What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

Your mother's a tracer!

The names, they were copied.

They were placed inside a hat.

  

And then three names were chosen by Luke, who was gracious enough to play my assistant while catching up on last night's episode of House.

In an effort to spread the wealth, I decided to break up the mega package into three separate prizes: the Jay and Silent Bob series, the two Clerks comics, and our dear Buddy Christ.

And the winners are...

 

 

Congratulations Gry, Dawnie, and Audrey! Gry, you get the Buddy Christ. Dawnie, the Jay and Silent Bob series is yours. Audrey, enjoy Clerks. Get me your addresses by Monday and I'll try to mail everything out next week. A big thanks to the rest of you who...um...wanted to take my stuff.

For those of you who couldn't care less about my nerdy contest, might I interest you in a belly shot of sorts?

 

Here I am at 23 weeks pregnant with Baby Brother, my two-days-shy-of-10-months-old daughter standing by my side. It's not the most telling angle, but it's the best Luke and I could manage under the circumstances ("circumstances" being a code word for "the child who insists on clinging to my legs for dear life the minute I walk through the door"). However, it's still enough to compare to my size at this point in Kara's incubation:

 

So far, the kids seem to be progressing at relatively the same rate. I had an ob/gyn appointment on Monday, where I learned that Baby Brother is spot on, measurement-wise, just like Kara was until we reached the final few weeks. (For more details about that visit, including my decision regarding whether or not to attempt a VBAC, check out my post on Parents.com.)

Edited to add: Whoops, there was one more photo I meant to post last night, because HELLO, adorableness:

I like to think Randy would cringe with pride

On Tuesday, August 26, my actual, non-Frema name was released in hardcover for the first time. Simultaneously, my pre-pubescent ode to Randy Wooten was immortalized forever.

Sarah Brown's literary masterpiece is now available to the masses, and the list of contributors is pretty effing cool. I'm supposed to receive a free copy in the mail, but I'm tempted to run out and buy one for everybody I know. Including dear Randy Wooten, because that's just good manners.

Anyway, even though the poem is terrible, even though 'lil Frema will never realize the consequences of putting her tragedy to paper, EVEN THOUGH I WAS TEN FREAKING YEARS OLD, I am insanely proud that my writing is a part of this book. The widget will be available in my sidebar for a bit, even though it clutters my template and I would much rather feature a smaller version of the cover picture and include the link that way. Just like my Parents widget. Except that I didn't actually create my Parents widget. Anyone care to help a sister out?

So, um, buy my book! And if you see Randy, tell him I said hi.

And the branding comes full circle

While preparing for BlogHer last year, I was inspired to order business cards for shameless self-promotion. Many of my online buddies went with Moo cards, charming, wee little things that were quite affordable, but I wanted something with a longer shelf life that painted a broader picture of my literary goals. I wanted a business card that screamed from the rooftops that I AM A WRITER.

Aside from my subscription to TypePad's services, it was the first time I had ever put money towards a writing endeavor, so I enlisted the help of a professional--an Indianapolis graphic design firm I work with for my day job--and I shared my dream for the end result. It was Jenny who came up with the idea of highlighting my constant tendency to scribble, and the final product includes the image you see in my new header. For those of you reading via RSS, here's what you're missing:

I updated my design to better compliment the new art (thanks to PB&J for allowing me to use it on the Web), and voila! My first new template in a year and a half.

I've been racking my brain for months on how to freshen this place up, and I don't know why it took so long to think of mimicking my fancy schmancy business card, but the light bulb finally went off, which means I now have a brand. A consistent brand that reflects who I am and what I do, and that brand is my writing style. Literally. That's my John Hancock up there.

Once again, this change couldn't have come at a better time. The more important this site becomes to me, the more I engage with the local blogging community (I just registered for a two-day BlogIndiana conference that takes place in August), the more I talk up the advantages of corporate blogging at work, the more likely it is to go public. It's inevitable. And when that happens, I want to make sure my best foot is forward and that I'm housing my work in a way that makes me proud, however silly some of it may seem. My previous design was the bomb diggity, but it served its purpose. It was time to move on.

Now, when I'm at my ten-year high school reunion Saturday night, I can give out this URL and not feel like an idiot. Though the dorkitude associated with bringing business cards to such a function will probably cancel that out.

The names have all changed since you hung around, but those dreams have remained and they're turned around

Well. I'd like to think you guys are ready to welcome me back with open arms, but after gauging your responses to Kara's recent posts, it appears my presence on this blog is obsolete. Luckily, I'm the parent, and this is not a democracy.

(Your mom's a democracy!)

Clearly, I'm feeling much better.

Ever since I posted that last entry, I've been debating when to return. As much as I love being a part of the blogging community and using this site as a means for creative expression, the way in which I was participating needed to change. I had gotten so caught up in posting for posting's sake that I forgot it should mean something to me. Tuesday night would roll around, and I'd want to talk about my upcoming high school reunion, but instead I posted a Weight Loss Wednesday because that's what I was supposed to do. So I did, even if I didn't want to. Thursday night would come, and I'd be inspired to write about the latest Clinton/Obama debate (first forty-five minutes equalled BOGUS), but instead I poured through e-mails about the return of Tragic Love Friday because tomorrow was Friday and that's what I was supposed to do. So I hatched up a few plotlines, even if I didn't want to.

You see the pattern, yes?

I wanted to return but wasn't sure how to break that cycle. I wanted to get back to the days where I blogged because I wanted to, not out of obligation. So I filed those questions away and focused on writing for Parents, trusting that when the time was right, I would know.

This past Saturday, I knew.

It happened at a conference here in Indianapolis, where local bloggers came together to provide insight on how to enhance one's personal and professional presence on the Web. I originally signed up to learn more about blogs as they relate to smart business practices but walked away with renewed energy for my own blogging vision and met some great people who will serve as blogging resources for me in the future. (If only I'd met Doug Karr and Chris Baggott before teaching my class! Missed Opportunity, you are a son of a bitch.) Like I said earlier, this blog is not a democracy. I like that it makes people happy, and I really enjoy the conversations, but ultimately, it's an archive of my life. A place where I can assign words to my feelings and explore new territories and reflect on what kind of person I want to be. And in order to make it worth my time--something I have much less of these days--I have to do it on my terms.

So I'm making some changes.

Effective immediately, I'm discontinuing all weekly features on this site. No more Weight Loss Wednesday, Brain Fest Friday, or Tragic Love Friday. I'll still write about health and wellness, but I won't let the calendar dictate when I do so. I'll still pose funny questions for us to laugh over, but I'll let them come naturally instead of forcing inspiration when it doesn't exist. And as for Tragic Love Friday.... What can I say? The whole idea of a part three started with readers volunteering to help, but when push came to shove, nobody had the time. And I completely understand. Hell, I don't have the time, and it's my damn story. A bunch of us came up with some great ideas, and hopefully, one day, I can do something with them. But until then, we'll have to make do with lil' Frema's original masterpiece, which I still think is pretty effing awesome, and if you haven't read it yet, now you know there's one more way to kill time at the office. You're quite welcome.

The new plan is to start including blog posts about topics that are important to me but haven't received much air time here in the past. Perfect example: politics. I am not a political guru by any means--ask me to name the mascot for the Democratic party and I will probably mimic a deer in headlights--but now that Luke and I are parents, now that we're laying down roots in Indianapolis, now that I'm old enough to appreciate how politics affect my quality of life--I'm determined to take a more active interest in our local and national elections. I want to figure out who I stand for and who stands for me. I want to ask hard questions and receive thoughtful answers from you. I've been afraid to tackle issues like that in the past because I am super sensitive and HATE the idea of someone judging me just because I hold a different opinion, even though I read posts from plenty of bloggers with completely different views and always appreciate seeing issues from other angles. As Doug said at Smaller Indiana's conference on Saturday, "Afraid of conflict? Don't blog." And not blogging? Is not an option.

I want to learn more about the opportunities available through blogging and make that learning process more transparent here. I presented a Blogging 101 session at a writing conference last fall. I studied blogging issues for a whole freaking semester! Why didn't I link to that PowerPoint? Why not post my syllabus? I don't know. But I won't make those mistakes again. 

I also plan to do a better job highlighting the writing I do for Parents.com. I'm not sure why I downplayed this before--I'm proud of the work I do for them, just as if I were freelancing for a print publication. Plus, I've found that with my friends who write for other Web sites, the more they link to those gigs in their personal blogs, the more likely I am to read them. I trust that's the same for you. If not? Um, that's OK, too. (Frema says through gritted teeth because total monthly page views play a key role in renewing blogger contracts. But no pressure. Am Zen.)

After experiencng a brief, emotional bump in the road, life is sunshine and roses again. I have a wonderful husband and beautiful baby girl who both have given new meaning to my life. I work for a company that (finally) challenges me creatively and compensates me well, thanks to a new supervisor and more structured environment. Dare I say I love my job now? That I like being both mother and breadwinner? Because I think I really do. I'm no longer resentful that Luke's at home with Kara instead of me. How can I be when he's so damn good at it? It's no accident we each ended up in the roles that we did. Even though I miss them something fierce when I'm away.

Anyway, the point is I'm in the perfect place to take this blog to the next level and make it more reflective of who I am today.

So that the answer to "What're you lookin' at?" continues to be me.

Happy Birthday to me, it's my special day

Hey, guys, what's happening. Kara in the house! Four months ago today, the doctors pumped my mother full of drugs and ripped open her stomach to bring me into the world. Hooray for modern technology! And Vicodin, according to my mom. Certainly merits a post, don't you think?

Let's see. What to report? I just learned to laugh, I spend hours at a time sucking on my hands, and I can finally last longer than two hours in between feeds. Go me!

I'm also the right size for some very peculiar onesies.

I've been told I got these from a special blog auntie who creates one-of-a-kind clothing for babies, clothing that references dated pop-culture icons who were all the rage thirty-seven million years ago. Take this one, for example. Who is this Kyle person? What isn't his fault? Did he scream his ever-loving head off in a McAlister's Deli and poop all over his clothes, causing his mother to Lose It in front of dozens of judgemental strangers who could only stare as he banged his legs against the cheap plastic changing table while sobbing over life's injustices? Because sometimes, dear readers, this cannot be helped.

Now that you mention it, though, Kyle is quite dreamy. Perhaps he would consider accompanying me to Babies R Us? Picture this: a dimly lit sales floor, my Baby Bjorn, a Baby Einstein serenade.... I get weak in the knees just thinking about it.

Is it hot in here? Goodness.

Moving on.

Now THESE guys I know! Jump, jump! Joey Joe will make ya, jump jump! Jordan Knight will make ya-- Wait, what? Hold on, my mom's calling me.

....

You mean to tell me this isn't Kris Kross?! Crap. But no worries. "Step by Step" is quite delightful. As are drug-free school zones.

This guy's OK, even if he is trying to one-up me for Best Hair. Clearly, I have the best hair. So what if there are bald spots above my ears? It's my new take on the mullet: Business on the sides, party on the top.

"Future Blogger" my tush. The time is now, baby! Momma, eat my dust.

Your mom admits defeat!

Hey, guys, Kara here. What's up? My mom's still on hiatus from non-paid writing (enter shameless plug for Parental Discretion Advised, where she's been a blogging FOOL), so she asked me to post something--ANYTHING--that doesn't imply she's about to throw herself under a bus.

How's that for starters?

Anyway, my mom. What a downer, huh? Why'd she have to be all, "Life is so hard, love me, pity me, cry for me, Argentina," when all she had to do was say, "Listen, peeps. I need a break. See you on the flip side...of your mom!" (Momma said nothing's better than a good "your mom" joke. Am I doing it right? I've got enough trouble keeping my dinner out of her pants without stressing over comedic timing, too.) She fully admits to being kind of a drama queen, and now that she's given herself permission to take it easy for a bit, she's a much happier person to be around. She doesn't cry when she goes to work anymore, and she actually feels a lot better about her job, and she and Daddy have even decided to stay in central Indiana and buy a house for me. They say it's "for the family," but really, it's for me.

I wonder if they'll get a decorator for my room? Sea life bedding is sooo 2007.

Life is very good. Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan found out they're having a baby boy, and I'm way excited to teach my little cousin how to roll over, which I just mastered yesterday, thank you very much. I also like to suck on my feet, which Momma thinks is gross, but she still listens to Hanson, so even at its best, her taste is questionable.

Anyway, she wanted me to let you guys know that she really appreciated all the nice comments you left on her last entry, and she loves you all very much, and she's working on getting her act together so she can hang out with you again soon. She's even working on a new blog design, which, praise Jesus, because really, Mom, that dumb Prada picture? The joke is over. Time to move on.

Until then, she said I could use her blog to post pictures once and a while, and I totally will, because it's not fair to withhold my adorableness from the masses. You guys live hard lives, being adults and all. Consider it my gift to you.

That said, feel free to return the favor. My birthday? Is December 17th. Baby Einstein CDs, froggie bibs, and spare toes accepted.

Brain Fest Friday: Killing two birds with one (tragic) stone

When I first brought up the idea of TLF part three, I'll admit, I was nervous. Without the charm and naiveté of 'lil Frema, how could this saga possibly continue? Is it worth it without the commentary? Did I have it in me? (Your mom has it in her!) And where on earth would I find the time to write pages of morally reprehensible fiction when I can barely manage to update my blogs?

Despite my concerns, I decided to go for it, and with the help of a stellar creative team, have pulled together some kick-ass storylines sure to keep both you and your mom on your toes. The first installment will be posted next Friday as planned, and I can't think of a better way to spend my (very little) free time than bringing these characters back to life. Literally, for some.

But first I want to pick your brain. Getting a feel for where you're at with these characters will add further direction to the group's ideas and give us all a refresher course in what makes this tale so darn tragic.

TLF fans, I'd be much obliged if you'd answer one or more of the following questions:

• Out of the entire series thus far, who is your favorite character? Why?
• Who's your least favorite?
• Which character would you define as the most tragic?
• Any loose ends you want tied up?
• What do you want more of in part three?
• What could you do without?
• Who is your favorite couple? (Answers can include dead characters and those of the non-romantic variety.)
• What you describe as the most defining moment in the series?

For those unfamiliar with the antics of the 90210 gang from hell, check out the reader recaps for parts one and two. If you're feeling really ambitious, read the entire archive. You won't be sorry.

Horrified, maybe. But not sorry.

Brain Fest Friday: I would never actually say these things about Luke's mom

Here it is, folks. The BFF moment you've all been waiting for.

Time to share our greatest "your mom!" stories.

My fancy for humor of the maternal variety came about sometime in college, when my biggest problems were deciding which pair of pajama pants to wear to my 8:00 class and just how late I could stay up playing Phase 10 and still be coherent enough to make it to said class. Anyway, once my friends and I started, we couldn't stop. Not one of us could get through more than two or three sentences without somebody tacking on the now-famous "Your mom!" phrase in front of the last part of what they said, placing special emphasis on the "mom"; think loud and high-pitched--the verbal equivalent to all caps. If you've never tried it, you should. It's applicable to any conversation and fun for the whole family!

Exhibit A

Luke: God, it's hot in here. Did you turn up the heat?

Frema: Your mom turns up the heat!

(Classic mom humor often includes a critical "Bow chica bow wow" element.)

Exhibit B

Luke: What do you want for dinner? I was thinking about making chicken.

Frema: Your mom's a chicken!

(Notice what I did there? I left out the verb and actually turned Luke's mom into poultry. Genius!)

Exhibit C

Luke: I don't know what I did, but my face hurts.

Frema: Yeah? Well, it's killing me!

(OK, so that last one wasn't about "your mom" at all, but really, who could resist that?)

You get the idea.

Anyway, one of my new favorite mom moments took place when I was almost nine months pregnant, when Luke and I were on a fantastic dining-out streak because I just knew my water would break while Luke was cooking stir fry and we'd have to rush to the hospital that very minute and no way was I bringing my baby home to a messy kitchen. Anyway, we were pulling into the Champps parking lot and Luke was trying to let me off at the front entrance, only I kept going on and on about how happy I was to be there and how I couldn't wait to order me some baby-back ribs, and he said something like, "Wow, you're sure excited about eating out today," and I started to reply, "Your mom likes to...." Only I realized I couldn't finish my sentence, because, well, you know. Dirrty.

We had a good laugh and never spoke of it again.

So, have at it, people! For those of you who don't have a shining "mom" moment? Tell me your favorite mom joke. Or skip these shenanigans altogether and give me your best piece of parenting advice over at Parents. Or get the scoop on my first day back at work and the pretty flowers I received from my thoughtful husband. Or do all of the above and earn a pretty gold star.

I suppose you could also sit back and do nothing, but at least it won't be for lack of options.

Your mom's a lack of options!

(See? So easy!)

Brain Fest Friday: In which I lament missing the Felicity bandwagon

The topic for today's BFF was originally suggested by David last week and seconded by you all in the comments section of yesterday's post, and I'm all about giving the people what they want, so there you have it. Song lyrics! Specifically, ones you can't get out of your head.

Mine come from a tender little film called The Waitress, in which a pregnant Keri Russell serves one-of-a-kind pie creations in a diner down south and dreams of an existence far away from her small-town upbringing and pighead ass wipe of a husband. Luke and I rented this when I was just two weeks postpartum, and I was captivated the whole time, both by Keri Russell's raw portrayal of Jenna and her beautiful head of hair. Seriously. It's gorgeous.

Anyway, halfway through, while gettin' down and dirty with her ob/gyn in the kitchen (they're sleeping together; did I not mention that?), she sings a song she learned from her mother as a little girl, "The Pie Song," and I've been singing it to Kara ever since. Even Luke's taken a liking, and if you think there's anything sweeter than listening to your husband lull your daughter to sleep with this, you'd be DEAD WRONG. He only remembers the first couple of lines, but still, so sweet.

It's the chorus I keep coming back to:

Baby, don't you cry
Gonna make a pie
Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle
Baby, don't be blue
Gonna make for you
Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle

Gonna be a pie from Heaven above
Gonna be filled with strawberry love
Baby, don't you cry
Gonna make a pie
And hold you forever in the middle of my heart

Take a listen and see if you aren't on iTunes by the end of the day.

What've you been stuck on lately?

Brain Fest Friday: Another contender was the whole "really thin pancakes" bit. LOVE that.

OK, people, here it is, today's BFF: Favorite excerpt of dialogue from a movie.

I know, I know; so many! And I won't even TOUCH When Harry Met Sally because the whole damn film is quotable, but two immediately come to mind:

Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery
Scene: Las Vegas casino

Casino Dealer (to Number Two): Seventeen.
Number Two: Hit me.
Casino Dealer: You have 17, sir.
Number Two: I like to live dangerously.
Casino Dealer [Hit for four]: Twenty-one. Very good, sir.
Casino Dealer (to Austin): Five.
Austin Powers: I'll stay.
Casino Dealer: I suggest you hit, sir.
Austin Powers: I also like to live dangerously.

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
Scene: Dinner at Applebee's

Ricky Bobby: Dear Lord baby Jesus, lyin' there in your ghost manger, just lookin' at your Baby Einstein developmental videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors. I would like to thank you for bringin' me and my mama together, and also that my kids no longer sound like retarded gang-bangers.

So, have at it! Together, we, too, can influence Netflix queues!

Brain Fest Friday: Don't worry, I didn't give him my flower

In honor of the recent passing of St. Valentine's Day, I thought it'd be fun to kick off the first official BFF installment with a topic related to dating blunders of old. Like once, when I was a freshman in college and coming fast off the heels of my gazillionth break-up with Nick, The Boyfriend Who Once Went For Three Weeks Without Calling, one of my gal pals suggested hanging out with her high school (male) friends the next town over, and her roommate and I took her up on it, and the night started out with us downing New York Peppermint Patty shots (believe it or not, vodka plus chocolate syrup once equalled AWESOME) and watching a horribly inappropriate pornographic film titled Hindfield, only since I wasn't a fan of Seinfeld yet I didn't get any of the jokes, but that's OK, because halfway through the movie one of the guys asked me if I wanted to see the glow-in-the-dark picture in his room, and I was like, "Alright," so we went into his bedroom, and I looked around and was like, "So, where's the picture?" and then I was like, "Oh."

What can I say? College Frema was a dumbass.

Also, you can't give away what you no longer have. Oops.

Still didn't sleep with him, though.

But enough about me. What's the lamest one-liner YOU ever fell for?

Got a burning question for BFF? Bring it on, peeps.

Moods, swinging of, even moreso than Jenna's

At the time of the start of this entry it's 2:08 in the morning. I should be catching some zzzz's, but instead I've chosen to burden the Internet with my tormented, sort-of-depressing thoughts. Lucky you.

The time has come for Luke and I to put our one-income-family plan into action. His last day of work has already been acknowledged by his department with a farewell lunch at Rock Bottom. I've been in contact with my supervisor and made plans for us to share a meal of our own before heading back to the office, to get up to speed on what I've missed and mentally prepare for what things will be like upon my return. It's no longer numbers typed into an Excel spreadsheet; it's our reality. Luke is a stay-at-home dad. I'm a working mom.

And even though there are still almost three weeks until I have to swipe my security badge at the lab's employee entrance, I feel like my maternity leave is already ending, because come five o'clock tomorrow, Kara and I will say good-bye to this special time we've had getting to know each other. I'm happy for my husband, but so bummed for me.

After Friday, things will be different. No longer will I be the primary parent with whom Kara spends most of her time. Gone will be the days of Luke walking through the door after a long day at the office and me greeting him from the living room couch, spewing happy words about the funny sounds the baby made that morning, cradling her sleeping body in my arms. No more singing "Peppermint Twist" while dancing around the apartment at eleven a.m.

It's not mommy guilt I'm suffering from; it's sadness.

I'm trying to be strong. I'm trying to get excited about shopping for work clothes and grabbing a shower before noon every day and talking to other adults again. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I don't want Luke to feel bad (happy birthday, honey!). I know that somebody's got to work and my bond with Kara will continue to grow and eventually it'll all get easier.

But IT EFFING SUCKS, just the same.

To keep myself from drowning in a pint of Ben and Jerry's, I'm hereby announcing the official return of Tragic Love Friday, if only to have something awesomely trivial to focus on in my spare (ha!) time. It won't run every week, or even every other week right now, probably just once a month until a solid plot's been established, but no worries, because you'll have Brain Fest Friday to hold you over between installments. We'll have our first official BFF session tomorrow, so be sure to tune in. In the meantime, I'm going out on a limb and setting a TLF season premiere for...(flips through Norman Rockwell calendar) March 28. Those of you interested in being part of the writing team, please e-mail me so I can add you to my newly created Gmail group, which should allow us to swap ideas in an orderly fashion. If you don't have a Gmail account, let me know and I'll send you an invite. Also, don't stress about your literary skills or lacking soap opera background; I'll be controlling the main direction of the story and do eighty percent of the writing, anyway, but from time to time I'm sure I'll need pinch-hitters, and who better than a TLF fan?

Whew. Just thinking about the tragic possibilities makes me smile.

Edited to add: Of COURSE Kara choose this particular morning to wake up at five o'clock making the cutest sounds imaginable. But how can I be mad at this sweet little face? Does she not kill with the adorableness?

Edited to add AGAIN: Luke's V-Day present to me? A TWO-DISC collection of love songs by Phil Collins. It doesn't get any better than this, folks. (Seriously. I'm beyond giddy.)

I guess we're all two nuggets short of a six piece.

At least in the common sense department.

Can I tell you how much I loved reading about everyone's verbal shortcomings? Your stories were so awesome that I only felt the tiniest bit guilty for not updating the rest of the week. I'm thinking this pick-your-brain fest needs to become a regular feature. Ever since the season-two finale of Tragic Love Friday, I've missed giving people something to consistently look forward to, so it's fun to imagine "What're you lookin' at?" as a landing spot for shits and giggles once again.

Unless...

Speaking of TLF, I've been thinking a lot about our batshit-crazy fivesome (well, foursome really, continue to RIP, David) and how much I miss their morally questionable antics. Back when I was still pregnant and clueless about how often my chest would double as a bassinet, I had high hopes for continuing the insanity in the form of a reader-inspired, online soap opera, setting up the initial plot outline myself and soliciting excerpts from all of you. Then Kara was born, and I kind of lost touch with reality for a couple of weeks, and now I'm mentally preparing myself to go back to work, and it's already hard enough to keep things fresh around here without wondering how many of you are groaning each time I post yet another baby picture. The pressure associated with reviving TLF just might do me in. But damn, how fun would it be to give part three a go? We could even assign a role to my latest celebrity crush:

(Stacy, I know you'd approve.)

Since it wouldn't just be a matter of typing out pre-written pages, I'm not sure how much time I'll have to devote to TLF, but I really think it's a worth a try, as long as you guys are still on board and enough of you are willing to share your literary talents with me--and of course, by "literary talent" I mean "smutty love scenes (with Matthew Fox! and Jenna! yes?) and V.C. Andrews-style storylines." We could rotate Brain Fest Friday (BFF!) and Tragic Love Friday so that we all have more time to dedicate to this very important and not-at-all-fluffy writing project.

So, what say you? Are you with me? Or should we just resign to being BFFs?

On a random note (except not so random because Matthew Fox is on Lost and what I have to say is kind of related to Lost), a couple of weeks ago I was mortified to realize that my hair, which hasn't been professionally tended to since October, had grown into such a state of disarray that I am now a dead ringer for Hugo "Hurley" Reyes:

Don't believe me? See for yourself:

Is time for haircut, yes?

Luckily, there's one gal in the Frema-Useless Clutter household who looks perfect just the way she is.

Hat courtesy of the lovely Isabel.

My beautiful baby is eight weeks old today, which means Luke and I take her in at one o'clock this afternoon for her first batch of shots. I may not be the patient, but already I feel nauseous.

Let's play a game.

We'll call it The Stupidest Thing I Ever Said Game. I'll go first.

As a freshman in college: "You wouldn't know a good man if he slapped you in the face."

Apparently I had a non-traditional approach towards finding Mr. Right.

Now you. And if you happen to be the type of person who never says anything dumb, ever, feel free to share the stupidest thing that was ever said to you. I'm all about inclusion.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who occasionally refers to Jack as "Charlie"

Why didn't anybody give me a heads up that DeLurking Week was more than two freaking weeks ago?

At least, I think it was. Its creator, Sheryl of Paper Napkin, hasn't really done anything with it since 2006, but when it comes to comment-inducing events, the blogosphere isn't about to let one go without a fight, so I assume its spirit is alive and well. Right, Liz?

Anyway, for this period of delurkism, I'd like to talk about television. You know, that thing that used to be cool before last fall's writer's strike? Now it seems the best most networks can do is either put out new crap like Dance War: Bruno versus Carrie Ann or recycle older, tired crap like American Gladiator. Although dude, I'll be damned if I didn't watch twenty minutes of Dance War last night.

So, what I want to know is: how are you surviving the strike? Luke and I have embraced our Blockbuster Online membership and recently finished the first season of Lost. Why the hell we weren't watching this show before is a mystery to me, but we are loving it now. It took us about three weeks to get through season one, and we just started the first disc of the second season last night. I've also been pleased as punch that Deal or No Deal is on at least twice a week now.

Since it appears the strike's going to last for the rest of the current TV season, we're in the market for ideas of other shows we should get into. The second season of Big Love is already on our queue, and we're contemplating The Sopranos and Six Feet Under (LOVE hottie Peter Krause). And the fifteen-year-old in me is seriously considering going for Dawson's Creek, because I never caught that show, either. Dawson wasn't exactly my cup of tea, looks-wise.

OK, have at it, people! And of course, if you just want to compliment my baby, that's fine, too. She's quite delicious.

I still say the carrot-stealing bastard got what he deserved

This baby is taking her time.

I know, I know, I'm not even past my due date yet, but I can feel it. The Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to be coming so frequently two weeks ago seem to have disappeared almost completely, and I can practically hear my cervix taunting me with all the non-dilating it's probably doing. My 40-week appointment is scheduled for Tuesday at 9:45, and in my heart, I know that Luke and I will be there. Blah.

How 'bout we answer some questions today, eh?

Professor Art Nerd is dying to know:

Who is your favorite artist, or artistic period, or work of art? What do you like about it? (I'm not judging, honest, it's just a question I always ask)

Oh, Lauren, I'm sure my response is going to diappoint you, because while I have a huge appreciation of art, my actual art knowledge is scant. I can tell you I love the Saturday Evening Post covers created by Norman Rockwell, which will be gracing my calendar for 2008, and there's a matted photograph of autumn leaves in my living room that I purchased at a local craft show a few years ago when I lived in Rensselaer and worked at Saint Joe. Other than that? I'm useless. I love the Post covers because of how well the images reflect all the coming-of-age situations that seem to happen in a typical American's life, and fall is my favorite season, so the leaves photo reminds of me crunching through parks in my hiking shoes with Luke, something we used to do all the time. That's one of the things I can't wait to do again in my non-pregnant state.

What is the book you most look forward to reading to Freka?

Now HERE'S a question I can get behind, mostly because I was a reading fool as a kid, and one of the biggest things that excites me about having a daughter is being able to share my favorite childhood and young adult books with her. Baby-sitters Club. Nancy Drew (both the original hardbacks and the paperback Nancy Drew Files). Sweet Valley High. Anything by Judy Blume and Paul Zindel. It's not that boys can't read these books, but do they? No, not usually. And even though I tried, I could never get into the Hardy Boys; they were only tolerable when teaming up with Nancy, Bess, and George in those random mystery thrillers that came out every few months.

Anyway, to answer the actual question, the book I'm most excited about reading to Freka right now is the comprehensive collection from Beatrix Potter. When I was a kid, one of my aunts gifted us the entire series of stories, and my sister Samantha and I had a blast going through the little books. My favorite at the time was The Story of a Fierce Bad Rabbit, mainly because he got his naughty little cotton tail shot off at the end.

Brittany asks:

Have you ever had something stolen from you?

Hell, yes, I have. The neon-green scooter I bought with money I received for making my First Communion back when I was nine years old, and I'm still pissed about it.

That scooter was a big deal. I already had a bike; Samantha and I had received matching pink bikes from my Nana for Christmas the year before, each with their own names etched into the handlebar padding (mine was Pink Taffy). But still, I wanted a scooter. Don't ask me why.

A week or two after my First Communion celebration, my father took me to Toys R Us, and I picked out said neon-green scooter. He put it together for me as soon as I got home, and I fell in love. Between that and the bike, my feet almost forgot what it felt like to make physical contact with the sidewalk. (We were NEVER allowed to ride in the street, and I'm still amazed when I see kids that do. My mother would've killed me.)

The poor thing didn't last through the summer.

My parents might say part of it was my fault for occasionally neglecting to store the scooter in the basement like I was supposed to every night before going to bed. Our apartment had fencing around the yard, and a gate, but it was that criss-cross wiring stuff that anyone could easily climb over. Apparently, the temptation of the scooter just sitting there next to our staircase was too great for one of the local sticky-fingers, and one morning, it was just gone. I never saw it again.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure they stole my bike, too. Couldn't you just cry a river for poor 'lil Frema?

Unless she decides that blogs are bogus; that I CAN'T get behind.

First of all, mad props to Molly and her pinch-hitting for me yesterday when I was a mere fifty minutes away from blowing NaBloPoMo four days before crossing the finish line, thanks to a ill-timed power outage. I loved reading your guesses (though some more than others--I'm looking at those of you who chose dates AFTER December 10); keep them coming!

In the meantime, I'll keep the Q&A stuff coming with a goal of wrapping things up by Friday. Roxanne wonders:

What is one of your hopes/dreams for your new little one?

Oh, goodness, that's a biggie. There are so many things I'd love to see her do: find a passion. Excel in school. Treat her body with respect. Raise a family of her own. Give back in return for all that she's been given. Live a relatively debt-free life (though a few student loans and a reasonable mortgage won't kill her). Luke is hoping she'll attend Purdue and go on to become a marine biologist (hence the Sea Life bedding theme).

In the grand scheme of things, though, I just want her to be happy. I know she'll have hard times, I know she'll have to fall on her face every now and then, but as long as she's grateful for the path she's on, I'll do my best to be supportive and keep my mouth shut about her choices. 

What is one of your greatest fears for little Freka?

This may sound silly, and I'm sure I'll change my mind once she's here, but right now I don't have any fears. All I can think about are the various ways Luke and I hope to give her the best life possible, and how excited I am over imagining her experimenting with sports, reading her first Nancy Drew book, attending her first sleepover, and leaving out milk and cookies for Santa.

Katie asks:

If there was only one language that you could speak/write for the rest of your life, and English wasn't an option, which would you choose and why?

I took two years of Spanish in high school because everyone on my dad's side can speak Spanish and it's one of the most popular languages in the United States. However, my second choice would've been French, because how cool must it be to speak French? So yeah. French. 

What's your favorite cocktail?

I haven't indulged in alcohol since February, back when Luke and I knew we wanted to start trying for a baby, and I really haven't missed it, so my memories of drinking are distant. I do love a good amaretto stone sour, though, and red wine, mostly because it makes me feel grown up at parties.

Sorry for the brief answers, but it's hard to concentrate today, seeing as my doctor's appointment this morning revealed that I'm a centimeter and a half dilated and fifty percent effaced!

Hear that? My cervix is cooperating. Freka is showing (small) signs that she wants to ditch my uterus and meet her mom and dad. That's my girl!

Your mom has control of Frema's blog!

Howdy all! 

Molly here (ahem, shameless self plug, ahem.)  I'm taking a quick break from NaBloPaintMo over in my world to post for poor Frema, who is not only endlessly dedicated to the love of all NaBloPoMo, but also stuck at home gestating away without power, without Internet.  Thankfully, she is not without cheesecake.

At almost midnight, nearing the end of a month-long blogging spree, what's a girl to do?  Why she calls on her pal for a quick post, that's what. 

Of course, each time she calls, I answer the phone with an excited, "Areyouinlabor?"  Because friends, (I can call you that, yes?) I'm dying for that phone call already.  And I can tell that you are also.

So while Frema's in the dark, let's place a few bets.  What day and time are you calling for Freka's birth?  I'm calling December 6th, 8:19pm. 

The winner gets the baby.

Oh, wait.  She'll never agree to that. 

The winner gets the I Called It, Bitches title.  And THAT is something for your resume. 

Braxton this, Mr. Hicks; also, the episode where Brandon met Emily in San Francisco was also a Turkey Day one, right?

Long day, people. Long day. And because of it, the 38-week photo shoot is lacking, I think.

But don't worry. Frema finally found her happy face!

I'm working on it.

Tonight, Luke and I had a fun time trying to time my latest round of Braxton Hicks contractions, which were (sometimes) strong enough to inspire my breathing exercises but never regular enough to merit real concern. I did get one hell of a foot massage out of the deal, though. With lotion! Bath and Body Works lotion! Such a lucky woman, am I.

Continuing with the Q&A goodness, Jenny asks: 

Have you been watching The Office this season, and if so, what do you think so far?

Luke and I have been huge Office fans ever since we discovered the show during its season two run; every episode is guaranteed to withdraw at least one heartfelt guffaw from each of us. Michael's stupidly painful (yet unfortunately, still very boss-like) antics! Toby's depressing life! Dwight's cousin Mose! It's all too much!

At the end of season three, when it appeared that Jim and Pam were attempting to make a go of things, we both cheered. And at the beginning of season four, when we saw their relationship wasn't going to dominate the show's entire story arch, we breathed a sigh of relief. But now? Now, I'm not sure how I feel. The show is still very funny, but at this point it's kind of...I don't know...slow? The Dwight and Angela break-up is interesting, but it's not picking up fast enough for me. Jim and Pam are adorable, but I'm getting some very strong "Ross and Rachel season three" vibes--you guys know what I'm talking about, right? When Rachel went from being a waitress at Central Perk to a fashion executive at Bloomingdale's, and Ross got all iffy, and now Pam's trying to shed her receptionist shell to pursue leads in graphic design, and Jim's all iffy? Branch out a little, NBC writers, is all I'm saying.

What is your favorite Mexican food/Italian food?

This may come as a shock to you guys, but I'm a picky eater. I know! Despite the Mexican genes I've inherited from my father, it's a miracle I even eat tacos. I do, though. They're very good. But steak fajitas are the best.

As far as Italian food goes, same thing. When Luke and I go to places like Olive Garden or Macaroni Grill, I usually get either spaghetti (with sausage, yum) or pizza. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, am I right?

I think I'm right.

What is your favorite (or strangest) Thanksgiving memory?

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because the focus is so simple: family and food. No worries about decorations or presents, and most everyone gets to enjoy a lovely four-day weekend without having to lose a vacation day. I can't ever remember having a bad time. Memories that stand out include a broccoli fight shared between my mom and one of my aunts when I was eleven and the first time Luke and I spent it together in 2005. Prior to that we were usually apart for the actual meal on the actual holiday, so finally being able to share that with him was extra special.

If it's strange you want, I also have a lingering memory of a Beverly Hills, 90210 episode that aired on Thanksgiving, probably when I was in middle school. I never did see the whole thing, but Brandon was hanging off a cliff. Anyone care to fill in the blanks for me?

I was a good kid, I swear

For a while there, it looked like today's was going to be another bullshit entry--Luke and I woke this morning to find our wireless modem had no signal, and after a phone call to AT&T's tech support line, we learned it had indeed met its maker. At first we thought we'd have to wait a few days for a replacement and made plans to crash Luke's work (which is fewer than ten minutes away) and publish obligatory placeholder entries for NaBloPoMo, but since the modem had outlived the initial one-year warranty, we were free to hit to Best Buy and spend ninety dollars on a new one instead. Which we did, which is why I'm able to type at you from the work computer in my living room sated with Oreo pudding and Sara Lee cheesecake instead of an empty office building with no windows and probably no snacks.

Anyway, today was busier than yesterday--there was church to attend, Mexican food to feast on, errands to run, computers to reconfigure, and a little napping on the couch to do in between reading pages from The Big Book of Birth, a book I've really come to enjoy. It was tempting to post another quickie update, but you guys have been very patient and deserve better than the crap I've been slinging lately. It still might be crap, but at least not for a lack of trying.

...And on with the Q&A. Wilddreemer wants to know:

What is one thing you did as a child you hope your child doesn't do?

Take one of my shitty diapers and wipe the contents on the walls. Scoop handfuls of applesauce from the jar and eat it with my bare hands. Wet my pants during fourth grade math. "Accidentally" poke my sister with a nail file. Prank toll-free mental support hotlines under the guise that I was a thirty-something corporate professional whose husband just had been caught in an affair with his administrative assistant. Kiss boyfriends in deserted alleys to avoid getting caught by my parents. Scribble in library books. But the worst thing I ever done--I mixed a pot of fake puke at home, and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa--and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.

Wait, that last one was Chunk. My bad.

What is the one thing you are looking forward to doing most after finally having the baby, ie. drinking coffee, touching your toes, shaving your legs?

I've never been fond of coffee, I don't care much for my toes, and with careful (albeit uncomfortable) manuvering, I've been able to maintain normal leg-shaving activity, so those are out. So what I do miss? Sleeping on my back. Grooming my lady parts; hell, being able to see my lady parts without assistance from a mirror. Eating cold lunchmeat without fear of poisoning my unborn child. "Enjoying" my husband. Wearing clothes from New York and Company instead of Motherhood Maternity. I'm so excited about banishing my maternity wardrobe to a tupperware bin in our storage unit until it's time to do this all over again.

As much I as look forward to those things, though, I've surprised myself with the realization that, once this is over, I'll actually miss being pregnant. The first trimester sucked major ass--just thinking about all that morning sickness makes me nauseous--and with the exception of our ultrasound and some moderate fetal activity, the second one wasn't much to write home about, either. But the third trimester.... This is where I feel like I've really come to know my baby, experiencing her sharp jabs and gentle, wave-like rolls, rubbing my hands over the protuding shoulder or elbow or whatever the hell happens to be poking me at the moment. This is where Luke and I can talk to her and she can recognize our voices. This is where I know she's safe all the time, where nobody can get to her without my permission.

This is my first real glimpse at motherhood, and I cannot wait for the rest. 

Will be even more thankful when NaBloPoMo is over

...because tonight? I've got nothin'. At least, not for this site. I do mention a fun birth story contest on my other blog, though. Go read that one.

Drop it like it's hot? Not yet.

So I had my 36-week check-up today, and things are peachy keen. My overall weight gain currently stands at twenty-seven pounds (speaking of which, a woman at work actually had the gall to ASK for my "number," how ballsy is that?!), Freka measures in at around 37 centimeters, and my blood pressure, sugar, and protein levels are marvelous. I told my doctor about the intermittent cramping I experience in my fingers throughout the day, and she attributed it to swelling, which she noticed slight traces of in my face, hands, and legs--totally normal at this stage in the game. We discussed the logistics of my birth plan, talked shop about pediatricians, and laughed over all the conflicting advice I've received about the baby's gender and positioning of my uterus. Which means that no, I've not dropped yet, and in fact, I may not drop until right before I go into labor, but either way, it'd be a better use of my time to pay attention to the irregular contractions I've been having as of late. Good call, Doc.

In other news, a big thanks to all who took the bait for my Q&A teaser. Here's a burning question from The Ambitious Mrs:

Are there any traits about yourself or your husband that you're hoping your baby really will or will not inherit?

If we're talking physical traits, Luke and I are both plagued with poor vision and temperamental complexions, and I'd love it if Freka didn't have to bother with contacts, eyeglasses, and routine visits to the dermatologist. When I was a kid, my poor mother, who was blessed with beautiful skin, didn't know what to do with me; I often received instructions to lay off the candy and chips, and she wasn't above steaming my face with a hot wash cloth and squeezing out the blackheads herself to ward off my acne (are you gagging yet? Because I sooo was just typing that, God bless my mom's dedication) (your mom's dedicated!). It wasn't until years later that she recognized I could've used some medical attention, but at least my siblings have had a much easier time of things. Luckily, I'll be prepared to handle this with my own children, but if they could skip that trauma altogether, that would be fabulous, thank you very much.

By comparison, dealing with glasses and contacts isn't nearly as big of a deal, but I remember the types of frames I was drawn to a kid, so all I can do is pray that little Freka demonstrates better taste if she's subjected to the fate of her parents. Seriously, have you seen my blog banner? It was bad, folks. Really bad. But as Luke pointed out, my father--the one who took me to all of my appointments--was brave enough to let me choose my eye wear, and lil' Frema liked having that say. After all, it was my damn face. Doing the same thing for Freka is the least I can do, if it comes down to that.

Physical traits I hope she does inherit? My thick hair and Luke's ridiculously long lashes. A few inches of her dad's height wouldn't hurt, either. Man, would she be a knock-out.

In regards to intellectual traits, we plan to do everything in our power to encourage a love of reading in our children. I also hope they have a passion for education. And blogging, but all in good time, my pretties. All in good time.

Coffee talk, revisited

Except I don't drink coffee, and we don't talk. It's more of a read-and-type relationship we've got going on here. But whatever.

To help pass the time during NaBloPoMo, Jessica of Kerflop is hosting a Q&A series over at her place, and seeing as it's been almost a year and a half since I've done anything similar, I thought it'd be fun to see what my readers are curious about these days. But please, nothing of the "If you were a crayon, what color would you be?" variety, because those types of questions kind of make me want to pull my hair out strand by strand, and I can't imagine you guys would be terribly interested in the answer, either. On the flip side, remember that my parents-in-law read this blog; in other words, tread lightly with the sex stuff. Not that I'm saying it's off limits. Just use common sense, is all.

(Because women entering their ninth month of pregnancy are all about the marital love. Ha!)

Anyway, to avoid repeats, here are links to all the Q&A entries I've written:

Stripped, Part 1

Stripped, Part 2

In which I talk about my favorite childhood book

In which I touch briefly on past relationships

In which I blabber on about birth control and religion

In which I share my spinach dip recipe

In which I'm forced to contemplate a childless life

In which I reminisce about college

In which I reflect on my family

In which I'm given two reasons to babble about All My Children (with pictures!)

I'll accept questions until Tuesday before lunchtime and hopefully post answers to the first couple during lunch. Remember, the quality of this Q&A lies with you! Do not disappoint a very pregnant Frema!

Nothing tragic about this!

People, I have an announcement to make.

Lil' Frema is finally going to have her day in the sun.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from Sarah Brown, creator of Cringe Book, (finally!) informing me that one of my submissions had been accepted for publication. The cringe-filled masterpiece is currently slated for a March 2008 release date.

My winning literary donation?

Randy would be so proud. Or totally creeped out. Or maybe he'd just feel sorry for the little girl inside of me whose rejected heart never completely healed.

That last one is the most likely scenario, seeing as last month somebody found my blog by searching for "Randy Wooten" in Google. Whoops.

Anyway, while the contributors won't see a dime of the advance money, Sarah did say she could snag me a copy of the book, and if the book tour stops through my city, she'd love for me to participate in the reading, so that's pretty cool. It figures, though, that my first published work would be written by my childhood counterpart. After all, she was the true brains behind Tragic Love Friday. What will part three be like without her "e" after "stomach" and her intuitive medical expertise?

(Speaking of TLF, are any of you still chomping at the bit about doing a part three after the New Year? Do you have ideas for potential storylines? I actually have something in mind for Jenna, who I just realized went through the entire sequel without getting any nooky at all. That will SOOO change for part three.)