Monthly Archives: July 2010

Dorky Dvořák Dancing

Sometimes we dance in our house.

And by we I mean me and the littles.

Often in pj’s or just underwear.

Cause that’s how we roll.

Sometimes it’s ABBA, sometimes it’s Wicked.

And sometimes, when we’re needing a good cool-down,
I put on my favorite song ever:  the 2nd movement of Dvořák’s New World Symphony.

Tonight for what I think is the first time ever, Marshall saw our dance session.
(To say he was amused was an understatement.)

We pretended to be walking through outer space.

Then we were floating down a river while holding hands.

I had three little hands holding tight to mine.

And my heart was full.

And I was happy.

It doesn’t get better than this.

**Side note: I’ve never heard this performed live.  I think this may force me to start a 40×40 list:
#1 Attend a live performance of Dvořák’s New World Symphony.

For Whom the (School)Bell Tolls

When we moved back to my hometown, I had a lot of idyllic visions of how things would be, much like my friend Kate.

Some things came true.
We take strolls around our neighborhood and nature walks or alphabet walks.
(Well, we do when it’s cooler outside.)
We swim and have lazy dinners with some of my oldest family friends.
We do fun stuff with friends, old and new.
We often have Sunday lunch with my parents.

So in a lot of ways, life here is idyllic.

But there are also things that aren’t exactly what I anticipated.
Carter’s school, for example.

He will be starting Kindergarten this year.
I don’t know who’s more excited: me or him!

He’ll be going to a *Brand*New*School*, which is awesome and beautiful and well-planned.
But I have to admit that when we picked our house, we assumed we’d be zoned for what was my old elementary school.
When I went to register him for school back in May, I went to my old school…the school I thought he’d be going to…
and I was floored by how many memories surfaced just by walking through the front door.

The time in Ms. Golson’s class when we donned black plastic trash bags, dressed up like California Raisins and did the dance.
The first day I wore glasses to school.
The time I was disappointed that one 5th grade class learned the word “antidisestablishmentarianism” and our class didn’t.
(I’ve always been a dork.)
The time we made paper with Ms. Rivers.
Sitting in my 1st grade class and watching the snow fall through those tiny little slits of window.
I even remember one day from Kindergarten…when Chan asked me to sit at his table.
I remember lunches and PTA meetings and talent shows in the lunchroom.

A few days ago, I had another reason to go up to my old school.
I asked if it was ok if I just walked around and looked, and the secretary said that was fine.
I walked to the play ground.
There was a lot of new equipment, but the swings were still there.
And I remembered kicking a boy because he tried to kiss me,
Being too much of a scared-y cat to jump of the swings while I was swinging,
Standing in the shade of the building with Ms. Blizzard and some of the students from her class.

I know it sounds a bit crazy,
but I thought it would be cool if my kids and I had memories from the same place, different times.
And I know it sounds crazy, but there are parts of me that wish we were zoned
for the old, slightly-run-down-but-obviously-loved school and not the *Big*Fancy*New school.

At the old school, there are lots of playscapes.
The new school has no playground at all(yet).
At the old school, I know the principal and a lot of the staff.
I’ve never met the principal at the new school, but I’ve heard that she’s really nice.
At the old school, I have lots of memories.
The new school has new memories to be made for the kids and me!

He is excited!
I am excited!

I’m happy about the teacher to whom he’s been assigned.
I’ve known her for years, and she’s super-duper sweet.
She taught him in Sunday School a few years back, so she knows what she’s getting into!

Chicago Skyline (aka I would really love your help before Friday at noon!)

A year ago today, I was dressed up and ready for my first big blogger event.

A year ago today I met Casey and Emily, and fell in love with them both immediately.

A year ago today I found out that Chicago is my new favorite city!

A year ago today I had no clue I would be atop the ferris wheel on the Navy Pier
taking one of my favorite pictures of all time.

I entered this photo into Aimee‘s monthly photo contest and was chosen as a finalist!

There are a lot of other amazing photographs, and I’m glad that I’m a part of this group.

But if you could take a moment and click here and vote for me, I’d really appreciate it.
Voting ends Friday at noon!

You Capture {Black & White}

Lately I’ve been missing my mojo.
My blogging mojo.
My photography mojo.
My keeping up with everything mojo.

But you guys know how much I love black and white pictures.
So when I saw that You Capture was all about b&w, I couldn’t resist.

When I took Carter out to get all his school supplies we had to stop at the grocery store on the way home.
He insisted that we buy some roses for me!
I love that kid!
And it was just what I needed to lift my spirits.

Because this?  This is how I’ve felt all week long.

My kids swirling around me.
Complete chaos ruling the day.


And what fun is taking black and whites without doing a quick selfie pic?

I love the light in my bathroom!!


I know…

I know that it’s just the pregnancy hormones.
I know that it’s why I’m tired and grumpy and weepy.
(Oh, how I hate being weepy.)

I know that it’s what is causing the headaches.
I know that it’s what is making me feel like I can’t keep up.
I know that it’s the stupid friggin’ hormones that make me all dark and twisty.
I know it.

And yet?
I can’t do anything about it.
I can’t stop it.
I can’t fight it.

And I want to.

I want to for myself,
for my family,
for my kids.

They deserve better than this.
You deserve better than this.

No one deserves my sour attitude and cranky disposition.

When I get like this, I tend to shut down.
I shut out other people because I know how easy it is for me to snap mean, hurtful things.
Things that I don’t even mean.
Things that in some ways I regret.
But in some weird, crazy way…it’s satisfying.

And I absolutely hate when I feel that way, when I do that.

But really?  You want to know what the worst part is?
The trying to be bright and shiny.
The trying to smile and be happy.

I’m not new to this.
I know how to fight.
I know what to do.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.


A few days at the beach with my family.

A week at the beach with the teenagers from church.

A few days back at home, trying to recuperate.

And now…school is a mind-numbing 3 weeks away.

I am simultaneously thrilled and saddened that it’s so close.

I’m taking Carter school shopping today.

Just the two of us.

I have so much to say, but my mind can’t really process it all right now.

I will be so glad when this first trimester is over.

Pregnancy brain + pregnancy hormones = flighty, crazy Bridget

Someone remind me that it gets better.

Of sand dunes and tar balls…

Remember last year when I admitted that I hate the beach?
Add some tar balls and you can double that.

Soon I’ll share a few days at a non-affected beach with my family…
Followed by a hormone-filled week with 11 teenagers in Florida.

I love my family.
I love those kids.

But I hate the beach.
And I really hate BP.

I’m kind of wondering what the the world I was thinking when I agreed to 8 straight days of sand.

Project 365

For nearly a year I have taken a picture

I must admit that there are some pictures that are completely void of any inspiration and I hate them.

But there are some others that I really, really love.

And there are moments that never would have been captured if I hadn’t been doing this self-imposed project.

Here are a few recent ones that make me smile.

Preparing for Greatness


Rockets Red Glare

The Littlest Ivey

You can see all of my project 365 pictures and much more on my Flickr page.

Unexpected Moments

An unexpected moment of still and quiet.
The air whirs and the ice maker hisses.
The dog snores lightly at my feet.

“She’s missing. I don’t know what happened.
I had the door cracked and now I can’t find her.”
The dog, not my child, thankfully.

Leaving the kids behind with my dad,
I rush to find her.
She, who would love nothing more than to run free on a farm,
But somehow ended up with us-
The non-runners, the non-multi-acre owners.

As I drive to her, I realize that she’s old.
My Maggie, my beloved bulldog.
The one that Marshall hates,
And Jesse loves.
My first “baby” is old.
And I hope she is ok.

I drive around and call for her,
And after a while go home defeated.

She’ll come back.
She always comes back.
Doesn’t she?

All I can do now is wait.
I sit down, open up my laptop,
And stare blankly out the window.

She is old.
I know she won’t be around forever.
She drives me insane sometimes,
But I love her.
And my throat catches…
Because she’s missing.
And she’s mine.
And what if…

The what ifs always get me.

“She’s just a dog,”
I tell myself.
“She’s just a dog.”

But she’s not just a dog.
She’s my dog.


That’s her!
That’s my Mags!
My weird-noise makin’ Mags.


I hear her, but where is she???
In the baby’s room??

Tucked and stuck under the bed.

“Hey, girl.
Come on out.
That’s right.
Good girl.”

So now…
dog found,
I sit down and catch my breath.

An unexpected moment of still and quiet.
The air whirs and the ice maker hisses.
The dog snores lightly at my feet.

An unexpected moment when my hormone-riddled self finds tears prickling my eyes.
I hope she knows how much I love her.
I know that sounds silly because she is, after all, just a dog.

But she’s not just a dog.
She’s my dog.
And I’m glad she’s snoring lightly at my feet.

Peaches and Dreams

The smell of peaches awakens my mind, brings to surface things forgotten.  Oh, the sweet, sweet smell of peaches.


When I was growing up there was only one big business in our tiny town:  Cherokee Canning Company.  In the spring and summer they canned O’sage peaches.  And as summer led into fall, they canned pimentos.  (To be honest, I have no clue what they did the rest of the year.)  For many years, everyone that grew up in my small town worked at the cannery.  A rite of passage, so to speak.  The perfect summer job(if you don’t mind wearing a hair net).  But by the time I came along, this was no longer the case.  I think it was just too dangerous for teenagers and they proved a higher liability than they were worth.

When it was peach time, the sorters would go through and pull out the blemished peaches.  Crate after crate of peaches, dumped out to be sorted.  Some peaches, obviously rotten, were simply tossed.  But those with slight blemishes were put aside for the locals.  Some small imperfection that wouldn’t fare well in the canning process didn’t deter us from snapping up the ones that were cast aside.


After my grandmother retired from her work at the bank, she was our primary babysitter.  She drove the afternoon carpool during the school year and kept my brother and I at her house in the summer.

While we had to endure countless episodes of Young & the Restless, we also went swimming and on adventures of all kinds.  Short day trips to the Uncle Remus museum and the Whistle Stop Cafe were not uncommon.  (And…why, yes…we are reeeeally S’uthern.)

We knew not to ask about going anywhere on Wednesdays, though.  We had church on Wednesday night and had to make sure there was plenty of time to make the Peach Pie for family night supper at church. (If you haven’t tried this recipe, you’re really missing out!)

Mr. Albert(one of the cannery owners) and my Mama Jo had an agreement of sorts.  He’d provide the peaches and she’d make the peach pie.


I miss the days when a box of slightly bruised fresh peaches would show up on the doorstep.


Canned Peaches.
Fresh Peaches.
Peach Ice Cream.
Peaches and milk with a little sprinkle of sugar.
Peach Pie.

I love ’em all.
Just don’t dare try to give me pickled peaches.  Bleh!
(My brother will happily take those!)