bump

here's my baby bump.
is it exciting to finally showing - yes.
am i annoyed that a stranger would just think i'm fat - yes.
would i call this striped shirt "prison chic" - yes.

6 days until our baby gender determining ultrasound.
am i having dreams where we're late to the appointment
so the desk-nurse turns us away and then i cry on the floor - yes.

voluptuously yours,
erin

бабушка

Cyrillic for Babushka = Grandmother in Russian, also Baba

About 30% of who I am & what I do today can be directly drawn to my Baba. My Dad's mom, Nadya McCann, was a fierce and fiery woman who lived half her life in China and the other half in San Francisco. And, was as complicated a woman as vodka is Russian. Spoke over 8 languages, played golf like a pro when woman were an exception on the course, never shopped sales and could curse my Dad under the table (often ending our visits with a somewhat slurred and thick accented "Alan, you ass-hole. I love you. Scratch my head" - which, come to think of it, take away the slur & accent we're left with my Dad's departure comments as well... hmm... apple, tree, not far to fall). And, though cliche to a Babushka, nonetheless true - she was unbelievable in the kitchen - the borsche, the pashka, the pilemeni, the stroganoff... OMFG... my pregnant-mind often dreams of her buttery concoctions. I can honestly say that I have yet to have a better meal than the last Russian Orthodox Easter we had with a healthy Baba in 1997. I attribute 100% of my cooking prowess and 75% of my profanity to her (college roommates get the other 25%).

One of my more lasting memories of Baba was luckily capture on film (thank you Daddio for knowing comedy and awkwardness when you see it). A little set-up: Baba loved Vegas... L-O-V-E-D it. A perfect Baba day consisted of golfing during the day and dollar slots accompanied by bottomless vodka tonics and Budweiser at night. On 2 occasions my Dad and Baba took my sister Rocket and me with them on their golfing & gambling excursions. Once we saw Tom Jones and the other Cirque De Soleil. And, I could write like 2 million blogs about what Rocky (9 then 11 years old) and I (11 then 13 years old) did during the days we were left alone in major casinos with nothing but the Vegas Strip, $200 dollars and 8 hours of youthful ambition to keep us company. After one such day ending with Baba saying something along the lines of "how could you girls spend ALL that money in 8 hours? Erin you're 11 years old. You know better", she decided to take a long soak in the in-room jacuzzi while we just hung out waiting impatiently to go to the buffet downstairs. It was at this point that Big-Daddy posed this picture:

Rocket, me, & Baba.
Luxor Hotel. Las Vegas, 1994

Mid-pubescently yours,
erin

what time is it?

summer time,
it's our vaction!
what time is it?
summer time,
school's out,
scream & shout!!!

how do i know, you may ask. well...

1. B sans finals

oh, freedom. i love you.

2. finally, plentiful not-as-expensive watermelon

nothing smells sweeter to my pregnant olfactory sense than the fresh crisp scent of newly cut watermelon. yum... hold on a sec, i have to go cut one of the two I bought today at Costco for $6... and we're back.

3. all my prego friends are a poppin'

hannah (baby) and joy (new mommy) asleep after what I assume was a very long day. maybe the cutest picture of all time...

4. the end of american idol (phew - sorry, not a huge fan save the final 3 or so episodes) meaning the beginning of So.... You.... Think... You... Can.... Dance !!!!!

not a single things screams summer louder than shooby-dooby-dance.

Hot-Tamale-Train-ely Yours,
erin

our baby's all growns up and he's all growns up

my brother is about to be a senior in high school. he's gone to prom & kissed a girl, and he's applying to college & is growing far beyond 6 feet. he makes me feel old... and short. makes me wonder about the passage of time - how someone can go from a little punk kid to a big punk high schooler. makes me think that it will be no time before our bumble arrives. garsh. when b and i got married he looked like this:

yes, my brother gave us a wedding gift called "the gas we pass" and b had super cute spikey hair 5 years ago. and, my mom is a stone cold fox.

in closing, time does weird things.

anciently yours,
e

laughing, crying, sharing...

as the end of the school year is upon (or close to upon) us we can pause and reflect...and perhaps send one another an e-greeting or two. my new favorite site for sending out the occasional flirty comment or witty banter is where these e-cards can be shared (btw - these are all chosen because I could have sent them myself):



enjoy the warm weather and send me some funny e-cards.

serendipitously yours,
e

thanks to Krystal P for the e-suggestion.

If it's free take two...

This piece of Daddy-McCann wisdom is hard to pass up with Coldplay handing out new songs like candy. (Daddy-0's other bits of wisdom include gems like: never split 10's in blackjack - I was 7 the first time I heard that one) This new uber-opus from the UK's second favorite sons hit me as different from their earlier work. To be honest it reminded me - in a good way - of a toned down version of the Beatles' Helter Skelter off the 'White Album'. Overall, I enjoyed the listen and am anxious for the upcoming album release. For all those Chris Martin haters - sorry - but, I really like him and his somewhat toolish eco/trade-conscious ways. The album cover artwork is pretty cool - in that French Revolution Chic kind of way.



So, get the song free here. And decide for yourself if reinventing the Beatles' wheel is folly or fortune.

Ubiquitously yours,

e

ps that blog was way way to serious.