Where'd it go?

May, that is. I'm sitting here staring at my calendar wondering what on earth I did with May, because it's almost gone. Time to revisit my goals and scramble around a bit trying to finish it all.

The pile of baby clothes has been sorted and organized and placed in to one purple bin with newborn size on top, all the way down to 9 months size on the bottom. I feel like I should have had more emotional stress over putting those baby clothes away, like I should have cried a little or something. But no dice, not one single tear. It's done and that's that.

Karlina's room is finally looking less chaotic. I moved her bookshelves out a little bit so they're not right in the corner, and I also moved the big bed all the way over to the far wall so she can get at her books and toys more easily. Which is a blessing and a curse, really, since she doesn't quite have the motor skills to put the books back on the shelf yet. She tries, though, and that's what counts. I also moved the tree decal to the other side of the room and the framed scrapbook paper to the window wall.

My closet is finally done! (Pictures to come tomorrow) Angel choirs are singing, let me tell you. I am so thrilled to have gotten rid of so many clothes and shoes and purses (I now have two. At one point I had like 20. Big improvement), and I love going into my room now. I haven't rearranged the furniture in there yet, but hopefully my Hubby will be back at work tomorrow after a mild respiratory infection he's been battling since Sunday, so I'll be able to rearrange a bit then.

The kitchen shelves have been painted thanks to my Mother-in-law. Sadly, though, they don't fit in the cabinet anymore, so they're going to need a good sand before I can put them back in, and Heaven knows when that's going to happen. The cabinets are still in desperate need of another coat or two of paint as well, and I'm definitely going to need some help with Karlina before I can even think about that. So, the kitchen will have to wait for June, I suppose. 

The bathroom still needs a good wipe-down and a quick sort-through to put things back where they're supposed to go. That I can do this week for sure.

So, barring any major disasters (please, Lord, don't let Karlina or me get sick), I should be able to check off a while bunch of May to-do's by Friday. And .... Go!

Closet progress report 1

See that stack of hangers? Before yesterday, every single one of those had a piece of sad, lonely, unwanted clothing on it. Now, the hangers are free. There are 27 in that stack, which means almost a month's worth of clothes are now being donated to a thrift shop. The picture of the clothes hanging is literally my entire professional wardrobe. A few shirts, five pairs of slacks, seven skirts, two suits, one dress. Oh, and those sweaters, which are looking much nicer in my new sweater rack. (I still have a ridiculous amount of sweaters considering I live in Los Angeles, but my husband has this thing about being cold and thinks I need to bundle up when it's sixty degrees out. So he buys me sweaters. And I love each and every one of them because he really is a very good stylist. The man can walk in to a store and buy a pair of jeans for me and when he brings them home they fit perfectly. He once brought home a size six because he said they looked like they would fit. I was, naturally, skeptical since I am a solid 8-10. And I love those size six jeans. Very proud that I have a pair of size six jeans in my drawer and that I can wear them.)

(^Longest parenthesis ever?)

I still don't love the look of that sweater rack there, and I'd love to be all Martha Stewart and put in some fancy shelf dividers to stack my sweaters, but I'm not that good at drilling and getting my husband to do it will be challenging since he's working overtime for two more weeks. So, the rack will have to do.

I'm also down to two weeks worth of undies, which is a drastic improvement. Most of the ones I threw out were uncomfortable anyway, and I just no longer have the will to wear uncomfortable underwear. I also threw out all those evil VS bras and am now down to two nursing bras and four sports bras. I'll be ordering some that actually fit soon. I'll spare you those details, though.

Shoes ... You know, I've never considered myself a shoe person, but I had about three times as many shoes as I need creating traffic jams in my closet. So now I'm down to two pairs of dress sandals, two pairs of dress flats, one pair of Five Fingers, two pairs of hikers (one is Goretex which will only be used in the winter, so it's way back in the corner there), one pair of tennis shoes, one pair of Vans which I can't bear to part with, and my beloved Toms. From 30 pairs down to 10.

So now I've cleared space for my trumpet and music stand (they're hiding there behind the sweater rack) and my file box, which really doesn't belong there in the front but will have a new convenient location soon.

Oh my word, it feels so good to purge all of this from my life. It feels like letting go of a huge burden. I feel like I'm no longer a slave to my possessions. And it feels like I'm finally back in control of my house.

I should be finished in the next couple of days after I clean up that top shelf. I still have no earthly idea where that stuff is going to go. Most of it I'm keeping, so it must find a place to be.

So here are today's photos. A vast improvement from yesterday, I think.

Closet: Before

Welcome to The Great Closet Purge of 2013. Good gracious, these photos are embarrassing. I forgot to take a photo before I took all my clothes out, but that big stack on the bed are things I'm getting rid of. Either they don't fit (all my church dresses but one are in varying stages of too small or too big ... Thank you, yo-yo weight), are frayed or have holes (most of my work pants which I was too cheap and lazy to have tailored), are out of style (Hello, skirt collection from 2005), or I just don't feel good in them. I did keep a lot of things I don't really wear because they are pretty and maybe when I'm a hip preschool mom (aka when I'm not relegated to crappy nursing bras) I can wear them again. Optimism is power.

All that other junk in there? Most of it was in the guest room before the guest room became a nursery. So lots of books, office supplies, and junk. I'll keep you updated on progress if I can remember to take pictures as I go. I do know that my lovely collection of Victoria's Secret bras are going bye-bye since I discovered yesterday, via this blog post, that NONE of them are the correct size. Here I've been wearing 36C for years, but I'm really supposed to be a 32DDDDDD according to American sizing, 32G for UK sizing. Yeah, no, my boobs are not ginormous as the Man at VS had me thinking for years, they are just too cheap to make bras that actually fit normal women, so they add four inches to the band size. Really ridiculous. Read the link, but please excuse the completely unnecessary profanity, and you'll see what I mean.

Anywho, enough about my bra size. (Side note: I completely bored my husband talking about this last night. You'd think he'd be all ears listening to me talk about my boobs, but no dice. Men are weird.)

Alright, here are the photos, in typical Wish I Could Write style, ie completely out of order, of my closet. Progress reports to come.

Long week

<p>Okay, so I know a lot of people have it worse than me, but allow me to vent my first-world problem: My hubby works ten-hour days four days each week. We love this schedule as it allows us to enjoy the outdoors without dealing with the 17 million other Angelenos who also want to be outside on the weekends. Fridays are fantastic days to go to the beach, enjoy waterfalls in the mountains, and drive those curvy roads without anyone else around. Well, at least, not 17 million of them. But last Friday and the next two Fridays and probably Memorial Day, Robert and his team are writing a grant. It's due in two weeks, so it's crunch time. And I'm learning to deal with being home five days a week. I know, wah, wah, boo hoo, join the rest of the world ... But this throws off my whole schedule, and the Crazy does not like schedule changes. Plus my honey is tired at the end of a 50-hour work week, and then we have to start Sabbath still all fired up from the week with no time to mentally prepare for that lovely day of rest. We go to church tired and maybe still a little irritable because we haven't had our extra day to wind down. And then Sunday we have to rush around to finish taking care of things for the week to come, and then our lovely outdoor time is ruined by 17 million others who are also enjoying their outdoor time. </p>
<p>Case in point: Yesterday we planned a lovely, long drive to one of our favorite hiking spots in the Angeles National Forest. We rarely see people up that high, but the trail is gorgeous, all strewn with tall cedars and cool rock formations, and lots of squirrels for Pippin to chase. Yesterday, though, Highway 2 was closed for some as yet unknown reason, so we had to turn around and drive to the beach. It took us nearly two hours to get there, which was great for our sleeping beauty, but rather tiring for Robert. When we got to the beach, it was just full of surfers, tailgaters, sunbathers, dog walkers, stoners, tunnel-to-China diggers, sand castle builders, and of course lots of sand and water. We did have a beautiful time, though, and really, the beach at Leo Carillo seldom attracts the huge crowds you see at other beaches in Los Angeles County. Karlina loves playing chicken with the waves, Pippin loves searching for sticks in the soft sand, and we really just enjoyed hanging out. </p>
<p>However, today we still feel a little frantic since we didn't have Friday to deal with bills and mail. Poor Robert came home for lunch and had to eat in ten minutes because he spent the rest of the time on the phone trying to sort out some business. I don't quite feel rested, and I'm sure Robert is feeling a little unprepared for the week as well. </p>
<p>But here's the silver lining: I can take it a little easier this week and next knowing that I have five days instead of four to get all my work done. Which might mean a trip to the park, perhaps a library run, and some much-needed crochet time. </p>
<p>So, life looks a little different this week, but it's going to be just fine. We will survive and appreciate our three-day weekends even more from now on.

My beef with blogging

I started this blog not too long ago as a result of feeling depressed and alone and needing a place to just throw all my frustrations out there. I honestly didn't expect anyone to read it, and I'm still surprised that there are a few left who still read it even though I really suck at blogging. Half the time I forget, then my posts are rather random and scatterbrained and quite poorly written, and boring as all get out. I mean, who cares what I'm cleaning and organizing this week? Besides me? Anyone? Bueller? Yeah, I didn't think so. My photos never post in the right order because we refuse to pay for WiFi at our house and we refuse to buy a computer, so until the blogger app for android improves, the photos will continue to be out of order and always at the end of the post, unlike those awesome blogs where it's picture, words, picture of same thing at a different angle, rephrase the same words, etc. Those blogs are fun and exciting, this one ... Meh.

I've come to realize that this whole blogging thing is really a big fat popularity contest that each person fights with themselves. I know how it is, to log on to that blogger dashboard and see the line graph shooting up in to the sky. Quite exhilarating, I must admit. Then your blog gets around, somehow, and all of a sudden you have followers! Yay! Although these followers are completely random people who of course want you to return the favor even though reading their blog is like slow torture in a pot of boiling water for your eternal soul. You just aren't that interested in people's theological discourse on why it's HORRIBLE, WRONG, UN-CHRISTIAN, UN-AMERICAN!! to keep the Sabbath on Saturday. (Seriously, how do these people find my blog? This blog has almost nothing to do with my chosen religion.) So they unfollow you because you don't want to follow them. "Teacher, I'm not Jonny's friend anymore because he doesn't want to play marbles with me!"

For some bloggers, it's obvious that they really just write from their heart. Then there are those who are obviously making money from it (I'm not saying there's anything wrong with making a living from your blog ...) but who seem to have issues with sincerity and honesty. Their pages are filled with ads and sponsored posts and some of those are just really hard for me to read.

Anyway, I'm sure I offended someone or a lot of someone's with my bugaboos about blogging. But just so you know: If your blog content is boring, I'm not following you. If your blog content is full of sponsored posts and little else, I'm not following you. And no, I don't really care if you are following me or not, I'm still sticking to my convictions on this one. (By the way, as of now I have zero followers, and I'm totally okay with that.) I just am a little annoyed with the disingenuousness of the blog world right now. And now that I've gotten that off my chest, onward. As you were.

Oh, there you are, Sleep! I've been looking all over for you!

So Tuesday afternoon's "nap," if you can even call it that, lasted all of fifteen minutes. So, I made an executive decision, which I of course discussed with hubby and MIL first, that we would start the intentional transition from two naps to one. So yesterday I let Karlina play until 10:50 or so before we started her pre-nap routine. Then, after Bible story, lullabies, crib time, and a little Ergo cuddle time, she went to sleep at 11:15. She stayed asleep until 12:55. Good, solid nap. She stayed awake pretty much the whole afternoon, with a brief fifteen-minute nap while nursing. Then, last night she went down in her crib at about 8:15 and didn't wake AT ALL until 5:45! And I now have a new project looming: Black-out curtains.

This 5:30-ish wake-up time is new, but it's been three days in a row (of course, now that I typed that she'll go back to waking at 4:00 ... {sure enough, I started writing this yesterday, and today she woke at 4:50. Oh well}). One nap per day is a goal we're striving towards, but so far it hasn't happened yet. She always wants to take a little cat nap during the afternoon nursing session. I'm letting her sleep for a few minutes, but then I'll play a video on my phone or walk around, just so she doesn't mess up the night time sleep.

Anyway, I feel much more human after a few days' worth of sleeping through the night. However, now that we're working towards one nap, I am in desperate need of time to clean. I really just want to play and read with my daughter all day, but I really can't let cleaning go, especially the floors since she's still crawling. I'm managing to vacuum every day, but weekly dusting, mopping, and bathroom cleaning have not been consistent at all. I just don't get how such a small house can require this much work! I'm not complaining, really, just wondering. And so, this parenthood thing is really just an evolving animal, I'm coming to find out. I think I have everything figured out, I get into a groove, and then everything changes. Bring on those curveballs, Life. I'm ready for whatever you got. house

Sleep ... Oh, how I miss you

I haven't slept since about 2 this morning, when my daughter briefly woke up and didn't want to go right back to sleep like she usually does. I held and rocked her for about 10 minutes before I was able to put her down without her popping right back up again. After that, though, I didn't sleep well. I'd drop off, then feel uncomfortable, then start thinking about something else, then drop off again and then K would wake up squirming and crying a bit before going back to sleep again, then I'd have to pee, and on and on. At about 5:30, she woke again to eat, but I didn't want her to be up for the day yet (ha!) and there was already light filtering in the front windows, so I brought her to bed with me. Which is really stupid of me, because I know she can't eat laying down without getting all filled up with burps. So she squirmed and we switched sides, and she squirmed some more and stood up and asked to get down to play. Ugh. Okay, kid, you play, I'll sleep. This lasted for maybe twenty minutes before she was ready to go back to sleep. So I nursed her in bed again (Really? Brain, you are not doing your best work today ...) This time she napped while sucking, but I was sore from typical early-morning-nursing-baby-yoga, so I couldn't get back to sleep. Yay. And here we are, 2:20 in the afternoon, she's been trying to go down for a nap for 50 minutes now and I just can't put her down on the bed without her crying. This does not bode well for my to-do list for today. Okay, here we go, gonna try again to put her down. Wish me luck.

The Plan

99 degrees. Spring? Really? This is August weather, LA, come on, now. May needs fog and cool mornings and long-sleeved shirts for pajamas.

However, I have been waiting for some hot, dry weather to finish painting the pantry shelves, so here we go. I can certainly finish that today and perhaps finish (ahem ... Start) sorting baby clothes once it's too hot to be outside. Here's hoping for some stellar naps from baby girl today.

The rest of the week I'll be moving artwork, putting finishing touches on baby closet organization, perhaps starting in on my own closet disaster, and, once it's cool enough to open the windows during the day, put a couple more coats of paint on kitchen cabinets and drawers. Oh, wouldn't it be loverly to finish putting my kitchen back together this week?

Speaking of musicals, yesterday I was inspires to sing "The Sound of Music" as a celebration of my daughter's first "bagged" peak! I have no idea what mountain it even was, and have no photo evidence since we left the camera in the car, but it was very exciting. The top of this particular mountain was pretty magical in the sparkly fairy dust sense. The rocks up at the top were full of mica which glinted and sparkled every time we moved. And we found the top of this mountain not because we intended to bag a peak, but because we couldn't for the life of us find the Pacific Crest Trail. No one else found it either, apparently, as we spotted numerous parties of hikers and backpackers wandering aimlessly among the picnic tables and along the highway in search of the elusive trail. I'm thinking maybe they could use some better signage.

Anyway, here's to another week closer to my goal of having my whole house organized. I'm already hatching plans for reorganizing the living room again, though, so this may be an ongoing and never-ending project. Blame it on the Crazy.

For Mom

Yesterday I opened the door to see a funny little lady, long, black, curly hair escaping rebelliously from under her too-small baseball cap, sheet of paper with no clipboard in one hand and a pitcher full of flowers in the other. "Are you Patritha?" she lisped. I barely avoided lisping back a "Yeth," and instead opted for "I am." "Well, thethe are for you!" she exclaimed, and handed me the flowers and the clipboard-less paper, which was full of names and addresses. My name was there but the address line was blank. I asked her if she needed my address, she told me "Jutht thign right there." Now I don't know if you've mastered the Jedi-like skill of doing anything and everything while holding a baby, but signing a clipboard-less paper with one hand seems an impossible task. I somehow managed to use my baby-holding hand as a hard surface and scribbled something totally illegible.

The flowers are gorgeous. The card was, as I expected, from my Mom. My first Mother's Day flowers! My first thought was "Oh crap. I haven't ordered anything for my mom yet," which was followed quickly by "Man, my mom is so awesome!"

And she really is.

My mom has made so many sacrifices for us. When we were itty bitty, she stayed home with us and cloth-diapered, cooked everything from scratch (including spaghetti noodles!), learned from the neighbors how to make tortillas and sopapillas, only let us watch Sesame Street, and taught us to love and respect everyone and everything, especially our books. After she and Dad divorced, she started attending night school to become a nurse. She worked the 7p to 7a shift at hospitals for years so we could have clothes and food and a home. 

Growing up, I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. When I was in middle school, she came to school once to drop off a book or something, and all my friends thought she was my sister. I have very few memories of her ever losing her patience with us, and the one time I remember her spanking me, she was so gentle that it didn't even hurt. Despite the divorce and the circumstances surrounding it, she never spoke one negative word about my Dad in front of us. It wasn't until I was 21 and rather angry with her about getting divorced that she told me why. That had to be so hard for her, especially because we kind of idolized our absent parent. She defended us whenever we suffered any genuine injustice, but somehow she knew when we were (or rather when I was ... I don't think my sister ever told a fib in her life) exaggerating and wouldn't put up with my storytelling.

My mom has been through so much emotional turmoil in her life, and has made a lot of mistakes (who hasn't?). But she is my hero, my best friend, my advocate, and my mentor.

I love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

May Flowers

Well, it's May 9 already and I never even posted my goals for April! April was very busy around here, and included a couple of weeks of painting the kitchen, which is still ongoing since my mom came to visit before we were really finished, and it's been raining and humid since she left. I will dedicate a post to the kitchen when it's all finished.

So my goals for May are not really new or exciting, just finishing a bunch of projects that I've already started.

Painting needs to be done as soon as it gets warm and dry again, which, according to NOAA should be Sunday. Yay, painting on Mother's Day! But, as my husband so generously states, "Every day is Mother's Day." Aww, how sweet, right? Or it's a lame excuse to not buy me cake and chocolate and flowers. Yeah, I'm on to you, buddy. And just to be passive aggressive, I'm going to go ALL OUT for Father's Day this year. ALL.OUT.

Tangent over. As you were.

Next, my daughter's closet, which was so meticulously organized before she was born, is now full of unsorted piles of too-small baby clothes, which I of course am saving for friends who are expecting since we're pretty sure we're done having kids. And by We, I of course mean He. I'm not sure I'll ever be done, but I'm working on being okay with one. For now. Anyway, those clothes have two empty giant purple bins in the garage waiting for them and that's my next task. I may even get to that today ... We shall see.

I also need to move around some artwork in Karlina's room since I sort of rearranged a few things yesterday. That shouldn't take long.

Moving on to our bedroom, MY side of the closet has been in an embarrassing state since we re-wired a year ... and a half ago. Yes, my closet has been a disaster for eighteen months. There, I said it. There are books, clothes, shoes, musical instruments, toys, gifts for my nephews which I forgot to give them and are now too small, cards and letters from my old job, office supplies, and, oh yes, more clothes. So many clothes I could dress a high school marching band. An all-female high school marching band, but a high school marching band nevertheless. My husband undertook to clean his side of the closet one morning a few weeks ago. He finished in an hour. He saw me later that day looking for recipe ideas and thought I was looking for something to DO. He told me to clean my side of the closet. During Karlina's nap time. Which is an hour and a half, max. Oh, you poor, silly man. You really expect me and my Crazy to finish cleaning, purging, and organizing eighteen months worth of STUFF in an hour and a half? Oh no, darling, this will be at least a three-day job. If not a week. Maybe two. It's really bad in there ...

Then of course I'd like to rearrange our room a bit to make it flow more nicely. For instance, having our dressers next to the bed instead of facing off in opposite corners. Maybe some nice, soft curtains, or a homemade headboard. Artwork? Sure, why not! It sure is nice to dream, isn't it?

Then the bathroom. I'm not too worried about it except the walls and ceiling could use a good wipe-down. We also have a brand new (almost two years old?) lovely skylight which is giving us an amazing view of ... the attic. That needs to be connected to the lovely skylight in the roof, but that's a Honeydo for my Honey Bear and, as we ladies know but tend to ignore at times, nagging doesn't get us anywhere. All I can do is calmly ask him if he plans to do anything about it this weekend. As I have been calmly asking every weekend for nearly two years now. So yeah, I've been nagging him. I've only myself to blame for it not being done yet, I suppose.

After that, the last thing on my "Get this house in sellable condition whether we sell or not!" list is to paint the hallway cabinet. I'm thinking white, just to keep it simple. The baseboards could use a touch-up of paint too.

I honestly don't think May has enough days to get all this under my belt, but I may surprise myself and be REALLY motivated.

Maybe.

K-13

Thirteen months. Everyone asks if she's walking and talking. No, and yes. I mean, she walks great holding on to one or both of our hands, or if she knows Daddy is holding on to her jacket. But no steps on her own yet. And yesterday I read two blog posts about kids who didn't do the "milestones" until they were good and ready, so I'm cool with just letting it happen when it happens. We've never forced anything with her, and this waking thing is no different.

But talking? Oh, yes, she talks! Most of it I don't understand, but I love to just listen to the sweet, incessant babble that takes up most of her day. The words she uses consistently are daddy (which sometimes comes out Dadu), puppy (which at the moment applies to any animal), afuera (outside), agua (water), amen (after songs, mealtime and naptime prayers, and good stories), Mami (but only when prompted ... She still calls me Gaaaah when she's looking for me), and papa (which could mean one of many things depending on the circumstances: looking at pictures, it's Grandpa, looking at a bird, it's Pajaro, eating a French fry, it's Potato (What? I don't give my kid French fries, what are you talking about?), playing with rocks, it's Piedra). She says Mmm when she smells a flower and when she eats, and it's just so cute with her little high-pitch soft voice (as opposed to the decidedly alto tones she uses when she's angry or wants something NOW).

Parentheses schmarentheses.

She loves books all of a sudden. She has developed an attachment to her kangaroo and just NEEDS to hold it when she's feeling insecure. Outside is still her favorite place to be, and her Abuelita is already employing her to pull weeds. If I hand her a rag, she will wipe down the nearest surface. If I hand her a brush, she will diligently scrub the floor. We shall see how long this lovely Cinderella phase lasts.

At her 12 month checkup, she weighed 20 lbs 12 oz, was 28" long, and her head is measuring in the 90th percentile. Her doctor remarks, "Big brain," at every visit. She is finally catching up to her peers in the weight and height categories at the 50th and 30th percentiles respectively. She eats solids like a champ, and she's still nursing five or six times a day. I am in no way ready to give up nursing, and neither is she, so my new goal is to make it to 2 years or whenever she decides she's done. It has been challenging of late, because she's pretty much been teething for three months straight now and when she teethes, she bites. The good ol' clamp and drag is her favorite trick, and she also enjoys a bit of nursing yoga when I feed her in bed for our first daylight feed. Coconut oil is amazing for sore body parts, by the way.

Speaking of teeth, she now has five and is working on a sixth. Despite cutting so many teeth in so little time, she has been surprisingly good natured. She does have her moments of frustration and clingy whininess, but for the most part she is happy all the time.

Her favorite part of the day is when Daddy comes home. I've been looking forward to this part of parenthood since I got pregnant. Or maybe since we got married. Actually, I've been looking forward to this since I was a little girl who missed that whole "Daddy's home!" experience. She squeals when she hears the garage door open or sees the car pull up, and she just wants to RUN out the door (except she needs to hold on to Mommy's hand to do it).

This is such a fun time for me, watching her explore and learn and grow way too fast. Thank Heaven for little girls.

Futility

So those ten weeks of cleaning, contact-papering and organizing my entire kitchen? Completely pointless. My kitchen was stripped bare today in preparation to sand and prime the walls and cabinets on Friday and Sunday while we're out of town. So all my gorgeous organization? It all got thrown into random boxes today. Sad face. All that time I spent on the stupid kitchen I could have been cleaning and organizing the bedrooms (especially my closet ... Just ... ugh. I'll post pictures later so you can ugh with me), hallway and bathroom. Of course, had I KNOWN we were going to paint right now, I wouldn't have done all that work, but, see, this family? We have communication problems. My husband and I have been talking about painting, choosing colors, changing our minds about colors, choosing new colors, etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseum, for YEARS, so how was I supposed to know that this time he was SERIOUS? I'm exhausted from four days of painting and an afternoon of emptying my kitchen (which included attempting to carefully roll my brand new beautiful contact paper, which probably won't work and I'll just have to measure and cut and align and apply ALL.OVER.AGAIN.) and now I'm stressed because Karlina's birthday is on Tuesday and how am I supposed to bake a beautiful and healthy birthday cake when my KITCHEN IS EMPTY?!?

So I know that all sounds really negative, but I really am actually pretty excited to paint the kitchen after all these years of despising it and the ugly colors on the walls and cabinets. I'm looking forward to enjoying cooking in a fresh space with cabinets and walls that I don't hate. I may get really fancy and spray-paint the refrigerator, and maybe even the countertops. Yeah, this is gonna be stellar.

Looks just like new!

One year ago, we had just finished the LONG process of rewiring our house, patching holes, and installing devices (switches and outlets). Today, the living room finally is painted. We started last Friday, did trim and details today (and Hubby put the plates and light trims up), and tomorrow I will finish up the last few details like the door frame and the places where the tape didn't quite line up with the corners. It feels so good to have our living room looking presentable. We feel inspired to redecorate and rearrange and get new artwork. Robert said it looks like a brand-new house today. And it does! Until you go to the kitchen, and then, well ... Not so much. But we plan to start painting the kitchen next week. We will be out of town this weekend so one of our handy friends is going to sand all the surfaces while we're gone. I can't wait!!!

Wonder week

Oh man, this kid is so amazing and smart and unpredictable and moody and funny and ... I could go on. This week we seem to be in the middle of a developmental leap that has everyone wondering which way is up. Recently she has started losing her little mind while I'm cutting her nails. She squirms and squeals and screams and cries like I'm torturing her. I suppose in her mind, it is torture to have to keep your hand still for ten seconds. She really just wants to be moving all the time.

I did some reading into this particular leap, and right now she's learning about programs, such as getting dressed, taking a bath, going on a car trip, eating dinner, etc. She loves watching me put my socks and shoes on, and yesterday she tried to put her own sock on. She has also been pulling on her sleeves like she wants to take off her shirt. Today I heard the dog growling and I went in to check things out, and Karlina was chasing him around with his leash in her hands.

She loves music and dancing. If there's no music playing she'll come find me and do a little dance until I turn on the stereo.  She loves pulling cords out of the walls and trying to plug them back in, but still hasn't quite succeeded getting it back in there. No worries, we have TR outlets which are supposedly baby proof.

She wants to be near me or attached to me all.day.long. The other day my mother-in-law and I were painting the living room while Robert babysat, and he couldn't put her down for even a second without her screaming. Now he knows how I feel ....

So pretty soon, according to my Wonder Weeks book, she will start wanting to help me clean, get more independent, start walking without help, start feeding herself with her spoon. I'm excited to see her start doing these things, but man, I wish she could stay this age just a little while longer. She just is so precious and adorable and funny. Her little voice saying Daddy and Mama just melts my heart. I'm more in love with her every single day.

This. Just ... Ah.

Excuses, excuses

I have lots of them for why I haven't written in a month. Mainly this crazy baby won't give me a moment's peace! Long gone are the 30-45 minute nursing sessions where she would drift in and out of sleep. Now, she'll hang out for ten minutes or less, run off to grab something she's not supposed to have, and then I have to remind her to finish the other side, where she'll pop on and off for a few minutes before she's off again, chasing the dog or pulling cords out of the wall or trying to eat paper. Oy.

Another excuse is that I've been trying to prioritize Bible readings so I could at least accomplish ONE goal. And, today being the last day of March, I finished! Yay! I DID IT!!! This is the beginning of an annual tradition for me, and I'm very stoked that I finally read through the whole Bible.

And then there's the fact that life has been nutzo the past month. I haven't really had a normal week since before Grandma Sue passed away in mid-February. I won't go into details, but it has involved a school musical, a smoothie shop, three requests to rent the apartment, painting the living room, several beach and mountain trips, and my mother-in-law coming and going all month. Not to mention FOUR baby teeth in less than a month and the 12- month wonder week which we are currently dealing (ever so patiently) with, and, well, yeah. March has been wild.

The other excuse, which I am very ashamed to admit is ... Facebook. I spend just WAY too much of my spare time reading status updates, commenting on photos, and contributing my vast store of mommy-wisdom to a mommy support group. I really think Facebook gives me a falsely inflated sense of self-importance. I've got to stop.

And suddenly, I find myself staring April in the face. I love April, for the flowers and bees and green grass and rain and baby animals and all that, but April is also incredibly busy. We have six immediate-family birthdays in April which I need to prepare for. Baking cakes ... is not my favorite thing to do. But, this month I will get plenty of experience, so perhaps I will learn some tricks to make it more fun. I just have never really made a cake that I LIKE. My husband always says "It's really good!" but I just don't agree. To me, Whole Foods' cake is so much more appealing. Mostly because I don't have to make it. But, seriously, have you SEEN how expensive those suckers are? I don't think I can drop $20 every time we have a birthday this month, so I must.find.yummy.cake. Pinterest, get ready, I'm lookin' for some yum.

No promises to blog every day this week. We all saw how disastrous that was last time. I sure hope I can blog every day this week but I'll be satisfied with twice, not including this post.

Happy Resurrection Sunday, everyone, and Happy April!

Leaving home

I was born in the San Luis Valley of Colorado. Most people don't know where that is, which is fine by most of us who are from there. Part of its charm is its out-of-the-way-ness and its small population. The San Luis Valley is home to Great Sand Dunes National Park. It is bordered by snow-capped mountains on all sides. The Rio Grande River runs through it. It is a high dessert, with an elevation of about 7500 feet. Farmers grow winter wheat, alfalfa, and potatoes. Around this time of year, it's a migratory stop for majestic Sandhill Cranes. If you were to look at a satellite picture of Colorado, you would see a triangular flat spot on the south-central border. That is the San Luis Valley.

My family has called the SLV home for more than one hundred years. Many of our ancestors are buried in the Del Norte cemetery. My grandfather was buried there in 1964. His wife, my sweet, amazing Grandma Sue, was buried next to him three weeks ago.

I lived there for only six short years, but it is still very much home. My dad's oldest brother, my Uncle Bob, and his wife, Aunt Tina, built their house just outside of Alamosa more than 30 years ago. Their house is as much home to my sister and me, and even my mom, as any other place we've ever lived. We lived there for a while when we were little, and we spent nights and days and weeks when we lived elsewhere. They were part of the reason I wanted to go to college in Alamosa (I didn't end up going there). They are my favorite people in the world, for so many reasons.

I look forward to visiting the SLV whenever I can. Unfortunately, the last two visits were because of funerals, but it still is so great to get together with my family. But leaving is so, so difficult. I feel like a part of me stays behind every time we drive that long stretch of Highway 160 between Alamosa and Blanca. It's so lonely and desolate out there, and that sensation of loneliness follows  me up and over La Veta pass, all the way back to wherever I'm going. I haven't lived there in twenty five years, but it will always be home.

Week 11: The grand kitchen finale

As in, I've been working on the same room for 10 weeks and it's almost done but still.not.quite.

Last week I emptied the pantry and cleaned and reorganized everything. So now instead of several shelves full of randomness (whatever I could stuff in there and still be able to close the door) and a bunch of glass containers at baby-level, I have a bin each for snacks, camping food, pasta, grains and cereals, sweeteners, flours, baking supplies, and cooking supplies. Plus, my bottom baby-accessible cabinet is completely safe, stocked with plastic bulk bins of nuts, oats, rice, etc, and two burlap sacks full of potatoes and onions and garlic. It's now so nice and organized that I actually was inspired to bake a chocolate cake Friday night. More on that later.

I also baby-proofed the bottom large cabinet, though it's far from organized. The top large cabinet has two newly lined shelves, one of which is organized. The other one was my catch-all for the breakable things which were previously on the bottom shelves.

So, this week, I have four more shelves to finish lining, cleaning, organizing, and purging of unnecessary and unused items. And that's ambitious enough for this week, sadly, since I'm helping out at the school this week with their Spring program.

Oh yeah, I was supposed to come up with monthly goals for March. Okay, here goes a brainstorm ... {Organize women's prayer group, finish crochet project, bake something every week, walk a certain distance every day, plan K's birthday trip, menu plan for K's birthday, cook new recipe} I don't know, nothing's really inspiring me. I think I'll take the first one, organizing a women's prayer group. Since March is already almost halfway over, I'll need to work diligently on this one. Research, contacts, mission statement, vision statement, agendas, scheduling ... Maybe I should modify that goal to "START organizing women's prayer group." Yeah, that's a little less intimidating.

Okay, quarterly goals are still to finish spring cleaning and finish reading the Bible. I'm WAY behind on the first, but right on track for the second. Though I still have two days worth of readings to finish today, and since we're currently driving through the mountains with no internet (obviously), I'll have to skip Pinterest later this afternoon in order to finish. Sorry, Pinterest.

Also, I hope to post every day this week. I was a horrible slacker last week, but I just didn't feel much inspiration to write after taking such a long break. This morning, though, as I was making pakcakes, I thought of about a hundred ideas for blog posts. Of course I didn't write any of them down, but hopefully I'll remember at least a few just to get me through the week.

So, here we go again. I have to constantly remind myself that all this work is going to drastically improve my life. Optimism, happiness, flowers and rainbows.

Week 10: Swing

Returning to our regularly scheduled programming.

My Grandma Sue died two and a half weeks ago, February 15. Since then, I've been getting ready to fly home to Colorado, visiting Colorado, coming back to Los Angeles, and attempting to put my life back in order. It's been crazy.

I'm picking back up where I left off, but with new vigor and some new ideas. This week I plan to empty, clean, organize, and restock the remaining kitchen cabinets, including baby-proofing the lower cabinets. It's kind of a lot to manage with an almost-toddler, but if it doesn't get done this week, it will get done next week, barring any further disasters.

It took a few days to get caught back up on Bible readings after our whirlwind trip home, but now I'm caught up and even a few days ahead of my March 31 goal.

I haven't decided what my March goals will be, but I welcome ideas and will have some nailed down by Friday.

My weekly goal is to be happy. It's been difficult the past few weeks,to be anything but a pitiful mess, so this goal is a big leap to strive towards.

Today is house cleaning day, which is truly exciting for me since the only room that I've even tried to clean the past three weeks was the bathroom. As of posting time, I still need to vacuum the living room and mop the rest of the house, then clean the bathroom again. I love having a clean house. Just wish it would stay that way.

So, here's to March, here's to happiness, here's to life and family and teething babies. And here.we.go.

Week 7 sum-up

Well, I really didn't do much of anything Spring Cleaning-wise last week. I did clean the house, do laundry, clean the burner grates, and clean a couple of pantry shelves. But Valentine's Day preparations took up the whole day on Thursday, and Wednesday I met with a personal set-back that had me unmotivated and emotionally exhausted. So, my to-do list is the same.

However, Friday we received news that my beloved Grandma Sue had passed away. We will be traveling to Colorado to attend her funeral this week, so with travel preparations, there won't be time to do anything else. Which is fine. I need a break. It will be nice to see my family again, but it sure won't be the same without Grandma.

One of my February goals was to call a family member each day. Well, I should have called my Grandma. I didn't, and now I will regret it the rest of my life. I talked to her on Friday, but she was unable to respond. I told her I loved her and that I hoped I could see her soon. Please, Jesus, come soon.

Life is uncertain, all too short, and full of too many heartbreaks. Love those close to you with all your heart. Call them if you are far away. Write letters. Send pictures. LOVE THEM.

Six years

Six years ago, this happened. It's been quite the ride getting to know each other and our true selves. We still love each other, but this kind of love is different than the love we had six years ago. I suppose it will keep growing and changing and so will we. But I sure am glad he is her daddy, and I sure am glad he is my honey.

Happy Valentine's Day. Love the ones you have.

Block

I have gone nearly a month and a half without experiencing a single day of Writer's Block. Well, today ended my streak. I just don't feel like writing today. I feel gross and unmotivated and sad and like I've eaten too much sugar. I haven't had any today, because I just don't feel like it. I don't feel like doing anything. I am tired because I woke at 1:30 thinking K was about to wake up and I'd be comforting her and holding her while she slept until it was time for her 4:00 feeding, just like I had the previous two nights. She didn't wake up, but I didn't sleep well after that. I managed to get breakfast and lunch on the table, take a shower, and fold two loads of laundry. I managed to walk to the pharmacy and to the bookstore. I managed to pull some art supplies out of the garage.

I have not managed to clean the kitchen. I have not managed to prepare anything for the six-year anniversary of our engagement tomorrow. I have not managed to organize even one pantry shelf. I have not managed to bathe my child or get Robert's dinner ready. I have one hour before he gets home. I just don't feel like getting off the couch.

I will, of course. I will manage to finish everything. Because life moves on, even when one is more disappointed than they could have imagined being just hours ago. Even when one is mourning possibilities that just aren't in the cards this time. Even when a hunch proves to be just ... Nothing.

Tomorrow is another day, next month is another month, and next year is another year. And maybe by then this disappointment will be joy. Maybe I will have forgotten the ridiculous, self-indulgent sadness I feel right now. Maybe ... Someday.

February Recipe: Part One

I recently fell in love with Brussels sprouts. (Okay, that was ridiculous. It just took me nearly two minutes to type that sentence. Stupid little phone keys! Stupid uncoordinated thumbs!)

Anyway, when I was a kid, my stepdad, the gourmet chef, made brussels sprouts. Once. And never again. My sister and I thought they were the most horrific little vegetables ever to be invented, and we choked them down, gagging and making gargoyle faces. My poor stepdad took the hint and never made them for us again, although he did threaten us with them at least once a week. Once he had me cut out a picture of Brussels sprouts from the weekly King Soopers ad and he taped it to the table in my sister's spot. She was not amused, though the rest of us laughed our fool heads off.

Anyway, a few (okay, almost ten ... Sheez I'm old) years ago, a good friend mentioned that she was making Brussels sprouts for a holiday meal. I proceeded to gag and ask her why on earth she would torture her guests that way. She said they were really good roasted and that I should try them. No thank you. *shudder*

Then, a few (okay, five) years ago, I found a recipe for Brussels Sprout Soup in my favorite cookbook. I tried to ignore the recipe, but one day I asked Robert to help me pick recipes for the week, and wouldn't you know? He somehow turned the book open to that very page. I protested, I gagged, I threw a fit on the floor, but he just really wanted that soup. Ugh. I reluctantly bought the accursed sprouts and made the stupid soup for him. It wasn't THAT bad, but I still despised Brussels sprouts.

Until ...

This fall, I found brussels sprouts on a stalk at Trader Joe's. I don't usually buy things that aren't on my list for the week, but those sprouts intrigued me. I figured if Trader Joe's had them in their store, there must be some way to make them edible, and besides, they were so pretty! Like tiny cabbages. Call it mothering instinct, but I just pictured itty bitty cabbage patch dolls poking their heads out from under the leaves. They needed a home.

I googled this recipe for lemon-encrusted roasted Brussels sprouts. The recipe was simple, and the girl just raved about how she couldn't stop herself from eating the whole pan. Yeah, right, I thought, no one likes Brussels sprouts THAT much. I figured she just went a little overboard on the hyperbole. And then ... Oh, Heaven! Oh, peace on earth and good will to men! How can there be war in this world when there are lemon-encrusted roasted Brussels sprouts? I could hardly stop myself, and there were only a few left for my husband when he got home from work. Oops.

So, in my recent rekindling of interest in Pinterest (ugh, that sentence makes me ill), fueled by a non-spammy app for my Android, I repinned this recipe and got around to trying it today. And Oh.my.word. I think I may have dreams about Brussels sprouts and rosemary-infused potatoes synchronized swimming in a fountain of olive oil somewhere in Italy tonight. There's just no way that dreaded vegetable that used to haunt my worst nightmares (You know the one where you're about to shove a big, juicy Canaanite grape in your mouth and it turns out to be a Brussels sprout? Yeah, that one) should taste this good.

I didn't follow the amounts of the original recipe (who buys 1.75 lbs of fingerling potatoes?). I used 2 lbs of fingerlings, and two 16-oz bags of Brussels sprouts from TJ's, then just drizzled a bit of oil, crushed five or six cloves of garlic (you're welcome, Robert's coworkers!), sprinkled salt and ground pepper, ground a whole Trader Joe's package (minus one sprig for garnish which I forgot to use) of rosemary in the food processor, then tossed in a couple of pinches of chili flakes. I skipped the sucanat. I never have liked putting sugar in savory dishes. 

We paired our sprouts with rice, beans, and tortillas (insert joke about Mexican diets here). Even with all those extra sprouts, we barely had any leftovers. Robert even said "Thank you for lunch." And that, in my book, is a raving success.

Eating in peace

Karlina's Abuelita and Tia came over yesterday for a visit and brought Karlina's mommy a present. A wonderfully liberating gift for Mommy and Baby alike. A gift that means Mommy can eat her dinner without little fingers digging in to her plate. A present that means more than half of Karlina's food will eventually end up in her mouth instead of in the dog's mouth. A gift that means Daddy's super hot chilies are no longer in peril of infant consumption (and Karlina is no longer in peril of the multiple ill effects of said chilies). A gift that means fewer heads banging on the table while watching the dog eat. A gift that does not mean just one more thing to move around the kitchen because it straps to our existing chairs. And, a wonderfully thoughtful gift that means Mommy can once again eat food that requires two hands to consume.

Week 7: At least the oven is done ... Or not

I SO hope I can finish the kitchen this week and move on to the back half of the house. It's getting a little ridiculous that I haven't finished yet. I'm getting frustrated and that does not help my productivity. So, here's the agenda for this week:

1. Treat the burner grates with ammonia overnight. (Sunday night.)

2. Clean the house Monday. Robert is giving me a jump start today by vacuuming. What a guy!

3. Laundry on Tuesday, and hopefully clean and organize pantry.

4. Clean and contact-paper large cabinets on Wednesday. Start rearranging so nothing breakable is on any bottom shelves.

5. Finish organizing and baby proofing Thursday. Clean both sides of the door. Hopefully get the bookcase moved back into the hallway so I can get my books out of my closet.

My other goal for this week is to get stuff ready for Valentine's Day. I want to make some cards for Robert as well as a cake or something similar.

February goals are to finish one craft project this month, and call one family member each day.

Spring cleaning and Bible reading remain my quarterly goals.

Have a great week, everyone!

K-10

This past month has been quite eventful for little Miss K. She is just doing SO much that she wasn't last month. My favorite part about this month? Sleep. Glorious sleep. She is going down for the night between 8 and 9 and not waking up until between 4 and 5. Then she nurses back to sleep and stays asleep until between 7 and 8. I'm still sleeping in her room with her, and Daddy sleeps there twice a week. But after the 4:00 feed, I go back to my own room for another hour or two. She sleeps better, I get a little more sleep, and have an opportunity to take a shower and get ready for the day before she wakes. It's so nice to not have to depend on a long morning nap for my shower. Now I can fix lunch and clean a bit while she naps.
Which brings me to naps. They are still inconsistent and all over the place, but for a couple of weeks she was going at least an hour twice a day. However, this past week, she did NOT want to go to sleep in her crib for naps. She wanted to sit up, pull up, play with her babies, wave at me (smart aleck), and generally just NOT SLEEP. She did finally sleep a couple of times early in the week, but most of the week I just tossed her in the Ergo and played some music on my phone (she loves Gaither Vocal Band to fall asleep.) She falls asleep pretty quickly that way, but I don't want her to be dependent on that, you know? Anyway, after she falls asleep, I just lay her down on the bed and surround her with pillows in case she decides she wants to escape.
She is pulling up to standing on EVERYTHING these days. Her crib and the coffee table are favorites, but she's tried the chairs, the dog (that did not go over well), Mommy's lap, her jumparoo ... I can't leave her even for a second in the living room (I'd love to knock down the wall between the kitchen and living room so I can keep an eye on her while I get stuff done, but knocking down walls is just so messy). She still is not crawling forward, but she can get anywhere she wants by scooting, pulling up, and cruising. She still doesn't want to stand on her own just yet, but she has done it for 3-5 seconds a few times. She just might be walking when I post her 11-month update.
She's still pretty little for her age. Tenth percentile for height and weight, and 75th percentile for head circumference. Yeah, her head is huge, just like Daddy. At her 9-month checkup she was 16 and a half pounds and 26 inches. She is growing so fast. Her hands are getting so big they look like they belong to someone else. She is still pretty comfortable in 6-9 month clothes, but her jammies now have to be 9-12 months because her feet get squished. Plus they put nonskid nubs on 9-12 month jammies, which she needs.
She still loves to eat anything and everything except mangoes and avocadoes, and I think we have identified a sensitivity to sweet potatoes. She has vomited the last two times I've given them to her. So we're holding off sweet potatoes for a while. She loves those little green puffs to shove in her mouth, and she cannot make it through breakfast or supper without her precious pear slices. I don't know what I'm going to do when red anjou pears are out of season.
She is saying a few intelligible words with purpose now. Baby and puppy are the big ones, but she tries to say "ropa" (clothes) when she gets dressed in the mornings, and she has said Daddy a few times too. Her vowels are more distinctive this month. Last month they were still all the "uh" sound, but she's added "a" and "e" sounds. She is forming her mouth for "o" and "oo", but they still don't sound like much except "uh." She's also saying a Ron of new consonants like g, k, d, t, f, n, s, v, and a little bit of w.
Just this week I also noticed some teeth on top and bottom that are getting ready to pop through. I ordered he amber teething necklace to help with the drooling and pain.
Man, that's a lot of stuff. I'm a little overwhelmed thinking about all the new stuff she's doing, so I imagine she's having a hard time with all these new things too. I have to keep reminding myself, especially when I can't get her to sleep, of a quote I read that said that they are not trying to make your life difficult, they are trying to show you how difficult it is for them.
By the way, my phone automatically updated to the Ice Cream Sandwich OS today, and I'm loving it, especially the new camera features that are pretty stiff competition for Instagram without all the Big Brother we-own-your-pictures stuff. Here are a few from today. the

Week 6 sum-up: Still?

Yeah, still not done with the kitchen. I did work my rear end off this week, though, and with a newly mobile kiddo, I am not able to dedicate as much time to my project as I have been in the past. Add to that the fact that now, when I put her in her crib, instead of playing with her toys and falling asleep, she wants to stand up. She can't, though, because she's tired and can't think straight, so she screams. I stick her in the Ergo, she goes to sleep, but by now half of her nap time is gone. In short: It's the baby's fault.

The cabinets above the stove are cleaned, contact-papered, and organized, the vent hood is sparkling clean, and the oven is almost there. I spent an hour yesterday scrubbing the burner grates and there's still burned stuff stuck on them. Last night, I thought there must be an easier way. Google led me to an ingenious solution: ammonia in a trash bag over night dissolves the grease. And, supposedly, I don't have to do much. I'm buying ammonia today. I also could have put them in the oven when I did the self-clean (I will next time!), but I'm not interested in running another cycle because man, that stunk up the house.  Also today I hope to finish cleaning behind and underneath the oven. And my wonderful husband said he would clean the toaster oven! Yay for help.

I still have the bitty pantry and the large cabinets, but after the oven, that will be easy as pie. Next year when I do my Spring Clean, I'm going to start with the fridge and oven when I still have lots of motivation. Then I'll be able to move on to the fun parts. Also, next year, God willing, I won't have to contact-paper the cabinets and drawers again. Yay.

Valentine's day planning/decorating didn't happen this week. Is it even worth it to do it next week? I mean, I'll plan and execute the menu, but decorating? I just don't think I'll have time. K isn't really old enough to appreciate it, either, so maybe next year. Sad face.

I did not succeed in calling a family member every day this week. I missed two days, but the other days I made up for it by calling multiple people. So it kind of counts, right? Maybe? Not really ... Sad face.

I haven't tried a new recipe yet, but I have ingredients for one, and I'm planning to make another for my hubby's Valentine's Day cake. Stay tuned.

Bible reading is still on track. I'm feeling pretty confident that I'll be able to accomplish at least this one goal. I'm already to May's readings in the OT and almost halfway through November in the NT. Happy face.

Okay, Spring Cleaning, you're kicking my butt. Six weeks left. Tons still to do ... But I remain cautiously optimistic. I will finish by Easter. I will, I will, I will!

Tomorrow Karlina will be 10 months old. Happy face! Special post tomorrow, which I'm going to write today so I don't have to worry about blogging on Sabbath.

Happy weekend, all!

A sickening thud

The other night we were finishing up dinner, Robert was putting dishes in the sink and talking about ... something? I don't remember, but I was still at the table with Karlina on my lap, looking at Robert, when I felt her lean forward. I was holding her pretty securely so I wasn't worried about her squirming out of my lap, but as she leaned forward, her head smacked the table. Hard. She screamed for about twenty seconds, then started smiling again. Her head, however, had a big red line from the table edge, and it looked like it was fixin to form a gigantic goose egg. Oh, the guilt! I grabbed an ice pack, wrapped it in a towel, and stuck it on her head. She was having none of that. She pushed it away in the interest of getting down to play. I was sure she would have a bruise and a bump to beat all bumps. All that's left now is a barely-noticeable blip. The first of, I'm sure, many unfortunate incidents that will leave me feeling like the worst mother in the world.

 You see it? Yeah, me neither. I think she'll live. The table is fine, too. In case you were wondering.

Karlina's Birth Story

April 8, 2012, was Easter and my mom's birthday. Robert and I were both nesting like crazy, trying to get the baby's room painted and the furniture together. Robert was busy all morning mixing some leftover paint in the garage, trying to find just the right color. Being Easter, Dunn Edwards was closed, so buying more paint was out of the question. I really wanted to get the nursery painted before my sister and her husband came to visit on Tuesday, April 10, so we could enjoy the weekend with them in Yosemite. I taped the molding to prepare to paint the walls, and by the time I finished taping, I was exhausted and a little crampy, so I laid down to take a nap. I vaguely felt little cramps as I slept, but it was nothing out of the ordinary.

When I woke up, Robert asked me to run to Home Depot to pick up some plastic drop cloths and some more tray liners. They were closing at 6 since it was Easter, so I had only half an hour before they closed. When I got there, the baby was very active, and one kick had me almost doubling over. I did not want to cause alarm, however, so I just kept walking to the paint aisle. I picked up the box of plastic first and then went to find the tray liners. They were on the bottom shelf, so I had to squat precariously to reach them. The roll of plastic came with me, of course, but then I couldn't stand back up with all that extra weight. I slid the tray liners up onto a higher shelf, stood the roll of plastic on one end, and used the shelf and the plastic roll to pull myself up. Whew, that could have been embarrassing.

I checked out, walked to the car, and got in. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I felt a HUGE gush. Oh crap. I had put some chux pads in the glove box a few days before in case my water broke in the car, so I grabbed one, shook it out and shoved it underneath me. I tried calling Robert but he wasn't answering his phone. I yelled at the baby, "You're coming TODAY?!?" I had a couple of miles of stop lights between me and the house, and I was behind a Firebird. One would think that a Firebird would be a good car to be behind in such a situation, but the person driving this particular Firebird was either old or worried about getting another speeding ticket. They were SO SLOOOOOOW!!! Finally, at one intersection, I swerved around it and hit about 80 in the Prius in less than a block. I screeched around two more corners and then into the driveway, where I proceeded to honk and scream for my husband to come rescue me. He did not. He told me later that he heard something and asked Jose, our handyman friend, if it was me, but Jose said he didn't think so.

Finally, I figured it best to waddle my dripping wet self into the house since, obviously, my knight in shining armor was ignoring his 8.5 MONTHS PREGNANT WIFE. Jose saw me waddling, looked very concerned for half a second, then just as quickly got out of my way. Smart man. I finally found Robert, who looked at me and said cheerfully, "Hi, honey! Did you get the tray liners?" I said, "Yes, they are in the car but we have to go to the hospital." He said, "Why?" Fortunately he seemed to remember what "my water broke" meant. I told him to get the stupid car seat in the car like I had been asking him to do for months, and then to get a suitcase from the garage. I took a shower and ate a bowl of cereal since I knew I wouldn't be eating for a while. 45 minutes later, I still didn't have a suitcase. Robert came in the house dripping with sweat and said "That carseat won't fit!" And then proceeded to ramble about the instructions not making sense, etc, etc, etc. I reminded him about my suitcase and he flew out to the garage to get it while I called the hospital. The nurse who answered the phone had the NERVE to say "You THINK your water broke?" Um, yeah, lady, I just called because I peed my pants and oh by the way can you induce me today?

We finally got everything in the car (suitcase, birth ball, my favorite pillow, car seat), and took off for the hospital. By this time I was starting to feel my contractions, but I was not in any kind of pain. But, since it had already been almost two hours since my water had broken, I wanted to get to the hospital as soon as possible, first of all to avoid infection and second of all to get out of the wet Depends I was wearing to keep my pants dry. If you've never had a baby, it's difficult to grasp just how much fluid there is, and how it just keeps gushing and gushing when you least expect it to.

Anyway, when we were a few blocks away from the hospital, Robert suddenly exclaimed, "Man, I'm hungry!" I told him there were Clif Bars in my suitcase. He said, "No, I'm REALLY hungry. Would you mind if I stopped to get something to eat?" I don't remember what I said, but he drove those last few blocks faster than he ever had before.

The wheelchair escort was there waiting for me, and he took me up to Labor and Delivery. I got into the triage room after changing into the gown and infinitely stretchable underwear. The resident did an excruciatingly painful pelvic exam. I was only 1/2 cm dilated. My contractions were 6 minutes apart, and the baby was at -2 station, still quite high in the pelvis. The doctor came in and said they would keep me (duh) and that if my contractions didn't get closer together in the next couple of hours, they would start a pitocin drip. Gee, thanks for completely ignoring my birth plan, dude. I argued that I had at least 16 hours before they even started to worry about infection. Thankfully, I never saw that doctor again while I was there.

So, on to Labor and Delivery. Robert took off to eat as soon as I got to the room. He was REALLY hungry, after all. My contractions were still very mild and no less than 4 minutes apart. I was able to get some sleep between contractions, and by breathing slowly during the contractions, I stayed pretty relaxed. They had me on a monitor for the first few hours because the baby's heart rate was dipping a bit at the beginning, but they let me move around pretty much as much as I wanted. The hospital had this little open-air courtyard filled with pretty Spring flowers, and we went out there more times than I can count. By morning, my contractions were stronger, but still far apart. The doctor did another excruciating pelvic exam, this time I was 2 cm. Meh. I was bored. I didn't want to turn on the TV because I felt it would take my focus away. We had the phones on airplane mode since they don't allow you to plug anything into the room outlets. Lame. So, I walked, I sat, I breathed, I tried to take a shower but couldn't figure out how to get the hot water. Those hospital showers are complicated, man! So I took a sponge bath.

Noon was the magical hour that they would start antibiotics and I would be stuck in bed. The doc came in and said since the baby was doing well and I was not feverish, he'd let me go another six hours without antibiotics. Yay, Dr. Fabulous!

Six o'clock came and went. It was now 24 hours since my water had broken. After another stupid pelvic exam (they really try to make those as painful as humanly possible, just so you know what it's going to be like when the baby's head pops out), I was only 4 cm, 90% effaced, and baby's head was still at -2. Let's start that pitocin, shall we? I said no. I asked for another few hours since I felt my contractions were getting stronger. Three hours were granted.

I walked my little (huge) self all up and down those hallways, danced in my room, told the baby that it was time to come out now, prayed, breathed, visualized the wave, the growing circle, and the danged red triangle. Contractions were still three to five minutes apart by 9:00. No exam this time, since they didn't want to risk infection. (Praise Jesus.) They connected the pitocin drip. I cried. Then ... Then ... Oh, the pain. I breathed through the first hour, but I wasn't allowed to walk. I could sit on the ball next to my bed, but that was as far as I was going. Robert brushed his teeth and pulled out the sleeper chair so he could get some rest. The second hour, I moaned so loudly that the charge nurse came in to adjust my monitor since it was reading mild contractions but clearly I was in more pain than that. Then my nurse came in and told me there was no reason for me to be in this much pain. My birth plan was for no meds, but pitocin is an evil, evil drug. I tearfully said I would get the epidural. My husband tried to convince me otherwise, but he said it was my decision. I felt like such a failure. I silently breathed through three more contractions waiting for the anesthesiologist. I was angry at myself, angry at that coworker who had implied that I wouldn't be able to do it naturally, angry with my husband for letting me go through with it. I felt like I was not even there in that room. I was floating in a sea of anguish somewhere else, and my failure of a self was going to regret this for the rest of my life. But, oh, the pain!

The anesthesiologist looked like an angel when he came in the room. He talked with me about the epidural, how it would make me feel, and how long it would last. I said yes, okay, let's do this. He left to get his supplies rounded up, and I smiled at my husband. It was going to be okay. The baby would be fine and healthy. I felt present again.

Then, he came back. He told me he couldn't do the epidural, not on me, not on someone who had had a lumbar laminectomy. He told me I would have back pain the rest of my life. I pleaded with him, begged him, kissed his feet (in my head ... they wouldn't let me get out of bed), he said maybe. Then, definitely no. What about morphine? he asked. I said no, absolutely not, morphine makes me itch and I did not want a lethargic lump of a baby coming out of me. So, that was it. Nothing they could do. The doctor shrugged his shoulders, said he was sorry, and told me he would come back in an hour to check me. I cried and cried. Then I screamed through another contraction. It was all I could do at that point. Robert looked me in the eye and said, "You can do this. It's only another six hours." (They say pitocin dilates you a cm every hour.) Are you effing kidding me?!? Six more hours? Kill.me.now.

He said a prayer that the baby would be healthy and that I would be okay, and I didn't hear the rest of the prayer because I had a contraction, then another, then another. That little line that's supposed to go down between contractions? It didn't go down. Six straight minutes of horrifying pain. I screamed and cried and said "NO!!! NOT AGAIN!!!" And then, I pushed. I had to. I screamed that I was pushing. Robert said to wait, I said no way. He asked if he should get the nurse. YES!!! He poked his head out the door and said "She's pushing," calm as a summer breeze. The nurses looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then they all were moving. My nurse said to wait. I said no way. Then another gush (Really? More fluid? I thought I was bleeding profusely and told, or rather screamed at, the nurse). She put on a glove and did a quick check and said, "Oh, the baby's right there!" She hauled me up on the bed, made it into a chair, twenty people came in the room, and my head was spinning. The OB's and the Pediatrician and the residents and the nurses and the CNA's, and, wait, was that George Clooney? No. And there I was, feet in stirrups, in all my glory, and all these people staring at my nether regions. I pushed when they said push, I rested when they said rest, my own wonderful OB from my clinic came in to assist (boy, was I glad to see her! She just happened to be doing her weekly rounds that night), and twenty minutes of pushing later, the head emerged. My beautiful baby's head. The nurse said it was a girl because the baby's hands were by its face. I was ecstatic. One more push for the shoulders, and it WAS a girl! And she was screaming! And they grabbed a blanket and put her on my chest, where she proceeded to poop all over both of us.

Oh, she was beautiful, and she was a girl, and her name was Karlina.

6 lbs, 10 oz, 20", and cute as a bug.

Pippin

I'm working on a post for tomorrow but it's getting long and I'm not even halfway finished, so in the meantime, my wonderful dog, Pippin, my constant companion for the past seven and a half years,deserves some blog time. Here are a few pictures.

Weekly menu board

I saw this idea in my What's For Dinner? group on Facebook. I have always planned meals for the week since we got married, but I usually had the meals listed on a notepad stuck to the fridge. This is more visible, prettier, and keeps me more accountable to actually cook. And I need all the help I can get when it comes to accountability.

First I went to Target and found a $3 frame on the clearance aisle. Then, I got two different-sized packages of adhesive letters. Finally, I found a pad of scrapbook paper  on clearance at Michael's and cut a piece to fit the frame. Seriously the hardest part about this project was scouring three different stores to find a dry-erase marker that I liked to write in the meals.

Note: Throwing your menu board on the floor will result in breakage of said menu board.

I was getting ready to take pictures of this lovely menu board last evening when this happened

 Oh well. Back to sticky notes on the fridge, I guess. Hey, look! A caption!