Admittedly, my husband and I do not do a whole lot of traipsing around together into the night like we used to.
P.S. You can find the blanket pattern by Daisy Farm Crafts here.
Admittedly, my husband and I do not do a whole lot of traipsing around together into the night like we used to.
P.S. You can find the blanket pattern by Daisy Farm Crafts here.
I have wrinkles.
Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable. Small ones. Mostly around the eyes. They’re starting to intersect each other. Like the road map of a city that has started to expand and grow its own suburbs.
It’s possible they came from my job, which is an endless cycle of massive deadlines. Just as I’m about to get through a particularly brutal one, another one pops up for the next week. Rinse and repeat.
It’s possible they came from my husband. By marrying him, I’ve set myself up for an entire lifetime of heckling about my driving and the constant annoyance of dishes piling in the sink.
It’s possible they came from my son, who has meltdowns over things like his piece of toast tearing into two pieces and me not being able to magically fuse it back together even if IT STILL TASTES THE SAME AND THE END GOAL IS TO EAT IT ALL SO IT WON’T EVEN MATTER.
Sorry guys. Lost myself for a second. We get really passionate about toast around these parts.
Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. And since I haven’t quite come around to the idea of botox, the wrinkles are seemingly here to stay.
So instead I have to find a way to embrace them. Perhaps connect good things that come from the decades of stress.
With each work deadline comes a sense of accomplishment after I’m done. The wrinkles also represent the promotions I’ve received from hard work and dedication to a company I love.
I’m now basically too anxious to drive with anyone ever because of the endless jabs, but I also have had 7 years of support and love and a few thank yous for when I decide enough is enough and load the dishwasher myself. 😏
And sure, there are terrible two meltdowns on the regular, but I’ve also got a toddler who grabs my wrinkly face and plants kisses on it *almost* daily (he was really upset with me over the toast thing).
So yeah. My wrinkles are what they are. I guess I’ll own up to them and accept them as a fact of life. Same as my upcoming, inevitable dive into the mid-30’s scene happening this summer.
Or I’ll continue to assault them with every single serum and treatment I can get my hands on at Sephora for the rest of my life.
Yeah, I’ll probably do that.
We took a lovely long weekend trip to Missouri over Easter.
Given that my child is almost two and a half, it really is a crap shoot of what to expect from him on the 7.5-hour drive. For example, last time we made the trip, he projectile vomited within 5 miles of my parents’ house.
It could have been worse, I suppose. He could have thrown up in hour 2 and the smell would have destroyed us all. So there’s that.
But anyway, he did great. Both the ride down and back. Possibly the best road trip we’ve had with him.
My husband, however, did not fare so well.
He got the chills the night before we drove back home.
We still drove back, but turns out it was strep throat. And we had all been trapped in a car together for 7.5 hours.
Kyle immediately went into quarantine. And while I like to think of myself as a loving wife, there’s only so much nurturing to go around. And when I am doing everything I can to keep my child from getting strep, there’s not much leftover when it comes to looking over his well-being.
I warmed up a couple of cans of soup. Threw a bottle of NyQuil at him through a slightly opened door. Provided him with some Clorox wipes to wipe down anything he touched between the two rooms he was allowed in – our bedroom and the bathroom.
And then I slept on our family room couch for two days.
Because it is all about survival. And sorry, bro, you have fallen and I cannot help you until you are officially no longer contagious.
That does seem harsh. But to be fair, if I were to get sick, I would expect about the same. One adult being sick is tolerable. But if you take the child down with you, we’re going to have problems.
He must be protected at all costs.
So Kyle stayed in quarantine and I caught up on Netflix in the evenings, with crochet in hand.
I really love the texture, but due to the size of this throw, it’s been slow going. It’s also stalled at the moment, because I need to buy more yarn for it.
With health being restored in our household, I also expect it to stall more because I am desperately behind on my NICU blanket goals.
Gonna have to partially blame the husband and his germs on that one. 🙂
I’m a quirky character, if you haven’t already figured that out.
I crochet, for one thing, which seems normal when you follow like 500 like-minded Instagram accounts, but in real life, my partner in crime Bailey is one of the few people I know who knits/crochets on the reg. I do have a friend who does cross stitch, but if we’re going to be a fiber arts snob, that is not the same thing (seriously. It’s not.).
But anyway, there’s more about me that is a little eccentric. I don’t like most fruit. I also have a strong opinion that dessert should not have fruit in it, but if you want to get super technical, I do like Swedish fish and lemon-flavored starbursts (Yes, the lemon ones. You’re now wondering if I’m a sociopath, I get it.).
I don’t care for riding bikes, not one bit, as I believe I’m better off with both feet touching the ground.
I can’t stand being late, but we’ve already examined that psychological problem in detail.
I’m obsessed with the Royal Family.
It likely stems from the fantasies of being a princess that many little girls grew up with. Or that because I grew up on a farm in the heart of the U.S. versus in a CASTLE, that I’m so fascinated by a life so different than my own.
Either way, obsessed.
Remember when Will and Kate tied the knot? I convinced my friend Monica it would be a good idea to get up at 3am and watch the wedding on the treadmills at the gym. I had the nuptials streaming with my headphones in at work. And then I proceeded to watch coverage of it from the time I got home that night until I went to bed. Literally 5-6 hours of replaying things that I had already watched. Obsessed.
When Harry and Meghan got married? Same thing, but I had a kid, so I tried to convince him the horses on their carriage were fun to watch so I could maximize my news coverage instead of changing to Saturday morning cartoons.
I actually looked up flights to England to get in on the pre-wedding hype. Seriously.
Flights were cheap, lodging was the bigger issue. If you were curious.
I binge watched The Crown, and watched every documentary on the family that Netflix has to offer. Queen Elizabeth is the epitome of boss bitch and I love her for it. Her elegance? Perfection. Her steadfast rule? Legendary. The perfected side eye of disapproval?
So, as you can imagine, waiting around for Harry’s royal spawn has started to get very exciting.
Girl or boy? Will it have red hair? Meghan’s smile? Harry’s care free personality? How many names will they get? SO MANY THINGS TO WONDER ABOUT.
The moral of the story is if I seem distracted this month, this is one of the reasons why.
And for real, Netflix, when do we get a release date for The Crown’s third season?
On a typical day, my husband has already picked up Henry from daycare well before I get home. So when I walk in the door, the dog comes running and I can hear a “mama!!!” from somewhere inside the house. I get about 20 seconds to lose the work bag and winter coat before Henry rams into me at full speed for a big hug.
As previously mentioned, my family was planning for a weekend getaway.
In Wisconsin, actually. Sheboygan, to be more specific.
Sheboygan is fun to say.
Anyway, it was a trip for the grand kids and mostly revolved around an indoor water park. Because there are not many desirable outdoor activities during winter months in Wisconsin.
I think you can ski. But unlike my counterpart on this blog, I refuse to even entertain the idea of a hobby like that.
My feet are better on solid ground. And if not on solid ground, they much prefer floating around a lazy river about 20x in a row with an excited but overwhelmed child chilling in my lap.
He probably peed in the pool/on me. We’re not going to think about it.
Anyway, when traveling, it’s always important to have packed correctly. And that includes the right amount of yarn and a good project to keep busy, even if there are only a few opportunities to work on it. That includes time spent in the car.
My husband is the superior driver, there’s no argument about that, and so I happily keep myself busy and take very seriously my one job of turning on Google maps when we’re close to getting off the highway.
It’s also great to have around for when my child chooses to forgo sleep because he’s not comfortable in a new environment and ends up in bed with us (kicking me in the back throughout the night) and then refuses to sleep past 5:30 am.
It’d also be nice to have during middle of the day naps, but If we’re being honest, I ended up taking a nap at that time. Because 5:30 am. And tired crochet can be extremely consequential. I’ve yanked out rows upon rows before for simple oversights and it’s always a sad occurrence.
Anyway, I started a blanket for friends due with their second in June, but probably won’t finish it anytime soon because it’s still a good size to take on the next road trip we have planned in April.
My focus this month has been mostly on keeping up with my NICU blankets goal for the year. However, my son woke up calling for (i.e. demanding) someone to come wipe his boogers last night. So I suspect I’ll also have to put that away until we have a virus-free household again (rules are rules when it comes to charity guidelines, right?).
All this means I’ll be focusing on getting a few other “almost done” projects completed and out the door because my collection of works in progress is starting to get a little overwhelming. And I still haven’t convinced my husband that a craft room is a valid reason for needing to move into a bigger house.
I like to be punctual.
Screw that. I like to be ridiculously early to things.
And if it requires driving somewhere with traffic being a factor? I will knock on your door 10 minutes early and exclaim, “I’m so sorry I’m early!” when I’ve already spent 10 minutes sitting in my car in front of your house like a creep.
Being late causes extremely large amount of discomfort. It’s always been that way. It’s a thing with me.
I jokingly blame my dad. A regular staple in my childhood was being told we were going to leave for something at, say, 4:30. My parents would be sitting in the car, already backed out of our garage and impatiently waiting at 4:15. Honking.
As you can imagine, this has affected many aspects of everyday life. Remember the movie “Superbad”? It was hilarious, right?
NO. I HATED that movie because the majority of the plot was based around getting to a party and they kept getting more and more delayed. They were soooo late for that stupid party.
I could not handle it.
There’s also a Friends episode where they’re all supposed to go to a dinner and the only person ready and trying to get everyone out the door was Ross. No one else seemed to be bothered that they were never going to get there on time. It was terribly rude.
I simply cannot.
But I recognize my problem and am actively trying to overcome it. My husband, for example, will only leave then house at the exact time needed to get us there within a minute of when we’re supposed to arrive. What caused me to have an unnecessary heart attack every time we would leave the house is now starting to dwindle to maybe only a few chest pains here and there.
And if anything, if we end up late, I can always blame my husband.
The scape goat makes me feel better.
So what about the rest of you? Any weird ticks that have just become a part of who you are?
I also can only open the microwave after it’s done, or on a number that ends in 0 or 5. Oh, the oatmeal is going to explode out of the bowl if I don’t open it with 13 seconds left? Too bad. Let’s watch it tidal wave over the top and I’ll open it when the timer gets to 10 seconds when it’s clearly too late.
I’m a mess.
Link to pattern used is here.
That time of year. You know… when the temps dip below 0 throughout the entire week. When you question every decision you’ve made about living in this frozen tundra you call home…. or is that just me?
My husband, of course, spent the earlier part of the week in Colorado on a ski trip- playing in the snow. The rest of us stayed here. Suffering through all the snow. And cold air.
I’m not bitter. Just freakin’ cold.
My mom came to visit until Tuesday, which was great because I never turn down a set of extra hands. Two-year-olds are exhausting. But it was just me and the kiddo up against the record-setting lows coming our way Tuesday night.
What do I do if the water pipes freeze? What if the heat goes out? At what point do I worry because there is ice INSIDE of the windows? Can our dog even pee in temps this low? Or does it just freeze as it comes out?
All questions I didn’t have the answer to. Everything is seemingly fine (fingers crossed), but I’ll still stand by the decision to double up my child’s pajamas these last two nights when it dipped down to -22 and -24.
Helicopter mom strikes again.
Luckily, working from home is an option. But if we’re being honest, that just makes me even more stir crazy.
Anyway, we’re at Thursday morning and have been told by this afternoon things will just be “normal Chicago cold”. So that’s something to look forward to, I guess?
How’s everyone doing out there? Frozen? Sleeping through the whole thing? Scheduling trips to warmer climates at this very moment?
If you have a strategy to keep kids not from going crazy being inside for so long, HIT ME UP. Please and thank you.
It was a few weeks ago, during that weird time between Christmas and New Years, where all the random vacation days sort of blur together into one weird point in time. Henry had a play date in the morning, which is always ideal on days off because play dates typically guarantee a two-hour nap on days when daycare isn’t open.
Per usual, I put Henry down in his crib, backed out of the room, grabbed the monitor and flipped on Netflix for a bit of me time.
Sure, there was laundry to be folded and dishes to be cleaned. There almost always is. Don’t judge me.
Anyway, I had just barely started flipping through my queue when I started hearing Henry kicking up a storm. It’s not unusual, but I took a peek anyway. I’m that mom. That noise you hear is just my helicopter blades.
Anyway, you can imagine my surprise when I saw my child balancing ever so gracefully on the top of his crib bars. Then he fell back into the crib. Stood up. Grabbed the front of his crib again, took a big jump, and teetered that much more over the side, not quite getting the momentum to make it completely over.
I’ve never ran up a flight of stairs so quickly in my life, opening the door to his room just in time to grab him just as he made another strong attempt to hurdle himself over the guard rail, head first.
He napped on his mattress on the floor that day. I had my husband help me convert the crib to his toddler bed that night.
And now I’m also making him a new “big boy” blanket.
We were gifted one when he was born, but he’s starting to outgrow it and it doesn’t keep up with him during all of his nightly rolling around. I’m also a bit loony (I call it mama bear syndrome) and only really feel comfortable with him having some extremely breathable.
Before he was born, I knitted squares and sewed them together into one large blanket. Which also could have been used here, but it’s safe to say that blanket has not survived the test of time and is about one wash away from completely falling apart.
So here’s to new milestones and hopefully not a bunch of nights of him wandering into our room because he’s awake and bored…
We spent 10 days in the NICU when my son was born. He had a temporary hole in one of his lungs and some breathing issues he needed to work on before we could go home.
It was scary to my husband and I, as newbies in the parenting field. In all reality, our little guy’s issues were minor compared to the majority of problems being addressed in the NICU.
We got to know some of the other parents. Why they were there. How long they had been told to anticipate being there. There were certain machine alerts you became accustomed to and associated little worry with their beeps. Others you knew were bad news. You looked the other way as a politeness when emergencies happened at someone else’s station.
Days were long. Relatively melancholy.
That said, the nurses were always fantastic. They did their best to brighten the mood. Make you feel comfortable. Provide acts of kindness where they could.
On the first day where Henry started to show significant improvement, he happened to be wearing a specific outfit provided by the hospital. It came with a little blue cap, covered with airplanes. We asked to keep the hat on him an additional day as a little good luck charm. The following day, one of more significant improvement, one of our favorite nurses stuck it in my purse and said it was Henry’s to have as she changed his crib sheets. She gave us a wink and said he earned it.
We still have that hat saved with all his newborn things, and it serves as a reminder of how lucky we are.
Fast forward six months and I found myself looking into knitted and crocheted donation options with that children’s hospital. I was sent a list of guidelines to follow. The rules are super strict, but I definitely understand why. For example, I wash my hands every time I get the blankets out to work on. I keep the yarn and finished blankets stored in a room my dog isn’t allowed in- nor is my dog allowed near me when I’m working on them. Whenever there’s a sickness in the house, work on the blankets stop until it’s passed. I don’t work on these particular blankets when I travel. There are specific rules around the kind of yarn used and laundering instructions. Things I sign to confirm I followed the rules each time.
But I love doing it. And I hope that some of my blankets are also looked at as a good luck charm, and that they go home with babies when they’re released from a long stay, eventually to be packed away with the newborn things as a reminder of the family’s longer than anticipated fight to go home.
This is the second year we’ll be dropping blankets off around the time of Henry’s birthday and just before the holidays really start to pick up. My goal was 25 this year but November was a month where there always seemed to be someone under the weather, so no progress was made and the goal was missed by just one. 🙁
I know it’s not much in the grand scheme of things, but it’s something. And it’s crazy how many charities out there are specifically for the crochet and knit crowd. So if you have some extra yarn hanging around, and you’re not sure what to do with it… consider doing a quick search on the interwebz. I promise it will end with you doing some good and having all the good feels that come along with it!