I have come up with an idea that will make me richer than rich if I can figure out HOW to do it.

I’m going to cross a pacifier with a boomerang, so that when Angry 3am Toddler tosses his pacifier across the room with the speed and accuracy of a starting pitcher, the boomerang feature will cause said pacifier to swing right around and land BACK IN THE CRIB.

Seriously. This has to be possible. HAS to be. 

Freebird’s daycare is having picture day today. Only we got an email reminding us of “Pictorial Day.”

Perhaps this is why the pictures were so $#@% expensive. Seriously, they switched photographers to “try out a new one,” and this guy better hand dip the edges in gold for the amount he charged.

And of course we ordered the basic package, like the chumps we are, because a professional photograph is often damn hoppin’ fabulous, and makes for a great gift. Because who wouldn’t want a Pictorial?

My maternity wardrobe is very pink. I have a sheer pink paisley shirt with a pink tank underneath, a pink striped cotton shirt with a tiny collar that wishes it made the shirt look more tailored but forget it, and a pink cotton eyelet shirt. All with empire waists and rather deep V necks, because apparently being pregnant and having all those hormones flinging about makes you want to dish out your cleavage for the entire metro area to enjoy.

The pink eyelet shirt just gives me giggles. I’m wearing it right now. It’s very soft and very comfortable, and is simply designed so that, while it isn’t very silky or drapey, it isn’t hideously muumuu like either.

But let me be clear: I am NOT a pink eyelet type of person. I can count on one hand the number of pieces of clothing that I own that are pink, and not a damn one of them is eyelet. But, as I was telling Hubby this morning, being “with child” somehow means that I can handle wearing exceptionally girly-feminine clothing that normally I wouldn’t go near, much less put in my closet. I feel so foreign to myself with this uber-girly clothing on but I’m comfortable and hey, I look pregnant because I am.

That said, I will NOT be wearing any shirts that say, “His boys can swim” and “I have the golden ticket.” There is only so much staring I can tolerate. 

I was talking with someone yesterday whose wife is pregnant and due about a month before I am. She decided she needed to do something generous, so they’re hosting an entire family from Africa in their house while their son undergoes surgery in the US.

Damn, right?

Now, my basement has a tendency to get a little puddly when it rains really freaking hard (stupid storm) so I don’t think I can house international families awaiting surgery, but hearing about someone who would put themselves out so much just to do something generous and caring is rather inspirational, and certainly turned my attitude around. I know this is a big “No Kidding, DUH” realization, but being pregnant when I have nothing else to do but be pregnant and moon about it is MUCH easier than being pregnant and chasing a toddler. I’m tired - and frustrated that I’m tired - and that tends to start me on a rather pouty cycle of self-pity. Self pity is never attractive.

So now I’m looking for something to do to inspire myself and to be kinder to someone who might need it. It’s certainly more fun that observing that my feet and hands are so very puffy in the mornings now. 

Nicole apparently passed out in shock that I participated in a meme. Behold the rare event!

She’s interviewing me. You wanna be interviewed? Leave a comment indicating that fact, and I’ll email you 5 questions to answer on your site at your convenience.

1) You have an interesting name.  Can you tell us a little bit about its origin?

Mórag is a Scottish name, and when it came time to pick a name under which to write online, it fit.

2) What is your idea of a fun weekend?

Sleeping in until I wake up on my own unassisted by any external factors. Eat breakfast out at diner with a mellow, happy toddler, happy Hubby, and much coffee. And pancakes.

Take walks outside, eat donuts or ice cream, go to the playground or a park to allow the wee dude to run run run, and generally have as few stressful plans as possible, while having as good and tranquil a day as we can together. And if there’s time for me to read as much of a great novel as possible, that’d be awesome as well.

Come to think of it, this past weekend encompassed all of those things. No wonder I’m feeling happy and mellow.

3) You speak Spanish almost fluently.  How did you learn (and when are you taking me to Mexico)?

Aprendí Español en España (y por eso tengo un acento muy duro) cuando tenía 15 años. Estaba viviendo con una familia en que nadie habló Ingés y en seis meses, aprendí MUCHO.

Pero, yo recuerdo mucho más cuando hablo que cuando escribo.

I don’t know that I am fluent but I can mangle my way through a conversation easily enough. I do speak much MUCH better after a glass of wine (go figure). I learned Spanish when I was 15; I was an exchange student to Spain and the family I stayed with didn’t speak any English. There was supposed to be one person in the household who spoke English, but there wasn’t.

So I learned fast, and by the time I left I was dreaming in Spanish. I went back to Spain at age 20, and learned more, though that time I made friends with people from Quebec, and learned to cuss in Quebecois as well.

As a result of learning through total immersion in Spain, when I speak I have a rather thick accent that Spanish-speakers identify immediately as Castillian. Folks in Spain lisp the “c” or “s” in the middle of a word, and always the “z” in any part of the word. Ergo “Zaragoza” is “tharagotha,” and “Barcelona” is “Barthelona.” The upshot is that I sound like a know a LOT more Spanish than I do in reality. And I speak much better than I write.

As for Mexico, I have to confess, due to variations in the way different countries pronounce Spanish (and entire variations in vocabulary) I have the easiest time understanding people from Spain and Cuba, and the hardest time understanding Spanish speakers from Mexico and Central America. It’s like the difference between someone from New Hampshire speaking English, and someone from rural Alabama speaking English - the difference is distinct and I have a much harder time catching every word. I think in some conversations this has branded me something of a language snob, which I totally did not intend.

4) Name five ‘luxury’ items that you could not live without.

Define “luxury.” Like, an unlimited spending account at a bookstore with next-day delivery? I don’t have that luxury now but I could certainly learn quickly that living without would be impossible!

I assume you mean items that aren’t necessary for my survival.

1. Pajamas.
2. Romance novels.
3. Stories with unresolved sexual and emotional attention.
4. Happy endings.
5. The Internet.

5) If you were going to be stranded on a desert isle with only basic supplies and an iPod, what five songs would you hope it had on it?

I’d skip songs and make it five full length unabridged books-on-tape (or books-on-mp3 in this case). That way I’d get more time and entertainment out of my allotted five items, AND I’d be happier in the long run. 

I was email chatting with a friend, who told me that one of our mutual friends from college, the girl who was Friends With Literally Everyone, has put herself on the college contact list as a “Do Not Contact.”

This is beyond strange because she was one of those people who, as I said, was friends with everyone, was nice to everyone, had time for everyone - you get where I’m going with this.

Since she got married, she’s pulled back from just about everyone, and now that she’s apparently cut herself off entirely from people who I thought were important to her (I know she’s kept in touch, or tried to, until recently) I am a bit suspicious.

Mostly I’m sad because she sent me a whole assortment of maternity clothing, and I can’t return it to her because I don’t know where to send it all. That, and being told in a blanket, “I don’t want to talk to y’all” kind of way that she’s done with everyone from back then makes me confused.

It’s not like her. And as my friend said in email, “Are we gonna hear about her on Dateline?”

So do I respect her request that no one contact her, even if I think I know better and am suspicious as to why she’s cutting herself off? Or do I email her and say, “What’s up?”

Probably the former. If she wants to be left alone, it’s not like I can’t identify with that statement. I feel like that much of the time, even if I don’t announce my misanthropic tendencies by telling a whole mess of people, “Don’t call me. Hear?”

Starshine gave me a nice smile when I read her entry today. She’s right - innocent enthusiasm and happiness are too easily missed and too important to skip.