Six Flags

Over the weekend we went to Six Flags Over Texas. My in-laws got us season passes for Christmas last year, which, as it turns out, has turned out to be one of the best presents we've ever received.

Six Flags provides hours of entertainment, not just from the obvious rides and attractions, but the people watching couldn't be better. On our last visit we witnessed a group of about six teenage girls wearing matching sequined tops, cut off denim shorts, and white fur eskimo boots. It was 84 degrees that day. A much older creepy-uncle type man was standing with his dangerously young girlfriend at the airbrush t-shirt stand having a shirt made that said "I'm with douchebag."

I kid you not. These occurrences happened so frequently that day I had to wonder if we missed some sort of theme day.

Well, this weekend my father-in-law and his wife Cheryl came along with us to Six Flags. It was a nice day for them to spend with the kids. Since our kids are so young there are only about 10 or so rides for them. Nolan can ride a few more than that, but they are a bit bigger. Leah is still too short for most everything outside of the kids area and she's pretty hesitant to get on most of them anyway. She usually clings to my hip tightly and pulls herself away. On this day we were walking through the kids area and waiting in line for Nolan to get on one of his favorites, which is basically a smaller version of the Superman ride. If you aren't familiar, it raises you up and them drops you (slowly) at different increments. Nolan loves it. He giggles the whole way up and down.

I guess Leah was feeling particularly adventurous that day and she started to get upset that she couldn't get on this ride. She wiggled away from me and I tried to explain that she wasn't big enough yet but that we could ride something else. I pointed at the next closest ride which was a small version of the swings that goes around and around. It looked like a fairly harmless ride with no height requirement. To my surprise, in what has to be her first act of rebellion, she said yes. She nodded her head smuggly and we walked over to the ride and immediately on. I strapped her in and waited outside the gate.

She laughed with confidence as if to say, "I am going to ride the heck out of the swing and show you."

The operator turned the knob and the ride started going. Her tiny legs kicked back and forth and she cocked her head back with an easy laugh when suddenly her face changed and a look of panic/regret washed over her. The ride was getting faster and her expression quickly melted into terror. She cried for a good 3/4 of the 30 seconds she was on the swing. We cheered for her anyway. And she also didn't leave my arms for the rest of the day.

Nolan went on everything he was big enough for that day. His favorites were the roller coasters. Over the past few weeks it's been amazing watching him grow more and more comfortable with new rides and experiences. He's always been my cautious child. He approaches new things with a sense of apprehension and wants to assess his surroundings before jumping in. I never have to worry about him climbing on furniture or running off from me and getting lost in the store because he's too scared to do it. He likes routine. I spent hours a week talking him into wearing a different pair of shoes or trying to get him to watch a different move that's not E.T.

I waited in line with him for the mini mine train, one of the roller coasters that he can ride. I was prepared to hold onto him and coax him into looking up from the track as I had done before. I ran the scenario through my mind as we stepped forward through the line. We got to sit in the front of the train, so there wasn't another person in front of us to block the view of what was coming ahead. As soon as we buckled in the first thing Nolan did was shoot his hands in the air over his head. People were still getting seated so it was probably a good 3-5 minutes before we were even ready to go. I looked over at him and he had the biggest smile on his face. I'm not sure where he learned to put his hands up, or even why people do that. But he was excited and didn't have a care in the world. He absolutely glowed with happiness. My heart was so full at that moment.

So what does a parent do? I raised both of my hands up as high as I could too. As we cornered each turn and rounded the twists and dives I could only hear one thing and that was the sound of his giggle over the rumble of the ride and the noise of the park. When the ride ended he looked over at me and beamed with a smile from ear to ear. I am sure my face matched his.

This wasn't just a ride for me. It was the turning point on a much larger journey of parenthood. It was watching my child break through his limitations and the proof that he is capable of so much more than what he and I thought possible.

What's Happening, Yo?

Sometimes my phone is the best diary of my life. Herein case, an exhibit and commentary on the suburban life of a 20-something mom.

Tiny fingers make for most excellent hand holding.

DIY advent calendar, Christmas in full effect!

City sidewalks dressed in holiday style. (? I might have made those lyrics up)

Must. resist. biting. toes.

Sleep cuddles are my favorite.

I love his smile. It's gotta be worth millions... at least, a few million kisses.

Won't let go.

Shadow.

"Look mommy, Leah has tattoos just like you."

Getting crafty, well, as crafty as a type-A clean freak will get.

Socks on her hands... seems legit.

Boot weather!

Us on YHL. Famous... for like a second.

Word, J. Adler.

Stinker... Literally, he kind of stunk. I gave him a bath.

Dear Self

Dear self,

Remember that time in 11^th grade after school at that study session for math in that small classroom with just the teacher and a few other students? Remember when you were working through a problem and you could hear those two underclassmen girls whispering and one of them said your name and you had never met them before?

Remember how the teacher asked them if they needed something, and the girl said that you didn’t like them, which was funny because you didn’t even know the girls. That sure felt uneasy and isolating after that. And then you had to sit through the awful awkward silence in the room. They left before you did, which you were thankful for but you still don’t know why those girls said you didn’t like them or why they thought that you didn’t.

You’ve said it before on this blog that you’re a pretty private person. Sure, you like to crack jokes and can be loud sometimes (which most people seem to find charming), but when it comes to the personal stuff, you keep it to yourself. You’re also insecure, to a fault. You want people to like you. You like approval.

This makes it hard for you to make friends. Recently someone did something to you that hurt real bad. Whether they intended to or not, it made you super self-conscious and upset because they don’t like you. You guys have tons of mutual friends, online and in real life, and they made a conscious effort to cut you out. To be even more swell, the way it was brought to your attention must have cut even deeper. Ouch. You felt just as insecure and isolated as you did sitting in that classroom at LDHS. That pit in your stomach hasn’t stopped aching for like three weeks now. Geez.

The fact is, you need to get over yourself. In the grand scheme of things you have to ask yourself, “Does this really matter?” You know that you are not for everyone. Come’on, you crack crass jokes and have the maturity of a twelve year old! My goodness, you love dirty rap music and eating carbs in your underwear. People might have a hard time getting on board with that crazy train.

The old Stefanie would have cut them off and ran… or chased them like a puppy dog trying to convince them to please like you. They don’t matter. People will fail you. But the hard truth is, that not everyone is going to like you, but those that do matter do like you. So quit beating yourself up about these haterz.

“Haterz gonna hate.”

You can get caught up in thinking about how loved and appreciated everyone else seems to be. It’s easy to fall down that self-loathing rabbit hole and get lost. (It’s pretty familiar to you, isn’t it?) Just. Don’t. Besides, look at you, you are pretty amazing. You also have two littles that you need to think about modeling your behavior after. They don’t need to see you drawing horns on their heads, so you can quit daydreaming about that. You do need to teach them that it’s okay to be yourself. It’s okay to not be everyone’s favorite. It’s okay to love the shit out of whatever you want to and anybody that doesn’t approve can miss out on the party. Be fantastically authentic. Be you. Be awesome. 

Hugs and kisses,

Me

Different

You know, for a married couple Brian and I actually don’t share that much in common. That sure makes for interesting observations from people.

I’m short, he’s tall.

He’s skinny, I’m…. well, not.

I’m dramatic, he’s practical.

I’m loud, he’s reserved.

I like to buy pretty things, he likes to save each extra penny.

I’m quick to anger, and he’s rational down to his very core.

I’m a dreamer, he’s a realist.

He doesn’t bat an eye when I talk about moving to a farm in the country, or get a hare-brained idea to paint the bathroom at 11 p.m.

But for two people so drastically different, we share one thing and that’s our love.

Sure, our marriage has taken a beating. When times are tough and it feels like the whole world is against us, we know that no matter what we’ll be okay as long as we have each other.

We’ve stood through job loss, death, sickness, financial hardship, and so much that was designed to destroy us, but we’re closer and stronger than ever before.

Being married to someone who battles depression can’t be easy. There are man times that I felt like I was floating out in deeper darker waters by myself only to be rescued by Brian. He’s my rock. He’s pulled me up when it felt like I was being swallowed by the deep darkness.

As the year closes, I’m thankful for my marriage. I’m thankful that I get to spend every single day with my very best friend. I’m thankful that my marriage gives me something to fight for and a reason to push back the suffocating darkness of depression. I’m thankful that we are so different.

I am thankful for this life.

Meeting Young House Love

The alternate title of this post could also be "Only Crazy People Take Children to a Book Signing," but I don't want to exaggerate the story. We had a great time meeting our favorite bloggers and fellow DIY enthusiasts, John and Sherry, at the Dallas West Elm for their book signing event.

We woke up early for a Saturday and hurried to get ourselves over to the store. My plan had been to leave by 8:30 to make the "30 minute" drive, because it always takes about 30 minutes to get to Dallas. Every time we go to Dallas it takes 30 MINUTES. Well, of course, that did not happen. We sat for 2.5 hours in traffic on a shut-down highway 635. Two kids don't do well sitting in a stopped car. There was lots of crying and screaming and that's just what was coming from the driver's seat. :)

Finally we made to West Elm to find a line wrapped around the building and lining the service road. The weather was nice though, and we took our spot at around 11:00 which was right when the signing was supposed to begin. Since we were standing right next to the road it was LOTS of fun wrangling kids away from the street. I pulled out every distraction possible. We sang, we danced... we cried a little bit more. Ha ha.

 In-line after about 45 minutes. Cookies being delivered! 

We had a good time though. The kids kept other people in line entertained. We talked to the people around us and met some people who just live down the street from us. Nice to get to know our neighbors! We exchanged information and agreed that we'd have to house crash each other for inspiration. 

Leah playing her role of "drunk baby."

  Don't they look sweet here? Another distraction. 

  Excuse the blurry photo. You can see someone's tiny hand grabbing for the adorable and absolutely delicious cookies that they handed out to everyone. 

Playing with new friends through the West Elm windows and only mildly annoying others. Win!

Finally, around 1:30 we got to the front of the line and it was our turn. I had this insane adorable idea to dress the kids in their Lowes and Home Depot kids aprons since we do everything as a family, including DIY and decorating projects. Our kids are always with us. I hope that they have many fond memories of growing up, including all of the awesome crazy adventures we have together like meeting John and Sherry, and painting furniture, or building shelves. We pride ourselves on raising future DIY junkies. 

John and Sherry were so sweet and nice, even to the cranky children and crazy parents who brought them. I brought along a little sign that I made to show our love and representation of Richmond since we share our hometown in common. I made a 3"x5" copy of it for them to sign so we could hang it on our gallery wall. It makes me smile every time to walk by it. 

It was a long but SUPER fun morning. Needless to say, the car ride home was a lot more enjoyable. 

Worth it.

TIMBER

 They greet me at the door every single day with bright smiles and sticky fingers. One right after the other, tiny arms grab my legs and I sweep each of them up in my arms to kiss them gently on the cheek. Leah squeezes her legs tighter around my waist as Nolan slides down my side.

I blow a kiss to Brian who’s standing in the kitchen working on dinner and then race off to the bedroom with the children right behind me. They explode with giggles as we crash on top of my unmade bed. Nolan pulls himself on top of the yellow comforter and I grab Leah who’s anxious to join us.

I tickle each bare belly and they laugh and laugh and laugh. I watch the crinkle of their noses and the beautiful way the lamp light shines through their blonde hair. We take turns crashing into the covers and yelling “TIMBER!!!!” It’s so silly, yet so fun, well, for the four and under crowd.

I laid down for a second and sank deeper into the mattress with every bounce when a little hand grabbed me shirt and yanks it higher. Not long after I was met with a cold wet raspberry on my exposed stomach. I couldn’t help but laugh. A finger traced the now faint silver lines on my abdomen, forever imperfect marks left from pregnancy. Then again, a second wet raspberry higher other side from the other child. In an overdramatic show I wiggled around in the messy sheets and hugged my children tightly. And again the room filled with laughter.

My body isn’t perfect, but it made these two amazing people.

I am not perfect. I am not home enough, I lose my temper, I don’t cook or clean enough, and I can’t always be there to protect them. I am not always the mom I want to be. But to them, I am perfect. 

 

Homemade Holiday Week 1: Magic Custard Pie

Not too long ago I was flipping through my copy of Real Simple magazine when I came across an article about holiday pies. I studied the pages and read over each recipe. There is something wonderful about holiday desserts, especially pie. Pie just isn’t something that you make just because. No sir, leave that to cookies and cakes. Pie is special.

I’m not a great baker, though. I can make a decent “homemade” apple pie, complete with store-bought crust. I’ve made a total of maybe three pies, in my whole life. But as our family gets bigger and older, I wanted to start certain traditions to enjoy each year. Both Brian and I had lots of traditions growing up and we both treasure those memories. And I do love to eat, so the idea to make one pie a week during the holiday season (November – December) was born! That’s EIGHT different pies.

I dog-eared the article and tucked away my Real Simple magazine and went off to find a nice pie recipe to start with. I figured I should start with something easy that I couldn’t foul up too terribly. I have a Pinterest board that’s dedicated to food, like, legit food I want to get in my belly, so I started there. I found this easy recipe for Custard Pie, and it looked easy enough and definitely delicious. I love custard-based desserts, they are not too sweet, but just perfect.

Sunday was a busy day, but I gathered up my supplies and mixed them according to the directions (*my “blender” was really a magic bullet, which worked fine!). It smelled yummy, and I only briefly panicked that it would end up a runny mess before I popped it in the oven.

About 70 minutes later I pulled her out steaming with the most glorious sweet milky scent waiffing off to golden crust. I set her on the kitchen counter to cool and then moved her to the fridge for about an hour longer.

After a quick dinner I couldn’t wait to dig in. My knife sliced through the light filling and cut right through to the glass dish. I wedged a piece out of the pie plate and served myself with a cup of hot chai tea.

The first bite absolutely melted in my mouth. The top was slightly firm, and the crust was just right. It reminded me of a Sunday afternoon. Like a dessert you’d have after a big southern comfort feast with family. In fact, if I could rename this recipe, it would be called Sunday Afternoon Custard Pie, or maybe Absofreakinglutelyamazing Custard Pie. It’s a toss up.

I called Brian over for him to try my first creation and he gobbled up a giant slice of his own. I’d definitely call it a win! I read that you can add a few more ingredients and the recipe makes a great bread pudding, my favorite dessert! I’ll try that soon too.

A day later, I find myself craving that pie as I sit at my work desk. I’m pretty proud of myself for trying something new and it boosted my confidence to attempt a more complex recipe next week. I’ve narrowed it down to a few choices. I only wish that we had more people to share the pie with. I guess now is a great time to start getting to know the neighbors.