We are prose.

emotions are spinning the negative winning insecurities weaving and i am believing.

Toyotally traveled and unraveled.

I don't know what is more exciting, the fact that I have a moment to myself (and am actually using it to blog) or that I remember my login info. Either way, score! Recently, I was reading my O mag and came across a Toyota ad. Actually I turned the page and thought I was still reading an article from O, since the content of the page was weighty and reflective and asserts that our attitude is what makes the journey worthwhile (wait, it's not the Camry?)The big wigs over at Toyota think I need to journal more so they gave me a list of questions and are eagerly and unknowingly awaiting my responses. I am to start writing about where my life is at this moment. About my life, work and relationships. Am I where I want to be? Absolutely I am where I want to be. Right now, in this chair, with my blankets and my cats, yes, yes, yes. Right now, with my toddler asleep (THANK GOD) in the other room, in his big room in our new house that was my grandparents house. This is where my life is, now, and where it was, then, growing up. How lucky is that? A home that was always home is now our home. It's a beautiful, comfy, cozy little life that I thank my husband often for helping me create. Create. Many hours of my stay at home mom (SAHM) life have been spent creating via crafting. Right after Maxwell was born I randomly started affixing vintage buttons onto bobby pins and doing craft shows. What a fun little journey and a very interesting avenue to be rolling down. Not only is it totally conducive to my very free-spirited, noncommittal attitude toward "work," but I have met great people, learned lots and seen some cool shit along the way. A few crafter gals and myself have also started our own craft show, starting this weekend! I'm totally enthralled with all of the planning and soliciting vendors and chatting with people about the importance of shopping local and about libraries (where we will hold our series of shows). I think this is probably one of those rare occasions where doing work doesn't feel like work. It's fun and a great outlet to get me out of mom-mode for a few minutes a day. Toyota is now asking me what my ideal life looks like. My guess is they want me to compare it to my statements above and in all honesty, it doesn't look much different. Sure, the rest of the siding on my house would be up, and the attic insulated…but the basics (husband, kiddo, cats) are all I need. If we are talking wants though…"Write about what makes you truly happy and the possibilities for your future." What TRULY makes me happy…and makes my heart sing unlike much else I have experienced is TRAVEL. Abroad is always my top choice but I will settle for pretty much anywhere. The last six years (save a trip to Canada) has been pretty much spent on American soil since the previous years had been spent elsewhere. I am grateful everyday I have seen cobblestone roads (in heels) of Switzerland, and windy roads with an Alp or two imposing a jagged skyline. I cherish that day I ventured by bus, to a chairlift that placed me atop the Alps only to take a train ride back down and catching a boat at the bottom. That day I witnessed all season in a day. Snowcapped peaks to melty waterfalls to a sunny cruise along the coast of Lucerne. I am thankful for the food in Italy and my god I know what you are thinking, it's not all about the food but I am here to tell you that the food is fucking great. But beyond that, I hold in my heart the times I spent with Travis in Italy. He bought me a beautiful pearl engagement ring in Milan. We wandered down narrow streets, aimlessly, slowly, hand in hand. There was simply nowhere else to be but there. Together. If I close my eyes, I can feel the warmth in my chest and in my cheeks of the syrupy-sweet Limoncello that we sipped outside of a cafe. The wrought iron table and chairs were wobbly but who gives a shit when you are sitting under quaint lampposts and your view is of an incredible cathedral. I close my eyes and see strings of lights decorating the outdoor tables, the beautiful foreigners drinking their vino and chatting and picking at delicious slabs of buffalo mozzarella and delicate slices of prosciutto. Church bells ring and everything in this country is purely magical. The tall, unencumbered grass of Giant's Causeway, the pattern and the folklore that lives within the rock and the Cliffs of Moher, words simply fall short. An experience that changes you and you aren't really sure how just that it has. Somehow. I'm in Ireland (in my mind) now. Dozens of bus trips to various spots along the east coast, with friends, with Travis. A goddamned Guinness. Places that aren't truly home, but feels like it for a while. That's what I love about travel. I could go into great detail of my love of Scotland and it's abandoned castles and its frigidly bitter winds. I could recount the tale of one of the longest and most memorable nights of my life in Barcelona, but I feel I've done so before. But what I keep meditating on, recently anyhow, is strolling along the canal in Amsterdam and soaking in the charming home fronts we've passed. Many are apartments, like brownstones, or very narrow and tall with a stoop. Some are ground level with a big picture window. I would wonder what it looked like inside or who lived there. Some had colorful doors, some had flower boxes, some had a cat, many had a bike or two chained up outside. What was daily life like for an Amsterdamian? Now that I've more than elaborated on what gives me the greatest joy, Toyota says I need to meditate on my hopes for the future. I hope to travel. Duh. I'm urged now to create an 'attitude of gratitude' and this not the first (or last if I continue reading O) time I've heard/read this notion. I must admit I have an extremely hard time with remaining focused on the positive when shit hits the fan. And as a regular spaz, shit hits the fan often. My focus innately (I've come to believe) shifts to the negative and quickly spirals into doom. I no longer wonder WHY ME! WHY DO I GIVE FUCKS?! because I now know this is how I am. Not WHO I am, but simply my go-to method of dealing or not dealing with whatever crud is happening. My graciousness factor is nil for the most part. I'm cynical and angry and resentful in general, which can be incredibly tiring and which is why little writing exercises and meditations such as this can help me keep my misanthropic nature at bay. For like, a day. I am urged to take stock and to look how far I've come. Thanks, Toyota. No, really.

Bibbity Bobbity Who?

There are so many excuses out there (in my house, in my head) as to why I don't update this often, or write as much as I'd like. My main argument is generally "I have nothing to write about." This statement is far from true. Possibilities of topics to ruminate over are endless. I guess I feel I am trying to cater to imaginary readers' literary appetite when, in fact, a shit I do not give! At least that's what I will keep telling myself! This blog contains 500+ entries chronicling my life's last nine years. It's seen me change and grow as much as it has seen me stay the same. Though a tad less cynical these days and much more grateful, I am finally comfortable in my own (uncomfortable) shoes. That too has changed little. My closet shelves are still lined with shoeboxes, many of them high heels that aren't worn often enough... ...but who would expect a new mother to tread down a flight of icy Upstate NY steps in stilettos while gripping an infant carrier?! This isn't Sex and the City! This is Motherhood in Boonies! So my Steve Maddens turned into old slippers. And my party dresses into pajamas. This is some ass-backwards Cinderella shit. And I wouldn't wish for it to be any other way.

Trick or Treat! or Baby!

Oh and what a Happy New Year it is! Our little guy, Max, joined us on Halloween at 11:43 in the a.m. after a mostly uneventful 11 hours of labor. The most 'excitement' was that day...had my now routine sonograms, since I was experiencing intrauterine growth restriction and baby had only gained 2 ounces in 2 weeks. I was scheduled for induction on 11/1/12 at 38w1d. Although my midwife was certain I would not make it! The nursery hadn't even been primed or painted at this point, baby showers gifts and furniture were in a GIANT heap in the living room, most still with tags and packaging. Things had to be bought. And my butt hurt. The next 6 hours were a daze of dozing on and off, while Travis and our buddy painted the nursery and daddy-to-be headed off to work. I slept some more before heading out to Target and Babies R Us for some last minute purchases. Erin and I came home at 10 that night, opened all of the gifts to get them ready for washing, and began to FINALLY set up the nursery. Travis got home at midnight as Erin and I were debating the layout. After a busy evening and aching butt, I laid down at 12:30 and Travis sat on the floor near the bed and we chatted. I knew something felt funny. Wasn't sure if it was nerves or what. Do nerves feel like a gush of water? Apparently so! Travis nervously asked me if I needed anything while I phoned the midwife. He threw me a towel and I told him to go wash the tub. He did and hurried back and told me he had cleaned it before even asking 'Why?' I said "I don't know! You needed something to do!" We hopped in the car and made the late night drive, Travis gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, me eating the apple that he sliced for me before we left. The next seven hours, I drifted in and out of sleep again, and Travis passed out slumped over in a chair, hood on, head resting on my bed. I woke up to a cat face. She looked familiar. Oh, I had graduated with this cat. And it was Halloween. I hadn't progressed much so the dreadful dose of Pitocin was ordered. The next four hours found me in the WORST PAIN EVER. Every two minutes or so I begged for an Epi and a C-section, both things I swore I didn't want throughout my entire pregnancy. I had to wait until I was at least 4cm dilated before Epi could be administered. Around 11:30 the kitty cat Christina started to set up for it. Around 11:35 I thought my insides were falling out. Around 11:35 I screamed a scream I didn't know I even had in me. She told me it was time. The midwife didn't make it in time. She was across the street at the practice! Three small pushes was all it took. I screamed, not because it hurt, but because I WAS SO SCARED. Travis told me it was a boy, just how I dreamed it. I also dreamt early on that it was a cat...

Maxwell James, 5lbs 9oz, 19.5in long, 10/31/12.

Fall-ing.

Okay, okay. I guess an update is long overdue. No, I haven't forgotten my dear Eggie, I have just been...(insert excuses here). I could fill those ellipses with "busy" or "lazy" or "pregnant." Yes, it's true! Just a few more weeks and we will have a sweet little addition to our family. I'm unsure if Prudence and Mayfield are as excited as Travis and myself. It's been a great pregnancy thus far without many complaints. Until recently. I'm now full term and have been on bed rest for the last month. I had to give up my job at the library where I was working in the Children's Room. It was hard for me because that was the first job in a long while that I truly enjoyed. The patrons were unpredictable, the young ones were adorable and the 'tweens were unbearable but I thoroughly enjoyed attempting to reprimand them. Being in a position of working with children is something I never thought I'd be capable of. Then again, being in a position of having a child of my own is another thing I never thought I was capable of. I didn't grow up with many babies around. I was the baby. The first baby I held was my cousin when I was 12 years old. She lived miles away so I didn't see much of her as a young'n. Between my husband and I, we have never changed a diaper to this day. Growing up, especially during and after those "formative years," my reasoning for not wanting children was because I couldn't understand WHY a child should be brought into such a horrific world. A world of bullying, terrorism, unsettling political practices, mental illness and death...the list goes on. Now that I am typing this, I still see the validity of my arguments, but there are some factors that were left out due to my sheer lack of experience. Experience that came with age, wisdom that arrived with a newfound openness. I love my husband. And our house. And our life. Sure, there are still horrific things in this world...but there are great things too. Things I wasn't even open to therefore completely unaware of. And not blissfully unaware. I am blissfully aware now. I was previously miserably unaware of anything other than my pessimistic nature. Don't get me wrong, I am still very much a pessimist. And a worrier. And a whole mess of anxiety and nerves. Is the glass half empty? Not anymore. It's overflowing. But only when I allow myself to not worry about the spill.

Mastering the Art of the Remodel

It still enthralls me to step across my new bathroom/kitchen floor and hear no signs of a creak anywhere! It is solid as a rock! (And yes, I sang the last part). Just 6 LOOONG months before, the day after we signed the deed, I couldn't resist the urge to peel back the awful linoleum that was coming up behind the toilet. And that, my friends, is where it all began. You see, this laminate flooring was the last bit of flooring left all the way from the bathroom to the kitchen. All other traces were rotted away (PARTICLE BOARD WILL DO THAT!) and poor patch jobs along the way, left one big mess. Rip up the papers or continue ripping up the floors?? With my brother and dad leading the way, THANK GOD IF THERE IS A GOD, we replaced the old blue toidy and shower with pristine bisque. Painted the former Mildewy Blue to Liberty Park green, added espresso colored vanity with granite top, with matching mirror and medicine cabinet. A new window that actually opens and a tub that doesn't feel as if it's going to fall through the floor!

IN SPEAKING OF FALLING THROUGH FLOORS, AND ALSO THE GREATEST SEGUE EVER, we moved on to the kitchen after a solid 2.5 months of bathroom remodel. We all know the famous scene in The Money Pit where someone falls into a large hole. This is what ensued as we ripped up a floor and neglected to replace it immediately. Of course Travis knew we didn't have a floor, but it slipped his mind as he opened the door to the kitchen, like he's done countless times before, and stepped in without looking. He missed the balance-beam floor joist we've been tiptoeing along...and both legs would've been dangling in the neighbor's downstairs kitchen, if it wasn't for their cupboards and Tinker Bell Disney mug collection to break his fall. That is what some would call a 'memorable bruise.' I know I've had a memorable bruise, and I'm sure if you really want to know the story bad enough, you can just peruse the blog history and find it yourself.

Somehow we made it through; the months without a stove, of doing dishes in the bathtub, the week and a half without a toilet...and can you believe it we are still going at it! Up next is the living room, new wiring and new heat. Of course new paint, I am thinking of turquoise perhaps. But long before I see this turquoise I speak of. Our other half of the house is going to be renter-free so that we can fix 'er up...Tax return = new windows. There's a bedroom to completely gut, a bathroom that needs a ton of work and we can't forget those two holes in the kitchen ceiling screaming for a patch job! \

'Tis all for now. More to come.

Beverly June Rose Christian

Here's a list of a list of the things I like, this list is a list of things I like...

Really it's a list of the things my Grandma loved.

her 10 children and 15 grandchildren
a cup of coffee after dinner with my grandfather
the Kennedys
current events
letter-writing
Daniel O'Donnell
Monet
poetry
the McCall's Book of Etiquette
ham & potato salad
meeting new people
Chester's Flower Shop
any flowers at all

She's the most beautiful flower to me. Her beauty and her smile are unmatched. Though I know she'd be more than modest, always looking away from the camera...to me, her presence was simply a brilliant sunshine. Warm, radiant, calming and lovely.
I know our relationship has just changed now...I think about her everyday. I have an array of her collection. Some painted wood house cut-outs...the Library, the gazebo and Old Victorian ones I bought her. They sit on my bookshelf, next to McCall's Book of Etiquette and the Life Magazine from when Jackie Kennedy gave a tour of the White House. Next to the Viking Book of Poetry that I placed some fall leaves in, to find next season. Of course in my box of her things, there was also a few beautiful sets of boxed cards...ones with Parisian cafes and waterlilies...all in pretty boxes that decorated her room. My uncle saved every letter she's ever written him. One mentions how much I cried when I was a baby when she, my mom and I went on a drive to Cooperstown. Another reads of how distraught she was to hear of John Lennon's death. She was a mother and a friend, in the truest sense of each. And she was always so happy to see me every time I visited her, and even more elated if I was accompanied by my better half. I miss her presence beyond any of the words within my grasp.