A Case of "Mom-Brain"

I think I may have the blogger's version of writers' block, which, come to think of it, might be the same thing as regular writer's block. Lately, I find myself thinking about how I want to be writing and yet, there's this big fat blank that comes to mind whenever I consider putting a few sentences together.

However, as you may have noted by now, despite a bit of writer's block, I am nonetheless determined to string a few words together and see what comes of it. If nothing else, atleast I'm attempting to write and that's worth a little bit, isn't it? And if not, perhaps I'll burn a few calories doing some really fast typing.

There's not much to report these days from the mountain that we're currently living on. At the moment, I'm baking a butternut squash, doing laundry and wondering how much longer I have before The Babe wakes up from his nap. It's a small world these days and thankfully, we've had a few visitors lately to keep me from fully succumbing to "stay at-home-mom-induced-cabin-fever." This disorder is coupled with what my friend Abigail calls "mom-brain." Or I think that's what she calls it. My "mom-brain" tends to forget anything and everything said to me within a 3 hour or less window. It also has the tendency to manifest itself in slightly alarming bouts of A.D.D., which could occasionally be mistaken for Tourrette's Syndrome.

What does this look like exactly? Well, if we were having a conversation, I might be able to finish one or maybe two sentences before checking to see what small object (ex. fuzz, old peanut, dead ladybug, etc.) Sam is pinching from the floor in order to put into his mouth. Half a sentence later, I will, mid-sentence mind you, note that your shoelace is untied. Another two sentences and I have forgotten what I initially started to tell you in the first place, but no matter, I've already moved on to another topic sparked by Sam's celebratory outburst at having just removed his shoe.

In light of my tendency toward A.D.D. these days, I will now change topics before you've fully been able to process the last paragraph you've just read.

For those of you wondering what the heck is going on since we moved to Chattanooga, I'll sum up for you:

-We've visited 3 churches in 3 weeks. Right now, the front-runner is the one with the most-efficient nursery. (priorities = Sam)
-We discovered the Greenlife (a.k.a. Whole Foods) here in Chattanooga. I had no idea I was moving to a city with a Whole Foods and I may have had a little trouble sleeping a night or two just knowing it was a mere 20-25 minutes away.
-I've only been to Target once in 3 weeks. Tragedy.
-Sam has 2.5 new teeth since we arrived.
-Sam has bitten me with said new teeth more times than I can count. Not sure how to break this unfortunate habit yet.
-The husband and I have both had new tires put on our car.
-I've done approximately 13 loads of laundry.
-We had a thunderstorm last night that sounded like a hurricane. Sam slept through the whole thing.

Hm. I'm boring myself just typing this list. Staying at home with a 10 month old is both a joy and a brain-sucker. I love Sam more than I have words for and I'm so grateful that I'm at home with him witnessing every baby step he makes towards being a little person. But, somedays it does feel like the U.S. could have been taken over by the Chinese and I might not know about it for 3 days.

Obviously, as noted earlier, we did just move to a new city where we A. aren't yet plugged in to a church/community and B. don't know many people and C. get lost (or uncertain of our whereabouts) on occasion. I realize that with transition comes some uncomfortable-ness and occasionally some loneliness and I know all of that can't be blamed on being a stay-at-home mom. Sorry, Sam.

But, now I'm left with the question of where this writers' block is coming from. Is it a product of being overwhelmed by transition and change? Is it the aforementioned reality of "mom-brain"? Or, could it be that perhaps I need another spoonful of Nutella to spark a few new ideas for blog-posting?

Well, while you ponder that, a load of laundry is waiting to be transferred from the washer to the dryer. Here's hoping I have more to say next time I post. If not, I'm planning on sharing a few pictures of Sam doing something adorable instead.

Moose on the Loose

My friend Lesley in Knoxville, CEO of Peppered Paper, created a lovely birth announcement canvas for Sam a few months back. She just posted some pictures of it on her blog and so I thought I'd share. The "Moose on the Loose" song she references is one of Matt's old camp songs that we sing to Sam. It's a great one for drowning out the yelling (or calming Sam down) when the road trip gets too long.

If you've got a baby coming or you know someone who does, check out Lesley's website to see her imaginative artwork!

http://pepperedpaper.blogspot.com/2010/10/moose-on-loose.html.

Cabin Fever, Mall Kiosks and A Good Book

It's late and I should be in bed, but I'm trying to steal a few more minutes of time to myself, which is a rare commodity these days. I'm ok with that, but at the same time, an hour sans diaper changing or washing dishes or scanning the floor for small, mysterious things that could be mistaken for food by small people close to the ground is, as Mastercard might put it, "priceless."

I was almost swallowed whole by cabin fever today and since I couldn't get it together in time for Bible Study, I instead opted for a visit to The Mall. I know what you're thinking and I agree. Obviously, the mall is not an adequate substitute for the study of the Bible, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The mall visit was short and basically included three things: Chic fil a, a regretful and impetuous purchase at a random mall kiosk, and a visit to Barnes and Noble. My 6-count nugget Kid's Meal at Chic fil a was nice, despite being in the middle of a busy food court whilst feeding The Babe with one hand and myself with the other. But, what really made this venture to the mall rewarding was the 20 minutes I spent in Barnes and Noble.

When I have a moment to think about what I'd like to be doing on any given afternoon, it usually involves the dream of being by myself at Barnes and Noble, some sort of coffee beverage in my hand, leisurely wandering through the Fiction and Literature section of said store for as long as my little heart desires. On my very first Mothers' Day (which was this year), I requested as my gift from Matt (and Sam) an hour at B & N by myself and a little spending money for a book or two. Despite the fact that the hour ended up only being 45 minutes for one reason or another, it was a glorious forty and five minutes. Two books, a magazine and a cafe latte later, I was a new woman.

If you aren't a book lover or a word lover of some sort, you probably won't understand how incredibly comforting and exhilarating the smell of a new, freshly published book can be. I felt my heart unfold a little as I pushed Sam's stroller through the aisles of lovely covers and intriguing titles this afternoon. I love seeing familiar books that I've read more than once dolled up in new covers (today's favorite was "Out of Africa's" fancy new book jacket). I also love discovering new titles that I've yet to read and dream of reading one after another after Sam graduates from high school, eighteen years from now. Sigh.

Out of all those thousands of books on the shelves today, I found myself purchasing one I've read twice already. C.S. Lewis says something about what it means to read a book more than once and I wish I could remember what it was he said. I think it's something relatively close to "a book worth reading is worth reading more than once." It's possible I just made up that quote, but it reminds me of something Lewis said once...or maybe said. Sort of.

Anyhoo, I wandered over to the biography section of B & N hoping to find a copy of Condaleeza Rice's new book, as I'd just seen her interviewed about it yesterday and found my interest piqued. But, instead, I saw the familiar green cover of Martha Beck's Expecting Adam and knew immediately that I needed to read it for a third time. I won't explain why this book is one of my favorites here, but I will say that it is totally worth your time.

I felt that lovely satisfaction of purchasing something worthwhile as I swiped my card and walked out with my B & N bag hung over the handle of Sam's stroller. I'm hopeful that tomorrow's weather is overcast (i.e. perfect reading weather) and that Sam takes a long afternoon nap (i.e. wishful thinking).

Ah, Barnes and Noble, you were the welcome antidote to a bout of cabin fever and a refuge from the intellectual black hole that stay-at-home motherhood can sometimes be.

Now, if only I could undo that unfortunate mall kiosk purchase...

Sam Makes a Furry Friend

I'm not too savvy with posting pictures just yet, so forgive the odd composition of this post and the lack of descriptions. These are just a few shots of Sam (and Matt) hanging out with Chloe, the cat. Sam is a major fan of Chloe and most anything else that comes with fur, including those of you with handsome beards and/or mustaches.

Perhaps you can tell in these photos that Sam is rather eager to get hold of Chloe. Luckily for her, she's a quick kitty. Otherwise, she'd have a few bald spots by now.

I hear the babe waking up from his nap. Off I go.




Sam at sunset.


Chloe, the new friend.

The Little Monster

No, I'm not referring to Lady Gaga's strange term of endearment for her fans, which is a new level of weird for pop culture. I'm talking about the little guy down the hall who's currently napping with his behind up in the air.

Before Sam was born, people gave us sweet onesies that said "I love Mommy" and "Baby Boys are the Best" and other such nice things. But, in the midst of that sentimentality, there was also the baby t-shirt with the dinosaur on the front and the words "Mommy's Little Monster." Something about that phrase offended my motherly sensibilities. I even took some of those "monster" outfits back, because my new baby wasn't going to be a "little monster" and his poop was going to smell like baby powder and fresh flowers. Right?

I have since woken up from that dream and been ushered into the world of stinky diapers. Sam now wears his dinosaur t-shirt, proudly proclaiming that he is, indeed, a little monster.

Matt usually goes to get Sam every morning and brings him to me around 7:30am. Usually this routine includes my opening my eyes to find Sam's four-toothed grin an inch and a half from my face. It's a sweet moment. And then, Sam gets a fistful of my hair and pulls my face toward his open mouth so that he can bite the heck out of my cheekbone. It's funny. But, it hurts.

This morning I realized that Sam has started to do a baby version of a growl and at the same time, he crawls around looking for something to sink his teeth into. The computer cord, the chair leg, my collar bone. Nothing is safe from those four, razor-sharp teeth.

I'm constantly amazed by the strength of this little guy. Every time I pull him close for a "hug", I end up half-laughing, half-crying as I struggle to extricate my hair from his little cheerio-scented fingers. And then he does his baby growl, with a toothy, drooling grin, and moves in for the bite. Pretty soon I'm going to be covered in mini-toothmarks that might be hard to explain at parties.

And yet, this little monster stage is pretty incredible. Matt and I laugh all the time at the antics of this 18 pound boy wonder. In the middle of stressful budget conversations and occasional tiffs, we find ourselves thankfully distracted by Sam stretching both arms straight up in the air and letting out a loud "yawp." It's hilarious. I promise. If you were here, you'd think so, too.

I can't get enough of this little guy. And I can't imagine my life without him. I'm happy to have my own personal Little Monster who hides cheerios in his diaper and has seriously awesome bed hair.

It's enough to make me want a second one. I think.

Home is Where the Crown-Molding Is

I lived in two different dorms in college and then in a lake house for a semester and for that last semester and a half I lived in a restored old house across the street from school. I had approximately 7.5 roommates during that four years and a summer term.

After college I moved to Nashville where I lived in a house with a family for a year, in West Meade with two girls and two cats, a condo on West End Avenue for a summer, a dollhouse with a friend in Green Hills for a little less than a year and then finally in a house not far from that last house with two other friends and no cats. The last room I lived in had red curtains for doors.

Then there was my fabulous, obsessively neat 70 year old studio apartment in Knoxville's Sequoyah Hills. This ranks up there as probably my favorite abode over the past 14 years. Possibly because I was the only occupant and could order things according to my OCD tendencies. I could also watch endless Felicity and Gilmore Girl marathons with no one to judge me. I lived there for a little over two years and I still miss it.

In 2007 I got engaged and got married that fall. We moved into a two bedroom up the street from my beloved studio. It was like the studio only bigger. Plus: Hardwood floors, big windows, high ceilings. Minus: No central heating or air, no washer or dryer, no dishwasher, occasional camel crickets (my personal nemesis). It was a lovely place for the year that we lived there. I've driven by it since then and tried to pretend that I could waltz in the front door and everything would be the same as it was 3 years ago. But, the current tenant has posted a concrete head sculpture on the front porch and that's effectively ruined my daydream.

For 9 months we lived in Clemson. That wasn't my best year so I won't say much about that. I will say that the duplex we lived in was tainted by the morning sickness I endured soon after we discovered Sam was joining our family.

And then there was Knoxville again. We moved into my in-laws' upstairs, which had been an apartment at one time. I have to say, I really loved living in that upstairs and was able to create a sweet little nursery for Sam who was born while we lived there. I have great memories of that year living with my husband's parents. I also unexpectedly miss the 58 inch television with its one million channels. I didn't think I would, but I do.

That brings us to now. We moved to Chattanooga roughly 3 days ago and some dear friends are letting us live in their downstairs apartment until we find our own place. To sum up: two bedrooms, one bath and a view that no camera could ever do justice.

But, I have to admit something. I'm tired of moving. I'm over packing up boxes, storing things in storage, starting over in new houses with different ovens that bake at differing temperatures. I want to move somewhere and throw out all the boxes because we don't plan on using them for a long, long time. Maybe even have a box burning in the back yard.

In a word, I want STABILITY. And I don't care who knows it.

I drove around today after Bible study exploring the area where we're living for the moment, visiting the local Starbucks and marveling at the beautiful houses and breathtaking views along the way. And in the midst of all that, I couldn't help but wonder when Matt and Sam and I would have our own home. Not a big fancy house, but a real home where we could create traditions and memories. I realize that I could possibly be idealizing (or maybe even idolizing) the concept of home. In my mind there's this perfect place full of natural light and the smell of gingerbread where I can set our hundreds of books on bookshelves, bake mounds of cookies in my kitchen, have pizza and movie night with Matt (and Sam, once his bedtime gets moved up past 8), invite friends over for dinner and conversation and game night, and the list goes on of all the things I dream of doing in this place called Home.

I'm wondering how much of this desire for a home is about being female and wanting security and a place to settle and nest and nurture children. Do men dream about home the way women do? I kind of doubt it. I think Matt dreams more about Red Zone and camping trips and Papa Murphy's pizza. (If you're reading this, Sweetie, I know there's more to you than that).

The other thing I'm wondering about is the reality of a home requiring a down payment and a mortgage and homeowner's insurance and maintenance. All those things don't figure in to my daydreams very well. I hope that in my desire for a home I'm not simply imagining the current cultural trappings of the American dreamhouse, a la granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors. Obviously, I appreciate all those things, but I'm trying really hard not to believe that the having or the lack of having those things can keep me from creating a home wherever it is we end up living.

How do I keep myself from confusing crown molding and double bathroom sinks and walk in closets with the makings of a real Home? I keep getting lost in the details of wanting a perfect space but I also feel conviction knowing that I don't NEED all those things to have a happy home.

Sigh.

Another sigh.

In the meantime, I'm scouring Craigslist for affordable rentals and hoping to find something that doesn't require bars on the windows or double deadbolts.

The Bitter and the Sweet

It's a bit surreal to be typing this, but we are officially moving. To Chattanooga. Next Week.

Matt came home early today after resigning from his job and suddenly, everything is moving very, very fast. I'm packing up Sam's room and looking at our things and wondering which we should put into storage for now and which should come with us. For someone with borderline clinical OCD (this hasn't been officially confirmed by anyone with credentials), the prospect of moving is taking my breath away a little bit.

And yet, it's exciting. The thought of a new life in a new city, just me and Matt and the babe, is rather exhilarating. I'm wondering who our friends will be and what parks we'll frequent and where I'll do our grocery shopping. I'm already mentally decorating a house/apartment/condo that hasn't materialized just yet. And best of all, we get to start this new life in The Fall. Moving our stuff in 65 degree weather while leaves fall on our heads. Perfect.

Matt starts his new job This Monday, which is making our heads spin a little. I'll be staying this week to pack up our things and take care of some of the details of closing up shop here. And that's where the bitter part of the "bittersweet" nature of this transition comes in. Saying goodbye. I don't really want to. I already feel somewhat heavy with the thought of leaving dear friends and places that I've loved being. I'm pouting over The French Market being 2 hours away already. Is it wrong to be emotional about crepes? I'm not sure. I kind of want to stop in and say goodbye to those crepe-makers who've made it worth getting out of bed early on a Saturday morning. Ok, so I won't actually shed any tears over a restaurant, but I might over the lovely downtown here in Knoxville that Matt and I have wandered through on quite a few date nights.

As I'm typing this, I'm volunteering at our church that we have loved so much. Redeemer has been such a significant part of our life here in Knoxville and we are going to sorely miss it along with the dear friends and pastors who have enriched our lives in the relatively short time we've been here. I miss it already and we still have nursery duty this Sunday.

Oddly enough, I will miss living with my inlaws more than I would have expected and I'm guessing they'll miss us quite a bit as well. Who would have guessed last summer when we moved in that over a year later I would a. still be living with my inlaws and b. be sad to move out. They've been so incredible during this weird transition time in our little family's life and having them around to help with Sam has been huge. I wish we could buy them something big to show our thanks, like a hot tub with all the bells and whistles. But, I think we'll have to settle for a gift card to Home Depot.

Lastly, I will miss all the marvelous friends that have been in our life this past year. I won't even try to list them because I'd leave someone out and also because you probably don't want to read a list of people that you don't know. It would be a little like a blog version of the biblical Book of Numbers. Specifically, though, I have to mention Molly and Leigh Ann, my dear neighbors on our lovely little street, who I've spent the most time with during this season of Sam. We've walked and talked and had playdates and shared baby info and braved consignments and been witness to the first year of each of our children's lives. I am seriously sad to leave these two fellow mamas and their adorable little mini people.

Ok, now I'm getting sad. I must remind myself that Chattanooga and Knoxville are not far from each other and that I could be up here in time for a crepe on any given Saturday morning. Whew. That thought made me feel better.

Knoxville, you are a better city than I gave you credit for 6 years ago and I'm proud to have called myself a Knoxvillian for a little while.

Chattanooga, here we come.