Girl, Interrupted

This summer there was a local talent competition in my community that took place every Wednesday evening, in the style similar to American Idol.  My bestie and I would go just about every week, enjoying each other's company and spectacle of the competition.  We sat in the same seats in the middle of a row and since we almost always arrived late, and since I almost always left early, I found myself profusely apologetic to the little old ladies we climbed over week after week.  One evening during intermission, I struck up conversation with the woman next to me and explained I had a newborn baby which is why I was always coming in right as the curtain rose and why I usually had to sneak out before the show was over.

This is what 8 months looks like

8 months! How can this be?  Elle, you have been the brightest spot in what has otherwise been a year I'd like to forget.   I am so glad you came to us this year, because we really, really needed you.  Thank you for being so wonderful!

Let's Talk About the Supreme Court - Guest Post by the Hubby

This election.  I could write a book on this election.  I won’t, though.  The Donald is going to be defeated in a couple of days so I’ll just stick to non-partisan information for this post, because I’m just frankly embarrassed for my conservative friends who keep looking for reasons to vote for this fraud.  Heck, if anyone should convince you of Secretary Clinton's worth, I could just let the Donald do it.  There's plenty of it.  But this post is about getting rid of the biggest reason my conservative friends cite for why they “still have to vote for him.”  And I felt I had to write it because, as vast as the internet is, I couldn't find a cogent article on the subject.  If you want something done...

This is what 3 looks like

Three.  Three!  I cannot believe it.  I won't waste any time waxing philosophical and emotional about how much I love her, how time continues to slip through my fingers, how child development is the most amazing thing in the world -- well, I would, but I simply don't have the time to craft cogent thoughts about these topics.  I have two kids 3 and under and we have things.to.do.

Don't Judge a Book by its Husband

Have you guys ever had an experience where you were in the dark about something that, in retrospect, seemed really obvious?  Once I was nannying for a weekend and the owner of the home, who was a family friend, was walking me through their place, showing me where things were, when her daughter interrupted and said something like, "Mom, I think this stuff is pretty obvious," in the kind of preteen way that we're all familiar with.  The mom, no stranger to this kind of treatment, leaned over the kitchen faucet, and said, "so I don't need to explain that the faucet goes right for cold and left for hot."  We all kind of laughed, the tween rolled her eyes, and we went about our business.  Except, I paused...because, wait THE FAUCET ALWAYS GOES RIGHT FOR COLD AND LEFT FOR HOT??

Textbook

They're finally asleep.  You guys they're FINALLY ASLEEP!

Today was the kind of day that started with Elle in my bed at 2 am (after trying to keep her in her crib at 9 pm, 10 pm, and 11pm) and continued with Grace at 8 am saying, "MAAAHHHM," in the sort of way that makes all the muscles in my body contract because I just knew, based on the tone, that it was going to be a very long day.  I swear she said MAAAHM 8.6 million times today.  Elle napped for 40 minutes.  Grace, not at all.  That's a lot of hours together.

What Keeps You Up at Night?

Sometimes I don't sleep at night.  Fortunately I discovered a little drug called AMBIEN which is my bedtime namaste.  Sometimes, though, when I am particularly anxious I hem and haw over taking the Ambien because I am proud and stubborn and an incredibly slow learner.  Usually, before I say uncle and then namaste, I freak myself out with some really existential shit.  Like the kind of stuff I'm hoping the people at NASA are working on.  I was talking with Eric about this the other day, how I was having another anxiety attack because of my existential obsessions, while going through several diagnoses about why I am such a hot mess -- undiagnosed postpartum depression? not being able to relax for more than three hours because I have two kids two and under? early onset menopause? RESTLESS LEG SYNDROME? -- he said, "I think about that stuff too when I can't sleep."

This is what 6 months looks like

I literally cannot believe I've had this girl for half a year already.  Summer is so wonderful but it makes time fly even faster...and here I am with a six month old, who is nothing but delightful.

This is what 2 and 3/4 looks like

It looks like independent play, like dolls, kitchens, and princesses, make believing everything, all the time.  It looks like long legs and growing out of early summer's sandals. It looks like three is just around the river bend.  It sounds like complete sentences and made up words (Minda!), like long, complicated stories, like there might be a little lisp now that she's finally able to say "S."  It feels a little stressful as she insists she doesn't need help or a nap anymore, it feels a little exciting as she keeps herself entertained for an hour or more at a time, it feels a little bittersweet because she's not a baby, nor will she ever be, anymore. It feels like love.

Jesus, take the hamster wheel

I've been having a hard time lately.  I don't know why.  But anxiety is kicking my ass.  And I'm back to that old pattern about feeling bad about it, like I need to be fixed.  Like my anxiety is because I am incomplete and once I am completed I will no longer be anxious.  But I've lived in this brain for 32 years and I am starting to realize this may not be the case.  The anxiety will always be there, Erin.  It's what used to keep you up at night crying about the poverty you learned about in school that day.  It's what keeps you up at night because you can't feel God lately.  It's hard living with this brain.  Sometimes it's exhausting to THINK so much and obsessively over analyze ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AT ALL.  Scratch that, it's always exhausting.  But it's a cycle, I've learned.  Right now I'm at that peak point of the cycle where my brain is a hamster on a wheel, just GOING FOR IT.  That little guy is going to WIN.



Tonight I was reading to Grace and I was having a really anxious moment, like reading the words on the page but not really reading them because I was thinking about a million other things.  Not in an interesting way, but in a hostage situation way.  I wanted to stay focused and present, but I kept getting taken hostage, back to the hamster wheel.  I hated it.  Mostly because I excel at reading bedtime stories.  THAT THEATRE DEGREE WILL BE USEFUL DAMNIT.  I kept talking myself back into the present moment, because I loved the present moment, then running back to the wheel, then talking myself back to present and I started to kind of panic a little like, WHY can't I do this right now?  And I felt shitty about myself and angry with myself for sucking.  And then I started to justify why I am sucking -- Grace hasn't been feeling well, I haven't been getting much sleep for the last oh, 3 or so years, I have been eating to excess, over indulging in wine and sweets, I rarely find time to exercise, blah blah blah blah blah.  And you know what?  These things are all true.  Undoubtedly.  But even when I have all of those things in line I STILL HAVE ANXIETY.  And I really want to dismiss it, like pff okay DRAMA QUEEN, you and your hard little life and your sensitive little soul, you who have been given everything, surely YOU have certainly earned the right to be anxious. (That's sarcasm, btw.) Count your freaking blessings and LOCK IT UP.  And then I feel shitty again.  And back to the hamster wheel I go.

Anyway, I got to hear my favorite writer speak today, Glennon Doyle Melton, and she's extremely inspirational to a gal like me, a gal who knows nothing and may have a little extra side of anxiety than the average person, oh, and sizable portion of feelings.  But one of the things she said was, don't believe a woman who says, "I don't know."  Because a woman always knows.  So tonight, held hostage by my hamster wheel (I like to picture it orange, with, like, a jingly little bell attached to it?), I thought, I don't know how to deal with this right now.  And then I thought about Xanax. But I felt the hamster pause (He's cute guys, liver and white spotted.  Am I taking this metaphor too far?) and it dawned on me that what I needed to do was just write down my thoughts.  Go to your quiet bloggity blog that doesn't talk back, that doesn't need, that isn't disappointed or judgmental and just UNLEASH.

(An aside: The other day my mom was so sweet and took the girls so I could get us all packed up for a weekend away. I came home from dropping them off and I was starving because I hadn't really eaten breakfast and I'm nursing so I'm always hungry. It was just past lunchtime and I thought, I'll just get us packed, take a shower, do some vacuuming, then if I have time I'll grab something to eat.  And then I thought: WHAT?!  YOU HAVE TO STAY ALIVE, ERIN.  And you have to EAT to stay alive.  Eat the food.  Do the chores.  Put on your own life vest first, you know? I am so quick to bury my own self and then feel guilty when I need something (like food?! A one hour break?).  This is a tired trope, too.  I want to roll my eyes just reading it:  Oh, another over worked Mommy.  I dunno man, all I can say is it's true.  Serving these people, it can bleed me dry sometimes.  Blogging is usually a treat, reserved for moments when the ducks are in a row and the little people are happy.)

So tonight, after talking myself out of my panic, and taking a few productive turns on the hamster wheel I came downstairs, and instead of going right into prepare for tomorrow mode (i.e., toys away, dishwasher unloaded, towels folded) I said to Eric, I just need to write.  And he was like OK, and just kept doing what he was doing.  And I was sort of like, huh. I can just take some time?  It's that easy? WOW I like to make easy things hard.

Also I am long winded.  Whew.

I am tired, most days.  I can't feel God because I don't make time to search Him or Her out.  I'm tired of not being able to voice my opinion to people I disagree with because I'm afraid of not being able to get the words out right, and my voice gets shaky and I'm just better at writing things than saying things. I feel sort of unfortunate looking right now because baby weight and falling out hair and some new wrinkles.  I feel unworthy of the little girls that I have the privilege of loving and raising, and frankly I don't know what the hell I'm doing so how can I teach them anything?  What is the effing point of life, guys?  WHAT IS IT?


And that's frankly the gist of it.  For today.  And here I am, forty five minutes later, and I feel lighter.  Freer.  I feel a little more like myself. I feel like anxiety doesn't have to be definitive.  I feel like the questions I have for God aren't quite as scary.  And they're going to be there tomorrow.  They're probably going to be there on the day you die, Erin. Huh.  What is it about the act of pen to paper or finger to key that is so therapeutic?

And now.  To publish or not to publish.

Life Hack #4: Summer Edition

Guys, it's getting to that point in summer where I'm getting a little panicky.  It's August 7th.  IT'S AUGUST SEVENTH!  IT'S GOING TO BE OVER SOON.  This panic, this anxiety makes me a little cuckoo, makes me want to control things.  I want to remodel my living room and I'm contemplating getting rid of my piano....however, there's no earthly way I can remodel my living room and I adore my piano.  So, in my infinite wisdom and 8 minutes of spare time I have per day, I realized the one place I have ultimate control is MY BLOG.  Oh my little blogitty blog, I love you.  Thank you for doing exactly what I want and for not hiding your favorite doll in a drawer and then demanding her at nap time.  Please teach your sisters and dad a thing or two, okay?

This is what 4 months looks like

Elle, you giant, darling little girl...please stop growing so fast!

I think she looks like my Uncle Willie.  Which is another way to say she is all Schuette.

This is what 10 years looks like

Once upon a time, on a very hot summer day ten years ago, two crazy kids tied the knot.

It was literally 100 degrees that day.  Photo cred to the fabulous Front Room Photography.

Good Grief

She would be so mad at me for posting this picture. There were 23 and counting different brands of wrinkle creams in her bathroom on the day she passed. It's cool, Gma, vanity is our favorite vice too.

As I'm sitting here, a few stolen moments while Grace plays with my phone and Elle sleeps in, I'm feeling the loss of my grandmother-in-law who passed away last week.  She was elderly, she was ill, she was ready to go...it's about the best you can hope for, but it's still sad.  She was lovely, inside and out, and I am going to miss her tremendously.  Today I'm thinking about her because some of her treasures are in my dining room, waiting to be sorted, her beautiful glass bowl is holding bananas on my countertop, and thanks to a serendipitously timed moment, her car is parked in my driveway (more on that later). Most mornings are too busy for me to sit still and read or write, but today I have time, and I'm thinking about the passage I read in my Daily Guideposts book the morning after Grandma passed away.  It's a story of a woman suffering from macular degeneration who, regarding her failing eyesight says, "You can never be grateful enough until it's gone."  The author of the passage goes on to explain how she recognized this woman's grief not as self-pity, but as a "deep expression of thanksgiving for something or someone I am missing."  I've never considered that before, grief equalling gratitude.  Grief is hard.  It's sad.  It hurts right in the solar plexus, where no amount of food or drink or hugs can reach.  But to grieve is to have lost something worthy of your love.

Elle's nursery

Spoiler alert:  

*Elle has the best room in our house*  

The reason being, it gets beautiful west-facing light, unencumbered by the giant trees that occupy our yard. Take a look at the photo below, when this pretty room belonged to Grace.

This is what 2.5 looks like

Insert advertisement here.

This girl. I love her.  

This is what two months looks like

Elle, my sweet child, how have you been with us for two whole months already?  I cannot get enough of this baby!

Expectations

A few weeks ago my sisters, my grandma, Eric and I were sitting around my parent's kitchen table  when the subject of personality types came up.  My sister Eden has always thought of herself as a type A "mini Hans."  Hans, my dad, is a type A++: decisive, organized, efficient, likes control.  Eden thought that's how she is too, but everyone disagreed.  Eden is super silly, easygoing and laid back. However, she likes to be on top of her work, she likes her life organized and tidy, so she assumed, if not an A++, she was at least an A.  The rest of the table said nope. B. (Well not me, I still think she's an A.  Maybe an AB.)  Eden, clearly shell shocked, was left to ponder this revelation, while everyone else at the table moved on to the REAL TYPE A, ME.  Words like "stressed out" and "controlling" were tossed about, and, feeling a little uneasy, I demanded we find a real definition to see what exactly constitutes a type A.

Elle at two weeks

You guys, it's one of those days.  One of those days that really makes me question how exactly I am going to get through till happy hour the dad gets home bedtime.

Eleanor Elizabeth, a Birth Story

Check. Her. Out! No really check out her hands.

You know how when you do something once, and it was a great experience, you assume you're good at said thing and that the next time you will do it it will be a similar experience?  That was me, regarding giving birth to a baby.  Here's the thing.  Pregnancies, births, babies -- they all different, mama.  They all different.

Life 2.0

I'm sitting in my birthing suite ruminating on the events of the last 48 hours, trying to think of something I can compare this experience to, to make it more relatable, but I'm coming up short.  Giving birth is a stand alone experience, as is everything that follows. This room, this hospital, it's so isolated from the rest of the world.  It literally just dawned on me I can turn on music.  It's a little daunting, thinking about joining reality...even though I'm going slightly stir crazy cooped up in this little room.  I know this part of the journey is just about over, and it's going to be in stark contrast to the next chapter, so I'm trying to enjoy it...but it's still. so. strange.                    

Grace's Big Girl Room

Today I want to share Grace's new big girl room with you, but in order to fully appreciate just how cute it is, take a look at this:

It's the Final Countdown

I have 17 days left.  I'm mostly excited, with a side of nervous anxiety.  And what do we do when we have anxiety?  We shop! What do we do when we have anxiety and Mimi offers to babysit?  We shop in Chicago!

When I was pregnant with Grace we were able to splurge (thanks Papa Giant!) on a once in a lifetime baby moon in Hawaii.

This is what 2 1/4 looks like

Looks like trouble, eh?  I love it.

If you're just meeting Grace, don't worry, she'll charm you with her natural sweetness.   If you're tight with her...she might push your buttons, just a little, just to see what will happen.  After all, she's 2!

Should vs Is

Right now Grace is watching Dora, drinking orange juice, and eating cheez-its.
She should be writing her ABC's, drinking a kale smoothie, and asking for, I dunno, broccoli.

Right now I'm camped out in front of my laptop writing this and shopping on Etsy, when I should be organizing the endless stream of toys that leads from room to room, or folding laundry or unloading and reloading my dishwasher. I should start dinner.  I should probably find some sort of prenatal work out dvd to do!  I should read at least one important novel before the baby arrives.  I should probably do some volunteer work.  I should find a dog training system that will keep Georgia from peeing on the carpet ONCE AND FOR ALL.  Should. I really should.

Making a Murderer: a hers and his rant.

You guys.  This has gotten out of hand.  I can't open up any social media feed or even an internet browser without being bombarded with more thoughts, more articles, more about the Steven Avery case.  I understand how pop culture works, and usually I embrace it. I like to be in the know, and I like the reprieve that silly pop culture stories provide from the daily grind.  But I think we're treading in dangerous water here, folks.  This true crime genre is compelling, addicting, and guaranteed to incite a reaction. And in this day and age, when everyone has a platform, everyone has a place to express their opinions, (yes I see the irony) I fear we're forgetting that most of us are not in fact journalists, or attorneys, or judges, or even very smart, as a collective.