I love Instagram.

I apologize to my handful of readers for abandoning the blog and subsequent Facebook page. I have been dealing with a light case of seasonal depression (cured by Spring, of course), lack of time, and general annoyance at the quality of my own writing.

I did do a photo shoot today and since I find taking photos easier than writing I thought I would give you a sampling. I have captured quite a few moments over the winter of craft time, Pinterest experiments (which are epic), and other awesome mom-with-toddlers moments. Maybe I'll give a quick Winter update via photos. That's an excellent idea. Also, Instagram is awesome. Here are two from today.

Harper 20 months

Hudson 3 1/2

The Essential Gift of Childhood

I ran across this essay in The Week (not to be confused with US Weekly, which, of course, I would never read. Ok. Ok. Maybe in the grocery store check-out line.) and I loved it at first read. I cut it out and tacked it to our bulletin board, where I glance at it from time to time. It helps to remind me to embrace this time in my boy's life.

The Essential Gift of Childhood

I believe in my three-year-old son, who is not in the 95th percentile of anything, who did not know his alphabet by his first birthday, who is struggling mightily with shoes and the potty and most social graces. He is truly mournful when leaves fall off the trees in autumn, and he is as gentle and weird and kind as I’d dreamed my child would be. He does not know a second language yet, but he has a magical belly laugh. I believe if I could play a recording of it to warring nations, he would be heralded as an international peacekeeper.

When I was a child in the 1970s, children were woefully unfashionable. Yet, in retrospect, that decade may have been the last time children were allowed some breathing space. We didn’t have to dwell so much on adult preoccupations of trends, fashion, and getting ahead. We could just be children.

I’m not romanticizing my own childhood, because it could be such a brutal, scary time. In my youth, I learned about alcoholism, about mothers who cried themselves to sleep, and about the everyday cruelties classmates inflict on some of us. I do not see childhood in a sepia-toned, idealized way.

This is why I so fiercely guard my son’s youth. In the years before we had hundreds of cable channels, and parents thought their newborns should be baby geniuses, negotiating the often pretty rugged terrain of childhood was our chief concern. I understand that the push for achievement and the pressures we face as parents can be overwhelming. But I believe that I would be robbing my child of an essential gift if I didn’t nurture and protect his youth. The world of playtime and the outdoors is the best laboratory available to my son.

Last week, we were at the playground when I heard a freckled girl in pull-ups call out to her mother from the top of the slide, asking for juice. “Ask me again in French,” said her mother. The girl complied with an impatient eye-roll. At that moment, all I could feel was worry for my child, who is still just getting his feet wet in English, scared that he’d be left behind.

But then I heard my son laughing. He was watching two squirrels chase each other up and down and around a maple tree. “Squirrels are silly,” he said.

Motherhood is a state of always being vulnerable to our expectations and worries about our children. I know that at his core, my son is a happy, free-spirited boy having the childhood he deserves. When I am at my best, I know that there is absolutely nothing to worry about. So at that moment, I forgot about his French-speaking peer and picked my son up, nuzzling those delicious, satiny cheeks, and said “Yes, squirrels are silly.”

I believe in the silliness of squirrels, I believe in my son, and I believe in his childhood.

Marla Rose is a freelance writer and aspiring novelist living with her family in Oak Park, Illinois.

"...I took the one less traveled by..."

Freedom.

         Background: I was born in California. Childhood consisted of happy years roaming a ranch. Teenage years in Idaho. Decided on which college I wanted to attend at a young age. I was encouraged, but never forced to go to college. My parents did everything they could to help me. Got good grades. Enjoyed my classes. Learned a lot. Made a few random friends, but struggled to feel like I belonged (Which wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a particularly strange time in my life). Struggled with mild depression through some of my teenage years and early adult years. Worked in Alaska the summer before my fourth semester. It was a particularly freeing summer with my childhood pal Christa. We partied, hitch hiked, ran into the ocean naked, hiked the mountains, worked our butts off. We were generally just so happy to be alive, to be experiencing every wonderful minute life had to offer.

Fourth semester I returned to school. Classes began. Life was normal. A few days in, I was sitting in a class and suddenly found myself having a hard time concentrating on what the Professor was saying. I started having this deep and intense feeling of wanting to run. I started thinking, “What am I doing here?! Why am I here?!” My chest felt tight. Looking back I may have been in the beginning stages of a panic attack. Ha. I’m not sure. I kept it together until the class ended. Walking out of there I couldn’t stop the yelling in my head, “What am I doing here?!” I didn’t have an answer. It was then that I realized I couldn’t be there.

Before I did anything I called my parent’s for advice. They were encouraging either way. They knew it had to be my decision. I remember my dad specifically. He said, “No matter what you decide, you are my girl and I love you.” It was a moment when his “live and let live” attitude in life meant a lot to me. I let his words sink down deep and I knew he would love me and even be proud of me whether I worked at a gas station my whole adult life or if I became a doctor and traveled overseas to save people’s lives. His love and acceptance was the same. I hope I am able to give my boys the same. This kind of love frees people to pursue their heart’s truest desires; not out of insecurity or the need to be defined.

Upon hanging up I felt even more sure that I had to go. Where? It didn’t matter. Right then too. I walked into admissions and said I was withdrawing from school and I wanted my money back. I might have looked a little crazy, with tears still in my eyes and a huge grin on my face. The lady didn’t even try to convince me otherwise. Maybe she suspected I was pregnant or a relative was dying. . . She wrote me a check for what I had paid that semester, minus a chunk of it. I signed paperwork, got some signatures, returned books . . . It took a couple of hours at the most.

I drove away from campus.

FREE.

I called my childhood pal, Christa (the one that had joined me in Alaska) and she said that that was the bravest thing she had ever heard of. I was so glad she understood it. Not many other people would, but she did. (Luckily, she did not withdraw from college and now has a Ph.D. in Audiology. I could not be more proud for her!) Looking back, it’s possible even my parents were more worried then they let on, but they were supportive all the same.

I took my hard earned money and went on a road trip; to see Christa in California. It was a fun two weeks, but it turned out we were in different places in life now. She was still in school and I was a distraction. And that was ok. I went back to Boise. And lived. Wildly. Maybe a little too wildly.
I continued learning. My short college career instilled a love of learning that I only ever had glimpses of in high school. (Yes. The following is bragging.) I wrote a huge bucket list. I read textbooks. Literature. I taught myself the game of chess (which I was killer at against an amateur opponent). I read the bible in it's entirety. I researched photography. I wrote. I dreamt of travel. I watched people. I read self-help books. I wrote long lists of possible careers. I learned the love and art of Coffee (thank you Starbuck's). I dreamed of walking out the front door, sticking out my thumb, and disappearing for a time (Into the Wild style, minus the end.) I started to realize the wealth of knowledge to be found everywhere, especially in my parent's (gasp). Part of me remained convinced I would return to college within a few years at the most. I still wasn't totally comfortable with the idea of just not having a college degree. Cultural pressure can be hard to let go of.
I met and fell in love with my husband during this unlikely time. We traveled and traveled. And then we had babies. And I have never regretted a second of it. It seems that that summer in Alaska I rediscovered my deep thirst for freedom and in that moment in the classroom it was confirmed: I would never be able to live a life out of line with my own heart again. And that’s what I have been doing ever since. Going from singleness to married with babies never felt like “settling” to me. We are just continuing the adventure.

Our first week. My future husband.

Initially I wasn’t embarrassed of not having a degree. Most people my age didn’t have one and it still felt socially acceptable to flounder, to figure oneself out. As the years passed and my class graduated I certainly started to feel self conscious that I didn’t possess what most other people I knew had. Maybe I will someday go back to school, but this time it will be with a sense of purpose. It will be because I truly believe in what I’m doing.

After getting married, I stumbled upon being a house painter, which in turn led me to owning my own painting business. It was a very valuable experience. One that I have since put on hold to be with my boys, which, it turns out, is my deepest desire.

I will, of course, encourage my boys to go to college, but I will also encourage them to think bigger. They can do whatever they want in life. Education is important. But more important than the facts you know or the degree(s) you earn, is the love of learning and reading and the ability to think! That can’t always be purchased.

What I wish for my boys, even more than an education or successful careers: The confidence to, “. . .keep your head when all about you are losing theirs . . . trust yourself when all men doubt you . . .”(Rudyard Kipling ‘If’) I hope they will know great wisdom. And deep compassion. And happiness. I hope they possess creativity. Curiosity. Spontaneity. Bravery. WILDNESS! Beautiful wildness. And most of all Love. Earthshattering, unconditional love. I want them to live a life that their hearts align with. Some may consider these “soft subjects”, but what I have discovered in my 28 years is: they may be soft in that they are difficult to define, but they are the core of Life. Without them success and education amount to nothing.

There would certainly be benefits to having stayed and completed my degree. Mainly that I wouldn’t feel insecure about not having a degree, I would be more knowledgeable, and I would be a better writer. But I would have sacrificed something fundamental. I would have settled. I don’t think I would be in the same place I'm in today if I hadn’t made the Bravest decision I knew how. This is not written to say this is for everybody, or for anybody really. This is just my story.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

                        ~Robert Frost ‘The Road Not Taken’

The adventure continues.

Guest Post: "Our Wives Are So Worried About Us"

     Our friend Dawn has a highly-polished blog called "Whispers and Shouts". Read it. Like her page on Facebook. She's hilarious and luckily a much better writer than I. She also has two boys (very vocal twins!), lives in a small place (D.C. area), and has a sweet husband. Did I mention she is hilarious? 

MONDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2012

Our Wives Are So Worried About Us

About a month ago, we stumbled upon the movie Apollo 13 on TV. Since the boys have been enthralled with space over the past year or so, Brian kept it on and explained the situation to them—and explained that those were not the real astronauts, but actors pretending to be the real astronauts. Then they looked at pictures online of the real astronauts. It got to be late. We put the boys’ pajamas on and let them keep watching the movie. Clark fell asleep on the couch. Cal sat, glued to the movie, until it was over and we plopped them both in bed. 

When they woke up it was all they wanted to talk about. I bet you can guess the boys’ favorite story to reenact now. The Gruffalo has taken a backseat to Apollo 13 Astronauts. Their favorite place to play it is on the metro. Which is good for practical reasons—they’re engaged and entertained for the entire ride, but like it or not, so is everyone else around them. We were out on the metro three times in the past two weeks, and many metro riders have now been exposed to the boys’ imaginations while trapped in a small space with them.

The awkward part is that the boys reference their wives at home who are so worried about them, the Apollo 13 astronauts. Loudly. Loudly, these three year-olds inform the whole train car that they have wives at home who are worried. What can I say? There's nothing I can say to make that not weird. 

They both address each other each time they talk as “Hey Apollo 13 astronaut…” and they also call me by the same name. I mean, there were three astronauts in Apollo 13, so it’s perfect. So, as we are rumbling along on the train, all the stone-faced commuters staring out the window or in their newspaper, Clark usually starts everything off by loudly proclaiming, “Houston, we have a problem.” 

Then they go on to talk to each other (and everyone because they don’t know how to talk quietly) about the explosion in the oxygen tank, and how brave they are being as they figure out how to get home safely. “We’ve lost the moon,” Cal will somberly tell us. Then we will discuss how there are so many scientists and engineers on Earth who are helping us figure out how to get home. Occasionally, one of the boys will scream and point out the window, “There’s Saturn!” which startles most people, but not me anymore. This will start off a series of exuberant planet-sightings out the windows. “Jupiter! Neptune! There’s Mercury! That’s my favorite planet!”

The best part happens on our way home from downtown. We come out from underground a few stops before ours. As soon as we go from being in the dark tunnels to being in the light of day they start loudly clapping and woo-hooing. Apollo 13 landed! The people are so happy! Everybody is hugging! This usually gets quite a few grins and chuckles from passengers. When we get off at our stop they clap again and hug. “Our wives are so happy to have us home!” 

And I hold their hands and walk my Apollo 13 astronauts to the elevator space ship, where they start a countdown to liftoff to the moon.

Everybody is so happy to see the Apollo 13 astronauts!

Our home is our haven.

My husband and I are raising two young boys in 714 sqft. of space (plus a 12x8 storage unit). We love it and it’s challenging!

           The background to this: When we got married we fell in love with a certain area in Boise, so we found a basement apartment to rent (450 sqft). Neither of us owned much when we met, but moving into our  apartment required further downsizing. We loved our tiny place but finally grew tired of living underground and “throwing our money away” on rent. We found a beautiful condo to buy in the area.

            In the meantime, the economy tanked and we stumbled across a Dave Ramsey book. While we were already frugal, we started incorporating more of his financial advice into our lives. Living in our condo started out as a short-term plan but has become a longer-term plan. We changed our 30-year mortgage to a 15-year and have been making it work ever since.  Side note: condo living is not typical for most Idahoans. Idaho isn’t exactly short on space. Don’t tell anyone though.

How we make it work:

·      We are brutally realistic about what we actually use and value.

·      We don’t frequent yard sales, thrift stores, store sales, or even Craigslist without a list.

·      Instead of storing unneeded items we sell them, donate them, or find a family that needs them more than we do.

·      We stay organized and uncluttered, using our space wisely (writing this post inspired me to complete our coffee making corner. Picture below).
~   We use baskets to organize toys under the boy's beds.
~   We have a queen blow-up mattress and complete bedding set stored under our bed. We can still accommodate those brave guests. =)
~    I use white wire shelf dividers in many of the cupboards in the kitchen and some of the closets to maximize use of space. 

·      We don’t own seasonal decorations other than Christmas ones, and we don’t own China dishes (or other lesser used items).

·      We get our light beige carpets professionally cleaned every year (very important to our sanity).

·      I do laundry often instead of buying lots of clothes.

·      We recently sold our TV (for many reasons) and made room for a play kitchen for the boys (the boys are playing with it/using it as a jungle gym right now.)

·     We get outside as much as possible. We visit parks, take walks, fish for crawdads in the river in the summer (with Grandpa), bike, go to Saturday Market. We have even been bundling up and going outside this winter (Ok. Fine. Maybe just yesterday. But it was therapeutic!).

·      We even shop at Costco (an ever-increasing list)! (We just stagger the bigger purchases.)

·      We purge toys before Christmas/birthdays and keep only the boy’s favorites.

·      We purchase less and purchase smarter (quality over quantity).

·      We have a “give away” bag ready. When we don’t want an item it goes in the bag. Every couple of months we distribute the items where needed: thrift store, consignment, another family . . .

·      I use books to decorate. I already own them, I love them, and they have to go somewhere.

·      We practically live on our porch in the summer (It will be literal this summer. We plan to camp on it once in a while.)   

Don’t get me wrong. We sometimes dream of an extra room, decorated in soft earth tones, where guests can stay, rest, drink the world’s best cup of coffee, and have a great conversation (ha). We dream of a backyard where we can throw the boys the boys can play; where we can raise a puppy, build a tree house, grow a garden . . . (We do plan to grow some killer tomatoes on our porch again this summer). We dream of a big dining room where we can fill our family and friend’s bellies. A pantry. An extra freezer to participate in an organic beef share (Hello Scott Family!). Maybe even a garage to park our car in (seems so extravagant!) and a desk to put our laptops (kitchen counter) and printer on (storage ottoman, not the most convenient to print something).

The benefits to small space living: It forces us to keep life simple; more family and friend time, fewer projects (all painting I did before having babies). No lawn to mow or yard to take care of. We have less space to heat, cool, clean, and decorate. It helps us value relationships and experiences more than what we do or don’t own. It keeps us closely bonded, as we have no choice but to be in each other’s space. Our home is our haven.
~I wrote this as a guest post for fellow blogger Dawn via "Whispers and Shouts"
~Related Posts: “Before” and “After” Photos.

Laundry closet in our room

David and I share a standard size closet

Our room

Our room (Harper stomping on my jewelry.)

Bathroom

Bathroom

Boy's room

Boy's room

Main living space

Another view

Kitchen

Coffee corner before.

Coffee corner after (counter stayed the same).

We make use of as much vertical space as possible with shelves like these in cupboards and closets. The coffee corner redo inspired kids dishes to be lower. Huddo loves to help unload the dishwasher now.

Harper is a "Boss".

My son, Harper, is a “Boss”. Don’t let the gorgeous face fool you.

The Urban Dictionary defines boss as: “a person who is a leader, someone who runs s*** in his/her hood or city.”

Or “Baws”, (which is the classy word we use to describe Harper): “slang term for boss. Meaning: awesome, epic, leader, etc...” (although it turns out “baws” means many things which don’t describe Harper.)

Now, to clarify, Hudson is the one who runs s*** in our house. He is clever, and also sensitive and agile. What makes Harper a “baws” is his brute strength and “no holds barred” demeanor. (Yes. I looked that up. Quite educational.)

Harper walks around our house in just a diaper, pounding his fists on his puffed chest, vocalizing anything he wants to, very loudly. He steps on (not over) anything on the floor even at this own peril. Oh, Hudson's train set that he has carefully set up? Consider it stomped. He is more mellow than Hudson in a lot of ways, but once Hudson pushes him too far, Harper will literally tackle Hudson with all his weight (which is significant) and try to sink his teeth into him (like a shark, of course), which usually results in both of them tumbling off the couch or bed and Hudson screaming, "HARPO!" Harper does not care. He is a boss.

He also dances likes a boss (he gets it from his dad). He will dance to any beat or tune, whether it's a cell phone ring or his brother pounding fiercely on a piece of furniture. He stands with legs spread wide, shaking his butty (as Hudson says). Or he swings his head around exuberantly, so much so that we have had people in the grocery store stare worryingly at him. His dancing makes me laugh, out loud, every time (isn't there an acronym for that).

The face of an angel.

Harper found one of his girl cousin's "stompers". He loves shoes.

Our boy.

Hudson English Dictionary

Help	=	Hope!
Balloon	=	Momo
Lawn Mower	=	Momo
Hudson	=	Hutsey
Francesco (character from Cars 2)	=	Puto
Tiptoe tiptoe	=	Teto teto (which he whispers very loudly when we are trying to be quiet)
Eat	=	Um mum mum or eat
Don’t eat my food, mom	=	Mom! No un mum mum.
Love you mom	=	Mishyou mom (Makes me almost cry every time)
Harper	=	Harpo or Baby Harpo
Thank you	=	Hunun (?)
I’m sorry	=	Hunun (?)
Uncle Daniel	=	Nani
Uncle Jesse Grandpa Ron	= =	Hessi Bob (David and I named my dad "Papa". Hudson combined it with "Poppy" (his great-grandpa's name) and somehow it became "Bappy" then "Bobby". Now it's just "Bob". Or "Bob!" when he really wants his attention.)
Uncle Cameron	=	Pot Pie (Hudson couldn’t say Cameron and they once ate a chicken pot pie together. Done named.)
Uncle Dan (David’s brother)	=	Nani (with an aggressive head shake that jiggles the cheeks because that’s what Dan does when he sees Hud.)
Mom	=	Mom(my)
Grammy Brooke Cramblitt (Jesse's Friend)	= =	Mommy (in his mind there is a distinct difference) Meshul B (Special B)
Dogs	=	Ooh hoo (shortened version of a dog bark. All animals are their sound, of course)
Shark	=	Argh! (Ok, maybe not always the sounds, but just their implied fierceness.)
Train	=	Choo choo
No thank you	=	No pease
Sit on the floor and play with me.	=	Come. Seat. Me.
Happy	=	Hoppy (He wants to know which animals are hoppy. Sharks are no hoppy. Sheep is hoppy (and fuffy). He also decides whether he likes someone based on if they are hoppy or no hoppy.)
To indicate lots or many	=	Fie (example: fie shnow = five snow = lots of snow)
To indicate even more	=	Fie! Fie! Fie!
It’s cold	=	Ooh hoo hoo (with a little shoulder shake)
Fluffy	=	Fuffy
Okay okay	=	Hotay hotay
Stop	=	Bop or Dop
Yellow, red, green, Milk Chocolate milk or beer On/off That Truck I see that/let me see that	= = = = = = =	Weddow, vredt, reen Moo moo tschuce (juice) Daddy tschuce (juice) Hon/Hoff "Eh": that, there, see, um, Hudson's Universal Noun "Pull": small, black toy truck and trailer, "borrowed" from the Scott's. He puts cargo in the back. Favorite toy right now. Meshe

Grammy (my mom) calls Hudson “sweetie pie”. So Hud started adding “pie” to the ends of people’s names when he was feeling especially affectionate towards them. Mommy = mommy pie. Daddy = daddy pie. Baby = baby pie.