(TCBTB)

Friday, July 1, 2016

love come true.

So like, uhhh...

[scrapes rust off keyboard]

Ahem. It's been almost three months since I posted. There's no real reason for my absence. No one died (in my family, that is), I'm not pregnant (though not for lack for trying), and I can't blame work (but, happily, a bunch of side jobs are blooming right now, which is fantastic). It just felt like a struggle to string words together all throughout spring, and then the beautiful weather finally settled in, and I couldn't be bothered to blog.

But today's a rainy morning and I have the house to myself (!!!), so here...I have beachy pictures from this week, our very first family vacation. Yes, our child is almost three. Yes, I know you went to Disney twice last year and then went skiing over Christmas. Yes, this trip was an amazing Father's Day surprise from my absolutely amazing mother-in-law. Yes, this is what life is like when the primary breadwinner quits her job when the baby is almost a year old and you didn't plan to survive on one income. And yes, the sacrifices are all totally worth it, but also yes, I'm so grateful we had this opportunity.

As for our destination? Well...okay. I freely admit that I complain about my home state of Michigan. A lot. I mean, from November through April, it's freezing, gray, slushy, barren, icy, and depressing - at least, for this sunshine-and-warmth-craving soul. But the upside? There are so many gorgeous travel destinations in Michigan, and you can get to most of them via a relatively short car trip, which is great when traveling with a toddler. So on my mother-in-law's recommendation, we trekked out to Saugatuck. It's a small town right on Lake Michigan (west side of the state, in case you're not familiar with the Great Lakes). It's beautiful, it's clean, it's family-friendly and LGBTQ-friendly and artist-friendly, and there's a plethora of ice cream and pizza options. Oh, and the beach?


Not too shabby. 

Rowan did pretty well on the car ride out there. In hindsight, we should've driven during nap time, but we were only staying a couple nights and wanted to maximize our daytime hours. So we left first thing in the morning. Rowan spent the first chunk of the trip finishing up some work emails and (as my sister said) setting up her out-of-office reply:


After a stop for breakfast and another stop for the bathroom, plus a re-route due to a truck fire on the highway, she was hitting her limit. The drive ended up taking almost four hours instead of two and a half, but considering she's fairly newly potty trained and was alone in the back seat (again...hindsight), things could have been much worse. (Picture: Me facing the grimy wall in a gas station bathroom somewhere in mid-Michigan, closing my eyes and covering my ears at the request of the tiny toddler sitting on her little green Ikea potty that we brought from home, feeling thankful that she was taking care of business on a potty instead of in her car seat).

And waiting for us when we finally got there was her favorite activity: swimming. We hit up the hotel pool first, since it was a chilly 62 degrees outside (coldest day in weeks and weeks, of course) and the skies looked ominous.

Jumping (falling) off Daddy's shoulders

But Rowan got tired of the pool pretty quickly and requested the beach, so we packed up the stroller and hiked the half mile to Oval Beach. It wasn't much warmer there, but the sun came out, which made everything better.


The waves were INSANE that day - as big as some that I've seen in Hawaii. Playing in huge waves is probably my number-one favorite thing to do in the world, so despite the fact that the water was 57 degrees and the riptide was strong, I dove in and had a blast. J.J. and Rowan hung out on the shore, building sandcastles and playing "boat" - a game they made up where J.J. drags her through the sand on a towel.


Seriously, Dad of the Year. He never got tired of playing with her on the beach. I...never got tired of watching them play on the beach. Ha :) He was rewarded for his efforts by his always-grateful daughter, who responded to his request for a piece of her blueberry muffin with: "No. It's not Father's Day anymore." Harsh.

Downtown Saugatuck was cute - touristy, but fun. We grabbed a couple breakfasts and dinners there (and our fair share of ice cream), and there was a great park that Rowan was a huge fan of.




We mostly drove into town (which took less than ten minutes), but there was a cute little chain ferry by our hotel that you could take across the Kalamazoo River. I didn't get a great shot of Rowan waiting for the ferry, which is too bad because she. was. PSYCHED. It ended up being a great bargaining chip for us throughout the day ("Let's take a nap so we can ride the ferry later!" "I know you're sad to leave the beach, but we get to go ride the ferry now!" etc.). Once we were finally on the ferry, it turned out to be Very Serious Business for Rowan.

This is her "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so...so...scared" face.

The weather warmed up after that first day, but the lake was still freezing - we overheard another family say that it was way colder than it had been even a couple days before we got there, thanks to the random cold snap. Didn't matter to Rowan, though, who loved getting knocked down by waves, smashing Daddy's sandcastles, and finding rocks and seashells for Mama.





A+ trip, for sure. We'd go back in a heartbeat. And speaking of hearts, I happened to look at Rowan at one point and say, "You just melt my heart!" That, of course, sparked a five-minute explanation of what "melt my heart" means, which she concluded by declaring, "I melted your heart when I was growing in your belly." Yes. Indeed.




Now we're even more excited to visit the other side of Michigan - Oscoda, on Lake Huron - in a few weeks, thanks to a wonderfully thoughtful friend of ours. Notes to self for our next beach vacation: bring a better variety of car snacks; research methods of sand removal from toddler bathing suits; keep fingers continually crossed that we score the ever-elusive Car Nap on the rides there and back.



Sunday, April 10, 2016

"...and I straighten my crown."

I've been re-watching the whole Parenthood series on Netflix. The first time I watched it was two and half years ago, during the last couple weeks of my maternity leave, so I was a hormonal sobbing mess throughout it. This time? Not much better. I'm not hormonal, I'm not a new mom, and I'm not sad about the thought of leaving my small baby every day for work.

I'm just grieving.

:: :: :: :: ::

When my mom was in home hospice care, there were two beds arranged in my parents' guest room. One, the usual occupant of the room, was queen-sized. The other one was a narrow hospital bed, the one a medical supply company delivered after midnight in a hurried attempt to convince the doctors to let my mom come home the next day, the one that was assembled under my exhausted supervision while my dad slept in his room and my mom slept at the hospital, the one that my mom soundly rejected in favor of the far-superior guest bed. My siblings and I took turns staying in the hospital bed during our overnight shifts. The TV in the room was on a 24-hour loop, offering comfort by way of light and sound and happy endings, rotating among news channels, daytime talk shows, and Netflix series - Friends, Friday Night Lights, Parenthood.

I always chose Parenthood during my shifts. My mom had just started watching it and loved it. The show is a little saccharine, a little vapid, and a lot addicting, spinning stories of a mostly-strong family living their lives, facing and overcoming challenges together. I mean, you watch it, and you want to be a Braverman; you want to pull up a chair for Sunday dinner on the outdoor patio, lit by twinkle lights and smelling like jasmine and barbecue. Watching the show with my mom, I identified with this TV family - the adult siblings dealing with their adult issues while being both bolstered and burdened by their childhoods - except that my nights at the time were spent in the hospital bed, lit by the glow of the television and smelling like scented garbage bags and disinfectant.

I switched my show choice when my mom and I got to the season where one of the main characters is diagnosed with cancer. And for some reason, I was hung up for months on the fact that my mom never finished watching that series. What's the point?

What's the point?

:: :: :: :: ::

In episode after episode, the Braverman siblings struggled their struggles. So did their kids, and so did their parents. But meanwhile, their parents were their landing pad. Maybe you got into a drunken fistfight with your son's mother's brother, and your nephew's hot behavioral therapist had to break it up - but a few days later, the whole family would be watching the baseball game together, so it was all good.

And there I was this weekend, watching the Bravermans, sniffling on the couch and feeling sorry for myself because it's no longer a given that someone "in charge" will plan our family gatherings. I don't want to be in charge, I thought. I don't want anyone else to be in charge. I want my mom to be in charge. I want my mom. It's not fair.

:: :: :: :: ::

And then.

Just when I was hitting a new all-time pity-party low, I wondered what my mom would think if she could hear my thoughts, if she could see me sniveling in front my of laptop screen. And the shift in me was palpable.

My mom also did not have a mother organizing family barbecues in a sprawling California garden. Not because her mother was dead, but because that just wasn't her mother's style - nor was it my mother's style to expect someone else to do all that. If my mom wanted something to happen, she made it happen. When her parents paid for her brother's college education but wouldn't pay for hers, she put herself through school. When she wanted to learn to fly small planes, she signed up for lessons. When our elementary school bus stop moved across the road, she made the city mount stop signs to keep us safe. And I never once heard her bitch or moan about these things. She wasn't immune to self-pity, necessarily, or to bitching and moaning. But her typical response was action instead of apathy.

Me, I find comfort in the balance. There's a certain solace in melancholy. But I'm getting lost in it lately, as the anniversary of my mom's diagnosis (plus Mother's Day and her birthday) approaches. The wallowing has its place, I guess, but this weekend, I was grateful to remember to snap the hell out of it. That's absolutely what my mom's advice would be to me: snap the hell out of it. She wouldn't tell me that unkindly. Just sensibly. Because what's the point of wallowing?

What's the point?

:: :: :: :: ::

I ran across this image awhile back. I can't find the original source, and I'm pretty sure it's a spinoff of a Bible verse, and it's apparently too cool for an Oxford comma, but the sentiment couldn't be more apropos.




Commencing snapping the hell out of it. And gladly.

Saturday, April 9, 2016

also aka blog radio silence.

CREATIVE PROCESS IN APRIL

aka inside the mind of a maker when
it's supposed to be spring but it's
for sure snowstorming outside,
wtf


  1. Wake up
  2. Mentally review to-do list
  3. Enthusiastically tackle first item on to-do list
  4. Open laptop to take care of second item on to-do list
  5. Remember Netflix
  6. Netflix
  7. More Netflix with some Facebook mixed in
  8. Prolly a little more Netflix
  9. Existential crisis resulting from Netflix binge
  10. Aimlessly surf Internet to distract self from Netflixtential crisis
  11. Stumble on random blog/Instagram feed/Pinterest pin
  12. Think, "I love that! I could do that! Omgggg"
  13. Dive deeper and deeper into blog/feed/pin board, sparking flames of creative energy
  14. Scroll and read and Pin and plan 
  15. ...and click and cackle and bookmark and...
  16. ...wait a minute...
  17. ...oh, for fuck's sake.
  18. Realize that dude, this other person's shit is amazing, and so well-curated, and so extensive, and there's no way you could ever reach that pinnacle of creativity and awesomeness and productivity and - wait, this other person also has kids? And a paying job?! AND made a soufflĂ© for dinner last night, as evidenced by her Instagram post?!?!
  19. MUTHERFUUUUMMMMDAKJDKACCCKJOXDKOTIJKLADKFJ
  20. Netflix

"Wait, so is it not topless tutu weather?"



Thursday, March 31, 2016

weeks like this deserve no blog post title.

:: This post contains affiliate links.

This week basically has me like:



What a shitshow these last few days have been. There was barfing and PMSing and lost job opportunities and showing up 2.5 minutes late to Rowan's first Easter egg hunt, which was unfortunate, because you know how long an Easter egg hunt takes? About 2.5 minutes. And then all you've got left is an empty half of a plastic egg that someone else discarded. 

So here. This week left my brain with all the verbal power of a Slushee, so have some pictures of Rowan's Easter adventures instead.

::

Here's my girl on Saturday with Sparky the Fire Dog after the Easter egg "hunt" (AKA thank goodness we ran into friends whose son was preoccupied by the fire trucks long enough for his parents to sneak a few of his eggs into Rowan's basket). Her expression pretty much sums up the freezing, muddy morning:




Her Sunday was much better, considering the Easter Bunny came to both our house and Grandma's house. Plus, outfit on point, awww.







She is STOKED about the toys the Easter Bunny brought her - especially her magnifying glass and binoculars (courtesy of Grandma's UNREAL, amazing Easter basket).


Inspecting the pine cone collection she & Grandma
started in Grandma's backyard

Inspecting the kids' menu at Easter brunch


Keeping an eye out for the hoodlums that egged our
garage last week

She also loved the toys from the Easter basket J.J. and I put together for her. They're pretty random toys, but the Easter Bunny turned in a bunch of loose change at the grocery store recently in exchange for an Amazon voucher, and so the bunny bought some toys from Rowan's ongoing Amazon wish list, and then remembered that Easter was coming up soon so she just saved those toys for the basket. #winning



Pictured:

  •  CAT Mini Construction Trucks: I love these little construction trucks, and Rowan does, too. I ended up getting a five-pound bag of aquarium rocks to go with the trucks, and they're just the right size for scooping and dumping with the tiny trucks. (Also, they're accidentally the same color as my kitchen floor, which is great because y'all can't see the rocks scattered everywhere, but terrible because OUCH.)
  • 50 Counting Bears with Cups: These are little Montessori-inspired bears that are a great open-ended toy for preschoolers. They're perfect for counting, sorting, and imaginative play.





So, you know. This week was annoying, mostly, but it's almost over...so that has me like:



^^ Now if only this ridiculous child would stop playing around in her crib and go to sleep, because it's 9:20 p.m. and I just can't even with anything anymore.

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