making peace

I've had a publicly difficult relationship with the month or so following Christmas. Growing up December 26 was the Worst of All the Days, because that meant that all the anticipation and advent and merriment were over. And I was rarely fooled by New Year's. New Year's Eve and Day just aren't as fun, and if you pretend otherwise, you're lying.

The past couple of years, though, I've finally started to make some peace with the last week in December. I can't definitively say the same for January, but if I can move past my childhood dread of the end of December, then maybe someday I can make good with January too.

Adulthood has introduced me to the frantic aspects of December. While I did make a point to step back throughout the month and simply enjoy the season, I admit to liking this liminal period before reality hits hard next week. We've had an easy dose of routine mixed with a healthy amount of vacation mode. My to-do lists have dwindled, replaced by brainstorming and daydreaming about what 2015 will bring.

I started reading the Outlander series, which I've seen pop up on some of my favorite blogs over the past year. It's adventurous and intriguing, with a dose of smut thrown in for good measure. It's delightful vacation reading, and now that I'm fully immersed in the 18-century Scottish Highland, I keep calling Asher "my wee bairn." So. (Knowing that I have seven more books after this first one makes me feel giddy. Is this what it feels like to read Harry Potter straight through for the first time?)

My in-laws gifted me an online script lettering class for Christmas, and now I'm itching to get my hands on some good graphite pencils so I can start practicing. I went to Michael's today to pick up some basic supplies and was so underwhelmed by the brand selection and appalled at the prices, that I'm just going to order them on Amazon instead.

I like having this week after Christmas to slow down and dawdle out the rest of the year. Giving my mind and heart a rest has been oh so good for me. How do you feel about the end of the year? Have your attitudes about it changed as you've gotten older?

Happy New Year!

the word on the street

We had Sesame Street on this morning, and on every episode the Muppet Murray gives the Word on the Street. Today we learned about habitat. So, today on the blog, the word on the street is habitat.

I've spent all week spring-cleaning my habitat. I'm talking decluttering, wiping down, dusting, vacuuming, mopping, exhausting cleaning. Today I worked on the kitchen. And I'm beat. (Perhaps the Sesame Street viewing was part of a larger effort to distract the resident toddler from my cleaning out the fridge, the worst of all the chores.)

Spring cleaning is hard work, but I can't say that I hate it. Because here's the thing: I like my habitat. Love it, even. And I love taking care of that habitat.

I love all those small handmade gifts collected and cared for over the years.

I love my new mantle and the seasonal vignettes I get to put together.

I love the decorations I've made and the ones I've found at Target.

I love the vacuum lines on carpet, however fleeting.

I love throwing out the unnecessary so I can better enjoy what I have.

I love filling my home with meaningful and intentional stuff. Not pointless stuff, but me stuff.

I love those small things like the sparkly burlap placemats I found on clearance at Homegoods and that refrigerator magnet of my sister and me from ages ago.

I love my habitat even in its mess, because messes like this mean that my habitat is both lived in and cared for.

I especially love that I share my habitat with this little man, because seriously, he's the cutest kid I've ever known.

I also love sharing my habitat with Josh, even when it means that lone socks in the couch are ever-present in our habitat.

I love that my habitat is a reflection of my people and is a place where I feel close to my roots.

I am looking forward to next week when the spring cleaning will be finished, because that will mean that I can finally get back to my sewing machine. (Oh, sewing, how I've missed you!) For now, though, I'm okay with the work and the sweat. Because the thing is that having this habitat at all is a great blessing, and I'm not about to squander it.

back with my people

Well, Asher and I survived our travel yesterday, and if I'm honest, I couldn't have asked for a more well behaved toddler. I'm still recovering from the overall airport exhaustion, but now I'm here in the 303 and loving it. Asher is basking in the doting attention from my parents and sister, and we stocked up on stay-cation essentials like York Peppermint Patties, peanut butter M&Ms, and Diet Pepsi. I have an entire season of Person of Interest to catch up on, and I got to watch Blacklist with my dad last night after everyone else went to bed.

We're missing Mr. Wilson and wish his vacation time allowed for a bit more vacation, but we're settling for FaceTime. I have a million patterns of my mom's to sort through and add to my wish list, and tomorrow we're hitting up Denver Fabrics. Obviously.

I'll try and find moments to spend on this space, but if you don't hear from me for a few days, just know that I'm living it up with my people. Because there's nothing quite like being with your people.

the mantle and the cake guts

When we moved into our new home last summer, I casually asked our friend Blair--who's extremely skilled in all things handy and building--if he wouldn't mind making us a mantle to go over our fireplace. We have this fireplace with brick reaching straight from the floor to the ceiling, and a mantle would just look so pretty. (Josh at first wanted to put our gargantuan television above the fireplace, an issue which caused some contention in our marriage for a time.)

So after we spent several months settling in, I reapproached Blair with my proposal. He said yes, and last month came over with this:

I am blown away by the craftsmanship and am absolutely giddy about how perfect this mantle is for our home. It's the kind of thing that I'll take down when we eventually sell this place so that buyers can't ask for it in the contract. It's the kind of thing that will have a place in our home forever.

When we asked what we owed him for supplies and labor, Blair very graciously stated that this was a housewarming gift. So. My brain started whirring for a way to express our gratitude: cake. Obviously.

Yesterday was Blair's birthday, and I thought, What better day to bake him his favorite cake than on his birthday? So I went to work during Asher's nap making a German chocolate cake. The smells coming from the oven were delicious, and then it was time to take the layers out of the pan.

And all three layers stuck and fell out in chunks. All of them. That chocolaty, moist cake came out in clumps and crumbs, and I was left facing a bowl of cake guts next to a bowl of signature German chocolate topping.

I didn't have time to make another and had to face the facts that instead of bringing over birthday cake for Blair that I would instead come bearing a bowl of crumbs. At least they were delicious crumbs.

So we picked up Tillamook ice cream on our way to their house, because cake guts are still pretty good when you involve ice cream. I'd like to claim a do-over another day, but Blair and his wife, Kate, were very gracious about the whole thing, because they're good people like that.

At the end of the day when I crash on the couch and look up at this space that's mine to personalize and beautify, I'm just grateful to have wonderful people in my life who are so kind to me and my family. This place here in Oregon is so good to us, even when I produce cake guts in place of a layered dessert.

when mom comes to visit

Mom and Sarah left yesterday.

{insert deep sigh and hanging shoulders here}

They were here for almost a week, and we packed in most things on our Portland to-do list while still feeling relaxed and on vacation. In addition to shopping at Marshall's, Kohl's, Nordstrom Rack, Gymboree, Mill End, and Powell's, we baked a cake, homemade hamburger buns, and salted pretzel peanut butter M&M cookies; ate Mexican food, Thai food, and crepes; watched October Sky, the first season of Downton Abbey, several episodes of Andy Griffith, and saw Austenland in theaters; ate at Salt and Straw, hit up the zoo, and even canned some peaches. We clamored around Asher and applauded every thing he did and talked and lounged and stayed in vacation mode the whole time. I had such a fun time hanging with Sarah and celebrating her fifteenth birthday all week long.

Oh how I miss them.

I know that not every daughter can say this about her mother, but for me, life is just easier with Mom around. She loves my baby, makes me feel great at everything I do, fixes zippers on my dresses, and even folds my laundry. Some days living 1,280 miles apart is just really hard. Especially when just yesterday she was right in your kitchen.

Sigh, indeed.

unedited

As of 07.03.2013

Turns out that unpacking a home with a babe as your sidekick can really throw a wrench in your momentum and motivation. So things have been moving a bit more slowly in the settling in camp. But we're working on it, and today our home is looking much better than it did yesterday. Also, that boy with his out-of-control hair is the best sidekick I could have asked for.

where my heart is

I moved to Oregon close to three years ago. I haven't stayed in one place longer since high school. So, the question is, Is Oregon home? People will often ask me that question, or some variation of it, and my answer comes freely and easily. Yes, I tell them. Yes, Oregon is my home.

In college, Utah never felt like home to me. Utah was the place where my school was, the place away from home. I loved college, I loved my school, I loved my time there. But it was never home. Colorado was always home. I clung proudly to our heavy spring snows, our blistering summers, our majestic mountaintops, and our delectable tap water. During those formative fledgling adult years, I needed my home to be in Colorado. I needed my family to be in Colorado. And they were.

Then I met Josh and my future started taking more defined shape. Oregon. We were getting married, and he had a job already lined up in his hometown--my new town. So I moved to Oregon, and I embraced it. I love it here. I love the low-hanging clouds, the forested highways, the foggy mornings, the hipster Pearl District. I love my friends (oh, so many friends!), my church congregation, the briny air of a coastal weekend.

Letting go of Colorado as my physical home was a rite of passage for me. I realized that going home to see my family--my parents and siblings--was just that, home as defined by the people, not the place. When I go back to that Rocky Mountain safe haven, I still love the sun and the sky and the air, just not in the same rooted way I did before. What makes Colorado a refuge now is my family. They've always been home for me, no matter where they fall on a map.

I thought that by claiming a new state as home that I'd be giving up an essential part of me; what really happened was I kept the most precious parts of my being while simultaneously opening a new, wonderful, complementing one, one made brilliant with the beginnings of a family all my own.

Whenever I went out of town in college and it was time to return to Utah, I'd say, I'm going back to school. Now when I go on a trip and it's time for that return flight I say, I'm going home.

from the 303

I'm sitting in my parents' living room as I'm typing this, and it's bliss. Asher just went down for a quick catnap before Mom gets home from work and we go fabric shopping. Being home involves so many wonderful things--salmon dinners, endless Diet Pepsi, a cozy guest suite--and I just wish that Mr. Wilson could have joined us on this trip.

The babe is sleeping remarkably well so far, and I get giddy thinking about all this trip has in store for me this week. Now, I think it's time for my midday soda, thank you very much.

picture vacation

It had been so long since I'd been home—since Christmas, people—and this time, I just needed to be at home and not worry about capturing it. Thanks to Emily and her camera-clicking (she's been using Grandpa's Canon), though, our vacation was documented. I just don't have the photos yet. And heads-up, I don't see this post as having much direction.

First things first, Donut Night was fabulous.

Now for some highlights: We had chuck roast for Sunday dinner, and it was fabulous. We gorged ourselves on peanut-butter-ganache cake (don't worry—I was not in charge of the ganache), and, in fact, I think I'm still full.

On the Fourth, we headed up to the mountains for our traditional cookout breakfast. We made real French toast with real French bread, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage and ate outside with the trees and river and mountains. The not-so-good of this excursion, though, was significant. Our drive home—which should take 40 minutes—was four hours long, because of an overturned semi. Four hours. I probably cried enough tears for each minute I lost to the traffic.


Because of our stolen afternoon, we opted out of fireworks and stayed home eating pizza, leftover cake, and drinking Diet Pepsi while we played more games of Bang!.

I don't have much to say about coming home to Oregon, except that I wasn't ready to. That, and cleaning before a vacation is the best idea ever. Even Josh was excited to come home to a clean and tidy apartment.

reporting from the 303

So I'm writing here from my home town, and I've loved every moment. I just thought I'd check in.

Think Diet Pepsi, Modern Family, Bang!, Denver Fabrics, and barbecued brisket.

Right now we're prepping for Donut Night.

I know you wish you were here too.

an equation

An extra day off work +
cleaning the kitchen +
cleaning the bathroom +
doing the laundry +
vacuuming +
cleaning the fridge +
a clean dishwasher +
mopping +
folding the laundry +
packing +
six episodes of Gilmore Girls =
the perfect preparation for a vacation in Colorado.

Now that is my kind of math.

memorial days

I kind of crashed into my weekend. Friday was a frustrating day full of tedious, time-intensive projects and really bad holiday traffic. The only awesome part of that day was that Josh came up to Portland to meet me for lunch because he had the day off. When I got home Friday night I promptly put on stretchy pants, mixed up chocolate cookie dough, and ate the dough by the spoonful as I watched several episodes of Gilmore Girls.

The rest of my weekend was completely delightful. It was full of things like movies at the theater, exotic food, and finding the perfect orange bicycle.

It was full of things like lemon crinkle cookies with our eight- and nine-year-old Primary kids and crepes with the in-laws and Sunday-night visits with these wonderful people.

It was full of things like cinnamon rolls, reading on the couch, phone calls with the mom and sister, an Office marathon, Mod-Podging, leftover meatball sandwiches, pretty fabric, fun knitting, a wooden tank model, naps, Diet Pepsi, and extra doses of snuggling.

If I had to crash into a weekend, this weekend would certainly be the one.

Now, who seconds my motion for the perpetual long weekend?

home for a spell

I've been busy since I came home.

Clam bake.

Cream pies.

Grandma's grave.

RMs (returned missionaries). Them, not me.

Canadians. Family. Fun.

Number 1.

Donuts. And donut holes. Homemade.

Mom.

Baking.

SPs. Lots.

Both grandpas.

Mountains. Cookout.

Reading.

Early birthday.

Lots of episodes.

It's been a wonderful two weeks. Really. I have the best family in the world.