Christmas Day

Our poor ornament-less tree because ornaments with a 17 month old is a joke // Both boys stopped opening their stockings when they got to the candy, which happened to be the first thing they both pulled out. I opened the rest of their stockings for them // Opening presents. A family that picks their nose together stays together // We hosted brunch but my lovely sister and mom pretty much took over the kitchen (two thumbs up) // The shopping cart is the new point of contention. Hooper seems to be a hobo in training // We said goodbye to family and played with new toys, namely the bitchin’ kitchen (compliments of my sister) // We opted to drive down to the beach to get out of the house and catch the sunset. It was beautiful and absolutely perfect. Ignore how stiff I look, I’m workin’ on it // Christmas dinner is overrated. We drove down Ventura and stopped for what ended up being mediocre pizza. It was a perfect day. Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas as well!

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Christmas Eve

That night Van boogied to the tunes on the juke box, the men sipped on whiskey and the women on wine, and Hooper ruined (we let him) a game of cut-throat.
I’ll be back tomorrow with some photos from our Christmas day. If you have links to your own holiday posts, please leave them in the comment section below!

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52/52

A portrait of my husband, once a week, every week, in 2013.
I didn’t stop loving my husband when my children were born, but love – in general – became redefined. My love for my children was all-consuming and nothing in the world seemed to measure up to the love I had for them. I’m speaking in past tense, but my love for them today is the same.
I payed less attention to my marriage in those early days as my new motherly instinct took over. I didn’t love Willy any less, per say. Rather, I had one little man whose life literally depended on me and one real man who was more or less capable of caring for himself. And so my attention went to my son.
And then, before we knew it, there were two. Everyone says your love multiplies and while I agree with a few astrics attached, I’d argue further that your attention gets divided. And suddenly, Willy fell further from the front of my mind. I didn’t nurture our relationship like I once did. In fact, at times I’d say I even resented what seemed to be an uneven amount of “shared” responsibility. I had envisioned entering motherhood as a team and the reality of it was that I somehow had more responsibilities; my life felt more heavily impacted.
As a side note, our marriage didn’t suffer. I can’t say that this was a hard time for us or that we fought a lot; Rather, there was a lot of adjusting and sorting and trying to keep our heads above water and life continued on and eventually we got our bearings as new parents. A lot of what I’m saying now are things that I’ve recognized in hindsight.
And so, at the start of 2013 when I thought about joining Jodi’s 52 week project, I thought of my husband.
You see, having a second kid has a way of knocking you over the head. When Van came along, our world became chaotic. Not necessarily all at once, but gradually. I mean two kids so close together in age is hard. And at some point in the shuffle I remember looking over at Willy and feeling overcome with gratitude. He is my partner. I get to navigate my way through this chaos with him, my best friend.
It’s funny… You spend your young adult years dating and searching for the “one” and, if you’re lucky, you find him and chose him to be your husband. Then, a few years later – if you’re lucky again – you give birth to a child that granted you don’t really know at all. And suddenly you forget all about the one you’ve chosen and become all consumed with a complete stranger.
In any event, I was called to shoot my husband for this 52 week project for reasons I didn’t fully understand in the beginning. But now, 52 weeks later, the reason for the calling is clear: A reminder, perhpas, that I chose him. And I’m oh-so-glad I did.
I love you, Willy. Thanks for letting me put my camera in your face or behind your back or over your head. You’re a real trooper.
Not sure what I’m going to shoot for next year’s project. I gather I have a week to think about it.
You can check out the complete series by clicking here.

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It was a Merry one, indeed.

This Christmas was more low-key than any thus far. We stayed close to home since I’m still recovering and quite limited. Every time I go out, I feel like I can practically see the gas in the tank running out.
But I’ll tell ya, nothing pushes your limits more than a best friend.
Janet and I met up a few days before Christmas to take the kids to see Santa at the local animal shelter (Sarah got

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to go too). Carla and Van weren’t having it and if you could see the amount of make-up Santa had on, you’d probably want off his lap too. The next night we grabbed a bite to eat and took the kids to the candy cane lane in Moorpark. And then, on Christmas Eve, we hosted a little brunch.

I have loads more pictures from Christmas day to upload, so I’ll share those next week. Happy Friday, y’all!

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Christmas 2013

Van pretending to be Santa | Finally got around to making Christmas cookies this year, thanks to my lovely sister | We’ve had lots of Christmas art projects. They last about 10 seconds and are, um, not quite showroom ready | We went to visit Santa, twice. The first time we waited in line until my back could stand it no longer, so we never quite made it. When we did, Santa got a good laugh out of Hooper’s note. Both boys were stoked on their candy canes. I’m not a fan of not being able to take your own photos with Santa. That’s dumb. For $20… I mean… (We actually saw Santa a third time at the animal shelter but I have yet to upload those shots, so TBC…) | We’ve been playing a game we call “mailman”. Because of my recovery and a husband that is clueless about Christmas shopping, I’ve done everything online this year. Needless to say, a lot of packages have

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arrived. A little someone likes to open the door and accept the package over and over again. It’s a game that entails a lot of doorbell ringing.

Oh ya, and Hooper has been picking his nose. A lot.
Feeling grateful to be feeling a bit better just in time for this cherished time with family and friends. Merry Christmas Eve. Hope everyone has a Merry and bright one tomorrow.

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The Tree

Shopping for

a Christmas Tree in Southern California is always a little under-whelming, in my opinion. I mean, if walking down aisle after aisle of Christmas trees in your mall’s parking lot in 80 degree weather is your thing, then please forgive me. Something about the fake snow blown on to the trees made me yearn for some real cold weather; they kind where you need some hot cocoa to warm your hands just as bad as you need it to warm your belly. I’m longing to see my own breath in front of me and it’s just not happening this year.

What is happening is picking our nose and eating it. So, there’s always that.

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A day with my best friend, part II

It surprises me every year when we find ourselves at the beach in the “dead” of winter. This day was particularly beautiful; a warm 70 degrees and no wind. Sometimes the elements just come together when your soul sister is in town. After the beach, we grabbed a bite to eat at my of our favorite local joints. It was a day for the memory bank for sure; all of them, with her, are.
You can click here to see a little video Janet put together of our time at the beach. It definitely brought me through some dark days of recovery.

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Hooper & Recovery

I knew I’d be relying on a lot of people post operatively. And none have disappointed. My husband, my parents, my in-laws, my grandma, my sister, and a handful of friends have been making this merry-go-round go round. I’ve been filled with more gratitude than pain, more love than weakness.
I didn’t expect any help, in any way, from either of my boys.
There was an evening, before my surgery, that I explained all that was going on to Hooper. Nervous and anxious, I cried as I told him his Mama was going to have a big owie on her back. To my surprise, he got down off the sofa, kissed my back, and instructed me to see his pediatrician.
Following my return home from rehab, I had several breakdowns. I had no idea how emotional recovery would be. I sat there at the dinner table, nauseous with my stomach in knots, crying over a plate of food I could not eat but knew my bony frame needed to eat. And it was Hooper who was first to climb down from his chair and wrap his arms around his fragile Mama proclaiming, “I make Mama allllllll better”. He was a bit perplexed when his sweet gesture made me cry harder; eyes as big as I’ve ever seen filled with concern, worry, and love for his Mama.
When the physical therapist (aka my mom) comes to the house to do ultrasound on my neck, it’s Hooper who pulls up a chair next to me and insists on watching as his Nina (grandma) makes Mama “allllll better”. And when I wake up in the morning and dangle at the edge of the bed, it’s Hooper who will stop anything he’s doing to help me with my brace. And when he goes for a bike ride or a walk outside, he always returns with a bouquet of dandelions he picked for none other than his Mama.
It warms my heart.
It’s so interesting to watch how your children adapt to new circumstances; how their character grows and expands. His tender touch, his helping spirit, his genuine concern… These past few months I have been so proud to call him my son.
Wishing his kindness would transfer over to his relationship with his brother. That’s a whole other story…

The Long Way Home

Srinagar, Very Northern India, 2006
Tonight, the truth came to me and it came through the hospitality of a local. Sharing time with another family, in another country, of another religion. They changed the entire vibe surrounding Srinagar. They accepted us, fed us, and proved that indeed, you must get into a book before you draw any conclusions after only reading the introduction. And thus, we decided not to leave Srinagar just yet.

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My Everyday

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do

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that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

Martin Luther King, Jr.

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Recovery & The Space Between

A few weeks ago, Willy put Van down for a nap and took Hooper with him to go to the grocery store. As he walked out the door, I recall how he begged and pleated with me not to pick Van up if he wakes up early from his nap. Internally, I rolled my eyes, and reminded him that I have to use a straw to drink out of a cup because physically tilting the cup up is too painful.
And that’s how life had been in those first few weeks.
I spent the better part of my days in bed, turning from left to right every couple of hours when the pressure on my bony hip grew to be too relentless. I secretly celebrated two days after I got released from the hospital when I was able to turn and reconfigure the pillows entirely on my own. Between the pain and the twisting/bending/lifting restrictions, it wasn’t easy. But these days, I’m trying to celebrate the small things.
If I didn’t celebrate the small things, I’d fall into a depression. I can guarantee this to be true because there have been entire days where I couldn’t stop crying, where I practically drowned in the tears of a self-pity party. Hooper caught me in one of these moments and was so genuinely concerned, so fearful, and I couldn’t suck it up; the depression weakened me to the point where I couldn’t even fake strength in the face of my own children. That’s not a testament to my weakness, but rather to the depression’s strength.
I have to remind myself often that I had a major surgery and I have to constantly cut my body some slack for taking the time it needs to repair itself. Recovery has been a trying experience.
Willy and I blew up at each other the other day. We both were more or less ignorant about what to emotionally expect in the face of recovery. What ensued was a long drive and a discussion on perspective. I have to remind myself on a regular basis that I elected to have the surgery I did. Sure, surgeon after surgeon told me it was necessary but ultimately it was me who said when. At the moment, we’re struggling with the space between; trying desperately to deal with pain and limitations and a ridiculously chaotic household in light of the fact that what is our reality today will not be our reality a few months from now. Countless friends and family members have stepped in to help and what I’m realizing is that more than food on the table or entertainment for our boys, we need perspective and patience; A reminder that what we’re going through is indeed temporary. The truth is that all of us – you and me – are in a state of transition.
Everything is temporary.  
I reminded myself of this notion when I gave birth to Van and felt like a hungover college student (due to the sleepless nights, of course) for the first three months of his life. And now, more than ever, words have never rung truer. The space between is a road we all must travel, but the further we travel, the more the gap closes. And the more the gap closes, the more you realize it was all temporary anyway.

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The Surgery Story

I was baffled when the man behind the counter said “two hundred”. And yet, as I was shuffled from one waiting room full of people to the next waiting room full of people, it dawned on me that they have this surgery business down to the same way as a farmer herding his cattle. It didn’t feel real until I made it to the final room and Willy was asked to wait for me somewhere else. At that point, I followed a young man who quickly led me to a gurney and encouraged me to transform from street walker to patient as he reminded me, like us medical personal always do, “gown opens to the back”. And just like that, I looked just like the person next to me, who wore the same hospital gown and sat anxiously awaiting her fate on a different gurney.
The doctor came over to talk to her and pulled the curtain to give a false sense of privacy. I overheard that she was about to undergo a crainiotomy for some sort of leison pressing on an optical nerve. I used her crainiotomy to lessen the fears I had about my own spinal surgery. I mean, she was having brain surgery. All I could imagine were those eggs sizzling on a frying pan from those commercials in the 90’s that reminded us what our brains were like on drugs. Not that there was any correlation. But then I heard her doctor say, “Not to worry, crainiotomys are actually quite simple procedures and the pain post operatively is minimal… nothing compared to what the spinal patients have to go through”.
Just the words I needed to hear.
And then it was my turn.
Suddenly my little guerny was surrounded with people. A pre-op nurse struggled to chime in and collect my medical history, of which there was none. The anesthesiologist had a student with him. I let her try to place my IV. She missed twice before the anesthesiologist stepped in and insisted on doing it himself. I saw my surgeon at the end of the gurney talking to Willy. He asked if I was ready, I gave him a nod, not really knowing if I was ready or not; “As ready as I imagine I’ll ever be” would have been a more honest response.
Someone asked if I’d like something put through my IV line to “calm down”. I wasn’t noticeably anxious, but I gladly accepted. They pushed some versed through my IV line and as they started moving the gurney down the hall, my mind became a bit cloudy and I surrendered. I glanced around the operating room and then the lights went out; not literally, but figuratively.
My surgery was supposed to take 4 to 6 hours. Willy waited, fighting his own anxieties, with my dad in a waiting room. It took 8 hours.
When I came to, I was in pain. A lot of pain. There were a lot of people around me again and I quickly realized I was back to where I started only with a lot of pain and surrounded by people who were no longer strangers to my body. My blood pressure was low and I was given some extra fluid through my IV line, which had been switched to a central line in the jugular vein in my neck. I also had an arterial line in my left wrist, two drains coming out from my back, a foley catheter to drain my bladder, and pumps on my legs to prevent blood clots.
I spent two days in the ICU. I was told I lost a total of 2L of blood (the average woman has about 4L of blood) and I was given 4 units of blood as a result. My blood pressure remained in the 70-80’s (120 is normal) and I was given several bags of added fluid.
I looked like a balloon. My eyes were so swollen I couldn’t open them. I couldn’t even tell you what that ICU room looked like. In fact, my ICU nurse came to visit me days later and I recognized him only by his voice. My stomach was incredibly distended and painful and I had horrible pitting edema on both of my lower extremities.
It felt like forever before they were able to give me something for my pain (pain medication causes your blood pressure to lower, so they couldn’t give me anything until my blood pressure was under control). When they did, I got a button and was told to press it whenever I needed something for pain. Then I was nauseous.
Two days later I was transferred to the less-acute spine unit.
Before my surgery, I had anticipated bringing my lap top to the hospital to write and surf the web and pass the time. I remember thinking immediately how silly that was. I was in no condition to even sit up in bed, let alone put coherent thoughts together. It’s been nearly two months and only now am I able to sit down for any length of time to put write my thoughts down and it has taken several sessions to finish this post.
I stayed on the spine unit for another 5 days before being transferred to another hospital for an inpatient rehab program. I stayed there for an additional 5 days before finally coming home.
It’s been a long, trying, road. Recovery is not easy. A few people have called me brave, which makes me laugh. I’ve cried and cursed a lot. I’ve felt weak and frail and defeated. I’ve had episodes of depression and, even worse, episodes of withdrawal when I tried to stop taking my pain medication.
I’m not even close to the end of the road. Technically speaking, it takes the spine an entire year to fuse. But I do rest easier knowing the worst is behind me. There are plateaus that are sure to come that bring with them frustration and doubt, but the worst is behind me. The worst is behind me, the worst is behind me, the worst is behind me. Like a ruthless teenager writing standards on the chalkboard in high school, I need to say it repeatedly to bang it into my darn head. Really though, the worst IS behind me. Right?
The details: On October 10th I had 13 levels of my spine fused due to curvature from scoliosis (thoracic 62 degrees, lumbar 48 degrees). Because my curve was progressive in nature, surgery was required. My curvature did not cause me pain or limitations. I was told that they had to fracture each vertebrae on both sides for a total of 26 fractures so that the 27 screws and 2 rods could be placed. I gained an inch and a half in height and lost a chunk of weight due to the pain medication I was on. I have to wear my back brace for a few more weeks. Recovery takes about 6 months. Feel free to ask any questions you may have in the comment section below.

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An Interview with Jessica Kraus, from House Inhabit

Please, introduce yourself to my readers. 
Hi there. My name is Jessica Kraus, I am a stay at home mom chasing after three (soon-to-be-four) incredible (endlessly energetic) little boys. A proud Scorpio and a hard core Bod Dylan / Woody Allen fan. Like every one else now days’s I keep up a personal blog documenting some of our little life highlights, as well as run a side business alongside my husband making / selling canvas teepees for children.
Using one adjective for each, describe each member of your gaggle.
Alright.
Mike: Practical
Arlo: Determined
Leon: Dreamy
Rex:  Fearless  
I’m such a fan of the You Are My Wild series. Tell me what your experience has been like with the project thus far. 
Oh gosh, It’s been far more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. Not only because the other members involved happen to be top notch photographers (many of whom I have respected from afar for years prior) but also because we have all become fairly close in our real life communications, developing a relationship outside of “wild” and Instagram, which is where our connection was initially rooted. A fun littler chat group that’s developed via facebook, where we all check in through the week, bounce ideas, concerns, day to day frustrations, ect. off one another. And we laugh. Lots. They are a great, incredibly funny, super talented group of people and I am so grateful to have been included in the project. I would never refer to myself as a photographer, but the project has definitely forced me to push myself and the raw skills I do have so that I don’t completely embarrass myself on a weekly basis.
Of the images you’ve submitted for You Are My Wild, which one is your favorite thus far?
I don’t know that I have a favorite. Only because from week to week they are slightly different, growing always and forever inspiring me to embrace the present and enjoy every second of their ever fleeting journey as children. 
Don’t lie. Were you hoping Rex was a girl?
Oh Absolutely. I was pretty positive he was going to be a girl. We had kept it a surprise until the end so when I saw a third penis I was in complete shock. I couldn’t stop laughing. The state of shock I have yet to fully recover from – not because of the fact that we have another boy – but because that boy, is more BOY, than any boy I’ve ever met. That kid is taking years off my life, I can feel it.
I want to have a third. Willy says yes, jokingly, some days and absolutely no, not jokingly, other days. You have three. What do you think? Do you regret your decision. Ha! Of course you don’t. That’s a silly way to ask the question. Allow me to rephrase: Tell me how wonderful it is to have three boys (I know my third will be a boy and, truthfully speaking, I’m not sure I’d even know what to do with a girl).
I always say: having three kids is not hard. Having two kids, AND Rex, is beyond exhausting. But in all honesty, they are so darn hilarious it makes up for every single plight they put me through. Even in the wreck & chaos that engulfs us daily, they make me laugh constantly. The three of them are so entirely different in every way imaginable, that sometimes they feel like characters out of a comic strip. Also, the natural notion of a brother’s bond is the best. Seeing them engaged in a fist fight one second and then falling asleep piled into each other, bodies entwined, in a tiny bed, is pretty much the sweetest sight I can possibly fathom. I say have a third! Makes you feel like you’re really working.  
Your husband makes stuff. How do you keep your hands off a man like that? Rhetorical question. Really though, how nice and useful is that? 
Haha! Right? Obviously one of his most admirable qualities. And really the very reason I fell in love with him in the first place. I liked his old school work ethic and the fact that he can literally fix or build anything he sets his mind to. Be it plumbing, landscape, guitar, carpentry, electric, or restoring all those debunked automobiles. He knows a lot about a lot that I don’t, so it keeps me intrigued. Not to mention he also has some kind of superhuman energy, unlike anybody else I’ve ever known that enables him to wake at 4am, work a laborious 8 hour job, drive home in God awful traffic and still find time to build the teepees, tinker with an engine, play in a band and spend time with the boys, in addition to all the regular stuff it takes to keep up an active household like ours. He’s incredible. The only thing I’ve ever seen him fail at is wallpapering. And, well, he wasn’t much help with diapers either, but I let that one slide.
If I could have any talent in the world, I’d love to sing. Instead, I’m good at preventing cavities. I’ve never had one despite the fact that I didn’t even floss until I met my husband. How about you?… What talent do you wish you had… or if you want to share your cavity prevention strategies, that’s fine too.
I really wish I could cook. Like gourment meals built on exotic ingredients that everybody really loved. I am a bare essentials woman in the kitchen. Typically clinging to super simple meals. I could use some lessons.
I’m dying to read your upcoming post on public schools, sum up your thoughts in one sentence. 
Thank you for reminding me that I need to write that! In short, I think it gets a pretty bad rap. I have quite a bit to offer in it’s defense. If in fact I ever get around to actually writing a post longer than a single paragraph.  
Have you ever considered home school? I don’t think I have it in me. And I love Heather Rome’s whole thing she has going with her husband during the school year: #wedatewhileourkidseducate. I think I could get on board with that. Hashtag: makes me look forward to preschool.
I think homeschooling can be a great. A rewarding experience for certain mothers, and their children. But I think it depends on the kid, and how they respond to the parent in the teacher role. I did briefly consider the home schooling route just before Arlo entered kindergarten, but came to the conclusion that I really truly do not have the patience in me to provide a well rounded, focused education. Plus my math skills literally stopped at second grade, so it just wasn’t a  practical option for me. And really, I feel very fortunate for the lessons I took aways from my own experiences at a public school and hope they will experience some of the same.
One more school question. I hate schedule. How hard is it, with three kids, to mix in some spontaneity? I dread starting my boys in school. I hate when everyday starts to look the same. Tell me it’s wonderful, even if you have to lie.
It’s defiantly hard on a spontaneous sprit, but we make the most of it and are pretty lenient when it comes to missing days here and there for special occasions. We let Arlo miss some times to go to Disneyland with his grandparents, or like last week – stay an extra day with them in a vacation cabin in the snow. I’ve also been known to keep them home when I see they are overly exhausted and maybe need a day to rest and recharge. In other words, we aren’t sticklers for attendance and I think the boys will hopefully look back on those special days outside of school with the same fondness I had for my own childhood “ditch days.”
You’re such a beautiful writer. Tell me more.
Hey, thank you! I do have a degree in English and was thoroughly enthralled by fiction workshops most of my later college years. Somewhere in the back of my head I fantasized about writing fiction for a living but decided to have babies back to back right out of graduating instead. I gave up the planned high school teaching gig and found my way as a mother, writer, creative whatever, as I went along. The blog is the only place I share my writing (brief as most of my postings may be) for now. But that doesn’t mean I don’t look forward to expanding that little “hobby” at some point down the line. 
You and Denise have such a beautiful friendship. How did it start? How long have you been friends? Tell me what you value most about your relationship with her. Go ahead, make me miss my best friend more than I already do.
Aww, my best friend since preschool moved across the country for a few years awhile back and it broke my heart not to have her around for that period of my life. I know how you feel *Hugs*
As for Denise. It’s a friendship that sprung from Instagram (as modern day connections tend to go these days, eh?) We realized early on – through our shared photographs – that we had quite a bit in common with lifestyle in general. The first time I met her I knew instantly that we would be fast friends and it’s been the case ever since. We just get each other, the way people that have been friends for ages do, we get along easily and both have similar outlooks on the arts, plus we laugh like teenagers when we’re together. It’s an easy, fun, and very close knit connection. And, she is one of the funniest gals I know. Always keeps me on my toes, which I admire a lot in anyone in my life.
I know you’re a huge Dylan fan. I am too. I’ve seen him three times. The first was back in the 90’s (Oh Lord, that’s long enough ago to refer to the time by it’s decade… it just got all awkward up in here) and the last time was just a few years ago. He was great way back when but the last time I saw him was a bit rough. Do you still go see him live? Willie Nelson, on the other hand, now there’s an 80 year old that I’ll still throw my panties at.
I’ve heard Willie Nelson is killer live. I’ve got to see him one of these days. Dylan I’ve watched a handful of times starting when I was 16 and ending somewhere in my twenties. For me, each experience has been more painful than the last. I refuse to put myself through it again. He is what I consider to be one of my greatest loves – his songs, the soundtrack of life – cheesy as it sounds – so I can’t bear to see him reduced to a frail man waling through unrecognizable songs that I hold so dear to my heart. One concert he simply disappeared off stage for more than 20 minutes. The band was utterly baffled, the audience worried. I couldn’t stop thinking he walked off and just keeled over backstage. Ruined me for good as far as live shows go. And therefore the end of my “gotta see Dylan when he’s in town!” train of thought.
While we’re on the topic of music, here’s a taste of how random my music library is: I listen to old country, some folk, some Spanish (I love Buena Vista Social Club), oldschool hip hop like Grandmaster Flash, even some old R&B like Chaka Khan, and lots of other stuff. Gimme a glimpse into the variety in your music library.
Ooh, you’ve got a flavorfull mix there, lady. B.V.S.Club I’ll need to look into. I like mostly everything too. Folk and old blues are my favorite. But we are also stocked with a ton of old country and classic rock. I adore early Elton John and Stevie Wonder, was really in awe of Amy Winehouse’s untethered talent (miss her still) will forever love  Lauren Hill and Fiona Apple, and will admit to having a huge (and lasting) crush on Jay Z. I’m not good at keeping up on newer music. But I don’t make much of an effort because I tend to depend on a couple younger (hipper) friends to keep me posted on that stuff. Just a few of the “newer” artists around I’m digging are: Edward Sharpe, Shovels and Rope, Father John Misty and Cat Power aways.
Wanna trade mixed tapes? Ya, I said tapes. Whatever.
Sure! Mine just might take a loooooong time to get to you. I’m awful with mail, or any kind.
How many bruises do you have on your legs right now? I have one huge purple on on my right thigh. The joys of having boys, I suppose.
I live in long skirts so I don’t count anymore. Please don’t make me count?
How many cars have you guys owned? And given the fact you like to buy and sell so many, how ’bout sending one my way :: wink wink :: 
We have owned a LOT of cars. We could care less about having a fancy daily driver. We both vow to drive our real cars to the ground. BUT, we do enjoy a cool old set of wheels as our weekend backup. We’ve had everything from mustangs, to falcons, to novas, to VW buses to big old RV boats and now the beloved old land rover and busted bronco sitting in our driveway currently. I told Mike he needs to pick one of the two. I’m still waiting on his decision. I’ll send you the outcast?
Your favorite qualities in a women. 
Humility, loyalty, sense of humor, and open mindedness.
Your favorite qualities in a man.
Humility, diligence, creativity and looking good in beards and white tee shirts.
If not yourself, who would you be?
TIna Turner. Everybody who knows me knows the fact of it. I’ll explain another time.
Where would you like to live? Where would you like to travel?
I’d like to live closer to the ocean. With a bit more land. As for travel, it’s not my strong suit, I’m comfortable near home or at home. And I’ve come to accept that in myself rather than trying to force a seeking spirit where there is not.
Advice you would have given your 20 year old self.
Don’t waste so much time and energy on trying to be so “good.” Your 30s will take care of that real quick. 
Advice you would have given your first-time pregnant self.
Each child is different. They all flourish on their own time. Don’t compare!
You strike me as a woman who always has a trick up her sleeve. What’s next?
Hmm, let’s see  . . .
If I can get organized and stay focused we will be launching our children’s line this Winter. A project we’ve been working on that is so long overdue. As well as a creative venture I hope might evolve and allow us to put our stamp on various products we care about down the line. I’d love to write a children’s book. And there is talk of setting up a mobile shop in a vintage trailer to house our Little Folk merchandise, but it all comes back to organization and focus. It’s easy to sit around with all these brilliant ideas. It takes a real determination to see them through. Balancing our time will always be our greatest struggle. But I have faith in us.
JESSICA KRAUS | Blog | Etsy | Instagram

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The Long Way Home

Srinagar, Very Northern India, 2006
After a grungy, loose screws on the wheels, it’ll-make-your-fillings-fall-out bumpy 25 hour bus ride, we’ve been dropped off amongst the beauty, wonder, and awe of the Himalayas in a Muslim town where some look at us with curiosity and others simply look at us like they want to kill us. We are surrounded by a huge military presence, staying on a houseboat where we are being held prisoner by none other than ourselves. The view from the front of the boat is friendly; a beautiful lake I would have considered swimming in had I not recognized the dead duck, the floating condom, or the pipe that connects the lake directly to our toilet. Nonetheless, beautiful to look, not touch. Beautiful reflections, beautiful canoes, beautiful trees, mountains, and air. So we’re dealing with it the same way you ought to deal with every situation – taking the good with the bad, the beauty with the ugly, the high with the low or what have you, and we’re making the best of it. Taking the time to enjoy nothing more than time itself. The sound of oars meeting the water, of cows mooing, of Muslims chanting from seemingly far away places, of birds chirping and ducks paddling, and the sound of footsteps stomping down our wooden hallway bring breakfast, lunch, and dinner… all harmoniously combine to make our “prison” stay not so dreadful after all.

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Thanksgiving

{That’s Hooper trying to “help” lift Van into his high chair… heart. melt.}
Thanksgiving marked the 3rd day (of what turned out to be 6) in a row that I left the house since my surgery (I’m hoping to f i n a l l y finish a post about my surgery, and another about my recovery, sometime this weekend). I’m paying the price now, I suppose, for allowing myself more freedom than I should have. Screw recovery.
We spent Thanksgiving morning making breakfast, doing facetime with out-of-state family, and riding bikes / giraffes around the block. After breakfast our entire house shook as a helicopter landed at a school at the end of the block. Complete with a fire engine and ambulance, I’m pretty sure it was the highlight of the boys’ day. I won’t discuss any details because it makes my heart hurt too bad. Last I heard, all is well. Or on its way toward well.
Later in the afternoon, we met up with family and ate more food than we should have.
Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving as well.

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