Early Moments

I take so many pictures of you because I want to remember, want to hold onto these brief, early moments.





Your sweet, quiet sleep. Usually on me.





Easy mornings, just us. Rendering me couch-bound, I savor the stillness and our time together. Knowing that all too soon creeping time will steal this away and memories of you right now will slowly fade.




Because I know you are my last. The right decision? Yes, I think so, but one that easily brings a stirring of heartache.


Link up with Semi-Wordless Wednesdays!

Rocking

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gjkindelmann/100637791/

I've spent hours rocking. Hours swaying with a limp, slightly sweaty baby on my shoulder. Hours given way to pure commune with the little miracle I helped create.

Rocking Pacey.  Crying silent, painful tears into his sleeping ear.  Telling him he was all that mattered.  Because in those desperate moments, he was.

Rocking Gage.  Feeling very small and lonely in our little beach house that wrapped us in a cocoon, that caught me as I fell.

There's a different kind of sadness now.  A wistfulness, an already intense nostalgia at what will be finished all too quickly.

So I rock a little longer, hold this baby a little tighter, and linger next to her sweet breath.

Joy

Toothless smiles during midnight diaper changes.
Two sweaty hugs after school's out.
Teenage stories filled with drama, angst.
A partner in life, for life.
Knowing second chances are still real.

Link up with Six Word Fridays and Making Things Up!

Kept

I'm joining in on Six Word Fridays with Making Things Up!

This week's topic? Kept

Kept nursing, even though I cried.
Kept nursing, even though no sleep.
Kept nursing, even through the pain.
Kept nursing; you grew and grew.
Kept nursing; loved seeing your smiles.
Kept nursing; it's best. (for us)

Cute Baby Chronicles

I thought this would be a cute way to keep track of cute things Rowan does. You know, because she's cute and such. So I'll call it the Cute Baby Chronicles.

Finding the Buoy

The swim leg of a triathlon was always the most challenging-- both physically and mentally.  Finding your stride amidst kicking legs, trying to find the buoys past the endless sea of swim caps, not being intimidated by seeing the course laid out entirely before you.  Confidence has always been a fleeting companion of mine; I've often (longingly so) wanted to be a girl who exudes confidence and an outgoing personality.  Several years ago, freshly divorced and completely scattered, confidence was elusive.  And quite by accident, something saved me.  Training for triathlons was more than just a physical endeavor, I was emotionally and mentally challenged: to believe in myself, to push through pain and discouragement.  The journey from having to hold my nose underwater, to swimming more than a half mile in open water required patience and courage.  During this tumultuous time in my life, I found a strength I didn't know I had, and it drove me.  On the other side, I found myself more confident, more courageous, and more proud than I had ever been before.

Here I am in September 2007 at the Sandman Triathlon:

Here I am in May 2008. I was the fittest I've ever been:

I look longingly at pictures like these.

And now, here I am. My life is much different now-- I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful new family. I have a beautiful, newborn daughter who delights me to no end. But what is sometimes lost during pregnancy and the months that follow is a sense of self. Pregnancy is preoccupying. Consuming. I told Husband recently, I miss me. I miss who I was. And right now, I'm frustrated with having to work so hard again at getting me back.

Admittedly, this wasn't an overnight change nor was it a nine month change, either.  The total life altering experience of a new baby simply enhances it, makes it more palpable. And now, after nine months of pregnancy, I feel sluggish. I feel frustrated with having to lose baby weight. Again.  Especially stubborn, I'm in my thirties and breastfeeding baby weight.  The confidence that I worked so hard to grasp has dwindled-- I see the swim course before me, and sometimes it feels overwhelming.  Despite the fact that I know confidence isn't only found in physical qualities-- whether it's the size of clothes or the speed of a 5k--  I feel like the person I was is lost and in her place is someone who can barely run a mile and doesn't have time to fix her hair.  Sometimes I can't find the buoy amidst the swim caps.

And I know feeling all of this is completely normal.  I wouldn't trade anything I have now to escape it.

So where does it leave me?  Once again, on a quest to drop weight.  Once again, on a quest to run for ten minutes without having to stop to breathe and recover.  Once again, on a quest to remember that the dust will settle, and I will feel normal again.  I can draw on the strength I found in training and remember to breathe and calmly find the buoy.  To see that life has already begun to groove with this new brown baby of ours.  We are all finding our stride, and through patience and perseverance, a new me will emerge, strong and confident.  Especially with the help of my little running partner.

Sunday Jam

Yesterday was a busy day at the Rock House.  Because the boys and I were super berry pickers, I now had about 13 pounds of strawberries to deal with before they went bad.  Luckily, last summer I got brave and tried canning strawberry jam for the first time.  My grandma always used to have some kind of homemade jam, and I missed it.  Store bought just isn't the same, so I gave it a shot, and it ended up being so easy.  And it didn't really take that long.  Well.  Let's remember that last year, I only canned about 4 pints at a time.  Turns out that 13 pounds of berries will make quite a bit more jam than 4 pints.  Let's try three hours of kitchen duty.  Not something I usually find enjoyable.

Luckily, brown baby loves to sleep in her Beco Butterfly:

And the boys were busy being gardeners in the front yard:

Pacey was on landscaping brick removal duty-- $ .25 per ugly, red brick-- and he knows how to capitalize.  He made close to $30.  And is quite proud because he figured out that over the weekend, he lifted half of a ton.  Something I'm sure will be a hot topic at the lunch table today.

Gage joined in on the brick removing fun, too, but gave up (not surprised, are we?) after only $7 and went to a much more creative endeavor.

I had fun mashing berries in the kitchen.  I turned Pandora radio to the Matchbox 20 station and pounded away.  Pounded and smashed, pounded and smashed...  I'm thinking there may have been some pent up frustration going on here.  It was way too much fun.

 
All of that smashing resulted in 15 cups of berries (thank goodness I got my grandma's huge canning pot) that needed 21 cups of sugar added to it.  Yes, 21 cups of sugar.  Who knew jam required that much sugar?  Which is exactly why it's so good, but I'm not sure it can be considered a fruit after all that.

Now those who know me know that I am not so much a cook of any kind.  I burn things.  I mix up steps.  The fact that the recipe is written for 5 cups of berries and 7 cups of sugar, and I had to triple it left me stressed.  I was convinced that somewhere my tripling calculations would be off and the jam would be ruined.  Husband always tells me not to do public math.  Kitchen math is equally as dangerous.

Boiling the canning jars makes me feel like something of a chemist.

So does simmering the lids...  The fact that I had three pots actively going on the stove is not lost on me.  I actually didn't burn or overflow anything.

The result: 15 pints of delicious strawberry jam!

It was a great Sunday, and I love that I connect with my past by doing things like canning jam.  I love sharing these kinds of traditions with my family and creating something that everyone at the Rock House loves.

How do you stay connected with your past?