What a trip

They say there's no such thing as a vacation with kids. Well, do you know who they are? Me. I am they. And hear me say to you: there's no such thing as a vacation with kids. 

We just got back from 4 days in Philly, and while I would call it many things (a trip, a visit, a whirlwind adventure!) a "vacation" would not be one of them. Because though it was actually quite lovely (in pockets...at times...) I'm fairly certain people sleep on vacations, so by that criterion alone, our weekend was disqualified. (I would argue that the true hallmarks of a vacation are returning tan, fat and happy...maybe even with a bead or two in your hair...but that seemed like an impossible dream at this point, so I was willing to set the bar low:  I would have settled for just fat. But alas, my kids wouldn't even let me hit the breakfast buffet in peace...)

So no. This weekend was most definitely not a vacation. But it was a trip. 

As with most endeavors these days- there was good, there was bad, and there was ugly. Sometimes all of them within a matter of minutes. There were points when I contemplated, seriously contemplated leaving at least one of the (screaming) children on the side of the road. But somehow, mercifully, there were just as many moments when I wanted to stop time and bottle up their exact essence right now because they're each just too perfect (and funny, and adorable) to comprehend. And then they'd scream some more and I'd be back to my plan of leaving them at the nearest service station to fend for themselves. You know. Just til they're 18 or so. (Don't worry...I'd never actually abandon my children. And if I did, it'd be at one of the really nice rest stops with an Auntie Ann's. I'm not a monster.) 

Traveling with kids is memory making on warp speed...it's highs and lows jammed back-to-back too fast to make much sense of them. You're laughing and crying, and yelling, and hugging, and when it's all over you look at each other and promise you'll never do this again, simultaneously knowing you absolutely will. It is yin and yang. Bitter and oh so sweet. 

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Catching chicken nugget throw-up in a towel, confirming our suspicions that yes, Fin does indeed get carsick. 

Glimpsing in the rear view mirror to see sisters sharing their toys and helping calm down their baby brother. (and maaaaaaybe taking a Dramamine induced nap).

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Turning a 4.5 hour trip into 6, due primarily to the longest rest-stop lunch in history, inclusive of one water bottle related tantrum, and no less than four separate bathroom trips. 

Catching up with old friends, chatting, laughing, and staying up way past our old-lady bedtimes. 

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"Sleeping" sandwiched between two little bodies, striving to keep everyone quiet enough to avoid waking the baby before the sunrise. 

Organizing glee-filled races to press the "excavator!" button (again, and again).

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Nursing a sick baby at 2pm, while my lunch sits juuuuuust out of reach. 

Getting snotty, but heart meltingly sweet snuggles from the fever-stricken baby. 

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Seeing the clock strike 11pm, and 2am, and 6am (and maybe a couple hours in between).

Watching Piper swim a lap around the entire pool by herself (with a little help from her floaties). 

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Running out of discipline options at bedtime, putting Fin in the bathroom for (yet another) time out. 

Laying next to her afterwards to try to talk about being a better listener, and having her rub my arm with her jelly's ears as a silent form of apology.

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Packing everything we could possibly need for an day spent a family's house, and realizing we didn't 
bring a pack and play for naps, and oh...we're also out of diapers.

Watching Dustin's family embrace the girls and seeing them play with their cousins like they've known them forever. 

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Accidentally bringing up religion and politics, in one very ill-conceived attempt at conversation.

Holding hands with the girls after a long day, telling them, "I love you little people.", and hearing Fin, with all the sincerity in the world reply, "I love you too, Mom. And you love me. And I love you too."

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I could go on forever, highlighting tiny snippets I never want to forget (mismatched flip flops, unbridled enthusiasm over Fruit Loops, searching for duck logos on every hotel surface), and mini-nightmares I'm thankful are already fading from my mind (the whining. oh the whining. SO MUCH whining). This weekend was the full spectrum:  the absolute worst...the holding puke in your hands, strung out to your wit's end with complaining, bleary-eyed exhaustion, worst. And the absolute best...the childlike wonder, heart might burst, memories for a lifetime best.

It wasn't a vacation. But it was a trip. 

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Show Your Real: Kitty

Today's Show Your Real, is short and sweet, but the wisdom Kitty has managed to pack into what she has to share is pretty impressive. I'm inspired by how she was able to look at something seemingly silly (like a messy bedroom) and see the bigger truth God was trying to teach her. And I'm thankful that she is sharing that truth with us.

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There are two types of people in this world. Those who leave their master bedroom doors open when people come to their homes... ...and those who cannot. It's not that they will not, it's just that they cannot. It's that bad in there.  
A few months ago, my friend, Ruth, who also happens to be one of my husband's bosses, came in town. The regional directors were taking us out to dinner so she and I thought we'd hang out for a few minutes beforehand. We were short on time and I was a sweaty mess from the day, so the only way we were going to be able to actually visit was if she sat in my bedroom while I got ready. I'm typically a fairly laid back hostess, I want people to see my real so they are set free to bare their own, but something in me knew that the state of my bedroom had gone from slightly unkempt to completely horrific during the few days our bosses had been in town. As we walked down the hall past my perfectly vacuum-striped childrens' bedrooms, everything in me wanted to keep the door shut and not let Ruth see the real someone-might-need-to-call-the-hoarder-hotline deal. Ruth could sense my internal struggle as I warned her of the craziness she was about to see and she softly said, 

"Kitty, I love you for who you are, not what your house looks like. You are more valuable than your hope of perfection." This tender affirmation helped me push past the shame I felt about wanting everything to be perfectly kept and enabled us to have a great chat while I curled my hair. I've reflected on her quiet encouragement a lot recently and have had to repent of my striving and perpetual image management. Because what we see on Instagram really is the highlight reel but aren't the outtakes really the most fun? Yes, my home is an intimate reflection of me, but I want to be a person who is more secure in who I am because of Whose I am, than because of what my home looks like. Don't you?

Let's be people who let go of what we think the wrapping of a gift should look like and love the gift that is inside. Let's be people who open the doors and freely receive the love and acceptance of others. Shall we? #showyourreal
I've loved keeping it real with you! If you'd like to read more outtakes of life as a missionary, momma and majorly obsessed wife, stop by my blog or let's meet up on Instagram: @kitty_hurdle.

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Show Your Real is a series of guest posts centered around the concept of authenticity. The goal is to encourage each other to expose the reality of our lives- good and bad- and to foster a sense of community that goes beyond the often surface-y interactions of social media. And you're all invited to participate! Please write, caption, comment, link, and hashtag to spread the #showyourreal love. And if you would like to contribute a guest post to the series, please email me (cjsbowden@gmail.com).

All moved in. Kinda.

Happy Friday!

Thought it would be fun to share another video from our move. Quick (ok, 5 minute) fly throughs of the house are proving to be the easiest way to capture the full scope of the crazy, and the fastest way to share it out. I've taken pictures along the way, but they don't seem to do it justice, and nothing beats the simplicity of an iPhone video uploaded via wireless.

You can tell from the title- we're all moved in! Well.....sort of. We got our stuff in the house at least. And some of it's even in the right rooms! This video is from Friday of Memorial day weekend, so it was about 5 days after the movers left, but we had yet to actually stay at the house (for reasons that will be obvious.) I've moved a million times (ok...maybe a dozen) over the years, but this is our first full-fledged house-to-house move, across state lines, with all the trappings of a family of four (where at least two of those four are certified hoarders.)

And on that note, I just have to say...if you have ever moved, and I didn't show up, bring beer, unpack boxes, watch your children, adopt your dog, and order in dinner, then I sincerely apologize. Moving is No Joke. For me, it definitely falls into the "Things I Never Want to Do Again" category. I wonder if it's like childbirth, and after it's all over you forget the pain? Hard to say, but I can assure you I will not be ready to do this again in 19 months.

I was on my own for this tour, so (un)fortunately you don't get to see me with a dirty ponytail, squinting at the camera while I ramble. I also forgot to tour the basement (again), but I do give at least 30 seconds of puffer vest fodder, so we'll call it even.

 

All moved in. Kinda. from Courtney Bowden on Vimeo. 

We've made a ton of progress since then. But it's meant working for a couple hours every night after the kids go to bed, and relying on family to watch them for a few weekend hours to give us some uninterrupted time. So it hasn't been easy. Or quick. Or overwhelmingly fun. But we're getting somewhere (meaning I can see- most of- the floor, and have yet to loose a child in any of our temporary trash heaps.) We'll take that as a win, and keep plugging away. 

Big Girl Bed, Big Time Fail

Last Sunday morning at approximately 5:34 we heard a faint thump, followed by a not at all faint scream. 

Dustin rushed into Piper's room (the obvious source of the noise) to find her on the ground. Meaning- outside of her crib. Meaning- she had climbed out. Only half successfully.

She's actually only climbed out of her crib one other time, and that time she hadn't even gone to sleep yet (she was throwing a tantrum about going to bed, and got herself mad enough to scale the bars in an effort to go after Dustin.) Our theory this time, is that she might not have even fully realized she was doing it..maybe moving in a delirious state...but she sure was fully aware when she hit the ground.

So for the next two hours, we had a half awake, fully cranky toddler sharing our bed. God bless you co-sleepers out there...but unfortunately in my house co-sleeping means no-sleeping. At least for the adults. I wish we were one big happy snuggly family, but the reality is Dustin gets pinned down beneath Piper's sweaty limbs, and I lie there counting down the minutes until I'm inevitably woken up by our other baby, and have to split our bed 4 ways instead of 3.

After a couple hours of restless non-sleep, we effectively called the ball, and got up for the day. The fall had scared all of us, so as a part of "Clean up Sunday" (our attempt to make a full day of house projects and to-do list catchup seem fun!) we decided to take the side off of Piper's crib and transition her into a Big Girl Bed (capitalized for increased Awesomeness!)

We had planned to keep Piper in a crib as long as possible. We have another crib for Fin (which she isn't even using yet, but that's another story for another day) so we don't need to change anything for Piper, and we've always heard waiting is best if you want to avoid having a toddler, well, toddling, around all night without your supervision. A crib is essentially baby-jail, and we were happy to use it as such. Until our little jail bird started to make a break for it. Then we started to have visions of broken arms (or worse) and thought we'd be better off dealing with the transition to a bed, than trying to contain her.

Let me spoiler-alert you right here...
Oh. You already read the post title? Well then you can see where this is headed.

We talked briefly about the best plan of action, and before either one of us really thought it all the way through, the bars were coming off.

Now let me stop you right there if you're going to tell me that it's best to attempt this transition in a thoughtful manner, after everyone is well rested, and clear headed, and probably not on the heels of a week long toddler stomach flu. These are helpful tips...but only if you had given them to me Sunday morning.

And to be honest, we knew all the drawbacks of this plan, but the alternative- a climbing Piper, a falling Piper, a dented Piper, a wailing Piper, seemed like much more serious drawbacks. So we pressed on, whether we had the backup guardrails or not. (We did not.)

And right about now is when we were feeling like big time cocky rockstars for our genius plan. Piper was loving the Big Girl Bed.

Loving it!

She played in there for a while, having fun putting her animals to sleep, and learning to "make her bed" - aka- spending 20 minutes trying to flatten out her blankets with her tiny chubby hands.

We were encouraged by her enthusiasm, and when bedtime arrived, it went as smooth as ever (which is only kind of smooth...but that's not the bed's fault.) 

But a few hours later, we heard another thump. Followed by another scream. 

This time she hadn't climbed out, she had fallen out.

We rushed to her side, and though she was physically fine (it's only about a foot to the floor after all), she was understandably upset about it. Dustin held her and patted her back, while we mouthed silent plans to each other, shuffling pillows around, and switching her mattress to the floor, and back into her bed again. We tried putting her down another two or three times before she finally settled- the end arrangement being her mattress back in her crib frame, this time with two towels rolled up under the sheet as a barrier, and a pile of pillows on the floor just in case. We left her and cross our fingers that she'd stay put until it was light out, at least.

What came next?

Another thump.

This time no scream though. By the time I came to rescue her, she was asleep again. Asleep. On her belly. On top of a pile of pillows on the floor. I scooped her up, and she ended up more angry about me transitioning her back in, than she was about the fall.

The rest of the night was a comedy of errors. Without the comedy. We had perhaps acted a little hastily, and weren't really ready to follow through with the loosely formed plan we were running with. At one point, Dustin may have resorted to sliding a blanket-covered two by four through the slats of her crib to form a makeshift side. I wish I was making that up. (Though I do give him points for resourcefulness. And double points for not waking me up for that round of mayhem.)

The next morning, we bought a crib-side rail (with expedited shipping), spent the afternoon researching "big kid bed" books featuring Elmo, and ultimately put the side back on in the evening. We debated the likelihood of crushing her new big girl spirit by demeaning her with the return of the baby prison bars, while hesitating about making the whole thing too big a deal, wondering if we should even acknowledge our poorly thought out tragedy.

In the end, we read her some bedtime stories as usual, and moments before putting her to bed (ahem, crib) we mumbled some sort of, "Remember how you fell out of bed last night, and that hurt, and what a bummer, well you have a crib now, so stay safe, no climbing, love you so much!" speech. She seemed to take it to heart though, as she repeated "No. Climb. The crib." a few times before nodding off. (staccato narration is how she processes rules...) And thankfully, a week later, The Night That Shall Not Be Mentioned, actually hasn't been mentioned. And more importantly, there have been no more thumps in the night.

Oh Piper. If you haven't figured it out bu now, you certainly will soon: Your father and I have no idea what we're doing. We managed to make it through the baby stage semi-unscathed, but everyday in parenting is still an adventure. It's the blind leading the blind, except the blind leaders are expected to at least pretend to see. We're supposed to have it all together, and shepherd you through life's challenges wisely and safely. But clearly...we miss the mark sometimes. Thankfully it's been without disastrous consequences thus far, but as our first born, you're unfortunately our guinea pig. Hopefully our hard-headed guinea pig. I'm praying God blessed you with a big old noggin to give your brain a bit more wiggle room to slosh around in there when we inevitably mess you up. Right now it's a toddler bed, but soon you'll be off to school, and then a teenager, and then in college, and I can pretty much assure you we'll have no more of a clue then than we do now. And your father just might pull out that blanket wrapped two-by-four again...at least when you start to date. Forgive us as we fumble through this. We'll try not to be the cause of your falls, but in any case, we'll rush to your side every time we hear the faintest thump. Because our knowledge is decidedly limited. But our love for you is infinite.

In sickness and in health

On Tuesday morning (at 9:10 to be exact) I got a call from daycare saying Piper was throwing up, and this, needed to go home immediately. I called Dustin, we flipped a metaphorical coin, and it was decided he would go get her. (Aka- he has sick days, and is able to deal with vomit. I don't, and can't. So he wins/loses.) 

So while Dustin was covering the house in towels and trying to placate the patient with nonstop Sesame Street, I was left to do my daily grind, with an extra layer of worry heaped on top. Fin still isn't eating much at daycare (more on that another day...long story short- sister doesn't care for a bottle), and I'm still finding my work "sea legs", adjusting to a new office and the demands of our busiest season after being out of the game for 3 months. Our stress level was already at a high (which has become the new baseline), and wasn't helped by the fact I've been fighting (and losing) a nasty cold for a week. 

The pressures were mounting, and I started to feel like I was drowning. Eventually a straw fell on the camel hump of my terrible day, and I texted Dustin to tell him. His response:

So, yeah. We've seen better days. 

Somehow we both made it through. I used the ride home to call my mom to vent, and voice-to-text a working-mom friend a long winded panic attack about how we were going to manage this large, messy life. I fed a sleepy baby (who actually had her best eating day to date. Thank heavens for not-so-small miracles.) Piper was on the upswing and Dustin and I took turns sneaking bites of makeshift dinners in the kitchen to avoid making her jealous. Or sick. 

The night actually wasn't much worse than usual, with the exception of the point when the baby crying/my incessant hacking woke up Piper and Dustin had to spend 40 minutes soothing her back to sleep. (I estimate the time because though I was awake too, I've long lost track of when the middle of the night feedings occur, generally referring to anything between the hours of 2 and 5 as "dark o'clock"). I had an early morning that I was dreading (we had already decided that Dustin would stay home again to get her through the 24 hour quarantine daycare requires) and I learned the hard way that "do not disturb" mode on my phone will cancel my alarm clock. 

It's the combination of big and little crisises like this that lead to me posting Facebook statuses like this:

(And at that point, the day was still young!)

Somehow we made it through Tuesday, and the considerably less wild, but still not awesome Wednesday. Dustin kept the netflix on repeat, and I continued to drink cough syrup like I was Little Wayne. And by the time I got home last night things were looking up. We ate dinner as a family, (Piper practiced her burrito rolling skills, and I managed to not drip any taco sauce on Fin's head while she nursed.) and then headed upstairs for bathtime. 

Piper has been going through a "I hate the bath" phase recently, so we've had to bribe her a bit to get her in. I had the bright idea to tell her she and Fin could take a bath together (all things involving Fin, or selling the "helpful big sister" angle typically go over well with Pips) and while Piper wasn't entirely sold on the situation, I was (Fin desperately needed a bath too) and had her stripped down before Dustin could question if this was smart. 

My strategy was to put Fin into her bumbo seat so she could splash her feet and keep Piper company. What I didn't count on was the bumbo floating (it is a giant piece of foam.) Dustin did his best to stabilize it by getting as much air out of the bottom as possible, but in the end it was still more of a bum shaped raft than a chair. But I could not be deterred. I plopped Finny in, supporting her only-barely-ready-for-the-bumbo head, and declared it family bath time. And what followed was the five cutest minutes in my recent memory. 

(Note: no need to email me about the danger of this idea. Our eyes and hands 

weren't off of her for an instant. Except for when we let Piper watch her. 

Kidding.)

This is not a great photo. But the moment it captures I will cherish for a lifetime. As I looked at my two girls, splashing around in their birthday suits, I realized this was what we wanted. When we wanted two kids, when we found out it was another girl, these were the moments we had in mind. It latest only a few minutes, because it was after all, a pretty terrible idea, but in that brief time my heart was full. I looked at Dustin while we leaned over the porcelain edge and held our girls, and I kissed his shoulder and told him I loved him. And that we were actually going to make it. 

If Tuesday was a nightmare, then Wednesday evening was a dream. Not the "it was so weird, our car could talk and the streets were made of chocolate" kind, but a "real life glimpse of our plans and wishes coming true" kind. In a sea of  responsibilities, fiascos, and mistakes, this evening was my bum-shaped raft. Not perfect, but not a bad ride, and a glimpse of even better times to come. 

{31 Things} Day 13: Chores

The word "chores" may bring to mind something kids do to earn their allowance, but truthfully, I'm learning that chores are actually an unavoidable part of being an adult. I love a clean house (you'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't) but I really just don't love cleaning (again, not exactly a rare sentiment). I thought it would grow on me as I emerged from my lazy teenage years, but alas I'm still waiting for my inner neat freak to show herself. I'm beginning to doubt she's in there...

One thing I do love is to organize and sort. If there's a task that enables me to make order quickly out of chaos, then I'm a happy girl. So I embrace jobs like emptying the dishwasher, folding laundry and tidying up and sorting messes into piles to be put away. The catch for me is that everything needs to have its "place" or the organization just turns into shifting junk from one temporary spot to another. When something doesn't have a home- or outgrows its designated area- I struggle to keep up with the chaos, leading to a losing battle against the clutter.

After Dustin and I got married, I quickly learned that while there was now twice the mess, there were also double the hands to take care of it- and I got the bonus of marrying a husband who is not only cleaner, but also more hardworking than I am. (I think I make up for it in other areas...like being so charming he forgets that he pretty much got the short end of the marriage stick. Love you babe!) There are a fair amount of chores (grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, dishes) that we more or less split, and a couple jobs (dusting, vacuuming) that we both avoid until absolutely necessary- i.e. until company is coming and our house has become embarrassing. But for a lot of tasks I strongly believe in a division of labor, and have become an advocate of Boy Jobs and Girl Jobs. A quick selection of tasks:

Boy Jobs

Taking out the trash

Yard work

Paying bills

Cleaning the bathroom

Taking care of the cars (oil changes etc.)

Killing stink bugs

Washing baby bottles 

Girl Jobs

Making the grocery list

Buying/sending cards and presents

Feeding the baby (not exactly a chore, but is the fair counterpoint to all that bottle washing)

Ummm...probably some other really important things

You know...stuff. That I do. 

Party planning?

So, yeah. In my head this system seems like an easy way to divide and conquer household tasks, but when it comes down to writing the list I realize that perhaps it's less Boy vs. Girl, and more Things I Don't Like Doing vs. Things I Do That Barely Count as Chores. I also realize that I'm extremely lucky to have a husband that humors my cleaning excuses ("I can't do laundry- I'm scared of the basement!" "You have to mow the lawn- I'm allergic to grass!") and pitches in without complaint. (Truth be told I'm probably not quite as lazy as this list suggests, but Dustin does definitely deserves some sort of medal for putting up with me sometimes.)

Having a baby has lead to a whole new world of to-do lists, as well as an updated standard of clean. On the one hand, some things have just had to slide a bit, as we focus on bigger priorities, but on the other, Piper generates more messes than the two of us combined, and her tiny curious hands (and mouth) demands we pay attention to cleanliness in ways we could have previously avoided. Recently, I've been thinking about hiring someone to come help out a bit. I'm torn on the idea because it seems so spoiled and I hate to spend money on something I could (or should!) do myself. But at the same time, it's about evaluating what I'd rather spend my time on at this stage of our lives. I'm often inclined to think that working full time takes me away from Piper enough, so weekends shouldn't be filled with endless mountains of chores and cleaning checklists. {Spoiler alert...after I wrote this we went ahead and bit the bullet, and hired a woman to come clean twice a month. More like spoiled alert.}

But for now we continue to muddle through. The workload ebs and flows. Sometimes we are on top of things, with a relatively tidy house, a well stocked fridge, and closets full of clean clothes...And sometimes it's a miracle if we can find three clean bottles for Piper's daycare bag, and get out the door without tripping over a week's worth of clutter. Real Simple isn't exactly breaking down my door asking for my household management tips, but for now, that's ok. After all, it's only about five years before Piper's going to want an allowance, and you'd better believe we're going to make her earn her keep around here (I kid! Kinda...)

Avoca-don't

A few days after Piper's official half-birthday, we embarked on a major milestone event: eating solid food!

For the last six months Piper has had nothing but plain old milk, so we were excited to see how she would take to real live food. And that weekend happened to be Cinco de Mayo, so we thought what better way to celebrate than by letting baby girl try an avocado?! There are about a million different ways to introduce solids, so I won't get into all that crazy decision making here...but we are tentatively giving Baby Led Weaning a shot, which basically means instead of mashing up food and feeding it via a spoon, we are letting Piper take the lead, and try whole foods at her own speed.

So we stripped her down (she does still have a diaper on, despite appearing deliciously naked in photos), plopped her outside in the Bumbo, and busted out the cameras to record the first food magic. Warning: Prepare yourself for unreasonable cuteness.

At first she wasn't sure what to expect:

We put a big old slice on her tray, and encouraged her to try it. I figured she'd be a natural, as pretty much anything that gets within a foot of her ends up in her mouth, but she was a little slow to embrace this new slimey treat. She cautiously and thoroughly inspected it:  

Then when she was brave enough to actually pick it up, she took to banging it around, and offering it up to me instead:

She experimented with mashing it, and dropping it....

...But utterly refused to put it anywhere near her mouth. She was having a ball playing around and rubbing green goodness all over her body, but her hands never even accidentally approached her face. We were totally shocked, as lately her hands have been in her mouth almost constantly. But we resisted the urge to take charge, and let her continue to play and explore.

And eventually....she finally got it in her mouth: 

As you can see- she didn't exactly love it. 

Her faces were classic. She kept looking at us like we had all made some terrible mistake. Surely this wasn't for eating, and could we please help her get this horrible stuff off of her tongue?! But the horror was brief, and after ridding her mouth of the offending fruit (yep- it's a fruit) she went back to happily smearing her treat on anything she could reach (except her mouth. lesson apparently learned.)

So the amount of food actually consumed may have been negligible, but it was a fun first foray into the world of food. She enjoyed the experience, even if she doesn't onehundred percent grasp the "eating" part.

 

Something tells me she'll be eating us out of house and home before we know it.

Nesting

We got such great reactions to the tour of my dressing room, I was almost hesitant to tear it apart to create a space for baby’s room. But I do love a decorating project, and knew that as much as I loved my room now, I’d love re-imagining it for a wee-one even more.

May I present to you, our nursery:

What? You’re not impressed? I mean, sure, we don’t have a crib, but the baby can just curl up on that bench, right? I put some leftover pillows and a quilt/wall-hanging on it. Should be fine.

And no, we don’t have a changing table- but we do have a dresser just waiting for a bare baby bottom to rest upon its stained metal top. Or maybe the 1/3 of a dining table would serve as a good spot? After all, it is next to the radiator, and has some spare light bulbs hanging around on top…

And who needs a glider when you have an ikea arm chair (I think that’s what’s under all those pillows?) with non-matching ottoman?

Mobile? Nope.
Bookshelf? Nope.
Toy/supply/clothes storage? Nope/nope/nope.
Rug or Curtains? Nope and nope?

Left over Vogue posters, broken mirror and nomadic sewing machine? Check, check, Check! (and before I get a “it must be a girl!” comments- let me assure you none of these three items are staying. And now let the “she’s taking down the posters…it must be a boy!” comments ensue…)

So…..It’s safe to say we’re not quite ready for the baby’s arrival. But OH do we (I) have big plans!! Big big plans! (ok- regular sized plans…I don’t want you guys expecting too much). And as soon as our big/huge/overwhelming plans are finished in the kitchen, we’ll move upstairs to make some baby-magic (the decorating kind).

But until then, we do have this little gem:

A brand new dimmer switch. 85% installed by me (Dustin’s 15% was mostly reminding me emphatically and repeatedly to turn the power off before I began, or opened the package, or even looked at the wall.) I figure this way if the room turns out more like this “before” than a true “after” we’ll just dim the lights, and no one will have to know.

Hippity-hop

It’s been a little project heavy around these parts lately, and from the most recent blog posts, you would probably think I do nothing but craft, eat and decorate all day. And you’re close.....
But once a week I put all that to the side, throw on my baggiest pants, my toughest expression, and I break it down- in my hip hop class.

Yep- this little blonde girl is learning to tear it up.

I danced for years as a child (and have the embarrassing photos to prove it), so I’m familiar with a lot of different styles...But I wouldn't say I’m good. I’ve never been flexible, or the quickest learner in the room. But I have enough natural rhythm to get by. And perhaps the most important part: I love it. I’ve taken a few classes since I moved to Pittsburgh....but never committed to a weekly schedule. Our weeks were always too crazy with Young Life and other commitments to find time to go to a class regularly. But not anymore!

So a few weeks ago I jumped (jazz leaped?) at the opportunity to get back into dance. Point Park University, a local performing arts college, offers community classes for regular people like me, who wish they were dancers. They offer a ton of styles, and the best part is, the first week of the session is free- so you can test out as many classes as you want! So of course I dragged people with me to check out things out, and help decide which class I wanted to take.

First up- Jazz, with my friend Meg. She recapped it beautifully, and I promise she’s not exaggerating- the two of us were pretty much a disaster. Every time the Beatles sang “Help!” I tried not to convulse into giggles, because man, did we need help. I couldn’t get the counts right, the teacher kept forgetting the routine, and due to a series of spin moves on the floor, I ended up with bruises on my knees for weeks.
Overall- I gave it a B. I liked the style, and the music was fun, but I’m not sure that the free-spirit attitude of the teacher would jive with me long term. (I need a little structure in my class...even if I don’t know how to follow it).

Next- Modern, with Dustin (I didn’t have anyone else to go with, so he finally caved and agreed to accompany me....and we’ve never let him hear the end of it...). This one was MUCH more structured (as in, the teacher told Dustin to spit out his gum mid-warm up, and then made him do a plie in front of the class to show how not to do it.) and longer- at an hour and a half. By the end I was so sore I could barely move...It was certainly great exercise, but I was worried if I could hang, week in and week out.
This class gets a B too- the instructor was fantastic, and the dance was interesting, but the slooooooow cello music just wasn’t doing it for me. I get antsy. I need to shake it....

Finally- Hip hop, with my friend Lindsey, and a friend from work.
I was a little scared of this class, because I had taken a few hip hop classes there with another instructor, and knew I would be WAY out of my league. For some reason being bad at hip hop is worse in my mind than failing at any other dance. I mean, if you’re bad at ballet, you just need more training. But if you can’t hip hop? You’re not cool. But I figured at least I had company, and thought if all else failed, I could combine the running man, and the sprinkler, and tell people it’s my signature street move. (In the previous class I took, after the warm-up and routine, my teacher made everyone circle up for free-styling. Seriously. You had to stand in a circle, and clap, while everyone took a turn showing off in the middle. I would have rather peed my pants in front of all of them. Which I practically did every time I was forced to solo.) So yes....I was nervous, and not the least of my fears was what I was going to wear. I agonized over it, and lamented the fact I don’t own any high tops, and eventually landed on bootcut yoga pants, a loose tank top with a hoodie on top, and my running shoes. I figured it was close enough.....

And then we arrived.
And the class pretty much looked like this:

And all of a sudden, my outfit seemed to make me look a little more like this:



For real- there was a guy with TWO pairs of brightly colored sneakers. Like, just in case he wore one pair out from dancing so hard? There was also at least one girl with a head scarf, and several with their hair in cornrows. And everyone seemed to have gotten the “you’re only cool if you roll up one pant leg” memo. (Except they probably communicated it in hand signs. Memo’s are for losers.) But the best, was what we referred to as the 7th Grade Gang, a group of 4 girls who could not have been older than 13, who I am positive could, and would beat me up in the parking garage after, had I given them a reason. They were popping and locking things they don’t even have yet.

And I haven’t even shown you my teacher yet...I pretty much want to be her. So, to say that we were WAY out of our league is an understatement. Especially when the class actually started, and we realized this stuff was fast. And hard. But it was SO. MUCH. FUN. After a few minutes, I didn’t care what I looked like, and just got into it the best I could. I got a great ab workout, learned a new song, and laughed (at myself) a ton.

I’ve gone a few times since then (dragging a different friend from work each time), and though my outfits haven’t gotten much better, and my dancing hasn’t really improved, I still really love it. Someday I’m hoping I will look like this:

But to be honest, I’d settle for this:


For those of you who want to get your groove on at home, here are the songs we’ve been jamming to (and hopefully the level of hood in these videos gives you an idea of what we're dealing with here....):
Beautiful Monster- Neyo
Down on Me- Jeremih featuring 50 Cent
Massive Attack- Nicky Minaj

Veggie-tales

This Summer, Dustin and I signed up for a Community Supported Agriculture share (a CSA for those of you into abbrevs.) We put our little veggie toes in the water, and went with a half a small, which means that every other Wednesday, the good people of Kretschmann Organic Farm drop off a crate of fresh, locally grown produce, at a nearby house. We just have to swing by before nightfall, transfer the goodies to a bag, and we're on our way to healthy meals! Perfect! Right?

Well, in true Bowden fashion, we've managed to take a very easy process, and botch up repeatedly. Oh yes, our over-complicating skills know no bounds. So, as a warning to family farms everywhere, I present: The Official (non-exhaustive)
List of Reasons Not to Allow Courtney and Dustin To Participate in Your CSA Organization:

1. We will send you approximately 18 emails before the season starts, with questions that are probably answered on the website, but we're new at this, and I was just wondering.....
2. We will also inquire multiple times, at length about coordinating a group sign up and drop off at our gym. After countless discussions of how said project would work, we will advise you to "Nevermind." and abandon the idea completely due to lack of interest.
3. After signing up for a location, we will promptly request to change it, shaking the delicate balance of the drop-off system.
4. We will ask you in-depth questions about the beef, chicken, coffee, and eggs options. We will not want any of these options. We don't even drink coffee.
5. On the first week of pick up. We will forget to pick ours up.
6. We will then remember, around 11pm, and leave a 5 minute voicemail for the "host family" apologizing profusely, brainstorming ideas to fix the catastrophe, eventually offering our veggies up to a good home, and ending the message with, "I really hope this is that family that hosts the CSA, because maybe I didn't dial right, and if not....um...disregard."
7. When we are permitted to pick up our veggies late, we will forget the rules, and take the box home.
8. We will not learn this lesson, and will continue to take the box home for at least 3 more weeks.
9. We will eventually remember that we are supposed to leave the box, but we will not have a bag to hold our produce instead, so we will take the box anyway.
10. We will go on vacation, notify you too late, and waste a box of veggies.
11. We will then ask you to deliver two weeks in a row as a make up.
12. We will cheat on you at the farmer's market. With tomatoes.

So.....all that to say, there's a bit of learning curve (or a "stop being such jerks and learn to be part of the community" curve) to this whole CSA thing. But logistical challenges aside, the produce has been well worth it. Every other week we go on a veggie adventure where surprises and challenges abound.

I call this one: how many leafy green things exist that are actually edible?
(alternate title: "Mom, smell it....is that basil?")
And this one: Fried kale chips sound interesting....
(alternate title: gross.)

And who can forget: "Courtney, what's that smell?"
(alternate title: "Courtney, Don't put beets in a measuring cup, cover it with plastic wrap, microwave for 4 minutes, let rest for a minute, add another four minutes, walk away, ignore the crash noise and the smoke smell because you assumed it was the neighbors grilling out. There will be consequences.")

And the classic: Mystery Bloodstain
(alternate title: Beets Strike Back. This Time It's Personal.)

But seriously folks, we've actually loved having a CSA. We've tried foods we wouldn't have otherwise, our dinners are fresher and better for us, and I got to buy a brand new measuring cup. Win-win-win! Now who wants to come over for a nice beet-kale salad? Raw, of course....

Muffled.

This weekend we went to Philly. It was a great time, we saw family, watched a play, ate a lot, and laughed even more. But that's not the story I'm going to tell right now. No, today's story goes a little something like this:

We started the four and a half hour drive.
But then our muffler fell off.
And so the drive took much longer than expected.

That's the short version anyway.....
About halfway through the drive, Dustin and I heard a terribly loud noise. We were scared for a minute (well, I was) but realized pretty quickly what had happened: the muffler on my beloved 1998 Corolla had come loose, and was now dragging on the highway. Ugh.

Thankfully it had stopped raining (we had been stuck in torrential downpours several times already), so Dustin stepped out to take a look. The muffler was attached, but dragging, so it needed to be reattached. A call to AAA proved unsuccessful- their only option was to tow the car. Ummmm, no. Not an option. So instead Dustin had to figure a way to fix it himself.

Enter, the MacGyver method:

I stayed in the safety and warmth of the vehicle, so I can't tell you his exact solution, but I know it involves a carabiner, some golf shoelaces, and maybe some chewing gum. But however he did it, he got the job done, and it held for the whole rest of the drive. Unfortunately, in doing so, he burned his fingers on the car, resulting in a couple of painful blisters.

But luckily for him, I was able to pull a MacGyver of my own: at the next rest area, we stopped to get ice, but there were no plastic bags. No worries- I asked the nice Annie Ann's worker for a plastic glove, and made a makeshift ice pack.

He doesn't look happy, but I think it helped.....

So, that's the long and the short of our most recent road trip. It may not have gone as planned, but it really could have been so much worse. I was so impressed with Dustin- he fixed the problem quickly (if a bit creatively), and didn't even get upset. It's so easy in situations like that
to get frustrated and take it out on each other, but he didn't complain or sulk. I'm so thankful we got home safe, and blessed to have a husband that takes such good care of me.

But I don't think we'll be driving to Philly again anytime soon....