On the eve of our move

I guess this here is slowly becoming a "mom" blog. No offense to other mom-bloggers out there...you rock at parenting and the choice to write exclusively about your children is noble and completely understandable. I just have a personal goal to keep this space open for a wide range of topics. I view it as an adult corner in my world. But where my efforts to write about things broader than just my child are slipping, I'm starting to wonder if the stress of moving has pushed me into finding solace in the one job that is constant: parenting my daughter. It's everyday. And it's non-stop. If you argue with me on that point, I would politely disagree, from the bed of my daughter at 6 o'clock this morning where I laid curled up in a ball in the tiny space she wasn't hoarding in order to calm her down after a bad dream. This job just doesn't end.

I just now finished laying her down for a nap, and lately we've gotten into the ritual of having "rocking" time before bedtime. Whether or not its an attempt on both of our parts to stall our eventual callings (hers being to go to sleep and mine being to drudge through the boxes and stuff needing to be boxed), it's a comfort to us both. In the quiet of her room, shades drawn, soft music calming the space around us, I rock her. I think of how I need to do a million things, and then I tell myself I won't be able to do this for much longer. She'll squirm away from my touch and beg for her space. But for now, I rock her. And I look into her eyes and tell her I love her. She says, "Yeah." And she blinks, her eyelids closing more slowly, letting me know she's just about to doze off. I gently lay her down and scoot out to my other job. My much less important job of packing.

Monday's journal

I woke up to silence this morning. No child and no husband. Didn't know what to do with myself. So I called my husband and went to pick up my child early from the grandparents. I just didn't feel quite like myself being all alone. Weird. You'd think I'd eat up the quiet, uninterrupted moments.

I ate sushi for lunch. The rice was sticky. The avocado creamy. The tuna fresh as fresh can be. The wasabi made me cry, and the soy sauce was a delicate balance of salty and sweet. Sushi, you have my dance card full.

I tried salmon for the first time tonight. Well, not really. But when I dressed up the fresh fish with a simple outfit of olive oil, salt, pepper, a squeeze of lemon and baked it on high heat for 10 minutes, I felt as if I'd never really tasted salmon before. So creamy and soft. Um, Salmon? I'll save some of those dances for you, ok?

I washed the evening away with an impromptu margarita. The glasses are all packed up save for a few mugs (which were dirty) and some large plastic tumblers (wasn't looking to get plastered). So I opted to drink my beverage in one of my daughter's sippy cups. Irresponsible. Ironic. Delicious.

Endings

:: Basil Harvest
The leaves have been waiting there for months, hoping to be picked and thrown in a pesto sauce, salad, or marinara sauce. In all the business of the last few months, I've failed to make proper use of the harvest. Recently, I have found a quick way to use up the spicy leaves. Chop up a handful of basil, half a clove of garlic, a good squeeze of lemon juice, a 1/4 cup of mayo, a tablespoon or two of sour cream, salt and pepper to taste, and whirl it all together in the mini food processor. Instant basil mayonnaise. Or, if you're fancy, basil aioli. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Excellent on a veggie sandwich. It also happens to turn an ordinary grilled chicken sandwich into "the best homemade chicken sandwich ever," according to my husband, who happens to be quite discriminating about such things. Score.

:: Boxes etc.
There's just so much to be done these days. We're moving next Saturday, and with it comes the stress of packing and the thought of future unpacking/organizing/setting up house...things I've done far too much of in the last few years. Yesterday I laid in bed while Karis napped. I had hopped in bed hoping to catch some rest myself. Instead of sleeping, I laid there and let my mind wander to the ginormous to-do list. Nearing levels of hyperventilation, I determined it was best to get up and begin. Begin doing something. Anything, really. And so, like a good warrior in the heat of battle, I came up with a plan of attack. What I hate most about moving is packing. I don't use space well in the boxes. I don't have a mind for organization. So here's my plan: call up friends and systematically ask each of them to donate some time over the next two weeks to help me pack. Even if they just stand there and tell me "Yes, that will fit in that space" or "No, that will break" or even "You are quite bad at this," it will be better than me doing it by myself...hyperventilating.

I guess I need secret weapons to help me pack. My strategy for surviving the move from California two years ago involved a bumbo seat and listening to Ray Charles. This time around it's the help of friends. But, with any luck, there will also be some Ray Charles.

Science Friday

I went outside to start up the grill for dinner tonight...grilled chicken breast on the barbie, you know. While taking off the plastic weatherproof cover, a certain snail fell off and landed on the ground. I'm guessing he had found a nice little moist spot on the cover to hibernate in or else we have some sneaky snail grill parties going on after hours. Intrigued by the little guy, I ran inside to grab a glass and some water for him to cling to, hoping he'd come out of his shell for a little look/see.

And look/see we did. All three of us.

I'll admit, it almost got awkward at times, all that staring.

The introduction:

Going in for a closer look:


Determining the little guy was quite kissable. And, yes. She kissed it. Note to future self: Karis will probably be the type of girl to kiss on the first date. Oy.

The money shot of Mr. Snail, a.k.a. "cold stare":

The crazy

::Crazy fun
Running around an empty house with a large paint stick and a stuffed puppy. The feet stomping and loud singing can be heard in every corner of the home.

::Crazy busy
An ambitious task of repairing, spackling, priming, and deep cleaning a home in a week and a half's time. And all of this done around each of our full time jobs. Matt's hands barely open, my knees are swollen, and Karis is pleased as punch to have spent so much time over at MeMa's house.

::Crazy happy
As of 1 am this morning, our work is finally done. Now the floors are in the trusty hands of Art, wood floor refinisher extraordinaire. After that, we trust the walls to Jose and Mike, two wall painting geniuses. Truth be told, anyone willing to do the work for us would be a genius in my book.

::Crazy awesome
White walls and an empty house make an amazing photography studio. I wonder if I could convince Matt of the awesomeness of buying another house just to keep as a photography studio...

I feel summer slowly beginning to pack up it's bags, and I hear fall clearing it's throat in anticipation. I know it's kind of crazy of me to indulge my seasonal giddiness so early in the game. Regionally speaking, we've still got a long way to go before dusting off the sweaters and lighting the harvest candles. But I just can't help myself. I keep seeing little reminders that it's coming. The sunlight is growing more golden and a tad less harsh. I've felt a few rogue breezes meandering through the streets at night and even (gasp) in the daytime.

"The squirrels are really storing away the hickory nuts this year," my mother-in-law told me last night, saying that her husband insists the critters' flurry means only one thing: it's going to be a cold winter. She's told me this a few times recently, and I can't help but smile every time, hoping she's right.

Blog fashion

I've been thinking a lot about a recent post by Uniform Studio Journal. The blogger suggests that perhaps blogs are a thing of the past. An outdated fad. I've actually been feeling the slow down in popularity over the last year. With fewer and fewer comments, I've thought that perhaps the peak of blogging was sometime last year. In a sense, it makes me sad. You know, a trivial kind of sad. "Mall" tears not "orphaned children" tears. But in thinking this all through, I've come to a conclusion: I don't care a whole lot how popular or unpopular this here blog is or the whole sport of blogging, for that matter. I LOVE to blog. It's a fantastic creative outlet, and, in a sneaky and fun fashion, I am brushing up my writing and photography skills. I have a virtual online portfolio that I've been building for the last four years. I've changed jobs, had my first child, moved across the country....and it's all documented in one place. I've enjoyed building it along the way so it hasn't seemed like work. I like that. Feels like I'm beating the system.

I have to come clean on one thing, though. If you tell your friends and your friends' friends about my blog, I'll love you for it.

(Ok, so maybe I care a little bit).

The photos are from a recent session with some dear friends and their new baby. I first photographed mother and child here. Who wouldn't love photography when working with this beautiful family?