Like my husband, I’m a zealous remover of appliqués and tags. The seam ripper is my best friend. It gets a lot of work. More so since Lake joined the family. It seems clothes for new people are unduly heavy in the adornment category. I’m forever removing tags and patches and logos and cutsie things. For example, I found these Robeez leather shoes at a Wallingford consignment shop for a few bucks. They are nice as far as a flowered shoe goes, but they don’t suit Lake. He’s got a certain style. So the deconstructing ensues. Now they look simply like shoes. I guess that makes me a DIYer in reverse. 

Lake approves. 

My husband coined this verb lindsin which is what Lake and I do on Tuesdays in the late afternoon/early evening. To be lindsin is to be hanging out with Lindsay and likely laughing a great deal. To be lindsin around is to maybe walk Greenlake or Gasworks and then get revived at TNT or Tigerly Ox. Or today our lindsin had us strolling the zoo and then got us big (well, technically medium size) bowls of pho afterwards. 

Lindsay is my college roommate from freshman dorms. She was there with me through blue hair and ethnobotany. We listened to Sarah McLachlin and dressed up alike to go get dinner at the dorm dining hall. Now she’s Auntie Lindsay and we’re all coordinating with Baby Lake. 

We’ve been walking Tursdays together since before I was pregnant, and we walked weekly all winter through my pregnancy with Lake. The weather got darker and rainier and I got slower and slower. Then the weather got brighter and springier, and I still got slower and slower. Then a few weeks after Lake was born we resumed our Lindsin around. We didn’t go far at first. Lindsay is so great, happy to go whatever pace. Rain or shine, Tuesday we continue to get our lindsin on and we are the better for it. 

[Artwork courtesy of the app Prisma]

Lake will have accomplished his first 100 days “in office” on Tuesday. It usually takes me a lot to sign a special-interest petition as I tend to think we already have plenty to focus on. Now that I’m having the special, but not rare, experience of motherhood, the issue of paid time off for prenatal physician visits and maternity leave seems critical and prudent. 

I’m pro-life, pro-family and pro-society. I want to live in a country that supports mothers and their children. It starts with affordable national safe daycare, preschool and before that paid maternity leave. It is humanitarian relief right here at home affecting the mainstream. I advocate for 100 Days. My infant son is three months, 100 days old coming up on Tuesday. I’m just now emerging from a fog and believe I could safely go back to work if our family needed that. We are choosing to make other financial sacrifices so I can continue to take another unpaid three months off work to spend with my beautiful infant son. I feel truly blessed every day, but between student debt, rocketing real estate prices and recovering financially from the recession, we have been greatly challenged in realizing the American Dream. Keeping us on the economic sidelines is hurting our economy. To have two children and to take a total of one year unpaid off work is for example the missing down-payment for our home. And that’s just loss of income. We haven’t addressed the cost of child care yet. 

I believe economists agree that our country needs a healthy middle class. Supporting mothers is supporting families is supporting our country to be great. Considering urging our leaders to take action to transform the foundations of family life to build a stronger society. Thank you. 

change.org/babysfirst100

I’d like to take a moment to appreciate Nana being in town, and also the Mobile Milkies Unit (MMU), not to be confused with the SMU, the Stationary Milkies Unit which is great for breakfast and nightcaps. I didn’t realize, but it seems that it’s a unique and useful skill to be able to nourish my bébé on the go. Lake and I have mastered the MMU lifestyle. This allows us the freedom to be more mobile, and, we think, to simply have more fun!

Here we are at the zoo today! My goodness the tigers were a stand-out this afternoon. And that’s quite an honor considering we also had great visits with Yola, the 9 months old gorilla baby, and the two snow leopards. 

And it was such an extra special treat to spend the time with Nana just back from Norway. Lake says, “Next time take me too, Nana… I’m mobile!” Indeed he is. And a sweetheart at that. 

A perfect day. I’m glad I spent it with you!

Feeling down? Feeling congested? Oh no, you’re sick! You know the best thing to do is to rest and get some sleep, but you’re a new mum! That makes sleep hard enough on a normal night, but it’s especially hard to sleep now that you’re sick and congested. As soon as bébé turns out like a light, you finally have the chance to rest, and… boom! You lie down and the congestion settles in for the night as well. You can’t breathe. 

Dr. Doctor Mummy is here today as a “guest blogger” to help you out of your predicament. Zoom! The solution is socks! Cold wet socks to be sure! It draws the congestion out of the sinuses, increasing blood flow to the feet, and even giving your immune system a little boost. Try it for a good nights sleep. You’ll feel so much better in the morning. It’s safe and works for bébé too!

What you need:

1. A thin pair of cotton socks
2. A thick pair of wool socks
3. Cold tap water

What you get: 

1. A drug free, cheap, simple solution. Read: elegant. 
2. A safe and effective treatment. 
3. A good night’s sleep!

Directions:

1. Make sure your feet are warm, take a hot bath or shower if needed. 
2. Wet the thin cotton socks thoroughly under the tap, wringing them out well. 
3. Put them on. 
4. Put wool socks on over the wet cotton socks. 
5. Go directly to bed. 
6. The socks will be warm and dry in the morning. 

Sweet Dreams, and a speedy recovery to you!

Yesterday I had a lady date in Fremont with my PEPSers mummies, sans bébé. I walked through the neighborhood feeling very light and free. Meanwhile Michael got to spend some serious quality time with Lake. It was a win-win.

The ladies, we had a painting party at CANVAS. They provided the materials, the loud dance music (Vanilla Ice at one point), and the inspiration/instruction. I arrived with an artistic vision and a plan, my confidence bolstered by my love of painting in the self-identified style of Bad Art. I had a blast; I adore painting!

Bad Art as a genre of “fine art” was essentially created by Scott Wilson and Jerry Riley. In 1994 they founded the Museum of Bad Art (MOBA), thus creating a forum for unique artwork so remarkable it must be shared. The general criteria for Bad Art are:

1. It must be a piece of original art.
2. It must be created with sincere intent.
3. It must be a gift of the artist, be procured for free (rescued from a dumpster) or cost less than 20 bucks (originally $6.50, but has been adjusted for inflation).
4. It cannot be kitschy (e.g. painting on velvet), or boring. 
5. There must be something remarkable about it, remarkably bad/significantly wrong either in concept or execution (e.g. the perspective or proportion is off).

I was introduced to this genre in 1999 by my then boss, Rich Olson. Rich was a fierce and sensitive renaissance man, like myself a native of the Olympic Peninsula. He had a sharp wit and a dark sense of humor and had developed a true interest in Bad Art. His appreciation had led him to start his own West Coast private collection which had at least one public showing I am aware of. As he shared his exhibit with us, he was lamenting the paucity of portraits. He had not one portrait. People become attached to portraits since they are real people, and it is extremely difficult to find a portrait for free or on the cheap. My coworker and friend Katie and I took this as a challenge to create some bad art portraits to gift to him for the end of the season party. We had fun modelling for each other to paint, and created some stunning works. We continued this tradition over a period of several years so we had a chance to really develop our signature styles.

So, that brings us back to yesterday in the CANVAS painting studio. The group instruction was for painting a butterfly (magnificent results below ***NOT Bad Art***), but I had my own premeditated plan. 

I was determined to create a beautiful portrait of my husband’s beloved cat, Mr. Cat, as a gift for his birthday in a few weeks. I was armed with flowers I’d collected from along the Burke Gilman trail and a photograph of Mr. Cat to work from. In my mind I have a stunning composition; I just fall a bit short in the execution. Perfect for a treasured commemorative portrait of Bad Art. And you surely won’t find it by the side of a dumpster one day. 

[I am currently unable to make my finished piece available to you, my dear reader, as it is a planned birthday surprise for my husband Michael, yet to be unveiled and presented.]

It has been noted in some circles that I seem to have an inordinate amount of car troubles. A disproportionate amount compared to how much I drive, certainly. Mostly we walk, and drive rarely, maybe once every week or two. 

So it was with incredulous dismay when I opened an innocent looking envelope to find that if two more days had passed, our car would have been declared abandoned and sold at auction. Yes, we were served a notice of vehicle impound. Lake promptly peed on it. It’s been one of those days. 

So, we are going to make it a family date night and check out some yummy Ethiopian food up near Lincoln Towing on Aurora, where my car is being held ransom for $250. I love my husband. He’s like simply, “Oh did I park it badly? Let’s go get Ethiopian, then.” He’s an inspiration for me when it comes to letting stuff roll off and turning lemons into lemonade. 

Lately I’ve been trying to set up a few single friends. I’m perplexed by the refrain 

Is he cute?

Is he cute?! Cute is subjective. My husband is the absolute cutest! He makes me laugh when I have a downer day. Laughing so hard my cheeks hurt. That’s cute. We are getting Ethiopian after we claim our car. That’s cute. What you really want to be asking is 

Can he turn my lemons into lemonade?!

All the steps to making a man turns out to be more involved than one might imagine at first look. 

• Certificate of Birth
• Social Security number 
• Birth Certificate
• Passport 
• Health Insurance Enrollment 
• Vaccinations 
• Daycare Enrollment
• Voting Registration 

Each one is dependent on the prior step being completed. I’m amazed anyone gets all through the list. I mean, between myself and Michael we have seven degrees of higher education and we are barely successful in navigating the quagmire. It seems like it could be easier. Somehow we got off track and only just received Lake’s social security card in the mail. After months of pursuing it, and with the pressure starting to build from other elements further along on the list, it finally arrived… Yea!

Well folks, we have got a brand new citizen here! It’s official. And he is one fine homegrown specimen. A national treasure.