My online journal.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Now that Miss Lu is sitting up by herself, playtime is getting much more fun! She will sit for hours on the floor, completely absorbed in her toys and the magic of gravity. It's amazing how the simplest toys are the ones she gets the most joy out of. We have a set of eight "stacking cups" that nestle into each other, but for some reason that tidy little pyramid of organization is intolerable to the 8-month-old mind. Lu takes one look at the neatly-stacked set and, very deliberately (and in one swift motion), lifts them off one or two at a time and throws them aside. And then moves on to something else, until she notices that you have re-stacked them... and then she methodically destroys the stack again.

We went to see the new Star Wars movie over the weekend (thumbs up!). The instant Yoda appeared on screen, though, I thought "WELL! We know what Lucy's going to be for Halloween!" I heard Joel snickering, so I leaned over and he whispered "It's Lucy!" Great minds... Unfortunately I spent the next 10 minutes trying to figure out what I was going to make the ears out of and I missed some plot points. But the movie was still good.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

The Baby!

Criminy, you know what? She is not such a baby anymore. The second bottom tooth came in earlier in the week... she's learning how to scoot herself backward on her hands and knees (and we look away for 15 seconds and HOW did she get under the couch?!?)... she's talking up a storm (I SWEAR she looked at Hobo yesterday morning and said "dog!")... it's going too too fast. Thank you Gramps & Gram Ryan for her new "cell phone" -- it is her favorite toy right now and her whole face lights up when "it's for you, LuLu!".

Yesterday evening she wore 1/2 a Cheerio as a mustache for about 15 minutes. Riotous.


I am so sorry it has been SO LONG since I posted... I never actually know if anybody is reading these or not, since Alison is my only regular commenter (THANK YOU AL!), but if you have been checking, and you have been bored to tears by my lack of entries, just know that I was out of town over the weekend and I have been on JURY DUTY all week (I feel the need to CAPITALIZE JURY DUTY because if I was speaking it, I would certainly do so in that extra-loud, semi-incredulous, overly-dramatic faux-Seinfeldesque way I have) and therefore incommunicado.

I feel like "incommunicado" might be one of those things that isn't really a word or means the opposite of what I want it to, but people use it anyway to sound cool and nobody really knows for sure what the right word is in the first place. (If you know what the right word is, please comment and put me out of my misery.) I can think of a couple other words that are sort of like that... "empathy/sympathy," "flammable/inflammable," and "nonplussed."

I had an AWESOME reunion with some high school friends in Chicago* over the weekend. I hadn't seen Nick in about 5 years, and I hadn't talked to Estelle in close to 11 years, and it was amazing just to pick right back up with them. Golly, they are hilarious. It was amazing to reconnect with them and hit it off so well.

*I can say this because we did actually go within the Chicago city limits. I have started referring to where I grew up as "Illinois" instead of "Chicago" since I never actually lived within the city limits and I started feeling like it was kind of misleading to say I'm "from Chicago." And for a while I thought I was cooler than other Minnesotans for being "from Chicago," which was, in retrospect, obviously my bad, and plus I got tired of having to retract my Chicagoness when people would ask if I actually lived in the city when the closest my address ever got was Skokie.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005


OK, listen up people, I do NOT write poetry, as a rule. But I wrote this a while ago, and I just found it, and I really like it so I wanted to share it.

Frosted Donettes
by Meg Gronau

I cannot think of a snack less lovely
Fake plastic frosting
Hardly passes for chocolate
Fake yellow cake
A half-step up from the kitchen sponge
My husband uses to wash the dishes
While I am at practice
Or book club
Or working late
Or shopping
He bought me a package of Frosted Donettes
Printed “August 08” – is that the 8th day of August
Or August 2008? I wonder
He says he was thinking of me
I cannot think of a snack more lovely

Monday, May 09, 2005


I forgot my "mothers milk" tea (which purportedly will increase your milk supply) at home so I'm drinking "cozy chamomile" hoping it will work as a placebo. The label says it's "so delicate and soothing." It's Monday morning, though, so I'm pretty sure if I get soothed any more, I'll drift off to sleep.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Chinese Jumprope

One day not long ago in the cosmic sense of things, but quite a long time ago in the life of someone who’s under 30, “on” was born.

The day of the week, the time of year, and the geographic location are all irrelevant, though it was probably in Winona, Minnesota, which I have long claimed is some kind of Nexus of the universe, or is it a Lexus of the universe? Well, Winona is certainly not a Lexus of anything, except maybe of smallish cities in the southeast corner of Minnesota. Yes, Winona may actually BE the Lexus of that.
Winona, Minn. is kind of like that “center of gravity” attraction at Knott’s Berry Farm where it’s a house you walk through, and because the walls and floors are tilted funny, they can do optical illusions where you sit on a chair balanced on a wall, or tall people look short and whatnot. Winona is, or was when I lived there, this small little jewel box of buzzing activity and mountains nestled in a prairie state, where it’s safe to walk yourself home from a bar at 2 AM and where phone numbers only have 5 digits. Special things, crazy things, magic things happened there. Including the birth of “on.”

If you’ve ever been in a social situation where suddenly you’re the funniest cat in the room, you’ve been “on.” You feel a little giddy, like you just took a DayQuil, and everything that comes out of your mouth is gold, Jerry, comedy gold. Unless you happen to drool on yourself, though when you’re “on” even a little drool can’t quell your imminent popularity.

The cosmic reverse of “on,” is called, believe it or not, “off.” “Off” can bring down a whole party, and the worst part is, it’s contagious! First one joke falls flat, then the awkward silences start piling up, and suddenly you’re driving home before dessert even started, wondering why you ever thought you were friends with these people in the first place and considering deleting their numbers from your cell phone.

Oh, right, this blog is supposed to be about the baby, right?
Babybabybaby. There.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Quote for the Day

I'm reading Lorna Landvik's Patty Jane's House of Curl and one of the characters says this, and it was really good for me to read today:

"Is it every man and woman's curse to want it all and only get ten percent of it? Or do we ask too much? Are we too selfish to see the beauty of our every days, to revel in our every hours, blinded as we are by what everybody else has?"

Count your blessings, peeps. Life is short.

On a completely different note, I have adjusted my time zone settings THREE TIMES and they are never right. I feel like I'm posting from Madagascar.

It's Not a Bruise, It's a Contusion!

Hi gang.
Guess who grew a tooth yesterday! And on her 8-month birthday too. It's the COOLEST!
"Where is it?"
In her mouth, people.
Just kidding. Bottom right. Her right. Which is your left, if you're facing her and sticking your finger in her mouth.

Monday, May 02, 2005

One Year Ago

This post was originally going to be titled "Eight Months Ago" since it's Lucy's 8-month birthday today. (Can you even believe it? The months are whizzing by my head, like softballs thrown by Upper Competitive League girls against whom I have no business playing. But I do.)

But I have nothing interesting to say about Lucy being 8 months old, and i found this little ditty I wrote a year ago when Joel and I were driving to Chicago for the weekend. Or something.

OK, so it's not quite been a year since I wrote this. But I just found it! And I kind of like it, though like everything else I write, it's unfinished. Here goes:

May 21, 2004
8:19 PM
Just east of Mauston, WI
25.5 weeks pregnant

I told myself I was going to start writing. I tell myself this several times a year, though this is the first writing I’ve done in about 12 months. As they say, starting is the hardest part.

Occasionally, I find myself feeling retrospective about pregnancy and parenting. Though I don’t see how I can be “retro” anything about something I am in the middle of experiencing, or, respectively, something I haven’t even started to experience.

Which is interesting. My sister called me on Mothers’ Day this year. My own mother refused to wish me a happy Mom’s Day, saying I didn’t quite qualify … whereas Jean maintained that I am the only one caring for this kid right now. Which is true, I guess. And really, how can you argue that parenting begins only at birth? From the moment you see those two pink lines on the HPT, you are changed forever. You are instantly protective of your middle region, shying away from balancing laundry baskets on your hipbones (if you are lucky enough to still have hipbones when you discover you are pregnant), instantly eschewing the “sucking in your stomach” reflex of every American woman over the age of 14. The first three months of pregnancy are a quick primer on some of the perils of parenting. Your body is the vessel in which another body is growing, and yet you have no control of how it will go. The risk of miscarriage is so great in the very beginning … and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a terrifying and beautiful juxtaposition. Some of my friends who have young children tell me how they have to start “letting go” of their little munchkins bit by bit. First, they learn to walk without holding your hand, and the next thing you know they’re paying their own car insurance. But the truth is that the letting go begins right away. All you can do is do your best.

Many of us are control freaks. We were probably the first generation of American women who were raised to believe that we could be whatever we wanted to be when we grew up. And unfortunately, we extrapolate that to mean that we can control every bit of our lives. But you know what? Things go wrong. Cars break down, gutters need replacing. Perfectly good husbands get crabby.