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.

Milennial Motherhood

My son is now almost seven months old.  At his age Beep was somewhat serious and cautious, more of an observer of people and things.  She is an old soul and even in her silly and obstreperous toddlerhood has remained steadfastly rooted in the ages.

Bean's soul is as bright and young as they come.  He's gregarious, giggly, and equally friendly to those who admire his dimples.  He's a very different child than Beep. 
 

 

We are raising them through babyhood in much the same way.  Both are held often, put down rarely and kissed constantly.  Our strollers sit neglected in the garage while the baby carriers are worn constantly.  We decline the high chair at restaurants and the baby's car seat is empty except when we're driving.

I crave the time with my babies, and the days spent apart (while I work) are hard to stomach, some days more than others.  Mondays are hard.  

With Beep, laughing together is a balm to my soul, and reading her bedtime books fills my yearning for her.  With our sweet Bean, nursing him soothes my mother's heart.  To have the privilege of nursing him at home I plow my way through four breastmilk pumpings a day at work. 

After more than 440 pumpings with this baby alone (not counting Beep), saying I am sick. of. it. is an extreme understatement.  Pumping is inconvenient, uncomfortable, never-ending, yields little, and is generally a disruptive pain.  I liken it to having my teeth cleaned. Every day, four times a day.  

But what I am not sick of is holding my baby boy close when I sit down to feed him myself, and seeing him smile in anticipation.  I am not tired of knowing I am his mother and the only one who can feed him this way.  He needs me, and I need him.  So I invest the time and effort, and I sacrifice my comfort and convenience, and I choose to work really hard at pumping breast milk five days a week.   

Because at the end of the day, after I turn off my office light, drive, pick up the babies, drive more, and finally sit down with him, there is comfort and love embodied and closeness.  There is this.       

The Dance Card is Full

Hello!  

So it seems I overestimated the elasticity in my own life.  Over the past few years as my career and our family have grown, I always figured out how to squeeze every last minute out of each day and still always add one more thing.  

That works until it... doesn't.  

I suppose everyone reaches a point of being overcommitted, and for me it turns out that was one child ago.  I have definitely summitted the hill of my to do list, and blogging was pushing me over the edge.

Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while know I have always juggled a full schedule.  I worked, I commuted, I had a husband and a baby girl, I rode my horse, I cleaned my own house (or it stayed dirty), I DIY'd projects, and I still blogged more days than not.  I tried to have it all, and I did.  Hooray for me!  I was superwoman!

I then had a beautiful baby boy (via c-section) and returned to work (6 weeks later) at the height of our manically busy time of year.

It turns out there wasn't room for everything.  I was saddened, but something had to give and I unfortunately have had to make that one thing this blog.  

I think about writing all the time and I miss it.  I do anticipate being able to return to it more regularly in a few weeks.  Probably around the first of March.  I can't wait!  I hope you are willing to return to reading regularly when I write regularly.  Pretty please?

In the meantime, here are the people I've been focusing my time on.

I think it's the hair that really makes this picture.  Beep has been just great.  She is feeding deer cookies, eating her vegetables, learning vocabulary at the speed of light, making new friends, and is (almost) potty trained. 

Allow me to introduce our second child, our son.  We call him Bean.  He is tiny and dimpled and totally fantastic.  We are all having so much fun with this new miniature version of my husband. :)  He's four months old now. 

So please know I'll try to check in more often between now and the beginning of March.  After that, I should be able to post more regularly.  If I don't, it's because I'm working very long days and spending my few precious minutes with my babies and my husband.

And perhaps, every once in a while, I'll be sleeping.

xoxo,
Katie

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

Mission Accomplished

I am 37 weeks pregnant, and it's usually about 100 degrees outside.  Because those facts do not, in fact, happily coexist in any universe, my time outside is extremely limited these days. 

As in, I avoid it like the plague.

When I do venture outside, it's usually done grudgingly and quickly, with a specific (and limited) objective in mind.

One night, Beep and I set out on a mission, which was thus:

Hoist Beep onto Mama's hip

Find Sam

Love on Sam

Waddle inside ASAP



Puckering up

Planting one on Sam

Horsehair-y faces are easily washed clean (eventually)

A little hand loves well

A big hand loves, too

Mission accomplished.

Why My Bathroom's Half Clean and My Baby's Well Moisturized

I'm not saying this was a good idea. 

But it was a situation born out of necessity and the type of lesser evil which often confronts multitasking parents.  I was cleaning the bathroom, I had an insistent toddler-sized helper, and it seemed reasonable to let Beep play with a bottle of lotion (as opposed to, let's say, toilet cleaner or window spray).  She loves lotion so she was thrilled.

Things quickly got out of hand, however.  It was about this time I questioned the wisdom of my choices.

Check, please. 

And then we found ourselves at this moment, which was about three seconds before she learned what lotion tasted like... And about ten seconds before she learned how much lotion-in-the-eyes stings.



After that, there was a quick gathering up of the poor crying baby, a fast shuffle down the hallway to the bathtub, and copious rinsing, wiping, and soothing to repeated whines of "Me eyes!  Ouch me eyes, Mama!"  It was definitely the end of Lotion Funtime and my bathroom was only half clean.  Errrgh.  On the bright side of this particular parenting fail, at least she was well moisturized.

Flying Kites

Cabbage Ranch is a dirty messy work-in-progress pretty place that I like for many reasons.  It's in a nice neighborhood, quiet, private withuot being secluded, and it's nestled in rolling limestone hills among live oaks and cedar trees.



Reality check: It is also scrubby, rocky, and full of brush.

We deal with those mixed realities every day.  Our horses keep their hooves trimmed (and bruise their soles) by stepping on and around rocks, but they find shade and shelter easily under big trees.  It's nearly impossible to sink a fencepost without renting an auger, but the rock fences in our area are really beautiful in their simplicity.

Where I grew up, in Wisconsin, we had access to open fields and farmland- or at least the cul-de-sac in front of our suburban home- which, when coupled with the breezes and gusts off nearby Lake Michigan meant some prime kite-flying conditions.  It wasn't an everyday activity, but it was a fun novelty once in a while. 

Those memories came to mind when I spotted an inexpensive little kite at our grocery store, so I decided I wanted to introduce Beep to kites and bought it.  When I pictured kite-flying at our home, though, I realized it was a no-go.  Even if I could get the kite up- after running through brush, avoiding trees and prickly pear cactus, and stumbling around/breaking my ankle on rocks, my baby would end up standing in an ant pile.  Not cool.  I felt some disappointment, and a good dose of homesickness and regret that such a simple activity seemed hard to enact at home.

A few weeks of keeping the kite in the truck, at the ready for any random kite-friendly location we happened to pass on a gusty day, we finally hit the jackpot.

Parking lots may not be as scenic as farmland, and these breezes may not have been cooled by an endless lake, but we made do.

Up the kite went over pavement and between buildings.  We watched it swoop and fly, and at great peril to the kite let Beep try holding it.

I really enjoyed it, and my husband did too.  As for Beep, she was okay with the kite but after just a few minutes she ignored it and instead started clinging to me.  Standing on the hard ground with the heat radiating up, feeling the weight of my pregnant belly, I wasn't feeling disposed to holding her at that moment so I tried to put her off.

She is nothing if not persistent, though...

"Mama, up!" 

"Okay, Baby.  Jump up here."  I'll hold you, and cast a monstrous baby-belly-slash-toddler-lumpy shadow, and hope the breeze keeps blowing. 

This is your childhood, and I will help you make memories.  They'll be different from mine, and I will someday learn it's okay to trade the manicured lawns of my childhood for the scrubby pastures of yours.  You won't pass dairy barns on your way to school, but you'll look out past the rock fences and over the sprawling vistas.  Here the trees won't change color in the Fall and there will be no crackly, woodsy-smelling piles of leaves to jump in... but you'll have endless wildflowers in the Spring.



We can stand here in this parking lot and watch Daddy make the kite dance against the blue south Texas skies. 

Evening Ranchwear

What happens when Beep decides Mama's drawstring shorts are, in fact, a dress?  I agree (naturally) and rig them up as an asymmetrical one-shoulder ensemble to let her enjoy it the rest of the night. 

She was quite pleased, although she made a few tailoring adjustments here and there.

A plunging back makes this ensemble suitable for evening wear.

...but still comfortable enough for short jaunts.

And it's so versatile it can even be worn to do chores around the ranch.

A little light gardening, perhaps?

(which turned into the swimwear competition shortly after this photo was taken)

These photos are being saved in a folder titled "To Mortify Beep In Front of Future Boyfriends"