Memories of Yesteryear

I'm finally getting around to blogging about family happenings because I've finally found the cable thingy to upload our pics to the computer.  

One of the best things about being a stay-at-home-mom is our peaceful morning routine.  It was so stressful to have to wake up and get both myself and Max ready by 7:30 every morning.  I don't know how people with more than one kid do it.  I was a tornado around the house every day and honestly, Andres and I were fighting a lot.  However, on one of the less stressful mornings, we had the time to laugh and take pictures of this cute boy:

These were taken in December.  Max had just learned to pull himself up to standing and was practicing with the drying rack.  Yes, I know that it's not the most stable of all items. However, I knew it wouldn't HURT him and when you are trying to get out the door for work in the morning, you learn take the path of least resistance.  Of course, the drying rack fell on him.

 At first Max didn't know how to react and his face started to crumble, but when he saw Andres and I laughing, he decided he had done something funny and clever.

Look at that cutey boy!  And look at my shirt.  I really like that shirt.  It was sent to me via Stitch Fix and it's one of my favorite fall items.  Babies and clothes.  My two favorites.

Seven Quick Takes: Attempts to Entertain my Young'un Addition

--- 1 ---

I've been grasping at straws with ways to entertain my ONE CHILD in the summer heat.  Do you understand that there are people out there with 2 under 2, 3 under 3, 4 under 4, 5 under 5, etc? I am limited. I cannot compete. As evidence by the above photo. "I know! Let's go to Abuelito's house and sit on the cat! Ok, Max?" "Ok, Mom!" Seriously, my child is obsessed with the family cat. He calls her "Neh." He calls all animals "Neh." And we don't encourage that at all. Nope, no reinforcement of that to see here, folks.

--- 2 ---

Wear a superman shirt. That's it. That's all I've got. I put on my best shrill, high-pitched, overly excited voice that morning. "Max! Oh wow! A superman shirt! You get to be superman! Yay! Oh wow!" In my head, the higher the pitch of my voice, the more his imagination would be stimulated. I thought he would engage in dramatic play at the tender age of 18 months. What really happened? More of the same.

--- 3 ---

One day this week I decided to tape a roll of easel paper to the floor of the garage and Max and I set out to paint thelargestmostcoolestamazingestpictureever. Max was all "I want to walk around with my crocs instead."  And I was all, "Ew, stop walking with bare feet on the garage floor.  Come fingerpaint instead."  So then Max was like, "Fingerpaints are dirty."  And I was like, "You're right.  This idea stinks.  Let's go inside and eat goldfish crackers instead."  "Ok, mom."  

--- 4 ---

Sweep the floor with a dust mop.  This one is my personal favorite.

--- 5 ---

A great way to entertain a child is to have their grandmother travel to a foreign country, buy a piggy bank, return home, and give the piggy bank to said child.  Even better?  Have the grandmother go through their own wallet to find coins and dollars to fill the piggy bank.   

--- 6 ---

I made these color matching cards with paint chips and velcro.  I sat Max down for our daily circle time and showed him each card while stating the name of the color.  "This is red, Max.  Say red."  "Red."  This is blue, Max.  Say blue."  "Blue." I'm stopping now.  My fingers are getting bored.  After introducing the colors, I gave Max the matching card, and wouldn't you know it?!?  HE MATCHED EVERY COLOR ON THE FIRST TRY.  After that, we looked around the room and identified blue, yellow, and red objects.  I recorded our findings on chart paper.  Next, we went outside for a walk and filled paper bags with red, yellow, and blue items from nature.  

BWAHAHAHAHA.

None of that happened.  But this did:

Note the poor, dejected paint chip color cards scattered on the floor.  You can't fault me for trying.  But you can laugh at my parental naivety.  I'm so green.

--- 7 ---

And my final attempt at entertaining my young'un was a game of indoor soccer.  Max made sure he was wearing the proper footwear for the occasion.  

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

How to sell your house part III: moving & shaking & the first offer

For the sake of my sanity, I'm going to skip over the part about negotiating the offer for the sale of your house and the packing and moving.  I'm still in therapy and I don't want to regress.  I will tell the story in pictures rather than words:

Bwahahhaha.  What in the world IS that?  I've spent the last 5 minutes staring at the pictures trying to think of something clever to say, but I can't.   So, moving on to reality:

There.  That's better.  And accurate.
Anyways, about 3 weeks before we had to be out of our house, we put an offer on a house mostly to avoid apartment life.  This is a HORRIBLE reason to buy to a house and I'm so grateful that there were multiple offers and ours wasn't accepted.

There was nothing wrong with the house (except for popcorn ceilings), and the backyard.  The backyard looked like this:

 Ugh.  I know.  Horrible.
H:  I don't like this house.  The backyard sucks.
A:  The backyard is green and private.  What is wrong with you?

I will tell you what is wrong with me. Do you know who can hide behind trees?  CREEPERS, that's who!

You see what just happened there?  You thought I was being crazy and irrational.  I just totally changed your mind.  And made you reevaluate your own backyard tree line.  You're welcome.

Well, we put an offer on the house and I figured that if we got it, it was meant to be because really the only thing wrong here was my neurosis.  In case you didn't know, putting an offer on a house involves math.  Our poor agent was trying to explain everything over the phone and I was like this:

So our sweet, kind agent walked to our house to explain everything in person.  Yes, WALKED.

Once we revived her, she explained everything to me and I understood probably 90%.  I should note that Andres understood 100% of the terminology and math the whole time.  We didn't get the house.  I'm really happy about that.

I seeeeeeeee youuuuuuuuuuu!

Now go cut down your tree line.  What are you waiting for?!?

Part IV:  The Second Offer, or, Iron Curtain Realty

Five Favorites

Linking up with Hallie for Five Favorites!

Here are 5 things I've been loving this week!

Number One

These crackers are AH-MAZ-ING!  They taste EXACTLY like Macaroni Grill bread.  At least I think they do.  I haven't been to Macaroni Grill in a long time and the last time I went became the worst/funniest date of my life.
I was out with someone with the Heather-given moniker of Power Bar Henry.  (Don't mistake that to mean he was ripped and hot--he just liked to eat Power Bars.  Duh).  The waiter took our drink orders and Power Bar Henry ordered unsweet tea.  Since he was from the south I was like, "That's interesting that you like unsweet tea.  Did you grow up in the north?"  Yes, I consider that fascinating first date small talk and it's the best I came up with.  On my first date with my husband I shook his hand and said 'nice to meet you' so I bet you don't think my unsweet tea comment is all that awkward now, do you?
He responded that "unsweet tea is better for you."  Oh.  Hate to rot those pearly whites, Power Bar Henry?  Because to the rest of the world Sweet tea + toothbrush = throw.it.back. 

Wait.  It gets better.  The bread comes.  Everyone knows that the whole reason to go to Macaroni Grill is for the bread.  Power Bar Henry pushed it to the end of the table and said it was unhealthy.  What?!?  2004 Heather smiled politely and tried not to tear up at the loss of carbohydratey goodness.  2013 Heather knows better and would have done this:

Only imagine it with bread, not cake, and no guilty expression--just smiley, giddy, bready joy.
Anyways, my point is:  buy these crackers and then eat them.

Number Two

The wrinkle rid option on my dryer.  At our old house the dryer had a wrinkle release option, but it does not hold a candle to the wrinkle rid.  I'm not sure why.  All I know is that instead of ironing ALL my clothes, I now iron maybe two shirts.  Life is good.

Number Three
This book:

Little Acts of Grace by Rosemarie Gortler and Donna Piscitelli 
I found this rummaging through the free book boxes at Homeschool Gathering Place.  However, you can buy it here and it's absolutely worth the dollars.  It explains the parts of the Mass in kid-friendly language.  I enjoy reading it to Max right now because I learn so much!  It's nice to review the basics.

Number Four

A kid in overalls with no t-shirt.  Specifically, this kid in overalls with no t-shirt.  He has 3 sets of overalls that we rotate through, then I have to wait until I do laundry until I get to see the overalled cuteness again.  And at the rate I do laundry--I'm going to be waiting a while.

Number Five

Grape juice.  Any grape juice.  Here's the thing:  I grew up Baptist and we use grape juice for communion instead of wine.  So I can't just casually drink grape juice, I take slow sips and feel very reverent while drinking.  However, now that I'm Catholic, I don't find myself feeling that same reverence when I drink red wine.  So, here's my question to you:  if your church uses grape juice, do you feel reverent when you drink it in everyday life?  Do you avoid it because it's "communion juice?"  And if your church is of the red wine persuasion--do you feel reverent when drinking a glass of red wine?  Please comment below, because I'm very curious about this!

The Story of my Tattoo

Getting a tattoo of my dad’s initials was an idea that had been running around my head for YEARS. (Apparently I never voiced this thought out loud.  Andres was absolutely shocked as I never mentioned getting a tattoo in the seven years we've known each other.  Oops).  I finally decided to bite the bullet and do it for my 32^nd birthday!  You only get one life to live, right?

I asked my two good friends, Sarah and Jen, what they thought and Sarah said I had to be prepared to explain my tattoo.  I had to be prepared to say “those are my dad’s initials and he died when I was 11.” (I know I don't have to say the death part, but let's be honest--getting a tattoo of your dad's initials just because is a little on the strange side).  I don’t mind saying these words AT ALL.  I know it might make people feel uncomfortable or awkward and I hate that.  Let me say this:  I have been telling people that my father passed away for the past 20 years.  It does not bother me, saying it does not make me sad, you don’t have to be sorry, I’m ok.  I’ve known that he wouldn’t walk me down the aisle at my wedding, meet my husband, or see his grandchildren since I was 11.  I’m used to it, and I’m fine.  Yes, I still cry sometimes, but because I miss him the person, not because I’m feeling sorry for what I missed out on.

Because there is only time to say “they’re my dad’s initials and he died when I was young” when people ask about my tattoo, I want to write out everything I wish I could say.  This is a personal story and I’m not trying to start any kind of theological discussion, so if you are offended or want to make a snide remark, do so in your own head and move on with your day.  You can even unfriend me on facebook, if that's the kind of person you are.  Just don't be mean or nasty.  Thanks.

Here is why I got a tattoo with my dad’s initials:

I found out my father had passed away during the night at 6:43 am on March 29, 1993.  My mother came into my room to wake me up to tell me the news.  My grandparents and our pastor were in the room with her.  

On a side note, can I just say how amazing I think it is that our pastor was at our house, in my bedroom, at the second I woke up, at 6:43 am on a Monday morning?  I know people think “oh, that’s the pastor’s job” but you know, not really.  There are lots of pastors in the world, but I honestly don’t know many who would be RIGHT THERE RIGHT THEN.  Pastor Charlie is pretty awesome.

I remember everything about that day, as if I was out of my body watching everything happen to me through a haze.  It hadn’t had that experience before or since.  One of the many things I remember about the day is sitting on the floor of my mom’s room asking “Does daddy miss us?”  My mom could have said the easy, feel-good thing in that moment, “Of course he does.  He’s watching over you.  He’s your guardian angel.”  I’m so glad she didn’t. Instead she said, “Of course not.  Heaven is so wonderful and he is so happy there, he does not want to come back."

 When I asked the question I knew in my head and in my heart that what my mom said was the “right” answer.  Hearing it confirmed gave me so much comfort and continues to do so. The truth is that my dad does not miss me.  He’s in heaven.  He’s with God.   Why on earth would he miss ME? 

 I’ve never died, so I can’t say with certainty how things work on the other end…maybe he looks down on me and is aware of what has happened in my life, maybe not.  It honestly makes no difference me.   At every milestone I’ve experienced without him (high school and college graduation, my first job, getting married, having Max, quitting to become a stay-at-home mom), I’ve never really wondered “Does daddy know?  Does he see me?”  Instead, I get an image of my dad worshiping around the throne of God and I get really excited for him.  If he’s in a place where every true desire of his heart is fulfilled, why on earth would I wish he could be with me on my wedding day watching my sister and I get into an argument over something silly, or watch my hormone-crazed post-partum self cry hysterically for no legitimate reason?

To be honest, I do wonder what it would be like to watch him be a grandfather to Max, but I can’t really wrap my head around it.  Since he died when I was 11, I still feel I relate to him as a little girl.  For example, when my husband asked what my dad was like I answered, “My dad just loved me so much.  He took me out for ice cream, played catch in the backyard with me, and helped me with my homework.” Not exactly a 32- year-olds assessment of their father.  But, I don’t wonder about him grandfathering Max in a way that makes me long for him to be here on earth.  Rather, I miss my father in a way that makes me long for Heaven.

And that’s why I got my tattoo.  Every time I look at it, I remember the moment my mom said, “Of course he doesn’t miss us.  Heaven is so wonderful and he is so happy there, he does not want to come back.”  It fills my heart with gratitude to God for this truth and the hope we have because of his great love for us.

So, that's what I think of when I look at my tattoo.  

The End.

Siete Rapido Takes

--- 1 ---

I'm loving my tattoo more and more each day. It's really starting to heal up and be smooth instead of raised. I'm so glad I finally got all tatted up. A post explaining the tattoo is forthcoming.

--- 2 ---

This is a picture my sister-in-law drew of Max. It was part of her art exhibit for her senior project. Gorgeous, no? She's so talented. I'm in awe of people who can draw. When we were at the exhibit we overheard a woman say, "I bet she copied that from a picture. No child would sit still that long." Ahhh, so smart, so wise. Love a good statement of the obvi.

--- 3 ---

This is a self-portrait of my sister-in-law. I believe it's supposed to represent the anxiety, uncertainty, and exhaustion that comes with applying for colleges and being unsure about the future. This painting speaks to me. I really relate to the tired eyes. Imagine her with blond hair and change the title to "Max's Molars."

--- 4 ---

Last night was a GNO! (Girls Night Out) I went out with two friends, one of whom is going to give birth any day now. I really wanted a cocktail, but then thought, "What if Mel goes into labor and I have to deliver her baby?!? I should be sober enough to deal." So I didn't. Also, we are on a budget and the cocktail menu did not list the prices so I knew the establishment was up to no good in that department. Maybe next time.

--- 5 ---

I took my little to Lowe's to buy paint, because he's too young to watch himself at home. Maybe in a few months, but not right now. Whenever I go to Lowe's I try to be all urban and walk with purpose, I don't make eye contact, I pretend I know what I'm doing. But something about a woman in workout clothes pushing a baby in a cart just screams, "help this poor thing!" and all elderly men within a mile radius come to my assistance. It's sort of embarrassing, but on the flip side, they compliment Max, and I get fooled into believing that he really is the cutest, smartest kid ever created. Because I'm not a first time mom to one child or anything.

--- 6 ---

We left Lowe's with this beautiful color--Valspar Cut Ruby. It's the most beautiful red and we (and by 'we' I mean other people) painted our dining room with it. I pretty much have the dining room of my dreams right now and I can't stop staring.

--- 7 ---

The 'other people' who painted our house were two guys and their business card was a picture of a paintbrush with flames coming out of the bristles. I have no idea why this cracks me up, but it does. "We come to your house. We paint with our flaming brushes. You will like." When you read that, read it with a Latin accent. I don't know. I find it funny, but I don't really talk to people during the day, so my social skillz have taken a major drop. Plus also, one of the guy's email addresses includes the number 87, which means he was probably born in 1987. What the what?!? In my mind, 1987 is ten years old and I can't believe I paid a 10 year old to paint my house.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Polish Madonna

Did you know there is a whole Catholic mommy blogger culture on the internets?  Well, there is. I guess it's not really a culture, it's moms who blog who happen to be Catholic, just like all the Mormon Mommy Bloggers out there.

That right there was my weird introduction to this painting, which I'm sort of in love with.  I found it via one of the Catholic mommy blogs I peruse.  I would link it here, because I like the blog, but I think it's polite to ask permission for that sort of thing and I'm lazy so I won't.

When I told Andres I wanted the painting, he said "Why?  What brought this on?"  Can't a girl just like a painting?  Nothing really brought it ON, per say, just...

Since becoming a SAHM, I've had more time to think (sort of) and I've been thinking about Mary.  About how all we have is a snapshot of Jesus being born, a snapshot of him at 12, and then BAM he's a grown-up.  But in the middle of all that, was a little boy who ran around naked, who needed his diapers washed, who got muddy, enjoyed being bounced on his mother's knee, who needed breakfast, lunch, and dinner prepared for him every day.  And there was Mary, taking care of the Savior's basic needs.  That is incredible to me.  Mary nursed the bread of life.  
That's why I've been thinking about Mary.  Do you arrive home from the market with several bags and cranky child and think 'ok, here we go' and heave a great sigh before starting to unload your bags and kid?  Mary did too.  Do you struggle to cook dinner each night with a fussy child around your legs, just wanting to be held?  Mary did too.  Do you lose your patience and yell 'what the heck do you want?' when your nonverbal offspring is whining and pointing and you've offered everything under the sun to appease him?  Mary did too.  Do you just want to be able to use the restroom with the door closed?  Mary did to.  Do you feel like you're doing your best, but secretly pray that you're not screwing your kids up?  Mary did too.  Are you aching for a girl's night, and when it happens do you contemplate maybe not returning home and checking into a hotel somewhere?  Mary did too.*

And God knew all of this and still chose her.  God knew that Mary would struggle with the challenges and mundane tasks of parenting.  God knew that Mary would sometimes lose her patience with Jesus and the rest of her children, and he chose her anyway.**

That's why this image speaks to me.  Mary spent her life doing the ordinary mom things for God, and some days it was a struggle and she wanted to cry and pull her hair out.  And it gives me inspiration and faith to do all my ordinary mom things for God, too.

I'm going to hang it on the wall next to my laundry room.  Seems fitting, right?

*This is my personal speculation.  I mean, upon hearing she was pregnant Mary went to Elizabeth's for a girl's night that lasted for several months.  That leads me to believe that Mary was big into girl time. ;)

**Again, this is my personal speculation.  I know there are a variety of beliefs about Mary in the Church, including that she was born without original sin, her perpetual virginity, and I've even heard that some believe that Jesus did not even pass through her birth canal.  I know, right?!?  This is based on my personal beliefs that Mary was a sinner who needed her Son to save her, just as much as anyone else, and that Mary and Joseph had children together.