Like A Big Pizza Pie

Tuesday night, I happened to glance outside and see the beautiful full moon. I thought two things: One, this is why my students have been crazy and two, I wish I had a zoom lens. Oh, and three, I hate mosquitoes.

The next morning, I awoke ten minutes before the alarm (5:20. So early. Stupid work.). I awoke with a start because it was SO BRIGHT that I thought for sure I'd overslept.
Instead, the moon was so bright that it was shining through the blinds and washing moonshadows across my face. I thought about taking a picture of my pillow bathed in moonlight, but then I thought that that'd wake Shane up and he'd stab me. So instead, I tossed on a sports bra, sweatpants, and stumbled outside on the deck, where I proceeded to take a series of comical pictures. Comical why? For one, the aforementioned jerk mosquitoes proceeded to feast on every inch of bare skin. Apparently they're hungry at 5:30 in the morning. Two, I didn't have my contacts in yet was attempting to take shots on manual focus, which meant that I couldn't really tell whether or not they were focused because, alas, everything was one big giant blur to me. And three, I was having to hold still because the shots were taking so long since it was practically the middle of the night, but it's really hard to hold still while you're being eaten alive by a swarm of hungry mosquitoes.
Thus, these photos are blurry, but I still hope you appreciate how bright and beautiful the moon is at 5:30 and that my showing you means that you didn't have to get out of bed and see for yourself.

BONUS: A picture of Saturn, which first came out looking like a squiggly dragon, because a mosquito decided to feast on my face. I like to call this one: If Saturn had dragons instead of rings.

This was the best I could get, but at least Saturn looks more like a planet and less like a dragon. I need a zoom lens AND a tripod, stat.

p.s. Twitter told me that was Saturn, lest you think I have some sort of astronomical knowledge. I'm just the crazy lady in my backyard wearing a sports bra at 5:30 in the AM.

Full

Everyone has had a long week. My first full week, Shane's first week. The boys first week at the sitter. We're all a little off kilter and struggling to adjust to this new schedule (especially Tommy, who may as well still be attached to me via umbilical cord as far as he's concerned). I asked Luke what he wanted for dinner tonight, because sometimes I like to pretend that I'm in charge of dinner and he said, "To eat at a rest-ah-rant."

And so, off to a rest-ah-rant we went, where we proceeded to eat huge cheeseburgers dripping with cheese and ketchup, crinkle cut fries, and drink cold lemonade, followed by disgustingly rich ice cream (a strawberry cone for Luke, turtle shake for me).





Our tummies were unbelievably full. We came home and wrestled on the floor, then took our baths and those two boys passed out with a belly full of carbs and sugar. It was good. I love them.

Closer I Am To Fine

Something strange happened last night. I couldn’t sleep. This is strange in itself, because ever since Tommy came rocketing into our lives a little over a year ago, I’ve appreciated sleep and grabbed it at every opportunity. Man, that kid deprived me of so much sleep that he’s going to be a teenager before I have even begun to catch up on sleep.
No, I couldn’t sleep because I had a realization. Every year since having kids, I’ve prayed and prayed for a change in situation. I’ve prayed for a way to stay home, some way, ANY way. Except that this summer, I stopped. I let go. I prayed for peace when I returned to work. I prayed to find comfort and happiness in new transitions, new beginnings.
 
And it happened. The little pangs that I get from not being able to wake up on a Wednesday morning and decide to go to the park are still there, sure, but those little pangs no longer destroy me.  Today I taught essay writing. I made jokes. I teased them for moaning and groaning about an essay on the third day of school, and somewhere along the way? I enjoyed it.
 
I know going back to work is so hard and scary. I know so many moms in the same position as me, not wanting to leave their babies. And I know if we have another baby, I’ll be a wreck over leaving him, but the truth is, I don’t have a choice. There’s no guilt to be had in my husband and I both choosing the career path that our hearts led us to, even if it’s a career path that doesn’t (and never will) make us much money. 
 
In this happiness, I’ve found clarity.  I’ve found so much more beauty in everything and everyone around me. I’ve found perspective. My house is cleaner than it’s ever been, because I’m not allowing myself to become mired down by excuses. I’ve put aside the things that don’t matter and gathered close to me the things that do. I’ve let go.
I know it’s only day three and if you ask me how I feel in the middle of October, I might start crying and say I never want to go to work again. I know the honeymoon and the newness will fade and I’ll be wishing for park days and play dates and all of those things that I want but can’t have. But in the end, I am where I’m meant to be. I have the two precious boys who I’m meant to have and in my heart, I know that they don’t suffer one bit for having me gone five days a week. Maybe you’re mired down with working mom guilt. Or maybe it’s guilt at staying home but feeling like you’re not good at it that mires you down. Maybe you don’t have children at all, but it’s something else that keeps you awake and not in a good way.
 
Just let go. Find your fine. It’s out there.

Cafe Au Cupcakes

This morning, Shane let me sleep until 10. It was wonderful. My students are very rowdy this year, mostly boys. It's like having 25 overgrown Lukes in a classroom. The girls keep stopping me to tell me how much they love my pink hair. I fear they're going to be disappointed when they learn my hair is much cooler than me!

This morning, when I finally stumbled out of bed, Luke asked for coffee just like mommy and daddy. I made him a half cup of decaf mixed with Sweet Buttercream creamer (yes, in case you're wondering, my love affair with International Delight is still going strong). He sat next to Shane and said, Daddy, let's drink our coffee. I'm so sad to miss these moments on the weekdays, but eternally grateful to have them on the weekends.

In The Kitchen

I've been so busy with the first day of school that I forgot that it was You Capture day. If you know me, you know that I spend no time cooking or baking or anything kitchen related, except maybe once or twice a year.

I'm lucky. I know this. Since Shane doesn't start school until Monday, I came home to freshly made guacamole.

And a caprese salad, which is my very favorite in the summer (I don't even like tomatoes that much, but how can you beat this combination, especially when the tomatoes and basil are from our garden?).

And a CAKE. You guys, he made me a cake. It was supposed to say "We love you, Mommy," but he ran out of frosting. But who cares, because it is a chocolate brownie cake.

I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

One Day More

In a strange way, I was the calmest I've ever been about going back to school. Did I want to go back to school? NO. Did I cry the night before? YES. But I didn't cry yesterday morning, which is the first time since having kids that that has happened. Not coincidentally, it's also the first time since having kids that I didn't spend the entire time off hoping and praying that somehow, someway, I wouldn't have to go back to work. That's not to say that I don't want for a different situation, but for whatever reason, THIS is my situation. Maybe it will change, but maybe it won't. And that's okay, because I know that I'm a teacher for a reason, and if the one kid I'm meant to help won't be in my classroom until ten years from now... well, who am I to try and change that? Of course, if someone hands me a winning lottery ticket tomorrow, I don't harbor any illusions about continuing to go to work... and that's okay too. The interesting thing about teaching is that while it's amazing to have summers off, it's also hard because it's like going back from maternity leave year after year. After 2 months off, you start to get into habits and routines and you almost forget that it's not your forever life. . So, sometimes over the summer, we go to the library and the librarian tells me about story time in the fall and how many moms love it because they can chat while the kids enjoy the stories, and I catch myself nodding for a second before I think, "Wait, wait, no, this is not my real life."

My real life is good, though. It has babies who greet me with hugs and kisses and happy squeals and a husband who always, always makes dinner. Friends who will still love me even if I can't meet at the park in the middle of the day or if I have to turn down a Wednesday night dinner out because even though I try to forgive myself and have evenings where I stay out late on a school night, sometimes dealing with 140 8th graders is EXHAUSTING. And of course, I'll always feel that little pang at wanting a little more than this, but even bigger than that is the fullness I feel at all that I have.

So Long, Farewell

I'm swallowing down the lump in my throat and bidding the fondest of farewells to summer. It's hard to believe she's come and gone and soon we'll be bundling up and trudging through the snow. I'm not really ready for it. I'm going to miss this.


(SOOC. Summer sunshine is amazing.)

Diving In

Last night, we played at the beach. Watching waves

Eating sand

Digging holes

Leaving golden trails behind us.

I looked at the time and realized that just one week from our time at the beach, I would be at work. My first day of teaching is followed by open house in the evening, which means that I have to miss bedtime right off the bat. How's that for a kick in the teeth, an additional twist of the knife in the working mom guilt that I carry with me?
Our kids are usually in bed before the sun sets, but last night, we kept them up late and maybe it's not true, but I think that ten years from now, they won't remember the bedtimes missed... but they'll remember the sunsets.

My Everyday

Seen from the couch, everyday: Hope by paper prayers (because who doesn't need hope in their every day?), Gussy Sews pouch, Tommy's teething necklace, sunshine, grandma's linen tablecloth, and flowers (not real).

Seen from the kitchen table, everyday: Flowers (real) and sunshine.

p.s. I dropped my camera a few weeks ago and broke part of the lens, which means it doesn't really focus. As such, I had to learn f-stops and aperture settings so I could shoot better pictures on manual, which is amazing because I'm lazy. My ISO is still set to auto, because I mean, I'm still kind of lazy about reading instruction manuals.

Home, IRL

Carrington very bravely showed pictures of what her house looks like on a typical, messy day. She shared how she struggles with cleaning with two kids, which is a story I know and understand. After Tommy was born, I fell into a good cleaning routine, but then I went back to work and it all fell apart. I'd save all of the cleaning until Sunday, then I'd ruin the entire day with five loads of laundry and frantic cleaning that always ended in tears. Always.

Somehow, some way, I finally got smart and made a cleaning schedule. Each day, I deep clean a different room of the house. Five of the seven days of the week, I do a load of laundry (for example, Sundays, I wash all of our sheets and Mondays I wash mine and Shane's clothes). So instead of trying to fold everyone's clothes and get them put away all in one day, I only have to do one set of clothes a day. It seems so simple AND YET, it took me so long to figure it out. Same with cleaning. Instead of vacuuming the entire house, I vacuum a room a day (except the kitchen floor which gets swept several times a day). Of course, life with two kids is still messy, so at the end of the day, my house looks like this.

But because I've already done deep cleaning, it only takes me 15 minutes to straighten and put away items, plus take out the recycling that was sitting in the kitchen and on the couch. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of cabinet or closet space in our house, which means that toys being out is necessary. Storage boxes and baskets are a lifesaver for me, because it means that everything can at least have a place on the periphery of the room. Somehow Tommy's room got left out of the messy picture, but he's a big fan lately of destroying his room in two seconds flat. Also not pictured is Luke's room because we're in the process of sorting toys and the family room and bathroom downstairs because Shane hosted poker down there last night and that is not my mess!

Is it perfect? No. Could I do more? Oh, yes! But if someone stopped by, I wouldn't be fretting about a mess. Usually the rocking chair would be clear, but I have a bag of books that HAVE TO be returned to the library tomorrow, so that's my reminder.
Naturally, it's so easy to do all of this now, but what about when I go back to work? Somehow, by some miracle, Shane realized that I was pretty smart in all of my house cleaning rants. Or maybe he just wanted me to shut up. At any rate, starting in September, someone else will be doing the deep cleaning every other week. The best rate? All I have to do is cut out pre-work Starbucks splurges and the cleaner will be paid for--a sacrifice I'm more than willing to make (especially because I'd much rather flavor my own coffee with my delicious, delicious Sweet Buttercream). In my mind, I imagined I'd be paying much, much more, because the thought of someone else mopping my kitchen floor is truly priceless.
Anyway, if you're stressed because your house is messy? Don't worry. Most likely, mine is too. And if you would kill for a house cleaner but don't think you can afford one? Ask around. You might find out that it's much more budgetable than you think!

And if you're not interested at all in cleaning, here's Tommy with bedhead hair trying to steal licorice at 6AM.

A Veritable Smorgasbord Orgasbord

As a kid, the end of summer (and the realization that two weeks from TODAY, I will be in my classroom teaching means that yes, it is truly the end of summer) meant one thing: the fair.

Rides, games, junk food, fun with friends and family, and oh, did I mention the junk food? As an adult, it still means the same, but through eyes that are not my own.

I watched Tommy try (and love) his first elephant ear. I helped Luke devour a smorgasbord (orgasbord) of fried food (corn dogs, elephant ears, fried rice, fresh cut french fries, oh my!). Together, we rode on the ferris wheel, enjoying the sights but lamenting the lack of seatbelts (okay, maybe that part was just me).

All Roads Lead Home

It is not down in any map; true places never are~Herman Melville

I cannot read maps. If directions say to head west instead of turn left or right, I want to cry because the points of a compass are an abstraction to me, a mathematical formula my English teacher brain cannot wrap itself around.

But the map of my heart, I can read that. The roads criss-cross and loop over one another. There are bridges, some standing, some burned. There are no street names, only landmarks.

The first moment I looked into Shane's blue eyes (and noted that they were the same color as my Grandma's eyes) leads to looking into those eyes and saying "I do." There are mountains and valleys along that road, highs and lows. The pavement alternates between rough and smooth, sometimes freshly paved, other times a gravel road full of holes. It's a long road.

Then there's an express lane, fast forwarding to the moment when a nine pound baby was laid on my chest and what a beautiful road that is, buffeted by wild flowers and sunshine, but sometimes storm clouds of doubt. And then the road becomes a two-lane highway, fast and furious with sharp curves and signs to take it SLOW {and enjoy} (do we ever listen to those signs?).

The map of my heart can't be found in atlas format. There is no south or west, only a center point where all the roads lead. Still, it's just as true and real as any globe, any grid, because these are the roads I travel every day of my life.

Thirty Four

This morning, I was nursing Tommy on the couch and reading everyone's posts about World Breastfeeding Week (I love it when life is meta). I did a little math and combined, I've been breastfeeding for a total of 34 months--almost three years. Nursing Luke is something I've spoken about before, about how something I thought was natural was, at times, anything but. It was hard for us. Painful at times, as I fought a constant battle with plugged ducts and mastitis and bad latches.
Then Tommy was born, and he did what I thought all babies did... he latched, sure and strong, like he was born to nurse. And he was, but of course, that comes with its own set of problems. Our first night together, I begged Shane to take him and let him suck on his pinky for just a few minutes, because I needed a break so badly. Yet, I was so thankful that he did it all on his own, that no one had to help him latch. I worried that he he would regress like Luke did, but he kept going strong. He's still going strong.

Then there's work. And pumping and working? It's hard, but it's doable. If you're reading this, please know that it's doable. So many women quit nursing because they return to work, and I get that it's daunting. Do I ever. But I worked and pumped with both boys, continuing to pump until they were a year old. Something about knowing that I could provide this nourishment for them even when we weren't together really kept me going--helped me ignore the comments from co-workers who didn't understand why I'd make a choice that they saw as difficult, unfulfilling (it was one of the most fulfilling choices I've ever made).

I think that nursing my boys is pretty special. It doesn't mean that I look down on women who don't, though. I know that we all have our own decisions and our own choices that are best for us. For me, THIS was best, in so many ways the only option. And yes, I'm glad that I've done it this way. It's given me a lot of quiet, beautiful memories. It's strengthened the bond between myself and my husband, in the way that he's proud of what I've done for our children. I'll always remember the way I felt when both boys nursed for the first time, the way Luke would gently pat my chest, the way Tommy's eyelids flutter and his body settles into mine as his hand creeps toward my mouth.

This will forever be one of my favorite photos (apparently I used it in last year's WBW post). Tommy, but a week old nursing under a shady tree in the park, while Luke played on the slides.