I Don't Know

I've gone back and forth in my head for weeks about writing this post, and then Bob Goff told us on Sunday that we all need to "stop acting cool!" and if anyone can light a fire under you and make you actually do something you've only been thinking about doing, it's Bob Goff, must open Blogger and must type and must get this off my brain and must tell everyone, Bob Goff.

And in typical Bob Goff style, let's preface this with a story.*

Several months ago, I met a new mom friend at the park, as one regularly does when you're a woman mainly conversing with a toddler all day long and then you see !another adult! Our kids instantly zeroed in on each other from across the swing set and within no time we had exchanged numbers in the hopes of future meet-up double date play dates.

A couple public outings later and we were ready for the next level in our relationship: THE play date. At home. Her home. (I just re-read this and it sounds more and more like an OkCupid exchange...welcome to: Making New Friends in Your mid-20s, 101).

We had initially bonded over our general appreciation for health, natural childbirth, and other surface hippiedom. Maybe I mentioned my batch of Fire Cider in the fridge or Bean's delayed vaccine schedule or impassioned love of Pamela's chocolate cake (even though I'm not even GF in the slightest) or numerous dry Tina Fey-isms, but for whatever reason, we hit it off and now the Bean and I were pulling up into the driveway of their house.

Thirty minutes later, eating a batch of tapioca quinoa cranberry muffins with the smells of sage and homeschooling in the air while the kids played with yarn balls, cardboard, and wooden sticks I had to wonder how I actually ended up here.

Five minutes upon arrival, the Bean had rolled the one and only wooden truck across the floor and then politely inquired where the other toys were. I simultaneously wanted to curl up in the fetal position, grab the three Hot Wheels cars in my purse, and laugh at how funny a toddler playing with a yarn ball is. Like a cat. We had an afternoon of playing with cat toys ahead of us.

Overall, we lasted about an hour and a half. And we covered the alternative lifestyle gamut. No mention of those oils. Thank goodness. Obviously, because we make our own.**

As I said goodbye, I felt energized and drained at the same time.
It's interesting spending time with someone so definitively passionate on one side of things. This way is the only way, side of things.
Had she driven off other friends before with such a polarized view?

We haven't corresponded since.
Perhaps due to pesky winter colds, traveling, holiday seasons, and maybe deep down she could see how much I was craving some gluten.***

...


Growing up, my role in various friendship circles was "peacemaker." I like to gather everyone up, include anyone, and you can call me Bonnie "Can't We all be Friends" Iliyn.
I've never understood cliques. I tried to be apart of one once during a Valentine's dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory, and failed miserably. Or succeeded greatly, because the girl we tried to gang up on is one of my closest friends to this day. How can you exclude someone, just because they're different than you? If I wanted to surround myself with people just like myself, I'd probably turn into Miley Cyrus with all that nodding and yes-ing and you go girl-ing and you should definitely wear that outfit-ing all the time.

My circle of friends is a widespread tapestry of personalities, viewpoints, ideas, talents, and beliefs. I can eat at a vegan restaurant with one and Burgerville with another. Dont lie, deep down you love that special sauce too.
McDonald's. Muchas Gracias. IHOP. I will eat green eggs and ham, (during my time in Rwanda, I think I did). I actually could care less sometimes the what or where. I'm way more interested in the who. The important questions instead of the distracting details.

In no way am I implying that we have to be friends with everyone, (says the girl who used to save mice from our cat Brutus, and has cried way too many times during Oreo commercials, cause I'm the Grinch who's heart grows three sizes...every day), or that we shouldn't have loud and proud voices.

When someone is really up on their social media soapbox though, (about things that really don't really matter), then, "Yeah, well, you know, that's just like, your opinion, man," says my inner Lebowski. You can call me Bonnie "Agree to Disagree" Iliyn****

I can't tell you how many many maaaaaaany people of "influence" these days are sitting on this seemingly "authority" pedestal. How many many maaaaaaany people are they driving away with their need to be right? Sure, we all might know some things, but are we wise about it? Big difference.

It's just another clique I don't want to be a part of. I'm bad at being a part of it.

I guess I'm not cool enough to be a part of it.


xoxo

{Bon Bon}



*You should most definitely read "Love Does."

**Sarcasm aside, I do, and have for awhile, but I'm not into the whole selling trendy bragging thing that's a part of, oh geez, just keep reading.


***Just a recent, vague example that I could use. No harm, no foul. Like I said, my friends vary across the board. We have many things in common and those other pesky little things, who cares.


****Unless we're talking about certain justice issues, especially involving adolescents. Then I might join the pitchforks. Kids, man. It can't all be rainbows, butterflies, and kumbaya. Sigh.

How to Vacation Without Kids

When your husband says, "Let's go to Europe for nineteen days!" you'll probably find yourself jumping on the couch all Tom Cruise excited-in-love like and hastily dump "Paris Street Style: A Guide to Effortless Chic" in your Amazon cart. "Should I make room in my backpack for a pair of heels?" "Striped shirt in Venice? Too cliche?"

These are the questions that will normally haunt you for the next six months as you prep for a trot around the globe.

When you become a mother, going on a trip to Europe for NINE.FREAKING.TEEN months, I mean, days, becomes...something else.

It becomes you strapping yourself into a germ-ridden tin can in the sky, hurtling thousands of miles away to places full of tiny adorable European children (on scooters!) that will remind you daily of the gaping Grand Canyon chasm in your soul that can only be filled by one tiny adorable 1/4 Korean-1/2 Ukrainian child who wobbles around the house on his blue scooter while saying, "Watch me!" before he crashes into the dining table.

I'll be honest. We almost didn't go.
Crepes in Paris, gelato in Italy, seafood risotto in Croatia, schnitzel in Germany, and goulash in Czech Republic almost didn't happen.

I've been a stay-at-home mom for the past (almost) three years. I'm with our child 89% of the time. He wonders what happened to me when I have been in the bathroom longer than 35 seconds, (Usually, I'm secretly eating a spoonful of TJ's cookie butter. As you can tell, food is my love language).

The back-and-forth inner turmoil of being equal parts realist and dreamer (fist bump to my fellow Pisces) was making me go all kinds of crazy.
My hard-working-needs-a-proper-vacation husband asked, "Well, what should we do for three weeks then? I have the time off...*sigh*"
To which I weakly replied, "Uhhhh, staycation?"

If looks could kill.


So, I put on my big girl pants and I made a decision, of course, after watching "Midnight in Paris," "Ratatouille," "Amelie," and the clincher, "Passport to Paris." All best decisions are made with guidance from St. Mary Kate and Ashley, you know.

"Buy.The.Tickets. And hurry before the wine wears off!"

I've never seen someone navigate the United Airlines website so fast, (plus, thirty other tabs and a master spreadsheet of the already planned trip, because, engineer husband, and, he knew. He knew)


We did it! We had fun! We aren't scarred for life!

Here are a few key tips in making the transition from dream trip to reality.

...



1). {Practice Makes Perfect} In the three years of parenthood, we have consistently done date nights from the very beginning. Sprinkle in several girls trips for me, guys or work-related trips for Daniel, plus a few weekend getaways together, and Josiah has watched us go and come back, countless times. It's hard to describe the concept of time to a toddler, but we always try to differientate the different types of "going away."

Example: Date night can be an easy, last minute kind of thing, "We'll be gone for a little bit. See you when you wake up in the morning!" A longer vacation needs some more mental prep, (we began slightly mentioning a trip about two weeks in advance). A few days before we left, "We'll get on a plane at the airport and fly to Europe!" "You're gonna stay with grandma and grandpa and go on adventures!" "Come back and pick us up at the airport!" You can be "basically specific" at this age. Give the general details in a pleasant "no big deal" kind of way, don't get too emotional or worked up.  Also, have them try and go to the airport when you leave and arrive, if possible! The actual process of "watching" you get on the plane and then walk out of the plane gives that stable realness factor for them. (Josiah talked about picking me up from the airport after my NYC trip for months after!)

2). {Trust Your People} Without our family and friends, we couldn't have done this! We left Josiah in the care of a few of his most favorite people on this world. People who gave him treats and took him to the zoo and played Legos and kissed his owies. He was living the life! (I still remember when my grandparents took care of me: trips to Toys R Us, new clothes, MCDONALDS! and they just so happened to own several TCBY stores, so, as much yogurt and ice cream as I could eat). Your child quite possibly, could have more fun than you. ha.

3). {Plan and Prepare} Cross all those t's and dot those i's (especially especially especially if you are going overseas). Leave house keys, medical release notes, medicines, special blankets or stuffed animals, general schedule/information in an easy to find place, etc. I also put together care boxes for each set of grandparents, including diapers and wipes, extra toys, snacks, and a little surprise present for Josiah to open for each day we were gone.

4). {Communicate} Thankfully we live in an age of Skype, FaceTime, and Email. Make sure you can coordinate those chats in advance with your time differences. (We found that any face-to-face communication towards the 2nd half of our trip was becoming harder for Josiah, so the "out of sight out of mind" approach worked better. Daily emails with the grandparents worked well for everyone!)

5). {Let Go and Let God} Meaning, after all the planning and preparing and worrying, just GO! Don't feel guilty or anxious. Have fun, enjoy quality alone time with your S.O. and don't forget to pick up some souvenirs for your little one!



P.S. Don't pack heels. For the love of everything holy, don't pack heels. We witnessed so many women hobbling around like wounded horses on the cobblestones of Europe. Free entertainment for us...

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

I've Always Been a Tattletale

What has two, going on three years of this whole parenting thing turned me into? (not to mention the previous years spent babysitting and nannying, plus the prior years when I WAS the kid) Well, it makes me a professional playground aficionado. I know, big dreams people, big dreams.

Parks and play spaces-places-and areas oh my, I've been there done that, about a thousand times give or take. You always have a motley group of people at these family-friendly hot spots. These venues being, the general public, and all. Moms, dads, grandparents, nannies, whatever. Today, I want to talk about the three types of children you will inevitably encounter at the top, middle, or bottom of any given slide. 

#1. The supremely nice, sweet, and helpful child. Usually older, they will gravitate towards the younger toddlers in need of a helping hand. "Watch this, little one! Let me help you!" "Here, do you want to play with this?" "LEARN FROM ME!" You'll think to yourself, "Wait, did I miss the chapter where God sends his Son down to earth again?" They are actually that perfectly angelic. 

#2. The bully. Maybe they've fallen off of the tire swing a few too many times and thus must ruin every playground experience for every human they run into face to face. I always think maybe they're just "hangry." It always begins with a stare down, searching for their prey, and it always ends in a shove to the ground. His mother will appear with an admonishing, "You say sorry! Say sorry right now, Patrick Bateman!" 

#3. The bully...without...any...parental...supervision. They push, kick, shove, and take all day long. They live by the Outback restaurant slogan, "No rules, Just Right!" It's every child for themselves, literally. You give them the benefit of the doubt, "Oh you poor thing! No parents at all? Raised by a pack of Australian dingoes, tsk tsk. Here's a granola bar, please don't bite me."

Hashtag Note: Kids will be kids, boys will be boys (girls will be girls?), YOLO. I understand the general learning curve with sharing toys, taking turns, screaming, hitting, pushing, all the stuff that comes along with children learning how to be (hopefully) civilized (hopefully) #1 type adults. Kids are messy, loud, demanding, and misbehaving. I know, cause I have one, (and acknowledge that I have one). I'm actively trying to encourage him away from being a messy, loud, demanding, misbehaving adult.

I'm at the playground, usually drinking an iced Kicker from Dutch Bros, occasionally checking my phone (probably, counting down the time), talking with another parent, sitting, standing, or swinging. Always watching. I am always watching. My mothering type can be summed up in that Celine Dion song, "Near, far, wherever you are!" I may not be right by your side, but Josiah James, I know that you're on the other side of that picnic table thinking about picking up a dirty Mickey Mouse bandaid. And I will stop you, because I'm somehow watching you, (with my actual eyeballs, not the ones they say are in the back of my head).


For some parents, they think a play area means, "All this fun stuff is here so my kid is gonna have fun fun fun and be the funnest fun ever and fun! See you in two hours, come find me if you're bleeding. Never mind, just pick up that bandaid over there on the picnic table, but ONLY if you need it! Responsibility!" What their kid actually hears, "blah blah blah RELEASE THE KRAKEN!!! THERE WILL BE BLOOD blah blah blah! HAVE FUN, WHATEVER FUN MEANS TO YOU, YOU HAVE IT!"
They think a playground equals a public school education. "Here ye shall enter mid-morning, just a child, and in six hours time, shall emerge polite, refined, and one day closer to Harvard!"
These are the UN of parents. There will be peace, harmony, and someone else can always step in and handle it.

I don't want to step in and handle your feral cat-child-it. I'm over here trying to wrangle a two year old who's main mantra in life right now is, "What Would Curious George Do?" Inevitably, our two animal children will meet ever so briefly over by the sand pit whereupon yours shoves mine, for no reason at all. I can understand self-defense or if my son said you looked fat in those pants, but I'm pretty sure I saw none of that. Ya know. Cause I was watching, and he's only a two year old boy trying to show off his new hot wheels car. Here we go again. I, the lone adult in the situation, will pick up my crying toddler while yours scampers off into the bushes, hissing, "My preciousssssss!"

The last time I pushed someone was during recess in 2nd grade. Brandon. I pushed him off the swing after he stole it from me and said, "Sorry, babe." Of course, he totally deserved it. He cried, and I felt kinda bad and then Ms. Watson our recess monitor found out and I felt actually bad...in detention. My bullying days began and ended that day. A fleeting attempt, at best. I wonder though, if no authority had discovered my thirst for vengeance, would I still be pushing male chauvinists off of swing sets today? I mean, they totally deserve it.

...

The other morning at JJ Jump, we were stuck with a dreaded #3. A dreaded numero tres in the confines of a bouncy house. I'm not getting paid enough for this. My son would pick up a ball and across the room she hopped to steal it away and then body slam him to the floor AND then laugh maniacally. At first, I was all, "Haha! You silly rabbit! Be careful!" After the seventh purposeful attack though, I really wanted to say, "HEY! Leave my kid alone! By the way, there's no Santa Clause, it's just your parents. Wherever they are."
Eventually, Josiah was terrified of her and would leap into my arms for safety every time she even so much as glanced at him. (After she didn't listen to him while he wagged his finger saying, "No no no! I don't like that! Be nice.")

My optimism slowly faded.

"Maybe she's trying to play with you?
"Basketball? She's definitely trying to play basketball?
"Football?"
"Krav Maga?"
"How about you go grab the other ball?"
"How about the other other ball?"
"Let's just play in this corner."
"Ok. Let's just play in that corner."
"Tell her, 'No pushing please!'"
"Forget the please, forget the please, just say NO!"
"Son, sometimes bad things happen to good people..."
"With great power comes great responsibility."
"Yep, she's just the spawn of satan, I mean, a #3."

Eventually, eventually! her father comes over to check on how things are going. Oh, so the devil does wear hawaiian shirts and white socks with Birkenstocks. As he scans the aftermath of her bouncy house reign of terror, "Having fun, princess?" He looks at the battered children emerging from their hiding places, and I swear he says, "Looks like things are getting rough in there! Keep having funnnnnn!" Then...he...disappears. Before I can say, "Princess? C'mon, you mean, Sith Lord Darth Revan, right?" *mic drop*

He has vanished. Presumably back to his Iron Throne, while the battlefield action on air resumes.

Right on cue, the heavens part and a #1 floats over to the group of cowering two year olds. Extending a tie dyed rubber ball peacefully to my son, she says, "Here you go! Can you try and catch it?"

Our savior has arrived, wearing a Hello Kitty shirt nonetheless.


All is well in Playground Kingdom once more.
Until, tomorrow.


xoxo

{Bon Bon}

They Like Me. They Really Really Like Me.

{portrait drawn by my friend Jane}

Friends, it happened again. Just the other day. 
Which reminded me of when it happened a few months ago, and a couple months before that, and the year before that, and...


I was scouted by a modeling agent. Again. 

This time it was a Los Angeles casting producer from, "The Face." I had just changed Bean's diaper, had song and danced through the nap time routine, and then checked my email to see a, "Hey Bonnie! This is so and so from shmeeshmaashmeee and yada yada yada Naomi Campbell! Are you interested?" 

I never responded. 

Possibly, because Naomi Campbell terrifies the living bejeezus out of me, and please, don't you know Tyra Banks is my gurrrrrrl! 


Hopefully this won't sound like a pitiful "woe is me" kind of topic or that I'm acting like the stuck-up hair-primping emoticon girl you sometimes use in your texts. If you reallllllly know me in the real life, you'd know that when I was first scouted at the Sweet Factory at age 14, and started appearing in local advertisements, and was prepping for an imminent move to Asia, I plain ol' didn't want anyone to know. Ever.  

Someone brought a magazine plastered with my glossy face to school once, and I wanted to crawl under my desk until summer.  

That kind of attention was (is) not me. 
If they asked about the Nike casting call, I'd be like, "yeahhhh, hey! look! Audrey's sharing her lunchable! Pepperoni pizza!" 

I also know exactly what kind of model category I belong to. Not the supermodel one. Not the catalogue one. I'm in the weird one. You'd probably find my face in some underground campaign being shot by Juergen Teller. We'll just pretend it's either Marc Jacobs or Celine, (but most likely for some indie faux chinchilla overalls designer in Tokyo)

My "Look" since about 5th grade has been tall, scrawny, and "exotic." Well, exotic since birth...except then I looked like Dora the Explorer and now I look like, Jasmine or Mulan or Pocohontas. It changes on a daily basis. In Africa, everyone thought I was Lucy Lui. I swear, if I had a nickel for every time someone yelled "Charlie's Angels" at me...

Anywayyyyyyyy. I also look about 16 years old. That always helps. Badabingbadaboom.
Here come the model scouts. 

They have approached me at malls, grocery stores, parking lots, restaurants, state fairs, college campuses, sporting events, parks, beaches, on the street, by myself/with friends/with family, nationally, internationally, concerts, that one MUSE concert in particular where an agent from MUSE (modeling agency) approached me mid-slurp at the drinking fountain and all I heard was MUSE! and the business card said MUSE! and obviously after quickly putting two and two together, concluded that this must be my lucky MUSE! day. I was going to meet MUSE! (the band). She was handing me a backstage pass?! or something? gift card to the Matt Bellamy fan club? Free song download? 
"Wait. What?" 
"Have I ever modeled before? COME ON!"

I guess being asked those five words again and again over the past ten years, (TEN!) has jaded my view on the whole thing. Honestly, it is flattering. 
Someone (besides the plumber asking if my mom is home), thinks I'm still young.

xoxo

{Bon Bon} 

Bean: 22 Month Update

   This space hasn't seen too much Bean action as of late, not.ok. The man is almost two, eating like a teenager during football season, and keeps us on our toes all the live long day. I try to snap photos and write each and every sweetly hilarious anecdote down, (This Fall: Instagram is the new Blog?), because this whole childhood thing is a BLUR! I barely have time to filter that face before he's off to the races again. 

   As a child of the late 80s, I have a baby book, some toys, special clothes, a few VHS tapes, and maybe 32 good-ish photos of myself from the ages of newborn-18 years old, to encapsulate my formative years. I'm also a 2nd child, so a few of those "photos" might just be hand drawn pictures of my face... 

   I guess following Bean in his moments of discovering life and the world has made me appreciate those fleeting moments. Even in the mundane. 

   He has a talent for making the mundane exceptionally exciting. 

   For example, farting in the middle of a quiet Target aisle yesterday morning and then loudly exclaiming, "TOOT!!!!!!" Just in case anyone was wondering who did it or hadn't actually heard the loudest fart ever in the first place. No shame in this family. 

   (Kind of reminds me of one of those "Convos With my 2 Year Old" YouTube videos. Reenact with a full-grown man...not cute anymore)

   His first memory might not be of that one rainy afternoon where we sat in a homemade tent full of twinkle lights, 

(my 1st memory is watching the Indiana Jones show at DisneyWorld when I was three. Seriously. The earliest recollection that my brain can piece together is a giant ball rolling after a Harrison Ford look-alike), 

but I hope he will always remember how loved he is. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Bean is 22 Months old. 

This is what he's like most days: 

PLAY: Trucks and trains and anything with wheels! Books, puzzles, music, painting, sports, etc. He's a jack of all trades. A man's man. 

SAY: Recognizes full ABC's, Counting 1-20 (every time up AND down the stairs), points out several colors, loves saying names of things, stringing together words. 

Some new favorites phrases: 

"What is that?" 

"Where'd "insert name" go?" 

"There "insert name" is" 

"C'mon! Let's Go!" 

"Ready! Set! Go!" 

"Oh man! Awesome!"

"Ooooh, Nice!" 

"Mmmm. Smells Yummy!"

"How are you?" 

He knows so much. Blows my mind. When he gets focused on learning something, his brows will furrow and he'll ask you over and over to repeat something until he learns it. 

Example: Thomas Train Book/Bird Book. Names like "Skarloey" and "Kookaburra." Outrageous. 

EAT: Knows what he wants, when he wants it. Still loves meat, cheese, bread, fruit, pasta, etc. Became super picky with vegetables, (always a fan of squash, zucchini, potato, sweet potato, tomato, lettuce) a recent victory was telling him that broccoli are "little trees!" He will eat "little trees!" 

FAVORITES: DEEDEE!!!! (his lovey, I'll have to blog about it), playing hide-and-seek with DaDa, drums, dancing, (especially to Eric Hutchinson: "The People I Know"), slides, sandbox, tools, bubble baths, books, firetruck footie pajamas, closing doors, being "helpful," kisses, getting into everything! 

DISLIKES: Brushing teeth! It is usually a battle, right before bedtime, (How are kids so strong?!), sharing toys, (only child much?), if Dada or Mama hold another baby, (only child much?), when a train becomes disconnected and he can't fix it, (future engineer?), if his pants are too long, (that's a new one thanks to a summer full of shorts), and getting into his carseat.  

Whim Wham Weekend

Summer always embellishes that insane time-vortex phenomenon where the days feel looooooong yet the weeks zip by. The sugary good-full haze of blackberry basil lemonade, sweet tea, iced vanilla coffee, dirty shirley temples, and pisco punch sure help take the edge off of any impending vacation ending doom. You know, THE doom, when your cart rolls past the aisles of 50% off summer merchandise at Target and into the school supplies Abyss. 

I'm 25 years old, and a row of TI-84 graphing calculators still breaks me out in hives. 

Until the natural grey of the Pacific Northwest ushers us back inside, and until I need to find the sine, cosine, and/or tangent of life, we'll be outside sipping on Mexican Coca Cola, wearing flowers in our hair, and learning the art of the somersault. 

Summer School. 

A+++



FOLLOW ME ON: BLOGLOVN/INSTAGRAM/TWITTER

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

InstaWham Weekend

Two  words: Bulgogi Burritos. 

That about sums up our weekend. 

Plus, the always-appreciated verbiage of all things Summer. 

Portland sure does this whole June-August thing well. 

P.S. What do you guys think of the video option on Instagram? Yay or nay? I'm still trying to decide. A picture speaks a thousand words, right? 

...

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Hey June

W E E K E N D 

There was sunlight and sunbathing and splashing, 

farmer's markets and fresh berries and flowers, 

date night and disco ball shirt sleeves, 

and just all the best kinds of Summer-ish Cause/Effect. 

...

FOLLOW ME ON: BLOGLOVIN//INSTAGRAM//TWITTER

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Full Circle

{he begs to be outside all day every day. barely have enough time in the morning to drink some coffee before he steals my keys and tries to "unlock" the door}

Once the days get hotter and longer, I'm always reminded of one of my earliest memories...

the soft glow of late summer sun sneaking through my frilly polka dot curtains, while grumbling to anyone that would listen, mainly an audience of Barbies and Polly Pockets, that it was too early for bedtime. Eventually, (usually rather quickly), I'd drift off to dream, lulled by the hum of a lawnmower echoing up and down the country road. With a happy ache coursing from the soles of my feet to the hairs on my head.*

The days are hot and long. 

But the years are short. 

I think the Bean will have some good memories from these kinds of days too. 

Definitely the 11PM trip to Salt & Straw.

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

*Growing up, we had a forest and a huge tree fort in our backyard. And the river and pastures and horses and blackberry bushes and chickens and best friends right down the road. Outside all day long, until either lunch or dinner or bandaid time. Or tattletale time because my brother super soaker-ed me in the eye.

Seventeen

{I'm 17 months old, yeahyeahyeah!}

I must've blinked my eyes a few too many times since the Bean was born, because holy H-E Double Hockey Sticks this guy is like a real live person now, complete with thoughts, feelings, colloquialisms, and a train collection and everything! 

My lima bean is sprouting into a green bean, whomp whomp. BUT I am totally 92% ok with it. Really. 

Green beans (toddlers) are waaaaaaay better than lima beans (babies).* 

Besides the 24-7 lima bean snuggling, of course, because nothing is better than that.

Luckily, Mr. Grownup Green Bean still is quite snuggly and still is very much so the finders-keepers of Mama, (so, I guess we'll keep him. sheesh),

meaning, he loves me, and needs me, and must have me RIGHT NOW, and I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread, (Daniel is a very close 2nd, perhaps the greatest thing since sliced gluten free bread).

And he loves sliced bread, sure does. Especially with peanut butter.

He also loves dancing, yelling, whole milk, Mickey Mouse, anything with wheels, brushing his teeth, eating crayons, bubble baths, and the word "no," amongst many other things.

Another favorite pastime continues to be telling other children that they are being "doo woud!" aka "too loud!" (Even though he's being loud. We're trying to teach him what "irony" is. Also, "please" and "thank you")

17 Months going on 87! 

That's our Josiah "Bean" James. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon} 

*In vegetable and human theories. I DO love love LOVE babies. Don't get me wrong. But within that seemingly endless vortex of diapers and feedings from age 0-9months, when they must've sold 1/2 of your brain to the black market while you were in the hospital, and every day it's Mission Impossible: Operation Shower...and we had an easy baby! 

And then you think maybe, just maybe, that was a tiny smile. Yes. That was the 1st one. He actually knows me? He knows me! He thinks I'm funny! 

He LOVES me. 

Right? Baby? 

Hey, eyes up here. 

On the other hand, babies sleep all the time and coo softly in their strollers, instead of dumping applesauce all over your head and leaping out of their cart in the middle of World Market.  

Just embrace the moment. Whatever moment. Whatever time. 

It'll eventually make for some great wedding slideshow blackmail.  

Slow and Steady

Our little house has been our home for almost SIX months now, and our hearts are definitely here within these walls.

We've hosted birthday parties, dinner parties, slumber parties, basically, all.the.parties. since then.

The space and the freedom and the ownership, (let's pretend that whole mortgage thing isn't looming over our heads for the next 3 million months), and the natural light, and the sneaky feline that suspiciously lives in our basement and has a walk of shame across our driveway every morning while we eat breakfast...

It's been real good. 

That simply uncomplicated kind of contentment right there is what it's all about. 

And what I have to remind myself on a, gulp, sometimes daily basis. 

The decor. The vignettes. The not-too-literal and slightly-obscure collection of coffee table books artfully arranged just so.

Fun stuff, but not Real stuff.  

The story of my friend's toddler who wrote a love note to her parents in the form of Sharpie on Brand New Designer Couch kind of puts things back into perspective. 

At least, that's what I tell myself as I'm drooling through an issue of Cottage Style. 

...

xoxo

{Bon Bon}