Following in Momma's Footsteps.

Okay, so no political correctness should be applied to the following reminiscence. When I was younger, much younger, I thought that women had hips (compared to the lack of male curves) so that she could have a child resting on them. This makes me laugh now that I use my hip for that very purpose.

I had no idea that I would end up a nurse.
But here are my Little Lovely's footsteps. 

Also, I was trying so hard to get Lovely to laugh -half the time she did NOT think I was funny.

{I'm so lucky I get to practice my novice photography skills on this little pumpkin, even if she doesn't always think I'm funny}

Beat the heat

It's a whopping 73 degrees outside. Yowza. I need an Ice Cold Coke. Capitalized because it is that important.

Before passing judgment, know that this is coming from a girl who is used to her year round 60 degree weather. (Pause for a moment and soak in how incredibly wonderful this really is). I think I may have broken a sweat. A very lady like sweat, of course. 

I haven't always been such a wimp - to my credit I grew up with 100+ degree summers, living poolside for a solid three months each year. But I've thankfully acclimated to this wonderful coastal weather and have thus wussified myself when it comes to heat.

Dramatic Ducks! (Sidenote - go Oregon! You can't mention ducks without this exclamation. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, you need to bone up)

When Little Lovely has her own bathroom these pictures will be the inspiration for decoration.

{Mr. E. Duck. 

Get it?}

Now that Love is getting a little bigger and a lot more expressive (actually, to be correct I should say 'a lot bigger and A LOT more expressive) it's crazy to see my hubby and myself come out in her.

Top picture is totally his smile. Completely. And I'm pretty sure the bottom picture is going to be her 'I'm into mischief....but I'm cute so it's okay' face. Can't put a pin in who she got this from. But my gut is to blame her dad. And the dog. But that's only because the dog is my main go-to for blame in this household. No logical path from the origins of Lovely's mischief face and the Beagle. Off the hook for this one.

Again, all her dad. I'm starting to think people are going to peg me as the nanny instead of the mom.

She's got that covered

Daddy's a drummer and mommy's a pianist. Little Lovely ~ drum roll please ~ oh, wait, she's got that covered.  

And, for whatever reason, I love love love this picture. 

Postcard - Updated with Winners!

Are you kidding? This picture is just a postcard waiting to be brought to life.


Okay folks.  Here's the skinny: 


Contest going on with this picture on facebook and on my blog. Please caption this photo so I can make postcards! All those who contribute and supply me with a mailing address (bethanyeleanor@yahoo.com or via facebook message) will get a hand addressed postcard with the winning caption! I know....minimal glamor here, but fun, none-the-less! 

UPDATE WITH WINNERS!

{First Place: Chris, one of the Uncles}

{Second Place: Chase, the other Uncle}

Go Figure.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Did I have a baby just so I could photograph her? Maybe. Maybe not.

Sometimes I feel that my growing obsession with snapping fotos de mi hija (pictures of my daughter, for those monolinguists out there) is getting at little out of hand. But really, when I'm 80 years old....

......sitting on my yacht, am I going to be thinking about much money I have? No. I'm going to be thinking about, how many friends I have. And my children. And my comedy albums. I mean, I have a yacht so I obviously did pretty well money wise. (Thank you Michael Scott).

Out of the Office and back to reality......I don't think I'm going to look back and say 'man, I really wish I had taken less pictures of my baby girl.' I may sport these feelings when it comes to pictures of my pooches...but they rank a couple notches lower on the totem pole.

I just discovered that my camera can take B&W photos. I have always just black-and-white-atized photos after the fact. Just thought you'll should be privy to the behind-the-scenes of these next photos.

 {I know it's crazy, but Little Lovely just keeps growing. So crazy in fact, I feel compulsively obligated to document that she really was once this itty-bitty}

{Take some time soaking in this piece. Notice how the artist is trying to convey the childlike fun and wonder she is experiencing with her photography hobby.}

{Just my sense of humor, I guess}

{And lastly, our house is full of love this week. The rundown -
Myself, husband, 

Uncle, aka UC (pictured above), 

Little Lovely,
Peanut the Beagle, Whiskey the Schnoodle, 

Tazzie the GrumpCat, 

and a tank full of sea critters. 

Oh man.}

Okay, back to the movie. Green Hornet. In 3D. Check it - sound track extraordinaire:

Been spending most our lives living in the Gangsta's Paradise
Been spending most our lives living in the Gangsta's Paradise
Keep spending most our lives living in the Gangsta's Paradise
Keep spending most our lives living in the Gangsta's Paradise

Thanks Coolio, for taking me back. 

Waking up is hard.

At least according to Little Lovely. This is the progression:

Plus an oldie but goodie (she started with the awesome faces early). I dare you to look at this and not smile. Go ahead, try.

And........a quick hello from Whiskey and the Peanut!

The Beast

 

Okay, so not really a beast. In the world of motorcycles, it's actually quite tame. Though, I'm sure to my mother, there is no such thing as a 'tame' motorcycle.

My husband (then boyfriend) first taught me to ride 3 years ago. He put me on the back of his bike and it was exhilarating. There was no way he was going to have all the fun.

There was a period in recent history when I was banished from the bike due to my 'condition.' Meaning I was pregnant and could not fit into my makes-you-ten-times-cooler-when-wearing-it leather jacket. And a strange thing happens when you don't ride a bike for a long stretch of time - you start to doubt your abilities. I was thoroughly convinced that I had forgotten what all the levers and buttons on my bike did, and I was most certainly going to ride idiotically into a storefront, legs flailing, with an audience, to boot. 

After months of sitting with these feelings I finally decided just to bite the bullet. Over-thinking would kill me. My husband was riding home from work and I met him as he pulled in- baby under one arm, helmet under the other. The transfer of goods was made and I was ready to ride. 

There is something about riding a motorcycle that gets under your skin. You can't shake it. My body, from fingers to toes, knew exactly what to do.

Now that I'm back at work (post maternity leave), the motorcycle is my main means of transportation to and from. Not because it is cheaper (which it is). Not because it is faster (which it is). Not because I feel like a hardcore b.a. (which I do). But because leaving my daughter to go to work makes my heart hurt and it is impossible to cry while riding a motorcycle.

Speaking of the little lovely......

(Hint, she's peaking through a tutu)

Holidays

Because kids don't take holidays from being sick. Because, as much as I don't want to work a holiday, it is a safe assumption that a family wants to be spending the holiday in a hospital with a sick child even less.

Because I'm required to work x amount of holidays each year.

Any way you spin it, the forth of July is my summer night to show up at work smiling with big bag of tricks to try make all the boo-boos better. Which is why I celebrated my little lovely's first fourth a little early. We packed in as much red-white-and-blue fun, including, but not limited to, a pint-sized sailor dress, a polka-dotted swim suit (which, of course, included a swim in the wheel-barrow), and......wait for it.......a chicken suit.

Love

I rank my migraines. Most of the time they seem to be competing for that coveted first place position - however, few are able to actually break into that spot. The reigning champ had been so for about three years until it was ousted on Tuesday. I was visiting my husband at work and was suddenly, utterly incapacitated. My husband drove me home, all the while I am throwing up into a Lamborghini branded clear baggy which had once held nuts/bolts/etc for this mighty vehicle (the irony of this does not elude me)....

~ Just to clarify, my husband works on these cars - he doesn't own one. I don't want anyone getting the wrong impression here ~

...Roughly three months ago I pushed my baby out. My husband was in the room for the entire birth and saw sides of me that no person has seen before, but, for some reason, the thought of him watching me throw up in the car just feet away made me incredibly embarrassed. But it happened, regardless of my feelings on the matter. Upon reaching our apartment I shamefully scooted on up to our room and curled up in a ball under the covers of our bed to sleep away the throbbing in my head.

Fast forward three hours.  

I wake from my migraine coma only to find......groceries had been purchased. Laundry had been done. The baby was enjoying some daddy-n-me time with a full belly and clean diaper. This, folks, is love. Live and in living color.

I leave you with the latest photo of my little love -