Mikey and Paigey

The tiniest update

2013-06-18T14:17:00.002-06:00

Hello end of June.

Lots has happened between my last post here. We've accepted a job, Mike graduated from SAIS, we moved across the country, and we're (likely) within a week of meeting our sweet baby number 2.

Life was too nebulous and stressful to write about. Ada and my days consisted mostly of playing outside. Mike and my nights consisted mostly of long chats about what we want our life to look like, and budgeting, and loans, and if we should rent or buy, sell or drive, pack or store or sell . . . By the time I got around to choosing maternal care here in Salt Lake, I emailed a trusted friend, called up the midwife and scheduled an appointment. I didn't think twice about it. I was too burned out of decision making by then. And guess what? It's worked out really well. So maybe all my stressing over every other decision was all for naught. Who knows. (And who really cares?)

We're really happy. Mike is a 10 minute walk from his office. We're smack in the heart of downtown, living in a 5th floor apartment with a breezy balcony (or boufcany as Ada says) and TWO WHOLE BEDROOMS. I feel like I've finally arrived. Our own room! Without a child in it!!

No baby yet, but she's expected any day and if the amount of imaginary play is any indication, Ada is really looking forward to her sister's debut. We'll see how long the honeymoon lasts. . .

I'm hoping that writing will again take part in my daily processing. My blogging time was filled with painting, but that's going to be a bit messy for the next little while with a new one attached to me in one way or another most of the day (and—let's be serious—night).

And maybe I'll get around to posting all the half-finished drafts stacked up in my post queue. Just maybe.

Sacralization of space

2013-04-16T08:42:00.000-06:00

I came across a line in a book Mike and I have been reading together that was this, "THAT'S IT!" type sentence; I immediately made a note to revisit it.

I have a hard time talking about my art. In fact, Mike walked me through writing the artist statement for my final show and all of the best lines people mentioned in the guest book could pretty much be attributed to him. He has a gift for taking in lots of information and spitting it back out in digestible bites. In the case of my artist statement, he took lots and lots of late night talks, recounted conversations with professors, secondhand critiques, and mostly lots of random bumbling from me (that nearly always ended in the phrase, ". . . I don't know how to say it, but you know what I mean?") and helped me synthesize it into a few beautiful paragraphs.

I just really love that boy

House of Bondmen, 12"x12" oil on panel

* * *

So this line in the book. It stood there, answering the question I've had about my work for the last few months: "What is this about anymore?" The motifs I'm using are the same—pattern, shape, covering, revealing, repetition, meditative processes—but I can't seem to explain my work in the same way I did over 2 years ago. It's just not really about ancestry anymore. It's more about this: "The sacralization of space [that] usually results from a succession of holy events like repeated miracles, or from accumulated layers of worship and veneration . . ."

I have thought a lot about space lately—how physical space is tied to emotional or spiritual space, how the daily acts in my space affect the feeling of that space, how I can make my home a sacred space no matter where it is and what our budget. I love the idea of repeated acts sacralizing a space; that as we repeatedly pray, or love, or aid in the space of our homes, those acts make it sacred. I think about repetitious acts that can tend toward monotony but allow for a holy work to take place there. I think about temples. I think about motherhood and routine and divinity. I think about our hands and our hearts and what motivates us to use them. And as my baby grows and my belly swells, I think about creation and time and how space is shaped by both.

To think of another

2013-02-28T11:46:00.000-07:00

This is where I want to start:

For a solid two years my world has been wrapped up in Ada's. We first discovered Florence together. She was my travel companion to Verona. We've spent hours exploring, hours on a train, hours pounding out journeys by foot, just the two of us. And even though for most of it she has been too small to express a single thought, knowing she was there was my comfort, my constant. Ada is my everything.

And that is why it's so hard for me to think of another.

Before my ultrasound a few weeks ago, thoughts about a new baby swung from overwhelming worry about what two kids means physically—an frenetic ball of toddler and a needy swaddle of baby—to grief that the time I've had with Ada is almost over, and that I'll never be able to spend this kind of time with my next child. There was joy and mystery and excitement sneaking through the cracks like sunshine, but I wanted to feel light bursts of gladness and the sort of wrapped-up enthusiasm that came with the news about expecting Ada. What I felt was more heavy, more solemn.

Don't get me wrong. It all sounds so gloomy compressed into a paragraph. This baby is going to be a bright one. (Tangentially, I am a second daughter and am sure that the time I spent with my own mother was less than she was able to devote to a single child. I have no delusions about this, nor do I think it's sad like my imagination sometimes wants to picture it. It's just one of those many Facts of Life that stand like pillars holding up what's ours.)

On the drive home from the ultrasound appointment, I was washed with peace and calm. All the thoughts about being torn from diaper change to nursing session to meal prep to clean up to art projects to building blocks—and will I ever paint again?—melted with the knowledge that I was carrying a daughter. Two girls. Nothing more perfect. A sister. It was the first time during this pregnancy I've had near-tangible reassuring feelings that this is going to be our greatest blessing yet.

Many of my happiest thoughts about what this baby means come in terms of knowing that she'll be a sister, and that she'll have a sister, Ada Louise, who I rank as one of the best humans on the planet. I know this next daughter will be the same way. To know what joy my own sisters have brought me creates an unbounded thought of gratitude when I picture my own daughters as sisters.

I feel her often now. She kicks and moves and lets me know all the time that she's forming and growing and preparing.

I am too.

I have to ready my heart and trust that a cavernous space I didn't know will be filled and make me full.

Fireballs and Ai Weiwei

2013-02-19T10:51:00.003-07:00

Don't be jealous, but this morning my daughter dropped three Atomic Fireball candies into my bath effectively dying the water pink in a matter of seconds. And then demanded to get in with me. We were like a couple of pink Easter eggs when we got out. I'm glad she didn't get her hair wet. That wispy, dye-prone stuff probably would've taken to the Red 40 more permanently.

Moon boxes

view through the Moon boxes

Like one of our favorite storybook pigs, Olivia, on rainy days, we like to go to the museum. Today we visited the Hirshhorn. The Ai Weiwei exhibit is almost over and I would have felt seriously amiss had I not seen it while it was in town. There were enough odd-ball things to keep Ada interested (i.e. a giant snake made out of backpacks that wound around on the ceiling).

Ai Weiwei's "Cube Light"

The moon boxes were basically the best thing to happen to her since her birthday (I was just telling a friend that the post-birthday adjustment has been a difficult one. She's constantly asking for presents and balloons and cupcakes...oh my). We spent a lot of time looking through them from one end and the other. Security guards got a kick out of her. She reminds me so much of my little sister who would greet people with sticking her tongue out, or a raspberry, or some other charming salutation while a preschooler.

Ada greets people with a short grouchy squawk or a, "Noooo." What happened to my social girl? (To be fair, people are so weird. They ask questions like, "Oh my goodness I like your shoes, can I have them?" I might feel constantly violated/on guard too if I were a two year old and people felt the need to get right up in my business to have a conversation).

The simple color block paintings provided lots of color-naming practice. And shhh, don't tell, but one of the security guards told me it was okay for her to rub her hands all over them?? Sorry Ellsworth Kelly . . . Maybe they're reinforced against toddler hands because they know there's nothing so alluring as a giant green triangle within arms reach. That maybe have been her favorite things of the day. Besides the light cube. We circled that puppy a dozen times while Ada dutifully repeated, "No touching. Just look with mine eyes." It's becoming a sort of mantra at our house.

The visit wouldn't have been complete without singing the alphabet song while looking at the GIANT LETTERS downstairs

2 Years-old

2013-02-12T08:02:00.000-07:00

It's amazing to me that my baby is two. What's more amazing is that she won't be my baby come June. There will be a new little face around these parts (I still am having loads of trouble wrapping my mind around this). In fact, my heart at once bursts and breaks when I think that Ada won't be my only child soon. Is this normal? I'm such a swarm of conflicting feelings. On one hand I can't wait to add another little person to the mix. I can't wait to see Ada as a sibling. I can't wait to cuddle and new warm baby and introduce it to the wonders I've slowly discovered the last two years with Ada. On the other hand, the thought of dividing my time further, of spending even less with Ada and Mike and art is a complicating and conflicting thought.

But back to my darling Ada girl. She knows her ABC's and can almost count to 20 unassisted. She can sing all the words to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and knows several other tunes that she puts most of the words to (Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam, Stars Were Gleaming, Mary has a little Lamb, Row, Row, Row your Boat, Elmo's World Theme Song . . .) She describes things with several adjectives, "Ada wants her purple ciucio with tiny, purple stars." Literally. She has said this to me on several occasions. She speaks in third person 100% of the time and often narrates everything she's doing or experiences. She mimics nearly every word I say. She picks up quickly on emotions. She loves to draw and paint and can do it for several hours a day. She loves Elmo. She seems to prefer book stacking to book reading these days (but perhaps it's because she's tired of our selections at home. . .) She can build the train track by herself but gets frustrated easily when the pieces don't line up on the first try. She loves wearing dresses and necklaces and hats but also loves to run and jump and climb, throw balls and play at the park.

She is a completely different baby than she was when we moved out here in August. In fact, I don't think she's really a baby at all anymore. This growing up business is even harder to watch from the outside. She's more and more fun by the minute (and often more challenging) but the phases pass so quickly and she's shooting up like a weed I'm not sure how much more growing I can take.

Can't we just put things on hold for a bit? A little bit? Please?

Ada, I love you so much my insides turn to pieces. You are the brightest joy of my life. Happy 2nd Birthday, sweetie.

On self-raising

2013-02-05T06:14:00.000-07:00

For a few reasons, I sometimes I feel like I'm raising myself. There are moments in nearly every day with Ada that mirror home videos from my childhood so closely it's hard not to wonder if my mind has made-up said videos and replaced my own little toe-headed-toddler self with Ada.

She colors for spans of time equal to toddler eternity (thirty, forty-five minutes?! She can't even watch Sesame Street for this long) and while she does she often sings to herself, or narrates her drawings. If she sees one of her "pretty dresses" she insists on putting it on right that instant and then proceeds to "spin like a princess" before moving on to adorning herself in every necklace I own. Her mind seems to constantly be humming, processing, sorting information. Perhaps all toddlers in general seem a bit preoccupied because their little brains are taking in so much each moment. She easily collapses in frustration when she can't communicate like she wants or the moment she feels itchy (sound familiar, Mom?)

But I also feel like I'm raising myself (or, really, continuing the work my parents started). Being a baby having babies, there is still lots of room for self-raising. When I see Ada's tantrums I get so self reflective ignoring her behavior—waiting out her storm—is easy. But it makes me realize I don't take a lot of things well either. Is mothering always like holding a mirror up to yourself every day? People always say they learn more by having kids than by being a kid. And it's true. Because you see so much of yourself in them, moments of intense examination come all-too often.

My abusive boyfriend-child

2013-02-01T11:30:00.000-07:00

I had a friend tell me that toddlers are like abusive boyfriends and we are like their low self esteem girlfriends. "We keep coming back to them, love them more and more each time."

It makes me feel like a crazy woman sometimes. How is she at once so endearing and maddening?

This morning I was over-the-moon in love with her. She was shirtless, doing a veggie dance and taking laps around the kitchen while eating "pock-warm" (popcorn). She would pause about every 30 seconds and stand back from her whiteboard to exclaim, "Oh my goodness! Look at THAT!!" She sang, "And everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary went, Everywhere that Mary went, Mary went, Mary Mary went."

My heart couldn't take it.

* * *

In an obvious moment of deep contemplation Mike turned to me the other day and said, "Isn't it crazy that we have the capacity to create people we'll someday associate with?"

"Like, our children?" I had to clarify.

"Yeah. You know—don't have any friends? Have some babies."

So weird. Though it is becoming truer and truer. Ada is turning into my buddy.

* * *

Most buddies of mine, however, don't take dry erase marker and scribble up and down the length of their shins before coming in to ask for forgiveness and wipe. (See what I mean?! Abusive. But how could I not love her even more after her obvious try at rectification?) Or throw themselves to the ground and start writhing because I filled their cup with water rather that milk.

When I put her down for a nap she looked up and apologized again. "Sorry, Mommy. No, no color on pants. Color on paper!"

What was going to be a reluctant, guilt-inducing, not-so-motherly, begrudgingly bestowed kiss turned into a shower of smooching. She hated it.

I love her for it.

my two loves at the park on my 60 degrees, sunny birthday

Inauguration Day

2013-01-28T10:40:00.002-07:00

The days leading up to the inauguration were crowded in DC. We went out to dinner for my birthday the Saturday before, and called half a dozen restaurants the Wednesday before that to get a reservation at a regular dinner hour. ("Hi, would you like a 4:00 or 9:30 reservation? Everything else is booked." "Um..." We ate at Tabard's Inn and it was an excellent—even romantic!—meal at a normal 6:00 hour.)

I got all sorts of emails about road closures and extra security measures to take (like, write your and your child's personal information on a note card and fix it to their person if you plan on taking them Downtown. Yikes).

The day of the inauguration, Capitol hill was eerily quiet. Either people were all already on the Mall by mid-morning or they were smart enough to sleep in, have brunch and take the day off. We were neither.

We opted to not leave the house at an ungodly hour and wait in the cold with our toddler just for a good seat, so at 10—and calling upon the strength of our pioneer stock—we left the house for the day with a tin of peanuts, a package of licorice, a PB&J and a few water bottles.

"We don't always agree with the President, but we always pray for him (1 Tim 2:1-4)"

I sort of regret not buying an "Official Inauguration" something. I'm so not a souvenir person, but it would have been fun to wave a flag or something. Right?

The walk down was a cultural slice of life. Being a non-ticketed attendee meant walking, and walking, and shuffling past vendors and closed streets and innumerable police men. The entrance at 7th Street (above) was close by the time we got there—minutes before the speech began. The group dynamic of being collectively rerouted was interesting to say the least. There was a collective sigh as people regrouped and figured out where to go. It was like being in a river of people. When a we came upon a roadblock, we trickled out in a dozen different directions and white capped on occasion. There were numerous frustrating moments when I questioned the authority of nearly every cop who said, "Sorry. This road is closed. Walk two blocks to the south and then over 5 blocks and up two more blocks and you'll be where you want to be." "Grrrr..."

Vendors lined the streets and back roads that snaked through the maze-like city. At one point Mike commented that maybe all this extra rerouting and walking was some secret part of Michelle Obama's Let's Move! campaign. I think he may be right . . .

Our view. I know. High quality photo.

We walked over 25 blocks down to the Washington Monument where we caught the tail-end of the inaugural address. It was actually nice to not be pressed up on by a thousand people like I heard the view a few blocks closer was. We heard enough, ate our peanuts and licorice, ran around a bit, took a few pictures and then started the mass exodus back east (when I swear even more roads were closed...) towards our house.

Hooray we made it!

Awesome mothering tip: give your kid licorice constantly and they'll be happy as a clown in their stroller all day.

People have asked me, "Are you glad you went?" I answer, "Totally. It was a great experience...to do once." I don't think I'll ever have to make the trek again (unless I had awesome tickets and handwarmers).

There were moments that I don't think I'll ever forget, like watching the pride on a black woman's face as she glaced over a row of Obama Calendars, fixed her eyes on a picture of the First Lady and exclaimed over and over, "Michelle is gorgeous! Just gorgeous!!" I agree. She is. And I like her haircut.

Or the guy selling Romney and Obama condoms. Or the vendor who used the back of an old Romney/Ryan campaign sign as the backing to his sign advertising Obama inauguration gear. How resourceful.

Or Ada watching the horses before they took off for the parade. Or how sweetly she would ask for "More licorice, please." After getting reminded to use her manners 20 times first and "Ask nicely."

It was a 6 hour outing. Needless to say we stopped for a pizza on the way home.

So much trash every where. The can on the left is long before the ceremony actually began.

Inauguration porta-potties anyone?

Christmas kink

2013-01-24T07:31:00.000-07:00

The day after Christmas we packed up and headed to Heber for two nights at a cabin with Mike's family. The cabin was beautiful and spacious. We rented snowmobiles that everyone was anxious to try the next day. We packed sleds and dufflebags full of gloves, scarves, hats, thermals, coats, snow pants and boots. It was to be 3 days of snow play, cozy fires, hot cider, games, and family bonding.

We arrived around 4 and had pizzas for dinner. After, the family all headed downstairs to play air hockey, watch the grandkids wrestle and play. Soon the kids were ready to watch a movie (or a moomie, as Ada calls them, though she's never sat through more than 10 minutes of one so I'm not sure what her fascination is...) I headed upstairs to make popcorn and before the microwave dinged Mike was carrying a crying Ada up the stairs.

She had climbed up to the second rung on the bunk bed ladder (only about the height of a kitchen chair), slipped, and taken the full impact of her fall onto the tile floor with her right arm.

(L) waiting at the Instacare, in the middle of saying, "It huuuurts." (R) Didn't hurt bad enough to keep her from using that arm to color with. She the bend in it? Her other arm looks totally straight by comparison.

It was readily apparent to me that something was more wrong that just a routine bump on the head. I noticed what I initially thought was swelling in her right arm right away as I held her, but had a gut feeling it was worse. I went to the couch, pulled up her sleeve and knew immediately her arm was broken. Her arm was very bowed and after comparing it to her left arm, I knew we needed to suit up, brave the snow and head to the hospital.

On the drive there was sang a few primary songs which calmed her down almost immediately. We drove 10 minutes the wrong way on Highway 40, too flustered to follow a map, before turning around and getting to the hospital.

Too happy to have a broken arm, right? Or just loopy because it was after 10 pm at this point.

The wait was more miserable for us than her. The x-ray confirmed it was a greenstick break in both bones so they paged the orthopedic surgeon to come and set her arm. We opted for sedation so we wouldn't have to listen to our screaming baby as they bent her bones back into place. She fell asleep, with her pants down, ready for her shot just minutes before the anesthesiologist came in.

Still coloring with her broken arm (after pushing the ER doc away with it...my little toughy).

They gave her a dissociative anesthetic that caused a temporary disconnect between what she felt and what she remembered. She tried so hard to talk through the whole thing.

Gradually as the drug too affect her speech became slower, more slurred, her eyes started ticking back and forth like she was in the car watching telephone polls zoom by out the window. Eventually she was catatonic and the orthopedic surgeon came in to set her arm.

I was at her side, watching the whole thing up close. Mike said he was surprised that the guys just grabbed her arm and with his hands straightened it all out. I found that particularly comforting, actually. Sometimes I feel like medicine is too removed from our bodies. Everything is done with machines and not much is left to intuition and personal care and trusting our hands.

As the doctor set her bones she let out the saddest, slowest moan I've ever heard, "Ooooooooooooooouuuuch-eeeee." I felt my heart break a little further every second she sustained her slow-motion-cry. As she came out of the affects of the drug, he began hallucinating. The anesthesiologist said adults who are put under this way often talk about strange hallucinations. Ada hallucinated about bubbles. She raised her arm and began popping the imaginary things. Minutes passed and she recognized me, wanted to talk about mommy and her cousins and daddy.

All was right. Except for her purple fingers. Oh, and her broken arm.

We went back a week later for the hard cast. Hot pink. She began crying the second we stepped foot in the hospital. "Gee-na car!" (Get in the car!") "Bye bye! Gee-na car!"

She basically screamed the whole time we were there. But she got a stale sucker and a teddy bear out of the experience so it couldn't have been THAT bad. Plus, now she examines her cast with pride every time she undresses and says, "Ada's cool cast. It's pink."

I asked her last night if she wanted to take it off on Friday. She immediately cradled her arm and said, "No take it off! No take it off! Ada's cool cast! It's pink!"

(With any luck cast comes of tomorrow!!)

Featuring an ugly red coat

2013-01-22T18:41:00.002-07:00

The last few days in Washington were spent cleaning and packing and organizing so coming home from our holiday in Utah would be a pleasant, relaxing experience. Everybody knows you need rehab after a vacation. Somehow they often leave you feeling hung over from all the happy memories made.

We left fairly cold weather in Washington (with those mums still holding on for dear, numby life!) and arrived in mounds of snow in the frozen Utah tundra. Ada couldn't have been happier. I couldn't have been colder.

A few days after arriving she somehow got us all out of the house before 10 and on a sub-arctic walk around the neighborhood. There's a spot from one of our home videos growing up that has my sisters and I playing in the snow on the deck of my parents' Grandview home. My mom is playing commentator while we chase each other and catch snowflakes in our mouths. She says something like, "There's some sort of golden rule where the amount of time it takes to get ready to play in the snow must be twice as long as the time the kids actually play in it." I thought about it every time we got suited up to head outside. Did I mention that Utah is like an arctic subcontinent?

Ada walked off the plane wearing a sign announcing our big news around her neck. It was fun to wait and announce my pregnancy until we were there with our families in person. At nearly 14 weeks I felt super proud of our secret-keeping skills. It took everyone a little bit to realize what Ada was wearing. Seeing their faces was priceless.

I've been feeling relatively good, but more sick and tired than I did during my pregnancy with Ada. I'm sure half the fatigue comes from tearing after my toddler day in and day out and not having the luxury of sleeping in any more (oh the days of sleeping in!!)

We've drilled the phrase "Ada's going to be a big sister because Mommy's having a baby!" into Ada's head. I've heard her say it to her toys (and while she leaves out half the words it still never gets old). We're excited and hoping to build up how great babies are so Ada doesn't get too jealous when the little bundle arrives at the end of June.

Less-than manic

2013-01-14T11:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a textbook Monday around here. Ada woke up HOURS earlier than she should have forcing me out of bed HOURS earlier than I would have liked (though, to be clear, I spent a good chunk of time on the couch with a pillow and blanket pretending to play with one eye open).

We made pancakes. And ran around in our undies until the acceptable hour for such shenanigans (and laziness) had long since passed. I just put The Lou down for her nap. I'm still in my PJ's. It's 1 PM.

Yes, Monday.

It's going to be a good week. But, oh! be kind to us.

Home again

2013-01-10T13:12:00.005-07:00

Despite the fatigue-inducing hassle that often comes with flying, there's a moment on each flight that makes air travel magical.

I don't think I've been on a flight yet where the moment wasn't there.

Right after the fasten seatbelt light is turned on for the last time, tray tables and seat backs are at their full and upright position, everyone is quite. Their electronics are off, their eyes are reopened, and they sit quietly with their stranger-turned-neighbor and stare out the tiny oval windows that run the length of the plane.

Yesterday the afternoon sun lit up our faces and made dancing patterns on the overhead bins as the airplane turned and the angle of the light shifted.

It's such a quiet moment. Maybe it's anticipation to be some place new, or a thoughtful time to regroup and ready yourself for home.

But it feels like group extra-spection. As you see the tiny roads and rivers carve out forests and cities, and the patchwork geometry of agriculture unfolds below, I know that I can't feel a little smaller, a little more like I'm just one tiny piece of something so big and so beautiful. It feels like the plane load of passengers is held in a collective awe of what we just did—spanned a continent in a few hours—and in collective awe of how beautiful the world is.

I'm not sure how God wouldn't cross your mind in a moment like that. I thought about Him, and said a thankful prayer as we touched down on the runway.

Merry & Bright

2012-12-22T13:10:00.001-07:00

a free couch...

2012-12-13T12:39:00.000-07:00

I keep thinking about my couch.

It's become quite a personal symbol of God's love for me. You see, DC met us with surprise expenses and a mostly unfurnished apartment, meaning the futon that was left here had to cut it, because there just wasn't any wiggle room in our budget. And it was a huge blow for me. I can't even completely say why. It's probably partly due to the fact that I fantasize about decorating each apartment we move into and then am faced with harsh realities every time. Or it's because I was so desperate for friends but the ugliness of the futon was enough to make me turn down play-dates at my house. Or it's because after an evening of sitting on it, catching up on Parks and Recreation my tailbone literally ached from the lumpy, awkwardly angled, hideousness that was to be our "couch" for the next 9 months. I just couldn't take it.

I cried about it. More than once. Yes! Cried! About how ugly and uncomfortable my futon was! And the knowledge of just how petty and stupid I was being would cause me to plunge deeper into my tears.

Sigh.

Those were the days.

But I got over it. Sometimes it takes a good cry and a good bath to realign your perspective so that you see you actually have everything you could possibly need. I have four walls and a roof. And a sweet (albeit force to be reckoned with) daughter. And a loving husband. And access to a billion free things in the city to distract my toddler (and myself) with. And food. And a bike. In many ways I'm living the life I suppose.

So I went to bed repenting, but grateful one night. Grateful that I have so abundantly much. And repenting for have forgotten so completely.

The next morning Mike woke me up saying, "Free couch!" (I thought he said, "FREAK OUT!" and I was so confused coming out of my blurry-sleep that I thought there was a terrorist attack or something). But no. No terrorist. Just a free, not-bad-looking, genuine leather couch that was up for grabs to whomever would haul it away. We made a phone call, rented a van, and by lunch had a new couch.

It only took me letting go a little bit and realizing that I am blessed beyond measure. And I do believe that God was involved, as silly as it may sound when taking about free couches.

So there's this wearing pants to church thing going around. And like everything that comes and seems to rock the boat a bit, so too has come the sort of vitriolic comments (see, I would have linked to the Facebook group that started the pants-wearing-thing, but the comments are so off-putting it's not even worth revisiting the page to get the hyperlink) and back-and-forths that make me want to delete my Facebook, ditch this blog, and take my family to the hills. But that's not very courageous, now is it?

But the pants thing keeps turning my thoughts to my couch. I guess I can't stop thinking about God's love for us. That He cares about what we care about; that he cares about what others care about (even when it seems as silly as a couch; that He cares that some of his daughters (and sons) feel belittled and underrepresented in His Church; that He cares about our questions and our doubts and even about us wearing pants to church. Because he loves us.

I read two things recently that also have been swirling around my brain and mixing with all these thoughts about feminism and couches and pants-wearing. The first are the verses in Mosiah 18 about mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that need comfort; about knitting our hearts together in love; about compassion and service and standing together with one heart and an eye towards God. I love those verses. I think they speak to what we strive toward. I think they stand as a stark contrast to what I read online between passionate members ofttimes. The second is in 2 Nephi 30. We read that chapter last night and the last few verses stuck with me because it reminded me that there is yet so much to be revealed. We just have to trust God and keep on keeping on.

I guess I just want to say that I'm hopeful that answers will come and hearts will be mended. Because I got a couch. And that is way more silly and inconsequential than any of the things so many of those that I love are grappling with every day. That's why I'm hopeful and how I know that God loves us.

Loosen

2012-12-12T11:47:00.004-07:00

I felt like a good mom today. Mike took the computer with him for the day, so I knew there could be no crutches (i.e. Elmo and Renee & Jeremy videos) used as distractions and time-buyers. I looked out the window. Fog. It looked cold even though the weather report said it would be in the 50's.

It had been months since I'd gone on a run. For me, usually the hardest part is getting out the door. In today's case, I had to change a tire on the stroller (my pseudo-fix from last Summer just isn't cutting it anymore). But I suited up, geared up, babied up, and out the door we went. I was so happy and it wasn't too cold.

When we got to the park I let Ada out of her stroller and we chased each other around the statue until the fluffiest white dog in the world bounded over and we let it lick our faces.

She wanted to jump in the puddles. Normally I groan a little inside thinking about the mud and the water, and the uncomfortable whiny baby that usually emerges from the the water. Maybe the run invigorated me. Or maybe I've been inspired enough by other women lately who let their kids lap up water from puddles and explore to their hearts content. Either way, in she went, hopping up and down the length of the shallow pool. After a few minutes she sat down in it, her fleece pants acting like sponges. I told her to stand up, she responded with a squawk, and I realized that the damage was already done.

So she sat in the water for a few minutes until every inch of her were soaked from the waist down.

After we was done I stripped her down to just her diaper and coat, put my sweatshirt on her—legs through the arm holes—and zipped her up tight in the stroller sleeping bag. We jogged home quickly, not stopping once on the way.

The morning set the tone for the rest of our near-perfect day.

Maybe I should loosen up a little.

National Colonial Farm

2012-12-03T11:07:00.002-07:00

The day before Thanksgiving we wanted to do something as a family but it had to fit a few criteria: cheap (or free), close, and Ada-friendly. We thought about Mt. Vernon but at 15 bucks a head we nixed that idea (for now). While looking nearby Mike saw the National Colonial Farm which is just across the Potomac River from Mt. Vernon.

The farm as part of the Piscataway Park which was "founded in 1957 to protect the view from George Washington’s Mount Vernon across the Potomac River." I found it a little bit funny that this huge park's primary purpose is to protect the view from the hot-shot tourist attraction accross the river, but I'm grateful nonetheless that it's there. We loved spending the morning at what they call a "living history museum" which is actually a big working farm. The Accokeek Foundation (who manages the park and the farm) describe it as, "a Maryland middling family farm on the eve of the American Revolution. Through heritage breed livestock and seed saving programs, nearly extinct heirloom crops and animals are preserved for future generations."

Enough history.

I spy my two favorite people and a tiny Mt. Vernon in the clearing across the river.

All you need to know is that the animals were beautiful (you know those portrait-worthy white speckled hens? and brightly colored roosters with the green iridescent tails? and huge cows with long horns? and a wavy-hair amber colored oxen? like that), the view across the Potomac unreal, and the company top notch. Did I mention we were the only ones there? Perhaps aside from Yellow Fever and Smallpox, Colonial Farm life seems so dreamy.

The weather was bright and clear. We wore sweaters and roamed the farm like we owned the place. We poked around the little log structures but spent a majority of our time chasing chickens, catching Daddy, mooing at cows and sharing half an apple pie that we brought for lunch.

It was a nearly picture-perfect morning. The image of Mike and Ada chasing a flock of Canadian geese, forcing them into flight will probably stick with me forever.

See? Chickens, chickens, and more chickens make for one extremely happy baby. Maybe we should take a hint from Ada and move to a farm. Wendell Barry makes it sound great enough. And if I can have sheep with wool as soft as the wool I sunk my fingers into and buried the tops of my hands in, I'll be a happy woman. They were amazing (and so friendly!). The cows, however could have cared less that we were there, trying to communicate.

Maybe it's because I'm a "city girl" (as Ada's pediatrician called me today, though I tried to protest insisting that I grew up with half a dozen horse pastures in my neighborhood and spending loads of time outdoors) but I have never known how tobacco was cut and dried—at least during Colonial times. I'm betting the process looks a bit more industrial now. . . regardless the process looks beautiful, almost like an art installation.

The structures on the farm were made of original wood and reconstructed with a more sound frame. The wood was so beautiful and weathered with bits of pants growing on it and signs of time on the surface. The Tobacco house was quite impressive to me. And so was seeing rows and rows of tobacco hanging nearly floor to ceiling inside.

Everyone should go. It's not touristy, it's not difficult to find, it's not tiring. It's just beautiful, impressive, historical and free. We loved it. Especially Ada who found a big pile of leaves and planted herself firmly, not wanting to leave.

A horse is a horse, of course

2012-11-30T11:34:00.002-07:00

Last night as Ada was in the tub, she pointed out animals in her bath book. She came to one and Mike said, "Do you know what that is? A Horsefish!—"

I cut him off, "No it's not. It's called a Sea Horse."

This is maybe one of the reasons a two-parent household is preferable.

We laughed until we were teary. Because that's just how long of an evening it had been.

In every heart, there is a room

2012-11-29T12:15:00.002-07:00

Most of the trees are bare, acting has home to more squirrels than leaves, but there are still a good bunch holding on to their shaky leaves and keeping things feeling more like Fall and less like Winter here on Capitol Hill.

Ada and I spent a crisp morning at the park. It was deserted but for the leaf blowers and riding lawn mowers making more noise than clean spaces. We wandered around a bit, trying to find dogs to pet and tunnels to hide under while sharing crackers and kicking leaves. We ran for nearly a block, all the way to 11th street and then balanced on the edge of the sidewalk back towards 13th.

Having an empty playground meant that I got to chase Ada all over it. Up the stairs, down the slide. Up the ladder, down the ramp. We rode the springy bikes together and crawled under the slide.

I remember being pregnant with Ada and thinking, "Geez, I love this little human!" I had no idea just how completely she'd win me over. My friends have adorable kids, I've got World's Best nieces and nephews and cousins who are darling and charming and smart. But none of them are my Ada. My stubborn and feisty, independent but fiercely needy, assertive, curious, and endlessly entertaining Louise. I guess it's good we're hard-wired to adore our own. Otherwise the seemingly semi-hourly tantrums would probably push me to auction her off to the highest bidder. Not.

Becoming a mother made me realize that our hearts know so little of how much room there is inside. I didn't feel like room was made when I had Ada, but rather room I didn't know existed was filled.

An Ada update

2012-11-26T12:26:00.000-07:00

I keep telling myself I need to write about my Ada girl but haven't made the time to do it in months. Like babies always do she's changing and growing and learning so rapidly that I'm already forgetting the sound of her saying, "Lo-fee" (lotion) or "Agn" (Ali) as she has replaced them with closer adaptations ("lo-she" and "A-wee"). She's needing to rely on me less and less and an interpreter, which is magical and heartbreaking all at once.

She knows about half of the letters in the alphabet and can sort of sing the alphabet song with me if we trade off lines. (I start off "A B C D" and she says, "E E E," "H I J K," "L me me me me," "Q R S," "T V V," "W X," "Z Z Z.""Now I know my," "A B Cs," "Next time won't you," "E E E".) Same thing—trading off numbers—goes with counting to 12, though for some reason 7 has recently reverted to a 4 . . .

She's still as active as ever. She'll often say ". . .Set, GO!" to herself and take off doing laps around the kitchen table. She climbs everything and has a proclivity for balancing on the edges of things and teetering while saying, "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" She loves wrestling and chasing and getting tickled (Dad is the best at all of these).

She is still equally enthralled with cars and necklaces alike and loves to paint, draw and play with play dough. Some of her other fascinations include fans, water, mermaids, dogs, ties, and puzzles.

Most mornings she'll wake up and begin talking about various friends from church, "Eden is fun. Rupert is fun. Sasha is fun . . ." She's fairly outgoing, often walking up to strangers and giving them a love and a kiss (awkward alert). When riding our bike she likes to sing songs together and often initiates Freight Train or You Are my Sunshine. I'll never tire of our bike rides.

She loves to be understood and often repeats phrases until I repeat them back, letting her know that I've understood. Some days I can't believe I understand my baby talking to me. When did she get big enough to form words and sentences and independent thoughts?

When it comes to sharing, she'll freely share with inanimate objects (cars, trees, strollers, lights) or things that couldn't be less interested (squirrels, birds flying 20 yards overhead, dogs we pass while riding our bikes), but with other kids—that's another story completely. Something to work hard at, I suppose.

Basically, Ada is a completely normal toddler doing very normal toddler things, but because she's mine I think she's just remarkable.

I want to be a Swede

2012-11-23T11:40:00.001-07:00

November also played host to DC's Kids Euro Festival. Delegations from each of the 27 European Union Member States hosted free plays, musical performances, workshops, screenings and other events for kids in the area. There were only two that specified ages 1-3 as a good fit for their event, so we were sure to make the most of the few performances we went to.

The first was at House of Sweden, the building that houses the Swedish embassy. It's a beautiful, modern, clean, Scandinavian structure right on the Potomac that made me want to march up and apply for Swedish Citizenship right then and there. The performance and activities they provided for the kids was equally as impressive and cool. Several Swedish families were there (and Ada was mistaken for a Swede—she has enough of it in her ancestry, maybe 'mistaken' is the wrong word).

The performance was really simple but I was amazed at how entranced even the busiest of bodies became when it began. Ada and I had front row seats and it helped to be right up in the action.

I think the performance served as a lesson in sharing to the kids and a lesson in the simplicity of play for the adults. I know it helped me realize how focused simplicity trumps many other kids of play. I came away happy to live in a place so rich with opportunity and creativity. I love that I can share in these experiences with my daughter and help cultivate a spirit of adventure and learning and creativity as we take on new things together.

The second performance was at the Kennedy Center on the Millenium Stage. It was an evening performance so we got to bring Dad along with us. This performance was by a troupe from Bologna, which made us extra excited to check it out. A link of the performance can be found HERE.

Shout Hooray!

2012-11-23T11:14:00.003-07:00

Before the month is out I've made a goal to catch up on our November happenings.

To kick off the month Mikey had a birthday (on Guy Fawkes day, or, as I like to think of it, My Foxy Guy's day). The celebration (rightfully) lasted for what seemed like a week. The Friday before his birthday we went on an afternoon lunch date and one of my good friends took Ada for several hours so we could have some much needed time on our own.

We met up downtown on our bikes and rode to our lunch spot. After we headed to the National Gallery of Art and stayed there for hours and hours. We quickly glanced over the early Italian altar pieces and stopped by the DaVinci before hitting up some Dutch work and then the Modern gallery in the East building. Seeing the gilded altar pieces with the embossed crowns and faces kept simple with crude features, I was instantly transported to our time Bologna where we saw so many things that looked so similar. We, once again, tossed around the, "I can't believe we lived there" ideas and reminisced a bit about what a year it has been. Then our minds raced forward, trying to see where we'll be a year from now: graduated, some place where Mikey is working and we're setting up more of a permanent home. It feels like we've been nomads for so long.

After a few hours our feet were achy and our eyes were tired. We walked to our bikes and pedaled up Capitol Hill, passed the pond, the Capitol, the Library of Congress and onto Lincoln Park, then home.

Tuesday was his actual birthday. Wanting to do something of a surprise for him, I had two plans in mind: making the dinner he has talked about since we got married, a dinner of appetizer-type dips and a variety of things to dip in them, and, knowing he wouldn't get to see Ada because of the 12-hours worth of make-up classes he had (Happy Birthday, Love, Sandy) making a short, simple video of Ada saying, "Happy Birthday Daddy." What should have taken 20 seconds took all day, and I didn't even finish. Between my time in the kitchen and chasing the little one around, it sadly didn't make the cut. But making its debut below: Our worst-ever happy birthday tribute video to Dad.

By the time he finally got home, Ada was asleep and the dinner was set with dips and dipees and his requested birthday "cake" of homemade snickers. Oh this boy of mine...

I'm so grateful for my Michael Neal.

Art Sale!

2012-11-13T08:59:00.004-07:00

Hello friends,

Just a little business announcement:

From now through the holidays I'm offering 30% off any painting in my Etsy shop. Just enter the code JOY30 when checking out.

Happy Holidays!

Halloween

2012-11-12T17:45:00.002-07:00

Picking up where I left off, here's a bit of Halloween-ing (three weeks late). To be fair, Ada still wears her "La-ba-ba" around the house, so we're kind of still celebrating over here.

Saturday before the holiday we had an impromptu ward primary/nursery party at the National Arboretum that was loads of fun. I admittedly scoffed at the idea of bringing non-sweet treats for the "trick-or-treating." I quickly learned, however, that they are way more awesome to a nearly-two-year old.

Ada had more fun with stickers, little toys, play doh, etc. and after actual trick-or-treating and seeing what a couple of fun-size Milky Ways did to the kid, I was grateful for wise parents who encouraged us to bring popcorn, dried fruit (yogurt covered raisins have for toddler-nirvana), clementines . . .

A reference photo, for those of you who need it.

Mike and I were invited to a Halloween bash with several couples in the ward. Everyone's costumes were amazing and I have never eaten such tasty creepy-looking food. You know the whole peeled grapes routine? It was like that but about 10 times better looking and 100 times more delicious. Mike was a little unsure about our costumes, but soon a girl walked in and said, "FRIDA!" and I felt totally justified for wanting to pull off a silly art costume.

On Halloween we had a particularly festive meal of left-over-clean-out-the-fridge stuff and then went to Eastern Market for the annual Hilloween bash. There were hay-rides pulled by big Clydesdale horses, bounce houses, face painting, balloons, and magicians. It was a bit of a mob scene, but fun to feel a part of the community. Ada got the only thing she wanted: A bright red balloon. It made me realize why parents wait in line 20 minutes for a free balloon—watching your kids light up is magic every time.

The red balloon and sharing her Halloween spoils with Lamby, Giraffey, and Sisi, her most loyal friends.

She trick-or-treated ("Kih-kee-keet!") at about a dozen houses before and after our stop by the festivities. We ended the night at a friend's house where we put kids down and had a little murder mystery dinner with the adults.

It seemed like Halloween lasted forever (oh wait, it's the middle of November and I'm reliving it again) but it was such a fun week of dressing up and watching Ada's stuffed ladybug-bum waddle around the house.

P to the O to the T-T-Y

2012-11-08T13:35:00.003-07:00

You know when you're so behind in blogging that you just want to toss your hands up and jot down, "We celebrated Halloween and a week later Mike had a birthday" instead? I'm about there. It's paralyzing because I have the nagging compulsion to want to write chronologically. The more behind I get the I am the less likely I am to ever want to write anything because it means backing up two weeks.

Sigh.

I'm going to try and fight that compulsion today.

Ada has become increasingly resistant to her diaper and increasingly aware of how uncomfortable it is to sit in your own wasted. Going in her diaper is always followed by a lot of tugging, waddling, and, if she's wet, exclaiming, "STHOGGY!" If it's messy, on the other hand, she sticks her chin up like she's howling at the moon and in a low groan says, "poooooooop-py! Pooooooooop-py." It sounds much like a cow mooing, actually.

Tuesday I figured, let's go for it. Ada diaper free. Me on her like a hawk and asking her 8 million times if she has to go potty until by the end of the day she only responds with raspberries and squawks.

By noon we had our first victory (who knew she could hold it for 3 hours?!) #2 right where it belongs. We cleaned up and while I was mid-victory-text to Mikey I heard my cattle-baby lowing, "Poooooop-py" and there it was: the sneak attack poop. She went on the rug literally 20 seconds after going the first time and shooting her enthusiastic little arms into the air and shouting, "AH DONE!" Then she stepped in it 4 times before I could get my hands free and armed with wipes.

Mamma mia.

Yesterday seemed to be going better. Until she squatted over her vehicles puzzle to relieve herself. Fortunately the pieces were scattered everywhere so it had some holding capacity. And at least her urine went in the water-appropriate vehicle: the submarine.

Let the adventures continue. We're in this thing for the long haul.

Sandy

2012-11-05T19:30:00.000-07:00

Ada, gearing up for Sandy

Hurricane (I mean, ahem, Super Storm or what? Tropical Storm) Sandy didn't do much here aside from make us rather stir-crazy. Mike was supposed to take a test Monday that was turned into a take-home exam. Ha. Taking an exam with Ada and I around? Not a chance. Luckily our neighbors upstairs let him crash their kitchen exam-style and take it upstairs on Tuesday.

The same Tuesday where it was raining lightly and cloudy all day and everything was still shut down. I know, I know, better safe than sorry. But it was hard not to feel a bit silly when I flipped on NPR and opened my computer to see the devastation up north of us.

We had prepared well with water and food (in fact, I didn't go grocery shopping again until Saturday, as in, two days ago). I decided that other things that should go in hurricane-prep kits are distractions for toddlers (and mothers alike). Stickers! Fun treats! Silly string! New toys!

By the end of day two my creativity was spent.

Much of our time was spent playing and reading. We played with play-doh and paints and crayons. We took bath (two in one day!) and wore lots of fancy things likes gloves and necklaces and bows.

Ada got in a new habit of wanting to show Mike everything and anything she put on.

One necklace, "Daddy! See me! Daddy! See!" and she charges right up to him, plants herself inches away, sticks out her chin and grins. I get where she's coming from, like a true Anderson, Michael gives really great reactions and always makes you feel like a million bucks.

(Speaking of, Happy Birthday, Love!!)

It's now habitual. We change her diaper, "Daddy see me!" She puts a flower behind her ear (and even though it falls out before she gets to him), "Daddy see me!"

I'm not sure why it took us so long to venture out of the house. I guess it's probably because I hate being wet and cold, but when we finally did we found a few fallen trees and lots of leaves on the ground. It felt so good to breathe air than hadn't been recirculated in our 700 square foot apartment for nearly 48 hours.

Needless to say we spent nearly all our waking hours Wednesday out doors. There were way too many leaves that had yet to be crunched, dogs that had yet to be bothered, and slides that had yet to be slid on.

It felt so good to be back on the bike after nearly a week of not riding.

Wednesday felt like waking up and kicking into gear after a holiday weekend. I feel really fortunate to consider Sandy a holiday when so many others consider it their ruin.