Where we were and where we're going

Where we've been:

We moved and had a baby and celebrated our first anniversary and Abby started a new school and made new friends and we visited Minnesota (not as often as I would like, but more than I thought we would have time for considering that one: it's hard to travel any distance when you're a billion months pregnant and two: it's hard to travel with a baby - but not as hard as one might think considering he was in MN 4 times in 6 months!). We celebrated a wedding and a college graduation.  We managed to stay gainfully employed in tough economic times and we avoided any major illnesses and broken bones.  We gained a new niece and lost one fine lady.

Through it all we have loved each other and our life with much gusto and passion.

I sat down a couple of nights ago to look through all of the pictures from this year, trying to summarize 2010, and I found that I had so many milestones to document each month that I had far more pictures pulled aside than I was going to have time to edit.  And it would have made for an awfully long blog post!  So, instead, I challenged myself to find one picture from each month that summarized our family the best.

And let me tell you...it. was. hard.  So much happens on a daily basis in our house - the kiddos change pretty much every time I turn around and we were busy this year.  So dang busy.  Some months we crammed more into 4 weeks than should be humanly possible without the aid of science. 

And I would not change any one moment - the good and the bad and the funny and the scary and the exciting and the terrifying - for all of the money in the galaxy.

 

 

 

 

Where we're going:

I am never very good with change.  It makes my stomach hurl and my toes curl.  That being said, I think that the adventures that 2011 holds for us are way beyond my wildest imagination and I am (semi) prepared to embrace the changes that are floating on the wind just beyond our finger tips.

I have some ideas for this blog that I'm going to try to implement this winter (I'm simplifying my own life and dropping a couple of baby pounds, and if I can help you along the way and share some things that work for me...then, hooray!  Because what are we here for if not to make life easier for each other, right?).  I planted some tulips that I'm going to watch bloom this spring and I have plans for a family vacation that will need to be finalized as the snow melts.  I've got a baby turning 1 this summer.  And by the fall, I'll have a girl solidly planted in the final stages of tween-hood and ready to dive into the throes teen-hood (Lord, help me!).   And I have a husband who I think might be easily swayed to take another mini-holiday with me before the year is over (I kind of feel like we started a tradition and I want to go with it.).

Come along for the ride, friends.  I think you're going to like where this is going...

He's no E-Trade baby, but he's getting close.

A couple of weeks ago, we had some stuff to bring in from the car, so we put Finn in his crib with the mobile on to occupy him for a few minutes while we ran back and forth from the house to the outsides.

Let me clarify.  North to south...we put him in his crib with his little head at the top and his little toes at the bottom and his baby buns on the mattress. And then we left the room to scurry around like mice while he talked to the frog and the parrot and the monkey and listened to some Bach (I'm all about the idea that  classical music grows little brain cells).

When Uriah went to check on him a few minutes later, this is what he found:

Finn had completely turned himself east to west and flipped over on his belly.  Uriah yelled for me to come down the hall, and I, of course, immediately thought that Finn had gotten out of his crib and was surfing the web on the computer in his room (I fancy him the e-trade baby).

I squelched my disappointment that he wasn't trading stocks.  We stared at each other, astonished, because he'd never flipped himself over before regardless of the countless hours of tummy time (read: baby torture if you're somewhat lazy like my boy) that we subject him to on a daily basis.

I guess you have to crawl before you can walk (literally, in Finn's case) so, we'll work on the rolling over skill some more and then we'll move on to manipulating the mouse, perusing the web and trading stocks on the internet.

We survived the holidays...

...Did you?

After 6 days of vacation and 19 hours in the car and one round of flu and extra inches of fluffy snow and an epic adventure of baby poop in an Iowa "restroom" and 11 adults, 3 kiddos, and 2 dogs sleeping under one roof, we made it safely back home last night.

Uriah unloaded a car stuffed with all sorts of kid toy-joy and I sorted mountains of laundry (which Abby is going to start for me today in between singing lessons with Selena Gomez via Wii Sing-It.).  There really isn't anything more lovely than falling into your own soft, sweet-smelling bed (because you were thoughtful enough to put clean sheets on before you left - Thank you, Self!) except, maybe, falling back into that soft, sweet-smelling bed at 4 am after the teething baby finally falls back to sleep (For the record, in case you didn't get the memo, teething sucks.).

I have 1.7 million pictures to go through and edit from our week in the Arctic Tundra, and a ton of stories to organize, but for now, let me share with you what Christmas really is all about:

{Christmas Joy | 12.25.10}

 Merry (belated) Christmas!   

Arrived

We arrived just in time for the snow to start flying.

Our alarm went off at 4:00 am on Thursday morning and I rolled over and asked Uriah if we could pretty please just sleep for one more hour because my eyes wanted to stay closed.  As excited as I was to get on the road, I did not want either of us to fall asleep at the wheel (technically, I didn't want Uriah to fall asleep at the wheel because it's a stick and I don't drive it.).  It didn't take much arm twisting, so we snoozed a little bit longer and were on the road by 6:30 (after one small detour back home because I left Finn's diaper bag in his room.  Clearly, he woudn't be content to sit in his pee-pants for 600 miles.).

And now we are home (my Mama's house - no matter where I live - will always be home).  Finneaus has been smothered with Grandma-Grandpa-Auntie-Uncle love and is now napping from the shear exhaustion of it all.  Later, he's going to get his first taste of rice cereal...I can hardly wait!  Abby and Dane are outside sledding in the 4 inches of fluffy snow that fell over night.  Uriah is helping my Dad get ready to go ice fishing and I'm going to dig through some old family picutres (circa 1984!).

I love being home.  Love, love, love it!

Oh Christmas tree, my Christmas tree...

Who takes down their Christmas tree 4 days before Christmas?

This girl does.

It was a lonely looking little Charlie Brown with only lights on it and a tote of ornamnets sitting forlornly next to it.  We will be in Minnesota on Thursday and I know that between now and then we are not going to decorate that tree (because Abby is already with Emily and Jerad and I shopped today and tomororw I have to pack and and do laundry and Uriah has some last minute cooking to do.). 

Who am I kidding...it's still depressing.

Dear Santa,

We have tried really hard to be good all year long.  It's not that fair, though, that Finn only had to be half as good as Abby because he was only around for half the year.  But, whatever, Santa; I'm just pointing out the facts.

Some days are better than others; please take that into consideration when writing your list.  There were a couple of temper issues and a hair issue and I know that you remember about the note that Abby wrote in school last year and there was that 6 entire week period that Finn did nothing but cry.  And cry.  And cry.

But we also did good things like give lots of hugs and kisses and empty the dishwasher and there was the whole sleeping through the night thing.  We promise to try really hard next year to do all the things that good little girls and boys do if you'd just bring us a puppy.

And Justin Beiber.

But mostly a puppy.

Love,
Abby & Finn

Curl up and dye (or die, you decide).

Abby is convinced...and I mean CONVINCED...that she can cut her own hair.  Not only that, but she is positive that she can cut hair well...as evidenced by the hair cut that the neighbor girl got last weekend courtesy of Abby's Clip 'N Curl. 

I'm pretty sure she thinks that she is Paul Mitchell's daughter.

Sometimes (all the time) when I get frustrated and my buttons are not just being pushed, they are being jabbed. really. really. hard., I say things that I wouldn't normally even consider.  Last night was one of those nights and I think I may have told her to go ahead and cut her own hair, but that if it didn't turn out (pretty certain that cutting hair with a dull craft scissor is a recipe for disaster) she was stuck with it until it grew out.  Not only that, but I also told her that she would not be able to be seen in public with us until it grew out.  Nothing I was saying was getting through to her - not that fact that I was certain it would not turn out ("How the heck are you going to cut the back evenly?" I asked her.  "Don't worry about it," she replied - again with the eye rolling!); certainly not the fact that people who cut hair for a living actually go to school to learn how to do it.  I told her cutting human hair was not the same as practicing on Polly Pockets and she sure as heck could not practice on the neighbor girl ever again. 

She just looked at me like I was a huge moron, rolled her eyes and restated that she could definitely cut her own hair, stuck her hand on her sassy hip and said, "What if, Heather, what if it turns out great?  Then what?" 

WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THAT?!

So...HELP!  Should I let her cut her own hair (and learn her lesson the hard way)?  Leave a comment; it may help to talk me off of this ledge that I'm teetering on...because I'm just annoyed enough to let her go ahead and do it... 

Baby, it's cold outside.

It snowed over the weekend, so now, in addition to honestly and truly retiring my flip-flops for the season, I have to bundle the baby up to take him outside (even though the snow is gone, it's still dang cold out!).  He borrowed this sweet snowsuit from Cousin Dane - it's made for the car seat; see how the buckle goes right through the little hole in the bottom?  Nifty.  And convenient.

It's not his favorite thing in the world because I have to cover his little hands up; he likes to suck his thumb, so that goes over like a ton of bricks (and the reason for the pacifier stuck in his face that I said I would never give to my kid.  I have a whole list of nevers that I've already done...never say never, I suppose.).  I have to stuff his little arms and legs into his car seat and his wiggle room is sorely limited.  He looks like a blue baby sausage.

Actually, he sort of reminds me of the little brother, Randy, from A Christmas Story, "I can't put my arms down," and then the mom says, "Well...you can put your arms down when you get to school."

Now if only I could find him a pink bunny costume...

Eleven

{Abby, 11 years old | 12.10.10}

Eleven years ago I was a sophomore in college.

I was living in a two bedroom apartment on a tiny campus in the middle of the prairie with three other girls.  We waited in line to get a number at the end of our freshman year in order to be put in a pool to get one of the on-campus apartments because we couldn't stand to live in the dorms for one. more. year.  I was so excited to move into that apartment; what freedom it would bring after a summer of living at home and following (most of) my parents rules.  I worked the entire summer for a horrible woman to be able to afford my first car - a sweet little "previously owned" Corsica.  I was in the off-again stage of an on-again-off-again relationship and I was thinking about switching schools after spring semester.  I had the world at my fingertips.


And while I was making my winter break plans, who I was going to see and what I was going to do and the all important New Year's Eve Party Plans (because it was going to be the year 2000 - hello!); while I was reveling in being 20 and having the luxury of going to college and making plans and being concerned only with myself, somewhere a few states south, a little girl was being born, and that baby girl would change my life. 

{Abby & Uriah, Union Station | 12.10.10}

If someone had pulled 20 year old me aside that December, after my finals were over and my books were sold back and my Corsica was packed up with my stereo and my Doc Martins, and said to me: "A little girl is being born this month and someday you're going to be responsible for her and you're going to help raise her and you're going to ensure that she gets everything good that she deserves out of this life," I probably would have laughed at that person. 

And then I would have kicked them in their privates. 

Because eleven years ago, the heck if I was going to fall in love with someone who already had a kid...too much trouble, I would have said, too much drama.  Besides, when you're 20, you can make bold assumptions about the rest of your life, because the rest of your life is so far away.

But the rest of your life isn't eleven years from now.  It isn't even tomorrow.  It's today.  Now.  It's this moment.  You don't choose who you fall in love with.  You just fall, knowing that you've picked someone you want to hold hands with the whole way down and that you'll be together at the bottom. 

And when I finally fell, I was holding Uriah's hand with one and Abby's hand with the other.

Christmas Spirit

{First Snow | 12.11.10}

I used to decorate for Christmas right after Thanskgiving.  I would put up my tree and light my Christmas candles and listen to Christmas music (yes, I have a Celine Dion CD.  And it. is. AWESOME!) and get in the spirit of the season.  

This year I am having some trouble getting into the Christmas spirit.  My spirit, it seems, is overwhelmed and heavy. 


Last week, when I was driving home and thinking of all of the things that need to get done and the lists that I've been making in my head, and the New Year's resolution that I really want to stick to this year, I realized how my actions and my not being in the moment, were affecting those around me.  I also realized, driving along a dark road with no snow, that I was taking out my lack of Christmas cheer on my family.  I was so overwhelmed with all of the things going on - things that will be what they will be no matter how much I obsess over them or stress over them - that we hadn't put up our tree, yet, although Abby had asked repeatedly when we were going to.  And I found myself snapping at her; telling her we'd get to it when I was good and ready, all the while having no intention of really getting to it any time soon.  I had a couple of decorations out, but the majoirty of them still sat in totes downstairs. 

So yesterday, when I was sitting at work, stewing in my own Grinch-y-ness, I decided that no matter how many excuses I could make for not decorating and not getting into the Christmas spirit...we're going to be gone for Christmas this year, there's too  much stuff to have out with a baby in the house, it's cold downstairs and the totes are really heavy...it isn't about me this year.  Or any year, for that matter. 

It's about Abby's needed to maintain the traditions that we started with her a couple of Christmas' ago. 

And it's about Finn's first Christmas.  His FIRS CHRISTMAS!  I am missing out on the excitement and the newness and the making of memories for him because I can't shake my rain cloud.



And that's pretty shitty, right? 

This season is about my family and I need to shove aside those dark little thoughts and focus on just what is happening right in front of my face.  I came home yesterday and Uriah had put the treee up, so I put lights on it and lights in the windows.  And while the totes aren't competely unpacked, they are upstairs sitting in the middle of the living room where I can't miss them.  I have Christmas cookie dough in the refrigerator and it snowed last night.  Real, honest to goodness snow on the ground.

I feel the flutterings of my Christmas spirit in those tiny snowflakes; I'm being careful not to melt them.

Mama's Day Out

{We had to make up for lost time last night.}

I did it.

I took Finn to daycare yesterday.  On my day off.

Dang it I had stuff to do.  I had to go to the dentist (Don't get me started on how much I thoroughly dislike the dentist, which explains why I leave it for the end of the year.) and I had to get some shopping done - the Christmas and grocery kind - and it is just not conducive to productiveness to carry around a 16 lb wiggle worm when lists are involved.

So, I dropped him off to play with his pals and I headed to the torture session (yes, I really don't like going to the dentist even though he's a really nice man.  My mouth doesn't care.).  And then I procured a few new items for myself (read: no more maternity pants!!) and I picked up some Christmas presents and Christmas wrap and everything on my grocery list and I took my sweet. ass. time.

I was not at the mercy of someone fussing.  Or pooping his pants.  Or needing to be snuggled (in the middle of the ethnic food aisle of the grocery store).  I did not have to stuff my bag with baby toys, pacifiers, pacifier wipes, a bottle, formula, bottled water, diapers, wipes, a change of clothes, an extra bib and a blanket (I know, get a diaper bag right?  My purse actually fits all of that.  Don't judge).  Instead, I carried a huge purse with lots of extra room - and a ton less weight.  I was able to look at everything in Target.  I walked through the men's section.  Because I could. I haven't been missing much, actually, so it was kind of a waste of time.  But I had time to waste!  I was able to look at everything in Marshall's - and I didn't have to maneuver a cart in either store through tight aisles and around hordes of other Christmas shoppers.  And at the grocery store?  I did not drop one jar of salsa because there was a baby seat in the cart and I had to shove everything in the fold out seat for kids who are bigger than mine.  Not that I've ever done that.   Okay, yes, I've done that...salsa and shards of glass were all over the floor and my tennis-kicks.  And I was carrying Finn in his baby carry pouch and pushing a cart and feeding him at the same time because he was 13 seconds old and I figured, "Hey, look at me, world!  Just because I had a baby one minute ago doesn't mean I can't still multi-task!"  You should have seen the looks I got.  Clearly, I could not still multi-task. 

Lesson learned:  Feed baby or get groceries.  Do not do both at the same time.

So...yesterday I had a Mama's Day Out and I have two new pairs of pants, three new shirts and one ginormous bra to assuage the guilt of leaving my son at daycare when I should have snuggled him up next to me.  But, by God, it's good to be out of those maternity pants!

Sugar and spice and everything nice.

{Miss Ava-Rose | 11.25.10}

I love having a baby boy...but sometimes, for the briefest of moments, I long for a baby girl.

The bows.
The pink.
The hearts and flowers and sparkles.

Those sweet moments that you can only have with a daughter talking about things like Barbies and Ramona Quimby and nail polish.  That adoring look little girls have for their mamas.  The cooking together.  The buying of the fluffy dresses for holidays.  Baby dolls and easy bake ovens and Disney Princesses...

And then I think about periods and friend-drama and braces and acne and feelings of not fitting in and hormones, oh the wild hormones...and the feeling passes.

Hello, Monday...

So.  It's Monday.

After a full-on weekend of family and cooking and birthday parties and getting the baby holy, Monday showed up this morning with the alarming speed of a freight train.

Evidently, Abby was operating in slow-mode this morning, even though Uriah made breakfast for her.  She was standing in front of the tv in her bare feet with her shirt un-tucked watching The Today Show and grass grow when Uriah reminded her that the bus would be coming and she needed to head outside in about 5 minutes to meet it.  Commence a flurry of activity and wails of, "I am going to be so late!"  It was 19 degrees this morning but we had to remind Abby to zip up her coat and put on a hat even though she looks at the temperature gauge every morning and comments on how warm/cold it is outside. 

Finn threw up on me and himself, so just as we were about to walk out the door, both of us required a shirt change.  Then he fell asleep in the car on the way to daycare (puking on yourself is exhausting.) and I felt so bad waking him up to take him from the warm car into the cold.  Talk about a jarring wake up!

I dropped the baby off and got to work with minimal traffic delays.  My desk was a little full from leaving early on Friday...the schedule was a lot full.  In the middle of juggling it all, I got a phone call from the school nurse.  Abby, apparently, was feeling "crampy and dizzy."  So the nurse gave her some pain reliever but left me a message asking that I call her back to "discuss what else to do." 

You have got to be kidding me. 

Abby has this habit of visiting the nurse when she needs some extra attention.  It is an on-going battle.  When she first moved in with us, we had to sit her down, after multiple phone calls in one week from the nurse, to tell her she could only go to the nurse if she was bleeding and needed to go to the hospital.  Or if she broke a bone.  Or if she threw up.  Otherwise, the nurse's office was off-limits.  Today I figured Abby just needed to eat lunch (considering it was noon when I got the phone call).  Luckily (and I say that sarcastically)  she and the nurse figured out what her "problem" was....she has gym before lunch and she eats during the last lunch period, so it's a really long time between breakfast and lunch, and they figured that she was probably just hungry.  Really?  However, Abby went on to tell the nurse that she feels dizzy every single day.  And it just happens to be during gym class (her least favorite class, surprisingly enough). So the nurse told her to come to her office any time she feels dizzy, for a carton of milk.  I see this going terribly wrong for the nurse.

I'm going to have to nip this in the bud.

I told Abby to eat lunch and when she gets home this afternoon, to take it easy and rest.  Then I called Uriah and told him that raising a girl is hard work and I need a raise.

Holiday

Uriah and I took a little holiday last weekend...as much of a holiday as you can toting a 4 month old, that is.  It was nice to have a break from the hussle and bussle and to be able to have deep and meaningful conversations about things like, should we watch ESPN or HGTV?  We don't have cable in our house, so these kinds of conversatins are imperative to keep the peace when on holiday.  We drove back home through a snow-storm, which made me thankful yesterday for the ability to wear flip-flops in December.

And now the weekend is upon us.  We had a surprise birthday part for Abby last night, although her birthday is technically next weekend.  Today is the baby's baptism and tomorrow my Mama and Pops and Sars leave to go back to the great white North, where we will be in a couple of weeks.  Before that, though we will need to celebrate Abby's real birthday, more surprise await her next weekend, and we need to decorate a tree and put up some Christmas goodness and make some cookies and buy some presents.

You know...hussle and bussle.

With all of the lists that I've made and things I need to get done, and timelines to do it all, I really wish my biggest decision still involved whether to watch TV downstairs in front of the fireplace or upstairs, in bed, in front of the fireplace...

Miracle

{Baby Hefter | 12.01.09}

It's hard to believe that a year ago this little dude had been growing for only about 8 weeks and in that short period of time, he turned our world upside down. 

Uriah and I laid in bed those first weeks, with our secret between us, and imagined the little bean baby that we couldn't feel.  Who was he going to look like?  What he would act like?  Would he have dark hair like Uriah or be a blondie like me?  What color eyes would he have?  Would he have our (dry and inappropriate) sense of humor?  Would he be OCD like me or laid back like Uriah?  Would he be tall or short?  Uriah's metabolism or (God forbid) mine?  Would we be able to teach him to love to read as much as we do?  When would he start moving around?  Will he like us? 

Mostly, though, we were content to revel in the fact that nobody knew, except the two of us, that we were going to have a baby...and for a little bit, he was exclusively ours.

{Finn | 12.1.10}

Isn't it incredible what a year can do?

Love: Text Message Style

{Minnesota State Fair | 09.02.06}

u:    I love you.

h:   Really?  Why?

u:    You're sweet to me.
h:  Here's why I love you: when I wake up in the morning it's usually bc you've snuggled up next to me.  And that feels good.
u:   I mostly do that because you leave the window open.
h:  Then I will leave it open forever.

Friday with Finn

A couple of years ago, my nephews, who are 3 months apart, fell madly in love with balloons.  No need to get them fancy presents that included gift wrap and bows.  Skip the Legos that pose a choking hazard.  Nobody needs to listen to Dora and Diego sing in Spanish, or track down a Thomas the Train piece.  Homeboys were happy with a $3 balloon from The Wals-Mart.

Fast forward to present day.  I got a balloon for my birthday and I tell you what, Finn loves him some balloon fun!  I'm sure it's the shiny-ness and the fact that it moves around.  He looks for it and his eyes get big when he sees it.  He's learned that he can hit it with his little fist and make it move and is amazed that it will move without even touching it.

Christmas shopping just got easier.
And cheaper.

Dear Santa,

Please bring me a supply of balloons.  And that thingy that fills them up with helium.  Oh, yeah, and my Mama asked me to ask you for some gin.


Love,
Finn

Thankfuls

I have a nasty habit of being glass half empty. 

I have a hard time seeing the postive side of things and it gets much worse after daylight savings time in the fall when it gets dark approximatley 12 seconds after the sun rises.  It gets particularly bad when I'm missing my family (I haven't been home since September - that is just too long!) and sometimes Uriah bears the brunt of my sad cat face. 

Today, however, I tried really hard to fight the urge to be Polly PissyPants.  I got up early and made a big pot of coffee and a pumpkin pie.  I resisted the urge to procrastinate when we were trying to get out the door on time.  I tried not to snap when Uriah didn't have a salad to take to dinner (even though I'd reminded him yesterday).  I bit my tongue when Abby decided to wear jeans and a top and a slip (you know, the thing you wear under a dress?  Yes, she had that on under her clothes because she couldn't find a tank top.  WTF?).  And, when I felt really homesick, instead of dwelling on that feeling I tried to think of the things that I'm most thankful for. 

Today I am most thankful for:

• Uriah.  Every day of the week and twice on Tuesday.
• Finn and Abby.
• My Minnesota and my Missouri families and friends.
• We are all healthy.  And also for flu shots.
• Having a job - and Uriah having a job, too. 
• Being able to feed and clothe my kiddos.  And myself.  And also, Uriah.  Because we'd make a really unhappy family if we were hungry and nudie-patootie! 
• Having a house (with heat and running water and electricity and my bed).
• Hospitals and health insurance and blissful epidurals.  Oh, how I am thankful for epidurals this year!
• 1 whole year of wedded bliss.  And for the ability to be common-law divorced a couple of times a week when things aren't so blissful.
• A good daycare with people who love on my son daily when I can't.
• Vacation to Minnesota next month.  And Santa.  But mostly vacation.

It's not much of  a list, I realize that, and it's in no particular order - except for Uriah and Finn and Abby being at the top - and probably the part about the epidural should be closer to the top, too.  I know that I have so much more to be thankful for, but for tonight, this is enough.  And tomorrow or the day after or the day after that, when I feel those blues creeping in, I will look at this list and remind myself just how good I have it in my own little corner of the world.

Hound Friends

Finn is asking Santa for two dogs for Christmas.

Emily and Jerad had plans galore for the weekend and since we are currently pet-less (since the demise of Abby's fish, Rainbow two years ago!), we offered to keep the hound friends for an over-night on Saturday.  It was definitely an experience in dog-ownership...I pointed out to Uriah how easy the dogs were to take care of...how well behaved they were, how little they barked and how well they slept.  Uriah said it's a testament to how well these two dogs have been trained and a puppy would require lots of traning to become as easy-going as Gus and Ruby.  And then he pointed out that he was the one who went downstairs to check and make sure they weren't barking at Saturday night.  And he was the one who let them out to potty at 7:15 Sunday morning.  All while I stayed in the cozy comfort of our bed.

Minor details.

It was a beautiful weekend, so they spent some quality time in the back yard.  They chased squirrels and each other.  They met the pugs next door.  Gus only barked at those little dogs once, and I think he put the fear of God into them, because things have been awfully quite on their side of the fence.  Gus escaped into another neighbor's yard three times, while Ruby ran up and down the fence line in a panic until he came back over.  They only tried to get on the couch once, and after I scolded them (and scared Finn in the process) they stayed on the floor.  I don't think they wanted the baby to cry again.  They guarded the door when Uriah came home.  They did bark at him, but only a little, then they licked his hands and pants (probably because he smelled like delicious food!).

Ruby sniffed Finn and then wanted nothing to do with him.  I think his size and his squeaky voice grated on her nerves.  Gus believed he'd found his new BFF.  He's probably going to be asking Santa for a Finn of his own.

Pay no attention to the fact that my hair has not been combed for approximately a decade.  Sunday morning, friends, is a time of relaxing and coffee and enjoying the balmy 65-degree November air.  I did not want to waste my morning with a shower.  Clearly.

Also, pay even less attention to the doggie slobber on the window.  This is the price that you must pay to have four-legged babysitters.  Finn liked his hound friends on the other side of the window, by the way.  He was entertained for about 15 minutes...just long enough for me to take a shower!
 

Someday we will add some 4-legged friends to our house.  In the meantime, we will gladly watch Gus and Ruby any time!  Mostly because I've never had a cleaner kitchen floor.  Or a cleaner baby.

It's baby weight, people, and it's got to go.

Is it really almost Thanksgiving?  I am ill-prepared for how quickly time is flying...it seems as though I blink and another day is over and done!

Somebody slow it down!  Please?!  That way I can at least pretend to blame the fact that "I just had a baby" for my weight. 

What I mean is, last night I went shopping - for the first time since having a baby (Yes, I realize that he is 4 months old.  Yes, I realize that still wearing my maternity pants is like giving away hooch at the Betty Ford.  Quit judging.).  It was a disaster of epic proportions.  And by epic proportions, I mean I feel as though I have a body of epic proportions.  I have never considered myself slender, (except for that one time years ago before my friend's wedding when I did the Atkins and could be found at the gym most mornings with my Mama.  I was definitely slender then...) but I've never considered myself huge, either.  Mostly, just...festively plump.  But now...now I feel like my body isn't even remotely my own.  It's as though one minute I knew body - what styles worked, how my stubby legs fit in certain pants and that the right pair of heels could instantly change how I looked - and then I had a baby and clothes fit differently, shoes fit differently and even my hair feels different.  My waist doesn't suck in like it used to and even with a good bra...well, draw your own conclusions, friends.

So, I've made a commitment to myself - and I'm writing it down because if I don't, I can't hold myself accountable - I am going to eat better.  I am going to exercise 3 days a week.  I am going to take my vitamin.  I am going to be happy with the body that I have - saggy boobs and jiggly bum and all - and I will not set unattainable weight-loss goals for myself.  Slow and steady, my friends, wins the race every time. 

31

Today I have been ruminating on turning 31.  Don't misunderstand...I have always been an advocate of the aging process; I've earned my age and you can be damn sure that I don't want to be 23 again (what a weird age) or 18 (grody).  I liked each year when I experienced them (some more than others), but I appreciate every year that I have under my belt and the knowledge that comes with it.  I also had the benefit of growing up in a house that embraced birthdays and aging.  I don't ever remember hearing my Mama or my Dad lament their age or not want to celebrate a birthday because they felt they were getting old.  They've always been very comfortable with where they are in life and I think I've picked up on that.

Yesterday was a good birthday...very laid back.  Finn let me sleep in until 8:15 (which felt like a miracle), I left him at day care only long enough to get my hair cut and then Uriah picked us up for a late afternoon lunch (which was actually a cocktail and appetizer snack).  I got to pick out a couple of presents, which Abby wrapped and gave to me, oblivious of the fact that I picked them out...my surprise face was very convincing and she is none the wiser.  She signed the card from her and Finn.  Uriah made me dinner and we watched our "Tuesday Story" (The Good Wife) and I was sound asleep for hours when Sarah tried to call me at 11:45pm (still technically my birthday, it was a nice message, though).

There was no huge hoopla.  No sparklers or a late night party or hangover the next day.  I'll leave that stuff to the young kids.  I'm 31, after all.  And happy to be here.

It's a not-so-Merry Meatloaf Christmas

I cannot make meatloaf to save my soul.  I can, however, take some moderately good pictures of my kiddos.

Let's start with the pictures, since they weren't a complete bust. 

I am determined to send out Christmas cards this year.  Last year there was no Hefter Family Christmas Missive because I was freshly pregnant and too tired and very crabby and my appetite was voracious and I had no idea what I wanted to eat and my pants were fitting a little (ok, a lot) tight and suffice it to say there was no way I was going to smile for a damn Christmas card, much less address and stamp the envelopes in a timely manner.  Something had to go last Christmas and since I'm pretty sure Abby would have staged a full-scale revolt if I nixed the Christmas presents, I let the Christmas card slide.  Fast forward one year: I have a waist again (sort of, well, more than I did last year, anyway, and I have ankles, too, but that's not really the point, I just like to point out that I have ankles again.) and loads more energy and two cute kids who I haven't photographed together for some time.  So I took advantage of the final days of fall here and we struck off for the wilderness.  And by wilderness, I mean the local park becasue this is the big bad city, after all.  And by we, I mean Uriah and me and the kiddos.

And we got these:

Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a 4-month old to look at you?  Quantum Physics hard, that's how hard (unless you're Uriah, then that analogy would not apply).  I did get a couple of photos where Finn and Abby are looking the same general direction, but I'll save those for the Chrsitmas card surprise...Uriah plans to pen a "family upadate" and I am trying to prepare myself, because I can but barely imagine what he will try to include in that letter.  I feel my editing pen quivering in my fingers...

And now, the meatloaf, which was not a complete bust, but did leave a little to be desired.

Flavor-wise, it was great.  I tried a recipe that was not my Mama's and I will admit, it was not as good but it was okay and I added bacon to the top and bacon really does make the world (me) smile.  I'm going to do a little combining of the two recipes to see if I can't make a new meat loaf hybrid.  First, though, I have to figure out how to make it more loaf-like.  I cannot seem to get it to stick together.  I've tried more bread,which you would think would help to dry it out a little bit.  Nope.  I tried two eggs, which I thought would help bind it a little bit better.  Not happening.  By the way, I hate the word loaf but I like meatloaf and, alas, there is no alternative.  Final result: Uriah has offered to tutor me in the art of making a meatloaf (lucky me) - I think we've come up with some possible reasons as to why my meatloaf does not, in fact, resemble a loaf.  I forsee another night of meatloaf in our future...and to be honest, I'm not really that upset about it.

Tonight, however, I will leave you with this:

This was the last picture that I took this afternoon and Finn was pretty much over it.  We had been to two different parks and at this point had wound up at Hillcrest (Uriah's golf course) where I had plans for some really good pictures on the cart path and maybe a couple scenic ones on the 18th hole.  Finn had other plans: namely, a snack.  He was a half an hour late for his afternoon snickety-snack and even his sister was not going to get him to smile one last time. 

I like it, though.  I think it accurately portrays our family.

Friday with Finn

His socks say "Butter Me Up" on the bottom...

A long time ago, when I had lots of free time and a subscription to Bon Appetite I would wait anxiously for it to come every month and then spend hours pouring over that magazine when it came in the mail, placing post-it notes on pages of recipes that had a nice variety of ingredients and pictures that made my mouth water.   I could look at a single month six or seven times and find something new each time I flipped through the pages.  It was in the pages of Bon Appetite that I learned to make a Thanksgiving Turkey and found the most delicious breakfast egg and mashed potato dish.  Back then I lived with my parents and each month I would choose one recipe every month to try out...we ate really well on a regular basis, but it was always fun to try something outside of our comfort zone.

That was then...the days of wine and roses.  Now my magazine of choice is Parents and my week is a goat rodeo at night when we're getting home from work, making dinner, getting Finn organized, hearing about Abby's day, showers/baths and lights out for safety.  I rely very heavily on having a menu planned out so that we're not scrambling to get something thrown together for dinner.

On the weekend, however, I can experiment.  And I still pull out my old Bon Appetite magazines, which I have moved 4 times (even though my Dad told me he'd never move "those damn magazines" again and Uriah tried to forbid me from bringing them South because he didn't want to lift the boxes).

I have time to devote to the kitchen even if I have to pause half way through because my favorite helper needs a snack or a nap.  Last weekend, I utilized my BFF Beverly to make pumpkin bars - with real roasted pumpkin, not the canned stuff! - and cream cheese frosting.  And I am telling you what...I may never go back to the canned pumpkin.  Ever.  I also found a recipe for Thai Chicken pizza, which was good, but a bit spicy for Abs.  And I employed BFF to make some honey wheat bread.

This weekend is going to be more of the same...I'm going to experiment with meat loaf (because it's rainy and cold and it feels like meat loaf weather) and I found a couple of cranberry sauce recipes that I want to try.  We're having the having Post Family dinner at my house on Sunday (and by Post Family, I mean those of us that have defected to the dirty, dirty South) so I get to do some experimenting on Sunday, too.  I'm giddy with anticipation right now; after I put Baby Boy to bed tonight, I'm going to dive into that stack of Bon Appetite and find a couple of good appetizers for Sunday.

The days of really experimenting with food again are a ways into the future, and my subscription to Bon Appetite won't be renewed for a couple of years, but Abby is ever the adventurous eater, so it is my fervent hope that Finn learns to love food - all food - as much as the rest of us so that I can continue to do what I love to do...cook something interesting and make my family happy.

Sleep: Interrupted

Happy Hump Day.  Did yours start at 3 am like mine?  No?  Well, then you're in luck!  Finn is throwing a middle-of-the-night-party...and y'all are invited.  Please show up at my house between 12:30 am and 4 am for a swinging good time with one very alert boy.  No RSVP necessary, I'll just open the door and pass him off to you...entertain at will; lock the door behind you when you leave.

What?  You don't want to show up at my house in the ass-crack of night?  You don't want to get out of the warm softness of your bed, walk across a cold hardwood floor to a crying baby?  You don't want to wipe away snot form his nose and real tears from his eyes and change his diaper and have a lovely conversation before the sun has even started to think about maybe rising?  I can't imagine why not.

Monday night (so I guess, technically Tuesday morning...) he woke up about 12:30 am.  I changed him.  I rocked him.  I talked to him.  I rocked him some more.  I gave him a snack.  And then he and I had a bit of a come-to-Jesus chat when he decided that he still didn't want to go to sleep and the clock said 2 am.  Last night he was awake at 3am.  Uriah got up with him and, of course, he was only up for about an hour...but it's hard to fall back  to sleep when you've been rudely awakened and then once I do, it feels like I'm only asleep for 12 seconds before the alarm goes off.  On the plus side, my alarm clock is set to the Christmas music station.  Don't judge.

I'll be happy when he has his 4-month check up in a couple of weeks because I'm not quite sure what's going on.  He went from sleeping really well through the night to waking up in the middle of it.  We thought maybe he was hungry, so we fed him a little more before bed, but that does not seem to be the problem because, clearly, he's still waking up.  I'm hesitant to put some rice cereal in his bottle yet, although everyone I've talked to said it's like the nectar of the Gods and it got their kiddos through the night.  I may buckle if this late-night trend continues because I am dang tired today. 

In other news...Abby's birthday is coming up.  She lets us know just about every night.  And she also marked it on the calendar.  In case we forgot.  Let me just tell you that if I have another baby (in 74 years) it will not be born in December.  It is too hard to come up with a tween-appropriate gift for one holiday, much less two in the same month.  Suggestions would be nice since she put cowboy hat and cowboy boots on her list.  Seriously?  I'm gonna need some help here...