Happy Mothers Day! It’s a lovely holiday, isn’t it? We celebrate the people who gave us life, who cleaned and fed and nurtured us, who supported and loved us. We send flowers and go to brunch and give hugs.

My mom is wise, patient and one of the kindest people I know. She reinvents herself every few years, fearlessly getting a new degree or switching careers, hiking into the mountains of Honduras to provide nursing care in small villages, and planting gardens in South Africa. She does it all with little fanfare, and when she describes her experiences, she spends much of her time extolling the kindness and humility of other people on her journeys.

I’m also lucky enough to have been surrounded by loving, supportive grandmothers and aunts, the type of people who want to feed you all the time,  attend your childhood recitals, and also let you run wild outside but make sure you’re coated in sunblock or bug spray. In the last year, I’ve watched my sister become a mom, and the ease with which she stepped into the role has amazed me. She’s shaping a funny, stubborn and brilliant child (like mother, like daughter).

My sister and my niece, March 2013

But for many other people, the day is a painful reminder of loss. For the children whose parent has passed, the day haunts them with the memories of someone who is not around to celebrate. And for infertile women, like me, the day is a reminder of what you don’t have. In years past, Mothers Day meant I felt the grief of infertility a little deeper, where I reflected on how badly I wanted to be a mom but knew that biology wasn’t cooperating.

This year is different, though. Because I have a tiny life developing in my belly. It is a relief and a joy. But the trick of infertility is that even after you go through medical treatments and succeed in conceiving, you don’t quite believe it will happen for you. Every passing week, as my stomach grows a bit and my pants get a little tighter, I think, This is real. Yet I can’t quite see that endpoint where I’ve got a baby in my arms. Reality and medical science tell me there’s no denying that resolution. Next year I might finally feel like I can revel in the flowers-cards-chocolates-Hallmark-ness of the day. Today I am optimistic and calm and trying to settle into my new reality.

To the mothers in my life, I say: Thank you!  I celebrate you!

And to those that are struggling with grief and heartache today, I say: Today is one day of many. You are strong, and you will find a way through this.

Happy Mothers Day, no matter where you are in your life.

My grandmother Joanie and I, en route to Ireland, September 2011

We took a quick middle-of-the-week trip to New Orleans with the Hubb’s parents last week, and I can report that I’ve heard jazz blaring from tiny clubs, eaten gumbo in the French Quarter and indulged in Cafe Du Monde’s world-famous beignets and cafe au lait. On those counts, I’d call it a success.

We also cruised down the Mississippi River on the Steamboat Natchez, which was a lovely piece of aquatic machinery, complete with steam-engine room, paddlewheel and lots of wind.

My in-laws commented that there was a statue on every corner in the Big Easy. Statues in fountains, courtyards, parks. Statues of musicians, explorers, politicians, judges, French and Spanish local-legends… My favorites were the anonymous musicians, like the ones above strolling into Louis Armstrong Park.

We’re already plotting a return trip in a few years, when we can eat more Creole food, drink some of the local cocktails, explore the weird little nooks in the French Quarter and hear lots of lively music.

A few weeks ago, inspired by a fit of bizarre online window shopping, I declared that I wanted to start a collection of tiny brass mythological figures. Etsy offers a surprising number of such creatures, so I purchased a tiny unicorn and what was labeled as a dragon.

Behold, the dragon:

The thing is, I don’t think it’s a dragon. Sure, it’s got wings and a tail.But from the other side, the head looks somewhat beakish. And what’s with those weird upper arm things? Are they talons? Claws? Paws?

Here’s what a griffin looks like.

I can’t tell if I’m seeing fur, feathers or scales on that little guy I bought. What is he? Is this a terrible start to the weirdest collection ever? HELP ME.

1. Samoa Bark - inspired by my favorite Girl Scout cookie. The recipe uses Lorna Doones, but I opted for Chessmen, which were totally delicious. You could probably use any flat-ish shortbread cookie with similar results. I *might* have reserved a bag of this just to nibble on myself.

2. Cookies and Cream Popcorn – I have somehow convinced myself (but probably no one else) that this is healthier than just eating piles of Oreos, because you’re getting a lot of popcorn, and therefore fiber, in your diet. Right?

First, I read that scientists think there is ice on Mercury. BUT IT’S SO CLOSE TO THE SUN, you shout. Ah — but the poles don’t get enough light to heat up all the way. The best part of that story?

“The water could also be an intriguing resource for people. Between the scorched equator and the frozen poles, temperatures on Mercury can be temperate, especially a few feet below the surface, where the soil insulates against the temperature swings between day and night — an ideal location to build a colony.

“People joke about it, but it’s not so crazy, really,” said David A. Paige, a professor of geology at U.C.L.A. who calculated the crater temperatures.

I am super excited about my future summer home on Mercury. Who’s with me?

BUT THEN, as if that weren’t great news enough, the Curiosity rover on Mars has found hints of organic elements (cough, life).

Cue the music: David Bowie’s Life on Mars covered by Brazilian singer Seu Jorge, as seen in the movie The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.

And lastly, don’t forget to check out The Atlantic‘s Hubble Space Telescope Advent Calendar. It’s 25 days of gorgeous images from Hubble.

Images of broken light, which
Dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe. (Lennon)

It’s Movember, which means dudes are growing moustaches to raise awareness about cancer, as well as funds for cancer research. Some ladies can grow a ‘stache, too, but I (fortunately) am unable. Instead I volunteered to help with the bake sale at work. To stick with the theme, I opted to do a mocha cupcake.

MOcha. Get it?

Here’s the amazing thing about the recipes I used for the cake and frosting: No eggs, no milk, no butter.

I KNOW. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

But hear me out. This is a cake you can make with a well-stocked pantry, without a trip to the grocery store. You can trust the cake recipe because it’s from Martha, and she can do no wrong in the kitchen. The frosting is a paleo recipe, but don’t be scared by that! It uses coconut oil instead of butter, and you don’t need to add sugar when you start with chocolate chips, because they’re sweet already. The coconut oil adds a nice flavor, so maybe I need to rename these mo(cha) co(coa) co(conut) cupcakes. Mococo.

I made two tweaks to the recipes to give it a mocha flavor. The cake got half water and half coffee (instead of water alone). For the frosting, I used coffee instead of vanilla extract.

Using the recipes linked above, I got 12 cupcakes and enough extra that I made a teeny layer cake for the Hubbs. (I baked it in a greased, standard-size ramekin.) It was a little messy, but SUPER delicious.

The cake was a surprise until I brought it home the day before his birthday (when we had friends over for dinner). Once it was in the door, there was no good way to hide it, so the Hubbs helped me place the fondant figurines.

We stored it in the fridge until our guests arrived, and I was pretty amused to open the door and see a zombie battle scene inside my icebox.

Lest you think I’ve lost my senses and won’t talk about the flavor: I asked for a s’mores inspired cake because we’d never had that, and it seemed like something my old man would like. We ended up with chocolate cake, marshmallow whipped cream frosting, and a marshmallow-graham filling. The “blood splatter” on the cake was a bit of raspberry jam; the figurines, fences and gravestones were fondant. If you’re in the Chicago area, Drizzle Bakery makes a killer churro cupcake (my personal favorite) and Becky also takes custom orders. Yay! Cake!

PS – Remember last year when I threw him a surprise superhero party?

The headline begged for investigation: Peanut Butter Takes On an Unlikely Best Friend.

Really? I thought. A best friend that tops good ol’ jelly, or maybe banana and honey?

Pickles.

So tonight when I got home, I made a big salad for dinner, and then I decided to finish the meal with a little experimentation. Peanut butter on toast, three ways.

Pictured left to right:

1. Bread-and-butter pickles
2. Homemade relish from my mother-in-law
3. Oven-roasted grapes

The winner in my book? My mother-in-law’s homemade relish. It has just the right balance of sweet-sour-tang to counteract the peanut butter. The store-bought bread-and-butter pickles didn’t have quite enough character, and the roasted grapes seemed boring compared after the other options. If I had some Wickles Pickles, I’d probably try those in place of the homemade relish.

Will I eat this again? I’m going to give it a shot at least once more. But I doubt it’ll take the place of my standby sandwich choices.

Has anybody else tried this? Or would you try it?

Thoughts on this rainy Saturday afternoon:

1. Reading McSweeney’s makes me want to write more and better, but simultaneously makes me want to give up on writing, because how will I ever be as moving/funny/thoughtful/strange as these stories are?
2. I’m still drinking Dark Matter Coffee at Star Lounge. #muglife
3. Positive magazine is coming soon to mailboxes in the Midwest! More on that next week.
4. Hand pies. That sounds like a delicious plan for a rainy fall night. The question is, bourbon peach or apple or blueberry cream cheese?

Apparently all I can think about today is magazines and food. Shrug. No shame there.