Hope is oh so tangible.

I love to ramble on and on and on. I don't mean to; it just happens. Blame it on genetics. We have some good ramblers on my side of the family, and I believe Mya is following in my footsteps. That girl can talk to anyone or anything for hours. This blog post is going to be one big ramble so take a seat and a bowl of popcorn and try not to get lost in the sea of run-ons. 

I've been struggling since we moved here. I think you've been able to gleam bits and pieces of my downward spiral from other posts, but I am here to tell you that sometime last week after I had a good, long cry and a refreshing sigh, I began to see glimmers of light streaming through my luminous and dark clouds. Those streams are growing by the day. Hope is oh so tangible. 

You can always tell that I am in happier spirits when I start to bake again. Baking is my go-to hobby because I know I am good at it, and I know my baked goods make other people happy. Last week, I started to bake again. My inner thighs are the lucky recipients of two pies (blueberry/strawberry and blueberry/nectarine) and two batches of cookies. And let me tell you a thing or two about that nectarine/blueberry pie I just gobbled down...it was good. It is probably the best pie I have made in over a year. I kind wish I hadn't promised Tim the last slice because I hear it whispering my name from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. And while I am on the subject of nectarines, I have to set the record straight. I once read that the easiest way to peel nectarines is to boil them for five minutes and then peel off the skin. WRONG. Not only does that burn the fingerpads right off your hands, but it is also messy and squishy and wrong in every way. The easiest way to peel a nectarine is with a potato peeler. I will never go back. Never. 

I could and should probably attribute an entire blog post to that pie, but I won't. Things have been busy around here. In Wisconsin, Tim and I had a perfect schedule. We knew how the days and nights would go every single day of the week. Here, my schedule is a disaster and we can't get our nighttime routine down to save our lives. I refuse to budge on my exercising regime, which by the way I just ran 3.11 miles in 23 minutes. I believe that is my mom-PR or something (I am pretty proud of myself). Tim and I are bent on eating dinner together with the kids. And the girls insist on going swimming or to a park every. single. night. We try to get the girls in bed by 7 because as soon as they go to bed, I have to start working. I work for nearly two hours every night before my eyelids just won't stay open any longer to edit neurology papers. I have not found time or room for free-time, me-time or Tim-time. It has been extremely frustrating to say the least, and I know it attributes for most of my bad attitude days. 

I miss writing at night. Oh how my brain misses this release. You see...as a rambler...I need lots of people to ramble to and seeing as I have few friends here, I don't really have anyone to ramble to yet so this is my place. It is one of my favorite places because I know that when I write I am free of children touching me, husbands touching me, dishes touching me, laundry touching me, to-do lists touching me, and the list goes on. I usually write in peaceful silence and let my mind wander wherever it chooses and I go with it. 

And to end this rather random post, I feel I should write a word or two about my girls. I mean I did give an entire paragraph to a pie so I should speak of my girls for a minute, right? My girls are growing up right before my very eyes. This move has been equally as hard on them as it has been on me, mostly because they have been dealing with a very unhappy mom for the past two months, but you know what...they still beg for me to put them to bed and brush their hair/teeth and read them stories and rub their backs when their sick or cuddle them when their cold. Tim is almost always readily available, but they still choose me so I must be doing something right, right? 

Like I wrote in my last post, Mya is beginning to ask me the good questions. Not just the Why? or the Why not? questions. She's starting to ask the deeper ones that deal with real life and honest feelings. She is terrified of school, and I'm not sure why. We talk about it a lot and slowly I think she'll come around. She continues to tell me that she is scared to talk to people because she's shy. I ask her why she thinks she's shy and she says, "because something inside me gets nervous when they're around." I'd say that is a great description for why kids feel shy. But you know what I do, I hold her hand and walk with her up to the little girl at the park or the nice Spanish man blowing our leaves and I make her say one word to them. If she says more, great. If not, great. One word equals success. I will walk side by side with her until she overcomes her fears. If you think moving is hard on a thirty-year-old, try being not-yet five. 

Unlike her sister, Genevieve is loud and bubbly and crazy. She walked right up to that same Spanish young man that Mya was scared of and hugged his leg. She yelled "thank you" over and over as she ran into our garage waving goodbye. I insist my children understand that every job is worthy and good. No job goes unnoticed. Genevieve mimics everything Mya does right down to all her naughty habits. It is laughable. Sadly, I don't laugh when Mya does them, but seeing my big baby...trying to be a big girl and understand big girl emotions...just kills me. She has been extra frustrating when it comes to potty training. Let's just say that she NEVER makes it to the bathroom in time, and I am up at night changing loads over because I can't keep enough underwear in the house. Let's not go into this one because even the thought of it makes me growl out loud. 

And Elle my Belle is into everything these days. And if she can't get into something, she just screams. And screams and screams and screams. Her scream is seriously the cruelest joke. I crave everything the word silence entails so her shrills are unwelcome in this home. She walks around things and between things, but I do not think she will walk before she is one. She is stubborn and needy. She prefers to be held. And she won't do anything she is asked to do. I've been trying to get her to wave and clap for months, but she won't. She just grins and looks away. Oh...she is going to be a doozy this one. She's got my eyes and let me tell you something...there is something sneaky behind those eyes. 

Okay. Enough. I told you. It was one long ramble. But I haven't written much of anything for awhile so at least it's all out there so I can just forget playing catch up and just continue on from here on out. 

Sorry for the lack of quality pictures. Someone was borrowing our lens and we just got it back so I will get back in the swing of taking legit pictures soon. Enjoy a few photos that just make me smile. 


  1. I love rambling. I can ramble with the best of them so this is my kinda post. I also love pie, which is more of a problem. You DO have friends here. We think you guys are cool cats. Maybe in between running and baking we can get together :)

  2. You can ramble to me anytime! And, if you bring that pie over.... :) I need you to teach me how to bake! We need to get together again, soon!


"Be kind and considerate with your criticism... It's just as hard to write a bad book as it is to write a good book." Malcolm Cowley