"There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot." (Aldo Leopold) Apparently, I cannot.


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A Day in the Life: In Pictures

If you didn’t pick up on all of my whining these past few days, I am sick. Sicker than I’ve been in a very long time kinda sick. And not surprisingly, it suuuuuuuuuuuucks to be sick when you have to take care of other human beings, including one that is also sick. And a baby. And can’t do anything for himself.

As I was sitting home the other day being all sick, I started taking pictures of the havoc the kids were wreaking on the house and texting them to Super as I lay–head pounding, nose running, eyes burning–on the couch with very little energy to get up and redirect their never-ending energy. Partly because I wanted him to be prepared for what he would be coming home to, and partly because the child in me thought it was kinda, sorta funny. Like, holy cow, how can all of this stuff possibly be happening funny, not holy cow, that’s not gonna be fun to clean up funny.

After my third picture, Super texted back that I should include the pics in a blog post about what happens at home when mamma is sick and can’t do jack crap about it. “Brilliant,” I thought. But then I really started thinking…what was happening in my house on this day was no different than what happens on any other given day, really. The only difference this day was that I was too incapacitated to really care. (I’m not going to lie, it was a nice change of pace.)

It also got me thinking about a great post I recently read about how we really need to stop telling lies on Facebook. So I decided to share a photo essay from a day in our life. Our real life. Scabs and all.

Now, because I didn’t think of this until close to the end of the day, these photos are not all from one day, BUT, I can promise they were all taken before I (errrr, Super) came up for the idea for this post. And they definitely represent a usual day with the wild things! Enjoy.

[Quick note: The editor in me feels I must share this…I am a little bit technologically challenged, so I know that all of the captions are not the same size or font, but I just could not get it all to be consistent, and this is driving me bat shit crazy. But, I don’t know how to fix it, so it is what it is. Recognize.]

This is how our days start -- with all the monkeys piling up in our bed

This is how our days start — with all the monkeys piling up in our bed

pic1

We do some tv

We do some tv

pic 2

pic 3 pic 4

pic 5

pic 6

pic 7pic 7

pic 8   pic 9

pic 9

pic 10

pic 11

It’s all exhausting. And all worth it.

What does a typical day in YOUR life look like? I want to see!


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Letting Punky Brewster Be

Making coloring look good!

Making coloring look good!

Belle is quite the little fashionista. Always has been. The girl has been dressing herself since she could put on her clothes all by herself. And even before that she was picking out her own outfits, often giving me looks reserved for angsty teenagers who hate their parents if I offered her anything less than highly fashionable.

Boots wit da fur

Boots wit da fur (with leggings rolled up and leg warmers)

My mom says I was like this when I was little. When recounting stories of my outfit choices, she always refers to my “Punky Brewster” look. Growing up in the 80s, my outfits usually went something like this: rainbow something or other, a faded tshirt with some sort of animal on it, and shorts with piping along the hem. Oh, and jelly shoes. Had to have the jelly shoes. So, the girl gets it honestly. You could say fashion is in her jeans! (Heh heh.)

Although, I think for me, my fashion sense stemmed from not really caring what I was wearing–you know, just throwing stuff together (I was probably more interested in getting outside to play); for Belle, it’s just the opposite. She does care and is very deliberate with her choices.

Even baby Saurus is in awe of her style

Even baby Saurus is in awe of her style

I have to admit, it took me a little while to embrace Belle’s Punky Brewster style. I’d buy her outfits in which everything matched, you know, where all of the pieces were bought to go together–the pants with the shirt and the matching socks. I’d fill her drawers with said outfits, all the corresponding pieces together in one place, so all she would have to do was grab an outfit and go. Instead, Belle would grab pieces from two different outfits and put them together. And it wasn’t a quick or thoughtless venture either. She had to have just the right mixture. When she’d come to me with the black and white polka dot pants paired with the multicolored striped shirt, my type A personality would take over and I’d try to get her to change one of the pieces so that things matched. As you can imagine, this led to tantrums and tears.

Not afraid to try something new

Not afraid to try something new

I tried to hold my ground. After all, I was the parent and she was the child. It pained me to find her drawers completely disheveled after I folded her laundry and put everything away nicely and neatly. Plus, I had bought those polka dot pants to go with the polka dot shirt, dammit, and that’s what I wanted her to wear.

But then I had one of my first (of many many) “Aww hell!” moments. In the grand scheme of things, what did it matter what the child was wearing? At least she was wearing clothes, right? And who was I to tell my clearly budding fashionista what to wear? Heck, 9 times out of 10 she’d look better than me. (And sadly, this is still the case.)

Most recent dress-over-nightgown-over-pants look

Most recent dress-over-nightgown-over-pants look

So, I let go. I stopped buying “outfits” and instead just started buying a bunch of tops and bottoms and let her have at it. I no longer care how her clothes go into her drawers or how they come out. As long as she is happy, I’m happy.

And, I wouldn’t be surprised if 15 years from now you’ll be seeing people wearing clothes Belle has designed. Well, either that or she’ll be a teacher. Or a doctor like her daddy. Or a police officer. Or an artist. She told me the other day she wants to be all these things when she grows up.

Go for it, girl! One thing is for sure, whatever you do, you’ll be stylin. 🙂