Who Even Reads Blogs Anymore?

Do you guys remember when blogs were, like, the whole world? I'm talking early 2000s to maybe about 2010-2011. I'd wake each morning and eagerly open my Google Reader to see who posted what, often reading for an hour or more before I officially started my day. Slowly, life started to take over. The hours I used to read became skimming or short bursts of catching up. And in more recent years, Instagram has almost completely taken over reading. I'll scroll through pretty pictures while nursing. And my new favorite activity is watching Instastories.

I'm losing steam when it comes to blogging. There are many reasons.

• I don't feel I have as much to say as I once did. I used to take on a much more expert opinion on matters. In my ripe old age of 33, I don't necessarily feel like I have much figured out anymore. Or at least I've learned to put my foot in my mouth whenever I think I finally have figured out everything. Because, ultimately, there are many ways to do things. All things.
• I don't have as much time anymore. Practically, I have to spend time where the money is, and that's freelancing for me. I make a modest living pecking out articles on medical matters. It feels much more stable than trying to hedge my bets on blogging as my main source of income. Unless you're part of a select few, blogging money isn't what it used to be. And I'm unwilling to submit myself to the sellout gods. I've experimented with sponsored stuff in the past . . . and I'm not saying I'll never take on sponsored posts again, but it's a delicate balance. Most people don't do it well.
• People just aren't reading as much anymore. I have a good number of devoted readers, and I love you guys. But it's hard to pour energy and thought into something when it just isn't reaching many people for whatever reason. There have always been hits or misses, but lately it's more misses. 
• And I think that has to do with stage of life. When I was in my twenties, I had all the time in the world to think about my fitness, eating, and personal stuff. Everything about adulting was so fresh and new and exciting. The sorts of people who are attracted to this space seem to care mostly about my journaling. My personal thoughts versus recipes, tutorials, or anything else. We know that planning the perfect birth/wedding/fitness plan/outfit isn't always feasible. That doesn't mean we don't try . . . but we'd rather read deeply personal accounts of life so we don't feel so alone. At least that's me.
• But as I've written in the past (almost a year ago, in fact), I'm conflicted about sharing too much. Because sometimes someone random will take your photos and pretend your children are actually her children. For years. You know, weird stuff like that -- and no, I don't feel like going into detail!

I don't necessarily think I'm done blogging full stop, but I may approach it in a new way. I may go down to posting just once a week with words. Once a week with photos. Something personal. Something of quality. Something that means something . . . rather than churning water trying to get the number of posts up.

And as I typed that sentence -- not meaning to be done with you guys just yet -- my teething 11-month-old baby is waking from her fitful nap. No, I don't like to blame the children. But when you deal with early wakeups, skipped naps, and overall crank for days weeks on end . . . running to the computer to come up with content isn't really what you want to do straight away. You sort of just want to stare at the wall for a minute, take a deep breath, and keep on keeping on. Or call a friend. Or your parents. Or do 10 minutes of Barre3.

I suppose I'll return with a part II. For now, I'm going to grab that apple ice teether out of the freezer and hope to goodness it does its magic.

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Three Years Later . . .

Today is the 3-year anniversary of when Ada had her surgery. I thought to honor the day, I'd re-post what I wrote about that day way back when. I'm currently looking at my gorgeous almost 5-year-old, and you'd never know we went through this nightmare. Feeling very blessed today.

And there you were -- still sleeping -- alone in that big bed we had played in for hours before they wheeled you into the operating room. Your head was propped atop a small white pillow and your hands were encumbered by numerous tubes and wires leading to the machine reading your vital signs. It beeped and plotted and alarmed.

We were told everything looked good.
Yet, to us, that was hardly the case.

I didn't know what to say or feel in that first moment seeing you, so I think I muttered a simple "wow," in both disbelief and wonder. I counted your tiny fingers and toes just as I had when you were placed in my arms for the very first time. You looked as peaceful as you did back then. Calm, which is a rare to see with toddlers of your age, but especially rare with you. I took a strange, selfish pleasure in seeing you so still.

Your surgeon had gently parted your hair and tied it back in its first real ponytail revealing many, many stitches. Too many to count at a glance. I wasn't at all prepared for the length of your incision. A good four or five inches in all, starting at your right temple and running up to the crown of your head. It looked so much like the neat red stitching on a baseball -- precise and uniform and definitely well practiced.

"What did we do to you?" I said, shaking my head.

Somehow the tears weren't streaming down my cheeks by this point. I had imagined they might the whole day, but I was able to hold myself together for you. Or maybe I was numb. None of this experience was setting in. We weren't really there and it wasn't really happening, I mused. Little (almost) two-year-old girls don't get craniotomies.

Your nurse mentioned something about morphine and how you weren't in pain. His voice was low and soft, absolutely perfect for his chosen profession. I could swear I had met him before. His whole demeanor was so familiar; his lean build made me think perhaps we jogged together in a local race. It was silly. I couldn't pin it down. But I grew guilty wasting the brain power to place him. I should have been totally focused on you and somehow my mind could only wander anywhere else.

The morning of your surgery, you woke (too) early, probably due to all the commotion of us packing outside your bedroom. Instead of rocking and shushing you back to sleep, we let you get up and sip water while we loaded the car. I sat in the back seat with you trying to starve off your hunger with your favorite cartoons and countless pages of stickers that still litter the floor even a week later. You had no idea what was in store, and I had no idea if we had made the right decision.

Medicine is science, yet so much of it is interpretive. Surgery is as much art as it is mechanics, and each artist is unique in execution and medium of choice. Had we commissioned the right piece for your situation? Will we ever know? Will we ever be at peace with the not knowing?

You opened your eyes for a second when we tickled your foot, rousing you for your first round of tests. A few neuro residents, probably much younger than us, I thought, visited your bed and asked us questions about your diagnosis and procedure. They commended your pediatrician for catching the issue so early on, before the symptoms had started. They spoke and I replied, but all I could truly focus on was your breath.

"That's normal, right?" I asked several times. You were snoring, but it was a slow wheezing in and out because the breathing tube had irritated your airway. "Totally normal," said the nurse, his gaze fixed on your monitors. He was recording your vitals and preparing us for the journey to the PICU, the place in the following days we learned to love as a home away from home.

We had only just begun your recovery and yet so much of this event that we fretted about was already over. And thank goodness for that. At each turn, we still entered the unknown. Would you be the same when you woke? Would you hate us? Would you be in pain? A million questions and fears quelling only today. After a week fraught with worry and, in turn, jubilation as we've watched you return to your old self.

We walked down the street to the park yesterday. You love blowing dandelion seeds and hunting for more flowers and then repeating the process all over again. We did this for hours the day before your surgery and here we are again only one week later. There was a lot between this point and where we are currently, but those are all stories for another time. When you're older and we've all let our wounds heal.

We are so thankful for all your thoughts and prayers and incredibly humbled by this experience.

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Weekend Things

I hadn’t planned to write a Weekend Things post this week, but I came across so much good stuff to share. So, here we are. First and foremost, if you’re going to make a dessert this weekend, make these Salted Chocolate Chunk Cookies featured on Smitten Kitchen. My friend Ellie shared this recipe yesterday, and I made it less than five minutes after reading through Deb’s musings.

(For vegans out there, a flax egg -- 1 tablespoon flax meal with 3 tablespoons water -- is a great substitute in this recipe.)

#1: 5 More Things We Can Learn From Julia Child’s Kitchen via The Kitchn

#2: Then there’s the whole thing with last night’s Grey’s Anatomy. For those of you who haven’t watched it yet, I won’t spoil. I’ll just say, THIS seriously.

#3: The Not-So-Sweet Truth About Cabbage Patch Kids via Country Living

#4: 102-Year-Old Renaissance Dancer Sees Herself on Film via Washington Post

#5: Photos of Legal Marijuana Use Shatter Stereotypes via Huff Post -- so bad they’re good!

#6: Making of Benedict C’s Wax Figure via Madame Tussauds -- I want one!

#7: Some deals:

• Up to 40% Off bestselling Vivere Hammocks -- I really want one of these.
• A collection of Kate Spade shoes under $100
• Major outlet deals on a variety of Spring Toys For Kids
• Kid’s shoes by Keen, Merrell, Kamik, etc. up to 60% off
• Breville Boss Blender is 33% off

#8: How our bedroom is looking these days (more soon):

What you may have missed . . . 

• Do You Tabata? -- my fascination with this awesome workout method.
• Time Machine Eats -- five old recipes we’ve been making often.
• Running From Square One -- it’s just like starting over!
• A Room For Living -- progress on our living room redesign.
• Spinach + Cheddar Buttermilk Biscuits -- made with Greek yogurt.
• 8 Must-Have Kitchen Tools -- stuff you need to cook your best.

My writing, elsewhere:

• 6 Healthy, Homemade Yogurt Recipes
• 5 Easy Ways To Save On Groceries In A Pinch
• 9 Closet Offices That Will Change How You Work
• Quickie Workouts You Can Do During Commercials
• Becoming a One-Car Family: 5 Points To Consider
• 8 Closet Bedrooms That Are Surprisingly Spacious

HAPPY FRIDAY!

Psssst: Check out previous editions of Weekend Things!

Like what you just read? You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!

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3 Years At Home // Thoughts On Life

When I made the decision to leave my desk job a little over three years ago, I didn’t have much of a plan. Instead, I knew my heart wasn’t at my old position and -- quite frankly -- didn’t totally feel welcomed back due to some circumstances around the time I went out on maternity leave. That stuff is neither here nor there, because I also had always pictured staying at home for at least the early years with my child/children. It’s what my mom did with me.

This isn’t the kind of life choice that I take for granted or think is the “right” or “wrong” way to do things. It’s simply all I knew of motherhood from my upbringing. I don’t even feel that terribly confident talking about it most of the time. In fact, I’m somewhat shocked we’re able to make it work. I still frantically wade through our bank accounts whenever we have unexpected big expenses to contend with. I still freak out when things with my freelance work shift and evolve (not always in an upward trajectory). It’s tumultuous -- I’ll give you that.

I often contemplate (and sometimes dream of) returning to full-time, salaried work. Even right now while we’re on the adventure for child #2, I’m asking myself some pretty heavy questions about my future, about staying home -- or not, and about what my life is becoming. In a way, I like that my world isn’t all black and white, and that I’ve been able to make freelancing part-time from home as a writer work. It’s the sort of crazy benefit of majoring in such a soft discipline and paying all those private school dollars, right? But it’s also mentally draining wondering if that next paycheck will come or when I might be left grasping at straws. Give and take.

Since pregnancy hasn't come quickly this time around, I started to genuinely freak out because I imagine all my freelance gigs drying up at once and being thrust back into the workforce at 8 months pregnant. Or some other unpleasant scenario. I suppose if this sort of thing happened, we’d find a way to make it work, just like we have with all other lemons we’ve been dealt. But that’s one downside to staying at home while not having a generous income from one person. It’s, instead, a partnership. It’s budgeting, which I have a black belt in after all these years. And some of it, honestly, is luck.

I look back on my “plan” to space my children apart and question myself. Should we have tried sooner? Could we have? I think life has a silly way of working itself out, since I cannot imagine going through Ada’s ordeal while pregnant or with a newborn. Regardless, I’m starting to realize that all of life’s decisions are just difficult. There are few times when one way is the “right” way. And that kind of just sucks because we’re often left wondering about all the millions of other paths we might have taken and where they would have led us.

Regardless, I’m starting to come to peace with the madness. I’m sure that doesn’t sound at all like me (I’ll be the first to admit that), but something inside me is shifting. I can’t go on feeling such anxiety about all of life’s big and small decisions anymore. About all the stuff that’s not under my control. Yeah, it’s “how I operate” -- but why have I not spent enough time questioning this sad situation? My writing routine has helped me a lot with sorting and making sense of these feelings.

 I feel sometimes like something else is trying to show me -- ever so slowly -- that I need to lose my desire desperate need to have a grip on everything in my life. And what’s more shocking is that I’m starting to understand and appreciate this way of thinking. I’m opening my mind and heart to a new way of being. It’s scary at times, but I’ll resist my tendency to shy away from the light.

Like what you just read? You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!

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All The Feelings

(Note: If you don’t like my rambling posts, check out the Chocolate PB Energy Chunks instead!)

I’ve been all over the place emotionally in the last half a year or more. Have you noticed? (Of course you have!) One minute I’m up, the next I’m down, the next I’m trying something new and getting up again. It’s sort of crazy. Exhausting for myself (and others, I’m sure). These cycles we go through with our lives and our moods and our abilities to cope with different situations . . . it’s pure madness.

It has me often asking . . .

I’m very much a person who feels what’s going on with every part of my being. I let things utterly consume me because that seems the be the way I deal with whatever is going on. Or perhaps that’s how I’ve learned to cope with situations over time. It’s like these waves wash over me ranging in size from the very tiny to the tsunamic. Some let me ride high and enjoy the views. Others swell and completely swallow me up and spit me back out. These are definitely trite ways of trying to explain the experience -- but I think they’re somewhat relatable.

I came across this article about how negative emotions are the key to wellbeing. It was validating for me because I’m always down on myself for being so negative. (Irony?) I’ve been accused of being depressed and unstable (well, mostly by online armchair psychologists) when all I’m really doing is mulling over something in my head. Sure, I tend to dwell in the worry and regret and worst-case scenarios areas of my brain. That’s not necessarily a great thing to do. But the author writes about how important it is to learn to "express and acknowledge the full range of emotions.”

As with my vocals, I have a pretty broad range slanted to alto.

I just happen to do a lot of this thinking online, which is sometimes often a mistake. Other times, it leads me to some amazing supports and connections. Furthermore, letting the dark stuff through can aid with survival with giving cues related to health issues, relationship struggles, and more. I deserve a gold start for my efforts in this area, no?

My method of choice for sorting out the aftermath has always been writing. When I was younger, I considered going to school for music or architecture or even broadcast journalism. I had a particularly difficult senior year of high school (stupid boy problems), and it was at this point when I first turned to writing as an emotional outlet, though I didn’t recognize it as such. Ithaca College sent along some pamphlet about its band new Writing program. A couple weeks later I had a brief, self-diagnosed mental breakdown (oh, the drama) about music when I missed making a spot in all state chorus by a couple measly points. One thing led to another, and I switched gears to sign up for my spot in the nonfiction/expository crowd.

Fast forward to my senior year of college, I took a seminar on the topic of writing and healing. Well, I didn’t exactly want to take that class, but I needed a senior seminar and that was the one offered for nonfiction students my last semester. The alternative was something on poetry with a professor who fancied giving me Cs and Ds (I graduated magna cum laude -- her grading system just didn’t make sense). Anyway, I though the topic was sort of laughable. Actual scientific evidence that writing can cure people from mental and physical illness (here’s more)? That’s crazy talk.

All the content we read, the assignments we wrote -- well -- they were so overwhelmingly touchy-feely. I drafted countless eassys about my eating disorder, examining it in all directions. I delved into my childhood, but there really wasn’t much trauma there, more like teen brooding. Yes, I wrote about that stupid boy. I remained skeptical of the entire premise.

Yet through all the in-depth research we examined and my own projects, I slowly discovered the power. The catharsis. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but seeing my thoughts written down helped. For me, I’m able to take control over my situation through the process of writing the words on the page, arranging my narrative in a way that soothes me and makes better sense, and empowering myself through my own words. And the evidence for writing as a form of healing has continued to pile up all these years after my experience in the classroom.

This is all a long way of saying: I’ve been writing in my journal (remember my 2015 goals?), and I think it’s been helping me sort through some of this stuff related to our TTC issues (and my related health issues, which I haven’t shared much about) and regaining some control over my sense of self. I’ve even been writing a bit about Ada’s surgery. Sure, eating healthy foods is certainly helping as well, and I’ll be sure to write more about that in an upcoming post. But taking care of my body isn’t the only focus here. I’m glad I’ve reconnected with this tool. It allows me to think in a new way, even if I don’t write more than a few sentences.

Do you have a self-help tool? 

Aside from writing, I get more immediate relief from stress through running and playing violin. There’s something in the rhythm and motion of those activities that breaks through even the worst stuff.

Like what you just read? You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!

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Weekend Things

I've eaten the same freezer dinner three times this week! Be sure to check back next week for my new favorite pinto bean + corn veggie burger recipe (no food processor required) and burger buns that will knock your socks off. If you just can't wait, check out last year's Bulk Freezer Burger recipe.

For now, a teaser:

If you follow me on Pinterest, you may have seen some of these already. But here's what I'm digging as far as links + things this week!

#1: Homemae Wonuts -- WAFFLE DONUTS (doughnuts?). Basically one of the best combinations ever. Wonder if it'd work with this Chocolate + Zucchini Waffle recipe?

#2: Less is always more. Here are 5 Reasons To Declutter, Purge, and Simplify Your Home. Thanks, Apartment Therapy.

#3: I heart lip balm. When I'm not making my own, my favorites are Rosebud Salve, Burt's Bees in Peppermint, and EOS Balms (because I don't lose them as easily!).

#4: New ideas for our new home: This genius mug wall, these colorful built-in bookshelves, and red french doors. Sigh!

#5: Preppers and non-preppers alike can enjoy these 16 Cool Homesteading DIY Projects. I'm lusting over that gorgeous food storage shelf myself.

#6: I indulged + bought a pair of Birkenstock Boston Clogs for the fall/winter months. I chose Henna for the color, and narrow for width (though I usually wear size 39 regular).


Lately on Writing Chapter Three:

• House Notes: Vinyl Tile: How we've updated our floors -- DIY style -- on the cheap.
• The Terrible Threes: Notes from the trenches of this latest parenting development!
• Goodbye, Grandma: My grandmother passed away earlier this month. A tribute to her.
• DIY Craft Kits for Kids: Skip delivery craft services. Here's how!
• Ada's First Day of Preschool: It went pretty great. Here are some thoughts and a few photos.
• Zero-Money Weekends: How we're saving $$$ + what we plan to do for entertainment.

Smart Personal Finance:

• 10 Things You Should NEVER Buy At Aldi
• 10 Cheap Ways To Make Your Apartment Awesome
• 13 DIY Clothing Projects For Men
• 7 FREE Online Workout DVDs/Streams
• 12 Unique Ways To Use School Supplies
• How To Get The Home Loan You Want
• Useful Items You Should Never Throw Out
• 7 Quick Tips For Better Posture
• 9 Satisfying Stir-Fries in 20 Minutes Or Less
• 7 Simple Ways To Get Motivated For Your Workout
• More of my writing for Wisebread . . .

Running + Fitness:

• Clean Your Stinky Exercise Clothes, Naturally
• The Adult Fitness Test: How Do You Measure Up?
• Think You're Too Busy To Run? Think Again!
• Running On A Budget
• Mental Tricks For The Long Run
• How Running Helps You Think
• Summer to Fall: Transitional Running Gear
• DIY Energy Drinks, Gels, and Bars
• Fitting In Runs While Traveling For Work
• More of my writing for WalkJogRun . . .

HAPPY FRIDAY!

Like what you just read? You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!

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Weekend Things

So many links to share! I've decided to merge the Weekend Things and Weekly Recap into one post. Why not? I've really been feeling the quality versus quantity thing with regard to posts lately. Granted, we've been quite busy so my usual posting is down (don't worry, I have lots of food plans this weekend!) . . . but I can't believe the number of blogs I'm seeing that still post like 3x/day every day!

First encouraging words:

Fun Links:

#1: I've been going nuts pinning interiors for house #2. Like this red door. I'm absolutely obsessed with it on the inside and out.

#2: Oh, and while we're on the house -- if all goes well, we might find ourselves with a breakfast room, which I'd love to have look just like this one. How ridiculous is that?

#3: I love our current dark grey walls, but I think I'm warming up to that ubiquitous Revere Pewter color that's so beautifully adaptable as trends come and go.

#4: I've been using my FitBit Flex again, and I'm ready to do a full review of it next week. It may not be 100% accurate, but on the days when I track my steps I am definitely inspired to be more active in general. Now I sort of want this pretty colored set of bands to wear with it.

#5: Great sale on Sprout foods one of my favorite brands of kid snacks today. And be sure to check out this great Bike to Work collection of items, including racks, safety lights, baskets, and other accessories.

#6: These garden party cupcakes are too cute. In other food news, we were featured on BuzzFeed as one of the 18 Best Uses for Old Bay with our Dinosaur Kale Chips.

#7: How smart is this idea to place garbage bags on a paper towel roll? And did you know you can bring down a fever with Peppermint?

#8: In fact, I've been super interested in essential oils lately beyond the standard lavender and peppermint. I've been checking out a few introductory kits to get started and am about ready to commit to this First Aid Set. They are calming and relaxing, but I'm learning more about their use and I'd love to start delving deeper.

#9: How to make brown sugar! I'd love to do this for one of my many half dozen cookie recipes.

#10: And last, some of you were asking how I'm liking my Birkenstock Mayari sandals. Holy moly. They're my favorite shoes ever. Even more comfortable than my Saltwater sandals.

Lately on Writing Chapter Three:

• Spring Has Sprung: And an exciting little announcement!
• Mother's Day Weekend: Our weekend in Wellsboro, PA. Plus a drastic new haircut!
• Spring Clean-Out: Review part I of thredUP for selling clothing online.
• On My TO-DO List: The list of things I'd like to accomplish this month.
• #motherrunner // Being Selfish: Thoughts on carving out lots of time to train and how it's harder with kids.
• More Cheap + Easy Messy Play: Homemade play "goop" with chia seeds -- super fun!
• So Much Gunk: Springtime allergies + how my home remedy is working. 

Elsewhere:

• You're Washing You Clothing Too Often! Here's Why...
• Get + Keep Amazing Posture with 10 Easy Stretches
• Multivitamins Aren't as Good as We Think: Eat Whole Foods Instead
• Smart Ways to Spend Your Loose Change
• 8 Expensive Ingredients That Are Easy to Replace
• 20 Essential Life-Hacks of Summer
• Bottled or Tap? The Answer Might Surprise You!
• 5 Pre-Race Habits
• Veggie Spotlight: Spinach
• Getting Started: Tips for Beginner Runners
• Dealing With Walking Pain
• Dance-Walk for Exercise, Stress Relief

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND!
Like what you just read? Browse more of our posts + recipes on Pinterest. You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!

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Weekly Digest, no. 1

Over the years, I've given you guys some surveys + asked more informal Qs via social media about things I could be doing better or different with my blogging. One of the common requests has been to have a weekly or bi-weekly newsletter with recent posts for those of you who fit blog reading into your breaks at work or just don't have time to keep up.

I explored doing an email newsletter last weekend, but decided I didn't want to spread out everything even more than it already is. You guys are so great to follow me so many places already. Thank you! (Let's be real: Two blogs is surely enough -- and many of you also would like to see them become one, and I promise I'm working on it. It's just hard to figure out from both a content and technical perspective.)

So, here's what we covered this week!

/ / / / / / / / / / (NEVER)HOMEMAKER \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

Creamy Pesto Avocado Sauce + Cooking Video

A delicious vegetarian recipe (with vegan option) that you can make in just over 5 minutes. We love this spread on pizzas, burgers, eggs, and pretty much anything else. I even put some in my grilled cheese today!

Pinning Some Blame on Spinning

Continuing with sharing my weight loss attempt. I've discovered that the pounds aren't budging, and one of my favorite activities might be to "blame." If so, I'd rather keep my muscle bulk and keep my cadence and spirits high! Stay tuned . . .

Hot Yoga (For Those of Us Who Haven't Tried It Yet)

I FINALLY tried hot yoga (vinyasa flow) and lived to tell you all a tale about it. Check out my many positives and negatives about the experience. I think I'll go back again just to form a solid opinion on if I love it, hate it, or think it's a scam.

10 Favorite (CHEAP!) Grocery Staples + Video

In this video, I cover some of our WINTER essentials. Definitely not everything we eat on a weekly basis, but these ingredients are inexpensive and go far toward all those meals we put on our table morning, noon, and night.

/ / / / / / / / / / WRITING CHAPTER THREE \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

Ada's Mountain // Cabin Fever

Being stuck in our 1,200 sq ft house could spell out doom, especially with a toddler. Here are some things we're doing to stay sane -- along with some fun photos of Ada's favorite indoor climbing activity.

Things Are Looking Up

The results of Ada's MRI and some happy news about how I'm finally letting go of my bad attitude about the last 6 months. It's been a long road, and I'm thrilled everything is going well. I'm ready for brighter days ahead.

5 Easy Ways to Spend Less Money + Video

A few tips and tricks for how we cut our budget on the little things. These are simple tips that almost everyone can employ. And the best part? You can start spending less money TODAY!

Sunday Matinee

Our new favorite weekend activity with Ada has to be our Sunday afternoon matinees. And I'm wondering what YOUR opinion is regarding taking toddlers to the movies. Is there a magic age/milestone?

/ / / / / / / / / / ELSEWHERE \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

Does Running Make Your Face Sag?

Balance Weight Loss and Training

Veggie Spotlight: Brussels Sprouts

10 Budget-Friendly Meals Everyone Should Know How To Make

Fridge or Counter? Where to Store Fruit for Best Flavor

25 Simple Recipes for 25 Delicious Veggies

HAPPY WEEKEND!

Ashley, Stephen, and Ada

Psssst: Don't forget to subscribe to our YouTube channel!

Like what you just read? You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!.

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Kombucha: First Try

I drop mention of things periodically.
Have you noticed?

Things I've promised to do or declared I'm setting out to do. You know. It happens to bloggers all the time. It happens to non-bloggers, too. But with bloggers, there's this whole accountability bit. The words are out there. In black and white, depending on your site's color palette, alive for eternity on the web.

(Aside: I need to stop promising so much and just DO. I need to stop saying so much and just LIVE.)

Anyway, we were brewing our own kombucha as part of our fun-things-to-do-in-2013 plan. And we were entirely too excited about the first step: The process of watching the scoby -- the mother -- grow and flourish in its own disgusting, sixth-grade-science-experiment sort of way.

Almost the full two weeks in // on January 11, I remember specifically -- a day that will now live in infamy // Ada and I had gone out to the store to fetch some baking supplies. Chocolate chips and other essentials. Some eggs and almond milk, too. A head a broccoli. We got home + I proceeded to make Ada lunch and put away the items from our haul on empty shelves.

Ada sang to me as she shoveled in bits of tangerine and tofu. I stopped for a moment to erase the chalked Christmas tree that was still proudly carrying the room's decor for a full half month after the holiday. I drew a sparse, but colorful, winter scene in its place. Ada clapped and I continued my work of the grocery bags.

The scoby looked quite robust and slimy from its perch atop the refrigerator. It wouldn't be long now, I thought. The birth of our first batch was imminent. After lining up all the cold goods on the counter, I grabbed the refrigerator handle without much thought -- a tub of Earth Balance clutched in one hand, the other flipping open the dairy compartment -- and CRASH.

Down came the glass gallon jug.
Down came the fermented sludge.
Down it all came,
through a thin cheesecloth cover
onto
. . . me.

Hair, clothes, and toes wet with strange, foul liquid. I stood a moment in disbelief. Snapped a photo so there'd be proof when Stephen found the jug scrubbed in the sink. He'd be devastated. I knew it. Ada giggled. Then: What to do? It -- the mother -- was splished and splattered e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. On the floor, in the fridge, on the wall, on the stand mixer, creeping ever-closer to Ada's high chair.

I'm almost 90% sure some droplets made it into my mug of tea.
Ironic, no?

Thankfully I Stephen had done a large load of bath towels the night before. They were folded and waiting on the couch for their journey to the linen closet. I grabbed a few and wiped down everything. I stripped down to my skivvies, right there in the sunny kitchen, desperately hoping my 80-year-old neighbors (Jack + Diane, yes -- like the song) weren't home to see the pathetic display. In one swift motion, I grabbed my clothes and scooped up Ada. We headed upstairs so I could shower off my hair and change.

For once in the past two years, I had been wearing a nice sweater that requires dry cleaning. I choose to blame this event for my current fashion disaster status. (At least grubby sweatshirts can be tossed into the wash without a thought beyond light or dark.) When we got back downstairs, Ada finished her lunch while I scrubbed and dubbed everything some more.

We haven't conceived another scoby since. I don't know when we will. I have a sour taste on my tongue over the matter. I've brushed my teeth many, many times since . . . so, I'm pretty sure that's not the leftover microbes from whatever splashed into my gaping mouth that day.

Lesson learned: Don't store so much darned stuff atop the refrigerator. Bookends are bound to slip and slide. And when your scoby has a great fall, all the king's horses and all the king's men do not come to your aid.

It's all on you.

Quite literally.

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Transitions + Constants

I told you I was going to start writing more about what's going on with me in the present. I'll get back to recipes and workouts soon. But here's some of what I promised. A look inside my head.

Whenever I take a look around and feel like my world is falling apart, there's usually some transition to blame. It happened when I left home to go to college. That August, I refused to return my parents' messages on my dorm room answering machine.

I was transitioning into a more independent young adult, and I was a bratty, emotional wreck.

Years later, I broke up with my first long-time boyfriend. Or, rather, he broke up with me in what I now refer to as the infamous "Summer of Darkness". Honestly, the trauma of it all caused a type of selective memory. That's right: I can't even remember much of that summer. Read: Things I fell apart. I got depressed and would fall asleep around 7 PM each day. I'd cry and think exceedingly negative thoughts. How could life go on?

A while later, I graduated from college and was immediately thrust into the working world.


That transition was particularly tumultuous because getting a job was is HARD. And that was before the real problems with the economy. I applied to over 70 positions -- desk, retail, dining, etc. alike -- and tried desperately to stay in the college town I loved while using my degree in Writing. Didn't work out, so I moved back to my hometown and was subsequently sucked into an temporary void.


After 8 months of long-distance dating (yup -- another transitional time), Stephen and I moved in together a year before getting married when I finally landed a job in Ithaca. I'd always imagined living with the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with would be bliss. Instead, we learned a lot more about one another in that year . . . and there were many, many ups and downs, spats and tears.

I could list more (life is nothing but a state of constant change, right?), but I'll skip ahead: Having a baby, now toddler, and leaving a full-time desk job to stay home.


This time around, I am not sad or angry. These situations are things I chose for myself, for my family. And there has been much more joy and good. Still, I am finding my way, my role, my place in all of it. It's entailed struggle. The stuff you've been reading about for the past year.

Add to that helping Ada through her multiple transitions as well. It gets difficult. Every day something is new or different. Challenging.

I suppose I imagined that getting older would magically make these transitions easier. That the experience I've gained with the many changes in my life would help me land gently into the new instead of crashing down into the thick of it. I learned over the past year that -- though I am certainly wiser -- transitions and their enormity change over time. Yes, I may know better ways to deal with and understand them, but the nature of the beast is the same.

Which gets me to something positive and productive: Constants. There were times throughout all of these events and situations when I had people or places or things pull me up, help me out, and put things into perspective.

What do I mean? Basic stuff. Things like diet and exercise and writing are constants for me.


Constants are the types of things I have relative control over, things that have the ability to lift my spirits and heal me whether physically or emotionally. Of course, this control can be taken too far, but for the purpose of this conversation, I mean things we choose to have in our lives for good, that are always there, and that we feel our happiest and healthiest by doing habitually.

For me, eating well and moving my body has helped me in many ways process my new roles. Writing has helped me express my feelings related to it all. It isn't always easy, but I have promised myself that continuing to keep these things in my life, I can find solace in the occasional frequent insanity.

When I have a bad day, I can definitely get overwhelmed and negative . . . hell, I have entire weeks like that, even. But if I can continue to hold onto the good in my life, the things that make me feel my best and bring out the best in me, I can usually see things differently. I can continue healthy habits, and I can even hold onto ME in the process.

Yeah. The people I meet, the situations in my life, and the other external influences are all things I cannot control. And yet that brings to mind another big constant: ME. Who I am. Though I'm always changing (I mean LOOK at me a few years ago!), I am always here for me. I just need to take the time to recognize it.


Looking back on all of these crazy times in my life, I can't help but see the good in all of it. Really, seeing the good is something I'm trying to do more and more each day -- a lesson I've learned through much practice, I'll tell you. The power of positivity should never be diminished.

There was a lot of heartache and difficulty, but I am a much stronger person. I can see a wider range of what people around me go through, what they feel. I know that the same will hold true for my most recent transitions and those many more that will inevitably come in time.

Oh, and that breakup with my crappy boyfriend was seriously one of the best things that ever happened to me.

What are some constants in your life? Those things that have helped you through transitions? (I can get carried away in my longer writing. I may not be using terminology perfectly in this instance, but "constant" is what seems to best express what I mean in this moment.)

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Ode to my 17-year-old Self: The Mile

At seventeen, the fastest I could run a mile was in 9:18—not that I particularly cared or kept track. Mrs. Webber, my gym teacher, made me run one each spring as part of the Presidential Fitness Challenge. Other tests included the V-sit reach, shuttle run, pull-ups, sit-ups, push-ups—all culminating with The Mile, an unfathomable distance event dreaded by band geeks, theater freaks, and other likes of sedentary teens like me. At the time, four laps around the track seemed an unreasonable—no—an absurd distance to demand of someone my age. “Doing anything special at school today?” I remember my father asking me one morning. “Running THE MILE,” I replied, my face slackening to a grave stare, searching for pity and perhaps a note excusing myself from the whole ordeal.

Looking back, us soft-bodies who didn’t participate in sports were at an extreme disadvantage for this ultimate measure of fitness. My class was made up of twenty or so girls, four of whom were track and cross-country stars. They excelled at everything from running, to basketball, to gymnastics. The list goes on. Some others were in softball and volleyball; a couple played tennis. The rest of us got the bulk of our exercise running our mouths, making out with our boyfriends, or walking formations during marching band practice. (In all fairness, tooting a trumpet to the tune “Eye of the Tiger” in a thick polyester suit and heavy plastic hat helps one work up a good sweat no matter his or her fitness level.) Bottom line: Running, to us, was a cruel requirement, and we—by principle—hated every minute of it.

In the month before the challenge, Mrs. Webber tried preparing us by starting each class with a jog around the track. One labored lap at first. Then, despite much protest, she increased us to two. We even completed three on one wild occasion. However, I always thought her “training program” was a prime example of too little, too late. We never did much running in class. In fact, in the months preceding, we practiced a regimen of mostly coed battle ball and shuffleboard—activities that simply did not promote the cardiovascular endurance necessary to succeed in a feat like The Mile. Certainly the school’s driving instructor would not expect me to pass my driving test after only a couple times behind the wheel. Why should this situation be any different?

I remember my senior year Mile better than all others because it would be my last. It was a Wednesday afternoon mid-May, and our school had just begun to inhale the heavy and hot breath of summer. My gym period fell directly after lunch, so I chose to skip my meal to avoid the acute side-cramps I’d experienced the previous year (a study hall buddy told me an empty stomach is the best method of defense). To be extra careful, I didn’t eat anything at all that day. Head buzzing, I grabbed my gym bag and proceeded to the locker room to change into my usual uniform: an oversized cotton T-shirt (bearing each shaggy-haired member of the Fab Four from the cover of Let It Be) and a pair of blue mesh basketball shorts. I’d forgotten my socks.

We lined up at the start, creating a veritable timeline of who would finish first to last—lean-muscled bodies in front, a sorted crew of gangly and plump in back. Mrs. Webber blew her whistle, and we were off. One lap. Two. My legs grew heavy at the start of the third, which, as I mentioned before, I had only attempted once that season. I trudged along, desperately gasping at thick air, stopping for brief moments of respite from the pain the state of Pennsylvania required of me to graduate. After nearly finishing three lengthy laps, my sockless feet—now soggy inside my sneakers—began to scream with cuts and blisters. The athletes of the class were on the home stretch, passing me, and I could hear my teacher praising their sub-7 minute times. They continued on for a cool-down lap—their golden ponytails energetically bobbing with each smooth stride. In that moment, I hated them more than anything; but that didn’t change the fact that I still had an entire lap to go.

I struggled through that last quarter-mile, blisters bleeding through my sneakers, until I finally finished. Lightheaded, I languidly staggered along the field in search of water or anything else that could wash the horrible experience from my memory. “Mosher: nine minutes, eighteen seconds,” Mrs. Webber yelled at me. I had survived another year, but a part of me had been taken against my will—and violated. I spent the rest of the school day in a blur perhaps brought on by trauma, or maybe dehydration, and undoubtedly exacerbated by a severe lack of calories. That night, I insisted my parents order pizza to celebrate. If anything, my heroic exertion had earned me that small reward.

Thankfully, I would never have to run The Mile again. Never, ever again.

* * *

At twenty-six, I can now run a mile in under seven minutes—just like those athletic girls I so resented that fateful day. I’ve participated in countless 5K, 10K, 15K, and half marathon races. I even recently completed my first marathon, an exploit my younger self would have thought mad, and one that has also caused my mother to question my sanity. It was at some point during those four hours of pounding the Philadelphia pavement that my mind wandered back to my senior year Mile. Then onto all the training I’ve done in the past seven years that has brought me to the point at which I find myself today. A single mile—even 26.2—no longer constitutes a harrowing experience for me. Instead, I love every minute of it. Thanks to my teenage ritual, I still celebrate my big accomplishments with a generous slice (or three) of pizza. Some things never change. But, then again, some things do. And for that, I'm grateful.

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