Monthly Archives: February 2011

A Little Awesome on a Monday

I have been known, on occasion, to be a glass half empty kind of girl.
At any given point of my day, I can probably tell you 10 things that either went wrong or I didn’t like.
And really?  That’s just not full of awesome.

But a few weeks ago, I saw an idea on another blog that I just loved.
She made handy-dandy little notepads where you could write down the best part of your day.
As with most of my great intentions, however, I thought about doing it and then got distracted by something else.
But it did inspire me to purposefully look out for the good things.
We are so blessed and really do have an overwhelming amount of awesome in our lives.

  • I had to buy a new sewing machine because mine broke mid-project but it was cheaper in the store than it was online.
  • Asa had a blowout diaper but we were at home & he didn’t take off his diaper like he’s been doing recently.
  • I just found out that Captain John Derst’s(my favorite kind of bread) makes wheat bread!
  • Alden is the first “paci baby” I’ve had and I love that because a) it’s cute and b) it surely keeps her quiet!

  • I took Anna Alden to her 1 month check up today and happened to run into a friend and her baby
    (who was recently discharged from the NICU).
  • My Vintage Pearl order shipped today!
  • I came home to find a huge box of Nutella on my front porch!  (More about this later!)

  • I have had two people today ask me about doing photography for them.
  • I have 5 other people who have contacted me recently wanting me to do photo shoots for them.
  • I think that those 7 people may have given me the push to get my act together.
  • Asa did not take a nap today but he stayed in his room and played quietly.
    (And I’m hoping this means he’ll go to bed early-ish tonight.)
  • I got another package in the mail with a gift from a cute little etsy shop.
  • Marshall has a great new opportunity at work.
  • I am sitting here holding a sleeping baby and listening to the wind blow my wind chimes.




Sentences on Sunday{Anna Alden}

A month.  4 weeks.
Gone in a flash.
I am worried that I am going to blink
And you are going to be a teenager.

As time quickly ticks by, you change – almost imperceptibly at first.
And I only notice when the change is complete, the milestone is past.
No longer do I find you curled up in the fetal position,
But unfurled and exploring the space around you.
When did you stop sleeping with your hands up by your face?
Or your legs uncrossed?

And I think you’ve finally begun to see us.
You look into my eyes and study my face,
Just as I do to you.
And I can’t stop my heart from bursting when you half-smile up at me.

I am learning your habits.
You are learning mine.
I hope we have a lifetime of this…
Both of us changing, learning, loving.

Many people worry that they could never love another child like they loved their first
(Or their second or the third),
But you are so easy to love,
and oh how you are loved.

And I hope you always know that, feel that, experience that love.

In labor.

I was cleaning out my drafts folder and I found this.
I’d forgotten that I written it at all, but I’m glad I did.
Once I found it, I remembered tapping it out on the tiny keyboard of my phone.
And I remember wanting to finish it, but deciding instead to get the epidural redone.
I think that was probably a good choice.

I listen to the beep-beep-beep of your monitor.
As your heart races, so does mine.
And then with the slowing…like a deep breath…
We both relax.

Good variablilty, they say.
Faster, slower, faster, slower…
There is a strange comfort in the consistency of the variability.
An event like this one, so unpredictable-
Oddly reassuring by the repetition.

The tightening – from the inside out…
At this point a gentle reminder that you are almost here.
My body is working as it should be, which is wonderful…
But I can’t help but mourn the fact that these are the last few hours that you will be completely mine.

I can’t complain though.
We’ve had a good run, you and I.
And it’s time to share you, I know.
There are so many people waiting to meet you,
To love you, to support you, to care for you…
Just as they have done for me.

Almost there…

I found this in my drafts folder.  I don’t even remember writing it, but from the time stamp on it I wrote it in the early hours of January 27th(Alden’s birthday).  I also found one that I tapped out on my phone during labor and had forgotten about.  I’ll post it tomorrow.

Are you nervous?
Aren’t you sad that this is the last one?
Can you believe it’s here already?

I’ve heard these questions a lot lately.
I’ve asked them of myself lately.

No, I’m not nervous.
I’m tired.
Weary is probably a more accurate description.

I know that this is certainly the last one.
I know that I was made for this, created for this.
I know that this child is one we wanted and one we will love.
But I also know that it’s not been an easy pregnancy.
And that my body, though certainly not old, isn’t quite as forgiving as it used to be.
I’m not sure I could do it again.

I have soaked it up.
I have breathed it in.
I have savored it.

And now, the time has come…

More than “Baby Blues”

I remember it.
I remember it well.

The wanting to breathe deep
And not being able to.

The wanting to smile
And have it reach all the way up to my eyes.

The wanting to laugh
And have it come from deep within.

The wanting to be happy.
The wanting to feel joy.

The knowing that this this is exactly what I wanted…
And then, once it was here, it feeling so empty.

Searching for joy,
Wanting it so deeply,
And it always being just out of reach.

Confused by what I knew I was supposed to feel
And what I was feeling.

Waking up one morning and realizing that it’s more…
It’s more than just a little sad.
It’s more than “baby blues”.
And wondering how it happened?
How it sneaked up on you without you even knowing…

Oh, how well I remember it.

But this time, I fought back before it had time to find me.
Before it slipped quietly into my mind, slyly and silently attacking from within.

But there are still moments when I start to breath in deeply and I choke on those old emotions.
There are still times when I smile at all the good, all the beauty around me
and yet it feels not quite as happy as it should be.
And there are still times when I catch my mind trying to trick me, trying to break.

But the difference this time is that I know it’s there.
I know what my mind is capable of doing to me
And I didn’t give it a chance this time.
I started fixing it before it was broken.

But I remember.
It’s something you never forget.
And something, I think, that’s never completely gone.

So I’m here to tell you that if you feel like this?
This quiet pain, invisible to so many?

Calm down
Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed
Hang on
Help is on the way
And stay strong
Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Details in the Fabric*, Jason Mraz

You are not alone.
You are not crazy.
You are not a bad mom.
You are not a bad person.

Ask for help.
Tell somebody else how shitty it feels.
Don’t be ashamed of the terrible, horrible thoughts that cross your mind.

You’re not alone.
We get it.
Those of us who have been there…
We get it.

It might not feel like it now, but it will be fine…
And, looking back, it’ll seem like no time at all.

*FYI: Links to music that has curse words.

Mouthwatering Monday: Pesto Chicken Cheesecake

Oh.My.Heavens.  I found this recipe in a local cookbook and had to share!
I made it last night for dinner and Marshall actually got chill bumps when he took a bite.
It is that good (and easy)!

Lydia and I just had some for breakfast, too.
So now we know that it’s tasty when it’s hot or cold!

16 oz. cream cheese(softened)
2 eggs
2TBsp all-purpose flour
3TBsp Pesto
2 cups chopped cooked chicken
1 cup sour cream
1 TBsp all-purpose flour
Basil leaves for garnish

Preheat  the oven to 325°.  Beat the cream cheese in a bowl with an electric mixer until smooth.  Add eggs, 2 TBsp flour and pesto.  Beat until blended.  Stir in the chicken.  Spread into a greased 8-inch springform pan.  (I only had a 9-inch, so mine is a little thin.)  Bake for 30 minutes.  Remove to a wire rack.  Mix the sour cream and 1 TBsp flour in a bowl.  Spread evenly over the warm cheesecake.  Bake for 10 more minutes and remove to wire rack.  Loosen from the sides of the pan and then remove the side.  Serve hot or cold.  Garnish with basil leaves, if desired.

Find more great recipes over at Rachel’s blog, A Southern Fairytale.

Mouthwatering Mondays

Oh, It’s Such A Perfect Day…

…I’m glad I spent it with you.

Picnic lunch with Daddy

Lying under the trees and cloud watching

Sun-kissed giggles and tiny snores

And soaking up the sun

Then moonrise

And sleep

Slipping through my fingers…

You lie sleeping on my chest.
The weight of your body hardly enough to feel.
The sound of your shallow breaths go in and out…
And I look down at you.
So small, so fragile.
Your tiny hand curled and resting on my breast.

Before I know it, you’ll be two
And your hands will no longer be tiny and delicate
And the weight of you on my chest will be heavy but comforting.
You will stand on the cusp of independence,
Ready to be your own person
(As long as I’m right there beside you).

And then you will be four
And your hands will be thin again, losing all traces of their toddleriness.
Too long and too heavy to lay on my chest, you’ll lie beside me.
And even though your weight isn’t bearing down on me, you take my breath away.
How did you get so big so fast?
Was it not just a week ago that you were the little babe?

And then you will be six.
Too old to nap,
Too big to want to rest with Mommy.
But you’ll cuddle up beside me and I will read to you
And then you will read to me.
And, once again, you’ll take my breath away.

I want to freeze each moment.
I want to relish it all in a way that I can instantly recall it even years from now.

But I know that’s not the way memories work.
So I write.  I photograph.  I chronicle it all.
I do it for you.
I do it for me.
I do it to remember.

“Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture and save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers all the time…”

I’m not here.

I’m not blogging (or cleaning or doing laundry or cooking) because I’m too busy holding this:

Or trying to keep this…

…from picking up this:

Love is…

When I was little-probably somewhere around Carter’s age-we did a musical at church called Down by the Creek Bank.

I loved that musical, and although there are a lot of things from my childhood that I don’t remember,
I am fairly certain that I could sing almost every word of that musical to you today.

I remember us shaking long strips of blue fabric to make it look like water.
I remember wearing overalls and pigtails…
And being thrilled that I was actually allowed to go barefoot in church!

There was the song about “Germs”, the invisible dog who lived in my pocket and fell asleep at church.
And the fill-in-the-blank song about Jonah and Zachaeus and Daniel.
And one about the boy with fish and bread…

But the thing I remember the most is the song “Love Is…”

Love is a very special thing –
A smile, a tear, a soft summer rain.
It has no beginning it has no end,
But I like it best when its shared with a friend.

Love is never stuffed up, ever puffed up,
Never gives up when the going’s rough.
It’s the biggest little word you can say, by the way.
Its sympathy, sincerity, its charity, the main variety
Of everything happiness is made of.

And I like it best when it’s shared with a friend.

Sure it’s cheesy.
(But I am, too.)

And I’m glad that every now and then these words pop into my head.
It doesn’t hurt to have a reminder that love is what happiness is made of.
It doesn’t hurt to be reminded that we should always be showing sympathy, sincerity and charity.

So even though Marshall and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day,
I am celebrating love.
It’s a very special thing!