A Time of Change

I am tired.  I have a headache.  And I'm feeling whiny.

The couch is soft and cozy as I snuggle under my favorite down blanket.  The blue matches the blues in our furniture, hand-me-downs from my in-laws.  I am looking out the window at this beautiful, sunny day.  52 degrees January 10th in Minnesota.  A perfect spring day, in the middle of winter.

Paige is napping, Hope upstairs watching TV after some of her own quiet time in our bed.  I enjoy the quiet.  I need a nap too.

After over a year of Paige in the pack-n-play in our bedroom, and us sleeping in the guest room (it's a long story), Paige is finally sleeping in the crib in her sister's room.  It is now The Girls' room.  But she's not actually sleeping.  Not as well as she was in the quiet, dark, still of our bedroom.  And I miss that.  I miss the ease of bedtime with her.  I miss her immediate drift into sleep.  I miss her late mornings of waking up no earlier than eight.

Paige was our easy sleeper.  Hope is not.  And after a week with her sister, Paige is still struggling too.  And I am struggling.  Her change in sleeping habits is so very hard.

But I know we will adjust.  I know I will adjust.  Even if it means she stays an early riser.  Even if it means it takes her an hour to unwind each night.  Even if it means I have to adjust my own schedule to get the sleep I need.  We will make it through.

Because even though it would be nice to keep the easy nights, the uninterrupted sleep, the late mornings, I know she is growing.  And with that comes change.

I want her to grow and change.  And I just have to adjust with her.  Because that's what parents do.

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Linking up with Just Write

Food and Kids: my working theme

Today, I am joining up with The Good Life for Monday Listicles.

And, you know I love lists.  So how could I resist?

Unfortunately, the list is supposed to be Top Ten Strange (unusual/interesting/funny) Jobs you've held in your life, but as I'm such a youngin' (can I still claim that?), I haven't actually had ten paying jobs.

But I'm okay with that.

I'm not really sure what my technical titles were for most of my jobs either, so I've taken the liberty of making up my own.

1.  Candy Girl, serving treats at the candy kiosk at the mall

2.  Shave Ice Creator, making delectable shave ice creations in a little hut outside the bowling alley

3.  Childcare Helper, assisting teachers for a county daycare

4.  Data Enterer, entering information for a research department

5.  Summer Leader, leading school-age kids during a summer enrichment program

6.  Assistant PreSchool Teacher, pretty much exactly what the title implies

7.  Auditor, for an insurance company

8.  Wife, to my husband

9.  Stay at Home Mother, to my older daughter

10.  Stay at Home Mother, to my younger daughter

Wow, look at that.  I didn't even realize I'm currently juggling three full-time jobs.  True, they are not paid, and sometimes I sure wish they were, but, most of the time I am happy for payments of love, appreciation, smiles, kisses, and cuddles.

(And I sure as heck am thrilled to not be employed with any other of those jobs up there.  Looks like I'm in the right field.)

Project 365

So, after seeing many tweets and hashtags about it, and then googling to figure out exactly what it was, I've decided to participate in Project 365.

My only issue is I have decided this today, on January 7th, and even though I don't think there's an official start day, I feel like January 1st would have been the perfect one.

(Because I'm weird about wanting to start things at times or dates that "make sense" and January 1st is the beginning of a new year which makes total sense to me and January 7th which is just, well, the 7th.)

The problem with a January 1st start is that I wasn't actually consciously thinking about taking a picture every day, and while I did take a picture almost every day, I did not take one on January 2nd.  Which means I already failed a project on the second day, without even realizing I was participating in said project.

Oh well.

Even without a picture for January 2nd, I am claiming my start date as January 1st (because I'm weird, yes, see above).  It is driving me crazy, but I will just suffer through and deal with not having a perfectly perfect project year...

Here is week one from my Project 365.  Although this year I guess it's technically Project 366.  (But for me, already missing a day it is 365. - grr.)

So, without further babbling, here we go.

January 1: Cake

January 2: My self portrait of how I felt
after seeing some friends because
yes, I did not take a picture this day

   

January 3: Messing with Daddy

January 4: Newly whitened teeth
(close-up a little freaky, I know)

January 5: Lunch

January 6: Bowling

January 7: Look who we found
under the piano - the missing fox.

A Funny* Thing Happened on the Way to 30

I used to be funny.

Maybe not of the hilarious kind, but I had a fair amount of humor up my sleeve.  In fact, my grandmother used to call me the Family Clown.  (Not because I was always throwing pies in people's faces or making balloon animals.  Although I did have some big red shoes...)

(And yes, my grandma was an expert on the topic.  Sort of.  Maybe.  Okay, not really, but I swear she wasn't bias toward me.  At.  All.)

Last year, when I told some other moms about my grandmother's nickname for me, I saw a couple of mouths drop to the floor.  Later, one mom admitted to me that she thought I must've come from a family of morticians**.  (Not because I am so unfunny, I hope, but because I was always so, ahem, serious quiet.)

So what happened?

Perhaps it was never there.  Or perhaps my stint of college matured it away. (ha)  Or perhaps I lost it on my way to becoming a mother.

In any case, I do not use funny as an adjective for myself.  I have no future in stand-up.  I will not be featured on SNL.  And I certainly will never qualify to be Kristen Wigg's sidekick.

But then, fairly recently, an acquaintance called me funny.  Not in the you-are-weird kind of way, but in the you-say-things-that-make-me-laugh kind of way.  Which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Why did this "being funny" thing become important to me?  Is it because I am now at thirty and looking for a way to connect my youth and putting up posters of early 90s heartthrobs and obsessing over Newsies is out of the question?  Unlikely, but possible.

Actually, I think that somewhere along my journey I have come to believe funny = fun.

And who doesn't want to be fun, right?

Whether or not this equation is true, I don't know.  (Actually, I don't even know if one thing equalling another is technically an equation.  But that's neither here nor there.)

All I know is, I've dusted off my joke book.  So watch out.

Not really, I only had a joke book when I was like 12, but I'm using it as euphemism for trying to bring a little humor back to myself and, as a natural side effect, all of you.

And for goodness sakes, if you don't think I'm funny, feel free to give me a pity laugh anyway.  (I may be thirty now but I still have a few insecurities leftover from my youth too.)






*pun intended
**this is not to imply that morticians are not or can not be funny or that all morticians are quiet or serious

NY State of Mind

I miss New York City.

True, I've never lived there, and I've only actually visited approximately four times, but it can be true love after four dates, right?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not cheating on the Twin Cities.  I enjoy living here, and I certainly can't imagine living anywhere else.

But I'm lusting after New York.

I love the energy of the city.  I love the hum of the people, the traffic, the life.  I love the chocolate croissants, the tiny corner grocery stores, the multitude of authentic and delicious restaurants, the busy shoppers, the loungers in Central Park, the iced coffees.

I love the public transportation and that you can walk or ride to just about anywhere and/or anything in the city.

And I love that my awesome sister lives there.  (I will neither confirm nor deny that this is one of the biggest reasons I love New York.)

Of course, I do not love everything about it.  Even though I know plenty of people do it, I can not imagine sending my children to school in New York.  Not because the school system is bad, but because it is so competitive.

I do not love the crazy traffic of the city.  I would NEVER drive there, or even try to ride a bike around.

I do not love the lack of wide open spaces (not that the immediate Twin City area has a lot of those, but I was raised an Iowa girl, and what would life be like without the occasional farm or corn field?).

Ah, but these things can be overlooked for NYC.  We're still in the honeymoon phase of our relationship.  And to tell you truth, will probably always be.

Aside from my sister (sniff), our family is here.  We grew up here.  We like it here.

But even though I'm happy where we are, that doesn't mean I can't fantasize, right?  And maybe I'll just have to go out and visit my sister a little more often too.

There is No Reason

This is just the way it is.

Sometimes things just happen.

There is no "this happened for a reason".  Because well, there is no reason.  Things just happen.

Not because of what I did or did not do.  Or what I did or did not say.  Or what I did or did not think in the deep dark secrets of my mind.  Sometimes things just happen.

But it sucks.

It is unfair.

And it is the unfairness and the why? why? why? that make it so hard.

I don't know if this is the wrong mindset to have.  Maybe it's not healthy to think there is no reason.

But would it make a difference is there was a reason?  Sometimes I think it would be easier, but most of the time I know it doesn't matter.

The reason.  The lack of reason.  The whys.  It does not change anything.

Maybe some day I'll figure it out.  But for now I am just trying to accept that things happen.  And there is nothing I can do about it.  And that is all.



*****

Linking up with Shell.

And Now, Four

Dear Hope,

Today you are four.

On this day, in 2008, you came into this world.  In your first breaths you made me a mother.  And when I held you and talked to you and you stopped crying, you made me feel like a mother.  You made me believe in miracles.

Four years of crying and giggling.  Of songs and snuggles.  Reading and playing.  Singing and laughing.

Four years of learning.  Both yours and mine.

Four years of frustration and fears of making a mistake with you, my firstborn.

And I see you now, with your bright eyes and beautiful spirit.  I see how much you’ve grown and flourished.  What a sweet little girl you already are.  Emotional, independent, with a good, good heart.

I cannot imagine my life without you.

You, my dear Hopey, are amazing.

I wish for you all the satisfaction, joy, and health of a fulfilled life.

On this day, and always, I am ever so grateful for your birthday.  For the baby, now a little girl.  For you.

Love to you always,

Mommy

With Hope's special birthday hot chocolate
(and my coffee)

Four years old!

The Birthday Cake --
Littlest Pet Shop rainbow cake
with green and pink frosting