all you've got to go on.

I don't have resolutions to share with you, or reflections or goals or plans.

All I've got is this:

If you take nothing else from 2015.

If you leave all you learned behind.

If you ignore the lessons patiently clobbering you, year after year after year.

If you don't believe the dreams hovering inside, outside, and around your heart.

At least remember this saying: Growing old is a privilege.

If you happen to be older than you were this time last year, and if you happen to have grown older alongside your family, your friends, your passions, your failures, your goals, your fears, your suffering, and your offerings? Recognize what a privilege this is. Maybe it's the only privilege you've got to go on right now.

Take it and run, baby.

This year taught me - in the best of ways, in the worst of ways - that you never know what you're gonna get, but that you have nothing to lose by choosing to look up. So, as I said last year: Happy New Year, and here's to looking up.

{from December 2014, age one}

{from today, age two}

::

{enjoying this content?

please consider donating to help keep this blog running!}

return of light, again and again and again.

Today marks the official Return of Light, the Winter Solstice. Me? I've been keeping extra busy this week, a questionably healthy (but super effective) method of avoiding thinking about my mom around Christmastime. Then again, how luxurious, to have even the potential for an idle mind. So - here's how I've been keeping busy, and, at the end, here's how I (and you and you and you) can return the light around the world.

:: I've been awake all hours of the night, thanks to pacifier weaning. I very nearly emailed my pediatrician to ask whether it was okay to renege on the whole process, especially after Rowan's four a.m. hysterical meltdown a few nights ago...but we're persevering. I think. Falling asleep at nap time seems to be fine (crossing my fingers), and falling asleep at bedtime is getting easier (after a bunch of rocky nights that involved me going up there roughly eleven trillion times for "one more" snuggle and kiss) - but she's back to waking up two or three times a night, à la infancy, and can't put herself back to sleep. Seeing that she demands my help instead of J.J.'s help almost one hundred percent of the time, I'm suuuuper tired.

:: Also tired because I keep staying up til almost midnight working on whatever random project of the day sparks my interest. The last few days, it's been watercolors. No, I don't know what's gotten into me, either, but I'm loving these. I tried a couple portraits, and those are my favorite so far! Hoping to do a whole slew of holiday-themed paintings tonight.

{Interested in a watercolor of your little cutie? Or of you?

Or a snarky phrase or quote? Well, I'm interested in painting one!

Leave a comment and let me know ~

or email me at gorgac1980 AT gmail DOT com!}

:: Want to know the difference between being in your twenties and being in your thirties? When I woke up one morning at age twenty-seven with severe shoulder pain, I tried to function with it for a couple days before booking an appointment with a specialist. What could possibly be wrong with my shoulder?! Giant tumor, probs. The doctor back then diagnosed it as bursitis, and predicted it would mostly fade (with the help of physical therapy) within a year or so. Nowadays, at the sassy age of thirty-five, chronic mild pain is just sort of part of the deal. My original bad shoulder ended up getting better during my pregnancy (ahem, five years after the pain started), but my other shoulder's heading downhill now. If I have the privilege of lying in bed for too long, I'm rewarded with a back flare-up. No wonder old people spend so much time talking about their aches and pains...they are a Big Deal. Even minor ones like mine.

:: Can we just talk about this Pacific Northwest winter we're having in southeastern Michigan? It's supposed to be sixty-two degrees tomorrow. SIXTY-TWO. Not 26. People are still harvesting Swiss chard and kale from their gardens. The grass is still green. The houses in my neighborhood are extra-decorated, probably because it's more pleasant to string lights from your gutters when your nose hairs don't freeze off the second you step outside. As much as I love a white Christmas, I'm always down for temps above sixty!

:: And hey! It may be springtime in Michigan, but Christmas, in case you weren't aware, is in two more days. I'm pretty sure I'm just about ready? I think? It's weird to not be stressed about presents and stuff, so I'm not sure if I'm actually on top of everything, or if I'm just forgetting, like, a whole side of the family or something. Don't get me wrong, I haven't wrapped a thing, I have dozens of chocolate ginger cookies to bake, and Santa still needs some stocking stuffers for J.J., but most of my tasks are checked off. Special thanks to Santa's Little Helper, AKA Amazon Prime, for making Christmas soooo much more manageable this year.

:: Someone needs to make a haircut appointment for me, please. I keep trying, but my schedule is only so flexible, and for some reason (SOME REASON) the cheap-o place I go is always booked. Okay, so I call in the morning to see if they have an appointment for that afternoon, and then they don't, and instead of planning ahead like a normal person, I just say I'll call back another day. Meanwhile, I need about seven inches of limp, lifeless hair chopped off. That's a lot of inches, all courtesy of laziness. And a severe aversion to hair stylist small talk (shhh, Stylist, haircuts are for quiet time, mmkay?).

:: In the last three days, I've eaten almost an entire pan of homemade mac and cheese with tofu-cheese sauce and cauliflower. I regret nothing.

:: It's slowly dawning on me that from now until next Monday, we have different morning and afternoon plans that require driving at least twenty minutes away. Every day. I pledge to do my best to be flexible with Rowan's schedule, but that's easier said than done when her nighttime sleep (or, more accurately, my nighttime sleep) is so messed up. May the force be with me, and also with you.

:: In case you're feeling uninspired, gloomy, lonely, and disconnected: How about connecting with a charitable organization that's making immediate, real-life impacts? Ask yourself these questions, courtesy of The Compassion Collective:

          "Should starving women be fed?
          Should homeless babies be sheltered?
          Should freezing men be warmed?
          Should drowning children be saved?"

Seriously, take four minutes and check out The Compassion Collective, an organization dedicated to sending tangible, specific support to aid refugees. The maximum donation you can make to them is $25, and those dollars literally mean the difference between life and death for your fellow humans. Those dollars buy socks, baby slings, sleeping bags, and coats. And the folks behind The Compassion Collective? Oh, only some of my personal heroes. Elizabeth Gilbert. Brené Brown. Cheryl Strayed. NBD.

This quote from their website is perfect for today, the Winter Solstice, the Return of Light:

"Compassion is humanity's North Star. It will always guide us out of the dark, back toward peace, hope and each other."

Happy Tuesday, happy Solstice, happy Return of Light.

::

{enjoying this content?

please consider donating to help keep this blog running!}

TBT to the 80s: So Many Santa's Laps.

My siblings and our families spent this past Sunday at my dad's house, decorating for Christmas. We scurried around like elves, unearthing box after box of twinkle lights and garlands (so. many. garlands). My older sister and little brother and I played a super-mature game of jump rope:

Me, catching mad air before getting tangled in the lights. For the record, this would
NOT have been allowed under my mom's supervision. (With good reason.)

Later, we had pizza, and I snuck away and found as many old Santa pictures as I could in our family photo albums. I might have to do a more thorough search soon, because these are PRICELESS. Enjoy!

1979: Just my two oldest sisters. I had to include this one because Carrie, my sister on the left, looks EXACTLY like her one-and-a-half-year-old son does today! It's eerie.

1982: Three years later, two more girls, and a booger in a Carrie.

1984: The first year with all five of us!

1985: Loving Carrie's glasses and Mari's balloon shirt in this one. Also, I totally remember the shirt Steve is wearing!

198???: The next two pictures are a source of debate among the five of us siblings. As I write this, we are still texting back and forth to determine which picture comes first, and what years they were each taken. I THINK the first one is 1986 and the next one is 1987. We've been using infallible logical principles such as "missing teeth," "presence of earrings," and "Steve could be anywhere from two years old to four years old" to determine the year of each picture, but we're still not sure. I'll have to check the originals next time I go back to my dad's house!

Also, a bonus pic from 1987 (or 1986, or maybe even 1988?), which I'm including because: Stacy's eyes (classic), Carrie cuddling Steve's hand (awww), and Stacy and Carrie's super-awesome filthy Keds, push-down socks, and tight-rolled jeans. Also, my outfit (coat with geometric designs, leggings, and puffy boots) looks straight outta 2015. #FashionGameOnPoint 

********************

And now, leaping through time to the present! You'd think the quality of Santa pictures would increase in the thirty years between my childhood photos and my child's photos, buuuut...not so much.

Rowan's first visit to Santa ended up taking about an hour longer than I'd anticipated, and I was still very new to juggling a breast milk pumping schedule and a teeny-tiny infant. By the time we finally made it to the front of the Santa line, she was overdue for a nap (read: cranky), my boobs were ready to explode, and I just wanted to get out of there. So, naturally, the photographer forgot to use a flash, and we got this crappy shot:

He offered to retake it, but we - I - needed to GO. I'm pretty sure I cried in the car on the way home. Ah, hormones.

The next year, we went with Carrie and her family. Rowan wouldn't go anywhere near the man in red, though, so I ended up holding her. It cracks me up that all three GorgEffen boys have the same facial expression here:

And then there's our picture from this year. Rowan shocked me by agreeing to sit next to Santa, but her little cousin Emmett was more weary. I love that my nephew Fin is so psyched this time around!

I made J.J. sneak a picture of Rowan after the photographer had officially finished, only because that's when Rowan finally decided she would sit on Santa's lap. His secret shot turned out pretty cute! I love her tentative little smile:

Hope you enjoyed this Christmas-themed trip down memory lane. And get hyped...because I found some other treasures while I was at my parents' house this weekend...perfect for some future Throwback to Hell features! Mwah ha ha ha haaaa...

::

{enjoying this content?

please consider donating to help keep this blog running!}

merry Christmas, I'm the worst.

Before we had children, J.J. and I never sent out a holiday card. I understand it's more of a thing these days for the hip millennial couples to don their skinny jeans, flannel shirts, puffball hats, and sweater-cuffed boots for a photo shoot that results in a delightfully neutral-yet-twinkly kissyface tableau, perfect for sharing in card form during the holiday season...but we did not partake in such events as youngsters. We didn't even have any cute pets to send out pictures of (no offense, Alex the Snake of Yore).

But then I popped out a baby, and she was real real cute, and Pinterest was real real tempting. Plus, my friend Tanya made us an irresistible stripey hat. (Check out her Etsy site; she can make ANYTHING.) And so we joined the masses in 2013 with our first holiday card.

In 2014, we upped the ante a little bit by adding more props (Christmas tree, ornaments, gift-wrapped box, and oh for Pete's sake, tiny pink suspenders). We actually had a lot of fun taking the pictures - Rowan most of all.

Aaaaand that brings us to this year.

I did a cute photo shoot. Props and all.

Rowan thought it was a jolly good time. We got some fun shots.

Buuuut.

We didn't actually order cards.

Oooooooops.

Here's Rowan's (holiday!) version of  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ :

Sorry, loved ones. Really, we meant to order cards, and we'd love to still, but it's just not happening this year. We still love you (and you and you and you!) and wish you the happiest season of all. Here is the sentiment expressed in our hearts, but missing from your mailbox:

You are also welcome to enjoy our #ParentingUnfiltered holiday newsletter that I spent so much time and energy on completed in under two minutes using this hilarious template from Plum Organics:

I feel a twinge of guilt every time I open another beautiful card showcasing my gorgeous friends and their gorgeous families...but hey, at least I'll have some good fodder for a New Year's resolution ("stop being a lazy assclown").

Merry merry!

::

{enjoying this content?

please consider donating to help keep this blog running!}