Wiz Khalifa: Expansion Brands

Fizz Khalifa - Heavily Tattooed Seltzer Water

Biz Khalifa - An All Work and No Play Rapper

Twizz Khalifa - Candy From Pittsburgh

Miz Khalifa - Ground Pepper and Mimosa, Ground Pepper and Mimosa, Ground Pepper and Mimosa, Ground Pepper and Mimosa

Apologies.

You Were Right, Mom. Thanks.

"You better write your thank you notes before you forget."

"Stop touching your face."

"Everything tastes better at the beach."

"You may think he's a nerd, but he might make a great husband someday."

"NO WIRE HANGERS!" (Kidding about that one.)

"Push your sleeves up."

"Women mourn. Men replace."

"Always be prepared to be outraged."

"Did you write your thank you notes yet?"

"Of course I took your dad's last name. I only married him because I couldn't find a 'Smith.'"

"Stop playing with your hair. Teenagers play with their hair."

"When planning anything, guests are always the most important thing to consider."

"I never sign anything I don't have to sign."

"You just have a different relationship with your body after you have a kid. You kind of don't care anymore."

"I live by the golden rule. That's my religion."

"Babies look best in white."

"Shit happens, and we try to make the best of it, and also to appreciate all the good fortune that we have."

"Okay. Sit down right now and write your thank you notes already. And stop playing with your hair."

***

My mother has been a very strong presence in my life, and she has given me a lot of good advice over the past 30 years. I think I have heeded most of it, forgotten more than I would like to admit, ignored some, and pretty much internalized the rest.

We have very different personalities but we have grown closer as I have learned to navigate the adult world. Lately, I have been leaning on her advice heavily, as my life has included first-time-home-buying and childbearing/rearing, as well as such critical issues as finding attractive post-maternity work clothes that are, depressingly, 4 sizes bigger than the size in which I started my "maternity." Because I now have a baby, I feel closer to my mother than ever, and I think I understand the mechanics behind our relationship a little better.

When my daughter first smiled at me, I gasped in fear because I had never seen that expression on her face before, but her smiles delight me now. Last night she was up past her bedtime and seemed for the first time to recognize a special occasion, flirting and giggling and milking it for all it was worth until she crashed. These moments are like waking up to a bright and early sunrise the morning after daylight savings time ends: disorienting at first, but actually very awesome and fun to point out to someone else. I find the first person I think of to share these moments with, after my husband of course, is my own mother.

There is also, obviously, a more difficult side. Babies are demanding. Their needs don't go away when you are sick, sleep-deprived, in a bad mood, or alone while the other parent is traveling. Babies do indescribably disgusting things in which you sometimes have to involve yourself. I guess people don't talk about that side a lot because if they did no one would have babies ever again. (Those who do talk about the gross stuff usually end up here.) The bright side of the dark side is that I have in my mother a caring, understanding, knowledgeable resource who does not hesitate to do whatever she can to ease the pain.

Soon my daughter will probably be throwing fits at birthday parties and sassing us. After that, I'm sure she'll sneak out with a boyfriend/girlfriend we hate. She'll just generally make huge mistakes and break our hearts from time to time. And after kicking around the latest issue over an adult beverage or six with my husband, I'm pretty sure I know who will be the very next person I will call to strategize, commiserate and cry.

Through all the work and sick and ick and tears, I believe something always compels you, as the parent, to do everything you can to make sure your little one feels safe and happy and loved no matter what is going on. It's not just the sense of adult responsibility. It's a powerful, visceral parenting feeling that must be a product of millions of years of evolution. It's hard to put into words, but the best way I can describe it is, "Nurture this thing, it has a part of me in it."

And I'm only six months into this gig. My mother's got 30 years on me. I guess that compelling "something" never really goes away, maybe even intensifies with time. That could explain, in part, why we've grown closer. Her reaction to me trying to buy a house is probably like mine to seeing my daughter's first smile: that surprise sunrise, a strange and momentous first. But after the initial gasp, the feeling kicks in: "nurture this thing." Comfort this thing through the hard times, celebrate the good with it, help it succeed and feel good as much as you can.

My mom has taught me countless valuable lessons about all aspects of life. But this Mother's Day, I want to thank her especially for teaching me both by example and by lesson to try to be almost as good of a mother to my daughter as she is to me.

Link Blast!

Wisconsin continues to fight. Badgers are tenacious. On Wisconsin! (TPM)

Am I a terrible mother for pre-ordering Go The F**k to Sleep? What? Louder? One more time? No? Okay awesome, thanks. (Amazon)

Right after you finish buying me copious amounts of flowers and once you've nail down your plans to feed me grapes and fan me with palms for Dia de los Muert las Madres this Sunday, check out 19th century peace activist's original vision for an movement-based Mother's Day. (Greenwala )

My clothes horse sister has introduced me to the very impressive fashion blog of a Capitol Hill staffer who manages to post three times a day. Can you say dedicated? (Hint:you can) (Capitol Hill Style)

Allie Brosh, the genius behind Hyperbole and a Half, is coming out with a book. Oh, marry me already, H-and-a-H! "This is Why I'll Never Be An Adult" is basically my autobiography!

The Las Vegas Sun has excellent pictures of a very inspiring and moving march by casino workers. One day longer. (Las Vegas Sun)

And finally - sure, go ahead, keep whining about how you are oh-so-sick of the backlash to the backlash to the backlash to the ridiculous song "Friday" performed by the actually adorable and charming Rebecca Black. Because I am POSITIVE you were humming it in the shower this morning, hypocrite. You love "Friday" and everything associated with it. So without further ado, I would like to present to you, secret "Friday" lover, the Bad-Lip-Reading version of Rebecca Black's "Friday:" "Gang Fight." You're welcome. (YouTube)

Happy Fry-eee-day, y'all!

Sugar Shoop

Here I go, here I go, here I go again. Girls, what's my weakness?

SIMPLE CARBOHYDRATES! Okay then. I’m sorry, I just love Salt ‘n’ Suga. 'N' wheat. 'N' high fructose corn syrup.

I cannot resist a cookie or a Twizzler or a Lindt truffle. I need to keep these things out of my house. I refuse to categorically reject any food (except donuts, those are completely unsatisfying to me and I feel like I need to eat 4 to feel satisfied so I am avoiding them post-pregnancy).

So I won’t say to myself, “I will never eat sugar again.” I know only one person in real life who as actually done that, and she is awesome, but I’m not her. I can’t give things up forever. What I can do is keep sweets out of my house. On maternity leave, they were so much easier to pop in my mouth with a babe in one arm than, say, preparing a salad. But then I would continue eating candy and didn't compensate by eating more healthfully on other days, or by exercising. Now that I need to model good habits for the kiddo, and get back to fighting weight (aka non-obesity), I can’t run to the grocery or drugstore in the middle of the afternoon to fulfill a Bassett’s Allsort craving as I did during pregnancy.

And I can strive to try to eat sweets when and only when there is something delicious and unusual afoot. For example, a night out for ice cream with friends, or my mother’s special coginettes at Christmas. The sweet surprise of the food truck cupcake arriving in our neighborhood. The treat of Mexican cookies at a Cinco de Mayo parties. Not daily binging at my apartment.Moral of the story? I can't be perfect. But. Cookies are a sometimes food, y’all.

*Apologies for the lyrics bastardization go out to the incredible Salt 'n' Pepa, who I have on 100% good authority read this blog every morning before breakfast. I LOVE YOU LADIES and I hope you understand.

Service

Today according to my calendar, is Martin Luther King, Jr. (Observed) Day. I really admire President Obama's national call to service on this day. It's good to remember that this is not just a day off from work and school, it's a day to remember all the good we have done and still have yet to do in this world.

Growing up, I used to do some volunteering with my family. We would deliver turkeys, volunteer at soup kitchens, little things here and there. I remember enjoying it a lot and really feeling good and growing from it.

Somehow, after I finished grad school, I stopped volunteering. One reason for that was that my job itself was pretty demanding and I felt that the job, long hours, travel and hard work for a labor union, composed an almost insurmountable load of service in and of itself. I think, though, another reason was that once I felt truly independent, I started slacking on some of the core things I learned to do when I was small: eat right, volunteer, etc. Sort of like gaining the Freshman Fifteen, but a more gradual and sinister change - I kind of stopped doing stuff I didn't "have" to do.

I also have a talent for letting any small obstacle or hindrance stop me from doing something I say I want to do. For example, last year I signed up for Philacares, a Philadelphia-wide service organization. They mismatched my name with someone else's ("Dear Barry") and never sent me any requests to volunteer. I thought, "Well, I kind of tried," and left it at that.

This spring I hope to at least do a few things, maybe through church or some kind of cleanup at the park. I'm on leave until the middle of the spring so I should be able to find something to do.

It's funny how many people pledge to do more "clean living" - eating right, volunteering, keeping their houses clean, etc. - after having a child.

Oh, screw it, this is just a blog post about how I feel bad for not volunteering. So with that, I leave you with a photograph of the afore-mentioned park, so you can see how much it loves its community and deserves love in return. The end.

Comfort and Joy

Right now my kid and I are in perfect equilibrium. She gets food, comfort and care, and I get companionship, smiles and snuggles. I cherish her good company.

Edited to add: I also cherish her healthy skepticism, a quality she possesses in spades as the picture to the left indicates.

The Anti-Resolutionista

I've decided to make a grand total of ZERO New Year's Resolutions this year.

This is not because I'm lazy. It's because I'm ready to settle into something normal. The past year I worked really hard to maintain at work, adjust to a new city, support my husband in his incredibly stressful job search, conceive, deliver and care for a child, and deal with a very challenging housing situation. The year before, we moved to a new city, suffered two miscarriages, and I lost 30 lbs. The year before that, I achieved and adjusted to a promotion at work and traveled to a foreign country. I'm feeling kind of tired. I think making resolutions this year would be somewhat of a false enterprise: I would make them, not really care about them, and feel like I had no credibility with myself.

Instead I will continue trying to do all the things I have wanted to do all along - be a good wife, mother, daughter and sister, take opportunities to help people in need, live healthfully, and leave the world a better place than I found it. I know that sounds cheesy and generic. I also know I don't really have a plan to do these things.

But instead of making myself miserable by "vowing to blog more" or "losing 40 lbs" or starting off determined that "this is the year I will ...." I am going to try to treat 2011 as a continuation of my 2010, 2009, 2008-and-further-back-goals.

I accomplished a mother lode of stuff in 2010. Our family accomplished a mother lode of stuff in 2010.

2011 will just be a year of striving, as gracefully and happily as I can, to live well.