
Thursday, July 18, 2013
The Call Part Three
If you are just tuning in, catch up here:
Part One
Part Two
On Saturday, we all woke up in the new house for the first time. The reality of it all was starting to set in. And with that reality, came the Disney-esque surrealness that is a visit from Grandma and PoPo. My mom and dad came to help my husband build us a table and to help us both put together the pieces of our new life.
After a day filled with more unpacking, decorating, table making and grandparent spoiling, we all had dinner and put the kids to bed. Then my husband and I stayed up with my parents talking. My dad talked more than I have ever seen him talk before. He was finally comfortable in our home. What once was always a strained and awkward feeling when my parents came to visit was now a resounding feeling of calm. We had a place for my parents. A place where they felt comfortable and wanted. A place where they were part of the family and didn't feel in the way.
Sunday was more of the same. Slowly putting pieces of our old lives away in new places. Unpacking what once was and putting it into what would be. Enjoying the new sense of peace the house brought to us all and exploring the new relationship with my parents that it created.
And children sleeping through the night--a glory in its own right.
Sunday was also the marker of our son's fourth month in the world.
Monday brought back the reality of life. My parents packed up and left and we went back to our 9 to 5s. But after work, instead of all cramming ourselves into a loft we had long ago outgrown, we came home to our new house for the first time.
It was like putting on a pair of shoes that fit after years of squeezing your feet into shoes that were too small. This house was "just right". It was amazing.
It was also our first time with just the four of us in the house. No friends. No family members. Just our little family alone under our new roof. It was the first night we had to enjoy our newly found freedom. Little did we know, it would also be our last.
Read on:
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
The Call Part Two
If you are just tuning in, catch up here:
Part One
When we finally woke for good on Friday, we got the kids dressed and ready for school. I headed out to drop them off and start working again at the new house. My husband stayed at the loft to wait for the movers to come to pick up all of the pieces of our past life and move them into our present. My brother- and father-in-law met me at the new house. My father-in-law busied himself putting together my daughter's first "big girl bed" while my brother-in-law painted. I hung pictures and put away things in the kids room trying to get things settled before they came home to their new house for good.
Little by little, as the furniture and boxes came in and the pictures went up on the walls, the kids' rooms took shape. By the time we were ready to pick them up from school, their rooms were as close as they were going to get to complete. Now was the big test. I drove to pick them up, nervous with anticipation of their reactions to their new home. Would they love it or would they cry and want to go back "home"? It was a crapshoot. Life always is when gauging the reactions for children.
Though my son was only three months old and content with pretty much anything, my daughter was two and very emotional. I was so worried that she would not do well with the change, though I knew it would be the best thing for her in the long run.
On the way back to the house from school I talked to her about how hard we were working on her new room and how PopPop had built her a brand new big girl bed. We had decided that rather than transferring her to the new house in a crib, we would rip the band aid off and try a big girl bed for her first night. A big risk, admittedly.
When we got to the house, I took her right into her new room. She was beyond excited. She hopped right up on her new bed and lit up like a Christmas tree. It was magical. And emotional. She was a big girl now. No more pretending she was still a baby.
But the big question still hung heavily in the air: would the kids sleep in the new house?
Answer: an astounding yes.
Worries that given her new freedom from her crib chains, our daughter wouldn't stay in her bed, were quickly put to rest. She went to sleep right away and slept gloriously through the night. As did her brother. The first time they had both slept all night since baby boy had come to be. And though my mind still wouldn't let me rest with all of the newness dancing in it and worries of a baby calling for me in their sleep and me not hearing it with the addition of walls and doors between us, I was at peace.
Read on:
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
The Call Part One
I feel like I am finally ready to tell a bit more of my brother's story. Right now I am just talking about when I found out. If I am ever ready to talk about more, I will.
Since it is a lot to take in and too much for one post, it will come in parts. Much like I do now that he is gone. Take it for what you will.
In the long run, it all started Thursday, April 19, 2012. My husband and I were closing on our first real house. We were moving out of our two-bedroom loft that we had long since outgrown and moving into a house that we would most likely spend the rest of our lives in. We were beyond excited.
We dropped the kids off at school in the morning and headed to the bank to sign the papers. Our lives were about to change. Everything we had ever dreamed of was about to come true with the flick of a pen.
Once the deal was sealed, we headed to our dream home to paint and get some things settled before the kids were due to get out of school. It was glorious. We drank it all in. This new beginning. This opportunity to provide a real home for our children. A place for them to learn and play and grow and feel loved.
We spent the day focusing on the kids' rooms so that they would be done when all of our worldly possessions were moved into our new house the next day. We wanted the kids to feel settled immediately. We wanted them to come into the new house with a sense of peace and familiarity. We wanted them to feel like they were home.
Once we had done all that we could do, we begrudgingly removed ourselves from our new home, picked the kids up from school and headed back to what no longer felt like our home for one last night. Though it was the place that we had brought both of our babies home to, it was no longer our home. It was just a house. Our new home was sitting alone and lonely, hopefully as giddy to be filled with new life as we were to fill it.
And then we tried to sleep. The lack of walls that a loft provides keeping everyone constantly just at the edge of sleep and just at the edge of waking. My son and daughter waking constantly at the wrestling of the other. Dreams of soon-to-be-fulfilled dreams kept my husband and me from ever truly achieving sleep. We were buzzing with the possibilities our new house held.
Read on:
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Monday, July 15, 2013
Body By Baby
Many of us feel embarrassed of our post baby bodies. Some of us are
surprised that we didn't snap right back to our pre-baby bodies. The
truth is, no matter how fast you bounce back to your pre-pregnancy
state, you will never be the same. Be it from stretch marks, wider hips,
sagging breasts, or just a new state of mind about your body, you are
now forever changed by the miracle that is childbirth.
So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?
This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:
So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?
This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:
This is Caitlin. She is the mom of a 25-week-old little girl.
Here is her story:
Here is her story:
This is my belly at 25 weeks...first thing in the morning (the smallest
of all the belly sizes in a day). There are lines and bumps and very
mushy parts to it, although it managed to maintain some of it's dignity
and not completely fall to pieces. My belly button looks to me like it's
winking, the eye of Sauron, less of a button and more of a pit. It's
surrounded by stretch marks that reach out from it like sun
beams...except less lovely. I still have that line that magically
appeared during my pregnancy which does not give the illusion of a six
pack like I was hoping it might. I don't have those feelings of
amazement about my body some claim to have, nor to I completely hate the
way it looks now. I try not to spend too much time thinking about it
either way...I'm just thankful for a healthy, happy little girl and for
having the common sense not to name her something crazy.
Thanks, Caitlin. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.
Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Never forget where you came from
I have been in a really good place lately. Between therapy and anti-depressants, I have found a path that has made walking through everyday life easier. But I don't take this new-found steadiness for granted. Being in this place has just reminded me how far I have come.
Where I have come from is being a shell of my former (and now recovered) self. The wildfire of depression had burned through me until there wasn't even a flicker of life left in my eyes. But I smothered its flames with a blanket of anti-depressants, therapy and good friends. So I could light my own flame again.
I may be standing on top of life's mountain waving my freak flag right now, but it is only because I can remember what it was like to live with this mountain on top of me. Crushing my very will to live with its weight. The feeling that I couldn't even lift my middle finger to tell the world around me to fuck off, let alone raise my hand to ask for help has not left me. It is just packed away for now. I bring it out every now and then just to remember what it was like to feel that helpless. A photo album of sorts. A reminder of the past. So I can live in the present. And have a future.
I was a complete wreck. And I still am sometimes, but those days are fewer and farther between. The normalcy of it all is sometimes suffocating. But it is better than drowning in my own nothingness. I always know that that part of me can flood back in at any time if I don't take care of the cracks and fissures in the dam of my depression. It is a battle. Every day. But a battle worth fighting.
"Never look back" is bullshit advice. Always look back. Always know where you have been so you can remember where you are going.
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
Where I have come from is being a shell of my former (and now recovered) self. The wildfire of depression had burned through me until there wasn't even a flicker of life left in my eyes. But I smothered its flames with a blanket of anti-depressants, therapy and good friends. So I could light my own flame again.
I may be standing on top of life's mountain waving my freak flag right now, but it is only because I can remember what it was like to live with this mountain on top of me. Crushing my very will to live with its weight. The feeling that I couldn't even lift my middle finger to tell the world around me to fuck off, let alone raise my hand to ask for help has not left me. It is just packed away for now. I bring it out every now and then just to remember what it was like to feel that helpless. A photo album of sorts. A reminder of the past. So I can live in the present. And have a future.
I was a complete wreck. And I still am sometimes, but those days are fewer and farther between. The normalcy of it all is sometimes suffocating. But it is better than drowning in my own nothingness. I always know that that part of me can flood back in at any time if I don't take care of the cracks and fissures in the dam of my depression. It is a battle. Every day. But a battle worth fighting.
"Never look back" is bullshit advice. Always look back. Always know where you have been so you can remember where you are going.
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Caption This
Here is how Caption This works:
You send me your funny photos. I caption them and share them with your fellow Boozehounds. Got a funny picture you want to see featured here? Send it to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces) and I will work some comedy magic. Or not. It might not be magical at all. It might be crap. Whatever. Send me your pics anyway.
Want to see your kids on Caption This? Send your funny photos to ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces).
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Bucket Blackmail
My daughter has been reading a book at school that is full of awesome. It teaches her about feelings and shit and how her actions can affect other people.
The book's premise is that everyone on earth has an imaginary bucket. You can add to a person's bucket by saying or doing nice things. But if you say or do mean things, you take from someone's bucket. You, my meanie friend, are a "Bucket Dipper".
The book is called:
Have You Filled a Bucket Today? A Guide to Daily Happiness for Kids
But it should be called:
Have You Filled a Bucket Today? A Guide to Blackmail for Kids
At first, the book made life in our house all puppy dogs and rainbows. The Quiet Contemplator was really sweet and would do and say nice things all the time for no reason. If you did something nice for her, she would say, "That makes me so happy. You fill up my bucket."
Now, however, The Contemplator has figured out how to use her bucket for blackmail. The other night she asked me if she could have another cookie and I said "no". She looked at me like I had kicked her puppy and said, "Mommy, that makes me sad. You aren't filling up my bucket!"
Then the other morning, when she wanted to watch a movie before school but knew I needed the TV to do The Shred, she said, "Mommy, it would really fill up my bucket if you let me watch Shrek right now."
Bucket blackmail is for the birds. The overall good the bucket theory provides is amazeballs, but having a kid smart enough to turn the concept around on us so we have to do her bidding is a bitch.
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
Monday, July 1, 2013
I'm Off Like a Prom Dress
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