Unwinding

You know what cures a long day filled with aches and pains and whiny children? A jacuzzi bath, a bowl of strawberries, a (small) glass of (5% alcohol by volume) wine and Tina Fey.

The Way You Look, July

July is the best month of the year. Summer is in full-swing. The long, wonderfully hot days are filled with laughter in the pool:



Lazy afternoons in the hammock, looking up at the sky:



Picnics of fresh fruit (usually sweet, juicy watermelon):



Floating around, without a worry in the world:



And, of course, July 4th, in all it's flag-filled glory:



The days of July are what I mourn in the Fall, long for in the Winter, and eagerly anticipate in the Spring. This is when I am my happiest. I can only try to bottle it as best I can and hope it lasts the rest of the year until July returns.

Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you...

First Day

Monday was the first day of camp. It was the first day of Sophie's third summer at the same camp. It was Lilah's first day of camp- or any program without me- ever. Lilah is my easy-going child. She is smart and sweet. She adjusts to change fairly easily. I have been leaving her with a babysitter (at our house) for a few hours a week for the past year. I had attended a Mommy and Me class with her at the school where camp takes place. Half of her bunk mates are her best friends, the children of my best friends. She has seen these kids about three times a week since she was nine months old. I had not given much thought to the possibility of camp being a major transition. And, yet, there were tears when I took her to camp. I abandoned the idea of dropping her off in the carpool line with Sophie, and instead, walked her in myself. There were tears when I said good-bye. So I stayed for a few more minutes. More tears, so I stayed a bit longer. Finally, I left and watched her through the window. She was sad, but engaged in an activity with her counselor. I drove home fighting back my own tears. I had a list of things to do during the three hours she was at camp, but instead, I found myself wandering around and checking the clock to see if it was time to pick her up yet. I did manage to convince myself to get on the treadmill (if all I was doing was walking around the house, I may as well be walking on the treadmill). When noon finally did arrive, I picked her up. She greeted me with a smile and said, "I had fun with my friends." She looked happy. She also looked different. She looked like a big kid standing there with her backpack on. She looked older. I remember this happening to Sophie too; this transformation. It is subtle, but it is there. It is a maturity; an independence. In a short three hours of fending for themselves (with lots of supervision), children grow. It is a good thing. There is a part of me that wishes kids could do both- be independent and still stay attached. But this is life. My baby birdie flew out of the nest this week. And I am both proud and a little sad.

Father's Day 2011

We had a lovely Father's Day in between ballet class, camp orientation, and a birthday party. (Really, why do people plan things on Fathers Day?! Why can't we spend the whole day together as a family?!) The girls and I made Shimmy his favorite breakfast and brought it to him in bed. This was after we heard him coming downstairs earlier than expected and Sophie yelled at him to get back in bed. There were cards and presents and cuddles. It was adorable. After all of the non-Father's Day obligations were met, we had dinner with my dad, sister, and sister's girlfriend. (My mom is out of town.) On the way home from dinner, with my dad squeezed between the girls' carseats in the back, Lilah threw her dinner up all over herself and the backseat. My dad calmly wiped her down and held her hand. When we got home, I gave the girls baths and got them ready for bed while Shimmy hosed down the carseats. This seemed to really capture the true meaning of fatherhood. Which complemented my Mother's Day early morning fun of cleaning up peed on sheets. It's part of the parenting package. And even with the occasional vomit and pee incident, it's a pretty wonderful package.



Good Morning and Happy Father's Day!


breakfast in bed: coffee, orange juice, toasted bagel with cream cheese and southwestern scrambled eggs


My sister, our Daddy, and Me

An Unoriginal, but still worth sharing, Thought

This is something that gets discussed in the blogosphere from time to time. It's my turn to mention it.

YES- I have an amazing husband, wonderful children, parents who are living, and an awesome group of friends.

YES- I have a beautiful home, a nice car, and live very comfortably.

YES- I have my health.

I am constantly aware and appreciative of all of these things. I thank God every day. I do not take any of these things for granted.

BUT- once in a while sucky things happen. I rarely mention the sucky things because I feel guilty for letting them overshadow the awesome things for a short period of time. Occasionally I do complain about something and it is SUPER UNHELPFUL for the person I am complaining to to make light of it or remind me about all of the awesome things.

In summation:
I am blessed, but occasionally stressed.
I am lucky, but sometimes things are sucky.

Sunday, Busy Sunday

Weekends have been crazy busy lately.

Last Sunday we had- I exaggerate not- A birthday party, a ballet class, another birthday party, a play date, and then another birthday party.

Today we had a ballet recital, a baby naming, a brief break during which I did laundry and painted sample colors on the outside of the house, and later on is dinner with some visiting relatives.

Next weekend we have sleep over company, a birthday party/baby naming, and maybe if we feel ambitious, a BBQ of our own.

I'm pretty sure every weekend in June is booked with something.

Most of the events are fun, and almost anything beats trying to entertain the kids all day at home, but I feel like weekends are not supposed to be quite so BUSY. I think I remember way back when weekends were for sleeping, eating out, and walking through street fairs holding hands with my husband. Nah, there's no way that EVER happened.

Living with Construction

You know your kids have grown up with construction when they are typically quite reserved, but greet the construction workers like long lost relatives. At least someone is happy to see them. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy the planning that goes into home projects and I love the finished product. But, the actual period of construction (any transitional, disruptive period for that matter) kind of stresses me out. I can be a pretty high-anxiety person. The world can be a jungle for me sometimes. My home is my sanctuary. And when it is invaded by others for long periods of time, I sometimes feel that I have no sanctuary. I have to deal with the mess. And the noise. And my car perpetually getting blocked in. And HAVING TO WEAR A BRA ALL DAY LONG.

When we met with our contractor to discuss this phase of renovations, I concluded the meeting by enthusiastically saying, “I’m really excited about this!” To which he, experienced contractor and father of seven replied, “You say that now, but this is like having another baby. At first you’re really excited, but then when it comes you’re tired and annoyed.” He is a smart man. However, like having a baby, even though I am tired and displaced, I am still pretty excited. This is my passion. Planning, designing, and overseeing the completion of a home project is fun and fulfilling, despite the stress. Kind of like parenting…