8.7.11

I know two people in the last two days who have adopted furry four legged canines from animal rescues into their families, and it makes my heart all warm and fuzzy thinking about our own little rescued dogs.


As I type this, I'm surrounded in bed by the three chocolate labs we call our own. A friend of mine thinks that we are nuts--we won't let our kid sleep in our bed, but our three labs, well, they've got total rule.


There's nothing wrong with getting your dog at a pet store or a breeder (well, okay, there often times is, but that's not the point of this entry), so long as you are madly in love with that dog, and you give it warmth, and food, and lots of love. An occasional bath and brush doesn't hurt. A walk is always divine, and a tennis ball tossing session, well that's just about as great as it gets for a dog. 


But rescued dogs, they're a different kind of animal to bring into your home--literally. I often times look at our three and hope that the love I give them in pets and kisses somehow makes up for the crap life they had before.


Cooper was left tied to a tree, his coat sunburned and his ears covered in fly bites, the scars of which are still there in the form of bare patches on those ears. His separation anxiety in the early days was so bad, we'd take him in the car with us everywhere--grocery store, dinner with friends. Heck, he went to Greg's work every day for a year!


Fisher was one of 120 dogs at some kind of puppy mill run by a crazy old lady with dementia. Neglected and with little to no human contact, he was (and still often is) so leery of humans.


We lost our Zoe a few years back, but she was a wanderer, and her family let her wander so many times, the folks that picked her up decided she shouldn't go back, and took her to a rescue where she came home with us.


Now we have Tulip, who was incredibly loved before she came to us, but was a bit of handful in that family's situation. Now she's our handful! 


We have some dog rescue friends who are just magnets for stray animals. They are currently giving a home to six labs, but have seen countless animals make warm beds at their feet over the years.


I think about how incredibly lucky these dogs are--and these two that just went home with new families this weekend--you'll know, new dog owners. When you look in their eyes as you rub their ears and offer a treat...they are madly in love with you right back, and they are incredibly grateful that you...picked them. 


And then one day, you'll wonder if it wasn't the other way around. You're the lucky one, that they picked you.

Happy, lucky, not-tied-to-a-tree, grateful Cooper.

8.6.11

So tonight's post is long, and a bit of a two-parter. 


My mom flew in for Will's birthday, and with her she brought my new family room curtains, which I think have completely changed the feel of our family room.


It feels finished. Grown up. 


It only required one trip to the hardware store for a dowel rod to give the curtain rod a little extra support. Turns out my $5 clearance fabric (pictured here) is of a decent quality and therefore, heavy! 

So let's remind you of the art set up, as well as the Target valance we had before.


Left side (I left it messy à la HGTV shows, for a more dramatic before and after...so don't judge the "before" shots when you see our show. They purposely messed up our bed and pulled clothes to hang out of our drawers! We don't live like that!)

Right side.

Here's the new completed look.

Left side.

Right side.

The art hanging on either side of the window are prints my dad did in design school. We have several things he did hanging around our house. They make me smile. 


I think my favorite part is that the subtle green stripe in the fabric makes you notice our chairs. They aren't just a green afterthought now. Who would have thought a tiny stripe of color could make such an impact? And yet, front a distance, the curtains appear to be neutral and unassuming. I just love them!


I was so excited to have this finished (just Will's room left to put some finishing touches on). I felt ready to host our families for Will's big birthday bash. 

It really is hard to put in to words how fast time goes unless you have a kid. That's not meant to discredit the lives of people who don't have kids--not at all. It's just a different form of measurement. You stop measuring time in your own age, or your own milestones. Everything becomes measured in first foods, first words, first steps, first everything! In the truest of statements, life really isn't about you anymore. 


Greg and I woke up the birthday boy at 6:45 to sing him a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" (and yes, we actually woke him up, so we must be nuts). We picked up Grandma at the airport, played with our new blocks (thank you Lucas!), and had our favorite lunch: Skyline. 


When the guests (and cousins and aunts and uncles) arrived, it was non-stop play. Running and kicking soccer balls and swinging and throwing frisbees and I thought for sure he would collapse in a big puddle of sweaty two-year old exhaustion.


But he kept going.


He stopped long enough to eat his second hot dog of the day (I know, the parental shame I feel but...it was his birthday). 


I had put aside a dog-licked cupcake, and in the middle of hot dog bites, I heard from behind me, "Mmmmmm." He found the dog-licked cupcake and was halfway through it before I could object. 


It was his birthday. 


We had asked our friends and family to not buy any new gifts. It just seemed...excessive. But we know his cousins and Aunt Olivia have lots of toys in the basement they don't play with, so we suggested they bring us their "recycled" toys. Will was so excited to get a Dorothy the Dinosaur, Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head, lots of puzzles, and his own set of real golf clubs (thanks Grandad!).


Mom and Dad went with the recycled theme too...our neighbors were selling a Monster Truck Power Wheels at a garage sale. We scored it for $20, and the $80 I spent on the new battery and charger made this a steal (since new Power Wheels are well over $300!!).


My favorite photo of the night is the entire party trying to get Will to ride in the truck. Totally freaked him out. Something tells me he'll get the hang of it soon enough.

After a second rendition of "Happy Birthday," Will ate his second cupcake of the night (it was his birthday), and soon after, he crashed. No sugar high was any kind of match for the exhausted fun he had. 

I know there will come a time when Will won't want family parties, when he won't think it's fun to run around in the backyard with his cousins. 


I feel lucky--grateful--that we have him, that we have such wonderful families, that we have this lovely house. And even though time is flying, I am so lucky to be remembering such warm moments.

8.5.11

It's 9:40 p.m.

Twelve hours ago, I was hugging Will, remembering that exact minute, that exact second that he came into the world. 

Now, the last party guest just left. There are balloons tied to the chair I'm sitting in, and new puzzles at my feet waiting to be dumped out and put back together. A few cupcake wrappers and bubble wands dot the kitchen counter. A slightly melted "2" candle joined them. Yep, a pretty good birthday party just happened.

The most exhausted newly-crowned two-year-old I know was asleep before he hit the pillow. 

And that leaves his two exhausted parents, dazed and confused from party fun and bewildered at how fast 730 days can go so quickly.

A full birthday run-down and the final mini makeover project reveals are in store for tomorrow. 

For now, we go to sleep. 

Lucky.

8.4.11

When someone says, "I feel so lucky that I've been given this opportunity," I think two things.


One. The opportunity was presented to you. You took it. You did most of the work.


Two. Isn't your feeling of luck really just enormous gratitude? 


So someone should really then say "I am so grateful that I seized this opportunity."


I am so grateful that I have my little guy, and that I get to celebrate him tomorrow with everyone who loves him the most!

8.3.11

A few years ago when Greg and I were discussing having kids, as most couples do, Greg was hesitant to go on that journey at the same time I wanted to.


And then he went to China and watched the Adam Sandler movie Click (not in Chinese), the one where he fast forwards through his life and misses everything. 


Greg called me from China and said, "There really isn't any better time than the present moment."


I thought of this story tonight on my way home from yoga.


I had just finished a class with heavy emphasis on staying present, and bringing the mind back to the here and now. 


In the car on the way home, I first heard Five for Fighting's 100 Years. You know, "Fifteen, there's still time for you..." A little look back to tell your teenaged self to slow the heck down and stop wishing your life away. Coincidentally, this is now one of Greg's favorite songs.


In channel surfing I made a rare stop on the country station (my friend Amanda would be proud), and I heard Kenny Chesney croon about taking a nap when you're six and waking up and you're twenty-five and married, and so on and so forth until your wife is dying and you wish the good Lord would take you instead. Cue tears and typical sappy country music ridiculous sadness.


Just stay in the moment, these songs were reaffirming. You have to stay in the moment. 


So I walk in the door, and I see Will hasn't had a bath yet and Greg is finishing up dinner, and I go to put my keys down and get busy when Will says, from a pile of blocks on the floor, "Mama sit." 


I stopped and smiled. And I sat.


"Mama build tower?" 


Of course, of course mama will build a tower. Because Friday you'll be two, and we'll go to bed that night and you'll wake up eighteen, and life is far, far too short, each breath too sweet and precious to just run around aimlessly doing things to get them done and wait for the next moment.


Stay in this one.


I feel pretty lucky that I'm a person who (most of the time) stops to savor such things. 

8.2.11

Today I stayed in my pajamas until 1:00, during which I put a final coat of polyurethane on Will's dresser and cooked vegetarian meatballs (oh the irony in the name, I know).


I owe this glorious ability to remain in my pajamas on a semi-perma basis during the months of June through August to the career I chose in education.


But that wasn't my original career path, and it all sort of fell into place...by chance.


I spent the ages of 5-8 pretending to teach my stuffed animals (I also pretended to be married to Joey McIntyre, but what NKOTB fan didn't?). I graded fake papers and always gave the grumpy Care Bear an F. I'm pretty sure I also made stars just like my second grade teacher did. They were swoopy and loopy and always in red pen.


On the first day of 10th grade, coinciding with my first day of French class, I took the French textbook home and poured over it, sitting in my room and reading it aloud just to hear the sounds of the language. 


It's okay, I already know I'm a dork. This blog entry is only reaffirming that.


I spent a year in college tutoring students in basic French, and it was here I realized I had a knack for helping them remember all of those ridiculous conjugations and grammar rules.


But why would I pick teaching as my major? 


So, after four years of journalism school at America's newly crowned number one party educational institution (sigh), and an internship in NYC where I told the managing editor of Rolling Stone that I really disliked his magazine, I accepted a "job" at Men's Health magazine. I was all set to move into a drab furnished apartment in the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania so that I could spend my days copy-editing snippets about foods to improve male sexual performance when it dawned on me that all I really wanted to do--my dream job, if you will--was teach French. And coach cheerleading. Forget working my way up in the magazine ranks and wearing Louis Vuitton and sitting behind a desk by day and attending fabulous parties by night. 


No, my dream job involves wearing what's on sale at Target, being on my feet for eight hours and grading papers at night. 


I know. Several of you are rolling your eyes and going, "Seriously? That was your 'dream job'?"


And I stand firm in my answer of, "Heck yes it was!" 


I spent many lunch breaks working at the Gap studying The GRE for Dummies (and still managed to score right around "dummy" level thanks to a surprise math section that said, "We realize you've already taken a math portion, but we need to test some questions. You do not know which math portion will be scored. Good luck!" and forced me to click randomly on answers). I then spent two years writing silly papers on classroom management strategies and ridiculously long lesson plans that I have never used, nor gone back to for reference. 


By chance, the two other French teachers in my program and myself all landed jobs in the same school district, before we had even graduated. 


Also by chance, my building needed a cheerleading coach! 


And so it began...of course, I quickly realized...er...after five years realized that coaching cheerleading was an enormous ball of teenaged girl stage mama drama that I did not wish to have in my life anymore, but that French teaching dream, well, that I was living.


And I continue to live it.


Was it all by chance? It all seemed to fall in to place as though it were meant to be. So was it manfiested? There's that tricky fine line between "luck" and "destiny" again.


I'm sad to report that my own school district that I grew up in has cut their French program. Gone. Au revoir. This incredibly beautiful language, and its food and history and landmarks will no longer reach those kids, in the way that it reached me. 


There is no longer that opportunity--that chance--for a kid to stumble upon French education. Sad day, indeed.


And then I remember I'm still in my Target pajamas and it's not so bad after all. 

8.1.11

Luck.

That's August's intention.


I think I should preface this month's intention by saying I don't want to believe in luck. I don't want to always think of my favorite lucky number (2), or lucky socks (the blue striped ones), or lucky necklace (a simple flower I purchased on etsy). 


Those charms completely contradict my innate belief in everything happening because it's in the greater plan for me, and my choice in saying, "This is as it should be," and not dwell or complain or gloat or declare my great fortune or terrible luck.


And yet sometimes, you can't help but say, "How'd I get so lucky?" or "What'd I do to deserve such terrible luck?"


So I was laying on my mat before I taught tonight. I love those twenty minutes or so before the studio bustles, to ground myself and my own intentions. 


I put on Ong Namo by Snatam Kaur. It's such a beautiful song. Really, go to iTunes and listen to it. 


It's always been one of my favorite songs to practice to. She sings in English, "This is your way, This is your grace." I always interpret that as I am on the path, exactly where I am meant to be--good luck or bad luck or no luck at all. 


In Sanskrit, she sings "Ong Namo Guru Dev Namo," or I bow to the divine wisdom and teacher within myself. 


It's that gut feeling--your divine wisdom. It's what tells you to roll the dice one more time; to look at two opportunities and go with the one that's screaming at you; to call home because you just have that feeling. 


It isn't luck; it's being in tune with what your senses are telling you.


So what am I going to do with this month's intention? I think I'm going to follow my gut, count my blessings, and thank my lucky stars. Or socks. Ha. Maybe I'll even eat Lucky Charms every morning for inspiration.


More than anything, I will develop a greater sense of, "This is happening for a reason."