Sippie-at-Large

Oh. So that's where that is.



I was looking for that.

From Westminster Abbey

Like many others, I've been thinking a lot about Kate Middleton lately. And I know that maybe its not the coolest, most progressive thing for a worldly hipster to care about a royal wedding or whatever. But I'm not hip. Therefore, I am very curious about her experience. At this very moment, she's probably sleeping in that fancy suite in London with her mom and sister. Is she sleeping? The night before her wedding to the future King of England?

The night before my wedding, I was so exhausted, but so keyed up. I shared a bed with my little sister Emma in an adorable cottage in the garden of an equally adorable B&B that was crammed with the rest of my family. I had a thousand things on my mind - so many people were headed our way for a big, meaningful ceremony and party. But, shoot, it wasn't all of the British Empire at Westminster Abbey.

But, yes, I know, not all of the British Empire will be craning their necks. So, imagine knowing that your big day will be scorned by anti-monarchists and other general poopy-pants haters.

Or, imagine that as of tomorrow, your job will be to make babies and those babies will be royalty.

Mostly, I think Kate is embodying the archetypal fairy tale for so many of us (duh). I just can't get over it. Her being so common and all. Imagine if your daughter were marrying the heir-apparent. Good lord. Imagine if your in-laws were monarchs. Mercy. But who are we kidding. How many of us populated our own versions of that fate? Way back before we went to college and developed our Feminist selves. How many times have I read The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Or sank gleefully into the gothic gorgeousness of Disney's Sleeping Beauty? I am SO EXCITED for tomorrow!!!

But, no, I'll not be getting up at the crack to watch it in real time. My sleep is too precious. Unless I'm up already by then, which is entirely possible.

Argyle and Bunny

Happy Egg Salad Day to you!!!

My, we had a lovely weekend. Dadda and Buckaroo took an early Saturday morn walk with Grandpa along Padilla Bay, which gave me a lovely hour and a half of quiet snoozing and reading.

Also on Saturday, we got a little bit dressed up and went up to Bellingham to attend the most lovely open house Spring Celebration at our friend Chelsea's parents' house. My goodness, what an inspiring garden. And Olivier the Bunny was there!!! Buckaroo was a bit nonplussed about the bunny, which surprised me. But the photos are cute:



The sunshine, the setting, the delicious nosh, it all felt like a springtime wedding. Really uplifting.





After we nibbled and wandered (a peacock! a babbling brook! an old dog named Sophie! bow wow!), we went to the front garden for some egg hunting. Buckaroo got the hang of egg-in-basket. He's brilliant.





Sunday we puttered and cooked, and then welcomed Grandma and Grandpa for a yummy Easter Brunch. I made the friggin best beet and chevre salad. A triumph.

Later, we went outside in the drizzle to find that the Easter Bunny had been to our house!! More fun with Buckaroo and the basket. Until. Until he bonked his nose on the raised garden bed and got a bloody nose!!! Poor guy. I fretted and fussed; Dadda took photos. Rachel, once again I find a similarity between our husbands. What is it with photographing blood and gore?

Dadda and Grandma assured momma that baby was fine. It was a very brief bloody nose, and surely the first of many. Whew.

Finally, we come to my favorite part of the commercial aspect of this holiday:


I just love these dumb Robin Eggs. They're basically Whoppers, I guess. I like to bite them in half and suck the malt insides. Weird and stuff. But this year's batch are very mediocre. FYI.

Well, today we had delicious egg salad sandwiches for lunch. My secret is a healthy pinch of curry powder. Turns out my baby loves egg salad, which is a relief. We both have snotty head colds and wish that it weren't dumping rain. But, let's all say it together: April showers bring May flowers. Dammit.

xoxonellie

Comin' and Goin'

Buckaroo and I took a walk to the post office today. The day started out rainy, but the sun jumped out and I decided to try to put him in the ergo-backpack all by my self. We were successful. It was stressful and I fumbled a bit and sweated a lot, but he was really cooperative and held tight like a monkey. Anyway, we were walking to the post office, which is a mile down the road. Its a narrow, curvy, country road with hardly a shoulder to speak of. I chose to walk on the side with the most shoulder, which had me walking with traffic.

So, on we're walking, looking at dogs (bow wow!) and cows (oooo! oooo! - buckaroo won't make the 'm' sound yet.) and cats (eow! eow!). Along comes a fella, walking towards us. He's obviously been walking since early in the day, he was too warmly dressed for the weather - or he was a bit nuts. But I was trying not to judge. But I was judging because now I'm a MOM and I will FIGHT people if I need to protect my child, and so I was preparing to fight him. But really I just said:

"Hi! How you doin' today?"

And he said:

"Hello! Um, just so you know..."

oh great. he wants to tell us some crazy theory about the government. or he wants to ask for money. or he's going to tell me I'm the devil.

"...just so you know, it's a $52 fine for not walking against traffic...."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I got a ticket last year down the road for walking on the wrong side."

"How annoying!"

"Yeah, and I know you're just walking on the side with the bigger shoulder and stuff because its safer..."

"Exactly!"

"...yeah, I was too. But I just thought you should know."

"Thank you so much!"

"No problem. You have a good day."

I crossed the road and walked on the correct side. This poor guy. I mean, its very likely he is semi-homeless. He was missing at least one tooth in front. He was not an old guy. And he did not look crazy in the eyes. He's basically on the verge of being a hobo. And who knows if its by choice or not. But I bet he walks because he can't afford a car. Or because he's choosing a simple life. And on top of it, he gets a ticket for walking down the road. What a shitty day that must have been for him. Can't win for trying, or something.

I'm grateful he was nice and informative. We continued to have a lovely walk, and a lovely day.

Good night,
Nellie

Domesticus Maximus

Yes, we are in week 4 of Momma Goes To Work and Buckaroo Goes To Daycare. My tummy hurts a bit if I reflect too much, but suffice to say we're doing pretty well. I like my job, it very unstressful. I think Buckaroo likes daycare. I certainly like Buckaroo's daycare. We are still very much in the tearful goodbyes stage. I am told repeatedly by various knowing persons that it is harder on the mommy. Ech, anyway. I'm just doing one-foot-in-front-of-the-other right now and will have deep thoughts for you later. Maybe.

What with the compensatory levels of t.l.c. for my babe, and the stomach bug we fought, I found myself offering too much of myself to the little stinker too often at night. Again. And I started falling apart. Again. My dear good consistent annoyed husband. Bless him. Anyway, we're on the right track again, after some tearful, fussy nights of truth for the babe. And, my point here, is that I found a bit of clear-headedness the other day and made a very good decision. And here it is:



I decided to make a cake. My maternal grandmother's chocolate cake recipe. Evidently she made this, like, weekly. I cannot imagine how pudgy I would be if that happened around here. Regardless, mine is most superb because I happened only to have dark chocolate cocoa in the house. It is ridiculously good. I've given a good deal of the cake to the neighbors because it would all be in my stomach if it were here. Or my husband and I would be arguing over it like 8 year olds.

Here's you facing a huge wall of superb dark chocolate cake:



I've commandeered Woodworker's camera and am feeling a sort of revival. I need to catch up on my memorykeeping here. But right now its time for Jeopardy. Good night.

The Bridge

Well. We strode bravely across that bridge towards Working Mommaland, but it turns out there was a toll to pay on that bridge and it smelled horrendous.

Now, I don' t know if Buckaroo acquired this stomach bug from the daycare because he started, you know, showing the affects the very afternoon we came home from Day One. Who knows, maybe he got it from some door knob or grocery cart somewhere. Anyway, that was 4 nights ago and all of us here in this house are feeling like it is behind us, no pun intended. I seemed to have gotten thru it with the most dignity intact. Oiy. Now the neighbors have it. The other neighbors had it a couple of weeks ago. Etc etc.

So, 2 nights ago I was crying in the bathtub after my fellas were in bed, because I was exhausted and worried and discouraged and sick, and nothing adds up to derangement quicker than all that. What a bumpy start to my new beginning. And parenting a sick child whilst one's self is also sick...such a rotten system. I was given permission by my mother and sisters to watch whatever I wanted on tv regardless of my son's intellectual development. Basically, I let him play with wires and broken glass (when he wasn't filling his diaper) and I shuffled around or sat in front of the tv. [Watched "Death at a Funeral" which was hilarious. I even laughed.]

Today I feel much, much better. We're just trying to gather ourselves together and do a thing or two around the house this weekend before trying again.

Speaking of the house, Woodworker is building the most glorious banister for our scary stairway. Because they are steep, wooden, and take a sharp turn, these stairs are not for the tall nor the klutzy, which counts out everyone I'm related to. I've learned to walk down them very slowly. Soon I will have an actual handrail. Its all made of repurposed fir with dramatic knots and old black nail holes. Woodworker is so good at this stuff. Buckaroo has a love/hate relationship with these working scenes because he loves his father but he hates the sound of drills. We might just need to clear the premise for the rest of the project. Thank heavens we're feeling better.

Now, I will close with a beautiful image unrelated to this post, so you can forget you read about our family pooping:

The scene of our wedding before the guests arrived. Ahhnnnnn. Please note the teenie tiny disco ball hanging from the rafter. Word.

Yours in health and grateful for it,
nellie

First Day of School

Tomorrow I go back to work. The Year of Living Maternally came to an end. I am still shocked that we made it this far. There were so many weeks that sucked, what with fatigue and loneliness. Days where the idea of seeing Buckaroo's first birthday was unfathomable, like an ironman triathalon, accomplished by other people. And there were weeks where naps went well (for both of us) and walks were taken and cookies were made. And I paid attention with hyper-consciousness, to easy moments. Because its all temporary. And starting tomorrow I am a working mother. So, right now feels like the night before the first day of school. And my wee silly bit of love is about to start a new experience without me. Waaaaaaaaah.

This is all a very big deal. Buckaroo will go to a daycare and I will go to a brand new job. It is a miracle that I found a job, truly. I was hardly looking, unlike so many frustrated people. But it feels fated (not to jinx it, hello). I fully intended to spend a year at home with Mr. Sillypants regardless, and then see where things were. Then, maybe 3 weeks before Buckaroo's birthay, I got a call from a friend about this potential job. A few days later, I was meeting with the guy, and BAM before you know it, the deal was done within hours of Buckaroo's birthday. I am not making this up.

Then I turned to the preparations of the Extremely Important First Birthday Party. What a success. Its a whole other post, and then some. But after the dust from the party settled, it was time to find daycare. Time to do this change. And I don't know where the past couple of weeks have gone, but blogging certainly didn't occur. So much going on in my head and my heart, I suppose. It has been strange to be the mom inspecting daycares. Again, rather like I'm playing at something that other people do for real. I'm a mom?! That's my kid?! You'd think I'd have a strong sense of this by now.

We found a gal. She lives just a couple of miles away. She's very sweet and she absolutely dotes on the adorable kids in her care. Turns out the neighbor boys go there. We've been to visit a couple of times. Then Woodworker and I scratched our heads and listened to our instincts and signed some papers, and now we have a daycare. OMG holy shit. Can I do this? I know Buckaroo can do this. He loves to jump in the thick of things and chase bigger kids and yell-talk and poke babies in the eye. In fact, we chose daycare instead of at-home care because he's so outgoing (not my side of the family, I confess) (plus, a financial decision).

So tomorrow I start a new job. Its going to be hard but I know we can do it. Or maybe it won't be hard. Maybe it will be a little hard here and there, and otherwise good and fine. Hell yeah. Because, lemme tell you, my brain is so excited to go to work. I get to do stuff and make money. Only now I'm a momma and a worker. I will forever feel that division. Or, that "both". The mind-boggling, visceral desire to be with him and lovelovelove him. AND. The steady-on effort of work and personal development.

I have totally dropped the ball with communicating this excitement to my bff ladies out there. I'm sure all my lovers in Minneapolis and Chicago and Bozeman and NYC and SF and PC and Seattle and Denver and Moses Lake and Provo and Logan and IF and Bend and Orlando are happy to hear about this new development. (I must digress: it was really fun to type out all those cities and think about all my friends/relations/loved ones. Thank you! I recommend everyone do that.) And one of these days I'll get the whole digital photo situation back on track here, so I can fully report on the various parties and so forth.

But now it is time for bed. I've showered and am ready to read a few pages of my dorky book about the people's history of England. Buckaroo slumbers next door - at least for now. I pray for a good night's sleep. And tomorrow I cross that bridge. We cross that bridge. Though, the other day, when I was bemoaning the bridge to my mother, she reminded me that it is not a very big bridge over not a very big chasm because I am looking at a part-time job with flexible hours. Did I mention that? :)

I feel so blessed. Look at him, he's delicious and such a love. Just like his dadda. Even though they both drive me crazy. But I'm sure I make them crazy too.

Crossing the bridge.....xo
nellie

365 Days

Today is my baby's First Birthday.

I feel so MUCH about this day. I have so very much to say. At least I think I do. But my fingers aren't finding the keyboard. This day is a contemplation. I can't interfere with that yet. Perhaps tomorrow.

Suffice to say that I am extremely self-congratulatory; I've never felt a bigger sense of accomplishment. Ever. I feel like the Olympics theme song should be playing throughout the land with me today. Buckaroo is my giggling, slobbering, glorious, ridiculous trophy of life.

Ok, ok, ok, enough. Here's a pic of him swinging on a swingset for the first time, last week.



He laughed til he cried on this thing. It was a condensed version of the whole absurd adventure here.

Glory, glory hallelujah. Good night.

Future Homeland

Well. It looks like we won't be moving to Tunisia anytime soon. That's ok. I can put my family's dream on hold until, oh, I dunno, maybe after neighboring regimes topple and so forth.

But I'd already started scouting vacation home purchases. There are condos for sale just around the corner from where some Mos Eisley cantina scenes were filmed. How long will that last? Oh well. I believe in democracy, so I'll wait. It just gives us more time to save. And to decide: apartment near a city center, or a rustic home deep in the desert?

Where else in the world could use a revolution? Because I could threaten to move my family there, and then maybe the people would revolt. Taking suggestions.

(we're watching American Idol right now. good guchky blech. Stop me. I've never seen it from the early stages like this. JL0 always has such shiny lips. How many hours a week is this junk on?)

In closing: we have an alternative: my sister-in-law informs me that there is a Jedi Training Academy in Florida somewhere. I've never been to Florida. Buckaroo has never been to Florida. Goals!

Going to bed. xo

Normal

This morning NPR seemed only to offer gut-wrenching news. A news day that makes me almost feel guilty for looking down and seeing my ridiculously hilarious baby talking to the cat. It certainly heightens my adoration for him. I'm glad I don't have to worry about a revolution next door. My worries are more of the runny-nose, paying-bills, finding-work, remembering-birthdays, practicing-patience variety.

The other day I was talking on the phone with darling Whitney. She was so very sad and worried about a colleague who found himself in the middle of a very dramatic and dangerous cancer diagnosis. We bemoaned how suddenly it struck him. One day was a normal day, the next day was an emergency. So terrifying, how instantly and irreversibly "normal" can be snatched from you.

But, on the other end, reveling in normal can be difficult. I certainly have a hard time with it pretty often. I guess its the "new normal" of my SAHM status that seems uncomfortable sometimes. Plus, this baby-raising stuff is such a goshdarn moving target, normal is a shape-shifter. (I give that metaphor about a c+) But lately I've felt lump-in-your-throat appreciation for it. I attribute it to getting enough sleep that I can actually feel my feelings accurately.

Case in point: this past Sunday, Woodworker was puttering in the yard and I caught a glimpse of him through the kitchen window. He was so serious, cleaning a strange landscapey effort that the previous owners created (other people have strange ideas), and our 5 chickens were clucking around him with devotion. The sun was shining and there was a bald eagle gliding elegantly above the houses. I rested a moment, taking it in. Buckaroo had just gone down for a nap so I could really relax as I contemplated, which was delightful. It was such a piece-of-art moment. Tho, if you saw that image in a painting or a Rockwell drawing, it would look ridiculous with the eagle and everything. Plus, there must be a joke in there somewhere, involving chickens and eagles, or husbands and chickens - I'm not sure. Anyway, I remember that I really felt the peace and joy of the moment, and I was incredibly grateful to feel the feelings.

Don't you ever wonder, why is this my normal in this life? Why was someone else born into normal in Mumbai or Paris? But if you think on your normal too much, it gets annoying. I'm just feeling really grateful for the normal right now.

Dear Alexa

Dear Alexa,

I know you'd find my last post appalling. I myself am appalled. Why did I mention undergarments? I am, indeed, adrift in a sea of nonstyle. I call on you for help often, as you know. And, for instance, I think about you while I'm staring at the clothes in my closet. (I think about you all over the place, often, with this and that, etc. etc. But I try not to think too hard, because then I get sad, sullen, crying, etc etc. But its a gentle resting upon my thoughts that I feel, a half-mindedness even, a chit-chat, etc etc.) GoodNESS you would tisk tisk my lot. But you'd be polite about it. I CANNOT believe I went to Fred Meyer looking like that.

I did shower today, while Buck was napping. FYI. And, let it be known, that I made a solemn vow after the Nov 4 Reunion with the girls last year that I would only ever maintain pretty undergarments. And I've done well with that. No ratty cotton numbers with shot elastic. No bottom-of-the-barrel huge undies that look like shopping bags that you wear when all else is in the laundry. No 17-year-0ld brassieres held together with safety pins that one holds onto because they're from Victoria's Secret and one has only ever had that one thing from VS. No ill-fitting camisoles. Just get rid of them!!! And I have. (shocking pile of discards.) And I'm hoping that the "only pretty" factor will rub off on the other categories of my wardrobe. I hope this paradigm will guide me when I shop. But it doesn't guide me as much as it should. And I go to Walmart too much.

The thing about leaving the city is that Walmart is all-of-a-sudden much more convenient. And cheap. $5 leggings, may I remind you. Times are tight. I would wager that you never saw the inside of a Walmart. Neither did I for many many many many years. I don't think there are any in King County, no? Anyway, not important. What is important is that I should stick to "only pretty" even if I'm at Walmart looking at $12 windbreakers.

Often, when I'm shopping, I do have you with me. We chat, or you nod your approval, or shake your head to redirect me. I just get so dang influenced by cheap and/or comfortable and/or practical crap. I don't know if angels are allowed to do this, but if you are, please knock some sense into me. Or pinch my butt. Or bite my ear. Something.

Admittedly, the new normal includes managing my silly baby while shopping. The new normal means I've only had the where-with-all to shop a great speeds, with not much reflection, keeping a wiggling sillybuns from grabbing clothes off the racks. And, since motherhood, I've not seen myself as being out in the world, of the world, with the other people in the world, so why be cute? But I do feel more worldish lately, and sometimes I actually want to look the part. And I think of you. Lovelovelove.

I do have a supercute haircut, though, don't you think. And I'm wearing a really adorable damask apron while I cook muffins this morning, no? And Buckaroo has a cheeky cute outfit on. And, most delicious of all, we got a pretty good night's beauty rest. Hallelujah. Thank you, I'm sure.

And, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if I have pretty unmentionables if I don't actually wear them, right? Sheesh.

xoxo

High Fashion and Steak

Well, in case you were wondering, I did cut that steak into a heart. But I am sheepish to admit that it was meager compared to the gifts I got for Valentine's Day. We said we weren't going to buy anything, dang it, but I love that he did. The fact that he went to the store and stood in front of the card display and picked one and everything. Shocking and adorable. I also got a beautiful stone ring made by one of the artists that shows in his gallery. I love her work. Such a surprise. I also got a monstrous london broil steak. This is a favorite way of gifting from my husband, and it happens on my birthday as well - a gift for me for him. It cracked me up. But I was also mad because it was 50 times bigger than the the heart steak I presented. Hmph.

In other news, you are wondering what I'm wearing today. First, know that lately I've been comfortable only in knee-high socks. So, am wearing some ancient ski socks. Then, moving up, $5 blackish leggings complete with ratty holes; a turquoise tank top under an over-sized tee-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark Darth Maul on it; no bra (who cares?); a below-the-knees hooded cardigan that would look like a cozy wool item from Sundance if it weren't acrylic from Disney with a Tinkerbell on the lapel, which I found at Goodwill for $6. Oh, and VPL, but no matter because of the long cardigan. I'm hot.

So, now that we're all dressed, I need to get us out the door. I need to mail a big package, but I am stalling because I don't know how to get both it and Buckaroo into the post office.

TMI,
nellie

Cookies and Steak

One year ago, on Valentine's Day, I was huge-like pregnant, and really wishing that I would have a valentine's baby. I was one week before my due date. Nothing happened. Well, stuff happened - it was a regular day - but I didn't have a baby. Exactly 2 weeks later I did, which was...memorable.

Earlier today I had a long talk about that memorable experience with one of my BFFs, AmyF, who is getting ready to have her first baby in a few minutes. (Due the 24th) I hadn't recounted it in a while. Its very interesting how the details coalesce into a tale to be told. Some parts are so terribly hard to describe. And I think the growing distance, the retrospect, tidies things up a bit. Anyway, it was a pleasure, actually, to tell the tale today. A nice reminder of my Valentines:



An old shot, from September. Today is not so sunny. Rather, it is gloriously windy and cloudy. Dramatic weather, which I love. And yet, there is promise of spring because gosh-darn-it if I don't see a rhododendron bud showing some glimpses of bright fuchsia petals in the neighbor's yard.

No big whoops around here for the valentinesness of the day. I made cookies that Woodworker requested, and we'll have a steak dinner. I might cut the steak in a heart shape, if it thaws in time. Though, that seems a bit macabre. Buckaroo did get his first valentine in the mail from his cousins Natalia and Juliana. He seemed to know it was dear because he held tight to it and didn't chew on it. He's a delight.

I am, admittedly, a bit forlorn on this day because I finished a really good book last night. I feel so adrift without a book to read. I miss the characters and the story. They were important to me, dang it!! Oh well, I'm sure I'll love again.

xoxo
nellie

Soiled SIM Card

It is Thursday, 8:24 am, and there is poop on my SIM card. Not mine. Not my poop, I mean.

It all happened really fast. Why do I give him my phone to play with? But it worked to keep him still while I changed his diaper just now. And in a flash, he dismantled my phone whilst I was removing his diaper, and with a grin and a twist and I-don't-know-exactly-what, he managed to apply poop to the SIM card and battery, and fling them under the tv hutch.

And that is where they may stay for a while until I figure out my next move.

Good morning.
nellie

Cock a doodle dooooo

It is 6:53 am. We've been up for 2 hours here already. SOMEBODY, I'm not naming names, has his sleep all topsy turvy. And its not me and its not my husband. Right now the culprit is playing in the tupperware drawer. Grrrrr.

Kind Of A Big Deal Around Here

I have a major announcement:

Tomorrow I have an actual appointment at a bonafide beauty salon. I will be going all by my self. Again, All. By. My. Self.

I have not had an appointment of any sort besides the doctor since before Buckaroo was born. I have driven in the car, without Buckaroo, to go do stuff in the Outside World maybe 3 or 4 times since he was born (and 2 of those were doctor's appointments). I am so excited, I can barely type.

Well, I take that back, I've made a half a dozen jaunts to the country market down the road for half-and-half or whatever. So, technically, the number is higher.

But guess what else. You can't. After I get my hair cut, I am going to Michael's. I am going to wander the hallowed halls of unnecessary craft supplies. I will probably even buy something. Maybe something related to Buckaroo's birthday party. I don't know. I don't know. There's no way to know. We'll see. But I know I am going to take my time. It is a good thing they don't sell martinis there.

My son smells so bad right now. He has completed some business in his diaper. But I'm not done here yet. I want to make another declaration: I cleaned the microwave. I feel so freakin' competent right now.

Ok. This diaper is not kidding. I need to go deal with it.

More later,
Nellie

Dispatches from the Outside

Good morning!!!

Recently, my husband sent me an image during the middle of the day. He was at a client's house (some sort of cabinet or furniture installation, I presume) and saw this sitting on their couch:



Ahhhhnnnn. The truth. Solid, clear, undeniable, substantial, superincredibly annoying.

I appreciate his willingness to share this funny shot with me when he knew I may have an unremitting, obnoxious response. But I actually had a nice belly laugh and enjoyed it. Plus, I appreciate him thinking of me slaving over the hearth (sort of) while he is out there hunting and gathering (and eating sushi).

So, here at the hearth, my Inside world, I'm going to start making these pillows and I'm going to sell them on Etsy and I"m going to become a mommy blog internet sensation. And please let it be known that last night I asked my Man of the Outside if he knew what the urls were for my blogs, and he did not. (he's been told and shown numerous times.) And not because he doesn't care, but because he has better things to do (hunt, gather) than to master this "internet" thing.

More importantly: He has NO IDEA what I write here. Think what I could do with this!

In conclusion, as we approach Super Bowl weekend, and the following Post-Season Depression for some, let us praise.... I don't know what we're praising. Pillows? The internet? Husbands? Something like that.

xoxo
nellie

Horizons

So, it is still January. I have not found myself in front of the computer much these past weeks. Any spare time I have, I've had my face buried in some book. Escapism, I suppose. Though, life is not as difficult as it was not so long ago. I think I'm reading because I CAN find those few moments of escape and because my brain will actually disengage from my surroundings, from parenting, from anxiety.

January!! I am still working on an existential resolution. The quotidian one has been easy to accomplish so far: anti-wrinkle cream before bed. This was Woodworker's resolution as well. He is not as good at is as me. He only manages to remember if he sees me doing it, and then he wants me to rub it on his face. Since he's already in bed. So far, I've thrown it at him once. But then I realized I don't want to break the bottle. Not so existential.

I'm subconsciously mulling my hopes and designs for 2011. I can vaguely feel it - something along the lines of broadening horizons and gathering strength. It was such a damn huge goal to get to Christmas that I'm sort of blinking in amazement at January. And, gosh darn it, Buckaroo is going to be ONE YEAR OLD pretty soon. Holy shitballs. Nuh-uh. Let us not discuss it, let us not. For it is too amazing to behold. Let us leave it alone until it is nigh upon us. Instead, let us discuss the fact that I found myself looking at job openings that were very VERY far afield. I found an amazing, well-suited position at the Getty, for instance. I don't live in Los Angeles, however. So why did I drool over the job description? Why did I start to formulate the cover letter, just for fun? Similarly, I probably don't need to be looking at jobs in Washington, DC. Not helpful. But it was just so fun to imagine doing the work that those jobs described.

Alas, I suppose this is an indication that I am remembering my *self* in a broader sense. That I may be able to be a mom AND be out in the world, bustling, thinking, participating, etc. I am so deeply impressed by the mom that does this, in whatever form. I had no idea I would be so viscerally, mentally discombobulated by motherhood - so shaken, in a way. But, shoot man, you don't know until you get there. We planned to have me at home for at least a year, and thank heavens we were already hoisting that paradigm, because I just don't know what otherwise would have done to me. But, one doesn't plan to have a colicky baby, one doesn't plan to struggle with vicious postpartum depression/anxiety, one doesn't anticipate buying a fixer-upper and moving with an infant, or for any of those complications. It is relative, I suppose. We all have to do what we have to do.

This year, we plan to go to Maui for my brother's wedding in September. That is a superfabulous goal for us, for financial and swimsuit reasons. Yay for fitness!! We talk about being "Maui-Ready." Umhmm. Woodworker is one of those boys who sort of thinks about losing weight and, voila, his pants are baggy. Jerk. But honestly, I just want to feel good and eventually to find myself on that beach in the sun. So, I'm excited to have that "feel good" goal. Part of embracing new horizons and stuff.

In other January memos, lets look at these two hooligans causing trouble at our house:



Thick as thieves, they are. Getting each other all worked up.



Trying to distract us with their sheepish grins...



Move it along, they say, nothing to see here!

Oh, Buckaroo and Genevieve, masters of our days. Growing, giving chase, inspiring groans and giggles and large glasses of wine after you go to bed - we love you!

Bedtime,
Nellie

Tuscan Adages

I finally FINALLY finished "The Agony and the Ecstasy." I'm telling you, I got my BA in Art History and everything, but I finished that book vastly more informed about Michelangelo. I think. So much happened, and the guy lived to be Biblical old, and had to put up with the shenanigans of what seemed like dozens of Popes - its all a blur, really. But YAY! I'm done, and it's time to sink into another book. Right now, because it's naptime. But first I must share more of these great Tuscan sayings before I forget them:

"He who contends with the worthless achieves no great victory."

"Eventually, every mouth will want to bite the hand that feeds it."

A version of put-your-money-where-your-mouth-is: "dig out the words and fill the hole with gold."

Pointing out someone's stupidity/obliviousness: "you couldn't see a crow in a bowl of milk."

To describe hard times/hunger: "We don't know if we're rubbing the skin of our belly or the bone of our back"

"The best mirror is an old friend."

Commenting on making a good investment: "...pleased to see we have not been making soup in a basket."

Working for rich people: "the ass who carries gold and eats thistle."

OK. That's all for now. I know I'm overlooking a couple, but the book was over 750 pp. Michelangelo was amazing, not mortal. He had no direct progeny, and only a niece and a nephew that seemed to survive to adulthood. I wonder if there are living any direct descendants of them.

Ciao.
Nellie

Chip Off The Old Block

This morning, we were all in bed having a cup of coffee. This is somewhat of a ritual. Buckaroo has a teenie little mug that actually belongs to an espresso maker but suits him perfectly. His cup is always void of actual coffee, but no matter. I know thus because this morning, he put the cup to his lips and slurped. And then he sat the cup down and said "aaahhh." EXACTLY like dadda does. I'm not kidding. He's 10 months old yet he's capable of such mimicry. You know what this means. Yup. Gifted. Surely. Next thing you know, calculus.

In other news, today the baby and I went to our pediatrician to get the flu booster shot. This was the first time I'd taken Buckaroo to get a shot without my husband. (Who's the baby here?) Please keep in mind that for a very very long time after Buckaroo was born, I was not doing so well. I didn't really have my center, if you will. Woodworker is a rock. He's Gibraltar. But today just Buckaroo and I went to the doctor's office. And I didn't sweat with panic. And we sat and waited. And the nurse called us. And I provided access to Buckaroo's chubby thigh. And Buckaroo didn't even cry.

And I didn't cry either.

And it was good.

Amen.

There were other great and amazing achievements in the parental realm today, but I don't want to overtalk it. Or jinx it. Plus, it's late and I must get to bed and continue chipping away (pun intented) at this dang tome about Michelangelo.

Alas, in closing, I think it is safe to say that my "center" feels more familiar to me these days. Achh, it is a tenuous thing. Baby steps. Seems to be greatly related to adequate sleep. Which I must go minister.

No, wait. First I must mention my sisters. One sister must return to work tomorrow after her maternity leave from the birth of wee perfect Juliana, sister to Natalia. I have a nervous stomach for her. But she will do well. And my mother - the mother of all Gibraltars - (god, horrible metaphor. horrible.) will keep the urchins warm and fed. The other sister is supposed to be producing my new nephew, brother-to-be to Nikolas, at any moment. I'm sure I am one teenie fraction as impatient as she. We wait for the phone to ring.

Night night.
Nellie

p.s. I find there to be some clunky sentences in this post. Please forgive. I'm not one for editing at the moment. Editing is not as much fun as parenthetical remarks.

p.p.s. I recognize a lack of photos or graphics of late. I hope this will change. Photos are good.

Happy New Year!!!

1/1/11 Woodworker and I have the same New Year's Resolution: put anti-wrinkle cream on our faces every night. I got the cream for him as a present in his stocking. Wish us luck.

I've been encouraging Buckaroo to think about a resolution himself - most very specifically to sleep for great long stretches at night. On the brink of our first night of 2011, who the hell knows.

We went for a glorious hike today up Chuckanut Mountain. We rested at a bench, overlooking the San Juan Islands. A good number of rosy-cheeked folks came along. Everyone delighted in seeing wee Buckaroo on the trail. We were tired from a night of parenting, but the walk was invigorating, and an inspiring way to start the year. Such a gorgeous corner of the world.

Steady on,
Nellie