunatics do not a society of bad apples make. I do think our public schools could benefit from a little good 'ol fashioned catechism and discipline, however, because if they're not getting it at home and they can't have it at school, then when exactly can we expect character formation, personal responsibility, basic moral instruction and a rudimentary explanation of good vs. evil to take place in these kids' hearts? Are we hoping the hours of daily media intake coupled with absentee parents will do the trick?

I'll never forget the day Columbine unfolded. I was a sophomore in high school about 50 miles south of Littleton (ironically we live about 5 miles from Columbine, now) and our gym teacher pulled us into the wrestling loft to tell us the news. I remember her very seriously explaining that something like that would never, ever happen to us at our school, and that if anybody did try to hurt us, she would die before letting them get past her. It was both traumatizing and deeply moving, and it stuck with me. I hope the kids at Arapahoe High School today had a similar encounter with the heroic faculty and staff who helped to keep them safe by following the unfortunate protocols we've developed and perfected since that dark day in April 1999.

7. Ending on an insipid up note - meet my new bff:

I did not pay full retail for this beauty, but the sale I availed myself of has passed.

When I was pregnant with JP I won a Timi and Leslie bag at a fancy baby store open house, and it was the cadillac of diaper bags. Sadly, it met its maker in bella Roma, but only after being schlepped across multiple borders of many countries, enduring blistering heat, freezing rain, and sweltering trips to the beach, and carting the worldly goods of mama +2 all over the US and then Italy. I vowed that one day I would again own a diaper bag that didn't look like a diaper bag, and then, clicking around the inter webs on cyber Monday, I found my new partner in crime. My favorite part of it is the cross-body strap. My least favorite part is the unstructured-and-kind-of-a-cellphone-and-keys-black-hole-main-compartments. But really, I could buy a diaper bag organizer insert. Or I could just put my keys/phone/wallet in the same place every time like a responsible adult instead of vomiting the contents of my center console into the bag whenever I exit my mom chariot. Only time will tell.

Now that you've digested thee most random of the week's takes (I'm taking liberties and bestowing that honor upon myself) head over to Jen's for more coherent lists. Or endless examples of holiday gift giving guides and gingerbread recipes. It really could go either way…

p.s. Did you see, Baby Lily is going home tomorrow, sans feeding tube! She even nursed successfully during two of her feeds today - praise God! Our Lady of La Leche is coming through for this little lady big time, keep your prayers coming.

7 Quick Takes: Boys, endless eating, detoxing, a baby swing, and dystopian teen lit

What? Too many and varied topics in one meager quick takes header? Yeah, maybe. . .

1. But I stayed out till 10 o'clock feasting my eyes on the visually assaulting and sensory-overlaoding 'Divergent,' and found myself shoveling salty, unbuttered popcorn into my mouth in a mindless cycle of dig/grab/stuff while the screen exploded in violent, rapid-firing images in front of me. The movie was good, and pretty faithful to the book, but my sister and I both experienced the odd phenomenon of 'dystopian drift,' for lack of a better explanation, where every end-timesy novel we'd read in the past couple years melded together in our brains, rendering the storyline of the film both surprising and kind of confusing.

At several points I was really concerned with where Katniss was hiding in all the wreckage of the bombed-out Chicago skyline, and I also couldn't quiet the nagging fear that this was all supposed to be taking place in the Pacific Northwest, and that nobody was supposed to be touching anyone else.

Moral of the story: I probably need to dabble in other literary genres. But Divergent was good! Go see it.

2. My boys are skinny and on the short side, but they eat like ravenous animals. Joey in particular is like, 32 lbs and the shortest (well, and youngest with a September b-day) in his class but he begs food like an angry line backer on a Sunday afternoon. I can't remember where I read this concept, but I allow them free access to 'cranky cheese' in a drawer in the fridge - either Baby Bells or string cheeses - in the hopes that their blood sugar levels will stay relatively stable between meals. They don't. And, they beg for food and milk all day long, and on the days where I wearily acquiesce, they proceed to boycott their dinners, screaming about how unappetizing everything is.

Then, for his piece de resistance, Joey cries hunger at bedtime. Every night. And begs for food because 'his tummy hurts all around' and he is 'really, really hungry.' And because I'm a sucker, and because how can a mother refuse to feed her skinny child, I give him milk. Or a mouthful of peanut butter. Sleep, rinse, repeat.

Any thoughts? He was actually a much better eater when he was gluten-free (and that's another story for another post). Now he's a picky, bossy 3.5 year beggar. Who orders 'cappuccinos' (a steamed milk, courtesy of our espresso machine) many mornings of the week.

3. Speaking of raising male wolves, any suggestions on how to pry them off my ankles for large portions of the day? I read this fascinating piece in the Atlantic earlier this week, and then Michelle's wonderful post on being a Little House on the Prairie Mom, but I can't seem to convince them to leave me alone. Unless I'm trying to get them into the car and then, you know.

By the by, our backyard looks eerily like the 'adventure playground' featured in the Atlantic article. Complete with abandoned plastic bottles, piles of dangerous looking wood, and perhaps the occasional nail. So man up, boys!

4. Screen time. I had a great conversation with an acquaintance at an Annunciation party this week (envious of our social life?) about how she cut her two boys off from screens, cold turkey, and they turned into amazing readers and creative little souls almost overnight. Almost. Anyway, we're on day 3 and it's kind of killing me, but we've had no Curious George nor any Daniel Tiger in our house for 72 hours and counting…we'll see how long mommy can hold out.

My main motivation for limiting the little monsters' time in front of the laptop is mainly because Joey acts like a crack fiend when his show is over. Even when he senses the story arc beginning its descent towards denouement, he starts jonesing for his next hit and bargaining with me for 'just one more, just one more.' It's sick. And I'm over it. I may be afforded 20 minutes of quiet for a private shower and blowout, but I pay dearly for it in the form of back talk, whining, fighting, and crying the rest of the afternoon. I hate it. So we're experimenting with life in 1994. Wish us luck.

5. I had a couple requests for the pesto recipe I mentioned in Wednesday's post, so here it is, loosely adapted from this one:

-3 cups loosely-packed fresh basil (de-stemmed)
-1/2 cup (ish) fresh parmesan chess
-3-4 tablespoons extra virgin Italian olive oil
-1-2 cloves crushed garlic
-1/2 cup raw almonds
-2 tbs fresh lemon juice
-sea salt and pepper to taste

Dump it all in the food ninja or your food processor of choice and blend away. I have to make it in batches because my ninja is teeny, but eventually the whole batch fits in there. It's just a process of getting the basil condensed. This stuff is delicious and potent and a little bit goes a long way when tossed with pasta or basted over chicken or spread on sandwiches. It keeps in the fridge for 4 days…at least that's the longest we've ever had it on hand. :) I've heard you can spoon it into ice cube trays and freeze it and then pop the cubes out and keep them in a baggie in the freezer. Again, we've just never had leftovers…

6. I'm a terrible mother, and I just pushed both birdies from the nest into the backyard so "Mommy could finish her work." And here I sit, 'working' … also, Genevieve has this swing and I love it. And she sleeps in it kind of a lot. And has a flat spot on the back of her head. Am I the worst mother, truly?

7. I'm starting Arbonne's 30 day detox Monday, (hopefully, if it arrives soon enough. And my bff is a consultant, so I did not pay that price for it.) and I'm really excited to blog it all out for accountability purposes. And because people can never get enough of reading about stupid things other people are doing to lose weight and get healthy, right?

Anyway, after seeing myself on camera (I guest-hosted Heroic Media News this week and I'll return again next week - the show should be live on EWTN by late April) in the edited footage, I had a mini actual panic attack. And I know I'm only 13 weeks out from Evie's birth. And and and…it's still hard as hell to see yourself looking like a complete stranger because of how your body has been ravaged by childbirth. Always hard. Hopefully I'll see some results aaaaand I'll have a fun giveaway up on the blog at the end of it.

Now off to Jen's with you, and a very happy weekend.