Yeah, Write

The Only Scrapbook Album You Need

No matter where you stand on the scrapbooking spectrum—chronological, theme-based, pocket-style, traditional, digital, or just figuring out your memory-keeping approach—I think you'll love the idea behind my  favorite album, which is quite possibly the one ablum I'd grab in the event of a fire. 

If you're new to scrapbooking, this type of album is a great place to start. If you're experienced in the craft, then you already know that a scrapbooker's work is never done, and this is just one more wonderful addition to your album library.

It's called "Our Best Days."

This is one of my few albums that is chronological, instead of organized randomly in order of page completion. I like the free-flowing, hodgepodge nature of the rest of my albums. But this one has a narrow focus and tends to progress in date order.

It serves as a simple timeline for the major events and milestones in my life, including:

our engagement
our wedding day
our sealing in the LDS temple
the arrival of my daughter
the finalization of Keira's adoption
the day she was blessed and sealed to us 
my stepson's high school graduation

These pages don't always include a lot of journaling. For events like these, there's just too much to say, and those in-depth stories are probably captured elsewhere. Plus, it's fairly obvious why these days would be special to me.

It is also a place I gather pages about particularly magical in-between days, like:

the day my premature nephew came home from the hospital
the day a beloved pet came home after a near-death experience
the day we completed a 25-mile bike race as a family
an idyllic anniversary trip to Midway, Utah

These pages tend to include more journaling and longer stories, because it wouldn't be obvious at a glance why these days would make it into a "best days" album. 

 

Why I Love This Album
The album helped me solve a dilemma I've been facing. There were certain events and moments that I wanted to make sure never get lost in my standard ongoing albums, and I know if I were to ever look for these layouts in the future, I'd search for them based on date the event happened. So, I decided I should also organize them by date.

In so doing, I created a specific gathering place for layouts about my family's very best days—the highlights of our life. (This album could also be called "Favorite Days," as it follows the concept of my "Favorite Photos" album, where I gather those one-in-a-thousand shots that capture an emotion, relationship, or scene with perfect clarity—those that hold the biggest emotional impact for me.)

I call these types of albums—both Favorite Photos and Our Best Days—"ongoing theme albums," because they each have a specific purpose, and all the layouts within each of them share a common theme. They're not planned out or created in one sitting or even over the course of a couple of weeks. They are simply gathering places for all the layouts I create that suit the topic, whenever and however they get created. I'll continue adding to both albums as new page ideas come to mind.

My typical scrapbooking process is to create pages in random order, based on whatever inspires me at the time (see "About My Process" below). And it's usually only after a layout is done that I decide which of my albums should be its home.

But "Our Best Days" is one exception to that rule. If I'm scrapbooking about a momentous event, huge celebration, important milestone, or even just a fabulous regular day, I save it for Our Best Days—slipping it into it's chronological space in the lineup. This album is my one chronologically organized haven in all the creative randomness that rules the roost most of the time.

Embrace Design Randomness
For this album, I don't try to coordinate products or designs from page to page—all layouts stand on their own. But most of these pages do have one design trait in common. I include the date prominently, and usually on a tab that sticks up off the top of the page. The size, shape, and style of the tab certainly evolves, but I like that subtle, common motif to repeat throughout the album. 

About My Process
Generally, I complete scrapbook pages and leave them in piles for months. Every so often, I'll go through and sort them into thematic albums. I have albums for:

Me
Keira Jane
Jeremy Conrad
All About Us (pages about relationships between my immediate family)
Things We Do (pages about vacations, events and outings)
People We Love (pages about extended family and friends)
Favorite Photos

I have plenty of small, single-topic theme albums as well. But these are the overarching themes for my larger 12 x 12 and 8.5x11 pages. The album themes are subject to change, and sometimes pages get shuffled between them.

The system is loosely inspired by Stacy Julian's system, outlined years ago in Simple Scrapbooks magazine and her Big Picture Scrapbooking and Photo Freedom books. The system is so intuitive that I like to think I would arrived at this approach on my own eventually. But the truth is, it didn't occur to me that I could make pages in any other way than chronologically before I encountered Stacy's work.

Note about the bookshelf picture: I'm continuing to embrace imperfection, which is why I shared a picture of my scrapbook albums as they currently sit on my bookshelf. No, they are not perfectly coordinated. And my plans to add coordinating labels to their spines has yet to materialize. The little green circles, punched from sticky-back cardstock and written on with a Sharpie, are serving as my temporary labelling system. (Temporary for about 2.5 years now.) But I'm not going to let it keep me from sharing my ideas. Too many of us are held back by impossible standards of beauty and perfection. I'm working on letting go of my own hesitations and inhibitions day by day. 

 

Once There Was a Snowman

"The winter storm, predicted to be one of the worst ever to hit New York City,
failed to deliver much of a blow.... Children stayed home from school,
even in areas with hardly enough snow to build a snowman."
—The New York Times, January 27, 2015

I admit I was sitting over here in brown, brown Utah, feeling a bit jealous of the impending blizzard back East. Yes, we enjoyed a glittering white blanket of snow that draped my beloved landscape, magically, in the wee hours of Christmas morning. But we haven't seen much of the white stuff since. I miss it. 

Here is a pictorial representation of what happened in our mere 16 days of winter wonderland. Now, it's just winter, minus the wonderland. 

For those of you who did get enough snow to build a snowman, but not enough to overly disrupt your life, don't forget to photograph your snowman's rise...as well as his demise. 

December 25

January 6

January 8

January 9

I don't know if I would have bothered to snap these shots, if not for the darling kids in my neighborhood. When our snowman's head fell off and rolled across the grass, the kids walking home from the bus stop did not kick the rest of the snowman apart, as kids are often apt to do.

Instead, they picked up his head, put it back, and even replaced the carrot nose. He was crumbling apart in the morning, and in the afternoon, we came home to find him intact. Now that's adorable. (Did you notice the lone eyeball in the lower right corner of the picture?) 

A few days later, when he had melted into a tiny mound, representing the last smidgen of snow left in our south-facing front yard, Keira and I put his little face back together and replaced the scarf. It was his last hurrah.

Just 24 hours later, he was nothing more than a pile of eyes and buttons. 

We haven't seen a flake of snow since. Naturally, this was the year my siblings and I gave my parents a snow-blower for Christmas. :)

For your Pinterest pleasure:

 

5 Ways to Beat the Winter Blues

While I don't think I'm a particularly SAD person, I do have a slightly harder time regulating my mood in the winter, particularly in January and February when the novelty of the snow and the cute sweaters has worn off. 

Here are a few tips that have helped brighten my mood on dreary days. Obviously, wearing polka-dot socks isn't going to cure a real case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (for that, try a "happy lamp"), but if you're just a little bit blue—you know in the steel blue range vs. a deep, dark navy—maybe these ideas will help.

 

1. Go Where the People Are
One of the things that I both love and hate about winter is my tendency to hibernate. I do love cozying up next to the fireplace under a warm quilt to read a good book late into the evening. But since I've been working primarily from home over the last 5 years, I find the extra isolation from people in the winter can affect my mood. A new gym finally opened up within 10 minutes of my house, and it seems that is where all the people of Bluffdale and Riverton are. Pulling into that crowded parking lot at 7 or 8 at night gives me an instant energy flicker; the boost doesn't usually arrive until after the workout. Oh, I don't exactly talk to anyone. But there's something about being in the same cavernous room with a hundred sweaty strangers that increases my feelings of camaraderie and common humanity. (Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)

 

2. Drive to the Sun
Last Sunday, we needed an escape from the endless gray skies. We packed a lunch and a bunch of snacks, and we headed into the nearby desert. We drove and drove until we saw the sun. Out in the wilderness, southwest of Salt Lake County, you can hook into the old Pony Express Trail and drive it for 133 miles (no services), until you reach Fish Springs, a strange and isolated oasis. Sometimes you won't see another living creature. We saw maybe five other cars all day long. Sometimes you'll see a few rabbits and wild mustang, like we did on Sunday. Sometimes you'll even see a massive herd of antelope running through the brush in the same direction you're driving (that happened once in 2005, and it was magical). We rolled the windows down and breathed in the unspoiled, clear air. We sat at a picnic table in the middle of nowhere and ate peanut butter sandwiches with the sun on our faces. We soaked up enough vitamin D to last us a week. When we weren't chewing or talking or tromping through the patchy snow, we could hear literally nothing. Dead silence for miles around. We road-tripped on paved and dirt paths for 7 or 8 hours, just there and back, stopping to expolore here and there, talking and not talking, listening to satellite radio, reading The Lord of the Rings, connecting. I believe that any journey, no matter how small, can enliven a dreary week.

Keira Jane standing on green volcanic rock near Simpson Springs. I love that her fingers are crossed! Even this much blue sky was a balm for the soul.

Fun Fact: Did you know that the Pony Express trail was only operational for one year before it was made obsolete by the overland telegraph? For having such a brief history, it sure holds a big place in Western lore.

 

3. Wash a Window
Perhaps you are a more diligent window washer than I am. Perhaps you clean your windows more than once every year (or two, sheepish grin). If so, you may not see as great an effect. But I've found that taking a moment to thoroughly clean just one window, even if freezing temperatures make it impossible to address more than the inside of the glass, quite literally improves my outlook. On Wednesday, on day three of a self-imposed sick-child quarantine, I pulled out a stool and washed my kitchen window while I waited for the water to boil for lunch. I couldn't stop gazing through that clear, bright glass for the rest of the day. I had been looking at the world through a blurry, build-up of film for I don't know how long. I can't quite describe how I felt after that simple, 2-minute Windex job—cleansed, refreshed, lifted somehow.

 

4. Wear Bright Socks
I have a pair of blindingly bright orange socks with lime-green toes and fuschsia polka-dots. I'm fairly sure they were a gift, because I can't imagine picking them out. They are the softest, coziest socks ever darned. I wear them incessantly in the winter. Artist and blogger Kelly Rae Roberts talks of getting #dressedupinjoy. I love that idea. Many days, I dress in what fits well and feels comfortable. I haven't yet taken the leap into dressing intentionally each day in joyful colors and fabrics, head to toe. But this is an easy feat to accomplish on one's feet. Even while wearing my current favorite black leggings and gray-and-white striped sweater, the splash of color on my feet makes me happy. (Is it weird that I love the color gray? Is it even a color at all—or is it the absence of color? I have to physically restrain myself from buying every article of clothing in gray.)

 

 

5. Have Something to Look Forward To
Plan something, anything, to pin your hopes on and pull you through doldrums. On our Sunday road trip, Travis and I decided that we need to do this way more often. We made a goal to plan an intentional (not last-minute) weekend adventure every other month, and to take turns doing the planning. Trav is in charge of February, and I'm in charge of April. On his months, we will probably end up in Moab or Canyonlands, crusing through miles of open desert, hiking through the red rocks, and photographing the stark, incomparable landscape. On my months, we may end up in a quaint little bed and breakfast, with window-shopping, antiquing, and sightseeing nearby. We have both agreed to go along with the other person's plans, knowing that we'll have a chance to be in charge next time. Don't get me wrong; I do love our southern Utah adventures, but I wouldn't necessarily plan every vacation there. Travis would. Whereas I dream of seeing the wide world beyond our little borders, Travis wants to know every miniscule corner of the great state in which we live. It's another way that we push and pull each other and keep each other in balance. I'm glad I married my opposite in almost every way. My life is richer because of it. 

Note: Image at the top of this post was snapped from my iPhone on Christmas Eve at the top of the Snowbird Ski Resort tram, looking west over the Salt Lake Valley.

 

Your Turn
What are your favorite ways to beat the winter blues? I'd love to hear them!

Some Days You Just Can't Win

Yes, I know that life is not just about winning. But it shouldn't be all about losing either. Behold today:

"Keira, are you ready to go to preschool?" 
"No mommy, I'm too sick. And I miss you. "

She does indeed have a cold, as do I.  And she definitely knows how to butter her mama up.

"Okay, no preschool. But that means you need to watch a movie quietly during mommy's morning conference call, okay sweetie? Then we'll play."

Instead, during the conference call, in true toddler style, she: 

• puts a dishtowel over her face to play "married" and promptly walks into a wall. Hard. Needs mega soothing. 
• tries to fling my iPhone over the banister
• dismantles everything in the family room, hurricane style 
• dumps a very full garbage can into the middle of the hurricane
• poops her pants and smears it everywhere while squirming out of my "too cold" hands
• selects an Almond Joy from her Halloween bucket, then chews it up and spits it on the carpet
• voluntarily gets a paper towel to "clean it up," which means vigorously grinding the chocolate mess further into the carpet (she does get points for trying to clean up after herself without being asked)
• desperately needs a ham sandwich right now, even though it's been 45 minutes since breakfast 
• has absolutely no interest in the movie while I'm on the call
• has absolutely no interest in me once I'm off the call; wants to watch the movie instead

So, right after hanging up and cleaning up, I devour three fun-size candy bars out of Keira's Halloween bucket, even though I've been off sugar since June. My excuse: must make sure there are NO more Almond Joys left to tempt Keira next time. 

Then it's lunchtime, at least for me, who did not eat a ham sandwich at 9:30 a.m.

We both need to get out of the house, even though we're both still in our pajamas. So I make a beeline to the local Kneaders (a divine bakery with a drive-thru) to order lunch, intent on consuming the largest cinnamon roll in sight. Because if I'm eating sugar today, I might as well EAT SUGAR.

As I try to order, Keira wails at supersonic levels when her window is UP. But every time I roll it DOWN, she leans forward and shouts her own preferences at the intercom. I say, "One turkey sandwich" at the same time as she says "I need a Spriiiite!" in a perfect imitation of my drive-thru ordering voice. I roll her window up so the clerk can hear me, but then her screaming drowns me out. (I'm indulging her more, see, because she's sick.) I try to laugh about my predicament to the teenager on duty, but she doesn't care. 

Eventually, I get the order across. I opt for a bowl of warm, comforting, tomato-basil soup instead of that cinnamon roll. I mentally pat myself on the back as I pull away from the restaurant. Way to go, Angie!

About a half a mile later, an individual in a compact car somehow fails to notice the half-ton truck (me) driving at the speed limit (45 mph) in the proper lane. The car pulls out in front of me, apparently without having glanced at the road at all, and I have to slam on my brakes so hard that my seat belts lock up. And my treasured tomato soup goes flying.

It smells heavenly as it oozes onto the floormat.

As does the warm buttery roll that Keira is shredding in the backseat.

I mentally curse, then I square my shoulders and drive on, looking forward to cleaning up the 4th disgusting mess of the day.

No cinnamon roll. No tomato soup. Only a tiny shred of sanity left, and 5 hours to go before daddy is home. 

How was your day?

 

#yesitcouldbeworse #firstworldproblems #gratefulformylife #nocheesewithmywhine #tongueincheek #tinyviolins

Lullaby for My Little One

Tonight, as my sweet little one snuggled into me tighter than usual, afflicted by a 102-degree fever, I sang her favorite lullaby to her. And she joined in.

She knows every word, and tonight she sang some of them, interrupted by yawns and attempts to doze off, and it melted me. So we sang it again, this time recording it with the Voice Memos app on my iPhone. 

She should know every word of this song, as it's the only one she usually allows me to sing when I'm rocking her at night. Ever since she was TINY, if I attempted to hum or sing any other song, she would interrupt me and hum the first three notes of this lullaby, over and over, until I gave in.

I love that this is her favorite, because it's completely unique to her. I made up most of the words and even altered the tune a little. 

While we were visiting my grandma Neva, who was thrilled for a calm baby she could actually hold onto for a while, grandma held Keira and sang the words to a tune that was so deeply familiar to me.

As I sat there watching the sweet scene, the tune resonated so deeply that I knew my mom had sung it to me, and probably that her mom sang it to her.  I even remember my other grandma, Mona, singing a variation of this, too. But I had forgotten all about it until that moment. I don't know if the song is local to southeastern Idaho, where both of my parents grew up, but no one around here has ever heard of it.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry.
We will go to grandma's
Over the hill, behind the mill,
To see the ducks and lambies. 

That's all there was to it. And with Keira insisting on no other song, I simply needed more verses in order to avoid singing those 21 words in an endless loop every night for 2 years. 

Here's our duet. Please overlook (overhear?) my tired, late-night voice and focus instead on the vocal stylings of Keira Jane, age 2 3/4, who is half-asleep.

Hush a Bye with Keira 071613

 

And here are the lyrics, in case we're mumbling unintelligably to the unfamiliar ear.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry.
We will go to grandma's
Over the hill, behind the mill,
To see the ducks and lambies. 

Once we're there, we'll find some chairs
And sit out under the apple tree
We'll feed the ducks and pet the lambs
And have a picnic party

Later that day, we'll gather to play
Out in the backyard meadow
We'll kick the ball, play hide-and-seek
And stay out 'til it's time to sleep

When we go in, you'll have a swim
In grandma's great big bathtub
With suds in your hair and bubbles to spare
I'll scrub you 'til you're clean, my love

When it's night, I'll snuggle you tight
And rock you 'til you're fast asleep
While mama sings, you'll start to dream
Of ducks and lambs and apple trees 

On Intimidation

For being a person who blogs (intermittently), I am surprised by how much I am intimidated by other blogs. Depending on my mood, and perhaps the time of the month, I can read someone's blog in the morning and spend the rest of the day feeling like I live the most boring, beige, undecorated life imaginable.

Does this ever happen to you?

Intellectually, I know that the quote, "Comparison is the thief of joy," is 100% true. Thanks Theodore Roosevelt for saying that. But it doesn't stop the feelings of inadequacy from creeping in after I've read a particularly put-together blog or spent too much time on Instagram. (Paris? I want to be in Paris! Look at those perfectly pedicured toes in those perfect sandals on that perfect white beach! Why doesn't my fireplace mantel look like that? Her toddler isn't insisting on wearing a purple-and-grey striped shirt with khaki-and-coral pants and winter boots when it's 100 degrees outside!)

No, I don't decorate my world with impeccable taste within 3 weeks of moving in to a new house. I've lived in my house for 7 months and have put exactly three nail holes in the walls. But then I have to tell myself that I have other values and priorities competing for my time, and every day I am making the choice to put my energy there instead:

• chasing my toddler and discovering the wonderful person she's becoming
• performing a fulfilling job for a company I believe in
• making time to exercise and to read—and to read to my daughter
• eating well (now it's no sugar and no refined flour replaced by fruits & veggies and only "real food" for a week now and counting)
• learning to stop sacrificing my sleep for all of the things I always want to do

The decor thing is just the most recent yardstick by which I'm trying not to measure my worth. I've also found myself feeling smaller after reading a blog by someone who had sacrificed nearly all of her material goods to live a life of service. How silly to alternately feel inadequate by two lifestyle choices that could not be more opposite! 

Yes, I know that the versions of themselves that 99% of bloggers post online are not their whole selves. They post the version that they want the world to see, the sides of themselves that fit their online brand. And I don't blame anyone for that. I know I don't rush to my blog to recount the most recent times I was selfish or rude, to post unflattering pictures of myself with bed hair, to publicly expose the struggles of people I love (even though those struggles can affect my daily life greatly), or to share my ugliest mistakes and misjudgements.

I've talked with close friends of mine about this, and I know I'm not totally alone in my visceral response to all of the seemingly perfect lives I see posted online—and sometimes those that stare me in the face in person. The rise of blogging, Instagram, and Pinterest has just made it easier for all of us to broadcast a shiny version of our lives for all the world to see. I don't necessarily feel that there's anything wrong with that. (Why would anyone want to expose their vulnerabilities to the cold, uncaring, and often brutal world of the Internet at large? Why shouldn't we be able to only share the best version of ourselves?) The problem comes when we, the reading public, believe that that's the whole story. And that our own story doesn't measure up. 

Perfection is an illusion, albeit an enticing one. 

I deeply value authenticity, and I always have, but the mirage of perfection is always beckoning, made worse by the shiny happy blogging world. And that's why the book, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are by Dr. Brene Brown was an absolute revelation. It's short and sweet, and it helped clarify the swirling thoughts and feelings that have been inside of me for years—that the goal is not and should not be perfection, so stop believing that it's even possible. The real goal if you want happiness, hope, and connection should be authenticity and whole-hearted living. 

It's so true. But we all need a reminder now and then, right?

The Pursuit of Balance

When I think about what I want out of life, the word that often comes to mind for me is "balance." But I wonder if that's just another way for me to try to have it all, in a way that gives me tiny doses of everything I want.

Balance is hard. And I've recently realized that it isn't possible achieve a state of balance, which I think was my secret goal. As I've learned from practising yoga, if a person appears to be balanced and at ease, in reality there's intense effort there—all kinds of muscles, big and small, working together to hold onto the pose, not to mention a mind that's alert, calm, and focused. This is definitely not easy. And it's not a state of being; it's a focused effort.

There are two areas that I find particularly hard to balance.

 

1. You can't Strive for Excellence and Be Content with What You Have at the same time.

Both are virtues. I know and love people who are masters at looking on the bright side, being happy with their lot in life, and generally accepting themselves and others as they are. However, these aren't always the same people who are consistently innovating and breaking records.

I also admire people who hold themselves and others to a high standard, and manage to inspire excellence in those around them. There can be a dark side to this tendency. It can be easy to overlook achievements and focus only on what didn't go right. But if that is what makes you try harder and better next time, then is it really a bad thing?

If you're overly content with everything, what motivates you to excel, progress, and innovate?

If you're overly focused on always getting better, stronger, or faster, how do you find satisfaction in who you are right now?

 

2. You can't Plan for Productivity and Live in the Moment at the same time.

I want to do both. I love days when I feel productive, like I lived up to my potential, like I managed to complete a long list of tasks of all sorts in record time. But those aren't the days that I just let the inspiration of the moment lead me. Those aren't the days that I take leisurely walks with my daughter around the neighborhood, letting ideas percolate and solidify in my mind.

If you're always living in the moment, this can cripple productivity.

If your life is overly planned to achieve maximum productivity, it's difficult to find time to stop and smell the roses. (And somehow, I think writing "stop and smell the roses" in your planner at 3 p.m. on Tuesday is missing the point.)

 

Finding Balance
I've been thinking about this a little bit and imagining these opposing values as either end of a teeter-totter. I've realized that dead center (in other words, perfectly static and balanced) is NOT where I want to be. I have to walk to one side and then the other. It's important to be up, and then down—to experience both ends of the spectrum and gain insight and understanding from each, being careful not to stay at either end for too long.

I recently saw a series of productivity videos advertised that said we should be in pursuit of priorities rather than balance. It's an interesting idea and very foreign to how I naturally think. I typically fool myself into thinking that I'm juggling all the things I love at once. But in reality, when two things you value are in opposition to one another, you can't do both at the same time.

And besides, standing in the middle of the teeter totter is not likely to give you a very fun ride.

You have to choose one side, and then the other, and then the first again, or you'll go nowhere. This is, essentially, prioritization, which I do every minute of every day. What I don't do is admit that I'm focusing on one thing in lieu of another. If I did, I might make some different choices. And maybe that's the key.

How about you? Can you relate? What opposing areas of your life do you have trouble balancing?

It's All About Perspective

Shot with my Hipstamatic for iPhone
Lens: John S
Flash: Off
Film: Ina's 1969

The view from my back yard. That hideous tangle of power lines gives me a jolt of annoyance every time I look out my back window. Or it used to.

Enter a houseguest, visiting from one of the flatter states. She and I were standing on my back patio, and just as I had opened my mouth to apologize for living in an old neighborhood with ugly, exposed power lines (when so many of the surrounding neighborhoods have buried lines), she said:

"Look at that view! I'd love to have such gorgeous mountains right in my back yard. You are so lucky."

My mouth snapped shut.

Of course. It really is a stunning view. My focus has been all wrong.

It's my choice to look past the ugly and drink in the beauty just beyond, rising majestically in the distance.

Journaling Prompt
What areas of your life could use a new view? Have you had a recent epiphany that changed your perspective about the blessings in your life? What ugly scenes, memories, and moments have hidden beauty looming behind them, if you'd only open your eyes and see? Take a moment to write about it.

Happiness in Hindsight

I have tons to do today (who doesn't?) but I had to pause and capture some thoughts that have been coursing through my head.

I've always been puzzled by the quote: "Happiness isn't something you experience; it's something you remember." ~Oscar Levant

I wasn't always sure I agreed with that. I know I've experienced happiness, joy, or delight and recognized the feeling at the time. But the truth of this phrase is becoming more and more clear to me.

Recently, after a 6-mile training run for an upcoming half-marathon, I included the following as my Facebook update: "It's all coming back to me now: long runs are only fun in hindsight."

Because, once the run is over, the side aches and swollen fingers and mind games (just run to that red car, okay you can make it to that tall tree, okay now just one more block...) melt completely away, and I'm left with the distance my legs carried me. And feelings of power and pride. Looking back, that run was a good time.

And that somehow reminds me of that Baz Luhrman "talk-song" from the '90s, which was based on a graduation speech by Mary Schmich. It started, "Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth."

I loved that. I'd turn it up and soak it in whenever it played on the radio of my gold Mazda 626. And I made this phrase my mantra. I said to myself again and again, "Enjoy this. Appreciate this." But how?

Part of me wanted to prove wrong the next part of the song: "Oh, nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked."

And now that the years have passed, I get it. I'm hardly old and decrepit. I'm not quite ready for the rest home. But I get it. It's true.

I couldn't appreciate the power and beauty of youth, not really, not until after the fact. (Which is something I try to tell my 24-year-old sister all the time.) Because along with the power and beauty, there was angst, there was insecurity and uncertainty, there were heartbreaks and hurdles.

But, oh, I tried to appreciate being young. I'd look in the mirror and tell myself to be happy about my lack of wrinkles, the youthful glow of my skin. And I was as happy as I could be about it. But without the context of age and experience, how could I appreciate it, really? At the moment, I was who I was and couldn't imagine being anyone else.

"The question before me...is how to be alive,...as this mere singing wren, who thinks he's alive forever, this instant, and may be." ~Wendell Barry

And all that looking in the mirror would do was make me afraid for the time when those things would no longer be true. If I love my smooth, clear skin now (which, let's face it, was never as clear and smooth as I'm now remembering it), won't I hate it when the dreaded crow's feet and smile lines carve their way into my features? Won't I be desperate to go back?

This has all arisen because of an inescapable fact: babies accelerate time. They do. And this is coming from a person who is NOT unacquainted with the phrase "they grow up too fast." I have a 6 ft. 3 in. guitar-playing teenager living in my house who was a 7-year-old, blond, Harry Potter lookalike just moments ago. (He looked like the original book cover art, not Daniel Radcliffe, mind you.)

So now, with Keira Jane playing at my feet while I type, I tell myself, "this goes so fast, enjoy every moment."And I do focus a lot of energy on watching, listening, cuddling, and trying to memorize everything about her. Remember this, remember this, remember this.

But try as I may, there's no way I can appreciate her enough right now. I'll only be able to see her clearly when I look back. And appreciating her now will not keep her small. The more I tell myself "appreciate, appreciate, appreciate," the more I feel like I'm just watching sand slither through an hourglass.

When I hold my friend's sweet baby, Audrey Claire, almost three months younger than Keira Jane, I find I've already forgotten what it feels like to hold an infant so delicate. My little one has five months of baby chub, dimpled fists that can grab necklaces and hair, fingers that have found their way into her mouth. She's alert and exploring her world, no longer sleeping off the disorienting ordeal of birth. And I'm stunned at how quickly I've forgotten how it feels to hold one so young.

When Keira was teeny tiny, almost every visitor who came to hold her would say, "Oh, I can't remember how to hold them when they're this small." They'd reach out so gingerly, afraid they'd shatter her. "Oh, come on. Here," I'd say and just hand her over. I got used to her tininess so quickly. Yes, she was delicate, but she was strong, hardy, not as breakable as we think.

But that moment of being an experienced mother of a 2-week-old baby is already gone. Now I know how to hold a 4 1/2 month old. And soon, that will be a memory, too.

So I take photos. And I write things down the moment I feel them--doing my best to hang on to things that are so very fleeting. And I'm already grateful that I'm trying to stem the tide of time, that impossible task.

On Sunday, January 23, 2011, at 5:09 a.m., I wrote this in my iPhone Momento app:
"I want to memorize the smell, the feel of her cheek, perfect, plump and smooth, when she's heavy with sleep. I nuzzle the folds of her neck and drink her in."

And then it comes back to me.

Thankful

I am so very thankful.

For snow.

For babies. (Well, one in particular...)

For a doggie that seems to understand how special and fragile babies are—and behaves herself accordingly.

For a husband who is head-over-heels in love with our little girl.

For a cozy fireplace and warm socks.

For a teenager who has great taste in music and enjoys jamming with his stepmom. (He on guitar, me on piano.)

For the Bravo network, which manages to play America's Next Top Model marathons whenever I or the baby take a sick day. (It's my new favorite guilty pleasure.)

For employment.

For health.

For faith.

For friends, both real and virtual, who have been sharing wholeheartedly in our baby joy.

For warm baths.

For tiny hands that wrap around my fingers and squeeze tight—I had no idea how much I'd love that particular detail.

For online connections that keep me from feeling isolated and alone at home.

For Burt's Bees Herbal Blemish Stick, which has literally transformed my skin. It's clearer than it's been in decades!

For the opportunity to work from home, building my own business. (Thanks, sweetie, for your support.)

For newborn sighs and cries and infant sneezes and all the adorable noises that now fill my day.

For wonderful parents who live close by.

For a father-in-law who brings over his snowblower when the weather has been particularly rough.

For that $30 mani-pedi at the Da Vi Nail Salon located inside my local Wal-Mart.

For mother's intuition.

For a roof and four walls, uninterrupted heat, and plenty to eat.

For birthmothers who make unbelievable sacrifices so that others' lives may be whole.

For prayers.

For family.

For being alive and in my shoes right here, right now.