Author Archives: Liz K.

JFK, I Presume.

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Posey’s name isn’t really Posey. It’s Josephine.

Josephine Frankie, actually.

When we found out we were having a baby, the thought never really crossed our minds that we could be having a boy. It was always a girl. And her name was always Josephine– after the many Josephs in both of our families. Frankie was the name I wanted for my little brother when my mother was pregnant. Instead, they named him Joe. After their cat.

If it HAD been a boy, Beef liked Franklin Delano or Theodore Roosevelt, so the JFK monogram felt like a good compromise. Plus, she’ll feel right at home at the airport and stuff one day.

When I was a few months pregnant, my friend Meg lent me her baby-naming book. And I read this on page 88:

We’d planned on calling her Josie, but I liked the ring of “Posy” better. I didn’t know anyone with that name, but it had a flower connotation– which made it not quite whackadoodle, in my mind. It’s not like it was  fake word.

We started calling my bump Posy. At least, I did. Beef wanted to wait until we had our 20-week ultrasound. But then, something amazing happened.

My mom retired.

Her colleaugues threw her a party in the very same room where she had thrown her now-gone parents an anniversary party many years ago. I could tell she missed her mom and dad a lot that night. After she opened the gift-wrapped box her co-workers presented her with (after the nicest, kindest, words anyone could ever want to hear about their mom), she leaned over to me and whispered, kinda embarassed, “What is this? Is it a glass? Or a vase?”

The short answer is– it was one of these. (CLICK FOR CRAZY GOOSEBUMPS!)

But I think there was a REAL answer. Another time, I will write all about the phenomenally gifted medium, Rebecca Rosen, and how much you can learn from her. But for now, I will say that the vase was no coincidence. To me, it was a clear and loving sign from my family members looking out for us on the other side that this baby was their gift to all of us– our gift-wrapped Posy. That I decided was missing a letter, so I added an “e.”

I recently read that more than half of parents regret their child’s name. I guess I’m not 100% still sold on the Frankie part, but there’s nothing I wish we’d named her instead. It fits. And she has a lot of nickname options when she gets older. But I think Beef and I will always, always call her “Pie.” Just because she’s sweet and crusty.

For advice on how to avoid the 7 Biggest Baby-Naming Mistakes, read here.

Gimme Some Truth

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This blog has been a great landing pad for me lately. I’ve been able to express myself, experiment, entertain (hopefully) and leave a little something behind for Posey once she gets older. I would be lying, though, if I didn’t admit that there’s a lot of thought that goes into it. I’ve done my homework. I know stuff. I know that bullet points rule, that copy is most scannable in chunks, that people want quizzes, that people search for certain stuff and not for other stuff. That the Top 10 and the 5 Best Tips are what people google. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that that mattered. Because what’s the point of doing this if no one comes to read it? So thank you for letting me try stuff here. I appreciate that it’s ok that I tried to make this the kind of thing that feels like something someone would want to visit. But it can’t be that all of the time, can it?

I’m learning more and more that the mommy blogging club is a hard club to join. There are a lot of us. And that’s great– because I’ve learned in these few months that it means the world to have a place to go to reach the outside world. But it can also mean that there’s other stuff that goes into it that I might not be up for. But I might– who knows?

All I know is– tonight, I don’t have anything witty to say. This was a hard week. I was tired. The baby cried a lot. I was lonely some of the time. I had fun some of the time. She learned to laugh. I learned to let her sleep in her own room. I didn’t sleep much at all. I am almost all of the way healed from my illness, but I’m not 100%.

It’s been six moths since she came into my life– and I am not a different person. I used to hear Oprah say that money didn’t change people; it just made them more of who they were. I think I must trade in baby currency– because that’s exactly what’s happening. I am more of who I am thanks to her.

Coming soon– the story of her name and the night she was born. Not because anyone’s searching for it. Because I need to write it all down for her.

 

You’re Moroccan Me Hungry

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When I make dinner in the crock pot, a certain part of my soul feels justified in being a stay at home mom. I made this last week, and it was heralded throughout the land as being “one of the better things I’ve made in a while.” High protein + high fiber, kind of a different weeknight dinner idea. Nothing actually indicates that this recipe is Moroccan, I just decided that I think it is.

From Real Simple.

Moroccan Beef Stew

Ingredients:

1 1/2 pounds beef chuck, cut into chunks (I bet chicken would work, too)

2 sweet potatoes (about 1 pound), cut into 1/2-inch-thick half-moons

1 28-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes

1 large red onion, cut into wedges

1/2 cup dried apricots (Exotic!!!)

2 teaspoons ground cumin

2 teaspoons ground ginger (I finally invested in a jar of minced ginger from Whole Food to keep in the fridge. Sound investment).

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon cayenne

Kosher salt

1 15-ounce can chickpeas, rinsed

Several fistfuls of baby spinach

Directions:

1. On the stovetop, brown the beef chunks. This is important. I didn’t do it, felt guilty, got out tongs, removed all the meat, browned it, and replaced it in the pot.

2. In a 4- to 6-quart slow cooker, combine the beef, sweet potatoes, tomatoes (and their juices), onion, apricots, cumin, ginger, cinnamon, cayenne, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 cup water.

3. Cook, covered, until the meat is tender, on high for 4 to 5 hours, or on low for 7 to 8 hours.

4. Add the chickpeas to the slow cooker and cook until heated through, 2 to 3 minutes. Stir in the spinach until wilted.

5. If you feel like it, serve with couscous and roasted almonds sprinkled on top.

Kristin Cavallari, You Are My Hero.

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I NEVER thought I would say those words. But it’s sorta true.

I remember back about a Willow ago, I saw a photo of Jada Pinkett-Smith in a really tight, white dress while she was pregnant. I don’t know why, but it made such a big impression on young me. I think it was the first woman I ever saw show off the fact that she was huge. I’ve searched for the photo everywhere– curses, pre-internet world.

And today, I saw this photo. This outfit would be enough on a regular person. But on a preggo? It’s just… I dunno. Huh. Leather-ish maternity hot pants. I sorta wish I would have gone for something like this. It’s the Black Swan to Vintage-Jada’s White Swan.

Like it? Get the look for less here.

Which Mad Men Mom Are You? Take the Quiz!

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Lots of drama for your mama on the new season so far.  Which mod mommy are you?

  • Joan:

Having your own baby means now being able to put a spotlight on every single thing your own mom has ever done wrong in 30+ years, and you’re not afraid to let Grandma know it. You’ve been saving up your best, most cutting insults for decades– just for this special time in your life. Your mom a drinker? A little loose with the morals? Get out your step-ladder, because you’re gonna need a boost up to that high horse. PS- Please understand that you are 100% absolutely certain to turn into your mother in plus or minus 10 years.

  • Betty:

Face it. You’re sad, feeling lonely, have unresolved anger issues aimed at no one in particular (maybe a little at Whitney Cummings), and you’re eating your feelings. What mom hasn’t been in this place at least for a while? And how does your husband ALWAYS magically call your cell phone every time you’re going through the Taco Bell drive-thru? Dorito. Shell. Stop muting his calls, and start telling someone how you feel. And go for a pedicure. Sandals will always fit, even when your jeans don’t. For now.

  • Trudy:

Do you ever find yourself in the check-out aisle of Target in a mumu with no recollection of how you got there or why you are buying 4 jars of soy sauce? Everyone knows you’re nuts about your baby, you’re just struggling to find your groove as easily as some of your friends have. Plus, it’s lonely in the suburbs, and you kind of miss your old Starbucks and yoga studio downtown. Try planning a ladies lunch at your house– but give your friends 6 weeks’ notice so they can plan their carpools. Do NOT serve anything with mayonnaise.

  • Henry’s Mom, The Elder Mrs. Francis:

Not only are you a mother, but you’re a mother-in-law. This gives you the right to pop open shook-up cans of Unsoliciated Advice all free-wheely, whenever and wherever you want. After all, you’re only doing your beloved daughter-or-son-in-law a favor, right? So please, stop by without calling first. It’s never a wrong time for the pot to call the kettle black.

  • Megan:

You are NOT their mother, you’re their much younger step-mother! No need to get involved in the family issues– you’re just there to take your husband’s daughters to American Girl Place once in a while. And someone has to be in charge in the Bahamas, right? Life’s so grand, it makes  you want to break out in song!

Little Purple Socks

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As we wrapped Posey up and put her to bed tonight, two little purple socks fell out of her swaddle-sack. “One day,” Beef said, “she won’t even remember that we used to put little purple socks on her.”

Dear Pie,

You have the Fastest Feet in the West. You wiggle and squiggle them all day long, every single day. Also, your feet stink, even though you don’t wear dirty old gym shoes yet. You have Little Purple Socks to keep them warm, and sometimes, the very best, most wonderful thing your daddy or I do in an entire day is put them on you, over and over again, no matter how many times you kick them off. We will always be there to put on your Little Purple Socks.

The Backtimer

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Sometimes I feel like my life is like some sort of late-1990’s Ashley Judd movie probably called “The Backtimer,” or better yet, just plain “Backtimer.”

I forgot to pack the Boogie Wipes?

Having a baby– and having to be somewhere at any specific time– means an in-reverse race against the backwards clock to be punctual.

Today, I have to be at a friend’s house in the suburbs at 5pm.

That means…

Wake the baby up at 8, so she is fed and ready for a nap at 10– get her up at 11 so we can go out and run errands with her, but be home and fed again so she can be down for the second nap at 2:30…. get in just enough sleep to rouse her oh-so-gently around 4. Get her dressed, fed, and we’re ready to leave the house at 4:45.

Late, but in the ballpark.

Coming this Spring: Backtimer II: Fear No Passover