When I had the first Wee Boy in Edinburgh, Scotland, a dear friend offered me a vintage Silver Cross stroller (or pram or buggy, whatever). I wanted so much to accept -- to wander the cobblestone streets pretending I was royalty, my teeny bairn within the giant buggy, swaddled like a burrito. Alas, we lived in a small one-bedroom flat and it just didn't make sense to accept the giant pram.

We did end up acquiring a secondhand buggy, however, that turned out to be one of my favorite purchases. I loved it so much that it followed us home to America, even though we left most everything else we owned at various charity shops in Scotland. Since the first Wee Boy hasn't really ridden in a stroller since he turned 2.5, it's been packed away in my parents' garage.

Today, we cleaned out the ol' Scottish pram, and I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying wandering the neighborhood with it.

1. It's got proper tires. These American prams, unless you pay a zillion dollars for a high-end jogging stroller, seem to have tires designed for mall-walking, not for actual transportation. Since we are car-free, we need functional strollers.

2. The new wee boy can lie down, all swaddled up if we want, and face me, while still safely secured -- without having to be in a car seat. I can skip about, pushing the pram and still make eye contact with him. It is simply delightful.

I love it. I love having a place to put him for his 28-minute naps, so I can pound out a blog without having him attached to me. I love babywearing, but I need personal space too. But that's another blog... also, it's been 28 minutes apparently.

Also, if you're in the Louisville area, come to this show! It's an outdoor gig, family-friendly and will be loads of fun. My band, plus THE BIRDIES! Get your tickets here ... kids are free.

#BabysFirstDerby

Deep in babyland over here. We've been diligently resting. David has been trying to recreate the Chinese tradition of Confinement here, bringing me water and bagels and cookies (probably not exactly what they eat in those fancy postpartum spas, but I've been loving it). I have been keeping my phone in airplane mode and telling people we aren't ready for visitors yet -- basically, following midwives' orders. Sorry if you're one of the 18 voicemails I haven't listened to. Will do soon, I swear.

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We went out yesterday for a newborn hearing screening and stopped at a big box store on our way home. A cashier reacher her grubby fingers into the baby carrier and put them on the wee boy's face -- who does that? I probably wouldn't have minded so much if the following conversation hadn't also taken place:

Her: How old are you?
Me: Thirty seven.
Her: And that baby is yours? Whoah! My husband wanted another one, but I was already thirty-six, and I was, like, no way!

I laughed, and somehow David managed to bite his tongue.

What's wrong with people? I mean, I know in the Middle Ages, I would have been a grandmother (or be dead) by now, but seriously ... I'm still in my thirties. Sure, my lower back kind of wishes I'd done this baby thing fifteen years ago, but my passport disagrees.

Checking in from the depths of newborn-land. We are well. The wee boy sleeps great -- in the afternoon. At night, it's like playing whack-a-mole trying to get the two boys to sleep at the same time. But we are enjoying our parental leave ... David gets a whopping six weeks off! I, of course, get zero paid time off, though I haven't taught any lessons in the two weeks since the new wee boy was born. Next week is Spring Break, so I will probably return to teaching after that. The whole no-paid-leave thing is sitting well with the whole sit-around-and-hold-a-baby-and-try-not-to-order-things-off-Amazon-Prime thing. I guess it's true: you either have time or money.

Frustrating thing of the moment: the newest wee boy does not have a passport. Because he does not have a birth certificate yet. Because the Commonwealth of Kentucky is pokey. This means David and I are sitting around with extended time off and we cannot leave the country. I swear, I'm thinking of driving up to Chicago the day that birth certificate arrives in the mail, just to get a passport same-day, and then checking the international flights out of O'Hare because TRAVEL BUG! But seriously ... how is it easier to get an American passport while living in Europe than it is while living in America?

Wee Boy at two weeks old: Tantollon Castle, Scotland.

Happy thing of the moment: David brings me meals and snacks and tea and water, and I don't really leave the couch. This is also sort of frustrating because I don't like sitting still. But I'm trying to obey midwives' orders by not overdoing it.

Wee boy #2 at two weeks old: the couch.

When Graham turned two weeks old, we took a train to Tantollon Castle, spent the afternoon in a tea shop by the sea, wandering cobblestones and looking at the birds on Bass Rock. When Angus turned two weeks old, I ate four Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs and visited the basement for the first time in a month.

Life is different in America.

It's another wee boy!

This may be a complete shock to you, but I had a baby last week. Yes, I didn't even announce the pregnancy until, um, twelve days before he was born. Sorry about that. I've got some work/life/social-media balance issues still to sort out.

He's here, and he's wonderful. His big brother (the less wee of the two Wee Boys) keeps petting him and saying, "Oh, I just love him so much." We still call the baby 'Pretzel' because that's what Graham wanted to name him in utero. And though we did not flee to Scotland to birth the baby (believe me, we looked into travel medical visas, so I could birth the way I wanted), we did give him a most Scottish name: Angus!



I'll write out the birth story eventually for y'all who like that sort of thing. I have all kinds of commentary on the American maternity care system, having had one baby in America and one baby in Europe.

For now, let me just say that one huge bonus of having a baby in my hometown has been the amazing showering of love and meals from friends and family. While I loved having Graham in Scotland because it allowed us to be insulated and honeymoon with the baby without a constant stream of visitors, I am equally loving being in Louisville this time, where we have been loved daily with visitors and deliveries. I guess I don't actually know what I want, but it's been pretty great. As my husband said: full hearts, full fridge. Thanks for the love, friends. It's been a grand week!

Also, if I haven't responded to your texts or voicemails, sorry. I have 34 unread voicemails and at least as many texts. Trying to babymoon prooperly:)

***

In music news: baby coming early is perfect timing for the Jason Wilber (John Prine's guitarist, who just played two nights at the Ryman in Nashville last week) house concert I'm co-hosting on Friday. 

Graham went to his first concert (the Leith Folk Club in Edinburgh!) at 10 days old, so wee Angus will be following the family tradition. If you'd like to attend, shoot me an email or a Facebook message and I'll get you the information. Space is limited because it's an intimate venue, so RSVPs are required. There are still a few spots left. I will see you there!

Cuddled up on a Sick Day last month.

I know that the majority of the world seems to think that making your child an only child is the worst thing you could do to him -- or spoken in a more positive light, but which I find totally condescending and irritating, a sibling is the best gift you can give him.

Ugh. Sorry, but not everyone loves their siblings. And not all only children are entitled freaks. Also, I happened to absolutely love being an only, and I know I would not have gotten half the opportunities I had as a child (piano lessons, guitar lessons, school trips, university) if I'd had a sibling.

So I'm feeling a wee bit of guilt these days about "de-throning," as someone oddly put it last week, the Wee Boy.

I know it'll be fine, and I know that he'll be happy to have a playmate eventually. Still. He's such a good boy these days, that I just want him to have everything.

Honestly, this 3-year-old is amazing. I am being paid back (with interest) for the fact that he is still not a good sleeper. My friends with 3-year-olds will envy me (much as I envied them their good sleepers), but I don't understand the term "threenager." His tantrums rarely last more than 30-60 seconds, and I honestly don't think he has more than 2-3 a month. It's bizarre how emotionally well-adjusted he is. Truthfully, I have more breakdowns than this kid. We keep being told "just give it a month," but months have come and gone. I think he's just got his daddy's well-adjusted genes...

Anyway, the baby book is too far away for me to make notes about some of the wonderful and hilarious things he has said in the last couple of months, so I'm writing them down for posterity:

"I'm sorry to admit this, but I wiped my hand on the table instead of on the napkin. Sorry, Mom." 

"If Daddy sees me wearing mismatched socks, then he will freak out."

"Mommy, I need to be on your pillow in order to properly cuddle you. But just a little bit is showing. Is that okay?" 

"Mommy, I am sad because I want to talk to you all night long. But I will be asleep soon, so I won't be able to use words." 

Wee Boy: Well, instead of jail, we can teach people how to be better.
Me: Yes, it's called rehabilitation.
Wee Boy: Rehabilitation? Well, bust my buttons! 

"Goodnight, Mommy. I love you. There's no person like you in the whole wide world." 

That last one ... oh my goodness. I'll boast about him more another time (I swear, he can just about read), but for now, I am just trying to enjoy every minute of him saying hilarious and sweet things because I know I'll be a bit distracted in several weeks. Thankfully, I'm always sleep-deprived, so nothing new there.

The Wee Boy is so surprised!

I've been quiet on the blog, but I've had four zillion things flying around in my head. Mostly because I've been withholding a big secret from you for many months now: David and I are having another baby. Like, soon. Like, in a month or two.

Partly, I didn't share the news because I wanted to make sure all was well. Then, I didn't really show until around 6 months along. And I've just been holding on to the secret because it seemed anti-climactic at that point. BUT...

The biggest reason for not sharing this exciting (and, yes, it was on purpose) news is because I work in an incredibly sexist industry. A longer essay is in the works, but know that I also learned this lesson last time:

The music business is not interested in pregnant women unless you are massively famous. Otherwise, promoters, bands, even fellow musicians you've known for years just assume you won't want to or won't be able to gig. 

I'm chowing on a bagel this morning, which always makes me get a little wistful for my days in NYC. It also reminds me of all my funny mornings running the Green Room in a major network morning news show. As an intern, I arrived by 5am on Tuesdays and Thursdays to greet the day's celebrity guests and chit-chat with them over breakfast -- usually a tray of bagels and fruit. It wasn't fancy spread you'd imagine, but we always ate well.

Me, in front of my dorm, in 2011. I lived here 1996-1999.

As I chomp on my bagel today, I'm reminded of how Eleanor Mondale (RIP) taught me to scoop out the inside of the bagel in order to "limit your carb intake" -- a tactic I only ever subscribed to on Tuesday and Thursday mornings in front of celebrity guests. I did appreciate the clear path that a scooped-out bagel created for a moat of cream cheese (I clearly missed Eleanor's point), but, in truth, I prefer a solid bagel.

Anyway ... a few more funny reminiscing moments of name-dropping fun:

That time Martha Stewart sent me all over midtown at 4:30am searching for a particular kind of grapefruit, which I thought was for a television segment, but it turns out was just for her breakfast. Also, I had the grapefruit sliced the wrong way (she wanted peeled pieces, not to scoop it out with a grapefruit spoon!), which angered her. After that -- no, actually after a few other incidents that maybe I'll spell out in my memoirs -- I chose not to do any more errands for her.

There was another time when Bill Cosby grabbed my bottom while I was bending over to refill his coffee cup. No further comments.

Once Jeff Goldblum and I were so caught up in a conversation about jazz piano (he's a very good player) that he almost missed his on-air cue (my fault).

While eating a bagel with Walter Cronkite, I was too nervous to tell him he had cream cheese all over his mustache. Full story here.

Another time I had to interview Colin Powell and try to get him to talk about a potential White House bid. I was barely 20.

Anyway, it seems like I've done some pretty exciting things in my life so far, so maybe I shouldn't be so disappointed that I haven't used my passport in 12 months. I do wish I could get a real bagel in Louisville though.

If you'd like to hear me babble about some crazy stories in my past (like that one time I got driven home in a motorcade), then have a listen to Adam Brodsky's excellent podcast called Rhymes Against Humanity. 

What else is new?

The Birdies have a gig on Sunday, February 14, singing several songs at Keneseth Israel in Louisville. It's a celebration of the American Songbook, with emphasis on songs written by Jewish Composers. It turns out that, like, all of our setlist was written by Jewish composers. Along with most of the hits of the 20th century. Tickets are available here. They've already sold over 200, so should be a good night!

My wardrobe choice is a little limited for this gig because, um, I've been eating a lot lately. I think rather than crash dieting, I'll just focus on my making my hair EXTRA VINTAGE and hope you don't notice the dress isn't as accurate as Laura's.

What else is new? I'm stressing out over the wee boy's Valentines for school. I'm trying my hardest to finish this actual, real album before Leap Day. My voice is still not back 100%, which means I haven't recorded the vocals yet. The master Steve Cooley is working some magic with a drummer.

Looking for something to give up for Lent? I've got the answer: paper towels.

Seriously. I hear you laughing. I hear your "what-ifs." I sense your eye rolls.

What if the dog pees? What if I need to wipe the counter? What if my kid spills milk?

We've been a paper-towel-free house for almost five years now. We moved to Scotland in 2011 and had a hard time finding paper towels for sale. Then we noticed our British friends rarely, if ever, used them. They certainly didn't use them as a substitute for a plate in the way that so many Americans do. At one point in my life I also didn't think much about buttering a piece of toast on a paper towel -- I mean, it saved the hassle of washing a plate later. Honestly, though, with that mentality, you'll go through multiple rolls a month, and it's just a total waste.

So, while in Scotland, we got a few tea towels and that was that. Since we came back to America over three years ago, I haven't missed paper. Everything can be cleaned up easily -- often more easily -- with a proper dish towel. Think about restaurants ... they don't clean up spills with paper towels. What you can clean up with one tea towel often takes 10-15 paper towels. Or would you wash your car or dry off after a bath with paper towels?

I understand that many people think we are nuts for our paper-towel-free-household, including my family and David's. For them, we keep a roll of paper towels on hand because it keeps the peace. It does amaze me how quickly a roll is used up when family is visiting though -- something I never would have noticed before we went on our paper towel moratorium.

Anyway, just get yourself 4-6 dish towels and try to make it 40 days.

Benefits of being Paper-Towel FREE:

1. Save a lot of trees and thousands of gallons of water. (Various sources say it takes 17 trees and 20,000 gallons of water to produce a ton of paper towels ... and 3000 tons of paper towel waster is produced DAILY.)
2. Paper towels are often toted as being biodegradable, but there are so many chemicals in them that they often don't. Google away to find more discussion. You also can't compost most of them, as they are bleached and loaded with chemicals. 
3. Start a dish towel collection! It's now my go-to souvenir when I'm traveling. I don't need a t-shirt or a coffee mug. I find a cute tea towel or dish towel. My current favorite is a macaroon towel that some friends brought me from Paris last year.
4. Brightly colored towels are an easy way to decorate the kitchen. Added benefit here, as I have zero decorating ability.
5. There are always towels hanging on the stove and by the dishwasher, which makes it super easy for my 3-year-old to clean up a spill quickly.
6. They are really easy to wash. Just toss in a couple whenever you're doing laundry. I don't feel like it has added to my laundry at all.
7. Cleaning counters, floors, etc, is easier and more efficient with rags. 
8. Eliminate the guilt of having gone through half a roll of paper towels just to clean up the kitchen a bit or dust your baseboards.

Anyway, Lent is only 40 days. Give it a try.

What are you giving up? Do you already limit your paper towel use? 

I do love my Emmylou Gibson.

Hope everyone had an happy Imbolc aka St. Brigid's Day! Don't feel bad if you forgot to celebrate ... it sneaks up on me every year too. I celebrated by staying home and putting myself on voice rest. Hot tea, honey, lozenges, anything to clear up this badly-timed case of laryngitis I have acquired.

You see, I have a goal of finishing my album by the end of this month.

My last full-length album took me 4 days to record. I left town to make it, booked 8 days of studio time, used studio musicians and a producer I didn't know that well. We worked for 4 days in a row and realized we'd finished.

This time 'round has been incredibly difficult. I probably should have just left town and booked a studio, but I have zero budget (and have not been brave enough to crowdfund) and have had to rely on the kindness of friends. Even when friends are kind, the timing is still so tough. It's not just about coordinating a time for someone to push record. It's about coordinating that time with an engineer and a babysitter and time off from teaching and a sober drummer.

Playing The Black Pearl accordion because Big Red was stolen. I'll share that story one day.

Well, I've not managed to find the sober drummer yet, but I'm close. Today I arranged studio time to finish my vocals -- a task that shouldn't have been too challenging. I canceled my morning lessons (I hate doing that because 1) guilt over my poor students missing class and 2) LOST INCOME), my engineer carved out time, and I had childcare arranged.

AND NOW I HAVE LARYNGITIS!!!

I know, I know. Things could be worse. But I swear, I spend enough time frustrated over my inability to blossom in my career while I'm primary parenting, and I thought I'd finally sorted this out.

What is the DEAL, tonsils? Behave!

So today, rather than gloriously finish my record (it was too late notice to find a sober drummer and studio to use the engineer's time for recording drums instead), I am chugging hot tea next to a humidifier, writing a pity-party blog about my lost day.

And now, having typed this woe-is-me blog, I'm giving myself a massive guilt trip for being so self-centered in a world of misery and looking at photos of outer space and rolling my eyes at myself because I know, I know.

I just really need this album completely recorded by the end of February. One day I'll tell you why I set this seemingly-arbitrary goal.

Looking so deep and thoughtful and curly-haired.

At least I managed to get some new promo photos* taken. I'm trying, people, I'm really trying!

Deep breaths (into steam).

*by the amazingly talented Joseph Mays

It's my half-birthday -- a celebration dear to the hearts of those born in the depths of summer, when no one could come to your birthday parties and you didn't even get to bring cupcakes to school to celebrate. January 25 is also a spectacular day because it's Burns Night!

I did not get my act together in time to host the Burns Supper that I envisioned. I was going to haul out the good china, force people to RSVP and have a sit-down dinner. We would pour single malts from the crystal decanter on the mantle, explaining to our bourbon-loving friends that sometimes good whisky tastes like a campfire and that it's okay to like it.

But my new attitude is to not be hard on myself for not having pulled off such an event. My mind has been on other things. I'm desperately trying to finish a new album before March, so that maybe just maybe I can actually put it out before the summer. And, like, tour and stuff.

Maybe even tour in Scotland, where I can, perhaps, celebrate Half-Burns-Night on July 25.

I was going to link you to some recipes, but I just re-read my blog from last year and determined that it's all you'll ever need for a perfect Burns Supper. So just read it!