Busy. Yes, we’ve been busy. But this is not a site in which we make a million apologies for not blogging and then take a vacay. Instead, we just ignore the lapse.

ANYWAY!!!

Have you heard of Betaloft?? If you’re not from UT I understand, but if you ARE and you haven’t? Well, then you should just be ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!!!

Betaloft is an amazing opportunity for folks, like my husband who work from home, to get out and spend their workday with other folks and husbands {or wives, I’m not sexist!} who work from home, or independently. It gives these wonderful men {and women!} the opportunity to meet and chat-it-up with other men {and women!}, while also keeping a small semblance of a professional work environment. Professional in the sense that if you wanted to “clock-out” for your lunch {there’s no clocking, really} and play Rock Band, you CAN!! Because Betaloft has the equipment {and instruments} you need! If you need a Diet Coke {or Coke, if you’re REALLY cool} take one! Because Betaloft has these amenities without having to check your pockets for loose change, because psssssh! these days, who carries around loose change in their pockets anyway! There’s no such thing as a vending machine behind these doors, no sir! And it all comes just with a cost of a membership! RockBand, free Diet Coke {or Coke!} and Dig Dug! Did I mention Dig Dug??? It’s all here!

Betaloft is currently undergoing a major OVERhaul in design and branding. One, in which I hope {no wait, I KNOW} the very talented RJ of J Blackbird Creative Design and Entertainment will due justice knock out of the park!

And did I mention that they’ve hired an amazing a photographer to capture all of this Rock Banded-ness and oh, did I mention… I’m the photog?!? I’m so very stoked to give this awesome building/business a face and be their eyes behind the scenes! It’s gonna be out of this world, ya’ll. Stick around, the end of this week will bring about great things for Betaloft and its members!

Dynamic duo, yes we are! And we don’t plan on stopping just yet.

A few years ago I decided I wanted to become better at drawing. It was not a serious endeavor or one that I wanted to pursue professionally; I just wanted to understand shapes and faces, and be able to transfer a three-dimensional object to paper by hand. I’ve always admired folks who were natural artists. I don’t have that talent, but I wish I did.

Classes were not an option for me as I was working full-time and, really, all of my funds were going toward just surviving. But I turned on the heat and it became a serious hobby. I talked to graphic designers and real artists. The kind of artists that were pursuing this professionally. They were spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on schooling and interning in studios in Hollywood, so you can imagine my timidity when I approached these people and asked them to look at my work. I should’ve died from embarrassment, but I really wanted to get better. A few good tips later and I was on my way, drawing faces of all things. For sure I thought I’d be a still-lifer, drawing apples and cups and other objects that didn’t move.

At the time, Rustin knew enough about me to know that this little light wouldn’t burn forever. But still, one night he surprised me with a set of graphite pencils and colored pencils, like the kind the pros use.

As you can see from my artistry I am not very good, and after speaking with professionals and buying a few books on improving this skill, I can say I’m a tad bit better, but not by much. Rustin supported the cause anyway. It didn’t matter to him what the outcome looked like, I was enjoying what I was doing and that was enough for him. That is why he is the best thing ever.

Now as much as I really really want to delete these drawings, they need to stick around just a bit longer to drive my point home.

During this short stint I learned a lot. I saw the world in shapes and ovals and shades and values. Which only enhanced how I already viewed the world…

I have always seen the world in photos; every memory a snapshot, every moment a still-frame. Drawing helped me out tons with getting to know angles and truly appreciating composition, lines, shape and light in photography. A side-effect I didn’t expect.

My little light for photography has never burnt out. I’ve always always always had a camera in my hands. Shooting nothing and everything. I had borrowed a film SLR from a friend after I bought my first digital point and shoot, and was amazed at how grand the photos looked compared to my little toy. So when the opportunity to purchase a DSLR arose, I jumped at the chance. Since then, I’ve taken every occasion to better mah skillz mostly by shooting landscapes and nature.

Like my drawing escapade, I went to the pros. I talked with professional photographers, friends, anybody who had an inkling of appreciation for photography. And also like learning to draw a strange thing happened, I began taking photos of people. Another side-effect I was not expecting. Oddly enough, I quite enjoyed it.

This time though, Rustin did not buy me a few lenses or a tripod. In fact, he didn’t buy me anything. Instead, one day he said, “You need to do this professionally.” I waved my arms about and shook my head. And then I stopped and thought, why not?

Could I possibly do this? Would people actually pay me to do this?

So I took a few test drives, and the answer was yes. People were paying me, and they were happy! And it made me happy that they were happy! But mostly it made me happiest to just take photos!

With a few play and pay sessions under my belt and I’ve decided to listen to my husband and do this professionally. I like to think that he didn’t purchase any “pro” gadgetry for me this time because he thinks I’m super duper awesome (unlike my drawings which could’ve used all the help they could get), but you know, I like to put reasons in his head.

What makes me the luckiest person on this planet is having been chosen for a life partner by someone who has so much faith in me. Even if it all goes to shit, even if I never book another session. He is already so proud of me, and it’s more than I can bear, really.

So here I am, folks. Stay tuned for more as I try to get this little business of mine rolling. More to come soon.

This friend (Dee) and I, used to work together and ran with the same circle of friends for the last few months that I lived in CA. I won’t be able to do much justice to what I’m trying to articulate here, FYI. Back then, I was just different. Just different. In every way. For better, for worse. Different.

I sat on this call as she described the last several months of her life, and when it was my turn I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to show her how much I’d changed. Not because I was ashamed or anything like that, I just couldn’t verbalize it. But maybe also, a small part of me wants her to remember me as I was before. Before all of these changes took me by storm. Before I became a mom, and a housewife, and a person who feels lost in a place where she knows she shouldn’t be, canning peaches and baking pies, and doing all of the things that suburban wives ’should’ do. Should, ha!

For 45 minutes she said names which I hadn’t said out loud for a year. Names of people who used to mean so much to me in my every day life. People who defined me. They defined me, yet for a year, I hadn’t even thought about them. And I felt guilty, but also sad. Not sad because these people had forgotten about me too, and I was now just a teeny little speck of a memory to them. That doesn’t bug me so much. Sad because I didn’t even get to say goodbye to them. It’s like a funeral without a dead body. But what now? Should I call them and be like, “So, um… me and Dee were talking about you and you were mad at me and I didn’t know and that really sucked, you should’ve told me! But that’s all gravy, whatevs. I just wanted to say thanks for the memories and I hope you have a good life, because you deserve it.” That would be weird and a little crazy, but really I just want a chance to tell these people how much they meant to me at some juncture in my life, probably the phase in my life that made me grow up. You know, the important one.

I felt a teeny tiny little panic attack coming on as she was saying goodbye. I didn’t want to stop hearing about all of these wonderful and wonderfully awful people, but also, I didn’t want to be sitting on my couch alone while old friends were living it up, and all I had was a peach tart on my kitchen counter and 20 cans of peaches in my pantry to show for my day’s work.

My panic attack was very mild in comparison to the ones that used to come on daily and at full force while I was training for The Disney Travel Co. (ya’ll can google it, I’m too lazy to link), but still I hadn’t felt that in over a year. It was unnerving, and I didn’t want them to come back. Ever.

After I hung up, I noticed that I had two missed texts on my phone. They were from my neighbor. Two separate neighbors. And then two seconds later I got a chat invite from @youlikeashley. And the first thing I said was, “I’m so very happy to hear from you!” Because I was, and I wanted her to know that.

It went away, the panic attack. And I’m happy to be here, with my cans of peaches and all, with a wonderful albeit small group of people around me. A group that I found by myself, a group that has stuck around during the most hormonal phase in my life thus far.

After all that, I have a feeling they’ll stick around.

****
He is every photographer’s dream subject. He was amazingly patient and so much fun, but most importantly, he was inspiring. I hope to, some day soon, have another chance to take a few more photos of him.

A few days ago, a flock of geese flew over our house again. They honked and flapped their wings and still flew in a perfect V. I didn’t yell and get all school-girly this time, I appreciated them in silence. I stood there in my backyard alone staring up at the sky, and I marveled at these geese. It left me motionless.

These geese who signify that Fall is coming. These geese who, maybe, liked that I had cheered them on so loudly last year, were coming back for more. These geese that, with their honk, remind me that peaches are right around the corner, but not just any peaches. MY peaches.

I went over to the trees, and sure enough, the swells are there and almost ripe for picking. So now, every day, I check on my peaches just to make sure they’re still there. And maybe also, to catch a glimpse of another flock of geese.

So what do I think now that we’ve been here a year?

I could go in a million different directions with that question. Sure, it’s a nice enough place. I know that totally sounds like I’m being sarcastic, but I’m not. It is a nice place, filled with nice people, and nice mountains, and nice. But, also? It’s nice. It’s not great! Wonderful! Everything and more! It’s a place where nothing exciting happens.  I AM a little bored with it all, or I should say, I haven’t found the thing that makes me proud to say where I live.  Sure, we moved here to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city so in a way we are exactly where we wanted to be, and it also doesn’t help that I am a bit of an introvert.  I haven’t found my niche yet, and anyone who has uprooted and moved away from their HOME can understand where I’m coming from.  It’s hard to compare 20+ years of history, memories, familiarity, to nothing; I have to start all over.  It’s almost impossible to compare.  What’s just as impossible?  Finding someone who understands.

I don’t dislike it here, but I’m also not in love.  I spent October-March last year complaining about the weather, and I can’t believe it’s almost Fall again.  We’re on the brink of pumpkins and chilly weather, and I’m not at all prepared to say Goodbye to the sun just yet.  Bah.

I do miss California. There will never be a day where I won’t miss it, but I’ve eaten my words before. That is where my heart is and where it will remain for the time-being. I miss my friends, my apartment, my sushi, my bookstores, my Old Town, my restaurants, my freeways (oh, how I miss my freeways), my weather, my beaches, my heart. I miss my heart–my palm trees. I’m not complete and I don’t know if I ever will be without seeing a sunset behind a row of palm trees. There’s no sunset like a Californian sunset. I miss it. And today, it’s hard to deal with the fact that I am here and not there. Tomorrow? Who knows.

I also can’t be sure that if Rus said, “We’re moving back, pack your bags NOW!”, that I wouldn’t fight him tooth and nail to stay. Yes, TO STAY, because I don’t want G-monkey to grow up the way I did, where I did, how I did. We have a quality of life here that is more than I could ever have hoped for and I am so so grateful to be able to provide that for him, for us. There is no way that we would be able to have all of this in California, there just isn’t. That alone would trump any longing that I have to feel the sand between my toes whenever I fancy.

So I’m stuck. I don’t belong here. And I don’t belong there, anymore. I might belong there, but not with my baby, my husband.  Not like this, with this life.

I chalk this up to another one of those things that a parent must do for their young, another one of those sacrifices we make for them.  It’s OK, and I’m delighted that I can do that for him.  Truly.  Utah is an acquired taste and I’m sure that some day I won’t feel like a visitor anymore.  It’s just not today.

I do hope that one day when G-monkey is ready to fly the coop, ready to leave my nest to build his own in a dingy apartment on Harbor Blvd., whilst making a few dreams come true in the arms of a cute Californian girl, that he’ll read this, turn to me and say, “Where’s the good sushi, mom?”  I’ll say, “Just drive towards the ocean.”

And he’ll know EXACTLY what I mean.

Husband: In your daily or weekly activities??

Me: Yea.

Husband: Does that even sound like me?

Me: Okay, is there anything that I do that makes you go, “She’s so HAWT”??

Husband: I don’t understand the context. Where is this coming from? *squinty-eyed* What trap are you setting up for me??

…

Smart man, or otherwise?  I know what I think.

But that’s just it, the answer to ‘what next?’: Everything.

Wish us luck, and read more here.

I may not be a fantastic homemaker.  Ok, I’m most definitely not even CLOSE to fantastic homemaker.  I don’t decorate.  I don’t iron.  I don’t do dishes.  I don’t apologize for my messy home when I have visitors.  I used to care, but I don’t anymore.  I do clean, but not to keep up appearances.  I clean because if I don’t, my very mobile baby will swallow anything that’s on the floor.  I clean because it keeps him safe.  Every morning I sweep the floors; every other day I vacuum the living room and the hallway; his highchair gets disinfected after every meal.  And still the little bugger manages to find things on the floor and sticks it  in his mouth.  I do cook.  I do bake.  I do enjoy some domestic things like cooking and baking.

I probably sound like I’m not enjoying myself.  Truth is, I’m living my dream.  I’ve never had a career in mind, never wanted to be a {fill in the blank} when I grew up.  But I’ve always wanted to be a mother.

I love every day of my life because of my little man.  And I try so hard to not miss anything, to hold on to him a bit longer because he will too soon grow out of my arms, to rock him to sleep every night because he’s comfy that way.

I know too many parents that leave their babies crying in their cribs because otherwise, “they won’t learn to fall asleep on their own”.  G-monk’s pediatrician told us at our 4-month Wellness appointment that, “we still have time to snip bad sleeping habits in the bud”, as if there is a time limit.  He suggested we let him cry it out.  And if we don’t?  What, he will never sleep on his own?  He’ll be 30 and still want mommy to snuggle him and kiss him to sleep?  I told one of my neighbors that G-monk still wakes once or twice a night, she gasped!  ”How are you functioning??  So do you still nap with him??  Have you tried the binky?”  First off, it’s called a pacifier.  Truth is I gave birth to a teeny adult.  My son HATES this thing called a pacifier, or anything baby-related for that matter.  My neighbor is the kind that lets her baby cry in her crib, her baby is the kind that takes a “binky” and falls asleep on her own and sleeps for 10 hours every night, since the tender age of 3 months!!!  I don’t mean to sound judgmental, really, but bragging about letting a tiny baby scream for her mommy just sounds cruel to me.  However, I do understand that her sleeping arrangement works for her.  She has 4 kids, and she is a nurse.  So, it’s hard for me to sit here and say that I wouldn’t want or do the same thing if I was in her situation.  Do I wish G-monkey would sleep for 12 hours every night?  SURE!  But honestly, I enjoy putting him to bed.  I enjoy when he wakes up because I miss him.  I love that he snuggles into me.  That I’m his soft place.  That he can sleep so peacefully, so soundly, so beautifully in my arms.  I love that he knows mommy will be there to hold him when he needs me.  I need him to know that.  I told my neighbor it was easy for me to be OK with a baby who didn’t sleep through the night because he was my only job.  It’s true.  If I had a career, or a paying job, I might care about getting my 8 hours of sleep every night.  But I’m so fulfilled in ways I couldn’t even begin to explain.

There’s guilt though.

At G-monkey’s last Wellness, the pediatrician {Dr. Coexist} asked how he was sleeping.  The truth: He sleeps for 10 hours, wakes up once maybe twice to eat, goes right back to sleep,  I nurse him to sleep at 8PM goes to the crib and then around 1AM comes into bed with me for the rest of the night — there it is.  What I answered:  He’s doing good! {guiltguiltguilt}

I don’t know why I feel guilty about this.  I guess I’m afraid of him saying that we need to stop co-sleeping, now!  Stop nursing to sleep, now!  Stop enabling his bad! bad! behavior, now!  That I’m a bad! bad! mommy, and shame on me for doing what I think is best for him!  However, even if he did say these things, even if I left that office crying, head hanging in shame, and drove home with a heavily inadequate-feeling heart I wouldn’t change a damn thing, except doctors.  I’m proud that I get to wake up to my little man crawling all over me.  That I get to snuggle and cuddle with him while I sleep. That if I don’t smell his sweet breath, I pull him closer so I that I can breath him in.  Maybe I’m the one with the bad sleeping habits, because truthfully I sleep better when his little head is on my cheek.  It took me a long time to be OK with our sleeping arrangements, and an even longer time to share it with folks and be OK with their judgement  hanging over their lips.  A good sleeper should not equal an excellent parent.

I don’t envy these folks.  I don’t envy their 10 hours of sleep.  I’ve never complained about how many times G-monkey wakes up at night, and they probably don’t envy me either.  But they should.  Because I haven’t missed a single moment.  Not one.  And that, my friends, makes me an excellent mother.

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