What's a Blog?

Did you know I have a blog? Me neither. 

It's been ages.

Lately the need to write has been nagging. It will pop into mind as I drift to sleep, when I struggle with my daily tasks, when I sit for two minutes in silence.  And it just seems so. hard.

When did life get so busy? Like it's always been busy, but right now, it seems ultra busy.  Everyone. Are smartphones to blame? Probably.  Distractions keep us from thinking and feeling. Which is nice when those thoughts and feelings speak of dissatisfaction, stress, or regret.

I'm older now. Life has shifted and stayed the same. I can't claim to be new at this adulting thing, but I still feel like I don't get it. I have so many things I want to be when I grow up, I guess I'd better get to it.

Being Jack

Caroline is either Jack Frost or Jack from Mother Goose Club every day.  It's annoying.  She insists we call her Jack.  She reminds me which Jack she is all the time. When she's running into traffic I have to remember to call her Jack or she won't stop.

Chickie used to wear her Cinderella dress every day, and while that was obnoxious in its own way, it at least had some endearing value.  It was cute. People recognize Cinderella and smile. We all know the story and can relate.

Caroline had to pick obscure characters who no one even knows.  Jack Frost is OK, I guess.  Because Chickie is usually Elsa, Jack Frost is a close second when playing pretend. They have the same freezing powers so there's that, plus he has a cane and a cape, which makes it cool. 

But come on, Jack from Mother Goose Club? Weird. He doesn't have any powers. He's wearing an ugly yarn head hat thing and the whole Mother Goose Club gang in general is super creepy (thank you YouTube). 

Happy 3rd Birthday Craze Bear!

An open letter to Momma B.

Dear Momma B.,

I am writing at the request of my four year old daughter.  She has a crush on your son, Matty B.  She watches his YouTube videos all day long.  She props up the iPad and dances along.  She is somewhat obsessed.  She trolls Matty B. videos for clues about his age, where he lives, what he likes, and how to get in contact with him.

My daughter would like to invite him over for a play date.  In fact, she has asked if he could sleep over.  Before you get the wrong idea Momma B., let me assure you that she is not that kind of girl. Does that matter to you?

Before I extend the official play date invitation, I have a few questions.

Whose idea was it to start creating these music videos? It looks like he started when he was seven.  I know, I know, it's super cute to see a blonde, blue eyed boy singing and rapping with his suburban homies. Believe me, it's got appeal. Who comes up with the revised lyrics? The video concepts? You most certainly aren't using your phone to record these choreographed masterpieces, are you?

Now that Matty is the ripe age of 12 I'm wondering how you feel about all the so-called "B. Girls"?  I assume you welcome the attention based on the gang of young girls that appear in the later videos. How do you feel about a four year old B Girl? Inappropriate?

How do you plan to tackle the whole coming of age thing that inevitably happens to young celebrities? Throw a few house parties? Give him unlimited access to Twitter where he can tweet to all the "single ladies" out there? Oh, you already did that?

One last thing, what are you going to do when Matty's voice changes? Do you remember Ben Lee? I loved his "Grandpaw Would" album.  Did you know he recorded it when he was something like 15? But then something happened-- his voice changed and he could no longer sing like he used to.  It was really hard on me as a fan. So, for the sake of my daughter, tell me you have a plan. Please, don't let puberty kill Matty B.'s career.

Thanks for your time, effort, and marketing expertise in regards to your son,

Momma W.

Chickie update

The other day Chickie told me she wanted to invite a boy to our house so she could hide from him and pull him into a closet when he walked by. Today she said when she's five she's going to have boys over. I don't know what that's about except that I'm pretty sure it's too mature for a four-year old and I'm pretty sure she saw it on YouTube.

I hate YouTube. 

I love a minute (or 45) to myself. 

It's time to try this blogging thing again.  I mean, how long has it been?  I've been pretty much drowning in four kids for two years.  I still feel like I am just barely recovering from the baby that sent me to the brink.  But that's boring and we don't need to go into that right now. 

I've started trying to chronicle our lives through Instagram (and subsequent Chatbooks) but I fear I'm overloading my "friends" with family pictures no one really cares about. Plus most of my photos are of my two youngest. Is it because I love them more that the other two? Likely. Actually, I realized that they are in the prime story-making time of their young lives.  This is the season of cuteness and I need to record it as effectively as I did for my older two. 

And speaking of my older two... they are in the prime of their formative years, and depending on the day, that can be painful if not exciting.  I guess I'd better figure out how to chronicle their efforts to survive as well.  

But mostly, and I've said it before, the blog is for me and my sanity.  I have felt the pull sporadically in the last four years and I finally feel like I might be able to fulfill the need to record and write.  At this point I am not going to advertise my updates on "social media" like I was, mostly because I need to get back into the swing of things without feeling the pressure to be understood/likable.  Whatever that means.

So here's to round two:  I restarted my blog and it was OK.

My life according to Pinterest

If I lived according to my Pinterest boards:

My house would be filled with natural light, colorful furniture, handmade slipcovers and quilts, wallpaper, and embroidery.

My kids would never hear a harsh word because I would have the 10 essential things to tell them memorized and at the ready for any situation.

I would give my friends handmade gifts wrapped in butcher paper and fabric twine (made from quilting scraps) with a witty hand lettered card attached.

My container gardens would keep us stocked all season with a variety of produce because I knew exactly when to plant the seeds I self started during the dreary months of winter.

Oh yeah, and my house would be sparkling clean (with just a little Dawn and white vinegar) and organized because my kids would do their age appropriate chores without a fight.

Forget about the food-- I've tried enough of those recipes to know they don't really taste as good as they look.  And the exercising-- I know enough about genetics to know it is physically impossible to change the girth of my hips.

Instead I'm stuck with this:

Road Rage, Podcasts, and Hot Chocolate

So I know it's not socially acceptable, and even dangerous, to text and drive.  I try really hard not to do it.  I mean, I have enough distractions in my car at any given time. I really don't need to try to compose a witty tweet, scream at and possibly pinch my kids, turn on the DVD player, and apply my makeup while I change lanes without my blinker at a speed probably at least 10 miles over the speed limit.

I'll let you decide if I'm exaggerating.

You know I love my podcasts.  I wish I would have cashed in on this whole podcast thing when it was just getting started.  What better medium is there for an NPR junkie who lives in her car? Or the anti-social employee (or former employee- more on that later) who doesn't want to be bothered while entering mind-numbing data or formatting a dry technical report? Or the disgruntled housewife who hates laundry but can be found with her phone blasting in her back pocket while traipsing around the house solving the murder of Hae Min Li?  Podcasts! I can't get enough.

The other day I dropped John at school and waited in the line of traffic to exit the middle school parking lot.  The traffic flow is slow and cycles with the light at the exit of the lot.  While creeping along I used my phone to turn on my podcast and answer a quick text from Kitty asking for hot chocolate.  As I put my phone back and looked up at the line of cars I noticed the woman in front of me elaborately reprimanding me for what I can only assume was "texting while driving". I mean, she was shaking her index finger into the rear-view mirror.  Shame on me.

I, in turn, raised both arms in the universal "what's your problem lady?" sign.  She continued with her finger and started shaking her head.  I felt the road rage boiling up from my feet. Why do some people feel like it is their duty to police everyone they come into contact with? I did not put anyone in danger while my foot was on the brake and my finger was on my phone. There is a drop-off zone so it's not like the parking lot was busy with people running around. But I think what bothered me most was the nerve of that lady.  The nerve!

Caroline is one!

Carebear is one.

It takes a lot to impress this baby.  She isn't your typical happy-go-lucky-I'll-smile-at you if you smile at me kind of girl. I think she get's that from her dad.

She loves her older siblings, especially Chickie. The only binkie she'll take is one that Chickie has had in her mouth, otherwise she's not interested.

She likes to bounce and dance and she can't wait to start really walking.  Walking has been on her to-do list since she was about three minutes old.  She finally got her top-heavy weight balanced and took a few steps the day before her birthday.

She's quite independent and doesn't really love to snuggle. She viewed me as a sole provider of sustenance for the first nine months of her life. We moved beyond that and now I not only provide food, but efficient transportation.

She has snaggle teeth. Not really, but she got all four on the bottom and when the top finally came through it was the two right. I had visions of her teeth looking like Sloth from the Goonies movie, but they look pretty good now, so that was kind of irrational.

Less than a week old.
If I could crop out the crap in the background I would.  I could say it was because I'd just had a baby, but it's looked like that more often than not as of late. 

January 2014

March 2014?
Startled? No. Just irritated that I was trying to get her to smile.

May 2014
Again, that's her, "What are you doing? That's weird." look.

August 2014
This one makes me laugh.  She looks like Jared (at least he's smiling).

September 2014
She looks bigger than Chickie here... and a little bit like a boy.

September 2014
These two are going to be crazy together.

October 11, 2014
She thoroughly enjoyed the CareBear cake at her party, so did I.

October 10, 2014
And yes, she is related to me.

Not sleeping in Nakko

John and Kitty like to hear "funny stories" from my past.  They usually entail crazy embarrassing moments and lately the stories have been thin on unique and valid content.  In one such moment John asked if I could think of anything funny that happened when I went to Africa to visit my friend Christine, who was in the Peace Corps. That got me thinking about Christine, Burkina Faso and my not so relaxing "vacation" to Africa.  I went back to my journal and decided to record this entry for posterity- especially since the story I tell these days is about sleeping with pigs, and to be honest, I questioned the accuracy of my memory (were there actually pigs?).

Here is the entry in its entirety... a little boring, not very funny, but brought back memories none-the-less.

Saturday June 17, 2000
Last night was wild.  We took a bush taxi to Nakko to watch the theater group perform. We got a flat on the way- I guess it happens all the time.  the taxi is pretty much an old beat-up Mazda pick-up. Christine and I were lucky, we got to sit in the front while everyone else sat on benches in the back. The guy drove close to 60 mph on sketchy dirt roads. When we got there the troupe had a DJ blasting music into the streets and everyone was dancing- it was a crazy scene.  Finally, at 7:30 the group started their skits- the first was on AIDS, the second on industrialization, and the third on female genital mutilation. We had front row seats next to a high ranking official, his wife, and his two beautiful little girls. We shared the Chex Mix I had packed with them and eventually ended up giving it to them- he really liked it. (Christine was super irritated that they took it from us).

Sleeping under the stars with the pigs and chickens in Nakko

We were supposed to go back last night- but since we had the flat the driver didn't want to risk the drive at night without a spare.  So we were made to stay.  They provided sleeping mats for us and I at least had a pillow.  The house we stayed in was kind of like a bar or something.  The walls had tons of spider webs and there were crickets all over the ground.  I really didn't want to stay there but we had no choice.  It was a full moon so we moved outside under the stars.  Just when I was nearly asleep I felt a mosquito biting my fingers (despite the burning coils...) so I had to use the spray.  Then the second time I was almost asleep I was startled by pigs rummaging through the nearby marche. Finally I was almost asleep when suddenly I realized it was getting pitch black really fast.  We hurried inside with the crickets just as torrents of rain started to fall.  It continued to rain throughout the night.  I think I got a total of about 2 hrs of sleep.  I'm in a bad mood as a result.

This morning we waited about an our for them to load everyone in the taxi and then we headed back. About half way we had another flat. Luckily it was in Tainkoura- a village where we could patch one of them.  It took a few hours then we made it back, GUH.

Farmer girl and farmer dad

When we're not pretending to be Kitty and Kloey, the baby, or the puppy, Chickie likes to play farmer girl and farmer dad.  I get to be the dad. I don't know why there isn't a farmer mom, there just isn't.  Farmer girl and farmer dad is easy to play, it pretty much involves farmer dad telling farmer girl what to do and she gets on her horse (the arm of the couch) and rides off to do it.

This morning farmer girl was "sleeping" in the chair and farmer dad woke her up to do her chores.  I told her she had to get up and go milk the cows, feed the horses and get eggs from the chickens. Farmer girl reluctantly got on her horse and rode off to the store to get milk and eggs. She also got an apple for her horse.

I think we might need to spend more time on a farm...

Naughty

 There was a little girl,

            Who had a little curl,

 Right in the middle of her forehead.

            When she was good,

            She was very very good,

 But when she was bad she was horrid. -Longfellow

I'll tumblr for ya: What do you meme part 2

A few weeks ago I decided to figure out tumblr.  I couldn't. I did a few Google searches, read some articles, and even signed up for my own account.  I spent a good chunk of an afternoon looking through various "tumblelogs" that I might want to follow.  I still don't get it.  Something about social networking and a multimedia platform. I think it's the next generation of blogging,or at least that's what they told me.  Maybe it's a cross between this antiquated blog and Twitter.  And you know how I feel about Twitter

I noticed a lot of tumblr blogs that were dedicated to a theme. I liked the then and now blog where people submitted photos taken from the same spot "then" and "now".  It reminded me of my old favorite, "Boring Postcards".  I loved that book.

Maybe I'll start my own tumblr blog for freakish M&Ms

Chickie has been potty training for about eight months.  The turning point came when she discovered YouTube on daddy's iPad while she was doing her "business".  We don't normally allow YouTube, but when your two year old accesses it through the Talking Ginger app (why do we still have that?), what can you do? She loves the videos of Play-Doh surprise eggs and the Anna, Elsa, and Kristoff Barbie scenes. Why didn't I think of filming myself playing with Barbies? Oh yeah, because that would be weird. Does she make any money doing this? Why is her voice so annoying?

What about those quizzes people post on Facebook? Should I really change my hair to strawberry blonde, move to Texas, and call myself Deborah?


*Check out DisneyCarToys on YouTube if you're interested in watching a grown woman with an annoying voice play Barbies. BTW it's not what you think, it's wholesome. Strange, but wholesome.

Wisdom from Kitty

"Sometimes it's easier to stand up for someone else than it is to stand up for yourself."

I need help, just not from you

Do you have a Gil Thorpe in your life? Or better yet, a Gunther Thorpe (Gil's dad)?

On last week's episode of Modern Family we were introduced to Gunther Thorpe, a guy who always seems to show up when Jay is at his worst.  I totally have a few Gunther Thorpe characters in my life. My Gunther Thorpes tend to fall into one of two categories. The first is the person I secretly admire or look up to for whatever reason. The second, and most common, is the person who doesn't add anything of value to my life, but seems to always be hanging around in the background, waiting for my inevitable failure.

I recognize that in the first case, the fault is with me.  I become hyper-critical of myself around certain people.  And really, there are only a handful of these women in my life.  They are the ones that have their finger on the pulse of fashion/hair/skinniness/coolness of the world.  These are the women  I run into at the grocery store (for the third time) when I'm wearing stained sweats on day three without a shower, buying a year supply of Hostess and M&M products . Maybe she'll decide to drop in later in the week and the two year old will answer the door dressed only in a diaper and sticky chocolate cheeks.  She'll timidly let herself in after the toddler runs away and wait patiently while I flush the toilet and emerge from the sanctity of a much needed bathroom break. These women have impeccable timing.

The difference between the first group and the second is all in perception. The first group leaves me feeling embarrassed, the second group makes it clear that they are embarrassed for me. They make a big deal about pointing out the tag that is sticking up in the back of my clean shirt and when I laugh it off by saying that at least the shirt's right-side-out, the look of confusion and pity in their eyes says it all. These people don't understand self-deprecating humor and instead view it as an opportunity to offer obvious advice as another avenue of delivering criticism.  "That's why I always double check that nothing is inside-out when I put it away..."  Duh.

More examples:
"You'll need to vacuum more often when she starts to crawl..."
"You shouldn't let them watch TV until they are ready for school..."
"You should make a list of things to do, that's how I get things done..."

I find myself offering unsolicited obvious advice all the time, so... maybe I'm the obnoxious person that isn't really helping anyone.  Sorry.

What do you meme?

There are many things I don't get. 

I'm not ashamed to admit, for example, that I totally looked up the word "meme".  I had an idea what it might mean, but with it being thrown around like common knowledge these days I figured I'd better know what it actually meant. To save yourself the embarrassment of maybe using it in the wrong context here's the definition:

a. a cultural item that is transmitted by repetition and replication in a manner analogous to the biological transmission of genes

b. a cultural item in the form of an image, video, phrase, etc., that is spread via the Internet and often altered in a creative or humorous way. (dictionary.com) 

I joined the Twitter the other day.* I figured I should jump on the bandwagon and get tweeting. It's like reading code.  A code everyone knows but me.  In this day and age of technology everyone just assumes people can figure stuff out without so much as an overview or description.  It's like when we got that first iPod and the box came with no instructions.  Luckily we figured it had to be plugged in. Let's just say don't bother following me. #what'sahashtagforanyway #whatsthepoint #itsweird

And what about Minecraft? I could go on and on but I wouldn't know what I was talking about, creepers, mods, spawns, the nether... The graphics? Is it cool to have horrible 80s style graphics? In the 80s we played a game on our dad's Osborne computer called "Castle" and there were no graphics.  Believe me, the graphics of our imaginations were awesome, we didn't need anything else.

Does anyone know what the deal is with Comic Con? Or is it Comicon? ComicCon? Didn't we used to make fun of Star Trek conventions? Now it's cool to dress up and go to a comic convention? Isn't that what it is? Am I missing out?

And "What Does the Fox Say?"


*I know it's not the Twitter, I added that for #dramaticeffect

John's "pre-church" attitude is awesome.

2013 Year in review

Pretty much the past year went like this:

Everything started out normal enough, then I found out I was pregnant, then I was sick, then I felt a little better, then my ankles swelled, then I had a baby, and now I am disorganized and overwhelmed.

Chickie likes to draw people. I am the figure on the left with the scribbled hair. "Yours wrinkle" (the vertical line to the left of the mouth) is the only other defining feature that she included in my portrait.

Nice.

More from Chickie

"Chickie, Mommy's tired of doing this..."

"Ok. Go to sleep."

Life with this two year old

Chickie HATES:

breakfast
boots
mine cup
that mean lady/step-mother
the step-sisters
that mean cat
watch Snow White
take naps
yours bed
mine bed
mine room
my binky
this one blanket
getting kids from school
mine carseat
mine buckles
mommy's radio

daddy's show

john saying 'stop chickie'

Chickie WANTS:

chocolate cake

chocolate milk

pudding

boots

mine cup

watch Cinderella

watch Snow White

mommy's bed

the crib

my binky

mine blanket

get kids

mine radio louder/up in the air

mine show

sit daddy's chair

john go away

hold you me

My semi-annual blog pledge drive

Twice a year PBS and NPR embark on a week long guilt trip begging for support in the form of monetary donations. Before the dawn of the podcast I would sulk at the prospects of having to endure an entire week of interruptions to all my favorite programs with the promise of a coffee mug in return for a sizable monthly donation. But here I go, asking for pledges. I have no mugs, t-shirts, greatest hits CDs or anything tangible to promise, but this little blog needs your help.

I used to enjoy writing my posts. It was fun and I would spend my week thinking "should I post that?" or "is this blog-worthy?" Then through a series of events and technological advancements my blog began to suffer. Now it has almost whimpered to a stop. I know blogs aren't the "it" thing anymore and it seems most everyone has found better uses for their time but I'm not ready to give up.

I've tried to decipher why I've lost my blog mojo and here's the rub-- I like writing for people other than myself. It's not cool to admit, and perhaps a little self-centered, but I like it when people like what I write. There. I said it. When I get feedback (comments) I get excited and feel validated. As much as we hate to admit it- we like it when we're liked, right?

I need my blog. I need to feel inspired to write again. It's all very selfish. I like going back and reading past entries. The blog provides a glimpse into the everyday constructs of my family that I wouldn't otherwise have recorded. Plus writing, for me, is cathartic. I may not be the best at it, but I enjoy it.

So on behalf of all bloggers out there here's my plea:

If you enjoy reading this or any blog, will you find it in your heart to pledge a little time to show your support? It takes just a few minutes each day, week, or month, whatever you're comfortable with, to click and read. And if you're feeling especially generous you can always leave a comment. The benefits include lifetime friendships and memories, as well as the possibility of the obligatory reciprocal comment/page view for your own noteworthy blog. You really can't go wrong.

Sweet? Caroline!

So, yeah, it's been almost 7 weeks since Caroline was born... It's been difficult to find a minute to pull out the laptop and compose a proper blog post. Life is busy and I suddenly feel like I have too many kids. It's weird to have four little people to wrangle. Let's just say it's been an adjustment for everyone.

Here's the thing, I thought she was going to be an easy baby since she was a scientific fluke. I know that doesn't make sense, but I figured if I had to have one more then the universe would go easy on me. She isn't horrible- she's just really wiggly and grumbley. I think it should start getting better soon- at least that's what my go-to sleep habits book says. The other thing that's hard is that she doesn't particularly like to be in her car seat. I've told her that if she wants to be part of this family she had better figure out how to be content in her seat. She said she would work on it.

Here are some pictures so no one (including my future self) feels ripped off...

Can you spot the professional photos?

She's about 2 weeks



Don't forget about Chickie. Clothing has become optional at our house for grouchy 2 year olds.



It's either princess or nothing at all.  She put the bandaid on her nose because she bumped it.



Six weeks

Four weeks

Five weeks