from a few days ago, when I wasn’t feeling well and he was my nurse
In my heart, I’ve always been a New Yorker. It’s been over a decade since I lived there, yet every year around this time I get really nostalgic for life in that magnificent city, and I miiiight have poked around Craigslist for apartments (ha!) in the midst of a “what if” moment last night. MAKE OF THAT WHAT YOU WILL, UNIVERSE.
But that is not what this post is about.
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Just as I’d suspected, September was a mixed bag, a helter skelter array of misadventures punctuated by a few golden moments and a couple milestones thrown in for good measure.
The first few weeks of school have been frenzied and greuling, with both the mister and me adjusting to life as working parents juggling an infant. We’d thought we had secured reliable childcare for one Roux Huckleberry, but we were mistaken, forcing Babe into the role of primary caretaker of our tiny guy during the hours I’m away at school. And while I’m not working nearly as much as I had been prior to taking maternity leave, it feels as though I’ve never worked harder in my life. I’m sure if you asked, Babe would tell you the same thing. When it comes right down to it, though we’re both grateful that Roux is able to be at home with his parents as opposed to another person, and while it requires a tremendous amount of flexibility and sacrifice, we seem to be finding our way.
October brought with her a burst of inspiration, which is exactly what I needed. We’ve already made two trips to the craft supply store, and all of the Halloween decorations we had on hand have been proudly displayed for days. Elaborate plans for costumes have been devised, and the kids are excited to share the magic of the season with their new little brother.
Oh, that baby! What a deliciously squishy rolly polly he’s turned out to be. Although, he’s not one to sleep too much, to the chagrin of his parents, he is charming as can be, with a smile so electric it makes even the longest nights a little less painful. Kissing him goodbye in the morning is never easy, but the look of joy that washes over his face when I walk in the door at the end of the day, and the squeals of delight that erupt from his body as I scoop him into my arms to smother him with kisses as I drown myself in his scent, those moments are magical.
We spent the weekend rearranging our living room, finding places for things that never quite fit before. We also adopted a half dozen plant babies, and I’m so smitten with them that I’m convinced I need at least a dozen more. A rubber tree! And a Kimberly Queen fern! I mean, this is some fancy foliage. And everything they say about plants is true, in so far as they really do soften the place up and make for a nice and cozy environment, and I’m absolutely certain the air in our house is suddenly cleaner. There are definitely less flies, too, because welcome to the family, Pitcher Plant, you exotic and carnivorous beauty.
We’re coming into a good time, I can feel it. Although the weather here in San Diego hasn’t changed much, there’s been a noticeable shift in energy. Or, maybe it’s just me, finally seeing some light at the end of a very dark tunnel. Whatever the case may be, I’m taking full advantage of all the positive vibes as we approach the busiest and brightest part of the year.
credit to babe baker for this gorgeous shot
Early Friday morning, Emet and Jade left with their dad for the annual Miller Family camping retreat, an event which very clearly marks the end of this beautiful season. They’ll return late tonight, with just one day to spare before the new school year begins, our life once again governed by alarm clocks and lunch boxes.
I like to reorganize their room while they’re away, to tidy their drawers and clear their space of any clutter, in anticipation of the chaos these next few weeks are sure to bring. Of course, all I’ve managed to do up to this point is make a much bigger mess than they ever could! At the moment, however, I’m avoiding doing anything about it at all, since both my mister and my baby are sleeping and I can’t remember the last time I was able to quietly sit and sip an entire cup of coffee with nothing but my thoughts and the ceiling fan buzzing about.
I have mixed feelings about you, September.
We watched the sun set over the ocean last night, and as the last of the light dipped into the sea, it occurred to me that while the freedom of summer break has come to an end, our adventures do not have to suffer the same fate. Sure, we spent more time in our house than anywhere else these past several months, and maybe we didn’t have as many barbecues or sleepovers as we could have, but we do happen to reside in one of the premiere vacation destinations in the world, and I fully intend on stretching out this summer by punctuating the rest of the year with twice monthly beach days and at least a dozen exploring expeditions (as per my goals for this year, ahem) because why live in San Diego if we aren’t going to live in San Diego?
With that, I wish you a very happy and relaxing Labor Day. I’ll be making a slow tomato sauce while I finish sorting through the last of the big kids’ things, all the while pretending that Fall isn’t just around the corner. Summer Forever!
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Endorphins might just be my favorite drug. I was reminded of their potency when, last week, I went to my first ever spin class at our local YMCA and felt better than I had in months for days afterward. So good, in fact, that I went to a different class at the gym the following day. I can still feel a tingle in my shoulders, and there is almost nothing as comforting to me as feeling that my body has been used with purpose.
I’m not sure why I go through periods where I’m not as active as others, but it’s never a good thing for me to stay still for too long. I tend to go a bit, well, crazy. How good I feel is directly proportionate to how much I move my body, and it is with that in mind that I chose “get my butt back to dance class” as one of my goals for this year.
My instinct, naturally, is to take ballet. I’m most comfortable – and also uncomfortable? I know, but that’s ballet for you! – at the barre, where each and every class begins with pliés. In my entire life, I have taken exactly two hip hop classes. It’s a style far from where I’m comfortable, and requires from me a different kind of flexibility.
So, with that in mind, I did that thing, the one where you go and do something that scares you, and I registered for hip hop classes, which begin this evening.
Between my broken foot and my unexpected and rather invasive surgery, there is a lot I’m still not quite able to do. I’m not even entirely sure hip hop is the answer, but I do know that just having dance class to look forward to has been good for me. Imagine what actually dancing might do!
I’m nervous, sure, but I’m also excited to try something new, something I’ve been afraid to try for a long time. A hip hop class is nothing compared to what I went through twenty-six Mondays ago, is how I like to look at it, and hey. I might just be the next ballerina turned b-girl, you never know.
Half a year old already, and growing at a rather impressive rate, my Roux Huckleberry is one squishy bundle of delicious baby. Ours was a rocky beginning together, and the past few months have been next level difficult, but today, as we celebrate this six month milestone, my tiny guy and I are in a very, very good place.
I wouldn’t say he’s fussy as much as he is particular, though what he loves one minute he might loathe the next, so it’s always an interesting dance through our repertoire to find what is pleasing to the Huckle at any given moment. Sometimes the Ergo is all he wants, and other times he thinks it to be a mechanism of torture. He likes what he likes when he likes it, and that’s that.
But oh how he loves him some boobies. All boobies, all the time, is really all he wants out of life.
The water is most definitely his happy place. We’ve been taking him to swim at the YMCA since he was six weeks old, and just last week he put his own face in the water for the very first time. And then he did it again. And again! I couldn’t believe it. He kicks and splashes and slaps the water, and is instantly soothed by the sound of running water, so much so that even the most epic of meltdowns can be tempered by a trip to the bathroom for a quick listen.
He is steadily collecting new skills to add to his bag of tricks, including blowing raspberries with his tongue and yes, it is the cutest thing you’ll ever see. The teeth that have been causing him discomfort for almost three months have yet to cut through, which means his wide smile is still gloriously gummy. He smiles all the time, even when he cries, and he is starting to laugh with a lot more enthusiasm, especially at his big brother Emet, whom Huckle considers to be the funniest person on the planet.
The love that exists between all three of my children is a precious thing to witness. The way the older two care for the baby absolutely melts my heart. If only they could care for each other the same way! Ah, siblings.
This past week has been a real turning point, for both Roux and me. Well, mostly I made a personal breakthrough to which he immediately responded, resulting in nothing short of a miracle. A real, viable rhythm is emerging, one that includes a much more peaceful and restful night for us both. Thank goodness, really, because I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t be able to get to enjoy his babyhood, but this is better than anything I could have dreamed. It’s a real love affair we’re having, and I’m in heaven.
It may have taken a whole hell of a lot longer than I ever fathomed it could, but my Huckle and I managed to overcome all kinds of adversity to form a bond so sweet and strong, it eclipses any expectations I had of being a mother to someone other than Emet and Jade.
I am a mother of three, and I can’t imagine life any other way.
To you, my tiny guy,
Stealer of my heart and my beauty sleep, you have brought such an incredible new dynamic to what I thought was a pretty darn good life to begin with. But now that you’ve joined our party, we have all changed for the better. I cherish our conversations before the sunrise, the way you grab my face and pull me close to you. Your bright eyes look at me with the awareness that I am your mother, and that gaze is everything to me. I am your mama, and you are my child, and together we have conquered obstacles far more difficult than any I had encountered previously. Your strength gives me strength, Roux Huckleberry, you inspire me to be stronger. I love you eternally, across all time and space. Thank you for coming to me, you are exactly what I needed.
To the next six months, and six million more.
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There’s this great line in Paul Simon’s song Gumboots where he says, “Hey, you know, breakdowns come and breakdowns go. So what are you going to do about it? That’s what I’d like to know.” I try to remember this wisdom on days when I’m feeling more than a little bit crazy. Like today, for instance.
For weeks now, that Huckle of mine will. not. sleep. I spend what seems like hours just to get him to fall asleep for a cluster of minutes, at most. He hasn’t had a stretch of slumber longer than two hours, not even at night, and I’ve just about gone completely batty. I’m trying, trying with all my might, to keep it together and be productive, but after yet another night of very little shuteye, it’s hard not to feel utterly defeated.
To make matters worse, summer is slipping through my fingers faster than a handful of sand. I’ve done precisely none of the things I’d planned on doing with my kids during our break, mostly because I go through each day feeling like there is mush where my brain should be. But the thing that gets me most of all is how understanding those big kids of mine are, because let me tell you they are trying hard, their effort is more than evident. Sometimes they are more successful than other times, and this might go down as the Summer of Silly Sibling Squabbles, but we’ve got just about three weeks left to live into this season before it’s time to head back to school, and we could all use some fun around here right about now.
A couple of weeks ago, I was diagnosed as having a mild case of PTSD. The moment the words fell from the nice doctor lady’s mouth, I was flooded with relief, which is exactly how I knew her proclamation to be accurate. I’ve been struggling to cope with what I can only describe as a constant state of panic, which is only further exacerbated by exhaustion, unrelenting as it is overwhelming. It is so much more powerful than simply deciding that everything is fine, that I’m not falling apart and there is nothing to fear, but it’s also a matter of me actively pursuing a more relaxed and rhythmic existence, one that is balanced and infused with positivity.
Easier said than done, sure, but by golly, there has got to be at least some doing lest there be no progress. This much I know for certain. Aside from motivation, the biggest obstacle for me always seems to be patience. Some adversaries are more easily defeated than others, and the ones I’m currently facing are very, very other. The otherest.
Today, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, which is kind of a silly thing to say because how can you wake up when you aren’t even asleep?! But my point is, I was in an extra bad mood before even climbing out of bed to get the day started, which is never an ideal situation, when my sweet peach of a daughter looked at me with her giant green eyes and told me not to worry. It will get better, she said.
She’s right, of course. It will get better. I will get better. I have no other choice. My family deserves the best version of myself I have to offer, and they are worth every effort it takes to find her. I know she’s in here somewhere.
This is me, humbly, honestly, and with a whole lot of hope, admitting that I’m having a hard time. There is a giant, angry bull I’m facing, but the horns are in sight and there is nothing I want more than to find the strength to reach out and grab them.
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I will be the first to say that 32 started off just about as perfectly as can be, complete with beaucoup des fleurs and a homemade pie. Indeed, last Saturday was all kinds of special, I must’ve said at least a dozen times that I was having the best birthday. I say that every year and every year it is true, but this was the first time in ages that I went and had an actual party, a last minute decision that turned out to be a brilliant idea as it resulted in an unforgettable evening filled with friends and laughter and a whole lot of me feeling like the luckiest gal in all the land.
The week that followed, however, not so much.
Did I tell you about the giant second degree burns I sustained on, of all places, my boobs?! Because oh em gee double you tea effff. My french press erupted on me, drenching my upper body with scalding hot coffee, leaving me with an impressive wound that oddly resembles the silhouette of a pot bellied pig. Breastfeeding has been a bit complicated, especially since my tiny guy likes to touch me when he’s nursing. Oh, and not only is healing from a burn mighty painful, it’s pretty gross too. Super fun stuff.
This was the morning after I got a parking ticket, by the way.
And that baby of mine, he’s plum given up on sleep. Like, maybe he sleeps eight hours a day. Total. And not all at the same time, either. We are going crazy, at least I know I am. The dreams I’m having, if you can even call them dreams, are wild and feverish and terribly, terribly haunting. I’m restless and usually feel more disoriented than refreshed.
BUT I REFUSE TO LET THESE THINGS GET IN THE WAY OF MY BIRTHDAY HIGH, is what I keep telling myself. And you know what? It’s kind of working.
I’ve got big plans for this year, my friends. I can’t think of the last time I have felt simultaneously inspired and motivated, and I have decided to take full advantage of this enthusiasm by setting actual – and attainable – goals for myself. The last few years have been characterized by such instability and uncertainty that it was all I could do to just survive. These days, I’m more settled and focused than ever before, not just surviving, but thriving. I’ve had a few projects and a few secret wishes swirling around in my head for what seems like forever and I’ve decided now’s the time to take action, to stop thinking about doing these things and to just do them already. If not now, when? I don’t remember when I last composed a specific list of things to accomplish, and I’m hopeful that by doing so, I’m able to retain a better sense of where I am and where it is that I’d like to be this time next year.
favorite candid shot from a lunch date with my handsome fiancé a while back
Tomorrow I will celebrate another birthday, and since I always seem to wax nostalgic about these sorts of things, I offer this here assortment of sentiments in honor of my thirtyfirst year.
Oh, 31. You were good to me, but you also kind of kicked my ass. I spent the entirety of these past twelve months not feeling exactly like myself, which is odd. And after all that’s happened, I’m not quite sure what myself is supposed to feel like. Between pregnancy and ongoing postpartum issues, I’ve gotten a little lost in the shuffle of things. But instead of freaking out about this minor identity crisis, I see it as an opportunity to grow, which is how I know I’m not just getting older, but wiser, too. Age is a blessing, thank you very much, and I think I’m starting to get the hang of this whole woman-in-her-thirties thing.
I accomplished a few personal goals that I’d been working toward for what seemed like forever, all three of which were finally ticked off my life’s to-do list on three consecutive days, just like that, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little bit more like a grown-up. Also, this coming September marks the longest tenure I’ve had as a teacher at any one school, and even though my role has shifted a bit – moving from one subject to another – I’m more comfortable and confident in my career than ever. Working in the Waldorf movement inspires every other part of my life, and I’m very lucky to be able to do what I do.
To be brutally honest, nothing has aged me more in all my years than the delivery of one Roux Huckleberry Baker and the subsequent recovery therefrom. I woke up from emergency anesthesia to a body I didn’t recognize, one I’m still learning to claim as mine. I mean, even my broken foot hasn’t fully healed! In short, thirtyone was not kind to my physical self. But if there is one thing I know about bodies, it’s that you get out of a body what you put into a body, and I’m carrying that tidbit very close to my heart as I move into this next year.
Speaking of my heart, thirtyone was a mighty good year for love. The best year. That mister of mine, he’s full of surprises, which is precisely what made his marriage proposal so special. I had absolutely no idea! Seeing a sparkly ring on my finger every day still takes my breath away, I simply could not be any more over the moon madly in love with the man I’m going to marry. He’s one of a kind, and he’s a damn good father to boot. To all three of my kids, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. So, yeah. Our engagement is clearly the highlight of what was, quite simply, a furious and fabulous year of my life.
Any year that brings me a baby is going to be special, that goes without saying. And this baby, well, he’s all kinds of special. His wellbeing has occupied a significant part of my day to day, almost at the expense of my own, and in taking stock of things, it’s clear to me the ways in which I can afford to expand as a person. And if clarity isn’t a sign of maturity, then I give up!
Seriously though, I’m starting to feel like an adult and I like it. Because let’s be honest here, I couldn’t name one song on the radio if you paid me.
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There’s nothing like a good cry to get your thoughts really flowing, amiright? I, for one, have been weepy for the past week or so, which is to say that I’ve got more than a few things to get off my chest, and they’ve got to go somewhere, so here they are.
Emet turned eleven years old yesterday and I’m all kinds of nostalgic about the whole thing. For me, life pretty much started when I was eleven. That’s when things got really good, in the juicy, sink your teeth into living sort of way. To think that my baby boy is now a young man, an actual preteen if you will (if you say the word tween I will cut you), boggles my mind completely. He is easily one of the coolest people that I know, and watching him stretch into a body that is very nearly as big as my own is incredible. Soon he’ll rest his head on mine, and that gives me a pain in my heart that only a mother who’s watched her son go through the same transition can understand. I wouldn’t trade that pain for anything in the world. It’s beautiful, and I couldn’t be more proud.
I gave him deodorant for his birthday, by the way. So.
Today marks the anniversary of discovering the presence of a certain tiny guy, and hell if my body hasn’t been through the ringer. Between a difficult yet beautiful pregnancy, a broken foot, and a surgery that scarred me in all the ways, the time has more than come for me to give myself a little bit of attention. I put aside a lot of creative and delicious endeavors due to the distraction that is having a baby, but my oh my what a magical distraction. Still, there is a lot of change involved, and I might not be the quickest when it comest to adaptation.
But a year is long enough, if you ask me. My Huckleberry friend is twenty weeks old now, and doing wildly better than expected. He’s off the preemie charts, just barely in the case of his size, but he’s off them altogether and that is something. My recovery is clearly going to take more than me just waiting for it to happen, an oddly familiar theme, so doing something about it is really my only option.
Getting started is always the hardest part, why must this always be the case? I shake my fist at you, momentum! It usually takes something radical like a thirty day writing challenge or a couple dozen miles on my bicycle, but without fail, it takes some kind of daily maintenance and I have not been committed to anything on the regular in a very long time.
Except breastfeeding. Breastfeeding forever. We’re a little over one month away from solid food and the fact that my newborn baby is that close to being six months old? Crazy, I say. Just plain nuts. But breastfeeding is not for me, it’s for him. And I need to do something for myself.
My big kids, they left this morning for a little vacation with their relatives in Los Angeles, and I’ve decided to dedicate this time to carving out a few new habits and hobbies for myself. My beautiful friend Kate wrote this thoughtful essay about refining her morning routine which really resonated with the struggle I have been experiencing personally. I have no routine to speak of at present, and I think that’s partly why I can’t seem to get anything done. I haven’t found my rhythm yet.
The plan is simple, really. To get up, get out, and get moving, is the basic idea. Little walks around my beloved neighborhood, a gentle swim at our local pool, a few trips up and down my favorite secret public staircase that’s right across the street from my house, these aren’t exactly difficult things to do. Neither is finishing the few essays I have still lingering in my drafts folder, or even preparing and photographing a couple of the new recipes that I’ve developed recently. And yet, I can’t seem to accomplish any of it. So for the next five days, while my big kids are away, I’m committed to doing at least one thing for myself every single day.
Like writing this here manifesto. I do declare this to be the year of loving myself, of not letting life get in my way. Because when it comes right down to it, I spend an awful lot of time taking care of others, and methinks I’d do a much better job of it all if I actually spent a little time taking care of myself. Furthermore, I want to set a good example for my children, for them to see the importance of personal practice, to always feel that they are worth the effort, and, above all, to never forget that they are the guardians of their own well being.
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I have no fewer than six essays in various stages of completion cluttering my drafts folder, in case you were wondering. I haven’t had a lot of time to finish things lately, and not just silly things like blog posts. My to-do list is long, and although I’m getting through it much more slowly than I’d like, I have managed to do a pretty commendable job of fattening up a certain tiny guy. I thought about it the other day, and I literally spend between 4-6 hours a day nursing him, which doesn’t exactly leave time for much else, although I did manage to tackle all the laundry, a personal victory.
June really crept up on me, which is fine by me seeing as it’s one of my favorites. I love me a good summer solstice. Also, there are just three school days left before summer vacation officially begins, and thank goodness because I’m pretty sure we’re all already on break. I’m really really looking forward to lots of little adventures with all three of my kiddos — I plan on taking full advantage of the fact that we live in San Diego, one of the loveliest cities on planet Earth, which is finally starting to feel like home.
I started this blog back up last year around this time, well before I knew I was pregnant, when I was just starting to feel like myself again after a couple of really turbulent years, including that one in Oregon that really unsettled me to the core. One year later, and I’ve got a new baby, we live in a lovely new-to-us home, and we’re more settled as a family than we’ve ever been, Jesse included. In other words, a lot has happened over the last twelve months, and somehow I’ve managed to chronicle bits and pieces of it here. And only one recipe! Shame on me, is all I have to say about that, but the rest of it is pretty spot on and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m rather proud of what I’ve published.
This next year is sure to bring lots more exciting things to write about, including wedding shenanigans. I apologize in advance for the many posts to come about all things related to our totally rad future nuptials, but there are just too many thoughts and they have to go somewhere! I also hope to incorporate more recipes and even a few craft projects into the rotation because, let’s face it, those things are helpful! I’ve learned too many things from the internet not to give back at least a little.
Thank you for reading this silly ol’ blog of mine. I really do pour my heart into the things I write, and having you along for the journey is nice company. Your comments and messages are so kind and thoughtful, I appreciate each and every one and feel pretty lucky to have such a gracious audience.
Seriously, though. My precious firstborn is one month away from turning eleven years old. His tenth birthday was a day I’ll never forget, as it was the very last day of my life as a mother of two. Discovering that a new baby would be joining our family the following day, and all that has happened since, has been wild and wonderful. I can’t even begin to imagine what lies in store for us this coming year. I’m sure there will be plenty of good stories to tell.