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February Comment Love Challenge!

2012-01-31T09:18:00.001-05:00

When I started this blog, coming up on two years ago (WOW!), I knew nothing about blogging. Everything I knew about blogging, I had learned from livejournal.com. I used to read friends of friends' livejournals when I was bored at my old boring job. Mostly they talked about food and failed relationships. Somehow this kept me afloat at work until it was time to quit my job and quit my Jersey life. So it's basically a miracle that I ever started to blog because I didn't yet see all of its potential.

I see it now. I did it because I needed a place to relearn how to write and take photos after years of anxiety, uncertainty and paralysis. I figured that if I did it publicly, I couldn't hide from it and I would be doing everything for myself, with the knowledge that others were reading and watching. And I liked that others were reading and watching. I grew more and more.

Blogging was one of the best decisions I ever made. It's not up there with marrying Cassidy and having children with him, but it's pretty darn close! Like living in New England close. Like major life-changing close.

Blogging is a land of opportunity. You can show, you can tell, you can show and tell, you can sell, you can buy, you can connect, and then connect some more. One of my favorite experiences has been to "meet" other bloggers and become blogging friends. We don't have to live close to share our lives with one another.

That is why I decided to sign up for the February Comment Love Challenge, hosting along with the blogs Edison Rex, One Lonely Apricot and Desirous of Everything. We are excited to launch the first ever Comment Love Challenge for February 2012! As all or many of us bloggers know, getting a comment is kinda like Christmas. It's hot caramel (I'm not a hot fudge person) on ice cream. It's gravy and butter on mashed potatoes. It doesn't have to be earth-shattering or thought-provoking. Just a simple, "I get you." or "I loved this post."

And as many of us know, getting blog comments isn't always easy so we learn to stick together and support one another. It feels good, it helps you learn about other bloggers and their blogging styles, and it feels all warm and fuzzy.

Here's how it works:

When you follow the link below and sign up, your blog will appear on the Comment Love Challenge page.

The Challenge officially begins on February 1st and ends February 14th. All you have to do is: read, read, read and comment, comment, comment! Have fun and connect with other bloggers! We encourage you to comment on blogs participating in the challenge but you can comment on any blogs that you like.

Not to mention, there's a prize!

Keep track of your daily comments for the entire two weeks. At the end we will feature the blogger with the most comments.

Not only that, but all participants who made at least 42 comments (that's 3 per day for the course of the challenge) will have a chance to enter a very special giveaway...to win a copy of Elsie Larson's Blog Love E-Course, graciously donated to this event by Elsie and Emma of A Beautiful Mess! It's a wonderful prize for any aspiring or active blogger.

Since four blogs are hosting this challenge, your blog will be seen in the link up by a lot of readers, and we guarantee that you will get comments on your blog!

Get ready for February 1st and sign up below!

Grab a button to post in your side bar, too!

Something New.

2012-01-29T19:36:00.000-05:00

This might sound surprising since I'm you know...a mom...but I have very limited newborn experience. Very. My first experience with a newborn was my own, handed to me. I thought I knew what I was doing initially. I talked softly to her. She didn't fall off or even cry, despite having been pushed from a warm, safe place to a cold, badly lit place in the span of minutes. However, after that initial meeting, it was slow going. I'm pretty sure I asked my husband how to hold her and how to breastfeed her. I'm pretty sure of that. My maternal instinct must have gone on a short vacation when it was most badly needed. Luckily I wised up fast and learned that while Cassidy could hold her very well, he knew very little about breastfeeding. Slow going. I got a handle on things. I never dropped her or hurt her. I may have held her at awkward angles at times but we got through it. Still I breathed a sigh of relief around three months or so when her neck was strong enough for her to control it on her own. I had passed the newborn test. I had kept her alive and well, and even happy-seeming.

Then, other newborns joined my life. In my post-birth meetings, at playgroups, at group outings with other new moms, or second time moms with newborns. Yet it wasn't like it is today where we can just easily reach for each other's children without a second thought. In the beginning, we all held court holding our own newborns. I was so paranoid and insecure and new-momish that I didn't pay much attention to the other newborns. The other moms, sure. Not the other newborns. Then they all grew into strong-necked, smiley, recognizable humans and I no longer had to worry about newborns.

Until now, really.

It's not just the fact that I'm having a newborn. I mean, it is that. I visited a friend last week with a seven-week-old and let me tell you, it was not like riding a bike to me. I could not figure out how to hold him. It wasn't inexperience, but it was inexperience with HIM. Every baby has a different weight, a different center of gravity, and some fling their bodies and some don't. Scarlet never once flung. He flung. His mom coaxed me gently and he was able to fall asleep in my arms. I passed the newborn test again! Except, there was another, newer, harder test for me to pass that day.

You see, I want to be a professional photographer. I guess you might know this. Slow on the action, the confidence, the learning. Moving faster on the experience. So I did a newborn shoot. It wasn't really practice because I do want this family to have vivid, crisp shots but I had never photographed a newborn before! Sure I took pictures of my own newborn but if you look back into my archives, you'll see this was before a professional(ish) camera, lens and speedlite came into my life.

It was something new. And I was a bit nervous. And I just..did it. For the first time ever. Here are some newborn shots.

He smiled at me!! I realize they're not all going to be like him...

Smushy cute newborn face.

Sigh. I want mine already. 21 more weeks??? Cruel.

Got a sneak shot or two of Handsome Big Brother.

Dad got in there too! None of this was planned, you must know. This was a casual playdate that turned into me wanting to take photos of the baby. At first I used flash and then realized how naturally lit their house is. It makes me wonder just how much I could potentially do with a plan, with props, with more experience...

It was fun. And it was odd. I was there mainly to meet the newborn, chat with my friend and have the toddlers play together. I wanted to wear many hats. People often comment that when I'm with them, I'm not taking photos. And it's true. I usually can't do both. I'm either 100% immersed in being or 100% immersed in taking photos. So we split up our time. We chatted, snacked, played, hung out. When it was time to take photos, that was it. I was all business until the end. Every time I thought I was done, I wasn't. A new room, a new light, a new expression.

It's neverending, really. And it made me believe that a lot of good things are coming my way.

Woke Up, It Was A Chelsea Morning.

2012-01-26T15:17:00.000-05:00

Earlier this week, Scarlet first woke us up at 6:30 am. She's usually a late sleeper. Not only that, she seems to think it's acceptable to yell, "Dada!" quite loudly the second she wakes up. Gone, hopefully only temporarily, are the days in which she woke up and had a half-hour to hour dialogue with her stuffed monkey, "Mama Mum." See, that was cute. The yelling, while sounding comical on her end (you can almost hear the sneer/smile in her voice) is not at all cute to us. It's a dreadful way to wake up. I almost wish for my terrible high school alarm clock that used to ring at 5:20 am so horridly and daily that if I even heard a sound that sounded like that for years after high school, I would shiver and shudder and run away.

I don't like tough wake up calls.

Especially since waking up with a start isn't always pleasant lately. I am often getting dragged out of a seriously fascinating/bewildering dream. I don't like that feeling. I am also often feeling hip pain or guilt at waking up on my back, which I am at the point in pregnancy in which that is not recommended, and I am feeling all around disgust with the early hour and just how cold winter mornings are when you are thrust awake. I like to lazily wake up around 9:00 am, feel the stirrings of the baby in my stomach, and then walk in to find my cute, bright-eyed daughter smiling. Everything else is unacceptable.

So earlier this week, I woke up in a dreadful mood. I think we all did, to be honest, but I could just be projecting. I mean, Scarlet was certainly obnoxious at that early hour. And Cassidy wasn't but he did have to go out in the cold ice to work.

And I was worried about my Uncle, now in the hospital, with questions unanswered. And I was annoyed at the day. And I thought about how on Scarlet's second birthday, my Uncle sent her the YouTube of Joni Mitchell's "Chelsea Morning" and how this day was starting to feel like a Chelsea Morning, not that I know what that is. We all looked outside and noticed at the same time, the beautiful light show the sunrise through the trees was giving us.

It was worth noting, and Googling some lyrics to go with it:

"Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning, and the first thing that I saw
Was the sun through yellow curtains, and a rainbow on the wall
Blue, red, green and gold to welcome you, crimson crystal beads to beckon

Oh, won't you stay
We'll put on the day
There's a sun show every second"

This is what we saw:

It didn't start out that grandly. It had to build in beauty. I just love to throw my favorite or a favorite photo right out there first, just to grab your attention. The subtle start was still so breathtaking.

..And, the finale.

"Oh, won't you stay
We'll put on the day
And we'll wear it 'till the night comes" -- Joni Mitchell

Ravishing.

2012-01-24T18:57:00.000-05:00

Here's one of my "True Mama Confessions": When Scarlet was born, I didn't think she was the most beautiful baby in the world. Shocking, right? Was I missing a maternal gene? My baby, grown and born from within me, not the most beautiful baby on earth? Definitely missing something here.

Sure, I thought she was cute/pretty/beautiful:

What I'm saying is that I never had that thing where you think your kid is the MOST beautiful baby on earth. I know many people feel that way about their own:

"My baby is the most beautiful baby on earth."

"Yes, but...everyone says that."

"Yes, but in my case, I know it's true. I know what everyone else doesn't know. I have what everyone else doesn't have."

"Yes, but...everyone says that too."

Sigh. It's endless. You're all wrong and you're all right. Except me, I suppose. Madly in love with her, yes. Thoughts that no other babies on earth were as cute/pretty/beautiful as her, nope. The world is full of cute/pretty/beautiful babies. I think it's the default setting. To this day I wonder why I didn't think so. Scarlet came into this world easily. I was never hit with extreme anything - morning sickness, pain, hormones, bad moods. I was only ever with one one extremity - extreme love.

I did not find that extreme love blinded me from newborn acne, dry skin, weird hair, overdeveloped forehead, no eyelashes...I need not go on. Maybe it should have. Love is pretty powerful.

And I just didn't "know' her yet. Ever notice how people get more attractive the more you get to know them? It's because their inner souls are coming out and being worn on the outside, at least in your perspective. I had an acquaintance in high school who I never thought of as being pretty or not. One day one of my best friends and I spent some time with her, growing closer as friends. We both had the same striking thought at the same time. We turned to each other and said, "Wow...she is BEAUTIFUL." That's just the way it works sometimes. It's definitely like that with men. When I'm in love with someone, no hot male model or movie star could ever compare. It's the inner souls thing, baby. It's so hot.

Er..now back to Scarlet. Now that she's two and a half, now that I know her deeply, man, sometimes I'm so hit when I look at her face. Even when she's giving me a dirty look or scowling or crying. Man, she is ravishing. She is trouble. She is "Sit on the front porch with a shotgun if she ever starts dating."

Maybe I'm biased. And maybe I'm not. Maybe it's both. Whatever it is, it did hit me. I just had to know her better. That's all.

Know her with static hair and crackers in her mouth!

Flash-lit Scarlet (above), meet Naturally-lit Scarlet (below):

It's ravishing the way she stuffs food in her mouth while wearing gloves.

It's ravishing the way she always wears socks on her hands.

Scarlet made this snowman.

I didn't know I could wake up every morning and thank the universe profusely for placing her in my life. Even when she yells at the top of her lungs at 6:00 am. Yup. Even then. Ravishing, she is.

Centenarian.

2012-01-22T20:03:00.002-05:00

The title of this blog post was very nearly "Centurion" or "Centaur." Thanks to Google for correctly answering my question, "What do you call someone who has lived 100 years?"

My grandfather is a centenarian, as of Saturday. My parents, sisters and brother-in-law packed their bags, escaped this storm and flew down to 80 degree southern Florida to ring in my grandfather's 100th birthday. I wanted very badly to be there. When they were booking the trip over Thanksgiving, which was quite comical and included a lot of questions about whose credit card to use and who pees a lot and needs an aisle seat, I was feeling rather lousy myself. I was nine weeks pregnant and afraid to leave the house, much less get on a plane to Florida. So I opted out and I very much felt my own absence there this weekend. I feel great now, but I could not have known that then. In due time, I'll get down there again.

And I remember the last time I saw him. Almost a year ago:

His eyes filled with tears as we got into the car on our way to the airport. I always wondered what he was thinking. It was probably a mixture of sadness and happiness. He had met his great-granddaughter, but he must have thought about when or how or if he'd ever see her again. I imagine that's what life is like when you're 99. Moment by moment, really. Can you look forward to upcoming books and movies? Weddings and babies? I imagine some can. I like to imagine he can.

And I remember the last time I spoke to him. Only a day ago.

And he sounded alert and happy. Said, "I love you." Made jokes about seeing Scarlet off to college. Hey, in a perfect world. In a perfect world...

He's looking at her. She looks like he did at her age. Cassidy even ventures to say that he is her biggest gene contributor. If I look at baby pictures of him and my mom, I can totally agree. She is a mixed bag for sure. Cannot freakin' wait to see what Baby #2 looks like.

I look at these photos and get teary-eyed. I miss him. I miss her as a one and a half year old. Gosh. She's only two and a half now! I just miss her babyness. It fades away every day. And then I remember. She's two and a half. Some people have thirteen-year-old daughters. This is the price of creating life. You can have eight of them just to keep filling the voids of watching your babies slip away into kids and teens and adults. And you know what? All eight of them will do that in a blink of an eye, some say. We will not be having eight kids to fill any voids.

My grandfather is 100-years-old. He saw his babies go past one, into two, into teens, into adults, into their 60's. And he finds reasons to get up every morning. What has he seen in his 100 years?

What will my kids see in their lives? The longevity gene is obviously in our family. I hope they use it so well.

Goshdarnit, get me a plane ticket and get me out of this snow and into the 80 degrees. Get my baby, yes she's still my baby, into his arms. Get me to June and my second baby and get my grandfather to see 120 years and get my kids to have lasting memories of him.

Hey, anything can happen. Happy 100.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go Now?

2012-01-19T19:52:00.000-05:00

I named this blog post at 5:00 am this morning. It made much more sense at 5:00 am. And I'm writing it now, in broad late morning daylight, before the day goes on too long and it fades away.

I'm trying to figure out what this blog post is about. And I realize that it has many layers and it is about a lot of things. Let's see if we can break them down. Did you ever have a dream that was so vivid, you couldn't get out of it right away when you woke up? I know we've all had vivid dreams but there's this certain sort of dream, that may not even thrill or spook you, but it stays with you when you wake up. If it happens right before you wake up, it can be extremely disorienting and makes the day nearly impossible to start. I can remember that happening once as a child, waking up from one of these dreams into a hazingly brilliant morning. I just couldn't adapt very fast, but I eventually did.

Usually this kind of dream happens in the middle of the night, so more sleep and more dreams will fade it away. You'll still remember it in the morning but you won't be stuck in it, in that way, where it seems hard to separate pieces of your real life from pieces of your dream life. At 5:00 am (which is totally middle of the night around here), I was trying to piece it all together - the pieces of the dream, the pieces of my past that the dream put me in and the pieces of my real life. I asked myself "Should I stay or should I go now" because I knew I had a choice to go back to sleep and dream some more and let the dream fade back to a comfortable background. That's what I did. I decided to go, but I remember it all.

The dream. In it, I somehow lived close to Hoboken/NYC. This was once a reality. I left the house with Scarlet at what I thought was a decent hour, but soon 1:00 am and then 2:00 am came around. It didn't matter in Hoboken - the streets were filled. I kept trying to find the NYC skyline to show Scarlet the lights where the towers used to be. Once in real life I drove alone to Hoboken to do that - when the lights were first lit. I kept checking my phone to see if Cassidy was wondering why I had the toddler in the middle of the night in Hoboken, NJ. My iPhone was dying. I was wearing Scarlet in my old Ergo, which at two seems unlikely, but she was weightless and asleep in my jacket. I kept running into high school classmates - some I ignored and some I stopped to talk to. Suddenly the world was in daylight and Hoboken was a labyrinth. I was lost on an ocean road and then trapped in the most vivid carnival/circus world I ever imagined. It was so bright that when I woke up and had to go to the bathroom in real life, which only happens to me when pregnant, our normally bright striped shower curtains looked black and white because they were still muted from the colors of the dream I couldn't quite shake.

And that was it. And I woke up later this morning, not feeling disoriented, but remembering that I had named this blog post at 5:00 am and just maybe I wanted to see where it would lead; what it would bring up to write it down.

And it made me remember the last time I went to Hoboken (in real life) - almost exactly two years ago. We were visiting friends in Jersey City with our then seven-month-old. I had a funeral for a dear friend's mom somewhere in Jersey and I maneuvered my way through the Turnpike and Parkway and whatever-else, all alone, to get to the funeral and back. It makes my chest hurt to think about how engorged I must have been to be away from Scarlet for hours without breastfeeding?? Maybe not. Then later that night, we met my sisters and some friends for a rousing girls' night out in Hoboken while our friends and Cassidy watched Scarlet for the night. (Again, my chest hurts to think about)

We walked near the waterfront/skyline that night. How could we not?

The dream and the memory it brought up remind me of a different time - the way I used to travel the tri-state world at all hours of the day/night without a backwards glance or second thought. Youth. Sigh. Yet I also managed to do it with a seven-month-old, and quite comfortably in my dream with a two and a half-year-old. Strapped to my stomach, light as a feather. I think that means something. But I don't know what. It felt so real and so touchable. Again.

And I think maybe that's the point. Sometimes there's a fine line between dreams and reality. My mind always knows the difference but with my heart, it isn't always so.

Clockwork.

2012-01-17T19:49:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I have this somewhat strange movie-going experience. It usually happens in the theater. I'll be watching a movie and it won't go in the direction I expected - for better or for worse. As a result, the movie never really peaks for me and goes by at a strange pace and by the time it's nearly over, I'm surprised because I've been waiting so long for it to begin.

I don't know why that happens sometimes.

Likewise, that's how I feel about this winter. It's not going anywhere fast, but it's already more than halfway through January into February! February can be brutal, but it's short. Then it's March. And in March, it's really still winter but even that first mild day sends the local college girls sunbathing in tank tops on campus lawns. Every March sends me sundress shopping on ebay. This time will be no different. I will ROCK those maternity sundresses. That is my spring resolution.

I guess it's the lack of much snow. Not that I'm complaining. We depend on a snowplow these days so each snowstorm costs us. Even last week's somewhat small debacle has left our porch and driveway a sheet of ice. I had to get to a doctor's appointment desperately that morning and I had to carry Scarlet across the ice field to the warming up car, but she insisted on carrying her stuffed monkey. I realized that if I fell, I was taking down my unborn baby, my toddler, a stuffed monkey and myself. It felt like the weight of the world. I do love snow in some sort of childhood fantasy/memory way but it's like a conversation I once had with my old boss, a San Francisco native rather than transplant. (Natives are more rare)

Me: "How do you live your whole life like this? Waiting, wondering, about the BIG earthquake?"

Him: "How do you live your whole life not waiting, not wondering, but experiencing often the completely fatal snow and ice that Northereasterners choose to live with and drive on. And die on."

He was right.

I feel like I'm manipulating time lately. Mostly, people around my age want time to slow down. Late twenties/early thirties - marriage and babies type people. Who wants to sail through that swiftly? Lately, I have wanted time to speed up, and it has! The last 17 weeks have flown by. I'm so glad. I remember laying in bed miserably at seven weeks, thinking I'd never even make it to 12 weeks. And I did. And now we're on a fast track to 18 weeks, and so on and so on.

I felt sick this time. "They" told me I'd magically feel better one day, somewhere in the realm of between 12-20 weeks, if at all. They told me it would be like a light switch. They were right! At 14 1/2 weeks, I felt magically better. Like a light switch.

"They" told me I would start to feel light baby movement around 16 or 17 weeks. At 16 1/2 weeks on the dot, I think, I felt that first approving flutter. Now it's more common but still not as consistent as it will be. It's so strange living in a world of time in which things change dramatically from one week to the next, and in which things are so timely as to be predicted nearly to the day. Fascinating stuff.

On a deeply personal (almost too personal) note, I had a few heart to hearts today about how my initial fear of having a son, which was MUCH worse with Scarlet than now, might be linked to my father dying so young. I've definitely heard of people who have been abused or left by a parent, even if left accidentally (a four-year-old doesn't know the difference!), they often want a child of the opposite sex of that parent. I think I equated boys with weakness or loss. I do feel better talking about it. I'm not saying that I'm having a boy or even that I intuitively think I am, but I'm learning to believe that it's about biology. It isn't magic to me. I won't be given a boy (by God or fate or whatnot) so that I can learn to conquer the fear. I won't be given another girl to escape this fear. I don't believe in that. Know what I do believe in? Ultrasounds and my own intuition about my own body. And I believe in my overwhelming capacity to love this child, and that much else doesn't matter.

It's hard to wait to find out, but I can wait. All things happen in good time.

Stolen Moments.

2012-01-15T19:14:00.000-05:00

I had the most intense dream on Friday night. You might already know that this isn't rare for me. Every dream I have, especially while pregnant, is extremely intense. So I have to filter out the ones that have that special something and I remember them...maybe forever. This was one of those dreams.

In it, my father was able to come back to life for one whole day. At first I thought, "Only a day?" Then I thought, "A day! A day!" He never even got to see me turn four in real life. He came close but fell short of it two weeks ahead. This was different. 31. With an inspired husband, a pretty amazing granddaughter, and another grandchild on the way. I could feel the approving kicks and flutters of my second baby throughout the dream. I wonder if it was happening in real life too. We were all part of a caravan of sorts - my mom and sister were there, of course, as well as various people from Cassidy's family and from my life. Some things were strange. My father was somewhat blonde and blue-eyed and let's just say there's a reason that I have thick, dark hair and that Scarlet has such dark eyes since no one else, including me, has dark eyes. Also, my ex was along for the ride and his deceased father also came back for a day. His father was talking about suffering from acne as a kid and I'm pretty sure that's not how my ex's father would choose to spend his first and last day in this present.

We had limited time and we knew it. As in Inception, buildings and the world would collapse around us when our time was over. Everything was heady and beautiful. Lush green surroundings, mountain roads, ocean passes, moose (of course), wolves and whales. Motorcycle rides. I showed my father what an iPhone was. He was pretty floored. On our gentle, sloping motorcycle ride, I rode as a passenger behind Cassidy while my father rode as a passenger behind my mom. He turned around and grinned at me, both greenery and ocean behind him. This was clearly California. I did what I always do when inspired - I reached for my camera. I was so excited to "trick" the system. Adulthood captures of my father. Stolen moments from a miraculous, impossible day. And against beautiful scenery, no less! So I aimed and...nothing. My camera wouldn't work! I tried every setting, changed the battery, dropped the damn thing in the road, only to have to stop and pick it up and then it was worse off. I couldn't take a picture of my father. This is often a theme in my nightmares but this was beyond that. Even after I woke up and looked at my camera, the one that has never failed me in real life, I gave it a really dirty look.

The world began its crumbling. Our time was almost over. I got a few pictures, some out of focus and some cut off, but real all the same. Vivid and there. I did succeed, but it was really frustrating to get there.

It made me take more pictures in real life since I had the dream.

These moments, these ordinary moments, started to look differently to me. They're extraordinary.

The first moment she looked out her new bedroom window to find a world of snow. Somehow early in the morning, I had the foresight to sneak in with a camera, whisk open her curtains, and shoot, shoot away.

(She pretty much picks out her own clothes these days.)

Laughter, joy and ecstasy. Happens every day, all day, around these parts. Often these moments go by without being photographed. Not always.

(I feel like this a lot.)

(And this.)

"What color are my eyes, Mama?"
"Scarlet, I gotta tell you - I haven't the slightest. Err...I mean, rainbow. Rainbow colored."

Scarlet, Amma and "Mama Mum" snuggle to watch "Caillou."

Magical moments are everywhere. Like in back rooms of parties, where you hear the squealing laughter from far across the house and make a mad dash through throngs of people to see what you'll find:

Then there are the moments that really, probably shouldn't be photographed but then you think, "What the heck? This is what I do! She'll hate me one day for far worse than this." And like I said, she dresses herself. So what if she puts herself in 3T jeans??

Then there are the moments in which it's 7 degrees outside, but we don't care, do we? We've got each other, and good reading material, and a quite beautiful fire raging beside us.

My photography assistant, Cassidy, made it look like we're both reading. We're not. I'm reading "The Night Circus" (very good!), Scarlet is watching "Caillou" on my iPhone, and football is on in front of us.

They're not really stolen moments when we get them in time. It's more like they're stolen from us if we never get the chance. I was robbed in real life of something I think I might have really enjoyed. Photographing my father. So I photograph my mother. And I photograph my husband. And I photograph my daughter, and everything else I see fit to photograph. I wonder if the dream will kick me in the pants to do it more, more, more. Somehow I think so.

And that ain't such a bad thing. It was wonderful to see you again. And thank you for a perfect day.

Freedom To Cry.

2012-01-12T20:47:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid, I cried freely (and I mean, freely) at three episodes of "Family Matters." In one of the episodes, a mysterious man claiming to be an old friend of Carl's comes to visit the family. Carl keeps pretending he knows who this man is but really doesn't, and finally gets it out of him that he's Harriet and Rachel's long lost father. A man they presumed dead. So you can imagine why that might have affected my childhood self. As they all sobbed onscreen, I sat alone in front of the TV in my mom's art school classroom. I clung to my two-year-old Samoyed, watching my tears drip onto her silky, white fur.

In another episode, Urkel admits that although he pines for and sexually harasses (I mean, let's be real here) Laura every day of her life, he does know that he has no chance with her. This is years before the show got stupid and they had their strange relationship because he turned hot, or something like that. Anyway, he said, and I quote pretty much verbatim:

"Loving you, Laura, is like trying to touch a star. You know you'll never reach it but you have to keep trying."

Bam! I didn't even look that up. Tears, streaming down my face. Not now but then.

In the third episode, Laura confronts racism for perhaps the first time in her life. I believe someone spray paints something horrific on her locker. She is traumatized by this and Grandma Winslow tells a beautiful story about not being allowed into her public library and standing up for herself every day of her life. Serious tears there. It was beautiful.

And then, years later, there is an episode of "Futurama" that I have tested myself with and seen about five times. Each time, there have been streaming tears. I'm telling you. "Jurassic Bark," it's called. I'm telling you. You can YouTube the ending but you need the whole background. Watch it, I dare you.

I get choked up thinking about it.

Mostly this doesn't happen. Mostly a movie or TV show is somewhat forgettable the instant you walk out of the theater to your car, or the instant you turn off your TV and go make a sandwich. Mostly if something does affect me, it's to disturb me, and in those cases and especially while anxious or sick or pregnant, I won't even watch something that "might" disturb me and I stick to silly, predictable crap. Mostly when I am brave and I am moved (not disturbed) by a movie or TV show, it's just that nose sting you get when tears start to come and want to come, but never really go anywhere. That's about as far as I can get, mostly. It stops with a nose sting - enough to make me feel human but not enough to make me express it more.

When I was pregnant with Scarlet, I cried during the first few minutes of Up. But not like..sobbing or anything. Just tears.

When I was in high school, tears flowed freely from Marvin's Room.

Nose stings, or at the most, tears. Sobs? No. Except for three times, ever:

1. It's a Wonderful Life. It would make anyone cry. My parents didn't have a lot of money and I believe the story is that it was on TV and my father taped it on VHS to give to my mom. I'm not sure if he ever gave it to her or if she found it hidden and waiting for her, after he had died. I may be confusing it with a game of Trivial Pursuit he had hidden for her. I never watched the movie myself and I'm not sure my mom could watch it either, for years. In high school, we decided to be brave and watch it together but we couldn't find it. Anywhere. After awhile my mom gave up but you could tell she was really down, thinking it lost forever. So I vowed to find it, whatever it took. I eventually did and held it behind my back, hiding a smile as I walked into her art closet. We watched it together and the combination of the movie itself, the story about my father, and thinking the tape lost made me sit on the couch and sob by myself for about twenty minutes after it was over.

2. Life is Beautiful. Well, gosh. I'm not made of stone. Holy crap. What a film. What human spirit.

3. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I started this weeks ago when Cassidy was in NYC but never finished it until the other night. Umm..wow. I was destroyed. Wrecked. I had to go sob into a towel so as not to wake up Scarlet. Every single minute of the last twenty minutes or so. So hard to watch and imagine, so deep. Not for the faint of heart. I'm kinda faint of heart so I include myself there.

What is it that makes movies or shows affect us in different ways? Sure, timing and pregnancy hormones are factors. Projection, mood changes, life changes, whatever. Even through all of that, it's hard to hit me. Benjamin Button hit me hard.

Sometimes you can't fight the nose stings and even the tears. Sometimes you need the sobs.

What's made you sob, if anything? What's hit you hard?

Early Retirement.

2012-01-10T19:32:00.000-05:00

Apparently there is a great divide out there between full-time stay-at-home moms and full-time working moms. I say "apparently" because I don't notice it much in my own life. Either I don't notice it, or I really just don't care. And I'm not really writing about the divide. I'm just writing about me. "They" (these same people, apparently) say that both parties are jealous of the other. At-home moms would love to escape the Cheerios crumbs and the drudgery and the Elmo and go back to work. At-work moms would love to spend more time with their kids. And then the part-time working moms probably point and laugh at us all because they have it both ways. I confess I was never jealous of at-work moms, or dads. My view which works for me and my family, and us alone, is that I could never have put a baby in daycare. It's not daycare that I don't trust - I think they're wonderful, especially around here - it's that I couldn't hand over a wee baby to someone else.

I'm way too selfish for that. I couldn't have missed all of those moments - those photographic moments, those eating moments, those first steps and first words moments.

It's just that Scarlet isn't a baby anymore. And the difference between two and a two and a half is slowly being revealed to me. I am struggling to keep up with her. I am struggling to keep up with childcare while having some semblance of a life - work meetings, writing time, some doctors' appointments, some social engagements, some volunteer work. Lately I can't keep up at all. Kind-hearted people offer me help all of the time, but even they can't keep up with what I need. It's sort of like when Scarlet was a baby and people offered to help me watch her. And I needed that and wanted that but I was so in over my head with nursing that I honestly told them, "You can only help me if you can breastfeed her. Otherwise, I'm stuck."

I need structure and consistency. I need an educational environment. I need her with other kids her age. I need to..pay someone. Half-organized babysitting swaps, asking distant and close relatives and endless phone calls trying to find a sitter aren't working for me anymore. I need preschool! For the first time in my life, part-time daycare sounds amazing.

Of course, it's expensive. I've had a few friends wisely say something to the effect of, "As long as you're doing what's right for your family, the money (and whatever else: sanity, structure, etc.) will follow."

I hope it's true. I feel like I'm outgrowing my role. I feel like she needs more than me. I feel like I need more than me. I'm slowing down, she's speeding up. I need more rest, she needs less rest. We're going in opposite directions right now - her at 2 1/2 and me at 2nd trimester. There was a time where it worked well - we did activities every day. It's no longer enough.

So, of course, I'm thinking of everything - nannies, early preschool, part-time daycare, where to find the money, how to find a job knowing I'm losing my ability to hide this stomach..

I don't know how anyone does it, but everyone does it, somehow. Finding that balance and happiness that works for everyone in the family. It seems easier now to let her go off somewhere new because: She can communicate her needs effectively now and I no longer worry about her begging or crying or getting frustrated over something that no one can help her with. And because she went away for a weekend with her grandparents without asking for us once. And because she's starting to play with other kids, instead of playing at or next to other kids.

I need childcare help. Badly. Admitting it is the first step. Letting go of her is another..

How do you all do...it all? I need wisdom.

Today's cute bathtub pics are brought to you by the letter "C" for Cute and "E" for Eyelashes. (I've been trying a new lighting trick which works really well in the bathroom so that's why there have been so many bubble bath pictures lately)

Two. And a Half!

2012-01-08T19:44:00.000-05:00

On Saturday morning, while Scarlet was ready and waiting to do errands with Cassidy, she crawled into my arms in her coat, boots, hat, mittens, and red heart purse. A bit unexpected, I held her as she wanted to be held - like a newborn baby. As I leaned over her, humming, I stroked her cheek as her eyelids fluttered, looking near sleep. I stopped and her eyes flew wide open. "More!" she said, and more I did. Just held her and stroked her cheek for several minutes, softly talking to her:

"Every day I find out something new about you." I said and her eyes opened again.

"Yeah," she chuckled.

Then it was errands time and she slid down to the floor and dashed out into the white van. And it struck me how darn interesting she is these days, and I wanted to write about it on the eve of her half birthday, marking her as two and a half.

For a long time in the past few months, my relationship with Scarlet felt displaced. She, as most toddlers do, goes through "Mommy" and "Daddy" phases. In my own insecure mind, the "Daddy" phases are perhaps harder on me than need be, since this is such a normal toddler behavior yet I take it personally. I often think "Daddy" phases are stronger during my times of anxiety and weakness. I may be right or I may be more insecure during those times. During the last heavy "Mommy" phase as I heard her scream at Cassidy that she wanted me to read to her, me to hug her, me to put her to bed, I told myself, "Remember this and put it in your pocket. You will need to take it out again one day."

Well, I was right. I have needed to take that thought out of my pocket. I had "morning sickness" with this current pregnancy from about weeks 7 - 15. I had good days but was mostly constantly experiencing low grade nausea from morning until after dinnertime. I suffered a lot although I realize people have it MUCH worse than me and I say a prayer of thanks for the lack of vomiting, and the fact that mine ended at the three month mark. However during this time, I felt very worthless and useless in this world. Lifting my head off of the couch was difficult. Being held accountable to do anything was challenging and since I'm a full-time mom, I was held accountable nearly ten hours a day. Neglected she wasn't, but my temper was short and my energy was low and I couldn't blame her for being elated when Cassidy came home from work. An actual lively, fun person!

Those were dark, dark days, in more ways than one, and I'm so happy to say that they're over and that I feel good and our relationship hasn't suffered for the long term. Eight weeks is just a slip of time but when you're in what feels like a two month stomach virus, it's hard to imagine a way out of it. Then like a light switch, you find yourself bathed in powerful light, and your daughter's eyes light up to see you standing tall and laughing and happy again. It's good for her to know me again.

It's just so good to get to know her again. The ever-changing her. I never looked away for a second, but now I'm once again drinking in all of her fascinating qualities.

- The terms and phrases she gets from who-knows-where. Like the time she curled up into my arms, sighed and said, "I have nossing to do! Nossing!" The time we sat having an imaginary tea party and she jumped up, said, "Oh, dear! Look at the time. I'll go get started." and ran out of the room. The way I sigh sometimes when I'm tired and she'll pat my back and said, "Oh, honey. Honey, honey, honey. It's gonna be alright."

- Her forever fixation on emotions. It's all about happiness with this one. Two nights ago she would not stop eating on our new couches so I finally got fed up and said, "YOU are not listening! Why not? Please stop eating on the couches!" She sulked and sank into her toddler-sized rocking chair and didn't say a word for a half hour. When Cassidy came home she said, "Mama is sad! She is mad at me." I desperately had to talk to her about that one and how I wasn't mad at her. At least..not for more than a minute.

- Her fixation on last names. She likes to think of everyone she knows and asks if they're a Bowman or a Dillon or a Klein or a Jacobson or....

- Her fixation on eye colors. Since I can't for the life of me tell you what my own daughter's eye color is, I told her she has rainbow eyes. Everyone else has hazel or blue or gray or green or brown eyes but don't you dare try to label her eyes as anything other than rainbow.

- Her sense of humor. It's so advanced I can't even share half of it because you might think us terrible parents because our kid can laugh at AND tell dirty jokes. And I'm quite certain I had very, very little to do with it. She can also affect lisps and accents when reading books back to us or trying to make us laugh.

- The way she told Cassidy, "You are amazing" out of nowhere. The way she constantly starts to call us by each other's names and then corrects herself so I become "Da-Mama" and Cassidy becomes "Ma-Dada" and those pretty much become words of their own. The way she made up a term I can't pronounce - something like "Schlack schlack." When we ask her what it means she says, "It means your ears don't work." ??????

I remember writing her "Two" post on the eve of her second birthday and feeling overwhelmed by her changes. Now I feel it even more, if possible. Six long months. A new home I've grown to love. Such a different season from last time.

What will three look like?? How will I find the time to write the "Three" post since I'll most likely have a one or two (or more)-week old on the eve of her 3rd birthday? Gosh, their birthdays will be close. I'll write it, I promise.

Dying of cuteness overload yet again.

Neither of them have a mean, malicious, or anything but gentle bone in their bodies. Two peas in a pod. Lucky me.

More bubbles. Bubbles don't get old.

I'm certain she has discovered her reflection in the mirror many times, and before now(ish), may not have even known it was someone other than herself. I think she gets mirror reflections now but she was having a really fun time talking with her mirror self the other day.

She's such an intriguing kid and studying her and helping her advance is a great, great joy in my life. I love her and I don't even think I have to like her quite as much as I do. It can be hard to "like" two-year-olds at times. But I really, really like her.

The Bucket List.

2012-01-05T20:02:00.000-05:00

My little sister and her husband just flew to New Orleans for a nice winter/New Year's vacation. They missed the nine degrees overnight low we were all experiencing and it's a heck of a city. I know. I went there when I was 21. Got up at the crack of dawn in July and had the whole entire plane to ourselves, save for a very drunk bridal party, who then accompanied us in our van to the French Quarter. The city is full of haunting images and smells and experiences. I'll never forget walking down Bourbon Street at 3:00 am, shoulder to shoulder with the sweatiest, drunkest people I'd seen since...Rutgers University. It was not on my Bucket List, ever, to see New Orleans but it was a birthday gift from an ex and we had a heck of a time.

It was different for my sister. They were fulfilling a "Bucket List" item for both. Now I can't be entirely sure I know what I'm talking about, but I did Google it, and it involved seeing Michigan (NOT Michigan State) play (and beat) Virginia Tech on January 3rd. I don't know if the Bucket List required seeing those two play each other, seeing those two play each other in New Orleans, or at the Superdome, or at the Sugar Bowl, just see Michigan at the Superdome, just see Michigan at the Sugar Bowl, or see a game together as a married couple, or what. Not my field of expertise! I don't know. What I do know is that when my sister told me they were going to New Orleans, partly or mainly to check off a Bucket List item, I reacted happily:

"Coooooooool!"

Just like that. I love hearing stories of checked off Bucket List items. No matter what it is. Doing something dangerous or safe, far away or close, difficult or easy, these are Bucket List items. This is your life. Live a little, I suppose. Live a lot.

It made me want to write down my own Bucket List, which has been brewing in my head for years.
My Bucket List isn't fixed - it's fluid. It has changed over the years and will change again. There are many items that used to be on it that I have checked off - seeing the Hollywood sign on its mountain, standing above the Golden Gate Bridge, falling in love...more than once...in that pure way in which you can't stop grinning and mooning all day long and you also trust them and would do anything for them, having a moose and wolf-themed wedding, becoming a mother, riding in a helicopter. And so, so much more.

Then there are the unchecked Bucket List items. The Master List, in which I don't believe I'm forgetting much. It's not in any particular order of importance:

1. Dance like a maniac in public. I have done this before, many times, but not in a good long while so I'm putting it back on The List.

2. Have a photo published in a book or magazine. Or heck, several photos. Hundreds. Thousands.

3. Have photos I've taken featured prominently on the walls of a home that doesn't belong to either me or my family. An unrelated family who loves my work that much.

4. Visit Isle Royale National Park. It's a park on an island on Lake Superior, in the northern part of Michigan. It's an island full of moose and wolves, and in which they co-exist fairly harmoniously. Both of their populations are able to grow, despite the presence of the other. Ecologists take note of this. So do I.

5. Visit Glacier Bay National Park, not to be confused by Glacier National Park in Montana. Glacier Bay is in Alaska and it is filled with moose, wolves and whales. And TONS more. And glaciers.

6. On the same subject as above, visit Denali National Park and Preserve in Alaska. You can win a lottery to drive on the road, but most people can only traipse through by bus. Still worth it.

7. See some polar bears somewhere in Manitoba, Canada - the "Polar Bear Capital."

8. Once a friend of a friend told me a story about his visit to the city of Calgary. I guess moose are common in the city and he saw a moose walk right by a bus stop. Two old ladies were sitting on a bench at the bus stop. The moose walked by them and they didn't bat an eye or stop their heated conversation. I want to go somewhere where seeing moose is so normal that you don't even stop your gossiping to gape at one.

9. Be the first to show my kids their first moose sighting.

10. See a blue whale. No explanation necessary.

11. Go on a (somewhat) safe Great White Shark Expedition during breeding season off the coast of the Farallon Islands. Some people would be afraid to do that. I'm less afraid of sharks than I am of...like...trying marijuana. So we all choose our battles in life.

12. Hold another newborn in my arms. Another newborn that is mine. Finding a newborn to hold isn't actually that hard.

13. Either live half of the year or even all of it, eventually, in northern California.

14. Write a book. Or write an excerpt or part of a book. Or publish a magazine article.

15. See Northern Lights!

16. I'd even settle for an intense meteor shower.

17. Spend the night alone in a fancy, fancy hotel. I'm talking like the Plaza Hotel in Home Alone 2, but preferably not in NYC.

18. Cook a gourmet meal all by myself.

19. Learn to meditate.

20. Learn to have more lucid dreams. The ones I've had have been JUICY.

21. Learn how to start my own business and...start one!

22. See Tom Petty live.

23. See Bruce Hornsby live.

24. Finally get to Tanglewood. It's never canceled and yet on the day we had tickets, we got hit with Hurricane Irene. Really, Irene? You suck.

25. Have a home hot tub or jacuzzi bath tub.

26. Train a dog all by myself.

27. Make a speech or a toast, or some sort of public address, that brings people to tears.

28. Escape a New England winter, or even just a week or two of one, and go somewhere tropical. Florida doesn't count since that's as far south as I've been, sadly.

I hope it will change again and again. 'Cause that would mean I'm checking off items as if my life depended on it...which it kinda does, doesn't it?

Embracing The Awkward.

2012-01-03T20:01:00.000-05:00

I wonder if everyone thinks that their own personal middle school/junior high awkward periods were worse than anyone else's own personal middle school/junior high awkward periods. Right? Does that sound like you? Well, I'm sorry to tell you that you're wrong. I was much more awkward than you. I was really short but my hair was gelled as high as my entire head. There was an ill-fated perm that took years to grow out. There were the two front teeth that were accidentally (I think?) knocked out by my paddle-wielding-brother and so I was either called "One-Tooth Willie" or, later, I had braces for over two years to correct my Willie-itis. I think I dressed ok, if you consider wearing size 9 jeans on a size 1 frame ok. Puberty wasn't even in the distant horizon, really until after I had a baby and learned you could be skinny AND curvy. And it's cool like that.

I survived, boy did I survive. Every physical problem I described above was corrected to my own satisfaction - thick, wavy hair, straight teeth, a six inch growth spurt, wearing clothes my own size...but I feel a little awkward every now and then.

It occurred to me that awkward periods still happen to me, after all this time!

During periods of great growth, both physically and emotionally in my case, come periods of great awkwardness. Sometimes it seriously is physical. Cutting my hair too short, being lazy or in November and not wearing clothes that fit, whatever. Mostly, it's not physical. Lately as I'm ironing out some changes in my life, I'm in a weird in-between state. It's not bad. It's not good. It's just...awkward. Although one of my major awkward symptoms now IS physical. I'm in that weird, in between stage where whether or not I'm "showing" in my pregnancy yet depends on who you ask. If you ask me, yes, there is a stomach where there didn't used to be a stomach. If you ask my mom and Cassidy, yes, there is a stomach where there didn't used to be a stomach. Other people tell me it looks like I had a night of heavy drinking or heavy eating. Not cool, guys. Not cool.

Anyway, now we are very slowly transitioning to a huge step in our lives - Scarlet starting pre-school. She will start in September, I suppose, unless I can get her in somewhere before that. Having a three-year-old and a newborn both home all day, every day with me...kinda scares me. She is so darn independent. I almost hope the next baby is slightly more clingy, but no, I know I have it good. She can leave for days on end without a backwards glance. I know she loves us like crazy but she needs her space as well. She has made that clear. So now we know pre-school is eventually coming and we're trying to give her the space she needs - she goes with her grandparents, sometimes for hours and sometimes for days. I find myself both loving this transition and getting anxious for a more permanent one, but also a little sad that our days together will change. Ultimately, it's a great thing. I am itchy right now to do something - work full-time, work part-time, or just have more Scarlet-free time, but on the other hand, it's strange knowing that in 5 1/2 months, I will be pretty laid up at home.

For now, well...we have now. An awkward part of the year for me. Even though winter just started, it already feels half over to me. The extra sunlight is slightly noticeable. I don't want to spend my days waiting for more sunlight, though. I want to make the most of what sunlight we have now.

And with what I don't have?? Any desire at all to go out in this arctic air. Well, I guess the thing I'm so against - using anything other than natural light photography - well, screw that. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em:

I will always love natural light best and nothing could change that. But I do love the way the flash brings out things I don't normally see - lighter eyes, poutier lips, different shades of hair and eye color from what I've ever seen.

Talk about awkward! Bath-time pics! I think I do it tastefully enough that one day when we break these out for her prom date, she won't cringe quite as much as many of us did.

Helloooo, Gorgeous!! She's too pretty for words, really.

I need to throw in some extra-adorable New Year's pics of Scarlet hanging out with a six-week-old, a four-year-old hunk, and a seven-year-old stud. She practiced "Big Sistering" and it helped that Zeph is the most mellow, easily calmed newborn ever. Seriously. A joy.

I died a few times of cuteness overload...luckily, I recovered.

Awkward Family Photos. The three boys were much better at posing or at least looking interested. My girl - not so much.

I'm kinda embracing the awkward. These shots are priceless. These four at their ages would never all pose the same way at the same time. It just wouldn't happen. So I like the results much better anyway.

I want to do better than to live my life waiting for the awkwardness to iron out; waiting for the perfect, posed portrait, waiting for all of my ducks to be in a row. I want to embrace the awkwardness! My in-between belly? It's kinda awesome. It's hard and not at all jiggly like beer belly is. This in-between sunlight thing? Fine, then. We'll just use half natural light and half flash, or all flash. Whatever it takes to embrace the now. Waiting for my kid to go to school? Well, right now she is my job and I vow to enjoy the heck out of this job because one day she'll go to college and I'll sob into my pillow a lot.

Awkward is the new cool, I think.

Bonding.

2012-01-01T20:09:00.002-05:00

When I was a kid, I was given a dog in the most wonderful way.

It was five days before Valentine's Day and I was nine-years-old. We all five kids had always wanted a dog because, frankly, what kid doesn't? We had asked for one for years but were told repeatedly that we couldn't have one because my dad was allergic to dogs. This. Was a lie. We had a completely clean, shiny and new, white and off-white house and my parents were juggling five kids, all five of whom had lost one of their parents, tragically, at a young age. Now that I'm a parent, I DO NOT fault my parents for not wanting a dog on top of all that!

But, they did! One Friday night, I was completely jonesing to sit and watch the T.G.I.F ("Thank God It's Funny!") lineup on ABC. For those keeping track, this included Full House, Family Matters replacing Perfect Strangers, Mr. Belvedere and Just The Ten of Us. I was psyyyyyched! My sister was 11 and just at that age where she'd prefer to spend her Friday nights elsewhere. My parents strictly told us that we all had to stay home because they had very old and very good friends coming over with their new baby. We were under strict orders to stay home. Their friends arrived and came downstairs, thankfully, during a commercial break. They were holding an exquisite white puppy. Usually this would make more of an impact on me, but since I could never tear my eyes away from John Stamos long enough for any solid thoughts, I briefly decided, "Oh, they brought their baby AND their dog. Cool."

In reality, there was no baby. These weren't even good friends of my parents. They were Samoyed breeders. Samoyeds are friendlier, fluffier, all-white sled dogs. My mom asked me, "Do you know whose dog this is?" I turned away from Uncle Jesse, who had returned, and nodded. "Uh huh. Their dog."

"No," she said. I looked at her. She had tears in her eyes. "It's our dog."

The rest of that night, and the years that followed, are a tangled blur of white fur and intense love. It was really a sneak attack surprise. We (my dad) named her Chelsea for fear we'd all name her something stupid like Snowball. (We would have.) I loved her from the start. There was no real bonding to get to love time. There didn't have to be. My age and the circumstances...cosmic timing...whatever. Sometimes it's that easy.

Sometimes it's not.

When I was older and away at college, they got a second puppy. Kaylee never shined the way Chelsea did. She was a really disobedient puppy and she went through an awkward growth period that would put most 7th grade girls to shame. It took me months, maybe even years, to bond with her but I eventually did. The love is the same in the long run, sometimes, but it takes longer to get there. I guess it also depends on where you're coming from and what you're coming to.

As you all know and I won't go into it, we were fairly homeless before we found our Chapel Street condo in Northampton. We were living with various family (thank you to them!) while I got adjusted to strange pregnancy symptoms and the east coast. So we were going from no home to this beautiful, shiny, new, previously unoccupied, three story condo only a comfortable walking distance mile from downtown Noho. Bonding to get to love time? Nil. That first weekend there, the weather finally broke into 70 degrees in March and our long-lost furniture arrived from California and oh, we were so happy. For three years.

It was going from that happiness into another that proved to be challenging. We moved two days before the recent freak Halloween snowstorm, while I was six weeks pregnant. We went into the woods, away from the warmth of neighbors, and turned the clocks back into darkness. To say the bonding wasn't instant is putting it mildly. I saw flashes of what could be. I never lost hope. I still know there's a higher. It's just taking longer to get there.

Last week, Cassidy went away to NYC for three days. I was alone, 14-15 weeks pregnant with a near two and a half-year-old. Apprehensive? Only a bit. I knew I'd come through for Scarlet and me. What I didn't expect was the bonding with the new house to occur. I had never had a chance to be in control of our house. Cassidy had had that chance even before he moved in when he was cleaning and painting and assessing. This was my chance. I learned how to use the pellet stove, finally! I learned the kinks of the griddle on our stove and how the knob sticks and keeps the fan on for hours if not remedied. I lit the Christmas tree for no other reason than my own enjoyment. I stocked my own food. I did all the dishes.

Before you think I'm really worthless for not doing and discovering all of these things previously, just consider what early pregnancy might feel like, on top of moving. My goals in life weren't lofty - keep food down, get sleep, lather, rinse, repeat. Now as my energy returns and I'm given the chances to find my own way again, the bonding is strengthening.

"Home." Almost..getting there...maybe, nearly. I think?

Through Pregnancy-Tinted Glasses.

2011-12-30T19:57:00.001-05:00

When I was pregnant with Scarlet - and gosh darn, I start a lot of recent blogs with those words - I had a major food aversion to kale. Nothing personal, I'm sure. It's a mild enough green. Basically I had one week or two of queasiness/nerves and whatever I forced down that one early week, I couldn't even look at again. Kale, beets, pea soup. All good things. The kale one was so strong that I couldn't even look at it, raw or cooked. In fact, during that long, cold, icy first-trimester fall/winter, we sat with Cassidy's mom and her husband, Ernie, and watched all of "LOST" from seasons one through five. As you may know, it's a very lush, green show. Sometimes I had trouble looking at all of the greenery because it reminded me of kale. Totally bizarro. I'm happy to say that by mid-pregnancy, I didn't at all mind the look and smell of kale. I still didn't eat it until after birth, and even that was in a safe form - baked kale chips. They're pretty divine.

It's just funny to me how eating something at the wrong time could lead to such drama. Only in pregnancy, could one week of queasiness rage a war against kale, a war so strong you interpreted it into a TV show you were watching. A TV show that had nothing to do with kale. That's pregnancy for you. Even when you've got it good, so good, something will get you in the beginning. Something. I realize I wrote a long post about how I was the most non-pregnant pregnant woman I'd ever met, but that doesn't mean...that nothing at all happens when your entire, entire body gets completely invaded and all of your internal organs get moved around. Nice, huh? I probably lose male readers with these talks. I hope not.

So I was thinking lately about the way I view the world through pregnancy. Things that used to be so easy are no longer easy. I used to be able to carry my near two and a half-year-old a lot more than I can now. I never make long term plans to travel by plane because I just can never know if I'll be up for it when that time comes. This is such a shame because my grandfather is having a 100th birthday party this January and I'd love to have booked a trip already. But..I get winded at Target. Add a few more pounds on me and put me in an airport with a toddler in arms, and I'm scared. Very scared.

Then it's the way I look at people. Basically if I'm looking at a person who couldn't possibly be pregnant at this given time - this includes children, all men, and old women, I can't help but stare longingly at their un-invaded bellies. I try to be discreet about this. It's usually only done from the car passenger window. I do NOT want to be known as the creepy lady staring at stomachs.

Then, there's food. Cassidy and I watch Food Network sometimes. I thought this would be more of a problem in early pregnancy but luckily, it hasn't been. I have had to look away a few times but mostly it's when they're handling foods I wouldn't look at in my "real life" (non-pregnancy) anyway. However, every food commercial that comes on puts me in deep thought:

"Does that intrigue me or repulse me?" "It repulses me." "Good." Next commercial.

"Does that intrigue me or repulse me?" "It intrigues me." "A lot." "Enough to go out and get it or ask Cassidy to go out and get it for me?" "Well..I suppose not." "Tomorrow I will dine on that...(whatever it is)"

It's not just TV. When I'm in public and I catch whiffs of food when restaurant doors open, it starts the same inner dialogue. Just in that case, I don't have to wonder about whether I should go out and get it or Cassidy should. I just wonder if I should eat it at that given moment, or walk far, far away from the restaurant.

Let it be said - that I have never asked Cassidy to go out alone on a cold, dark night and get me some strange thing I'm craving. If he was already going out...different story. But I have yet to do that in either pregnancy.

Then there are babies and toddlers in public. It's true that I already have a child and I'm fairly certain that I tend to give birth to smallish, full-head-of-hair, big-eyed babies. Yet I will still gaze at your big, bald, dreamy, drooly balls of life and wonder if mine will look like that.

Lastly, we have names. I am an avid reader. Of good books. I also avidly read US Weekly. Both good books and US Weekly are filled with names and baby names. I can't read for even five minutes without running my tongue and mind (sounds dirty but isn't) over every name I hear. It was so much easier with Scarlet because we both loved that name well before we were married and we just got lucky with having a girl first. It's not so easy these days.

No one told me that going through it once does not, in fact, make it easier to go through it again. In some ways, it's easier. In some ways, it's more challenging.

I am totally invaded. I admit it. I am human-carrying-human, after all. You can't exactly not be affected by that.

End Of The Road.

2011-12-28T14:26:00.000-05:00

I was born in 1980. If you were born around then, give or take several years, my blog title just might put that wonderful Boyz II Men song of the same name in your head. Right? Now try to get it out and tell me how you did so because I can't seem to do that. I'm having so many 1992 neon-pink windbreaker-laced flashbacks of school dances and girls crying in the bathroom during this song. Heck, some of them had no shame and just cried out on the dance floor. I myself only cried in public over a boy once, in the 7th grade cafeteria. This kid, Chris? Had his friend walk over and break up with me for him. What a coward. This is why I didn't bother with boys again until college...

...You know who you are. You loved (still love?) this song.

I'm probably not going to sit here and recap 2011 and how much it sucked or didn't suck. All of these years have their joys and their challenges. Some have much more of one than the other. It wasn't my best year. It wasn't my worst year. A heck of a lot happened. It started with blizzards galore and Scarlet meeting her great-grandparents. It peaked with the dizzying, berry-filled heights of summer and having a newly-turned two-year-old. It ended with buying a freakin' house and conceiving a child on the third anniversary of the day that we left the promised land of California. (Er...not that we keep track of those things..publicly)

Which brings me to my next point. As December of 2011 dawned, Cassidy and I both realized two crucial and sad facts. 2011 was the first year in about...forever for him and several, several years for me, that neither of us set foot on California soil all year long. It just...didn't happen this year. Not only that, we both realized that 2011 was the first year in about...definitely forever for me and probably just as long for him, that neither of us set foot on Manhattan soil (cement..rat poop?) Cassidy who is by no means a slacker is taking right care of that seeing Phish at MSG tonight. Just in the nick of time! Only a few days to spare. Say what you want about Cassidy, but he does have style. (Dumbledore from Harry Potter reference)

And, me? Well, a full year without California and New York City. A place I'm haunted by in a good way and a place I'm haunted by in a bad way. Haunted is haunted. Can a New Year's Resolution be as simple as, "Stand on California soil." "Stand on Manhattan soil." Maybe they should be. And, of course, heal more and become more secure and less anxious at the idea of parenting two young and beautiful souls. Before I met Scarlet, I didn't know much about her but I felt her strength. I felt that she wasn't going anywhere. I've suffered more this time around, but I feel the power of this next one too. He/she is going to kick a** and take names. Mothers know these things. So for now, we wait for the new year and life but we wait in style.

What is now like? Now is about adjusting and healing. Saying goodbye to a month and a year and hello to a new month and a new year. We all like to believe our new years will be full of promise and hope, but heck, ours really is this time around, I think. A new baby! Two new seasons in our new house. Life unfolding. As we wile away the hours of the end of December, we huddle together around our pellet stove. Scarlet? Patient and easy to entertain and to relax with. Me? Still not feeling my great, glowy, pregnant best. It will happen. Oh, it will happen. Mark my words.

In the non-glowy but still lively in-betweens, I savor her creativity by finding little funny things around the house. Hair bows on a wooden giraffe's head. Baby and Simpsons dolls "tucked" into makeshift beds between the bars of the wall and her crib. The fact that she wears winter gear in the house:

For now, we delight in shadow/sunbeam faces as the earth spins ever so slightly closer to the sun:

The intensity with which she colors. Like a mad artist!

And then we have holidays and first cousins and opening stockings and other delights.

She's gonna be a bit like me...

And, of course, a bit like her dad. She just knows how to hold and play a guitar. It's really scary. Even the look on her face = rockstar.

My favorite, by far:

You're probably wondering what on earth could make someone this happy? (below) It was a lenticular "wiggly picture." You'll have to google it, I suppose. Mom, don't hate me for posting this. Consider it payback.

My dad has exquisite taste in clothing for my mom. I didn't touch this at all in Photoshop and I never would anyway. It is THAT vivid.

Most of these photos, these moments, don't need captions. You know how I feel. Happy and loved. Excited to bring another life into these small and large moments that make up a life.

"Although we've come to the End Of The Road
Still I can't let you go
It's unnatural, you belong to me, I belong to you
Come to the End of the Road" -- Boyz II Men

The Boxing Day Blues.

2011-12-26T20:44:00.001-05:00

I know, I know. It must seem like I'm having an endless case of the blues - November Blues, Baby Blues, Boxing Day Blues. Fear not because these blues only last a day or so.

I had a really nice week off from everything, a week I didn't even know I needed off! It all started last week with holiday parties. Each night we either hosted a holiday party or went to a holiday party. Then after our last Hanukkah party (or is it Chanukah? I haven't the foggiest), we got home fairly late and had to wake up the next morning and scramble to pack bags for all three of us, finish wrapping presents and get on the road to Jersey. When we got there, we then happily celebrated more Hanukkah and, of course, Christmas.

Oh, the food. And the movies I watched from the comfort of my childhood couch against a gigantic TV. And the family. It was much quieter than Thanksgiving but I think it had to be. We didn't even have enough guest rooms for Thanksgiving. It was definitely the first year that Scarlet understood the holidays, at least to the degree that we can talk about them. She's both Jewish and Christian and although people may argue that she's one or the other, or that she can't be both, well, she is both. By blood and by the family she's being raised in. Since I'm a bit religion and holiday confused myself, what I realized this year was that it is just important to me to have traditions in our family. Traditions that work well for us and have meaning. And even though she's still a bit young, I want her to know what these holidays mean to this family. So far, so good.

This is really just a quick pop-in to say hi and to tell you I haven't forgotten about this blog for even an instant, and have just been enjoying an extended holiday vacation. I'll be back soon with photos (yes, really, finally) and more to talk about!

14 weeks pregnant now. Some symptoms have faded but I still feel pretty knackered, more than I'm comfortable with. And I still hate the smell of fire. Looking very forward to the new year and all that will come with it.

When I was a kid, I hated the end of the holidays so, so much. Sometimes I still feel that to this day - that end of holiday vacation from school stings so much, you can feel its echoes in adulthood. Although in truth, as a somewhat mall-grinchy adult, I welcome the new year and the way the world around me goes back to normal. So the end of the holiday season brings as much happiness and relief as it does sadness. What is hard for me is the separation from family after being so tightly knit and cozy for a few blissful days. It's never been easy. It's not easy. It will probably never been easy.

Sometimes I like the way it hurts a bit. It means I have so, so much love in my life that I can feel the pain of not having it always in proximity. Bittersweet.

What To Expect. Not.

2011-12-20T20:05:00.001-05:00

When I was pregnant with Scarlet, I was given a copy of "What To Expect When You're Expecting." Some people love it. Some people hate it. I eventually loved it but I couldn't even crack it open until the second trimester. It was for the same reason that I recently looked back at my babycenter.com account and learned I didn't sign up for it until January of 2009. My second trimester. With both the book and the website, I didn't like being told what I should feel like for fear I'd start feeling just like I'd read I should feel. I'm too nutty for that!

I didn't find out about my pregnancy until about six weeks gestational age. It's not ridiculously late but enough time had passed to allow early pregnancy symptoms to show on their own and not through the power of suggestion. They weren't bad but they came across as strange since I was in a state of denial that I was pregnant. Sleeping a lot more. "Umm...cause it's fun." I hate the smell of garlic and I didn't hate it yesterday. "Umm..maybe that's one of those extreme stress symptoms?" My period was over a week late. "Umm..another stress symptom?" Once I learned that I was pregnant and not insane, I finally cracked open "What To Expect." Then I instantly snapped it back shut. Literally every single page about the first trimester is about puking. It's the most vomit-obsessed book in existence. "Vomiting yet? You will be! Work life will change...because you will be vomiting. Your sex life will change...because of the vomiting. Your diet will change...because you won't be able to keep any food down. Do you like good oral hygiene? I hope not because brushing your teeth will make you vomit!"

I may be paraphrasing a bit but that's how it read to me.

And, you see, not only wasn't I vomiting, I never even came close. It didn't end there. Eventually I opened that book and found it very helpful in telling me about the baby's growth and size. It turns out that stomach ailments are just symptoms in the beginning. Symptoms don't end in the first trimester, oh no. Then what to expect isn't much more fun.

Acne? Nope. My skin was never better.

Mood swings? Never. I cried in the opening minutes of "Up" but who doesn't??

Charlie horses? I had a really bad one...once.

Heartburn? I had it so badly that I couldn't lie down...once.

Swollen feet? Maybe slightly at the very, very end but barely. I could wear my normal size shoes within a few days after she was born.

Strange cravings? Not really. I did want fruit a lot in the beginning but it was only because of my extreme thirst. I still loved chocolate, potatoes and whipped cream. It wasn't weird to want those things.

Peeing all the time? Seriously, never. Not even at the end!

Slowing down and feeling unbalanced? Not really. At eight months, I was still getting annoyed at how slowly people walk in public. At nine months, I was still climbing stairs and doing everything as usual. The only thing I couldn't do anymore was to get up from the couch fast. I missed that a lot. I missed sleeping flat on my back too.

I was the most non-pregnant pregnant woman.

Then there was after the birth and the horrors I was told to expect. None of it happened. Incontinence? Nope. Hemorrhoids? I still don't know what those are. Stretch marks? None. Breast milk nipple leakage? Not once. Yes, I just said nipple leakage on my blog.

I realize how obnoxious this may all sound, but I don't even look at it as me saying it. I look up to my past self as some sort of superhero. I'm not sure why I had it so good. I suppose it was a mixture of things: good genes, good health, youth, athleticism, a good mind/body connection, and the power of positive thinking.

It gives me a lot to live up to this time around, but I look forward to the challenge. It's just funny how I had to tune out so many voices, both in person and in my pregnancy books. Every situation is unique. I had to learn to let the horror stories roll off my back so that I could create my own unique, happy pregnancy.

It doesn't have to be horrible. It might be, but it doesn't have to be. They told me about all of those pregnancy symptoms. They told me my newborn would cry all day long. They told me I'd never get good sleep again.

"They" were wrong. That time. It remains to be seen whether I can be that lucky again. What I do know is, don't read that book unless you're stronger than I was! You can never know what to expect and it might be best not to expect the worst.

And like I said, it doesn't have to be bad. Whenever I see a newly pregnant person, I want to hug them and tell them to tell the rest of the world to shut up. My one piece of advice? Tell everyone to shut up. Listen to yourself.

I'm learning how to do that again. It's pretty awesome.

Turning Points.

2011-12-18T21:04:00.003-05:00

Today was the first day of my second trimester..depending on who you ask. According to pregnology.com and my doctor, today's the day. According to babycenter.com, next week is the day. I decided to base it according to me. Today is totally the day. Happy 2nd Trimester to me. I expect great things, especially if I base the next three months on how today was:

1. Today started with sleeping in until 9. Yesterday was even better. We slept in until nearly 10. We arranged a sleepover with Scarlet for Friday night at her grandparent's house, about an hour or so from here. I was only slightly apprehensive as the week went on because I am a bit of a control freak where she is concerned, but I was totally happy to see how excited she was about it. It went perfectly, so perfectly that we lazily called them on Saturday morning and asked if they would like her for another night so we could relax all of Saturday. They were delighted. We were delighted. This blog is about today so I won't talk much about the earlier part of the weekend but we had lots of kid-free fun, including three hours of couch shopping and watching some bad-but-good movies.

2. When we arrived in Connecticut this morning to pick up Scarlet after 48 hours apart from her, she sort of just stared at us and then happily said our names. Still, we know our kid so we kept our distance. It took some restraint but we were rewarded with warm hugs just minutes later. Then we had a lovely, sunny brunch and laughed at her antics. I admit I was half asleep through some of this. First trimester symptoms don't always leave overnight. But I know what happened was pivotal and that we'll happily send her away for many grandparents weekends in the future. (Yay for her having three sets of those!) Happy for all included.

3. On the drive home, I really wanted hash browns so I got hash browns. It was pretty awesome.

4. Then we went to a good friend's party. I saw not only my good friend but many, many other good friends. I had three servings of the best chili ever. There was much merriment.

5. I was the last guest to leave the party. I can't tell you how long it's been since that has happened but it always used to happen at this particular friend's house. It was nice to see that I've "still got it." "It" was just hidden in the folds of 1st trimester/moving/anxiety blues. I...don't want to take that crap anymore. Cheers to leaving the party last!

6. I was struggling to put Scarlet in the van in the total blackness because the van light is out. The van door wasn't working. It would close and then not close and then close. Finally I thought it was closed and I said, "Thanks, you giant piece of sh*t." I thought it was closed but it wasn't and Scarlet was shrieking with laughter at my outburst. You could literally hear her laughter light up the dark night. Yes, I was bad to swear..but it was really funny.

7. On the way home, the whole town we were in was having a big Luminarium celebration. We were behind a tractor decorated with Christmas lights in the shape of an angel. A few potentially drunk people dressed as Santa were on that tractor. I love where I live.

8. Also on the way home, I wanted to keep Scarlet awake so we kept yelling "Lights" every single time we saw lights. Then to our surprise, we saw magnificent fireworks being set off by the town. Really magnificent and right in front of us. Winter fireworks. Can't say I've ever seen those before but I loved the rainbow reflection of winter fireworks in my daughter's eyes.

9. I asked the radio gods to predict my next few months and the progress I'd make emotionally and physically. They played "Broken Wings" by Mister Mister. When was the last time you heard that one??? I needed it:

"Take these broken wings, and learn to fly again, learn to live so free
And when we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up and let us in"

10. As we turned into our dark, winding, woodsy driveway, Scarlet asked me if she could see the stars when we got out of the car. I told her, "Of course" and she said, "It's a wonderful life." Then I pulled her out and we looked at the stars as she squeezed me tight.

All in a day. A wonderful day. A turning point, in many ways.

Sprouting Wings.

2011-12-15T19:22:00.000-05:00

What always amazes me about my personal blogging process is, how unplanned it is. I can actually be a super-organized person but that is not the case here. There is no room for it here. At least once or twice, or three times a week, I worry that I will wind up on a Sunday, Tuesday or Thursday without a blog post. With the exception of moving, power outages and early pregnancy exhaustion that I couldn't tell anyone about, I always publish a blog on my designated blogging days. Sometimes I vary and go for a Wednesday or Friday. Sure. The blogging always happens though. Sometimes only in the nick of time, but often before that. I used to fly more by the seat of my pants but three fatiguing factors changed that. It grew cold and dark. I moved to a place in which my computer is no longer in the warm, common room. I grew pregnant. I no longer could hope for inspiration to start at 7:00 pm for an 8 or 9:00 pm publish time. Often, I'm camped out in my "nest" by 7:00 pm - magazines, new iPhone, good book, bad TV. I write earlier in the day and often publish earlier too. We're all earlier birds these days. At the height of summer I could publish a post late in the night and get readers. Now, not so much.

Historically, good photography helps me write a story. News to announce, such as moving to a house, and being pregnant helps me write a story. Those are the planned blog posts. The rest of it? I often don't know where it's going to come from until it comes. Sometimes previous blog posts can sprout wings and gain sequels or follow-ups. It's not so common but it's happening right now. Two days ago, I posted about fears and anxieties concerning my second pregnancy. It was a post I didn't know I was going to write until just before I wrote it. And until I wrote it and watched it meander and settle, it was nothing like my original idea. The follow-up comments on my blogs and personal emails to my inbox have...astounded and floored me. People have written me the most beautiful advice, ideas, suggestions I could ever imagine. Reading it all has been therapeutic. Much, much more so than writing it. A few people have even written to tell me they think I'm courageous to have written it. Do I think so? Not. At. All. I'm not going to say it's cowardly to publish something personal and that I don't appreciate those words tremendously. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, sure, but does it count AT ALL if you don't go beyond that? I think not.

The truth is, I don't want to be a fearful, anxious, and frustrated mother. Scarlet and "Lime" deserve better than that. I don't want to be a fearful, anxious, and frustrated wife. Cassidy deserves better than that. I don't want to be a fearful, anxious, and frustrated person. I deserve better than that.

I used to think blogging would be enough for stress relief. It's not. It's like once in my youth when I decided to see a therapist for awhile. It wasn't at all satisfying for me, although I imagine it was for her because she got those big checks. It stopped pretty abruptly and nothing was ever accomplished. In some ways, I felt worse for a few weeks after. My mom said something so wise. She said, "Of course you don't feel better. You stirred up all of those buried feelings and fears but you didn't resolve them. No resolution!" So, so true.

I think about what people do to relieve stress:

Exercise. Your body peaks and then rests. Resolution is had!

Sex, either with someone or with yourself. A resolution is had! And if not, well, do something about that.

And lots of other things - creating art, deep breathing, meditation, and much more. Photography is stress relieving to me. There's always a resolution to me. Writing is important to me often not a resolution. Sometimes when I blog, I write out questions to the universe and they're not always answered. I work out ideas and can tell you how I feel and maybe even why, but the lack of resolution is why blogging isn't therapy. It's therapeutic, but not therapy. I'm often talking at myself.

Your comments and emails? Totally therapy. It helps me piece together the broken pieces and fragments of my mind. Do I need more of this? Yes. Do I need more of just...more? Yes. And not only do I owe it to Scarlet, Cassidy, "Lime" and myself to feel glowing and fabulous, I owe it to you blog readers. You help me every day and I intend to take you on this particular journey of self-betterment. Not sure where I'm headed and how I'll get there, but I never really do, do I?

I leave you with lines from one of my most favorite Tom Petty songs, "Two Gunslingers." Every time I hear that song, I scream "Yes!" and put up the volume as loudly as I can:

"Two gunslingers walked out in the street and one said
"I don't wanna fight no more."
And the other gunslinger thought about it and said,
"Yeh, what are we fighting for?"

I'm takin' control of my life, I'm takin' control of my life
I'm takin' control of my life right now, oh yeah"

So good.

Swan Song.

2011-12-13T19:20:00.000-05:00

Have you been totally loving the gobs of photos I've been posting lately?? Yeah. Me neither.

I should really be more like the USPS - "Nor wind, nor hail, nor November Blues, nor pregnancy, should stop me from taking more photos." It does every time. I fear I'll be rusty when I get back into it. Or else it'll be fluid magic. A few weeks ago, I had a paid gig right on a local riverside that went really, really well. Well means that they were lovely to work with and they wanted to buy like 10,000 prints when it was all over. Which means that they liked my work. Which means that I rule. I lived off of that high for two weeks or so. I realize my "glow period" is over and I plan to post pictures soon. They won't be just pictures that I've taken. You will be treated to my husband's work very soon. Think: belly bump pics! That's right. It starts.

I like when he takes pictures. Remember this gem?

There are more where that came from! Soon.

For now, let's talk about babies. Yes, again. As most of you regular readers know, I've been subject to bouts of situational anxiety over the last several years. I was probably a bit of a nervous kid but other than strange fears of movie theaters and loud noises...and earthquakes, tornados, and lions...which were all well-founded and explored, I didn't suffer. I was a happy child. I was dealt a traumatic blow in the first few years of my life but I lived on. It all catches up eventually, but that happens to everyone at some point. I even dealt really well with stress in high school and college. There was one incident during junior year finals in which I may or may not have broken into stress-related hives, but that was very isolated! And it was allergy season! And I have bad Jersey allergies. So moving right on, situational anxiety didn't really hit me until after college. Transitional periods have always been an issue. It often goes away and I'm more often in an anxiety dry spell - that can be years without even one symptom. Years. When I was first pregnant until Scarlet turned one, I was in a dry spell.

Not even a passing second of anxiety until one day there was. Last fall/winter were particularly rough and while a few people close to my life passed away (three, to be exact), I often attributed my anxiety to the aftermath and PTSD of Scarlet's dogbite and hospital stay. If I really think back, though, I had a few nervous spells before that. The first time it happened, Scarlet was nearly one and we were at an early summer BBQ. Everything was swell, although a bit too hot and humid for my taste. Some people I didn't know came to the party with their brand-spankin' new baby girl. I mean new. She must have been two weeks old, tops. They walked in and I took one look at her and my heart started pounding. A few deep breaths and I was fine but I definitely walked around after that thinking, "What the hell was that??"

Several months later at the eve of my nephew being born, the same thing happened. Since it was a scheduled c-section, I knew his birthday. I didn't yet know he was a "he" and of course I was concerned about my sister-in-law, but everything was fine. I was considerably anxious the night before his birth.

I'm not talking heavy dramatics here - not full blown panic attacks or long-term anxiety. What I'm talking about was subtle, but noticed. Multiple times. It still happens around babies sometimes.

And I wonder why I'm so scared of babies now. I wasn't this scared the first time around and everything went smoothly. No traumatic pregnancy, no traumatic birth. Her first birthday was traumatic because she spent it in a hospital but the fear started before then. Sometimes I wonder if it's because my father died after having two kids. Maybe deeply in my subconscious, I fear I will also die young after having two kids, just like he did. Maybe I fear this is my swan song of life. It doesn't make a whole lot of logical sense to me, but hey, being scared of newborns doesn't either.

I don't really believe this is my swan song. I'm not him. And still, maybe that's not the issue at all. Maybe I need to deeply explore these strange fears. What I really want to know is, why is it scarier this time around? I've been here before!

Shouldn't that make this easier?

Breaking The Seal.

2011-12-08T19:30:00.001-05:00

I don't like to draw attention to this fact often, especially due to the scores of articles and books being written about the dangers of focusing too much on little girls' looks, but I am intoxicated by the way Scarlet looks. Of course I am! I'm her mother. Those silken curls, that creamy skin, that little chin dimple that may or may not stay, the cheeks that still have a trace of baby fat left, her muscular physique that most definitely didn't come from me...No, really. Have you seen baby pictures of me? I was chunkier. Greener eyes. Darker curls, already turning to waves by two and three. Not her.

It's no wonder we want another baby.

The term "breaking the seal" is a very funny one, indeed. And I cannot say I've ever experienced it in my life. Quite like "hair of the dog," as a non-drinker, these are terms I just hear about from my "sophisticated" and grown-up siblings. Breaking the seal. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it refers to an event that occurs after a night of heavy drinking. Obviously what goes down must...go down even further. (Better than back up) Apparently, you're totally fine until that first time you urinate. Then, you have "broken the seal" and you have to pee several times after that, consistently, for the rest of the night. You broke the seal! You're screwed! Have fun in the bathroom!

At least that's what they tell me.

When I was pregnant with Scarlet, I was so fascinated by what she looked like and who she was. I seriously had no idea! No "maternal feelings." I felt her kick me all day and night. I felt her reactions to sweet and spicy foods. Sometimes a loud noise out of nowhere would make her jump. I was never alone, even when Stormy and Cassidy weren't around. I had my little, silent but kicky buddy always with me. For months I even said she was a boy. I think I knew she wasn't but I had to pretend I thought so. The night before my 20 week ultrasound I admitted that I "knew" she was a girl, just like Cassidy had all along. That was about as much as I ever "knew" about her. I seriously pictured a blond or bald baby. I got thick, dark curls, quite like how I was born. Still, this surprised me. Towards the end of my pregnancy, I dreamed every night that I met her and in each dream, she was different. Bald, red-haired, with teeth, without teeth, with two noses, without a nose, you name it, I dreamed it. I just didn't know. What of our genes would we see at birth? How would that change over the years? Would we see her paternal great-grandfather's nose? Her maternal grandfather's ears? Who the heck ever knows until you know?!?!

It's like a science project. The greatest science project I ever knew.

I thought having one kid would satisfy the greatest fascination of my life. "Hey, I love you. You love me. If we got married and had a kid, what the heck would he/she look like?" Then we did all of that and found out a lot. It wasn't enough.

At two, Scarlet doesn't really have any obvious direct features from either of us. You know how sometimes you see those cute little kids who identically and eerily stole a facial feature right off their mom or dad's faces? Not Scarlet. Her eyes seem to be blue, gray and amber, which quite frankly, I've never even heard of. It borrows colors from both my eyes (green, gray, amber) and Cassidy's eyes (blue, green, gray) Her hair started out like mine and the color/consistency has now settled on something between us both. Her nose and chin and ears and physique have yet to settle into one form. I see my mother as a baby in her. I see my grandfather as a baby in her. I see me as a baby in her. I see Cassidy as a baby in her. I see some of Cassidy as an adult in her. And it will all change, and change again.

Lately I've realized that by having her, I "broke the seal." Instead of satisfying an urgent need, I've made it worse. I won't have 17 children but the scientist in me wants to have 17 children just to see what they'd all look like and be like. Would any of them be a mini-Tamara? Would any be a mini-Cassidy? It's all so fascinating I can barely take it! That first one was pretty awesome but she just made my hunger worse. What else can we create? (in our science labs)

Who is this little "fig-turned-lime" growing rapidly in me as we speak? What will he/she look like? And will it make my "break the seal" fever even worse to want yet another science project..baby? Probably.

How Does She Do It?

2011-12-06T19:44:00.001-05:00

I have many good friends and family members who have been through terrible tragedies. I think I have too. I can't even begin to dare to measure degrees of suffering in this world, but I believe that there are some events that top the list. One day, years after a personal tragedy that some friends went through, I sat with them one night and talked about all of the things people have said to them over the years since it happened. One thing they found particularly stupid was when people said, "I don't know how you got through it. I couldn't have done it myself." My friends were incredulous:

"How did we get through it? How did we get through it, you idiots? What were our other options? It's live or die."

Plain and simple, you go on or you don't. Most people go on.

It is overwhelming for me to think sometimes about how people get through suffering. I once read a psychologist say that heartbreak for most feels worse than when someone dies, at least on a temporary basis. Their reasoning was that with heartbreak, you get the frustrating sensation that what you want most in the world is in this world, but you can't have it. With death, there's a finality that you do accept. It's not a rejection. It's not something you can't have that is going on without you, happy without you, with someone who isn't you. And I've had my heartbreaks and seriously, how did I get through the suffering? It's easy to say from this brighter side of things, "Well..maybe it wasn't that bad. Yeah. I could do that again." Maybe your memories get slightly erased. Like with birth! When you're giving birth, you may be swearing or yelling or crying or wanting to die, or in my case, looking your nurse in the eyes and saying, "Yup! Won't be doing this again!" And then it's over and it's glorious and the next day, you look your husband in the eyes and say, "I could do that again!"

But birth is just a day. Or for an unlucky few, 2-3 days. I've been thinking about individual suffering and how fast time can pass when you're not suffering in any way. And you may see other people suffering, but since time passed quickly for you, you may assume time passed quickly for them. "Well hey," you may say. "They're strong. I couldn't go through that."

Oh, but you could. You can. One day you will be standing on the other side of your suffering. Whether standing as tall as you once were, or hunched over just the slightest bit, whether permanently or not. Standing, just the same.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my first pregnancy. I've been thinking about my friends' pregnancies, because I have a few pregnant friends and they're all a month or several months ahead of me right now. I've been thinking it was really easy for me with Scarlet. I've been thinking it's really easy for my friends. I've been slowly learning it isn't true. The middle and end of my pregnancy with Scarlet were quite wonderful. The beginning was fearful and snowy and icy and queasy. It passed. It's easy from this end of things to forget how hard it was. It was nowhere near the levels of tragedy and suffering I referenced above. It's a different level. It's a happy occasion that is marked with a hard beginning. For most. When I finally get around to talking with my further-along friends, I hear their horror tales of fear and morning sickness and fatigue and anxiety. It's not easy for them either. Their days have been long and painful and nauseating and anxiety-ridden too.

I wanted this. I planned this. It's amazing and I'm blessed and overwhelmed with good feelings. But there's still the end of fall to get through. There's still winter to get through. There's still the fact that I feel like I have mono all the time!

Every day is filled with pitfalls and obstacles. The smell of this, the thought of that, Scarlet peeing on the floor, the 3:00-5:00 pm slump, the fear of pregnancy loss, the darkness, the hunger, the thirst. Oh, the thirst.

One foot in front of the other. Painfully slow days. We all want time to pass slowly and time is passing slowly for me. Yet, it's passing. Every night is a gift of a day over, a day closer to this baby. And then time will speed right back up for me!

I forgot how it feels to feel consistently normal and not like a Mack truck hit me. Yes, I chose this. That doesn't mean I'm not having a hard time sometimes. I enjoy every non-suffering day and those non-suffering minutes of suffering days. I know this particular load will get lighter and I'll stand tall on the other side. Time will fly again.

It just made me think. It's not easy. We all just get through to the glorious other sides of our personal sufferings, eventually, because we have to. That doesn't mean every second on the clock isn't watched all the while. Isn't hard all the while.

Baby Blues.

2011-12-04T19:04:00.002-05:00

I'm not embarrassed to admit that I love the Nicolas Cage movie, "The Family Man." In it, he plays a rich and lonely man who gets to live through an extended "glimpse" of what his life would have been had he chosen the love of his life rather than his career. In the "glimpse" life he is a family man, working class, with two children. His mind is still on his other life. At first.

Then he starts to fall in love with his phantom kids and the phantom glimpse of what his soulmate would have been like as his wife. And his precocious daughter, who previously spent their glimpse time together thinking he was an unfeeling alien from another planet is one of the first to notice when he starts to fall in love with her, while they're playing in the snow.

"You're back," she says. "It's you again."

Makes me cry.

I felt that way a few weeks ago on a day we had a photo shoot/playdate with our old neighbors in our old yard. The day was warm and mild for November and the two two-year-olds played in the leaves and grass while we laughed and photographed them. I had no choice but to sink to my knees in the grass and play with them. I felt light. As I sat there, Scarlet ran full force into me, hugged me hard around the waist and looked deeply into my eyes. She didn't say it aloud but I knew what she was thinking:

"You're back," she said. "It's you again."

How long had it been since I'd been there been there. Maybe not long. Maybe only a blink of an eye, but to a two-year-old, time is longer.

Early pregnancy is just the pits. It's such a lonely and isolating time for me. I'm often not feeling well and I'm not as socially active as I usually am but until last week, I couldn't tell people why. I sometimes came across as having depression, and honestly, it doesn't seem much different than that. Walking around like a zombie, feeling scared and unsure, sleeping all of the time. Then add in the low, short light of November and December, the rush of cold air, and the adjustment of moving and you can imagine it's been no picnic. The worst thing has been not being able to write about it here. I've been able to better document every other life change except this one. At least, until now. I confess I now feel a freedom and lightness I didn't think was possible only weeks ago. I had been writing about everything except the obvious glaring thing in the middle.

I threw hints out here and there and many of you caught them. In my Halloween post I wrote about how I wasn't feeling well enough to go to the town trick-or-treat, the week after Halloween. And most people who know me, who know that successfully covering Halloween was in our freakin' wedding vows knew I wouldn't miss Halloween for much. I wouldn't miss it for a normal illness, I'll tell you that. I wouldn't miss it for anything except keeping another baby safe and protected.

At the end of that same post, I wrote, "Next year will be so much better. In so many ways."

That was my hint for you eagle-eyed ones.

A little history. I'm 11 weeks now, and though most wait until 12 weeks to tell the world, I just couldn't make the wait. I found out I was pregnant when I was 3 1/2 weeks. It seems like an eternity ago. I hated knowing so early because with Scarlet, I didn't find out until six weeks and that helped a lot. The extra three weeks this time were torture. I felt the whole time like it could go away in an instant, and honestly, it could have. I feared a chemical pregnancy. Most people never know they're pregnant that early and since a high number of pregnancies don't make it, things progress as normally and they get their periods and they never know about that brief moment in which they were pregnant.

I was so, so scared. Alas, this little "fig" (how big the baby is at 11 weeks) decided to stay.

Being 11 weeks is a relief but there is still a long way to go. I'm just so grateful I can talk about it here, finally. No more reading between the lines. Just straight talking, which is what you know I like to do best.

Twilight Zone.

2011-12-02T11:22:00.001-05:00

She was unsure before we got out of the car. Scarlet is rarely unsure. I unbuckled her from her carseat and held her in my arms and she clung to me, her overgrown nails digging into my sides. We walked the path to the doorstep and I raised my arm to knock, but the door was answered before I could. Then we smiled, said hello, and stepped into The Twilight Zone.

When we were making plans to move out of our Chapel Street condo, we were able to find a new tenant to live there. Or rather, the new tenant found us. It's our good friend's mom who moved to the Pioneer Valley from Buffalo, NY and needed a nice place to live. Our condo was/is a very nice place to live. It made us happy and we knew it would do the same for her.

In all my life, I've never gone back to a former home when it was already occupied by someone else. Recently, I stood on that last day, eating Chinese food with a coat on because the open door let all of the cold in and the furniture had all been taken. Pregnant. Exactly how it was that first night we moved in before the heat kicked in - eating Chinese food in a coat on the floor because our furniture hadn't arrived yet. So it was like history repeating itself. It looked exactly how it had the day we arrived and I was acting exactly how I had the day we arrived. History had come full circle. It wasn't until I got an email from the new tenant that she had some of our mail that I realized I had never been back to a previous residence before.

I didn't necessarily have the time or energy to over think this trip. I just needed my mail. It wasn't until I saw Scarlet's intrigued/terrified face when we walked in the door of our old home, the only home she ever knew, that this might be a significant trip for a two-year-old. What it signified, I have no idea. I can't even begin to comprehend if she knew where we were and for how long two-year-olds retain memories. From her shocked expression, I think she knew. She gazed at everything and clung to me like a monkey. It wasn't until we walked to the far living room and looked out the window at the nearly unchanged yard that she laughed in delight and recognition. She snapped back to life after minutes of pure shock.

"I...I have to pee!" We were welcomed to use the upstairs bathroom, the bathroom in which Scarlet was bathed and potty trained in. Where I held her in her hooded owl towel day after day, month after month. She peeked into her old nursery, now a very attractive and "grown-up" guest room with beautiful wood furniture and handmade quilts. She peeked quietly into her parent's old bedroom, now with a bed on the opposite side of the room. She no longer seemed at all upset or bothered.

It was strange for me too, as well as a nice kind of closure to see the happiness that our old condo brought a new tenant and to see how quickly Scarlet was able to process her surroundings and be ok with them. I don't remember being two at all. I remember being three. So much of what Scarlet is going through will not be remembered. But actions and places that are repeated, consistently and strongly, must be taking permanent residence in her memory banks. She visited the place she arrived to as a dependent newborn and walked out of (all by herself!) as a potty-trained, opinionated two-year-old. And her whole range of emotions lasted maybe...twenty minutes. Tops.

After we visited the condo, we did some errands and Scarlet fell asleep for about an hour. She woke up when we were pulling into our driveway.

Scarlet: "We're home! This is our new house."
Me: "Yes! And we visited our old house too. Do you remember?"
Scarlet: "Yes."
Me: "How did visiting our old house make you feel?"
Scarlet: (long pause) "It made me feel...happy."

Could it really be that simple? Maybe. Probably.

The Juiciest Post Of Them All.

2011-11-30T10:50:00.001-05:00

Ever hear the term "frenemy"? According to Wikipedia, the bible of all things important, frenemies can be enemies disguised as friends. Or "friendly" competitors or rivals. I had a frenemy as a kid. At times in middle school, I called her my arch nemesis.

I will never really know why.

We just butted heads a lot. We fought over best friends and boys. She successfully stole a few of those from me. Or rather, she gently took them from me when my complete insecure passiveness rendered me unable to act on certain situations. There were some Bat Mitzvah invitations and then de-invitations. We even found out we were locker partners - OF ALL THE FREAKIN PEOPLE IN A SCHOOL OF MORE THAN 1,300 - and we both smiled fakely and inwardly groaned. I even let two other frenemies write something mean on her locker marker board. I didn't write it but I didn't stop it. Why? Cause I was a complete "A" word. Shame on me, times a million. We fought over other things too. She was sure she wanted to marry Jewish. I wasn't sure. Oddly, we both did after I raised quite a stink about marrying a Christian just to piss her off! Once I liked a really nerdy boy and I think we fought over that too and I called her the "B" word and it got around school and people asked me if I really called her the "B" word and I'd smile proudly and say, "Yup. It was great." I wasn't always a nice kid.

She was less volatile than me. We both behaved like dumb kids a lot. We didn't have a great start. Our school system mingled three or four elementary schools into one at 6th grade. My best friend was really smart and went early at 4th grade. She had two extra years at my future school to make friends. She made friends with my frenemy two years before I met my frenemy. They became best friends. I was hurt. I never fit in with their whole group. They were all nice kids but I was a raging, grieving, insecure, eccentric kid who had many long years ahead of me before I became comfortable(ish) in my own skin.

Years passed and we all went our separate collegiate ways. I thought my frenemy and her group were out of my life forever. I had big plans to go to college, find something I was passionate about, fall madly in love, have a stunning daughter or two and skip my high school reunions for life. I did most or all of that. I skipped my first high school reunion, where said frenemy was there and just about to give birth. I'm not sure I ever would have seen some of these people again. But Facebook had other plans for me. Somehow many classmates were slowly back in my life! And it was good to "see" them! So I surrendered to the Facebook Flow. Former Frenemy and I are Facebook Friends. And I'm proud of that.

I have no idea how or when it started. Did I friend her? Did she friend me? We talked occasionally and she mentioned reading my blog. This was good. She gave birth to a daughter a few months before me. This was good too. She gave me potty training advice. This was really good. Somehow we became email buddies. Pen pals. I looked forward to her emails.

A lot. I looked forward to her emails every day. I still do. It's funny how it works. How we grew up, in more than one way, and learned we had a lot in common and a lot to say to one another. All good things. I respect her immensely.

Our friendship spiraled a bit. We were both going through a lot of life changes at the same time. We shared a lot. If only my 7th grade self could see me now. If only my 7th grade self could see that I confided in this woman. That she was one of the first people to know about my second pregnancy. That I reached to write to her before telling most people in my life. That I wanted her to know so badly. So I told her. She knew I was pregnant before really anyone knew I was pregnant.

That's right, blog readers. I am pregnant. I'm due in June. Now doesn't that explain a lot about my recent weirdness??? I haven't been stressed about moving! I moved while pregnant! I went through November while pregnant! I am PREGNANT.

Get ready, world. Another Bowman is ready to tear it down. Party. Time.

Within You Without You.

2011-11-29T19:31:00.001-05:00

Oh, how we get set in our ways. So set that we stay set in our ways for nearly 30 years, when they haven't worked for even one second for nearly 30 years and we still stay in them! Or rather, me. I'm talking about me. Not you. I get set in my unproductive ways. There are breaks on the horizon and years of unset-in-my-ways bliss, but like a bad addiction, I go back during the hard times. Every single time.

This morning, I had a few friends over for a group toddler playdate. There were eight of us. It was never too crowded and there were four two-year-olds so everyone was always having fun. One friend brought me my most favorite latte ever which was a bonus. It was loud and a little chaotic and perfectly perfect. We couldn't believe how fast time passed. At 1:10, I was pretty sure it was only 11:30. Nope. Time flies when you're having fun! It was the first time I've really been social since we moved here a month ago. It was the first time it occurred to me to reach out and stop reaching in. Friendship is seriously nature's perfect medicine. (And kids and dogs and chocolate) It sounds simple because it is. It just works.

I've always looked to within myself to feel better when I'm down. I'm not sure it has ever worked, although every time I have ever felt down, I have eventually felt better. Maybe it was time. Maybe sometimes I could help myself. Maybe both. Maybe neither. People have said many things over the years. That it's very easy for me to close up within myself when times get tough and that it's nearly impossible for me to come out again. That I'm like a steel trap and when things get too close or personal, I snap shut again. These are all true. It is so easy for me to close up and so hard for me to fight that. I can't believe how difficult it is. It goes through layers and layers of caked-on, crusted over fears and insecurities to break free.

It's so hard to ask for help. Even asking for an epidural at 8 cm of hard labor was an ordeal.

Every now and then, I reach outside of myself. In this case, I had friends over. Friends with sympathetic ears. I can't believe how good it felt just to spend hours talking with friends who understand. Imagine doing that just a little every day. I want to.

Over Thanksgiving break, I fell asleep with my mom and two sisters while watching a couple of bad and weird movies. The bad was a made-for-TV Christmas movie starring a man I half-asleepedly called, "The Poor Man's McDreamy." Nicole Eggert was in this movie too, without even an iota of her "Blown Away" and "Charles in Charge" hotness. It was just...sad. Why am I still talking about this? Anyway, the weird was the very ending of a Ben Affleck/Sandra Bullock movie called "Forces Of Nature." As it was ending, it played a Sarah McLachlan song that once meant a lot to me. "Fear." It still means a lot to me:

"Morning smiles
like the face of a newborn child
innocent unknowing
Winter's end
promises of a long lost friend
speaks to me of comfort

but I fear
I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
here in this lonely place
tangled up in our embrace
there's nothing I'd like
better than to fall
but I fear I have nothing to give"

It's so me, it's scary! Oh, Sarah McLachlan. If you'd just pull yourself out of those depressing pet adoption commercials and wrote stuff like this again, you'd be fighting off those Lilith Fair Reunion Tour offers! I know it!! You're brilliant!

Sometimes, I'm so paralyzed by fear that I can't do anything, and that includes everything. Brew a cup of tea. Write a blog. Put my kid to bed. Start a photography business. Anything and everything. It's too much, too big. I can't buy a birthday present. I can't call a friend. I can't reach out. I can only reach in. I can only curl up into my own pain. And I know, during these acts of paralyzing fearfulness that I can do more. That if I'd just let go, reach out, embrace...well, God. Oh, the places I'd go. Through all of the hard and down times, I can still retain an impressive amount of spirit. As contained as it can be, it's in there always, waiting to burst free. It always will, somehow, eventually. And I just think, "Oh, the places you'll go."

I'm not going to say I found the secret to happiness here, or that this is even something brilliant to discover. Maybe most of you figured this out long ago. Reaching out helps. And I'm not going to say that I'll remember this every time I get upset and that I won't hide within myself. But maybe it will work just once, and then maybe twice, and then maybe more regularly.

And that will be progress.

Behemoth.

2011-11-27T19:48:00.001-05:00

Cassidy and I had big, big plans for our Christmas tree this year. This being our first Christmas in our new house (one month as of tomorrow!) and the fact that we have a living room with a cathedral ceiling and about ten picture windows? Our house practically screams for a good Christmas tree. Being Jewish, aside. As Cassidy sometimes says, "Go big or go home."

We went big.

We decided to take a different route back from our Jersey Thanksgiving vacation. We always take the most direct and fastest route and to be honest, it makes me very squirrelly. Some of you may know it well. Route 80E to Route 287N to whatever weird 87 gets you to the Tappan Zee Bridge to that horrible road between the Tappan Zee Bridge and Connecticut to The Merritt Parkway Which Makes Me Ill to Route 91N to Home. Doing this often is enough to make you skip Jersey trips from about May until November and this is not a good thing. If your family lives in Jersey, you must go. Build it and they will come. So it helps to find ways to make the roadtrip easier to swallow. We went the scenic route yesterday. Route 87N all the way to the Mass Pike, through the Berkshires and into the woods. To Route 20 and the back, back, way back way along the river and straight to our home. It was beautiful and peaceful and smooth. I didn't want to swear under my breath at other drivers even once. Well...maybe once.

Conveniently, our very favorite Christmas tree farm is right on the way home, right on Route 66. Outlook Farms in Westhampton. You can't beat it. It's also our favorite place for apple orchards, hay rides, homemade cider, exotic chocolate, egg and cheese sandwiches and pickles. In that order. Scarlet happened to have just fallen asleep and though we had to first empty the van out at home before loading up a tree, we were too excited to go home first. With our eyes on Scarlet napping in the car, we looked at big, burly Christmas trees. At one point, she did wake up and had a clear view of her parents holding up Christmas trees and I wondered what it was like to fall asleep in a car with your parents and wake up alone in a car and staring at your parents out the windshield - your mother nearly toppling over from tree weight.

Behemoth was named by Cassidy. It was the first tree that caught my eye. We looked at smaller models, some full, some tall, but Behemoth stood both tall and fall and a little out of the way of the others. He (I think it's a "He") was all I needed to see. "What about him?" I pointed to Behemoth. Cassidy was intrigued but since Behemoth was too big to move without breaking his back, we looked at others. At points we even said, "I think..this is the one." Nope. It was never the one. It was always Behemoth. Standing tall, at a height around 12-13 feet and who the heck knows how wide, Behemoth makes us proud.

To get the Tardis tree topper up there, Cassidy realized that our ladder wasn't tall enough so he moved Behemoth up against our loft and went upstairs from the second floor, and put the Tardis on the tree from there! Like it was nothing!

Behemoth was put up and lit only hours after Cassidy bought him and brought him home. The real treat began this morning when Scarlet "helped" us decorate the tree. She actually wasn't as destructive as I would have thought. Sometimes, she actually helped! She had many questions about what everything was and where it came from. Cassidy and I both kept finding ornaments we hadn't even remembered existed. We just have so many! And many we get for Christmas itself and they often don't have much of a chance, or any chance at all, to be displayed before we close up Christmas shop for the season. So it's like opening our Christmas presents all over again. So many memories, forgotten for a year, but then remembered so vividly.

Some Behemoth snippets:

(This one is pretty self-explanatory)

Reflections:

(I'm wearing some pretty cool star pants)

Homemade Doctor Who ornaments Cassidy made last year:

We sure love photo ornaments in our home:

Don't mind Blurry Batman swinging by:

My mom gave this one to Cassidy. He wore black Converse to our wedding.

Cassidy gave me this Scarlett O'Hara ornament two years ago.

Scarlett's Country Inn. For those of you following along, Scarlett owned a B&B out in Sonoma, CA that Cassidy's mom discovered several years ago, before I knew any Bowmans. When we got back together, we went to stay there for a few nights. We'd always go back to her over the years. It was a favorite place to go. She passed away last year in a car accident. Her inn is still running and we actually wound up staying there for a night not long after she passed but it nearly destroyed us. She is so missed and was an inspiration for our daughter's name.

We got this a few years ago when it was our first Christmas season at our old Chapel Street apartment.

This is our famous heavy polar bear ornament. We've had it for ages. Every year it's a challenge to get it in the best place. This year required a ladder and a near-falling experience.

We all love "Starry Night", especially after the Van Gogh "Doctor Who" episode. This was from Cassidy's first Christmas without Stormy.

I can't even tell you the amount of Star Wars, Harry Potter, superhero and Indiana Jones ornaments we have gracing our tree!

Not to mention the amount of moose, wolf, husky and bear ornaments..

Ornaments. They're treasures. Marked by the same time every year, they tell tales of hopes and dreams and milestones. Engagement. Marriage. Baby. New Home. Dog. Travel dreams. Pop culture loves. We've only been married 3 1/2 years and Behemoth is covered with our memories and love. Just imagine. Just imagine how big a tree we will have to get one day to hold all of our ornaments. Behemoth may one day be outmatched.

As anguished as he seems, Han Solo is sooo excited for the holidays.

When Black Friday Comes..

2011-11-25T19:28:00.001-05:00

I haven't meant to be silent with my blog. I have been on vacation in Jersey - having left two days before the Thanksgiving rush so that I could get some much needed rest, relaxation and restoration at my parent's farm. It has been restful, relaxing and restorative and I am thankful for that. I'm not much of a traveling writer. I can't type on laptops, for one thing. My palm always hits the space bar and either deletes some of my work or takes me back to a previous paragraph. This is highly frustrating. For another, I'm doing it right now only out of desperation, and holy cow, these keys are too short. I'm not a laptop user. I can't work on planes. I can't work in Starbucks. I can barely work here on my parent's farm.

I work best, and seemingly only, at the wonder of my own computer at my own desk with my wonderfully tall keyboard keys and my loft-view of the woods. And when that fails and I get desperate enough, my mom's MacBook Pro is here for me. So many days without writing has felt very strange. I kept thinking of things I wanted to tell you and things that have happened. I'd remember them at night but I've either been in vacation-mode or hectic holiday-mode lately.

Yet I'm not really back-logged with blogs and thoughts here. Not as much as I would have thought. Just, everyone needs a vacation sometimes. Truly.

The masses started arriving on Thanksgiving day. It was my parent's turn to host in Jersey this year and things were relatively quiet until then. Then three out of my four siblings came with respective spouses/baby. Cassidy's mom and her husband came. My dad's parents came. Four generations of Kleins, Jacobsons, Millers, Bowmans. Now that's power.

Highlights included:

- When my Grandma left to go I asked her if she had had a nice time. She told me and my dad later that night that it was the best Thanksgiving she could ever remember.

- My nephew, Andrew, is learning to walk and pushes around a large Little Tikes walker. Scarlet decided it was a stroller and sat in it. Andrew, a year and a half younger than Scarlet, was able to push her while she was in it.

- My in-laws! Cassidy's mom and her husband were there Thanksgiving night. His dad and his wife were there tonight. It's never any of that, "We'll have Thanksgiving with YOUR parents this year, mine the next, etc." We just do it all together a lot.

- Scarlet has three grandmothers, as you know. Although she's around them all a lot, there was a particular pairing of two grandmothers together today who hadn't been together around Scarlet in a year and a half. Her mind was blown. She actually introduced them to each other. "Amma, this is Nana. Nana, this is Amma." She kept looking up at them both in wonder. They all three went on a walk together. Seriously. Her mind was blown.

- Watching Scarlet and Andrew play together. I already mentioned it. I'll mention it again. Cousins. As good as siblings sometimes.

- Watching Scarlet play with Aunt Lindsay, Aunt Marisa and Uncle Matt. The kid has three Aunts and five Uncles. And she will most likely one day have six Uncles. She is so set for life. These are all decent, youthful, sexy, successful people. Seriously. How lucky is she?

How lucky am I? Back home tomorrow for Christmas tree shopping and a dose of real life, whatever that is.

Beating The Blues.

2011-11-20T19:37:00.001-05:00

Lately, Scarlet has hated taking baths. Only a month or so ago, they were a real source of excitement and something she specifically asked for on a daily basis. Now? They are a real source of tears and something she avoids on a daily basis.

Mostly, I don't let her win. The kid has growing curls and a tendency to spill yogurt down her dress, after all.

For several weeks I have attributed this bath fear to being in a new house. Maybe she just loved her old bathtub very much. Maybe she just knew her old bathtub very much. I can honestly relate to that way better than I should. It wasn't until the other day, when she was fine getting into the bath and not fine getting out, that I realized there may be another cause - cold shivers and the recovery. Every day of my life during the winter, it's always on the tip of my tongue and I always mean to post it on Facebook - literally, every day - but it's always so brief that I recover quickly and never remember to complain about it. I hate getting out of the shower. I don't mean this on any normal levels. For me it's something traumatic and I go through it every day and I push it off and I nearly cry about it every day. Maybe one day I'll buy a heated bathroom floor or heat my towels or step out of the shower into a sauna and then into a fireplace-lit room until I eventually get dressed. Maybe eventually money will find a way out of something I'm seriously not exaggerating. I hate it so much. So much.

It occurred to me that maybe my kid does too.

It may sound silly and petty and as they say a "first world problem." I can't argue with that. To me it's just symbolic of how things are harder during my harder times of year. If I'm already traumatized by the lack of sun and the abundance of cold, something as simple as getting out of a warm shower into a cold bathroom becomes climbing Mount Everest to me. Getting out of something warm and soothing and quiet, where no one expects anything from me, into something cold and jarring and loud, where I'm expected to do things. Some people have trouble getting out of a warm bed. For me, it's a hot shower.

We both fight our way through this every day, and we recover quite quickly. So quickly we don't even think to be scared about it again until we're right up against it the next day. Next days are still cold and showers are oh so steamy.

It's the little victories.

It takes me up to an hour sometimes after I get home to take off my coat and stay awhile. I don't like taking off my coat because it takes time for my body temperature to adjust. All adjustments just take time.

Lately I fight my November Blues with Starburst candies and blasting Florence and the Machine as loudly as possible while driving. Alone. When the sun is setting but not quite dark yet. New books from the library. Caramel Brulee Lattes.

One of my favorite photos I've ever taken:

Scarlet fights her non-existent November Blues by being super cool and totally herself. Running around like a maniac. Singing. Dancing. Laughing. Frolicking. Yes. She frolics.

Spastic. Joy. Frolicking. Spontaneous. Awesome.

It's those moments where you realize you don't have to wait until your kids are 13 and embarrassed by you that you realize you're not actually cool. Nope. I realized when she was two that I wasn't nearly as cool as she was.

Cause I don't dance and sing to myself while wearing my Halloween costume, after it's Halloween. Or, at least, I don't do that nearly enough.

This one below needs a caption, don't you think? Any takers?

Oh, Those November Blues.

2011-11-17T14:43:00.001-05:00

I've only been exempt from the November Blues once, maybe twice, in adulthood. The only time I remember was the November after Scarlet was born. She had just learned to roll over from tummy to back and one of her grandmothers had bought her a little Mrs. Claus dress. We hosted Thanksgiving that year in our warm and cozy apartment and it was grand.

Unfortunately, that is an exception to the rule. I think of November and March as similar months. They're gateway months. They're both sort of muddy, drab, coldish, windy, fierce, and...ugly. That's right. Ugly. The fall foliage of October has left November with bare trees and a grey cloud covering. The mud season of March eventually gives way to flowers and green grass. When I was a kid with a license, we used to drive to deserted beach towns when we were bored and looking for something to do on a Friday or Saturday night. For some of my life, I lived only 45 minutes or so from the Jersey shore. We used to love to go to Asbury Park and Seaside Heights and take pictures. I always needed to stop at Island Beach State Park because, March and November ugliness aside, that place is truly exquisite AND it's in New Jersey and I don't usually use those two in the same sentence so you'll have to trust me on this one. Foxes and trails and empty beaches. No Snooki anywhere.

With my camera and my "deep", analyzing 17-year-old mind, I thought that deserted beach towns in March look the same as deserted beach towns in November. But they are so, so different. In November, they are boarded up for what seems like eternity and they are sad, sad little towns of sadness. In March, they're hopeful. You can't see a difference but you can detect it in the atmosphere. The hot dogs and funnel cakes will fry again. The gears will turn on the creaky rides and they will soar again. You can hear the voices of the carnies and smell the suntan lotion of thousands of Jersey-made beach bodies. March. It's not really a nothing month, is it? It means that summer is a distant but distinct possibility.

November doesn't feel that way.

I don't think I've always had the November Blues. I'm certain that as a child I was much more like Scarlet 24/7 - "Are you happy?? Are you, are you? Thanksgiving is coming. Can you believe that? Oh, yes. And Santa Claus. He is coming. I am happy. Are you happy? I am so, so, so happy. We're Jewish but we celebrate Christmas. I am happy." That was totally me.

It just took a several bad Novembers, or maybe a few bad things to happen during one or two bad Novembers. I had a bad November once after a break-up and I wanted my boyfriend back so badly but he would hear nothing of it. Thanksgiving was held in a cousin's apartment after decades of having it at the big, roomy Klein-Jacobson homestead because they were already moving or had moved from the childhood home. The next year, I was reminded of the old boyfriend and I was still sad about that. My Uncle had sciatica which was so bad he could barely function and it was sad and Thanksgiving was held, yet again, somewhere unfamiliar. There were plenty of bad ones after that too. It's common to lose people in Nov./Dec.

This year, despite all of the newness - the new house, the new red pea coat for Scarlet, the new minivan, I really thought I'd beat the November Blues. In truth, I have them worse than ever. It's hard going through change without that "home" in-love feeling. With the sun going down around 4:30 pm. With the unpleasant November rain. It doesn't help that everyone I've talked with today has also voiced that they hate November. WTF, November?? Suck a little less!

And it will. It's already the 17th. Next week we'll share Thanksgiving. After that, December, baby. December is as dark or nearly as dark as November. But once that solstice hits, every day gets a little bit lighter. Sure, you're still thick in the snow/slush/dark/cold of winter for a long, long time, but those little bits of extra light help.

It helps to know we'll be getting lighter and no longer getting darker.

Do you have the November blues too? Or maybe another month you can never seem to love?

Into The Woods.

2011-11-15T15:59:00.001-05:00

When I was pregnant with Scarlet, I was obsessed that she be a girl. Obsessed. Almost to the point where I didn't want to believe my Ultrasound Technician for fear I'd be of the really, really small percentage of people who are told they're having a girl and actually have a boy. I know it's rare but we've all heard of that happening to a friend of a friend. Right?

And. I'm a little nutty.

I wanted a girl for a few reasons. One, my mom gave birth to two daughters so it was kinda the only life I knew for the first five years of my life. Two, there's nothing like a baby girl. Siiigh. All of these reasons are stupid, I know now. I wish I hadn't told people that I so wanted a girl because if I had had a boy, they would have thought I was disappointed. And as far as I know, no, I wouldn't have been disappointed with any healthy baby put into my arms, seconds after birth. I know this.

There was a real reason I wanted a girl. I wanted to name her after my grandmother, Bella. I loved my grandmother so, so, so much that after she passed, I wanted her name to live on forever. Or at least, for several more generations. This is the true reason I wanted a girl, or at least a girl first. I needed to use the name Scarlet Bella like I needed air to breathe.

Once I got my Scarlet Bella, I was convinced, that the rest of life would just be gravy.

There's a second real reason I wanted a girl baby. Three words. Red pea coat. I have always been known for wearing a red pea coat, or at the very least, some off shade of red. This has been going on since freshman year of high school and will continue into eternity. Track down anyone from my past. Ask them a physical feature of mine that stands out in their memory. They'll either say that my hair was super long or that my coat was red and pea. Guarantee it.

So when Nana sent Scarlet a package in the mail late last week I was delighted to discover a red pea coat, quite like any red pea coat I've ever had. My mini-me plans were complete! I rubbed my hands in delight.

Over the weekend, we three were in the yard and decided to go for a walk in the woods, and explore how far back our land goes. I made jokes about needing that land to build a sweat lodge, a mud spa or an underground Trader Joe's but...they weren't jokes. That's our land, baby! I think it's important to have land during these scary economic times. You never know when and how you'll need it. I just sounded exactly like my dad!

Dude. This is our land. "This land is my land! This land is your land..." Heck, no. This is our land. This is where we are safe from the Zombie Apocalypse. And can I just say? I don't like the current Zombie obsession/craze. I'm a Zombie Grinch. Can't stand 'em. That's just the part of me that secretly worries they'll be real one day. Or already are!!!!!

"One day, Simba, all of this will be yours."

So..mystical.

This land is her land.

The Bowman Homestead, for what she sees fit to do with it. And even if not, this is where her first memories will be located.

Bloggy Blah.

2011-11-13T20:33:00.000-05:00

At the risk of sounding completely immodest, I believe I sometimes make blogging look easy. With the exception of some recent and warranted hiccups, I have blogged at least three times a week for over a year and a half. And these blog posts were never afterthoughts. They were never forced. Each post was polished for up to two to three hours. Often more.

It was never easy. However, the inspiration always was.

I wrote like a well-oiled machine, without stopping, without getting backed up, without losing steam.

All of life's shake-ups, and there were plenty of those, never stopped my consistent blogging. If anything, they only added fuel to the fire and gave me not only something to write about, but something I needed to write about in order to effectively process my emotions. Or at least get a head start or a light in the murky fog. Some of my favorite blog posts were written under extreme sadness. And some were written under extreme happiness. Emotions are needed for the best of the best.

Which is why I think that lately, blogging has been a bit of a struggle for maybe the first time. And there are plenty of physical reasons and excuses - exhaustion, stress, adjustment. And really, you might not even notice the change! And as much as I want you not to notice, I almost hope some or all of you do notice even a slight change or hiccup. I certainly do.

I think it's because I haven't really been feeling lately. Not as much as I am capable of. The slight numbness is steady during the day. It slips through the cracks every night. Like the night I kind of cried watching that "Don't Stop" Lowe's commercial.

It's the way he patiently taps her on the shoulder and graciously asks her to dance at the end. It gets me.

And it's the nights that I fall asleep or zone out early and Cassidy puts Scarlet to bed. And I hear her cry out for me but we don't often interrupt each other's bedtime routines unless there's an extreme reason. And I just miss her.

I think of who she got during the day - the slightly watered down, numbed version of myself. And then it's night and it's too late and I feel alive again and in full, vivid color and I just want to wake her up and say, "Hey, it's me. Me."

Not laying in bed all day. Not skipping showers or meals. Certainly not skipping her baths or meals! Not even really noticeable to the untrained eye. But I know and I think she does too. When my parents were moving to their current house, a friend came to help. She said she was in the professional moving business and that she offered both actual packing/boxing help as well as emotional support. She said that grown men have often cried in her arms. She said that moving is hard for everyone.

And I suppose, my survival instinct/coping mechanism was to be a bit zombiefied for a week or so. It's neither right nor wrong. It's just...Tamara. And I first felt it lifting; I first felt the thaw on those mild days in which we sat in the grass together and played with leaves. Our "test" drives to the elementary school, only two miles away. Our trips to the local farm. Each click of my camera in our new yard. The fact that I wrote this in my head the other night while sleeping and I hadn't been writing things in my head at night in ages. And it stayed with me until I finally got the chance to get it down here.

I'm not someone who goes with the flow and adjusts instantly. I'm not sure I want to be. My eventual embrace of my new life has been taking time but it's unfolding. Slow and steady. As long as I find my way back here, each time, that means I'm ok.

Look for me here. Either right on time or late to the game, you'll always find me eventually.

It's Like Relationships.

2011-11-10T20:44:00.000-05:00

Did you ever leave someone, not because you fell out of love with them or they did anything wrong, but because someone different and irresistible showed up? I have experienced this a couple of times in my petty youth. It's always a little weird.

- Since you never fell out of love, or at least you didn't instantly, it comes back to haunt you sometimes. You may find yourself driving past their house or hearing a familiar song and feeling pangs of sadness. Every so often, you'll think of them and the good times and you'll wince. You'll feel pain at strange times.

- When holidays or birthdays come around, at least for a full year, you'll think about that last holiday or birthday with them.

- Sometimes you still have to get used to your newer lover, your newer model. There will be traits to adjust to that you didn't have in your previous lover. There will be upgrades in some departments and downgrades in others. In some ways, it won't feel like "home" the way your old relationship did. At least not at first.

Now think about everything I just said, and substitute two homes in place of two lovers. That's how I feel lately. I have to pass our old place constantly since it was a darn convenient location. I find myself slowing down the car and looking longingly at the windows. Sometimes I think, "Well, hey. If I lived here I'd be home already." Then I snap out of it and drive to my cozy new home. Honestly. I don't want to sound whiny and ungrateful and like I'm not happy with our fortune.

I'm just still getting used to my new home. Of course this is to be expected.

There are unfamiliar places and smells. Creaks and radiator blasts. It's not the right time of year to fully explore the things I want to explore. The yard. The feeling of the sun high in the sky. Sitting in an Adirondack chair on the deck. And then, unexpectedly, we got two days of warm, sunny bliss. What luck!

We set out to explore. To feel. We explored our new relationship. And found little surprises, some left intentionally and some left unintentionally. I thought more about my new "love." I thought about my new love's exes. And just like when you're in a new relationship and critical of the lover who was there before you, you pore over the disrepair and neglect you find. You shake your head and wonder how someone could have let a precious diamond slip through their fingers. Who were they? How they could not delight in all there is to delight in...? Did they just check out early? Find something different and irresistible?

Yeah. It's like that. Your loss is my gain. In love and houses, baby.

Well this certainly wasn't placed here by us! Curious little things like this...

I don't yet know all of the contours of its body (yard) but I'm learning. All the new places to love.

Finding out where pieces of myself belong in my new home.

We found ourselves sitting side by side, shoe to shoe, under the sun next to our new house. This is good. This is something familiar.

New swings. Obviously I didn't push her high enough because I was freaked out that she wasn't in a baby swing. So don't feel too sorry for her here. She really milks the pout.

To new love. May it shine wherever you find yourself in this strange world.

A Halloween Tale.

2011-11-09T09:15:00.001-05:00

Halloween 2011? Sucked. It sucked just as badly, if not more, as Halloween 1986. I think that's the Halloween that I bought a cheap plastic Cinderella costume at a garage sale for 25 cents. Then on Halloween I had a high fever and my grandfather took pity on me and tried to take me trick-or-treating but I only had the stamina to last three measly houses. Three measly candy "fun-size" (as in, not fun at all) bars. Or worse. Smarties. Ick.

In general, childhood Halloween was magical. It started in my house with Count Chocula cereal and presents and decorations. For dinner, we'd have "Halloweenies" which were hot dogs stuffed with cheese. Then the five of us would spread out with our collective gangs or groups of friends and stake our claims at the many houses sprawled on top of Mooney Mountain. We were told not get into cars with strangers and we got pamphlets about how to look for razor blades in our candy, but we generally knew most people and avoided most scary houses. Later that night, the five of us would gather back at home, dump all of our pillow cases of candy onto the floor of my bedroom (the largest of the five) and do some heavy-duty candy bartering. This lasted for hours until we all passed out from sugar shock.

In general, high school and college Halloween was magical. It was about trick-or-treating when you really no longer have business trick-or-treating. But maybe you're like me and you're growing six inches within one year and you literally need to eat a king-sized candy bar every hour post breakfast. It was also about first boyfriends/girlfriends and doing matching costumes with them. Or maybe it was about your hot older sister throwing a wild superhero costume party in her off-campus college house, and you showing up in a short, short skirt, red cape, Supergirl tunic and thigh-high boots.

In general, post-kids Halloween is magical. It's about getting your hair done in Princess Leia buns at 8:00 am and walking around town in a long white robe. And then bringing your three-month-old to your Beyond Birth class at the hospital in a Chewbacca outfit. And watching everyone laugh as your hairy little Wookiee eats her own fur. Then later you participate in the town's trick-or-treating and you run into one of the doctors who watched you labor and you delight when she looks you up and down and tells you you look pretty fantastic for three months post-birth. Then you go to three Halloween parties.

The next year you dress up as characters from LOST and your not even 18-month-old isn't old enough to mind when you stuff her into a full polar bear costume. You participate in a town-wide Halloween parade that brings back memories to you of every Halloween movie and commercial and TV show you've ever seen, but never see in real life. You might know what I mean - it's when the streets are literally crawling with people and spirit. Maybe it's because I grew up on top of a mountain, but I never saw such crowded streets in real life. Until the LOST year.

This next year is your last year, potentially, where you have any say in your child's Halloween costume. Or at least you fear it might be. So you brainstorm and finally agree that since you all three love "Doctor Who," you're going to be "Doctor Who" characters. And your crafty and creative husband lays out costume templates. And it works. And even though you're moving to a house and just bought a car and might fall over from stress-related causes, you're game. It's Halloween, after all.

Halloween. It's sacred. Then tell that to the freak snowstorm that blew in, blew out your power for 48 hours (and that's if you're lucky) and blew all of your Halloween plans. Even though our towns rallied and postponed Halloween plans until Saturday, November 5th. Even though your husband and daughter rallied, you just couldn't rally.

Not only did I miss Halloween, I missed "Fakeoween" - the term that my good friend's son came up with. I wasn't feeling well and I'm not one who can walk around in the cold happily even during healthy times. I'm really disappointed. My heart is a little broken. The saving grace was when Scarlet and Cassidy came home and she climbed into my lap and said, "Do you feel better, Mama?" "I love my Mama." And of course, "Are you happy?" And I was happy.

I was happy that she missed me as much as I missed her.

And I was happy that she trick-or-treated but is kinda too young to trick-or-treat so I got to steal a lot of her candy.

And I was happy that before they left, I felt well enough to take pictures.

For maybe the first time in history, friendly relations between The Tenth Doctor and a Dalek:

How could he have let the Sonic Screwdriver out of his hands??

A Doctor/Dalek kiss?? Unheard of!

And, me? I was a Tardis. A sickly Tardis. And just like how in many episodes the Tardis is broken or faulty or in mortal peril, or just strangely absent, I was suffering a brief technical breakdown myself.

Next year will be better. In so many ways.

The Adjustment Bureau.

2011-11-06T21:05:00.000-05:00

When Scarlet was about four-months-old my nursing style wasn't working well anymore, despite having worked well for three and a half months before then. We didn't figure this out at first until we brought her to the Pediatrician for her routine check-up and learned that her weight gain had fallen off its steady track. She wasn't eating enough because I was a one-sided nurser and she was hungry enough for two sides. Once adjusted, her weight gain was back on track. We didn't know she wasn't quite eating enough because she never "told" us she wasn't. At least not in any complaining ways. Just the way she never told us if she was cold or wet, in any complaining ways. The doctor even suggested, "It's not that your daughter isn't a little hungry. It's that she's super amazingly mellow and just...doesn't necessarily care much about being a little hungry."

That is Scarlet to a T.

Since we have moved, she has never once asked to go "home" or cried or missed anything about our old life. She only asked me once or twice if I missed the old house. Some of this is being two and some of this is being Scarlet.

I got the idea for writing this post on our first full weekday morning at our new house. We had all three woken up early. Or I should say, Scarlet had woken up early and that meant that we all three had woken up early. Cassidy had his first day of going to work from the new house. Even though we now have two cars and it was a beautiful, sunny, mild morning, I couldn't yet convince myself to operate fully. Scarlet was bathed, watered and fed. I was still in varying degrees of hunger, thirst and half-dressed. It was really not a great first full day, unless laziness is your objective. I kept thinking of libraries, bookstores and museums we weren't going to. Pictures I wasn't taking, despite the morning light in a new place. Laundry I wasn't retrieving from the dryer and then putting away. My stomach was growling and I was thirsty and doing nothing about it.

I thought about the way photography and writing have flown at a consistent pace for several months now and how I haven't even had time to question if I'd reach a dry or dryish spell again, because I was way too inspired to even think about that.

I sat down at my computer to start a new blog post or finish a draft blog post or upload photos.

I was completely uninspired.

And then I found inspiration in a sudden way. My office is in a loft which overlooks the living/dining room. Scarlet was quietly playing there and I could see/hear her the whole time. Until I couldn't anymore. I called out for her and asked her what she was doing. She said, "Putting on my gloves!" And then she appeared, wearing a hat and mismatched, too big shoes.

Then she put on other hats and other shoes and other clothes. It was a bit of a fashion show.

Which led to making fun shadows on the kitchen wall.

And stepping in and out of sunbeams.

I loved that she could entertain herself like this. I know she has and will have plenty of adjusting to do during this process, but she does it so well. While the long list of things to do, buy, decorate and fix leaves me fatigued and immobile, Scarlet adjusts in her special Scarlet way. She talks to her "Big Bad Wolf" puppet and tells him that Mama is sad but will feel better soon. And I'm astounded by her perception. I'm astounded that she is noticing not only my sadness, but noticing (or hoping) for its temporariness. She creates a nest on the couch of crayons, paper, a He-Man figure and random hand-me-down boys' summer sandals. She creates comfort and imagination out of very little. And me, with my multitude of emotions to write about and multitude of new photo opportunities could not seem to lift a finger to do anything at all that day.

Until I saw her, quirky in her winter hat, striped pants and shoes on the wrong feet. Her crayon drawings and puppet stories and songs she makes up. Her sunbeams and shadows. And it all clicked into place for me right then and there. Inspiration.

And I thank her profusely for it.

Good to be back to blogging regularly. Next up: Halloween pictures!

Five Stages.

2011-11-03T19:17:00.000-04:00

At the end of my life in my childhood home, the lock to my bedroom door stopped working. It gave the illusion of working, at times, but always someone could burst in at any minute, when I least expected it. It had worked for so many years, and really many times I'm glad about that, but for a brief time, it failed me. I didn't have a lot to hide at that point in my life nor did I have people in my life who would burst into my room unannounced. It was the idea of the broken lock that haunted me.

Sometimes it still haunts me today. It's like when you're trying to run in a dream but you can't run. I would try to lock my door and people would still burst in.

The night before the night before we moved (Moving Eve Eve?), I had anxious dreams all night. I realized that the broken lock dream was somewhat of an occurrence throughout my years. I dreamed my new house had a broken lock and that people kept bursting into my house at all times. I think this was about losing my space, my place, my control. In later dreams that night, I dreamed my engagement ring broke and I was trying to crazy glue the diamond back onto the band, except it kept growing and morphing and falling out of my pocket. I could never put it back together. Loss. Control. Loss of control.

I started to think I was a bit of a commitment-phobe, although not in any obvious ways. Maybe not a commitment-phobe, but maybe I just have a hearty fear of commitment. Not a phobia. A fear. I remember the night before my wedding, feeling very similarly to how I did the night before the night we moved. It wasn't about questioning my husband. It was about questioning the wedding and marriage and how it compared to my silly, childhood fantasies about that day. I guess I thought it would be more Disney-fied. I mean, I had the Disney princess hair and we had the horse and carriage and the color and fanfare, and hell, I had the prince. But did Disney princesses suffer crippling nausea the nights before their weddings? I think not! I was nervous, to put it very lightly. I was scared out of my mind. It was all good, though. Loss of unmarried life + married life = new life. I thought about that a lot on the eve eve of moving day. Loss of home + new home = new life.

When you're a little kid, or at least when I was a little kid, I used to dream about my future home. I never skimped on dreams, you see. I was going to marry a prince. I was going to be a movie star/singer/songwriter/astronaut/writer/filmmaker/dancer/pianist/female MLB player. That's how you dream when you're a kid, huh? Some enterprising adults still do dream that way. My future home was going to be modest but luxurious. Canopy king-sized bed, jacuzzi bath looking out over the mountains, open air hot tub, Adirondack rocking chairs, decks, wraparound porch, porch swing, walk-in closet with shoe section, and so on and so on. I had it all figured out.

Except that I hadn't, of course.

The night before we moved to our new house, I was finally excited. I wasn't nervous or petrified anymore. I applauded the childhood dreams we carried out - some type of fireplace, large yard, chalet ski lodge style, deck, and I did not mourn the childhood dreams that are still too lavish for our budgets - hot tubs, jacuzzis, swimming pools, canopy king-sized beds. Maybe someday. It's good to always have things to dream about. I was excited. My mind was at least temporarily in the right place. I had completed my personal Tamara-branded Five Stages of Change. Whether it's a relationship ending, the death of a loved one, moving to a new house, I always seem to follow these stages in order:

1. Panic - This is unfortunately usually the first reaction to change or loss. I've been lucky not to experience it all that often in life. It just means a big change. I could go my whole life without big change and the anxiety, chills, and exhaustion I temporarily get, but I guess that would mean I wasn't living much. At least that's what I tell myself.

2. Numbness - After Panic and before the real action, I start to feel good again after panic. Only, it's usually too early to feel good since I haven't yet carried out or coped with what I have to carry out or cope with. I call it a fake good feeling. Maybe it's denial. It is a nice reprieve from panic often.

3. Inevitability - This is when something is really happening and I'm past the panic point and close enough to no longer feel numbness. This is usually when I get my best work done. If it's moving, I make plans to move on and move in. If it's a wedding, I get extreme on the details. If it's loss, I'm coping with it fully whether it's through writing, talking, exercise, photography. This is a time of great action and a few sleepless nights.

4. Sadness - This is when I finally feel the sadness I'm waiting to feel. Even when it's a good change, it's still a change. It's still a goodbye, whether to a way of life or a home. I will usually finally cry during this stage. Most likely in the shower or on the phone to my mom.

5. Adaptation - This is quite simply when I adapt. It's my eventual embrace. My adoption of my new life with or without someone or something. It's often shaky at first and then just flows the way it's supposed to flow.

These are five neat little stages, but of course, there are relapses at times. I don't know where I am right now, emotionally, but I'm sure I will figure it out and write about it here.

What will happen? Who knows?! Will it be sad? Will it be beautiful? Probably both. I guess it's time for adjustment and more adjustment. And so on.

The Perfect Storm.

2011-11-01T20:09:00.001-04:00

Well, I'm back now after the longest silence from my blog to date. Even before I started my regular Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday schedule, which I had NEVER broken before thank you very much, I was still pretty regular. If I went three or four days without blogging, I'd start to get a little dicey. My fingers would itch to type. My brain would feel too heavy with the lack of regular release of complex emotions. It sucks, to be honest. I'm a blogger, through and through. I do it because I love it. I do it because I need to do it. I do it because it hurts not to. And boy, have I been hurting for the last several days.

This storm really kicked my a**. I don't often experience a**-kicking storms. We had a heavy ice storm in Conway when we were temporarily living there three years ago. I was newly pregnant and the power wasn't showing signs of restoration for several days so we escaped to Jersey. This time, we didn't have that option because as of the time of writing this, (around 1pm on November 1st.) my parents still don't have power, poor things. Even before that, back in 2007 when we finally agreed upon marrying on a mountain top in Chittenden, VT, I met a fierce blizzard. This was December before the April 2008 of our wedding and our whole families were invited to stay for a free weekend. It was glorious at first. Dog-sledding into the deep woods, luxurious accommodations, food/wine tastings and tours...then it all went downhill. A great blizzard blew in and we were eventually kicked out of our luxury house into the older, less glamorous, less hot-tubby main building. This event later inspired managment to get a generator but they hadn't yet. We spent a cold, awkward night huddled with strangers around a fire, eating pasta dinners. Then we had to get up at 3am to somehow get off the mountain and get to Burlington Airport where our flight was miraculously not canceled - but should have been. After pure terror and nausea-inducing turbulence, we were deposited at Newark Airport where we had to then fly the six hours back to San Francisco. I had the middle seat. This was probably about when I decided I had had enough of winter, but I had also had had enough of flying in the winter.

Unfortunately, I was screwed either way. Live there but have to fly here. Live here but have to deal with winter.

And yet after those two excruciating winter storms, this Snowtober Halloween Storm was worse for me. I never even saw it coming. I heard the weather reports but pretty much laughed them off. We hadn't lost power during Hurricane Irene. I wasn't worried. I had enough to deal with. On Friday morning I was a table host/photographer of an important fundraising breakfast.

The MotherWoman Breakfast was on top of a beautiful mountain. Up there was a bit of snow and ice. Odd for October, but it was the top of a mountain after all..

Doesn't this view really knock the life and breath back into you?

After that big enough deal, I had to go home and move. Or rather, stand and read as all of my furniture was taken from me. Then we finally got to the new house at nightfall and managed some unpacking, Scarlet-wrangling, and dinner before we fell asleep, exhausted. On Saturday we woke up ready to shop and connect with our new home. We didn't get very far.

I was faced with something I'm not sure I've ever been faced with - I lost power in my own home for over 48 hours. I just don't remember that happening as a child, although my parents may remember differently. I remember black-outs, sure. Scrambling for flashlights and candles. Being over-prepared. Telling scary stories. Huddling around the kerosene heaters. I just recall that each time the power came back after a few hours, tops. In all of my later apartments, I'd never lost power for any significant amount of time. So this was why I wasn't worried at first the other day. Then I found myself praying in the middle of the night, huddled under 2-3 blankets. Just praying. This couldn't continue! We had only spent one night here.

I had no connection yet. I had no chance to make a connection here. So I had no "real" place to call home. No warm, connective place to call home anyway. I was suffering. Literally suffering. I was pale and gaunt and unpacking in a Land's End winter coat and hat. And I still couldn't get the chill out of my bones. It was a complex chill, full of emotional and physical trauma. I felt homeless again just like I had felt three winters ago. Only, it was fall! Not only that, Halloween weekend! We had to flee again, this time for two nights in Conway, which miraculously never lost power. It was much needed rest and relaxation. And pure restoration. Now we're back and warm and with cable and I'm finally uploading the photos from the storm. Boy, it was a doozy out here in the Northampton wilderness. 3.4 miles from our last home but a different world.

What is in those deep northern woods, I wonder? I shudder to think and I also delight in the thoughts of moose, bears and wolves. My northern animal trifecta of favorites. I'm pretty convinced that Bigfoot was once spotted near our property.

We woke up to this Saturday morning:

We felt like Han Solo did.

Thanks to Cassidy for taking this next set.

It sure looks cozy on the outside but the inside was very much not so. Poor house. We never even had a chance to bond.

We're making up for long lost cozy time tonight.

Fing Fingin' Away.

2011-10-27T20:03:00.000-04:00

When I was pregnant, I signed on to get those babycenter.com emails. You may know them - the "fruit" emails. If at all possible, your unborn baby is likened to a piece of fruit to describe size. It doesn't work in the beginning, say, when your baby is a microscopic system of cells by one week and a poppy seed by the next. At the very end, I'm not sure they can find a fruit big enough. Maybe even watermelon is too small. I believe they eventually say, "Your baby is currently the size of...a baby. Happy Laboring, my friend." (Or something to that effect) I loved those emails. I used to get them every Friday.

Scarlet was born on a Thursday, the night before her due date and 40th week email anniversary. My trusty email still did come because I hadn't, in fact, contacted babycenter.com to tell them that my baby was now a baby.

I loved these emails for their aspect of time. In this world, events you want to happen slowly, happen swiftly. Events you want to happen swiftly, happen slowly. In the world of pregnancy, I wanted time to move quickly, and oh quickly, did it move. I'm not a patient person. I would look ahead to the coming weeks and see what my blueberry and apple and jicama were up to. And how it affected me. I loved knowing that in between just a week of two "Gossip Girl" episodes, my sesame seed started growing ten fingers and ten toes. That as I reclined and slept a lot and ate somewhat questionably, as I applied for jobs I wasn't getting, as I learned the New England world around me, days were long and hard. November and December were gray and icy and treacherous. Yet in my body, a miraculously warm & thriving system of life was taking place.

So fast. The economy may have crashed. My world stood still. But, Scarlet - she was growing at the speed of light.

On the outside, her life was similar at first. I still got my weekly emails, time-adjusted a day earlier to her birth, of course. Now, on Thursdays I learned just how much my ever-growing miracle was changing. One week, vivid smiles. The next? Vivid laughs. Processing, growing, gaining eyesight, eye contact, motor control, grasp, emotion, self-soothing, babbling, growth.

Freakin' miracle, all of it.

Somewhere along the line, time stopped moving at the speed of light. It had to. I couldn't afford her outgrowing new clothing sizes every week. That slowed down to every month, and now, every year. The new interests, the sleeplessness at trying to master skills, the painful growth spurts, the teething, the language...somewhere along the line, I realized she wasn't unrecognizable week by week. That she wasn't turning microscopic into tadpole-like in the blink of an eye. That she wasn't turning half-blind into seeing in between two dreary Thursdays. She's always changing, yes, (aren't we all) but maybe it's not as drastic right now. Or vividly, openly drastic. Expression of emotion seems to be her latest 2.3/almost 2.4 endeavor:

"I feel sad because..."

"It scared me because..."

"You found my Elmo! I love you because of that."

"I'm happy. Why? I'm happy to eat this apple."

"Are you ok, Mr. Dinosaur? Are you sad because it's raining?"

"How are you? Do you feel better now?"

And with this ability to express emotions, comes processing emotions. And she's processing fears with language and with a bit of my help. And it's fantastic.

The Slide was a fear semi-recently conquered. However, the fear of The Slide was never as great as the fear of The Swing. I believe I successfully put her in a baby swing once when she was maybe five or six months, and it only lasted enough for my friend to snap two or three iPhone pics. Recently, I had to go to the local park twice in one day. One time was for a party and the other time was for a casual photo shoot. Both times, she was in the swing for practically an hour. She calls it "finging" and talks about it constantly. I don't know what changed in her to embrace swinging. Something did.

When I was a kid I remember how much I wanted to attain that mini roller coaster stomach feeling you get on that first big swing. I love watching her grimace and then squeal as the feeling overtakes her.

Ever try swinging as an adult? I'm sure I did it as a teenager but it's been awhile. I would have thought it would make me queasy. It doesn't. Still feels like flying.

Sometimes after a particularly good swing session, she asks me to put on Tom Petty's "Learning To Fly" when we get in the car.

I'm not at all a thrill-seeker. Even as an adult I have never been on a roller coaster and I'm pretty much scared of sledding hills. I see little traces of that in her, but maybe that's just normal two-year-old stuff. I also see the physically braver parts of her father in her. I like that. The caution and the courage. The yin and the yang.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll be waiting a lot on benches at amusement parks while those two go on rides. Will I ever get the guts to join them? Will I grow and change slowly as she does?

If I never do gain her physical courage at least I know I'll always be there taking photos of it all and cheering them on from a safe distance. Waiting and watching, always. And relishing it.

Skin.

2011-10-25T20:33:00.000-04:00

Lately I've felt myself letting go of our current home, piece by piece, room by room. I'm not going numb but I do feel as if I'm shedding my skin - comfortable, warm skin that I've gotten quite used to in almost three years here. Sleek, tight skin. Perfectly matched to my internal organs. And now it's too small and I'm slithering out and I'm letting it go. Goodbye.

Last week, with three days to spare until closing and 2 1/2 weeks until a complete and utter move had to be made, Cassidy set me up with a packing project: To go through several large boxes of my childhood holiday decorations and keep what I want to keep and trash what I want to trash. A simple request, maybe, for someone without my intense over-sensitivity issues. I don't even know if "issues" is the word. Maybe Over-Sensitivity Neurosis or Psychosis. I got a bit weepy, to be sure, for a variety of reasons:

1. I thought of my children doing the same thing one day - going through stained and torn Valentines, dusty Halloween bears, chipped snowman figurines - deciding what is worthy of a new home, and what is worthy of a garbage bag. And how do you even put those labels on over 20 years of memories? However dusty.

2. It's hard to let go. This is the most obvious answer, which is why I didn't put it first or last.

3. Mainly, it was the fear of the physical objects actually containing memories. I wasn't afraid to throw away a dusty, empty heart-shaped box of chocolates (that probably still had chocolate residue, ick) that my 8th grade boyfriend gave to me because I actually wanted that thing in my new house. I was afraid to throw it away because I was afraid to lose the memories attached to it. Let me explain:

Ever get a friend request on Facebook and you sort of recognize the name but you don't remember what phase of your life that person is from, and you accept the request and pore over their photos until finally it comes to you? And then you may think, "Wow. I remember that person, better by the minute, but I NEVER would have ever thought of them again without this reminder. This trigger."? They would have stayed buried in my mind, but still vivid. Intact but gone. It's like that. Without looking at that empty chocolate box, I never would have remembered that it existed and how it felt to get my first heart-shaped chocolate box.

Maybe that only happens to me. My brain has strange storage capacity organization sometimes.

When I was going through these old boxes of holiday junk, I started to remember the holiday, the year, the feeling, the moments of life I would NEVER have remembered if I hadn't been holding these chipped, cracked, dusty, moldy pieces of elementary school holiday party junk in my hands.

Sometimes it's hard to let go. This is the most obvious answer.

As I started to go through more boxes, I found items that were given to us for our engagement, our wedding, our move to the east coast. These were also things I NEVER would have remembered if they hadn't been in my hands. Even very recent things. A brain can only focus on so much at once, I guess. I looked at Cassidy beside me and it made me think that we've been together longer than it seems. We've done a lot of living, for sure, in the five years since we've been together, but hell some of it went by in a flash. And I started to think of all of the different incarnations I have adopted. The lifestyles, boyfriends, homes, mantras. I have let go of many things and it has hurt me many times. I have thought I couldn't possibly go on anymore before letting go of some things. And each time, I have gone on. I have found new happiness. New homes. New lives. I started to think I was a bit of a cat with nine lives or a Time Lord from "Doctor Who" with 13 regenerations.

This thought first came to me months ago but I didn't know how to verbalize it. I had been contacted by an ex, who I hadn't seen or really heard from in five years. And I thought about the power we had together; the power we still had with each other, like it or not. And then I became dizzy with the thought about everything that had happened in the five years between contact - I moved to the west coast, got married, moved east, had a baby, had 17,000 bad jobs and maybe one or two good jobs, fell in love with a dog, lost a dog, saw several moose, drove cross country, traveled to new states, and mostly, Scarlet.

Five years. Three or four lifetimes. Incarnations. Homes. Skin.

Sometimes I feel so lost like I'm somewhere foreign and I'm not in my own skin. I feel like I'll never feel the same comfort I've been feeling. And I won't. I'll feel a new comfort. A new love. A new home. We can come back again. Regenerate. Rebuild.

I'm not a cat. I'm not a Time Lord (darnit!). But I do shed my skin and start anew.

Soon...live blogging from here...so soon:

While You See A Chance, Take It.

2011-10-23T19:25:00.000-04:00

When I was 16 or so, I was pretty sure I knew the secret to life. I was pretty darn proud of myself about it too. Little me, a teenager from Jersey, knowing the secret to life. I could have set up a tent and charged people ten bucks to tell them my life secrets, I was that confident at the time. I seriously wish I still had that confidence because with my 15 more years of wisdom, I could be rich this way. So the secret to life. Ready? Wait for it...

...the secret to life, by my 16-year-old self, is living. That's quite simply it. You live. Against all odds. You do have a choice, of course, but it seems that most people choose to battle their tragedies, illnesses and intense pain of loss with the big and small things that make us alive. The laughter of a child. The laughter of your own child. The feel of the sun on your shoulders. A view of a valley of autumn foliage from the top of a mountain. Snickerdoodles. I have no idea where that one came from, but yes, snickerdoodles could be a secret to living. Remember, this isn't the most highly evolved theory...

I have spent my life knowing I'd have children. I never went through a phase, either long or for 30 seconds, in which I didn't want children. And I truly believe that if my path thus far hadn't been somewhat easy, I would have done anything to be a mom. I know that might sound stupid since I don't know what it's like to struggle - to be aging and single, to be infertile, to be destitute. However, in the means I've been given and the way I was raised, I believe I would find a way. I'd visit a sperm bank or ask a male friend for help. I'd apply to adopt. I firmly believe I would fight the fight of my life to have children. Or, heck. A child. It only takes one. I wanted a child or children specifically for the purpose of showing them the secret to life.

My grandiose 16-year-old version of the secret to life. Living with joy and laughter and knowledge and kindness. Power. The power that comes with knowledge and kindness. And a great head of hair. It's so easy for many people, and definitely me, to get caught up in the exhaustion and stress of daily living. I'm lucky in that I want to spend my days with Scarlet and I do spend my days with Scarlet, but not without compromise of time and money. I'd love to say that every day we have together is sunshine and rainbows and lollipops. And that I never lose patience and that I've never wanted to lay on the couch all day while she fends for herself. Nope, never. And I'm beyond ok with not measuring up to unrealistic expectations. Always.

What I'm not ok with is losing not only myself but my original plans for parenting so soon in this process. She's two now. I don't want to say, "In a minute - I'm busy" when she sweetly asks me to color with her. Sometimes I do. And I don't think I need to spend 100% of our time together drinking her in. Frankly, we'd both get sick of that. I need to take care of myself too. And sometimes I do respond with, "Uh-huh" when I hear her rambling about something. I used to hate when parents did that! I wanted to slap them and say, "God, look. Look what you have in front of you. It's a miracle. Enjoy it, dipsh*t!"

Sometimes, I'm a dipsh*t. Sometimes, you have to be.

The other day Steve Winwood's "While You See A Chance, Take It" came on the radio and I felt like the radio gods were speaking just to me. I can get so stressed lately - the new house, the new car, the chance to be a professional photographer. Ooooh-ooooh, scary! I have opportunities that many people don't have. Why don't I just have a panic attack about it right here and now! Ok I will, thank you much. This is what I mean about being a dipsh*t. Not sometimes. Often.

So we drink in the cool fall air and we revel in each other's laughter. When she asks me to throw some leaves in her face but I'm too busy...reading US Weekly (love)...goshdarnit, I will put down the magazine and throw leaves in her face. And photograph it! I don't have to do everything she asks of me, but god, I need to show her the joys of living.

She already knows them, of course. I need to show her that I do too. That I'm not always a dipsh*t. Only part-time.

Over the last few days, Scarlet has played therapist several times. She has put light in people's dark days. She has said, seemingly out of nowhere, to hurt people in our lives, "I'm so happy to see you." She has thrown her arms around people who needed it most. This kid will have her own secret to life by three, I suppose. She'll be published by four!

And I made her! I take partial credit, for making her, and maybe an iota of credit for making her this magical way:

I was sad, I admit, when she was no longer a "baby." The baby-to-toddler transformation stung a bit. I was just so proud to have a baby. I loved counting her age in weeks and having people admire her in my sling. Little did I know she'd one day stop elderly people on the street and say, "Hiiiii! Are you happy?" Yup. She did that yesterday. Proud, I was.

When Steve Winwood's "While You See A Chance, Take It" came on the radio, we were driving around our town admiring a mountain top in front of us. In our new minivan, Scarlet can see much more of the road than she's ever seen and I'm not sure she had ever seen the top of Mt. Tom while driving. So I asked her if she wanted to climb that mountain. She said, "Sure!" as game as ever. So we did. And it was worth it.

When a beautiful mountain is looming in front of us, but I'd rather huddle under a blanket on my couch and be scared of the grand life ahead of me, I'll shake myself out of the fear. Climb every mountain. You're lucky when you have the chance.

Oh, these chances to be alive, to feel the breeze through our hair, to climb that looming mountain ahead of us on the road. Sometimes you just do it. Take the left turn into the mountain top entrance. Enjoy your new car and embrace your new house. Keep getting those photography clients. Stop ignoring your cute, curly-haired toddler. See a chance. Take it.

Just call me a Reformed Dipsh*t. Or a Recovering Dipsh*t. Yeah. I like that.

*Scarlet was only ignored three times in the fervent making of this blog post.*

You Can Have It All..

2011-10-20T20:20:00.000-04:00

...except for your sanity.

On Tuesday of this week, we signed our lives away. No, really. In the morning, we had our house closing. In the evening, we bought a new car. Not a brand new car, mind you, but a new enough car. Surprisingly, buying the car took more writer's-cramp-inducing signatures than closing on the house did. However, as Cassidy says, looking at the interest/numbers/monthly bills of a house in comparison to a car makes buying a car look like a cake walk. He joked that everyone should buy a car on the same day they buy a house! Everyone should be so lucky...

So, we are moving into a new house. Not a brand new house, mind you, but a new enough house.

And we now have a second car. I no longer have to go to Westfield with Cassidy in both the mornings and the evenings, with Scarlet, if I want to use the car for a day. For something major - doctor appointments, job interviews, photography gigs. Or even something minor - getting out of the house on a rainy, dreary day. Taking my kid to the library to see her favorite fish tank. Buying a new purse because my strap broke.

All of that is within my reach. Right now, I could go anywhere, do anything..within reason, of course. I do mostly everything I do with a two-year-old in tow. The freedom and the endless possibilities are overwhelming, just the same.

And everyone keeps asking me, "Are you happy? You've got to be so happy! This is what you wanted, right? Right???"

Of course it is. But the weird looks I get when happiness isn't my first emotion. God, it makes me wish I had a simpler mind. I am happy, but I am a lot of other things too. My mind has the processing power of an overheated computer, I'm telling you. I'm rarely ever just one thing. I'm bittersweet. I'm a mixed bag. I'm thinking of the past, the present and the future all at once. Always. It's like time is happening all at once in my head. The absence of time? It exists. In my mind. Say, I won the lottery. My initial feeling would be joy, sure, but within 30 seconds I can assure you I'd feel nauseous, nervous, scared, undeserving, stubborn to the change it will bring to my life, reflection on the past and how hard I've worked, extreme over-thinking of the future and how it will all change. Scarlet's future. Having a second home. The work this will all bring. Will people take advantage of us? I don't want to be in the news! I don't want people to know I won the lottery. Oh, god. We are going to be on TV? Does this mean I have to stop budgeting? Sometimes, I rather enjoy budgeting. Oh, god. Should we switch doctors, cars, homes, everything? Should we upgrade our lives? Should we do that NOW? I need an idea of when this all changes? What should we dooooo? How will our lives change? How will our futures change? How will WE change?

Winning the lottery is a great, great thing, I think. But, happy? That's just too easy.

You can write me a prescription for Xanax about now, if you want, but I'll never take it. I process things fast and pretty early. I have always gotten by that way. Take freshman year of college, for example. Within a few hours of my parents seeing me off, I curled up in the fetal position on my new twin bed and cried for about...oh, eight hours. I missed dinner. I missed night one of parties. I missed meeting new people. Everyone, including and especially my new roommate, thought I might be crazy. I wasn't crazy. (well, I suppose that is subjective) I was just processing heavily, instantly. I thought of my past, my present, my future. It overwhelmed me. Happy? Yes, I suppose. Excited? Yes, I suppose. Somewhere in the jumbled mess, I really was happy. I really was excited. But I had to process to get there. I had to feel everything, all at once, all the time. I got to a good place after a day or two, or four, and never looked back. And then when all of my dorm-mates finally went through their homesickness and processing, I was there for them. And man, theirs lasted even longer than mine! Geez. I was better off than most, believe it or not...Sometimes you just have to get it off your chest right away. I don't always feel things so fast, or even at all, so I have to take full advantage of non-numb times when I do.

So, right now. New car, new house. Happy? Excited? Sure, maybe, somewhere? I'm a lot of things. I'm thinking about monthly bills and I'm feeling undeserving of these sudden life changes and I'm feeling overwhelmed about new decisions and I'm adjusting to the changes. Happy and excited will certainly be in the limelight of my mixed emotions. Eventually, they'll take center stage while every other emotion sits idly in the wings. This, I know. I just need a little processing time to get there.

The fact is, I'm not simple and uncomplicated. Sometimes I really, really wish I could be. Wow, what a life that would be! And other times I throw in the towel in defeat and bask in the knowledge that I have people I can over-analyze to. I'm ok being a little nutty. Besides, if life were so simple, what the heck would I write about??

I'll Stop The World And Melt With You.

2011-10-18T18:12:00.002-04:00

For something new and exciting, I'm doing a food review today. Now you all know I like way too much to use my blog to talk about myself and Scarlet. And post pictures of Scarlet. So you can imagine that the food I'm reviewing is pretty special, huh?

It is. It's Melt Buttery Spread. All photos by me, of course.

Melt is an organic butter alternative created by a woman who was placed on a very restrictive diet by her doctor after battling severe digestive orders. She found that butter tastes great but isn't healthy. Some butter alternatives are healthy but not tasty. Margarines are neither healthy nor tasty! She heavily researched fats and oils and used her own kitchen to create what would eventually be Melt, a butter alternative that tastes great and on top of that, has health benefits.

You really can't beat that, huh? The website contains some key info about the product:

Virgin coconut oil

Butter substitute

Healthy gluten free butter

I actually had the pleasure to meet Cygnia once, years ago, and we sat down and talked about food and health for hours. I was riveted, to be honest. I was inspired. I have long been on a quest to eat foods that are "real" and whole foods. I'm so sick of chemicals and additives and food colorings added to products that don't need food coloring! (Grocery store pickles with a nice dash of Yellow6, anyone? Gross). Then I had a baby and my baby grew into a very choosy toddler, and I grew quite choosy as well with what I'd put in her precious stomach. Choosy moms don't choose processed peanut butter, like the peanut butter ad says. Choosy moms choose REAL FOOD for their ultra choosy toddlers. At least, I like to believe that.

Melt came into my life on a cold and rainy and dreary Thursday. Now many of you may know that I'm a food dabbler. I'm not a vegetarian but I freakin' love tofu and eat it like candy. I'm not a vegan and I do like butter, but I was genuinely interested in trying something healthier. Especially since I tend to slather butter generously over my food. I wanted to make my favorite foods that I usually use butter for and substitute butter with Melt. Simple as that. To me, that is the real test of this review. Would Melt hold up in places I need it to hold up in?

So Cassidy and I set forth to see how Melt tastes in or on all of our favorite foods!

My husband and I don't always eat the same dinner. It may sound strange but it works for us. He tends to be a healthier eater than I am and I tend to be a very frugal eater with the palate of a five-year-old. I usually eat what Scarlet eats, and vice versa. On the first night I had baked potato bar. I didn't take any pictures because I was initially embarrassed that I was going on and on about "healthy" food and then eating a buttery, bacony, cheesy baked potato. I mean, doesn't that kinda defeat the purpose? Nope. It doesn't. Melt tastes creamy, a bit coconutty and certainly buttery. It melted right into my potato and was DELICIOUS. Now Cassidy, usually the healthy one, decided to go all out and try Melt on his all-time favorite comfort food meal. A meal he's been making since he was five-years-old and has never once changed the recipe...

Until now...Spaghetti with clam sauce.

A thick, buttery, garlicky, parsley sauce. Melt held up and he said the meal was delicious, lighter, and maybe even better than normal. He murmured his appreciation several times. Now that's an authentic compliment.

Later that night Cassidy made one of my favorites - popcorn on the stove! With Melt. We both agreed it worked really well because we didn't get that greasy after-feeling we get from using half a stick of butter on our popcorn!

Over the next few days, we used Melt in place of butter all the time. A favorite for me was scrambled eggs and toast! One thing strange about me is that as much as I love butter, the smell of butter cooking in a pan sometimes makes me queasy. I chalk this up to an early pregnancy memory from years ago. I was so happy when scrambling eggs that Melt gave off no such offensive smell. It smelled delicate and a bit nutty in the pan. Mmm...!

Another favorite for me was using Melt on broccoli. One of my favorite meals is steamed tofu, rice and broccoli. I really liked the creaminess of Melt on broccoli. I really love broccoli alone but found it better with a little something to liven it up.

And last but not least - a contest to enter! Please, please do so.

Mingle with Melt!

You readers get a chance to win a party for you and ten friends with a $500 Mingle With Melt VISA gift card. One reader and the blogger (me!) will each win their own foodie night in with friends and you can use the gift card to buy food, supplies, decor, clothing, and whatever else you'd like for the food party. Melt will feature each winner's party photos and original Melt recipes on their Facebook page and website. The contest lasts through October 31 and it's a blog-only contest...as in...there's a chance you can actually win.

To enter, simply enter your name, email, and the blog you came from (mine) at this link

Good luck out there!

The Most Beautiful Thing I've Ever Seen.

2011-10-16T19:45:00.000-04:00

Did you ever see the movie American Beauty? I didn't see it until soon after it came out on video, maybe when I was 16 or so. A good friend had told me it would resonate with me and I have to say, it not only resonated with me. It destroyed me. I sat in quiet shock for about twenty minutes after it ended. I've only done that a few times in my life. I sat in shock after Jaws and Edward Scissorhands, both seen on the same sleepover party night when I was ten. I was horrified and impressed by Jaws. I was impressed and inspired to be a filmmaker after Edward Scissorhands. I sat in shock after The Lion King when I was 13. I sat in horrified and later intrigued shock (required a second and up to 30th viewing) after The Rocky Horror Picture Show, also when I was 13. When I saw Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, I pretty much stopped talking for an hour. It's still my favorite to this day, I think. Who knows. I've grown a lot since I last saw it, in so many ways. But, wow. Those movies don't come around a lot anymore. The movies that shake you up and change your world...all in a good way, of course.

Flabbergasted. Astonished. Astounded. Dumbfounded. Completely and utterly blown away. Changed.

But..American Beauty. I do love the strange teenage boy who films a plastic bag floating in the street and says it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. What I like even more is the last three minutes or so of the film with Kevin Spacey's voiceover. It's a literary and visual masterpiece:

"I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me... but it's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday."

I totally got it. At least I thought I did at 16. I had been to some dark places and back even then. And once you get back again, well you don't get back, you get even higher and lighter than you were originally. And then you go even darker than you ever thought possible next time. And even higher when you come out of it. I kinda got that at 16. I get it even better now. I guess it will always grow, in bad and good ways. The good times and the bad times - they grow in depth as you age.

Maybe that's just me.

The most beautiful thing I've ever seen is not a plastic bag floating on a dirty street. It's sunlight on eyelashes and curls. The autumnal mingle of leaves, clouds and light. Sunbeams. Light, light and more light. Light on snow. Light on grass. Light on Scarlet. Light in her eyes.

Beautiful sad faces. (Don't worry - she wasn't sad for long. She just wanted to go inside sooner than I did.)

Watching her entertain herself and learn as she goes.

Winking.

Fall pancakes.

Fulfilling one of her life dreams. She wanted to ride "her" train with Nana. She even dreamed about it and woke up talking about it. So we had to do it.

Conquering fears on The Slide.

Reading my book on my chair. But it was so cute, I allowed it to happen.

The simple quiet of a fall afternoon.

Dancing to music that no one else can hear.

Scarlet + The Who Dress + Sunlight + Fall Foliage + Puffy Cloud Blue Sky = The Best.

A new favorite.

I'm probably biased in saying this, but I have a good-looking kid and a nice-working lens. It helps me capture my version of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

The Two Week Front.

2011-10-13T19:36:00.000-04:00

When I first met my freshman college roommate, she told me the funniest thing. She called it the "Two Week Front." Basically in the beginning of college when everyone is desperately seeking friends, everyone comes across as friendly and "normal" and there is a lot of group dining hall dinners, group outings to frat parties, group everything. Then after two weeks, it becomes too hard to hide the crazy. Everyone's true natures are revealed. Some people are truly insane. Some are homesick. Some have nothing in common. So the large dorm or frat party or dining hall group is broken into smaller, like-minded groups.

After two weeks, you realize your roommate is crazy. Or a bitch. Oddly enough, my own roommate was the one to tell us all her theory and she was perhaps the craziest and bitchiest of them all. Hey, we all had our issues but...yeah. Two week front.

I thought of this today because my own two week front is fading. Before two weeks ago, I was anxious about moving. This started way before our current house buying extravaganza. I used to get nervous little tingles at open houses way, way before this all became even a faint possibility. I have no idea why. I guess I am a little nutty. Then, once our decision was sealed, or almost sealed, I had maybe one week of intense terrification. I just made that word up. Was blanking on how to use "terrifying" so then I just decided to mutate it. After that one week, I had two solid weeks of calm. I mean, crystal clear calm. Cool as a cucumber. Confident. So many "C" alliterations. I felt stronger than I had before this process. I felt great, to be honest. All glowy, excited and flushed. When I told people my news, with my glowy, excited, flushed face, even before I got two words out their eyes would all shoot to my stomach expecting other news. And I get that. I have a two-year-old. I want another child at some point. I was glowing and excited and flushed. Alas, it was other news this time. I basked in the glow of the house buying news. And then my two week front ended, rather suddenly, over our long holiday weekend.

I'm starting to swear under my breath at the rapid pace at which our lives are about to become unraveled. I'm afraid my two week front has been lifted. I'm letting the crazy out. I have come undone!

Well..sorta. The main issue in all of this, is not the fear of change. It's the fact that we've had a lot of happiness here in this home. Really, more happiness than I'd ever imagined I'd have in this life. And a lot of that is about our town and the friends and neighbors we have made. Luckily, we're moving like four miles away, tops. Good friends and neighbors and beloved stores will just be four more miles away. Some, even closer. It's all good.

You can move from one happy house into another happy house. I know this. Just not sure I've ever made a successful parallel move. It's always been a severe upgrade or a terrifying downgrade. And hey, maybe this will be even better. Maybe there is even greater happiness awaiting us in our new home.

Like...

- Christmas trees as tall as the second floor of our house cause...loft style living rooms allow that.

- Walks in the enchanted woods that border our property, carved out trails just waiting for our footprints.

- Huddling around a pellet stove and, of course, teaching Scarlet about fire safety!

- Baby chicks in the spring. Cause we have a chicken coop. Did I mention that?

- Reading outside in the gazebo.

- Picnics on our very large picnic table, right next to our enchanted forest.

- The first snowfall in our new house.

- The smell of fresh, hot coffee wafting up the loft into the master bedroom suite.

It will be ours. All of it. As Scarlet would say when times of crisis, stress or gastric distress have passed, "I feel better now."

And I do. Funny how that works.

Art, WTF.

2011-10-11T19:06:00.001-04:00

I always laugh during the children's book "Olivia" when Olivia the pig main character is at a modern art museum looking at an abstract painting and she says, "I could do that in about five minutes." It gets me every time. I am no art critic. Like Olivia, I look at a lot of art, cock my head and think, "WTF." I just don't say it aloud like she does. At least, not at a gallery or museum. I just think it. It's just so subjective. I have no idea what makes someone an artist and someone else not. Does it have to do with if you're paid for it or not? I would think not. Does it have to do with whether it's a huge part of your soul and you've never known a life without wanting to create something specific or many specific things? I would think more the latter but what the heck do I know? Is it in the business part of life or the soul part of life? Or a nice marriage of the two?

What separates the people who can splatter dark paint on a canvas and charge thousands of dollars for it from the six-year-old cartoon pigs who could splatter paint on a canvas in only five minutes and not get paid for it? But they look the same!

I've never called myself an artist. I don't think I've ever even thought of myself as one. In the past, I made a few nice sculptures and even some nice paintings/drawings years ago but I never had the interest to hone that skill. Now, I can't draw to save my life. I'm also not at all crafty. At all. I can't knit or make beaded jewelry or glue wood together. I'm not diligent. I'm not neat. I'm not patient. I am sloppy and insecure but photography does bring out something in me. It challenges me.

And I let it challenge me.

And I'm grateful for that because I grew up as a sister, daughter and granddaughter to three amazing visual artists. They can work in several mediums and create with their hands. I cannot do that, so luckily I found that I can create art with my eyes and the click of a button at the right time in the right place with the right settings. Settings really matter to me.

No one has ever told me I'm not an artist, except I have told myself that during dark times. It changes over time. My interests change over time. Sometimes I take posed, staged, lighted portraits of toddlers. Sometimes I take bizarre, abstract photos of fake Santas and farm animals. Sometimes I take back-lit photos and they're exquisite when a week earlier, I wouldn't have even attempted. Lately I've reached a bit of a fever pitch - I snap photos of anything. I haven't been as choosy. Digital photography is so much better for that than film. I've been taking a lot of "WTF" photos in the last week.

I think it all started because of the incessant rain of last month and then the need to do something outside when the sun finally came out. But I was going to the same places all the time. My yard, local park, local farm. I didn't feel like taking the same photos all the time. So I took Scarlet to Yankee Candle Company, a darkly lit, overly fragrant place. And I was drawn to the fake people - fake Santas and animatronic hillbillies cause...it helped distract me from the candle smells. Although the cookie smells at Mrs. Claus' Bakery were another story. The Santas intrigued us both.

This Santa may or may not have hit the bottle before this photo was taken. It's not an easy job, ya know.

A little scary, no? Scarlet was a bit intrigued/entralled/disturbed.

Yankee Candle was followed closely, a day later, by a trip to a smelly petting farm where I bought Scarlet an overpriced light-up pumpkin toy. I had been there before and taken pictures there before. I didn't want to take the same pictures I always have. Something came over me then, quite like with the fake Santas at Yankee. I started taking weird pictures. "WTF" pictures. Like of animal body parts. Of animal legs that I imagine look like they belong to a Star Wars Tauntaun.

The exact blue of an exact sky.

The yellow buckteeth of a llama.

A hungry goat sniffing for food.

Shark lovin'. That was my shark when I was a kid. Love that she loves it this much.

"The Ugly Duckling"

"Don't Stand So Close To Me" Series

And of course, "The Joy Of Back-Lighting"

"Calgon, Take Me Away"

"Don't Stand So Close To Me" Series 2

"Eyelashes Of Steel"

"The Three Faces Of Scarlet"

After looking at these and factoring in my lifelong experience, I guess I am an artist because...

- I have anxiety dreams about camera shutter buttons that won't click in the face of great beauty.

- I pull my hair out being a perfectionist.

- I look at the world through a camera lens. I still enjoy my life but next time I look at you for a second too long, know I'm probably composing a photo in my mind of your beautiful face.

- Back when I used film, I said if I had a choice with a jammed camera - save the film that has pictures already taken or save the expensive camera, I'd always save the film.

- I go through phases. I see my work change as my mind changes. And if I look at photography I did even six months ago, I cringe at its immaturity. And I will probably cringe at this post one day too.

- I really enjoyed naming these photos as if they were art exhibits. Seriously.

...Would love to do it for real one day.

I Scream, You Scream....

2011-10-09T20:07:00.000-04:00

Towards the end of last week, we had what I call a screaming kind of day. The good kind of screaming. Scarlet was just so excitable, as she often was, but I think she was picking up on my energy as I was just so happy to have a day with her with the car with brilliantly beautiful weather. Everything I said to her was met with a happy squeal or scream:

I told her Nana was coming this weekend.

"SCREAM! SQUEAL! She'll ride the train with me. Poppa will come too! He'll ride the train with us. He'll bring me pizza!"

I told her Halloween was coming.

"SCREAM! SQUEAL! I love Halloween! I want to go apple picking. Can I be a monster for Halloween? Can I be Doctor Who???""

Even going into Target was met with a wiggling scream in the parking lot:

"I'M GOING TO TARGET WITH MAMA! I'M HUGGING MAMA!"

She sat next to me in a salon chair while I had my eyebrows threaded.

"Mama's eyebrows! Are you happy, Mama? Are you sleeping? Is that lady hurting you?"

Yes, Scarlet. I'm happy. No, Scarlet. I'm not sleeping. Yes, Scarlet. She's hurting me.

It was delicious.

And she was excited to go pick up Daddy from work. As I sat at an intersection watching from the rearview mirror as she talked to her dinosaur and giggled with private glee in the backseat, I wondered how many squealing, screaming, intensely happy moments I had during the first two or three years of my life. I remember one or two memories from being three but nothing before that. Just before four, my father died so I don't remember any of four except the very end. I remember five and on more clearly. It just fascinates the heck out of me that all of these moments, these screaming, squealing, intensely happy moments are not going to be remembered. Maybe some of them will. And I know they will make a difference in her character, at least according to Freud. I know what I say and do makes a difference. I know every second counts. I know that even the minutes that drag on are shaping her life, just a hair. But she won't remember all of these moments. I will.

She does know something is up with us lately. I had lunch that day with a very lovely friend who has a two-year-old and a baby on the way. She said her son was acting out lately because he knows that change is upon them. And I could relate. I know that Scarlet will be fine anywhere we go as long as we're there, as well as Pink Monkey, her Doctor Who toys and the ability to watch "Caillou" on TV. And as I said in the above paragraph, she probably won't even consciously remember the loving, awesome home she has right now. But somewhere in the fibers of her being, the visceral memories are staying.

Surprisingly, the fact that in only a matter of two or three weeks, if even, we are going to pack up our entire house and move to a new house where we will have to unpack everything plus purchase new things, isn't causing me as much anxiety as one might expect. Even the fact that we go to sleep here every night and soon we will never sleep in this lovely place again? Even that doesn't bother me much, except if I happen to be awake at 3 am, in between strange dreams. Then it really hits me. Mostly, I'm feeling positive. I think it's because we're not halfway between two places. We're more like 99% past an old place and 1% before a new place. It's not really the in between because a decision has been made. The signatures are on the dotted line. It's *almost* as good as done. No hemming and hawing. Just that perfect calm that takes place after a solid decision has been made. I felt this way before we moved from California too. Even though I had a 3,000 mile car ride, no home and no job to arrive to, I still felt calm because our decision was made and our plans were underway.

Surely, many freak-outs are coming my way. But for now, I am settled in this perfect calm enjoying the screaming, squealing sounds of my daughter's happiness.

And I know I will hear her happiness just as much in our new home. That's just who she is.

Stumble Upon.

2011-10-06T19:16:00.000-04:00

Someone "stumbled" me last week. I'm not entirely sure what this consists of but all I know is that I was sitting at my computer calmly talking with Cassidy. I was watching my stat counter because I had posted a blog post earlier that evening. In a matter of literally 30 seconds of looking away from the screen while I talked with Cassidy, my blog post stats increased higher than they had ever increased. It literally jumped 500 hits in a matter of a minute or two. I was astounded. I have to admit, actually, that I thought my stat counter was broken or screwy. I was convinced that the site was down or that my eyes were playing tricks on me. I blinked a few times and rubbed the light glare out of my eyes. I looked again. It was still growing, by the second. It kinda...scared me to be honest. Why were so many people all over the world looking at my blog? I don't usually examine stats because it's a bit above my comprehension level but I was able to see that all of these new readers were coming to me from StumbleUpon.com. I got the message from that site, "You have been stumbled. Somebody liked your content enough to share with the natural world..you're kinda awesome...your stat counter is almost breaking from your red-hot awesomeness...blah blah blah." Getting "stumbled" was one of the coolest moments of my blogging history.

Someone loved me (or my content) enough to "stumble" me. And it made a difference. And I thank you, oh fair secret admirer of mine. You have made a difference. ** (see note below)

Lately, or probably always, I have been driving myself a little crazy with the artistic process. Sometimes, being a writer is...horse manure. I won't actually say the "S" word but with the "S" word is how someone wise once used to describe to me what it was like being in your mid 20's. I was 16 at the time. She was ever so right. I love that term. Only the most lovably conflicting and heart-wrenching but kind of cool but kind of traumatic things in life can be called "horse manure." Or...horse "S" word. I was told once that my blog should be free of obscenities since I sometimes get syndicated. So you know what I mean. Horse you-know-what. I'm just not always on fire, churning out praise-worthy blog posts. In fact, it's more rare to write that rare unicorn of a blog post that resonates with lots of people that I know and love and respect. But it does happen. And lately, it's happened more than once. And part of me is happy. And the other part of me thinks, "Oh god! What if I can't ever do it again???" But I will. I always do. I always will. A lot of my best blog posts are done at times of intense pain or processing or tension. So if I'm not writing great posts all the time, well heck, maybe I can just chalk it up to, "Well. I'm having lots of pain-free, processing-free, tension-free fun in my life." Go me! It's not always that easy. Sometimes it is.

As I was wrapping up my September photography albums and looking into uploading to my October photography album, I couldn't help notice that I took less pictures in September, 2011 than I had in ages. And I think I know why that is! 20 our of 30 days were rainy. Maybe more. I could still get creative and work around that, and sometimes I do, but it's been really hard. I took Scarlet outside during a brief hiatus from rain and not even three photos in, she had enough mosquito bites to look like she had chicken pox. So I've kept her in for days at a time, and then during brief breaks from rain and humidity, we slap on protective clothes and go exploring. And that's where we've been "stumbling" upon some very interesting scenery.

So work with me here. The them of "Stumble Upon" keeps creeping up in my life. We've gone through our days looking for adventure. We started at our favorite park. Have I ever talked about this here (below) pink-capped baby doll? My mom (Nana) gave her to Scarlet and Scarlet named her "Baby Nana." She has many baby dolls but Baby Nana gets the best treatment - she has access to the hottest parties and playdates and goes on many of our adventures with us. I admit - I have a soft spot for the old girl.

At the park, I found use for a zoom lens and Scarlet found some hawks to talk to.

Then through the trees, we spied a blushing bride! I felt so stealth, just like the paparazzi. 98% of the time I carry a portrait lens with me. This was part of the 2% of the time that I carried a borrowed zoom lens. And it came in handy!

Scarlet was impressed.

Scarlet is impressed with most things.

She's not so impressed with me taking photos of her. I read a great tip recently from an established photographer who works with toddlers. Most of it I already do, but it was a nice reminder to back off of Scarlet and let her do her thing. She'll always be photo-worthy in the long run. She can't not be.

A new favorite. She's looking out the window, waiting for her father. Gently touching the big teddy bear's arm and arranging her Sesame Street dolls in a very specific way.

I like to think they're dancing, cheek to cheek. Like the Lady in Red.

She kills me.

Speaking of cuteness overload, Scarlet really dolled up for the New England State Fair - the Big E. We went on the last possible day and wouldn't you know it, it didn't rain on us at all.

The food choices were...interesting.

The atmosphere was festive, farmy, fair-y. And completely crowded.

It wouldn't be the Big E without an impeccable butter sculpture.

Or rows and rows of prize-winning alpacas, some with very bad haircuts!

If this elephant could talk, I think it would say, "Stop taking my picture and confront the fact that I belong in Asia, and not crummy West Springfield, MA. Ok???" Ok. I totally agree.

These pictures give me the dreaded, mushy, squishy feeling inside. Ever read "Water For Elephants"? Great read. The elephant in it has her day.

Later that day, or maybe the next day, or the next or the next (they all sorta flowed into one long, gloomy, humid day), Scarlet stumbled upon her new favorite place to hang out - our bed.

And still more adventuring lay in the outdoors. We took a drive by our new house and saw a sign of good luck streak across the street. A red fox.

Then we drove farther yet. See we live on a fairly main road right now. A mile east and you're in downtown Northampton and all of that fanfare. Going west on our road would take you straight to the wondrous Berkshires, home of Tanglewood and bed and breakfasts galore. We took our road not very many miles west, just not where we're used to going, and stumbled upon a wooded state park. It was wet and cool but we got out of the car to explore.

Scarlet set right to work in the deep, wet woods, making sure her "baby" had all of the comforts to be offered: a comfy bed (a grill) and a warm blanket (leaves). I think this says a lot about Scarlet's character. Don't you?

And then the sun came out again and first frost washed away all those pesky bugs. Hello, fall.

Even "Not Baby Nana" came out to appreciate the crisp, sunny heaven.

** Sometime between the writing of this post and the publishing, I found out the identity of my "stumbler." So thank you, Fair Stumbler.

What's Hot.

2011-10-04T19:15:00.000-04:00

Oh, what a crappy Tuesday it was. I took Scarlet to Yankee Candle Company Store (and headquarters), which is one of New England's top five tourist attractions, I believe. It's actually really cool and really, really creepy. And you can't get the smell of the candles out of your nostrils and head for hours. I would recommend you never go there while pregnant or hungover. I have done one of those things, years ago, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

It was fun, though. We met the "Real Santa" who apparently works there year-round, tinkering in his workshop, making ornaments and talking to people. He's also a Red Sox fan. Who knew?! We also played with every single toy in the Toy Workshop (sorry, employees), tried to steal candy from the candy world, rode in the boat, rode the plasma car, delighted in our first snowfall of the season, fake of course. I also took pictures of every fake Santa I saw just for kicks. Pictures to follow at a later-this-week blog post. I hope you'll enjoy my way early festive cheer. We also ate at Chandler's Restaurant.

Oh, and there was this moment. I walked ahead of her into the place where Santa works and it's got a gigantic clock that shows the time until Christmas by days, minutes, seconds (82 days, by the way) and there are just toys galore. From floor to ceiling. All kinds of toys. And Scarlet walked in and she just gasped and looked up in awe at the giant Elmo on the ceiling. And everyone walking by her at the time looked at her and just paused and smiled. It was magical.

Then things went downhill. Scarlet wouldn't take a nap. She also forgot that she's been successfully potty-trained for about a month now. I know she's only two, but when you get used to life without your child peeing her pants, well you get a little spoiled. Then my computer wouldn't work. Then my camera auto-focus wouldn't work and it's brand new and I had the manual open for ages and finally figured out a good fix. Then my phone died. This happens a lot. New iPhone, I will be buying you. Then, probably the saddest thing happened. I knew I was going to be published on BlogHer today but there were some technical difficulties and it wasn't happening so I wasn't excitedly telling people. I was just hanging out in the cold rainy, pee-stained, no-napped toddler, broken technical devices waiting place. Luckily, some awesome and complimentary BlogHer employees rushed in and saved the day. And I got published under the "What's Hot" section. Before the iPhone announcement came out, I was even on the homepage! And number one in the "Life" section. Oh, how merry today became.

And all I can think to do is quote "Teen Witch." Come on, you remember that amazing movie, right? The song "Top That." "I'm hot and you're not..." And those of you who know me know it's a laugh for me to say things like, "I'm hot." But today. Today, I am. BlogHer said so and they never lie.

For your viewing pleasure:

So look for me. Whether I'm still under "What's Hot" or if enough world news have downgraded me to "What Was Hot Yesterday," here is the link to my article below in red. You may have read it here in my blog, but read it again on BlogHer. Let them know they haven't wasted their time on me. I hope.

Link here.

Happy happiness.