Not Why I Blog

A little while ago at 11pm, I heard suspicious noises outside. I was just about to get up and turn on the porch light to scare away potential criminals when I heard a very soft knocking on the door. Reasoning that thieves and rapists rarely knock, I answered it to find my friend Amanda wielding a very heavy plastic tote I had previously given to her with clothes. She was returning it to me, filled with food.

In it was a gallon of milk, juice, a dozen eggs, chicken breasts, turkey dogs, Lunchables, a pound of cheese, Greek yogurt, Gogurt, and apples. All in ice, in case I was in bed.

As she gave it to me, she had tears in her eyes. Obviously, she had read my post which was not written to inspire pity or gifts of food or monetary donations. Nevertheless, being a poor young married college girl herself,  she was inspired to bring it to me. Immediately. Tonight. Oh, and she also has a baby who still wakes up several times a night to nurse, so nighttime hours are at a premium. 

Here's the thing: I hesitate to write anything of the nature of the original post because I do not want to illicit pity or charitable gestures. I write because it's what I do. It's how I cope, sort, and get on with things. I blog because I journal, and in so doing I get over things while recording them at the same time. I usually feel better by the time I hit 'publish' and I like to have a record of the good, the bad and the ugly. So I do not blog in order to gain favor or favors. However, I do blog to remember and record, and Amanda's charity is a perfect instance of this. I want to remember how it felt when someone was prompted and listened to do something on my behalf- when someone went out of their way and did something that was inconvenient and even costly in order to help me when I didn't (directly) ask for it. I want a record of my blessings, and examples of Christlike charity and plain old kindness and good friendship.

So to recap, this is not why I blog these things.

Also this is why I blog these things.

Thank you, Amanda.

*My monetary goal for this post has been met. No more donations are required at this time. If a future need presents itself, I will post another thinly veiled request for help. Also, that was sarcasm.*

In Honor

One year ago, my grandmother died.

I can easily say, without hesitation, that she was the greatest influence of my life. I have never known of a more supportive, non-judgmental, unconditionally loving person. In life she was one of my greatest friends, confidantes, advisors and champions. When she died, it felt like a great light went out in the world. It is no small thing to lose such a person in your life- the one who rallied and loved you in a way different than anyone else ever could. Not surprisingly, her death and her funeral were some of the most spiritual and meaningful experiences of my life. In the past few weeks I have found myself thinking of her intensely almost every day, brought to tears missing her so. Her death was such a great loss to so many; truly to know her was to love her. Words simply cannot express the void that she has left for so many. And yet I know the heavens rejoiced at her homecoming, and I know that she is more able to help me now than when she was on the earth. I like to imagine that she is taking care of my baby until I can see them both again, that I have two guardian angels on my left and on my right.

We have a couple of oft-quoted stories of my young childhood related to grandma that I want recorded so my children will know them. I was born in Denver, and lived near grandma until the age of 3 when my dad was transferred to the east. When they broke the news that we were moving to grandma she replied, "Well, are you going to take Jess?!" (Incidentally, I was named after her mother, Jessie.) Another fabled  story was around the same time and grandma and I were in her room. She was putting on her makeup and complaining that she felt ugly. She said, "But honey, I'm just so old", to which I famously replied "To me you're not!". Indeed, she always exemplified all things beautiful. In fact, I believe she only increased in beauty until the day she died. How did she do that?

{Grandma and I when Timm and I went to the temple in 2004. I think she is simply ethereal in this picture.}

She also gave me the only 2 nicknames I've ever had. She always called me her 'Pritzy Pritz', from the time I was a baby and I still love it. She is also the one who first called me a badger, hence the blog name. She used to give me Frances books, and inscribed them to her 'favorite little badger', imploring me not to change.
*edited: It is true that my dad always called me 'Weirdicus Jess', my 3rd and final nickname.

In our family, we have a tradition of giving 'gifts of love' that we write out to each present member of the family on Christmas Eve. I have this one, from when I was 18 months old. I treasure it, and I want to get it nicely framed.

My mom happened to be in town today, and in discussing it we had simply planned to make a nice cake, since fabulous cakes are part of her greatest legacy. Denise had a better idea, and she decided to bake bread and take it to grandma's friends and those in need. Grandma exemplified charity, and in her declining years would often bake for people since it was one of the only ways she felt she could still serve. Plus, she was damn good at it. Michelle and Miranda also participated in what I have coined the Bread Brigade. I made my all-time favorite bread recipe, Limpa Rye, and took it to a couple of my neighbors. I was very pleased that it turned out to be a very good dough. 

Never one to miss an opportunity to make a cake, I also made Banana Cake at my mom's request since we celebrated her birthday while she was here as well. Linda had the wonderful suggestion to add pecans and coconut to the top, making it Southern-Style Banana Cake, a variation I will definitely be keeping. It's a good cake, but not my favorite simply because if chocolate or White Mountain were an option (and they always should be), why would you choose banana? But with the southern variation, very good. (Also, true to form, she changed the recipe unbeknownst to me. She added about 1/3 block of cream cheese to the whipped cream frosting to help stabilize it. Bonus.)

And speaking of cake, my mom got us these super cute signs, apropos for remembering Grandma. Here it is in its temporary placement:

{I do.}

All I can say is, I can't wait until I get to see her again.

And I strive every day to be a bit more like her.

Her influence still guides me every day.

p.s. I had planned on making something to commemorate the day and sending them to a few people, but I never got around to it. I toyed with several ideas, but decided on some printables that I am working on and will post on Sunday.

Dress Up

In a household with 2 girls of or under the age of 5, dress up is almost a daily occurance. I love the array of things they assemble, and certain things are always is hot demand. This was Fiona's choice before church on Sunday.

My favorite part was when Fiona marched up to Timm to show off her ensemble, paused, and then lifted up her eye patch to reveal, "I'm Fona!"

 

Because prior to that, we were so confused, wondering, 'Who is this little princess pirate fairy ballerina nymph with a lanyard bedecked in jewels?'

Oh, it's just 'Fona'.

First Day of School- Ever.

Today was the day. Bella's first day of school that set her on an educational road to last for at least the next 13 years. Top on my list of concerns: her ensemble. I was up until 2 am getting everything set for her first day. I know.

(Shoes, t-shirt, skirt, brooch, and bobby pins.)

I made this rosette brooch from broadcloth, felt and vintage buttons. I put it all on a pin to wear as a brooch on her shirts, but it doubles as a hair ornament. I was so psyched that she liked it. I told her I was going to make her a bunch in different colors to wear with her different outfits and she asked if she could wear them on her shirts everyday. Sweet.

I freezer paper-stenciled her shirt with a 'b' in Cezanne font but I was disappointed with it. It wasn't dark enough on the navy shirt, so at 10:30 at night I decided to outline it with embroidery, thinking that if I wasn't happy I could fill it in with satin stitch another time. The cutest fabric for a first day of school skirt, and the most beautiful red leather shoes my mom got her in Paris. They are the softest, most supple calfskin- like shoes in the world. I am already mourning that she will outgrow them soon. They will go with so many of her skirts this year, until then.

(I snapped this right after I reminded Bella to look at the circle.)

Drop off time, today only. She'll be a bus rider from now on.

It went better than I anticipated. I was worried about Bella, who frequently throws a fit about going to Primary after Sacrament meeting. She will wail and cry and cling to me as I struggle to physically extricate her from me while she begs me to teach her class. So possibly you can see why I would be nervous about leaving her in a room full of strangers for an 8 hour day. She did so well. She looked a little bit nervous, but I stayed with her for about 15 or 20 minutes, casually gave her a kiss and a hug, and left her. I watched from the door, reluctant to leave. She seemed good. Engaged, curious.

Pick up time. We went to Baskin Robbins afterwards to celebrate and as we drove back home into the neighborhood we were behind her bus which would have been dropping her off at 3:45!!! Sheesh.

I have two trains of thought going about this whole process.

1. I know I am a mother crow, but I think you would be hard pressed to find a cuter Kindergartner ever. This outfit? Seriously? That little body with those long lean legs thanks to her daddy? Her dimples? A collection of materials including fabric, felt, ribbon and vintage buttons? How could you go wrong?

2. The emotional tumult involved. I was up until 1 am, completing the embroidery on her shirt and making her lunch. As I was saying my prayers I started worrying about her. Would she be lonely? Would she miss me? Would she be scared? What would she do when she felt so alone and lost and without a familiar face? I had to make her something to take with her. Something to remind her of home and love and safety and security. I finished my prayer and jumped up to go back out into the darkened house to begin a new and necessary project at 1 am. I knew just what it would be. I made her a small heart out of pink felt, about 1 1/2- 2" tall. I stitched her name on it, stitched it together and stuffed it. When I left her in her classroom this morning I showed it to her. I told her that it was the perfect size to hold in her hand, or keep in her shirt pocket. Anytime she felt lonely or scared or worried, she could hold it in her hand, give it a little squeeze and remember that mama loved her and missed her. When I picked her up from school she was holding it, looking a little worse for the wear, rubbed soft. I'd like to think that it comforted her to have it, but it comforted me to make it. It's as if by outfitting and adorning her with my creations I could send her armed and prepared to meet the world. Padded by the product of long hours spent in love and preparation and carefully chosen materials she would not be alone. I would go with her.

I think she had a great day. I think she loved it. I think this is going to work out...with a few more sleepless nights until I complete the rest of her wardrobe of skirts, shirts, brooches and hair clips.

I have many more pontifications on this new phase of life for us all, but I'm ready to put this day to rest and save pensive for tomorrow.

It's a daily occurance.

She seems especially fond of layering her skirts over pants, usually these big purple sweatpants.


We're not going anywhere today.

Best for Last

When I began running a couple of months ago I knew it would be a process. I knew it would be hard, that it would take resolution, and there would definitely be some embarrassment involved. I actually prefer running in the early morning or at night to secure as much solitude as possible and avoid said embarrassment while relishing the time alone. As I started thinking about races I wondered and worried about coming in last place but thankfully dismissed the notion since many people walk the entire course, giving me some room for accomplishment.
Well, it happened.
I was last.
Dead last.

And actually, it wasn't so bad. I crossed the finish line smiling while every other race participant looked on, cheering. It was however, my second race of the day. The kid's fun run I did with Bella after my own 5k on the morning of the 4th, of which while close, I did not come in last.
Bella has been vying to join me on a run and in a race since I started telling her about my first 5k. Since she can't make it down the block without lying prone on the sidewalk I seriously doubted her commitment or ability to either of these endeavors, but not wanting to quash a worthy ambition I indulged her and paid the $10 to register her for the 'Fun Run'.
From the onset there was an abundance of complaining to which I responded by informing her of my impromptu first rule of running: There is no whining in running. I told her that running is hard and everyone knows that running is hard but we can do hard things. Apparently my pep talk didn't have much of an impact on her because not more than a few yards in she lost the capacity to voluntarily propel herself. The rest of the race consisted of me holding her hand, more or less pulling her along, continually telling her she was doing a great job, asking if she was ready to try running again, reminding her that there was no stopping during a race all the while observing kids of every age running past us. At some point a bribe of chocolate milk was offered.
By this point we are secured in our hindmost position, nearing the finish line with everyone watching from the sidelines. I try to inspire her to finish strong and somehow, perhaps motivated by he crowds, the cheering, the promise of chocolate milk, she runs. Everyone who has participated in the event and the event planning is standing on the sidelines cheering, singularly for Bella. An older gentleman reaches his hand out to give her high-5. The announcer calls her number and congratulates her. Hundreds of people, from young children to seniors are all clapping, calling, and cheering for this one little 4-year old as she pushes herself and those little legs over the finish line. I lope along just behind her, a bit sheepishly but mostly blissful as she crosses and a medal is bestowed upon her neck, a prize awarded to all the kids in the fun run. As she receives this commendation she aptly responds by declaring 'I never dreamed of this!'
After this she doesn't seem to have any recollection of being last, only of finishing. Only the applause and the award. We stop at the grocery store on the way home for our hard-earned recovery chocolate milk and she wears her race bib and her medal through the store frequently telling me she 'can't believe she got the first medal!' Why would I correct her?
I doubt she'll remember this for very long, having the fickle memory of a 4-year old. I hope she will participate again so she can experience the thrill of victory, the triumph of effort and the sound of hundreds of voices raised in chorus of praise for her alone, if only for a moment.
How often do any of us get to appreciate that?

The Outer Banks

For 3 years running my family was able to go to an amazing 2 million dollar beach house in Charleston, South Carolina thanks to the generosity and talents of my mom and dad. One year they invited us to Nantucket as well, due to the same generosity and talent. However, the last 2 years have been beach-less which is a travesty. The beach (or 'shore' if you're an Easterner like me-)has long been my favorite getaway, respite, and true vacation. This year Timm was able to hook us up with a house in the Outer Banks, North Carolina and my parents footed the bill, allowing us to convene there with them as well as Ryan and Miles. Last Sunday morning we made the 6+hour drive to the coast to spend the week in Morehead City. We could only stay until the following Friday and I am now in the post-weekend hangover/mourning mode.
This little Sandpiper laid a nest in a seemingly ill-planned place right under a small tree by the road and our driveway. She chirped and cheeped in loud protestations every time we came near which was frequently. She and her mate also entertained us with diversions and distractions of every kind. We hoped for the eggs to hatch before we left, but after monitoring it several times a day we left the eggs as they were. I love beach wildlife.
This house in Morehead City was located on the Bogue Sound, right on the water. As in, their backyard was the water. They had their own dock. It was so delightful. Here is said dock.
This is the side entrance where we came and went. I love the Carolina Jessamine growing around the door and the beautiful hydrangea bushes flanking its side.
This is the rear of the 3-story house, seen from the dock-a frequent vantage point.
Timm's idea of fishing. I don't blame him.
I painted my and Bella's toes a couple of days before we left and neither one of ours held up too well. I blame the demise of my polish on running, and Bella's on being a 4-year old.
We made many trips back and forth across that dock.
This was the rock buffer along the beach behind the house.
Our access onto the beach during high tide.

One of the rocking chair porches we spent a lot of time on. It seemed there was always a gentle breeze off the water and it would rock the chairs. I loved it.
This was one of our views to the right. That bridge is the causeway over the water to Atlantic Beach, and my dad and I went running to, over, across, and back twice while on vacation.
Our dock as seen from the deck off the living room. One of my ultimate favorite things to do was lay on a lounge chair on this deck and read. The surf was constantly lapping, the breeze cooling the air, sea birds cawing and the occasional boater going by. Private, serene, picturesque. Ryan and Miles could usually be seen fishing at the end of the dock with the rest of us frequently going across the dock or swimming in the sound.

Across the water you could see all of the colorful houses on Atlantic Beach.

Sailboats were common visitors to the sound. Bella aptly called this one the 'candy corn' boat.

Fiona enjoying some one-on-one dotage from both grandparents.

She soaked every bit of it up.

Sigh. I just love the beach. It is the perfect destination. It just feels right when we're there- the water, the salty air, the spray, the vibe, the community, the lackadaisical attitudes, even the humidity...It feels right, like we belong, like the way the world should be. A sense of utopia. A life and a lifestyle I could readily adopt. One I really want to adopt. I dream of it. I yearn.
I fell in love with the neighboring town of Beaufort in particular, which I will document in detail later. I feel like it is my destiny to realize a life in a sleepy beach town with my family. Maybe someday it will happen or maybe I will have to wait for the Celestial Kingdom, but in either event I am holding on to the dream.So what did we enjoy while there? The usual good food, many many games of Bananagrams in which Timm drove me insane with his speedy plays, a wonderful birthday celebration, naps, sleeping in, lots of help with the girls, catching up with Ryan and Miles, enjoying the dotage of my parents, swimming, reading, lounging, walking the beach, collecting shells, and finally exploring the other beaches and nearby towns.
For the most part our little piece of the beach on the sound fulfilled all of my beach needs. It was private, we could swim, fish, stroll, lay in the sun...we rarely needed to leave for anything. I wish we still hadn't left in fact.
My thoughts are so disjointed right now and I'm not sure why. Maybe because I am trying to haphazardly watch tv while I write this and remember...I need to reflect in a quieter environment.
More later.

This Time Around

Anyone who knew me pre-Fiona knows that I was essentially dreading having another baby. That sounds horrible, but it's just that I'm a little bit neurotic. Maybe more than a little. Having Bella was such an adjustment for me, motherhood was such an adjustment, and I don't typically deal well with stress, change, chaos...The thought of adding another child to the fray was overwhelming at best. However I felt so prompted to get pregnant with her I knew it was time, I knew it was right. I was just taking it on faith that it was the right thing to do, that it would work out, that i would be made equal to the task.
Flash forward- Fiona's nearing 6 months, and this time around is so different. If you can believe it I am much less stressed, anxiety-ridden, volatile, and neurotic than I used to be. Part of it is a solid, concerted effort, some of it is a blessing, and some of it is the consequence of learning from and adapting to motherhood. In the last 5 years, having children has taught me more than I expected and stretched me in ways I never would have otherwise. At times it is a challenge, in fact many times it is a challenge and I resent the necessity if the stretch. If I didn't have children I'm sure I wouldn't be the person I am now, and I would be worse for it.
One of the benefits of that stretch is that this time around with Fi is a lot more enjoyable than it was with Bella. Don't get me wrong- of course I loved Bella just as much as I love Fiona, of course it was as rewarding- it's just that it was tempered with more anxiety, stress, and questions. So why so relaxed this time? Partly it is experience. I know that things will be okay. I know that the difficult parts are just a stage. I know that they pass quickly and leave us no worse for the wear. I also know that these sweet baby months are fleeting and precious.It is also due to the belief that Fi is most likely my last child. I always hold in the back of my mind thoughts like, 'this is the last time I'll do...', or 'after this I'll never get to...'. I am savoring the time with her and because of this I am more able to enjoy Fiona's babyhood.
This time I can appreciate it as fun, endearing, cute and finite. I actually think having a baby is fun instead of love riddled with guilt, fear, inadequacy and stress. Of course those feelings still occupy a place in my mind, but they are largely over-ridden with enjoyment. I don't stress the small stuff like her naps, her schedule...I find myself 'spoiling' her already-the natural destiny for the 'baby' of the family? I often nurse her to sleep, rock her to sleep, comfort her at the breast, and hold her when she wants me to. For better or for worse I am not so concerned with things like 'teaching her to fall asleep on her own'. I figure she's a baby for such a short while and she can hone that skill later. Things are working for us, so I continue to cuddle her all I can.

Of course my babies make it easy for me. Fi follows in Bella's tiny footsteps by being a joy- a largely happy, steady, and charming girl. She gives me so many moments to enjoy her and relish the moment that will be only a memory all too soon. Too soon she will talk, whine, beg, throw tantrums, and inadvertently say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Bella's stage is wonderful in it's own way, but there's time for that later. For now Fi is my baby, probably my last baby and I'm going to hold her for all it's worth.

Where You Were

Fiona, this is where you were, who you were, when history was made.
January 20th, 2009.
And yes Bella, that is Barack Obama.

She says...

It seems Bella and I regularly have a pretty entertaining dialogue.
Ever since the Presidential elections when I taught her who the two candidates were, Barack Obama's name has been an oft-mentioned one. At some point in our discussions, I tried to casually explain that there are different skin colors, and that Obama was a black man. It seemed pertinent due to the social climate and historic election. However, she has seized upon the notion that he is first and foremost, a Black Man. That is who he is. When asked 'Who is Barack Obama?' she quickly answers, 'A black man.' Yes, but what else is he? "He has black skin.' Yes, I know, but he is also the pprrrreeeesss.... 'Presto!' No. The President of the United States. She had a run where she asked me if every single black person we saw was Barack Obama. (Keep in mind that the black population in Charlotte is about 40%.) That led to further discussion about skin color, that there are lots and lots of people with white skin, and lots and lots of people with black skin, but just because someone has black skin it does not necessarily mean they are Barack Obama. I'm afraid that just hammered in her notion of the importance of skin color, so I am trying to do some damage control by talking about how it doesn't matter. She asked me when we will see him, and I said probably never. She mentions his name a lot. Most recently when she asked if a guy passing the sacrament was Barack Obama, and today when she told me: 'I wish I was Barack Obama and could become the President.' Really? Do you want to be the President? When you grow up? 'No, when I grow up I want to be a puppy.' Oh.
I also love that she frequently tries to survey the emotional atmosphere in our home. I try and stress that emotions are okay, it's okay to feel certain ways as long as we express them or deal with them correctly. Because of this I try and use very clear statements like 'You are making me angry', or 'It makes me feel sad when you do that.' Now she has taken to feel out a situation by asking 'Are you mad? A little bit or a lot bit?', 'Are you happy?' Whenever she asks me if I am happy I have to pause and think about it. It's like a little reality check, a reminder from my little girl to be happy. She was frustrating me the other day as she was going potty and I left the bathroom, fuming a bit as I sought respite in the empty living room when she called out: 'Mom! Come back! I have a smile for you!'. I quickly made my way back, not caring that Fiona was sleeping in her nearby room while Bella yelled, to find a huge open-mouth grin on her face. That instantly changed my mood, my reaction, my perspective. She seems to do that a lot, come to think of it.

Fiona at 4 Months

How did this happen? How is it possible that 4 months ago this little person was just a fetus, swimming around in my uterus with what I imagine amounts to gills, having recently lost the last of her tail?! Yet here she is- communicating, learning, rolling over, laughing, showing her personality...And so it goes. 3 days ago was her 4 month birthday. This last month seems to have gone by particularly fast-owing to the holidays I suspect. She chose this day to roll over from back to front for the first time and has been practicing it since. This was the very first time she did so, and she seemed quite pleased and intrigued by her new vantage point. Despite a small self-inflicted injury, she sure is cute, although she was not much in the mood for smiling. Too full of wonderment over her new accomplishment I believe.







I love those great big blue eyes that our girls are blessed with, along with that constant drop of drool poised on her chin, evidence of teething.
She is on a pretty good night routine of sorts. She goes down for the night promptly at 7 most of the time. She'll sleep for a few hours, usually waking sometime around midnight for her first feed in the night. There is usually another one, then a last one around 6 am. I'm not thrilled with the night feedings, but am so happy about the 7pm bedtime. I feel like that's when my day really begins. From 7am-7pm I may not be able to get much done in the way of productivity or enjoyment, but after 7pm, I'm a free agent. I'm trying to wean her off the night feedings, but she gets so mad! Her daytime schedule is not nearly so liberating. She naps often, as much as every 1 1/2 hours, but for only 45 minutes, precisely, each time. I can count it to the minute each time. You;d be amazed how fast 45 minutes go by when you are trying to clean/eat/get ready/rest/recover/enjoy...Usually it feels like about 15. Strange. Luckily she is pretty much happy whenever she is awake. When she is fussy, which is mild, it is generally only to eat, sleep, or be held. All of these possible reasons are easily remedied, so we don't hear much crying. When she does protest, she works up to it very gradually, as if to say "Um, hey- If you get a minute, could you help me out here? No rush, just whenever. If it's convenient. If you're coming by this way, I wouldn't mind being held, but don't worry about it. I'll just be waiting. Over here. So, whenever." If consistently ignored she will gradually increase her pleas until she gets the attention she seeks, but manages to be quite innocuous about the whole thing. Wonderful. She still smiles with little encouragement, and Bella can always get a good grin out of her. I need to take video of Bella doing her 'baby talk' to Fiona, a request I frequently ask when Fiona is starting to fuss and i am out of reach. Also, she's huge! Timm took her for a checkup about 3 weeks ago, and she was in the 75% for weight, and the 95% for height, although I'm afraid that's all in her torso and she has Taylor- short- leg genes. There's still hope. Speaking of those legs, she has the cutest super chunk legs that most babies have, but Bella never had. (Being in the 2nd percentile and all...) I love when she tries to communicate. All those guttural sounds she is fond of making, as well as the 'G's and attention-seeking coughs and yelps. I love to see her face light up when you imitate her language, as if she understands the exchange, or at least comprehends that you are communicating.
So that's pretty much Fiona right now. A love, a joy, a beauty. It's a good thing she's shed those gills and tail though, or she might not hold quite the same allure.