Dear Brooklyn,
Now that you're almost two years old, you still have no idea how to read this. That's alright. I'm going to print it off so that you can read it later. Don't say I never think ahead! I have so many hopes for you and your future, but right now there are a few things that I always want to encourage you to do.
I want you to understand the word "no." This isn't because I wish you'd stop standing in your highchair, climbing on the table, or asking to play Pop Pop for the millionth time (although, I won't complain if you DO stop doing those things). This is because I want you to understand that there's always something better behind the word "no." There's an opportunity you just aren't seeing, or a chance you aren't willing to take. "NO" does not have to be a discouraging word. It isn't the end-all, be-all. When you hear the word no, from me or anyone else, take it as a chance to find the yes. No means that ONE door is closed, but not ALL of them.
I want you to work hard. More importantly, I want you to work hard at whatever makes you happy. I cannot pick your profession or your hobbies, and I'll do my best not to push my preferences on you. I'm not saying you have to be the best, or be the winner. You are allowed to fail, because that's what we do as humans. Your parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents have all failed at some point in their life. Learn from it, and work harder to succeed if it's what makes you happy. Be a firefighter. Be a lawyer or a doctor. Be someone who works odd jobs and enjoys each day as it comes. Whatever you do, don't do it because it's the easy way Don't rely on what others give you, but always be accepting of help. Work hard to do what you really, really love. That, to me (and of course this entire letter is my opinion) is how you'll really feel successful.
I want you to give second chances, but in a smart way. Don't listen to the he-said-she-said about people; make judgements for yourself. Allow yourself to be a blank slate to each person that you meet, regardless of their reputations. I don't want you to be a doormat, or let an axe murderer into your home. What I do want is for you to understand the importance of a second chance in a tortured life. People are often aware when they burn bridges, and many are trying to rebuild to new paths. There's something quite honorable about recognizing a difficult journey and offering a helping hand to those around you. As I have previously stated, all of us have failed at one point. Some of us make bigger mistakes than others. Having said that, be open to what you can learn from the mistakes of others. Listen to their stories with compassion and an open mind. As they say, "Don't be quick to judge, lest ye be judged yourself."
I could go on for hours, write a million pages, and wish a million things for you. I know that it won't be easy, because these are all lessons that are taught, not inherent within ourselves. I promise to do my best to help you learn to do these things, and so much more. I promise to help you ride a bike. I promise to let you dress yourself (in weather appropriate clothing) even if it clashes. I promise to take you down the truck aisle AND the Barbie aisle. I promise to let you be yourself.
My biggest promise, and most important, is that I will always love and protect you. Life isn't going to be easy, and I'm going to do my best to help you through it one step (one biiig step for those short, chunky, perfect legs) and one day at a time. I will always be there, and I want you to know that.
Love always,
Mama
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Friday, May 8, 2015
For a World that Values Strength: A Moment of Honest Weakness.
I can no longer stay silent.
I can't sit in my office this morning and do my normal things. I cannot clear the foggy feeling of tears out of my eyes. I can't take away pain, or anger, or frustration, or suffering. But one thing I can do is tell you that you are not alone.
There are days when getting out of bed is hard. I've been there. I have smiled through social events that I just didn't feel like I could be at. I'm not through those woods yet; I'm still walking in them every day. I know how your heart can hurt. So many of us play strong because it's what is "expected of us" by so many people. We cover our sadness with busy schedules, or waste our day trying to find a bit of laughter on Netflix. Our society tells us that it's only okay to be strong. It's okay to be strong.
It's also okay to be falling apart.
If you never hear it from anyone, please hear this now: you are loved. You are so loved, more than you can possibly imagine. You are loved more than I could ever put into words. And the people that love you don't want you to be strong. They want to take you as you are. They want you broken, and messy, and suffering. It's hard to hear and it is even harder to understand, but it's true. You are loved.
My brother-in-law posted this on Facebook yesterday, and I wanted to share it with you:
"Aren't all these notes the senseless writings of a man who won't accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
My notes are senseless writings, and we are suffering. I am suffering with you.
I can no longer stay silent. We are all broken, we are all hurting. We aren't weak. We are human.
It's okay,
It's fine to be not fine,
You are loved.
I promise.
I can't sit in my office this morning and do my normal things. I cannot clear the foggy feeling of tears out of my eyes. I can't take away pain, or anger, or frustration, or suffering. But one thing I can do is tell you that you are not alone.
There are days when getting out of bed is hard. I've been there. I have smiled through social events that I just didn't feel like I could be at. I'm not through those woods yet; I'm still walking in them every day. I know how your heart can hurt. So many of us play strong because it's what is "expected of us" by so many people. We cover our sadness with busy schedules, or waste our day trying to find a bit of laughter on Netflix. Our society tells us that it's only okay to be strong. It's okay to be strong.
It's also okay to be falling apart.
If you never hear it from anyone, please hear this now: you are loved. You are so loved, more than you can possibly imagine. You are loved more than I could ever put into words. And the people that love you don't want you to be strong. They want to take you as you are. They want you broken, and messy, and suffering. It's hard to hear and it is even harder to understand, but it's true. You are loved.
My brother-in-law posted this on Facebook yesterday, and I wanted to share it with you:
"Aren't all these notes the senseless writings of a man who won't accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
My notes are senseless writings, and we are suffering. I am suffering with you.
I can no longer stay silent. We are all broken, we are all hurting. We aren't weak. We are human.
It's okay,
It's fine to be not fine,
You are loved.
I promise.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
When the Radio Gets It Right: Stay With Me.
The first time I heard Sam Smith's "Stay With Me", the radio had been turned on mid-song. The volume was low, and so I wasn't fully paying attention to the lyrics. The most I pulled from it was the first two lines of the chorus, and I figured it was just another melodic love song attempting to be the next "All of Me" by John Legend. This blog intro is an apology to Sam Smith. I was completely and totally wrong.
It's no doubt that women are crushing the pop music scene right now. That doesn't mean that what they are producing should be considered quality music, but they are reigning in the top charts. While this trend has been growing for a while now, I noticed it more after "Blurred Lines" came out last summer. That song was met with extreme polarity; people loved it or hated it. There was no middle ground. I found myself in the latter group, finding the song and the video just awfully distasteful. It came to my realization that most male musicians only write about two things: sex or love. Quite often these two subjects don't coincide in the same song. Unless you are Bruno Mars*.
I want to be clear. I'm fully aware that in "Stay With Me" there's a lyric that says, "This ain't love, it's clear to see." The reason I find this song so refreshing is because of the approach it's taking about it's subject matter. If you look at all of the songs on the radio with sexual intentions (and there are a plethora) that are sung by male performers, they usually are devoid of any emotion. They are men, manly men, being manly about man stuff. I'm not saying that I don't jam to "Wiggle" by Jason Derulo, I'm just saying that the spectrum of emotion within the lyrics is pretty small.
Sam Smith had the audacity to put something on the radio that tells us men can get emotional about sexual situations. The NERVE! That's pretty bold for some dude that sings like a chick.
No, but seriously, I have nothing but appreciation for his boldness. For all of you who still get instant Hulk-rage when "Blurred Lines" comes on the radio, take a listen to this song. It's not an amazing instrumental piece. It's not the greatest hit of 2014 but it deserves to be recognized, even if only for a moment. It's simple, it's easy to understand, and it's an honest look at how some people work. Not just rappers and those guys in Maroon 5.
Take a listen if you haven't already heard this song. I hope you understand and appreciate it in the same way that I do. If not, feel free to tell me that I'm an idiot for thinking this song is what we needed on the radio after the last few years.
Also, here's my PSA reminding you how important music is to young people and communities. Please pay attention to what you listen to, not just the beat. Hear what musicians are trying to say, and decide if that's actually worth listening to.
*Bruno, if you're reading this blog (with Sam Smith, obviously) please stop. Just stop. We don't need anymore songs about gorillas or grenades. The next thing you know, you're combining those and writing a love song about guerrilla warfare. Just stop.
It's no doubt that women are crushing the pop music scene right now. That doesn't mean that what they are producing should be considered quality music, but they are reigning in the top charts. While this trend has been growing for a while now, I noticed it more after "Blurred Lines" came out last summer. That song was met with extreme polarity; people loved it or hated it. There was no middle ground. I found myself in the latter group, finding the song and the video just awfully distasteful. It came to my realization that most male musicians only write about two things: sex or love. Quite often these two subjects don't coincide in the same song. Unless you are Bruno Mars*.
I want to be clear. I'm fully aware that in "Stay With Me" there's a lyric that says, "This ain't love, it's clear to see." The reason I find this song so refreshing is because of the approach it's taking about it's subject matter. If you look at all of the songs on the radio with sexual intentions (and there are a plethora) that are sung by male performers, they usually are devoid of any emotion. They are men, manly men, being manly about man stuff. I'm not saying that I don't jam to "Wiggle" by Jason Derulo, I'm just saying that the spectrum of emotion within the lyrics is pretty small.
Sam Smith had the audacity to put something on the radio that tells us men can get emotional about sexual situations. The NERVE! That's pretty bold for some dude that sings like a chick.
No, but seriously, I have nothing but appreciation for his boldness. For all of you who still get instant Hulk-rage when "Blurred Lines" comes on the radio, take a listen to this song. It's not an amazing instrumental piece. It's not the greatest hit of 2014 but it deserves to be recognized, even if only for a moment. It's simple, it's easy to understand, and it's an honest look at how some people work. Not just rappers and those guys in Maroon 5.
Also, here's my PSA reminding you how important music is to young people and communities. Please pay attention to what you listen to, not just the beat. Hear what musicians are trying to say, and decide if that's actually worth listening to.
*Bruno, if you're reading this blog (with Sam Smith, obviously) please stop. Just stop. We don't need anymore songs about gorillas or grenades. The next thing you know, you're combining those and writing a love song about guerrilla warfare. Just stop.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Now Leaving the Comfort Zone.
There's a blood drive going on in the basement of the church today, and I forgot to sign up. I trudged downstairs and put my name on the list. I will now be thinking about donating blood for the next 24 hours until it's over. I go through this ever time I donate. Needles freak me out. My veins are tiny and they tend to roll. Donating blood, 95% of the time, is a slow and frustrating process for me. My week would be immensely better if I didn't have to donate blood.
So why do I put myself through it? Simply because my temporary discomfort is infinitesimal compared to what the person receiving my blood is going through.
As our mission trip approaches this year, I've been witnessing the discomfort of both parents and youth in our county. We'll be departing for Pine Ridge, South Dakota in a little over a week. While there's excitement buzzing about, there are also some very apparent nerves. Will we be safe? What does the shower situation look like? Where are we sleeping? What kind of food will we be eating? I cannot place these questions solely on others. They have been swirling in my mind as well, along with some more specific worries. How will Jim handle being a "single dad" for a week? Will I be able to pump enough to keep up my milk supply? If we took a minute to really talk about it, you'd be surprised at how much worry (along with joy!) there is when we leave our comfort zone.
That's how we live, isn't it? We live in our box of expectations. We unpack our lives into these tiny little comfort zones because they keep us safe. They keep us happy. They allow us to avoid discomfort...at all costs.
What if we looked around to realize that maybe, just maybe, our discomfort can allow others to succeed? On this upcoming trip to Pine Ridge, there is a pretty good chance that we will find ourselves uncomfortable. It might get too hot, the bus might be cramped, the days might be long, and the showers may be short. However all of that will pale in comparison to the work we will be doing. This is true in all aspects of life. We shouldn't be focused on the hardships we are facing, but the rewards that may come when they are finished.
Our boxes are comfortable. We can ask a million questions, read a million articles/blogs/books, and worry until we are sick. Truthfully, nothing will fully prepare you for what is going to happen once you're out of that box. The beauty of stepping into the unknown is the fact that it is unknown. We benefit greatly when we learn from experience. We should benefit spiritually when we help others - comfortable or not.
Donate blood. Do mission work in unknown places. Mow someone's yard for them on a really hot day. Shovel snow for them when it's thirty below. And as always...
So why do I put myself through it? Simply because my temporary discomfort is infinitesimal compared to what the person receiving my blood is going through.
As our mission trip approaches this year, I've been witnessing the discomfort of both parents and youth in our county. We'll be departing for Pine Ridge, South Dakota in a little over a week. While there's excitement buzzing about, there are also some very apparent nerves. Will we be safe? What does the shower situation look like? Where are we sleeping? What kind of food will we be eating? I cannot place these questions solely on others. They have been swirling in my mind as well, along with some more specific worries. How will Jim handle being a "single dad" for a week? Will I be able to pump enough to keep up my milk supply? If we took a minute to really talk about it, you'd be surprised at how much worry (along with joy!) there is when we leave our comfort zone.
That's how we live, isn't it? We live in our box of expectations. We unpack our lives into these tiny little comfort zones because they keep us safe. They keep us happy. They allow us to avoid discomfort...at all costs.
What if we looked around to realize that maybe, just maybe, our discomfort can allow others to succeed? On this upcoming trip to Pine Ridge, there is a pretty good chance that we will find ourselves uncomfortable. It might get too hot, the bus might be cramped, the days might be long, and the showers may be short. However all of that will pale in comparison to the work we will be doing. This is true in all aspects of life. We shouldn't be focused on the hardships we are facing, but the rewards that may come when they are finished.
Our boxes are comfortable. We can ask a million questions, read a million articles/blogs/books, and worry until we are sick. Truthfully, nothing will fully prepare you for what is going to happen once you're out of that box. The beauty of stepping into the unknown is the fact that it is unknown. We benefit greatly when we learn from experience. We should benefit spiritually when we help others - comfortable or not.
Donate blood. Do mission work in unknown places. Mow someone's yard for them on a really hot day. Shovel snow for them when it's thirty below. And as always...
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Bad Momma Post: My Daughter Is Not a Princess.
Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I'm a "bad mom". It's entirely possible. My mom and dad were amazing parents, and I've previously blogged about what their parenting style helped me to accomplish in my life thus far. The very first lesson I wrote about is how my parents taught me to have realistic expectations about life. This doesn't mean they discouraged me in my endeavors. They knew whatever I put my mind to I would succeed at. They also knew that letting me live in a fantasy world wasn't healthy. I would never be a Rockette - I wasn't tall enough. I would never fly fighter jets - my vision is simply too bad. These are facts of life.
So here's my jaded fact of life: my daughter is not a princess.
A princess, by definition, is the daughter (or close female relative) of a monarch. As sad as it is to admit, I am not a monarch. Jim is not a monarch. In the literal sense my daughter is not a princess. She is the beautiful, wonderful daughter of a mechanic and a youth minister. She ain't no highborn.
I'm not 100% sure why, but hearing Brooklyn be called a "little princess" just makes my skin crawl. I know it shouldn't. I know that they are just words. But words have an impact. I don't want to have her hearing she's a dainty princess as she grows up, and then consider herself too posh for the rest of the world. I want her to get messy. I want her to be a warrior for herself. I don't want to raise a damsel in distress. If she wants to be Cinderella for Halloween? Great. If she wants dress up clothes, barbies, stick-on earrings, and the whole shebang? Not a problem.
Oh, and if my daughter wants a Tonka truck and a G.I. Joe? She can have them, because as far as I'm concerned toys are toys and she deserves to be happy.
Perhaps this all comes from a fear that I won't be able to raise a child who thinks for herself, and defends herself. I get anxious she'll end up being demanding and spoiled rotten. Realistically, I think it's just because she's legitimately not a princess. It almost feels like you're trying to assign her career choices early. To me, it's the same as going up to a little boy and saying, "What an adorable little King!" or "Who's the cutest president in the world?"
So, there's my rant. My daughter is not a princess. She is my daughter, and she's wonderful. I want her to be happy and successful. More importantly, I want her to be what she wants. Princess, tax attorney, or sewer maintenance worker...it's her life to choose.
And if by some miracle she meets a prince and marries him? Then please print this blog out and proceed to watch me put my foot in my mouth. However, until then, she's not a princess. She's a beautiful little girl with her whole life ahead of her...and cynical mother to see her through it.
So here's my jaded fact of life: my daughter is not a princess.
A princess, by definition, is the daughter (or close female relative) of a monarch. As sad as it is to admit, I am not a monarch. Jim is not a monarch. In the literal sense my daughter is not a princess. She is the beautiful, wonderful daughter of a mechanic and a youth minister. She ain't no highborn.
I'm not 100% sure why, but hearing Brooklyn be called a "little princess" just makes my skin crawl. I know it shouldn't. I know that they are just words. But words have an impact. I don't want to have her hearing she's a dainty princess as she grows up, and then consider herself too posh for the rest of the world. I want her to get messy. I want her to be a warrior for herself. I don't want to raise a damsel in distress. If she wants to be Cinderella for Halloween? Great. If she wants dress up clothes, barbies, stick-on earrings, and the whole shebang? Not a problem.
Oh, and if my daughter wants a Tonka truck and a G.I. Joe? She can have them, because as far as I'm concerned toys are toys and she deserves to be happy.
Perhaps this all comes from a fear that I won't be able to raise a child who thinks for herself, and defends herself. I get anxious she'll end up being demanding and spoiled rotten. Realistically, I think it's just because she's legitimately not a princess. It almost feels like you're trying to assign her career choices early. To me, it's the same as going up to a little boy and saying, "What an adorable little King!" or "Who's the cutest president in the world?"
So, there's my rant. My daughter is not a princess. She is my daughter, and she's wonderful. I want her to be happy and successful. More importantly, I want her to be what she wants. Princess, tax attorney, or sewer maintenance worker...it's her life to choose.
And if by some miracle she meets a prince and marries him? Then please print this blog out and proceed to watch me put my foot in my mouth. However, until then, she's not a princess. She's a beautiful little girl with her whole life ahead of her...and cynical mother to see her through it.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
No, Your Makeup Doesn't Look Natural.
So, I was browsing Pinterest the other evening looking for blog ideas. I am plumb stuck on what to blog about. I pinned a few different DIY things that I figured I could try and post my results, but I wasn't enthralled with most of the possibilities. Most things would have required a trip to the store. I'm lazy, so those options were out.
Finally, I got inspired by a "natural makeup" tutorial that I happened upon. I've seen many of these before on YouTube, Pinterest, and in countless fashion magazines. They all promise a simple solution to "getting that natural, summer look," or something like that. I think. Anyway, I got really frustrated when I realized how unnatural these "natural" looks were supposed to be.
So I decided, what the heck? Maybe they look unnatural because the models are just naturally waaaaayy better looking than 80% of the population. Maybe if I used these tricks on myself, they really WOULD look natural. I've been wrong before. So, I gathered up my makeup and went to work. I realized how under prepared I was, as I only own a few different palates and what I call "the basics". Here's the results:
For those of you who are curious, here's what went into that "natural" look:
- Face: Moisturizer, spot cover-up on my pimples, foundation, bronzer, and powder
- Eyes: 3 different shadow colors, eyeliner, eyelashes curled and mascara.
- Eyebrows were highlighted and filled in
I know that there could be more that could be done...but can we please, PLEASE stop calling this a natural look!? I'm not anti-makeup. I understand the purpose, and it's great. Having said that, there is nobody that wakes up and looks like the last picture. Nobody. Not even Beyoncé.
So put on the makeup if you want, but pleeaaaasseee stop saying that it's natural. And here's my hippie-dippy plea of the day: just embrace the natural. I fully believe that one of the reasons that I normally have nice skin is because I don't put lots of junk on my face every day. I can tell you that the people who care about you don't care about your pimples, or your linear and patchy eyebrows. Chances are, they don't even notice. And if they do notice? Well, they probably just don't give a flying hoot.
The best part about this blog? As I'm finishing it up, Jim walks in and looks at me and says, "Why do you look so red?" He actually sounded concerned. I explained that I was trying out a "natural look" from Pinterest, and showed him the rest of my makeup. His response? "Yeah, that's a lot. I honestly almost didn't recognize you."
Here's to you, Jim Hudson, for thinking my natural makeup look wasn't so natural. And thank you for acknowledging that the makeup is pretty (hey, it took WORK), but preferring the everyday me instead. Oh, and for picking me a daisy.
And here's to the ladies, who are all probably bigger babes under the makeup than they think they are.
Finally, I got inspired by a "natural makeup" tutorial that I happened upon. I've seen many of these before on YouTube, Pinterest, and in countless fashion magazines. They all promise a simple solution to "getting that natural, summer look," or something like that. I think. Anyway, I got really frustrated when I realized how unnatural these "natural" looks were supposed to be.
So I decided, what the heck? Maybe they look unnatural because the models are just naturally waaaaayy better looking than 80% of the population. Maybe if I used these tricks on myself, they really WOULD look natural. I've been wrong before. So, I gathered up my makeup and went to work. I realized how under prepared I was, as I only own a few different palates and what I call "the basics". Here's the results:
 |
| BEFORE with glasses. |
 |
| AFTER with glasses |
 |
| BEFORE without glasses, but with a sweet pimple and crooked eye. |
 |
| AFTER without glasses, pimple, and crooked eye.
|
- Face: Moisturizer, spot cover-up on my pimples, foundation, bronzer, and powder
- Eyes: 3 different shadow colors, eyeliner, eyelashes curled and mascara.
- Eyebrows were highlighted and filled in
I know that there could be more that could be done...but can we please, PLEASE stop calling this a natural look!? I'm not anti-makeup. I understand the purpose, and it's great. Having said that, there is nobody that wakes up and looks like the last picture. Nobody. Not even Beyoncé.
So put on the makeup if you want, but pleeaaaasseee stop saying that it's natural. And here's my hippie-dippy plea of the day: just embrace the natural. I fully believe that one of the reasons that I normally have nice skin is because I don't put lots of junk on my face every day. I can tell you that the people who care about you don't care about your pimples, or your linear and patchy eyebrows. Chances are, they don't even notice. And if they do notice? Well, they probably just don't give a flying hoot.
The best part about this blog? As I'm finishing it up, Jim walks in and looks at me and says, "Why do you look so red?" He actually sounded concerned. I explained that I was trying out a "natural look" from Pinterest, and showed him the rest of my makeup. His response? "Yeah, that's a lot. I honestly almost didn't recognize you."
Here's to you, Jim Hudson, for thinking my natural makeup look wasn't so natural. And thank you for acknowledging that the makeup is pretty (hey, it took WORK), but preferring the everyday me instead. Oh, and for picking me a daisy.
And here's to the ladies, who are all probably bigger babes under the makeup than they think they are.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
What I Learned in the Month of May.
I'm the worst blogger in the world. I never know what to write about, and when I finally get a "good topic" I always talk myself out of writing about it. Recently, Kalli Peterson (check out her blog here) sent me a link to a blogger who was writing about things she had learned each month. I loved this idea, and decided that I would go ahead and try to keep up with that. This will hopefully keep me blogging each month...and hopefully supplementing with other blogs in between. Hopefully.
So here it is: What I learned in the month of May.
1. The song "Rain Is a Good Thing" by Luke Bryan is highly misleading. Now that I live in a farming community, I feel as though that song should come with a few footnotes. Rain is a good thing after the seeds are in the ground and before harvest. It's a small window. Oh, and not TOO much rain, right? Right.
2. Babies who are fed breast milk might only poop once a week. It's easier to digest, so it leaves less solid waste than formula. The good news: less poopy diapers. The bad news: when poop happens, it HAPPENS.
3. There is a highly supported theory that the reason our fingers get pruney underwater is to help improve our grip. It's only a theory, as most scientific things are, but it's still fascinating. If you don't believe me, you can read about it in this short article.
4. This lid allows you to turn a mason jar into a travel cup. I got irrationally excited about this because I only have "hot" travel containers, nothing simple for cold drinks, and I have plenty of mason jars. If you ever want to buy me something, this is it.
5. The song "Fancy" by Iggy Azalea is highly, highly infectious. It's been stuck in my head for over a week, and I like to make Brooklyn pretend she's dancing along with it.
6. There's a cat that plays Jenga. He's probably better at it than you.
So, there we are. I'm sure next month will yield something more fruitful, as I will be more prepared for the blog! Stay tuned for more, and if you have any ideas that you'd like to see a blog about feel free to let me know. I'm always looking for ideas. I'm too lazy to think of them myself. 'Murica.
So here it is: What I learned in the month of May.
1. The song "Rain Is a Good Thing" by Luke Bryan is highly misleading. Now that I live in a farming community, I feel as though that song should come with a few footnotes. Rain is a good thing after the seeds are in the ground and before harvest. It's a small window. Oh, and not TOO much rain, right? Right.
2. Babies who are fed breast milk might only poop once a week. It's easier to digest, so it leaves less solid waste than formula. The good news: less poopy diapers. The bad news: when poop happens, it HAPPENS.
3. There is a highly supported theory that the reason our fingers get pruney underwater is to help improve our grip. It's only a theory, as most scientific things are, but it's still fascinating. If you don't believe me, you can read about it in this short article.
5. The song "Fancy" by Iggy Azalea is highly, highly infectious. It's been stuck in my head for over a week, and I like to make Brooklyn pretend she's dancing along with it.
6. There's a cat that plays Jenga. He's probably better at it than you.
So, there we are. I'm sure next month will yield something more fruitful, as I will be more prepared for the blog! Stay tuned for more, and if you have any ideas that you'd like to see a blog about feel free to let me know. I'm always looking for ideas. I'm too lazy to think of them myself. 'Murica.
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