Anyway, just wanted to say thanks to anyone reading this for indulging me, supporting me, calling me out on my nonsense. It’s cool to have people to talk to.

Pretty much the opposite of what I was doing 15 years ago when my body was, outwardly, Holy Shit Amazing to most standards.

This is not to say that I’m “cured” of all of that nonsense. I still fret about the size of my belly and how weird it is that the meat on the side of my left knee is so much bigger than that of my right. Stuff like that.

But I’m noticing that I want to be more…visible? Like I mentioned in my MamaDojo post, Joan from Mad Men rocks my world. She’s got boobs. She’s got hips. She’s got an ass. And we know all of this, but more importantly, we know that she knows it. I’ve been trying to adopt some of that attitude while remaining true to the fact that I like being comfortable and somewhat conservative.

So, today, I was a little apprehensive about my outfit, especially when the husband sized me up and said, “What…what’s with this outfit?” I then peppered him with questions, paranoid that I was, to use a somewhat offensive and not at all feminist word*, skanky. Of course, this recalled another hilarious exchange between the two of us when I had some anxiety over a pair of shorts that were shorter than I usually buy.

“Are they skanky?” I fretted.

“I think you and I have very different definitions of skanky,” he replied. “You look like you’re about to go golfing.”

“But not, like, skanky golfing?” I confirmed, because you know how skanky golfing is totally a thing.

I just want to make sure that I’m not overdoing it and that I’m projecting a relatively youthful vibe without looking like I’m denial over the fact that I’m 32.

So, here’s me in the bathroom at work this morning while our network was down. (What else was I supposed to do? Write things down on paper? Pssh.) I’ll provide the inner monologue.

Conservative shot…terrified someone will walk in.

Try to emulate one of those ladies who document their outfits everyday…ow, I think I pulled something.

Getting really daring now. Attempting to look up without falling over. Oh, why does my posture look weird? Can you tell that I have a wad of paper towels in my left hand?

I need to stop messing around. Jaunty, flirty pose. Vogue.

Not pictured is a bracelet I was wearing this morning…until I remembered that I really don’t like wearing bracelets.

It’s shorter than I would normally go for and the addition of a belt was, to me, completely impulsive and weird. And I would have worn a necklace but I was so thrown off by the belt and the bracelet that I was worried my head would explode. But how do you think I’m doing?

* I’m usually really conscious of my language but sometimes I just have to go there.

So, back at the beginning of the month, Frank got married. I didn’t take any pictures of that, but I did take a grand total of two at the rehearsal dinner.

There’s the bride and groom, a large centerpiece, and the best man. I believe I took this during the father of the bride’s “toast,” which was more of an undulating monologue about his job and his recent birthday and I think snails or something. After meeting Andrea’s dad, the picture that she had shown me of him in which he had fallen asleep while repairing the kitchen sink suddenly made perfect sense.

The next weekend, my cousin Jeffrey got married. The ceremony was at Heinz Chapel on the University of Pittsburgh campus.

Yes, I’m wearing the same dress that I wore to Frank’s wedding. It’s my new October Wedding Uniform.

I had never been inside Heinz Chapel before. It is indeed gorgeous. But I found that my attention span during Catholic masses is approximately the same as it was when I was six. I kept staring at the stained-glass windows and going, “Mom, look. Look. Look at those stairs! Mooooommm!” And then Jeffrey and Kristy were married.

Newton’s like, “Tsk! Stupid apple done messed up my coiffure!”

Their reception was in the Carnegie Museum Music Hall, which is also insanely gorgeous.

Carnegie may have been kind of a jerk, but he had awesome taste.

The next day, we celebrated my mom and grandfather’s birthdays.

My kid is so sweet.

The weekend after that, our friends Jwan and Karen got married.

It was a really nice time. Our group of friends doesn’t have a chance to get together that much anymore and the wedding was really casual so we spent most of the evening talking, drinking, and dancing. Afterward, we went to Jwan and Karen’s house were things got progressively sloppy.

That’s Jwan’s brother on the right, who is a very nice guy, but also very blunt. Late in the evening, he sat down next to me and explained that he could tell I was, “kind of insane.”

Tiny dogs attacked the husband and not long after this, said husband had some, er, digestive issues and we had to leave abruptly, though our buddy Alison protested vehemently. The sister-in-law and her boyfriend had to chase our car down the street. It was all very goofy.

Then there was another weekend, and I know we had some kind of social obligation but I can’t remember what it was at all. We also went roller skating. And I think this was the weekend that we made our annual trip to Trax Farms. I forgot to bring my camera so I don’t have any adorable pictures of my kid frolicking in a pile of pumpkins. I’m pretty sure that means my mommyblogger membership is revoked. However, Michelle was there at the same time and she took pictures of her cute kid. So I’ll just piggyback on to her post and say, “Yeah, us too. Also: petting goats.” I also forgot cash so we couldn’t buy a cup of feed to give to the animals in the petting zoo. We kicked it old school and just petted (is that the proper conjugation?) the animals. I want an alpaca. Aside, goats’ eyes, or their pupils anyway, are rectangular.

This kept freaking me out because goats and their rectangular eyes would silently appear beside me and, in the absence of the feed cup, would start gnawing on my hoodie or my purse or my hair. Surreal.

Then came last weekend. Saturday was the Halloween parade in our neighborhood. The baby’s costume was inspired by the hopping vampires in this old, Chinese vampire movie called Mr. Vampire.

Obscure interests much?

When the husband and the baby were in New York this summer, they visited Chinatown and found various elements of the baby’s costume. We basically just had to take care of some makeup and the little prayer sheets.

It turned out pretty good, though nobody knew what he was and…well, I’ll come back to that in a sec.

The other big thing that happened this past weekend was that I turned 32 on Sunday. We celebrated at my mom’s house Saturday night.

I got some really nice stuff from Anthropologie (swoon!).

And there was cake and champagne and then my dad made the most absurd argument about how people can’t truly enjoy sports if they haven’t played them because they don’t appreciate how hard they are and for some reason this leads my dad to dismiss the entire Pittsburgh Penguins’ fan base (but no other sport) because he believes none of them/us have played hockey. Does your brain hurt after reading that? Yeah, imagine hearing it live. I pointed out that I’ve never practiced medicine but I appreciate it any time a doctor, like, gives me an emergency C-section to save the life of me and my child.

Sunday morning at 8:30 am (ugh) the baby had his last soccer game of the year. His team has had a rough season, winning only two games. It was a tough lesson for them, understanding that if you don’t try (which they often weren’t) you don’t get the results that you want. However, they were awesome during their last game, and even though they still lost, they looked pretty bad ass.

Their coaches gave them all trophies for their hard work. And though they were disappointed that they lost, I was secretly pretty glad that we were done for the year.

Sunday night was trick-or-treating. Now, we didn’t expect anyone to know what his costume was and I was really apprehensive about the assumptions that people would make. A lot of people responded simply, “Oh. Okay!” when he told them he was a Chinese, hopping vampire. But plenty of other people took a guess and said…sigh…”Chinaman.”

I know people get all irritated about political correctness, which is stupid because political correctness is just an admittedly poor term for a good thing: treating people with a equal amount of respect and not calling them things that they don’t wish to be called. There’s no legislation, there’s no censorship, it’s simply, “Hey, could you do me a solid and not be a douche and refer to my ethnicity/sexuality/religious/etc group as…?”

So, really, if you weren’t sure, “Chinaman” is not okay to say anymore. So stop.

Anyway, trick-or-treating went well. We had a perfect fall night and we’ve all been gorging on candy ever since.

And that was October. The end.

I don’t know why I liked it so much and why it’s remained so perfectly preserved in my memory. Perhaps I was drawn to the intricate short story that the producers of the calendar created with just a couple of dolls and a miniature kitchen. Maybe something about the set reminded me of my home, with its sunny stairs and dated carpeting. Maybe I liked fantasizing about my future kids working hard on a special breakfast for me on Mother’s Day.

I can’t remember if I ever attempted any such grand gestures as the Cabbage Patch Kids for my own mom. In fact, I can’t clearly remember anything that I did for my mom, so I can only hope that at least some of those days made her feel special and loved, especially since I know most of our usual days did not, an unfortunate circumstance that continues to trouble her to this day.

My life as a mom is less tumultuous, though still difficult for different reasons, mostly due to the degree of uncertainty that we feel about life and the shape of our future. Something that I’ve been working on recently is being okay with the fact that things don’t always turn out the way that I had hoped or had pictured it, and that doesn’t necessarily spell failure.

When Mother’s Day comes around, I often indulge in fantasies inspired by those Cabbage Patch Kids and, I don’t know, Hallmark commercials or wherever the lore of picture perfect Mother’s Day mornings comes from. I sleep in and wake up to breakfast that the baby and the husband have made for me. Some nice gifts and sweet words about how swell I am.

This never, ever happens. I mean, sure, I get gifts sometimes and cards sometimes and heartfelt wishes of Happy Mother’s Day, all of which I love and cherished, but they’re never encased in a perfect, soft-focus, ready-made memory. They’re always tucked in between rushed drives to various mothers-in-law and grandmothers-in-law’s houses to wish them Happy Mother’s Day and errands that must be performed on weekends, because our need for groceries and clean clothes doesn’t keep track of holidays and whatnot.

This Mother’s Day, I write to you from the couch. The baby came down with something last night and didn’t sleep much, which means I didn’t sleep much, either. He made sure to give me my cards before collapsing in my lap so that I could thump on his back to break up the junk in his lungs. He’s resting beside me, not himself, and I’m waiting to see if he’s sick enough to warrant a call to the doctor. The husband is still asleep.

Not picture perfect. Not by a long shot. But not a failure. Just how life is sometimes.

I will tell you more about Christmas and show you some pictures the next time I have some extra minutes online. For now I have to get back to cuddling on the couch with baby, the husband, and his ManCold and waiting for what seems like an acceptable amount of time before eating some of the brownie bread pudding that I made (oh my god SO GOOD). Stay warm!

Anyway, even though it is, as Amy correctly noted, incredibly pretentious to utter the phrase, “my holiday baking,” I’m going to tell you a little bit about My Holiday Baking. And I don’t really have any pictures because my various internet and computer situations are just stupid.

My friend Mary and I have several times made plans to do a joint baking blowout at her house since she now has that counter space stuff that I hear so much about, but we haven’t made it happen yet. So, this past weekend, I went to town.

Final stats:

- Two batches of Cinnamon Rolls – delicious as always. I made two batches because the husband always whines when I give most of them away. However, I fail to see how three people eating 50 cinnamon rolls is at all a good idea.
- One batch of Bittersweet Cranberry Brownies – I think i took these out of the oven too soon. Not sure how I feel about them. Will probably eat all of them anyway.
- One batch (two dozen-ish) of Eggnog Cookies – I don’t know where I got this recipe, but these are yummy cookies
- One batch of Mexican Chocolate Cookies
- One batch of Snickerdoodles
- One batch of Chocolate Crackle Cookies
- One batch of Eggnog Cheesecake Bars
- One batch of Pomegranate Chocolate Chunk Cookies

I also made the dough for Chai Shortbread Cookies, but haven’t baked them yet. Don’t know if that will happen.

My dining room table is covered with baked goods. I can’t say that I mind.

In less glamorous baking news, the baby’s school is having a Navidad Fiesta today and asked the parents to donate some food stuffs. They sent home a list of foods and recipes to use. I signed up to make banana bread and taco dip, figuring that many potluck type events are dessert-heavy and could use some balance.

I could have used my own recipes, but I can be a very by-the-book person so I used the ones the school sent home. The banana bread recipe was pretty basic. So was the taco dip, but it was one of those recipes that contains instructions like, “open…dump…spread,” which sounds kind of disturbing when you put it that way. This particular taco dip consisted of two packages of cream cheese spread in the bottom of a baking dish, topped with two cans of beanless Hormel chili and two packages of shredded cheddar cheese, then baked for 15 minutes.

As much as I’m a wannabe foodie, I also have a gigantic soft spot for the less sophisticated foods and I’m a big fan of canned goods. However, even this was a bit much. I mean, I really like canned cranberry sauce and while those ridges look downright charming on a tube of jellied cranberries, they look really disturbing on extracted chili.

Also also wik: I watched Julie & Julia last night. Loved the Julia part. Not so much the Julie part.