Milkymilk

& all we get for this is Cotton?

*The pictures of our wedding in this post are ridiculously beautiful, because they were taken by photo extraordinaire and overall super star Al Herrmann.

Today, Skylar and I have been married for two years.  In those two years I got a new job, got pregnant, left job to move from LA to Chicago for Skylar's new job, we put our house in LA on the market, {sound of crickets chirping}, rented house out, lost lots and lots of $ in the process, had baby, I turned 30 {dun-dunn}, started a bakery, Skylar got a pay cut, and now, our big announcement, why I'm funky & not sleeping:  We are officially moving to Connecticut.  Skylar got a promotion.

Wow, that has felt overwhelming, but to see it in black and white... 

Because Skylar and I lived together (in sin, whoop whoop!) before we got married, I did not think marriage would change our relationship very much.  It really did, though.  Somehow, not having a way out without the aid of icky lawyers, made us work though our problems quicker and more efficiently.  We were not friends before we got married.  Honestly, we did not develop a friendship until we moved to Chicago, and we had to spend time together.  It was awesome.  Like falling in love again, but a lot less scary.

Having a baby was reallllllllllllllllly hard on our relationship, at first.  I think this is common, and we will hopefully go though that hard time again with baby #2 someday.  We had to find a way to work together, and find it out while sleep deprived and unbathed.  It was not sexy.  

Losing about 20% of the value of the house while it sat on the market, while the real estate market crashed and left carcases all around it, for lack of a better word, sucked.  We were sort of trendsetters in the losing everything you have trend that is sweeping the nation.  Hopefully, we did the right thing by taking it off the market.   Hopefully, it will come back in value a bit, and we will be able to make money off of it.  Any-who, it was not a fun time for us.

I know, this post is getting doom and gloom, but I going somewhere, I promise.  With all that theses two years have brought us, with all the moving and job changes, and belly button popping out, and a baby being born, and our financial life going up in flames, I love Skylar more and more all the time.  There have been days where I've been so mad at him, I could spit.  Even then, we have so much fun together.  It is like I'm angry and spitting and laughing and enjoying myself all at the same time.

I'm also very proud of him.  As much as I am funked out about moving, I am once again amazed by his resourcefulness to get a promotion, a raise and the benefits of our dreams, in this economy.    

I love you, baby, and I hope someday we a have a good solid year of nothing exciting.  Until then, I'm happy to spit and giggle at the same time with you.  

Funk: Strawberry Buttermilk Streusel Muffins

I have entered a funky-idy funk funk in the funkiest way possible.  Not like a groovy funk.  Oh, I only wish.  More like the blues, but sassier.

The good new is that they are giving away strawberries at the supermarket!  (Buy one, get one free.)  And so, here is the recipe for my...

Temporary Funk Fixing  Strawberry Buttermilk Streusel Muffins

3/4 C buttermilk

1/4 C vegetable oil

1 egg

1 tea. vanilla

2 cups all propose flour (you could do 1/2 whole wheat.  I want to try out 1/3 cornmeal  1 2/3 all purpose, yumm, cornmeal!)

1/2 C sugar

2 tea. baking powder

1/2 tea. salt

1 cup chopped strawberries

Streusel Topping

1/4 C all purpose flour

1/2 C packed light brown sugar

pinch of salt

2 tbs cubed butter

Pre-heat over to 400.  Butter and flour muffins tins, or insert paper liners.

Make streusel:  Combine flour, sugar and salt.  Work butter in with your fingers you have a crumbly texture, and your bits of butter are no bigger than the size of a pea.  Set mixture in fridge while you make the muffin batter.

In a small bowl whisk together buttermilk, oil, egg and vanilla.  In a large bowl, combine the dry ingredients.  Toss the chopped strawberries in a bit of flour, just to coat them.  Add strawberries to the dry ingredients.  Fold in the wet, mixing until just combined. 

I made mini muffins, so they would be the right size for the baby.  For mini muffins, scoop one tablespoon of batter into each muffin cup.  Add a generous pinch of streusel topping, enough to cover all the batter.  Bake for about 14 minutes, until cake tester comes out clean, or they bounce back when you press on them.  (Make sure to rotate the pan half way though baking.)  Let cool & eat up! 

These, like most muffins, are best served warm from the oven.  The batter keeps well in the fridge, if you are super ambitious and want to bake them off in the morning over a couple of days.  Or, if you are like me, and have given up on sleeping entirely.  Why sleep when you can fret about your funk?  & Why fret about your funk when you can make muffins?

Lounging

*Warning*  I am sleep deprived, so this post my ramble incoherently.  No, Harper sleeps fine.  I am the one in need of some sleep training.  

Harper, seen here crying because I cleaned up the strawberry bits she spread all over the fridge, has learned a new trick.  She can get on the couch.  

At first, my life flashed before my eyes.  O.k.  Not my life, but my freedom to leave her in the living room while I pee.  (Not like she would really let me pee by-myself.  That would just be weird.)  The thing is that fear comes from experience.  I can try to tell her why falling off the couch is bad, but it is like explaining economics to the cat, or spelling.  So, I put blankets and pillows all around the couch, and resumed normalcy.  She tumbled off a few times.  She was a little shaken up, but unharmed.  On the third day, I took away the padding.  As it turns out, she can get off the couch all by herself.  Yea!

The best part?  She sits on the couch.  That is right!  She has learned to lounge.  I'm so proud.  Not so proud that she purchased "High School Musical 3" On Demand while playing with the remote today.  Hmmm, I have no idea where she learned to do that... 

The Land of No

Of all the playthings in the park, the tree stump was the most irresistible today.

Monday, or Sunday, or more days than I would like to admit to lately, I felt like the thing I said most to Harper was "No."  I'm fed up with me.  My inner-voice is saying 'Gosh, Mom.  You used to be cool.  You used to know how to have fun.'

Granted, it is probably not a good idea to let Harper continue testing to see if Spanky's tail is really permanently attached to her body.  She is going to learn the harder she pulls on the cat's body parts, the less fun she will have one way or another.  Right?  I hope so.  I'm making an effort not to say "No."  I'm starting a new course of action.  In the same way I taught the dog I need personal space, I'm redirecting.  It is going o.k.

I'm having a harder time with saying, "No." to me.  I'm baby crazy.  I mean in a bad way.  Yesterday, there was a 5 week old crying in Toys R Us, and I actually told the mother it sounded like music to my ears.  She might be sleep deprived, her hormones may still be a mess from having just created a person, she might generally be shell socked from life with a newborn, but even she looked at me like I'm nuts.

It is not in the cards for us right now for too many reasons to list here.  I need to redirect.  Please help before I end up getting one of those Reborn dolls & swaddle it & put it in a sling & take it to the park & feed it bottles & ask Harper to be nice to her baby brother, Spaulding.

For Good or Evil

 

Traveling solo-parent style with Harper, who has decided the flavor of rubber bands is far superior to the taste dirt, was not the nightmare I had anticipated.  My worst nightmare was that she would run off in the airport and get lost.  While packing I kept wishing she had an ID card, or a chip, like pets have.  She has neither.  She does have shoes that squeak like dog toys when she walks in them.  They are funny and cute for about 5 minutes, depending on how much walking she is doing and how fast.  I strapped those on her, and hoped I'd at least be able to follow the squeaks if she bolted.

Instead, she clung to my leg for dear life every time she made it out of her stroller.  It was a huge relief.

The worst part was not anything I saw coming, as the worst is almost always sneaky like that.  The flight back to Chicago was packed.  It was one of those tiny tiny planes that does not have very much air in it to begin with.  It was oddly hot.  Add a 23 pound squirmy warm lap child to the mix, and it was a recipe for a not so fresh feeling.  That is right, lap child.  As in, she does not have her own seat.  I am her seat, a lap person, if you will.  Thankfully, the lady next to us has four children.  She turned on her headphones, and slept though the entire flight.  

Sleep was not in the cards for Harper.  She had energy.  When we flew while she was still crawling, it was always icky to put her down places.  We had to weigh how sticky and stained she would get on the floor vs. how loud she would struggle in our arms.  I thought walking would solve this dilemma.  No.  She would only cling to my chair, look up at me longingly, fearfully, and cry.  Of course I was clever enough to bring about 1,000 objects to entertain her.  And they did.  She threw every single one of them down the hallway at least 10 times.  Oh, and how much fun it must have been for everyone behind us to retrieve her toys for a solid two hours.  Dropsies is a game that just NEVER GETS OLD.  EVER.

That is how I ended up leaving 1/2 a swished slobbery banana in the seat pocket in front of me.  Before you get all grossed out by the slobber part, let me reassure you.  Her sippy cup had already exploded in there, and on me, earlier.  There was plenty enough water in that seat pocket to wash off the slobber from the banana.  

This is not something I am proud of.  If you have happened upon 1/2 a banana in the seat pocket in front of you recently, contact me with the date and airline.  I will be happy to compensate for your suffering in baked goods.

As bad as leaving rotting fruit surprises around for other is, it does not even compare to the butt-wad who sat in front of us.  Yes you, with the dark short hair, in your early 30s/late 20s wearing glasses.  What part of lap child behind you makes you feel the need to recline your seat.  Did you not notice the one year old trowing her binky at you?  Did you not feel the moisture from her sippy cup debacle?  I'm at a loss for words.  Butt-wad.