reverie.

Reminder

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 12:09:00 +0000

Hi everyone!

My new site says that a lot of readers are still clicking through from here to get to the new blog. Please make sure to adjust your readers and bookmarks and make sure you're heading right to sarahannnoel.com. This blog will not be available soon.

Thanks!

Redirect

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 19:44:00 +0000

Hi there!

If you didn't get my Twitter an Facebook messages, head on over to sarahannnoel.com. I will explain everything there.

I will no longer be updating at this URL and, after October, I will no longer own the domain. I wish I could make it automatically redirect, but, turns out, 1and1 doesn't like to play nice with Blogger. So update your bookmarks, readers, and links accordingly--that is, to sarahannnoel.com. (Which, the end of Google Reader? What will we do?)

Thanks for following me over. See you there!

Together

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 04:34:00 +0000

She used to value her independence and her ability to do things on her own. She could sit in a coffee shop for hours on end with only herself for company. Or she wasn't afraid to eat or shop or even travel all alone. It was almost a luxury.

And then she met him. And they saw the world together. Or they stayed at home together. It didn't matter. Then she couldn't imagine why she'd spent all that time doing great things but not sharing the experience with someone else.

And then, then they had two little ones who were wide- and bright-eyed and who awed at all they saw. She couldn't imagine that anything had ever really seemed exciting before she had their eyes to see with.

So whether it's a lover or a child or a sister or a friend, it seems better to share things with someone. You can have experiences; but having the chance to share them makes them richer and bigger somehow.

P.S. Photos by Morgan.

Vessel

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Growing up, Bible stories of overabundance used to blow my mind.

Like, how could it be that the boy's fish just kept multiplying and multiplying? If I had a basket with a few fish in it and I passed a few fish out and suddenly there were more fish, I'd probably freak out and throw the basket in the air, fish flying everywhere, which would freak me out even more, because, where did the extra flying fish come from?

Or those virgins with the lamps? And I don't know much about oil lamps or anything, but did it not strike them as strange that they just kept burning? Why was that not part of the story? Why was it just an accepted fact? "Oh yes, the lamps lasted all night."

And it wasn't that I didn't believe the stories were true or anything. I understand that Jesus performed miracles. But I just couldn't imagine being there and seeing it and just rejoicing in the glory of it all rather than freaking out, like I said.

Rough transition, but I swear I'm going somewhere:

My girls were sick from the beginning of the year until just a week or so ago. I'm telling you this hoping you don't judge me as "that mom with the kids who are always sick," because other than passing it back and forth to each other and it perpetually getting worse, I have no idea how they were sick for so long. We had everything under the sun. I did everything I could, and we were literally in the house for three weeks. I mean. We didn't leave.

We woke up every day, having barely slept between crying babies and coughing toddlers and fevers and sniffles; and then we sneezed our way through the morning, watching more television than I'll admit, not really eating meals, just whatever I could force down into sicky little tummies. We'd barely make it to nap time, and I'd be praying that it would be a day we'd all collapse for hours rather than battle against sleep.

The worst thing about sick kids is seeing it in their eyes, knowing that they don't feel well, watching their bubbly personalities retreat somewhere inside, and not really being able to communicate to them what "sick" is. It's so sad and so draining. And we all know I have an incredible helpmate in Trevor, but the other thing about sick kids is, they only want their mommy.

In the midst of it all, as you can imagine was inevitable, I caught whatever they had as well. And my arms ached from lifting kids up and down and my spirit was weary. I remember going to be bed one night in tears I was so tired. And then Edi was up and then Iris was up and then Edi was up and then Iris was up.

That second time I heard Iris call out for me that night, I had a moment of panic. I thought, "I am not physically capable of this." And then from somewhere I mustered what I needed to swing my legs out of bed yet again and make my way toward the nursery. The second I opened the door and scooped Iris up into my arms, wiping snot from her nose and drying tears from her eyes, it was like I didn't notice the exhaustion. What I needed was there. I didn't think it would be, but it was.

And later it made me feel so incredibly a part of a greater plan, knowing that I was a vessel of miracles just like a basket of fish or a lamp with a never-ending energy source. I was carrying some sort of divine mom power in me, and whatever was needed to do my job and to do it well would surely pour out of me, even when it seemed impossible. It didn't trickle out like squeezing the last bit of water from a sponge; it gushed and bubbled over so that I wasn't just there, I was everything my daughter needed in that moment.

The best thing about it all was that I didn't notice it happening in the moment. It was a provision and I took it and I moved forward with my work as though it didn't strike me as odd that I suddenly wasn't tired. Perhaps that was how it worked for the disciples and the fish boy. Jesus said there would be enough and there was enough and so they kept going. Isn't that just like faith? You feel like you're taken to the very edge and right before you run out and break, you make it one more step. You don't even realize it until you've done it and you've put a mile more behind you. Until you've fed five more people. Until you've waited three more hours. Until you've gone one more day without sleep and survived without breaking.

There are days where I feel hollow and empty and useless. But I am a never-emptied vessel, a miracle to be added to the other examples of the mind-blowing power of faith and trust and provision. And so are you; just keep going.

P.S. Photos by Morgan, taken at the DAM during her most recent visit here.

Simpler

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 21:44:00 +0000

I woke up to silence this morning. We've been tucked up in the foothills for a few days, far away from the city noise that I guess you really don't notice until it's not there. But today, 7:00 a.m. was hushed and the light came streaming into our room since there is no need to cover the windows--as far as we can tell, the world is only ours up here.

One of my favorite things about living in Colorado is that I sort of feel like we have the best of both worlds. I feel especially spoiled to have my parents living in Golden, their mountain home easily accessible and still a perfect getaway. We've been house sitting for them, and it's fun to pretend like their dream home is ours sometimes.

Every time I'm up here, I'm reminded of how stirred my soul has been, pulled toward something simpler. I always fancied myself a city girl, assuming I could live the hard knocks of a big town life, no need to shake the grit out of my hair. It felt like me. It felt like me to be busy and exposed to the world and with everything at my fingertips.

And I don't know if it's just growing older or growing wiser or maybe growing more maternal, but lately I think it feels more like me to simplify. It feels more like me to stay home on a Friday night and play on the floor with our girls. It feels like me to make extensive plans for this year's garden, dreaming up new ways to be self-sustaining. It feels more like me to spend an entire Saturday afternoon making all-natural household cleaners with my mom. It feels more like me to jump in the car and drive down a mountain to civilization rather than dream what it might be like to walk out my front door and find everything going on.

Maybe it was looking out the window last night and watching our biggest baby stomp through the snow and laugh at the dogs and drive the four-wheeler with her daddy; but I just thought, "I could do this and be out here and have it be only us." And more than anything, I could simplify. I could spend days baking our own bread and making it a lesson for our girls. Or I could spend a cool evening pulling weeds from the ground and find satisfaction in gleaning from the land. And I could lounge by the fireplace at night with only a good book for entertainment, little concerned with what had happened elsewhere that day.

I used to think if I chose this route, I'd fall short of the dreams I'd dreamed or my own expectations. But now I think I'm meant to be this person. The more I clean out, the less pressure I place on myself, the more I feel my spirit quiet and my mind clear. The more I strive to live this way, the better life becomes. Simpler is simply better.

Cookie Monster

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 16:33:00 +0000

I mean, I had done it once before, I thought. So this time it should have been easier.

But on Saturday night, I rocked back and forth, tears rolling down my cheeks as I turned "Happy Birthday to You" into a lullaby, and I knew in the morning I'd be sending her off into another year of life.

And, oh, that day, she'd have the time of her life. There would be dates with daddy and Cookie Monster cakes and friends and balloons and presents! There shouldn't be an inkling of sadness in a day like that. So I got it out. I gave myself that one little moment to be sad, to hang on to any baby that was left in her. She must have sensed it because she let me rock her to sleep, her head upon my shoulder, her body awkwardly curled up into my lap since it's been ages since she really fit there.

Then Sunday was everything it should have been, full of fun and rambunctious kids and tissue paper flying. I used an entire bottle of blue food coloring to make that icing, and you just can't ever have too many pictures of cake-stained faces, crazed by a sugar high.

It was actually the perfect birthday party because this year, as I sat down to write a letter to Iris and thought over the theme of our last 12 months together, all I could think was, "I've never had so much fun." If our first year in life together was about change, this year was about enjoying the new us. From milestones to family time and entering into this "kid" phase, the last year has quite probably been the most fun of my life.

Life's cruel joke is that the instant they turn two, they are all kid. No more baby. She's tall and lanky and sturdy and determined. She climbs on things and runs like a pro and comes up with all sorts of incredible games and stories that keep our days full of imagination. But even though I choke back the tears for two years already gone by, I think, if last year was fun, this year can only be more fun. And she can only teach me more.

Happy birthday to my big, big girl. I love you.

Boobies

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Thu, 21 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

In the past few days, it seems like a million breast feeding posts have popped up around the internets. But I've known since before Edith was born that I would need to write this post. I'm not one to typically regale the internets with my opinions on sensitive subject matter or graphic explanations, but based on my experiences, based on the stories I've heard, based on all that has been said to me--both supportive and, well, the opposite--I knew I'd need to speak up eventually.

Here's the thing--out with it up front! I could not nurse Iris. I've not said that here before, so for those that didn't know, there you go. It all had to do with an induction and stress and a lazy eater for a baby and postpartum depression. It had to do with all of those things and probably none of those things. I considered sharing my story here many times, and then I always decided against it. At the time, it was too traumatic to offer any opportunity for argument or unsolicited advice. I needed to mourn it properly and privately. It's what I should have done after my first month of trying: Mourned it and moved on. It's what my loved ones and doctors were coaching me to do. It's the advice I give anyone struggling with nursing now that I've been there. But I didn't do that. Instead, I pumped every feeding for three months, gleaning no more than two ounces a day. (For you non-nursers, that's not anything.) I researched and had myself tested and wore myself ragged trying to figure out what was wrong and find a way to fix it. What I'm saying is, I've felt the full severity of frustration and guilt and pain that accompanies difficulty with nursing. I have felt robbed of an experience. I have felt judged. I have been consumed with fear that I wasn't giving my child all that she needed and should have.

But it was all for naught. Iris is a thriving, bubbly toddler now, healthy, and basically a genius. But imagine my surprise that she turned out so well when it's not what all the moms of the internet told me would happen. I was rudely educated after bravely writing about my breast feeding experience for my Circle of Moms blog. The article was up for three days, got 40,000 hits and more hurtful comments than I'd care to go back and count. The point of writing the article wasn't to say "not breastfeeding is okay" or "there are problems people don't tell you about!" (even though I wholeheartedly agree with both declarations); I wrote the article almost lightheartedly. It was my way of finally putting things in perspective and hoping that it might do the same for someone else too.

But for all you basement dwellers sitting at home in your underwear, just crawling the web for places to plaster your negativity: Don't worry! I did try nursing again. And you know what? It worked this time. I'm not saying it was easy. Why don't people tell you that?! Nursing is hard, people! It is an incredible time commitment. And holy pain! Oh, my gosh golly! The pain! But we pushed and worked and we made it through all that. Now I'm nursing Edi with ease. The kid was born to eat and has a six-month-old's wardrobe to prove it. (If you're trying to do the math in your head, she's only three months.)

So what was the secret? To what can I attribute my blissful success this time around?

Nothing.

I have done nothing differently except this: I've been kind to myself. I resolved ahead of time that if it worked it worked and if it didn't, well, it didn't. With a forgiving attitude, persistence, and a hungry baby, Edi and I have nursed without a hitch. And because the last failure was such an emotional roller coaster, I feel like it's such a special gift Baby E has given to me--to feel accomplished and like I'm working properly.

It's a great triumph that deserves to be recorded. But that's not why I knew I'd need to write this post. I knew I'd need to put this out there because for every hurtful comment I received about my last experience, for every unrequested piece of advice, I received an email or private message thanking me for being so candid about my struggle with nursing. Many women have trouble nursing--it could be a lack of education, it could be a physical problem or a supply issue, it could be on the part of the baby; but reasons don't matter. If nursing is something that you want to do, and you can't, it is an incredibly difficult battle waged against yourself. What does matter is that we cannot ostracize people or define their failures for them. Motherhood is sacred. Motherhood is intimate. It is deeply emotional and personal. And from the moment we become mothers, our entire lives resonate that new identity. Pieces of our old selves remain tucked away, but we are never the same. So to criticize a mother for how that's played out for her is to demean the woman she is becoming. And that's nobody's business or right.

I've come out on the other side of pregnancy twice now, and it's looked so incredibly different but still beautiful each time. What matters is that I have two healthy, thriving babies and that I've learned to accept my limitations and appreciate who I am as a mother. And, really, it's helped me appreciate my girls as individuals too. Despite differences in their first months, I've found wonderful and unique ways to bond with each of my babies, to love them and nurture them for who they are.

Not being able to nurse and then being given a second chance was, for me, to receive a special grace. It was about more than a bodily function. That's why this post belong here, in this space, and not where the naysayers will once again tell me why I'm wrong or was wrong or will always be wrong. Those women are missing the bigger picture. They're not making the connections between the physical, emotional, relational--those pieces that should exist in harmony since it's together that they create our life experience. Not breast feeding Iris did not subtract from my experience as her mom; and nursing Edi has enhanced my experience as her mom. They are mutually exclusive--experiences meant for me and my girls, each meaningful and important in their own way.

As mothers--as women, as people--we will inevitably be let down. We will miss out on some opportunities. There are some things that we will not be able to do. All of these things are beyond our control. Some may try to tell you that anything can be achieved with a little hard work; but that's simply not always the case. To guarantee ourselves the richest and fullest experience, we must learn to appreciate it for what it is. We must forgive our shortcomings and imperfections. That's all they are--not rights or wrongs. Just differences. And above all else, we must walk in grace. We must give grace to each other and we must give grace to ourselves.

This should be what defines us and the roles we play: The grace we have been given.

Chats

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

It was so wonderful to have you here, friend.

To have chats where I could see your face and hear your laugh and one minute be in hysterics over the terrible lighting at City O'City and the next be close to tears from the seriousness of whatever was so serious.

Thank you for being the kind of friend who can be in hysterics about lighting,

but also for being the kind of serious friend that you are.

Thank you for flying across the country just to see my babies.

And for bringing thoughtful gifts.

And for making me sit during nap time while you did the dishes.

Thank you for my latte while we sat at the hipster bar and talked about the things heavy and light on our hearts and for listening. You always listen. You listen whether or not I'm being ridiculous and whether or not you agree.

Thank you for easing into our routines and loving our life and family for what it is, for making us feel special exactly where we are, for being content to just be with us.

And I know we'll probably chat today and tomorrow and the day after that, like all the days in our months-long iMessage string and Skype dates and phone calls when there are car trips to be made. You're a wonderful day-to-day friend. But gosh it was nice to chat in person.

Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Tue, 19 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

There has been an incredible energy in our house for the past month.

It all started early January, the month that you want to take on the world, what with an unmarked calendar and all the possibility of an entire year at your fingertips, but somehow struggle to muster the motivation in the midst of post-holiday lethargy and mid-winter dreariness. But I wasn't consumed by the latter feelings this year. Something felt so right in my heart, so at peace; and with a starting point like that, why not springboard into whatever was ahead?

And so I put aside some of my internal battles. I set down those weapons and I dusted off my faith, added a touch of take-chargedness. I let the tingle of late night talks with Trevor last through the morning and into my day-to-day activities. That's all it was at first. It was just waking up and living the day and doing the day's things even if they were boring or would seem silly to anyone else. I owned them. I made them important.

Then I thought, "Why just this?" If I could make sweeping the floors important, I could make other things important. We looked at our troubles and decided to face them head-on. No longer would we wait for a change in circumstance; instead, we would change ourselves, and the new, improved us would be matched for the challenge.

Bad things tend to spiral downward and out of control. But do you know what happens to good things? They blossom and bloom upward, and from a change of a heart or a new perspective comes a rosy outlook on anything. Suddenly it wasn't just about taking on trial; it was about going a step further and putting some dreams into practice. There was just no longer any reason to wait. Sure, we might need to approach things differently than we planned or the path to our vision might be longer than we'd like--but obstacles do not mean impossibility.

And then there was more growing. There's a change in the air of this little bungalow and it seems we can do anything together. We are speaking things into reality, we are letting our imaginations dream big, we are putting our heads and hands to work. Sometimes taking on your dreams simply means getting busy, and realizing that for anyone who has fulfilled a dream, the starting place has been just the same.

Reality

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

As a city, Denver tends to be compiled of restless, adventurous citizens. That's what brought us all here in the first place. And we live in an age of consumer mentality. If we need something, it can be bought, and the inability to keep up brings shame and self-inflicted discomfort.

Because our culture breeds discontentedness and a lack of commitment, it will require a disciplined and decided effort to cultivate different values--not ones of individuals but ones of community, simplicity, and maturity.

Without this, we won't be able to learn to love our reality. Our reality is what is--it is an unchangeable fact. We must learn to love our reality and to do so, we have to decide to take responsibility and contribute to a vision for ourselves.

Thoughts from a Sunday teaching again. I'm feeling very fed lately; and there's nothing like questions of faith to get my writing gears a'turning. Thanks for indulging me.

Boring

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

We rushed out of the house in a blur. As usual, it took longer to make it through the front door than I had planned, and we needed to make it at least to Target before noon. You know, noon: When daddies come home for lunch and you're in danger of toddler meltdowns and babies will inevitably need to eat.

And as we were buzzing down Smith Road in the car, I was trying to calculate just how the first chunk of the morning had slipped away from us so quickly. That left us maybe an hour or two before naps ensued, and if it was a good nap day, just a few hours after that before we started our end-of-day routines. With so little time and things that needed to be done, I wondered, "How am I going to make this day exciting?" Because I feel that's one of my duties as a mom, I guess.

So I was driving the car and rattling through craft and baking ideas, when I was startled by an incredibly loud horn. A train horn. We looked to our left and the train I thought had been abandoned began puffing black smoke and screaming so loudly, "choo-choo" could hardly be deemed imitation. But "choo-choo" we yelled back and "chugga chugga" and we craned our necks to see the train off on its journey.

And then we arrived at our destination and we zoomed through the aisles on a mission and we picked up coffee cream and diapers before spying a pair of pastel pink shades in the dollar section. Oh, and they were covered in little multi-colored hearts and they were simply fabulous. Iris had received $1 in her valentine from Grammy Kinch, and she decided those sunglasses were certainly worth it. She sported those shades all day. She wore them while she ate lunch and while she watched Toy Story and while she carried her baby around.

Later, I was changing Edi's diaper in the nursery and Iris followed with a cup of milk. She set it down on her shelves, spilling a bit, and immediately stormed out of the room with something on her mind. She returned with a cloth napkin, swiped from the hutch, and she cleaned up her spilt milk. "There," she said, scurrying off again to put the napkin back in it's original spot. And while I laughed and made a mental note to retrieve and wash it later, Iris came back into the room just smiling and beaming with pride. "I clean up mess," she said. And I praised her for her good work.

When Iris woke from her nap, I said, "You want to make cookies?!" and she said, "No, Mommy;" but I pretended she said "yes" because no kid of mine would actually deny cookies. And Iris stirred the whole thing and we danced in the kitchen until the timer went off and we ate the cookies off of a pretty party platter.

Like every night before bed, I asked Iris, "Did you have a fun day?" to which she replied "Yes." Really she always tells me yes, but this time I considered, that's just it. She did have a fun day because every day is fun. Every day leaves something to be discovered, even if only through a window. My kids are constantly uncovering newness in every day, with wonder and looking for the fun to be had. Isn't that just the ticket? Isn't that just the key to happiness?

Thank goodness I have these babies to keep their boring mama in-check, hmm?

Love Is

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

Love is chubby fingers covered in marker and glue after making Daddy a Valentine.

Love is laughing on the couch late at night, delirious from exhaustion and finding joyful moments together anyway.

Love is recognition in that little baby's eyes when you flash her a smile or say the pretty name that you gave to her.

Love is finding a way to get things done, sharing in responsibility and supporting each other when you can't.

Love is early evenings spent on a nursery floor, dangling toys over squishy babies and tossing bouncy balls and drawing stick figures on chalkboards.

Love is still holding hands on walks and in the car, even a squeeze here and there.

Love is melting when she says the words "Wuv you, Mommy" and wanting to die a thousand times because you know she means it and you could leave the earth silly happy.

Love is being extra gushy today, because even though we're blessed to have moments like these every day, sometimes the good things deserve a little extra recognition.

Happy Valentine's Day!

P.S. Why I love to celebrate Valentine's Day, as told by last year's me.

Sleepers

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Wed, 13 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

I have never been one to sleep on an airplane. Or on a train. Or in a car. On occasion, I suppose, it's happened, when necessary or when I've been overcome with exhaustion. But for the most part, I find sleep too intimate a thing to share with strangers in public places. Kicking back and closing my eyes in front of people I don't know feels too vulnerable, and so, in the end, even if I can fall asleep, it's not relaxing. No, the number of people with whom I've shared my sleeping habits is quite small, the circle of people that I love and trust and know love me.

Oh, how I love to hold a sleeping baby. There's nothing like swaying back and forth and suddenly feeling the weight of her in your arms as she nods off fully, head against your chest, tiny hand wrapped around your finger. And no matter how hard you had to work to get there, once it's done and she's sound asleep, you can't put her down. You just hold her, breathless, trying to milk it for all it's worth.

And in those moments, I think how beautiful a thing it is that my baby is giving me so much. Because sometimes while parenting can seem a thankless position, we're just not looking for all we are credited. There's so much trust and vulnerability and intimacy wrapped up in that little baby's ability to fall into the deepest sleep, cradled in your arms.

That's why I can't put her down for more than just the sweet look on her face or maybe, finally, a moment's peace. It's more like drinking in the deepness of a tiny little being, who after only living on earth for just a few months, has already gifted so much to it.

Dressy

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Tue, 12 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

dress available via MissesDressy

(set produced via Polyvore; additional links available here.)

For the past three years, my body has been in some sort of state of pregnancy or transition. Between a changing body and needing to function as a mom, it would seem, at least some days, that I've lost my sense of style. I've been weeding out old blog posts (for something new and fun!), and seeing the ridiculous amount of old outfit photos in the archives made for more proof that the aspiring fashionista in me may have vacated the premises.

I'm hitting that postpartum point where I feel ready to do something. You know the feeling, mothers out there? You kind of sit back in the beginning, let nursing do the work, and hope for the best as you devote your free time to cleaning and sleeping. But now, it's time. It's time to refocus my eating and begin dedicating portions of my week toward intentional exercise. And as I dream about getting my body back in check (does that happen after your second?), I'm also dreaming about refurbishing my long-neglected wardrobe.

Oh, how I've been wrapped up in the fashions offered to me across the internet. There is a lot of toughness in the styles these days. Does that make me sound like an old lady? But I've been forced to admit to myself, before I start making a shopping list, that the real me isn't into grommets and tribal patterns and matchstick skinny pants. And there is so much reconfiguration of one's personality and flair once becoming a mother, so I'm hoping to stay as true to myself as possible as I rebuild my closet.

There's something to be said for that, being a mother. Maybe my girls won't want to be just like me, but I want them to know that I was real for them. I love knowing that my mom was always herself. I love that a worn pair of blue jeans and a cozy sweater, soft fabrics and bright colors, all with a Western flair--I love that all that reminds me of my mom. An easy, breezy, casual, comfy style is the perfect depiction of my mom as a person and a mother. I hope my girls like to think of me as soft and feminine, creative but simple, with a touch of fancy--because that's how I like to think of myself and my style. That's who I'd like to try to be.

I don't have much occasion for dressing up these days, but that doesn't mean I don't like to. When the opportunity arises, girly and dressy, that's my motto. And I'd like to keep it that way, no matter what someone else says the trend or situation should dictate.

This post sponsored by MissesDressy, a New York-based shop offering a large selection of designer dresses and evening gowns including recognizable prom and cocktail designers. Thank you for supporting the blogs and businesses who help me run this little blog.

Kitchen

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 14:00:00 +0000

Nothing adds to a living room aesthetic like a baby swing what with it's wide frame and bright, smiling butterfly mobile. Or what about the addition of a plastic kitchen to the dining room, typically surrounded by brightly colored kitchenware not kept in its designated basket? There's a toy box in my fire place and a pink Cinderella cash register sitting on my antique cabinet right this very minute.

And I used to think this would really bother me, ruining my vision and what I'd worked to accomplish for our living space.

I remember being pregnant with Iris, boiling bottles in preparation for her arrival. I unpacked the vintage baby dishes my mother had passed along to me and washed those too. Then as I laid them out on a towel to dry, I scratched my head a bit: where was it all going to go? It seemed so strange to think that my cabinets were no longer going to contain only pretty glassware and Crate & Barrel serving dishes. Alongside would be bottle nipples and ABC plates.

But those things moved in just fine. All it took was a little scooch of some tupperware and some reorganizing of party platters, and then, suddenly, we were sharing our space with another person.

I guess I feared it might be an invasion, but it wasn't. It was an invitation, an assimilation, a merging. And some days I think I'll die if I pick up the kitchen toys one. more. time. But mostly, I like glancing over at the thing during nap time, reminded of the girl who plays at it. I like that the swing takes up half the living room, putting our little baby right in the middle of things.

Because more than anything else, what all those things say is "This is your family, this is your home. You belong."

Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 17:00:00 +0000

Praying steadfastly is a sustained prayer of perseverance. And you pray watchfully, with expectation that you will see an answer, giving thanks when you do.

A paraphrase from a Sunday teaching, just something Roscoe and I have been thinking about lately? Or this photo has nothing to do with what I wrote. Either one.

Love

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 21:19:00 +0000

We made Valentines today, babies.

I made one for Daddy and Iris made one for Daddy and Edi cooed to us what to say. And while we worked and cut and glued, I talked about love, hoping you'd understand in some way. I want you to know love like you know your own breath--for it to pour out of you and for it to be given to you without thought or care or worry that it is impure or undeserved or short on supply.

Oh, how I love you.

And I'm a bit terrified, I think, because to hope for love for you in this way, well, it's to pray something I'm hesitant some days to pray. For you to wholly know love, I must pray for your little innocent hearts to remain just this soft and open. I must pray that as you age and the world wears on you that you still have no inkling that love can hurt as much as it can bring joy. I must pray that even if you come to this realization, you will choose to continue loving and letting others love you.

It is inevitable that one day, someone who claims to love you will not love you well. It is inevitable that one day, you'll see someone mistreated or carrying on in a life that seems so unjust. And once these inevitable things come to pass, you'll have to decide to move forward, bravely, caution to the wind, heart on your sleeve.

Why would I pray for such a thing? Why would I risk your hearts? Because, my darlings, if you can love like this, if you can endure the heartache and uncertainty that it might bring, one day, you'll encounter it in someone else. I hope you're lucky enough to be surrounded by it; but even if you find it in one person, even if it's only one, it will be worth it. It is worth it to know that what you pour out is being returned and to be known and cared for. It is worth it to finally discover that this goodness does exist in the world and that, despite peoples' bitterness, it's not all for naught.

Like most things, babies, with great risk comes great reward. And I wish I could send you off into the universe just as you are, knowing you'll stay the same. But since I can't do that, I'll pray the risky prayer; I'll pray that you grow bigger and bigger hearts and that no matter what that means for you on your journey, that it will end in the biggest love you could possibly know.

Well, second only to my love for you, because who could top that?

Bigger

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 05:59:00 +0000

The other day, I was overwhelmed with the terrifying realization that my babies are getting bigger.

Obvious, yes. Of course they are. But I think until this point, I've been so wrapped up in how fun that's been, I've not really mourned the loss of those days that are gone and simply a memory now. And, also a little bit, I've never wanted to be one of those mothers who can only be sad about what's been left behind instead of focusing on what's right in front of her face?

At least my mom always said to "enjoy each stage," and I have wanted to make sure I'm doing that.

But I got Iris up from her nap that day, and she was wearing her little 2T jeans and chattering away about what she'd done earlier and I was instantly gripped with sadness, the kind that chokes your throat before the tears come and makes your stomach drop way down deep inside. I listened to her read to me and marveled at how grown up she is.

I almost fell down the rabbit hole, letting images of her infancy flash through my mind. And then I snapped back to reality. She was pointing at the pictures in her book, "reading" the story, comprehending what was happening, probably partially from memory and partially because she could translate the drawings. And I marveled at her some more. I marveled at what she's learned and all that she is now, and I was excited all over again for all she's going to be.

And later that day, when Edi and I were cooing at each other on the couch, the same emotion was in the air. She suddenly seemed so big and solid and interactive, and hardly a sleepy, floppy newborn anymore. But as she talked to me, seemingly craving to tell me things, I pictured her 14 and telling me about her new crush.

And I thought, "That's going to be really fun too." Because my babies are going to get bigger. There's no stopping it. They're going to grow and mature, and it's up to me to be with them--and I mean with them--through all of it. It will be so fun, and it will all happen just as fast, but also just as slowly as these two years have been so far. Which means we have all the time in the world to enjoy it, but I better pay attention. If I do, I can keep on marveling and being excited and beaming with pride over my little baby girls, whether they're still "baby" or not.

Guest Post: Seasoned, Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 14:00:00 +0000

Last week I invited Julie to talk a bit about her recent accomplishment: publishing the first part of her cookbook, Seasoned. It's beautiful, isn't it? As I mentioned, Julie was kind enough to share with us to help me out--I have so much going on, so much to fit in. Being a "work from home" mom isn't always all the glamor some other moms might imagine. It can be stressful and guilt-ridden. And so I was so thrilled when Julie offered to, not only share her work, but also how she went about doing it as a stay-at-home mom. She has a lot of good insights into how to make it work. Thanks again, Julie! (And don't forget to check out Seasoned!)

Last week, I shared a little bit about my journey to publishing the first issue of my seasonal food and living quarterly. I saved the logistics of doing it with a toddler at my feet for today. We had a bit of an adjustment period but I would say we're all better for it. In the beginning tears flowed, hearts were guilty, and full disclosure: my son picked up the word busy and now uses it against me anytime I ask him to do something he does not want to do, i.e. pick up toys, go to bed, apologize for wrongdoings against the dogs, etc. Most of the hiccups that came from trying to wear both hats showed up in the beginning while I was still figuring out what worked for us. Through complete trial and error I found a way to balance being his mom and the editor-in-chief of a fledgling quarterly. I hope if you're a mom at home trying to bring in creative projects that you can find something useful here.

Schedule Your Time

Make a plan for your day the night before, even if it's only mental. If you have a partner to lean on and you're expecting them to parent solo for any amount of time let them know. If everyone is on the same page the day before, sticking to your schedule is going to be much easier. Speaking of sticking to the schedule. Put away your phone and don't open websites that aren't helping you accomplish your goals. You aren't missing anything and you can always check in later when you're not working.

Be Upfront & Support Each Other

A few weeks in my husband expressed missing me at night after our son went to bed. He wasn't guilt tripping me or asking me to put down my work. It was out of sweetness that he expressed that sentiment. So, I started trying to work when both he and my son were up so that I could put my computer down for the night a little bit earlier. But, as timing would have it, that left all of the housework drudgery to him. And before you think he was getting a taste of what it was like to be me, let me say that I'm a tough lady that doesn't give my husband a break on household responsibilities because he works out of the house. We equally shoulder the care for our son, our dogs, and our home. So having everything fall to him wasn't okay or some great moment of balancing the scale. To solve this problem I was incredibly upfront. I would explain what I needed to get done, how long I thought it might take, and then ask what he thought would work best for our family as far as timing. To get a big project done as an at home mama you need the support of your partner and they need to feel supported, too. Taking on a new creative project should be a positive experience, not one that becomes an arguing point.

Get Out of the House

It's not always possible to get out of the house but you need to do this when you can. All moms know you're never really and truly left alone with your family on the other side of the door. Uninterrupted work time is incredibly efficient work time. As moms we've all picked up the ability to do things at double the speed we could before we had kids. Put this to use and park yourself at a coffee shop for a few hours.

Say Yes

From my experience, if my son really wants attention he'll take it, good or bad. So, the one more minutes, the honey I can'ts, and the not right nows end up snowballing into situations that were stressful for both of us. Saying yes avoids the stress and deals with a little bit of the mom guilt that can creep in. It took me a few weeks to figure this one out but once I did, a lot of the stress I had felt was gone. If he needed his hand traced, I traced it. If he wanted to do a puzzle, we did a puzzle. And so on and so on. I found when his little requests were met I was able to back away from activities after a few minutes working next to him. My need to get work done and my need to care for my son were no longer at war. I put him first knowing I could get back to whatever it was later and actually focus on it instead of having to constantly say, Don't sit on the dog! Don't draw on the floor! Don't! Don't! Don't! And, through balancing my son and my work this way my son's independent play really blossomed. Double win!

Bend Your Rules

We don't like to give our son a ton of screen time and sugar is truly a rarity. But guess what? The television and some sugar aren't the roots of evil. They can actually be your friend! Remember that ultimately you are making the final call so whether or not your child becomes a television or sugar monster is up to you. It's all about moderation. I found some great organic lollipops (stop rolling your eyes at me!) that I felt fine about giving my son on the occasion where I really did need to take that one more minute. As a Netflix subscriber I was able to find some really great programming I didn't mind sharing with my son. In the end I decided that having a mother who could be seen going after her goals far outweighed any negative effect that could come from a little zoning out on the television.

Involve Your Child

Children are curious, especially when they think you're keeping them from something. Find a way for your child to either participate directly in what you're doing or recreate it in a way that's safe and manageable for them. Throughout my quarterly you can see pictures with my son's hand reaching up into the frame. From peeling the garlic to hanging out on my back he was there, and happily so for the most part.

The biggest advice I have and that seems to weave it's way in and out of the above topics is to not fight that you are a mother. You will run out of steam and you will be unduly frustrated, as will your child. Embrace your first job as mama, lean on the people you can lean on, and work hard. Really hard. You can do this!

Brilliance

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Sun, 27 Jan 2013 23:23:00 +0000

This is what we did this weekend.

We showed our little girls the world in their own backyard and offered them culture and knowledge and sweets and delight. Delight they had, and the brilliance of it lived on their faces.

But the thing is, I think it was on ours too. Because there's just nothing better than living life through your children's eyes.

Cuddles

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 21:04:00 +0000

I'll admit it: I turn on Sesame Street every morning for two reasons primarily, neither of which are for my child's entertainment or education (though they are both exceptional by-products of my actions).

Nay, we settle in with Elmo every morning so I can drink my coffee while it's hot and also, hopefully, tend to some emails before they've been sitting in my inbox all day long. It's a good little morning routine for us. I kid you not: Iris learns oodles from her fuzzy friends and I'm a better mama for getting a handle on my day right away.

But the other day, Iris came over to me and said, "Mommy, cuddle."

You better believe my laptop was closed in under a second flat, and we watched the rest of Sesame Street like this:

I keep a little journal to write down everything Iris does that I want to remember. Right now, things are so normal and cute and funny; but eventually, she'll grow out of those things, and it terrifies me to think that I may not remember them clearly.

Needless to say, since mommying two and being so busy, it's been easy to fall behind on documenting every darling or astounding thing that either of my children does. And that absolutely pains me because they're at the age where every little thing deserves to be noted. Everything they do is amazing or makes me laugh out loud.

But I take comfort in the fact that the reason I've not been able to document it and the reason I have so little time is that I'm living in precisely each moment as it's given to me. This is my lifelong dream. Each day, I'm able to focus on every moment for exactly as rich and precious as it is because I'm living them without distraction. We're right in the throws of life. And whether or not I can remember all of Iris' funny words or exactly when Edi started reaching for an object in front of her face, I have the pleasure of knowing that I was there for it. I lived it, they lived it, and even if it isn't recorded in history, here we are carrying out this grand vision, the little pieces that make a bigger plan and purpose for our lives.

And cuddles, cuddles are an extremely important piece of that.

Vanity

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Thu, 24 Jan 2013 22:29:00 +0000

Follow me on Instragram? Sorry for the repeat photo. But with good reason?

On more than one occasion, I've been forced to admit that pregnancy and motherhood haven't only brought out the good that was locked in my heart and soul. Sometimes, bad things have leaked out too. Or rather, what was already there is now glaringly apparent.

One such trait I'm not exactly proud of? I'm actually particularly vain.

You guys, I didn't even know how much I loved my own physical appearance prior to having children. But I guess I was quite comfortable and even confident about it all? And if you think one kid rocks your body--holy cow, gee whiz, I think my second pregnancy and delivery aged me at least 15 years. We're talking saggy-stretched-out-grandma skin in places where it ought not be before I've reached 30.

Lately, I've not been doing such a great job of appreciating the femininity of this ever-changing, battle-scarred body. It's tough to come to terms with things you can't exercise away or that will never be as they once were.

And so, today, when I was sort of feeling it, being dressed before noon and all and sporting sassy in the sweater my mom made me and some rather large shades, and upon receiving new jewelry in the mail, I decided to roll with the vanity. Because why not? Why not tell the world, "HEY I'M FEELING GOOD TODAY!" Therefore, I shall not apologize for the gratuitous "selfies" (dear God, what am I coming to?) that may have found their way on to Instagram...or that when I exercised some measure of self-control and didn't post them all, that I uploaded the rest here.

Because I'm vain and oh well. I'm so vain, this blog post is about me.

In the same rite, and at the request of Kristyn, this week's Circle of Moms Round-Up: A mom-tastic outfit for comfort and style.

P.S. Pretty new earrings courtesy of Touchtone Crystal by Swarovski as a thank you for participating in the Holiday Hurricane Rebound campaign.

Busiest

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 19:00:00 +0000

I have always been a go-go-go type of person. It's not always noticeable because I can focus for hours on one specific task; but the point is that when my eyes open for the day, I know what I hope--nay, what I've planned--to accomplish before the night is done. When Iris came along, it was easy to subject her to this. Sure, she had a little bit of control, what with being certain to determine her own nap schedule. But then it was set finally and we knew when we had time and we figured out how to fit things in, in between.

Even before my kids came into the world, I tried to keep a realistic perspective of what being a parent means. I don't want to lose myself entirely to motherhood; but I want to assume the role to the extent that I can accept a new lifestyle that's fitting for my kids. That is to say, I understood that becoming a parent would mean that life wouldn't look the same, and I'm going to go there and maybe offend someone and say that it shouldn't look the same.

Needless to say, things have changed again with two. Edith is beginning to take on a schedule; and as we leave the sleep-eat-sleep newborn phase and work toward naps, I'm starting to realize: we are never going to leave the house again! (Clearly, kidding. But also, seriously.) Most weeks, we're at home for entire and consecutive days at a time.

The thought of this happening was more terrifying than it is in actuality. Really, our days have taken on a new routine and they fly by with fun. I'm trying to be fully content with being home and taking it all in, even on my more restless days. This fun time at home is so fleeting, and I don't ever want to take for granted that I'm lucky enough to be there for each and every moment with my girls. It would be easy for me to stress over all I can't turn my attention to--especially with having to meet deadlines under coffee house lights early in the morning or banging out some writing on the rare occasion both girls nap at the same time. But I've found it much more rewarding to focus on what I can attend to, because aren't they just the most precious?

That didn't keep me from wondering, what do we do all day if we aren't leaving the house? Because, gee whiz, I'm still so tired at the end of the day.

Oh.

That explains it!

Music is "How It Should Be" by Ben Kweller.

Guest Post: Seasoned

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 20:11:00 +0000

These days, I have quite a bit going on. I promised myself that, this year, at the beginning of a new year, I wouldn't rush into trying to accomplish everything at once--certainly not at the expense of the time I get to spend with my girls. And what are friends for if not for helping you fill in the holes? In the blogging world, I'm blessed to have such friends--quite recently, a new one. Julie guest-posted for me during my maternity leave; and as she has finalized an amazing accomplishment, I wanted to give her the chance to share that with you! She graciously offered to do two guest posts for me, all about her new cookbook, Seasoned. I really encourage you to check it out, right after you read all the encouraging things Julie has to say about her project.

On the eve of my twenty-seventh birthday I sat on my back porch with my husband and two of our dear friends. We drank a too easily downed mix of whiskey and apple cider while enjoying the clams we had dug from the beach just hours earlier. It was low-key and really quite perfect by my standards. At one point in the night I was asked, "So, Julie, what do you want for your twenty-eighth year of life?" I fumbled together some answer but truthfully, I had no idea what I wanted.

Since having my son at the young age of 24, I've been focusing on the day-to-day. Babies will do that to you. And with my husband it always seems we're talking about a five or ten year plan. The idea to take one year of my life and expect something from it felt revolutionary. It felt like just what I needed, too. My son is the light of my life and my biggest joy, but I wanted more from the day he was born. Never less of him, but more in addition to him. So, in the days following the question, I decided to write a seasonal food and living quarterly, with the first issue to be released right after the new year.

Three months later the details have gotten a little blurry. Again, babies will do that to you. I can't quite remember where I got the courage to do something so big so immediately. I find myself in this position after all my big life decisions: how did I convince myself I could do that? I think what it boils down to is my belief that life is for living and doing, and the understanding that no one is going to live it or do it for me. My husband and I had long talked about writing a cookbook together but six years in we have nothing to show for it. I think eventually you just have to ask yourself if not now, then when?

There will always be a better time and you can always know more. With almost certainty I can say you will be able to find someone doing what you want to do and doing it better. Just accept these facts and then get over them because they won't ever serve you. The only way you get better and really set yourself apart is by throwing yourself in the fire. The only way you live your life and fulfill yourself is by putting one foot in front of the other despite the fear and the self doubt.

The making of Seasoned has been life changing for me. I had to go out on more limbs, trust more people, and work harder on pulling this together than on any other personal project I've ever taken on. I've made a lifelong friend in McKenzie, the artist for the quarterly, and I've been able to watch my work fly around the world. The things I've gained in the past three months are invaluable. At the end of the day I can say I've found something for myself that allows me to stay home with my son and pursue personal passions. It's everything I want. And the best part? I have no one to thank but myself and that feels amazing.

To purchase a hard copy or digital copy of Seasoned, click here.

Zoo

noreply@blogger.com (Sarah Noel) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 22:26:00 +0000

Do you know what a privilege it is to be a mom? I always try to keep that on the forefront of my mind, but sometimes I'm just struck with the weight of it. I'm someone's mother. (Heck, I'm two someones' mother.)

We were so grateful to receive a Denver Zoo membership for Christmas. The Denver Zoo is spectacular, and better yet, it's about 30 seconds from our house. So, on the fly, the girls and I decided to take a little date, just the three of us, and put our shiny new zoo card to good use. We took our time bundling up and I poured myself some extra coffee. Iris took along her monkey to show to the monkeys. (It's true. You just can't make up something as cute as that.)

We wandered through the gate and stopped at the cheetahs and the kangaroos and the rhino and the mountain goats. We turned right at the waterfall to find some monkeys. There were no monkeys out. So we meandered through the the primate area, said "hi" to the warthog, counted ducks and squirrels at the pond, and made it to the new elephant exhibit just in time for the elephant's bath! This is how excited we were!

And then we went back to check on the monkeys. Still not out.

So we hustled back to see the zebras and donkeys, and caught sight of an ostrich. We saw camels and buffalo from afar and spotted four giraffes! Then we zoomed by the sea lions and the tigers and the lions, all the way back to the other end of the zoo to find the monkeys.

And we saw some monkeys!

We were a bit upset we couldn't touch the monkeys. But we saw some monkeys!

The funny thing is, I could have been annoyed at the zig-zagging all over and the constant concern that we wouldn't see the monkeys. God knows it wore me out--and we were only there an hour or so. But I absolutely was not. We were out in the fresh air, moving at our own pace, delighting in something fun to do. And I was bound and determined to find my kid some monkeys. If nothing else was my job that day, it was my job to find some monkeys!

And I just love how, even on the days when it's hard to see or remember, every single minute of my life has this intense purpose. I love that I can be pushing a stroller and knowing that it really has great meaning. Or singing that song ONE MORE TIME and noting the importance of it. And those are just the little non-life-sustaining things.

Before I was a mom, this would have been the funniest thing to me. Running around the zoo all day looking for monkeys? What nonsense! But no. This was the work of my life, the best work I've done to date, I think, finding those monkeys.