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.         

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

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.