Vacation: Success!

Since we returned from our trip (to Maine and P.E.I., of which you will read much if you choose to later), we've been besieged with calls from family and friends wanting to know how it went.  Let me put it this way:

Yep.  I think that about sums it up. 

This One's For Me

There will come a day, no matter what I do to prevent it, when I have to ask Eden what she wants for her birthday party theme and she will respond "Dora!" or "Thomas Train!" or "Elmo!" or some other equally age-appropriate and shudder-worthy stooge from multibillion dollar corporate marketing.  A dutiful mom, I'll purchase the plastic plates, streamers, party hats and sigh at Eden's delighted and duped grin.  But this day, my friends, is not that day. 

No, no.  This is the day I punch my ticket to Martha Stewart Heaven.  Or not.  But I gave it my best shot.  And it was enough work that I might just relish a future of parties by Walmart.  But now, without further ado, here are some shots from the food table:

   
Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. It was a pretty small party, since I just about didn't go through with it.  We have been re-roofing our house for the past month (yes, "we" as in Kris and I and a few kind friends who are bad at excuse-making), and I was just feeling too overwhelmed to send out invitations and commit to a party.  But we were thankful to have my parents, sister and BIL, neighbors, and a couple of fantastic friends come on the shortest ever notice.  The highlight was definitely watching our fifteen month old friend take Eden for a stroll in her new dolly stroller.  But this post isn't about Eden, is it?  Nope.  Just like the party, it was all about me :)  Here's to next year...I promise to give that one to the birthday girl!   

One Year

How much do you change in 365 days?  Do you grow mentally, spiritually, physically?  It's okay, your...our...secret is safe with me on that last count!  From birthday to birthday I suppose I get a little more learned, a smidgen wiser, but I definitely deal in fractions these days.  So I suppose that's why I'm completely awestruck by the tremendous worth of a year to a human being who's never had one before.

Like Eden.  Who on this very day last year (her first of surely thousands), could only take five milliliters of milk through a feeding tube.  

These days she feeds herself virtually anything, generously sharing with her friends the walls and floor. 

Eden.  The waif who couldn't even fill up the smallest corner of her baby tub.

Now the wild child who dances the jig and splashes her tub dry.

Once a palmful of quiet snuggles. 

Now a bipedal terror.

Then a jaundiced fake-baker in a luchador mask.

Now a little lady...young gents, beware!

Once a smiling sleeper.

 Now a grinning toddler.

Then a bookie.

Now a squirming crafter.

Once our tiniest friend.

Forever our beautiful daughter.

Happy Birthday, Eden Emerson Bell!

Photography Practice: Eden's Tutu

Central Conflicts of Womanity

Brace yourselves, friends, this one's going to be behemoth.  It also covers a touch-stone topic, so I'll open with a disclaimer: This post dabbles in philosophical intellectualism and is also an exploration of how I want to live; it is NOT a condemnation of anyone else's choices.  You have (not that you need it) my express permission to guiltlessly be whatever kind of woman, wife, mother, household manager fits your fancy.  Now then, let us begin...

I recently read an article reporting some $90K-odd as the replacement cost for hiring professional help to do the tasks done by stay-at-home moms.  You know, things like grocery shopping, food prep, child-care.  While acknowledging that such a quantification couldn't totally explain the worth of a woman, the article's writer urged readers to value the SAHMs in their lives more.  I agree.  Except I don't.  The principle, yes, the numbered justification, no.  For so many reasons.  First (and this one's a bit painful), in order for a SAHM to claim that "salary," her performance would have to be on par with professional performance of the same duties.  I'll grant that it's impossible to stress enough the value of an engaged mother, so let's leave childcare out of it for a minute.  How many of the homes that you visit (mine included) look like they've been professionally cleaned?  How many of the meals served are of a chef's quality?  And, oh, all right, I'll say it: being home with your kids isn't an automatic guarantee that you're engaged with them.  Ladies, before we get all self-righteous and demand our due, are we really earning it?  Second, if the purpose of the SAHM "salary" is to put her work into competitive perspective, it must also be acknowledged that many working women take on the same tasks as their SAHM counterparts.  When I was making a whopping $42K annually as a teacher, the dishes weren't doing themselves!  So according to the formula this study used, my actual earnings during that time should have been well over $100K.  Thus that monetary competitive edge for the SAHM disappears.  Third, I find the idea that value is best expressed in terms of money to be so much pig swill.  It's repugnant to me to consider that in order to have worth as a woman I need a dollar sign.  Fourth, I think that if we women revered what we do more, we wouldn't be so worried about making other people appreciate it.  Whatever happened to good old self-realization?             

 Now, wait just a second!  I'm sounding decidedly unfriendly to SAHMs for a lady who just made the choice to become one.  Is that regret you hear in my voice?  Um, no.  Not at all. I LOVE what I do.  And I earnestly believe it to be of great worth.  All of it, from helping Eden learn a new skill to folding the zillionth load of her laundry.  Because it's not just the laundry, it's the total package.  Creating for her a home that is warm and neat and desirable, a place where she can develop to be the fullest expression of herself...that is sacred business.  And it requires a ton of diligent work, drawing on the diverse skill sets of wife, mother, household manager and woman.  I really believe that my success will depend in part on how I choose to sharpen and implement those skills. It's not enough to be a SAHM...I think I owe it to myself to be great at it.

I'll fail.  I know I will.  Over and over again, in ways both small and large. My house will be a wreck some days, the chicken charred, Eden neglected in favor of Pinterest.  I accept that my human frailties prevent perfection.  I see no reason why that should prevent the attempt.  Which is why I'm so bugged by a sign I've seen on Pinterest (since we were speaking of the devil): it says something about the best moms having messy homes and happy kids.  So...? If my house is clean is my kid unhappy?  Is unfolded laundry and a dirty floor really the goal here?  I'm all for being kind to ourselves and realizing that the process of becoming an excellent SAHM (or working mom...or wife...or woman) is a messy one. I just think I'm over the idea that sheer existence is it's own justification.  That being a SAHM is the hardest job in the world and impossible to do well.  Aren't all jobs hard if you're striving to be the best that you can be at them? (I don't think admitting that diminishes what I do.)  It's far kinder to say, "You make mistakes, but they don't define you.  Keep going, keep working, you can be better!"  A striving existence...that's the ticket. 

I hear the more experienced among you snickering a bit.  After all, I only have one little friend (whose latest nickname, by the way, is "The Angle of Destruction") unfolding my laundry piles.  And she's not old enough to need soccer registration or demand a ride to the mall.  I know I'm only beginning to wet my toes here.  I guess I'm just hoping that I can grow with the need.  That I can learn and earn the skills necessary to be the woman I want to be.  That Eden and I can make huge messes with finger paints...and then clean them up.  That I can run to Walmart in my pjs when necessary... but also still know how to put some shine on so Kris doesn't think he married a lumberjack.  In short, I think I want my cake and to eat it too.  After all...I baked it, and I can always make more!

Whew.  I think I'm done.  Dare I ask what you think?  What you struggle with as a woman?  What you want to be?  What I'm missing?  How I'm wrong?  Let me have it, if you want to. In the meantime, Eden just woke up...I'm off to scramble some eggs!           

Scone of Destiny

When I was 13, I got to tag along with an awesome aunt and uncle on their trip to EUROPE.  My official capacity was "nanny" to my 3-year-old cousin, but I'm pretty sure that was just a generous excuse (thanks again, guys!).  It was marvelous.  Italy, Austria, Germany!  Cathedrals, castles, torture chambers, art worth more than my entire life!  Pounds of pasta, cream-topped hot chocolate, veal and gelato and cheeses I can't pronounce!  Trains and planes and aquarium-floored restaurants!  Airplane food!  What an experience.

Wait! you say.  Airplane food?  Did that really make my rushed list of the wonders of three countries? A stand-out in a host of life-altering experiences?  Yes.  Yes it did.  How? you inquire.  Simple: British tea scones, first introduced to me as breakfast in our dawn-break British Airways arrival from LA to London.  One lick of the clotted cream accompaniment, and I was sold! 

When I got home, there was so much of that trip I could only bring back as memory.  But scones?  Those I could replicate. Which I learned to do not long thereafter and have been doing ever since.  And today, it just seemed like the perfect way to spend a rainy evening.  Alas, clotted cream isn't too readily available outside of Britain, but homemade lemon curd and whipped cream turn out to be pretty amazing too!      

P.S. This was this week's photography practice...I think I'm improving!

Reading

Do you ever read too much and pass out from the overload?