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March 2026

The Stork and the Beanstalk

A Mother's Journal

A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well
as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.

Category: Parenting

Van’s birth story, from a different perspective

by Ashley filed under Guest Posts & Interviews, Home Birth, Motherhood, Parenting

A few months ago my sister and I had a conversation about having babies and Van’s (pseudo) home birth story came up. It’s come up before, but as time has passed, I’ve been more open to seeing it through someone else’s eyes. I still have my own opinions on the day, but I do think that should a third be in our future it would not be born at home. That’s partly because Willy has already downright insisted that it cannot be born at home; but it’s also because I partly agree. Been there, tried that. Twice.

Anyway, here’s Van’s big day, as told from the perspective of my sister, who was there to witness it.

My beef with home birth

Before my sister (the writer of this lovely blog, the stork herself) got pregnant with her first, Hooper, I didn’t really think much about home birth. I kind of associated it with yesteryear—women in log cabins on prairies and shit. I mean, why would sane people have babies at home when they can take a car ride to a hospital?

But, my sister explained it to me and, with her nurse background, she was rather convincing. I get it. Women want to be in the comfort of their own home. They want it to be peaceful. They don’t want machines and drugs and interventions pushed on them by a medical team that is concerned only with not getting sued, insurance coverage, and turning beds as fast as possible. Home birth sounds very romantic. That’s all fine and dandy, but keep in mind that I once thought it was romantic to be 23, eating beans out of a can for dinner with my broke-ass boyfriend.

With Hooper, my sister ended up in the hospital, against her wishes. She was overdue and they had to induce her. Then she couldn’t get the baby out, so they wheeled her to the OR. Using every stubborn ounce of strength in her body, she had the baby naturally in the OR room. The whole thing was rather touch-and-go, as they say. Willy couldn’t talk about it for weeks.

The second time, I was there. I didn’t think I would be. Her due date passed and my husband and I left on a 7-day backpacking trip in the Sierras, planned months in advance. We didn’t have cell coverage. I thought for sure we’d come back to hear she’d had the baby, but no. She was overdue again. The morning after we got back—I like to think Van was waiting for us—we got a very calm call saying she was in labor. They were deploying the big tub at home, the midwife was on her way. I was in tears driving up through Los Angeles traffic. I was convinced I’d miss the delivery because of all those a-holes on their way to work. Little did I know that births aren’t as fast and simple as they look on TV.

When I got there, she was just starting to push. She was in and out of the tub. She was on the floor. She was moaning, screaming.

My dad and I tried our best to distract Hooper, who was obviously worried. He insisted on wearing his toy stethoscope.

After what seemed like hours, the midwife started whispering to her assistant and we all started to wonder what was happening. Once again, my sister was having trouble getting the baby out. In hindsight, the difficulty probably had something to do with the crazy curve in her spine, which shifted all of her insides. She’d mentioned the scoliosis to her midwife, but didn’t really stress the severity of it (after all, she’d lived with it for years—was it that big of a deal? Um, yes, probably). I was terrified that she would get the head out and the body would be stuck. I’d heard horror stories. Willy was terrified that his wife was going to die. Sure, he thinks in extremes, but I understood his fear.

The midwife made the decision to call the ambulance. A couple guys showed up, put her on a stretcher, and she was gone. We followed behind in a car—my mom, Willy, and me (my dad stayed back at the house with Hooper). The three of us were shaking, terrified.

When we got to the hospital, we rushed to her room. The screaming was intense. I had a moment of feeling bad for any other moms delivering. It sounded like a horror movie in there. Willy was by her side, my mom and I in the hallway. We were crying at that point—scared for my sister and scared for the baby. I told my mom to try to smile, for Ashley. It was my job to document the day.

We heard a big POP—the doctor pushing on my sister’s belly—and then the baby wailing. We started crying more tears, of the relieved variety. We rushed in and saw the baby—he was a big 9-pounder—and quickly understood that things were okay. Willy asked the nurse how scary it was, on a scale from 1 to 10. She looked at us, with almost as much shock in her face as was in ours, and said, “That was a 9.”

My sister hates when people pose for the camera. She likes real emotion. But I think we were all afraid to show the real emotion in our faces that day. We wanted to be strong for her. So we smiled. After all, things turned out okay (even though I thought Van looked like Golem from Lord of the Rings).

My sister wants a third. I’ve told her that if they decide to have that baby, it better be in a hospital. I don’t care if her spine is fixed now. I don’t care that she would love to have the home birth she always wanted. She can go drug-free in a hospital, around professionals who can help her if anything goes awry. My good friend is married to an OBGYN and he says, “Look, most births go totally great. But when something goes wrong, it goes really wrong.” I’m sure lots of mothers have beautiful stories of their births, but for me, as a loved one, my sister’s births were scary. When I got home the day Van was born, I climbed in bed with my husband and I sobbed. I didn’t feel back to normal for days.

I wouldn’t say I’d discourage anyone from doing a home birth. I think it depends on your medical history and all that. I would say to know the risks, and consider the emotional impact on the people around you on that special day. And, make sure to educate those people about what to expect. My sister didn’t seem disturbed by what was going on and that was probably because she had watched lots of gory videos and had talks with her midwife and knew what the hell was happening. I wasn’t prepared, period. I was very fooled by the easy births you see in movies. Even in real life, most women have epidurals and drugs so there is no screaming (seriously, the screaming was the worst part). I watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians occasionally (#sorrynotsorry) and there was an episode when Kourtney Kardashian gives birth. The room was, like, silent. Her family was in there chatting with her. Chatting. She may as well have been getting a pedicure. So, yeah, maybe don’t go into a birth scenario with the Kardashians as your reference point. And if you have romantic notions about home birth, just think it through. Consider all the things you previously thought were romantic that really aren’t—like eating beans out of cans with your broke-ass boyfriend.

Chores

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting

Van asks to help a lot. And by “help”, what he normally means is that he wants to make my job a thousand times harder and longer than it would be if I simply did it by myself. I feel like a punk every time I tell him “no”. And so, I’ve started giving him his own chores to do while I do mine in an effort to keep his little hands busy. And, by golly, it’s actually been – dare I say – helpful.

Typically, when I empty the dishwasher, he wants to press all of the buttons and make the spinner under the rack go around in circles. It drives me insane. So now, while I put away the bigger stuff – plates and cups – I give him the silverware. You know that I rock feeling you get when you know you’re doing something right as a mother? Well, every time I watch him put the silverware away, I get that feeling. He learned instantly how to differentiate between the sharp knives and the dull ones, the long forks versus the short ones, and when one utensil falls into the wrong section, he always fixes it. It’s pretty special to watch those little wheels spin and he’s pretty stoked with himself when he’s all finished. And hey, it’s one less thing for me to do. I don’t even care that every time I open the silverware drawer it looks like someone threw each piece in from twenty feet away. The disheveled appearance doesn’t bother me one bit.

He also helps me clean the counters. He loves spraying the spray bottle, so I show him where to spray and then I wipe it clean. Teamwork for the win.

The other day, he helped me pot some plants. It was something I was going to wait to do until both of them were sleeping, but I had lots of other things to do with that precious nap time so I decided to involve him instead. Hooper was at preschool. His job was to fill his plastic cup with potting soil and bring it over to where I was and fill the empty pots. My back, and knees, thanked him for not having to get up and down a thousand times myself. And, again, he enjoyed it.

Both of my boys fight over the vacuum. Now there’s a fight I don’t break up.

What kinds of chores do you give your kids to do around the house? It’s one of my New Years resolutions to continue doing this sort of thing. Too often it becomes easier to just do it myself, but I know the lessons embedded in the tasks are more important.

Music & Motherhood

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting

You know those moments in motherhood where you feel like time is wasted? Where simply sitting and watching your kid play feels more like laziness than being present? Me too. But, then Pink Floyd’s “Us & Them” came on the radio (yes, we own a radio — I know, I know) and time slowed and I realized that all motherhood needs is a soundtrack.

What tunes would you put on your motherhood soundtrack?

I’m moderating the Childhood Unplugged feed this week on instagram and will be featuring some images of littles playing music. If you have any shots and would like the chance to be featured, use hashtag #childhoodunplugged_music.

Space to run

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Motherhood, Parenting

The times that Willy is gone on business trips is always hard. I get thrown back into the survival mode of forcing myself to nap when they nap and go to bed when they go to bed (they wear me the f* out), even though I have a thousand things that I intend to finish… or start, for that matter. And as if they’re little mind readers, these boys pick right up on it; suddenly, they become more rambunctious and more volatile. I’ve learned that I need to stay calm for them to stay calm because in true motherhood fashion, I assume that any bad behavior on their part is somehow reflective of my own anxieties that seem to suddenly rise when solo parenting. And so, I try my best to get out of the house as much as possible. Little trips to the beach to catch sunset give each of us the room we need to breath. I don’t know how single moms or dads do it, I really don’t.

The day shit went right

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Motherhood, Parenting

I’ll never be one to deny the inherent difficulties that come with being a mother. By the same token, I’ll never be one to deny the love I have for my children. And it’s because of the latter that the aforementioned difficulties matter less. But sometimes, the Gods throw you a bone. Sometimes, shit goes right.

The other day was one of those days. Only it didn’t start out that way.

Willy left for a business trip, which always causes anxiety to both of us; him because he has to leave us and me because I’m about to have to handle it on my own. And by “it”, I mean the household; the boys, the dishes, the meals, the dog, the potty training routine, the bed time routine… you know the deal. It was 10:35am and I was taking Jimmy out to pee when I realized that it was Tuesday and that I should have dropped Hooper off at preschool two and a half hours ago. I shrugged it off, got the boys dressed, made them a lunch to go, and headed to a nearby wilderness park that we have gone many times before but never this time of year.

We parked at the end of the park and hiked around. The boys climbed up fallen trees, collected sticks, chased one another, played with the water spicket, listened to the birds, and enjoyed the overcast sky that left dew on the long strands of grass. And when I sensed they had had enough, we made the short drive down the road to the park where they built a bird’s nest out of sticks they found on the ground, dug for dinosaur bones in the sand, went down the biggest slide I’ve seen them go down, jumped off rocks that were a little too high for my liking but I tend to take a blind eye to that kinda thing anyway, swung on swings, had sword fights (not of the urinating variety) and learned to use the teeter tauter and tire swing together.

They ate their lunches in separate places but waved as if to say to one another, “you cool?”.

Knowing that he not always understands what I say, I told Hooper, “please remember days like today when you look back on your childhood” and as if he actually understood what I meant, he glanced back in my direction and sincerely said, “I love you”. I can’t make this stuff up. Shortly thereafter, Van came running toward me crying and holding his hand to his head. Midway over, he stopped in his tracks, looked at me, took his hand off his head, changed his look completely, and said, “Mama, I’m okay” and turned around and went back to playing. Miracles, I tell you, miracles.

Something heavenly possessed my children on this day.

Perhaps more important than what there was, was what there was not; not an excessive amount of tears, no fights, slim to none whining (you can sound your party horns now), no injuries, and zero stress. And for that alone, a good day — one of the best I can remember in sometime. Now that’s something for the books. But a post will do.

Hooper @ 4 years, 2 months

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Motherhood, Parenting

Growth & Appearance: We took you to a barber to have your hair cut. We love it and yet we’re still eager for it to be long, again. You’ve grown a lot it seems and while you fit into many 4T or even 5T pants length wise, the waist is too big, so many times you have to wear a belt. You wear your g’paw Jeffer’s old cub scout belt. The vintage pants fit you just fine in the waist, so I do my best to buy you those instead.

You like to take you footie pajamas off by yourself, which leaves them in an inside-out mess and added hassle for when we put them back on at bedtime (but whatever, right?). You refused to wear hats for a long time but now agree to wearing beanies when it’s cold out. You have one of Papa’s old watches and insist on wearing it at all times of the day. It’s much to big for your little wrist. You don’t really care what I put you in; you have no preferences when it comes to picking out clothes. I’m gonna ride that wave as long as I can. Dressing boys has proven to be more fun than I ever thought.

You had your 4 year check-up and you are 36lbs (51%) and I think just under 40 inches tall (71%). You’re in size 4 shirts and size 9 shoes.

Eating: You’re such a better eater these days. Like night and day. You still need some coaxing here and there, but more times than not you feed yourself and enjoy eating. Did I just say that?

You love pizza. You eyes light up when we tell you we’re lazy and ordering pizza. You also love bacon. And french fries. You’re so obviously my kid. Despite these unhealthy-ish preferences, you do eat a considerable amount of healthy foods; you love nuts, apples, oranges, carrots, and avocado sandwiches (begrudgingly, at times).

You pick your nose and eat your boogers. The other day I caught you eating one of your scabs.

Sleeping: You sleep pattern stays fairly consistent, though daylight savings has made you get up a little earlier than normal. You’re also having a hard time holding your pee and ask often for us to “let you out” to go to the bathroom. Typically you get up between 7 and 8, closer to 7 the majority of the time. Then you nap from about 1:30-3:30, sometimes 4, and rarely not at all. We have hopes of getting you to bed before 8 but you have yet to be in bed before 8:30.

You wake up most mornings in Van’s bed. I think there are times you fall asleep with him in there, but without a video monitor I can’t say for sure. You request to nap in Van’s bed since Van still naps in the pack-n-play.

Twice you’ve taken off all of your clothes and I’ve found you in your birthday suit. That’s new. Insert big eyes with raised eyebrows here. Talking: You call park rangers “grangers” and I don’t correct you; “Mama, waz dat granger say to you?”

You pronounce ambulance with a ton of extra syllables. It sounds something like, “am-ba-tu-la-ence”.

“Spicy” is pronounced “ficey” and I also don’t correct you.

When you see a cat or a small dog, you say, “I want to pick up her”. I don’t correct you because according to the grammar police, you’re actually grammatically correct.

Development: You got scolded at the dog beach by a stranger for hitting her dog. You were upset because the dog took your stick. It was really embarrassing, for me. It had a big impact on you, too, because you wouldn’t stop talking about how you no longer like dogs. Jimmie, you say, is an exception.

You love the letter H. You draw it often and point it out all around town. You don’t seem the least bit interested in any other letters, but you really hold that letter H in high regard.

Each morning at preschool you are supposed to trace the letters of your name. I stick around to watch you every now and again and have yet to see you actually trace the letters. Instead, you like to color in the inside of the letters… you scribble the inside of the “o”s and the inside of the “e” and “p” and call it a day. I have no intentions of correcting you, I like that you do it differently than everyone else.

You teachers say you genuinely like to help. I think this is a very firstborn, people-pleaser, trait of yours. It highlights your sweet and gentle side so well and obviously is a nice thing to hear.

On the flipside, you still come out of preschool each day with ragging aggressiveness toward Van. It’s like groundhog day; you come out the door, sock Van, and then proceed to chase each other all the way back to the car. Same thing. Everyday.

Your feelings get hurt if I tell you you’re not my friend. I realize this lets the I-stoop-to-my-kids-level cat out of the bag, but sometimes no time out or scolding seems to affect you. But, if I tell you that you’re not my friend, you cry. It’s my only leverage.

Felix is your best friend from pre-school. You talk about him at the most random times; like driving through Joshua Tree, “Felix would like this town”. Or the morning when you peed in your bed, “Felix doesn’t pee in his bed”. You guys send each other little videos back and forth confessing your love for one another. It’s sweet. And I dig his mom, so nice pick, Hoop.

You make the ugliest face by scrunching up your nose and showing your teeth and refer to it as your “mad face”. If I’m telling you something you don’t want to hear, you make your “mad face”. Or if you’re in attack mode and going crazy or pretending to be the “bad guy”, you better believe “mad face” comes out in full force. It’s unattractive, to say the least.

You go through phases of spitting. It sucks.

You have a love hate relationship with Jimmie; you love when he’s curled into a ball and you can cuddle him but you hate him when he’s going crazy and chewing up your toys or taking your stuffed animals off your bed.

Your imagination is on fire and you can be quite the storyteller. You’ve been known to tell tales of giraffes in our living room and that super great story you told Nina about Papa hitting you, which had no truth to it.

Favorites: You’re still, after all these years, into your cars. You now like to fill your bed with as many cars as you can and refer to it as a “carnival”. You give me a ticket (usually some sort of scrape piece of paper) and invite me to come. You love watching “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”. It scared you, at first, but you didn’t want me to turn it off and now I think you’re so stoked that you conquered whatever fear you had that you want to watch it over and over and over again. It’s a nice break from Cars and was fun to watch during Christmas. You love to read and you love to flip through books on your own and study the pictures on the pages. You go a book for Christmas that has close up pictures of lots of different insects and animals and you love flipping through and studying each page. You recently found a container of tinker toys and that’s been your favorite thing for the last few days. We went to the Natural History Museum and ever since then you’ve been into dinosaurs. There is an educational program you like to watch on Netflix over and over. The narrator has that really old man monotone museum-esque voice so I haven’t quite figured out how he holds your attention, but he does.

Potty Training

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting

I’m convinced of two things:

1. There ought to be a service available to come by and potty train your kid (as suggested by a kind person on instagram, though really I don’t think anyone other than myself or Willy could actually do the deed — so I guess this is kinda a joke, but not really, because really, it sucks and there’s lots of services for lots of things that people have deemed as shitty-to-have-to-do-themselves… like Molly Maids).

2. Because there is no number one (no pun intended), there ought to be an alcohol and massage distributor that comes and makes deliveries for those suffering through the stab-myself-in-the-eye-out-of-boredom and rub-my-back-and-neck-because-I’ve-been-wiping-a-lot-o’-butt-and-floor-and-toilet-and-hands days of potty training. I guess I should be careful what I ask for, because I think there are a lot of people that are actually in the business of dispensing alcohol and massages, if you know what I mean ::nudge nudge::

I don’t really remember potty training Hooper, to be honest. I know I did it because, again, no number one existed. I also know that I followed some sort of methodology because I recall writing posts on it — posts I would probably benefit from going back and reading.

The actual peeing-in-the-potty part has been going well. The accidents all occurred on the first day and have been seldom since. Well they were seldom and then we had a few days where we were lazy, or went to Disneyland, or just said “screw it” for the sake of our sanity. Since then, there have been more accidents. We’ve ventured out without a diaper on, which feels risky in the same way as leaving the house without a tampon when you know your period is coming feels. And, no accidents in the first week or so. Then we went out to eat and left the restaurant with wet pants after Willy and I both ignored his request to go potty because he had just. went. potty. It’s draining, people, let me tell you.

The hard part, this go-around, has been dealing with a fiercely independent and downright stubborn two year old. Things like insisting that he get on and off the potty by himself, flushing the toilet for even the littlest trickle, flushing the toilet multiple times before the water has even refilled, insisting on playing with the gross plunger or the toilet bowl cleaner, sticking his hand in his urine stream, flexing his “weapon” while his peeing so the urine goes up and out of the toilet, asking why he can’t pee when it’s “big”, pulling all the toilet paper off the toilet paper roll, going potty – getting his reward – then immediately going potty again and asking for another reward (manipulative bastard, I tell ya), and throwing a tantrum because farting on the toilet is not the same as pooping on the toilet and he cannot pick a “special prize” until there is an actual log. Oh ya, and we’ve said goodbye to at least 4 toys that he has dropped in — some intentional, some accidents.

I was prepared for the patience it would take to clean up after a butt-booty-naked toddler running around and was pleasantly surprised when he caught on to where to make the mess relatively fast. But my patience has wavered considerably in dealing with everything else. Like the dump he took on the floor the other morning. Though, arguably, he did make up for it when he requested to hug and kiss the “baby” piece of poop and went on to call it “cuuuuuute”. The video of that has gotten me through some of the more challenging spots during the last few weeks.

Deep breaths and a cold one (or two) for the next few days, weeks, and months. Wish me luck.

Christmas Cookies

by Ashley filed under Holiday, Motherhood, Parenting

Two years ago (wow, where does the time go?) I wrote a post about baking Christmas cookies. Well, not actually baking them… because we never ::cough cough:: got around to actually making them. They sat on my counter and taunted me, “hey you piece of shit mom, why don’t you forget about those dirty dishes and bake me already”. I swear they gave me a complex; so-much-so that it’s been two years and I can still remember writing that post and the feeling I felt by never getting around to baking those cookies.

I giggled to myself with the thought of that post in the back of my head as we went into the store, once again, to buy cookie-making ingredients. I tried to move through the aisles as quickly as possible for fear that Van would forget he didn’t have a diaper on. I was imagining the stream of urine falling off the cart like a waterfall. We made it through with only a few items torn from the shelves from happy little grimmy hands that don’t like to keep to themselves. We bought two packages of sugar cookie mix (ya, that’s right — I’m a-good-for-nothing-mom-that-makes-nothing-from-scratch-and-I-don’t-care), some icing, sprinkles, a couple cookie cutters, and some butter.

The boys were a bit disappointed when we got home and they asked for the cookies and I revealed we had to actually make them before we ate them. Next thing you know, the counter that I had just cleaned that morning was filled with flower and small globs of cookie dough and the happy-to-help (oh he’s so happy to “help” these days) hands of a two year old would not stay out of the raw egg batter. There were tears and, obviously, a mess.

I had to ask a neighbor to borrow a rolling pin. Mom fail. Then I couldn’t get the batter not to stick to the rolling pin despite the amount of flour I used. Mom fail times two.

The boys were over it at this point anyway, so I made the executive decision and said screw the cookie cutters and opted instead for little round balls because let’s face it — shit tastes the same. When the cookies were done, there were more tears because they could only have one. Then there were spilled sprinkles.

And the moral of the story is this: Buy Christmas cookies from the bakery for $5 and go home and eat them. Making those damn cookies was the only thing I’ve ever had on a list that didn’t feel so good to scratch off.

Motherhood

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting

‘the child must know that she is a miracle, that since the beginning of the world there hasn’t been, and until the end of the world there will not be, another child like her.’ – pablo casals

A Mother's Worry

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting

It’s only normal for mothers to worry. Given the fact Willy suffers from such horrible health anxiety, I find myself often in the it-will-be-okay or it’s-no-big-deal role. So the other night, when Van could hardly talk and was breathing heavily, I assured him it was the same cold Hooper had and not to worry. I went to bed that night, unable to sleep, questioning if I even believed myself. I do this play-it-off-like-it’s-no-big-deal-in-front-of-Willy routine often, especially when it comes to the kids. But when Van woke up crying at 2am with audible wheezing, I agreed that we should probably take him in. Nursing 101 – Don’t mess with the airway. Van and I spent four hours in the ER getting numerous breathing treatments and a steroid injection. We left around 5:30am with a probable diagnosis of croup and instructions to keep an eye on him, especially overnight (when croup worsens).

So for the next three nights, Van slept in our room; a welcomed change. My not-so-little boy surrendering into my arms, accepting all my cuddles and comfort.

Happy to say it is now behind us.

Do you worry excessively about your kids? How about your significant others — same same, or different?

Boys being boys

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting

I can’t say what it’s like or if it’s any different raising girls. What I can say is that it’s pure craziness over here. All the time. Jimmie has only added to the chaos, but in the most beautiful of ways. I obviously still miss Sarah, but I’m grateful to have a dog around again. And Jimmie feels like a good fit. Our only issue is with leaving him alone; he has horrible separation anxiety. Even when only one of us leaves, he starts pacing and panting and whining. The windowsill from the second story has scratches all over it from where Jimmie tries to look out the window for us. And when we do return, we’re always met with piss and shit to clean up. It makes leaving him really difficult.

We took him in the car a little while ago and someone called the cops, saying that there was a dog left in a car that “wanted out”. We went into the store for 10 minutes, tops. We went out to dinner and left him in the crate only to get a phone call from our neighbor saying it sounded like something was “wrong” with Jimmie based on “noises” he was making.

We’ve done our research and are feeling a bit defeated. Sounds like some dogs have it so bad that they’re willing to injure themselves to escape being alone. He looks like he is going to have a heart attack anytime we leave; every bone in his body shakes in fear. We spoke to one trainer who refused the case saying that changing a dog’s personality is “hard”. She wished us good luck.

Anyone have any advice?

The final straw

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting, Travel

You know when you get to the point where you declare no more taking our crazy kids out to eat anymore? Well, we’re not there yet; mostly because we’re lazy and we like good food. But I think we’ve reached the point were we can say, with certainty, no more making Willy’s work trips into family trips. Because, dammit, it’s hard.

It always starts out by sounding good in theory; a few days away as a family, promises of exploring the desert, spontaneous trips to the Salton Sea. It’s been fun, it really has. But allow me to speak the truth: it’s fucking hard.

For one, we only have one car. So when Willy takes off for meetings (I mean let’s not forget that this is the primary reason we’re there), it leaves us stranded. In the past we’ve hung out at the pool and it’s been fine. But now… Now we have Jimmie. And, well, only the legally insane can handle two dependent kids in the pool and a high pitched barking pup who hates to be separated (aka tied up) even a few feet away from his people. Walking around downtown – in 112 degree heat – is the other alternative and Jimmie sucks on a leash and the heat eats all of my patience before I can even say hold hands to cross the street, please.

This time around, we got asked to leave the pool by the management who had received “complaints” about the “barking” dog. I wanted to cry. The amount of time it took me to hold my children against their will and slap sunscreen on them and go to the bathroom and put their swim trunks and shoes on far exceeded the 5 to 10 minutes they splashed around in the water. If only I would have had someone to complain to because dammit, I swear it was worse for me than it was for whoever had to hear it.

And that’s not even the half of it. Sometimes I feel like the little lone home wife who gets repeatedly told by her husband to keep their kids (their TWO and THREE) year old kids quiet while he fields important work calls. In a hotel room with an 8 month old energized pup? Willy looks at me with that pleading face and I want to look at him like he’s fucking insane if he thinks I have superpowers. There aren’t enough lollipops in the world to shove in those kids mouths to keep them quiet for the amount of time necessary. And it puts us all on edge.

This was our first trip with Jimmie and I voted him whatever the opposite of MVP is; perhaps there should be a LVP (least valuable player). He refused to pee on the nice balcony area we had and instead peed on the carpet at least three times.

I’m starting to feel like I’m whining so I’ll stop this rant here and end by saying we will no longer be joining Willy on his work trips. Not for a while, anyway. And by “for a while”, I mean until we can forget how hard and horrible it can be.

And yes, I let the kids play with the bidet because I had had it. Playing with dirty toilet water is now my new low. Make note of it.

Hooper @ 3 years, 10 months

by Ashley filed under Hooper, Motherhood, Parenting

Growth & Appearance: You’re tall and lanky, with long and skinny limbs. Your waist is small and you can share all your shorts with Van. You’re in a size 9 shoe and size 3T clothing. Your hair is long and it can finally fit behind your ears. You legs are almost always covered in tiny bruises from who-knows-what. Someone said you look more like Papa the other day, but most of the time people say you look like me. You definitely have my body structure.

Eating: You’ve been eating better than ever before. You still need encouragement at times, but there are entire meals that you will eat on your own and in record-for-you-speed. You’ll also try new things; sometimes begrudgingly. You’ve tried mangoes, kiwi, squash, and asparagus within the past month or so and you ate all of them. These are things we may have tried back in the day that you didn’t care for then, but seemed to tolerate now.

You’re also curious in things like ketchup, which you wouldn’t have liked before. You like ketchup with everything. You put it on your pizza the other day.

When given a cupcake, you typically only eat the frosting.

You eat your raspberries by putting them on the tips of your fingers and then eating them off one by one.

You like milk more than watered down juice and drink a lot of it. Sleeping: You still sleep with your blanket every night. Most nights you also have a small pile of toys or books you have deemed valuable next to your pillow. You always like your “stuff” nearby. You wake up around 8am, nap from roughly 1:30-4:30, and go to bed around 8:30pm. It’s been pretty steady and being that it’s the same schedule as your brother, it works out nicely. You guys sleep in the same room at night but we have to separate you for naps during the day. You rarely fight bedtime or nap time, but every now and again you surprise us. Talking: “Because” is you new favorite word. You use it all the time. Me: “Hooper, why did you hit Van?”, You: “Because”. Or better yet, Me: “Look at the cars on the freeway”, You: “Because, Mama” (which doesn’t make any sense).

“Nothing” is your other favorite word. Me: “Hooper, tell me about what you did at preschool today”, You: “Nuffing”. You’re like a little teenager already. My favorite is when you followed it with “I don’t wanna talk right now”. Ha.

You went through a phase where you’d ask us several times a day when our birthdays are. No joke, some days you’d ask more than 20 times. Needless to say, you know now when everyone’s birthday is.

You’re into telling secrets. More times than not you’ll come up to me, tell me you have a secret, and then say, “I wanna hit Van”.

The other day we were talking about the birds flying. I asked you if you’d like to fly like a bird one day and you told me, “No Mama, because I’d miss you”.

When you’re playing in the garage with Van, you’ll yell to me, “Mama, pweez come keep an eye on us!”.

Sometimes you’ll announce you have a question, “Mama, I have a question”. It’s usually followed by “Can I hit Van?” or “When’s your birthday”.

When you’re playing and I tell you it’s time for a nap, you’ll tell me, “just five minutes, Mama”. Or when I tell you to eat your food and you say, “just one second, Mama”.

You love to talk like a monkey but know we hate it so you’ll ask, “Can I do monkey talks?”. Sometimes we say yes.Development: When you see kids skateboarding or playing baseball, you say you want to do the same when you’re “bigger”.

You go to the bathroom completely on your own. Sometimes I don’t even know you’re going until you come walking out with your pants down. We haven’t mastered the pulling your pants part up quite yet. After that, you’ll be fully independent.

Every now and again, you’ll go to the bathroom in you pants overnight. It doesn’t happen often, but we keep you in pull-ups at night just in case.

One time, when I wasn’t looking, you started to pee right on the beach. A woman started laughing and pointed you out to me and then insisted that I take a picture of it, so I have a photo of you pissing on the beach. Right after that you told me you had to make ca-ca. I asked the same lady if she wanted me to photograph that as well. She declined and we went to the restroom.

In other potty news, you demand complete privacy when you’re pooping. Every now and again you’ll grab Van’s hand and insist that he take you ca-ca. It’s funny.

You went through a phase when you were into blowing into people’s faces. Luckily it passed because it was super annoying; though it was quite humorous when we’d overhear you asking Van if you could blow him. Rules before going anywhere included: say please and thank you, no hitting, wait your turn, and no blowing on people.

You can do a forward roll. You can also hop on one foot (really well on your left, but not so well on your right). You seem to kick a ball with your left foot. You still write with your left hand but you hold utensils in your right hand. You throw, mostly, with your right.

You ask me often about my collar bones and try to grab them as if they are removable.

You request that we drive “fast” and “get” the other cars (which means we speed up and pass the car next to us).

Much to my dismay, you’re more conscious of having your photo taken. The other day I had my camera out and you sat there and gave me a full on cheese ball smile. No idea where it came from but I’m learning that it’s really hard to unteach things society teaches us.

Like a bag lady, you shuffle all your stuff around from room to room. Currently you have your small suitcase full of cars and tractors and a basket full of books. It’s heavy, even for me, and you cart it around with you everywhere. You’re very possessive of your stuff and upset when you misplace it.

You know that “H” is the first letter of your name and you’re able to draw it.

You’re sweet and sensitive. You love animals and hate to see anyone sad. You’re still my number one cuddler. Favorites: You love movies with mice in them, like Stuart Little and Runaway Ralph. You watched the movie “Cars” for the first time and love it. But if there’s one thing you could do all day, everyday, it would be playing in the garage. You have all sorts of “things” out there that you refer to as your “home” and you like sorting it and reorganizing it. The “things” include cardboard boxes, an ice chest, your bike, a broom, beach chairs, small trash cans, and other random things you’d only find in a garage. You also love to sit with a book and flip through the pages. You tell me you’re reading your book and I have no doubt that you are, in your own way.

Van @ 26 Months

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting, Van

Growth & Appearance: You were well on your way to a business-in-the-front-party-in-the-back-also-known-as-a-mullet hair style (we cut it just the other day). We were trying to hold out until Halloween, with plans of dressing you up as either Joe Dirt or Rod Stewart. Your hair is blonder than ever, compliments of summer, and remains thick and oddly kinky.

We finally found a new pediatrician and took you for your overdue well baby checkup. You weigh 32 lbs (85th percentile) and are 38 inches tall (off the charts, >100%). You feel like a rock, super dense. You have a barrel shaped chest.

Like you’re brother, you’re commonly covered in bumps and bruises.

Eating: You went from needing a snack first thing in the morning to hold you over while I made you breakfast to being finicky and not eating much at all. You’re now a pain in the ass at the table. You need to be entertained constantly. Just when I thought we could put the grab bag of tricks away. Typically you end up eating, but it’s not usually on our terms. Given that you’re monstrously big, I tend to let it go and cross my fingers that if you skip one meal you’ll eat well at the next, and you usually do.

You do, however, typically try new foods with ease. You ate squash that I made without even pointing it out as something “new”. Same thing with asparagus.

When we go to a restaurant we have to hide the sugar packets. If you beat us to the punch, you usually end up eating the entire packet (paper included).

You still like bananas, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, quesadillas, beans, and an assortment of snack foods like raisins and grapes and cheese sticks.

When we try to feed you and you already have a bite in your mouth, you’ll open your mouth and point to the food that’s in there and make this face that says, “told ya so”.

Sleeping: You sleep in the same room as your brother, in a twin bed with a toddler rail. You’re attached to your blanket and usually like bringing a couple of books with you to bed. Your schedule is the same as Hooper’s: wake up around 8am, nap from 1:30-4:30, and go to sleep around 8:30pm. You nap in the pack-n-play in the bathroom because napping in the same room as your brother does not work. The other day you climbed out of your pack-n-play after your nap, walked downstairs and found me and said, “me awake”. You still suck your thumb and put use “hand hat” when you’re tired. The best is when you’re riding your bike and have your helmet on; hand hat turns into helmet hat and you put your thumb in your mouth and your other hand on top of your helmet.Talking: You speak in full sentences and mimic a lot of what Hooper says. You’ve taken to his favorite words like “because”. So when I say, “Van, why won’t you listen”, you say, “because”.

Before answering any question, you say “um”. Me: “Hey Van, when’s your birthday”, You: “um, July”. It’s so fast and so subtle that it almost sounds like one word, umjuly.

There was a time when we’d scold you and you’d come crying to whichever one of us didn’t scold you and say, “Papa hit me”, even though the scolding was strictly verbal. It made us happy that you’re not in preschool telling people of authority lies about us. Also makes me question using a child as a witness in the court of law. Clearly, kids are nuts. You included.

You start a lot of sentences with “me”, “me awake”, “me like dat”, “me want that”, and so on and so forth.

“No way!” was your favorite phrase for a period of time. Me: “Van, we’re gonna go to the fair”, You: “No way!”.

You repeat whatever you’re saying until someone validates what you’ve said: “Dat boy wear helmet”. No answer. “Dat boy wear helmet”. No answer. “Dat boy wear helmet on his head”. “Yes, you’re right”. Then it’s quiet.

You understand full concepts and tell me things like, “It smells weird”. You also ask, “Who dat on da phone”, whenever we’re talking to anyone on the phone. It’s hard to know how much is mimicking things you hear Hooper say and how much is just you being you. Whichever the case, you ask appropriate questions and make appropriate statements. Development: You can ride a bike with training wheels. You love riding your bike. You can jump off of high surfaces with two feet. You try to hop on one foot and can just about do it.

You did great in swim class. You’re favorite part was jumping off the ledge into the water. You’re very trusting to the point of carelessness. You’re more of a jump-first-find-someone-to-save-me-after kinda kid.

You’ve gone to the bathroom on the toilet several times but are not near ready to officially start potty training. There was a period where you seemed highly interested, but it has passed. Now I wish you’d find the interest again because you’re in a current state of I-don’t-want-my-diaper-changed and nearly every time there’s a tantrum that ensues. It’s annoying that I have to beg you to wipe your butt. Please remember this.

You make fast friends with kids of all ages; others seem to be drawn to you naturally.You give the sweetest kisses. Your lips and nice and plump. Favorites: You request to watch a spin off of the movie Cars, called “Mater Tales”, nearly everyday. We don’t spend a lot of time watching TV, but when we do, this is what you request. You’re also more into cars and tractors than you’ve ever been. Like Hooper, you like to line them up and take them with you everywhere. For a week straight, you brought a little taxi with you everywhere. You also love playing in the garage and spend most of your free time at home in the garage with Hooper either riding your bike around in circles or building “homes” with Hooper.

The Great Salt Lake

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Motherhood, Parenting, Photography, Travel

My kids whine a lot. Hooper more so than Van, due to his age. I don’t think that they are any different than any other kid; all kids whine. I know “I’m bored” is in my not-so-distant-future, but at this point in time it’s a plethora of moans and groans that make my hairs all stand on end and makes me wonder why I drag my kids out of the house ever.

When we first parked at the Salt Lake, it was tantrumville immediately. Being 100 degrees out didn’t help. Nor did the smell of pungent sulfur. Or the abundance – or shall I say downright invasion – of flies or whatever those bugs are that hang out at water’s edge in droves. They whined about going in the water, then they whined when they got in the water but the salt burned, and then – as if a miracle from above – they got over it. All of it. And they, well, enjoyed themselves immensely.

Kids have split personalities. I’m sure of it.

And as the sun went down and we hosed the salt off their skin and clothes, they whined about leaving. And so it goes.

Motherhood: the never ending test of patience.

Tales from the 'hood

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting

Willy and I have never prided ourselves on our old neighborhood. We knew when we moved that it was what we could afford and not where we’d always be. Over the years, we invested time (and money) to turn our old house into a home and, as a result, it wasn’t easy to leave.

But there are a few things that happened along the way that I thought would be fun to share.

It started a few months before we decided to put our house on the market when a home a couple houses down from us went up for sale. Next thing you knew there was a pickup truck parked in the driveway filled to the brim with shit. We figured someone had moved in and we were, uh, right. As in, a squatter moved in. It was some homeless lady and her dog. Someone called the cops and she left and the house sold.

Then the house across the street went up for sale and that homeless lady, her dog, and her truck filled to the brim with shit returned. The cops were called again and, once again, she was asked to leave.

Then there was the time I was playing with Hooper in the front yard when a cop car went zooming down the street. And I mean zooming. I walked to the street to see if I could see what direction he went and noticed that there was another cop car parked at our neighbors house getting some sort of report from the people that live two doors down. It didn’t look like anything serious, so I went on playing with Hooper. That’s when a helicopter appeared overhead and started circling right above our house. Then cop cars flooded the streets. I mean flooded. I’m talkin’ there were motorcycle cops driving down the sidewalk. Come to find out the guy two doors down had been beating his pregnant wife and fled the scene when the cops came to get the report. We heard from other neighbors that they found him in the alleyway and he was yelling at the cops to just go ahead and shoot him.

The guys at the end of the block drove a donk. If you don’t know what a donk is, you’ve never lived in the ‘hood.

Back to the house that was for sale. It eventually got taken over by other, more sophisticated, squatters. These squatters drove fancy cars and were arrested the other day when it was discovered they had turned the house into a drug house.

Another neighbor admitted he owns an AK47 and offered to sell us one. We considered. I joke (about considering, not the fact that he has a felony-possession firearm. In fact, I’m glad he has it. He was on our team and would have protected us if shit ever went down).

The same neighbor (the one with the AK47) witnessed a gun deal going down in the wee hours of the night. He states he came across two cars, each filled with 4 guys, making a deal. Instead of calling the police, he states he went inside, grabbed his strobe light, and sat outside with his rifle. I suppose it was good to know he wouldn’t bring out his AK47 for just any occasion.

And yet, none of this really weighed on our decision to move. We enjoyed our home and the characters in our neighborhood. But here now, in our new digs, we couldn’t be happier. We’re really enjoying the change of scenery.

What’s your neighborhood like?

Conquering Routine

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Motherhood, Parenting

Mid-week evening outings are my new jam. It feels so good to break up the week and to get outside and take in some fresh air. We’ve been going to Casper’s Wilderness Park to BBQ and it’s quickly become one of our favorite activities.

When the idea popped in my head, I thought I was in over my head; I hate having to bring boat-loads of stuff and try my damnest to cut down on how hard I have to think and plan beforehand. But, really, we didn’t bring or need that much. Some meat, some corn, silverware essentials, drinks, tablecloth and our Bose speaker (which we love and take with us everywhere). It was so easy and carefree.

How do you like to break up your week?

Conquering Routine

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Motherhood, Parenting

Sometimes it’s as simple as grabbing their favorite tractor and crossing the street to an open field where it feels like you’re worlds away but in reality, you could throw a rock to your driveway. Watching the sun go down, chasing bunnies, jumping off of old abandoned tires. The world is their oyster.

Conquering Routine

by Ashley filed under Bits + Pieces, Motherhood, Parenting

06.26.201404.19.2018

Even though I have yet to be cleared to return to my “day job” as a RN, my life as a stay-at-home-mom still runs on a very routine Monday thru Friday schedule; mostly because it’s all on me as Willy works most of the day. I thought that being home so much would be freeing; that a schedule would not be needed and that the possibilities would be endless. I was right, to some extent. We’ve gotten to go on lots of little day adventures, which is something I didn’t always have the energy for having worked a grueling 12

hour shift the day before. Also, the boys are older now; I mean, Van can walk. But come evening, when Willy is done with work, it’s back to the monotonous turn-on-a-cartoon-and-get-dinner-ready-routine. It’s been eating at me. No pun intended.

We have a sliver of a view out our window of the ocean and watching the sunset while Cat-in-the-Hat plays in the background has been torturous. So, I proposed that we make dinner a little bit earlier than usual (sometimes we don’t sit down to eat until almost 8pm) and get the heck out of the house.

And, we have.

And, it’s been great.

I’m trying to sell myself on the idea that you have not squeezed everything out of the day until you get into bed dirty, with sand in your hair and dirt on your toes.

Van @ 23 Months

by Ashley filed under Motherhood, Parenting, Van

Growth & Appearance: Your hair remains oddly thick and coarse. We stopped shaving it in the midst of moving and have agreed to let it grow out mostly by default. As it’s grown out, it’s gotten blonder and blonder. It’s almost white now. A friend of ours said you look like Rod Stewart and your Papa and I agree. I mean, look. We’re considering a Rod Stewart costume for Halloween. Sorry.

You have scratches on your face and neck constantly from your brother, who likes to choke you. You have one running down your entire forehead and a matching one on your temple. You take many beatings from Hooper.

You feel like you weigh a thousand pounds. You’re dense. You’re in size 5 diapers and wearing 2 or 3T sized clothes. You appear enormously tall next to other kids your age.

We refer to your feet as potato feet; they’re round and chubby. The bottom of your feet are black, always. You downright refuse to keep your shoes on. As soon as we get you in the car seat, you fling your shoes off. I don’t even put them on now until we get where we are going. I don’t even know what size you wear. I think it’s a size 7.

You have a diaper tan.

Both of your two year molars on the top left and bottom left are in. The bottom right should be popping through soon. It’s more apparent when you’re teething now than it was when you were a baby; you’re grumpier, more volatile, and you don’t eat much.

Eating: There is no manipulating you at the table; you will either eat it or you won’t. When you say you’re done, you mean it. Sometimes this means you’ll eat all of one thing and nothing of anything else on your plate and I’ve simply learned to let it go. You eat a lot so it’s easy to let your phases of finicky eating go. And for the most part, you’re only finicky when you’re teething. All in all, you’re still a championship eater.

You can fit a ridiculous amount of food in your mouth and it’ll be gone within a couple seconds.

You love water bottles but haven’t figured out how to conquer that whole back-washing bit. When you’re done with the water bottle, it looks like a dirty fish tank. You can drink out of a cup but we still use sippy cups because we’re lazy and hate cleaning up more than we have to.

Your favorite foods as of late are bananas, peaches, zucchini, pasta, but you’ll eat most anything and everything. You tend to favor watered down juice over milk, but you still drink a lot of milk. You love snacks.

You ask for utensils but more often than not end up using your hands.

Sleeping: You and Hooper are sharing a room. You are sleeping in a twin bed with a toddler rail. You wake up around 7:30am and nap around 1:30 for about 3 hours. You go to bed around 8 or 9pm.

You sleep with your blanket but don’t seem overly attached to it. We also allow you to pick a toy to sleep with each night; it’s usually a different toy each time and more times than not it’s a book.

You do well with sharing the room with Hooper but you two are not able to nap together. Instead, we put you in the pack n’ play either in the spare bedroom or in the bathroom. I hear you guys each morning “pwaying py-rits” (playing pirates) over the monitor.

The other night I awoke to hear you yelling and found you covered, head to toe, trapped in your sheet like a ghost.

Talking: When you want some of whatever we are eating you say, “sch-um” (aka, some) varying degrees of urgency depending on whether we give it to you right away, or not.

You’ve also started putting words together. It started with an abnormally long pause between the words; like if it’s cold outside, you say “coh’d”—–“side”. Then you started saying the words without the pause and now you’re stringing together three or more words.

Your first complete sentence was clear as day, “I want down”. And down you went.

You say “yes” very distinctly. We ask you a lot of questions that we know you will say “yes” to because we love hearing it.

You are your brother’s parrot; whatever Hooper says, you too try to say.

You have tons of words in your vocabulary and while it’s more or less easy for us to decipher what you’re saying, you still speak a foreign language to others.

Your laugh is deep and hardy and comes straight from your belly.

Development: You love to spray things with a water bottle but you cry when someone turns the water bottle on you.

You’re interested in potty training. I’ve put you on the toilet several times and you’ve peed successfully. You’re also starting to hide when you poop, which I think means you’re getting closer to being ready for official training. We haven’t dove in head first, but we’re splashing around. We’re rewarding you with a tic-tac. You request “tac”—“two”. As of late, you wake up with a dry diaper and go to the potty first thing in the morning. You don’t ask to go during the day.

Anytime we ask you a question that’s answer is a numerical value, you say “two”. So how old are you, how many fish are there, how many grapes do you want… the answer is always two. No matter what.

Same goes for colors. The answer is always red, regardless of whether there is red or not. We try to set you up for success and only ask you what color things are when we see something red… like fire trucks.

You can jump off of a higher surface. In fact, without fail, each time we get to the last step of whatever staircase or stairwell, you insist on jumping off. You throw the biggest tantrum ever on the beach in Maui because you did not want to leave a rock you were jumping off over and over.

You ask to hold our hand when you’re going downstairs but are able to do it by yourself without a problem when we’re not around.

You can catch and kick and hit a ball. Papa’s pretty impressed with your drop kick.

You’ll sit and watch a cartoon, which is new. Bob the Builder is your favorite.

You’re scared of monsters. When we need you to listen, we tell you a monster is coming so you better “X”. It works 90% of the time.

You are destructive; you like chewing things up and knocking things over and taking things off and throwing things all over the place.

It’s obvious you’re a younger sibling; you’re obsessed with things being yours. If you get down off the sofa to go play with a toy and your Papa and I take over sitting where you were once sitting, you will come up and insist we move, declaring the seat yours. You get things taken from you left and right, so I get it.

You’re not much a cuddler. When you get hurt, you run to me but within a second of being in my arms you’re off and running as if nothing happened. I don’t think you’d even come to me for comfort if it wasn’t something that you’ve seen Hooper do; I think you’ve learned it from him but don’t need it whatsoever.

Favorites: Balls. Oh my, you have a ball in your hand almost constantly; tennis balls, soccer balls, basketballs, golf balls, bouncy rubber balls, beach balls… it matters not. You love holding the tennis racket over your shoulder and using it as a baseball bat. You also have a mean drop kick and some pretty good ball-catching skills. No matter where we go, you seem to find a ball. Within seconds of arriving at a park, you will have a ball – that does not belong to you – in your hands. We went to an open field the other day and you found a golf ball in the dirt. I’m convinced the balls find you just as well as you find them.

You love picture books and request to read the same books over and over and over again.

You also love riding on your Papa’s skateboard. Somehow it made it’s way from the garage to the family room. You like to sit on it or lay on your stomach and push around on your feet. Sometimes you’ll come up to me and ask to hold your hands so you can stand and try to balance.