the list diaries. chapter 011 -- on my birthday, 39 things about me.

photo courtesy of my husband

the list diaries.
chapter 011.



I love being a mom and it strengthens my love of being an aunt, too
I eat ice cream almost every day
Growing older and developing an adult-to-adult relationship with my parents is a lot of fun
I love TV
The fanciest restaurant I've eaten in is Jardiniere
Red is not my colour
I cannot resist beautiful dishes and dinnerware
One of my regrets in life was not choosing a better occupational direction, like marine biology or pathology, until it came time to start a family
I've always felt behind compared to others in my same age category regarding life accomplishments
I eat fewer salads now than I did 3 years ago
On a cold winter night, a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich with pickles always hits the spot
Only recently I've discovered a love for indoor house plants
Outside of my parents and life experience, Alice, as in the Alice in Alice in Wonderland, has taught me more about life than anyone else
One of my favourite places on earth is Hamlin Lake in Michigan
Making my own birthday cake is a tradition I look forward to every year
The Wizard of Oz and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory are two movies I've seen and will never watch again
I have a penchant for the classic trench coat, and beautiful coats in general
Sometimes I can't believe I'm a mother
I wish I had spent more time listening to the stories of my maternal grandfather while he was still alive. He was a most intelligent and wise man
Someday I want enough land out my back window for a Jersey cow and an alpaca
Art confuses me
Nobody makes fried chicken like my mother
And my dad's apple pie reigns supreme
I firmly believe #midwestisbest
I don't like sushi
I love classic and colourful balloons
I make a mean plain cheesecake
#stripesallday
I wish I could dance and swim
I miss playing the piano and wish for one
I'd like to be an ostrich in another life; they have such beautiful plumage
I'm a LeBron James fan, for always
My favourite time of year is Autumn -- football, Thanksgiving, pies, falling leaves, a smokiness in the air, the harvest moon -- it's the most perfect season
Once upon a time I had my nose pierced
I think Storm Troopers are totally sexy
Is there a better in-home fragrance than dried lavender?
In my musical days, I played the piano, oboe, flute, and piccolo
I am a very nostalgic person
Quietly observing life all around me


And now, time for cake! A 3-layer homemade vanilla funfetti with vanilla buttercream frosting.

her outfit alone is worth a post: whitney pozgay

there's the fact that she's a fashion designer, a favourite of anthropologie. no surprise considering her incredible style. now, the joyful designs she's used in her clothes can be seen upholstering beautiful furniture, exclusive to anthro.

images courtesy of the anthro blog

you can get a snapshot of her life from the anthro blog post. I enjoyed the questions they posed to her so much that I included them below and chimed in with my own answers, too, just for kicks. (hers are in italics; mine are in normal text.)

a great day begins with the snooze button.
the fog horn sounding off in the distance and a few clouds keeping the sun at bay, at least for a little while.
 
the last song I listened to on repeat was Devo’s cover of “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.”
amason's cover of "California Dreamin'."
 
I never leave home without red lipstick and something to write on.
my phone, lip balm, a snack, and my sunglasses.
 
I’m proud of my partnership with my husband, Parker. We’ve managed to live and work together happily. 
how well my husband and I have partnered to edit our one-bedroom apartment to fit our growing family -- 2 adults, a teenager, a baby on the way, and a kitty cat. while looking for a larger space is on the horizon, the idea of moving saddens me because of the beautiful effort and the way we've come together in maximizing the space of our san francisco apartment.
 
I’ve always wanted to go to Kenya.
ride in a cattle drive.

my dream dinner party guests include Tina Fey, Wes Anderson, David Bowie, David Hockney, Maya Angelou, Jon Stewart and Grace Coddington.
lebron james, mr. and mrs. obama, princess kate, ellen degeneres, and tom brokaw, with ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong providing the music.

my most prized possession is a box of old letters and photographs.

my self-designed lace wedding dress. 

 
if I wasn’t an artist I’d be a candy maker.

if I wasn’t a startup recruiting operations professional I’d be on a marine research boat, focusing on orcas, sharks, or narwhals. 
or I'd be in my old farmhouse in the midwest proofreading and editing manuscripts and other writings, breaking to collect eggs from the hens in the barn.

 
the next place I want to travel is Mexico City.

paris. I've been once and I want to return and go deeper into exploring neighbourhoods, the countryside, and historical sites.

weekends are for trying new things.

rest, errands, baking, and making out with my husband.

 
happiness is the beach.

eating grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen with my husband and laughing well beyond bedtime. 

my miscarriage story, part 4 -- the best news

Dearest friends,

Through the process of sharing my miscarriage story I've heard from many of you -- words of support and empathy -- many of you have experienced a miscarriage of your own. I couldn't respond to each of you but I truly appreciate that you opened up to me, bonding us in womanhood. 

My story concludes below.

The positive pregnancy test in Michigan this past August threw me into a panicked loop. I wasn't ready to be pregnant again only to risk finding out 6 weeks later there was no baby. There's no way I was emotionally stable enough to handle that. Tears fell the rest of the family vacation and I confided in my brother (I needed to talk to someone other than my husband). He let me cry through my fears -- the obvious fear being this another failed pregnancy (it had already failed in my mind) -- then calmly and lovingly advised that I not take counsel from my doubts. He knew I was swimming in doubt and, in that moment, they were crippling me. I told him if this pregnancy didn't go full term, I'd be done. He looked at me, hugged me tightly, and told me he loved me.

Once we were home in San Francisco, I scheduled my prenatal appointment. Anxious and numb, I sat in the observation room with my husband -- a scene too familiar and cold, a room of bad news. But, unlike the two times before, we left the hospital with good news, the best news: at this point in my pregnancy, albeit early, baby was where he was supposed to be and all looked good.

Hooray!

Hurrah!

Yippee!

images courtesy of the animal print shop blog

I proceeded with an emotional seatbelt, sharing the good news with only a few people (I wasn't yet out of the miscarriage woods -- the risk of miscarriage dwindles less and less with each week -- and purposefully limited who I told). As the weeks passed, the expected pregnancy symptoms came and went -- miserable morning sickness, aching fatigue, confusing body changes -- and with each my doctor applauded.

And then the most amazing thing happened: at my 10-week appointment, I heard baby's heartbeat. My baby's heartbeat. The baby inside me -- he was growing and healthy and his heart was beating, steady and strong. I cried, and giggled in disbelief, and grabbed my husband's hand. Hearing the rhythm of baby's heartbeat confirmed to me this was real, that baby was there, and it was ok to get excited now. 

Now I'm 20 weeks (halfway to full term), I'm showing beyond being able to hide baby Brooks, and I'm thrilled. And it feels so good -- having the personal allowance to be excited about baby. We're shopping for car seats and strollers and a rocking chair, and gladly accepting newborn onesies from baby's cousins. I'm building my baby library and reading to him -- The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen -- and trying on babybjorns. I come across cute baby stuff, like this snuggly elephant, and picture him tucked away during a nap.

Being pregnant is hard, but when I hear his heartbeat or feel him moving, the hard stuff disappears from memory and is immediately replaced with a swelling of joy and being totally worth it. 

I'm going to be a mom. (!)

Yours truly, with hugs and love,

Katie

part 1  |  part 2  |  part 3  |  part 4

my miscarriage story, part 3 -- I wasn't broken

The pregnancy test read positive in mid-January. Two pregnancy tests, to be sure. It was a surprise; I didn't expect to get pregnant again so soon. According to my doctor, my body wouldn't be ready until at least one full menstrual cycle, and up until then, it can take some time for the body to reestablish the pattern. I'd had some spotting and even a span of days of flow-like spotting but it certainly didn't resemble what my cycle had been like before. So to have a pregnancy test come back positive surprised me.

Excitedly, I made my prenatal appointment and marked the calendar. I remember feelings of anxiety but forcing them into the tiny box of doubt in the back of my mind. This time was going to be different, I told myself. Many women have had a miscarriage and then gone on to have successful pregnancies. I now fall into that category. 

image courtesy of irving penn

With my husband at my side, we sat in the observation room. The room of bad news and gloom. The room of tears and hurt and pain and questions. Not this time! This time was going to be different.

We waited and waited. Awkward small talk. Silence. More awkward small talk. Neither of us dared approach the elephant in the room. The "what if it's another miscarriage?" elephant. 

Finally, the nurse practitioner came in and we chatted about my history before the vaginal ultrasound. "You might feel some pressure," she said. The gel on the instrument was cool and then bam -- my uterus was on the monitor. I recognized the growth sac and understood the nurse was trying to measure it. What I didn't understand was the look, a muscled poker face, absent of hope and excitement, on her face. And then I understood. 

There was no baby. Again. 

"It's like deja vu," my husband whispered, holding my hand tight. Tears welled up in my eyes. I held them back as long as I could but finally, they fell down my cheeks, uncontrollably. 

The nurse tried to explain and talk through the next steps but I barked, "Can I just get dressed? I need to get out of here." I needed air -- the room was suffocating. I needed to cry, to let the tears rush. And until I was safe at home I wouldn't be able to.

I didn't wait long to put the physical aspect of the miscarriage into action, but it seemed holidays would now be scarred. My first miscarriage was on Labour Day; this miscarriage would be on Valentine's Day (are you kidding me?). While we typically don't celebrate Valentine's Day in a big way -- my favourite memory was heading up to Fairfax, having dinner at a dive-y diner, and then Robocop at the theatre; the best part was I fell asleep halfway through -- it was still Valentine's Day, and would now have a giant blemish. Determined to go down in style, we made a reservation at Cafe Claude, our favourite French restaurant, and dressed up. I wore a sweet LBT and the pearls my husband bought me our first Christmas as a couple. ("A girl like you should have pearls," he said.) The miscarriage was off limits -- no talking or discussing it -- during dinner; it would still be there tomorrow.

Tomorrow came -- Valentine's Day 2016 -- my second miscarriage -- in 6 months. 

Physically, the pain and experience were the same. And I'm really glad I had the foresight to take notes during my first miscarriage; comparing notes was helpful. The biggest physical difference was my body. I looked different. I felt different. Even though I was pregnant for only a short time, my body had changed. And I could feel it. And see it. Every day it was a glaring reminder that this pregnancy wasn't meant to be.

The emotional impact was far different. I went to a very dark place. A darker place than I'd ever been before. Long texts of despair went out to a few people very dear to me; people that I could count on to hear me out and not try to sugarcoat what I was experiencing. 

My faith and relationship with Heavenly Father got a real shake-up; something I was not prepared for. Families and their importance are a big part of my faith and every Sunday it seemed someone was drilling that message home. I couldn't take it. I'd sit in church alone and depressed, quietly crying my way through the meeting, my mind full of questions, wondering if God was punishing me for a bad decision, wondering what the point of my existence was if I couldn't bear children. I had always wanted to be a mom and with these last two chances slipping out of reach I was scared. I was getting older and having a successful pregnancy would continue to prove more difficult. And here I was in a Latter-Day Saint congregation surrounded by young, beautiful pregnant women; women who already had a baby or two. What was so different about them? Why did they get children and I didn't?

Questions like that spiraled out of control and pulled me to a deep and dark place where I remained for months until finally I emailed my doctor for help. I could no longer handle this pain on my own -- it wasn't working. My relationship with my husband was at odds all the time (he didn't understand what I was going through) and the tension in our apartment, because of my emotional misery, was obvious and uncomfortable; home was no longer a safe place.

Meeting with a therapist was the best thing for me. The woman was kind, thoughtful, unbiased, and sincere. And after a couple tearful visits, she offered the most important advice that stuck with me: I wasn't broken. I felt broken because I felt different than before -- but I wasn't. I was hurting and in pain, and she reassured me of my allowance to experience these normal feelings. She also encouraged me to be patient with myself; to allow myself to feel the pain and darkness. Feeling all of this didn't mean I was broken. I needed to hear that. And I needed to hear that from someone who didn't know me, didn't have my history biasing what she said. 

After that session, I finally felt the curtain of darkness begin to lift from my soul. I was able to get on with my life -- I started exercising again, baking and cooking, enjoying my husband, and reestablishing my faith. Let me say, that while the pain was diminished, it wasn't completely absent. I'd still tear up at church, talking to friends and family about my experience, thinking about the future, and even for no apparent reason. 

A couple weeks passed and I found myself sitting on the edge of the dock at my family's Michigan lakehouse in sheer panic: another positive pregnancy test.

part 1  |  part 2  |  part 3  |  part 4

my miscarriage story, part 2 -- I was emotionally raw...

Carrying on in my story, I'd like to share a little bit more about my actual miscarriage -- the process, the hurt, the physical pain, the emotional toil. Miscarriages aren't openly spoken about and they should be, as a sense of education and sisterhood, if nothing else. This is my entry into the library of miscarriage articles -- my story -- to anyone that may need to read it.

For any woman that has gone through or is going through a miscarriage, the one thing I can assure you is no matter how alone you may feel, you are not alone. We may not be beside you during your time of agony, but we are out there; we have experienced the same hurts; we are with you.

images courtesy of 1, 2

The day I went in for my first prenatal appointment, I could feel that something was different about me, even at just week five. I felt empty and normal, compared to the sense of life within me only a couple days before. Lying on the table in the observation room with the ultrasound equipment to one side, my feet in the stirrups and my doctor staring at the screen trying to keep her poker face, I already knew what she was going to say.

There was no baby.

I was both stunned and not surprised. As a sign of hope, my doctor suggested I return in a week to see if the tiny embryo was growing, which should show a sign of life. But according to my conception date -- which was more of a guess than a true date -- the embryo wasn't as big as it should be. I was confident the embryo wouldn't change, I could feel it deep within me. But I returned and when I did, my doctor started to discuss my options for the miscarriage: I could have a procedure called a dilation and curettage, often referred to as a d&c -- no thanks; or I could take a couple pills and allow the miscarriage to happen more organically. I chose the organic way. But even then my doctor said the miscarriage might happen by itself if I gave my body the time so I did. During a work trip the next weekend, I noticed some spotting and spilled out a small blood clot. Being new to the mysteries of pregnancy and miscarriages, I thought that was it. 

I was wrong. Terribly wrong. 

At the urging of my doctor, my husband and I set my miscarriage date for the following Saturday, which happened to be Labour Day 2015.

That Saturday morning started like most any other Saturday -- my husband and I went for a jog along East Beach and then we had brunch, figuring I shouldn't embark on this journey with an empty stomach. Shortly after arriving home, I inserted the two pills, one in each cheek, where they were to dissolve after 30 minutes, and they did, leaving a chalky layer behind. I swallowed the chalky bits and went to the bathroom -- I could feel the cramps beginning (much like menstrual cramps) -- and noticed blood in the water. 

In spite of the cramps and bleeding, I felt fine. But then my body starting revolting the embryo remains inside me -- my cramps worsened and I started vomiting. (I kept large mixing bowls by my bed in case I couldn't make it to the bathroom in time.) Sitting on the toilet, I could feel the blood clots slipping out of my body and before flushing I'd stare into the bowl -- amazed at the depth of its red colour -- and watch the clots sink. (I know that's gross, but I had to do it, for my own education. I had to see what was coming out of my body.)

The cramps and bleeding continued through the rest of the day. I was changing maxi pads (no tampons allowed) every hour as blood clots of all sizes continued to drop among menstrual-like bleeding. Twenty-four hours later, I was still curled up in bed, uncomfortable, lonely, and emotional with no sense of comfort except from Suzy snuggled on the corner of my bed, barely within reach. Nothing my husband said or did brought any comfort. Texts from my mom and dad went unread and upset me. 

It wasn't until 16 days later that the bleeding and cramps fully subsided. But the emotional pain stayed with me for months, and still creeps in from time to time. 

I was emotionally raw for some time thereafter -- numb, almost unable to feel, and, honestly, wanting to stay miserable. No one understood what I was experiencing -- not even me. I was confused and sad and missing a part of me -- a part of me that [I thought] was a big piece of my life plan. 

Opportunities to heal and be with family were right around the corner -- our wedding anniversary and Thanksgiving. Our anniversary was a weekend getaway to Las Vegas to see Elton John (check that off the bucket list) and explore the strip (my husband had never been). We walked and walked and ate as much as we could stuff in our bodies. Most importantly, we slept. The toll of my miscarriage was evident in both of us and an actual change of scenery was just what we needed to reconnect. 

Thanksgiving --  my favourite holiday; time to spend with family and eat and eat and eat, and watch football, and live in loungewear -- was soon upon us sending us to Portland -- road trip! I reveled in the company of my nieces and nephews and found relief from my troubles by focusing on them -- reading story after story, colouring, dancing and jumping around, and snuggling during movies. My sister-in-law and my cousin's wife were all ears and hugs as they tried to console my pain while we cooked and baked. Honestly, talking about my miscarriage with someone other than my husband helped a lot (one can only burden one's spouse so much), and reminded me it wasn't my fault.

And then it was Christmas and the new year (2016) and a positive pregnancy test.

part 1  |  part 2  |  part 3  |  part 4

my miscarriage story, part 1 -- an intro

To my dear friends and anyone still hanging on to this blog thread, 

It's been months since I've last written, but not as long as I thought. I imagined at least a year having passed since my last post but it's only been about four months. Not too bad, but far longer than I'd like. I still have hopes and dreams of re-launching this blog into a sense of regularity, resurrecting the pretty picture collages and day themes. I make no promise of such an effort -- I will write when I have the creative brain power and time. 

Now seems to be one of those times.

images courtesy of thatkindofwoman.tumblr.com

A lot has been on my mind as the year has folded into autumn, my favourite season for every comfy reason -- fruity pies, football all Saturday long, coats and sweaters, pots of soups and chili simmering on the stovetop. I often find myself contemplative this time of year. I'm not sure why but perhaps it has something to do with my birthday in August and my wedding anniversary in October -- two large life events. 

My birthday is no longer just my birthday -- it is the anniversary of my first miscarriage -- forever changed. In the fall of last year, I curled up into healing position, leaning on family and friends to help me through the hard time. I was in a job I didn't like, surrounded by people I didn't connect with, a long commute, and a body I couldn't whip back into shape. 

As time passed, I settled into a routine of denial -- faking my life as I knew it, and eventually I had events to look forward to -- Thanksgiving and Christmas were right around the corner, and I loved both holidays immensely. Both were jampacked with traditions I treasured that we had created as a family. As we moved through Thanksgiving and then Christmas, I felt all was well and couldn't foresee the depression that was looming ahead, ready to bulldoze my denial and send me down a rabbit hole. 

Because, you see, I was pregnant again. 

But this baby was also not meant to be, and my miscarriage was set for Valentine's Day. The night before was a Friday, so my husband and I dressed up and lived up the night at our favourite French restaurant, Cafe Claude. We looked dashing together and he kept reminding me how pretty I looked that night. The following day I buckled in pain -- the agony familiar from the first time. 

Healing took longer and required more help. I couldn't brush it aside by sleeping it off or faking happiness; I just didn't have it inside of me. All my happiness was gone, swept from me without consent. I lashed out at my family and pulled away from my God and faith, angry at their promises instead of hopeful. My eyes flooded with tears at the slightest mention of family or when someone showed sincere love toward me or even just random moments. I'd find myself dashing to the bathroom to hide from my coworkers so I wouldn't have to explain. 

I could no longer burden my family and friends, especially my husband, with my sadness so I turned to a therapist. And that started to help.

It helped but it still took time, which was the most valuable lesson my therapist taught me. Patience with myself during this painful time was what I needed more than anything. Patience to let myself feel what I needed to feel. Patience to let myself cry. Patience with my body as the reminders of the pregnancy started to fade. Patience. 

Finally hope and faith were restored, and even happiness. My life has been forever changed -- I'm not the person I was before those two pregnancies. My naivete has been washed away by life experience, and my emotions are now ever-present at the surface, ready to flood down my cheeks. 

Yet, life improvements continue. I found a new job, with people I related to better. I signed up for bar method classes and quickly fell in love with the routine and community of women. I finished my copy editing course and started reading. I started talking and sharing my story with women around me, finding a similar story in a woman who has now become a friend and confidante. 

And here I am now. The depression and denial are in my past; we're about to move back into our apartment which has been remodeled/updated since a pipe burst mid-June; and I'm enjoying the last bites of the first pot of chili this season -- many more to follow. 

Life and me -- we're doing pretty okay. 


Yours truly, and until we meet again,
KCB

part 1  |  part 2  |  part 3  |  part 4

eight things about me.

images courtesy of tumblr.everlane.com

37. if i could, i'd buy all of my underthings from anthropologie. their stuff is so pretty, feminine, and perfectly delicate.
38. the mini goldendoodle is my new must-have dog. adorable, right?
39. i don't l-o-v-e- love my day job but i'm good at it. i'm still holding tight to my dream of being a freelance copywriter/editor out of my farmhouse in the country. someday. with my jersey cow, pair of alpacas, chickens, duck, and burrow hanging out by the barn.
40. i crave fried egg english muffin sandwiches pretty much all of the time. and orange ginger carrot juice. yum!
41. the older i get, the more i want to be outside on saturdays -- hiking, breathing in fresh air, driving mini road trips, climbing rocks.
42. confession: i rock out to 1989 when i'm cleaning the apartment, walking to the bus, or working out. can't get enough.
43. i'm finally beginning to feel my age. although i'm still unsure of what that really means.
44. my dear friend, ayl, and i don't share office space any longer which means my diet is seriously lacking in treats from tartine. it's sad.

the other day, walking home, i crossed paths with the most gorgeous woman i've ever seen in real life--

i've never thought of myself as gorgeous or beautiful. 

cute? yeah, sure. 
pretty? sometimes. 
pretty cute, most of the time. 

the other night, one block from home, a woman with mile-long legs fitted in the most perfectly dark-slim jeans; in nude heels and walking a perfect stride; with long, lush, richly dark brown hair; and a loose, flowing silk blouse crossed in front of me and as she did, i stopped and thought, wow, she smells really nice, and wow, she is gorgeous.

and then i thought, wow, i am totally not gorgeous. gorgeous just walked past me with her eyes straight ahead and a stride of determination. and gorgeous has long, lush, rich brown hair. 

now understand, i'm writing this merely as an observation. a refreshing observation of what struck me, and seriously struck me, as [outwardly] gorgeous compared to what the world tags as gorgeous and beautiful. honestly, it was awesome feeling so impacted by a woman's physical beauty and, while feeling small beside her (she was also quite tall) in the split second we shared as we crossed the same corner of the block, i did not lose any confidence in my own style, appearance, or body type. i am me -- happy being relatively plain, mostly simple me.

image courtesy of gthegent.com

truth be told, i'm rarely awestruck by women these days; most are predictable in their out-of-the-fashion-magazine style and they bore me with their abundant presence in photographs throughout the blogosphere and the internet. 

but this woman, she was the meaning of the word: gorgeous. 

it came to mind immediately when i saw her, as if someone had spoken it to me. her appearance, while current, was also classic and effortless. she didn't appear to be trying for attention or to look a certain way, and most "beautiful" women today tend to be quite the opposite.

maybe it was her simplicity in her classic look. maybe it was her mile-long legs and powerfully graceful stride. i don't know and i don't know her. but i do know she was gorgeous and i was awestruck for a lovely moment.

i love naps.

i'm a strong proponent for naps. i have one almost everyday during my lunch break and often during the weekends. i love sleep. and i love my bed. i love a big, soft, inviting, cozy, fluffy bed to crawl into and curl up with suzy or hulu+. i could easily sleep in any of these places, even if it was only for a nap. 

images courtesy of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

i am a sucker for chevron floors and chevron wallpaper and a chevron wall design.

my birthday: car-camping in june lake.

it was truly a birthday to remember. and now i'm a bona fide car-camper! i loved it. every minute. 

a soft serve ice cream cone and a campfire hot dog (the best kind of hot dog!) smothered in mustard and onions for my birthday dinner; tent slumber party complete with sleeping bags, car magazines, and "top chef"; bears passing by our tent in the stillness of the forest night and waking us up; us holding hands tightly and hunkering closer together and deeper into our sleeping bags, too scared to speak above a whisper or move; kayaking into a strong headwind down june lake; breaking in my new tevas; hiking rocks and boulders to steal the best views of the delightful lake; the overwhelming beauty of the eastern sierra nevadas; the adorable and pet-worthy scurrying alpine chipmunks; driving the june lake loop -- ooo-ing and awww-ing at every turn and majestic mountainside; off-roading the sube into the dry basin of grant lake; a hearty breakfast at silver lake resort -- giant breakfast burrito, a light buttermilk pancake, and watermelon slices; a tuolumne meadows walk in yosemite, a deer sighting, and a stream of rushing water across long, smooth boulders pooling into swimming holes. 

june lake, i miss you already and can't wait to see your lovely pines again. 

truly the most beautiful and magical places i've ever visited. 

i'll never be a yogi.

i'm not good at practicing yoga regularly, even though i listed it as a new year resolution for 2014. the practice often intimidates me and i'm usually too lazy to leave for a class once i'm home from work. but you can practice at home! you might exclaim. yes, true. here are my excuses: my apartment feels too small with my mr., stepdaughter, and suzy roaming about. and for me to really benefit from yoga i need the cool hardwood floors and calm atmosphere of a dedicated yoga studio. i can't get those things at home. 

tonight, i've got the place to myself and, with the help of this yoga studio app, i'm going to do my darnedest to make yoga happen. and while flowing through moves, i'm going to pretend all my poses mirror this incredible yogi. 

i may never achieve yogi status but i can certainly appreciate the beauty and strength of the practice.

images courtesy of emersonfry.com/daily

i wonder if wearing emerson fry's cerulean caftan would turn my poses more majestic.

maybe someday i'll have a space i can dedicate to strengthening my yoga practice. a quiet place of my own with a cool, hardwood floor and a door that i can lock in and protect a serene atmosphere.

---

update: i completed two 30-minute yoga sets from the yoga studio app. it was wonderful. the female instructor's voice is calm and pleasant; the pace was comfortable. i consider myself a beginner so many of my poses were basic but they still pushed me. when i got home, i changed into looser clothing, closed the blinds, put a full towel out on the rug, and settled in. 

i don't think i'll be going to a studio ever again with such an enjoyable experience from the yoga studio app. 

i'm no charlotte bronte--

i've always fancied myself as a writer. when i was young, i could often be found at the family computer typing out all kinds of stories and imaginary tales, scenes, and character profiles. ideas would come to me in the middle of the night and i'd nearly burst if i didn't transfer the ideas to paper. my fingers could rarely type as quickly as my brain could spew but we managed. my stories never went very far and eventually the middle-of-the-night ideas dissipated. i'd dabble in the written word here and there but never really did anything of it. then i discovered amid my love for writing was a truer and deeper love for grammar, punctuation, and words--not so much as a compiled piece telling a story but rather as words and commas and contractions and more expressive words. i unearthed my love for editing.

still not thinking of it as anything more than a hobby, i set it aside and continued down my creative path--putting to paper ideas of scenes and characters, stolen moments, sorrow, and even a few resume redesigns and poster print layouts for my day job. eventually, i came to a fork in my personal and professional development. one direction led to the same old life. it was fine but a tad stagnant. i wanted more. i craved more. i surveyed the other and it promised to drop me down my very own rabbit hole. exhilarated by the notion of turning my true love into a life work, i ran as fast as i could and jumped into the rabbit hole. and here i am, falling, reaching out to grab dictionaries and the chicago manual of style from the floating bookshelves--turning pages while free-falling is a trick--taking notes, reviewing the syllabus, studying the modules, and writing.

today is my first day of class in the editing course with the berkeley extension. i can't tell you how excited i am. 

do i have the fever--the baby fever?

they just had a baby. a truly beautiful little girl--gwyneth adler [last name]. and i got to hold her for a brief time a mere week after her birth. she was the newest baby i'd ever held and, truth be told, i wanted one. i wanted a little baby of my own to swoon over, to investigate, to observe her (or his) every move. i wanted a newborn to sleep beside, to snuggle with, to gently bounce while walking laps through the apartment, calming her (or his) restless spirit. i wanted a teeny tiny human to smell, to cuddle, to bathe, to get up in the night for, to stay up with, to sit silently with. i want to tell her (or him) stories, read books, write every accomplishment in her (or his) journal, like my parents did for me, and feed her (or him) with sweet kisses. 

that same day, we met up with some friends for breakfast (turned into brunch after waiting for a table) at mama's royal cafe and i couldn't stop staring--or maybe i was lusting--after their 14-month old little girl, riley. she's a chunk of spirit--lots of smiles, playful, and snugg-able. oh, i wanted one of her, too. i wanted to take this little girl for walks and stop and smell every flower; let her dress herself and encourage her creativity--applauding when she exits her room in a purple tutu, a graphic tee, striped leggings, and a punchy headband, her toes painted pink from our last girls night. 

the next day at church, i held a friend's 4-month old little boy, lucas. he was a hefty bugger but that didn't stop him from snuggling heavily into my shoulder during meetings. he had a good amount of drool and sucked on my hands when he wasn't staring above at the ceiling light fixtures. at one point, he fell asleep on my chest and my heart melted. he was heavenly. i'm surrounded by babies and tiny humans at church. sometimes, when our glances align, we play games, like peek-a-boo, or i'll make silly faces in their direction, watching their mothers hush their miniature giggles. 

a few weeks back i went northeast to visit my family in moses lake. i had a new niece to meet--clara kristin [last name]. i held this little one and felt a great sense of peace. it came to mind, while holding the sweet 4-week old, that nothing else mattered. i was doing precisely what i should be doing at this exact moment: holding this precious, pure, and new human. i figured holding a newborn could solve every problem the world has. why? because wee things put a pause on life. they require much attention, and usually it must be undivided attention. they feel good cradled in your arms and all you want to do is protect this tiny being and tell her (or him) about the wonderful life that's ahead. you want to read her (or him) every story and kiss her (or him) nonstop. you want to rest her (or his) head in the crook of your arm, even after it goes stiff and you develop a crick in your back. you don't care. because at this very moment, you are still. you are holding something that is relying on you 100%. and because you don't ever want her (or him) to not snuggle with you. 

babies. oh sweet babies. they smell nice. they feel nice. they love you. they look at you inquisitively, straight into your soul. they need you. they depend on you. they'll sit still with you. i want one. 

picture my own--me holding my niece, clara

right now, my fears of motherhood and that life change are in the far distance. but i'm not foolish enough to think they're not still there, lurking. it'll take more than holding a few babies to feel ready for motherhood.