Our Tiny Voices

Let me start with this huge and important idea (that I stole), “there is no such thing as other people’s children.”

A few weeks ago I was complaining to my husband that I can’t cry. In the past this has not been a problem for me, but these last few months, I can’t do it. I will feel overwhelmed and sad and completely frustrated and just sit there and WILL the tears to fall. I just can’t do it.

But today, I cried.

I am a Christian (don’t stop reading, ok? Although, I really don’t blame you if you are tempted). As a Christian, I try my darndest to pull myself out of bed in the morning, stumble to the coffee pot and get myself a steaming mug of liquid energy so that I can read Scripture. Mostly, I’m just trying to figure stuff out. Being a mom, a friend, a wife, a sister, a daughter. All roles I take very seriously and am consistently feeling as though I am failing at. Some mornings, I fall back asleep. Or get distracted by Facebook. Usually my three year old wakes up before I even get a chance to crack open the Bible. So, being a “Bible-reader” is one of the many (but never enough) ways I try to put in to practice my role as a Christ-follower. I try to follow that up with any number of different practices. When I get really frustrated or overwhelmed by my kids, I pray (usually with a shouting undertone) for patience. When a friend is diagnosed with cancer, I’m on my knees, begging for a cure. When I am dropping my little heart off at preschool, I beseech God for her safety.

When I read/watch/choke down the news, I aim to stumble right into God’s lap. Unfortunately I usually wind up on Facebook. That’s my problem, one I’m working on. The thing is, I am a terribly passionate person, and the internet was made for people like myself. Some might say I speak only in hyperbole. Not proud of it. I am one of those awful people that will post whatever I’m feeling, that very moment, on Facebook. Annoying! I know! So sorry. I drive even myself crazy. My husband is calm and wise, slow to speak and even slower to anger.  I’m sure it drives him crazy that I get myself into all sorts of trouble with my opinions. I can’t even use Twitter, and thankfully I have about 3 followers to contend with there anyway. I just can’t seem to edit myself enough. But Lord knows, (He really does) that I am trying. The good news, I haven’t participated in a real honest-to-goodness Facebook fight in about three years (victory!), although I have absolutely posted far too many controversial articles with passive aggressive undertones. Baby steps. But just in the last few days I have had multiple people actually compliment my passion and willingness to speak up. My husband just told me that’s what attracted him the most to me. So I’m thinking, hey. I’ll join the rest of the internet and throw my hat in the ring, because, well, I have something to say. But before you get any further you should read this, because they said everything I want to say, but better. Read on if you must.

So, the Bible. Prayer. Two small but significant areas of my life that surely put me in the “Christian Camp” which honestly isn’t my favorite place to be lately.  Mostly, I just admire Jesus. I believe in him, I believe in his existence, his death, his victory over death, his purpose, his return. But you know my favorite thing about him? His life. He was smart, compassionate, passionate, and he knew how to tell the hell out of a story (my personal favorite of his traits, being an avid story-lover myself). He lived all of it. Every word he spouted, He lived.

So right before the crying started, I was venting to my best friend about how people I actually love and respect are calling for states to “close their borders” and “protect our own!” and it made me so physically distraught that I had to sit down, and think. I had to think, ok…why. Why are they saying this? Is this real? Should I be thinking the same thing? I mean…I love my children. More than anything. That’s a fact. I’m a powerfully selfish person, more selfish than most, and I can state with authority that I would die for my two kids, in an instant.  So of course, if letting refugees in to our country, our state, our home, meant that my children would be harmed, I’m going to pause for a second before I continue telling everyone I know, “know of any refugees? Tell them to come stay with us!” Because I really have been saying that a lot lately. So, I paused. And the only thought that was going through my mind was, “this is the moment.”

I wept, and still weep, because I feel passionate and I feel helpless. I want to do something. On this rare occasion, I have enough energy to do something more than just update my Facebook status. Like, actually SOMETHING. So, what do I do? Do I send money somewhere? But where? Because I fear that money can’t be guaranteed to go where it is needed. And, unfortunately while I have many resources at hand, money is not free-flowing at the moment. But sure, if I can find a good place for it, TAKE IT. I say many resources, because, well,  I won the birth lottery and was born in the United States, and I’m white, employed, there’s a roof over my head, and food to eat (aka, privilege). So, plenty of resources to share.  Know a refugee family that needs somewhere to stay? TELL THEM TO COME OVER. Seriously. Our door is wide open. We have a basement, with a bed, that goes unused. So privileged. Want to know why I offer these things that have been given to me? Because that’s exactly what Jesus commanded us to do. And me saying this, it’s not even sacrificial. I’m not trying to gain accolades, I say this because I know it’s what is asked of me. I don’t make the sacrifices, Jesus already did that. When I decided I would call myself a Christian, this is what I was saying “yes” to. This is our moment, Christians. This is when we are supposed to be jumping, running, LEAPING for the chance to be of service, to be Jesus’s hands and feet.  I can just see Jesus now, hoping with clenched and scarred hands that we will hear His soft voice, begging us to take care of his children, because WE CAN. Even if we don’t take care of them with our governments, wallets, or our homes, we can start by taking care of them with our tiny voices. We are presented with a never-ending onslaught of opportunities to share our voice. Conversations with our children, prayers emailed in chains, Facebook status updates, all of these voices can be, at the very least, calling for support for our brothers and sisters who are terrified and fleeing. Just like I beseech God for the safety of my child at her already very safe preschool, Jesus aches for the safety of his own children, in Syria. In France. Beirut. Can we not at least pray for them? Instead of calling for our states to “close the borders” on refugees, can’t we just save our breath and call for their safety? If you really are so fearful that you can’t support refugees coming here, can you please just lend your voice to praying for safe places for them to go, instead of shutting them out?

So, to the Christian who thinks that the United States needs to close its borders, I ask you, are you an American first, or a Christian first? Where is your identity? The way I see it, there are so many parents frantically searching for a safe place for their children to go, who am I to deny them? Why is my child more important than theirs? That’s the thing with so many of us, so often we think our own are more important than them. That’s called entitlement. And entitlement is not a good look on Christians. Where, in all of Scripture, is this found? It just is not Biblical. We look to God for our safety, not our government. He numbered our days, nobody else. We are not to live in fear, but in victory and under the loving hand of the Prince of Peace. Peace is the matter at hand, is it not? I understand that underneath all of the fear, bickering, and politics, peace is really what everyone is after. Consider this…the Daesh are after our peace. They are extremists who do not want the Syrians to flee their rule. When they attacked Paris, I can guarantee you, they wanted the rest of the world to close their doors. It was their goal. With every refugee turned away, the Daesh get what they want.

We are called to do three things. Love God. Love others. Love our enemies. From these, everything else follows. Everything else follows.
 

fourth trimester bodies project

funny story about these pictures:

I really didn’t want to be in them. I was in a hardcore stage of hating my body. My “fourth trimester body.” Pip was about eight months old, and I still hadn’t lost all my baby weight (hey guess what, still haven’t). But it was is really hard for me to be in front of a camera lens and face seeing the photos. But we had the opportunity to work with our amazingly talented friend, Keith, and I knew we had to take advantage for a family photo session. I am so grateful, because even though it’s hard for me to see the photos of myself, I love that this moment in time was captured…especially because she doesn’t have those chunky legs any more : (

But the whole concept of the post baby body has been a huge one for me to grapple with. I have a lot to say, but I won’t now…mostly because we are trying to move halfway across the country at the moment. I just had to share THIS with you.

This project is incredible. I love it so much. I have never seen anything like it and what these women are doing is SO important. Check it out…seriously. The 4th Trimester Bodies Project is powerful stuff and I cannot emphasize that enough. It makes every fiber of my being happy as I click through those photos…and I cannot WAIT to own that book.

Enjoy these photos by Keith. West Coast–see you in a few weeks!

xo

 

**UPDATE** apparently Facebook thinks posting pictures of breastfeeding is obscene enough to take down the photos. And guess what? They deleted the 4th Trimester Bodies Project page for that very reason. Go “like” BRING BACK 4th Trimester Bodies Project on Facebook and show your support. 

a birth story (part two)

There is only one technical matter of giving birth that matters in this story and that is the fact that in order to push, aka give birth the natural way, you must dilate to ten centimeters. Twenty-four hours after being admitted to the hospital, and after a good eight hours of hard labor, I had only dilated to five centimeters. After twelve hours of contractions and no progress, I opted for an epidural. Which was my second “failure” of the whole experience. At least, that’s how I was feeling somewhere deep down. Although, even in the moment, I was so relieved and grateful for that epidural. I had been panicky and in pain for a really long time, and when I discovered that I still had made no progress since noon, even my midwife told me she had no idea how much longer I would be in labor. She even said something about “days.” Talk about panicking!

By one o’clock in the morning, my midwife came in with a very serious look on her face. She is the sweetest woman in the world and she knew how badly I wanted to give birth the conventional way. She told me that the baby’s heart rate was dipping and not coming back up quickly enough (which is exactly what they said would happen with pitocin in all the books and documentaries, which meant I felt like it was my fault for being induced in the first place). She said that if something didn’t change within the next two hours a C-section would be necessary.

I tearfully told her that we would pray, BIG PRAYERS, and that something would happen. I have never been so determined in my life. At this point I was so heartbroken, I was really feeling like we had done everything wrong. So, right there in the middle of the night, in that quiet hospital room, we prayed. It was just my mom, Riley, and myself. I have a really hard time praying out loud…but I did. I talked to Penelope and told her everything was going to be ok and that mama loves her, I talked to God and told him how mad I was that things weren’t going according to plan, how I felt like we had made the wrong decision at every turn. Riley prayed. My mom prayed. She contacted family and they prayed.

An hour later my midwife came in. She had given me two hours (and I reminded her of this!) but she looked at me and told me that I was at eight centimeters…but her heart rate was still not good. In the span of TWENTY-FOUR hours the most I ever progressed was four centimeters. And in one hour, I had four more. We were elated, but still concerned. I couldn’t believe it, I just knew that in one hour I could get to ten. We thanked God, over and over, and prayed for Pip’s heart rate. I kept talking to her (the books tell you to do this and I know she could hear me.) I knew I had just experienced my first personal miracle. My mom called everyone and said things were on track and the nurses started bustling about acting like we were getting ready to push. I was so tired. But I was excited and ready.

Another hour later…Nine! Woo!

Then, more bad news. It all happened very quickly…Penelope’s heart rate was still not good. My midwife explained to me that even if I did get to ten centimeters, and very quickly, she wasn’t sure if the baby could handle the stress of pushing. And she brought up that even that could be many many hours. And she didn’t know if I had the energy or strength for it either. It had been over thirty hours at this point…no sleep. I was defeated, but I knew that the wisest thing to do for our baby was to agree to a C-section. Everyone around me breathed a sigh of relief. I looked at my husband and he nodded, he genuinely felt relieved. My mom did too. I trusted them and could not trust my own foggy mind. I tearfully signed some papers, Riley and my mom changed into scrubs. I was hooked up to machines, and suddenly, I was wheeled into a bright and sterile OR. It happened so fast, and even as they were wheeling me in I remember asking, quite a few times, to check me one more time and see if I was at ten centimeters. Haha. I’m pretty stubborn.

The next fifteen minutes…an hour?…I don’t know. Time stood still. Our doctor was encouraging and kind, while I cried about getting a C-section she and our midwife reminded me “you get to meet your baby girl in MINUTES!” My arms were tied down, and I did not like this. But it was so that I wouldn’t jerk or move during the surgery, not because they are mean. The anesthesiologist was my own little angel in that room. He patted my shoulder and wiped my mouth with a cool cloth after I threw up from the meds. Later, he wiped my tears and whispered “I’m so sorry” as I heard my baby daughter’s cries but could not see or hold her. Those were truly the only painful moments of this whole experience. It was unnatural, for me to be lying there unable to move, while I heard my baby cry. Riley was with her, immediately. And I understand the necessity of this. It was a surgery, and she had been in distress for quite some time. They needed to check her heart and vitals (good news, she scored a nine on the APGAR scale!) But those moments, with her in the world and me not holding her, that sucked. But soon, she was in my arms. And today that little stinker still follows me around the house whining because she wants her mama to hold her. And when I remember those first few minutes of her life where I couldn’t, well, I scoop her right up…no matter what I’m doing.

But I mentioned that in this whole process God actually showed me that He loves me? Well, obviously He did that by giving us a healthy and beautiful child. But in a more intimate and “Hey, Kim” way…well that was when He allowed me to get to nine centimeters. For the longest time, I was kind of pissed about that. I mean, to get to nine after nearly TWO DAYS and then have to have a C-section, which is exactly what I didn’t want? Well we had prayed and I was desperate to know that He was in the scenario. And He was, he got me all the way to nine, and within two hours, which was pretty miraculous, even according to my midwife. And it was like He was telling me, listen, you can get your baby this far. Your body is amazing and it’s doing a lot of work, but there are things you don’t know that are going on, and I can’t let you do it the way you want.

See, the cord had been wound Penelope’s feet in such a way that a nurse told me may have made it impossible for her to descend. And, well, she was a big girl… (8 lbs, 10 oz!) and I’m a small person. Annnnd, she was in the wrong position. There were all these things going on that we couldn’t have known, and the only thing “worse” than a C-section is an emergency C-section, which most likely would have had to happen anyways, no matter how many centimeters or how long I was in labor.

So…God is good. Duh. But seriously, He didn’t have to do all that just to show me He was listening. Because when I heard that I had miraculously dilated to eight in the matter of an hour, well, I have never felt so cared for and listened to. But He showed me that he cares, while simultaneously taking care of Penelope’s more important needs in my womb. Also, thank God for smart midwives and doctors who stuck by my side and practiced wisdom & loving care alongside medicine.

And, I must say, that once I held that perfect baby girl and got to snuggle her and feed her and kiss her, well it didn’t really matter how she came into the world anyway. She was safe, healthy, and in our arms. And that’s our birth story.

PSthe first thing the nurse said when Pip came into this world after “wow, she’s so beautiful…and big!” was “woooeee this one’s got a temper!”

Ain’t that the truth ; )

Oh, and another thing that made it all worth it? Having my family there for this..

a birth story (part one)

This story is very precious to me. Following Penelope’s birth, I had several people ask me to “publicly” write down our birth story, but I felt very protective of it. And to be honest, for a while, I was a little embarrassed of it. Up until the last few months and after discussions with other pregnant women in my life, I have come to see that the beauty of the story is increased by its ability to encourage other mothers in their disappointment with how things “turned out” in their own birth stories. So, today I will share “bits” of that story : )

Her birth story begins on August 16th, around 9 pm. Before I tell the basics of that story, I’ll tell you our “plan.” In fact, I will show you a PICTURE of our plan. Yep. I have a picture of it, that’s how important all of this was (and is) to me. 

If you know a lot about labor and delivery, all of this probably makes sense to you. If you don’t, it’s not important that you know what an episiotomy is (actually you probably don’t want to know). The point of this is to show you that throughout my pregnancy, Riley and I were very involved in learning the details about labor, and we had two very specific prayers throughout the nine ten months.

Firstly, we wanted myself and our daughter to be healthy, and for there to be no complications during pregnancy or labor (of course). I also felt VERY strongly, and we prayed for this specifically every day, about not wanting to have a C-section and to give birth without an epidural or pain medications. We took every class we could, and I read through many books (my absolute favorite, by the way, is called Birthing From Within). I was totally enthralled with the whole experience, and was very excited about my wonderful midwife and the hospital that we were delivering in. The hospital was very supportive and pro-mother…meaning we had a choice in all matters and were not “forced” into anything. It is an excellent hospital. Our midwife is a close family friend and I could not have made it through the whole ordeal without her. A doula also taught our classes at the hospital, and I always call her “my” doula because I loved her so much, even though we couldn’t afford to actually have her with me during labor. Come our due date, August 10th, I felt (more than) ready to go and very optimistic about having a natural delivery.

I knew that only 4% of women give birth on their due date, and though I can’t remember the exact number, somewhere between 40-60% of women give birth 8+ days after their due date. But many “signs” were pointing to an early or on-time delivery for us. (As if very strong statistics and numbers weren’t enough for me…ha!) We waited, and waited, and waited. Only women who have been pregnant and gone well past their due date know how long each day feels.

On top of my own impatience, I had family who had flown in the beginning of August, and were literally sitting around and waiting for me go to into labor. I even had family that had a moving truck packed and ready to move out of state, but wanted to stick around to meet our baby girl. And on top of THAT, my beloved midwife had a trip scheduled, and was preparing to go out of the country. Talk about pressure. Unfortunately, stress did not onset labor for me! I had already had some mild issues toward the end of my pregnancy, and my resolve to not receive an induction wore thin. We were soon faced with a choice…be induced and guarantee that my parents and family would be around to meet her (+ I really wanted my mother in the room with us) or continue to wait and risk them going home then having Pip once they were all gone. That thought was very lonely to me. After six days, even though I was very hesitant to be induced because it greatly increases your chances for a caesarean, I knew that having my mom and dad around to kiss and hug her was hugely important to me. This tearful decision was a little easier to make once part of my family had already left town. And so we agreed to schedule an induction on August 16th. They told us to come in to the hospital at nine pm.

So, Riley & I gathered our already packed bags, went out to eat for our “last supper” and drove to the hospital, thinking we would be back in a few days with our new daughter- (the three of us didn’t come back for a full week!) I was already battling disappointment with how the whole scenario was playing out. There was no dramatic moment of waking up in the middle of the night with contractions or my water breaking in the grocery store. I never excitedly called Riley while he was at work to tell him I was in labor, and we never used our “we’re going into labor” email that I had prepared. It was all a little bit anti-climactic. We had a scheduled appointment…to have a baby. It was very surreal, and don’t get me wrong, still very exciting. But I had imagined every detail of how this would go … and had worked very hard to educate myself and construct a natural birth plan. In my own mind I was starting off exactly the wrong way, and doing the first “no no” in the “how to have a natural delivery” book.

The deal with giving birth to a baby is that you absolutely must have positive thoughts toward yourself, because the second you start feeling like you’re a failure or that you’re failing your baby, things can get very dark and lonesome. If not for my wonderful God, and my husband and family, I could totally see myself going there. Especially because things were about to get much more complicated…

Check back here tomorrow and find out how during the next 36 hours pretty much everything went “wrong” and how God actually showed me in a very tangible and poetic way that He loves me.

charleston

 

We seriously love downtown Charleston. Our time in South Carolina is rapidly coming to an end, so we made a somewhat last minute trip down to the city for a day with some of our pilot buddies. For only having two thirty minute naps all day (AGH!), our little girl was a trooper. She had a blast (even though mama was a little stressed by the lack of napping.) We were able to walk around a lot of the city and explore the cobblestone streets, find a tucked away graveyard. relax by the waterfront, and have an amazing lunch at Kitchen 208. I had a pork loin, gorgonzola, and fig jam sandwhich. YUM. PS i’m kind of annoyed by photos of food but maybe I should have snapped a pic of these dishes. They were unreal. We even made it to happy hour on the Library Bar’s rooftop. It was a really wonderful day, and a perfect goodbye (for now!) to Charleston. I definitely think if you can make it to South Carolina, you have to visit this amazing city.

 

 

“mom life”

***WARNING: lots of text. I will only write more than 500 characters when absolutely necessary. So…if you read it I promise the next five posts will only have big photographs with fashionable angles. xo

Since becoming a mom (which occasionally still shocks me) I have had a sense that society has carved out two options for how the next few years of my life are going to look. I say next few years with the assumption that we will have more children (yes, that is the hope). So the whole new-baby thing will eventually start all over again sooner rather than later (God-willing).  As I see it, these are my two “options”…

Option 1. Be the cool and Hollywood-adored working mother. You know, the Sarah Jessica Parker/Gwyneth Paltrow type. Picture: high heels with the baby bump, shiny SUV, lipstick and a designer purse. She works up until the last day of her thirty-nine week pregnancy, and embarks on a paid maternity leave, while all of her co-workers miss her and can’t wait for her to return to work. Once having baby, she cuddles in bed and struggles/smiles through the difficult first months, then returns to her full time job. She either guiltily switches to formula or pumps in her office while simultaneously returning emails and hoping nobody walks in. Baby goes to child-care (or better yet, has a nanny at home). Mom feels guilty at first, but is soon fulfilled by her wonderful work AND home-life.  Note: lots of the word “guilty.”

Option 2. Be the Hollywood-dreaded yoga pants mom. Picture: Cheerios and an unidentifiable liquid in her ponytail, purple marker on her cheek and always breathlessly chasing after a small child clothed only in a (dirty) diaper. In the mom world they are referred to as SAHMs (stay-at-home moms). When chatting in their online support group they refer to their baby as their LO (little one) and talk about BF or FF babies (breastfed or formula fed…cue: JUDGEMENT & GUILT) and have a lot of “cool” acronyms for mom-things. They generally join MOPs and a stroller-stride work out group where they meet up with other moms in yoga pants at the local park. They go on a brisk frantic walk while talking about potty-training and exchange Babies R’ Us coupons for the best deals on nursing pads. If you’re in LA or Boulder the walk requires BW (baby-wearing, no strollers allowed) but everywhere else you’re allowed to use a stroller without judgement. They are often seen crying in the Starbucks drive through at seven am, and also crying in the liquor store at seven pm with a bottle (or two) of wine in hand. But no matter what they have a healthy dinner ready for their partner upon their return from work (HA! that’s what they want you to think). Despite feeling a little desperate for some adult time they are always openly grateful to stay home with their baby.

I obviously know more about this category because I guess it’s my category? Or whatever. It’s not that I’m embarassed of it, it’s just that I always pictured myself in the former. (And maybe society sort of makes us feel like we should be embarrassed? I don’t know, that’s a whole other post.)

First things first, BOTH moms are awesome. Both of them love their child(ren) and do the best they possibly can given their situation. They both make huge sacrifices and both deserve all the love and accolades in the world. (Seriously, I’ll go buy myself some flowers now). But we all know that already, or at least we should. But what about me?

I am so not either of those moms. I literally don’t own a single pair of yoga pants (sorry Riley, I know you love those) and I have a very strict rule about leaving the house in anything resembling sweats. And yes, I stuck to that rule throughout the entire pregnancy, even when I looked like a swollen hippo and it was ninety degrees outside. I’ll take Rachael Zoe over Rachel Ray ANY day, I hate cooking and crafting and pretty much anything you’re supposed to do inside of a home. But I am a “stay at home mom” (SAHM). Although I would love to work I am grateful every single day for the ability to be home with Penelope, and can’t imagine it any other way. At least for the time being. Sorry to say I never do my makeup, I only wear high heels on date night, and I am definitely borderline breaking my own rules when I constantly leave the house in work out shorts and a v-neck (did I just work out? no. am I going to later? that’s what I tell myself). I don’t want a full-time job right now, I want to be home with my kid, even if that means (sigh) finger-painting.  And I know I’m not special. I have a few “mom friends”, but none fit perfectly into either of these categories either. They are all complex and beautiful women, if they stay at home they have strengths outside of the home that are not currently being put to use, if they work full-time they miss their children desperately and battle guilt far more than they should. (Hey, Working Mom, you’re awesome. Stay at home moms, stop making them feel guilty!) The problem is that we live in a society that has this obsession with titles.  I was so annoyed with Facebook continually asking me where I work when I logged in that I angrily typed in just plain “MOM” even though it kept suggesting “Stay at home mom.”

UGH. I HATE THAT TERM.

When someone asks me what I “do” for a living I respond, sweetly, “I’m just a stay at home mom.” Then I inwardly smack myself. Why did I say just? And why does my stomach hurt when I say it? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I am literally thousands upon thousands of dollars in debt for a degree that not only I LOVE, but face the fear of never putting to “good” use. Here’s the thing: in order to have a third option, I’m going to have to create one. Cooking gourmet meals and crafts are not my thing, so I’m not going to make them my thing. I like Louboutins, Flannery O’Connor, and diagramming sentences. I also like drinking wine and watching Breaking Bad with my husband, and making up silly songs to sing to my daughter. I love my family. So right now I may be living Option 2 and occasionally day-dreaming of Option 1, but I’m striving for an Option 3.

Maybe right now that looks like a photography class and a part-time job serving tables? Or an online teaching credentials class for that degree I love so much? Who knows. It’s definitely going to be lots of BFF time with Pip, and probably some finger painting too. Either way, if you’re a mom or thinking about becoming one, don’t get discouraged by having to mold your entire life to fit into one of these two options, because you can’t. There is so much more to you than that. #preach.

baby eats: almond butter & applesauce

Making baby food is easier than it seems, I swear. I’m no chef, in fact, I loathe cooking, but I have made food for Pip ever since her first meal. And I love doing it! I think it is not only fun, but also very rewarding. More than that- I have a trust issue with food nowadays. Between GMOs and massive amounts of sugar and corn syrup in so much that kids eat, I just can’t deal.  And on top of that, it’s expensive! So, I started with pureed pears for Pip, then on to pureed prunes, butternut squash, sweet potatoes, kale, peas, and much more. Before I write another sentence, I have to direct you to this blog, written by my sister-in-law Lindsey. She has been my mentor when it comes to making baby food and feeding Penelope. Ninety percent of any information I have in this category comes from her, so you should really check out her blog as well, it is completely dedicated to a healthy eating lifestyle (that is cow dairy and gluten free). She is a great resource for me and I’m so grateful for her!

This has been a fun journey for us, and I feel very proud of how Pip eats. As I learned more about the food I gave her, I noticed Riley & I starting to eat healthier as well. Everybody wins! It’s truly not difficult, and it would be fun to get a couple friends together and spend an afternoon making baby-food. If you do big batches and freeze in ice cube trays, it lasts for quite awhile. Lindsey details that process here and here.

Almond butter and applesauce are both super easy things to make, and crazy delicious if you mix them together for a snack. Three ingredients total: almonds, apples, and literally one dash of cinnamon in the applesauce.  At $10.99 for a jar of almond butter from the grocery store, with added sugar, salt and palm oil (not necessary) it offers huge savings to make it at home, even though it does take a little bit of time. We purchased a three lb. bag of raw organic almonds from Costco for $13.99 and I used about 3/4 of a pound of almonds for this batch. Applesauce is one of those treats that’s really just about as cost effective to buy pre-made from the store, if you can find organic applesauce with no sugar added. But, I haven’t bought it yet because I just love how steaming the apples makes the kitchen smell and it’s just so darn easy to do.

-For almond butter, roast the almonds on a lined cooking sheet for fifteen minutes then blend them in the VitaMix until you reach desired consistency. It takes some time, and you need to stick a spoon in there and mix it up occasionally. I learned how to do it here.

-For applesauce, it is so easy because I use the apple peeler/corer. I found it at Ross for ten dollars and it’s the best. I peel the apples with this, and it also slices them. Steam them for about 10 minutes, blend them in the VitaMix and add a dash of cinnamon.

I then freeze it in cubes so that I can mix them with sweet potato, broccoli, kale, or butternut squash cubes for Pip’s meals. (Kale+applesauce=delicious!) I look forward to writing about more baby food and healthy eats I have learned to make this past year! Please share any recipes or tips if you make your babies food as well.

colorado

I said, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest.”

Psalm 55 :6

I have that tattooed on my back. There is no simple explanation for it but to make a lifetime of stories short, I have spent much of my life going between Colorado and California. This next time will mark the fifth official “move” between the two states. For the rest of my life when someone asks me where I am from, I will hesitate and then answer, “Colorado.” I was born there and moved to California in middle school, and then back and forth every few years since then. While the majority of my years were spent in Colorado, the most formative have been in California. And now, I must do it again!

 

Every parent person knows that there are seasons in life. Ups and downs, hills and valleys, whatever you want to call it. It’s almost jarring how quickly the seasons change. The seasons of life that sort of shake you and cause you to look around and go…wow…wait a second. Things were GOOD, what happened to that? For me, as a new mom those seasons can change as quick as one day to the next. The last few days have been difficult- a lot of decisions need to be made, a lot of changes are taking place, and all of it is going to happen quickly. What’s really hard for me is facing yet another “goodbye” to Colorado. My husband’s family is there. Some of our dearest friends are there. Our home is there. The home we brought Penelope to for the first time. Her room is there, the room that was a true labor of love, where Riley and our sweet friends painted those impossible blush pink stripes, and I spent countless hours on the floor folding freshly washed newborn clothes and blankets. Where her crib is, the crib that we stood over and stared at so hard trying to imagine the baby that would soon be sleeping inside of it.

about a week before Pip was born

Every minute of those first six months spent in that home were spent dreaming of what the little girl I was carrying would look like, smell like, sound like. The next six months were spent getting to know that little girl, cozy mornings as a family of three spent in bed, blizzards and our first family Christmas, where traditions were started and glittering ornaments hung. Gorgeous morning walks with a tiny baby in a stroller we waited so long to use, to a park right across the street I imaged we would play together in, but now we must say goodbye to. It’s all very difficult, but it’s also all very necessary. We know that God has exciting things in store for us in California, but for now, I will mourn. That’s okay, it’s a valley.

 The good news is that our family in Colorado will always be our family, they will always be part of our everything. Pip’s cousins will always be her cousins, they will grow up together, even if they aren’t in the same time zone all the time. Our home will always be our home, because it’s wherever the three of us are, together. When Riley and I first married, we both decided that adventure was very important to us. Being comfortable has never been high on our list of priorities. Following God’s plan for us is. When he started on this career path, we knew it would mean some moving around before roots were planted. It will strengthen us, and it causes us to be extra grateful for the little things, like living somewhere long enough to paint the walls, and being able to spend precious moments with family that aren’t filled with the terrible lingering prospect of a goodbye. We love Colorado, and as always, we refuse to say a REAL goodbye to it. We couldn’t do that, too much of who we are is there, and will always be there. Whatever YOUR valley is, I hope that you can find peace in the hope of the awesome view you’re going to get when you reach the top. Trust me, it’s a’comin.

ps…go broncos

sunrise

Pip woke up at five thirty this morning…NOT happy. She has four teeth poking through all at once (that will make eight) and we couldn’t get her back to sleep. All summer we have been talking about going to see the sunrise because neither of us have seen it rise over the ocean before. So after giving Pip her pacifier and laying her down for the hundredth time, I turned to Riley and suggested we just go down to the beach. Surprisingly, he agreed, even though he had just worked sixteen hours. So we rushed out the door to make it in time and it was completely worth it. Penelope was still pretty grumpy, but she cheered up when a duck flew in and landed right next to us. It was pretty funny to see a duck sitting on the beach, just watching the sunrise like the rest of us. I like to think she needed a break from her duck-partner and babies and flew over to the ocean for some mommy-time.

coast to coast

In the past 6 years I have not lived anywhere longer than 13 months…and that isn’t about to change anytime soon! We have been living in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina for the past 4 months, and now we are off again…all the way back to California! We are very excited about this move, we lived in Pasadena when we first got married and both of us went to school in Southern California. We really love it there. We will be moving to Long Beach, but not permanently. In fact, who knows where we will wind up…but for now we are thoroughly enjoying the ability to chase dreams and experience new places. I have my moments…like today when I have watched one too many episodes of Property Virgins on HGTV and dream of putting down roots, buying a house, and REALLY unpacking the boxes. But then again, Riley and I both still get anxiety when we think about home ownership. We are definitely not ready for that sort of commitment, especially when we don’t even know what state…or country (hey, we can dream!) we would start looking for a home.

South Carolina. Currently. it has been an interesting and often very lonely summer, but we will take away some very sweet memories from this place. We completely fell in love with Charleston. Sort of wish we could have lived there! Myrtle Beach is…unique. Colorado. Where it all began for us. Nothing like those Rockies!California.  It will be so wonderful to eat in n’ out, reunite with old friends and family, and watch a sunset on the beach. The sunrise over the ocean is spectacular, but I have a soft spot for watching that big ball melt into the ocean.

ps my fingers are always crossed that I’ll get to live in Oxford again.