185 Days

If you have noticed the absence of someone on the blog lately, you are probably wondering what in the world is going on. Where is JD?! Since mid-May, he has been working in Saudi Arabia. For 185 days, the girls and I have missed our daddy, our boy. Last night he returned home to us.

A lot of people asked me how I managed being a single mama to 2 little ones for 6 months while JD was away. I never quite knew how to respond. There were a lot of hard moments, lots of times I struggled and outright sucked at everything I was doing, but I found a way to do what needed to be done. There's no choice to do anything else but handle everything by yourself when little kids are involved. You can't really lay down and give up when 2 little girls are like, "hey mom, we're hungry and we want to go to the park. Stop being weird and take care of us."

In hindsight, I suppose I managed everything with the help of friends that knew when I needed them, family support (even if it was from 2500 miles away), and lots of prayer. Thankfully, there weren't too many bad days in a row. There were always a few really great days that followed the terrible ones. And when all else failed, we operated in survivor mode. Dinner picnics at the park trumped dining table meltdowns, princess dresses to the grocery store seemed like a reasonable compromise in the midst of clothing battles with a 2 and 4 year old, and iPads in bed totally counted as a nap on those days when the girls refused to nap but I needed a break.

Some things didn't change at all with JD's absence. We never missed church, we utilized the same bedtime routine, and did chores as usual. It was important to everyone that things were basically the same around our home while JD was gone. The things that were different were both blessings and curses though. Knowing that I didn't have to cook every night or keep our living spaces as clean as JD likes them was liberating and depressing to me. On the days that I ignored laundry and left stickers on the walls, I cleaned everything like a crazy person the next day. I never realized how much my domestic duties made me feel like a wife until I wasn't required to do them for a time. I felt married and unmarried at the same time. Every day around 4 o'clock I would get so sad knowing that it really didn't matter what I served for dinner. The girls were just as happy with scrambled eggs as they would be if I served them chicken piccata. I missed my food-loving man.

The girls did pretty well without their daddy. I don't mean to be insensitive when I say that, but they are little and honestly probably won't remember the past 6 months without him. Not much about their daily routine changed while he was gone. We Skyped and FaceTimed with him everyday so they got to "see" him and we talked about him constantly. They did great, but obviously life is better with a daddy. They were so excited to bring him home with us last night.

I was really nervous about re-acclimating to each other again. He's been a bachelor for the last 6 months and I've been a single mom. So many things about our routine had changed and were about to change again as we worked ourselves back into family life. None of that mattered when I saw him last night though. My scruffy, jet-lagged man looked so good to me walking off that airplane, all I wanted to do was smooch his face off. All of that other stuff will work itself out in time.

JD had a great welcoming at the airport. Along with us, his office people were there with signs and balloons and hugs. The folks waiting to board the plane at the gate where JD deplaned applauded as we reunited with our daddy. It was emotional, my heart was bursting with love for my guy.

He's home now and we're not letting him go anywhere for a long time!

Penelope is 2

Penelope turned 2 last Friday.

 

Her day was spent opening gifts, eating birthday pancakes, shopping, and smashing cake. If you ask her how old she is, she will tell you, "almost 3." She's a hoot!

I took her to the park tonight at sunset to capture some photos of her in honor of her birthday.

I can't believe my baby is 2! She is the most fun little person and I love watching her grow. She's the best! Happy birthday, baby.

Jesus On the Roof

We talk a lot about Jesus around here. Beatrice is old enough, and smart enough, to ask questions about where He is and why we can't see Him. I tell her everything I know, trying not to water anything down just because she is a child. He's a big and awesome God and I don't want to diminish anything about Him just because she can't grasp much of what I'm saying. It will penetrate her heart and she will always know His character and might, in the Name of Jesus!

Anyway, the other day we were watching one of their Bible movies and Beatrice asked if Jesus had seen her movie. I told her yes, He can see all things so He has seen the movie. She thought about it for a minute then said, "well, I haven't seen Him in our house, He must be on the roof watching it."

I guess He could be on our roof, He is omnipresent after all. I love her sweet, innocent, and curious heart and how she is trying to figure it all out.

Seek Him out, little person. He's knocking at the door of your heart - and hanging out on our roof.

Haircut, Broken Heart

I'm kinda mad at this kid right now:

I left her and Penelope in the playroom for a minute while I stirred the rice in the kitchen. When I returned, I found this:

And this:

Beatrice chopped off Penelope's ponytail, cut bangs, and added some face-framing layers to her do. I didn't notice the hair cutting when I walked into the room. I didn't even realize they had the safety scissors (they were coloring when I left the room). I knew something was up though when Beatrice ran to hide behind the couch screaming "SORRY MOMMY!" I found wispy, blonde hair piled all over the floor and then I knew what had transpired in the 3 - 5 minutes I left them alone.

The next few moments were a blur. I didn't know how to react so I sent Beatrice to her room while I figured it out. I was really mad that she broke our scissors rule (only cut paper at the dining room table with mommy present), I was sad about missing my baby's first haircut, and I was angry that her beautiful hair was butchered. I was also trying to stifle my laughter because this is such a classic kid move: big sister whacks little sister's hair. Someday we'll all laugh at this, right?

After I picked up all the hair, I started crying. My baby's hair looks so awful, it is chopped throughout in weird, blunt angles. I'm sad she won't have the opportunity to grow her hair long like Beatrice's. I'm sad I won't be able to braid it and style it like usual. Penelope hugged me and said, "Sissy cut my hair. I'm beautiful!"

Yes baby, even with jacked up hair, you're still beautiful.

I feel really dumb for reacting to the haircut with so much emotion, it's just hair after all. It'll grow back. But I'm still sad. My sister in law summed it up best when she texted her condolences along with this nugget of truth: it can be heartbreaking when our kids make bad decisions. I guess that's the root of my feelings; I'm sad that Beatrice made a bad decision and ruined her sister's hair. I'm sad that she chose to disobey the scissors rule. I'm sad that I missed out on baby's first haircut. And I'm sad that someone in my family has a mullet, even if it is a beautiful blonde mullet.

Beatrice received a consequence for cutting something other than paper and lost all cutting privileges for a long, long time. She was really upset, but mostly she was really sad that I was sad. I let her see me cry and we talked about how making choices can affect others.

I don't know what we'll do with Penelope's hair. Part of me wants to ignore the chopped bits and let it continue to grow, but a bob would be really cute too. I'm still sad, although the shock of the haircut has worn off. Maybe I'll even laugh about it soon. And I have forgiven Beatrice for her poor choice. Who knows, maybe this is the beginning of her career as a stylist.

Too bad she can't touch scissors again until she's 18.

Not Quitting My Day Job

Have you ever wanted to be really good at something, but just weren't? It doesn't matter how hard you practice and try, you just can't seem to master it? That's me with sewing. I'm not bad at all of my sewing projects. I am actually pretty good with clothing patterns and simple undertakings like bibs and appliques. But I've been sewing for long enough that I should be really good at constructing and creating all of the things I put under my presser foot.

But alas, I'm not.

I have been wanting to make Penelope a sunsuit for a few weeks now. I found a few online printable patterns, but my printer wouldn't cooperate and I ended up with really tiny, askew shapes instead of workable pattern pieces. I've studied enough tutorials and have made plenty of simple dresses with my own stash of patterns that I felt confident I could make one without a pattern.

I used an outfit I already had as a template and worked on her sunsuit at night for a week. It was simple and came together easily. I had most of the outfit completed when I realized that it looked really big. I tried it on Beatrice and it totally fit her. Hmph. Undeterred, I trimmed down the sides and reconstructed everything. Still huge.

It's not good. The stride is really long and has a weird bunching effect. The open back is too low cut. The ruffle in the front is too high and frilly. The sides are narrow and loose. I messed up the whole thing and I can't entirely figure out how or where I went wrong. I am so upset about it. The wasted fabric!!

It looks really stupid on Beatrice, as you can see, but you should see it on Penelope. Oh my, it looks like a weird, huge potato sack with ruffles. I laughed. And then I cried. Not really. I still want to try to salvage it into a wearable outfit for Penelope, but I don't know where to begin. I will be purchasing a sunsuit pattern at Joann's immediately.

Ugh, why can't I just be good at this??? It has so much potential, dontcha think?

At Some Point, I Need To Stop Writing About My Teeth

When I was 18, I went on a medical mission trip to Mexico. I was on the dental team and I will never forget how people waited for hours to voluntarily have their teeth pulled. Our clinics were set up in classrooms, churches, and sometimes under tents in people's yards. We brought state of the art equipment and followed strict sanitary guidelines, but the conditions were rudimentary and makeshift and people still lined up every day to have their teeth extracted without protest or hesitation.

What I didn't comprehend back then was that these people understood how serious tooth pain is. When they came to our clinics, they just cared about eliminating the pain even if it meant enduring some to relieve it. They didn't grimace or flinch when the doctor cut their gums open and scraped decayed tooth fragments out. They just wanted to feel better.

Fast forward to last Thursday. I had a routine teeth cleaning at my new dentist. The last one tortured me. I hadn't had a cleaning in 2 years so I was looking forward to having that super clean feeling from all the scraping and polishing. I was also excited about my new toothbrush and sample sized toothpaste dentists always give after appointments.

What I didn't expect was news that I had 6 (SIX!?!?!!!!) teeth in need of crowns, porcelain caps, and fillings. 6. I was dumbfounded. "But I floss every day!!" I protested. It didn't matter. All of my teeth with silver fillings (6) need major work because apparently silver shrinks over time allowing bacteria to get under the filling and inside the teeth. Awesome.

So, I am now in the process of repairing some of my teeth. Insurance only covers 2 of them so I'm also faced with the weird dilemma of determining how much the health of my teeth is really worth to me. Once again, I have found myself in a chair with torture devices in my mouth while someone drills holes in my teeth. All I can think about are those people in the remote Mexican jungle who lined up voluntarily for this stuff, and now I get it. This crap hurts and is a total schedule killer. A mouthful of rotten teeth? Ain't nobody got time for that. Pull those suckers out.

I don't really want to lose all of my teeth though. I think that's why I'm writing about them once again. (I've done this before). But I'm scared that's the road ahead of me and I'm totally bummed out about it. I also got news that my gums have receded 4 mm (5 mm being the beginning of the danger zone) and the inside of my teeth are super soft and more susceptible to cavities and decay. My issues are 95% genetics and 5% my fault. 

Here's what I know about teeth:

1. They are fragile. Watch what your chompers are chomping on. They could break while eating carne asada.
2. Pretty teeth aren't always a sign of healthy teeth. Mine are gorgeous and totally rotten.
3. They are important. When 1 (or 6) of them hurt, your whole mouth suffers. And it's really hard to eat.
4. They're not meant to last forever. Or maybe they are, I don't know. Mine probably aren't going to last forever.
5. They are expensive to repair.
6. It is really hard to reverse the condition of teeth. Take care of them while they are healthy.
7. Genetics play a huge role in the state of teeth. If you have bad teeth like me, it is okay to blame your ancestors. They did this to you.
8. I brush my teeth too hard. If you do too, stop it. They will eventually all fall out.
9. Teeth are a very personal issue. While discovering just how poor health my teeth are in, I've grown really insecure about it. I feel like I need to follow up every conservation about them with, "I brush and floss all day long, it's not my fault!"
10. It's hurts when you drill them. Do everything in your power to avoid this.

The worst part about this ordeal is that I have to be an adult and deal with the drilling and the payments and the torture. I don't want to. I want to ignore my 6 decaying teeth. I want to avoid the dentist for the rest of my life. But I am an adult. I am going to go back to the chair, voluntarily, to take care of it.  Because I finally get it: my mouth hurts and I just want to feel better.

Girls Night Out

There are usually 2 reasons I don't write with frequency on this blog: either there is nothing going on or there is quite a lot going on. This week, quite a lot has been going out. Mainly, the most epic girls night out in the history of the world.

I have only had 1 other girls night out in the 3 1/2 years since becoming a mother. It was at our neighborhood community center and involved a middle aged DJ, lots of hip hop music, and some rad dance moves. It was awesome and hilarious and perfect for a last minute night out with friends. It was great, but not epic.

Last night, 6 of us went to West Hollywood to SUR for the most epic girls night out ever ever ever.

Now, the rest of this story won't be interesting to you if you don't watch the reality show called Vanderpump Rules. If you don't watch, it is a very dramatic, ridiculous show about the gorgeous young staff at SUR trying to make it big in Hollywood. If you do watch the show, you understand how big of a deal it is to go to SUR. I am ga-ga about the show so going there for dinner was almost more than I could handle.

We got there at 5:30 as they were opening and hung out in the lounge for a bit while we waited on the rest of our friends to arrive. It was so opulent and swanky. The bar was tiled with mirrors and glass, there were chandeliers and jewels hanging everywhere, and the velvet furniture was tiny and chic. It was eclectic and modern.

Once our other friends showed up, we walked over to the restaurant side of SUR. It was even more beautiful than the lounge. Fresh flowers and mirrors, crystals and candles, swank and sophistication were all around.

Then our waitresses showed up. This is where watching the show comes in handy. Katie and Kristen both waited on us!

A really stupid thing happens to me around celebrities. I can't breathe, I feel lightheaded, I nervously talk about nonsense. All of those things happened once I realized I was surrounded by people from my favorite show.

I was pretty much incapacitated the rest of the evening. I couldn't focus on anything but the fact that I was living a dream, a reality show dream. It was more than I could handle. Even the bathroom was fabulous.

The food was great, I had a steak with basil butter and roasted brussel sprouts. Our table was awesome, tucked away in a corner beneath a huge chandelier with a great view of the restaurant and the street. The service was great, Katie and Kristen were professional and personable.

After the excitement of dressing up, being in a cool place where a show I love is filmed, and having the cast serve us, we didn't think the night could get anymore awesome. But then it did. We left the restaurant and were standing on the sidewalk outside when we noticed another celeb from another reality show.

Marisa Zanuck from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills was smoking a cigarette, minding her own business, when my friend and I charged her like crazed lunatics begging her to take pictures with us. She was nice, but totally freaked out by us. I hugged her, cheek to cheek, while apologizing for touching her like I knew her. My friend dropped her phone on Marisa's foot and shattered her case. It was a mess. But totally amazing and totally worth looking like a stalker just to face-hug a reality star.

I'm still smiling from all of the awesome I experienced last night. I expected to see famous people working at SUR, but seeing more famous people from a different show was too much. I don't know when our next girls night out will be, but I'm pretty sure it will be hard to beat last night's.

Thanks, SUR. You were everything I hoped you would be.

Beach Week

The day after Christmas, I called my mom and told her she had to buy a plane ticket to California immediately. I hadn't seen her since September when I went home for the birth of my niece and that is entirely too long to go without seeing one's mother.

She promised to book a trip, but I was relentless until her ticket was purchased. After a lot of back and forth on who was coming and when, it was determined that we would rent a beach house and stay together in Manhattan Beach for a week during my youngest brother's Spring Break. 

Last Saturday, after 6 long months, I got to see my mama again. 

We spent the week walking to get bagels and coffee in the mornings, walking to get ice cream after lunch, and walking to dinner. There was a definite theme to our week and it had a lot to do with walking.

Manhattan Beach is about 15 miles from our house. It is our favorite beach town and we hang out there as much as possible. It is a great walking town with restaurants, coffee shops, and boutiques all clustered together. We were on the north end of the beach and walked a good mile each way to dinner, sometimes walking twice a day. We walked a lot, but it was fun. 

We wandered into a farmer's market one day, discovered hidden culinary treasures at tiny cafes, and had many other adventures just walking around. 

We went to Disneyland and had a blast.

The rest of the week was spent playing and hanging out. Some days we had a plan, some days we flew by the seat of our pants. My girls were in heaven having grandparents around to spoil them.

They are gone now. I was sad all day yesterday and a little bit today. It will be awhile before we see them again and I'm not sure how I'm going to handle that.

We miss you, mom, Ron, and Cole. Hurry back.