Thursday, December 19, 2013


I'm on a bit of a Natalie Merchant kick with song titles/blog post titles.

My responses to "How far along are you?" have started prompting the response to the response, "Not long now!" as opposed to what I used to hear, "Oh you've got time." 

And people close to us are asking, "What's Jackson going to do?"

Our first son. We stare at him, watch him as he wakes, look on adoringly as he falls asleep. 
Kiss him, squeeze him, hug him.
They say we'll love the child even more. We just wonder how. 
But we know it's going to happen.

I think he found out. The crib has been set up. It was a moment. He realized something was happening. I had to have a talk with him. He's no spring chicken. Although I hope we get some spring chickens. 
He'll probably feel weird about that too.

So I decided to call a meeting with all of our kids. 
It was time to be upfront about what's around the bend.

You can see Big Kitty took it the worst. He started shaking her head (we don't know the sexes of these cats).  Blue over to the right was just quiet and still. She's always been the calm pet. 

It's okay, Big Kitty. You're going to love her/him!

Blue looks excited. I love this cat. When I get the urge to cradle something in my arms, I go find sweet Blue. She is a cool cat. Because he has been with us since he was a kitten and was handled by anyone and everyone, she is very social and not really afraid of anything, which can actually be annoying, but I love his little personality. 

 The Canadian family out back has grown to about 7. I didn't even say anything--just walked out of the porch, and they turned, showing me what they thought about that. Guess they heard the news already. They're pissed. They only come around on sunny spring or fall days anyway. Whatever.

We'll all be used to it in no time I'm sure. 

Liza Jane

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Walkin' After Midnight

I love this little thing inside me. I see it doing all kinds of tricks in my belly--the alien way my outtie bell button pops up and down. A wave of movement from within. These are the good times, I say to myself. I see its booty pop up, and I push on it. It pushes right back at me. Little spunky thing like its mother.

 But it walks all over me.

I imagine it in there (yes, I say's okay), just walking and punching my insides, and then doing a few somersalts. I'm happy for him/her that he/she is not defined by gravity right now. 
But her walking sends me walking. 

I keep hearing Patsy Cline on the radio these days--she's one of my favorites. 
I realize this might be the end of sleep as I once knew it. I wake up and every sense of my zen-yoganess is dissolved into fury and frustration (who am I kidding? We all know I have a breakdown at around 7:30 every night). I'm hot, I'm flustered, and damn it, I'm just not comfortable. And do I have to go to the bathroom or not? I don't know. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Will it rain or will it snow?

It could be my addiction to chocolate. It could be that for the first time in 3 years, I crave coffee like a crack addict. It could be my husband snoring and screaming in his sleep, "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" And later, "WHO WON THE GAME?" and an hour after that, "Baby, they said they already picked up the carpet." And then later, "That was a great game." 

Sometimes there is loud yelling, and sometimes it's just a simple, calm sentence. 

It could be the moon, it could be the sun. But it's definitely not the chamomile tea or the magnesium hot bath. It's not the huge man T-shirt I have to wear or the lavender oil on my pillow. It's not the yoga. 

It's my body. 

I talk about the body in yoga. It holds the essence of spirit. And spirit is the source the mind. So I have to trust the body knows what it's doing. Some say it's preparing me to be up all night with the babe. I say back, "Wouldn't it want me to get sleep right now while I can, instead of torturing me?"

But I have to trust it's the right thing. I'm trying this out. 
Trust the right things are happening at the right time. 

Sure, I wake up every 3 hours thinking about what packages haven't come in from Pottery Barn yet. Sure, I feel like crying and losing it all day long. Sure, I'm a big huge chocolate addict who can turn into a demon at any moment. Lack of sleep, lack of time. And the baby isn't even crying in front of me.

This is definitely a pregnancy post. But can you blame me? Two months to go. From the side, I look like an isosceles triangle. My boobs are huge, competing for space with my high belly. I try to put a bra on (a damn D!), and they're like, "Nuh-uh. Not here, partner." And I say, "Yes, boobs. I can't walk around like a braless hippy." They say, "Fine, be our guest. I'm telling you, we have enough support from your big-ass belly." And so I wear the bra, and it squeezes me all day long in the most crowded area of my body, and around 6:30, I just can't breathe any more, and it's coming off. Then my boobs jump up and down for joy.  My whole mood changes. I'm like a different woman with my bra off. 

No complaints though. Like I always say, I am madly blessed. Insanely. And sometimes I feel I don't deserve it. But it's true. Sure, things aren't perfect. But they're perfect for me.

Sleep deprivation? What to do? I don't know. I just have to trust it's happening for a reason. If you're going through this too, perhaps we can find the answers together. But I feel your pain. Boy, do I ever feel your pain. I think it's an individual thing. My thing may be that I need to cut out the morning chocolate, which has caffeine in it. Or maybe I just need to chill the hell out. 

Liza Jane

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Kind and Generous

I moved here a little over 2 years ago. Just followin' my heart, 
nothing but corn fields and a farm shop around.

I had some anxiety about a lot of the things. The smaller things were grocery store issues, driving gas issues (as in fuel for my car), being a vegetarian amidst a lot of meat-eaters (which led to the other kind of gas issues), etc.

The big things, there were two of them: how am I going to make money, do what I love and have some income? And how the hell am I going to make friends out here? A girl has got to have other girls. Everybody needs other people. 

So we'll talk another day about the gas and income issues. Today, we'll talk about the people issue.

For a lassie in her mid-20s, making friends has always involved some kind of school or job or project. So enters this new challenge: get to know and love people while living in the middle of nowhere, get over any awkwardness about it, and make the time (and gas) to see some people.

It's very lucky my husband is such a bubbly, popular guy. His friends have become my friends, and their women have become my girls, and eventually I got to know people.

And they blew my mind. They welcomed me into their lives, and I am so grateful. I'm not from here. And I'm also kind of an odd, little bird. So I know this is kind and generous. These people have beautiful hearts, and I've just begun to talk about their generosity.

Some of these people threw Will and me a baby shower Saturday night. A co-ed baby party. They made food. Kelli's home was so beautifully decorated. They stocked the bar (baby likes milk punch). They invited people. People brought gifts. They bought a big fat present for my offspring and me. It was beautiful and fun.

I saved the tears. I did not break down and cry. I am prouder than a lion about that. 

But I am so deeply moved. My new friends astound me. I feel truly blessed. And inspired.
They haven't known me that long, and they have chosen to make me feel supported and cared for. 
Now that really is something. 

Most of the hostesses: Katie, Nancy, Elinor, Whitney and Kelli. Missing in this pic: the lovely, sweet and graceful Eleanor who is truly an inspiration to me.
It's about how you make people feel. I will remember these women and their men when I think about how I want to make people feel: loved and supported. I hope to be as kind and as generous as they are.

And I only had about 6 ounces of milk punch so you can relax now.

Liza Jane

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Breakfast at Liza's...all day long. 

And this is exactly what I look like. Bright-eyed and beautiful with jewels in my hair, exactly like Audrey Hepburn. 
(When I was a little girl and first saw Breakfast at Tiffany's, I wanted that to be my life...wild and free in a beautiful, scant apartment in New York, being chased by men. But then I realized that Holly Golightly was a sudo-prostitute. Then I thought maybe it wasn't the life for me). 

By the way, a heroine named Holly Golightly would never fly with book critics now. Just making a note of how things have changed. 

And this song from the 90s bugs me so much. Even before pregnancy irritability. I mean, if you only have one thing in common and that's some movie from the 60s, I think, maybe, it's time to let go. 

Anyway, breakfast at Liza's is 24/7, non-stop, all day, everything and anything on the menu. 
You can have any type of weird or interesting breakfast you want over here. 

I could have breakfast all day long and often do these days.  I just had two. I'm about to have my third serving right now. Now that the yogurt course is over, proceeded by the waffle with almond butter on top of it. I think I'll have a helping maple brown sugar oatmeal now. And then around so-called lunchtime, I'll have an egg with some spelt bread. 

And so the breakfast never ends for me. 

If we're talking about breakfasts,  I'd like to pay homage to my favorite breakfast place, the Beacon in Oxford, MS. (Runner-up Pancake Pantry in Nashville). 

Everywhere I go, I search for a place like the Beacon. Recently, Will and I got to go. We sat in a cozy booth, drank an endless supply of coffee (don't worry, I restrained myself, and remembered pregnancy) and I ordered almost everything on the menu. I had the pancakes, I had the biscuits, I had the oatmeal, I had the grits, I had the eggs. Everything but the greasy meat parts of the menu (which I did considerably eyeball). 

Friend Sarah came here every morning in college. They stopped asking her what she wanted eventually. I was so jealous they knew her name. But she went there way more than I and so deserved that medal of honor. 

So here's to doing whatever the hell you want! Eat seven breakfasts if you want to. It might be weird, but you know there's something very sacred about being a weirdo. Unless you're a creepy type of weirdo. And then maybe get some professional help. 

Besides eating breakfast helps to boost the metabolism. Now that life is flying, 
I'm savoring my quick metabolism for all it's worth. 

Liza Jane