Oh, and that's a cucumber Brenna is holding, not a green bean. Just in case there was any confusion :)
Monday, July 2, 2012
Overgrown
This is what happens when you accidentally plant pole beans instead of bush beans:
Oh, and that's a cucumber Brenna is holding, not a green bean. Just in case there was any confusion :)
Oh, and that's a cucumber Brenna is holding, not a green bean. Just in case there was any confusion :)
Sunday, July 1, 2012
My Husband Rocks.
So this is what Brian has been up to in his spare time lately:
The right side still needs to be stained, then it's all done. And I can have my husband back! Although, I think he may have remembered how much he loves to work with wood. I had him distracted there for a while...
 | ||||
| Power tools + Oakleys = Studly |
 |
| About six weeks (maybe more?) into the process |
| |||||
 |
| Will it EVER be done? |
 |
| We drool. That's what we do. |
 |
| Close enough? Nope. |
 |
| I stayed busy too. Very important research. |
 |
| My fave rosebush. It makes me happy :) |
 |
| TaDa! I love my house. |
The right side still needs to be stained, then it's all done. And I can have my husband back! Although, I think he may have remembered how much he loves to work with wood. I had him distracted there for a while...
Friday, June 29, 2012
It Works!
So. I've taken a bit of a break from blogging. My excuse is that the keyboard on my computer stopped working sometime in February, and I have no idea why. But we backed everything up and reinstalled the stuff, and well, it works again, so YAY! So I can blog and budget and sort out my overwhelmingly unorganized Pictures folder.
(really, I can't explain how wonderful it is to have a working keyboard. Ever tried to use your computer without one? I was about to go mad selecting one letter at a time on the onscreen keyboard with my mouse.)
(also, we don't have to buy a new computer!)
Moving on...
It's summer in the chatty household, and we've been laying low. I started a new quilt, one for Brian and I, while I try to figure out how to transition a toddler sized quilt I was making for Isaac to twin size.
Brenna and Isaac started gymnastics this week, and that's going to be awesome, and all three kids will start survival swim lessons in July.
Brian is working in San Francisco, in a job that has been a real challenge for him. I'm pretty sure he'll look back on this time euphemistically as a time of growth.
Benjamin is grabby, slobbery, smiley, and otherwise wonderful. He's a mellow little man, for which I am deeply grateful (and optimistically hoping will continue!). He is beloved by his siblings, and his socks are beloved by the dog, who keeps stealing them and eating the toes out.
(really, I can't explain how wonderful it is to have a working keyboard. Ever tried to use your computer without one? I was about to go mad selecting one letter at a time on the onscreen keyboard with my mouse.)
(also, we don't have to buy a new computer!)
Moving on...
It's summer in the chatty household, and we've been laying low. I started a new quilt, one for Brian and I, while I try to figure out how to transition a toddler sized quilt I was making for Isaac to twin size.
Brenna and Isaac started gymnastics this week, and that's going to be awesome, and all three kids will start survival swim lessons in July.
Brian is working in San Francisco, in a job that has been a real challenge for him. I'm pretty sure he'll look back on this time euphemistically as a time of growth.
Benjamin is grabby, slobbery, smiley, and otherwise wonderful. He's a mellow little man, for which I am deeply grateful (and optimistically hoping will continue!). He is beloved by his siblings, and his socks are beloved by the dog, who keeps stealing them and eating the toes out.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Because I want to remember
I'm not sure that anyone else would ever be interested in this list, except, perhaps women who may also wish they could remember. These are things I never want to forget, but know that I will:
The feel of my slimy baby as they put him on my belly after his birth, that moment when he squirms on the outside of me, all slippery, and I reach down to hold him, so that he won't slide right off. So tiny, skinny, warm.
The first time he eats, he knows just what to do, though actual skill is not there yet. And he calms. Exactly as he's been designed to do.
The way his feet are completely soft, no calluses, yet.
Probably my favorite thing about a newborn, the way he opens his mouth to catch me when I kiss his cheeks. He shakes his head back and forth like a baby bird. I always miss it when they grow out of that.
The way he stops, mid panicked-cry or frustrated grunt, when he latches on to eat. As though the angst never happened.
His body, curled tight, his feet pressed against his shins. At two and a half weeks, he's already beginning to stretch out and relax.
When I lift him in his sleep, and he arches backward, with his tiny fists pressed against his cheeks and his lips pursed, knees pulled up high. The tiny grunts and groans at the unfairness of being moved.
We swaddle him, and he takes two ragged breaths, then calms.
The way, those first few days, he looked so much like his big brothers, I would forget who I was looking at.
The songs that play in my mind whenever i hold him, Beautiful Boy by John Lennon, Love You Up to the Moon by Kim Hill and the Christmas song, Sweet Little Jesus Boy.
A conversation with the big kids before he was born, as I waddled around the Yukon to our front door, about how Mary would have felt, sitting on a donkey for days, how long it took to travel, how she could not have walked, and the impatience at the end of a pregnancy.
His absolute assurance that my body exists to meet his needs, and my occasional sadness for babies whose needs are not met.
How his eyes sometimes cross when he tries to focus on things.
The peace and absolute contentment when he falls asleep curled against me. So tiny. And he knows he belongs there.
His breath. He has the most beautiful, sweet-smelling breath.
Every once in a while I catch glimpses of the expression that will become his smile. It's thrilling.
The feel of my slimy baby as they put him on my belly after his birth, that moment when he squirms on the outside of me, all slippery, and I reach down to hold him, so that he won't slide right off. So tiny, skinny, warm.
The first time he eats, he knows just what to do, though actual skill is not there yet. And he calms. Exactly as he's been designed to do.
The way his feet are completely soft, no calluses, yet.
Probably my favorite thing about a newborn, the way he opens his mouth to catch me when I kiss his cheeks. He shakes his head back and forth like a baby bird. I always miss it when they grow out of that.
The way he stops, mid panicked-cry or frustrated grunt, when he latches on to eat. As though the angst never happened.
His body, curled tight, his feet pressed against his shins. At two and a half weeks, he's already beginning to stretch out and relax.
When I lift him in his sleep, and he arches backward, with his tiny fists pressed against his cheeks and his lips pursed, knees pulled up high. The tiny grunts and groans at the unfairness of being moved.
We swaddle him, and he takes two ragged breaths, then calms.
The way, those first few days, he looked so much like his big brothers, I would forget who I was looking at.
The songs that play in my mind whenever i hold him, Beautiful Boy by John Lennon, Love You Up to the Moon by Kim Hill and the Christmas song, Sweet Little Jesus Boy.
A conversation with the big kids before he was born, as I waddled around the Yukon to our front door, about how Mary would have felt, sitting on a donkey for days, how long it took to travel, how she could not have walked, and the impatience at the end of a pregnancy.
His absolute assurance that my body exists to meet his needs, and my occasional sadness for babies whose needs are not met.
How his eyes sometimes cross when he tries to focus on things.
The peace and absolute contentment when he falls asleep curled against me. So tiny. And he knows he belongs there.
His breath. He has the most beautiful, sweet-smelling breath.
Every once in a while I catch glimpses of the expression that will become his smile. It's thrilling.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Not Productive
I've decided to create a scrapbook entitled
Why I Never Get Anything Done
A Photographic Essay
Morning of Monday, October 24, 2011
Cinnamon
Created by Isaac, while I folded laundry in my room
Box of Kleenex
Created by Paisley, while I taught math
Broken Tree
Created by Isaac, while I made lunch
If
I have anything to add before the end of the day, I may just crawl
under my bed (with Paisley) and go to sleep. Just so you know where to
find me.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Random Thoughts
This is totally random, but last night I made chicken noodle soup, partly because my sweet girl wasn't feeling well, and partly because it was a rainy, gloomy day. I accidentally over salted it. Not a ton, but enough to give it more of a kick than it should have. Here's the thing: all day long, I crave salty stuff. SALT! And I am thrilled to pieces with my too-salty soup! I ate so much at dinner last night that I made myself sick, and the next hour or so will tell if I've done the same with the leftovers today! And score! I'm totally getting tons of veggies, lean chicken and homemade broth (simmered overnight for maximum benefit) and SALT! Also, the gloomy weather and disapproving look of my midwife is making me crave coffee in the middle of the day. 'Cause I'm a rebel.
Today I'm attempting to create our new budget. There has already been one panicky call to the husband to ask, "why are you making LESS money than before we left two years ago?!" And the answer, of course, is TAXES. Gag. The thing about budgeting when we move a lot is that each time, the things that are covered, reimbursed, or considered a normal living expense, change. Then you factor in state taxes, changes in commute length (fuel), and the things you don't necessarily see, like a thriving garden that means we don't have to buy produce for six months of the year (unfortunately, we did not make it part of our deal with the landscaper that he would plant and maintain a garden indefinitely... must make a note of that....). So here I am, putting my ever-changing puzzle together again and praying that none of the kids need shoes for the foreseeable future :)
Note to Grandma: As of this writing, everyone has enough clothes. Just sayin'.
(although Brenna could use some dress shoes)
Speaking of clothes, because of the wonky timing when we moved home, we arrived on a Tuesday, and that Sunday, Brian left for a week in Omaha. While he was gone, I was hanging up his shirts and felt inspired to count them, as it seemed there was an unreasonable number. 55. FIFTY-FIVE! Add to that, we had not yet done laundry from the trip home (came home to a leaking washing machine. woohoo!) and of course, he had a weeks' worth of shirts with him on his trip. All told, I'd guess he has 70 or 75 shirts. And at least half have his company logo on them, because they really like to give out shirts. I suppose if everyone stopped drooling, pulling, grabbing, and otherwise mangling my shirts, I might have somewhere close to that number... or not. I think I have about ten. All but one of them are stained. Poor me. Anyway, the point of this (there really is one, I promise!) is that I tried to find tutorials for repurposing men's shirts and could only find a couple, nothing that really struck me. So if you know of something cool (like I remember, years ago, coming across a little girl dress tutorial, but couldn't find it) I'd love a heads up!
So my son is officially getting to the age where he notices me doing things that are weird. Luckily, I don't think he's embarrassed per say, but oh, it's coming! One of those recent ones is how often I ask my kids "Y'all ready for this?! Dunh, duh dunh duh dunh dunh duh!" And Nathan looks at me like I'm possibly insane. I keep having flashbacks to my mom dancing, I'm pretty sure with the sole intention of embarrassing me, in clothing stores that played rap. I'm pretty sure I know what my face looked like now... and why she kept doing it!
And so I'll leave you with this fine piece of entertainment:
Today I'm attempting to create our new budget. There has already been one panicky call to the husband to ask, "why are you making LESS money than before we left two years ago?!" And the answer, of course, is TAXES. Gag. The thing about budgeting when we move a lot is that each time, the things that are covered, reimbursed, or considered a normal living expense, change. Then you factor in state taxes, changes in commute length (fuel), and the things you don't necessarily see, like a thriving garden that means we don't have to buy produce for six months of the year (unfortunately, we did not make it part of our deal with the landscaper that he would plant and maintain a garden indefinitely... must make a note of that....). So here I am, putting my ever-changing puzzle together again and praying that none of the kids need shoes for the foreseeable future :)
Note to Grandma: As of this writing, everyone has enough clothes. Just sayin'.
(although Brenna could use some dress shoes)
Speaking of clothes, because of the wonky timing when we moved home, we arrived on a Tuesday, and that Sunday, Brian left for a week in Omaha. While he was gone, I was hanging up his shirts and felt inspired to count them, as it seemed there was an unreasonable number. 55. FIFTY-FIVE! Add to that, we had not yet done laundry from the trip home (came home to a leaking washing machine. woohoo!) and of course, he had a weeks' worth of shirts with him on his trip. All told, I'd guess he has 70 or 75 shirts. And at least half have his company logo on them, because they really like to give out shirts. I suppose if everyone stopped drooling, pulling, grabbing, and otherwise mangling my shirts, I might have somewhere close to that number... or not. I think I have about ten. All but one of them are stained. Poor me. Anyway, the point of this (there really is one, I promise!) is that I tried to find tutorials for repurposing men's shirts and could only find a couple, nothing that really struck me. So if you know of something cool (like I remember, years ago, coming across a little girl dress tutorial, but couldn't find it) I'd love a heads up!
So my son is officially getting to the age where he notices me doing things that are weird. Luckily, I don't think he's embarrassed per say, but oh, it's coming! One of those recent ones is how often I ask my kids "Y'all ready for this?! Dunh, duh dunh duh dunh dunh duh!" And Nathan looks at me like I'm possibly insane. I keep having flashbacks to my mom dancing, I'm pretty sure with the sole intention of embarrassing me, in clothing stores that played rap. I'm pretty sure I know what my face looked like now... and why she kept doing it!
And so I'll leave you with this fine piece of entertainment:
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