12/2 - Sunday, Sunday.

Day 2 of a blogger countdown goes like this.

Went to church with kids. They were at one point at least as reverent as they look in this picture. It is a battle I don't look forward to on Saturday the special day as I get ready for Sunday. I try hard some times. And Matt is better at it than me. But even Jim Faye's Love and Logic disappoints sometimes.

Then I got my craft on with MK. She looks like she is having the time of her life but mostly we were just laughing about Jane asking how she got her "owie" (sp?) ... it was a zit. Majerle says "I just grow mine." Best.

MK is pretty impressed with my ability to take some fold-over lace and tie a know at the end. I'm more excited about the presentation. That's really all I ever care about. It could be coal for Christmas. But if it's packaged right, I want it.

and speaking of crafty and loving pennant banners but never had one, Mars brought me this one that says "JOY" and told me it stands for Jesus, Others, and You. So may you have plenty of JOY this season.

Now I've got to go get my kids in bed because they dressed themselves up and went and played in the hail storm. The reason I hate blogger. Sucks me away from ever being a decent mom I swear it.

Reason I love blogger? Because Jane in her fancy nancy nighty and George in his watersock/rainboot combo to play in the muddy hailstorm (that they just dragged in and around my house, back to hating blogger) ought to be documented for their sake. 

Peace.

Christmas Countdown Cheer - 12/1.

I love advent calendars. Love them. Chocolate ones. Paper ones. Chain link ones. Wooden box with drawers ones. Any ones.  They're called advent calendars but I once experienced "real" advent in my month in Denmark aka Den one Christmas and it was much different but lovely. I suppose I just love all things Christmas.  And Christmas countdowns are right toward the top. But they probably don't overtake stockings.

Anyhow. I am going to attempt a blog Christmas countdown.  Partly because I feel like Christmas deserves it. And partly because it will help me come closer to my January One resolution to have a post a week or at least 52 posts this year. That's unlikely to happen. But 24 days till Christmas will put me at least halfway there.

And at the end of the countdown, with any luck at all, I can showcase another one of my lofty-unlikely-to-happen-but-still-a-goal-o-mine: the homemade stockings that NEED to get finished a.s.a.p. (did I mention that the stocking may be the best kept secret of Christmas? more on that later).

As for counting down till Christmas day one:

1. Meet Mr. Peeps. Kinda like Elf on the Shelf only Grandma Joyce started the tradition in our family after Peggy the nail lady invented the idea. And then it was stolen by the elf on the shelf company. Or so Nana says. And for once I believe her. Because Peeps was around WAY before Shelfy Elf. Anyhow, he's keeping the kids in line for us. (sort of). And the novelty of having a 3 and 4 year old loving every minute of hasn't worn off yet.

2. Happy ICS cookie exchange.  Yum. Yum. Yum. Plus really cool people that left me smiling and inspired to do creative things. I had a wonderful time. Like I'd call it near perfect. It was that great. Thanks Caitlin and Company. Sorry for being the last to leave I had to take it all in. In 100% seriousness her house was straight out of a fashionista magazine, the food prettier than pinterest, and the company hilarious and hipsterish which, well, makes my heart rejoice.

3. And rock a bye baby has a countdown of her very own: the big first birthday is just days away. She is a red headed delight, truly. Her toothy grin makes my every day including this day, the first of countdown 2012.  Happy Holidays.

i voted.

"who's that person with her 'vote sticker' on her eye?" asked George.

I was caught. I have tried not to get sucked into everybody's political rants and raves. I deactivated my facebook account because I was done with "both sides" (I hate the sides, I really really do) being inconsiderate and super dislike even more the assuming things people say. But having said that, I am a pretty opinionated and passionate person, so I couldn't help sneaking back to cjanekendrick.com after my friend had pointed out something to me. If you look and wonder what kept drawing me back, it's not the post itself that I was interested in so much as the comments.  And you certainly don't have to go to her political post to find them, they're on every political post everywhere: divisive, insensitive, assuming comments. I feel like not commenting at all is the most noble thing someone can do. Because applauding just because someone voted the same as you is annoying and bickering about someone's vote that is already spent and an election that is already decided is pretty pointless. Which is why I hate that I am up at 3 in the morning stewing about it and commenting myself. 

My convictions on certain issues run pretty deep, but I am not mad if you disagree. (I don't really care to know about it either). And I quite honestly don't need anyone to say I am right. (That's SB's job... and he would probably tell you I already know I am right).  In the first grade I participated in the reflections contest (even went to district) with a drawing for the theme "A past to remember, a future to mold" where I drew Abraham Lincoln (favorite president forever and always) and myself as the future president of the United States.  I really thought I would be the first woman president at age 7. By age 11 I wanted to be the first woman in the NBA. At age 33, I am just happy to be a woman. As for those other earlier aspirations, I'm content to cheer from the sidelines and put my vote in the ballot box, and then go back home with my kids and our "vote stickers." 

As far as my opinions on it all, I will only say this:

My mom used to say I was the runaway bride.  True, I had only been engaged once prior to SB, but I had made wedding plans on a handful of other occasions with a handful of other potential grooms.  It  is kind of embarrassing, really. But given my track record, I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised at my mom's response when, the night after SB and I got engaged, I told her "Last night Matt proposed out of the blue." 

"What did you say?" she asked very matter-of-fact. (she is always matter of fact. I wish I was more like her sometimes).

"Yes."  and then came what I thought would be the real kicker.  "Matt asked if I wanted to get married at the end of this month."

"DO IT!" was my mom's emphatic response. She didn't trust that I'd carry through with it otherwise I suppose.  

Runaway bride though I may have been, there is an arguable difference between me and the character portrayed by Julia Roberts: I know what kind of eggs I like. 

(Do you remember the scene where she finally decides to figure out for herself what kind of egg she likes and makes all the different kinds?  I love it. Best message of the movie if you ask me).

So when it comes to politics, I will listen as you tell me why scrambled eggs are nice or why poached eggs are healthier for me. But I like my eggs fried over medium with a little salt and pepper. And I doubt that will ever change. 

Nonetheless, I'm happy there are so many good eggs in this world.

With that off my chest, I will get to concentrating on the other things that tend to keep me awake at night:

3:30 a.m. visit this morning

5 a.m. visit this morning

find this just about every morning. 

a real tribute.

I love my job.  Despite the ups and downs and incredible pain I've felt and soul searching I do on a regular basis as a result, I love the people I work with.  Yes, the staff.  But as much and more the patients and their families. I've been asked so many times about how can I do what I do, and while some may ask me with some sense of admiration-- I do think some people see me as less compassionate/ sympathetic than the bulk of humanity to tolerate seeing some of the things I've seen.  Perhaps it's true, but the soul searching bit mentioned above isn't just a figure of speech.  It's not like I go unaffected.  And there is too much to be said of the millions of thoughts and the scarce conclusions I've reached in the last 6 years to go into during this quick blog post.

Nevertheless, Chris Rumble at Seattle Children's Hospital captured something for me that is absolutely inspiring.  It was so familiar, every clip and piece of the music video made sense to me and when I watch it I feel the excitement you feel when you see places you've been that have some deeper meaning to you.  Something like when I see pictures of London and Sweden, or Logan and Cache Valley.  I watched this video for the first time with SB and I kept saying:  "this is what I do.  this is it. I've so been there."  Last night, even: I was there.  My body is still trying to recuperate because from 7 last night till 7 this morning, I was  there.  And while I know it seems jaded to some, for some reason my heart is full for having been there.  

  The nurse chasing the kid on the bike-thingy with the IV pole trying to keep up.  That's it. The kids are so resilient, the families are so strong, and the nurses just get to be there.  If there are chosen souls, I am convinced I've met a large population of them.  And knowing chosen souls is a very motivating, inspiring, sacred experience. And if not how, that's why I do it.

Enjoy.

Dear Hipsters.

I've longed to have this expressed.  I know it sounds crazy that I could be passionate about a style or movement or whatever hipsters are.  But I love them.  I love them.  I want to be them.  I seriously do.  But only the ones that, as Amy put it, don't think they are better than me for being a hipster.  Only the ones that are just so true to all things beautiful and colorful and artistic and absolutely ravishing.  That's the only word for you sweet/real/beauty-loving hipsters: ravishing.  And I don't give many things the title of ravishing.  But hipsters= deserve it.

I remember watching "my girl" years ago on Thanksgiving Day. (never to forget the loner seat that Jody sat in when we went).  I loved Vada's style.  It was artistic.  I told my mom I wanted clothes like hers.

And then there was and forever will be Punky Brewster.  She (or her character anyhow) was so entertainingly mismatched.  The piecework colored clothes and skawampous (no clue how to spell the word) pigtails were my favorite.  I thought I was Punky, with the truth be told.

But the hipsters got it all.  It combines the perfect mix of the vintage and retro and funky and classy and nerdy and hot and colorful and dull and does the mismatch better than Punky herself.  It's like this deliberate and well executed blend of colors and shapes and styles.

And I love it.

I told my friend the other day I am the type of person who appreciates order in a very vivid way.  I gave her the example of how on Cougar lane every time I drive along there is this manhole cover that makes me want to pull over and park and just rotate it about 64 degrees.  It falls on a middle yellow line of the road, and was apparently painted before it's most recent opening.  And whoever put it back was more of the SB make and I'm sure didn't think twice about the fact that order-appreciating individuals would drive by on a daily basis wondering why on earth it was too difficult to just take 7 extra seconds to align it so the yellow stripe would be one continuous line down the road.

SB says it's because I'm "tight."  He, as a self proclaim artist (which I proclaim of him as well, but there are no boards to take to gain a 'sculpt-out-of-your-garage' license), always explains to me that artists come on a spectrum: from extremely tight to extremely loose.  He falls just short of Picasso on the loose side of things.  We've decided the new slogan for Farmboy Enterprises should be "comes with a wonk."

And though I'm not Matt, I love Matt.  And even appreciate his style.  I just wish his wonk was more intentional sometimes.  I think that's why I love the hipsters so much.  It is organized wonk.  This planned looseness.  No where near the tightness of someone who is completely boring, but shy of the Punky B looseness that gives them a perfect amount of order in their colorful chaos.

Wherever they fall on the spectrum, they fall perfectly.  Which much like SBs self proclaimed title of artist, I therefore have to think I am a hipster at heart.  It resonates with me.

So when I'm hip again, you can bet it will come in the form of the hipster.

And I don't care if my local friends feel like I am jumping on board a bit late.  I spotted it a decade ago in Scandinavia and loved it as much then as I do now.  And my locals that may think I'm slow on the uptake didn't seem to mind it took years to travel here from over yonder.

Long live the hipster.  I love you.

Don't steal my babies and take them to Russia.

This blog is like every journal I've ever written.  (boring).  All I ever do is write about the things I wish I was writing about.  It's been a year (or so) since I got this up and running and needless to say I think I failed with my intentions.

I haven't been taking pictures.  But my kids are cute even if I don't have photographic proof, I promise.

Valentine's was fun.  When I posted my resolutions I don't know if I mentioned that it's the year of the homemade around here.  We are poor and any extra money we have goes to tuition and books and paying admissions committees to process and look at my curriculum vitae.

So all things we do for each other have to be homemade.  For Valentine's Matt got peanut butter bars and a mug. (3 days late).  I got a mug too.  About a week ago.  (That's the thing about homemade, we both have great ideas but it's not as easy as grabbing it off the shelf and checking out).  I took pictures.  I think I'll post them one day.

But I decided I'd quick get on my blog and think about all the great things I could be documenting.  And I played around with the blogger buttons to see what I could figure out.  I decided to click on the stats button.  I never look there (I mean, I never write so why would I get traffic?)  But-- at least from what I can tell, I have had as much traffic in the last week as my blog has ever had in it's year history.  It's not a lot but I haven't even written in the last week.

All the hits = from Russia.

I'm kind of scared.

Not that Russians scare me.  I have a Russian brother.  (Artur is his name).   But why oh why are they blog stocking me?  I hear that people stock your blogs and find out personal information (hence my code names that I use at least some of the time on here) and STEAL your kids.

So when mine end up missing the first place I'm checking is Moscow.

Thank you blogger stats for keeping me and the babes safe.  Or if not safe, at least informed.

a bit behind.

so I have some things to post about and haven't.

like Harry Berry's blessing.  she is blessed now.  I want her to have all the blessings in the world.  but some really great ones are hers now.  hopefully more on her and that later.

and the MCAT = registered for it.   August 16th of this year. I've been talking about that test for 15 years, seriously.  Seemed like it was only for the elect 12 years ago when talking to a pre-med advisor.  I swear it's their job to make becoming a physician seem the impossible task and that no medical school wants anyone to become their student.  but to take the mcat it really just takes 240 dollars. (ouch- but just a drop in the bucket in this process).  anyone can take the test.  and so i am going to, elect or not.

for now I just wanted to quick post an article I read and liked.  and i'm grateful for my friends so I related to it a bit.  so thanks for being my old friend or mentor friend or surprise friend.  and glad to say I'm my own friend.  my mom always maintained that about me... that as a kid I was just as content playing by myself as with someone.  Maybe she taught me that being my own friend was cool.  I still enjoy it, actually-- playing by myself.  But friends are a good thing and here's the article.  I'm probably supposed to just put a link and quote the source  (what's the etiquette here Amy?) but I am cutting and pasting the whole article.  I believe the writer is Elizabeth Hill? There.  Credit given.

Whenever a women's expo or craft fair comes to town, it always makes me laugh at the booths listing wares that we as women are supposedly desperately wanting: goat lather soap, Zumba workouts, Montana-made syrup, and so on. And though I love to do Zumba in the shower while eating pancakes, I'm pretty sure what I really want is not at the expo.

Unless I'm with my friends.

In the last 11 years — while living in four states, three time zones and five homes — I have had a ton of experience making and keeping friends. Across this great continent, I’ve observed that I have consistently needed five types of friends to keep me sane and balanced.

First off, I trust your husband is hopefully your friend — best friend, even. However, he is not, never will be and never should be your all-in-one everything. No person should ever be burdened with fulfilling your every need, wish and whim for companionship. You will still need other women, both older and younger, to mentor you, serve you and look up to you.

1. My favorite and dearest friend is the Old Friend variety, who is like your favorite T-shirt: comfy, worn-in and, no matter what your mood, totally appropriate. This Old Friend knows your crazy family history and can write a pamphlet on why you are the way you are and how they like you anyway.
   She’s probably seen you in your underwear, heard you sobbing over the phone or held you while you despaired over new-mom woes. You don’t have to worry about being far away because, somehow across the miles or around the block, you are still best friends and comfortable in whatever state your friendship is in.
   Here's something to note: Sisters make great Old Friends.
2. Another essential friend is the Deep Friend. She’s the one who is like a therapist, only cheaper — and probably happy to eat ice cream with you as you delve into what makes a marriage really groovy.
   The Deep Friend is perfectly at peace with dissecting your family background and how that formed the person you are now. She loves discussing the world; religion; and how to have a better, happier and richer life. She is worth her weight in gold — or Prozac.
3. Your Mentor Friend is often the age of an older siblings or even your mother. Even though she might say the same things your mother does, you don’t roll your eyes or search for the number to the local mental hospital. It sounds so right and true and a lot less annoying coming from the Mentor Friend. You mother probably sends her a script, but who cares? The Mentor Friend commiserates and validates your concerns.
   The Mentor Friend says, “I’ve been there,” without sounding condescending. She watches your children because she misses her own and she makes sure to remind you often to make time for yourself. Sure, she might be slightly outdated when you compare her to all your hipster sisters, but the Mentor is one irreplaceable friend.
   A subset of the Mentor Friend is the Younger (Sister) Friend. To her, you are the mentor and the voice of reason when all pooh breaks loose with small children. As the Mentor Friend, you get to share your hard-earned lessons, helping steer the Younger Friend toward the light at the end of the nursing or toddler tunnel. It is insanely rewarding to share the small tidbits of wisdom that someone once delivered to you when you were buried under laundry and sporting under-eye bags the size of Manhattan.
4. Our next friend is one of my current favorites: the Surprise Friend. Finding this person is like visiting your local thrift store looking for a cool Halloween costume and you find J.Crew pants for $2. Surprise Friends are like sprinkles on the cake of life: colorful and unexpected.
   The Surprise Friend is the one you meet at a play group or school meeting and your first reaction is that you have nothing in common and she probably has socks that cost more than your entire wardrobe.
   Then you find out, as time goes on, that she’s not as shallow or weird as you originally thought and the notion of spending time with her sitting on a park bench watching your children hang by their toes doesn’t make you gag or feel like getting a root canal. You find that the Surprise Friend is actually funny. And smart! And not shallow! And she’s even willing to share her gold-plated socks!
5. The last and most-important friend you can have is one that took me many moons to collect. She’s one that many don’t realize is a necessity. It’s You.
   You should be one of your closest friends — and no, Dr. Phil did not pay me to say that. I hope that little voice in your head is like a great coach and not the mean girls from 6th grade, inherently critical and smarmy.
   I’ve trained myself to control my inner dialogue so that when I lose it and holler at one of my children for hitting their sibling (again) my first response is not, “You’re a loser mother,” but instead, “You will do better next time.”
   Some women still feel this adolescent need to always be with someone, texting someone or planning daily mommy play dates. But it’s OK to just be — to be with yourself and your thoughts and have awkward conversations like:
   You: “Hi.” Self: “Hi.” You: “How ar—” Self: “Fine.” You: “Are you going to work out at th—” Self: “Eh, probably not.” You: “Really? You know how good you feel afterw—” Self: “I know. I should... OK, I’ll go.” You: “Awesome! You're gonna lose 10 pounds!”
   Awkward, yes. Helpful? Double yes.
   And though I am a certified extrovert who has a habit of slightly oversharing and is a lover of people, I think many women need these distinct relationships to make their lives richer and happier.

Are these five friend styles the only ones suitable for sustaining a healthy friend closet? No. Is it necessary to collect friends like charm bracelets? Unless you're in 6th grade, no.

But I do know that it has taken many types of women over many years to help me be a better person, a better mother, a better wife. I need them. I need their wisdom, their laughter and their genuine humanity to rub off on me.

And that is far more useful that goat lather soap.