Catching up.

You know when you run into a friend that you haven’t seen in a while and they ask, “So, what’s new?”

And you reply, “oh, not much.”

But in reality, a lot is new. Too much time has gone by and too many things have happened to even fit into a conversation. It’s easier to glaze over the details because, really, where do you even start?

If I thought Disney was a time-warp, I was not prepared for adjusting to life back in the real world. An entire week has gone by and I’m just now getting around to unpacking our bags. Yea, that’s a little embarrassing.

And a lot has happened. So much, in fact, that every time I sit down to blog I end up on Buzzfeed instead because ohymgosh I’m tired of typing and thinking and forming coherent sentence.

So.

I’m still putting together our vacation recap but, dang, there was a lot crammed in those 5 days. But I’ll get it up, soon enough.

Until then, here’s life in brief:

Children.

Tomorrow is Em’s last day of preschool. I may cry. Not just because my child is growing but also because I’ve become accustomed to having two mornings each week with just one child. Which is almost the same as alone.

Remember how concerned I was about where Em will be going to school next year? While we were on vacation, I made a call to the school where Emery was #20 on the wait-list to see there was any movement. By some act of mercy or miracle, a spot had opened up for her. Hallelujah! I can’t wrap my mind around how she got in with 20 kids ahead of her but I not questioning it and accepting this blessing. We’ll more than likely have to do this dance again next year for Kindergarten but for now, I am grateful.

When we were at Disney, the girls shared a bed and slept fairly well. Now Emery wakes up ridiculously early every morning and comes into my bed because she says she’s lonely. This wouldn’t be an issue except the girl fidgets. This morning (at 6 a.m.), she told me she wants to share a room with her little sister.

We took a ride on that crazy train last year and it was a disaster. It resulted in mattresses being moved at 2 a.m. and lots and lots of tears by everyone.  But the girls are older now. I’m still hung up on the logistics of nap time but the idea of having a spare room/office is tempting…

Birthday.

I celebrated the big 2-8 last Monday and have solidly rounded the corner to almost 30. And it feels pretty good. This is the first birthday in recent years that I’ve felt content with another year passing. I usually spend my birthday a little panicky and feeling like there isn’t much to show for the year gone. I don’t really know why this year is different. But I’m glad. For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m still 19 and pretending to be a grown up. I suppose I’ve become more comfortable in my skin, my friendships, my marriage. I know what I like, what I believe and that it’s okay to change my mind on both.

Josh did a wonderful job of making the day special. We started with a trip to Fleet Feet where I picked up a pair of Newton running shoes that were seriously on sale. I tried them on in Orlando and couldn’t wait to get my feet in a pair of my own. My Nike Free Runs have been giving me some pain recently so it was time to switch it up. My legs and feet love, love these shoes so I look forward to many miles being logged (once this crazy peroneal tendonitis clears up – more on that in a moment.)

- We had a late breakfast at The 5 Spot which was pretty tasty. Apparently they are changing up their menu but I hope, hope, hope they keep the biscuits and gravy. Oh, yum.

Burn, baby, burn. 

While we were in Disney, I though I had sunburn on my right ankle. I’m sure it’s happened before, right? Alas, it was not sunburn. With all of the walking/standing/curb hopping at Disney, my legs and feet were so sore I didn’t notice I strained my ankle at some point. I also failed to notice that my ankle was bruised and clicking. But a slight burning sensation? Noticed that.

It turns out that I developed a mild case of peroneal tendonitis. I paid a visit to a local running store where they were kind enough to show me how to use KT Tape to give my ankle additional support. I don’t really understand the science behind it but I’m just glad it works. Momma’s back in business. I gave it a 2-mile test run tonight and it feels great.

***********

Alright, I think that’s all of it. Or at least most of it. Or at the very least, the gist of it.

For the school-aged Mommas out there: Do your kids share a room? How was the transition? Do both kids nap?

For the runners: do you/have you run through an injury? 

For everyone: Any good recipes to share? I’ve lost my cooking mojo and need some inspiration to revive it.

Back to life, back to reality.

I’ve spent the past week sweating, battling crowds, staying up late, waking up early, calming screaming children, whining, groaning and standing in impossibly long lines.

But.

I’ve also spent the past week laughing, smiling, oohing and aahing, watching wonder on my children’s faces, tickling, dining with princess, hand-holding and memory-making at the Happiest Place on Earth.

I’d call it a fair trade-off.

Last Tuesday, we were sauntering south on I-95 toward Orlando for a much anticipated trip to Disney World. We invited Josh’s parents to come along and we couldn’t have done it without them. Well, we probably could have but I’d probably still be lamenting on how tired and cranky I am. Disney is like a PG version of Vegas. It’s an alternate universe. Days roll together, every one is on a mission, and the only way to discern day from night is by the lighting. It’s safe to say I have a Disney hangover. 

We got home Sunday evening and spent yesterday celebrating my birthday. For the first time in 10 years, Josh took the day off from work so we could spend the day together. Best. Birthday. Ever. Hands down. More on that later. 

I’ll post a full Disney recap in a few days once I go through our 900+ photos (I’m a little snap-happy) but I wanted to stop in and say hello and happy belated Mother’s Day to you wonderful mommas and soon-to-be mommas. Josh has declared next Sunday a Mother’s Day do-over since the real one was spent in the car with cranky children and loads of laundry and unpacking. I love that man.

How has life been outside of Disney? Business as usual? Did you have a nice Mother’s Day?

 

Just say no.

This morning, I was at my tri-weekly –

Wait, is that a phrase? Thrice-weekly? I’m there Monday/Wednesday/Friday to have my ever-so-fickle back, neck and shoulders put back where they belong. I think I see my chiropractor more than my husband.

I think this is a new record for getting sidetracked so early in a post. 

Anyway.

This morning, I was at my second home/chiropractor’s office and managed to read five or six sentences from a waiting room magazine while Blair caught up on a back issue of Rolling Stone.

I don’t remember what magazine I was holding, but there was a pull quote from Kathy Ireland (a supermodel, says the all-knowing Google) that said:

“I was 40 before I learned that ‘no’ was a complete sentence.”

Oh my goodness.  YES.

Yes, yes, yes.

I have no idea who this woman or why she is in a magazine but this quote spoke to me.

I realize that she’s probably referring to the point that as women, we’re taught to say yes. Be helpful, be polite, be social, be hospitable. And if we have to say no, then we’re expected to have a darn good reason. And to share that reason for others’ approval.

And that’s spot on.

But then I looked down at my sweet child who was then trying to lick a picture of Jon Hamm’s face (wouldn’t we all like to?) and I said, no.

I took the magazine away. She let out a shriek and tried to grab it from my hands (girl loves some Don Draper) and asked, “why, momma?”

I replied, “because I said ‘no.’”

Never mind that it’s a magazine from a doctor’s waiting room, or that there are germs, or that we don’t lick things, or that we’re in public or any of the other reasons 50 reasons I may say no. They are good reasons but that doesn’t mean they need validated.

I really do try to make most situations learning experiences for the girls. I explain the rational behind my decisions so that they can eventually (hopefully) make their own good decisions. You know, like not like not licking a well-handled magazine or accepting an invitation to a frat party luau.

Other times, ‘no’ or “no.” or “no!” or “I SAID NO!” is a complete sentence and all the explanation needed. I will not go through the science behind communicable diseases to a 2-year-old (or 18-year-old, so be it). As a parent, my children need to respect my rules regardless if they understand or agree.

Oh my gosh, I’ve become my mother.

But it’s true.

“No” has a negative connotation (duh) and is considered mean, stubborn, pessimistic and selfish. And yet every single time I shout “No!” as my child tries to run across a busy parking lot, it comes from a place of love and my intent to keep my children alive long enough to wipe their own noses.

So, say no. Mean it and don’t feel bad. Don’t apologize, whether it’s when declining an invitation or stopping your child from melting off their face with a hot glue gun.

What dreams are made of.

Emery is still thick in the “why” stage. After a year and a half, I’m not sure when it stops qualifying as a stage and instead becomes an annoying personality quirk. She asks “why?” at everything. Difficult things. Nonsensical things. Things with no answers. And it’s rapid fire with no time to think between questions. Straight up interrogation style.

Why is it raining? Because the trees and grass are thirsty.

Why are they thirsty? Because they need water to grow.

Why do they grow? Because that’s their job.

Why is that their jobs? Because that is what God made them to do.

Why did God make them? Because I said so, small child! Silence!

She may look sweet but she is relentless, I swear. Probably has a future in the CIA.

I knew yesterday was going to be a super fun day when Emery woke up at 5:50. In the morning. It’s obscene, really. I was overreacting and grouchy so I spent the three hours before preschool being pouty and avoiding any interrogations by small children. By the time we loaded in the Vdub for the 6 minute drive to school, I had finally consumed enough caffeine and decided to act as a parent and engage in an enriching, meaningful conversation with my 3-year-old.

I once read somewhere – probably on a Hallmark card – that the car is a great place to have meaningful conversations with your kids. Because a captive audience is the best audience, I suppose. Except I’m usually the one held captive to her incessant questioning. But they said it was what “good” parents do, so I oblige.

Emery, did you have any dreams last night?

Uhhh. Ummm. What is a dream? (She knows this but wastes no time. We only have 6 minutes, after all.)

Well, a dream is what happens when your body is asleep but your brain is making up stories.

Why does a brain make up stories?

Uh, it’s like you are using your imagination while you are sleeping.

But why is it using an imagination?

At this point, We’ve travelled less than a quarter of a mile and I know this conversation will go on forever – or at least until we get to preschool – so I decide to switch tactics and offer the most philosophical answer I can muster. Because Walt Disney was deep, you know.

Em, you know what? A dream is a wish your heart makes. When you’re fast asleep. (Pure poetic genius, right there.)

A wish? 

Yes, sweetie, a wish.

Last night I dreamed ’bout scary monsters. 

Errr. Uhh. Derr. Fail.

Thanks a lot, Cinderella. You keep talking to field mice because your insight on nocturnal brain activity blows.

Better luck next time!

Street cred’ in the (mother)hood.

I know nothing about parenting.

Really. It’s pretty embarrassing. I’ve never finished reading any of the parenting books I’ve purchased. Really, there are only four of them on my bookshelf so that’s not too bad. Or maybe that speaks louder to my short attention span.

But if I’ve picked up anything in the past four years, it’s that…

… Shoot. I forget. Blair started chanting “snack! snack! snack!” and my brain crossed wires.

Oh, I remember. I’ve figured out that it really doesn’t matter how many books or blogs you’ve read, how many parenting classes you take or if your degree is in early childhood development. When it comes to respect in motherhood, there isn’t much of a need for book smart. Street cred’ is the only thing that matters.

I would rather pick the brain of a mom who is living a parallel life to mine than spend time reading a $29.99 book by Dr. Whoever that was written in his faraway cushy office lined with diplomas. He probably gets to pee alone and that nullifies at least two years of education. I want to hear from someone who’s been in the trenches and knows for a fact that my child will, indeed, stop peeing her pants when she’s mad at me.

And now that I’ve been doing this mothering thing for almost 4 years, some people seem to think I’ve earned a bit of credibility on certain parenting skillz. Which is hilarious and flattering and a bit frightening.

Wake up before 6 a.m. and know your fate.

I don’t tell you this to be pompous but because it seriously boggles my mind that I’m qualified to offer advice on anything parenting-related. Yes, I’ve dealt with issues that some parents haven’t. But when friends or friends of friends ask me how to deal with a dairy allergy/ crazy separation anxiety/ unusual vaccine reaction/ strong-willed child/ eczema flares/ cloth diapering/ breastfeeding/ a child who never sleeps, and my initial reaction is, “Whaaa? Why are you asking me? Go ask someone who had time to brush their teeth this morning.”

And then I remember that although any advice I offer may, in fact, be insightful, what people really want to know is that it will get better. Whatever is plaguing them will end. Or it won’t and they’ll figure out how to deal. And one day, someone will mention that their child is having an issue and they’ll be able to offer advice or a sympathetic ear. Because credibility is earned in the messiest, most heartbreaking and exhausting moments of mothering.

You don’t read a recipe and call yourself a chef. Being a mother is the same. You need to experience it, feel it and live it along the way.

And then you earn street cred’ in the (mother)hood.

A very Lambent birthday.

Yesterday, The Lambent Life celebrated its first birthday. Instead of toasting champagne, I tended to a growing cold with gallons of echinacea tea and Emergen-C paired and a bowl of vanilla ice cream with fresh strawberries for good measure. I topped off the festivities with an early 10 p.m. bedtime and so here I am, the day after, properly noting the milestone.

A year ago.

Much like the first year of a child’s life, I’ve spent the past 12 months and 131 posts learning the ropes and figuring out who I am and what kind of blogger I want to be. And what kind I don’t want to be. I’ve found camaraderie with other bloggers and learned from their experiences. And I’m happy with what I’m growing and how I’m growing.

A year ago.

Like naming a child, it’s hard to pick the perfect blog name until you see its personality emerge. Josh, bless his heart, spent an entire afternoon last year brainstorming a good, reflective name. As usual, he came through.

lam·bent

/ˈlambənt/

Adjective (of light or fire) Glowing, gleaming, or flickering with a soft radiance. (of wit, humor, etc.) Lightly brilliant.

I don’t want to burn brightly and quickly. There is nothing wrong with seeing loads of traffic or gaining popularity but I never want blogging to be disingenuous or burdensome. You won’t find glitter or glam design at The Lambent Life (mostly because I’m technologically inept). I want The Lambent Life – and my life, in general – to be a gentle glow, a familiar word and quick smile. And I hope that comes across.

A year ago.

And if you really want to give a good birthday present, head over to The Lambent Life on Facebook and give a sister a like. I promise loads of tasty, clean recipes and sweaty, post-run selfies. Oh, and probably embarrassing pictures of my kids like this one:

Yesterday. The carwash is a scary place.

A year, in review

Most popular posts:

I don’t wear deodorant. (you guys are a curious bunch.)

The time E turned 3 and I bawled. (and I bawled again reading this.)

My favorite posts:

Parenting an allergic child is hard. (the hardest post I’ve written. Reading it makes me all the more thankful that we’re now allergy-free, wee!)

One becomes Two. (because I love her kiss face.)

Most popular search term: Color Vibe 5K coupon (that ship has sailed, folks. But thanks for stopping by!)

My favorite search terms: “pit bull Weimaraner pajamas” and “put-your-sister-in-a-headlock day celebrations” (Uh, not sure I helped you with either of these. Sorry, Charlie.)

Happy birthday, The Lambent Life.

And thanks for sticking around.

Friday Favorites [4.26.13]

I really love Friday Favorites. There are about 15 things each week that I think, “oh! I should write a post about that.” but never do because a.) each post would be consist of about 5 sentences and b.) who wants to read an entire post dedicated to my love of yogurt? and c.) I lately have the attention span of a 3-year-old child (probably caused by raising a 3-year-old child).

But a weekly thought dump? Completely acceptable and passable as a “real” blog post.

Favorite news: Vacation! Vacation!
There aren’t a ton of perks that come with Josh’s job. Except, like, a paycheck. For which I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong. But I found out yesterday that he’s being sent to a training in Bend, Oregon this summer and yours truly gets to tag along. And the best part? THE CHILDREN AREN’T COMING! Yes, five whole glorious days by myself. My incredible in-laws are coming to party with the girls while take a cross-country flight to the PNW to enjoy some R&R, shopping, spa treatments, and sight seeing. Well, Josh will be working so really I’ll just be enjoying those things. My myself. Squeeee!

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Favorite read: Born to Run
Admittedly, I’ve just started this book but it’s so good. The author, Christopher McDougall is quite humorous and the story of the Tarahumara is legendary and fascinating. The Tarahumara live in the mountainous region of northwest Mexico and can run amazingly long distances without fatigue or injury. So McDougall, a reporter by trade, sets out on a journey to find the Tarahumara and learn the secrets to life and running.

 

My friend Amie and I are toying with the idea of running the Savannah Rock ‘N Roll 1/2 marathon in November so I’ve been trying to be more consistent with my running and increase mileage without burning out. While I love to run, I’m not a fan of racing so I need to get my mind right before making a ($$) decision.

But I’ll tell you, reading this book has put me back in the right mentality.

Now if only I could figure out a way to run when it’s not 80 degrees.

shades of pink. for real.

Favorite fix: Snap, crackle, pop.
I finally scheduled a very overdue appointment with a chiropractor and had my first visit this morning. Before children, I used to visit the chiro for weekly adjustments but I haven’t been since I was pregnant with Emery. Between pregnancy, having a newborn, moving, and repeating steps 1 and 2, I stopped going.  Big mistake. The physical and mental health benefits of regular adjustments is undeniable and heaven knows I need all the help I can get. Because I’m so tall, I tend to slouch which affects the curvature of my neck which, in turn, causes strain on my shoulders and stresses the muscles across the top of my back. I need to have better posture (as I slouch over my keyboard to type this…) and keep up with regular adjustments to alleviate the tension on my shoulders.

I agitated my neck and shoulder a few weeks ago during a workout and it’s been tender ever since. I swear, as soon as I laid on the table and he adjusted between my shoulder blades – ahhhh. Sweet, sweet relief. I can even breathe easier.

Then the doctor swore he didn’t believe that I am 6 feet tall and weigh 160 pounds.

“No way! You’re kidding. Wow. No, I wouldn’t have put you more than 130 pounds.”

And then I hugged him and promised I’d never, ever stray and he’ll be my forever chiropractor until the day I die. Or leave Savannah, anyway.

But really, that’s muscle for ya, folks. I’d rather have my strong, muscular legs that can carry me on runs than see a lower number on the scale. I don’t do this to lose weight. I do this to be physically and mentally strong.

And that ends that tangent.

Favorite moment: First soccer game of the season
We’re giving soccer another go and last night was Em’s first game of the season. Her team is the Yellow Dragons and despite this league being more organized than the last, it’s still a bit like herding cats.

Her coach wasn’t there so the assistant coach filled in and he continuously called her Emma. She would stop and look at him when he shouted directions but she would then turn and ignore him as she thought he was talking to this imaginary Emma. Since, you know, that’s not her name. So, that was interesting.

She spent the majority of the second half running circles on the sideline chanting, “I’m bored! I’m bored! I’m bored!”

At least she ran out some of her energy that way?

I think we’ll try ballet.

Least Favorite News: Goodbye, goodbye, Mariah
My kindred spirit is leaving me for a great (small) land yonder north called New Hampshire. I’m so sad. We’re meeting at the beach tomorrow to say farewell and I don’t know how that little girl of mine will do saying goodbye to her favorite little man.

Wee babes in 2012.

Savannah has a lot of families that are just passing through. Sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in waiting while we watch friends who become dear to us journey on. Before moving to Georgia, we were always the ones who left and I’ve learned how much harder it is to be on the other side of leaving. And it’s hard to teach your kids.

But it’s nice to know that with all the friends we’ve made on this journey, it’s likely we’ll cross paths again with at least some of them when it’s our turn to move on to new pastures.

Happy Friday, y’all.

Fun weekend plans? Do you go to a chiropractor? Anyone have tips on where to visit in Bend?

 

Don’t look under the bed.

The girls and I were homebound this morning because after 5 and a half years and over 80,000 miles, it was due time to get some new tread on the Vdub. Although I’m a stay-at-home-mom, I’m not really a stay-at-home-mom. I kind of really hate being stuck in the house. Barring illness, we get out of the house pretty much every day for a few minutes. The girls learned this behavior from me and, in turn, wake up every morning asking where we’re going that day and who we’re going to see.

Since we had no choice but to chill at home, I decided to make the most of it and check a few of the more time consuming items off my cleaning list.

Not me. But pretty close.       |       Photo Credit: MadPhotos1 via Compfight cc

There more than 200,000 things I would rather do before clean. Especially deep clean. You know, the pull-the-couch-away-from-the-wall, clean-on-top-of-the-cupboards kind of cleaning.

But there has been this slight… odor… coming from Emery’s room. I’ve mopped her floor, checked the closet, washed the windows, changed her sheets, wiped the walls, washed the bedding, checked shoes and washed the rug. And yet, this slight smell remains.

So with today’s extra “free time,” I turned on a movie and spent an hour beneath and behind her dresser and bed.

Ladies (and gentlemen, if there are any of you lurking – although I doubt it), please heed my warning:

Do not look under the bed. Do not clean under the bed. Under no circumstances. Ever.

Apparently beneath Emery’s bed is where all the spiders in our house go to die.

So many spiders. Of all sizes. Dead, thankfully.

We’ve had a few run-ins with spiders since moving to Georgia. I remember most vividly the night I woke Josh around midnight after I saw a Georgia-sized spider saunter across our living room. Yes, it was big enough to saunter – it’s a Georgia spider, after all. So, my half-sleeping husband killed the big momma spider that was – unbeknownst to us – carrying baby spiders on her back. Those baby spiders survived the squishing and spread like the tide across our living room. We slept soundly that night and dreamt of baby spiders crawling in our bed to snuggle.

Anyway.

We’ve lived in this house for over three years. In that time, I can’t say I’ve ever given Emery’s room a good, solid scrubbing. And now that I’m doing the math, I’m pretty embarrassed to say I think it’s been nearly 2 years since I peeked beneath the bed frame.

And now that I know it’s a spider graveyard, I promise it will be at least another 2 years before I do.

Because cleaning beneath beds, couches and dressers is now going on Josh’s ever-growing list of man chores.

This momma doesn’t do spiders.

And that faint smell? Still there. I think it may just be the smell of a dirt-loving, tutu-wearning, roly-poly-collecting, almost-4-year-old girl.

What household task do you pass along to your spouse? 

 

Control.

Confession time: I have this nasty little habit of trying to control everything around me.

As I’m sure most mothers, wives, heck – females in general – do.

Except I really don’t handle it well when I realize things are out of my control. I get a little crazy and go into overdrive trying to control the things I (think) I can control. Only that doesn’t work, either, and I’m left spinning out of control.

I mentally don a pair of worn out, control top pantyhose and try hold it all in and together. Because as long as it looks nice to others, it doesn’t matter if I can’t take a deep breath or sit down comfortably. Because if I do, the seams are guaranteed to burst and all my mess is exposed for every one to see.

And it isn’t pretty.

I’m just as stubborn as my first born so it’s been shown to me time and time again just how little control I have over things. Usually involving my children. Oh, those sweet darlings.

Blair’s milk challenge was horrible.  It took three nurses and myself to hold her down and force milk in her mouth using a syringe. It’s pretty ironic since I spent the past 2 years keeping her away from the stuff. By the time we got to the last serving of 12 teaspoons, she was spitting it out as fast as they could get it in. When she started choking on it, I called it quits. We were there for a food challenge – not for water-boarding.

So I spent the next 2 hours trying to convince a 2 year old to drink something she doesn’t like. I tried bribery, force, threatening, rewarding, demonstrating, discipline, begging, and encouraging. I called in reinforcements. There was nothing I could do. By noon, we were all done. There were 4 teaspoons left but it wasn’t going to happen. She had enough milk to know if she would react, thankfully. But I was spent. Completely emotionally spent.

And then there’s the older one.

I’ve spent months researching and lamenting over which school we’d like Emery to attend this fall. The public schools here are notoriously bad so securing her a spot in a “good” school for preK means she would be set for kindergarten and grade school. The application pool grows exponentially for kindergarten so we were really, really hoping she’d get a spot this year. We applied to four different schools. After the random drawings, she’s number 20, 39, 44 and 46 on each wait list. So, she’s not getting in.

I can’t control everything. Heck, I can’t control anything.

It’s a nasty thought cycle for me to get into. I start grasping at other things in my life to find some bit of order. I nag and pick at my husband. I demand my children listen to me. I obsess over food. I scrub the shower. I throw things.

It’s futile and unhealthy.

I spent the morning by myself. It’s becoming apparent to me that I need to spend time alone and doing nothing. These girls are wearing me thin so I refuse to feel guilty about paying someone else to entertain them. If I’m scrambling then I’m not being the best momma that I can be.

I haven’t been running much lately and I need to. I drove to one of my favorite parks and just ran. I didn’t let myself check my pace or my distance. I didn’t want to race. It takes me a few miles to get to get my brain quiet. I know a lot of people run to work through issues. But I run to quiet the issues. I know they’ll be waiting when I’m done so I just need 45 minutes of not thinking.

It’s really hard to lie to yourself when you’re sweating buckets and your heart is going to burst from your chest.

I realized that I need to lose control. Life is messy. But I need to stop trying to hold on to everything so tightly that I start to self-destruct. In my efforts to protect myself and everyone I love, I end up hurting myself more.

Yesterday, I came across Proverbs 31:25 not once, but twice.

I’m not a big believer in “signs” but I do think that God knows I’m pretty thick skulled and need Him to be a bit persistent at times.

Can you imagine laughing with no fear to the future? When I think of the future, I think of planning. And analyzing. And overanalyzing. And praying that God would make it so. Because apparently I think I can control God, too.

So, I need to stop. And breathe. And trust. And keep running. And writing. And stop worrying.

It’s all going to be alright.

Friday Favorites

It’s Friday. We survived another week. And what a week it has been.

I was at the gym treadmill this morning and was glued to the television broadcasting the most recent happenings in Boston. I couldn’t get over how close the television crews were to the police as they worked to secure neighborhoods in Watertown while searching for the second Boston Marathon bomber. It reminded me of the hours after 9/11 when we were all glued to our televisions craving answers and explanation. Eventually, I had to peel myself away to pick up the kiddos from child watch.

Like I mentioned a few days ago, I’ve been feeling a little ‘off’ lately so it is my fullest intention to spend the weekend relaxing, checking items off the never ending to-do list and spend time with the family.

This week’s Friday Favorites isn’t quite as well-rounded as the last but these were certainly peaks of joy in a rather melancholy week.

Favorite Treat: Sea Salted Peanut Butter Cookie Chips 

After a bit of a hiatus, I made time for a much needed Pure Barre on Monday night. Afterwards I found myself next door at Fresh Market to pick up more Dreaming Cow yogurt. While there, I saw these Hannahmax Baking crunchy cookie chips on an end cap and knew I needed these bits of seas salted peanut butter goodness. Why have I never thought of sprinkling sea salt on peanut butter cookies?! Genius. Only 130 calories for 5 cookie chips. Win!

Favorite Recipe: Quinoa Asparagus Cakes

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I was holding on to this recipe from Kiwi Magazine for a few weeks until Blair was finally cleared of her milk allergy and it didn’t disappoint. I have a love/hate relationship with quinoa – mostly that I want to love it but typically don’t. But when prepared in this fashion, the quinoa’s firm texture was beneficial. My mixture was a bit dry so I added an extra egg and even so, it was difficult to shape into cakes. I eventually threw it all in the skillet and cooked it like hash browns. Josh looked a little concerned when I served his plate but he was pleasantly surprised and finished off the leftovers.

Favorite Moment: Blair’s first “real” birthday party experience
On Thursday, we celebrated a sweet little girl’s 4th birthday with a wonderful princess celebration. For the first time, Blair was able to be a completely “normal” (whatever that means) kid and enjoyed pizza, a delicious lemon and berry cupcake, and all the candy treats from the piñata.

 

How was your week? Special weekend plans?