running

I am ordinary. I am non-athletic. I am scatter-brained. I am klutzy.

But it beckons me.
Each step, an end, an achievement, a furthering.

It taunts me.
You made it this far last time... how'd you like to go just a bit further?

It is mysterious to me.
Am I full of the power that will push me forward when I want to stop? Let me find out.

It opens my lungs, strengthens my muscles.
The wind is in my body, a rush and letting go. The speed is in my legs, torn, and rebuilt stronger.

It is for myself, and only for myself.
There will always be someone faster. There will always be someone slower.

I am fast. I am strong. I am capable.

on a leaf hunt 2012

facebook and the age of artificial relationships

I have a few stories for you.

I lost my best friend. Well, okay, it's not like she died or anything, but she's not really my best friend anymore; I hardly know her. It took me a long time to accept that. Our lives practically went in opposite directions and anything relatable in our lives became unrelatable, until we became unrecognizable to one another. Today we are still friends on social media sites, but I haven't seen her face in over two years, and I haven't heard her voice since I called her to tell her I was pregnant with Austen. I haven't communicated with her at all, in any way, in a few months. There was a point when I broke all social media contact with her because I didn't want her to see what was going on in my life and feel like she was still my friend. I wanted her to know her presence in my life was supposed to mean more than seeing a few pictures of my kids on Instagram. Maybe it would change something, maybe it wouldn't.

One time I deleted a friend over a Facebook debate. Yes, I was one of those people.  I am sure you have experienced, in your lifetime, how words can be taken the wrong way online, you know, with the lack of facial expressions and vocal tones and such... all that stuff that happens in a normal face-to-face conversation. Anyway, some things were said and feelings were hurt and it wasn't long before I felt I had overreacted and thought it was silly to have deleted a dear friend over a miscommunication and a little pride.

A few years ago, I came to the realization that a good friendship of mine was fading. A few lost emails, exchanged words of  "I just need the time to sit down and write you back" on both ends, and forgotten conversations drifted as the door was gently closed on our relationship. I wasn't bitter. I wasn't sad. It felt right. I believe most friendships are meant to fade. Naturally, most people are there for a chapter in your life, and then both lives move on. People are placed in our lives for a reason. Sometimes they reach deep in our souls and stir up the soil where the relationship is planted and grows, and they share joys and sorrows, and then sometimes, eventually, it must whither away. Different paths are taken, and the friendship is remembered for what it was, in all its goodness. It's how things are supposed to be.

About two weeks ago I told my sister I would call her back that night. I miss her so much but sometimes you can hardly tell by my lack of involvement in her life. I am a hypocrite because I don't go out of my comfort zone to make the utmost effort to show people how much I love them. Sometimes I am just as much of an empty place in someone's life as I feel my friend has been in my life.

Facebook and other social media sites offer the false sense that a friendship exists, that by "liking" or commenting on a few pictures or statuses now and then, the friendship continues. On the opposite end of letting friendships fades, social media also gives us the impression that we are involved when we are not. This is fine for Christmas-card-friendships. But I'm talking real, honest, sharing-life-and-hopes-and-struggles friendships. I felt this first-hand after the birth of my daughter. We received many warm congratulations on Facebook, and I had many friends (even people we'd never met!) bring us meals, but there were many people whom we considered close friends or family, that did not come by to see her. It hurt. I understood though, that because her birth was announced through social media, that by seeing her pictures and telling us congratulations, people felt involved

But I am not pointing fingers. I am guilty of the same things. I haven't visited brand new babies in hospitals because I let them know of my love by "liking" and "commenting" on photos. I've said "way to go!" and "awesome!" or "hope you feel better" through social media more times than I've been there in person to hold a hand or pat a back. Sometimes I don't speak to some of my closest family for months because we are "connected" by Facebook.  I know that my grandma sees pictures of the kids daily through social media, and so I hadn't taken the time to print photos and send her a hand-written letter. I finally did last month. Never underestimate the worth of a hand-written letter. It is precious when it comes from people who are precious in your life.

The neglect by some people whom I considered close friends has made me strive to be a better friend to those I love. The other day I forced -- yes, I had to force -- myself to call a sweet friend who had given birth to a precious baby girl a few days before. I am terrible at the phone, but most of the time once I am actually talking to someone I am always surprised that I haven't died from spontaneous combustion, or whatever I think is going to happen when I use the phone, and I enjoy the conversation.

Sometimes social media takes true relationship out of some friendships, even relationships with family members. The next time someone has an important event occur in their lives, be there. In person. With a hand-written card. With words and eye-contact and hugs. Call someone you haven't talked to in a while. Write a letter. Strive to have real, rather than artificial, relationships.

loved

I look down at my child's face
and her eyes do not go up but the corners of her mouth do
simply because she knows I am looking at her.

Life for her is so simple.
All she knows is that she is loved.
She is smiled at, played with, laughed at,
read to, held, comforted, kissed,
fed, snuggled, loved.
Hair stroked, bum wiped, rolls bathed,
body warmed by clothing hand-picked hand-made,
carefully swung into the air,
steadily caught, eyes wide, belly full of laughter,

loved.

Someday she will worry about what her hair looks likes when she leaves the house.
Someday she will make a foolish mistake and will feel the sting of someone's anger.
Someday she will make a few choices to please others.
Someday she will feel judged for her beliefs.
Someday she will struggle to find an identity.
And there will be a few days when she will be exhausted and overwhelmed and drained
and feel like she hasn't tried hard enough
and she might call herself a failure.

But thank God those days will wait.

And I hope in the midst of those waiting days
she remembers the first thing she knew: that she is loved.
Loved as much as anyone can be loved.
Loved, always loved.

complete

After River I knew another little soul would join us. I had a dream I got pregnant when he was nine months old and surprisingly enough I'm pretty sure I did although it ended in a miscarriage. I will never be positive, but I had all my typical early pregnancy symptoms: tender nipples, a terribly achy lower back, and an undeniable, ravishing craving for the taste and smell of jalapenos. When he was 16 months old, John and I started discussing adding baby number two, although we were pretty broke at the time and hardly could afford it, Austen made her way into our lives one month later. A month after that I started puking out my guts every morning, insuring a definite and healthy pregnancy.

The completeness of our family in this chapter of our lives feels so perfect. I've always wanted to write about how adding a second child felt emotionally but I have not gotten around to it. Every stage of the life of my second child I have compared to the stage of my first child. Not critically in the least, but simply out of the amazement that two children, both equal parts me and my husband, can be so entirely different in every beautiful and wonderful way.

River was an unpredictable sleeper who hardly napped, and gave up two naps at the age of four months, and all naps at the age of 18 months. Austen is a wonderful, predictable sleeper who gave up two naps at the age of 10 months, but still takes a long, two-hour nap every afternoon, and wakes up at the same exact time almost every morning. River always seemed older than he was, with his inquisitive face, outgoing personality, and crazy gross motor skills. Austen is more reserved, quite shy, and has always been my "baby" baby. River was easy-going, easily entertained, happy-go-lucky. Austen is stubborn, fixated, easily upset, and has thrown more fits than River has in his entire three years of life. Both babies were mama's babies, but Austen more so than River. River was happy to be cared for by anyone as a baby, but Austen was not happy with anyone but me from the time she was a newborn.

As she approaches her first birthday, I'm reflecting on the past year, having officially, and I suppose, successfully, raised two infants. Each infancy, so sweet in its own way. My goals for the coming years have stayed steady since I dreamed them up when Austen was just a tiny tadpole; that is, to go to school this spring and eventually finish my education, homeschool my sweeties for a time, and then at around 2nd grade for Austen and 3rd grade for River, send the two off to public school and plan on having another child. It seems almost arrogant of me to share where I see myself, since I really have no say in what exactly will happen in life, but that's what I see happening. And I'm very happy with it.

Before Austen I couldn't tell you exactly when I wanted another child. I just knew it would happen. Today, everything feels entirely complete. My little family is complete, for now. I see my girl and I see my boy, and I know I am blessed beyond measure.

simplifying

The purpose of this blog, in the beginning, was to have a way to record motherhood. To record what we do on a daily basis, the cute little things that my kids say, and most importantly, my emotions and thoughts about life. In the past, I've hopped on the bandwagon of wanting a lot of followers, and I admit that my heart does flutter a bit whenever I notice my numbers going up, but it's never been my main purpose or focus and I want it never to be. I feel that lately, since my audience has widened, it's been hard for me to be honest. Not that I'm hiding anything, but its been hard for me to sit down and just write how I feel or write the thoughts that go through my head when I'm lying in my bed trying to fall asleep at night.

I used to write all the time when I was younger. I would write from the deepest part of me. I dove so deeply into how I felt and recorded every passing thought, that when I read my old blog, I don't even remember feeling that way. Some of the thoughts that I wrote down surprise me today because I didn't know that's how I felt. That's what I want this blog to be. I want to be able to write. I want to be able to find a balance between keeping this a parenting blog, and being able to share my thoughts about life in general. I mean, I have so much more to talk about than diapers and potty training and sleep routines and I want to be able to share all that, too.

Recently I got rid of my personal Facebook page, and then I made my Twitter account private again, and I made my Instagram private and then un-privatized it because I like followers but now I've stopped following some people I don't know and I think follow-for-follow is the dumbest thing in the world and I'm considering making it private again. I mean, I really want to simplifty, and what about that is actually simple? I hate social media etiquette. And so, because the main goal of this blog isn't followers or traffic, I'm going to switch some things around to get my writing-self in a good vibe. I'm going to take most everything down except for the writing & photography part. That's what this blog is. It's not a reality show or a DIY segment on HGTV (although I do enjoy sharing crafty and housey things). It's a journal. I want to go back to that. I miss writing.

Simplify.

beach

Last week we went to a real, live, wind-breathing, waves-beating, birds-flying, salt-tasting, sand-stuck-to-oh-my-god-everything beach.

We did everything you're supposed to do when you visit a beach. Like eating ham and sand sandwiches. And fly kites. And taking long walks, the kind where you look back and think holy crap how did I walk so far?

The sun was sunny as sun can be and you can't tell by these pictures that it was freezing. I mean, not literally freezing, but cold enough that you had to wrap your sweater a little bit closer and tighter. And yes, that is River wearing a thick coat. In August. At the beach. So I guess we didn't do everything you're supposed to do at a beach, since swimming in sweaters and thick coatS didn't seem like such a great idea.

This was Austen's first time at a real beach, just a month older than River was on his first trip. Upon her first meeting with the sand, she was really freaked out by the texture and wouldn't stand upright.

Girl wasn't having it.

Eventually she gave into the powdery warmth.

When I say beach-high, do you know what I am talking about? It's a drug. What else could make a person just run and run along the water's edge and breathe deeper and smile for no reason other than to be in the presence of something so wide and vast and out of the control of man. Is it freeing because you can stare out at the water and see nothing that can be changed, something that just is?

Some of the shallow water was warm and on a beach-high, getting wet doesn't matter, even when the wind is terribly cold. I got wet up to my ankles. I may have jumped right in, I tell you, if my mommy-brain hadn't been in action.

Some cool curvy driftwood sticks that no one else cares about but me. I care.

What's funny about this tiny town is that out of maybe ten businesses that we saw on the main road, four of them were coffee shops. 

Washington does love its coffee.

River loved playing in the sand. He got a lot of practice stuffing sand castle molds and emptying them just right.

He was full of sand, quite literally, from head to toe. 

John wanted to get River a kite, so we stopped by a little coffee shop/kite store (yes) and he picked a red octopus.

It was so nice to get home and take hot showers to wash all the salty spray off our bodies. My mom realized my dad hadn't packed any veggies to go with our meal. We were having sausage, chicken legs, steak, and potato chips. So after cleaning up, we went to the nearest corner store, where there were three bell peppers. So we went to the second nearest corner store and there was an onion and a bag of wilted lettuce. So we asked the owner where we could get some fresh produce and he told us about a market about ten miles down the road called Voss Acres.

We pondered our meal with bell peppers and wilted lettuce, and decided to go on an adventure to this little market. We were glad we did. It was a little gem of a garden and market on the property of an old historic house. Despite being adorably small and cozy, they had just about any type of fruit or veggie you could want.

And cucumbers the size of babies.

The owner kindly invited us to walk around the gardens and help ourselves to handfuls of sugar snap peas. But I have no idea what pea plants look like and didn't want to appear to be snooping. If you know what I mean.

After looking around, we decided on green beans and potatoes and we threw in a couple mangoes for fun and headed back to the cottage with our loot.

Our meal, with a healthy green bean to drumstick ratio.

Seriously, the best grilled chicken I've ever had ever. Good job, Dad!

We ended the night with the movie Dinosaur, specifically for River. I knew he would love it. He is really into dinosaurs right now, and this movie was my brother's favorite when he was little.

In the morning, my sister and I walked down to a coffee shop for an appropriate morning buzz. One more beach visit was squeezed in after breakfast and then we finished our mini-vacation with a restaurant lunch before heading home. 

None of us wanted to go back. River has asked probably one hundred times if we can go to the beach and play in the sand. My mom and I are already discussing next year's trip, a four-night stay and writing lists of things to take next time (like vegetables and box fans to drown out snoring husbands and extra blankets on which to place babies). 

I don't want to believe summer is almost over, especially here in Washington, when autumn will blow in at the  appropriate mid-September time instead of toward the end of November in San Antonio. But I can see with each cooler day and cold evening, that it is coming to a close. I'll miss these perfect summer days, but I am already preparing in my head and on my Autumny Pinterest board for crisp fall days. Bring on the hot cocoa and scarves and my new mustard-colored skinnies! Let's do this.