Forgot your lunch at school? She brought it to you, but not before reminding you that PPPPP.

Didn’t give yourself enough time to study? PPPPP.

Found yourself up against a deadline? PPPPP.

The phrase is drilled into my head and now I’m a planner. Probably (ok fine, yes) overly so, but I function best with a lot of prior planning. The only way my family eats dinner, I make it out the door with everything I need and Gracie gets lots of quality time with Mom and Dad is thanks to a lot of prior planning, preparation and lists. Sorry, lists don’t start with a P, but damn if I don’t rely on them daily.

Anyway. My point is that normally B and I are fairly scheduled out, know what is going on, etc., etc. Until it came to our upcoming move, and in that case we have been driving ourselves and everyone we know crazy.

Where are you moving? Have you found a place? When are you moving? Are you going to ask your parents to come? Do you need help? Have you scheduled movers?

For the past 4 months these questions have been met with hemming, hawing, hand flapping and general avoidance. (See what I did there? Alliteration, but we’ve moved on from the “p” set.) It makes perfect sense then that last week- on Wednesday evening to be exact- we decided to move this Friday. At the time we made that decision we had packed exactly zero boxes and the only “we are moving soon” task I’d completed was boxing up my maternity clothes (all but the yoga pants & 1 pair of maternity jeans because I have some serious jean-woes right now and desperately need to hightail it to the store for pants that don’t make me look like a baggy elephant or like I just traveled through time from 2003). Obviously the boxing of maternity clothes is not going to get us from point A to point B so now we are faced with packing our storage locker + 2 bedroom 2 bath place worth of stuff in a week.

Luckily, this bad boy arrives in the mail tonight:

The movers have been booked (B and I decided about a year ago that we are too old to bribe friends with pizza and beer to help us move, conversely, we are no longer bribe-able) and my fantastic friends (including the lovely Kristabella) have offered to come play with the baby in the evening hours so our hands are free to frantically throw things into box with reckless abandon the utmost of care. We are ordering Gracie’s crib mattress, her dresser is set for pick up at the end of the week and I purchased shower curtains for the new place. My inlaws are coming to help us with the day of the actual move (and by help us I mean hang out with their grandbaby and granddog, don’t worry, we are not making them carry boxes). That and I took Thursday and Friday off of work to make myself a nice little 5 day weekend so hey, come next Tuesday morning, I will have boxes unpacked and artwork hung SO HELP ME. Mostly because then my parents are coming and we have birthdays, weddings and Gracie’s baptism (which includes many great-grandparents, all grandparents and godparents in town). And then? THEN I SLEEP.

We can do this. We…can…do…this.

I try hard to portray him on the blog in a way that is fair and accurate. But sometimes I find that it is really difficult for many reasons. Partly because he values his anonymity privacy so his photos don’t show up on here, partly because I value *our* privacy so many topics are taboo for me to discuss and partly because…well, like any married couple we have fights and rough weeks and general disagreement. That and some of the “funniest” moments that I’d write about are over things he does wrong (trust me, some of his funniest moments are things that I do wrong) and too much of that can come across in all the wrong ways.

If I’m being honest, I have a hard time writing about my husband and our marriage because I cringe at how many non-blogging spouses are portrayed online. Jerks. Idiots. Inconsiderate. Nagging. Controlling. The list goes on and the worst part is, I don’t think the bloggers in question feel that way about their spouses. But when they use their white space to vent or “be honest” they sometimes forget to come back to that same white space when things go the right way. Or on the opposite side of the coin they only use their space to portray the best of the best moments, leaving others wondering why their significant other doesn’t come home regurlarly with flowers, jewelry or gift certificates for girls weekends away.

Blogging is, for most people, just a tiny fraction of their day to day lives. How they choose to remember it is their business. Why they blog is their own personal decision tree. What they want their blog to reflect is a choice that they make for themselves. But sometimes I wonder if they realize their spouse is being reflected as well, and it isn’t always in the most positive light. Perhaps they don’t care if a bunch of strangers on the internet think their husband or wife is a moron or a jerk, but I care. I care because my husband isn’t a moron, a jerk, a nag or any of those things. He is human and so am I. He is a Dad that tries his best and gets it right the vast majority of the time. He is a spouse that cares and still does things “wrong” (at least in my eyes) sometimes. It wouldn’t be fair to him or anyone else to only highlight one side of the spectrum. I try hard to represent both sides, while still giving him the privacy he deserves without making it sound like I’m married to an anonymous ghost.

Yesterday, on Mother’s Day, as we handed a screamy (over tired, gassy, generally unhappy) baby back and forth and brainstormed how to make her happy we talked about our new roles as parents. We cracked up over the first time B made her a bottle at home- pouring one ounce of milk into the largest bottle we own, not realizing we had much smaller bottles that would have done the job. We laughed about the first time we took Gracie to the pediatrician and accidentally parked six blocks from where we needed to be and then had to walk – in a snowstorm- to the office, when we had both forgotten our jackets and gloves. At lunch, earlier in the day (when the baby was much, much happier) we split buffalo wings (my favorite) and in the midst of it, the song we danced to at our wedding came on in the restaurant. We both stopped eating and just goofily grinned at each other.

That was the best first dance song.

Our daughter is the best thing we’ve done, huh?

Our wedding was wonderful, wasn’t it?

We grabbed hands and laughed. Tired, exhausted, marveling at how far we’d come and yet how much was the same.

Our marriage isn’t perfect- we are inherently imperfect people- and we will probably never come to terms on how often a bathroom should be cleaned, who should change out lightbulbs and who is responsible for getting the car washed….but we try. We both make the other person mad and we both do small things to make the other person smile. It is a give and take, and as long as we both try to give a little more than we take, we find a happy ground to stand on together.

I try hard to make my blog an authentic reflection of my life. The good, the bad, the somewhere in between. I read the posts from when I was unemployed and I can feel my sadness and depression jumping off the page. I read posts from when I was pregnant and can feel the heartburn and uncertainty in my chest. I read about my husband and I laugh, I frown, and I generally feel content. I know he is the other half to “us” and my only goal when writing about him to make sure I’m not painting him into any corners he doesn’t belong in.

Unless of course I’m in the corner with him. And if that is the case…well that is about as authentic as it comes.

Anyway! Mother’s Day. This year AT&T reached to ask if I wanted to share their fun video e-card featuring Beck Bennett. Normally I steer clear of sponsored content but these commercials are a favorite around these parts. You might ask yourself why, but it is because Mr. Beck Bennett with his voice and suit and general mannerisms in this campaign is…pretty much my husband.

So much so that my extended family has emailed about how these commercials are great fun for them because it is like watching B.

What’s better? Bigger or smaller? Faster or slower?

Welcome to my life.

Now that I’ve given you a glimpse into my day to day, here is what I have for you. First off, you can send a personalized version of the video to your Mom if you are so inclined (links below) and for those of you who are all over Facebook, I’m giving away an HTC First which is the first phone with Facebook Home! AT&T will ship the phone directly to the winner, so be sure to leave an email address so I can get your info from you should you win! To win leave a comment about your favorite advertising campaign or why you are in the market for a new phone! 

Mother’s Day is nearly here and AT&T is celebrating moms with a fun, shareable video e-card for a special edition of the popular “It’s Not Complicated” campaign. In a new rendition of the commercial that will air Friday through Sunday, mediator Beck Bennett strays from his usual, “what’s better, bigger or smaller?” and instead asks, “who gives the best hugs?” to a unanimous response – mom does! The video e-card can be personalized, offering a simple Mother’s Day themed e-card video, with Beck and the kids, to share with mom via social media (Twitter, Facebook, email). Make your own personalized version of the “It’s Not Complicated, Moms are the Best” video e-card at ATTMothersDay.com.  

I have not been compensated for my time or post with payment or goods. All opinions contained within are my own. 

On May 1st we hit a big milestone- your three month “birthday” so to speak. You are slowly turning into your own little person and less and less a little lump of baby. You have started to take an interest in the things and people around you and like nothing more than to be held in my lap (or your Dad’s) so you can mimic our faces, smile, wave your hands and generally act like an awesome little lady. We are happy to oblige. At three months I no longer give people your age in weeks when they ask, as you’ve outgrown that method of counting at least for the average admirer when we are out and about.

This past month I went back to work and you began staying with your nanny. She is wonderful and loves you very much and we love her too. She introduced you to the idea of a sleep schedule and after a few weeks you began (KNOCK ON WOOD KNOCK ON WOOD KNOCK ON WOOD) sleeping through the night and napping beautifully. I know anything can change, but for now we are all enjoying each other as well rested individuals. You still sleep in the pack-n-play bassinet by our bed, but once we move we will begin transitioning you into your crib in your very own nursery. I’m sure you are quite ready, but your Mama is not. Them’s the breaks.

This month you went to visit both your Mom and Dad at the office which was fun if not a little stressful. You were a well behaved little lady and hopefully those visits convinced you to never, ever go to law school. (Teasing.) (Sort of.) (Ehhh…not really.) You finally grew out of your newborn clothes this past month, which was really bittersweet as I packed things away. Luckily for you your 0-3 month wardrobe is robust and we all appreciate when your feet are not trying to poke through the feet of your pajamas. Your pediatrician no longer feels the need to do regular/extra weight checks because you finally made it onto the growth charts, hitting the 5th percentile for weight.   You are our tiny peanut. 

Weekend mornings with you our new favorite thing. You wake up happy as a clam and we make coffee and read the news and feed you and play with the dog and it is generally a really happy time. You are full of smiles and coos and you kick your feet in appreciation of the sunshine and the new morning. I wish those moments would last for forever! Your Dad has a game with you that we call the “wiggles” and you are thisclose to laughing when you have the wiggles. Soon!

You’ve started to reach for toys and are more interactive than ever when you are on your play mat. You still love walks outside in the fresh air although you complain loudly if the sun gets on your face (sometimes I can’t open the sun canopy fast enough). You still love to take baths and don’t complain when your uncoordinated Mom gets water on your face as she is trying to rinse you. Sorry about that! You stayed with a babysitter a few times this month, because as much as we love you (and we do, so very much) we know that putting our marriage as a priority is just as important as being there for you. You have a line up of admirers so we have no shortage of people volunteering to come watch you for a few hours.

Everyone wants to know who you look like, and the truth is you are a bit of a mix of your Mom and Dad. This is a side by side comparison of you and me at two months and at three months:

I think there is a family resemblance- but rest assured, your hair seems just like your Dad’s at that age. Your eyes were a deep navy blue for a long time, but they are lightening more and more and seem grayer and grayer to both your Dad and I. Your Dad has hazel eyes, I have green eyes, your uncle has gray eyes and all of your grandparents have blue, green or hazel eyes – so who knows where yours will settle. I think the only assurance we have is that they won’t be brown. Your hair seems to be lightening up, although I swear that sometimes it has a slightly red tint to it….your Papa (my Dad) had red hair so it is a possibility. Time will tell!

It was impossible to get a photo with you and the dog this month, but you have started reaching out to touch him when he comes over to inspect you, and he tries to slurp your face when you have a milk mustache- supervision is required at all times these days. He is still sweet and gentle around you and we know as you get older the two of you will interact more.

There are so many things I look forward to teaching you and experiencing with you, but for now, I look forward to 8 pm when we snuggle into the chair together and I feed you one last time before bed. You sometimes take my thumb in your little hand and hold it while you eat and doze off and the stress and tasks of the day seem to melt away as we rock. Your Dad and I can’t get enough of you, as evidenced by our iPhone photo galleries and our evening routine and I can say, without a doubt, that you are our world.

I can’t wait to see what your future holds baby girl. You can grow up to be anything.

Love,

Mama

Three Months:

11 pounds, as told to us by the home scale

Likes: playmat, swing, being swaddled, snuggling, bath time, mobile and having a case of the wiggles 

Dislikes: diaper changes, being strapped into your car seat, not being fed as fast as you might like 

Anyway. After perusing my favorite “big box furniture stores” (Crate and Barrel et. al.) and not finding what I wanted in my budget I have reverted to my favorite way of furniture shopping- antique stores, estate sales and good old Craigslist. I’m confident at some point I’ll find the right pieces because my Mama didn’t raise a fool and I can spot the gems under the grime and dust. I can also spot the over priced imitation pieces and poor repairs. It has been fun searching (half the battle) but Craigslist is a whole new venue of crazy. There are the people that don’t use email (CALLS ONLY!) but yet post the furniture on the internet. There are the people who only provide a stock photo of the item they are selling…as though their dresser from Pottery Barn looks just like the one on the display in the store. There are those that are weirdly defensive about the price/the lack of delivery/the broken parts/why they are selling it. But best of all are the item descriptions, which often follow into one of the following categories:

 Shabby Sheek- This seller can’t spell (SHABBY CHIC DAMNIT) and is trying to give a piece of furniture in poor quality some charm. Shabby sheek translates to “my child wore ice skates and then kicked this over and over and I tried to cover it up with enamel bathroom paint”. Skip the “shabby sheek” postings.

Vintage- The vast majority of the time “vintage” means “ten year old pressboard and laminate”.

Mid-Century- Most people have no idea what Mid-Century is but they know it is popular so they call the Target dresser Mid-Century in hopes of selling it to a fool. Don’t be a fool.

Antique- This is code for “sitting in my garage collecting dust for 20 years but used to sit in my Granny’s dining room. By using the word “antique” they hope to add a few hundred dollars to the item’s value.

Perfect for Baby’s Room- This is your tip off that the piece of furniture in question is oddly shrunken in size. It rarely, however, would be good for a baby’s room.

Gorgeous Ikea _____ Ah. This seller is my favorite. They are trying to sell used Ikea furniture at almost full retail value. Often these pieces are poorly put together or missing parts and yet this seller thinks that only warrants taking $20 off the full retail price. Sure you don’t have to put it together but how great does Ikea furniture work after it has been moved around more than once or twice?

It isn’t the first of the month (that is tomorrow) so it isn’t time for my three month letter to you, but this letter isn’t about birthdays and milestones. At least not your milestones.

Yesterday your Mama went back to the office, leaving you alone all day with the nanny. I’ve been working from home for the past month, but on Monday my alarm was set for 4:45 in the morning and you were still sleeping as I slipped into the shower. I’d spent the previous 24 hours crying intermittently- your hair should have a perfect beachy wave after all the salt water I dripped on it as we snuggled- and the train ride into the office was spent carefully wiping the trickle of tears off my face. Words simply cannot express how hard it was to get out of the car and walk into that train station this morning.

What words can express how much all my bags weighed. Being a commuting, breastfeeding Mom is no joke, and I am nothing short of a lactating pack mule. But if anything this is a lesson in the selflessness of Motherhood which is the only explanation for how I managed to get out of bed this morning while my infant snoozed on. But this post isn’t about sacrifices because everyone makes those every day, and I’m not doing anything many other Moms haven’t done before me.

But oh did I underestimate how hard it would be to kiss your sweet cheeks and leave you at home while I went off to work. All day I wondered what you were doing- were you napping or playing or walking through the park- and the last part of my trip home was spent in eager anticipation on the edge of my seat, like a little kid who can’t wait to pull into the parking lot at DisneyWorld. I just wanted to soak you up, to sniff your sweet baby smell, to push your chin a/k/a smile button and see the edges of your lips curl up with glee. And you complied- waking up sleepily from a nap and seeing me and smiling made everything, the whole day- the early wake up, the planes trains and automobiles in, the trek to the pumping room and eating lunch at my desk so I can leave earlier, the heavy bags and ice packs- all if it was worth it for that smile.

There are a lot of reasons why I work- emotional, practical, financial- but I hope, more than anything you having a working Mom provides you with an example of a strong woman. I want you to follow your dreams wherever they lead you, and I want you to see me follow mine. I always wanted to be a mother, but I also wanted to be a lawyer, and I hope when you look back on your childhood you think of someone who did both. Whatever your dreams are- lawyer, painter, stay at home Mom, banker or musician- they are yours to chase, and I want you to remember a Mama who chased her dreams too.

I want you to know that leaving you that sunny Monday morning was, without a doubt, one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done in my life. As the famous poem says…..I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

(e.e. cummings)

Love,

Mama

(*To clarify: we are renting a 3 bedroom condo well within Chicago city limits!)

(And in case you are wondering why we are not buying…we are just not there yet. We won’t buy until we can comfortably afford a 3-4 bedroom in the city with and that time isn’t now, THANKS STUDENT LOANS/CITY PRICES)

I know, shower curtains don’t seem important but right now we only have one soaking tub (no need for a shower curtain) and in the new place, both bathrooms have shower/bath combos. Shower curtains keep the floor dry, yo. I have also rescinded all previous birthday wishes and have now told my husband and family that I’m now hoping/asking/finger crossing for Home Depot gift cards to put towards some patio furniture and a grill. After eight years of living in Chicago I’m finally going to live somewhere with a porch and B and I are already daydreaming about outdoor eating and sunshine enjoying. I WANT TO EAT FOOD COOKED OVER FIRE, DAMNIT.

One of those things about moving is that it never fails that you have to rethink some of your storage solutions and general set ups. So other “super fun” things on my new house list include a laundry hamper and some basic shelves for the kitchen to house my cookbooks and frequently used cookware. I KNOW. THE EXCITEMENT NEVER ENDS. But it is also nice, to be able to finally figure out what we’d like (patio furniture) and what we need (baby gates, outlet covers and cabinet locks) and the in-between (shelves for the kitchen).

I’m also really, really enjoying being able to work on Gracie’s nursery which I want to be bright and cheerful and generally a fun spot for her to play and sleep. We have these linens and a white crib waiting:

I’m working on putting artwork into frames and finding a dresser and a mirror for her room. I fall down Etsy rabbit holes daily….

But of course, before we get to moving we have a lot on the agenda. Bachelor and bachelorette parties, a big wedding, my in-laws birthdays, Mother’s Day, my birthday and Gracie’s baptism are all before the big move….so for now I pin and plot and plan and breathe a sigh of relief that at least one more thing has been figured out.

* * *

Growing up I remember watching my Mom get ready for a night out with my Dad. She’d wear her nice clothes, stockings, high heels. I’d watch as she put on mascara and lipstick and a little bit of perfume. She looked so pretty and glamorous and I imagined her dining in a fancy restaurant or having cocktails at an elegant party like you saw in the movies and in advertisements. She always wore her green coat when she and my Dad went out. It was a bottle green velvet courderoy, very much in-fashion and the color was perfect on her. Later in the evening, when my parents got home, long after the babysitter had tucked me in for the night, I’d wake up just a little bit as she came in to give me a kiss. My memory of it is crystal clear. She’d be cold after walking in from outside but as she bent down to kiss me the collar of her soft coat would brush my face and I’d get the faintest whiff of her perfume, Chanel No. 5.

My best friend and I once dumped a bottle of Chanel No. 5 down the toilet. We were little and my Dad had just brought it back from Paris (he’d gone for work) and it was at time in my parents budget that there wasn’t room for any extra bottles of perfume, and yet he brought it for her. We were in a lot of trouble, pouring that perfume in the toilet. My Mom laughs about it now, but I’m sure at the time she cried.

I always told my Mom that just the fainest smell of Chanel No. 5 at the perfume counter sends me down memory lane. Instantly I can remember the green coat, the cold breath of air she brought in, the kiss goodnight. It smells like my Mom and the anticipation of fancy nights and grown ups. For my wedding I wore a different Chanel perfume, just a dab, and smelling it now takes me back the heat, the smell of the hydrangeas, how my dress felt as I danced, the feeling of the new ring on my finger.

Funny how smell can do that.

* * *

As I opened the package from my parents, tears sprang into my eyes. A bottle of Chanel No. 5. The perfume that Moms wear when they put on fancy dresses and kiss little girls on their noses and promise them they can stay up for an extra half an hour with the babysitter. You can still smell it, just a little, the next morning as they make panacakes and snuggle in for cartoons in bed. I have my own bottle, ready for date nights prepared for under the watchful eye of a little girl.

It isn’t about searching ourselves, or having a relator search for us. It is about finding the place that blends our budget with our needs and our wants and of course, location, location, location. The truth is, I wish I could magically stretch the walls of our current home a little further and magically move it a few miles North. And while I sit around waiting for that ability (delivered to me via owl ala Harry Potter I’m sure) I browse more listings of homes. Perfect layout…bad neighborhood. Great neighborhood…way too small. Practically perfect in every way…doesn’t allow dogs.

Last weekend I thought I had found the place. I didn’t talk about it on Twitter but I sent the floor plan to my parents and told some of my friends I’d finally walked into a place and breathed “this is it” – never mind that B couldn’t make it to the showing (work appointment that ran over), I was certain. So we applied and crossed our fingers…and in a coin flip we apparently lost out to another couple. As a result I’ve spent the past few days feeling rejected, angry over my mental plans of “and this shelf will go there and we could put the crib here and I like this paint color for the nursery” and generally hating the world. It has soured my already sour outlook and I’m starting to resemble a kid who has eaten a few too many Sour Patch Kids, my face all pinchy and my eyes narrowed, uncomfortable and frustrated.

I’ve never felt so much pressure before, looking for a home. With every listing I look at I find myself thinking “Could Gracie have her first Christmas there? Learn to crawl on those floors?” and deciding if the neighborhood is safe for me to walk at dusk with the dog and the baby. It is a lot of pressure, finding a place for our family of 3+1, the emphasis is no longer on “a great floor plan for entertaining” but instead on a safe, cozy nursery and a place for her to play. The more money we save of course means more money for other things- savings accounts and college funds and child care and summer camp tuition, and I find myself feeling trapped between all of the things we need for her, what we want for her, and what is right for all of us.

Of course, the truth is, home is where we are, as evidenced by half of the couples you watch on HGTV that moved into a parent’s basement while they hunted for the right home, and now, FOUR YEARS LATER, they are still there, with more kids, and storage bins, and hey, help us find a home. I’m terrified of becoming that family, living in the basement, except our parents are not here so I suppose we’d just be living in our car or something, crash couching with our friends while brightly searching for “the perfect place” but “don’t worry, home is where our family is!”

Dramatic, yes. But it is my fear. That we won’t find something before we have to move out of the place I love, even if we’ve completely outgrown it and the commute is terrible.

I know the right place is out there. We just have to keep sorting and looking and touring and viewing. Of course, I’d prefer not to walk through another house that has a kitchen that is perfectly renovated on the right side and original, poorly maintained 1950′s on the other side, what on earth….but hey, it is like searching for the needle in the haystack, am I right?

I just hope I find that needle soon.

Not to tear up a photograph or beg someone to remove a snapshot off of Facebook. To smile for the camera without sucking in or tilting her chin or worrying if she was being captured at a bad angle. To know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that you should never judge a book- or a person- by their cover.

But it is easier said than done because we all at some point fall into the trap of picture deleting, frown inducing, fitting room tears self-loathing.

Sometimes we just need a reminder that even if we are own worst enemy, we have to try and see ourselves the way the world does.

Softer. Gentler. Friendlier. Prettier. Thinner. Stronger. Happier.

One of my very favorite photos of myself. It reflects a person who isn’t perfect but who has found a perfect moment.

And that is what I have to teach Gracie. Reflect the moment and you’ll love what you see.