My Favorite Gift

I always get a little weepy and nostalgic on March 16. At 7 p.m. or so, I'll remember the night I bent over my giant pregnant belly to tie my tennies before going for a walk. Then feeling like I just peed my pants. I remember thinking to myself: "Oh great. Just lost bladder control. Swell." And then: "Oh! This is it!" Because 19 years ago on this night I went into labor. And early on the morning of the 17th brought a beautiful baby girl into the world.

Last night I was e-chatting with a friend and mentioned that my daughter's birthday was on St. Patrick's Day and she told me I should buy myself a gift. Her thinking was I should get a gift in celebration of my anniversary of being a mom. I like this friend.

Oh - note the time in the picture above. I found this picture tonight around 10:40. Freaky, huh? Of course, it got me rummaging around in the photo box, so was not able to post this post immediately, but that would've been cool. I was in full-blown labor at that time 19 years ago. And do you think I can find any photos of the sweet little baby? Not tonight. But I'll keep looking. I think the really cute ones were pulled out for the graduation party display and I'm not sure where they are now.

So back to the gift thing. I went to a kitchen gadget-type party earlier this evening at another friend's house, and with the economy and all really had no business buying anything, yet figured I'd been given permission to give myself a little gift! I bought darling little prep bowls so I can pretend I'm famous and my sous-chefs chopped and pre-measured my herbs and veggies for me. And I bought pink Himalayan sea salt.

As much fun as that was, my favorite gift of all time is the one I've given to the world. I'm unabashedly proud of her, and am looking forward to spending the evening with her tomorrow in Ann Arbor.

The Big Boo-Boo

A couple of us have been joking at work about being butterflies ... alighting ever so gently on the surface of projects rather than digging in and questioning as we typically do. Of course, you do know about the potential impact of a butterfly flapping its wings.

Thinking of butterflies made me remember the butterfly costume mom made for me one year. I keep hoping I'll find it because it was really really nice.

Our Girl Scout troop always had a contest at Halloween for the best costume. One year, mom had this great idea. She would make me a butterfly and she would be the cocoon and I would fly out and make an entrance at the party.

Oh, my costume was fantastic – wings of lavender silk left from the mother-of-the-bride dress mom wore for Sharon's wedding, probably. She painted on colorful spots and I think there may have been a bit of glimmer and glitter. I wore a black leotard and tights, slipped my arms into the straps on the back of the fancy wings, then donned fancy deely-bopper antennae. Smashing.

But the cocoon just wasn’t turning out the way mom envisioned. She made an armature out of chicken wire and tried various approaches with brown netting. Finally, frustrated, she said “I’m just going to be the big boo-boo.” So she made a nifty sign saying just that and hung it around her neck.

I won the prize for the best costume and mom won the booby prize.