Sometimes.

Sometimes I love the snow. Like when it makes the night not so dark because it's bouncing light around. And when it falls in huge fluffy flakes, each its own little cloud.  And when it's fresh and clean and white and just...sigh-beautiful.
And sometimes I don't like the snow at all. Like when it takes my warmth without asking.

Sometimes I wear high heels in the kitchen, just so I can reach the top shelf of the cupboards.

Sometimes I feel like my thoughts have too big of an audience, that too many people can hear me thinking. That my brain is too loud. And too transparent. Sometimes I love being see-through.
And sometimes I feel like no one is listening at all. And that I'm opaque and so so quiet. Sometimes, when I feel like a secret, I'm sure I'm fooling myself. And sometimes I don't care. Sometimes I'd rather feel mysterious.

Sometimes I have an endless list of people I can turn to. I feel loved and snuggled and safe inside. I am watched. I am taken care of.
And sometimes I'm the sock behind the drier: forgotten...and a little dusty.

Sometimes I don't wear makeup in public to make sure I still can. To make sure that I'm not taking myself too seriously. To give people a clean face to look at that is not trying to be anything other than what it is.

Sometimes I don't brush my teeth before bed. Gag.

Sometimes I have the best reason to write a song, and it wants to jump out of me. And usually those songs should never be heard by anyone but me. Pain and discomfort are, unfortunately, incredibly inspiring.

Sometimes I get dressed for myself. Sometimes I get dressed for my hubby. Sometimes I just stay in my pyjamas. And sometimes, when no one is home, I'll spend a half an hour or so in nothing at all, just to say that I did.

Sometimes I wish I was famous. Like, singing and dancing famous.

Sometimes I want to talk in an English accent to strangers.

Sometimes I want to introduce myself to everyone in Wal-Mart. I want to hear their stories. And I want to be friends with every single one of them. And give them a hug. And sometimes I just want to move through the crowd invisible and unstopped. Sometimes I wish the checkout lady won't want a conversation.

Sometimes I live in a fairy tale, better than I could have imagined.
Sometimes I wish I lived in a fairy tale.

Sometimes I love sleep. And sometimes I am a little scared of it. Sometimes I think I can make the next day hold off, and time slow down, if I just avoid my pillow.

Sometimes I sing in the car. Really, really loud.

Sometimes I re-live the glory days. Sometimes these are my glory days.

Sometimes I laugh at my own jokes. I may laugh at my jokes all the time.

Sometimes I miss my old dreams. Most of the time I prefer my new ones.

And sometimes...I pretend no one, and everyone, can hear me at the same time. I can say anything I want if both are there to ignore or applaud me.

Aujourd'hui.

Yesterday was a lot of work. Today was our laaaazy day.

Today I noticed the beautiful frost on our window. We all just ate leftovers, all day, from dinner last night and enjoyed the flowers that our dinner company had brought us. 

Baby-Rae had tantrums and Baby-M had naps. 

And I just took pictures of dimpled knuckles and frosty trees.

Inspired.

"There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." 

This week I've deeply felt the truth of this particular section of the well-known quote by Marianne Williamson. 

I've been inspired by others' excellence! And it really is liberating.

I've been inspired by my brother, who is incredibly musically talented. He can sing like nobody's business...and after hearing a demo he recorded as a favour for a friend in You-Tube form, I was...just...impressed. And it stirred in me a desire to return to the piano, to sing more, and to write music again. 

I've been inspired by a friend, who recently blogged about revelation and what the Lord has taught her about it lately in her life. Her desire to be better, her example of studying the scriptures, and her attentiveness to the Lord's teaching opportunities were...awesome . It made me want to be more observant to the way the Lord reveals His will to me, personally. I want to be more attentive to the whisperings of the Spirit, more "present" and available for His purposes.

I've been inspired by my sweet D-Hubby, who's had some serious success this week with his photography. He was contacted by our Fair City because they'd like to use one of his photos on the cover of a major piece of tourism literature. This means a ton of exposure for him and his work. And it means that I haven't been able to put down my camera.

Maybe it's the season. Maybe it's the week. Maybe it's because I straightened my hair a couple days ago.

Whatever the reason, I have felt particularly...glow-y...this week. Do you know what I mean? That everything just kind of seems a little brighter? And little lighter? A little different than it was before?

And I like it.

Sunshine Moments and Small Victories.

-My goal for this week was to shower at least every other day. Personal care definitely gets harder with 2 babies...but so far so good! And D-Hubby also appreciates my efforts...baha.

-I managed to finish washing the pile of dishes that has accumulated. I always seemed to get interrupted when I had gotten through washing a bunch...but not all...and then sleep would always win out when both kiddos were asleep and I asked myself: to wash the rest...or nap? Dishes have gotten a constant jilt lately. BUT they're all gone, all done, and never to pile up like that again.

-Back to cloth diapering. We started back into the cloth this week after a 5 week hiatus. The 5 and a bit weeks of disposables has been nice and easy for us and those who have taken care of Baby-Rae while we've been baby-busy....but ALSO reminded me why I decided to cloth diaper in the first place. Do you know how much garbage diapers for two make? Especially with a huge and chubby 5-week old who is the heaviest wetter EVER? Seriously, crazy pee-er. Anyways. I'm not feeling like it's any more work than diapering one in cloth...the loads of diapers I wash now are just a full batch...which is better anyways. Yeehaw.

-We had our neighbors over for dinner last night. LOVE them. They adored a picture that D-Hubby had taken of our fair city...and asked if they could get the digital file to have one blown up to put in their house. It turned out A-MAZING and made D-Hubby feel like a million bucks.

-Baby-Rae is very good at recognizing her dad and pointing him out whenever he shows up. She loves him. The other day we were on the way back from grocery shopping when she busted out with an enthusiastic "Dada! Da!" and was pointing excitedly. I looked around for someone who looked like D-Hubby but couldn't see anyone. I followed her pointing finger and realized she was pointing at the Colonel's big face on the top of a KFC. Baha! I thought maybe it was just a one-time mix-up...but the whole thing repeated itself when we drove by that KFC again later in the week. I think I definitely thought it was funnier than D-Hubby did...

-As of this upcoming Monday, I am through the obligatory 6 week recovery period for my Csection. Woohoo.

-I can fit into pre-maternity jeans! Hey, I didn't say I looked good in them, just that they can pull on and do up. Happened way faster than the last time so...(smile!) Just makes my wardrobe so much bigger and more wearable.

-Made peach cobbler last night from frozen peaches from the summer. Then ate it. And loooooved it.

-Found this recipe. Then planned a whole Harry Potter party in my head. Then decided to throw it next year when the last movie comes out. Then mourned the fact that I STILL haven't seen the one just out. But I will...oh, I will............someday.

Ess-En-Oh-Double-U.

Best Two Weeks, Ever.

I almost feel like I should explain myself after my last post. But I don't think I will.
I had a c-section, and it was my choice, not just lack of info, and it's over and I've been healing famously. And I'd happily tell you all about it if you asked...the why's and what-for's. I just don't really feel like delving into it all again in blog-post-form at the moment. And I get to do just exactly what I want on this here bloggity blog...so there. Ha.

I don't really know how to explain why the past two weeks have been SO awesome. There's been all sorts of reasons for them not to be awesome. But I really think there's got to be something about the arrival of a brand new life...a spirit so fresh from the presence of our Father in Heaven...that could buoy up even the lowest of spirits in the hardest of times. Something about how Baby-Rae likes to shove her little finger into her little brother's tightly clenched fist, and just stand there "holding" his hand. Something about how she just can't restrain herself from giving him kisses whenever she sees him. Something about watching a daddy and his new baby snuggle up on the couch together for a snooze. Something about that baby smell...the smell of my baby...that I get to breathe in every time I cuddle him close.

And there's something about having the man I love, the daughter I adore, and the son I couldn't imagine living without....close enough to hold all at once....that makes my heart explode into a million pieces, like fireworks.

Definitely the best two weeks, ever.

Worst Friday, Ever.

I beg your pardon as I use this blog post for some major catharsis. Really, forgive me. It's pretty pitiful.

Don't ask me why I was referred to an OB/GYN specialist in my 39th week. I'm pretty sure that if it's supposed to happen, it's supposed to happen before then. In fact, my family doctor had me convinced that she was going to be the one delivering, the way she spoke about my upcoming delivery and by the pictures of her in hospital garb with new and wrinkly babies all over the walls in the clinic. Old pictures? An elaborate hoax? Either way, I was duped.

Soooo....when she told me that I had an appointment with the ObGyn that week, I was a little baffled. And slightly confused. But I went with it, putting together the pieces that no, my doctor was not delivering, and yes, I still needed to see the obstetrician...at least once(?) before she delivered my baby. Fabulous.

I'm sitting in the small room of the obstetrics clinic, waiting for my new doc...with Baby-Rae in tow, I might add, who's opening all the cupboard doors she can find....and the nurse pops her head back in and asks if I have my operation report from my previous C-section. Umm..nope, I sure don't. Does my family doctor? I have no reason to think so...she's never asked me enough information to lead me to believe she might have requested the record from the hospital where I had the operation. Oh, I really need that? The Ob/Gyn enters to explain why. She can't "counsel me appropriately" without it. Great. Okay, I'll wait out in the waiting room again while they see if they can fax away for it and get it in ASAP. No, I've got nothing pressing as far as plans, just a restless 15.5 month old. Thank heavens they have an awesome slide in the waiting area that she can go up and down five hundred times by herself whilst I watch.

An hour later. Baby-Rae's just about had it. She's ready for a nap. They haven't gotten any info back from the hospital yet, and I was right about my family doctor not having it either. What should they do with me? The doctor says she'll visit with me for a bit and "do the best she can" without that information. Great.

In detail, she explains that she needs to know what kind of incision they made in my uterus in the previous c-section in order to "counsel" me as to whether or not it's safe to deliver naturally. What? There's a possibility that I might not be able to? News to me. Well, mostly. And bad news, at that. She says that if they had to "T" the incision at all, she can't counsel me to labour...because the chances of my uterus rupturing in labour are high. When she hears about Baby-Rae's delivery, she says that there's a very real possibility that they might have (T'd the incision, that is), because she was so far down the birth canal before she went into distress and had to be delivered by emergency c-section. In the next few sentences, she tells me that without that information, they have to be safe and assume I'll need a repeat section... She says "they" referring to obstetricians in general, because she continues to make it clear that no doctor in their right mind would just let me go ahead with a labour without knowing the details she's talking about. And I feel like I've just been kicked out of a moving car. No wits, no wind left.

So... we just need to get the info and they'll see everything's okay for me to go ahead with a natural delivery, right? Not so fast. She's wanting to get me in to have a c-section right away. If I went into labour spontaneously, I would have to have an emergency C-section anyway...because of the lack of info...and an emergency c-section presents more risks...including the fact that I might have to go completely under for speed's sake...and miss the first moments of my baby's life. I added the last part in my head. My due date is coming up too quick for her comfort. She wants to schedule me for Monday or Tuesday. She asks if I "have my heart set on delivering naturally." Um, heck yes. To have the opportunity to go through labour with my D-Hubby which is such an incredible bonding experience, to be able to recuperate quickly and avoid weeks of pain and minimal movement, to be able to pick up my Baby-Rae and not just my itty bitty baby, and to let my body just do what it was made to do: just a few of the many reasons I had my heart set on it being different this time. But all she's getting out of me is a resounding yes. She offers me some sliver of hope when she tells me that if we get the information in time,  then we can always cancel the section. Yes! I ask if we can schedule as far out as possible so the chances of the report arriving before said date are more likely. I can tell she's uncomfortable with anything beyond Monday or Tuesday...doesn't want me going into labour before then. The office schedules my section for Monday afternoon. I wish I were more with-it to protest, but I'm just numb and frustrated. No one's around the hospital on the weekend to fax anything back to us, so my only hope is that the report shows up Monday morning. That's the only chance I get. Everyone else around me is blaming someone else for this mess so I don't have to. My doctor that should have referred me earlier so we could request the information sooner is the one who gets the brunt of it.

On the way home, I buy a caramel Oreo McFlurry. And an extra-large fries. And eat my feelings.

I get home to the phone ringing. Could it be? They've gotten it already!? Nope.
The hospital has to see me THAT afternoon. As soon as I can possibly get there. They usually are given more time to schedule someone for a pre-assessment for a c-section. They've only got this afternoon. That's the only chance they get to get me prepped for my impending operation on Monday. Luckily Darren is on his way home and can watch a finally-napping Baby-Rae. Off I go to be assessed. And while the nurse pops in and out to get various information from me, I can't help but let the tears spill over a little bit. She's confused, I can tell. All the paperwork she has me read over and sign is referring to this as an elective c-section. And I feel like I elected to have it about as much as I would choose to have someone poke me in the eye.

The whole time I'm sitting on that sterile white bed, I'm trying to remind myself that it's not that big of a deal. The pros are that I would know when I'm having the baby...a bonus for my visiting Mama who would know exactly when and why she's needed. It would be a relaxed operation, not rushed and panicked, like my last one. I'd be having a baby, for heaven's sake! My sweet little karate-kid would be in my arms so soon! And I suddenly feel selfish for being so inflexible when there are so many out there who would take a baby anyway they possibly could. I try to tell myself all these things, but I'm still on the verge of all-out bawling. And still trying to awkwardly wipe my face dry every time the nurse comes back in and looks confused again. I blame hormones. They're not especially famous for giving someone great perspective. Maybe later I'll be able to remind myself of all of these things with a little more success. Maybe after I have a beautiful little baby in my arms to snuggle and smell.

I manage to make it home in one piece. D-Hubby had to leave town for the weekend, and was already making the trip much later than planned. I managed to squeeze in a few minutes of falling apart in his arms and him helping me feel a bit better before the demands of the weekend whisked him away with our only car. And with me stuck with a Sunday doctor's appointment at the very time when almost everyone I know is in church. I'm trying to keep from collecting too many pity-me's but those dang hormones are making it tough. I bury myself in Baby-Rae and we finish out a fun evening together. A sweet note to end a bitter day.

I know that whatever happens, it'll be okay. At least, I know that in my head. My heart will listen up soon, I'm sure. As soon as those hormones ebb a little.

And next time I have a baby--provided that all is okay with incisions and such--I'm getting a midwife.
For. Sure.

An October Day.

I am so thankful for warm autumn days. They make the impending winter seem manageable, do-able somehow. If only because I can walk outside without a coat in the middle of October. Though that may just be because I'm pregnant and hot. Haha.

I'm thankful for a D-Hubby who likes to takes pictures. 

All. The. Time.

(A favourite Sunday afternoon family pastime, in fact.)

And thankful that we soon get a new baby-sized model around the house for him to take pictures of. His favourite model, his Baby-Rae, reaches her posing limit pretty quick these days. I think he's looking forward to one that sits still for a second.

Diapers of Cloth.

"They're better for your baby's bum."
"They stink up your house"
"They still cost the same anyways, because it's extra laundry"
"They save you money and are better for the environment"
"What a hassle! So much extra work!"
"SOOO awesome! Just find your groove, your routine, and you'll be fine!"
And.
So.
On.

I can't even count the varied opinions I've heard on the topic over the past couple months...as I've researched making the plunge into the cloth diapering world.
Actually, for the most part, it seems that people think well of cloth diapering...just steer clear of it for some reason or another... reasons usually delivered either self-righteously, like they were trying to win a war..("yeah, they're great and all, but it's not like it's worth the hassle. It's not worth the hassle, ya hear!?"). or with darting eyes, like they were trying to rationalize stealing a chocolate bar from the gas station.

Kind of strange.

My look into it hasn't been all that objective, in all honesty: I reeeeally wanted to try it, and had pretty much decided that I was going to do it...I just needed the final convincing nudge and the know-how to go ahead with it. I wanted...and still want...to blame my inner flower-child for the drive towards a practice that promotes a cleaner earth. I grew up in the Land of Tree-Huggers and have a wide, green streak in me...
...BUT...
I couldn't even tout that as my main reason for wanting cloth diapering to work for me. There's another little bum entering my world soon...and two kids in diapers is an extra 100ish dollars a month, an amount that could be hacked to a quarter of that, at least!....if I used cloth.

So my big reason is not as noble as I wish it were.
(sigh.)
Tree-huggers everywhere are disappointed in me, I know.

And although the greeeen thing does make me feel good about doing it, I am pretty sure that it would not have been enough to keep me sticking with it through my first few weeks of trying it out. My determination to save the money, however....
As per my frugal reasoning, I went with the cheapest option...the flat, prefold diapers. I got a stellar deal on them and some covers that had never been used, and I figured that I'd start with the nitty gritty basics of all cloth diapers.

At the beginning, diaper changes took way too long for mine or Baby-Rae's liking...and I could never get the diapers completely dry in in dryer or hang-drying them inside...and it did kind of smell sometimes...and I had to change her more often than with disposables....and Baby-Rae wasn't sure how she felt about all this bulk all-of-the-sudden that she was lugging around on her bum and between her legs, and not being able to move quite the same as before....and D-Hubby was still mighty skeptical, so I was flying solo on this experiment.

All a little challenging.

But I was bound and determined to give it my all. Luckily, I survived.
I've since gotten much faster at changing, thanks to practice...we've had some awesome weather lately...weather that lets me dry diapers on the clothesline in our backyard, in the sunshine and breeze that gets them awesomely dry...and I've figured out how long diapers need to actually get dry if they're in the dryer....and I've figured out the smell situation...and I've gotten used to changing her more often...and learned different folds that aren't so bulky that she moves around in just as freely as a trim little disposable...and D-Hubby may not be comfortable changing those cloth diapers on his own, but he's more supportive of my efforts....and I've hit my stride with my laundry routine for keeping them washed and ready to go. And I'm feeling good about it all. Good, good, good.

We got off to a bumpy start, those cloth diapers and I. But now, I think we're finally friends. If anyone asked, I would tell them that...hands down...disposables are just easier. But if you're looking for a little challenge, and to save lots of dollars, and to appease your inner tree-hugger that just looooves some good green action...then go for it, with all you've got.
Now, it's plain ol' fun. I've acquired a new skill and I'm saving my family money. I'm doing good by the earth, and by my babies' bums. And who's excited for the added bonus of babies likely potty training earlier? I am!
I haven't sworn off disposables 100% yet, I'm not that brave. Vacations and lengthy outings are disposables' territory. Maybe someday. But until then, I'll enjoy my new-found groove of cloth diapering 90% of the time.

...And did I mention that Baby-Rae might potty train sooner as a result?

P.S. A while back I found this website that advertised patterns for making your own pads...like feminine pads...that you could wash and re-use time and again.
I think I'll be drawing the line at those, thank you.
But that's just me. Thoughts?

My Beef.

Alright. Who's teaching my kid around here?

Like, how to dip her little pieces of grilled cheese sandwich into the dime-sized amount of ketchup I put on her plate, just to see what she'd do about it. Suspicious: she knew exactly what to do about it.

And how she knew exactly what to do when I put the laundry basket under the dryer door and opened it. She walked right over and started shoving clothes from the dryer into the basket. Well, I never...

And who, might I ask, taught her how to pick up her baby so gently, hold it up on her shoulder, and pat-rub its back in that heart-melting way? Or go sit beside the bed with her hands folded and head bowed, talking quietly until someone says amen?

Whoever you are....thanks. I appreciate it. Really.
While you're at it, do you think you could teach her not to scream like a banshee when she's not getting what she wants? My head just might explode soon.

Otherwise, I think I'll take it from here, thankyouverymuch.

Ode to D-Hubby, 2 Years Mine.

This past Sunday was our second anniversary! Ya-hoo! 

And I am warning you riiight now that this post is downright mushy. No way around it. Just have to barf it up. ...Just be glad our anniversary is only once a year...

So...two years.

And it's weird. Because it doesn't feel like it's been that long...and at the same time, feels like we've lived three lifetimes since then. Maybe it's because we have lived Baby-Rae's whole lifetime since then...or maybe it's because we've moved three times. Or fell in love all over again more times than I can count. Interesting fact: did you know, that out of the 24 months we've been married, I've been NON-pregnant for a mere 7.5 months??? Let's give D-Hubby a big round of applause for living with a pretty much constantly pregnant wife for the past two years...seriously.

If I even tried to describe my D-Hubby, I couldn't. I think it's one of the things I love most about him...I can never quite seem to figure him out...and can still read him like a book at the same time. I tease him often about how nobody taught him how to talk to a woman...because this man of mine is always just saying exactly what's on his mind. He doesn't really know how to "soften" his words or say things "in a different way" (women, everywhere, know exactly what I mean. Ha!)... He just doesn't know how to be anybody but himself. 

And I love it. 

Because what I get is pure, unaffected him, 100% of the time. It's always real. And I always know how he actually feels about the outfit I'm wearing... :) Sometimes, when I'm feeling especially female, he'll say something that I could totally take in the wrong way. And when I stop him and ask if he could please say that in a different way, he gets it. We both get it. We both laugh about it. And he tries again, for me. 

And sometimes, when he tells me what he thinks about my hair and I tell him what he actually needs to say to make me smile, he says it. Rolls his eyes, maybe. :) But says it...honey, you look good not matter what your hair is doing...for me.

I love that he's not a team-sports fanatic. Or a video-game guru. Even though sometimes I think he wishes he were at least one or the other, for the sake of conversation with other man-folk. But he looooves him some mountains. And all that comes with it...the camping, the hiking, the climbing...the adventure. He loves photography. And he loves to create. Monotony bores him, and I'm glad...because he loves rearranging the furniture as often as I do. He's always looking for something new to learn, a new skill to acquire, a new way to do what he's already done.

He's so silly. And so serious. He drives me nuts. And makes me laugh. He is always a surprise. And he is a phenomenal father.

I sure love my sweet D-Hubby.

To Daycare or Not to Daycare...

...That was the question.

And I mean me starting a daycare, to clarify.

It's one of the plethora of options that always seem to come up as a way of bringing in more income to this penniless little student family of ours. (As a rather random side note: I'm SOooo grateful for so many fantastic friends in the same boat. The poor-student boat is actually kind of a lot of fun when you've got lots of great company.)

So anyways.
I worked in childcare part-time the whole time I was working on my degree. And I got my degree in Elementary Education. Caring for and teaching children has just always been on the menu of my life.

I babysat the Toddler for a while, which worked out fine. And so, D-Hubby and I have often discussed whether or not we could have me take on a few kids at a time on a regular basis. Seemed like a good idea, sometimes. Other times, not so much. Mostly, not-so-much...but I waffled lots.

And so. Once and for all, I wanted to know whether it would be worth it. So I contacted a friend who had run a daycare from her home for 3.5 years, and we had it out. I wanted the nitty gritty honesty...and I got it.

*Disclaimer: I'm sharing this experience, and her experiences, because of the impact it's had on my perspective of motherhood...not as a formal review of having a daycare, or anything else. It's just her experience. So just take it for what it's meant for, aright?? Okee, dokee. Moving on...*

She started off the conversation, right off the bat, with saying that she would not recommend it to anyone. I was surprised that she was so adamant and firm about it from the beginning, but her explanation of her experience helped me understand.
She had a lot of really young kids to take care of. And for a while it was fine. But then it was overwhelming. She found it next-to-impossible to go on vacation or take breaks. Or even going anywhere, day-today, with that many kids, period. And then, it made it hard for her to even want to be with her own kids after everyone else's were gone: kid overload for her. She had small kids at the time, and she felt that she missed out on some of those tender little years with them, that she didn't get to enjoy them like she wished she could have. She made sure to state that it was probably just her, that other people probably had way more patience and stamina then she did. But even now, she has a hard time babysitting friends' kids because she was just so burnt out from the experience.
What did it for her as far as the time to quit, was having another lady from out of town stay at her house overnight during a youth conference. This lady had a day-care-home-thingy for 10 years. Out-of-Town Lady said that from her own experience, she felt she had missed out on vital teaching opportunities with her kids, spiritually and otherwise...and was now starting to see the effects as her kids struggled in school, struggled spiritually, and struggled knowing who they were. Out-of-Town Lady's heart was broken for all the missed moments where she could have been there to strengthen them while they were little. It was the breaking point for my Helpful Friend; it helped her make a final decision, and she got out of the daycare biz pronto.
On the flip side, she said that it was very beneficial financially. Helped make things comfortable...but that even that wasn't really worth it, in her opinion. Get into cheap housing, and cut your expenses instead...and then just enjoy your kids while you can was the summary of her advice to me.

I was grateful for the perspective that she added to the whole question...not because it gave me a great excuse to not do it, (ha) but because it reminded me of the importance of just being there for...and enjoying my kids, as their Mom...the only one they've got. And during the only childhood they get.

And as Baby-Rae keeps growing up faster and faster, I realize that it goes by so SO quickly. Finances will work out, so long as we've got faith and self-control...and two car seats actually do fit fine in the back seat of an M&M-sized hatchback for a while. And when I look back at this time in our lives, I want to smile about packing ourselves into a teensy blue car, with the kiddos in the back seat, while we head out with our tuna sandwiches to meet Dad at the school for lunch so he doesn't have to buy one. Or all squish in for a drive to The Land of the Extended Family to visit Grandmas and Grandpas...the way we'll spend most family vacations for a while (sorry, Disneyland, you'll have to wait). I want to laugh at the cheap fun we had with Baby-Rae washing dishes in her "little sink" beside me (read: taking measuring cups and pouring water ALL over her, the counter, and the floor) and remember the moments we just looked out the window together while she pointed at things she saw, and got excited about seeing dogs walking past. And I want to remember how, after discovering that people have belly buttons, she always wants to lift up her shirt....and MINE....to find the buttons...and is absolutely delighted when she finds my very prominently displayed bellybutton on a very big belly.

So no day-care-home-thingy in our near future. And I'm okay with that.

Because it can wait.

In the meantime, I'll just love me my awesome morning paper route, the way I am currently saving up towards some new post-maternity clothes when the time comes.
And a new car. Saving verrrrrry slowly.

Just In.

I just read this article and thoroughly enjoyed it:

The No. 1 Habit of Highly Creative People

Summer Delicious.

I. 

LOVE. 

Summer.

I used to think that I didn't really have a favourite season...that they all had their beauty and bonuses. And while I still think the last half is true, I'm pretty sure I've come to the conclusion that Summer rocks my socks like no other season. 

I think what might have pushed it to the top of my list is living in cold COLD cities for the past several years. My summers have gotten much shorter since moving away from Hometown. I think it did the trick for pushing me off the fence when it came to choosing a favourite season.

After all....how could you not love a season that brings you this:

I'm in heaven when summer fruit is plentiful. 

(All the above photos are D-Hubby's, by the by.)

And then, just because they're both SO cute...

Summer is already starting to fade from these parts. 

(...whimper...)

Baby-Rae, Accelerated.

Her favourite place in the house. Which, coincidentally, is watching everything going on outside of the house.

I'm indignant.

My Baby-Rae is growing up way too fast. It's just not fair.
She's walking that delicate line between baby and toddler, marching around here like she owns the place (which, really, she does...but shhhh...she's not supposed to know that...), and acting so...grown up.
Recently, she's been picky about giving kisses. She used to give them on command, but then decided she could afford to be choosey...especially when it came to kisses for me, the Mama.
All-of-the-sudden, she's giving kisses again, voluntarily. But you know when she decides to smother you with them? When she is holding, in her sweet pudgy hands, something that she knows she shouldn't have. Like the kisses are supposed to distract me, or butter me up and make me all soft so I let her play with whatever she shouldn't have.
(And it works way more times than it should, dangit.)

Something else that's cracked me up this week? How I've found the cheese grater in the middle of the living room, Baby-Rae's pajama pants and shoe in the garbage, and her teddy bear in the toilet.

Welcome to Toddler-hood.

Starving Artist.

I'm a closet artist. Slash interior designer.

There's a reason I'm in the closet. I'm not good, I just looooove to do it. So I just experiment with my house and cheap art supplies and feed my inner artiste occasionally. These latest projects have been my favourite, though. I found fabric at IKEA that matched my weird-colour-of-blue curtains exactly. Yee haw! So I made a pillow slipcover out of it, scribbled on it, and ta-daa!

=Art. 

And the other picture I wouldn't share otherwise, because this is a majorly unfinished version of the project, but I'm loving it so far, so had to show! The fabric hasn't even been pulled tight across the one board in this picture, the photo board isn't done with some streaks of colour I'm adding, and my edges on both boards are still unfinished...and the third one (there will be a series of threeee) isn't even done hatching in my brain yet. 

Whatever. You get the idea. 

Show and tell is now done! Over and out.

iPhone, Why-phone.

I wish I had a nickel for every time my hubby has talked about, mentioned, or gazed longingly after the iPhone. I would be a rich girl.

I have fought it tooth and nail. I have made him wear blindfolds to the mall so he can't go into cell phone stores. I have blocked the Apple website from our computer. I have jumped between him and his friends when they pull out their nifty iPhones to protect him from the contagious and hypnotizing you-need-this-too vibes that seem to radiate from the thing.

Well, maybe I haven't gone to those extreme of measures.
Yet.

Why, you might ask, am I so anti-iPhone?
Well, there's a myriad of possibilities. Mostly, I think, it's just because it's a want, not a need. And yes, even though it's okay to have some wants, our budget seems to limit us to the occasional ice cream or cheap metre of fabric want...not the bajillion-dollar (um, maybe an exaggeration) electronic wants. And because I'm not convinced the internet ever needs to be that accessible...unless you're a travelling business-man-type.

Well....we may have had to go over the want-not-need point at least once every two weeks for the past year...but that was okay. D-Hubby just needed someone to say no. Kind of like I need him to tell me the same thing when I mention things I know I don't need...but am having a hard time telling myself no.
The reminder would at least stave off the iPhone hunger for another two weeks.

Until...
D-Hubby's current cell phone broke.
Which was right about the same time that the iPhone4 promotional ads were in full-swing.
Oh.
My.
Goodness.

So with genuinely needing another cell phone, and with the iPhone4 staring him in the face constantly in all its camera-on-the-front-too glory, things were rough for him in the inner iPhone-battle department. Which translated into reasons for the "no" needing to be more and more substantial. And discussed just about daily.


Holy Smokes. Talk about exhausting.


So, finally, the opportunity came for him to possibly get his hands on one. He knew when a certain supplying store was getting their shipment in. And, if he did the wait-around, the possibility of having his own iPhone4 was close enough to taste.
Therefore, the night before this particular shipment day, we had to have a necessarily long discussion about this whole iPhone thing.
Delaying gratification came up. No-moola came up. Need vs. want came up (again). Getting lost in the internet came up. Resisting the lure of just-cause-everyone-else-has-it came up. Everything that made me object to the thing came up. And once I had gotten it all out there, and could say no more, I ultimately left the decision up to him...much to his chagrin. Just tell me yes or no was something I recall him repeating more than once. Baha. I laughed every time, too, because I totally get that. Wouldn't that be so much easier sometimes, in those decisions where you're so torn? But he knew our situation and my feelings about it. Ultimately, I felt this decision had to be his.

This story has a happy ending.

He did wake up early to go play the waiting game at the store.
But ultimately, what he ended up doing, was something that made me so SO proud of him.

He is now the owner of a phone that is not the iPhone. It was not the cheapest phone you could get, but it was cheaper than his original muse-of-a-iPhone, within our budget, and still had the features he needed in a cell phone. (Plus a few extras. But we won't start with that. Ha.)
And we made an agreement that if the phone ever started regularly interfering with his face-time with his family and friends, that out it went. And he gets one and a half weeks to be all oogly and in-love with the thing while he's figuring it out. Then, it goes back to being just a phone, and not his newest child.
(Speaking of which, the real thing arrives in just 11 weeks! Eeee! Baby!)

And so.

D-Hubby was not only able to curb his desire for the iPhone and make a much-wiser decision on behalf of his family, it was a decision that he came to on his own (and then ran it by me, of course. Just the married thing to do...). :)

We're proud of that man, Baby-Rae and I. And grateful for his example.

...Now to ask him about me getting that Cricut again....it has been two weeks, after all...

My Cereal Confession.

I have a confession to make.

Photo Credit

I'm sitting here, eating a bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal. It was on sale today at the grocery store for cheap. And it's delicious. Peek in my front window and you'll see me munching it down. No big secret, right?

Oh, but wait.
It's my third-ish bowl today. Alone. Just today. And that's just the official count. It doesn't include the little bit that I add at the end to finish up the milk.

And as I'm sitting here staring into that crispy-crunchy, yellow-y, devoid of nutrients, and who-knows-what's-in-this goodness, I think I'm finally starting to understand why people feel the need to make regular, religious confessions.  See, I have this mosquito of guilt hovering nearby that won't leave me alone. And all I want to tell it is that I know I've got a problem, okay? IknowIknowIknow: I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to sugary cereal.
Zippo. Zero. None.

And I'm not kidding. If a box of junk cereal sits around here for longer than a couple days with me around, I would be very surprised. Healthy cereal lasts weeks. It's why I don't ever buy the junky stuff, I literally will eat it ALL. But if, for some reason, I do buy it...then watch out milk, because all you're good for is making cereal taste better.
Maybe it has something to do with the instant sugar rush. Maybe it's because it's just the easiest thing to grab when I'm hungry, no prep needed. But after thoroughly shrinking myself on the subject, I do know that the intensity with which I eat it is not just about it tasting good. It's almost like, because I know how easily it lures me in, that I need to get it gone, and fast.
SOoo....into my tummy, hurryhurryhurry.
Productive, right?
Yeesh.

I feel much better.
And so, because I have a problem--and know it, dangit!--sugary cereal will continue to enter my house very very rarely.
And if you're having it for breakfast at your house, don't invite me over. I mean, unless you want me to help you finish it off with no shame. Well, a little shame, but shame that I've embraced. With embraced shame.

Poor D-Hubby, Baby-Rae, and all my future kids.
Bet they didn't know that they were signing up for a life of healthy breakfast cereal.

My New Lovah.

Remember Howie? My beautiful beast of a piano that was seriously missing teeth and a good tune-up?

Well, he had to go.

We moved. And at the time we thought we might be moving faaaaar away at the end of the summer, too. So, we gave him away. Luckily, it was to a very nice man who was getting it for his wife as a surprise. Awww.

I missed the big guy. 

And it's not that I play all the time, and definitely not even nearly as often as I should....but without a piano, I couldn't play AT ALL. Even sparingly. 

It's like someone telling you that you can't have ice cream; it just makes you want it more.

I'm happy to announce that, after cruising and perusing Kijiji for a long while, we found THE PERFECT piano for us:

-Good condition.

-Apartment sized. (=SOooo much easier to move).

-Free.

Meet: Mozart. 

(yeah yeah, unoriginal, blah blah blah.)

Gotta love the toys and random lamp cords.

Really, though: he fits into the play area just perfectly. (Har. Har.)

I'm SO happy.

(....I also now have no excuse to not be playing, writing, singing anymore. Dangit.)

Friendship After Marriage.

...It's a funny thing.

So I remember being a young, single adult not-so-long ago, watching friends get married.
And I remember always, always expecting them to fall off the face of the earth for a while post-matrimony. And then to be awkward around single friends for a loooong time thereafter.
We didn't really resent the friends that disappeared. We were pretty sure it had to happen for some reason... because it always happened to everyone we knew that got married.... figured it just came with the second ring or something. Marriage changes friendships, the long and short of it.

And so when friends got engaged, there was a bittersweet feeling to the occasion.
(Insert forlorn sigh here.)
We knew we were losing a friend. Orrr, at least losing the friend as we knew him or her at that moment. Marriage meant our friendships had to change.

Being on the other side of the equation has been a whole new experience. Eye-opening, fer-sher.

As a single gal, friendships with other girls...and even guys...was generally about disclosure, I think.
It was about who you could trust with your heart...who you could go to after a great date, or a bad date, and spill your stinkin guts. It was about who you didn't have to look smokin-hot-all-the-time for. It was about secrets over fondue, secrets over candles, secrets over popcorn. The friends you loved and trusted the most got the most of your secrets. They knew why you actually broke up with so-and-so...not just because you weren`t ready for a serious relationship right now (ha.)...and what your current boyfriend did that bugged you just a little. They were the ones you could just haaaaang with, doing absolutely nothing and still having a blast. You knew someone considered you a true friend if they told you who they really liked (like, for real; not the guy that she tells you because she doesn't really care if it works out or not. The guy that she'd embarrassed to admit because she thinks about him way too much) while they slept over at your house and let you see them first thing in the morning.
Depth of friendship was gauged by how much of yourself you could let them see.
All about those golden few friends who you could trust with your secrets....and really, with you.

Well, D-Hubby and I got married quick.
Once we realized we were dating for real here (aka: "seriously"), we made sure we were working on building the best-friendship part of our relationship...which took effort and sacrifice, like any friendship, just at warp speed. BaHa. Building our relationship meant that we needed to be able to trust each other with our secrets. It meant shifting my loyalties to put him at the top of the list. It meant I couldn't tell my best other-pals everything about this guy I'm dating. It meant that above all, in every situation, I was duty-bound to keep his secrets and "protect his honour"...maybe not the right phrase, but y'know what I mean? It was a perspective shift when it came to maintaining or making friendships from that point on. What if I said too much? My secrets were not just MY secrets anymore, and they were more important to keep.

And I remember what that felt like as 'the single friend' when my other friends got married. You could just sense that something was changing...that you weren't the one who knew everything anymore, weren't the friend they went to FIRST....when they started shifting loyalties from telling you everything to telling you only what you needed to know. Which was okay. A little sad, naturally, but okay. I guess. And supposed to happen. Marriages struggle when that doesn't happen. Or stick, for that matter.
 
This paradigm shift has been one of the major adjustments to marriage for me, I've decided. I'm not gonna lie: it was (and still can be) an ofttimes lonely adjustment. Marriage comes with a lot of new things to talk about. And rather than say too much, you say nothing at all. And every once in a while, my newly-wed-self (who am I kidding, I`m still a newlywed!) felt like I was going to implode with pent-up too-serious-for-slumber-party girl-talk.

BUT. Before this sounds like I`m whining...
The adjustment is SO worth it.

The investment of time into your new built-in-forever-best-friend is awesome. And because of all that you're investing, the return is a friend who is more special to you than any other friend ever has been. A perfect friendship? No way, Jose. But the most worthwhile one you'll ever create? Most definitely.

My point: Adjusting from single-friendships to married-friendships (both with your spouse and other people) is a toughie. A necessary toughie. At least it has been for me.
Maybe by 5 years married I'll understand how it works.
...Or the weirdness will just be normal and I'll forget how it was weird in the first place....and wonder why newly-married girls are so weird about being friends, like they want to have slumber parties and tell secrets to be friends, those weird newlyweds. Just come to the waterpark with me and my kids and we'll just take turns smiling friendship-like at each other while we chase our offspring around. Maybe we'll talk about our kids. And some great secret recipes.

:)

...Weird.

Because I Can.

Because my little baby is a whole year old.
Because I can't believe how grown-up she's acting lately.
Because as of now, she's the only child.

A walk through the past year, in pictures.

Happy First Birthday to my sweet Baby-Rae.