Amidst All the Shriekiness

Hello!  Without trying to catch up on the past (which has been great and happy and full of family time and work time and not enough horse time), here's a little slice of our life lately.

Beep was the flower girl in my dad's wedding.  I think it was the highlight of her life.  She still asks "Am I your flower girl?"  Because being a flower girl is tantamount to holding the most illustrious, loving, special and elevated position possible.

Thank you for the precious head wreath for my baby girl, Dad and Joyce.  I had no idea what to do about the lingering baby mullet.  Because, you guys, she's still the same Beep we all know and love.  Mullet in the house!

Apparently to make up for her persistent lack of front hair, I got bangs.

 But!  The hair situation does evolve, at least in the back, and she now allows pigtails.  They are tiny and precious, just like her.  As proven by this photo, where the other kids look approximately 3 years older (spoiler alert: they're not).

Yes, it's true.  I am a soccer mom.  Beep is loving soccer, and watching their games has become my favorite weekend activity.  The team's entire game strategy consists of trying to remember which goal to score on.  Not that anyone keeps track, you understand.  

Our baby boy has been a wonderful addition to our family (does anyone ever say otherwise?).  But, if you want to hold a grudge because life without my regular blog postings has become a meaningless wasteland... well, blame him.

Having a second child definitely pushed my schedule over the edge, and it continues to be a challenge for me to find time for myself.  Blogging falls under that category, along with riding, exercising (oh baby weight, how I hate you), and blow drying my hair.  Air dry 4evah!

Brother Bean, as he is mostly called, is merry, sweet, giggly, and has a ridiculously cute set of dimples that guarantee every woman within sight falls helplessly in love with him. 

In other news, he's really really shriek-y.  As in, make your ears bleed.  He recently decided it's his main mode of communication, and really it's so much more efficient than, say, talking.  Who needs verbal communication, or signing?  And pointing is for sissies.  So I am frantically trying to reinforce words, both verbal and in sign language. 
Him: *shriek*
Me: Brother, do you need a drink?  Drink?
Him: *shrieeeeeek*
Me: Brother, drink? [holding up cup]
Him: *SHRIEEEEK*
Me: [signing "drink"]
Him: *SHRIEEEEEEEEEK!!!!*

So that's really working.
  
Finally, in our household of four there is only one person who favors clothing, and that would be me.  Otherwise Cabbage Ranch is populated by one man who'd rather walk around half dressed most of the time.  Then there's the baby who sees no need for clothing, especially anything restrictive like, say, long sleeves or shoes.  I can't really blame him, because up until now he probably thought his life would be nothing but onesies and the reality of denim and buttons would indeed be a bitter pill to swallow. 

And then there's The Naked Chef. 
  

How are you guys?

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

This blog isn't the only thing I've neglected lately.

That bay on the right?  The one turning his better side to the camera?  That's him.  Sam has been nothing but a pasture ornament for... over a year.  It feels like forever.  He's right to show me his backside.  He's entitled to hurt feelings and treating me with an air of disdain.

I don't have time for him these days.  He is meticulously cared for, of course, but he isn't ridden and I can tell he misses having a job. 

It's not just that I need to manage my time differently (though I could always do a little better), it's that there's only so much time in the day.  It's hard to admit I can't do everything, but... I can't.  And I have had to pick and choose.  He has lost, and I admit I've lost some of myself in putting him aside.

Motherhood is blessed but hard.  Being a working mother is without a doubt the ultimate challenge of my life.  I fill my days with work, with babies, and the few minutes left over is spent trying to conquer housework.  I love my family, but it becomes a grind and I do feel depleted.  So!  I'm working on learning to leave the house dirty and fill up my spirit instead of a bucket of mop water. 

A few times lately I lunged Sam, and I swear I started to feel the stirrings of my horsewoman's heart.  It was an amazing feeling.  

On Mother's Day I asked for nothing more than two hours, uninterrupted, with my horse.  It took me the whole first hour to get Sam cleaned up and assemble some dirty, cobwebby tack.  I lunged him, and he bucked and kicked and bolted around me in a maniacal circle.  When he settled he was lathered but pliable and content, and I dared to climb on. 

It was familiar, and strange, and triumphant.  It was just him and me.  I could do nothing more than sit in the dappled sunlight, pat his neck, and breathe.  I didn't even really think at all.  I just sat as a near stranger on his familiar back and silently asked him to remember me and the partnership we used to have.  I communed with him and my innermost self, the one that used to ride until my legs quivered and I sweated through my jeans.  The one who chased knowledge and skills by riding any horse I could, the one who loved to jump and learn new skills and work together with my horse, every day.

He was calm and happy.  I was peaceful and hopeful. 

When we'd had our fill of our quiet time, I hopped off and untacked.  I asked for Beep to join me so I could have a helper for Sam's bath.

The guys came out to keep us company.

 

And my baby girl and I scrubbed our beloved horse clean, and spent some time with our friend Sam.

A Girl and Her Deer

My baby girl is what we call an 80/20 person.  If she's 80% sure a decision is the right one, she's comfortable with the 20% risk.  She's quick and decisive, sometimes impulsive, often tangential, tenacious, and thoughtful.  

Inspired by an idea, she'll immediately fling herself into a new activity, and she rarely needs time to regroup or assess anything.  Beep rarely hesitates and is nearly always convinced she's right.  About everything.  

Her way of being is not mine.  I'm a 99/1 person.  I come to decisions more deliberately, need time to examine them from every angle, and assess the pros and cons.  Still, I don't find her way of being entirely foreign.  I get her.  Even when I can't intellectualize her feelings to understand my most productive response, at a molecular level, I understand.  I do spend a lot of time thinking about her, and her wonderfully agile mind, her swinging moods and her growing needs.  I certainly don't always know how to best parent my three-year-old, but I still feel a molecular assurance in the way we relate.   

I suspect as she grows and learns we'll see her toddler-fueled impulsiveness fade to spontaneity and her penchant for mental side trips replaced with a drive and focus for the task at hand.  

Most revealing to me are her quieter moments, when she maintains an intense concentration for long periods of time.  A favorite activity right now is assembling puzzles. She prefers to begin with all the pieces face down, then  turn each piece over one at a time and quickly fit it in place.  She becomes absolutely absorbed and will continue as long as the puzzle lasts. 

Beep is finding the world to be a large and fascinating one.  She loves the sky, the moon, the trees and animals.  She's understanding how to predict weather by the heaviness of the clouds, and she looks for colors in the sunset and satellites in the night sky.  She delights in finding the moon in the afternoon and is mulling over the root system of trees.  Our animals are much loved (and very bossed around), and Tabor is her special friend.

Several days ago our resident doe, Tabor, gave birth to her baby (babies?).  Since then our little deer has been staying close to the house as is her custom following birth.  For whatever reason, Tabor is always tolerant of Beep's flailing, running, and screeching approaches.  Even when she's feeling skittish and Cabbage and I can't get close to her, Tabor will usually let Beep pet her back, pat her head, and even rub her ears.  They have some kind of understanding.  I remember when I realized Beep and Sam had their own relationship.

Beep understands Tabor has a new baby and is excited to see the fawn.  She is, however, surprisingly patient with the idea of waiting to see the baby.  This is helpful as fawns are usually kept hidden for some time, so we often must wait days or weeks to see the new crop of babies. 

When Tabor came wandering by the other day, she settled in the yard just outside our front window.  Beep was playing inside and watched her for a few minutes while she continued with her game.  Finally, though, she gave in to the allure of some time spent with her deer.  She abandoned her toys, climbed onto the living room trunk and communed.         

Ragged and Worth It

*tap tap tap*
Is this thing on?
Is anyone out there?

....Ahem.

I figured it was time for a post.  I mean, I know it's only been A MONTH since my last check-in, but I'm an overachiever. 

We are settling into being a family of four, and I am just ridiculously busy between caring for babies, working more than full time, nursing/pumping/changing diapers and all the other boring blahblah minutiae that comprises a life.  I wave at my husband in passing...  If we're lucky.  First world problems, I guess.  And trust me when I say I always remember how blessed I am. 

Here's the reality of my life at this point, which I don't mind sharing with the interwebs. My house is a mess.  My hair usually air dries and ends up in a ponytail (thank you God for a casual workplace), I don't wear anything that requires ironing, and I am typically quite sleep deprived.  My horse barely recognizes me and I haven't found time to start the post-baby workouts I crave.  I'm not organized, and I will not be participating in one of those "show the contents of your purse" reveals anytime soon because it might scare even me. The laundry is never completely clean, folded, AND put away.   I am not Supermom. 

My blog is totally neglected (surprise!) and when I tried to get in to share this post, I discovered I've reached my photo storage limit.  Aaaaand in trying to fix that issue, I created another.  So with that note I'll ask you to please ignore the yawning black holes of nothingness where photos formerly resided in my posts. 

This is when you should take a moment to marvel at my AWESOME COMPUTER GENIUSNESS RAY-Of-LIGHT READY-FOR-HIRE. 

Anyway, I'll fix that little photo apocalypse problem.  And then I'll pay the extra storage fee I was trying to avoid.  Lesson learned.   

So yes, I'm feeling a bit ragged these days and it's easy to start to think I'm in over my head.

But.  Then there's this.

She melts my heart.

And this tableau confined my perspective to the three people who comprise the center of my universe.

 Suddenly it doesn't seem to matter if I'm in over my head.  We'll figure it out together.  Together, we share sweet moments of fleeting infancy.

We have everyday joys fueled by cookies as we ruin our dinner.

 There is wonderment while we watch our baby girl becoming a big sister. 

And finally, there's this. 

Yes, that's right.  We got a donkey. Her name is Roxy.  

Heavenhelpme. 

Hello Again

Hi, friends.

Sorry for the disappearing act.  I hope you'll understand that I took some time away from blogland for the happiest of reasons.

Our son was born September 9th at 10:16pm.  Since then we've been learning who he is, learning about being a big sister, learning about being a mother and father to two little ones.   

Now that I am re-entering my normal life, and trying to find my balance with an even busier pace, I hope you'll bear with me still.  I do intend to continue this blog and have much more to share with you, even as my days have become fuller.  My goal is to carve out time to write regularly again because I miss doing this, and sharing our life, and hearing from you.

Thank you for reading and sharing your life as well.

Katie

A Soft Landing for Old Furniture: Recovering Chair Cushions

Have you heard?  I look like this.

I am unwieldy.  I am misshapen.  I am a twofer.  And I cannot take an iPhone self portrait.

This baby is due in 12 days.  12 days!!!  It's been great sharing my body with him and everything, but GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!!! 

I'm normally still pretty busy but toward the end of this pregnancy there has been some of this action.

A little R&R is needed.  But mostly, lately it's been all about crossing things off my to-do list.  Call it nesting if you must, but I really believe it's the accurate realization that I will soon be attached to another person whose needs will be unpredictable, round-the-clock, and very demanding.  Add to that my toddler, husband, animals and full-time job and... well... it's gonna be a while before I resurface to tackle any projects. 

Nesting = Planning.

So the house is relatively clean and organized, the laundry is caught up, rooms are rearranged (more on that in another post), and I've been cleaning out cupboards and storage areas.  We need room for baby stuff again.

Nesting = ...nesting?  *maybe*

One thing I knew I could tackle easily and inexpensively was recovering a little footstool Beep likes to carry around.  Because how else is she supposed to reach all the forbidden FUN STUFF?

The stool belonged to Cabbage's grandmother, and who knows where it came from before that.  It's old and sentimental and I didn't want to change it too much, but seriously.  Look at the upholstery.

It was time.

If you've never reupholstered a chair, trust me when I say it's one of the easiest DIY projects to tackle.  It usually requires no more than new fabric, a scissors, a couple of screwdrivers, and a staple gun.

In this case I turned the stool over to reveal some ancient screws securing the pad to the base, and old nails holding the crumbling upholstery to the pad.  Most of the time, though, you'll find a few screws holding the cushion to the base, and staples attaching the upholstery.  Carefully unscrew the base and set it aside.  Then pry up the old staples (in this case, nails) to remove the old fabric. 

This bad boy revealed yet another layer of even older tapestry, which was crumbling with age.  I happen to think that's cool, so I left it there for... whatever.  Historical records? 

I opted not to replace the padding (hellooooo people, that would have required EFFORT and MEASURING), but if you wanted to do so, now would be the time.  The foam is sold at fabric stores and you can cut it to size (plan to overlap the base a little which will give nice rounded edges) with a straightedge razor.

Next I centered the cushion on the pattern of this great aqua ikat-esque fabric I ordered from fabric.com.  I carefully cut around the base, being sure to leave enough to wrap around the cushion to the back, plus a couple of extra inches on each side.

Testing the wrappage factor.

Take your time making sure you're happy with the pattern placement.  Then, it's just a matter of wielding ye olde staple gun.  It usually works best to staple opposite sides as you go, rather than all down one side at once.  If your cushion was a clock you'd staple at 12, then at 6, then 11, then 7, and so on.  That method helps ensure your tension is even and the fabric stays straight. 

Stapling isn't an exact science, and I don't see any need to be super picky about it as long as the top side looks good.  But, if you want to try to make less of a hash job of stapling in a straight line than I did below, be my guest.

Please also try to get your toddler to be your hand model.  Child labor, it's the next big thing.

Continue to staple opposite sides until you approach the corners, but leave them loose for now.  Then rotate the cushion to staple the remaining sides.  Trim any excess fabric from the sides.

The corners can be dealt with several ways, but I usually just make a neat fold and try to ensure each corner's fold matches the others.  Then staple away until it's nice and tight and flat.  Trim as needed.

Flip over and review your work.  If you notice any unevenness, this is a good time to tweak or add staples.

Reattach the pad to the base, and away you go!

Take some crappy pictures of your child playing with it in a messy room and enjoy the satisfying results of 15 minutes well spent...

Until the next project, which is this nice little mission-style rocker my aunt snagged at a garage sale a few years ago.

It's in good shape and the size is perfect for Beep's room, but the upholstery is old and grody. (I'm bringing grody back, by the way.  Hey, 80s, how've you been?)

I removed the cushion from the base, popped off the upholstery you see above, and found this stuff which looks pretty original. 

...And is stuffed with straw.

Nope, didn't replace that either.  I left the green fabric alone and cut out a new square of my happy aqua fabric to match the stepstool.

This one required a little more planning because two sides will show- one in the front and one in the back.  I simply creased and folded the fabric and stapled it firmly in place wherever the staples would be hidden.  Where they will show, I tacked about three staples down the side, with plans to add some nice little upholstery tacks down the line.  (Translation: when the new baby is weaned in a year or so.  If I remember.  Which I probably won't.)

Continuing around the sides, trimming and cornering that bad boy, I soon had this nifty little number.

Reattached, the rocker now looks like this.

And these two separate pieces, though not matching per se, now relate to each other. 

I love how they turned out.  Though the chair will stay primarily in Beep's room for bedtime stories and midnight rocking sessions, I chose a pattern and fabric that would work anywhere in our house.  That way, as my little helper navigates a world made for people twice her height, her great-grandmother's little stool will be welcome wherever it lands.

Toddler Art

Recently, we needed a few thank you presents for family and I am not good at sending thank you cards, presents, or other follow-up tokens of appreciation.  I don't know why.  I'm just not.

I realize this is not my most charming quality.

In this case, though, I was determined to best my own flawed nature.  I doggedly searched high and low for ideas for a great gift.  I needed something small, something that Beep could help create, and something that would ship well.  With our crazy schedule I needed something quick, simple, easy, and still heartfelt.  Nothing I ran across seemed quite right, so eventually Beep and I came up with our own project: little canvas masterpieces.

I purchased pre-stretched, primed canvases at Wal Mart for just a few bucks per 2-pack, and sat Beep at the kitchen table with an assortment of washable markers in (carefully edited) colors.  After a slow(ish) start Beep got the hang of it and took a lot of pride in her paintings.  And by "pride" I mean "diva attitude" with a lot of marker-grabbing and "No me do it!" toddler attitude.  They weren't done until she said so, she insisted on coloring on the back of the stretcher frames, and she specifically informed me about the theme for each picture.  It was a whole thing.

When the madness was over, we had several customized paintings color-coordinated for each recipient's home.  I wrote the title, artist's name and date on the back and cleaned up marker smudges with a damp paper towel.

Wrapped, packaged, and mailed, each one cost just a couple of bucks in postage but made a big impact with each of the recipients.  Granted, they were all family who would probably like anything Beep did, but hey- this is at least somewhat decorative.
I made sure we also had one extra to keep for our house, and I love that abstract little gem.  This is such a fabulous little project for a toddler and I could easily see repeating this during any rainy day, trying it with other media (finger paints/cray pas/glue and torn construction paper), and even staging it at regular intervals until we have a nice little assortment of canvases hanging in a hallway gallery.   

I hope you try this project and enjoy it as much as we did!

Dance is Spelled D-N-A

My dad is a lover of music and has a knack for staying current despite being able to get senior discounts at the coffee house.  He has great taste in rock, but a spin through his CD changer will reveal an eclectic assortment of albums that change often, and may include Amy Winehouse, Bob Marley, Van Morrison, the Rolling Stones, and whatever else strikes his fancy.  He has better taste than most people and definitely better taste than, well, me.

A related talent is his fabulous dancing ability.  Many times he's taken to a crowded (or empty) dance floor and proceeded to spin, gyrate, wiggle, point, and shake his way into the dancing hall of fame.  To the casual onlooker (or mortified offspring) it looks a bit... weird.  Like something he should only do in the comfort and privacy of his own living room.

Fortunately, I know what it's really about.  Music moves him.  It moves him in ways that bring him happiness, and unselfconsciousness, and he just has a good time.  And why not?  I love to see him dance.  It makes me laugh and reminds me that happiness and mirth and a sense of abandon are all a healthy part of balancing life in our microanalyzed world.

This is where it gets even more interesting.  Soon after Beep was born, my dad gazed at her tenderly and, in an awed tone, made a profound and profoundly sweet comment on the family genetics carrying on into the future.  And so they will, in our sweet little girl with my eyes and her grandpa's long fingers. 

But if Grandpa ever needed proof of her lineage, he need look no further than this video I shot of the two of them dancing in the car.  Music moves her, too.

Demise of the Baby Mullet

Cabbage and I have had some heated disagreements about the fate of our baby's mullet.  He didn't see it as a mullet at all, even though it was.  [this is my blog, so I win]  He referred to it as Beep's long, pretty hair.  As it grew longer (and the hair on the front half of her head remained short), I felt more and more that my baby was walking a dangerous line into Hair From the Eighties.  I didn't like it at all, but I was stuck.  I'd told him I would never cut her hair until or unless he agreed.  As weeks passed, I was so. tired. of looking at her scraggly ends and I sensed this could go on eternally... so I straight-up browbeat him into accepting a truce of sorts.   

I cajoled, pleaded, reasoned, and finally harassed him about it, telling him "You'll have to speak up if you want her to hear you- she can't hear you through the mullet."

He reluctantly agreed to (or at least shrugged and walked away when I AGAIN suggested) a trim of only the longest hair, just to clean up the ends.  I was gonna to take the heat outta that mullet.

Here, kitty kitty kitty.  Nice little baby mullet.

Snip, snip, snip in a line across the back, a little shaping angling up the sides, and I had just enough trimmed to save in a baggie as her first hair cut.

And my baby had a cute, neat little style.  I need to take more pictures- it really is adorable, it looks like a tiny bob.

And with that we bid adieu to the baby mullet. 

I suppose I shouldn't hold it against Cabbage that he was so attached to her old style.  After all, I have it on good authority he proudly wore one during the eighties.  It was long, proud, and P.E.R.M.E.D.  Yes, that's right.  So he was probably just feeling nostalgic every time he looked at her little hairs cascading softly against her collar...  Business in the front, party in the back.  Those were the days.