I hope you have the best weekend ever. I plan on spending as much time with these two as I can. I just love them so.
Friday, July 29, 2011
The weekend already?
Happy Friday. Is it already Friday? These summer weeks are flying by much too quickly. Slow down summer!
I hope you have the best weekend ever. I plan on spending as much time with these two as I can. I just love them so.
I hope you have the best weekend ever. I plan on spending as much time with these two as I can. I just love them so.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Moving abroad Part 2: Documents
I got my moving abroad bible (The Expert Expat) in the mail yesterday. I have yet to read all 270-something pages (and quite honestly, some of the contents are completely irrelevant to our situation so I probably won't ever ready all 270-something pages) but there are certain parts that I have already read and re-read.
There is a great list of things you should probably have in your carry-on luggage. Among the list of "items that solve practical problems" and "items that provide comfort" is a list of documents that will be essential to not only keep safe, but probably handy as well.
Of the over-twenty items on the list, here is the list of documents that I am going to be carrying with me.
1. Passports and Visas
Start early getting these documents in order. We took Ada's passport photo when she was barely one-month old. We are still in the process of securing her visa nearly 5 months later. There is a lot of run-around to deal with, so be prepared to call several consulates, post offices, advisers, banks and the like. I am also taking copies of these things. (Side note: if you change your name, renew your passport within a year of getting your name changed and you could save yourself a chunk of change. It might be worth it even if you don't have impending travel plans because you never know when your husband might decide to move your family to a foreign country).
2. Flight itinerary, plane tickets, and consent form
The itinerary and tickets are a given. But the consent form took us off guard. Basically Mike and I had to give each other consent to travel with our daughter into a foreign country. This document has to be notarized by a bank.
3. Extra passport-sized pictures for permesso di soggiorno and other host-country requirements
When we arrive we have to get permission for residency through the local police in Bologna. Having some photos on hand (the same ones we had to send with our Visa Applications and our passport applications).
4. Ada's birth certificate, our marriage license, our social security cards
Proof that we're American, married and the legal parents of our daughter. I also made copies of these documents which we'll take with us.
5. Insurance Forms
I have yet to figure all of our health insurance details out completely, but my advice is to start early. It takes a lot of phone calls. And time-zones make some calls really hard to make. We're also doing research on emergency insurance in Italy and deciding how we want situations handled at home (in the States) if an emergency arises. (Submit your heaven-forbid-game-plan to your parents, or whomever you trust the most)
6. Drug, eyeglass and contact lens perscriptions
Even though we're going to be taking a year supply of these things (if we can get a year supply of some things...) we're bringing along signed prescriptions from our doctors, just in case.
7. Health and Vaccination records
This takes a bit of time as well. Unless you're uber-organized and have your immunization record (and your husband's and your child's) up to date and in a nifty little file. We are requesting our immunization records from the county health department and our pediatricians. Then we are taking this documentation to our family physician who will review/consolidate the records and give us the necessary boosters (ouch!) before we leave. It's also a good time to get checked out and make sure we're all healthy before we leave.
8. Address book, check book, emergency contact info
9. School documents
10. Housing documents
All of these documents are neatly filed in my beautiful new Peter Walsh accordion folder (love) and will be taken with me in my "personal item" on the flight.
There is a great list of things you should probably have in your carry-on luggage. Among the list of "items that solve practical problems" and "items that provide comfort" is a list of documents that will be essential to not only keep safe, but probably handy as well.
Of the over-twenty items on the list, here is the list of documents that I am going to be carrying with me.
1. Passports and Visas
Start early getting these documents in order. We took Ada's passport photo when she was barely one-month old. We are still in the process of securing her visa nearly 5 months later. There is a lot of run-around to deal with, so be prepared to call several consulates, post offices, advisers, banks and the like. I am also taking copies of these things. (Side note: if you change your name, renew your passport within a year of getting your name changed and you could save yourself a chunk of change. It might be worth it even if you don't have impending travel plans because you never know when your husband might decide to move your family to a foreign country).
2. Flight itinerary, plane tickets, and consent form
The itinerary and tickets are a given. But the consent form took us off guard. Basically Mike and I had to give each other consent to travel with our daughter into a foreign country. This document has to be notarized by a bank.
3. Extra passport-sized pictures for permesso di soggiorno and other host-country requirements
When we arrive we have to get permission for residency through the local police in Bologna. Having some photos on hand (the same ones we had to send with our Visa Applications and our passport applications).
4. Ada's birth certificate, our marriage license, our social security cards
Proof that we're American, married and the legal parents of our daughter. I also made copies of these documents which we'll take with us.
5. Insurance Forms
I have yet to figure all of our health insurance details out completely, but my advice is to start early. It takes a lot of phone calls. And time-zones make some calls really hard to make. We're also doing research on emergency insurance in Italy and deciding how we want situations handled at home (in the States) if an emergency arises. (Submit your heaven-forbid-game-plan to your parents, or whomever you trust the most)
6. Drug, eyeglass and contact lens perscriptions
Even though we're going to be taking a year supply of these things (if we can get a year supply of some things...) we're bringing along signed prescriptions from our doctors, just in case.
7. Health and Vaccination records
This takes a bit of time as well. Unless you're uber-organized and have your immunization record (and your husband's and your child's) up to date and in a nifty little file. We are requesting our immunization records from the county health department and our pediatricians. Then we are taking this documentation to our family physician who will review/consolidate the records and give us the necessary boosters (ouch!) before we leave. It's also a good time to get checked out and make sure we're all healthy before we leave.
8. Address book, check book, emergency contact info
9. School documents
10. Housing documents
All of these documents are neatly filed in my beautiful new Peter Walsh accordion folder (love) and will be taken with me in my "personal item" on the flight.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Look at me, Ma!
I walked downstairs for breakfast this morning with Ada on my hip. She was squealing, doing that funny excited-inhale noise and flapping her arms unceasingly.
My mother-in-law said good morning to her and got an open-mouthed smile in return. She turned to me and said, "Do you ever get the feeling that she feels like everyone is just tickled by her? Like she's the rising and setting sun?"
Yes.
She's getting expressive enough where I can tell when she's proud of herself and she expects you to be proud too. It's as if she says, "You know I'm a big deal, don't you?" But who am I kidding? She is a big deal. To me at least.
I don't foresee any confidence issues with this one.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The genesis of Woman
I grew up reciting a theme each week that starts like this:
"We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us . . ."
That statement has come to be a fact I rely on; that propels me through good times and hard times. It has become so much a part of what I believe that it's hard for me to distinguish it from other facets of my beliefs. I believe that every woman is a daughter of a Divine Being who has endowed her with His same qualities and powers.
When I gave birth to Ada, she was whisked away before I got to hold her. As I watched the screaming gray-purple-pink being get passed off from gloved-hand to gloved-hand I remember thinking, The world is open to her. I thought back to that dark ultrasound room where we first found out we were having a girl and I realized that what grew within me was a being of infinite potential. And not only that, but she was being born in a time and a place where she could choose any opportunity she wanted. This thought came back to me as I sat in my hospital bed while the room seemed to move in slow motion. I also remembered in that instant, that I too am in a place where I have limitless choices.
When she was placed in my arms and I felt her warm body against mine, I realized that she is made up of divine essence that is uniquely woman. She came from a Heavenly Father who formed her spirit after His, passing his limitlessness to her in the written code of her biological make-up.
This is the genesis of all women.
All women have a heritage of strength and beauty because the heritage of women is strong and beautiful.
Woman is innately wise. She is an innate seeker. She is an innate believer (in whatever her beliefs may be). Woman is made of of the stuff that compels conviction and corners capability. Woman is resilient. Woman is clever enough to find whatever she is looking for. She can listen. She can capture truth. She can choose to live and walk in paths that may not have been walked before. She can see. She can change. She can pair herself with God.
She is not less than, or more than, the next woman (or man). The habit of comparing her to other women (or men) cheapens the entity that is uniquely her. She is her own. And she is also others'.
She can fight against intolerance, exploitation and injustice. She can heal from intolerance, exploitation and injustice. She can help others heal. She can create. She can destroy. She can work. She can find satisfaction in her work. She can do many, many, many things.
Because she comes from an infinite being who gave her everything He has.
She is part of a sisterhood of women who feel empowered when they are helping other women recall that which is exclusively theirs. She helps lift, inspire, carry, comfort, encourage and love.
I believe that each woman is in the process of defining and redefining exactly what womanhood means to her. It goes without saying that this experience (and the conclusions drawn from it) are different for every woman. But each has the right to find joy in her own femininity and identity. Because Woman is not only endowed with power, but also with joy.
That is what I believe about women. And this is why I find joy in my womanhood.
"We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us . . ."
That statement has come to be a fact I rely on; that propels me through good times and hard times. It has become so much a part of what I believe that it's hard for me to distinguish it from other facets of my beliefs. I believe that every woman is a daughter of a Divine Being who has endowed her with His same qualities and powers.
When I gave birth to Ada, she was whisked away before I got to hold her. As I watched the screaming gray-purple-pink being get passed off from gloved-hand to gloved-hand I remember thinking, The world is open to her. I thought back to that dark ultrasound room where we first found out we were having a girl and I realized that what grew within me was a being of infinite potential. And not only that, but she was being born in a time and a place where she could choose any opportunity she wanted. This thought came back to me as I sat in my hospital bed while the room seemed to move in slow motion. I also remembered in that instant, that I too am in a place where I have limitless choices.
When she was placed in my arms and I felt her warm body against mine, I realized that she is made up of divine essence that is uniquely woman. She came from a Heavenly Father who formed her spirit after His, passing his limitlessness to her in the written code of her biological make-up.
This is the genesis of all women.
All women have a heritage of strength and beauty because the heritage of women is strong and beautiful.
Woman is innately wise. She is an innate seeker. She is an innate believer (in whatever her beliefs may be). Woman is made of of the stuff that compels conviction and corners capability. Woman is resilient. Woman is clever enough to find whatever she is looking for. She can listen. She can capture truth. She can choose to live and walk in paths that may not have been walked before. She can see. She can change. She can pair herself with God.
She is not less than, or more than, the next woman (or man). The habit of comparing her to other women (or men) cheapens the entity that is uniquely her. She is her own. And she is also others'.
She can fight against intolerance, exploitation and injustice. She can heal from intolerance, exploitation and injustice. She can help others heal. She can create. She can destroy. She can work. She can find satisfaction in her work. She can do many, many, many things.
Because she comes from an infinite being who gave her everything He has.
She is part of a sisterhood of women who feel empowered when they are helping other women recall that which is exclusively theirs. She helps lift, inspire, carry, comfort, encourage and love.
I believe that each woman is in the process of defining and redefining exactly what womanhood means to her. It goes without saying that this experience (and the conclusions drawn from it) are different for every woman. But each has the right to find joy in her own femininity and identity. Because Woman is not only endowed with power, but also with joy.
That is what I believe about women. And this is why I find joy in my womanhood.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Defining womanhood
We had a lesson in Relief Society yesterday about how incredible women are. (Amen). As I sat a listened to all these single ladies (Mikey is serving in a Bishopric for a Single's Ward) contribute to the lesson by making comments, it was interesting to recognize how they define womanhood at present and note how differently I view womanhood now.
I could relate to everything they were saying, "We've got it so hard! Boys don't have to deal with this, or this or that!" "Women know what true sacrifice is because we have to sacrifice our bodies." "Behind every righteous man is a righteous woman."
I've been there. I remember well the point in my life where my definition of womanhood was a definition in spite of men.
But I have come to define my womanhood because of the role of men (specifically my husband) play in my life. I feel more womanly because I have my husband by my side.
After dinner with a friend and her family on Friday, we sat in the parking lot chatting. We were talking about blogging and celebrating domesticity through blogs. She said something that struck me. She said that she felt that many girls in our generation are trying to figure out how we fit in this post-feminist(?) era. We are almost reacting in a radical way against the notion that to be a real woman, you have to wear a pantsuit and be accepted as a man in the corporate world. Being seen almost genderless made women feel empowered and truly womanly.
I don't think as many are reaching for that sort of "womanhood" anymore. We relish in the fact that we are different from men. Men aren't the obstacle to overcome or the status to reach. Rather, they are our partners, our teammates, our co-equals in an increasingly leveled playing field. And yet, our roles remain distinct and different. In a good way.
I used to think it would be degrading to stay home and fold clothes, make beds and prepare meals day in and day out. But I have been surprised to learn that I find immense satisfaction as a homemaker. I feel like the ultimate woman.
My definition is still growing. While I am still learning what exactly it means to me to be a woman, I feel like the way I define myself is becoming more nuanced and refined as I take on new roles and stretch myself in new ways.
I could relate to everything they were saying, "We've got it so hard! Boys don't have to deal with this, or this or that!" "Women know what true sacrifice is because we have to sacrifice our bodies." "Behind every righteous man is a righteous woman."
I've been there. I remember well the point in my life where my definition of womanhood was a definition in spite of men.
But I have come to define my womanhood because of the role of men (specifically my husband) play in my life. I feel more womanly because I have my husband by my side.
After dinner with a friend and her family on Friday, we sat in the parking lot chatting. We were talking about blogging and celebrating domesticity through blogs. She said something that struck me. She said that she felt that many girls in our generation are trying to figure out how we fit in this post-feminist(?) era. We are almost reacting in a radical way against the notion that to be a real woman, you have to wear a pantsuit and be accepted as a man in the corporate world. Being seen almost genderless made women feel empowered and truly womanly.
I don't think as many are reaching for that sort of "womanhood" anymore. We relish in the fact that we are different from men. Men aren't the obstacle to overcome or the status to reach. Rather, they are our partners, our teammates, our co-equals in an increasingly leveled playing field. And yet, our roles remain distinct and different. In a good way.
I used to think it would be degrading to stay home and fold clothes, make beds and prepare meals day in and day out. But I have been surprised to learn that I find immense satisfaction as a homemaker. I feel like the ultimate woman.
My definition is still growing. While I am still learning what exactly it means to me to be a woman, I feel like the way I define myself is becoming more nuanced and refined as I take on new roles and stretch myself in new ways.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
This just in
So I've been studying Italian via Rosetta Stone for the past month or so. I move slowly because by the time to sit down and do it (after Ada is down for a nap and I have cleaned, folded, showered . . . whatever) I have about 4 minutes and 26 seconds before Ada wakes up. Bummer.
Yesterday while trying to figure out how cheaply we can get some essentials abroad I went on Ikea's Italian site. And I navigated my all research in Italian without even using Google Translate!
You guys, I MIGHT NOT DIE IN ITALY. (I just heard that caps lock is the new cruise control for cool).
Yesterday while trying to figure out how cheaply we can get some essentials abroad I went on Ikea's Italian site. And I navigated my all research in Italian without even using Google Translate!
You guys, I MIGHT NOT DIE IN ITALY. (I just heard that caps lock is the new cruise control for cool).
Friday, July 22, 2011
Mommy Blogging Part 3: Jealousy and Glamour
Criticism of mommy blogging comes in many forms. The one I hear most often is, "Yeah, but doesn't it breed jealousy, covetousness, resentment, insecurity, bitterness and general discontent?"
Sure. If you're into that kind of thing. So does going to the mall or flipping through a magazine.
Ultimately, I think we largely choose to be jealous by dwelling on our lacks rather than our loves. (Like this: Gosh she is so cute. I wish I could be as cute as her. Oh wait, my legs look great in these shorts. And my hair hasn't felt this soft in years. . .) So while we can sigh and sob about how we're not as trendy or as put together, as organized or as much of a wizard in the kitchen, riding it off as discontent spurred by reading blogs is an easy scapegoat. I think we can spend just as much energy (if we choose to, that is) being happy for others, finding joy in peoples' cleverness, and experiencing genuine excitement over others' successes. Jealousy is the lazy-man's way of processing media. Take the time to get inspired!
This is what we can do when we engage in blogging as we would in a community. Because that's what this is, you know. Blogs have become a way for community to be freed from the limits of geography (although, I think we should pay more attention to geography and I think the general trend of loosing our sense of place is having detrimental effects on society. . . but that is another topic for another day. . .) We are able to connect with, share ideas with, and ultimately grow with other people who we wouldn't have the opportunity to share with otherwise. Isn't that cool?
Much of the annoyance over blogging stems from a feeling that what appears online is a sanitized, glamorized version of everyday life. Yes. This happens. But can you fault bloggers? Because while you see the occasional meltdown in the grocery store, mothers still dress up their kids and make them sit still and well-mannered for church. They themselves still put on make-up when they go out. They still dress up to meet up with old friends. It might be called dignity (or femininity). And honestly I think both of these things are largely lacking in today's world.
Yes, bloggers are the modern day autobiographers. And they might leave out a bad day or two (or two hundred). But I sort of like that. I like that I can get the hard stuff, the bad stuff, the depressing stuff, the reality stuff basically anywhere I want to look (open the newspaper; turn on the radio; sign on to Facebook; watch the news; read the weather report).
I like blogs because I like reading about women (and men) who relish in the good days and find beauty in the simple things. Because it makes me feel like I can too.
Read Part 1 HERE
Read Part 2 HERE
Sure. If you're into that kind of thing. So does going to the mall or flipping through a magazine.
Ultimately, I think we largely choose to be jealous by dwelling on our lacks rather than our loves. (Like this: Gosh she is so cute. I wish I could be as cute as her. Oh wait, my legs look great in these shorts. And my hair hasn't felt this soft in years. . .) So while we can sigh and sob about how we're not as trendy or as put together, as organized or as much of a wizard in the kitchen, riding it off as discontent spurred by reading blogs is an easy scapegoat. I think we can spend just as much energy (if we choose to, that is) being happy for others, finding joy in peoples' cleverness, and experiencing genuine excitement over others' successes. Jealousy is the lazy-man's way of processing media. Take the time to get inspired!
This is what we can do when we engage in blogging as we would in a community. Because that's what this is, you know. Blogs have become a way for community to be freed from the limits of geography (although, I think we should pay more attention to geography and I think the general trend of loosing our sense of place is having detrimental effects on society. . . but that is another topic for another day. . .) We are able to connect with, share ideas with, and ultimately grow with other people who we wouldn't have the opportunity to share with otherwise. Isn't that cool?
Much of the annoyance over blogging stems from a feeling that what appears online is a sanitized, glamorized version of everyday life. Yes. This happens. But can you fault bloggers? Because while you see the occasional meltdown in the grocery store, mothers still dress up their kids and make them sit still and well-mannered for church. They themselves still put on make-up when they go out. They still dress up to meet up with old friends. It might be called dignity (or femininity). And honestly I think both of these things are largely lacking in today's world.
Yes, bloggers are the modern day autobiographers. And they might leave out a bad day or two (or two hundred). But I sort of like that. I like that I can get the hard stuff, the bad stuff, the depressing stuff, the reality stuff basically anywhere I want to look (open the newspaper; turn on the radio; sign on to Facebook; watch the news; read the weather report).
I like blogs because I like reading about women (and men) who relish in the good days and find beauty in the simple things. Because it makes me feel like I can too.
Read Part 1 HERE
Read Part 2 HERE
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Your weight in my arms
When people hold Ada for the first time (or fiftieth time), they never fail to comment on how active she is.
"She's an out-facing baby, isn't she?"
"Does she usually move this much?"
"You've got a pistol on your hands."
"She's so bright eyed and curious!"
Yes, yes, true, true.
She's all of those things. And I usually joke that I wish I could slip her some Tylenol and just cuddle with her every once in a while. (She's too curious to cuddle, you see).
But in reality, she is becoming more snuggley almost everyday. When she gets tired she puts her head on my chest and pulls her hands up to the sides of her face. As she falls asleep she likes when I put my forehead to hers and I hold her while whispering about beautiful things. She softly grabs a fistful of my hair and tickles it on her cheek.
I think she likes me. And for all the times that she would rather be on the floor than in my arms I am grateful, because it makes the moments when we are close even that much more sweet.
"She's an out-facing baby, isn't she?"
"Does she usually move this much?"
"You've got a pistol on your hands."
"She's so bright eyed and curious!"
Yes, yes, true, true.
She's all of those things. And I usually joke that I wish I could slip her some Tylenol and just cuddle with her every once in a while. (She's too curious to cuddle, you see).
But in reality, she is becoming more snuggley almost everyday. When she gets tired she puts her head on my chest and pulls her hands up to the sides of her face. As she falls asleep she likes when I put my forehead to hers and I hold her while whispering about beautiful things. She softly grabs a fistful of my hair and tickles it on her cheek.
I think she likes me. And for all the times that she would rather be on the floor than in my arms I am grateful, because it makes the moments when we are close even that much more sweet.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Moving abroad Part 1: Overprepared = underwhelmed
The countdown to take-off has yet to officially begin, but the more focused preparation has commenced. Yesterday I was on the phone for nearly three hours with the airlines trying to figure out baggage allowances, checking bicycles, making seat reservations, going over layovers and flight itineraries etc.
(On a tangential note: I used to be afraid to call strangers. As in, I had my mom making my dentist appointments when I was in college. I had to get over that one real quick after I got married. Now I feel like making appointments and calling customer service people is my part-time job.)
I've started making a packing list. I know, it may seem a little early, but some things on the list may take a bit of time and effort to get (enter: prescriptions for a year. Hello insurance company, doctor's office, fax machine, telephone, internet . . . it's a pain. Trust me). Thinking all of these things through in advance will hopefully save me headache down the road.
To say that I've been scouring the blogosphere (and bookosphere) for tips would be an overstatement, but I have put aside time to find ways to ease the mess and hassle of not only traveling with an infant, but moving to another country. Yikes. I want the experience to more closely resemble a well executed battle plan, rather than a three ring circus.
Organizationally, I think that DesignMom had a brilliant idea with this accordion folder to store all of the papers they would need on the way over to France during their move. Now that we have our visas and other documents coming back, I think it will be important to find a good way of keeping this info safe, yet accessible.
I'll be posting more tips for traveling with babies and relocating abroad as I come across them (because I have been looking). In the mean time, you can check out my Pinboard on the subject.
(On a tangential note: I used to be afraid to call strangers. As in, I had my mom making my dentist appointments when I was in college. I had to get over that one real quick after I got married. Now I feel like making appointments and calling customer service people is my part-time job.)
I've started making a packing list. I know, it may seem a little early, but some things on the list may take a bit of time and effort to get (enter: prescriptions for a year. Hello insurance company, doctor's office, fax machine, telephone, internet . . . it's a pain. Trust me). Thinking all of these things through in advance will hopefully save me headache down the road.
To say that I've been scouring the blogosphere (and bookosphere) for tips would be an overstatement, but I have put aside time to find ways to ease the mess and hassle of not only traveling with an infant, but moving to another country. Yikes. I want the experience to more closely resemble a well executed battle plan, rather than a three ring circus.
Organizationally, I think that DesignMom had a brilliant idea with this accordion folder to store all of the papers they would need on the way over to France during their move. Now that we have our visas and other documents coming back, I think it will be important to find a good way of keeping this info safe, yet accessible.
I'll be posting more tips for traveling with babies and relocating abroad as I come across them (because I have been looking). In the mean time, you can check out my Pinboard on the subject.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Not quite that bald
I knew before I had her, that my baby would be bald. Mikey was a bald baby and I don't think I grew a full head of hair until the 5th grade. So it wasn't surprising. At all. Plus, lots of babies are bald.
What I didn't expect was every mother-of-a-bald-baby commenting on how sweet Ada is and then telling me, "My babies were bald. Maybe not quite that bald. But they were bald."
Sweet.
But I think hair would totally get in the way of her adorable features. I think we might buzz her hair as soon as any length appears (like when she's 9 years old), just to be sure her sweet face doesn't go unnoticed.
Sweet.
But I think hair would totally get in the way of her adorable features. I think we might buzz her hair as soon as any length appears (like when she's 9 years old), just to be sure her sweet face doesn't go unnoticed.
Monday, July 18, 2011
When the crickets came alive
We went to the park twice on Saturday. Ada was sleeping in her car seat for the first little while both times. We went to read the 4th installment of Harry Potter's Adventures (the point at which Mikey stopped reading but now wishes to start up again after seeing the last film) but neither time actually cracked the book.
We laid on our backs and watched nature sway. And then later we laid on our bellies, listened to the crickets come alive and talked about awkward moments when we were dating. (Like this one: Mike: "Hi it's me. I was wondering if you wanted to go to a play with me this weekend." Paige: (Long pause) "Ummmmmmmm (hand over the receiver, whispering to my aunt and sister, "It's him! What should I say?!??) Ummmmmmmm . . . (you see I was just telling them how dashing he is, maybe too dashing, and I wasn't sure about this whole getting serious business) Ummmmm. . . sure. I'll go.")
Then Ada woke up. We sat there together for a little while and I was overcome by just how much I love my little family. I can't wait to grow together in Bologna, far away from familiarity and family. It's going to be scary and lonely and maybe terrible at times, but mostly I think it will be binding, extending and strengthening.
We leave in less than two months. Gah!
We laid on our backs and watched nature sway. And then later we laid on our bellies, listened to the crickets come alive and talked about awkward moments when we were dating. (Like this one: Mike: "Hi it's me. I was wondering if you wanted to go to a play with me this weekend." Paige: (Long pause) "Ummmmmmmm (hand over the receiver, whispering to my aunt and sister, "It's him! What should I say?!??) Ummmmmmmm . . . (you see I was just telling them how dashing he is, maybe too dashing, and I wasn't sure about this whole getting serious business) Ummmmm. . . sure. I'll go.")
Then Ada woke up. We sat there together for a little while and I was overcome by just how much I love my little family. I can't wait to grow together in Bologna, far away from familiarity and family. It's going to be scary and lonely and maybe terrible at times, but mostly I think it will be binding, extending and strengthening.
We leave in less than two months. Gah!
Friday, July 15, 2011
We wish we were wizards
It’s no wonder that tweeners and adults alike have been drawn to the story of Hogwarts and Harry Potter. The story represents a world that so many yearn for.
What would it be like to have a society in which the rising generation isn’t afraid of life, has courage, and resists the temptation of apathy?
Can you imagine teenagers who feel indebted to their deceased loved ones and have a sense of duty to their posterity?
What would change if young adults knew that they had power that was special and unique? What if this power helped them sense and discern forces that seek to destroy them?
How great would it be to have established right-of-passage experiences that teach girls and boys how to triumph in moral hazards? Or better yet, to have a castle-like university in which learners are endowed with knowledge and gifts to prepare for adulthood?
Indeed, it seems J.K. Rowling has tapped into some of our most basic wishes and yearnings. But, what if they are more than yearnings; what if they are realities?
What would it be like to have a society in which the rising generation isn’t afraid of life, has courage, and resists the temptation of apathy?
Can you imagine teenagers who feel indebted to their deceased loved ones and have a sense of duty to their posterity?
What would change if young adults knew that they had power that was special and unique? What if this power helped them sense and discern forces that seek to destroy them?
How great would it be to have established right-of-passage experiences that teach girls and boys how to triumph in moral hazards? Or better yet, to have a castle-like university in which learners are endowed with knowledge and gifts to prepare for adulthood?
Indeed, it seems J.K. Rowling has tapped into some of our most basic wishes and yearnings. But, what if they are more than yearnings; what if they are realities?
My patronus is a goat
A friend wrote a few days ago that not blogging about the Harry Potter movie final installment would be "a huge generational betrayal." She may be right. So just to cover my generational bases . . .
After walking out of the theater this morning (at 2:30 AM) I couldn't help but feel like it was my grade (maybe plus or minus one grade) that truly grew up with Harry. I remember reading the first book in the 5th grade. Harry and I were the same age (as are, coincidentally, Daniel Radcliffe and I). The heroes and heroines of the books grew up with me, almost at the same rate.
Near the end of the film during moments of quiet, sniffles (and sobs) could be heard echoing in the theater. But I don't think the tears were for the dead in the movie or the touching exchanges. Rather, they were tears shed for a closing of a door, for the coming of age of millions worldwide.
But I wasn't sad. For me, the sadness came when I finished reading the books. I think there is a key distinction between the book-era Potter fans and the movie-era Potter fans.
The true HP-ers, the ones that grew up with Harry, the ones that graduated from High School as Harry left Hogwarts, we had our sobbing-on-the-floor moments when we finished the books. I remember staring at the ceiling after closing the back cover and thinking, "Harry is done. And I'm going to college in two months. Childhood is officially ending." The movies are fun, yes, but I attach no nostalgia to them.
For the book-era Potter fans, we learned from Harry that geeks were cool. The coolest girl at Hogwarts was Hermione. The bad-a kids were lame and ugly. Gryffindor--where all the brainiacs go--was where you wished to be if you could somehow get in to Hogwarts. The Harry Potter Series not only increased world-wide literacy, but it made reading hip. When else did millions of kids camp out for a book release? We devoured them.
So while it may be sad that we can't dress up and wait for the latest and greatest from the Wizarding World, I'm not sad that the movies are over. I'm sad that I don't have more time to read.
After walking out of the theater this morning (at 2:30 AM) I couldn't help but feel like it was my grade (maybe plus or minus one grade) that truly grew up with Harry. I remember reading the first book in the 5th grade. Harry and I were the same age (as are, coincidentally, Daniel Radcliffe and I). The heroes and heroines of the books grew up with me, almost at the same rate.
Near the end of the film during moments of quiet, sniffles (and sobs) could be heard echoing in the theater. But I don't think the tears were for the dead in the movie or the touching exchanges. Rather, they were tears shed for a closing of a door, for the coming of age of millions worldwide.
But I wasn't sad. For me, the sadness came when I finished reading the books. I think there is a key distinction between the book-era Potter fans and the movie-era Potter fans.
The true HP-ers, the ones that grew up with Harry, the ones that graduated from High School as Harry left Hogwarts, we had our sobbing-on-the-floor moments when we finished the books. I remember staring at the ceiling after closing the back cover and thinking, "Harry is done. And I'm going to college in two months. Childhood is officially ending." The movies are fun, yes, but I attach no nostalgia to them.
For the book-era Potter fans, we learned from Harry that geeks were cool. The coolest girl at Hogwarts was Hermione. The bad-a kids were lame and ugly. Gryffindor--where all the brainiacs go--was where you wished to be if you could somehow get in to Hogwarts. The Harry Potter Series not only increased world-wide literacy, but it made reading hip. When else did millions of kids camp out for a book release? We devoured them.
So while it may be sad that we can't dress up and wait for the latest and greatest from the Wizarding World, I'm not sad that the movies are over. I'm sad that I don't have more time to read.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
A diaper update
*Skip this post if you find yourself offended by words like "poop"
Solid foods brought with them two things: better sleeping (I know, I know, they say solids don't make babies sleep through the night. All I know is that she was a good sleeper, then a bad sleeper, then we started her on rice cereal and now she's a good sleeper again. Maybe it's coincidence...) and nastier poops.
I know quite a few cloth diaperers who quit at 6 months for various reasons. The reason I seem to hear about the most is, "It just got gross." Indeed. Squash can do a number in the diaper department.
But I have found a renewed love for cloth diapering as we have entered this new and lovely phase of it all. Diaper liners + flushable wipes = my place never smells like poo (a bonus in the baby world). As lovely as diaper pails are, I swear they're always stinky. When I nannied out East the summer after Mikey and I got married, one family kept their diaper pail on the back deck. No one ever went out there but the brave soul who had an insatiable craving for a grilled hot dog.
Let's face it, poop belongs in the toilet. Not on the deck, or in the nursery, or in the garbage can for that matter.
So I now place a flushable liner on top of the cloth when I suspect that poop might be just around the corner. (Another magical power moms have is the Poop Predictor). When it arrives, I take out the liner, flush it down the toilet with the wipes, and take care of the rest of the diaper as usual. Viola!
I'll say it again: cloth diapering IS SO DOABLE.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
It's the little things
Things that made me smile yesterday:
1. Fixing Mikey's glasses with glitter glue.
2. Ada squawking with her eyes closed, then opening one to see if I was watching.
3. Eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream
4. Walking to Mama Chu's and having lunch with family
5. Dinner group
1. Fixing Mikey's glasses with glitter glue.
2. Ada squawking with her eyes closed, then opening one to see if I was watching.
3. Eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream
4. Walking to Mama Chu's and having lunch with family
5. Dinner group
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Mommy blogging Part 2: Audience
How is it, exactly, that mommy-blogs make mothers feel that they matter more? How do they give the SAHM validation?
Some say that it's all in the metrics, but if the answer lies solely in the measurable number of comments or hits per page, I argue that the number of mommy-blogs wouldn't double every 200 days (Lopez). There is something bigger that drives the need to record our stories from the trenches of everyday mothering.
One possible explanation of the mommy-blogger explosion is the audience (or perceived audience) that blogging provides.
Blogging becomes more than just an online journal or means of archiving photos and experiences because you hit "Publish" after each entry. The fact that someone could stumble across a published post makes blogging a public means of expression. It gives blogging an audience.
And audiences make anyone feel important.
You don't have to be a performer to have an audience. Leaders are scrutinized, co-workers often evaluate others' performances, students have peers, teachers have students . . . most roles in society have audiences. But motherhood's only audience is often only her kids (and let's be serious, how often did I applaud my mother's heroism in the kitchen, flexibility of mind and emotion, poise amidst chaos, and unmatched work ethic? Probably not once until I was expecting my own child).
In her article, Lopez wrote:
If the internet provides a forum for both the broadcasting of women’s voices and the community to support that voice, then we should be paying much more attention to the work that is happening on these websites.Amen. Mommy-blogs are records of the important stuff of life. They chronicle the day-to-day mundanity (and occasional triumphs and breakthroughs) that ultimately shape other people. It's a record of creating societies and culture.
I liked the perspective of this woman's post who was in the throes of motherhood in the early 1970s. She wrote in 1973:
Where are all the fans?! Why couldn't someone be there to applaud, or at least nod in admiration...as I deftly, maternally fit a diaper? Or why not a chorus of ooh's and ah's as I place the pot of Spring Garden on the table, with murmured comments around about my ability to balance budget, nutrition and time in one clever meal? I would be modest....[in the face of praise]. An audience is all I require for the maintenance of....patience, wisdom and creativity. In a musical voice I can say to the child bouncing off the couch, "Furniture is not for jumping." The child is bored? "Why, here, Sweetheart. Mother has made this cardboard box into a robot." Exclamations of awe and surprise from the fans. But [the Mom, staying at home in] obscurity has no fans.... If the clean clothes are mounded high on the folding table and the floor goes a few weeks unscrubbed, who will know? If my voice demands harshly, "Get this robe picked up!" no one can condemn.Enter: the weblog. And here we are today, cheering on each other's triumphs and wiping away the cyber tears when they show.
Read Part 1 HERE
We held hands in that parking lot
Last night Mikey and I joined several members of his extended family for an evening at the movies. We met up at Thanksgiving Point and saw 17 Miracles. After, we stopped by the ice cream shop and got a chocolate soft-serve to share (when Mikey says he wants to "share" with me, it means he'll have a lick at most. I probably shouldn't complain, but sometimes he makes me feel like a hungry slug).
As we walked back to our car we stopped and had a corny oh-my-gosh-we-parked-here-once-when-we-were-dating moment. I've been replaying that night in my head over and over again ever since.
We went to see Oklahoma! at the theater in the barn during the summer of 2008. The drive up made me nervous. I could tell that things could get real serious, real quick with this boy. And I kept bouncing between wanting to put the brakes on and wishing to rev up the relationship engine.
I was a little offish until after the intermission.
Mikey left to use the bathroom and while he was gone I scooted my chair closer to his. When he got back I searched my brain for questions to ask him during the play. During was key, you see, because I had to get real close to his ear so he could hear my whispers. So close, in fact, that I'd have to touch his arm or shoulder to steady myself. (Ooo!)
We held hands. (Cute.)
And 8 months later I married him.
I asked him during scripture study last night what the exact date was that we went to the play together. He sat there for a moment, but said we could talk about it after we read. He fell asleep before I finished the chapter, but I didn't mind too much because he still held me close when I snuggled up to him.
As we walked back to our car we stopped and had a corny oh-my-gosh-we-parked-here-once-when-we-were-dating moment. I've been replaying that night in my head over and over again ever since.
We went to see Oklahoma! at the theater in the barn during the summer of 2008. The drive up made me nervous. I could tell that things could get real serious, real quick with this boy. And I kept bouncing between wanting to put the brakes on and wishing to rev up the relationship engine.
I was a little offish until after the intermission.
Mikey left to use the bathroom and while he was gone I scooted my chair closer to his. When he got back I searched my brain for questions to ask him during the play. During was key, you see, because I had to get real close to his ear so he could hear my whispers. So close, in fact, that I'd have to touch his arm or shoulder to steady myself. (Ooo!)
We held hands. (Cute.)
And 8 months later I married him.
I asked him during scripture study last night what the exact date was that we went to the play together. He sat there for a moment, but said we could talk about it after we read. He fell asleep before I finished the chapter, but I didn't mind too much because he still held me close when I snuggled up to him.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Month 5
Seriously? How how how is my baby getting so big so fast? Everyone said to brace myself for how quickly it flies. I just didn't expect I'd have to wear a seat belt. We're going at warp speed.
Month 5 from Paige Anderson on Vimeo.
Month 5 from Paige Anderson on Vimeo.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Grilled Pizza
Mikey and I are part of a weekly dinner group. Weekly sounds intense, but it has been awesome. I cook one Tuesday a month and get fed the other three. It rocks. It's fun to catch up, share recipes, and show up at someone's place to eat and not even have a food assignment.
At our last gathering, we made a few grilled pizzas. I've been working on finding my favorite crust recipe since I made my first homemade pizza years ago. Figuring out the perfect way to cook it is another story. Most people say you need a HOT (as in, crank your oven up to 500 degrees and let it sit there for an hour before putting your pizza in). It's summer, folks. No 500 degree ovens here. We tried the grill method and I must say that grilling has moved to the top of the list.I read my fair share of recipe blogs. Dinner: A Love Story is one of my favorites. She did a post on grilled pizza a week or so ago and I took her six rules to heart. They are probably my new Six Commandments of Pizza Grilling.
For the crust this time, we used a recipe (scroll to the bottom of her post) sans olive oil that another blogger said grilled up really nicely. Truly the easiest crust ever (and it tastes great too).
As far as toppings go we had three varieties:
 |
| BBQ Chicken pizza. Grill style. |
Our second pizza was a veggie with zucchini, green and orange peppers, onions, and tomatoes. Saute your veggies first and I sprinkled them with Italian Seasoning. Yum.
 |
| Gorgonzola, apple, walnut, caramelized onions, balsamic . . . |
 | ||
| . . . topped with arugula and sprinkle of fresh pepper. |
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Tomorrow I'll go barefoot
I remember wishing for the sun to arrive. It felt like we hadn't had a clear day with the hot sun for years. I told Ada all about the sun. "It's warm," I'd tell her. "You'll like it. It's bright and yellow and happy."
As soon as the sun peeked its head out for a few weeks in May we spent all the time outside that we could. Ada and I would lay a blanket out and watch the breeze move the buds and branches. We would watch birds land and fly. We would watch bugs crawl. We felt the grass on our feet and faces.
A friend of mine blogged about how much her son loves being outside. Ada Lou loves it too. There is some sort of magic about the outdoors that puts babies at ease. (Maybe I should start having The Lou nap outside like the Scandinavians do?) Is my baby crying? Stop jingling that rattle in her face; no she's not hungry. Just let me take her outside. Ba-bing!! Silence.
After watching the lightning storm last night and standing mesmerized by the pounding rain this afternoon, I can't help but feel a longing to be outside more; to feel the rain on my skin and sticky tree droppings on my feet.
Why?
What is it about the outdoors that makes us feel so at one. Why does my soul soar when I stand and look at the sky's expanse over the mountains?
I think the longing stems from a general disconnectedness with nature. How often do I go without setting my bare feet on grass? True stuff-from-the-ground greens. I put on my shoes to go outside. I walk across the cement, get in my car, get out and walk across the asphalt. Go inside. Come outside. Take a walk on the cement with Ada in the stroller. Sit outside on the back porch.
While being outside does a man good, I think there is something electric about letting all of your senses take in this beautiful earth.
I've decided that touching living things takes conscious effort, but it revitalizes our spirits.
As soon as the sun peeked its head out for a few weeks in May we spent all the time outside that we could. Ada and I would lay a blanket out and watch the breeze move the buds and branches. We would watch birds land and fly. We would watch bugs crawl. We felt the grass on our feet and faces.
A friend of mine blogged about how much her son loves being outside. Ada Lou loves it too. There is some sort of magic about the outdoors that puts babies at ease. (Maybe I should start having The Lou nap outside like the Scandinavians do?) Is my baby crying? Stop jingling that rattle in her face; no she's not hungry. Just let me take her outside. Ba-bing!! Silence.
After watching the lightning storm last night and standing mesmerized by the pounding rain this afternoon, I can't help but feel a longing to be outside more; to feel the rain on my skin and sticky tree droppings on my feet.
Why?
What is it about the outdoors that makes us feel so at one. Why does my soul soar when I stand and look at the sky's expanse over the mountains?
I think the longing stems from a general disconnectedness with nature. How often do I go without setting my bare feet on grass? True stuff-from-the-ground greens. I put on my shoes to go outside. I walk across the cement, get in my car, get out and walk across the asphalt. Go inside. Come outside. Take a walk on the cement with Ada in the stroller. Sit outside on the back porch.
While being outside does a man good, I think there is something electric about letting all of your senses take in this beautiful earth.
I've decided that touching living things takes conscious effort, but it revitalizes our spirits.
One fell off and broke her head
My babe is a mover. In fact, she rotated 90 degrees and rolled a few times only to fall off the bed today. I felt like a negligent parent when I got a phone call with my screaming child in the back ground " . . . I was gone for less than 20 seconds grabbing a diaper . . ."
I still went to the grocery store. And Mikey went home to cuddle her and make sure she didn't have a concussion. (She didn't. And we're pretty sure she landed on a pillow).
I feel like she's going to be doing cartwheels next week. The kid gets around.
We used to sing the Woody's Roundup song to Ada and changed the words to:
She's the root'-ness toot'-ness baby in the Wild Wild West!
Now we sing:
She's the scoot'-ness toot'-ness baby . . .
Everyone is telling me to brace myself for an early walker (or knock her down when she gets up on all fours to start crawling). I have a feeling the flight to Bologna is going to be longer than we thought.
I still went to the grocery store. And Mikey went home to cuddle her and make sure she didn't have a concussion. (She didn't. And we're pretty sure she landed on a pillow).
I feel like she's going to be doing cartwheels next week. The kid gets around.
We used to sing the Woody's Roundup song to Ada and changed the words to:
She's the root'-ness toot'-ness baby in the Wild Wild West!
Now we sing:
She's the scoot'-ness toot'-ness baby . . .
Everyone is telling me to brace myself for an early walker (or knock her down when she gets up on all fours to start crawling). I have a feeling the flight to Bologna is going to be longer than we thought.
It just keeps getting better
Last night Mikey and I got in bed with our heads at the foot of the bed so we could watch the lightning storm.
The whole room would light up with every flash. And I loved counting the seconds before I heard the rumbling thunder.
It was one of my favorite nights of marriage to date.
The whole room would light up with every flash. And I loved counting the seconds before I heard the rumbling thunder.
It was one of my favorite nights of marriage to date.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Mommy blogging Part 1: An Overview
I mentioned a week ago that I have been reading an article by Lori Lopez about mommy bloggers. I have so many thoughts about the article; how "mommy-blogging" relates to me, what I see blogging doing for women, what I think blogging does for communities. . .
A few months ago a boy from my freshman ward asked if he could interview me for a paper he was writing on mommy bloggers. I thought: Who knew that he knew I still had a blog. And when did I become a mommy blogger?
I hadn't ever thought of myself as a "mommy-blogger." I started the blog the day before I moved out for college. Motherhood was probably the last thing on my mind then. I still think the term is a little big on me. Mommy bloggers seem more serious than I am. If they took a 7 day internet hiatus, they would have guest posts and giveaways scheduled to make up for it.
But I guess I am. Or I have become one. In a small way. I guess I'm still discovering what my relationship with mommy blogging is.
The article made a few points that stuck out to me. The first was that blogging about motherhood is a radical act because motherhood is seen as part of this private domestic sphere that women occupy.
By engaging in the constant sharing of experiences, mothers are creating a community through the intimate moments in their homes. Like I said in my post about the new public forum, I think that the act of sharing stories is empowering and important.
The article talked about the skewed representations of motherhood that used to propagate the media and how blogging has changed that. Lopez quoted a woman as saying:
I think blogging is making mothers matter more. Or, it's making mothers feel like we matter. And that matters.
A few months ago a boy from my freshman ward asked if he could interview me for a paper he was writing on mommy bloggers. I thought: Who knew that he knew I still had a blog. And when did I become a mommy blogger?
I hadn't ever thought of myself as a "mommy-blogger." I started the blog the day before I moved out for college. Motherhood was probably the last thing on my mind then. I still think the term is a little big on me. Mommy bloggers seem more serious than I am. If they took a 7 day internet hiatus, they would have guest posts and giveaways scheduled to make up for it.
But I guess I am. Or I have become one. In a small way. I guess I'm still discovering what my relationship with mommy blogging is.
The article made a few points that stuck out to me. The first was that blogging about motherhood is a radical act because motherhood is seen as part of this private domestic sphere that women occupy.
By engaging in the constant sharing of experiences, mothers are creating a community through the intimate moments in their homes. Like I said in my post about the new public forum, I think that the act of sharing stories is empowering and important.
The article talked about the skewed representations of motherhood that used to propagate the media and how blogging has changed that. Lopez quoted a woman as saying:
We’re redefining the roles with our blogs. The messages we get aboutI like that. Because for me, it's true. I read about mother's experiences (and loads of other things as well...) everyday on the internet. Yes, it can sometimes be glamorized and maybe it's edited down to only the really pretty parts at times, but for the most part, I feel like I read about women who are trying day in and day out to do a good job at what matters most to them.
motherhood typically either comes [sic] to us in sanitized or idealized form
(television shows, magazine articles) or sensationalized (newspapers). There’s
nothing in the in-between because the in-between doesn’t have a hook, an
angle; it doesn’t sell. So that’s what we’re dealing in here. The unexciting, every
day, in between stuff. But in doing that, we’re also delving into new territory.
Into radical territory, I think.
I think blogging is making mothers matter more. Or, it's making mothers feel like we matter. And that matters.
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