holy fermented hummus

I love food.  My 2 year old son’s most common phrase around our house is “I EAT.”  It’s not a question, or a demand, but more of a blanket statement.  He has a gruff, low voice and a body shape that resembles Fred Flintstone.  He’s just delicious.

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He fell down the stairs a few days ago.  Poor fella.  But thankfully, he’s covered in a layer of muscle and and even thicker layer of fluff so he rolled off that bottom step unscathed.  At least nothing a kiss on his toe couldn’t fix.  Thank goodness for fat toddlers.  They basically just bounce.

Anyhow, he got his love of food from me I guess, and so I have to share with you my newest obsession.

FERMENTED HUMMUS…ferm…ferment…fermashutthefrontdoor..

Didn’t know you could ferment hummus?  Neither did I.  But I found this ah-mazing farmer who, along with his wife and 11 children, creates all sorts of delicious probiotic goodies that will forever replace costly probiotic pills in my refrigerator.

I bought a pint and, I kid you not, I ate 1/2 of it the first night.  With a spoon.  I couldn’t find a vehicle for the stuff that didn’t detract from the amazing flavor so I just dug in, like it was a snak-pak, back before I knew that those things were basically just a cup full of chemical goo.

My husband tried it and was like “oh, that’s good.”  I snatched that container away from him so fast. Nope, no more for you Mr. Laissez Faire.  If you don’t freaking flip your sh.. lid over this goodness you don’t get any more.

It’s a lot like bean paste, if you’ve had it, and will explode the same way when opened if you’re not careful.

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On that note, bean paste is so good that I *might* have scraped some off the window and into my mouth because I just couldn’t handle the thought of wasting an ounce of that gloriousness.  Judge away.  Don’t care.  My buds are happy.

Life-changer I tell you.  I’m going to see if Mr. Fermented Farmer will come to my house and teach me (and YOU) how to make it for yourself.  I don’t have any pictures because we all eat it so fast around here.  It looks just like hummus, but tastes about 100X more delicious.

You know what else Fermented Hummus is  good for?  An appropriate, yet satisfying substitute for cursing while your kids are around.  Seriously, the next time you stub your toe or get in a near-accident try yelling “Fermented Hummus!!!”  It’s oddly satisfying and won’t scar your children.

You’re welcome.

In hind sight, I should have used it when I broke my right pinkie toe for the fifth time.  I have the longest toes known to man-kind and they frequently wrap themselves around chair legs and in blankets.  I’ve broken this one so many times that it pretty much just cracks at the slightest bump.

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Oh, and on a side note, just about the ONLY thing I ever buy “Fat free” in the store is hummus, because it’s the only way to find it without nasty oils added. Organic is a must.

Random you say?  Nope, totally appropriate.  Because I’m hoping to encourage you all to try foods that other countries eat on the regular, that people have been eating for hundreds, if not thousands of years, that have countless health benefits.  It just so happens that this super health food is delicious.  If you are able to find some, do not hesitate.  You won’t be sorry.

Start asking around, you may be surprised at who you can find!  I found my farmer throughout the dairy guy at Whole Foods!

Happy Tuesday everyone.

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our {new} daily schedule, and the laziest purchase I’ve ever made

It started last week.  I finished the day having been incredibly busy and accomplishing nothing.  I was irritated, and exhausted, and had nothing to show for it.

I’m usually fairly productive during the days, but I have a lot on my plate.  Because my husband travels a lot for work I manage 99% of our household: food, laundry, vehicles, finances, taxes, pets, urchins…eh children, etc.

I’ve been pretty good at winging it every day, but since adding the 5th human member to our family a year ago, I’ve been chronically late, our house is chronically messy, and I’ve been chronically tired.

3 strikes and something tells me that my “system”, or lack thereof is no longer working.

So, I’ve put us on a schedule.  The word itself irks me a bit, because I like to be free, and I also can tend to be a bit of a tight a** when it comes to someone messing up my schedule.

However, having only implemented our new schedule for one day, I have been surprised to find that we have actually more freedom within the day.

I’ve prepared and cleaned up 2 meals, the house is clean, the babies are down for naps, I’ve done 2 loads of laundry (and they are put away, as opposed to how they usually end up for dayyzzzz.)  Anyone else do the laundry shuffle?? i.e. move from bed to couch for sleeping, oh crap people are coming over, move back from couch to bed, and repeat.

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Anyhow, Henry and I are now having tea while I write and he does some schoolwork.  I’ve got meat thawing for dinner, and I’m surprisingly full of energy.  I think my body knows that A. there is a plan of action and B. there is an end in sight and so I’m able to relax within each time frame.   I’m also learning not to multi-task.  As in, keeping this scenario from happening:

take load of laundry in to laundry room, oh, look, the vacuum was left out, oh, I’ll just vacuum this one room…oh, now I’m noticing that the cabinets need to be wiped down, I’ll just organize this one pantry shelf, I need to start dinner, oh, we’re out of onions *write that down*, oh, I can’t forget to get vinegar at Costco tomorrow, when is my membership up? *checks calendar*  Oh, look!  It’s my sister’s birthday, I’ll give her a call…what was I doing??

And by the end of the day i’ve done 15% of 45 things and nothing is finished.

We’ve always had bed times for our kids, and had a general rhythm to the day, but I can say that having “starting” and “stopping” points within the day has changed my life for the better already!photo

I frequently have readers ask what my days look like and my response is something like:

drag self out of bed, nurse baby, make coffee, gulp coffee…make meal, clean up meal, kids laughing, kids playing, kids crying, make meal, clean up meal, kids screamingbutit’sokbecausetheyarehavingfun, make meal, clean up meal, mooorrre coffee, kiss a boo boo, wipe a bottom, fold 1/2 load of laundry, clean up kitchen, kids to bed, crash on couch for 2 mins, clean up house, write, edit, post, fall into bed…and repeat.  

If I didn’t mind having a messy house, or leaving dishes dirty in the sink, or if I fed my family fast food a lot this might be easier.  But I’m of the personality that can’t really relax when the house is a mess, or dishes are piled up, and I enjoy cooking and also value the health factor of eating at home.

So, I give you, my new source of sanity:

Bentley Family Schedule

6am  Wake up (me) & work out (starting a new workout!  I’ll give more details soon as well as asking you all to join in with me if you want!!)

7-7:30  Shower & dressed

7:30  Kids up

7:30-8:30  Breakfast

8:30 – 10  Play time with Etta, dishes, chores or errands (depending on the day)

10 – 11:30  Etta nap time, boys outside play time

11:30-12  Lunch

12 – 1  Dishes/play time

1-3:30  Etta & Miles nap, Henry school

4:30 – 5:30  Prep dinner, kids clean up the house

5:30 – 6:30  Dinner

6:30 – 7:30  Baths (only 3x/weekish), story, get ready for bed

7:30  All children to bed (and amen)

7:30 – 8:30  Dishes, clean up house, game time with Henry

8:30 – 10  Me time, free time, wine time, hubby time,writing time

10:30  Bed/wind down

11:00   Sleep

There ’tis.  I’m so excited.  Oh, and I had promised my most ridiculous/lazy purchase ever. Here it is:

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MY POT FILLER!  I mean, these may go the way of the intercom systems from the 70’s, but for now, I freaking love this thing.  No, it’s not necessary.  At All.  But I made mashed potatoes last night, and I gotta say, filling that big pot right there on the stove was kinda brilliant.  It also makes making kombucha easier too.  It only felt right putting one in since A. we were running new water lines anyway, and 2. We have a whole-house water filter now!

Ahh…my kids are sleeping.  So, I’m gonna go do something.  Don’t know what, but it will be amazing, something like staring off into the distance for 15 solid minutes.

much love.

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for the new readers

Hey, so I thought I would introduce myself a bit, as many of you now know me as that “transgender lady…or the lady that wrote about the transgender kid, or something” uhhmmm…..  But seriously, I found a thread where someone was asking if I was a man, or if my bearded husband was a woman but was happy that I was attractive to them anyway….oh my.

I’m fairly certain that they hadn’t read the post.

Either way, I’m thankful for the discussion, and never would I have imagined that something that I wrote would have been read 250K+ times in a week…amazing.  Thanks so much.  The post always started out as one about parenting, and has morphed into a discussion about gender identity, DNA, psychology, homosexuality, equal rights, etc.  It’s a good thing.  

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Anyhow, I thought I would shed a bit of light on what you may find here with a snippet from dinner last night that will give you great clarity into my life, and thus, the inspiration for many of my posts:

*my boys (aged 5 & 2) “shooting” each other at the dinner table.  they are convinced that they are storm-troopers*

Me “Miles (2) sit down and eat”

Miles “Bubby kill me!!” falls, dramatically out of chair and onto floor with a “uuughh…” grasping his belly.

Me “Then die in your chair”

Henry (5) “I would like some wine”

Miles “Me DEAD!!!”  *continues groaning while rolling around smashing blueberries and cheese that Etta (1) had thrown on the floor*

Me “Henry, storm troopers don’t drink wine until they’re 21.  Miles, get back in your chair and eat.  I don’t care if you’re dead or not”

Henry “fine, sparkling water then.”

Me *sips wine…*

Miles *now motionless…*

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Anyhow, you may be surprised to find that this blog started as a health blog (because we need another one of those) and I found that I just couldn’t keep my opinions about other things to myself, and I love sharing stories from my life.  So, what you will find here has no clear direction whatsoever.  What you will find is an honest look into the life of a woman trying to not completely fail at being a mother, wife, daughter, friend, and citizen.  I love to help people.  I love to give to others.  I love learning and am ok with discovering that I have been wrong.  I love to know that the time spent writing during nap time and late into the evenings makes a difference.

My husband does this for a living:

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…so needless to say our life is anything but conventional or predictable.

Here’s how you can know if this blog isn’t for you:

1. if you enjoy BS 

2. if you are easily offended

3. if you need consistency in content (one day it’s parenting, the next, something fermented that I can’t stop eating…oh lord, I love me some kimchi…)

I’m all over the place, but I hope you will stick around.  Because, what if you came here to see how I felt about a certain Miley Cyrus performance, but in the process, discovered that I think that Advocare is more harmful than healthy or that I believe that the flu shot is actually worse for you than getting the flu?  Win!

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Tomorrow I’ll be sharing the laziest purchase I’ve ever made.  I’m also starting a new workout regimen because, honestly, I miss my abs and I’m dangerously close to taking up the “bent arm” stance in every picture to avoid “mom-arms.”  I’ll be posting some progress pics and inviting you all to join in with me!  Also, I had lunch with a brilliant friend of mine yesterday and in the process, had a parenting (discipline) epiphany that I can’t wait to share with you.  Working on that post now…

Here’s a post I did recently which was a pretty accurate recap of our lives over a month’s time.

Stay tuned – that madness {should} start Monday!

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a quiet, perfect 4th

Our 4th of July went about how you can plan for a holiday to go when you have kids and a growing business.  We planned to go to friend’s around 3, but Hank got a last minute guitar session that he had to record and send over, and Etta spiked a fever around 2.  I thought it was teething but she looked like this which made me a little nervous:

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and all she wanted to do was nurse and hold her Fox that her daddy gave her, on her face.

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Poor bebe.

Anhow, I did what I know to do for teething babies.  I did peppermint and lavender essential oils on her back and chest to naturally relieve her fever, and gave her Hyland’s teething tablets. (These are MAGIC I tell you!) This gave her the relief she needed to take a nice, long nap.

Our friends convinced us that they still wanted us to come, even 2 hours late, so somewhere in there Henry and I managed to bake a pie and whip up guacamole.  I’m learning to be flexible and not let it throw me out of whack when things come up that mess with my schedule.

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I got the recipe for the pie from my friend Casey Leigh’s amazing blog…

I adapted it a bit because I’ve never used canned pie filling, so I made my own by adding arrowroot powder, sugar, and a sprinkle of flour to frozen berries over medium heat until thickened.

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I also had to add about 1/2 C of flour to the crust.  I don’t know if I did something wrong, or if it due to the high humidity in the air, but either way the pie tasted, and looked, quite delicious if I do say so myself.

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Here it is after Miles woke up a I turned my back…photo 1

Hank picked up some fireworks beforehand with the boys and they had a blast, and we only “almost” burned down the front yard a few times.

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I love holidays.  I’m thankful we put in the effort to spend it with our sweet friends.  We obviously forgot to get a picture as a couple…nothing new there.  Oh, and no, my boys never wear shirts…I mean, I wouldn’t either if I were a little boy.

In other news, right before the holiday I wrote THIS POST that has been, by far, my most popular one to date.  Never would I have imagined 150,000 views in 3 days.  I mean.  The comments have been enlightening, inspiring, and encouraging. Thanks so much you guys.

live well. be well.

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I am Ryland – the story of a male-identifying little girl who didn’t transition

I have been shying away from highly controversial topics on this blog recently because I just couldn’t take the drama that naturally associates with it.  But I keep hearing the story of Ryland, a child who was born a female, whose parents have transitioned her to male at 5 years old.  You can see the full story HERE, but in short, because their daughter identified herself as a boy, and liked “boy” things as opposed to “girl” things, they cut off her hair, bought her “boy” clothes, and have begun telling her, and others, that she is a boy.

I have no degree in early childhood development, nor have I studied psychology.  I didn’t even graduate from College.

I am also not here to pass judgement on Ryland’s parents.  I believe that they are doing what they believe to be the most loving thing for their child.  I’m simply sharing my story because I see so much of my 5-year-old self in this child.

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I was born the second daughter to two loving, amazing, supportive parents.  They would go on to have 2 more daughters. The four of us couldn’t be more different, even down to our hair and eye color.  Our parents embraced our differences and allowed us to grow as individuals, not concerned with the social “norms” for girls.  I often joke that I was the boy my dad never had.  My dad is a free spirit, 100% unconcerned with what people think of him, and he thought nothing of “out of the box” behavior.  I function more as a firstborn than a second born (however, this does not make me the firstborn, amiright?)

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Anyhow, even as a baby I seemed to prefer “boy” things.  I was rough, tough, and daring.  My parents had to cut my curly hair short because I would twist it into knots and refused to let my parents brush it.  I once managed to make my way onto the second story roof, and was gleefully running around, as my parents had simultaneous panic-attacks.  My toys of choice were sticks, sling-shots, bows & arrows, guns, mud, motorcycles, and monsters.  When my sister and I picked out “My LIttle Ponies” I chose a blue one, and promptly cut all of that lustrous long hair off as short as possible.  My barbie also got the chop.

I loved going on hunting trips with my dad and thought it was amazing when he taught me to pop the head off a dove. (PETA, please, no…just.  No.)

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I wanted to be a boy.  Desperately wanted to be a boy.  I thought boys had more fun.  I felt like a boy in the way that our society views genders.  I liked blue and green more than pink and purple.  I remember sitting up as high as I could climb in our huge mulberry tree, bow & arrow in hand, trying to kiss my elbow (a neighbor lady had told me that if I could accomplish this, that I would turn into a boy, which was what I wanted in that moment, as a child, more than anything.)

Thankfully, my parents didn’t adhere to the archaic stereotypes that “boys like blue” and “girls like pink;”  that “boys play with dinosaurs, and girls play with dolls.”  Had they told me that liking these things made me a boy, I would have concluded that I was a boy.

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They just let me be me.  They let me be a girl who wore jeans more often than skirts.  They let me play with slingshots rather than princess wands.  They didn’t conclude that I was gay, or transgender. They didn’t put me in a box that would shape my future, at the expense of my own free will.

My best friends growing up, until around the age of 14, were boys.  Sure, I had girl friends, but my best friends, the ones I identified with most, were boys.  Every evening after dinner I would go outside and play football with my neighbor friend, Tom.  My very best friend in the world was a boy named Robin.  His wife is a friend of mine to this day.  My friend Andrew and I would make swords out of plywood and burn our names in them with soldering irons.  We made elaborate models of “trampoline worlds” because, bouncing around is waaaay better than walking, right? I wished so badly that I could play baseball on my friend Jaime’s team with him.

 

At Thanksgiving we would play “cowboys & indians” with my cousins and I was always, always, the wild Indian. Never the prairie maiden who had been captured….boooooring.

I even remember one Christmas, my sister and I were given porcelain figurine music boxes from my parents.  Her’s was of a girl with a lamb, mine a shepherd boy with a donkey.  They did this not because they considered me a boy, but because they knew I would like that one more.  I thought shepherd boys with donkeys were a heck of a lot more fun than a pretty blonde girl with a lamb.  Lambs are dumb.  Donkeys are crazy, wild, and fun!  My parents were just fine with me identifying more with the dirty, tough shepherd.

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I hestitate to even add, this but I feel it is so important:  I even had an experience, around age 7, where a friend (girl) of mine experimented together during a sleepover. Looking back, I believe she had been molested and was acting out what had been done to her.  This doesn’t make me transgender.  It doesn’t make me a lesbian.  It made me a child growing up in a broken world.

In this day and age, I probably could have been labled as transgender.  They would cut my hair off short (because, all boys have short hair, right?) I would be given “boy” clothes to wear, blue walls in my room rather than pink, and be told to pretend to have a penis, at least until I could have one surgically added. Had this happened, I can not even imagine how traumatic puberty would have been for me.

Fast forward to age 14/15 (late bloomer here) and I finally started going through puberty.  I had never really thought of the opposite sex in a sexual manner before.  My attraction was immediately, and is to this day, towards men.  At the risk of going all Shania on you,  I “feel” like a woman.  Had my parents decided, at age 5, that I was a boy, I can not imagine the confusion that I would have experienced during my teen years.

I still love some stereotypical “male” things.  Football remains my absolute favorite sport to watch.  I love fixing things around the house, and honestly, am often better at it than my husband.  I prefer to go barefoot and struggle to remember to wash my hair and pluck my eyebrows.  I enjoy doing mechanical things, and am not afraid to stand my own against jerky sub-contractors.  I hate clothes shopping. I like having muscles.  I love to exercise, and enjoy feeling really strong.  I am thankful that I feel confident to manage our home on my own while my husband travels.  I prefer Bourbon over a Cosmopolitan.

But I also love being a woman.  I love to feel beautiful, especially when I have an event with my husband.  I love putting on an apron and creating elaborate meals for friends and family.  I love nursing my babies.  I looooove going to the spa.

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My husband is amazing at design and is the decorator/designer for our home.  He does most of the clothes shopping for both of us, and has no interest in learning how to change the oil in our car.  He is creative and artistic.  But he also loves to go hunting and fishing and has to handle any dead little animal that we find on our property because I can’t handle that stuff.  

These things don’t make us gay or transgender, they make us unique human beings.  

Because my parents never forced me to, I never considered if some of the things that I enjoyed were “boy” things or “girl” things,  I was just me.  When we begin to tell boys that they must act “this” way, and that girls should act “that” way, and that if they don’t, they are transgender;  we put children in these tiny boxes that create confusion, frustration, and sometimes, lifelong psychological and emotional damage.

Our oldest son had very long, wavy blond hair for the first 3 years of his life until he requested to have a haircut like his grandpa.  People sometimes commented that they thought he was a girl, but I was often confused for a boy as a child so I didn’t worry about it.  He once came to me and asked if pink was a girl color, because someone had told him that it was, and he liked pink.  “No.  I responded.  Pink is just a color.”  Fully satisfied, it remained his favorite color for the rest of that week, at which point he moved on to orange, or green or purple or something else.  I want my children to be fully accepted for their interests, without making those interests define the core of who they are.  Henry can like pink just as much as I can like tearing up concrete without it defining our gender.

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It grieves me to think of what Ryland’s parents may be robbing her of by choosing a gender for her at such a young age.  I hope that, if/when she decides that she is a woman, that they will support her in this.  That they won’t force her into their agenda to save face.

I am writing this to offer another perspective.  Because I believe in freedom.  I believe that people should be free to have interests that don’t fit the social norm.  That children should be allowed to be children.  With all of their silly, fantastical play.  They should be allowed to believe that they are a dog, a Superhero, a Mommy, or a rock.

I am so thankful that my parents gave me the freedom to act more boyish than my sisters.  I am thankful that they didn’t freak out, or make any life-altering decisions for me.  I am so thankful that, for a season of my life, I was allowed to act more like a stereotpyical boy than a girl.  I am also thankful that I was allowed to become more feminine later in life, when it felt natural to do so.

I hope that Ryland’s parents will offer her this same freedom.

live well. be well.

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***Comment Policy: Please be free to express your opinion here in a respectful way.  I believe in freedom of speech, but I will not allow my blog to be a place of hate or abuse.  Please keep your comments free of meanness or threats, as those will be discarded and your email blocked. Because of the volume of comments, I am no longer able to respond to most, however, I do read each one.  Thank you so much***

 

1M!!!

Friends.  Are you kidding me???  At some point over the past couple of days this little blog hit 1 Million overall views and I missed it!  When did this happen??

This is unreal to me.  Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would ever hit this milestone, much less two months before It’s 2 year anniversary!

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So thank you so very, very much.

Before I ever wrote my first word my father in law encouraged me to start a blog.  I didn’t think anyone would read it, but he convinced me that I had something to say.

I’m so excited about the future.  It’s no secret that I’ve been slacking in the writing department these past 8 crazy months, but I have SO many ideas in my brain, that are actual possibilities now that things are slowing enough to start being creative again.  It’s coming together, and the new site is nearly ready.  I’ve grown so tired of the look of the blog currently that I can’t stand it anymore.  I can’t wait to show you the new one!

The house is sooooo close to complete (even though we’ve been living here for over a month!) and I can’t wait to give you all a full home tour!  I’m collaborating with a food blogger who has INSANE recipes, and she’s just adorable to boot.  I’m starting a new series called “interview with an incredible person” or something of that nature.

I’ve found this farmer who ferments everything on the planet and my dream is to video blogs (eh, vlogs??) with him, in my new amazing kitchen, teaching me (and you!) how to ferment everything from green beans to concoctions that even my kids love.

I HAVE GOT to do some giveaways! I’ve been getting some amazing products in the mail that I can’t wait to try out and give away!

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Thank you for letting me ramble.  For letting me be inconsistent in my content and fly from posts about homemade kombucha to parenting all in the same 48 hours. Writing surprised me.  I didn’t know how much I would love it, and I can’t thank you enough for sticking around.

Seriously, thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.  It’s so sweet, and humbling, and exciting.  Your support and kindness continues to blow me away. Here’s to another (even better!) million!

PS – one more reason to be excited?? It’s not even 10pm and I’m in bed. As in, under the covers, Peace & Calming on mah body.  I may be too excited about it to sleep.

live well. be well.

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sleep deprivation & what I’m doing to stop this bad habit

Even though we’ve technically been moved in for a month, we are still moving in.  In the past, Hank and I would stay up until around 3am for a few nights in a row to get everything moved in, decorations out, pictures on the wall, etc. But this move has been different.  Part of the reason for this is that we have been out of town twice since then and also because our cabinet maker is TWO months behind.  Not sure how/why this happened, but we finally will be completely done with them on Tuesday and I could not be happier about it.

Hank has a big fall tour coming up, but before then, we are planning on taking a vacation together.  Etta will be a year old by then, so I’ll be able to leave her. (Please, extended breastfeeders don’t email me, I know.  I’ve read.  I know.  I can’t.  It’s not for me/us.)

We were out the other night (probably somewhere super romantic like Home Depot) and had there realization that, while we may get really rested while on vacation, we will be coming home to the same things that are keeping us tired now.  The kids are small, so they naturally require a lot of attention during the day, and don’t exactly sleep in (ahem, 6:30am.)  Plus, Henry inherited Hank’s inability to 1. talk quietly and 2. walk quietly.  I swear, it is a herd of freaking elephants when he comes down the stairs first thing in the morning which wakes up the rest of the house.

I’m trying to live in the moment, and not just “exist,” waiting on whatever it is the future that I think will make my life better/easier/happier.  I’ve realized that this busy “season” may very well be our new normal.  I thought it was just the renovation, but so many things happened at the same time about a year ago that it’s possible that this may be the way it is going to be from here on out.

Hank is busier than ever.  It’s awesome, but it’s hard at times.  When he’s not on tour he’s busy doing session/studio work for records, or writing songs with people.  He has to try really hard not to book himself up 15 hours a day, 7 days a week.  It’s the blessing and the curse of him doing what he loves for a living.  He never wants to retire, and I’m so thankful that he loves what he does for a living.  He’s really great at taking time to spend with the family, even though I know he feels the pressure of providing for a family of five doing something that few people who try actually succeed in doing.photo 1

Now that we have Etta there is just more activity.  Sometimes the only goal I have all day is to get a nap, and it hasn’t happened in over a week.  But I’ve realized that if I’m not going to be chronically exhausted, i’ve got to make some changes.

I’ve been drinking this amazing tea in the afternoon when I get tired, but I know that sleep would be even healthier for me.

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So, as simple as it sounds, I’m making myself go to bed earlier.  Moms, you know why this is hard.  Night time is my only alone time. I’m a bit of an introvert so it’s my “recharge” time.    I mean, I love the late nights alone.  I make a cup of tea, I organize something, unload a few boxes, put up shelf liner, etc. But the lack of sleep is taking it’s toll. (is that how you spell toll?  I’m so tired I can’t remember…) Yesterday I lost my keys, found them, and lost them again INSIDE MY FREAKING CAR within the same 5 minute period.

So anyhow, I’m committing to being in bed by 11 every night.  This should make a huge difference.  It’s so strange how it’s so difficult to do something that 1. I know is good for me and 2. I know makes me feel so much better; but this 4-5 hours of sleep at night ain’t cutting it anymore.

I’m also going to let myself relax more, and maybe use this guy more often.  I’ve used it once since we moved in and it’s glorious.  I’m 5’10” so this is the first tub that I have actually ever fit into.

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Here’s another little nook in our home that I love…If you come over to visit it’s where you can hang your hat, purse, coat, etc.  Isn’t it cozy?

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Goodnight friends,

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