A Little Something I'm Glad I Found

Over a year ago, at the beginning of my own little blogging adventure, I mentioned a mom blogger that I really enjoyed reading. Since then I've commented on blogs/bloggers/websites barely at all, but it's not for lack of comment-worthy posts. I guess I've just tended to get sucked up into the mindless creativity-and-curiosity-and-boredom-satiating sites like Pinterest or Facebook or Shutterfly.

There's certainly nothing wrong with any of these websites, but I sometimes miss the others--the pages and blogs that involve me having to sit down and invest part of my mind and heart in what I'm reading. The posts that say meaningful things, sad or happy. The posts that use beautiful words.

Today I ran into another serious of posts that I can't help sharing. I rarely say that forty-five minutes spent on Pinterest is really worth that forty-five minutes. But I won't hesitate to say that the ten minutes I spent reading these posts by The Gypsy Mama was worth every moment. This very well-travelled mama was born in South Africa and blogs with a Christian spin on things.

If you're in the mood for something thoughtful, have a read:

Is there life after "No"?
Is there life after "No"? (part 2)
Is there life after "No"? (part 3)
Is there life after "No"? (part 4)

I'll warn you that part of the reason I loved these so much is because I halfway feel I'm living them. We've been living in "No" for almost the last year-and-a-half. ("Pretty please? Can't we please have a real job? Full-time? One that is steady and offers good experience? One that will move us forward? Please?")

I'm sure that someone upstairs is awfully tired of hearing us. I bet He feels like we do with Cambrie. ("Please can I have a cookie?" "No." "Please can I have a cookie?" "You've already asked six times. No." "Please can I have just a little bit of one?" "Dinner is in five minutes, no cookies until after dinner!" "Please can I have a cookie?" "Aaugh!")

(And wouldn't it be easier if answers to our prayers were that specific? "Calm down, you'll be fine, you've got exactly 34 more days until you land the Big One." "Yes, please and thank you! We'll wait away!")

In any case, I surely appreciated this blogger's perspective. And I'm glad I stumbled upon her blog and posts.

Feel free to share any blogs or posts that you put in the "worth reading" category!

Walking In the Rain

Confession: about two or so months ago (let's see, that would be around Christmastime, yes? Okay, then that's my excuse), the walking habit that I had been so proud of started dwindling into... well, into a non-existent walking habit.

While normally this is something to regret, it's even a little worse in my case; see, "Little Brother" (as the child I'm carrying is typically referred to by his doting big sister) kinda did a number on mommy in the first trimester. I was plagued by a constant mild aversion to all food (nothing ever sounded good), accompanied by a terrible, ravenous need to eat constantly. For a good three months, a little monster in my tummy demanded nourishment.  Though that desperate need for food died down in trimester number two, I'm pretty sure the constant need for nice, big sandwiches at 9:30 PM over and over again had already done it's damage.

That said, in the past week or so, I've decided to jump back into walking again. And oh, I've needed it. Even setting health aside, I feel better when I have those minutes of solitude in the quiet, usually chilly mornings.

This morning, I was determined to get out. The only problem? The forecast. It was a wet, wet morning. My first attempt to get out ended with me turning the car around when hail started pounding the windshield and lightning flashed in the distance.

I love the gray and green of rainy days.

I waited a few hours, and when the bright green and orange on the weather map had mostly passed our little home by, I took advantage of a lull in the rain. I promise, it was barely drizzling as I parked in my surrogate neighborhood and began my walk. Two minutes later, the weather changed its mind.

A light drizzle started, and it gently grew into a steady rain. I wasn't going to turn around for that, though. At around 65 degrees, I was perfectly comfortable, except for the tiny drops the wind whipped into my face. I did wish I'd grabbed my hat before I left. But I kept walking.

More things to love about the rain--the steady pattering of the raindrops, and the glistening concrete or asphalt.

Though I felt fine sticking to my plan to walk, I felt more than a little awkward when I pictured how I must look. That seems to be a common position for me--I'm usually able to make a good, confident decision about the things I choose to do, but, though I rarely compromise that decision, I am often consumed with concern over how others view it, with a need to justify or defend what I do.

In any case, this was what I pictured: A sorry-looking girl with soaking hair and shirt, probably obviously pregnant by this point, walking down a lonely street in the pouring rain. Kind of pathetic. Every time a car passed, I gave myself instructions:

Okay, walk like it's on purpose, head up, ignore the water in your eyes, okay, once they get close enough, a little closer, okay, flash that small but friendly neighborhood smile! Hi! I'm your crazy pregnant pseudo-neighbor who is out for a leisurely walk in the pouring rain! On purpose!

I love the green of this moss, especially in the rain.

Luckily I had a good twenty-five minutes to get over myself. I'm glad I did. Soon I was able to (mostly) forget about how I looked, and really pay attention to the day. How often am I able to do that? To stop and listen and watch the world around me at a pace no faster than a walk? How often do I get to do that in the rain? To feel the rain in my hair, rolling down my cheeks, collecting on my eyelashes? To taste the water on my lips that is fresher than tap water and sweeter than tears?

I felt like I was sixteen years old again and acutely aware of all there was to experience. I felt again that I wanted to walk in the pouring rain--not just to accomplish a goal, and not just to get back to my car as quickly as possible, but to know what it was like.

While I walked, I watched the large and small rivers of rain cutting across the rise and fall of the road. I watched the leaves and branches bending under the heavy drops and the squirrels darting across the wet grass. I learned how drops of water feel different when they're falling from power lines overhead than when they're small and light and whipped by wind.

Watching the rain fall from a dry porch with Cambrie wouldn't have taught me that. Running from the house to the car and then from my car to another building on another errand wouldn't have taught me that.

When I finally got back to my car, I wished I'd had the forethought to bring a towel. But again, I didn't really mind. Not the rain dripping from my hair down my back, and not my wet fingers slipping the key into the ignition. It's been a while since I've experienced something small and simple in such a tactile way. No words. No music. No peer influence.

Cambrie (in her current favorite hat) watching the rain.

Just walking in the rain.

A Good Sign

I think it's a good sign that, despite all our differences, despite all our flaws and imperfections, and especially despite all our less-than-ideal circumstances (being un- or underemployed for a year and a half wouldn't be easy for anyone, much less a married couple with stubbornly positive goals and plans for the future), if I were to describe the feeling I feel most often in one word, it would be "happy".

Photo by BMW Photography

And I don't even have to think very long to come to that conclusion.

Thanks, Patrick, for being one of the three main reasons I can say "I am happy" with such surety and simplicity.

With equal sincerity, I will say that another main reason for my certain, deep peace and happiness can be read about here. The last of my three reasons is the subject of nearly all my blog posts, so I'm sure I don't need to remind you all of that two-year-old bundle of joy.

Life is certainly not a piece of cake, and I've certainly been known to make things harder and more complicated for myself, but it's hard sometimes not to feel overwhelmed by all the good things I've got going on. Thank you, Valentine's Day, for being one more opportunity for me to remember that.

Preparing for Little Brother

Cambrie is very excited about the coming addition to our family. Granted, she only has a two-and-a-half-year-old's level of comprehension, but she has already asked a number of times, "Is my little brother done growing yet?" I guess she expects me to say, "Yup!" and magically produce him, but unfortunately that's not the way things work. It's certainly a lesson in patience.

A few days ago we learned more about how she views her own role in the coming older-sibling-younger-sibling setup. Patrick and I were in the living room when we started to hear Cambrie waking up from her nap. Usually, she’ll make some small noises then come out to see us on her own ("Mommy, daddy, all-done sleeping!!"). But this time I heard a very urgent and rather shrill “Mooommmmyyy!!!” Patrick and I looked at each other, then we heard it again. “Moooommmyyyy!!!” We rushed to her room.

We got to the door and opened it just as she was starting to open the door herself. Almost without waiting for us to say anything, she turned around and started sauntering back to her bed. Very matter-of-factly (no sense of shrillness or urgency now), she informed us, “When my little brother get born, we can do lots of things.”

This shows a bit of excitement you may not have seen in the initial announcement.

We both looked at her, bewildered, as she climbed back onto her bed and plopped down to look at us and tell us again, “When he get born, can… can do LOTS of things.” By now, we were cracking up, but she was already moving on.

“I can teach him lots of things, and I can teach him…” she looked around her bed, “…my blanket,” (she picked up her precious pink blankie), “and Baby Maggie,” (she picked up her doll, then continued pointing out everything on the bed), “and I can teach him this monkey, and this monkey, and…and this little doggie!”

That swing is a rocket ship; I've traveled to the moon and back with her many times. She reminds me to put on and buckle my helmet, and sometimes she'll say, "Little brother coming to moon with us!" She knows he hangs out in my tummy, and therefore goes where we go.

I picked her up to take her out of the room, but she kept going. “And I’ll teach him jumping, and my books, and can read The Cat in the Hat, too, you can read to him just like me, and….” and it kept going.

A little while later, she walked down the stairs in a pair of blue shoes that are still too big for her, saying, “When my little brother get born, he can wear these shoes. His feet be big enough.”

She cracks me up, but at the same time I'm really touched. If I could pick any type of older sibling for a brand new little boy to have, I would absolutely pick a little girl with a love for laughter, silliness and the world around her, and a desire to share that with those she loves. Mommy and Daddy can teach him about safety, security, and being loved, sure, but if he's going to learn about the magic of stuffed animals, the love for small things like shoes and precious blankets, and the joy of spinning and jumping on the bed, well I'm sure glad we have an expert on hand for that.

Now there's a real smile! It takes a spin on Uncle Rob's four-wheeler to get her to give me one of those for the camera. Maybe she'll teach little brother about recreational vehicles, too.

Cutting the Hair That Was Barely There

This has been a nice little bloggy break. I'm feeling in the story-sharing mood again, though.

But really, how could I not post about Cambrie's first more-than-a-trim haircut? I know there are a lot of little kids whose hair takes a while to grow in, but it seems all of Cambrie's little friends have approximately seven and a half times as much hair has she does. Even the boys. This means her hair journey is worth chronicling, whether for other fair-and-fine-haired parents to commiserate, or for me to look back on for reassurance if another little girl makes her way into our family. (Thank goodness this next one is a boy--no one cares if little boy babies are bald.)

Now, you've seen pictures of this kid. Her hair is not long. The main problem is it was CRAZY.

A little crazy, right? Go ahead, scroll down.

Yeah. This mess of crazy-fine-tangly-frizzy-wannabe-curly-hair was kinda the norm.

Those are the little side-wispies that make me shake my head now, but I feel like I'll probably remember fondly in, say, ten years. :-)

My main dilemma with her was that everything was uneven. It popped into cute curls about 20% of the time, but the other 80% was outta control. Even though I long for that nice, long, substantial hair (the nice thick hair that runs in Patrick's family, but definitely not my own), I finally came to grips with the fact that I was going to have to wait a little longer. I'm still crossing my fingers that the old idea of cutting hair to make it grow in a little thicker works. At the very least, I needed to get rid of that tangly, overgrown baby hair to give the newer hair time to catch up.

Here are some more pictures of what was going to have to go:

Awful awful picture, but you can see how long her hair was wet. Long and thin and straggly.

Here's her ponytail in its adorable stage. Yes, if you pulled on the curl, it would bounce. *sniff* Goodbye, curl.

So, in the interest of saving money and developing basic hair-trimming skills (and since I was certain nothing could look crazier than the current "do"), I decided I'd have a go at Cambrie's hair myself. Goals? 1) Bring as much of her hair to a matching length as possible. 2) Clear out some of the finer, wispier baby hair. 2) Make it look like her hair was more on purpose, rather than haphazard and messy.

The solution? A chair, shears, hair clips, a comb, and Curious George. Several tentative snips and "No! Stop moving, don't touch that, look at the TV"s later, here's what we had:

I know, it doesn't look like a lot, but for better or worse, it made a huge difference.

Here it is, still a little wet. I trimmed all her long straggliness to right below her ears, then gave her a very slight layer above it. It's already starting to dry here, which means it will all look shorter.

Here she is, still captivated by Curious George, with the hair a little drier, not really combed at all. The waves are coming back, and you can see how it could look like it was meant to be a very short cropped cut.

A word about bangs: Her hair in the front and sides is growing very slowly. If I had my way, I'd prefer no bangs so I could leave her hair down and nicely brushed or clip it in a cute way to the side. Here's an idea of what I mean:

(My real source was a google image search, but in the interest of giving proper credit, here ya go.) 

However, I don't think Cambrie's hair will be that long for a while. In the interest of giving it another chance, I did not trim her bangs in this haircut (I've done it a few times before to even things out). I'm hoping her hair will get that burst of growth soon. *fingers crossed* We'll see. For the time being, I'll try to sweep them to the side more.

Current pictures (note the side wisps are still there--they weren't even long enough to reach the shortest layer I did in back, but I gave them a teeny trim anyways to even them out and hopefully encourage more growth.)

Meet one of her monkeys and Baby Maggie. Umm, and another forced smile.

Sometimes it's this wavy, and sometimes it lies straighter. Over all, I think it has more structure and less crazy. I can still do pigtails and other fun things up top, which is one thing I definitely wanted.

Here's the before picture again, for comparison:

Goodbye, crazy poofy mess! I do not miss you.

In my shamelessly biased opinion, I really do think Cambrie is cute no matter what her hair looks like. However, I also like that she looks a little less like a hooligan, now, when we take her out. She can be a hooligan all she wants at home, but by golly, those other moms at the library are going to see nothing but a perfectly coiffed little angel!

....BAH! Hahaha! Oh, *whew* that was funny. In any case, at least she'll look like mommy spent at least 30 seconds on her hair. I guess we're just going to have to continue to see how her hair fills out from here.