hump day nuggets...SD style

hump day nuggets: little bits of the season in photos and words about the last week.  Encouraged to steal this idea from Dig This Chick because she is awesome blossom. 

I loooov "Hump Day Nuggets" over at Dig This Chick (grab more morning beverage and head over there...I'll wait) and was pretty thrilled when she tossed out the challenge to do our own nuggets.  Who doesn't love borrowing a great idea?  I would never...ever have done it had she not given the green light, it's too good an idea to attempt to float as my own.  

Plus, I'm a terrible thief.  Remember the shoplifting phase girls (some) go through in junior high?  I could never do it, instead I played the role of "look out" or the "distractor", but really I was playing the role of scaredy cat, chichen shit.  I'm okay with that:P

So, no stealing here, just using an awesome idea to break up the week and pop in without the need for a long post.  

Just some hump day huggets.

Remember before the move, when I was waxing poetic about change and Christmas present houses and walks with my mom?  And how the photos here would surely change and shape shift into...what?  I didn't know yet then.  Well I do now:)

Photo Nuggets:

A lot has changed since we moved.  Some good.  Like lots of safe neighborhood space and yard to run in.

Lots of reasons to wear Woody and Bullseye cowboy boots.



A large prairie style lawn for B to putz around in. So much better than the small, terraced city yard that requires cleets to scale the steep inclines.



Yep....a guy can sure stretch his legs out here.



And apparently a dog can too. This is an example of "bad change"...very bad change. Suddenly Baby Cal thinks he can sneak on our bed in the middle of the night. I totally busted him.



Bitter sweet change. It is no bueno that this picture is in the minority for the first time since The Nerd Herd blog was born:( It does make those less frequent redevous the most special trips ever, but now when Liam is in the car for more than a few blocks, he asks "Cecece?" It breaks my heart every time I have to tell him "not this trip baby".



There is family here though and we are all over the moon about getting to know them and mixing and mingling our families. There are no expectations of how our families should mix or that they need to embrace our craziness. No attempt to recreate the chemistry of our Minneapolis family, rather the thrill of growing new relationships organically and not knowing where our hearts will connect.  There is just palpable joy and the promise of whatever the future brings to all of us.


And for me, the constant reassurance that this move was the right thing to do.


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Liam is star struck by his new football heroes.

And my mom can't turn around without a grandbaby waiting to tuck in for a hug.



And we are taking those walks I dreamed of while packing up our city house in the stifling heat. Though in the interest of telling it like it is...recent walks haven't been the stuff of happy rainbow blogs.


Lots of sour faces from Lum. At 2, he is definately NOT a good walker. He only wants to run, or crash is trike into cars. Walks have become stressful.



Which equals sour faces from my baby girls.



But he thinks his new "pack pack" is the bomb baby.



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We are all loving the massive intake of football. Last weekend - 4 football games in less than 24 hours. Suddenly our wardrobes have changed as well.



And... speaking of wardrobes, an old high school friend held good on a FB promise to send a handmade gift to the first 5 posters to respond, but we had to promise to do the same.  And look what I got in the mail this week:



The high today is supposed to be 54 degrees. 54 DEGREES!!!!! Oh yeah, I will be debuting this beauty for sure!  And if you were one of my first 5...I promise my hand made gifts are in the works:) 


Happy Hump Day:)

a declaration

It's official, we have a first day of school curse.


Two years ago...two heads of lice.  Compliments of an "epidemic" in the Minneapolis school system.
Last year...Annika was home on the first day of school due to yuckiness.


This year...a freak accident involving a backed up main drain, two inches of water on the basement floor and a running naked post shower teenager resulted in this:



While Miss Annika posed excitedly for her first day of middle school:



Miss Autumn sat with her fresh stress fracture on ice.


To be immediately followed by this:  rashy, pukey, strep throat.



Between the slip and slide fun and the strep throat, we did manage to get a first day of school photo:



But I think we are both calling tomorrow her first official day of high school.  This is Autumn's first major do over and has she earned it.


If you think of it, send a little love her way today.  It's not easy being the new kid in school especially when you puked in the hallway on the 3rd day:(


Sometimes, despite best intentions and love and joy...stress stays and takes a seat at the celebration table.  The bastard sits at the table and refuses to let us forget...even for a moment.  Forget loss and frustration...refusing to let one bask in the bright light of living in the moment.  The blinding joy that sends you into orbit. If you've ever truly just paused to take in what is going on around you.. without regard for what is next, without planning what comes after, you have ridden that light into orbit.  And stress hates it when you learn to do that. It wants you to worry, fear, fret and stew, it needs you to because without that kind of control, it's powerless.


I say this only because I was so hopeful the girls would have an amazing first day of school and we recently had a kick ass weekend, and stress tried it's best to take a seat at both tables.  We beat it back again and again, but it keeps coming.   And as passive aggressive is NOT my style, I feel like I need to take this opportunity to publicly declare war on stress and all his minions (broken pipes, stress fractures, mystery rashes, late party starts, lost phones, water, water everywhere).   


I just declared war on ...stress.  What is that?  A feeling?  A thing?  A condition?  Anyway....war on stress.  Can I get an amen?


Launching my first missile....BAM!

A gaggle of insanely cute babies. Specifically...our babies.


Regardless of their age, I call them our babies. I suppose it could be said that their reaching each milestone means they earn the right to be called something else. But it doesn't feel right to me. Breast milk or orange Fanta, curled up peacefully in a sling or begging for a Vespa, playing in my makeup or wearing it...she is my baby. They are our babies. Their ability to venture away from us, does not change the fact that they are from us.  And as often as they will leave us, they are welcome to return to that safe familiar spot in the "sling" whenever they need to.


Our babies are communal babies. It takes a village right?









Despite stress's best efforts, we gathered our families to celebrate my Grandfather's 90th birthday. 90th.





Look at this handsome devil and his stunning bride:



They have been married for 67 years. 67.  Of all the things they have taught me, what I still need to learn is how they did that.  


On the way home, I asked B "If I live to be 90, how long will we be married?" 54 years. Can a modern day marriage, founded in 2007 survive 54 years? If anyone's can, ours can. I feel that in my soul. And if it doesn't, no one will be more surprised than us.


For the record, this was us when we first met:



It will be interesting to see what we will look like after 54 years together. Stay tuned.


So we gathered once again at the farm, each from our own separate corners of the universe. More separated now than just 30 days ago, when two of our families could share the ride if we wanted to. We move away, we come home...we leave again. And even as the miles expand and contract, the relationships grow and grow. And much as that bastard STRESS would like to find the crack in our armor and make one of these expanding and contacting cycles detrimental...he won't. because we always, always come home.




This trip home, my little Aries tomboy found her farm groove big time. She has been desperate to leave the city and live closer to nature for as long as I can remember. Remember her fishing peace?


And now this:



Like a fish to water, there was not a moment's hesitation. Uncle Chad took over with BB gun safety 101 and she was a sponge. And a pretty damn good shot.



Followed by a little toad and snake catch and release.




Calling her in at dusk, to wash up and get ready for some serious card playing reminded me so much of my own childhood on the farm.  There was even popcorn and Lawrence Welk.  You think I'm making this up...but I'm not.


As long as the farm is here, someone will bring their babies here to learn how to catch a tree frog. Someone will make popcorn and find Hee Haw on TV.  Someone will take their cousin, niece, nephew, mom , dad, brother/sister in law for a sunset walk down the lane.  Beers in hand.







And stress...can bite me.


XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

You put a big bird in a small cage and it'll sing you a song. patrick watson

No woman 3 months shy of 40, up to her eye balls in "new" and still carrying extra weight from the baby she "just" had (24 months ago) needs to have access to a Sam's Club sized box of strawberry Pop Tarts and several pounds of butter left over from the Christmas cookie free for all.  Can you visualize this?


Yes, I put butter on my frosted Pop Tarts.  Don't judge.  Just rescue me from the giant box of tasty goodness.


First, a disclaimer.  I'm attempting to type this with a right hand that feels like it's wearing a shoe.  And it is about as useful a hand covered with a shoe would be.  A tight, mind blowingly painful shoe.  I've always struggled with the Carpel Tunnels, but since my pregnancy with the Lum...I've stopped struggling and am just in full time suffering mode. I couldn't tell you if I actually have a thumb, pointer and middle finger on my shoe had...I haven't felt them since November 2008.


I say this only to explain what may or may not happen moving forward.  Either I will cease to correct typing/spelling errors...which could be great fun.  Or the blog will consist of photos accompanied by poetic key mashing from the Lumowitz.  Also great fun.


And the next time Blooger decides I need to highlight and delete ALL the text in the post, instead of the 2 or 3 words I've selected to delete...I'm going to star the world on fire.




I love living here.



Just two weeks in and I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that we so made the right choice. That this is home. I didn't expect that.


I didn't expect to equate the quiet with peace. I thought more along the lines of sleepy and maybe even boring. The buzz of the city, I thought that was keeping me going. But now I wake up to towering trees in our yard, creating a giant canopy of gently filtered sun, the song of a morning dove and a gentle breeze. I can hear the leaves in that breeze.





Not the freeway, or airplanes or even the familiar sounds of weekend activities on Lake Nokomis. Those were wonderful city sounds to be sure, but I know now I was ready for some peace.


In the city there is always someone around. Always. Coming and going by foot, plane and car. No city ever really sleeps. I needed a break from the constant barrage of hundreds of thousands of human beings tossing their energy about. But I didn't realize it until about 4 days into this adventure. On day 4 I saw the darkest night sky I've seen in years and felt an entire community settle down and rest. And I'm pretty sure I felt my soul settle down and rest too.


Now...I sleep in late, because I don't wake up here. Liam sleeps all night. From the moment we first stepped foot in this house, he has been home. On our first visit he ran into the giant office and said "I'M HOME!" Babies are creepy smart that way, they feel all energies and they know.


And now I know.


My yard knows I'm here and it's trying so hard to show me the potential it has. Because of the late summer move, the yard was left to fend for itself until we got here. It was overgrown and sad. It was afraid it had been abandoned. But my other mother and I spent an early morning sunrise cleaning it out. 5 lawn bags full of neglect. And it is sooooo grateful.


My yard is speaking to me.


Look what I can do! Here is one tiny tomato plant in the big empty garden plot.



And one stalk of sweet corn!



You like raspberries? Here you go!




This yard knew I was sad to not grow food for my family this year. Sad that I threw down wild flowers in the dirt that last year grew a bumper crop of peppers.


So it grew me a flower.



And a treat for my baby.

From August 10 2011 blog

And here...use this in your salsa.



And hiding under this mass of vines, running the entire length of my backyard? Concord grapes.



I guess I will make jelly this year.


I'm sleepy.


Cue some Patrick Watson and hit the hay. You won't regret it. Start with this:





XOXOXOXOXOXO