Tearing Up Houses

Shammity Sham Shams

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sat, 26 May 2012 01:44:00 +0000

You probably never noticed the corduroy floor pillows I threw under the crib in Aston's nursery. I never pointed them out because I kind of die from their ugliness. I used to love their broken in comfortableness, but now, no. They're spent. They've been bugging me.

So. I bought these.

I paid $3.95 for both of them instead of $39.00 a piece. Found them at a thrift store across town a couple of months ago, original tags still on. Could hardly believe my luck. Machine washable, too, just in case a certain somebody diarrheas across the room. Anyway. Not bad, right?

In your face, Pottery Barn.

The Birth Of Aston, Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Thu, 24 May 2012 22:14:00 +0000

At exactly 8.45 this morning Aston Robert Wood turned four weeks old. It's hard to believe.

No one told me how much I would love being a mother.

The photos below were from the first few hours of our journey together, some of the happiest moments I've ever experienced. It was an amazing and humbling and life altering day. Unfortunately, in the end, it was nightmarish. Around the time that the last of these photos were taken I began to realize that something had gone terribly wrong.

If only we knew then how right I was.

Humungous thanks to La Dolce Vita Studio for their extraordinary work capturing these images.

I hope to be able to finish writing down the story of Aston's birth some time soon, and I'll be posting it here. Please understand that I am in no condition to have visitors which is why I am trying to share pictures and details when I can. Thank you (sincerely) for all of the kind notes, words of support, and offers to help. I apologize if I haven't gotten back to you, but thanks to marathon milkings I am slowly working my way through my inbox and should be caught up around the time that Aston is headed to college. Maybe longer. Kid loves his tata juice.

Four Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Thu, 24 May 2012 17:29:00 +0000

likes: milk. peeing in the shower. milk. espn sports center. more milk.

dislikes: hiccups. socks. swaddling.

hobbies: stroller riding. car riding. bjorn riding.

talents: laughing. toe touching. rolling to one side. sleeping.

exceptional talents: projectile pooping.

Crunchy Crab Rangoon

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Tue, 22 May 2012 03:17:00 +0000

Made these. They're good. Eat them with this.

Crunchy Crab Rangoon

3/4 cup crab
2 tablespoon Hellmann's Light Mayonnaise
8 ounces low fat cream cheese
1/2 tablespoon lemon juice
2 green onions, chopped
24 wonton wraps

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Apply cooking spray to muffin pans and press the wonton wrappers into cups. Spray tops with cooking spray. Bake for three minutes. Mix the rest of the ingredients together. Remove the wontons from the oven and fill each with the crab mixture. Place back into the oven for another five minutes. Top each with a few extra chopped green onions and serve immediately.

p.s. With me still primarily parked in bed, Andrew introduced me to American Ninja Warrior this week. Have you seen it? I am OBSESSED.

Andrew Model Two Point Oh

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sun, 20 May 2012 12:14:00 +0000

Andrew. January. 1980.

Aston. May. 2012.

I have nothing else to say.

p.s. Remember this? Freaky close, right? What do you think?

Poop Face

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Fri, 18 May 2012 15:37:00 +0000

We were told babies have bowel movements six to eight times a day. THAT IS A LIE.

From the time Aston wakes up he poops, pees, eats from the left tata, poops, eats from the (lazy) right tata, pees, pees again before you can finish changing him, then farts after the diaper is securely closed just to get you to check one. more. time. And as soon as you do?

Hiroshima.

Then it's eighteen more hours of rinse and repeat. I am not kidding.

(The upside of all of this is that he sleeps for six hours a night.)

All of that to say that if we hadn't sprung for the BumGenius we'd probably be twenty grand or so into disposables by now. A few of you asked if the cloth diapering is working out and I can solidly say that it sooo is. Would totally recommend.

We also started making our own detergent at home, which is way less ambitious than it sounds. I love it because it works just as well as the liquid stuff I've been buying at ten bucks a pop, and I think lasts for, like, three decades or something.

So let's hope the Mayans got their dates mixed up.

(I won't bore you with a recipe since you can easily find a bazillion on Pinterest.)

Fresh Blueberry Cake

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Thu, 17 May 2012 19:27:00 +0000

After nine months of barfing and two weeks of starvation coupled with a tube down my throat, I've finally started the insanely satisfying process of eating and digesting food (sort of) normally.

While cake might not seem like the most logical place to start, it's two steps up from my first choice, a Dirty Martini with Baked Cheetos.

Don't look at me like that.

Fresh Blueberry Cake

1/2 cup Smart Balance 50/50 Butter Blend, softened
2 teaspoon lemon zest
1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 cup Truvia
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup all purpose flour
2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon sea salt
2 cups fresh blueberries
1/2 cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cream butter with lemon zest, sugar, and Truvia until light and fluffy.

Add the egg and vanilla and beat until combined. Meanwhile, toss the blueberries with 1/4 cup of either flour, then whisk together the remaining flour, baking powder and salt.

Add the flour mixture to the batter a little at a time, alternating with the buttermilk. Fold in the blueberries.

Grease a 9x13 inch baking pan with non-stick spray. Spread batter into pan. Sprinkle batter with remaining tablespoon of sugar. Bake for forty minutes. Let cool at least fifteen minutes before serving.

(Inspired by this recipe.)

p.s. See that rogue sock?

That's Aston hitting up the milk bar as we headed out to walk to Starbucks this morning. All by ourselves. Three days ago it took me twenty minutes just to walk slash crawl to the end of our driveway, and the pain was so intense that I cried the entire time. So yeah. This was a ginormous humungous deal.

The Good Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Wed, 16 May 2012 10:00:00 +0000

I wouldn't be exaggerating if I told you that Aston's birth completely traumatized me. I'm not at the point where I can talk or write about it without becoming pretty upset, which is why I haven't shared much about what happened. I will soon, though, because it's important to me to remember, I just need a little more time to process it so that my recollection consists of more than a string of four letter curse words.

I hope you understand.

In other news, we're finally home from the hospital and we're settling into our new roles as parental types. After hearing every postpartum horror story during my (very difficult pukefest) pregnancy, by the time I gave birth I was wholly expecting colic and cracked nipples and no sleep or showers or public outings and hair and clothing perpetually covered in spit. I also thought that I'd feel somewhat conflicted about being entirely responsible for the needs and well being of an essentially helpless person. One who I'd never even met.

Well. I'm happy to report that I was wrong. I was so so so so wrong.

Aston sleeps like a champ and keeps most of his bodily fluids inside of his dipes. He breastfeeds easily, even after my body began to fail and I went nearly a week without any food or water. (Miraculously I continued to produce milk, and even more miraculously Andrew held him up to me or pumped while I was unconscious in the hospital.) I am completely enthralled with his baby smell and his chicken legs and the way that he stares at me with his big blue eyes in the middle of the night when he's eating. I am ridiculously in love with him. Like to the point that if he projectile poops I holler to Andrew to get the video camera because Aston is being so. hilariously. adorable. I HAVE BECOME THAT MOTHER.

Anyway.

Here are some pictures of our past couple of weeks at the hospital. La Dolce Vita Studios came down from Tennessee to photograph his actual birth, these are just a few shots that Andrew and I managed to capture when I wasn't in surgery or throwing up or spending forty five minutes trying to make it from my bed to the bathroom. Which was ten feet away.

They're not stellar quality, but I don't care. These images are precious to me.

p.s. Oh, and this happened, too. That's an ice cream cake that Andrew brought to me in bed. Yes, I am a lucky girl.

::New:: In The Shop

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sun, 13 May 2012 10:17:00 +0000

Vintage Yellow Coated Wire Egg Basket

Primitive Wood Tray

Vintage Farmhouse Bowl

Vintage Cast Iron Wall Hook

Vintage Just For Two Cook Book

"And in the end, I realized that I took more than I gave, I was trusted more than I trusted, and I was loved more than I loved. And what I was looking for was not to be found but to be made."

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Mon, 07 May 2012 12:19:00 +0000

Day Nine

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sat, 05 May 2012 04:26:00 +0000

The very first thing I did when they removed the tube from my nose and throat.

I Should Also Tell You About How He Grunts When He Poops Which Is Adorable

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Tue, 01 May 2012 22:31:00 +0000

Today marks my sixth day in the hospital.

If only I could tell you how much I miss simple things like my own pillow and hot baths and fresh peanut butter bars and pooping without relying on a tube threaded through my nose.If only I could tell you how life changing this week has really been.

Instead I'll tell you about how Andrew dressed Aston in a bright yellow onesie paired with black skull faced socks today. (Because, really, who wears that?) I'll tell you about how amazing Aston smells. How the nauseating cliche about falling instantaneously in love with your baby is one hundred percent true for me. About how Aston squirted breast milk directly into his ears while laying on my chest five minutes ago. About how perfect he is. I'll tell you all day long about how unbelievably perfect that burrito is.

I won't tell you about the number of desperate looks I've seen on Andrew's face over the last few days. I won't tell you about how he cried. How he promised me a vacation, dinner out at my favorite steakhouse, a new diamond necklace, fifteen new diamond necklaces, if I could just hold on, just hang in there, just stay with me stay with me stay. with. me. as I covered yet another room in a fresh coat of pea green bile.

I won't tell you about those things because I want you to know that we're fine. I'd rather tell you about Aston's baby butt and how it's to die for. I have another surgery tomorrow and a few more days at the hospital and then I'll be back. And better. And remembering that the complications we've had could have been so much worse.

We will get through this. Just a little while longer.

Our Last Four Miles

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 21:21:00 +0000

Just thought I'd let you know that I'm at the hospital hatching that baby. I can't thank you enough for all of the kind words and support sent our way in recent weeks. It's been such a source of encouragement.

I hope you're having a good weekend.

See you on the other side.

Swimming Pool

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 02:17:00 +0000

I want one.

There. I admit it. For years I said I wouldn't buy a house with a pool, because they're too much to maintain and, besides, I have the entire Atlantic Ocean to swim in. But I've changed my mind. It's probably all of the amniotic fluid talking, but I want one. In our backyard.

See how it would look?

Except less like fingerpaint and more like Ellen Pompeo's pool.

Also, it needs to be salt water. And have one of these.

p.s. I like these pools too.

p.s.s. These are the rose bushes along the east wall. I'd like them thicker, but I'll settle for not murdering them. Advice?

Twenty Five Things I Hope To Teach Aston

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 23:22:00 +0000

1. Always replace the toilet paper when the roll is empty. It's called being prepared.

2. At some point an ahole will offer you a cigarette. Look him straight in the eye and say, "No thanks, I'd rather not die." Then laugh.

3. Don't use the word ahole, because it makes you sound like one.

4. Open doors for girls. And while you're at it, hold them open for boys, too.

5. But don't be a doormat.

6. Take care of your body. For the most part it's irreplaceable.

7. Rely on your charm and intelligence as survival skills.

8. Never judge a person by where they live or what they drive. Unless it's a Smart Car. Then you can judge a little.

9. Be generous without any expectations of anything in return. Donate often. And (when possible) anonymously.

10. Listen to your father. Except if he's giving you wardrobe advice.

11. Don't tell lies, large or small. They're unnecessary.

12. Say please and thank you.

13. Always spell correctly. Even when texting.

14. On the subject of texting, don't ever send naked pictures of yourself through a phone or computer. Ever heard of Anthony Weiner? Google it.

15. But don't use Google to learn about life. Read books. Talk to your grandparents. Listen to cassette tapes. (Yes, cassette tapes. Seriously. Google it.)

16. At times you will fail. Often even. It's okay. But don't expect that anyone will be as upset about it as you. Learn and move on.

17. See as much of the world as you can.

18. Try to understand what other people need.

19. But that doesn't mean you have to give it to them. Don't commit to a girl unless you're really, really, really, really, really, really, really sure (especially if either of you are under thirty).

20. The same goes for tattoos.

21. Always cheer for the Chicago Cubs. And visit Wrigley Field often. Take your dad.

22. Dance in the rain. Play in the mud. Roll in the grass. Forget that you're wearing your good shoes.

23. Familiarize yourself with tax laws. Have a relationship with an accountant you can trust.

24. It is not okay to run in the street after ice cream trucks. Unless you're chasing your father or getting me a Fudgesicle. Then it's fine.

25. We love you. If you learn nothing else, know that we love you.

Like Buttah

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 22:48:00 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, after discovering fifty two thousand nine hundred and seventy three recipes for peanut butter bars on Pinterest, I did a little experimenting. Two mixing bowls, sixty minutes, and one single sumptuous bite later, it was like the skies parted and time stood still and down plopped the Holy Grail of all things dessert like.

Andrew and I will never be the same.

Peanut Butter Bars

1 cup Smart Balance 50/50 Butter Blend
1 cup fresh organic peanut butter, excess oil drained
2 cups Low Fat Honey Maid Cinnamon Grahams, crumbled
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1 1/2 cups Green + Black's Organic Chocolate

Melt butter and peanut butter. Add graham cracker crumbs and powdered sugar. Mix until well blended. Press into ungreased 9" x 13" pan. Melt chocolate. Add some extra peanut butter if you like. Spread on top of graham crackers. Refrigerate for fifty minutes.

(I hope you're all having a wonderful holiday weekend!)

Unless

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 02:43:00 +0000

I'd love to announce that we finally have a nosediver, but no, we found out yesterday that he's still firmly parked in a frank breech position. Brain in ribs. We also learned that, aside from being remarkably persistent, he has a full head of hair and manly pieces too obscene for sharing his ultrasounds. So basically?

He's his father.

::New:: In The Shop

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 13:55:00 +0000

Pair Of Round Wood Candle Holders

Primitive Crock Made In England

Southwest Stone Donkey Mule

Boy Scouts Of America New York City Backpack

Large Woven Rectangular Basket

Round Stone Bead Necklace

Double Vision

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 14:10:00 +0000

It's beautiful outside today, but I've got zilch in the way of energy so I'm parked indoors working on ideas for The Lake House and relying way too heavily on interweb toddler shopping as a form of pregnancy distraction. Did you know that you can find teeny tiny versions of virtually anything online? Seriously, anything you can think of!

It. is. ADDICTIVE.

So far Aston and I are getting matching Toms and Ray Bans and easels for the studio. And if I keep this up long enough there may be a Satchel size horse in the mix.

Behind Closed Doors

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sat, 31 Mar 2012 23:35:00 +0000

Andrew suggested we spend the afternoon lounging at home with the windows open so we could listen to the rainstorm. I was thankful he did. We napped and ignored our phones and took random photos and ate chocolate covered almonds.

We talked about the baby. Will he have Andrew's feet? My eyes? Satchel's obsession with peanut butter? Will he be healthy?

We talked about the pregnancy and our doctor and how we were rushed out of our appointment on Thursday. How frustrated I was. How nervous I was. What will happen if Aston is still breech. What will happen if he isn't.

We talked about how we should call Andrew's parents. Give them an update. Tell them not to worry. That everything is fine. That their grandson is fine. That we got his sister's wedding invitation. That we've meant to call more lately. That we're sorry.

We talked about our tenants. One who we should sue. One who we should call. Two who we're surprised we haven't heard from. We talked about the one who is getting hit by her boyfriend and the five who we hope will renew their leases. We talked about the kids of the one we might have to evict.

We talked about how much I hate talking about that.

We talked about the sprinkler system not turning on and the nice neighbor who came over to help us with it.

We talked about the neighbors. How they're no longer moving, but they're sending their son to boarding school in the Northeast. Which Andrew and I should consider talking about. Apparently.

We talked about talking about boarding schools.

We talked about how mental we'd have to be to be talking about talking about boarding schools because who will mow our lawn then?

Then we talked some more about the boy who will mow our lawn.

Will he have Andrew's feet? My eyes? Will he be healthy?

Remedial

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 01:36:00 +0000

I made this the other night. It's exceptionally basic.

But so so so so so good.

It took about ten minutes to throw together. Incredibly simple. Nothing special.

But sooooooooo good.

Rotini + Sausage

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 package Jimmy Dean’s Reduced Fat Pork Sausage
sea salt and black pepper
5 ounces frozen peas, defrosted
1 package Barilla Plus Multigrain Rotini
1/2 cup grated reduced fat Monterrey Jack

Boil salted water in a large pot. Cook pasta according to package directions.

Add two tablespoons of olive oil to a large pan over high heat. Add sausage and sauté, breaking until brown and crumbly. Remove meat from pan and set aside. Add two more tablespoons of olive oil to the pan. Add the peas and sauté for three minutes. Return the meat to the pan and cook for another three minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.

Drain pasta. Return pasta to the pot and add the meat mixture. Combine thoroughly and add cheese. Gently cook over medium heat for six minutes. Drizzle in remaining olive oil. Turn off the heat and salt and pepper to taste. Stir well and serve.

Put Me In, Coach

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 21:08:00 +0000

This is pretty much what I've lived in the entire pregnancy. Old sports bras. Running pants. A decent pair of New Balance.

Over the last several months I've logged hundreds of miles and spent countless hours in the gym. Running. Lifting. Visualizing. Stretching. Pushing. I've considered myself in training. For the baby's delivery.

It hasn't been easy considering how sick I've been. I'm still incredibly nauseous on a daily basis, and I've been having contractions for over a month. I'm anemic. I blacked out several times in the second trimester. I'm in constant severe pain.

(I know I sound like an asshole for complaining, and in a way I am, considering that we've escaped a lot of complications. But I don't want to pretend like this pregnancy has been a cakewalk.)

I stay this active because it makes me feel relatively better and reminds me of myself, of my own strength. And I think it will be important to be physically strong for before and after the birth.

Andrew and I refer to what's coming as The Baby Olympics or The Big Show. Even though I've intentionally avoided birthing classes and prenatal yoga and reading the labor parts of my baby books (which probably explains why I didn't fully understand the risks of carrying a breech or why we had to rush to the hospital the other night which, by the way, totally interrupted our March Madness plans), I've been actively mentally and physically preparing myself for the day. Sort of in the same way I did when I ran track in college.

(Before you say anything, yes, I realize that pushing a refrigerator out of my jayjay is drastically different than racing a 5k, for example, I'm fairly certain you don't wear Lycra and spikes in the delivery room. But I'd probably know for sure if I was actually down with the baby lit.)

The longer that Aston remains parked with his brain in my ribs, the more I wonder how likely it is that I'll even get the chance to try a vaginal delivery. Which is very discouraging. It's not that I'm some granola muncher who needs to experience natural childbirth, it's more that I've been preparing myself and working towards something that might not have the finish line that I was looking forward to. The thought of a caesarean recovery intimidates me, but it pales in comparison to the risks that Aston would face if I had a spontaneous breech birth.

So. I'm crossing all of my fingers and toes and choosing to have an open mind. No matter how the end of this pregnancy happens, I have to believe that it's really only the beginning.

House Tour: The Lake House

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 02:20:00 +0000

You can find in depth Before + Afters of The Lake House here:
The Nursery

See original photos and a listing sheet of The Lake House here.

In my twenties I moved houses often, around every six months or so, usually according to whatever places I was working on. A couple of years ago I turned thirty, and after a healthy dose of self reflection and a serious case of burnout, I decided to take a step back and slow down. So I took a leave of absence from my gig as an Executive Director (which I never returned from) and married Andrew.

Then we moved four more times.

No surprise there.

This is where we're at today.

It's a three story brick built in 1928 that overlooks Lake San Marco off of the coastal Saint John's River. It's tucked into the historic neighborhood of San Marco, and it's only a few blocks away from our last home. It has five bedrooms, four bathrooms, and wallpaper from the 1980s. The rooms are large and open with original millwork, hardwood floors, and a decent amount of natural light. Which means that there are plenty of inspiring spaces to experiment with, and so far I've been having a pretty good time making the place our own.

It's fair to say that this just might be my dream house. (We'll see, right?)

Anyway, you can take a look at some of what we've worked on below.

The Nursery

Check back now and again as we'll continue to update this page with our progress.

My Chinese Indonesian Father Used To Make This Mean Fried Rice

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 17:05:00 +0000

Days before I found out that I was pregnant I had a dream that I was at a cocktail party at a mansion in Palm Beach. It was so vivid. I can recall exactly what the marble floors looked like, the classic millwork on the fireplaces, the faces of the overworked staff peddling picked over hors d'oeuvres.

I also remember that there were rats.

Thousands of them, all white and milling around the feet of the guests. As if that wasn't strange enough, as gross as it seems, they somehow did not frighten me. (Remind me about that the next time that I hide six rooms away from a spider.)

Not long after I had that dream, I learned that certain Eastern cultures believe that white rats symbolize prosperity and protection. And get this. Many also think that they predict the birth of a son. Particularly the Chinese.

Or at least the Chinese teller who works at my bank.

Who also insisted that this is the luckiest year to give birth (The Year Of The Dragon).

She told me this after letting me know (quite loudly in front of a long line of other customers) that all of the girls at the bank were relieved to hear that I was pregnant because, "We think maybe she just getting fat? But, no, you have bay bay. So it good for you. And lucky!"

Chinese Fried Rice

1/2 pound shrimp
2 cups brown rice
15 strips low sodium reduced fat bacon, cut into 1 inch pieces
5 tablespoons canola oil
1 large sweet onion, chopped
4 scallions, thinly sliced
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1/2 cup frozen peas
3 eggs + 2 egg whites, lightly beaten
2 teaspoons sesame oil
salt + pepper

Prepare rice.

Throw the shrimp in a pan over medium heat with teensy bit of butter. Turn after a minute. Remove when they begin to turn pink. Drain and set aside.

At the same time, cook the bacon over medium heat in a separate pan, turning occasionally until crisp. Drain on a paper towel lined plate.

Return the skillet used for the bacon to the stove and turn the heat to medium high. Add two tablespoons of the oil and three quarters of the scallions and cook for a couple of minutes. Add the garlic, one tablespoon of the oil and the cooked rice and stir to coat. Add the peas and stir again. Make a big well in the middle of the rice and add the last two tablesoons of the oil and the eggs. Let them sit for a minute, then scramble with a fork and cook for two minutes more. Stir the eggs into the rice, breaking them into little pieces. Turn off the heat. Add the bacon, the rest of the scallions, the shrimp, and the sesame oil. Stir. Season with salt and pepper.

p.s. Off subject, I swear we're almost done with Aston's closet. Here is a peek at his tiny wardrobe.

I realized that I may have gone a tad overboard when I found myself purchasing a Baby Gap peacoat the other day after remembering, um, WE LIVE IN FLORIDA. But for some reason I'm learning that miniature clothes are insanely gratifying to purchase. (Seriously, try to stop yourself from picking up a pair of Chucks in a size two. It's impossible.) Who knew.

Chasing The Headstand

noreply@blogger.com (KellyMellyBoBellyBananaFanna) — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 14:09:00 +0000

Hello.

So (thanks to your suggestions) we spent this weekend trying everything imaginable to coax this kid into position, including...

1. flashing a light near my hooha
2. the Webster technique
3. putting ice on my ribs
4. changing positions
5. begging
6. pleading
7. warm baths
8. begging
9. pleading
10. tunage near my nether regions

If anyone is curious what playlist will not work on a breech baby, here is a sampling...

1. Just Like Heaven, The Cure
2. Skinny Love, Bon Iver
3. Like A G6, Far East Movement
4. True Colors, Eva Cassidy
5. Brown Eyed Girl, Van Morrison
6. Scarlet Begonias, Grateful Dead
7. Isn't She Lovely, Stevie Wonder
8. Feels Like Home, Chantal Kreviuk
9. Don't You Remember, Adele
10. In My Life, The Beatles

I could tell he liked the music, but apparently Adele and Stevie Wonder do not inspire my little man to stand on his head. (Which, really, why would this shock me?) I should try Madonna's early stuff perhaps. Fairly proven, I'd guess.

p.s. I have not been able to get this sofa out of my head for The Office. But where to find a quality one in navy that doesn't cost a billion dollars??? Will keep you posted.