Voices

When I was a teenager I dreamed of becoming an actress. Playing the role of the murderer in our high school Moustrap production lit a spark in me that I never had the resources or drive to fan into flame. But part of that aspiration still lingers and shows itself when I'm alone in the house, reading to my children. Tonight it was The Princess and the Pea. For those of you who don't know (because you have a had a traumatic brain injury which left you without memories from your own childhood), the story revolves around a queen in search of a "real princess" for her son. In my mind, this queen is British and haughty, so that's the way her words come out of my mouth. This evening Charlotte, Owen and I were all in the floor of his room. She was preoccupied with a toy while Owen was listening to the story. Every single time I spoke in the voice of the queen, Charlotte would stop chewing on the toy and laugh. Not just giggle, but truly and deeply laugh. This would make me laugh, which would make Owen laugh, and before long I didn't know if I was going to be able to make it through the book. These are the moments that overwhelm me and fill me with joy. I'll take mom over actress most any day, but particularly today.

Pea pods

Today is Will's birthday. In light of that fact, I would like to get some memories down on paper, so to speak, that I don't want to forget.

During the spring of my freshman year I had a crush on a guy named Robbie. He signed up to take Shakespeare in the fall, which I needed for my major, so I decided that would be a perfect time for me to take it as well. This was a bit short-sited of me, seeing as how my crush had dissipated by the time fall semester rolled around, and I was left watching him gush his ooey-gooeyness all over his new girlfriend every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Thankfully, Will (who I met my freshman year but did not know very well) was also signed up for Shakespeare, and on the first day of glass I gratefully took the seat in front of him.

I'm sure there was some flirtatious chatter going on during Shakespeare, but I can't remember any specifics. I do recall the tentative twirls of my long hair from the seat behind me. And the time he rode with me to The Sign of the Fish (a Christian book store in the next town over). During a pause in conversation on the ride home I made a request that I had tried on another guy (who failed miserably), "Tell me something." Will immediately launched into a description of his love for Stewart's Cream Soda, which he overindulged earlier in college, so he was now drinking Orange 'n Cream Soda instead. My heart fluttered. You see, the failure of the other dude was his response of, "What do you mean??"

Another moment which makes me smile occurred during our first date. We had eaten at Ham's and were heading back to the car. Will walked to my side and opened my door. I was beaming inside. However, somewhere along the way, my friends and I had joked about dating etiquette, and one thing mentioned was that a guy should always walk around the front of the car. Will did not do this (I'm pretty sure we were parked too close to the wall or car in front of us for him to go that way). So when he got in I dryly joked, "They say you shouldn't trust a guy who walks around the back of the car." He immediately replied, "They say a girl doesn't like you if she doesn't unlock your door from the inside." We are two peas in a pod. And I suppose we have been from the beginning.

Argh

I just uploaded a ton of birthday and Halloween pictures, and most of them need some work--red eyes, bad lighting. However, I knew if I waited until editing was complete before posting anything, it might be a month from now, and I'd just feel too lame to post my old pictures. So here you go.

Seaweed

Thursday was beautiful. Low 70s, sunny, nice breeze. I had a meal planned for dinner, but a picnic on the beach just sounded so much better. By "picnic" I mean we picked up something at Arby's and took a blanket to sit on. We had such a great time. But I believe Owen had the most fun. He stayed busy building shelters for the seaweed. By "shelters" I mean holes that he could throw seaweed into and then cover them up with more sand. My first inclination was to tell him to put down the gross slimy seaweed, but then I stopped myself. Even though I wouldn't want to touch it, why should I prevent him from enjoying it? Sometimes I feel like I'm programmed to say "no," without even really thinking about why I am saying it. Who cares if he gets seaweed slime on his shirt...that's what a washing machine is for. And after seeing his smiling face, how could I suggest otherwise?

Neglect

My camera was poorly abused last month. It sat forlornly in its bag during a wonderful outdoor dinner with friends. I took it on a weekend trip to see some of my favorite ladies, and then left it in my suitcase the entire time. I'm trying to make up for it. I've used it three times during the past seven days.

This picture is actually from the month of camera neglect. I just couldn't go without getting a picture of me covered in watered-down chocolate pudding. No this is not a scandalous moment, just a night in the life of a high school youth group volunteer. Have you ever done a chocolate slip-n-slide? You should try it. Maybe you won't do a painful belly-flop in front of forty high schoolers. That's right. I'm so cool.

Yay for the State Fair! It's exhausting, smelly, and oh so fun.

Just a fun moment. I came home from the grocery store and found my three favorite people, chilling on the couch (though I only photographed two of them, I'll let you guess who the third was).

I'm Still Here

It's way too late. I really meant to go to bed an hour ago. But I had to check my email. And Facebook. And check up on some blogs (sorry I missed the giveaway Christianne). And then I realized what a crazy blog-slacker I've been lately. Just life. School started. Bible study. Youth group. Two crazy kids. Life just starts to run away with you, you know? But I'm still here. Though I must admit that yesterday almost did me in. Owen was in rare form. Everything was a struggle. Not to mention the lunchtime art project...

I had to breastfeed Charlotte. Best done in her room where her hyper brother won't distract her. So I left Owen in the dining room with two small bowls of food and a cup of orange juice. At some point he decided that he needed more juice. Instead of asking or waiting, he decided that a stool and an adventurous spirit would get the job done. He poured himself another glass, and two bowl fulls, and enough to cover half of the table, the front of his shirt, the seat of his chair, and part of the floor. He also thought it was a good idea to go ahead and ruin the orange juice lingering behind in the carton by shoving in some peas and black beans.

Yay.

A Moving Target

Feeding Charlotte solid food makes me want to run screaming from the house. When Owen was six months old, sitting in his high chair, he looked like a starving baby bird. Every time you got near him with food his mouth would pop open, he would greedily devour whatever you stuck in it, and immediately open his mouth again, ready for the next bite. Charlotte, on the other hand, never opens her mouth at all. I wait, spoon poised in mid-air, praying that she will ever so slightly part her lips so that I can shove baby food in at lightening speed. She is not defenseless. She has mastered the "spray the baby food back at mom" technique and the "stick out my tongue, close my lips, and let all the food dribble down my chin" method. The latter is very well executed because Charlotte has the craziest tongue ever. She can lick her bib. Not that she's trying to get any food off of it. Oh no. Just trying to mock me. I've tried singing little songs, eating the food myself to show her how easy and tasty it is, and trying to distract her with cool toys. I would just say, "Forget it, I'll try again later," but when you have a smallish little girl, the doctor isn't so cool with mom giving up on solids. So if you have any awesome secrets that will make feeding time more pleasant, please share.