I Want To Not Be Crazy

Hey y'all!  I don't know if you knew this, but we are in countdown mode here in the M-hiz-ouse!  We've got 8 days left as a family of 3, and its really just hard to believe.  This pregnancy has been long and while mostly uneventful from bambino/a's point of view, its been hard on my body.  All the same, it feels like I have been and will continue to be pregnant forever, in a sort of "I was born this way and I will die this way" feeling.

False.

I will have a new baby to hold and snuggle and breathe in the scent of just outside of a week.  One week from today, it will be one more sleep until I am counting fingers and toes!  Of course, "sleep" seems a generous term for what I've been doing lately, but whatevs.  I've been uber-blessed by the gift of a whole semester of maternity leave, and there's literally nothing I need to be doing other than getting to know my new baby and introducing him/her to my first baby, and finding our rhythm.  I've never had that before, since I was doing my dissertation last time 'round, and so I'm excited!

All the same, there is something that I'm a wee bit concerned about, and so I wanted to work through it with words here, and see if I can come to any conclusion.

My patented baby sleep trifecta:
Woombie
WubbaNub**
Whitenoise Machine**
60% of the time, it works every time.
*note - that saying is probably more accurate here than its ever been*
**affiliate link

Last time 'round, I was cray cray.  Not diagnosed with anything, but it was definitely a dark time for me.  Mostly due to the fact that I don't operate well on sleep deprivation.  I just don't.  Other people do.  I'm happy for them.  I don't understand them, and they certainty don't understand me, but different strokes and all that jazz.  Everything, and I do mean e-v-e-r-y-thing was centered around RG sleeping.  When we got up, how long we were up, what we did while awake, what I ate, what I watched, what rooms I spent time in, the temperature of the house... it was more than a little out of control.  In fact, it was me grasping for control in a situation where there was none to be found.

This time, I don't want to be (and don't exactly have the luxury of being) crazy.  I don't want to get so preoccupied with finding sleep that I lose sight of knowing my new baby, of loving on my toddler, of appreciating my husband.  I'm pretty sure the dog would also appreciate it if I didn't forget to feed him as regularly.

I know more this time.  I know that it is in fact a stage.  That it will pass.  There are no 8 year-olds that I know of who don't sleep.  [Note: If you have/know of such an 8-year old, do not tell me.  I will cut you.] I don't know exactly what it looks like to have two babies at home, I've never done this and I don't know how it goes, but I do know more than I did last time, and that has to help.  As a friend told me last time, while teaching my baby to sleep is important, it is not THE most important thing I will teach them.  And Rileygirl will be watching me this time - that's definitely something to remember.

So I'm going to try my darndest to keep it all in perspective.  And I'm going to give myself some grace, remembering that each day does not dictate the next 25 years.  That young babies and toddlers have a glorious, nearly-magical quality of resetting every night, remembering nearly nothing from the day before.  It can be frustrating when its "do NOT throw your yogurt on the floor" for the bazillionth time, but its life-giving in the setting of needing to start fresh.

One word: ROUND.

Keep an eye out, it won't be long now before I've got some brand-new lovely, chunky cheeks to show you on here!  Take care, friends!

<3 M.

A Letter To My Sleeping Toddler

My sweet sweet Riley.

Your sleeping self conjures up nothing but maternal love within me.  Well, maybe also a big sigh of relief, but mostly an overwhelming, break-me-in-two-if-I-think-about-it, deep deep love for you.  Your little curled and twisty self, contorted beyond what my mind can comprehend as a viable option for sleeping, reminds me of all of the best things about you without any of the challenging parts.  

See?
Our days ARE fun!
Its just, when you're sleeping, you can't get any more toys out... :)

Our days are good and full and fun and I don't mean to sound as though I'm wishing them away.  I don't.  But when you're sleeping, the weight of my responsibility to you nearly takes my breath away.  It could be that you're so innocent there, so dependent and so confident in your daddy & I, I'm not sure.  I do know, looking at you there dreaming and snoring slightly, that we are going to fail you.

I hate that.

If I had my way with it, you'd never hear the glass break, never see the picture-perfect crumble.  We'd never disappoint you, let alone make you sad or less-than-pleased with us.  I can completely understand the parents who bend rules and move mountains to make sure their precious babe is never sad.  There's a part of me that wants that for you.

But God gave you a human Mama, and I've already failed you.  Heck, you weren't even 4 mo. old when I caught your arm in your zipper and caused that little blood blister.  It was almost a year and a half ago, and I still remember that sick feeling that comes when you cause your baby's pain.  Since then, I've failed you in bigger and smaller ways, and it'll continue in this vein, no matter how much I try to do anything but that.

I am trying not to hate these failures.  There is a reason that I can't make your days perfect.  I know that, in part because I will never be perfect, you're going to see God even more clearly.  When I mess up and have to ask your forgiveness, you'll see that everyone requires absolution from God.  When I somehow, in some way, break a small part of your heart (a phrase that it is killing me to write), you'll learn that anyone can let you down, but you've got a friend who sticks closer than a brother.  

If I could make your days perfect, dear one, you'd never have any reason to seek God.  You'd never know that you have a need, and so you'd never find the cure.  And that would be the worst.  As much as it tears me apart and makes me tear up (no lie, this is hard to write!), you need to feel the sting of failure, the pain of a broken heart, the disappointment of your Mama & Daddy coming up short.  I don't wish the hurt for you, but I would hate to see you go without the wisdom and insight that those experiences will bring you.  

All of these feelings, they hit me nearly every night when I check in on you before heading to bed myself.  You snooze and turn over, and my mind flashes through all of the things yet to come, the good and the bad.  You've got so much in front of you, and I hope that it is mostly full of joy and love and good times.  And when the hard and the bad comes, I hope you learn those lessons quickly.  And when they're my fault, I hope you're especially skilled at forgiveness.

You've captured my heart, you sleeping girl.  This love that breaks me apart, it fills me up too.  You being here, with us, given to us, is refining me, just as it will refine you.  We'll learn together through our days and I'll watch you sleep at night and feel all of these feelings.  The fact that someday you may do the same with your someday daughter, well, I can't even go there, I'm already too much of a mess.

Sweet dreams my girl.  Can't wait to hang out with you tomorrow!

<3 M.

Toddlers & Art :: Finger Painting In A Box

Thus far, up until last week, I somehow I ignored the fact that my daughter, RG, might like to make things.  I mean, I loooooove to make things, and Riley loves all things, but I didn't make the connection.  It took her coming home, repeatedly, with crafts from daycare, for me to realize that we had never actually made a craft ourselves.  Unless pens from Mommy's purse and an old take-out menu count.  In which case, we've made 2.

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to be intentional with creating things with my 20 mo. old (SERIOUSLY.  HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!?  YES, I KNOW I'M SHOUTING, BUT I'M IN SHOCK!).  We've had a few very fun projects so far, and I think I might be hooked.  Now, the projects RG & I do, they will never be perfect.  Or very well-planned.  Or necessarily attractive by the time all is said and done.  But we will have fun.  Of that, you can be most certain.

Today's art project comes to you courtesy of IKEA, who loves providing more cardboard boxes than any living soul knows what to do with.  Last night, after unpacking and wrangling and sweating and baptist-cursing (you know, like "dang it!" and "for the love!" and "I swear, I'm gonna........."), we had put together not only a child's chair, stuffed wingback, and couch-that-is-too-large-for-our-living-room, but also an impressive stack of cardboard sheets and boxes.

And the boxes, they spoke to me.  They said "We can hold things.  All sorts of things.  Things like messes."  And BOOM.  Inspiration.  

So this afternoon, I took sweet little Riley, got her down to a diaper, and plopped her in one of the boxes in our sun porch, which was by 4 PM nice and toasty warm.  Then I started handing her jars of finger paint.  I showed her how to use it (Is that an abomination?  That a toddler wouldn't know how to finger paint?  I felt abominable in that moment.  And not at all snowman-like.) and then just let her go wild.  She'd get tired of a color, and ask for more, and I'd throw another into the ring.  

Things started a little slow, but she quickly caught on, and I am proud to report that she now handles finger paints with at least moderate skill.  And by "moderate skill" I obviously mean she can slather with the best of them!

Lots of mess, oh yes.
But lots of mess IN ONE SPOT.
WHERE SHE CAN'T TOUCH OTHER THINGS.

Next time we do this, I'd change a few things:

1. Get better quality paints.  The Dollar Tree origins of the paints was not a big deal until bath time, when the blue was staining her skin, and I happened to remember that tomorrow is picture day.  We did eventually get the smurf-ness to fade, but it's still there somewhat.  I'd definitely go up in price some to avoid discolored children.
2. Speaking of bathtime, for the love, put the box in the bathroom!  The mess was wholey contained, right up until RG had to go the whole way through the house in order to get in a bath.  Luckily Handsome stepped in and provided a towel, with which I straight-jacketed my child and carried her through like she was foul garbage.  She thought it was a game.  We were both happy.  But keeping clean-up in mind when planning these things out is going to prevent a lot of headache in the future, I can tell.

Otherwise, we had a ton of fun, and I was happy that Riley got to be happy.  Plus, it gave me a few minutes (probably 20 or so!) of not hearing "uppy!?" or "block-shhh" or picking up legos or naming every. single. Sesame Street character 14 times in her book.  Yes, hearing "Elbo?" is cute once.  Even twice.  57 times in, it gets old.

What art have you been making lately?  Got any great ideas for projects that should take place in a box?  Please share, I've got plenty of boxes yet to go through!!

<3 M.

It Ought To Take A Village

Its impressive, nay, well-on amazing what my hands can find to do when there is distasteful work to be done.  I've got 1, maaaaybe 2 slides left to make.  That's all.  And then finis.  Finished.  Over.  Done.  Kaput.  Except not kaput because kaput, despite sounding awesome to say (and going on my "need to teach my child to say this" list) has a connotation of forfeiture, of giving up.  I'm not giving up, I've just actually reached the end.  

What I'm trying to say is that I should not be writing to you dear people right now, I should be finishing up my presentation so that in exactly 12 hours and 9 minutes, I can defend my Ph. D. (Where the heck do those periods go?  Should I ask that tomorrow?) dissertation.  I will have reached what is known in academia as a terminal degree.  There is no where else to go.  The end.  Done.

It doesn't quite seem like I've found the right word for it yet.  Feel free to submit suggestions.

But I don't want to work on it anymore tonight (cough*or ever*cough).  I want to tell you about an article I read regarding Missing The Villiage.  And they're not talking about the creepy movie.  The fact that they did not feel the need to qualify that further enforces the reality that everyone is different and people aren't all like me, and its those people, the ones not like me, that I want in my village.  I'll take some that are like me, too, I'm just saying - equal opportunity village staffer here, folks.

The article (which you should totes take the opportunity to read) made me yearn both for the Laura Ingalls lifestyle that I have always felt robbed of, as well as the community that used to surround raising a family.  The working side-by-side with others in common tasks, mothering each others children, taking up slack when someone needed a break and being given that break when you needed it.  

Of knowing and being known.

Why is that so hard now?  Blah blah blah technology and expectations and media and rejection and stranger danger and yada yada yada.  I've got neighbors.  Several of them have children.  But we've never gotten past the "say hello in the driveway while on a walk" relationship, and I don't know why.  I am known to be aggressively friendly, and yet a "how about you and yours come over for dinner this Friday?" never passed my lips.  

I don't know why, although if I had to pick one, it would be a fear of rejection.  Ultimately, insecurity.  "They probably have friends they like to hang out with, and would shoot me down".  That lie rambles through my head.  Plus, I just can't seem to find a place to get the words in, because it always seems like we're both being so busy to be friendly and yet keep a barrier, a safe distance.  

Someone else to love on this big sweaty headed girl?
Yes please, I'll take all I can get!

I was just thinking today that it is important to make a community within (wait for it) your community.  That you actual neighbors ought be some of your best allies.  They may not be the ones you call with the heartbreaking news or tell all of your secrets to, but when baby has already gone to bed and you realized you don't have milk for the morning?  Perhaps they could pop in and sit while you run to the store.  The only real requirement is that they grab the child while running out the door, should the house catch on fire.  Its really not too much to ask.  Would you mind?  If a neighbor called and needed a warm body to hold down the fort, would you begrudge it?  Would you ask for it yourself?

Here's what I know - I wouldn't mind.  I am rarely more happy than making new friends and helping out people that I like, that I interact with.  I don't know that its true, I have no empirical evidence, but I have to think, particularly with the outpouring of "I miss the village too!" that I've seen/felt/heard, that others wouldn't mind either.  That most people are just as nice as you or me.

I read once that one of the best ways to cement a new friendship is to ask for a favor.  When someone does something for another person, they feel invested in that person, and will work harder to continue the friendship for the pure motive of getting a good return on their investment.  I'm not saying ask them to keep your 10-week-old baby puppy while you're out of town for two weeks, but why not see if they have the 2 eggs you need before you run to the store?  Ask if they'll pick up your mail while you're out of town for the weekend.  Just a small thing, possibly even something you don't really need help with or (as is my husband's modus operandi) that you could pay someone to do.  

Maybe you need to borrow a baby bath.
Or their sink.
Whatever.

Here's the crux of what I'm trying to say.  I want to know others and be known.  Other people feel the same way.  Almost all of them (stinkin' sociopaths making it impossible to write in absolutes...) long for community, just as you and I do.  So go know somebody.  Go invite or ask.  

In 3 weeks *insert mix of feelings here* we will be moving to a new place, a new neighborhood, and getting a whole slew of new neighbors.  I'm gonna know them, by golly.  I am.  I don't know if I'll take them baked goods (doubter voice says: What about allergies?  What if they are doing gluten free?) or just be sure to introduce myself with name and handshake and everything when we pass along the street (doubter voice says: What if they're germaphobes?  What if they have sweaty hands?) or what, but I'm going to find a way to know them, because life passes too fast to wait for it to magically happen.  You no longer get a community, a village, by simply moving into a place or being in the same life stage as others.  You have to work for it.  So work for it, my dear friend, because its important.

Have you done this?  Have you built a village?  Do you know, really know, as in have shared a meal with and have phone numbers for, your neighbors?  Please tell me your secrets, I know I'm going to be bumbling and you'll likely save my future neighbors several uncomfortable situations.

<3 M.

Its Not Monday

I never thought I'd say this, but I wish it were still Monday.  And its Wednesday.  And Lent is over tomorrow.  But I wish it were Monday.

Monday, my baby girl didn't cry when I had to buckle her into her carseat.  She laughed and "talked" at me and when she found both of her ears for the first time, she made me laugh.  And me laughing made her laugh.  When we got home, we walked around the driveway through some puddles, and it was fun and good.  When we came inside, I sat in front of the couch (because couches are for leaning against and nothing more, no?) and she would play and then she'd forcibly crawl into my lap.  She'd take my face with both of her chubby, chubby hands, or she'd lean her forehead against mine and give me her grumpy face.  Grumpy face doesn't end until Mama gives grumpy face right back, and then you both get to smile.  And then she climbed off and played some more, and we repeated.  Eventually, my little meatball got tired, I fed her, bathed her, still no tears, smooches goodnight, and bed.  At 5:20 PM.

Best. Day. Ever.

I loved Monday.

Today is Wednesday.  Today was tears at nearly everything.  Pushing her cart was fun, until it wasn't and then it was tear-inducing.  Eating was fun until crying.  Favorite toys eventually brought fussiness and books were no good and RG hung up on her grandMa twice.

Today was not Monday.  I had a hard time not wishing that today was still Monday.  Actually, I did wish today was still Monday.  And because I kept wishing it was something different, I think I made a difficult day seem even worse somehow.

Tomorrow.  Tomorrow is going to be Thursday.  I want to love Thursday for what it is, even if its a "everyone is going to live to see Friday but I promise nothing else" kind of Thursday.  Those can be okay, too.  Perhaps, without the weight of the expectation of living up to a fabulous Monday, perhaps Thursday will be good in its own right.  Every day will not be Monday, but every day ins't Wednesday, either.

<3 M.

Saving Daylight

This is no secret, but in case you didn't know, I hate DST.  I also detest when it ends.  I find it an unnecessary interruption to life as usual, and I'm not a fan of unnecessary interruptions.  

So now you know. 

I've never been through this side of it as a mother.  At least, not as a mother who knew/cared about what day it was, or what time it was other than "feeding time".  RG was itty bitty last time we dealt with this, and I forgot to pay attention to it. 

When DST ended last fall, I was scared, because I couldn't stomach the thought of RG waking up any earlier than she already was.  This time around, I was hopeful.  See, I thought, for the first time in my daughter's lifetime, I was going to sleep past 8.  It was going to be glorious.  And we came pretty close this morning, so that was cool.  Except I forgot about the effect it has on bedtime.  

My girl, well, she likes her bedtime right about 5 PM.  Which 92% of the time is absolute bliss.  I'm able to get things done in the evenings, and not stress so much about getting stuff done during the day.  I like that.  I'm used to that.  It works for us.  And then good 'ole DST pops up and screws everything up.  We shot for about 5:30 the new time, which was 4:30 yesterday.  I thought it was going to work, but turns out RG thought she was just supposed to be chilling by herself for a little bit (because we've been doing #3, from this beautiful post, in the afternoon) and was soon after yelling and carrying on.

So we went for a walk.

Even though I wanted to stew, and I sat in the next room with my insides all clenched up for a moment, worried that my evenings might never be the same, I fought it off.  Before I grabbed RG from her bounce house bed, I made a quick list of a few things that I felt I would need to accomplish in order to count tonight as "Not a Waste" and we headed out to pound some pavement.  We'd been gifted with glorious light and a beautiful evening.  The 8% I mentioned above, the times when a 5PM bedtime is not ideal, is usually on nights like these, when I'd love to be outside and taking in the sunset.  

So although tonight wasn't business as usual, we did get some extra sun, some extra smiles, and eventually (please please please AMEN) we'll be back to regular bedtimes.  Now I'm off to get the remaining two things crossed off my list and go to bed, because somehow my internal clock sprang the wrong way, and I ate dinner at the new 4:30 (3:30 yesterday) and now, at the new 8:22 (7:22 yesterday) I'm completely beat, dreaming of sleep.

Make sure you save some daylight!

<3 M.

Hey There Funny Face

My darling girl, 

You are a delight.  You make me laugh, and I return the favor.  We have SO. MUCH. FUN together.  Sweet baby, it is still hard to believe that you're mine, and that I get to keep you until I ship you off to college.  Or trade school.  Or the Olympics.  Or whatever.

I want to remember these days.  I want to celebrate these mornings, and these silly, sweet, play times.  Sometimes I forget that these moments are brief, fleeting.  Sometimes I forget that I'll miss these times and I get absorbed into my dishes and my phone and my laundry and and and...  

I've never been more grateful for my camera, more thankful for my the morning light that pours in our front window.  The pictures of you, there's never enough of them.  That *might* be the reason for the 81-page 12" photobook I just had printed.  Some call it excessive.  I call it a sampling.

You're fabulous, my child.  You're always hungry and you're always doing and going.  You're my princess, even if you eat like a grown man.  Thank you for working so hard to reach out to me, for helping me to grab these moments and claim them as my own.  To stop all of the other multi-tasking and just sit in the moment.  Grab a few shots, or a few hundred, and then spend out the rest of the moment, enjoy the laughter, and share in the zerberts.

Thank you, sweet pea.  I know I mess up every day, but you give me so much grace.  You love me so well. You love everyone so well, particularly strangers, who you love to wave at and shout at and smile real big to.  Your sweet smile is one of my favorite things about you.  "Is she always so happy?" strangers ask, and I have to tell them yes, yes you are.

Oh, and that weirdo lady in the pharmacy yesterday who wanted to take your picture but left her phone in her car?  Yeah, I wouldn't have let that happen.  But I can definitely understand the compulsion.

<3 M.

Goodbye Babyhood

I have a bhsthaldkjfaldkjfbalkshfuiewoeylkdklalalalala.

Ahem.  Let me try again.  

I really need to *say* this outloud.  It's part of the coping.

I have a ...toddler.

Bah!  It's not true.  It can't be true.  I really thought that my bambina was still a bitty baby, but she's not.  She went ahead and done did proved it by taking some halting steps on her first day as a 1-year-old.  Today (her 2nd day as a 1yo) she took 6 in a row.  Twice.  That, my friends, is what we call walking.

Except she's not very good at it, so as she attempts to walk she... *wait for it* ... toddles.  She is one who toddles.  She is a toddler.

I quit.

I mean...

I'd like the days to stop, please.  I'd like to capture this moment right here, and not change.  I want her to continue to see bedhead every. dang. time. she wakes up from her nap.  I want those other teeth to never grow in, and the ones she has to never straighten, because that gap-y smile is the most darling smile I know.  I want to be impressed at the way she inhales 5 meatballs and then snacks on fruit until her innie belly button pops out.  I want every 6 consecutive steps to end with her flinging herself into my arms, sure that I will catch her and kiss her and tell her she's fabulous for being so brave.

I want my baby for always.  

I'm not saying that I'd like to re-start Riley Girl, to have a 2-day old on my hands this very moment.  To be honest, those first three eight 14 weeks were rough for me.  Although she was pretty awesome, I'm not very good with sleep deprivation - it's a scientific fact.  But I feel the babyness slipping away and although it's futile and silly and would mean not-so-great things developmentally for Riley, I want to grasp it.  To grab a hold of right now and not watch it go.  I don't want this to change.

But it will.  It is.  It has.  Even today, my bitty baby of a toddler grabbed her book, scootched over to me, threw it down beside us and then backed into my lap to sit down.  She's never done that before.  And after I read the book, she said "Agah!"  So I read it again.  And she yelled "Agah!" again.  And we repeated, while I fought back tears because babies don't schootch into laps and ask for what they want with language - toddlers do that.  We turned on some music, and she started dancing.  And not just her patented shoulder roll/chin bob/belly bounce.  I mean there was some fan say footwork going on.  I've never seen that before, her picking her feet up and down like someone is shooting at them and telling her to dance.  

It's already gone, my first baby's babyhood.  She's a toddler, and that's the truth.  I know that the wise mama, the seasoned mama, the mama I want to be, would accept this truth with grace.  That she would acknowledge the loss of her baby's baby-ness and look forward with anticipation to what tomorrow will bring.  Handsome & I know that our main goal is to raise our daughter to not need us; to be independent.  Toddlerhood is a step in the right direction.  I know that.  And I choose to gracefully accept that.

It just makes me cry.

It doesn't help that (a) I ate Cadbury solid milk chocolate eggs for dinner, (b) RG decided that nursing is for chumps babies, and that yesterday morning would be her last time nursing ever, and so I have weird hormones to deal with right now on top of tons of feelings, and (c) my family has abandoned me, as is always the case when visits are done.  There's a lot, to say the least.  Overall, I am so glad for this year we've had.  I am blessed beyond belief by this baby girl who has my heart but not my nose!

Looking back over it, we really had such an easy time, with the sleeping and the nursing and the feeding and the growing and the moving and the learning.  All of it, she soared through without too many hiccups.  I am so, so grateful.  And also crying.  But that's mothering, right?

<3 M.   

Her First Snow (a story in pictures)

Riley saw the snow.

She even touched the snow.
Willingly!

But she had never played in the snow.

So we bundled her up.
At first she wasn't too sure...

Until we reminded her that she could have a snack afterwards.

She went sled riding by herself...

She did a few tricks on her sled.

She went sled riding with mommy...

She went sled riding with Daddy.
It was all very fun.

And then she caught a bunch of the stuff to the face.
Fun. Over.

She recovered inside.
With carbohydrates.

The End.

<3 M.

Because Its Not Christmas Until Sheep are Herded in the Streets

There are many things that herald the Christmas season.  Music on the radio.  The Rockettes on Thanksgiving morning.  Twinkly lights and evergreen wreaths appearing on neighbor's houses.  

Sometimes these signs are unreliable.  We all know that Christmas music is being played earlier and earlier every year.  The Rockettes only count if you remember to watch Mr. Macy's show (*sob*... so sad to have missed it!).  And honestly, my neighbor put twinkly lights up on his house in mid September.  I'm not sure why, and I do like them, really I do.  But it just seems sort of unreliable when you're trying to tell if it is Christmastime or not.

For me, there is only one thing, one good and true thing, that heralds the Christmas season.

Its a monkey on the dog's back.
A stuffed monkey.
I wouldn't normally feel the need to clarify, but there are sheep being herded down the street in this picture.
So you know...
I guess it's possible.

The Townville Christmas Parade.

It was a beautiful day for it, with the rain threatening but not making good on its promises.  There was chili being cooked, although not by me this year.  

You guys.  I want to describe this to you.  I want to do justice to this amazing festival.  I just don't know if it is possible to really absorb what goes on in Townville on the first weekend in December, without being there yourself.  

Hear me when I say, ANYONE can be in the Townville Christmas Parade.  Last year, I loved the kid on the bicycle.  And although there was a disappointing number of bicycle entrants this year, it wasn't disappointing.  Nope.  There was the weird Camero with the wreath on the grill and the creepy Santa/fake Poinsettias in the bed, and how can anyone be disappointed after seeing that?

We originally went there to watch.  And then, we were offered the opportunity to ride in the firetruck with Santa.  Although "with" is a misnomer, since Santa actually stands on the roof of the firetruck while it drives through town.  I cannot make this up.  Please tell me something similar happens in your town?  If it doesn't, you might want to consider moving here.

Went straight for the beard, my girl did.
She just had to know.

Although RG did get to meet the big man himself today, that wasn't the highlight.  Nor was the fact that she petted a horse for the first time ever, which pains me to admit (because I've always dreamed of owning them, and I can't believe she lived almost 10 months without ever meeting a horse face-to-face).  But no.  Those are big events, yes, but they pale in comparison to the feast our eyes beheld.

#doyouseewhatIsee?  Please, take a moment.  Absorb it.  Yes, those are taxidermied deer busts, mounted on the grills of Jeep Wranglers.  It appears to be Rudolph, Donner, and Prancer, but I'm not 100%.  And that red in the back is "Santa's sleigh", a wrangler with skis instead of front tires.  Oh, and Rudolph's nose?

Glowing.

Because what else would it be doing!?

Today's experience was further capped off with the fact that Alison (who lives in DC) and I (who am, regrettably, not a Townville native) were asked, in the 11th hour, to serve as judges for this lovely parade.

I couldn't even make this up.

Here's how it went down:.

Lady in charge: "Excuse me ... <gap where she forgot my name because we've only been introduced twice>... did you have your heart set on riding in the parade?"
Me: "No. I mean, if a kid wants to ride, that's fine!"
LIC: "Oh, no, its just that we need judges.  Can you do that?  The parade starts in 4 minutes."
Me: "Uh, YES!"

And that is how we ended up here.

Because where else would a judge sit?

Oh my goodness.  It was definitely filed under "best day ever".  Today just re-confirmed for me what I've already known - This is my place.  These are my people.  I was made for Townville, and Townville for me.  I can't even.   You guys.  There were deer heads.  On the Jeeps.  And no one was appalled.  No one was concerned.   No one was phased.  I LOVE THIS PLACE.

<sorry for shouting>

I do know realtors in the area, if you need help with relocating.

One more for the road.

<3 M.

Dressing Girls Is Hard

I'm going to share a personal shortcoming here, so please be gentle with me.

I'm a terrible dresser.

I would say that I can do alright for myself if I'm wearing a dress, but apparently, as I've recently been informed, you need accessories if you really want the whole "pulled together" look, and I SO don't do accessories.  Not belts that aren't designed to hold my pants up, not bracelets with no sentimental value, not hoopy earrings or clutches or ... I can't even think of another accessory.  Are there more?  OH!  Scarves.  No scarves.

True story, I recently sent my one accessorish scarf to my 6 year old niece for her birthday, because I have owned it for 18 months and worn it once, and that time only to cover up my bra straps (read: wrong).  I don't know how to wear it, and I don't know if I can feel like me while wearing it, and so I forgo it.  If I then had an intentionally accessory-less style, I don't think it would bother me as much.  But I don't.  I'm just... sloppy, most of the time.  I'm working on it.

Babies:
If it doesn't look like they dressed themselves, you're doing it wrong.
At least that's my coping mechanism theory

Anyhow, since my oldest child (and only, but sometimes I like to refer to RG like that, just to keep myself on my toes.  I also hide vegetables from myself when I'm cooking, so... whatevs.) has now been outside of my body longer than she was in, my body has been doing crazy things, all sorts of changing.  Long story longer, I had to buy new clothes, so I ordered a bunch online, most of them ugly, returned nearly all, and still wear my old jeans and t-shirts.  I just... I don't do well shopping by myself, nor do I do well dressing myself even when I have good clothes in there.  

So that's hard for me.

But guess what?  I have a baby.  A baby girl.  GIRL.  And who's responsibility is it to dress her?  Not Riley's.  Nope.  She's pretty useless in that arena, although she has started pushing her little fist through the sleeve by her own power, so we've got that.  Nope, I've gotta dress her.  When she only wore onesies, that wasn't a big deal.  When she wore one-piece play-thingers, also not a problem.  But now?  Pants.  And shirts.  THE HORROR.  Because now my little girl is big enough to actually wear outfits.  Which means I have to actually put together outfits.  

This is a problem (see picture above).

Sometimes, honestly, I stress about it.  In the scheme of things, I know this is not big.  But since the base of  my hierarchy of needs is pretty well covered, I sometimes choose to concern myself with these types of things.  It doesn't help that the majority of her clothes are seconds (or thirds!) or thrift store finds or consignment sale deals.  So things don't match or "go" and I nearly always forget the accessories.  And while I get by just fine without them, my poor little beautiful baby gets mistaken for a boy more often than not if she's not wearing something pink and frilly.

I'm working on it.  We just bought her first two pairs of shoes.  SO cute.  And its cold(er) out now, and so I mostly remember to put shoes on her, which, since they're not really functional, are currently accessories.  I've also got a stash of headbands somewhere that I sometimes remember to add flair with.  But then there are days, like today, when I just leave her in her gender neutral pajamas when I take her grocery shopping.  Is that bad?  What if I was also in my pajamas still?  Better or worse?

Of course she got asked "how old is HE?" this  morning.  And when I call her "Riley" it doesn't do much to clear up matters.  Please don't misunderstand.  I don't mind.  I know that she's still in that could-go-either-way stage, and I've done pretty much everything possible to make it as ambiguous as possible, although not intentionally.

Dressing girls is hard.  Boys get to wear shoes, pants, and a shirt and call it good.  Jeans or khakis and done.  But I'm discovering that if I want to look nice, which I do, I have to put effort into it.  And if I want Riley to look nice, I also have to put effort into that.  Double effort! So I'm working on discovering and developing a style that still doesn't force me to wear scarves, but that is an actual style, rather than my current fallback, "clean".  At the same time, I'm trying my darndest to keep Riley clean, covered, and if then possible, cutely attired.  

Was this hard for anyone else?  Is this hard for anyone else?  Am I the only girl who doesn't/can't wear a scarf?  (Yes, Meghan, an infinity scarf is still outside of my comfort zone.  Do not give me one for Christmas.  Nor for Hanukkah.  I'll just send it to my next niece for her birthday).  Any tips for dressing children?  For myself, I've found some bloggers who talk about fashion-y things from a viewpoint I can understand, and so I'm watching them.

True story (#2) - I used to sit in my college classes and watch people.  If I noticed some girl wearing an outfit I liked, I'd write down what pieces she was wearing, such as "Dark jeans, navy ribbed sweater, dark brown army boots" to refer back to when I went shopping at some later date.  If its possible to approach something as "cool" as style in a more uncool fashion, I don't know how.  I suppose it goes without saying that when I say "college classes", they were math classes.  I nearly wrote "math & physics" but then I remembered I was one of two girls in the physics department, and I wasn't really feeling Corin's style.

So that's my issue of the evening.  I'm clearly not yet an adult, as I cannot dress myself successfully, yet I am expected to, and to dress another chickadee on top of that.  Discuss.

<3 M.

Sick Days & Working Mamas

My girl is sick, and I'm not even mad.  She's at that sweet spot, just ill enough to not be allowed to go to the babysitter's, but not so ill that we can't enjoy spending the day together.  

There is quite a lot of sleeping going on among the diaper-wearing crowd here today.

It has been sweet, crusty eyes and crustier noses and all.  

Yesterday, I cried when I picked her up from the sitter's.  She hadn't taken her afternoon nap, which meant that she had been awake for hours, and the babysitter got to just hang out and play with her.  She said they had a great time.  And I was sad, because I wished it were me.

The decision to go back to work wasn't really a decision that I liked, on a day-to-day way of looking at things.  I don't love dropping my baby off every morning, and picking her up in the afternoons, even if its just for 5 hours.  It makes me sad.  It hurts my mama heart and leaves me with morning tears and afternoon jealousy.  It doesn't matter that her babysitter loves her, and takes almost-as-good-as-mama care of her.  It doesn't matter that RG gets excited to see the babysitter's little boy, and that they miss each other when they're apart.  It doesn't matter that she's learning social skills and building friendships.

It only matters that I'm sad.

Taking Photos of Baby

As you'll see, if you continue reading past... here, I'm not an expert photographer.  True confession: I don't shoot pictures on a manual setting with my camera.  Yep.  I do sometimes use Shutter priority, and I know how to adjust white balance, but that's about it.  So I'm not going to give you a professional walk-through of camera using.  I'm going to tell you how I, as a mama, take pictures of my baby, and what works for me.  So now you know.

Since Rileygirl was born 9 months ago, I've taken countless pictures.  Really, I can't count them all.  I've filled up my 8GB memory card more than once, I've saved so many pics on my phone that it is now slower than Handsome-when-we're-late, and I've maxed out Dropbox.  I've learned a thing or two along the way, about how to take some good pictures and how to take some awful pictures.  Seriously, So. Many. Awful. Pictures.  Luckily, we're living in the photographic golden age, where we don't have to send our film off to get developed in order to find out that we've taken a terrible picture.  Digital is amazing.  And this leads me to my first tip:

1.  TAKE A BAGJILLION PICTURES. (see above)  This isn't to say that you should always be behind the camera. I've found that once I'm behind the camera, I'm concerned about composing the shot and shutter speed and a thousand things that aren't "living the moment".  Handsome used to make fun of me for looking at pictures I'd taken of some activity, while we were still doing the activity.  He had a point.  You don't want to be so focused on pictures that you're not enjoying the event you're trying to take pictures of.  But when you do decide to take some pictures, snap 4 or 5 or 40, if you can do it quickly.  You can look through them later and pick out the ones you like.  Again - they're digital - exploit that.

0.  Oops!  I guess this one should have been first.  Take a moment to set-up your camera.  If that means making sure you're on "Auto" for everything, great!  If you're feeling fancy, know you're going to be outside, and want to adjust your white balance [WB] (the thing that makes your pictures look yellow-y or blue-hued or just right), go for it.  If you're going for an action shot, make sure your shutter speed reflects that.  You don't want to miss a hilarious food-flinging because its all blurry!

#RG is 9 Months!

Dear Riley Girl,

You're right.  You are getting SO BIG.  Seriously, like, so big.  Like, "where did my baby go?" big.  " I guess I should have another baby so that I have a little baby around" big.  Ha.  I jest.  But really, you're big.  And darling.  And funny and sweet and roly-poly.  Basically, you're my favorite  baby girl ever.

You Are *not* Enough

These thoughts have been bouncing around in my head for quite a while.  I'm fairly certain it was precipitated by the whole back-to-work thing, but it's always been at least a tiny THING.  The feeling of not being enough, of "you should do/be more".  Its ugly and nonsense and drowning, but its often here.  And apparently other people have been feeling it, too, because I've seen this and this and this popping up all over the place.  Dear women/mamas - WE NEED TO GET A HOLD OF OURSELVES.

I told God about it last weekend at church, during some songs (psst... its okay to talk in church if its to God), and I told him that I felt like I wasn't enough, just so, ya know, He could reassure me that I am.  Like how you tell your bestie that you're feeling fat, just so she can say that you're not looking it.  So I told Him, and I waited to hear the assurance.  And know what He said to me?  "You're not."  Boom.  Kind of flippantly.  Just dropped it like a burning hot potato right in my lap.  "You're right.  You're not enough."  

And for a moment, I was all like "Whoa there!  That's harsh!" and then God was like "Stop interrupting me, little sister, and let me finish what I was saying." and I was like "Okay, but please, can you talk a little softer to me? " and He's like "Just let me finish..." and He might have sighed at me.  I've told you, God speaks to everyone differently, and I get a bit of an attitude from Him.  Because I need it.  Anywhoo, when I stopped throwing up my defenses and listened, He reiterated "You are not enough.  Because you were never meant to be."  And then I sighed, not out of frustration, but because I could feel some self-imposed stress just evaporating.

We aren't meant to, aren't built for, doing this life on our own.  Cease striving, He says.  My grace is sufficient for you, He says.  You are called to do the best you can, with what you have, where you're at, and trust Him to fill in the gap.  Its not up to you to make it happen.  Lets say it again, all together now - the results are not under your control.  The only responsibility you have is to do what you can.  Enjoy it if you can.  And then trust that the God who created the Mariana Trench and the whole concept of sunsets (not to mention every single one) can make up for whatever you lack.  Because the world doesn't need you to be perfect - if you can be perfect, you (and everyone else) don't need God.  The world needs to see God through you, which can only happen when you trust Him to fill in your gaps.  

WFMW: Stop Washing Bottles

So I've got a baby girl around these parts.  Most of you know that.  She's pretty cute, and I talk about her pretty much all the time.  Like, a lot.  Seriously, though, can you blame me?

See??  Super cute.
My gosh, I just want to pinch her and snuggle her and smooch her and...
Sorry, got a little distracted.

I'm loving being a mama, fo sho.  Wanna know what I don't love?  Washing dishes.  Never have.  I very nearly paid somebody to wash them for me back in my undergrad days, and my feelings have pretty much not changed at all.  Now that I'm back to work, I have to do this *ahem* pumping thing in order to keep my girl RG fed while I'm gone.  And know what that means?  Double dirty bottles, one type that attaches to the pump, and one type that baby actually eats from.  Not. Cool.

So the other day, I'm hunting on my favorite shopping grounds (aka: amazon.com), and I found these bags that allows mamas to skip the first bottle dirtying, which cuts the dirty dishes in half!  Only problem? They cost 2 or 3 times as much as the regular bags.  But when I looked at them a little closer, I figured out that I could make something similar!  You can, too!  Here's what you do:

You've got your bag, your pump attachment, and some good 'ole scotch tape.

Assemble like so.

Voila!

Word of warning - be careful when the bag is close to full, you don't want to pour out all of your hard work (she said, tearfully, from experience).  Also?  Don't but the ziploc brand bags.  They've got holes, which is a real issue for something that's supposed to hold liquid (she says, irritably, from experience).

<3 M.

Linking up with Works For Me Wednesday

Office Hours

I'm in office hours right now.  You might know of this special time.  Its a time that a professor sets aside to meet with students.  Its also a time that students forget exists until the day before (read: of) homework/tests/exams/failing.  So I've got this hour set aside every M/W/F.  I almost forgot about it.  I nearly went home early.  Instead, I'm going to chat with you all reeeeeel quick, and then work on some of my own research while nobody shows up.  So here we go, let's chat!

SO!  How you been doing??

No really.  Whats up with you?

[this is kind of hard, what with the whole I-can't-hear-your-response-in-real-time thing]

Whats up with me?  Well, let me tell you!

I may never be in pictures again.  Not because I have an aversion to it, but because I love the pictures I'm not in so much.  Like seriously?  This picture??  Amazeballs.  Makes me so happy.  We went to an outdoor concert event (called, no lie, Spitoono) last weekend.  It was a lot of fun, even if I ended up paying for RG's late bedtime with a 2AM wake-up.  Red velvet funnel cake, turkey legs everywhere, and the people watching? OOTW. [psst... that means "out of this world", just so you don't have to feel like you're not in the know.  Now you know.]

This picture serves as a double feature. (1) we're trying a new hairdo, since her high-flying days are, sadly, over.  I'll always miss her crazy hair, but its time to appreciate the past and move on.  (2) I feel like my child is the baby equivalent to grumpy cat.  This face, with the shirt that she clearly would not have picked out herself... its almost too much.