Today, The Walsh Household Included:

June 3, 2014 / Julie / 8 Comments

Six family members suffering exhaustion bordering on hangover from one busy and stressful baptism weekend.

One water line leak requiring one water shut-off and at least one backhoe.

Two baby wardrobe changes before 10am.

One three-year-old reporting the sighting of one big, black snake with three words you’ve just got to take seriously: “I’m not wyin’.”

One mommy, one grandma, and two boys’ witness of said snake slithering out of a basket of toys and into a pile of same.

Memories of similar snakes seen just outside the house on three separate occasions recently.

Yesterday’s specimen.

Three doors shut tight all day in the interest of keeping said snake out of the rest of the house.

At least one prayer of thanksgiving for not having an open floor plan.

One sink and one counter full of dirty dishes which could not be properly cleaned due to water issues and I-just-don’t-want-to-deal issues.

One mama who gave up around 11am.

One desperate trip to a McDonald’s drive-through and a car wash, to nourish (gag) and entertain little boys and to facilitate Mommy’s escape from snake and brown tap water.

One long detour home in the hope of car seat naps for all.

Two minutes of success in that department before baby woke up.

Two books read to three-year-old before Mommy fell asleep sitting up, prompting illiterate boy to say, “Don’t worry. I’ll just wead it myself.”

Approximately 128 nursing sessions and 13 bottles.

Precisely zero naps lasting longer than 30 minutes for the two-month-old.

One big brother whispering sweet nothings to his baby.

Too many hours of mommy staring numbly at the computer screen, aimless and uninspired.

Two slices of key lime pie consumed with loving attention.

Two meals served in front of the television to facilitate said numb internet surfing and pie eating.

One stellar husband prodding pile after pile of stuff with a broom handle in search of the snake.

Zero snakes uncovered.

One sigh of relief – no, wait! – one shudder of horror that the snake could not be located.

Two thrilled/frightened little boys gotten ready for bed with assurances that “No, snakes do not hide in toilets.”

One hard cider sipped over the course of three hours.

Two parents… who can… hardly… keep their… eyes… open…

And yet will still diligently search their bedroom for snakes before going to sleep.

Messes, Monsters, Thunder, and Wasps: 7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 29) and One Hot Mess (Vol. 3)

May 30, 2014May 30, 2014 / Julie / 10 Comments

Today I’m linking up Seven Quick Takes with Jen and Takes 1, 3, 4, and 7 to be specific with Blythe’s One Hot Mess. (If she’s doing it this week.) Double-duty.

—1—

We’ve been busy this week, preparing for the baby’s baptism party to be held this coming Sunday. We had more than the average amount of party prep on our plates this time, given that until just a few days ago, every room in our house looked like it was staged to be photographed for Blythe’s One Hot Mess link-up.

Seriously – It was bad. There was the junk, there was the laundry, there were the boxes upon boxes of my mother-in-law’s things that hadn’t been gone through. There were the heaps of dust gathering on and around said junk, laundry, and boxes.

But! After a week of behaving like a responsible, party-planning mother (read: mostly resisting bloggy temptations), we’re very nearly there on the mess front. Just a couple more boxes and a bit more junk (okay, and a lot more dust) to go, and we’ll only have the “normal” amount of boy-wrought destruction. Which, though offensive to the eyes, doesn’t take much more than a whirlwind picking-up session to remedy. The end is in sight.

So I’m sneaking in a quick blog post. How about some of this week’s scenes from our home?

—2—

Yesterday morning I walked into the kitchen to the sound of roars and growls and shrieks of laughter. The boys were half-standing in their seats (a posture that is most definitely not allowed at the table), clawing at each other and at us. I expected to see Brennan looking agitated, but nope! He was cool as a cucumber. “I gave them Muenster cheese,” he said.

Aaahh, yes. Muenster cheese. So easily understood as “Monster cheese” and therefore taken as an opportunity to act like monsters. One bite transforms you into a monster, the next turns you back into a boy. And so on and so forth. You knew that, right?

—3—

The other evening I had a far less endearing experience in the kitchen.

We were in the middle of a big thunderstorm, so loud you wouldn’t think anything could be heard over it: Bang! Rumble… CRASH!

Yet I was hearing quite a lot besides the thunder: My eight-week-old son was screaming because… I don’t know why, exactly. He’s eight weeks old. He screams. My two-year-old son was screaming just for the fun of it. (I’m sure of that one. He looked delighted with himself.) And my three-year-old son was yelling about “Did you know that storms can make trees fall down, Mommy? Mommy! DID YOU KNOW THAT SOMETIMES TREES FALL DOWN IN STORMS?”

All of this was going on while I was attempting to assemble a sorry little dinner for the boys. I stood at the counter with my back to the noise-makers, “Rumble… CRASH! Waaahh! Aaaah! TREES FALL DOWN IN STORMS!” and I couldn’t get the stupid dollops of peanut butter onto the stupid crackers without the blasted things crumbling in my hands. “Bang! Waaahh! TREES!”

My brain could no longer take the sensory assault. I yelled something really charitable, like “OH MY GOSH! What in the world do you think you’re doing? I can’t take it any moooore!” I think I even waved my hands in the air to emphasize that I really was losing it.

Loveliness. Pure loveliness.

—4—

Later that evening, again in the kitchen (which is pretty much where I live), I was trying to nurse the baby. I should have been sitting in the rocker we keep in there, but par for that day’s course, I was distractedly walking around. (Poor, neglected third baby – he gets far too few peaceful, focused feedings.)

All of a sudden, I noticed it: an ugly-looking bug that I thought maybe could be a wasp.

I had to get it. I wouldn’t be able to rest peacefully knowing that that thing was flitting around the house, capable of terrorizing my boys.

But I had to nurse the baby. The poor little guy was so fed up with interruptions that he’d LOSE IT if I set him down to go hunt a wasp. Hm. I’d have do both.

I scurried to the broom closet, grabbed the fly swatter, and scurried back, eyes darting around looking for the maybe-wasp – nursing the whole while. I half chuckled at myself as I moved around the kitchen while nursing my son and holding a fly swatter in the air, stalking a bug which I wasn’t even sure was a wasp.

Then I saw it. On the floor. Right there.

I hastily set the kid down and then WHAM, got the sucker. It wasn’t a wasp after all. I sighed and wiped up the mess as quickly as I could, then I picked up my son and resumed nursing him. Poor, neglected, third baby…

—5—

Okay. Out of the kitchen and back to the sweetness.

Do you know how cute it is to hear this slow, metallic dragging sound, followed by a THWACK and a bunch of little-boy giggles? Very cute. And unnerving at first. What could make that sound? What could cause so much giggling?

Rest assured. It’s just the sound of boys playing with their measuring tape. One boy holds onto the thing while the other pulls the tape out as far as he can, and then – yes – lets go. Drag, drag, drag, THWACK! Furious giggling.

Once I resigned myself to the fact that, yes, they might hurt their fingers and no, that’s not such a big deal, the whole situation was really pretty enjoyable. Go ahead – get your children a tape measure.

—6—

Even more sweet, the other evening I came downstairs to find all of my guys putting on a little “parade”. One boy had a kazoo, another had an improvised noise maker, and Brennan held the baby, bouncing him and making a marching tune from silly little noises. They marched around the first floor in time to the tune – the boys very serious about the whole business, Brennan’s eyes dancing with the silliness of it all.

A moment before, I’d been flustered and rushing and… oh, how that little scene did my heart good. I love my guys.

—7—

Last night I made a late trip to the grocery store so I could do the party shopping without all three in tow. I took the baby while Brennan put the two bigger boys to bed. At first it all went fine – the baby looked around until he drifted off to sleep. Peaceful. Productive.

Then he woke with a little start and everything went right down that hill. Fast. The poor guy seemed so unhappy to wake up in such an unfamiliar and over-stimulating place that he lost it. Once I realized that some vigorous back-and-forth cart pushing wasn’t going to do it, I took him out of his car seat and carried him. Which still didn’t work. I hurried through the rest of the trip as he continued to scream. When I got up to the check-out lane, I started throwing items onto the belt as quickly as I could. One-handed. I was moving fast, but I’m sure it was obvious to all that I needed help.

And then somebody actually stepped forward and… helped.

The gentleman behind me in line, who had thrown me some sympathetic glances a few minutes earlier in the dairy section, started unloading my cart. My very, very full cart. I almost objected – it’s definitely my nature to want to do things myself. I don’t want to need help.

But I stopped. I let that kind man empty my cart for me while I focused on calming my baby. Soon enough, it was working. I soothed, baby relaxed, and my cart was emptied – then loaded – before my eyes. A few minutes later, the same gentleman handed me my bags while I loaded them into my van (to the background music of baby boy screaming, once again.)

How nice. How nice and helpful in that moment, how nice and sweet in my memory. Thank you, Mr. Kind Gentleman In The Grocery Store. You made my day.

Happy Birthday, Blog

May 28, 2014 / Julie / 5 Comments

Yesterday, this little ol’ blog had its first birthday. I’m just enough of a perfectionist that I have to mark the occasion, but just enough of a procrastinator that I’m doing so a day late.

And anyway, yesterday was rough. Nothing terrible happened, it’s just that the baby and I were running low on sleep after a tough night, the three-year-old was an emotional mess, and the two-year-old is coming into his ornery own.

Mid-evening, during a lull in the mayhem (actually, while the boys were eating dinner under strict orders to not! talk! at! all!), I sat on the sofa with the baby and tried to let my weary brain rest for a moment. It didn’t work very well. My mind was all over the place and all I wanted to do was blog it all out.

This little online space has become something like a pensieve for me. (Apologies for the random Harry Potter reference.) I don’t always have time to come here, but when I do, I find relief. It is good to get thoughts out of my head and onto the page (so to speak). To work through them, to revisit them, to build on them.

Sitting there on the sofa, I was pleased to realize that this blog has indeed been a good addition to my life. A year ago, I didn’t know whether it would serve as a distraction from my work caring for my family, or a boon to it. I’m happy to say that while I’ve certainly had my fair share of distracted days, by and large it feels like the latter.

I’m grateful for it, for this opportunity to share my thoughts. And I’m grateful for those of you who take the time to read them.

Thank you.

Better With Bees

May 23, 2014May 24, 2014 / Julie / 4 Comments

Hello there! Welcome back to this sporadically-kept-up little blog.

Last week we suffered a great disappointment in the Walsh household:

Those are bees. Tens of thousands of poor little dead bees.

Oh, what a gloomy day it was.

After 18 long months of being bee-less thanks to one household move and one improperly-applied mite treatment, we were all eagerly awaiting the delivery of two new packages of bees. They’d arrive too late to give us hope of a honey harvest this year, but still, once they arrived we’d be beekeepers again. (And by “we” I mean “Brennan.”)

So it was with good cheer that Brennan took off work that Wednesday morning, one eye on the driveway and another on the door. The bees were supposed to arrive by 10:30. He waited and we waited and… no bees. Afternoon calls to UPS and the apiary revealed the sad news: our bees’ truck had suffered a major delay when one package was punctured and (you guessed it) thousands of bees convinced their driver to pull over and call for help. One long, hot day later and the damage was done: 75 packages of bees (nearly a million of the little gals) were lost.

Our own two packages were to be delayed by just one day, but we knew it wasn’t looking good for the critters. Sure enough:

Poor little dead queens.

Dead, dead.

But! One last-day-of-preschool, a few celebratory ice creams, one evening stroll by the water, and a couple of long days later…

This is the spot where his father proposed to me six years and three boys ago. Mushy, mush, mush…

Poor, neglected third baby gets most of his bottles this way.

We got another shot at the deal. This morning, Brennan once again took off work and kept an eager eye on the driveway. Thankfully, he was not to be disappointed again. Some 20,000 of the little ladies arrived safe and sound.

He’s spraying them down with sugar water.

Not only were they alive, but they were nice and docile, which is a great sign. They looked healthy and seemed to have accepted their new queens. (That is, they were working hard to “rescue” them from their cages. Brennan decided to help.)

He had no problem placing the bees in their hives, so as far as we know, the operation was a success this time around. Let’s hope so, not only for the sake of those precious little things, but also for the happiness of my hubby. (And our wannabe-beekeeper little boys.)

“I wanna hold a queen dead bee!”

Keep your fingers crossed. We’d like to keep adding to the following collection. Life is better with bees.

Nothing Like A Sum Of Its Parts: One Hot Mess (Vol. 2)

May 15, 2014May 15, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

I hate feeding my children.

In my imagination, where there are peaceful, still-warm meals in which everyone is actually seated, I love feeding my children. But in real life, I hate it.

He dropped his cupcake. I stayed up late last night making the stupid things from scratch, so that my son could bring them into preschool for his (un)birthday celebration. All that groggy work and the stupid things fell in on themselves. Ugly, ugly cupcakes. Still, his was a devastating loss.

Our meals are disjointed and loud and stressful. They are full of: “Face the table.” “Sit on your bottom.” “Start eating, please.” “Don’t bang your fork on the table.” “Just try it; you’ve always liked it before!” “Sit on your bottom. No, actually on your bottom.” “Stop dropping your cup on the floor.” “Turn around and face the table.” “Stop it with the fork!” “Sit on your bottom.” “Eat! Your! Food!”

They also include a million-and-one parental hops up from the table to retrieve any number of food and cutlery items. Plus a hovering parent or two, feeding children bites of food because apparently preschoolers are unable to do something so taxing as lift a fork to their mouth.

Also, it’s not uncommon for mealtimes at our house to include vomit.

No, it’s not vomit. I wouldn’t do that to you. This is the banana my son told me he’d eaten so that he could get his cupcake.

Hate it.

Do you know what else I hate? Dishes. And diapering. And bathtime. And changing pee-pee sheets. And cutting food into small bites. And wrestling wiggly little limbs into pajamas.

When broken down into bits, I hate just about everything involved in caring for my children and my home. So it would make sense, wouldn’t it, for me to hate being a stay-at-home-mom?

But I don’t. Not at all.

It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it? I have found that parenthood is nothing like a sum of its parts. My daily tasks are unpleasant, yet I love what I do.

I really, truly, love what I do. Even when I hate it.

There is something there – love, I suppose – that makes such a contradiction possible. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it. I am happier now than I have ever been in my life – here in the midst of the diapering and the clothing and the cleaning and the bathing. And the feeding – even the feeding.

Another meal, another mess.

Be sure to stop over to Blythe’s to check out more hot messes!

Answer Me This

May 4, 2014May 5, 2014 / Julie / 5 Comments

I’m on something of a link-up kick right now. This here post is my fourth in four days. Whew! I’ve been using the link-ups as a kick in the pants to get myself back in the habit of regular blogging after my post-baby hiatus. (Speaking of which, look who’s one month old today!)

I promise to emerge from the pattern soon. It’s about time to post something a little more original. And whether it’s my four (link-up) posts in four days or some brain synapses that are recovering from pregnancy and newborn-hood, there are a bunch of topics I’m excited to tackle soon.

‘Till then, welcome to “Answer Me This,” a new link-up from Kendra at Catholic All Year. Each Sunday, Kendra invites bloggers to answer a new set of questions. I was a little hesitant to participate at first, because really, I kind of doubt anyone will be interested to read about my beverage preferences or whether I think I’m becoming my mother. But! I always enjoy reading such things from other people – so maybe, just maybe somebody out there will enjoy reading mine. Here we go!

1. Are you becoming your mother?

I don’t know. Mom, what do you think?

It’s certainly been strange, in the handful of years since I became a wife and mother, to see myself doing things that I’ve always associated with my mom. But as far as becoming her goes, I guess I think that would require us to be more similar, personality-wise. And I think I inherited more of my father’s temperament, so… maybe I should consider whether I’m becoming him?

2. Coffee or tea?

Coffee, mostly. But also tea.

I kind of dabbled in coffee a bit in college, but didn’t develop much of a fondness for it (or a reliance on it) until I started lobbying. At that point, work was (at times) so relentless that I needed that caffeine crutch to get me through it. Also, it was really, really nice to take a break from all the pressure/frustration/wandering/strategizing/waiting to saunter down to a cute little coffee shop for a sugared-up pick-me-up. And a scone. I love scones.

When I married Brennan, my coffee attachment became more of a commitment. Because he’s pretty much obsessed with the stuff. He actually roasts his own coffee. He buys raw coffee beans (online) and roasts with his fancy roaster about three times a week. Then we grind them up in his fancy grinder and brew them up in his fancy coffee machine. And on weekends when he’s on an espresso kick, Brennan dolls them all up into the most wonderful, proper cappuccinos with his fancy espresso machine. Yum.

This is what a home coffee roaster looks like — or ours, at least. There are different kinds, but for the most part, they’re all glorified popcorn poppers.

Here are some coffee beans before they’re roasted. What a lovely shade of drab olive green.

In progress.

And… the perfect light roast!

So, I’ve been spoiled. It’s hard for anybody else’s coffee to compare. Starbucks? Not even close. Though I do enjoy the place for the convenience factor and the social aspect. (Yay for mommy dates during preschool!)

It’s even harder for anybody else’s coffee to compare for Brennan. He’s an admitted coffee snob. But (and this is a little random), do you know where we – to our great surprise – tasted the best cappuccinos of our lives? Not in Italy, nor Austria or Germany or any of the other continental European countries we’ve visited. Not in a major American city. Nope – it was a small town in rural County Clare, Ireland, in the back room of a touristy little gift shop. Let me tell you, that stuff was amaaazing. Just perfect.

We actually had lots of other great coffees and cappuccinos on our (honeymoon) visit to Ireland. We couldn’t have been more pleasantly surprised – we’d figured Ireland was more of a tea country. (Undoubtedly it is a tea country, but they sure can do a decent coffee!)

Which brings me to tea. I like it, especially on a rainy afternoon with an interesting book to read. (And the TIME in which to read!) My favorite is a good Earl Grey, with milk and sugar.

3. What foreign country would you like to visit?

I’d really like to visit the United Kingdom. I always kind of figured I’d get there first, before visiting any other foreign country. I considered it a stepping stone, of sorts, into international travel. But lo and behold, I got to Canada first, then Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Denmark, Ireland, and the Cayman Islands. And I’ve still never visited the U.K.!

I’ve read so much British literature and history and news, I feel as if I’ve been there. I’ve known bunches of people from the U.K. A decent portion of my ancestry is English or Scottish. So… someday, hopefully, I’ll get there. Someday when we’re in another international-travel period of our lives, I suppose.

4. Do you cry easily?

Not usually, but sometimes, yes. That is, though I’m not generally much of a crier (nope, didn’t cry when I got engaged or married; didn’t cry when my kids were born), I cry quite easily when I’m the least bit hormonal or when I’m over-tired. So, umm… in these newborn days? Yes, I cry. This afternoon I started to cry over a country song that I must have heard hundreds of times before. Tonight I just about started crying because I was hungry and tired. (I know, I know: Eat a snack and go to bed, Julie!)

5. How often do you wear heels?

Almost never. I used to wear them all the time when I was in the professional world, but now I stick to my comfy Clark’s flats. I do, however, keep a few pairs of heels in reserve for when I attend the odd wedding or formal dinner. Of course.

6. Do you play an instrument?

Nope. I took clarinet for two years in elementary school, but I wasn’t very good at it and I didn’t enjoy it much. When we were made to choose between band and chorus in middle school, it was an easy decision. I went with chorus and never looked back – I’ve sung in choirs for something like sixteen years of my life and I’ve cantored for seven or eight years. So I suppose my voice is my instrument. Kidding – I’m kidding.

Alright. Thanks to Kendra for hosting this fun new link-up. And thanks to those of you who were interested enough to read my contribution to it. Head on over to Kendra’s for the rest!

SOTG, Mommy Triumphs, Personhood For Animals, Feminism, And More: 7 Quick Takes Friday(ish) (Vol. 28)

May 4, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

—1—

Yes, I’m more than a little late to the 7 Quick Takes Friday game this week. Right now my free time seems to come in five to fifteen minute spurts. And my two-handed free time comes about once every six hours. (I know, I know… such is life with two preschoolers and a newborn. I know.)

As I mentioned in my {phfr} post the other day, this week I received a certain little book in the mail, one the Catholic blogosphere is all kinds of excited about – “Something Other Than God: How I Passionately Sought Happiness And Accidentally Found It” written by none other than Ms. 7 Quick Takes Friday / Ms. Conversion Diary herself – Jennifer Fulwiler.

Anyone who reads Conversion Diary regularly will know that Jen has put an incredible amount of work into this book (SOTG). And let me tell you, even from just the first few chapters, it shows. I’ve been enjoying Conversion Diary for several years now, so I suppose I’m not the most unbiased reader. But seriously, this book, which tells Jen’s atheist-to-Catholic conversion story (and, um, how she “passionately sought happiness and accidentally found it”) is so well written. It’s captivating – the kind of book you don’t want to put down.

Except that, given the two preschoolers and the newborn, you kind of have to. Which is why it will take me longer to finish this book than any page-turner I’ve ever read before.

Also. Jen’s running all sorts of contests right now to celebrate her book’s launch. A couple of them involve taking pictures of the book – one is for “the most epic selfie” with SOTG, the other is for a picture of it in the weirdest place. I don’t have a chance in either category. I’m way too self-conscious to try for an epic selfie, and I’m sure that other folks have way weirder places to take book pictures than I do. All I can think of is to take pictures of my book on a big pile of laundry, or a counter covered in dishes, or like this:

Are you calling me weird?

—2—

Speaking of the two preschoolers and the newborn, let me tell you about a triumph I had the other day. At the grocery store. (Anybody who’s not currently a mommy to small children may as well just jump right over this take – I won’t blame you for being uninterested in the minute triumphs of life with littles.)

We were smack dab in the middle of a very busy day, just finishing up at the barber’s shop (both boys taken care of!), and everyone – especially the baby – was getting hungry. But we needed just a few things at the grocery store. So I took a gamble and decided to risk it. We walked straight into the store without stopping to stow the stroller in our van. Which left me with a conundrum: how to get a three-year-old, a two-year-old, a newborn, a stroller, and a load of groceries (too heavy for the stroller) through the store by myself?

Answer: You’re not by yourself! Put the littles to work! My three-year-old pushed the cart (a small one, but still!) by himself, with just a little help on the turns. My two-year-old pushed the stroller with some guidance from me.

Our little caravan must have made quite the sight, because people kept stopping to stare. “How old are they?” a few of them asked, looking bemused.

But the boys did great! They didn’t crash into anything or run over any toes, or even fight or take items off the shelves. I was quite the proud little mother hen. Especially when we returned to the car and I thanked the boys for being such good helpers. “Anytime, Mommy,” my older son told me. “You just wet me know when you need me.”

—3—

After developing something of an aversion to it at the end of my pregnancy (why? I have no idea), I’ve fallen back into my old NPR habit. So you can expect me to resume sprinkling random NPR-gleaned tidbits into my 7 Quick Takes. This week, I’ve got two:

First, for the amazing and courageous amidst the horrible. Last week, Fresh Air aired an interview with Tyler Hicks, a New York Times photographer who was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for his photographs of the 2013 mall attack in Nairobi, Kenya.

I found the interview to be more moving than I expected, especially the story behind the photograph of a mother and her two young children. The image shows them lying quiet and still, on the floor next to a counter covered in cups and saucers.

Of course Hicks had no way of knowing what became of the three. Shortly after he was awarded the Pulitzer, however, the woman made contact with him. She’d seen coverage of the prize and recognized herself amongst the photos.

It turns out that she and her children – a 10-year-old girl and a 2-year-old boy – had spent five hours lying on that floor. Five hours of fear and the most incredible stress. The woman had spent the entire time talking and singing to her children, focused on keeping them calm and still and quiet.

I have a two-year-old boy.

Two-year-old boys are busy. They are not known for their ability to remain still and quiet. I have no idea how I’d get through that situation with him (and another child to boot!). No idea. Just thinking about it makes me sick. What an incredible mother. And what awful, horrific circumstances she found herself in.

—4—

This past Monday, the Diane Rehm Show aired a discussion on efforts to grant legal rights – indeed, personhood – to animals. At first I was puzzled to hear that Robert Destro, Catholic University law professor and director of their Interdisciplinary Program in Law and Religion, would be one of those participating in the discussion. Then, ahh, yes – it came to me:

Legal rights – personhood – for animals. Animals that are deemed sufficiently sophisticated on a cognitive level. A personhood that is based on intelligence, on ability, rather than on humanity. What a dangerous thing, to attach personhood to a set of cognitive criteria, to maintain that being a person is somehow distinct from being human.

Yes, this (false) person/human distinction calls to mind the debate on abortion. But it also begs us to consider those who have already been born. Newborns, perhaps even older infants, wouldn’t meet the criteria discussed for personhood. Neither would some people with cognitive disabilities. Do we really want to live in a society that grants legal personhood in such a way that a chimpanzee would qualify, but my four-week old would not?

Definitely a person.

—5—

I’ve never thought of myself as a feminist before, but I might just start doing so. Because Simcha Fisher is right, as usual:

Yes, some evil people call themselves feminists, and do dreadful things in the name of feminism. So what? People do dreadful things in the name of democracy, and people do dreadful things in the name of beauty. People do dreadful things in the name of Christ our savior. That doesn’t mean we abandon the name. That means we rescue it, we rectify the misuse.

—6—

You know one of the things I love about my husband? In the evenings when he’s playing around with our boys, he captures them and holds them tight and when the little one yells, “Wet me det down! I wan det down!” He responds, “Oh, you want to get down? Okay!” and then forces the kid into a little disco dance, complete with music and hand motions.

Oh. My. Goodness. It’s hilarious. Sometimes it can be so entertaining to have small children (and good daddies) around.

—7—

It’s also entertaining to have good grandpas around. And my boys have the best:

Happy weekend, everyone! Don’t forget to stop over to Jen’s to check out all the other Quick Takes!

One Hot Mess

May 1, 2014May 2, 2014 / Julie / 2 Comments

Like a bunch of other folks, I suspect (or maybe I’m just the last one to the party – sorry, Blythe), I was introduced to Blythe Fike and her very lovely/funny blog “The Fike Life” last week when Grace recommended her and she was featured in this incredible video.

From what I’ve had a chance to read through/view so far, I’m loving her. Because of how lovely/funny/real/smart she seems, but also, I have to admit, because she strongly reminds me of one of my dearest, most lovely of friends, whom I rarely get to see. (Oh Becky, my Becky? Check out the video. Let me know what you think.)

Anyway. Blythe has just started a link-up, encouraging folks to lay bare some of the most real, usually-not-for-public-consumption scenes in their homes. And against what would surely be my mother’s advice, I thought I’d join in. So here it is, my “One Hot Mess.”

This is our second floor landing. I had many, many “hot mess” options to choose from, I assure you. I went with this one because it seems to taunt me more than the others do – probably because it’s been sitting there so long. For months. More months than I care to count.

If you look around the image, you’ll see a bunch of things that have been waiting to be returned to Home Goods for… far too long. (Up to 18 months. Cringe. I probably can’t even return them now anyway, can I?)

You’ll also see a jumble of Christmas decorations, which are sitting there because they’ve yet to be packed into their bins. Which are also sitting there.

We’ve also got a bag of give-away clothes, some dry-cleaning, some of my husband’s tools (no idea why), two baskets of miscellaneous papers, and some mostly-empty boxes and bags leftover from my mother-in-law’s move. I doubt she even realizes they’re there.

In the background, we peek into the nursery/laundry room/craft room/office, where there are piles of unfolded clean laundry and random bags and bins of stuff.

Just outside the frame, I’ve got baskets of laundry, a box of my mother-in-law’s cleaning supplies, and eight canvas bins of stationary and office supplies. (Eight. Yes, I know. I’m ridiculous.) I’ve also still got the lovely collection of items featured in this photo from last week, which are sitting there for no other reason than I just haven’t carried them downstairs yet.

Gosh, this is tedious, isn’t it? Oh, well. I offer it to those of you who have ever handed me a compliment on my home. Thank you for your kindness. And rest assured that our space here is very far from perfect. So, so much lurks just outside the frame.

Jump on over to Blythe’s to read her thoughts behind the “One Hot Mess” link-up and to get a look at other folks’ hot messes too. Enjoy!

Unreliable Equation: {pretty, happy, funny, real} (Vol. 13)

May 1, 2014May 1, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

It’s funny, isn’t it, how you can feed the same variables into the homemaking/mothering equation day in and day out, and yet get completely different outcomes? All. the. time. Same mother, same children, same schedule, and one day turns out to be sunshine and roses while the next is miserable misery.

Yesterday afternoon while waiting for my husband to come home early from work (yippee!), I pondered what I might write for my {p,h,f,r}. Despite not feeling my best, I was very much in the sunshine-and-roses mindset. (Sing it: Home early from work!!!) My mind was full of pretty, pretty, pretty…

Until it wasn’t.

Six hours into fussy baby, hungry baby, FUSSY baby, HUNGRY baby, fussy, fussy, FUSSY baby… I’d had it. I was done, cooked. Everything was suddenly very, very real.

Grump, grump, grumpity, grump.

After developing an awful crick in my neck from falling asleep nursing little-mister-nearly-four-weeks-old (which STILL didn’t do the trick), I finally deposited the unhappy little bugger in his Rock-n-Play (seriously, our absolute favorite piece of baby gear, hands-down) and tossed dirty dishes into the dishwasher with rather too much vigor. I’m lucky I didn’t break anything.

Thank goodness for daddies who are good with babies.

And thank goodness for those sunshine-and-roses moments, which feed the soul and soothe the mind and which will surely, surely come again.

Until they do, I’ll just go ahead and remind myself of the following:

{pretty}

I think this little guy will be serving as my {pretty} for quite some time. He really is a dear, isn’t he?

{happy}

The boys are {happy} to have something as exciting as Grandma’s new garden going in the backyard. I’m happy to have the boys outside. Grandma’s happy to have her own piece of dirt at her new home. Brennan’s happy to be done digging.

I’m also happy to finally have these new titles in my hot little hands:

(For those who don’t already know, the books are written by two wonderful bloggers. “The Little Oratory: A Beginner’s Guide to Praying in the Home” is co-authored by Leila Lawler of Like Mother, Like Daughter and “Something Other Than God: How I Passionately Sought Happiness and Accidentally Found It” is written by Jennifer Fulwiler of Conversion Diary. I’ve started both and can’t wait to get through them. I’ll report back when I do.)

{funny}

Oh my, has this little guy been funny lately. He is such a ham.

Yesterday afternoon when I scolded him for waking up the baby, he said, “But Mommy, I was just twying to teach him to dance!”

A moment later he walked back into the kitchen looking like this:

When he repeated the ensemble for his father that evening (this time with the lovely addition of oven mitts on his feet), he said “I yook fashion!” and “C’mon, everybody, yet’s CWAZY shake! Yet’s have some fun!”

{real}

Need I include anything more in this category?

How about the beautiful, moving kind of brotherly love that also kind of drives you nuts because you know it will result in a woken up/disturbed/crying baby? Yep, that’s {real}.

He loves that baby so, so much.

So do I. (Grumble, grumble…)

Head on over to Like Mother, Like Daughter for more in the way of {pretty, happy, funny, real}!

Our First Days With Him: 7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 27)

April 25, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

—1—

Today, I feel every inch the mother of a newborn. Whooo-eee, am I tired. It’s a good thing I was blessed with some good sleepers (thank you, Lord!), because I am simply not equipped to handle a severe and consistent lack of sleep. After my solid three hours last night, I just about shed tears as I heaved myself out of bed this morning.

And I’ve been fighting them off the rest of the day.

—2—

So why in the world am I finally posting something to the blog today, rather than on any of the handful of lovelier, more happy and perky days I’ve had in the three weeks since the baby was born? Because today I’m tired enough that I just don’t care anymore.

You see, I’ve got a bit of an OCD/perfectionist problem. After posting the birth announcement, I reasonably and rightfully took a little break from thinking about anything but baby, boys, husband, and home. No blogging, not much reading of blogs, not much Facebooking or emailing. Fine. Makes sense.

Soon enough, though, I started to want to share some pictures and thoughts on the new baby and our new little family of five. (Six? I should say six now that my mother-in-law is living with us, shouldn’t I?) But I’d already built up a back-log of photos and ideas and I didn’t know which would be the perfect ones to post. So I didn’t post anything at all. It’s a very Julie thing to have done.

But today? I just don’t care anymore! I’m too tired to care! So I’ll just throw something up here, re-break the ice, and get back to blogging. It’s good to have your inhibitions broken down every now and then.

—3—

I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit it, but do you know what was majorly contributing to my perfectionist reluctance to post anything on the blog? (Anything less than perfect, that is.) This here post is my 100^th.

One-hundred posts! It’s a piddly number, I’m sure, to anyone who has been blogging for a while. But it feels like a big milestone to me and I wanted to find a great way to mark it. And… um… I couldn’t. So, this:

(They look thrilled, don’t they? Woo-hoo! One-hundred posts! Here’s to the next hundred excuses for Mommy to be chained to her laptop!)

—4—

Now for the baby photos. I’m sure that’s what you really care about anyway, right?

He’s sweet, isn’t he?

—5—

Of course he is! He’s wonderful. He spent his first couple of weeks as a deliciously sleepy baby, sliding straight from one feeding session (we’re having to supplement with formula again, just like with the other two – ugh) into sleep, then awake for a few peaceful minutes before beginning the cycle all over again. Pretty easy, really.

So easy that we were actually able to go out for a nice lunch on my birthday. Sleeping baby? Sleeping two-year-old? Check, check!

It’s getting a little harder now. He’s awake for longer periods of time and he wants to be held more. (Imagine that!) He’s also hitting that three-week growth spurt, so he’s hungrier. (HUNGRIER, I tell you!)

But he’s also starting to smile in his sleep. Which is one of God’s little gifts, I think, to get hormonal, sleep-deprived new mothers through these difficult first days and nights.

—6—

His big brothers have also been wonderful. They love their baby and have been trying hard to help take care of him. Sometimes they love him a little too much and he needs to be rescued, but that’s not such a bad problem to have.

By and large they’ve been cooperative, even giving me a stress-free first trip back to the grocery store and a couple of three-way naps.

They’ve also been saying some really funny things in the past few weeks:

My two-year-old, pointing at the baby, keeps saying: “I wike him widdle nose! I wike him widdle ears! I wike him widdle head!” Then, pointing at me, he says: “I wike your big nose! I wike your big ears! I wike your big head!”

He also comes out with, “Dat Baby Isaat! He my budder” over and over and over… All the time. To everyone. Including Brennan and me. (As if we didn’t know who the baby was.)

The three-year-old constantly says, “I sink Baby Isaac wikes me!” Or, “I sink he wuvs me.” Or, “I wuv da baby.” Or, “He’s so cuuute!” Or, “We have a funny baby!”

Also, one day when I ran into the kitchen, responding to the screams of the two-year-old, biggest brother assured me, “Don’t worry, Mommy! He’s not bweeding!”

After we got home from our Easter celebration at my grandparents’ house, the big guy sighed and smiled and said, “Dat was a gweat party.”

Of course, it was far less charming when, upon spotting a revealed bit of my midsection, he asked me, “Do you have a baby in your bewwy again?”

—7—

It’s going to be quite a while before I don’t look like I have a baby in my “bewwy” again.

That said, yesterday I glanced in the mirror while I was holding the baby and I thought, “Hm. You’re looking unusually photogenic at the moment. Take a picture, why don’t you?”

Sorry, I know: that sounds ridiculous. Arrogant, maybe. It’s just that I always feel so gross in all of my post-partum pictures that I figured if I could get one that I actually feel good about, I should go for it.

And, I figured may as well share the pic while I’m at it. (Please, though, ignore the detritus of random junk and dirty laundry on the periphery of the photo. Every single mirror in my house is currently sporting a similar view. If I waited until I had cleaned it up, I would have never taken the picture.)

I can’t go out on that one, though. How about… Happy Easter from the Walsh boys!

Okay, that’s enough low-quality ice-breaking for today. Head on over to Jen’s for lots of Quick Takes that weren’t inspired by “I just don’t care anymore!” And have a great weekend!

These Walls

Sharing stories from within the walls of my home; encouraging discourse on the wider world outside them.

Author: Julie