Part of my pregnancy-induced nesting mayhem this past week involved scouring Los Angeles for the perfect new bedroom curtains (natch). After doing loads of reconnaissance online and finally making a curtain decision, I called a Pottery Barn store near me to see what they had in stock. I got a busy signal around 19 times, so my giant belly and I decided to go and see for ourselves. When I got there I fought the urge to ask them if their phone was off the hook. Or if they had a teenaged employee hogging the line.

I bee-lined for the drapes, immediately found what I wanted, and was promptly greeted by a saleslady whose cheer was surprisingly impressive.

"Hi, hon! How can I help you?" She asked.

"Yeah, hi. I need two panels of the 96" white sheer linen drapes," I said, pointing to the drape display in case she didn't understand words.

Her face twisted like she smelled rotten garbage.

"Oooh. I think we're out of those. Want me to check for you?"

"Yes, please." 

Using a metal cane, she hobbled out from behind the counter wearing a giant foot cast.

"I'll just go check in the back, hon. Give me a sec," she said.

"Step on it," I said.

She froze. The garbage face was back again, but this time much stinkier.

"Excuse me?" 

"Oh, God, no. I am so sorry. I was just kidding," I backpedaled. And then for good measure: "I hope your foot's okay."

She didn't crack a smile. This is when I became sure her cheer was false.

"I'll be right back," she grumbled.

At least 47 minutes elapsed. Then she slowly hobbled out from the storeroom and back to her counter.

"Just as I thought: we're out," she said.

"Shoot. How about another store close by?" I asked.

She stared and sighed. And then reluctantly clickety-clacked on her computer with her acrylics.

"Looks like the whole district's out," she said.

"That sounds serious," I said.

She didn't reply.

 "Well, can't I just order them online?" I asked.

More hostile clickety-clacking. If she got sick of Pottery Barn she'd make a great ticket agent at the airport.

"Nope. Says here the whole country's out," she said. 

"What? The entire country is out of white sheer linen drapes?" I asked.

"'Fraid so," she said, the tiniest smile forming on her thin lips.   

Just then, another customer sauntered up to counter to purchase some Halloween plates. She eyed Stink Face's bulky cast.

"Oof. Ouch! What'd you do? Break your ankle?" She asked, pointing to it.

Stinky was done. She sighed deeply and didn't attempt to hide her irritation.

"No," she snapped. "Just above the ankle."

Halloween Plates didn't take the hint. She pressed on.

"How the heck didja do that?"

"I slipped on my porch," said Stinky, stone faced.

Halloween Plates shook her head and whistled slowly.

"Been there, done that," she said, looking to me like haven't we all?

I didn't answer. There was a long pause while Stinky rang up Halloween Plates's Halloween plates.

"Well. Thanks anyway," I said as I backed toward the door. "Good luck with your foot."

Stinky gave me one more small stink eye. Then I nodded to Halloween Plates.

"And Happy Halloween."

No one will give you a stink face if you bake them these muffins. Warm baked goods pretty much guarantee zero stink faces. You can quote me on that.

Blueberry Oatmeal Yogurt Muffins
yields 12

Using yogurt helps keep these deliciously moist and adds a little tangy zip. Sprinkling turbinado sugar and a few oats on top before baking gives these babies some nice sweetness and texture. And feel free to use a mixture of berries instead--raspberries are particularly great. This is the perfect use for frozen fruit and you can just mix it in without thawing.

3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup rolled oats
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
2 t baking powder
1/4 t baking soda
1/2 t kosher salt
1 t ground cinnamon
1/4 t ground nutmeg
1 egg
6 T butter, melted
8 oz. plain yogurt (you can sub buttermilk here if you like)
1 cup fresh or frozen (don't thaw) blueberries or mixed berries
turbinado sugar and extra oats for sprinkling on top before baking (optional)

Preheat oven to 400F. Spray a muffin tin with cooking spray or line with paper liners. In a medium/large bowl, combine the first nine ingredients. Whisk together and set aside. In a separate bowl, lightly beat the egg. Add the yogurt and melted butter and mix well. Add the wet ingredients to the dry, stirring just until everything is incorporated. Scoop the batter  into the tins, divvying it up for 12 muffins. Bake for 20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let the pan cool on a rack for 5-10 minutes and then remove the muffins, cooling another 20 minutes. Serve warm.

You can also bake muffins now and freeze them for later. Here's how.

Happy Weekend, loves!
xoxo
jolie

P.S. I'm not even a mother yet and I find this tumblr site to be amazingly funny:)

a handful of thoughts from the mind of a preggo

Guys, this pregnancy is ON. Tomorrow I'll be six months along and there's no turning back. My auditions have tapered off to a slow drip of obscure roles for women who are either perpetually seated or attending baby showers.

It's a bit of a relief. I was going to these castings wearing one of the two super drape-y tops I own, sidestepping into the room and then holding my script in front of my belly. This worked surprisingly well for several weeks until I started noticing people's eyes flicker down almost imperceptibly to my bump, and I was convinced they believed me to have a rare disease whose horrible side effects include a giant torso goiter. Over time, all this goiter suspicion pushed me to come out to my agents. Now the cat is officially out of the bag, the drape-y tops have gone the way of the Dodo, and I'm currently designing a (tight) T-shirt that says "It's a baby, not a goiter!"

Perhaps because I have a bit more time on my hands now, the nesting effect has set in BIG TIME. I've been in this gotta-fix-the-house haze, trying to complete any possible task that I've been putting off for years (painting the baseboards! Changing the filter for the ice cube water!) or might need to happen in the next 9 months (eye exam! Teeth cleaning!). I realize it's the futile desire to control circumstances I can, so that when all hell breaks loose (aka newborn arrival), I'll be better equipped to handle it. Like if I have the most organized spice drawer and/or freshly painted and put-together linen closet, it'll somehow be easier to sleep only ten minutes a night and be drenched in spit-up. Even as I write this I see the ridiculousness of it and yet I still kinda believe it to be true. Anyway, it feels good to have a focus for all of my crazy life-will-soon-never-be-the-same energy, even if it's deciding on paint colors or learning about pile height in different types of rugs. I mean, there's only so many books on pregnancy, labor and swaddling a lady can absorb. Someone asked me recently if I'd thought about which parenting style I subscribed to and I realized I spend more time these days legitimately pondering the best chicken salad sandwich in Los Angeles (BTW, Food Lab FTW).

All this to say: one thing at a time, people. Whether it's paint colors, co-sleeping or chicken salad. One thing at a time.

Another thing that's been on my mind lately is that while I poke fun at all of this stuff and truly enjoy the humor in all of our (my) human experiences, pregnancy included, I've been in such appreciation and awe and joy at the miracle of all that is going on in my body and heart. It's heavenly. And I've been a little reluctant to effusively write about it because I'm so sensitive to the fertility-focused. I don't want to hurt the feelings of those who are yearning for this experience (as I was for SO long). I suppose it's impossible not to push buttons or have our buttons pushed by others around topics that we're super focused on. But we need to put our joy out there into the world and not stifle it, right? So: Here's to compassion. And to joy. And to expressing it with the best of intentions.

Hope you're having a wonderful week so far.

xoxo
jolie

P.S. Thank you again for all the well wishes and congratulations!

P.P.S. Do yourself a favor and do not ever google 'goiter'.