The internal struggle I feel between here and there, now and then is one that I am working on. It has nothing to do with the place I’m in or the people I’ve met. It is only a result of the circumstances that have happened, a path that we chose, and my personality.

So I do my best to march on and keep my head up. You can’t back up in life. You can only move forward.

A toddler teaches this best.  So when I feel the heat of homesickness rushing through my soul, I look to Abigail to pull me through.

This is the only home she knows and she owns it. Sit knee to knee with her and you will see exactly what I mean.

“Touch. Touch.” She tells me as she shows me her shovel. Dig deep, get messy, feel something. So small, so wise.

The beach today was humming with people, many who are in town for the Seafood and Wine Festival. I liked it. They are here to enjoy our home, my home, too.

“Duck. Duck.” Abigail calls to an approaching sea gull and four adults walk by. Pointing to the sea she tells them “Water, Oh-shen” as if it’s an insider secret. Proud as can be. Owning it.

I’m doing the best I can and when my sister and cousin arrive in two weeks I’ll be as proud as a peacock to show off my little coastal town. I do love it here. But I also love it somewhere else and that’s okay.

Sea salt and pepper are quite the combination. I’m lucky to have both in my heart and one day, maybe sooner than I think, I will discover that my life is perfectly balanced between the two.

Until then, I’m working hard at chasing the homesickness away with the help of one fearless toddler.

Shoo. Fly! (And the period is intentional.)

We are in charge of our own.

So day after day, meal after meal, meltdown after meltdown, dish after dish, laundry after laundry, sweep after sweep it is me who can control how I feel about it.

Yes, it can be mundane, and that’s just part of being a grown-up. I allow myself to feel those moments of blah-ness. When I do, I accept those feelings as valid and normal. Then I try and move on trying to change my perspective. Maybe instead it’s day after day, hug after hug, game after game, giggle after giggle, adventure after adventure.

There are many things I do as a stay at home mom that I find completely gratifying. Not because anyone knows that I do them or says what a great job I’ve done – like making what Abigail considers to be the world’s best sweet potato fries.

But there are many things I do that I don’t particularly find rewarding – like keeping the toys organized or the laundry put away – that I just want someone to notice and say, WOW! Way to go, Mama!

But the reality is, it’s up to me to fine tune my perspective.

I’ve been guilty of looking at a situation and thinking,
“I wish I had time to do that.” or “It would be so much easier if…” or “They are so lucky.”

When in fact, I’m so lucky. I wanted to be able to stay home with Abigail and we are fortunate to be in a position where we could make that happen. Yes, there are things about this job that make me frustrated. I have to accomplish tasks I’m not super excited about. And sometimes it can be a little lonely. But, no job is perfect.

So perspective.

I get to keep my laundry going all day if I need to. I can go grocery shopping whenever it suits me.

But best of all, I get hug after hug, meal after meal, meltdown after meltdown, game after game, sweep after sweep, giggle after giggle, dish after dish, adventure after adventure…day after day after day.

Perspective Bonus?  Ryan lacks perspective about how many chocolate chip cookies have been swiped by the end of the day.  Or he lets me believe he does…xo.

Abigail’s Favorite Sweet Potatoes

1 large sweet potato, cut into fries

1 tsp olive oil

dash of salt and pepper

dash of red curry powder

1/4 tsp ground cumin

1/4 tsp ground coriander

Mix all ingredients in a  bowl.  Bake in a single layer for 20 – 30 mins (until soft) at 425.

It was never that high on my list of places to see. Not that I didn’t want to go there, I did! I think I just had some other places I thought would be more interesting. Paris seemed a little cliche to me, maybe. But, darn it, it cast its magical spell all around me and my heart was beyond smitten.

I’ve been to New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Miami, Atlanta, Portland, Denver, and D.C. I don’t claim to be an authority on big city travel, but I do love it. It’s faster, flashier, busier — each city has its own flavor and things to experience, but in the end it’s just another big city. You sightsee, shop, eat, take public transportation, people watch, and if you’re lucky, see a performance. 

We did those things in Paris. It could have felt like another big city but it didn’t. Paris is a place all its own.

It’s beautiful and charming, elegant and chic.

It’s busy, but relaxed — a place you are expected to linger over dinner or your cafe creme.

And the fact that I had no idea what people were saying around me or to me most of the time added to the allure.

“Je ne comprends pa.”

Although I think everyone should say “bonsoir” and “bon appetit.”

Dinners with friends are so much more magical when you are greeted with a bonsoir and are instructed to bon appetit.

The cherry on top of the Paris sundae? Experiencing it all with our dear friends who so generously hosted us and acted as tour guides and pseudo-translators.

It’s hard for me to put into words how I felt about seeing one of my favorite people in the world, 6 months pregnant. I miss her so very much. But with friends who have taken up permanent residence in your heart as Jimmy and Ashley have with us, it’s easy to be apart because when you are together it is as if nothing changes.

Ashley and I still talk a thousand miles per hour every waking minute about every detail of our lives. And sometimes without explaining anything she understands me perfectly.

Paris.

It will always be the place Ryan and I got to escape from toddlerhood for a brief moment and just be two again. It will also be the place where I got to see our dear friends start to become three.

A place all its own. C’est l’amour.

But for today I’ll keep it simple and relevant.

I believe last year I called it “quieter” in my post.

Valentine’s Day 2011.

Valentine’s Day 2012

It hasn’t been quieter or even quiet this year.

Two terribly terrific two-year-olds and sugar cookies and a few tantrums.

But mostly love and a little bit of sharing.

And yes, it’s kind of a corny, commercial holiday.  But what’s wrong with that, really?  Maybe in this crazy rush of a world we live in we need a little reminder to do something special out of love — like letting your children eat sprinkles from a shaker right before instead of lunch.

Because apparently in the world of a two-year old more sprinkles = more love.

They are right you know — the two-year olds.

Sprinkles of kindness, generosity, gratefulness to family, friends, strangers really do = more love.

In fact, don’t even sweep them up.  Let the dogs take care of them.  Sprinkles and dogs.  And I think it could be a wonderful world.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

And To My Three Valentines:

 ” And I wish you all the love in the world.  But most of all I wish it from myself.”

“And I love you, I love you, I love you.  Like never before.”

I avoided things that needed to be done.

I got overwhelmed when I thought of the things I want to work on.

I wasted time on Pinterest.

Then I decided to tie up some loose ends — the biggest being the Project Life Album I started in January last year.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, it’s essentially an “easy way” to document your everyday life. Traditionally, you take a picture each day and record a caption for it.

I kept taking pictures consistently. But eventually I stopped getting them printed and essentially stopped the writing too.

Sometimes I’m so hard on myself. I’m not enough this or that. My house isn’t clean enough. My closets aren’t organized enough. I eat M&M’s as if I will never have another one again. I’m not a very patient middle of the night parent. I see all of these failures.

I want to stop thinking that way. I will never have a perfect closet. Abigail will always have a floof hair or two sticking on her velcro toys. I will be annoyed when Abigail wakes up in the middle of the night. And darn it, I will buy those stupid Valentine’s m&m’s and eat too many.  

It’s easy for me to see the good in the people I love. Thinking about them and admiring their strengths.

I need to start being easier on myself. I don’t need to be everything. I am enough already.

I’m just about finished now and I’m so proud of it.

It was important work — to me, it is far more important than a perfectly organized junk drawer or six pack abs. I can see that now.  Although, those things would be pretty killer, too…

That isn’t anger towards the sun.. just Abigail’s coloring skills.  Which are awesome.

I’ve been hibernating-ish.  I kind of forgot about this part of living here.  We had been skipping footloose and fancy free through December and most of January rain-free.  It was amazing.  Now we’ve had over 8 inches of rain in a three day period.

I saw a post on Facebook this week.  It had a picture of an elegant runner crunching through the snow with the caption, “There is no such thing as a bad training day.”

Um.  Yes there is.  If your training requires you to push a toddler in hurricane conditions.  Humph.

Sad Sarah.

So my running log was accumulating way too many empty days, which makes me feel all cooped up and stir crazy.

Oh hello there, old pal.

Why did I ever stop doing yoga?  Probably because I couldn’t go with Heather and giggle while feeling totally zen.  Does zen go with yoga?  I have no idea.  Must do more yoga.

“Forget the yoga, Floofer needs a walk.”  Hank

You really have to push through the rainy wall.  It takes a couple of weeks of mental workouts.  ”I will leave the house.  I will not become a hermit.”

Well, thanks for the inspiration daily calendar.

My soul must be shriveling up.

Part of this plan of being sunshiny no matter the weather includes inviting a special guest for dinner.

Just kidding.

But in all seriousness, I do wish she could come to dinner.  My friend, Gretchen, and I made Ina’s (we’re on a first name basis) pizza dough a week or so ago.  I keep dreaming about it so I’m making it again — even though I don’t have a mixer with a dough hook so I mixed this all by hand, baby.  Good thing I did yoga today.

Abigail helped by stuffing herself silly with grapes.  I’m going to have a different kind of grape with my pizza tonight. 

And we listened to the songs we would have if we had been running.

Yes.  Yes that is NKOTB.  Don’t judge me.

Happy D-3 Season, Pacific Northwesterners!

“One winter morning Peter woke up and looked out the window.  Snow had fallen during the night.  It covered everything as far as he could see.”  Ezra Jack Keats from The Snowy Day

And today let us remember the man whose words had no limitations.

Amazing, powerful words.

Book - Martin’s Big Words by: Doreen Rappaport

So good.

Abigail got a double dose of technology while I got ready.  Some may call this an over dose, but she has taken to drawing circles on her magna-doodle and saying “sear-o” so I think her brain is just fine.  (Ryan taught her that one…overachiever.)

“Hurry up, Mama.”

We grabbed some cuties to share and Abigail added a valentine to the mix.

We drove the couple of miles to their house singing along to Winnie the Pooh.  Abigail’s favorite part is when the trees clear and you can see the ocean.  I like that part too.  It looks especially good on a sunny morning like today.

Hello again.  Do you like my hat?

I do like that hat!

Goodbye.  Goodbye.

I’m linking up with Beth over at “I Should Be Folding Laundry” for this week’s You Capture Challenge:  Mornings.

What did you do this morning?

“Settle down.”  Hank

Your child started walking? Well, their child was walking 6 months ago…on water.

Your child ate *gasp* a green vegetable? Well, their child only consumes green food…prepared by their own tiny baby hands in their own personal baby gourmet kitchen with granite countertops.

Your child peed on the potty? Their child eliminates liquid gold which they fashion into jewelry to sell on Etsy.

Of course, I’m exaggerating, but you probably do know one or two of the mothers to which I refer.

And I’m sure they are great mothers. Fantastic! Their kids will be just fine after a little therapy.

But if motherhood is going to be a competitive sport I’m tagging out.

I’d much rather play a pick-up game with the moms I’ve found that want to play alongside you. Through wins and losses — home runs and strike outs.

Hip Hip Hooray to them!

Yep.  That’s a pile of laundry I could be folding instead of writing this.

And that bear?  His diaper hasn’t been changed for weeks.

“You had a good Saturday?” the Coast said to me.  ”I’ll see your good Saturday and raise you an even better Sunday.”

All bets were off at that point.  Oh sweet, blue sky and 55 degree weather (which in running is 75 degree weather, requiring shorts and a t-shirt) you do know how to get my heart a-pounding.

I went all in that that point.  An hour long run keeping pace with the ocean, passing kite flyers and dog walkers, splashing through salt water sand puddles.  

Cuddles back home, sitting across from spilt peas, writing on my busted lap top with the sun casting a glare over the screen illuminating the smudges of tiny fingers.

I win.

PS:  That’s not a Christmas tree.  It’s an Oregon tree that just happens to have lights on it.  And it may just stay up all year….