A redhead turns three

Winslow turned three yesterday. 

She's the redhead in the middle. Her sister wouldn't sit still (hence the blur) and Drew was mesmerized by something on the wall.

We got her one gift, something the whole family has been enjoying.

Even Rufus the cat.

Many demands for private castles to be constructed.

A few months ago, Ryan and I briefly discussed what a three year old would enjoy.  This year, we've made an effort to not have toys that have only one function or that are too gizmo-like.  And these blocks are just right for creative play.

We devoured cake and then Katie reminded us her own birthday would be very soon and that we shouldn't forget it.

Don't worry, kid.  We won't forget. You won't let us.

P.S. Remember how meal planning has helped keep our dinners leaner?  Well, I'm down a couple more pounds this morning.  Maybe one day I'll be able to say something obnoxious like "Ugh, it's so hard just keeping weight *on*.  It's like I can't eat enough!"

What's Vacation, Momma?

I was 34 weeks pregnant with Winslow when Ryan and I got married.  Since I was a little too close to my due date, and I was trying to save up vacation time for maternity leave anyway, we spent a couple nights at a local B&B and called that our honeymoon, thinking we'd make plans for a trip sometime later.

Hint: I'm the big bellied gal in the red dress.

However, it's a tad harder to make vacation plans when you have three small children than when you're childless or have an only child.  For some odd reason, the thought of taking care of a trio of little kids for more than a couple of hours scares people! But I have a gracious mother-in-law (and loving father-in-law), and so Ryan and I have committed to a trip for next year.

We are digging through all the sofa cushions, cashing in our change jar, and diverting all odd-job monies as well as windfalls so that we can have a stress-free vacation and no worries about an excessive credit card bill greeting us when we get home.  Sure, we could have spent that money on a new bathroom or on a tax-advantaged savings account, but we're looking at years without having a time to just relax.  I mean, Ryan and I have never traveled together as a couple ever, and the time will never be quite right no matter what.  We just had to pull the trigger.

Plus, I have a fond memories of spending extended periods of time as a child with older relatives, so to give the kids a chance to experience the same is good in my mind.  Luckily, the girls have already enjoyed extended visits in years past, so it won't be traumatic for any of us.

Anyway, the details! We're going to the southern Caribbean, starting in Miami for a trek to Cartagena (Colombia), Aruba, Curacao, St. Maarten, and St. Thomas with Norwegian Cruise Line.  (Side note: I couldn't stop thinking about Cartagena because of the movie Romancing the Stone.  Ryan doesn't understand my excitement because he's never seen the movie.  It's only one of the best movies of all time!) This is certainly travel-lite since the time spent at port will be limited.  And there will be five full days at sea.  But that's exactly what we wanted.  No roughing it in the wild, no killing our own dinner*, no fighting off parasites like I've experienced on my own past adventures...Just lying around, stepping foot on solid ground a tiny bit, and otherwise enjoying each other's company without having to think about wiping bottoms or mowing the lawn.

*I haven't actually killed my own dinner, but if you've ever watched someone (your host family) stop by the side of the road to buy a dried "grasscutter" (imagine a very large rat-like creature) and then endured their laughter while you try to be a good sport and eat it with gusto, then you feel like you can take the credit.  Tastes like chewy chicken, by the way.

Amateur Photography Win

***Before reading this blog post in its entirety, please read, print, sign, and submit this waiver.***

I, ______________,  understand that the opinions stated below are no judgement of me, my artistic eye, my design choices, or anything heretofore forthwith related to the things stated above.  I will not cry, moan, nor leave nasty comments about how we should all respect each other because really, Starr already agrees with me on that one.  I also will not make senseless political statements here because I can do that on my own blog.    Finally, if I find myself angry about whatever is written here, I'll go make cookies and eat them.

I swear this statement to be true.

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Okay, now that we've gotten through the mumbo-jumbo, lemme offend you a little.  I really do not like getting my kids' pictures taken all that much.  When Katie was a baby, there were a few times when I took her to one of those studios where you pay too much for candid shots.  I still like the pics, but these days, I'm kind of over it.  Because I can get what I like by myself.  Or should I say, by asking Ryan to take photos while I critique and then ultimately choose.

Oh, but Starr, we got awesome shots of our newborn wrapped in these gorgeous swaddling blankets, topped off with precious oversized hats.  You know, like Ann Geddes!  

Well, that is awesome for you.  Those pictures are indeed very cute.  In fact, I support using small business owners (like photographers) because it helps the economy.  But we don't do those around here for several reasons.

A) They are expensive.  The only time we've done a solo session with a photographer was when my pal Alexa was doing sessions free for her portfolio.  The photos were stunning, and I'm so grateful for what she did.  I don't have a link for her work, but I'll add one if any of my friends know of one, although here is one of my favorites:

Yes, I know I posted more than one.

B) We have a teeny tiny problem with skin issues.  Katie seems to scratch herself every time we want to formally take photos.  Poor Drew was allergic to something in the hospital and had a rash that precluded our getting his cute little pics done there (here in KC, the hospitals use professional folks, not just the drunken middle finger picture-takers you find at many places).  This was not a rash you could photoshop out.  Of course, that's a newborn problem, but that's okay.  I've got some other excuses, I mean, reasons.

C) My children do not behave on schedule.  I remember with KB feeling very frustrated about whether she'd wail during photoshoots. I have one pic of her where she's smiling sweetly with her face covered in tears.  I bet MY child would behave.  Ah, yes.  Your child is an angel and mine is a demon, okay, and it's all my fault, and they'll be paying millions for therapy because of all the damage I've inflicted. You're a better parent. We've now established that. Moving on.

D) I can get pictures I like with the equipment and expertise found in this house.

Ryan purchased a used consumer-grade SLR for a reasonable price, and every now and then, he manages to take an excellent picture.  You professionals out there might be scoffing, and you have every right to.  Every Tom, Dick, and Harry thinks that a big-ass camera makes them good photographers, but we're not all artists, right?

Of course we're not! I was telling the gals at book club that after reading Patti Smith's Just Kids, I realized that I am not an artist.  I do not struggle in the name of art, I play piano because it's fun and brings me some joy, but I'm not driven to do it all the time.  I remember in college, going with my friend Pam to the apartment/studio of an art student at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore).  I have two memories of the outing: 1) Running somewhere--perhaps to a party?--to/from the gal's house because 10 years ago, the area around MICA wasn't that safe, and the only women walking anywhere were selling what they were strutting, and 2) Paintings of ears all over her place.  She said she had a thing for ears and had to paint them.  I have never had such an urge.

So we've established that I am not an artist.  But that doesn't mean Ryan and I can't do fun things with pictures.  The trick? Take lots of them; then there will be plenty to choose from.  Trick 2?  Blow 'em up and frame them.

The photos we chose:

Katie wears costumes year round.

Andrew at the beach. Sure, you can see Winslow's booty in it, too, but absolute perfection is dull.

Winslow is usually the prettiest in photos.  It was fun finding a goofy pic!

You've seen the frames before in my post about my "art collection".

The flowers worked for staging a home, but are a little too boring for me otherwise. I have a painting of a red-headed fetus in my bedroom, remember?

I'd been thinking of putting something new in them for awhile now. Of course, I'd be the *only* mom who'd put real, untouched, shots of her kids on the walls.  Or so I thought until I walked into my friend Sarah's house recently to see that She had done the same thing!  Ugh.  It's okay.  I'll assume she read my mind and preemptively copied me.  I forgive you, Sarah.

Anyway, I blew up the photos to 12x18 posters. The size was a bit longer than the cut-out on the mat (FYI I've seen that word spelled a dozen different ways all for the same use), but we figured out placement easily enough.

All it took was taking the back off the IKEA pics, inserting my posters (ordered from Snapfish), attaching them to the mat, and closing the frame back up.  Ryan wants to change out the pictures at least annually.  I think that's a great idea, but these frames might not work because the little hold-the-pic-in thingamajiggers were pretty weak. Some broke.

So here they are.  We could've gone black and white, but Winslow's hair is bright red.  Dumb to hide it.

All we have left to do is choose where they're going on the wall.  They are temporarily hung on whatever hangers were already up there. And the photos of the finished products don't do them justice (bad lighting be damned!).

So there ya have it.  You, too, can make your photos look like art.  It's relatively inexpensive, it's fun, and can make you feel a little smug when folks compliment them.  Because now you are an ar-teest, no?

I linked up to A Bowl Full of Lemons, Type A Decorating, The Shabby Nest.