Oh Yeah, the Cat

So, I don't think I ever made the introductions. Or maybe even mentioned it, because it happened in the long blog hiatus I unintentionally took. But we got a cat.

That's right. A cat.

As a kid, I always had cats, and when R and I were kinda-sorta dating I told him that I would have a cat (or more than one cat) in response to him telling me he was allergic to cats. I'm glad I made that declaration way back then. If I hadn't said it back then, it would be a lot harder to justify now. You know, now that we're married and whatnot.

All the long years in-between that declaration and last August were a no-cat possibility because we were in transition with school/moving/life. I had a ferret, then we got a puppy. And about the time a cat would have been a possibility, we adopted our other dog, Karma, eater of all things small. So, R and I were officially together for 14+ years before I announced we were getting a cat.

We didn't just run out and get a cat. We deliberated. Well, I deliberated. R just made semi-snide comments and followed along with what I said because he had never had a cat.* We made a list of what we wanted: a cat that is friendly, playful, and tolerant of toddlers. Basically, we were looking for a cat-shaped dog.

*His mom had "garage cats" when he was growing up. Apparently those are cats one keeps in the garage/outside, and goes to the garage to hang out with. I'm told that's not weird at all.

Also, out of deference to the allergy thing, I researched that too. It turns out that certain cat characteristics influence how much allergy-causing protein a particular cat produces. Males have more than females. Cats that have been "fixed" have less than intact cats. Light colored cats produce less of the protein than dark colored cats - officially putting the kibosh on my plan to adopt a pure black cat.

So we set out to find a cat at our local humane shelter. After 3 trips there, we widened our search and we found her. A super tiny, gray tabby we named Pixie.


Yes, this is a full grown cat. Furr-ocious, no?

She is remarkable with our toddler. In fact, she's almost too tolerant. We went through a period of him basically body slamming this tiny 6 lb. cat, picking her up by the neck, etc. and she was all, "that's cool." It made disciplining him really hard because as he's sitting in time out listening to why he can't pull the cat around by her tail, she would come curl up next to him.

She's the type of cat that people who hate cats all love. Seriously. Everyone loves this cat.

She is 100% startle proof (balloons have popped in her face and she's like whatevs). She loves people. We had football parties filled with people and kids and she just went from person to person eating up all the attention. She lets us walk her on a leash. And our son taught her to play fetch. Yep, mostly a cat-shaped dog.



Early on in my pregnancy, when I was super sick, she was my nap buddy.

Now, she still is a cat. She does annoying things to get attention if she's being ignored.* She spends at least 15 minutes a day freaking out and running spastically around the house; cat owners, you know what I'm talking about. R was hilariously shocked by this behavior. And she gets up on the kitchen counter...just writing that last bit causes my jaw to clench involuntarily. Pretty sure her previous owner fed her on the counter, which thanks a lot buddy! Do you care nothing for hygiene??!? 

*For examples, please see raggedy holes in the majority of my house plants. She only does remodels my plans when I am actually looking at her because cat.

So, that's Pixie. Our weird little cat-dog hybrid. The only thing to add is this little ironic twist: though she certainly loves everyone in the house, she is basically R's cat. Oh, and his body adapted (probably because of their special, super awesome relationship where he pets her in the evenings while she grooms herself on his lap); after a couple months his allergies seem to have disappeared.

Now, if my pregnant self could just stop looking at rescue dogs online...

Virtual nesting?

For those of you who have been here before, you'll notice things look a bit different. Apparently nesting has spilled out onto the internet.

It was time for a change.

I've got little else to report.

Pregnancy update: Am huge. Also being kicked internally ALL. THE. TIME. Less than 6 weeks to go.*

Nesting update: Bathroom is nearly complete. Back splash is painted. Baby clothes and diapers have been pulled out and coo'd at but still need washed.

*The Plan (version 1): If I go into labor naturally before the due date, and it progresses, I'll try for a VBAC. If not, we're going in after her on her due date (aka a c-section). I am not waiting nearly 3 extra weeks a second time. If you're interested, there is a TON of blog material on Mr. Man's refusal to enter the world, the birth plan that went completely off the rails, and how I ended up with a c-section after a zillion hours of labor.

**The Plan (version 2): The hospital and my OB might not be ready to do VBACs by the time this baby chooses to come...it's a long story and we'll leave it at that. So, we'll just hope she doesn't come early. I admit, this is not the best plan ever. I plan on planning more.

Tweet Chirp Squawk

What do the birds outside my window and I have in common? We are both nesting like crazy! Seriously, this nesting has taken on epic proportions.

I have been painting my kitchen back splash in my spare time. Though I've never liked the back splash, I've put up with it for 4 years. Most of the time, I don't even notice it. It's cream-colored tumbled limestone, set with cream-colored grout, and is just kind of there.

But getting our appliances replaced has triggered something in my pregnant brain and now the tiles are intolerable! The atrocity that is our back splash can not be allowed to remain in our kitchen.

So, I'm painting it. And not like you'd see if you were to Google, oh, I don't know, "paint porous stone tile." Those people had the good sense to use a roller and latex paint and do it all in one go. But, I, I hate taking the easy way out.

Instead, I am using a mini foam brush, some indoor/outdoor craft paint, and a watercolor brush, and I am painting each tile separately. Each tile is its own special unique snowflake of color (which, in all instances, will be some variation of the same brown paint with different amounts of water added to it). I am carefully avoiding the grout to allow for maximum contrast.

This means that I am having to stretch, squish and contort my pregnant self over the kitchen counters to get this done. I am doing it for short stretches at a time and it is taking me more than a week to finish, but so far I am happy with the results. The paint really allows you to see the pocks, cracks, and imperfections in the tile, which I think are beautiful. Also, it helps blend in the ornamental metal flower tile thingies that the previous owner put into the back splash. They now seem complimentary, rather than a stark juxtaposition with their cream surroundings.

This pic shows the painted tile on the bottom, the unpainted tile on the top (that's the paper towel holder hovering in front of it), and the ornamental metal flower tile thingy. 

Here's a pic of a section that I've completely finished. Most of our kitchen stuff, like containers etc., are white and completely disappeared into the back splash before. I'm really pleased with how they now stand out. Also, look at how the outlet cover now blends in!

I achieved the different colors by watering down the craft paint to varying degrees. Also, some tile just soak up the paint better than others. Check out this one.

Pretty cool, right? And it cost me about $8 for mini foam brushes and craft paint.

The new paint job mostly compliments the counters. Not perfectly, but I don't expect this to be a permanent fix. In the not-too-distant future we'll be painting the kitchen cabinets. The honey oak cabinets are another feature that I've never been fond of but am living with. When we paint those, we'll most likely replace the back splash. 

Anyway, operation update all the things is moving right along. We are buying a new toilet this week, the last bit we need to renovate our main bathroom, which is happening next week. Yay! Plumbing! Demo! Something sure to go horribly wrong! So exciting.

The terrible, awful, how is there still more?! bad day

Let's take a look at yesterday. We'll do this chronologically so you get the same build up I had the joy of experiencing.

• Husband hits panic button on car at 5 am, waking me on the one day of the week I get to sleep in. Eventually fall asleep right before husband returns home from the gym. Sigh.
• Wake up and shower. Realize that I still have a bit of a cold, but can almost breath through one side of my nose. Things are looking up.
• Husband leaves for work.
• Child wakes up as the car is pulling out of the driveway and immediately informs me that he's had an accident. His diaper leaked, so I navigate my pregnant bulk around to strip and remake his bed. I toss all the bedding in the wash hoping his special comforter will be ready to put back on the bed by naptime. I contemplate throwing the pee-sodden feather pillow away (I don't know how that happened either), and instead decide to try and salvage it.
• Whatever. Move on, cause we're in a hurry.
• Feed child while trying to get ready to leave the house.
• Drive 20 minutes to a meet up with a mommy facebook group I recently joined. Try convincing an increasingly reluctant 2 year old that it is fun to meet new people while silently reiterating this point to myself.
• Actually enjoy the meet up and leave with a happy 2 year old. Though he does not fall asleep in the car on the way home as expected/intended, because of course not.
• Feed child. This takes a whole hour even though half of the meet up was eating. This gives me time to make sure the special comforter is dry. Things are going to be okay. Then the cat jumps up on the counter, knocks off the tv remote and breaks it. Awesome.
• Child does not nap. Use "rest time" to make a bigger mess in the kitchen than is already there (hey, even a neat freak gets tired of doing dishes once in a while) by painting more of the back splash...yeah, I added that to my endless nesting to-do list. 
• See that the neighbors did put their house up for sale. Google it and look at pictures of their house and eagerly await discussing it with my husband. (What, you'd do it too)
• Reluctantly release tired child from confines of nursery. Child becomes increasingly whiny and truculent as the afternoon progresses.
• Realize that I read a recipe wrong. I do not have time to make the dinner I planned, and that's almost all we have in the fridge. After contemplating the disaster I have made out of the kitchen, call husband and insist he pick up dinner on his way home.
• Husband complains of not feeling great. He is uninterested in dinner. He agrees to hit a drive thru on the way home. Sigh. Whatever. Child is becoming increasingly louder and trying to earn a medal for Worst Listener in the History of Ever. Beg husband to just bring food.
• Husband arrives home with room temperature fast food, changes, and rushes downstairs to quarantine himself from the family. He complains of an upset stomach. I swallow my disappointment that we don't even have time to gossip about the neighbor's house. Oh well.
• The spectacular workers at the fast food restaurant messed up my order. I eat the now-cold food that I did not want while mumbling angrily to myself and thinking about how I have to do bedtime with Mr. Fussypants by myself. Grrr.
• Clearly sick husband comes up. Mommy senses kick in and I insist he take some Imodium and check his temperature. No fever. 
• Try to keep my temper while my over-tired toddler refuses to stay on the potty, though I know he needs to poop. Why does this have to be an issue??
• Finish bedtime on a happy note. Yay! Good night! I'm going to relax get to cleaning the kitchen.
• Child comes out of the room with no prepared excuse. I interrogate him about his need to use the toilet and am assured that it is not even a possibility. He's fine. He just wanted to tell me about bears. I scoot him back to bed.
• Toddler comes to the door and tells me "something smells like poop." When asked if it's him, he resolutely denies pooping, but admits "It sounded like I pooped and now it smells like poop." I don my Sherlock cap and check his sleep diaper, and, of course, find the offending substance. And then realize that he's holding his hand out talking about the smell because he has reached down and touched said substance!! I try to maintain but instead lose all chill. Why did he not go to the potty? Why would he not stay on the potty in the first place?? And, most importantly, WHY DID HE TOUCH POOP!?! 
• I scrub poop out from underneath my child's fingernails and then have to touch-inspect his jammies and bedding, risking poop fingers, because I still can't smell a damn thing. I then angrily disinfect all hard surfaces of the nursery, focusing my anger efforts around the nursery door.
• I hear my husband calling me as I am sternly placing my son back in his bed.
• When I run downstairs my husband is clearly not doing well. He is pale, shaking, and says he can't move his hands, which are distressingly distorted with muscle cramps. I haul ass upstairs and start to get us ready to go to the hospital.
• Husband yells to call an ambulance. I run downstairs in time to see him fall off the toilet onto the bathroom floor.
• I spend the next 15 minutes frantically talking to the 911 dispatcher while trying to find my husband's wallet, medication, etc. that he might need if they take him in an ambulance. I am simultaneously answering medical history questions with the dispatcher while chasing down the cat so she isn't loose when the paramedics arrive, keeping my curious toddler confined in his room, and checking on and reassuring my husband who is having a not-so-good-time convulsing on the floor with leg and arm cramps. Did I mention that everyone is on a different floor of the house and I'm 8 months pregnant? 
• I'm flushed and sweating by the time the firefighters arrive. They seem to find this amusing. I've got the toddler "keeping the cat safe" in his room. I've helped my husband maintain a certain level of dignity before the paramedics arrive and I have most of his essentials gathered together.
• It is determined that my husband has an especially virulent 24 hour bug that is going around. The muscle cramps are a result of extreme dehydration. We are given three options: 1) wait it out alone and force fluids on him and hope for the best, 2) I drive him to the ER where he will likely be given fluids intravenously, or 3) they take him in the ambulance and charge us a lot. 
• We choose option 2 and the firefighters and paramedics hover around while I try to get my toddler ready to go, grab my husband's things, and keep our pissed off cat locked in the nursery. My toddler seems pretty ecstatic to have been rescued from bedtime. I am reminder half a dozen times how bad this virus is, how I should be very careful as I'm pregnant, and how bad it would be if my toddler got this. Basically, they suggested disinfecting my house at regular intervals for the next 48+ hours and wearing latex gloves and maybe a hazmat suit.
• The emergency responders help my husband into our car and I drive to the ER. I spend half the time admonishing my toddler not to touch things and to keep his hands away from his mouth (having to explain about germs each time because, "Why can I not touch my mouth?" and "Where are the germs?"), and the other half trying to keep the toddler entertained/distracted because we are surrounded by bleeding, hurt, and obviously unhealthy people.
• My husband and I agree I should take the toddler home around the time a guy is wheeled over next to us, blood running from a multitude of wounds, and no amount of gentle distraction will prevent my toddler from asking the man what happened, why he was making those sounds, and was he in fact bleeding. We text some neighbors to see if they would be able to sit at our house when I later return for my husband.
• I get home, ready to put my son back to bed, and smell a really bad smell when I open the nursery door (and it's bad because even I can smell it). I take two turns around the room, scrutinizing everything, before finally deciding the cat was very flatulent. My son crawls into bed and lifts up his hand to show me how it is now covered in cat crap. The cat has shit all over his bed. The one that I just remade and laundered this morning. And yes, it's on the special comforter. And one of my son's special little blankets. And on a stuffed animal.
• I now hate the cat and cry while telling her so.
• I strip and remake the bed, explaining to my toddler why he is using a different comforter. And no, he can't have (insert everything that was crapped on). Toddler, fortunately, is now so tired he puts up little fuss. 
• I do laundry.
• I disinfect all the light switches, stair banisters, door knobs, drawer handles, facet knobs, and toilets in the house.
• I make a bed for my husband downstairs.
• I try to coordinate childcare without any idea when my husband will be ready to come home.
• A plan is put in place - man, we have the best neighbors!- but it is around 1 am before I pick R up from the hospital. The doctors literally did nothing but give him a gateraid and tell him to stay hydrated...after having him sit for 4 very uncomfortable hours in the waiting room insisting he couldn't have anything to drink. Looking forward to the bill.
• I do the laundry again because there is still cat crap on it.
• The baby monitor, which was just working for the neighbor, can suddenly not locate the camera in my son's room. I fight with it for several minutes in the dark before having to ask my poor sick husband to help because I am too short to reach the actual camera to reset it. 
• I settle my husband, glare at the cat, and finally get into bed near 3 am. I fall asleep reasonably sure that tomorrow/today will be better.

It's spring and I'm still nesting

So much has been done and so much still needs to do. Top of the to-do list is stop adding to the to-do list!!

On the bright side, my yard looks great* because I was out there pulling weeds and tiding up plant beds. I ran out of time and stamina and didn't get to planting the flower bulbs I had purchased and it turns out that I dodged a bullet on that one, since it has been a wintery mix ever since. The weather cycles between snow, rain, and hail, with the occasional burst of sunshine and a rainbow here or there. It's very much spring, but maybe not warm enough for flowers just yet.

*Great is a relative term reflecting my own standards of yard maintenance and not those of my neighbors.

And can I take a moment to bask in my own accomplishments? I have purchased flower bulbs. I feel like such an adult! Like, I can take care of plants well enough inside my house (most of them stay alive, so I'm counting that as a win) that I have expanded to include outdoor plant responsibilities.

I'm toying with what we'll be planting in our garden beds this year. Last year I had this fabulous scarlet runner tepee and we are definitely doing that again.

Glorious. glorious bean tepee!

Let's just hope that things warm up enough to plant before this baby arrives!

My new exercise routine is nesting

With my first pregnancy, we focused on getting everything we needed for the baby...okay, and a bunch of cutey stuff we probably  definitely did not need. This time around, we have all that stuff. Sure, there have been a few purchases (I obsessed over Etsy until I found the perfect baby quilt for tummy time), but really we don't have much we need.

You'd think that was a good thing, right?

Since all the baby stuff is pretty much taken care of, my husband, who gets into nesting almost as much as me, and I have turned our focus elsewhere. Basically, we are remodeling our house.

Alright, that's an exaggeration. We're only doing a makeover on the main bathroom. And painting our bedroom. R also created a new place for the cat litter and food downstairs that cannot be accessed by infants. And we started creating a series of cat shelves on a wall downstairs. I suddenly HAD to sew some curtains for my office - using burlap, the most difficult to work with fabric known to man. Oh, and we are in the midst of upcycling a used piece of furniture as a media console. Also we got all new kitchen appliances and a new car. So...yeah...maybe gone a bit crazy since we only have 10 weeks until this baby's arrival is eminent.

Good job taking it easy, selves. Wouldn't want to go and get yourselves overwhelmed or anything.

As a justification, many of these projects have been on the to-do list for a good long while or were hanging over our heads because "Have you heard that weird sound the fridge has been making?" We've also been saving up for a new car for quite some time because kids take up way more space than you can imagine. But still, entering into the third trimester apparently pushed us over the edge. Quick, for the love of all that is meaningful, we must do ALL the things! All the things must be done!! Right NOW!!!

You should see the length of the to-do list I have posted to the fridge. Legendary.

So here I am, swollen and hippo-sized, squatting down to apply painters' tape to the trim in my bedroom when I'm not waddling around home improvement stores looking at toilets and furniture hardware. Unfortunately, it has done nothing to reduce my bulk. I'm at that point in pregnancy where the baby is gaining a 1/2 a pound a week and I'm gaining something like 10.

Recently I saw a pic of me when I was overdue with my first and Ewww! No! I don't want that again. I don't want to be so big! HOW was I SO big!?!?*

*I went on like that for quite a while.

Now here's a pic of my 2 year old splashing in puddles to remind me why it's worth it:

Babies and toddlers and stuff

We all know I've been gone because pregnant. 'Nuff said.

Here's the recap:
I got to throw up through week 16. That's 3 1/2 months of erping.

THEN, during week 17, my pelvis began radiating fire. It turns out that as your joints loosen, they can do so asymmetrically. Basically, the right and left sides of my pelvis were playing twister with each other. Now, I'm not one to cry uncle very often, but WOW. That hurt. It tapered off some and I have found some stretches and exercises that help a little. But that was another 2 weeks on the couch.

Man, this had better be the cutest baby ever!

So, here I am, now 25 weeks pregnant. I'm trying to work myself slowly back into some semblance of physical fitness. Cat/Cow, kegal, kegal, kegal...all you pregnant ladies know what I'm talking about.

My tummy is filled with visible baby movement. My heartburn is actually minimal (thank you Gods of stomach acid and esophageal sphincters!). And I'm starting to think about how this swelling stomach actually contains a real person!

It's so much more real the second time. You have a better idea of what to expect. For instance, every time she starts kicking I think, "and this will be a time I'll be nursing." Soon I will put together a spreadsheet and start tracking her awake patterns to determine when/if I will get to sleep once she arrives.*

*What?! If you've read this blog at all, you know I'm riding the nerd train to the end of this pregnancy...or forever. Feels like the same thing.

Then there's the toddler. Our goofy, funny, super smart toddler who is perched on the edge of toilet training. He can stay dry all day if you remind him to sit on the potty. He used to even go there himself before, for no reason anyone can fathom, he decided not to. And I'm trying to hold it together and keep up with the praise and minimize the negative even though child, you will be potty trained long before the baby comes because there will be no regression!!!  Not that I'm worried or obsessed or anything.

Other things on the to-do-list before baby arrives:
1) finish first kid's baby book
2) sleep as much as humanly possible (HAHAHhahaha, just kidding. We already have one kid, so the days of sleeping are dead)
3) try to squeeze in some date nights (we already have a sitter so we can attend the presidential caucus, so that's pretty hot)
4) teach first kid to be completely self-sufficient in the next few months

Seems doable.

Life!

Again with the disappearing act. I know. Soon all my blog posts will be about why I'm not posting.

Thrilling.

But this time, I have a very good reason. You see, Internet, I have done got knocked up again.

That's right. I am growing a second baby. And this time, pregnancy is AWFUL. I have been super sick since Week 5. I'm in Week 12 right now and I am still nauseous and gaggy and Ewwww. The joys of creating life.

I'm taking DiGlegis, which does reduce the sickness some. Not enough but this medication is basically risk free for baby, so I'm sucking it up...spending a lot of quality time with my toilets. Eating SO much because, ironically, eating is the only thing that can stop the puking. Trying to force yourself to eat while nauseous is truly a test in willpower. It just seems so unfair that I'm already gaining weight while throwing up so much.

But whatevs because baby. And, thanks to the power of science, we already know that we are having a baby girl. One of each. Hit the genetic lottery.

If I don't sound more excited it's because of the gross and all the tired. Tired because pregnant. Because toddler. And, oh Irony my old friend, the side effect of the medication I am taking is fatigue. HA!

So, basically I'm sleeping, puking, and eating. I am sexy she-beast of the baby pooch and puffy eyes. Fear me because I am understandably short tempered and filled with food cravings. Also, I'm already outgrowing my clothes and I DO NOT want to wear those maternity clothes. I should have burned them, but then I would have to shop and spend money on clothes I don't like when I need to save for this second kid because holy hell, what were we thinking??

And that, Internet, is what's up.

I'm still alive after all

Why hello there.

I don't know what to say. I've abandoned this enterprise for quite a while. I figured no one noticed, but then I see that some of you have been checking on me. So sweet of you, Internet.

Well. I guess I owe you an explanation for my absence. Here goes.

Reason The First (this is a big one): Karma died. My rotten-dobie girl got the exact same type of bone cancer as Odin, almost exactly a year after he died. Her's was even faster growing and we had little time between her diagnosis and having to say goodbye.

I'm not going to lie. It was awful. Made more awful by having to explain it to our son who super loved his doggy friend. And we botched that. Badly.

We thought he was too young to explain what was going on. We told him Karma was going away and we wouldn't see her anymore. Then, he freaked the F out when my husband left for work. Whoops.

So when we found a dead ladybug I got a chance to make it right and explain death to my 21 month old son. I let him touch the ladybug, and we talked about how it was dead and didn't move anymore. When it broke, I told him that was okay because dead things fall apart. They aren't alive and they don't hurt anymore. Then I told him that Karma was dead...then, for months, I had to navigate his random comments about how he didn't have a dog anymore, his dog was dead.

This parenting thing. Whew.

And I couldn't write about it. It was all I could do to hold it together around my son and then cry big crocodile tears after he went to bed.

After 11 years of having a dog in the house, it was so quiet.

Reason The Second: My "real" job, as in the job I work consistently throughout the year, both when and when I am not working on my personal business, got crazy busy. Well, actually, it was already crazy busy but then an extreme workload intersected with an incompetent group of subcontractors and my day-to-day situation got all hair rippy. And I spent many hours trying to help these people while simultaneously keeping myself from screaming, "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST DO YOUR DAMN JOB?!?!?"

And that went on for several months.

Someone owes me a trophy for getting that project completed.

Reason The Third: In the midst of all the extra hours I was logging in my "real" job to keep things from exploding like a meth lab, one of my clients for my personal business contracted me to complete two major tasks on a restricted timeline. Then, just to spice things up, my only other client contacted me and begged me to squeeze a grant in for them, too.

My work life hit record levels of business.

Reason the Fourth: The weather got nice and when I wasn't working, we were exploring the great outdoors. We maintained a social life. And, when the school year ended, my husband became full-time parent while I worked like a crazy person. Our plans of spending a leisurely summer swapping parenting duties and allowing each other some free time dried up, where ground into dust, and swept away by the flurry of my fingers on the keyboard.

Poor R needed any break he could get because our precocious 2 year old (yes! that totally happened and he turned 2!!) is SO VERY 2.

I'd like to deviate from this record of events to say that while having a very verbal toddler does reduce tantrums, since he can express what he wants, it does increase the number of headaches a parent experiences. For instance, just last night this conversation happened during dinner:

Me: Please keep your hands off your head at the table.
2 yo: (look of disdain on adorable, cherubic face) They not on my head mama. My hand is on my cheek.

And that's how stress and limited time sucked away my will to blog.

Functional Decorating

In my "about me" section of this blog, I mention my love for functional decorating...and I never really followed through on that subject. What can I say? That whole creating and sustaining another human being thing got in the way.

So, I am a fan of functional decorating, which I define as decorating with objects that I enjoy looking at that also perform a function. I like surrounding myself with things that resonate with more basic needs, like cooking. As an added bonus, decorating with functional or hard working items means spending less because one item has multiple functions. Now, how can you not like that?

Enough talk. Let's look at the perdy pictures!*

*Disclaimer: pictures were taken in sub-par lighting and may, in fact, not be perdy.

That red circle on the wall is a ceramic sunflower (if you squint you can kind of make it out). But wait! It's not just a red ceramic display piece poorly captured in a digital picture. It is also...

A trivet! It's place on our wall helps tie together the red floral of the curtains with the reds in the wall tapestry and it is conveniently close to the dining room table, ready and waiting to be taken down when we need it.

Similarly, this wooden leaf hangs next to the kitchen. The colors of the wood compliment the countertops, but more importantly this beautiful wooden leaf is actually a cutting board. Now, I'll be honest, I have never used this cutting board for cutting. It's too pretty. But we do regularly use these ones:

Right off the kitchen, these wooden cutting boards fill an otherwise blank wall with functional art. We sprung for extra hefty, simple hooks that tie in with much of the metal used in the kitchen. That way we don't have to worry about the weight of the cutting boards being an issue and it visually ties the hallway into the kitchen.

Our main living space has very high ceilings. To fill the space along the wall, we used pressed tin tiles. These tiles were left over from a project in our last home, so we already had them. They fit the space, matched the decor, and we can always choose to remove them and use them for another project. Basically, I am thinking of this as a storage solution in addition to a decorating decision. But for now, I love that they compliment the rich green of the wall, as well as subtly catching and reflecting light into the room. 

[I'd also like to take a moment to confess that the entertainment center does not fit the scale of the TV or the rest of the room. It's one of our college left overs that has yet to be replaced. We have been looking for something we can upcycle. Fingers crossed that garage sale season yields some promising pieces.]

The red poof? That was one of my best buys and on I had to convince my husband of, because he was pretty sure I was being crazy. It is an indoor/outdoor piece I got on sale. Mr. Man LOVES this thing. For him, it's something to climb on or a bean bag chair to flop down in. For the adults, it's a foot stool or something comfy to sit on when we want to get down to Mr. Man's level. The fact that it's indoor/outdoor means that it's super durable and easy to clean. I paired a similar piece with the rocking chair in the nursery.

 

Next to the papasan chair, you'll see this little wooden stool. This is one of the most hard working pieces of furniture we own. It is currently acting as a side table. In the past it has played a supporting role as a plant stand, a night stand, and we frequently use it when I cut R's hair. It often pulls duty as extra seating or a place to set drinks when we have company. It is easy to move from room to room, which is awesome, and the relatively simple silhouette and neutral color means that you can use it anywhere.

Speaking of extra seating, let's talk about this guy:

It's an ottoman for our loveseat, a toy box, and it can be pulled out and used for extra seating - that's obvious. But wait, there's more! It was THE BEST cruising surface when Mr. Man was a baby, being firm but soft. It's a great addition to a blanket fort, where it can form a wall, be used in combination within the loveseat to create a tunnel, or just to keep a blanket in place by closing it into the lid. It's also long enough that it can be used as an impromptu barrier/baby gate; at least until your kid gets big enough to crawl on top of it. Plus, it's leather and can be wiped off. Basically it's the best $120 I ever spent.

So that's what I mean by functional decorating. I am hoping to start "regularly" sprinkling some decorating posts into my toddler-dense repertoire. If you like what you see, let me know!

What I probably shouldn't admit to

I have a secret. I have considered coming clean and posting something about it on numerous occasions, but it's a very taboo subject. In fact, I'm likely to lose many readers (or I would if I had many readers) by admitting this, but I have decided I'm finally going to come clean.

Ok. Here goes. I have a happy marriage.

I'm guessing those of you reading this will fall into one of two camps: The You-Just-Wait Camp or the You-Lying-Liar Camp. Oh wait, there's probably the Honeymooners Camp and maybe, just maybe, there's The Believers Camp. The Believers Camp is shrouded in mystery, composed of those of you who know what I mean because you, too, find yourself mumbling guilt-ridden condolences when friends call bitching about their spouses or sobbing as they go through a divorce. Guilty because you just can't relate.*

*Note: I've had previous crappy relationships, so I can relate, except for the obvious and crucial part - I never married those guys.

Those of you in the Honeymooners Camp - Congrats! Enjoy! But you will be transitioning into another camp, as the Honeymooners Camp is, by definition, temporary. I hope your marriage continues to be fulfilling. I wish I could welcome you to my camp when and if you arrive, but as I implied, members' identities are kept secret for safety reasons.

You see, in our culture it is very much NOT okay to admit to having a happy marriage. But before I get into that, let me provide my marriage stats. I have been with my husband for 14 years (wow, that's crazy to see in writing!), living together for 13, married for nearly 12. We left the Honeymooners Camp long ago. So, those of you in the You-Just-Wait Camp, don't bother ordering me a t-shirt.

Now for the part that members of the You-Lying-Liar Camp are going to jump all over. We were married for 7ish years, maybe 8, before we ever had a fight. It involved one person raising their voice, exactly one cuss word (kind of irrelevant in our house, since we mentor sailors in this fine art), and an apology. I can count on one hand the number of times we have fought. It was almost always over something ridiculous. That first fight was about artichoke dip.

Not once have we waved the Your Family flag in each other's face...and man, one of us has an endless supply of fodder. Our fights have never included the throwing of objects.** There has never been any revenge taken, passive-aggressive or otherwise, after these fights. They all ended in sincere apologies, and that one time when I was pregnant, a lot of crying. And no, fighting is not the sole indicator of a happy marriage. Some people like fighting; R and I do not. We are much more likely to have a heart-to-heart conversation about how we feel. I know, it's so sappy.

**Full disclosure, I believe I once threw a sock on the floor in a very passionate display of exasperation.

I'm not trying to paint a dishonest picture of our relationship. We don't agree on everything, but disagreements are kept friendly. There are times of frustration - especially in heavy traffic in unfamiliar areas - where one of us believes the other is making a mistake. There are even times where we bring up a past failure or disagreement, but most of the time this is done jovially. We poke fun at one another a lot. But it is fun, not the caustic, bitter, teasing that so many people believe is universal in relationships.

I have never once questioned my choice to marry my husband. Not a single time. We are perfect together, though neither of us is perfect - especially me.

Here's my disclaimer: Our relationship does not diminish yours. Honestly, your relationship is unique and so is mine. There is just no way, it seems, of telling people that you are in a happy marriage without it sounding like bragging. There is no way to let people know that it is possible to be with someone in a monogamous, long-term commitment without seeming smug, as if you are looking down on the failed relationships of others. And that's not what I am doing nor why I'm bothering to write this.

I am writing this because my relationship is never represented in the public forum. Instead, there are pieces like this one. That piece is funny and, I am sure, on spot for many. But not me. Instead, it, and so many pieces like it, suggests that there is something wrong with me, or my relationship, or that we are Lying Liars. The truth is simpler than that: our marriage is easy.

OK, I realize I might have crossed a line by saying that, but it's true. Our marriage is easy. It requires some maintenance, sure, mostly since Mr. Man came along with all his needs. A child has created a lot more work, and at times that means that one of us feels like they are doing more than is fair. Yet overall, we remain companions, happy in one another's company. I will go so far as to make some of you roll your eyes by admitting that my husband and I are best friends. Each of us would rather spend time with the other than with anyone else. It's corny, I know, but so are we.

When I hear that all marriages are work, it simply doesn't resonate. And when I read blog posts that say things like "all spouses have, at times, secretly hated one another," I'm shocked. I actually asked R about this, after reading it. Was I missing something? After staring blank faced at me for a moment, he said, "Is that a joke? Why would I hate you?" "Exactly!" I shouted. Because seriously, I've never hated my husband. I've hated things he's done (Why on Earth would he dispose of a bag that was on the counter without first looking inside? Why?!). I've hated things he hasn't done (The toilets don't clean themselves, you know?!). But I've never hated him. We enjoy each other. Authentically and sincerely enjoy one another.

Is there a secret? Well, we are careful to keep our language non-accusational, for there is a big difference between "You never do X" and "Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one doing X." We try to take the other person's perspective. Mostly, I think we try not to take each other for granted. And we continue to have fun. Is that a secret? I don't think so. Certainly not a well guarded one.

I can guarantee that life will be hard sometimes. As spouses (or in any other committed relationship), there will be issues. Money will likely be tight at some point, one of you will do something stupid or expensive or both, the health of someone you love will fail, there will certainly be death. There will be uncertainty and stress in your life, this is 100% for sure. What isn't a guarantee is that the source of these problems will be your marriage.

Still this happy.

Toddler Update

It's been such a long time, blog, but I swear, I haven't forgotten you. I think of you often, if not necessarily fondly. What can I say, the truth is that you sometimes seem like an unnecessary obligation. I realize that is harsh of me to put forth, but in the midst of work, chores, plans, and a toddler-sized tornado, you will always be last on my list.

Just had to get that off my chest. Phew!

SOooo, I have a toddler. One that talks. Like, A LOT! And says absolutely hysterical things like, "Naked boys best!" and "Oh no! Karma (the dog) no pocket!," in between a litany of "mama! Mama! MAMA!" and "Eat! Eat! Eat!"

He's also flirting with potty training - something I am sure he's doing because I don't want to. My plan was to wait until 2ish, while spending the months leading up to it making regular potty usage seem like a special, awesome thing. Also, by then it would be summer and he could run around without clothes on. Instead, around 18 months, he bugged us so much to use the potty, and started telling us before he did his #2s, that without any fanfare at all, we bought a toilet seat. Then a toddler-sized potty. He likes to request to use it a lot. He tries to use it sometimes. And has actually used it 3 times. We do a special potty dance when the feat is accomplished, but I'm largely letting him tell us when he wants to try. Very low key. You know, the exact opposite approach I was planning because kids love to laugh as they burn your plans down to the ground. Hooligans!

He insists on doing many things (walking up and down stairs, climbing onto furniture, making huge messes with silverware during meals) "like a big boy." Oh, and he's also been out of his crib for weeks because someone was capable of climbing out. Yes, that's right, my toddler has free reign of his room. Nap time has largely been fine, but bedtime ramped up from crib-secured drink requests to shoving things under the door, screaming for those things when they were no longer within reach, banging on the door, opening closet doors, and basically running amok. Bedtime is such a longer process now!

Yeah, so my baby is not really a baby any more and is much closer to the little boy continuum. The only thing anchoring him to baby is that he is still nursing. That's right. At 20 months we are still nursing - just once a day, first thing in the morning, but it's still very much a thing. HAHA self from 10 months ago, your concerns about weaning and/or nursing past 12 months were totally a waste of time.

Aww. No longer a baby. I can't believe it. But, in my opinion, this is better. Better snuggles, better communication, better sleeping (you know, once he actually falls asleep). Toddlers are a lot of work, but they are so much more involved in the world.

I just wish I didn't still have to feed him every hour. Yep, that's still totally a thing. Apparently forever. I'm starting a savings account now to pay for his food during the teen years.

To Summarize

Hello Internet! Have you missed me? Actually, don't answer that.

I've been away. There have been so many things that have happened, almost all of them good, but things, you know? They eat into the available time.

A few months ago we kicked off this new thing called having a social life! It's awesome! I highly recommend it.

As new parents, we alternated between a lot of We're-Too-Tired-For-This-Shit and Adorable-Family-Togetherness. We seem to have hit a sweet spot where we are more rested and can therefore stand an occasional night of revelry. Considering the hassle of finding a babysitter and then having to pay them, we've just been having game nights at our house after Mr. Man goes to bed. If you haven't already done so, get yourself some friends (preferably those without small children so they don't have to pay a babysitter either), some Cards Against Humanity, and some alcohol. Just resign yourself to the fact that alcohol + reduced sleep (you know you're still getting up absurdly early, damn kids!) will make you feel like crap. It's totally worth it...once in a while.

It finally happened! We met some baby friends! Parents who are similar to us and have kids near Mr. Man's age. And they are smart and believe in science and breastfeed/babywear/cloth diaper/hippy stuff just like us! We've had more playdates in the past month then all of Mr. Man's life. One of these playdates even included snowshoeing and a winter picnic under a stand of cedars. Pretty cool, right?! R and I are very stoked.

Of course, there were the holidays, which were a blast with a little guy who is so easily fascinated: lights! trees inside! toys! more lights! There was much revelry and spoiling of the toddler.

Mr. Man also talks now. Like, seriously, with words and often whole sentences. It is so fascinating to get insight into what your toddler is thinking about and remembers! He talks about things that happened days, even weeks ago. He asks for specific things (sometimes not so awesome as, I'm sure you know, toddlers are tyrants). He really likes being naked and talks about that way more than it actually happens. My favorite so far came about when we told him he was going to take a bath: Mama see, Daddy see, Mr. Man naked boy!*

*Obviously he said his real name and not Mr. Man. Don't want you to think I'd lie about something so important.

The baby monitor has become my new favorite thing. I love hearing him talk to himself before he falls asleep. Except when he's being a [insert obscenity] and decides to yell "Uh Oh!" or "Drink!" or "Book!" or other toddler sleep diversion technique. You don't need the monitor for that.

Also, Mission Lazy Pants is in full effect. In an effort to be more consistent about our exercise, R and I bought a chalk board for our room and are tracking our workouts. I also am tracking how much I walk the dog because I have been horribly neglectful. So far so good. We can sometimes get a good workout with wintery sports like snowboarding, sledding (Yes, that's exercise. Don't believe me? Go put on all your heaviest clothes and walk up a hill one million times while carrying 20+ wiggling pounds of toddler), and snowshoeing, though all the snow is heading to the wrong side of the country this year and mostly we've had rain. The rest of our workouts are at the gym.**

**Pro-tip, I only let myself read my new kindle book while working out.

OH, and I am trying to plan my garden. We've learned some things (like Aspens grow faster than you imagine and will shade your garden) about gardening in the last couple years. I'm going to try and use that knowledge for the power of Good, and Right, and Vegetables!

Okay, I realize that this is just a laundry list of things that have happened. Not nearly as entertaining as you deserve. I promise better quality, if not frequency, in the future. I just had to spit all this out on a page. Bits of life on a page, you know?

My post-baby marriage

Mawwidge is what brings us togevwer...(bad Princess Bride reference, but those are the things that my marriage is founded on.)

Here's the thing, I don't mean to brag, but I have an awesome marriage. We were friends first. Our friendship had a lot of sexual tension, it's true, but that's what led us to becoming more than friends. Then we were married for years and years - 10 to be exact - before becoming parents.

Having a child has changed things. Most of those changes are awesome. We love taking Mr. Man with us and introducing him to the sights and sounds in our world. Our family has a lot of fun together.

But a kid means approximately five times the amount of dishes and laundry, plus the added toy pick up at the end of the night. Then there is the additional food prep, which must be done a bazillion times of day because my child will not. stop. eating. So that also means more trips to the store...I could just keep going, but I think I've made my point. There is a shit-ton of chores to do. And though my husband is a man who does his share around the house and with the childcare, it isn't a 50/50 share. That makes sense, since I work part-time since our son came along, BUT resentment builds, doesn't it? Every time I walk into a room, my arms full of laundry and see my husband staring at his phone, it's another drop in the old resentment bucket. Often, it's completely irrational. He may have just sat down after loading the dishwasher, but there is always more that needs to be done, and I often feel stretched to my limit by the end of the day.

What I'm getting at is the same thing you all have heard or experienced before: By the end of the day, we are both tired. My touchy-snuggly quota is pretty full because my toddler is kissing, crawling and clinging to me all the time. Also, my patience is thin, since all those resources necessarily have to be diverted to my toddler who will not stop putting his damn feet on the table during meals!

So many of our conversations are about our kid, our chores, what else needs to be done, what isn't being done, what was forgotten. It's tedious and draining. I just didn't realize it had gotten that way until recently, when, instead of zoning out and watching Netflicks at the end of the night, we played cards.

We used to play games together all the time. Though this is never going to make it into a movie, spending a couple hours at the end of the night playing rummy was just what we needed to recharge together. We actually had conversations about life, about us. And I remembered that my husband is a person, not just a friend/partner/father/lover/companion, but a person that I really connect with. An individual who I want to know better and be around.

Everyone tells you sex is what's missing. And sure, sex is great. I mean really, really great. But sometimes you need to reconnect on an intellectual level.

Let's Revisit Body Issues, Shall We?

Oh Internet, I'm at it again. Back when I was pregnant, I did not like my body changing. Becoming heavy and awkward, but you know, there was a baby at the end of it and so that helped immensely (at least that's what my hormone-addled brain remembers; I dare not revisit my old blog posts for confirmation because re-reading your blog posts is a uniquely excruciating form of torture). Then after Mr. Man was born and the swelling receded, stretchmarks started popping up, making matters worse.

BUT I was fortunate and lost my baby weight quickly. By fortunate I mean that my baby was a ravenous beast that sucked away all my nutrition and I'll probably get osteoporosis at an early age. On the plus side, I fit back into my pre-baby clothes, so yay to baby-led malnutrition.

THEN I got pregnant again. I don't know if this is true for everyone, or if it was influenced by the fact that I was still breastfeeding, but my body got on board the 'prepare for baby bandwagon' in a big way. As in I'm back up a pants size. Also, round ligament stretching was something my body considered a top priority and now my tummy is out there.

Now, it's one thing to gain weight and get a baby at the end. It's an entirely different thing when you gained weight, miscarried, and no one is really privy to the reason you have muffin top. Is this the worst aspect of what happened? Of course not. But in combination with major hormone fluctuations, it is not something that I'm putting on my Top 10 Awesome Things list.*

*I don't actually have a Top 10 Awesome Things list, but if I did, orgasms would totally be #1, followed closely by chocolate and toddler snuggles; not sure which of those would end up as #2.

To top this off, I was a raging hormonal mess just in time to binge on SO MUCH Halloween candy. I literally became addicted. Twix and Reese PB Cups were calling to me from the pantry at all hours. It was not a good combination. Not nearly as good as peanut butter and chocolate.

Now I'm having to take a good, hard look at myself, and the new cellulite I'm sporting. Occasionally walking the dog and doing some light yoga while watching old How I Met Your Mother episodes may not be enough. My arm muscles are great from all the toddler lifts I do all day, but my ass is giving Santa's belly a run for its money in the jiggly department.

I'm not happy with any of this. And yet, if you've ever allowed yourself to get sedentary, you know how hard it is to get off the couch. Even though I know I'll feel better if I got some exercise, that's not much of a motivator. By the end of the day, I'm tired. Also, I would rather eat chocolate covered cherries, which I can do while trying to finish up holiday cards, making it so easy to rationalize. All I get out of exercising is the need for another shower.

So, here I am, trying to motivate. I will not wait until the New Year. This is not a declaration, but a lifestyle change. (Seriously, Self, move your ass so we can lose some ass!)

Da Plane

All our flights were Delta, so I think it's okay I use this pic.

I recently remembered a promise I made, to you my sweet Internet. A promise to share our experience bringing Mr. Man on a plane. It's been weeks and I haven't followed through! My name is Shame.

So here's what went down (and up).



Prior to the big day, we talked a lot about planes. You know what we do on a plane? We sit on mama's lap. That's right.

Mr. Man was already very interested in planes when they were overhead, and became more interested when I showed him some YouTube videos. For several days he "flew" everything while exclaiming "Da!" and making swoosh noises. Let me translate for you: "Look Mother, I am pretending that this carrot/sock/sippy is a plane flying through the sky overhead! It is making plane-appropriate noises!"

We bought him a plane toy; mostly my husband played with it while Mr. Man flew various blocks and items of clothing around the room.

We talked more about how we would get on the plane and sit on mama's lap the whole time.

On the big day, we let Mr. Man carry his two favorite stuffed toys in a tiny backpack through the airport. He and all the observing adults thought it was great. At each airport we found little cul-d-sacs to let Mr. Man run around in and burn off energy. We brought out new plane and helicopter toys, which he enjoyed flying. We pointed through the airport windows at the planes. And we answered 1 bazillion questions from amused onlookers about Mr. Man's age/previous flight experience (none)/ability to run non-stop/ability to (mostly) stay near his parents. Basically he was the entertainment.

Aside from pooping his pants 1 minute before we boarded(like every time the kid did this), requiring us to ramp up our NASCAR pit crew skills, we had no problems*.

*I promise to never reference NASCAR again. Sorry.

During takeoff we nursed and no one even seemed to notice. Of course, I had anticipated this and wore clothes that made nursing easy (meaning I spent an embarrassing amount of time practicing whipping my boobs out of potential outfits in front of my mirror at home). Mr. Man slept 3.5 out of 4 flights. We changed one wet diaper on our laps because drink carts were blocking the bathrooms and we weren't even sure there was a changing station there and whatever, it wasn't that big of a deal; as in no one was sitting near us and it was dark and nobody noticed that we were doing it.

I had packed SO MANY snacks and needed very few of them. With the notable exception of my boobs.

That's pretty much it. Sorry that I don't have any horror stories to share**.

**TOTALLY not sorry.

My Miscarriage

I guess I should start at the beginning, which was actually several years ago when R and I decided that the optimal number of years apart between our two hypothetical children was two years. I should also remind you that R gets summers off, so having a child at the end of May or beginning of June is optimal so he can get as much newborn time in as possible.*

*Some of you may recall that Mr. Man was SUPPOSED to arrive June 1^st, instead of the 18^th. Kids, ruining plans before they are even born. SMH.

Okay, let’s fast forward to the future. Months before the Great Conceivening (that’s a word now, just go with it) I started to freak the f out because toddler, we has one! And it’s exhausting and how can I possibly keep up with him when I’m pregnant??!? And I promptly started researching all the pros and cons of child spacing and re-rationalizing our decision. We decided that there was a brief window when we would try to get pregnant (aka the Great Conceivening), and if that didn't work we’d wait a year.

And we were smug in the limited likelihood that it would actually happen, cause come on, every couple we knew had trouble getting pregnant the second time. You see where this is going, don’t you?

Yeah, the Great Conceivening was totally successful, like immediately even though we didn't really try very hard because toddler/lack of sleep/company/life/etc.

So then I was pregnant and I was an overtired mess, insisting that we keep going over all the reasons why two years apart was great because I was suddenly like, “Mr. Man is still a baby, WAHHHH!!” Of course, I’m still nursing a couple times a day (which, by the way, OUCH pregnancy-induced nipple sensitivity!), and (surprise surprise) my ramped up hormones didn't help.

And we waited and told no one because we wanted to go to the first doctor check-up before letting anyone know. In the meantime, we rubbed my bloated belly and laughing about my cravings for Indian food and tried to make it real. Like this is really happening. In less than eight months we’ll have a second child. Our last baby.

The morning that we were going to go to the OB I started to have serious cramping and spotting. I think R and I both knew what was going to happen. We’d already been marveling at how the minimal nausea I was feeling passed so quickly. I didn’t seem very hormonal. In small ways, we’d both already voiced some misgivings to one another.

Let me just provide the key events of our visit:

• We did the normal pregnancy/doctor stuff, 
• I was careful to mention the cramping and spotting – hoping for and receiving carefully worded reassurances,
• the nurse couldn’t find a heartbeat, 
• a transvaginal ultrasound administered by a palsied and semi-retired doctor** confirmed that the egg sack was measuring weeks smaller than it should, 
• and we left knowing I was almost certainly going to miscarry.

When we left the office the secretary, who knows us, called “congratulations” across the waiting room. Every face in the room turned to look at us while we exited quickly. Many of them were smiling, surely misinterpreting why R had his arm wrapped protectively around me. I know the office assistant meant well, she didn’t know what was transpiring, but over the next several days that word came back to me. Sometimes with anger, other times with sadness, I thought about how she should know better. So many early pregnancies end the way mine did.

 So our second pregnancy ended in ten painful and messy days. They were filled with rationalizations (financially waiting another year will be really good), avoidance, and a heating pad. R and I talked about why we were disappointed and realized that sharing a second child with those we love ranked highest on the list; an especially poignant sadness as two of our very close friends are both pregnant – actually one just gave birth today. Our children would have been within 6 months of each other and that would have been special. Sadly, I know that there will always be a part of me that looks at these two little boys and wonders how our child would have fit in.

Then, something unexpected happened. I ovulated a short time after the miscarriage and we had to make an immediate decision: should we try for a baby next summer? It was a complicated decision. We’d now rationalized why 2 years apart was optimal and why waiting another year was really for the best. Sure, the baby would be born in July rather than May, but that was still doable based on our work schedules.

Ultimately, we decided to wait. But I mention this decision because it was truly a gift (straight from my uterus). The decision was no longer definitively made for us. We had a say again, which was immensely cathartic.

I wanted to share this story. I know many women who have gone through a similar experience. In fact, both of the women I mentioned who are expecting/just had a baby miscarried in the past. Actually, almost every child-bearing woman I know has miscarried. Some feel deep pain from the experience, some worried they would never have a child, some felt that they were failures, others accepted the event and moved on quickly. There is no right way to feel, and, I suspect, that how each of us feels about the experience changes.

It is amazing that each of us are here; so many people born through an immensely complicated process of splitting cells and pieced together DNA. I’m grateful that, no matter how sad or disappointing it may be at the time, our bodies usually recognize that something is wrong early in the process. That most babies that make it to full term are healthy and complete. 

I just hope that our next attempt at adding to our family has a happy ending.

**There is comedy in every situation if you look for it. Having a doctor enter a room with what is basically an ultrasonic dildo in his continuously shaking hand definitely helps to relieve some of the tension. Though it did not do much to increase my confidence in the procedure as I lay flat on my back covered by a paper robe. 

Remember when I used to write blog posts?

Remember when I used to actually update my blog rather than just drop by with a "hey, here's the link to my new Etsy site, which you should totally check out"?

(Psst. Here's the link. Totally check it out. And by the middle of next week I'll have some of my paintings as well as child and adult sizes available, so check back soon.)

Yeah, I barely remember that either. It's been SOOOO long ago. I am bastard. Sorry.

I promise to confide in the whole-wide internet on why there has been such a lapse in communication (I know, you care deeply), but it's going to be a few days because by the end of this week we are going to be half-way across the country visiting some of our most favorite people! We are so excited! Also, scared. Anxious. Quickly becoming panicked because, you guys, we have a toddler. An active one. And we have to put him on a plane.

Yep, we've officially morphed from the childless couple, drinking Starbucks, reading books, avoiding eye contact while our favorite playlist blocks out the surrounding conversations to (I am imagining) the couple frantically reading books and rummaging for snacks, also while avoiding eye contact, in a futile attempt to convince our 15 month old that he likes sitting on mommy's lap for hours at a time. Air travel is taking a big dive into a public toilet.

We used to read entire novels on our flights. Now, I'm anticipating reading Mr. Man's stupid counting book approximately 500 billion times. I really hope that the people sitting around us have their favorite playlists with them. Otherwise they are going to become very familiar with how many kittens are in a particular basket and exactly what sounds those kittens make. Can you say "meow?"

Wish me luck.

Capital Endeavor

I've opened an etsy shop! Check it out!

i4nature

On Eliminating Negativity

I wrote this post a while back and then thought to myself, "Self, maybe you shouldn't." And I let it sit in my draft box gathering dust along with other topics that I've deemed controversial (as in, likely to get nasty emails about and/or inadvertently make people feel bad). But then I read something that once again made the vein in my neck throb and that crease between my eyebrows sink deep down into the pit of my soul.

So, without further ado, here is a cultural pet peeve of mine.

I read a lot of inspirational quotes and motivational writing telling people to break off their relationships with negative or "toxic" people. Every time I see this suggestion, I want to punch a kitten.*

*Note: For the record, I would never punch a kitten. I wrote that for dramatic effect. No kittens were punched in the creation of this blog post.

Let me begin by pointing out that this view of self protection is very new and very American. Basically, it is the belief that you should prioritize yourself above all others. That you should be happy all the time. No, wait, that you deserve to be happy all the time. Your main focus should be on your own well-being and if others are dragging you down, drop them.

It flies in the face of 150,000 years of human relationships (and pre-human relationships before that). Humans are made to live in groups with other humans, where they do things like raise children together, feed one another, house one another, and drive each other crazy. Together.

Sure, we have developed a subtle set of social norms that reward people for being pleasant (i.e., popularity, attention, etc.) and punish people for being dicks (i.e., gossip, sarcasm, etc.). Yes, in it's most extreme form this punishment can escalate to ostracizing the offender. This is a big punishment. You know what happened to people who were cast out from society back in the day? They died. Because people, by and large, are unable to live without the care and support of other people.

I'm getting a little far afield, so let me jump back to my point. Sometimes you just can't get away from the negative people in your life, or it would be the height of irresponsibility to do so.

I'm not advocating that you get chummy with every jerk out there. But what if the toxic person is your parent or your child? What if that person has a mental illness? You could follow this new, first world rule and drop them anyway. I can certainly understand why you might want to. Toxic people become a mental and emotional weight; a burden that you carry, and it's true that you can only carry so much. BUT, not everyone can lift you up. If everyone else in your life is lifting you up, then take a step back and look closely because you've become the burden.

We need to support each other. If the burden has become too heavy, find someone else to help you carry it. We are all in this together.


Special-Don't-Sue-Me Note: If someone is actually abusive, or if you fear that they may hurt themselves or others, please seek help.