I don't blame you.

I just had to google the word "temperament" because I didn't believe it had an A in it.
It does.

Sometimes it is kinda nice to find out you don't know something you thought you knew.  It's a refreshing perspective; the promise of other things you've had all wrong.  Lightbulb things, maybe even, that could be out there, things that would make your blankets smooth out like a pond and the back of your arms warm up and your whole universe make more sense.

You are wrong a lot.
Wrong about things you might not fully understand and (worse) things that you are completely smug about. 

And by "you" I mean me.
And by "you" I also mean you.
But I mostly mean me.

You know?

(The title. If you know the album version please know that I am singing the back-up "Iiiii doo-oo-oon't blame you" and the "theeey ne-e-ver owned it" along with this YouTube one and I think you should try it too, it's fun.)

Also!  THIS IS IMPORTANT! I feel like kind of a jerk for all of the "look my house is clean and organized!" stuff recently.  Please know that it is a struggle for me, which I have blogged about before,  here and here and here and here.  Oh, that last one is a good one -- if you want to see my MESSY house, the other side of the coin, the other 50% of my reality, READ IT.  Actually read them all, because looking at the photos in that post now?  Now that I have three kids and not two and the older two are tornadoes?  Those photos are like any random Tuesday morning.  Things get so much worse than that now, and it happens in one day.  We can go from sparkling and organized to insane in about two hours, and it takes about four to six hours to get it back to square one. It is a non-stop battle between me and my house, my cave, my perception of reality.


brotherly... love?


And it was at this point that I decided it was time to do what a responsible parent would do: PUT THE CAMERA DOWN and intervene.  Nevermind that I was laughing so hard at Clark's unchanging oblivious solemn facial expressions.

And then they were all smiley again.

So many of my photos are a little crooked or out of focus these days, because the baby strapped to me and the neverstopsmoving three year old and the very dramatic two year old kinda prevent me from getting the camera when and where I want it.  I am always so sure of how and what I want to do, but lately I can't quite execute in the way I intend. It will probably be that way for awhile, until our routine falls into an easier pattern or someone grows a little more independent or I toughen up, huh? (And you know I am so not talking about taking photos anymore.)


strangely beautiful beautifully strange

Me:  This little baby is so sweet, Luke.  Look at him.  He is so sweet.  I just wonder who he is, you know?  Who are you little baby?  What are you like?  What are you gonna be like?

iphone 076

Luke:  I don't know, what are any of them gonna be like?  What am I gonna be like? I hope I turn out okay.


He didn't say it all funny-like, the way he says most things. He just said it with a shrug, like, this is the sad reality of life, people are a mess.

And yeah,  people are a mess.  Human means flawed and flawed can mean, well, anything.  I guess I have no idea who my kids are or who they will be or what they're gonna be like, as sure as I am that my love for them will unflinchingly hold true forever and ever and all of that stuff.  Very surely, it will be a "because of" kinda love and an "in spite of" kinda love; it'll be a fill in the blanks, I love you, I wish you could see things my way on this, I love you, you are doing a great job with that, I am so proud of you, I love you.  On and on.  Fill in the blanks.


I myself am not even quite the same as I was when I got married.  I'm the same in lots of ways -- I still love Gene Kelly and singing and sushi and getting dressed up and old things and the strangely beautiful beautifully strange parts of life -- I have been the same in those ways since I was about six.  But I am different too.  Better in some ways, and also more confused, more mindful and intentional of every thought and action, more emotionally mature but also more emotionally vulnerable, clearer, more focused, more anxious -- more concerned about less. I am turning out and turning out.  How am I turning out? 


And for some reason when my husband (of seven years who held my hand for the first time thirteen years ago this month) said this little off-the-cuff remark it struck me as wise and sad and true but also okay and it didn't scare me.


And for the record, I think Luke is turning out great.  Turning and turning and turning out great.


PS. I love that I put the search widget on my sidebar and everyone is searching for "sex" - as if! HA! And "Luke" so I guess this post should make those people happy.  Oh, and also for Facebook? Should I make a Facebook page for my blog? I am so bad at figuring technical blog stuff out. I still haven't gotten swonderland.net to successfully redirect to www.swonderland.net. Anyone know how to fix that? No? Oh well. Yawn. Back to my loud house. Happy weekend friends.


click clack

You know when my blog gets quiet it means my house has gotten loud, right?

My house has been loud.

I've been working on one post, one, since the weekend.  And now it is Thursday. 

In the meantime (while I keep typing one sentence and then another sentence, here and there, trying to finish that post) you can read this!

My friend Meagan Francis from The Happiest Mom, interviewed me for her blog!

I talk a little about how I try to stay organized, my attitude towards "home making" and share lots of photos.  Meagan is a pretty wonderful lady and I feel super honored that she thought to feature me today.  Check it out!  And leave some love in the comments?

Okay, back to the loud house.

And the baby.  He is groooowwwing.



a couchful

Today at the grocery store someone shout-laughed, "Hey, all YOU need is ONE MORE KID!" at me.

(Oh, hilarious.)

I wanted to say, yes, I know right?!  I do want one more!

But I kept my mouth shut all polite-like
and calmly said, "We do really well actually,"
and kind of believed it.

Oh, me and my manners.

(And my lies.  Are they lies?)


Hal is eight weeks old today.  One of the lingering cool things about homebirth is that I am typing this in the room where he was born - I am sitting right where I sat when I looked his cute grumpy face up and down for the first time and soaked in who he was.  I think that that just might not ever get old.

PS. My kids kinda sorta like accessories a little bit. Except Hal who apparently likes to wear socks and nothing else. Maybe he wants accessories too? Maybe that's why he is grumpy! He wants accessories but he cannot talk! Tomorrow I will put tiny sunglasses on him and see if he smiles and report back.


time to make the doughnuts*

We have two clocks in our little bedroom. They are set sixteen minutes apart.

We have three clocks in the living room. One is 12 minutes behind, and another is 15 minutes ahead. The third one isn't plugged in.

I have an iPhone that keeps perfect time and a car clock that starts out right but slowly gets behind and never catches up without being reset. (I can really relate to the car clock, I think we would be friends.)

I guess I like to have options?

Today I decided to go by the one that told me it was earlier than it was and I looked at it very hard and etched the numbers into my head. It is really 3:47, I practiced telling myself, it really really is.

I didn't want more time in the day, I just wanted to trick myself into thinking Luke was coming home from work early.

And it was a nice happy surprise when he opened the door two hours later.



Me: Luke, help me title this post.  I hate titling posts I am so bad at it and I know you would be really good at it. It is about clocks and uh, time and stuff.

Luke: (stifling a laugh) Clocks?  And time? And stuff?  

Me: Shut up, you wanna read it?

Luke: Nope, I've got this. How about "time after time" or "time of our lives" or "rock around the clock" or "time to make the doughnuts" and then you really make me doughnuts?

Me: You were joking the least about the doughnuts one, huh?

(I have never made doughnuts.)
(I don't really ever plan to.)
(I am so bad at titles I am using it anyway.)
(Boy are the people googling for doughnut recipes going to be disappointed.)


mish mash

So I've met a bunch of people recently and part of me thinks I knew them all already.  This same feeling hit me when I arrived on my very crowded in-state public college campus nearly nine years ago.  So many people.  So many faces and voices and handwritings.  I started wondering if I had dreamt about them before or known them before or if maybe there are only a handful of people-types and we are all built on the frames of those types, assembly line style.

I had a friend in high school who had never ever chewed a piece of bubble gum.  He just kept on not ever chewing bubble gum, just because, just because he never had before, just because he liked the contrast.

I have never been on a ferris wheel but I'd like to give one a try.

* * *

THANK YOU for your comments on my Target story.  Even Luke is threatening to read it because his mom and aunt were talking about it in his shop today.  Yep.  Luke might read my blog.  This is big.

You all made me feel so much better.  I wish I could hug you and we could chug two beers and laugh about it together.  If I chugged three I might even reenact things. 

Oh! And the end of the story!  We did get the chairs.  My mom went back the next morning and they were still there and she got them for me.  (I love you mom.)

They look like this:



(The floor, however, does not look like that, not anymore.  The photos were taken two seconds after vacuuming, so two seconds before someone dumped out a box of cereal or threw their sippy or ate anything or walked around in the dry grass and then inside or, you know, lived, within the general area of the dining room.)

And I am currently trying to convince Luke that we need a 6th family member in that 6th Target chair.  You know.  Someday.  I think we do.


babywearing (all over again)


I wear my baby.

I wear him because I miss him when he is not in my arms.

I wear him so he won't be crushed by his siblings.

I wear him when I want him to go to sleep.

I wear him when he needs to nurse and I am not at home.  No one even knows I'm nursing when I do it in a carrier.

I wear him so I can push the grocery cart.

I wear him so I can get things done around the house and he can be with me and we can be together.

I wear him because every single time I put him in the bassinet, one of the older kids wakes him up in under a minute.

I wear him so I can hold Alice's hand as we walk to get Clark from preschool.

I wear him because it feels just like holding him, and I hold him because it feels right.

In a blink I will realize that he is big, too big for me to wear or hold or carry.  Even if my heart wants to.
This is our time. It doesn't last long.  He is fuzzy and squishy and smells like sugar.

Why would I want to put him down?


You can see in my photos - holding my babies in carriers is just like holding them in my arms.  Strollers are a new thing.  Women have been carrying their babies with help from a carrier forever and ever and I honestly don't know how I would go about my daily life as a mother to three small children without utilizing this natural and age-old practice.

My lovely friend Steph from Adventures In Babywearing is hosting a babywearing link-up to spread real life information about the safety of our baby carriers and how we use them, in the face of CPSC recalls.   Link up your photos and/or stories over at her place and you could even win a Sakura Bloom ring-sling.  Will you join us?

"Truly, it [babywearing] does not require special skill. There is no "if done properly." We are working to ensure that babies are kept safe all the time, and babies in slings are safe. They are in the safest space besides a mother's arms.

"That said, we will continue to educated [sic] the public about best practice -- correct positioning, and also keeping the baby's face visible to mother or caregiver in the first three months of life."  -From the BCIA via Steph  

PS.  I was planning a great big THANK YOU post for your comments on my Target story, but Steph posted her call to action and I typed this up so I could participate.  Thank you thank you thank you my friends for your kind and supportive comments.  I almost don't feel dumb about it all anymore. (Almost.)  You are wonderful.  

PPS.  I realize it sounds like I never ever put him down and that is kind of true but very honestly?  It is mostly because of the siblings-hurting-him thing.  I have worn each subsequent baby more than the last, and I'm so glad I have it as option to keep him up where the older kids can't crush him or try to pick him up or feed him raisins.