Mixtape Monday: Future Karaoke Songs

There is a running joke in my house regarding the magical decade known as the 1980s. As my husband and I were obsessive fans of B-horror movies (husband) and pop music (me), we often have lively discussions about stupid stuff from our childhood. Our daughter listens to us giggle over these asinine conversations so much, she now has a family catch-phrase. Whenever we talk about some childhood pop culture idiom, she quips, "Oh is that back a million years ago in the 1980s!?!"

Children think they are so clever.

Lately this stay-at-home mommy mode gives me a lot of time to read and catch up on the world and ruminate about completely pointless issues like What songs are on my list next time I go to karaoke? Below are the songs I plan to sing next time I want to tear it up with my friends. I have a voice only karaoke could love. 

I am the queen of mental play lists. You could unlock the universe of my brain if you could tap into the song playing in my head at this moment (it is the theme song from "Family Ties," thank you very much).  There is always a song, a list of songs forming, creating an empire and establishing a civilization in the corner of my mind. Some people are addicted to porn or riding their bicycle until they hurl. I am addicted to play lists.

Most of these songs are remnants of my Saturdays listening to Casey Kasem's Top 40 Countdown. Imagine me with a short mess of curly hair jumping on the bed and singing my heart out. My personal favorite was the hopeless cause "Request and Dedication" section. Mr. Kasem read those letters with such passion and theatricality. Even as a child, I thought, Adults are a bunch of cheesy saps.

Enjoy and apologies in advance if any of these gems get stuck in your brain the rest of the day.

The Nesting Instinct

There is rumor a woman gets what is called the "nesting instinct" shortly before the onset of labor. All of a sudden one may have the urge to scrub every inch of the house or organize and reorganize the pantry. This behavior mimics other mothers in the animal kingdom as they prepare the nests or dens for delivery.

I would like to argue that daddies and big sisters can get the nesting instinct, too.

So blurry because this sexy dude is a cleaning ball of fury!

The husband got a wild hair up his butt to clean like crazy this past Saturday. It would have been very rude of me to just sit there and not help out, so I employed my minion Iris! Seriously, little hands are very useful for detail cleaning. They can dust the air conditioning vents and scrub baseboards much better than an adult. It totally makes sense to me why they employed little children in button factories during the Industrial Revolution. If they lose a finger in the machinery, they are like starfish and grow another, right?  PROGRAMMING NOTE: Don't call CPS. Don't call CPS. Don't call CPS. They have far more important cases to investigate than this smart-ass mother.

Iris loved cleaning because it made her feel like a neglected Cinderella.

I helped by dusting and scrubbing the high places. When I got tired and needed a break, I dictated from the couch. And I suggested all our hard work merited a pizza lunch. After the bang-up job we did on the house, we consumed an entire large pizza followed by a long nap.

I went to the doctor earlier this week and it appears we will be family of four sooner rather than later. Perhaps the nesting instinct is not a load of bull honky!

The North Texas Sound

Have I mentioned my abiding love for music yet? I haven't? Are you sure? Yes, that is sarcastic me again. It is only the second most important thing in my life besides my family. In fact, I really need to start working on the Labor & Delivery Playlist otherwise this baby is going to come into the world with a hefty ton of "MOTHER FU$%ERS" and "SH&T" in its ears. I would rather it enter the world with music. Add to the list of Things to Do.

I am a native of Texas, but not the North Texas region. I grew up and went to school in the Central Texas/Austin area. In college I began my addiction with live music and the needle tracks still run deep in the arms. From a record player, not heroine! Pshaw!

I have to admit, Austin has cornered the market for many a decade as the only place of musical value in our great state. Yes, they have a high volume of live venues and nurture a lifestyle of delight for an artist. But after living the Dallas-Fort Worth area for nearly six years, I have found it has its own share of amazing music and arts. This post contains the wonderful musicians and bands I've discovered in my years of stumbling in and out of small venues, soaking up live music with a Shiner in hand.

It doesn't surprise me North Texas has so many interesting bands and musicians. We have some of the nation's best museums, a vibrant live theatre scene, and enviable college music programs. Many bands have emerged from our neighbors to the north in Denton as a result of the University of North Texas's College of Music and Jazz. My best buddy Nathan attended UNT, and I recall on a visit hearing Miles Davis jam sessions and rock bands practicing through the music student dormitory Bruce Hall.

Below are the musicians and bands I really enjoy. Keep in mind, this list is ongoing. I have refrained from commentary on each band's sound as their music should speak for them. Also, I am lazy and have a plate of nachos waiting for me.

You may also notice some big names on the list. I also added musicians and bands that are FROM the Dallas-Fort Worth area as well. Enjoy and share the love of Texas music!


THE NORTH TEXAS SOUND (in no particular order)

Seryn

Doug Burr

Matthew & the Arrogant Sea

Novaak (They officially broke up a couple of weeks ago. What the hell!?! You guys are amazing.)

Erykah Badu (our lovely girl from Oak Cliff!)

Sarah Jaffe

Toadies

Telegraph Canyon

El Cento

The Orbans

St. Vincent (Miss Annie Clark is from Dallas)

The Hope Trust

Neon Indian

The Old 97s (These Dallas boys never forget their roots in North Texas.)

Midlake

Norah Jones

Centro-Matic

T-Bone Walker

T-Bone Burnett (Yes, Texas is known for its T-Bones, edible and otherwise.)



Here is a playlist of most of the bands. Click on the links above if you want to listen further!

Pomp and Circumstance

Last night I fought moist eyes as my little baby graduated from nursery school. She is officially a big kid. How did I blink my eyes and suddenly have an intelligent and compassionate five-year-old? It truly goes by fast.

Little Bird Style Files #2: Around Town

Iris: How do fashion bloggers stand when taking a picture? Me: With their hand on their hip.

I decided to let Iris dress herself each day, no matter how bizarre. So long as it sort of matches and is weather appropriate. This post features a mini-interview with Little Bird Jewelry Company fashionista Iris.

NO BASEMENT: What inspires you when you select an outfit?

IRIS: I want to look good and I want to match.

NO BASEMENT: What is the one thing a person can do to look fashionable?

IRIS: Try to find clothes that you think are very neat. No matter what, just have fun picking them out.

NO BASEMENT: There is an old saying 'The clothes make the man.' Do you think that is true?

IRIS: No!

NO BASEMENT: What are the important things in life?

IRIS: Safety helmets, shoes to protect your feet, be careful, and when it rains, you need an umbrella. Oh! And no matter what, just be yourself. The most important thing is to eat your food. That's all I know. Now can I have some ice cream?

And a Hug Around the Neck

Last night I caught my daughter singing "A Bushel and a Peck" whilst cleaning her room. We recently saw a production of the classic musical Guys and Dolls at the college where I teach, and she cannot stop singing the songs from the show.

I caught her last week singing "Luck Be a Lady" to her stuffed animals she dressed in hats she transformed into "gamblers."

Throwing dice from her Cootie game.

If you need more of an idea of how ADORABLE it is to hear my five-year-old singing these songs, please peruse these videos below.

 

This video stars Iris's favorite comedic actress, Jane Krakowski. Iris thinks her character on 30 Rock is hil-arious!

 

There is something very pleasurable about hearing a five-year-old sing at the top of her lungs, "Stick with me baby, I'm the fella you came in with! Luck be a lady tonight!"

Personally, I am thrilled Iris likes musicals. I am more of an Antirealism, Sophie Treadwell, crazy-as-hell theatre enthusiast, so her love of big, splashy American Golden Age musicals balances me. Now I can finally have a Funny Girl watching buddy!

A Screaming Comes Across the Sky.

This is the first sentence of Thomas Pynchon's novel Gravity's Rainbow. On this sentence alone, I am already hooked. I had a very apocalyptic dream last night about bombs raining through the sky and the construction of underground bunkers from this first sentence.

I can hardly wait to dig in to this book. Any book. As a professor, reading for pleasure gets relegated to holidays and summers. There is simply no brain power during the school semester to truly enjoy a book. At least not for me.

Every summer my reading goals are ambitious. I attempt to read for posterity rather than pleasure. I am one of those dorks who would like to put the "well-read" feather in my cap. Last summer I nearly read the complete works (had a hard time getting my hands on a copy of The Last Tycoon) of F. Scott Fitzgerald, thus sealing him in my mind as one of my favorite novelists and arguably one of the greatest American writers of the 20th century.

This summer I decided to take an ambitious route. I noticed my overall reading tastes favor the British Victorian era and the American and British Modern Era (1900s--1940s). I am sorely lacking in some juicy Postmodern reading. You know, mankind seriously questioning their place in the world whilst challenging doctrines and authority, and defending their way of life against totalitarian and/or robotic governments. The good stuff.

I stumbled across a list of novels--one of those lists major publications throw out every few years--Time Magazine assembled as the 100 greatest English-Language novels from 1923 to 2005. Perfect, I thought, just the time frame I want. The list only had about ten novels I had read, so I only have 90 novels from the list to read. An easy goal, right!?!

Rather than start with the first novel on the list, I decided to a) read all the titles and select the one most interesting, and b) select an author I had not read before. Gravity's Rainbow (that sounds like fun) by Thomas Pynchon (he's recommended to me many times).

I grabbed the book on our weekly family jaunt to the library. Here is the reaction from the family:

Daughter: Ooooh, Mommy got a book on bombs. Scary!

Husband (PhD in Rhetoric & Composition and overall super sexy smartypants): Pynchon, eh? You might be reading this book all summer or blow right through it. Some people think his work is too difficult to read. But you tend to like difficult.  

So I will let you know how it goes. On to reading! 

Little Bird Style Files

I am the parent of a very independent-minded little lady. This personality trait makes for an audacious little person to behold, but can also make for some "I-want-to-throw-you-out-the-window-you-are-being-so-unreasonable" days of parenting. Lately, she is going through the "I want to do everything by MYSELF" phase, and we couldn't be happier. Pressure off some of the mundane tasks of parenting small ones is perfect timing for the arrival of another baby.

One area the little lady wants dominate is her choice of clothing. Fine by me. I am not in the mood these days to argue about what she wears anyway. So long as her clothes sort of match and are weather appropriate, she can blast her personality via her wardrobe all she wants.

I didn't expect my little lady however to be so deftly stylish:

Fashion File #1: Chilling at the house

Remember, the only rules I set were that a) the colors and patterns have to sort of match and b) the clothing be weather appropriate. And she nailed it, in my opinion. I love how the aqua compliments the green skirt and tights. I am also a big fan of the pattern mixing of the flowers and stripes. A+ little lady!

I read a few personal style blogs to get ideas of how to work my wardrobe. I often need a bit of inspiration when I stare into my closet. Who would have known I would learn a bit about having fun with clothes from my five-year-old daughter.

Comin' Back at Ya!

Well, hello there me hearties! Top of the blogosphere to yer. I've been away for a wee speck, sailing the seven seas, searching for pirate booty.....okay screw the pirate talk. I don't even know what prompted it other than the fact this is where the brain went at the moment.

I knew going into this whole blog mess I wouldn't be the most consistent. What I lack in quantity of postings will make up for quality. No postings about the weird hair-going-straight problems during my pregnancy or what boring stuff I did at work the past two months. Oh no, my friends. Here you get all the musings fit to print! And if you don't understand my dripping sarcasm, then it be best to eff off of this blog and go read something else. Seriously peeps.

Since my last post I've done some travels to San Francisco, survived contest managing a theatre competition and FINISHED THE SEMESTER AND AM NOW ON MATERNITY LEAVE. Heyo!

Honestly, this extended leave reminds me why I am just not programmed to be a stay-at-home mom. I am into Day 2 of my free time and although I have a list of things to do, I don't want to do any of it. Can I sit on the couch today and eat Oreos and watch Swamp People? Because it is on Netflix now and I like to watch people skin alligators. I should make better use of my time, and I am sure that whole nesting will kick in here soon, but I am so fracking tired from this semester I just need my brain to peter out into the ether, maybe not to return for at least a good week. Maybe two. Last year I was so pooped from the school year, I sat on the couch for a week and ate nothing but nachos and watched the World Cup on the tube. It. Was. AWESOME!

So I am back, folks. I will post about what I've been doing the last couple of months, peppered with random pop culture observations, making fun of things, my obsession with music, the family, and the big surprise that awaits us in six weeks--the arrival of my second little lady! Thanks for reading, ya'll. Now on with the show.

February Is the Cruelest Month

Forget what T.S. Eliot said in The Waste Land--February is over and thank goodness. It is always such a struggle of a month for me. This one was no exception. My family and I were stuck a week in our house from a snow and ice storm, I got the flu, and the month presented its grand finale with the death of my Great Uncle Jimmy. I am very sad about his passing. I don't handle the loss of great people well.

February has an interesting coincidence for the Bradley side of the family. My mother was a Bradley, and after the death of her grandmother and my Great-Grandmother Lela Bradley, she mentioned how much Great Grandma B hated the month of February. My seven-year-old brain could not comprehend why anyone would dislike a month. The she explained the following:

Her husband (my great-grandfather) died in February.

Baby Bradley (my great uncle), who only survived a few days after birth, died in February.

Her son Joe Bradley (my great uncle) died in February.

My Great-Grandmother Lela Mae Bradley died in February, too.

Twelve years later my Pa Pa Tyrus Bradley (my Great-Grandmother's son) died in February.

When my Great Uncle Jimmy went to the nursing home in August 2010 and was given only 6 months to live, my mother soon realized this was in February. James Bradley died February 26. 2011, three days shy of March.

February is not much of a good month for my family.

My Great Uncle Jimmy was the last living member of my Pa Pa Bradley's family. He reminded me so much of my Pa Pa that I miss nearly every day. My Pa Pa passed away when I was a college freshman in 2000. Both my Pa Pa and my Great Uncle Jimmy were the epitome of kindness, compassion and quiet resolve. They worked hard, loved deeply and were always positive about any circumstance. Both men suffered long illnesses before their deaths. In a way, when a person is under so much physical duress, death can be a release. Your sadness lies in missing their presence, not their actual death.

As a very shaky nineteen-year-old, I gave my Pa Pa's eulogy at his funeral. At the time, I was in an American Poetry class in college. We had just completed T.S. Eliot's epic, The Waste Land and moved on to Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself." At the time, poem 6 spoke to me of how I perceived the loss of life, so much in fact I read it at my Pa Pa's funeral.

From Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" (1855)



6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them.
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers.
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.




We all process grief in different ways. Some blame the people around them while others retreat from the world. I usually go to music and poetry to say what I cannot. I get speechless when I experience loss. This poem from Walt Whitman, spoken at my Pa Pa's funeral, provides a beautiful window into my feelings about the passing of uncle. I am sad I didn't get to see my uncle in the last year, but perhaps it is best to remember him as a healthy man in his overalls, reading his Louis L'Amour novels and speaking with a slow East Texas drawl. I am even more sad I cannot be at his funeral today. There is simply no way to describe how nice it was see his smiling eyes every time my family went to the Bradley camp house outside Groveton


I know next time I am in the beautiful pines and sugar gum trees of East Texas, I will remember the onward and outward of the Bradley side of my family. And I will feel quite lucky.

She Moves In Mysterious Ways

After MUCH anticipation, we found out on Monday we are having *DRUMROLL PLEASE* another baby GIRL! My family--making the world a girlier place. We are completely thrilled!

Because we all know this is where babies come from.......

The best part about having another girl? Telling our daughter she will have a sibling she can essentially treat like a live dolly. Iris screamed so loud upon the news, I am certain we sustained permanent ear damage. 

Early in the pregnancy, we attempted to prepare Iris for the fact she may not get what she wanted (a sister) and would have to learn to play with a brother. As my husband and I have nothing but brothers, we used our experience to drum up how AWESOME brothers could be. Obviously, we deleted all the parts when they can be downright turds and totally drive you nuts. Better leave that as a "learn from experience" moment for Iris down the road. I talked about how they will ALWAYS play the evil villain to your princess/queen/cowgirl/superhero, join you on any game that involves getting dirty, and cringe much to your pleasure at a game of Barbies. ;)

We are curious if this child will be anything like her older sister. So far she is the exact opposite. Our sonogram Monday was the SECOND sonogram we had to determine gender. During the first sonogram, no matter how much we moved the wand and jiggled my belly the baby simply would not uncross her legs or stop turning her back on us. She wouldn't show us her business. Even at the second sonogram, she showed us her genitalia and quickly closed her legs. 

Clearly, we have a very shy and modest baby on our hands. Anyone who knows me or my daughter finds this HILARIOUS. We are rather outgoing gals. Will this baby be more laid back, like her father? Will the baby be a balance of both her nutty Momma and mellow Daddy? Only time will tell. And I cannot wait to meet her.

Currently, we are accepting applications for names. We are at a complete and total loss. We might name her "Girl" if we cannot find one. None of the names, however can be on this list. Half of them are just downright ridiculous. Makayla? Seriously!?! First of all people, it is spelled Michaela and secondly that little girl is going to be one odd-named woman at Bingo seventy years from now.

Little Things

After watching some TV with the hubby last night, we retreated to our temporary sleeping arrangements--he in the guest room and I in our bedroom. I am on Day 3 of the flu and separation is to keep him well. Honestly, he eagerly moved to the guest room after he slept next to me Wednesday night in all my sweaty, fever-crazed rambling hotness. I woke up smelling like a gym bag full of dirty socks. RETREAT!

This idea was fantastic during the hallucinatory phase of the illness. I tossed and swatted and yammered so much no one next to me could have slept. Last night I began to miss him. After reading nearly all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Last Tycoon and forty rounds of solitaire I could not settle down. I got up nearly ten times, walked to the guest room door, then walked back to our bedroom. Except for now it is my bedroom. The change of ownership caused insomnia.

I could not go to Iris's room, kiss her gently on the cheek, reposition her horizontally on the bed and tuck her in. I couldn't watch her sleep a couple of minutes, think as I do every night She is the most gorgeous and audacious little girl. I am so lucky to be her Mommy. 

Iris's stillness before I turn in. Nathan's deep, slow breathing as I settle down. His arm wrapped around my waist as I doze off. Small things I don't stop to appreciate until they are taken away. The ritual comforts. The irreplaceable.

Flu-lapalooza: Day 2

It is official--the flu totally sucks. TOTALLY. I asked a friend of mine, "Do you think I am just being a whiny butt about the flu because I hardly get sick? Am I miserable because I am not used to pestilence?" Her reply was, "Hell no! The flu is awful any way you cut it."

I have to admit, I despise talking about illness. YES, I am blogging about it (only to keep my sanity) but seriously, one day I will get old and it will be ALL I talk about. I love my grandmas to death and this always takes up at least 40% of our phone conversations. Followed by food. Then making fun of people on TV.

**WARNING: THIS POST IS THE MOST I HAVE EVER SPOKEN ABOUT BEING SICK IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. IF YOU ARE EQUALLY GROSSED OUT AS ME ABOUT "SICK" TALK, THEN KINDLY EXIT THIS WEBSITE.**

One thing about being dog-ass sick is it heightens my ability to detect unusual behavior patterns. I am not sure if they are coping mechanisms or universal to everyone while sick. You all be the judge.

I am sick enough to believe Oscar lives in the trash can by my bed.

Put a Trash Can Near My Bed. Even if I don't have the pukes, I always put a trash can near my bed when I am sick. I think it is to eliminate getting out of bed to throw away tissues and food wrappers. I cannot get well in filth.

Whenever us kids were ill, Mom would always put what we called "The Puke Pot" by our bed. It was the largest pot we had in the house and its sole purpose was to throw anything you want (including puke if you had to) into it. It kept things nice and neat.

However, you had to forget "The Puke Pot's" illness function when Mom made a huge pot of navy beans or cooked batches of salsa for canning, otherwise you were grossed the heck out. Thank God "The Puke Pot" got a hole in it and was permanently sanctioned as the "Forever Chamber of All Things Gross."

Stammer Stammer Stammer Blue Eyes.

Watch Movies Starring Hugh Grant. Honest to goodness, I don't know why the hell I do this while sick. Like ANYTHING Hugh Grant is in, I will watch. I wasted two hours of my life this morning watching Notting Hill. I had seen it in the theatres with my Mom and HATED it. The supporting characters were the only interesting part. Perhaps Hugh Grant movies are easy to digest? It may also be that Hugh Grant's characters--kind, mildly smart-arsed, prone to stammers around women, encumbering hairdos that require much brushing of the hands through, cheeky romantic gestures, definitely rational, quietly confident, and the uncanny ability to look at a woman as if she were the only person in existence--are many of the qualities I find attractive. Let me be clear--his characters, not him. I seriously just described my husband and the other people in my life for whom I ever had the deepest, most obsessive crushes over. Hugh Grant=comfort zone.

And on the 2nd day, No Basement made some toast, because she was too tired to do anything else.

Eat Anything On Top of Toast. Toast is a no-brainer when sick. Instant meal. In the past 48 hours, I ate the following on toast:

--Eggs on toast
--Peanut butter on toast
--Nutella on toast
--Melted cheese on toast
--Baked beans on toast
--Jam on toast
--Spaghetti Sauce & Mozzarella cheese on toast (mini-pizza!)
--Toast on Toast.

Toast is an underrated food. If nuclear fallout happens and I have a loaf of bread, ain't nothing going to keep this girl down.

This lady is officially beat. See you all on the other side of this influenza. I like to say that with a ridiculous British accent. In--FLUUUU-en-za!

Crap, I am sick. So incredibly sick. Speaking with a British accent. Didn't Britney Spears do that shortly after she shaved her head? I need to lie down.

I hope reading this didn't waste too much time out of your life. Consider yourself lucky--you didn't watch Notting Hill for TWO HOURS today.

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Flu Shot

This pregnant cargo came down with the flu yesterday. Yuck to the 10th power. Last time I had the flu? When I was pregnant with Iris.

I am typing this blog with my Blogger phone app. Been in bed all day, sucking on popsicles, sipping water, and listening to the church bells from down the street. I've fever sweated through my husband's Nirvana shirt and about to do the same damage to another. This all too shall pass.

The photo above is my night stand. Glamorous, I know. It is important to note my physician, Dr. Iris, prescribed grape Pez to ease my symptoms. When they run out, she advised me she would switch me on the "strong stuff" and refill my snowman with lemon Pez. I should be right as rain in no time!

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Snow Days

I didn't go to work for the entire first week of February due to a massive ice and snow storm. Record low temperatures and inches of ice everywhere mostly kept us indoors.

 

We had a lot of fun throwing snowballs and sword fighting with icicles. I am glad North Texas shuts down when it snows and ices, unlike the rest of the U.S.. We always have a blast in the quiet blanket over our little world. And a steady diet of homemade soup and baked goods doesn't hurt, either.

The Family Museum

Last fall I was one busy momma/wife/professor/all-around human being. I made my directorial debut at the college with The Collected Shorter Works of Samuel Beckett AND dragged through my first trimester of my second pregnancy. The exhaustion mixed with elation was an excellent reminder of what it feels to have a newborn. The production was like a pregnancy--lots of work, lots of effort, some tears, some unexpected surprises and a great experience for all by the opening night curtain. I wouldn't trade any day of it, even the days I literally directed the show lying across the stage with the stomach flu.

How on earth did I do it? Two recent events gave me pause to reflect. First, I was contacted by my uber talented friend Cristina Pippa to guest blog on the lovely collective How She Does It blog. I am deeply honored to join these amazing creative ladies and share my experience as a "Mamaturg."

Here's a little math:

Mama + Dramaturg=Mamaturg

Motherhood + Dramaturgy=Mamaturgy

I hope these words will one day join the Merriam-Webster dictionary. Until then, a girl can dream. You might also need a dictionary to know what a "dramaturg" is and what "dramaturgy" does. It happens often. I like how it makes me feel like a spy, doing secret work in the theatre.

Okay! Back to the original arc of the post. The second event that answers "how I do it" is this:

During a cold day last fall, my five-year-old daughter Iris arranged a collection of items on the floor. I immediately went into tired Mommy mode and exclaimed, "Iris, pick your stuff up off the floor."

Iris replied, "But Mommy, this is our museum. I can't put it away until you stop to look at it."

The child asked her frazzled, morning sick, how-am-I-going-to-finish-the-fall-semester Mommy to stop and observe. These simple objects, arranged by tiny hands, communicated our family to my daughter. The Converse sneakers and tissues belong to Daddy. The American Theatre and film books belong to Mommy. The toys, puzzles and Lite Brite patterns belong to Iris.

At the moment my daughter stopped me, I wasn't in the mood. I had a mountain of papers to grade, I'd spent half the morning lying on the bathroom floor with morning sickness, and I had rehearsal for the show in the evening. But her persuasive insistence won me over. I had to stop and look.

I asked my little curator to explain the museum. Her answer was simple, "This stuff is from everyone in our family. I wanted to see how it all looked together. It also shows we have a lot of fun."

I stared at the objects for a few minutes, gave Iris a big hug and snapped the picture. I wanted the picture to remind me "how to do it." By "it" I mean being a mother, wife and creative person. The only way I know is to put it all together, not isolate one role from the other, and let the parts inform the whole that is me. I also cannot let one of these roles diminish into the background. If I stop working on being a wife, my mothering and art suffers. If I stop working on being a professor, director and writer, I have nothing to say and I will show nothing of my life's passion to my children. If I stop mothering, how can I communicate the nurturing process that is educational theatre or the beauty of a self-donative act of love? It simply doesn't happen.

Sure, there are days where the last thing I want to do is teach a class, make a peanut butter Nutella sandwich or listen to my husband vent about a difficult day. We all have those moments. The key to helping me stay upbeat, stay sane and live my version of the good life is to remember how all of my many roles in life are a reflection of the other. There is inevitable day where I teach to a bored class on Medieval Drama, barely say "hi" and "goodnight" to my husband and make supper using the microwave. But in the end, I "did it," even if it was imperfect. And as my daughter says, "We have a lot of fun." Yup, through it all, we really do.

Repurposing

Me=Maternity pillow for sleep & comfort.

Iris=Totally AWESOME lounging pillow.

To each her own. 

Prima Donna

My little lady turned five in December. We got her a tutu and ballerina leotard. She is obsessed with dancing.

She recently saw a commercial for Black Swan and said, "Ohhhhh, a ballerina movie! I wanna see that!" Yeeeaaaaahhh, better stick to Angelina Ballerina books for now.

Crave This

This professor/mommy/pregnant blogger lady is back in action! Last week was the start of classes at the college. I finally dug myself out of the most insane to-do list and am back to blog! And what am I thinking about these days? FOOOOOOOODDDDDD!!! In my face! NOWWWWWWW! Yes gang, I am at that lovely point in the pregnancy where I am hungry all day. My students joke they always see me with a piece of fruit or a handful of something as I walk the halls. It has grown to such a problem I am bringing enough to share in my classes. My students LOVE having a hungry pregnant professor. Free cookies! Free popcorn! Free tacos (man, I might next week, even if it busts my wallet to buy enough for a class of 20).

Programming Note: Okay, SERIOUSLY as I type NOW my co-worker Ray walked in with a huge box of Sea Foam from Michigan and gave me a piece to try. I love you, food gods. 

I generally eat healthy. I keep a mental count of my fruit, veg and protein a day. I am all about balance. Non-pregnant friends and readers, this all goes out the window while pregnant. You just need something, like an all-consuming desire, and my belief is....you should eat it. Unless it is cigarette butts. Or laundry soap. Or a house cat. True stories! Read your mommy blogs.

I hadn't given much thought to my cravings until my daughter started, without prompting, pouring me glasses of milk and saying, "Here you go, Mommy. Here is some craving milk." If the little lady could drive, I bet she would swing by Taco Bell and come home proudly proclaiming, "Here you go, Mommy! Here are some craving tacos!" Yes, I am lucky to have such an altruistic and wonderful gal under my roof.

This weekend as I watched late-night TV with my husband, I saw the following commercial. Let me tell you, four-letter words were FLYING!

Who the HELL came up with this crap?!? The woman is not craving Omega-3--she wants to eat a damn piece of sushi! Some stupid vitamin isn't going to satiate me--I mean HER! The nerve of Target. 

Honestly gang, we all want what we can't have. I like sushi on a fancy pants date, runny fried eggs are the best and a bottle of beer is heaven after a long day. And I want it soooo baaaadddd now I can't have it. I didn't even think much about these foods when I was non-pregnant, but now all I have in my brain is sushi sushi fried eggs fried eggs on toast beer beer beer Shiner beer beer beer sushi! What a weirdo.

So how do I it? How do I maintain the balance and common sense? I indulge, my friends. Before you go calling prenatal CPS on me, hear me out. I eat cooked sushi from the grocery store. I fry an egg and leave a tiny bit of runny and throw some caution to the wind. I take one taste to the lips of my husband's beer once in a blue moon. Balance is the key to it all. Indulge how you can. And now if you will excuse me, I must call my husband to inform him we are going to a Chinese buffet tonight.

Listen to 35 Conferette 2010

Hey, hey, hey ya'll! I've been extra busy doing nothing (VACATION!) and am now back at school prepping for the Spring Semester. But on the horizon, lo, a festival of music appears. Below is a working playlist featured at the 35 Conferette. More songs will be added soon!