Super special bed

This morning, as I was arranging my dish towel so that it lined up precisely with the edge of the counter, so I could start doing the dishes, I was simultaneously prepping Lakeland for naptime.

Prepping consists of me saying stuff like, "Hey LL, when you wake up from your nap, do you want to go to the park, or the pool?"

Today, she yelled out "POOL", then paused briefly before launching into a long diatribe about how she can't sleep, mommy, can't sleep, no, no, not tired, etc.

And then, because I like to try to reason with her, because I like to talk in circles and then pull my hair right out of my head, I asked her why she couldn't sleep.

Her response, simply put, was "I don't like my bed."

In a moment of brilliance, or stunning stupidity, I told her that I could fix that problem for her, and make her a super special bed.  Then, as I had no way to back up this remark, and no clever ideas in my back pocket, I wished I would think before making empty promises.  She was halfway down the hall, waiting expectantly for me to transform her bed, as I was reached for a spontaneous, miraculous plan.

Stalling for just a moment, I sat Lakeland down on my bed and told her I had to get her surprise ready, then grabbed a stack of tissue paper and a roll of tape from my closet before pulling the door closed behind me.

Low and behold, in 3 minutes, I had tissue papered the rails of her bed, creating not only a "Hey, it's like a giant present that you get to sleep in" bed, but also the ideal environment for a toddler to make a gigantic, ripped into tiny shreds, paper mess.  But as I sit here, writing and drinking coffee, I feel quite sure that I created for my daughter her own little miracle.  And if not, who cares?  I'm sitting here in quiet, writing and drinking coffee.

Now, if I could just figure out where she's getting all of these weird OCD tendencies and odd neuroses...

Bust it

The other day, I went to Victoria's Secret with Seth's mom, desperately seeking a nice, pretty and comfortable bra.

Having never been to VS, I wasn't aware of the protocol.  So when a sales associate approached me and asked me if I'd like to be measured, I was all "Um, what?  Yeah, I guess.  Do I have to take my shirt off right here?".  She laughed goodnaturedly (while rolling her eyes) and led me off towards the dressing rooms, advising me to relax and enjoy the experience.

Let me tell you what happened once I got in the dressing room.  It went something like this, and though this is not an actual transcript, it's close.  No joking.

Boob Expert (towing a girl in training):  Hi.  Here is our tester bra.  This style of bra fits nearly everyone, and assures that we've measured you correctly.  Once you have the bra on, please press this button (gesturing to a doorbell type button on the wall) and a light will come on outside so I'll know you are ready.  Okay?

Me:  Yep.

I put on the bra and stood there, staring at my boobs in admiration.  I haven't worn an actual bra since I was pregnant, only the nursing and then the trusty sports bra.  I literally forgot what wearing a real bra felt like.  And LOOKED like!  My reflection assured me that I did, in fact, possess two actual boobs, not the uniboob that's been squished into a sports bra for the better part of 2 years.  Shocking.  Anyway, then I pressed the button...

Boob Expert (to the trainee while shoving her into my dressing room):  Come on!  Get in here! (Silence as the expert examines the fit, while the trainee looks respectfully at her shoes.)

Boob Expert (to trainee, while simultaneously tugging on my straps and hoisting my breasts all about):  See this?  See this gaping here?  It's not bad, but let's see if a smaller bra would be a better fit.

Trainee (briefly glancing my way and then quickly diverting her gaze):  Oh...

Boob Expert:  OK, we'll be right back with a smaller size.

Then the trainee came back with a smaller bra, smiled meekly at me and told me to push the button once I had the bra on...which I did and then they both entered the dressing room.  And then the very shy trainee inadvertently said something so funny that I nearly shot snot out of my nose when I tried not to laugh. my. ass. off.

Boob Expert (to trainee, while shaking her head 'no' and waving her hands in the general direction of my boobs):  So, do you see what's wrong here?

Trainee:  Um...well...

Boob Expert (exasperated by the bashfulness of the trainee):  Well?  What do you see?

Trainee (suddenly becoming all brazen):  Her boobs is spillin' out all over the place!

Me (snorting, and seriously trying not to blow snot out of my nose in Victoria's Secret, and agreeing with her):  Yeah...what she just said.

Oh my GOD.. WHO SAYS SHIT LIKE THAT?  "Her boobs is spillin' out all over the place!"

Way funny, and totally made my first experience at VS worthy of repeat shopping.

Our new digs in DC

It's hard to believe that four months have passed since we uprooted from Michigan and landed in DC. 
The first month was filled with organizing and unpacking and struggling with Lakeland over naps.  Our apartment, on the 15th floor of a highrise, felt much more like a hotel suite than a home.  Also in the first month, Seth and I relished the joys of not sharing a bathroom with each other. 
The second month was less about organizing and more about exploring our new surroundings, like finding a grocery store that doesn't have bum barricades for their carts, which was no small feat.  Lakeland and I spent hours driving around, GPS in my lap, looking for parks, libraries, playgrounds and bike paths.  I had no idea how awkward everything would feel in a new place. 
Also in the second month and much of the third, we hosted family and friends, went on touristy outings and found the best pizza places in town. 
Months three and four consisted of me grieving for our little yellow house with the worn but full of character hard wood floors, the back porch that my dad and I tiled (but never quite finished), the yard that my mom and several friends helped us keep up, the bright kitchen my mom painted, with the sunny bay window, the french doors in the dining room and the dark wooden table where we shared so many fun evenings with good friends.  I also spent a chunk of time bemoaning the $15K that we forked over to the bank to complete our short sale.  Oh, yes...and the loss of my gorgeous, fantastic and extravagant washer and dryer, a gift from Seth's parents (which is in storage, not sold with the house).
Having lived my entire life in West Michigan, I found myself with a monumental case of homesickness.  I ached for the closeness of family.  I wept over friends' newborn babies that I wouldn't be able to see smile and roll and sit up and eat cereal, over the pregnancies and showers that I'd miss.  I longed for family dinners, lunches with friends, play dates for Lakeland, and cocktails with our crew. 
I started napping instead of vacuuming, watching Netflix instead of reading, crying instead of laughing.  And then I went home to Michigan.  The first week home, I read a little, laughed a little, and let myself soak up home.  The second week, I dove into the feeling of being surrounded by familiarity, family and friends.  The tug of awkwardness that I'd been fighting was slowly ebbing back to confidence. 
After a weekend camping with friends at our land, and almost three weeks in Michigan, Seth, Lakeland and I headed back to DC.  And I felt ready.  Peaceful even.  The anxiety had faded, the grief subsided.  Michigan is home, and will feel like home always.  We just happen to live in DC.  And that feels okay now. 
Check it out...

View of dining room...if nobody ever ate there...but since we do, here's what it actually looks like...

This isn't really a good representation of how it normally looks.  Just know that you can't walk barefoot on the floor without getting noodles stuck to the bottom of your feet and slipping on puddles of chocolate milk.

The kitchen...fresh fruit, towels folded, rug shaken, and floor mopped.  LL photo-bombing is the only realistic part of this shot.

Notice the fresh fruit replaced by crayon tupperware.  A million dishes.  Where's the towel?  I don't know, but there is some cleaning stuff on the counter that I probably used 5 days ago and never put back under the sink.

My little nook. 

Oh, right.  Here's what it usually looks like.  Or worse.

There is always at LEAST one surface in the living room covered in folded laundry.  Usually there are multiple. 

Yeah.  It NEVER looks like this in real life.  I had to lock her out to put the books on the shelves.