Category: Motherhood

What kind of mom are you?

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Parenting, Van

There’s loads of different ways to mother a child but I like to break it down to two categories: those who prevent the mess or those who clean it up later. A while ago, my dad suggested I read a story called “Spilled Milk”. I’m not sure where the story came from; leave it to my dad to hand me a neon yellow sheet of paper that has a story about spilled milk on one side and suggestions for password security on the other.
In any case, the story was about a boy who lost his grip on a bottle of milk he was trying to remove from the refrigerator. In true childlike fashion, the milk ended up on the floor. Rather than scold her son, the mother turned the spilled milk into a lesson by stating that when a mess is made, it must eventually be cleaned up. She then gave her son different options for cleaning it up, suggesting a

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sponge, towel, or mop. The boy chose the sponge and they cleaned up the mess together. When the mess was cleaned, she brought her son outside and allowed him to practice carrying the milk without spilling it. The lesson of the story being that we must not be afraid to make mistakes, that with each mistake comes an opportunity for a valuable lesson.

Sure, it’s all kind of cheesy and if you could read, verbatim, the language used you’d have cheese seeping out your ears (I know, it’s a lovely visual). But as I was busy the other morning wanting to ream Van’s neck for throwing ice all over the floor, I thought of this story.
And when he insisted on drinking from a water bottle in my car only to have half of it spill all over himself, I thought of it again.
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And when I needed to use the boys’ clean bath towel to soak up all the water they were spilling out of their bath, I thought of it again.
And when Hooper took my perfectly folded laundry and insisted on helping by picking it up and throwing it in his brother’s room (where it actually did need to go), I thought of it yet again.
And when Hooper started copying me in the yard by cleaning up Sarah’s turds (I had a bag over my hand, he did not), I thought of it again.
I can’t say that each and every one of these scenarios turned into a thoughtful lesson that ended with them practicing cleaning up dog shit, for example, but a lot of them did end with a shoulder shrug, a “thank you for helping”, or a good hand scrubbin’.
That’s because I’ve accepted that I can’t win them all. In fact, I don’t even want to win them all. I love the idea of a child being a child. I love watching my boys explore their world. I see their admiration for me every time they mimic my behavior.
So sometimes spilled milk is okay. Just so long as it’s not spilled breast milk, right?!
What kind of mom are you? Do you embrace messes or try your hardest to prevent them?

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Tidbits…

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood
Hooper has really picked up on right and wrong. I suppose we have preschool to thank for that. The other day I pinched his butt. It was an oh-my-god-I-can’t-help-myself-your-toddler-butt-is-nearly-edible moments and the little booger called me out and reprimanded me, “no pinching, Mama!”. I shrugged it off and to this day find it rather cute. What’s not cute is when Willy and I took him on a bike ride and he decided to be a total tantrum throwing sour puss. Willy made him come off his bike and grabbed him by his arm and just as some people were walking to their car he says, “no grabbing me, Papa”.
Crazy cool images of unborn animals in the womb. I think the elephant is my favorite.  
An interesting article on the importance of birth order. I couldn’t agree more… my sister, who is older, is the “planner”… I’m the “I’ll buy a jacket when I get to the mountains” type. Does the assumption that first born = achiever, second born = peacemaker, third born = life of the party hold true in your family?
Jennifer Senior, author of “All Joy and No Fun” was on the Colbert show. I kinda wish he would have stopped interrupting her and just let her talk. I also wish someone would have put a guitar on her lap and made her sing (I love me some rasp).
The other evening was one of those evenings where Willy and I were both looking at the clock and wondering if we could move bedtime up to the present time. It had been a fun-filled day complete with missed naps, which truthfully never ends well. I always envisioned being a “carefree” mom who said “boo-hoo” to schedules but the childless day dreamer that I once was knew nothing of the consequences for missed naps. In any event, we contemplated throwing the boys in the car and just going for a drive to get out. It’s hard for them to push, hit, or bite whenever when they’re restrained by their seat belts. Instead, we opted to hide. No, really. When they weren’t looking, we made a break for it and sat in the shower; Willy with his glass of whiskey, me with a glass of wine. And you know what? It was heavenly. For whatever reason, they played together peacefully. It was as if when the referees weren’t there they just instinctively knew they had to play fair. We must have sat in that shower for at least a half hour; long enough for Sarah to curl up on the bath mat and join us. So next time they’re pissin’ me off, you can find me in the shower.
The wonderfully talented Amy Grace invited me to participate in both her “grown ups” chorus as well as her ” ” chorus. You can read all the beautiful entries and browse all the lovely images by clicking here and here. Many thanks to Amy for giving me a voice. I hope to meet her one day, live and in person.
One of my favorite photographers, Dera Frances, was featured over on the Childhood Unplugged blog. Her work is always an inspiration to me and her daughters are just so beautiful. I love what she chooses to capture and how she captures it. You can check out the interview here.
I was invited to share my 5 favorite things for the boys over on the Simple Savvy blog. I went with the practical things we use everyday.
Remember that really cute post of Van behind the wheel of Willy’s truck. Well, following that the battery died and $850 dollars later (somehow the cables or something got damaged) we decided the boys are no longer allowed to play in the cars.
I went on Photo Field Trip in El Capitan the other weekend. It was a blast to meet some virtual friends in the flush. Perhaps my favorite part of the weekend was an inspirational speech given by Dallas Clayton. I still can’t seem to shake his energy out of my blood stream and I’m so thankful for that. He’s nothing short of extraordinary. You can check out fellow photographer Kelly Christine’s amazing images from the weekend here. I’m hoping to get around to posting a few pics I took during the weekend as well, though truthfully I didn’t take many. It rained for much of the time and schlepping my camera around wears on my neck and back.
I just adored this post from Jessica. I stopped following many of the blogs I used to read; partly because I just don’t have the time and partly because I just can’t stand the in-your-face sponsored posts. I love that she approached the topic from a place of sincerity. I also can’t wait to check out her new project.
Ama sent me this video and pretty much made my night. If you knew how many random tractor videos I have to watch in a week, you’d know why I find this so hilarious. Thanks for the laugh, Ama.
One of my very kind readers recognized a photo I had posted as coming from Alain Laboile. I checked out his work then and there and have gone back several times since. He is amazing.

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My Baby

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Family, Life, Motherhood, Van
It was Valentine’s Day, a day we typically don’t celebrate. Not as a couple, anyway. We have lots of love for one another and our love is rooted deeper in a genuine friendship and we’ve both always considered it a bit silly to dedicate one day – and the same day as everyone else, no less – to express our gratitude for one another. So, when Willy came home with flowers and red vines I looked at him perplexed and awkwardly apologized for not having anything tangible to give him in return.
Then I requested that we go for a drive. Get out. Enjoy what was a beautiful day. And so, we did.
We headed to the canyon, a short 5 minute drive from our home. Hooper fell asleep in the back seat and as we got out to watch the sun set behind the rocky hills, we decided to leave him be. I snapped a couple shots of Willy with Van before asking Willy to place Van in my arms.
It’s been over four months since I’ve held either of my boys. And, more times than not, I’ve found that my need to hold them coupled with my inability to do so has been an unwelcome lesson in patience; when they are not cooperating or when they’re throwing tantrums or when they decide that climbing off their beds is more fun than climbing into their beds or when they get hurt and look to me to comfort them and I can do nothing. When Willy placed Van in my arms, I expected squirming and a full-fledged protest of confinement. What I got was my youngest son, my baby, in my arms. All to myself. His head on my chest, even if for just a moment.
We got back in the car after the sun went down. Hooper was still asleep in the back sleep, dreaming dreams of french fries or firemen- I’m sure. And as we drove away, I told Willy that that moment and the photo that captured it was the best gift I could have received.
The flowers died and the licorice got eaten, but this right here, these images – these memories – will always live on.
Today, I’m feeling grateful for my family.

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The hysteria that is motherhood

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Parenting
A snippet of my time with the Kraus family
Sometimes it’s just so hard getting out the door. By the time all are fed and dressed and bags are packed, it feels like it’s time to go to bed and do the same thing all over again; all without ever actually walking out the door. So when the car is packed and all but one member of your gang has piled in, you turn a blind eye to your youngest member who comes out holding his shoelaces to his oversized shoes in his hands like a stilt walker holds his poles. You just do.  
With a chuckle and a giggle and perhaps a slight shake of the head; that’s how you get through motherhood.

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Ramblings on my postpartum body

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Motherhood, Pregnancy
This post is long, long overdue. But, here goes nothing…
-I lost all my pregnancy weight, and then some, while breastfeeding Van. The same happened with Hooper. I know that many struggle to lose the “baby weight” and while this is not a problem of mine, I do feel emaciated. My face looks deflated and I feel like a pole. Hate me for being thin all you want, but I feel far from sexy. And my muscle tone is for shit.
-If I could have any body, I’d love to have hips and butt. Curves are so feminine and beautiful.
-Despite the weight loss, I have a pooch. It feels weird to be so scrawny everywhere else, but then have a protrusion. I hesitated doing any sit-ups in the beginning because I have diastasis recti and read that doing sit ups could make the separation/protrusion worse. I waited for that gap between my abdominal muscles to close, but thanks to my 9+ pound babies, that has yet to occur. I’m not convinced sit-ups would help anyway. Nor am I currently even able to do a sit-up due to my restrictions following back surgery.
-Speaking of working out, I used to think doing some push-ups and sit-ups here and there would be beneficial but now-a-days it seems that people have it down to some complicated recipe of doing a variety of exercises and drinking weird drinks and putting powdered shit into their gross smoothies. I can’t seem to bring myself to board that train. So for a long time after giving birth, I did nothing and felt bad about that too.
-I’m not sure if it’s related to my scoliosis, but I’ve had more back pain since becoming a mom (I’m talking pre-surgery). I’m sure there’s many factors to this (working as a nurse, picking up kids, carrying heavy loads) but, without a doubt, I’m at a greater risk of back pain due to the lack of abdominal support I now have. With my abdominal muscles separated, my back has poor support. I felt very unbalanced prior to my surgery and my spine felt very unstable.
-I battled bad skin for the first part of my pregnancy with Van and had a few bouts of the same prior to starting my period. One pimple is enough to put me in a bad mood some days.
-My boobs feel like balls you can wobble to and fro now that they’re empty.
-Not entirely postpartum related, but my legs are always bruised from something toddler or toy-tripping-over related.
-I grew up doing gymnastics. I spent everyday in the gym, Monday through Friday, for four hours for several years of my child and adolescent years. Even in my college days, when I was coaching competitive gymnastics, I’d mess around and tumble or flip around on the trampoline. Now, I’ve never felt so stiff. I don’t feel flexible and I’m pretty sure that if I jumped on a trampoline, pee would come out. Surgery has made this even worse. It took weeks before I was even able to lift my arms above my head.
-Even before pregnancy, if I could kill for a head full of thick luscious locks and you have a head with thick luscious locks, locking your door at night would be a good idea. I would have starred on one of them 48 Hour Mysteries a long time ago. Leave it to postpartum to take something you hated beforehand and make it worse. Nothing chaps my ass worse than postpartum hair loss. I’m still growing in the bald spots.
-Then there’s the post-surgery shit to add to it… like the scar running all the way down my spine, the burn mark on my left shoulder I sustained after laying on an unwrapped part of a heating pad and could not feel due to the complete (as in, are you touching me?) numbness that covers about half of my back, the fact I cannot work out at all (not that I want to, but it would be nice to strengthen my core to help my back along), my inability to bend (you know how good it feels to twist in such a way that stretches or pops your back? I have that itch constantly but never scratch it… sometimes I think my pain would be substantially less if I could just stretch properly)… but still, there is the good too… Like having a straight spine.
I’ve read other mommy bloggers complain about their postpartum bodies and then end the post with a reminder of all their bodies have done and all our motherly bodies are capable of. Sure, it is pretty spectacular. I still struggle with self-acceptance.
How do you feel about your postpartum body?

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A few things about boys

by Ashley filed under Brothers, Life, Motherhood, Parenting

As the mother of two boys, I cannot speak on behalf of raising a girl. What I can say is that when I was a teenager, I told my mom I hated her. More than once. I remember a senior trip to Mexico that my friends and I all planned on going to to celebrate graduation from high school. High school, as in I was seventeen and wanting to go to Mexico… where they flip you upside down and shake you after taking shots of tequila so it gets to your brain faster and where you can buy just about anything you need a prescription for here without a prescription, like Viagra. Not that I wanted Viagra or to be shook upside down for that matter. I couldn’t understand, at the time, why my mom wouldn’t let me go (somehow my dad got out of these things scotch-free… all my disgust was always directed toward my mom even when the decisions – like not allowing me to go to Mexico – were made between the two of them). Every boundary felt so personal; it never felt like a decision made for my personal well-being but instead like a decision made to ruin my life. In hindsight, it was out of love, of course.
When I became pregnant with Van a lot of the other nurses at work were hoping it was a girl. People told me I needed a girl. I couldn’t, and still can’t, wrap my head around needinga daughter. Karma is a bitch, so-they-say, and – well – the idea of having a daughter who will eventually hate me when I won’t let her go to Mexico because of fear she’d be gang raped doesn’t sound so peachy. When I found out Van was indeed a boy, there was a lot of sighs and encouragement to have a third. Willy wanted Van to be a girl as well. I always wanted him to be a boy. I always knew, even before becoming pregnant, that I would be a mother to boys. And yet, I felt this weird sort of disappointment when I found out Van was a boy; it was a feeling similar to “another husband?”… “but I already have one of those“. As the reality sunk in, it hit me that my disappointment was not disappointment at all but rather projected disappointment that others were feeling for me. It clouded my own excitement for what I instinctively knew all along: I was going to be the mother to two boys.
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I cannot sit at my computer for more than five minutes without one of my munchkins climbing onto my lap and requesting to watch a tractor video. These are not cartoons, but literally tractors working on construction sites. I know all about excavators, vacuum trucks, impact hammers, bulldozers, and dump trucks. Every Friday, you’ll find the three of us sitting curbside as the garbage trucks go by. Outside our front door is a beloved pile of sticks. I’ve had a worm in my bed. Hooper has told me he likes the dress I have on and he rubs my arm in a sweet loving embrace and tells me he loves me multiple times a day.
Sure, there will be hard times with boys too. It isn’t always going to be easy and fun. It isn’t always easy and fun even now. They too may hate me one day when I don’t let them go to Mexico. The point being, I don’t think I’m missing out.
I think of having a third often. The more my body heals, the less daunting it seems. I’ve always said I wanted three. And, for the record, it won’t be a final attempt at having a girl. I would love three boys.

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Keepin' it oldschool

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting
Sometimes I hate the world we live in. What I mean is that I hate the technical aspects of the world we love in. However, I should add that I love my iPhone. And my MAC. And my iPod and lots of other things that have a little “i” in front of it. Exit Ms Pessimistic and please welcome Ms Contradiction.
Allow me to explain.
I always dreamt of having children. When I was a little girl, my mom brought me to a doll store and allowed me to pick out a doll. When she asked which one I wanted, I replied, “The one with the penis.” I’m not sure why the dolls were nude OR why the boy doll actually had a penis. I’m also not sure why I knew the word “penis.” But it’s a true story, promise. My sister and my mom can vouch for me. Fast-forward many years and here I am, mother to not one, but two boys.
Back to my dream of having children. I fantasized about what I would teach them, the places we would go, the books I would read them, how their father would interact with them, who they would become. All that good stuff. I’ll tell you what my fantasy did not include: iPods, iPads, video games, etc. I look down my street today and in place of kids playing, I see empty trash cans waiting to be pulled in and cars that somehow make it from one side of the street to the other to avoid tickets on street cleaning days.
So the question I pose is this: How do you raise a modern kid with vintage ideals?
Y’all can help me out with the answer because I have some ideas, but certainly you must have others. Multiple brains are better than one. Help this mother out.
Here are some things we do:
We support small businesses. For example, we buy handmade and vintage goodies on Etsy. We also buy from local Farmer’s Markets and opt for the local Pizza Cafe over the Little Ceasars right around the corner.
We buy ice cream from the ice cream man.
  We (try to) listen to records rather than watch TV. Though truth me told, Curious George takes the cake in this house (gun makes contact with forehead).
When we do watch cartoons, we try to put on classics like Tom & Jerry or the Flinestones. Hooper was Fred a few Halloweens ago.
We play outdoors. Luckily we live in sunny southern California, so a getaway to the beach is never out of the question. Last year, we were heading to the sand and sea into October, when temperatures were still in the triple digits. We even made it to the beach in January and a couple times in February. Nevermind the current rain storm, that will pass. 
We read old books. They’re worn. I like them for the simpler stories and old school values.
We buy vintage clothing and toys. I love the idea of re-using. All but a few pairs of Hooper’s shoes have been purchased used. And many of his toys were my own as a child. They remind me of a simpler time and I like the idea of him adding wear and tear to something I’ve already broken in with my own grubby hands.
We attend fairs, carnivals, and the local circus because we can’t get enough of deep fried twinkies, classic cars, petting zoos, and clowns.
We live in a home built in the 1950’s and do our best to keep it in it’s era. Our dream home is an Eichler.
And here’s how we mix in some modern twists:
You won’t find this mama in the kitchen. No soriee. Willy wears the apron in this family. And quite well, I might add. 
I like to capture moments with any kind of camera modern day puts in my hands. I have poloroid, film, and digital cameras. I also love instagram. Though, back in college I did spend time developing my own black and white film in the darkroom, so there is that.

Like 8mm films? Me too. Though you won’t find any 8mm film in my home. I use to the super 8 app on my iPhone to make movies like this.
How ’bout you? How do vintage and modern come together in your household?

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To Nina's house they go.

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Motherhood, Parenting

Isn’t it the case that as soon as you drop your children anywhere, whether it be preschool or a friend’s house, you miss them. I’m continuously dumbfounded by the someone-please-help-me-and-take-my-children-for-a-few-hours and the I-can’t-wait-to-see-my-children-because-I’ve-missed-them-so-much way of motherhood.  
Twice a week, the boys go to my parent’s house during the day. I spend all day the day before looking forward to it only to be longing to pick them up when the next day finally arrives. But, I know it’s good; it’s good for me, good for them, and – I hope – enjoyable (maybe sometimes?) for my parents.  
I came to pick them up a little early the other day and decided to snap a few photos; little mementos of their days spent at their Nina’s and Gee-paw’s.

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Brothers

by Ashley filed under Brothers, Hooper, Motherhood, Parenting, Van

There was a point in time, mostly around the holidays, that you guys could not keep your hands off one another. I think a lot of it, in hindsight, had to do with all the gifts and new toys. Too many things to fight over. Hooper, you liked to do this drop kick maneuver that inevitably ended with you on top of Van. You guys were at each other non-stop; biting, pushing, shoving, toy-stealing, hair pulling… it seemed ending. You both had battle wounds to show for it; bite marks, bruises, and even some missing tufts of hair. The last few weeks, however, have been much smoother and you guys actually seem to be enjoying one another.  
Van, you get jealous when Hooper and I cuddle. You also do not like sharing my lap with Hooper when I read you guys a book.  
You like to “cheers” your cups together, Van more so than Hooper.  
You have screaming contests. It’s awesome when you do this in public.
Hooper, you see it as your duty to reprimand Van. When I tell Van to stop or scold him, you are quick to jump in and hit him.
Van, your defense is pulling Hooper’s hair. I’ve considered shaving Hooper’s head because it looks so painful.  
Every now and again, I’ll catch you guys playing in a room peacefully. My heart practically beats out of my chest when I overhear you, Hooper, teaching your brother something or directing him in some way or another. More and more you guys are becoming friends and it’s a beautiful thing to watch unfold. There are even times, as shown above, that you even  – dare I say – console your little brother.

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Tomorrow he'll move mountains

by Ashley filed under Life, Motherhood, Van
When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears

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I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love

-Bob Dylan

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Malibu Creek

by Ashley filed under Brothers, Hooper, Motherhood, Parenting, Van
Oh there is something to be said for allowing time for boys to be boys. Skipping rocks, collecting sticks, dirt under the nails… it’s all part of childhood and it’s such a beautiful thing. I still need help getting the boys to and fro, but

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regardless, it’s been so nice to be feeling better and getting out a little bit more. I feel as though I’ve been hiding under a rock for the last few months and I much prefer skipping rocks into the creek instead.

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Van @ 18 Months

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting, Van
Growth & Appearance: You’re still a big kid. You look like a 2 year old but waddle like an 18 month old. Your hair is blond and thick. We shave it often. Currently you have a scab on your knee and a scratch of unknown origin the side of your right eye. We can no longer leave you in just a diaper because you take it off every time. Even with shorts on the other day, I saw you trying to pull the thing off. Not sure that it’s quite time to potty train; I think you just like to be naked. 
You have all your teeth, next ones should be the two year molars.
You wear a size 2T clothes / PJ’s, size 6 shoes, size 4 diapers. 
Eating: You’re a tank. You love to eat and waddle as fast as you can over to your high chair as soon as you see food being made. Sometimes you require a snack just to shut you up until the food is ready to be put in front of you. You prefer to have a fork in your hand and are okay at using a spoon, but more times than not you use your hands because you can shovel it in faster.
You’ve consumed entire meals before your brother takes his first bite.
You love blueberries, cereal, carrots, cheese, oatmeal, banana… who am I kidding… there’s really not anything that you don’t like. You love eating ice.Sleeping: You’re still taking two naps a day. You wake up around 8:30 and nap around 10:30 for two hours. You nap again in the afternoon around 4:30 for an hour and a half or so. You’re not the most fun to be around on the days where you miss your nap. 
We’re hoping to switch you over to the bottom bunk. We took you out of the crib and you are now sleeping in a big boy bed in your own room. Eventually we hope to put you and Hooper in the same room. You’ve transitioned out of the crib okay but nap time is more like whack-a-mole. We’ll keep at it, with fingers crossed. You love your blanket, as well as your stuffed animals. But your blanket is a must.
You still suck your thumb and put on your “hand hat” when you’re tired.
Talking: You say a ton of words and communicate well. The other day you handed me your empty sippy cup, asked for my “hand”, told me to “come”, and led me straight to the fridge where you pointed at your sippy cup and whined. You just started saying “thank you”, which is the first time you’ve put two words together. You also say “pee” for “please” and “side” when you want to go outside. Every time we go over a speed bump, you say “bump”.
You follow directions well.
Development: You started a little gym class and go with the nanny since I’m still unable to lift you. She says you’re the tallest in your class and you do well with everything. The balls, she says, are your favorite.
You join in on the bike rides by pushing your feed off the pavement as opposed to pedaling. Your shoes are all warn in from where you push off and one time, when you went out without shoes, you came in with wounds on your big toes from pushing. It won’t be long until you can reach the pedals.
Your laugh is as hearty as can be and seems to come from deep down in your belly. You love to be around laughter and occasionally snort when you laugh; it’s adorable.
You love being chased.
Perhaps it’s a second child thing, but you definitely have a sense of what is yours (of what you want to be yours) and refer to things as “mine”, accompanied with a whine and / or cry.
You’ve discovered that the computer is pretty cool and I can no longer sit at my desk without you climbing onto my lap. Sometimes you simply want to draw with a pen, other times you want to smack all the keys on the keyboard, and other times you request to watch a video on YouTube (you love the Fox Song and any nursery rhyme and all the truck / fire engine videos that your bro loves).
You love to steal my pen and get pissed anytime I’m writing with one and won’t hand it over.
Following in the footsteps of your brother, you love to do what we’ve coined as “the grandfather” (where you walk around hunched over and shuffle your feet like a little old man) and “fancy feet” (where you stomp your feet back and forth in quick succession).
You refuse to go down steps by yourself and ask for one of our hands to hold. You finally did it by yourself the other day, but it took a lot of coaxing.
Favorites: You love to have books read to you over and over and over again. Your favorites are “Goodnight Moon”, “I Know An Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly”, and any beginner books that has cars or trucks. You ask me to sit and then plant your little bottom in my lap constantly. You’re fascinated anytime a police car or fire truck goes by with their sirens on and you could sit behind the wheel and pretend to drive the car all day long. You also love to put your hands under the facet in the bathroom. And, of course, you love cars.

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Riding on bikes with boys

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Hooper, Motherhood

Have you ever rode a bike with a toddler? I remember my mom declaring that her back was never the same after teaching us to ride our bikes. We’re not there yet with Hoop; we’re still in the training wheel phase. But, in some ways, it’s equally torturous.
“What’s that, Mama?”
He stops riding and I practically walk in to his back tire cuz I’m riding his ass.
“Sounds like some sirens off in the distance”.
“I want to see”, he says.
“Sounds like they’re gone”, and we re-mount and ride along. I ride his ass because he’s going slow.
“Wook-at-dat, Mama!”
We stop to pick some dandelions. He sniffs them and there is yellow pollen that makes a Hitler-like mustache under his nose.
Re-mount. Ride his tail.
A few yards later, we stop again. This time, we pick up sticks. Then some acorns. I answer ten more questions about the various sounds he hears.
It’s so easy to get stuck in A to B mode. When he asks to go on a bike ride, which he does daily these days, I think about leaving the house, the route we’ll take, and how that route will lead us back to the house. His mind, in it’s beautiful infancy, works much different; it’s all about the space between… The sights, the sounds,

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the things he can collect. Hashtag: things you can learn from a toddler.

Slow down, Mamas, and enjoy the ride. I don’t walk so close behind him anymore.

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Hooper @ 3.2 years

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Motherhood, Parenting
Growth & Appearance: You’ve grown taller and when you’re in shorts you can see just how long and skinny your little legs are. The weather has been windy and you’ve developed a horrible habit of licking around your mouth, resulting in redness and chapped skin. You look like you’ve just finished eating spaghetti with marinara sauce, always. You’re more inclined to wearing hats and you look adorable in the one hat we did buy you.
You’re wearing size 3T clothes and are in size 8 shoes.
 
Eating: You hate being messy and oftentimes prefer your Papa or I feeding you to avoid having to touch your food or potentially spill on yourself. Really though, I think you’re just not that interested in what you’re eating. You have no problem getting your hands dirty with french fry grease. You can still be a pain in the ass from time to time but the table is a far cry from the battlefield it used to be. We’ve all learned how to peacefully go on and we’ve let go of a lot of the distraction techniques we used to use (ie, TV during dinner).
You love bread, eggo waffles, yogurt covered raisins, bacon, pasta (you love carbs, in general), and lately, carrots. Despite these favorites, you do eat rather healthy. We rarely allow you to eat pure junk. Things like french fries are a rare treat.
The other day I caught you hiding behind the door in the office, eating banana bread with the sliest grin on your face. 
Sleeping: Naps are a rarity. Every now and then we can tell you need one and – sometimes – you’ll take one. You’ve been getting up earlier, around 7:30, which feels like a drastic difference to the days you’d sleep until 8:30. With that said, you sleep through the night with ease.
We bought you bunk beds with intentions of moving your brother in with you. You sleep on the top bunk and love it.

Talking: You say whatever you are thinking and ask about every noise or new thing you see.
Favorite sayings:
“Sorry ’bout dat Mama” (said after that time you hit me, while driving, in the back of the head with a stick)
“Waffo ready” (every time the toaster pops up, regardless of what’s in it)
“Waz dat?” (constant, these days)
“I want to hit Van” (gotta love honesty)
“Going?” (where are we going?)
“Baby fire truck” (aka ambulance)
Development: I took you to your first movie, “Walking with Dinosaurs”. It was about an hour and a half long and I came prepared with snacks to hold your attention. At one point, after getting up and down like a little whack-a-mole a thousand times, you said to me “go home, mama”. The movie sucked anyway, so I asked you to pick my purse up off the floor (I’m still on bending restrictions). You picked it up from the bottom, the contents spilling all over the place. We had to stick it out until the end when the lights came on. I retrieved my lip stick under the seats in the first aisle. It’ll be a while before I take you again.
You can ride your bike, with ease, with training wheels. We duct taped your feet to the wheels to get you started because you refused to use the pedals initially. Within seconds after removing the duct tape, you were off. You ask to go for bike rides numerous times throughout the day.
You still write with your left hand and ride your scooter with your left foot, but throw with your right hand.
You stopped sucking your two fingers a few months ago and it kinda breaks your Papa and I’s heart.
You love picking your nose and eating it.
You’re full blown potty trained and able to pull down your own pants. You lift up your ding-a-ling and threaten to pee on me often. When I tell you “no”, you proceed to point it toward the bathtub or sink or wall or trash and ask if you can pee on these things instead. The answer is the same. You prefer to crap at home.
You started preschool in the beginning of December and seem to enjoy it minus a few long faces when your Papa or I leave.
You like going on adventures, but often ask “going home?” at some point.
You love to play pretend. You’ve been a cat a lot lately and meow a lot. You ask to be pet and call your hands your paws. You also like to make pretend meals with your fake food. You also wear your cowboy boots and refer to them as your “firemen boots”.
You’re a bit bossy and seem to think you’re in charge at times. You tell us often to “stop it” and also feel as though it’s your own duty to scold Van. 
Favorites: You watched the Wizard of Oz and loved it. You love playing the “get me” game. You love cars and trucks and asked Santa for a “big truck” for Christmas. He delivered. You could watch videos of trackers on YouTube all day long. I’ve added things like excavator, impact hammer, and digger to my daily vocabulary. You also love playing “mailman”, where you go around the house delivering “packages”. You love cats and collecting coins and making piles of sticks.

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Preschool

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Motherhood, Parenting

We’ve known for a while that Hooper was ready for preschool. It happened about the time he stopped taking his marathon naps (seriously, sometimes they were up to 4 hours long) and insisted on watching back to back to back episodes of Curious George.
I hesitated, knowing I’d be having back surgery and therefore having to delegate yet another chore to another friend or family member.
Initially we were going to wait until I was fully recovered but we both decided he was more than ready and we figured we could swing it at this point in recovery. That, and we couldn’t handle him kicking, pinching, or biting Van one more time.
Willy looked at me from across the table on one of our lunch dates and said, “How do we sign him up?”. I always giggle to myself when he asks me questions as if I’ve been a mother longer than he’s been a father. I looked at him with equal cluelessness and said, “I dunno”.
And so, we made a few phone calls.
The first school we toured was a Montessori. Perhaps it was the fact that we saw the price prior to the tour, but neither of us got the warm fuzzies. We drove away wondering how the majority of people afford to put their kid through pre-school. No, really, how do you all put your kids through pre-school?
In the hopes of finding something more affordable, we stopped at a church and inquired about their program. Before price was even discussed, Willy and I gave one another the secret nod of approval. It all felt very organic.
And, just like that, Hooper started pre-school.
The first day Willy and I dropped him off together. He went straight for the toys without looking back and Willy and I walked to the car giggling over the thought of that day marking the first in what is bound-to-be years of schooling. I picked him up and was given a few handouts with classroom information, a playdough recipe, and a list of some things the teachers needed for the classroom and all the sudden I was the legit parent of a pre-schooler.
Despite a couple days of long faces at the time of drop off, he’s been doing great. I started him three days a week, half-days.
My favorite day yet was the day I dropped him off wearing a beanie with a large pom pom on top and came four hours later to pick him up to find he still had the cap on his, albeit a bit disheveled. The teacher told me he didn’t want anyone to take it off. I giggled to myself all the way to the car as I put my sweaty little ski-cap wearing toddler in the car. Man I love that kid.
When did you start your little one in pre-school? Is pre-school affordable in your area?

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Adjusting

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Life, Motherhood, Parenting
Life rarely goes according to plan. It’s funny because growing up you hear all kinds of advice about making goals and putting together visions of where you find yourself in five years. I’m not opposed, per say. It’s nice to try to keep the train on the tracks and envision what moving forward looks like.
But life doesn’t always move forward, nor is the shrubbery that is the path always beat down and wilted well enough for you to even see where you’re going.
And so, I’ve come to learn that those who are the strongest are those that learn to adapt the fastest.
We all reminisce of our childhood, where presumably we were all cared for and fed and given valued guidance and love along the way. And then, when you become an adult, you celebrate the fact you can care for yourself. I’ve always valued my independence and am in no way blind to the ways my parents raised me to appreciate such.
This road to recovery has a lot of the aforementioned shrubbery. It’s hard to know if you’re even on the path, and thus, I’ve had to learn to adapt. Everyday I dig deep to hold on to a perspective that I believe in; you know, the whole glass half full perspective? And, for me, it’s a challenge.
For my children, on the other hand, adapting seems to be their second nature. No matter who walks in the door to care for them, they welcome them with open arms. I know my children are too young to know my struggles, but I’ve thanked them a million times over for their ability to adapt and adjust and allow others to do for them what I felt only I knew how to.
It’s an eye opening experience to relinquish control and allow others to do your job in the absence of any training. What I’ve learned is that it all gets done and no one dies.
There were days I was stuck in bed overhearing others trying to find Hooper’s blanket when I knew where it was. Or days I heard others trying to figure out what Van was pulling at their leg for and, without even being in the room, I knew what it was he wanted. And, you know what? It didn’t matter. They figured it out. My children are not books written in a language only a mother can read. And that truth has been very humbling.
Rolling with the punches. Adjusting. Being humbled time and time again. Hashtag: things words cannot express my gratitude for.

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Living Deliberately

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Life, Meet Your Parents, Motherhood
I get asked a lot about how my recovery is going and I never know quite what to say. Like most things in life, there are good days and there are bad days but dumbing it down to that cliche doesn’t speak to the actual experience of recovery.
And then I came across “The Spoon Theory”.
The Spoon Theory was written by someone who has Lupus. The girl gives her friend a bouquet of spoons and has her talk her through her typical day. Each daily task comes at the cost of one of the spoons; taking a shower, for example, makes one spoon drop from the bouquet. And one by one, as the friend accounts for each event in her typical day, a spoon disappears.
You see, when you’re healthy the possibilities seem limitless. Never before have I looked at taking a shower as a task as opposed to a privilege.
Recovery has changed that for me.
Living daily life with a disability forces you to live very deliberately. Almost every decision is a calculated one and my reason for choosing one thing over another depends greatly on my pain and / or limitations. When I shower, for example, depends on when I’ve given myself my daily neck treatment (I have an ultrasound machine at home I use to massage heat into the sore tissues in my neck). The gel gets all over my hair, so when getting ready, it’s something I have to take into account. I also have to take into account when I took my pain medication last (the heat from the shower will make me pass out if it’s too close to the time I took my pain medication). And I thought getting out the door with two kids was hard…
For a long time, I had difficulty raising my arms up over my head. Washing my own hair just about used up all the spoons I had. Blow drying my hair was / is nearly out of the question. Today I’ve gained mobility back in my arms but due to my bending restrictions I am still unable to properly blow dry my hair.
And so, caring for myself – and, in turn, feeling good about myself – has been a challenge. It feels like it’s been years since I’ve had the freedom to wear whatever I want. In 09′ I was pregnant, in 10′ I was breastfeeding, then in 11′ pregnant again, then in 12′ breastfeeding again, and then surgery in 13′. I’ve resorted to leggings, slip ons, and an oversized cardigan I can fit over my back brace.
Recovery has made me let go.
Would you believe I bought Crest White Stripes for the sole purpose of feeling like I’m doing something to help my appearance?  
I digress. Back to living deliberately.
I went to run a couple errands by myself the other day. Sounds like normal life, right? It was during one of my I’m-feeling-better waves so I always take advantage and usually do more than I should; I dip into tomorrow’s cluster of spoons, if you will.
When I get into my car, I watch how far I open my door. If I swing it all the way open, once I’m inside sitting in my seat, I’ll be unable to lean over and close it. I keep the door just barely cracked and squeeze in so I can close it on the third rock: rock it back and forth once, twice, and with a third rock, I get my door closed.
I drive an SUV because I’m a mom in Southern California. The gear shift is up by the wheel and I dread putting it in reverse. As soon as I do so, my scapula on my right side feels funny and I immediately start wondering if driving is something I should be doing. I remind myself of the PDF my surgeon gave me and I try to picture the word “driving” with the words “one month post op” next to it. I’m three months post-op and I remind myself it’s okay.
I drive and listen to music. Nirvana comes on and I turn it up loud. It feels like forever since I’ve been alone. Between having family by my side or, more recently, the nanny we had to hire to come in to help, the days when I could simply get away and be with my own thoughts feel like long ago.
I want to go shopping for shoes. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to try any clothes on (just getting dressed once a day costs me a spoon) and a pair of moccasins I had prior to surgery somehow mysteriously disappeared. I pull into the shopping center to discover the store has moved.
I put the car back in reverse and I get that weird feeling in my right scapula again. I go through the same imagery as I did before, “Driving – – – one month”. I feel the weight of the chip on my shoulder as I drive out of the parking lot having stopped but not having crossed a single errand off my list.
I head to CVS to return some medicine we had bought for Hooper only to get home and find that the bottle had already been opened. I crack the door open and do my typical slide down off the seat and I close the door using my whole body. Because I’m not a fan of potentially poisoning my son or of spending twelve bucks on something we never used, I wait in line to return it. They give me cash back and I immediately remember I had wanted to pick up some hair gel and bobby pins too. I make my way to the hair aisle and as I near the gels I can feel the muscles in my neck starting to tighten. I glance back at the line of three people behind the only open register and I leave without hair gel or bobby pins for fear my time is limited. It was going to cost me an extra spoon.
I get back in my beast of a car and rock the door three times before closing it. I put the car in reverse and confirm that, indeed, my neck is sore.
I make it to the shoe store I had originally intended to go to. I slide down off my seat and close the door, again, with my whole body.
I walk into the store with my purse hanging from my shoulder. It’s the first time in three months I’ve dared to let it actually hang from my shoulder as opposed to caring it under my arm like a clutch. With the soreness creeping in, I immediately start cursing myself for the extra little things in there that I don’t need: the raisins that are starting to feel like rocks, the two pairs of sunglasses that are starting to feel like their actually sitting on someone’s face… someone’s face whose head is in my bag.
I scan a couple aisles of shoes. I try on some slip ons. I try to pretend that I’m normal as I turn left and then right in front of the mirror, carefully checking myself out like I used to. I see another pair I like and I curse my size for being the box on the very bottom, other sizes that are as useful as peanut butter to a kid with a peanut allergy stacked high on top of it. I carefully maneuver it out and try to ignore my urge to reach up and stop the box on top from falling. I’ve learned it’s not worth the pain later and better to let the damn box fall. This has bled into watching my kids jump on the sofa. I sit as far away as I can with my fingers crossed because I know they’ll shoulder the tumble better than if I were to sit there and try to break their fall.
I decide it’s time to go despite the fact I have not made it down all the aisles I’ve wanted nor have I tried on all I was interested in. I decide the shoes and boots that require any lacing up or buckling can be saved for another day, another spoon. I walk toward the exit where I see an older woman and her even older mother coming toward the entrance. We’re going to meet at the door at approximately the same time and I’m hoping they’ll get the door for me. Those pesky big, heavy doors are my nemesis. I can see by the look on their faces, however, that I am expected to be the doorman; I am young and deceivingly hearty. And so I get the door for them, awkwardly pushing it open with my whole body as my feet kinda shuffle under me. I try my best to hold it for the duration it takes for her to get her walker through the door. I watch as the door just misses clipping her ankle. I don’t feel bad, rather, I feel pissed. I just used another spoon and I didn’t even get anything out of it for myself. Pain can you make selfish.
Rock one, rock two, rock three, and I shut the door and start the car. I have one stop left.
I walk into the bank and am pleased to see there is no line. It feels like karma is back in my corner. I make my way to the teller, tell him what I want to do, and he asks for my ID. I flip open my wallet and when it’s not where it usually is I remember that Willy had taken it when the paramedics came to take me to the hospital the week prior.
He tells me he’s going on his break and I sit down in the chair and wait for Willy to bring me my ID. I’m fighting feelings of anger toward Willy for having not put my license back in my wallet and as I feel those negative emotions come over me as I sit and wait and wait, it dawns on me that that’s not me, it’s my pain, and it’s trying to take me down, trying to take me over. I would never blame my husband – my best friend – for having my license after saving me from falling after I completely lost consciousness and getting me to the hospital. My pain, on the other hand, has no friends. No loved ones. No family. My pain could give a shit about what’s fair or right or humane. My pain is an asshole; it preys on my patience, it preys on my otherwise fun-loving spirit.
Willy calls me to tell me he’s in the parking lot and I’m immediately pissed off that he expects me to get off my ass and meet him there to get my license. He says something sweet and cute but I truthfully don’t even hear him. My pain has made it so his words fall on deaf ears, his smile on blind eyes. I start to say something snappy but I catch myself and hobble back toward the bank, back through the heavy double doors. There is a short line now and I wait.
Recovery has changed me. I hope I will never be the same. These days, I live deliberately and I hope that when life does return to normal that I can remember these burdens, these pains. Normal, healthy people don’t know how good they have it.
Everyday we all make choices. For the healthy, these choices are made more unconsciously but for the disabled, all decisions are conscious decisions. When you have pain or limitations, you’re constantly having to assess the gas in your tank. If you run on fumes you have to deal with the fear your car may break down the next day, or worse yet, the reality your car won’t start the next time you get in it.
I find myself feeling constantly torn between having feelings of gratitude for having a nanny to help with the boys, the laundry, and the dishes and feelings of frustration that I cannot care for my own home independently; that I have to rely on someone else, always. It doesn’t feel so wonderful when it’s not a choice. Offer me a nanny when I’m fully capable but feeling lazy and you’ll probably see me beaming from ear to ear. But take away my ability to do things on my own and suddenly all I want is the freedom associated with independence.
Like many other with disabilities, pain, and / or limitations, I hate having to stay behind. I’ve missed birthday parties, days at the beach, gatherings at wine bars, day trips. Like The Spoon Theory states, having an illness or disability is – in itself – a lifestyle. It’s hard when you are your own dead weight.
I know I am not alone. The author of the spoon theory has Lupus. I’m recovering from major spinal surgery. But even motherhood is a disability in some sense, isn’t it? I mean when you have small children, you too must slow down, strategize, skip aisles of shoes and leave without trying on all the shoes you wanted to. For me, this was one of the biggest adjustments of becoming a mother; the realization that your life is no longer yours. So I guess we’re all in it together to some extent. We all have our handicaps.
When the pain subsides, I return to me and I see things for what they are. I’ve always prided myself for my ability to keep things in perspective; all the more reason I hate my pain for infiltrating my good attitude, for cracking my code so damn easily.
Health is such a gift. I hope I never lose sight of that.
I snapped these pics the other day standing in the same position; looking left, ahead, right, and down. I think it’s fitting to pair with this post because really, any situation can be seen many different ways. Recovery is not only a curse, there have been many blessings too.

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A Guest Post: To be (a mom) or not to be (a mom)

by Ashley filed under Guest Posts & Interviews, Motherhood, Parenting
This is the first in what will be a few guest posts written by my lovely sister. Hey look, there we are… (I’m on the left)
A while back, I did a guest post, anonymously, for my sister’s blog. You can read it here if you so desire.
The gist was this: I’m afraid to have kids. My fears include:
·         What if something is wrong with the kid, physically or mentally?
·         What if the world we live in isn’t kid-friendly (think pollution, global warming, wars, financial collapse)?
·         What if I’m too selfish and impatient to be a good mother?
·         What if my kid is an asshole?
·         What if having a child makes my soon-to-be-husband and I forget about each other?
·         What if pets are enough?
·         What if the thought of helping a kid with homework gives me chills?
·         What if I don’t have time to write or read or hike or cook or do all the other things I love?
·         What if we struggle financially with a kid?
·         What if I go crazy due to sleep deprivation?
·         What if there are adventures and travels I still want to have?
All those fears aside, I know there are pros to having kids. Duh. I’ve met my nephews. They’re pretty awesome. I can imagine how amazing it is to create a life with someone I love. I can imagine the fulfillment of that, the love, the lessons. I just don’t think it’s for me.
Before you encourage me to change my mind, rest assured I have thought about this long and hard. I have played Devil’s Advocate with myself. My fiancé and I have discussed this at length. We even went to a preconception counseling appointment (who knew they had such a thing?), just to get some information. The doctor said that I would be considered “high risk” (according to the insurance companies) when I’m 35 (which is now less than a year away). I know that’s just a silly policy, but the words still threaten me—high risk. I am a person who prefers very little risk. As in, no risk.
But even if I was 25, I don’t think I’d want a child. I’ve never wanted to be a mom. I’m an introvert who needs A LOT of alone time. I worry that being a mom wouldn’t allow me that. I’ve struggled with depression in my life. I worry that I’d pass that on to my child, or that my depression would flare up as a parent. I’m a chronic worrier. I worry about that.
The reason my first post was anonymous was because I’m a little embarrassed that I don’t want a kid. Most women want children. Most describe an ache, a craving, for a child. I’ve never had this. Most women either ignore any possible risks, or embrace them because their desire for a child far outweighs any fear. I’ve never had anything close to such a desire. My sister, for one, always wanted kids. When we were little, she toted around baby dolls, “feeding” them from toy plastic bottles. I played with my Barbies. These days, my sister says she feels a little sad for me and all that I’ll miss by being childless. The thing is, though, I’ll never experience having a child myself so I won’t know what I’m missing. I’m happy as I am, and I’ll just go on as that person.
I used to think there was something wrong with me. I’m in a minority, after all. Now, though, I’m proud of myself for realizing my limitations and making a decision for the life I want for myself (and my partner). Plus, like I said, my nephews are awesome. I  plan to love them with all my might.
Did any of you share my fears? Did you always know you wanted to be a mom?
Kim Hooper / Copywriter & Novelist / Also, my sister

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Recovery & The Space Between

by Ashley filed under Ashley, Family, Motherhood
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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An Interview with Jessica Kraus, from House Inhabit

by Ashley filed under Guest Posts & Interviews, Motherhood
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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