Lilac.

Last night, a dear friend watched the Fay for me whilst I whittled away the hours on bed rest. That's a good friend, my friends. As I lay dying of terminal boredom, Jes, her daughter Aspen, and Fable did all manner of crafty things. (Including painting with stamps made of carved potatoes! Who does that?!)

One is wont to notice all kinds of things while horizontal. (Keeeeep it clean, people. Jesus reads this blog.) First off, popcorn ceiling is the everyday Rorschach Test. I got a glimpse into my psyche last night as grinning circus clowns, old ladies with crooked spines, and stampeding horses emerged from my wall. That was a fun five minutes. Then I was back to having nothing to do.

So, I tossed and turned a little. Did some praying. Daydreamed about what my life would be like if I had longer hair (radically better, with far more fashionable montages). At about mile marker 2000, I decided to get out of bed. Who says bed rest needs to be literal BED rest? I mean, aside from my doctor and all.

I putzed around the house in my usual, albeit slower, style. Tidying this thing and that (read: moving it from one unorganized drawer to another). Starting a skein of crochet, only to undo it again. Went up the stairs for some reason, only to forget why when I reached the handle to the bathroom door. (How does a person forget what she intends to do in the bathroom? There are only so many things one can do in there; the options are easily exhaustible.)

Finally, I bunkered down in the black armchair in the living room. I sat in the quiet. I'm so shamefully bad at sitting in the quiet, either in my head or in reality. (Philosophy majors, feel free to quip that what's in your head should count as what's in reality. When you're done, call yourself a pretentious twit for me.) Truth be told, I didn't know what to do with myself without Fable around, yapping at my heels.

I've become so accustomed with multitasking, with putting on a puppet show with one hand and disinfecting the countertops with the other. At the end of a day filled with Legos and puzzles, meltdowns and "More juice, Mommy!" I am thoroughly exhausted and satisfied. I'm acquainted with that form of exhaustion. It's fulfilling, unlike the kind of exhaustion that camps in your bones when you're sick. This kind, the new and harder kind, makes me cry at the drop of a hat. Makes me need to rest in the middle of doing the dishes or having a conversation with my husband. It makes me restless and irritable, but somehow more contemplative.

I feel like a butterfly pinned down by the wings, under the giant lens of the Lord. It was C.S. Lewis, I believe, who said something to the effect of, "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world." Oh, Lord. Have I been deaf? Is that the root of this pain?

Lord, I prayed, let me hear you. Still me. Wrestle me to the ground as you did Jacob. Leave me with a wound, but don't leave me here.

Over the last week several doctors have lain me down, told me to prepare for the pain of a needle or of morphine coursing through my veins. But nothing has compared to this, the pain of holding still for the Lord.

And so, I finally did some musing. In a silent house, in the space inside a whirring mind, I settled-- as much as I know how. Minutes passed, but they felt much longer, as if the Lord were stretching them to their fullest. To think of all the minutes in a day, and how few of them I spend before the presence of God... no wonder it hurt so much.

My time alone came to a close. I heard Jes and Fable approach the door. Finally, my sweet, sticky distraction was home. It's indescribable, the way her rosebud mouth and forever curly hair warms me up from the inside. The warmth was almost unbearable within the walls of my freshly scrubbed heart.

Fable trotted up to me, as she always does, in the the style that so reminds me of a baby beagle tripping over his ears. Sometimes I just want to hold her so much, I can't help but scoop her into me. When she is 16, I will still be pulling her into my arms, despite her protestations.

This time, though, the singularly most amazing thing happened. Fable held out her hand to me.

"Here go, Mommy." And just like that, the Lord came rushing in to mend the wound. Clutched in her tiny, sweaty palm was a thick shoot of lilac.

My first ever flower from Fable. It smelled so good to me.

I found a glass for it, but by the time I filled it with water, Fable had all but demolished the poor thing. No matter-- none at all.

With all the pride and thankfulness in the world, I put the dilapidated petals and naked stem into the glass. It sits now on my dining room table, proudly displayed for all to see.

Today I don't feel so raw. Not much better physically, truth be told. But no worse. And my spirit? It has rarely been better or healthier. I suppose this whole blog started when I realized that I sit here, in this dilapidated state, proudly on display for *my* Father.

There's no better place to be.

Pooh Bear Can't Touch This.

Photo blitz! Turn down the lights and turn on the disco ball. These photos are of one of my favorite family bonding outings in the history of family. Well, this family, at least. Meh, probably your family, too. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

Fable's First Movie!

Now, if you're an astute observer, you've probably noticed by now that this is not a photo of my child with popcorn in hand, gearing up for her first movie. What this IS is a photo of my child in a diaper, throwing her head back in wild exultation as her daddy narrowly avoids getting splashed in the face. Read on, confused friends. Read on.

A few weeks ago, we hitched up the horse and buggy and went into town to see Fable's first theatre movie! We didn't really know what to expect from her, since she's as unpredictable as a toddler running on a full tank of Juicey Juice. (I s'pose that's always sort of true for her, given that she's a toddler normally touting a juice box...) We *intended* to see the new Winnie the Pooh flick. You know, the one all the teenagers are flipping out about. I say that we *intended* to see it because Fable had developed an entirely different agenda by the time we got there. About ten minutes into the movie, she decided that she was going to sit on the floor. After the allure of that wore off, she decided she was going to take that opportunity to try drinking from a can of smuggled soda, which has never gone well in the past-- let alone in a dark movie theatre. Things pretty much spiraled downhill from there. There was running up and down the stairs. There were whispered promises of candy if she would sit still. There were scowls from the family in front of us-- which, might I add, consisted of three adults and no children. Explain to me how that's normal. Anyway, there were tears. My, how there were tears! It all came to a head when Fable *demanded* that I put her in time out. I kid you not. The exchange between mother and daughter went something like this:

F: "Mommy, outside!"

M: "Fable, no, we have to stay in here and watch the movie!"

F: "OUTSIDE!"

M: "Fable, do you need to go to time out?"

F: "Mommy, Bebo need to go time out. Bebo need to go outside."

And so now you see how I set myself up for that one. With about 15 minutes to spare, Doug granted Fable's wish. He took her outside, leaving me in peace to watch the final riveting moments of Pooh Bear's great adventure. But apparently the fun to be had was waiting for me outside, where Doug had stripped Fable down to nothing but a diaper and was merrily frolicking in the fountain with her. Doug, if you're reading this, yes I outted you for frolicking.

See how much happier we all are when we keep it simple?

I was trying to convince her to run into the water, but she thought it wise to keep an eye on that thing.

See how I'm kiiind of trying to force her to go in there? I thought it would be funny if the fountain spurted up under her foot. Doug reminded me just then that she's about 20.5 pounds and the pressure of the fountain might just blow her away. I also thought that was kind of funny, but my sense of responsibility kicked in aaaaaand...

And there she goes! Off in the opposite direction! This game consisted of running up to the fountain, taunting it like a two-year-old is inclined to do, and running away gleefully.

So, that was our adventure. I can't say it compared to Pooh Bear's, though I'm sure his didn't end with him running about in a diaper. At least that's not the Pooh I grew up with, anyway. I thought it was a good way to spend the weekend. And if we didn't have a toddler, this *PROBABLY* wouldn't have happened!

Stay tuned for tomorrow's picture blog on a topic I haven't decided upon yet!

Stereotyping, Chinese food, and the COPD.

Let me get this straight. The day I *actually* became a stereotyper was probably sometime late in my mother's womb. Right after a scrumptious meal of Chinese food and chocolate milkshake, the elves in my brain filed away the fact that the origin of Chinese food -- the Chinese -- must be gods. And so it has come to pass that now, 25 years later, every time I see a Chinese person I wonder if he can cook. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. It doesn't matter how old he is or whether or not he's the homeless guy wandering around downtown glaring down kites with serious suspicion; I'm going to wonder if that person can cook Chinese food.

So, it should come as little surprise, then, that this weekend I had a run-in with my own stereotypes. Only, not the Chinese food one. That one will hold forever true because it's a fact of life that all Chinese people are excellent cooks. So let's just move on from that, shall we? No, the stereotype I had to confront last weekend wasn't about those culinary Chinese. It was about shady Mexican people.

As soon as you read the phrase, "shady Mexican people" something in the recesses of your brain shoved forth an image of the guys I'm talking about. Driving an old Cadillac. Flannel shirts. Hair slicked back using God-Only-Knows-Which-Dead-Animal's-Entrails. Try as you might to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, but you do. Oh, no? You say you're such a liberal, open-minded, postmodern person because of that Women's Studies class in college. You have noooo idea what I mean! You have transcended stereotyping. Superiorityscoff. Well, that makes you a pretentious jerk who makes eye contact with black guys WHILST locking your car doors at the sight of them. Yeah, I said it.

Moving on. The other day I looked out my living room window and saw a car full of Mexican guys parked under my tree. The fact that they were Mexican would be irrelevant except that they were wearing sombreros and dancing an authentic Mexicano dance. I'm just kidding, but that would have been awfully amusing. No, they were just sitting there loitering. I opened my front door and decided to take a step into the hot sun so they could see me. Before I knew it, my feet started walking and I was halfway to their car. The dudes under my tree did a double-take and sped off.

AH-HA! Affirmation! Those WERE some shady Mexicans! Don't even try to tell me that they weren't because I will punch you in the brain!

And get this! What happened next will blow your mind, should it still need blowing. I went back inside the house and closed the door. I camped out by my window and WHAT. DO. YOU. KNOW. They came back!

This time I was really ready for action. I was going to protect my turf. So I started for the door when suddenly a guy appeared out of the house next door. He leaned over the car door and starting making what looked like very conspiratorial conversation. They were probably talking about Plato or poverty for a moment. Anyway, I decide to go over there and introduce myself and say something along the lines of, "If you're scoping out my house Home Alone style, you should know that I always leave a mischievous 10-year-old boy locked in the attack." But I didn't get the chance.

Because as soon as they saw me coming, everyone in the car waved and said hello. Whaaaat? Oh. My. Gosh. I have walked onto the set of Happy Days. This is so bizarre... Suddenly I'm shaking hands with people and looking at pictures of their 4-year-old nieces and nephews. They just liked the shade from my enormous front yard tree and were parking under it for a spell as they chatted with my neighbor, who told me that he, his wife, Jes, and their twin toddlers, were living next door with her brother while they were unemployed. What a nice guy...

And then Jes came outside to meet me. She was gregarious to the maximum and wanted to know everything about my life right away, in turn for listening to her life story. My immediate impression was that this family was a little rough around the edges, but wholly good-intentioned.

You can probably imagine the thoughts that went through my head. Everything I ever learned in Liberal Arts came flooding back. About how racism is perpetuated through covert and overt ignorance and fear. About how racial tension is worsened by embracing the stereotype, not confronting it.

So I went back to my cave and curled up in a ball and started praying that God would change my heart so I might not be such an awful white person anymore.

...

That was at 9:30 AM.

Imagine my surprise at 3:30 PM when the police show off their fancy lights in front of my neighbor's house. Apparently there was a parade going on I didn't know about. A parade to celebrate my fantastic neighbors! A whole lot of law enforcement officers were there on the ready to kick off the parade. Oh, wait. They were there to do a WHOLE LOT OF ARRESTING!

Later that day I ran into my neighbor's wife. With scratches all over her arms and chest, tears streaming down her face, and all of her earthly possessions waiting on the driveway. It was starting to rain when I walked over to her. "Don't believe anything my brother tells you," she pleaded. "He hit me first..." I nodded, mouth agape, with no real words of wisdom for this moment. I told her about Jesus, gave her my phone number, helped her pack her stuff in a friend's car, and went back the way I came. The rain started pouring down.

I guess the moral of this story is somethingsomethingsomething about the larger human experience. About all of humanity putting aside their differences and predispositions and coming together to achieve a greater understanding. Perhaps the lesson in all of this is about not judging books by their covers.

Screw that. I judged those books and I GOT THEM RIGHT, PEOPLE!

I GOT THEM RIGHT!

SEE! This is why stereotypes exist! Because one day they cops WILL show up at your neighbor's house and arrest a bunch of Mexicans. And evolution wants you to be prepared for that!

So, I guess the moral of this story is that I know all Chinese people can cook and the ones that don't are holding out on you. I know within my heart of hearts.

The End. <3

See, I told you!

I DO have a blog! And it's NOT interesting!*

Say what you will, but at least I'm honest with my readers.**

In an effort to lure you in, I'll drop some interesting tidbits about my life here. I hope they are alluring and accomplish my luring goals.

1. I drink a gallon of sweet tea a day. And then I wonder why I'm so frazzled, batty, and urinate so frequently.

2. I have a really hard time understanding cause and effect in my own life. It will take me a month before I suspect a correlation between the smell in my room to the abundance of stinky laundry. Until the moment the old man in my brain finally reaches the belfry and rings the dusty bells of my noggin, I will believe all kinds of insane things to be the cause of something relatively mundane (i.e: there must be something dead in my closet, and now I can't open the closet because that would trigger fears #3 and 4).

3. I'm horribly, irrationally afraid of finding someone dead in a closet or bathroom. Just, you know, crumpled on the floor like a tissue of death. I think one time I saw an X-Files where a dude went into a public bathroom and opened the stall and found a dead body by the toilet. I mean, what a VULNERABLE position to be in when you find a dead body. Imagine the unassuming bathroom user who, with many a thing on her mind, shuffles awkwardly into the stall at the end of the row, painfully aware of the grime of the room in its entirety. She uses her foot to coax the stall door open and Success! She has narrowly avoided touching the swinging door with its shamefully peeling green paint! Almost certain restroom victory! And then... BAM! DEAD BODY!

What a freaking awful experience.

It's enough to make me never want to use the restroom ever again. Not even in my own home. And it has never happened to me, nor to anyone I know or know of. It's just that awful a possibility.

4. I don't remember what fear #4 was supposed to be, but I know it has something to do with closets. Oh, yeah! Finding bugs on the carpet in my closet. A little less dramatic, but hardly less paralyzing.

5. So, any old who, I suppose the lesson in all of this is: Read my blog, don't use public restrooms, and if you do, bring hand sanitizer because you never what's going to be in there.

Love,

M.

*P.S: See what I mean?

** I told you so.

10 weeks...

10 weeks of pregnancy means:

10 meals a day-- this is a hungry baby!

Baby measuring at 9 weeks, although I know when I conceived

8 pills I take in a day

7 days in a week that bring new ways to gag, wretch, and inevitably puke around the house

6 hours of sleep a night, which seems to be about my body's maximum allowance

5 extra pounds already gained

4 extra bathroom trips a night

3 gallons of water a day. That's how much it feels like I'm drinking, anyway

2 hour naps a day

1 day I will have this baby and this pregnancy will fade away, praise the Lord!

Now, goodnight, blog-o-sphere. It's 4:30 and you really ought to be in bed anyway.

<3

The jig is up...

First of all, this phrase always makes me laugh. What jig? Who's doing this gravitationally disinclined jig? What in the heck does it even MEAN?

But as I sit here to write this blog, I have to admit to that jig is definitely up. If by "jig" I mean "silence" and "up" I mean "finished."

I suppose I should get real with you fine folks. I haven't written in a while because in the onslaught of diapers, diapers, and more diapers, finding trucks jammed under the sofa and kissing make-believe owies, we got some big news.

Anybody care to guess what that news might be? That's right. You heard it here first, friends: The Mauss family has gone vegan!

HA! How hilarious would that be?

No, it's nothing so serious/life-threatening/ridiculous. We're just having a baby.

Coming to a womb near you

February 17, 2012

The Mausses will be welcoming another little one to the tribe.

So, do forgive my absence. It really has been due to the business of toddlerdom, as well as a potent combination of fatigue and nausea.

But do be prepared for more blogs to come, namely about the aforementioned toddler and nausea.

Lots of love,

The Mausses.

A Mauss Family Update

"I can thank my God for every wave that has wrecked me upon the Rock, Jesus Christ."

-Darlene Deibler Rose

Dear friends and family,

We sit to write you with very full hearts. Normally we don't send correspondence en masse. Those of you who know us well would laugh; we hardly send correspondence at all! But given the recent turn of events, we feel compelled and inspired to get in touch. We've had an incredible series of weeks, and we knew we needed to write.

This is a long story, so maybe prepare yourself with a cup of coffee. Or two. (Or three, in my case!)

To begin, it must be noted that the last two years have been the most trying of our marriage-- perhaps our lives. But as we reflect on those difficult times, we see the hand of God repairing our brokenness, polishing our imperfections, and crafting us into something better than ever before. Our lives-- and particularly this season-- have been a testament to the truth that "suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope." This truth informs our current season. And by the end of this email, we think you'll share in our hope, too.

A few weeks ago, Doug went on a retreat through our church, Family of Christ. (Rather, he went on a trip with our church-that-meets-in-a-building, Family of Christ. We have a lot of churches, and we're all the church, and so on and so forth. :)

So, anyway. He went on this retreat. This retreat is notorious. Men talk about it all year round. As the date approaches, men huddle in corners to murmur excitedly about "all-terrain vehicles" and "shooting ranges" and "poker tournaments." Men travel across the country to attend this retreat, started by our humble church. And when the men return, they are completely and utterly shaken. Moved. Changed. I saw it not once, not twice, but in all the men who had gone on the previous year's retreat. So, as the retreat approached, more and more men started pressing Doug about going. He's not your stereotypical "man's man," so he was a little hesitant. Doug's idea of an edifying retreat equates to holing up in the basement with a massive pile of books, obscure old movies, and his Bible on the iPhone. But something compelled Doug to go, so on a Thursday evening we scrambled around the house trying to find anything that could remotely come in hand on a camping trip. Fable and I waved goodbye to Doug for the weekend as he piled into a car full of men and drove off into the sunset.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, I had forged a plan with the other castoff wives to spend the weekend tag-teaming with the children. The plan looked a little something like this: Take several field-trips with the kids, wear them out, and cram them all into sleeping bags on the floor of one house for a sleep-over. Somehow margaritas got thrown in there for good measure, but I digress.

What ensued was the beginning of something wonderful. The weekend was long for the both of us, and full of lessons and opportunities for growth that were surely inspired by the Lord.

Doug could fill you in on all the details of the trip. From what I understand, it was exactly as macho as was rumored. But the report from all the men is this: It didn't end there. The trip was a strange and amazing hybrid of masculinity and vulnerability; hiking and repelling, while strengthening their spiritual muscles as well. My husband came home with a renewed faith, an inner peace, a commitment to integrity and family... These are all things he possessed before the trip, but were brought to maturation while he was away.

While he was gone, I had some time to connect with the Lord, too, but in a much different way. Over the weekend, a dear friend wrote me an email that started a difficult chain of events. I had no idea how to handle the sudden strain imposed on our friendship. Without Doug's guidance, it was hard to know how to react. Most people told me to walk away from the friendship. But something didn't feel right in my soul. I needed Doug to come home.

When Doug and I met back up on Sunday evening, we were each brimming with emotions and stories we just had to share. Doug told me about the retreat, and the warmth and strength emanating from him were palpable. I was so relieved to have him home. Finally, I told him about the difficult time I had with my friend. I felt a mixture of emotions when he said, "Instead of reacting out of woundedness, too, I think you have a chance to rise above it and give God the glory." Finally, the discernment and clarity I was looking for. That night I met up with my friend. Ultimately we were able to have grace for one another. We have spent a lot of time talking about Christ, and I see how God redeemed that difficult situation. I am SO glad we didn't just leave things where they were, but I never would have gotten there if it weren't for Doug.

There was no doubt about it. God had started a work in my husband and in me.

Doug and I barely had time to unpack (in any sense of the word), when we got some surprising news. The Monday following the retreat, Doug came home early from work. I was busy cleaning the kitchen and keeping an eye on Fable when Doug walked through the door. He put his arms around me. There was a softness in his voice, tinted by a quiver.

He told me that he lost his job. The words, "laid off" rang in my ears.

In that moment, I felt so honored to be his wife.

And we were relieved. God had finally released us from Cook. We were so grateful for Doug's job-- especially after we had Fable and I left my job to be a stay-at-home-mom. But we had felt for all too long that the time had come to make a change. Release!

In the days that followed, we were flooded with an outpouring of love. Emails, texts, and phone calls from loving friends and family wanting to know if we were okay. We were so grateful for their concern. Our response was, "God's hand is all over this, and we have REAL joy!" This peace truly does surpass all understanding.

How differently would we have handled this news if not for our weekend retreats? Six months ago, would this have sent us spiraling into despair? A year ago, would we have clung to each other like we do now? The more we think about it, the clearer it becomes that God has been paving the way for this for a very long time. With every passing day, the Lord was cultivating in us the right hearts to tackle this obstacle with strength and grace. We are more convinced than ever that God's sovereign plan will always prevail. Each and every day is crafted by the Lord for a greater purpose. We are so glad to be a part of that glory.

Over the course of that weekend, God taught Doug so much about what it truly looks like to be a man in this world. How to truly invest in one's family, instead of prioritizing work to an unhealthy degree. How to pursue the Lord on a daily basis. How to lead by example. How to trust God instead of man. And God taught me about being vulnerable, about God's wisdom looking different from man's, and about redemption for all circumstances-- even and especially this one!

At this moment, Doug is spending his final hours at David C. Cook. He is cleaning out his desk and saying goodbye to his friends. He has been determined to leave Cook with a blessing on his lips. He has done his job thoroughly in these last weeks, not slacking because the end was coming. He has conducted himself with so much dignity and humility. I'm continually amazed by this man's character.

So, where do we go from here? Who knows! The Lord does, of course. And we're grateful for the clean slate. We're extremely excited to see where God is leading us, because clearly He is! We are fully aware of the power of our God. It's the same power at work in us that raised Christ from the dead. We have so much trust in Him, and we pray for even more.

On a final note, we want to give glory to God for already tending to our needs. A few days ago we sat down to pay a mountain of medical bills. Near the end of the task we opened a letter that contained $50.00 more than the total sum of our bills. Isn't that amazing? How could be anything less than joyful?! God is on our side!

So, that's that! Please continue to pray for us to stay positive, to trust in the Lord, and to cling to one another. We love you, our dear friends, and we pray for you, too.

Much love,

Doug, Melanie, and Fable.

Mother's Day

Being a mom to Fable Elaine has offered me a moment of pause to consider the last two years. One day my daughter's chubby little fingers will reach for a marker to scrawl her first Mother's Day card. One day I'll open my mailbox to find her love waiting for me there. And one day in the distant future, I'll receive my first Grandmother's Day card.

My prayer is that each and every year, my love for this child will grow exponentially. On this day, I am honored to be Fable's mother. It's the highest compliment, the most humbling duty, and the greatest joy I've ever experienced. Fable is too young to sign her name on an effusive card or even understand what it means that I'm her mother. But I understand. And I hope I never crave her thanks. Instead, I hope that this time every year, I turn to my Savior, the God who gave me this sacred gift, and thank HIM.

Praise the Lord today.

Love.

I love,

love,

love

having a little girl. F is the most precocious and silly little thing on this side of heaven. She is whip smart, communicative, sweet, and feisty. If I could have it my way, I would have a zillion Fables.

<3

Current Events.

I think this article about sums it up. And here are some verses that I think pertain to the situation, as well.

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/05/02/morning-buzz-celebration-and-vigilance-after-bin-ladens-death/?partner=rss&emc=rss

Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord. - Romans 12:19

‎'Do I take any pleasure in the death of the wicked?' declares the Sovereign LORD. Rather, am I not pleased when they turn from their ways and live? - Ezekiel 18:23

Kids, I love 'em.

So, my friends, it seems that God has been at work yet again. Like a house elf, only more... real. And less creepy. :)

Over the last two years, God has been working on my heart towards children. Most of you know that prior to the birth of my darling daughter, Fable, I never even wanted children. The last thing on earth I saw myself doing was raising a child, let alone watching other people's children! But it seems that God is in the business of turning the tables, flipping the script, and all that. Over the last year, I found myself in situations where I learned about, related to, empathized with, and eventually taught young children. I've been nannying here and there, teaching theatre, and raising my own daughter. And what do you know! I love kids. (Most of the time.) Their enthusiasm and wonder inspires me to live more joyfully every day. (End sappiness...)

And so, with that, I am venturing into the world of (unofficial) childcare. My qualifications include:

- Employment as a young infant and toddler caregiver at Vanguard Church in Colorado Springs, CO.

- Nanny/regular babysitter to three children in the last year. (All of their parents would be happy to give a reference.)

-Infant and toddler CPR certification.

-Substitute teaching license, which basically means I'm an awesome teacher.

- Employment at the Academy of Children's Theatre as a theatre director for children ages 4-9.

Should you find yourself interested in my services, here's more info: This summer, I will be working alongside my dear friend and full-time teacher, Tiffany B., to facilitate excellent babysitting/childcare. She works for the Rocky Mountain Classical Academy and is abundantly gifted with children. There will always be two adults present, allowing for your child to have individualized care. In a given day, we will regularly take children to the nearby park (Cottonwood Creek), schedule educational outings, such as story time at the library or visits to the zoo, story time, music time, snacks, and naps. Each day will be structured, with regular times set for snacks and naps. Drop-in childcare is also available with advance notice.

So, please spread the word! We're more than flexible, and always willing to talk and negotiate something that will work for the individual needs of a family.

Lots of love from Mel and Tiff.

Whatcha Doin'?

Fable's new favorite phrase is, "Wha doin'?" while holding her hands out to her side like an overacting mime. So cute!

She has also added, "I do/I get" to her repertoire.

The cutest thing, though, is this: For a week or so she has been running around yelling, "Beee-bo!" I had no idea what that meant. I thought it might mean, "Playdough," but she was saying it all the time. Turns out, she's trying to say her name.

I love my little Bebo.

18 months of Fay.

Welcome to the shakedown of month 18 with Ms. Fable Elaine, the best thing since sliced bread (or, as is the case in our household, brown rice psuedo-bread). For those of you who don't speak parent, 18 months = 1 1/2 years, which means we are just that much closer to 2 years of toddlerage. It's a milestone, really. For your reading pleasure, here are the highlights of the last month:

1. "Goooo?!" Fable has adopted this A*frigging*DORABLE affect-- whenever she misplaces something, or when someone leaves the room, she holds her hands out to her side and says, "Daddy, go?" The lilt in her voice is simply darling; it should be canned and sold to depressed people. It's especially cute when she asks for her blanket ("baybit"). So super cute.

2. "C'mon!" My little adventurer runs around the house yelling this at everyone and everything in her path. She looks over her shoulder and gesticulates wildly, commanding everyone to "Mon, c'mon!" It's so irresistible that I can't help but put down the laundry and follow her wherever she leads.

3. On the not so wonderful side, my favorite girl has found her will sometime in the last few weeks. She shrieks "NO!" while pushing my hands off the shopping cart, throws her cereal off the table, and simply lays down in the middle of the grocery store when she will go no further. My approach is to give her a firm, "No!" in appropriate situations, or the ignore her in others. We also try time outs when all else fails. Just the other day she repeatedly hit another child and I said, "Fable, go to time out!" She turned and walked to time out on her own with tears streaming down her face. It was so cute and a little heartbreaking.

4. Fay is still a tiny little peanut. At about a year she hit 20 pounds, and she's just now hovering at 22. She eats up a storm, and just like her mommy, snacks all day long. Her doctor isn't worried about her being on the small side because she's growing according to her own growth chart and hasn't lost any weight. I'm glad she's still small enough to fit in my arms!

5. Lastly, and not so happily, it seems we are destined for a lifetime (or at least a toddlerhood) of chronic sickness. Since she was born, Fable has had more than 5 ear infections (most of them in both ears), one nasty bout of RSV, a double case of staph infection, been diagnosed with serious food and seasonal allergies, and has been fed a steady diet of antibiotics for sinus infections. At the moment, she has a horrendous sinus infection that has lingered for well over a month. To hear her cough is pitiful. She wakes up anywhere between every 5 and 15 minutes at night, and consequently, so do we. Doug and I sleep in shifts, neither of us getting more than 4 solid hours a night. Nothing seems to help-- not the humidifier, nebulizer, bulb syringe, Benadryl, or codeine that was last prescribed us. So we have an appointment with a specialist on Wednesday who thinks she can help us figure out a course of treatment and determine why Fable gets sick so often. I sure hope so, because this is getting costly-- both financially and emotionally.

But let's not end on a sad note. Life is good in the Mauss household. Ms. Fay brightens our day, most certainly. I don't know what I did without her. You know, aside from sleep. And fold laundry. Wouldn't trade it for the world...

:)

Wordsmithing.

Time for a Fay update, because it's not like I talk about her all the time/you have something better to think about. So, since you're SO captivated by the goings-on of an 18-month-old toddler, let me catch you up to speed on her latest and greatest accomplishments:

Fable can say the following words: Milk ("muck!"), juice/apple juice, please, thank you, bye-bye, night-night, nap, lap, sleep, go, Daddy, Mommy, Nona (Doug's mom), Nana (my mom), Ga-pah (Doug's dad), Opa (my dad), snack, no (and more no no no no no), yes, kiss, fish, doggy, cat, bird, tree, sky, grass, pretty, banana ("manananana"), apple, Aspen ("Aaaah-baaaah"), Jes, Maleah ("Meeaah"), walk, book, back, cow, all done, more, baby, and come on! (my ABSOLUTE favorite thing she says). I think there are others that I'm forgetting right now.

All that to say, we are preparing for an Ivy League future. Or a Walmart greeter future. Either way, we're mighty proud. Way to go, my manananana loving, muck drinking, beautiful cherub. You make me proud...

*Also: Cracker, cookie, and Elmo.

Adding to the list...

Has it really come to this? How could I, a relatively accomplished freelance writer, stoop so low? Is it truly possible that I'm going dedicate an entire post to a food? But not just any food.

THESE:

Sweet, creamy yogurt coating a crunchy, salty, pretzely confection o' bliss. I ate the better part of an entire container this afternoon. And because they're covered in yogurt and not chocolate, I have convinced myself there is nary a calorie in them! Also, they kind of look like this, which makes me imagine I'm eating something magical.

Magical AND delicious. Not to be confused with Lucky Charms, which are both magical and delicious, but fall oh-so-short of yogurt-covered raisins. Oh, God. This post has gone on too long. Go get some for yourselves...

I Can't Do Without...

No, it's not some sappy Lady A song, it's even better! Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present you with Melanie's Top Five Things List!

1. Filling the first slot on the list of things I simply can't do without is this:

Now, I know I don't exactly fall into this show's target demographic. I'm not in the military. I'm not 45. But I am a SAHM who has somehow managed to *neglect my progeny long enough to* watch thirteen 45-minute long episodes of this show while downing copious amounts of 7-Up and popcorn. That's a little something I like to call "prioritizing." Seriously, though. I grew up in the military, like so many of my friends in this military town. While I appreciate many aspects of military life, I'm not prone to glamorizing or over-sentimentalizing things. So when I first saw the ads for this show I thought, "Great. Another sappy drama romanticizing the American way." But I've been more than pleasantly surprised by the story-telling, characterization, and plot twists that have thus far taken place. At times the show is a bit heavy-handed and treads cheesier waters, but it normally scratches the itch for a drama emphasizing the "we all share a common bond so have faith in humanity" theme. It's definitely worth the watch.

2. Saya Snow Pea Crisps.

You know that expression, "It's the best of both worlds?" Well, these salty, delectable baked snow peas are the best of all frickin' possible worlds. I'm not kidding. They taste like French fries but are, I presume, much better for you. I could eat the whole bag except Fable won't let me because she mows down on them like they're going out of style. I'm not ashamed to admit that I steal them off her plate at lunch time. I justify that by remembering that I gave her life; she can sacrifice a few of these snow peas...

3. Nivea "Soft" moisturizer.

Living in Colorado, a good moisturizer is as necessary as a life jacket in New Orleans. (Too soon? I thought so, too.) On a scale of 1-10, my skin is normally a "So ashy, it looks like I left my legs out in the snow." I have tried so many moisturizers it's not even funny, ranging from coconut oil to $35.00 Arbonne moisturizer. I got a travel-sized container of this Nivea Soft stuff and after one use, I was hooked. It smells so good... subtle, fresh, slightly powdery. I use it on my hands and face every day. Never going back.

4. Greek Gods Yogurt (with honey):

By the gods, this is the best thing to hit my taste buds since... well, I can't even remember. I mean, this is no ordinary yogurt, so just... forget everything you think you know about cultured dairy. Once you taste this stuff, you will nevereverever buy that artificially flavored Yoplait nonsense again. It's sweet and robust, more like ice cream than a breakfast food has any right to be. It's thick and creamy with texture akin to that of sour cream. Just add a little granola and viola... best breakfast ever!

5. Chi flat iron.

My dear sister-in-law, Susanne, has this expression. She always says that such-and-such a thing will CHANGE MY LIFE! Let me assure you, folks, that she was right about this one. The Chi straightener has made sense out of the identity crisis that is my hair. Before the Chi came into my life, my hair was constantly asking, "Am I wavy, am I straight, what is life really all about?!" The Chi answered all those questions and more. You are straight! You are messy! You are androgynous and sexy all at once! And it only took 4 minutes to make the transformation complete! If you're thinking of buying a straightener, don't bother wasting your money on anything else. Sure, the Chi is a little on the pricier side, but I swear that the difference between my hair after using a $25 flat iron compared to using the Chi is like comparing a McDonald's cheeseburger to a Kobe steak. You will never, ever be sorry you bought the Chi.

*And last, but oh, so, not least, is this: I absolutely, positively, could never do without my husband. (It's getting real, ya'll...) I'll admit-- with more than a tinge of pain -- that there have been times when I thought I could do without. They say that the first year of marriage is hard. What they don't say is that even though it's hard, it just might be easier than the years to come. Marriage is astounding to me because two people make blind oaths to be together no matter what, and sure enough, "no matter what" will eventually happen. The best you can do is hope to marry someone you'll want to go through the hard times with. And I did. I picked the best. And I'm grateful to be with him, through the highs and lows, the easy times and hard. No matter what.

And thus completes Melanie's Top Five Things List. I know you think your life is complete as is, but you're wrong about that. You have me to thank for clarifying the bleakness of your current situation, and for showing you the light. Enjoy your newfound enlightenment!

Ohwuhoh, the sweetest thing.

Fable had her MMR shots yesterday. It is always so gut-wrenching to put her through that. This last time was particularly brutal, since she recently learned to say "All done." It's a phrase normally reserved for wanting to be finished with a snack or dinner, but being the clever little thing she is, the child has started saying it in all manner of unpleasant situations. When she doesn't want a diaper change, for instance. Or when she wants to be rescued from her crib after a nap (and often, before it has even taken place.) It sure was heartbreaking to hear her cry, "All done" between full-blown sobs as the nurse gave her a shot in each thigh.

Today Fable spent the majority of the day sleeping off the trauma. The woman at her day-care reported that in the middle of playtime, she laid down on the floor and fell asleep. An hour later, she went down for an hour-long nap. Then, at home, she slept for another three hours.

And just now, I laid the unusually docile babe in her crib, stroked her eyebrows and hair until she fell asleep. Without overstating, I must say that easing her into sleep was the most humbling and satisfying thing I've done in my life in recent times.

This 'n that.

There are a squillion things to write about, mainly of a Fable-centric nature:

- Under the supervision and guidance of my dear friend and pastor, John, I'm learning to rebuild and tune pianos. (That's his primary business.) This is MORE than enjoyable for me. Pianos are intricate and deserve a lot of respect. Beautiful instruments.

- My job at the theatre is going well. It's insanely busy, though. And requires an exceptional amount of energy, both physically and creatively. Teaching the class requires a lot of acting in itself, as the kids expect you to be engaging and interesting all the time. I'm teaching six classes with three units of "Jungle Book" and three of "Peter Pan." I'm burning out a little on the energy front, and hoping that my schedule is less hectic next semester. However, the summer looks even busier, since I'll be teaching full-time, directing both "Aristocrats" and "The Wizard of Oz." Hoping I can keep my head in the game.

- Fable continues to be an utter delight. She has added, "Fsssh" (fish), "Beebeees" (babies), "Baawl" (ball), and last but not least, "Boobs" to her vocabulary. (Yes. Yes, I did teach my daughter the vernacular term for "breasts." It's a long story.)

- Fable has turned into quite the snuggler, proving once and for all that she is my daughter. (No maternity tests needed here, folks!) She hurls herself into your arms with the joyful abandonment innate only in children. The glee alight on her face would be enough to power whole cities.

- Relatedly: I find that what I love the most about motherhood, above all other things, is the privilege of being party to Fable's sincerity. When she is happy, she is fully immersed in happiness. When she is hurt or angry or sad, she embodies those feelings. It's such a profound thing to witness.

- My sweet and lovely sister-in-law is due to have her baby boy, Elliott, in just a few weeks. So excited for her and her husband. They were made to be parents.

- Fable had her first ever stay at day-care today. It was slightly poignant, but my nostalgic reveries of days spent putzing about our house playing with "beebees" was interrupted by my urgent need to get to class. I collected her two hours later, and any feelings of guilt I had about putting her in childcare were left by the wayside when I saw that chubby, smiling face covered in graham cracker, both hands waving ecstatically at me upon retrieval. The facility she attends is a good one. They write a full report of your child's daily activities, and document her demeanor throughout the day. She seems to love it, and I'm glad with the arrangement, too.

- I've been hitting the gym harder later, which is a relief I cannot describe. I feel, for some reason, that going to the gym is for people who are much more "Type A" than I am. But I have always loved going to the gym, always preferred working out indoors rather than out, and I feel 100% better about life after a trip to the gym.

- Our family had to put down our dear companion, Buster, after 14 years of loyal friendship. I'm tremendously averse to communal grieving, so I wasn't there when the mobile vet visited Buster. But it was hard, nonetheless. It's so strange how attached we can grow to animals, but it also makes perfect sense, I think. It sounds so silly to express sadness over losing a pet, but it was about as real a loss as any human loss I have ever experienced.

Those are the happenings in the Mauss family at the moment. It's quiet lately. So much better than all the commotion we're accustomed to. Good night!

Valentine's Day

My parents so generously offered to pay for D and I to go out to dinner tonight to celebrate a belated Valentine's Day. I don't know where we should go, since we're pretty accustomed to making do with Chipotle. (I'd call splitting a steak burrito a romantic meal...)

So, between writing that paragraph and this one, I looked into the Sunbird. Everyone says it's romantic and the food is good, and the view can't be beat, so I think we'll give it a whirl!

Here's the website. http://www.thesunbird.com/

Imagine me sitting where that blonde lady is. Also, imagine me stuffing my face with chocolate fondue. That's a more accurate picture.

Happy belated V-day, everyone!

1 1/2 hours...

That's how much downtime Play Dough will buy you if you have one very curious and destructive toddler. This is basically the transcript from our time playing this afternoon.

Fay: Mama, baaawl?

Momma rolls Play Dough into balls.

Fay: Mash?

Fable mashed Play Dough into flat discs in her chubby hands.

Fay: Mama, baaaawl?

:)