Dear Democratic National Committee:

Most of the time, I agree with your general politics and vote for your candidates. However, if you insist on calling me every evening around 7:00 pm to telemarket me for more money, I assure you, I will vote Republican in every election from now until the day I shuffle off this political plane. Am I being clear? I don’t even give you the money! Hubby does! I give to candidates in races against Bill Napoli, and that’s about it.

DNC no longer stands for “Democratic National Committee,” it now stands for “Do Not Call.” As in, Do Not Call Me. The more you harass me, the less likely I am to vote for any of your candidates. Got it?

Thanks,

Morag

10 Interesting Things you Didn’t Know about Me. Apparently I’m supposed to talk about myself. Hello Boring! Come on in and sit for many hours!

10. I am obsessive about having pedicures, despite having the most calloused feet known to man. I danced for 15 years and I could walk on hot coals and not feel a thing. But my toenails are very pretty.

9. I am currently trying to figure out the best way to organize the family with one central calendar. I used to “make” them using a template from Creative Memories, but I don’t have the time to take the paper out and put stickers on it and yadda yadda but I miss having the view of the whole month. My Blackberry calendar is not cutting it, because it is so freaking small.

8. Perhaps it is time for me to admit that I need a paper calendar. I know. Shocking. But possibly true. I miss that month-at-a-time glance that isn’t possible with a teeny tiny screen.

7. Although I am often uncomfortable, especially when it’s 90+ degrees out, being pregnant is without question the state of greatest and most perfect health I can attain. Everything that affects me when I’m not pregnant, major to minor, is gone when I’m gestating.

6. I cannot believe I am as big as I am and will still get bigger before my due date.

5. I am the most tired when I am farthest from my bed. I am the most awake when I finally get IN my bed.

4. It is harder and harder to keep to my news fast. Have you noticed that there are news headlines everywhere? They’re ubiquitous and difficult to avoid.

3. I love storms if I’m inside to watch. Snow storms, thunderstorms, big hyperactive rain storms - I love watching them. IF I’m dry!

2. I think the US should institute a national naptime, much like Spain has siesta. But the US is made up of workaholics, leading me to believe that I either need to work for myself and have naptime, or that we need to magically move to Spain so we can have a nap.

1. It is really hard to come up with 10 things about myself because I am (a) boring, (b) tired, and (c) utterly, utterly uninteresting.

10 Interesting Things you Didn’t Know about Rbelle. She tagged me with this meme type thing.

10. She’s really freaking oh my God almighty tall. She could use me as a comfortable armrest.

9. She makes outstanding sweet tea, and I’m not a fan of iced tea as a rule. Hubby, who loves tea, says it’s too sweet for him. I love all things sweet so it’s perfect for me and I could damn near drink a whole gallon.

8. Rbelle decorates by using photographs of her children. Seriously, there are silver framed pictures of her kids on the kitchen counter. So when the counter is clean and the dishes done, it looks all decorated in there. It’s kind of freaky but a great way to easily dress up and personalize a space I’d NEVER think to put photographs.

7. Rbelle has a lot of throw pillows. There were about sixteen on the guest bed. I didn’t know where to put them so I made a fort for Freebird.

6. Mr. Belle is also really freaking oh my God almighty tall. The two of them have produced toddlers that are taller than me at ages 3 and 2.

5. Mr. Belle is King of the Grill and the Turkey Fryer. His burgers are perfect and so are the hotdogs, and I don’t eat hotdogs as a rule. But I could have had a buffet of nothing but hot dogs and sweet tea and been a very happy lady.

4. Rbelle does the full-on entertaining thing with absolutely zero effort and serves water to three year olds in monogrammed silver cups. I kid you not.

3. Did I mention the tallness? Hang out with them from my height and you get a sore neck from looking up at the giant Southerners all the time. Are they all this tall?

2. Even going to the grocery store with Rbelle is fun. I did it twice.

1. Hanging out with Rbelle is like having a conversation that’s charged with extra electricity. Zap! Zing! Much laughter. Repeat!

On my way in this morning, I had a long bus ride. A bus broke down in the bus lane (which is one lane into the Lincoln Tunnel just for buses during rush hour) and then a car broke down in the tunnel as well. It was, to put it mildly, a right mess.

And I STILL am not offered a seat on the subway. I don’t get it. I’m as big as a barn, and yet people just look at my belly, look at me, and continue sitting. I’m starting to take it personally and wonder if I can rely on hormones as a defense if I start whacking people with my handbag (in a bop-on-the-head sense, not a Tony Soprano sense). I’ll be honest- it’s getting difficult to control my rage at these oblivious shitheels. If you hear of a pregnant lady going bananas, yanking the handrail off the ceiling of the car and beating people senseless with it, you have a 90% chance of guessing who it was.

I feel like I’ve already had a full day of activity and it’s not even 930. I need to go back to bed for a do-over. And put angry Morag back to bed. She’s scary. 

Yo! Anyone out there reading this site who knows about Dallas, Texas? Drop me an . I got some easy type questions that the internet is giving me FAR too many answers on - so please, share the love.

For the record, my news fast doesn’t include sports, though it doesn’t do me much good because my team is in the damn toilet, and nothing of interest is happening with the Pirates.

But I have to ask - how do Yankee fans survive the hyperventilating coverage of EVERY SINGLE SERIES against EVERY SINGLE TEAM every week!? It’s like schizophrenic sports! Last week: They’re so great! They’re back in form! They’re gonna win the pennant and the World Series and run for President and become chairmen of the IOC!

This week: Oh my GOD let us tear our garments into ribbons! They lost to Colorado? Oh, the shame, the shame! Fire everyone in sight! It’s awful! They’re terrible!

It’s like sportscasting by Statler & Waldorf.

According to my parents, my grandfather had a stroke when he was aging - well, to be honest he had a series of strokes. Each one had a name because of the phrase he’d repeat. One stroke was the Pete Rose stroke: “That Pete Rose. I hate his guts. He makes the Galbreaths crawl on their stomachs.” Over and over.

After listening to the mood-swinging hysteria of Yankees coverage in a season where they are uneven at best and STILL better than the Pirates, I’d say my late grandfather in the throes of the Pete Rose stroke still made more sense than current Yankees sportscasters.

I am officially into trimester 3 territory, and I’m still big and round and all around. The kicking has switched mostly to rolling around instead of a sharp pummeling of my insides, and if I lie on my back my stomach moves around a LOT. It’s very cool in a sci-fi kind of way. But mostly I’m just slow. And big and round.

This time we find ourselves in a weird position, in that we’re about to knock the back wall of our house out (because we are insane) to expand the kitchen and the 3rd bedroom on the 2nd floor. So while we do need to clean that room out, we don’t necessarily need to paint it or anything because it’s going to be gutted anyway. So we’re not really going bananas “getting ready.” For the most part, “getting ready” has been making sure I eat, drink, and sleep enough and stay healthy. Which is plenty!

It’s so funny, the difference between a 1st pregnancy and a pregnancy when you already have a child. With Freebird’s pregnancy, all I did was sit around and think about being pregnant, read about being pregnant, and generally bask in the state of gestation. This time? I am busy! Freebird is busy! We got stuff to do, so I keep on going and going and basking? There’s not so much with the basking. I’m happy to be pregnant and I enjoy the rolling and the bumping and the happy Baba O’Riley when Baba gets a donut, but this pregnancy is not something I fixate on all the time like I did before, and that I shouldn’t feel bad about that.