why I don't like sun in January

It just sounds absurd, doesn't it? To not like sun at any time of the year. But it's true. January sun is not my thing. It never has been. January is made for melancholy days, and melancholy days aren't always the worst. Cloudy skies give me permission to stay inside myself and ruminate and enjoy the most simple of pleasures. January is for recharging, drinking hot cocoa, reading books in the afternoons, and watching all those wonderful BBC shows. I muster enough motivation to do laundry, make simple dinners, and clean up in Asher's wake, but I don't expect much in the way of excessive productivity. I don't force creativity, but embrace it when inspired. I enjoy the blankets and early sundowns and chilled afternoon walks.

{via}

When the sun breaks through, I feel like I need to be adding more to my to-do lists, because don't we all know that we need to make hay while the sun shines? On sunny days I feel guilty for preferring the indoors and making cake that I will inevitably have for breakfast the next day. In January I allow myself quiet moods and try to let go of those things that aren't urgent. January sun is more of a bully to me than a friend, and I welcome those protective clouds that keep my world at bay from that bigger world.

Some--perhaps even most--of my readers welcome January sun as a happy teaser of what's to come in later months. But for me, I'm not ready for spring in January. I'm ready to hibernate, just for a few weeks. And when February comes around I'll be more open to that sun, because the sun will glisten instead of intrude. In January I prefer to seek out sun--and all the productivity and motivation and purpose that come along with it--on my own terms. And if I don't seek it, that's my business. Coming off the holiday high, by January I'm just not ready to be at 100-percent. And that's okay.

January, as much as I sometimes loath the month, is cyclical, and for the first time, I'm realizing that I like this seasonal cycle. I like having one month to dedicate to slowing down and steeping in my thoughts and plans and moods. So January, keep your clouds because they make me feel safe and validated. Sun, your turn will come soon enough.

that time I had a birthday

I had a birthday last year. I'm sure you were wondering, because I never blogged about it, and if you don't blog about something can you be sure that it even happened? But I did have one. My birthday came four days after I had Asher, so my body was a mess of hormones and pain medication with my mind reeling in the exhilarating wake of new motherhood. All of my siblings-in-law were in town, and they made my birthday delightful. Think macaroni and cheese made on the grill and the most amazing pesto lasagna you've ever had plus cupcakes with cookie-dough centers plus loving on a newborn all day plus a small nap thrown in.

Josh's gift surprised me. He gave me a gift card to a spa, something I didn't even know that I'd want. I was excited at the prospect, but knew that I wouldn't be able to use it for a while. With a babe who nursed every three hours and didn't fall for the bottle, escaping to the spa for an afternoon wasn't on my radar. Then I kind of forgot about the gift certificate. Then I kind of lost the gift certificate. But when I remembered it I was determined to find it, because dammit, I deserved that spa day. So I found it, and I used it.

I went last month and because of a coupon enjoyed a manicure, pedicure, and a facial. Did I mention that the pedicure was 80 minutes long? Because it was. And it was heavenly. On top of all that pampering, I got four hours all by myself. I love my husband, and I love my son, but I also love time to myself that doesn't involve one ear paying attention to the baby monitor.

When I got home I promptly informed Mr. Wilson that every time I have a baby he has to give me a spa day, regardless of how close or far away my birthday is. That's the new rule.

last week at this time

Last week at this time I had just tried on all of these clothes as part of my birthday present of a new fall wardrobe.

Last week at this time we had already gone crazy at Fabric Depot, bought new shoes at Marshalls, and found needed organizational tools at IKEA.

We had already organized and purged my closet.

These days had been preceded by a weekend with my mom and dad, which included a trip to the Rose Gardens

 

 

and which culminated in Asher's baby blessing at church.

We were still looking forward to unpacking my dishes from Grandma.

Plus we still hadn't had dinner at Nicholas's, lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen, and another lunch at Fir Point Farms. We still hadn't found those perfect tweed slacks for Asher at Gymboree.

We still had Bernie and War Horse to rent from Redbox and at least three more Big Gulps to consume. We still had half a season to watch of Parenthood and so many more grandma-Asher snuggles to enjoy.

 

Returning to life sans Mom/Grandma has not been my favorite, but I will just say that those nine days with my dad and mom were pretty much the best stay-cation ever.

a day for chili

This week the weather has looked a lot like this.

I wish my little point-and-shoot camera could convey the heavy, steady fall of rain and the frequent swooshes of wind that have accompanied this wet and wintry week. This is the weather that begs for stretchy pants, hot chocolate, and a good book. So yesterday after walking in after work, I decided that homemade chili was the perfect meal for a wet and stormy night.

I found my favorite chili recipe this past fall in this magazine. It's seriously the best chili recipe I've ever encountered. It calls for real chili peppers that you process to make your own chili powder. Real chili peppers, people. This recipe is so legit. The chili powder smells enticingly exotic yet still carries that comfort food vibe. It's magical.

And then, if you can imagine that this chili can get any better, you use blade steak for the meat instead of ground beef. (Making this recipe is a bit of a financial investment depending on the steak you spring for, but trust me, it's a culinary splurge worth indulging in.) I would have taken some pictures of the final product except that by the time it was ready we were so hungry and so ready for some stretchy pants that I skipped the final picture all together. Just know that it was delicious and that the leftovers won't last through the weekend.

 

To top off the night, do you think that there would be a better dessert than Diet Delight? (Sugar-free Jello pudding with a few dollops of light Cool Whip mixed in, more Cool Whip on top, and mini chocolate chips--delightful.) No one knows how to do winter rain like the Wilsons, people.

PS I know I need to update my blog banner, because I do know that it's now 2012. Cut me a break, though. I'm still in stretchy pants.

comfort food

I've been battling a chest cold this week, and instead of doing anything productive, all I really want to do is plop on the couch with some cream of wheat and hot chocolate and watch some Gilmore Girls.

So that's what I'm doing this morning.

That is, until I have to go to work at 11:00.

legitimate, sort of

At the behest of my darling sister-in-law, I present you documentation of the first official Wilson family climbing night. If we're going to climb with Nicole and Josh Snow, a.k.a. climbers extraordinaire, we needed to establish some semblance of climbing regularity and legitimately.

The rock gym where I've been a few times with Karen was having a screaming deal on rock-climbing passes, and Josh and I decided to commit and buy some. Our commitment furthered when we invested in legitimate climbing gear (and seriously, it's an investment). We bought shoes for Josh (Karen let me have her too-small-for-her pair) and harnesses.

So Thursday night after dinner at Jimmy John's we Wilsons, along with our friend Ian, headed over to Club Sport where we tested out our new gear and made our first steps toward becoming rock climbers. (Yeah, you heard me right--I'm calling myself a rock climber.) I'm even belay-certified now. I know.

The boys loved being photographed for the blog. Obviously.

This time rock climbing I worked more on my pivots and leg work. (Take it from a seasoned climbing novice--get that, a seasoned novice?--the work should come from the legs and hips.) We climbed for two and a half hours and were completely beat by the end of it. We have plans for many more climbing excursions, and I'm looking forward to getting better and more confident in my ability.

 And really, how could I turn down a sport in which you wear stretchy pants?

those days

You know those days when you wake up and already have a bad-itude? Those days when you're discouraged by the lame-o economy? Those days when you're overwhelmed by uncertainty? Those days when all you feel up to doing is DPAD (drinking Pepsi all day) and watching a trusted TV show? Those days when you can't stand another zit on your face?

I was having one of those days.

I've spent much of my day in a royal funk, counting the hours until I check out of here for my weekend. I don't know exactly what changed; I talked to Josh on the phone for a few minutes, we hashed out our weekend a bit, and I just felt better.

I mean, not 100-percent better. There's a lingering funk here. But it's not as funky as it was.

Here's to the weekend, readers.

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?

springing forward

I've always hated the switch from standard time to daylight savings time, if only because I lose an hour of sleep one night. And really, that's not the worst. Inconvenient, sure. But the same thing happens when I fly from Oregon to Colorado, and it doesn't bother me then.

So I can't explain why I've been disproportionately tired this week. I don't know if it's simply my body recovering from a busy few days, or if my fatigue really can be attributed to the time change. And it feels like each day the tiredness worsens. This morning I overslept by 20 minutes, fell asleep reading on the bus, had a difficult time rousing myself approaching my stop, and am currently willing my body and mind to stay alert in its semi-cloudy state.

Tonight I may or may not shoot for a 9:00 bedtime.