Lady of the Arts :: five-word memoir.

While I'm away, I invited some of my favorite, inspirational bloggers (read: my blog crushes) to post their five-word memoirs. Let me just say, it's surprising how intimate five little words can be. 

This one is from Lady of the Arts.

Lady Dreams Can Come True

Visit Lady Ren for fabulous art, movie and book reviews--find art in everything, really. 
Not to mention travel, thought and mom awesomeness.
More fun by Ren on Twitter

LatteLisa :: five-word memoir.

While I'm away, I invited some of my favorite, inspirational bloggers (read: my blog crushes) to post their five-word memoirs. Let me just say, it's surprising how intimate five little words can be. 

This one is from LatteLisa...

I did it my way.

For some eye candy and a daily pick-me-up, visit Lisa here!
Find more scrumptiousness on her food blog, Kitchen & Aroma
Or, if you speak Icelandic, say hi via Uppskriftir. :)
You can also find Lisa on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest

my five-word memoir.

Apparently there's this book of six-word memoirs. A while ago I read someone's five-word memoir (I'm so sorry, I don't remember who!), and I thought, hey, that's a good idea. I couldn't stop thinking of what mine might be. A few different options appeared. One night, while I was catching up on Grey's Anatomy, my five-word memoir threaded up into the air.

I fell in love. Twice. 

{this hand, and more toes}

In the coming week, we'll see some more five-word memoirs here from muscled, super blogistas!

motherhood is...

{gettin' a massage}
Seeing old pictures of yourself looking cute at your baby's age, and thinking: 
My baby is waaayaaaaayaaaaaay cuter. (Even in bad light.)

Don't worry, you guys. I won't always write posts like this! 

going back to work after having a baby.

As I left the house yesterday morning, sniffling, I thought I might vomit. Driving south on the freeway, I wondered What the hell? I won't even be leaving R for that long? He'd been flat out refusing the bottle every time his dad tried to feed him. So, I did worry about him eating. But mostly I was just sad. 

I wondered if there was more to it than mere baby-momma separation anxiety. I'm also back in the States, commuting the 880 super ghetto highway to my former career, impermanently. Kind of like going back to a life you once ran away from. Maybe it was just first-day jitters. Or a big fat all of the above. 

Pretty soon, I was navigating that ancient ant maze of my life like a pro. Before nightfall, I was washing Rowan's neck (not an easy task with all those rolls!), as he stamped his foot like old toro, splashing in the warm water of his bath. We made it. 

Thank you so much for your sympathetic, loving comments yesterday. Boy, are you ever a helpful dose to the day!

life, seriously.

It's really not that serious. It's just life. 
So don't take yourself too seriously. 

{+ focus on the important things}
I thought this was good advice for me, since I feel ___i don't know how to fill in this blank___ about leaving R today to start my job--even though he'll be with his dad and I should be working from home after today. 

What advice would you like to give yourself (or me) today?

mush for the weekend.

Just some things I'm thankful for this week (and pretty much all the time)...

holding my baby :: while he sleeps. Even if it means being stuck and unable to turn down the music or eat breakfast. 

your comments :: seriously, i love learning more about you through tidbit stories and your sense of humor. You make me laugh; everyone needs to do that. And then to open the computer and find such compliments: "it's really nice to come back to blog world finding something like this." I know the feeling, and it's an honor to contribute to it. (Thanks, LatteLisa!) Not that I'm incomplete without compliments, but it was a happy welcome to internet land, as I sat under a snoozing R.  

{mediterranean laundry}
to be able to write a letter like this :: rereading that letter after several months reminded me that S + I really have been on a lot of adventures, not even counting the fact we met in Patagonia. The summits. The glaciers. The blizzard  beneath the ice field--our four arms and legs pegged to the tent walls bracing against the gales and wishing the tent against breaking. I'm tempted to take this around the world, to Mediterranean backstrokes and cliff diving marriage proposals, driving in the back of that car from Bovec to Vienna with Ali and Ismet--a subwoofer lodged between us--and stopping every half hour to fill the radiator with water while losing our way and our back fender. I don't need to go everywhere we've been with this list. But sometimes it's good to remember. And that this is only the beginning.

mushiness :: thanks y'all, for bearing with it. 

What are you thankful for right now?

a letter to husband.

After this little conversation between S + me, I remembered that I had written him a blog letter. I intended to post said letter after my dear soon to be mom post a while back. We didn't have internet back then though, and let's just say there was a lot going on. 

So here's a letter for you, S, back when we were still two, before we were three...

Dear Soon to Be Dad,

Three or four months pregnant is ages ago. We'd just bought a car in Patagonia and took it car camping to Laguna Azul right outside Torres del Paine. A bitter cold yet winter windless day with a glass clear lake reflecting the Towers and Paine Massif. You snapped my first belly shots there, the ones we've laughed about the past couple months, because it really didn’t count as a belly. 

{laguna azul, torres del paine :: patagonia, chile :: 17 weeks pregnant}
We built a fire to cook our food and warm ourselves. We sat huddled around it and each other. My shoes nearly melted in the flame. The Cruz del Sur, an upside-down Orion and impossible worlds of light reflected in our eyes. A bifocal of stars and fire; una estrella fugaz. When the fire died down, we snuggled in the tent and watched a movie on your computer. Such backpacker decadence.

A handful of months later we took our last road trip to Estancia Lazo on another glowing day. We were completely alone apart from a corral of horses. Me in my loosest hiking pants and a bellaband to hold up those unbuttoned trousers. I snapped photos of you cowboying it up on the gas canister toro for turistas. We made what you called baby's (third or fourth?) baby summit. We picnicked in the strong sun--warm enough to kick off our shoes and enjoy some naked feet time.

Winter wasn't easy. The first trimester emotions and end of the world solitude. That cold, dark house. Then the lightening of the second trimester hit and we moved to a better, insulated-at-least-for-Patagonia house. I wouldn’t change any of it.

Being able to spend all that time together would have driven most people crazy. Maybe it did drive us a little mad too. But then I think of how soon our life will quicken and how we'll probably miss our quiet time. I'm thankful for every minute we've spent together, for your come-to-the-rescue pep talks, how you remind me to breathe. That you're my best friend and birth partner, soon to be dad of our soon to be born baby.

If I have to live through a whole year of winters, thank goodness I get to live them with you. We've reached 40 weeks of pregnancy together. We'll hold those little feet that have been kicking us soon. To say that you will be an amazing father is just words. We'll fall in love again as a threesome. Reflected in this person that we've created together.

We made a person: Really, how crazy is that?


{and, yeah, you are an excellent papa}

a plan for tuesday.

So last night I'm talking to S...
Me: I'm thinking of starting a series on my blog called Letters to Rowan, where I write letters to Rowan. 
S: Hmm. You'll write letters to Rowan... and then share them with everyone? That's weird. 
Me: Yeah, I thought it might sound a little weird too. But I still think it's a good idea. I mean, I can pretty much do whatever I want. Plus it forces me to write Rowan a letter every week. Letters he might want to read someday. 
S: Okay. Yeah, and you can write them like poems. 
Me: Umm, no. Not on my blog. 
S: Why?
Me: Poems just aren't for the blog. 
S: And letters are?
Me: Well... 
S: What day will it be? You already have something for Friday. (Though I haven't been religious about it lately, I plan to start with a hallelujah.)
Me: Tuesdays sound good. 
S: And then you can write letters to me on Wednesdays. 
Me: Umm, not on the blog. 
S: I'm your husband. How come only your son gets letters?
Me: Because he doesn't care. But I can still write you letters. 
{via onecraftyfox}
And so ends this glimpse into our evening. Meanwhile Diana from OneCraftyFox put together an awesome mommy feature. I'm tellin' ya, she is good. Go check her out her yummy mommies


I have been thinking about monogram letters a lot lately. I think it has something to do with a delayed nesting instinct. We currently live in a one bedroom apartment, so all that fun nursery decorating that most mama's scurry to do is a no go. But it is on my radar, and I've realized I love letters for decorating everything, from soft items to rooms to bodies. 

After Rowan was born, dear Nathalie sent him a lovely hand-embroidered clutch (pictured above) from her shop Dolce Dreams. He absolutely adores this thing, especially now that he is starting to have more hand control and grab things. His tiny fingers curl around the knots and he brings the entire cozy over his face as he proceeds to mouth it. And I've been a little obsessed with letterpress jewelry (like this ampersand + h). 

Are you a monogram lover?

the sunday quiet.

Sometimes I feel like I share a quiet secret (at least invisible) world with my son. When I break that bubble of contact by talking to someone else, he looks up at me like he's marveling at some magical thing--as if to say: Look, she talks in this other tone of voice too! Mommy is very talented. He stares and beams happy blue eyes and the biggest grin at me. And it's enough to draw me back into our little world. Poof!


I don't mean to be self-conscious here (in a literary/author sense), but not talking about how much blogger sucked these last few days is like not talking about the elephant--wearing a sparkling bright pink saddle with little sparkling men dancing atop it--in the room.

{I searched for photos of Shakespeare in action, but they do not exist.}
Wishing you a lovely weekend!

i'm addicted to cookies.

Really. Somewhere in the second trimester, I started indulging myself. A lot. But I was still working out (on a cheap Chilean elliptical machine) every day. By the end of the third trimester, we hiked hilly hikes several days per week. A severe ice cream fetish set in. Now I've just finished the fourth trimester, but I haven't managed to kick the cookie habit.

{cookie monster by the crafty pirate
great shop, great name of shop!}
I was talking about this with S, when I realized that I'm addicted to cookies would be a good blog post title.  Then I mentioned that:
H: Even though I act so nonchalant about it, I'm actually passionate about my blog. Obviously meaning that I think about it all the time.
S: Well, we're passionate about many things. And those things change with our age.
H: So you're saying this is a phase? But what if I blog till I'm 90?
S: Who knows?
Have you ever thought about how long you would be blogging? 
Are we, dear friends, going to grow old together?

every day is a special day.

It's cheesy because it's true. As the sun goldens half-chevron style slats of light across the living/dining room and across our baby, I'm reading about wedding days. I'm reminded of our special day not too long ago, and the small handful of photos we have from it.

{remember back when we were warm and could go outside without sweaters?}
For wedding factoids of me and some fellow bloggers, head on over to Dolce Vita.

Happy afternoon!

this hairy life.

Last day to enter the Shabby Apple dress giveaway! 

{hair embroidery by laura normandin}
I've just spent a ridiculous amount of time researching dresses using tresses. When I was about 10 years old or so, I would stay up late on Friday nights and watch 20/20 with my mom. Sometimes we'd watch it upstairs in her bedroom, moments I absolutely relished. One episode has stuck with me: an old woman who saved her hair for however many years to create a floor-length dress, complete with hat. Her dress was coffee-colored though the hair on her head (not the hat!) was now grey. I think about this lady--without fail--every time I shower.

{by kate kretz}
During pregnancy you basically stop shedding (shedding being a normal part of the hair growth cycle). About three months post-delivery when hormone levels level out, you start losing about a year's worth of hair--all at once. While it drives me batty enough all day long as I hourly unravel it from R's tiny fingers, the sheer quantity is most obvious in the shower. Nests of it. Surely enough to make a hat--and maybe some booties for the baby.

So every shower I think of this regal woman wearing her hair. And then I think: Is this going to become a blog post?

'Cuz that's kinda gross. But here it is, friends. I just couldn't resist. I'm obsessed. And while human hair collecting may be unsettling, we do use sheep hair for all kinds of things--so why not our own? I have to admit I nearly kept R's two baby dreds, which we cut a few weeks ago. (For the record, we do wash him, but he thrashes his head at night when he's rooting to eat; which started knotting his wispy locks. So the knots grew. Until we cut them out. Does that make me a bad mom?) I reckon S tossed the dreds out the window, though, because suddenly they were gone.

Do you secretly keep your old hair or the hair of someone you love?

just us peas in a pod.

This week I'm thankful for...

friends :: Those lovely people who come visit baby and me when we're stuck without wheels at home. Bearing gifts of conversation, food, rides to other places. You know who you are; thank you. Offering to babysit the babe so the adults don't forget what it was to love just each other too. I guess that's one of the reasons I moved back here.

three :: Suddenly I totally understand the title of hollie's blog & baby makes 3. In this context: we doesn't mean just S and me anymore. Now we are three. (until there is four or more.) It's a beautiful, remarkable thing. Our whole sense of we has shifted.

{tall three}
chocolate + coffee :: Just after breakfast. Yep, I confess.

afternoon walks with Rowan :: We suit up and explore our neighborhood--strip mall wasteland that it is--trying to find tree-lined residential streets and green parks. We smell roses and jasmine and wisteria, and we stop to put our noses in the roses. We see kids running and old men gardening. We hear crows caw and masses of LBBs chirp. Suddenly we see a house finch that we'd yet to see around here bathing with two mourning doves. Then another red finch on the telephone wire--regally alone--kicking it with two blackbirds. And then a Peregrine falcon feasting on carrion just across the street from us. We stop and watch Peri's reluctance in flying away as the 1980s blue Toyota speeds toward him (maybe because he's supposedly the fasted member of the animal kingdom). We talk about how we are building our sense of place-- even in this particular expanse of America's weirdness. And how we have just found our personal NatGeo street.

{also thankful for :: kissing tiny fingers}
another day, just believe :: It's my first Mother's Day on Sunday. A reason to have Chocolate Mascarpone Stuffed French Toast With Strawberry Syrup served to me in bed with coffee. Tèlèpopmusik, how odd is that? {happy mother's day, mamas!}

P.S. There's still time to enter this Shabby Apple dress giveaway!

What are you thankful for this week?

tire chairs.

It seems that I like everything that has to do with sitting on tires. Millegomme upcycles spent tires by creating art installations. And they are huge: They describe themselves as "an international collective of tire crafters. [They] have our network in several countries. [They] love to solve local problems by using car tires." And I love them.

Unused public spaces turn them into fun meeting places for children and adults.  

Or local waste materials become moving curtains with night illumination,

What would you do with your tired tires? 

Enter the Shabby Apple dress giveaway here

mother's day gifts.

So, we needed random baby items from Amazon, when suddenly a you might also like... suggestion stole the show.

An interview book. Go dig up your mother's story. I know some families are good about their narrative and their stories really do stay alive through generations. But if you're like me and you have a horrible memory or morsels of your life--and the stories you've been told--are just plain missing, I can't imagine a more perfect activity than to sit down with your mom and actually write that story down. I'm smitten with this gift idea. There's a book for dad's story too.

Motherless daughters can do this too, though obviously not with their mamas. I'm not sure this is the book for such women, but I've always liked the idea of interviewing others about my mom's life. It's nice to know--even after decades--where + how you fit in. I've been thinking about this more since we moved to the U.S. (my motherland) and since I became a mama myself. 

Of course you could always shower her with flowers or fun presents like these too.

I fell in love with these typographic brackets that I saw on bug miscellany today. And these quirky + cute pendants from Elk.

Are you shopping for mom's day too?

Don't forget to enter the Shabby Apple Giveaway

sun + flowers.

While it's still extraordinarily windy, the temps are rising. Sun shine consistent. And flowers, flowers everywhere, even inside the house!

I think it's safe to say it's officially spring (that is, in the northern hemisphere--wishing my southern buds a crisp, delicious apple pie, er, autumn.)

What's your favorite spring thing?

wide open.

...dreams are not a bad thing. 
- wcw

What are you dreaming about?


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