What Have You Done Lately?

This is William Franco Stark Poling. On January 5, 2012, he joined our little family. We call him Franco. (See the Steelers' binky beside him in the picture? That should give you all the clues you need as to where his awesome moniker originated.)

I would blame my lack of blogging on him, but let's face it: that would be only slightly correct. I hope to remedy this slack attitude, now that I have a new muse about whom to...muse.

So, I will start with a letter I wrote to ol' Franco when he was about a month old. Someday, I hope he reads it with joy. For now, I hope you will do the honors!

Dear Baby Franco,

It took me a long time to decide to have a baby. Lots of factors played into my winding road to motherhood, but there was one striking catalyst: when I watched the sweet movie “Waitress” (which your dad refers to simply as “that f---ing pie movie”) and heard Keri Russell sing that darling pie song to her unborn baby, something changed within me. I knew someday I wanted to sing that lullaby to my own child and thus began my journey.

Fast-forward several years: I found out about you on the same weekend that Prince William married Kate Middleton and the world succumbed to Pippa mania. In the exact moment, I cried like a knocked-up teenager, even though I totally wanted you, because extreme change brings extreme anxiety.  And because “Glamour” magazine had indicated it would take a year and a half of hard work for an old woman like me to get pregnant and I had only been sort of trying for three months. Like a true procrastinator, I reasoned I had more time. But, you were on the way, and after the shock wore off, I was super excited.

When I told your dad, he did not cry a lick. He ran out and told everyone he knows (and some people I’m pretty sure he doesn’t) all about the good news. I, on the other hand, told only a handful of folks. Your Grand-papa, my dad, responded by telling me it was “nice” but that he was watching a hockey game so “talk to your mom”, who promptly said, “That’s not true.” Finally, after I questioned who prank-calls something like this, she believed me, and no one waited as impatiently for your arrival as she did. Except maybe my sister, your Auntie Rebeccah. I’m pretty sure she started buying you trinkets the very next day.

At first, I didn’t look any different from the outside, so I just kept my own mouth shut.  I’m different from your dad like that. I knew right away you were there, though, because all of a sudden I craved cake and sweeties, which is not at all typical for me. Your dad and I called you our “little punkin” while speculating whether you were a boy or a girl. I went ahead with all the things I normally do. I took my dance classes and participated in the annual recital.  I hung out with our friends at the pool and went to the beach with the dogs and kept up with my job and played Mrs. Mayor in “Suessical.” Even though I often felt sick and took more naps than usual, I persevered. (I think all that candy you liked helped me out considerably!)

On your dad’s and my 11^th wedding anniversary, we had a delightful lunch at the Knife and Fork restaurant before heading for my ultrasound to find out your gender. At first, you were quite modest and they told us we were having a girl and we smiled. A half hour later, it was clear you were, indeed, a boy and your dad shouted so loudly in glee I think he startled half the hospital. He later told me he had initial flashes of endless sequins and dance recitals and I reminded him that could still be the case, and we each vowed to love you no matter what. Later that evening, before one of the final “Suessical” performances, I got you two stuffies: a Cat in the Hat and Horton the Elephant, the first things I ever bought for you myself.

Pretty soon after that, football season started. We traveled to the WVU home games, planning all the way for your inclusion in the coming years and reveling in my growing belly, a reminder that you were getting bigger and stronger and preparing to join us soon. Throughout autumn, we lived and breathed football. We took a trip to see the Steelers for a Sunday night game where I bought you a Steelers monkey and you kicked furiously every time Heinz Field got super loud. (Which was the entire evening!) Your dad and I made big plans for the next time we visited Pittsburgh, when you were out of the belly and could enjoy it with us. Later that month, your Grand-mama and Auntie Rebeccah put on the most awesome baby shower ever, where all the people who love you the most celebrated you with laughter and presents - and lots and lots of cake.

You and I spent Thanksgiving with my crazy family in Ohio and met your dad and all our friends at the Backyard Brawl in Morgantown where we had the best time at a football game all season.  By now, I was really a great big fat person, and your dad and I talked all the time about what you looked like and whether you would get here by Christmas. We decorated the house and trees and wrapped our gifts early, just in case.

However, you stayed firmly put. Our holiday season was mostly a long, anxious baby watch. We went to tons of movies over the Christmas break and we always wondered whether we would see the endings or have to rush to the hospital. One day, I ate spicy Chinese food and played “Just Dance” on the Wii for hours trying to get you to join the world, but you seemed comfortable right where you were.

January 3^rd – your due date – came and went. I remember that night we ate spaghetti and meatballs with gingerbread pudding and sugar cookies for desert. I wondered whether that would be my last meal without a baby. And guess what? The next morning, my water broke and even though Dr. Rogers had told me it would not be like the movies, it totally was! All I could think of was “Sex and the City” where Charlotte’s water breaks in the street – it was pretty much exactly like that, only I was at home in my pajamas. Your dad was shaving when I told him and he hurried up to call off work and we went to the hospital a few hours later.

Even though we were all ready, you were not. Twelve hours after all that excitement, and just at the start of the WVU Orange Bowl game against Clemson, I was induced into labor. While Dr. Rogers, your dad, and I all watched the Mountaineers beat up on the Tigers in a BCS Bowl-setting record, you were slowly making some progress to meet us. However, it just wasn’t working out, no matter that I tried to push you out the old fashioned way for three-plus hours. At 5:30 in the morning, we all decided we couldn’t wait any longer and we rolled on to the OR to get you out already.

Your dad saw you first, and he cried when he told me you had a cone on the side of your head from trying to push out that way. Your first cries sounded like a bird. A few minutes later, they let me see you all wrapped up and I thought you were the cutest baby ever. You kissed my nose. A little while later, your Uncle Dr. Chad, came to me and told me you were “one healthy kid.” When I finally got to hold you, you started breastfeeding right away, like we’d been at it for years.

Later that night, after we had recovered a bit from our long ventures, we snuggled in our hospital bed, just the two of us. I ate a cheeseburger and we watched “Chelsea Lately” on E! and you slept so peacefully in my arms, like you had always been here.

And now, you are always here. You are already growing so fast. Your dad and I love to look at you and laugh about how you are just your dad in a baby body. Sometimes you cry, but it doesn’t bother us too much. We will fight sometimes over who gets to hold you.

You and I still do lots of snuggling while watching fun stuff on TV, like Jersey Shore and Dance Moms, and your dad yells at me for my crappy shows – but so far you don’t seem to mind. You like to do karate chops with your arms and you smile when a dog licks your face. If you hear a football game, you settle down and have big wide eyes. Some of your looks remind me of my Aunt Joyce and this makes me laugh. You like when your dad gives you a bath, but you are not a fan of manicures or wardrobe changes. You love when your dad plays the guitar.

And you do seem to like the pie song when I sing it to you. Just like I somehow always knew you would.

Love, Your Mum

BOO!

Happy Halloween knuckleheads! (I blatantly stole that from Wilbon on "Pardon the Interruption" - sorry, but I could not resist.)

To celebrate this fine holiday, I lit a pumpkin candle, watched "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" and then ate some frozen yogurt and fruit. Don't judge me for my mundane choices. I've had some wild costumed fiascos in my past, and at this point, I am pretty content to just snuggle up with the family and savor some small goodies. I also usually suffer from a nasty head cold on All Hallow's Eve, and this year is no exception.

So, I shall enjoy the rest of this evening in my boring little world. And I'll love every minute of it.

If It's Happened Before...

Well, it's happened again. That is the story of last night's fun at the Poling household. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. (That little bit courtesy of The Princess Bride and Westley's birthday today!)

But, really, let me explain.

Last evening, I heard the pooches barking like lunatics, which is really nothing new. Except then I saw headlights in the driveway and realized that the commotion actually seemed to be warranted, as opposed to the usual howling at nothing. So, as you do, I answered the door.

On the front porch stood a nice-looking fellow, whom I greeted amidst reassurances that the canine calvary was intended not to bite but only to lick him him half to death. After he saw that I was right, he proceeded to ask me, "Is your dad the dentist?"

Now, this is hardly the first time this has happened - it just hasn't happened in a while, so I was a little out of practice in my response. Usually, I let it go with no correction. since it only proves awkward to set it straight. But, last night, I blurted out, "Not my dad. My husband."

Later, I told ol' Scotty P. about it and we had a laugh. Now, that part is new and unusual. Because in the past, he has found this whole confusion less than humorous. As an ode to those bygones, I reminded him of the more hysterical temper tantrums he has thrown after said mistaken identity. I now share these fine moments with you.

**When we still lived in good old Morgantown, WV, we were shopping at a department store in the mall. Ol' Scotty P. wandered into the Juniors section, where I diligently searched for the next great outfit to complete my closet. I had already stashed a few gems in the fitting rooms and one of the little helpers asked me if I needed to add anything to pile before I commenced to the trying-on phase. She glanced at Scott and asked if I had to "ask my dad first." I laughed. Ol' Scotty P. did not. He did, in fact, storm out of there in a pretty dramatic fashion. There may or may not have been under-the-breath cussing. Poor guy. He was not yet accustomed to this little fact of life.

**One of the very first things we did when we moved here to North Carolina was set up our gym memberships. We walked into the local recreation center and filled out all the necessary paperwork. I guess the lady wasn't paying attention to my forms because as she handed me my gym ID card, she asked me my age. I  must have looked confused because she asked me again, and then looked at ol' Scotty P. as she explained the gym's policy that minors under the age of 16 need parental supervision to work out. Ol' Scotty P. stammered something inaudible. I corrected the lady. We left out of there in a jiffy.

While there have been so many other instances (the propane gas man who consistently asks if my dad is home, the various patients at the dental office who assume the doctor's faithful daughter has dropped in after school) ol' Scotty P. had learned to take it all in stride. We laugh now. The temper tantrums are over.

But, the memories live on, thank goodness. We all need some good laughs.

You Know What?

I'll tell you what: I am terrible at keeping my blog updated! But, now I have several reasons for doing so:

**I am writing a play! Which has its own blog, too! You can view it here!
 http://www.betweenthetacklesplay.blogspot.com/

**The play is being written with a collaborator, who is far less of a procrastinator than am I. So, I must be more ambitious, organized, and on my game so she does not think I am a total loser. (It is okay if she thinks I am a little bit of a loser, just not an all-the-way loser. One can not, and should not, hide the truth.)

**Writing every day would be a good way to keep my writing skills in check since, you know, I am writing a play.

**It's football season! Out of an abundance of caution I will not blog right now about the heavenly aroma of a Brett Favre-less season, lest he catch wind of such notions, dust off his Wranglers, and decide to saunter back into the league. (Which I am sure will happen anyway, but it won't be because of my jinx, so don't blame me.)

Until next time - which will be sooner than it was last time - peace out!

Memory Lane

It is no big secret that I absolutely, positively can not bear silence. Especially when I am working on something. So, being my own boss, I get to pick whatever I want to watch and listen to while lawyering away in my little office - sometimes a documentary from topdocumentaryfilms.com, sometimes a good old gem from Netflix streaming online, and, more often than not, a favorite from my massive library of DVD's.

The past few weeks, I have become addicted to Party of Five, Season One. (And, because I am uber-dork extraordinare, Seasons Two and Three will follow suit!) I watched this first season last summer, but it only seemed appropriate to break it out again - since it's so incredibly awesome and puts me into a fabulous, reminiscent state of mind.

Every time I see and hear it, it reminds me of where I was and what I was doing when I watched its first-run, in 1994 and 1995. Back when I was in college, living in a particularly crappy apartment and partying with my friends and studying just enough and acting awfully knowledgeable and finding my way.

I had no idea of what my life would turn out to be. I had no goals beyond successfully graduating with my bachelor's degree. I had no job and no money and no need for any, since my wonderful parents paid all my living expenses and tuition and provided me enough spare change to chip in my share for cases of Bud Dry bottles from the Dairy Mart and pizza from Papa John's - something for which I was always grateful, but did not appreciate to its fullest extent until later.

I knew it was a transient time, that I would graduate and move forward and probably go on to school and have a career and all that comes with it. As much as I loved that time, I realized its fleeting nature and the harsh fact that once those years are behind you, you can never get them back. So, I enjoyed the bejeezus out of that time.

And, every week, Beverly Hills 90210 and Party of Five were a part of my routine. The moving storylines, the enotional music, the drama - it propelled me along during those years, through my own post-adolescent storylines and drama. And in 1996, when I did graduate (quite successfully, I might add) those shows continued to be big parts of my ever-changing life - during my moves to other crappy apartments, and onto crappy jobs, and then less crappy jobs, and so on and so forth.

When Party of Five finally wrapped up in 2000, I was engaged to be married and getting ready to start law school. I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, and really I still don't. And that ironic fact is not lost on me as I sit here, listening to those comfortable episodes all over again and practicing law for real in a state hundreds of miles from where this storyline originally took place.

But strolling down that memory lane makes me really happy - and I know that, although I still have few goals and still feel like that twenty-year-old girl deep down inside, I am still really happy. In a more grown-up way. I have a way better place to live and enough money to afford the more high-brow beer now, so there is all the proof you will ever need.

It is good to sometimes remind yourself of good times that are gone forever - not to torture yourself or allow yourself to wallow in some fuzzy, idealized past, but to just remember. Remember what it was like, what you were like, how things have changed. Like the Joni Mitchell song featured in this first season (which, incidentally, is only one of many brilliant musical choices which kind of made me fall in love with this show to begin with) so wisely tell us, "You can't return, you can only look behind from where you came..."

And that is okay, too.

Things For Which To Look Forward

I can feel it coming on quickly - though not quickly enough for me. It's almost that time of year: summer. And that can only mean tons of fun to anticipate. Because it isn't here yet, and I am impatient for it, I will make a list of all the things I simply can't wait to do and see and experience during a little thing I'll call SummerTime Extravaganza 2011.

**The dance recital. Yep, in less than a month I will wear some sequins and pull my hair into a curly ponytail with the rest of the teenagers and perform on a high school stage in the dance recital. It's silly and possibly (okay, let's be real: absolutely) age inappropriate. But I don't care one bit. I will never outgrow it or the excitement it brings. All the rehearsals leading up to it, sweating in the early June heat, running dances over and over - there are few things better. I know it will end eventually, but for this year, I will totally enjoy it. (I've never subscribed to this outdated notion of growing up anyway. This is just that belief put into motion.)

**Pool parties. In fact, until it turned into winter again, we already enjoyed this! Who knew that digging up your yard and filling it with water and concrete could turn into instant fun? (Okay, everyone knows it. I'm being flippant.) It's great to get all your friends together and chill out poolside. In fact, I had this great idea to begin my own "Real Housewives of Yancey County" every afternoon, until I had to resign my housewife position and go to work. (My sister, the true "Housewives" expert, tells me that some Housewives, in fact, work at the same time they claim to be Housewives. I just don't know if I have the time to both make a living defending the masses and sip cocktails every afternoon. I'm just not an overachiever.)

**Parkway Playhouse. Need I say more? I didn't think so. Even though I am on play restriction to one show a summer, it will be amazing and those daily rehearsals can't come soon enough.

**Company. Usually my family visits and this summer, a few friends are planning trips south. It's the perfect time to catch up and enjoy all that western North Carolina has to offer.

And that is pretty much how SummerTime Extravaganza 2011 is going to go down. The end.

Things I've Never Done (Though You Should Never Say "Never")

And I don't know if I ever will do any of these things, either. In fact, I don't even want to do some of them, even though it seems socially acceptable to desire otherwise.

**I have never, nor will I ever, participate in any of those numerous Facebook "challenges" - the photo-a-day thing, the 30-songs-in-30-days thing, the other 10,000 things I forget about. It isn't that I begrudge the people who do them. I kind of like seeing some of their choices. It's just that I myself am too lazy to stay focused on something which has no real purpose, yet takes me thinking about it every single day to accomplish.

**I have never watched the original "Terminator" movie all the way to the end. Weird? Probably. Do I regret this? Not really.

**I have never taken an honest history class. (I don't count anything that happened prior to my high school graduation, since I don't consider any of those meetings of individuals "honest classes" in anything...plus, I  truly never had a history class.) I do kind of feel bad about this. My college career was quite enlightening, but I just never needed to take a history class to round out my requirements. It's too bad, since I have an interest in history and would have enjoyed it a lot. I am not regretful enough to go back and do it at this point in my life, but still.

**I've never liked ketchup from the get-go. Not. One. Bit.

**Even though I really, really want to go, I've never been to Europe.

**Even though I really, really don't care one way or the other, I've never been on a cruise.

**I've never eaten Spam. I have sung the Monty Python song by the same name, but the food upon which it is based? It has not touched my list. And I'm fairly confident that, at this point, it never will.

Though one should probably never say "never." Though I just did. And I don't regret it, either. Not. One. Bit.