sick day.

Nolan takes longer than usual to go down for his nap, and once he does, I turn on Wild Kratts for Cal and disappear into my book. Once he passes the hour mark that means I have to start feeling guilty, I pause the show and ask him what he wants to do.

"Let's do a project!" he cries which in essence means, "Let's make a huge mess!"

I kneel on the floor and rest my head on the couch, willing myself to be a fun mom. It's day four of this horrible cold and I'm hardly feeling any better. "Mama, are you sleeping?" he asks.

"No, I'm sick," I answer, and Cal creeps away. I hear him rustling around in the kitchen, and I'm afraid to look up and see the havoc his unsupervised project is wreaking. I drift into sleep for a minute or ten, I can't tell.

Little knees wedge themselves under my arms. "Mama, Mama, wake up," Cal says.

"I don't want to, baby," I whine, our roles reversed for a minute. "I'm sick."

Something cold presses against my fingers. "I got you some water, Mama." He sits back and smiles.

I almost start crying at this small act of tenderness by my little boy whose brain is just starting to wire for empathy. "Oh, thank you Cal! That was helping! Thank you!" He nods, pleased with himself. I quickly swallow back the water, get to my feet.

"Okay, Cal. Let's make something."

Sand castles.

Last weekend, we camped on the Olympic Peninsula. We spent most of our twenty-four hour visit on the beach, searching for sea creatures and running in the waves. 

I stayed up at camp while Nolan napped, then hiked down the bluff to Scott and Cal building a sand castle on the beach. Cal was digging with his fingers in the dirt like a little turtle, making a a moat around his fortress. 

The sand was littered with crab and mussel shells, castoffs from the eagles' and crows' meals that day. As I stood watching the waves (with Nolan clutching on to me like a little koala bear, like always), I decided Cal's mound of dirt needed a little decoration. I started picking up shells and placing them randomly on the sand castle. Soon all four of us were searching for shell fragments and pressing them into the sand. 

The tide was coming in, and soon sea foam was frothing in Cal's little moat. Soon the sand castle would melt back into the sea. The waves would scatter the shells, and they would revert back to carcasses instead of precious decorations. The cynical voice that stows away in the corner of my brain said, "Why do this, when it's just going to disappear? What's the point?" (The Existentialist unit in AP Literature seriously traumatized me). 

Fortunately, the hopeful voice in my heart is better nourished than my inner skeptic these days. We made the sand castle because our spirits yearn to create. We studded it with pearly shells and broken sand dollars because we love beauty, no matter how fleeting, no matter how imperfect. 

All societies make art. It has no clear biological purpose, but it's present throughout history--we walk through museums to wonder at it, turn on music in the car to be immersed in it, read a few words by lamplight before slipping into sleep. Give a family a few hours and some raw materials and we will build a palace; give me an experience and a few raw words and I will try to shape it into a story. 

The waves will erode our creation, but we keep building. I don't know if my words will reach anyone beyond my small circle of influence, or if they will be swallowed by the web of the internet, but I'll keep writing. Even if no one else will see them, I'll keep building sand castles. 

100 breaths.

Embed from Getty Images

In the creativity course I'm taking, we are focusing on Space this month. Space to create, space to be a woman in addition to a mother, space to breathe.

Unfortunately, space is closing in, rather than opening up. 

Erin Loechner revealed in an interview that she wakes up at 2 am each day (!!), going to bed by 7 pm in order to be well rested. While 2 am is a stretch for me, I think conceivably I could work my way back to 4 am. I tried to be smart about it. Last week, I set my alarm for 5. This week, it's been 4:30. 

I skipped my hour long writing session after dinner Monday night in order to be up by 4:30 on Tuesday. I overslept, and planned to skip cleaning up after dinner--only to receive a phone call from our property manager. The realtors were coming over to take photographs of our house at 11:30, and could I tidy up a bit? 

Insert groan here. 

I was up until 10:30 cleaning, and decided I would grit my teeth and just get up at 4:30 am anyway. I'd just be tired for one day, in order to get myself in this routine (and I have some deadlines that I need to meet). 

Unfortunately, Nolan woke up at 4:29, and refused to go back down in his crib. Rather than wake the whole house and have him be ready for a nap by 9 am, I settled into the rocking chair and tried to get comfortable until everyone else woke up an hour or so later. 

Nolan wasn't having it, though. My Fitbit alarm kept going off, and he was curious about the flashing lights and vibrations coming from my wrist. Then he spent several minutes bemoaning his skinned knee, pointing to the scab, and saying, "Ouch, ouch," mournfully. (It's his first big "owie," and he's been milking it). 

I was getting tense and angry--not the way I wanted to start my morning. I was going to be sleep-deprived and I wasn't getting any writing done, not to mention that if Nolan didn't go to sleep soon, he wasn't going to let me put him down all day long. 

Nolan started poking me in the eye. "Eye!" He grabbed my nose. "Nose!"

I took a deep breath, turned my face from his jabbing fingers, and decided to take one hundred slow breaths. 

The first thing that happened as my body relaxed was that Nolan was able to relax, too. By breath 25 he was nuzzled under my arm, pacifier dropped from his slack mouth. 

Next, I found myself reasoning out how to get through the day. No, it wasn't ideal that I wasn't going to meet my goals for the day, or that I would be tired, but it was one day. I rested my head on Nolan's silky one, smelling his baby shampoo. My impatience ebbed away, replaced with a sense of peace. 

Around breath 99 I started dozing off. I woke up half an hour later and read my scriptures, prayed, read a magazine, and read a chapter of an ebook. 

I hadn't planned on spending two and a half hours trapped in a rocking chair with a sleeping toddler on my chest, but when Cal barreled into the room at 7, Nolan blinked those sleep lashes a few times, exclaimed, "Mama!" and hugged my neck. And I was able to enter the day peacefully and circled by love. 

I know I won't be able to take 100 breaths every time my plans go awry. Lack of flexibility is my downfall, and I'll probably be working on it for the rest of mortality. But today, letting my mind and body slow and rest brought peace to a day I thought would be fraught with stress. I've tried meditation programs with varying degrees of success, but I think this one that came to me in desperation at 4:30 in the morning might be the one I need. 

How do you find calm when you're stressed? 

you might be a millennial woman if...

{source}

:: you've ever taken a hand-lettering course

:: you've debated the virtues of Instagram stories vs. Snapchat

:: you know what millennial pink is (and it's your favorite color)

:: you own a Letterfolk board

:: you've practiced your cursive on Instagram stories

:: you own at least one piece of hand-stamped jewelry

:: you're more likely to buy something if the company donates a portion of your purchase to a person in need (TOMS, Bombas, Malawi Pizza)

:: you write in a bullet journal

:: you've donated to a Kickstarter or Patreon fund

:: you've done a Whole30

:: you listen to podcasts

:: you've said "hashtag" in a normal sentence

:: you've ever made a live stream video of yourself on social media

:: you buy all your clothes from tiny online boutiques

:: you know what a "Carly" is

:: you've been to more than three LuLaRoe, LipSense, or Usborne Books parties in the last year

(I'm 14/16. HashtagBASIC.)

guess who's back

Hi, poor abandoned blog. I've never really defined what I want to do with this space--it's always been a catch-all for the random, unedited and unrevised confetti in my brain. I started When Life Gives You Lemmons in the early 2010's, when most of the blogs I read were vehicles for distant family members to keep up with our day-to-day life. It always took a backseat to The Story Girl, my now dormant book blog. When I decided to close The Story Girl, my posting became a little more frequent here, but I've never "branded" or tried to promote myself. I just sort of sit down every few days (or weeks) (or months) and spill my thoughts out, and sometimes people read them (thanks).

These days, my writing energy goes into writing more polished pieces for other spaces. Instead of typing whatever I think and not even rereading before I press publish, I spend hours revising and send them out in the hope that someone likes them. I've become uncertain of what to do with When Life Gives You Lemmons--should I try and write polished essays here? Still use it as a space for my less organized thoughts? Stop pretending I'm a blogger?

What I'd like to do is continue using it as a space for less organized thoughts, but more often. I like Erin Loechner's philosophy of slow blogging--more thought and space between posts vs. more content. I don't want to post just to post, but I do want to be more present here.

So expect to see more of me. :)

a journal entry about balance.

I wrote this in my journal a few days ago, and decided to share.

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

I go back and forth between okay and not. This morning, both kids were crying and I though, I absolutely just can't do this. I literally don't have the capacity. But then somehow they calmed down, and we had fun and were happy again. 

I hear women say, "Good thing I love this job," about motherhood. I think I love it -- I definitely want to love it. But I've lost sight of that lately. I've gotten caught up in minutiae and shoulds and forgotten about love and wonder. 

It's the trickiest balance, because the minutiae and shoulds are still important. They still need to happen. But I tend to let them become the most important things, and then everything feels meaningless, because the love and wonder are the entire point of all of it. 

I don't think I'll ever truly get it right. I'll always be standing on a see-saw trying to get things done on one side and surrendering to the present on the other. Some days there will be too much of one, other days it will be too heavy on the other. Even now I hear Nolan cry and I know I won't be meeting all of the goals i had for this nap-time. (illegible scribbles)

I know a lot of women have this "epiphany," if you can call it that, all the time -- there's nothing particularly original in my struggle to balance tasks with presence. But it's where I'm at right now, and the struggle feels particularly poignant these days. I'd love to hear what's worked for you, and how you've made peace with it.

muddlings on politics.

I used to proudly declare myself apolitical. I never read the news, never had a clue what was going on in the world. It just felt depressing to me, and I felt powerless against it.

Lately, that's changed. I've felt like it was important to be informed, that it was selfish of me to not want to be disturbed in my safe living room, surrounded by all my needs and comforts. I've been reading the news. I've been forming opinions. I've been posting haphazardly to Facebook. I've always been transparent; I couldn't hide the way I feel if I wanted to, and I usually don't want to. For a long time, I've preferred to be honest rather than cool. Sometimes that makes things awkward, but usually I feel like the exchange is worth it.

I'm not very good at this politics thing. A lot of my views are half-grown-- I spent so much time trying to avoid thinking about certain issues. I feel like I get on Facebook and start sharing things and then later wonder if it was a mistake. Did I read that thoroughly? Was that an accurate article?

One example is the recent Women's March. There are a lot of things that I identified with in the Women's March. Trump's scandal tapes hit a nerve with me. I've struggled with my weight and body image for my entire life. I've been told by boyfriends that they don't see a future with me because they think I'll be overweight when I'm older. I've been pressured to be more physically affectionate than I was comfortable with by ex-boyfriends. I've walked to my car with my hand on the pepper spray more nights than I can remember. I don't say this for pity -- I know that I'm lucky that those are all I've had to deal with. But it made me angry that people could justify this behavior in a man who is supposed to lead our nation -- a man who is coming into one of the most powerful positions in the world. I'm trying to raise sons who respect women, and I hope my voice is more important to them than those of the outside world, but I know that each time we justify this kind of talk as "just talk" or "boys being boys," we're occasioning more rape culture, more disrespect. I know it happens all the time, but that doesn't make it okay.

There are other elements of the March that I wasn't as on board with. I'm pro-life, and from what I understand the original March organizers didn't want pro-life supporters there. I still supported most of their platform, and as one of my favorite podcasters recently said, check all boxes politics doesn't work. There is no single politician or party that I agree with on every count. I don't support the pro-choice platform for reasons that would take far too long to enumerate here, but that doesn't mean I disagree with other statements made. I will also say that there are aspects of the march's platform that I simply haven't researched enough to form my own opinions yet. Suffice it to say, I thought it was worthy because it showed that we don't believe that hate speech is acceptable. I know there is more to it than that, but that's what it meant to me.

Now with the refugee ban, I am feeling sick at heart. This is one of the political issues I care most about. While I was in Los Angeles, I spent a lot of time with immigrants: making friends, taking care of patients and their families. I hate that people are so afraid, so judgmental, that they would assume everyone from a country or religion is going to commit horrific acts. From what I understand, it takes refugees years to be approved to live here. The immigration process is already difficult and complex. And now we are going to block more people, just tell them that their suffering isn't our problem? It sits like a stone on my heart.

I want to do something to help, but I don't know what. I've made donations in the past. I pray. And I share Facebook articles, because it feels like something, even though it probably only stirs up contention -- has anyone ever changed their mind based on a Facebook article?

I think I need to get off social media.

Right now, I just want to curl up and cry. I know that my day to day life isn't affected by this, and I don't want to make it about me -- oh, I'm so sad, I'm so affected by the state of the world, admire me. It probably partially is about me, this desire to do something. I want to feel better -- I want the sadness of this to dissipate.

I don't want to imagine my children or my friends fleeing bombs. I don't want to picture my siblings or my parents huddled in tents, hoping that they have enough sleeping bags to keep everyone warm.

I don't want a world where people do this to each other.

I know there are arguments for Trump's order, even though I disagree with it and think it does infinitely more harm than good. There are those that say we must protect our own at any cost.

But when we wall up our safe havens, I think we wall up our souls, too.

I don't know a lot. I'm sure lots of you could argue circles around me, and I wouldn't have counter-arguments that held up to your satisfaction. I'm sure there are people that would say, who cares if our world is a little colder? We need to protect ourselves, even if the risk is small. I don't have proof that nothing bad would happen.

All I have is a conscience, and a heart that is hurting from far away and wishing to help. All I have is a belief in One who loved all of God's children, One who spent the early years of his childhood as a refugee in Egypt. He chose to love us all, regardless of the hurts he suffered on our behalf in the Garden. He chose compassion over safety, and they crucified Him.

I can't wash my hands of it. Willful avoidance is complicity.

I don't know what to do, and I'm sure these thoughts don't make much sense. I should have gone to bed an hour ago. I don't know if adding my voice to the chorus will do any good, or if it will only do harm. But for tonight at least, my voice is what I have to work with. So I'll use it to pray for justice and safety for those in danger, and to add my small pleadings on their behalf as a little drop in the ocean of the internet.

And tomorrow, I'll wake up and try to do good.

a breath of peace.

Today, I had a lot of people in my house.

It was fun. I like having parties, as long as they have an expiration time, and this one did. I've been feeling isolated lately (one of the negatives of living in a colder climate instead of a warm one, as well as living in a house instead of an apartment complex). So when our church was out of commission for the weekly playdate, I volunteered my house. We have the space, we have a ridiculous amount of toys, and I am always happy to give Cal opportunities to socialize. (He spent the entire playdate looking at books in his room. But I can't really fault him for that, as that is my preferred activity, too).

A couple of kids stayed over a little longer because their mom had a meeting. I felt very proud of myself as I whipped up four lunches and mediated toy disputes (in a house full of toys, everyone wants the stupid plastic thing from the McDonald's Happy Meal). Nolan had refused his morning nap, probably because of the excitement of so many friends, so as soon as he'd eaten a respectable amount, I whisked him upstairs to bed. He continued to resist, so I instructed the kids to be nice to each other (they were), and I spent ten minutes rocking him to sleep.

I don't usually rock Nolan to sleep in the daytime. (Nighttime is another matter -- typically he wakes up between the hours of midnight and two, I stumble into his room, pick him up, and wake up 45 minutes later with a crick in my neck and Nolan's drool on my arm). But as I sat with him, watching his eyelids drop lower and lower, feeling his breathing slow and steady, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for that space to be slow and present.

I complain a lot about the inconvenient parts of motherhood. It's hard. It's hard to make meals that nobody eats, to clean up messes that simply reappear when my back is turned, to try every moment to do what's right for my children only to have them hit me and scream at me. It's not always like that. It's not even mostly like that. But sometimes those loud moments overpower the sweeter, quieter ones.

I returned downstairs to see three little kids, ages 3, 4, and 5, sitting on our little bench, singing songs together. I wanted to squeeze them all, even the ones that aren't mine. It was a hectic day, but I was given the gift of seeing the beauty in the cracks. It's all I can ask for.

Last Chance to Lose Your Keys

If you got that reference, you get a cookie and a hug.

I locked myself out of the house twice in a seven day span recently. This happened fairly frequently when we lived in University Village, because all I had to do was walk five minutes to the office and grab a spare key. Now, with my husband on base twenty-five minutes away, it's a little trickier to get inside.

The first time, I was trying to go to Winco. We'd just returned home from our Christmas travels to California, and we had no milk and hardly any food in the house. We'd driven for twelve hours the day before, and we were all pretty sleep deprived. I made sure the front door was locked, that I had everyone's coat and the reusable grocery bags -- and then, when I checked my purse, I had no keys. I'd been so focused on getting everything else that we needed, that I left the most important component of our trip to the store -- the keys to get there.

Fortunately, for whatever reason the car was left unlocked, so I buckled the kids in, tried to remove the screen off the window, called my mom crying, and texted my friend that lived nearby. Also fortunately, we were close enough to get a WiFi signal and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was on YouTube, so we hunkered down in the car with coats on (it was 30 degrees outside) and watched the show. By the time the show was over, my friend had texted me back, and we went and hung out at her house for a couple of hours until Scott returned home from work. It wasn't ideal, and it threw me off a bit. But we'd survived.

The second time, though, left me feeling like the universe was out to get me. I'd been feeling stressed out after all our traveling, and Nolan had been waking up quite a bit at night, so when Scott and his sister's family went to Seattle for a day trip, I stayed home, with strict orders to take a nap. I decided I would, after I went for a run. I tucked my house key into an inner pocket of my jacket, had a great run, and went home... only to find that my key had somehow fallen out. I spent the next two hours combing the trail, asking others if they'd seen a key, and getting colder and colder. I didn't know when Scott would be back from Seattle, and I was embarrassed to tell him I'd been locked out again. Only when it became dark (at 4:30...) did I return home, keyless, freezing, and starting to panic.

Fortunately, when I called Scott, he was only 15 minutes away. I took a hot bath, and went to Lowe's the next day to make several copies of my house key (as well as grab a wristband to keep it with me when I run). Everything turned out well, but in the moment, I was so furious and stressed.

It had me wondering, what am I supposed to learn from this?

Obviously, to always have my keys in hand before I leave the house. But also, I think, it was meant to show me that sometimes things happen out of my control, and flipping out doesn't make it any better. I live under the illusion that I can plan out my days. You'd think I'd have learned after having two children and working in pediatrics that the unexpected can descend at any moment, and that it's important to think on your feet. Most important of all, I realized that crying and panicking just impedes my ability to come up with a new plan. It stagnates me instead of helping me to move forward.

Hopefully I've learned my lesson and won't have to get locked out again. But I'm definitely never locking the door again unless my key is in my hand!

Small-scale gratitude.

This morning, I found myself standing stark naked in the bathroom, fixing a Lego fire truck. How did I get here?

I'm frazzled these days. My kids seem to need more than usual -- Cal shouts for me if I'm not in the room, and Nolan is either clamoring to be held or systematically destroying everything in his path. I keep hearing the message to "fill my bucket," but there are only so many things that I can do while the kids are asleep, and so few that seem to be working while they are awake. And then I while away the time by checking Facebook incessantly and obsessing about the Presidential election, which further frazzles me and accomplishes nothing.

This is meant to be the month of gratitude, and I am grateful on the large scale. I'm grateful to have a husband who works so I can stay home with my kids, to have healthy kids, to be able to have kids at all. I'm grateful to live in a nice house in a nice town in a country that, despite its flaws, is pretty safe and offers much more freedom than most. I'm grateful that I can go to the grocery store and buy food without counting every penny I spend, that my body is essentially healthy. I'm grateful to have faith in God and a belief that everything will be okay in the end.

But I'm struggling with gratitude on the small scale. I struggle to remind myself of these great, grand blessings when I'm standing dripping wet, trying to get impossibly small Lego bricks to go in the right spot. I struggle when I tell Cal no and it turns into the third all out scream fest of the day. I struggle with this niggling cold that has been peripherally taking up residence in my veins for the last few weeks, never developing into something that could excuse me from daily life for a few hours, but never going away, either.

I've been studying gratitude in the mornings, and I'm hoping it comes. I want to be a stay at home mom and have these moments with my kids. Yesterday, I was listening to the Coffee + Crumbs podcast, where they interviewed Christian writer Ann Voskamp (who I've never read but intend to some day). She said that she thinks of these drudging tasks of cleaning and changing diapers and preparing meals only to wipe them off the floor as her way of loving her family, and says she tries to have gratitude for being able to love her family that way.

I would like to feel that way, but right now I'm faking it til I make it.

I think my auto-pilot answer when my bucket is empty is to fill it. Go to bed early, read a book, take a bubble bath, exercise. Makes sense, right? But sometimes my bucket is draining faster than I can refill, and doing all of those self-care activities just feels like another chore, a Sisyphean task of trying to do everything I have to do in a day and be enlightened and self-actualized on top of it.

I think my task today, right now, is to just try and be happy in those moments. To laugh at the spectacle of trying to get ready while two babies literally pull my skin (Did I mention that while I was fixing the Lego, Nolan pinched my inner thigh with his little razor talons!?). To be grateful I have a big house to clean instead of bemoaning the fact that there's alway something else to do. To remember my friends who have hoped and prayed and cried for babies when I would rather hide from mine.

It's cliche to say that I will miss this some day, and it's also cliche to say that I hate when people say I will miss this some day. But I know I will. I look at the way my mom craves holding my babies and misses her kids scattered across the United States. Even though the newborn stage is usually horrible for me at the time, riddled with postpartum depression and unsuccessful breastfeeding and the kind of exhaustion that will truly make you insane, when I see someone cuddling a velvety newborn into their chest, or watch those sweet, new mouths moving in their sleep, I want to be there again.

So I am going to try again to recognize the small blessings in the madness. I will try again, and again, and again.

NaNoWriMo Dropout

You guys, I have a confession.

I can't finish my novel by the end of November.

It's so easy to get caught up in the fun of NaNoWriMo, to vow to myself that I will finish a novel in just thirty days, that my house and my children and my sanity can wait.

But guess what? They can't.

I am not happy in a messy house. I'm not happy when I don't sleep or exercise. My children are not happy when I tell them, "Just a few more words!" And I am SO not happy when I'm not reading for fun.

Not to mention, I have a birthday party to plan, a trip out of state for Thanksgiving, and tons of other responsibilities that I don't want to ignore .

But here's the thing. I am going to finish my novel. It's just going to take longer than thirty days.

The whole principle of NaNoWriMo is that you need a deadline to really get into something. And I don't deny that. I have never finished a novel, and writing is always what gets pushed to the back of the line for me. I mean, hello, it's been two months since I've written on this blog.

But I am going to finish this rough draft. I have my own deadline imposed -- at least 500 words a day on the novel. That gives me time to work on other writing projects, read a book, exercise, pay attention to my family, and not live in a dirt heap.

Those of you continuing on, I am so impressed! I am sure you are doing great things! I'm okay with not being just like you.

It's going to take me a little longer, but one of these days I am going to have a novel under my belt.

Goodnight Gorilla Simply Learning Curriculum Recap

This fall, I have been following the (free!) Simply Learning Tiny Tot and Preschool curriculums. I originally heard about Simply Learning from my friend Lorna, who was following yet another free curriculum (Tot School) last year. Basically, this mother of two came up with some great homeschool early learning curriculums for her kids. She first came up with Tot School, which is geared toward 18 months-3 years or so, and has weekly themes with various learning activities. This year, she is premiering her Preschool curriculum, which is made up of two week units based on books. Alongside the preschool curriculum, she has a "tiny tot school" curriculum for 1-2 year olds because she now has a younger daughter. This lined up perfectly for my kids' ages. Cal does go to preschool twice a week for a couple of hours, but I have been wanting to do some more structured activities at home, especially since (I hear) it's going to be raining a lot for the next six months.

We haven't done every activity on her list and are still finding our rhythm, but the first unit, based on Goodnight Gorilla, was a success! Cal looked forward to his "home preschool" activities, and I spent less time breaking up fights in the toy room. Nolan is still a bit young to appreciate the Tiny Tot activities (still only 11 months) but I figure it's a start-- and Cal seems to really enjoy them, too.

Favorite activities this unit:
:: Animal tracks -- we put toy animals' feet in paint and had them make tracks, and then gave them a bubble bath the next day.
:: We put Cal's handprint over a gorilla's handprint and measured the sizes
:: Stamp it, poke it, write it -- The creator of this curriculum provides printable learning activities (also for free! can't get over it!) and Cal really loved one where you stamp the letter of focus (G this week), poke it with a thumbtack, and then trace it.

We also did some additional activities. We went to the zoo to see some of the animals. We also incorporated some other books about zoo animals. Cal read A Sick Day for Amos McGee, The Mixed Up Chameleon, and My Heart is Like a Zoo, and I read Nolan Peek-a-Zoo, Dear Zoo, and an Eric Carle noise-making book called Animal Babies that he is obsessed with.

Today we are starting The Very Hungry Caterpillar and I am looking forward to it!

Favorite quotes from Present over Perfect by Shauna Niequist.

This book resonated with me so deeply. I have long had the monkey of perfectionism on my back, and it is a daily struggle to cope with it. There were so many quotes in Present over Perfect, Shauna Niequist's new book, that I wanted to group all the ones I loved best here.

:: "Years ago, a wise friend told me that no one ever changes until the pain level gets high enough." p. 24

:: "Part of the magic of the lake is that it isn't home-- it's away, and away allows us to see the rhythms and dimensions of our lives more clearly." p. 57

:: "And so I began to peer into the darkness, that plunging sense of deep inadequacy. It's always been there. Frankly, I didn't know other people didn't have it. I thought that at the center of all of us was black liquid self-loathing, and that's why we did everything we did-- that's why some people become workaholics and some people eat and some people drink and some people have sex with strangers. To avoid that dark sludge of self-loathing at the center of all of us." - p. 71

:: "He has all the time in the world to sit with me and sift through my fears and feelings and failings. That's what prayer is. That's what love is." - p. 76

:: "In more fundamentalist strains of the faith, there's great value on happiness, constant kindness, selflessness above all else. These are wonderful things... that, over time, make it really hard to say things like, "I need help." Or, "I can't do this anymore." Many Christians, women especially, were raised to be obedient and easy, to swallow feelings, to choke down tears. This has not served us well. This has made it far too easy to injure our bodies and our souls in the name of good causes-- there are enough good causes to go around." - p. 85

:: "My crazy brain has always been my gift and my challenge, and I've tried everything to lower the volume in my head, because things really do get a little loud in there." - p. 94

:: "Brave these days is a lot quieter, at least for me. Brave is staying put when I'm addicted to rushing, forgiving myself when I want that familiar frisson of shame that I've become so used to using as a motivator. Brave is listening instead of talking. Brave is articulating my feelings, especially when the feelings are sad or scared or fragile instead of confident or happy or light.
"Brave is walking away from the 'strike while the iron is hot' mentality that pervades our culture. Brave is being intentional about taking your marriage from 'fine' to 'can't live without you.' Because fine is not fine at all. Fine is like a mesh sieve, enough space for all the important things to slip through, and all you're left with is to-do lists and resentments.
"It's easier to be impressive to strangers than it is to be consistently kind behind the scenes. It's easier to show up and be a hit for an hour than it is to get down on the floor with your kids when you're so tired your eyes are screaming and bone-dry. It's easier to be charming on a conference call than it is to traverse the distance between you and your spouse, the distance you created.
"Sometimes being brave is being quiet. Being brave is getting off the drug of performance. For me, being brave is trusting that what my God is asking of me, what my family and community is asking of me, is totally different than what our culture says I should do.
"Sometimes, brave looks boring, and that's totally, absolutely, okay." - p. 126

:: (John Steinbeck quoted in the book) "And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good." - p. 127 (I should note that this principle is applied to the character Cal in East of Eden, who, you know, my Cal is named after, so you'd think that I would have figured that out by now).

:: "I'm drawn to music that's more earnest than tidy, art that's more ragged than orderly, people who are just a touch more honest than is strictly appropriate for the situation. I'm finished hustling for perfect. It didn't deliver what they told me it would.
"And so instead: present. If perfect is plastic, present is rich, loamy soil. It's fresh bread, lumpy and warm. It's real and tactile and something you can hold with both hands, something rich and warm. Present is a face bare of makeup, a sweater you've loved for a decade, a mug that reminds you of who you used to be. It's the Bible with the battered cover, the journal filled with scribbled, secret dreams. It isn't pretty, necessarily-- it isn't supposed to be." pp. 129-30

:: "Writing is such good training for the rest of life, if you allow it to be, because it forces you to get comfortable with failure, with the wide range of impossible-to-meet expectations and standards." - p. 171

:: "There are lots of conversations right now about how to do everything better/faster/smarter, how to streamline, multitask, layer, balance, flow, juggle. How to monetize, strategize, and on and on. This is good stuff. Necessary stuff.
"But my jam these days is wasting time, playing, becoming aware of that internal engine that always wants to go faster, faster, faster. That engine is not the best part of me. My heart is the best part of me.
"And I'm finding that my heart loves to play. My heart loves to color and draw, loves to dance in the kitchen, loves to shoot baskets, loves to do cartwheels with my nieces in the front yard.
"What would our lives be like if our days were studded by tiny, completely unproductive, silly, nonstrategic, wild and beautiful five-minute breaks ,reminders that our days are for loving and learning and laughing, not for pushing and planning, reminders that it's all about the heart, not about the hustle?" - p. 175

:: "I remind myself what is true: that God loves me, and that there's nothing I can do in this new day to earn more love-- nothing. And also that there's nothing I can do in this new day to ruin or break that love-- nothing." - p. 205

:: "I have the energy to live well, to dedicate myself to the things that matter to me, and that God has called me to. I have the security to truly rest, to truly enjoy this extraordinary world and all its offerings-- books and art and meals and people and conversations and cities and beaches and night skies. And while I am deeply appreciative of the charms of this glittering world, I feel a sense of patience where I used to feel slight anxiety about the beauty of it: will I see it all? What if I miss something?" - p. 227

That's the way this wheel keeps working

When I was fifteen or so, I fell in love with this song by John Mayer. We all love to hate on John Mayer these days, with his string of relationships and a Taylor Swift ballad devoted to him, but if his lyrics are any indication, the guy gets me. I found the song "Wheel" at a season in my life when I was saying goodbye and desperately hoping that it wasn't forever. John's refrain that "you can't love too much one part of it" comforted me -- the idea that good things come to an end, and there will be hard, painful experiences, but that like a wheel, life will cycle back to happier days. 

I thought of "Wheel" again yesterday as I was walking on the trail behind my house. For four years, I've lived in Los Angeles, where the change of the seasons is subtle at best. Despite the 97-degree weather this week, I can tell that autumn is coming soon, and the change means more now than it did. For one thing, the weather will change enough that I actually will need to wear warm clothes and may not be able to walk outside or take my kids to the park whenever I feel like it. But on a deeper level, my heart is also clinging to the fact that this is the only time. I've really fallen in love with the Pacific Northwest, and I hope we come back after our nomad days in the Army are over. But of course, there is no telling if we will. The fact that I only have one year here makes me want to savor and cling to every moment, to soak every beautiful moment into my bones. I don't know where I will be next year -- if I will be in a foreign country, or another seasonless climate, or somewhere I love even more. I just know that I love where I am now, and that I only have one chance to experience the slow fade to fall in the Pacific Northwest. 

Of course, the beauty of the wheel is that it comes back around. The beauty of the seasons is that they return. Mayer says, "If you never stop when you wave goodbye, you just might find if you give it time you might wave hello again." I've repeated that phrase throughout my life like a talisman against loneliness. Our impulse is self-preservation -- why fall in love, whether with a person or a city, if you know for sure that you will say goodbye soon? It's easier to hang back, keep to yourself, stay safe. But I believe if we have faith in the seasonal nature of life, everything we miss will come back to us someday. "I believe that my life's gonna see the love I give returned to me." 

People have the right to fly
And will when it gets compromised
Their hearts say "Move along"
Their minds say "Gotcha heart"
Let's move it along
Let's move it along

And airports
See it all the time
Where someone's last goodbye
Blends in with someone's sigh
Cause someone's coming home
In hand a single rose

And that's the way this wheel keeps working now
That's the way this wheel keeps working now
And I won't be the last
No I won't be the last,
To love her

And you can't build a house of leaves
And live like it's an evergreen
It's just a season thing
It's just this thing that seasons do

And that's the way this wheel keeps working now
That's the way this wheel keeps working now
And you won't be the first
No you won't be the first
To love me

You can find me, if you ever want again
I'll be around the bend
I'll be around the bend
I'll be around,
I'll be around
And if you never stop when you wave goodbye
You just might find if you give it time
You will wave hello again
You just might wave hello again

And that's the way this wheel keeps working now
That's the way this wheel keeps working now

You can't love too much, one part of it 

I believe that my life's gonna see
The love I give
Return to me
I believe that my life's gonna see
The love I give
Return to me
I believe that my life's gonna see
The love I give
Return to me

Let's talk about books, baby.

Let's be real for a second -- if you know me at all, you know that my great passion in life is reading. It has been for as long as I can remember, and it is so much a part of me that I can't really tell you why I love it so much. Maybe someday I will swan-dive into some heavy self-analysis and figure out why exactly I can't resist a good story. But for now, just know that I love -- LOVE -- books. 

For a long time, I wrote a book review blog. It was so rewarding. I was never a "big time" blogger -- I've never had the interest or energy in really promoting myself to actually make money blogging -- but I did get some books from publishers before they came out which was really all the payment I needed. My book blogging seriously slowed down after Cal was born, although I did post sporadically for about two years after. Then, I started wanting to focus more on this blog, and writing about topics other than books (motherhood and writing, for the most part). Sometimes I write about books on here, but I'm not very consistent. 

This long and possibly unnecessary introduction is just to say, I love talking about books. It's hard for me to find people that want to talk about books quite as much as I do, and book blogging was a really fantastic outlet for that. Now that I don't have the hour or two a day I used to spend working on the blog, I have channeled my energy into book clubs. Guys, it's kind of crazy. It's like if you say book club, my ears perk up like a cocker spaniel and I run panting to the source. My goal for my time in Washington was to find a book club -- when you aren't going to live somewhere long, it makes sense to join a club to make friends, right? 

I found two in person book clubs right away. The first one is at Browsers Bookshop, and it really was just exactly what one would want a book club to be. The bookstore is gorgeous, and we met in this loft above the shop. We read a bizarre and intriguing book that left plenty to discuss, and all of the members -- all of whom were very different with unique perspectives -- liked and disliked very different things. It was such a good discussion and I felt like a real PNW hipster, talking about literary devices. 

Another one I joined through total serendipity. A man from church invited our family over to dinner our first Sunday here, and I was eyeing his bookshelves (as one does). We started talking about books, and his daughter-in-law mentioned a book club that some women in my ward at church had started. I told her I had been hoping to find one, and she invited me. Hooray! I don't know most of the women in it, so it is maybe a bit awkward that I bulldozed my way in. But I can't wait to get to know some new friends and talk about books (and the book they chose for this month, Cold Sassy Tree, is awesome and I need to finish this post so I can go read it before bed). 

I am also part of four online book clubs, because NERD. Whenever I hear about a book club on a blog or website I like, I usually at least follow along with the pick. I don't always read the book, but if it is a book I am already interested in, I try to read it that month because then I can discuss it with some people. So, House of Lars is reading Wildflower by Drew Barrymore, the Yoga with Adriene group is reading Autobiography of a Yogi by Yogananda Paramahansa (I will have to write more about him some other time, but he has been a figure of fascination for me for a long time), and the Warrior Moms book group from Postpartum Progress is reading Baby Fat by Pauline M. Campos. (Warrior Moms is a group for women who have had postpartum depression, and I think it is awesome because reading stories of women who have struggled with the same thing I did has been so helpful for me). 

I also started an online book club with some of the women in the writing class I just finished. We were talking about books in the class, and several of us thought it would be fun to discuss books together after the class had ended. 

I'm laughing at myself because it is a little bit out of control, but it also makes me so happy to have "book friends." 

5 things {8.5.16}

1. I would really like to get my groove back with blogging. Right now I am feeling all at sea with being in this new, much bigger house and being responsible for all the cleaning. (I had a cleaning lady when I was working, and I miss her so much). The kids still are a little off with their sleep schedules, and Scott is home a lot right now because his residency hasn't officially started, so we aren't really in a routine. But I would love to spend some solid time writing and blogging.

2. We went to Portland yesterday and it was amazing. I had an existential crisis in Powell's City of Books ("the biggest bookstore in the world" sing it to the tune of "Schuyler Sisters") and almost burst into tears in the aisles because so. many. books. I wanted to buy them all, but I realized the real thing I want is to read them all, and money can't buy time. I really hate that sleeping is a thing I have to do.

3. I know I haven't experienced the rain yet, but I am obsessed with the Pacific Northwest. I have probably said this on Facebook and Instagram and in any other blog posts I've managed to eke out over the last month, but I am obsessed. I told Scott that we could live in Portland and he responded that we need a three hour drive buffer between Powell's and myself at all times so I don't spend all of our money. Busted.

4. When Nolan is really, really tired, he lays his head against my chest and collapses against me for just a moment, and it is literally always the best part of my day.

5. Also in Portland, there was this piano near a fountain that said "Please Play Me" across it, so I did, and it was so fun. I rarely play in general anymore, although I am trying to rectify that, and especially not in public. I whipped out "Dr. Gradus ad Parnassum" by Debussy because that is the one piece that seems to stay permanently memorized in my brain, and it was a blast.

5 things {7.28.16}

1. We have a couch! It has been a long three weeks of sitting on the stairs or the floor. All the couches we had in the past were hand-me-downs or Craigslist finds, and this is the first one we've ever chosen and purchased. It is huge and comfortable and I keep sitting on the stairs but I am going to remember that I can sit on the couch soon.

2. I went to book club at Browser's Book Store in Olympia and it was fabulous. I love to read so much, and I am afraid I drive Scott crazy with how much I want to talk about books. Being with a group of people who just wanted to delve into this book was sort of magical. And the bookstore itself is pretty dreamy, too -- being there made me feel like I should stop everything else I am doing and just read forever. I hope the eternities provide a few centuries of reading time, at least.

3. I injured my foot running. I think it is plantar fasciitis and I am limping around. I have a race that I am very excited for in two weeks and I am so worried that I won't be able to run it. Anyone have some advice?

4. Living in a place for only a year makes me feel very carpe diem. I was organizing my bookshelves today, and decided to just go for the rainbow look. I've always felt like that would be annoying -- how would you find anything? -- but I love the look, and have a lot of rainbow colors in other places in my house. I figured, if I hate it, it's one year until it all gets packed up again anyway. I love it.

5. I need to stop staying up late and go to bed.

The Washington!

We made it to the Washington! Our WiFi and furniture are still lagging behind, though, so I am camped out at a lovely Starbucks where they already know me, because I've been working on a writing class all week.

Our house is beautiful. So far the only furniture we have is a dining room table, a washer and dryer, and a couple of borrowed air mattresses, but I am loving all the space.

There is a lovely greenbelt outside our house -- I can actually see it from the kitchen sink. Not a day has passed that we haven't at least gone out there. It is so green and beautiful, and there are blackberries growing on it that I pick and feed my children. I feel like I am living in some magical nature fairytale.

I have managed to make a few potential mom friends, and am so grateful that people here are so open and friendly. I have even found a book club! #hallelujah Cal's Sunbeam class is large with lots of little boys, and I hope he is able to make some good friends, although he still blesses his friend Josh in every prayer he says, and reminds us to bless him in the prayers he isn't saying.

Also, Winco is the true best grocery store. Even better than Trader Joe's. Yes, I said it. (Although Trader Joe's is here too. And I went to both this week).

There have certainly been challenges already -- no furniture tops the list, children not sleeping is a close second, and the Army is shaping up to be rather difficult to navigate. But we like it here. :)

Reasons I am excited for "the Washington."

As most of you probably know, we left Los Angeles about three weeks ago. We have been on a massive road trip ever since, going from LA to Visalia to Modesto to Tahoe to Elko to Utah to Idaho. (Whew). But a week from tomorrow, we will be moving into our new home. And while there are many, many things I am going to miss about Los Angeles (I am trying to pile them into a coherent essay which will show up here someday), there are also many, many things I am excited about. Whenever Cal talks about our move, he calls our new state "The Washington," and I don't think I will ever be able to call it anything else.

So without further ado...

:: The Chehalis Western trail. This truly is the number one thing on my list. It is an old train track that has been paved over for several miles, and part of it is right behind our house. I have been so nature starved in Los Angeles, something I am just now realizing as I have been spending so much time in the mountains lately. I am so excited to have some nature in my backyard.

:: Living in a house (and not living in student housing)! We have lived in student housing for our entire marriage. I am so excited to live in a real house (and it is yellow! And I have always wanted to live in a yellow house!). I'm so excited to have a bit of space to stretch out, to have a little backyard, and most of all, to no longer have Nolan sleeping in my bathroom! That comes with a whole host of benefits, such as:

   :: Nolan sleeping better because he isn't in our room AND
   :: Being able to take baths before bed because we have a bathroom again

:: Being close to Seattle. I have never been to Seattle, but since I was in college I always fantasized about living in Washington. I love when little fantasies like that come true.

:: Hiking. I am by no means the most hard core or in shape hiker, but I do really love it. I am looking forward to having more opportunities.

:: Sweater weather. I have felt so truly deprived of this in Los Angeles. There is nothing better than curling up under a blanket with some hot chocolate or tea and a book, and this just isn't a thing in Los Angeles. The temperature dips below 60 for like eight minutes and I pile on all my sweaters at once, then I'm sweating immediately. I have heard the rain can be brutal, but right now I am looking forward to it. And since it's only for a year, I think I might not get sick of it.

:: Green all the time. I've been in the desert a lot this month, and I am looking forward to some GREEN.

:: Discovering a new place. One of the things I love about being in the Army (although I may get sick of it by the end) is the opportunity to discover new places and meet new people. I miss my friends in Los Angeles so much, but I am hopeful that I will meet some lovely people in Washington. I am excited to try new restaurants, to explore a new town.

Why I make my own baby food.

{Cal, age 8 months}

I've never thought of myself as an overly crunchy mama, although I guess I do baby wear. And I did have a doula. And I do use essential oils. But seriously, in Los Angeles, that is not crunchy. And I had epidurals with both labors, and both of my children have partaken liberally of formula (although to be honest, it wouldn't be that way if I had another choice). My point is, I never would have thought that I'd be the "type" to make my own baby food. I don't feed my family only organic food or have a problem heating up dinosaur shaped nuggets every other day for my 3 year old.

I do use pre-packaged baby food, especially for things we don't have in the house very often (green beans -- Scott hates them; applesauce, because I would never make applesauce from scratch for myself). But for the most part, I make my baby food, with both kids.

I think one of the main reasons has to do with being scarred as a child by having to feed my little brother baby food in the back seat. As a child, I was very, very easily grossed out, and those olive and puce colored jars of slime that smelled like vegetables (which, I might add, I never ate as a child -- I ate one baby carrot at dinner every night and that was it) were my responsibility to feed to my brother in the carseat. And, Jace ate baby food until he was five years old. I'm so not kidding. So I've always had an aversion to those baby food jars. Even now, when I do buy baby food, it is never the jars. I buy the plastic ones or the pouches. I wish I were kidding, but I'm not. I seriously can't deal with it. (I also can't eat bananas because I threw one up when I was 3. I still gag at the smell of them. Okay, I have a few issues).

{Nolan, age 6.5 months)

In a more serious vein, though, as I mentioned above, I wasn't able to feed my babies the way I wanted to feed them. I was so passionate about exclusive breastfeeding, and it simply wasn't an option for me. My babies lost excessive weight in the week after they were born (and yes, I know all babies lose weight -- this was above and beyond the normal amount of weight loss for a breast fed baby), and I was never able to produce sufficient milk for them. I have fought hard to breastfeed my small amount of milk to them, and was even able to give Nolan donor milk as his supplement for his first month thanks to some lovely ladies with extra milk. But I still feel that pang that I wasn't able to exclusively breastfeed. For that reason, when I started giving Cal solids, making his food felt like a special thing I was doing just for him. It felt like an act of devotion to take that extra time and plan for his baby food. I listened to a podcast once that said you could turn any task from dreary to enlightening by adding "meditation" after it, but in all seriousness, I feel like it is a very intentional, special task for me when I make my babies' food for them. I have tried to apply that feeling to making and cleaning Nolan's bottles this time around as well (a task that does feel dreary and disappointing to me, more often than not).

Finally, I genuinely love to cook. My idea of a break is not necessarily not making dinner, although of course there are times when that feels wonderful. It's more just to be left alone while I make dinner, and then to have everyone eat and enjoy that dinner happily (a girl can dream). Turning on a favorite show or podcast and spending an hour steaming and pureeing fruits and veggies, and then freezing them and sorting them into different colored bags, is my idea of a good time. But seriously.

If you are interested in making your own baby food, a few simple how-tos:
* I usually use a Beaba Babycook and my Vitamix. The Babycook has a steamer and a blender, but I do use the vitamix for larger batches, as well as tougher things that don't puree as well or fruits that don't need to be steamed like peaches.
* I freeze them in little trays with lids, but you could also use ice cube trays covered with saran wrap.
* I have a few cookbooks that were given to me, along with the Babycook and the trays, by my cousin Michele. My favorite one is called "Cooking for Baby" and has great month by month information about when it is appropriate to introduce different foods, as well as great finger food meals for older babies.
* I do love cookbooks, but it is also fun to be creative! As Cal got older, sometimes we even pureed parts of our meals for him. We also do a sort of adapted Baby-Led-Weaning where we give our kids a taste of whatever we are having in a form that they can handle.

To finish off, the favorite meal of both my kids (from The Baby Bistro)

Banana Avocado Mishmash
1 banana
1 avocado
1/2 c silken tofu (if baby is over 7 months)

Puree or mash, depending on baby's ability to handle texture. My kids devour this, and it is pretty high in calories. I felt like it helped my kids stay full through the night.

Do you have any favorite baby food recipes? I'm always looking for new ones to try!