Blue

She earned the M&M fair and square, a reward for using the potty tonight. I never could have imagined one little piece of blue candy would have enough dye in it to color the bottom half of her face and both hands. Standing on a chair, splashing in the kitchen sink--I'm sure cleaning up was the best part.

Something

:: Found
Matt descended from the attic with these four yellowed pieces of paper in hand. We were both intrigued with the find. Our house is over 70 years old, and I often fantasize about finding some cool, vintage artifact up in the attic or buried out the yard. I love watching shows like Antiques Road Show and If Walls Could Talk. Houses have history, and I'm curious about mine. As I inspected the little remnants of newspaper advertising home rentals, I learned you could rent a home with linen service and close proximity to a bus stop for about $75/month. Not typical of our pricey, indoor laundry room, and 2 cars per household standard these days.

While the history lesson was momentarily fascinating, I realized these tattered pieces were probably used as insulation in the attic, and for all I know they were printed circa 1975 or something sooner, making them neither vintage nor cool. Just old paper.

:: To be found
All last weekend, this sugary beast sat on my counter top casting a spell on me. A butter cream iced, sugar-overload siren calling me to dig in. It was only towards the end of the weekend that I realized the irony that this cupcake sat right in front of my chalk board reminding me of my "weigh in". I'm taking a 7 week fitness and nutrition challenge. I've paid for it. I'm committed to finishing it. Yet I also really, really wanted this cupcake. Fortunately, I was able to overcome...only to be hit in the face daily by the mounds of Halloween candy still loitering about. Reese's cups are my nemesis.

I'm hoping this exercise challenge spurs motivation in other areas of my life as well. Motivation is for me like a moving target. I'm never sure where to find it, and just when I think I've found a healthy stride, there goes my motivation with one bad day or one week of feeling sick (like this very week). Along with setting fitness and nutrition goals, I'm incorporating career and home organization goals into the challenge. I figure if I can resist the butter cream, I can do almost anything.

It's been a good day so far. Just cleaning the house and putting up handmade curtains in the kitchen (finally). They look adorable and totally inspire me to continue decorating the rest of the house. (Pictures to come soon. I promise.) I'm hoping to do some fun seasonal things tonight like dressing my daughter up as the cutest kitten known to mankind, baking a batch of awesome pumpkin spice cookies, carving the pumpkin on our porch, passing out candy and meeting our new neighbors, and toasting pumpkin seeds. All these things seem fitting for a day like today. Though Matt is dead set on going to the beach tonight. So not seasonal but totally relaxing for us all. We'll see who wins.

Update: I won. Well, sort of. We did stay home and enjoy the fall festivities, minus the pumpkin seeds, pumpkin carving, and cookie baking. Lofty expectations for one afternoon. Those events will have to wait for tomorrow. But that kitty? Oh, she had fun roaming the neighborhood at night with us and practicing saying very confidently "Trick or treat" all the way up to each and every doorstep only to say very quietly to each host, "Kitty be shy with people." Though she's not shy enough to keep from announcing it. Tricky cat.

Her world

Guess which little princess took a leak on her throne? If you guessed the one measuring 3 feet tall (as opposed to this 3 inch beauty), you would be correct. I heard the announcement from inside her bedroom that she had "peed". When I arrived on the scene, I found her diaper off and immediately began searching for a puddle on the floor. Sure enough, I found a wet spot near where she had been playing, with this 2 inch tall toilet sitting right in the middle. Fortunately, my parents were visiting and on hand to laugh along with me. As if confused by our laughter, Karis demonstrated exactly how she had done it, sound effects and all.

We've heard her talking to some "friends" over the last few weeks. The names "Marko" and "Blue" often come up. Things like Take a nap! and Sit down! are orders we find her barking out, seemingly into thin air. When we ask about them, she grins in embarrassment. Her world is such a fun mixture of the literal and imaginary right now.

P.S. We discovered this song yesterday by Over the Rhine. Karis thought it was HI-LARIOUS. She would, wouldn't she?

Fall favorites

A few things I'm savoring these days...

An Italian feast, served family-style, to celebrate a much-loved friend. Lots of passing of dishes, enjoying of beverages, and laughing at kitschy wall decor.

The colors of fall. Since we Floridians can't enjoy them on the trees, we proudly display them through our wardrobe.


The annual "finding of the one leaf in the yard that decided to change colors." I imagine it's all in protest...tired of the usual path that leaves around here take of simply falling off the tree and immediately turning brown, that one leaf decides to jump ship and die a beautiful death, going out in a blaze of orange and red. I appreciate his sacrifice.

These eyes. So much protest in them when she doesn't get her way. This season of parenting has me t.i.r.e.d.

This scene: a chilly morning, two warm bowls of oatmeal with almonds and maple syrup, and a surprise visit from MeMa. A great way to start the day.

These walls and floors

Cooking together is an (almost) daily activity. Give or take some patience on my part, it's something we like to do together. Within 2 seconds of me asking her if she wants to help cook, I am sure to hear the distinct sounds of a dining room chair being pushed along the floor and some pint sized grunts as she manhandles the piece of furniture into the proper place and positioning for "I help mommy" time.

This week I designated "curtain" week, lest MeMa see our naked rear ends through the windows anytime soon. I finally decided on painter's drop cloths for the living room and dining room windows. They were cheap at $10 a piece and provide a nice organic quality to the windows. But, as is the case with home improvement projects, one project completed highlights the need to do another project. In this instance, dressed windows points to naked walls. Pace yourself, Alina.


I've mentioned the importance of dance parties on here before. Well, we christened our floors last week. The moment was brief, but it was a moment nonetheless. With all the moving in and stress and exhaustion of the last few weeks, times like these are worth running-into-the-other-room-to-grab-your-camera-and-missing-half-of-the-dance-already-in-progress-in-order-to-set-up-the-camera-and-capture-the-candid-family-moment. I'm pretty sure this kind of thing drives Matt crazy.

And, yes, I suppose I do dance like an old woman running in place.

(Sorry the lighting is so poor. I wanted to document this moment anyways and share it with you. Take note of the sweet little turn Matt gives Karis at the end and then her pleading response of "Oh. More dancing?")

Mirror, mirror

Apparently, when moving into a new home, the opportunity will arise when an unsuspecting mirror is placed on the ground, propped up against the wall, awaiting the day when it will be assigned real estate on the new walls. It takes a two year old to see the potential here. And she has seen it two years in a row.

Our move in September 2008. Karis at 15 months.

A two-year-old Karis after our move in September 2009, a few weeks ago.


Does this qualify as a tradition? ...the annual dance-in-front-of-the-mirror-on-the-ground-in-September-while-mom-is-super-stressed-out tradition? Because, if it is, I'm ok with this becoming a new custom...all except the whole 'moving our family and all our belongings from one house to another' part, of course. I'll thank you to leave that part out from now on.

Cathy's pantry

One day last week, Karis and I walked to meet our new neighbor Cathy. She and her husband live in the most adorable little two bedroom house right along the Trout River. Wooden-framed, I believe, it's a quaint bungalow, with a vibe like that of a fisherman's cottage. She gave me the tour which included a stop in her old-fashioned kitchen housing an industrial stove that she only turns on "when cooking more than one dinner at once." We took a peek in her pantry, stocked to the gills with freshly canned pepper jellies, pepper slaw, and pickled peppers. I drooled. And then I promptly asked her to teach me how to can. She politely obliged to my impulsive and forward request.

To top things off, she walked us around to the pepper garden on the side of their house. Rows and rows of different varieties of peppers glistening in the sun and dripping with water from the above ground sprinkler system they painstakingly installed to care for their beloved plants. Unafraid to get her hands dirty, she picked a bunch of peppers from different plants for me to take home, describing the names and uses for each variety. I can't remember much of the details that she shared, but I remember thinking I like Cathy. She's a salt of the earth type of woman. Honest and straightforward, sharing with me that the Peter peppers are aptly named because they look like male genitalia. Really honest. I like that.

"This is our little slice of heaven," she bragged of her home, standing by the pool in the morning breeze. When she stopped by my home a little later that day to bring by a full roast beef dinner (cooked in the aforementioned stove) and a jar of Peter pepper jelly and pickled peppers, I felt as if she'd shared a little bit of heaven with this hungry family.

(Photo: Toast with cream cheese topped with Peter pepper jelly from Cathy's pantry. A savory snack or even breakfast, if you can handle a little heat in the morning).

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?

The story of a house

On Friday afternoon, Matt and I rode together to the title company to sign our closing papers. Matt asked a ton of questions, and I listened as intently as possible to the blah-blah-blah that is home financing. Numbers and legal jargon are brain-exploding matters, in my opinion. But still, I tried to focus despite the welling excitement within.

After an hour and a half, checks were dispersed, congratulations doled out, house keys slid across the table, and a sweet little gift of chocolates and an upside down tomato plant given to us by our realtor. With much less pomp than I would expect for the circumstance, we walked out the door, hopped in the car, and headed to our house. Our new/old house.

Over the large Dames Point Bridge we went, each commenting on the miraculousness of it all while gobbling up half the box of chocolates. As I looked out over the barges and ferries in the St. John's River below, with the sun shining in the clear blue sky with cotton ball clouds hanging wistfully above us, I smiled. This was just the type of house we had dreamed about owning one day. It felt good.

We drove into the neighborhood with confidence. Matt's grandmother was already out front, talking with some neighbors. You see, part of the beauty of this whole purchase is that our next door neighbor is Matt's grandmother, a.k.a. Grandma, a.k.a. MeMa (pronounced: Mee-Maw). She's full of life, a ton of fun, and loves spending time with us. She's an A+, primo type of neighbor!

Straight away Grandma introduced us to the neighbors that were gathered out in front of our house chatting away as the afternoon breeze from the river two blocks away began to stir. We met Bob and LaKeisha. We also met Micah and her husband who invited us into their home to see what they had done with their wood floors. We also met Libby, a sweet 86-year-old woman with whom I immediately shared that I admired her landscaping. She was humble about it, saying something like, "Oh, that's nothing" or "Oh, that old yard?" I can't remember exactly. Matt told Libby that he remembers one time as a kid, he, his siblings and cousins once held hands and wrapped their arms around the big oak tree in Libby's yard to see how many kids it would take to get all the way around it. Libby smiled, and I thought our first visit to the neighborhood as official homeowners could not have been more perfect. Neighborly chatter, warm introductions, and Spanish moss dangling overhead from Libby's large oak tree.

This home has a lot of significance to us. Matt's grandmother has lived here since the time he was a baby, and he's been coming to this neighborhood to visit her his whole life. He remembers Mr. Church, the man who once lived in the house we now own. I love the story Matt tells about how Mr. Church owned a large toy train collection and would invite Matt over to the garage to look at the trains he had set up. It always reminds me of this scene from the movie A Mighty Wind. Eugene Levy kills me.

On Saturday we woke early and headed over to the house to begin cleaning. As we drove up to the house, Karis kept saying "MeMa's house." We tried to explain that this was our new house, but I think for a while she will assume we live painfully close to MeMa without the benefit of being able to be in her house every-waking-minute-of-the-day. Either way, I think living by MeMa will never get old.

After cleaning and mowing the lawn, Matt brought in the beach chairs from the trunk of our car, and we sat down in our living room and brainstormed about all the things we want to accomplish in the next month before we officially move in. We talked, and the list grew. We talked some more, and the list grew even more. I think we officially have two lists now: a to-do list and a maybe-we'll-get-to-this-one-day "wish" list. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

So, as quickly as we celebrate our good blessings, we also find ourselves overwhelmed and, at least on my part, worried about getting it all done. I've begun reminding myself the truth I always run to: Life is most often about process not the finished result. Understanding that is tricky. Believing it is key.

This is going to be a journey. A fun, hard, humorous, dirty, redemptive journey. Keep reading...I hope to bring you guys along with me.

Invigorating

:: Body
I joined my friend for a workout this morning at a local park. Nikki is a regular attendee of Stroller Strength led by an ambitious fitness and nutrition expert. One whole hour in the morning sun doing various relays consisting of jogging, bear walking, and lunges. It kicked my butt. But it was that good kind of kick in the butt where you are sweaty and sore but feel compelled at the end to say things like "thank you" and "I'll be back." A weird sort of logic, if you think about it.

:: Mind
I'm a grammar geek, of sorts. It's not that I spend tons of time thinking about punctuation and verb tense. It's just that those things matter to me when I write. Whether or not it's apparent, I edit all posts a few times prior to publishing. If I find a mistake after posting, I'll go back and edit and republish. I just can't let those mistakes go. And I blame all of this punctuation perfectionism on my middle school English teacher, Mrs. Taylor. When it came to all things English language, she ruled with an iron fist. I lost hours of my prepubescent life to grammar diagrams and rule memorization. Though I more fondly remember the hours spent perfecting my flirtation skills with the male counterparts in my class, this here blog benefits from the former exercise.

Given my predisposition for grammatical accuracy [she pushes up her glasses and snorts], I find the Grammar Girl podcast to be informative and oddly enjoyable. Rather like an adult form of my middle school grammar class, I get to brush up on my knowledge but in the comfort of my own home. Each installment focuses on a single concept such as parentheses or hyphenation, and they average about five minutes in length, which is just about all this brain can handle these days.

:: Spirit
This afternoon I cranked up the espresso machine, hooked up the iPod to the stereo, and cleaned the better half of our house. A hot latte and a recent This American Life podcast do fun housework make. In this episode, host Ira Glass explored the cruelty of children in 3 segments. The first featured a favorite author of mine, David Sedaris. While I sometimes find David hard to listen to for his raw honesty, I marvel at his gift of writing and impeccable humor. The two other segments were just as enjoyable to listen to. What I love about this show is the brilliant exploration into human nature and relationships. These are good stories told well.

The more I read and write (and listen), I realize I'm inspired by people's life stories. I love to photograph people in a way that reveals a little bit of their story. I love food in the context of the story of who made it and what significance it has to the cook and the people eating it. In large part, I think this love is what drove me to get my master's degree in counseling. My favorite part of counseling someone is hearing their story, told by them, and then getting a chance to retell it to them in my own words.

Regarding my educational background, I've often said English is my first love and counseling my second. The first I majored in in college. The second was the focus of my master's degree. Writing about people is a lovely marriage of the two.

Proof positive

I'm not sure where my husband and I fall on the spectrum of crazy. When Matt told me he was going grocery shopping the other night, he asked me if I would type out a shopping list that he would dictate to me. I said yes. It was a matter of convenience, really, since I was sitting in front of my computer when he asked. This is what he proceeded to dictate:


********
Publix List

To whom it may concern,
The following is a shopping list of what will be purchased at Publix on August 9, 2009. I have your daughter and you can get her back only if you buy me a box of chocolate chip cookies.

I, Matt, being of sound mind and body, do commit to purchasing the following list of items:

Sour cream
black beans
dark kidney beans
yogurt
cottage cheese
apples
(etc.)

********
I went on to add the signature lines for the "head of household", "submissive wife" (a creepy touch, no?), and a notary of public, complete with a seal I drew by hand. It was a weird-looking angel with wings.

After Matt came back from shopping, we both admitted we wished he had left the note in the cart for the next unsuspecting shopper to find and read. I would have given anything to see their reaction.

Today I learned

:: Pigtails are fun
While engaging my daughter in a discussion on how to use the potty and using the argument that "big girls go in the potty" (a perfectly acceptable form of manipulation in my book), Karis nodded her head and then inexplicably shook her head from side to side. She stopped, paused, and then did it again. Apparently, when wearing pigtails, it's a pleasant sensory experience to shake your head and have the soft ends of your hair whip across your cheeks. Pretty soon I was talking to a little two-year-old who was vigorously shaking her head and giggling.

:: Potty announcements make me blush
Despite the headshaking, she heard my speech. A little while later, while in the adult section of the library, with all computers full of quiet adults and a thick silence hanging in the air, Karis gleefully announced, "I'm a big girl. I need to pee pee in potty." A weird mixture of pride and embarrassment came over me.

A penny earned

On Saturday her fever begins. 104. Sometimes higher.

Sunday, we alternate medicines. The fever persists throughout the day and night.

Early Monday morning I call the doctor. "We want to see her," they say. "Right away," I reply.

Late Monday morning, she comes to me with an adult Ibuprofen in her mouth. "Yikes," I yell and search the rest of the house and find another half eaten pill in the hallway. I call poison control. "She'd have to eat 12 before we'd be concerned," they say. Whew.

Early Monday afternoon we wait two hours at the doctor. She has an ear infection and antibiotics aren't working. They say she needs a shot every day for the next three days. I hold her down. They shoot. She screams.

Tuesday she wakes up with a rash all over (and diarrhea). We go into the doctor. They shoot. She screams.

Wednesday is more diarrhea and the rash has spread. The doctor isn't concerned. "Probably just a virus," he says. I'm sure it is, I think while wondering what other treasures this week holds. The nurses step into the room. She screams. They shoot. "It's over," I whisper in her ear.

Thursday afternoon I find a shiny, copper penny buried in poop in her diaper.

Just that kind of week, I suppose. A lot of work with little payoff. In other words, pooping pennies.

Reflections

I will miss the kindness of the Venezuelan physician who, to console a sobbing Karis after her shots, performed a funny dance with a pen and created "magic" bubbles out of soap and water.

I won't miss the hysterics caused by the aforementioned shots. Two shots a day for three days in a row. Ouch! That's one brave girl and one weak-kneed mama.

I will miss our yard when we move. Most missed: the Black-Eyed Susans and the huge magnolia tree that casts a long shadow in the afternoon.

I won't miss the feeling that I live in a "transitional" home. Over the last 10 years I've lived in 9 homes in 6 different cities. That's a whole lot of temporary home decorating. I can't wait to make some permanent decisions in our new space. My new motto: "Move in. Stay awhile." Hopefully a long while.

Update: A photo for you, Alyce. Enjoy! (See Alyce's comment.)

Bye bye, July

And somehow, it's off. July, that crazy/hazy mid-year month. Gone with all its holiday glory, birthday celebrations, and sweltering heat. (Ok, ok. The heat is probably 3.5 months from being gone.) We've had a busy summer around here, and in the wake of all the activity, this here blog has been neglected. I hope the fall months will bring some invigoration to my creative side. Turns out sickness, a broken camera, and a house purchase in limbo also do great things to dampen the creative juices. But there is some good news! The seller has agreed to pay for all the wood damage, most of the paperwork is completed, and we are all set to close at the end of this month!! Also, my camera is off and in the arms of some Nikon technician, hopefully being diagnosed (and repaired for free...I asked and I'm crossing my fingers they will comply).

In the meantime, we're chugging along in the midst of all of the transition and uncertainty around here. I don't usually operate at my optimum level with transition. I'm considering taking on a photo/writing challenge for the next month or two...something to keep me going and force me to keep creating. Any ideas out there, fellow bloggers? Until then, here are some photos to recap the last few weeks.

Karis and her cousin at Karis' second birthday party last month.

We went to a birthday party for a friend's daughter yesterday. It was a ladybug themed party, complete with a releasing of 1500 live ladybugs for the children to touch and explore. (Turns out that a bunch of ladybugs crawling on your hand feels a lot like any other bug crawling on your hand...kind of gross. But they were still neat to watch).

Karis eyeing the vegan chocolate cake set aside for one of the little party goers with food allergies. By the look on her face, I think Karis would gladly give up milk and eggs for a piece of this cake.

Karis teaching her friend the ropes on how to ride bikes down the street. So young and yet so wise.