The Gutsy Mom

Monday Music Mojo: Crazy as Me, Standing in My Own Way

2012-02-06T11:43:00.002-05:00

Bronwen was up for hours upon hours last night with a deep, croupy cough. It was loud and painful-sounding. Once Bronwen settled, Jillson awoke and vomitted all over our bed, our floor, our bathroom, our toilet.

Today I am still in clothing that is unsuitable for public viewing. I wore it to the bus stop.

It is now nearing lunch time, still in said clothing, and I am preoccupied by embarrassing and small thoughts. Why am I not capable of accomplishing what others accomplish? When will I stop longing for more (of everything)?

I have so many good days that when I have a tricky one I feel totally off-kilter. Yes, I know I am exhausted. I know this not only because of last night's escapades, but also because I do not have enough energy to ward off those insidious thoughts which come creeping in whenever I let down my guard. I start doubting all of our choices. I start thinking the "what if it had been different" thoughts and I start comparing myself, my body, my thoughts, my skills, my kids, my very accomplishments, my husband, my "career," my house, my clothes, my everything to everyone else's.

Comparing is rarely helpful. It's like whining, masked by adult observations. (Amy Sorensen writes beautifully about this here.) I think it is fair to compare if you need to state what you want, as a means to clarify your goals, as a way to help you get up off your duff. But after that it's just annoying and destructive. I don't believe in whining or complaining unless you also take action to achieve what you want.

And I have no energy for the latter. Not today.

Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be back to my happy-go-lucky, enthusiastic, just-go-with-it self by tomorrow, or maybe as soon as this afternoon. No one needs to worry or talk me off a ledge. I know that my life is full of many things that are perfect for me. And I know that focusing on what I do have will distract me from my selfish longing for things I do not have.

I'm just having a day of doubts and wanting it to pass.

Now. Because it's Monday, I'm including some songs I've been listening to a lot of late. If you, too, are having a doubtful day, and need to cry it out, then this song is for you. Just remember, you've been warned. This song is gorgeous but sad.

I love this part:

I still love what I know

I love to ride alone

and sing a song

and listen to the radio

That's some therapy right there.

Alison Krauss, "Crazy as Me."

But because, even on a bad day, I cannot walk away without leaving at least a little shred of optimism behind (you know me), I have another song for you. This is an old standby which always helps me get up, get over myself, and carry on. Many of you know this song thanks to Susan Werner, whose performance of it was my battle cry all through college and grad school. (I'm almost certain I've posted this song to the blog before.) Below you can hear the original artist, Dana Cooper, perform his amazing song.

Dana Cooper, "Standing in My Own Way"

I love this part:

Here am I

Questioning where, how, why

Watching my life roll by

I don't want to blow it

EXACTLY.

And that's it. I need to get back to blogging more. I feel so much better already.

One very good thing today: Bronwen's head smells like rosemary focaccia bread. I have no idea how or why this is happening, but the aroma verges on divine. It's all there: the rosemary, the sea salt, the olive oil. (Did someone sneak into my house and rub her head with an Aveda product?) The whole time I have been typing this (standing at the kitchen counter, pretending I am doing house chores), I have been wearing her on my front, leaning in every few sentences to inhale deeply. Aromatherapy; brought to me courtesy of my daughter's magic scalp.

Love,

the GM

Roly Poly!

2012-01-23T14:19:00.000-05:00

Look who learned to roll herself over this weekend! I put her on her back on the floor, turned around, and when I looked back she was almost all the way over to her tummy (just with one arm pinned underneath). By the time I got my phone to try to take a picture, she had done it. (See triumphant photo above.)

And then she wouldn't stop. Here are a few more shots from her practice rolling session.

Since Jillson didn't roll over until she was 6 months old (and I think Madelyn was similar), I wasn't expecting this so soon from Bronwen. What amazed me is that she nailed it so quickly. I remember her big sisters practicing flinging their legs around and getting frustrated for days and weeks at a time. But Bronwen, she did it once, looked around, and started rolling all the heck over the place. Go, baby, go!

It's a long video, but worth it for anyone obsessed with baby development. (Okay, that would be me and my mother.) The video was shot only a few minutes after she had taught herself to roll over for the very first time. I love her!

Cocktail of the Month: Pina Colada

2012-01-18T14:12:00.001-05:00

If you think last month's cocktail sounded too complicated to try (it really isn't!), then you will love this one. No rocket science here, nor no recreation of the wheel. Just simple yumminess.

There are only three things in a proper pina colada: rum, coconut, and pineapple.

Most recipes favor pineapple juice, but I find this too sweet. I decided to use pureed, fresh pineapple and loved the result. (I did not strain the puree, so technically this is a pina non colada, or something like that.)

For the coconut, you are looking for "cream of coconut." Not coconut juice or coconut milk or coconut cream. Rather than scouring the Thai or Indian or Ethnic aisle of your grocery store, head to the "mixers" section instead, where the margarita mixes and such are. There you should find several cream of coconut options, none of which (I am sorry to say) are low-cal or low-fat. At least fat derived from coconuts is a relatively healthy fat... But I digress. I opted for a brand with a squeeze bottle so that storing leftovers would be easy. (It is.)

I've used both dark rum and golden rum recently. I'm sure light rum would also be just smashing.

Finally, I did use my margarita blender for these, which is a fancy blender that first shaves the ice before blending it in with whatever you have in your blender. I highly recommend shaved ice for a pina colada, but if you don't have a way to shave your ice, you can easily use a regular blender, or even just shake your ingredients and serve on the rocks. The cocktail is so yummy that you needn't hold back on trying it due to lack of shaved ice.

Pina Colada

Makes 1 large serving

1 cup fresh pineapple, finely diced

2 oz. cream of coconut

1.5 oz. rum

Place the pineapple, cream of coconut, and rum in the blender. Fill the hopper on your ice shaver with ice, make sure your settings are for one serving, and let 'er rip. (If you are using a standard blender, my guess is that you would be need about 1 cup of ice. You might need to play with it to get the correct proportions.)

Can easily be made virgin style (which I did for Madelyn and Jillson) simply by substituting something else for the rum. Any juice or water would be fine; I happened to use milk. Jillson loved it; Madelyn prefers her fresh pineapple unadulterated.

I think pina coladas are a great choice for the dead of winter, providing a sweet, little, tropical escape in a glass. Ahhhhhhhh!

Four Months

2012-01-13T14:39:00.000-05:00

Check out Little Miss Personality up there. Can you believe it? Here I am with my monthly photo shoot pics for Bronwen Eliza. Never mind that I feel as though I only just posted her three-month photos yesterday. Time is flying!

I've been working on a scrapbook layout that has three pictures of me on it (bear with me, there is a point here): one when I was 15, one when I was 25, and one when I was (am) 35. This last picture, taken in the hospital when Bronwen was born, looks like it was four years ago to me and also just four days ago. Time is a wacky, wacky thing.

The part of me that feels that hospital photo was taken only four days ago barely can grasp how quickly our babies grow and change and become something totally different from what they were only a few months ago. It was just a few days ago (right?) that I was holding her, teeny weeny, in my arms. When she did nothing but nurse and snooze.

Now, suddenly, she has personality.

As I sit here at my desk typing up this post, Bronwen is on the floor of our bedroom, lying on the "baby gym" mat, the same one her sisters used. She is telling a puffy fabric rainbow and a jinglebelled sunshine thingy just who is in charge. She is rolling around. (This is reminding me that earlier this week I laughed hard when I heard, from the other room, the Gutsy Dad say to Bronwen, "That's right, baby, you kick that flower's ass!" Thankfully no big sisters were around to repeat that one.) But she does love to bat at her toys with her hands and feet. She fingers the crinkly ones in deep concentration. And she loves to growl at them.

She responds to her name and grins in delight when you look at her. She weighs 13 pounds and 13.5 ounces, so she has not yet doubled her birthweight. Close, though.

Couldn't resist including this one. Love that belly.

I wish you a wonderful weekend,

Love,

The baby-besotted Gutsy Mom

Take Twelve

2012-01-12T21:09:00.000-05:00

1. Buddha baby

2. A new journal

3. Zephyr can't be bothered

4. Thank you note time

5. Coffee break

6. Dinner recipes

7. Blog reading

8. Ignoring small messes

9. Happy place

10. Tilly can't be bothered

11. Another unusual nap

12. Worried her playdate might be cancelled

The Job Offer

2012-01-08T21:45:00.001-05:00

Last week, I was offered a job.

There I was, flitting back and forth between making dinner and setting the kids up with crayons and paper, doing dishes, feeding the dogs, and putting Christmas decorations away, when d-d-ding! a new email made itself known in my inbox.

The email was the job offer.

I will not lie: I immediately felt awesome. Someone wants to make use of my skills and my brain and my talents and my time and they want to pay me for it! No longer shall I be a mere scullery maid/chauffeur/disciplinarian/butt-wiper! I almost told the kids right then and there (but they wouldn't get it), called my parents, emailed the friends & colleagues who acted as references and cheerleaders during the job application process. But I didn’t. Though I wanted to share the news right away, I just cracked a smile and returned to my maid, I mean, maternal duties. I decided to tell my husband first. (Which I did, once we finally got a moment to ourselves. He was appropriately psyched, delighted, congratulatory.)

While I was waiting for him to come home, I continued my everyday chores feeling slightly more awesome by the minute. It has been five and a half years since I have worked (for compensation), but apparently I'm still desirable. I've still "got it." Go me!

Nevertheless, that feeling of bad-assery (to borrow a phrase) lasted, at max, about fifteen minutes, after which Bronwen stirred from her nap. When I went to her, she stared at me--a concentrated stare--and grinned. My heart soared and then it melted. It practically floated with happiness. And then, with little warning, my heart felt heavy, really heavy, as though it were soaked through with emotion beyond its saturation point and bearing many times its own weight. It was all I could do not to start bawling. (But the kids wouldn't get that either.)

Here’s why. In order to do this job, which (as you will see) is pretty much ideally suited for me at this point in my life and stage of motherhood, I will need to attend training for it. The training is in Texas and lasts four days.

Bronwen won't be tagging along.

Listen. I know I will go to this training, and I know I will be fine. The kids will be fine. Whatever craziness I need to accomplish between now and then (warehousing the breastmilk) and whatever craziness I need to endure while I am there (pumping and dumping eight times a day), I know I can do it.

The rational, educated, feminist, gutsy part of me knows all this.

During story time last night, the Gutsy Dad read to the big girls, while I nursed and rocked Bronwen. This is often how it is in the evenings, and these full-family times at the closing of the day are precious to me always, but especially last night. I admit that I stayed and rocked Bronwen long after her big sisters had gone to bed and long after Bronwen too had fallen asleep, not wanting to let go until absolutely necessary.

Each of us moms has to figure out the right balance between work and home, both in terms of what our ideal parenting plan is and in terms of what makes sense or is feasible for our families financially. I know plenty of parents who work part or full time only weeks after their kids are born and they all (parents and kids alike) turn out fine. I know this first hand.

I also know I am extremely fortunate that I have not had to go back to work sooner than this. And I know that getting back to a state of employment will be very, very good for me.

Further, I have no problem arranging childcare for Bronwen and whomever else needs it when I am here in town and will be working.

But I am dreading those four days away. Sounds silly I know, but I just cannot imagine being away from them at night, not coming home to them. The first time I spent a night away from Jillson was when Madelyn was born. The first time I spent the night away from Madelyn was when Bronwen was born. And that’s it, folks. This is part of the reason I must write this, I suppose--to work it all out--to talk myself into a place of acceptance regarding the mini business trip I will be taking.

Feel free to roll your eyes.

Heck, maybe a few nights away from the kids would do me good. Maybe a few nights away from me would do the kids good. Maybe it would. But sweet Bronwen? Even her?

Oh, man.

Then there’s this. I've been thinking this, too:

How in the hell does my husband ever survive his RLBTs, when I cannot even fathom four days?

Ah, it is just that my heart hurts thinking about being away from the kids, mostly Bronwen, for that long a time. Not because I think I can't do it, but because I think it signifies--in my heart--a breaking away from my kids. A breaking away from this time of pure motherhood.

What’s a soon-to-be working part time mom to do? Figure it out and move on.

Be gutsy. Feel the part in your heart that is breaking, and do it anyway.

This New Glimpse

2012-01-04T22:33:00.000-05:00

You Reading This, Be Ready

Starting here, what do you want to remember?

How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?

What scent of old wood hovers, what softened

sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world

than the breathing respect that you carry

wherever you go right now? Are you waiting

for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this

new glimpse that you found; carry into evening

all that you want from this day. This interval you spent

reading or hearing this, keep it for life --

What can anyone give you greater than now,

starting, right in this room, when you turn around?

-- William Stafford

Move More Eat Well 2012

2012-01-03T21:09:00.000-05:00

I've been spending little bits of free time in the past few days setting up the crafty side of some of my 2012 projects.

Here's a look at the notebook I'll be using for my Move More Eat Well class.

Album cover:

Album spine:

Here's what the inside cover looks like. On the left I've got a tarted-up version of the first five weeks of my training plan for easy access. (After these five weeks are up, I can "archive" the schedule in a page protector in the notebook, and a new schedule will go on the inside cover.)

Here's a close-up of the first five weeks of my training plan. Underneath it is the schedule for my YMCA and the full Hal Higdon training plan off of which I've based my own schedule.

Title page:

I've already made two more spreads in this album, but they are not ready for sharing. Well, the pages are ready for sharing, but I am not ready to share them.

School starts again tomorrow, so I can begin to return to my regular routines. We've had just enough vacation, and I feel refreshed and ready to get back to "normal."

Fitness & Fun Projects for 2012

2011-12-31T08:19:00.059-05:00

FITNESS

You didn't think I'd contemplate the new year without addressing this topic, did you?

Of course I have fitness plans. Very specific ones. The final kid has been grown and birthed and is now happily nursing away. I'm ready to whip this body back into shape once and for all and keep it there. I've been thinking back to the fittest times in my life, and I know what I need to do to get back there again.

1) The shedding of pounds. It's time to get realistic in this area. At least 20 need to go. Up to 35 could go, frankly. I'd settle for anything in that range. Yes, my friends, it's Weight Watchers time again. I almost hate to do it (I am better than that), but it's a necessary evil. Once the weight is gone, I will focus on a more realistic way of eating. But, truly, as far as eating plans go, WW can be done in a super-healthy, super-sustainable way.

2) Remember how buff and strong I was thanks to all those Body Pump classes I took before we moved from Kansas to Georgia? Yeah. I miss those muscles. I miss being freakishly strong. I need to work more strength and core training back into my routine.

3) I am dying, DYING to run the Rock N Roll Half Marathon here in Savannah in November 2012. This is a totally achievable goal. I can't wait to sit down with a calendar and my Hal Higdon training schedule and map it all out. I'm thinking the Army 10-miler might work in as a perfect long run? Having run a 5K on Thanksgiving morning, I've got my sights set on running a 10K as my immediate goal... can't wait to pick and choose and plan and schedule and TRAIN!

4) To help me through all this, I will be playing along with Cathy Zielske's Move More Eat Well class. Can't wait for tomorrow!

FUN

1) At the request of the Gutsy Dad, I will be committing to a full year of Cocktails of the Month. We've enjoyed this sporadically, and now it's time to get serious! Plus, my husband secretly loves chick drinks, I mean cocktails, so you can be sure the monthly choosing and testing will be a couple's endeavor.

2) Date night! Around the first of the month, each month, the Gutsy Dad and I are going to look over our calendars and pick a night. We've done this the last two months and it has made such a difference to have at least one night without the kiddos. It helps that we have several great babysitter options: my parents and a neighborhood family with 4 awesome teenagers.

LASTLY

I did it! My very own "December Daily." I posted something here every day this month. I didn't want to say it was my goal to do so--didn't want to jinx it--just wanted to do it. And I did! This bodes well for my laundry list of 2012 projects, no?

Love,

The GM

Letters with Madelyn

2011-12-30T20:51:00.000-05:00

Since I'll have the one-on-one reading going on with Jillson in 2012, I figured I better set up something to do with Madelyn.

This wasn't hard to figure out.

Recently I have been following Karen Grunberg's blog. She is an amazing woman on many levels (her position with Google Chrome, for example, or her art therapy initiative, or the careful way she blends traditions from her Turkish upbringing with her current family's traditions, just for starters). But one thing that astounds me about her is the way she seems to make a plan (many, many plans, actually) and stick to it. And she documents it. And shares it. She has so many things going on at once. I'd love to see her calendar.

In short, she is an inspiration.

So. In addition to stealing the "Us Right Now" idea from her, I will be stealing her "Letters with Nathaniel" project idea. I won't go into all the details here (you can read about it on Karen's site), but basically we will be focusing on a letter a week (or every two weeks).

I think we'll eat foods that start with the letter, think of songs with the letter, do art projects with the letter, and--naturally--make a book about it: Madelyn's Big Book of Letters. Or Madelyn's Alphabet.

When I ran the idea by Madelyn, she was ecstatic. She said "Oh, Mommy! Oh, Mommy, YES! I LOVE letters. Can we do M? Can we please do M? I LOVE M."

I guess we'll start with M!

Anyway. We'll see how it goes. Karen's site has links to many other sites with game and craft and food ideas for the chosen letter, so I won't have to dig too far for ideas. I'm not sure what sort of notebook we'll use to collect our projects, but I will just figure that out as we go along.

Can't wait!

THREE!

2011-12-29T22:16:00.000-05:00

Today, my sweet Maddie James turned three. THREE! I can't believe it.

(Today, also, my sweet husband had three surgical procedures done in his nose and sinus area, so we celebrated Madelyn's birthday yesterday.)

All she wanted was to invite a few neighbors over and to offer them cake and ice cream and--her favorite--candy canes. So that's exactly what we did.

Simple set-up:

Store-bought cake (as I was not about to try to produce the much-desired "Dora Fairy Princess" cake). Miraculously, Publix has no problem with this task. As it turned out, this cake was pretty darn tasty.

We did save a few birthday traditions for the "real" day. Madelyn got to use the red "You Are Special Today" plate all day with the birthday train, of course. She spent most of the day with Meme and Kiki and her sisters playing with her new toys, while the Gutsy Dad and I hung out at the hospital.

Time (like an ever-rolling stream) certainly has born these three years away rather swiftly. The magical birth experience we had in Germany seems like it occurred just the other day, and yet it feels like something out of ancient history, a different world, a completely different era as well. But it just happened. The crazy paradox of time in a mother's memory.

Sigh.

Three years ago today in Germany, our little hedgehog was born:

Two years ago today in Kansas, she turned one:

One year ago today in Kansas, she turned two:

And now, oh my word, she is THREE.

2012 Creative Projects

2011-12-28T22:35:00.000-05:00

The new year is almost here, and I am getting pretty excited to embark on some year-long projects I have planned to fuel my creative spirit.

1. Take Twelve. I will be taking 12 pictures on the 12th of the month, for each of the 12 months of 2012. Each month I will make a two-page spread with that month's 12 photos. (And yes, each page will measure 12x12.) I will be using the Take Twelve Guided Inspiration Kit from Ella Publishing to facilitate this project.

2. I will also be participating in Twelve, the new workshop from Stacy Julian over at Big Picture Classes. I am not exactly sure what will be happening in this workshop, but I've learned to just trust Stacy, follow her process, and bask in the resultant joy she inspires. I've made this bin with twelve dividers per her pre-class instructions. Can't wait to learn more about what we'll do with it.

3. Next. I'd like to take a family photo -- all 5 of us -- once a week a la Karen Grunberg's Us Right Now project. I may or may not be turning these into a simple photo album, or a slightly gussied up photo album (i.e. mini book). This will be the first year (of many, many, many I hope) in which we will be our full family of five. I think these would be fun to flip back through at the end of the year, with or without commentary, to see what we looked like once a week for 52 weeks. I think the key to success here will be setting up a photo-taking routine that is simple and quick. Karen appears to just sit at the kitchen table with a remote control on her camera. I'm thinking Sundays would be a good day for us...

4. I'm on the fence about what to do with my One Little Word for 2012. I am not ready to give up my word from 2011. I might just keep it for 2012, too. Then again, I might choose a new word. I am not certain whether I will make any pages or projects about my word this year. I loved what I started to create last year with my OLW. Perhaps I should just continue with that... Or I might just let it be my mental talisman. Hmph.

That's it and that's enough. I've got a few more plans in the works for 2012, but these are the ones related to creativity and/or memory keeping. If I am able to keep up with any of these projects, you can be sure I'll share the results with you here.

Christmas Recap in Pictures

2011-12-27T22:52:00.000-05:00

It has been a lovely, lovely few days. I feel so fortunate to report that our holiday together--as a couple, as parents, as a family, as an extended family--has been everything I hoped it would be.

From soup to nuts.

But we can hardly declare the holidays over. With Madelyn's birthday, Mom's birthday, and New Year's Eve all coming up within the week, we are barely pausing. So in the midst of it all, I offer these pictorial highlights.

(Click any photo to see it larger.)

Reading with Jillson

2011-12-26T10:00:00.060-05:00

In addition to my own reading plans for 2012, I am cooking up a reading plan for Jillson and me.

For a while now I've been worried that Jillson is missing out on one-on-one reading time with her parents, since we combine story time for the girls at bedtime. I love our bedtime routine and don't want to mess with it, so if I want to read aloud with Jillson it has to happen at another time.

But when? Monday through Friday she gets home at 4pm. She is exhausted from school, and it is not as though I can ask Madelyn to take care of Bronwen while I have one-on-one time with Jills. More often than not the time between Jillson coming home and dinner time slips away in the blink of an eye: snack time, going through the back pack, a little horsing around, and then it's time to start dinner.

Soooo... we will be carving out some time on the weekends during which we can escape into a good book together. We're starting of course with Little House.

I'm a little worried whether we'll be able to sustain the plot of a book from week to week, so maybe we'll sneak in a mid-week read here and there. We'll have to see.

We're getting a head start right now over Christmas vacation. The other day, I had the Gutsy Dad dig out a box of books from my childhood that we have been hauling around with us for ten years. (I cannot tell you how satisfying it is to finally be justifying that haul. And how lovely and comforting it is for me to see and touch and hold and smell the very books I loved as a child, that my mother held and read to me, too.)

As soon as we opened the box, Jillson saw the Little House books, snatched them up and--I kid you not--said "Oh, Mommy, Mommy, can you read this to me?" Be still my beating heart.

We've been reading a chapter a day since then, each time at Jillson's request. I love it. I absolutely love reading with her. I love the way she stares off into space and I can tell by her eyes that she is imagining it all. I love hearing the stories again myself. And I really love Garth Williams's illustrations. Man, am I in dork heaven or what?

I think that after we finish this first book we may start a notebook together. (Okay, we can call it a scrapbook.) We might just write down the title and a few sentences about how we each felt about the book. Maybe draw some pictures? We'll have to see. Oh, the possibilities...

(Don't worry, I've got a plan for some one-on-one time with Madelyn, too.)

Merry Christmas, Y'all!

2011-12-25T08:00:00.033-05:00

I wish you all a holy and merry Christmas.

May you be surrounded by those you love, beautiful music, and good cheer.

May you savor every moment you have together.

And--of course!--may your days be merry and bright.

Love, the GM

Cocktail of the Month: Cranberry-Lime Gin & Tonics

2011-12-24T03:45:00.003-05:00

The kids have been out of school for a week. The presents are wrapped, the excitement level is ramping up, and we even survived yesterday's Christmas Pageant dress rehearsal and birthday party for Jesus. Awww yeah, baby. It's definitely cocktail time.

You may recall that the Gutsy Dad and I are both fans of the good ol' G&T. Along with Pimm's Punch, it's our summertime quaff of choice. So it will come as no surprise that while I was surfing around looking for something to do with leftover cranberries, I became pretty excited when I found this recipe.

Pressing the cranberries through a sieve takes a few minutes, but it is so worth it. Don't let the preparation of the cranberries deter you from trying this recipe. You can do it, and you'll thank me later.

I halved this recipe since there were only two of us to enjoy it, and it made enough for each of us to have 2, almost 3 drinks. They were so yummy that we found this task to be a pleasure. If you are making these for 4 or more peeps, then I would definitely go with the full recipe, as below.

Cranberry-Lime Gin & Tonics

(adapted slightly from the original recipe, found here.)

makes 10 drinks

2 (12 oz) bags of fresh cranberries

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup water

3 1/3 cups chilled tonic water

1 1/4 cups gin

3 tbsp plus 1 tsp fresh lime juice

Bring cranberries, sugar, and water, to a simmer in a large saucepan. Simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the berries pop and the syrup begins to thicken slightly, about 5 minutes. Drain the cranberries through a fine-mesh sieve set over a 1-quart glass measuring cup (or a glass bowl), collecting the syrup in the glass. Working in batches, force the berries through the sieve into the syrup. (I used a full jar of jam to smoosh the berries through the sieve. You'll basically be left with the skins in the sieve, and a thick, gorgeously red, puree-like cranberry goop gathering in your glass below.) Toss the skins.

Transfer the strained cranberry goodness to a pitcher and chill until cold. (I stuck mine in the freezer for 20 minutes or so. The original recipe recommends allowing it to cool in the fridge for 2 hours. I was not willing to wait that long, but you could easily prep the cranberry goop in the morning and then just stick it in the fridge 'til you're ready to use it that evening. Juice your limes while you're at it, then all your "work" is done.) Anyway.

When it is cocktail time, add the remaining ingredients (lime juice, gin, tonic--I used diet) to the syrup in your pitcher, stirring gently. Rim glasses with sugar (dip first in water, then in sugar to get it to stick), and add a slice of lime for a festive garnish if desired. Pour cocktails in, and enjoy!

These would also be pretty over ice in a tall Tom Collins glass or such.

I'm also guessing these would be delicious as a non-alcoholic treat. Simply omit the gin and, if you don't care for tonic water, use sprite or ginger ale.

(Can you see who was helping me stage the photo? The girls are obsessed with the bowl of ornaments.)

Not Exactly the Sugar Plum Fairy

2011-12-23T06:02:00.001-05:00

I have got to get this kid signed up for ballet or gymnastics or something in the new year. She is so physical, so active.

She is a maniac with the monkey moves (swinging on and off things, climbing, balancing) and prefers to wear a leotard and rehearsal skirt every single day.

She learns real ballet moves and terminology from YouTube ballet videos on the iPad and from Angelina Ballerina on TV.

She loves to make up her own moves. She gives incomprehensible "French" names to her moves and then tells us what they are in English, such as the "cat step" featured below.

Reading in 2012

2011-12-22T07:39:00.001-05:00

This is always an incredibly exciting time of year for me, the time when January is in sight and I begin planning projects and goals for the new year. I love the process of it, the anticipation, the figuring out how it all will work. Let's be clear: these are not resolutions, they are plans. I like to bite off just enough to feel motivated.

I plan to read more in 2012. That is, I plan to read more intentionally. I recently stumbled upon Jim Trelease's advice on reading with your children in which he says "Don't continue reading a book once it is obvious that it was a poor choice." Preach it, brother.

I don't think I wasted much time reading duds in 2011, but I also think I didn't spend enough time consciously choosing delicious books. There are so many plums to be picked. Let's not fritter our reading time away on poor choices, or out of a sense of obligation that a book, once started, must be finished. Life's too short. Let's purposely pick the juiciest plums.

To this end, I would like to make 2012 the Year of the Classics. There are so many I have never read, especially ones that people assume I have read given my background. There are even ones that I assume I have read, because I talk about them as though I have.

So. I'm compiling a list. A list of good books, good-for-me books, classics I shouldn't skip over. I'd like to populate the list with 20 or 30 books, then pick one a month in 2012. If I read more than that, hooray for me (and the books). But I think given my current at-home constituency, one "real" book a month is a fair goal, especially when we know it will happen in addition to my usual lighter reading.

I'm starting my list of books to read. (See below; you'll notice I interpret the word classic fairly loosely.) And this is where I need your help. Can you help me compile my list? What classics do you love so much that you can't imagine a life without having read them?

I can't wait to hear from you, here or otherwise!

Love,

The GM

My Plum Tree for 2012

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

Moby Dick by Herman Melville

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt

Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

Father & Daughter

2011-12-21T15:12:00.000-05:00

"I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a golden retriever..."

Nothing more than this picture and this song needed to bliss out to today.

Family Time

2011-12-20T19:42:00.001-05:00

We are enjoying a few days of family time, what with the Gutsy Dad home on vacation. We don't have a lot of plans, just enjoying each other's company. And sleep ins!

I am trying to relieve myself of the pressure of feeling we should be "doing something" with this time. I am trying to just "go with the flow," which Jillson informs me means: "don't worry about stuff, Mom."

Speaking of the kiddos, Madelyn recently informed me that the Baby Jesus loved nutella and that is why I should give her some nutella for breakfast. When I told her no, she told me the Baby Jesus was sad at me about that. Way to bring out the big guns, kid. But still, no nutella for you.

That is all for today. I need to hurry off to do nothing with my family.

Don't Say Anything to Yourself

2011-12-19T18:37:00.001-05:00

I've been beating myself up lately. Maybe you know how it is. Do you mutter epithets at yourself when you do something silly? How about when you feel like you dropped the ball? Or let someone down? How about when you can't stop yourself from eating eight cookies in one sitting?

Lately I've noticed that I don't speak very kindly to myself (in my head).

Trust me, I recognize that there is a place in this world for "being real" with yourself. I don't think there's a place for sugar-coating in self-talk. I know, for example, that the reason I cannot fit into my smaller pants is that I ate eight cookies in one sitting. On multiple occasions.

But I've been catching myself (in my head) being much meaner. (You ate the cookies because you are a fat, useless moron with no self-control or sense of dignity.) It's been making me feel pretty bad about myself.

And I will tell you this. Eventually, if you beat yourself up too much it makes you really grumpy because you start to believe all those things you say. You start saying them out loud about yourself. In front of others. This makes other people miserable, too.

So today, while I was reading about running, I came along this fabulous quotation:

"Don't say anything to yourself that you wouldn't say to a friend."

Would I tell my friend that she has a fat ass? Never! Would I suggest that the reason she can't control herself around food is that she is a worthless being who has lost her way? Um, no.

I might, instead, kindly suggest that she walk away from the cookies. I might remember to compliment her efforts when she actually takes action to counteract that growing arse of hers. I might offer to meet her at the gym. I might remind her that while some people get into pre-preggo clothes 2 weeks post-partum, for her, it really is quite something that she was able to don her non-maternity jeans today, 3 months post-partum. (No need to beat yourself up that you couldn't do it sooner.)

Seriously. Why would I ever want to treat myself worse than I treat my friends?

So starting now, and of course for the new year (for which I have about 7 million ideas brewing), one resolution is:

I will speak more kindly to myself.

Decor That Means More

2011-12-18T08:15:00.090-05:00

I love decorating for Christmas. I love coming home to a decorated home, and I love being surrounded by things that hold such happy memories for me. The Gutsy Dad and I have collected our holiday decor slowly and intentionally. Almost everything we put up for the season holds special meaning for us. This makes decorating a real pleasure instead of a chore.

Take this wreath for example:

I got that wreath at the German grocery store (the Edeka) while we lived there. I miss the random home goods that come and go in German markets. You pop in for some milk and come out with a Christmas wreath, a raincoat for your 3-year-old, and a new technical-fabric running shirt for yourself. Surprise! All for cheap.

These angel "jingle bells" (as the kids call them) are also from our time in Germany, purchased at one of the amazing Weihnachtsmarkts. (I need to reattach the bells on the bottom right.) When I hear these bells, I think of Christmas in Bavaria, of Gluhwein and Kartoffelpuffer and delicate ornaments made out of straw and red thread.

This mini quilt makes me smile every time I see it. It was a gift from the mother of a student who attended one of the schools at which I once worked. It reminds me that I was good at my job, that what I did there at that school mattered to at least one family.

The mantle is an extremely cheerful place in our home. The stockings are a family tradition. Mine was knitted by my Nana (my dad's mom), and the others have been knitted from the same pattern by my mother as people have joined the family. (The dogs' stockings are mail-ordered needlepoint.) When we were putting up the hooks, Madelyn and Jillson were concerned that Meme might have forgotten that Bronwen did not yet have a stocking. Wouldn't you know that Bronwen's stocking appeared yesterday while the Gutsy Dad and I were out on our date. Meme never forgets.

Display of photos of Christmases past:

In a meta-decor moment, I'd like to point out that the garland behind the photos on the shelf appears in many of the photos. (The garland is from our time in Gig Harbor and was assembled thanks to our proximity to IKEA.)

More decor pieces from the German grocery store. These make me smile while I do the dishes:

Christmas Fever

2011-12-17T20:08:00.000-05:00

Jillson came home from school yesterday and immediately started to run a fever. She seemed better this morning (just long enough for us to make it to Girl Scouts), and then the fever returned. She was pretty pathetic all day long: resting her head on the table during craft time at Girl Scouts, snoozing briefly on the couch before dinner.

Madelyn, too, was a bit off. Changing from ballet clothes to dogwalk clothes resulted in a full meltdown. She then fell asleep in the stroller during the walk and was a total mess when we woke her for dinner. To top it all off, we couldn't find pink bun-bun before bedtime.

Bronwen, not to be outdone, let 'er rip with some hysterical, inconsolable crying during dinner time. And this kid can reach a decibel level that is not to be believed.

I'm thinking it's a good thing we have a whole week to rest up before Christmas gets here.

Two Great Dates

2011-12-16T22:50:00.000-05:00

Today I got to enjoy one-on-one dates with two of the people I love most of all.

First, I attended Jillson's holiday party at her school. This was a highly anticipated event. She was up at 5:50am, asking if I could help her with the buttons on the back of her nightie so she could put on her party dress. When I said "hold on a second" as I fumbled for the clock, she replied something along the lines of: "oh sorry is it still the middle of the night well I'll just put it on anyway and try to sleep a bit more that way there is less for you to worry about in the morning mom if I put my party dress on right now okay?"

Jillson was a darling hostess when I met her in the lunch room. (It was my first time visiting her at school; I can't bring the younger kids into the school with me so I cannot volunteer or meet her there for lunch.) She introduced me first to Haley's mom, so that we could set up play dates. Then she stood up and walked around the table introducing me to all of her friends. She was so excited, so sparkly. I could tell how much she was enjoying showing me her world.

Together we made cute little reindeer candy canes.

Fast forward a few hours and the Gutsy Dad and I were hittin' the town for a date night. This time we tried out Tangerine, an Asian fusion place with some of the best pad thai I've had in years and a lovely house merlot.

The Gutsy Dad had the tangerini, and before you start making fun of him for ordering a chick drink, let me say these two things in his defense: 1) there were no manly cocktails on the menu and 2) it was a damn fine drink.

How lucky the GD and I are to be able to escape the craziness of our schedules and the mundanity of routine to be able to get away together once in a while. Luckier still to know that our children are in the hands of some very capable babysitters. And that the babysitters, in turn, are in the hands of these three, fine assistants.

Party Girls

2011-12-15T21:38:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Madelyn's preschool Christmas Program & Party. She played the role of Twinkling Star quite beautifully. I think. I was frustrated because I had to stand in the back of the church with Bronwen, so I couldn't see her for much of the performance. I did manage to sneak to the front about half way through so she could see that I was there for a moment, and my good friend snapped a few cute pics.

Last night at dinner Madelyn rather spontaneously reprised all of her songs a cappella for our listening pleasure. I am now trying to keep these songs alive in her memory so that she can perform them for my parents when they arrive tomorrow.

Today was the party at the Gutsy Dad's work. This was a potluck for--I kid you not--800 of my husband's co-workers and their families. (I made Ina's apple and sausage stuffing and Gina's roasted broccoli with smashed garlic.)

Jillson had a lot to say to this man. He, like her parents, was surprised at her two requests. #1) a kayak. #2) slippers. I hope she isn't holding her breath for #1.

Madelyn, too, had much to say to Santa, even though she was extremely distracted by her candy cane (her favorite candy). Unfortunately, despite the fact that Maddie has a reputation for being fairly articulate for her age, neither Santa nor her parents could comprehend her request. I need to remember to ask her at breakfast if she remembers what she asked for.

We have one more Christmas party tomorrow. Then "vacation" begins. Things around here are getting rather exciting.

Simple Pleasures in the Midst of a Busy Week

2011-12-14T22:02:00.000-05:00

A few teachers' gifts ready for delivery.

A little early Christmas present to myself.

Seriously How could this not make me happy?

An extremely relaxed baby, kickin' back in baby legwarmers. Don't you just want to eat her up?

Three Months Old

2011-12-13T21:00:00.000-05:00

Bronwen Eliza turned three months old yesterday. Today I remembered to weigh her (12 lbs 0.5 oz) and take her pictures, but the camera battery ran out after only a few test shots, and by the time the battery had recharged, Bronwen had eaten half of her "3 months" sticker, and I had lost my natural light.

It was a "real life" sort of day. I am trying not to apologize for the crappy photography.

Nevertheless, in the midst of 7,000 Christmas parties and nursing my sore muscles (from killer boot camp classes at the Y), I was happy to take a few moments just to focus on her.

My sweet chunk-a-munk. She grins and giggles and says "agoo." She makes adorable screechy noises and then laughs at herself.

She nurses like nobody's business; she owns the boobs.

Madelyn, who calls her Bubby, is her biggest fan. But I think it is fair to say that we are all pretty enraptured.

The Still, Small Hours (Monday Music Mojo of sorts)

2011-12-12T12:31:00.000-05:00

This morning I was up at 5:22 to nurse Bronwen. It was a cold morning by Savannah standards (45 degrees), and it was raining. The Gutsy Dad was downstairs fixing his breakfast, and I let myself enjoy a few minutes cocooned in with Bronwen.

Soon Tilly swatted the side of the bed (numerous times) to ask to come up. I patted the bed, and she hopped up and curled into a donut shape on the foot of the Gutsy Dad's side of the bed. Her tail was over her nose. I guess she thought it was cold, too.

The Gutsy Dad came up around 5:30 to say he was leaving, and we laughed because he said Tilly had come downstairs to ask for some petting. After he patted her on the head, she ran right back upstairs. We think she was asking his permission (or, more likely, checking to see if he was on his way out the door) to get up on the bed before she came up and asked me. Funny dog.

For a while it was just me, Bronwen, and Tilly. We all drifted off to sleep, safe on our own little island of drowsy contentedness.

At 6:07 I stirred because I heard some whispers, and the next thing I knew Madelyn was in the bed. Usually, this is a recipe for disaster. Her almost-three-ish-ness, love of bouncing on beds, and inability to resist poking her sleeping baby sister in the face all tend to lead to much disruption and firm admonishments.

But this morning I slid to the middle of the bed, and Madelyn snuggled under the covers, sharing my pillow, letting me put my arm around her and nestling into my chest.

This is so rare.

She agreed to whisper. This is also rare.

"I hear something, Mommy."

"Yes, it's the rain."

"It is raining outside?"

"Yes."

"But I hope Papa will not get wet."

"He's okay. He has his rain jacket on for running."

"Good. I am glad he has that on."

I love Madelyn's concern for others.

We stayed there together only for a few minutes more, but they were good, long minutes. She talked about her sheep costume for the Christmas pageant and asked if she could "cry it on" while watching Angelina Ballerina later today. Then she told me that she was ready to go downstairs for breakfast, but that first she wanted to go downstairs and tickle her Groovy Girl doll and wiggle her own body and dance a little. She slid off the bed and was off, in the dark, to do those things by herself downstairs.

I didn't want those minutes to end. Lying there, baring her thoughts to me in careful whispers, Madelyn seemed so little and so young to me, which is also rare these days. Thanks to Bronwen's arrival she has seemed--suddenly--to be a big girl.

But we have to remember she is little. We have to let her be little. We expect a lot from her, just about as much as we expect from her older sister, which is unfair. Yes, she is trying our patience in so many ways these days, which makes us increase our expectations (and our sternness), but we really need to remember that she is really only nearly three.

Oh, it was wonderful to start the day with her, to share the still, small hours with her before the alarm had even gone off. It made me think of this: "Our lives are made in these small hours."

Time falls away, but these small hours, these little wonders still remain.

A New Tradition?

2011-12-11T17:00:00.000-05:00

Last night we ate dinner in front of the TV as a family. The kids thought this was both extremely special and extremely silly.

The reason? I wanted to watch the classic "Frosty the Snowman" with them. So, we set the coffee table, the Gutsy Dad and I clinked our beer bottles, the kids clinked their milk cups, and I pressed play.

I remember watching this special as a kid, not every year, but at least a few times. Back then, it was on TV once a season, and if you missed it, you missed it. (This year we DVR'd it; I admit it was nice to choose a convenient night to announce to the kids that there was a "special" on.)

I remember being deeply moved by this story when I was young. I realize now I had forgotten about the whole subplot of the magician trying to get his hat back. I remember only the intense drama of getting Frosty to the North Pole before he melted. I remember thinking that he and Karen really loved each other. I remember being devastated, crying even, when Frosty melted completely away.

The kids loved "Frosty" this year. Jillson, especially, was engrossed by the story. When Frosty carried Karen into the greenhouse, she was staring at the screen with her hands clasped over her chest. When it was revealed that Frosty has melted down into a puddle, she and Maddie both gasped. I began to panic that I was traumatizing my kids. I couldn't remember what happened next. I had no memory of how the tragedy of Frosty's "death" was resolved. I looked at the Gutsy Dad (who had never seen "Frosty" before and was raising his eyebrows at me). I grinned nervously.

All I can say is thank God for hollywood endings. Otherwise, it would have been a very somber bedtime indeed in the Gutsy household last night.

Bottom line, I'm not sure if this is something we'll choose to do every year, but it was certainly a good reminder to be spontaneous as parents, to sometimes do the unexpected, the silly, and the special.

The View From Here

2011-12-10T07:00:00.019-05:00

I just love what I get to see from my corner of the couch, the place where I have sat and nursed each of my girls for what amounts to hours every day. These days, in this phase of motherhood, I spend more time right here than anywhere else, it seems.

I am so very, very lucky.

Friday Fluff: Running Tools

2011-12-09T15:34:00.000-05:00

Things that make it easier for me to get out there and get moving:

1. Run Like a Mother. This is a website, a book, and a whole lot of humorous and inspirational fun for runners who are, you guessed it, mothers. I'm especially appreciative of their music suggestions.

2. Running Divas. Aspirational running clothes. I've got my eye on that "Freakishly Strong" shirt.

3. New kicks. They aren't "pumped up" (ha ha ha), but they take me exactly where I need to go. Safely.

4. The Chariot. We've had this awesome double jogging stroller since we became a family of four. It seats two Gutsy Girls comfortably, side by side, with excellent protection from sand gnats, rain, wind, snow, sun, you name it. It can be used as a bike trailer, a jogging stroller, or just for walking around (with awesome stroller wheels that minimize the footprint and turning radius). It has interior attachments for itty, bitty infants (the bassinet-looking thing we are currently using for Bronwen) and older babies (a sling that reduces bounce-impact by basically acting like a hammock). Please note: The Gutsy Family has not, as of yet, invested in the rickshaw or cross-country ski attachments for the Chariot. I don't see this happening any time soon, either. (For running with only one child, we still madly love our single BOB which we've had for five and a half years.)

5. My iPhone with really good music and the RunKeeper app.

6. The Gutsy Dad's iPad, which entertains Madelyn mile after mile.

7. An adorable baby who obligingly sleeps during 99.9% of my runs.

Things I cannot seem to find or am not willing to shell out for:

1. Sports bras for nursing boobs. After searching and searching, I'm resigned to piling on two or three of my existing sports bras and calling it good. It may not be fashionable, and it may not be easy to expose the breasts for post-run nursing, but at least the girls aren't moving when I run.

2. Running tops that accommodate my current shape. I am hoping my shape will be changing. For now, I am rotating through my three maternity running tank tops and, when the weather calls for it, covering up with larger layers.

Sigh. I was hoping that typing up this post would motivate me to get my butt out there today, but here I sit quite comfortably on the couch, with both younger kids sleeping soundly here at home. There are leftovers from last night's bunco game calling my name from the fridge.

This means going to the gym tomorrow is non-negotiable.

With an emphasis on the gut,

I remain,

The Gutsy Mom

It's Been A While

2011-12-08T16:50:00.000-05:00

Growing up, we had an Advent wreath every year.

We would make it together as a family, in our church basement or the parish hall, the last Sunday before Advent. I loved the day we got to make the wreath. It seemed like we were getting bonus Christmas time before Christmas or even Advent had begun. (I also loved it when our rector would have us "rehearse" a few Christmas Carols--as though anyone could forget how those went--during announcements, randomly, in November. Who knows why he did that, but I always thought it was fun.)

Making the wreath was sometimes hasty, if, say, we had somewhere to be after church. But I remember our family was usually happy-go-lucky about the wreath-making, grinning a bit conspiratorially when there was concern amongst some other parishioners that there might not be enough greens or ribbons or candles to go around. There were those who stressed out about the supplies every year, but it always worked out beautifully for everyone, even the stressers.

I absolutely loved having the wreath on our kitchen table all season long. It sat nestled in a collar of tinfoil so that when we watered it, it wouldn't leak all over the table. We never tried to make it more elegant than that, and I loved that about it, too.

We certainly lit the Advent wreath every Sunday at dinnertime, but sometimes we would light it during the week, too. Suddenly, a midweek meal was magical.

As an adult, I've never had a wreath for my own table. Not as a single gal, and never for my family. So I'm sure you can imagine how thrilled I was when our church said it would have wreath-making after church the last Sunday before Advent. (Same day as the birds.)

It wasn't exactly what I was expecting. There was no green florist foam ring (the consistency of which I never could resist. Don't you just want to wet it down and press your fingers into it? No? I always did.). There was no greenery. There was just a white styrofoam-ish ring and a box of perfect candles. We were to take it home and make it ourselves.

The crafty wheels started turning. Four dollars worth of greens from Kroger. Judicious use of the glue gun (which I've had since I was a teenager; I went through a phase of making puffy, fabric-covered picture frames). Tradition restored.

Now the wreath is on our kitchen table, and we light it every Sunday. Sometimes, if the kids haven't been too whiny, we light it for a random weeknight dinner, too.

Jillson is delighted by the purple. She has informed me that purple is the color of royalty and that purple and rose (not pink) are the true colors of Christmas. Madelyn just keeps wondering when, when, when we can light the pink candle. She considers the pink one hers.

Jillson is concerned at the rate of burn, worried that the first candle will always be lower than the other ones. She believes this is not fair to the poor, first candle. She wants to burn candles two through four down so that they are all even. Strangely, I recall similar concerns as a kid, along with concerns that, as the candles got lower, their flames became dangerously close to the greens. I remember several instances in which our greens actually did catch fire, however briefly, when I was a girl. (I wonder what my parents did... can't remember... did they douse it with a drink? Pretty sure that's what we'll do if it happens here.)

I am content. There is something about having this wreath back in my life that just feels right. And I'll certainly have to remember to make more of an effort to keep this tradition alive in years to come.

What Were You Before You Were You?

2011-12-07T14:35:00.001-05:00

Jillson recently asked me what my "little girl name" was.

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"I mean what was your name when you were a little girl?"

"My first name?"

"YES." (Annoyed by my slowness at comprehending the question.)

"My name was the same as it is now, " I replied. "Margaret."

"Mooom," she giggled, seeming embarrassed by my answer. "You couldn't be Margaret when you were little, that is your grown-up name."

Okay.

I asked her if she meant nicknames. No.

I asked her if she meant people who change their last names when they get married. "No, Mom. I mean first names. What were you before you were Margaret?"

Rather than waxing existential, I tried to explain that people didn't have different names based on whether they were young or old, that first names are first names no matter your age, but I'm not sure she believed me. I think she thinks I am weird because I have the same name I had as a kid.

I am totally fascinated by my child's ideas. I wonder how long she has assumed that we all change our first names when we grow up. Is this a new idea or something she's held for a while? Is this--her name--just one more area in which she is trying to gain control?

Jillson informed me that she is, indeed, planning on changing her name when she grows up, like everyone else does.

"What will you change your name to?" I asked her.

"Well, I'm not sure, Mom. It's going to be really, trilly hard to decide because I really, trilly like the name Jillson."

At least I know she likes her unusual name. Really trilly.

So Late So Soon

2011-12-06T14:52:00.000-05:00

How did it get so late so soon?

It's night before it's afternoon.

December is here before it's June.

My goodness how the time has flewn.

How did it get so late so soon?

--Dr. Seuss

Short days are hard for me, even when it is nearly 80 degrees outside. Even when we can go to the beach in December (or November, as pictured above).

Thank God for the many seasonal twinkle lights, combatting the darkness one twink at a time.

Family Photo Frenzy

2011-12-05T10:25:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my good friend Julia took many, many pictures of us, and she sent us these as teasers as she works on post-processing the rest of them. I absolutely love the picture above. We're all being our natural, semi-doofy selves. Real life.

The last time we had family pictures done was in May 2009, and there were only four of us. (You can see those pictures here. One thing I love about those Germany pictures, aside from my friend Kris's mad skills, was that the pictures were taken in our backyard. It is so special to look at them and remember where we lived.)

Similarly, I love the pictures that Julia took, because they are right here in our newish hometown at J. F. Gregory Park. I love the attitude and personalities in this one, too.

If you like what you see, please consider visiting my friend Julia's Facebook page for her photography business. She is just getting started and needs all the "likes" she can get.

I love how natural the photos look. I mean, yes, they are staged (we don't normally dress up to walk the dogs), but we were all so comfortable.

What you can't see, behind the scenes, is that our photo shoot was interrupted not only by an impromptu al fresco nursing experience (thank you for your discretion, Julia), but also by a daring dog rescue.

While we were busy mugging for the camera, Tilly broke loose from the picnic table to which she had been tied and took herself for a little swim. Right past the sign that read "Beware of snakes and alligators." I'm assuming Julia has some pixels documenting the Gutsy Dad practically climbing into the marshy water to haul Tilly out, but she hasn't shared those with us yet.

I'm sure I'll be sharing many more gems from this photo shoot as they become available.

You can see more of Julia's work here.

Performances, Planned and Un

2011-12-04T15:08:00.071-05:00

All five of us were in the Richmond Hill Hometown Holidays (or something like that) Parade yesterday morning. All children performed beautifully.

Madelyn rode with her preschool classmates on their float, with the Gutsy Dad and Bronwen trailing behind. Here she is modeling her reindeer mask.

And singing:

As you can see, she is wearing the same outfit as Friday. She's been adamant about dressing like "Santa's daughter." She took the Christmas-y jacket from one ensemble, paired it with a different red dress, and added black boots. (At first she said she wanted to be Santa, then Jillson said Madelyn couldn't be Santa because Santa was a boy, so I suggested she pretend she was Mrs. Claus. Maddie explained that she couldn't be Mrs. Claus because she didn't want to be a grown-up, and so she settled on being Santa's daughter.)

Do you remember those days? Those days when you just wanted to wear your favorite thing over and over and over again?

(When I was somewhere around Maddie and Jillson's age, I remember being very attached to a t-shirt that had a few little fish on it. I think there is a photograph of me somewhere wearing this shirt. It was in Florida, and I was picking grapefruit. In the photo, either my mother or my beloved Nana was leaning down to help me. I wore either blue or yellow shorts and, I think, sandals. I'd love to find that photograph.)

But I digress.

Jillson rode on the Daisy Scout float with her troop, and I walked alongside with the other Daisy moms.

It was a gorgeous day, and for a small town, Richmond Hill had quite a showing.

We spent the afternoon and evening with good, new friends, who drove in from Skidaway with their three kids to share some barbecue, conversation, and chaos. It's always good to find friends with whom the whole family seems to get along.

At one point, five of the six kids put on quite the impromptu Christmas-Ballet-Princess-Fairy-Fashion Show, popping out from behind our still-undecorated tree, proclaiming what they were supposed to be, and doing little dances. (Bronwen slept through it.)

I love this time of year.

The Book Bin

2011-12-03T06:00:00.075-05:00

In addition to using birds, we are using books to count down to Christmas.

I read about this idea a few years ago and was recently reminded of it on Ali Edwards's blog. I love it for a few reasons.

For starters, it cost me nothing and was quick to put together. I took 24 of our Christmas books and simply tied twine or ribbon around them, added a countdown tag, and voila! Project done; ready to go. We'll read one special book a day between now and Christmas.

The next thing I love is that our advent book bin holds a mixture of books from my childhood and new books the girls have been getting from me and others for the past five years at Christmas time. There are secular books, religious books, and a few that are sort of generically about the winter season to round it out.

I love that we will read each of these books at least once this season, instead of ignoring some in favor of others. It's an equal opportunity reading experience this year. So far, we've read the daily advent book at bedtime with our other stories.

Of course, the last book, the one we will read on Christmas Eve, will be 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.

The first book, which we read on December 1st, was this one:

Which means of course that this guy is with us for the 4th year in a row. The girls are thankful that, just like Santa and the IRS, he finds us wherever we move.

Welcome back, Loo Lee! I hope you'll keep us all in line this year.

(Book tags are a free printable from Domesticated Lady.)

Spontaneous Family Outing

2011-12-02T23:14:00.000-05:00

A STORY IN PICTURES.

One Thing at a Time

2011-12-01T21:38:00.000-05:00

This is the time of year when I am filled with ambition. I want to do everything. I want to decorate the house. I want to do special arts and crafts with the kids. I want to volunteer. I want to listen to every Christmas hymn, anthem, and ditty. I want to say yes to every invitation. I want to run more. I want to prepare for the new year and new challenges. I want to get a job and do it well. I want to be a better mother.

I want to do everything I normally do (or everything I say I normally do but secretly don't do) and then add, add, add.

I know it is not possible. This is not a post about that. I don't need anyone to tell me "you can't do it all." I get that. I am not frustrated by that. I am not actually trying to do it all.

This is a post about wanting to do it all, and hoping that the want never goes away. This desire to do and be everything fuels me. This is such an exciting world; I get to be in it.

But ambition, when allowed to run rampant as it does this time of year, can be a bit maddening. It really needs direction. I say that because this week has flown by, and I feel like I've done everything and nothing. When, yesterday, I suddenly realized it was November 30th and that tomorrow (which is now today) would be December 1st, I was completely shocked.

How did it sneak up on me?

It was, rather suddenly, fish or cut bait time for several seasonal traditions that I wanted to start on December 1st. I decided to fish.

Or, rather, to bird.

Two weeks ago at our church we participated in a morning of prepping for advent. (Never mind the strangeness of preparing for a season which is all about preparing for something else.) I happily found myself at a table with my three children and my husband, and four out of the five of us were PAPERCRAFTING together. Imagine my insane delight.

The idea is that each paper bird holds a part of the nativity story, and that each day in December we would read part of the story and talk about it as a family. Thus, through the season of advent, we would hear the Christmas story bird by bird.

So yesterday, when I suddenly realized the date, I got motivated. Madelyn and I finished it all up at home together. We found the sticks in our backyard together. We added numbers using stickers from my stash together. I added the verses and yarn by myself, and Maddie hung them on the branches by herself. I was so happy that it worked. That there were ways she could help. And that we actually did it in time to start "using" it today.

As I sat there trimming out 25 verses and tying on 25 pieces of yarn (which takes a lot longer than you would think), I realized that my seasonal surge of ambition was finally being directed somewhere. I felt calm. I felt productive. I felt hopeful for everything else that is coming this month and next year.

I thought, one thing at a time, just do one thing at a time, and enjoy the time you are choosing to spend doing this one thing. You can't (and don't want to) snap your fingers and have all 25 birds done at once. You have to do it bird by bird.

Bird by bird!

How could I possibly have forgotten about Bird by Bird? I've loved this book (whose title has nothing to do with papercrafted advent birds) since my freshman year of college. I had this passage tacked on my wall over my desk all through grad school:

Say to yourself in the kindest possible way, Look, honey, all we're going to do for now is to write a description of the river at sunrise, or the young child swimming in the pool at the club, or the first time the man sees the woman he will marry. That is all we are going to do for now. We are just going to take this bird by bird. But we are going to finish one short assignment. -- Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

One short assignment. Done.

Career Aspirations

2011-11-19T08:19:00.000-05:00

Two Months Old

2011-11-16T07:30:00.001-05:00

Well, here we are! Bronwen is two months old and full of personality. She "passed" her two-month well-baby exam today with flying colors. She's 10 lbs 11 oz, 21.75 inches long, with a head circumference of 15 inches.

She has a small, tan birthmark just under her left eye (not visible in the photos) which has surfaced over the last few weeks. The doc thinks it is too early to tell if it will be permanent or not.

These are smiles, above and below. She gurgles and coos and tries very hard to speak and laugh and giggle. She surprises herself with little gaspy shriek noises.

Today we had a good 10- or 15-minute exchange of goo-goos and smiles while at the doctor's office. The nurse thought it was pretty funny. At one point I said "ooh!" and Bronwen repeated it and immediately started to (try to) laugh. So much fun!

She is still totally laid back. And sweet. She goes with the flow. Sleeping on Papa's chest is still her happy place.

She's quite flexible; does not yet need to be in a special place to sleep or eat. Here, at the Chili Fest on Skidaway last weekend, the Gutsy Dad is feeding her a bottle of breastmilk with his chin so that he can also enjoy some chili. Superdad at work. Super baby, too.

Here she is with Mama on a particularly chilly day. (It's in the 70s again now, so looking at this picture makes me feel overheated.) I've been enjoying trying out different slings with her. She seems to love them all. This one is a Moby wrap. Makes her feel as light as a feather.

Here she is in the Hotsling I'm borrowing from a friend. This one is easy and so very snuggly. Perfect for our twice-daily walks to the bus stop.

Last but not least, here is our Grinny Grinnerson:

Until next month!

Where She Sleeps

2011-11-15T07:00:00.000-05:00

As I've written before, Madelyn recently went through a phase in which she got up during naptime, snuck around, and did naughty things. (Remember the confectioner's sugar incident? The Nivea? The removal of every single item from the bureau? No? Where've you been?!)

On a much sweeter note, she also went through (and occasionally still revisits) a phase of simply sleeping in different places. It was startling at first. But then, it sort of grew on me. Especially as I started contemplating the thought-process behind each of these special sleep choices.

It started in her room.

She is supposed to sleep in her bed on the bottom bunk, like this:

Small bits of evidence began to appear, evidence that she wasn't just sweetly lying there all nap long, such as the sneaky addition of socks on her hands, below:

Then she got more daring, climbing up to the top bunk to try out her sister's bed. (I nearly had a heart attack when I went in after naptime that day and couldn't find her.)

Soon she ventured out onto the floor of her room, making nests out of blankets and books:

This one is my favorite. It is so carefully constructed:

Then things started to get really interesting. On several occasions we found her sleeping in the hall:

Or on the floor in our bedroom (pardon our mess):

Or having made a snuggle nest on Tilly's dogbed! (Please note -- she took the pillow off our bed):

And on several occasions, we have found her tucked in behind the bunkbeds in the kids' dollbed storage area. What, you can't see her in this picture?

Here's a close-up. Yes, she is wedged into a doll-sized pack'n'play.

Same thing, different day:

Back to her own bedroom. While I would certainly award some creativity points here, I was a bit miffed to have to refold all the clothes that normally go in Jillson's bottom drawer:

Finally, and most strangely, we had this:

This is our guest room. She got under the desk, under the chair, and under the rug. Don't ask me how.

The wheels in that charming little brain of hers are ever-turning, I tell you.

Ever. Turning.

(All photos taken July thru November 2011.)

Monday Music Mojo: Sweet Pea

2011-11-14T10:47:00.000-05:00

A happy little ditty for a Monday morning. Can't believe I haven't posted this one yet.

For all the cute and tiny produce in your life!

Don't Ask Me How or When I Made This

2011-11-12T06:40:00.001-05:00

It's been a while since I posted anything crafty.

It's been a while since I've done anything crafty.

I think life with three kids 5 and under is taking its toll on my creative life. Plus, the spare time I do manage to find is being used in other ways: to read or to dream about reading, to write or to dream about writing, and to dream about working--that is--finding a sense of accomplishment outside of motherhood.

Which is not to say that I don't love and get some sense of accomplishment from my current "job." Nor is to say that I don't dream about papercrafts quite regularly. I think the Gutsy Dad is tired of hearing me exclaim: "Man, I just want to go scrap something!"

"Then do it already," he says.

But obligations and other preoccupations step in. Or, let's face it, sleep steps in. I also dream of sleep.

So here is my latest. I don't even remember when or how I snuck the time in to make it. It was a few weeks ago, maybe.

(photo of Jillson is from her pre-k class in Kansas from last year)

I hope you all are enjoying a beautiful weekend. I sure am.

My Favorite Veteran

2011-11-11T09:55:00.002-05:00

It is Veteran's Day. My oldest daughter leapt out of bed declaring "It's eleven-eleven-eleven! Today is Vet-rins Day! We get to celebrate soldiers! Papa Papa Papa!"

It is Veteran's Day. My favorite veteran is taking his two oldest children on a typical weekend "adventure:" they are going to the recycling center with a van full of boxes; they are going to the Girl Scout store to get a special pin; they are going to Savannah to get an oil change for the van.

It is Veteran's Day. My favorite veteran is taking me out on a date tonight. We will see The Help (and we expect to be the only ones in the theatre because we are the only people on the planet who have not yet seen the film) and then we'll head out to dinner. Just the two of us.

It is Veteran's Day, and my father, who also served, is coming to spend the night (along with my mother and their dog), to babysit the three girls so that we can have date night. Talk about being grateful for someone's service. Thank you, mom and dad!

It is Veteran's Day, and while I am doing some house chores I am listening to my favorite podcast. Not only did they read my comment aloud (I feel semi-famous!), they are talking about scrapbooking and the military. I have so much to say on this topic, it will have to wait for another day. Most of my readers (all two of you) know the various ways in which scrapbooking is essential to my success as a mil-spouse.

It is Veteran's Day. Thank you to all who have served in our foreign wars. Thank you to those who love them and support them from afar. Thank you to those who strive to find ways to help veterans, especially our country's older and more neglected veterans.

And, as the years go on, may we, as a country and as a global community, have fewer and fewer veterans whom we need to honor.

Imagine a world without veterans. Yes, please.

In the meantime, it's Veteran's Day, and I am grateful beyond words to have my very favorite veteran right here beside me.

Dreams in Work Clothes

2011-11-10T14:55:00.001-05:00

"Motivation is when your dreams put on work clothes."

(Benjamin Franklin, 1706-1790)

I am changing my clothes as we speak.

Love,

The GM

Taking the Gut out of Gutsy

2011-11-09T20:45:00.000-05:00

I mentioned a few days ago that I had started running again. "Running," you realize, is a term I use rather loosely. My workouts can only be classified as "runs" because here and there I force myself to do just that for a few brief moments. We're talking 9 minutes out of 40, people. I'm hardly Paula Radcliffe.

Nevertheless, I am feeling better about myself (about everything really) because exercise is back in my routine. For running, the routine is like this:

1) I run three days a week.

2) I cannot run two days in a row thanks to my pesky knee. (This has been true since 2003 and the peak of my running glory days.)

3) Since the classes I like at the Y are on Tues, Thurs, and Sat, this means--by default--that I must have my running days be Mon, Wed, Fri.

4) This also means, by default, that I must take a double jogging stroller, two kids, and many items of distraction with me on every single run.

5) I have to take it veeeeeeeeeeeeeery slowly getting back into it thanks to my pesky lungs. My current average pace is something like 14 minutes per mile. I can almost walk faster than I can run.

6) Every run is 40 minutes long. Twenty out and 20 back. I won't be changing this until my running to walking ratio improves.

7) Every run starts and ends with 5 minutes of walking.

8) The middle 30 minutes of the run consist of six 5-minute run/walk intervals. The first week's interval was Run 30 seconds, Walk 4:30. The second week I upped it to Run 1 Walk 4. This week I am trying out Run 1:30 Walk 3:30.

9) My only current goal is to get my run/walk ratio back to Run 8 Walk 2, or something very similar. I'm thinking this will take at least another 7 weeks.

This morning, having missed my Monday and Tuesday workouts, things were stiff and a bit painful. Getting out the door was painful (psychologically). My knees, unloose and unforgiving, were painful. My legs, feeling like they weighed roughly 756 lbs each, were stiff and painful. Extra fat, bouncing around on my rear end, was painful. That extra 30 seconds of running was, you guessed it, painful.

But by the end of the first mile, everything was fine--so fine! I was overcome with a happy spirit. This makes it all worth it: the ridiculous hassle of getting out the door with my entourage, the aches and pains of the first mile or so. Who cares? It was a gorgeous day.

I thanked God for my cooperative children.

I felt strong and hopeful. I felt I could accomplish anything through hard work. I felt like reciting Invictus. I am the master of my fate or whatever it is. I am the captain of my soul.

Please, someone, the next time I am dragging my heels about working out, or generally feeling sorry for myself, or just plain craving a good high, please remind me of the super-powers exercise possesses.

Lastly, my friends, imagine my delight when I came home and found this in my inbox:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

from the poem "If" by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

Isn't it amazing when life is so synergistic?

(You can read "If" here. You can listen to and watch Dennis Hopper recite it here, which I highly recommend. "Invictus" is here.)

Monday Music Mojo: Save Me, San Fransisco

2011-11-07T21:25:00.001-05:00

I have been loving having this song on my running mix. (Yes, that's right, I said running mix. So, yes, that means I am running again! But that is a post for another day.)

I first heard this song during the cooldown portion of a step class at the Y while hugely preggers with Bronwen. I remember wondering if the lyrics really were what I thought they were, if he was really saying "Won't you save me, San Francisco?" He was. I stood there stretching my limbs in my post-workout, sweaty bliss thinking about just how much San Francisco did "save me" once.

And I've been thinking about it on my runs ever since. Okay, I didn't really need to be saved, per se. I was not in distress. I was not looking for Jesus. But San Fran did become a part of who I am. As a place it sort of saved, as in preserved, some essential parts of my personality.

For one whole summer during the college years I lived in San Francisco. I was there to take part in the Summer Training Congress, which is an intense acting school at the American Conservatory Theater.

I learned a lot that summer, inside the classroom and out.

That summer I became comfortable in my own skin. I could be academic and artsy. I could go to church (Glide!) and a matinee. I could be many things at once. I didn't have to pick. Or justify.

I think in many ways, before that summer, I felt pressure (maybe self-imposed?) to be one thing or another. To be easily defined. But San Francisco saved me from this sort of thinking. Helped me just to be me. Helped me to really practice what I now seem to preach all the time: people are so much more complicated than our culture's labels try to make them out to be.

Most of all, that summer, I fell in love with San Francisco herself.

I loved my twice daily walks, sometimes with my roommate Stacy, sometimes solo, from our apartment up in North Beach down to the theatre and back. I developed some pretty sweet calf muscles that summer.

I loved my brief daily exchanges with Angelo on these walks. He stood outside his shop: tall, Italian, bald, with a beard and a hoop earring. He always wore a black t-shirt and his beefy, tattooed arms were always crossed over his belly, looking rather thuggish. Ciao, bella! he'd say. Come stai, Angelo? I'd reply. He'd laugh at my giant bag of books. I'd ask him for a restaurant recommendation. Somehow I knew if I ever ran into trouble in San Fran that Angelo would have my back.

I loved lining up on Saturday mornings outside Liguria Bakery, which was just around the corner from my apartment, to get my weekly focaccia fix.

I loved the scenes I did for my classes. I can still recite my Desdemona monologues. I recall crawling across a desk while playing the role of a therapist in a scene from Raised in Captivity.

I loved learning the concept of "yes, and..." in my improv class. I apply this lesson to my parenting style all the time, but that, too, is a post for another day.

I loved pining over the dreamy, cocky, and angst-ridden Clayton, a classmate at the Congress. I filled pages in my journal. I wrote slam poetry about him. I got drunk and flirted with him. I got nowhere.

I loved learning everything under the sun regarding vocal production, diction, and accents. I developed amazing control over my soft palate, my lung capacity, and my spoken voice.

I loved exploring the sights of SF with Stacy. We were excellent tourists together. I also love that Stacy and I have seen each other only twice since that summer, but when we do it is as though no time has elapsed. We are ourselves--our theatre selves--with each other, even though neither of us made it professionally in the acting world.

I loved that there was exactly enough room for everyone there to be whomever they truly were.

So here you go. Enjoy your listen. This is the official video, which is pretty corny. I love the nods to The Graduate, and I laughed out loud at the distinctly San Francisco-ish twist at the end.

Side note: If you watch "Up All Night," then you will know (as I do now) that it is apparently totally uncool to like Train, unless you are doing so in an "ironic way." We all know that I am far more sarcastic than I am ironic, so I guess that makes me, unsurprisingly, totally uncool. Hee!

Tricks, Then Treats

2011-11-02T01:00:00.011-04:00

On Saturday, before we headed out to a Halloween party, we took some practice pictures of the kids in their costumes. Of course, Jillson insisted on using her usual "smile:"

and Madelyn was deeply upset that we wouldn't let her bring her trick-or-treating bag to the party:

Thankfully, on actual Halloween, the girls were all smiles.

"Let's get out of here!" the good witch proclaimed.

And they were off:

All the while, our littlest trickster was like this upstairs:

Today, however, Bronnie obligingly let me put her in her Halloween get-up for a few photos. You know, for posterity.

Oh, Georgia.

2011-11-01T06:00:00.005-04:00

1. There is a sign at a nearby Hardee's that says "It's back! Fried bologna biscuit!" Now please understand, I love a good biscuit as much as the next (bread-lovin') gal, but why would you go and ruin it by topping it with fried bologna of all things? Ewwww!

2. On a related note, when I was checking out at the grocery store the other day, having forgotten to haul in my stash of reusable canvas bags, the clerk apologized for packing my stuff into an excess of plastic bags. "Oh, well," she said, "I guess you can always use them for chicken fat, right?" Um, right. I've been trying to figure that one out ever since.

3. We had the most polite trick-or-treaters ever last night. They all said thank you and yes ma'am and only took one piece of candy each. The neighborhood trick-or-treating hours were from 6 to 8pm, and everyone adhered to it.

4. Many of the trick-or-treaters were ferried around from house to house by their parents on golf carts before dark. I remember half the fun of Halloween (or maybe the whole purpose) was running all over kingdom come in the pitch dark with no parental supervision whatsoever. Welcome to modern suburbia, I guess!

This place cracks me up. I love it here (I mean really love it), but it does have its, um, quirks.

Monday Music Mojo: The Little Things & Something Beautiful

2011-10-31T06:00:00.048-04:00

Don't worry, although this post starts out pretty heavy, I get my mojo back by the end of it. I wouldn't leave you in a pensive funk on a Monday, would I? If you ask me, Mondays are made for good music.

Last week in church we sang "O God Our Help in Ages Past." This is a classic hymn; it has been around since the early 1700s. It is often sung at weddings and other celebratory occasions, and I just learned from my dad that it is the official "school hymn" of the boarding school where I grew up. (I did not attend said boarding school--I picked a different one--so I wouldn't have known.) It is indeed a stately-sounding hymn. I can see why it is used at formal occasions.

Yet every time I sing it I get chills. And then I usually cry. I think this is because the hymn makes me feel so small, so corporal, so insignificant and powerless facing the grand passage of time.

After all:

A thousand ages in thy sight are like an evening gone;

Short as the watch that ends the night before the rising sun.

And, worse:

Time, like an ever-rolling stream, bears all our years away;

They fly, forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day.

I stood in church last week, choking out the words to that verse, clutching two of my daughters around their shoulders, begging time to stand still, praying that my time here on earth will not in fact be forgotten too quickly. I couldn't even look at the Gutsy Dad, standing there stoically cradling Bronwen in his arms. Why can't we just be timeless?

Most of you know that this anxiety is not new to me. Several months after Jillson was born I went through a spell where I stayed up crying night after night (the gasping "life is so unfair" kind of crying) because I wouldn't--couldn't--be around forever, that there would come a time when I would be gone and my child's life would go on without me. Is this really the way the universe must operate? I've written about it before.

For now, though, I am mostly at peace with this notion.

Except for when that hymn comes around and I am humbled by my human-ness. What is it about words and music and being in church that is so much more powerful than just words or just music or just being in church?

I am glad we don't sing all nine verses that Isaac Watts originally wrote. A little googling revealed to me that there are at least two of the older verses (that are no longer in the Episcopal hymnal) that are even more devastating than the ones we do sing. Thank God for editors.

I know. That's enough of the hymn drama.

If you've been reading The Gutsy Mom for a while then you know that my antidote to overwhelming emotions (to anything, really) is to focus on little, everyday things. Okay, truly, my first defense is to make lists, charts, and schedules. If I can plot the way out on a piece of paper, I'm good to go. But if the problem cannot be solved by a checklist, then I go to the little things. I get out the camera and take pictures. I look through a scrapbook. I count my blessings. I revel in teeny, tiny, good things.

Small joys, added up, equal great happiness.

This little ditty, literally called "The Little Things," came my way via Pandora one night while I was making dinner. The artist is Carlos Bertonatti. Like the hymn above, this song references the way water flows, unstoppable, from one place to another. But he's so damn cheery about it I'm unable to wallow in my self-centered anxiety. Thank you, Carlos.

Then along came Alexi Murdoch and "Something Beautiful." This is just one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard. It seemed "pretty nice" to me at first, but there must be something primal going on in this song, because by the end of my first listen I was in love with it. I think the artist sings the main refrain over and over as if to say "I will sing it until you get it, friend." And he certainly has a lovely accent. (Huge thanks to Lindsey for bringing this beautiful piece of music into my life.)

So there you have it. These tunes may not raise your heartrate as much as my usual Monday picks, but perhaps they will be the cure for whatever ails you anyway.

Whirlwind

2011-10-28T10:42:00.002-04:00

Today is the last day of the Gutsy Dad's pre-RLBT vacation time, which has been a total guilty pleasure considering there is no longer an RLBT on the calendar. This vacation time has been filled with visits to and from people we love, a little bit of housework, and a whole lot of just enjoying everyday life.

How wonderful not to have this time filled with the dreaded aura of "lastness." Last church service, last walk to the bus, last dinner out, last dinner in. During the lasts, happiness feels artificial, because I can't help but take note of every single "last time." Each moment is precious, but we, the participants, feel numb. We want to enjoy it while we can, but the impending departure looms. Like slowly ripping off a band-aid, the time before an RLBT can be agonizing.

Now I wake up in the morning filled with joy and relief, so thankful not to be going through all of that. I feel almost high on it. We could do anything today. No pressure to make it meaningful, no need to wallow in its occurrence.

I want to tell you more about our trip to visit "Uncle" Gregg, our fabulous visit from Aunt Maria, and our whirlwind visit from my Aunt Ginny. How fantastic to enjoy all of these times with loved ones without the dark cloud of "lastness" hanging over them, either.

How blessed we are.

How unsurprising, given all of our good luck, that my desire to motivate is returning full force. I can hardly contain myself.

And so, I won't.

The Battle Done

2011-10-21T22:00:00.008-04:00

It has been a long, long nine (ten?) years for all of us. I still can't quite believe it is over. I have prayed and begged and pleaded for this day. I've dreamt about it. I've cheered and sworn at people on TV about it: newscasters, political leaders, misguided activists, properly-guided activists, comedians, pundits.

And then President Obama finally said that it was done. That we are done with that mess. (Okay, those weren't his exact words.) The rest are coming home, and no new ones need to go. Which of course means that my husband and his co-workers are not going over there after all. Can I get an alleluia?

Oh, my friends, this means so many things to me. Great excitement for those coming home soon. Safety. Relief. Gratitude for promises kept. Selfishly: an easier life for me. Anticipation for holidays with the whole family. Even a little panic: what will happen next?

Mostly, though, I am overjoyed. And teary.

I feel like we eked out of this one by the skin of our teeth. Not just not having to go on the RLBT, but also that of the 4,400 American souls we lost over there my husband wasn't one of them.

Now, if we could just wrap things up in that other place.

Superman

2011-10-19T20:39:00.000-04:00

Having so much fun this week with Aunt Maria visiting. Updates when the dust settles! In the meantime, I came home from the grocery store the other day to find this marvelous sight. The only thing missing was the mom:

My husband walking FIVE girls. Well, technically only three were walking. Two were being pushed.

I just love this. Gutsies out and about and enjoying a gorgeous fall day.

Monday Music Mojo: The Lovecats

2011-10-17T06:05:00.002-04:00

Remember this one? Have you ever heard the acoustic version? I think they pull it off quite well.

You're so wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully pretty!

Get your iTunes trigger finger ready, though. Frustratingly, this video cuts off the last few seconds of the song, right when you're really feeling the groove. So, to get your true Monday mojo going, you'll want to purchase the song (acoustic or otherwise) from iTunes.

Put it on repeat and GET SOMETHING DONE.

Have a marvelous Monday!

Love,

The GM

Pins & Needles

2011-10-16T06:52:00.001-04:00

We just learned that there is a strong possibility that the Gutsy Dad will not have to go on his RLBT after all.

I am spastically elated. I catch myself feeling huge amounts of relief, imagining him here for the holidays, here for Bronwen's first year, imagining a real family routine. So much unspoken anxiety drains out of me. I feel hopeful, lightened. I even feel gratitude that our leadership is--apparently--doing what it said it would do.

But then, as in The Little Match Girl, with a gust of reality the flame of hope goes out. The optimistic visions fade away, and I am left in an emotional shiver. Nothing is for sure. I brace myself for singlehood. I kick myself for wasting time doing house chores instead of scheduling family activities. After all, if he does go, it will be soon.

In the past, when the Gutsy Dad has been assigned to an RLBT, it has been set in stone. We put the date on the calendar and marched with drudgery toward it. The date came (despite my protests), and he left.

This is the first time I am having to learn to contend with shifting dates, shifting purposes, changes in projected length, and the possibility of cancellation all together. It's a whole new balancing act. It is both completely unnerving and completely marvelous.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed with (still premature) relief. Sometimes I feel first-date butterflies. Sometimes I feel the weight of dread so deeply that I literally ask the Gutsy Dad what I should do. Mostly, I feel strangely de-sensitized, insulated, selectively numb.

All we can do is wait to be told.

My constant prayer now has two parts: Make it definite. Let him stay.

Make it definite.

Let him stay.

One Month Old

2011-10-13T15:40:00.001-04:00

Pardon my absence. I've been a little preoccupied with a certain one-month old.

(Okay. I've also been a bit preoccupied by a whirlwind trip to Florida--and the subsequent recovery--along with my husband's ever-changing plans for the RLBT. But more on those topics later. Let us return to the cuteness at hand.)

Bronwen has been with us now for one month. One adorable, toot- and burp-filled month during which the Gutsy Dad and I remembered just how many of those tiny diapers newborns go through each day. And just how little sleep the parents of newborns need for survival.

I love her sweet little feet and hands. She has long fingers and long toes. She loves to lie on my lap with her feet kicked up on my chest. Pardon the view down my shirt, what I'm really sharing here is the view of those tootsies stacked up like a string of pearls.

And the view while nursing. I could spend hours (and I do) just staring down at her, wishing that everyone could feel this sense of peace and happiness. (Happiness isn't the right word--contentedness? Any mommies out there know that feeling I mean?) Bronwen is always doing something with her sweet little fingers while we nurse. Clasping her hands or holding fists up to her chin(s) or cheeks. Feeling her forehead.

I realize I am probably sounding a little too enraptured by my own child. I know. It's a bit out of hand. But it's amazing to feel this much love.

I promise I am getting out. And talking about things other than my baby. I even try to use SAT words now and then. And while I don't have time to "do everything," somehow I did manage to find the time to dress my infant up in a fairly ridiculous outfit just to take pictures of her. Thank God my family willingly eats leftovers for dinner.

Bronwen now weighs 8 lbs and 13.5 oz. She has gained almost 2 pounds in her first month of life. Go baby, go! She wears size 1 diapers and size 0-3 month clothing, all of which is still too large. She has outgrown nothing.

Bronnie eats every two to three hours, though she is not yet on any regular schedule. She seems to want to eat more often at night than during the day (maybe because she has me to herself then? maybe because my schedule is less hectic?). When she nurses, it is a feeding frenzy, fast and furious. She gulps it down, slurps, squeaks, hums, gurgles. We have not yet introduced the bottle, but binky is already a good and soothing friend.

During the day she takes long, snuggly naps in the "infant corner" of our L-shaped sofa. She sleeps so peacefully and quietly there. Once her sleeping organizes itself into regular naps, we'll move her to her bassinet or crib for them. Until then, I love having her nap wherever I am.

At night she frequently gets congested. She snorts and snuffles like a little truffle pig. I remember this from Madelyn, too.

She is only barely finding her voice, occasionally trying out the sound "ah." Other than that, she does a lot of squeaking and humming. In fact, her number one nickname these days is Squeaky. Madelyn asks for her by this name, as in: "I want to give Squeaky a kiss." She also croons "My sisty, my sisty, I love you."

Her neck is super strong. She can crane her head up like nobody's business. Like a cobra, only cuter. She loves to stretch out her limbs.

Behind the scenes:

And, finally, a totally indulgent video. Be warned, this video contains one milk-drunk newborn.

Yours in total goopiness,

The Gutsy Mom

Five Things That Always Cheer Me Up

2011-10-05T14:41:00.000-04:00

I am having a cheerful day, but I thought I'd post this here in case I needed a reminder in the future.

FIVE THINGS THAT ALWAYS CHEER ME UP:

1. The scent of favorite lotions: L'Occitane Shea Butter, Mustela Vitamin Barrier Cream, even Desitin (regular strength, creamy).

2. A favorite beverage with a straw in it: iced coffee, San Pellegrino Limonata on ice, even just iced water.

3. Thick slabs of toasted sour dough bread with a bit of salted butter.

4. Something organized, after the organizing is done.

5. A loud, lengthy sing-along in the car (grown-up songs only), during which I imagine myself on stage, knocking the socks off the audience, most of whom are surprised to learn that I have the pipes.

What little things make you happy?

Monday Music Mojo: Fine By Me

2011-10-03T20:44:00.001-04:00

Better late than never with today's post. Jillson asked me to teach her how to sing this refrain at dinner tonight. It's got a great pre-RLBT theme:

It's fine by me if you never leave,

and we can live like this forever.

It's fine by me.

Happy Monday, y'all!

Her Name

2011-10-02T06:05:00.001-04:00

She was, by far, the most difficult one to name. We settled on it only a week or two before she was born, but I have loved the name Bronwen for a long time.

One of my favorite high school teachers had a daughter named Bronwen. She was strong and spunky and adorable.

In college, one of my theater friends was named Bronwen. She was smart and gorgeous and genuinely likable.

For me, Bronwen has always been in the running.*

The Gutsy Dad took a shine to it when we were thinking up names for Madelyn. He has a soft spot for all things Irish/Scottish/Welsh/Celtic.

Indeed, the name is Welsh. It has been around for centuries. It is neither new-age nor new-fangled. It is, I suppose, unusual.

If you googled it, then you already know that it means, literally, "white breast." There could be some rough years ahead for Bronnie if mean-spirited friends figure that one out. But the interpretation of the name is that it stands for a "virtuous and fair woman." And I like that.

All the Gutsies like the nicknaming possibilities: Bronnie, Winnie, the Bronster. (Already Madelyn says "Bronnie-Wonnie" with great frequency.)

I can tell right away if people have heard the name before or not. If they have heard it before, they tell me about the Bronwens they have known. If they have not heard it before, they balk at saying it, choosing instead to say "the baby" or "your sweet little peanut" or some such. To their credit, some good friends have tried, coming up with "Broh-win" or "Brownie" or--surprisingly--"Brandy." My sister-in-law is so afraid of the name she just calls her Little Miss B. It's okay. I know she'll come around.

The spelling? Well, we inadvertently chose the less popular spelling of the name. But I already had a child whose name ends in "-yn," and if I really am going to have three kids whose names end in the same "un" sound, I'd like three different spellings. Hence, JillsON, MadelYN, and BronwEN. Plus, historically, Bronwen apparently denotes a girl whilst Bronwyn is, traditionally, a boy. So there.

And Eliza. Oh, sweet, little, darling Eliza. I have loved the name Eliza since I first encountered "My Fair Lady" when I was (maybe) 4 years old. I wanted to be Eliza Doolittle.* Now I just think the name is charming and feminine, and it helps to balance out the strong sounds of Bronwen. And, to be frank, it sounds fantastic here in the South.

You should have heard our priest when he came to the hospital to put a blessing on Bronwen Eliza. That second syllable lasted for hours. "Bronwen El-ahhhhhhhhh-za." Blissful.

So there you have it. It was not a family name. But it is now.

Love,

The GM

*The name Amity was also always in the running for me. For a while I really was hoping I was carrying twin girls so that I wouldn't have to decide between Bronwen and Amity. In the end, the Gutsy Dad's preference helped tip the scales in favor of Bronwen. (Strangely, I know of only one Amity in real life. An adorable woman who, when I was maybe 9 or 10, married a friend of my brothers' whose last name was Doolittle. Years after her marriage I heard she had had a daughter and--undaunted by her new last name--named her what she'd always wanted to name her daughter: Eliza. Eliza Doolittle.)

Anatomy of a Mini: part four

2011-10-01T06:00:00.007-04:00

These first two pages came together rather quickly.

The above photo in the "play" layout demonstrates my belief that imperfect photography sometimes makes for the perfect photo. This was one of those "self-portrait," hold the camera out at arm's length and see what you get type pics. We all look a little off, but somehow this picture just makes me smile. Every time.

Here's a (blurry) look at the the two layouts together. Thankfully, their pairing is less chaotic than the previous double-pager.

Next up: a fantastic word, two favorite "leftover" pictures from our wedding album from Wedding #2, and journaling that reflects exactly how I felt and feel. Scrapbooking nirvana achieved.

The final layout in the mini should come as no surprise to anyone who has read this post. The quotation on the left page holds a ton of meaning for me. It's from a larger passage of Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins. This book was a life-changing read for me. (I read it one summer during high school.) It wasn't like the other literature I was reading. It was so rogue. I think I underlined something "meaningful" on every page.

At the end of the novel, I read this and my heart nearly stopped:

People are never perfect, but love can be. That is the one and only way that the mediocre and the vile can be transformed, and doing that makes it that. Loving makes love. Loving makes itself. We waste time looking for the perfect lover instead of creating the perfect love. Wouldn't that be the way to make love stay?

Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won't adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate. My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free.

I've been holding onto these ideas ever since then.

So when I was prompted with the word "free," the quotation came floating back to me. I love it even more now that I can read it in the context of my own relationship. I especially love that the word "free" holds extra meaning for us. As a young couple getting a grasp on our finances and digging ourselves out of educational and credit debt, we used to celebrate many, many things that were "free." We would challenge each other to come up with fun things to do or see that were free, and when we found them we'd say "And guess what? It's FREEEEEEEE!" and "We love free!"

The quotation on the right is a longer excerpt from a poem called "The Daydream" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. (You can read the whole thing here.)

When the Gutsy Dad and I were first married, and he had to go to Korea for a year without me, I stayed behind in Austin, TX. As it turned out, a man who was an extremely influential mentor in my husband's early career was a guest lecturer at UT that year. He and his wife took me under their wing. She inspired me because she was kind, independent, and not defined by her husband's (extremely successful) career. That is harder than it sounds when your husband does what mine does--even for someone like me with proper and official Women's Studies training. She and I talked honestly about how I could make a go of it, being supportive of my husband without losing myself. She was enthusiastic and genuine and very patient with my naivete.

When we moved away from Austin, she gave me this calligraphy print, which was my introduction to the Tennyson poem. (It's from a different part of the poem, hence the slightly different wording.)

I've had this print, framed, hanging on my wall in every home ever since. (If you look closely, you can see the upper left corner of the print has been chewed. Tilly did this. When we lived in Gig Harbor, WA she went through a major twit phase. One day while I was at work, from what I could tell, this picture fell off the wall, the frame broke open, and Tilly helped herself to the paper.)

In its current position in our Georgia home, this quotation is, quite literally, the center of a very happy life.

And that's it. That's the end of the anniversary mini. You can see the other parts here: cover, part one, part two, part three.

TMI: The Post-Partum Body

2011-09-30T06:15:00.075-04:00

Here beginneth the third chapter of the Book of Yoga Pants, wherein I battle back from my I-bore-a-baby body one final time.

At the moment, my body is a strange assortment of lumps and bumps. There is dough everywhere. It is a study in fabric draping, except that it is not fabric hanging around, it is my skin.

Until just a few days ago, my incision was still covered in steri-strips. There were so many of them that they looked like a row of long, skinny teeth smiling across my lower abdomen. It was a pretty goofy smile. Half cute, half horror flick. The strips itched like crazy, and I am so happy they are gone. My body is all mine again now.

The incision site is still a bit temperamental--stinging and pulling one moment, and then the next it seems to be without nerve endings at all, as though nothing ever happened.

And yes, there’s a flappy underbelly thing going on. I know it will be with me for a long, long time.

My breasts are on fire a lot of the time. They weigh about 8 pounds each. They hurt so much and get so engorged that they are hot to the touch. Thankfully, Bronwen doesn’t seem to mind. I am fantasizing about the cabbage leaf and quark treatment. My chest pulls me over with its weight. It gives me headaches. Pumping helps.

The breast weight and my hesitancy to really stand up straight and stretch out my lower abdomen make me feel like I am walking around like the hunchback of Notre Dame. This, in turn, makes my back ache. I am trying to channel my two grandmothers and stand up tall and proud, rolling those shoulders up and back and down...

I long to exercise. I satisfy myself with meager walks around the neighborhood.

I am attempting to make healthy eating choices, but I will be the first to admit that there are way too many carbs and sweets in the rotation these days.

I know, I know. I can already hear you. I'm not even three weeks post-partum. People tell me I'm looking great (and I love them for it), and for the most part I am in fact pretty well. But underneath the surface, underneath the clothing, is a body which is a foreign landscape to me right now. I am doing my best to be patient with it, but we all know patience is not my greatest strength.

I am trying to treasure all that comes with renewed mommyhood--and I really, truly treasure so much right now--but the physical limitations are making me crazy. Just a little. A manageable crazy. A typical "me" level of crazy.

Yours from the couch,

The GM

Anatomy of a Mini: part three

2011-09-29T06:00:00.056-04:00

Moving right along in the mini album. (Cover is here. Part one is here. Part two is here.) These pages are fairly self-explanatory, so I won't go into great (and often boring) detail.

But I will say this about the "enjoy" layout below: the blue butterfly hiding Madelyn's private parts and the orange/pink circle on Jillson do not actually appear on the layout in the album. In the album, they are 100% nakey. I just felt the girls might prefer it if I did NOT share their private parts with the entire internet.

A rare photo of the Gutsy Family pre-kids:

A favorite quotation from Eleanor Roosevelt (thank you, 10th grade American history class), paired nicely with a photo from the Gutsy Dad's marathon and another from a stations-of-the-cross hike through the German countryside.

Unfortunately, when these two pages ended up next to each other in the finished album, the result was rather busy. Na ja.

"Cherish" turned out to be one of my favorite layouts in the album -- our crazy life by the numbers. (And one of the more recent pictures of us. Since I made this album in August, this is the only photo in which Bronwen "appears.")

Only one more installment to go!

Photo Shoot Struggles

2011-09-28T06:00:00.030-04:00

I tried very hard to take some adorable two-week-old pictures of Bronwen Eliza on Monday. She was not pleased. This was the best shot I could get:

Things got a little better when I added in the "props," aka Big Sister and Double Big Sister.

God only knows what they were planning to do:

Time to review the "don't bite your friends" episode of Yo Gabba Gabba:

I thought a little dress might help cheer Bronwen up. I was wrong. Again, this was the best shot I could get:

At least, later on, when Bronnie fell asleep on the couch, I was able to get a cute sleeping picture with the phone. Love those CHEEKS!

Today we had Bronwen Eliza's two-week check-up, and she passed with flying colors.

Anatomy of a Mini: part two

2011-09-27T06:00:00.100-04:00

More pages from the 10th anniversary album that I made for the Gutsy Dad. (The cover can be seen here; the opening pages are shown in this post.)

This layout shows a picture from our actual wedding--the one that happened ten years ago. (Photos of me in a big white dress, appearing elsewhere in this album, are from Wedding #2, which happened only 9 years ago.)

The prompt word "share" reminded me of this favorite quotation from Buddha. I definitely believe that happiness grows when it is shared. (Please see footnote about my Sing & Smile campaign, below, for more on this topic.) But I also believe that the opposite is true: burdens must also be shared. How else can you lessen them?

This has got to be one of my favorite family portraits of all time. Madelyn is featured, um, prominently. Jillson is barely visible. All you see of the Gutsy Dad is his hands. And yet it really holds a whole lot of wonder for me.

One of the challenges I faced in putting this book together is that I could not choose the focus words -- those were chosen for me. I knew I wanted to address certain themes, so I enjoyed trying to figure out which words to use for what theme, and what photos would help augment the theme.

We live in a strange state of acquiring more, but trying to do with less. It's tricky for me to explain. But there are times when I can look around at the man and girls I love and think this is it; I need no more than this. This is never truer than at the end of a long separation.

Here's a look at the two pages together:

And that's it for today, dear friends.

xoxo,

The GM

TOTALLY OFF-TOPIC FOOTNOTE:

The Sing & Smile campaign:

As many of you know, I love singing in choirs. It helps that I also love church music. I know not everyone is a singer (and maybe more people would enjoy church more if they didn't feel forced to sing?), but sometimes--as a choir member--it bums me out to process down the aisles, singing my little guts out, only to see people with their faces buried glumly in their hymnals or--worse--staring into space, determined not to sing, not to even look at any of those weirdo singers walking down the aisle. So, shortly after joining the choir in Kansas City, I decided to launch a one-woman sing & smile campaign. Why should I allow grumpy parishioners to ruin the fun for me? Do I really need to pretend not to see them? Nope. I have enough theater training to know how to throw a dazzling smile. So now I sing and smile and thoroughly enjoy myself. I make it a point to smile and make eye contact with as many people as possible. (Not in a creepy way; more like a "hey, how are you?" way. At least that's my intent.) There hasn't been a single Sunday since I started my smile campaign that I haven't smiled, from ear to ear, while singing the processional hymn. Every now and then it pays off -- one grumpy person gets snapped out of gloominess and smiles back. It is true that these people may be smiling back because I look kind of crazy and they are trying not to laugh or display annoyance. It is also possible that not a single one of them is willing, suddenly, to sing. But it's also possible that these people are actually happy. And that is enough. To me, this is happiness shared.

Monday Music Mojo: K'Naan's "Wavin' Flag"

2011-09-26T10:44:00.000-04:00

A few things: The Gutsy Dad went back to work today (paternity leave over), which means he left the house before 5:00am. My alarm went off at 6:00am, which afforded me just the right amount of time to do the New & Improved (Now With Breastfeeding!) Morning Routine all by myself.

Guess what? All four Gutsy Girls (ages ranging from 2 weeks to 35 years) made it to the bus stop in time to put Miss Jillson on the bus.

I believe I went above and beyond the call of duty when I showed up wearing actual clothes (no pjs or sweats) and a supportive bra. Ever the optimist, I wore a cute Red Sox t-shirt.

I cannot believe Bronwen is already two weeks old. That was a really fast two weeks. More on this topic later, I'm sure.

Madelyn and I are hanging at home today with Bronnie, catching up on to-dos. Maddie is playing the piano. She hops down periodically, trots over to the sleeping baby, and coos: "wobby nobby lobby baby Bwon-winn..." I have no idea what "wobby nobby lobby" means, only that it is pure Madelyn--her version of "aw, what a cute little baby." She says it A LOT.

Kitchen clean-up this morning was greatly aided by the following song, which I am still listening to on repeat, getting myself stoked up for tonight's episode of The Sing-Off:

Yes, yes I do have a thing for South African music. Love the beat. Love the group singing, the choral-like harmonies, the power this music has to uplift. Apartheid, Coca-Cola, and World Cup soccer issues aside, I just really love a good shout out for freedom. (Makes this song perfect for a dorky, collegiate a cappella anthem, no?) I mean, when was the last time an American pop song helped the USA "come together?" Mm hmm.

When I get older I will be stronger.

They'll call me freedom just like a wavin' flag.

So wave your flag. Now wave your flag. And wave your flag.

Today the shameless Gutsies are letting their freak flags fly.

Guard Dog

2011-09-23T10:18:00.001-04:00

Tilly has been waiting patiently for this moment for almost two weeks. She has been asking and asking and asking. Finally, just the other day, it came. She was allowed on the couch next to the baby.

Tilly has always loved snuggling with the babies, and while we try to keep her away so as to avoid accidental sitting-upon-the-baby incidents, there's only so long you can hold off when those big, brown, pleading eyes practically weep: "Please may I sleep next to her? Pleeeease?"

Tilly & Bronwen, September 21, 2011

Tilly & Madelyn, January 12, 2009

Tilly & Jillson, July 29, 2006

Anatomy of a Mini: part one

2011-09-22T17:56:00.000-04:00

Realizing this may be of interest only to my scrappy friends (and to those of you who are diehard romantics), I thought I'd devote some time to the innards of the anniversary mini-scrapbook I made for the Gutsy Dad.

At the end of August I participated in a free two-week workshop from BPC called "Words to Live By." Every day, for 12 days, a different instructor introduced a special word with thoughts and ideas about how to interpret it creatively. I challenged myself to view each of those words in the context of my decade of married life.

These are the results.

A word or two about the album: this is a 6 x 6 mini album, which started out completely naked. I love this size. Jump rings and the lack of page protectors make it possible for the pages to be as chunky as you want. It's very easy to use 4x6 photos (full bleed), crop photos down to fit inside, or to reprint favorite photos at much smaller sizes at home. I also love the freedom of being able to have elements hanging off the margins of the pages.

The cover of this album can be viewed here. It's the first time I've stitched through so many layers (the chipboard letters, the patterned paper, the cover itself), and I am so pleased the needle held. I didn't trust the adhesive on those letters and took a cue from Karen Grunberg to stitch across the bottom of the letters.

Above and below you can see the title page. Since the album cover had that cute window through which to see and read the "words to live by" tag, I felt I had to do something to protect the printed tag from smearing. What you may or may not be able to see upon closer examination is that I added a page (the aqua strip) connected to a 4x6 transparency overlay. In the photo above, the overlay is over the right-hand page. Below, the overlay is "open," and the title page is exposed.

Our first word was "give." I could've gone in a million directions with this word. Ultimately, I decided to focus on the greatest gift I have received from the Gutsy Dad: strength.

The photo is from our second wedding. (I'm fairly certain you can click on the photo below to read the journaling.) I think my favorite thing about this spread is the pennant I made (upper right).

That's it for today. Stay tuned for future installments detailing the innards of this mini-book.

Yours in scrap-geekiness,

The GM

Snippets

2011-09-20T12:44:00.022-04:00

Madelyn makes sense of the new world order.

Out of the blue, while playing:

Madelyn: Papa, you are not pregga-nent.

Gutsy Dad: Nope, I'm not.

M: You are just a boy.

GD: That's right.

M: You are married to my mom.

GD: Exactly.

And also:

Madelyn: Mommy, you are not pregga-nent any more.

Gutsy Mom: That's right.

M: My baby came out of your belly.

GM: Yes, she did.

M: With a hat on.

GM: Umm...

Today Makes Ten

2011-09-19T22:44:00.001-04:00

Today, the Gutsy Dad and I celebrated our 10th anniversary (of our actual, first wedding) by having a perfectly regular day.

The day began with baby hiccups at 2:30am. Audio courtesy of a slightly groggy Gutsy Mom and her iPhone:

In the (real) morning, all five of us went to the bus stop together.

The Gutsy Dad went running with Madelyn in the jogging stroller; I paid bills online and made some business calls.

We thought about going out to lunch so we made ourselves presentable, but then we remembered the deli where we wanted to eat is closed on Mondays. So, instead we stayed home (looking presentable for each other) and ate some of the awesome church ladies' food.

We read naptime stories with Bronwen and Madelyn.

While Maddie napped, we gave Bronwen her first at-home bath, made some inky footprints of her adorable tootsies, weighed her, and took 300,000 photos of her since she is officially one week old today. (She weighed in at 6 lbs 15.5 oz, up an ounce and a half from her discharge weight.) Scroll to the end for the adorable baby photos.

While Bronwen napped, we opened anniversary presents: gorgeous cranberry & sienna pottery which my parents brought back from Village Pottery on Prince Edward Island. I absolutely adore the colors in these ceramics. The Gutsy Dad and I have been collecting this pottery for a few years, but our collection took a serious hit last year when a shelf fell off the wall and shattered most of our pieces. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for re-starting our collection!

And I gave the Gutsy Dad this mini-book which I made in August and have been dying to share with him. I'll share the inside pages with you in the days ahead.

After Jillson came home, we read stories and practiced sight words, and then the entire Gutsy clan went on a family walk. Please note the random head gear fashioned by the girls out of scrapbooking paper. These fashions were designed primarily by Madelyn. She and Jillson had "crowns;" Jillson's was modified into a helmet-topping loop thing. Zephie tore her paper collar off in the first 30 seconds of the walk; Tilly kept hers on.

I still can't believe Jillson is finally riding her bike as well as she is.

Dinner was again courtesy of the church ladies: tomato basil soup with garlic bread, green beans, and fresh corn off the cob. Iced tea. Kinder Schoko from our German neighbor for dessert.

Now the Gutsy Dad and I are watching the season premiere of The Sing-Off, snuggling with the littlest diva, and enjoying vanilla ice cream with homemade chocolate sauce.

I loved today.

A Week Ago Today

2011-09-18T12:23:00.002-04:00

I love playing the "week ago today" game or the "last year on this day" game or the "it was five years ago this week" game, which is a trait I believe I inherited from my father. So here we go.

Just last week, I was really enjoying looking like this. I mean it. I really loved being big and beautiful and pregnant. I did not enjoy the physical discomforts, of course, but I really tried to revel in my state, knowing it would be my last time.

Just last week we were deeply focused on these two:

Yes, those are the two fur kids in our graciously huge shower. Why are they in the penalty box? Because they are on elaborate bathing schedules these days. Yup, the pups chose the month before the baby came to have all sorts of issues come to a head. (Auerbachian friends will not be surprised.)

Tilly's seborrhea resurfaced, she developed an "interesting" growth in her private parts, and while under anesthesia to deal with said growth (and to have her teeth cleaned) she revealed to us not one, but two lumps in her mouth which were promptly removed. Thankfully, the lumps and growths all proved to be benign, and after a course of antibiotics and with regular shampoos for her seborrhea, she seems to be doing just fine. Phew.

Meanwhile, Zephie's allergies and/or nerves took over and she developed two crazy hot spot areas. Her benign fatty belly lump (present since 2006) started growing rapidly. Another trip to the vet, another day of anesthesia, and she has emerged with clean teeth, three removed lumps (including the very large one on her belly), and her own shampoo schedule for allergies. She, too, has just finished her course of meds, so we can simply focus on her two incision sites, one of which has a seroma. (This requires a trip to the vet every few days to have the site drained; we're hoping this ends next week.)

And then there's their arthritis.

Oh. Wait. What? Hm? What's that you say? You came here for cute baby pictures and were confronted instead by the phrase "interesting growth in her private parts?"

Okay. I know you aren't THRILLED to be reading about my geriatric dogs' health issues (kind of like a visit to an old folks' home, no?), but they are my girlies, too. They are part of my real life. And they were DEFINITELY part of my last week.

Anyway. Back to that last week. Tilly got in a few last minute snuggles with the belly:

We (the human Gutsies) went out for a "Final Friday as Four" dinner at the Upper Crust:

On Sunday, we went to church as usual. I am glad we went, for many reasons. Most superficially, I was excited to wear one of my favorite maternity dresses one last time. These are pretty much the final belly shots. (By the same time the next day, Bronwen was out!)

A side note about church: September 11th is hard for me for personal reasons. Going to church always helps this. It particularly helped this week that our priest gave an intelligent and honest sermon about forgiving our enemies. I got pretty teary. Forgiveness is something I have a very hard time practicing. I struggle to see how forgiving others for their wrongdoings helps me; it helps the other, certainly, but I seem to be able to move on just fine without it. I've also been thinking about forgiveness quite a bit thanks to Unbroken. But I digress.

By the end of church, we felt wrapped in love (and laden with meals), and we headed home to pack bags for the hospital.

Shortly, Meme and Kiki and their dog, Charlotte, arrived and, as usual, they got right into the swing of things. Mom made us an awesome "Abschiedsfest" dinner of oven-baked "fried" chicken, corn and corn bread from the farmer's market (my requests), and salad to make us feel virtuous. There was also a delicious homemade peach pie. (Heaven!)

At story time, the Gutsy Dad snuggled with three girls. (L to R: Zephie, Tilly, Charlotte.)

While Meme and Kiki were in charge of the stories.

I just watched and basked and rubbed my belly, counting my many, many blessings.

They Are So Into Her

2011-09-16T11:07:00.000-04:00

And I love it.

Of course they are still pushing many buttons these days, but not with regard to the baby. They love her. Jillson comes flying off the bus at the end of the day to run home to see "her" baby. Madelyn chooses one of her own lovies (often her most prized) every night to give to Bronwen to sleep with.

Finally for today, I leave you with our new and improved family portrait, Gutsy Style (i.e. with no two people smiling or looking at the camera at the same time.) God only knows when we'll get it together to get a picture with all five of us in it again!

Bronwen Eliza

2011-09-13T10:54:00.001-04:00

Our sweet baby girl, Bronwen Eliza, was born yesterday the 12th of September at 7:20am. She weighed 7 lbs and 1.5 oz and measured 19.75 inches. She has a head full of dark hair and blue eyes, just like her sisters had. We are all doing well. Reports and photos to follow.

Twelve on Twelve

2011-09-12T04:00:00.007-04:00

THEN:

1. On this day twelve years ago I met the Gutsy Dad; we had a blind date of sorts. (Technically, we had met before--though I couldn't remember him--and we had been emailing for about a week.)

2. On this day twelve years ago we went out to dinner in downtown Austin at the original Z'Tejas (before it really became a chain), and I enjoyed a chicken breast with pumpkin seeds and artichokes. I'm fairly certain the Gutsy Dad ordered a steak.

3. On this day twelve years ago, when the waitress brought our menus, the Gutsy Dad stared at his for a moment, then pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket so that he could read. The Gutsy Dad says that I grinned from ear to ear and that he then felt comfortable leaving his glasses on for the rest of the date.

4. On this day twelve years ago I wore a blue and black striped v-neck t-shirt (still have it), and a long black skirt with black platform sandals. I think the Gutsy Dad wore a blue button down and some sort of khaki/cargo hybrid pants.

5. On this day twelve years ago the Gutsy Dad and I shared a romantic walk around Town Lake and sat on a park bench and talked for hours and hours.

6. On this day twelve years ago he kissed me, and the rest, as they say, is history.

NOW:

7. Today I am 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant, and if all goes according to plan, I'll be at the hospital having my baby girl. (When the doctor was scheduling our c-section and asked how I felt about September 12th as a date, I said "we LOVE that date!")

8. Today I get to become a mom of three.

9. Today I give thanks for the blessing of my two other sweet daughters, one of whom is extremely excited to become a big sister just like her big sister is. (The oldest big sister has announced that she will henceforth be known as the double big sister.)

10. Today I am insanely grateful that my parents live so close that they can be at my home with my dogs and children running the show while the Gutsy Dad and I focus on Number Three.

11. Today I am more in love with my husband, the amazing father of my three kids, than ever.

12. Today, twelve years after that marvelous first date, I'm fairly certain the Gutsy Dad will kiss me yet again.

LUCKY, LUCKY ME.

(photo from July 4, 2011)

I Was Walking to My Office

2011-09-11T06:00:00.145-04:00

I had listened to the news driving in to work as usual, but I remember nothing unusual about the broadcast. I parked the car and walked down the sweltering sidewalks toward the Harry Ransom Center on the University of Texas campus.

I had no idea what was happening as I walked; no one around me seemed at all alarmed or concerned. We were just having a normal morning. I sipped my iced coffee and walked briskly, probably thinking about what was on my plate at work that day, until I reached campus about 15 minutes later.

When I walked into our office suite the receptionist stopped me.

"Did you hear the news?"

"No. What news?"

"A plane just flew into the World Trade Center in New York. They don't think it was an accident."

I have no idea what I said after that, but I do remember that I did not take her seriously. Surely she had misunderstood. Surely she was exaggerating. She did have a tendency to sensationalize many things. I felt certain that what she said could not be right, or, at the very least, was not as serious as she was making it out to be.

I continued back to my office and turned on my computer, began arranging the day's tasks. Soon, the guy in the office next to me said "another one hit," and, curious to figure out what people knew that I didn't, I wandered back out of my office and into the conference room.

We all watched it on TV.

I still had no idea what it meant, what the repercussions would be. It was something happening to other people, far away. Even when the Gutsy Dad (whom I had been dating for two years, but had not yet married) called to (a) see if I was handling the news alright and (b) let me know the next few days would be unpredictable, I had no comprehension that these events would effect his work, let alone the shape of my life.

It was not for several hours, not until our boss sent us all home to be with loved ones, or maybe not even until that evening that I began to grasp it. I sat on my bed in my apartment crying and worrying and wondering what would happen to the man I loved.

Now, ten years later, I've become better at this, the sensing of the moments when nothing-will-be-what-it-was-like-before, but back then (and for years after, really) I remained so naive and optimistic that I tended to ignore just how serious things could be until they were way beyond serious.

On Sunday the 16th, 2001, I sat in church with so many others. I do not remember what anthem we sang as a choir. I do not remember the lessons or the prayers or the sermon. I remember only a draining out of my soul, a complete loss of optimism, and an intense desire for it all to be fixed and returned to normal. Knowing this couldn't happen, I felt helpless.

I remember singing all the verses of the national anthem with the congregation, with the Gutsy Dad right by my side (as he had been every week since we first met). I choked out the words.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.

I mean, did you even know that was in there? That's our national anthem, people, and it's heavy stuff. I was wrecked.

By the end of that Sunday, I knew I wanted to be married to the Gutsy Dad. I knew I would tolerate whatever burdens his chosen career would place on me as his spouse. I wanted for better or for worse. I wanted assurance that he was mine, that even if he left, that even if he didn't come back, he was mine and always would be.

I forced the Gutsy Dad to propose to me under duress. (As it turns out, he had been planning--for quite some time--to propose to me on 9/12/01, the second anniversary of the day we met, but things were crazy on that "day after," and he hadn't found an appropriate time since then.) We met with our priest to discuss details, and she assured us that she would make it work no matter what, even if the Gutsy Dad were suddenly called away.

"I will meet you on the tarmac if I have to," she had said. I loved her for that.

So that is where I was that Tuesday morning, and I suppose a part of me is still there. I won't be so dramatic as to say the events of 9/11 changed me forever. I am still the same me, essentially. But those events certainly changed the trajectory of my life, not to mention my husband's career, and the shape of the lives of the entire Gutsy Family.

Here I am, a day before giving birth, and my thoughts are on the events of 9/11/01, not on the events of tomorrow. My thoughts are on the level of GUTSY that is going to be required of me yet again. After all, there might never have been a need for gutsiness, if there had been no 9/11. But here we are -- a third baby, a third RLBT.* I know this will be my last baby; I pray it is our last RLBT.

I guess it's not that surprising that as the Gutsy Dad's next extended hiatus from our family approaches, I can't help but clear my head, reflecting on this past decade, especially on this day of all days. To do so means I can make a little more room for more wonderful subjects as well as my signature optimism, restored and still intact.

I am ready for tomorrow.

Pensive but grounded,
The Gutsy Mom

(*Ridiculously Long Business Trip)

Cocktail of the Month -- Limonata Nojito

2011-09-07T11:59:00.001-04:00

Yes, you read correctly. The return of the cocktail of the month!

On Sunday after church we went out to lunch with Meme and Kiki, and the Gutsy Dad and I both enjoyed this drink. (I refused to give sips to the kids, it was so good.)

I rushed home and Googled it and, as a result of a rather fortuitous trip to Publix yesterday, I was able to recreate it.

Limonata Nojito

(I am sure you could jazz it up with alcohol if you really felt it necessary, but I promise it is delicious without.)

1 can (11.5oz; 330 ml) San Pellegrino Limonata

1/4 lime

3-4 mint leaves

1 tbsp agave nectar (or more, to taste)

ice

Juice the 1/4 lime into the bottom of a rather large cocktail glass, then drop it in. (Think Tom Collins glass or larger. I made mine in a regular glass and ran out of room--I would have loved to add more ice.) Tear up the mint leaves and drop in. Add the agave nectar. (I started with a tablespoon, and it seemed just about right. Maybe a tiny bit more would be better. Remember, you can always add more at the end.) Muddle. Fill glass with ice. Pour in the Limonata. Stir gently.

If you like Italian Lemon Soda, you will like this drink. If you like mojitos, you will like this drink. If you are a pregnant person who likes lemon soda and mojitos, you will LOVE this drink.

Note: This refreshing, summery drink was the perfect addition to my last "solo" day. Yesterday I decided I should indulge myself in ways I might not be able to once there is a newborn in the picture. After getting Jillson and Madelyn off to their respective schools, I ran a few quick errands (including the grocery store) and treated myself to a pedicure. I then came home and read my book, while drinking a glass of chocolate milk and eating vanilla meringues. After retrieving Madelyn and getting her down for a nap, I concocted my Limonata Nojito and sat back to watch Samantha Morton's "Jane Eyre" off the DVR. Ahhhhhh, bliss.

And Then There's This One

2011-09-06T14:50:00.000-04:00

She is utter mischief these days.

She is not interested in napping in her own bed. We find her sleeping on her floor, in her sister's bed, in the hallway, on our own bedroom floor. Wedged into her baby doll's tiny pack'n'play behind the bunk beds. On the carpet in the guest room. In the bathroom cabinet with the bathroom door locked (please don't ask).

She is quite attached to her yellow ducky lovey, now affectionately called "Lovely Carrot."

While I was upstairs the other day visiting the--ahem--ladies' room, she sprinkled confectioner's sugar all over the kitchen and living room. Do you know how hard it is to clean up confectioner's sugar? Especially when the preschooler has tried to wipe it up with wet washcloths and the dogs have been licking it? Not much could be vacuumed up; most of it had to be mopped. And mopped again. And yet again. (Our floors resembled Krispy Kreme donuts for a while.)

While she was supposedly "napping" last week, she covered her arms, legs, neck, chin, and cheeks up to her eyeballs with a slathering of Nivea cream so thick she looked like she was in a body cast. The Nivea also ended up on our guest room table, rocking chair, carpet, a stack of certificates, and the glass of about 10 to 15 picture frames I had laid out on the floor to design a collage for the wall. Did I mention she tried to clean this mess up, too? Many of the globs of Nivea around the room also had shriveled bits of tissues glommed onto them.

But I shouldn't dwell solely on her naughtiness. She is still pure joy. Pure love.

She smiles almost all day long. She still has those killer dimples. She says she "mith-ith Jih-zee" when Jillson is at school. If her big sister is being a whiner about something she'll say "It's okay, Jih-zee, you can have mine!"

She is very concerned with overall mood. She asks me out of the blue "Are you happy?" with great regularity. If I say "yes" she says "okay" and beams. If I say anything else (such as "Mommy's not unhappy" or "Mommy's disappointed") she'll want to know when I will be happy again. "Are you happy now, Mama? Are you happy now?"

Like her big sister, she is eager for the baby to "come out." She wants to hold the baby and "teach her everything to do."

She is a Daddy's Girl, constantly asking when he will be home.

She wants everything to be the "same as." If I put on flip-flops, she puts on flip-flops. If the Gutsy Dad wears crocs; she wears crocs. She squeals with glee: "We are the SAME AS!" (A month or so ago, when she was erroneously saying "same than"--because of the phrase "different than"--I explained that it was supposed to be "same as." Now I can't get her to say just "same." It's always "same as.")

She also says "I welcome" instead of "you're welcome."

She prays for "Kiki's Leg" and for Charlotte before bed almost every night.*

She is starting to wear underwear out in the big, big world. So far she has had one dinner outing and one morning at preschool in underwear. Success. (She is still in a diaper for naps and bedtime.)

She loves bread smeared with peanut butter and honey, chocolate milk, and corn on the cob.

And I love her.

I love you, my little meatball, I love you so much. And you know what? I know my love for you is big enough to stretch all the way around your great, big personality.

Bring it on, Moop.

(All photos from August 2011, except for the last which was taken today.)

*(My father's injured leg which is steadily healing; my parents' dog.)

Why I Wouldn't Mind if Labor Day Were LABOR Day

2011-09-05T14:37:00.000-04:00

At over 38 weeks, things are starting to get cumbersome.

That's me on Wednesday evening right before I went to my first choir rehearsal. I've got a fair amount of energy, I just can't do very much with it.

I do think I'm in the overlapping portion of the Nesting and Pre-RLBT Venn Diagram. One minute I am sewing a new skirt for the bassinet and driving all around town looking for nipple shields and baby thermometers; the next I am joining a choir, joining a book club, and starting a bunco group. Am I the only one who frantically reaches out to groups--searching for my peeps--before an RLBT?

The Gutsy Dad (who is away this week) already has emailed to ask if I could kindly go into labor tomorrow so that he can come home early. Part of me--the part that looks like this--wants to say "sure thing, honey!"

The rest of me knows I can hang in there. One week from today I'll be holding the contents of that bump in my very own arms.

So strange, so wonderful to know when she will be here.