pookie play date : mother’s day edition

i saw this listed in the merc this week and was like wow, that’s mega adorable, let’s totally go do that with grandma and we can have a double decker mom day date with seb doing all the heavy lifting (emotionally, not physically although the kid is strong, if his recent baby tantrums are any indicator). how fun though, right?! an event held at adx, portland’s tool-sharing, diy, custom fabrication space?! yes please! i’ve been badly wanting an excuse to go check out their digs. perfect! build a planter box where free refreshments and snacks are in arms reach? yes please! i was already drifting off on a three generation daydream of fertilized soil and succulents when i clicked on the website to snag tickets and gosh dammit it’s for kiddos aged 6-12. sigh. oh well. hopefully it’s a smashing success and they’ll still be doing it 5 years from now. shiet. that’s really far away.


but the idea is so stinking cute that i’m going to propose it to my ma anyway. i think she’d love if her grandchile and i picked up the ingredients to bake something yummy together and then the three of us could tend to her backyard garden, which is in full bloom right now. you should see her honeysuckle – the hummingbirds are ev-er-y-where and it’s gorgeous. i guess i don’t have any flicks of seb in ma’s yard but here he is during and after kissing planter boxes on our neighborhood walks.

seb kissing plants

seb after kissing plants

happiest early momma day to everyone who has pushed a human head and body out of their vagina, had one taken out via cesarean, adopted one, is fostering one or has taken on the role of a lifetime and is caring for one they did not birth, adopt or foster. you are all brave, magical unicorns.

i love you so much mom!!!

mom and seb

i want to be a broad city bitch.

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because, in the words of the girls, doiiii. because they are the best thing i’ve ever seen on the boob tube box. because you can’t fake a friendship like theirs. because, aside from all the pot that they do and i don’t, in my own twisted version of reality, i should basically be the third bestie breezy to ilana glazer and abbi jacobson. because i desperately want to roam the streets of manhattan and specific parts of brooklyn like i was a boss bitch. because it’s not enough to adore these two and their show – abbi, love you boo, but because ilana’s style is just. the. best. as another short brunette with tits and hips, i am eating ilana’s steelo UP. crop tops, yes. high waisted shorts, yes. matching two-pieces with just a sliver of skin in the middle on blast, yes yes yes yes. bold lipstick, door knocker earrings, tube skirts, criss cross mega femme sport bras, lots of denim and cheap tank tops and boys undies a la marky mark paired with saggy, baggy boyfriend jeans. OHMYGAWDYESSSSSSSSSSSSSS. plus she’s latina and has the curly dark hair of an angel. i. mean. what else could you possibly want from a bass ass superwoman?

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so in my effort to channel more ilana in my everyday life, i went searching for her bralette thingys because 1. i hate regular bras 2. i hate bra shopping 3. i’m not a huge fan of boobs in the first place 4. i love squishing my not-loved boobs into one uncomfortable uni-boob which is what happens when you wear sports bras 5. finding and buying and wearing strappy bralette thingys would undoubtedly make me closer to ilana and ergo, being in their clique. or at least in a clique that they run into randomly sometimes whilst dog-sitting in central park or going to abbi’s art shows or getting a pretzel from a corner cart. you know. aaaaaaaaanyways, here’s where i found them for $12 sheesh you’re a pushy crowd. get ’em while they last bishes. i can’t wait to inappropriately play peek-a-boo with those straps in my oversized skin-bearing summer tank tops. who says you have to dress like a librarian from the 1950’s once you pop out a kid? because you don’t. and that was probably racist. i love librarians.
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strappy bralette, check. now just troll thrift stores for baggy 90’s jeans and sweatshirts that can be cut into scandalous crop tops, anything high-waisted and too short/too tight sweaters, tank tops and tees. throw on sporty tennis shoes, high tops, biker babe boots or sexpot heels, your favorite pair of door knockers and a bold shade of lipstick. fro out hair as huge as possible and hit the streets. stop at bodega for blow pops and chocolate milk. get enough for you and bff. go find her, sit on street corners sipping cocoa milk and talk shit. have the best day of your life. fin.
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The miscarriage files : luteinizing hormone strips


it’s probably worth noting that after having a miscarriage, i kiiind of went off the deep end as far as conscious baby-making research is concerned. i think before experiencing a miscarriage, i knew that some women, a lot of women, have a hella not-fun time conceiving when they are ready for el bebes.


i’m a huge nerd reader of the ny times style section and as i get older, modern love and the wedding story columns hit me in different ways than they would have ten years ago. like, for example, this story  in last week’s paper (it’s always a little realer when a celeb is involved. it reminds me that shitty shit can affect anyone). this couple struggled for years because dude had a sperm count of zero. ZERO. i can’t even imagine how frustrating that must have been for homegirl. but they worked through it and are now changing not one but two poopy diapers several times a day!

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the miscarriage files : tami kent, MSPT

IMAG0384IMAG0344having a miscarriage shook everything as i had known it. i lost control. i lost certainty. i lost the comfort in thinking that once i was safely past the first trimester, nothing bad could happen. but it did. and it was horrible. i felt like my insides gave up and surrendered all the strength i had known them to have. they opened up and they spilled out a tiny little life that wasn’t going to make it and in that moment, i felt like i had lost everything.

IMAG0380the physical pain during the miscarriage was just like what labor with Sebe felt like. hours of contractions that piled up on each other in waves and left me breathless. and when it was over, almost instantaneously too was the physical hurt gone. i remember feeling both sudden relief and horrified sadness as the end of the pain meant the baby was out, but gone forever. the forever part was both a rational and irrational thought, happening simultaneously in my brain that, at 3:30am in a dark hospital room surrounded by emergency nurses and doctors whose faces reflected back to me how i was feeling inside, was complete mush. leigh was gone on a 24-hour work trip and my mom had driven over to stay the night with sebe so that my dad could rush us to the hospital. i sobbed uncontrollably into his neck when he came in to see me before i was wheeled away to the operating room for a D&C. “it’s gone. the baby is gone.” he held my face and kept saying it wasn’t my fault. my parents are two of my best friends. if it couldn’t have been my husband with me that night and the next day, i was incredibly thankful that i had them. but driving your daughter to the emergency room in the middle of the night while she is having a miscarriage is something no father should ever have to witness. when i close my eyes, i can still see that car ride. i don’t think i will ever not be able to see every moment of that night.
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the miscarriage files & stocking the locavore refrigerator : royal jelly


in an effort to self educate on the matters of miscarriage, i stumbled on a superfood that is fit for a queen. like, literally. queen bees, to be exact but it turns out, the stuff works crazy wonders on queen human mamas-to-be too. i first read about this magic goo on this site – almost too much information to absorb in one sitting but kind of amazing if you’re feeling anxious and want to re-up what you’re putting in your body while baby-making. natural fertility is run by six women and one brave man, all doulas or herbalists. after my midwife-in-training roommate recommended i start popping Vitex (more on this later), i power-walked to New Seasons and stormed the pharmacy, ready to load up on a bottle of Chaste Berry and one of the three bee by-products said to aid in fertility-boosting matters. portland being incredible portland, of course we have a man who runs his own hive from which he makes and sells ev-er-y-thing bee. he is The Pollen Man and for $18 per ounce (no, not cheap), you can buy a little jar of the freshest, most organic royal jelly, taken from bees whom i can only assume each have names and their own cot on which to sleep. royal Jelly justification for its price tag, from the Pollen Man himself: Continue reading

the miscarriage files: from a cartoonist corner

cartoonmy bff sent me this today. it’s day 61 since i had a miscarriage at 18 weeks pregnant and i am nowhere close to being okay from it. so i was touched that she saw this and sent it over. i thought it apropos to use this as my chance to talk about miscarriage because 1) it’s where i’m at in my life right now, because 2) it’s perfect and colorful and somehow managed to make miscarriage feel tangible and 3) i think the ridiculous amount of sunshine we’re having made digesting painful content, however cutely presented, go down easier. and for the first time since my second trimester devastation two months ago, i feel like now, for better or for worse, whether i want to or not, i belong to a special community of women who are all finding reasons to get up in the morning and live their lives with the intention to themselves that this day will be better. i will be a better version of myself and how i am feeling today because i know that other women have gone through this, are going through this and will go through this and damn if we won’t all come out the other end okay. better than okay. that’s what I want to believe. probably because the pain is still so thick and the hurt still so fucking raw. but in addition to all of these reasons, i am delighted to add one more 4) the artist is a fellow Portlander who does all of the art for our beloved Dave’s Killer Bread, bless his heart (which Sebe eats his weight in – i have yet to change a diaper that isn’t filled with flax seeds, just saying).

cartoon 1 cartoon 3i’ve been thinking a lot about why, in a generation where it seems that nothing, no topic, is off of limits (here’s looking at you Abbi Jacobson, Ilana Glazer, Amy Schumer, Tina Fey, Amy Pohler, Mindy Kaling and Lena Dunham– bless YOUR hearts for shit’s sake), why, whyyyy, is miscarriage still such a silence among women? but i know why. it’s because it sucks to think about and talk about. it fu-ck-ing hurts and it’s one of those life experiences that no woman wants to open a dinner party convo with. as i wade through my own hellish emo roller coaster in dealing with this, i’m realizing that, for me, it’s something, if given the chance, the smallest opening from someone, it just spills out – “Hey, do you know what time it is?” “Yeah, I do and I just had a miscarriage but it’s okay, my period came back a month later and now my husband and I are trying again.” – i want to talk about it with girlfriends and strangers and therapists and people innocently waiting for the bus or their vanilla latte. it’s a completely inappropriate over sharing of something no one else wants to hear about. unless they’ve had one too. when it has come up between me and other woman the last two months and if they have had one or god forbid, more than one, suddenly i feel like i have a sounding board and i can ask her about hers and there is the most vulnerable, empathetic understanding of each other. i feel like so many amazing, strong, gorgeous women are walking around carrying the weight of a miscarriage on her shoulders. it is a thing that has no racial, ethnic, class or geographic preference. and this leveling of the human condition, of the risk we all take in being alive and striving for family, is kind of an incredible place from which to stand as a woman.

cartoon 4so, yeah, it’s day by day at the moment, but this really helped and in future posts, I’ll looking forward to spilling the juice about my own experience with miscarriage and all the things I did and am doing in the effort to remain proactive and find peace in wishing for another couple (healthy) pregnancies asap. Sebe deserves some siblings to add to his pack and mom & baby daddy just can’t wait to be knocked up again. I’ve never been more excited to be nauseous and uncomfortable for 9 months plus.

since I name dropped two of my favorite fly girls in the game, i had to include a clip of them. because talking about miscarriages should end with something really endearingly funny that includes girlfriends in action and their fine ass asses.

Belly bumps are the bomb.

looking-fly-and-preggo looking-fly-and-preggo

looking-fly-and-preggoHow. Fly. Is. Airial. But really though, how fly is she?! I loved watching this woman take her style pre-belly and rock it with-belly. Her little mini me is now a few months young (and they continue to be a visual duo) but it was the most fun watching her outfits show up on her instagram. She makes me want to get knocked up again. Here’s what she had to say about getting dressed with a growing belly!



 “When I discovered I was pregnant, I didn’t want to let go of all of my favorite blouses just for the sake of doing so & being as I was already a fan of oversized garments from dresses to jackets it was easy & cost efficient to continue to pull from my closet! On the hard days the best thing I could do for myself was to get fancy & feel fabulous! It made embracing motherhood that much better! “

I love her hard days honesty. It isn’t always fun when things don’t fit they way they used to. Do like Airial! Get fancy and feel fabulous! YES.



Uh oh…

Seb & I, blog post 1

Well hello there internets! It’s been several years, pounds, haircuts and poor purchase choices at Goodwill but a lot of shit has gone down and I felt like maybe I wanted to start this mess again. So here we are, mother and child, decked out in handmade and thrifted outfits, just the way I like, circa present day Portland, Oregon (where, I pridefully feel the need to note, is where I was born and raised), just out here trying to function, as the kids would say…

This is Sebe and me. This is also not atypical of any other photo I attempt to take of us but that’s okay because it lovingly feels like life these days; blurry, unsteady and a bit baby obsessed. The kiddo is 17 months old and his mom is…well, a lot older than that. And my birthday was on Sunday, which is just a shitty reminder that time doesn’t stop when you give birth but it should because now I want to live forever, just to be able to see him grow all the way up, to be around for all the good, bad, ugly and really ugly decisions he decides to make, hopefully laughing all the way. Laughing is the best part. Uncontrollable, can’t breathe, cheeks hurt laughter. It’s why we have kids, isn’t it? It’s what makes all the now poop, pee, spit-up, food, food-related, snot and booger stained clothing, home dec items, bedding and generally every object in our apartment, the dog included matter not. one. tiny. bit.

I took this the other day after we magically arrived early at the Laurelhurst Park Studio for a toddler music class (it has taken me these last 17 months but I feel like I’ve gotten getting the hell out the house in a semi-timely manner down now; it’s all about the evening before prep: clothes, cloth diaper and plastic liner that still smells like urine from a hasty hand-washing ready in a pile on bathroom floor, yogurt and applesauce mixed together in a container ready in the fridge, day bag packed with all the unnecessary crap most of us haul around in our purses plus a few books, toys and snacks for Seb ready by the door and my baby daddy’s trusty denim jacket that I have stolen for myself whose pockets are loaded with cell phone, chapstick, car keys and dollar bills for baby gym outings and on the fly mommy coffees). I was kind of hype because while I don’t remember much of anything when I was Seb’s age, I do remember a little later in life when I used to take ballet (and maybe tap?) classes in this studio. So I had one of those, whoah, life, moments as we stood in the empty space and I realized I was holding the next generation, anxious to do with him the numerous mommy & me stuff, at all the same places my Mom used to take my brother and I.

I pulled some photos to back-track the last year and a half because 1) it’s been wild and I want a place I can put photos and write thoughts before too much time has passed and I forget juicy details like what my boobs felt like trying to breastfeed for the first time and 2) I looked bomb as a 9 ½ month pregnant bride in a hand sewn dress and ankle boots and I just want to spread the word.

It actually feels pretty darn awesome writing again. Thanks for hanging out. Let’s get together for a play date soon at Saint Simon and drink decaf vanilla lattes while our wee ones spill stuff all over the floor. Don’t worry, I know the baristas and they’re the nicest ever.