We bought Olivia a wooden train. It has pegs for colorful blocks to stack and rolls around with the faintest of squeaks. She loves it. She loved it more when she figured out that the blocks could Come Off! and then go Back On! And then Off!

She puts a block on, claps, puts another block on, claps, so on. She looks to me or her daddy for approval. We clap and say, “Yay!” to let her know that, yes, we do approve and this is a great thing you have accomplished.

My baby fever is no secret to anyone who has paid even a half a second of attention to me in the past, oh, six months. I’m so ready for the next pregnancy, the next squishy, the next sibling, next, next.

But then I have these moments with Olivia, the learning, the growing, the development, the snuggles and I wonder if I’m being selfish already looking ahead to the next child instead of focusing on her. Now.

Am I forfeiting future moments such as these because I will be too wrapped up in caring for a newborn? Am I being wrong in wanting to hurry to the next stage instead of relishing the one we are in and just being content?

No matter the answers to these questions (and I know everyone out there has an answer), I do need to learn to be content. My mindset is….jacked.

My mind right now is a tumultuous storm of wants. I want another baby. I want to write this book. I want a house to decorate. I want a garden. I want to make and sell things. And the Want is driving me into a spiral of darkness. I open my eyes in the morning…another morning where what I want seems so utterly far away…

Yes, we are frustrated with having to put pretty much everything on hold to get our financial lives in order again. Yes, we are frustrated at not having a space or a home to call our own – to be living with my parents. Yes, we are frustrated at this, that or the other as they all creep up month after month. And, yes, I get frustrated when people I love announce the next pregnancy with all the joy and happy and elation that comes with it.

However, I can either continue to be frustrated or I can try to be content with my less than ideal situation right now because I know it’s for the better. I know the decision we made was for our future and so we can have those Wants.

The next chapter will happen when it is meant to and we will make it work somehow. If I get pregnant here now in this situation, we will make it work as we always do. If we aren’t able to get a home loan and have to rent again, we will make it work as we always do. If our health insurance doesn’t work out the way we need it to…again…we will make it work as we always do. We have been thrown some pretty amazing curve balls in our time as a family and we’ve weathered all of them. Some may call it luck. Some may attribute a higher power. I nod and murmur and smile and blink back tears.

I really don’t understand the tumble of words that just happened. They needed to get out because I feel wrapped up in self-pity lately and that’s making me a horrible wife and mother.

I need a new mindset.

I don’t know why fifteen months seems like a Big Deal to me.  But it does.  Not that she’s doing anything different or there’s any sort of explosion of development happening.

However.

OLIVIA IS FIFTEEN MONTHS OLD.

What the what?

I have cheeks for storing things like raisins and small toys

Yes, fifteen months.

We have walking.  Full-on, full-bore, screw that slow crawling crap, WALKING.  I’ve seen her crawl maybe twice? in the last two weeks.  Our favorite game is to say, “IIIII’m gonna get you!” and stomp on the ground really fast like you’re running.  She shrieks and toddles away laughing, constantly checking over her shoulder.  Then? She turns around and runs AT YOU.

So you run away.

Obviously.

Toddlby Tag.  It’s the newest sensation.

cuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrlsssssssss

She has ringlets.  Perusal of my baby pictures confirms she has my hair.  So.  I love it now and I empathize with her when she’s older and HATE HATE HATES her hair because it’s curly and thick and hot and fluffy and frizzy and hot and hot and HOT.

Right now, the ringlets are adorable as all get out and make for some stellar bed-head most mornings.  I have given up combing her hair except after baths.  It’s useless otherwise.

guacamole finger painting

Food.

She eats it.

All of it.

Well, we’ve run across the occasional thing here and there she won’t eat.  She hates lunchmeat or reheated meat of any kind. She’s very picky about meat in general.  She likes it sauced or heavily spiced and shredded or cut up small.  She adores all vegetables and fruits.  She inhales guacamole and salsa like it’s never going to be around again.  She thinks mama’s smoothies are the best treat ever.  Especially through a straw.

Graham crackers are the shizzle.  And the rule is, “One for each hand one for your mouth.” She will not leave until you comply.

She also eats ridiculous portion sizes.  Her little puffed out belly after dinner is hilarious.  But she’s happy and full and healthy so I’m not worried.

She’s also still nursing for naps and bedtime, which is really really nice.  I love the cuddles and the comfort.

Who let this kindergartener in my house?

Teeth.

Oh lordy, do we ever have teeth.

The front four on both top and bottom have come in no problem.  However, we have entered the special level of hell known as Molars.  Three of them to be precise.  And they are the worst thing in the whole entire world.  They wake her up at night and spontaneously make her grumpy during the day.  I guess the upside (?) is she wants to cuddle when she’s upset, which is sweet and sometimes she’ll drift off for a doze while cuddled against me.

the cute kills me

Her favoritest thing in the whole wide world is to lay on pillows and watch “Rapunzel” (Tangled).  It is, by far, her favorite movie and I’m completely fine with her watching it over and over and over and over and over.

And over.

And over.

If it means less teething crying and the chance for me to do something like write or work on my part-time gigs I’m lining up.  She giggles at the horse, babbles to Flynn whenever he’s on the screen, dances with the songs, and paces around the living room dragging pillows if the mood strikes her.

bukkit

She’s not speaking much other than babbling.  She says “mama” and “deedee” (daddy) and “dog dog wooh wooh” but that’s it.  Her babbling is getting more…specific? if that makes sense.  So I think more words are coming at some point.  I’m trying not to be concerned when I hear/see other babies her age speaking a lot more because I know every baby develops differently.  We read to her a lot and she “reads” her books all the time.  She loves Sesame Street and other educational shows like that.  Plus, she’s around four adults who talk to her all the time so I’m not worried.

She definitely understands certain phrases and reacts accordingly.  ”How about we lay down and sleep now?” “Where’s your pacifier?” “Do you want to watch Rapunzel?” “Come get in your chair to eat dinner.” “May I have a kiss?” “Do you want to dance?”

and then I died again from cute

She’s an amazing little girl and we are so lucky to be her parents.  And I can’t wait to see what the next few months have in store.

Saturday, we took Olivia to the St. Louis Science Center.  I remember when they first built it – grander and larger and shinier than the Old Science Center.  It has a domed IMAX, four levels of awesome, a huge wire and loop ball track that criss-crosses the whole front foyer, shows, and Two! Huge! Animatronic! Dinosaurs!

Hi, I would like to see your pretend crutches.

Trains!

The Science Center sits in Forest Park, a huge central city park that also houses the Zoo and the Art Museum.  Everything in Forest Park (with the exception of special exhibits) is free.  Free.  F.R.E.E.  If you bring your own food and don’t see any special exhibits you can have a complete, entertaining day trip for Free.

Anyway.

Hi

BAAAALLS

Since I moved away and returned, the Science Center has changed a bit.  New exhibits replaced some of the ones I remembered.  More stuff for various ages are around.  One such new thing is the Discovery Room.  It’s a giant playroom.  It costs $3 and runs for 45 minutes.  You walk in, set your kid down, and let them go berserk with drums, blocks, trains, ball pits, doll houses, medical toys, wheelchairs, magnets, hula hoops, water table, cars, puppets, books, puzzles, musical instruments, bugs (live ones, yes….)…..and more.

Trains with daddy

The little boy could NOT figure out why Olivia was playing with trains

Olivia had a blast.  The second we put her down, she was toddling everywhere, getting into everything.  She walked right up to other kids and wanted up.  She carried things around the room.  She did NOT want to be picked up ever by us.  She beat on drums.  She fished with a magnetic fishing pole.  She saw a real live rainforest cockroach.

It was huge.  I moved away quietly and let Daddy field that experience.

Daddy tried to show her gears. She was amused for a moment.  And helped by dumping them all out for him.

Gears are better on the floor.  Clearly.

They had a table of wooden puzzles that she kept returning to as well.  She was especially enthralled with the colored fish one.

Puzzle Time

When it was done, she was understandably upset. 45 minutes was not long enough in her opinion.  We tried putting her in the Ergo on daddy but she was having none of it.  I had also brought in my wrap so we found an out of the way spot for me to back-wrap her.

In less than four seconds, we had a small crowd.  Stephen murmured (as I’m bent over with Olivia giggling on my back and I’m trying to keep the fabric straight), “You have an audience.”

When I was done, one woman looked at her husband and said, “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled and we walked away, Olivia happily riding on my back.

We visited the gift shop where she quietly looked around until we passed a shelf of stuffed dinosaurs.  She craned as far as she could for one of them so we bought her a red one.  She spent the first part of the car ride babbling to him and calling him, “Dog.”

Until she sacked out holding onto his head.

I had a moment of clarity the other day as I watched Olivia play. She rolled and tumbled on couch cushions, squealing with unfettered delight. In that moment, she was 100% happy.

Sure, she’s playing on my mom’s floor instead of her own in a house her parents own.

Sure, she’s playing alone instead of with a sibling.

But she could care less.

And, in that moment, she taught me to be happy Now.
Right. Now. And not be sad about what isn’t happening Now.

Don’t get me wrong. If I found out I was pregnant today, I would be ecstatic. If we found out we could buy a home next week, we would be at the bank.

But my little tumbleweed reminded me that she is here Now in this place and is Happy.

That’s all that matters.

On my birthday back in June, I got my hair cut for the first time since my wedding in 2009.  Last night, my husband helped me dye it a lovely shade of shocking red.

I’m having these moments lately where I take a step out of myself and say, “This is my life.”

Routine. Routine. Play with the baby. Furiously try to have “me” time during naps.  Spouse time after baby is in bed.  Go to bed. Do it all again the next morning.

Most of the time, I’m fine with that.  There’s a peace in my soul about my life and what I’m doing and the mom I am and the wife I am.  I may not be the world’s greatest at any of them but I do my best and my best is fine with everyone.  Especially me.

Don’t get me wrong.  I LOVE my life.  I love everything about it and everyone in it.  However, being in love with something doesn’t mean it’s always perfect.  That would be boring.

Sometimes, I’m not okay with The Now.  I think of my mental dreams and to-do lists and a depression takes a hold of me.  ”I only have X hours a day to myself IF she naps and what am I doing with that time? It’s not enough to do Y or Z.”

“I’ll try to finish it tomorrow.”  My mantra lately.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow.  Someday. Tick Tock. Tomorrow.

So I try, on those days, to work on SOMETHING.  And I have my long-term goals and plans.

Writing.

Crochet.

Sewing.

Paying off debt which leads to getting our own place.

Having another baby.

One all leads to another in my mind and it’s that end result – the bigger family and our own home – that my soul really yearns for.  So the meanwhile is filled with crafts and writing and trying to cram as much of it into the naptimes as I can.  The rest is spent watching this little person grow and discover and speak and walk and run and NEED me all.the.time.

It’s exhausting.

And fantastic.

And scary.

And unknown.

And moving too.damn.slowly.

Sometimes.

July 4 last year.

July 4 this year.

Whoa.

I have tons more to write but Stephen leaves today for his week out of town so I’m off to spend some time with him.

Happy 4th, y’all.

Today.

She is happy.

I am happy.

He is happy.

His family is coming to visit my family.

The baby pool has water waiting for splashes.

I am 1/4 through a really awesome made up crochet project.

She is nearly running.

Happy.

What’s that expression? Pictures speak louder than words?

Father's Day last year

Father's Day this year

I will say this.

Stephen,

You are an amazing father.  A truly amazing, understanding, protective, loving father.  Neither of us are perfect parents but you have a wellspring of patience that never ceases to amaze me.  That little baby brings out so many good qualities.  My heart always goes pitter patter when I see you, hear you.  You are my partner, my mate, my best friend.  And I always melt inside when I see you with our daughter.

Love,
me

You know you live in the country when:

1. There are no guardrails on winding two lane roads

2. Tractor crossing signs are as prevalent as speed limit signs

3. More than half the traffic on your road consists of tractors, back-hoes, large trucks and trailers

4. At night, it’s pitch black outdoors and all you hear are the steady keening of cicadas

5. “Going into town” is not only a valid phrase, but an everyday one

We’ve been here a month now.  It’s steadily starting to sink in that we actually live here now.  My brain is still in a sort of weird limbo about it.  I’m positive it’s the whole living with my parents thing that has my sense of reality a bit disjointed.

I’ve spoken a little bit about my past with my parents before.  There’s a whole roller coaster of history there that would take a novel to speak about and, a lot of it, I would rather forget.  Suffice to say, the last time I lived in this house, I was not…happy.

Of course, I was also a stubborn, willful teenager hellbent on doing things her way come hell or high water.  But I also had a stubborn mom who also wanted things her way and her way was not my way and my dad leapt on that to point that out to me every opportunity so…

Calamity.

Anyway.  When I left for college, it was to escape.  My four years here in high school were not the happiest.  Sure, I excelled in school.  I had my first boyfriend and my first heartbreak.  My first job…or two.  I always had one or two really close girlfriends all the way through graduation.  Looking back on it, things weren’t [that bad], but, at the time, I hated where I was and who I was and was scared stupid of being stuck in the country, living on a farm and never experiencing the world and life, etc etc blah blah blah.

So, come back around 13 years later and I’m back in that same bedroom, in the same house, on the same farm.

The willful teenager in my brain is still rebelling against this and calling me a failure.  The adult part of me is constantly reasoning and reminding me that this is good and, while it may be not the most ideal situation ever, it is doable and will turn out for the best.

Then, Stephen went away for a week.  Back to [what I still consider his home] Atlanta as part of his agreement with his job there.  When Olivia was awake and playing, she kept me firmly grounded in the Now and a gentle reminder of what we were doing.  When she was asleep and it was just me, it was hard to stay in the Now.  I kept flashing back to Then and thinking of Stephen at home with his family and a whole slough of What Ifs then plagued me.

Ugh.

We all made it and he’s back here with us safe and sound.  I chuckle as I look back on last week and blush a little at how silly I must have seemed.  It was just a week.  No big deal.

And we’ll do it again next month and the month after that and the month after that.  So on and so forth.  All the while slowly plodding towards are goal of financial stability and our own home.

We [will] get there.  It’s not ideal.  But it’s not bad either.  And we’re doing it together.

Once upon a time, back in the early 1800′s, a small family picked out a nice plot of land to settle.  The menfolk cut down some trees and shaped some timbers.  The womenfolk helped pull up some rocks from a nearby stream.  Together, they built a small farmhouse.  It was a modest house, kitchen, living room, porch, cellar, and a crawlspace upstairs just tall enough for the children to stand upright.  Soon, the crawlspace became bedrooms.

Fast-forward through a few decades.  The farmhouse is passed down and sold.  Land is surveyed and plotted.  A lake is dug.  Railroad tracks curve around the perimeter.

In the 1930′s, a small family moves in and they take a ridiculous amount of photos.  A new car.  A new bathing suit.  A new hairstyle.  Siding on their little house.  Adventures in the lake.  Chickens in a newly constructed coop.  Hay in the surrounding 23 acres.  The family sold it and flourished for a while.

Sixty years later, the house is sold again.  This time to a couple who enjoy renovating old properties.  They rip off the siding and are delighted to find original stone and timberwork underneath.  They take off the original roof and replace it with a metal one, also extending the crawlspace to a full two stories.  They add a garage.  They add another addition with a new living room, dining room, office, and a master suite upstairs.  They dig out a full basement.  The chicken coop and barn have fallen into disrepair.  The hay farm is gone, replaced by acres of cedar trees.

The wooden siding is the addition. The stonework in the middle is the original farmhouse.

In the late 1990′s, an Englishman, his new wife, and her two children from a previous marriage come look at the house and the land.  His wife trains horses and they see the potential for having a boarding stable.  The children are tremendously excited about the lake and the land and the huge house that just looks cool.  So, they buy it.

So, my freshman year of high school, I moved into a farmhouse.

View from the front porch. Old outdoor kitchen, wood pile, and (unfinished) Guest House.

Wood pile with the old chicken coop, guest house and old garage in the background

Outdoor kitchen

Creek

The Lake

I moved away when I went to college.  I moved to Atlanta after that.  Now, nearly thirteen years later, I have returned to that same farmhouse with my husband and baby daughter.  It’s surreal to be living in the same bedrooms, eating in the same kitchen, walking these same grounds…  I’m still processing and getting used to the idea that we [live] here now.

However.

In the meanwhile, we finally fixed our rooms up.

My old bedroom - Master Bedroom and Nursery

Yes, the rooms are enormous.

Standing in the nursery corner

Olivia's space

I picked this room when we first moved in because it’s at the end of the hall upstairs and it’s hardwood.  It’s smaller than my brother’s room and he had direct access to our bathroom, but I loved my privacy and I loved the hardwoods.  And I adored that shelf.  See the shelf on the wall in the pictures above?  That’s where the original roof met the house.  The renovators just capped it and turned it into a shelf that runs the entire length of the hallway and the outside of my bedroom.

Extinct Red Pine Floorboards. My room and the hallway has these.

My brother's old room - Living Room, Craft Area, Library, Media Center and Office

Standing in the Office area

My craft table

Office

The rooms are L-shaped, with a closet in each corner.  So all of our clothing, old baby stuff, and kitchen boxes are stored in those closets.  We plan on repainting both rooms at some point.  We want to leave them as nice guest rooms when we move out, so we have ideas.

I plan on filling this jar with buttons

I wasn’t going to take a picture of the bathroom because, well…bathroom.  However, that shelf in my room and the hallway?  It’s in the bathroom because that’s where the original house ended.  But, they didn’t encase that one.  So this is what’s underneath the wood and drywall:

Original Timber and Plaster-work. See the chisel marks?

Neat, huh?

Anyway, that’s the skinny on where we live.  I’ll try to get more pictures in the coming weeks of the horses and the rest of the farm.

So I leave you with this.  This has been my gentle reminder throughout this whole move and Stephen being away and Olivia adjusting.

Always