Folksy Fairy Tale: Snow White Steps Out

Dress: Lily Rose, Kohl's

Mushroom Magic Necklace

Headband: Michaels

Chockful of charms.

Bag: Delia's

Top: Allegra K

Bag: Marshalls

Socks: Amazon; Shoes: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Little tulip clip: Wild Fable, Target; Big tulip clip: A New Day, Target

There's something about a fairy tale forest -- that inspires me to stay inside.  Away from the bugs and the heat and the poisonous mushrooms, where I can create my version of what I think the great outdoors should be.  So, that's what this is, from my Mushroom Magic Necklace to my Snow White-inspired second fit.

You'd never know that my favorite Disney princess is actually the Little Mermaid. 😏 

Special Delivery: Baby Girl Blooms

On Thursday, June 6, I got up at 3:30 a.m. to pee.  When I finished, I looked down at the bathroom floor and was surprised to find it covered in water.  At first, I thought the toilet had overflown.  But then I realized that what had overflown was me.

My water had broken.

I was strangely calm as I shouted to tell the husband.  Then, still gushing, I threw on the leggings, T-shirt dress, and flip flops I'd set out and dialed my OB-GYN.  The doc on call asked if I was having contractions.  I said I wasn't.  She responded that I could "labor at home" for the time being.  Um, no.  I was coming in.

The husband dumped our bags into the car, and off we went into the night.  It was all so surreal.  The evening before, I'd called the hospital to get my induction time for the next day, and they said they didn't have one yet and would call me when a slot opened up.  Which had made me angry and anxious.  There I was, gearing up for the biggest, scariest thing I'd ever have to do, and they weren't sure they had a bed?!

Clearly, baby girl had other ideas.  One way or another, she was making her debut.

An hour later, I checked into the eerily quiet hospital.  Still, by the way, gushing, which would continue until I delivered.  The husband was there the whole time, and then my parents arrived, and my mom was there, too.

When they did bloodwork, I opened my trusty book, this time The Magic of Found Objects by Maddie Dawson.  The nurse said, "I've never seen a woman in labor read," and I muttered that I needed the distraction while my mom replied, "Oh, she's a big reader from way back."

I still couldn't feel any contractions, although they said I was having them.  They moved me to my room and gave me Pitocin to speed things up.  Once I started feeling a little pain, I asked the husband to fire up my playlist, which was '80s and '90s tunes.  I stood it as long as I could (the pain, not the music, which was, Cars pun intended, "just what I needed"), then thought maybe it was time for the epidural.  When I wondered if it was too soon, the husband said, no, go for it.  So I did, reading again as the anesthesiologist inserted the needle.

Before long, I was feeling no pain but could still move my legs, which I learned was rare.  It seemed I'd gotten the Cadillac of epidurals.  

Things went on like this until a bunch of nurses appeared.  Baby girl had dropped very quickly, I was almost completely dilated, and my doc was in the OR.  I also started violently shivering, which scared me.  But the nurses said it was a normal hormonal response.

Then my doctor appeared and it was time to push.  He instructed me to grab my legs and was surprised when I was able to do it.  (Like I said, Cadillac of epidurals.)  Then he told me how to push, and suddenly, I was doing it.  And guess what?  It didn't even hurt!  I'm told this went on for about an hour and a half, but it felt much shorter.  Then my doc, who was phenomenal, said just a few more pushes, and there she was!  The nurse laid her on my chest, covered in white stuff that I now know is vernix.  And I said, in wonder, "She's here!"

Charlotte Rose Johnson entered the world at 2:40 p.m.  She weighed 5 lbs. and 5.7 oz. and measured 19 in.  She has my hair and size (I was 5 lbs. and 9 oz.) and the husband's face, including his big blue eyes.  I'm told she pooped upon arrival. 

Way to make an entrance, kid.

I'm so incredibly grateful that Charlotte was born in the best way possible and is safe and healthy.  I worried about all of that for so long, so I truly feel that someone was watching over us.

Not that there wasn't or isn't hard stuff.  I was a little shell-shocked when I realized that I had to feed and change her from go and had no idea how to do either.  The night nurses would give me reports about her spitting up with stern warnings about choking hazards.  That first night, I just held her as she slept, terrified that something would happen to her if I didn't.  I know it sounds crazy, but at one point she smiled at me, as if to say she was okay.

Most of the nurses also told me that I didn't look so good and was very pale.  One even tested my hemoglobin levels only to begrudgingly admit they were fine.  I wanted to say, yes, it was an easy delivery, but I still just gave birth!  When I vented to my mom, she told me to take a shower, put on my pajamas, and do my makeup to show them who I really was.  So I spruced myself up.  And when the nurse who'd tested my hemoglobin came back, she said that I looked great and no longer needed the IV.  And that's when I realized that life continues to be a series of tests, endlessly pushing you to prove yourself.  I'd done it so many times in so many situations, and now I'd done it again, convincing those Nurse Ratcheds that I was okay.

Speaking of being okay, I wouldn't be if I didn't have the husband.  He's amazing with Charlotte, and I melt when I watch them together.  He instinctively knows how to angle a bottle and elicit a burp (Charlotte's a reluctant burper) and calm her down when she's fussy.  Of course, he knows how to calm me down too, which is worth its weight in the expensive cabbage cream I'm using to dry up my milk.  My specialty?  Changing diapers!  It was the thing I obsessed over the most, but it turns out that my meticulous nature means I'm good at eradicating every stray spot of poo.  On a less gross note, I love to sing to Charlotte (The Golden Girls theme song has recently entered the rotation) and tell her all about our family and house and the fun things we'll do someday.

She's an angel of a little girl, just like it says in the poem I hung in her room:

Charlotte Rose, you're meant to be,

Our little miracle baby.

Charlotte Rose, how sweet you are,

Our gift from God, our shining star.

I'm not usually one to drag God into things, but this time it felt right.

So now we're on an adventure, our little family of three, Charlotte and the husband and me.  And it makes me happier than I ever thought I could be.  

Yep, I can't seem to stop rhyming.  Nevertheless, I'll be blogging less, at least for a while.  Keeping a human alive is exhausting, even when she's the sweetest human ever and the husband's down in the trenches with me.  

So until next time, I wish you the best of luck on your adventures, wherever they may take you.

And one day Charlotte Rose and I will be back to read all about them.       

Getting a Handle on Things

As the husband and I get ready for the baby, our to-do list seems endless.  And the most daunting thing on it, at least so far, has been emptying the spare room.  In the last six plus years, we've managed to cram it with every castoff imaginable.  Shoehorned amidst the flotsam and jetsam (The Little Mermaid forever!), is the husband's dresser.  My dresser, which is the same one I've had since I was twenty-two months old, is in our bedroom.  So the husband came up with a solution.  He would build one big double dresser for both of us and get rid of the other two, both of which were in bad shape.

It was a great idea.  I'd been smooshing my PJs and underwear into those child-sized drawers for decades without ever stopping to think there must be a better way.  Still, as psyched as I was for the extra space, a part of me was sad to see that old dresser go.  The first night my parents moved me into my big-girl room to make room for my new baby sister, I crept out of bed and emptied the drawers chanting, "Clothes!  Clothes!  Clothes!"  If that's not a sign of a future clotheshorse, then I don't know what is.  So in honor of that anecdote, I asked the husband to save the drawer pulls, which had always been my favorite part anyway.  The flowers are cheerful and charming, and the white paint specks that dot the brass only add to their character.  I'll probably nestle them among the bric-a-brac in my closet.  

Meanwhile, baby girl's new -- pink! -- dresser is on its way.  I can only hope that it'll make her as happy as my childhood dresser made me.

Also that she too will be so excited about clothes that she'll fling them all over her bedroom.

A Word to the Wise and OC Beach Buys

No trip is complete without a treat or two to take home once all the fun (and yes, exhaustion) is over.  From farmer's market magnets to beaded necklaces to a very special bejeweled clutch, I chose my Ocean City souvenirs wisely.  

My carb intake (as evidenced by yet more taffy), not so much!

Marina Mermaid

Top: XOXO, Macy's; Skirt: Marshalls; Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily; Bag: Zulily; Light pink bangle: Say What, Zulily; Striped bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Chartreuse bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily

November or not, today I noticed some renegade rhododendrons blooming way past their May sell-by date:    

Moreover, last night I made this very summery Marina Mermaid Necklace:

Marina Mermaid Necklace

And that got me thinking.  About Memorial Day and sunny beach days and if Marina Mermaid is speaking through me.  Let's say that she is and that this is her story:

Marina Mermaid was named after a character on her mother's favorite soap opera.  Not that Mom was fond of that first, if fictional, Marina.  No, quite the contrary.  Marina could still hear her mother calling the girl a shameless hussy unworthy of so fine a moniker.  In that day's episode, Marina had been sneaking out her bedroom window to meet Montana, a boy from the wrong side of the tracks with whom she was irresistibly smitten.  Never mind that Marina wasn't even a mermaid (her mother preferred her soaps human; it made them easier to criticize).  No, that angelically aquatic name belonged to none other than her own angel fish, a mermaid so well behaved that she couldn't even inspire a squeaky clean family sitcom let alone a cheap daytime drama.  Which was why Marina felt so guilty now as she swam out to The Lovely Island (not to be confused with The Lonely Island; when her mom wasn't chained to her soaps, Marina managed to squeeze in some Andy Samberg ).  Her mother would accuse her of catting around, sneering that she was just like that ungrateful Jezebel Ariel.  She must never know that Ariel was Marina's hero.  Marina admired her passion and courage and the way she'd stood up to King Triton.  The Lovely Island may be just a patch of purple coral carpeting a deserted cave far from home.  Unlike Ariel's hideaway, it didn't even boast purloined treasures, artifacts of the life she wanted but feared she'd never have.  But it was hers.  The only thing in it was a mirror, which she would peer into once before covering with an old sail.  Then she'd spend the rest of her time dreaming, savoring the silence and the coral, trying to forget the hideous sea witch that had stared back at her through the glass.

Ugly is as ugly does.  Keep on keepin' on, Marina. 

No Shirt, No Shoes, No Nervous

Ah, the cinema. So glamorous and exciting and sweet and not just because it sounds like cinnamon. Is there anything quite like settling into a seat with a box of Junior Mints and a costs-only-a-quarter-more tub of Dr. Pepper while watching previews? Yes, I love going to the movies. And pre-pandemic, I went all the time. But now that my options are limited to whatever I can get on TV, I'm finding . . . that they're not so limited after all. There are a lot more movies out there than I ever imagined, some I've never even heard of. Just last weekend, I was scrolling through the Amazon Prime offerings when one such movie, Barefoot, popped up. I saw that Scott Speedman was in it and thought, oh, it's Ben from Felicity! Let's watch that!

Here's the rundown: Jay (Speedman) is a hospital janitor on parole; Daisy (Evan Rachel Wood) is in the psych ward and may or may not have murdered her mother.  Jay's a world-weary, rich kid-turned-gambler; Daisy's a shut-in who's never even eaten marshmallows.  They meet when Jay saves Daisy from a would-be molester.  Struck by his gesture, Daisy follows Jay out of the hospital and begs him to take her with him.  Jay protests but eventually relents, even though he's going to his parents' mansion for his brother's wedding.  Jay is estranged from his parents.  But he soon realizes that passing Daisy off as his new girlfriend may help get him back in their good graces so that they'll fund his new business venture.  Gentle awkwardness ensues as Daisy unsuccessfully navigates civilized society while garbed in bona fide stripper dresses (for some reason, Jay's favorite club seemed like a more sensible place to procure a wardrobe for Daisy than Target).  Nevertheless, Daisy is charming, a kind of fresh-limbed, Little Mermaid fish out of water who means well even as she stumbles.  Jay's mom takes a liking to her, even going so far as to lend her a dress.  But the wedding's only the beginning.  Jay steals his dad's brand-new, state-of-the-art camper, officially making him and Daisy on the run.  Still channeling Ariel, Daisy expresses wonder at everything she sees, proclaiming her day with Jay at a small town carnival to be the best she's ever had.  On the surface, the two seem so different.  But underneath, they're both outcasts trying to find their way in.  And that's how they get close and get through to each other.

One of Daisy's quirks is that she likes to be barefoot.  She never says why, but I think it's safe to assume that after so many years of confinement, she relishes the idea -- and symbolism -- of freeing her feet.  Daisy's backstory is especially interesting in this time of quarantine, when plenty of people are hunkering down in their houses.  Many of them probably feel trapped too.  Not me, of course -- you know I love living la vida solo.  But that's the thing about this crazy virus.  It makes you want to be kinder to everyone, no matter their point of view.  Because we're all human and going through stuff and deserve to have someone understand.

That said, today's crafty tie-in has nothing to do with sheltering in place or feet (I considered making a felt foot barrette but decided to spare you).  Although it is something that a slightly muddled, barefoot hippie might wear.  Yes, it's the Mixed-up Medallion Necklace, an eclectic accessory for the boho runaway in all of us.

Mixed-up Medallion Necklace

In keeping with the foot theme, here's a quote about feet from another movie that reminds us to be better.  Not that the quote is about being better -- it's not; if anything, it's about being mean.  But we're going for feet here.  You get it.

"The worst thing we've done is make Regina George's face smell like a foot."

Oh, Mean Girls.  You never let me down.

Ariel and Rapunzel and Cinderella and Belle

Top: Macy's
Skirt: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney
Shoes: Payless
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Boscov's

 Magical Mermaid Necklace, Royal Razzle Dazzle Necklace

Top: Rebellious One, Macy's
Shorts: Merona, Target
Flip flops: Marshalls
Bag: Xhilaration, Target

We've all seen the tee shirts.  Some name and some name and some name and some name from pop culture that all go together.  I used to have one with the names of the characters from "Sex and the City."  I wore it gamely until some dude at the bank stared at it a little too pointedly and asked, "How's Samantha?"  That tee shirt may be long gone, but my fascination with and respect for iconic quartets remains.

And there are few things more iconic than a Disney princess.

I'd been eyeing up Disney princess buttons in various craft stores for years.  Which, now that I'm typing this, sounds like a really long time to contemplate so small a purchase.  But last week I finally bought them and set to work making them into charms.  Which turned out to be more involved than I thought.  (Perhaps my subconscious was hip to this, accounting for that procrastination.)  Once I snapped off the loops at the backs to make them flat, they fell apart like puzzle pieces.  But I fixed that with a little Gem-Tac.  Next, I attached each princess to a disc charm.  Then it was finally time for the fun part: rhinestones and pink chain and Swarovski crystals, oh my!  Also, a spectacularly sparkly unicorn head.

I'd also picked up some Little Mermaid buttons, so I rinsed and repeated to make an Ariel necklace.  (Get it?  Rinse and repeat, like shampoo?  Because of the water in the shower and ocean and also the long, mermaid hair?  No?  Okay.  Never mind.)  Ariel gets to be in both necklaces because she's my favorite princess.  The scorpion centerpiece is a little weird, I'll admit, but I already had it from an old necklace that just wasn't working.  (Before that it was a brooch that I wore, in another lifetime, on the lapel of a suit.)  That said, I think it adds a little unexpected edge, a little, ahem, salt, if you will, to the sweet. 

I've decided not to list these lovelies.  For one thing, there's the age-old ethical question of character licensing.  Far be it from me to filch profits from the multi-million dollar machine that is the Disney empire.  For another, they were relatively expensive to make, and I feel weird about charging what might seem like too much for such delicate pieces.  But if I'm being honest (as I try, always, to be), then the real reason I'm not putting them on Etsy is because I want to keep them.  Like many a kawaii-Lolita enthusiast, I can't resist an accessory that blends the gossamer daydreams of childhood with the somewhat more gritty glamour of being grown up.

The Swarovski, in case you were wondering, is the grown up part.  Which is a lot more palatable than saying that being grown up means having to clean the bathroom.

Moving to the Country: Good-bye, Brigantine

Tourist Trap Charm Necklace

Top: Macy's

Shorts: ELLE, Kohl's

Flip flops: So, Kohl's

Bag: Betsy Johnson, Macy's,

Sunglasses: Michaels

Barrettes: The Tote Trove

It's finally happened.  The husband and I bought a house -- and it's on the mainland.  Which means good-bye, Brigantine.  So I thought I'd commemorate the occasion with a little Presidents of the United States-and-Elton John mashup.  And, of course, a new Betsey Johnson handbag.  'Cause there are peaches a-plenty in the country (even if home is now kinda sorta a suburb), and Brigantine is equal parts peaceful and tempestuous.  Or at least its weather is, just like Marilyn/Norma Jean.

I also decided to make myself a souvenir send-off necklace using -- what else? -- key chains from the corner beach shop.  It's funny.  At a time when I was supposed to be getting rid of stuff, I found myself shopping even more, racking up shoes, tees, and cold shoulder dresses as if I were moving to Mars instead of a few towns over.  But the act of acquiring made me feel more armed for the journey ahead.  I guess it's like Cat Stevens sings in "Wild World":

"But if you want to leave, take good care
Hope you have a lot of nice things to wear"

You said (sang) it, Cat.  New clothes have a way of making life's transitions somehow smoother.

At first, I wasn't too sentimental about leaving the island.  Not being able to walk to stores, restaurants, and, of course, the beach would take some getting used to.  But I was too wrapped up in packing and jumping through mortgage hoops to over-think it.  Besides, I was looking ahead, more than eager to vacate a shoe box-sized rental that smelled as mildewy as King Triton's halitosis (maybe that, not Prince Eric, was why Ariel lobbied so hard for legs).  The move had been a long time in coming, and the new casa was roomier, more private, and best of all -- ours.  Also, it was vintage (if you can say that about a building), and I'd always wanted to live in a charming old (albeit restored -- let's not get crazy, now) house.  You know.  Something with more character than cul-de-sac.

So, I was all set to pull up stakes, no looking back.  Then I went to Acme to pick up a few last-minute things and started crying in the cereal aisle.  It suddenly hit me that it'd be the last time I'd ever go there, at least as a resident.  And although I always said it was creepy and overpriced and that the chicken was one step away from salmonella, the realization made me sad.  Partly because it reminded me of when the husband and I were first starting out nine years ago and we'd run to the store for something easy to throw together instead of a week's worth of groceries for grown-up meals.  Partly because there's something bittersweet about something being over, even when you know it's time to move on.  Kind of like the last episode of "Friends" (which also, by the way, made me get weepy).  I could come back to the island any time to walk the beach or eat at The Crab Shack.  But, like watching reruns of the Central Perk gang, which I can do any time, it wouldn't be the same.

Then, this past Friday, on the first day of fall, the husband and I signed on the dotted line(s) and officially became homeowners.  Which was exciting and scary and wonderful and made me realize that we were exactly where we were supposed to be.  And that was before I even started filling my spare room-slash-closet.

So.  If you don't hear from me in a while, then it's because I'm buried in boxes or fighting with Comcast or embellishing an old-timey mirror.  But that only means that bigger, better adventures and all things Tote Trove are just a few weeks away.

Until then, here's the best of Brigantine in pictures.