Friday, January 31, 2014
Finally
We moved here for some snow darn it. Finally we actually have some!
It feels like the worlds longest driveway when you're shoveling it by hand.
Abi named our snowman Sparky.
The sun came out today and it was a beautiful, cold, snowy white day.
Not a bad view out our backdoor.
This is what winter should look like, boats and coats by the door.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Happy birthday to.................... ME!
Saturday I turned 33 and I had a great b-day! Besides having to work, being nauseous, and coming down with a body aching cold. On top of that I couldn't even have a drink. At least everything else was wonderful, the husband did everything all weekend while I laid in bed all day Sunday, and I got awesome cards and gifts. I'm pretty lucky to have so many lovely people in my life that love me!
We went out to dinner at the Cellar, it was great and they had a live band.
Partners in crime
Cookie pizza the husband made me, so yummy!
Friday, January 24, 2014
Thursday, January 23, 2014
A blurry photo of my little blob. I still think it's a girl although I've been wrong predicting both my previous pregnancy's so if we go by that logic it must be a boy. Just not sure I need another little boy destroyer that doesn't sleep, although he gives the best snuggles, but I'll happily take what I get. THIS baby is going to be a good sleeper, not scream when teething, and potty train like a dream I'm sure of it, ha! It's what I have to tell myself to survive. That and this pregnancy will be easier............ lets hope :) So far way more nausea but not as tired.
Still trying to grasp the concept my mom will never meet this little nugget, but it's too much right now. One thing I know: This WILL be the absolute last time I have a baby and I want to appreciate everything I am lucky enough to be blessed with.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
You heard it here first.................
Oh shit..............How does this happen to two reasonably responsible people? Don't answer. There is a snip, snip in some one's future. Apparently life isn't quite crazy enough. God give me strength to survive another pregnancy, and everything there after.
Brad says boy, I say girl. Due date 8/18/2014. Heart beat good (~150), 10 weeks-ish. Looks like a blob on my ultrasound pictures. Abi is excited she wants a sister, Ben is still figuring it out.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Letting go
(written by : http://motherhoodwtf.com/ )
Parenthood is an endless exercise in letting go. It’s incremental, but steadfast and relentless. The first thing you must let go of is every preconceived notion you ever had. Second to go is your life as you ever knew it. And, finally, comes the remainder of your days when you must let go, little by little, of your very babies, who you’ll want to hold onto more than anything.
There is no better parent in the world than an adult who has no children. He/she knows everything, all of which learned by observing the countless errors of every parent in his/her path. Having a baby of one’s own is to go from knowing everything to slowly realizing you know nothing. This does not happen all at once. Not at all.
One day, we parents finally come to the uncomfortable realization that we don’t know a thing. We let go. This tends to happen right around the same time as our children let go of us. They can now stand away from us, and sometimes prefer to. They go to school. They have a life that we are not directly orchestrating or even entirely involved with.
All I want to do is hold on. As much as I love seeing them grow up, I just want them to freaking stop it already. All these long legs, newfound slang, attitudes, and pop culture can suck it. Just stay here- in my arms- for a moment longer.
I know enough to know that I don’t know much, but I know this: the future holds more and more and more letting go. I’m not ready. Are you?
Parenthood is an endless exercise in letting go. It’s incremental, but steadfast and relentless. The first thing you must let go of is every preconceived notion you ever had. Second to go is your life as you ever knew it. And, finally, comes the remainder of your days when you must let go, little by little, of your very babies, who you’ll want to hold onto more than anything.
There is no better parent in the world than an adult who has no children. He/she knows everything, all of which learned by observing the countless errors of every parent in his/her path. Having a baby of one’s own is to go from knowing everything to slowly realizing you know nothing. This does not happen all at once. Not at all.
I’m not pregnant yet? You mean there’s more to it than just doing it? Small thing. Lesson learned. I now know everything.We stubbornly hold onto the idea that we still know it all, despite every piece of evidence to the contrary. Incredibly, our faith in our parenting superiority outlasts our ditched birth plans, breastfeeding surprises (nipples can crack?!), babies who didn’t read the sleep manual, and those finally-donated old jeans. Despite all the floundering in those early weeks and months, we still sit in judgement of parents whose 2-year-olds shove, whose 4-year-olds whine, whose 6-year-olds run through the playground at breakneck speeds dangerously close to our precious toddling snowflake.
Finally, we’re pregnant! There is really no excuse for gaining 60 pounds just to birth a 7 pound baby. 15 pounds is completely attainable with just a little bit of discipline. I’ll just eat right and exercise. Just 300 extra calories for baby.
What sick person called this morning sickness when it’s actually every-time-I-move-sickness? Ugh. Well, at least now I know everything. Hmm, I seem to barf at the thought of any food other than bagels. OK, so I’ll eat a couple of bagels for the first couple of weeks, and then when my all-freaking-day sickness has passed I’ll return to a healthy diet. Now, back to those parenting books!
Holy crap Cinnamon Toast Crunch is like heaven on Earth! I’ll totally have that spinach salad for dinner.
I actually cannot lift my arms or keep my eyes open. Must have food that requires no waiting or working. Like this sleeve of Girl Scout cookies. Then the gym!
Putting on my gym clothes was exhausting. A little nap and then the gym. Oh, shit. It’s tomorrow.
At least I can be sure of the “9 months on, 9 months off” rule. And, truly, I’m sure I can manage it in 4 months, what with breastfeeding and a bit of exercise and restraint.
One day, we parents finally come to the uncomfortable realization that we don’t know a thing. We let go. This tends to happen right around the same time as our children let go of us. They can now stand away from us, and sometimes prefer to. They go to school. They have a life that we are not directly orchestrating or even entirely involved with.
What the hell is this? Haven’t I let go of enough? I let go of my life, my body, my sureness of my own abilities and knowhow. But now I need to let go of my babies? No. No effing way.But we must. We must let them wander, climb, make friends with people other than our friends’ kids. We must endure their heartache; watch their awkward moments; let them make mistakes; let them take risks. Holy hell- let them go to boy/girl parties; let them go to dances with dates; let them drive!
All I want to do is hold on. As much as I love seeing them grow up, I just want them to freaking stop it already. All these long legs, newfound slang, attitudes, and pop culture can suck it. Just stay here- in my arms- for a moment longer.
I know enough to know that I don’t know much, but I know this: the future holds more and more and more letting go. I’m not ready. Are you?
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Interesting article for the indecisive and/or accident prone like myself
"My Third-Kid Obsession"
There are a few things veteran mothers never tell you before you become a mother yourself. 1) Milk comes out of both of your boobs when you nurse, not just the one your baby is attached to. 2) Packing lunch for your first-grader at 9 p.m. when all you want to do is watch Grey's Anatomy will occasionally bring you to tears. 3) Just because you think you're done having babies doesn't really mean you are.
I always planned on having two children. I can even remember the first time I daydreamed about it with my husband, Peter. It was 1993, my freshman year of college. We had been dating for several months when he took me away for the weekend to Block Island, a quaint New England island full of beautiful bluffs and charming, ramshackle inns. As we were driving to the ferry, I gazed starry-eyed at him and imagined our pretend kids sitting quietly and perfectly in the backseat of the beat-up red Isuzu Trooper we were driving. (This was a fantasy, remember?)
Fast-forward 11 years: After laboring all 24 hours of my 29th birthday, I gave birth to a beautiful little girl named Talia, who, for the record, has never sat perfectly in the backseat. Her little sister followed two years and nine months later, and I was done. Done. Several months after Sofie was born, my mom's cousin came to see the new baby and casually asked, "So, when are you going to have your third?" Through my postpartum haze, I shot arrows at her with my eyes. Couldn't she see that a 30-pound-overweight, weepy version of myself with a wailing babe at my breast was not something I was planning to repeat?
Yet just hearing the question made me begin to wonder. Could I, should I, do this again? I was 99 percent sure the answer was no. The problem is, I'm a type A person. I like things organized, whether it's my kitchen or my emotional state, and that one percent of doubt kept me on edge. I knew I wouldn't do anything about it immediately — Sofie was just a baby — but the idea flitted around in the back of my mind: quiet, but never gone.
As Sofie reached her toddler years, the notion became harder to push aside. If anyone asked, my answer was still a defiant "no." But I remember feeling panicked and a little jealous when my friend Stephanie announced she was pregnant with her third. Then we went on vacation to a tiny island in the Caribbean. At the end of one beautiful, golden day, Peter and I walked down the beach, our 41/2-year-old skipping through the waves with our almost-2-year-old toddling behind her. The sun reflected off their hair and skin, and they were so happy it made me want to burst, and something inside me broke, or opened, or changed, I don't know. I turned to my husband and said, "Are we really done? Are we never going to have a toddler running down the beach at sunset again?" Peter smiled and grabbed my hand. I could tell he was surprised by my question, but open to it. And with that, what had been a seed of a thought grew into a full-blown obsession.
I spent over a year dissecting every pro and con. The pros were easy: a baby! Another beautiful, delicious-smelling, drooling, yummy baby. I thought before I had kids that I loved newborns, and I do love them, but what I really love is an 8-month-old. A smiling, laughing, sitting-up-and-playing-but-not-yet-crawling-or-walking-so-you-don't-have-to-worry-about-them-eating-a — Polly Pocket baby. The idea of never nursing again, never holding a baby so full of milk she can't keep her eyes open, killed me.
The cons were more complicated. There was the obvious stuff: the misery of pregnancy, the sleep deprivation, the toll on my body, the diapers, baby food, and potty-training. And then, of course, the expense: college, times three! Money was the main reason my friend Julia* decided not to have a third. Right after her two children were born, she and her husband started an education fund for each, but the thought of trying to save for one more felt impossible. How would they even swing a vacation? "Now we can barely afford airfare for four of us, and we can all squeeze into one hotel room," she says. "With another kid, it'd be a whole different ball game."
On top of those factors, I was working three days a week as a network TV news producer, and my life was like a house of cards: If one thing slipped (a sick kid or a babysitter issue), it all fell apart. I kept thinking of the time I was supposed to shoot a story in Ohio and Sofie got a 103-degree fever — in the midst of the swine-flu craze. I somehow got the last flight out and made it for the interview, but it was close, and extremely stressful. How would another baby fit into this fragile infrastructure?
Above all, it was the scary what-if's that kept me up at night. What if the baby isn't healthy? I had this irrational fear that I was pushing my luck.
Any moment when my brain wasn't fully occupied by work, life, and the two children I already had, that's what was running through it. When my kids were behaving, I'd fantasize about Sofie gently pushing a third baby in a swing, or Talia reading the baby a book. If I was having a rough day, the idea of a third made me wince. It was easier to lean toward no. It was the safer choice. But it also broke my heart.
Ultimately, my husband decided for us. One night, after we'd discussed it for the millionth time and I'd laid out my case against number three like a PowerPointing CEO, Peter said, "I'm scared you'll regret not having another baby. All of your reasons make sense now, but in 10 years they won't. And I don't want you to live with that regret for the rest of our lives." He was right. I started to cry, hugged him, and thanked him for knowing me so well.
At the end of 2010, three days before Christmas, I gave birth to our third daughter. And of course, now that she's here, I can't imagine not having her. Sasha is an incredibly easy baby, much easier than her sisters. Where they would wail from 5 to 11 p.m. no matter how much bouncing, shushing, nursing, and swaddling you did, Sasha sits quietly in her bouncy chair all through her sisters' evening routine. And because I know she's my last, I'm much more relaxed. That's not to say I haven't had my moments — three is a ton of work, and I have lost it a few times. The other day, I warned my friend Sara to rethink having a third. I didn't mean it, really... I just needed to vent. Not that I could've swayed her either way: The decision to have another baby or not, I've learned, isn't always rational.
Early last year, I was at an event for a very well-known female member of Congress, and when she saw my 7-week-old daughter in my arms, she made a beeline for me. I thought she was just doing the politician-baby thing, but the minute I mentioned she was my third, this DC powerhouse asked, "Is it hard with three? How do you balance it with the other two? How old are they? I really want another one, but my husband thinks I'm crazy."
Another mom I know so desperately wanted a third that she made a deal with her husband. "Having three was my destiny," says Rebecca. "But I didn't want our third to be an 'accident' — wink, wink." After much discussion, he agreed to start trying. Then one night, mid-attempt, Rebecca noticed that he seemed off, and stopped to ask what was on his mind. He told her he didn't want to deal with diapers, baths, and nighttime feedings. He didn't want to feel guilty working out or going out with friends. Then and there (in bed!), Rebecca's husband drew up a contract stating his conditions for having a third. Rebecca signed the paper. And nine months later, their third son was born. Both parties have stuck to the agreement, and everyone's doing great. In fact, Rebecca told me recently, "The third's a charm. My husband is so happy, he's ready to go for number four!" Gulp.
Read more: Having a Third Child - Why I Decided To Have More Children - Redbook
Follow us: @redbookmag on Twitter | REDBOOK on Facebook
Visit us at Redbook.com
There are a few things veteran mothers never tell you before you become a mother yourself. 1) Milk comes out of both of your boobs when you nurse, not just the one your baby is attached to. 2) Packing lunch for your first-grader at 9 p.m. when all you want to do is watch Grey's Anatomy will occasionally bring you to tears. 3) Just because you think you're done having babies doesn't really mean you are.
I always planned on having two children. I can even remember the first time I daydreamed about it with my husband, Peter. It was 1993, my freshman year of college. We had been dating for several months when he took me away for the weekend to Block Island, a quaint New England island full of beautiful bluffs and charming, ramshackle inns. As we were driving to the ferry, I gazed starry-eyed at him and imagined our pretend kids sitting quietly and perfectly in the backseat of the beat-up red Isuzu Trooper we were driving. (This was a fantasy, remember?)
Fast-forward 11 years: After laboring all 24 hours of my 29th birthday, I gave birth to a beautiful little girl named Talia, who, for the record, has never sat perfectly in the backseat. Her little sister followed two years and nine months later, and I was done. Done. Several months after Sofie was born, my mom's cousin came to see the new baby and casually asked, "So, when are you going to have your third?" Through my postpartum haze, I shot arrows at her with my eyes. Couldn't she see that a 30-pound-overweight, weepy version of myself with a wailing babe at my breast was not something I was planning to repeat?
Yet just hearing the question made me begin to wonder. Could I, should I, do this again? I was 99 percent sure the answer was no. The problem is, I'm a type A person. I like things organized, whether it's my kitchen or my emotional state, and that one percent of doubt kept me on edge. I knew I wouldn't do anything about it immediately — Sofie was just a baby — but the idea flitted around in the back of my mind: quiet, but never gone.
As Sofie reached her toddler years, the notion became harder to push aside. If anyone asked, my answer was still a defiant "no." But I remember feeling panicked and a little jealous when my friend Stephanie announced she was pregnant with her third. Then we went on vacation to a tiny island in the Caribbean. At the end of one beautiful, golden day, Peter and I walked down the beach, our 41/2-year-old skipping through the waves with our almost-2-year-old toddling behind her. The sun reflected off their hair and skin, and they were so happy it made me want to burst, and something inside me broke, or opened, or changed, I don't know. I turned to my husband and said, "Are we really done? Are we never going to have a toddler running down the beach at sunset again?" Peter smiled and grabbed my hand. I could tell he was surprised by my question, but open to it. And with that, what had been a seed of a thought grew into a full-blown obsession.
I spent over a year dissecting every pro and con. The pros were easy: a baby! Another beautiful, delicious-smelling, drooling, yummy baby. I thought before I had kids that I loved newborns, and I do love them, but what I really love is an 8-month-old. A smiling, laughing, sitting-up-and-playing-but-not-yet-crawling-or-walking-so-you-don't-have-to-worry-about-them-eating-a — Polly Pocket baby. The idea of never nursing again, never holding a baby so full of milk she can't keep her eyes open, killed me.
The cons were more complicated. There was the obvious stuff: the misery of pregnancy, the sleep deprivation, the toll on my body, the diapers, baby food, and potty-training. And then, of course, the expense: college, times three! Money was the main reason my friend Julia* decided not to have a third. Right after her two children were born, she and her husband started an education fund for each, but the thought of trying to save for one more felt impossible. How would they even swing a vacation? "Now we can barely afford airfare for four of us, and we can all squeeze into one hotel room," she says. "With another kid, it'd be a whole different ball game."
On top of those factors, I was working three days a week as a network TV news producer, and my life was like a house of cards: If one thing slipped (a sick kid or a babysitter issue), it all fell apart. I kept thinking of the time I was supposed to shoot a story in Ohio and Sofie got a 103-degree fever — in the midst of the swine-flu craze. I somehow got the last flight out and made it for the interview, but it was close, and extremely stressful. How would another baby fit into this fragile infrastructure?
Above all, it was the scary what-if's that kept me up at night. What if the baby isn't healthy? I had this irrational fear that I was pushing my luck.
Any moment when my brain wasn't fully occupied by work, life, and the two children I already had, that's what was running through it. When my kids were behaving, I'd fantasize about Sofie gently pushing a third baby in a swing, or Talia reading the baby a book. If I was having a rough day, the idea of a third made me wince. It was easier to lean toward no. It was the safer choice. But it also broke my heart.
Ultimately, my husband decided for us. One night, after we'd discussed it for the millionth time and I'd laid out my case against number three like a PowerPointing CEO, Peter said, "I'm scared you'll regret not having another baby. All of your reasons make sense now, but in 10 years they won't. And I don't want you to live with that regret for the rest of our lives." He was right. I started to cry, hugged him, and thanked him for knowing me so well.
At the end of 2010, three days before Christmas, I gave birth to our third daughter. And of course, now that she's here, I can't imagine not having her. Sasha is an incredibly easy baby, much easier than her sisters. Where they would wail from 5 to 11 p.m. no matter how much bouncing, shushing, nursing, and swaddling you did, Sasha sits quietly in her bouncy chair all through her sisters' evening routine. And because I know she's my last, I'm much more relaxed. That's not to say I haven't had my moments — three is a ton of work, and I have lost it a few times. The other day, I warned my friend Sara to rethink having a third. I didn't mean it, really... I just needed to vent. Not that I could've swayed her either way: The decision to have another baby or not, I've learned, isn't always rational.
Early last year, I was at an event for a very well-known female member of Congress, and when she saw my 7-week-old daughter in my arms, she made a beeline for me. I thought she was just doing the politician-baby thing, but the minute I mentioned she was my third, this DC powerhouse asked, "Is it hard with three? How do you balance it with the other two? How old are they? I really want another one, but my husband thinks I'm crazy."
Another mom I know so desperately wanted a third that she made a deal with her husband. "Having three was my destiny," says Rebecca. "But I didn't want our third to be an 'accident' — wink, wink." After much discussion, he agreed to start trying. Then one night, mid-attempt, Rebecca noticed that he seemed off, and stopped to ask what was on his mind. He told her he didn't want to deal with diapers, baths, and nighttime feedings. He didn't want to feel guilty working out or going out with friends. Then and there (in bed!), Rebecca's husband drew up a contract stating his conditions for having a third. Rebecca signed the paper. And nine months later, their third son was born. Both parties have stuck to the agreement, and everyone's doing great. In fact, Rebecca told me recently, "The third's a charm. My husband is so happy, he's ready to go for number four!" Gulp.
Read more: Having a Third Child - Why I Decided To Have More Children - Redbook
Follow us: @redbookmag on Twitter | REDBOOK on Facebook
Visit us at Redbook.com
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Good stuff this week
Abi being upset that someone at school called her bossy (laughing out loud but holding it in for her sake).
Picking Abi up from school and seeing a hundred snowmen and giant rolled snow balls in the play field, made me smile from ear to ear.
Laying in bed reading a new book on my new Kindle.
Ben's traumatized look post hair cut. He looks so handsome after a hair cut.
Fun playing in the snow and helping daddy shovel the driveway.
A quiet snowy night in the hood.
Only complaint this week is that Ben is having horrible growing pains. He wakes up at night screaming and crying because his legs hurt. I was worried something was really wrong but I've heard it's a common thing especially with boys to have growing pains in the upper legs at night. If you know anything that helps let me know!
Next project
I'm going to put my crafting skills to work to make a rail road crossing sign for little buddy's room.
Pinterest inspiration-
An Ode to my Postpartum Body
(from blog- http://weseekjoy.blogspot.com/2013/12/babies-ruin-bodies.html?m=1 I borrowed it so you can love it too!)
Before I became pregnant, someone told me, "don't have a baby, babies ruin your body."
It has been over a year since Anabel began her life. This time last year she was a microscopic speck in my stomach, and we were announcing our pregnancy. Between then and now, I have gained and lost fifty pounds. Four months after her birth, and my body still carries proof of her existence.
I have dark pools under my eyes. A valley where my belly button once was. Hips with a new amplitude that my teenage self wouldn't recognize. I have lines mapped across the mountains of stretched skin left over on my midsection. Lightening bolts on my sides proving I once was too small to contain all of the love that filled me. Lines indicating that my daughter once lived inside of me.
Do you realize the significance in that? Every limb, finger, toe...her heart, even, developed near the very place my own heart beats inside of my chest. Those mountains of skin are all I have left to prove that we were once one and not two.
How can I be ashamed of that?
I have so much to say about seeing my grandfather's eyes embedded into the sockets, and under the brows and lashes of her father's. I see the seventeen year old boy I fell in love with, and my grandpa as a child all at once every time she looks up at me. She even wears my ears and my chin. The two very things I cursed having the most growing up. Not much makes me feel more beautiful than seeing tiny renditions of those same features on Anabel, and realizing just how special they are.
My body grew that.
Not everybody has that privilege.
Sure my belly is a bit softer nowadays, but the way it moves when I jump up and down sends my girl into fits of giggles. And yeah, my hips are hardly as narrow as they used to be, but they sure know the perfect figure-8 motion to sway her to sleep. My twenty-one year old hair is even beginning to gray, but not much soothes her more than my hair between her tiny fingers.
I am not something flawless in the eyes of society, or even close to what I once was physically, but my perfect girl sees me for who I am. To her, I hang the moon. She knows my heart. She knew it long before we met.
And she loves me for it.
I cannot tell you how much worth and validation I feel because of that truth.
My body is only a vessel for my spirit. An incredible vessel. It is strong, well, abled, and undefeated.
My body is full of life.
My body is powerful.
My body made me a mother.
If anything, I was ruined by the world before I knew her & she made me whole again.
Before I became pregnant, someone told me, "don't have a baby, babies ruin your body."
It has been over a year since Anabel began her life. This time last year she was a microscopic speck in my stomach, and we were announcing our pregnancy. Between then and now, I have gained and lost fifty pounds. Four months after her birth, and my body still carries proof of her existence.
I have dark pools under my eyes. A valley where my belly button once was. Hips with a new amplitude that my teenage self wouldn't recognize. I have lines mapped across the mountains of stretched skin left over on my midsection. Lightening bolts on my sides proving I once was too small to contain all of the love that filled me. Lines indicating that my daughter once lived inside of me.
Do you realize the significance in that? Every limb, finger, toe...her heart, even, developed near the very place my own heart beats inside of my chest. Those mountains of skin are all I have left to prove that we were once one and not two.
How can I be ashamed of that?
I have so much to say about seeing my grandfather's eyes embedded into the sockets, and under the brows and lashes of her father's. I see the seventeen year old boy I fell in love with, and my grandpa as a child all at once every time she looks up at me. She even wears my ears and my chin. The two very things I cursed having the most growing up. Not much makes me feel more beautiful than seeing tiny renditions of those same features on Anabel, and realizing just how special they are.
My body grew that.
Not everybody has that privilege.
Sure my belly is a bit softer nowadays, but the way it moves when I jump up and down sends my girl into fits of giggles. And yeah, my hips are hardly as narrow as they used to be, but they sure know the perfect figure-8 motion to sway her to sleep. My twenty-one year old hair is even beginning to gray, but not much soothes her more than my hair between her tiny fingers.
I am not something flawless in the eyes of society, or even close to what I once was physically, but my perfect girl sees me for who I am. To her, I hang the moon. She knows my heart. She knew it long before we met.
And she loves me for it.
I cannot tell you how much worth and validation I feel because of that truth.
My body is only a vessel for my spirit. An incredible vessel. It is strong, well, abled, and undefeated.
My body is full of life.
My body is powerful.
My body made me a mother.
If anything, I was ruined by the world before I knew her & she made me whole again.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
My sister's commercial
Love it, makes me cry. Kaiser Permanente had it on their website.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdnN_iNVwQ4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdnN_iNVwQ4
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Out with the old, in with the new
Happy new year! 2013 was a great year for us and a stressful year. Moving was great, but hard! Who knew changing everything could be so wonderful and scary. It was the first full year without my mom, tear. And it was a completely sober year for my Dad! My sister won a voting competition to get to run the Boston marathon in 2014 VIP style following open heart surgery. We had many great times with family and friends over the past year and too many blessing to count. The lake was just awesome for us this year, it feels like home, my heart just loves it there and we can't wait for summer to go back. If only our damn house had sold before the year was over, then it would of been close to perfect!
The new years tradition continues. Decades theme.
Low key this year compared to last but still a great night with friends.
90's grunge
20's
1000 BC
Last selfies of 2013
Jermery and Larissa were the 70's but Laris was sick and Jerm came late.
The dudes-
Wish you all a wonderful year!
Goodbye Christmas!
I was kind of sad to take down Christmas this year. I heart Christmas decorations! I meant to blog about all the things I made for Christmas and completely ran out of time. I made this banner out of burlap and felt for our mantel.
I made this mirror by hot glue-ing lots of ornaments to a cheap mirror I found at Michael's. It was originally gold and silver but I didn't really like it when I was done so I decided to spray paint it red and love it! It looks like giant cranberries.
I had left over white felt from the banner I made so the kids helped me make these cute trees. I cut out the fabric pieces and they strung them together on a straw.
I was feeling the fake snow and trees in hurricane vases so I did a lot of those. I found on pinterest mason jars filled with water, pine trimmings (from our tree), and cranberries. I made three, put a floating candle on top and were our center pieces on the table for Christmas dinner.
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